Mrs. Lancaster’s Rival

Chapter VII. Randal

Chapter VII. Randal.

Miss Wrench was gone, and Mabel was left alone with her guardian. For the first few days she was happy enough rambling about the garden, or finding her own occupations in the house. These were not many, and soon resolved themselves into reading the few novels she could find, strumming her school-pieces, not too correctly, on the old piano, and ‘grounding’ some wool-work that she had begun in London. In the evening the General taught her to play cards; through the day she did not see much of him. He had a small study, away from the other rooms, where he spent most of his time, and where Mabel understood that he did not want her company. He did not take her out in the carriage or in the boat, and he told her rather gravely that she must not go outside the gates without her maid. Mabel did not much like her maid, and under these conditions preferred staying inside the gates. But she liked the General; his manner to her was perfectly kind, and he and all the servants treated her with much respect and consideration. Mabel was amused sometimes by his little formalities, and the compliments he paid her.

But after the first week Pensand Castle began to seem rather a lonely place. No visitors appeared, except Anthony Strange. He, to be sure, was a host in himself, and the long pleasant talks with him were something to look forward to. In the second week he was at Pensand three times, and looked rather oddly at Mabel when she told him she had been nowhere, and that she could not help wishing to wander about the country.

That very day, before he saw her, he had been asking the General to bring her to Carweston to see his mother. Her guardian answered that some day he hoped to do so, but that at present the poor child was so shy and nervous, even with himself, that he could not put her through the ordeal of making acquaintance with any more strangers.

‘A little later, Anthony, when she really feels herself at home among us,’ said General Hawke. ‘Your mother will understand, I’m sure.’

‘You don’t think it is the want of society at all?’ hinted Anthony, screwing up his face, as he did when anything displeased him.

‘No, no. Trust me, my dear fellow,’ said the General.

So Anthony gave it up for the time, and made no mischief between the guardian and his ward when she told him a different story. Mabel had now been at Pensand for a fortnight of glorious summer weather. At last, one afternoon, she was driven in from the garden by a shower. She came in at the window of the large drawing-room, laid down her hat there, and went through to the little room to fetch the book she was reading. The door stood half open; she pushed it gently; and passed in without any noise. Then she started and stood still.

In a very soft and comfortable armchair opposite, where she had enjoyed many an idle hour’s reading, a young man was sitting with his head thrown back, fast asleep. It was a dark handsome face, pale and colourless, with a long black moustache. His arms were folded loosely, and Mabel noticed his hands; they were small and delicate, with taper fingers like a woman’s. Mabel remembered the photograph in the book on the table, and knew him at once. It was Randal Hawke, the General’s only son.

The next moment he opened his eyes, stared at her for a moment, then got up and bowed to her.

‘Pray forgive me,’ he said. ‘I did not expect a lady visitor in my den.’

‘Is this your den?’ said Mabel, making a step backwards.

‘Yes. Don’t go, please. So my father took the credit of it to himself, did he? No, I couldn’t stand the mustiness of the rest of the house, so I tried to civilise this one room. I see I did right, by your coming in so naturally.’

‘I had no idea you were here,’ said Mabel. ‘I only came for a book.’

‘Yes. Here you find the books that please you best. We may as well know each other. Let me introduce Randal Hawke to—Miss Ashley.’

Mabel smiled, but rather gravely; she did not quite like or understand his manner. It was as odd an introduction as that to Anthony in the field, but it did not seem likely to be the beginning of a friendship. Randal only looked at her curiously: there was no kindly interest about him. In fact, she did not like him, and was sorry he had come; a strange conclusion for a girl, especially in her circumstances. The handsome son of the house would not have expected to find himself unwelcome.

Mabel took up her book and retreated into the drawing-room, where Randal followed her immediately.

‘Do you know, Miss Ashley, you quite took me by surprise,’ he said. ‘I heard you were out, and I told them to let me know when you came in, that I might present myself in proper form. I did not mean you to find me snoring in your precincts. My only excuse is, that I was travelling all night.’

