Edina: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

Esther Jetty hastened to show the rooms. They were small, but clean, comfortable, and prettily furnished: and the rent was ten shillings per week.

"It is not too much, sir, at this season of the year, when summer's coming on," she hastened to say, lest the amount should be objected to. "I always try to make my lodgers comfortable, and cook for them and wait on them well. The last I had—a sick young woman and her little girl—stayed here all the winter and spring: they only left three weeks ago."

The stranger's answer was to put down a sovereign. "That's the first week's rent in advance," said he. "With the change you can get me some mutton chops for my dinner. I shall not give you much trouble." And he took possession of the rooms at once.

As the days had gone on, only a few as yet, Esther Jetty found that his promise of not giving much trouble was kept. She had never had a lodger who gave less. He lived very simply. His dinner generally consisted of two mutton chops; his other food chiefly of eggs and bread-and-butter. It was glorious weather; and he passed nearly all his time out-of-doors.

Not a nook or corner of the immediate neighbourhood escaped his keen eye, his, as it seemed, insatiable curiosity. He penetrated into the small dwelling-houses, good and bad, asking questions of the inmates, making friends with them all. He would stand by the half-hour side by side with the out-door labourers, saying the land wanted this and that done to it, and demanding why it was not done. But, there could be no doubt that he was even more curious in regard to the Raynor family, and especially to its eldest son, than he was as to the land and its labourers: and the latter soon noticed that if by chance Charles Raynor came into sight, the stranger would stroll off, apparently without aim, towards him; and when Charles turned away, as he invariably did, the man followed in his wake at a distance. In short, it would seem that his chief business was to look surreptitiously after some of the inmates of Eagles' Nest; and that his visits to the land and the cottages, and his disparaging remarks thereupon, were probably only taken up to pass the time away. These opinions, however, grew upon people as time went on, rather than at the beginning of his stay.

Easter week passed. On the following Sunday the stranger went to church; and, after the service began, took up a place whence he had full view of the large square pew belonging to Eagles' Nest. On Easter Sunday he had sat at the back of the church, out of sight. Charles, Alice, and Frank were in the pew to-day, with the governess and little Kate: Mrs. Raynor was at home with Frank's wife, then lying dangerously ill; the major had not come. This was two days before they received news of Dr. Raynor's death. Charles was rendered miserably uncomfortable during the service by the presence of the Tiger opposite to him—as might be read by any one in the secret of his fears, and was read by Frank. Never did Charles raise his eyes but he saw those of the Tiger fixed on him. In fact, the Tiger studied the faces in Major Raynor's pew more attentively than he studied his book.

"He is taking toll of me that he may know me again: I don't suppose he knew me before, or his work would have been done and over," thought Charles. "What a precious idiot I was to come to church! Thank Heaven, he can't touch me on a Sunday." And when the service was ended, the Tiger coolly stood in the churchyard and watched the family pass him, looking keenly at Charles.

He had in like manner watched them into church. From a shady nook in the same churchyard, he had stood, himself unseen, looking at the congregation as they filed in. When the bell had ceased, and the last person seemed to have entered, then the Tiger followed, and put himself in the best place for seeing the Raynors. It was, however, the first and last time Charles was annoyed in a similar manner. On subsequent Sundays, the Tiger, if he went to church at all, was lost amidst the general congregation.

On this same Sunday evening, John Jetty found himself invited to take a pipe with his lodger. They sat in the arbour in the back-garden, amidst the herbs, the spring cabbages, and the early flowers. Jetty never wanted any inducement to talk. He was not of a wary nature by any means, and did not observe how skilfully and easily the thread of his discourse was this evening turned on the Raynors and their affairs. No man in the place could have supplied more correct information to a stranger than he. He was often at work in the house, was particularly intimate with Lamb the butler, who had lived with Mrs. Atkinson; as had two or three of the other head servants; and they had the family politics at their fingers' ends. Mrs. Raynor had brought one servant from Spring Lawn; the nurse; the woman knew all about her branch of the family, Frank included, and had no objection to relate news for the new people's benefit, who in their turn repeated it to Jetty. Consequently Jetty was as much at home in the family archives as the Raynors were themselves.

"Is the estate entailed on the major's son?" questioned the Tiger, in a pause of the conversation.