In truth, Olivia was pleased with this arrangement, and she took possession of the room which had once been Ellen Mitchell’s with alacrity which she did her best to hide from her step-mother. Nobody had told Mrs. Denison the story about those two rooms; but their decayed and desolate appearance had inspired her with a strong prejudice against them, so that Olivia was allowed to keep not only the bedroom but the outer room as well for her own use. Mr. Denison was strongly opposed to the idea of his beautiful daughter sleeping away from the rest of the household in what he called “a wretched old rat run.” But as the two feminine wills were both against his, he could do nothing but stipulate emphatically that fires were to be kept up in both rooms throughout the winter. His wife demurred at the expense, but on this point he was firm, and had his own way.
In the jarring family life which the Denison household led under the presidency of the second wife, Olivia found a great relief in being able to shut herself up in her wing, away from all discordant elements, even though the atmosphere of these two rooms remained to the end heavy with the tragedy of their last occupant. That tragedy the young girl grew more and more anxious fully to know about; so she turned over the leaves of the old books, and read again the inscription in faded ink in the old prayer book: “Ellen Mitchell, from her affectionate brother Ned.” What had become of “Ned?” Did the “affectionate brother” know that his sister had been spirited away, leaving no trace? These were conjectures which often passed through Olivia’s mind as she sat down for a lazy half hour by her fire at bedtime.
This half hour was now the only idle time in Olivia’s day. Like many other idle English girls, she had only wanted something to do to develop the most dashing energy; and as Mrs. Denison was too much enervated by long years of laziness to care for the trouble of housekeeping, Olivia flung herself with ardor into these new duties, and found in them that necessary outlet for her energies which she had previously sought in lawn tennis.
The whole family had been settled at Rishton Hall a week, and Mrs. Denison had begun bitterly to complain that nobody had called upon her, when one afternoon, while Olivia was busy in the dining-room with the children’s clothes, and her step-mother was shut up in her boudoir with a novel, a carriage drove up to the door, and a footman, descending from the box, gave such a thundering knock as made the old door creak on its hinges. Olivia could just see from where she sat that the carriage was very large, that the footman was very tall, and that the horses were showy animals, their heads held well back with the bearing rein. That was enough for her. She loved horses, and the bearing rein was an abomination in her eyes.
“Those parvenus!” she said to herself, haughtily.
And when Lucy came to announce that Mrs. and Miss and Mr. Frederick Williams were in the drawing-room, she said, briefly, “Tell Mrs. Denison, Lucy,” without looking up, or pausing in her work.
She knew this was wrong. She knew that she ought to go and entertain the visitors during the ten minutes which Mrs. Denison would certainly devote to self-adornment before going down to the drawing-room. But, besides that she felt, in her new burst of house-managing fervor, the giving and receiving of visits to be a frivolity, Olivia was resolved not to cultivate any intimacy with the family of the odious Frederick. So she worked on, feeling guilty but defiant, until she heard Mrs. Denison’s heavy and pompous tread upon the stairs. A few minutes later, the drawing-room door opened again, and Olivia heard the whole party come out to be shown over the house.
“You shall see what I have made of the upstairs rooms first,” said Mrs. Denison’s voice, “and make the acquaintance of my cherubs.”
And to Olivia’s delight, they streamed upstairs towards the room where the cherubs could be distinctly heard screaming with all their might. She gave a sigh of relief at this respite, and was turning over a small stocking on her hand to see what mending it needed, when there came a little, timid, hesitating knock at the door.
“Come in,” said she, feeling instantly sure the knock was that of a complete stranger.