Hertford's Trust.

Otago Witness, Issue 1670, 24 November 1883, Page 25

Hertford's Trust.

By Bdwabd T. Fbiokkb,

Chapter 111. In the North.

RAFEBS knew very little of its present owner, Gerald Hertford, for many excellent reasons, and it bad known equally little of several previous owners. The place had its own unlovely exterior and , surroundings to thank for moat of its unpopularity, and its lonely situation for the rest. No one but an Anchorite would willingly live at Crafers, save, of course,' during' the early part of tho grouse season. and even an Anchorite who was at all fastidious as to his habitat, would have demanded repairs before taking up a permanent residence there, The building was of dull greystone, crumbling away in many places from age. What had formerly been a turret at one angle had fallen in absolute ruins, and no attempt had been made at renovation. In fact, the sound portion of the building was found amply sufficient for the accommodation of an elderly housekeeper, and the few guests that found tbeir way to Craters during the past ten years. Such guests came merely for the shooting, and they blazed away assiduously for ten hours out of the twenty-four. On their return they were wearied and hungry, and if-the food was plentiful and the whisky good, they looked for nothing more. Crafers was not actually among the fells. It stood upon a rather steep eminence in the midst of a wide moorland country. The outlook was depressingly monotonous, nothing being visible but a billowy expanse of dark coloured slopes and ridges, destitute of landmarks, as cheerless a type of Westmoreland scenery as could be found. _ It was along the rough winding road leading to this retreat that Annette Maturin followed her reverend guide not many days after their first meeting at Dunkerque. She was dresßed simply and plainly, but was beautiful, with more than ordinary beauty in Mr Wycherley s eyes, by reason of her very BimplKaty, He mentally compared her to

