by Marion Bryce
“The drive was absolutely spoilt. The hare and its pursuer had by this time gone the whole length of the butts, and looked like going till Christmas. Lord Ashiel had come out into the open, and we saw him put his gun to his shoulder. The dog gave one last leap, and rolled over before the report reached our ears. It was a quarter of a mile away from us.”
Juliet paused; she was out of breath; they had been walking fast and were within sight of the castle gates. The way led along the side of Loch Ashiel, and the castle rose in front of them on a tall rocky promontory, which jutted far into the water.
“Let us rest here a few minutes,” said Gimblet. “It is too much to ask you to talk while we are walking up that hill, and I don’t want you to leave out any details, however unimportant they may appear to you.”
CHAPTER VIII
They had reached a place where a wide horseshoe of beach ran down to the loch. For more than a week there had been no rain to speak of. The season as a whole had been dry, and the water was very low; tufts of grass dotted the shore; brambles and young alders were springing up bravely, determined to make the most of their time. At the back stretched a meadow, part of which had been cut for hay; the rest of it was so full of weeds and wild flowers, ragweed, burdock and the red stalks of sorrel, that it had been left untouched, and filled the foreground with colour. The grass had gone to seed and turned a rich reddish purple; beneath it grew wild geraniums whose leaves were already scarlet. Bluebells and scabious made a haze of mauve, and everywhere the warm, sandy stalks of the dried grasses shone yellow through the patch.
They sat down at the edge of the beach and leant back against the overhanging turf. Opposite to them the little town of Crianan clung to the steep rocks below Ben Ghusy, the houses looking as if they stood piled one on top of another in a rough pyramid; and the whole surmounted by the high walls and tower of the Roman Catholic monastery which dominated the scene, and always seemed to Juliet to wear a look of stern defiance, as if it were offering a challenge to that other fortress that frowned back at it. She could imagine the monks in the old days, standing on its parapet and daring the Lords of Inverashiel to do their worst. Far away down the loch lay the hills, scarce more deeply grey than the water; beyond them more distant tops melted into the sky. The grey ripples lapped gently on jagged shingle, and a persistent housefly buzzed loudly round their heads; at that hour there were as yet few midges, and it was very peaceful, very solitary, very desolate.
“I don’t know,” said Juliet, going on with her story where she had left off, “which was more angry, Lord Ashiel or Sir David. After the first few minutes, in which they both said things I am sure they regretted afterwards, neither of them would speak to the other, and it was a very uncomfortable evening for every one. The next day was better. Colonel Spicer and Sir George left by the morning train, both going on to shoot in other parts of Scotland. Mrs. Clutsam went away too; she had some one coming to stay with her at her own house near by. Both the young men went stalking on different parts of the forest, and Lord Ashiel and I, with the two other girls, spent the morning on the loch trolling for salmon; but we didn’t get a rise.
“In the afternoon I walked up the river with Julia Romaninov; we talked about our schooldays. She had been at school in Germany, and I in Switzerland. After a while she got tired and went home, but I went on by myself, for I had a lot of things to think of, and was glad to be alone. I came at last to a great pool among the rocks, where the river comes down in a fall from far above in a cloud of spray and foam. I stood on a stone at the water’s edge and watched the trout rising in the pool. The river was low and the water very clear. Standing on the rocks above it, it seemed as if I could see every pebble at the bottom, except where they were hidden in the ripples which spread away from beneath the fall. The pool is like the bottom of a well; high rocks rear themselves round it to a great height; they are veiled in a greenness of fern and moss, and near the top many trees have found a roothold in the crevices and bend forward towards each other over the water, as divers poise themselves before leaping down. Through a narrow opening opposite the fall the river makes its way onward. As I stood there a stone must have come down from the heights above. I did not see it, and the noise of the waterfall deadened any sound of its descent, but suddenly I felt a heavy blow between the shoulders, and I must have tumbled forward into the pool below.
“The next thing I remember was looking up into the anxious friendly face of Andrew Campbell, one of the ghillies at Inverashiel. It seemed to be hanging above me in the sky, which was the only other thing I could see, and I wondered vaguely why I saw it upside down. My head was aching cruelly and I couldn’t imagine what was the matter, though I was too weak and faint to care. To cut my adventure short, Andrew had come to a pool lower down the river just as I floated into it on top of the current; he had fished me out, and was now restoring me to life again. I was got back to the house, how I hardly know, put to bed, and actually wept over by Lord Ashiel. By the evening I had so far recovered that I was able to come down to dinner, though I should not have done so if it had not been for the anxiety of my host, as my head still felt as if it was going to split. I received many congratulations on my escape, and Lord Ashiel, when he spoke of it, was so much moved that every one was quite embarrassed, and I myself was touched beyond expression at the affection he did not attempt to conceal. He was very silent after that, but in spite of him dinner that night was a merry meal. Every one was in the best of spirits, or else assumed them for the time being. We all joked and laughed over my adventure, and Mr. McConachan said I bore a charmed life, since I had escaped being killed by his careless shot, and now the river refused to drown me. It was not till the servants had left the room, and we were preparing to do the same, that Lord Ashiel spoke again.
