THE MISTRESS OF DEEPLEY WALLS.
The words were hardly out of my lips when the woman shrank suddenly
back, as though struck by an invisible hand, and gave utterance to an
inarticulate cry of wonder and alarm. Then, striding forward, she seized
me by the wrist, and drew me into the lamp-lighted hall. "Child! child!
why have you come here?" she cried, scanning my face with eager eyes.
"In all the wide world this is the last place you should have come to."
"Miss Chinfeather is dead, and all the young ladies have been sent to
their homes. I have no home, so they have sent me here."
"What shall I do? What will her ladyship say?" cried the woman, in a
frightened voice. "How shall I ever dare to tell her?"
"Who rang the bell, Dance, a few minutes ago? And to whom are you
talking?"
The voice sounded so suddenly out of the semi-darkness at the upper end
of the large hall, which was lighted only by a small oil lamp, that both
the woman and I started. Looking in the direction from which the sound
had come, I could dimly make out, through the obscurity, the figures of
two women who had entered without noise through the curtained doorway,
close to which they were now standing. One of the two was very tall, and
was dressed entirely in black. The second one, who was less tall, was
also dressed in black, except that she seemed to have something white
thrown over her head and shoulders; but I was too far away to make out
any details.
"Hush! don't you speak," whispered the woman warningly to me. "Leave me
to break the news to her ladyship." With that, she left me standing on
the threshold, and hurried towards the upper end of the hall.
The tall personage in black, then, with the harsh voice--high pitched,
and slightly cracked--was Lady Chillington! How fast my heart beat! If
only I could have slipped out unobserved I would never have braved my
fortune within those walls again.
She who had been called Dance went up to the two ladies, curtsied
deeply, and began talking in a low, earnest voice. Hardly, however, had
she spoken a dozen words when the lesser of the two ladies flung up her
arms with a cry like that of some wounded creature, and would have
fallen to the ground had not Dance caught her round the waist and so
held her.
"What folly is this?" cried Lady Chillington, sternly, striking the
pavement of the hall sharply with the iron ferrule of her cane. "To your
room, Sister Agnes! For such poor weak fools as you solitude is the only
safe companion. But, remember your oath! Not a word; not a word." With
one lean hand uplifted, and menacing forefinger, she emphasised those
last warning words.
She who had been addressed as Sister Agnes raised herself, with a deep
sigh, from the shoulder of Dance, cast one long look in the direction of
the spot where I was standing, and vanished slowly through the curtained
arch. Then Dance took up the broken thread of her narration, and Lady
Chillington, grim and motionless, listened without a word.
Even after Dance had done speaking, her ladyship stood for some time
looking straight before her, but saying nothing in reply. I felt
intuitively that my fate was hanging on the decision of those few
moments, but I neither stirred nor spoke.
At length the silence was broken by Lady Chillington. "Take the child
away," she said; "attend to her wants, make her presentable, and bring
her to me in the Green Saloon after dinner. It will be time enough
to-morrow to consider what must be done with her."
Dance curtsied again. Her ladyship sailed slowly across the hall, and
passed out through another curtained doorway.
Dance's first act was to pay and dismiss the driver, who had been
waiting outside all this time. Then, taking me by the hand, "Come along
with me, dear," she said. "Why, I declare, you look quite white and
frightened! You have nothing to fear, child. We shall not eat you--at
least, not just yet; not till we have fed you up a bit."
At the end of a long corridor was Mrs. Dance's own room, into which I
was now ushered. Scarcely had I made a few changes in my toilette when
tea for two persons was brought in, and Mrs. Dance and I sat down to
table. The old lady was well on with her second cup before she made any
remark other than was required by the necessities of the occasion.
I have called her an old woman, and such she looked in my youthful eyes,
although her years were only about sixty. She wore a dark brown dress
and a black silk apron, and had on a cap with thick frilled borders,
under which her grey hair was neatly snooded away. She looked ruddy and
full of health. A shrewd, sensible woman, evidently; yet with a motherly
kindness about her that made me cling to her with a child's unerring
instinct.