I Aenid walking along in her faded silk, and thought the comparison particularly happy aud appropriate. As a matter of fact, tbe curate was somewhat surprised to find himself upon such pleasant terms with the brown eyed girl who looked ho serious, 30 geutle, and so honest. It had taken him some considerable portion of their journey to discover that she did look all this, and now that it was discovered, he felt faintly surprised and extremely ! proud of his own discernment. On board the steamer he had remarked to her : " I do not think we can be strangers, Miss Maturin, after all. I feel as if I would like to show you Bethnal Green, and tell you all about my perplexities." She smiled and said with the almost undißtinguishable French accent which certainly sounded charming: " People cannot well remain strangers if one commences by showing kindness to the other at the outset. I will go to Bethnal Green and you shall tell me your perplexities," The parson shook his head regretfully. How much would this slip of a girl understand about the youthful roughs who might even now be maltreating the Rev. Mr Barmecide? How much would she understand about the denizens of those foul alleys who were his chiefest source of trouble ? Certainly it would be better that she should understand nothing about these things. He must find some other method of interesting her. And to his own surprise he succeeded in the attempt. He told her about Gerald the man, and Gerald the boy. Of their early days together, — their long friendship, and their adventures. The Rev. John warmed with his subject until his natural bashfulness was forgotten, and his awkwardness of speech and manner vanished. It might easily be that Mr Wycherley in the pulpit was a startling contrast to Mr Wycherloy out of it. And Anne 0 twas not easily wearied. She listened with the very faintest colour on her cheek to the praises of the same Captain Gerald Hertford, who had taken so unjustifiable *a liberty with that cheek a Bhort time back. As she listened, the dingy little room near the quay at Dunkerque rose before her, and in her immagination that hurried and altogether unpardonable scene was enacted over again. The cessation of her companion's talk recalled her to things present. " I don't think you were listening," he said. Annette protested that she was, and protested to fervently that Mr Wycherley, rather amazed at his skill as a recounter, rattled on again. And then Bhe told him in a quiet voice parts of her own story — a rather sad story thought the parson (who had heard many sadder), and very simply told. Bug in her remarks there was little about her brother, and that little was vague and conveyed next to nothing. When pressed, too, she became silenfc, and Mr Wycherley, disappointed, asked no more. Still, some understanding, almost amounting, to friendship, had sprung up between them, aud he looked forward to his short visit to Crafers with less uneasiness, and none of the dread which had at first possessed him. With young Maturin little progress had certainly been made, but then he had, rather to the curate's relief, left the party at the last station and ridden on by himself. Thus Mr Wycherley and his charge were jolted together over the uneven roads, and were now strolling together over the moor towards Crafers — to tell the truth, rather enjoying their tfte-d-ttte. But . however Annette's spirits might have risen during the journey, they sank again within sight of the chill, desolate building that was to be her home. 11 very deep set window seemed to scowl at her from beneath the heavy masonry ; and the dark portico through which she must enter scowled too. In the shadow of the porch stood Franjois Maturin, his attitude half sulky, half defiant, as was his wont, and close by him stood a girl dressed in a neatly fitting riding habit. She was a pretty girl, as Annette observed ; healthy in figure and complexion, but just at present her lace wore an embarrassed and troubled expreesion. She had her long skirt gathered in one hand as though she were about to go, and it did not require a second glance at the couple to tell that the presence of young Maturin was distasteful. Annette saw it, but said nothing. The parson saw it also, and hastened to the rescue of the young lady, whom he introduced as Miss Nelly Grahame, cousin to Captain Hertford. "Mr Wycherley," she said, " how many years is it since I have seen you ? I have been waiting now on the chance of your coming until it is nearly dark, and poor old Wildfire has been waiting round at the stable, too, all this time, saddled and bridled, with nothing to eat or drink, and no one to talk to. Now that you are come, safe and sound — and Miss Maturin, too" — hero she bowed pleasantly — "I must run away and renew our acquaintance another time." " But why are you here ? How did you know ?" stammered Mr Wyche r ley. " I knew by a letter from Gerald which reached me only yesterday. He told -me that Miss Maturin was coming, and her brother " — the speaker studiously avoided gazing in the cub's direction — " and hea3ked me particularly to ride over and see that things were put into ■something like order. lam glad I did', for poor old Mrs Brent had done nothing, and I don't think she know that anything would have to be done. Good-bye, Miss Maturin ; good-bye, Mr Wycherley. I will come over in a few days' time and see whether you are comfortably settled, and whether I can do anything to help you." And she tripped hastily away. " Stop !" cried the parson. "Nelly — I mean Miss Grahame — I will go with you." " Come, then," she said, with a little imperious motion of her head ; and the brother and sister were left alone. Maturin sent a harsh, discordant laugh after the pair, and, turning abruptly upon his heel, entered the house. Annette followed him, not without some inward trepidation, and passed through the spacious flagged hall into the dining-room. A gloomy place, with massive furniture of stained oak, that gave the whole apartment a sombre, comfortless appearance. Maturin flung himself into one of the deep armchairs, and growled out something uncomplimentary to the place and its owner. "It does seem dreary at first, Frangois," she said with a slight involuntary shudder, " But no one has been living here for a long time. You heard what Captain * Hertford said?" "Yes," he snarled, " I heard what Captain Hertford said, and I heard more than he said, and understood it, too. You, Annette, are a fool. Perhaps if the master were living: here you would not find the place dreary at all." The girl faced him quickly, with a flush more of anger than confusion, and as he saw the flush her brother laughed again, as he had laughed on the steps a few minutes' before. If there was any pleasantry in his composition it was of the grimmest description. " I am not blind, my sister ; though it is quite possible that you and others wish I were."

