|SORELY did the fat coachman, who had no neck, inveigh against that
caprice of his mistress which compelled his appearance at the front door
upon the ensuing morning at an hour so altogether unexampled. If he had
but heard that it was all upon the account of Mistress Forest, and the
outlandish fellow who wore little gold rings in his ears, and that curly
heard, so like the door-mat of the servants-hall, it is doubtful whether
he would have obeyed such a premature behest at all; but as it was, he
was sitting on the coach-box with the sleek nags before him, at the foot
of the great steps which led down from the entrance-hall, at six o'clock
to a minute. It was broad daylight of course, so bright that it made him
wink again, as it flashed upon the glittering harness and the shining
skins of the pampered beasts; but still it was not a time for a man of
his years and girth to be hurried up and made to toil. “As late as you
please at night, my Lady, and nobody ever heard Joe Wiggins utter a
murmur,” muttered he; “but there's no constitushun as can stand such
wear and tear as _this_.”
However that might be with Mr Wiggins, Miss Rose Aynton seemed to make
uncommonly light of early rising, for, much to the astonishment of her
hostess, she was up and dressed and in the breakfast-room when that lady
made her appearance at half-past five.
“I happened to hear that you were going-out betimes, dear Lady Lisgard,”
said she with her sweetest smile; “and getting up in these first summer
mornings is _such_ a treat to a poor London-bred girl like me; so,
without saying a word to dearest Letty, I thought I would just fill her
place for once, and make your coffee for you.”
“Thank you, Rose,” returned my Lady a little stiffly, for she had not
intended that anybody, and far less one who was not a member of her own
family, should have been a witness to her departure. “I have unpleasant
business on hand which takes me to Dalwynch before the morning train
starts.”
“If you are going to London,” began Rose hesitatingly, as if intending
to send something by my Lady's hands to her aunt, “if it was not
too much trouble”----“I am not going to London,” replied Lady Lisgard
quietly. “I shall be back by the usual breakfast-hour, I have no doubt.”
Here my Lady sipped her coffee with the air of a connoisseur, and
perceiving Miss Aynton was about to ask more questions, requested a
little sugar; then a fresh supply of--no, not hot milk--some cream.
Would the carriage never come round, and release her from this
importunate girl.
“How glad the people will be to see you about again once more, Lady
Lisgard,” observed Miss Aynton cheerfully. “You can't imagine how
curious they have been to know why you have shut yourself up so long.”
“I was not aware that my movements were any business of theirs, Rose,”
returned my Lady with severity, “nor, indeed, of anybody's except
myself.”
“Very true,” answered Miss Aynton carelessly; “that is what I always
told them. Besides, it is not pleasant to run the chance of meeting a
rude and perhaps half-drunken ruffian like this man Derrick, when
one knows he has made up his mind to address one upon the first
opportunity.”
“Indeed!” said my Lady scornfully, “I assure you I was quite unaware of
that dreadful menace.” She stole a glance over her cup, to see if there
was anything to read in this strange girl's face; but there was nothing.
As soon as she had finished her duties in connection with the coffeepot,
she had taken a piece of fancy-work in her hands, in the execution of
which she seemed entirely wrapped up.
“O yes; of course it is most ridiculous, but that is what all the
village has been saying for these five months, more or less; and now
that you are going out for the first time, when he has but left the
place overnight, they are sure to say”----
“How do you know, Rose, that this man left Mirk last night?” inquired my
Lady, setting down her cup, and looking at the young girl fixedly.
Could it possibly have been _she_ whom she had beheld lurking about
the churchyard wall, and perhaps listening to the conversation, in the
course of which Derrick had announced his intention of going at that
late hour to Dalwynch, so as to be in time for the first up-train upon
the morrow?
