"I wonder what's become of Miss Bedford!" said the cook at Mrs
Brandon's, as she sat with her fellow-servants enjoying the genial
warmth of the fire before retiring to rest.
It was about half-past ten, and, probably to soften Edward the hard, the
stewpan was in use, and steaming mugs of hot spiced liquid were being
from time to time applied to lips.
"Married long before this, I should think," said the housemaid, tossing
her head. "You don't suppose she's like some people I know, going on
shilly-shallying year after year, as if they never meant to get married
at all."
"Never you mind about that," said Edward gruffly; "perhaps we shall get
married when it suits us, and perhaps we sha'n't. I don't see no fun in
going away from a good home and a good missus, to hard lines and
spending all your savings, like some people as ain't old enough to know
better."
"Does missus ever talk about her, Mr Eddard?" said Cook persuasively.
"Not often," said Edward; "but I know one thing,--she ain't had a letter
from her for ever so long, now."
"How do you know?" said the housemaid.
"How do I know?" exclaimed Mr Eddard contemptuously. "Why, don't I see
all the envelopes, and can't I tell that way? But there's something
wrong about her, I believe; for there came a letter about three weeks or
a month ago, and it seemed to cut missus up a good deal, and I heard her
say something out aloud."
"What did she say?" said Cook and Mary in a breath, for the recounter
had stopped.
"Well, I didn't catch it all," said Edward, speaking in his mug; "but it
was something like: `Gone with Mr Bray? Impossible!'"
"But what made her say that?" exclaimed Cook.
"Why, from what she read in a letter from London, to be sure, stupid.
Why else should she say it?"
"There, didn't I tell you so!" exclaimed Cook triumphantly.
"What are you up to now?" said Edward in a tone of gruff contempt.
"What do you mean?"
"Why, I always thought she'd have Mr Bray, as was so wonderful
attentive. Why, Mrs Pottles, down at the Seven Bells, has told me lots
of times about how he used to come and put his horse up there, and then
follow her about."
"Humph!" ejaculated Edward. "When did you see Mother Pottles last?"
"Yesterday," said Cook. "And she said she thought that Pottles would
take the twenty pounds off the good-will, and--"
"Why didn't you tell me so before?" said Edward gruffly.
"Because she said Mr Pottles would come over and see you, and you do
snub me so for interfering."
"Humph!" ejaculated Edward again.
"What, you are going to have the Seven Bells, then?" said the housemaid.
"O, I am glad; it will be nice! And you're going to be married, after
all."
"Don't you be in a hurry," growled Edward. "We ain't gone yet, and
perhaps we shan't go at all; so now then. There goes the bell; now,
then, clear off. Missus is going to bed."
"Did you fasten the side-door, Mr Ed-dard?" said the housemaid.
"Slipped the top bolt, that's all," said the footman, as he went to
answer the bell.
"Let's lay them bits of lace out on the lawn, Cook, and leave 'em all
night; the frost 'll bleach 'em beautiful," said the housemaid.
"Ah, so we might," said Cook; and taking some wet twisted-up scraps of
lace from a basin, cook and housemaid tied their handkerchiefs round
their necks, placed their aprons over their heads, and ran down a
passage, unbolted the side-door, and went over the gravel drive to lay
the lace upon the front lawn.
"I'll pop out and take them in when I light the breakfast-room fire,"
said the housemaid. "My, what a lovely night! it must be full moon."
"Scr-r-r-r-r-r-r-eech--screech--screech!" went the cook.
"Scre-e-e-e-e-ch-h-h-h!" went the housemaid, giving vent to a shrill cry
that would have made an emulative locomotive burst in despair; and,
still screaming, the two women clung together, and backed slowly to the
house, ran down the passage to the kitchen, shrieking still, where the
cook sank into a chair, which gave way beneath her, and she fell heavily
on the floor.
"Are you mad, Mary--Cook? What is the matter?" exclaimed Mrs Brandon,
running into the kitchen, chamber-candlestick in hand, closely followed
by Edward.
"They _are_ mad--both on 'em!" growled the footman.
"A ghost, a ghost!" panted Mary, shuddering, and pointing towards the
passage.
"A ghost!" exclaimed Mrs Brandon contemptuously. "You foolish wicked
woman! How dare you alarm the children with such ridiculous, such
absurd old grandmothers' notions? You've been out, I suppose?"
"Yes, yes!" sobbed Mary, covering her blanched face with her hands.
"And you saw something white, I suppose, in the moonlight?"
"N-n-n-o, 'm! It was a black one, all but the horrid face with the moon
on it."
"Edward," said Mrs Brandon, "some one has been trying to frighten them,
and they have left the passage door open. You are not afraid?"
"How should I know till I see what it's like!" growled Edward. "Anyhow,
I'll go and try."
"I'll go with you," said Mrs Brandon.
Edward led the way to where the moonlight was streaming in through the
open door, when he started back against his mistress, forcing her into
the kitchen.
"There _is_ something, mum!" he said hoarsely, "and I think I am a
little afraid. No, no, 'm, you sha'n't go. I'll go first: I can't
stand that, if I am frighted."
He again made a step in advance, for Mrs Brandon was about to take the
_pas_; but the next moment mistress and man drew involuntarily back, as,
slowly, as if feeling its way through some thick darkness, hands
stretched out, palms downward, to their fullest extent, head thrown
back, wild eyes staring straight before it, and face unnaturally pale,
came towards them a figure draped in black.
On and on, in a strange unearthly way, rigid as if of marble, came the
figure across the great kitchen, and in spite of herself Mrs Brandon
felt a strange thrill pass through her as she slowly gave way; but
followed still by the figure through the open door into the hall, where,
reason reasserting itself, she set down the candlestick upon the marble
slab, and stood firm till the strange visitor came close up to her, and
she took two cold stony hands in hers.
"Ella, my child!" she gasped.
It was as though those three words had dissolved a spell; for the
staring eyes slowly closed, a faint dawning as of a smile relaxed the
rigid features, and, as the white lips parted, there came forth a low
sigh as of relief, and then the form sank slowly down till it was
supported only by the grasp Mrs Brandon maintained upon the hands.
"Here! Quick! Help, Edward!" exclaimed Mrs Brandon, blushing for her
excusable dread. "Good Heavens, what infamy has been practised, that
this poor child should seek refuge here in such a plight? Edward!"
"I'm here, ma'am," cried the hard footman, smiting himself heavily upon
the cheek. "That I should have been such a fool! But 'twas enough to
startle--"
"Man--man, don't talk!" cried his mistress. "Run to Mr Tiddson, he is
the nearest; and don't tell him to come, but bring him. Do you
hear?--_bring him_!"
"That I just will," cried the man, giving one glance at the figure at
his mistress's feet, and the next moment he was in the kitchen. "Here,
rouse up!" he cried, "'tain't nothing sooper--"
Edward said "natural" as he ran out, hatless, into the frosty night to
fetch the doctor, tying his handkerchief round his head as he sped on.
Meanwhile, Mrs Brandon lifted the wasted form in her arms, and bore it
to a couch, where she strove ineffectually to restore animation.
Everything she tried seemed useless; and at last, weeping bitterly, she
sank upon her knees, and clasped the fragile figure to her heart,
moaning as she did so:
"My poor stricken bird! my poor little dove! what does it mean--what
does it mean?"
But the form she clasped might have been that from which the vital spark
had just fled, save that the icy coldness began gradually to yield to
the temperature of the room.
Volume 3, Chapter XXII.