by Ellen Wood
He went up to a side-door, flung it open, and put down the bag. A neat-looking young woman, with her sleeves turned up, came forward, and stared in silence.
“Is Lord Level within?” inquired the lady.
“My lord’s ill in bed,” replied the servant; “he cannot be seen or spoken to. What do you want with him, please?”
She seemed a good-tempered, ignorant sort of girl, but nothing more. At that moment someone called to her from an inner room, and she turned away.
“Are there not any upper servants in the house, do you know?” inquired the lady of the boy.
“I doesn’t think so. There’s the missis.”
A tinge came over the lady’s face. “The mistress! Who is she?”
“She’s Mrs. Ed’ards. An old lady, what comes to church with buckles in her shoes. And there’s Mr. — —”
“What is it that you want here?” interrupted the servant girl, advancing again, and addressing the visitor in a not very conciliatory tone.
“I am Lady Level,” was the reply, in a ringing, imperious voice. “Call someone to receive me.”
It found its way to the girl’s alarm. She looked scared, doubting, and finally turned and flew off down a long, dark passage. The boy heard the announcement without its ruffling his equanimity in the least degree.
“That’s all, ain’t it?” asked he, giving the bag a condescending touch with his foot.
“How much am I to pay you?” inquired Lady Level.
The boy paused. “You bain’t obliged to pay nothing.”
“What is the charge?” repeated Lady Level.
“The charge ain’t nothing. If folks like to give anything, it’s gived as a gift.”
She smiled, and, taking out her purse, gave him half-a-crown. He received it with remarkable satisfaction, and then, with an air of great mystery and cunning, slipped it into his boot.
“But, I say, don’t you go and tell, over there, as you gived it me,” said he, jerking his head in the direction of the railway station. “We are not let take nothing, and there’d be the whole lot of ’em about my ears. You won’t tell?”
“No, I will not tell,” replied Lady Level, laughing, in spite of her cares and annoyances. And the promising young porter in embryo, giving vent to a shrill whistle, which might have been heard at the two-mile-off station, tore away as fast as his legs would carry him.
The girl came back with a quaint old lady. Her hair was white, her complexion clear and fresh, and her eyes were black and piercing as ever they had been in her youth. She looked in doubt at the visitor, as the servant had done.
“I am told that someone is inquiring for my lord.”
“His wife is inquiring for him. I am Lady Level.”
Had any doubt been wavering in the old lady’s mind, the tones dispelled it. She curtseyed to the ground — the stately, upright, old-fashioned curtsey of the days gone by. A look of distress rose to her face.
“Oh, my lady! That I should live to receive my lord’s wife in this unprepared, unceremonious manner! He told me you were in foreign parts, beyond seas.”
“I returned to England yesterday, and have left my servants in town. What is the matter with Lord Level?”
“That your ladyship should come to such a house as this, all unfurnished and disordered! and — I beg your pardon, my lady! I cannot take you through these passages,” she added, curtseying for Lady Level to go out again. “Deborah, go round and open the front-door.”
Lady Level, in the midst of much lamentation, was conducted to the front entrance, and thence ushered into a long, low, uncarpeted room on the left of the dark hall. It was very bare of furniture, chairs and a large table being all that it contained. “It is of no consequence,” said Lady Level; “I have come only to see Lord Level, and may not remain above an hour or two. I cannot tell. You are Mrs. Edwards, I think. I have heard Lord Level mention you.”
“My name is Edwards, my lady. I was housekeeper in the late lord’s time, and, when a young woman, I had the honour of nursing my lord. Since the late lord’s death, I and my brother, Jacob Drewitt, have mostly lived here. He used to be house steward at Marshdale.”
Lady Level removed her bonnet and cloak, and threw them on the table. She looked impatient and restless, as she listened to the account of her husband’s accident. He had received an injury to his knee, when out riding, the day after his arrival at Marshdale; fever had set in, deepening at times to slight delirium.
