MR. WAYLAND WAS much surprised to find Maggie awaiting him with such an eager look upon her face. In truth, he had been a little apprehensive about meeting the young lady alone again without the benefit of a third party. His first encounter with her since their painful parting in Sussex had been much eased by his interest in his new patroness. So enthralled had he been with the business of winning her good opinion, that the addition of Admiral Trevor’s daughter had been but as a minor annoyance. He had endeavored to suppress the last traces of his irritation with her in the belief that a proven intimacy with a cousin might improve the Viscountess’s view of him. The subsequent suspicion, which had risen to the surface of his brain like a cast fly to the shimmering surface of a pond, that all was not as it might have been between the two ladies, had only concerned him in so far as it might pose a threat to his ambitions. He had accepted Lady Ramblay’s command (for indeed, it had been very like a command) to walk with Miss Trevor without thinking about it. But a day had made him ponder the idea more deeply, and now he was much annoyed with himself for being forced into a situation which could only mortify him. Miss Trevor had no doubt changed very little, and she was not likely to be much more charming company today than she had been at their last interview. It was with very grave misgivings, therefore, that the Vicar set out after his first night in Essex expecting to see his arrival greeted with a sullen or a laughing look.
His amazement was the greater, therefore, when, instead of seeing before him a reluctant face and downcast eyes, he was met by a smiling, grateful countenance and the assurance that she had been all the morning looking forward to their meeting.
What meaning could the Vicar ascribe to this? He thought at first she meant to tease him, and prepared his own bitter reply. But they had not covered half the southern lawn before his doubts began to give way to incredulity, and incredulity to a newly kindled hope. Maggie was so glad of company, to be sure—even the company of Mr. Wayland—that she fairly rattled away in the happiest of spirits, and actually forgot for the moment to censure his every word and look. Mr. Wayland’s vanity was such that he instantly interpreted this new character to be a repentance of her former actions. Before they had circled half the inner gardens, before they had traversed the third of five rose gardens, or even come within sight of the kitchen gardens (which, from a fondness for brussels sprouts and endive, he was very eager to glimpse) he had begun to envision the happiest of futures. It was clear to him, clear as daylight, that Miss Trevor was attempting in her own way to make amends for her unfortunate words upon the former occasion. Then he had seen in her only an Admiral’s daughter, with twenty thousand pounds; now he saw a Viscount’s cousin. What had looked then like a possible advantage, now seemed an absolute assurance of success. It was with the most complacent expression in the world, therefore, that he now began to peruse what more and more seemed to him to be his destiny. A sideways glance out of the corner of his eye showed him the pretty picture of a girl remorseful and endeavoring as well as the powers of her mind would allow her to win his good opinion again. Mr. Wayland could be stern, but had he in his power the sternness to reject so obviously genuine a plea? No, he could not; and though he determined to allow her a little more time to pay for her sins, he was equally decided upon renewing the proposal at the first possible moment. A vision of the life before them sprouted up in his mind, and the elegant surroundings in which they now walked added fuel to his dreams. The bishopric he had once envisioned was now elevated to a state office, combining the prestige of the cloth with the dignity of political power. He could see it all before him now—weekends at his cousin the Viscount’s, where they would be honored guests, aside from being on intimate terms with everyone; the idea of being welcomed at Windsor was not far from his thoughts, when he was interrupted by a tug upon his sleeve.
“Mr. Wayland! I believe you have not attended to anything I have said!”
The Vicar blinked, and objected to this accusation.
“On the contrary, my dear Miss Trevor, I have attended with great keenness. If I am perhaps a little distracted this morning, it is only the beauty of the day and of yourself which has put me in a sort of trance. Besides, you know,” he added, with a sudden consciousness of his dignity, “I have much to occupy my thoughts. There are so many duties to be attended to when one takes up a new post, and I should consider myself deleterious were I not somewhat distracted this morning.”
“Of course,” consented Maggie, who did not wish to disrupt her companion’s apparent good humor. Despite her own chattiness, she had been consciously leading them around the castle to a path which ran between flower beds and into a little orchard. The grouping of the trees was such that it masked an interior courtyard, just giving off from the wing of the castle. This was the wing which Lord Ramblay had told her was not used any more, but here she was forced to believe must be where the little boy lived. It was in the hope of glimpsing some sign of him that she now steered her companion in that direction, keeping up as rapid a flow of conversation as she could.