A faint flush stole over Miss Aynton's face, but by no means such a
blush as is called “tell-tale:” it might easily enough have been caused
by the mère directness of the question. “Your son, Mr Walter, told me,”
replied she simply--“he is a great ally of this man's, you know.--Here
is the carriage. I am afraid you will find it very dull, Lady Lisgard,
taking this long drive all alone. If I thought that my company”----
“Thank you, Rose,” replied my Lady hastily; “it is most kind of you to
offer it; but the fact is, I am going to take Forest with me. This visit
to Dalwynch is mainly upon her account indeed. If the chariot held more
than two, perhaps I should take you at your word; but as it is----See, I
have a book for my companion.--Come, Forest; we have no time to lose.”
Mary had entered the room while she was speaking, and gave quite a start
at seeing Miss Aynton at the breakfast-table. Her mistress was already
cloaked, and had her bonnet on.
“To Dalwynch, my Lady?” said the footman, having put up the steps and
closed the chariot-door.
“Yes; drive fast.”
“Which part of the town, my Lady?” for there were two roads to the
post-town, the relative length of which from the Abbey depended upon
what part of the place was to be visited.
Miss Aynton was standing on the last flight of the stone steps, and
could hear every word that was spoken.
“Take the lower road,” replied my Lady very distinctly; and the
well-hung chariot--pleasantest invention save the fair-weather Hansom,
which the wit of coachmakers has yet sought out--rolled swiftly along
the gravelled road.
“Then they are not going to the railway station,” exclaimed Rose aloud.
“No, miss,” assented the butler, as he stood at the open hall-door,
regarding nature as though it were a novelty to him at that hour. “I
should say it must be the postoffice. Perhaps my Lady wishes to get the
letters this morning earlier than the Mirk's man can bring them.”
“Very likely, Roberts,” returned the young lady, a little disconcerted
at her involuntary remark having been overheard. “Let us hope she will
have good news. But I should scarcely have thought it was necessary to
have gone herself.”
“Well, I am not so sure, miss. Mrs Rudd, the post-mistress at Dalwynch,
is a great stickler for forms and that, and she might have made some
difficulty, particularly as she did not obtain her place through our
influence.”
“_Whose_ influence, Roberts?”
“Ours, miss, to be sure. The Lisgard interest, you see, was given last
election to the losing side. Although time was, I can well recollect,
when poor Sir Robert had everything of that sort at his disposal that
was vacant in these parts; but them yallers, they have gone and spoilt
it all this time.” And with a sigh of regret for the golden age of
patronage, and a shake of the head directed against the levelling
opinions at present in the ascendant, Mr Roberts went off to his
breakfast.
No sooner had the wheels of the chariot began to move, than Lady Lisgard
observed to her companion: “You have the letter with you that I dictated
last night, have you not?”
“Yes, my Lady; here it is, though not sealed down, in case you might
have thought of anything to add.”
“No, Mary,” said her mistress, perusing it; “there is nothing here that
I can better by thought, although I spent all night in thinking over it.
A refusal could scarce be made shorter or more decided than this; there
is not a trace of vacillation to give the most sanguine suitor hope.”
Then, as if some other idea was expressing itself almost in spite of
herself, she added: “Do I not look deadly pale, Mary?”
“Very white and worn, madam, as you well may.”
“But bad enough for people to observe who did not know the cause?”
“For some people, madam. _She_ saw it sharp enough, if you mean _her_,
my Lady,” and the waiting-maid made a significant gesture in the
direction of Miss Rose Aynton.
“Nothing escapes _her_, bless you--nothing; and the sooner she's out
of the house, under present circumstances--and indeed under every
circumstance, in my opinion--the better.”
“You never liked her from the first, Mary,” said her mistress in the
tone of one who argues against her own conviction. “We should not be
uncharitable in our judgments of others, and particularly as respects
young folks; we often set down as serious faults what in them is only
thoughtlessness.”
“Miss Aynton is none of that sort, my Lady; she always thinks before
she speaks, and takes a good long look before she leaps; and for all
she seems as though butter would not melt in her mouth, she's as full
o' schemes as a cat at a dairy-door. If there's cream to be got in this
world, she'll get it, my Lady, I'll go bail, let the butter-milk fall to
whose share it will.”
