About this time, Colonel Redgrave, a cousin of Septimus, arrived from India, accompanied by two ladies named Fraser, of whom we shall presently have occasion to speak. Colonel Redgrave had for many years maintained a somewhat desultory correspondence with our bachelor. The officer was an elderly man, and not in the enjoyment of very good health. On his arrival at Southampton, he proceeded to the residence of his female cousins at Shanklin, and accepted their invitation to make Oswald Villa his temporary home until he could decide on his future arrangements. Naturally, Mr Redgrave paid a visit to his military cousin. They had not met since they were boys; and the astute colonel was evidently much perplexed at the singular combination of simplicity and shrewdness presented by his London kinsman. Whether the impression created was favourable or the reverse, it is the object of this narrative to show.
Six weeks after the arrival of Colonel Redgrave in England, his cousin was seated at breakfast in his apartments in Bury Street, seriously cogitating the advisability or the reverse of a lengthened tour on the continent for his autumn holiday, when the question was settled in a somewhat unexpected manner. Miss Jones appeared with a black-edged letter in her hand. The writing was that of Miss Redgrave, and the post-mark ‘Shanklin.’ With trembling fingers, Septimus opened the envelope. ‘Colonel Redgrave had died suddenly of heart disease at Oswald Villa.’ This was the gist of the epistle; and Mr Redgrave was required forthwith at Shanklin, to be present at the funeral and to hear the contents of the will of the deceased. Miss Jones was duly acquainted with the sad news; and in response to her inquiry as to the probable destination of the wealth of the late Colonel Redgrave, Septimus professed entire ignorance; and having given vent to some expressions of impatience and vexation at this marring of his Swiss and Italian tour, gave instructions to Miss Jones to see to the packing of his portmanteau without any delay; for the fair Martha was not only a quasi-valet, but secretary and librarian, the catalogue of Mr Redgrave’s books being carefully kept up to date.
In less than a week, the funeral obsequies of the late Colonel Redgrave had been duly performed, the will read; and Septimus Redgrave, considerably to his astonishment, found himself sole legatee, and the fortunate possessor in round figures of twenty thousand pounds!
Two months have elapsed since the death of Colonel Redgrave, and Septimus is still in residence at Shanklin. His continental tour has been indefinitely postponed; but his soul now yearns for his accustomed London haunts, in spite of the attentions lavished upon him by his sisters. And if the truth must be told, he misses the constant watchfulness of Martha, that keen anticipation of his slightest wish, so uniformly displayed by the housekeeper of St James’s. It is a lovely morning in September, and from the drawing-room windows of Oswald Villa, the blue waters of Sandown Bay can be seen in charming contrast to the white cliffs of Culver, while above, the sky rivals that of Naples in its cerulean tint. Miss Redgrave and her sister Lavinia are nominally engaged in crewel-work, but actually their attention is concentrated on the immediate future of their beloved brother under the altered condition of his affairs. Miss Redgrave is tall and thin, with a severe expression of countenance, which belies her excellent qualities of head and heart. Her sister Lavinia is short and stout, with a very submissive manner, and presents a striking contrast to her somewhat imperious sister. Her vocation in life appears to consist of approving and indorsing the views and plans of her elder sister. Like the French Senate during the Imperial régime, she never originated a course of action, but expressed entire approval of the acts submitted to her. Occasionally, when especially pressed by her sister for an opinion, she would give vent to an original notion, which excited the outward contempt of Miss Redgrave, but inwardly created considerable feelings of alarm, as these occasional lapses from her ordinary course by Lavinia were of the nature of second-sight, and the prophecies of the younger sister invariably came to pass.
‘Septimus talks of returning to London,’ exclaimed the elder sister with a keen glance at Lavinia, who smiled assent. ‘You do not seem to realise what mighty issues hang on that event,’ continued Miss Redgrave in a tone of considerable asperity.
Lavinia still remained mute, though her countenance expressed keen interest.
‘You are very provoking, Lavinia, considering you are by no means deficient in penetration as to motive, and analysis of character.’
‘Explain, dear Penelope.’
‘Septimus must not return to London a free man. I mean, he must present himself in Bury Street an engaged man.’