As Nell walked back to Panty-cuckoo alone (for she would not let Hugh
accompany her) she could not decide if she were pleased or sorry at
what had taken place between them. Certainly she did not realise it.
She was as much Lord Ilfracombe’s widow as she had been on setting out,
and did not feel like the betrothed of anybody. But one thing did seem
to please her--the idea of leaving England and all its sad associations
behind, and going to a new country, to live amidst new surroundings and
new people. Her heart had been growing faint and sick with England for
a long time past. To go to South Africa; to sail on the sea; to see the
wondrous vegetation that adorns it--the hedges of cacti, the bowers
of orange-trees, the ostriches and the gorillas; all the wonders, in
fact, of which she had read in the books which Hugh had lent her--this
was what she thought of most as she wended her way slowly homewards.
If an occasional remembrance struck her that they could not be enjoyed
without the accompaniment of Hugh’s society she put it from her with
a slight frown, and fell to thinking of the other instead. Hugh had
said he would not worry her; that she should do exactly as she pleased;
that he would ask nothing from her till she was ready to grant it; and
Hugh was a man of his word. He would not say one thing and do another.
She was quite safe with him. They would go out to Africa together, and
whilst he taught the men and preached to them she would be kind and
helpful to the mothers and the little black children, and show them
how to make their clothes, and take care of their health, and cook
their food. She pictured herself clad in a white dress, with a broad
straw hat on, walking amongst her sable sisters, nursing them when
they were sick, or joining in their merry-makings and festivities. She
could better forget there, Nell said to herself, than in a country that
reminded her at every turn of what she had lost. And Hugh was very
good to her, there was no doubt of that, and would guard and protect
her from further evil till her life’s end. He knew her secret, and
he did not despise her for it, that was more than she could say for
anybody else. Even the servants in Grosvenor Square, over whom she
had reigned supreme, had shown her, but too plainly, as soon as they
dared, that they considered her a little lower than themselves. She
dared not think what her father and mother and Hetty would say if they
were made cognisant of the truth. Nell knew her parents’ strict ideas
on propriety too well. Her mother would upbraid her for having brought
the first shame into their virtuous family--her father would, in all
probability, turn her out of the house, and tell her her presence
contaminated both her mother and her sister. The poor, when virtuous,
are very virtuous indeed. They cannot understand the temptations of the
upper classes and those who are thrown in contact with them, because
they are not subjected to the same themselves. What working man has the
leisure to go after his neighbour’s wife? When his day’s labour is over
he is too tired to go courting, to say nothing of the fact that his
neighbour’s task is over at the same time, and he is keeping safe guard
over his sheepfold. No, her own people would show no sympathy for her
disgrace! Nell was quite aware of that. Hugh, who was so good himself
and a minister of the gospel, was the only one she would have dared
tell her story to, and he could so far overlook it as to wish to make
her his wife. She owed Hugh something, and some day, perhaps, she might
repay the debt. At present, however, what had passed between them was
to remain with themselves. She had made him promise that. She felt if
it were made public property she could never get out of it again. What
with the Owens and the Llewellyns she would be forced into a marriage,
to think of which made her shudder. Things must go on exactly as usual,
till she knew what was going to happen at Panty-cuckoo Farm, and then,
if her father decided to emigrate (which was by no means likely at
present), it would be time for her to make up her mind. Meanwhile, it
all seemed a long way off, and Nell felt easier for the concession she
had accorded Hugh. She had experienced so many qualms as to whether she
had been wise in placing confidence in him, but now there was no doubt
that he would respect her secret for his own sake as well as hers.
So she went back to Panty-cuckoo Farm in better spirits than she had
displayed for some time past, and found her mother in close converse
with Mrs Hody, the housekeeper from Usk Hall. The two women had tea
spread before them, and were evidently going in for a regular ‘confab.’
‘Going to raise the rents again,’ old Mrs Hody was saying as Nell
walked into the room. ‘Well, I never. I wonder Mr Bastian, the steward,
didn’t tell me of it. I expect he was too much ashamed. Not that it’s
his doing, poor man. He can only follow the master’s lead. But, dear
me, Mrs Llewellyn, it’s easy to guess who is at the bottom of it.
It’s my lady’s high jinks and no mistake. It would take twice Sir
Archibald’s money to cover them. Now, there’s all new papering to be
put up in the bedrooms. I’m sure the paper was good enough for anybody.
