“But, dear, dear, where’s Sarah?” cried Aunt Milly, when some time later
she came into the room.
I felt almost as guilty as if I had suddenly got some share in Miss
Mortimer’s secret. “She was going upstairs when I came in,” said I; but
I could not find it in my heart to say what new accident had done this.
Aunt Milly looked at her chair and her footstool, and the work-basket
she had left behind, as if she might possibly ascertain something from
them. “My dear, it will be well to avoid the strangers to-night,” she
said, nodding her head, as if this conclusion was, on the whole, not
unsatisfactory; “and, indeed, Milly, though you may think it strange of
me to say so, I am not sorry; for Miss Kate, I am afraid, would be very
likely to mention something about that poor young man, whoever he may
be!” said Aunt Milly, with a sigh. “Dear, dear, to think what troubles
people make, both for themselves and others, that might be avoided by a
little openness. Why couldn’t he have told me, my dear? If he has
claims, I’d have seen him satisfied to the very last farthing, Milly!
and if he hasn’t claims, why should he persecute Sarah and me?”
“But it might be something he couldn’t tell,” said I, rashly.
“Something he couldn’t tell? What do you mean, child? What sort of a
connection could he have with our family that he _couldn’t tell_?” cried
Miss Milly. “I see what you mean. He might be a natural son. Harry has
put that into your head, now, for I am sure you never could have thought
of it of yourself. Milly, Milly, it’s dreadful to say, but I’d be more
thankful than I can tell you, to know that he was. I shouldn’t forget he
was my father’s son all the same; he should be amply provided
for--_amply_, my dear; ah, but it’s far too good news to be true; and,
besides, what would Sarah care for him, if he were illegitimate? It
could not hurt us in the least. Nothing, but what would be an injury to
us, can explain Sarah’s looks. Don’t let us think of it any more,
Milly. Come and show me, dear, what you’re going to wear to-night. I
should like you to look pretty, though they are all old people; for
they’re old _friends_ as well. Come upstairs with me, and show me what
you are to have on.”
I went, not without some trepidation, for I did not know what Aunt Milly
would say when she knew I had nothing but white muslin. She did shake
her head when she saw it spread out ready to put on. She even faltered
forth some half questions as to what I had in my wardrobe, whether I had
not a nice----; but there dear Aunt Milly stopped. She would not hurt my
feelings whatever I might wear; and I don’t deny I felt a little
mortified myself to see it laid out like a little girl’s best frock.
However, I am thankful to say Harry never had an idea that it was not
the very best thing I could wear.
“There are some lace flounces,” said Aunt Milly, half to herself, eyeing
the poor white frock over again, “that might brighten it up a little;”
then she turned round suddenly and kissed me by way of apology. “My
dear, don’t be affronted, I’m sure you will look very pretty in
it;--only I should have preferred, just for this one night,--but, to be
sure, you never thought of bringing out all your things for such a short
visit, and us such quiet people. Never mind, Milly dear, it will look
very nice, I am sure. I have a very pretty scarf you shall wear thrown
over it; it may not be quite in the fashion; but fine lace never goes
out of fashion, you know. I mean to give it you anyhow; and here’s a
little jewel-box, with some ornaments in it; I used to wear them myself
when I was a girl, and I had them reset just for a little remembrance of
this visit. Put them on, for my sake, to-night; and remember, dear, that
what we’ve been talking about so much these few days is a family secret.
If anybody should say anything that seems to touch on it, or should even
mention Mr. Luigi’s name, don’t look as if you were conscious of
anything. It _may_ come to nothing, you know. I am very glad you like
them, my dear. I am quite pleased I thought of it. But recollect, Milly,
my love, to be on your guard.”
With these words she left me, running away from my thanks for her
present. I was very much pleased with her present, and even at that
moment, when people might suppose I had more serious things to think of,
I must say it did give me a flutter of gratification to find bracelets
in the jewel-box. How kind and thoughtful it was of Aunt Milly! I wonder
if she knew I hadn’t any? I showed them to Lizzie, who thought anything
so grand had never been seen, and to baby, who would have liked to have
them to play with, and finally to Harry when he came in, and I had to
prepare for our drive. Harry found some fault (of course) with their
style, but was quite as pleased as I was. And, indeed, it was very good
of him to be pleased, for I had almost to go down on my knees to him to
keep him from buying me something of the kind when we came to Chester,
and he naturally grudged that any one should give them to me but
himself.
