CHAPTER IX
Celia was awakened the next morning by the singing of the birds. For afew minutes she was confused by her strangely luxurious surroundings;but she soon realized her good fortune, and she leapt out of bed, ran tothe window, and peeped out on the wonderful view. She might have stoodopenly at the window, for no building, no human being were in sight. Itseemed to her that she was the only person in that vast solitude ofumbrageous park and wide-stretching heath.
Immediately beneath her lay the velvet lawns of the splendid gardens;they were irresistible; she had her bath and dressed quickly, and, tothe amazement of the housemaids who were at work in the hall, went outbare-headed. She felt as if every moment in which she was not enjoyingthis wonderful new experience of hers were a lost one; and she wanderedabout, stopping occasionally to examine the noble facade of the house, aquaint sundial, an antique fountain of bronze, some particularlytasteful arrangement of the flowers.
There was an Italian garden, with marble benches, fawns and dryads,which was exactly like those depicted in _Country Life_: and here itwas, and she was free of it! Oh, marvellous! Presently a huge deerhound,graceful as the forest from which he sprang, came bounding to her; hestopped and eyed her critically for a moment, then he came forward instately fashion and laid his beautiful head in the hands sheoutstretched to him. She went down on her knees and hugged him; and hesubmitted to the embrace, with his great, loving eyes fixed on hersapprovingly. When the big bell in one of the towers rang for breakfastthe dog followed her into the little room behind the library and flunghimself down at her side, as if he belonged to her.
While she was eating her breakfast Mrs. Dexter looked in, inquired howCelia had slept, cast an examining eye over the bountifully furnishedtable, with its gleaming silver and dainty china, and asked if Celia hadeverything she needed.
"Oh, yes," said Celia, with a laugh. "I have never seen such a breakfastin my life; there are so many things that I don't know which to choose."
Mrs. Dexter smiled, with an air of satisfaction. "I see you have gotRoddy," she said.
At the sound of his name the big dog rose and went to the housekeeper,then returned to Celia.
"Yes; isn't he a beautiful dog?" said Celia. "We made friends outside. Iam flattering myself that he has taken a fancy to me; I hope he has."
"It certainly looks like it," assented Mrs. Dexter. "He will be companyfor you on your walks."
"Oh, may I have him?" cried Celia, delightedly. "I've fallenpassionately in love with him."
Mrs. Dexter assured her that Roddy, as well as everything in and aboutthe place, was at Celia's service, and, explaining that she was verybusy, hurried away. Immediately after breakfast Celia began herdelightful work, and for the next two or three days stuck to it sopersistently that Mrs. Dexter remonstrated.
"Oh, but you don't know how much I love it," pleaded Celia. "The momentI leave the library I want to get back to it. You see, I'm mad on books,and this work of mine is a labour of love; the very touch of some ofthese old volumes thrills me. And there are so many of them; sometimes Ifeel that I shall never get through my task, if I live to be ninety."
"You'll soon look like ninety, my dear, if you don't take moreexercise," observed Mrs. Dexter, wisely. "I am sure his lordship wouldbe grieved if he knew you were working so hard. Now, come, take Roddyand go for a long walk; or perhaps you would rather drive?"
Celia declared that she preferred a walk, and a little later she startedout, somewhat reluctantly, with Roddy close at her heels. It was adelicious morning; the feeling of the coming summer was in the air, thelarks were singing joyously above the moorland, as if they, too, wererevelling in the bright sunlight, the clean, keen air, the scent of thegorse with which it was perfumed. Celia could scarcely refrain fromsinging; she walked quickly, and sometimes, to Roddy's delight, she ranraces with him. She came to the end of the moor at last, and swung downto the high road, followed it for some time and presently came to twocross-roads. She was hesitating which to take, when a small phaeton,drawn by an Exmoor pony, came rolling towards her.
In the phaeton was an old lady with white hair and a pleasantcountenance; she had very sharp eyes and a smile that was a triflecynical. At sight of the young girl, with the brilliant eyes and thehealthily flushed cheeks, she stopped the pony and looked at Celiacuriously. Celia felt as if she must speak to everyone that morning, soshe went up to the tiny carriage and asked how far it was, by the road,to Thexford Hall.
"Oh, I see," said the old lady. "I was wondering who you were. You arethe young lady who has come to the Hall as librarian. Let me see, whatis your name?"
Celia told her.
"And a very pretty one, too," said the old lady, with a short nod. "I'mcalled Gridborough. You've walked six miles, and must be tired," shecontinued. "You ought to have a rest. Get in and I'll drive you to myhouse; you can have some lunch with me."
As they entered a long drive, bordered by tall elms, Celia saw a smallcottage set back a little way from the road. A young woman, with a paleface and sad-looking blue eyes, was standing at the gate with a baby inher arms. As the phaeton drove up, a faint colour came to her whiteface; she dropped a little curtsy and was turning away, but stopped whenthe old lady called to her. The young woman approached, with an air oftimidity, of passive obedience, which was as pathetic as her eyes.
"Well, how is the baby, Susie?" asked her ladyship.