It’s not been up more than a couple o’ years, but there’s to be a grand
party at the hall this summer, and I suppose nothing is too good for
’em.’
‘When are the family coming home, Mrs Hody?’ asked Nell.
‘Next month, my lass, and you’d better get your best gowns ready, for
there’s to be a power of young gentlemen with them and no mistake. I’ve
just been talking to your mother here about her rooms. I wish she
could let us have the use of four, just for a month or two, for where
I’m to put them all I don’t know.’
‘But it is impossible, Mrs Hody, or I’d willingly oblige you. But you
know I couldn’t do it even before my Nell came home, and it is more
impossible than ever now.’
‘I could lend you the furniture,’ said the housekeeper, coaxingly, ‘if
that’s the obstacle. We’ve got enough stowed away at the top of the
house to furnish five or six rooms. We make up sixteen beds ourselves,
but they’ll be all full. Whatever they can want with such a heap of
guests beats me. I’ve been up the village this afternoon to see if the
Wilkins’ or Turners’ girls were at home, for we shall want extra help,
but, like my luck, they’re all in service.’
‘Perhaps our Nell here might be of use to you, Mrs Hody,’ interposed
Mrs Llewellyn. ‘She’s been used to service, you know, and I guess she’s
a good hand at it. What say, Nell? Will ye go up to the Hall and help
Mrs Hody when the folks arrive?’
Nell grew scarlet. What if some of the ‘folks’ should have seen her in
London and recognise her!
‘Oh, no, mother,’ she exclaimed, shrinking back, ‘I couldn’t! I don’t
know enough about it. I’ve never been in any place, remember, except in
the nursery and then as housekeeper. I have never done any housework or
cooking.’
Mrs Hody looked at the girl’s beautiful face suspiciously.
‘You’re very young for a housekeeper, especially since you can have had
no previous experience. Who engaged you for the place?’
‘Lord Ilfracombe,’ replied Nell timidly--she always became timid when
the earl was alluded to.
‘And what aged man was he, my dear?’ continued Mrs Hody.
‘Oh, I don’t know--somewhere between twenty and thirty, I suppose;
quite young, of course, but I hardly ever saw him. He was often absent
from home.’
‘And how did the servants like taking their orders from such a lass as
you? Didn’t they give you trouble sometimes?’ went on her inquisitor.
‘Oh, no, they were all old servants. They knew their duty,’ said Nell
confusedly, and then she added, to hide her embarrassment,--‘But do
tell me, Mrs Hody, the names of some of the visitors you are expecting.
It is such an event to see strangers in Usk. Are there lords and ladies
amongst them?’
‘Lords and ladies, my dear. Why, they’re most all lords and ladies this
time, asked on purpose to meet a royal prince, who has condescended
to stay for a week with Sir Archibald. Lor’! what a fuss my lady will
make over him, to be sure. I expect she’s half wild with joy that he is
coming. And there’ll be more cards and high play than ever, I suppose,
and turning night into day, as I’ve just been telling your good mother.
No one in bed till two or three in the morning, and candles left
guttering all over the tablecloths, and wine spilt over the carpets,
and there--it makes me sick to talk of it. I do declare if the play
goes on this time as it did last year, I shall give Sir Archibald
warning. It’s scandalous! I did hear as one poor man--Captain Trelany
was his name--was quite ruined by it, and has been obliged to sell out
of his regiment in consequence and go abroad. Such a wicked thing for a
man of Sir Archibald’s age to encourage in his house, but there! it’s
all _her_ fault. She don’t go on a bit like a married lady, and I don’t
care who hears me say so. A running after gents as she does, screaming
and laughing like a schoolgirl, and driving over the place like a mad
woman. I’m sure I wish sometimes I’d never set eyes on her face.’
‘Ah, I’m glad our Nell has nothing to do with such,’ said Mrs
Llewellyn, ‘for it must be a bad example for a young girl. My daughters
have been brought up steady and respectable, and if I thought they
would ever take to such ways, it would break my heart.’
‘What gentlemen are you going to send to mother, Mrs Hody?’ said Nell
to turn the conversation.
