"We may never meet again, Captain Everard," she said hurriedly. "Tell me before we part that you forgive me the past."
"Truly, Ada, and for the first time. The service you have rendered me fully atones. You should have been my child"s mother--be a mother to her now. Good-bye, and G.o.d bless you and your boy!"
He stooped over, touched her cheek with his lips reverentially, and then was gone. Gone forever--never to meet those he left behind this side of eternity.
Little May bore the loss of papa and nurse with philosophical indifference--her new playmate sufficed for both. The children took to one another with the readiness of childhood--Rupert all the more readily that he had never before had a playmate of his own years. He was naturally a quiet child, caring more for his picture-books and his nurse"s stories than for tops, or b.a.l.l.s, or marbles. But little May Everard seemed from the first to inspire him with some of her own superabundant vitality and life. The child was never, for a single instant, quiet; she was the most restless, the most impetuous, the most vigorous little creature that can be conceived. Feet and tongue and hands never were still from morning till night; and the life of Sir Rupert"s nurse, hitherto one of idle ease, became all at once a misery to her. The little girl was everywhere--everywhere; especially where she had no business to be; and nurse never knew an easy moment for trotting after her, and rescuing her from all sorts of perils. She could climb like a cat, or a goat, and risked her neck about twenty times per diem; she sailed her shoes in the soup when let in as a treat to dinner, and washed her hands in her milk-and-water. She became the intimate friend of the pretty peac.o.c.ks and the big, good-tempered dogs, with whom, in utter fearlessness, she rolled about in the gra.s.s half the day. She broke young Rupert"s toys, and tore his picture-books and slapped his face, and pulled his hair, and made herself master of the situation before she had been twenty-four hours in the house. She was thoroughly and completely spoiled. What India nurses had left undone, injudicious petting and flattery on the homeward pa.s.sage had completed--and her temper was something appalling. Her shrieks of pa.s.sion at the slightest contradiction of her imperial will rang through the house, and rent the tortured tympanums of all who heard. The little Xantippe would fling herself flat on the carpet, and literally scream herself black in the face, until, in dread of apoplexy and sudden death, her frightened hearers hastened to yield. Of course, one such victory insured all the rest. As for Sir Rupert, before she had been a week at Thetford Towers, he dared not call his soul his own. She had partly scalped him on several occasions, and left the mark of her cat-like nails in his tender visage: but her venomous power of screeching for hours at will had more to do with the little baronet"s dread of her than anything else. He fled ingloriously in every battle--running in tears to mamma, and leaving the field and the trophies of victory triumphantly to Miss Everard. With all this, when not thwarted--when allowed to smash toys, and dirty her clothes, and smear her infantile face, and tear pictures, and torment inoffensive lapdogs; when allowed, in short, to follow "her own sweet will," little May was as charming a fairy as ever the sun shone on. Her gleeful laugh made music in the dreary old rooms, such as had never been heard there for many a day, and her mischievous antics were the delight of all who did not suffer thereby. The servants petted and indulged her, and fed her on unwholesome cakes and sweetmeats, and made her worse and worse every day of her life.
Lady Thetford saw all this with inward apprehension. If her ward was completely beyond her power of control at four, what would she be a dozen years hence?
"Her father was right," thought the lady. "I am afraid she _will_ give me a great deal of trouble. I never saw so headstrong, so utterly unmanageable a child."
But Lady Thetford was very fond of the fairy despot withal. When her son came running to her for succor, drowned in tears, his mother took him in her arms and kissed him and soothed him--but she never punished the offender. As for Sir Rupert, he might fly ignominiously, but he never fought back. Little May had all the hair-pulling and face-scratching to herself.
"I must get a governess," mused Lady Thetford. "I may find one who can control this little vixen; and it is really time Rupert began his studies. I shall speak to Mr. Knight about it."
Lady Thetford sent that very day to the rectory her ladyship"s compliments, the servant said, and would Mr. Knight call at his earliest convenience. Mr. Knight sent in answer to expect him that same evening; and on his way he fell in with Dr. Gale, going to the manor-house on a professional visit.
"Little Sir Rupert keeps weakly," he said; "no const.i.tution to speak of.
Not at all like the Thetfords--splendid old stock, the Thetfords, but run out--run out. Sir Rupert is a Vandeleur, inherits his mother"s const.i.tution--delicate child, very."
"Have you seen Lady Thetford"s ward!" inquired the clergyman, smiling; "no hereditary weakness there, I fancy. I"ll answer for the strength of her lungs, at any rate. The other day she wanted Lady Thetford"s watch for a plaything; she couldn"t have it, and down she fell flat on the floor in what her nurse calls "one of her tantrums." You should have heard her, her shrieks were appalling."
"I have," said the doctor, with emphasis; "she has the temper of the old demon. If I had anything to do with that child, I should whip her within an inch of her life--that"s all she wants, lots of whipping! The Lord only knows the future, but I pity her prospective husband!"
"The taming of the shrew," laughed Mr. Knight. "Katherine and Petruchio over again. For my part, I think Lady Thetford was unwise to undertake such a charge. With her delicate health it is altogether too much for her."
