CHAPTERCVIII.KITTY’S SUSPICIONS—HER RENCONTRE WITH FORTESCUE.Matters went on smoothly enough for some days after this, and no reference was made to the visitor at Stoke Ferry. Ashbrook made him his companion as heretofore, and his popularity had not in any way diminished.One morning the farmer said in a tone of banter, “Come Patty, dear, what have you been about? The tea isn’t made, and the cloth isn’t laid, and I’m half famished. Has Mr. Fortescue got into your head, or what?”“Mr. Fortescue!” exclaimed Patty, colouring. “What could induce you to make such an observation as that? Mr. Fortescue, indeed!—’taint likely.”The farmer laughed.“There, don’t ’ee lose yer temper—I didn’t mean to offend ’ee,” said he.“Oh, you don’t offend me, Richard, but I should say that he’s more in your head than in mine.”“That’s true enough, old gell, quite true. But hark’ee, Kitty don’t think much on him—does she?”“I believe not.”“Ah, so I thought. Lord bless us, what a funny world it is, to be sure. She says that she’s quite sure from his face that he’s no good, and that he must ha’ given us a false name, because the initials on his linen aint E. F., or anything like it.”“Indeed!”“Yes, that’s what the gell sez, and she aint often mistaken. When Kitty meks up her mind to do a thing I’ll back she’ll stick to it, but I don’t think it at all likely that he would give us a false name.”“Neither do I. I’m glad to hear ’ee say so, wife,” returned the farmer. “Very glad. The gell must ha’ gone stark crazy, I do believe. Why, a better fellow than Fortescue never breathed—there’s no man can hold a candle to him for jokes and stories.”“I believe him to be a very good fellow, and should be sorry to find myself mistaken.”Mr. Fortescue entered at that moment—he was looking pale, and his eyes were gentle and almost pathetic.Richard Ashbrook was a handsome man enough, but there was something so unmistakably physical about him. His face was red, and streamed with that which is praiseworthy and even scriptural upon the brow of a man who works for his bread, but which is certainly not poetical.Then his hair was ruffled, and his garments, the offspring of the village sheers, were clumsily put on.Patty looked at their visitor, who, with features sodistingué, with clothes that fitted him like a glove, with perfumes encircling him, appeared to her like the genii of a romance.The contrast between him and her husband was most marked, which no one could fail to notice.Mrs. Ashbrook loved her partner quite as much, if not more, than women are accustomed to do, but it must be confessed, however, that she was not insensible to flattery and attention.The visitor at Stoke Ferry was scrupulously polite and respectful in his manner towards the farmer’s wife.It was his purpose to lure her from her fealty to her liege lord by slow degrees.Patty had at all times displayed a disposition before her marriage to flirt with those of the opposite sex. She never for a moment thought there was any harm in this, for in the main she was a true-hearted, honourably-disposed woman. Nevertheless, she did give ear to the fulsome flattery bestowed upon her by Mr. Fortescue.The farmer had full confidence in his wife, and would have trusted her with anybody, but he did not calculate with anything like exactness the viper he was cherishing in his household.“You’re looking a little pale and jaded, Mr. Fortescue,” said he. “Leastways, it strikes me so—I hope I’m mistaken, sir.”“I’m tolerably well, thank you,” returned the visitor. “But I could not sleep well last night;” here he glanced at Patty.“That be a bad job,” cried Ashbrook. “When a man can’t sleep there must be summat the matter wi’ him.”“Oh, I shall be all right in an hour or two, I dare say,” returned Fortescue, with a laugh. “It’s no use giving way to idle fancies.”“Not a bit on it, none in the least. Tek a mug of beer wi’ your breakfast and come over to Cheadle’s farm wi’ me. They’ve got an ingin there.”“Oh, indeed.”“Yes, ha’ another there, and a crust of bread and cheese; then if you’re done up you can come back here while I walk over the farm.”“All right, my friend, I will do so.”Long before they had come in sight of Cheadle’s farm they heard a low humming sound like the music of a jew’s harp, and as they drew nearer the rattle and clanking which formed a deafening accompaniment.Then they saw a stream of smoke curling over the trees, and on reaching the yard found themselves close upon the thrashing machine itself.A huge machine with revolving wheels and high narrow funnel and a great iron belly, out of which rolled sheaves of straw.These the men and women standing by caught on their pitchforks and piled into a rick.