‘I don’t know yet, my dear, but they are sure to be bachelors, so don’t
you listen to any nonsense they may say to you. Young gentlemen are not
half particular enough in these days. They talk a lot of rubbish to a
pretty girl and mean nothing by it, whilst she maybe takes it all for
gospel truth, and cries her eyes out when she finds it was only their
fun. Men always have been took, and always will be took by a pretty
face to the end of time, and think it’s an honour for any poor girl to
receive notice from them; but don’t you believe nothing they may say to
you, Nell, for gentlemen marry for money now-a-days and nothing else it
strikes me.’
But at this adjuration Mrs Llewellyn ruffled up her feathers like an
old hen when her chickens are attacked.
‘You needn’t come for to give such advice to any girl of mine, Mrs
Hody!’ she exclaimed, quite hotly, ‘for it isn’t needed. Believe
any rubbish a gentleman born might say to her! I should think not,
indeed. Nell is much too sensible for that. She knows that gentleman’s
compliments mean no good for poor girls, and would not encourage such a
thing for a moment. My lasses are not like the Simpsons, Mrs Hody, nor
yet the Manleys. They’ve never been allowed to run loose for anyone to
talk to, but been reared in a God-fearing way and taught that His eye
is on them everywhere. There’s no occasion for you to caution them. I
can assure you, I would rather see Nell stretched dead at my feet, than
think her capable of such folly. Why, who knows what it might lead to?
Gentlemen have flattering tongues sometimes for country girls, and put
all sorts of silly ideas into their heads. If I thought our Nell would
even speak to such lodgers as you may choose to send us, Mrs Hody, I
wouldn’t let my rooms to you, not if you gave me ten pounds a week for
them, there!’
And Mrs Llewellyn, quite exhausted by her efforts, stopped talking and
wiped her steaming face with her apron.
‘Oh, mother, dear, why make so much of it?’ said Nell, with cheeks of
crimson. ‘I am sure Mrs Hody never thought that I or Hetty would behave
ourselves in an unseemly way with your lodgers. It was only a kindly
caution on her part. And you need have no fear for me, believe me.’
‘No, indeed, Mrs Llewellyn,’ interposed the housekeeper, anxious to
make peace with her hostess, ‘I only put in my little word on account
of your Nell here being so handsome, and I, knowing but too well what
some of the gentlemen as come to the Hall are. Why, didn’t one of ’em
wrong poor little Katie Brown only last autumn twelvemonth, stuffing
the poor child’s head up with some nonsense about marriage not being
necessary, and that he’d stick to her all his life, and then going off
when the shooting was over and leaving her with a baby at her back.
Tom Brown was after bringing an action against the gentleman--Mr Frank
Leyton, it was--and getting some money out of him for his daughter’s
shame; but the lawyer advised him not, for there was no evidence except
Katie’s word, and that wouldn’t be enough in a court of justice, he
said. I’ve taken good care not to have any pretty girls about the Hall
since, and if your Nell had come up to help me, I would have kept her
out of their way, for such a set of unprincipled vagabonds I never see
before!’
‘No, thank you, Mrs Hody,’ replied Mrs Llewellyn, grandly, ‘no amount
of wages would make me send a girl of mine up to the Hall after what
you’ve told me. My daughters have been very humbly born and bred, but
they are good, virtuous lassies, though, perhaps, I should not be the
one to say it. It would break my heart if I could think them capable
of taking up with folks as never meant to marry them, and as for their
father, well, I do believe he’d take a gun and shoot ’em if he knew
of it. So, our Nell, she’ll keep down at Panty-cuckoo, if you please,
whilst your family’s at home, and do her duty by keeping the lodgers’
rooms clean and tidy, instead of making the acquaintance of their
occupants.’
‘There, there, mother, say no more about it, pray!’ cried Nell in real
distress, as she carried off the tea-tray in order to hide her burning
cheeks.
It was such conversations as these that made her fearful to think what
might happen if her secret ever became known to her parents; which
made her contemplate the thought of South Africa with something very
much like gratitude, and even remember the condition attached to it
without a shudder. She had quite made up her mind by this time that
she should never see the Earl of Ilfracombe again. She had never
heard him mention Usk, nor even Wales. It was not likely, in her
simple ideas, that he would ever find his way there; she thought that
they were as widely separated as if the sea divided them. She had but
two alternatives--either to end her days at Panty-cuckoo Farm, in
the maddeningly quiet manner she was passing them now, or to become
Hugh Owen’s wife and go away with him, far, far from everything that
could possibly remind her of the happy, thoughtless time she had
believed would never end; and, of the two, the last appeared to be
the best to her. Yet not without her parents. That was, of course,
plainly understood between Hugh and herself. But her father still
talked despondingly of his prospects, and of the ultimate necessity
of his making some change, and Nell seemed to see the future looming
before her, even though it was as yet no larger than a man’s hand.
