"Is that unreasonable?"
"Situation considered, on the contrary, miss; and Susan and me has two hundred pound between us in the savings-bank. My lord was a generous master. Now if her ladyship would lend me the extry money I'd pay her back as fast as I made it."
"There is no necessity for that," said Hilda.
"Three hundred pounds happens to be the very sum which her ladyship mentioned to me. So now I commission you in her name to make all the necessary arrangements with your brother; or, better still, go at once yourself--a man can always arrange these matters more satisfactorily himself--and I will let you have the money in three days, with Lady Chetwynde's best wishes for the success of your undertaking; and we will see," she added, with a smile, "if we can not get pretty Susan a wedding-dress, and any thing else she may need. Before a week is over you shall be mine host of the Keswick Inn. And now," she concluded, gayly, "go and make your arrangements with Susan, and don't let any foolish bashfulness on her part prevent you from hastening matters. It would not do for you to let this chance slip through your fingers. I will see that she is ready. Her ladyship has something for her too, and will not let her go to you empty-handed."
"I never, never can thank her ladyship nor you enough," said Roberts, "for what you have done for me this day. Might I make so bold as to write a letter to her ladyship, to offer her my respectful dooty?"
"Yes, Roberts--do so, and give me the letter. I shall be writing to-night, and will inclose it. By-the-by, are not Mary and Susan sisters?"
"They be, miss--sisters and orphelins."
"Well, then," said she, "see that you do not take more than you are entitled to; for though her ladyship lets you carry Susan off, you must not cast covetous eyes on Mary too; for though I allow she would make a very pretty little barmaid, she is a particularly good house-maid, and we can't spare her."
Roberts grinned from ear to ear.
"I can't pretend to manage the women, miss," said he; "you must speak to Mary;" and then, with a low bow, Roberts withdrew.
Hilda gave a sigh of relief. "There are three disposed of," she murmured. "This is a fair beginning."
On the following day she gave Roberts a check for the money, drawn by _Zillah Chetwynde_. Waving off his thanks, she dismissed him, and sent for the cook. That functionary quickly appeared. She was short of stature, large of bulk, red of face, fluent of speech, hasty of temper--_au reste_, she was a good cook and faithful servant. She bobbed to Hilda on entering, and, closing the door, stood with folded arms and belligerent aspect, like a porcupine armed for defense on the slightest appearance of hostilities.
"Good-morning, Martha," said Hilda, with great suavity. "I hope your rheumatism has not been troubling you since the warm weather set in?"
Martha bobbed with a more mollified air.
"Which, exceptin' the elber jints, where it's settled, likewise the knee jints--savin' of your presence, miss--it's the same; for to go down on my bended knees, miss, it's what I couldn't do, not if you was to give me a thousand-pun note in my blessed hand, and my Easter dooty not bein' able to perform, miss, which it be the first time it ever wor the case; an' it owing to the rheumatiz; otherwise I am better, miss, and thank you kindly."
"Her ladyship is very sorry," continued Hilda. "She is unable to return herself just yet, but she has asked me to attend to several matters for her, and one of them is connected with you, Martha. She has received a letter from his lordship stating that he was bringing with him a staff of servants, and among them a French cook."
Here Martha assumed the porcupine again, with every quill on end; but she said nothing, though Hilda paused for an instant. Martha wished to commit Miss Krieff to a proposition, that she might have the glory of rejecting it with scorn. So Hilda went on:
"Your mistress was afraid that you might not care about taking the place of under-cook where you have been head, and as she was anxious to avoid hurting your feelings in any way, she wished me to tell you of this beforehand."
