SARAH'S FIRST STEP TO CONQUEST.
Sarah walked swiftly along the passages, her head erect, her colour a
little brighter, and her lips half-smiling instead of being curved in a
contemptuous droop; and on her way she met Naomi.
'Oh miss!' cried Naomi, and then stopped short, and looked curiously at
her young mistress.
'Well, Naomi, what is it? What are you looking at me like that for? Has
anything more happened?' demanded Sarah.
'No, miss; thank goodness there's nothing more than you know, and that's
enough, and too much. I was only thinking you look rare and beautiful
this evening,' blurted out the maid.
'What nonsense, Naomi! I'm just hot and red, and you don't like pale
people,' replied Sarah; but she was pleased all the same; for though she
was not in the least vain of her good looks--which she would have
exchanged willingly for Horatia's parentage--she liked to be admired, and
she walked on, feeling very satisfied with herself.
Naomi looked after her admiringly. 'There's not a young lady can hold a
candle to her in all the county. But wherever's she going? Why, that's
not the way to the drawing-room; she's going to the master's room. Well,
it isn't often she pays him a visit, and it mostly ends badly, if it
doesn't begin so. How she comes to be his daughter I can't think; she's
too good for the like of him. I'd sooner have believed she was a duke's
daughter,' she soliloquised.
Meanwhile Sarah, conscious that she was doing a noble action in
conquering her own feelings, walked on, as Naomi had said, to her
father's special sitting-room, which he called his study, but in which
his only study was how to make more money.
Sarah tapped at the door, and her father's voice growled something which
she took to be an invitation to come in, so she opened the door and
entered the room; but on the threshold she paused and hesitated. Her
father was sitting in his big easy-chair in front of his bureau, writing.
He did not look up at once, thinking it was a servant, who could wait his
pleasure, and Sarah had time to notice his forbidding expression. It
seemed to her that her father had never looked more unlovable, as he sat
there with a scowl on his face, writing no doubt letters to the police or
whatever authorities he wished to invoke aid from to punish the
incendiaries; and as he wrote such a malignant and fierce expression came
over his face that Sarah made a movement to retreat; but the noise she
made in doing so attracted Mr Clay's attention, and, looking up sharply,
he exclaimed, 'What! you, Sally?' and laid down his pen to hear what his
daughter had to say to him.
'Yes, father; I came to tell you how sorry I am about all this affair
to-day,' she said.
Mr Clay looked keenly and a little suspiciously at his daughter. She
stood there, looking so like a culprit apologising for her misdeeds, that
the thought flashed across him that perhaps she had something to be
sorry for. She made no secret of her sympathy with the 'hands,' and she
had not expressed sorrow or indignation at the time, so that the
mill-owner may be excused if he believed for the moment that she had had
something to do with the fire.
'Are you sorry?' he asked dryly. 'I thought you didn't care if I lost
every penny of my money. That's what you always say. Are you sure you're
not sorry that your friends are going to get into trouble, eh? I suppose
you didn't know anything about it beforehand? Because, you know, I
sha'n't make any exceptions. Those that burn my property shall pay for
it.'
'Father,' cried Sarah indignantly, 'how can you think such a dreadful
thing of me? If that's what you think, I'm sorry I came to you at all;'
and she turned to go.
'Stop a minute, my lass,' said her father. 'I'd like to get to the bottom
of this. Why did you come?'
'I came to tell you I am sorry for your loss,' said Sarah half-sullenly.
'You are sure you didn't come to beg these people off their punishment?'
persisted Mr Clay.
'Yes, I am quite sure of that. I should never waste my time asking you to
show mercy to any one,' cried Sarah, her eyes flashing.
Mark Clay looked at his daughter with an angry light in his eyes. 'I'm
glad you've got so much sense, my lass,' he said coldly, and went on with
his writing.
Sarah hesitated a minute. She was sorry for the words the moment they
were out of her mouth. It was a miserable end to her attempt at making
friends with her father; but her father's head was bent over his
writing, and his face had on the stubborn look she knew so well, so she
reluctantly turned away, and went back to her own room.
