The Red House at Holloway was, like its owner, a contradiction and
an anomaly. It had lain for many years in Chancery, neglected and
uncared-for, and the Baroness had purchased it for a song. She was
very fond of driving bargains, and sometimes she was horribly taken
in. She had been known to buy a house for two thousand pounds for a
mere caprice, and exchange it, six months afterwards, for a dinner
service. But as a rule she was too shrewd to be cheated, for her income
was not a tenth part of what she represented. When she had concluded
her bargain for the Red House, which she did after a single survey
of the premises, and entered on possession, she found it would take
double the sum she had paid to put it into proper repair. It was a
very old house of the Georgian era standing in its own grounds of
about a couple of acres, and containing thirty rooms, full of dust,
damp, rats, and decay. The Baroness, however, having sent for a couple
of workmen from the firm, to put the tangled wilderness which called
itself a garden, into something like order, sent in all her household
gods, and settled down there, with William and two rough maid servants,
as lady of the Manor. The inside of the Red House presented an
incongruous appearance. This extraordinary woman, who could not sound
her aspirates and could hardly write her own name, had a wonderful
taste for old china and pictures, and knew a good thing from a bad
one. Her drawing-room was heaped with valuables, many of them piled on
rickety tables which threatened every minute to overturn them upon the
ground. The entrance hall was dingy, bare, and ill-lighted, and the
breakfast-room to the side was furnished with the merest necessities.
Yet the dressing-table in the Baroness’s sleeping apartment was draped
in ruby velvet, and trimmed with a flounce of the most costly Brussels
lace, which a Princess might not have been ashamed to wear. The bed was
covered with a _duvet_ of the thickest satin, richly embroidered by
her own hand, whilst the washing-stand held a set of the commonest and
cheapest crockery. Everything about the house was on the same scale;
it looked as though it belonged to people who had fallen from the
utmost affluence to the depths of poverty. Harriet Brandt was terribly
disappointed when she entered it, Bobby’s accounts of the magnificence
of his home having led her to expect nothing short of a palace.
The Baroness had insisted on her accompanying them to England. She
had taken one of her violent fancies to the girl, and nothing would
satisfy her but that Harriet should go back with her husband and
herself to the Red House, and stay there as long as she chose.
“Now look ’ere,” she said in her rough way, “you must make the Red
’Ouse your ’ome. Liberty ’All, as I call it! Get up and go to bed; go
out and come in, just when you see fit--do what you like, see what you
like, and invite your friends, as if the ’ouse was your own. The Baron
and I are often ’alf the day at the boot shop, but that need make no
difference to you. I daresay you’ll find some way to amuse yourself.
You’re the daughter of the ’ouse, remember, and free to do as you
choose!”
Harriet gladly accepted the offer. She had no friends of her own to
go to, and the prospect of living by herself, in an unknown city, was
rather lonely. She was full of anticipation also that by means of the
Red House and the Baroness’s influence, she would soon hear of, or see,
Captain Pullen again--full of hope that Madame Gobelli would write
to the young man and force him to fulfil the promises he had made to
her. She did not want to know Prince Adalbert or Prince Loris--at the
present moment, it was Ralph and Ralph only, and none other would fill
the void she felt at losing him. She was sure there must be some great
mistake at the bottom of his strange silence, and that they had but to
meet, to see it rectified. She was only too glad then, when the day for
their departure from Heyst arrived. Most of the English party had left
the Lion d’Or by that time. The death of Mrs. Pullen’s child seemed
to have frightened them away. Some became nervous lest little Ethel
had inhaled poisonous vapours from the drainage--others thought that
the atmosphere was unhealthy, or that it was getting too late in the
year for the seaside, and so the visitors dwindled, until the Baroness
Gobelli found they were left alone with foreigners, and elected to
return to England in consequence.
Harriet had wished to write to Captain Pullen and ask for an
explanation of his conduct, but the Baroness conjured her not to do so,
even threatened to withdraw her friendship, if the girl went against
her advice. The probabilities were, she said, that the young man was
staying with his sister-in-law wherever she might be, and that the
letter would be forwarded to him from the Camp, and fall into the hands
of Mrs. Pullen, or Miss Leyton. She assured Harriet that it would be
safer to wait until she had ascertained his address, and was sure that
any communication would reach him at first hand.
“A man’s never the worse for being let alone, ’Arriet,” she said.