Another moment and the apoplexy which had been threatening since the moment when "under-cook" had been mentioned would have been a fact, but luckily for Martha her overcharged feelings here broke forth with accents of bitterest scorn:
"Which she's _very_ kind. Hunder-cook, indeed! which it's what I never abore yet, and never will abear. I've lived at Chetwyn this twenty year, gurl and woman, and hopes as I 'ave done my dooty and giv satisfaction, which my lord were a gentleman, an' found no fault with his wittles, but ate them like a Christian and a nobleman, a-thankin' the Lord, and a-sayin', 'I never asks to see a tidier or a 'olesomer dinner than Martha sends, which she's to be depended on as never bein' raw nor yet done to rags;' an' now when, as you may say, gettin' on in years, though not that old neither as to be dependent or wantin' in sperrit, to have a French cook set over me a talkin' furrin languidgis and a cookin' up goodness ony knows what messes as 'nd pison a Christian stomach to as much as look at, and a horderin' about Marthar here and Marthar there, it's what I can't consent to put up with, and nobody as wasn't a mean spereted creetur could expect it of me, which it's not as I wish to speak disrespectful of her ladyship, which I considers a lady and as allers treated me as sich, only expectin' to hend my days in Chetwyn it's come, sudden like; but thanks to the blessed saints, which I 'ave put by as will keep me from the wukkus and a charge on nobody; and I'd like to give warnin', if you please, miss, and if so be as I could leave before monseer arrive."
Here Martha paused, not from lack of material, but from sheer want of breath. She would have been invincible in conversation but for that fatal constitutional infirmity--shortness of breath. This brought her to a pause in the full flow of her eloquence.
Hilda took advantage of the lull.
"Your mistress," said she, "feared that you would feel as you do on the subject, and her instructions to me were these: 'Try and keep Martha if you possibly can--we shall not easily replace her; but if she seems to fear that this new French cook may be domineering'" (fresh and alarming symptoms of apoplexy), "'and may make it uncomfortable for her, we must think of her instead of ourselves. She has been too faithful a servant to allow her to be trampled upon now; and if you find that she will not really consent to stop, you must get her a good place--'"
"Which, if you please, mum," said Martha, interrupting her excitedly, "we won't talk about a place--it is utterly useless, and I might be forgettin' myself; but I never thought," she continued, brushing away a hasty tear, "as it was Master Guy, meaning my lord, as would send old Martha away."
"Oh, I am sure he did not mean to do that," said Hilda, kindly; "but gentlemen have not much consideration, you know, and he is accustomed to French cookery." The softer mood vanished at the hated name.
"And he'll never grow to be the man his father were," said she, excitedly, "on them furrin gimcracks and kickshaws as wouldn't nourish a babby, let alone a full-growed man, and 'e a Henglishman. But it's furrin parts as does it. I never approved of the harmy."
"Her ladyship told me," said Hilda, with her usual placidity, and without taking any notice of the excited feeling of the other, "that if you insisted on going I was to give you twenty pounds, with her kind regards, to buy some remembrance."
"Which she's very kind," rejoined Martha, rather quickly, and with some degree of asperity; "and if you'll give her my grateful dooty, I'd like to leave as soon as may be."
"Well, if you are anxious to do so, I suppose you can. What kitchen-maids are there?"
"Well, miss," said Martha, with dignity, yet severity, "sich drabs of girls as I 'ave 'ad would 'ave prevoked a saint, and mayhap I was a little hasty; but takin' up a sauce-pan, and findin' it that dirty as were scandlus to be'old, I throwed the water as were hin it over 'er, and the saucepan with it, an' she declared she'd go, which as the 'ousekeeper bein' in bed, as you know, miss, an' there likely to remain for hevermore, she did, an' good riddance to her, say I--ungrateful hussy as had jist got her wages the day before, and 'ad a comfortable 'ome."
"It does not matter. I suppose the French cook will bring his own subordinates."
"Wery like, miss," said Martha, sharply. "I leave this very day. Good-mornin', miss."
"Oh no; don't be in such a hurry," said Hilda. "You have a week before you. Let me see you before evening, so that I may give you what your mistress has sent."
Martha sullenly assented, and withdrew.
The most difficult part of Hilda's business had thus been quietly accomplished. Nothing now remained but to see the coachman and groom, each of whom she graciously dismissed with a handsome present. She told them, however, to remain for about a week, until their successors might arrive. The large present which the liberality of Lady Chetwynde had given them enabled them to bear their lot with patience, and even pleasure.