Hugh Owen had resumed his visits to the farm, much to the content
of Mrs Llewellyn, and, sometimes, he and Nell took a stroll together
in the summer evenings. Only as friends, though. Notwithstanding the
half promise she had made him, Nell would not permit him to consider
himself anything more than her friend until the matter was finally
settled between them, and the young man was quite content it should be
so. Perhaps he required a little time also, to recover the great shock
experienced on hearing Nell’s story, and preferred to gain her complete
confidence and friendship before asking for any closer privilege. But
he was happy in knowing that she trusted him, and never doubted but
that the end for both of them would be a perfect union.
So the time went on until May was over, and Mrs Hody announced that
she would require Mrs Llewellyn’s bedrooms for two gentlemen on the
following day. The task of preparing them was confided to Nell. There
was no rough work to be done--Mrs Llewellyn’s rooms being always kept
in spick-and-span order--but the linen sheets had to be taken out
of the old walnut-wood press, where they had lain for the last year
between sprigs of sweet lavender, and aired before the kitchen fire,
and the creases ironed out before they were put upon the beds. Then
the fair white toilet-covers, trimmed with lace made by the farmer’s
great-grandmother, were spread upon the dressing-tables and chest of
drawers, and every speck of dust flicked off the polished furniture.
Clean lace curtains were hung before the windows, about which clambered
the honeysuckles and roses, which poor Nell used to see in her London
dreams, and before which lay the beds of flowers which adorned the side
of the farmhouse. These two rooms, as has been said before, lay apart
from the rest of the domain, and opened into the bricked passage at
the back of the parlour. They had a little private entrance of their
own, and, when they were occupied, the lodgers were allowed to come in
and out as they chose. This was absolutely necessary with the guests
of Sir Archibald Bowmant, as the revelries of Usk Hall were kept up so
late, that the Llewellyns could not possibly have sat up for them. So,
in that primitive place, where latch-keys were unknown and robbery was
unheard of, the simple farmers left their side-door unfastened, and
scarcely ever set eyes on their lodgers. When the two sleeping chambers
were clad in their white adornments, Nell fancied they looked too cold
and colourless, so she fetched some old-fashioned vases of blue china
from her mother’s store closet, and filled them with roses and lilies,
overshadowed by graceful branches of crimson fuchsias and tufts of
sword grass. She placed one upon each toilet-table, and heaved a sigh
to see how pure and sweet and clean the rooms looked, like an unstained
conscience in the bosom of a child.
‘Nell! Nell!’ called her mother, from the parlour, ‘open the side-door,
there’s a good lass. There’s one of the Hall gardeners bringing over
the gentlemen’s luggage.’
Nell did as she was desired, and encountered a man with some
portmanteaus, and bags and plaids in a wheelbarrow standing outside the
door.
‘These are the things, miss, of the gents as is to sleep here,’ he said.
‘All right. Bring them in,’ was the reply.
The man brought the articles in, one by one, on his shoulders, and
heaped them all down in the first room.
‘But stay!’ exclaimed Nell, ‘some must go in the other room. What are
the gentlemen’s names?’
‘Sure, I don’t know, miss. All I was told was to bring the luggage over
here.’
Nell examined the portmanteaus first. On one were the initials M. L.,
on the other J. S. P. One bag had M. L. on it, the other was blank.
The two bundles of plaids and umbrellas were not addressed at all.
‘Take that portmanteau and that bag,’ said Nell, intimating the two
marked M. L. ‘into the next room, and leave the others here. The
gentlemen can sort their own plaids when they come.’
The man did as she told him, and withdrew, as Mrs Llewellyn came
bustling into the room to see if the luggage betokened wealth or not.
