A COLD RECEPTION.
Roland found himself somewhat ceremoniously ushered into a
drawing-room with which he was familiar, and which was known as the
Red Room, where he was left at leisure for a few minutes, to look
about him and reflect.
The second Mrs. Lindsay had been too wise, he could perceive, to
remove much of the ancient furniture of the manor house, but she had
interspersed it with much that was modern; large easy seats and rich
hangings, gipsy tables, Chippendale chairs, and great rugs, Parian
statuary, and one or two antique classic busts, had caught Roland's
eye as he passed along; but all old portraits were banished to the
staircases and corridors, for it had seemed to the intruder on their
domains that the grim old Lindsays in ruff and breastplate, with hand
on hip and sword in belt, with their dames in hoops and old-fashioned
Scottish fardingales, had rather scowled upon her.
The Red Room of Earlshaugh had been one of the 'show places' in the
East Neuk, for nearly all its furniture was of red lacquer work,
brought from Japan by a Lindsay in the close of the last century.
The walls were hung with stamped leather, the golden tints of which
had faded now, though the gilding gleamed out here and there, and
against this sobered background the richly tinted furniture, with its
painted suns, moons, and stars, grotesque monsters, and queerly
designed houses and gardens, stood out redly and boldly, with
bronzes, marbles, and ivory carvings now yellow with age.
It was noon now, and through the open and deeply embayed windows the
perfume of many flowers stole in from the gardens below, mingling
with that from roses and others that were in the _jardinières_, and
to Roland it all seemed as if he had stood there only yesterday.
There was a sound; he turned and found himself face to face with his
stepmother, whom he had last seen and known as his own mother's
useful, bland, suave, apparently patient and always obsequious
companion.
'Welcome, Roland, at last,' said she; but there was no welcome either
in her voice or eye, though she accorded him her hand, and a kiss
that was as cold as the expression of her face, though it was
apparent that she was trying to get up a pathetic look for the
occasion; in fact, she felt the necessity for a little acting--of
assuming a virtue, if she had it not--and Roland saw and understood
the whole situation at once, for after a few commonplaces, and he had
flung himself into a chair that had once been a favourite one of his
father, she asked:
'How long does your leave of absence from the regiment last?'
'So shortly,' replied Roland with an undisguised sneer, 'that I won't
mar your pleasure or spoil your appetite by telling its duration.'
At this reply she coloured for a moment, and thought, 'We have here
an independent and conceited young man, who must be kept at his
proper distance.' But she only caressed Fifine, an odious little pug
dog, which she carried under her arm.
And avoiding all family matters, which, sooth to say, Roland
disdained to discuss with her, even his father's death, more than all
the alleged terms of the odious will and similar subjects, they
talked the merest commonplaces--of the weather, the crops, the
country, and of the war in Egypt--but all in a jerky and unconnected
fashion, as each felt that a moment might land them on that dangerous
ground which was inevitably to be traversed yet.
'And Maude?' said Roland during a pause; 'she must be quite a
grown-up young lady now.'
'Yes, she is close on twenty; but I do not see much of Maude.'
'Why?'
'She stays away from Earlshaugh as much as she can, with friends in
Edinburgh, London, and elsewhere.'
While closely observing his stepmother, Roland was compelled to admit
to himself that she was ladylike. In her fortieth year, her hair was
fair and thick; her stature good; her hands well-shaped and white,
but somewhat large.
Her face was perfectly colourless; her eyes small, glittering, of the
palest gray, planted near a thin and aquiline nose; her lips were
also thin, not ill-tempered, but like her whole expression--hard.
Her teeth were small and sharp-looking; her face lineless--she looked
ten years younger than she was, and was beautifully, even tastefully,
dressed.
She wore now, as she always did, a handsome-trimmed black costume of
the richest material, with a white cap of fine lace, slightly trimmed
with black, as a sign of widowhood, and jet ornaments, with a few
pearls among them.
'I do so long to see my dear little Maude!' exclaimed Roland.
'You have been in no hurry to do so,' said Mrs. Lindsay, with a cold
smile.