“What do ee’ think of it?” cried Ashbrook. “You don’t see that sort of thing every day—do’ ee?”“No, I can’t say that I ever did see one before—it’s a wonderful sight. Do you use it on your farm?”“Not I,” replied the farmer, contemptuously. “I’m one of the old-fashioned sort, and stick to flail and barn door. My men hold to me in the summer when men are gold—so I keep work for them in the winter when work is scarce, and the best on ’em are glad of a job just to keep the pot boiling.”“Ah, and it’s a very proper course to adopt. These machines must be bad things for the labourers?”“Yes, I ’spose they are, but it don’t so much matter as far as the thrashing goes. Ye see farmers were drove to hire or buy these ingins—why? Because they couldn’t get the thrashing done without. The men round here would sooner be thrashed than thrash any day. Barring my own men, you won’t find three flails for miles around. Thrashing indeed! Why if everyone hereabouts had to thrash his own corn, there’s many as ’ud have to eat their’n in the straw.”“And how about reaping machines?” said Mr. Fortescue.“Well, they do take the bread out of the poor men’s mouths; for you see at harvest time a poor man counts on getting the money to put something on his back and feet. It’s all a man with a family can do to buy bread and pay his rent with what he gets a week; but farmers don’t like to use machines, and don’t do it when they can get men. There’s very little difference in the expense, and I always will believe that a man with a head on his shoulders can do his work cleaner and better than a great iron thing with a lot of teeth and wheels.”“Machinery is now made use of for almost every purpose,” said Fortescue; “but I had no idea the population was so thin in the country.”“Ah, but it is miserably thin. If we go on as we have been within the few last years our ‘bold peasantry,’ as they’ve been termed, will disappear altogether, and I’ll tell ’ee why. There’s fresh commons enclosed and bits of waste lands constantly taken into cultivation, arable lands increases every year, but the population don’t; it drops behind. The young men go to London to be mechanics, or to market towns to learn trades, or to Australiay or Californee to mek fortins—heaven help ’em—and the girls go to service. You can’t get girls to field work now, or if you do by chance she comes with a big hoop on, as if she was agoin’ to a party. Ugh! I like to see a field wench as she ought to be—in a smock and leather gaiters, not dressed like a milliner, and moppin’ and poppin’ about as gay as the first lady in the land.”“Oh, certainly, that’s right enough,” said Fortescue, “but the question is whether it is to the advantage of women to go to field work?”“I dunno as it is,” said Ashbrook, drily. “It meks ’em dirty, and their homes dirty, and their children are left all day to themselves, and their clothes be soon spoilt. The little they do get is fetched out of the foire like.”Fortescue affected to be deeply interested in the subject. He asked question after question, and Ashbrook replied with oration after oration, for he was never tired of discussing upon farming matters, and was an oracle in his own particular way.He little thought, however, where his companion’s thoughts were wandering all the while.“A man must have his head screwed on in the right way to be a successful farmer,” observed Fortescue, thinking thereby to please his companion.“You’re right, it does—there beant any mistake about that. Many pipple think any fool is fit for a farmer, but they are deucedly mistaken though, and so many of them find out arter they ha’ tried their hands at the business.”“But after all it’s a healthy pleasant sort of life.”“Aye, it be that—all that.”The two companions walked for some distance together over the ploughed fields.Presently Ashbrook glanced at his companion in a furtive manner, and said in a tone of something like commiseration—“Ye beant looking at all the thing this morning, and seem to ha’ overdone it in the way of exercise. I think ’ee had better go home and see what the missus can do for ’ee. She’ll tackle your complaints better than I can. I know more about physicking horses and dogs than human critters, but she finds all the neighbours in medicine—she do.”“Oh, I have no desire to return.”