Chapter III

"MEN MAY COME AND MEN MAY GO," BUT I STAY ON FOR EVER.

WHEN Lady Longridge found that her daughter-in-law had promptly accepted the position, and that Millward went straight to her own domain instead of returning to her for the orders which she had felt quite certain she would have to give as usual, she was extremely angry. What added fuel to the fire was that she had brought about this state of things by her own act. But she never dreamed that her words would be taken in earnest. She only suggested that Florence should give the orders, as a means of humiliating the young wife, who could have had no experience of housekeeping in a place like Northbrook Hall.

She appealed to Sir Philip, who merely reminded her that Millward had gone to his with by her express wish.

"It was your doing, not mine," he said.

"I was not in earnest," she replied. "Was it likely that I should expect that mere girl to take command here at a moment's notice?"

"Then it was a pity you said it, mother. I took it for granted that since you made the suggestion it must be the right thing to do, though I am sure Florence would have been in no hurry to assert herself. The change must have come, of course, and perhaps it is as well that it should be effected without any needless fuss, especially as you were the first to propose it."

Yes, those incautious words, spoken ironically, but taken in earnest, had done mischief which could never be repaired. She was deposed without even a struggle, and yet had she not always resolved that should Philip marry, she would show a brave fight before yielding the chief place at Northbrook to a daughter-in-law?

It would take too long to tell how the two ladies were brought together, outwardly as friends, but really as far asunder as the poles. The young wife was the nominal head and mistress, but old Lady Longridge remained at the Hall, in spite of all efforts to dislodge her.

She talked of going, but objected to more than one removal, and said that she would reside at her own house when the present tenant's lease was out; it would be only a matter of six months. Surely Philip and Florence would not grudge her a shelter for so long. It would be trial enough to leave a place which had been her home for five-and-forty years, but a little delay would soften it to her. So this was agreed to.

Lady Longridge knew how to utilise the advantage, and laughed triumphantly to herself, as she set to work to regain lost ground.

"I made one mistake," she thought. "I will not repeat it. Philip's wife has not got rid of the mother-in-law. I know him yet better than she does. Phil is infatuated with her at present, but one gets accustomed to the fairest face, and after a while the old roving temperament will reassert itself. He has never stayed long in a place since he became his own master, and he never will."

The astute old woman judged rightly. The restless fit came on again before the end of three months. The young wife would not be left behind; the time for the mother's removal had not arrived, so the pair departed on their travels and left Lady Longridge, senior, at the Hall, but with the understanding that she would vacate it as arranged.

"When we return we shall have our house to ourselves," said Sir Philip to his wife. He felt that whilst she and his mother preserved an appearance of friendliness, and the elder lady carefully abstained from interfering in household matters, there was no real goodwill between them.

"I doubt it, Philip. Your mother will not move from Northbrook if she can help it."

"But she agreed to go at the six months' end, and considered it a favour to be allowed to stay so long."

"You will see when the time is up. I only hope you may be right."

It was a month past the six when the pair came back, and they found Lady Longridge, senior, still at the Hall. "Too ill to be moved," she said.

At any rate she had kept her room for several weeks, and still professed her inability to leave it.

"Have the Wilmotts left Graylands?" asked her son.

"No, Philip. They are staying on as yearly tenants. I shall not have a house to myself when I leave here. My health is quite broken. The thought of turning my back on Northbrook has been quite too much for me, and I shall not again trouble myself with housekeeping cares. Rooms will suffice for me and Thorley, and be much better suited to my income. I can move about, ringing the changes on Brighton, St. Leonards, or Scarborough in summer, and Torquay or Bournemouth in winter. It will matter little to me; only I shall see fresh faces, and be the same lonely old woman everywhere, away from Northbrook. You will take me in for a week or two now and then, if Florence is agreeable? Or I can stay at one of the farms."

Sir Philip said something about his mother finding it pleasant to visit her daughters also.

"Never," she replied. "They went their way, and I shall go mine. How much have I seen of them in more than twenty years? I have only my son." And Lady Longridge wiped her eyes, but the light was dim, and tears were strange to them, so perhaps there was no real moisture there. At any rate, Sir Philip could discern none.

Many a date was fixed for the old lady's departure, but something always prevented it.

