CHAPTER III.--THE CRADLE LIFE OF WILD EVE.
Eighteen years before the date of this story, two brothers had partedwith angry words. They were both in love with the same woman, and theyounger brother had won. The elder brother, only one year his senior,could not stand defeat.
"I cannot stay in the old place," he said. "You can occupy the Castleduring my absence."
To this arrangement Edward Wynford agreed.
"Where are you going?" he said to his brother Frank.
"To the other side of the world--Australia probably. I don't know when Ishall return. It does not much matter. I shall never marry. The estatewill be yours. If Lady Frances has a son, it will belong to him."
"You must not think of that," said Edward. "I will live at the Castlefor a few years in order to keep it warm for you, but you will comeback; you will get over this. If she had loved you, old man, do youthink I would have taken her from you? But she chose me from the veryfirst."
"I don't blame you, Ned," said Frank. "You are as innocent of anyintention of harm to me as the unborn babe, but I love her too well tostay in the old country. I am off. I don't want her ever to know. Youwill promise me, won't you, that you will never tell her why I haveskulked off and dropped my responsibilities on to your shoulders?Promise me that, at least, will you not?"
Edward Wynford promised his brother, and the brother went away.
In the former generation father and son had agreed to break off theentail, and although there was no intention of carrying this action intoeffect, and Frank, as eldest son, inherited the great estates of WynfordCastle, yet at his father's death he was in the position of one whocould leave the estates to any one he pleased.
During his last interview with his brother he said to him distinctly:
"Remember, if Lady Frances has a son I wish him to be, after yourself,the next heir to the property."
"But if she has not a son?" said Edward.
"In that case I have nothing to say. It is most unlikely that I shallmarry. The property will come to you in the ordinary way, and as theentail is out off, you can leave it to whom you please."
"Do not forget that at present you can leave the estate and the Castleto whomever you please, even to an utter stranger," said Edward, with aslight smile.
To this remark Frank made no answer. The next day the brothers parted--asit turned out, for life. Edward married Lady Frances, and they went tolive at Wynford Castle. Edward heard once from Frank during the voyage,and then not at all, until he received a letter which must have beenwritten a couple of months before his brother's death. It was forwardedto him in a strange hand, and was full of extraordinary and painfultidings. Frank Wynford had died suddenly of acute fever, but before hisdeath he had arranged all his affairs. His letter ran as follows:
"My dear Edward,--If I live you will never get this letter; if I die it reaches you all in good time. When last we parted I told you I should never marry. So much for man's proposals. When I got to Tasmania I went on a ranch, and now I am the husband of the farmer's daughter. Her name is Isabel. She is a handsome woman, and the mother of a daughter. Why I married her I can not tell you, except that I can honestly say it was not with any sense of affection. But she is my wife, and the mother of a little baby girl. Edward, when I last heard from you, you told me that you also had a daughter. If a son follows all in due course, what I have to say will not much signify; but if you have no son I should wish the estates eventually to come to my little girl. I do not believe in a woman's administration of large and important estates like mine, but what I say to myself now is, as well my girl as your girl. Therefore, Edward, my dear brother, I leave all my estates to you for your lifetime, and at your death all the property which came to me by my father's will goes to my little girl, to be hers when you are no longer there. I want you to receive my daughter, and to ask your wife to bring her up. I want her to have all the advantages that a home with Lady Frances must confer on her. I want my child and your child to be friends. I do no injustice to your daughter, Edward, when I make my will, for she inherits money on her mother's side. I will acquaint my wife with particulars of this letter, and in case I catch the fever which is raging here now she will know how to act. My lawyer in Hobart Town will forward this, and see that my will is carried into effect. There is a provision in it for the maintenance of my daughter until she joins you at Castle Wynford. Whenever that event takes place she is your care. I have only one thing to add. The child might go to you at once (I have a premonition that I am about to die very soon), and thus never know that she had an Australian mother, but the difficulty lies in the fact that the mother loves the child and will scarcely be induced to part with her. You must not receive my poor wife unless indeed a radical change takes place in her; and although I have begged of her to give up the child, I doubt if she will do it. I cannot add any more, for time presses. My will is legal in every respect, and there will be no difficulty in carrying it into effect."