“But ’ee must. Enough’s as good as a feast, and you had more than enough, I guess. Go back, Mr. Fortescue, and keep yourself as quiet as possible.” They walked together as far as the front gate, then Ashbrook pressed his hand warmly, and gave his visitor kind words.The villain’s conscience, seared as it was, felt a momentary pang, but it was only momentary. He walked slowly till a high hedge hid him from the farmer’s sight; then he ran at full speed towards the house.He entered through the kitchen. There he found Mrs. Ashbrook standing over a deal table with a rolling-pin in her hand, a heap of paste on one side, and a dish of apples pared and sliced on the other. Her plump white arms were bare above the elbows, and her fair hair was parted across her forehead and gathered up in a thick cluster at the back of her head. She looked more charming and captivating than ever—so her visitor thought.She started as Fortescue entered.“So you’re come back, eh? said she.“Yes, Mr. Ashbrook did not think I could bear any further fatigue, and he advised me to return.”“Oh, well, I hope you are better for your walk, sir, but I fear that our early hours and rough fare do not agree with you.”“It is not that which prevents me from sleeping,” he murmured, in a low plaintive voice—“not that,” he replied.“Oh, indeed!” She glanced at him curiously, and saw something in his look which made her avert her eyes.There was a pause. Presently the farmer’s wife said—“Oh, I dare say you’ll be glad when you get back to London.”“Indeed, I shall not,” he returned quickly. “I don’t care about the metropolis now, and shouldn’t be sorry if I never saw it again.”“Why, Mr. Fortescue, what can you be thinking about to say such a thing? You would never be able to submit to the humdrum of a country life.”“I should if I were near you,” he answered.Her face wore a puzzled expression.He placed his hand on hers, which she suddenly withdrew.“Mr. Fortescue,” she cried, “You don’t seem yourself to-day; I don’t know what to mek of you.”At this moment Kitty who had been at work in the back kitchen came in. She took up a pail of water which was standing near the door and went out again as if she had not noticed them.Mrs. Ashbrook had looked uneasy, and had shrunk back a little when she entered.The scoundrel saw this, and his eyes shone triumphantly.“I should like to make pastry as well as you do,” said he, following her to the table, and standing close beside her.He pretended to assist her, and sometimes their fingers met, and sometimes his hand encountered as if by accident, her soft bare arm. A faint colour, the harbinger of a blush, tinged her cheeks, and her eyes were lowered upon the table.She was in a state of trepidation, but did not know very well how to get rid of her tormentor.“I hope I am not in your way, Mrs. Ashbrook,” he said, in a respectful tone.“Oh, dear no,” she returned, “not at all; you will be away the whole of Saturday.”“I’m getting tired of the market people,” he answered; “but how can I avoid going unless I fall ill, or something of that sort?”Her face became crimson, but she made no reply.“You will not be angry with me if I was to fall ill,” he asked, in a whisper, and placing his hand caressingly on her shiny soft hair.“Mr. Fortescue,” she cried, in evident surprise. “I do not understand your meaning—angry! In what way can your movements concern me?”Kitty came in again.She darted a panther-like look at Fortescue, who received it with a face of marble.“I have been showing Mr. Fortescue how to make pastry,” said Mrs. Ashbrook to her servant.“Is the gentleman going to take a situation as man cook, then?” said Kitty, sarcastically.Mrs. Ashbrook was greatly chagrined at this last observation.“You are a funny girl,” cried she.“I think it very funny that a Lunnon gentleman should be pushing his nose in a farmer’s kitchen,” observed the maid. “I dunno what to mek on it,” and with these words she darted out of the apartment.“That girl is a great deal too forward—takes too many liberties to my thinking,” said Fortescue.“She will speak her mind,” returned the farmer’s wife. “But you know she is privileged—she has been here for so many years that she looks upon herself as one of the family.”Mr. Fortescue smiled and shrugged his shoulders, and deemed it best under the circumstances to beat a hasty retreat. Nodding to Mrs. Ashbrook he left the kitchen.“I wish you’d not be so ready with your tongue before strangers,” said the farmer’s wife to her servant. “You see what you’ve done.”“No, I don’t.”“Why, you’ve offended Mr. Fortescue.”“Oh, is that all?” cried the girl with an impudent toss of her head. “It’s a good job if he is offended.”