“Don’t let ’im think ’e’s of too much consequence and ’e’ll value you
all the more! Our fellows don’t care for the bird that walks up to the
gun. A little ’olesome indifference will do my gentleman all the good
in the world!”
“O! but how _can_ I be indifferent, when I am burning to see him
again, and to hear why he never wrote to say that he could not come
to Brussels,” exclaimed Harriet, excitedly. “Do you think it was all
falsehoods, Madame Gobelli? Do you think that he does not want to see
me any more?”
Her eyes were flashing like diamonds--her cheeks and hands were burning
hot. The Baroness chuckled over her ardour and anxiety.
“He! he! he! you little fool, no, I don’t! Anyone could see with ’alf
an eye, that he took a fancy for you! You’re the sort of stuff to stir
up a man and make ’im forget everything but yourself. Now don’t you
worry. ’E’ll be at the Red ’Ouse like a shot, as soon as ’e ’ears we’re
back in London. Mark my words! it won’t be long before we ’ave the ’ole
lot of ’em down on us, like bees ’umming round a flower pot.”
After this flattering tale, it was disheartening to arrive in town on
a chilly September day, under a pouring rain, and to see the desolate
appearance presented by the Red House.
It was seven in the evening before they reached Holloway, and drove up
the dark carriage drive, clumped by laurels, to the hall door.
After the grand description given by Bobby of his Mamma’s barouche
lined with olive green satin, Harriet was rather astonished that they
should have to charter cabs from the Victoria Station to Holloway,
instead of being met by the Baroness’s private carriage. But she
discovered afterwards that though there was a barouche standing in
the coach-house, which had been purchased in a moment of reckless
extravagance by Madame Gobelli, there were no horses to draw it, and
the only vehicle kept by the Baroness was a very much patched, not to
say disreputable looking Victoria, with a spavined cob attached to it,
in which William drove the mistress when she visited the boot premises.
The chain having been taken down, the hall door was opened to them
by a slight, timid looking person, whom Harriet mistook for an upper
housemaid.
“Well, Miss Wynward,” exclaimed the Baroness, as she stumped into the
hall, “’ere we are, you see!”
“Yes! my lady,” said the person she addressed, “but I thought, from not
hearing again, that you would travel by the night boat! Your rooms are
ready,” she hastened to add, “only--dinner, you see! I had no orders
about it!”
“That doesn’t signify,” interrupted the Baroness, “send out for a steak
and give us some supper instead! ’Ere William, where are you? Take my
bag and Miss Brandt’s up to our rooms, and, Gustave, you can carry the
wraps! Where’s that devil Bobby? Come ’ere at once and make yourself
useful! What are you standing there, staring at ’Arriet for? Don’t you
see Miss Wynward? Go and say ‘’ow d’ye do’ to ’er?”
Bobby started, and crossing to where Miss Wynward stood, held out his
hand. She shook it warmly.
“How are you, Bobby?” she said. “You don’t look much stronger for your
trip. I expected to see you come back with a colour!”
“Nonsense!” commenced the Baroness testily, “what rubbish you old maids
do talk! What should you know about boys? ’Ow many ’ave _you_ got?
’Ere, why don’t you kiss ’im? You’ve smacked ’im often enough, _I_
know!”
Miss Wynward tried to pass the coarse rejoinder off as a joke, but it
was with a very plaintive smile that she replied,
“I think Bobby is growing rather too tall to be kissed, and he thinks
so too, don’t you, Bobby?”
Bobby was about to make some silly reply, when his Mamma interrupted
him,
“Oh! does he? ’E’ll be wanting to kiss the gals soon, so ’e may as
well practise on you first! Come! Bobby, do you ’ear what I say? Kiss
’er!”
But Miss Wynward drew up her spare figure with dignity.
“No! my lady!” she said quietly, “I do not wish it!”
“He! he! he!” giggled the Baroness, as she commenced to mount the
stairs, “’e ain’t old enough for you, that’s what’s the matter! Come
along, ’Arriet, my dear! I’m dog-tired and I daresay you’re much the
same! Let us ’ave some ’ot water to our rooms, Miss Wynward!”
