Lady Rosamond's book

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

All was just as it was left the day of her funeral; even the flowers I had gathered, lay dried, and cobwebbed on her toilet-table.

"And where does this door lead?" asked my lady, after we had unbarred the shutters, and opened the windows.

"That was my mother's closet," I answered, "where she used to spend many hours, specially when my father was away. I suppose we had better open and air that also."

And I found the key where I knew she kept it, in a box on the chimney. We opened the door of the little turret room, not without difficulty, for the lock was rusted and moved stiffly, but open it we did at last. It was but a small place. There was an altar and crucifix, of course, and before them on the floor lay a rough hard mat, rough enough of itself, and strewed with sharp flints to make it the harder. On the step lay a discipline of knotted cords, mingled with wire, and stained here and there, as if by blood. I had never thought of my dear mother as using such penances, and my blood ran cold at the sight of these things. I glanced at my step-dame, and saw her face full of indignation and pity.

"Woe unto them, for they have made sorrowful the souls of the righteous, whom God hath not made sorrowful!" she murmured, as if she had forgotten my presence. "Woe to the false shepherds who oppress the sheep! 'Lord, how long, how long shall the ungodly triumph?'" Then seeming to remember me—"Rosamond, we will leave these things as they are, for the present, at least. Let the moles and bats prey on them, if they will. The day may come, when we will clear them away."

I saw she was greatly moved, as was I myself, but I could hardly understand her expression. It seemed to be anger, not at my mother, but for her sake. She recovered herself presently, locked the door and gave me the key, bidding me keep it carefully. Then we summoned Prudence and one of the maids, and my Lady had all the hangings taken down and brushed, the floors scrubbed and polished anew, all the linen and garments taken from the drawers and chests, shaken and refolded, with plenty of rose leaves and lavender, and sweet woodroofe, and all put in the nicest order.

"I suppose my new Madam means to take all my dear sainted lady's clothes to herself, as she has taken all the rest," grumbled Prue, as my Lady left us to seek some essence of roses, which she said some one had brought her from Turkey. "I have ever looked for such a move, but I did not expect to see you, Mistress Rosamond, abetting her in doing dishonor to your dear dead mother's memory."

Before I had time to answer, my Lady returned with two little chrystal and gilded glasses, which, though tightly closed with glass and vellum, exhaled a most delicious perfume, as if they held the very soul of the summer roses.

"You say your mother loved roses?" she said, after I had admired them. "We will lay one of these in her drawers, and you shall have the other. And now tell me, Rosamond, would you like to have this room for your own? I have spoken on the matter to your father, and he says you may, if you choose."

I could not help casting a glance of triumph at Prue. To my surprise and vexation she answered sharply, before I had time to speak: