The Admiral's Daughter (4 page)

Such had been her attitude throughout her life, and, while she had lived twenty-two years very happily with the philosophy, she had now to regret it.

“What an awkward wretch they shall think me!” she lamented. And with such kinds of self-criticisms and worries she passed an hour in futile misery. But Maggie was a girl so little given to regretting what she could not change, and her disposition was so inclined to happiness, that more than an hour she could not give to such remonstrations. At the end of that time she stood up with a determined light in her hazel eyes and a mischievous smile on her lips.
Glancing into the mirror, she held up the unfortunate jonquil silk once more, and proceeded to do a fast jig about her bedroom. At the end of this exercise she was laughing inwardly, and her face was animated with amusement. Stopping now before her glass, she made a grimace at her own reflection, which returned to her the sight of a young lady radiant with good health and a joy in living, her thick auburn hair coming down a little from its pins, her hazel eyes dancing, and her generous mouth curved up at the corners.

She would not make herself miserable on
their
account any longer! What, was she to feel ashamed, only because she had never cared enough about what she wore to have a closet full of gowns in the latest style? Was she to lament the fact that she was not an expert, either at the pianoforte or the drawing table? No! What were such accomplishments in comparison with a warm heart and a desire to be liked? “Let them take me as they find me!” she declared out loud. “I shan't do anything to make them think better of me in that vein. If they count fashion and music above common courtesy to their relations, I shall not mind being despised by them!”

So saying, she set about her packing with a renewed vigor and good humor. Having once decided to do nothing extraordinary in the way of improvements to her wardrobe, Maggie almost went so far as to turn away one gown for the fault of its possessing too many silk ribbons, which very nearly made it verge upon the stylish. If, in the natural defiance of her temperament and her loyalty to the Admiral, she was a little more determined to dislike her cousin than she might have been, one very great advantage of the journey did occur to her. Mr. Wayland, for all his avowals that he should not plague her any more, had been nearly as omnipresent as he had been before his proposal. To be sure, he had not called at the manor house, but Maggie had not been able to walk into the village without seeing his resentful countenance. On the previous Sunday he had walked right past her in church without so much as a glance, but his face was so full of his feelings that Maggie would really have preferred one of his lectures. To be removed from
that
would be a comfort indeed, and she hoped that by the time she returned from her visit he might have forgotten his bitterness and forgiven her.

There was much to do in preparation for the journey, for Maggie had the whole house to see to, and the servants must be given instructions for the period of her absence. Nearly a fortnight was required for this, and one day—nearly the last one before she was to quit Sussex—a servant came to her as she was in the storeroom with the housekeeper.

“Mr. Wayland is here from the village to see you, miss,” said the maid. Startled, Maggie demanded if this was really the case. She could not conceive of his pride allowing him to visit her so soon after he had been rejected. Only the most urgent business could have brought him, she was sure. Thinking there must have been some death, or that an illness had broken out among the local residents, she went upstairs without pausing to tidy her hair or change her frock.

Mr. Wayland was waiting in the morning room. His manner, as he bowed, was stiff and formal, and the elaborations of his greeting so pointed that they seemed to be meant as a punishment. Hemming and hawing for a shorter time than usual, however, the Vicar commenced:

“I should not have intruded upon you, Miss Trevor,” said he, in the self-important tone which was his wont, “if I had not had a great piece of news to impart. I would not for all the world have disturbed you in any other case.”

Maggie murmured that she would never consider the Vicar an intruder.

“How kind you are!” declared the clergyman, but with a look that contradicted his utterance. “You were not once so kind,” his eyes seemed to say, but, much to Maggie's relief, his lips were soon occupied in saying something else.

“I came, in short, merely to tell you, for I thought you might still have some interest in the case, that I have received the living I mentioned to you.”

“How very fortunate for you!” cried Maggie. “But I do not recall any such living. Perhaps you did not mention it to me?”

Mr. Wayland was very sure he had mentioned it, mentioned it, in fact, at some length and in detail. But he only smiled icily, and said, “Oh! I thought you knew all about it. It is the very living I had hoped for, and now, through a lucky stroke, I have got it just at the time I wished most to be removed from the neighborhood.”

This last was muttered with an accusing look, and Maggie saw at once that the chief purpose of the interview was intended to be a punishment of herself.

“How delightful! I hope it is a good situation?”

“As excellent a one as I could wish,” pronounced the Vicar primly. “Indeed, even had I not the
desire
to live elsewhere, I should have been happy to take it, for the post itself is among the most important in the vicinity of London, and the family one of the finest in the whole kingdom. The park and grounds are, as I believe I mentioned, most beautiful. The castle is ancient, but has many modern conveniences, and the whole situation is so advantageous for a man of my tastes that I am quite overjoyed. The lady of the family is, besides, so exceedingly condescending, such an elegant personage in every wise, that she has offered me the use of the park at any time, and hinted that I shall be almost a member of the family.”

“How very fortunate for you!” cried Maggie, as warmly as she could. “It will be a great thing to have such friends in a new home. And where is the living to be held?”

“In the county of Essex!”

“In Essex!” Maggie had just been considering the irony of fate, which was to remove Mr. Wayland from the vicinity just when she had no need of his removal. “What a coincidence, for I go to Essex myself the day after tomorrow, on a visit to my cousins.”

The coincidence struck Mr. Wayland as ironic, too. However, since he was now in a position to patronize his old inamorata, he determined to be generous.

“How astonishing! It is likely your cousins will not be within easy reach of my new living, or I should certainly invite you to drive in our park. I think you would be most pleased with it, for the land has been laid out very cleverly.”

