It was well on to three o'clock when Miss Pringle made her careful way
up the path that led to the late Miss Wickham's door.
"How strange it will be not to find her in her own drawing-room!" she
reflected. "I don't recall that Nora Marsh and I have ever been alone
together for two consecutive minutes in our lives. I simply couldn't
have stood it."
"I'll tell Miss Marsh you're here, Miss Pringle," said Kate, at the
door.
"How is she to-day, Kate?"
"Still tired out, poor thing. The doctor made her promise to lie down
directly after she had had a bite of luncheon. But she said I was to let
her know the moment you came, Miss."
"I'm very glad she didn't go to the funeral."
"Dr. Evans simply wouldn't hear of it, Miss."
"I wonder how she stood it all these months, waiting on Miss Wickham
hand and foot. She should have been made to have a professional nurse."
"It wasn't very easy to make Miss Wickham have anything she had made up
her mind not to, you know that, Miss," said Kate as she led the way to
the drawing-room. "Miss Marsh slept in Miss Wickham's room towards the
last, and the moment she fell asleep Miss Wickham would have her up
because her pillow wanted shaking or she was thirsty, or something."
"I suppose she was very inconsiderate."
Miss Pringle did not in general approve of discussing things with
servants. But Nora had told her frequently how faithfully Kate looked
after her and, as far as it was possible, made things bearable, so she
felt she could make an exception of her.
"Inconsiderate isn't the word, Miss. I wouldn't be a lady's companion,"
Kate paused, her hand on the doorknob, to make a sweeping gesture, "not
for anything. What they have to put up with!"
"Everyone isn't like Miss Wickham," said Miss Pringle, a trifle sharply.
"The lady I'm companion to, Mrs. Hubbard, is kindness itself."
"That sounds like Miss Marsh coming down the stairs now," said Kate,
opening the door. "Miss Pringle is here, Miss."
As Kate closed the door behind her, Nora advanced to meet her friend
from the doorway with her pretty smile and outstretched hand. Miss
Pringle kissed her warmly and then drew her down on a large sofa by her
side. Her glance had a certain note of disapproval as it took in her
friend's black dress, which did not escape that observant young person.
"I was so glad to hear you were coming to me this afternoon; it is good
of you. How did you escape the dragon?"
She had long ago nicknamed the excellent Mrs. Hubbard 'the dragon'
simply to tease Miss Pringle.
"Mrs. Hubbard has gone for a drive with somebody or other and didn't
want me," said Miss Pringle primly. "You haven't been crying, Nora?"
"Yes, I couldn't help it. My dear, it's not unnatural."
Miss Pringle dropped the hand she had been stroking to clasp both her
own over the handle of her umbrella. "Well, I don't like to say anything
against her now she's dead, poor thing, but Miss Wickham was the most
detestable old woman I ever met."
"Still," said Nora slowly, looking toward the French window which opened
on the garden, at the sun streaming through the drawn blinds, "I don't
suppose one can live so long with anyone and not be a little sorry to
part with them forever. I was Miss Wickham's companion for ten years."
"How you stood it! Exacting, domineering, disagreeable!"
"Yes, I suppose she was. Because she paid me a salary, she thought I
wasn't a human being. I certainly never knew anyone with such a bitter
tongue. At first I used to cry every night when I went to bed because of
the things she said to me. But I got used to them."
"I wonder you didn't leave her. I would have." Miss Pringle attempting
to delude herself with the idea that she was a mettlesome, high-spirited
person who would stand no nonsense, was immensely diverting to Nora. To
hide an irrepressible smile, she went over to a bowl of roses which
stood on one of the little tables and pretended to busy herself with
their rearrangement.
"Posts as lady's companions are not so easy to find, I fancy. At least I
remember that when I got this one I was thought to be extremely lucky
not to have to wait twice as long. I don't imagine things have bettered
much in our line, do you?"
