A Girl in Spring-Time

by Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey

Mildred turned her eye from one side to the other, calling to mind the different rooms to which the windows belonged. Below the breakfast-room, above the day nursery, to the right her own dressing-room, to the left, in the projecting wing, Lady Sarah’s room and that of her maid. Mildred had never realised before how she was cut off from the rest of the household, but the conviction that the voices must come from this last-named room brought with it a throb of relief. Cécile had said that her mistress was often irritably wakeful during the night-time, and had warned her of a possible alarm like the present.

If it was only Lady Sarah scolding her maid, there was no reason why she should not go back to bed and sleep comfortably, but in spite of this conclusion she continued to kneel by the window, for the remembrance of those two cries was not easily reasoned away. She had not been able to distinguish the words, but the tone could not be accounted for by mere irritability. Mildred had had ample opportunity of studying the different tones of Lady Sarah’s voice, but she had never heard this note before. Cécile had declared that her mistress treated her harshly, but Mildred, like everyone else in the house, had been inclined to think that the opposite view of the situation would be nearer the truth, for the old lady seemed in dread of the clever maid, and fearful of offending her.

The old distrust of the Frenchwoman, which had been temporarily forgotten because of her kindness in the matter of the blue dress, awoke afresh in Mildred’s breast; she bent her head forward and strained her ears to overhear what was going on within that further room. It seemed as if she had been kneeling by the window for a long time, but it was in reality only a few minutes, before suddenly, sharply, the cry rang out again, to be as quickly stifled, but not before the listener had recognised the voice, and the word which it was struggling to say.

“Help! Help!”

It was Lady Sarah’s voice. She was in trouble, someone was ill-treating her, so that she was fain to raise her poor, quivering voice in an appeal for help.

Mildred leapt to her feet, while the blood rushed into her cheeks and her heart began to beat furiously. She was not in the least frightened. What she felt at that moment was something almost like triumph. Lady Sarah had been committed to her charge, and she was now in danger. Here was a chance of redeeming her misdoings of the day before; an opportunity of saving her from threatened danger! Mildred slipped on dressing-gown and slippers and laid her hand on the knob of the door. Before she had time to open it, however, a faint rustling from without attracted her attention; she listened, and could discern the almost imperceptible sound of footsteps coming along the corridor from Lady Sarah’s room, and towards her own. Outside her door they paused, and it seemed as if the beating of her heart must surely betray her presence. But no, they moved on again, the swish of the trailing skirts growing fainter and fainter, until it died away in the distance.

Mildred opened the door and peered cautiously into the passage. All was dark and silent, but on the wall above the staircase a faint light flickered, now here, now there, as if reflected from a candle carried in the hand of someone descending to the hall beneath. Mildred darted in pursuit along the passage, her thick padded slippers aiding her characteristic lightness of movement, so that she reached a point where she could get the desired view without making a sound that could have been heard by the most watchful ears.

It was as she thought. Someone was creeping downstairs, candle in hand, and feeble as the flame was, it was sufficient to light up the sleek head, the slight, sinuous figure of Lady Sarah’s maid.

Mildred pressed her lips together with a look of comprehension, and immediately faced round to retrace her steps with even more speed than before. This time she did not stop short at her own room, but turned into the further passage from which Lady Sarah’s room was entered. The key was in the lock, for Cécile had carefully fastened the old lady in the room before she herself had taken her departure, but Mildred gave a fine smile of contempt as she drew it out, and slipped it into the pocket of her dressing-gown. Another moment and she was within the room, standing by Lady Sarah’s bed and gazing upon the face which lay on the pillow with startled eyes.

At the first glance it seemed altogether strange and unfamiliar. Lady Sarah’s hair was brown and luxurious—these straggling locks were white as snow; Lady Sarah had well-marked brows and regular teeth, but when she lifted the handkerchief which covered the face, the brows were missing and the lips fell in around toothless gums. Mildred stood transfixed, but even as she gazed, she became aware of a faint, sickly odour, which seemed to rise from the handkerchief which she held in her hand. She raised it to her face and shuddered with disgust as the remembrance of a dentist’s operating-room came swiftly to mind. That wicked Cécile! Had she been using something to make Lady Sarah unconscious? And was that the reason why she lay so still, and made no attempt to open her eyes?