The Elsingham Portrait - By Elizabeth Chater Page 0,10
a commotion as this isn’t at all the thing in an English gentleman’s establishment, whatever may be the custom in Ireland!” As she spoke, the newcomer was shepherding the nonplussed Irishwoman from the bedroom in much the fashion of a wise old sheep dog with a bad tempered old ewe. Then she closed the door gently and came toward the bed.
She was a plump little middle-aged woman, dressed neatly in a gray gown with a white muslin fichu and apron. She was obviously a superior servant, grown old in the service of milord’s family, with the freedom of manner earned by years of faithful devotion. She spoke now in a tone of indulgent concern.
“Be easy, milady. Bennet won’t let the nasty creature come near you again. What can I do to make your ladyship comfortable?”
Kathryn’s taut nerves relaxed under the motherly attitude. She regarded this cheerful little woman with gratitude. Was this what it was like to have a mother? This sense of security and affection and hope? Kathryn’s own mother had died when she was five. Boarding schools, however well recommended, do not fill the gaps left by the loss of a family.
“If I could just rest for a few hours . . . I am so weary . . . so confused . . .”
The little woman set about making Kathryn comfortable. In a few minutes the sheets were gently smoothed, the pillows plumped, the drapes drawn against the light, and a cool washcloth was moving refreshingly over Kathryn’s heated face and neck.
“Oh, that’s so good,” she murmured. “Thank you, Mrs. . . .?”
“I’m Bennet, your ladyship. You won’t remember seeing me when first you came from Ireland, what with the excitement of the wedding and all. And of course you haven’t seen me since, because I live down at Elsinghurst Village—that’s in Master John’s domain. My brother has a farm near the village. It was given to us when we came down from his lordship’s estates in Scotland. I was brought down to be Master John’s nurse,” she chatted on cosily. She seemed to know exactly how to help a frightened sick girl to find her poise.
Kathryn felt herself drifting off into a relaxing sleep . . . But she mustn’t! She jerked herself upright. “Bennet—I’ve got to think—plan—find a way out of this . . .” Then the hopelessness of trying to explain again the unexplainable came over her, and she began to cry. “He doesn’t believe me, Bennet! Lord John doesn’t believe me!”
“There, there, dearie,” crooned the nurse, “Whether he does or he doesn’t, he sent me to care for you. ‘Do your best for her, Bennet,’ he said to me before he left. ‘She needs your help.’ And he had his concerned look on his face the while. A very compassionate little fellow Master John was, as a child.”
“But he seemed so angry—” faltered Kathryn. “Oh, Bennet, how can anyone believe my story when I can’t even believe it myself? What am I going to do?”
“The first thing you’re going to do is have a proper cup of tea—hot and sweet, to put strength into you. And then you’ll tell Bennet what’s the trouble, and we’ll find a way out of it.”
Kathryn’s eyes were full of tears. “If we only could! If I could explain it all to you, and then you could tell Lord John—but you said he had left?” she asked, with a strange feeling of loss.
“Oh, yes, milady. His lordship had to rush away to wait upon the King, to explain why he couldn’t entertain His Majesty tonight. He trusted me to see that you have whatever you need.”
“Bennet—you don’t understand. Lady Nadine is in deep disgrace . . . And I’m afraid no one can get me what I need.” And she put her free hand on her burning forehead, as the tears flowed again down her cheeks.
“There, milady, have a nice cry,” urged Bennet so indulgently that Kathryn felt a ridiculous desire to chuckle. “It’ll do you good.” She glanced toward the door. “I told one of the kitchen maids to bring up a pot of tea as soon as I rang.” Suiting action to word, Bennet pulled strongly on the bell-rope. “Now we’ll soon have you sipping a nice hot cup with plenty of sugar, and then a spoonful of the mixture Dr. Anders’ manservant had just brought to the door as I came up—” She bustled over and set another log on the fire. Already the great