“To be sure, you must be exceedingly busy, Mr. Wayland,” she now remarked. “And you must not think I am not grateful for your generosity in offering to keep me company this afternoon. My cousins have their own affairs to occupy them; since Lord Ramblay’s hunting party left, I have been much alone, and not a little at a loss for how to amuse myself.”
“Come, come, my dear Miss Trevor!” exclaimed the Vicar in a reproachful tone. “A young lady as resourceful as yourself ought never to feel lonely. Where there are so many beauties, both natural and man-made, to occupy your eyes and mind, I find it difficult to believe you could ever be at a loss for what to do. And when you have seen everything, there is Lord Ramblay’s library to amuse you. I am sure a man of such fine sensibility as your cousin has, must have at his disposal a vast collection of books.”
Maggie admitted this was true, but added, “Still, Mr. Wayland, I confess that another matter has occupied me more since I have been at Essex than even the greatest treasury of books. I suppose you know that Lord Ramblay was once married?”
Mr. Wayland had in fact heard something of the kind. He had had the benefit, that very morning, of hearing his housekeeper—a woman very fond of gossip, and pleased to have a fresh ear into which to pour her news—elucidate for him the whole history of the family at Ramblay. He had listened with more attention than he was accustomed to give to anyone else’s words, for well did he know the value of a certain familiarity with one’s employers’ lives. The story had been most absorbing, and he was now very pleased with himself for being able to speak upon the subject with authority.
“A very tragic marriage, too, Miss Trevor, if I am not mistaken. Where there is a great difference in birth, there is nearly always a tragic ending. I am sure that had not Lady Ramblay died when she did, an even more unhappy resolution might have been reached. I know her ladyship did not approve of the match. It was against all her better judgment that her son was married to begin with, and now I suppose he must admit his mother was not mistaken, for I am told—” Mr. Wayland had the happy gift of making a piece of gossip take on the proportions of a generally held view, related to him by a great authority— “that he now intends marrying the young lady his mother had always hoped would be her daughter. A great lady of noble family, I believe.”
Twice Maggie had been told—first by Mrs. Black and now by Mr. Wayland—that her cousin had not chosen Miss Montcrieff himself, but was in fact complying to his mother’s wishes in paying court to her. The news interested her more than she would admit, and nearly obscured the amusement she felt at hearing Diana Montcrieff described as a “great lady.” Her own opinion of her cousin’s betrothed more nearly matched Mrs. Black’s—“a vain piece of muslin.”
Aloud, however, she said, “Yes, yes, Mr. Wayland—but did you know a child was born while Lady Ramblay lived? I suppose you must, for indeed it appears that I am the only one who has never been told very much. The child is mute, and has been since his mama’s death.”
The Vicar pursed his lips, attempting to remember what his housekeeper had said upon the subject. He was a little shocked at Miss Trevor’s manner, which seemed to him to lack that solemn respect for her betters that he considered she should exhibit when speaking of them.
“The child is mute, you say—very true, very true. A tragic instance of our Savior’s justice. And yet I am informed Lord Ramblay will not accept the boy’s fate, but persists in commissioning specialists in the art of medicine from all over Europe to try and cure the child. I suppose he cannot resign himself to the fact that God’s will is done.”
“And would you?” cried Maggie. “Would you watch a child suffer all his life? In that respect, I confess I am completely of my cousin’s mind——”
But Maggie cut herself short before she had time to continue. She had nearly burst out, with the immediate passion of her nature, what had been in her mind since she had learned of the existence of the child. But whatever ill she might suspect of her cousin, she would not let a stranger know of it. Mr. Wayland, however, was more interested in pursuing his own idea than in listening to Maggie.’s.
“Allow me to say, Miss Trevor—for indeed, I think my position gives me a little more credence than another man might have—that where the Lord has chosen to show his anger, no mortal can dissuade him from it. It is true that some miracles have been acknowledged, even since the time of Christ, but in our enlightened age we must not expect such kinds of supernatural tricks. I believe Lord Ramblay is mistaken in pursuing the matter so far. And I think I shall make it among my first efforts here to try to persuade him of the fact.”
