The heiress of Greenhurst

by Ann S. Stephens

Now Mr. Morton was dead, and about this time his widow, Lady Jane, came down to live at the castle. Turner informed us of this, but there was something in his manner that did not please me. His precise language, and that sort of solemn drollery that made him so unique, and to us so lovable, abandoned him as he told this news. His dear, honest, eyes wavered, and there was something wrong in his whole appearance that I shall never forget.

Another piece of news he brought us after this. Lord Clare’s sister, a lady some years older than himself, had arrived at Greenhurst, and more company was expected. This lady was a widow, and heiress at law to the title and entailed estates, for both descended alike to male or female heir. My poor mother knew nothing of all this; how should she? The laws, and even customs of England were a sealed book to her. She only felt that strangers were intruding into her paradise, and the shadows around her home grew deeper and deeper.

I fancy all this gossip was brought to us by Lord Clare’s direction, for he never mentioned the subject himself, and poor old Turner certainly did not seem to find much pleasure in imparting unpleasant information. With all his eccentricities, he was a discreet and feeling man.

I have said that I ran wild about the grounds, like a little witch or fairy. This made me bold and reckless. I put no limits to my rambles, but trampled through flower-beds, waded rivulets, and made myself acquainted with everything I met without fear. Up to this time I had never entered the mansion nor met any of the servants without avoiding them. Perhaps I had been directed to do this. I cannot remember if it was the command of my mother or an intuition. But now I ventured into the garden, the graperies, and at length into the house itself.

I had not seen Lord Clare in several days, and possibly it was a longing for his presence that gave me courage to steal up the broad, oaken staircase, and along the sumptuous rooms that lay beyond.

The magnificence did not astonish me, for it was only on a broader scale than the exquisite arrangement of my own pretty home; but the stillness, the vast breadth and depth of the apartments filled me with a sort of awe, and I crept on, half afraid, half curious, to see what would come next.

At length I found myself in a little cabinet. The walls were hung with small pictures; the carpet was like wood-moss gleaming through flowers; two or three crimson easy chairs stood around. On a table lay some curious books in bindings of discolored vellum, others glowing with purple and gold, the ancient and modern in strong contrast. An escritoir of ebony, sculptured an inch deep, and set with precious stones, stood near it; some papers lay upon the open leaf, and a small drawer was half out, in which were other papers, folded and emitting a faint perfume.

Child-like, I clambered up the chair that stood before this desk and began tossing the papers about. Something flashed up from the drawer like a ray of light. I plunged my hand in again and drew forth a golden shell, frosted over with ridges of orient pearls and edged with diamonds. I clasped the gem between my hands and sprang down with a glad little shout, resolved to examine it at my leisure. Either the leap or the pressure of my hands opened the spring, and when I sat down on the carpet and unclosed my fingers, the shell flew open, and I saw the face of Lord Clare. I had not seen my father in some days, and as if the portrait had been himself, I fell to kissing it, murmuring over the endearing names that his presence always prompted.

After a little, my eyes fell on the opposite half of the shell, and the face that met my gaze checked my joy; it was not beautiful, but a singular fascination hung about the broad forehead and the clear, greyish blue eyes. The power embodied there enthralled me more than beauty could have done. My murmurs ceased; my heart stopped its gleeful beating; I looked on the pair with a sort of terror, yet could not remove my eyes.

All at once I heard steps in the next room. Huddling the miniature up with the folds of my scarlet dress, I sat upon the floor, breathless and full of wild curiosity, but not afraid. The door opened and Lord Clare came in. He did not observe me, for a cloud of lace from one of the windows fell between us, and he sat down by the desk wearily leaning his forehead in the palm of one hand. I heard him sigh and observed that he moved his hand rapidly across his forehead two or three times, as if to assuage the pain of some harassing thought.