Edina: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

The one exception was this. When his eldest son, Charles, had attained his sixteenth year, the major mentioned the fact in the annual letter to his sister. A few days afterwards, down came the answer from her of some half-dozen lines: in which she briefly offered Charles an opening (as she called it) in life: meaning, a clerkship in the bank of Atkinson and Street, which her interest would procure for him. Master Charles, who had far higher notions than these, as befitted the heir to Eagles' Nest, threw up his head in disdain: and the major wrote a letter of refusal, as brief as the old lady's offer. With that exception, they had never heard from her.

The major and his wife were both incredibly improvident; he in spending money; she in not knowing how to save it. Yielding and gentle, Mrs. Raynor fell in with anything and everything done by her husband, thinking that because he did it, it must be right. She never suggested that they might save cost here, and cut it off there; that this outlay would be extravagant, or that unnecessary. There are some women really not capable of forethought, and Mrs. Raynor was one of them. As to doing anything to advance their own interest, by cultivating Mrs. Atkinson's favour, both were too single-minded for such an act; it may be said too strictly honourable.

It was with them, his uncle and aunt, that Frank Raynor had spent his holidays when a boy, and all his after-intervals of leisure. They were just as fond of Frank as they were of their own children: he was ever welcome. The major sometimes called him "my son Frank," when speaking of him to strangers; very often indeed "my eldest boy." As to taking people in by so doing, the major had no thought of the sort; but there is no doubt that it did cause many a one, not acquainted with the actual relationship, to understand and believe that Frank was in truth the major's son. Possibly their names being the same—Francis—contributed to the impression. Amongst those who had caught up the belief, was Mrs. St. Clare. She had occasionally met the Major and Mrs. Raynor in Bath, though the acquaintanceship was of the slightest. When her son, young St. Clare, came into possession of The Mount, and it was known that she was going to remove there, the major, meeting her one day near the Old Pump-room, said to her, in the openness of his heart, "I'll write to Trennach to my boy Frank, and tell him to make himself useful to you." "Oh," returned Mrs. St. Clare, "have you a boy at Trennach?" "Yes, the eldest of them: he is with his uncle the doctor," concluded the major, unsuspiciously. Had he thought it would create mischief, or even a false impression, he would have swallowed the Pump-room before he had spoken it. That the major was the presumptive heir to Eagles' Nest was well known: and Mrs. St. Clare may be excused for having, under the circumstances, carried with her to her new abode the belief that Frank would succeed him in the estate.

On the night that the enlightenment took place—when Frank so candidly and carelessly disabused Mrs. St. Clare's mind of the impression—he perceived not the chill that the avowal evidently threw upon her. That it should affect her cordiality to him he could never have feared. A more worldly man, or one of a selfish nature, would have seen in a moment that his not being heir to Eagles' Nest rendered him a less eligible parti for Margaret; but Frank Raynor, in worldliness, as in selfishness, was singularly deficient. And he left The Mount when tea was over, quite unconscious that anything had occurred to diminish the favour in which he was held by its mistress.

Not with that was his mind occupied as he walked home; but rather with thoughts of the future. Daisy was to be his; she had promised it; and Frank would have taken her to himself to-morrow, could he have provided her with bread-and-cheese. How to do this was puzzling his brain now.

He took the road home over the Bare Plain. Never, since the night of that fatal tragedy, had Frank Raynor taken it by choice: he always chose the highway. But to-night he had a patient lying ill in the cottages on the Plain; and Dr. Raynor had said to him, "Call in and see Weston, Frank, as you return." The visit paid, he continued his way homewards. It was a light night: there were neither stars nor moon: but a white haze seemed to veil the sky, and lighted up surrounding objects. Frank looked towards the Bottomless Shaft as he passed it; his fascinated eyes turning to it of their own accord. Bringing them back with an effort and a shudder, he quickened his pace, and went onwards with his burthensome secret.

"Will it lie hidden there for ever?" he said, half aloud. "Pray Heaven that it may!"

Dr. Raynor was sitting in the small room behind his surgery; a room chiefly used for private consultations with patients; in his hand was a medical journal, which he was reading by lamplight. He put it down when Frank entered.

"I want to ask you something, Uncle Hugh," began Frank, impulsively, as though what he was about to say was good news. "Should I have any difficulty, do you think, in dropping into a practice when I leave you?"

"You do mean to leave me, then, Frank?" returned Dr. Raynor, without immediately replying to the question.