"You look tired, poor thing," she said, as she leisurely stirred her
tea; "and well you may, considering the long journey you have had
to-day. I don't suppose that her ladyship will keep you more than ten
minutes in the Green Saloon, and after that you can go to bed as soon
as you like. What a surprise for all of us your coming has been! Dear,
dear! who would have expected such a thing this morning? But I knew by
the twitching of my corns that something uncommon was going to happen. I
was really frightened of telling her ladyship that you were here.
There's no knowing how she might have taken it; and there's no knowing
what she will decide to do with you to-morrow."
"But what has Lady Chillington to do with me in any way?" I asked.
"Before this morning I never even heard her name; and now it seems that
she is to do what she likes with me."
"That she will do what she likes with you, you may depend, dear," said
Mrs. Dance. "As to how she happens to have the right so to do, that is
another thing, and one about which it is not my place to talk nor yours
to question me. That she possesses such a right you may make yourself
certain. All that you have to do is to obey and to ask no questions."
I sat in distressed and bewildered silence for a little while. Then I
ventured to say: "Please not to think me rude, but I should like to know
who Sister Agnes is."
Mrs. Dance stirred uneasily in her chair and bent her eyes on the fire,
but did not immediately answer my question.
"Sister Agnes is Lady Chillington's companion," she said at last. "She
reads to her, and writes her letters, and talks to her, and all that,
you know. Sister Agnes is a Roman Catholic, and came here from the
convent of Saint Ursula. However, she is not a nun, but something like
one of those Sisters of Mercy in the large towns, who go about among
poor people and visit the hospitals and prisons. She is allowed to live
here always, and Lady Chillington would hardly know how to get through
the day without her."
"Is she not a relative of Lady Chillington?" I asked.
"No, not a relative," answered Dance. "You must try to love her a great
deal, my dear Miss Janet; for if angels are ever allowed to visit this
vile earth, Sister Agnes is one of them. But there goes her ladyship's
bell. She is ready to receive you."
I had washed away the stains of travel, and had put on my best frock,
and Dance was pleased to say that I looked very nice, "though, perhaps,
a trifle more old-fashioned than a girl of your age ought to look." Then
she laid down a few rules for my guidance when in the presence of Lady
Chillington, and led the way to the Green Saloon, I following with a
timorous heart.
Dance flung open the folding-doors of the big room. "Miss Janet Hope to
see your ladyship," she called out; and next moment the doors closed
behind me, and I was left standing there alone.
"Come nearer--come nearer," said her ladyship's cracked voice, as with a
long, lean hand she beckoned me to approach.
I advanced slowly up the room, stopped and curtsied. Lady Chillington
pointed out a high footstool about three yards from her chair. I
curtsied again, and sat down on it. During the interview that followed
my quick eyes had ample opportunity for taking a mental inventory of
Lady Chillington and her surroundings.
She had exchanged the black dress in which I first saw her for one of
green velvet, trimmed with ermine. This dress was made with short
sleeves and low body, so as to leave exposed her ladyship's arms, long,
lean and skinny, and her scraggy neck. Her nose was hooked and her chin
pointed. Between the two shone a row of large white, even teeth, which
long afterwards I knew to be artificial. Equally artificial was the mass
of short black, frizzly curls that crowned her head, which was
unburdened with cap or covering of any kind. Her eyebrows were dyed to
match her hair. Her cheeks, even through the powder with which they were
thickly smeared, showed two spots of brilliant red, which no one less
ignorant than I would have accepted without question as the last genuine
remains of the bloom of youth. But at that first interview I accepted
everything au pied de la lettre, without doubt or question of any kind.
