Remarking that his time was up, for a patient waited for him, and that he must leave us to settle the question, Featherston took his departure.
But it appeared to be settled already.
"Johnny can go," spoke up the Squire. "The loss of a fortnight"s lessons is not much, compared with doing a little service to a friend. Charming spots are those inland watering-places, and Pumpwater is about the best of them all."
"We must take lodgings," said Lady Whitney presently, when they had done expatiating upon the gauds and glories of Pumpwater. "To stay at an hotel would be so noisy; and expensive besides."
"I know of some," cried Mrs. Todhetley, in sudden thought. "If you could get into Miss Gay"s rooms, you would be well off. Do you remember them?"--turning to the Squire. "We stayed at her house on our way from----"
"Why, bless me, to be sure I do," he interrupted. "Somebody had given us Miss Gay"s address, and we drove straight to it to see if she had rooms at liberty; she had, and took us in at once. We were so comfortable there that we stayed at Pumpwater three days instead of two."
It was hastily decided that Mrs. Todhetley should write to Miss Gay, and she went indoors to do so. All being well, Lady Whitney meant to start on Sat.u.r.day.
Miss Gay"s answer came punctually, reaching Whitney Hall on Friday morning. It was addressed to Mrs. Todhetley, but Lady Whitney, as had been arranged, opened it. Miss Gay wrote that she should be much pleased to receive Lady Whitney. Her house, as it chanced, was then quite empty; a family, who had been with her six weeks, had just left: so Lady Whitney might take her choice of the rooms, which she would keep vacant until Sat.u.r.day. In conclusion, she begged Mrs. Todhetley to notice that her address was changed. The old house was too small to accommodate the many kind friends who patronized her, and she had moved into a larger house, superior to the other and in the best position.
Thus all things seemed to move smoothly for our expedition; and we departed by train on the Sat.u.r.day morning for Pumpwater.
It was a handsome house, standing in the high-road, between the parade and the princ.i.p.al street, and rather different from the houses on each side of it, inasmuch as that it was detached and had a narrow slip of gravelled ground in front. In fact, it looked too large and handsome for a lodging-house; and Lady Whitney, regarding it from the fly which had brought us from the station, wondered whether the driver had made a mistake. It was built of red-brick, with white stone facings; the door, set in a pillared portico, stood in the middle, and three rooms, each with a bay-window, lay one above another on both sides.
But in a moment we saw it was all right. A slight, fair woman, in a slate silk gown, came out and announced herself as Miss Gay. She had a mild, pleasant voice, and a mild, pleasant face, with light falling curls, the fashion then for every one, and she wore a lace cap, trimmed with pink. I took to her and to her face at once.
"I am glad to be here," said Lady Whitney, cordially, in answer to Miss Gay"s welcome. "Is there any one who can help with the luggage? We have not brought either man or maid-servant."
"Oh dear, yes, my lady. Please let me show you indoors, and then leave all to me. Susannah! Oh, here you are, Susannah! Where"s Charity?--my cousin and chief help-mate, my lady."
A tall, dark person, about Miss Gay"s own age, which might be forty, wearing brown ribbon in her hair and a purple bow at her throat, dropped a curtsy to Lady Whitney. This was Susannah. She looked strong-minded and capable. Charity, who came running up the kitchen-stairs, was a smiling young woman-servant, with a coa.r.s.e ap.r.o.n tied round her, and red arms bared to the elbow.
There were four sitting-rooms on the ground-floor: two in front, with their large bay-windows; two at the back, looking out upon some bright, semi-public gardens.
"A delightful house!" exclaimed Lady Whitney to Miss Gay, after she had looked about a little. "I will take one of these front-rooms for our sitting-room," she added, entering, haphazard, the one on the right of the entrance-hall, and putting down her bag and parasol. "This one, I think, Miss Gay."
"Very good, my lady. And will you now be pleased to walk upstairs and fix upon the bedrooms."
Lady Whitney seemed to fancy the front of the house. "This room shall be my son"s; and I should like to have the opposite one for myself," she said, rather hesitatingly, knowing they must be the two best chambers of all. "Can I?"
Miss Gay seemed quite willing. We were in the room over our sitting-room on the right of the house looking to the front. The objection, if it could be called one, came from Susannah.
"You can have the other room, certainly, my lady; but I think the young gentleman would find this one noisy, with all the carriages and carts that pa.s.s by, night and morning. The back-rooms are much more quiet."
"But I like noise," put in John; "it seems like company to me. If I could do as I would, I"d never sleep in the country."
"One of the back-rooms is very lively, sir; it has a view of the turning to the Pump Room," persisted Susannah, a sort of suppressed eagerness in her tone; and it struck me that she did not want John to have this front-chamber. "I think you would like it best."
