The Mynns' Mystery Part 29

"Mr Harrington!"

The taps were louder, but there was no reply.

"I thought as much," she muttered. "Broken out again, and in a regular drunkard's sleep. No; it's an insult to sober people's rest to call it sleep--stupor. Oh, my poor girl, my poor girl! If I could only save you from being this dreadful man's wife."

"Mr Harrington!" she cried again, after a pause; but all was still.

Then the taps she had previously given upon the door became heavy thumps. "Mr Harrington, are you coming down to breakfast?"

"Is anything the matter, ma'am?" said the old housekeeper coming slowly up the stairs.

"Yes, Mrs Denton; no, Mrs Denton; yes, Mrs Denton. I mean nothing serious, but it's very dreadful."

The old housekeeper shook her head; and the tears stood in her eyes as she walked to the end of the wide pa.s.sage, and descended to the embayed window looking upon the garden, where she used her ap.r.o.n to flick off some white powdery dust from the sill.

"Yes, ma'am," she said, "it is very dreadful. I know what you mean.

Poor dear master liked his two or three gla.s.ses of port after his dinner, but that was all. Unless any one was ill you never saw a drop of spirits about the place, while now it's brandy and whiskey, and soda and seltzer, as is a pair of shams, not to make the spirits weaker, but to coax people on to drink more."

"You think the same as I do then, Denton?" whispered Mrs Hampton.

"It don't take any thinking, ma'am. Look at his nose and his cheeks.

People don't have those public-house signs on their fronts without going very often into the cellar. Oh, my dear ma'am; you're a woman--I mean a lady."

"Only a woman like yourself, Denton."

"Then don't--pray don't stand by with your hands crossed and see that poor darling child sold into such a bondage as this."

"What do you mean, Denton?"

"Well, there, ma'am, if you're offended, you must be, but I shall speak the honest truth."

"Go on, Denton."

"I mean letting poor Miss Gertrude be married to such a man as Master George."

"What am I to do, Denton?"

"I don't know, ma'am. I've been down upon my bended knees to her, but she turns away. She don't like him--that's the wonder of it--and yet she will have him."

"Yes, Denton; that's the wonder of it. She's little and weak, and yet she's stronger than all of us put together with poor old Mr Harrington's wishes at her back."

"But you, ma'am--she believes in and likes you. Many a time she's come to me, years ago, and told me how you've scolded and found fault with her about her manners, and when I've said you were very cantankerous--"

"Oh, you said that of me, did you, Denton?"

"Yes, ma'am, to speak the truth, I have said so; but she always spoke up for you, and said you talked to her like a mother."

"Yes, Denton; I tried to."

"Then," cried the old woman fiercely, "why don't you talk to her like a mother now, and save the poor child from such a terrible fate."

"You think it will be a terrible fate, Denton?"

"Do you believe in young men who can't keep from the drink now, and who make the poor old house smell of whiskey from top to bottom, mending because they've got pretty young wives?"

"I want to be charitable, Denton."

"Then prove it, ma'am, by saving my poor dear young lady from being the wife of a sot."

"Is anything the matter, Mrs Hampton?" said Gertrude.

"No, my dear, only that wicked, idle man is so fast asleep that we cannot wake him."

"Never mind," said the old lawyer, who had followed Gertrude out into the hall. "Better let him have his sleep out. Come, my dear, and have pity on me."

"Yes, Mr Hampton, we will not wait any longer. Denton, pray see that some fresh breakfast is ready on a tray, to bring up directly your master comes down."

"Yes, miss, I will," said the old woman; and then in an undertone to Mrs Hampton, as the old lawyer said something to Gertrude: "Do, do, pray, ma'am, try and stop it. I'd sooner help to lay the poor dear out for her last sleep than help to dress her to go to church with Master George."

Mrs Hampton went down the flight of stairs to the breakfast-table, looking exceedingly comic.

Hers was a peculiar face at the best of times; and now it was at its worst, for her spirit was greatly troubled on Gertrude's behalf, and she was trying to smile and look cheerful.

Her husband saw it and made matters worse.

"Gertrude, my dear," he said in a whisper his wife could hear, "for goodness' sake give her a cup of tea; she's bubbling over with acidity."

"No, I am not, Hampton, and don't be absurd."

"Certainly not, my dear. Excuse me, Miss Gertie, may I begin?"

He was already placing a slice of ham upon his plate with a delicately cooked egg reposing in its midst, but he recollected himself and pa.s.sed it across to his wife.

"Thanks, no," she said with quite a hoa.r.s.e croak. "Dry toast."

Gertrude was of the same way of thinking. Only the lawyer made a hearty breakfast hastily, and then started for town.

"No, no, don't you ladies move," he said. "Finish your breakfasts.

Apologise to George Harrington for me. Back in good time."

He did not realise that the other occupants of the breakfast-table had been forcing themselves to swallow a few morsels, so as to keep up appearances; and as the door closed their eyes met, and Gertrude could contain herself no longer, but burst into a pa.s.sion of tears.

"Hush, hush, my darling?" whispered Mrs Hampton, taking her to her breast. "Don't take on about it. There, there, there; I want to play a mother's part to you, and I'm only a clumsy imitation; but, indeed, Gertie, I want to advise you for the best."

"Yes, I know you do," whispered the poor girl, as she struggled hard to be composed. "But tell me you don't think there is any reason for George being so late."

For answer Mrs Hampton kissed her on the brow.

"You do not speak. It is cruel of you to be silent."