John Dudgeon was right. Ella Bedford's luggage was directed to Mrs
Brandon's, Copse Hall, Laneton, to reach which, unless a fly had been
engaged to convey her across country, Ella had to go up to town by one
line, and then take her ticket by another. This she did, and reached
Copse Hall, a gloomy-looking dwelling, late one evening, her heart
sinking as the station fly conveyed her down a muddy lane, on the
Croppley Magna road. The hedges were heavy, and the trees seemed all
weeping--drip, drip, drip--while an occasional gust of wind drove the
rain against the fly window.
Cold, sombre-looking, and bare was the house; and feeling that the
refuge she had sought by means of advertising would be to her as a
prison, Ella descended from the fly. A tall hard-looking footman opened
the door, and kept her standing on the mat of a great bare hall, whose
floor was polished oak, and whose ornaments were a set of harsh
stiff-backed chairs, that looked as if they had been made out of old
coffin boards, while the cold wind rushed through and shut a door
somewhere in the back regions with an echoing bang.
"There'll be a row about that," said the hard-faced footman, as he set
down the second trunk and closed the door, and the flyman drove off.
"Missus hates the doors to bang, and they will do it when the wind's in
the south. You're to come in here, please, Miss--Bedford, isn't it?"
Trembling, in spite of her efforts to be calm, Ella responded to his
query, and then followed the footman to a great gaunt-looking door. He
opened it, and announced, "Miss Bedford." She advanced a few steps,
seeing nothing for the blinding tears that would stand in her eyes--
tears that she had much difficulty to keep from falling. Then the door
was closed behind her, and she felt two warm soft hands take hers, and
that she was drawn towards a great glowing fire.
"Why, my dear child!" said a pleasant voice, "you are chilled through.
Come this way."
Then, as in a dream, she felt herself placed in a soft yielding
easy-chair, her bonnet and mantle removed, the same soft hands smoothing
back her hair, and then, as a pair of warm lips were pressed to hers,
the same voice said gently:
"Welcome to Copse Hall, my love! I hope it will prove to you a happy
home."
Ella started to her feet as those words thrilled through her; words so
new, so tender, so motherly, that she could no longer restrain her
feelings, but threw herself, sobbing violently, upon the gentle breast
that seemed to welcome her; for two arms pressed her tightly there for a
few moments. Then there were soothing whispers, soft hands caressing
her; and at last Ella was seated calm and tranquil at Mrs Brandon's
feet, feeling that, after the storms of the past, a haven of safety had
been reached; and long was the converse which followed, as ingenuously
Ella told all to her new friend, whose hand still rested on, or played
with, the soft glossy bands of hair.
"We will not make a host of promises," said Mrs Brandon cheerfully;
"but see how we get on. You were quite right to leave there: and I had
such a kind letter from the Reverend Henry Morton, that I was glad to
secure your aid for my children's education."
"Mr Morton was very, very kind," said Ella, "and offered me a home when
poor mamma died; but I thought that I ought to be up and doing, though I
did not expect so much trouble at the outset."
"Trouble, my child," said Mrs Brandon softly,--"the world is full of
it;" and Ella, looking up, glanced at the widow's weeds. "Yes, seven
years ago now," she continued, interpreting Ella's glance. "But the
troubles here could be lessened, if we studied others more and self
less. But there, bless me, you haven't seen the children!" and jumping
up, she rang, and the hard-faced footman appeared.
"Tell Jane to bring in the young ladies, Edward," said Mrs Brandon;
and, five minutes after, two bright happy-looking girls of eight and ten
came running in. "There, my dears, that is Miss Bedford--your new
governess."
The two girls went smiling up to offer their hands and kiss her, the
younger clinging to her, and reading her face with a curious childish
gaze.
"They are both totally spoiled, Miss Bedford," said Mrs Brandon, gazing
fondly at her children; "and they're behindhand and tomboyish, and will
give you no end of trouble. But you must rule them very strictly; and
as they've not been quite so bad to-day, they may have tea with us this
evening."
The girls clapped their hands, and over that pleasant meal it seemed to
Ella that she must have been there for months; while, when Mrs Brandon
accompanied her to her bedroom that night--a snug pleasant chamber, with
a fire, books, and a general aspect of comfort--and left her alone with
the sense of the warm kiss on her lips--a friendly pressure on her hand,
Ella sank upon her knees, and the tears would for a while flow--tears
this time, though, of thankfulness for the refuge she had found.
Two days of happiness had passed like a dream, in spite of sad thoughts
and an undefined dread that all was too bright to last, when, seated in
the drawing-room with Mrs Brandon, Ella's heart leaped, and then the
blood seemed to rush to her heart, for the clangour of the hall bell
proclaimed a visitor. The next minute the hard footman entered with a
card upon a salver.
"Gentleman wishes to see Miss Bedford," he said; and Ella with trembling
hand took the card, to read thereon:
"Mr Charles Vining, Blandfield Court."
Volume 2, Chapter VII.