“I should like to see him,” said Lady Level. “Will you take me to his chamber?”
Mrs. Edwards marshalled her upstairs. Curious, in-and-out, wide and shallow stairs they were, with long passages and short turnings branching from them. She gently threw open the door of a large, handsome room. On the bed lay Lord Level, his eyes closed.
“He is dozing again, my lady,” she whispered. “He is sure to fall to sleep whenever the fever leaves him.”
“There is no fire in the room!” exclaimed Lady Level.
“The doctor says there’s not to be any, my lady. In the room opposite to this, across the passage, you will find a good one. It is my lord’s sitting-room when he is well. And here,” noiselessly opening a door facing the foot of the bed, “is another chamber, that can be prepared for your ladyship, if you remain.”
The housekeeper left the room as she spoke, scarcely knowing whether she stood on her head or her heels, so completely was she confounded by this arrival of Lady Level’s — and nothing wherewith to receive her! Mrs. Edwards had her head and hands full just then.
As Lady Level moved forward, her dress came into contact with a light chair, and moved it. The invalid started, and raised himself on his elbow.
“Why! — who — is it?”
“It is I, Lord Level,” she said, advancing to the bed.
He looked strangely amazed and perplexed. He could not believe his own eyes, and stared at her as though he would discover whether she was really before him, or whether he was in a dream.
“Don’t you know me?” she asked gently.
“Is it — Blanche?”
“Yes.”
“But where have you come from? — what brings you here?” he slowly ejaculated.
“I came down by train to-day. I have come to speak to you.”
“You were in Germany. I left you in Germany!”
“I thought I had been there long enough: too long; and I quitted it. Archibald, I could not stay there. Had I done so, I should have been ill as you are. I think I should have died.”
He said nothing for a few moments, and appeared to be lost in thought. Then he drew her face down to his, and kissed it.
“You ought not to have come over without my permission, Blanche.”
“I did not travel alone. Mr. and Mrs. Arnold Ravensworth chanced to put up at the inn on their homeward route, and I took the opportunity to come over with them.”
The information evidently did not please Lord Level. His brow contracted.
“You wrote me word that you had had an accident,” she continued. “How could I be contented to remain away after that? So I came over: and I went to your rooms in Holles Street — —”
“Why on earth did you go there?” he sharply interrupted. “When I had left them.”
“But I did not know you had left them. How was I to know you had come to Marshdale if you never told me so? When I found you had left Holles Street, I went straight to Gloucester Place. Papa has just come home from Jersey.”
“You ought to have remained in Germany until I was able to join you,” he reiterated irritably; and Blanche could not avoid seeing that he was growing agitated and feverish. “What’s to become of you? Where are you to be?”
“First of all, I want to have an explanation with you,” said Blanche. “I came over on purpose to have it; to tell you many things. One is, that I will no longer submit to be treated as a child — —”
“Blanche!” he curtly interrupted.
“Well?”
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p; “You are acting as a child now, and as nothing else. This nonsense that you are talking — I am not in a condition to hear it.”
“It is not nonsense,” said Blanche.
“It is what I will not listen to. It was the height of folly to come here. All you can do now is to go back to London by the next train.”
“Go back where?” she passionately asked. “I have no home in London.”
“I dare say Major Carlen will receive you for a week. Before that time I hope to be well enough to come up, and prepare a home for you. Where are Sanders and Timms?”
“I did not bring them down with me. They are at an hotel. Why cannot I stay here?”
“Because I won’t have it. There is nothing in the place ready for you, or suited to you.”
“If it is suited to you, it’s suited to me. I say I will not be treated as a child any longer. I could be quite happy here. There is nothing I should like so much as to explore this old house. I never saw such an array of ghostly passages anywhere.”
Something in the words seemed dangerously to excite Lord Level. The fever was visibly increasing.