Her ladyship wore long earrings of filigree gold. Round her neck was a
massive gold chain. On her fingers sparkled several rings of
price--diamonds, rubies and opals. In figure her ladyship was tall, and
upright as a dart. She was, however, slightly lame of one foot, which
necessitated the use of a cane when walking. Lady Chillington's cane was
ivory-headed, and had a gold plate let into it, on which was engraved
her crest and initials. She was seated in an elaborately-carved
high-backed chair, near a table on which were the remains of a dessert
for one person.
The Green Saloon was a large gloomy room; at least it looked gloomy as I
saw it for the first time, lighted up by four wax candles where twenty
were needed. These four candles being placed close by where Lady
Chillington was sitting, left the other end of the saloon in comparative
darkness. The furniture was heavy, formal and old-fashioned. Gloomy
portraits of dead and gone Chillingtons lined the green walls, and this
might be the reason why there always seemed to me a slight graveyard
flavour--scarcely perceptible, but none the less surely there--about
this room which caused me to shudder involuntarily whenever I crossed
its threshold.
Lady Chillington's black eyes--large, cold and steady as Juno's own--had
been bent upon me all this time, measuring me from head to foot with
what I felt to be a slightly contemptuous scrutiny.
"What is your name, and how old are you?" she asked, with startling
abruptness, after a minute or two of silence.
"Janet Hope, and twelve years," I answered, laconically. A feeling of
defiance, of dislike to this bedizened old woman began to gnaw my
child's heart. Young as I was, I had learned, with what bitterness I
alone could have told, the art of wrapping myself round with a husk of
cold reserve, which no one uninitiated in the ways of children could
penetrate, unless I were inclined to let them. Sulkiness was the
generic name for this quality at school, but I dignified it with a
different term.
"How many years were you at Park Hill Seminary? and where did you live
before you went there?" asked Lady Chillington.
"I have lived at Park Hill ever since I can remember anything. I don't
know where I lived before that time."
"Are your parents alive or dead? If the latter, what do you remember of
them?"
A lump came into my throat, and tears into my eyes. For a moment or two
I could not answer.
"I don't know anything about my parents," I said. "I never remember
seeing them. I don't know whether they are alive or dead."
"Do you know why you were consigned by the Park Hill people to this
particular house--to Deepley Walls--to me, in fact?"
Her voice was raised almost to a shriek as she said these last words,
and she pointed to herself with one claw-like finger.
"No, ma'am, I don't know why I was sent here. I was told to come, and I
came."
"But you have no claim on me--none whatever," she continued, fiercely.
"Bear that in mind: remember it always. Whatever I may choose to do for
you will be done of my own free will, and not through compulsion of any
kind. No claim whatever; remember that. None whatever."
She was silent for some time after this, and sat with her cold, steady
eyes fixed intently on the fire. For my part, I sat as still as a mouse,
afraid to stir, longing for my dismissal, and dreading to be questioned
further.
Lady Chillington roused herself at length with a deep sigh, and a few
words muttered under her breath.
"Here is a bunch of grapes for you, child," she said. "When you have
eaten them it will be time for you to retire."
I advanced timidly and took the grapes, with a curtsey and a "Thank you,
ma'am," and then went back to my seat.
As I sat eating my grapes my eyes went up to an oval mirror over the
fire-place, in which were reflected the figures of Lady Chillington and
myself. My momentary glance into its depths showed me how keenly, but
furtively, her ladyship was watching me. But what interest could a great
lady have in watching poor insignificant me? I ventured another glance
into the mirror. Yes, she looked as if she were devouring me with her
eyes. But hothouse grapes are nicer than mysteries, and how is it
possible to give one's serious attention to two things at a time?
When I had finished the grapes, I put my plate back on the table.
"Ring that bell," said Lady Chillington. I rang it accordingly, and
presently Dance made her appearance.
"Miss Hope is ready to retire," said her ladyship.
I arose, and going a step or two nearer to her, I made her my most
elaborate curtsey, and said, "I wish your ladyship a very good-night."
The ghost of a smile flickered across her face. "I am pleased to find,
child, that you are not entirely destitute of manners," she said, and
with a stately wave of the arm I was dismissed.
