CHAPTER XI COLONEL DEVEREUX'S LAND AGENT

As yet I have said nothing of my sister Marian. It is necessary for me now to do so. They say that a man can never describe or appreciate his own sister, and, on the whole, I am not disinclined to lend some credence to this statement. I know that Marian was beautiful, for many people have told me so, but to give a detailed description of her as she was then I should find an impossible task. I know that her beauty—prettiness always seemed to me the more appropriate term—was of the order evolved by the combination of a trim, shapely figure, good features and complexion, plenty of fair hair, and soft grey eyes (the latter a heritage from her mother), which knew equally well how to gleam with mischief, or to flash with a tenderer and more dangerous light. I feel some diffidence in using the term, but I am bound to here place on record my conviction that when she left school and, in obedience to my telegram, joined me in London, my sister Marian was more or less inclined to be a flirt.

Of the shadow which rested upon my father's name she knew nothing, nor did she know that the name we bore was an assumed one, or anything of the purpose which had induced me to fix our temporary residence in Yorkshire. I judged her to be of too light a nature to be trusted with a great secret—besides, she would doubtless be happier not knowing.

Three days we spent together in London making purchases and superintending the packing up and forwarding of our few belongings. Then there came a note from Colonel Devereux, short but polite, intimating that the sooner I could find it convenient to assume my new position the better. On the next day Marian and I travelled down to Yorkshire.

It was dusk when we arrived at the little wayside station at which we had been directed to alight. Directly I had helped Marian out of the carriage, and we stood together on the platform, a tall, bland-looking man, dressed in the soberest black, hurried up to us and took off his hat.

"Mr. Arbuthnot?"

I admitted that his surmise was correct, and presumed that he had come from Devereux.

"Just so, sir. Colonel Devereux desired me to present his compliments, and if you find that the cottage is not yet habitable, rooms can be prepared for you at the Court."

"Very kind, I'm sure," I answered, watching with satisfaction our last box safely thrown out from the van. "We're quite prepared to rough it for a day or two, however, and I have no doubt that we shall be able to manage. Have you brought anything down for the luggage?"

"Certainly, sir. Bring them this way, John," he added to the porter, and led us through the little booking office out into the road, where a small shapely brougham, drawn by a pair of magnificent dark bays, was waiting.

"I thought it better to bring a brougham, sir," he explained, "as the young lady might find it chilly driving across the moor. Londoners mostly finds it so. There's no need to wait for the luggage, sir. The cart's here for that, and I've given orders for them to bring it on. I'll have to intrude upon you inside, sir, as far as the cottage, as my master's orders is that I don't leave you until I see you in a fair way to be comfortable. I'd have come down on the box, but the Colonel is so mighty particular about little things that it's more than I dare do to let a carriage leave the yard without a man on the box, even at night. This is Knighton, this village, sir. From the top of the next hill you'd be able to see a good part of Devereux Court if it were only light enough."

I let him talk on uninterrupted, for I was too full of a nervous internal excitement to be able to talk. I was amongst the scenes—in a few minutes I should be in sight of the very house—where my father had spent his boyhood. That thought was enough to engross me—to drive every other from my mind, and for once I was devoutly thankful for Marian's ceaseless chatter, which spared me from all necessity of speech.

We dashed through a tiny village, and up a steep hill. "Dashed" is rather a clap-trap word, perhaps, but it is not far from correctly expressing the rate of our progress. The roads were in good order, it was not yet dark; the thoroughbred horses were eager to get home, and quivering with impatience, and the coachman seemed to be of the same mind. And so I could see but very little of the country. A heather-covered moor, varied by occasional patches of pasture land, bordered the road on either side, but in front things seemed to be different. I could just distinguish the dim outline of a low range of hills, and we seemed to be approaching a wood. Suddenly the carriage came to a halt, but it was only for a moment. A pair of great iron gates were rolled open before us, and we proceeded along a smoother road as swiftly as before.

"Are we nearly there?" asked Marian, looking behind at the grey stone, thatched lodges, which were as large as moderate-sized houses.

Colonel Devereux's servant shook his head, and smiled in the light of his superior knowledge.

"Bless you, no, miss; we're only just inside the park. It's six miles from the lodge gates to the House" (the capital may seem superfluous, but I'm quite sure that the man meant it), "and five and a half to the cottage."

Marian's grey eyes were wide open in earnest now.

"Oh, dear me! Did you hear that, Hugh? The park six miles from the house! This must be a very big place."

"Big!" Our companion's face grew quite solemn in its impressiveness. "There ain't such another place in Yorkshire, nor yet in England, barring three. Devereux Court, to my mind, is the finest building I ever set eyes on. Why, it's the show place of the county, and we gets no end of visitors from all parts to look at it."

"Colonel Devereux is a very fortunate man," I remarked.

