 CHAPTER 25 LILY DOGGER IS SENT TO BED That night the broad-shouldered child, Lily Dogger, was up later than usual, and her rear of pots and saucepans to scour, along with customary knives and forks to clean, detain her. Bustle ye, hussy, will ye? cried the harsh voice of old Meldred, who was adjusting the kettle on the kitchen fire, while in the scullery the brown-eyed little girl worked away at the knife board. A mutton-fat fixed in a tin sconce on the wall, so as to command both the kitchen and the scullery, economically lighted each, the old woman and her drudge, at her work. Yes, I'm pleased, she said interrogatively, for the noise of her task prevented her hearing distinctly. Be alive, I say! It's gone eleven ye slut! Ye should have been in your bed an hour, screeched Meldred, and then relapsed into her customary grumble. Yes, Mrs. Tarnley pleased him, answered the little girl, resuming with improved energy. Drowsy enough was the girl. If there had been a minute's respite from her task, I think she would have nodded. Be them things rubbed up or no, or do ye mean to a done to-night, hussy? cried Mrs. Tarnley, this time so nearest to startle her, for she had unawares put her wrinkled head into the scullery. Not that for tonight, I say. Leave them lay, you'll finish in the mornin'. Shall I take down the fire, Mrs. Tarnley, mom, please? asked Lily-Dogger, after a little pause. No ye shant, what's that ye see on the fire? Have ye eyes in your head? Don't ye see the kettle there? How do I know what your master'll be home to-night, and want a cup of tea, or launos what? Mrs. Tarnley looked put about, as she phrased it, and in one of those special tempers which accompanied that state. So Lily-Dogger, eyeing her with wide-open eyes, made her a frightened little courtesy. Why don't ye get up ye times in the mornin', hussy? And then ye needn't be mopin' about half the night. All the colors washed out of your big, ugly, platter face, we your laziness as white as a turnip. When I was a girl, if I left my work over so, I'd a broomstick across my back. I promise ye, and bread and water next day, too good for my vitals. But now ye think she can do as ye like, and all's changed. And every upstart brat is as good as her bethers. But don't ye think ye'll come it over me last, don't ye? Look up there at the clock with ye. Or do ye want me to pull ye up by the ear, ten minutes past eleven? We your dawdling ye limb? Ye old woman, whisked about, and putting her hand on a cupboard door, she turned round again before opening it and said, Come on, will ye, and take ye bread if ye want it. And don't ye stand gapin' there, ye slut, as if I had nothing to do but attend upon you with your impotence. I shouldn't give ye that. She thumped a great lump of bread down on the kitchen table by which the girl was now standing. Not a bit. If I did right, and ye'll not be sittin' up to eat that mind ye, ye'll take it we ye to ye bed, young lady, and tumble in without delay, ye mind? For if I find ye out of bed when I go to see all's right, I'll just ye ye that bowl of cold water over your head. In we ye, and yet ye twix the blankets before two minutes get along. The girl knew that Mrs. Tarnley could strike as well as jaw and seldom threatened in vain, so with eyes still fixed upon her, she took up her fragment of loaf with a hasty courtesy, of which the old woman took no notice and vanished frightened through a door that opened off to kitchen. The old woman holding the candle over her head soon peeped in as she had threatened. Lily Dogger lay close effecting to be asleep, though that feat in the time was impossible and was afraid that the thump of her heart, where she greatly feared Mrs. Tarnley, might be audible to that severe listener. How'd she went, however, without anything more to the great relief of the girl? Lily Dogger lay awake, for fear is vigilant, and Mrs. Tarnley's temper she knew was capricious as well as violent. Through the door she heard the incessant croak of the old woman's voice as she grumbled and scolded in soliloquy, poking here and there about the kitchen. The girl lay awake listening vaguely in the dark and watching the one bright spot on the whitewashed wall at the foot of her bed, which Mrs. Tarnley's candle in the kitchen transmitted through the keyhole. It flitted and glided, now hither, now thither, now up, now down, like a white butterfly in a garden silently indicating the movements of the old woman and illustrating the clatter of her clumsy old shoes. In a little while the door opened again, and the old woman entered, having left her candle on the dresser outside. Mrs. Tarnley listened for a while and you may be sure Lily Dogger lay still, and the old woman in a hard whisper asked, Are you awake? And listened. Are you awake less, she repeated, and receiving no answer she came close to the bed by way of tucking in the coverlet in reality to listen. So she stood in silence by the bed for a minute and then very quickly withdrew and closed the door. Then Lily Dogger heard her make some arrangements in the kitchen and move, and she rightly concluded a table which she placed against her door. Then the white butterfly, having made a sudden sweep round the side wall, hovered no longer on Lily Dogger's darkened walls. An old Mildred Tarnley and her candle glided out of the kitchen. The girl had grown curious and she got up and peeped and found that a clumsy little kitchen table had been placed against her door which opened outward. Through the keyhole she also saw that Mildred had not taken down the fire. On the contrary she had trimmed and poked it and a kettle was simmering on the bar. She did not believe that Mrs. Tarnley expected the arrival of her master, for she had said early in the day that she thought he might come next evening. Lily Dogger was persuaded that Mrs. Tarnley was on the lookout for someone else and guarding that fact with a very jealous secrecy. She went again to her bed, wondering she listened for the sounds of her return and looked for the little patch of light on the whitewashed wall, but that fluttering evidence of Mrs. Tarnley's candle did not reappear before the tired little girl fell asleep. She was awakened in a little time by Mrs. Tarnley's somewhat noisy return. She was grumbling bitterly to herself poking the fire and pitching the firearms and other hardware about with angry recklessness. The girl turned over and notwithstanding all Mildred's noisy soliloquy was soon asleep again. Again she awoke. I suppose recalled to consciousness by some noise in the kitchen. The little white light was in full play on the wall at the foot of her bed and Mrs. Tarnley was talking fluently in an undertone. Then came a silence during which the old Dutch clock struck one. Lily Dogger's eyes were wide open now and her ears erect. She heard no one answer the old woman who resumed her talk in a minute and now she seemed careful to make no avoidable noise, speaking low and when she moved about the kitchen treading softly and moving anything she had to stir gently. Altogether she was now taking as much care not to disturb as she had shown carelessness upon the subject before. Lily Dogger again slipped out of bed and peeped through the keyhole, but she could not see Mrs. Tarnley nor her companion if she had one. Old Mildred was talking on, not in her grumbling interrupted soliloquy, but in the equable style of one spinning a long narrative. This hum was relieved now and then by the gentle click of a teacup or the jingle of a spoon. If Mrs. Tarnley was drinking her tea alone at this hour of night and talking so to herself, she was doing that she had never done before, thought the curious little girl, and she must be a going mad. From this latter apprehension, however, she was relieved by hearing someone cough. It was not Mrs. Tarnley who suspended her story, however, but there was an unmistakable difference of tone in this cough. Old Mildred said more distinctly something about a cure for a cough which she recommended. Then came an answer in an odd-drawing voice, the words she could not hear, but there could no longer be any doubt as to the presence of a stranger in the kitchen. Lily Dogger was rather frightened. She did not quite know why and listened without power to form a conjecture. It was plain that the person who enjoyed Old Mildred's hospitality was not her master, nor her mistress, nor old Dulcy Bella Crane. As she listened and wondered and speculated, sleep overtook her once more. And she quite forgot the dialogue in the kitchen and Mildred Tarnley's tea and went off upon her own adventures in the wild land of dreams. End of Chapter 25. Recording by John Brandon Chapter 26 of the Wyvern Mystery. