It had been a sad, indeed a fatal, mistake. His second wife was unsuitable in every respect, and was the very last woman he should have selected. She had no sympathy with him, spent much of her time amongst smart people in London, and when at home invariably upset the house, and caused her husband displeasure by her treatment of his boy. Indeed, as time passed, she seemed to take a positive delight in speaking sharply to Jack, knowing well that by doing so she caused Captain Somerton pain and annoyance.
And Jack—poor little fellow!—though at first he had, boy-like, quickly forgotten his scoldings, was now really in terror of his unloving stepmother.
People who knew the Somertons, and were callers at Frampton Grange, soon learnt what kind of a woman its new mistress was. Though outwardly all that was pleasant and entertaining to them, they quickly gauged her character, and knew her to be a source of discord in a house which was, before her arrival there, one of the happiest in the land. They summed her up, noticed the icy looks with which she often greeted Jack, and contrasted them with the tender embraces with which she almost smothered her own son.
Then they discussed the subject by other firesides till it was almost threadbare, and came to the conclusion that jealousy of Jack’s undoubted superior qualities and good looks was the main cause of her unkind treatment of him.
And below stairs, in the kitchen of Frampton Grange, the captain’s servants put their heads together many a time, with the result that all sympathised secretly with their master and his son, and cordially disliked the new mistress and the peevish and ill-mannered cub belonging to her.
Even as Captain Somerton and his wife were exchanging their views in the study above, old Banks, the butler, who had been with the Somertons for many years, was holding forth with unusual vehemence to the cook and maids below.
“I calls it just about a shame!” he cried indignantly, bringing his fat fist down upon the table with such a thump as to make his audience start out of their seats and cause himself a twinge of pain.
“Why can’t she let the boy alone? Poor little chap! She’s always a-nagging at him; and to hear her going on at the captain is enough to make yer tear yer hair. And he sits there in front of her as tame as a girl, and gives her back gentle words. Bah! I hates it! Yer wouldn’t think at such times as he’s got a name for miles round here as the daringest rider after hounds; but that’s what he has, as anyone would tell yer. And yet, when he gets in front of her, and she starts to tackle him, he’s as mild as milk, and scarcely dares to answer her. She’s a vixen, that’s what she is, cook, and I can tell yer I ain’t much in love with her. Why don’t he pitch into her a bit? But I dare say he acts all for peace! He dislikes a row, as all gentlemen does, and his motter is ‘Least said the soonest mended’. ’Tain’t the way I’d do it if I was in his shoes! I’d pretty soon make her leave the boy alone and stop her talk, I can assure yer!”
Banks shook his head in a threatening manner, and finding that his outburst of indignation had gained for him the sympathy and admiration of his fellow-servants, gave a deep grunt of satisfaction, and was on the point of launching forth afresh when a bell, rung from Mrs Somerton’s boudoir, sounded in the passage.
With a startled “Oh, lor!” he was himself again. His flushed features at once assumed their accustomed impassiveness, and with a hasty hitch at his tie to place it in the most exact position, he slipped hurriedly from the kitchen to obey the summons.