"That they have not," rejoined Miss Pringle gloomily. "They tell me the
agents' books are full of people wanting situations. Before I went to
Mrs. Hubbard I was out of one for nearly two years." Her voice shook a
little at the recollection. Her poor, tired, weather-beaten face
quivered as if she were about to cry.
"It's not so had for you," said Nora soothingly. "You can always go and
stay with your brother."
"You've a brother, too."
"Ah, yes. But he's farming in Canada. He has all he could do to keep
himself. He couldn't keep me, too."
"How is he doing now?" asked Miss Pringle, to whom any new topic of
conversation was of interest. She had so little opportunity for
conversation at the irreproachable Mrs. Hubbard's, that lady having
apparently inherited a limited set of ideas from her late husband, 'as
Mr. Hubbard used to say' being her favorite introduction to any topic.
Miss Pringle saw herself making quite a little success at dinner that
night--there was to be a guest, she believed--by saying: "A friend of
mine has just been telling me of the success her brother is having way
out in Canada." "He is getting on?" she asked encouragingly.
"Oh, he's doing very well. He's got a farm of his own. He wrote over a
few years ago and told me he could always give me a home if I wanted
one."
"Canada's so far off," observed Miss Pringle deprecatingly. Her tone
seemed to imply that there were other disadvantages which she would
refrain from mentioning.
Now while Nora had always had the same vague feeling that Canada, in
addition to being an immense distance off, was not quite, well, it
wasn't England--that was indisputable--she found herself unreasonably
irritated by her friend's tone.
"Not when yon get there," she replied sharply.
Miss Pringle evidently deemed it best to change the subject. "Why don't
you draw the blinds?" she asked after a moment.
"It is horrid, isn't it? But somehow I thought I ought to wait till they
came back from the funeral. But just see the sunlight; it must be
beautiful out of doors. Why don't we walk about in the garden? Do you
care for a wrap? I'll send Kate to fetch you something, if you do."
Miss Pringle having decided that her coat was sufficiently warm if they
did not sit anywhere too long and just walked in the paths where it was
sure not to be damp, they went out of the gloomy drawing-room into the
bright afternoon sunshine.
"Don't you love a garden when things are just beginning to show their
heads? I sometimes think that spring is the most beautiful of all the
seasons. It's like watching the birth of a new world. I think the most
human thing about poor Miss Wickham was her fondness for flowers. She
always said she hoped she'd never die in winter."
To Miss Pringle, the note of regret which crept now and again into
Nora's voice when she spoke of her late employer was a continual source
of bewilderment. Here was a woman who she knew had a quick temper and a
passionate nature speaking as if she actually sorrowed for the tyrant
who had so frequently made her life unbearable. She was sure that she
couldn't have felt more grieved if Providence had seen fit to remove the
excellent Mrs. Hubbard from the scene of her earthly activities. Poor
Miss Pringle! She did not realize that after thirty years of a life
passed as a hired companion that she no longer possessed either
sensibility or the power of affection. To her, one employer would be
very like another so long as they were fairly considerate and not too
unreasonable. It would be tiresome, to be sure, to have to learn the
little likes and dislikes of Mrs. Hubbard's successor. But what would
you? Life was filled with tiresome moments. Poor Miss Pringle!
Her next remark was partly to make conversation and partly because she
might obtain further light upon this perplexing subject. She made a
mental note that she must not forget to speak to Mrs. Hubbard of Nora's
grief over Miss Wickham's death. Naturally, she would be gratified.
"Well, it must be a great relief to you now it's all over," she said.
"Sometimes I can't realize it," said Nora simply. "These last few weeks
I hardly got to bed at all, and when the end came I was utterly
exhausted. For two days I have done nothing but sleep. Poor Miss
Wickham. She did hate dying."
Miss Pringle had a sort of triumph. She had proved her point. Even Mrs.
Hubbard could not doubt it now! "That's the extraordinary part of it. I
believe you were really fond of her."
"Do you know that for nearly a year she would eat nothing but what I
gave her with my own hands. And she liked me as much as she was capable
of liking anybody."
