anville
King of the Castle
Volume One – Chapter One.
Part of the Garrison
“Hullo, Claude, going for a walk?”
“Yes, papa.”
“Alone?”
“No: Mary is going with me.”
“Humph! If you were as giddy as Mary, I’d – I’d – ”
“What, papa?”
“Don’t know; something bad. But, Claude, my girl.”
“Yes, dear?”
“Why the dickens don’t you dress better? Look at you!”
The girl admonished turned merrily round, and stood facing an old bevelled-glass cabinet in the solid-looking, well-furnished library, and saw her reflection – one which for some reason made her colour slightly; perhaps with pleasure at seeing her handsome oval face with soft, deep brown hair, and large dark, well-shaded eyes – a face that needed no more display to set it off than the plain green cloth well-fitting dress, held at the throat by a dead gold brooch of Roman make.
“Well, papa,” she said, as she altered the sit of her natty, flat-brimmed straw hat, “what is the matter with my dress?”
The big-headed, grey-haired man addressed gave his stiff, wavy locks an impatient rub, wrinkled his broad forehead, and then smiled in a happy, satisfied way, his dark eyes lighting up, and his smile driving away the hard, severe look which generally rested upon his brow.
“The matter?” he said, drawing the girl on to his knee and kissing her. “I don’t understand such things; but your dress seems too common and plain.”
“But one can’t wear silks and satins and muslins to scramble among the rocks and go up the glen.”
“Well, there, don’t bother me. But dress better. If you want more money you can have it. You ought to take the lead here, and there were ladies on some of the yachts and on the pier yesterday who quite left you behind. – Yes! What is it?”
“Isaac Woodham, from the quarry, sir, would like to see you,” said a servant.
“Confound Isaac Woodham! Send him in.”
The servant retired, leaving his master muttering.
“Wants to spend money in some confounded new machinery or something. I made all my money without machinery, Claude, but these people want to waste it with their new-fangled plans.”
“But, papa dear, do speak more gently to them.”
“What! let them be masters and eat me out of house and home? Not such a fool.”
“But, papa – ”
“Hold your tongue. Weak little goose. You don’t know them; I do. They must be ruled – ruled. There: be off, and get your walk. Seen Mr Glyddyr to-day?”
The girl flushed scarlet.
“Hallo, pussy; that brings the colour to your cheeks.”
“No, papa; indeed I – ”
“Yes, I know. I say, Claudie, fine handsome fellow, eh? Bit too pale for a yachtsman. But what a yacht! Do you know he came in for three hundred and fifty thousand when his father died?”
“Indeed, papa?” said the girl carelessly.
“Yes! Old Glyddyr was not like your grandfather, confound him.”
“Papa!”
“Con – found him! Didn’t I speak plain? Glyddyr left his boys a slate quarry in Wales for the eldest, and three hundred and fifty for the younger. Parry’s the younger. Eh? Nice fortune for a handsome young yachtsman, Claudie. There, go and have your walk, and keep Mary out of mischief. – Well?”
This was to a hard, heavy-looking man in working clothes, covered with earth stains and stone dust, who was ushered into the room, and who, ignoring the speaker’s presence, stood bowing awkwardly, cap in hand, and changing it from right to left and back.
“Quite well, thank ye, miss, and sent her dooty to you.”
“I’m very glad, Woodham. Remember me kindly to Sarah, and tell her I shall call at the cottage soon.”
“Yes, yes,” said the old man impatiently, following his daughter to the door; “go on now. I have business with Woodham. Don’t be so familiar with the work-people,” he whispered, as he closed the door after the girl, who ran lightly to the foot of the great carved oak staircase, to call out merrily, —
“Not ready, Mary?”
“Yes; coming, coming, coming,” and a quaint, mischievous-looking little body came tripping down the stairs, halting slightly as if from some form of lameness, which her activity partly concealed. But no effort or trick of dress could hide the fact that she was deformed, stunted in proportion, and with her head resting closely between her shoulders, which she had a habit of shrugging impatiently when addressed.
“Oh, do make haste, Mary, or we shall have no time before lunch.”
“Yes, I know. You’ve seen him go by.”
“For shame, Mary!” said Claude, flushing. “You are always thinking of such things. It is not true.”
“Yes, it is; and I don’t think more of such things than you do. ‘Oh, ’tis love, ’tis love, ’tis love that makes the world go round,’” she sang, in a singularly sweet, thrilling soprano voice, her pretty but thin keen face lighting up with a malicious smile. But the old song was checked by Claude’s hand being clapped sharply over her mouth.
“Be quiet, and come along. Papa will hear you.”
“Well, I daresay he wants to see his darling married. Take away your hand, or I’ll bite it.”
“You’re in one of your mocking moods this morning, Mary, and you really make me hate you.”
“Don’t tell fibs,” said the deformed girl, throwing her arms lovingly about her companion. “You couldn’t hate anybody, you dear old pet; and why shouldn’t you have a true, handsome lover?”
“Oh, Mary, you are insufferable. You think of nothing else but lovers.”
“Well, why not, Claudie?” said the girl with a sigh, and a peculiarly pinched look coming about her mouth, as her clear, white forehead wrinkled up, and her fine eyes seemed full of trouble. “One always longs for the unattainable. Nobody will ever love me, so why shouldn’t I enjoy seeing somebody love you?”
“Mary, darling, I love you dearly.”
“Yes, pet, like the dearest, sweetest old sister that ever was. You worship poor old humpty dumpty?”
“Don’t ridicule yourself. Mary dear.”
“Why not? But I meant no nice, handsome Christopher Lisle will ever want to look in my eyes and say – ”
“Will you be quiet, Mary? Why will you be always bringing up Mr Christopher Lisle? I never tease you about Mr Gullick.”
“Because
