“It comes over me,” she said to herself—“it comes over me that unless I, Nancy White, am as sharp as sharp and as cunning as cunning, my missus and my young ladies will be done. What is it that the missus is keeping in the back of her head to make her look that dreamy, and that wistful, and that despairing, and yet that hopeful? My word, if I haven’t seen her smile as if she was almost glad once or twice. Poor dear! maybe she knows as that little delicate chap can’t be the heir; and as to the others—the old gentleman and the fine young lad from the other side of the earth—why, if they have a claim to make, why don’t they make it? And if they don’t make it, then, say I, it’s because they can’t. Well, now, anything is better than suspense, and I’ll question my missus on that very point straight away.”
Accordingly, when Nancy had arranged the tea-tray in the most tempting position and stirred the fire into the cheeriest blaze, she knelt down before it and began to make some crisp and delicious toast. Nancy knew that Mrs. Lovel had a weakness for the toast she made, and she also knew that such an employment was very favorable to confidential conversation.
“Well, ma’am,” she said suddenly, having coughed once or twice and gone through one or two other little maneuvers to attract attention—“well, ma’am, I wants to have my mind eased on a certain point. Is it, ma’am, or is it not the case that the old gentleman from Australia means to do you a mischief?”
“What do you mean, Nancy?” exclaimed Mrs. Lovel, laying down the lace which she was embroidering and gazing at her old servant in some astonishment. “The old gentleman from Australia? Why, Rupert Lovel cannot be more than forty. He is a man in his prime, splendidly strong; and as to his doing me a mischief, I believe, you silly old woman, that he is one of my best friends.”
“The proof of the pudding is in the eating,” snorted Nancy. “You’ll excuse me, ma’am, but I’d like to prove that by his actions. He means that young son of his to get possession of Avonsyde—don’t he, ma’am?”
“His son is the real heir, Nancy. Dear Nancy, I wish to say something. I must not be covetous for my little girls. If the real and lawful heir turns up I have not a word to say. Nay, more, I think if I can be glad on this subject I am glad that he should turn out to be the son of my early and oldest friend.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am, I’m not a bit surprised about you. Bother that toast, how it will burn! It’s just like you, ma’am, to give up everything for six blessed years, and to have your heart well-nigh broke and your poor eyes dimmed with crying, and then in the end, when the cup that you have been so longing for is almost to your lips, to give up everything again and to be glad into the bargain. That’s just like you, ma’am; but, you’ll excuse me, it ain’t like Nancy White, and if you can be glad in the prospect of seeing your children beggared, I can’t; so there!”
“Dear Nancy,” said Mrs. Lovel, laying her hand on the old servant’s shoulder, “how am I to help myself? Both might and right are against me. Had I not better submit to the inevitable with a good grace?”
“That bonny little Miss Rachel,” continued Nancy, “don’t I see her now, with her eyes flashing as she looked up at me and that fine, imperious way she had, and ‘tell the lady to wear my ring, Nancy,’ says she,’and tell her that I love her,’ says she.”
“Little darling,” whispered the mother, and raising her hand she pressed a tiny ring which she wore to her lips.