He realized that it was six months since he had last seen her. Surely there would be no harm in his running over to Daisy Bank for an hour the next time that he had a spare afternoon. He would be careful, very careful. Not a word or a look must reveal his secret feelings for her. He would simply see her and come away, content if she was happy, and thoroughly satisfied if he knew no trouble was hanging over her.
At last the spare afternoon came, and he felt a great rush of excitement as he got out on the Deepfields platform. Perhaps he would meet her on the road. It was the time when she usually took her walk.
But no, she was not there today. He walked on over the pit mounds to Daisy Bank, and the walk seemed almost without end. He passed the old cottage where his father's lost letter had lain so long. It was shut up and deserted. He hurried on. Colwyn House where the Holtby family lived was only a little further down the lane. He would soon be there, and would see Marjorie Douglas again.
He was going up to the door when he drew back in dismay. The windows were covered with dirt. Several of the panes were broken, the steps were a mass of mud, and the small garden was overgrown with weeds. The house which Marjorie had brightened by her presence was left untenanted and utterly desolate.
He stood looking at it for some moments in hopeless bewilderment. A lad, who had come from his work in the pit, was standing near, leaning against a broken-down wall.
"How long has this house been empty?" Kenneth Fortescue asked.
"Six months, or maybe more," said the boy.
"Have they moved to another house here?"
"No, they're gone."
"Gone where?"
"I don't know. Right away somewhere down south."
"Why did they go?"
"The master fell down dead. Soon after New Year it were."
"Do you know if Miss Douglas went with them?"
"Who did you say?"
"Miss Douglas."
"Never heard of Miss Douglas. They've all gone, so I suppose she did."
That being all the information he could extract from the boy, Captain Fortescue returned to the railway station feeling much depressed by the result of his expedition. What had become of Marjorie Douglas? He thought once of writing to her mother in Rosthwaite to inquire, but on second thoughts he dismissed the idea promptly. What right had he to make such an inquiry? None whatever. Nor did he see any prospect that such a right would ever be his.
So he went back to his hard work and his cheerless room as contentedly as he could, and tried to banish the restless thoughts that came to disturb his peace of mind. He determined to take each day as it came, and not allow himself to indulge in daydreams of the future -- which were never likely to become more than dreams.
Chapter 24
A Most Charming Girl
WHEN the autumn came round again it found little change in Kenneth Fortescue's life, save that he had risen rapidly in the esteem and confidence of his employers, and had been entrusted with the supervision of their agents in a still larger district.
Nothing, however, took place of a personal interest until the fourteenth of October. It happened to be the day on which Marjorie had come to visit him here in Birmingham just one year ago, and which would ever be a red-letter day in his life, when he was requested by the head office to travel northwards to investigate the amount of damage caused by a great fire that had taken place in a nobleman's castle, which was heavily insured in his company.
Eagleton Castle was a most ancient building, filled with countless heirlooms of olden times. The picture gallery was hung with paintings by the famous artists of many successive generations; the grand staircase was of carved oak; several of the palatial rooms were panelled in wood; while the great fireplaces were surrounded by exquisite carvings, the work of some forgotten genius long since dead, who had left behind him these beautiful trophies of his skill.
Kenneth Fortescue knew that these ancient buildings were often extremely unsafe. The builders of olden time, in spite of the roaring fires which in those days blazed nightly on the hearth, built the wide chimneys with little regard to the necessity for care in the matter of fire.
An old beam, in the near neighbourhood of one of the chimneys in Eagleton Castle, had become ignited. The fire had smouldered on for hours, completely hidden from sight, and unperceived by the large household of the castle. But in the middle of the night a gale, blowing down the wide chimney shaft, had caused the smouldering fire to burst into a blaze. The floor of an adjoining room had been caught by it, and when the Earl and his household were at length aroused, the fire was becoming serious.
Fire engines were at once summoned by telephone, and were soon on the spot. The servants were hard at work clearing the rooms in the vicinity of the fire. The numerous guests, headed by the Earl himself, carried out armful after armful of valuable heirlooms and piled them on the lawn in front of the castle. The firemen worked on manfully, but several hours passed before the flames were finally extinguished.
The damage done to the building was great. Several ancient rooms were destroyed, but the most serious loss, in the Earl's estimation, was that of many of the works of art in the picture gallery. Some of these were family portraits dating back for many centuries, the loss of which could never be replaced. No amount of money could bring the dead earls out of their graves to be painted afresh. No compensation from the insurance company could ever restore to the Earl of Derwentwater those much-prized and valuable mementos of his long line of ancestors.
Still, whatever compensation could be afforded, in addition to the cost of those articles which it was possible to replace, would have to be supplied by the company in which the Earl had insured for many years. The head office, knowing the capability and thorough trustworthiness of Mr. Fortescue, had requested him to visit Eagleton Castle and report to headquarters the probable extent of their liability.
It was for the purpose of making these investigations that Kenneth Fortescue stood on the northbound platform at New Street Station. As he was looking at the signals and watching the line, he suddenly felt a hand on his arm.
"Fortescue! I'm delighted to see you again. I thought I could not be mistaken."