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon. The Wyvern Mystery by Joseph Sheraton Lefano. The Lady has her tea. Do you suffer as dreadful, Mom? said Mildred Tarnley. Do you have them toothaches still? To us not toothache, a worse thing, said the stranger demurely. With closed eyes and her hand propping her head seemed to have composed herself for a dose in the great chair. Was the toothache that's bad? Earache, may have inquired Mrs. Tarnley with pathetic concern. Though I don't think it would have troubled her much if her guest had tumbled over the precipice of Carwell Valley and broken her neck among the stones in the brook. Pain in my face. It's called tick, said the Lady, with closed eyes and a languid drawl. Tick? Walk. Well, I never heard of the lycan, lest it be the field-bug that sticks in the cattle. It's a bad element, I do suppose, conjectured Mrs. Tarnley. You may have it yourself some day, said the Lady, who spoke quietly and deliberately, but with fluency, although her accent was foreign. When we are growing a little old, our bones and nerves, they will not be young still. You have your rheumatism? I have my tick. The pain in my cheek and mouth. A great deal worse, as you will find whenever you taste of it, as it may happen. Your tea is good. After a journey tea is so refreshing. I cannot live without my cup of tea, though it is not good for my tick. So ha, ha, he ha! There is the tea already in my cheek. Oh! Well, you will be so good to give me my bag. The children looked about and found a small beige bag, with an umbrella and a band-box. There's a green bag I have here, Mom. A beige bag? Yes, I'm—give it me. Ah, yes, my vibe, my vibe and my box. So this lady rummaged, an extricated pipe very like a Miersham, and a small square box. Tobacco! exclaimed Mrs. Tarnley. The stranger interpreted the exclamation without interrupting her preparations. Tobacco? No. Better a thing, some opium. You are afraid, Mrs. Harry Fairfield, she would smell it? No. I do not wish to disturb her sleep. I'm quite private here, and do not wish to discover myself. Yah, yah, yah, hoo! It was another twinge. Sad thing, Mom, said Meldred. Better now, perhaps? What a stool under my feet! Zeer, zeer! Sat will do. Now you light that match and hold to the end of the vibe, and I will then be better. Accordingly, Meldred Tarnley strongly tempted to mutter a criticism but possibly secretly in awe of the tall and big-made woman who issued these orders proceeded to obey them. No great odds of a smell are there all, said Mrs. Tarnley, approvingly, after a little pause. And how long since Harry married, inquired the smoker after another silence? I can't know that know-how, but Tisense Master Charles gave him the lend of the house. Deep people these Fairfields are, laughed the big woman drowsily. When will he come here? Tomorrow or next day, I wouldn't wonder. But he never stays long, and he comes and goes as secret like as a man about to murder a most. Ha, I dare say. Old Fairfield would cut him over the big shoulders with his horse web, I think. And when will your master come? Master comes very seldom. Oh, very. Just when he thinks to find Master Henry here maybe once in a season. And where does he live? At home or where? Asked the tall visitor. Well, I can't say, I'm sure. If it painted Wyvern. At Wyvern I do suppose mostly, but I dare say he travels a bit now and again. I don't know, I'm sure. Because I wrote to him to Wyvern to meet me here. Is he at Wyvern? Well, Faith, I can't tell. I know no more than you, Mom, where Master Charles is, said Mildred, with energy, relieved in the midst of her rosary oblies, to find herself free to utter one undoubted truth. You have been a long time in the family, Mrs. Tarnley. Troll the visitor listlessly. Since I was the height of that, before I can remember, I was born in Carwell Gatehouse here. My mother was here at Old Squire's time, meaning the father of the present Harry Fairfield, or Wyvern, that is, and grandfather of the two young gentlemen, Master Charles and Master Harry. Why bless you! My grandfather, that is, my mother's father, was in charge of the house and farm, and the woods, and the tenants, and all. There wasn't a tree felled nor a cow sold, nor an acre of ground took up, but just as he said. They called him Honest Tom Pennequik. He was thought a great deal of, my grandfather was. And Carwell never turned in as good a penny to the Fairfields as in his time, not since, not before. Never, and never will, that's sure. And which do you like best, Squire Charles or Squire Harry, inquired the languid lady. I like Charles, said Mrs. Tarnley, with decision. And why so? Well, Harry's a screw. You see, he'd a leaf a joint of his thumb as a sixpence. He'll take his turn out of every one good humored enough and pay for trouble with a joke and a laugh. A very pleasant gentleman, for such as has nothing to do but exchange work for his banter and live without wages. All very fine. I never see the shillen of hisen, since he had one to spend. Mr. Charles can be closed-fisted too when he likes it, suggested the old lady. No, no, no, he's not that sort, if he had it. Open-handed enough and more the gentleman every way than Master Harry. More the gentleman, answered Mildred. Yes, Harry Fairfield is a shrewd hard man, I believe. He ought to have helped his brother a bit. He has saved a nice bit of money, I daresay, said the visitor. If he hasn't a good handful in his kist corner, taint that he wastes what he gets. I do suppose he'll pay his brother a fair rent for the house, said the visitor. Master Harry will pay for no more than he can help, observed Mildred. It's a comfortable house, pursued the stranger. Twice so when I was here. Warm and roomy, acquiesced Mrs. Tarnley. Chimbley, roof and wall, staunch and stout. It will stand a hundred years to come. We a new shingle and a dob of mortar, now and again. There's a few jackdaws up in the chimbleys that ought to be drew out of that. With their sticks and dirt, she reflected, respectfully. And you mean to tell me he pays no rent for the Grange and keeps his wife here, demanded the lady, peremptorily. I know nothing about their dealings, answered Mrs. Tarnley as tartly. And taint clear to me, I should care much neither. They'll settle that like other matters without stopping to ask Mildred what she thinks out. And I dare say, Master, Harry will be glad enough to take it for nothing, if Master Charles will be fool enough to let him. Well, he shan't do that. I'll take care, said the lady, maintaining her immovable pose, which with a certain peculiarity and the tone of her voice, gave to her an indescribable and unpleasant lanker. I never have two pounds to lay on top of one another. Jarred he begins at home. I'll not starve, for Master Harry. And she laughed softly and unpleasantly. His wife, you say, is a starved Guret's daughter? Harsen Maybell, for he was, down at Wyvern Vicarage, meet only twice or thrice a week. As I've heard say, and treated Old Squire Harry bad, I hear, about his rent. And Old Squire Fairfield was kind, to her anyhow, and took her up to the hall. And so when she grew up, she took her opportunity and married Master Harry. She was clever to catch such a shrewd chap. Clever. Light again. I shall have three, four other puff before I go to my bed. Very clever. How did she take so well and hold so fast that wise fellow, Harry Fairfield? Oh, fancy I do suppose and liken. She's a pretty lass. All them Fairfields married for beauty mostly. Some of them got land and money, and the like, but a pretty face. All is along with the fortune. The blind stranger for blind she was, mild downward, faintly and slyly. While she was again preparing the pipe. When will Harry come again? She asked. I never knows. He's so wary. Do you want to talk to him, mom? Said Mildred. Yes, I do, said she. Hold a match now, Mrs. Tarnley, please. So she did and puff, puff, puff, but a dozen times went the smoke and the smoker was satisfied. Well, I never knows the minute, but it mightn't be for a fortnight, said Mrs. Tarnley. And when Mr. Charles Fairfield come, asked the visitor, if he got your letter, he'll be here quick enough. If it's missed him, he mayn't set foot in it for three months time. That's how it is, we hem, answered Mildred. What news of old Harriet Wyvern? asked the stranger. No news in particular, answered Mildred. Only he's well in hearty, but there's no news. The Fairfields is a long-lived stock. As everyone knows, he'll not lie in oak and wool for many a day yet, I'm thinkin'. Perhaps she had rightly guessed the object of the lady's solicitude for a silence followed. There's a saying in my country, God's children die young, said the tall lady. And hear about they say the devil takes care of his own, said Mildred Tarnley. But see how my score of years be runnin' up. I take it sinners' lives be lengthened out a bit by the judge of all, to gie us time to stay our thoughts a little and repent our misdeeds while yet we may. You have made a little fire in my room, Mrs. Tarnley, inquired the stranger who had probably no liking for theology. Yes, I'm everything snug. Would you mind running up and looking? I detest a chill, said this selfish person. At that hour, no doubt, Mrs. Tarnley resented this tax on her romantics. But though she was not a woman to curb her resentments, she made shift on this occasion. That did not prevent her, however, from giving the stranger a furious look while she muttered inaudibly a few words. I'll go with pleasure, Mom, but I'm sure it's all right, she said aloud, very civilly and paused, thinking perhaps that the lady would let her off the long walk upstairs to the front of the house. Very good, I'll wait here, said the guest unfeelingly. As you please, hmm, said Mildred, and with a parting look round the kitchen, she took the candle and left the lady to the light of the fire. The lady was almost reclining in her chair as if she were dozing. But in a few moments up she stood and placing her hand by her ear listened. Then with her hands advanced, she crept slowly and as noiselessly as a cat across the floor. She jostled a little against the table at Lily Dogger's door. Then she stopped perfectly still, withdrew the table without a sound. The door swung a little open and the gaunt figure in gray stood at it listening. A very faint flicker from the fire lighted this dim woman, who seemed for the moment to have no