CHAPTER VI
LADY BETTY’S TOILET
NIGHT and the rain departed together. The wind had swept the sky clear, not even a white feather curled there; it was blue—blue as English skies seldom are. Lady Betty, opening her own window shutter, looked up and smiled, and then looked down into the courtyard of the inn. The waters were subsiding, and the uneven flagging showed muddy, wet and glistening in the sunlight. To the left lay the stables, where she could occasionally hear a horse neigh or stamp an impatient foot. To the right the court was railed off by an old balustrade of gray stone, mossy and green with age and opening in the centre with two vases on either side filled with geraniums and mignonette. Between these, steps descended into an old garden, laid out in quaint flower-beds, surrounded with rows of box that hedged in the winding gravel paths and grew high as a man’s head. It was September, but many flowers bloomed there besides the roses; though it was but poorly tended at this late season, it was still a spot of beauty for the guests of the tavern to look upon, and there was a restful air about it, a fragrance and quaintness, with the early sunshine on it. It was so early, indeed, that the garden was deserted, and only the stable-boys were stirring and the servants running to and fro across the court engaged in preparations for breakfast. Here and there was a red-coated hostler, and one of these was leading a black horse up and down. The horse had just been unsaddled and was heated from hard riding. There was mud on his flanks, too, which was natural enough after the storm, and there were flecks of foam upon his breast. Lady Betty looked at him long and pensively, noting that the bridle was not of English make; the man, too, who had him, was a stranger, for the other hostlers did not speak to him, and his broad, humorous face and twinkling black eyes were quite un-English. He was a short man, with bowed legs and a bulky frame, plainly dressed as the plainest groom of a gentleman could be, and yet these two, the horse and man, held Lady Betty’s attention long—so long, indeed, that she did not notice the soft opening of a door, or the soft tread on the floor behind her, and started to find Melissa Thurle at her elbow.
The woman had a smooth face and pale eyes that squinted like those of a near-sighted person, though she was not short-sighted. She moved, too, as softly as a cat, and her manners were always apologetic, humbly ingratiating; she cringed a little now under Lady Betty’s eye.
“Where is Alice?” Lady Clancarty demanded sharply.
“Her ladyship, your mother, sent for her,” Melissa said gently; “her tirewoman is ill to-day, and Lady Sunderland sent to your rooms for one.”
“Why did Alice go?” asked Lady Betty imperiously. “You know you cannot do my hair; besides, you would suit my mother exactly. Why did you stay here?”
Melissa looked down meekly. “My lady, the countess sent for Alice Lynn,” she replied.
Lady Betty’s brows went up. “Strange,” she remarked; “we all know that she will not be up until eleven,—why Alice now? I cannot do without Alice.”
“I will do my best, my lady,” Melissa said, with a deprecating purr; “if you will but choose your costume for the races I can surely arrange everything for you quite as well as Alice, and indeed your ladyship needs no very skilful tirewoman; where there is so much beauty there is no need for much skill.”