This strange letter was discovered by Frank Wynford's widow a monthafter his death. It was sealed and directed to his brother in England.She longed to read it, but restrained herself. She sent it on to herhusband's lawyer in Hobart Town, and in due course it arrived at CastleWynford, causing a great deal of consternation and distress both in theminds of the Squire and Lady Frances.
Edward immediately went out to Tasmania. He saw the little baby who wasall that was left of his brother, and he also saw that brother's wife.The coarse, loud-voiced woman received him with almost abuse. What wasto be done? The mother refused to part with the child, and EdwardWynford, for his own wife's sake and his own baby daughter's sake, couldnot urge her to come to Castle Wynford.
"I do not care twopence," she remarked, "whether the child has grandrelations or not. I loved her father, and I love her. She is my child,and so she has got to put up with me. As long as I live she stays withme here. I am accustomed to ranch life, and she will get accustomed toit too. I will not spare money on her, for there is plenty, and she willbe a very rich woman some day. But while I live she stays with me; theonly way out of it is, that you ask me to your fine place in England.Even if you do, I don't think I should be bothered to go to you, but youmight have the civility to ask me."
Squire Wynford went away, however, without giving this invitation. Hespoke to his wife on the subject. In that conversation he was careful toadhere to his brother's wish not to reveal to her that that brother'sdeep affection for herself had been the cause of his banishment. LadyFrances was an intensely just and upright woman. She had gone through avery bad quarter of an hour when she was told that her little girl wasto be supplanted by the strange child of an objectionable mother, butshe quickly recovered herself.
"I will not allow jealousy to enter into my life," she said; and sheeven went the length of writing herself to Mrs. Wynford in Tasmania, andinvited her with the baby to come and stay at Wynford Castle. Mrs.Wynford in Tasmania, however, much to the relief of the good folks athome, declined the invitation.
"I have no taste for English grandeur," she said. "I was brought up in awild state, and I would rather stay as I was reared. The child is well;you can have her when she is grown up or when I am dead."
Years passed after this letter and there was no communication betweenlittle Evelyn Wynford, in the wilds of Tasmania, and her rich andstately relatives at Castle Wynford. Lady Frances fervently hoped thatGod would give her a son, but this hope was not to be realized. Audreywas her only child, and soon it seemed almost like a dim, forgotten factthat the real heiress was in Tasmania, and that Audrey had no more to doin the future with the stately home of her ancestors than she would havehad had she possessed a brother. But when she was sixteen there suddenlycame a change. Mrs. Wynford died suddenly. There was now no reason whyEvelyn should not come home, and accordingly, untutored, uncared for, apassionate child with a curious, wilful strain in her, she arrived onNew Year's Day at Castle Wynford.
Evelyn Wynford's nature w
as very complex. She loved very few people, butthose she did love she loved forever. No change, no absence, nocircumstances could alter her regard. In her ranch life and during herbaby days she had clung to her mother. Mrs. Wynford was fierce andpassionate and wilful. Little Evelyn admired her, whatever she did. Shetrotted round the farm after her; she learnt to ride almost as soon asshe could walk, and she followed her mother barebacked on the wildesthorses on the ranch. She was fearless and stubborn, and gave way toterrible fits of passion, but with her mother she was gentle as a lamb.Mrs. Wynford was fond of the child in the careless, selfish, and yetfierce way which belonged to her nature. Mrs. Wynford's sole idea ofaffection was that her child should be with her morning, noon, andnight; that for no education, for no advantages, should she be partedfrom her mother for a moment. Night after night the two slept in eachother's arms; day after day they were together. The farmer's daughterwas a very strong woman, and as her father died a year or two after herhusband, she managed the ranch herself, keeping everything in order, andnot allowing the slightest insubordination on the part of her servants.Little Evelyn, too, learnt her mother's masterful ways. She couldreprimand; she could insist upon obedience; she could shake her tinyfists in the faces of those who dared to oppose her; and when she wasdisporting herself so Mrs. Wynford stood by and laughed.
"Hullo!" she used to cry. "See the spirit in the young un. She takesafter me. A nice time her English relatives will have with her! But shewill never go to them--never while I live."