“Of that I am the best judge.”“Well, I doan’t care for’un, and never shall. I could take my Bible oath that he be a false man.”“Go along wi’ ye—do.”“Well, I’ve sed it, and mean to stick to it. He’s no good—I be sartin sure of that. His ways are not like those of an honest man.”“Kitty, for shame!”“Ye mayn’t loike to hear it, ’cause you and master be taken so much up wi’ him; but it don’t alter my opinion.”“Nobody asked you for your opinion. Go away and attend to your business.”Kitty left, but she was heard muttering to herself in the wash-house for some time after this.Contrary to his usual custom, Mr. Fortescue sat up till late that night reading.His candle died out in the socket, he had no matches in his pocket, and was, therefore, obliged to feel his way up in the dark.As he passed Kitty’s door he saw a light shining through the keyhole.This he thought was a strange circumstance, and urged by curiosity more natural than refined he bent his head and peeped in.She was seated on the bed half undressed busy with some work in her lap.“Oh, female vanity! female vanity!” he soliloquised. “The new ribbon for the Sunday bonnet, or the worked hem for your Sunday petticoat, is sufficient to impel you to almost fabulous exertions; to work your fingers to the bone; to rob you of your needful sleep; to make you burn your master’s candles. As men labour to increase their wealth, so women will to decorate their persons.”Filled with these sage reflections, he was about to withdraw his eye from its post of observation, when, to his surprise, the girl placed her work on one side, and rose from her seat.She proceeded to disrobe herself, and was evidently preparing to go to bed.“She’s a fine woman—that is evident enough,” cried Fortescue, who was, however, afraid to risk staying any longer—so he crept up to his own room again. “She hates me and mistrusts me, and will baulk me if she can. She is no contemptible enemy, it must be confessed—is self-reticent and watchful. But I hold a trump card in my hand which she little suspects. Well, we shall see. When you draw your sword, Miss Kitty, you will find that you have only a feather in your sheath.”
Matters went on smoothly enough for some days after this, and no reference was made to the visitor at Stoke Ferry. Ashbrook made him his companion as heretofore, and his popularity had not in any way diminished.
One morning the farmer said in a tone of banter, “Come Patty, dear, what have you been about? The tea isn’t made, and the cloth isn’t laid, and I’m half famished. Has Mr. Fortescue got into your head, or what?”
“Mr. Fortescue!” exclaimed Patty, colouring. “What could induce you to make such an observation as that? Mr. Fortescue, indeed!—’taint likely.”
The farmer laughed.
“There, don’t ’ee lose yer temper—I didn’t mean to offend ’ee,” said he.
“Oh, you don’t offend me, Richard, but I should say that he’s more in your head than in mine.”
“That’s true enough, old gell, quite true. But hark’ee, Kitty don’t think much on him—does she?”
“I believe not.”
“Ah, so I thought. Lord bless us, what a funny world it is, to be sure. She says that she’s quite sure from his face that he’s no good, and that he must ha’ given us a false name, because the initials on his linen aint E. F., or anything like it.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, that’s what the gell sez, and she aint often mistaken. When Kitty meks up her mind to do a thing I’ll back she’ll stick to it, but I don’t think it at all likely that he would give us a false name.”
“Neither do I. I’m glad to hear ’ee say so, wife,” returned the farmer. “Very glad. The gell must ha’ gone stark crazy, I do believe. Why, a better fellow than Fortescue never breathed—there’s no man can hold a candle to him for jokes and stories.”
“I believe him to be a very good fellow, and should be sorry to find myself mistaken.”
Mr. Fortescue entered at that moment—he was looking pale, and his eyes were gentle and almost pathetic.
Richard Ashbrook was a handsome man enough, but there was something so unmistakably physical about him. His face was red, and streamed with that which is praiseworthy and even scriptural upon the brow of a man who works for his bread, but which is certainly not poetical.
Then his hair was ruffled, and his garments, the offspring of the village sheers, were clumsily put on.
Patty looked at their visitor, who, with features sodistingué, with clothes that fitted him like a glove, with perfumes encircling him, appeared to her like the genii of a romance.