Sixteen years had come and gone between the homecoming of Sir Philip Longridge with his bride and the fair spring morning when Thorley was sent to silence the too-tuneful Margaretta. But during the whole time Lady Longridge had not spent a night under any roof but that of Northbrook Hall. And now she reigned supreme there, for her son was dead, his widow married a second time, and Margaretta lived with her grandmother. There was no grandson, so the baronet of to-day was a far-away cousin, who had a finer place elsewhere, and Lady Longridge occupied her old home, for which she paid a rent which was little more than nominal, but which she made a cause for infinite grumbling.

Of personal property Sir Philip had not much to leave. The two hundred a year belonging to his wife was not doubled by what he could bequeath, but what there was became hers absolutely. He never believed she would marry again, but in case of her so doing, he willed that his mother was to have the guardianship of Margaretta, and he trusted to her to make a suitable provision for his child, knowing that she was well able to do so.

Margaretta was twelve years old when her father died, and Northbrook was no longer even a temporary refuge for the widow and her child.

Sir Philip had never cared to stay long at the Hall, and where he went his wife accompanied him, but the child was usually there under suitable guardianship, her nurse first, then a capable governess being answerable to her parents for their charge's well-doing.

Old Lady Longridge and her daughter-in-law had not become better friends, and the former was altogether more impracticable at seventy-eight than she had been at sixty-five. One roof could not shelter the two, and the young widow was as eager to leave Northbrook as the older was to get rid of her.

Florence Longridge was a proud woman, and it was a trial for her to give up the surroundings she had been used to as Sir Philip's wife, and to live on a narrow income, with a daughter to educate in a manner befitting her birth. She would have died sooner than ask help from her mother-in-law, even had she expected to receive it for the asking. At thirty-four she was almost more beautiful than in her girlish days, and no less attractive for her intellectual gifts.

After two years' widowhood she accidentally met an old friend of her husband, one for whom Sir Philip ever expressed the greatest esteem. He was a man of forty, with wealth, position, and an honoured name. When he asked her to be his wife she hesitated, only on her child's account.

"If I marry, I must part with Margaretta," she said. "I am her guardian only whilst I am a widow."

"Only for a few years, and though she may go to her grandmother, I will help you still to guard and care for her until she is of age, though, considering all things, she may return to you before then."

The marriage took place; Lady Longridge claimed her ward, and having got possession of Margaretta, succeeded in keeping her out of her mother's presence, except for a short time at the end of every six months, when she was obliged to permit a meeting by the terms of her son's will. Probably if Sir Philip could have foreseen events, he would have rather rejoiced to leave his child in such worthy hands as those of his friend Hugh Norland, in his position of stepfather to Margaretta. But the thought of his wife's second marriage was one he could not endure, so he had ordered matters otherwise, and the girl was with her grim old kinswoman.

"Thorley," said Lady Longridge, after Margaretta's arrival, "we have caged our bird once more, and we shall keep her safely, never fear. The thought of having the charge of her for—let me see—six years to come, will help to keep me alive. I dare say her mother will count my years and say, 'She will not last till Margaretta is of age.' But plenty of people live to eighty-seven, and why not I. I come of a long-lived race; at least the females live long. I am only angry at one thing. Mrs. Hugh Norland has far too much money now. I hate to think of her being rich—far richer than she ever was as Philip's wife. And she will not give a penny towards Margaretta's maintenance, shame on her!"

It was true that Mrs. Norland declined to relieve Lady Longridge's purse, unless she were permitted to have a say in her daughter's education and in spending the money. This granted, she would have given any reasonable amount. But much as the old lady loved to save, she liked still better to punish the daughter-in-law who had once made her fill a secondary position, and she availed herself to the utmost of her powers as the legally appointed guardian of Margaretta.

The girl had a sorry time at Northbrook. She had no companions of her own age, and indeed, visitors of any age were few and far between at the Hall. The rector, a new one in Dr. Darley's place, came, as in duty bound, and always felt, as the door closed behind him, that the most disagreeable of his pastoral calls was over for the time being.

Now and then a carriage would pass along the neglected drive, and ladies would alight from it and spend a short time with Lady Longridge, who, however, never returned such visits.

"I am too old for gadding about, so each call you are good enough to pay will only add to my debts," she would say. "However, it is some comfort to know that nobody cares to see an old lady like me. It is not likely. I hear nothing, so I have nothing to tell, and I miss one-half of what people say through not hearing. Then I repeat the tale wrongly to the next comer, and get into trouble; so you see it would have been better not to hear or speak."