more life in her than the tall, gray stone of the druids' hoe on Kressley Common. Lily Dogger was fast asleep. But broken were her slumbers destined to be that night. She felt a hand on her neck and looking up could not for a while see anything. So dark was the room. She jumped up in a sitting posture with a short cry of fear, thinking that she was in the hands of a robber. Be quiet, fool, said the tall woman, slipping her hand over the girl's mouth. I'm a lady, a friend of Mrs. Meldred Tarnley and I'm come to stay in the house. Who is the lady that sleeps upstairs on the room that used to be Mr. Harry's? You must answer true or I'll pull your ear very hard. It is the mistress, please, um, answered the frightened girl. Married lady? Yes, um. Who is her husband? With this question, the big fingers of her visitor closed upon Lily Dogger's ear with a monetary pinch. The master, mom. And what's the master's name? You dirty little bevarigator? And with these words, her ear was wrong sharply. She would have cried very likely if she had been less frightened. But she only went with her shoulders up to her ears and answered in tremulous haste. Mr. Fairfield, sure. There's three Mr. Fairfields. There's old Mr. Fairfield. There's Mr. Charles Fairfield. And there's Mr. Harry Fairfield. You shall speak plain. And at each name in her catalog, she twisted the child's ear with a sharp, separate ring. Oh, law, mom, please, um, I mean Mr. Charles Fairfield. I didn't mean to tell you no story, indeed, my lady. Oh, oh, yes, Charles, Charles, very good. Now you tell me how you know Mr. Harry from Mr. Charles. Oh, law, mom, oh, law, oh, mom, dear. Sure, you won't pull it no more, good lady, please. My ear's most broke, gasped the girl, who felt the torture beginning again. You tell truth. How do you know Mr. Charles from Mr. Harry? Mr. Charles has bigger eyes, mom, and Mr. Harry has lighter hair, and a red face, please, um, and Mr. Charles' face is brown, and he talks very quiet like, and Mr. Harry talks very loud, and he's always traveling about a horseback. And Mr. Charles is the eldest son and the little child they're looking for is to be the squire a wyvern. The interrogator here gave her a hard pinch by the ear, perhaps without thinking of it, where she said nothing for a minute nearly, and the girl remained with her head buried between her shoulders, and her eyes wide open, staring straight up where she conjectured her examiner's face might be. Is the man that talks loud Mr. Harry here often? Ask the voice at her bedside. But seldom, mom, too busy at fairs and races, I hear them say. And Mr. Charles, is he often here? Yes, um, master be always here, except in this time only, he's gone about a week. About a week, Mr. Charles? Oh, la, mom, yes indeed, mom, dear. It's just a week today since master went. Here was the silence. That will do. If I find you've been telling me lies, I'll take you by the back of the neck and squeeze your face against the kitchen bars till it's burnt through and through. Do you see? And I give you this one chance. If you have been telling me lies to say so, and I'll forgive you. Nothing but truth, indeed and indeed, mom. Old Turnley will beat you if she hears you have told me anything. So keep your own secret, and I'll not tell of you. She saw the brawny outline of the woman faintly like a black shadow as she made her way through the door into the kitchen. And she heard the door close and the table shoved cautiously back into its place. And then with a beating heart, she lay still and awfully wide awake in the dark. End of Chapter 26, recording by John Brandon. Chapter 27 of the Wyvern Mystery. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by John Brandon. The Wyvern Mystery by Joseph Sheridan Lefano. Chapter 27, Through the House. This stalwart lady stumbled and groped her way back to her chair and sat down again in the kitchen. The chair in which she sat was an old fashioned armed chair of plain wood, uncolored and clumsy. When Mildred Tarnley returned, the changed appearance of her guest struck her. Be ye sick, ma'am? She asked, standing, candle in hand by the chair. The visitor was sitting bolt upright with a large hand clutched on each arm of the chair with a face deadly pale and distorted by a frown or spasm that frightened old Mildred, who fancied as she made no sign, not the slightest stir, that she was in a fit or possibly dead. For God's sake, ma'am, conjured old Mildred fiercely. Will ye speak? The lady in the chair started, shrugged and gasped. It was like shaking off a fit. Oh, oh, Mildred Tarnley, I was thinking, I was thinking, did you speak? Mildred looked at her, not knowing what to make of it. Too much loud in them, was it? Or that nervous pain in her head? I only asked you how you were, ma'am. You looked so bad. I thought you was going to work in a fit. What an old fool! I never was better in my life. Fit? I never had a fit, not I. You used to have them sometimes long ago, ma'am, and they came in the snap of a finger-like, said Mildred, sturdily. Clear your head of those fits, though they have left me long ago. I'm well, I tell you, never was better. You're old, you're old woman, and that which has made you so pious is also making you blind. Well, you look a deal better now, you do, said Mildred, who did not want to have a corpse or an epileptic suddenly on her hands and was much relieved by the signs of returning vivacity and color. Tarnly, you beneficial creature, and true to me, I hope I may live to reward you, said the lady, extending her hand vaguely towards the old servant. I'm true to them as gives me bread and never was, and that's old Mildred Tarnly's truth. If she eats their bread, she'll maintain their right, and that's only honest, that's reason, ma'am. I have no right to cry. I cry, excellent, good, good, very good. For as you are my husband servant, I have all the benefit of your admirable fidelity. Boo, I'm so grateful, and one day or other, old girl, I'll reward you, that very good tea, and every care of me. I will tell Mr. Verville when he comes, how good you have been, and tell me how is the fire, and the bed, and the bedroom all quite comfortable? Comfortable quite, I hope, ma'am. Do I look quite well now? Yes, I'm pure and hearty. It was only just a turn. Yes, just so, perhaps, although I never felt it, and I could dance now only for fifty things, so I won't mind. She laughed. I'm sleepy, and I'm not sleepy, and I love you, old Mildred Tarnly, and you'll tell me some more about master Harry and his wife when we get upstairs. Who'd have thought that wild fellow would ever tie himself to a wife? The fancy, that clever young fellow that loves making money so well would have chosen out a wife without a flaw into her fortune. Everything is so surprising. Come, let's have a laugh, you and me together. My laughin' days is over, ma'am. Not that I see much to laugh at for anyone, and many a thing I thought a laughin' matter when I was young seems or like a cryin' matter now. I'm grown old," said Mildred, and snuffed the kitchen candle with her fingers. Well, give me your arm, Mildred. There's a good old thing, yes. And off she got her long length. Mildred took the candle and took the tall lady gently by the wrist. The guest, however, placed her great hand upon Mildred's shoulder, and thus they proceeded through the passages. Leaving the back stair that led to Alice's room at the right, they mounted the great staircase and reached a comfortably warm room with a fire flickering on the hearth, for the air was sharp. In other respects, the apartment had not very much to boast. There's fire here, I feel it. Place my chair near it. The bed in the old place, said the tall woman, coming to a halt. Yes, some little change here ever. I warrant ye, only the room's been new-papered, answered Mildred. New-papered has it. Well, I'll sit down, thanks, and I'll get to my bed just now. Shall I assist ye, ma'am? By and by, thanks, but not till I've eaten a bit. I've grown hungry, what your master calls peckish. What would you advise? I would advise you're eating something, replied Mildred. But what? There's very little. There's eggs quite new. There's a bit of bacon, and there's about a half a cold chicken roast. And there's a corner of cheddar cheese, and there's butter, and this bread. Taint much, answered Mrs. Tarnley, glibly. The chicken will do very nicely, and don't forget bread and salt, Mrs. Tarnley, and a glass of beer. Yes, ma'am. Mrs. Tarnley poked the fire and looked about her, and then took the only candle. March boldly off with it, shutting the door. Toward the door, the lady turned her face and listened. She heard old Mildred's step receding. This tall woman was not pleasant to look at. Her large features were pitted with the smallpox, and deadly pale with the pallor of anger. And an unpleasant smile lighted up the whiteness of her face. Patience, patience, she repeated. What a damned trick. No matter, wait a little. She did wait a little in silence, screwing her lips and knitting her brows, and then a new resource struck her, and she groped in her bag and drew forth a bottle, which she applied to her lips more than once and seemed better. It was no febri-fuge, nor opiate. But though the flicker of the fire showed no flush on her pallid features, the odor declared it brandy. End of chapter 27, recording by John Brandon. Chapter 28 of the Wyvern Mystery. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by John Brandon. The Wyvern Mystery by Joseph Sheraton Lafannou. Chapter 28, The Bell Rings. Will that beast never go to bed? Even there I mined. She used to sleep with an eye open and an ear cocked, and nowhere safe from her never. Here and there, up and down, without a stir or a breath, like a ghost or a devil, thought Mrs. Tarnley. Thank God she's blind now, that will quiet her. Mildred was afraid of that woman. Mildred was not only that she was cold and hard, but she was so awfully violent and wicked. Satan's her name. Lord help us. In what hell did he pick her up? Mildred would say to herself, in old times, as with the important fury of fear, she used to knock about the kitchen utensils and deal violently with every chair, table, spoon, or canikin that came in her way. The woman had fits and bad fits, too, in old times, when she knew her well, and she drank like a fish, cognac neat, and she was alive still, and millions of people, younger and better, that never had a fit kept their bodies in soberness and temperance, was gone dead in buried sense, and that drunken, shattered, battered creature, we hear falling sickness, and her sins and her years was here alive and strong to plague and frighten better folk. Well, she's had smallpox, thank God, and well maul she is, and them spy and glaren eyes of hers, the wild beast. By this time, Mrs. Tarnley was again in the kitchen. She did not take down the fire yet. She did not know for certain whether Charles Fairfield might not arrive. The London mail that passed by the town of Darwin to be on Cressley Common came later than that divergent stagecoach that changed on the line of road that passes the Pied House. What a situation it would have been if Charles Fairfield and the Vral had found themselves vis-a-vis as inside passengers in the coach that night. Would the matter have been much mended if the Dutch woman had loitered long enough in the kitchen for Charles to step in and surprise her? It was a thought that occurred more than once to Mildred with a qualm of panic. But she was afraid to hasten the stranger's departure to her room, for that lady's mind swarmed with suspicion which a fear would set in motion. The Lord gave us dominion over the beast of the field. Harcyn Wynard said in his sermon last Sunday, but we ain't allowed to kill nor hurt, but for food or for defense and good old parson buckles that was as good as two of he, said I mind the very same words. I often thought of them of late, merciful of them brutes, for they was made by the one creator as made ourselves. So the merciful man is merciful to his beast, will ye? Mrs. Tarnley interrupted herself sharply, dealing on the lean ribs of the cat who had got its head into a saucepan, a thump with a wooden spoon, which emitted a hollow sound and doubled the thief into a curve. Merciful, of course, when they're ardor mischief, but them that's noxious and hurtful and dangerous, we're free to kill. And where's the beast so dangerous as a real bad man or woman? God forbid I should do wrong. I am an old woman, nigh hand the grave and murders murder. I do suppose, and allow that's it. Thou shalt do no murder, no more I would. No, not if an angel said do it. No, I wouldn't for untold gold. But I often wondered, why, if ye may, we a good conscience, knock a snake on the head with a stone and chop a shovel down smack on a toad. Ye should stay your hand and let a devil incarnate, go her murderin' way through the world to blast in that one we lies, robin' this one we craft, and murderin' tother. If it make her interest, we poison or perjury. Lord help my poor head, and forgive me if it be sin, but I can neither find right nor reason in that. Nor see know how, why she shouldn't be killed off hand like a rat or a serpent. At this point the bell rang loud and sudden and Mrs. Tarnley bounced and blessed herself. There was no great difficulty in settling from what quarter the summons came, for except the whole doorbell, which was a deep-toned sonorous one, there was but one in the house in ringing order, and that was of the bedroom where her young mistress lay. Well, here's a go. Who'd have thought of her awake at these hours and out of her bed and plucking at her bell? I doubt it is her. The like was never before. It is enough to frighten the body, the Lord help us. Mrs. Tarnley stood straight as a grenadier on drill with her back to the fire. The poker, with which during her homily she had been raking the bars still in her hand. This night'll be the death of me. Everything's gone cross and contrary. Here's that young silly lass awake and out of her bed. That never had an eye open at these hours since she came to the Grange before. And there's that other one in the state room, not that far from her, as wide awake is she. And here's Master Charles, a common mayhap, this minute, with his drummin' and bellin' at the hall door. It is enough to make a body swear. It has given me the narves and the tremblins, and I don't know how it's to end. And Mrs. Tarnley unconsciously shouldered her poker, as if awaiting the assault of burglars, and vaguely thought, if Charles arrived as she had described, what power on earth could keep the peace? Again the bell rang. Well, there's patience for ye. She halted at the kitchen door, with the candle in her hand, listening, with a stern, frightened face. She was thinking whether Alice might not have been frightened by some fantastic terror in her room. She has that old fat fool, dulcy bellacrine only a room off. Why don't she call her up? But Mrs. Tarnley at length did go on, and up the stairs, and heard Alice's voice call along the passage in a loud tone. Mrs. Tarnley, is that you, Mrs. Tarnley? Me, Mom? Yes, I'm. I thought I heard your bell ring, and I had scantime to hustle my clothes on. Is there anything uncommon I have in it, Mom? Well, what's expected just now from an old woman like me? Oh, Mrs. Tarnley, I beg your pardon, I'm so sorry, and I would not disturb you only that I heard a noise, and I thought Mr. Charles might have arrived. New Mom, he's not come, nor no sign of him. You told me, Mom, his letter said there was but small chance it. So I did, Mildred, so it did. Still a chance, just a chance, and I thought perhaps. There's no perhaps in it, Mom, he ain't come. Dulcy Bellet tells me she thought some time ago she heard someone arrive. So she did, Mayhem, for there did come a message for Master Harry from the farmer beyond Grice's mill, but he went his way again. Mildred was thibbon with a fluency that almost surprised herself. I desay you've done we mean now, Mom, said Mildred. Lugged out of my bed, Mom, at these hours, my aching old bones, taint what I'm used to, asking you pardon for making so free. I'm really very sorry you won't be vexed with me. Good night, Mildred, your servant, Mom. And Mrs. Tarnley withdrew from the door where Alice stood before her with her dressing gown about her shoulders, looking so pale and deprecatory and anxious that I wonder even Mildred Tarnley did not pity her. I'm tellin' lies enough to break a bridge and me that's vowed against lyin' so stiff and strong over again only Monday last. She shook her head slowly and with a sudden qualm of conscience. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. It's only for tonight, Mayhem. And I can't help it if that old witch was once over the doorstone, I'd speak truth the rest of my days as I had done by the grace of God for more than a month. And here's a nice merry-go-round for my poor old head. Who's to keep all straight and smooth, we them that's in the house and may have common? And that ghost upstairs, she'll be gropin' and screechin' through the house, and then there'll be the devil to pay we her, and the poor lass up there. If I don't key her supper quick, come bustle, bustle be alive, she muttered, as this thought struck her with new force, and so to the little safe which served that miniature household for larder she repaired. Plates clattered and knives and forks and the dishes in the safe slid forth. And how near she was for getting the salt. And the bread, all right. So here was a tray very comfortably furnished and setting the candle stick upon it also. She contemplated the supper with a fierce sneer and a wag of her head. How sick and weak we be. Tea and toast and eggs down here and this little bit in her bedroom, heaven bless her. La love it, poor little darling. Don't I hope it may do her good? I wish the first mouthful may choke her, heaping me on the trot to these hours, old beast. Passing the stairs, Mrs. Tarnley crept softly and took pains to prevent her burden from rattling on the tray, where the rose in her brain, the furious reflection, pretty rubbish that I should be this way among them. And she would have liked to dash the tray on the floor at the foot of the stairs and to leave the startled inhabitants to their own courses. This, of course, was but an emotion. The old woman completed her long march cautiously and knocked at the vows door. Come in, dear, said the inmate, and milled with Tarnley with her tray in her hands, marched into the room and looked round peevishly for a table to set it down on. You'll find all you said, mm, said old Tarnley. Shall I set it before you? Or will you move this way, please, mm? Before me, dear. So Mildred carried the table and supper over and placed it before the lady who sat up and said, good Mildred, how good you are. Give me now the knife and fork in my fingers and put some salt just there. Very good. How good of you to take so much trouble for poor me, you kind old Mildred. How wondrous sweet she had grown in a minute. The old servant who knew her was not conciliated but disgusted and looked hard at the benevolent lady, wondering what could be in her mind. If everything's right, I'll wish you good night, mm, and I'll go down to my bed, mom, please. Wait a while with me. Do, there's a good soul. I'll not detain you long, you dear old lass. Well, mom, I must go down and take down the fire and shut to the door, or the rats will be in from the scullery. And I'll come up again, mom, in a few minutes. And not waiting for permission Mildred Tarnley, who had an anxiety of another sort in her head, took the candle in her hand and left the guest at her supper by the light of the fire. She shut the door quickly, lest her departure should be countermanded and trotted away and downstairs, but not to the kitchen. End of Chapter 28, recording by John Brandon. Chapter 29 of the Wyvern Mystery. