‘Pardon me, I hope I have not startled you. If I have the honour of addressing Miss Thorne, may I introduce myself as Mr Sinclair – Archie’s friend?’
I said this with the most agreeable grimace I could summon, and with uncovered head and a bow that would have been quite low enough for any queen; but she took as much notice of me as though I was a stick until I concluded, and then she simply repeated, coldly, ‘Archie’s friend,’ just with her lips, and not the move of another facial muscle; but all at once a faint flush rose to her pale cheeks, and she rose up suddenly.
‘Pray do not let me disturb you,’ I cried, ‘I shall go away at once rather than do so.’
‘You do not disturb me. Of course, if Archie – if Mr Hope ton has arrived, I must return. Mamma will require assistance – perhaps you will accompany me?’ she added, with a hesitation so evident that it was only too apparent how much rather she would have left me behind. But I have got past the age when we begin to consider our own convenience and pleasure in preference to the indulgence of an irritable vanity, so I bowed and marched on beside her.
I tried vainly to open a conversation as we went toward the house – my original remarks on the weather and the beauty of the view from Riverdale, and got a bow or a monosyllable for my pains. She looked to all appearance as cool as an iceberg, but that there was an internal excitement under the ice was quite visible to a keen observer. The flush deepened on her cheek as we neared the cottage, and I saw that the hand, drooped to her side as she walked, was clenched so tightly that the nails were buried in the palm.
At the door we were met by Archie in person; he had seen our approach, and glad of interruption to what had proved to be a disagreeable interview with his aunt, he hastened to get me into it with the usual selfishness of his sex.
He shook hands with his cousin, hurriedly, and I saw that in spite of the firm pressure of her lips against each other, they trembled spasmodically as he addressed a few commonplaces to the girl, and then he fussily led me into a parlour and as fussily introduced me to Mrs Thorne.
There was a strong resemblance between mother and daughter, although in the face or figure of the former there was an entire absence of the immobility distinguishing the younger woman. Mrs Thorne was small and thin, and had coal-black hair and eyes also, but her figure seemed never at rest; and her eyes darted about sharply as if continually watching and scanning every movement of those around her. She impressed me as being shrewish, in spite of the apparent kindness of her reception; and, after I had been in her company a short time, I had discovered, or fancied I discovered, that she was unchangeably under the influence of one predominate feeling, which was a dread of something in connection with her daughter. Even the distant prospect of a secret for me to ferret out was quite enough to interest me at once, and I set myself on the watch with intense gusto.
We had dinner, and immediately after Archie, who had been exhibiting signs of restlessness for the hour previous, excused himself for a couple of hours, having, as he declared, a particular matter to attend to at Puntwater for a friend. I saw the scowl that came into Mrs Thorne’s face as he left the room, and the quick, apprehensive look she darted towards her daughter.
Hester, however, took no notice of her and made no remark; but, when Archie had gone, she got up and walked through the open window to the garden. It was a lovely evening, and there was sufficient excuse in the beauty of the time and weather to make Mrs Thorne’s proposal of a walk an apparently sensible one.
‘It would be a shame to keep you indoors, Mr Sinclair,’ she said, moving towards the door. ‘And rather than do so, I will get some slight wrap and accompany you. We shall, in all probability, find my daughter among the flowers.’
But she was not among the flowers. When we got outside the shrubs near the cottage, we could see the slight, black-robed figure sitting in the identical spot, and in the identical attitude I had first seen her. I observed Mrs. Thorne’s face grow paler as she looked toward the river and saw the girl seated, steadily gazing at the water, with her hands in her lap and her back supported by the tree.
‘That seems to be a favourite spot of Miss Thorne’s,’ I observed, as the mother’s eyes fell upon her. ‘I met her there as I came.’
‘Yes, she is there a great deal, and I do all I can. She is not to be weaned from it. I should take it as a great favour, Mr Sinclair, if you could influence her not to sit so by the water.’
‘I cannot flatter myself that Miss Thorne is likely to be influenced by anything I might say, madam, but I can at least try. What is your objection, may I ask?’
‘I don’t think the air of the river is healthy for Hester – she is far from strong – and I am sure that the monotonous sound of the running water makes her morbidly sad.’
‘Perhaps it may be so. At all events it is very lonely for her. I suppose it will be different while Archie is here. Miss Thorne may perhaps allow her cousin to escort her about a little during his visit.’
At the name of her nephew, Mrs Thorne’s brows met in a deep black line over her nose, and her lips grew stern. She was looking at the gravel of the walk over which we were passing, but she lifted her sharp, black eyes just then, and bored a hole right through me, in a keen attempt to see what I was made of ere she said -
‘I want to speak to you about Archie, Mr Sinclair. Let us move toward the river – we can talk as we go.’
‘With pleasure,’ I returned, wondering all the time what kind of pumping I was going to get about Archie.
‘You are my nephew’s most intimate friend, Mr Sinclair?’
‘Well, I scarcely know, Mrs Thorne. We are very intimate certainly, but there is a considerable difference in our ages, and, as a necessary consequence, a great difference in our modes of living.’
‘I know – I know,’ she said impatiently. ‘I can understand all that – still you are friends?’
‘I hope and believe so, madam.’
‘And my nephew confides in you and tells you a good deal of his affairs, doubtless?’
‘Ye-es,’ I answered, with some hesitation, for, while I wanted to hear what she had to say, I was afraid of committing myself too far.
‘Can you tell me, without any breach of confidence, if Archie is entangled in any love affair in town? I have particular – most particular reasons for wishing to know.’
‘I can with certainty assure you that he has nothing of the kind on hand in town, Mrs Thorne,’ I assured her.
Her face brightened wonderfully, and something like a sigh of relief escaped between her thin, sharp lips.
‘I’m glad of that,’ she declared. ‘It is quite a relief to hear you say so. After all it is most unlikely that at his age he should be wound up in any engagement. He is only a boy.’
‘Oh, as to that, madam, boys even younger than Archie have managed to find their hearts and pledge them before now, and I could not undertake to say that he has not already done so. Indeed, I believe he has.’
‘Has what? Do you mean that my nephew is in love, or engaged, or some nonsense or other? I thought I understood you to assure me that he was quite free from any entanglement in town.’
‘So you did. I said that he had no engagement or love affair in town to my certain knowledge, but I could not make the same statement, truthfully, about the country.’
‘In the country? Where? Who? In the name of God tell me all about it?’
Wondering at the terrible fear in her tones, I turned slightly to look in her face. I think I have mentioned that Mrs Thorne was an older epitome of her daughter, small, slight, and pale in complexion, with eyes and hair like night. She wore a widow’s cap, too, the long, white bands of which streamed over the shoulders of her black dress down to the slender, prim waist with its neat belt. This cap was worn primly and suited the style of the woman’s features; but now, as I looked at her, the calm content of her face was gone and every feature was convulsed with a terrible fear.