The contrast between him and her husband was most marked, which no one could fail to notice.
Mrs. Ashbrook loved her partner quite as much, if not more, than women are accustomed to do, but it must be confessed, however, that she was not insensible to flattery and attention.
The visitor at Stoke Ferry was scrupulously polite and respectful in his manner towards the farmer’s wife.
It was his purpose to lure her from her fealty to her liege lord by slow degrees.
Patty had at all times displayed a disposition before her marriage to flirt with those of the opposite sex. She never for a moment thought there was any harm in this, for in the main she was a true-hearted, honourably-disposed woman. Nevertheless, she did give ear to the fulsome flattery bestowed upon her by Mr. Fortescue.
The farmer had full confidence in his wife, and would have trusted her with anybody, but he did not calculate with anything like exactness the viper he was cherishing in his household.
“You’re looking a little pale and jaded, Mr. Fortescue,” said he. “Leastways, it strikes me so—I hope I’m mistaken, sir.”
“I’m tolerably well, thank you,” returned the visitor. “But I could not sleep well last night;” here he glanced at Patty.
“That be a bad job,” cried Ashbrook. “When a man can’t sleep there must be summat the matter wi’ him.”
“Oh, I shall be all right in an hour or two, I dare say,” returned Fortescue, with a laugh. “It’s no use giving way to idle fancies.”
“Not a bit on it, none in the least. Tek a mug of beer wi’ your breakfast and come over to Cheadle’s farm wi’ me. They’ve got an ingin there.”
“Oh, indeed.”
“Yes, ha’ another there, and a crust of bread and cheese; then if you’re done up you can come back here while I walk over the farm.”
“All right, my friend, I will do so.”
Long before they had come in sight of Cheadle’s farm they heard a low humming sound like the music of a jew’s harp, and as they drew nearer the rattle and clanking which formed a deafening accompaniment.
Then they saw a stream of smoke curling over the trees, and on reaching the yard found themselves close upon the thrashing machine itself.
A huge machine with revolving wheels and high narrow funnel and a great iron belly, out of which rolled sheaves of straw.
These the men and women standing by caught on their pitchforks and piled into a rick.
“What do ee’ think of it?” cried Ashbrook. “You don’t see that sort of thing every day—do’ ee?”
“No, I can’t say that I ever did see one before—it’s a wonderful sight. Do you use it on your farm?”
“Not I,” replied the farmer, contemptuously. “I’m one of the old-fashioned sort, and stick to flail and barn door. My men hold to me in the summer when men are gold—so I keep work for them in the winter when work is scarce, and the best on ’em are glad of a job just to keep the pot boiling.”
“Ah, and it’s a very proper course to adopt. These machines must be bad things for the labourers?”
“Yes, I ’spose they are, but it don’t so much matter as far as the thrashing goes. Ye see farmers were drove to hire or buy these ingins—why? Because they couldn’t get the thrashing done without. The men round here would sooner be thrashed than thrash any day. Barring my own men, you won’t find three flails for miles around. Thrashing indeed! Why if everyone hereabouts had to thrash his own corn, there’s many as ’ud have to eat their’n in the straw.”
“And how about reaping machines?” said Mr. Fortescue.
“Well, they do take the bread out of the poor men’s mouths; for you see at harvest time a poor man counts on getting the money to put something on his back and feet. It’s all a man with a family can do to buy bread and pay his rent with what he gets a week; but farmers don’t like to use machines, and don’t do it when they can get men. There’s very little difference in the expense, and I always will believe that a man with a head on his shoulders can do his work cleaner and better than a great iron thing with a lot of teeth and wheels.”
“Machinery is now made use of for almost every purpose,” said Fortescue; “but I had no idea the population was so thin in the country.”
