The days passed monotonously, as they pass with a man in prison. Gone
was the sense of freedom and the idea of a wider life. Instead of a
cell, a house with ten rooms--but Hannah, the jailer guarding each
one. Respectful and attentive, the model servant, he saw in every word
a threat against his liberty--his life. In the sullen face and cold
eyes he saw her knowledge of power; in her solicitude for his comfort
and approval, a sardonic jest. It was the master playing at being the
servant. The years of unwilling servitude were over, but she felt her
way carefully with infinite zest in the game. Warped and bitter, with a
cleverness which had never before had scope, she had entered into her
kingdom. She took it little by little, savouring every morsel.
“I hope I’ve done right, sir,” she said one morning. “I have given
Milly notice.”
Goddard looked up from his paper. “Isn’t she satisfactory?” he inquired.
“Not to my thinking, sir,” said the woman. “And she says she is coming
to see you about it. I told her that would be no good.”
“I had better see her and hear what she has to say,” said her master.
“Of course, if you wish to,” said Hannah; “only, after giving her
notice, if she doesn’t go I shall. I should be sorry to go--I’ve been
very comfortable here--but it’s either her or me.”
“I should be sorry to lose you,” said Goddard in a hopeless voice.
“Thank you, sir,” said Hannah. “I’m sure I’ve tried to do my best. I’ve
been with you some time now--and I know all your little ways. I expect
I understand you better than anybody else would. I do all I can to make
you comfortable.”
“Very well, I will leave it to you,” said Goddard in a voice which
strove to be brisk and commanding. “You have my permission to dismiss
her.”
“There’s another thing I wanted to see you about,” said Hannah;
“my wages. I was going to ask for a rise, seeing that I’m really
housekeeper here now.”
“Certainly,” said her master, considering, “that only seems fair. Let
me see--what are you getting?”
“Thirty-six.”
Goddard reflected for a moment and then turned with a benevolent smile.
“Very well,” he said, cordially, “I’ll make it forty-two. That’s ten
shillings a month more.”
“I was thinking of a hundred,” said Hannah dryly.
The significance of the demand appalled him. “Rather a big jump,” he
said at last. “I really don’t know that I----”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Hannah. “I thought I was worth it--to
you--that’s all. You know best. Some people might think I was worth
_two_ hundred. That’s a bigger jump, but after all a big jump is better
than----”
She broke off and tittered. Goddard eyed her.
“----than a big drop,” she concluded.
Her master’s face set. The lips almost disappeared and something came
into the pale eyes that was revolting. Still eyeing her, he rose and
approached her. She stood her ground and met him eye to eye.
“You are jocular,” he said at last.
“Short life and a merry one,” said the woman.
“Mine or yours?”
“Both, perhaps,” was the reply.
“If--if I give you a hundred,” said Goddard, moistening his lips, “that
ought to make your life merrier, at any rate.”
Hannah nodded. “Merry and long, perhaps,” she said slowly. “I’m
careful, you know--very careful.”
“I am sure you are,” said Goddard, his face relaxing.
“Careful what I eat and drink, I mean,” said the woman, eyeing him
steadily.
“That is wise,” he said slowly. “I am myself--that is why I am paying a
good cook a large salary. But don’t overdo things, Hannah; don’t kill
the goose that lays the golden eggs.”
“I am not likely to do that,” she said coldly. “Live and let live; that
is my motto. Some people have different ones. But I’m careful; nobody
won’t catch me napping. I’ve left a letter with my sister, in case.”
Goddard turned slowly and in a casual fashion put the flowers straight
in a bowl on the table, and, wandering to the window, looked out. His
face was white again and his hands trembled.
“To be opened after my death,” continued Hannah. “I don’t believe in
doctors--not after what I’ve seen of them--I don’t think they know
enough; so if I die I shall be examined. I’ve given good reasons.”
“And suppose,” said Goddard, coming from the window, “suppose she is
curious, and opens it before you die?”
“We must chance that,” said Hannah, shrugging her shoulders; “but I
don’t think she will. I sealed it up with sealing-wax, with a mark on
it.”
“She might open it and say nothing about it,” persisted her master.
An unwholesome grin spread slowly over Hannah’s features. “I should
know it soon enough,” she declared boisterously, “and so would other
people. Lord there would be an upset! Chidham would have something to
talk about for once. We should be in the papers--both of us.”
Goddard forced a smile. “Dear me!” he said gently. “Your pen seems to
be a dangerous weapon, Hannah, but I hope that the need to open it will
not happen for another fifty years. You look well and strong.”
The woman nodded. “I don’t take up my troubles before they come,” she
said, with a satisfied air; “but there’s no harm in trying to prevent
them coming. Prevention is better than cure.”
“Exactly,” said her master; “and, by the way, there’s no need for this
little financial arrangement to be known by anybody else. I might
become unpopular with my neighbours for setting a bad example. Of
course, I am giving you this sum because I really think you are worth
it.”
“I’m sure you do,” said Hannah. “I’m not sure I ain’t worth more, but
this’ll do to go on with. I shall get a girl for less than we are
paying Milly, and that’ll be another little bit extra for me.”
“Certainly,” said Goddard, and smiled again.
“Come to think of it,” said Hannah pausing at the door, “I ain’t sure I
shall get anybody else; then there’ll be more than ever for me. If I
do the work I might as well have the money.”
Her master nodded, and, left to himself, sat down to think out a
position which was as intolerable as it was dangerous. At a great risk
he had escaped from the dominion of one woman only to fall, bound and
helpless, into the hands of another. However vague and unconvincing the
suspicions of Hannah might be, they would be sufficient. Evidence could
be unearthed. Cold with fear one moment, and hot with fury the next,
he sought in vain for some avenue of escape. It was his brain against
that of a cunning, illiterate fool; a fool whose malicious stupidity
only added to his danger. And she drank. With largely increased wages
she would drink more and his very life might depend upon a hiccuped
boast. It was clear that she was enjoying her supremacy; later on her
vanity would urge her to display it before others. He might have to
obey the crack of her whip before witnesses, and that would cut off all
possibility of escape.
He sat with his head in his hands. There must be a way out and he must
find it. Soon. He must find it before gossip began; before the changed
position of master and servant lent colour to her story when that
story became known. Shaking with fury, he thought of her lean, ugly
throat and the joy of choking her life out with his fingers. He started
suddenly, and took a quick breath. No, not fingers--a rope.