‘Nice portmantles, ain’t they, Nell?’ she remarked, as she examined the
locks and leather. ‘Lor’! what a lot of money young gentlemen do spend
on themselves. M. L. I fancy I’ve seen him before. I think that must
be Mr Martin Lennox, who was down the year before last. Such a nice,
free-spoken young man, and will be an earl some day they told me. J. S.
P.,’ she went on, looking at the other portmanteau, ‘I’ve never seen
that before. I wonder what it stands for--J. S. P.’
‘What letters did you say?’ asked Nell curiously.
‘J. S. P., my dear. John something, I suppose. However, it don’t matter
to us, so long as they don’t make too much noise when they come home at
night. There was one gentleman we had once who was dreadful. He wasn’t
content with singing all sorts of songs as soon as he got into his
room, but he must go for dancing, and he used to make such a row and
keep it up so late, that at last father and I could stand it no longer,
and were obliged to speak to Sir Archibald. There was no rest for
anyone, and when you have to be up at five o’clock, that’s no joke. So
Sir Archibald was very good about it, and sent us a quieter gentleman
instead.’
But Nell had heard nothing of her mother’s discourse. She was kneeling
down by the portmanteau marked J. S. P., and examining it all over.
‘What do you see there, my lass?’ said Mrs Llewellyn. ‘What’s the
matter with it? Anything gone wrong?’
‘No, mother, nothing--nothing,’ replied the girl, as she rose to her
feet again.
She was wondering what there was in the stranger’s portmanteau that
seemed so familiar to her--where she could have seen it before--for
what name the initials J. S. P. stood? The intermediate letter
prevented her grasping the truth at once. She had never associated
it with the other two. But something about the luggage seemed to
bring an old memory with it, and made her feel uneasy. Could it
possibly belong to someone whom she had met in Grosvenor Square? or
at Thistlemere?--anyone who might recognise her as having been in
Lord Ilfracombe’s household? The thought made her turn cold with
apprehension.
‘Both these bundles of shawls can’t belong to one gentleman, Nell,’
said her mother presently. ‘Come and take one into the other room. Ay,
but that’s a beauty. And what a pretty plaid, too--green and orange
and blue. Wouldn’t I like just such another to keep my feet warm when
father drives me to market at Newport. Carry it carefully, lass. Don’t
let the straps get loose, or maybe the gentleman will be annoyed.’
But Nell had already let the plaid of green and orange and blue fall to
the ground. She recognised it now; she recognised the initials also.
They both belonged to Mr John Portland. The thought made her head
whirl. She sat down on the floor to recover herself.
‘Eh, Nell, my lass, but you’re faint,’ cried her mother. ‘Don’t sit on
the bed, child, for mercy’s sake. You’ll ruin the look of the sheets;
but get into the parlour as quick as you can. Why, what ails you? You
were looking ever so well this morning.’
‘Yes, mother, and I’m all right now,’ said Nell, as she made an effort
to raise herself. ‘The day’s warm, you know, and I’m only a little
tired. I’ll be better when I’ve had my dinner. I don’t think there’s
anything more to be done to the rooms now, so I’ll go and look after my
own,’ and so she escaped to the shelter of her bedroom. But when she
had time to consider the scare she had received, she was ready to call
herself a fool for having been frightened so easily.
‘The initials are certainly his,’ she thought, ‘and I’m almost sure
he had a plaid something like that one; but, after all, I cannot be
certain, and the initials J. P. might fit half a hundred names--John
Platt, or James Philpott, or Joseph Plowden. It is silly of me to make
sure they belong to Mr Portland until I have better proof. What should
he be doing here in Usk? I never heard him mention the place, nor the
name of Sir Archibald. I saw so much of him, they would have been sure
to crop up some time or other. Oh, I have been frightening myself with
a bogey. I am sure I have. How weak my nerves must have become. I
was never like this in the old days,’ and Nell heaved a deep sigh as
she spoke. Still, as the day drew to a close, and the owners of the
portmanteaus might be expected to arrive at any moment to dress for
dinner, she grew so nervous she could not stay in the house. The first
person she encountered outside it was Hugh Owen, come to see if she
would go for a country walk with him.
‘No,’ said Nell decidedly; ‘I can’t walk to-night. Mother wants me, and
I have work to do indoors.’
‘Have you heard that all the company’s arrived at the Hall?’ demanded
Hugh; ‘six carriages full, the gardener told me, and as many more
expected to-morrow.’
