With this delightful promise, Mr. Frederick Williams opened the front door and let himself out, leaving his involuntary hostess unable to distinguish which feeling was strongest in her breast—amusement or disgust at an impudence which she might well consider unparalleled.
And that vague, insolent threat of his, what did it mean? Could he really know anything about the mystery concerning the girl Ellen Mitchell?
CHAPTER VII.
There was no denying that the arrival of these two spirited young women had caused a great flutter among the bachelors of Rishton and its neighborhood. For it is to be noted that if, on the one hand, the remarkable beauty of the mistress attracted the attentions of the elite of the male population, the rosy cheeks and saucy independence of the maid began very soon to make havoc in humbler masculine hearts, so that by the time Sunday came round, and with it the great weekly gathering time, the whole village was in a mild ferment of excitement over the prospect of a close inspection of the strangers—and in their best clothes.
The little church stood on the very summit of the hill on the slope of which one side of the village lay. Its foundations and part of its walls were very ancient; but after having been allowed to fall into neglect and decay, it had been carefully restored, under its present vicar, into a faultlessly trim and yet picturesque little building, the fanciful gray stone tower of which could be seen from the Matherham high road, rising like a coronet above the trees which grew thickly on the crest of the hill. The churchyard was kept like a garden. One of its gates led to the Vicarage, one end of which overlooked it; a second led through fields by a long and circuitous route down to the village; the third and principal entrance opened on to a little green, well shaded by trees, on which, close under the churchyard wall, the old village stocks, green with damp and a trifle infirm from age and neglect, stolidly survived its time of active service. A long two-storeyed cottage, green with untrimmed ivy and yew trees, which were suffered to overshadow the small willows, stood at right angles with the Vicarage, facing the green. Leaning over the wall of the front garden was a weather-beaten board, bearing the information that the cottage was “To let.”
When Olivia, attended by the faithful Lucy, arrived at the church on Sunday morning, she was at once accosted by the clerk, a small and sanctimonious-looking old man, who smelt of spirits, and inducted into a seat, close under the pulpit, which was, he informed her in a low whisper, “the ’all pew.” It was too far forward for Olivia to be able to see many of her fellow-worshippers, but one party, occupying the opposite pew to her, could not fail to catch her eye. It consisted of two very showily dressed young women, who entered with much rustling and whispering, and were a long time settling themselves; of a much younger brother and sister, whom they hustled into a very small corner of the pew; and of Mat Oldshaw, who occupied the outside seat, and who appeared to be bashfully conscious the whole time of Miss Denison’s presence, though he never once dared to look in her direction.
Olivia was one of the first of the congregation to arrive, and in the interval before the service commenced, she could not help regarding with some interest such of her new neighbors as came within her range of vision. The Oldshaw family, with the exception of Mat, she knew she should not like, but in a large pew in front of them sat a lady whose appearance attracted her greatly. She was not very young or very pretty; she was dressed with great simplicity in a dark costume and a long seal-skin jacket; and the word by which a stranger would have described her was “lady-like.” It was impossible to help contrasting her with the two fidgety women behind; and Olivia was growing more and more sure that she should like to know her when, to her surprise, she suddenly heard a loud, hoarse whisper, “Here, gee up, Soosan,” and looking round, she saw the quiet-looking lady move up the pew at the behest of the odious Frederick Williams.
As Olivia turned her head, she met this young man’s admiring eyes turned upon her with their usual vacant stare. He was attired this morning like the “swell” of the comic scenes of a pantomime, the salient points of his costume being an overcoat lined with otter, a pink-striped shirt, light gaiters, and brick-colored gloves. Olivia fancied also that he had had his hair curled. He bestowed upon Miss Denison a nod, a smile, and a wink, and appeared quite unabashed by the fact that she vouchsafed him no sign of recognition in return. He ensconced himself in the outer corner of the pew, and watched her persistently until a heavy and measured tread up the aisle, followed by short, pattering steps, announced two new comers, and he had to make way for an elderly couple whom Olivia rightly guessed to be his parents.
Not that they bore any but the faintest family likeness to Olivia’s dashing admirer. The gentleman was an erect and handsome man of sixty or more, pompous and dignified; his wife was short, stout, good-humored-looking, and well dressed. Just as she noticed these facts the church bells ceased ringing, and a small choir of surpliced boys came out of the vestry, followed by Mr. Vernon Brander.
“Isn’t he a dear?” Miss Denison heard one of the fidgety ladies whisper to the other, enthusiastically.