Harriet Brandt was now ushered by her hostess into a bedroom on the
same floor as her own, and left to unpack her bundles and boxes as
she best might. It was not a badly furnished room, but there was too
much pomp and too little comfort in it. The mantelshelf was ornamented
with some rare old Chelsea figures, and a Venetian glass hung above
them, but the carpet was threadbare, and the dressing-table was
inconveniently small and of painted deal. But as though to atone for
these discrepancies, the hangings to the bed were of satin, and the
blind that shaded the window was edged with Neapolitan lace. Harriet
had not been used to luxuries in the Convent, but her rooms in the Lion
d’Or had been amply provided with all she could need, and she was a
creature of sensual and indolent temperament, who felt any rebuff, in
the way of her comfort, terribly.
There was an un-homelike feeling in the Red House and its furniture,
and a coldness in their reception, which made the passionate, excited
creature feel inclined to sit down and burst into tears. She was on
the very brink of doing so, when a tap sounded on the door, and Miss
Wynward entered with a zinc can of hot water, which she placed on the
washing-stand. Then she stood for a moment regarding the girl as though
she guessed what was in her mind, before she said,
“Miss Brandt, I believe! I am so sorry that the Baroness never wrote
me with any certainty regarding her arrival, or things would have been
more comfortable. I hope you had a good dinner on board!”
“No!” said Harriet, shaking her head, “I felt too ill to eat. But it
does not signify, thank you!”
“But you are looking quite upset! Supper cannot be ready for another
hour. I will go and make you a cup of tea!”
She hurried from the room again, and presently returned with a small
tray on which was set a Sèvres cup and saucer and Apostle teaspoon,
with an earthenware teapot that may possibly have cost sixpence. But
Harriet was too grateful for the tea to cavil whence it came, and
drinking it refreshed her more than anything else could have done.
“Thank you, thank you so much,” she said to Miss Wynward, “I think the
long journey and the boat had been too much for me. I feel much better
now!”
“It is such a melancholy house to come to when one is out of sorts,”
observed her companion, “I have felt that myself! It will not give you
a good impression of your first visit to London. Her ladyship wrote me
you had just come from the West Indies,” she added, timidly.
“Yes! I have not long arrived in Europe,” replied Harriet. “But I
thought--I fancied--the Baroness gave me the idea that the Red House
was particularly gay and cheerful, and that so many people visited her
here!”
“That is true! A great many people visit here! But--not such people,
perhaps, as a young lady would care for!”
“O! I care for every sort,” said Harriet, more gaily, “and you,--don’t
you care for company, Miss Wynward?”
“I have nothing to do with it, Miss Brandt, beyond seeing that the
proper preparations are made for receiving it. I am Bobby’s governess,
and housekeeper to the Baroness!”
“Bobby is getting rather tall for a governess!” laughed Harriet.
“He is, poor boy, but his education is very deficient. He ought to have
been sent to school long ago, but her ladyship would not hear of it.
But I never teach him now. He is supposed to be finished!”
“Why don’t you find another situation then?” demanded Harriet, who was
becoming interested in the ex-governess.
She was a fragile, melancholy looking woman of perhaps five-and-thirty,
who had evidently been good-looking in her day and would have been so
then but for her attenuation, and shabby dress. But she was evidently a
gentlewoman, and far above the menial offices she appeared to fill in
the Red House. She gazed at Harriet for a minute in silence after she
had put the last question to her, and then answered slowly:
“There are reasons which render it unadvisable. But you, Miss Brandt,
have you known the Baroness before?”
“I never saw her till we met at Heyst and she invited me here,” replied
the girl.
“O! why did you come? Why did you come?” exclaimed Miss Wynward, as she
left the room.
Harriet stood gazing at the door as it closed behind her. _Why had
she come?_ What an extraordinary question to ask her! For the same
reason that other people accepted invitations to them by their
friends--because she expected to enjoy herself, and have the protection
of the Baroness on first entering English society! But why should this
governess--her dependant, almost her servant--put so strange a question
to her? Why had she come? She could not get it out of her mind. She was
roused from her train of speculation by hearing the Baroness thumping
on the outside panels of her door with her stick.
“Come along,” she cried, “never mind dressing! The supper’s ready at
last and I’m as ’ungry as an ’unter.”
Hastily completing her toilet, Harriet joined her hostess, who
conducted her down to a large dining-room, wrapt in gloom. The two
dozen morocco chairs ranged against the wall, looked sepulchral by
the light of a single lamp, placed in the centre of a long mahogany
table, which was graced by a fried steak, a huge piece of cheese,
bread and butter, and lettuces from the garden. Harriet regarded the
preparations for supper with secret dismay. She was greedy by nature,
but it was the love of good feeding, rather than a superfluity of food,
that induced her to be so. However, when the Baron produced a couple
of bottles of the very best Champagne to add to the meal, she felt her
appetite somewhat revive, and played almost as good a knife and fork
as the Baroness. Bobby and Miss Wynward, who as it appeared, took her
meals with the family, were the only ones who did not do justice to the
supper.
