Part 9

"Then," he said quietly and looked her full in the eyes, "you have my promise, dear, just as I have yours, but it will never, never be--Kathleen, shall I be truthful, honest, candid with, you? I never want it to be, dear, I am well content! And now come----" he went on gaily, "and we'll talk to old Markabee, that young fellow who refuses to grow old! Come, dear and----"

But she shook her head. "I am going to the village, Allan," she said, "at least, not to the village, but to a little cottage between here and Little Stretton, Mrs. Hanson's cottage."

"Hanson, I remember a kindly talkative old dame who has always a smile and a country bob for us."

"I am afraid she is not as kindly as she looks!" Kathleen said.

"Why, what has the wicked old body been doing?"

"Ill-treating her granddaughter, so I have heard. It was Debly Cassons who told me. She said she was passing Mrs. Hanson's cottage as she came here last evening, and she heard the sound of beating and looking in through the window saw that wicked old woman thrashing the girl with a stick. And there----" Kathleen went on, "the girl was standing accepting the blows without a sound, but later as Debly was going back, she heard someone sobbing as thought her heart was breaking and she found the girl lying on the grass in the little garden crying bitterly. Debly is a kindly old soul and she tried to comfort her and find out what the trouble was, but the girl would not answer, so----"

"So my dear little Lady Bountiful, my Lady Merciful is going to carry comfort to the ill-used child, eh?"

He looked at Kathleen, then stretched out his hand and touched hers. "Kathleen, you are a good woman," he said sincerely and gently, "I wish I could think that I were worthy of you!"

Kathleen shook her head, she did not speak.

There was a trace of sadness in her eyes as she went back alone to the house. It seemed to her that there was the chance of happiness of a great and wonderful happiness, yet she could not stretch out her hand to grasp it, could not because of memories, years old memories, memories of another face and another voice, memories of a love that had filled her life once. She had loved then, she told herself, as a woman loves but once, as she could never love again.

"Allan's happiness and mine," she said to herself, "is built not on love, but on friendship and respect, perhaps it is the surest, the best foundation," yet while she consoled herself, she sighed a little and the sadness stayed in her eyes.

Very grim and very silent was Mrs. Hanson this morning. Last night that maid, the maid she had brought up from babyhood had told her that she hated her, had said "shan't" to her, had defied her.

Mrs. Hanson had had a strict upbringing herself, she had married Hanson because he was in regular work and was drawing good pay, twelve shillings a week, no less. Her parents had told her to marry Hanson and she had married him. The marriage market has its branches in the smallest of villages and marriages of convenience are not luxuries enjoyed only by the rich and the wellborn.

And she, in her turn, had found a very suitable husband for this wayward maid who, lacking in duty and obedience, definitely refused to accept that husband.

Very well then! Mrs. Hanson had every reason to be hurt and aggrieved.

Betty had risen early--as usual--had cleaned out the little cottage kitchen, had polished the stove till it shone, had made the fire and had prepared the breakfast just as usual, but all the time she was doing it, she knew that she was doing it for the last time.

Last night her grandmother had said to her, "You shall go!"

Her grandmother never changed her mind, never relented, never altered. Betty knew this of long, long experience, besides in any event she would go, she would not stay--no, not even if her grandmother begged her to on her bended knees, and that was not in the least likely. They had their breakfast together in stony silence. After breakfast Mrs. Hanson spoke.

"Wash they things and put them back on the dresser--for the last time!" she added.

Betty had washed the things, she had replaced them on the dresser, on to the snowy white board of the dresser top she had permitted one large hot tear to splash.

Her grandmother sat stiffly upright in her chair by the window with the huge family Bible open on the little rickety round table before her.

Mrs. Hanson always turned to the Bible for comfort and for advice in times of stress and doubt. She was reading stolidly through the story of Naboth's Vineyard and was deriving much spiritual comfort from it. Very stern and unrelenting she looked sitting primly bolt upright, her hands resting on the book and her spectacles adjusted on the end of her long and pointed nose.

Now and again out of the corner of her eye she glanced at the girl who was slowly putting the finishing touches to her work. In a little while the girl must be gone, Mrs. Hanson was a stern and unrelenting woman.

Where the girl would go to, Mrs. Hanson did not know, she never gave it a thought.