‘I am very sorry I disturbed you,’ said Mabel quietly.

‘Not at all. I am delighted. We shall make acquaintance all the sooner.’

Mabel had placed herself in one of the corners of a large old-fashioned sofa. He sat down at the other end, looking at her for a minute in silence. There was plenty to criticise, and not much to admire, in poor Mabel. Perhaps she felt this herself, for there was a bright flush of pain in her cheeks; it had been a trial to limp along the length of the drawing-room, he following her closely. Randal looked, and pulled his moustache, till she lifted up her head and met his eyes, steadily. Then he changed his position, lounged back into the corner, and began to talk.

‘How do you like this abode of rats and owls? Has my father done anything to amuse you?’

‘I am very happy. General Hawke is most kind. And I think it is a lovely old place,’ said Mabel.

‘I am sorry to hear all that, for I was going to offer you my sympathy. Seriously, though—you must be awfully dull.’

‘Why must I?’

‘Doesn’t it stand to reason? With nobody to speak to but my father! I don’t want to speak ill of him, but he is old, and that means a great deal. Candidly, do you know, I think Colonel Ashley made a great mistake when he chose my father to be your guardian. He is old. He doesn’t understand that young people want to live and to see life. He saw plenty of it when he was young, but he forgets all that. It was very nice of Colonel Ashley, you know—showed great confidence—but it was a mistake.’

‘But I tell you,’ said Mabel earnestly, ‘I am very happy.’

‘You are very good, I think,’ said Randal, smiling.

‘O, no, I’m not! Did you know papa?’

The General had never mentioned her father’s name.

Randal, by speaking of him so frankly, scored a point for himself at once. All the depth of Mabel’s character, the grief, the objectless love, rose up at that name, and Randal Hawke was surprised, as far as anything could surprise a man of his experience, at the expression of the eyes that gazed at him.

‘Some years ago I went to India,’ he said, ‘and I saw him at Madras. I was only a lad, but old enough to admire him, and to know what a splendid soldier he was. Such a fine-looking fellow too. But I daresay you have a portrait of him.’

‘Yes, but— Tell me more about him.’

Randal brushed up his memory very successfully, and told the lonely girl a long history of her father’s life at Madras, his friends, and his occupations. Mabel listened intently. At last she said,

‘I was to have gone out to him that very year.’

‘Ah, you must have been tired of school!’

‘I was,’ said Mabel, with a long sigh.

‘Then I shall take a little credit to myself. I told my father that he had no business to leave you so long at school—that you were grown up, and it was time that sort of thing should end. Was I right?’

‘Yes, indeed. But how did you know? you never saw me.’

‘I had thought about you, though. And I understood a good deal better than my father what your feelings were likely to be. I am glad I was right. And I’m glad you like Pensand; but that won’t last long. You think so, but you are mistaken. I suppose you like it because it is pretty.’

‘Because it is beautiful.’

‘When you get to my time of life, you will think nothing so boring as a pretty place. To stand and stare, and hear stupid people going into raptures. There are worse people, though, who take it all in with a rapt artistic gaze, till you expect to see them break out into poetry or painting. The world is a mass of humbug. All the poets and painters ought to be kicked.’

‘Why?’ said Mabel.

‘Because they are all humbugs. They study the temper of the times, read reviews, and then write and paint whatever will make them fashionable and bring them money. I don’t think you need look shocked. Everything in the world is carried on in the same way. There is no honour, no true genius. We must do without them.’

‘If I believed you, I should be very sorry,’ said Mabel.

‘Of course you don’t believe me, living here in paradise. I spend most of my time in London, unfortunately,’ said Randal. ‘There every one does what is best for himself.’

‘Or worst,’ Mabel thought dimly to herself, but she did not feel able to argue with any one so wise.

The rain had cleared away, and the sun was shining again on the lawn. Then a tall figure crossed over from the shrubberies, and approached the window with long swift steps.

