The Ashiel Mystery by Mrs. Charles Bryce (the alpha prince and his bride full story free TXT) 📖

been looking for, "we're going on now to the next drive," and

they started off down the hillside, wading deep through the heather to

the track.

 

Juliet had been nearly a week at Inverashiel. A week of wet weather which

had sadly interfered with the shooting, but which had thrown the house

party on its own resources and given her plenty of chances to get well

acquainted with the other guests at the castle. They were most of them

related to Lord Ashiel and already well known to each other. The

American, David Southern's fiancée, the half Russian girl, Julia

Romaninov, who had arrived on the same day as Juliet, and Juliet herself,

were the only strangers. Mrs. Haviland, Lord Ashiel's sister, had been

there when she arrived, but had left a day or two later as her husband,

who was in the south, had fallen ill and needed her presence. Her place

as hostess had been taken by Lady Ruth Worsfold, a distant cousin of the

McConachans, who lived in a little house a mile down the loch, which was

given her rent free by Lord Ashiel. Another cousin of his, Mrs. Clutsam,

a young widow, he had also provided this year with a small house on the

estate which was sometimes let to fishing tenants, and she, too, was at

present staying at Inverashiel.

 

The guns consisted of Col. Spicer and Sir George Hatch, both well-known

soldiers of between forty and fifty years of age, and Lord Ashiel's two

nephews, David Southern, the son of a widowed sister, and Mark

McConachan, whose father, now dead, had been Lord Ashiel's only brother.

Both were tall, good-looking young men, though there was not even a

family resemblance between the grey-eyed and fairhaired David, with his

smooth-shaven face and slender well-proportioned figure, and his

loose-limbed, rather ungainly cousin, whose appearance of great strength

made up for his lack of grace, and whose large melting brown eyes made

one forget the faults which the hypercritical might have found in the

rest of his face: the rather large nose, and the mouth which was apt too

often to be open except when it closed on the cigarette he was always

smoking. He had been, so Juliet had heard some one say, one of the most

popular men in the cavalry regiment he had lately left on account of its

being ordered to India.

 

They were all very nice to Juliet, and she thought them all charming.

Especially, she told herself with unnecessary emphasis, did she think

Miss Maisie Tarver a delightful person; rather strange, possibly, to

European ways and customs and manner of conversation, a very different

type, certainly, from the new Lady Byrne--to whom Juliet was beginning to

feel she had perhaps not hitherto sufficiently done justice--but open as

the day, and with a heart of gold. She even went so far as to defend her

to old Lady Ruth Worsfold, who had lamented one morning when David and

his fiancee had gone out shooting together--for Miss Tarver, though not a

good shot, was fond of ferreting rabbits--that the lad should be throwing

himself away on this young lady from a provincial American town.

 

"I forget which, my dear, but it's something to do with chickens, I

believe." They were sitting in the hall, and Lady Ruth looked up from her

embroidery as she spoke, with art interrogative glance towards Mrs.

Clutsam and Julia.

 

"Chicago," said Mrs. Clutsam, turning round from the table where she was

writing. "That's where she comes from."

 

"Yes, that's it," said Lady Ruth; "the name had slipped my memory. It's

the place where they all kill pigs, isn't it? I've read about it in

Kipling. Her having been brought up to do that accounts for her passion

for wounding rabbits, no doubt. I daresay one has to keep one's hand in.

That reminds me, I will tell the cook not to send up sausages for

breakfast. The poor girl is probably tired of the sight of them, though I

suppose they mean money to her, which is always pleasant. When I had a

poultry farm I used to feel my heart warm at the thought of poor dear

Duncan's bald head. You know, my dear," she went on, turning to Juliet,

"my husband had the misfortune to lose all his hair some years before he

died, though really I don't believe there was a patent hair-wash he

didn't try, till the house fairly reeked of them: but they never did any

good, and he got to look more and more like one of my nice new-laid eggs;

though not so brown of course, for I always kept Wyandots which lay the

most beautiful dark brown ones, like _café au lait_"

 

"Well, the money will be very useful to poor David," said Mrs. Clutsam,

without turning her head. She was rather annoyed because she had found

that she had written "I am so glad you can kill pigs," instead of "I am

so glad you can come" to some one she had invited to stay with her.

 

"There's plenty of money on this side of the duck pond, or whatever they

call it," said Lady Ruth severely.

 

And it was then that Juliet had burst in.

 

"I am sure Sir David has never given a thought to Miss Tarver's

money," she said.

 

"Why not, my dear?" said Lady Ruth, turning upon her mild, surprised

eyes. "He is terribly badly off; it is his duty to marry money; but he

needn't have gone so far for it."

 

"I don't believe he would marry for money. He would be above doing such a

thing!" Juliet declared.

 

Julia, who had said nothing, stared at her, and laughed softly. She had a

very low, musical laugh.

 

"I don't think you understand the position," said Mrs. Clutsam, turning

round at last and laying down her pen with an air of resignation. "David

Southern has inherited a lot of debts from his father, who only died last

year, and he had piled up a good many on his own account before then,

never suspecting that he would not be very well off. But he found the

place mortgaged up to the hilt. There is really nothing between his

mother and starvation, except her brother-in-law Ashiel's charity, and

that is not pleasant for her because she has never been on good terms

with him. It is very important that David should obtain money somehow,

for her sake more than for his own, and I'm sure he feels that deeply. He

is devoted to her."

