The first real rebellion, and the first time that the eyes of people
were opened to the amount of influence and authority that Miss Reinhart
had acquired in Tayne Hall. One or two domestic matters had gone
wrong--nothing very much, but dinner was late several times, and the
household machinery did not seem to run on as it had done. My father
complained; the cook did not evidently take so much pains.
"There is no one to look after her," he said, with a deep sigh.
Miss Reinhart responded by another.
"Dear Sir Roland, can I help you--may I help you?" she explained. "Your
housekeeper is too old; you will never do any good until you have
another."
"But," said my father, "she has been here so long; she was my mother's
housekeeper long before I was born. It does not seem right to send away
an old servant."
"You need not send her away, I said before; you might pension her off."
"I will speak to Lady Tayne about it. She has very peculiar ideas on
that point. I must see what she thinks about it."
"Of course," said Miss Reinhart, "you will do as you think best, Sir
Roland--and your way is, I am sure, always the best--but I should have
thought, considering the very nervous state that Lady Tayne always lies
in, that it would have been far better not to let her know about it
until it is all over."
My father thought for a few moments, and then he said:
"No, I should not like to do that; it would seem like taking an unfair
advantage of her helplessness."
Miss Reinhart blushed deeply.
"Oh, Sir Roland!" she cried, "you could not suppose that I thought of
such a thing! I assure you I am quite incapable of it. I thought only of
dear Lady Tayne."
And she seemed so distressed, so concerned and anxious that my father
hardly knew how to reassure her. She explained and protested until at
last, and with something of impatience, he said:
"I will speak to Lady Tayne about it this morning." I knew he felt in
want of some kind of moral support when he took my hand and said, in
would-be careless words: "Come with me, Laura, to see mamma."
And we went, hand-in-hand, to my mother's room. There, after the usual
loving greetings had been exchanged, my father broached the subject
which evidently perplexed and sadly worried him. Broached it ever so
gently, but I, who knew every look and trick of my mother's face, saw
how deeply pained she was. She never attempted to interrupt him, but
when he had finished speaking--having passed over very lightly indeed
the little domestic matters which had gone wrong since my mother's
illness, dwelling principally upon the benefit that would most probably
accrue if a younger housekeeper were engaged--my mother declined to do
anything of the kind.
"My dear Roland," she said, "it would literally break my heart; think
what a faithful old servant she has been."
"That is just it," said my father; "she is too old--too old, Miss
Reinhart thinks, to do her work well."
There is a moment's silence.
"Miss Reinhart thinks so," said my mother, in those clear, gentle tones
I knew so well; "but then, Roland, what can Miss Reinhart know about our
household matters?"
That question puzzled him, for I believe that he himself was quite
unconscious how or to what extent he was influenced by my governess.
"I should think," he replied, "that she must have noticed the little
disasters and failures. She is only anxious to spare you trouble and
help you."
"That would not help me, sending away an attached and faithful old
servant like Mrs. Eastwood and putting a stranger in her place."
"But if the stranger should be more efficient of the two, what then,
Beatrice?"
"I do not care about that," she said, plaintively. "Mrs. Eastwood could
have an assistant--that would be better. You see, Roland, I am so
accustomed to her, she knows all my ways, and sends me just what I like.
I am so thoroughly accustomed to her I could not bear a stranger."
"But, my darling, the stranger would never come near you," said my
father.
"Mrs. Eastwood does," said my mother. "You do not know, Roland, when my
maid and nurse are tired she often comes to sit with me in the dead of
night, and we can talk about old times, even before you were born. She
tells me about your mother and you when you were a little boy. I should
not like to lose her. Miss Reinhart does not understand."
"That settles the affair, my darling. If you do not decidedly wish it,
it shall never be done."
She drew his face down to hers and kissed it.
"You are so good to me," she said, gently. "You bear so much for my
sake. I know that you will not mind a little inconvenience every now and
then. I am sure you will not."
"No; if you wish her to stay she shall do so," said Sir Roland; but I,
who know every play of his features, feel quite sure that he was not
pleased.
Little was said the next morning at breakfast time. Sir Roland said
hurriedly that Lady Tayne did not wish to change; she was attached to
the old housekeeper, and did not like to lose her. Miss Reinhart
listened with a gentle, sympathetic face.
"Yes," she said, "it will, of course, be much more pleasant for Lady
Tayne, but you should be considered as well. I know of a person, a most
excellent, economical managing woman, who is competent in every way to
undertake the situation. Still, if I cannot serve you in one way, can I
not in another? Shall I try to make matters easier for Mrs. Eastwood? I
understand housekeeping very well. I could do some good, I think!"
