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Mrs. Lancaster’s Rival

Chapter XII. A Wet Day at Pensand

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Chapter XII. A Wet Day at Pensand.

After Dick was gone, a week of rainy weather came to St. Denys. The roses were dashed, and the lovely views were shrouded in mist. No one felt the change more than Mabel Ashley, in her prison at Pensand. While those broad sheets of rain were driving up from the sea, while the wind was howling round the old towers, the trees bowing their heads before it, and the flowers crouching and shivering, she had nothing to do but to sit and look out, and feel that as long as she had the garden there had been nothing really to complain of.

There she sat in the drawing-room window, with her hands before her, the saddest object in that sad anomaly, a wintry day in summer. It was really cold, but General Hawke had not suggested a fire, and those stern bright steel grates looked as if they did not know the meaning of the word. Mabel had soon perceived that, though he called her the mistress of his house, she must not presume to give any orders. Probably the General, who had a good blaze in his own study on every day but the hottest, never thought that any one so young could feel cold and damp in that handsome comfortable drawing-room.

As Mabel sat there she was busy thinking. She wondered whether this kind of thing was to go on for ever; did the General expect her to spend her life with him at Pensand? And why was she so disappointed, so unhappy? Well, he had been very kind to her when she first came, and he was very kind to her still, but page 112 somehow he seemed to have finished all his stories and all he had to say to her. He never interfered with her; she could do exactly as she pleased within the walls, but the worst of it was that she had nothing to do. She wished he would interfere with her more, would give her things to do for him. Then she was surprised to find that she half wished herself back at school.

Anthony Strange had been trying to teach her about flowers, to interest her in botany, but she had no turn for it. She liked the flowers themselves, but could not care about their structure; and when she confessed that, Anthony threw his book aside, and said that after all he was glad to hear it: a thing had not been made such a perfect and beautiful whole that we mortals might pull it to pieces for our instruction.

‘What becomes of science with such a notion as that?’ said the General rather contemptuously; he had lately taken to appearing whenever Anthony paid his visits.

‘I have nothing to do with science,’ said Anthony. ‘It is the enemy of true civilisation.’

This had happened just before the rainy weather had set in, and since then Mr. Strange had not been at the Castle. Mabel wondered why, and thought it rather unkind of him; he might know how lonely she was, and he was rather fond of being out on a stormy day.

‘Nobody cares for me, and I am left quite alone,’ thought Mabel to herself, as she sat there. ‘I can’t even write a letter to any one. O dear, how unhappy I am! I wish his aunt would come and see me again. I do believe she is kind, though she didn’t seem to like me much that day. Or if I might go to Carweston to stay with Mrs. Strange!’

With so few happy things to think about, perhaps it would have been unnatural if Dick’s sins had not been page 113 forgotten, and if the journey with him had not returned to the girl’s mind in all its pleasantness. But Mabel did not often indulge herself in thinking of it. That afternoon she could hardly get rid of it; and her sad little experience of life, the conviction that the nicest things were the most likely to be wrong and disappointing, brought a few tears to her eyes. She leaned forward and hid her face, very much ashamed of them. Poor discontented Mabel! The driving rain and wind prevented her from hearing a footstep on the gravel, and she did not at all know that somebody with a greatcoat and umbrella was standing outside looking on, while she was shaken by two or three sobs, the more violent for being repressed.

After watching her for a minute, the man with the umbrella turned quietly away, and walked off round the house. A few minutes later, a step in the library made Mabel start up and hastily dry her eyes. Then Randal Hawke opened the door and came in. He was looking singularly well and handsome; his eyes were bright, and he came forward and shook hands with Mabel in a very pleasant and cordial way.

‘I bring rain, don’t I?’ he said, ‘but this is more serious than the last. How frightfully wintry it is on the top of your mountain! and no fire! No wonder your hand is like an icicle.’

Randal rang the bell vigorously, and the butler appeared in astonishment.

‘This fire must be lighted at once, Stevens—When I come home they find that there is a master in the house,’ he said, laughing, to Mabel. ‘I make a point of being exigeant; it is good for them. Have you had this sort of thing for a week? How moped you must be!’

‘I think it began last Tuesday,’ said Mabel.

She had not yet made up her mind whether Randal’s society was better than none. Ten minutes later she page 114 was inclined to think that it was, when a great fire was blazing up, reflected in the steel, and flashing and dancing all over the room; when Randal had established her and himself in armchairs close to it, and had given his final orders to the butler, ‘Bring tea at once.’

‘Shall I tell the General you are here, sir?’ said Stevens.

‘No.’

Randal was much pleasanter than he had been on that former occasion. The bad weather seemed to have no depressing effect on him, and Mabel could not help being pleased at the attentive kindness with which he treated her. Her spirits rose as the fire blazed up. After gazing at it contentedly for a minute or two, she looked at him and smiled, and Randal saw that the odd little face could light up very brightly and sweetly.

‘It really was cold,’ she said.

‘Of course it was. One might as well be in the Arctic regions. No, don’t disturb yourself. I’ll give you your tea.’

Mabel watched him at the tea-tray, and thought with some amusement that those small hands of his were just fitted for their work.