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon. The Wyvern Mystery by Joseph Sheraton-Lefano. Chapter 29, Tom is Ordered Up. When she reached the foot of the stairs that leads to the gallery, on which the room occupied by Alice opens, instead of pursuing her way to the kitchen, she turned into a narrow and dark passage that is hemmed in on the side opposite to the wall by the ascending staircase. The shadows of the banisters on the paneled oak flew after one another in sudden chase as the old woman glided by, and looking up and back, she stopped at the door of a small room, constructed as we see in similar old houses under the stairs. On the panel of this, she struck a muffled summons with her fist, and on the third or fourth, the startled voice of Tom demanded roughly from within. What's that? Hish, said the old woman, threw a bit of the open door. It is Mrs. Tarnley, only me. Like woman, you did take a rise out of me. I thought he was, I don't know what, I was a dreamer, I think. Nevermind, you must be awake for an hour or so, said Mrs. Tarnley, entering the den without more ceremony. Tom didn't mind Mrs. Tarnley, nor Mrs. Tarnley, Tom, a rush. She set the candle on the tiled floor. Tom was sitting in his shirt on the side of his settled bed, with his hands on his knees. Ye must get on your things, Tom. If it ever you stirred yourself, be alive now. The masters are common, and may be here across crestly common in half an hour, or might be in five minutes. And ye must go out a bit and meet him. And are ye awake? Staring, go on. Ye'll tell him just this, the big woman as lives at Hoxton. Hoxton, well? That Master Harry has all the trouble we has come here angry in search of Master Harry, mind, and is in the bedroom over the whole door. Will ye mind all that now? I, said Tom, and repeated it. Well, he'll know better whether it's best for him to come on or turn back. But if come on he will, let him come in at the kitchen door, mind, and ye go that way, too. And he'll find neither bolt nor bar but open doors, and nothing but the latch between him in the kitchen and me sitting by the fire. But don't you clap a door, nor tread heavy, but remember there's a sharp pair of ears that adhere a cricket through the three walls of Carwell Grange. She took up the candle and herself listened for a moment at the door, and again turned her earnest and sinister face on Tom. And again I say, Tom, if ever ye was quick, be quick now. As she clapped her lean hand down on his shoulder with a sort of fierce shake. And if ever ye trod soft, go softly now, mind. Tom, who was scratching his head and staring in her face, nodded. And mind you, the kitchen way. And afraid of slips, say the message over again to me. This he did, libly enough. Here, light your candle from this. And if ye fail your master now, never call yourself man again. Having thus charged him, she went softly from this nook with its slanting roof, and thinking of the thankless world and all the trouble where old bones and brain were put to, she lost her temper at the foot of the great staircase and was near turning back again to the kitchen, or perhaps whisking out of the door herself and marching off to Cressley Common to meet her master and shock and scare him all she could and place her resignation as more distinguished functionaries sometimes do theirs in the hands of her employer. To prove his helplessness and her own importance and so assert herself for time passed and to come. Her interview with Tom had not occupied much time. She knocked at the bras door and entering found that person at the close of a greedy repast. Emotions of fear, I suppose, disturbed the appetite much more than others, not caring one farthing about Charles. She did not grieve at his infidelity, taking profligacy for granted as the rule of life. It did not even shock her. But she was stung with a furious pang of jealousy, for that needs no love being in its essence the sense of property invaded, supremacy insulted and self-despised. In this sort of jealousy, there is neither the sublimity of despair nor the pathos of sorrow, but simply the malice, fury and revenge of outraged egotism. There she sat, unconscious of the glimmer of the firelight, feeding as a beast will, bleeding after a blow. Beast she was with the bestial faculty of cherishing a long revenge, with bestial treachery and seeming unconcern. Oh, oh, you've come back, she cried with playful reproach. Cruel old girl, you leave your poor bra alone, alone among the ghosts. Now sit down, are you sitting? And tell me everything and all the news. Did you bring a little brandy or what? Her open hand was extended and gently moving over the tray at about the level of the top of a bottle. No, ma'am, I haven't none of my charge, but there's a smell of brandy about, said Mildred, who liked saying a disagreeable thing. So there ought, said the gaunt woman placently, and lifted a big black bottle that lay in her lap like a baby folded in a gray shawl. But I'll want this, don't you see, when I'm on my rambles again. Get a little, there's a good girl. Or if you can't get that, there's rum or gin. There never was a country house without something in it. You know very well where Harry Verveld is, there will be liquor. I know him well. But he ain't here now. This is well known to you, ma'am, said Mildred, dryly. I'm not going to waste my drink while I think there's a drink in the house. Who has a right before me, old girl? Said the stranger, grimly. Tut, ma'am. Tis childish talking so. There's none in my charge, never a drop. Master Harry, I dare say, has somewhat under lock and key, but not me. And why should I tell you a lie about the like? You never tell lies, old Mildred. I forgot that. But young as she is, I lay my life, the woman misses Harry Verveld upstairs, likes a nip now and then, eh? And she has a bottle I'll be bound in her wardrobe. Or if she's shy, twix her bed in her mattress, old rogue, you know very well, I think. Does she? And if she likes it, she sleeps sound. And go you, and while she snores, borrow you the bottle. She's nothing of the sort. She drinks nothing nowhere, much less in her bedroom. She's a perfect lady, said Mrs. Tarnley in no mood to flatter her companion. Oh, ho, that's so like, old Mildred Tarnley, dear old cat, I'm so amused. I could stroke her thin ribs and pet her for making me laugh so by her frisks and capers instead of throwing you by the neck out of the window for scratching and spitting. I'm so good-natured. Do you tell lies, Mildred? I had told a shameful lot in my day, ma'am, but not more may happen, many a one that hasn't graced to say so. You read your Bible, Mildred? Said the lady, who with a knife and fork was securing on her plate the morsels to which old Mildred helped her. I, ma'am, a bit now and a bit again, never too late to repent, ma'am. Repentance and grace. You'll do, Mrs. Tarnley. It's a pleasure to hear you, said the lady with her mouth rather full. And you never see my husband? Now and again, now and again, once in a way he looks in. Never stays a week or a month at a time? Week or a month, echoed Mrs. Tarnley, looking quickly in the serene face of the lady and then laughing off the suggestions scornfully. You're thinking of old times, ma'am. Thinking, thinking, I don't think I was thinking at all. Said the lady answering Mildred's laugh, with one more careless, old times, when he had a wife here, eh? Old times, how old are they? Eh, that's 18 years ago. You hardly knew me when I called here. There was a change, surely. I'd like to know who wouldn't in 18 years. There's a change in me since then. I shouldn't wonder, said the lady quietly. Did he ever tell you how we quarreled? Not he, answered Mildred. He's very close, said the stranger. A deal closer than Mr. Harry, acquiesced Mildred. Not like you and me, Mrs. Tarnley, they can't keep a secret never. They tell truth and shame the devil. I, because I don't care a snap of my fingers for you or him or the Archbishop of Canterbury. And you, because you're all for grace and repentance. How am I looking tonight, tired? Tired, to be sure. You ought to be in your bed, ma'am, an hour ago. Here as white as that plate, ma'am. White, are they? So they used to be long ago, said the visitor. The same set, ma'am? It was a long set in my mother's time. Not as little better than a short set now, but I don't think there's more than three plates and the cracked butterboat that had a stitch in it. You'll mind, although ye may have forgot for a usant to send it up to table, only them three and the butterboat broke sense. And that butterboat couldn't have brought three haypence by auction, and was that little slut downstairs that doesn't never do nothing right that knocked it off the shelf with her smashing. I'm not looking well tonight, said this pallid woman. You'd be the better of a little blood to your cheeks. Yours white is paper, ma'am, answered Mildred. I never have any color now, they tell me. Always pale, pale, pale. But it isn't muddy. Taint what you call putty. Well, no. Ha, no. I knew that, no. And I'd rather be a little pale. I don't like your great coarse peony-faced women. It's seven years in May last, since I lost my sight. Some people are persecuted, one curse after another, rank injustice. Why should I lose my sight that never did anything to signify? Not half what others have, who enjoy health, wealth, rank everything. Things are topsy-turvy a bit just now, but we'll see them rated yet. End of chapter 29. Recording by John Brandon. Chapter 30 of the Wyvern Mystery. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sandra Cullen. The Wyvern Mystery by Joseph Sheridan Lafayneux. The old soldier grows more friendly and frightens Mrs. Tarnley. The Dutch woman resumed in a minute and observed. Well, old Tarnley, there's no good in talking where you can't write yourself and where you can revenge. There's no good in talk either, but gone it is. And the doctors say no cutting, nothing safe in my case, no cure, so let it be. I like dress once, I dressed pretty well. Beautiful exclaimed old Mildred kindling for a moment into her earlier admiration of the French and London finery with which once this tall and faded beauty had amazed the solitudes of Carwell. The bleached big woman smiled, almost laughed with gratified vanity. Yes, I was well dressed, something better than the young dowdies and old fromps in this part of the world. How I used to laugh at them. I went to church and to the races to see them. Well, we'll have better times yet at Wyvern. The old man there can't live forever. He's not the wandering Jew and he can't be far from a hundred. And so sure as Charles is my husband, I'll have you there if you like it or give you a snug house and a bit of ground and a garden and a snug allowance monthly if you like this place best. I love my own and you've been true to me and I never failed a friend. I'm growing old and silly, ma'am, never so strong as I was took for. The will was ever stronger with Mildred than the body blessy. No, no, two or three quiet years to live as I should have lived always with an eye on my Bible and an eye on my ways. Not that I ever did ought I need be one bit ashamed on. No, not I. Honest and sober and most respectable, thank God, as the family will testify and the neighbors, but I'll not deny. It would be something not that bad if my old bones could rest a bit, said old Mildred. How girl they shall, your old bones shall rest my child, said the lady. They'll rest some day in the old churchyard of Carwell, but not much sooner, I'm thinking, said Mrs. Tarnley. Oh, folly, folly, old girl, you've many a year to go before that journey. You'll live to see me, Mrs. Veerveild of Wyvern and it won't be a bad day for you, old Mildred. The Dutch woman or the old soldier as they used to call her long ago in this sequestered nook drawled this languidly and yawned a long, listless yawn. Well, ma'am, if you're tired, so am I, said Mildred, a little Tarnley, and as for dreaming a quiet in this world I have cleared my head of that nonsense many a year ago. There's little good can happen, old Mildred, now, unless I look for a nun I'll seek, ma'am, and as for a roof over my head for nothing, and that bit of ground you spoke of and wages to live on without no work, I don't believe there's no such luck going for no one. Listen to me, Mildred, said the stranger more sternly than before. It is because I don't swear you won't believe, here now once for all, and understand, I'll make that a good day for you that makes me the lady of Wyvern, sharp and hard I've been with those I owed a nock to, but I never yet forgot a friend. You may do me a service tomorrow or next day, mind, and if you stand by me, I'll stand by you. You need but ask and have, ask what you will. Well, now, ma'am, blah, what talk it is, look, ma'am, don't I know the world, ma'am, and what sort of place it is? I have been promised many a fine thing in my day, and here I am still, old and weary, among the pots and pans every night and morning, and up to my elbows in suds every Saturday. That's all that ever came of fine promises to Mildred Tarnley. Well, you used to say it's a long lane that has no turn. You'll have a glass of this, and she popped the brandy bottle on the table beside her, with her hand fast on its neck. No brandy, no nothing, ma'am, I thank you. What, no brandy? Pish girl, nonsense. No, ma'am, I thank you. I never drinks nothing of the sort, a mug of beer after washing or the like, but my aid ain't never would a bear brandy. Once and away come, solicited the old soldier. No, I thank you, ma'am. I'll swallow nothing of the kind, please. What a mule, he won't have a nip with an old friend after so long an absence. Come, Mildred, come, where's the glass? It is a glassum, but not a drop for me, ma'am. I won't drink nothing of the sort, please. Not from me, I suppose, but if you mean to say you never do, I don't believe you, said the Dutch woman. More nettle, it seemed, than such a failure of good fellowship in Mrs. Tarnley would naturally have warranted. Perhaps she had particularly strong reasons for making old Mildred Frank genial and intimate that night. I don't tell lies, said Mildred. Don't you? said the old soldier and elevated the brows of her sightless eyes and screwed her lips with ugly ridicule. Mrs. Tarnley looked with a dark shrewdness upon this meaning mask, trying to discover the exact force of its significance. She felt very uncomfortable. The blind woman's face expanded into a broad smile. She shrugged, shook her head and laughed. How odiously wide her face looked as she laughed, Mildred did not know exactly what to make of her. But if you did tell lies, drawled the lady, even to me, what does it matter if you promise to tell no more? So let her shake hands. Where's your hand? And she kept shuffling her big hand upon the table, palm upward, with its fingers groping in the air like the claws of a crab upon its back. Give me, give me, give me your hand, I say, said she. Taint for the like of me, replied Mildred, with grim formality. You better be friendly, come, give me your hand. Well, ma'am, taint for me to dispute your pleasure, answered the old servant, and she slipped her hard fingers upon the upturned palm of the Dutch woman who clutched them with a strenuous friendship and held them fast. I like you, Tarnley, we've had rough words sometimes, but no ill blood, and I'll do what I said. I never failed a friend, as you will see. If only you be my friend. And why or for whom should you not? Tut, we're not fools. The time has passed for me to quarrel, being to the wrong side of sixty more than you'd supposed, and quiet all I once. Quiet, ma'am. Yes, quiet and comfort too, and both. You shall have, Mildred, Tarnley, if you don't choose to quarrel with those who would be kind to you, if you'd let them. Yes, indeed, who would be kind, and very kind, if you'd only let them. No, leave your hand where it is, I can't see you, and it's sometimes dull work talking only to a voice. If I can't see you, I'll feel you, and hold you, old girl, hold you fast till I know what terms we're on. All this time, she had Mildred Tarnley's hand between hers, and was fondling and kneading it as a rustic lover in the agonies of the momentous question might have done fifty years ago. I don't know what you want me to say, ma'am, no more than the plate there. Little good left in Mildred Tarnley now, and small power to help or hurt anyone, great or small at these years. I want you to be friendly with me, that's all, I ask no more, and it ain't a great deal, all things considered. Friendly talk, of course, ain't all I mean, that civility, and civility's very well, very pleasant, like a lady's fan or her lapdog, but nothing at a real pinch, nothing to fight a wolf with. Come, old Mildred, Mildred Tarnley, good Mildred, can I be sure of you? Quite sure. Sure and certain, ma'am, in all honest service. Honest service, yes, of course, what else could we think of? You used to like, I remember, Mildred, a nice ribbon in your bonnet. I have two pieces quite new, I brought them from London, satin ribbon, purple one is, I know you'll like it, and you'll drink a glass of this to please me. Thanks for the ribbons, ma'am, I'll not refuse them, but I won't drink nothing, ma'am, I thank you. Well, please yourself in that, pour out a little for me, there's a glass, ain't there? Yes, ma'am, how much will you have, ma'am? Half a glass, there's a dear, stingy half glass. She continued, putting her finger in, to gauge the quantity. Go on, go on, remember my long journey today. Do you smoke, Mildred? Smoker? No, ma'am. Dear me, there's no smell of tobacco, is there? Said Mildred, who was always suspecting Thomas smoking slyly in his crib under the stairs. Smell? No, but I smoke a pinch of tobacco now and again myself. The doctor says I must, and a breath, just of opium. When I want it, you can have a pipe of tobacco if you like, child, and you needn't be shy. Well, oh, foul, no, ma'am, I thank you. Foul, echoed the Dutch woman with a derisive chilling laugh, which apprised old Mildred of her solicism, but the lady did not mean to quarrel. What sort of dress have you for Sundays is going to church and all that? An old dress it is now. I had the material, your mind, when you was here long ago, but it wasn't