Maggie would have warned against such a tactic. The idea of her cousin, already convinced of the Vicar’s foolishness, listening to any such advice brought a smile to her lips, and yet she did not like to think of even Mr. Wayland inviting the kind of cutting criticism she believed such a deed would bring down upon him. She was saved from an argument with Mr. Wayland, however, by a sudden noise ahead of them. They had by now entered the little wood, which consisted of no more than two dozen slender trees. The view into the courtyard was nearly unobstructed. Through the branches Maggie could discern a rectangular patch of lawn, in the center of which, lying in the midst of a patch of dark green shadow, was a small fountain in the shape of a zephyr. Save for the splashing of water on marble and the faint rustle of dry leaves, there was no other sound. Something in the unnatural quiet of the place, actually heightened by these sounds, had struck her as peculiarly eerie. The sound of a door opening, and being closed quietly again, came like a clap of thunder in the stillness.
Mr. Wayland had stopped speaking when he felt Maggie’s gloved hand upon his arm. For a moment he did not see what made her purse her lips in a silencing gesture, but then he, too, perceived the two figures. A woman perhaps forty years of age, dressed in a dark cloak and bonnet, appeared first. She walked a little way into the courtyard, and then turned about, holding out her hand as if beckoning.
“Come, James,” she called, and Maggie immediately took a liking to the low, melodious sound of her voice. “Come along then, pet. There now, why haven’t you brought along your ball? Oh, deary me—I hope you are not going to sulk all afternoon. The horrid surgeon has gone away, and shan’t come back. Come along now, child!”
The woman’s voice was gentle, but contained a note of briskness, as in one much accustomed to dealing with children. She stood patiently holding out her hand in exactly the same attitude for a full minute before the small figure of a little boy, who could not have been more than five or six years old, stepped reluctantly into the courtyard. Maggie had half expected to see a twisted little body, or some other obvious sign of long illness. But the little boy walked perfectly upright, and if he was a trifle thin, if the color in his cheeks was paler than it ought to be, he seemed at first like any ordinary little boy. He walked slowly up to the woman, who must be his nurse, and slipped his hand into her own without a sound.
“Why! There is the child now!” cried Mr. Wayland, in a voice which nearly made Maggie jump. She had hoped to remain silently watching a little longer, and now was dismayed to see that the nurse, too, had heard him. She turned around abruptly, the color draining from her cheeks, and peered through the orchard.
“Who is there?” she called, in a voice that struck Maggie as almost fearful. But without waiting for a reply, she leaned down and picked up the child hurriedly, holding him to her as if some harm might come to him.
“Why, what a strange way of going!” declared Mr. Wayland upon seeing this, and, taking two long strides forward, called out: “Fear nothing, my good woman! I am the new Vicar here, Mr. Wayland, and I am with the child’s cousin.”
This news apparently did so little to calm the nurse’s apprehension that she only clung harder to the little boy, and even seemed in two minds about staying where she was or running back into the castle. But Maggie, fearing to lose this opportunity of speaking to the woman, had run ahead of Mr. Wayland and in an instant was standing next to her.
“Oh, please do not run away!” she exclaimed, reaching out a hand. “I have been so eager to meet my little cousin!”
The nurse stared doubtfully back. A glance at Mr. Wayland, standing with his immensely long legs astride as if he were in fear of being toppled by an unknown enemy, a self-important expression upon his simpering face, gave her little consolation. The child, too, had been so frightened by his booming voice that his head was instantly buried in the nurse’s shoulder. But Maggie’s open, smiling countenance, and the great earnestness with which she had spoken, seemed to do its work at last.
“I am sorry, miss,” the nurse said hesitantly. “I did not know who you were. I am not meant to let the child see anyone, you see—but, if you are a cousin, I suppose there can be no harm in it.”
“Of course there is not!” boomed Mr. Wayland. “What could be more natural? The child must learn to speak to his relatives——”
But even Mr. Wayland must have noticed the look of horror which now came over the woman’s face, and he stopped, conscious of having offended her.
Maggie smiled kindly at the nurse, and laying a gentle hand upon the child’s head, inquired why he could not see anyone.
“It is my master’s wish,” replied the woman simply, with a little shrug of her shoulders that Maggie took to mean that the woman could not question an order from so high an authority. “His lordship believes the child is too easily frightened, and while the surgeons are here, doesn’t like their work being interrupted. For myself, I think it is unnatural to keep a child away from people. It will only increase his fear, and then he shall never be able to live happily.”
