one gave warning, and left. The cook promised to find Hester a place in town, and write for her; while Jeames, who had always been particular in his attentions, offered to take her to London as his wife. He has since then gone into the public line, is the proprietor of the Leviathan Music Hall in Radcliffe Highway, drives his own carriage; and keeps, besides his very magnificent better-half and her establishment, some neat little stables at , “on the quiet.” The cook perhaps forgot her promise, or perhaps places were scarce, for she did not write; and so Hester, at last, was the only one of the London servants remaining.
It was dull, indeed! The stagnant pool and neglected garden were at any time but dreary objects for contemplation. The awkward, ill-educated country servants afforded but indifferent companionship for Hester, who had been brought up with no idea of going into service, or mixing with such society, and so grew to be very sad and silent and down-hearted.
Mrs. Gurdlestone’s sister (Miss Ethel) had permanently taken up her abode at the Pollards, and Mr. Silas still lingered to clear up certain matters of business referring to the late Mr. Ralph, although he had on several occasions fixed a day for his departure. As well as Hester could learn from scraps of conversation up-stairs, Miss Ethel disliked him very much, and wished her sister to give him a broad hint that his company was not needed. Whatever may have been Mrs. Gurdlestone’s wishes upon the subject, she was too considerate of the feelings of others, or too much wrapped up in her great grief, to be otherwise than passive, and things went on the same as usual.
One night, about a month after the master’s death, Hester Burgess sat alone by the fast-dying fire in the servants’ hall. It was her duty to wait until her mistress summoned her to attend her toilet on retiring to rest; and this night she was so much later than usual, that all the other servants had been in bed full half an hour. The great clock upon the stairs ticked loudly, and the wind moaned and rustled among the evergreens outside the window like the stealthy whispering of thieves: all else was still as the grave. And as Hester was sitting anxiously waiting, an overpowering sense of loneliness came over her; and with a shiver she rose and went softly up-stairs to her mistress’s room. Mrs. Gurdlestone and Miss Ethel were in the former’s bed-room, which was divided from the staircase by a long, dark antechamber. The door leading into Mrs. Gurdlestone’s room, and that upon the stairs, were both ajar, and Hester entering noiselessly at one would have knocked at the other, had she not perceived a dark figure, with its back towards her, standing between her and the light. She stopped involuntarily, held her breath, and listened.
Miss Ethel spoke: “But, Mary, how can you be so weak—so childish?”
“What would you have me do?” the other lady said complainingly. “I’m sure I do not keep him here. I wish he’d go, if he offends you. But then he has been so kind and so attentive; and he is my dear husband’s brother.”
“I tell you, Mary, I hate him! And mark my words, if he is not some day more nearly related to you than he is now.”
“Ethel!”
“He will, Mary, though I pray God I may not live to see it.”
There was a rustling sound, as though one of the ladies had risen. A figure passed Hester quickly in the dark; and before she had time to speak or move, the bed-room door opened wide, and Miss Ethel came out with a light.
“What are you doing here?” she inquired, sharply.
“I came to see if I was wanted,” the servant stammered: and with a searching look Miss Ethel swept out of the room.
Mrs. Gurdlestone had always been in delicate health, and, since her husband’s death, had almost entirely kept her own room, where Miss Ethel was in constant attendance upon her. Mr. Silas, however, frequently came in to consult her upon business matters or to chat away an hour. Now it was Miss Ethel’s turn to be ill; she was so unwell the day after that on which Hester had heard the reported conversation that she was obliged to keep her bed, and the doctor who attended Mrs. Gurdlestone was called in to see her. Mr. Silas said that it was disease of the heart.
She had been ill about three days, when the doctor calling in one evening, it came on to rain heavily, and he staid to dinner. Throughout the meal the rain poured down in torrents, and continued so long that Mr. Adams (that was the doctor’s name) consented, after much persuasion, to accept the shelter of the Pollards’ for the night, for he lived some miles off, and must cross a wild and open country before he reached his home. It was most fortunate that he did remain. During the evening Miss Ethel was much worse, and twice he went up-stairs to visit her. It was determined that the gentlemen should sit up all night, and that Hester should watch with the invalid and summon them if required.
Hester took her place in an arm-chair by the fire with a book, having a watch before her, so that she could tell the time at which the medicines should be administered. When the cook brought up her supper on a tray she told Hester that the gentlemen were smoking and drinking in the dining-room.
“I don’t think the doctor fancies there’s much danger,” cook said, “for he’s so merry like, and has been singing a song.”
“I hope,” whispered Hester, “he will not drink too much.”
“Lor bless you, child! Here, take your supper; and here’s a glass of wine Mr. Silas has sent you to give you strength. Do you mind sitting up alone?”
“Not much. Good night.”
“Goodnight.”
When Hester had finished her supper she mixed another dose for the sick lady, and resumed her book.
She must have been asleep for hours. The candle had burnt low in the socket; a streak of daylight was stealing in between the heavy win-