"She did say, she did hate me!" the old woman thought. "Hate--a perilous wicked thing for a young gell to say--and to abide in a house of hatred, I will not! There's the Bible for it--'Better a dinner of yarbs and contentment therewith than a stalled ox in the house----'" Mrs. Hanson looked up, a shadow had fallen across the window, there came a light tapping on the door.

"Bless me and bless my dear soul!" said Mrs. Hanson aloud, "if here b'ain't my Lady Homewood, Betty quick--quickly open the door to Her Ladyship, quick now! Do 'ee hear me speak?"

The door was opened by Betty. Coming from the hot bright sunlight of the outer world into the twilight of the little room, Kathleen could only see a slight, slender figure in an old cotton gown, which figure bobbed a deferential, yet it almost seemed a defiant little curtsey to her.

"This is Mrs. Hanson's cottage?" Kathleen asked.

"Yes, my lady!"

Mrs. Hanson had risen, she bobbed, it was no half hearted curtsey this of hers, she seemed to sink into the floor to her middle and then rose again, tall and lean and agitated.

"Mrs. Hanson I be, my Lady, and proud I be to see your Ladyship here--Betty, a chair for her Ladyship, my maid!"

Betty brought a chair, she flicked it with a duster and placed it that Kathleen might be seated.

And now Kathleen, whose sight had grown accustomed to the dimmer light of the room, could see the child plainly, and seeing her, wondered a little at the loveliness of the little piteous face, the drawn mouth, the big saddened eyes that had so evidently recently shed tears.

Poor pretty little maid! Kathleen remembered what Debly had told her of the child lying out in the grass, sobbing her heart out in the darkness of the night. She looked at the stern puritanical looking old woman and Kathleen, who was hot blooded and generous, felt instinctive dislike of her, which dislike was unjust and ill placed.

So, having come expressly about this girl with the golden hair and the sweet oval face, Kathleen, being a very diplomatic young woman, spoke of everything and anything else under the sun. She told Mrs. Hanson how often she had admired the neatness and prettiness of the little front garden.

"It is so nice to see gardens so well kept, I am sure yours is a great credit to you, and oh Mrs. Hanson, do please sit down, we can't talk comfortably, can we, if you stand?"

"Oh, my Lady, to sit in your presence!"

"Then you will force me to stand too!" said Kathleen.

So Mrs. Hanson sat down on the very edge of her hard chair and they talked of the garden, that neat little garden with its flower beds, surrounded by nice large flint stones which Betty whitened regularly every Saturday, to make all prim and clean and spotless for the Sunday.

"You have lived here many years?" Kathleen asked.

"A Hanson hev always lived in this cottage, my Lady, from time out o' mind. A Bifley were I born, my mother being a Pringle, and me married to Amos Hanson when I were just turned seventeen."

"Ah yes!" Kathleen said. "And this is your granddaughter?"

"My granddarter her be," said Mrs. Hanson sternly.

"And of course you need her here to help you in this little cottage?" Kathleen hazarded.

"I du not need she, my Lady, and her be going to leave me, her be, this very day!"

"To--to leave--you--you mean the child is going away? Where is she going to?"

Mrs. Hanson did not answer. The girl was still in the room, seemingly busy at the dresser, but Kathleen looking could see the slender shoulders shake and knew what a big fight the little maid was putting up to keep herself from bursting into tears.

What little village tragedy was here? she wondered.

"Is she going to London?" Kathleen asked.

"I du not know, my Lady!"

"But----" Kathleen said.

Mrs. Hanson rose, she was trembling.

"My Lady, that I should hev to tell 'ee a stranger, yet with a face so kind, that emboldened I be--my Lady--this maid, this perilous wicked maid----" the old dame stopped for a moment, quivering and shaking, "this perilous bad, wicked onnatchral maid did say to me--I hate 'ee, I du! Said it my lady wi' her own lips and tongue, she did! And I said tu her 'Betty Hanson, granddarter o' mine, 'ee may be, but never, never will I abide in a house where hatred du exist, so out of this house du 'ee go for a bad perilous maid on the morrow!' And this be the morrow, my Lady----"

"But she is so young, only a child and surely you would not let her go without, knowing she is going into safety and into the house of friends? She is your granddaughter and you are responsible for her! Do you think that you are acting rightly? Do you think--oh please don't think that I am preaching to you--but she is so young and so pretty and to think of her going--and never even knowing where the poor child is going to!"