"That wasn't much," Miss Pringle permitted herself.
"And then I was so dreadfully sorry for her."
"Good heavens!"
"She'd been a hard and selfish woman all her life, and there was no one
who cared for her," Nora went on passionately. "It seemed so dreadful to
die like that and leave not a soul to regret one. Her nephew and his
wife were just waiting for her death. It was dreadful. Each time they
came down from London I could see them looking at her to see if she was
any worse than when last they'd seen her."
"Well," said Miss Pringle with a sort of splendid defiance, "I thought
her a horrid old woman, and I'm glad she's dead. And I only hope she's
left you well provided for."
"Oh, I think she's done that," Nora smiled happily into her friend's
face. "Yes, I can be quite sure of that, I fancy. Two years ago, when
I--when I nearly went away, she said she'd left me enough to live on."
They walked on for a moment or two in silence until they had reached the
end of the path, where there was a little arbor in which Miss Wickham
had been in the habit of having her tea afternoons when the weather
permitted.
"Do you think we would run any risk if we sat down here a few moments?
Suppose we try it. We can walk again if you feel in the least chilled. I
think the view so lovely from here. Besides, I can see the carriage the
moment it enters the gate."
Miss Pringle sat down with the air of a person who was hardly conscious
of what she was doing.
"You say she told you she had left you something when you nearly went
away," she went on in the hesitating manner of one who has been
interrupted while reading aloud and is not quite sure that she has
resumed at the right place. "You mean when that assistant of Dr. Evans
wanted to marry you? I'm glad you wouldn't have him."
"He was very kind and--and nice," said Nora gently. "But, of course, he
wasn't a gentleman."
"I shouldn't like to live with a man at all," retorted Miss Pringle,
with unshakable conviction. "I think they're horrid; but of course it
would be utterly impossible if he weren't a gentleman."
Nora's eyes twinkled with amusement; she gave a little gurgle of
laughter. "He came to see Miss Wickham, but she wouldn't have anything
to do with him. First, she said she couldn't spare me, and then she said
that I had a very bad temper."
"I like _her_ saying that," retorted her listener.
"It's quite true," said Nora with a deprecating wave of her hand. "Every
now and then I felt I couldn't put up with her any more. I forgot that
I was dependent on her, and that if she dismissed me, I probably
shouldn't be able to find another situation, and I just flew at her. I
must say she was very nice about it; she used to look at me and grin,
and when it was all over, say: 'My dear, when you marry, if your
husband's a wise man, he'll use a big stick now and then.'"
"Old cat!"
"I should like to see any man try it," said Nora with emphasis.
Miss Pringle dismissed the supposition with a wave of her hand. "How
much do you think she's left you?" she asked eagerly.
"Well, of course I don't know; the will is going to be read this
afternoon, when they come back from the funeral. But from what she said,
I believe about two hundred and fifty pounds a year."
"It's the least she could do. She's had the ten best years of your
life." Nora gave a long, happy sigh. "Just think of it! Never to be at
anybody's beck and call again. I shall be able to get up when I like and
go to bed when I like, go out when I choose and come in when I choose.
Think of what that means!"
"Unless you marry--you probably will," said Miss Pringle in a
discouraging tone.
"Never."
"What do you purpose doing?"
"I shall go to Italy, Florence, Rome; oh, everywhere I've so longed to
go. Do you think it's horrible of me? I'm so happy!"
"My dear child!" said Miss Pringle with real feeling.
At that moment the sound of carriage wheels came to them. Turning
quickly, Nora saw the carriage containing Mr. and Mrs. Wickham coming up
the drive. "There they are now. How the time has gone!"
"I'd better go, hadn't I?" said Miss Pringle with manifest reluctance.
"I'm afraid you must: I'm sorry."
"Couldn't I go up to your room and wait there? I do so want to know
about the will."