Annette fixed her eyes upon him with a look very much akin to scorn. "It is cowardly and unjust to speak so. If you thought all this, why did we come here?" " You shall know that afterwards. We did not come to oblige Gerald Hertford. Here is another of his humble servants come to show you your room. She is a grade lower than you and I — you had better go with her. I will talk to you another time " Annette confronted a thin, middle-aged woman, with a rigid faoa almost destitute of expression. She did not speak at the moment, fearing that her voice might betray the tears she was struggling so hard to repress, but she j followed submissively and in silonce. They ! ascended the broad staircase, passed along an echoing corridor, and the housekeeper opened a door leading into a suite of two rooms. "These," so said," were Mr Gerald's in the old time before he left England." They had been prepared for Miss Maturin as the least dilapidated rooms in the house. Those were [ the orders received. Annette looked around. The sitting-room was rather bare of furniture, but there were indicaii ms that it might in its day have been a snug bachelor's retreat. Tho walls^ were still decorated with some rusty horse pibtols and other old-fashioued arms, a couple ot fishing rods carefully spliced, and some sporting prints. The whole atmqsphere of the apartment was strange to Annette, but there was one thing quite plain about the arrangement. Captain Hertford was not in the habit of honouring Crafers with his presence, and he did not intend to, or surely his own rooms would bo reserved for him. Her heart sank at the prospect of the long, desolate monthsor years she would be required to spend alone with her brother in that place. " Did Captain Hertford tell you himself that 1 was to take these rooms ?" she asked, half hoping that there might be some mistake or misunderstanding. ".He wrote and told Miss Grahame so." All the girl's hitherto stifled curiosity leapt to her lips. Who was Miss Grahame, thip pleasant-looking girl in the riding habit to whom Captain Hertford wrote on their behalf ? Why shohld she be entrusted with the arrangements at Crafers? Some such question she addressed to her attendant, and the latter an swered it with matter-of-fact brevity. Miss Grahame was a cousin of Captain Hertford's who lived some dozen miles away, beyond Appleby. They had seen a great deal of one another years ago when Mr Gerald spent more time in the north, and people Baid they were to be married some day. This was the only piece of gossip retailed by the prim housekeeper, and Annette pressed her for no more. She was conscious of a choking sensation that was not exactly indignation, and not exactly regret. Only the [ memories associated with the tall figure whose I acquaintance they had made at Dunkerque, suddenly changed from pleasant memories to bitter ones, and aa they changed the whole aspect of Crafers changed with them. If it had baen gloomy before if; was doubly gloomily now. The chill rooms and the barren prospect seemed ominous of misfortune to come. She wished, rnoi-p fervently than she would have believed possible a few hous ago, that the were back in their mean lodging at Dunkerque ; she thought ot the English home in which she had passed her childhood, and contrasted ib with the strange building, half ruined without and wholly desolate without. It was dusk now, — almost dark. The housekeeper had paused for a few moments, and then left the room. As her footfall died away along the i)ass'age, Annette leant forward upon the rickety table and sobbed. The immediate reason of her tears she would have found it hard to explain. She was weary, sick at heart, and consumed by an overwhelming desire to leave this place, the home of Gerald Hertford, and go where she might be free and, above all things, alone. Nothing that happened there, in that atmosphere of depiession and wretchedness, could tie to her good ; everything might happen to her mischief. She would go while there was still the chance. She would leave Crafers, I with its gloomy corridors and cold empty rooms — she would leave the memory of that stranger with his careless manner and kindly voice — dhe would leave the cousin, her riding habit, and her horse Wildfire. She would go where there should be none of these. Perhaps it would have been better for Annette if Bhe had done so. [ As it was she raised her flushed face, more winning and handsome in its trouble than it had been in its unmoved seriousness, and sped hastily to the doorway. She was for the moment aglow with sudden resolution. Her brother's arguments or his anger should not shake her. But alas ! at the head of the staircase she came unexpectedly upon her brother and, with him, Mr Wycherley, who had been kind and considerate, and whom she had in trutli forgotten. Annette's trouble, which had a moment before been unendurable, and her determination which had been supreme, yielded slightly to embarrassment. _ She was tear-stained, dishevelled, aud excited. _ All tbia she was acutely aware of, even without the information conveyed in tbe curate's astonished look. " Miss Maturin ! what has happened? Is anything wrong ? I hope " He stopped abruptly. The spectacle of -;Enid in distress was more than the Rev. John could endure to gaze upon. This was not the kind of encounter that Annette had been prepared to face. She could not pour out her nameless sorrows and confide ker forebodings to the sympathising clergyman. She must wait, and she must meanwhile silence her questioner. " Nothing is really the matter ; but I am not well this evening. I feel tired and out of sorts, and was going to tell Francois not to expect' me down-stairs again." Annette did not look at her brother whilst delivering the hackneyed formula, but he gazed at her attentively, observing every telltale sign in her appearance, and marking every inflection of her voice. It seemed natural to this man to be ever watchful, ever alert, and almost suspicious. " You are tired, Annette, with your journey — there is nothing strange about that. I expected as much, and you will be wise not to come down again." The words were simple enough, but there was the usual covert sneer in the tone, and the Rev. Mr Wyeherley, in an unchristian spirit, felt that he almost hated the speaker. Annette went back to her room without another word of farewell, but she left hoy newly -made acquaintance in the first blush of an interesting discovery. He had found out that this grave princess, for all her usual unruffled calm, was not happy. The Rev. John was an enterprising, although in some respects a backward man ; and he determined next to find out why.