The lad looked worn-out and very pale, but when Miss Wynward suggested
that a glass of champagne might do him good, and dispel the exhaustion
under which he was evidently labouring, his mother vehemently opposed
the idea.
“Champagne for a child like ’im,” she cried, “I never ’eard of such
a thing. Do you want to make ’im a drunkard, Miss Wynward? No! thank
you, there ’ave been no ’ard drinkers in _our_ family, and ’e shan’t
begin it! ’Is father was one of the soberest men alive! ’E never took
anything stronger than toast and water all the time I knew ’im.”
“Of course not, your ladyship,” stammered Miss Wynward, who seemed in
abject fear of her employer, “I only thought as Bobby seems so very
tired, that a little stimulant----”
“Then let ’im go to bed,” replied Madame Gobelli. “Bed is the proper
place for boys when they’re tired! Come, Sir, off to bed with you,
at once, and don’t let me ’ear anything more of you till to-morrow
morning!”
“But mayn’t I have some supper?” pleaded Bobby.
“Not a bit of it!” reiterated the Baroness, “if you’re so done up that
you require champagne, your stomach can’t be in a fit state to digest
beef and bread! Be off at once, I say, or you’ll get a taste of my
stick.”
“But, my lady--” said Miss Wynward, entreatingly.
“It’s not a bit of good, Miss Wynward, I know more about boys’ insides
than you do. Sleep’s the thing for Bobby. Now, no more nonsense, I
say--”
But Bobby, after one long look at Harriet Brandt, had already quitted
the room. This episode had the effect of destroying Miss Wynward’s
appetite. She sat gazing at her plate for a few minutes, and then with
some murmured excuse of its being late, she rose and disappeared. The
Baroness was some time over her meal, and Harriet had an opportunity
to examine the apartment they sat in, as well as the dim light allowed
her to do. The walls were covered with oil paintings and good ones,
as she could see at a glance, whilst at the further end, where narrow
shelves were fixed from the floor to the ceiling, was displayed the
famous dinner service of Sèvres, for which the Baroness was said to
have bartered the two thousand lease of her house.
Harriet glanced from the pictures and the china upon the walls to
the steak and bread and cheese upon the table, and marvelled at the
incongruity of the whole establishment. Madame Gobelli who, whilst at
the Lion d’Or, had appeared to think nothing good enough for her, was
now devouring fried steak and onions, as if they had been the daintiest
of fare. But the champagne made amends, on that night at least, for the
solids which accompanied it, and the girl was quite ready to believe
that the poverty of the table was only due to the fact that they had
arrived at the Red House unexpectedly. As they reached the upper
corridor, her host and hostess parted with her, with much effusion,
and passing into their own room, shut the door and locked it noisily.
As Harriet gained hers, she saw the door opposite partly unclose to
display poor Bobby standing there to see her once again.
He was clothed only in his long night-shirt, and looked like a lanky
ghost, but he was too childish in mind to think for one moment that his
garb was not a suitable one for a lover to accost his mistress in. She
heard him whisper her name as she turned the handle of her own door.
“Why, Bobby,” she exclaimed, “not in bed yet?”
“Hush! hush!” he said in a low voice, “or Mamma will hear you! I
couldn’t sleep till I had seen you again and wished you good-night!”
“Poor dear boy! Are you not very hungry?”
“No, thanks. Miss Wynward is very kind to me. She has seen after that.
But to leave without a word to you. That was the hard part of it!”
“Poor Bobby!” ejaculated Harriet again, drawing nearer to him. “But you
must not stay out of bed. You will catch your death of cold!”
“Kiss me then and I will go!”
He advanced his face to the opening of the door, and she put her lips
to his, and drew his breath away with her own.
“Good-night! good-night!” murmured Bobby with a long sigh. “God bless
you! good-night!” and then he disappeared, and Harriet entered her own
room, and her eyes gleamed, as she recognised the fact that Bobby also
was going to make a fool of himself for her sake.