The man's manner grew a shade more confidential, and I listened with more eagerness than I dared show.

"Well, he should be, sir; but I doubt whether he thinks himself so. You see, his family ain't turned out exactly well. He married twice, and each wife died within two years of her marriage, and, strangely enough, each left him a son. Of course, when they grew up they both wanted to be soldiers. They do say, sir, that every Devereux for twelve generations has been a soldier. A bloodthirsty race they must be! But, as I was saying, they both became soldiers, and went out together in the same regiment for their first campaign. Well, they say that one of 'em, Mr. Herbert his name was, the elder of the two, and the old Colonel's favourite and heir, disgraced himself. Anyway, he was found guilty of cowardice, and turned out of his regiment. It very near killed the Colonel, and he's never been the same man since. He's taken a mortal dislike to his other son, Mr. Rupert, and, though he makes no secret of it that he's left him all his estates and property, he never lets him come down here scarcely."

"But the title! He can't leave that to his second son," I said. "That must go to the one whom you say disgraced himself."

"It just that that's troubling the Colonel more than anything," replied the man. "He says it makes him wild to think that the title of Devereux of Devereux must be borne by a coward, and that his picture gallery and grand old house must go to him, too. At times I have heard him pray that his son may be dead, and have died childless; and yet, hard old man though he is, it's easy to see, from the way he talks about him sometimes, that he's as fond of him as ever, though he'd never confess it. But I'm afraid I'm tiring you, sir. Family histories are not very interesting to strangers."

To strangers! I could scarcely keep a sardonic smile from my lips as I echoed the words in my thoughts.

"Not at all," I answered, as lightly as I could; "but I was going to ask you, who is there living with Sir Francis now?"

"Well, there's no one living regularly with him, sir, except you count old Mrs. Platts, who really ain't much more than a housekeeper, though I believe she's a sort of distant connection. But, just now, there's Miss Maud Devereux, Mr. Rupert's daughter, and a friend of hers stopping here. Here we are at the cottage, Mr. Arbuthnot."

The carriage had pulled up, and a tall footman was standing by the side of the open door. I helped Marian out, and looked around. A little distance in front there was a low wire fencing, and about fifty yards further back, with a dark plantation of fir-trees immediately behind it, was a long, low, grey stone house, with gabled roof and old-fashioned windows. As we approached, the door was thrown open, and two smiling, countrified-looking servants, with neat caps and aprons, stood in a flood of light to welcome us.

We stepped into the hall, and Marian and I looked at one another in astonishment. This was all very different to what I had expected, and my first thought was that the few odds and ends of furniture which I had sent down would be of very little use in such a place as this. But our greatest surprise was to come, for when one of our pleasant-looking servants threw open the door of the dining-room, the room was already furnished, and in a fashion which, made us gaze around in astonishment. Instead of bare boards, which we had half expected, our feet sank into a thick Turkey carpet, and the furniture, solid and handsomely carved, matched the black oak panelling which skirted the walls. A bright fire was burning in a marble grate, and the table, covered with a snow-white cloth, and many things more substantial, was glittering with cut-glass, flowers, and heavy plate, on which were the Devereux arms.

I looked at Colonel Devereux's servant in an amazement which seemed to amuse him immensely.

"What has become of the furniture I sent down?" I asked.

"It is in the lumber room, sir," was the man's quiet reply. "Colonel Devereux's strict orders were that the place should be furnished for you from attic to cellar, and there's furniture enough up at the Court which no one ever sees, enough to furnish a score of such places as this. I hope I may say that you are satisfied, sir?"

"Satisfied? It's quite too lovely," declared Marian, sinking into a low chair. "Isn't it, Hugh?"

"Colonel Devereux has been very kind," I assented, thoughtfully, for I was not too sure that I was altogether pleased.

"And I was to tell you, miss," continued the man, backing towards the door, "that the servants here, and also your man, sir," turning towards me, "receive their wages from the steward. You'll pardon my mentioning this, but it was the housekeeper's strict orders. Good-night, miss; good-night, sir. Colonel Devereux will see you to-morrow morning at eleven, if you'll be so good as to come up to the Court. Good-night, sir."

This time he really went, and we were left for a moment alone. I am obliged to confess that the first thing my madcap sister did was to waltz round the room, and wind up by throwing herself into my arms.

"Isn't this perfectly delightful, Hugh, and isn't the Colonel an old dear? I declare I could kiss him! And I am so hungry, and everything looks so nice. Do ring the bell, Hugh."

There was no need, for before she had finished speaking one of our buxom servants had entered with the tray, and the other was waiting to show us our rooms, which we found no less comfortable. Everything was totally different to what I had expected, and for Marian's sake I was pleased. But for my own I could not help regretting that I should be forced to accept favours from the man who believed my father to be a coward and a liar and whose cruel words "Out of my house and out of my heart for ever," he carried always with him in weary exile.