“Lady Ruth had got up, and was moving towards the door, and the other girls and I were following her, when he called her back. ‘Will you wait a minute, Ruth,’ he said. ‘I have something to tell you and my young friends here.’ He smiled round at all of us, including Sir David, to whom he hadn’t spoken since the affair of the dog. ‘I have some good news which I want you to share with me.’ He took me by the hand and drew me forward. ‘I want,’ said he, ‘to introduce you all to a young lady whom you do not know. This is Juliet McConachan, my dear and only daughter.’
“I was not really so surprised as he expected. His behaviour to me had made me suspicious, and during the last few days especially I had allowed myself to nourish a hope that we were related. But I was glad. I can’t tell you how glad and thankful. Every one else was tremendously surprised. They all clustered round us with questions and exclamations, but Lord Ashiel would say no more just then, and only smiled and beamed, and nodded mysteriously. ‘I am not going to answer any questions till I have had a talk with Juliet,’ he said. ‘This is as much news to her as it is to any of you, and it is only fair that she should be the first to hear the story. For I won’t deny that there is a story. Come to me presently, my child,’ he went on, addressing himself to me. ‘Come to the library in half an hour’s time. You will find me there, and I will tell you all about it.’
“I went to the drawing-room, my aching head almost forgotten. I was, of course, intensely excited; indeed I think I scarcely took in any of the kind things that Lady Ruth and the others said to me that evening; at all events I have hardly any idea what they were, and none at all as to what I answered. My one overmastering desire was to be alone; to have time to think; to realize all that the news meant to me; and after a quarter of an hour had passed I made some excuse, and left the room. The nearest way to my bedroom was by a back stair, and to reach it I had to pass through a passage leading to the gun-room. The door of that room was ajar, and as I went by Sir David Southern came out.
“‘What have you been doing in there at this time of night?’ I asked; and oh, Mr. Gimblet, I was so foolish as to repeat this to the Glasgow detective when he questioned me. To think that my careless words have led them to believe
Sir David capable of such a crime! But I had no idea of the meaning they would attach to it. You will understand presently how it was. ‘I went to clean my rifle,’ he answered, shutting the door behind him. ‘I always see to that myself. And where are you off to so fast, Cousin Juliet? That is what you are to me, it appears.’ And so we talked: about me, and our newly discovered relationship. I need not repeat all that, need I? And, besides, I do not remember everything we said,” added Juliet, flushing.
“After a little while, though, I told him how badly my head ached, and he was very sympathetic about it. ‘You ought not to have come down to dinner,’ he said, ‘the dining-room gets so hot and stuffy; it is a low room, and Uncle Douglas never will have the window open, even on a lovely night like this.’ There is a door at the foot of the stairs, opposite the gun-room, and as he spoke he drew back the bolt. ‘Come out into the garden for a few minutes,’ he said, holding the door open for me to pass, ‘a little fresh air will do you more good than anything.’
“The night was warm, I suppose, for Scotland, but cool enough to seem wonderfully fresh and invigorating after the enclosed air within the house. It was very dark, and the sky was overcast, though just above us a star or two was shining, very large and clear. Otherwise I could hardly distinguish anything at all, except the line, about fifty yards away, where the lawn came to an end, and the ground dipped abruptly down towards the loch, so that the level edge of the grass showed up against the less opaque darkness of the sky, like a black velvet border to a piece of black silk.
“We stood there a little while, till I remembered I must go to the library. My head was already much better when I turned back into the house; Sir David didn’t follow me; he seemed to be staring through the gloom in front of him. ‘I am going in,’ I said. ‘What are you looking at?’ ‘I thought I saw something move over there on the skyline,’ he replied; ‘do you see anything?’ I looked, but could make out nothing. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘if you are going in, I think I’ll just go over and see if there’s anyone about; you might leave the door open, will you?’
“And so I left him, and made my way to the library. As I passed through the billiard-room, Mr. McConachan, who was knocking the balls about, asked me if I had seen his cousin, and I told him Sir David was outside on the lawn by the gun-room door.
“Lord Ashiel—my father—was waiting for me, and he came to meet me and kissed me tenderly. We were both very much agitated: I was still feeling the effects of my escape from drowning, and he, poor dear, was weak and ill. In short, neither of us was in a fit state to meet the situation calmly; and, if my tears flowed, they were not the only ones that were shed. For a few moments we cried like babies, in each other’s arms, and then I pulled myself together, for I knew how bad it was for his health to get into this nervous state. Mr. Gimblet, I needn’t tell you all the conversation that followed between us. He told me that you know the whole story, that you are the one person in the world in whom he had confided; so it is unnecessary for me to repeat what he said of his marriage to my mother, of her death, and of his resolve never willingly to look upon me, the baby who had taken her from him. He told me also of the years that had intervened between that day when he had shuffled off his responsibilities on to Mrs. Meredith, and the day, not long ago, when he at last decided to hunt out his daughter.
“He told me of his fears that she should prove to be none other than Julia Romaninov, and of how, in desperation, he had applied to you for help, and of how you had discovered my existence.
