CHAPTER XXXIII.
"TREASON HAS DONE HIS WORST."
Black Milsom, otherwise Mr. Maunders, kept a close watch on Raynham Castle, through the agency of his friend, James Harwood, whose visits he encouraged by the most liberal treatment, and for whom he was always ready to brew a steaming jorum of punch.
Mr. Maunders showed a great deal of curiosity concerning the details of life within the castle, and was particularly fond of leading Harwood to talk about the excessive care taken of the baby-heiress, and the precautions observed by Lady Eversleigh's orders. One day, when he had led the conversation in the accustomed direction, he said:
"One would think they were afraid somebody would try to steal the child."
"So you would, Mr. Maunders. But you see every situation in life has its trials, and a child can't be a great heiress for nothing. One day, when I was sitting in the rumble of the open carriage, I heard Captain Copplestone let drop in his conversation with Mrs. Morden as how the child has enemies—bitter enemies, he said, as might try to do her harm, if she wern't looked after sharp."
"I've known you a good long time now, Mr. Harwood, and you've partaken of many a glass of rum-punch in my parlour," said Black Milsom, otherwise Mr. Maunders, of the "Cat and Fiddle "; "and in all that time you've never once offered to introduce me to one of your fellow-servants, or asked me to take so much as a cup of tea in your servants'-hall."
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Maunders," said the groom, in an insinuating tone; "as to askin' a friend to take a cup of tea, or a little bit of supper, without leave from Mrs. Smithson, the housekeeper, is more than my place is worth."
"But you might get leave I should think, eh, James Harwood?" returned Milsom; "especially if your friend happened to be a respectable householder, and able to offer a comfortable glass to any of your fellow-servants."
"I'm sure if I had thought as you'd accept a invitation to the servants'-'all, I'd have asked leave before now," replied James Harwood; "but I'm sure I thought as you wouldn't demean yourself to take your glass of ale, or your cup of tea, any-wheres below the housekeeper's room—and she's a rare starched one is Mrs. Smithson."