"He only said that he wanted a companion for his daughter, and asked for my references."
"That was just like papa," said Miss Trafford. "He always does everything in what he calls a business-like way, which I always say means never telling anybody anything."
"Will you tell me what made you ill?" I asked.
"Yes, it was my young horse," she said. "Such a beauty. You must see him, Miss Lindsay. He is black, and has a white star on his forehead, and his name is Wildfire because he flies along so fast. Papa said he was too young for me to ride. But I was not a bit afraid, and Cousin Donald asked me to go out with him for an hour. Cousin Donald is fond of me," she said, laughing. "He would like me to marry him, but that would never do. Papa says Cousin Donald has no money, and he would not hear of such a thing. But Donald is good-looking, and I like riding with him. He rides so well, and we had a splendid ride that day. But then Wildfire threw me, and all my fun was over."
"Were you badly hurt?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, "the doctors said my spine was injured. Only a little though," she added, quickly, "and if I keep very, very still, and never walk about for a year, they think I shall be completely well again. Oh dear, I wish the year was over now. But it will be much nicer now you have come."
"You must tell me, please, Miss Trafford, what my duties are," I said.
"Oh, don't talk about duties," she said, pretending to stop her ears. "I can't bear the word. I never could do anything because it was a duty. That's just the sort of word the companion in my imagination used to say. She used to draw up her head and look through her spectacles, and say, solemnly, 'Miss Evelyn, remember your duties!'"
"But you will tell me what my work is to be here," I repeated. "Your father, Sir William, did not mention it in his letter."
"You won't have any work," she said, "except to amuse me. You are to be my friend, if you like to call that work. You are to read to me, and talk to me, and have meals with me, and make the year go a little quicker."
"That isn't hard work," I said.
"Oh, I don't know," she answered. "You'll find me tiresome sometimes, and if you had been the brown alpaca dress, with gray curls and spectacles, I would have led you such a life that in less than a week you would have said to papa, 'Sir William Trafford, I must beg to resign the charge of your flippant and wilful daughter!' Before you came, papa said we were to have some profitable reading in the morning, and story books only after luncheon. But I hate profitable reading, and papa never makes me do what I hate."
"What kind of profitable reading do you mean?" I inquired.
"Oh, history and geography, and all such things. I never could bear them. What is the good of knowing who Henry VIII's wives were, and which of them he beheaded; and nearly giving oneself brain fever in trying to remember what relation John of Gaunt was to everybody else?"
"I'm fond of history," I said. "I think some parts are quite as interesting as a story book."
"Oh dear, oh dear," she said, "now you are talking just like the brown alpaca dress. I shall expect you to pull the spectacles out of your pocket in a minute!"
At that I could do nothing but laugh, and in a moment she had changed the conversation and was rattling on about something else.
"There are not many visitors here just now," she said. "You'll see them all by and by. They generally pay me a visit after dinner. And mind you stay with me when they come. I want you to see them all. The brown alpaca always got up when anyone came in, and made a stiff bow, and went away and shut herself up in her bedroom. So mind you don't do the same. You must look at all the people carefully, and tell me what you think of them when they are gone."
"Oh, I wouldn't like to do that," I said.
"Why not?" she asked, laughingly. "I don't mind telling you what I think of anyone. There is Lady Eldridge. She's grand and stately, and I don't like her a bit. And there's Lord Moreton -- he never has a word to say, and is very stupid. But he has a quantity of money and a splendid estate, and papa is always saying what a nice young man he is. And so he may be, perhaps, in some ways. At least he's harmless, but then he squints, and I never could marry anyone who squinted. Could you, Miss Lindsay?"
"I don't know," I said, laughing. "I never thought about it."
"Well, I couldn't. It would drive me mad. And then there's Alicia Hay, papa's old-maid cousin. If you ask me what I think of her, I think she's trying hard to get married and never will. And then there's Lilla -- but I won't tell you about them all now. You'll see them for yourself in time."
Chapter Six
"SHALL I ring the bell, Miss Trafford?" I inquired, when dinner was over.
