PLAIN SPEAKING CLEARS THE AIR.
'Your young lady's got a spirit,' said Sykes to Horatia's nurse, who was
as popular below-stairs as her mistress was above, for it is a fact that
'Like mistress, like maid,' is a very true saying, and Miss Cunningham's
old nurse behaved in the same kindly, tactful manner towards her
fellow-servants that her mistress showed towards her.
But on this occasion Nanny, or Mrs Nancy, as the servants called her,
gave way to her feelings, which had been much ruffled on this visit. 'If
by spirit you mean she don't allow injustice to be done to a poor man,
you're right; but I should like you to know that this isn't what we've
been used to--not by no means. Why, our last visit was to Miss Horatia's
grandpa, his Grace the Duke of Arnedale, and there we didn't have no
scenes; I should say not, indeed! It's not considered good form; that's
what they call it.'
'It's not a bad word, isn't that? You talk of a prize-fighter being in
good form,' observed Sykes.
'Well, our prize-fighter was in good form to-night, and yet Miss
Cunningham knocked him out in the first round,' interposed a young
footman, who went in for being a wit.
'Don't you get into the habit of making free with young ladies' names,
nor making jokes on them, young man,' said Mrs Nancy severely, as she
took up the work which she had been doing in the shade at the back of
the house, and went indoors.
'Now, there's a funny thing; she's only a servant same as us, and yet she
thinks herself our better because her family's got blood. Well, ours has
got money, and, for my part, give me good wages and plenty to eat, and
blood be blowed!' remarked the young footman, who had been nettled at the
reproof.
'No low talk here, please,' said Sykes with dignity as he rose to see
about the wine for dinner.
Nanny went upstairs ostensibly to get her young lady's things out for
dinner, although, as it was only three o'clock, it was rather early; but
in reality she felt that Miss Horatia wanted one of her own people with
her at this moment, so she knocked at her door, and found Horatia in the
silver-fitted bathroom plunging her head into the marble basin.
'Miss Horatia, my dearie, what are you thinking about? This hot day it's
enough to give you your death!' she cried.
'Oh Nanny, I was so hot, and my head does ache! I really couldn't help
it,' exclaimed Horatia.
'You lie down on your bed, missie, and I'll lower the blinds and bathe
your head with this spray. You've overdone yourself getting into such a
taking with that wretched man,' said the old nurse soothingly, as she
patted up the pillows for her charge and lowered the green sun-blinds.
'He wasn't a wretched man; he had nothing to do with it. I touched the
high-speed gear, I tell you, and poor Tom Fox was as frightened as any
one.'
'I wasn't speaking of him. I know he wasn't to blame. And I'm talking of
some one else, as you very well know, whom there's no living in peace
with; and I know what you're going to say, Miss Horatia--that he's our
host, and my better, which he may be the first, but I don't know so much
about his being the second, for my father wouldn't have demeaned himself
by such language to any man, let alone before women. And as I'm speaking
I may as well say it all out, which is that if the master and mistress
had known what kind of place we were coming to they'd never have allowed
it. And if I write and tell them'----
'Tell them what, pray?' interrupted Horatia.
'What kind of a man Mr Clay is, which no one has a good word for him; and
however you manage to keep him in good temper, Sykes says, he doesn't
know,' wound up Nancy.
'I don't want to know what Sykes says; and if you can't talk of more
agreeable things than that I'd rather you went away and left my headache
to cure itself. I'm only tired after looking all the morning at machines
turning round,' announced Horatia.
'And whatever you can find to please you in that passes me. Sykes says
those woollen-mills are all one like another, and hot, dirty, greasy
places!' declared Nancy.
'I believe you've fallen in love with Sykes,' said Horatia wickedly.
'Miss Horatia! Considering he's got a wife and family!' protested Nancy.
But she quoted Sykes no more, which was just what Horatia wanted and
expected.
'Now, Nanny, I'm quite all right, so you can get out my white muslin and
blue ribbon,' she said.
'Not that white muslin, miss! You've worn it three times, and it is so
plain compared with Miss Clay's,' objected the woman.
