II

I HAD been near a week at Brympton before I saw my master. Word came

that he was arriving one afternoon, and a change passed over the whole

household. It was plain that nobody loved him below stairs. Mrs.

Blinder took uncommon care with the dinner that night, but she snapped

at the kitchen-maid in a way quite unusual with her; and Mr. Wace, the

butler, a serious, slow-spoken man, went about his duties as if he'd

been getting ready for a funeral. He was a great Bible-reader, Mr. Wace

was, and had a beautiful assortment of texts at his command; but that

day he used such dreadful language that I was about to leave the table,

when he assured me it was all out of Isaiah; and I noticed that

whenever the master came Mr. Wace took to the prophets.

About seven, Agnes called me to my mistress's room; and there I found

Mr. Brympton. He was standing on the hearth; a big fair bull-necked

man, with a red face and little bad-tempered blue eyes: the kind of man

a young simpleton might have thought handsome, and would have been like

to pay dear for thinking it.

He swung about when I came in, and looked me over in a trice. I knew

what the look meant, from having experienced it once or twice in my

former places. Then he turned his back on me, and went on talking to

his wife; and I knew what _that_ meant, too. I was not the kind of

morsel he was after. The typhoid had served me well enough in one way:

it kept that kind of gentleman at arm's-length.

"This is my new maid, Hartley," says Mrs. Brympton in her kind voice;

and he nodded and went on with what he was saying.

In a minute or two he went off, and left my mistress to dress for

dinner, and I noticed as I waited on her that she was white, and chill

to the touch.

Mr. Brympton took himself off the next morning, and the whole house

drew a long breath when he drove away. As for my mistress, she put on

her hat and furs (for it was a fine winter morning) and went out for a

walk in the gardens, coming back quite fresh and rosy, so that for a

minute, before her color faded, I could guess what a pretty young lady

she must have been, and not so long ago, either.

She had met Mr. Ranford in the grounds, and the two came back together,

I remember, smiling and talking as they walked along the terrace under

my window. That was the first time I saw Mr. Ranford, though I had

often heard his name mentioned in the hall. He was a neighbor, it

appeared, living a mile or two beyond Brympton, at the end of the

village; and as he was in the habit of spending his winters in the

country he was almost the only company my mistress had at that season.

He was a slight tall gentleman of about thirty, and I thought him

rather melancholy-looking till I saw his smile, which had a kind of

surprise in it, like the first warm day in spring. He was a great

reader, I heard, like my mistress, and the two were forever borrowing

books of one another, and sometimes (Mr. Wace told me) he would read

aloud to Mrs. Brympton by the hour, in the big dark library where she

sat in the winter afternoons. The servants all liked him, and perhaps

that's more of a compliment than the masters suspect. He had a friendly

word for every one of us, and we were all glad to think that Mrs.

Brympton had a pleasant companionable gentleman like that to keep her

company when the master was away. Mr. Ranford seemed on excellent terms

with Mr. Brympton too; though I couldn't but wonder that two gentlemen

so unlike each other should be so friendly. But then I knew how the

real quality can keep their feelings to themselves.

As for Mr. Brympton, he came and went, never staying more than a day or

two, cursing the dulness and the solitude, grumbling at everything, and

(as I soon found out) drinking a deal more than was good for him. After

Mrs. Brympton left the table he would sit half the night over the old

Brympton port and madeira, and once, as I was leaving my mistress's

room rather later than usual, I met him coming up the stairs in such a

state that I turned sick to think of what some ladies have to endure

and hold their tongues about.

The servants said very little about their master; but from what they

let drop I could see it had been an unhappy match from the beginning.

Mr. Brympton was coarse, loud and pleasure-loving; my mistress quiet,

retiring, and perhaps a trifle cold. Not that she was not always

pleasant-spoken to him: I thought her wonderfully forbearing; but to a

gentleman as free as Mr. Brympton I daresay she seemed a little offish.