It was Captain Berington, the brother of Lady Violet and Lady Maude.
Kenneth was pleased to receive so friendly a recognition from an old acquaintance, whom he had never met since the day he had left Grantley Castle after telling the story of his life, so far as that story was then known to him. He knew more about his early life now, but he was not at all anxious to let his former friends hear what had come to his knowledge. Moreover, he felt that he was in one sense worse off than he had been before. Then he had a name which he thought he could call his own; now he was nameless.
However, he was glad to see Berington again; doubly glad that Berington seemed pleased to see him.
"Here's the train, Fortescue. Let's get a carriage to ourselves, and then we can talk."
"I've a third-class ticket, unfortunately."
"Never mind, we can settle up with the ticket collector. Here's an empty compartment. Get in."
"Where are you going, Berington?"
"Home. I'm awfully glad I met you. Now tell me all about yourself."
Kenneth Fortescue told him what he was doing, and mentioned that he was on his way to Eagleton Castle to assess the damage caused by the fire.
"What a terrible fire that was," said Berington. "It does seem an awful shame when old places like that are burned. My sister Vi was worried over it. You see, Lord Derwentwater is Kenmore's half-brother, and Kenmore is heir to Eagleton."
"Who is Kenmore?"
"Oh, don't you know? Vi is engaged to him. In fact, they were to have been married last year if it hadn't been for that nasty accident of hers."
"I didn't know. What accident was that?"
"She was thrown from her horse in the hunting field. Came down on her back, poor girl. It was an awful thing. We were afraid she would not get over it at first, and then when she see
med to have taken a turn for the better, the doctors discovered that the spine was injured and said she would have to lie on her back for months. It's been a terrible time for her."
"It must, indeed. How long is it since her accident?"
"Oh, nine months or more. She's a great deal better now. She gets out on the terrace, and is beginning to walk a little. They talk of having the wedding next May, if she is well enough. Poor girl, it has been awfully hard lines for her, but the doctor hopes she may be much stronger by that time. By-the-by, I have got a photo of her lying on the couch out on the terrace. I'm just taking her a print of it. She hasn't seen one yet. I was at home a fortnight ago, and took it then."
"Then you are still keen on photography? "
"Yes, and I think this is a very good picture. It was a nice clear September day, and I got a capital negative."
Berington was hunting among some papers in his pocket book as he said this, and at last found the photo in question and handed it to his friend for inspection. Kenneth Fortescue could not refrain from an exclamation of surprise as he looked at it.
"You are astonished to see her so altered," said Captain Berington. "Yes, she is thinner, much thinner. Still, she's wonderfully better than she was."
But it was not Lady Violet's altered appearance which had caused Kenneth Fortescue's exclamation of astonishment. He was not even looking at her; he was gazing with the greatest attention at someone else in the picture. On a low chair by the side of Lady Violet's couch, with her hat lying on the grass beside her, and with her lap covered with roses which she was arranging in a china bowl standing on a garden table near her, was Marjorie Douglas.
He could hardly believe his eyes. For a whole year he had heard nothing of her. He seemed to have completely lost sight of her, and now at last he had found her, and in that unexpected place.
Berington saw how earnestly Fortescue looked at the photograph. He thought that he noticed something more than mere attention in his gaze. There was a look in Kenneth Fortescue's eyes which told his friend a story about which his lips were sealed. But he interpreted that look wrongly.
"Poor Fortescue. I remember he was rather smitten with my sister Vi once upon a time," he said to himself. "I ought not to have shown him that photo."
He put out his hand for it, to replace it in his pocket book, but at first Kenneth did not seem to see.
"It's a beautiful photo, Berington. I suppose you haven't one to spare."
"Well, I am afraid not. I have another here, but I promised it to Miss Douglas. She wants to send it to her mother in the Lakes."
"Is she . . ."
Kenneth paused. He was going to say, "Is she well?" but that might have let out that secret of his, which his lips must guard with care. Berington noticed his hesitation, but put it down to quite a different cause.
"She's an awfully jolly girl. She's a kind of companion to Violet. It has made all the difference in the world to Vi having her."
Kenneth did not answer. He handed the photo back, though he would much have liked to have slipped it into his pocket.
"You've no idea what a nice girl Miss Douglas is," Berington continued. "She is always good-tempered and cheerful, and never gets put out when poor Vi is cross. I'm sure we were awfully lucky to get her. She really is a most charming girl!"
Kenneth Fortescue did not speak; perhaps because the words had moved him too deeply. And when, soon after this, Berington left the train and he saw the carriage and pair waiting to convey his friend to Grantley Castle, a great feeling of loneliness crept over him as he leaned back in the corner of the carriage.
Berington was going to see her, to talk to Marjorie Douglas, and give her the photo. And he said he thought her a most charming girl.
Kenneth wondered what Marjorie thought of Berington. Well, he said to himself, he must try to be glad that she was in a comfortable home, and was no longer toiling away among the pit mounds and coal dust of Daisy Bank.