After about a week Gualtier came up to Chetwynde Castle. He had been away to London, and brought word to Hilda that some of the new servants were expected in a few days. It was soon known to Roberts, Susan, and Mary that Gualtier had been made steward by Lady Chetwynde. He took possession of one of the rooms, and at once entered upon the duties of this office. On the day of his arrival Hilda left, saying to the remaining servants that she would never come back again, as she intended to live in the south of France. She shook hands with each of them very graciously, making each one a present in her own name, and accompanying it with a neat little speech. She had never been popular among them; but now the thought that they would never see her again, together, perhaps, with the very handsome presents which she had made, and her very kind words, affected them deeply, and they showed some considerable feeling.
Under such circumstances Hilda took her departure from Chetwynde Castle, leaving Gualtier in charge. In a few days the new servants arrived, and those of the old ones who had thus far remained now took their departure. The household was entirely remodeled. The new ones took up their places; and there was not one single person there who knew any thing whatever about the late Earl, or Hilda, or Gualtier. The old ones were scattered abroad, and it was not within the bounds of ordinary possibility that any of them would ever come near the place.
In thus remodeling the household it was somewhat enlarged. There was the new housekeeper, a staid, matronly, respectable-looking woman; three house-maids, who had formerly lived, in the north of England; a coachman, who had never before been out of Kent; a butler, who had formerly served in a Scotch family; two footmen, one of whom had served in Yorkshire, and the other in Cornwall; two grooms, who had been bred in Yorkshire; a cook, who had hitherto passed all her life in London; and three kitchen-maids, who also had served in that city. Thus the household was altogether new, and had been carefully collected by Gualtier with a view rather to the place from which they had come than to any great excellence on the part of any of them. For so large a place it was but a small number, but it was larger than the household which had been dismissed, and they soon settled down into their places.
One only was left of the old number. This was Mrs. Hart. But she lay on her sick-bed, and Hilda looked upon her as one whose life was doomed. Had any thought of her possible recovery entered her mind, she would have contrived in some way to get rid of her. In spite of her illness, she did not lack attention; for the new housekeeper attached herself to her, and gave her the kindliest care and warmest sympathy.
Last of all, so complete had been Hilda's precautions in view of possible future difficulties, that when Gualtier came as the new steward, he came under a new name, and was known to the household as _Mr. M'Kenzie_.
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE LADY OF THE CASTLE.
The new household had been led to expect the arrival of Lady Chetwynde at any moment. They understood that the old household had not given satisfaction, that after the death of the late Earl Lady Chetwynde had gone away to recruit her health, and, now that she was better, she had determined to make a complete change. When she herself arrived other changes would be made. This much Gualtier managed to communicate to them, so as to give them some tangible idea of the affairs of the family and prevent idle conjecture. He let them know, also, that Lord Chetwynde was in India, and might come home at any moment, though his engagements there were so important that it might be impossible for him to leave.
After a few days Lady Chetwynde arrived at the Castle, and was greeted with respectful curiosity by all within the house. Her cold and aristocratic bearing half repelled them, half excited their admiration. She was very beautiful, and her high breeding was evident in her manner; but there was about her such frigidity and such loftiness of demeanor that it repelled those who would have been willing to give her their love. She brought a maid with her who had only been engaged a short time previously; and it was soon known that the maid stood in great awe of her mistress, who was haughty and exacting, and who shut herself off altogether from any of those attempts at respectful sympathy which some kind-hearted lady's-maids might be inclined to show. The whole household soon shared in this feeling; for the lady of the Castle showed herself rigid in her requirements of duty and strict in her rule, while, at the same time, she made her appearance but seldom. She never visited Mrs. Hart, but once or twice made some cold inquiries about her of the housekeeper. She also gave out that she would not receive any visitors--a precautionary measure that was not greatly needed; for Chetwynde Castle was remote from the seats of the county families, and any changes there would not be known among them for some time.
