Chapter 35

REMODELING THE HOUSEHOLD.

Two or three days afterward, Hilda, attended by Gualtier, drove up to the inn of the little village near Chetwynde Castle. Gualtier stopped here, and Hilda drove on to the Castle itself. Her luggage was with her, but it was small, consisting of only a small trunk, which looked as though it were her intention to make but a short stay. On her arrival the servants all greeted her respectfully, and asked eagerly after Lady Chetwynde. Her ladyship, Hilda informed them, was still too unwell to travel, but was much better than when she left. She had sent her to make certain arrangements for the reception of Lord Chetwynde, who was expected from India at no very distant date. She did not as yet know the time of his probable arrival; but when she had learned it she herself would come to Chetwynde Castle to receive him; but until that time she would stay away. The place where she was staying just at present was particularly healthy. It was a small village on the coast of Brittany, and Lady Chetwynde was anxious to defer her return to the latest possible moment. Such was the information which Hilda condescended to give to the servants, who received the news with unfeigned delight, for they all dearly loved that gentle girl, whose presence at Chetwynde had formerly brightened the whole house, and with whose deep grief over her last bereavement they had all most sincerely sympathized.

Hilda had many things to do. Her first duty was to call on Mrs. Hart. The poor old housekeeper still continued in a miserable condition, hovering, apparently, between life and death, and only conscious at intervals of what was going on around her. That consciousness was not strong enough to make her miss the presence of Zillah, nor did her faculties, even in her most lucid intervals, seem to be fully at work. Her memory did not appear to suggest at any time those sad events which had brought her down to this. It was only at times that she exhibited any recollection of the past, and that was confined altogether to "Guy;" to him whom in whispered words she called "her boy." Mrs. Hart was not at all neglected. Susan, who had once been the upper house-maid, had of late filled the place of housekeeper, which she could easily do, as the family was away, and the duties were light. She also, with her sister Mary, who was the under house-maid, was assiduous in watching at the bedside of the poor old creature, who lay there hovering between life and death. Nothing, indeed, could exceed the kindness and tenderness of these two humble but noble-hearted girls; and even if Zillah herself could have been brought to that bedside the poor sufferer could not have met with more compassionate affection, and certainly could not have found such careful nursing.

Hilda visited Mrs. Hart, and exhibited such tenderness of feeling that both Susan and Mary were touched by it. They knew that Mrs. Hart had never loved her, but it seemed now as if Hilda had forgotten all that former coldness, and was herself inspired by nothing but the tenderest concern. But Hilda had much to attend to, and after about half an hour she left the room to look after those more important matters for which she had come.

What her errand was the servants soon found out. It was nothing less than a complete change in the household. That household had never been large, for the late Earl had been forced by his circumstances to be economical. He never entertained company, and was satisfied with keeping the place, inside and outside, in an ordinary state of neatness.

The servants who now remained may easily be mentioned. Mathilde had gone away. Mrs. Hart lay on a sick-bed. There was Susan, the upper house-maid, and Mary, her sister, the under house-maid. There was Roberts, who had been the late Earl's valet, a smart, active young man, who was well known to have a weakness for Susan; there was the cook, Martha, a formidable personage, who considered herself the most important member of that household; and besides these there were the coachman and the groom. These composed the entire establishment. It was for the sake of getting rid of these, in as quiet and inoffensive a way as possible, that Hilda had now come; and toward evening she began her work by sending for Roberts.

"Roberts," said she, with dignity, as that very respectable person made his appearance, carrying in his face the consciousness of one who had possessed the late Earl's confidence, "I am intrusted with a commission from her ladyship to you. Lord Chetwynde is coming home, and great changes are going to be made here. But her ladyship can not forget the old household; and she told me to mention to you how grateful she felt to you for all your unwearied care and assiduity in your attendance upon your late master, especially through his long and painful illness; and she is most anxious to know in what way she can be of service to you. Her ladyship has heard Mathilde speak of an understanding which exists between you and Susan, the upper house-maid; and she is in hopes that she may be able to further your views in the way of settling yourself; and so she wished me to find out whether you had formed any plans, and what they were."

