“Do you think you’ll like it up here?” asked Cecil anxiously. “I’d never feel at home anywhere else. I insisted upon these rooms when I was a boy, because Charles II. hid in them once for a week; but another reason why I like them now is because they are out of earshot of all the row—Emmy’s house-parties are rather noisy.”
“Oh, I am sure I shall love it, and I like the idea of being quite alone with you; but do let me fix them up a little; I should feel like a nun.”
“Do anything you like. And if that room is hopeless, there are any number of boudoirs to choose from. This is the only part of the Abbey that isn’t full of windows. And your maid will sleep quite close. We’ll have a bell put in.” He took out his watch. “It’s just five. I’ll send you tea at once, and then go and look up father. You’d better lie down until it’s time to dress for dinner.”
“Well, for Heaven’s sake, come back for me, or I’ll not move.”
Cecil pinched her cheek, kissed her, and departed. Her own maid had refused to cross the ocean, and Cecil had written to the housekeeper requesting that a new one might await them. The girl arrived with the tea-tray, asked Lee for her keys, and without awaiting orders, began at once to unpack the trunks that had arrived with the travellers. She accomplished her task so swiftly and so deftly, that Lee, with a long train of inefficient maids in mind, reflected gratefully that she would doubtless be spared any personal effort for the thousand and one details which went to make up the physical comfort she loved.
The maid laid a wrapper over the back of a chair, dragged the trunks into the antechamber, returned, and courtesied.
“Will your ladyship take off your frock and rest awhile?” she asked.
Lee gave a little jump. It was the first time she had been so saluted. It made her feel a part of that ancient tower, she reflected, with what humour was in her at the moment,—more at home. The maid undressed her, and she lay down on the sofa in the sitting-room to await the return of her lord. The maid, remarking that she should return at seven to dress her ladyship for dinner, retired.
CHAPTER II
ALTHOUGH Lee was happy, she had a hard fight with an attack of tearful repining. Surrounded all her life with demonstrative affection, each homecoming after a brief holiday an event of rejoicing and elaborate preparation, this chill casual entrance into a huge historic pile—apparently uninhabited, and as homelike as a prison—flooded her spirits with an icy rush. Cecil, who had been so close to her, seemed to have mounted to a niche in the grey staircase, and turned to stone. The domestic machinery appeared to run with the precision of an expensive eight-day clock. Were her future associates equally automatic? She remembered the inexcitable Mr. Maundrell, and shuddered. Perhaps even “Emmy” by this time was a mere machine, warranted to have hysterics at certain intervals. Surely a woman who would not sacrifice her routine to receive a petted stepson after two years’ absence and a stranger in a strange land—and so important an addition to the family as her daughter-in-law—must be painfully systematised.