Under False Pretences: A Novel

by Adeline Sergeant

Of course, he could not be long at Strathleckie without finding out the truth about Elizabeth. If he had lived much with the Herons, he would have found it out in the course of the first twenty-four hours. Elizabeth's property was naturally referred to by name: the visitors who came to the house called upon her rather than upon the Herons: it was quite impossible that the secrecy upon which Elizabeth had insisted in Italy could be maintained in Scotland. The only wonder was that he should live, as he did live, for five whole days at Strathleckie without discovering the truth. Perhaps Elizabeth took pains to keep it from him!

She had been determined to keep another secret, even if she could not hide the fact, that she was a rich woman. She would not have her engagement to Percival made public. For two whole years, she said, she would wait: for two whole years neither she nor her cousin should consider each other as bound. But that she herself considered the engagement morally binding might be inferred from the fact of her allowing Percival to kiss her—she surely would not have permitted that kiss if she had not meant to marry him! So Percival himself understood it; so Elizabeth knew that he understood.

She was not quite like herself in the first days of her residence in Scotland. She was graver and more reticent than usual: little inclined to talk, and much occupied with the business that her new position entailed upon her. Mr. Colquhoun, her solicitor, was astonished at her clear-headedness; Stewart, the factor, was amazed at the attention she bestowed upon every detail; even the Herons were surprised at the methodical way in which she parcelled out her days and devoted herself to a full understanding of her position. She seemed to shrink less than heretofore from the responsibilities that wealth would bring her, and perhaps the added seriousness of her lip and brow was due to her resolve to bear the burden that providence meant her to bear instead of trying to lay it upon other people's shoulders.

A great deal of this necessary business had been transacted before Mr. Stretton made his appearance at Strathleckie. He had been offered a fortnight's holiday, and had accepted it, seeing that his absence was to some extent desired by Mrs. Heron, who was always afraid lest her dear children should be overworked by their tutor. Thus it happened that he did not reach Strathleckie until the very day on which Hugo also arrived on his way to Netherglen. They had seen each other at the station, where Brian incautiously appeared without the blue spectacles which he relied upon as part of his disguise. From the white, startled horror which overcast Hugo's face, this young man saw that he had been almost, if not quite, recognised; and he expected to be sought out and questioned as to his identity. But Hugo made no effort to question him: in fact, he did not see the tutor again until the day when he came to restore a fragment of the letter which Brian had carelessly dropped in the road before he read it. During this interview he betrayed no suspicion, and Brian comforted himself with the thought that Hugo had, at any rate, not read the sheet that he returned to him.

A dog-cart was sent for him and his luggage on the day of his arrival. He had a five miles' drive before he reached Strathleckie, where he received a tumultuous welcome from the boys, a smiling one from Mrs. Heron and Kitty, a hearty shake of the hands from Mr. Heron. But where was Elizabeth? He did not dare to ask.

She was out, he learnt afterwards: she had driven over to the town to lunch with the Colquhouns. For a moment he did think this strange; then he put aside the thought and remembered it no more.

There was a long afternoon to be dragged through: then there was a school-room tea, nominally at six, really not until nearly seven, according to the lax and unpunctual fashion of the Heron family. Mr. Stretton had heard that there were to be guests at dinner, and, keeping up his character as a shy man, declined to be present. He was sitting in a great arm-chair by the cheerful, little fire, which was very acceptable even on an August evening: the clock on the mantelpiece had just chimed a quarter-past seven, and he was beginning to wonder where the boys could possibly be, when the door opened and Elizabeth came in. He rose to his feet.

"They told me that you had come," she said, extending her hand to him with quiet friendliness. "I hope you had a pleasant journey, Mr. Stretton."

"Very pleasant, thank you."

He could not say more: he was engaged in devouring with his eyes every feature of her fair face, and thinking in his heart that he had underrated the power of her beauty. In the fortnight that he had been away from her he had pictured her to himself as not half so fair. She had taken off her out-door things, and was dressed in a very plain, brown gown, which fitted closely to her figure. At her throat she wore a little bunch of sweet autumn violets, with one little green leaf, fastened into her dress by a gold brooch. It was the very ostentation of simplicity, yet, with that noble carriage of her head and shoulders, and those massive coils of golden-brown hair, nobody could have failed to remark the distinction of her appearance, nor to recognise the fact that there is a kind of beauty which needs no ornament.