smiling sweetly upon Anne. "My deeply lamented husband's last will and
testament was made long since he left France."
Pulling up the sofa-cushion at her elbow, she produced another will, and
asked the lawyer if he would be good enough to unseal and read it. It
had been made, as the date proved, at Cheltenham, the day after she and
Dr. Lewis were married; and it left every earthly thing he possessed to
"his dear wife, Louisa Jane Lewis."
Old Coney's face was a picture. He stared alternately at the will in his
hands, at the one just read by the lawyer. Anne stood meekly by his
side; looking as if she did not understand matters.
"_That_ can't stand good!" spoke the farmer, in his honest indignation.
"The money can't go to you, ma'am"--turning his burly form about to
face Mrs. Lewis, and treading on my toes as he did it. "The money is
this young lady's; part of it comes from her own mother: it can't be
yours. Thomas Lewis must have signed the will in his sleep."
"Does a daughter inherit before a wife, dear sir?" cried Mrs. Lewis, in
a voice soft as butter. "It is the most just will my revered husband
could have made. I _need_ the money: I cannot keep on the house without
it. Anne does not need it: she has no house to keep."
"Look here," says old Coney, buttoning his coat and looking fiercely at
the company. "It's not my wish to be rude to-day, remembering what place
we came straight here from; but if you don't want to be put down as--as
schemers, you will not lose an hour in making over the half of that
income to Anne Lewis. It is what she proposed to do by _you_, madam,
when she thought all was left to her," he added, brushing past Mrs.
Lewis. "Come along, Johnny."
* * * * *
The time went on. Mrs. Lewis kept all the money. She gave notice to
leave the house at Midsummer: but she had it on her hands until then,
and told people she should die of its dulness. So far as could be known,
she had little, if any, income, except that which she inherited from Dr.
Lewis.
Anne's days did not pass in clover. Treated as of no moment, she was
made fully to understand that she was only tolerated in what was once
her own home; and she had to make herself useful in it from morning till
night, just like a servant. Remembering what had been, and what was,
Anne felt heart-broken, submitting patiently and unresistingly to every
trial; but a reaction set in, and her spirit grew rebellious.
"Is there any remedy, I wonder?" she asked herself one night in
her little chamber, when preparing for bed, and the day had been a
particularly trying day. She had ventured to ask for a few shillings
for some purpose or other, and was told she could not have them: being
Easter-Monday, Sally had had a holiday, and she had been kept at work
like a slave in the girl's place: Herbert Tanerton and his wife had come
to invite her for a day or two to Timberdale, and a denial was returned
to them without herself being consulted, or even allowed to see them.
Yes, it had been a trying day. And in France Easter had always been kept
as a _fête_.
"Is there not a remedy?" she debated, as she slowly undressed. "I have
no home but this; but--could I not find one?"
She knew that she had no means of living, except by her own exertions;
she had not even a rag to wear or a coin to spend, except what should
come to her by Mrs. Lewis's bounty. And, whether that lady possessed
bounty or not, she seemed never to possess ready-money. It appeared to
Anne that she had been hardly dealt by in more ways than one; that the
world was full of nothing but injustice and trouble.
"And I fancy," added Anne, thinking out her thoughts, "that they will be
glad to get rid of me; that they want me gone. So I dare say there will
be no objection made here."
With morning light, she was up and busy. It fell to her lot to prepare
the breakfast: and she must not keep the ladies waiting for it one
minute. This morning, however, she had to keep them waiting; but not
through any fault of hers.
They grew impatient. Five minutes past nine: ten minutes past nine: what
did Anne mean? Julia and Fanny were not much better dressed than when
they got out of bed; old jackets on, rough and rumpled hair stuck up
with hair-pins. In that respect they presented a marked contrast to
Anne, who was ever trim and nice.
"I'm sure she must be growing the coffee-berries!" cried Fanny, as she
flung the door open. "_Is_ that breakfast coming to-day, or to-morrow?"
"In two minutes," called back Anne.
"Oh, what a dreary life it is out here!" groaned Mrs. Lewis. "Girls, I
think we will go over to Worcester to-day, and arrange to stay a week at
Lakes. And then you can go to the subscription ball at the Town Hall,
that you are so wild over."
"Oh, do, do!" cried Julia, all animation now. "If I don't go to that
ball, I shall die."
"I shall run away, if we don't; I have said all along I would not miss
the Easter ball," spoke Fanny. "Mamma, I cannot _think_ why you don't
shut this miserable house up!"