Well, things went on quietly for several weeks. My mistress was kind,

my duties were light, and I got on well with the other servants. In

short, I had nothing to complain of; yet there was always a weight on

me. I can't say why it was so, but I know it was not the loneliness

that I felt. I soon got used to that; and being still languid from the

fever, I was thankful for the quiet and the good country air.

Nevertheless, I was never quite easy in my mind. My mistress, knowing I

had been ill, insisted that I should take my walk regular, and often

invented errands for me:--a yard of ribbon to be fetched from the

village, a letter posted, or a book returned to Mr. Ranford. As soon as

I was out of doors my spirits rose, and I looked forward to my walks

through the bare moist-smelling woods; but the moment I caught sight of

the house again my heart dropped down like a stone in a well. It was

not a gloomy house exactly, yet I never entered it but a feeling of

gloom came over me.

Mrs. Brympton seldom went out in winter; only on the finest days did

she walk an hour at noon on the south terrace. Excepting Mr. Ranford,

we had no visitors but the doctor, who drove over from D---- about once

a week. He sent for me once or twice to give me some trifling direction

about my mistress, and though he never told me what her illness was, I

thought, from a waxy look she had now and then of a morning, that it

might be the heart that ailed her. The season was soft and unwholesome,

and in January we had a long spell of rain. That was a sore trial to

me, I own, for I couldn't go out, and sitting over my sewing all day,

listening to the drip, drip of the eaves, I grew so nervous that the

least sound made me jump. Somehow, the thought of that locked room

across the passage began to weigh on me. Once or twice, in the long

rainy nights, I fancied I heard noises there; but that was nonsense, of

course, and the daylight drove such notions out of my head. Well, one

morning Mrs. Brympton gave me quite a start of pleasure by telling me

she wished me to go to town for some shopping. I hadn't known till then

how low my spirits had fallen. I set off in high glee, and my first

sight of the crowded streets and the cheerful-looking shops quite took

me out of myself. Toward afternoon, however, the noise and confusion

began to tire me, and I was actually looking forward to the quiet of

Brympton, and thinking how I should enjoy the drive home through the

dark woods, when I ran across an old acquaintance, a maid I had once

been in service with. We had lost sight of each other for a number of

years, and I had to stop and tell her what had happened to me in the

interval. When I mentioned where I was living she rolled up her eyes

and pulled a long face.

"What! The Mrs. Brympton that lives all the year at her place on the

Hudson? My dear, you won't stay there three months."

"Oh, but I don't mind the country," says I, offended somehow at her

tone. "Since the fever I'm glad to be quiet."

She shook her head. "It's not the country I'm thinking of. All I know

is she's had four maids in the last six months, and the last one, who

was a friend of mine, told me nobody could stay in the house."

"Did she say why?" I asked.

"No--she wouldn't give me her reason. But she says to me, _Mrs. Ansey_,

she says, _if ever a young woman as you know of thinks of going there,

you tell her it's not worth while to unpack her boxes_."

"Is she young and handsome?" said I, thinking of Mr. Brympton.

"Not her! She's the kind that mothers engage when they've gay young

gentlemen at college."

Well, though I knew the woman was an idle gossip, the words stuck in my

head, and my heart sank lower than ever as I drove up to Brympton in

the dusk. There _was_ something about the house--I was sure of it now...

When I went in to tea I heard that Mr. Brympton had arrived, and I saw

at a glance that there had been a disturbance of some kind. Mrs.

Blinder's hand shook so that she could hardly pour the tea, and Mr.

Wace quoted the most dreadful texts full of brimstone. Nobody said a

word to me then, but when I went up to my room Mrs. Blinder followed me.

"Oh, my dear," says she, taking my hand, "I'm so glad and thankful

you've come back to us!"

That struck me, as you may imagine. "Why," said I, "did you think I was

leaving for good?"

"No, no, to be sure," said she, a little confused, "but I can't a-bear

to have madam left alone for a day even." She pressed my hand hard,

and, "Oh, Miss Hartley," says she, "be good to your mistress, as you're

a Christian woman." And with that she hurried away, and left me staring.

