A Son of Ishmael: A Novel

Nancy spent an almost sleepless night, and awoke the next day with a headache. She got up earlier than usual, and went downstairs. Murray was waiting for her in the hall—as usual, the boarhound, Roy, accompanied him.

“Roy wants to make friends with you, auntie,” said the child. “Come, Roy, come forward, do allegiance.”

The dog turned his eyes on the bright childish face, then he walked straight up to Nancy, lay down at full length at her feet, and tried to lick her shoe with his tongue.

“There, you belong to us now,” said Murray, delighted. “Is not Roy wonderful? I whispered all that to him this morning. He seems to understand almost as if he were a person. It is so nice to think that there are three of us all of one mind—you, and Roy, and I. I know I shall be awfully happy at Rowton Heights in the future.”

“Come to breakfast now, Murray,” said Nancy, holding out her hand.

He clasped it in his and danced into the breakfast room by her side.

“This is Sunday,” he said presently, giving her a glance, as bold and direct as Rowton’s own.

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Rowton.

“Sunday means church. Are you going to church?” asked the child.

Nancy remembered Rowton’s wish on that subject.

“I don’t want to,” she said, “for my head aches; but all the same I shall go.”

“That is awfully brave of you,” replied Murray. “I am delighted, for I always have to go, and I have to sit in that dull old square pew by myself. I hope, auntie, now that you have come to Rowton Heights, you will get the Rowton pew altered, and made like everybody else’s. It is so dull not to see the congregation.”

“Is the pew so high as all that?” asked Nance.

“Yes; if you sit down—I mean if you happen to be a child—you are quite lost to the congregation. Perhaps you will be seen, and perhaps you will see, for you are tall. I like tall girls. I shall marry a very tall girl when I grow up.”

Nancy could not help smiling. The boy’s chatter, the gaiety of his sweet, high laugh, the look in his eyes, ever and always reminding her of Adrian, gave her more pleasure than she knew.

“I see we shall be capital friends,” she said, looking at him affectionately. “We’ll often talk together of that tall girl whom you are to marry. Now come out into the grounds; a little of the fresh air may take off my headache.”

They walked about for some time, and then a beautifully-appointed carriage being brought round, Nancy ran upstairs to put on her bonnet and mantle, and she and Murray drove to church together.

After all, Rowton did not come back in time to go with them. Nancy’s heart sank within her. She did not want to face the eager and curious congregation without him. Her life had been so solitary for such a number of years that she was often affected by almost painful shyness—she felt queerly shy now, and quite trembled as she walked up the little church. A verger went before her, opened the family pew with much ceremony, and ushered in the bride and Murray Cameron. Murray had very quick perceptions. He seemed to guess all that Nancy was feeling—accordingly he sat close to her, seeming to take possession of her. He found her places for her, and saw that she was accommodated with a comfortable footstool; now and then his eyes fixed themselves on her lovely face; when he saw that it looked pale and sad, he slipped his little hand into hers.

The service was about half way through, when the pew door was suddenly opened, and, to Nancy’s surprise, and indescribable delight, Rowton came in. He just glanced at her and then seated himself at her other side. His face looked perfectly serene and contented. Nancy’s face now shared the look of apparent happiness which was seen on his. All her depression vanished on the instant—she felt comforted, soothed, blissful. He had gone away, but he had come back again; the first separation was over; how full of delight were the joys of reunion!

After church Rowton stopped to speak to one or two friends. He introduced Nancy to an old lady with a kindly face, and beautiful grey hair.

“This is my wife, Lady Joyce.”

Lady Joyce favoured Nance with a piercing and yet kindly glance. She held out her hand cordially.

“I am delighted to see you, Mrs. Rowton,” she said. “I hope to have the pleasure of calling on you to-morrow. It was a good day for us all when this young man married and elected to bring his bride back to Rowton Heights.”

Rowton smiled and said something in a light tone. His remark, of a trivial nature, amused the old lady; she laughed in a very hearty way, shaking her sides as she did so.

“Ah! you always were a sad dog,” she said. “Don’t forget that I have known you since you were as tall as that little lad,” pointing to Murray as she spoke. “Mrs. Rowton, I’ll have plenty of tales to tell you of that good husband of yours when we get better acquainted—so you had better keep in my good graces, young man, for you were a pickle when you were young.”

The good lady hobbled off to her carriage as she spoke. Rowton helped her in, and presently Nance, he, and the boy, returned home.

The rest of the day passed without anything special occurring. Rowton and his wife took a walk together. In the evening they sat in the library and Rowton told her stories with regard to several of the books. He never alluded to the sorrow which he knew was waiting for her the next day.

“Time enough,” he said to himself; “I need not leave here till three o’clock in the afternoon—there is a train at three-thirty which will take me to King’s Cross in sufficient time. Let me see, I need not tell her to-night, nor will I tell her to-morrow, until after lunch; we’ll have what happiness we can. After all it may be all right, and I may come back safe and sound, or——” he paused in his own thoughts. A picture rose up before his eyes. He saw himself a corpse, shot through the heart—such an event was more than probable. He knew that he was going into grave danger—that, in very truth, he was about to carry his life in his hand.