"Will you find the rent for another?" coolly asked Mrs Lewis. "What
_can_ that girl be at with the coffee?"
It came in at last; and Anne was abused for her laziness. When she could
get a word in, she explained that Sally had had an accident with the
tea-kettle, and fresh water had to be boiled.
More indignation: Julia's egg turned out to be bad. What business had
Anne to boil bad eggs? Anne, saying nothing, took it away, boiled
another and brought it in. Then Mrs. Lewis fancied she could eat a thin
bit of toasted bacon; and Anne must go and do it at the end of a fork.
Altogether the breakfast was nearly at an end before she could sit down
and eat her own bread-and-butter.
"I have been thinking," she began, in a hesitating tone, to Mrs. Lewis,
"that I should like to go out. If you have no objection."
"Go out where?"
"Into some situation."
Mrs. Lewis, in the act of conveying a piece of bacon to her mouth, held
it suspended in mid-air, and stared at Anne in amazement.
"Into _what_?"
"A situation in some gentleman's family. I have no prospect before me;
no home; I must earn my own living."
"The girl's daft!" cried Mrs. Lewis, resuming her breakfast. "No home!
Why, you have a home here; your proper home. Was it not your father's?"
"Yes. But it is not mine."
"It is yours; and your days in it are spent usefully. What more can you
want? Now, Anne, hold your tongue, and don't talk nonsense. If you have
finished your breakfast you can begin to take the things away."
"Mamma, why don't you let her go?" whispered Fanny, as Anne went out
with some plates.
"Because she is useful to me," said Mrs. Lewis. "Who else is there to
see to our comforts? We should be badly off with that incapable Sally.
And who would do all the needlework? recollect how much she gets
through. No, as long as we are here, Anne must stay with us. Besides,
the neighbourhood would have its say finely if we let her turn out.
People talk, as it is, about the will, and are not so friendly as
they might be. As if they would like me to fly in the face of my dear
departed husband's wishes, and tacitly reproach his judgment!"
But Anne did not give up. When she had taken all the things away and
folded up the table-cloth, she came in again and spoke.
"I hope you will not oppose me in this, Mrs. Lewis. I should like to
take a situation."
"And, pray, what situation do you suppose you could take?" ironically
asked Mrs. Lewis. "You are not fitted to fill one in a gentleman's
family."
"Unless it be as cook," put in Julia.
"Or seamstress," said Fanny. "By the way, I want some more cuffs made,
Anne."
"I should like to try for a situation, notwithstanding my deficiencies.
I could do something or other."
"There, that's enough: must I tell you again not to talk nonsense?"
retorted Mrs. Lewis. "And now you must come upstairs and see to my
things, and to Julia's and Fanny's. We are going to Worcester by the
half-past eleven train--and you may expect us home to tea when you see
us."
They went off. As soon as their backs were turned, Anne came running
into our house, finding me and Mrs. Todhetley at the piano. It was
pleasant Easter weather, though March was not out: the Squire and Tod
had gone to Dyke Manor on some business, and would not be home till
late. Anne told all her doubts and difficulties to the mater, and asked
her advice, as to whether there would be anything wrong in her seeking
for a situation.
"No, my dear," said the mother, "it would be right, instead of wrong.
If----"
"If people treated me as they treat you, Anne, I wouldn't stay with them
a day," said I, hotly. "I don't like toads."
"Oh, Johnny!" cried Mrs. Todhetley. "Never call names, dear. No
obligation whatever, Anne, lies on you to remain in that home; and I
think you would do well to leave it. You shall stay and dine with me and
Johnny at one o'clock, Anne; and we will talk it over."
"I wish I could stay," said poor Anne; "I hardly knew how to spare these
few minutes to run here. Mrs. Lewis has left me a gown to unpick and
turn, and I must hasten to begin it."
"So would I begin it!" I cried, going out with her as far as the gate.
"And I should like to know who is a toad, if she's not."
"Don't you think I might be a nursery governess, Johnny?" she asked
me, turning round after going through the gate. "I might teach French,
and English, and German: and I am very fond of little children. The
difficulty will be to get an introduction. I have thought of one
person who might give it me--if I could only dare to ask him."
"Who's that?"
"Sir Robert Tenby. He is of the great world, and must know every one in
it. And he has always shown himself so very sociable and kind. Do you
think I might venture to apply to him?"
"Why not? He could not eat you for it."
She ran on, and I ran back. But, all that day, sitting over her work,
Anne was in a state of doubt, not able to make up her mind. It was
impossible to know how Sir Robert Tenby might take it.