Maggie expressed her regret that, since she would certainly be occupied a great deal with her relatives, she could not take advantage of such a generous invitation. Mr. Wayland passed a quarter of an hour enumerating all the many points on which he might be congratulated for obtaining so choice a living, and when he felt he had punished Miss Trevor enough, he rose to go. His manner seemed to relent a little at the door, however, for as he had his hand upon the knob, he turned around and inquired in what part of Essex Miss Trevor would be.

“I go to Ramblay Castle, near Debbens,” replied Maggie, not at all displeased, after all Mr. Wayland's boasting, to be able to claim her relatives as inhabiting a castle themselves.

But Mr. Wayland appeared to have been taken suddenly ill. His small eyes grew round in disbelief, what little color there had been in his cheeks drained away, and clutching at his heart, he spluttered—“Ramblay! Good God! It is the very location of my living!”

Three

THE FIRST PART
of Maggie's journey to Essex was accomplished without incident. Riding in the comfort of her father's chaise, with her own coachman at the reins and her maid beside her, there was little to occupy her mind save the passing scenery and a general apprehension at the prospect of meeting her cousins. It had been arranged that Lord Ramblay's carriage should meet her halfway, at the posting house at Dartmoor, and as the chaise clattered its way over the potholes of the Great North Road, raising behind it a huge cloud of dust, her uneasiness increased. Now at last she would see for herself what kind of man the Viscount was—whether his letter had been, as her father claimed, tempered by a natural restraint of manner or whether, as she really hoped was not the case, he was really just the kind of cold, indifferent man as his style of writing made him seem.

Gradually the verdant undulations of the Sussex countryside, with its clay hills and misty pastures, began to give way to a different kind of view. The farther north they progressed, the more regulated the landscape became. Flatter and more cultivated than that of Sussex, it seemed to have fallen a great deal under the ordering influence of man. Where the south had been soft and wild, here the neat fields and meadows were layed out in regular patches of color, with only the intermittent interruption of a narrow stream or woodsy copse. The day had dawned very clear and fine, with one or two wispy clouds in the azure expanse of sky. Maggie, who had traveled little over this part of the country, watched the changing scene with fascination.

The posting house at Dartmoor was among the busiest in all of England. Situated just at the junction of the Great North Road and the Bath Highway, it attracted
every kind of conveyance going either north or west, to London or the Midlands. As the Admiral's chaise drew toward it, a great hum of activity became visible. Post boys, vaulting off their lathered mounts, paused barely long enough to catch a breath before leaping onto fresh horses and tearing off again. Chaises for hire, elegant private equipages, and two stage coaches crowded the yard, while the various coachmen, some in livery, some in the crudest leather jerkins, shouted orders with equal bravado to an ostler leaning up against a post. The ostler was evidently more fascinated by the droning of some flies than all their impatience. Almost at once Maggie's ears were assaulted with a din of voices and her nostrils with an equally riotous concoction of odors. As they turned into the yard, a servant in yellow livery stepped before the horses, nearly causing them to bolt and bringing forth an incoherent volley of abuse from the coachman. But in short order they had driven into the yard and taken their place in the line of carriages waiting for fresh teams.

The yard was so full, and the likelihood of finding Lord Ramblay's chaise amid the fray so slim—if indeed it had arrived at all—that Maggie determined upon taking some refreshment in the coffee room while they waited. A sign above the door advertising the finest of beverages and viands to be found anywhere in the kingdom had evidently done its work; the entranceway was crammed to overflowing with bodies of every description waiting for a place at one of the overloaded tables. There seemed little hope that Maggie and her maid would secure seats, but in a moment the landlord of the inn, recognizing a lady traveling with her servant, had procured them a place near the window, through which they could observe the hubbub without.

Cider and some slices of mutton were brought forth and quickly devoured, for they had begun their journey at daybreak and it was now past three o'clock. Much improved by this nourishment, Maggie leaned back to watch the hum of activity about her. It had been a full year since she had seen so much humanity all in one place and the sight was immensely diverting. She was a great lover of every form of life; no pastime pleased her half so well as observing the lowest and loftiest kinds of human beings all going about their business, with all the peculiarities and eccentricities of their natures. It seemed to her that elevation of
station had no effect upon man's foibles, and for this fact she was very grateful, being fonder of laughter than almost any other activity she could think of.

Thus occupied, she had whiled away a quarter of an hour in a most delightful fashion when her eye, chancing to stray in the direction of the door, lit upon the figure of a man who was leaning in the entranceway. The gentleman—for his dress, though dusty from traveling, proclaimed him to be one—had evidently been staring at her intently. Maggie flushed a little at the smiling admiration in his eyes, and turned away. But the gentleman apparently felt no such embarrassment. He continued to watch her with half a smile, and when she glanced back again in several moments, held her gaze with his own. Maggie was not so displeased as she might have been: the gentleman was in no wise impudent, but so merry-looking, so fair and tall and brown, that it was clear he felt only an open admiration for her. Maggie smiled at him, and he smiled back. His regular features were lit up in a delightful look of pleasure. But now Maggie saw him signal to the innkeeper, who came over at once, and the two were bent together in conversation. Maggie's gaze returned to the scene in the yard.

But in a moment the gentleman and the landlord were standing at her side, and with a very civil bow and a disarming apology, the gentleman wished to know if he might be allowed to share her table. There were no other vacant chairs in all the house, and the gentleman, who had ridden that morning all the way from Portsmouth, had still three hours left in his journey. With another bow, and a boyish grin, he admitted to being “exceeding starved” and claimed no other state but the direst danger of starvation could have persuaded him to intrude upon her so unceremoniously.

Maggie had been feeding hungry sailors all her life. She could not now deny a man at once so pleasant and so civil. The news that he had come from her old home made her doubly generous, and in a moment the gentleman was ensconced beside her. He astonished her at once by introducing himself as Captain Morrison.