"I hev chose for she a good husband, a man wi' thirty-five shillings a week coming in, a cottage too and of quiet ways!"

"But if she does not love him?" Kathleen asked, and, remembering her own marriage, blushed red as a rose.

"Love him indeed, my lady, hev I not chose he for she? A good upstanding, upright man as ever was, to Church reg'lar twice a Sundays, walking in the fear of God, he du, and very respectable wi' never a word to be heard against he--and--and----" Mrs. Hanson paused nervously and exhausted for the moment.

"But she is only a child! Betty, come here, Betty!"

"Betty, du 'ee hear her Ladyship a-speaking to 'ee?" cried the grandmother.

But Betty at the dresser, her back obstinately turned, did not move.

"There, there!" said Mrs. Hanson triumphantly, "'ee can see for yourself, my Lady, how bad and de-fiant and obstinant her du be--Oh Betty, shame on thee!" the old woman added, for Kathleen herself had risen and had gone across the room to the lonely little figure and all suddenly had put a kind arm about those heaving shoulders.

"Betty, Betty child, come and tell me all about it!" she said in that sweet gentle voice of hers that could break down any barrier of anger and defiance. And then Betty, knowing, feeling that here was a friend, broke down suddenly and giving way to the long threatening tears, laid her head against Kathleen's breast and sobbed.

"I hate him, I hate him I du and fear him I du, My--my lady and grandmother be so bent on my marrying he and I, I can't! Oh, I can't bear it, I can't and 'tis breaking my heart, it be, my--my Lady!"

"Hush, little one, don't cry!" Kathleen said.

"Betty, I be mortal ashamed of 'ee, I be!" said Mrs. Hanson. "Mortal ashamed and all put about I be!"

"Please, Mrs. Hanson, let me speak to her!" said Kathleen. She drew Betty towards her chair, she sat down and held the girl's hot little hand and looked into the pretty flushed tear stained face. Poor pretty child!

"How old are you, Betty?" she asked.

"I be--be eighteen, my Lady!"

"And behaving she be like she were but seven!" said Mrs. Hanson. "A perilous bad----" she paused.

"Your grandmother says you must go, Betty!"

"Aye, I du, I du, and when I du say a thing, by that thing I du abide!" said Mrs. Hanson. "Go, I said, and go she shall! A very unrelenting woman I be!"

And then at last came a flash of anger into Kathleen's eyes.

"Yes, a very hard and unrelenting woman, I fear, Mrs. Hanson! Has this child no other friends, no other relations, than you?"

"Never a soul hev she got, and I hev brought she up!"

"And now would turn her out of the house, knowing that she had no one to go to, no one to keep and protect her, for shame, Mrs. Hanson!" cried Kathleen in just indignation. Mrs. Hanson said nothing, she quivered and shook. Perhaps in her heart of hearts she wanted to give way, but she had said it, a stern and unrelenting woman was she, and prided herself on it.

"And where will you go to, Betty, when you leave your grandmother's cottage?"

"Oh my lady, I du not know, indeed I du not! For I hev not thought of it, but I wouldn't mind where I did go, so be it was not to Abram Lestwick, who I du hate and of whom I be in most mortal terror, my--my lady!"

"Then you shall not go to him, you shall come to me, Betty, and you shall be my little maid!" Kathleen said.

"To--to the Manor House, my--my lady?" Betty stammered, "Oh my Lady, to--to the Manor House?"

"Why, of course, child, for I live there!"

"Oh my Lady, I--I couldn't, don't ask me--I couldn't bear to--to go there and see it all--all as it be now--I couldn't my Lady, 'twould break my heart!"

Kathleen looked at her in amazement. "But why, Betty?" she said. "I don't understand!"

"My Lady," interposed Mrs. Hanson, "if so be as I may be allowed to speak----" she paused, quivering with indignation, "'tis but right I should tell 'ee this, that this wayward, obstinate, perilous gel was forever in they old gardens before Mr. Homewood bought the old place, forever she was, spite of all I did say to she. Sometimes of nights I du verily believe she would rise and go stealing off to they gardens, a terribul state they was in too, and coming back wi' her frock all covered wi' green like and sometimes tored by the wall over which she did climb most shameful----"

Kathleen heard, she looked at the girl who stood with bowed head before her.