'So am I, so it's no good my trying to dress like her, and it's no use
your getting angry about it, and arguing, because you know she's
beautiful and I'm plain. And what's funnier still, I don't envy her a
bit--oh, I don't mean her wealth, but I mean her face and figure--for she
isn't a bit happy, and she doesn't enjoy life, and I do most awfully.'
'Because you try to make other people enjoy it, and you know the way to
win people's hearts. Why, the way you've won Mr Clay's'---- Here Nancy
paused.
'As Sykes says,' added Horatia slyly.
'Well, Miss Horatia, you will have your joke; and if I was going to say
that it's no wonder, seeing that I have to sit at his right hand, as the
place of honour, at the servants' hall dinner. And, oh, miss, if you did
but see our table! Well, we live well at his Grace's; but here! You never
saw such food--seven and eight courses we have, and fruit and wines. I'm
sure I don't know how much they cost.'
'You'll be wanting to stay up here, Nanny; you will never be contented
with our plain food after all these luxuries,' suggested Horatia.
Nancy gave a scornful sniff. 'I suppose that is a joke, Miss Horatia; but
it's a poor one. For if it were this house or the Union I'd not hesitate
between them.'
'Is that a joke, or do you expect me to believe you'd rather live in the
workhouse than this place?' inquired Horatia.
'It's no joke. Nothing would induce me to live here,' said Nancy.
'I wonder why,' said Horatia meditatively. It was just what Sarah said,
she remembered.
'It's not half so wonderful as the way you seem to have taken to these
people,' said Nancy; and then, feeling that she had gone too far, and
that Horatia thought so, she changed the conversation and spoke of the
dirt of Ousebank, which actually was blown to Balmoral.
Then the gong rang, and Horatia, cheery and smiling as ever, went
tripping down the grand staircase to the drawing-room to meet Mrs Clay
and Sarah. This evening, rather to her surprise, Mr Clay was there,
having departed from his usual habit of going straight to the dining-room
and sitting down at the table before the ladies appeared. He came forward
with a _gauche_ gallantry, and offered his arm to Horatia. 'Come, little
lass, I hear you lunched at Howroyd's and went over his mill to-day.
Couldn't you have waited one day more?'
'He didn't want us to,' said Horatia, taking the millionaire's arm with a
simple grace, as if it was quite an ordinary thing for her to go in to
dinner in this style, instead of its being the first time.
'I dare say not. Howroyd was only too proud to get you there. I'm talking
of my mills, which you could have seen just by waiting a day,' explained
Mr Clay.
'Oh, but I am going to see your mills too. I'll come to-morrow if you
will let us. Of course they will be much grander than Mr Howroyd's, so
it was better to see his first and keep the best to the last.'
'Oh ay, our stuff's much grander. We make finer cloth than Howroyd's, and
turn out ten times as much, I'll warrant,' said Mr Clay, with his
boastful laugh.
'I think, my dear, you'd better leave a day between. You can't spend all
these fine days in factories. You look tired out, an' Sarah too,
trapezing up and down greasy, slippery stairs,' protested Mrs Clay.
'The wife's right, and I'd as soon you waited a few days. I don't know
that I want visitors in my mills for a day or so,' chimed in the
millionaire.
Sarah looked searchingly at her father, and did not seem to like what she
saw in his face, for she turned away with a frown. Mrs Clay evidently did
not see anything except that her husband upheld her opinion, and was kind
to her, as he had been ever since Horatia had come to Balmoral.
'Why don't you want visitors, father?' inquired Sarah.
'Because I don't,' said her father shortly.
'I dare say you often don't; in fact, I shouldn't wonder if you would
rather visitors never came, because they must interrupt work dreadfully,'
said Horatia.
'Well, they do interrupt,' agreed the millionaire, glad to find an
excuse, 'and we're just at a busy time for a special Colonial order; but
I'll get you a day when everything is going smoothly.'
'But Uncle Howroyd is just as busy, and everything goes smoothly
there.--Doesn't it, Horatia?--And he found time to take us round; he said
it was doing his work all right, because he made a round of the mill
every day, and he might as well take us with him as go alone, as it made
it more agreeable.'
Mr Clay gave a scornful laugh. 'I'd like to see myself go the round of
all my mills daily! Why, I'd pretty soon be done for. It's easy enough in
a paltry place like Howroyd's; and as for him, he spoils his people, and
spoils other people's too.' And his face grew dark.
