ALTERCATION AND EXPLANATION
It was not long after these occurrences that Mr. Cobbold and his family
removed from the Cliff to a house in the town, a large family mansion,
formerly the property of C. Norton, Esq., on St. Margaret's Green, which
he had purchased, and thither he and his family would have earlier
removed but for some repairs which were not completed until that time.
It was a fine old mansion, fronting the town, with its entrance porch,
and lofty windows, with numerous attics; whilst its drawing, dining, and
breakfast rooms, faced the beautiful green fields which then skirted
the town towards the hills upon the Woodbridge Road.
Mrs. Cobbold took the first favourable opportunity of questioning
Margaret respecting her attachment to Will Laud, of whose character she
spoke freely. Margaret spoke warmly in his defence, while she
acknowledged the truth of much that had been advanced against him, and
as warmly expressed her conviction he would reform. Sincerely did the
lady hope that all her poor servant's favourable anticipations might be
confirmed.
Upon Margaret's spirits, however, this conversation, which was broken
off suddenly by the entrance of one of the servants, produced a
depression which greatly affected and afflicted her. Her mistress did
not appear in her eyes either so amiable, or so kind, or so just, or so
considerate, as she had always previously done. She began to suspect
that she was prejudiced even against her on Laud's account. She fancied
herself not so much beloved by her as she used to be, and that she did
not estimate her services as highly as, by her manner, she used formerly
to show that she did. Words which Margaret would never have thought
anything about at other times, when now spoken by her mistress, seemed
to import something unpleasant, as if her attachment was the reason of
their being uttered. She was never admonished now but she thought it was
because of her unfortunate acquaintance with Laud. Mrs. Cobbold did not
revert, in the least degree, to the past matter of confidential
conversation. Indeed, after her most devout aspirations had been made
for her servant's future comfort, she did not think about the matter.
But in Margaret's eyes every little thing said or done seemed to have a
peculiar meaning, which her own warped mind attached to it. In fact, she
became an altered person--suspicious, distrustful, capricious, and, in
many things, far less careful than she ought to have been. And all this
arose from that well-intentioned conversation, voluntarily begun on the
part of her mistress, but which had created such a serious
disappointment in Margaret's mind.
A circumstance arose about the time of the removal of the family, which,
though simple in itself, tended very greatly to inflame that disquietude
in Margaret's breast, which only wanted to be stirred up to burn most
fiercely.
Many of the things had been removed to St. Margaret's Green. Part of the
family had already left the Cliff, and were domesticated in the mansion.
Several of the children, especially all the younger ones, had become
familiarized with their far more extensive nursery: Margaret was with
them. The footman had been sent, together with the gardener, as
safeguards to the house; and even the old coachman, though frequently
engaged driving backwards and forwards from one house to the other,
considered himself, horses and all, as settled at the town-house.
The Cliff began to be deserted, and in another day the master and
mistress would leave the house to those only who were to live in it.
Mrs. Cobbold and one or two of the elder boys were still at the Cliff.
The faithful old dog, Pompey, still kept his kennel, which stood at the
entrance of the stable-yard. Mr. Cobbold had been superintending the
unpacking of some valuable goods until a late hour, and his lady, at the
Cliff, was anxiously awaiting his return. It was a clear frosty night,
and the snow was upon the ground; but the gravel path had been well
swept down to the shrubbery gate. Pompey had been furiously barking for
some time, and had disturbed Mrs. Cobbold, who was engaged with her
book--some new publication of that eventful time. The two elder boys sat
by the fire. She said to them--
"I wish, boys, you would go and see what Pompey is barking at."
"Oh! it is nothing, I dare say, but some sailors on the shore."
The young men, for so they might be called, had taken off their boots or
shoes, and had put on their slippers, and very naturally were little
disposed to put them on again, and to move from a nice, comfortable
fire, into the cold air of a frosty night.
Mrs. Cobbold finding, however, that she could not get on with her book
for the increasing rage of the dog, determined to go out herself. She
was a person of no mean courage, and not easily daunted. She thought,
moreover, that if she moved, her sons would leave their backgammon-board
and follow her, and, if not, that she might probably meet her husband.