Nora hesitated a moment. She didn't want to take Miss Pringle up to her
bare little room. A sort of loyalty to the woman who was, after all, to
be her benefactress--for was she not, after all, with her legacy, going
to make the happy future pay rich interest for the unhappy past?--made
her reluctant to let anyone know how poorly she had been lodged.
"No," she said; "I'll tell you what, stay here in the garden. They want
to catch the four-something back to London. And, later, we can have a
cozy little tea all by ourselves."
"Very well. Oh, my dear," said Miss Pringle with emotion, "I'm so
sincerely happy in your good luck!"
Nora was genuinely moved. She leaned over and kissed Miss Pringle, her
eyes filling with quick tears.
Then she went into the house. The Wickhams were already in the
drawing-room. Mrs. James Wickham was a pretty young woman, a good ten
years younger than her unattractive husband. Of the two, Nora preferred
Mr. Wickham. There was a certain cynicism about her insincerity which
his, somehow, lacked. Even now, they wore their rue with a difference.
Mrs. Wickham's mourning was as correct and elegant as a fashionable
dressmaker could make it; the very latest thing in grief. Mr. Wickham
was far less sumptuous. Beyond the customary band on his hat and a pair
of black gloves conspicuously new, he had apparently made little
expenditure on his costume. As Nora entered, Mrs. Wickham was pulling
off her gloves.
"How do yon do?" she said carelessly. "Ouf! Do put the blinds up, Miss
Marsh. Really, we needn't be depressed any more. Jim, if you love me,
take those gloves off. They're perfectly revolting."
"Why, what's wrong with them! The fellow in the shop told me they were
the right thing."
"No doubt; I never saw anyone look quite so funereal as you do."
"Well," retorted her husband, "you didn't want me to get myself up as if
I were going to a wedding, did you?"
"Were there many people?" said Nora hastily.
The insolence of Mrs. Wickham's glance was scarcely veiled.
"Oh, quite a lot," she drawled. "The sort of people who indulge in other
peoples' funerals as a mild form of dissipation."
"I hope Wynne will look sharp," said her husband hastily, looking at his
watch. "I don't want to miss that train."
"Who were all those stodgy old things who wrung your hand afterwards,
Jim?" asked his wife. She was moving slowly about the room picking up
the various little objects scattered about and examining the contents of
one of the cabinets with the air of an appraiser.
"I can't think. They did make me feel such a fool."
"Oh, was that it?" laughed his wife. "I saw you looking a perfect owl
and I thought you were giving a very bad imitation of restrained
emotion."
"Dorothy!" in a tone of remonstrance.
"Would you care for some tea, Mrs. Wickham?" Nora broke in. To her the
whole scene was positively indecent. She longed to make her escape, but
felt that it would be considered part of her duty to remain as long as
the Wickhams stayed. As she was about to ring the bell, Mrs. Wickham
stopped her with a gesture.
"Well, you might send some in so that it'll be ready when Mr. Wynne
comes. We'll ring for you, shall we?" she added. "I dare say you've got
one or two things you want to do now."
"Very good, Mrs. Wickham."
Nora could feel her cheeks burn as she left the room. But she was
thankful to escape. Outside the door she hesitated for a moment. There
was no good in rejoining Miss Pringle as yet. She had no news for her.
She hoped Mr. Wynne would not be delayed much longer. The Wickhams could
not possibly be more anxious to get back to London than she was to have
them go. How gratuitously insolent that woman was. Thank Heaven, she
need never see her again after to-day. Of course, she was furious
because she suspected that the despised companion was to be a
beneficiary under the will. How could anyone be so mean as to begrudge
her her well-earned share in so large a fortune! Well, the coming hour
would tell the tale.
On the table in her room was the letter to her brother which she had
forgotten to send to the post. Slipping down the stairs again, she went
in search of Kate to see if it were too late to send it to the village.
Now that it was written, she had almost a superstitions feeling that it
was important that it should catch the first foreign mail.
As she passed the door of the drawing-room, she could hear James
Wickham's voice raised above its normal pitch. Were they already
quarreling over the spoils!