The Red Window

No. 32 was the house occupied by Sir Simon, and it was distinguished from its neighbors by a coat of white paint. Its spurious, smart air was quite out of keeping with the neighborhood, and Sir Simon made ironical remarks when he saw its attempt at being up-to-date. But the house was small, and, although furnished in a gimcrack way, was good enough for a month's residence. Moreover, since he paid no rent, this enhanced its value in his avaricious eyes. It may be mentioned that the servants of the owner – a cook, a housemaid and a pageboy – had stopped on to oblige Sir Simon, and were ruled over by Mrs. Gilroy, much to their disgust. The housekeeper was by no means a pleasant mistress, and turned their intended holiday into a time of particularly hard work.

It was about the servants that Mrs. Gilroy spoke to her master one morning shortly after the occupation of the house. Sir Simon, accurately dressed as usual, and looking like a character out of Dickens as delineated by Phiz, was seated beside a comfortable fire supping a cup of plasmon cocoa, as containing the most nutriment in the least expensive form. While enjoying it, he mentally calculated various sums owing from various tenants about which he had come to see his lawyers.

The room was of no great size, on the ground floor, and had but two windows, which looked out on the dreary, untidy gardens. Like the exterior of the house, it had been newly painted and decorated, and was also furnished in a cheap way with chairs and tables, sofas and cabinets attractive to the uneducated eye, but detestable to anyone who could appreciate art. The scheme of color was garish, and, but that the blinds were pulled half-way down, so as to exclude too searching a light, would have jarred on Sir Simon's nerves. Lucy Randolph, who sat reading near the window, shuddered at the newness and veneer of her surroundings and thought regretfully of the lovely, mellow old Hall, where everything was in keeping and hallowed by antiquity. All the same, this too brilliantly-cheap room was cosy and comfortable, bright and cheery, and a pleasing contrast to the foggy, gray, damp weather. Perhaps it was this contrast which its decorator had desired to secure.

Mrs. Gilroy, with folded hands, stood at her master's elbow, a tall, thin, silent, demure woman with downcast eyes. Plainly dressed in black silk, somewhat worn, and with carefully-mended lace, she looked like a lady who had seen better days. Her hair, and eyes, and skin, and lips, were all of a drab color, by no means pleasing, and she moved with the stealthy step of a cat. Indeed, the servants openly expressed their opinion that she was one, and she certainly had a somewhat feline look. But, with all her softness and nun-like meekness, an occasional glance from her light eyes showed that she could scratch when necessary. No one knew who she was or where she came from, but she looked like a woman with a history. What that was only she and Sir Simon knew, and neither was communicative. Lucy Randolph hated her, and indeed no love was lost between the two. Mrs. Gilroy looked on Lucy as a pauper living on Sir Simon's charity, and Miss Randolph regarded the silent housekeeper as a spy. Each annoyed the other on every occasion in that skilful way known to the sex. But the war was carried on out of the old man's sight. That autocrat would speedily have put an end to it had they dared to skirmish in his presence.

"Well! well! well!" snapped Sir Simon, who talked something like George III. in reiterating his words. "What's the matter? What?"

"I have to complain of the housemaid Jane, sir."

"Then don't. I pay you to keep the servants quiet, not to bother me with their goings-on. Well! well! well!" somewhat inconsistently, "what's Jane been doing?"

"Receiving a follower – a soldier – one of those new young men who are going to the war."

"An Imperial Yeoman?" put in Miss Randolph, looking up with interest.

"Yes, Miss," responded Mrs. Gilroy, not looking round. "Cook tells me the young man comes nearly every evening, and makes love to Jane!"

"What! what!" said the baronet, setting down his cup irritably. "Tell the hussy to go at once. Love?" This in a tone of scorn. "As though I've not had enough worry over that with Bernard. Tell her to go."

Mrs. Gilroy shook her head. "We can't dismiss her, sir. She belongs to the house, and Mr. Jeffrey" —

"I'll see him about it later. If he knew he certainly would not allow such things. A soldier – eh – what? Turn him out, Gilroy, turn him out! Won't have it, won't have him! There! you can go."

"Will you be out to-day, sir?"

"Yes, I go to see my lawyers. Do you think I come to town to waste time, Gilroy? Go away."