made up till long after. It's very gentile, the folks all say. Chocolate colour, British cashmere. Twas old Mrs Hartley-Paul, the Parsons widow, made me a compliment aunt when she was going, and I kept it all the time with whole pepper and camphor in my box by my bed. When it looked as fresh, when I took it out to give it to Miss Maddox to make up, as if Twas just put new on the counter. She did open her eyes, that's nine, seven years gone, when I told her how old it was. Hey, day, hi, I think I do remember that old chocolate thing. Why, it can't be that, that's 20 years old. Well, look in my box, here's the key. You'll see two books with green leather backs and gold. Can you read? I'm going to make you a present. I can read, man, but I scarce have time to read my Bible. The Bible's a good book, but that's a better, said the lady with one of her titters. But it ain't a book I'm going to give you. Look it out, green and gold, there are only two in the box. It is the one that has an I and a V on the back, for the fourth volume. I have little else to amuse me. I have the news of the neighbours, but I don't like them. Who could? A bad lot. They hate one another. It wouldn't be a worse world if they were all hanged. They hate me because I'm a lady, so I don't cry when baby takes the croot, nor break my heart when papar gets into the gazette. Have you found it? Why, it's under your hand there. They would not cry their eyes out for me, so I can see the funny side of their adventures, bless them. Is this it, ma'am? There are but two books in the box. Is it an I and a V on the back? V-O-L-I-V, spelled out Old Mildred, who was listening in a fever for the sounds of Charles Fairfield's Arrival. That's it, that's the book you should read. I take it in and I hire all the others, and a French one from the Hoxton Library. I make molly-jinks the little dirty starving maid read to me two hours a day. He's got rather to like it. How are your eyes? I can make out twelve or fourteen verses with a glasses, but not more at one bout. Well, get on your glasses. This is the magazine of the Beaumonde, and court and fashionable gazette, and full of pictures. Turn over. La, ma'am, it is beautiful. But what have I to do with the like? Well, look out for the peuce, and I'll show you the picture afterwards. Do be quick. I have had it four years. It's quite good, though. Only I've grown a little fuller since, and it don't fit now, so read it, and you'll see how I'll dress you. And bending her head forward and knitting her brows, she listened, absorbed, while Old Mildred helped, or corrected, at every second word, by her blind patroness, babbled and stoned, with her enduet recitation. Walk in dress, said Mildred. Go on, said the lady, who, having this, like other descriptions, in that cherished work, pretty well by heart, led off energetically with her lean old companion, and together they read. A police of peuce-coloured grode naples, the corsage made to sit close to the shape of the dress, with a large round pellerine which wraps across in front. The sleeve is excessively large at the upper part of the arm. The fullness of the lower is more moderate. It is confined in three places by bands and terminated by a broad wristband. The pellerine and bands of the sleeves are cased with satin to correspond, and three satin rouleaux are arranged on tablet on the front of the skirt. The bonnet is of rice straw of the cottage shape, trimmed under the brim on the right side with a band and a nerd of gold-coloured ribbon. The crown being also ornamented with gold-coloured ribbon and a sprig of lilac placed perpendicularly. Half boots of black grode naples tipped with black kid. Here they drew breath and Mildred Tarnley was silent for a minute, thinking how much more like a lady her mother used to dress than she was able and what fine presence of old clothes old Mrs. Fairfield used to send her, now and then, from Wyvern. For a moment an air of dignity, a sense of feminine vanity showed itself in the face and mien of Mrs. Tarnley. That rice straw bonnet with the gold-coloured nerd of course I haven't got nor the grossed naples boots. They're gone, of course, long ago. But it reads best altogether and I haven't the heart to stop you, nor you to stop reading till we got to the end and look at the pictures. You'll easily find it and I'll write and have the police sent here by the day coach. It will be here on Sunday. I like it. It's a bit too fine for me, I'm afraid, said Mildred, smiling in spite of herself with a grim elation. My poor mother used to dress herself grand enough in her day and keep me handsome also when I was a young thing. But since the ladies come no more to Carwell, the Grange has been a dull place and gives a body enough to do to live and little thought of fine dresses if twizzier. Not but would be more for the credit of the family, if old Mildred Tarnley that's known down here for the housekeeper at the Grange of Carwell wasn't turned out quite support and dowdy and seeing them taking the wall of me, which their mothers used to courtesy to Martin at church and market and come up here to the Grange as unwell as you please when money was stirring at Carwell and I, young as I was, brought more on, a deal more than the best of them. I drink your health, Mildred, as you won't pledge me, I do it alone. I thank you, ma'am. Ah, yes, that does me good, I'm tired to death, Mildred. There's two on us so, ma'am, shall I get you to bed, please? In a minute, give me your hand again, girl, come, come, come, yes, I have it. I think you are more friendly, eh? I think so, but the little good I ever show you now is nothing to what I mean for you when I come to Wyvern, nothing. And she strengthened the present assurance with an oath and grasped Mildred's hard, brown hand, very tight. And you'll be kind to me, Mildred, when I want it, and I shall want it, mind, and I'll never forget it to you. It will be the making of you. I'll show you how much I trust you, for I'll put myself in your power. And hereupon she shook her hand harder, her face and manner were changed, and she looked horribly frightened for some minutes. I don't blame you, Mildred, but this thing must not go on. It must not be. Mildred in her own way looked disconcerted and even agitated at this odd speech. She screwed her mouth sharply to one side, and with her brown knit had turned a frightened gaze on her visitor. There's things that can't be undone and things as can, said she, after a pause, irraculately. Best not meddle or make worms, that is, and dust that will be and God over it. God over all, why not repeated the old soldier vaguely and stood up suddenly with a kind of terrified shudder. Take me, hold me, quick! A fit? La blesses, cried Tarnley, seizing her in her lean arms. The lady answered, nothing, but grasped her fast by the wrist and shoulder, and so she stood for a time shuddering and swaying. Better at last, she said, a little, put me in the chair. And she made a great shuddering sigh or two, and called for water and heartshorn and the hysteria subsided. And now she seemed overpowered with langa unanswered faintly and in monosyllables to old Mrs. Tarnley's uncomfortable inquiry. Now I shall get some sleep, she said at last, in low drowsy tones, interrupted with heavy sighs. And she looked so ill that old Mildred more than ever wished her back again at Hoxton Oldtown. Help me to my bed, support me, get off my things, she moaned and mumbled, and at last lay down with a great, groaning sigh. What am I to do with her now? thought Mrs. Tarnley, who was doubtful whether in this state she could be safely left to herself. But the patient set her at ease upon the point. Get your ear down, she whispered, near, near, you need not stay any longer, only one thing, the closet with the long-roof pegs and the three presses in it that lies between her room and mine. I remember it well, it isn't open, I shouldn't like her to find me here. No, ma'am, it ain't open, the doors were papered over, this room and hers, as I told you, when the rooms was done up. The old soldier sighed and whispered, my head is very bad, make noise dear, don't move the tray, don't touch anything, leave me to myself and I'll sleep till eleven o'clock tomorrow morning but go out softly and there no noise for my sleep groaned, this huge woman is a bird's sleep, a bird's sleep and a pin dropping wakes me, a mouse stirring wakes me, oh oh oh, that's all. Glad to be dismissed on these easy terms, Mildred Tarnley bid her softly good night, having left her basket with her cell volatile and all other comforts on the table at her bedside, and so softly she stole on tiptoe out of the room and closed her door, waiting for a moment to clear her head and be quite sure that the Dutch woman whom they very much hated and feared was actually established in her bedroom at Carwell Grange. End of chapter 30 Chapter 31 of The Wyvern Mystery This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by John Brandon The Wyvern Mystery by Joseph Sheridan Lafano Chapter 31 News from Cressley Common A pretty medley was revolving in old Mildred's brain as she stood outside this door on the gallery. The epileptic old soldier, the peuce Grossteen Naples Tom, on outpost duty on Cressley Common, had he come back? Charles Fairfield perhaps in the house and that foolish, poor young wife in her room in the center and herself the object of all this maneuvering and conspiring. Quite unconscious Mildred had a good many wires to her fingers just now cause she possibly worked them all and keep the show