CHAPTER XXV.

HOW MRS. STANTON SPENT HER FIRST AFTERNOON AT WYNDHAM.

MRS. STANTON sat alone in the drawing room for an hour after the others had driven away. Aldyth had converted this into a very pretty room. Even Mrs. Stanton could find no fault with the taste she had displayed in bringing out all that was picturesque in the old furniture, and blending with it modern artistic draperies and various objects of modern antique. The chair in which Mrs. Stanton reclined was of the easiest, the long French window by which she sat looked out on a stretch of sunlit lawn, with some bright dahlias blooming against the box hedge, and some fine old trees rising beyond.

Mrs. Stanton's mood as she sat there was one of quiet, half-melancholy content. She was far from being crushed by her bereavement. Her affection for her husband had not been of such a clinging, penetrating nature as to make life seem impossible without him. She had taken the lead in their life, making his will give place to hers, and she now felt quite capable of ordering her own life and that of her children.

As she reviewed the past and looked forward to the future, her thoughts took the form of self-congratulation. She was moved to thankfulness that things were as they were. They might have been so different. What a fortunate circumstance it Was that Aldyth should inherit a fortune just when her mother was about to lose everything! For that all was gone Mrs. Stanton felt convinced from what her husband had told her of his affairs, though she was yet awaiting the particulars that the next mail would bring.

Mrs. Stanton had some fancy work in her lap, but she felt a distaste for any occupation. It was easier to lean back and give herself up to daydreams. Presently her imagination was filling the long drawing room with a party of visitors.

"The place is dull," she thought; "but our life here need not be dull. A country house is pleasant enough when it is full of guests. When a proper time has passed, we can invite whom we like. There are surely some nice people in the neighbourhood. We can give dinner parties and tennis-parties and dances. We must do so for Gladys's sake. Captain Walker could come over from Colchester; Cecil could bring some of his friends from London. We could go up to town for a few weeks in the season, perhaps. I suppose Aldyth could afford it. She has never told me what her income is; perhaps she does not yet know herself; but it can hardly be less than three thousand, and that would cover a good many expenses."

As she thought thus, Mrs. Stanton grew weary of inaction. She was naturally robust, and she was beginning to recover from the shock of trouble, which had not made her really ill. She bethought her that she should like to go through the house, and make herself thoroughly acquainted with what she already regarded as her own domain.

As she rose and crossed the room, she caught sight of the reflection of herself in a long mirror opposite, and was struck with the majestic grace of her tall fine figure in its flowing black robe. After all, she was not old or insignificant yet; life must still have pleasant things in store for her. And there was a revival of energy manifest in her look and bearing as she walked from the room.

She started on her tour of inspection alone, but presently found her progress barred by locked doors, so, returning to the drawing room, she rang the bell and summoned the house keeper to her presence.

Mrs. Rogers came readily, for she, in common with the other servants, felt much interest in the beautiful, elegant widow who had taken up her abode at the Hall. Mrs. Rogers was old enough to remember the time when this lady, then a lovely, high-spirited girl, had been the belle of Colchester, and how her marriage with Captain Lorraine and his consequent disfavour with his uncle had set every one talking. The housekeeper entered with an ingratiating smile on her face, and dropped an old-fashioned curtsey as she stood before the lady.

"I thought I should like to take a turn through the rooms; it would help to pass the time," said Mrs. Stanton; "but I find several of the doors locked."

"Ah, yes, ma'am; I keep the rooms locked that are not in use." replied the old woman. "Miss Aldyth being here so little, I thought it best to do so. There's one room full of Mr. Guy's things. And I have the key of the library, and the keys of the bureau too. Mr. Greenwood told me to lock the room the day after the squire died. When either of the Mr. Greenwoods came, I gave the key to them, and when they went away, they locked the door and brought it back to me. And Miss Aldyth, she said I'd better keep the keys of the bureau, too, in case they were wanted; for you see Miss Aldyth was not always here. She went home with Miss Lorraine a day or two after the funeral. But I'll fetch the keys for you, ma'am."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Stanton, seating herself with an air of leisure.

In a few moments, Mrs. Rogers returned with her key-basket. "Perhaps I had better go with you, ma'am," she suggested. "I fear you may find some of the locks rather stiff, and the rooms a bit dusty."