But the housekeeper did not seem eager to go. She cast a look on Lucy eloquent of a desire to be alone with Sir Simon. That look Lucy took no notice of, although she understood it plainly. She suspected Mrs. Gilroy of hating Julius Beryl and of favoring Bernard. Consequently, all the influence of Mrs. Gilroy would be put forth to help the exiled heir. Lucy was fond of Bernard, but she was engaged to Julius, and, dragged both ways by liking and duty, she was forced to a great extent to remain neutral. But she did not intend to let Mrs. Gilroy have the honor and glory of bringing Bernard back to the Hall. Therefore she kept her seat by the window and her eyes on her book. Mrs. Gilroy tightened her thin lips and accepted defeat, for the moment. A ring at the door gave her an excuse to go.

"It's Julius," said Lucy, peeping out.

"What does he want?" asked Sir Simon, crossly. "Tell him to wait, Gilroy. I can't see him at once. Lucy, stop here, I want to speak."

The housekeeper left the room to detain Mr. Beryl, and Lucy obediently resumed her seat. She was a handsome, dark girl, with rather a high color and a temper to match. But she knew when she was well off and kept her temper in check for fear of Sir Simon turning her adrift. He would have done so without scruple had it suited him. Lucy was therefore astute and assumed a meekness she was far from possessing. Mrs. Gilroy saw through her, but Lucy – as the saying goes – pulled the wool over the old man's eyes.

Sir Simon took a turn up and down the room. "What about Bernard?" he asked, abruptly stopping before her.

Lucy looked up with an innocent smile. "Dear Bernard!" she said.

"Do you know where he is?" asked the baronet, taking no notice of the sweet smile and sweet speech.

"No, he has not written to me."

"But he has to that girl. You know her?"

"Alice! yes, but Alice doesn't like me. She refuses to speak to me about Bernard. You see," said Lucy, pensively, "I am engaged to Julius, and as you have sent Bernard away – "

"Julius comes in for my money, is that it?"

"Not in my opinion," said Miss Randolph, frankly, "but Alice Malleson thinks so."

"Then she thinks rightly." Lucy started at this and colored with surprise at the outspoken speech. "Since Bernard has behaved so badly, Julius shall be my heir. The one can have the title, the other the money. All the same I don't want Bernard to starve. I daresay Julius knows where he is, Lucy. Find out, and then I can send the boy something to go on with."

"Oh!" said Lucy, starting to her feet and clasping her hands, "the Red Window, – I mean."

"I should very much like to know what you do mean," said Sir Simon, eyeing her. "The Red Window! Are you thinking of that ridiculous old legend of Sir Aymas and the ghost?"

"Yes," assented Miss Randolph, "and of Bernard also."

"What has he to do with the matter?"

"He asked me, if you showed any signs of relenting, to put a light in the Red Window at the Hall. Then he would come back."

"Oh!" Sir Simon did not seem to be displeased. "Then you can put the light in the window when we go back in three weeks."

"You will forgive him?"

"I don't say that. But I want to see him settled in some reputable way. After all," added the old man, sitting down, "I have been hard on the boy. He is young, and, like all fools, has fallen in love with a pretty face. This Miss Malleson – if she has any right to a name at all – is not the bride I should have chosen for Bernard. Now you, my dear Lucy – "

"I am engaged to Julius," she interposed quickly, and came towards the fire. "I love Julius."

"Hum! there's no accounting for tastes. I think Bernard is the better of the two."

"Bernard has always been a trouble," said Lucy, "and Julius has never given you a moment's uneasiness."

"Hum," said Sir Simon again, his eyes fixed on the fire. "I don't believe Julius is so good as you make him out to be. Now Bernard – "

"Uncle," said Lucy, who had long ago been instructed to call her relative by this name, "why don't you make it up with Bernard? I assure you Julius is so good, he doesn't want to have the money."

"And you?" The old man looked at her sharply.

"I don't either. Julius has his own little income, and earns enough as an architect to live very comfortably. Let me marry Julius, dear uncle, and we will be happy. Then you can take back Bernard and let him marry dear, sweet Alice."

"I doubt one woman when she praises another," said Sir Simon, dryly. "Alice may be very agreeable."

"She is beautiful and clever."

The baronet looked keenly at Lucy's flushed face, trying to fathom her reason for praising the other woman. He failed, for Miss Randolph's face was as innocent as that of a child. "She is no doubt a paragon, my dear," he said; "but I won't have her marry Bernard. By this time the young fool must have come to his senses. Find out from Julius where he is, and – "

"Julius may not know!"

