THE HOUSE AT MARSHDALE.
It was a gloomy day, not far off the gloomy month of November, and it
was growing towards mid-day, when a train on a small line, branching
from the direct London line, drew up at the somewhat insignificant
station of Upper Marshdale. A young and beautiful lady, without
attendants, descended from a first-class carriage.
"Any luggage, ma'am?" inquired a porter, stepping up to her.
"A small black bag; nothing else."
The bag was found in the van, and placed on the platform. A family,
who also appeared to have arrived at their destination, closed round
the van and were tumultuous over a missing trunk, and the lady drew
back and accosted a stolid-looking lad, dressed in the railway
uniform.
"How far is it to Marshdale?"
"Marshdale! Why, you be at Marshdale," returned the boy, in sulky
tones.
"I mean Marshdale House."
"Marshdale House?--That be my Lord Level's place," said the boy, still
more sulkily. "It be a matter of two mile."
"Are there any carriages to be hired?"
"There's one--a fly; he waits here when the train comes in."
"Where is it to be found?"
"It stands in the road, yonder. But if ye wants the fly, it's of no
use wanting. It have been booked by them folks squabbling over their
boxes: they writed here yesterday for it to be ready for 'em."
The more civil porter now came up, and the lady appealed to him. He
confirmed the information that there was only this one conveyance to
be had, and the family had secured it. Perhaps, he added, the lady
might like to wait until they had done with it.
The lady shook her head impatiently, and decided to walk. "Can you
come with me to carry my bag and to show me the way?" she asked of the
surly boy.
The surly boy, willing or unwilling, had to acquiesce, and they set
off to walk. Upon emerging from the station, he came to a standstill.
"Now, which way d'you mean to go?" began he, facing round upon his
companion. "There's the road way, and it's plaguy long; two mile,
good; and there's the field way, and it's a sight nearer."
"Is it as good as the road?"
"It's gooder--barring the bull. He runs at everybody. And he tosses
'em, if he can catch 'em."
Not caring to encounter so objectionable an animal, the lady chose the
road; and the boy strode on before her, bag in hand. It was downhill
all the way. In due time they reached Marshdale House, which lay in a
hollow. It was a low, straggling, irregular structure, built of dark
red brick, with wings and gable ends, and must originally have looked
more like a comfortable farm-house than a nobleman's seat. But it had
been added to at various periods, without any regard to outward
appearance or internal regularity. It was exceedingly retired, and a
very large garden surrounded the house, encompassed by high walls and
dense trees.
The walls were separated by a pair of handsome iron gates, and a small
doorway stood beside them. A short, straight avenue, overhung by
trees, led to the front entrance of the house. The surly boy, turning
himself and his bag round, pushed backwards against the small door,
sent it flying, and branched off into a side-path.
"Is not that the front-door?" said the lady, trying to arrest him.
"'Tain't no manner of use going to it," replied the imperturbable boy,
marching on. "The old gentleman and lady gets out o' the way, and the
maids in the kitchen be deaf, I think. Last time I came up here with a
parcel, I rung at it till I was tired, and nobody heard."
He went up to a side-door, flung it open, and put down the bag. A
neat-looking young woman, with her sleeves turned up, came forward,
and stared in silence.
"Is Lord Level within?" inquired the lady.
"My lord's ill in bed," replied the servant; "he cannot be seen or
spoken to. What do you want with him, please?"
She seemed a good-tempered, ignorant sort of girl, but nothing more.
At that moment someone called to her from an inner room, and she
turned away.
"Are there not any upper servants in the house, do you know?" inquired
the lady of the boy.
"I doesn't think so. There's the missis."
A tinge came over the lady's face. "The mistress! Who is she?"
"She's Mrs. Ed'ards. An old lady, what comes to church with buckles in
her shoes. And there's Mr.----"
"What is it that you want here?" interrupted the servant girl,
advancing again, and addressing the visitor in a not very conciliatory
tone.
"I am Lady Level," was the reply, in a ringing, imperious voice. "Call
someone to receive me."
It found its way to the girl's alarm. She looked scared, doubting, and
finally turned and flew off down a long, dark passage. The boy heard
the announcement without its ruffling his equanimity in the least
degree.
"That's all, ain't it?" asked he, giving the bag a condescending touch
with his foot.
"How much am I to pay you?" inquired Lady Level.