going. She was listening now wondering whether Master Charles had arrived wondering whether the young lady was asleep and wondering most of all why she had been fool enough to meddle in other people's affairs. What the Dickens was it to her if they was all in kingdom come? If Mildred was a roaston they wouldn't, not one of them walk across the yard there to take her off the spit. La blessa not a foot. Mildred was troubled about many things among others what was the meaning of those irracular appeals of the Dutch woman in which she had seemed to be something of the real state of things. Down went Mildred Tarnley softly still for she would not risk waking Alice and at the foot of the second staircase she paused again all was quiet she peeped into Tom's little room onto the staircase it was still empty into the kitchen she went nothing had been stirred there from habit she trotted about and settled and unsettled some of the scanty iron mongery and earthenware and peeped with her candle aloft into this corner and that and she removed the smoothing iron that stood on the window stool holding the shutter's clothes and peeped into the paved yard tufted with grass high over which the solemn trees were drooping then candle in hand the fidgety old woman visited the back door the latch was in its place and she turned about and visited the panel's sitting room the smell of flowers was there and on the little spider table was Alice's work box and some little muslin clippings and bits of thread and tape the relics of that evening solitary work over the little toilet on which her pretty fingers and sad eyes were now always employed well there was no sign of Master Charles so with a little more pottering and sniffing out she went and again to the back door which softly she opened and she toddled across the uneven pavement to the back door and looked out and walked forth upon the narrow road that darkened with thick trees overhangs the edge of the ravine here she listened and listened in vain there was nothing but the soft rush of the leaves overhead sitting of the night air and across the glen at intervals came the gas-list of sounds between a long-drawn hiss and shiver from a lonely owl interrupted at intervals by this freezing sound the old woman listened and muttered now and again a testy word or two what was to be done if by mishance or blunder of Tom's the Master should thunder his summons at the hall door down of course would fly his young wife to let him in and be clasped in his arms while from the low window of the Dutch woman that evil tenant might overhear every word that passed and almost touch their heads with her downstretched hand a pretty scene it would lead to and agreeable consequences to Mildred herself the woman's insane she's an evil spirit many a time she would have brained me in a start of anger if I hadn't been sharp the mark of the cut-glass decanter flung at my head is in the door case at the foot of the stairs this minute like the scar of a billhook the mad beast I thank God she's blind though there's an end to them pranks anyhow but she's a limo the evil one and where there's a will there's a way and blind though she be I would not trust her she walked two or three steps slowly toward Cressley Common from which direction she expected the approach of Charles Fairfield no wonder Mildred was fidgeted there was so many disasters on the cards if she could but see Charles Fairfield something at least might be guarded against this wiry old woman was by no means hard of hearing rather sharp on the contrary was her ear but she listened long in vain beautiful as something might go wrong with indoors starring her absence she was turning to go back when she thought she heard the distant clink of a horseshoe on the road for all heart throbbed suddenly and frowning as she listened with eyes directed towards the point of approach softly she said hush as if to quiet the faint rustle of the trees stooping forward she listened with her lean arm extended every wrinkled knuckle of her brown hand and every black rimmed nail distinct in the moonlight yes it was the clink of trotting horseshoes she prayed heaven the blind woman might not hear it there was a time when her more energetic than her chrysanthropy would possibly have enjoyed a fracas such as was now to be apprehended but years teach us the value of quiet the providential instincts of growing helplessness disarm our pugnacity and all but quite reprobate spirits grow gentler and kinder as the hour of parting with earth approaches thus had old Mildred taken her part in this game and as her stake became deeper and more dangerous her zeal burned intensely nearer and sharper came the clink and old Mildred and her anxiety walked on sometimes five steps sometimes twenty to meet the rider it was Tom who appeared mounted on the mule I think he took Mildred for a ghost where he pulled up violently more than twenty yards away and said lord that it's me Tom Mrs. Tarnley and is he coming I hardly know you Mrs. Tarnley no I met him near the stone not a common urged Mildred no thank god well and what did you tell him I told him your message he first asked all about the young lady and I told him how she was and then I told him your message I word for word and he drew bridal and stood a while thinking and he wished to know whether the mistress had spoke with her Mr. Harry's friend I mean and I said I didn't know and he asked was the house quiet and no high words going nor the newcomer giving any trouble and I said no so far as I know then says he I think Tom asked let master Harry settle it his own way so I'll ride back again to Darwin and you can come over to the old place for the horse tomorrow and tell Mildred I thank her for her care of us and she shall hear from me in a day or two and tell no one else mind as you have seen me well I asked was there anything more and he paused a bit and says he no not at present and then again says he tell Mildred Tarnley I'll write to her and let her know where I am and mind Tom you go yourself to the post office and be sure the letters go only to the persons they are directed to your mistresses to her and Mildred's to her and don't you talk with that person that I hear has come to the Grange and if by any chance she should get into talk with you you must be wide awake and tell her nothing and get away from her as quick as you can it's easy to escape her for she's blind so she is affirm Mildred as that wall go on then says he good night Tom get she home again so I wished him Godspeed and I wrote away and when I was on a bit I threw a look back again over my shoulder and I saw him still in the same spot no more stirring than the stone at the roadside thinking I do suppose and that's all Mildred that's all bring in the beast very quiet Tom unless you leave him in the fields for the night and don't be clapping at doors or jingling a bridle bits that one has an ear like a hair and she'll be asking questions and when you've done in the stable come you in this way and I'll let you in softly and don't you be talking within doors above a whisper your voice is rough and her ear is as sharp as a needle's point Tom gave her a little nod and a great wink and got off the mule and let him on the grass toward the stable yard and old Mildred at the same time got in softly the other entrance and in the kitchen awaited the return of Tom she sat by the fire troubled in mind with her eyes turned to scants on the windows what a small thing is a human body and what a gigantic moral sphere surrounds that little center that blind woman lay still as death on a six foot long bedstead in a remote chamber but the direful market of that sphere which radiated dense enveloped all Mildred Tarnley go where she would and outspread even the barn of the night which Charles Fairfield was to travel that night for Mildred Tarnley something of molestation and horror was in it which forbid her to rest Tom came into the yard and Mildred was at the door and opened it before he could place her on the latch put off them big shoes and not a word above your breath and not a stir but yet she in again to your bed is still as a mouse said mrs. Tarnley in a hard whisper giving him a shake of the shoulder you'll give me a mug of beer mrs. Tarnley and a lump of bread and a cut of cheese wouldn't hurt me I'm a bit hungry if you won't I must even take a smoke or I can't sleep as I am well I'll give you a drink and a bit of bread and cheese did you lock the yard door no said Tom well no never you mind I'll do it said Mildred stopping him and go you straight to your room and here's the lantern for you and now get you in and not a sound mind you give me your pipe here but you shan't be stinking the house he's tobacco so Tom was got quick to his bed and Mildred sat down again by the kitchen fire to rest for a little feeling too tired to undress well I do thank God of his mercy he's not a common I do who can tell what would be if he was and now if only master Harry was sure to keep away all might go right yes all all might go right oh oh oh I wish it was and my old headed rest for I worked worse than a horse and wore off my feet altogether and all this time she was looking through the kitchen window with dismal eyes from her clumsy oak chair by the fire with her feet on the fender and her lean shanks as close to the bars as was safe shaking her head from time to time as she looked out on the back outlines of the trees which stood high and gloomy above the wall at the other side against the liquid moonlit sky end of chapter 31 recording by John Brandon