Trevlyn Hold: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

CHAPTER XV

TORMENTS

There appeared to be no place on earth for Rupert Trevlyn. Most people have some little nook they can fit themselves into and call their own; but he had none. He was only on sufferance at the Hold, and was made to feel more of an interloper in it day by day.

What could be the source of this ill-feeling towards Rupert? Did some latent dread exist in the heart of Mr. Chattaway, and from thence reach that of Cris, whispering that he, Rupert, the true heir of Trevlyn Hold, might at some future day, through some unforeseen and apparently impossible chance, come into his rights? No doubt it was so. There are no other means of accounting for it. It may be, they deemed, that the more effectually he was kept under, treated as an object to be despised, lowered from his proper station, the less chance would there be of that covert dread growing into a certainty. Whatever its cause, Rupert was shamefully put upon. It is true that he sat at their table, occupied the same sitting-room. But at table he was placed below the rest, was served last, and from the plainest dish. Mrs. Chattaway's heart would ache; it had ached for many a year; but she could not alter it. In their evenings, when the rest were gathered round the fire, Rupert would be left out in the cold. Nothing in the world did he so covet as a warm seat near the fire. It had been sought by his father when he was Rupert's age, and perhaps Miss Diana remembered this, for she would call Rupert forward, and sharply rebuke those who would have kept him from it.

But Miss Diana was not always in the room; not often, in fact. She had her own sitting-room upstairs, as Mrs. Chattaway had hers; and both ladies more frequently retired to them in an evening, leaving the younger ones to enjoy themselves, with their books and work, their music and games, unrestrained by their presence. And poor Rupert was condemned to remote quarters, where no one noticed him.

From that point alone, the cold, it was a severe trial. Of weakly constitution, a chilly nature, warmth was to Rupert Trevlyn almost an essential of existence. And it was what he rarely had at Trevlyn Hold. No wonder he was driven out. Even old Canham's wood fire, that he might get right into if he pleased, was an improvement upon the drawing-room at the Hold.

After parting with George Ryle, Maude Trevlyn, in obedience to the imperious wills of her pupils, turned her steps homewards. Emily was a boisterous, troublesome, disobedient girl; Edith was more gentle and amiable, in looks and disposition resembling her mother; but the example of her sisters was infectious, and spoiled her. There was another daughter, Amelia, older than they were, and at school at Barmester: a very disagreeable girl indeed.

"What was George Ryle saying to you, Maude?" somewhat insolently asked Emily.

"He was talking of Rupert," she incautiously answered, her mind buried in thought.

When they reached the Hold, Mr. Chattaway's horse was being led about by a groom, waiting for its master, who had returned, and was indoors. As they crossed the hall, they met him coming out of the breakfast-room. Octave was with him, talking.