It was like an escape from slavery to hear the door of the Green Saloon
close behind me, and to get into the great corridors and passages
outside. I could have capered for very glee; only Mrs. Dance was a staid
sort of person, and might not have liked it.
"Her ladyship is pleased with you, I am sure," she remarked, as we went
along.
"That is more than I am with her," I answered, pertly. Mrs. Dance looked
shocked.
"You must not talk in that way, dear, on any account," she said. "You
must try to like Lady Chillington; it is to your interest to do so. But
even should you never learn to like her, you must not let anyone know
it."
"I'm sure that I shall like the lady that you call Sister Agnes," I
said. "When shall I see her? To-morrow?"
Mrs. Dance looked at me sharply for a moment. "You think you shall like
Sister Agnes, eh? When you come to know her, you will more than like
her; you will love her. But perhaps Lady Chillington will not allow you
to see her."
"But why not?" I said abruptly, and I could feel my eyes flash with
anger.
"The why not I am not at liberty to explain," said Mrs. Dance, drily.
"And let me tell you, Miss Janet Hope, there are many things under this
roof of which no explanation will be given you, and if you are a wise,
good girl, you will not ask too many questions. I tell you this simply
for your own good. Lady Chillington cannot abear people that are always
prying and asking 'What does this mean?' and 'What does the other mean?'
A still tongue is the sign of a wise head."
Ten minutes later I had said my prayers and was in bed. "Don't go
without kissing me," I said to Dance as she took up the candle.
The old lady came back and kissed me tenderly. "Heaven bless you and
keep you, my dear!" she said, with solemn dignity. "There are those in
the world who love you very dearly, and some day perhaps you will know
all. I dare not say more. Good-night, and God bless you."
Mrs. Dance's words reached a chord in my heart that vibrated to the
slightest touch. I cried myself silently to sleep.
How long I had been asleep I had no means of knowing, but I was awakened
some time in the night by a rain of kisses, soft, warm, and light, on
lips, cheeks and forehead. The room was pitch dark, and for a second or
two I thought I was still at Park Hill, and that Miss Chinfeather had
come back from heaven to tell me how much she loved me. But this thought
passed away like the slide of a magic lantern, and I knew that I was at
Deepley Walls. The moment I knew this I put out my arms with the
intention of clasping my unknown visitor round the neck. But I was not
quick enough. The kisses ceased, my hands met each other in the empty
air, and I heard a faint noise of garments trailing across the floor. I
started up in bed, and called out, in a frightened voice, "Who's there?"
"Hush! not a word!" whispered a voice out of the darkness. Then I heard
the door of my room softly closed, and I felt that I was alone.
I was left as wide awake as ever I had been in my life. My child's heart
was filled with an unspeakable yearning, and yet the darkness and the
mystery frightened me. It could not be Miss Chinfeather who had visited
me, I argued with myself. The lips that had touched mine were not those
of a corpse, but were instinct with life and love. Who, then, could my
mysterious visitor be? Not Lady Chillington, surely! I half started up
in bed at the thought. Just as I did so, without warning of any kind, a
solemn muffled tramp became audible in the room immediately over mine. A
tramp, slow, heavy, measured, from one end of the room to the other, and
then back again. I slipped back into the bedclothes and buried myself up
to the ears. I could hear the beating of my heart, oppressed now with a
new terror before which the lesser one faded utterly. The very monotony
of that dull measured walk was enough to unstring the nerves of a child,
coming as it did in the middle of the night. I tried to escape from it
by going still deeper under the clothes, but I could hear it even then.
Since I could not escape it altogether, I had better listen to it with
all my ears, for it was quite possible that it might come down stairs,
and so into my room. Had such a thing happened, I think I should have
died from sheer terror. Happily for me nothing of the kind took place;
and, still listening, I fell asleep at last from utter weariness, and
knew nothing more till I was awoke by a stray sunbeam smiting me across
the eyes.