"No, thank you; I will not take up your time," replied Mrs. Stanton, languidly. "I dare say I shall not investigate very far, and I do not care to feel hurried."

"Very well, ma'am; but if so be you should want me, I'll come in a minute."

"You've been at the Hall a good many years, I believe," said Mrs. Stanton.

"More than thirty years, ma'am."

"Ah, then you've seen many changes. You would remember Captain Lorraine."

"Yes, indeed, ma'am. I remember him well. As nice a gentleman as ever was. And Miss Aldyth's as like him as can be. It seems only right that she should be here in his stead, though I am sorry for Mr. Guy."

"Ah, I have not yet the pleasure of his acquaintance," said Mrs. Stanton; "but from what I have heard I should imagine him an agreeable young man.

"He is that, ma'am. There's no one about here but is fond of Mr. Guy. It was a pity that he offended his uncle—not but what we're all very pleased to have Miss Aldyth here; though, if it could have been—But, there, things may come right yet. There's many a one says they will."

But here Mrs. Rogers saw something in the lady's expression that made her check her garrulous talk.

Mrs. Stanton was quick enough to read what was in the old woman's mind, but she showed no consciousness of it.

"Mr. Stephen Lorraine was one easily offended, was he not?" she asked.

"Ay, that he was, ma'am; and he was one that would never go from his word. If any servant offended him, that servant had to leave forthwith. It was of no use to try and persuade him to overlook a fault; he would not do that, though it vexed him to part with them. It seemed impossible for him to forgive."

"And when was it that Mr. Guy was so unfortunate as to displease his uncle?"

"At the end of last year, ma'am. We could all tell that there was something wrong between them, and when Mr. Greenwood came out on New Year's Day, I guessed what it meant."

Mrs. Stanton let the housekeeper talk on for some time, occasionally interrupting her with a question. But at last, wearying of her garrulity, she dismissed her, and set off again to go through the house.

The closed rooms proved old-fashioned and dingy, with the close, musty atmosphere unused chambers so soon acquire. Mrs. Stanton did not care to linger in them. She found little to interest her till she came to the library. The air of that apartment, too, was oppressive, and she hastened to open the long window which looked on to the lawn. The soft breeze which entered was refreshing, and she sank on to a chair by the window and fell to musing on what the old housekeeper had told her.

So there were those who thought that things would yet be made right for Guy by his marriage with his cousin. Was this the motive that had led him to break his engagement to Hilda Bland? Mrs. Stanton could easily believe that it was so. Indeed, as she pondered it, the case hardly seemed to admit of a doubt, nor was she inclined to blame him severely for what seemed to her a most natural line of action. But nothing now could be further from her desires than the fulfilment of the hope she attributed to him. If Guy wedded Aldyth, Wyndham Hall could no longer be the home of herself and daughters, and the delightful visions in which she had been indulging must come to nought; for it was not to be supposed that he would tolerate the constant presence in his home of his wife's mother, nor would she wish to remain under such circumstances.

But was it probable that Aldyth would be more inclined to accept Guy now than she had been before? Her mother could hardly fear it, as she remembered the emphatic way in which Aldyth had repudiated the idea.

"She will not, unless she is moved by some quixotic desire to restore the property to him," reflected Mrs. Stanton; "and I will do all in my power to prevent that."

With this resolve, she dismissed the unwelcome thought, and gave her attention to her surroundings.

The room in which she sat was that in which old Stephen Lorraine had spent most of his time when indoors. A glance round it sufficed to prove that his tastes were not literary. Though it was known as the library, the books it contained were few, and not of an inviting appearance. They looked as if they might have stood untouched on the shelves for the last fifty years. Above the mantelpiece hung tokens of the love of sport that had characterized Stephen Lorraine in earlier years. Various guns, not of the most modern construction, were to be seen there, a very old fishing-rod, and the brush of a fox. The portrait of a favourite hunter, painted by a local artist, hung on the opposite wall, pairing with the picture of a prize bull, from which it was divided by a large, highly imaginative sketch of a group of sheep which had thriven on a certain much-advertised food.

But what most attracted Mrs. Stanton's attention was a quaint, antique bureau which stood full in her view as she sat by the window. No upholsterer's shop could furnish such an article at the present time, so strongly made, so cunningly devised, with its hanging brass handles and lavishly-disposed brass nails. This surely must be the old bureau of which she remembered bearing her first husband speak. He had spoken of it as a most curious piece of furniture, with numerous pigeon-holes, sliding panels, strange, unexpected recesses.