A moment later Agnes called me to Mrs. Brympton. Hearing Mr. Brympton's

voice in her room, I went round by the dressing-room, thinking I would

lay out her dinner-gown before going in. The dressing-room is a large

room with a window over the portico that looks toward the gardens. Mr.

Brympton's apartments are beyond. When I went in, the door into the

bedroom was ajar, and I heard Mr. Brympton saying angrily:--"One would

suppose he was the only person fit for you to talk to."

"I don't have many visitors in winter," Mrs. Brympton answered quietly.

"You have _me!_" he flung at her, sneering.

"You are here so seldom," said she.

"Well--whose fault is that? You make the place about as lively as a

family vault--"

With that I rattled the toilet-things, to give my mistress warning and

she rose and called me in.

The two dined alone, as usual, and I knew by Mr. Wace's manner at

supper that things must be going badly. He quoted the prophets

something terrible, and worked on the kitchen-maid so that she declared

she wouldn't go down alone to put the cold meat in the ice-box. I felt

nervous myself, and after I had put my mistress to bed I was

half-tempted to go down again and persuade Mrs. Blinder to sit up

awhile over a game of cards. But I heard her door closing for the

night, and so I went on to my own room. The rain had begun again, and

the drip, drip, drip seemed to be dropping into my brain. I lay awake

listening to it, and turning over what my friend in town had said. What

puzzled me was that it was always the maids who left...

After a while I slept; but suddenly a loud noise wakened me. My bell

had rung. I sat up, terrified by the unusual sound, which seemed to go

on jangling through the darkness. My hands shook so that I couldn't

find the matches. At length I struck a light and jumped out of bed. I

began to think I must have been dreaming; but I looked at the bell

against the wall, and there was the little hammer still quivering.

I was just beginning to huddle on my clothes when I heard another

sound. This time it was the door of the locked room opposite mine

softly opening and closing. I heard the sound distinctly, and it

frightened me so that I stood stock still. Then I heard a footstep

hurrying down the passage toward the main house. The floor being

carpeted, the sound was very faint, but I was quite sure it was a

woman's step. I turned cold with the thought of it, and for a minute or

two I dursn't breathe or move. Then I came to my senses.

"Alice Hartley," says I to myself, "someone left that room just now and

ran down the passage ahead of you. The idea isn't pleasant, but you may

as well face it. Your mistress has rung for you, and to answer her bell

you've got to go the way that other woman has gone."

Well--I did it. I never walked faster in my life, yet I thought I

should never get to the end of the passage or reach Mrs. Brympton's

room. On the way I heard nothing and saw nothing: all was dark and

quiet as the grave. When I reached my mistress's door the silence was

so deep that I began to think I must be dreaming, and was half-minded

to turn back. Then a panic seized me, and I knocked.

There was no answer, and I knocked again, loudly. To my astonishment

the door was opened by Mr. Brympton. He started back when he saw me,

and in the light of my candle his face looked red and savage.

_"You!"_ he said, in a queer voice. _"How many of you are there, in

God's name?"_

At that I felt the ground give under me; but I said to myself that he

had been drinking, and answered as steadily as I could: "May I go in,

sir? Mrs. Brympton has rung for me."

"You may all go in, for what I care," says he, and, pushing by me,

walked down the hall to his own bedroom. I looked after him as he went,

and to my surprise I saw that he walked as straight as a sober man.

I found my mistress lying very weak and still, but she forced a smile

when she saw me, and signed to me to pour out some drops for her. After

that she lay without speaking, her breath coming quick, and her eyes

closed. Suddenly she groped out with her hand, and "_Emma_," says she,

faintly.

"It's Hartley, madam," I said. "Do you want anything?"

She opened her eyes wide and gave me a startled look.

"I was dreaming," she said. "You may go, now, Hartley, and thank you

kindly. I'm quite well again, you see." And she turned her face away

from me.