‘Hallo, Don Quixote!’ said Mr. Hawke. ‘He makes himself at home.’

Some further mutterings escaped Mabel’s ears.

‘Mr. Strange! I am so glad,’ she said, getting up and moving forward to meet Anthony.

‘How are you to-day?’ said Anthony, seizing her hand in both his, and bending down towards her with evident delight. ‘I have been looking for you in the garden. Don’t you want some roses? Come out and gather them; it is new life after the rain.’

‘Sorry to interrupt you; but are you the gardener?’ said Randal, raising himself slowly from the sofa.

‘Ah—Randal! what are you doing here?’ said Mr. Strange, holding out his hand.

‘I may put the same question—with a better right, don’t you think?’ said Randal lazily.

They were an odd contrast. Anthony tall, plain, and awkward, with loose unclerical clothes which might have been made by the little tailor in St. Denys; Randal much shorter, but graceful and well-proportioned, with his handsome clear-cut face, perfect dress, and air of cool self-possession. Anthony looked from him to Mabel, and reddened slightly as he answered, ‘Well, you are not wrong there. Your father has given me leave, sir, to walk about Pensand as I please, and to make any number of short cuts. I don’t show them to anybody else, except Miss Ashley. Do you disapprove?’

‘I do—of the exception, and the whole affair. But it is my father’s business, not mine, so pray walk about the garden as you please. How are you, and how is Mrs. Strange?’

‘That is the sort of quarrel I like,’ said Anthony to Mabel. ‘First knock a man down, and then ask how he feels. My mother is not very well, thank you, Randal. And the General, how’s he? Does he like your coming down to box our ears all round?’

‘Can’t tell you, for I have not seen him yet. You know more about him than I do.’

‘You will find him in very good spirits,’ said Anthony quietly; then turning to Mabel, ‘Will you come into the garden? Everything is green and fresh, and the birds want to tell you how they are enjoying themselves.’

‘No, Miss Ashley, don’t go into that damp garden,’ said Randal; ‘you will catch cold. Stay here and talk to me.’

Mabel glanced from one to the other; they both seemed waiting for her decision, and both looked as grave as if a good deal depended on it. She did not hesitate more than a moment, but took up her hat and stepped out of the window.

‘I should like to go into the garden,’ she said; at which they both smiled, Anthony brightly, Randal disagreeably.

‘Well, you will forgive me for staying behind,’ he said. ‘You have a good escort; he knows the place better than I do, and I have to speak to my father.’

‘I think the General is in his study,’ said Mabel.

‘Thank you; I shall find him.’

He stood at the window as they walked across the lawn, looking after them with a doubtful unpleasant expression. He heard Mabel laughing, freely and happily, at some remark of Anthony’s. He shrugged his shoulders and turned away.

General Hawke was half asleep over a book in the dark little room he called his study. His son’s entrance roused him effectually, and he seemed thoroughly glad to see him. But the motive of Randal’s visit was a mystery.

‘A flying visit, eh? Why don’t you stay a week?’ said the General. ‘What is the use of coming for a day?’

‘I may come for a week, or more, by and by,’ said Randal. ‘But down here you want looking up some-times, it strikes me. I find that other people take my place.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, it is not quite nice to see that fellow Strange walking about the place as if it was his own, entertaining our guests—asking me what I’m doing here. If I had not been better-tempered than most people, I should have given him a cross answer.’

‘Poor Anthony!’ said the General, laughing.

‘He is an object of pity, no doubt. But I don’t know whether you will feel quite so much compassion for him, when he walks off with Mabel Ashley.’

‘Nonsense! He is twice her age, to begin with. And she laughs at him, sees his absurdities keenly enough, I can tell you. Anthony amuses her beyond measure. Nobody but you would think of such a thing.’