“I confess that I can't quite understand her,” said my Lady musing. “I
am sure, when she first came, she seemed simple and unobtrusive enough;
while, on the other hand, in her manner towards me of late”----
“Downright impudence, I call it, my Lady, in such a chit as she.”
“Well, I don't say that; but she is certainly not so respectful as she
might be. I shall be sorry to send her back to London just as the summer
is beginning, to live with her cross old aunt, whom she appears to
dislike so; but I confess I think she has been here long enough.”
“Much too long, my Lady, much too long,” answered Mrs Forest gravely;
“she has set more people in the house by the ears than you wot of. While
Anne Rees, who used to be Miss Letty's maid, one would think Miss Aynton
was her mistress now, so entirely has she got her under her thumb. She
has ferreted out some folly of Anne's--Heaven knows how she did it, or
what it is; but the girl's her slave. From whom but her did she learn
that you were starting at this hour? And, again, why was not Miss Letty
told as well as Miss Rose? Do you suppose she would have let anybody
else make coffee for her mamma, if she had been aware of your departure?
No, no. Then Miss Aynton will take credit to herself for not permitting
Miss Letty to be called, and fatigue herself by getting up so early.
Nasty, sly young hussy! That's just her way; uncommon civil, kind, and
attentive until she gets the upper hand, and finds you under her thumb;
then you begin to know her. We've found her out in the servants-hall,
although she makes a fool of old Roberts yet. She actually told him,
that at the last dinner-party at the Abbey she thought him the most
distinguished-looking person in the room; but only wait till she catches
him some afternoon at the Madeira! then he'll be her obedient, humble
servant, without having any more pretty speeches. That's a bad, bold
girl, ma'am, let her be ten times a lady born.”
Here Mistress Forest, indignantly tossing her head back, without making
due allowance for her bonnet, came into sharp contact with the back of
the chariot, and severely bit her tongue. My Lady was thereby enabled to
interpose a remark.
“But why have you not told me a word of this before, Mary? I would never
have permitted a guest of mine, and particularly a young lady to whom I
stand in the relation of guardian while she is under my roof, first to
ingratiate herself with my servants, and then to tyrannise over them in
the way you describe. I never heard of anything more atrociously
mean, and I think you have been wanting in your duty--let alone your
personal regard for me, Mary--to have concealed the matter so long.”
“Begging your pardon, my Lady, you have nobody to blame but yourself for
that,” observed the waiting-maid with asperity. “The only harsh words
you ever spoke to me were about certain of Mrs Welsh's doings, of which
I complained with reason, though I do not wish to refer to them now.
What you said was this: 'Never abuse the affectionate relation in
which we two stand, Mary, by causing me to side with you against
your fellow-servants. I can deny you nothing, but do not vex me with
talebearing. I hate all vulgar gossip, and despise those who bring it.'
After a setting-down like that, it was not likely that I should give
tongue about Miss Aynton's ways, nor let you know how she has made Anne
Rees a spy upon us all. No, no; mind your own business, Mary Forest,
says you; and I've minded it, my Lady, ever since.”
“Do not be angry with me, friend,” returned Lady Lisgard sadly; “I
daresay I was wrong; and even if not, I have no heart to argue with you
now.”
“And no wonder, poor dear,” assented the waiting-maid, greatly
mollified. “I was a brute to bring it up against you just now in all
this trouble; nor was it the right time, perhaps, to speak about Miss
Aynton's goings on. Only you yourself said her manner was not quite what
it used to be, and I was so afraid that she might be getting _you_, my
Lady, under her thumb.”
“How could that possibly be, Mary? She surely cannot have the slightest
suspicion of”--
“She sniffs something, my Lady, or she would not have been making your
coffee this morning. However, let her sniff, only be you very careful to
lock your desk; and when you want to say anything to me about you know
who, come out of earshot of the keyhole of your own door.--Ah, wouldn't
she, though? But I know better. A thief? No, I didn't say a thief,
although, for the matter of that, she has a mind to steal from you, or
I am much mistaken, something you value most on earth--your son. There
now, I've said it.”