As she looked at the bureau, a longing to explore it took possession of Mrs. Stanton's mind. Why not? Here in the basket she held was the key of the bureau. This long, curiously-formed key would open the main lock, and these small keys must belong to the inner drawers. Why should she not look into the bureau? Its owner for so many years had passed away; the bureau and all it contained was now Aldyth's property; there could be no harm in Aldyth's mother opening it. Aldyth would certainly be willing that she should.

But though she told herself this, Mrs. Stanton hesitated. In her inmost soul, she could not feel sure that it was right for her thus, alone, to examine the things that old Stephen Lorraine had kept hidden from others. She knew that if she did so, she would not like to speak of it to her daughter.

She turned from the bureau. She stepped through the open window on to the gravel path and took one or two turns up and down the length of the lawn. The temptation grew stronger as she lingered. All was still about her; there was not even a gardener in sight. Mrs. Rogers and the servants were in their own quarters; there seemed no cause to fear disturbance.

"You will never have so good an opportunity again," a voice said within her.

She re-entered the library. Like many another daughter of Eve, she looked at the forbidden fruit till it grew irresistible.

"Why should I not?" she asked herself again, as she drew a chair in front of the bureau and seated herself. "The lawyer must have looked at all it contains, so why should not I?"

She turned the key in the lock, and the bureau opened out easily. The sloping desk, dark with age and ink-stains, bore witness to a long term of service. Behind ran two rows of pigeon-holes. These contained receipted bills, invoices, business letters, nothing that could interest her. But a row of locked drawers at the side yielded more interesting matter. Here were newspaper cuttings, referring to events that she could remember, private letters, which she did not hesitate to scan, and presently, closely wrapped in white paper, she found a lock of a woman's hair.

She did not think of a like discovery in the desk of Swift, with its half-savage, wholly pathetic description: "Only a woman's hair," but she wondered at this revelation of a cherished sentiment in the breast of the old man, whom she had always regarded as harsh and unfeeling. Whose hair had this been—his mother's, or a gift from that Tabitha Rudkin whose name she had heard laughingly associated with his youth? And what was the meaning of this morocco case which lay in the same drawer? She opened it, and saw the miniature of a lovely girl with clear complexion, soft grey eyes, and masses of dark curls bunched on either side her forehead, after the fashion of her day. So young and fair she looked; but her youthful charms had long faded, and the years were many since, at a mature age, Death set his seal to her life, for a few words inscribed within the case told that this was the portrait of old Stephen's mother, who had died at the age of fifty-five.

Mrs. Stanton closed the case with a shiver. She did not like to be reminded of the inevitable lot, and the evanescence of beauty and joy. She tried to shut the drawer; but something was wrong, she could not get it back into its place. Then she saw that the framework of the drawers was somehow awry. Inadvertently she must have touched a hidden spring, for now, at a second pull, the whole nest of drawers swung to one side and revealed a hollow space behind fitted up with pigeon-holes. Here was one of the secret recesses of which she had heard.

But it was empty. No. What was that in the furthest partition? Mrs. Stanton put in her hand and drew forth a long blue roll. But as her eyes fell on certain words written on it, she started and recoiled as though a serpent had bitten her.

"Last Will and Testament of Stephen Lorraine." What had she found? Another will? But not a valid one—that was impossible.

As the thought flashed through her mind, she was unrolling the document with trembling hands. The date was April of the present year. And Mrs. Rogers had said that the other will was made on New Year's Day! This was a later will.

She grew cold and faint as the thought came to her that this will might alter everything—Wyndham might not be Aldyth's; it might not be in her power to give a home to her mother and sisters. Mrs. Stanton felt that she must read the will; she must get to know what its provisions were.

Forcing her mind to the task, she slowly read through the will, grasping with difficulty the meaning of the legal words. When she had finished her face was white and her breath came quickly. That first presentiment, alas! was confirmed. The will changed all. It made Wyndham and the bulk of the property, together with the farm at Wood Corner, over to Guy Lorraine, and left Aldyth with six thousand pounds.

Mrs. Stanton had an instantaneous perception of all that this fact meant for her. She did not doubt that Aldyth would still be willing to share her income with them, but how straitened their means would be! She saw herself and daughters living in a small, inconvenient house, like "common people," Gladys, perhaps, in her youth and beauty, reduced to the humiliation of taking a situation. And Cecil—what would become of Cecil's prospects?