"It's like her ladyship's thoughtfulness and consideration," said Roberts, gratefully, "to think of the likes of me. I'm sure I did nothing for my lord beyond what it were my bounden dooty to do; and a pleasanter and affabler spoken gentleman than his lordship were nobody need ever want to see. I never expect to meet with such another. As to Susan and me," continued Roberts, looking sheepish, "we was a-thinkin' of a public, when so be as we could see our way to it."

"Where were you thinking of taking one?"

"Well, miss, you see I'm a Westmorelandshire man; and somehow I've a hankerin' after the old place."

"And you're quite right, Roberts," said Hilda, in an encouraging tone. "A man is always happier in his native place among his own people. Have you heard of an opening there?"

Roberts, at this, looked more sheepish still, and did not answer until Hilda had repeated her question.

"Well, to be plain with you, miss," said he, "I had a letter this very week from my brother, telling me of a public in Keswick as was for sale--good-will, stock, and all, and a capital situation for business--towerists the whole summer through, and a little somethin' a-doin' in winter. Susan and me was a-regrettin' the limitation of our means, miss."

"That seems a capital opening, Roberts," said Hilda, very graciously. "It would be a pity to lose it. What is the price?"

"Well, miss, it's a pretty penny, but it's the stand makes it, miss--right on the shores of the lake--boats to let at all hours, inquire within. They are a-askin' five hundred pound, miss."

"Is that unreasonable?"

"Situation considered, on the contrary, miss; and Susan and me has two hundred pound between us in the savings-bank. My lord was a generous master. Now if her ladyship would lend me the extry money I'd pay her back as fast as I made it."

"There is no necessity for that," said Hilda.

"Three hundred pounds happens to be the very sum which her ladyship mentioned to me. So now I commission you in her name to make all the necessary arrangements with your brother; or, better still, go at once yourself--a man can always arrange these matters more satisfactorily himself--and I will let you have the money in three days, with Lady Chetwynde's best wishes for the success of your undertaking; and we will see," she added, with a smile, "if we can not get pretty Susan a wedding-dress, and any thing else she may need. Before a week is over you shall be mine host of the Keswick Inn. And now," she concluded, gayly, "go and make your arrangements with Susan, and don't let any foolish bashfulness on her part prevent you from hastening matters. It would not do for you to let this chance slip through your fingers. I will see that she is ready. Her ladyship has something for her too, and will not let her go to you empty-handed."

"I never, never can thank her ladyship nor you enough," said Roberts, "for what you have done for me this day. Might I make so bold as to write a letter to her ladyship, to offer her my respectful dooty?"

"Yes, Roberts--do so, and give me the letter. I shall be writing to-night, and will inclose it. By-the-by, are not Mary and Susan sisters?"

"They be, miss--sisters and orphelins."

"Well, then," said she, "see that you do not take more than you are entitled to; for though her ladyship lets you carry Susan off, you must not cast covetous eyes on Mary too; for though I allow she would make a very pretty little barmaid, she is a particularly good house-maid, and we can't spare her."

Roberts grinned from ear to ear.

"I can't pretend to manage the women, miss," said he; "you must speak to Mary;" and then, with a low bow, Roberts withdrew.

Hilda gave a sigh of relief. "There are three disposed of," she murmured. "This is a fair beginning."

On the following day she gave Roberts a check for the money, drawn by _Zillah Chetwynde_. Waving off his thanks, she dismissed him, and sent for the cook. That functionary quickly appeared. She was short of stature, large of bulk, red of face, fluent of speech, hasty of temper--_au reste_, she was a good cook and faithful servant. She bobbed to Hilda on entering, and, closing the door, stood with folded arms and belligerent aspect, like a porcupine armed for defense on the slightest appearance of hostilities.

"Good-morning, Martha," said Hilda, with great suavity. "I hope your rheumatism has not been troubling you since the warm weather set in?"