"If Julius wants my money he will keep an eye on Bernard."

"So as to keep Bernard away," said Lucy, impetuously. "Ah, uncle, how can you? Julius doesn't want the money – "

"You don't know that."

"Ask him yourself then."

"I will." Sir Simon rang the bell to intimate to Mrs. Gilroy that Julius could be shown up. "If he doesn't want it, of course I can leave it to someone else."

"To Bernard."

"Perhaps. And yet I don't know," fumed Sir Simon. "The rascal defied me! He offered to pitch me out of the window if I said a word against that Alice of his. I want Bernard to marry you – "

"I am engaged to Julius."

"So you said before," snapped the other. "Well, then, Miss Perry. She is an heiress."

"And as plain as Alice is handsome."

"What does that matter? She is good-tempered. However, it doesn't matter. I won't be friends with Bernard unless he does what I tell him. He must give up Alice and marry Miss Perry. Try the Red Window scheme when you go back to the Hall, Lucy. It will bring Bernard to see me, as you say."

"It will," said Lucy, but by no means willingly. "Bernard comes down at times to the Hall to watch for the light. But I can make a Red Window here."

"Bernard doesn't know the house."

"I am sure he does," said Lucy. "He has to go to the lawyers for what little money he inherits from his father, and Mr. Durham may have told him you are here. Then if I put the light behind a red piece of paper or chintz, Bernard will come here."

"It is all romantic rubbish," grumbled the old man, warming his hands. "But do what you like, child. I want to give Bernard a last chance." At this moment Julius appeared. He was a slim young man with a mild face, rather expressionless. His hair and eyes were brown. He was irreproachably dressed, and did not appear to have much brain power. Also, from the expression of his eyes he was of a sly nature. Finally, Mr. Beryl was guarded in his speech, being quite of the opinion that speech was given to hide thoughts. He saluted his uncle affectionately, kissed Lucy's cheek in a cold way, and sat down to observe what a damp, dull day it was and how bad for Sir Simon's rheumatism. A more colorless, timid, meek young saint it would have been hard to find in the whole of London.

"I have brought you some special snuff," he said, extending a packet to his host. "It comes from Taberley's."

"Ah, thank you. I know the shop. A very good one! Do you get your cigars there, Julius?"

"I never smoke," corrected the good young man, coldly.

Sir Simon sneered. "You never do anything manly," he said contemptuously. "Well, why are you here?"

"I wish, with your permission, to take Lucy to the theatre on Friday," said Mr. Beryl. "Mrs. Webber is going with me, and she can act as chaperon."

"I should think she needed one herself. A nasty, flirting little cat of a woman," said Sir Simon, rudely. "Would you like to go, Lucy?"

"If you don't mind, uncle."

"Bah!" said the old man with a snarl. "How good you two are. Where is the theatre, Julius?"

"Near at hand. The Curtain Theatre."

"Ah! That's only two streets away. What is the play?"

"As You Like It, by – "

"By Chaucer, I suppose," snapped the old man. "Don't you think I know my Shakespeare? What time will you call for Lucy?"

"At half-past seven in the carriage with Mrs. Webber."

"Your own carriage?"

"I am not rich enough to afford one," said Julius, smiling. "Mrs. Webber's carriage, uncle. We will call for Lucy and bring her back safely at eleven or thereabouts."

"Very good; but no suppers, mind. I don't approve of Mrs. Webber taking Lucy to the Cecil or the Savoy."

"There is no danger of that, uncle," said Lucy, delighted at gaining permission.

"I hope not," said the old man ungraciously. "You can go, Lucy. I want to speak to Julius."

A look, unseen by the baronet, passed between the two, and then Lucy left the room. When alone, Sir Simon turned to his nephew. "Where is Bernard?" he asked.

A less clever man than Julius would have fenced and feigned surprise, but this astute young gentleman answered at once. "He has enlisted in the Imperial Yeomanry and goes out to the war in a month."

Sir Simon turned pale and rose. "He must not – he must not," he said, considerably agitated. "He will be killed, and then – "

"What does it matter?" said Julius coolly – "you have disinherited him – at least, I understand so."

"He defied me," shivered the baronet, warming his hands again and with a pale face; "but I did not think he would enlist. I won't have him go to the war. He must be bought out."

"I think he would refuse to be bought out now," said Beryl, dryly. "I don't fancy Bernard, whatever his faults, is a coward."

