CHAPTER XXIII

A MOST CHARMING GIRL

WHEN the autumn came round again, it found little change in Kenneth Fortescue's life, save that he had risen very 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 anniversary of the day on which Marjorie had come to him the year before, and which would ever be a red-letter day in his life, when he was requested by the head office to travel northwards, that he might investigate the amount of damage caused by a great fire that had taken place in a nobleman's castle, which was very 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 wainscoted; whilst 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.

These old mansions are exceedingly picturesque, and lend themselves to the work of the artist and the photographer, providing them with subjects for some of their best and most taking pictures, but they are oftentimes 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 arising and 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 soon 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 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, and 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; and the head office, knowing the capability and thorough trustworthiness of Mr. Fortescue, had requested him to personally visit Eagleton Castle, that he might report to headquarters as to what would be the probable extent of their liability.

It was for the purpose of making these investigations, that Kenneth Fortescue stood on one of the platforms at New Street waiting for the northern express. As he was looking at the signals and watching the line, he suddenly felt a hand on his arm.

"Fortescue, you here! I'm delighted to see you again; I thought I could not be mistaken." It was Captain Berington.

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 them 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, and 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 Captain Berington again; doubly glad that Captain 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."

Captain Fortescue told him what he was doing, and mentioned that he was on his way to Eagleton Castle.

"What a terrible fire that was!" said Captain Berington. "It does seem an awful shame when old places like that are burnt. Vi was very 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."

"What was that?"

"Oh! Haven't you heard? 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 seemed to have taken a turn, 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 is 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, so that it will just have been postponed a year. Poor girl, it has been awfully hard lines for her; but the doctor hopes she may be quite strong by that time. By-the-by, I've got a photo of her lying on the couch 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 one. It was a nice clear September day, and I got a capital negative."

He was hunting amongst 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. Captain 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 Captain Fortescue's exclamation of astonishment. He was not even looking at her; he was gazing with the greatest attention at something else in the picture. For 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.

Captain Berington saw how earnestly Fortescue looked at the photograph; he thought that he noticed something more than mere attention in his gaze. Our eyes cannot always keep our secrets so well as our lips do, and 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 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, that he might 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."

"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. Captain 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—quite a lady though! 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! 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, his friend left the train, and he saw the carriage and pair waiting to convey him to Grantley Castle, a great feeling of loneliness crept over him as he leant back in the corner of the carriage.

Captain Berington was going to see her, to talk to her, and to give her the photo. And he thought her a most charming girl.

Kenneth wondered what Marjorie thought of him. Well, he must be glad that she was in a comfortable home, and was no longer toiling away amongst the pit mounds and coal dust of Daisy Bank.