“Is that long?”
“Lor’, yes, sir; I should think it was! Why, my Joseph was thirteen on his last birthday!”
“Let me see; that would mean about seventeen years, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I suppose you knew nothing about the chambers before that time.”
“I won’t say that, sir. I’ve known them more or less ever since I could run alone. Mother looked after them before me. It was only when the rheumatics took such firm hold of her”—this was said as if Theodore were thoroughly posted in the case—“that mother gave up. She had done for the gentlemen in this house for over twenty years; though when she married father she never thought to have to do such work as this, he being a master carpenter and cabinet-maker with a nice business—and she’d been brought up different, and had more education than any of us ever had.”
“Then your mother must have known this house when Mr. Dalbrook had the ground floor—the Mr. Dalbrook who is now Lord Cheriton,” said Theodore, cutting short this biographical matter.
“I should think she did, sir. Many’s the time I’ve heard her talk of him. He was just like you, sir, in his ways, as far as I can gather—very quiet and very studious. She waited upon him for nearly twelve years, so she ought to be a judge of his character.”
“I should like to have a chat with your mother some of these days, Mrs. Armstrong.”
“Would you, sir? I’m sure she’d be delighted. She loves talking over old times. She’s none of your Radicals, that are all for changing things, like my husband. She looks up to her superiors, and she feels quite proud of having done for Lord Cheriton when he was just like any other young gentleman in Ferret Court. Any time you’d like to step round to our place, sir, mother would be happy to see you. She’d be glad to wait upon you, but she’s crippled with the rheumatics, and it’s as much as she can do to get upstairs of a night and downstairs of a morning.”