The next morning she was surprised on going downstairs at about nine
o’clock, to find a cloth laid over only part of the dining table, and
breakfast evidently prepared for one person. She was still gazing at it
in astonishment, and wondering what it meant, when Miss Wynward entered
the room, to express a hope that Miss Brandt had slept well and had
everything that she required.
“O! certainly yes! but where are we going to have breakfast?”
“Here, Miss Brandt, if it pleases you. I was just about to ask what you
would like for your breakfast.”
“But the Baron and Baroness--”
“O! they started for the manufactory two hours ago. Her ladyship is a
very early riser when at home, and they have some four miles to drive.”
“The manufactory!” echoed Harriet, “do you mean where they make the
boots and shoes?”
“Yes! There is a manufactory in Germany, and another in England, where
the boots and shoes are finished off. And then there is the shop in
Oxford Street, where they are sold. The Baron’s business is a very
extensive one!”
“So I have understood, but what good can Madame Gobelli do there? What
can a woman know about such things?”
Miss Wynward shrugged her shoulders.
“She looks after the young women who are employed, I believe, and keeps
them up to their work. The Baroness is a very clever woman. She knows
something about most things--and a good deal that were better left
unknown,” she added, with a sigh.
“And does she go there every morning?”
“Not always, but as a rule she does. She likes to have a finger in the
pie, and fancies that nothing can go on properly without her. And she
is right so far that she has a much better head for business than the
Baron, who would like to be out of it all if he could!”
“But why can’t he give it up then, since they are so very rich?”
demanded Harriet.
Miss Wynward regarded her for a moment, as if she wondered who had
given her the information, and then said quietly,
“But all this time we are forgetting your breakfast, Miss Brandt! What
will you take? An egg, or a piece of bacon?”
“O! I don’t care,” replied Harriet, yawning, “I never can eat when I am
alone! Where is Bobby? Won’t he take his breakfast with me?”
“O! he had his long ago with his Mamma, but I daresay he would not mind
a second edition, poor boy!”
She walked to the French windows which opened from a rustic porch to
the lawn, and called “Bobby! Bobby!”
“Yes, Miss Wynward,” replied the lad in a more cheerful tone than
Harriet remembered to have ever heard him use before, “what is it?”
“Come in, my dear, and keep Miss Brandt company, whilst she takes her
breakfast!”
“Won’t I!” cried Bobby, as he came running from the further end of the
disorderly garden, with a bunch of flowers.
“They are for you!” he exclaimed, as he put them into Harriet’s hand,
“I gathered them on purpose!”
“Thank you, Bobby,” she replied. “It _was_ kind of you!”
She felt cheered by the simple attention. For her hostess to have
left her on the very first morning, without a word of explanation,
had struck her as looking very much (notwithstanding all the effusive
flattery and protestations of attachment with which she had been laden)
as if she were not wanted at the Red House.
But when her morning meal was over, and she had been introduced to
every part of the establishment under the chaperonage of Bobby--to the
tangled, overgrown garden, the empty stables, Papa’s library, which
was filled with French and German books, and Mamma’s drawing-room,
which was so full of valuable china that one scarcely dared move freely
about it--the burning thirst to see, or hear something of Ralph Pullen
returned with full force upon Harriet, and she enquired eagerly of Miss
Wynward when her hostess might be expected to return.
Miss Wynward looked rather blank as she replied,
“Not till dinner time, I am afraid! I fancy she will find too much to
enquire about and to do, after so long an absence from home. I am so
sorry, Miss Brandt,” she continued, noting the look of disappointment
on the girl’s face, “that her ladyship did not make this plain to you
last night. Her injunctions to me were to see that you had everything
you required, and to spare no trouble or expense on your account. But
that is not like having her here, of course! Have you been into the
library? There are some nice English works there, and there is a piano
in the drawing-room which you might like to use. I am afraid it is not
in tune, on account of the rain we have had, and that I have not opened
it myself during the Baroness’s absence, and indeed it is never used,
except to teach Bobby his music lessons on, but it may amuse you in
default of anything else.”
“O! I daresay I shall find something to amuse myself with,” replied
Harriet rather sullenly, “I have my own instrument with me, and my
books, thank you! But is no one likely to call this afternoon, do you
think?”
“This afternoon,” echoed Miss Wynward, “are you expecting any of your
own friends to see you?”
“O! no! I have no friends in England,--none at least that know I have
returned from Heyst. But the Baroness told me--she said the Red House
was always full of guests--Prince Adalbert and Prince Loris, and a lot
of others--do you think they may come to-day to see her?”