"Why did you go to the garden, Betty?" she asked softly.

"Because--oh I--I don't know, because--I can't--can't tell 'ee, my Lady, I can't tell 'ee, but it be all changed and altered now wi' great fences put up and--and my stone maid gone and 'twould break my heart, my Lady to go there and not see she, my stone maid, any more!"

"The stone maid is not gone, Betty, and the gardens have not been altered, but only made beautiful and they tell me that they must be just as they were in the old days!"

"I wonder, my Lady, as 'ee have the patience to talk wi' she!" said Mrs. Hanson.

But Kathleen took no notice. "So, Betty, will you come to me and be my little maid?"

"And glad and grateful!" said Mrs. Hanson. "Say it!" she commanded. "Elizabeth Hanson, say it, yes--and glad and grateful I du be, my Lady, to 'ee for your great kindness, and drop my Lady a curtsey, 'ee unmannerly maid, as I be sore ashamed of!"

"If only----" Kathleen thought, "if only the old woman would leave the child alone, poor Betty, I can see why that little spirit of hers was goaded into rebellion at last!"

"I need no thanks!" Kathleen said, "I only want Betty to say that she will come; you will come, child?"

How kind were those eyes that looked into hers, how sweet a smile there was on her Ladyship's beautiful face! It must have melted a heart of stone and Betty's warm passionate little heart was not of stone. So she broke down, sobbing and crying, she would come and glad and grateful she was, and come she would that very day if her Ladyship would but have her.

"Pack your little box, Betty," Kathleen said, "and I will send one of the men presently to fetch it for you and I think and hope you will be happy and--and maybe Betty, you will not find the old garden so changed after all. I will answer for it there are no ugly fences and the stone maid stands where she did in the middle of the lake, Betty, so--go come and see your little friend again!" She held out her kind hand, but Betty did not take it, instead she dropped suddenly onto her knees and kissed that white hand as if it had been the hand of a Queen, and so like a queen was Kathleen to the country maid, a Queen all beautiful, all generous, all kind. Queen! No, an angel from Heaven rather! And when she had gone Betty stood there, all unmindful that her grandmother was here and she spoke her thoughts aloud.

"Very willing and glad I would be," she said slowly, "very willing and glad to die for she, I would!"

Mrs. Hanson sniffed, she had no patience with such outrageous and exaggerated statements.

"Get 'ee off and pack your box," she said sharply, "and think yourself lucky, Betty Hanson, as 'ee hev found another home, and a kind mistress, too kind I be afeared! Too kind and lenient like wi' 'ee and your folly, my maid!"

*CHAPTER XVII*

*HAROLD SCARSDALE RETURNS*

Kathleen's face was very thoughtful, a little sad even, as she walked back along the white dusty road. She hardly saw the village folk, who bobbed and curtseyed to her as she passed. She saw only a sweet oval face, a glorious head of glittering hair, a pair of sad, wistful blue eyes.

"So these people do, as their betters!" she thought. "They drive and goad their children into unhappy marriages! My Lord's daughter must be made to marry thirty thousand a year, as little Betty, Mrs. Hanson's granddaughter, is to be forced into marriage with thirty shillings a week! How wrong and what a shame it all is! Money, rank, position and interest! Is there no such thing as love left in the world at all? May not a man choose his mate, a woman choose for herself from among all men, the one she loves? It seems not, in village or in city, in cottage or in palace, and I----" she paused. "I did as I was bidden and I am happier perhaps than I deserve to be!"

Kathleen, unlike other well born young ladies of Society, had had no maid, in the old days she could not afford one. Amy, the parlour maid, had assisted her into the dresses that were so very seldom paid for, and Kathleen had long since adopted the unladylike practice of doing her own hair. So when she came to Homewood she had decided to continue without a maid, though the funds were not lacking now and the dresses were certainly paid for.

Of course little Betty Hanson would not know a tithe of those things that a good and practiced lady's maid should know. She would not be able to do her ladyship's hair in the latest and most becoming style. She would not be able to select gowns suitable for special occasions. She would not be able to massage my lady's white hands and perhaps her face. She would not be able to flatter and fawn and sponge and perhaps rob and lie. No, Betty Hanson was not likely to have any of these desirable accomplishments.