Chapter 25
The Picture Gallery
WHEN, some hours after his parting with Berington, Kenneth Fortescue arrived at his destination, North Eaton Station, he got out of the train with rather a heavy heart and made inquiry of the stationmaster as to the best way to Eagleton Castle. He found there was a horse-drawn omnibus running from thence to the village, which was three miles away, and that this bus would start in five minutes. When he went out of the station he saw it at a little distance along the road, waiting for passengers. He jumped up beside the driver, and soon the jolting vehicle was carrying him towards Lord Derwentwater's beautiful old mansion.
The fire at Eagleton Castle, although it had taken place some days before, was still the great topic of conversation. Finding that Kenneth Fortescue was a stranger, the driver and the passengers united in giving him a detailed account of it, relating how they had first heard of the fire, and how they had felt when the news was received.
When these various versions had come to an end, Kenneth asked a few questions about the place to which he was going. "Is it a large estate?"
"Tremendous. The Earl, he is the grandest man in all the country round."
"Has he any family?
"Neither chick nor child, and never had any."
"Who is heir to the property, then?"
"Lord Kenmore, brother to the Earl. He don't come here much, though. Earl and him don't seem to hit it, somehow. They are only half-brothers, you see. Their father, the old Earl, was married twice, and the little 'un was born when his elder brother were growed up. Twenty-five years atween them. That was a lot, wasn't it? They didn't seem a bit like brothers, did they now?"
"No, it was a great difference in age," Kenneth agreed. "One brother was old enough to be the father of the other."
"You're right there, sir," said an old woman on the seat behind, "and the old Earl's second lady were a hard woman. A hard woman, that's what she were," she repeated, nodding her head to give emphasis to her words.
"Ay," said the driver, "and she did her best to get the old Earl to leave his money -- what wasn't tied up of it, you understand -- to her little 'un. She couldn't get him the title nor yet the estate, but she got him all that she could."
"Ay, she did that," said an old man. "She were a crafty one, were my lady."
"But I suppose she had to leave the Castle when the Earl died."
"Ay," said the old man, with a chuckle, "and we none of us shed a tear we didn't, I assure you."
"Then the present Earl came here?" asked Kenneth.
"Yes. He'd been travelling in foreign parts, South Africa I think, but he came home afore the old Earl died, and he married a lady o' these parts too."
"Is she living? "
"No, she lies in the churchyard over there. Ye can see the old church tower over them trees."
"Has she been dead long?"
"It'll be about a year now. Since my lady died he has had a good few of his friends at the Castle. There was some of them there for the shooting. The Castle was pretty full the night of the fire."
"Was Lord Kenmore there?"
"Not he. He don't come here if his brother the Earl can help it. Lord Kenmore has an estate down south somewhere. He got it from his mother's father, so I'm told. We don't want him here, do we, Betty?"
"No, we don't," agreed Betty. "Chip off the old block, that's what he is."
"Does the Earl live alone?"
"Well, so to speak he is alone. There's the visitors, of course, but they come and they go. None of them stays more than a day or two. It's a pity he hasn't got a son or a daughter to keep him company, isn't it now? "
"You like him?" asked Fortescue.
"Yes, we like the Earl well enough. He's a bit hard sometimes, so folks say."
"But we're mighty sorry for him," added the old man. "He looks that wretched sometimes, my Tom says. Tom is footman up the Castle. Now, sir, you look ahead and you'll see the Castle up on the hill."
Captain Fortescue looked, and he saw before him the most beautiful old c
astle he had ever beheld. It was built of grey stone, which bore the marks of age, though not of decay. Its mullioned windows had looked out for centuries over the beautifully wooded park, for the Castle stood on such high ground that it commanded a view of all the surrounding country, and the trees in the avenue which led up to it looked many of them even older than the Castle itself.
Through this avenue of ancient oak trees Kenneth Fortescue walked, when he had left the horse-drawn bus at the great entrance gates. He lost sight of the Castle as soon as he entered the avenue, but he gazed with the greatest admiration on the loveliness which met his eye at every turn. Now and again there was a break in the trees, and he looked down a peaceful glade where deer were feeding in the shade of the silver birch wood, or he stopped for a few moments to watch a busy little stream which ran by the side of the road and then disappeared beneath a rustic bridge into the depths of the woodland beyond,
The trees were putting on their warm autumn garb; the squirrels were running up the trees, busy in secreting nuts and corn for their winter store; rabbits were scampering across the road to their holes in the mossy bank; a cock pheasant in his bright plumage was strutting along the road before him. The whole place was alive with birds, singing joyfully in the oaks overhead.
Then, as he drew near the Castle, he came upon an extensive lake, dotted with islands and surrounded by a plantation of lovely shrubs and ornamental trees. On this lake swans were swimming gracefully in the autumn sunshine; the fish were splashing in the water; a covey of wild ducks had taken wing and were flying over the avenue. A heron stood at the edge of the water, hunting for frogs. There was life and movement everywhere.
He looked at the Castle, and he marvelled at its beauty. He had thought Grantley Castle a fine mansion, but that was far more modern, and would not bear comparison for a moment with the ancestral home of Lord Derwentwater.