"He is quite well, now, my lady," replied the girl, in a low, tonelessvoice.
"That's right. I thought he'd soon pull round; it's the wonderful air.Let me look at him." She took the baby from the young woman's arms,which yielded him slowly and reluctantly. "Oh, yes, he is lookingfamously."
"What a pretty baby!" Celia exclaimed, bending over the child with all ayoung girl's rapture. "It's a darling."
The young mother's pale face flushed, and the faded blue eyes grewradiant for a moment, as she raised them gratefully to Celia's face; butthe flush, the radiance, vanished almost instantly, and the face becamepatient and sad again.
"You must try to get some of the baby's roses in your own cheeks,Susie," said her ladyship, peering at the girl.
"Yes, my lady," came the passive response. She took the child into herown arms, pressing it to her with a little convulsive movement, then, asthe carriage drove off, dropped a curtsy.
"That's a sad business," said Lady Gridborough, speaking rather toherself than to her companion. "It's the old story: selfish man, weakwoman."
"She is a stranger here?" asked Celia.
"Yes; she was born in a little village where I live sometimes. I broughther here--was obliged to. They were harrowing the poor child to death,the toads! She was dying by inches, she and the child, too, and so Icarried her away from her own place and stuck her into this cottage."
"That was very good of you," said Celia, warmly.
"Oh, well, whenever I see Susie, I think of my own girlhood and itstemptations, and say to myself, like the man whose name I can'tremember, 'but for the grace of God, there goes Constance Gridborough.'Here we are!"
They had covered the long drive, and reached a house almost as grand asthe hall. As at the Hall, there was a superfluity of servants, and onewould have thought the little Exmoor was an elephant by the way in whicha couple of grooms sprang forward to his diminutive head. The old lady,leaning on a stick and the arm of a footman, led Celia into the house.
While lunch was in progress the old lady talked in the same friendly andfamiliar way, as if she had known Celia for years.
"I suppose you're a college girl? Wiggins, help Miss Grant to somechicken. You must make a good lunch, for I am sure you must be hungry.Father and mother living?"
"No," said Celia, quietly.
"That's sad," commented her ladyship. "And so you're thrown on your ownresources. Well, they look as if they'd stand by you. I'm glad you'vecome to the Hall, now I find that you're not a blue-stocking and don'twear spectacles. Yes, I'm glad, for I've rather taken a fancy to you. Ilike healthy young th
ings, and you look as if you were a part of themorning. Sounds like poetry out of one of your wretched books."
"And now," said Celia, after a while, "I must be going, LadyGridborough. I have been away quite a long time."
"You must come again," said the old lady.
"Do you think," said Celia, hesitatingly, as she slipped on her jacket,"that the young woman, Susie, as you call her, would let me go to seeher sometimes? I should like to."
"Yes, my dear," said her ladyship, with a nod which showed she waspleased. "Go and see her, by all means. You're a girl of about her ownage, and she may open her heart to you. A sad business--a sad business,"she murmured. "And what makes it more sad for me is that I knew theyoung man."
She paused and appeared as if she were hesitating, then she said:
"Look here, my dear, it's scarcely a story for your ears; but I've nodoubt it will come to them sooner or later, and so I may as well tellyou. This place, where I have another house, where Susie Morton lived iscalled Bridgeford. She was in service with me, and a young gentleman wholodged in the village--he was studying engineering--made heracquaintance. I suspected nothing. Indeed, he was supposed to be in lovewith the daughter of the rector, Miriam Ainsley. I thought it was goingto be a match, but they were both poor, and the girl suddenly married ayoung nobleman, a man I disliked very much, a wastrel and ane'er-do-well. But there were stories about this other young man who wassupposed to be in love with her, and perhaps they came to her ears, anddrove her to the other man, though it was a case of out of thefrying-pan into the fire. The young engineer left the place suddenly,and disappeared, and everybody attributed poor Susie's downfall to him."
There was silence for a moment, then she went on musingly:
"Strange how even the most timid of our sex can display firmness anddetermination when they have made up their minds to do so. Though Susiehas been implored to disclose his name, she has refused to do so. Thosechildish little lips of hers close tightly whenever one approaches thesubject, and she has absolutely refused to say one word that would leadto a clue."
"Perhaps--perhaps the young man was not guilty after all," said Celia.
Lady Gridborough shook her head.
"I'm afraid he was, my dear," she said, with a sigh and a shrug. "Shewas very pretty, is so still, and I took a fancy to her and let her helpme when I was pottering about the garden. I used to like to have himnear me, and so they were thrown together. The old story. And yet Ifound it hard to believe that Derrick Dene was a scoundrel, and aheartless one to boot. There! That's enough of it. But as I say, youwould have heard of it sooner or later. Put it out of your head, mydear; it's not the kind of story to dwell upon; though I supposenowadays young girls read and hear about these sort of things every day.Now mind! you're to come to see me whenever you feel inclined."
Celia promised warmly, and the childless woman stood in the doorway andsighed as she watched the girlish figure going lightly down the drive.Celia was feeling very happy; she would try to make a friend of Susie,and forget the story of her ruin and the name of Derrick Dene.