Chapter Thirteen.
Wilton pere and mere had not been gone five minutes when there was a gentle tap at Kate’s door, and she started and turned her fearful face in that direction, but made no reply. The tap was repeated,
“Miss Kate,” came in a sharp whisper; “it is only me, my dear.”
“Ah,” sighed the girl, as if in relief; and she nearly ran to the door, turned the key, and admitted the old servant, locked the door again, and flung her arms about the woman’s neck, to bury her face in her breast, and sob as if her heart would break.
“There, there, there,” cooed the woman, as if to the little child she had nursed long years before; and she led her gently to a couch, and drew the weeping girt down half reclining upon her breast. “Cry then, my precious; it will do you good; and then you must tell Liza all about it—what has been the matter, dear?”
“Matter!” cried Kate, starting up, and gazing angrily in the woman’s face. “Liza, it’s horrible. Why did I ever come to this dreadful house?”
“Hush, hush, my own; you will make yourself had again. We must not have you ill.”
“Bad—ill?” cried Kate. “Better dead and at rest. Oh, I hate him! I hate him! How dare he touch me like that! It was horrible—an outrage!”
The woman’s face flushed, and her eyes sparkled angrily, then her lips moved as if to question, but she closed them tightly into a thin line and waited, knowing from old experience that it would not be long before her young mistress’ grief and trouble would be poured into er ear.
She was quiet, and clasping the agitated girl once lore in her arms, she began to rock herself slowly to and fro.
“No, no! don’t,” cried Kate, peevishly, and she raised her head once more, looking handsomer than ever in her anger and indignation. “I am no longer a child. Aunt and uncle have encouraged it. This hateful money is at the bottom of it all. They wish me to marry him. Pah! he makes me shudder with disgust. And how could I even think of such a horror with all this terrible trouble so new.”
Eliza half closed her eyes and nodded her head, while her mouth seemed almost to disappear.
“It is cruel—it is horrible,” Kate continued. “They have encouraged it all through. Even aunt, with her sickly worship of her wretched spoiled boy. Oh, what a poor, pitiful, weak creature she must have thought me. No one seemed to understand me but Mr Garstang.”
Eliza knit her brows a little at his name, but she remained silent, and by slow degrees she was put in possession of all that had taken place; and then, faint and weary, Kate let her head sink down till her forehead rested once more upon the breast where she had so often sunk to rest.
“Oh, the hateful money!” she sighed, as the tears came at last. “Let him have it. What is it to me? But I cannot stop here, nurse; it is impossible. We must go at once. Uncle is my guardian, but surely he cannot force me to stay against my inclination. If I remained here it would kill me. Nurse,” she cried, with a display of determination that the woman had never seen in her before, “you must pack up what is necessary, and to-morrow we will go. It would be easy to stay at some hotel till we found a place—a furnished cottage just big enough for us two; anywhere so that we could be at peace. We could be happier then—Why don’t you speak to me when I want comfort in my trouble?”
“Because no words of mine could give you the comfort you need, my dear. Don’t you know that my heart bleeds for you, and that always when my poor darling child has suffered I have suffered, too?”
“Yes, yes, dear; I know,” said Kate, raising her face to kiss the woman passionately. “I do know. Don’t take any notice of what I said. All this has made me feel so wickedly angry, and as if I hated the whole world.”
“Don’t I know my darling too well to mind a few hasty words?” said the woman, softly. “Say what you please. If it is angry I know it only comes from the lips, and there is something for me always in my darling’s heart.”
“That does me good, nurse,” said the girl, clinging to her affectionately for a few moments, and then once more sitting up, to speak firmly. “It makes me feel after all that I am not alone, and that my dear, dead mother was right when she said, ‘Never part from Eliza. She is not our servant; she has always been our faithful, humble, trusty friend.’”
The woman’s face softened now, and a couple of tears stole down her cheeks.
“Now, nurse, we must talk and make our plans. I wish I could see Mr Garstang, and ask his advice.”
“Do you like Mr Garstang, my dear?” said the woman, gently.
“Yes; he is a gentleman. He seems to me the only one who can talk to me as what I am, and without thinking I am what they call me—an heiress.”
“But poor dear master never trusted Mr Garstang.”
“Perhaps he had no need to. He always treated him as a friend, and he has proved himself one to-day by the brave way in which he defended me, and spoke out to open my eyes to all this iniquity.”
“But dear master did not make him his executor.”
“How could he when he had his brother to think of? How could my dear father suspect that Uncle James would prove so base? It was a mistake. You ought to have heard Mr Garstang speak to-day.”
Eliza sighed.
“I don’t think I should put all my trust in Mr Garstang, my dear,” she said.
“Is not that prejudice, nurse?”
“I hope not my dear; but my heart never warmed to Mr Garstang, and it has always felt very cold toward that young man, his stepson.”
“Harry Dasent? Well,” said Kate, with a faint smile, “perhaps mine has been as cold. But why should we trouble about this? It would be no harm if I asked Mr Garstang’s advice; but if we do not like it, nurse, we can take our own. One thing we decide upon at once: we will leave here.”
“Can we, my dear? You have money, but—”
“Oh, don’t talk about the hateful thing,” cried the girl, passionately.
“I must, my dear. We cannot take even a cottage without. This money is in your uncle’s charge; you, as a girl under age, can not touch a penny without your Uncle James’ consent.”
“But surely he can not keep me here against my will—a prisoner?”
“I don’t know, my dear,” said the woman, with a sigh.
“Then that is where we want help and advice—that is where Mr Garstang could assist me and tell me what to do.”
Eliza sighed.
“Well, if the worst comes to the worst, I can take a humble place where you can keep house and do needlework to help, while I go out as daily governess.”
“You! A daily governess?”
“Well,” said the girl, proudly, “I can play—brilliantly, they say—I know three languages, and—”
“You have a hundred and fifty thousand pounds in your own right.”
“What are a hundred and fifty thousand pounds to a miserable prisoner who is being persecuted? Liberty is worth millions, and come what may, I will be free.”
“Yes, you shall be free, darling; but you must do nothing rash. To-day has taught me that my dear girl is a woman of firmness and spirit; and, please God, all will come right in the end. There, this is enough. You are fluttered and feverish now, and delicate as you are, you require rest. It is getting late. Let me help you to undress for a good long night’s rest. Sleep on it all, my child; out of the evil good will come, and you have shown them that they have not a baby to deal with, but a true woman, so matters are not so bad as they seem. Come, my little one.”
“I must and will leave here, nurse,” said Kate, firmly.
“Sleep on it, my child, and remember that after all you have won the day. Come, let me help you.”
“No, Liza, go now. I must sit for a while and think.”
“Better sleep, and think after a long rest.”
“No, dear; I wish to sit here in the quiet and silence first. Look, the moon is rising over the trees, and it seems to bring light into my weary brain. I’ll go to bed soon. Please do as I wish, and leave me now—Nurse, dear, do you think those who have gone from us ever come back in spirit to help us when we are in need?”
“Heaven only knows, my darling,” said the woman, looking startled. “But please don’t talk like this—You really wish me to go?”
“Yes, leave me now. I am going to make my plans for to-morrow.”
“To-morrow.”
“No, before I lie down to rest. Good-night.”
“You are mistress, and I am servant, my child. Good-night, then—good-night.”
“Good-night,” said Kate, and a minute later she had closed and re-locked the door, to turn and stand gazing at the window, whose blind was suffused with the soft silvery light of the slowly rising moon.