An inquiry after Margaretta usually made the old lady eloquent.

"My granddaughter! I never know where she is, except at meal-times, for she is here, there, and everywhere between-whiles. I hear her often enough—too often, for she is always making a noise which she calls singing. It is a dreadful trial for an old woman like me to be burdened with the charge of a girl. But Philip would not leave her to the tender mercies of a stepfather, and that devoted wife of his would not keep single for the sake of her 'darling child.' Oh no."

It was always the same. No kind word fur any one, no messenger sent to bring the lonely girl into the presence of a visitor who might have been inclined to make her life a little brighter.

Yet Margaretta was not wholly friendless. She had, after a time, three persons on whose affection she could rely, and all within her reach at Northbrook.

First of these was Thorley, who had known her from her birth, and who, in spite of all her mistress could do to the contrary, had never missed an opportunity of showing her devoted love for the girl. When Margaretta was a baby, Thorley used to steal away to the nursery and satisfy the hunger of a loving woman's heart by spending her few spare moments with the child. She was full of devices for her amusement, having been herself "the eldest of nine and used to nursing," and was in consequence the little one's first favourite.

So when Margaretta came back to Northbrook after the interval between her father's death and her mother's second marriage, Thorley's was the only familiar face she saw there beside her grandmother's.

Lady Longridge's first act on finding herself sole mistress of the Hall had been to make "a clean sweep" of all the servants, Thorley excepted.

"Not one who ever received orders from Florence shall stay in my service," she said, and carried out her resolution.

This change rendered it easy for her to reduce her establishment. "Half the servants ought to be enough to wait on one old woman," she said next, and then she decided to spare her purse further by giving less wages for less trained domestics. No wonder that, inside and out, the appearance of Northbrook had changed for the worse since its old mistress resumed her absolute rule there.

"Things will last my time. Let those who follow renew. There are gewgaws enough that Florence put in and that are not worth house-room, only that as my landlord took them at a valuation, and I have nothing to fill their places if they were removed, they may as well stay where they are."

The gewgaws were all the dainty screens, needlework, elegant lamp-shades and artistic trifles with which Sir. Philip's wife had beautified the barrenness of the rooms. All the more substantial articles were old-fashioned, the last possessor having had no spare money to spend on refurnishing the Hall.

Margaretta's second and only young friend was a little village seamstress named Ellen Corry, by whose deft fingers the garments of the growing girl were remodelled let out and lengthened, as occasion required.

It was fortunate for Margaretta that she brought with her a good stock of clothes, and that the materials were admirably chosen both as to colours and quality—soft, beautiful, girlish, and not likely to become conspicuous, owing to the changes of fashion. Each garment had been carefully planned so as to permit of enlargement, and a length of new material was folded with it for future renovation.

Lady Longridge grunted indignantly as she caused Thorley to pass Margaretta's wardrobe in review before her. It was in one sense satisfactory to find that no expenditure of money would be needed for a long time.

"I should have bought nothing new in any case," snapped out the old lady. "There are coloured gowns enough of mine laid away that would have done for the girl, and they will come in when these are worn out. Take all this frippery away," and she waved off Thorley and the garments with an impatient gesture.

The maid retired, murmuring a thanksgiving that her darling Miss Margaretta would be preserved from the ancient horrors laid up by her mistress, professedly for future wear, but never likely to be needed.

"A lady's maid," muttered Thorley, "is supposed to get good pickings out of her mistress's clothes, but I never had any that were worth selling, much less wearing. However, it is some comfort to think that, while she goes on hoarding her rubbish, I never feel to covet any of and one may be thankful not to be tempted. As to Miss Margaretta, Nelly Corry will keep her right for a couple of years, let her grow as fast as she likes."

Nelly Corry's aid was soon needed, and in her joy at the sight of a young face, Margaretta, albeit an unskilful seamstress, determined to help her in her work.