“He said he had never really doubted from the moment he first set eyes on me that I was Juliana’s child. But he dared not hint such a thing to me till he was certain, and anxious though he was to see a likeness between me and her, or himself, he had not been able to tell himself, truthfully, that he could really see one, until that day. It was when I was brought home that afternoon, so white and faint, so changed by my pallor from what he chose to describe as my usual gay brilliance, that the resemblance suddenly showed itself. He hardly knew that it was I; it might have been Juliana that they were carrying. He said there could be no doubt that I was her daughter; that he for one, required no further proof; though we should probably get it now it was no longer wanted. Sir Arthur Byrne might be able to suggest some way of tracing things. Not that it mattered, for he could not in any case leave me his title, and, on the other hand, he had full control of his money, which would be mine before very long.
“I cried out at that, that he must not say so; that it was not money I wanted, but a father, affection, friendship. He repeated that all the same I should have it in course of time. That it was all settled already. Even before he was certain that I was his own child, he liked me well enough to make up his mind about that. He asked me if I remembered that he had stayed at home the other day while the rest of us were on the hill? He said he had made his will that day, and I was the principal legatee, though he had not alluded to me in it by my own name. But he worded it carefully, so that that should make no difference; and though he believed it was quite clear as it was, he would make it over again, as soon as he could obtain legal proof of my birth.
“I supposed I murmured some sort of thanks for his care of my future, and he went on again, saying that he only wished the title could come to me too, when he died; but that it would go to Mark, since the little boy his second wife had given him was dead, and I was a girl.
“He said he was afraid that Mark might be a little disappointed, for, if he hadn’t found me, Mark and David would have shared his fortune between them; but they would soon get over it, for they were good lads, especially Mark; and David would have plenty of money through this very satisfactory marriage of his. I couldn’t help interrupting that money wasn’t everything. I am telling you all these trivial things, Mr. Gimblet, because you said I was to try and remember everything, however unimportant.”
“Yes,” said Gimblet, “that is what I want. Pray go on.”
“He only smiled when I said that,” Juliet resumed, “and said that different opinions were held on that subject by different people. Then he went on talking about my future life, and said again how glad he would always be that he had consulted you, and how grateful he was for what you had done for him, and that if any trouble cropped up, I was to be sure and send for you at once. He looked to you to protect my interests, and, if necessary, to avenge his death.
“I couldn’t think what he meant, and said so; but he only smiled again and said he hoped there would be no need for it. He said he had some papers he must send to you to take care of, some papers that were rather dangerous to their owner, he was afraid, though at the same time they were a safeguard to him. But he shouldn’t like me to have anything to do with them, or the boys either, and he must get them away from Inverashiel as soon as he could. In the meantime they were in a safe place where no one would find them, and he would write to you that night and tell you how to look for them, just on the chance that something should happen before he could send them off. His will was with them, too, for the present, but he would send that up to Findlay & Ince. He wouldn’t tell me where the papers were; he didn’t want me to have anything to do with these tiresome things.
“He said all this with hesitation; with long pauses between the sentences. It seemed to me that he would have liked to tell me more, and I didn’t know what to say. Indeed, he seemed to be talking rather to himself than to me, and I am not sure if he heard me when I said that if he had any anxiety I should like to share it, if it were possible. Presently he seemed to take a sudden resolution. He said that there was no reason, at all events, why he should not explain to me how to find the papers. He had written directions in cipher once before and given you the key, but you had lost it, and might do so again. It would be just as well that I should know about it too, in any case. He had had to think out a new method, and at present it was known to no one except himself, which was perhaps not very wise. However, he would send it to you that night, and would explain it to me at once. But first I m
ust promise him, very faithfully, never to mention it to anyone, whatever happened, not to let anyone, except you, ever guess that there was such a thing in existence.
“I promised solemnly; still he hardly seemed satisfied, and looked at me very searchingly, while he said he wondered if I were old enough to understand the importance of this, and if I realized that I was promising not to tell my nearest or dearest; not my adopted father, Sir Arthur Byrne, nor my lover, if I had one. That it was a matter of life and death, that his life was in danger then, and that I would inherit the risk unless I did as he said.
“Rather indignant, though completely mystified, I promised again. He seemed satisfied, and said he would write the whole thing down for me. He moved from the hearth, where we had been sitting, to the writing-table, which stands in the middle of the room, in front of the window. He sat down at it, and I stood a little behind him, looking on as he took a sheet of notepaper and turned over the pens in the tray in search of a pencil. The room was very hot; the tufts of peat smouldering in the grate, and the two lamps, combined with the fumes of Lord Ashiel’s cigar to render the atmosphere oppressive to a person with a violent headache. I glanced longingly towards the window. It was not entirely hidden by the heavy curtains which were drawn across it, for they did not quite meet in the middle, and I could see perfectly well that the window was shut. For a moment I hesitated, torn between the desire for fresh air and the fear that my father might feel too cold. He was terribly chilly. I decided to ask him, and turned to him again as he took up the pencil and examined the point critically.
