TELLETH HOW MY LADY ADOPTED A FAIRY GODMOTHER
High Dering, drowsing in the sun, opened a door here and there to stare
in idle wonderment as Sir John handed his companion in at Dame Haryott’s
garden wicket, for visitors were rare, more especially such visitors as
these who bowed and curtsied to each other with such courtly, albeit
frigid, ceremony; so High Dering opened its doors a little wider and
became a trifle more awake as Sir John knocked.
And, after some while, chains rattled, bolts creaked, the heavy door
opened, and old Penelope stood peering at them from the dim interior.
“Good-day, Mrs. Penelope,” said Sir John, removing his hat and saluting
her in his easy, unaffected manner. “You desired to see me, I think?”
“Aye, I did,” she answered ungraciously, “but not along of a tattlin’
wench.”
My lady stared and flushed angrily.
“I will go!” said she, and drawing herself to her noble height, turned
away, supremely disdainful as an outraged goddess; but old Penelope, who
knew little of goddesses and cared less, was no whit abashed.
“Hoity-toity!” quoth she; “bide a bit, wench!” and my Lady Herminia found
her stately progress checked by the crook of old Penelope’s stick that
had hooked itself suddenly about her arm.
My lady turned and, amazed beyond speech, viewed the audacious old
creature from head to foot until, meeting the fierce old eyes, her gaze
paused there and thus, for a long moment, they stared at each other, the
old woman and the young, while Sir John wisely held his peace.
“Ha!” exclaimed Dame Haryott at last, looking more malevolent and
witch-like than usual, “an’ who be you, young mistress, wi’ y’r white
’ands, an’ dressed out like a country-lass, as do carry y’rself so
proud-like? Hush and I’ll tell ’ee. You be one as long loved Love, an’
sought it vainly till, one day, ye found it—in your own heart ... the
love for a man——”
“I—I love no man!” cried my lady, with a strange vehemence.
“Bah!” quoth Penelope harshly, “’tis peepin’ at me from y’r eyes,
flushin’ in y’r cheek. First, ’twas love o’ y’rself, which was a bad
love, but now ... aha, now it be love for a man! A love as shall grow an’
grow till it be a pain ... some love be a pain, I know ... and ’tis the
only love worth ’aving!”
“I love no man!” repeated my lady.
“Shall I speak his name, mistress?”
“No—no!” answered my lady, a little breathlessly.
“Oho!” chuckled old Penelope in most witch-like manner. “Oho! ... ‘no,
no!’ quo’ she!... An’ ’er so proud an’ arl! But I know, aye, ol’ Pen
knows! For I loved once when the world was younger an’ kinder.... I
were tall then, and nigh prideful as you, afore age an’ sorrow bent me
an’ love humbled me. Love? Aye, but ’twas worth the pain, for ’twas a
love hath sweetened the bitter o’ the long, weary years, an’ cheered my
loneliness ... a love as I shall tak’ wi’ me to a better place an’ find
Happiness at last, maybe—Happiness ... after s’much bitter solitude!”
Suddenly the old eyes were upturned to the radiant heaven, their
fierceness was softened by the glitter of slow-gathering, painful tears;
and then, upon that bowed and aged shoulder came a hand, a gentle hand
yet strong, for all its white delicacy; and my lady spoke in voice Sir
John had never heard from her before:
“Art so very lonely?”
“Lonely?” The word was a groan, and the drooping shoulders sank lower.
“I’ve been a lone soul all my days—wi’ none to care for me since HE died,
an’ none to tak’ my part except Jarge and Sir Hector ... the liddle
children mock me ... the women be worse! An’ I du be gettin’ that old and
weary!... Sometimes I can scarce brave it any more!”...
“Wilt take me for thy friend, old Penelope?”
The old woman lifted white head proudly as any person of quality might
have done and stared at my lady keenly, then reached up and patted the
hand upon her shoulder.
“’Tis come too late!” sighed she. “You be too young an’ I be too old for
friendship ... but I thank ye kindly.”