Martha bobbed with a more mollified air.

"Which, exceptin' the elber jints, where it's settled, likewise the knee jints--savin' of your presence, miss--it's the same; for to go down on my bended knees, miss, it's what I couldn't do, not if you was to give me a thousand-pun note in my blessed hand, and my Easter dooty not bein' able to perform, miss, which it be the first time it ever wor the case; an' it owing to the rheumatiz; otherwise I am better, miss, and thank you kindly."

"Her ladyship is very sorry," continued Hilda. "She is unable to return herself just yet, but she has asked me to attend to several matters for her, and one of them is connected with you, Martha. She has received a letter from his lordship stating that he was bringing with him a staff of servants, and among them a French cook."

Here Martha assumed the porcupine again, with every quill on end; but she said nothing, though Hilda paused for an instant. Martha wished to commit Miss Krieff to a proposition, that she might have the glory of rejecting it with scorn. So Hilda went on:

"Your mistress was afraid that you might not care about taking the place of under-cook where you have been head, and as she was anxious to avoid hurting your feelings in any way, she wished me to tell you of this beforehand."

Another moment and the apoplexy which had been threatening since the moment when "under-cook" had been mentioned would have been a fact, but luckily for Martha her overcharged feelings here broke forth with accents of bitterest scorn:

"Which she's _very_ kind. Hunder-cook, indeed! which it's what I never abore yet, and never will abear. I've lived at Chetwyn this twenty year, gurl and woman, and hopes as I 'ave done my dooty and giv satisfaction, which my lord were a gentleman, an' found no fault with his wittles, but ate them like a Christian and a nobleman, a-thankin' the Lord, and a-sayin', 'I never asks to see a tidier or a 'olesomer dinner than Martha sends, which she's to be depended on as never bein' raw nor yet done to rags;' an' now when, as you may say, gettin' on in years, though not that old neither as to be dependent or wantin' in sperrit, to have a French cook set over me a talkin' furrin languidgis and a cookin' up goodness ony knows what messes as 'nd pison a Christian stomach to as much as look at, and a horderin' about Marthar here and Marthar there, it's what I can't consent to put up with, and nobody as wasn't a mean spereted creetur could expect it of me, which it's not as I wish to speak disrespectful of her ladyship, which I considers a lady and as allers treated me as sich, only expectin' to hend my days in Chetwyn it's come, sudden like; but thanks to the blessed saints, which I 'ave put by as will keep me from the wukkus and a charge on nobody; and I'd like to give warnin', if you please, miss, and if so be as I could leave before monseer arrive."

Here Martha paused, not from lack of material, but from sheer want of breath. She would have been invincible in conversation but for that fatal constitutional infirmity--shortness of breath. This brought her to a pause in the full flow of her eloquence.

Hilda took advantage of the lull.

"Your mistress," said she, "feared that you would feel as you do on the subject, and her instructions to me were these: 'Try and keep Martha if you possibly can--we shall not easily replace her; but if she seems to fear that this new French cook may be domineering'" (fresh and alarming symptoms of apoplexy), "'and may make it uncomfortable for her, we must think of her instead of ourselves. She has been too faithful a servant to allow her to be trampled upon now; and if you find that she will not really consent to stop, you must get her a good place--'"

"Which, if you please, mum," said Martha, interrupting her excitedly, "we won't talk about a place--it is utterly useless, and I might be forgettin' myself; but I never thought," she continued, brushing away a hasty tear, "as it was Master Guy, meaning my lord, as would send old Martha away."

"Oh, I am sure he did not mean to do that," said Hilda, kindly; "but gentlemen have not much consideration, you know, and he is accustomed to French cookery." The softer mood vanished at the hated name.

"And he'll never grow to be the man his father were," said she, excitedly, "on them furrin gimcracks and kickshaws as wouldn't nourish a babby, let alone a full-growed man, and 'e a Henglishman. But it's furrin parts as does it. I never approved of the harmy."

