The Maroon Part 15

"Mr Trusty wishes to speak with me. Your pardon, Mr Smythje--only for one moment."

Mr Vaughan rose from his seat, and hastened, as if wishing to meet the overseer, before the latter could enter the room. Trusty, however, had already stepped inside the doorway; and, not being much of a diplomatist, had bluntly declared his errand--in _sotto voce_, it is true, but still not low enough to hinder a part of his communication from being heard. Among other words, the phrase "your nephew" reached the ears of Kate--at that moment keenly bent to catch every sound.

The reply was also partially heard, though delivered in a low and apparently tremulous voice:--"Show him--summer-house--garden--tell him to wait--there presently."

Mr Vaughan turned back to the table with a half-satisfied air. He was fancying that he had escaped from his dilemma, at least, for the time; but the expression which he perceived on the countenance of his daughter restored his suspicions that all was not right.

Scarce a second was he left in doubt, for almost on the instant, Kate cried out, in a tone of pleased surprise,--

"Oh, papa, what do I hear? Did not Mr Trusty say something about 'your nephew'? After all, has cousin come? Is it he who--"

"Kate, my child," quickly interrupted her father, and appearing not to have understood her interrogatory, "you may retire to your room. Mr Smythje and I would like to have our cigar; and the smoke of tobacco don't agree with you. Go, child--go!"

The young girl instantly rose from her chair, and hastened to obey the command--notwithstanding the protestations of Mr Smythje, who looked as if he would have much preferred her company to the cigar.

But her father hurriedly repeated the "Go, child--go!" accompanying the words with another of those severe glances which had already awed and mystified her.

Before she had pa.s.sed fairly out of the great hall, however, her thoughts reverted to the unanswered interrogatory; and as she crossed the threshold of her chamber, she was heard muttering to herself:

"I wonder if cousin be come!"

Volume One, Chapter XVI.

THE KIOSK.

A portion of the level platform, on which Mount Welcome was built, extended to the rear of the dwelling; and was occupied, as already described, by a garden filled with rare and beautiful plants. Near the midst of this garden, and about a dozen paces from the house, stood a small detached building--a summer-house--the materials of which were ornamental woods of various kinds, all natives of the island, famed for such products. The pieces composing this summer-house, or "kiosk," as it was habitually called, had all been cut and carved with skilful care; and the whole structure had been designed as a representation of a miniature temple, with a cupola upon its top, surmounted by a gilded and glittering vane.

Inside there were neither stairs nor part.i.tions--the whole s.p.a.ce being taken up by a single apartment. There were no gla.s.s windows: but all around, the walls were open, or closed only with Venetian blinds, the laths of which were of the finest mahogany. A Chinese mat covered the floor, and a rustic table of bamboo cane pieces, with some half-dozen chairs of like manufacture, const.i.tuted the princ.i.p.al part of the furniture.

On the aforesaid table stood an inkstand of silver, elaborately chased, with plume pens pertaining to it. Some writing-paper lay beside it; and on a silver tray there were wafers, red sealing-wax, and a signet seal.

An escritoire stood on one side; and two or three dozen volumes placed upon the top of this--with a like number thrown carelessly on chairs-- formed the library of Mount Welcome.

Some magazines and journals lay upon the centre-table, and a box of best Havannahs--open and half used--showed that the summer-house served occasionally for a smoking-room.

It was sometimes styled the "Library," though its purposes were many.

Mr Vaughan, at times, used it for the reception of visitors--such as might have come upon errands of business--such, in short, as were not deemed worthy of being introduced to the company of the grand hall.

Just at the moment when Kate Vaughan quitted the dinner-table, a young man was shown into this detached apartment, Mr Trusty, the overseer, acting as his chaperon.

It is not necessary to say that this young man was Herbert Vaughan.

How he came to be conducted thither is easily explained. On learning from Quashie the destination designed for him--aggrieved and angry at the revelation--he had hurried in hot haste up to the house. To Mr Trusty, who was keeping guard at the bottom of the stairway, he had announced his relationship with Mr Vaughan, and demanded an interview-- making his requisition in such energetic terms as to disturb the habitual _sang froid_ of the overseer, and compel him to the instantaneous delivery of his message.

Indeed, so indignant did Herbert feel, that he would have mounted the steps and entered the house without further parley, had not Mr Trusty put forth his blandest entreaties to prevent such a terrible catastrophe.

"Patience, my good sir!" urged the overseer, interposing himself between the new comer and the stairway; "Mr Vaughan _will_ see you, presently-- not just this moment; he is engaged--company with him. The family's at dinner."

So far from soothing the chafed spirit of the young man, the announcement was only a new mortification. At dinner, and with company--the cabin-pa.s.senger, of course--the ward--not even a relative-- while he, the nephew--no dinner for him!

In truth, Herbert recognised in this incident a fresh outrage.