“O! not in September,” replied her companion, “it is not the season
now, Miss Brandt, and all the fashionable people are out of town, at
the foreign watering-places, or shooting in the country. Her ladyship
could never have intended you to understand that the people you have
mentioned would come here at any time except between May and July! They
_do_ come here then--sometimes--but not I expect, as _you_ think--not
as friends, I mean!”
“Not as _friends_! What as, then?” demanded Harriet.
“Well!” returned Miss Wynward, dubiously, “many of them have business
with her ladyship, and they come to see her upon it! I generally
conduct them to her presence, and leave them alone with her, but that
is all I see of them! They have never come here to a party, or dinner,
to my knowledge!”
“How very extraordinary!” cried Harriet. “What do they come for then?”
“The Baroness must tell you that!” replied the other, gravely, “I am
not in her confidence, and if I were, I should not feel justified in
revealing it.”
This conversation drove Harriet to her room to indite a letter to
Captain Pullen. If she were to be deprived of the society of dukes
and princes, she would at least secure the company of one person
who could make the time pass pleasantly to her. As she wrote to him,
rapidly, unadvisedly, passionately, her head burned and her heart was
fluttering. She felt as if she had been deceived--cheated--decoyed
to the Red House under false pretences, and she was in as much of a
rage as her indolent nature would permit her to be. The revelations of
Miss Wynward had sunk down into her very soul. No parties, no dinners,
with princes handing her into the dining-room and whispering soft
nothings into her ears all the time! Why had Madame Gobelli so often
promised to console her for the loss of Captain Pullen by this very
means, and it was a dream, a chimera, they only came to the Red House
on business--business, horrid unromantic word--and were shut up with
the Baroness. _What_ business, she wondered! Could it be about boots
and shoes, and if so, why did they not go to the shop, which surely
was the proper place from which to procure them! The idea that she had
been deceived in this particular, made her write far more warmly and
pleadingly perhaps, than she would otherwise have done. A bird in the
hand was worth two in the bush--Harriet was not conversant with the
proverb, but she fully endorsed the sentiment. When her letter was
written and addressed to the Camp at Aldershot, and she had walked out
with Bobby to post it in the pillar box, she felt happier and less
resentful. At all events she was her own mistress and could leave the
Red House when she chose, and take up her abode elsewhere. A hot sun
had dried the garden paths and grass, and she spent the rest of the
afternoon wandering about the unshaven lawn with Bobby, and lingering
on the rotten wooden benches under the trees, with the boy’s arm round
her waist, and his head drooping on her shoulder.
Bobby was blissfully happy, and she was content. If we cannot get
caviare, it is wise to content ourselves with cod’s roe. They spent
hours together that afternoon, until the dusk had fallen and the hour
of dining had drawn nigh. They talked of Heyst and the pleasures they
had left behind them, and Harriet was astonished to hear how manly were
some of Bobby’s ideas and sentiments, when out of sight of his Mamma.
At last, the strident tones of the Baroness’s voice were heard echoing
through the grounds. Harriet and Bobby leaped to their feet in a moment.
“’Ere, ’Arriet! Bobby! where are you? You’re a nice son and daughter to
’ide away from me, when I’ve been toiling for your benefit all the day.”
She came towards them as she spoke, and when Harriet saw how fatigued
she looked, she almost forgave her for leaving her in the lurch as she
had done.
“I suppose you thought we were both dead, didn’t you?” she continued.
“Well, we are, almost. Never ’ad such a day’s work in my life! Found
everything wrong, of course! You can’t turn your back for five minutes
but these confounded workmen play old ’Arry with your business! I sent
off ten fellows before I’d been in the factory ten minutes, and fined
as many girls, and ’ave been running all over London since to replace
’em. It’s ’ard work, I can tell you!”
She plumped down upon the rotten seat, nearly bringing it to the
ground, as she spoke, and burst out laughing.
“You should ’ave seen one man, you would ’ave died of laughing! ‘Get
out,’ I said to ’im, ‘not another day’s work do you do ’ere!’ ‘Get out
of the factory where I’ve worked for twenty years?’ ’e said, ‘Well,
then, I shan’t, not for you! If the governor ’ad said so, it might be
a different thing, but a woman ’as no right to come interfering in
business as she knows nothing about!’ ‘That’s the way the wind lies,’
I replied, ‘and you want a man to turn you out! We’ll soon see if a
woman can’t do it!’ and I took my stick and laid it on his back till
he holload again. He was out of the place before you could say Jack
Robinson! ‘’Ow will that do?’ I said to the others, ‘who else wants a
taste of my stick before ’e’ll go!’ But they all cleared out before I
’ad done speaking! I laughed till I was ill! But come along, children!
