It was a wild wet evening, and as they drove from the station, the roaring of the sea grew louder and louder in their ears; Emberance caught glimpses of it covered with foam at intervals as the second carriage, in which the two girls were, wound up a steep road towards the house through the dusk of the evening.
Katharine peeped and exclaimed at each dim object that they passed, but even she fell silent, and Emberance felt an increasing excitement, as they drove up to the door of a substantial square-built house. In the open doorway stood Mrs George Kingsworth, her black figure defined by the lights behind her. She put aside Katharine as the two girls ran up the steps, and taking Emberance by both hands gave her a sudden silent kiss, then drew back and let them pass in together.
“Is this Kingsworth?” cried the outspoken Kate. “Dear me, it isn’t as pretty as Applehurst.”
Indeed, Kingsworth had few attractions beyond the wide sea view from its windows. It was perched upon the top of the cliffs, and what was called the park was really only a bit of enclosed down with a few stunted trees in it. The house had not been built by the Kingsworths and was hardly important enough to rank as a “country place;” while the rooms were small, low, and old-fashioned. The buying of it back had been a piece of sentiment; which its intrinsic advantages hardly warranted. There was, however, part of a ruined tower on the edge of the cliff, called Kingsworth Castle, and to the old Canon the wild sweep of the wind, the dash of the waves on the rocks, and the cry of the sea birds had a charm which all the quiet of his Cathedral Close could not rival. To him, Kingsworth was home, and now in old age his associations passed over the terrible tragedy that had broken that home to pieces, and went back to happy boyish days, when he had little thought to see his father’s proudly regained possession, the property of a thoughtless girl.
To Mrs Kingsworth the place had never been pleasant. All the unhappy doubts and disappointments of her married life and their terrible culmination, seemed borne back to her with every familiar sound and sight, till she wondered how she should ever bear her stay. The next morning rose bright and sunny after the rain, and the Canon asked the two girls if they would like to walk to the shore with him. Both agreed readily, Emberance with a certain trepidation, since she knew that somewhere among those wild rocks had occurred the mysterious tragedy which had left herself and Katharine fatherless. She had never realised the old story among her busy surroundings; but it came back upon her now with a strange vague sense of horror.
Katharine meanwhile tripped along the narrow path before them, sparkling with eagerness and chattering over every conceivable subject.
She was a pretty creature in her bloom and brightness, and to those better informed there was something pathetic in her unconsciousness.
Canon Kingsworth led them down to the shore, which, save for the promontory where Kingsworth stood, was bleak and uninteresting, stretching away in low chalky cliffs.
The “rocks” were of limestone, and insignificant in size and shape; but below them was a wide expanse of sand. The place had none of the grandeur often seen on the coast, and was impressive only from a certain wild dreariness, unfelt in the sparkling sunshine of the September morning. To Katharine it had all the charm of her first sea view, and she ran about picking up shells and seaweed, and demanding information on them with equal ignorance and eagerness.
The tide being low, they walked round by the sands to Kingsworth village, which was untidy, picturesque, and slatternly. There was a pretty Church, long and low, with a square weather-stained tower: and the Vicarage, which had hitherto been in possession of an old Vicar, who remembered the Canon’s boyhood, had now fallen into other hands, and was filled with a large lively young family named Clare.