Billionaire Entanglement by Salome

APLESTONE COURT was a pretty, spacious, and comfortable English home. The house was built of old red brick, which took a deep, rich colour in the rays of the western sun as it shone upon the wide porch and the many windows. Before the house there was a wide expanse of emerald turf, skirted by stately trees; and this lawn was not cut up into flower-beds, but rolled and shaven close, so that the dark shadows of the trees lay upon it in unbroken masses morning and evening.

To the right of the house the ground sloped gently down to what was called by courtesy a river, though it was but a little rippling stream, which had taken many curves and windings, and just below Maplestone had made for itself a deep basin, called by the same courtesy a lake.

Lake or pond, mere or tarn, this was a delightful refuge in sultry noon-tide. Here the water-lilies rocked themselves to sleep; here the plumy ferns hung over the crystal depths; and here the children of Maplestone Court brought their small craft of every shape and size to sail across from one side to the other of the lake, often to make shipwreck amongst the reeds and lilies, sometimes to sink in the clear water!

A rude wooden bridge crossed the stream just above the lake; and several seats, made of twisted boughs and ornamented with the large cones of the firs which shut in Maplestone at the back, were to be found here and there on the banks.

On one of these seats, on a hot August day, Salome was half-sitting, half-lying, looking dreamily down upon the water. Her wide straw hat was lying at her feet, a book with the leaves much crumpled was in the crown. One little foot hung down from the bench; the other was curled up under her in a fashion known and abhorred by all governesses and those who think the figure of a girl of fifteen is of greater importance than careless ease of position like Salome's at this moment.

The rounded cheek, which was pillowed by the little hand as Salome's head rested against the rough arm of the seat, was not rosy. It was pale, and all the colour about her was concentrated in the mass of tawny hair which was hanging over her shoulders, and varied in its hue from every shade of reddish brown to streaks of lighter gold colour.

It was wonderful hair, people said; and that was, perhaps, all that any one ever did see at all out of the common in Salome.

Quiet and thoughtful, liking retirement better than society, she often escaped out of the school-room to this favourite place, and dreamed her day-dreams to her heart's content.

Salome was the elder of two sisters, and she had one brother older than herself and three younger. Sorrow or change had as yet never come near Maplestone. The days went on in that serene happiness of which we are none of us conscious till it is over. When we hear the rustle of the angels' wings, then we know they are leaving us for ever, and when with us we had not discerned their presence.

Salome roused herself at last, picked up her hat and book, and uncurling herself from her position, stood up and listened. "Carriage wheels in the drive," she said to herself. "I suppose it is nearly luncheon time. I hope no stupid people are coming; that's all. I hate-"

Salome's meditations were broken off here; for a boy of thirteen or fourteen came clattering over the wooden bridge and took a flying leap down into the hollow, and exclaimed, "The bell will ring directly. Make haste, Sal; you are all in a tangle as usual. And won't Miss Barnes be angry? There is the book she has been hunting all over the place for; and the cover is in rags and tatters, and no mistake!"

Salome looked ruefully at the book, a French story by Madame Pressensé which has delighted many children in its day and generation.

"'L'Institutrice' does not belong to Miss Barnes," Salome said; "it is Ada's. Why should she be in such a fuss? and Ada won't mind."

"Well, come on," Reginald said; "and don't put out every one by being late."

"Who is come?" Salome asked, as the brother and sister walked towards the house together. "Who came in the carriage just now?"

"It was only father. Mr. Stone brought him back from Fairchester in his brougham."

"Father!" Salome exclaimed. "How very odd! And why did Mr. Stone drive him home?"

The sound of the bell stopped any reply from Reginald; and Salome, being obliged to go up to her room to give her hair a superficial combing, and her hands a hasty dip in water, entered the dining-room just as the whole party were assembled.

Mrs. Wilton always lunched with the children at one o'clock, but to-day her place at the head of the table was taken by Miss Barnes.

"Where is mother?" was Salome's instant inquiry.

"You are very late, as usual, Salome," was Miss Barnes's rejoinder; it could not be called a reply.

"I asked where mother was. Do you know, Ada?"

Ada, a pretty, fair girl of fifteen, fresh as a rose, trim as a daisy, without an imperfection of any kind in her looks or in her dress, said, "Father wanted her, I believe;" while Salome, half satisfied, turned to her eldest brother Raymond.

"Is anything the matter, Ray?"

"I am sure I don't know," he answered carelessly. "There's something the matter with this soup-it's beastly."

"Raymond!" Ada exclaimed reprovingly, "pray, don't be so rude," as Raymond pushed away his plate, and, pulling another towards him, attacked some cutlets with tomatoes.

"The cooking is fifty times better at old Birch's," the young Etonian growled. "I can't think how mother can put up with that lazy Mrs. Porson."

"I say," said Reginald, "don't grumble at your bread and butter because it is not just to your mind."

"Shut up, will you," said Raymond, "and don't be cheeky."

And now the two little boys of eight and nine began to chime in with eager inquiries as to whether Raymond would help them with their tableaux, which were to be got up for their double birthday on the 1st of August. For Carl and Hans were both born on the same day of the month, Hans always affirming that he came to keep Carl's first birthday.

"Tableaux at this time of year; what folly! I shall be gone off in Strangway's yacht by then, you little duffer."

"I'll help you," Reginald said. "We'll have the tableaux Black Prince, Joan of Arc, and Mother Hubbard, if mother will lend us the finery, and Sal will advise us what to do."

"Oh, mother says we may have the tableaux. She says Shakespeare acted out of doors. We want to have them in the house by the lake, as a surprise, and bring in the lake," exclaimed Carl. "If Thursday is a day like to-day, it will be jolly. And, Ada, you said you'd write the invitations, didn't you?-the Holmes, and the De Brettes, and the Carruthers, Ada."

Ada, thus appealed to, smiled, and said, "We'll see."

"I have got some pink paper," Carl vociferated. "Nurse gave it to me. She bought it at her nephew's shop in Fairchester. It is just fit for invitations."

"Oh no; that would be fearfully vulgar!" said Ada. "Pink paper!"

Poor Carl was extinguished, and began to eat his rice-pudding in large mouthfuls.

All this time Miss Barnes had not spoken, and Salome watched her face anxiously. Yet she dared not question her, though she felt convinced Miss Barnes knew more than any of them about their mother's non-appearance and their father's unusual return from Fairchester in Mr. Stone's carriage. Mr. Stone was the doctor; and though Salome tried to persuade herself Mr. Stone's carriage had probably been at her father's office, and perhaps having a patient to see out in their direction, Mr. Wilton had accepted the offer of a drive homewards, and that Mr. Stone being a doctor had nothing to do with it, she was but half satisfied with her own self-deception.

The dining-room at Maplestone Court was like all the other rooms-a room suggestive of home and comfort. The three large windows, to-day thrown wide open, looked out on the lawn, and beyond to quiet meadows and copses skirted in the far distance by a range of hills, seen through the haze of the summer day blue and indistinct. Within, there were some fine pictures; and the wide dining-table was decorated with flowers-for of flowers there were plenty at Maplestone. If banished from the front of the house, they had their revenge in the dear old-fashioned kitchen-garden-a garden where beds for cutting were filled with every coloured geranium and verbena and calceolaria; a garden which seemed an enclosure of sweets and perfumes, where the wall-fruit hung in peerless beauty, and a large green-house, of the type of past days, was the shelter of a vine so luxuriant in its growth and so marvellous in its produce, that Maplestone grapes continually carried off the prize at the flower and fruit shows of the neighbourhood.