The lady of the Castle spent the greater part of her time in her boudoir, alone, never tolerating the presence of even her maid except when it was absolutely necessary, but requiring her to be always near in case of any need for her presence arising. The maid attributed this strange seclusion to the effects of grief over her recent bereavement, or perhaps anxiety about her husband; while the other servants soon began to conjecture that her husband's absence arose from some quarrel with a wife whose haughty and imperious demeanor they all had occasion to feel.
It was thus, then, that Hilda had entered upon her new and perilous position, to attain to which she had plotted so deeply and dared so much. Now that she had attained it, there was not an hour, not a moment of the day, in which she did not pay some penalty for the past by a thousand anxieties. To look forward to such a thing as this was one thing; but to be here, where she had so often longed to be, was quite another thing. It was the hackneyed fable of Damocles with the sword over his head over again. She was standing on treacherous ground, which at any moment might give way beneath her feet and plunge her in an abyss of ruin. To live thus face to face with possible destruction, to stare death in the face every day, was not a thing conducive either to mildness or to tenderness in any nature, much less in one like hers.
In that boudoir where she spent so much of her time, while her maid wondered how she employed herself, her occupation consisted of but one thing. It was the examination of papers, followed by deep thought over the result of that examination. Every mail brought to her address newspapers both from home and abroad. Among the latter were a number of Indian papers, published in various places, including some that were printed in remote towns in the north. There were the Delhi _Gazette_, the Allahabad _News_, and the Lahore _Journal_, all of which were most diligently scanned by her. Next to these were the _Times_ and the _Army and Navy Gazette_. No other papers or books, or prints of any kind, had any interest in her eyes.
It was natural that her thoughts should thus refer to India. All her plans had succeeded, as far as she could know, and, finally, she had remodeled the household at Chetwynde in such a way that not one remained who could by any possibility know about the previous inmates. She was here as Lady Chetwynde, the lady of Chetwynde Castle, ruler over a great estate, mistress of a place that might have excited the envy of any one in England, looked up to with awful reverence by her dependents, and in the possession of every luxury that wealth could supply. But still the sword was suspended over her head, and by a single hair--a sword that at any moment might fall. What could she know about the intentions of Lord Chetwynde all this time? What were his plans or purposes? Was it not possible, in spite of her firmly expressed convictions to the contrary, that he might come back again to England? And then what? Then--ah! that was the thing beyond which it was difficult for her imagination to go--the crisis beyond which it was impossible to tell what the future might unfold. It was a moment which she was ever forced to anticipate in her thoughts, against which she had always to arm herself, so as to be not taken at unawares.
She had thrown herself thus boldly into Chetwynde Castle, into the very centre of that possible danger which lay before her. But was it necessary to run so great a risk? Could she not at least have gone to Pomeroy Court, and taken up her abode there? Would not this also have been a very natural thing for the daughter of General Pomeroy? It would, indeed, be natural, and it might give many advantages. In the first place, there would be no possibility that Lord Chetwynde, even if he did return from India, would ever seek her out there. She might communicate with him by means of those letters which for years he had received. She might receive his answers, and make known to him whatever she chose, without being compelled to see him face to face. By such a course she might gain what she wished without endangering her safety. All this had occurred to her long before, and she had regarded it in all its bearings. Nevertheless, she had decided against it, and had chosen rather to encounter the risk of her present action. It was from a certain profound insight into the future. She thought that it was best for Lady Chetwynde to go to Chetwynde Castle, not to Pomeroy Court. By such an act scandal would be avoided. If Lord Chetwynde did not come, well and good; if he did, why then he must be met face to face; and in such an event she trusted to her own genius to bring her out of so frightful a crisis. That meeting would bring with it much risk and many dangers; but it would also bring its own peculiar benefits. If it were once successfully encountered her position would be insured, and the fear of future danger would vanish. For that reason, if for no other, she determined to go to Chetwynde Castle, run every risk, and meet her fate.
