"I mean that unless we have something to hold to, in these troublesome times, we shall drift. That is all."
"Ah! and drift whither?"
Beatrice smiled so genially as she answered, that the other had no excuse for taking offence.
"Well, it might be better not to answer that."
Lady Torridon looked at her with an impa.s.sive face.
"To h.e.l.l, then?" she said.
"Well, yes: to h.e.l.l," said Beatrice.
There was a profound silence; broken by the stifled merriment of a servant behind the chairs, who transformed it hastily into a cough. Sir James glanced across in great distress at his son; but Chris" eyes twinkled at him.
Lady Torridon was silent a moment, completely taken aback by the suddenness with which the battle had broken, and amazed by the girl"s audacity. She herself was accustomed to use brutality, but not to meet it. She laid her spoon carefully down.
"Ah!" she said, "and you believe that? And for those who hold wrong opinions, I suppose you would believe the same?"
"If they were wrong enough," said Beatrice, "and through their fault.
Surely we are taught to believe that, Mistress Torridon?"
The elder woman said nothing at all, and went on with her soup. Her silence was almost more formidable than her speech, and she knew that, and contrived to make it offensive. Beatrice paid no sort of attention to it, however; and without looking at her again began to talk cheerfully to Sir James about her journey from town. Margaret watched her, fascinated; her sedate beautiful face, her lace and jewels, her white fingers, long and straight, that seemed to endorse the impression of strength that her carriage and manner of speaking suggested; as one might watch a swordsman between the rounds of a duel and calculate his chances. She knew very well that her mother would not take her first repulse easily; and waited in anxiety for the next clash of swords.
Beatrice seemed perfectly fearless, and was talking about the King with complete freedom, and yet with a certain discretion too.
"He will have his way," she said. "Who can doubt that?"
Lady Torridon saw an opening for a wound, and leapt at it.
"As he had with Master More," she put in.
Beatrice turned her head a little, but made no answer; and there was not the shadow of wincing on her steady face.
"As he had with Master More," said Lady Torridon a little louder.
"We must remember that he has my Lord Cromwell to help him," observed Beatrice tranquilly.
Lady Torridon looked at her again. Even now she could scarcely believe that this stranger could treat her with such a supreme indifference. And there was a further sting, too, in the girl"s answer, for all there understood the reference to Ralph; and yet again it was impossible to take offence.
Margaret looked at her father, half-frightened, and saw again a look of anxiety in his eyes; he was crumbling his bread nervously as he answered Beatrice.
"My Lord Cromwell--" he began.
"My Lord Cromwell has my son Ralph under him," interrupted his wife.
"Perhaps you did not know that, Mistress Atherton."
Margaret again looked quickly up; but there was still no sign of wincing on those scarlet lips, or beneath the black eyebrows.
"Why, of course, I knew it," said Beatrice, looking straight at her with large, innocent eyes, "that was why--"
She stopped; and Lady Torridon really roused now, made a false step.
"Yes?" she said. "You did not end your sentence?"
Beatrice cast an ironically despairing look behind her at the servants.
"Well," she said, "if you will have it: that was why I would not marry him. Did you not know that, Mistress?"
It was so daring that Margaret caught her breath suddenly; and looked hopelessly round. Her father and brother had their eyes steadily bent on the table; and the priest was looking oddly at the quiet angry woman opposite him.
Then Sir James slid deftly in, after a sufficient pause to let the lesson sink home; and began to talk of indifferent things; and Beatrice answered him with the same ease.
Lady Torridon made one more attempt just before the end of supper, when the servants had left the room.
"You are living on--" she corrected herself ostentatiously--"you are living with any other family now, Mistress Atherton? I remember my son Ralph telling me you were almost one of Master More"s household."
Beatrice met her eyes with a delightful smile.
"I am living on--with your family at this time, Mistress Torridon."
There was no more to be said just then. The girl had not only turned her hostess" point, but had p.r.i.c.ked her shrewdly in riposte, three times; and the last was the sharpest of all.
Lady Torridon led the way to the oak parlour in silence.
She made no more a.s.saults that night; but sat in dignified aloofness, her hands on her lap, with an air of being unconscious of the presence of the others. Beatrice sat with Margaret on the long oak settle; and talked genially to the company at large.
When compline had been said, Sir James drew Chris aside into the star-lit court as the others went on in front.
"Dear lad," he said, "what are we to do? This cannot go on. Your mother--"
Chris smiled at him, and took his arm a moment.
"Why, father," he said, "what more do we want? Mistress Atherton can hold her own."
"But your mother will insult her."
"She will not be able," said Chris. "Mistress Atherton will not have it.
Did you not see how she enjoyed it?"
"Enjoyed it?"
"Why, yes; her eyes shone."
"Well, I must speak to her," said Sir James, still perplexed. "Come with me, Chris."
Mr. Carleton was just leaving the parlour as they came up to its outside door. Sir James drew him into the yard. There were no secrets between these two.