'My uncle at Merlwood was so hospitable,' replied Roland, reddening a
little. Could he say to Mrs. Lindsay that _her_ presence had kept
him away from Earlshaugh to the last moment, or refer to the new
influence of Annot Drummond on himself? 'By-the-bye,' said he
abruptly, 'I met a fellow at the door--Mr. Hawkey Sharpe by name, it
seems--who I understand has been installed here as a kind of steward
or general factotum.'
'What of him?'
'Only that I have made up my mind that he shall march from this, and
pretty quick too!'
'There may be some difficulties about that,' replied Mrs. Lindsay,
with a hectic flush crossing her pale cheek, and a sharp glitter in
her cold gray eyes.
'Difficulties--how? With old MacWadsett?'
'With more than him.'
'What do you mean? By Jove, we shall soon see.'
'What we shall _see_,' muttered Mrs. Lindsay under her sharp teeth;
but Roland, who could not be perfectly suave with her, now asked
sharply:
'Why was there not a vehicle--trap--phaeton, or anything else, sent
to meet me at the station?'
'Was there none?' she asked languidly.
'None--and I had to leave my luggage there.'
'Dear me--how negligent--eh, Fifine, was it not?' said she, toying
with the ears of her cur.
'Negligent, indeed,' added Roland, his brow darkening. 'Yet I read
your letter--or telegram was it?--to Mr. Sharpe.'
'You read my letter to--Mr. Sharpe?'
'At least that portion of it referring to your return.'
'Mr.--what's his name?--Sharpe had better act up to his cognomen
while I have to do with him. I am accustomed to be obeyed.'
'Like the Centurion in the Scriptures--dear me!'
'Exactly,' said Roland, feeling that there was mockery in her tone or
thoughts.
'If not?'
'We are accustomed to obedience in barracks, and enforce it. We have
the guard-house to begin with.'
'An institution unknown in Earlshaugh,' said she, with a curl on her
lips.
'I have a number of friends coming here to knock over the birds after
the 1st--you will please to order arrangements to be made for them.'
'A houseful--I have heard from Maude.'
'Not at all--only Elliot of ours, Skene of Dunnimarle, and one or two
more. My cousin Hester and Miss Drummond come too.'
'Must you do this--must I entertain them all?' said she with
something like dismay.
'You? Not at all! Let them alone--they will amuse themselves as
people in a country house always do. Young fellows and pleasant
girls generally contrive to cut out their own amusements.'
'I see so few people now that I shall be quite scared.'
'Let Maude act hostess then,' said Roland sharply, with a tone that
seemed to indicate he thought it more her place.
'Maude is but a little child in my eyes--and none can take my
position in Earlshaugh!' said Mrs. Lindsay firmly and pointedly; and
Roland, tired of an interview, the whole tenor of which provoked him,
and in which an undefined and ill-disguised hostility to himself was
manifested, looked at his watch and asked:
'Any chance of lunch, do you think?'
'Lunch?'
'Yes. When a fellow has travelled nearly forty miles in a morning,
and crossed the Firth, he wants something to pick him up.'
'Lunch is past already,' said Mrs. Lindsay stiffly; 'but ring the
bell, please.'
She made no attempt with effusive hospitality to rise from her seat.
That would have implied kindness, attention, and, more than all, it
would have involved exertion; and she was contriving now to be one of
those imperturbable creatures who never allow themselves to be
influenced or bored; and when Roland withdrew to the familiar
dining-room to partake of the meal, and where he was welcomed by
jolly old Simon Funnell, his father's rubicund butler, with shining
face and outstretched hands, she did not accompany him; nor did he
observe, when he left her, how her pale face expressed by turns
dread, defiance, hatred, and more!
One would have supposed that the mere difference of sex might have
affected her, and made her disposed to view favourably, and to greet
pleasantly at least, the only son of the man to whose folly she owed
so much--a handsome young fellow, whose face made even those of old
women brighten. But it was not so; and thus bitterly did Roland
Lindsay feel that his home-coming, with all its sense of irritation
and humiliation, was such that, but for Maude and those at Merlwood,
he would have regretted that he did not perish after Kashgate, when
he lay helpless in the desert, with the foul Egyptian vultures
hovering over him.