“Ah, but it is miserably thin. If we go on as we have been within the few last years our ‘bold peasantry,’ as they’ve been termed, will disappear altogether, and I’ll tell ’ee why. There’s fresh commons enclosed and bits of waste lands constantly taken into cultivation, arable lands increases every year, but the population don’t; it drops behind. The young men go to London to be mechanics, or to market towns to learn trades, or to Australiay or Californee to mek fortins—heaven help ’em—and the girls go to service. You can’t get girls to field work now, or if you do by chance she comes with a big hoop on, as if she was agoin’ to a party. Ugh! I like to see a field wench as she ought to be—in a smock and leather gaiters, not dressed like a milliner, and moppin’ and poppin’ about as gay as the first lady in the land.”
“Oh, certainly, that’s right enough,” said Fortescue, “but the question is whether it is to the advantage of women to go to field work?”
“I dunno as it is,” said Ashbrook, drily. “It meks ’em dirty, and their homes dirty, and their children are left all day to themselves, and their clothes be soon spoilt. The little they do get is fetched out of the foire like.”
Fortescue affected to be deeply interested in the subject. He asked question after question, and Ashbrook replied with oration after oration, for he was never tired of discussing upon farming matters, and was an oracle in his own particular way.
He little thought, however, where his companion’s thoughts were wandering all the while.
“A man must have his head screwed on in the right way to be a successful farmer,” observed Fortescue, thinking thereby to please his companion.
“You’re right, it does—there beant any mistake about that. Many pipple think any fool is fit for a farmer, but they are deucedly mistaken though, and so many of them find out arter they ha’ tried their hands at the business.”
“But after all it’s a healthy pleasant sort of life.”
“Aye, it be that—all that.”
The two companions walked for some distance together over the ploughed fields.
Presently Ashbrook glanced at his companion in a furtive manner, and said in a tone of something like commiseration—
“Ye beant looking at all the thing this morning, and seem to ha’ overdone it in the way of exercise. I think ’ee had better go home and see what the missus can do for ’ee. She’ll tackle your complaints better than I can. I know more about physicking horses and dogs than human critters, but she finds all the neighbours in medicine—she do.”
“Oh, I have no desire to return.”
“But ’ee must. Enough’s as good as a feast, and you had more than enough, I guess. Go back, Mr. Fortescue, and keep yourself as quiet as possible.” They walked together as far as the front gate, then Ashbrook pressed his hand warmly, and gave his visitor kind words.
The villain’s conscience, seared as it was, felt a momentary pang, but it was only momentary. He walked slowly till a high hedge hid him from the farmer’s sight; then he ran at full speed towards the house.
He entered through the kitchen. There he found Mrs. Ashbrook standing over a deal table with a rolling-pin in her hand, a heap of paste on one side, and a dish of apples pared and sliced on the other. Her plump white arms were bare above the elbows, and her fair hair was parted across her forehead and gathered up in a thick cluster at the back of her head. She looked more charming and captivating than ever—so her visitor thought.
She started as Fortescue entered.
“So you’re come back, eh? said she.
“Yes, Mr. Ashbrook did not think I could bear any further fatigue, and he advised me to return.”
“Oh, well, I hope you are better for your walk, sir, but I fear that our early hours and rough fare do not agree with you.”
“It is not that which prevents me from sleeping,” he murmured, in a low plaintive voice—“not that,” he replied.
“Oh, indeed!” She glanced at him curiously, and saw something in his look which made her avert her eyes.
There was a pause. Presently the farmer’s wife said—
“Oh, I dare say you’ll be glad when you get back to London.”
“Indeed, I shall not,” he returned quickly. “I don’t care about the metropolis now, and shouldn’t be sorry if I never saw it again.”
“Why, Mr. Fortescue, what can you be thinking about to say such a thing? You would never be able to submit to the humdrum of a country life.”
“I should if I were near you,” he answered.
Her face wore a puzzled expression.
He placed his hand on hers, which she suddenly withdrew.
“Mr. Fortescue,” she cried, “You don’t seem yourself to-day; I don’t know what to mek of you.”
At this moment Kitty who had been at work in the back kitchen came in. She took up a pail of water which was standing near the door and went out again as if she had not noticed them.
Mrs. Ashbrook had looked uneasy, and had shrunk back a little when she entered.
The scoundrel saw this, and his eyes shone triumphantly.
“I should like to make pastry as well as you do,” said he, following her to the table, and standing close beside her.