"I have made you a drop of coffee and a bit of hot toast and butter,
Miss Anne," said Sally, coming in with a small tray. "Buttered it well.
She's not here to see it."
Anne laughed, and thanked her; Mrs. Lewis had left them only cold bacon
for dinner, and ordered them to wait tea until her return. But before
the refreshment was well disposed of, she and the girls came in.
"How soon you are back!" involuntarily cried Anne, hoping Mrs. Lewis
would not smell the coffee. "And how are they all at Lake's?"
Mrs. Lewis answered by giving a snappish word to Lake's, and ordered
Anne to get tea ready. Fanny whispered the information that they were
going to Worcester on the morrow to stay over the Easter ball; but _not
to Lake's_. Anne wondered at that.
Upon arriving at Lake's that morning, Miss Dinah had received them very
coolly; and was, as Mrs. Lewis remarked afterwards, barely civil. The
fact was, Miss Dinah, being just-minded, took up Anne's cause rather
warmly; and did not scruple to think that the beguiling poor weak-minded
Dr. Lewis out of the will he made, was just a piece of iniquity, and
nothing less. Perceiving Miss Dinah's crusty manner, Mrs. Lewis inquired
after Mrs. Lake. "Where's Emma?" she asked.
"Very much occupied to-day. Can I do anything for you?"
"We are thinking of coming to you to-morrow for a week, Dinah; I and my
two girls. They are wild to go to the Easter ball. Which rooms can you
give us?"
"Not any rooms," spoke Miss Dinah, decisively. "We cannot take you in."
"Not take me in! When the servant opened the door to us she said the
house was not full. I put the question to her."
"But we are expecting it to be full," said Miss Dinah, curtly. "The
Beales generally come over to the ball; and we must keep rooms for
them."
"You don't know that they are coming, I expect. And in a boarding-house
the rule holds good, 'First come, first served.'"
"A boarding-house holds its own rules, and is not guided by other
people's. Very sorry: but we cannot make room this time for you and your
daughters."
"I'll soon see that," retorted Mrs. Lewis, getting hot. "Where's Emma
Lake? I am her cousin, and shall insist on being taken in."
"She can't take you in without my consent. And she won't: that's more.
Look here, Mrs. Podd--I beg your pardon--the new name does not always
come pat to me. When you were staying here before, and kept us so long
out of our money, it put us to more inconvenience than you had any idea
of. We----"
"You were paid at last."
"Yes," said Miss Dinah; "with poor Dr. Lewis's money, I expect. We made
our minds up then, Mrs. Lewis, not to take you again. At least, _I_ did;
and Mrs. Lake agreed with me."
"You will not have to wait again: I have money in my pocket now. And the
girls must go to the ball on Thursday."
"If your pockets are all full of money, it can make no difference to me.
I'm sorry to say I cannot take you in, Mrs. Lewis: and now I have said
all I mean to say."
Mrs. Lewis went about the house, looking for Mrs. Lake, and did not find
her. She, not as strong-minded as Miss Dinah, had bolted herself into
the best bedroom, just then unoccupied. So Mrs. Lewis, not to be baffled
as to the ball, went out to look for other lodgings, and found them in
Foregate Street.
"But we shall be home on Saturday," she said to Anne, as they were
starting this second time for Worcester, on the Wednesday morning, the
finery for the ball behind them in two huge trunks. "I have to pay a
great deal for the rooms, and can't afford to stay longer than that.
And mind that you and Sally get the house in order whilst we are away;
it's a beautiful opportunity to clean it thoroughly down: and get on
as quickly as you can with the needlework."
* * * * *
"Why, my dear young lassie, I am not able to help you in such a thing as
this. You had better see the master himself."
Anne had lost no time. Leaving Sally to the cleaning, she dressed and
walked over on the Wednesday afternoon to Bellwood, Sir Robert Tenby's
seat. She explained her business to Mrs. Macbean, the old family
housekeeper, and asked whether she could help her into any good family.
"Nae, nae, child. I live down here all my days, and I know nothing of
the gentlefolks in the great world. The master knows them all."
"I did think once of asking if I might see Sir Robert; but my courage
fails me now," said Anne.
"And why should it?" returned the old lady. "If there's one man more
ready than another to do a kindness, or more sociable to speak with,
it's Sir Robert Tenby. He takes after his mother for that, my late dear
lady; not after his father. Sir George was a bit proud. I'll go and tell
Sir Robert what you want."