"It is not right, it is not just," she murmured, feeling that arrangements so opposed to her interests could not but be wrong. But must it be so? Quickly came the tempting thought—"No one knows of it but me. Mr. Greenwood did not see it. Perhaps it would never have been found."

What a pity she had been so curious to examine the old bureau! And yet if she had not found this will, another might have done so. Quick came the thought, "I am glad it was not Aldyth who found it."

Yet why? What was she going to do with it, now it had come to light? Not to proclaim the fact at once, certainly. Should she thrust it back in the recess, and leave it for some one else to discover? She shrank from the idea. It would be like having a drawn sword for ever hanging above her head. What then? Destroy it? She turned hot and then cold as the evil suggestion presented itself. Was it not felony to destroy a will? That was a very ugly word. She could not do such a thing as that. And yet—she wished the will were destroyed. She would be glad to know that it would never have power to affect her welfare.

[Illustration]

She glanced at it again. The names of the witnesses were strange to her. One had written "solicitor" and a London address after his name. Would he be likely to know that the will had not come into operation? Would it be safe to destroy it? The perspiration rose on Mrs. Stanton's forehead as she asked herself this question. Suddenly, to her consternation, she heard voices close at hand in the garden.

It was Aldyth and Gladys. Whilst she had been searching the bureau, the afternoon had worn away, and they had returned from their drive.

Gladys was planning a tennis-ground, which she wished to persuade Aldyth to have made; but at any moment they might turn their steps towards the open window. In an agony of fear, Mrs. Stanton thrust the will into her pocket. That receptacle was not large enough to hide it; she must hold the folds of her gown together if she would conceal the packet as she escaped to her room.

But first there were the drawers to push back into their place and lock, and the bureau to close. Mrs. Stanton did it all in nervous haste with trembling hands. One drawer would not lock, and she left it open in her alarm, as she heard the girls' steps approaching. She had but time to close her gown, ere the girls were at the window.

"Mamma! You here!" cried Aldyth, in surprise, as she glanced in at the window.

"Yes, dear; you may well be surprised," said Mrs. Stanton, faintly. "But I—thought I should like to look through the rooms—and—and Mrs. Rogers gave me the keys—but—but it has been too much for me."

"I am sure it has," said Aldyth, wondering to see how pale her mother was, and the tremulous way in which she spoke. "You should have waited till I could come with you. Why, your hand is quite cold. I cannot leave you again, if you not take better care of yourself."

"No, do not leave me again," cried Mrs. Stanton, beginning to sob. "It is better for me to have you near. I get thinking of things when I am alone, and I cannot bear it."

"Do not cry, dear mamma. I am here. I will not leave you," said Aldyth, throwing her arms about her mother. "But you must not stay in this chill room. Come into the drawing room."

"No, no; let me go to my own room," said Mrs. Stanton, rising, her right hand still holding the folds of her gown.

Aldyth would have taken the hand to draw within her arm, but Mrs. Stanton wheeled hastily round. "The other side, please, dear; I want to hold up my dress with this hand."

Supported by Aldyth, she moved slowly from the room. Gladys did not immediately follow them. She had not betrayed any anxiety on her mother's account. There was a satirical smile on her lips as she said to herself, glancing round the library—

"It was like mamma to make an inspection of the house when Aldyth was out of the way; but I wonder, did she chance upon a skeleton anywhere, that she was so upset?"

Mrs. Stanton, having gained her bedroom, seemed indisposed for further soothing, and only anxious to send Aldyth away.

"Leave me to myself now, dear," she said, sinking on to a couch in such a way that her pocket was hidden. "I only want quiet; I shall be better when I have rested awhile."

Aldyth did not reflect that her mother had been enjoying quiet all the afternoon. She, too, was glad to slip away to her own room. But no sooner had Aldyth left her, than Mrs. Stanton rose from the sofa, and, having locked the door, found a travelling desk which was fitted with a good patent lock. In this she placed the will, and having locked the desk, put the key away in a drawer, which she also locked; then, mounting on a chair, she pushed the desk out of sight on the top shelf of her wardrobe.

"Anyhow, I will do nothing in the matter till the mail brings me news," she said to herself.