Horatia felt dimly that Sarah was treading on dangerous ground, and that
something was annoying her host, so she turned to Mrs Clay and said,
'Sarah says I am to choose what we do every day, so may I choose to go
and fish in the Adder?'
'Why, certainly, my dear; not that you'll find any fish there; but if it
amuses you, go by all means.'
'Don't you worry about an amusement for to-morrow. I've planned one for
you,' said Mr Clay.
'Oh, what is it?' cried Horatia, eager as usual for novelty.
'If she wants to fish, why shouldn't she?' objected Sarah, who had no
faith in her father's choice of a day's entertainment.
'But I don't want to fish if there are no fish to catch. There's nothing
duller than sitting all day and catching nothing,' put in Horatia.
'What's your plan, Mr Clay?'
'You wait till to-morrow morning, and you'll see,' he replied as they
rose from the table.
'It'll be something horrid, you'll see,' said Sarah after they had left
the dining-room.
'Why should it be something horrid?' inquired Horatia rather sharply.
'Because my father has not the least idea what kind of thing will please
you,' retorted Sarah.
'How do you know that?' demanded Horatia.
'Because he is far too ignorant,' said Sarah.
'You are not very respectful to your own father,' said Horatia rather
coldly, 'and I think that's rather ignorant.'
'Why don't you say we're all ignorant and vulgar? You know you think it
in your heart,' burst out Sarah.
Horatia looked at Sarah for a minute. 'Would you like me to say what I
really think?' she inquired.
'Yes, I would; I'd rather you said it than pretend to be enjoying
everything and being at home, when you despise us all in your heart. You
showed it this afternoon, and I know what you think of my father and
mother and uncle, and all of us, although you are too much of a lady to
say so. Oh yes; I can see your mouth curling with contempt. I know you
are a lady and I am not,' said Sarah, and then stopped, breathless from
her tirade.
Horatia looked at her steadily. 'You are quite wrong about one thing. I
am enjoying myself immensely,' she began.
But Sarah interrupted her. 'Of course you are, because you make fun of
everything and everybody, and you will go away home and make fun of us
here as vulgar parvenus.'
'How dare you accuse me of such mean behaviour? You want to hear the
truth, and you shall, Sarah. There is one person who is vulgar here, and
that is yourself, and you are the only one. I am sorry I ever came to
Balmoral just for that reason, because I used to like you so much at
school, and be so proud that you liked me best--you seemed so superior to
the other girls; but here you have quite changed and become despicable.'
'Because you have seen my parents, that is all,' said Sarah.
'No; it is not for any such reason. I like your parents very much, and I
think your father is a wonderful man to have made such a position for
himself without any school education; and I love your mother, and I can't
see anything vulgar in them. Vulgarity, mother says, is pretending to be
what you are not. Education has nothing to do with vulgarity in its bad
sense.'
'I don't believe that. Do you mean to say that you thought my father's
behaviour refined this afternoon?' inquired Sarah, speaking slowly.
'It was very natural. It would have been vulgar of my father; but Mr Clay
is different. I can't explain very well; but if mother were here she
would be able to do it. I don't want to discuss your parents; I'm sorry
for you if you can't respect them. And, please, I'd rather you didn't say
so to me. But I think there's nothing quite so contemptible as being
ashamed of one's family. Why, I believe you are even ashamed of your
uncle Howroyd, and I think he's the most splendid man I ever saw, and I
am glad we met him this morning, for I verily believe you didn't mean to
introduce me to him, and I should have been angry if I had missed seeing
him and his mill.'
Sarah did not make any reply, but said, 'Good-night, Horatia,' and turned
to go.
In a moment Horatia's arms were round her. 'Oh Sarah! don't be angry and
horrid, and don't mind what I said. Forget it all.'
Sarah turned with wet eyes. 'I dare say you're right, and I am horrid and
contemptible; but you don't understand,' she said.
'Yes I do, a little; but why should you think so much about education and
titles and things? They don't really matter, or make you happy; and papa
says they're going quite out of fashion,' said Horatia, with a merry
laugh, as she gave Sarah a final goodnight hug.