Sir Robert was in his favourite room; a small one, with a bright fire in
it, its purple chairs and curtains bordered with gold. It was bright
altogether, Anne thought as she entered: for he said he would see her.
The windows looked out on a green velvet lawn, with beds of early
flowers, and thence to the park; and, beyond all, to the chain of the
Malvern Hills, rising against the blue sky. The baronet sat near one of
the windows, some books on a small table at his elbow. He came forward
to shake hands with Anne, and gave her a chair opposite his own. And,
what with his good homely face and its smile of welcome, and his
sociable, unpretending words, Anne felt at home at once.
In her own quiet way, so essentially that of a lady in its unaffected
truth, she told him what she wanted: to find a home in some good family,
who would be kind to her in return for her services, and pay her as
much as would serve to buy her gowns and bonnets. Sir Robert Tenby, no
stranger to the gossip rife in the neighbourhood, had heard of the
unjust will, and of Anne's treatment by the new wife.
"It is, I imagine, impossible for a young lady to get into a good family
without an introduction," said Anne. "And I thought--perhaps--you might
speak for me, sir: you do know a little of me. I have no one else to
recommend me."
He did not answer for the moment: he sat looking at her. Anne blushed,
and went on, hoping she was not offending him.
"No one else, I mean, who possesses your influence, and mixes habitually
with the great world. I should not care to take service in an inferior
family: my poor father would not have liked it."
"Take service," said he, repeating the word. "It is as governess that
you wish to go out?"
"As nursery governess, I thought. I may not aspire to any better
position, for I know nothing of accomplishments. But little children
need to be taught French and German; I could do that."
"You speak French well, of course?"
"As a native. German also. And I think I speak good English, and could
teach it. And oh, sir, if you did chance to know of any family who would
engage me, I should be so grateful to you."
"French, English, and German," said he, smiling. "Well, I can't tell
what the great world, as you put it, may call accomplishments; but I
think those three enough for anybody."
Anne smiled too. "They are only languages, Sir Robert. They are not
music and drawing. Had my dear mamma suspected I should have to earn my
own living, she would have had me educated for it."
"I think it is a very hard thing that you should have to earn it," spoke
Sir Robert.
Anne glanced up through her wet eye-lashes: reminiscences of her mother
always brought tears. "There's no help for it, sir; I have not a
shilling in the world."
"And no home but one that you are ill-treated in--made to do the work of
a servant? Is it not so?"
Anne coloured painfully. How did he know this? Generous to Mrs. Lewis in
spite of all, she did not care to speak of it herself.
"And if people did not think me clever enough to teach, sir," she went
on, passing over his question, "I might perhaps go out to be useful in
other ways. I can make French cakes and show a cook how to make French
dishes; and I can read aloud well, and do all kinds of needlework. Some
old lady, who has no children of her own, might be glad to have me."
"I think many an old lady would," said he. The remark put her in
spirits. She grew animated.
"Oh, do you! I am so glad. If you should know of one, sir, would you
please to tell her of me?"
Sir Robert nodded, and Anne rose to leave. He rose also.
"If I could be so fortunate as to get into such a home as this, with
some kind old lady for my friend and mistress, I should be quite happy,"
she said, in the simplicity of her heart. "How pleasant this room is!
and how beautiful it is outside!"--pausing to look at the early flowers,
as she passed the window.
"Do you know Bellwood? Were you ever here before?"
"No, sir, never."
Sir Robert put on his hat and went out with her, showing her some pretty
spots about the grounds. Anne was enchanted, especially with the rocks
and the cascades. Versailles, she thought, could not be better than
Bellwood.
"And when you hear of anything, sir, you will please to let me know?"
she said, in parting.
"Yes. You had better come again soon. This is Wednesday: suppose you
call on Friday. Will you?"
"Oh, I shall be only too glad. I will be sure to come. Good-bye, Sir
Robert: and thank you very, very much."
She went home with a light heart: she had not felt so happy since her
father died.
"How good he is! how kind! a true gentleman," she thought. "And what a
good thing he fixed Friday instead of Saturday, for on Saturday they
will be at home. But it is hardly possible that he will have heard of
any place by that time, unless he has one in his eye."
It was Friday afternoon before Anne could get to Bellwood, and rather
late, also. She asked, as before, for Mrs. Macbean, not liking to ask
direct for Sir Robert Tenby. Sir Robert was out, but was expected in
every minute, and Anne waited in Mrs. Macbean's parlour.
"Do you think he has heard of anything for me?" was one of the first
questions she put.