"My poor boy!" said Sir Simon, who was less hard than he looked. "It is your fault that this has happened, Julius."

"Mine, uncle?"

"Yes. You told me about Miss Malleson."

"I knew you would not approve of the match," said Julius, quietly.

"And you wanted me to cut off Bernard with a shilling – "

"Not for my own sake," said Julius, calmly. "You need not leave a penny to me, Sir Simon."

"Don't you want the money? It's ten thousand a year."

"I should like it very much," assented Beryl, frankly; "but I do not want it at the price of my self-respect."

The old man looked at him piercingly, but could learn nothing from his inscrutable countenance. But he did not trust Julius in spite of his meek looks, and inwardly resolved to meet craft by craft. He bore a grudge against this young man for having brought about the banishment of his grandson, and felt inclined to punish him. Yet if Julius did not want the money, Sir Simon did not know how to wound him. Yet he doubted if Julius scorned wealth so much as he pretended; therefore he arranged how to circumvent him.

"Very well," he said, "since Bernard has disobeyed me, you alone can be my heir. You will have the money without any loss of your self-respect. Come with me this morning to see Durham."

"I am at your service, uncle," said Julius, quietly, although his eyes flashed. "But Bernard?"

"We can talk of him later. Come!"

The attentive Beryl helped Sir Simon on with his overcoat and wrapped a muffler round his throat. Then he went out to select a special four-wheeler instead of sending the page-boy. When he was absent, Mrs. Gilroy appeared in the hall where Sir Simon waited, and, seeing he was alone, came close to him.

"Sir," she said quietly, "this girl Jane has described the young man's looks who comes to see her."

"Well! well! well!"

"The young man – the soldier," said Mrs. Gilroy, with emphasis – "has come only since we arrived here. Jane met him a week before our arrival, and since we have been in the house this soldier has visited her often."

"What has all this to do with me?" asked Sir Simon.

"Because she described the looks of the soldier. Miss Randolph says he is an Imperial Yeoman."

Sir Simon started. "Has Miss Randolph seen him?" he asked.

"No. She only goes by what I said this morning to you. But the description, Sir Simon – " Here Mrs. Gilroy sank her voice to a whisper and looked around – "suits Mr. Gore."

"Bernard! Ah!" Sir Simon caught hold of a chair to steady himself. "Why – what – yes. Julius said he was an Imperial Yeoman and – "

"And he comes here to see the housemaid," said Mrs. Gilroy, nodding.

"To spy out the land," cried the baronet, in a rage. "Do you think that my grandson would condescend to housemaids? He comes to learn how I am disposed – if I am ill. The money – the money – all self – self – self!" He clenched his hand as the front door opened. "Good-bye, Mrs. Gilroy, if you see this Imperial Yeoman, say I am making a new will," and with a sneer Sir Simon went out.

Mrs. Gilroy looked up to heaven and caught sight of Lucy listening on the stairs.

CHAPTER III

THE WILL

Mr. Durham was a smart young lawyer of the new school. The business was an old one and lucrative; but while its present owner was still under thirty, his father died and he was left solely in charge. Wiseacres prophesied that, unguided by the shrewdness of the old solicitor, Durham junior, would lose the greater part, if not all, of his clients. But the young man had an old head on young shoulders. He was clever and hard-worked, and, moreover, possessed a great amount of tact. The result was that he not only retained the old clients of the firm, but secured new ones, and under his sway the business was more flourishing than ever. Also Mark Durham did not neglect social duties, and by his charm of manner, backed by undeniable business qualities, he managed to pick up many wealthy clients while enjoying himself. He always had an eye to the main chance, and mingled business judiciously with sober pleasures.

The office of Durham & Son – the firm still retained the old title although the son alone owned the business – was near Chancery Lane, a large, antique house which had been the residence of a noble during the reign of the Georges. The rooms were nobly proportioned, their ceilings painted and decorated, and attached to the railings which guarded the front of the house could still be seen the extinguishers into which servants had thrust torches in the times they lighted belles and beaux to splendid sedan chairs. A plate on the front intimated that a famous author had lived and died within the walls; so Durham & Son were housed in a way not unbecoming to the dignity of the firm. Mr. Durham's own room overlooked a large square filled with ancient trees, and was both well-furnished and well-lighted. Into this Sir Simon and his nephew were ushered, and here they were greeted by the young lawyer.