"You are very kind to offer," he said. "I really do not like to complain
to Lady Tayne. She cannot possibly help it, and it distresses her. Not
that there is much the matter, only a few little irregularities; but
then you will not have time."
"If you give me the permission," she said, "I will make the time."
"It would really be a kindness," he said, "and I am very grateful to you
indeed. Perhaps you will be kind enough just to overlook matters for
me."
I was with them, listening in fear and trembling, for I knew quite well
that Mrs. Eastwood would never submit to the rule of my governess. No
woman on earth ever played her cards so skillfully as Miss Reinhart. She
did not begin by interfering with the housekeeping at once; that would
not have been policy; she was far too wise.
She began by small reforms. The truth must be told. Since my mother's
long illness our household had in some measure relaxed from its good
discipline. At first Miss Reinhart only interfered with the minor
arrangements. She made little alterations, all of which were conducive
to my father's comfort, and he was very grateful. When he saw that she
did so well in one direction, he asked her to help in another; and at
last came, what I had foreseen, a collision with Mrs. Eastwood.
The Wars of the Roses were nothing to it. But for the pitiful tragedy
embodied in it, I could have laughed as at a farce. Miss Reinhart was
valiant, but Mrs. Eastwood was more valiant still. The whole household
ranged itself on one side or the other. The old servants were all on the
housekeeper's side, the new ones went with Miss Reinhart.
"A house divided against itself cannot stand." Ours did not. Before long
the rival powers came into collision, and there was a declaration of
war--war to the knife!
Miss Reinhart, "speaking solely in the interests of Sir Roland," wished
the dinner hour to be changed; it would be more convenient and suitable
to Sir Roland if it were an hour later. The housekeeper said that to
make it an hour later would be to disturb all the arrangements of the
house, and it could not be done.
Miss Reinhart said it was the duty of the housekeeper to obey.
The housekeeper said that she was accustomed to take her orders from the
master and mistress of the house, and that she did not recognize that of
the governess.
"You will be compelled to recognize mine, Mrs. Eastwood, if you remain
here," she said.
"Then I shall not remain," said the old housekeeper, trembling with
indignation, which was exactly what Miss Reinhart had desired her to
say.
"You had better tell Sir Roland yourself," said my governess, in her
cold, impassive manner. "It has nothing whatever to do with me. Sir
Roland wishes me to attend to these things, and I have done so--the
result does not lie with me."
"I have lived here, the most faithful and devoted of servants, for more
than fifty years. Why should you turn me away, or seek to turn me away?"
she said. "I have never wronged you. You may get one more clever, but no
one who will love my lady as I do--no one who will serve her one-half so
faithfully or so well, try your best, Miss Reinhart."
"I have nothing to do with it," she replied coldly. "I will tell Sir
Roland that you desire to leave--there my business ends."
"I beg your pardon, Miss Reinhart, there it does not end. I have no wish
to leave the place and family I love so well; but I say that I would
rather leave than obey you."
"I will word your message just as you wish," she said; "there shall be
no mistake."
I was with her when that conversation was repeated to Sir Roland, and I
may say that was my first real experience in the real deceit of the
world. Repeated to him, it bore quite a different aspect; it was an
insolent rebellion against proper authority, and my father resented it
very much.
"Unless you had told me yourself, I would not have believed it, Miss
Reinhart."
"It is quite true," she replied, calmly, looking, in her exquisite
morning dress, calm, sweet and unruffled as an angel.
I believe, honestly, that from that time she tried to make things worse.
Every day the feud increased, until the whole household seemed to be
ranged one against the other. If the housekeeper said one thing, Miss
Reinhart at once said the opposite. Then an appeal would be made to Sir
Roland, who gradually became worn and worried of the very sound of it.
"You will do no good," said Miss Reinhart to my father, "until you have
pensioned that old housekeeper off. Once done, you will have perfect
peace."
Constant dripping wears away a stone. My father was so accustomed to
hearing she must go that at last the idea became familiar to him. I am
quite sure that Miss Reinhart had made this her test; that she had said
to herself--if she had her own way in this, she should in everything
else. It was her test of what she might do and how far she might go.
It came at last. The blow fell on us, and she won. My father spoke
seriously to my mother. He said Mrs. Eastwood could have a cottage on
the estate, and he should allow her a sufficient income to live upon.
She could come to the Abbey when she liked to call on my mother, and
might be as happy as possible. It was not just to the other servants, or
even to themselves, he said, to keep one in such a position who was
really too old to fulfill the duties.
My mother said nothing. It must be just as my father pleased. But when
he added that Miss Reinhart thought it the best thing possible, she
turned away her face and said no more.