Volume Ii Part 13 (1/2)
”Then as to master,” continued Mrs. Hopkins, ”I never did see a gentleman so altered as he is. I thought the staying at Brampton, and having company here, would have enlivened him; but Lord bless you, Miss, he is worse a great deal. He always was grave, like; but then he'd a pleasant smile and good word for everybody in the house; but now--”
Nurse sighed, stroked and doubled up the corner of her ap.r.o.n, and looked thoughtful.
”And now?” asked Amy, enquiringly.
”Now, Miss, he's quite altered, quite changed--melancholy, like. 'Tis true he says, 'Good morning, Mrs. Hopkins;' but that's all. The butler tells me he seldom smiles with the company; but sits and talks like a gentleman absent in his mind.”
”You surely must be mistaken, Nurse,” said Amy, thoughtfully, ”I see no difference.”
”Very likely not, Miss; but we servants see it. There's scarce anything ever goes on amiss in a house that servants don't notice it. I don't pretend to know why master's changed; but certain as I am sitting here, he is changed. May-be he has something on his mind. How different his father was. G.o.d rest his soul, poor old gentleman.”
”Was his father much liked? was he popular at Brampton? for all seem to respect and love the present Mr. Linchmore.”
”He never lived long enough down here for people to know enough about him to like him. He wasn't over and above fond of his lady, nor of her doings neither--so I've heard my mother say. He was, by all accounts, a very wild gentleman in his youth.”
”And old Mrs. Linchmore, his wife. Why was he not fond of her?”
”She was a fearful woman!” replied Mrs. Hopkins, drawing her chair nearer Amy's; ”very handsome in her youth. Mr. Linchmore married her for her beauty, and sorry enough he was for it afterwards. That's her picture hangs over the chimney-piece in the dining room, and a beautiful face it has; only too proud and stormy, like, to my mind.”
”Did you ever see her?”
”Yes, Miss. I mind her just before she died. Six months before that happened, the housekeeper, who was a friend of my mother's, got me the under housemaid's place here. I seem to see the lady now, tall and straight as a needle, with such a stately step and proud look; her eyes bright, black, and piercing as a hawk's, although she was gone forty and more. I used to tremble whenever she looked at me, and many's the time I've run for the life of me down the long gallery to get out of her way.
Oh! she was a fearful lady!”
”How so?” inquired Amy, hoping to gain some intelligence as to why her room was so pertinaciously kept closed.
”They say, Miss,” replied Nurse, glancing uneasily about her, ”that the house was haunted when she was alive. I can't say as ever I saw anything; but I believe it all the same, and so did my fellow-servants, though it was never whispered between us; certainly she was no good christian any more than Tabitha, her maid, who had lived with her ever since she was a girl, and knew all her secrets; and would be muttering to herself all day long. This was a strange house then, and I don't wonder the villagers were 'frighted to come near it.”
”Why so? surely a woman could do them no harm?”
”Well, Miss, they said she could, and did do a deal of harm to them she didn't like; and then there was that bad story they had about her husband's cousin.”
”What was that, Nurse?”
”I can't scarce tell you all the rights of it, Miss, only what I've heard people say, as you see it happened afore my time; but 'twas all about a cousin of her husband's, who had been adopted by his mother. My old mistress was fearful jealous of her, as well she might be if all accounts was true about her gentle, loving ways. But there, they didn't save her from being suspected by Mrs. Linchmore of carrying on at a shameful, scandalous rate with her husband, Mr. Linchmore. Poor young lady! She disappeared one night, and 'twas given out that she had fled from the Park to hide her shame. But there, people ain't blind; and then she never came back again, and so the villagers whispered 'twas a darker deed than that took her away so sudden.”
”But what did Mrs. Linchmore's husband say?”
”He and his wife had fine words about it, Miss, and he went off soon after and left her for good. But there worse than that happened; for his poor mother, her as adopted Miss Mary--that was the poor young lady's name, Miss--broke her heart about it all, and died. She was a nice, good old lady, and very fond of Miss Mary, and on her death-bed she told my mother she died believing the young lady innocent; and no one was ever to believe anything else until they saw Miss Mary again, and then all wou'd come right, and everybody hear the truth. But there, we never did hear the truth, for we never saw Miss Mary again; so it was just as well the old lady was took when she was, and went so happy and peaceful.”
”But her daughter-in-law, your old mistress, what became of her? I think she died suddenly, did she not?”
”Very, Miss Neville. She would have no one but Tabitha to wait on her when she was ill; but none of us cared much about that; and they used to abuse one another terrible sometimes. It was a long time before she'd see the doctor, and then she wouldn't take his medicine; we found all the bottles ranged like a regiment of soldiers in the cupboard after she died--not even the corks out of them, or a drop of medicine taken. When she got worse she wouldn't lay in the bed, but had the mattress moved off on to the floor. She died that very night quite sudden, for none of us thought her so bad as that, not even the doctor; but there, he was quite a young man, and I mind well his coming in the morning. She hadn't been so well the evening before, so he came quite early, as I was cleaning down the hall. I went upstairs with him, and knocked twice at my mistress's door, but n.o.body answered; so the doctor opened it, and went in, and I followed, terribly frightened, but so curious like, I couldn't keep back anyhow.”
Nurse paused, and then sunk her voice almost to a whisper as she went on,
”Oh! what a terrible sight we saw. My mistress was quite dead; one of her hands clutching the bed clothes, the other thrown above her head, and closed so tight, it looked as though the nails were buried in the flesh. Her eyes were wide open, and a frightful look her face had, as though she had died in torments.--She was an awful corpse;” and Nurse shuddered, and her hands trembled as she stirred up the fire.
”But where was Tabitha? How was it she had not called for anyone?”
”She was lying by the side of the bed on the floor, and at first I thought she was dead, too; but she came to life again when we carried her into the open air, and a scared look she had when she opened her eyes; but it was weeks before she got well again, and then she left, and none of us felt sorry, I can tell you.”