The boy paused. "You bain't obliged to pay nothing."
"What is the charge?" repeated Lady Level.
"The charge ain't nothing. If folks like to give anything, it's gived
as a gift."
She smiled, and, taking out her purse, gave him half-a-crown. He
received it with remarkable satisfaction, and then, with an air of
great mystery and cunning, slipped it into his boot.
"But, I say, don't you go and tell, over there, as you gived it me,"
said he, jerking his head in the direction of the railway station. "We
are not let take nothing, and there'd be the whole lot of 'em about my
ears. You won't tell?"
"No, I will not tell," replied Lady Level, laughing, in spite of her
cares and annoyances. And the promising young porter in embryo, giving
vent to a shrill whistle, which might have been heard at the
two-mile-off station, tore away as fast as his legs would carry him.
The girl came back with a quaint old lady. Her hair was white, her
complexion clear and fresh, and her eyes were black and piercing as
ever they had been in her youth. She looked in doubt at the visitor,
as the servant had done.
"I am told that someone is inquiring for my lord."
"His wife is inquiring for him. I am Lady Level."
Had any doubt been wavering in the old lady's mind, the tones
dispelled it. She curtseyed to the ground--the stately, upright,
old-fashioned curtsey of the days gone by. A look of distress rose to
her face.
"Oh, my lady! That I should live to receive my lord's wife in this
unprepared, unceremonious manner! He told me you were in foreign
parts, beyond seas."
"I returned to England yesterday, and have left my servants in town.
What is the matter with Lord Level?"
"That your ladyship should come to such a house as this, all
unfurnished and disordered! and--I beg your pardon, my lady! I cannot
take you through these passages," she added, curtseying for Lady
Level to go out again. "Deborah, go round and open the front-door."
Lady Level, in the midst of much lamentation, was conducted to the
front entrance, and thence ushered into a long, low, uncarpeted room
on the left of the dark hall. It was very bare of furniture, chairs
and a large table being all that it contained. "It is of no
consequence," said Lady Level; "I have come only to see Lord Level,
and may not remain above an hour or two. I cannot tell. You are Mrs.
Edwards, I think. I have heard Lord Level mention you."
"My name is Edwards, my lady. I was housekeeper in the late lord's
time, and, when a young woman, I had the honour of nursing my lord.
Since the late lord's death, I and my brother, Jacob Drewitt, have
mostly lived here. He used to be house steward at Marshdale."
Lady Level removed her bonnet and cloak, and threw them on the table.
She looked impatient and restless, as she listened to the account of
her husband's accident. He had received an injury to his knee, when
out riding, the day after his arrival at Marshdale; fever had set in,
deepening at times to slight delirium.
"I should like to see him," said Lady Level. "Will you take me to his
chamber?"
Mrs. Edwards marshalled her upstairs. Curious, in-and-out, wide and
shallow stairs they were, with long passages and short turnings
branching from them. She gently threw open the door of a large,
handsome room. On the bed lay Lord Level, his eyes closed.
"He is dozing again, my lady," she whispered. "He is sure to fall to
sleep whenever the fever leaves him."
"There is no fire in the room!" exclaimed Lady Level.
"The doctor says there's not to be any, my lady. In the room opposite
to this, across the passage, you will find a good one. It is my lord's
sitting-room when he is well. And here," noiselessly opening a door
facing the foot of the bed, "is another chamber, that can be prepared
for your ladyship, if you remain."
The housekeeper left the room as she spoke, scarcely knowing whether
she stood on her head or her heels, so completely was she confounded
by this arrival of Lady Level's--and nothing wherewith to receive her!
Mrs. Edwards had her head and hands full just then.
As Lady Level moved forward, her dress came into contact with a light
chair, and moved it. The invalid started, and raised himself on his
elbow.
"Why!--who--is it?"
"It is I, Lord Level," she said, advancing to the bed.
He looked strangely amazed and perplexed. He could not believe his own
eyes, and stared at her as though he would discover whether she was
really before him, or whether he was in a dream.
"Don't you know me?" she asked gently.
"Is it--Blanche?"
"Yes."
"But where have you come from?--what brings you here?" he slowly
ejaculated.
"I came down by train to-day. I have come to speak to you."
"You were in Germany. I left you in Germany!"
"I thought I had been there long enough: too long; and I quitted it.