"Her ladyship told me," said Hilda, with her usual placidity, and without taking any notice of the excited feeling of the other, "that if you insisted on going I was to give you twenty pounds, with her kind regards, to buy some remembrance."

"Which she's very kind," rejoined Martha, rather quickly, and with some degree of asperity; "and if you'll give her my grateful dooty, I'd like to leave as soon as may be."

"Well, if you are anxious to do so, I suppose you can. What kitchen-maids are there?"

"Well, miss," said Martha, with dignity, yet severity, "sich drabs of girls as I 'ave 'ad would 'ave prevoked a saint, and mayhap I was a little hasty; but takin' up a sauce-pan, and findin' it that dirty as were scandlus to be'old, I throwed the water as were hin it over 'er, and the saucepan with it, an' she declared she'd go, which as the 'ousekeeper bein' in bed, as you know, miss, an' there likely to remain for hevermore, she did, an' good riddance to her, say I--ungrateful hussy as had jist got her wages the day before, and 'ad a comfortable 'ome."

"It does not matter. I suppose the French cook will bring his own subordinates."

"Wery like, miss," said Martha, sharply. "I leave this very day. Good-mornin', miss."

"Oh no; don't be in such a hurry," said Hilda. "You have a week before you. Let me see you before evening, so that I may give you what your mistress has sent."

Martha sullenly assented, and withdrew.

The most difficult part of Hilda's business had thus been quietly accomplished. Nothing now remained but to see the coachman and groom, each of whom she graciously dismissed with a handsome present. She told them, however, to remain for about a week, until their successors might arrive. The large present which the liberality of Lady Chetwynde had given them enabled them to bear their lot with patience, and even pleasure.

After about a week Gualtier came up to Chetwynde Castle. He had been away to London, and brought word to Hilda that some of the new servants were expected in a few days. It was soon known to Roberts, Susan, and Mary that Gualtier had been made steward by Lady Chetwynde. He took possession of one of the rooms, and at once entered upon the duties of this office. On the day of his arrival Hilda left, saying to the remaining servants that she would never come back again, as she intended to live in the south of France. She shook hands with each of them very graciously, making each one a present in her own name, and accompanying it with a neat little speech. She had never been popular among them; but now the thought that they would never see her again, together, perhaps, with the very handsome presents which she had made, and her very kind words, affected them deeply, and they showed some considerable feeling.

Under such circumstances Hilda took her departure from Chetwynde Castle, leaving Gualtier in charge. In a few days the new servants arrived, and those of the old ones who had thus far remained now took their departure. The household was entirely remodeled. The new ones took up their places; and there was not one single person there who knew any thing whatever about the late Earl, or Hilda, or Gualtier. The old ones were scattered abroad, and it was not within the bounds of ordinary possibility that any of them would ever come near the place.

In thus remodeling the household it was somewhat enlarged. There was the new housekeeper, a staid, matronly, respectable-looking woman; three house-maids, who had formerly lived, in the north of England; a coachman, who had never before been out of Kent; a butler, who had formerly served in a Scotch family; two footmen, one of whom had served in Yorkshire, and the other in Cornwall; two grooms, who had been bred in Yorkshire; a cook, who had hitherto passed all her life in London; and three kitchen-maids, who also had served in that city. Thus the household was altogether new, and had been carefully collected by Gualtier with a view rather to the place from which they had come than to any great excellence on the part of any of them. For so large a place it was but a small number, but it was larger than the household which had been dismissed, and they soon settled down into their places.

One only was left of the old number. This was Mrs. Hart. But she lay on her sick-bed, and Hilda looked upon her as one whose life was doomed. Had any thought of her possible recovery entered her mind, she would have contrived in some way to get rid of her. In spite of her illness, she did not lack attention; for the new housekeeper attached herself to her, and gave her the kindliest care and warmest sympathy.

Last of all, so complete had been Hilda's precautions in view of possible future difficulties, that when Gualtier came as the new steward, he came under a new name, and was known to the household as _Mr. M'Kenzie_.