"I hope I see you well, Sir Simon?" said Durham, shaking hands. He was a smart, well-dressed, handsome young fellow with an up-to-date air, and formed a striking contrast to the baronet in his antique garb. As the solicitor spoke he cast a side glance at Beryl, whom he knew slightly, and he mentally wondered why the old man had brought him along. Sir Simon had never spoken very well of Julius, but then he rarely said a good word of anyone.

"I am as well as can be expected," said Sir Simon, grumpily, taking his seat near the table, which was covered with books, and papers, and briefs, and red tape, and all the paraphernalia of legal affairs. "About that will of mine – "

"Yes?" inquired Durham, sitting, with another glance at Beryl, and still more perplexed as to the baronet's motive for bringing the young man. "I have had it drawn out in accordance with your instructions. It is ready for signing."

"Read it."

"In the presence of – " Durham indicated Beryl in a puzzled way.

"I can go, uncle, if you wish," said Julius, hastily, and rose.

"Sit down!" commanded the old man. "You are interested in the will."

"All the more reason I should not hear it read," said Julius, still on his feet.

Sir Simon shrugged his shoulders and turned his back on his too particular nephew. "Get the will, Durham, and read it."

It was not the lawyer's business to argue in this especial instance, so he speedily summoned a clerk. The will was brought, carefully engrossed on parchment, and Durham rustled the great sheets as he resumed his seat. "You wish me to read it all?" he asked hesitatingly.

Sir Simon nodded, and, leaning his chin on the knob of his cane, disposed himself to listen. Beryl could not suppress an uneasy movement, which did not escape his uncle's notice, and he smiled in a grim way. Durham, without further preamble, read the contents of the will, clearly and deliberately, without as much as a glance in the direction of the person interested. This was Julius, and he grew pale with pleasure as the lawyer proceeded.

The will provided legacies for old servants, but no mention was made of Mrs. Gilroy, a fact which Beryl noted and secretly wondered at. Various bequests were made to former friends, and arrangements set forth as to the administration of the estate. The bulk of the property was left to Julius Beryl on condition that he married Lucy Randolph, for whom otherwise no provision was made. The name of Bernard Gore was left out altogether. When Durham ended he laid down the will with a rather regretful air, and discreetly stared at the fire. He liked young Gore and did not care for the architect. Therefore he was annoyed that the latter should benefit to the exclusion of the former.

"Good!" said Sir Simon, who had followed the reading with close attention. "Well?" he asked his nephew.

Beryl stammered. "I hardly know how to thank you. I am not worthy – "

"There – there – there!" said the old man tartly. "We understand all that. Can you suggest any alteration?"

"No, uncle. The will is perfect."

"What do you think, Durham?" said Gore, with a dry chuckle.

"I think," said the lawyer, his eyes still on the fire, "that some provision should be made for your grandson. He has been taught to consider himself your heir, and has been brought up in that expectation. It is hard that, at his age, he should be thrown on the world for – "

"For disobedience," put in Beryl, meekly.

Sir Simon chuckled again. "Yes, for disobedience. You are not aware, Durham, that Bernard wants to marry a girl who has no name and no parents, and no money – the companion of a crabbed old cat called Miss Plantagenet."

"I know," said the young lawyer, nodding. "She is the aunt of Lord Conniston, who told me about the matter."

"I thought Lord Conniston was in America," said Julius, sharply.

"I saw him before he went to America," retorted the solicitor, who did not intend to tell Beryl that Conniston had been in his office on the previous day. "Why do you say that? Do you know him?"

"I know that he has a castle near my uncle's place."

"Cove Castle," snapped Sir Simon. "All the county knows that. But he never comes near the place. Did you meet Lord Conniston at Miss Plantagenet's, Julius?"

"I have never met him at all," rejoined the meek young man stiffly, "and I have been to Miss Plantagenet's only in the company of Bernard."

"Aha!" chuckled Sir Simon. "You did not fall in love with that girl?"

"No, uncle. Of course I am engaged to Miss Randolph."

"You can call her 'Lucy' to a near relative like myself," said the baronet, dryly. "Do you know Miss Malleson, Durham?"

"No. I have not that pleasure."

"But no doubt Bernard has told you about her."

Durham shook his head. "I have not seen Gore for months."

"Are you sure? He inherits a little money from his father; and you – "

"Yes! I quite understand. I have charge of that money. Gore came a few months ago, and I gave him fifty pounds or so. That was after he quarrelled with you, Sir Simon. Since then I have not seen him."