It’s time for dinner!” As they returned to the house, she accosted
Harriet,
“I ’ope you’ve amused yourself to-day! You’ll ’ave to look after
yourself whenever I’m at the factory! But a ’andsome gal like you won’t
want long for amusement. We’ll ’ave plenty of company ’ere, soon! Miss
Wynward,” she continued, as they entered the dining-room, “Mr. Milliken
is coming to-morrow! See that ’is room is ready for ’im!”
“Very good, my lady!” replied Miss Wynward, but Harriet fancied she did
not like the idea of Mr. Milliken staying with them.
The dinner proceeded merrily. It was more sumptuous than the day
before, consisting of several courses, and the champagne flowed freely.
Harriet, sitting at her ease and thoroughly enjoying the repast,
thought that it atoned for all the previous inconvenience. But a
strange incident occurred before the meal was over. The Baron, who
was carver, asked Bobby twice if he would take some roast beef, and
received no answer, which immediately aroused the indignation of the
Baroness.
“Do you ’ear what your father is saying to you, Bobby?” she cried,
shrilly. “Answer ’im at once or I’ll send you out of the room! Will you
’ave some beef?”
But still there was no reply.
“My lady! I think that he is ill,” said Miss Wynward in alarm.
“Ill! Rubbish!” exclaimed the Baroness. Being so coarse-fibred and
robust a woman herself, she never had any sympathy with delicacy or
illness, and generally declared all invalids to be humbugs, shamming in
order to attract the more attention. She now jumped up from her seat,
and going round to her son’s chair, shook him violently by the shoulder.
“’Ere, wake up! what are you about?” she exclaimed, “if you don’t sit
up at once and answer your father’s question, I’ll lay my stick about
your back!”
She was going to put her argument into effect, when Harriet prevented
her.
“Stop! stop! Madame Gobelli!” she exclaimed; “can’t you see, he has
fainted!”
It was really true! Bobby had fainted dead away in his chair, where he
lay white as a sheet, with closed eyes, and limp body. Miss Wynward
flew to her pupil’s assistance.
“Poor dear boy! I was sure he was not well directly he entered the
house,” she said.
“Not well!” replied the Baroness, “nonsense! what should ail ’im? ’Is
father was one of the strongest men on God’s earth! He never ’ad a
day’s illness in ’is life. ’Ow should the boy, a great ’ulking fellow
like ’im, ’ave got ill?”
She spoke roughly, but there was a tremor in her voice as she uttered
the words, and she looked at Bobby as though she were afraid of him.
But as he gradually revived under Miss Wynward’s treatment, she
approached nearer, and said with some tenderness in her tones,
“Well! Bobby, lad, and ’ow do you feel now?”
“Better, Mamma, thank you! only my head keeps going round!”
“Had I not better help him up to his bed, my lady?” asked Miss Wynward.
“O! yes! but I ’ope ’e isn’t going to make a fool of ’imself like this
again, for I don’t ’old with boys fainting like hysterical gals!”
“I couldn’t help it, Mamma!” said Bobby faintly.
“O! yes! you could, if you ’ad any pluck! You never saw _me_ faint. Nor
Gustave either! It’s all ’abit! Trundle ’im off to bed, Miss Wynward.
The sooner ’e’s there, the better!”
“And I may give him a little stimulant,” suggested Miss Wynward
timidly, recalling the scene of the evening before, “a little champagne
or brandy and water--I think he requires it, my lady!”
“O! yes! Coddle ’im to your ’eart’s content, only don’t let me ’ear of
it! I ’ate a fuss! Good-night, Bobby! Mind you’re well by to-morrow
morning!”
And she brushed the lad’s cheek with her bristly chin.
“Good-night!” replied Bobby, “good-night to all!” as he was supported
from the room on the arm of Miss Wynward.
The Baroness did not make any further remarks concerning her son, but
Harriet noticed that her appetite disappeared with him, and declaring
that she had tired herself too much to eat, she sat unoccupied and
almost silent for the remainder of the meal.