“These speeches did turn her mother’s head, and her own as well. All the young men were in love with her, but she scorned them all for a poor little imp of a stableboy, an orphan as had been her playmate all her life.”
“I did hear that it was for the sake of the young earl she flouted the others,” said Wynnette.
“Oh, yes, I dare say—that was one of the stories that went round! That was false. The young earl did come down to celebrate his coming of age, and his mother and sisters came with him, and made up their minds to stay with him, which they might do until he should marry, in which case they would have to go to Kedge Hall, an old manor house on the moors. So my lady seemed to think the longer she could keep my lord, her son, from getting a wife, the better it would be for her and her girls.
“Among the men staying at the castle was an artist. He was to paint a picture of St. Cecelia for the countess, but he wanted a model. One day my lady, out driving, happened to see Phebe, and had her up to the castle to sit to the artist. And then the mischief began. My lord fell in love with her. Fairly went out of his senses for love of this beautiful creature, who didn’t even know how to read.
“And my lady encouraged the folly and wickedness. Eh, my dear, gentlefolks were not particular in those days. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘was a beauty right on his own land, the child of his tenant, one of his own born slaves, bound to do his will, who might amuse his fancy and keep him from marriage for many a year.’ She never feared such a thing as my lord marrying the girl. Such folly was not to be thought, and never was thought of by either of them.”
“But,” said Wynnette, “I heard that the earl had married her.”
“Stuff and nonsense! He never dreamed of such a thing! He was the proudest man alive! And he was engaged to a duke’s daughter! But the crazy old mother and the silly young girl fancied that he even might do that for love of Phebe’s fair face. So the poor stableboy was thrown over, and the young earl was received. The boy got madly jealous, and so—months after, when the hapless girl was found dead at the bottom of the shaft in the old castle—the stableboy was arrested on suspicion of the murder.”
“I know,” said Wynnette, “and the guide to Enderby Castle says that he was tried and convicted and hanged at Carlisle. But I have heard that contradicted.”
“Yes, it is contradicted. I do not know the truth. It has been so long ago that no living person can remember it, now that Old Zillah is gone.”
“She could,” said Wynnette.