The Admiral's Daughter (18 page)

Pondering this, Maggie walked closer and ascended the steps. She stood for a while wondering why it was not in use any longer, until a thought struck her, and she sat down upon one of the benches. To be sure! It was here that her cousin would come with his lady, on his infrequent visits to the castle. Here they would walk, conversing about the time they had been parted, and here the innocent Lady Ramblay would hope every moment for a tender embrace. Suddenly something caught Maggie's eye: a shining object under the bench across from which she now sat. Leaning down to pick it up, she saw at once what it was. She held in her hand a tiny pair of scissors, of the kind kept by ladies in their reticules for needlework. It was all made of silver, with inlay of gold and mother of pearl, a most enchanting little instrument. Turning it over, she descried upon the side the tiny initials, ALR. Indeed, it must have belonged to Lady Ramblay!

Maggie remembered all at once the tapestries hanging all over the lower part of the castle. What better occupation could there be for a wife confined to the solitude of the country, without the benefit of her husband's company, than such labor? The picture was now fleshing itself out, and all at once Maggie had a vision of a scene, enacted in this very place, some years before.

Lord Ramblay would have returned from one of his long visits to town. Lady Ramblay, having patiently waited for him, would joyfully greet him. He would be cold, indifferent, to all her longing looks and silent pleas. Together they would walk through the park to the summer house, where Lord Ramblay would make some cold inquiries of how she had passed the time since last he saw her.
The stoical replies (for in Maggie's mind Lady Ramblay was as steadfast of heart as she was fragile of appearance) would bring forth a nod or two. Lady Ramblay would then make some eager inquiries of her husband. How were their friends, what had he done, had he been amused? It would be more and more apparent that they had nothing to say to each other, until finally Lady Ramblay—who had been working silently upon her tapestry—could bear it no longer. She would throw down her scissors, in a rare outburst of emotion, and begin to weep. Whereupon, the hard-hearted Lord Ramblay would—why, what would he do? Certainly he would lecture her, perhaps even strike her! The thought brought an angry flush to Maggie's cheek. She would like to have struck him back, to defend his defenseless lady. She was just considering what
she
would have done in such a case, when the sound of step nearby made her jump.

Whirling around, she was just in time to see a man's figure advancing through the trees. With the sudden realization that she still held the scissors in her hand, she just had time to drop them in the pocket of her cloak when Lord Ramblay spoke.

It must be said in Maggie's defense that she felt exceeding foolish upon staring down into that face. So eminently sensible, so exceeding amiable an expression did Lord Ramblay wear that she instantly regretted the vividness of her imagination. And when he expressed his astonishment at finding her there, without any trace of the guilt appropriate in a man whose great secret has just been found out, she was doubly ashamed of herself.

“Why, Cousin!” exclaimed he, “you have found out my favorite hiding place! It is admirably suited to quiet contemplation, is it not?”

Maggie blushed and agreed that it was.

“But, Lord Ramblay, I hope I have not intruded upon it.”

“Quite the contrary. I only come here now and again to be alone and think.”

“Then I am afraid I have prevented your doing so today.”

Lord Ramblay smiled as he ascended the stairs.

“Think nothing of it, Miss Trevor. I am not so much
in need of solitude as of escape from my work. Today I have been laboring at the accounts with my steward, who is a most demanding fellow and impatient with mistakes. I had infinitely rather sit here with you for a while than anything.”

“But I am sure you only say so to be civil,” said Maggie, beginning to stand up. “I will just continue my walk and leave you alone in your sanctuary.”

Now Lord Ramblay reached out a hand to prevent her going and declared that no sanctuary was so perfect that it could not be improved upon by the company of an intelligent woman. Maggie was well pleased with this compliment, and took her seat again.

“It is a delightful little building,” said she, glancing around her. “What a pity it is not better cared for! It could not be very old——”

“No, it is not. It was built only six years ago, for my wife. I was married at one time, you know.”

Lord Ramblay had turned away a little, and his expression was unreadable.

“Yes, I have heard,” murmured Maggie. “I am very sorry for you; for I know your wife died very young.”

“Oh! Do not be sorry for me, Cousin! Heaven, everyone is sorry for me!”

Had it been Maggie's imagination, or had he spoken angrily? In an effort to ease the situation, she replied, “I am sorry, then, if I have made you think of it again.”

Lord Ramblay had stood up, and walking toward a railing, stared out into the trees for a moment. But suddenly his expression changed, as if he had determined to forget the subject, and with a determined cheerfulness, he said, “Pity is not of much use to anyone, Cousin. And in any case, there is nothing to be sorry for. I was married barely three years, and my wife, who was ever of a fragile constitution, was carried away by a lung fever. Such is life. But tell me, how is your father?”

Lord Ramblay inquired civilly into the Admiral's health and happiness, and seemed to hear Maggie's replies with very real interest.

“I am glad to hear that your father is so well,” said he, after a little, “for I have found it is often the case with very active men, who have been used to taking a great part in life, to be discontented with retirement. They grow
irritable and depressed, dwelling in the past and bitterly resenting their diminishing strength.”

“Well, then you need have no fear,” laughed Maggie, “for such is not the case with Papa, I can assure you! Irritable he sometimes may be, but only because he detests country amusements. But save for his writing, no man could dwell less in the past. As to bitterness and resentment, he bitterly opposes every sort of foolishness, and resents those who would make him join in theirs!”

“I am glad to hear you say so,” smiled Lord Ramblay. “And yet I believe there is
one
part of his past he cannot forget so easily as you claim.”

Maggie understood where her cousin was leading, and said quickly, “I think you are wrong, sir! My father is certainly stubborn in some things, but he is very quick to forgive and forget, once he has set his mind to it.”