“I forbid you to explore; I forbid you to remain here!” he exclaimed in the deepest agitation. “Do you hear me, Blanche? — you must return by the next train.”
“I will not,” she replied, quite as obstinate as he. “I will not go hence until I have had an explanation with you. If you are too ill at present, I will wait for it.”
He was, indeed, too ill. “Quiet, above all things,” the doctor had said when he had paid his early morning visit. But quiet Lord Level had not had; his wife had put an end to that. His talk grew random, his mind wandering; a paroxysm of fever ensued. In terror Lady Level rang the bell.
Mrs. Edwards answered it. Blanche gazed at her with astonishment, scarcely recognising her. She had put on her gala dress of days long gone by: a short, full, red petticoat, a chintz gown looped above it in festoons, high-heeled shoes, buckles, snow-white stockings with worked “clocks,” a mob cap of clear lace, large gold earrings, and black mittens. All this she had assumed out of respect to her new lady.
“Is he out of his mind?” gasped Lady Level, terrified at her lord’s words and his restless motions.
“It is the fever, my lady,” said Mrs. Edwards. “Dear, dear! And we thought him so much better today!”
Close upon that, Dr. Macferraty, the medical man, came in. He was of square-built frame with broad shoulders, very dictatorial and positive considering his years, which did not number more than seven-and-twenty.
“What mischief has been at work here?” he demanded, standing over the bed with Mrs. Edwards. “Who has been with him?”
She explained that Lady Level had arrived and had been talking with his lordship. She — Mrs. Edwards — had begged her ladyship not to talk to him; but — well, the young were heedless and did not think of consequences.
“If she has worried him into brain-fever, she will have herself to thank for it,” harshly spoke the doctor. And Lady Level, who was in the adjoining room, overheard the words.
“Something has happened to agitate my patient!” exclaimed Doctor Macferraty, when, in leaving the room, he encountered Lady Level in the passage, and was introduced to her by Mrs. Edwards.
“I am very sorry,” she answered. “We were speaking of family affairs, and Lord Level grew excited.”
“Then, madam,” said the doctor, “do not speak of family affairs again, whilst he is in this weak condition, or of any other affairs likely to excite him. You must, if you please, put off all such topics until he is better.”
“How long will that be?” asked Lady Level.
“I cannot say; it may be a week, or it may be a month. When once these intermittent fevers get into the system, it is difficult to shake them off again.”
“It will not go on to — to anything worse?” questioned Lady Level timidly, recalling what she had just overheard.
“I hope not; but I cannot answer for it. Your ladyship must be good enough to bear in mind that much depends upon his keeping himself tranquil, and upon those around helping to keep him so.”
The doctor withdrew as he spoke, telling Mrs. Edwards that he would look in again at night. Lord Level remained very excited throughout the rest of the day; he had a bad night, the fever continuing, and was no better in the morning. Mrs. Edwards had sat up with him.
Lady Level then made up her mind to remain at Marshdale, consulting neither her lord nor anyone else. As Major Carlen had remarked, Blanche was developing a will of her own. Though, indeed, it might not have been right to leave him in his present condition. She sent for Sanders and Timms, the two servants who had attended her from Germany, and for certain luggage belonging to herself. Mrs. Edwards did the best she could with this influx of visitors to a scantily-furnished house. Lady Level occupied the chamber that opened from her husband’s; it also opened on to the corridor.
“Madam,” said Dr. Macferraty to her, taking the bull by the horns on one of the earliest days, “you must allow me to give you a word of advice. Do not, just at present, enter Lord Level’s chamber; wait until he is a little stronger. He has just asked me whether you had gone back to town, and I did not say no. It is evident that your being here troubles him. The house, as it is at present, is not in a condition to receive you, or he appears to think so. Therefore, so long as he is in this precarious state, do not show yourself to him. Let him think you have returned to London.”
“Is his mind quite right again?”
