CHAPTER XXXII.
A CONVERSATION IN THE ECCLESTON SQUARE LIBRARY.
Rebecca, the fresh-complexioned waiting-maid, was still standing behindthe ponderous hall door, listening, with a smile upon her face, to youngDimsdale's retreating footsteps, when another and a brisker tread caughther ear coming from the opposite direction. The smile died away as sheheard it, and her features assumed a peculiar expression, in which itwould be hard to say whether fear or pleasure predominated. She passedher hands up over her face and smoothed her hair with a quick nervousgesture, glancing down at the same time at her snowy apron and thebright ribbons which set it off. Whatever her intentions may have been,she had no time to improve upon her toilet before a key turned in thedoor and Ezra Girdlestone stepped into the hall. As he saw her shadowyfigure, for the gas was low, he uttered a hoarse cry of surprise andfear, and staggered backwards against the door-post.
"Don't be afeared, Mister Ezra," she said in a whisper; "it's only me."
"The devil take you!" cried Ezra furiously. "What makes you stand aboutlike that? You gave me quite a turn."
"I didn't mean for to do it. I've only just been answering of the door.Why, surely you've come in before now and found me in the hall withoutmaking much account of it."
"Ah, lass," answered Ezra, "my nerves have had a shake of late.I've felt queer all day. Look how my hand shakes."
"Well, I'm blessed!" said the girl, with a titter, turning up the gas."I never thought to see you afeared of anything. Why, you looks aswhite as a sheet!"
"There, that's enough!" he answered roughly. "Where are the others?"
"Jane is out. Cook and William and the boy are downstairs."
"Come into the library here. They will think that you are up in thebedrooms. I want to have a quiet word or two with you. Turn up thatreading lamp. Well, are they gone?"
"Yes, they are gone," she answered, standing by the side of the couch onwhich he had thrown himself. "Your father came about three with a cab,and took her away."
"She didn't make a fuss?"
"Make a fuss? No; why should she? There's fuss enough made about her,in all conscience. Oh, Ezra, before she got between us you was kind tome at times. I could stand harsh words from you six days a week, ifthere was a chance of a kind one on the seventh. But now--now whatnotice do you take of me?" She began to whimper and to wipe her eyeswith a little discoloured pocket-handkerchief.
"Drop it, woman, drop it!" cried her companion testily. "I wantinformation, not snivelling. She seemed reconciled to go?"
"Yes, she went quiet enough," the girl said, with a furtive sob.
"Just give me a drop of brandy out of that bottle over there--the onewith the cork half out. I've not got over my start yet. Did you hearmy father say anything as to where they were going?"
"I heard him tell the cabman to drive to Waterloo Station."
"Nothing more?"
"No."
"Well, if he won't tell you, I will. They have gone down to Hampshire,my lass. Bedsworth is the name of the place, and it is a pleasantlittle corner near the sea. I want you to go down there as wellto-morrow."
"Want me to go?"
"Yes; they need some one who is smart and handy to keep house for them.There is some old woman already, I believe, but she is old and useless.I'll warrant you wouldn't take long getting things shipshape. My fatherintends to stay down there some little time with Miss Harston."
"And how about you?" the girl asked, with a quick flash of suspicion inher dark eyes.
"Don't trouble about me. I shall stay behind and mind the business.Some one must be on the spot. I think cook and Jane and William oughtto be able to look after me among them."
"And I won't see you at all?" the girl cried, with a quiver in hervoice.
"Oh yes, you shall. I'll be down from Saturday to Monday every week,and perhaps oftener. If business goes well I may come down and stayfor some time. Whether I do or not may depend upon you."
Rebecca Taylforth started and uttered an exclamation of surprise."How can it depend upon me?" she asked eagerly.
"Well," said Ezra, in a hesitating way, "it may depend upon whether youare a good girl, and do what you are told or not. I am sure that youwould do anything to serve me, would you not?"
"You know very well that I would, Mister Ezra. When you want anythingdone you remember it, but if you have no use for me, then there is nevera kind look on your face or a kind word from your lips. If I was a dogyou could not use me worse. I could stand your harshness. I couldstand the blow you gave me, and forgive you for it, from my heart; but,oh! it cut me to the very soul to be standing by and waiting while youwere making up to another woman. It was more than I can bear."
"Never mind, my girl," said Ezra in a soothing voice; "that's all overand done with. See what I've brought you." He rummaged in his pocketand produced a little parcel of tissue paper, which he handed to her.
It was only a small silver anchor, with Scotch pebbles inlaid in it.The woman's eyes, however, flashed as she looked at it, and she raisedit to her lips and kissed it passionately.
"God bless it and you too!" she said. "I've heard tell as the anchor'sthe emblem of hope, and so it shall be with me. Oh, Ezra, you maytravel far and meet them as can play and can sing and do many a thing asI can't do, but you'll never get one who will love you as dearly andwell."
"I know it, my lass, I know it," said Ezra, smoothing down her darkhair, for she had dropped upon her knees beside the couch. "I've nevermet your equal yet. That's why I want you down at Bedsworth. I musthave some one there that I can trust.
"What am I to do down at Bedsworth?" she asked.
"I want you to be Miss Harston's companion. She'll be lonely, and willneed some other woman in the house to look after her."
"Curse her!" cried Rebecca, springing to her feet with flashing eyes."You are still thinking of her, then! She must have this; she must havethat! Everything else is as dirt before her. I'll not serve her--sothere! You can knock me down if you like."
"Rebecca," said Ezra slowly, "do you hate Kate Harston?"
"From the bottom of my soul," she answered.
"Well, if you hate her, I tell you that I hate her a thousand timesmore. You thought that I was fond of her. All that is over now, andyou may set your mind at ease."
