‘Thou art a good girl, Pansy,’ said Aunt Hessy, kindly, but without any sign of agitation, ‘and we thank thee for coming to us with what is really good news—that the man is found out.’
‘Ay, mistress, I thought that would be good news for you—and his own brother is against him!’
‘I am sorry for the poor brother.—Now go into the kitchen and get supper with the maidens: make friends with Jenny Wodrow, for she will be thy bedfellow to-night.’
Pansy obeyed, although she would have intensely liked to have had some sign from Madge to show how the news had affected her.
‘I will see you before bedtime,’ said Madge in answer to the look; ‘I have something to tell you.’
But Madge’s friendly intention to break the news to her of Caleb’s position was frustrated. Jenny Wodrow, the maiden to whose graces Pansy had been directed to recommend herself, although good-natured in the main, had been ready to give more of her favour to the stalwart Agitator than to any of the other lads about. That all the shafts levelled at him with her bright eyes and soft tongue fell pointless, she attributed rightly to the charms of the gardener’s daughter. In church, in field, or at the harvest-home, Caleb had no vision for any one but Pansy. The maidens saw, understood, and discreetly turned their thoughts elsewhere.
Jenny was ready enough to follow their example, but she felt aggrieved and a little spiteful, especially as Pansy, not being precisely ‘in service,’ seemed to take a place above those who were ‘quite as good as her any day, and maybe her betters.’ Jenny continued to think of Caleb Kersey, and at present her head was full of his misfortunes. So, in the bright kitchen where the huge fire was reflected on rows of shining dish-covers and platters, and the supper of bread and cheese and beer was being served on a massive white deal table, the chatter of the maidens was all about the latest wonder, the burning of the Manor, and the parlous state of Mr Hadleigh.
‘Ay, and who d’ye think they’ve taken up and put in prison for burning the big house?’ said Jenny shrewishly, as she looked full in her rival’s face. ‘Who but Caleb Kersey; and if the master dies, hanging will be the end on’t.’
Pansy was frightened. She became red and then so white that young Jerry Mogridge, who was not given to close observation of anybody when engaged with his meals, growled at Jenny.
‘It’s darned spite that. Can’t you let the wench take supper in peace.’