“By no means. But he has lucid intervals. I assure your ladyship it is of the very utmost importance that he should be kept tranquil. Otherwise, I will not answer for the consequences.”
Lady Level took the advice in all humility. Bitterly though she was feeling upon some scores towards her husband, she did not want him to die; no, nor to have brain-fever. So she kept the door closed between her room and his, and was as quiet as a mouse at all times. And the days began to pass on.
Blanche found them monotonous. She explored the house, but the number of passages, short and long, their angles and their turnings, confused her. She made the acquaintance of the steward, Mr. Drewitt, an elderly gentleman who went about in a plum-coloured suit and a large cambric frill to his shirt. One autumn morning when Blanche had traversed the long corridor, beyond the rooms which she and Lord Level occupied, she turned into another at right angles with it, and came to a door that was partly open. Passing through it, she found herself in a narrow passage that she had not before seen. Deborah, the good-natured housemaid, suddenly came out of one of the rooms opening from it, carrying a brush and dustpan. Deborah was the only servant kept in the house, so far as Lady Level saw, apart from the cook, who was fat and experienced.
“What a curious old house!” exclaimed Lady Level. “Nothing but dark passages that turn and wind about until you don’t know where you are.”
“It is that, my lady,” answered Deborah. “In the late lord’s time the servants took to calling it the maze, it puzzled them so. The name got abroad, and some people call it the maze to this day.”
“I don’t think I have been in this passage before. Does anyone live or sleep here?” added Lady Level, looking at the household articles Deborah carried.
It was a dark, narrow passage, closed in by a door at each end. The door at the upper end was of oak; heavy, and studded with nails. Four rooms opened from the passage, two on each side.
“All these rooms are occupied by the master and missis,” said Deborah, alluding to the steward and his sister. “This is Mrs. Edwards’s chamber, my lady,” pointing to the one she had just quitted. “That beyond it is Mr. Drewitt’s; the opposite room is their sitting-room, and the one beside it is not used.”
“Where does that heavy door lead to?” continued Lady Level.
“It leads into the East Wing, my lady,” replied Deborah. “I have never entered that wing all the two years I’ve lived here,” continued the gossiping girl. “I am not allowed to do so.
The door is kept locked; as well as the door answering to it in the passage below.”
“Does no one ever go into it?”
“Why, yes, my lady; Mr. Drewitt does, and spends a good part of his time there. He has a business-room there, in which he keeps his books and papers relating to the estate. Mrs. Edwards is in there, too, with him most days. And my lord goes in when he is down here.”
“Then no one really inhabits that wing?”
“Oh yes, my lady, John Snow and his wife live in it; he’s the head gardener. A many years he has been in the family; and one of the last things the late lord did before he died was to give him that wing to live in. An easy life Snow has of it now; working or not, just as he pleases. When there’s any unusual work to be done, our gardener on this side is had in to help with it.”
Lady Level did not feel much interested in the wing, or in Snow the gardener. But it happened that not half an hour after this conversation, she chanced to see Mrs. Snow.
Leaning, in her listlessness, out of an open window that was just above the side entrance, to which she had been conducted by the boy on her way from the station, she was noticing how high the wall was that separated the garden of the house from the garden of the East Wing. Lofty trees, closely planted, also flanked the wall, so that not the slightest glimpse could be had on either side of the other garden. The East Wing, with its grounds, was as completely hidden from view as though it had no existence. While rather wondering at this — for the East Wing was, after all, a part of the house, and not detached from it — Lady Level saw a woman emerge from a little sheltered doorway in the wall, lock it after her, and come up the path, key in hand. This obscure doorway, and another at the foot of the East Wing garden opening to the road, were apparently the only means of entrance to it. To the latter door, always kept locked, was attached a large bell, which awoke the surrounding echoes whenever tradespeople or other applicants rang at it.
“Is that you, Hannah Snow?” cried the cook, stepping forward to meet the other as she came up the path. “And how are you to-day? Do you want anything?”