While Hilda was thus haughty and repellent to her servants, there was one to whom she was accessible; and this was the new steward, Gualtier, with whom she had frequent communications about the business of the estate. Their interviews generally took place in that morning-room which has already been described, and which was so peculiarly situated that no prying servants could easily watch them or overhear their conversation, if they were careful.
One day, after she had dined, she went to this room, and ordered her maid to tell the steward that she would like to see him. She had that day received a number of Indian papers, over which she had passed many hours; for there was something in one of them which seemed to excite her interest, and certainly gave occupation to all her mind.
Gualtier was prompt to obey the mandate. In a few minutes after Hilda had entered the room he made his appearance, and bowed in silence. Hilda motioned him to a chair, in which he seated himself. The intercourse of these two had now become remarkable for this, that their attitude toward one another had undergone a change corresponding to their apparent positions. Hilda was Lady Chetwynde, and seemed in reality, even in her inmost soul, to feel herself to be so. She had insensibly caught that grand air which so lofty a position might be supposed to give; and it was quite as much her own feeling as any power of consummate acting which made her carry out her part so well. A lofty and dignified demeanor toward the rest of the household might have been but the ordinary act of one who was playing a part; but in Hilda this demeanor extended itself even to Gualtier, toward whom she exhibited the same air of conscious social superiority which she might have shown had she been in reality all that she pretended to be. Gualtier, on his part, was equally singular. He seemed quietly to accept her position as a true and valid one, and that, too, not only before the servants, when it would have been very natural for him to do so, but even when they were alone. This, however, was not so difficult for him, as he had always been in the habit of regarding her as his social superior; yet still, considering the confidences which existed between this extraordinary pair, it was certainly strange that he should have preserved with such constancy his attitude of meek subservience. Here, at Chetwynde, he addressed her as the steward of the estates should have done; and even when discussing the most delicate matters his tone and demeanor corresponded with his office.
On this occasion he began with some intelligence about the state of the north wall, which bounded the park. Hilda listened wearily till he had finished. Then she abruptly brought forward all that was in her thoughts. Before doing so, however, she went to the door to see that no one was present and listening there, as she had herself once listened. To those who were at all on their guard there was no danger. The morning-room was only approached by a long, narrow hall, in which no one could come without being detected, if any one in the room chose to watch. Hilda now took her seat on a chair from which she could look up the hall, and thus, feeling secure from observation or from listeners, she began, in a low voice:
"I received the Indian papers to-day."
"I was aware of that, my lady," said Gualtier, respectfully. "Did you see any thing in them of importance?"
"Nothing certain, but something sufficient to excite concern."
"About Lord Chetwynde?"
"Yes."
"He can not be coming home, surely?" said Gualtier, interrogatively.
"I'm afraid that he is."
Gualtier looked serious.
"I thought," said he, "my lady, that you had nearly given up all expectation of seeing him for some time to come."
"I have never yet given up those expectations. I have all along thought it possible, though not probable; and so I have always watched all the papers to see if he had left his station."
"I suppose he would not write about his intentions."
"To whom could he think of writing?" asked Hilda, with a half sneer.
"I thought that perhaps he might write to Lady Chetwynde."
"Lady Chetwynde's letters to him have been of such a character that it is not very likely that he will ever write to her again, except under the pressure of urgent necessity."
"Have you seen any thing in particular in any of the papers about him?" asked Gualtier, after some silence.
"Yes. In one. It is the Allahabad _News_. The paragraph happened to catch my eye by the merest accident, I think. There is nothing about it in any of the other Indian papers. See; I will show it to you."
