“Good-night—miss.”
As mistress and maid crossed the lawn, the latter burst out—
“I can’t abide that young fellow, with his fine manners and his taking off his cap like a lord! Miss Aurea dear, I’m thinking the Rector would not be too well pleased to see you in the lanes a-walking out like any village girl along of your aunts’ chauffeur.”
“Norris, how dare you speak to me in such a way!” cried Aurea passionately. And yet, why be furious? She had been “a-walking out” precisely like any other country girl.
“Well, well, well, dearie, don’t be angry. I’m only giving you a hint for your good, and I know you are a real lady, as proud as proud, and as high-minded as a queen or an angel. Still and all, I’m mighty glad that none of our talkers happened to come across you!”
CHAPTER XXV
LADY KESTERS AT THE DRUM
Jane Norris, who had been Aurea’s nurse, was now her maid and housekeeper, a most efficient individual in both capacities. Jane was a woman of fifty, with a round, fat face, a complacent double chin, a comfortable figure, and a quantity of ginger-coloured hair—of which she was unreasonably vain. Jane had also a pair of prominent brown eyes (which gave the impression of watchfulness), a sharp tongue, a very sincere affection for her child, and an insatiable appetite for gossip. She was left in sole charge of the Rector and Rectory when Aurea was absent, and considered herself a person of paramount importance in the community, not only on account of her position at the Rectory, but also for being the happy possessor of a real fur coat, a gold watch, and, last, but by no means least, considerable savings. Her circle was naturally contracted and select; her intimates, the village dressmaker, Miss Poult—who had many clients in the neighbourhood—Mrs. Frickett, of the Drum; and Mrs. Gill, the schoolmistress. (Mrs. Hogben, who took in washing, needless to say, was not in her set.) Miss Norris had a flair for uncloaking scandals, and was a veritable Captain Cook in the way of making marvellous and unsuspected discoveries. She had always been particularly anxious to explore the chauffeur’s past and to learn what she called the “geography” of this young man. Hitherto the young man had defeated her efforts, and baffled her most insidious inquiries. He did not drink or talk or give himself away; he did not carry on with girls, or encourage them. Oh, it was an old head on young shoulders, and there was something about him that was not fair and square—and she was bound to know it!
Miss Norris had been occasionally disturbed by a vague apprehension (resembling some persistent and irritating insect) that her mistress was interested in this good-looking stranger, but she thrust the idea angrily aside. Miss Aurea was not like those bold, chattering minxes who were always throwing themselves in his way! She was really ashamed of herself, and her wicked mind. Of course, Miss Aurea would make a grand match, and marry young Woolcock—who was just crazy about her, as all the world knew—and she would go with her as maid to Westmere Park. But the vision of her young lady and the chauffeur talking to her so earnestly in the hill lane had excited her fears, and she resolved to give Miss Aurea something to think of, and put her from speaking to the upsetting, impudent fellow—who got more notice and made more talk in Ottinge than the Rector himself!
Aurea, who had been accustomed to Norris ever since the days of socks and strapped shoes, regarded her as a friend, and even suffered her to gossip (mildly) as she dressed her hair, for she said to herself—
“The poor thing has no one else to talk to all day long”—Simple Aurea!—“being set in authority over the other servants, and must have some safety-valve.”