I
IT was the autumn after I had the typhoid. I'd been three months in
hospital, and when I came out I looked so weak and tottery that the two
or three ladies I applied to were afraid to engage me. Most of my money
was gone, and after I'd boarded for two months, hanging about the
employment-agencies, and answering any advertisement that looked any
way respectable, I pretty nearly lost heart, for fretting hadn't made
me fatter, and I didn't see why my luck should ever turn. It did
though--or I thought so at the time. A Mrs. Railton, a friend of the
lady that first brought me out to the States, met me one day and
stopped to speak to me: she was one that had always a friendly way with
her. She asked me what ailed me to look so white, and when I told her,
"Why, Hartley," says she, "I believe I've got the very place for you.
Come in to-morrow and we'll talk about it."
The next day, when I called, she told me the lady she'd in mind was a
niece of hers, a Mrs. Brympton, a youngish lady, but something of an
invalid, who lived all the year round at her country-place on the
Hudson, owing to not being able to stand the fatigue of town life.
"Now, Hartley," Mrs. Railton said, in that cheery way that always made
me feel things must be going to take a turn for the better--"now
understand me; it's not a cheerful place i'm sending you to. The house
is big and gloomy; my niece is nervous, vaporish; her husband--well,
he's generally away; and the two children are dead. A year ago, I would
as soon have thought of shutting a rosy active girl like you into a
vault; but you're not particularly brisk yourself just now, are you?
and a quiet place, with country air and wholesome food and early hours,
ought to be the very thing for you. Don't mistake me," she added, for I
suppose I looked a trifle downcast; "you may find it dull, but you
won't be unhappy. My niece is an angel. Her former maid, who died last
spring, had been with her twenty years and worshipped the ground she
walked on. She's a kind mistress to all, and where the mistress is
kind, as you know, the servants are generally good-humored, so you'll
probably get on well enough with the rest of the household. And you're
the very woman I want for my niece: quiet, well-mannered, and educated
above your station. You read aloud well, I think? That's a good thing;
my niece likes to be read to. She wants a maid that can be something of
a companion: her last was, and I can't say how she misses her. It's a
lonely life...Well, have you decided?"
"Why, ma'am," I said, "I'm not afraid of solitude."
"Well, then, go; my niece will take you on my recommendation. I'll
telegraph her at once and you can take the afternoon train. She has no
one to wait on her at present, and I don't want you to lose any time."
I was ready enough to start, yet something in me hung back; and to gain
time I asked, "And the gentleman, ma'am?"
"The gentleman's almost always away, I tell you," said Mrs. Ralston,
quick-like--"and when he's there," says she suddenly, "you've only to
keep out of his way."
I took the afternoon train and got out at D---- station at about four
o'clock. A groom in a dog-cart was waiting, and we drove off at a smart
pace. It was a dull October day, with rain hanging close overhead, and
by the time we turned into the Brympton Place woods the daylight was
almost gone. The drive wound through the woods for a mile or two, and
came out on a gravel court shut in with thickets of tall black-looking
shrubs. There were no lights in the windows, and the house _did_ look a
bit gloomy.
I had asked no questions of the groom, for I never was one to get my
notion of new masters from their other servants: I prefer to wait and
see for myself. But I could tell by the look of everything that I had
got into the right kind of house, and that things were done handsomely.
A pleasant-faced cook met me at the back door and called the house-maid
to show me up to my room. "You'll see madam later," she said. "Mrs.
Brympton has a visitor."
I hadn't fancied Mrs. Brympton was a lady to have many visitors, and
somehow the words cheered me. I followed the house-maid upstairs, and
saw, through a door on the upper landing, that the main part of the
house seemed well-furnished, with dark panelling and a number of old
portraits. Another flight of stairs led us up to the servants' wing. It
was almost dark now, and the house-maid excused herself for not having
brought a light. "But there's matches in your room," she said, "and if
you go careful you'll be all right. Mind the step at the end of the
passage. Your room is just beyond."
I looked ahead as she spoke, and half-way down the passage, I saw a
woman standing. She drew back into a doorway as we passed, and the
house-maid didn't appear to notice her. She was a thin woman with a
white face, and a darkish stuff gown and apron. I took her for the
housekeeper and thought it odd that she didn't speak, but just gave me
a long look as she went by. My room opened into a square hall at the
end of the passage. Facing my door was another which stood open: the
house-maid exclaimed when she saw it.
"There--Mrs. Blinder's left that door open again!" said she, closing it.
"Is Mrs. Blinder the housekeeper?"
"There's no housekeeper: Mrs. Blinder's the cook."
"And is that her room?"
"Laws, no," said the house-maid, cross-like. "That's nobody's room.
It's empty, I mean, and the door hadn't ought to be open. Mrs. Brympton
wants it kept locked."
She opened my door and led me into a neat room, nicely furnished, with
a picture or two on the walls; and having lit a candle she took leave,
telling me that the servants'-hall tea was at six, and that Mrs.
Brympton would see me afterward.
I found them a pleasant-spoken set in the servants' hall, and by what
they let fall I gathered that, as Mrs. Railton had said, Mrs. Brympton
was the kindest of ladies; but I didn't take much notice of their talk,
for I was watching to see the pale woman in the dark gown come in. She
didn't show herself, however, and I wondered if she ate apart; but if
she wasn't the housekeeper, why should she? Suddenly it struck me that
she might be a trained nurse, and in that case her meals would of
course be served in her room. If Mrs. Brympton was an invalid it was
likely enough she had a nurse. The idea annoyed me, I own, for they're
not always the easiest to get on with, and if I'd known, I shouldn't
have taken the place. But there I was, and there was no use pulling a
long face over it; and not being one to ask questions, I waited to see
what would turn up.
When tea was over, the house-maid said to the footman: "Has Mr. Ranford
gone?" and when he said yes, she told me to come up with her to Mrs.
Brympton.
Mrs. Brympton was lying down in her bedroom. Her lounge stood near the
fire and beside it was a shaded lamp. She was a delicate-looking lady,
but when she smiled I felt there was nothing I wouldn't do for her. She
spoke very pleasantly, in a low voice, asking me my name and age and so
on, and if I had everything I wanted, and if I wasn't afraid of feeling
lonely in the country.
"Not with you I wouldn't be, madam," I said, and the words surprised me
when I'd spoken them, for I'm not an impulsive person; but it was just
as if I'd thought aloud.
She seemed pleased at that, and said she hoped I'd continue in the same
mind; then she gave me a few directions about her toilet, and said
Agnes the house-maid would show me next morning where things were kept.
"I am tired to-night, and shall dine upstairs," she said. "Agnes will
bring me my tray, that you may have time to unpack and settle yourself;
and later you may come and undress me."
"Very well, ma'am," I said. "You'll ring, I suppose?"