Part 25 (1/2)
”Therefore, it would be wise for you to treat us politely and not rail at us like a spoiled child. Our duty here is not of our own choosing, nor is it to our taste. No man desires to play jailer to any woman. But for the present it must be so. Therefore, as I say, it might prove more agreeable for all if you and Claudia observe toward us the ordinary decencies of polite usage!”
There was a silence. Lady Johnson's back remained turned toward me; she was weeping.
Claudia took her hand and turned and looked at me with all the lively mischief, all the adorable impudence I knew so well:
”La, Mr. Drogue,” says she mockingly, ”some gentlemen are born so and others are made when made officers in armies. And captivity is irksome.
So, if your friends desire to pay their respects to us poor captives, I for one shall not be too greatly displeased----”
”Claudia!” cried Lady Johnson, ”do you desire a dish of tea with tinkers and tin-peddlars?”
”I hear you, Polly,” said she, ”but prefer to hear you further after breakfast--which, thank G.o.d! I can now smell a-cooking.” And, to me: ”Jack, will you breakfast with us----”
She stopped abruptly: the door of Sir William's gun room opened, and the Scottish girl, Penelope Grant, walked out.
”Lord!” said Claudia, looking at her in astonishment. ”And who may you be, and how have you come here?”
”I am Penelope Grant,” she answered, ”servant to Douw Fonda of Caughnawaga; and I came last night with Mr. Drogue.”
The perfect candour of her words should have clothed them with innocence. And, I think, did so. Yet, Claudia shot a wicked look at me, which did not please me.
But I ignored her and explained the situation briefly to Lady Johnson, who had turned to stare at Penelope, who stood there quite self-possessed in her shabby dress of gingham.
There was a silence; then Claudia asked the girl if she would take service with her; and Penelope shook her head.
”I pay handsomely, and I need a clever wench to care for me,” insisted Claudia; ”and by your fine, white hands I see you are well accustomed to ladies' needs. Are you not, Penelope?”
”I am servant to Douw Fonda,” repeated the girl. ”It would not be kind in me to leave him who offers to adopt me. Nor is it decent to abandon him in times like these.”
Lady Johnson came forward slowly, her tear-marred eyes clearing.
”My brother, Stephen, has spoken of you. I understood him to say that you are the daughter of a Scottish minister. Is this true?”
”Yes, my lady.”
”Then you are no servant wench.”
”I serve.”
”Why?”
”My parents are dead. I must earn my bread.”
”Oh. You have no means to maintain you?”
”None, madam.”
”How long have you been left an orphan?”
”These three years, my lady.”