The Master of Greylands: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

With a pressure of the hand, the Master of Greylands went down the path to his house, and let himself in with his latchkey. The doors were closed, the blinds were down; for tidings of Harry's death were already carried there. He went straight up to that solitary room, and shut himself in with his bitter trouble.

He was not a cruel man, or a vindictive man, or a covetous man. No, nor a false man, save in that one unhappy business relating to his nephew Anthony. All his efforts for many a year had been directed to ward off suspicion from the doings of the Friar's Keep: and when Anthony so unexpectedly appeared, his rejection of his claims had not been for the sake of retaining the revenues that were not his, but because he would not, if he could help it, quit the house. The one short sentence just spoken to George, "I have put by the revenues since my father's death," conveyed a true fact. Mr. Castlemaine did not wish for the revenues or intend to appropriate them, unless he was assured that his brother Basil and Basil's heirs had alike failed. He would have liked to send Anthony back to France, pay him what was due, and buy the estate from him. To have had the fraudulent doings discovered and brought home to him would have been to the Master of Greylands worse than death. It was to keep them secret that he discouraged the sojourn of strangers at Greylands; that he did not allow Harry to enter on an intimacy with any visitors who might be staying there: and of late he had shown an impatience, in spite of his liking for him, for the departure of the gentleman-artist, George North. His dislike of the Grey Sisters had its sole origin in this. He always dreaded that their attention might be attracted some night to the boats, putting off from the contraband vessel; and he would have shut up the Grey Nunnery had it been in his power. That Mary Ursula, with her certain income, small though it was, should have joined the Sisterhood, tried him sorely; both from this secret reason and for her own sake. Nearly as good, he thought, that she had been buried alive.

It was all over now, and the end had come. The last cargo had now been run, the lucrative trade and its dash of lawless excitement had been stopped for ever. This would not have troubled him: he was getting tired of it, he was getting afraid of it: but it had left its dreadful consequences in its train; dealt, as may be said, a final death-blow at parting. Harry Castlemaine had passed away, and with him the heart's life of the Master of Greylands.

[CHAPTER XXXVIII.]

REBELLION.

"It is the most ridiculously sentimental piece of business that I ever heard of in my life!" spoke Mrs. Castlemaine, in a tone between a sob and a shriek.

"Nevertheless, it is what must be," said her husband. "It is decided upon."

The morrow had come. George North--but we must put aside that name now--was at Greylands' Rest, and had held his further private conference with Mr. Castlemaine. The latter knew who Madame Guise was now, and all about it, and the motive of her residence in his house. He did not know of her having visited his bureau and seen the ring. He never would know it. Partial reticence was necessary on both sides, and each had somewhat to be ashamed of that the other did not suspect or dream of.

George Castlemaine, lying awake that night at the Dolphin Inn--his whole heart aching for his uncle, his saddest regrets, past and present, given to his brother and his cousin--had been, to use a familiar saying, turning matters about in his mind, to see what was the best that might be made of them. Greylands' Rest was his: there was no question of that; and he must and should take possession of it, and make it his abode for the future. But he hated to be the means of throwing discredit on his uncle: and this step would naturally throw on him discredit in men's minds. If Greylands' Rest was the younger brother George's now, it must have been the elder brother Anthony's before him: and all the deceit, suspected of the Master of Greylands earlier in the year, would be confirmed. Was there any way of preventing this? George thought there was. And he lay dwelling on this and other difficulties until morning, and found his way.

"The world need never know that it was Anthony's, Uncle James," he said, wringing his uncle's hand to give force to his argument. "Let it be supposed that the estate was only to lapse to him after Harry--that Harry came in first by my grandfather's will. None can dispute it. And you can make a merit, you know, of giving it up at once to me, not caring to remain here now Harry is gone."