Read Ebook: Within the Maze: A Novel Vol. 1 (of 2) by Wood Henry Mrs

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hat was mentioned above. Some years had gone by since. Mrs. Andinnian and her son Adam had continued to live together in their quiet home in Northamptonshire; Karl, lieutenant now, and generally with his regiment, paying them an occasional visit. No particular change had occurred, save the death of Lady Andinnian. The families had continued to be estranged as heretofore: for never a word of invitation had come out of Foxwood. Report ran that Sir Joseph was ailing much; very much indeed since the loss of his wife. And, now, that so much of introduction is over, we can go on with the story.

A beautiful day in April. At a large window thrown open to the mid-day sun, just then very warm and bright, sat a lady of some five and fifty years. A tall, handsome, commanding woman, resolution written in every line of her haughty face. She wore a black silk gown with the slightest possible modicum of crape on it, and the guipure cap--or, rather, the guipure lappets, for of cap there was not much to be seen--had in it some black ribbon. Her purple-black hair was well preserved and abundant still; her black eyes were stern, and fearlessly honest. It was Mrs. Andinnian.

She was knitting what is called a night-sock. Some poor sick pensioner of hers or her son's--for both had their charities--needed the comfort. Her thoughts were busy; her eyes went fondly out to the far end of the garden, where she could just discern her son against the shrubs: the fairest and dearest sight to Mrs. Andinnian that earth had ever contained for her, or ever would contain.

"It is strange Sir Joseph does not write for him," ran her thoughts--and they very often did run in the same groove. "I cannot imagine why he does not. Adam ought to be on the spot and get acquainted with his inheritance: his uncle must know he ought. But that I have never stooped to ask a favour in my life, I would write to Sir Joseph, and proffer a visit for Adam, and--for--yes, for me. During that woman's lifetime Adam was not likely to be welcomed there: but the woman's gone: it is two months this very day since she died."

The woman, thus unceremoniously alluded to, was Lady Andinnian: and the slight mourning, worn, was for her. Some intricacy in the knitting caused Mrs. Andinnian to bend her head: when she looked up again, her son was not to be seen. At the same moment, a faint sound of distant conversation smote her ear. The work dropped on her lap; with a look of annoyance she lifted her head to listen.

"He is talking to that girl again! I am sure of it."

Lift her head and her ears as she would, she could not tell positively whose voices they were. Instinct, however, that instinct of suspicion we all feel within us on occasion, was enough.

A very respectable manservant of middle age, thoughtful in face, fair in complexion, with a fringe of light hair round the sides of his otherwise bald head, entered the room and presented a note to his mistress. "Who is it from?" she asked as she took it off the silver waiter. An old waiter, bearing the Andinnian crest.

"Mrs. Pole's housemaid has brought it, ma'am. She is waiting for an answer."

It was but a friendly note of invitation from a neighbour, asking Mrs. Andinnian and her two sons to go in that evening. For Karl, the second son, had come home for a two days' visit, and was just then writing letters in another room.

"Yes, we will go--if Adam has no engagement," said Mrs. Andinnian to herself, but half aloud. "Hewitt, go and tell Mr. Andinnian that I wish to speak with him."

The man went across the garden and through the wilderness of shrubs. There stood his master at an open gate, talking to a very pretty girl with bright hair and rosy cheeks.

"My mistress wishes to see you, Mr. Adam."

Adam Andinnian turned round, a defiant expression on his haughty face, as if he did not like the interruption. He was a very fine man of some three-and-thirty years, tall and broad-shouldered, with his mother's cast of proud, handsome features, her fresh complexion, and her black hair. His eyes were dark grey; deeply set in the head, and rarely beautiful. His teeth also were remarkably good; white, even, and prominent, and he showed them very much.

"Tell my mother I'll come directly, Hewitt."

Hewitt went back with the message. The young lady who had turned to one of her own flower-beds, for the gardens joined, was bending over some budding tulips.

"I think they will be out next week, Mr. Andinnian," she looked round to say.

"Never mind the tulips," he answered after a pause, during which he had leaned on the iron railings, looking dark and haughty. "I want to hear more about this."

"There's nothing more to hear," was the young lady's answer.

"That won't do, Rose. Come here."

And she went obediently.

The house to which this other garden belonged was a humble, unpretending dwelling, three parts cottage, one part villa. A Mr. Turner lived in it with his wife and niece. The former was in good retail business in the town: a grocer: and he and his wife were as humble and unpretending as their dwelling. The niece, Rose, was different. Her father had been a lawyer in small local practice: and at his death Rose--her mother also dead--was taken by her uncle and aunt, who loved both her and her childish beauty. Since then she had lived with them, and they educated her well. She was a good girl: and in the essential points of mind, manner, and appearance, a lady. But her position was of necessity a somewhat isolated one. With the tradespeople of the town Rose Turner did not care to mix: she felt that, however worthy, they were beneath her: quite of another order altogether: on the other hand, superior people would not associate with Miss Turner, or put so much as the soles of their shoes over the doorsill of the grocer's house. At sixteen she had been sent to a finishing school: at eighteen she came back as pretty and as nice a girl as one of fastidious taste would wish to see.

