THE BUTLER
Elaine's room was at some distance from Nora's; they were in different
wings. Miss Harding, whose habits were, in some respects, peculiar,
always preferred that her room should not be too close to her
friend's; though Nora herself would have liked to have had her nearer.
To reach Miss Lindsay Elaine had to traverse a lengthy passage, which
was divided in the centre by a square opening, which was used
sometimes as a lounge. As Miss Harding moved along some one came out
of this recess, and addressed her. It was Morgan, the butler.
Mr. Morgan was tall and fair--very fair. His face and eyebrows, and
eyelashes, and hair were all of the same colour; it had rather an odd
effect, which some people thought unpleasant. Many persons have an
uncomfortable habit of never looking you in the face; he had what some
felt was a nearly equally uncomfortable habit of never looking away
from your face; he regarded any one with whom he might be talking with
a fixed, impassive stare, which never faltered; there was a quality in
his light greyish-blue eyes which, under such circumstances, was
occasionally disconcerting. Miss Harding, who, in her way, was shrewd
enough, had never known what to make of him; more than once, during
her visits to Cloverlea, she had had a vague feeling that his
demeanour towards her was not quite all that it ought to have been;
the feeling came to her with unpleasant force as he stood before her
then. Yet nothing could have been more decorous than his bearing;
while he spoke with the softly modulated voice with which a
well-trained servant ought to speak.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Harding, but can I speak to you for a
moment?"
She said him neither yea nor nay, but put to him a question in return.
"What is it, Morgan?"
"It's about these."
He was extending towards her, on his open palm, what she perceived
were three sovereigns. Whose they were, whence they came, what they
meant, she had not a notion; but all at once she was conscious, not
only of a curious fluttering of the heart, but of a desire to get away
from him as quickly as she could.
"I can't stop now; if you have anything you wish to say you must say
it later; I'm going to Miss Lindsay, she's waiting for me; and--I'm
not feeling very well."
Why she added that last remark she did not know; a second after she
wished it had been left unuttered--he fastened on it with such
singular eagerness.
"You're not looking well--I've noticed it."
She was just about to hurry on, but there was something about the way
in which he spoke which induced her to pause; something impertinent,
which stung her, so that she regarded him with angry eyes, and replied
to him with scorn.
"It's very good of you."
"I've noticed that you've not been looking well--ever since last
Thursday."
This time he spoke with a significance which startled her, though she
did not understand.
"Why since last Thursday?"
"I'll tell you. I was in the study when you were. After you had gone I
found these three sovereigns. One was lying on the floor, and the
other two were lodged on the shelves of the bookcase. And ever since
then I've noticed that you've not been looking well."
A great horror was stealing over her, which she tried to get the
better of, but failed. He regarded her with that impassive stare of
his, which compelled her eyes to be fixed on his, whether they would
or they would not.
"I--I don't know what you--what you mean."
It was strange how her voice trembled; his was steady enough, like the
voice of doom.
"I'll explain. You remember last Thursday, the day on which the master
was taken ill? I don't think you're ever likely to forget it. It
occurred to me, after dinner, that the lamp had been left lighted, and
the window open; so I went to put out the one and shut the other. When
I got into the room, rather to my surprise, I found that the lamp was
out, though the window was still open. As I stood there, in the
darkness, I heard some one outside, coming along the terrace;
presently you appeared at the open window. The moon was shining
through the window, and you stood right in the moonshine, so that I
saw you as plainly as if it had been daylight. But in the room it was
darker; I expect that, coming in out of the moonlight, it seemed
darker to you than it did to me. You didn't know I was there; I
suppose that, being in a bit of a hurry, and with your thoughts all
fixed on one thing, you took it for granted that the room was empty.
It was rather funny--that's how it struck me at the time, and that's
how it's struck me more than once; but perhaps that's because I've got
a very keen eye for anything humorous.
"You went right across the room towards the oak bookcase which stands
on the other side of the door, passing so close to me that I felt the
wind of your skirts against my trousers as you passed, and I guessed
that you knew what you were after before you came there, though I
never guessed for a moment what it was. The bookcase was in the
shadow, and mine not being cat's eyes, I couldn't see all that you
were doing; but I could hear; and there are times when the sense of
hearing conveys a good deal of information. I heard you takedown some
of the books, then a rustling, then the chink of money. By that time
you may be sure that I was all ears, and eyes--mine had almost become
cat's eyes before you'd finished. I saw that you had something white
in your hand, which I guessed was your pocket-handkerchief; and I
partly saw, and partly heard, that you were shovelling coins on it
which you were taking from one of the bookcase shelves. Either there
were too many coins for such a small handkerchief--those handkerchiefs
of yours are pretty, but they're small; I like one which is about the
size of a towel--or else you were a little clumsy; you're not, as a
rule, I know; I've often been struck by the natty way you have of
doing things; but perhaps being in such a hurry made you a trifle
nervous. Anyhow, as you're aware, you dropped some of the coins which
you were putting into the handkerchief; I heard them fall, and so did
you. You stooped to pick them up. I expected every second that you'd
strike a match, or get a light somehow; in which case you'd have seen
me, and it might have been funnier still. But you didn't. You felt,
and felt, and felt; I take it that you thought you'd felt everywhere,
and that as you could feel no more of the coins, that you'd picked up
all you'd dropped. Presently, whether satisfied or not upon that
point, you went out the way that you'd come in."
Mr. Morgan paused, and Miss Harding tried to breathe. It seemed to her
that she was choking; that she was bound about as if with bands of
iron. If there was anything peculiar in her appearance the butler made
no comment; he went on in his easy, softly modulated tones.