“Then you’ll suffer me to come and talk with you sometimes, Penelope?”
“Why, ye see, the roof leaks, an’ the chimbley smokes——”
“The more shame to Sir John Dering!” exclaimed my lady fiercely.
“Aye,’twere different in the ol’ squire’s time—the other Sir John as
marched away wi’ his sojers an’ never came back ... the world was better
then ... ’specially High Dering. But to-day they name me witch, an’ a
witch’s cottage bean’t no place for young maids—’specially your sort! But
since you be here, come in an’ sit ye down—both on ye! An’ if ye’ll wait
’till my kittle b’iles I’ll brew ye a dish o’ tea——”
“Tea?” exclaimed my lady.
“Aye, I generally tak’s a drop towards noon; it do warm my old bones!” So
saying, she led them into the cottage and very carefully locked, bolted
and chained the door.
“I do this,” she explained, “because happen they may come an’ mak’
trouble for me—sudden-like!”
“Who, pray?” demanded my lady indignantly.
“Any fule as finds ’is cow gone dry, or ’is crop blighted, or ’is horse
off its feed, or his child in a fit.... Lord bless ’ee, child, doan’t
stare so! Ye see folks thinks I’ve ‘the evil eye’ an’ can blast ’em with
a look ... aye, but I wish I could, that I du!”
“And so,” continued Sir John, “they have stoned her, set dogs on her, and
threatened her with death by water and the fire, ere now——”
“Aye, but the dogs be worst!” cried old Penelope, giving the fire a
savage poke. “I can’t abide dogs!”
“By heaven!” exclaimed my lady in sudden ferocity, “would I were a man!”
“By heaven!” retorted Sir John, “I rejoice that you are not!”
“Tush!” she cried angrily, “’tis time there came a man to High Dering!”
“I have thought so too!” he answered gravely.
“Nay, I mean a strong man—a man of action!”
So saying, my lady rose, contemptuous, seeming to fill the small place
with the majesty of her presence.
“Dear Penelope,” said she gently, “suffer me to do that for you—I’ll lay
the cloth and——”
“No, no!”
“But I say yes!”
“O do ye an’ arl!” exclaimed the old woman fiercely. “This be my own
cottage till they turn me out an’ then——”
“Turn you out?”
“Aye, in two or three wiks!”
“You hear, sir; you hear?”
“I do!” answered Sir John.
“And when you are homeless, Penelope, what shall you do?”
“Walk an’ tramp ’till I caan’t go no further, an’ then find a quiet
corner to die in——”
“Nay, that you shall not!” cried my lady passionately. “I will take
ye—you shall come to me, I will adopt you——”
“Eh—eh!” gasped old Penelope, and very nearly dropped her cherished
Chinese teapot.
“You shall come to me, Penelope,” repeated my lady, taking the teapot
from her tremulous fingers. “I shall adopt you—nay, my dear soul, never
doubt me, I mean it every word!”
“But ... but,” stammered old Penelope, “they call me a witch! They ...
they——”
“Devil take ’em!” exclaimed my lady. “I will care for thee, Penelope!
Shalt find peace and comfort at last, thou brave soul!” And here, seeing
the old creature’s pitiful amaze, my lady stooped suddenly and pressed
warm lips on her wrinkled brow.
“Lord God!” exclaimed old Penelope, and sinking into the elbow-chair, hid
her face in her toil-worn hands. And presently she spoke in voice harsh
and broken, “There be nobody ... has kissed me ... since my dyin’ mother,
long an’ long ago!”
“My dear soul!” said my lady, and Sir John saw her eyes suddenly brim
with tears. “My dear soul, there is a woman shall kiss away thy sorrows
if she may.... For to-day, Penelope, thou hast found a friend and I a—a
fairy godmother! Let me kiss thee again, godmother!”
Slowly old Penelope raised her head to look into the face bowed above her.
“Happen I be dreamin’,” she sighed, “an’ shall wake by an’ by—but, O
child, it be good to dream—sometimes.”