“No matter, but for her,” he said to himself. “I am sick of the whole thing, and to die fighting would be the heart of my desire; but I cannot leave her to face what may any moment be before her. No, I must court caution this time—I must avoid risks. Her happiness must come first with me—her happiness! Ah! Nance, what are you looking at me so earnestly for?”

“I see you are not reading,” said Nancy, flinging down her own book.

“No more I am,” he replied. “Come and sit on my knee, little woman. By the way, I have a piece of work for us both to-morrow.”

“What is that?” she asked.

“I want us to overhaul the family plate.”

“Have we much plate?” asked Nance.

“Have we much plate?” he answered, mimicking her tone; “something like three or four thousand pounds’ worth I should say.”

“Adrian!”

“Well, wait until I show it to you to-morrow. My grandfather was celebrated for collecting plate. A good deal of it was mortgaged when my father got into difficulties, but we managed to rescue almost the whole of it. I want to have it all out to-morrow, for I have ordered a special safe of a peculiar make to be sent down from town. Of course there are several men servants in the house; but it is not well to have such a lot of plate unless perfectly secured. I have ordered a safe, however, which would baffle the efforts of the most accomplished burglar in the world. Now let us talk no more about it. If you are not tired, I am. Remember, I was up the whole of last night—suppose we go to bed.”

“I am so sleepy that I can scarcely keep my eyes open,” said Nancy.

“All right, come upstairs.”

The night was over, and the next day, immediately after breakfast, Rowton and Nancy, accompanied by Mrs. Ferguson, the housekeeper, went to the butler’s pantry, where a show of magnificent plate was arranged for them to view.

“This is not all by any means,” said Rowton, running his eyes over the articles as he spoke. “Where are the gold-plated things? I don’t see them.”

“In this chest, sir,” said Mrs. Ferguson.

“Open it, pray. I want Mrs. Rowton thoroughly to understand in what her property consists.”

The chest in question, a very heavy one, which was standing on the floor, was opened by a curious mechanism of keys which completely puzzled Nance. Its contents made a dazzling show; gold-plated spoons of every size and shape, forks, large and small, dessert knives and forks; in short, a complete assortment for the requirements of a good-sized party stood revealed before her.

“See,” said Rowton, taking up one, “these spoons have all got the Rowton crest on them, and just where the crest ends, a ruby of great value has been introduced. They are unique of their kind and are undoubtedly almost priceless.”

“Heaven preserve us, sir,” said Mrs. Ferguson; “I often tremble in my shoes when I think of the plate that is in this house. Why, it would tempt any burglar in the land. I say to Vickers, ‘Vickers, never show this chest to any of the young footmen—you never can tell what friends they have outside.’ That was why I did not open it, sir, until your good lady and you were in the room.”

“Quite right, quite right,” said Rowton; “it would, as you say, never do to let this kind of thing get abroad. I have often half an idea to transfer this chest to the bank at Pitstow; but on second thoughts, what is the use of having pretty and valuable things if we do not use them? Now then, Mrs. Ferguson, open the secret spring of the safe and bring out the jewel case.”

“If you have no objection, sir, I’ll first of all lock the pantry door and draw down the blind.”

“As you please, my good soul; but you don’t suppose that burglars are about at this hour?”

“No, no, sir, of course not, but it’s best to make all safe.”

Rowton stood very upright, with an inscrutable smile on his lips which Nancy remembered by-and-by, as Mrs. Ferguson locked the door, and drew down the venetian blind. The room was now in semi-darkness, but there was plenty of light to see the brilliancy of the magnificent diamond necklet, which he presently lifted out of its velvet case.

“Here,” he said to Nance, “this is yours.”

“Mine?” she answered, her colour coming and going.

“Yes, yours—you shall wear it at the ball. There are heaps of other things, but I flatter myself that the necklet has scarcely its second, certainly not in the county, and perhaps not in the kingdom. I’ll give you its history some day. Ah! it could tell several tales if it could but speak! Here are rubies—magnificent, are they not?”

“Yes, yes,” said Nancy; “how they shine, they seem to fascinate me.”

“Jewels of such value often have that effect on people,” said Rowton. “What is the matter, Mrs. Ferguson? You look quite scared!”

“I never knew those things were here,” said Mrs. Ferguson. “It’s a-tempting of Providence—they ought not to be in the house, that they ought not. It’s enough to frighten me into leaving my situation.”

“What! you would leave us?” said Rowton.

“No, no, sir, you know I would not; but to have diamonds and rubies like those! why, they flash so it is enough to tempt one. There’s something awful uncanny about them. Oh! I don’t say that they are not beautiful; but they look like evil eyes fastening on one—they ought not to be here, sir, in a lonely country house—they ought not, really.”

“I agree with you, Mrs. Ferguson,” said Rowton, “and I shall take measures to have all this valuable plate and these jewels properly secured. This old safe, strong as it looks, is practically of no use at all. I have ordered another down from town. It will arrive to-morrow or the next day, accompanied by several experts, who will give you, Vickers, Mrs. Rowton, and myself, the cipher of how it is worked. No one will be able to open the safe who does not understand the cipher.”