To think of me saying so much about such a small affair as bracelets,
when things so much more important were surrounding us on every side! I
am afraid to say it, but it is true, that when I went down into the
drawing-room that evening I was thinking too much about my beautiful
scarf and these same bracelets to notice, at the first moment, who was
there. The first thing that brought me to myself was hearing the voice
of Miss Mortimer behind her screen. I was so amazed that, instinctively,
without giving any reason to myself for it, I pushed forward to see her.
There she sat, that dreadful, wonderful witch of a woman--so far from
being moved by any feeling of nature which might have led her to avoid
the strangers, as innocent Aunt Milly supposed--sitting there as if on a
throne, entirely assuming the part of mistress of the house, and
receiving the homage of her guests. Evidently everybody was
surprised--everybody had understood Miss Mortimer to have withdrawn from
any but the most secluded life and I do not think I ever felt such a
thrill of wonder and pity, and almost horror, as when, after all I had
seen and noted, after her convulsive trembling and watchful readiness
for any attack, after the way in which, this very day, she had
retreated, stubborn but exhausted, upstairs, I saw her sitting here, in
full evening dress, with jewels and ornaments; her watchful eyes
gleaming stealthily round, and her ears alive to every sound.
As I came forward I caught sight of Aunt Milly sitting silent by herself
by a table, with a face full of the deepest perplexity and distress. She
raised her troubled eyes to me, and grasped at my hand for a moment, as
if to strengthen herself. She could not make it out--any attempt to
decipher her sister’s purpose was in vain to Aunt Milly--the light might
as well have tried to comprehend the darkness. But I had not time to say
anything to her. Miss Mortimer had called Harry, who drew me along with
him; and it was she who introduced us to the rector and his sister, and
to that heavy old Sir George, and the Penrhyns of Eden Castle. I am sure
I cannot tell what she said; it was principally Harry she spoke of, and
I remember that she called him their heir and nearest relation, which
gained us a very flattering reception from the strangers. But the mere
fact of seeing her there, with her bare arms and shoulders shining thin
through just such another scarf as I had on, and her eyes meeting
everybody else’s with a certain wide-open vigilant stare, and her head
held stiffly erect to dissemble that trembling, which, even still, she
could not overcome, at once confounded and engrossed me so much that I
could observe nothing else. Harry got into conversation with the
gentlemen, and Miss Kate, from the Rectory, a woman evidently full of
curiosity and enterprise, seized upon Miss Mortimer. I managed to get
away to Aunt Milly; she took my hand again, and pressed it almost
painfully. “My dear, what do you suppose _this_ means?” said Aunt Milly,
looking wistfully up in my face.
“To defy everybody,” I said, scarcely knowing what I was saying; “but,
dear Aunt Milly, you warned me to be on my guard. You look so troubled,
people will fancy something is wrong.”
When I said that, she got up hastily and joined the others. I can’t tell
how the strangers felt; but for all of us who belonged to the house, it
is impossible to imagine any scene more extraordinary. To see the
dauntless, unnatural wickedness of that woman facing and defying
everybody--to see her take the principal place, and ignore the troubled,
terrified sister, whose guests these people really were--out of all the
mysterious veil of secrecy and darkness in which she had been wrapped,
to watch her emerging thus, not only as if nothing were wrong with her,
but as if, in reality, she was the soul of everything, and dear Aunt
Milly only her shadow and servant! When Miss Mortimer took the head of
the table at dinner, and Aunt Milly astonished, and not knowing what to
make of it, dropped into a seat near the foot, where Harry was, our
dismay and wonder were nearly at their climax. Aunt Milly clasped my
hands hard; she had got a chair placed in the corner beside me, and
whispered--
“I don’t mind it, my dear, don’t think I mind it. If all was well, and I
had known her meaning!”
I understood that perfectly; but then all was not well, and nobody had
known the weird woman’s meaning. Now she had it all in her own hands.