Kathleen had an honest admiration for beauty. She was one of those rare women who can see and appreciate beauty in another woman. She would have everything about her beautiful if she could. She feared that perhaps to those who were unbeautiful, she was a little unjust. To Ann, the very plain housemaid who came from the Fulham Road, for instance, Kathleen was more than unusually kind and generous, because in her heart of hearts she did not like Ann. And she believed that she did not like Ann because Ann had a sallow, greasy skin, a misshapen nose and small mean eyes, set too closely together and a loose, nondescript kind of mouth.

Ann, as a matter of fact, was a stupid, blundering creature, who forgot to do one half of what she was told and deliberately neglected to do the other half, who generally did everything badly, and had a habit of breaking the most expensive things she could put her clumsy hands on. Once Kathleen, goaded and irritated by Ann's hopeless imbecility had spoken sharply--sharply for her--to the girl and had promptly repented of it and had given Ann five shillings and begged a half day off for her from Mrs. Crozier, the housekeeper.

But that was like Kathleen and that was why the servants adored her.

But Kathleen was a little disturbed in her mind. She found herself wondering, remembering and wondering--what was this about this child haunting the old garden at the Manor House, climbing the high brick wall and entering into that place of desolation and solitude, called thither, who knows by what strange voices? What was this about her going there of nights to wander about the black solitudes of tangle and weed? Surely it was not right, it was not canny. She smiled at the word, the word that she had heard her old Scottish nurse use years and years ago. Yet it was the right word, it was not canny that a young and pretty girl should have so strange a love for solitudes and weed grown gardens.

"Could it--could it have been she?" What mad nonsense, what folly was this? Kathleen wondered at her own thoughts. How could it have been this girl whom Allan had seen there that day? He had said it was a dream, it must have been a dream--this girl was no dream, but living reality. And then Allan had told her that the girl of his dream had been dressed all in some strange, old world costume, how the garden about her had been in bloom and all so trim and neat and tidy, how the old house, a place of desolation, had been bright and gay with its open windows and blowing curtains, and how the girl herself had gone to him and had kissed him and had put her little mittened hands--mittened hands--had little Betty Hanson ever owned a pair of mittens in her life? No, no those things had gone out in Betty's great-grandmother's time, what mad nonsense it all was! So Kathleen laughed merrily and laughed the ideas and the notions all away.

She went to find Mrs. Crozier--Mrs. Crozier, the elderly, kindly autocrat of the house, Mrs. Crozier who had been housekeeper in a far finer and more magnificent mansion than this, no less a place than Dwennington Hall, the seat of the Duke of Grandon.

"Mrs. Crozier, I have engaged a young village girl, Betty Hanson, granddaughter of Mrs. Hanson, who lives in the cottage up the road towards Little Stretton, she is to be my lady's maid. She is only a child and she will feel strange here at first so----"

"I quite understand, my lady, I'll look after the little thing and make her feel quite at home!"

"Thank you, you do so readily understand me, Mrs. Crozier."

"It's easy enough to understand your Ladyship," Mrs. Crozier said. "There is always some kindly thought in your head, my lady, for others--I know Mrs. Hanson slightly, a good and very respectable woman!"

"Will you send one of the men for Betty Hanson's box presently? And oh Mrs. Crozier, about the fourteenth----"

"I'm making all preparations, my lady, Sir Josiah will be coming of course!" Mrs. Crozier smiled, she held Sir Josiah in very high esteem.

"Not a highly educated gentleman, perhaps," Mrs. Crozier had said over a cup of tea to Mrs. Parsmon, the doctor's wife, "but one of the kind, Mrs. Parsmon that I call Nature's gentlemen! That is my opinion of Sir Josiah Homewood!" So when Mrs. Crozier mentioned his name to Sir Josiah's daughter-in-law, she smiled in a very kindly way.

"Sir Josiah will bring a friend, perhaps two, and my father will come of course," Kathleen's voice changed a little, as it always did in some subtle manner when she spoke of her father. Her face seemed to grow a shade colder, then the cloud passed and she was smiling and thanking Mrs. Crozier again, for her intended kindness to Betty Hanson.