“Gracious, I can’t think of everything!”
“Didn’t you give him one? Then I think I’ll keep my own. I daresay there are many more Staples in England than ever I heard of. Tell me this! In what way can I be of service to your mistress?”
The dimple vanished, and her mouth hardened. She did not answer for a minute, but stood with her gaze fixed on the gate post, her face curiously set. Suddenly she brought her eyes up to his face, in a searching look. “Are you wishful to be of service to her?” she demanded.
“I never wished anything so much in my life.”
He spoke perfectly calmly, but she was quick to hear the note of sincerity in his deep, rather lazy voice. Her lip quivered, and she blinked rapidly. “I don’t know what’s to become of her, when the master dies!” she said. “She and Mr. Henry are the last of the Stornaways, and it’s him that will have Kellands, not her that’s looked after it these six years past! Long before the master was struck down it was Miss Nell that was as good as a bailiff to him, and better! It was she that turned off all the lazy, good-for-nothing servants that used to eat master out of house and home, let alone cheating him the way it was a shame to see! Scraping, and saving, breeding pigs for the market, leasing this bit of land and that, and bargaining for the best price her own self, like as if she was a man! And when master took ill, she sold the pearls her poor mother left her, and every scrap of jewelry she had from Sir Peter in the days when he was still in his prime, and there wasn’t one of us knew how deep he was in debt. Everything she could she sold, to keep off the vultures that came round as soon as it got to be known Sir Peter was done for! All Sir Peter’s lovely horses—and I can tell you he had hunters he gave hundreds of guineas for, and a team he used to drive which all the sporting gentlemen envied him—and her own hunters as well, with her phaeton, and Sir Peter’s curricle, and the smart barouche he bought for her to drive in when she went visiting—everything! There’s nothing in the stables now but the hack she rides, and the cob, and a couple of stout carriage-horses which she kept for farm-work mostly. There wasn’t a soul to help her, barring old Mr. Birkin, that lived out Tideswell way, and was a friend of the master’s, and he’s been dead these eighteen months! Mr. Henry never came next or nigh the place. He knew that there was nothing but the title and a pile of debts to be got out of it! But he’s here now, Mr. Jack, and it seems he means to stay! If he’d more heart than a hen, I’d call him a carrion-crow—except that I never saw a crow hover round where there was nothing more to be picked over than a heap of dry bones! I don’t know what brings him here, nor I wouldn’t care, if he hadn’t got that Mr. Coate along with him! But that’s a bad one, if ever I saw one, sir, and he’s living up at the Manor like he owned it, and casting his wicked eyes over Miss Nell till my nails itch to tear them out of his ugly face! Miss Nell, she’s not afraid of anything nor of no one, but I am, Mr. Jack! I am!”
He had listened in silence to what he guessed to be the overflowing of pent-up anxieties, but when she paused, unconsciously gripping his shirt-sleeve, he said quietly, lifting her hand from his arm, and holding it in a warm clasp: “Why?”
“Because when the master goes she’ll be alone! And not a penny in the world but the little her mother left her, and that not enough to buy her clothes with!”
“But she has other relatives, surely! She spoke to me of an aunt—”
“If it’s my Lady Rivington you’re meaning, sir, it’s little she’d trouble herself over Miss Nell, and nor would any of poor Mrs. Stornaway’s family! Why, when she was a bit of a girl, and the master persuaded her ladyship to bring her out, it was him paid for all, and I know the way her ladyship, and the Misses Rivington, looked down on her, because she was so tall, and more like a boy than a girl!”
“I see.” John patted her hand, and released it. “You go home now, Rose, and don’t you fret about Miss Nell!”