And the waiting-maid drew a very long breath, as though some oppressive
weight was off her mind at last. She evidently expected her mistress
to express astonishment, if not horror; and it was positively a
disappointment to her when my Lady replied calmly: “I know all about
that, Mary; but you are doing Miss Aynton wrong. She might have been
my daughter-in-law if she liked, and yet, to my certain knowledge, she
refused to be so.”
“She _refused?_”
“Most certainly she did. My son made her an offer in my presence, and
she rejected him.--But here we are at Dalwynch. Tell Wiggins to stop at
the post-office. Thank Heaven, there is plenty of time to spare. How my
heart does beat!”
The waiting-maid pulled the check-string, and delivered her mistress's
orders, but quite mechanically, without knowing what she said. In spite
of the importance of what she had now so immediately to do, her mind was
entirely occupied with the wonder of what she had just heard, and she
kept repeating to herself: “And she rejected him? and she rejected him?”
while her heightened eyebrows almost amalgamated with her hair.
Perhaps some of this excessive astonishment was due to poor Mistress
Forest's peculiar position; she thought it so strange that one of her
own sex should reject any man--who was not already married to somebody
else.
“Here is the post-office, Mary. Mind you speak very civilly to the
woman, and make haste; I shall be in a perfect fever till I see you come
back with that dreadful letter safe in your hand.”
One minute, two minutes, three minutes--each seeming an hour to my Lady,
shrinking in a corner of the chariot, while the omnibus to the station
passed and repassed, picking up she knew not what passengers, and
bearing Derrick himself, for all she knew, within it. At last Lady
Lisgard could endure the suspense no longer. “John,” said she to the
footman standing beside the door, “what is Forest about? Why does she
not return?”
“She is talking to Mrs Rudd, my Lady. I think there is some dispute
about a letter; for they are both in the post-office department.”
“Let me out, John,” exclaimed my Lady impatiently; and the next instant
she had entered Mrs Rudd's establishment. This was, for the most part, a
grocer's shop; one-fifth of it only being reserved for the reception and
despatch of Her Majesty's mails. There were no customers at that still
early hour; a young man who was sanding the floor with some ostentation,
as though to imply that _all_ the sand went that way, and none into the
sugar, made a respectable pause as my Lady's silk swept by; and another,
who appeared to be washing his hands in tea, assumed that sickly smile
which is supposed by persons of his class to conciliate people of
quality; but Mrs Rudd herself, intrenched behind her little post-office
palisade, gave no sign of gracious welcome, and from out the pigeon-hole
through which she distributed her stamps, her words poured forth in an
undiminished stream of denial and severity; nay, I doubt whether the
presence of my Lady did not intensify the bitterness of its tone.
“Whatever importance it may be to you to get this letter, Mistress
Forest,” cried she, addressing poor Mary, who was looking very
disconsolate, and not a little angry also, “it is of much greater moment
to me that I should keep it. It is as much as my place is worth to give
a letter back which has once been given into my charge; and I am not
aware that I owe that place to my Lady Lisgard, and therefore feel
called upon to risk----I beg pardon, your Ladyship--but I did not
catch sight of you before. What your servant has come to ask of me
is something out of the question. I will post this second letter for
her--although it is two minutes past the time, even with an extra stamp,
for _that_--but as for returning her this other: yes, I have no doubt
it's hers--although, for that matter, people's handwriting is often
very like other people's--but directly it reached this box it became the
property of the Postmaster-general. It is no more hers now than it is
mine; and if I was to yield it up, it's a matter, madam, that might be
brought before the assizes.”
“Mrs Rudd,” said my Lady quietly, “I hope, although your late husband
and my son were not quite of the same way of thinking as to politics,
that you do not look upon me in an unneighbourly light. I do not wish to
insult you by offering you a bribe; but I may say this much, that
nobody ever put me under an obligation yet, without my endeavouring to
recompense them to the best of my power.”