The two gentlemen were shown into the library, whilst the servant went to inform his lady of their arrival. The library had a French window opening on a sloping lawn, and here chasing b.u.t.terflies in high glee, were the two children--the pale, dark-eyed baronet, and the flaxen-tressed little East Indian.
"Look," said Dr. Gale. "Is Sir Rupert going to be your Petruchio? Who knows what the future may bring forth--who knows that we do not behold a future Lady Thetford?"
"She is very pretty," said the rector thoughtfully, "and she may change with years. Your prophecy may be fulfilled."
The present Lady Thetford entered as he spoke. She had heard the remarks of both, and there was an unusual pallor and gravity in her face as she advanced to receive them.
Little Sir Rupert was called in, and May followed, with a b.u.t.terfly crushed to death in each fat little hand.
"She kills them as fast as she catches them," said Sir Rupert, ruefully.
"It"s cruel, isn"t it, mamma?"
Little May, quite unabashed, displayed her dead prizes, and cut short the doctor"s conference by impatiently pulling her play-fellow away.
"Come, Rupert, come," she cried. "I want to catch the black one with the yellow wings. Stick your tongue out and come."
Sir Rupert displayed his tongue, and submitted his pulse to the doctor, and let himself be pulled away by May.
"The gray mare in that span is decidedly the better horse," laughed the doctor. "What a little despot in pinafores it is."
When her visitors had left, Lady Thetford walked to the window and stood watching the two children racing in the sunshine. It was a pretty sight, but the lady"s face was contracted with pain.
"No, no," she thought. "I hope not--I pray not. Strange! but I never thought of the possibility before. She will be poor, and Rupert must marry a rich wife, so that if----"
She paused, with a sort of shudder, then added:
"What will he think, my darling boy, of his father and mother if that day ever comes?"
CHAPTER IV.
MRS. WEYMORE.
Lady Thetford had settled her business satisfactorily with the rector of St Gosport.
"Nothing could be more opportune," he said. "I am going to London next week on business which will detain me upward of a fortnight. I will immediately advertise for such a person as you want."
"You must understand," said her ladyship, "I do not require a young girl. I wish a middle-aged person--a widow, for instance, who has had children of her own. Both Rupert and May are spoiled--May particularly is perfectly unmanageable. A young girl as governess for her would never do."
Mr. Knight departed with these instructions and the following week started for the great metropolis. An advertis.e.m.e.nt was at once inserted in the _Times_ newspaper, stating all Lady Thetford"s requirements, and desiring immediate application. Another week later, and Lady Thetford received the following communication:
"DEAR LADY THETFORD--I have been fairly besieged with applications for the past week--all widows, and all professing to be thoroughly competent. Clergyman"s widows, doctors"
widows, officers" widows--all sorts of widows. I never before thought so many could apply for one situation. I have chosen one in sheer desperation--the widow of a country gentleman in distressed circ.u.mstances, who, I think, will suit. She is eminently respectable in appearance, quiet and lady-like in manner, with five years" experience in the nursery-governess line, and the highest recommendation from her late employers.
She has lost a child, she tells me, and from her looks and manner altogether, I should judge she was a person conversant with misfortune. She will return with me early next week--her name is Mrs. Weymore."
Lady Thetford read this letter with a little sigh of relief--some one else would have the temper and outbreaks of little May to contend with now. She wrote to Captain Everard that same day, to announce his daughter"s well-being, and inform him that she had found a suitable governess to take charge of her.
The second day of the ensuing week the rector and the new governess arrived. A fly from the railway brought her and her luggage to Thetford Towers late in the afternoon, and she was taken at once to the room that had been prepared for her, whilst the servant went to inform Lady Thetford of her arrival.
"Fetch her here at once," said her ladyship, who was alone, as usual, in the long drawing-room with the children, "I wish to see her."
Ten minutes after the drawing-room door was flung open, and "Mrs.
Weymore, my lady," announced the footman.
Lady Thetford arose to receive her new dependent, who bowed and stood before her with a somewhat fluttered and embarra.s.sed air. She was quite young, not older than my lady herself, and eminently good-looking. The tall, slender figure, clad in widow"s weeds, was as symmetrical as Lady Thetford"s own, and the full black dress set off the pearly fairness of the blonde skin, and the rich abundance of fair hair. Lady Thetford"s brows contracted a little; her fair, subdued, gentle-looking, girlish young woman, was hardly the strong-minded, middle-aged matron she had expected to take the nonsense out of obstreperous May Everard.
"Mrs. Weymore, I believe," said Lady Thetford, resuming her _fauteuil_, "pray be seated. I wished to see you at once, because I am going out this evening. You have had five years" experience as a nursery-governess, Mr. Knight tells me."
"Yes, my lady."
There was a little tremor in Mrs. Weymore"s low voice, and her blue eyes shifted and fell under Lady Thetford"s steady and somewhat haughty gaze.
"Yet you look young--much younger than I imagined, or wished."
"I am twenty-seven years old, my lady."
That was my lady"s own age precisely, but she looked half a dozen years the elder of the two.