"Why do you want her so well cared for, then?" asked the girlsuspiciously.
"I want some one who feels towards her as I do to be by her side.If she were never to come back from Bedsworth it would be nothing tome."
"What makes you look at me so strangely?" she said, shrinking away fromhis intense gaze.
"Never mind. You go. You will understand many things in time whichseem strange to you now. At present if you will do what I ask you willoblige me greatly. Will you go?"
"Yes, I will go."
"There's a good lass. Give us a kiss, my girl. You have the rightspirit in you. I'll let you know when the train goes to-morrow, and Iwill write to my father to expect you. Now, off with you, or you'llhave them gossiping downstairs. Good night."
"Good night, Mister Ezra," said the girl, with her hand upon the handleof the library door. "You've made my heart glad this night. I live inhope--ever in hope."
"I wonder what the deuce she hopes about," the young merchant said tohimself as she closed the door behind her. "Hopes I'll marry her, Isuppose. She must be of a very sanguine disposition. A girl like thatmight be invaluable down at Bedsworth. If we had no other need for her,she would be an excellent spy." He lay for some little time on thecouch with bent brow and pursed lips, musing over the possibilities ofthe future.
While this dialogue had been going on in the library of EcclestonSquare, Tom Dimsdale was still wending his way homewards with a feelingof weight in his mind and a presentiment of misfortune whichovershadowed his whole soul. In vain he assured himself that thisdisappearance of Kate's was but temporary, and that the rumour of anengagement between her and
Ezra was too ridiculous to be believed for amoment. Argue it as he would, the same dread, horrible feeling ofimpending trouble weighed upon him. Impossible as it was to imaginethat Kate was false to him, it was strange that on the very day thatthis rumour reached his ears she should disappear from London.How bitterly he regretted now that he had allowed himself to bepersuaded by John Girdlestone into ceasing to communicate with her.He began to realize that he had been duped, and that all these speciouspromises as to a future consent to their union had been so many baits toamuse him while the valuable present was slipping away. What could hedo now to repair the past? His only course was to wait for the morrowand see whether the senior partner would appear at the offices.If he did so, the young man was determined that he should have anunderstanding with him.
So downcast was Tom that, on arriving at Phillimore Gardens, he wouldhave slipped off to his room at once had he not met his burly fatherupon the stairs. "Bed!" roared the old man upon hearing his son'sproposition. "Nothing of the sort, sir. Come down into the parlour andsmoke a pipe with me. Your mother has been waiting for you all theevening."
"I am sorry to be late, mother," the lad said, kissing the old lady."I have been down at the docks all day and have been busy and worried."
Mrs. Dimsdale was sitting in her chair beside the fire, knitting, whenher son came in. At the sound of his voice she glanced anxiously up athis face, with all her motherly instincts on the alert.
"What is it, my boy?" she said. "You don't look yourself.Something has gone wrong with you. Surely you're not keeping anythingsecret from your old mother?"
"Don't be so foolish as that, my boy," said the doctor earnestly."If you have anything on your mind, out with it. There's nothing so farwrong but that it can't be set right, I'll be bound."
Thus pressed, their son told them all that had happened, the rumourwhich he had heard from Von Baumser at the _Cock and Cowslip_, and thesubsequent visit to Eccleston Square. "I can hardly realize it allyet," he said in conclusion. "My head seems to be in a whirl, and Ican't reason about it."
The old couple listened very attentively to his narrative, and weresilent some little time after he had finished. His mother first brokethe silence. "I was always sure," she said, "that we were wrong to stopour correspondence at the request of Mr. Girdlestone."
"It's easy enough to say that now," said Tom ruefully. "At the time itseemed as if we had no alternative."
"There's no use crying over spilt milk," remarked the old physician, whohad been very grave during his son's narrative. "We must set to workand get things right again. There is one thing very certain, Tom, andthat is that Kate Harston is a girl who never did or could do adishonourable thing. If she said that she would wait for you, my boy,you may feel perfectly safe; and if you doubt her for one moment youought to be deuced well ashamed of yourself."
"Well said, governor!" cried Tom, with beaming face. "Now, that isexactly my own feeling, but there is so much to be explained. Why havethey left London, and where have they gone to?"
"No doubt that old scoundrel Girdlestone thought that your patiencewould soon come to an end, so he got the start of you by carrying thegirl off into the country."
"And if he has done this, what can I do?"
"Nothing. It is entirely within his right to do it."
"And have her stowed away in some little cottage in the country, withthat brute Ezra Girdlestone hanging round her all the time. It is thethought of that that drives me wild."
"You trust in her, my boy," said the old doctor. "We'll try our best inthe meantime to find out where she has gone to. If she is unhappy orneeds a friend you may be sure that she will write to your mother."
"Yes, there is always that hope," exclaimed Tom, in a more cheerfulvoice. "To-morrow I may learn something at the office."
"Don't make the mistake of quarrelling with the Girdlestones.After all, they are within their rights in doing what they appear tohave done."
"They may be within their legal rights," Tom cried indignantly; "but theold man made a deliberate compact with me, which he has broken."
"Never mind. Don't give them an advantage by losing your temper." Thedoctor chatted away over the matter for some time, and his words,together with those of his mother, cheered the young fellow's heart.Nevertheless, after they had retired to their rooms, Dr. Dimsdalecontinued to be very thoughtful and very grave. "I don't like it," hesaid, more than once. "I don't like the idea of the poor girl beingleft entirely in the hands of that pair of beauties. God grant that noharm come of it, Matilda!" a prayer which his good wife echoed with allthe strength of her kindly nature.
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