Housekeeper Margaret was a quiet, reserved, and cautious woman with the caution bred of extreme nervousness and dread of being bullied.
Her fear of Sir Philip was extreme. She was a woman of limited intelligence, and much addicted in the privacy of her own room, when there was no one to observe her, to the consumption of cheap sensational literature. Ever since the night of Clare Lady Cranstoun’s disappearance Margaret had cherished the conviction that Sir Philip had secretly murdered her; luckily she kept this belief to herself, but it naturally did not lessen her fear of him.
She was not at all popular with her fellow-servants, and, strange to say, they were somewhat afraid of her. The fact that she was the only female servant who had been retained at the Chase more than a few years, together with her silent, reserved manners, really born of nervousness, made the others restrained and uncomfortable before her; even Dakin, the spy, did not know how far Margaret might be in her master’s confidence, and invariably treated her with elaborate respect, an example which was followed by all the other servants, the more willingly as Sir Philip doled out the housekeeping money both before and after his second wife’s death into Margaret’s hands.
In her secret heart Margaret was far from preserving the adamantine character with which she was credited. So far from it, indeed, she took an intense interest in Stella’s love affair, and considered Hilary Pritchard an ideal hero of romance, his splendid figure, handsome face, and genial, grateful manners having made a strong impression upon her during the short period while he remained under her care.
When, therefore, Stephen Lee handed her the note for Stella, under pretence of assisting her to pick up the plate she had purposely dropped from the kitchen table, Margaret instantly jumped to the conclusion that it must be another communication from Stella’s handsome sweetheart, Hilary, which the latter had contrived to transmit to the young gamekeeper.
It was very desirable, so Margaret decided, that Stella should receive the note that same night. “It will comfort the poor dear,” she said to herself, “and, maybe, make her sleep better to know that her young gentleman is thinking of her.”
But since her lady’s death, Margaret had had no opportunity of seeing Stella, and it would have provoked comment and inquiry had she tried to do so now. Presently, however, when Ellen, the lady’s maid, gave vent to a grumbling remark that she “supposed some supper would have to be taken up to Miss Stella, since she hadn’t touched anything that day, and she must be kept alive somehow until she was married and done for,” it occurred to Margaret that her chance had come. Miss Cranstoun’s supper consisted of a wing of a bird, some Camembert cheese and salad, and some Burgundy in a decanter, the doctor having ordered her that wine. Margaret decided intuitively that even if Stella ate nothing, long fasting would have made her so faint that she would probably sip a glass of wine. Risking detection, therefore, she contrived to slip the piece of folded paper she had received from Stephen under the decanter under pretence of smoothing the cloth under the tray in passing. Only Stephen Lee saw her do it; not much escaped his keen gypsy eyes. But in order to complete her work it was necessary that Ellen’s attention should be turned in some other direction than the tray she was about to carry up to her mistress, and towards that end he suddenly made a remark in an awkward shamefaced manner, all the more effective because it appeared spontaneous and genuine.
“If I was Lord Carthew,” he said, “it’s not the missus I’d be after, but the maid.”
The lie almost choked him as he mentally contrasted the limp, round back, colorless eyes, and retreating chin of Ellen with the willowy, supple form, delicate features, and luminous eyes of his adorable cousin. But the lady’s maid herself saw no inappropriateness in the compliment, which was the more valuable as the young gamekeeper seldom joined the kitchen circle and had never before paid the least attention to any of the women. Ellen therefore bridled with pride and satisfaction as she caught up the supper-tray and made her way to Miss Cranstoun’s room in the turret, the door of which was opened to her by Dakin.
“What a time you’ve been!” exclaimed the latter. “I’ve been just longing to get down to my supper.”