LADY KESTERS AT THE DRUM
Jane Norris, who had been Aurea’s nurse, was now her maid and
housekeeper, a most efficient individual in both capacities. Jane was
a woman of fifty, with a round, fat face, a complacent double chin, a
comfortable figure, and a quantity of ginger-coloured hair--of which
she was unreasonably vain. Jane had also a pair of prominent brown eyes
(which gave the impression of watchfulness), a sharp tongue, a very
sincere affection for her child, and an insatiable appetite for gossip.
She was left in sole charge of the Rector and Rectory when Aurea was
absent, and considered herself a person of paramount importance in the
community, not only on account of her position at the Rectory, but
also for being the happy possessor of a real fur coat, a gold watch,
and, last, but by no means least, considerable savings. Her circle was
naturally contracted and select; her intimates, the village dressmaker,
Miss Poult--who had many clients in the neighbourhood--Mrs. Frickett,
of the Drum; and Mrs. Gill, the schoolmistress. (Mrs. Hogben, who took
in washing, needless to say, was not in her set.) Miss Norris had a
_flair_ for uncloaking scandals, and was a veritable Captain Cook in
the way of making marvellous and unsuspected discoveries. She had
always been particularly anxious to explore the chauffeur’s past and
to learn what she called the “geography” of this young man. Hitherto
the young man had defeated her efforts, and baffled her most insidious
inquiries. He did not drink or talk or give himself away; he did not
carry on with girls, or encourage them. Oh, it was an old head on young
shoulders, and there was something about him that was not fair and
square--and _she_ was bound to know it!
Miss Norris had been occasionally disturbed by a vague apprehension
(resembling some persistent and irritating insect) that her mistress
was interested in this good-looking stranger, but she thrust the idea
angrily aside. Miss Aurea was not like those bold, chattering minxes
who were always throwing themselves in his way! She was really ashamed
of herself, and her wicked mind. Of course, Miss Aurea would make a
grand match, and marry young Woolcock--who was just crazy about her,
as all the world knew--and _she_ would go with her as maid to Westmere
Park. But the vision of her young lady and the chauffeur talking to her
so earnestly in the hill lane had excited her fears, and she resolved
to give Miss Aurea something to think of, and put her from speaking to
the upsetting, impudent fellow--who got more notice and made more talk
in Ottinge than the Rector himself!
Aurea, who had been accustomed to Norris ever since the days of socks
and strapped shoes, regarded her as a friend, and even suffered her to
gossip (mildly) as she dressed her hair, for she said to herself--
“The poor thing has no one else to talk to all day long”--Simple
Aurea!--“being set in authority over the other servants, and must have
some safety-valve.”
The night after her walk with Wynyard, Aurea slept but little; she was
thinking, and wondering, and happy. As she dressed, she was unusually
abstracted, and when Norris began her _coiffure_, she did not as usual
read the Psalms for the day, but sat with crossed hands in a trance of
meditation, whilst her maid brushed her soft and lustrous locks. After
twice clearing her throat with energetic significance, Norris began--
“So Mrs. Ramsay is letting the house for six months, I hear?”
“Yes,” was the languid reply.
“To a sort of county inspector; the chauffeur fellow showed him
in--_he_ has a finger in every one’s pie.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Norris.”
“Well, anyway, he did a lot for Mrs. Ramsay,” she answered, with
significance. “He was in and out at all hours--some think he is
good-looking--and ladies like him.”
“What ladies?”
“Well, now, Miss Aurea, you know I don’t intend any harm, but the talk
is that your aunt, Miss Susan, makes too great a pet of him. Why,
half his day he’s helping her in the garden or potting plants in the
greenhouse; and she lends him books, and talks and makes a fuss of him,
just as if he were in her own station.”
Norris’ speech was so rapid, such a cataract of words, that her young
mistress had not been able to interrupt; at last she broke in--
“How wicked of people!” endeavouring to wrench her hair away. “Poor
Aunt Susan--so good, unselfish, and kind--not even spared! Oh, it’s
too abominable! I’m ashamed of you, Norrie; how can you listen to such
things?”
“Indeed, Miss Aurea, I said just what you said, and that Miss Susan
was too old; but they say there is no fool like an old one--and some
folk _will_ gossip. And there was Mrs. Lambert, who married a boy that
was at school with her own son. You know there’s not much to talk of
here--now the Ramsays are gone. As for the young man, as I told you
to-night, _I_ never held a good opinion of him; he’s too secret and too
off-hand to please _me_. He goes out of a night for exercise, so he
says, walking the country till daybreak; but that’s just a blind. Who
is he with?--tell me that?”
Aurea remembered, with a sudden stinging pang, how she and her father
had overtaken him one evening escorting Dilly Topham. Dilly had been
crying, and she was holding his hand!
“Why, I saw him myself in the theatre at Brodfield,” resumed Norris,
“and he had a young woman with him--so he had.”
“And why not?” bravely demanded Aurea, but her lips were white.
“The two were in a box, and he sat back--but _I_ knew him--and
afterwards they walked together to the Coach and Horses Hotel, the best
in Brodfield. She was tall and slim, and wore a long coat and black
lace scarf over her head--I call it very bold in the public street.”
“One of his friends,” explained Aurea, with a stoical indifference her
heart belied; and to cut short any further disclosures, she released
herself from her handmaiden’s clutches and knelt down to say her
prayers.