‘Nobody but me! And why me? Because I have seen enough of the world to know that the people who seem most unlikely are just those who thwart your plans, and thrust themselves into all sorts of inconvenient places. Anthony does not think himself old, I can tell you. He thinks himself a good-looking young fellow, fit to enter the lists with anybody. It was plain enough just now.’

‘Is he here now?’

‘Of course. I suspect he is here every day. Walks in at the drawing-room window, and asks Miss Ashley to come into the garden. Off she goes, evidently liking his company better than mine.’

‘It would never have occurred to me to be jealous of old Anthony,’ said the General, with a shade of contempt. ‘Now, Dick Northcote—I thought there was—some danger there.’

‘Not a bit of it. You told me about the journey. Unless Dick is immensely altered, he is not the man to be attracted by that girl.’

‘Even if he was, she is prejudiced against him,’ said General Hawke. ‘I told her the Cardew story and so on. He has only been here once, with Miss Northcote, and then Mabel and he were as cool as possible. It is more likely perhaps that his old love will lay hold of him again. She keeps her looks wonderfully.’

‘Do you think so?’ said Randal carelessly. He was looking out of the window, and gnawing his moustache. There was a minute of silence.

‘By the bye, Randal,’ said his father, ‘how did her portrait get into such a very conspicuous place in your book? opposite your own. I was surprised to see it there. Mabel was a good deal struck.’

‘By the portrait, or its position?’

‘The portrait,’ said General Hawke, raising his eyes with a shade of wonder.

‘Well, it is uncommonly pretty. I bought it at Morebay, and rather liked to look at it, when it was new. I suppose that was why I put it opposite my own. It need not stay there.’

‘Well, it does not really signify in the least. Perhaps it would be better not—a person in that position, so well known about here. The most innocent things give rise to remark—better avoided. Servants, for instance.’

‘The servants are not likely to make remarks on me or my affairs; they know me too well for that,’ said Randal, a faint shade of colour deepening his dark skin.

‘Well, no, they are not,’ assented the General. ‘What do you think of Mabel?’

‘Very plain. Quite odd-looking.’

‘Perhaps so. I should not speak so strongly, however. It is a face that lights up. I have seen her look quite handsome. To me the great drawback is the poor thing’s lameness.’

‘Very awkward, and she feels it herself.’

‘You have not had time yet, I suppose,’ said the General, turning round in his chair, and fixing his eyes on his son, ‘to decide whether you can carry out that idea. I see no objection—I really like the girl, and I believe her looks improve on acquaintance.’

‘There is nothing commonplace about her, at any rate,’ said Randal. ‘And my mind was made up beforehand. I shall not alter it. Can’t afford to have any fancies about the matter. I wish she was fair, and I wish she didn’t limp. I wish she was more ornamental, but one can’t have everything. I must live, and must keep Pensand, I suppose, if I can.’

‘Certainly,’ said the General. He sighed, and looked quite haggard with care and anxiety. ‘Ashley ought to think it a very good use for his money.’

‘He’s dead, so it doesn’t matter what he thinks,’ said Randal.

His father took no notice of this sentiment, but went on after a moment,

‘As to the ornamental part of the business, it is only necessary that one should do that. Most people think you good-looking enough, don’t they?’

‘Yes, I quite agree with them, and I hope Miss Ashley will. Look here, father. You are managing her very well, except that you might be more careful about Strange. Keep on the same tack. Let her see that we are the only friends she has—make her look forward to my coming for amusement. Unless any other nonsense is put into her head, I shall be all right. What a stupid arrangement it is, that one can’t have a woman’s money without herself into the bargain.’

‘My dear fellow, you are rather too strong,’ said the General. ‘I tell you she is a very nice girl.’

‘There are a great many nice girls in the world that one doesn’t want to marry. However, if Fate will have it so—’ said Randal, who was standing on the hearthrug, admiring himself in the looking-glass.

‘You mean to behave well to her, I hope,’ said his ather rather sharply.

‘Like an angel. I consider that there is nothing so vulgar as to behave ill to your wife.’