'He means mischief,' she said as she leant her chin on her hands. 'He's
more dangerous when he is quiet like that than when he blusters.'
How long she sat Sarah did not know, until she was startled by hearing
the dinner-gong clanging through the house. She gave a violent start, and
looked round to see if Naomi had put out her dress for dinner, and saw,
to her surprise, not only that she had not done so, but that it was the
dinner-hour, so that either dinner must be late--an unheard-of thing in
that house--or she had not heard the dressing-bell, and this must be the
dinner-gong.
'But where is Naomi, and why was my dress not put out for me?' Sarah
asked herself, and in answer to her unspoken question Naomi appeared.
'Oh Miss Sarah, I'm so sorry; I've fair forgot everything to-day, with
all the upset! Oh miss, do let me dress you quick!' she cried, in great
distress.
'It's the dinner-gong, then?' inquired Sarah.
'Yes, miss; there hasn't been any other. Sykes he forgot to ring the
dressing-bell; the first time in his life, he says, that he ever did such
a thing. The only one that's gone on the same as usual is the French
_chef_, and, of course, he doesn't care a bit about us English folk. All
he said when he heard about this was, "Vell, he got plenty money build
more barns; but if his dinner isn't to the minute he'll swear, and so
there it is, ready to dish." So pray make haste, Miss Sarah, for master's
sure to be upset easy to-night,' Naomi wound up.
'Naomi, was Jane Mary in this?' inquired Sarah abruptly.
It will be noticed that they both alluded to the incendiarism as 'this.'
Naomi replied, 'I couldn't say, Miss Sarah. I couldn't say anything for
certain about it, on any account.'
'You mean you won't; and that means that you don't trust me,' replied
Sarah.
'No, indeed, miss; I'd trust you as soon as I would myself. But it's the
real truth; I don't know anything, nor I won't know anything. And if I
was you I'd do the same. It'll be the safest way and the best in this
business,' Naomi told her earnestly.
Sarah sighed. 'It's going to be a bad business for those that do know
anything about it,' she said.
'It would have been worse if some of them had had their way,' observed
Naomi.
'Then you do know something about it?' exclaimed Sarah.
'I know what they're all talking about, but what's true and what's false
I couldn't tell you.'
'Is my mother dressed for dinner?' inquired Sarah suddenly, abandoning
the attempt to pump Naomi.
'No, Miss Sarah; the mistress has been lying down ever since she came in,
with Miss Horatia.'
'Lying down with Horatia?' ejaculated Sarah.
'I mean lying down, with Miss Horatia sitting beside her holding her hand
like a daughter,' Naomi corrected herself.
Sarah coloured violently, and Naomi wondered what made her do so. Poor
Sarah was being made to feel all round what a poor sort of daughter she
was, and she felt irritably that it was only since Horatia came that this
fact had been obvious. But Sarah was wrong. Her attitude towards her
parents had always been noticeable, and her brother and mother had
constantly upbraided her with it; but it was Horatia's coming which had
brought this home to her, and she did not like it.
'That will do, Naomi,' she said, giving an impatient tug to the sash that
the maid was tying, and she ran lightly down the corridors and the wide
marble staircase to the dining-room.
Mr and Mrs Clay and Horatia were all there, and dinner was begun; and
Sarah noticed, to her annoyance, that all three were dressed in the
clothes they had worn for the picnic. 'Oh, you haven't changed! I have;
that's why I am late.'
'We were all too upset to think of dress; we're not like you, above
caring about these things,' said her father bitterly.
'Sarah thought you wouldn't like to see 'er in 'er dusty clothes, Mark;
an' I would 'ave changed too, only I was so tired I thought you'd excuse
me; an' Miss 'Oratia 'ere was too kind to leave me alone, my nerves bein'
upset,' put in Mrs Clay in order to shield her daughter, and really
making things worse by contrasting Sarah's conduct with Horatia's.
'Yes, she's a good, kind lass, is Miss Horatia,' said Mr Clay, giving her
a friendly look, as he pressed some favourite dish of his on her.