Archibald, I could not stay there. Had I done so, I should have been
ill as you are. I think I should have died."
He said nothing for a few moments, and appeared to be lost in thought.
Then he drew her face down to his, and kissed it.
"You ought not to have come over without my permission, Blanche."
"I did not travel alone. Mr. and Mrs. Arnold Ravensworth chanced to
put up at the inn on their homeward route, and I took the opportunity
to come over with them."
The information evidently did not please Lord Level. His brow
contracted.
"You wrote me word that you had had an accident," she continued. "How
could I be contented to remain away after that? So I came over: and I
went to your rooms in Holles Street----"
"Why on earth did you go there?" he sharply interrupted. "When I had
left them."
"But I did not know you had left them. How was I to know you had come
to Marshdale if you never told me so? When I found you had left Holles
Street, I went straight to Gloucester Place. Papa has just come home
from Jersey."
"You ought to have remained in Germany until I was able to join you,"
he reiterated irritably; and Blanche could not avoid seeing that he
was growing agitated and feverish. "What's to become of you? Where are
you to be?"
"First of all, I want to have an explanation with you," said Blanche.
"I came over on purpose to have it; to tell you many things. One is,
that I will no longer submit to be treated as a child----"
"Blanche!" he curtly interrupted.
"Well?"
"You are acting as a child now, and as nothing else. This nonsense
that you are talking--I am not in a condition to hear it."
"It is not nonsense," said Blanche.
"It is what I will not listen to. It was the height of folly to come
here. All you can do now is to go back to London by the next train."
"Go back where?" she passionately asked. "I have no home in London."
"I dare say Major Carlen will receive you for a week. Before that time
I hope to be well enough to come up, and prepare a home for you. Where
are Sanders and Timms?"
"I did not bring them down with me. They are at an hotel. Why cannot I
stay here?"
"Because I won't have it. There is nothing in the place ready for you,
or suited to you."
"If it is suited to you, it's suited to me. I say I will not be
treated as a child any longer. I could be quite happy here. There is
nothing I should like so much as to explore this old house. I never
saw such an array of ghostly passages anywhere."
Something in the words seemed dangerously to excite Lord Level. The
fever was visibly increasing.
"I forbid you to explore; I forbid you to remain here!" he exclaimed
in the deepest agitation. "Do you hear me, Blanche?--you must return
by the next train."
"I will not," she replied, quite as obstinate as he. "I will not go
hence until I have had an explanation with you. If you are too ill at
present, I will wait for it."
He was, indeed, too ill. "Quiet, above all things," the doctor had
said when he had paid his early morning visit. But quiet Lord Level
had not had; his wife had put an end to that. His talk grew random,
his mind wandering; a paroxysm of fever ensued. In terror Lady Level
rang the bell.
Mrs. Edwards answered it. Blanche gazed at her with astonishment,
scarcely recognising her. She had put on her gala dress of days long
gone by: a short, full, red petticoat, a chintz gown looped above it
in festoons, high-heeled shoes, buckles, snow-white stockings with
worked "clocks," a mob cap of clear lace, large gold earrings, and
black mittens. All this she had assumed out of respect to her new
lady.
"Is he out of his mind?" gasped Lady Level, terrified at her lord's
words and his restless motions.
"It is the fever, my lady," said Mrs. Edwards. "Dear, dear! And we
thought him so much better today!"
Close upon that, Dr. Macferraty, the medical man, came in. He was of
square-built frame with broad shoulders, very dictatorial and
positive considering his years, which did not number more than
seven-and-twenty.
"What mischief has been at work here?" he demanded, standing over the
bed with Mrs. Edwards. "Who has been with him?"
She explained that Lady Level had arrived and had been talking with
his lordship. She--Mrs. Edwards--had begged her ladyship _not_ to talk
to him; but--well, the young were heedless and did not think of
consequences.
"If she has worried him into brain-fever, she will have herself to
thank for it," harshly spoke the doctor. And Lady Level, who was in
the adjoining room, overheard the words.
"Something has happened to agitate my patient!" exclaimed Doctor
Macferraty, when, in leaving the room, he encountered Lady Level in
the passage, and was introduced to her by Mrs. Edwards.
"I am very sorry," she answered. "We were speaking of family affairs,
and Lord Level grew excited."