She put on her thick cloak, threw a shawl over her head, and sallied
forth. As the door opened, Pompey ceased his loud bark, but every now
and then gave a low growl, and a short, suppressed bark, as if he was
not quite satisfied. Mrs. Cobbold walked down the gravel path toward the
gate, and, as she proceeded, she saw a man go across the path and enter
the laurel shrubbery directly before her. She went back immediately to
the parlour, and told the two young men what she had seen; but, whether
it was that they were too deeply engaged with their game, or that they
were really afraid, they treated the matter very lightly, simply saying,
that it was some sweetheart of the cottagers, or that she must have
fancied she saw some one. At all events, they declined to go out, and
advised her not to think anything more about it.
This neither satisfied the lady nor old Pompey, who began again to give
tongue most furiously. Finding that she was unable to make them stir,
the lady determined to investigate the matter herself; and, telling the
young men her intention, she again went out, and advanced to the very
spot where she had seen the man enter the shrubbery. The traces on the
snow convinced her the man was in the shrubbery. In a firm and decided
voice, she cried out--
"Come out of that bush--come out, I say! I know you are there; I saw you
enter; and if you do not immediately come out, I will order the dog to
be let out upon you! Come out! You had better come out this moment."
The bushes began to move, the snow to fall from the leaves, and out
rolled a heavy-looking man, dressed as a sailor, and apparently drunk;
he looked up at the lady with a villainous scowl, and staggered a step
towards her.
"What do you do here? Who are you?" she said, without moving.
"My name's John Luff. I--(hiccup)--I--I do no harm!"
At the sound of his voice, Pompey became so furious that he actually
dragged his great kennel from its fixture, and as his chain would not
break, it came lumbering along over the stones towards the spot.
As the fellow heard this, he began to stagger off, but at every step
turned round to see if the lady followed him.
This she did, keeping at the same distance from him, and saying, "Be off
with you! be off!" She then saw him go out at the gate, and turn round
the wall, to the shore.
Farther than her own gate she did not think it prudent to go; but when
she got so far, she was rejoiced to see her husband at a distance
returning upon the marsh wall to the Cliff.
Old Pompey had by this time come up to the gate with his kennel behind
him, and evidently impatient to be let loose.
She was engaged in the attempt to unloose the dog as her astonished
husband came up to the gate; he soon learned the cause of this
appearance, and immediately undid Pompey's collar; the animal sprang
over the gate, and ran along the shore till he came to the cut where
boats occasionally landed, and was closely followed by his master, who
plainly saw a man pulling into the channel in a manner which convinced
him he was no inexperienced hand at the oar.
In the meantime an exaggerated report reached St. Margaret's Green, that
a sailor had been seen lurking about the premises at the Cliff, and that
he had attacked their mistress.
Of course, the tale lost nothing but truth by the telling; and it was
affirmed in the kitchen that it was Will Laud himself.
Some told Margaret the fact; she felt greatly annoyed, and was much
surprised that when Mrs. Cobbold came to the house the next day, she did
not speak to her upon the subject. She resolved that if her mistress did
not soon speak to her, she would broach the subject herself; but Mrs.
Cobbold put this question to her the next day:--
"Margaret, do you know a man of the name of John Luff?"
"Yes, madam," she replied; "I do know such a man, and I most heartily
wish I had never known him."
"I wish the same, Margaret," said her mistress, and then related her
recent adventure.
"He is the man," said Margaret, "who perverted all Will's naturally good
talents, and induced him to join his nefarious traffickers. He is a
desperate villain, and would murder any one! Did he threaten you with
any violence? I am glad, indeed, that you escaped unhurt from the fangs
of such a monster."
"He did me no injury," answered the lady.
Another long conversation then followed between Mrs. Cobbold and
Margaret, in which the latter complained bitterly of the change she
fancied had taken place in her mistress's behaviour towards her. The
lady denied such change had taken place, and endeavoured to convince her
servant that the alteration was in her own disposition.