"No," said John, turning round from the window, out of which he had been looking, "I will have this. I shall like to watch the shops down that turning opposite, and the people who go into them."
No more was said. John took this chamber, which was over our sitting-room, Lady Whitney had the other front-chamber, and I had a very good one at the back of John"s. And thus we settled down.
Pumpwater is a nice place, as you would know if I gave its proper name, bright and gay, and our house was in the best of situations. The princ.i.p.al street, with its handsome shops, lay to our right; the Parade, leading to the Spa and Pump Room, to our left, and company and carriages were continually pa.s.sing by. We visited some of the shops and took a look at the Pump Room.
In the evening, when tea was over, Miss Gay came in to speak of the breakfast. Lady Whitney asked her to sit down for a little chat. She wanted to ask about the churches.
"What a very nice house this is!" again observed Lady Whitney presently: for the more she saw of it, the better she found it. "You must pay a high rent for it, Miss Gay."
"Not so high as your ladyship might think," was the answer; "not high at all for what it is. I paid sixty pounds for the little house I used to be in, and I pay only seventy for this."
"Only seventy!" echoed Lady Whitney, in surprise. "How is it you get it so cheaply?"
A waggonette, full of people, was pa.s.sing just then; Miss Gay seemed to want to watch it by before she answered. We were sitting in the dusk with the blinds up.
"For one thing, it had been standing empty for some time, and I suppose Mr. Bone, the agent, was glad to have my offer," replied Miss Gay, who seemed to be as fond of talking as any one else is, once set on. "It had belonged to a good old family, my lady, but they got embarra.s.sed and put it up for sale some six or seven years ago. A Mr. Calson bought it. He had come to Pumpwater about that time from foreign lands; and he and his wife settled down in the house. A puny, weakly little woman she was, who seemed to get weaklier instead of stronger, and in a year or two she died. After her death her husband grew ill; he went away for change of air, and died in London; and the house was left to a little nephew living over in Australia."
"And has the house been vacant ever since?" asked John.
"No, sir. At first it was let furnished, then unfurnished. But it had been vacant some little time when I applied to Mr. Bone. I concluded he thought it better to let it at a low rent than for it to stand empty."
"It must cost you incessant care and trouble, Miss Gay, to conduct a house like this--when you are full," remarked Lady Whitney.
"It does," she answered. "One"s work seems never done--and I cannot, at that, give satisfaction to all. Ah, my lady, what a difference there is in people!--you would never think it. Some are so kind and considerate to me, so anxious not to give trouble unduly, and so satisfied with all I do that it is a pleasure to serve them: while others make gratuitous work and trouble from morning till night, and treat me as if I were just a dog under their feet. Of course when we are full I have another servant in, two sometimes."
"Even that must leave a great deal for yourself to do and see to."
"The back is always fitted to the burden," sighed Miss Gay. "My father was a farmer in this county, as his ancestors had been before him, farming his three hundred acres of land, and looked upon as a man of substance. My mother made the b.u.t.ter, saw to the poultry, and superintended her household generally: and we children helped her.
Farmers" daughters then did not spend their days in playing the piano and doing fancy work, or expect to be waited upon like ladies born."
"They do now, though," said Lady Whitney.
"So I was ready to turn my hand to anything when hard times came--not that I had thought I should have to do it," continued Miss Gay. "But my father"s means dwindled down. Prosperity gave way to adversity. Crops failed; the stock died off; two of my brothers fell into trouble and it cost a mint of money to extricate them. Altogether, when father died, but little of his savings remained to us. Mother took a house in the town here, to let lodgings, and I came with her. She is dead, my lady, and I am left."
The silent tears were running down poor Miss Gay"s cheeks.
"It is a life of struggle, I am sure," spoke Lady Whitney, gently. "And not deserved, Miss Gay."
"But there"s another life to come," spoke John, in a half-whisper, turning to Miss Gay from the large bay-window. "None of us will be overworked _there_."
Miss Gay stealthily wiped her cheeks. "I do not repine," she said, humbly. "I have been enabled to rub on and keep my head above water, and to provide little comforts for mother in her need; and I gratefully thank G.o.d for it."
The bells of the churches, ringing out at eight o"clock, called us up in the morning. Lady Whitney was downstairs, first. I next. Susannah, who waited upon us, had brought up the breakfast. John followed me in.
"I hope you have slept well, my boy," said Lady Whitney, kissing him. "I have."
"So have I," I put in.
"Then you and the mother make up for me, Johnny," he said; "for I have not slept at all."
"Oh, John!" exclaimed his mother.