"Don't call me Miss Trafford," she said quickly. "Call me Evelyn. It sounds much nicer, and is six letters shorter."
"But perhaps Sir William wouldn't like it," I objected.
"Oh, papa likes everything I like," she said decidedly. "I want you to call me Evelyn, and I mean to call you by your first name too. 'Miss Lindsay' sounds just like the brown alpaca. What is your Christian name?"
"My name is May," I said, "and I shall be glad if you'll call me May, instead of Miss Lindsay. If you do, I shall fancy I'm at home again."
"Well then it's settled, May," she said, laughing. "And now please ring the bell."
Soon after the dessert was cleared away, a rustling of silk was heard in the passages, the door opened, and three ladies entered the room.
The first was a stout, elderly lady, handsomely dressed. In her younger days I felt sure she had been a beauty, and I think she must have been greatly admired. But she had, I thought, an unpleasant expression on her face, and a haughty and disagreeable manner.
"Well, Evelyn," she said, as she swept past me without a word or a look, "how are you feeling now?"
"Oh, very nicely, thank you, Lady Eldridge," she said. "Miss Lindsay and I have had quite a pleasant chat together."
"Miss Lindsay? Ah yes, I see," said Lady Eldridge, turning to me for the first time. "The young person whom Sir William has engaged as your companion, I believe."
And then she took no further notice of me, but sat on the sofa at Evelyn's side, fanning herself vigorously.
There was something in Lady Eldridge's manner which made me uncomfortable and uneasy, and I had withdrawn to the table with my work as the two other ladies advanced to the fire, not intending to take any part in the conversation, when a pleasant, gentle voice by my side said kindly, "You must be tired with your long journey, Miss Lindsay. Had you to stop many times by the way?"
I looked up and met one of the sweetest faces I have ever seen. It was not exactly a pretty face, but there was such a beautiful expression on it that you could never have called it plain. I would have been puzzled if anyone had asked me how old she was. At one time she looked quite young, not more than twenty-four or five; and the moment afterwards I detected strong marks of care, or anxiety, or trouble on the face, which made me think she must be at least ten or fifteen years older.
I told her about my journey, and then she asked me one question after another, in the kindest, pleasantest way, as if she really cared to know all I had to tell her. She led me on from one subject to another, and I found myself telling her of our old home; of Maggie, and my hopes and fears for her; and of many other things, while Lady Eldridge and Evelyn were talking together on the sofa. All the chill and repression which had come over me when Lady Eldridge entered the room entirely passed away, and I felt perfectly at my ease again.
When I told her of our leaving our dear old home, her eyes filled with tears, and she said quietly, "I know what a trial that is. I have gone through it myself. What a comfort that there is one home where there will be no parting and no going away."
Such a happy, thankful feeling came into my heart as she said this. There was something in the way she said it, as well as in the words themselves, which made me feel sure that my new friend was one who loved the same Lord I loved. If I had felt drawn to her before, I was doubly drawn to her now.
&n
bsp; We had no opportunity for further conversation, for Evelyn was growing weary of Lady Eldridge, and invited us to come nearer to the fire.
"Put away your work, you industrious girl," Evelyn said to me. "The brown alpaca always had her work close to her fingers' ends at a moment's notice."
"My dear Evelyn," said Lady Eldridge, "a most profitable way for a young person."
But Evelyn took no notice of her, and turned to my new friend.
"Where have you been all day, Lilla?" she asked. "You have only been to see me three times."
"Have I been so negligent as that, dear?" she said. "I must mend my manners tomorrow; but I have been busy writing letters, so you must forgive me."
Until I had turned to the fire I had not looked at the third lady who had come into the room. She was sitting languidly in an armchair by the fire with her eyes fixed on the door, as if she was looking anxiously for someone to enter. She was decidedly advanced in middle age, yet she was dressed like a girl of seventeen in a low, white evening dress, and a most elaborate gold chain and locket round her neck. She looked dissatisfied and restless, as if striving to reach some object which was eluding her grasp. She took no particular interest in the general conversation which was going on, but seemed either lost in thought, or not thinking at all.