Although Mrs. Wynford had long ago made up her mind that Evelyn was tohave none of the immediate advantages of her birth and future prospects,she was fond of talking to the child about the grandeur which lay beforeher.
"If I die, Eve," she said, "you will have to go across the sea in a bigship to England. You would have a rough time of it, perhaps, on board,but you won't mind that, my beauty."
"I am not a beauty, mother," answered Evelyn. "You know I am not. Youknow I am a very plain girl."
"Hark to the child!" shrieked Mrs. Wynford. "It is as good as a play tohear her. If you are not beautiful in body, my darling, you arebeautiful in your spirit. Yes, you have inherited from your proudEnglish father lots of gold and a lovely castle, and all your relationswill have to eat humble-pie to you; but you have got your spirit fromme, Eve--don't forget that."
"Tell me about the Castle, mother, and about my father," said Evelyn,nestling up close to her parent, as they sat by the roaring fire in thewinter evenings.
Mrs. Wynford knew very little, and what she did know she exaggerated.She gave Evelyn vivid pictures, however, in each and all of which theprincipal figure was Evelyn herself--Evelyn claiming her rights,mastering her relations, letting her unknown cousin know that she,Evelyn, was the heiress, and that the cousin was nobody. Only one personin the group of Evelyn's future relations did Mrs. Wynford counsel herto be civil to.
"The worst of it all is this, Eve," she said--"while your uncle lives youdo not own a pennypiece of the estate; and he may hold out for many along day, so you had best be agreeable to him. Besides, he is like yourfather. Your father was a very handsome man and a very fine man, and Iloved him, child. I took a fancy to him from the day he arrived at theranch, and when he asked me to marry him I thought myself in rare goodluck. But he died soon after you were born. Had he lived I'd have beenthe lady of the Castle, but I'd not go there without him, and you shallnever go while I live."
"I don't want to, mother. You are more to me than twenty castles," saidthe enthusiastic little girl.
Mrs. Wynford had one friend whom Evelyn tolerated and presently loved.That friend was a woman, partly of French extraction, who had come tostay at the ranch once during a severe illness of its owner. Her namewas Jasper--Amelia Jasper; but she was known on the ranch by the title ofJasper alone. She was not a lady in any sense of the word, and did notpretend that she was one; but she was possessed of a certain strangefascination which she could exercise at will over those with whom shecame in contact, and she made herself so useful to Mrs. Wynford and sonecessary to Evelyn that she was never allowed to leave the ranch again.She soon obtained a great power over the curious, uneducated woman whowas Evelyn's mother; and when at last Mrs. Wynford found that she wassmitten with an incurable disease, and that at any moment death wouldcome to fetch her, she asked her dear friend Jasper to take the child toEngland.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Jasper. "I'll take Evelyn to England,and stay with her there."
Mrs. Wynford laughed.
"You are clever enough, Jasper," she said; "but what a figure of fun youwould look in the grand sort of imperial residence that my dear latehusband has described to me! You are not a lady, you know, although youare smart and clever enough to beat half the ladies out of existence."
"I shall know how to manage," said Jasper. "I, too, have heard of theways of English grandees. I'll be Evelyn's maid. She cannot do without amaid, can she? I'll take Evelyn back, and I will stay with her as hermaid."
Mrs. Wynford hailed this idea as a splendid one, and she even wrote avery badly spelt letter to Lady Frances, which Jasper was to convey anddeliver herself, if possible, to her proud ladyship, as the widow calledher sister-in-law. In this letter Mrs. Wynford demanded that Jasper wasto stay with Evelyn as long as Evelyn wished for her, and she finallyadded:
"I dare you, Lady Frances, fine lady as you are, to part the child fromher maid."
When Mrs. Wynford died Evelyn gave way to the most terrible grief. Sherefused to eat; she refused to leave her mother's dead body. Sheshrieked herself into hysterics on the day of the funeral, and then thepoor little girl was prostrated with nervous fever. Finally, she becameso unwell that it was impossible for her to travel to England for somemonths. And so it happened that nearly a year elapsed between the deathof the mother and the arrival of the child at Castle Wynford.