Years before, Adam and Karl Andinnian had made friends with the little child: they continued to be intimate with her as brothers and sister. Latterly, it had dawned on Mrs. Andinnian's perception that Adam and Miss Turner were a good deal together; certainly more than they need be. Adam had even come to neglect his flowers, that he so much loved, and to waste his time talking to Rose. It cannot be said that Mrs. Andinnian feared any real complication--any undesirable result of any kind; the great difference in their ages might alone have served to dispel the notion: Adam was thirty-three; Miss Turner only just out of her teens. But she was vexed with her son for being so frivolous and foolish: and, although she did not acknowledge it to herself, a vague feeling of uneasiness in regard to it lay at the bottom of her heart. As to Adam, he kept his thoughts to himself. Whether this new propensity to waste his hours with Miss Turner arose out of mere pastime, or whether he entertained for her any warmer feeling, was, his own secret.

Things--allowing for argument's sake that there was some love in the matter--were destined not to go on with uninterrupted smoothness. There is a proverb to the effect, you know. During the last few weeks a young medical student, named Martin Scott, had become enamoured of Miss Turner. At first, he had confined himself to silent admiration. Latterly he had taken to speaking of it. Very free-mannered, after the fashion of medical students of graceless nature, he had twice snatched a kiss from her: and the young lady, smarting under the infliction, indignant, angry, had this day whispered the tale to Adam Andinnian. And no sooner was it done, than she repented: for the hot fury that shone out of Mr. Andinnian's face, startled her greatly.

They were standing together again at the small iron gate, ere the sound of Hewitt's footsteps had well died away. Rose Turner had the true golden hair that ladies have taken to covet and spend no end of money on pernicious dyes to try and obtain. Her garden hat was untied, and she was playing with its strings.

"Rose, I must know all; and I insist upon your telling me. Go on."

"But indeed I have told you all, Mr. Andinnian."

Mr. Andinnian gazed steadfastly into Miss Rose's eyes, as if he would get the truth out of their very depths. It was evident that she now spoke unwillingly, and only in obedience to his strong will.

"It was last night, was it, that he came up, this brute of a Scott?"

"Last night, about six," she answered. "We were at tea, and my aunt asked him to take some--"

"Which he did of course?" savagely interrupted Mr. Andinnian.

"Yes; and eat two muffins all to himself," laughed Miss Turner, trying to turn the anger off. Mr. Andinnian did not like the merriment.

"Be serious if you please, child; this is a serious matter. Was it after tea that he--that he dared to insult you?" and the speaker shut his right hand with a meaning gesture as he said it.

"Yes. Aunt went to the kitchen to see about something that was to be prepared for my uncle's supper--for she is fidgety over the cooking, and never will trust it to the servant. Martin Scott then began to tease as usual; saying how much he cared for me, and asking me to wait for him until he could get into practice."

"Well?" questioned Adam impatiently as she stopped.

"I told him that he had already had his answer from me and that he had no right to bring the matter up again; it was foolish besides, as it only set me more against him. Then I sat down to the piano and played the Chatelaine--he only likes rattling music--and sang a song, thinking it would pass the time in peace until aunt returned. By-and-by I heard my uncle's latch-key in the front door, and I was crossing the room to go out and meet him, when Martin Scott laid hold of my arm, and--and kissed me."

Mr. Andinnian bit his lips almost to bleeding. His face was frightful in its anger. Rose shivered a little.

"I am sorry I told you, Mr. Andinnian."

"Now listen, Rose. If ever this Martin Scott does the like again, I'll shoot him."

"Oh, Mr. Andinnian!"

"I shall warn him. In the most unmistakable words; words that he cannot misconstrue; I will warn him of what I mean to do. Let him disregard it at his peril; if he does, I'll shoot him as I would shoot a dog."

The very ferocity of the threat, its extreme nature, disarmed Miss Turner's belief in it. She smiled up in the speaker's face and shook her head, but was content to let the subject pass away in silence. Adam Andinnian, totally forgetting his mother's message, began talking of pleasanter things.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Andinnian's patience was growing exhausted: she hated to keep other people's servants waiting her pleasure. Her fingers were on the bell to ring for Hewitt, when Karl entered the room, some sealed letters in his hand. A slender man of seven-and-twenty, slightly above the middle height, with pale, clearly-cut features and a remarkably nice expression of countenance. He had the deeply-set, beautiful grey eyes of his brother; but his hair, instead of being black and straight, was brown and wavy. An attractive looking man, this Karl Andinnian.

"I am going out to post these letters," said Karl. "Can I do anything for you in the town, mother?"

The voice was attractive too. Low-toned, clear, melodious, full of truth: a voice to be trusted all over the world. Adam's voice was inclined to be harsh, and he had rather a loud way of speaking.

Karl left his letters on the table, traversed the garden, and found Adam with Miss Turner. They turned to wait his approach. A half doubt, he knew not wherefore, dawned for the first time on his mind.

"How are you this morning, Rose?" he asked, raising his hat with the ceremony one observes to an acquaintance, rather than to an intimate friend. "Adam, the mother seems vexed: you are keeping her waiting, she says, and she wishes to know the reason of it."

"I forgot all about it," cried Adam. "Deuce take the thorn!"

"Go back, will you, Karl, and tell the mother I am sorry I forgot it. I shall be there as soon as you are."

"A genteel way of getting rid of me," thought Karl with a laugh, as he at once turned to plunge into the wide shrubbery. "Good day to you, Rose."

But when he was fairly beyond their sight Karl's face became grave as a judge's. "Surely Adam is not drifting into anything serious in that quarter!" ran his thoughts. "It would never do."

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