Lady Eldridge was giving an account of Near Eastern life, which she described as the most delightful life on earth. I found she had lived many years abroad, and was going to Constantinople the following spring. She could not settle in England more than a year at a time, she said. "Those miserable skies; those depressing fogs; those dreadful rainy days -- enough to make anyone commit suicide who has lived in the Near East, my dear." And Lady Eldridge fanned herself again at the recollection of it.
She kept up a continual run of conversation for about half an hour. But her chattering was brought to a close by a rap at the door, and the announcement that the gentlemen had arrived in the drawing-room.
"Those tiresome men," said Lady Eldridge. "As if they could not amuse themselves for half an hour without sending for us. Well, Alicia, I suppose we must obey the lords of creation and go downstairs. Good night, Evelyn, my dear."
And, without taking the slightest notice of me, Lady Eldridge sailed out of the room. The other two ladies said goodnight to both of us and followed in her train, and Evelyn and I were left alone.
"Well, what do you think of them?" Evelyn said, as soon as the door was shut. "Bring your chair close to the fire and tell me."
"I think that the lady who sat near me has one of the sweetest faces that I ever saw," I said. "I could easily believe in anyone loving her at first sight."
"Oh, Lilla, yes, isn't she nice?" said Evelyn, carelessly. "Everyone seems to like poor Lilla."
"Why do you call her poor?" I asked.
"Oh, because she has had so much trouble," Evelyn answered. "She was engaged to a young army officer a good many years ago, and it was broken off. His father persuaded him to marry someone with more money. Lilla is papa's first cousin, and she often stays here. It is dull for her at home. Her father has married again, and his new wife is such a horrid old thing, and she treats Lilla as if she were a child of twelve. But Lilla never complains. She is very patient. And what did you think of Lady Eldridge?"
I shook my head. "I had rather not say, please, Evelyn. I don't think it's kind to talk about people so much."
"Oh, it won't hurt Lady Eldridge, I assure you," she answered. "She is miles too high up in the world to be hurt by anything you or I may say or think of her -- at least, she thinks she is. Papa says she has nothing to boast of, if her antecedents were looked into. She was quite poor and lived in some Near Eastern city, when her good looks attracted Sir Hugh Eldridge's attention as he was passing through the place, and he married her. But she thinks herself a perfect queen now, and lords it over everybody. I often pity her poor maid. It is 'Lawrence, here!' 'Lawrence, do this!' 'Lawrence, do that!' from morning until night. Lady Eldridge thinks it's a disgrace to do the simplest thing for herself, or even to know how it ought to be done. She boasts of being ignorant as a baby about all money matters, and cannot even pay a bill for herself. Silly old thing," said Evelyn, contemptuously. "I have more respect for Alicia Hay than I have for her."
"Is that the lady who sat in the armchair by the fire?" I asked.
"Yes, poor thing," said Evelyn. "She wouldn't talk a bit tonight. I know why, and I know it just as well as if I'd been there. It was because Lord Moreton didn't take her down to dinner." Evelyn laughed at she thought of it. "Didn't you see how Alicia looked at the door every time a step came in the passage? Sometimes papa comes up for a few minutes on his way to the drawing-room to cheer me up a little, and sometimes he brings one of the gentlemen with him. But they didn't come tonight, so poor Alicia was quite disconsolate. She hadn't the heart to talk to anyone. And if she only knew -- oh, if she only knew -- what Lord Moreton really thinks of her!"
"I'm sorry," I said. "Is she very fond of him?"
"Oh, not of him in particular," said Evelyn, laughing, "but Alicia is getting old. She really is, though she'd be angry if anyone told her so. She wants to be married and have a home of her own."
I was tired after all the travelling and excitement I had gone through that day, so I was not sorry when Evelyn asked me to ring the bell for her maid Clemence and I was at liberty to go to my own room.
I lay awake for many hours, watching the flickering of the firelight, and listening for the striking of a large clock in the hall, whose deep, sonorous voice could be heard in every part of the great house.