“Yes, my Lady--although I can't say as _I_ have ever been overburdened
with favours at your Ladyship's hands--I know what sugar and currants
goes to the Abbey from Simmons' every week--enough for a regiment, I'm
sure, and at such a price, too, and all because he voted blue”----
“Voting blue, Mrs Rudd,” interrupted my Lady, “is nothing at all
compared with the good service you would do me, if you could only oblige
my maid in the matter of this letter. Her future happiness, I may say,
is bound up in the mère fact of that little note arriving or not at its
destination.”
“_Mr R. Derrick, Turf Hotel, Piccadilly_,” muttered Mrs Rudd, looking at
the address over the top of her silver spectacles. “I should like to
have half the Abbey grocery custom very much, of course.”
“You shall have it,” whispered my Lady in broken tones.
“But I dare not do it,” continued the post-mistress. “This might be held
over me--if it ever came to be known--so that I should never be my own
mistress again, which, now that Rudd is gone, I mean to be. When you
have once done an illegal action, my Lady, you may just as well be a
slave--until you have taken your punishment. Somebody is sure to get
wind of it, and to put you under their thumb.”
My Lady gave a ghastly smile, for speech was not in her.
“Look here, Mrs Rudd,” interposed Mistress Forest softly, “you are not
asked either to destroy or to give up this letter--of the inside of
which, if you please, I will tell you every word. It is written to
my lover--that's the fact; and I am very, very anxious that he should
receive it”--here she trod upon my Lady's foot with unmistakable
emphasis--“should receive it by this night's post.”
“Well, so he will,” returned the postmistress, “in Piccadilly.”
“Yes, but Mr Derrick is _not_ in Piccadilly,” urged the waiting-maid.
“The direction should he '_Care of Mr Arthur Haldane_'--what court is
it, my Lady?--Yes; _Pump Court, Temple_. If you would only let me write
_that_, Mrs Rudd, upon the envelope, instead of the present address, all
mischief will be avoided. Would it not, my Lady?”
“There seems no great harm in that,” said Mrs Rudd reflectively.
“No harm whatever, and a great deal of good to you,” murmured the
waiting-maid, as with a rapid hand she crossed out the words already
written, and substituted for them the address of Mr Haldane's
law-chambers. “Thank you kindly. Now, please to stamp this other. I am
so much obliged.”
“And I too,” said my Lady graciously. “Be so kind, Mrs Rudd, as to let
me take your list of groceries with me. What nice macaroni that looks--I
find such a difficulty in getting it in the country pure.”
Mrs Rudd herself accompanied my Lady to her chariot, and courtesied to
the ground as the chariot whirled away.
No sooner were they alone, than mistress and maid exchanged a hearty
kiss. “Thank you, thank you, dear Mary,” cried the former; “without
your presence of mind, what should we have done! I began to feel quite
prostrate with despair, and even now I tremble to think how nearly we
had failed. I could not go through such a scene again, I believe, even
if my life depended upon it.”
“Ah, yes, you could, my Lady; and I only trust it may not be necessary
for you to do so. There is nothing more, however, to be done at present,
save to wait and hope--except the telegraph message. I ventured to tell
John, 'To the Railway Station.'”
“Telegraph to whom, and about what, Mary?”
“We must let Mr Arthur know what he is to do with that letter, my Lady;
otherwise, he may endeavour to forward it to the person to whom it is
addressed.”
“Very true, dear Mary. I do believe that my wits are leaving me. By all
means telegraph 'Burn it.' I wish I could repay you for your prudent
thought, as easily as I can recompense Mrs Rudd for her complaisance.”
“Do not think of repaying me, my dear,” replied the waiting-maid fondly.
“It is a heartfelt pleasure to find that I am not altogether useless in
this strait. I am yours--yours--yours--my beloved mistress, and will
be though every friend on earth should stand afar off, and you were
forsaken by your very kith and kin.”
“But God forbid that should ever be the case, Mary!” ejaculated Lady
Lisgard solemnly.
“_Amen,_ my Lady--amen, I'm sure; but when the worst happens that can
happen, you will please to remember you have Mary Forest still!”