With her grey hair, and her thin bare aged shoulders peeping out of her
scarf, she made a dreadful pretence of flirting with that old Sir
George; and curious Miss Kate sat scrutinising her, and making perpetual
remarks; and Aunt Milly and I looked on with awe and alarm which I could
not describe. I could scarcely answer Mr. Penrhyn when he spoke to me. I
fear he must have thought me a very poor representative of the
Mortimers. But I could not keep my attention from that figure at the
head of the table. I could not help wondering, did she see the writing
and the man’s hand upon the wall? for in all her pretences, and
affectations, and coquetries,--those strange coquetries, and gestures,
and movements of the head and hands, which might have been pretty in a
young beauty, but were so dismal in a white-haired old woman--remember,
_she never once forgot_. I could see it plain in her eyes all the time.
If the handwriting had come upon the wall, as it did in Belshazzar’s
palace, it would not have surprised her. No allusion that could be made
would shock or startle her. She knew everything that could come; and, in
her devilish daring, she was prepared for all.
I hope it is not very wicked of me to use such words; indeed, I cannot
tell what others I could use.
Things went on so till we got back to the drawing-room, which was a
relief in its way. And by dint of continuing so long, the pressure had,
of course, grown easier, and I had actually begun to make a little
acquaintance with Mrs. Penrhyn, who was young, and had little children
of her own, and quite insisted I should take her upstairs to see baby,
when I was suddenly recalled from that very agreeable talk we were just
falling into, by the sharp voice of Miss Kate.
“Have you heard any more of that young Italian, Miss Milly?” said Miss
Kate; “he that struck me, you know, as having so odd a resemblance to
your family?--very strange! and did you not perceive it yourself? I hear
he has been seen about here again, and his servant, that stout person.
Ah, how very sad he doesn’t know English, that poor fellow! perhaps he
has picked up a little since. Of all the sad things in the world, I know
nothing so melancholy as being in the midst of light, and yet, for such
a trifling thing as the want of language, remaining in darkness. I have
never forgiven myself for neglecting Italian since that day. Ah, I wish
I knew Italian as you do, Miss Mortimer. Who can tell what use I might
have been to that poor benighted man!”
I had turned aside, with the words stopped on my very lips, to listen.
So had Aunt Milly, looking aghast, and with every tinge of colour
blanched from her face. Miss Mortimer did not observe me; but she
noticed her sister, and stared at her with actually a little pause and
smile of malice, to direct everybody’s attention to her startled face,
before she spoke.
“I can’t speak even my own language now,” was all Miss Mortimer said;
and all the time looked at Aunt Milly with that derisive look, as if to
show that whoever was agitated by this reference it was not herself. I
was so wicked as to think she meant to turn over the scandal, if any
should rise, upon her sister; and it made my blood boil; but, to be
sure, I was quite in error there.
“Oh, I am sure after to-night--!” cried Miss Kate; “Indeed, my dear Miss
Mortimer, I must congratulate you. I hope it is the beginning of a new
life. If you would but take a little interest in the parish, with your
improved health, I am sure it would do so much good; and if you should
happen to meet that unfortunate young man, and would be induced to
explain the truth to him a little in his own language----”
Here Miss Mortimer gave an extraordinary kind of gasp, without, however,
uttering any sound. Nobody observed it but me, as my eyes were fixed on
her. Then she spoke as if she could not help herself, drawing back into
the shadow.
“He speaks English!” she said, with an extraordinary tone of being
compelled to say something--as if some influence within her had
constrained the words from her unwilling tongue.
“But, ah, it is the servant I speak of,” cried Miss Kate; “one soul is
just as precious as another; it is he, poor unfortunate man! If you
should meet him in any of your drives,--he is very stout, and has a
large beard, and is so completely the foreigner that you can’t mistake
him,--if you would only stop the carriage and say a word in season.”
There was another wonderful contraction of all the muscles of Miss
Mortimer’s face, and this time a kind of hysterical sound came with it.
“If I meet him,” she said, slowly, “I’ll give him a word in
season--don’t be afraid,” and she laughed.
It made me shiver and tremble all over. I was thankful that Ellis came
that moment with tea, and I could get up and go into another corner of
the room to recover myself. I don’t know how Aunt Milly bore it. She had
not a particle of colour in her face the whole evening after. But Miss
Mortimer went upstairs steadily when all the guests were gone. I do not
know what befell when she got into her own room. I do not think they had
much rest there that night. If she had fallen down in a fit, or expired
at the head of the table that evening, it would not have surprised me.
She had lived through it; but I am sure neither she nor her poor
faithful maid closed their eyes that night.