"Eh, my dear, and how should I know?" was the old lady's reply. "He does
not tell me of his affairs. Not but what he talks to me a good deal, and
always like a friend: he does not forget that my late leddy, his mother,
made more of a friend of me than a servant. Many's the half-hour he
keeps me talking in his parlour; and always bids me take the easiest
seat there. I wish he would marry!"
"Do you?" replied Anne, mechanically: for she was thinking more of her
own concerns than Sir Robert's.
"Why, yes, that I do. It's a lonely life for him at best, the one he
leads. I've not scrupled to tell him, times and oft, that he ought to
bring a mistress home---- Eh, but there he is! That's his step."
As before, Anne went into the pretty room that Sir Robert, when alone,
mostly sat in. Three or four opened letters lay upon the table, and she
wondered whether they related to her.
"No, I have as yet no news for you," he said, smiling at her eager face,
and keeping her hand in his while he spoke. "You will have to come again
for it. Sit down."
"But if--if you have nothing to tell me to-day, I had better not take up
your time," said Anne, not liking to appear intrusive.
"My time! If you knew how slowly time some days seems to pass for me,
you would have no scruple about 'taking it up.' Sit here. This is a
pleasant seat."
With her eyes fixed on the outer landscape, Anne sat on and listened to
him. He talked of various things, and she felt as much at her ease (as
she told me that same evening) as though she had been talking with me.
Afterwards she felt half afraid she had been too open, for she told him
all about her childhood's home in France and her dear mother. It was
growing dusk when she got up to go.
"Will you come again on Monday afternoon?" he asked. "I shall be out in
the morning."
"If I can, sir. Oh yes, if I can. But Mrs. Lewis, who will be at home
then, does not want me to take a situation at all, and she may not let
me come out."
"I should come without telling her," smiled Sir Robert. "Not want you to
leave home, eh? Would you like to stay there to make the puddings? Ay, I
understand. Well, I shall expect you on Monday. There may be some news,
you know."
And, somehow, Anne took up the notion that there would be news, his tone
sounded so hopeful. All the way home her feet seemed to tread on air.
On the Sunday evening, when they were all sitting together at Maythorn
Bank, and Anne had no particular duty on hand, she took courage to
tell of what she had done, and that Sir Robert Tenby was so good as to
interest himself for her. Mrs. Lewis was indignant; the young ladies
were pleasantly satirical.
"As nursery governess: you!" mocked Miss Julia. "What shall you teach
your pupils? To play at cats' cradle?"
"Why, you know, Anne, you are not _fit_ for a governess," said Fanny.
"It would be quite--quite _wicked_ of you to make believe to be one. You
never learnt a note of music. You can't draw. You can't paint."
"You had better go to school yourself, first," snapped Mrs. Lewis. "I
will not allow you to take such a step: so put all thought of it out of
your head."
Anne leaned her aching brow upon her hand in perplexity. Was she so
unfit? Would it be wicked? She determined to put the case fully before
her kind friend, Sir Robert Tenby, and ask his opinion.
Providing that she could get to Sir Robert's. Ask leave to go, she dare
not; for she knew the answer would be a point-blank refusal.
But fortune favoured her. Between three and four o'clock on Monday
afternoon, Mrs. Lewis and her daughters dressed themselves and sailed
away to call on some people at South Crabb; which lay in just the
contrary direction to Bellwood. They left Anne a heap of sewing to do:
but she left the sewing and went out on her own score. I met her near
the Ravine. She told me what she had done, and looked bright and flushed
over it.
"Mrs. Lewis is one cat, and they are two other cats, Anne. Tod says so.
Good-bye. Good luck to you!"
"Eh, my dear, and I was beginning to think you didna mean to come," was
Mrs. Macbean's salutation. "But Sir Robert is nae back yet, he has been
out on horseback since the morning; and he said you were to wait for
him. So just take your bonnet off, and you shall have a cup of tea with
me!"
Nothing loth, Anne took off her outdoor things. "They will be home
before I am, and find me gone out," she reflected; "but they can't quite
kill me for it." The old lady rang her bell for tea, and thought what a
nice and pretty young gentlewoman Anne looked in her plain black dress
with its white frilling, and the handsome jet necklace that had been her
mother's.
But before the tea could be made, Sir Robert Tenby's horse trotted up,
and they heard him go to his sitting-room. Mrs. Macbean took Anne into
his presence, saying at the same time that she had been about to give
the young lady a cup of tea.
"I should like some tea, too," said Sir Robert; "Miss Lewis can take it
with me. Send it in."