"I can unpick the seams, if I cannot put them together," she said, and this she did with her grandmother's approval, qualified, however, by the remark that it would be a change to see her occupied in anything but mischief. Nelly was a good, pure-minded little creature, the staff of her widowed mother, and the child of careful training and many prayers. No fear that from her Margaretta would receive harm, or that the dingy nursery, now used as a workroom, would be the scene of gossip or idle tattle. The baronet's child and the seamstress a few years older were just a couple of innocent-minded girls, very happy only to be together, because they were young, and each had no friend of like age under the roof she called home.

Nelly's home was a real one, and the girl was eloquent always about her mother's goodness and the wealth of loving care she bestowed on the only child left her there. The rest were married and gone out into the world. Only the one ewe lamb was left.

How different with Margaretta! She could only say that she wished she could ever please her grandmother, who did not, and she thought never would, love her. That she longed for the mother from whom she was parted, and was sure that if only she could be with her and Mr. Norland, he would love her too. For she had known him when she was a little thing, and he was—oh, so nice always!

"I want the days to go twice as fast, and they pass so slowly here. I used to think lessons a nuisance, and wish I had only half as many. Now I should be glad to be properly taught again. My old governess would not live with grandmother if she might, and grandmother would not have her or pay her. She thinks anything spent on me is thrown away, and says I know more than I ought already. She hates music. Mamma's piano is gone, and the old one here is horrible, no two notes in tune. It must be a hundred years old, I should think. And grandmother is glad it is so bad, for she says if it were a good instrument, I should be at it always, as mamma used to be at hers, and there would be no peace. It is just the same if I sing. I went out of doors to-day, and thought she could not hear me, but she did, and sent Thorley to say I was to stop that screaming, for it was worse than a railway-whistle."

"Did Miss Thorley say that?" asked Nelly, who had a profound veneration for Lady Longridge's maid, and thought it impossible for her to say a harsh word.

"No. She came to me with such a heartbroken look, for she loves to hear me sing, and says my voice is the only pleasant thing she hears. I had just put myself in a comfortable place, leaning against a tree, and she stole up to me looking miserable when I was in the midst of a fresh song. 'Don't tell me the message,' I said, 'I will tell you. Grandmother has sent you to bid me stop screeching. I am right, am I not?'"

"'Yes, my darling. That is just what my lady did say. It seems as if you cannot get out of hearing, so as to sing in peace, and yet she is always complaining of being deaf, and turning what people say into nonsense. She hears well enough. She only pretends to misunderstand them, so that she may catch things that were never meant for her ears at all.'"

"Then I wished I were a bird, and that I could fly out of hearing. I sometimes think I shall run away, Nelly, for life here is so dreadful. And to have to live it for six long years, or five and a half, for I have been here a few months already! Thorley was quite shocked, and said, 'Oh, dear Miss Margaretta, you make me tremble, and I am just as nervous as I can be to begin with, through your grandma scolding.'"

"'If you don't call me "Meg," I will start off this minute,' I said. 'I can run so fast that I should be out of reach before you could begin to follow.'"

"Then Thorley gasped out, 'Oh, Meg, do not,' and I laughed until I forgot my grandmother's cross message. You see I make Thorley call me 'Meg,' because it was my poor father's pet name for me, and mamma got into the way of using it too. No one but those who loved me ever used it, so I ask Thorley to say it, because I want to feel loved yet, and she does care for me."

"She does indeed. And, dear Miss Longridge, so do I. There isn't a thing you could ask me to do that I would not do for you."

"Then call me 'Meg' this minute, you dear little nice thing," said Margaretta, and then she flung her arm round the little seamstress's neck and kissed her with such energy that Nelly was half frightened at the suddenness of the embrace.

"Kiss me back again. Kiss me, Nelly," cried Margaretta. "Don't you see I am hungering for love and kindness? Thorley is an old dear, but I want a young one. I will have you for a friend. I like you, and grandmother gives me no choice."

So on that day a compact was entered into, and Nelly returned Margaretta's somewhat tempestuous affection with an almost worshipping devotion, calling her "Meg" in a whisper, as Thorley did when no one was within hearing, and resolving that if ever she in her humble way could help the lonely young lady, she would do it with all her might.

One thing she succeeded in making Margaretta promise when, from time to time, she threatened to run away, and that was that she would go straight to Nelly's home, and no further, to begin with.

To this Margaretta agreed, and both Nelly and Thorley, whom she informed of the arrangement, were content.

It was through the little seamstress that Meg gained her third friend, and the one who was likely to be of the most service to her.