‘Are you getting warmer? Or shall I fetch a railway rug and wrap you in it?’ asked Randal presently.

Mabel laughed quite merrily.

‘O no, thank you. I am quite warm already.’

‘To tell you the truth,’ said Randal, arranging himself comfortably in his armchair, ‘I came down to see how you were getting on. Do you ever have presentiments?’

‘No,’ said Mabel.

‘They are useful things sometimes. I had one two days ago. It said that Pensand was very dismal, especially in wet weather, and that its inmates were page 115 likely to die of cold and dulness. That unless I made haste to look after them, something serious would certainly happen. So I made my arrangements, and came. But certainly I did not expect to find you without a fire. Why didn’t you order one?’

‘I—did not know that I might,’ said Mabel.

‘Please to understand that while you are in this house the servants obey you. You must forgive my father. Old people are thoughtless and selfish; they can’t help it.’

‘If the General had thought of my being cold, I am sure he would—’ began Mabel rather indignantly.

‘Just as I said. He did not think. Neither does he think of your not being cheerful. Now, Miss Ashley, tell me—do you still think Pensand such a charming place; find yourself quite happy; want nothing beyond it?’

Mabel was silent.

‘Do you never find yourself bored, especially in wet weather? Now you are truthful, I’m sure, and you really can’t deny it,’ said Randal, bending forward and smiling.

‘It is my own fault,’ said Mabel. ‘I am not clever, and I have so few occupations.’

‘Poverina!’ said Randal under his breath. ‘Well, I can’t stand that, you know. I feel responsible for my father’s doings, and I can’t let him bore you to death. I hope you won’t be angry with me, but I brought you down a few books; novels, and so on. You must have read everything in the house by this time.’

‘Thank you. It is very kind indeed of you to think of it,’ said Mabel, flushing with pleasure.

After a minute Randal began again.

‘You must not think that my father means to neglect you. He is immensely fond of you. It would vex him beyond everything if he thought you were unhappy. And if I ask you to bear with him a little, page 116 you must remember it is not for very long. As soon as you are twenty-one you can say good-bye to Pensand.’

‘I never quite realised that before,’ said Mabel, opening her eyes very wide.

‘They certainly are remarkable. Only almost too big,’ thought her companion.

‘Yes, of course you can,’ he said. ‘The whole world will be before you.’

‘But I have nobody to live with, nowhere to go,’ sighed Mabel to herself. ‘O, don’t think I am unhappy here. The General is always kind. Only it is a little lonely sometimes, and I am very silly.’

‘I could tell you something, but you would never forgive me,’ said Randal.

‘What is it?’

‘You will promise not to like me any less? No, don’t say that would be impossible.’

‘I was not going to say anything of the kind,’ said Mabel, brightening up and laughing.

‘Thank you. Then let me confess. I came up to the window just now, when you were sitting there. To say that I was shocked, Miss Ashley, is a very mild word. I very nearly went straight to my father and collared him. But I thought I would try first what I could do to mend matters. I think I shall tell him as a warning—’

‘O, please, pray don’t!’ exclaimed Mabel, full of shame and distress. ‘I am so sorry. It was very naughty and silly of me, just like a child. Please, you must not tell him.’

‘I would not do anything to vex you,’ said Randal gravely. ‘Only don’t let it happen again. I know what it must be for you without any companion. I was afraid of it. My father, you see, will make a hermit of himself. I wonder, is there any one you would like page 117 to stay with you? I might make him agree to that, perhaps.’

Mabel thought over her only acquaintance, her schoolfellows.

One by one she fancied them laughing at her, quarrelling with her, gushing, talking nonsense, mimicking Miss Wrench behind her back. No; solitude was better than such society as theirs. She looked up at Randal and shook her head.

‘No,’ she said, ‘thank you. I have no friends. I would rather be alone.’

Randal stared, and stroked his moustache.

‘Then I don’t know what we can do,’ he said. ‘You can suggest nothing?’

‘O, not in this weather, of course; but if I might ever go out a little, I should like to see St. Denys and Carweston and the country.’

‘And Morebay and the sea,’ said Randal. ‘Yes, we must try what we can do. This time I can only spare one clear day; but in a week or two I shall be down again, and we will have some drives. I shall be too happy to show you the country.’

Mabel found that evening very pleasant. The General was delighted to have his son at home; he was very proud of him, Mabel thought. Everything in the house seemed to brighten up; the servants did their work more briskly, the General told his most amusing stories, and Randal’s comments were more amusing still. He was very quiet, though so full of life. He scarcely ever laughed, and all his movements were deliberate and graceful; he spoke slowly, moved his eyes slowly, but said everything he meant to say, and saw all that there was to be seen. He was very agreeable, and showed none of the cynicism that had shocked Mabel on her first acquaintance with him. A much more worldly woman might have been flattered by his marked page 118 attention to herself. Still she did not feel quite happy or quite comfortable, and, though she listened and was amused, felt as if she had nothing to say. She could not chatter naturally to Randal and his father as she could to Anthony. She was aware of the difference, though she did not understand it; for certainly Randal seemed quite as much interested in her happiness as Anthony.