“Then, sir,” said the housekeeper, “I beg to say at once, that no consideration on earth will make me learn it. I’d rather lose a thousand pounds than know how to open that safe.”

“Nonsense, woman,” said Rowton, the colour coming into his face as he spoke. “I think that will do now. Put the jewels back again, and the gold plate and the rest of the things. They have lain here for many a month, not to say years, and they may well stay here in safety for a few days longer. Now come along, Nance mine, I want to take you to the stables. Do you know anything about riding?”

“I used to ride when I was a girl, and when we lived in Harley Street,” said Nance.

“Ah! true,” he said, linking her arm in his and drawing her away from the pantry.

Vickers, the butler, was standing outside. He was an elderly man, stoutly built, with a good-natured and good-humoured face.

“Go into the pantry and help Mrs. Ferguson put away the plate,” said his master.

“Yes, sir,” replied the man.

He disappeared immediately, and Nancy and her husband went out of doors.

“I forgot,” he said, “that up to the age of—how old were you, Nance, when you left Harley Street?”

“Fifteen,” she replied.

“Up to the age of fifteen you had all the things which rich girls possess.”

“Yes, all,” she answered, tears springing suddenly to her eyes. “The best home, the best father, the most loving mother——” she bit her lips and could not go on. She had a vision before her at that moment of Anthony’s splendid young strength, of his courage, his nobleness. She knew now of whom Murray reminded her. He was like Rowton in feature, but, in heart and mind, he was Anthony’s counterpart.

Rowton glanced at her face and guessed something of her thoughts.

“Sweetheart,” he said with a certain gravity which was full of sweetness; “I see that as far as possible, I must banish memory from you. You must live, my beloved, in the glorious present, and forget all those shadows of your early youth.”

“But why forget its sunshine?” she answered.

“Yes, you must even forget its sunshine,” he replied; “for that sun of long ago casts a deep shadow on you now.”

“It does,” she answered, “it does.”

“You will try to forget it?”

“I will,” she replied.

They reached the stables, and he showed her a thoroughbred mare, spirited, obedient to a touch, gentle as a lamb, with a mouth like silk, and a coat which shone like the brightest satin.

“Ho! Bonny Jean,” said her master. The creature raised its perfect head—it had a white star on its forehead—whinnied in some excitement, and thrust its nose into Rowton’s hand.

“This is your mistress, Bonny Jean,” said Rowton again. “You must resume your riding lessons, Nancy,” he continued. “Murray can sit any horse that ever was broken in, or unbroken in for that matter, and when I am not here, he must accompany you—you must ride a good bit. After a little practice you’ll be able to follow the hounds.”

“And you,” she answered, “which is your horse?”

He showed her a beautiful hunter, which went by the name of Peregrine.

“These two make a perfect pair,” he said. “We’ll have many a good canter on their backs. By the way, I must order a habit for you. I will the next time I go to town.”

Nancy did not reply.

The happy morning passed all too swiftly. Lunch was scarcely over before the sound of wheels on the gravel proclaimed the first of the visitors who were calling to pay their respects to the bride.

The lady who drove up now was one of the characters of the neighbourhood—her name was Lady Georgina Strong. She drove herself, and stepped lightly down from the high dog-cart, throwing the reins as she did so to her groom.

Rowton and Nance were standing on the steps of the beautiful old house when she appeared.

“Welcome to Rowton Heights,” said Rowton, taking off his hat and advancing to meet her.

She held out her hand to him, and favoured him with a frank and scrutinising glance.

“How do you do?” she said in a brisk, high voice; “and so this is the baby—come here, baby, and be introduced.”

In some astonishment Nancy ran down the steps.

Lady Georgina gazed at her out of two dark bright eyes, which were rendered more intensely brilliant by means of her pince-nez.

“Ah!” she said, “you are a pretty, fair little girl—no wonder you bowled him over. I was curious to see what sort of a woman could take that fortress. I have known him for close on twenty years—off and on, that is—and I never yet, poke as I would, pry as I would, search as I would, discovered that he had the vestige of a heart. Where did you find it, my dear—under the fifth rib, eh?”

Nancy laughed, but without much cordiality; she did not understand this dashing dame. Rowton, however, seemed to enjoy her badinage thoroughly.

“Come in,” he said, “come in. You have arrived in the nick of time. You always were the most good-natured woman in the world, Lady Georgina, and I trust to your kind clemency for the present moment.”

“Anything that I can do for you, my good friend, you are more than welcome to,” she answered. She walked on with him—he led her into the largest of the drawing-rooms. Nancy followed slowly. Rowton glanced back and saw her at some little distance—she had stopped to speak to Murray, and to caress Roy, who was fast becoming her slave.

“One moment,” said Rowton abruptly, turning and speaking with eagerness. “I am obliged to leave that child in less than half an hour. I am going away.”

“One of the mysterious absences?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Will you be good to her until I come back?” he whispered.

There was no time to add any more.

“I will, I will,” said Lady Georgina.

Nance came up to them.