With an effort, he gave up the idea of ascending the stairs. Poor though he was, he was nevertheless a gentleman; and good breeding stepped in to restrain him from this unbidden intrusion: though more than ever did he feel convinced that an insult was put upon him, and one that almost appeared premeditated.

He stood balancing in his mind whether he should turn upon his heel, and depart from his uncle's house without entering it. A feather would have brought down the scale. The feather fell on the negative side, and decided him to remain.

On being conducted into the summer-house and left to himself, he showed no wish to be seated; but paced the little apartment backward and forward in a state of nervous agitation.

He took but slight heed of aught that was there. He was in no mood for minutely observing--though he could not help noticing the luxurious elegance that surrounded him: the grandeur of the great house itself; the splendid _parterres_ and gardens filled with plants and flowers of exquisite beauty and fragrant perfume.

These fine sights, however, instead of soothing his chafed spirit, only made him more bitterly sensible of his own poor fortunes, and the immeasurable distance that separated him from his proud, rich uncle.

Through the open sides of the kiosk he merely glanced hastily at the grounds; and then his eyes became bent upon the great house--directed habitually towards an entrance at the back that by a flight of steps conducted into the garden. By this entrance he expected his uncle would come out; and in angry impatience did he await his coming.

Had he seen the beautiful eyes that were, at that moment, tenderly gazing upon him from behind the lattice-work of the opposite window, perhaps the sight would have gone far towards soothing his irate soul.

But he saw them not. The jalousies were closed; and though from the shadowy interior of the chamber, the kiosk and its occupant were in full view, the young Englishman had no suspicion that he was at that moment the object of observation--perhaps of admiration--by a pair of the loveliest eyes in the island of Jamaica.

After turning, for the twentieth time, across the floor--at each turn scanning the stairs with fresh impatience--he somewhat spitefully laid hold of a book, and opened it--in the hope of being able to kill time over its pages.

The volume which came into his hands--by chance: he had not chosen it-- was but little calculated to tranquillise his troubled spirit. It was a digest of the statutes of Jamaica relating to slavery--the famous, or rather infamous, _black code_ of the island.

There he read: that a man might mutilate his own image in the person of a fellow-man--torture him, even to death, and escape with the punishment of a paltry fine! That a man with a black skin--or even white, if at all tainted with African blood--could hold no real estate, no office of trust; could give no evidence in a court of law--not even had he been witness of the crime of murder; that such a man must not keep or ride a horse; must not carry a gun, or other weapon of defence; must not defend himself when a.s.saulted; must not defend wife, sister, or daughter--even when ruffian hands were tearing them from him for the most unholy of purposes! In short, that a _man of colour_ must do nothing to make himself different from a docile and submissive brute!

To the young Englishman, fresh from a Christian land--at that period ringing with the eloquent denunciations of a Wilberforce, and the philanthropic appeals of a Clarkson--the perusal of this execrable statute-book, instead of producing tranquillity, only infused fresh bitterness into his soul; and stamping his foot fiercely on the floor, he flung the detestable volume back to its place.

At that moment--just as he had reached the maximum of reckless defiance--a noise was heard in the direction of the great house, and the door of the stair-landing was seen to turn on its hinges.

Of course, he expected to see a surly old uncle, and was resolved to be as surly as he.

On the contrary, and to his pleased surprise, he beheld in the doorway a beautiful young girl, bending her eyes upon him with an affectionate look, and as if courting recognition!

A sudden revulsion of feeling pa.s.sed through his whole frame; his countenance changed its angry expression to one of admiration; and, unable to utter a word, he remained silently gazing on this lovely apparition.

Volume One, Chapter XVII.

A BOLD RESOLVE.

Far better would it have been for Mr Vaughan--at least, for the success of his schemes--had he adopted an honourable course with his nephew; and at once introduced him, openly and above-board, to his table, his daughter, and his aristocratic guest.

Had he known before dinner what he was made aware of in less than five minutes after it, he would, in all likelihood, have adopted this course.

It would have spared him the chagrin he was made to feel, on Mr Smythje reporting to him the encounter he had had on board ship--which the latter proceeded to do, the moment after Kate had been so unceremoniously dismissed from the hall.

Smythje had also overheard the communication of the overseer--the word "nephew," at least--and this recalled to his mind--not without some unpleasant remembrance of the satire from which he had suffered--the steerage pa.s.senger who had treated him so brusquely on board the _Sea Nymph_.

The miserable bubble was burst; and the onus of a somewhat bungling explanation was put upon the shoulders of the pompous planter--into whose heart a bitter drop of gall was infused by the disclosure.

As the deception could be sustained no longer, the relationship was necessarily acknowledged; but the spark of ire thus introduced boded a still more unwelcome reception to the unlucky nephew.

The planter partially cleared himself of the sc.r.a.pe by a false representation. In other words, he told a lie, in saying that his nephew had not been expected. Smythje knew it was a lie, but said nothing; and the subject was allowed to drop.