"Then, madam," said the doctor, "do not speak of family affairs again,
whilst he is in this weak condition, or of any other affairs likely to
excite him. You must, if you please, put off all such topics until he
is better."
"How long will that be?" asked Lady Level.
"I cannot say; it may be a week, or it may be a month. When once these
intermittent fevers get into the system, it is difficult to shake them
off again."
"It will not go on to--to anything worse?" questioned Lady Level
timidly, recalling what she had just overheard.
"I hope not; but I cannot answer for it. Your ladyship must be good
enough to bear in mind that much depends upon his keeping himself
tranquil, and upon those around helping to keep him so."
The doctor withdrew as he spoke, telling Mrs. Edwards that he would
look in again at night. Lord Level remained very excited throughout
the rest of the day; he had a bad night, the fever continuing, and was
no better in the morning. Mrs. Edwards had sat up with him.
Lady Level then made up her mind to remain at Marshdale, consulting
neither her lord nor anyone else. As Major Carlen had remarked,
Blanche was developing a will of her own. Though, indeed, it might not
have been right to leave him in his present condition. She sent for
Sanders and Timms, the two servants who had attended her from Germany,
and for certain luggage belonging to herself. Mrs. Edwards did the
best she could with this influx of visitors to a scantily-furnished
house. Lady Level occupied the chamber that opened from her husband's;
it also opened on to the corridor.
"Madam," said Dr. Macferraty to her, taking the bull by the horns on
one of the earliest days, "you must allow me to give you a word of
advice. Do not, just at present, enter Lord Level's chamber; wait
until he is a little stronger. He has just asked me whether you had
gone back to town, and I did not say no. It is evident that your being
here troubles him. The house, as it is at present, is not in a
condition to receive you, or he appears to think so. Therefore, so
long as he is in this precarious state, do not show yourself to him.
Let him think you have returned to London."
"Is his mind quite right again?"
"By no means. But he has lucid intervals. I assure your ladyship it is
of the very utmost importance that he should be kept tranquil.
Otherwise, I will not answer for the consequences."
Lady Level took the advice in all humility. Bitterly though she was
feeling upon some scores towards her husband, she did not want him to
die; no, nor to have brain-fever. So she kept the door closed between
her room and his, and was as quiet as a mouse at all times. And the
days began to pass on.
Blanche found them monotonous. She explored the house, but the number
of passages, short and long, their angles and their turnings, confused
her. She made the acquaintance of the steward, Mr. Drewitt, an elderly
gentleman who went about in a plum-coloured suit and a large cambric
frill to his shirt. One autumn morning when Blanche had traversed the
long corridor, beyond the rooms which she and Lord Level occupied,
she turned into another at right angles with it, and came to a door
that was partly open. Passing through it, she found herself in a
narrow passage that she had not before seen. Deborah, the good-natured
housemaid, suddenly came out of one of the rooms opening from it,
carrying a brush and dustpan. Deborah was the only servant kept in the
house, so far as Lady Level saw, apart from the cook, who was fat and
experienced.
"What a curious old house!" exclaimed Lady Level. "Nothing but dark
passages that turn and wind about until you don't know where you are."
"It is that, my lady," answered Deborah. "In the late lord's time the
servants took to calling it the maze, it puzzled them so. The name got
abroad, and some people call it the maze to this day."
"I don't think I have been in this passage before. Does anyone live or
sleep here?" added Lady Level, looking at the household articles
Deborah carried.
It was a dark, narrow passage, closed in by a door at each end. The
door at the upper end was of oak; heavy, and studded with nails. Four
rooms opened from the passage, two on each side.
"All these rooms are occupied by the master and missis," said Deborah,
alluding to the steward and his sister. "This is Mrs. Edwards's
chamber, my lady," pointing to the one she had just quitted. "That
beyond it is Mr. Drewitt's; the opposite room is their sitting-room,
and the one beside it is not used."
"Where does that heavy door lead to?" continued Lady Level.
"It leads into the East Wing, my lady," replied Deborah. "I have never
entered that wing all the two years I've lived here," continued the
gossiping girl. "I am not allowed to do so. The door is kept locked;
as well as the door answering to it in the passage below."
"Does no one ever go into it?"
"Why, yes, my lady; Mr. Drewitt does, and spends a good part of his
time there. He has a business-room there, in which he keeps his books
and papers relating to the estate. Mrs. Edwards is in there, too, with
him most days. And my lord goes in when he is down here."