‘Of course I know it,’ replied the girl petulantly; ‘we’ve two of them
coming to sleep at the farm to-night. Do you know who they are?’
‘No, I heard no names, except those of Sir Archibald and Lady Bowmant.
What is it that is keeping you indoors, Nell?’ asked Hugh.
‘Nothing that concerns you,’ she answered.
He looked surprised at her manner, but did not notice it openly.
‘I thought, if it wouldn’t take you long, you might come out a little
later. A walk would do you good. You are looking very pale.’
‘No, I shall not go out this evening,’ she replied. ‘I’m tired, and
want to be quiet and by myself.’
‘That means I’m to go then, dear,’ he said wistfully.
‘That’s as you please, Hugh. Mother’s indoors, and always glad to see
you, you know that without my telling you, but I’m too busy to have any
more time to spare. Good-night.’
She held out her hand to him in token of farewell, and he was fain
to accept it and take his leave of her. But, intuitively, he felt
more upset than the occasion demanded. He walked on further towards a
neighbouring village, and did not return till an hour later. Then he
distinguished in the gloaming a white dress cross the road, and go
towards the Hall by way of the fields. Hugh felt sure that the dress
belonged to Nell, and yet she had told him she should not leave the
farm that night. And what should she want up at the Hall, too, just as
the family had returned to it, when she never went near Mrs Hody for
weeks together when the house was empty. Hugh puzzled over this enigma
for a long time without coming to a satisfactory solution, but he
turned into Panty-cuckoo Farm just to see if his suspicion was correct.
Meanwhile Nell was creeping up to the Hall by a back way to gain an
audience of old Mrs Hody while the family was at dinner. She felt she
must know the best, or the worst, before she slept that night.
‘Mrs Hody,’ she said, as she burst in upon that worthy, making a
comfortable tea off all the tit-bits that came down from her master’s
table, ‘mother sent me up to ask you if the gentlemen will take tea or
coffee in the morning.’
‘Lor’! my dear, neither I should say. What will they want with
troubling your mother about such things. If they’ve been used to it,
her ladyship will order me to send it down for them from the Hall. I
wonder whatever put such an idea into her head.’
‘Oh, she thought it best to make sure,’ replied the girl, ‘and please,
what are their names?’
‘The gentlemen’s names? Why, one is the Honourable Mr Lennox, and the
other is a Mr Portland.’
‘Portland?’ exclaimed Nell. ‘Are you sure? _Portland?_’
‘Yes, my girl, I’m quite sure. Mr John Portland, though I’ve never
seen him at the Hall before. He comes from London, I believe. Sir
Archibald’s always picking up strangers, and bringing them here to eat
their heads off at his expense. Well, some folks have queer notions of
pleasure. Haven’t they? Oh, you’re off. Well, give my respects to your
mother, and tell her to mind and keep all her spare cream and chickens
for the Hall, for I’ll want everything she can send me.’
‘Yes, yes, I will tell her,’ replied Nell, in a muffled voice, as she
turned away repeating in her inmost heart,--‘What _shall_ I do? What
_shall_ I do?’
As she walked into the farm parlour, she encountered Hugh Owen, who
looked at her through and through.
‘Well my lass,’ began Mrs Llewellyn, ‘here’s Hugh waiting for you, you
see, so I’m glad you’re come. He’s been main patient, sitting here for
the best part of an hour.’
‘Well, good-night,’ said Nell, making for the door that led to her
chamber.
‘Why, won’t you stop and talk to him a bit now you have come?’
remonstrated her mother.
‘I have already told Hugh that I have no time for talking to him
to-night,’ replied Nell, without arresting her footsteps.
‘And you told me, also, that you were not going to leave the farm
to-night, Nell,’ said the young man, with the least bit of reproach in
his tone.
She turned round on him with unnecessary fierceness.
‘And what is it to you if I do or not? Are you my keeper? Am I obliged
to account to you for my actions? My father and mother are the only
people who have any right to find fault with me, or to regulate my
goings-out or comings-in, and I do not hold myself responsible to
anyone else. You are taking too much upon yourself, Hugh. For the
future, I shall refuse to tell you anything.’
And she flew upstairs, leaving both her mother and Hugh Owen in a state
of consternation at such an unusual exhibition of temper on her part.