As Nell walked back to Panty-cuckoo alone (for she would not let Hugh accompany her) she could not decide if she were pleased or sorry at what had taken place between them. Certainly she did not realise it. She was as much Lord Ilfracombe’s widow as she had been on setting out, and did not feel like the betrothed of anybody. But one thing did seem to please her—the idea of leaving England and all its sad associations behind, and going to a new country, to live amidst new surroundings and new people. Her heart had been growing faint and sick with England for a long time past. To go to South Africa; to sail on the sea; to see the wondrous vegetation that adorns it—the hedges of cacti, the bowers of orange-trees, the ostriches and the gorillas; all the wonders, in fact, of which she had read in the books which Hugh had lent her—this was what she thought of most as she wended her way slowly homewards. If an occasional remembrance struck her that they could not be enjoyed without the accompaniment of Hugh’s society she put it from her with a slight frown, and fell to thinking of the other instead. Hugh had said he would not worry her; that she should do exactly as she pleased; that he would ask nothing from her till she was ready to grant it; and Hugh was a man of his word. He would not say one thing and do another. She was quite safe with him. They would go out to Africa together, and whilst he taught the men and preached to them she would be kind and helpful to the mothers and the little black children, and show them how to make their clothes, and take care of their health, and cook their food. She pictured herself clad in a white dress, with a broad straw hat on, walking amongst her sable sisters, nursing them when they were sick, or joining in their merry-makings and festivities. She could better forget there, Nell said to herself, than in a country that reminded her at every turn of what she had lost. And Hugh was very good to her, there was no doubt of that, and would guard and protect her from further evil till her life’s end. He knew her secret, and he did not despise her for it, that was more than she could say for anybody else. Even the servants in Grosvenor Square, over whom she had reigned supreme, had shown her, but too plainly, as soon as they dared, that they considered her a little lower than themselves. She dared not think what her father and mother and Hetty would say if they were made cognisant of the truth. Nell knew her parents’ strict ideas on propriety too well. Her mother would upbraid her for having brought the first shame into their virtuous family—her father would, in all probability, turn her out of the house, and tell her her presence contaminated both her mother and her sister. The poor, when virtuous, are very virtuous indeed. They cannot understand the temptations of the upper classes and those who are thrown in contact with them, because they are not subjected to the same themselves. What working man has the leisure to go after his neighbour’s wife? When his day’s labour is over he is too tired to go courting, to say nothing of the fact that his neighbour’s task is over at the same time, and he is keeping safe guard over his sheepfold. No, her own people would show no sympathy for her disgrace! Nell was quite aware of that. Hugh, who was so good himself and a minister of the gospel, was the only one she would have dared tell her story to, and he could so far overlook it as to wish to make her his wife. She owed Hugh something, and some day, perhaps, she might repay the debt. At present, however, what had passed between them was to remain with themselves. She had made him promise that. She felt if it were made public property she could never get out of it again. What with the Owens and the Llewellyns she would be forced into a marriage, to think of which made her shudder. Things must go on exactly as usual, till she knew what was going to happen at Panty-cuckoo Farm, and then, if her father decided to emigrate (which was by no means likely at present), it would be time for her to make up her mind. Meanwhile, it all seemed a long way off, and Nell felt easier for the concession she had accorded Hugh. She had experienced so many qualms as to whether she had been wise in placing confidence in him, but now there was no doubt that he would respect her secret for his own sake as well as hers. So she went back to Panty-cuckoo Farm in better spirits than she had displayed for some time past, and found her mother in close converse with Mrs Hody, the housekeeper from Usk Hall. The two women had tea spread before them, and were evidently going in for a regular ‘confab.’
‘Going to raise the rents again,’ old Mrs Hody was saying as Nell walked into the room. ‘Well, I never. I wonder Mr Bastian, the steward, didn’t tell me of it. I expect he was too much ashamed. Not that it’s his doing, poor man. He can only follow the master’s lead. But, dear me, Mrs Llewellyn, it’s easy to guess who is at the bottom of it. It’s my lady’s high jinks and no mistake. It would take twice Sir Archibald’s money to cover them. Now, there’s all new papering to be put up in the bedrooms. I’m sure the paper was good enough for anybody. It’s not been up more than a couple o’ years, but there’s to be a grand party at the hall this summer, and I suppose nothing is too good for ’em.’
‘When are the family coming home, Mrs Hody?’ asked Nell.
‘Next month, my lass, and you’d better get your best gowns ready, for there’s to be a power of young gentlemen with them and no mistake. I’ve just been talking to your mother here about her rooms. I wish she could let us have the use of four, just for a month or two, for where I’m to put them all I don’t know.’
‘But it is impossible, Mrs Hody, or I’d willingly oblige you. But you know I couldn’t do it even before my Nell came home, and it is more impossible than ever now.’
‘I could lend you the furniture,’ said the housekeeper, coaxingly, ‘if that’s the obstacle. We’ve got enough stowed away at the top of the house to furnish five or six rooms. We make up sixteen beds ourselves, but they’ll be all full. Whatever they can want with such a heap of guests beats me. I’ve been up the village this afternoon to see if the Wilkins’ or Turners’ girls were at home, for we shall want extra help, but, like my luck, they’re all in service.’
‘Perhaps our Nell here might be of use to you, Mrs Hody,’ interposed Mrs Llewellyn. ‘She’s been used to service, you know, and I guess she’s a good hand at it. What say, Nell? Will ye go up to the Hall and help Mrs Hody when the folks arrive?’
Nell grew scarlet. What if some of the ‘folks’ should have seen her in London and recognise her!
‘Oh, no, mother,’ she exclaimed, shrinking back, ‘I couldn’t! I don’t know enough about it. I’ve never been in any place, remember, except in the nursery and then as housekeeper. I have never done any housework or cooking.’
Mrs Hody looked at the girl’s beautiful face suspiciously.