"I heard you return along the terrace; I waited till I could hear no
more of you; then I shut the window, and drew the curtains; then I lit
the lamp, and with its aid I subjected the room to a careful
examination, and in less than five seconds I found a sovereign on the
floor by the bookcase, and then two more on the shelves. Here they
are."
He again extended his hand, with the three shining discs on the open
palm. She started back from them, gasping, as if they were dangerous
things, of which she stood in physical terror.
"I've marked each coin--see? I want you to notice them carefully, so
that you may recognize them, if you see them again." He held up one of
the coins between his finger and thumb. "Of course when I found these
I knew what had happened; understood it all--better even than you did.
I knew some of the governor's little ways, which perhaps you didn't; a
man in my position has to keep a sharp look-out; it's part of his
duty--to himself. I knew all about the governor's habit of paying into
his banking account three thousand pounds every quarter, in notes and
gold, which Dr. Banyard has been telling you young ladies about, as if
it was news; I'd seen the money on his table, that afternoon when I
was helping to carry him away, the next day being his usual one for
paying in, I knew what it was there for. He was a man of regular
habits, was my late governor; though some of them were queer ones.
There wasn't any of it left, except these three sovereigns which, in
the dark, had escaped your notice. Because why?--because you'd taken
the lot. I consider that a remarkable thing for any one to do,
especially for a real young lady. Never before, in my experience, have
I known the friend of the house take instant advantage of the host's
sudden illness to play a game like that. Remarkable, I call it; most
remarkable."
Each time that Mr. Morgan paused the girl before him gasped, as if the
mere cessation of his speech removed from her some sense of
constriction, which prevented the free play of her lungs.
"Don't suppose," he continued, with what he possibly intended to be
affability, "that I am saying this to you in any unfriendly spirit;
because I'm not--nothing of the kind. I've always felt that there was
in you the makings of something remarkable, though I must admit that
you've gone beyond my expectations. I've always liked you, Miss
Harding; in fact, I've nearly more than liked you. I want you to
understand that you've made of me what you might call an unintentional
confidant; so why should there be any barriers between us? Socially
there are none to speak of. Your father's a poor country parson, mine
was a schoolmaster; there isn't much to choose between them; if I was
asked I should say that I don't think much of either. Pecuniarily the
advantage is all on my side, as I happen to know; and that in spite of
the three thousand pounds you have of somebody else's. Very
comfortable I could make a wife, if I had one; she'd be quite the
lady. I've no complaint to make about your manner towards me in
public; I humbly venture to hope that after this intimation of my
friendly feeling towards you, you'll be even affable when we're alone
together--if ever we are. It's all up with everything here; from what
I happen to know, I shouldn't be surprised if the house, and all
that's in it, was sold for what it will fetch in a surprisingly short
space of time. Then we shall all be parted. Miss Lindsay will go her
way--though I don't know what way that'll be; you'll go yours, and I
shall go mine. This will be my last taste of service. When you meet me
again afterwards you'll find me a perfect gentleman, whom you won't be
a bit ashamed to introduce to your friends; and I assure you I'll do
my best to earn their respect and esteem. I won't detain you any
longer, Miss Harding--you'll understand that I had to speak to you;
and that, situated as I am, I had to take the first chance that
offered. Now you can go to Miss Lindsay with a mind at ease. If an
opportunity offers you might inform her what a feeling of true
sympathy there is for her in the servants' hall. It's very hard for a
young lady, who has been brought up in the lap of luxury, to be all at
once left with hardly clothes enough to cover her, because, between
ourselves, that's what's going to happen to her; and down-stairs we
earnestly trust, if I may use the language of metaphor, that her back
will be broadened for the burden. There's many a young girl like her
who has to earn her bread in ways I shouldn't like to mention; let's
hope she won't come to any of those. You might mention, if you have
the chance, that we all of us wish her the very best of luck."
With a slight inclination of his head, which might almost have been
mistaken for a nod, Mr. Morgan went past her towards the staircase.
She remained where he had left her, as if her feet were glued to the
carpet. Her inclination would have been to return to her own bedroom;
there she would at least be alone, to try to think; but the butler was
between it and her. As she glanced in the direction of her room,
looking over his shoulder he glanced towards her, and she ran towards
Nora's room.
Without knocking she opened the door and entered; but so soon as she
had crossed the threshold she stood motionless, as if all her limbs
were locked together. Nora, seated on an arm-chair, was leaning on the
sill of the open window, trying, in her own fashion, to find light in
the darkness which threatened to encompass her round about; when she
turned it seemed, from the expression which was on her face, as if she
had found it. Certainly a stranger, observing the two girls, would
have said that it was Elaine Harding who stood most in need of
consolation; and so Nora seemed herself to think. That divine instinct
which, in some people, wakes to life in the presence of suffering, was
quick to perceive that here was trouble which was greater than hers.
She held out her arms, crying--
"You poor child!"
It was enough; Elaine needed no further invitation. With eager,
tremulous steps, and a cry which was half gasp, half sob, she went
fluttering across the room, sinking in a heap at Nora's feet,
pillowing her head upon her lap, crying as if the violence of her
grief would tear her asunder. Smoothing her hair with her soft hands,
stooping down and kissing her tenderly, using towards her all manner
of endearments, Nora strove her utmost to assuage the passion of her
woe, in seeming forgetfulness of how much she herself was in need of
comfort. But Elaine was not to be consoled.