By a disagreeable and curious coincidence, Miss Morven received that
same evening ample confirmation of Norris’ arraignment!
Lady Kesters had decided to pay her brother another visit, and wrote to
announce that, as she and Martin were within fifty miles, she would
fly down to see him for a few hours.
“I’ll come to Brodfield by train and motor over. Don’t breathe a word
to the Parretts. I can put up at the Drum and meet you there. I’ve
ever so much to say and hear; your letters are miserable, and I’ve
not seen you for more than two months. Martin is off to America in
October--he has to look after some business--and I am going with him,
as I want to see the country, but I shudder to think of the crossing.
Uncle Dick is at Carlsbad. If you come over to the churchyard about
six to-morrow, I shall be there. I’ll hire a car for the day and get
back to Brodfield for the night, and rush to Rothes next morning with
the milk; if you will make an appointment, I can meet you, and go for
a stroll and a talk.”
A smart Napier and a motor-veiled lady were not now a startling novelty
in Ottinge--it was the highway to many places; but the 40 h.p. motor
and lady who put up at the Drum was a refreshing novelty--and a novelty
invested in mystery.
The Drum jutted out obtrusively; the front faced down the road towards
the Manor, and one side was parallel to the street, and whoever entered
or left was well in evidence. Lady Kesters asked for dinner and a
sitting-room, as if such were a matter of course! The sole sitting-room
was just across the passage from the bar and overlooked the street. It
was oak-panelled, very low, the walls were decorated with cheap prints
and faded photographs of cricket groups, there was a round table, three
or four chairs, and an overpowering atmosphere of stale beer.
“Oh, let me see--I’ll have some tea and roast chicken,” announced the
traveller.
“Chicken, ma’am?” repeated Mrs. Frickett, and her tone was dubious. “I
don’t know as I can run to that. The hens is roosting now.”
“Oh, well,”--impatiently--“bacon and eggs. I’ll go and take a turn
about the village.”
With her veil drawn over her face, Lady Kesters walked out, went
slowly up to the church, and critically inspected the Parsonage. Then,
just inside the churchyard, she discovered her brother sitting on a
tombstone. As he sprang to meet her, she exclaimed--
“Are you smiling at Grief?”
“Hullo, Sis, this is most awfully good of you! How are you? Very fit?”
“Yes. Do come out of this horribly dismal rendezvous, and let us go
down one of the lanes, and talk.”
“Aren’t you tired?”
“No, only hungry. I’ve ordered a meal at the Drum. I’m tired of
sitting in a train or motor, and glad of a walk. Well, Owen, so far so
good--six months are gone--hurrah!”
“Yes, thank goodness, but it’s been a pretty stiff job.”
“An uphill business, and terribly dull! Again I repeat, would you like
to move? You could so easily better yourself.”
“No, I stop on till the car breaks up.”
Lady Kesters raised her eyebrows.
“Well, I can only hope that blest epoch will be _soon_! I met Miss
Susan, you know, and the crafty old thing was fishing to find out who
you are? She has her suspicions, but I gave her no assistance. The
niece was with her--Miss Aurea----” She paused expressively, then went
on, “Owen--she’s a remarkably pretty girl.”
He nodded.
“Yes, I understand your reason for remaining in Ottinge; it is
beautiful--simplicity itself.” She looked at her brother attentively.
“Are you making love to her?”
“I--her aunts’ chauffeur?”
“Nonsense! _Are_ you in love with her?” she persisted. “Come, tell the
truth, my dear boy. Why should you not take _me_ into your confidence?
Are you?”
“Well--I am.”
“And she?”
“Don’t I tell you that I’m only her aunts’ chauffeur, and my tongue is
tied? All the same, Sis--it’s beastly hard lines.”
“Then, Owen, you really ought to go away; you’ll soon forget her and
Ottinge. I’ll find you another opening at once.”
“No, I won’t stir yet,” he answered doggedly.
“You are wrong, and on your head be it! I wish you could come out to
America with us; but foreign countries are barred.”
“Why are you and Martin off there?” artfully changing the subject.
“Partly business--chiefly, indeed. He has not been well, and I can’t
allow him to go alone; but, anyway, I’m looking forward to the trip.
Tell me, how are you off for money?”
“All right; I fare sumptuously on a pound a week and washing extra.”
“I suppose you live on bacon? That’s to be _my_ dinner.”
“Bacon--eggs--fowl--steak. Mrs. Hogben is a mother to me, and a real
good sort.”
“I must say I think you look rather thin, Owen.”
“I’m glad of it; I’m as fit as a fiddle, and made sixty runs last week
for Ottinge. They little dream that I was in the Eton Eleven! Hullo!
here are some people coming. I say--what a bore!”
No less than two couples now approached arm in arm; as they passed,
they stared hard, and even halted to look back.
“What _will_ they think, Owen?” and she laughed gaily.
“I don’t care a blow what they think!” he answered recklessly; “but all
the same you’d better return to the Drum alone.”
“Well, mind you come in this evening--I start at nine; you can pretend
my chauffeur is your pal--pretend anything!”
“Oh, I’m good enough at _pretending_; it’s now my second nature! Joking
apart, you ought to be going back to the inn, and getting something to
eat.”