He pretended to assist her, and sometimes their fingers met, and sometimes his hand encountered as if by accident, her soft bare arm. A faint colour, the harbinger of a blush, tinged her cheeks, and her eyes were lowered upon the table.
She was in a state of trepidation, but did not know very well how to get rid of her tormentor.
“I hope I am not in your way, Mrs. Ashbrook,” he said, in a respectful tone.
“Oh, dear no,” she returned, “not at all; you will be away the whole of Saturday.”
“I’m getting tired of the market people,” he answered; “but how can I avoid going unless I fall ill, or something of that sort?”
Her face became crimson, but she made no reply.
“You will not be angry with me if I was to fall ill,” he asked, in a whisper, and placing his hand caressingly on her shiny soft hair.
“Mr. Fortescue,” she cried, in evident surprise. “I do not understand your meaning—angry! In what way can your movements concern me?”
Kitty came in again.
She darted a panther-like look at Fortescue, who received it with a face of marble.
“I have been showing Mr. Fortescue how to make pastry,” said Mrs. Ashbrook to her servant.
“Is the gentleman going to take a situation as man cook, then?” said Kitty, sarcastically.
Mrs. Ashbrook was greatly chagrined at this last observation.
“You are a funny girl,” cried she.
“I think it very funny that a Lunnon gentleman should be pushing his nose in a farmer’s kitchen,” observed the maid. “I dunno what to mek on it,” and with these words she darted out of the apartment.
“That girl is a great deal too forward—takes too many liberties to my thinking,” said Fortescue.
“She will speak her mind,” returned the farmer’s wife. “But you know she is privileged—she has been here for so many years that she looks upon herself as one of the family.”
Mr. Fortescue smiled and shrugged his shoulders, and deemed it best under the circumstances to beat a hasty retreat. Nodding to Mrs. Ashbrook he left the kitchen.
“I wish you’d not be so ready with your tongue before strangers,” said the farmer’s wife to her servant. “You see what you’ve done.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Why, you’ve offended Mr. Fortescue.”
“Oh, is that all?” cried the girl with an impudent toss of her head. “It’s a good job if he is offended.”
“Of that I am the best judge.”
“Well, I doan’t care for’un, and never shall. I could take my Bible oath that he be a false man.”
“Go along wi’ ye—do.”
“Well, I’ve sed it, and mean to stick to it. He’s no good—I be sartin sure of that. His ways are not like those of an honest man.”
“Kitty, for shame!”
“Ye mayn’t loike to hear it, ’cause you and master be taken so much up wi’ him; but it don’t alter my opinion.”
“Nobody asked you for your opinion. Go away and attend to your business.”
Kitty left, but she was heard muttering to herself in the wash-house for some time after this.
Contrary to his usual custom, Mr. Fortescue sat up till late that night reading.
His candle died out in the socket, he had no matches in his pocket, and was, therefore, obliged to feel his way up in the dark.
As he passed Kitty’s door he saw a light shining through the keyhole.
This he thought was a strange circumstance, and urged by curiosity more natural than refined he bent his head and peeped in.
She was seated on the bed half undressed busy with some work in her lap.
“Oh, female vanity! female vanity!” he soliloquised. “The new ribbon for the Sunday bonnet, or the worked hem for your Sunday petticoat, is sufficient to impel you to almost fabulous exertions; to work your fingers to the bone; to rob you of your needful sleep; to make you burn your master’s candles. As men labour to increase their wealth, so women will to decorate their persons.”
Filled with these sage reflections, he was about to withdraw his eye from its post of observation, when, to his surprise, the girl placed her work on one side, and rose from her seat.
She proceeded to disrobe herself, and was evidently preparing to go to bed.
“She’s a fine woman—that is evident enough,” cried Fortescue, who was, however, afraid to risk staying any longer—so he crept up to his own room again. “She hates me and mistrusts me, and will baulk me if she can. She is no contemptible enemy, it must be confessed—is self-reticent and watchful. But I hold a trump card in my hand which she little suspects. Well, we shall see. When you draw your sword, Miss Kitty, you will find that you have only a feather in your sheath.”