 

"But there are other ways of getting money than by marrying,"

Juliet objected.

 

"Yes, there are; but they are slow and uncertain, and David can't bear to

see his mother poor. I am sure it was for her sake that he proposed to

Miss Tarver."

 

"I think he would have tried some other way first, unless he had been in

love with her," Juliet repeated, flushed and obstinate.

 

"Mr. McConachan says Sir David is very fond of Miss Tarver, really,"

said Julia, speaking for the first time. She spoke English fluently, but

with a slight foreign accent. "He says his cousin is so reserved that

he conceals his feelings as much as possible, but that, _au fond_, he

adores her."

 

There was a short silence; Mrs. Clutsam seemed about to speak, but her

eyes met those of Lady Ruth fixed on her with an expressionless gaze, and

she turned round without a word and took up her discarded pen.

 

They were both thinking the same thing. If David concealed his feelings

in the presence of Miss Tarver he was not so successful when he was in

Juliet's neighbourhood. Both women had noticed the change that came over

him when she was in the room. It was not that he did not try to appear

indifferent; he did not talk to her, or seek her society. On the contrary

he seemed to avoid it, and relapsed into silence at her approach. But

both Lady Ruth and Mrs. Clutsam had caught him looking at her when he

thought himself unobserved, and their observations had not left either of

them in any doubt as to how the land lay.

 

Sir David Southern might be engaged to marry Miss Tarver, but he had

fallen in love with some one quite different, and some one who was,

moreover, or so they imagined, destined for quite another person.

 

For what was Miss Juliet Byrne doing at Inverashiel Castle?

 

This was a question which much exercised the minds of Lord Ashiel's

relations and, when she was not present, formed the subject of many

discussions.

 

Where had this girl, this extremely pretty and attractive girl, suddenly

appeared from? Well, they all knew, of course, where she really had come

from; but why? Why had Lord Ashiel suddenly sprung her on them like

this? He had not even told Mrs. Haviland that he had invited her until

the day before she arrived. Why this mystery? Where had he met her? How

long had he known her? To a casual question Juliet had replied guardedly

that she had not known him very long, but that he knew her family.

Fervently did she hope that what she said was true.

 

One thing, however, seemed certain. No matter how, where, or why, Ashiel

had made friends with Juliet Byrne, he was bent on becoming even better

acquainted. He appeared to be on excellent terms with her already, and

every day saw them grow more familiar, and, on Ashiel's side, almost

affectionate. If he went shooting or fishing Juliet must go too; to her

he addressed his remarks; it was she whom he consulted when he made plans

for the following days. His health was bad, he was subject to terrible

headaches, and if she were not present he grew quickly nervous and

irritable; when she was, he seldom took his eyes off her. He seemed to

watch her, Mrs. Clutsam thought, with a certain expectancy; but also with

a distinct and unmistakable pride. There was little doubt in the mind of

anyone in the house that there would soon be a second Lady Ashiel.

 

As the party walked between the butts on that brilliant August day, Miss

Tarver tacked herself on to her host and strode on ahead with him,

keeping up a flow of interminable, drawling inanities, which made him

wonder for the fortieth time what David could see in her.

 

The others tailed out after them, followed by dogs and loaders.

 

Without knowing how it came about, Juliet found herself walking beside

David; and, as she was not used to the rough going on the hillside, they

insensibly dropped behind the rest of the long, straggling procession.

The way was uphill; Juliet panted and stumbled; and her companion seemed

disinclined to talk.

 

They came to a burn, and he gave her his hand to cross from stone to

stone. The burn was high, and one stone was under water, leaving a space

too wide for Juliet to jump. David stepped on to the flooded rock, and

turned to her.

 

"I will lift you over here," he said shortly. "Oh, I can wade quite

well," said she. "My shoes are wet already."

 

But without more words he put his arms round her, and lifted her over.

When he put her down he found his tongue.

 

"If Maisie stands with my uncle at the next drive," he said, "will you

come to my butt?"

 

"I should like to," she said. For some reason his tone made her breath

come quickly.

 

David stood looking down at her as though considering.

 

"I can't go back on my word," he said at last inconsequently. "I shall

have to marry her, if she wants it, I suppose. But I can't bear you to

think that I care for her. I've got to think of other people."

 

"You mustn't say that!" she cried. "Oh, you mustn't say that to me!"

 

"Why not?" he said, looking at her strangely. "What have I said that

isn't right?"

 

"Nothing, I suppose," Juliet faltered. "But--but--Oh," she cried, "if

you don't care for her, you must tell her so, and she will break it off.

Anything would be better than to go on with it!"

 

"I think she knows," he answered gloomily. "She won't break it off,

because she wants to be 'my Lady,' It's a business matter, really. And

I'd have to stick to it for my mother's sake, anyhow."

 

Juliet could think of nothing to say. "You ought not to marry her," she

stammered again.

 

"If I didn't," he began hoarsely--"if she did let me go, I don't suppose

you'd ever care for me enough to marry me? Oh, I know I ought not to say

it," he broke off; "I'm a cad to speak like this. Forgive me, Juliet."

 

Juliet's world revolved around her at an unusual pace for the space of a

second. She shut her eyes to steady herself; a mixture of misery and

happiness deprived her of speech or movement. Gradually the misery

predominated