Playing with Fire: A Story of the Soudan War

by James Grant

'And the stepmother, Maude; how do you and she get on?'

'As my letters have told you—oh, I hate her, as much as it is in my nature to hate anyone. When she comes near me I feel like a cat with its fur rubbed the wrong way. Can you not pension her away from Earlshaugh?'

'Not if all I hear is true,' replied Roland, giving his dark moustache an angry twist. 'But who is this fellow Sharpe, who seems to be her factotum—and where did she pick him up?'

'He is her brother.'

'Her brother!'

'Yes—so you must be wary——'

'Till I see MacWadsett?'

'If that will make any difference, which I fear not,' replied Maude, lowering her voice, and actually glancing round with apprehension, while her blue eyes lighted with indignation; 'he lives here—perhaps she told you so?'

'No—lives here—here in Earlshaugh?'

'Yes; he has rooms set apart for him in the Beatoun wing.'