And Hilda, drawing a newspaper from her pocket, unfolded it, and pointing to a place in one of the inside columns, she handed it to Gualtier. He took it with a bow, and read the following:
"PERSONAL.--We regret to learn that Lord Chetwynde has recently resigned his position as Resident at Lahore. The recent death of his father, the late Earl of Chetwynde, and the large interests which demand his personal attention, are assigned as the causes for this step. His departure for England will leave a vacancy in our Anglo-Indian service which will not easily be filled. Lord Chetwynde's career in this important part of the empire has been so brilliant, that it is a matter for sincere regret that he is prevented, by any cause, from remaining here. In the late war he made his name conspicuous by his valor and consummate military genius. In the siege of Delhi he won laurels which will place his name high on the roll of those whom England loves to honor. Afterward, in the operations against Tantia Toupi, his bold exploits will not soon be forgotten. His appointment to the Residency at Lahore was made only a few months since; yet in that short time he has shown an administrative talent which, without any reflection on our other able officials, we may safely pronounce to be very rare in the departments of our civil service. He is but a young man yet; but seldom has it happened that one so young has exhibited such mature intellectual powers, and such firm decision in the management of the most delicate cases. A gallant soldier, a wise ruler, and a genial friend, Lord Chetwynde will be missed in all those departments of public and private life of which he has been so conspicuous an ornament. As journalists, we wish to record this estimate of his virtues and his genius, and we feel sure that it will be shared by all who have been in any way familiar with the career of this distinguished gentleman. For the rest, we wish him most cordially a prosperous voyage home; and we anticipate for him in the mother country a career corresponding with his illustrious rank, and commensurate with the brilliant opening which he made in this country during those recent 'times which tried men's souls.'"
Gualtier read this paragraph over twice, and then sat for some time in thought. At last he looked up at Hilda, who had all this time been intently watching him.
"That's bad," exclaimed he, and said no more.
"It seems that, after all, he is coming," said Hilda.
"Have you seen his name in any of the lists of passengers?"
"No."
"Then he has not left yet."
"Perhaps not; but still I can not trust to that altogether. His name may be omitted."
"Would such a name as his be likely to be omitted?"
"I suppose not; and so he can not have left India as yet--unless, indeed, he has come under an assumed name."
"An assumed name! Would he be capable of that? And if he were, what motive could he have?"
"Ah! there I am unable to find an answer. I'm afraid I have been judging of Lord Chetwynde by that." And Hilda pointed to the portrait of the young officer, Guy Molyneux, over the fireplace. "Years have changed him, and I have not made allowance for the years. I think now that this Lord Chetwynde must be very different from that Guy Molyneux. This hero of Delhi; this assailant of Tantia Toupi; this dashing officer, who is at once brilliant in the field and in the social circle; this man who, in addition to all this, has proved himself to be a wise ruler, with a 'genius for administration,' is a man who, I confess, dawns upon me so suddenly that it gives me a shock. I have been thinking of an innocent boy. I find that this boy has grown to be a great, brave, wise, strong man! There, I think, is the first mistake that I have made."
Hilda's words were full of truth and meaning. Gualtier felt that meaning.
"You have an alternative still," said he.
"What is that?"
"You need not stay here."
"What! Run away from him--in fear?" said Hilda, scornfully. "Run away from this place before I even know for certain that he is coming? That, at least, I will not do."
"There is Pomeroy Court," hinted Gualtier.
"No. Chetwynde Castle is my only home. I live here, or--nowhere. If I have to encounter him, it shall be face to face, and here in this house--perhaps in this room. Had I seen this a month ago my decision might have been different, though I don't know even that; but now, under any circumstances, it is too late to go back, or to swerve by one hair's breadth from the path which I have laid down for myself. It is well that I have seen all this"--and she pointed to the newspaper--"for it has given me a new view of the man. I shall not be so likely to underrate him now; and being forewarned I will be forearmed."
"There is still the probability," said Gualtier, thoughtfully, "that he may not come to England."
"There is a possibility," said Hilda, "certainly; but it is not probable, after so decided an act performed by one in so important a position, that he will remain in India. For why should he remain there? What could possibly cause him to resign, except the fixed intention of coming home? No; there can not be the slightest doubt that he is coming home us as certain as the dawn of to-morrow. What I wonder at, however, is, that he should delay; I should have expected to hear of his arrival in London. Yet that can not be, for his name is not down at all; and if he had come, surely a name like his could not by any possibility be omitted. No, he can not have come just yet. But he will, no doubt, come in the next steamer."
"There is yet another chance," said Gualtier.
"What is that?"