“Well, Master James must not be frightened of me,” said Maggie, stroking the little head, which was all covered with dark waves like his father’s. “For I have not even seen his face, but already I love him. And besides, I have come to play with him. You shan’t dislike me for that, shall you?”
While Maggie spoke, the child had begun to raise his head, ever so slowly, and now stole a look into the young lady’s eyes. The effort nearly overcame him, for he looked away again at once, but another second made him look again, and now he stared at her as if she was an apparition.
“Shall you dislike me for wishing to play with you, James?” she repeated, but the child showed no sign of hearing her. His eyes were huge and dark and limpid, and at first held no expression at all. His features were delicate and so fragile that Maggie realized at once he must resemble his mother, though there was a something about the small mouth and chin that reminded her of her cousin. Maggie kept up her chatter for some minutes, in the hope of seeing some hint of trust appear in his face. At last she was rewarded, for the tiniest smile in the world curled up the corners of his mouth, and he began to lose the look of a ghost The solemnity of that little face tugged at her heart. Save for the tininess of the features and the look of wonder which was now apparent in his eyes, he might have lived upon the earth for half a century instead of half a decade.
“Shall you come and throw a ball with me?” inquired Maggie, stepping back a pace or two. The child made no sign of understanding, and at first Maggie supposed he might be deaf as well as mute. But now the nurse, whose initial uneasiness seemed to have left her, unwrapped his arms from about her neck and lowered him to the ground. He stood a moment hesitating, and a hand reached out to grasp his nurse’s skirt. A gentle push from her was needed to make him move forward, and this he performed with a great air of apprehension.
Maggie was at last able to get the little boy to smile, however timorously, and after some urging had coaxed him into a game with a stick and a pebble. As she played, she questioned the child’s nurse.
“How long have the surgeons been coming?” she began, glancing into the child’s face to see if he understood them. Master James gave no sign of listening—his attention was all focused upon the game—but when he heard the word “surgeon,” his back stiffened a little, and though he did not look up, his face was set.
“Ah, miss, ever so long. The child learned to talk when he was hardly more than an infant, so we know it could not be that he was really mute. But the day his poor mama died he closed his lips and has not made a sound since—not even a whimper. He did not cry nor laugh like other children, and his lordship, who will never leave off blaming himself, began to search the whole of England for a physician who would cure him. There have been a dozen surgeons here these past few months alone—for Lord Ramblay has not resigned himself to the fact, but seems every day more tormented. He is like a man possessed, sometimes, miss.”
“And has there been any hope held out by these surgeons?”
The nurse shook her head sadly.
“They will have their potions, miss, and their fancy curatives—but each one goes away more puzzled than the last, and I believe little James, rather than getting stronger, has slipped farther into his silence. Last evening, miss——”
“Yes, yes, I know!” Maggie cut her off, fearing to frighten the little boy any further by invoking the memory of his most recent experience with a doctor, which seemed to have been so painful. “I know my cousin was greatly annoyed with the man——”
“Annoyed!” gasped the nurse, her eyes widening. “Why, I thought surely he would murder him, when he saw what the fool had done! I have never witnessed my master in such a fury before, miss, save for that one time——”
But the woman cut herself short as if she had spoken too freely, and pressing her lips together, glanced at the child. Maggie glanced in that direction, too, unsure whether the woman had stopped because of the child or herself. Seeing the little boy’s head bent in concentration upon his game, she attempted to encourage the nurse into further speech, but with no success.
Mr. Wayland was by now shifting his weight impatiently, and thinking he was about to start up on one of his lectures, Maggie leaned down to say good-bye to James. The little boy lifted his head and, when she touched his cheek and ran her fingers through his locks, smiled up at her with a glowing, happy look. It was a different child altogether from the one she had seen half an hour before clinging to his nurse’s hem, who now stood up and waved good-bye. He was no stouter, to be sure, and there still lingered in his look a sense of having seen more than his years ought to have showed him—and yet he had begun to resemble a child. It was clear to Maggie, as she thanked the nurse and started off again with Mr. Wayland, that half an hour of play had done the little boy great good. The nurse seemed to think the same, but when Maggie inquired if she could not come back for another visit, looked doubtful and hesitated before replying, “Well, miss—I had rather not have my master know I have gone against his orders. But I must not tell a lie——”
“Why, of course you must not,” declared Maggie. “I shall bear all the blame, and tell my cousin myself that I have seen his son.”