The next morning I awoke before it was light, and had been dressed for more than an hour before Clemence came to conduct me to her young mistress's dressing-room. I found Evelyn lying on a sofa by the fire, in a pretty pink dressing-gown, with her fair hair hanging down in long waving tresses. She looked a perfect picture, I thought, and one that any artist would take pleasure in painting. She seemed pleased to see me, but was languid and tired, and not so much inclined for talking as she had been the night before.
Breakfast was brought up soon after I arrived, and while we were eating it, the door opened and an elderly gentleman came in. He had evidently been handsome in his younger days, and there was a cheerful, pleasant, good-tempered expression on his face which made him look younger than I imagine he really was.
"Oh, papa," said Evelyn, brightening up the moment that she saw him, "I'm so glad you've come. How naughty of you not to come last night. I wanted you so much to see Miss Lindsay. I call her May now," she added, laughing.
Sir William shook hands with me and said he hoped I would soon feel at home, and that his young daughter would not wear me out with her chattering.
"Now, papa, what nonsense," said Evelyn brightly. "May felt at home when she had been here ten minutes, didn't you, May? And she likes chattering just as much as I do. You talk just as if she was the brown alpaca I told you about. But she's not a bit like her. She's so nice, papa, and we get on together famously."
"That's good," said Sir William, seating himself on the sofa. "And how is my little daughter this morning?"
"A little tired, papa," she said wearily. "The pain kept me awake last night."
He looked at her anxiously I thought as he stooped over and arranged her pillows as carefully and tenderly as any woman could have done.
"Keep quiet this morning, little girl," he said. "I will not let any of them come near you. Miss Lindsay will read to you, and you can lie quite still."
"Oh no, thank you, papa," she said, cheerfully. "Let them all come. It does me good to have people coming in and out. It amuses me. They are so funny, some of them, aren't they, papa? Don't they make you laugh sometimes?"
Sir William made some evasive answer, and glanced towards the end of the room where I was sitting at work.
"Oh, you need not mind her, papa," said Evelyn aloud. "She's not the brown alpaca. I mean to tell her everything, and to talk just the same when she is in the room as wh
en she is out of it."
Sir William seemed rather amused at the rapid friendship which had sprung up between us, for he smiled kindly at me and gave me a few more words of welcome as he rose to leave the room.
But when he got to the door he said gravely, "Lord Moreton is anxious to see you this morning, Evelyn. Shall I let him come when you get into the other room?"
Evelyn laughed heartily. "Yes, if it's any amusement to him, papa," she said, "for I'm sure he amuses me. Oh, if you had only seen him the other day. He came up when Alicia Hay was sitting beside me, and neither of them spoke a word. He sat looking at me, and Alicia sat looking at him, and they were both perfectly stupid."
"Lord Moreton is a worthy young man, Evelyn," said her father.
"Oh, a very worthy young man," she repeated in exactly the same tone, so exactly that I could scarcely keep from laughing out loud. "But the worst is, papa, that I don't like worthy young men. They are so dreadfully uninteresting -- at least, they are if Lord Moreton is a specimen. They sit and look at you, and then clear their throats and try to make some feeble remark -- and break down in the middle. Oh dear, it is so amusing. Now Cousin Donald never does that. He can make himself very agreeable. I wish he'd come to see me."
"Donald has other business to attend to," said her father, rather sharply. "He has no time to lose now, because he has to make his own way in the world."
"Yes," she said, rather sadly, "poor Donald."
"I do not know why he need be pitied," said Sir William, dryly. "If your cousin will only get down to work he will soon be able to earn a very fair income."
"But Donald doesn't like work," said Evelyn. "He says he would like to be independent and have plenty of money."
"He never will have plenty of money," said Sir William, almost angrily, as he shut the door.
"Papa doesn't like Donald," Evelyn said, as soon as her father was out of hearing. "But he's so handsome, and he has such nice brown eyes. I don't know why papa dislikes him. I think it's because he's afraid Donald likes me too much. It's strange that Donald does like me. I would have thought that he would have hated me, because if I had never been born, Cousin Donald would have lived here and would have been just like papa's son. That makes me feel so sorry for him."