“Ah—once he has set his mind to it,” murmured Lord Ramblay, thinking of the letter he had written four years before which had never been answered. “And perhaps that requires a great while.”

“No longer than it requires some others!” responded Maggie archly.

Her cousin gave her a puzzled glance, and would have protested had not Maggie, who had suddenly remembered her first reason for disliking the Viscount, already risen from her bench and proposed returning to the castle.

Neither spoke during their return. Maggie had been brought up against her initial prejudice, and angered by the Viscount's insinuation that it had been her own father who had put off the reparation of their quarrel, she was determined to say nothing more. The thought of her father's face when he had told her of the invitation from the Ramblays, of his great earnestness in wishing her to accept, and of his own letter, made her turn her head away from Lord Ramblay in dislike as they walked.

As to the gentleman, he was too much confused by this young lady to know what he
could
say. His solicitude for the Admiral had been genuine and, had not he been reproved by Miss Trevor, he would shortly have made some allusion to his first letter. He had long been troubled by her father's silence, and wished to know what had inspired it. The letter had been, in his own estimation, everything it should have been. It had striven to bridge the gap imposed
by a family feud, and yet had not unjustly blamed his own father. It had regretted certain qualities of stubbornness and intractability in the older man's judgment without denigrating his real family loyalty. Yet he had received no reply for four years, until that peculiar missive from the Admiral had arrived. This last had been such a reversal of mood that it instantly raised his suspicions. Had Lord Ramblay been less eager to end the quarrel, he might have ignored it, upon seeing that its purpose was nothing more than to advance the daughter's situation. Indeed, had not his mother urged him to ignore it, just as Admiral Trevor had ignored
his
letter? The letter had made Lady Ramblay sneer and exclaim at its vulgarity. It had made her swear she would never like Miss Trevor, and had convinced her that both the Admiral and his daughter were nothing but social-climbing hypocrites. Lord Ramblay himself had felt some hesitancy, but at last he had replied, offering the invitation to go to Town with them. If he had wondered what sort of young woman would appear and had at first determined to be no more than civil in his treatment of her, he had been amazed by his first glimpse of Maggie Trevor. Her very brusqueness pleased him, so far was it removed from the insipidity of the ladies he had known. Her arch, pert manner, while annoying sometimes, often delighted him, and the candor of her eyes, which never stooped to the kind of maidenly flutterings and other tricks so often resorted to by tonnish women, never ceased to cause a flutter in his heart. Here indeed was a woman worthy of the name, here indeed was a woman to be reckoned with. He could not help believing that her excessive bluntness and all-knowing air might be cured by the right masculine teacher, and when they were a little curbed, she would be the most delightful creature in the world. She had courage and resolution—that he had seen when she had been helping the surgeon to tend young Montcrieff. Her mind was quick and agile and, if she was not an absolute beauty, her handsomeness was of a kind almost more pleasing than perfection. She was tall and walked well, and her features were enhanced by such radiant health and good humor that it was impossible to see her without smiling.

Lord Ramblay could not guess what had angered Maggie, but he had patience enough even for
her
moods. Determining to outlast her vexation, he walked silently beside
her. A glance at that pert face, now lifted in disdain, made him smile. Her anger had made her flush, and lifted her chin in so delightful a fashion that he would not have disturbed the mood for all the world.

As they came within view of the castle, Maggie stopped and gazed ahead of her.

“I hope you approve the architect's work?” inquired Lord Ramblay after a moment.

Feeling herself teased, Maggie did not reply. Nodding her head, she remarked, “I have not seen it from this view before. I see now where my own bedchamber is—” pointing to the northern wing—“but what is in the other wing? I do not believe I have been there.”

“It is all closed up,” replied Lord Ramblay, beginning to walk on. “We have not used it since my wife died. There are some memories better left untapped.”

Maggie glanced at her companion. His face was set, and the pleasant smile had given way to a frigid look. It passed over her mind, just as they reached the steps, that perhaps she had not exaggerated her idea of what had passed between the Viscount and his wife.

Thirteen

MR. WAYLAND ARRIVED
at the vicarage and in due course made his visit to Ramblay Castle. In actual fact, he had not been in the little house above an hour, had barely glanced at his chapel and tried out his new pulpit before sending for a clean cravat and striking out across the park. Had he a wife and family he should have waited to be called upon by the lady of the castle and her son, but as it was, there was no custom to stand upon. Glancing into the mirror to assure himself his pate was shining and several strands of hair well plastered over the balding place, he took up his hat and stick and set forth.

Maggie was summoned from her apartment shortly after her return to receive the curate with the Viscountess. She found them already established in the morning room, and from the posture of one and the gratified expression of the other, guessed Mr. Wayland's work was already well begun. She was not far off the mark, for upon walking toward them she heard the curate remark—

“I am exactly of your persuasion, ma'am. There is little opportunity in such a place for a clergyman to exercise his best powers. Where there are no people of discrimination, the greatest orator upon earth shall not move them.”

“Quite,” agreed Lady Ramblay, plucking at the fur of a Pekingese beside her, “but are there not one or two families you could address yourself to? Admiral Trevor——”

“Ah, yes, my good friend Trevor,” the curate cut her off, waving a thin hand in a gesture of dismissal, “
he
is not so bad as the rest. Still, he is a Navy man; I could not hope for such delicacy from
him
as from a great lady like yourself.”

Lady Ramblay accepted this tribute with a stately wag of her head, and Wayland leered back at her happily.

It was just at this moment that the Viscountess looked up, and seeing Maggie, beckoned her toward them. The young lady was in such a tumult of suppressed laughter, delight at the sight of these two salving each other's vanity, and a hope of drawing forth more along the same lines, that she nearly threw her arms about the clergyman.