"Then no one really inhabits that wing?"
"Oh yes, my lady, John Snow and his wife live in it; he's the head
gardener. A many years he has been in the family; and one of the last
things the late lord did before he died was to give him that wing to
live in. An easy life Snow has of it now; working or not, just as he
pleases. When there's any unusual work to be done, our gardener on
this side is had in to help with it."
Lady Level did not feel much interested in the wing, or in Snow the
gardener. But it happened that not half an hour after this
conversation, she chanced to see Mrs. Snow.
Leaning, in her listlessness, out of an open window that was just
above the side entrance, to which she had been conducted by the boy on
her way from the station, she was noticing how high the wall was that
separated the garden of the house from the garden of the East Wing.
Lofty trees, closely planted, also flanked the wall, so that not the
slightest glimpse could be had on either side of the other garden. The
East Wing, with its grounds, was as completely hidden from view as
though it had no existence. While rather wondering at this--for the
East Wing was, after all, a part of the house, and not detached from
it--Lady Level saw a woman emerge from a little sheltered doorway in
the wall, lock it after her, and come up the path, key in hand. This
obscure doorway, and another at the foot of the East Wing garden
opening to the road, were apparently the only means of entrance to it.
To the latter door, always kept locked, was attached a large bell,
which awoke the surrounding echoes whenever tradespeople or other
applicants rang at it.
"Is that you, Hannah Snow?" cried the cook, stepping forward to meet
the other as she came up the path. "And how are you to-day? Do you
want anything?"
Catching the name, Lady Level looked out more closely. She saw a tall,
strong, respectable woman of middle age, with a smiling, happy face,
and laughing hazel eyes. She wore a neat white cap, a clean cotton
gown and gray-checked apron.
"Yes, cook," was the answer, given in a merry voice. "I want you to
give me a handful of candied peel. I am preparing a batch of cakes for
my old man, never supposing I had not all the ingredients at hand, and
I find I have no peel. I'm sure I had some; and I tell John he must
have stolen it."
"What a shame!" cried the cook, taking the words more literally than
they were intended. Mrs. Snow laughed.
"Fact is, I suppose I used the last of it in the bread-and-butter
pudding I made last week," said she.
"You are always making cakes for that man o' yours, seems to me,
Hannah," grumbled the cook. "We can smell them over here when they're
baking, and that's pretty often."
"Seems I am: he's always asking for them," assented Hannah. "He likes
to eat one now and then between meals, you see.
"Well, he's a rare one for his inside," retorted the cook, as she went
in for the candied peel.
"They seem to do very much as they like here," was the only thought
that crossed Lady Level.
On this same day Lord Level, who had grown so much better as to be out
of danger, dismissed his doctor. Presenting him with a handsome
cheque, he told him that he required no further attendance. Blanche
received the news from Mrs. Edwards.
"But is he so well as that?" she asked, in surprise.
"Well, my lady, he is very much better, there's no doubt of that. He
will be out of bed to-morrow or the next day, and, if he takes care,
will have no relapse," was the housekeeper's answer. "No doubt it
might be safer for the doctor to continue to come a little longer, if
it were only to enjoin strict quiet; but you see my lord does not like
him."
"I fancied he did not."
"He is not our own doctor, as perhaps your ladyship has heard,"
pursued Mrs. Edwards. "_He_ is a Mr. Hill: a clever, pleasant man, of
a certain age, who was very intimate with the late lord. They were
close friends, I may say. When his lordship met with this accident, it
put him out uncommonly that we had to send for the young man, Dr.
Macferraty, Mr. Hill being away."
"If Lord Level is so well as to do without a doctor, I might go into
his room. Don't you think so, Mrs. Edwards?"
"Better not for a day or two, my lady; better not, indeed. I'm afraid
my lord will be angry at your having stayed here--there being no
fitting establishment or accommodation for your ladyship; and----"
"That is such nonsense!" interrupted Lady Level. "With Sanders and
Timms here, I am more attended to than is really necessary. And even
if I had to put up with discomfort for a short time, I dare say I
should survive it."
"And it might cause his lordship excitement, I was about to say,"
quickly continued Mrs. Edwards. "A very little thing would bring the
fever back again."
Blanche sighed rebelliously, but recognised the obligation to condemn
herself a little longer to this dreary existence.