Sarah had dreaded dinner, being of the same opinion as Naomi that her
father would be upset. Indeed, he had looked very much upset and ready
for an explosion when she left him in his study; but it was 'Horatia
again,' she said to herself, and she thought angrily that Horatia cared
nothing about those poor people who had got themselves into trouble.
She was angrier still when Horatia replied, 'I'm not at all good or kind
at this minute, for I should like to put all those people I saw in the
park into prison.'
'You'll have your wish before long, little lass, for that's where they'll
all be,' said Mr Clay.
'Oh, but I shall be very sorry if they really do go to prison. I only
wished it from revenge, and, of course, that's a very wrong motive,'
cried Horatia. She looked across at Sarah to help her; but Sarah would
not look at her friend or join in the conversation at all.
'I don't know whether it's a wrong motive or not, but I do know that it's
necessary to punish those wretches for destroying my property; and
punished they will be,' Mr Clay replied.
'There wasn't many o' 'em really doin' that, Mark,' said Mrs Clay
timidly.
'They were doing as bad, standing by watching the destruction; and I'll
have every man of them clapped into prison,' said the millionaire.
Mrs Clay said no more, and Horatia began to chatter about other things,
amusing both Mr and Mrs Clay by her shrewd remarks.
Sarah sat sullenly by, and when dinner was over she went straight up to
her room instead of joining the others in the drawing-room. 'They prefer
Horatia to me, so let them have her. I'm sure she's welcome to do
daughter,' Sarah said to herself. Perhaps finding her place usurped
awakened Sarah to the knowledge that she had a place to fill in her
home, and that she was not filling it.
The next day Mr Clay went down to his mills as usual, and no word had
been said about the events of the day before; but Sarah was not deceived.
Her father, she was sure, was planning his revenge, and sooner or later
he would, as he had said, clap his enemies into prison.
Naomi could give her no information on the subject, and Mr Howroyd
refused point-blank to discuss the matter. 'You'll hear all there is to
hear in time; but it may come before me to be heard, and I can't discuss
it with you or any one else.'
The next morning came a very polite letter from Lady Cunningham to Mrs
Clay, thanking her for all her kindness to Horatia, and begging that she
might return in time to pay a visit to some relatives, who desired that
she might accompany her parents, as she was a great favourite.
'I don't wonder at that, my dearie; you'd be welcome anywhere, with your
bonny bright face,' said Mrs Clay.
'I sha'n't let you go unless you promise to come again soon,' said Mr
Clay, with a heavy attempt at humour.
'Oh, but I am coming! I've enjoyed myself immensely,' cried Horatia
willingly.--'Good-bye, Sarah. I shall be so glad to see you back at
school. We shall be friends again then as we used to be, sha'n't we?'
'I don't feel as if anything were going to be as it used to be,' said
Sarah; but she kissed Horatia very affectionately when they parted.
'I believe it's your doing that mamma sent for us, Nanny,' said Horatia
when the two were in the train.
'And if it was, I'm not a bit ashamed of it,' said Nancy stoutly, 'for I
couldn't have stayed another night there, starting and trembling at every
sound, and dreaming shocking dreams of being burnt alive in my bed.'
'It's awfully selfish of us to come away and let them be burnt alive in
their beds, if you think it's at all likely,' remarked Horatia.
'Then I'll have to be selfish, for I don't consider it's any part of my
duty to stop and be burnt with them, which it's their own fault in a way,
for they do say that Mr Clay's made himself fairly hated by his ways.'
'I don't hate him,' observed Horatia.
'No, miss, so I saw; but however you put up with him and his common ways,
let alone his hasty temper, I can't make out. Well, we've seen the last
of them, thank goodness! so I'll say nothing against them,' remarked Mrs
Nancy with satisfaction.
'I've promised to go and stay with them again soon,' observed Horatia.
'That's if her ladyship allows it,' replied Nancy, in a tone that implied
that the mistress wouldn't allow it.
Horatia only laughed. 'It will be nice to see them all again,' she said.
And this time she meant her own family.