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  "I should like you to start . . . immediately. I hope that is convenient."

  I said I should need a day or so to settle my affairs, though what affairs I was not sure. All I knew was that I wanted to postpone taking up my new post for I found the prospect depressing.

  She graciously conceded that I might have the rest of that day and the next in which to prepare myself. The day after that she would expect me to take up my duties.

  On the way back to the cottage—which had the delectable name of Rainbow Cottage although the only reason known for this was that the flowers which used to be grown in the garden were all the colors of the rainbow—I tried to think of the advantages of my new position, and told myself that while I was going to hate being employed by Lady Bodrean I would have opportunities of seeing Tybalt.

  III

  The Months of Bondage

  My room at Keverall Court was close to that of Lady Bodrean, in case she should want me at any time. It was a pleasant enough room—all the rooms at Keverall were gracious, even the smallest—with its paneled walls and mullioned window. And from the window I could see the roof of Giza House, by which I was foolishly comforted.

  I had not been in the house long when I came to the conclusion that Lady Bodrean disliked me. She would ring her bell quite often after I had retired for the night and would tell me peevishly that she could not sleep. I must make tea for her, or read to her until she dozed; and I would often sit shivering because she liked a cold bedroom, and she was comfortable enough under her blankets while I was often in my dressing gown. She was never satisfied with anything I did. If there was nothing of which to complain she was silent; if there was, then she would refer to it over and over again.

  Her personal maid Jane commiserated with me.

  "Her ladyship seems to have it in for you," she admitted. "It's often like that. I've seen it before. A regular servant's got a sort of dignity. There's always housemaids or parlormaids or lady's maid wanted. But companions and such like—well that's up another street."

  I suppose some natures could have borne it better than mine, but I had never been one to accept injustice; and in the old days when I had come to this house I had come on equal terms with Theodosia. It was very hard to accept the new position and it was only the alternative of banishment from St. Erno which made me stay on.

  I took my meals alone in my room. During them I usually read the books I had borrowed from Giza House. I didn't see Tybalt during this time for he and his father had gone away for a while on some expedition into the Midlands, but Tabitha always had books for me.

  She would say: "Tybalt thought this would interest you."

  These books, my visits to Tabitha, and the knowledge that Dorcas and Alison were happily settled provided the only brightness in my life at that time.

  I saw Theodosia now and then. She would have been quite pleasant to me if her mother would have allowed it. There was nothing malicious or proud about Theodosia. She was negative; she took her color from people about her. She would never be actively unkind, but at the same time she did little to alleviate my position. Perhaps she remembered the past when I had been inclined to bully her.

  When I saw Sir Ralph he would ask me how I was getting on and he gave that amused look which I had seen so often. I could not say to him: "I dislike your wife and I would leave her tomorrow if I did not know that however unhappy I am here I should be far more so elsewhere."

  I went to Rainbow Cottage to see Dorcas and Alison as often as I could. It was an interesting little place about three hundred years old, I think, and it had been built in the days when any family who could build a cottage in a night could claim the land on which it had been erected as their own. It was the custom in those days to collect bricks and tiles and to start building as soon as it was dark and work through the night. Four walls and a roof constituted a dwelling and that was done by morning. After that, the place could be added to. That was what had happened to Rainbow Cottage. When the Bodreans had acquired the cottage they had used it for their dependents and added to it considerably, but some of the old features remained, such as the old talfat—a sort of ledge high up on the wall on which children used to sleep and which was reached by a ladder. Now it boasted a moderately good kitchen with a cloam oven in which Dorcas used to bake the most delicious bread I had ever tasted; then there was a copper in which they cooked the scalded milk to make clotted cream. They were really very happy in Rainbow Cottage with its pleasant little garden; though of course they missed the spacious rectory.

  I used to hate leaving them and going back to Keverall Court and my onerous duties, and consoled myself by doing malicious imitations of Lady Bodrean as I paraded round the cottage sitting room brandishing an imaginary lorgnette.

  "And Sir Ralph," they asked timidly. "Do you see much of him?"

  "Very little. I'm not exactly one of the family, you know."

  "It's a shame," said Dorcas hotly; but Alison silenced her.

  "When you were having lessons there it was so different," complained Dorcas.

  "Yes, I never thought then that I wasn't one of them. But then I hadn't a post, and it was amazing how little I was aware of Lady Bodrean . . . fortunately."

  "It may change," hazarded Alison.

  I was optimistic by nature, and even at that dreary time I had my dreams. The dinner party—one of the guests, a lady, was unable to come. They could not sit down with thirteen. Very well, there is the companion. "She's quite presentable. After all she was educated here." And so I went down to dine in a gown which Theodosia found for me— she had looked frightful in it but it was just right for me— and there I was "Next to someone you know," whispered Theodosia. "Oh!" cried Tybalt. "How delightful to see you!" And we talked and everyone was aware of how absorbed he was by his neighbor at the dining table and afterwards he would not leave her side. "How glad I am," he said, "that Lady X ... Y ... Z ..." What did her name matter? "How glad I am that she could not come tonight."

  Dreams! Dreams! But what else was there for me during that unsatisfactory period of my life?

  I had read until I was hoarse.

  "Your voice is not good today, Miss Osmond. Oh dear, how tiresome! One of the chief duties I look for is your reading."

  She would sit there and in and out went the needle with its trail of red or blue or violet wool and I was sure she was not listening to what I was reading. If only I could have read from one of the books I brought from Giza House! Sometimes I had the mischievous thought that I would substitute one and see whether she knew the difference.

  Sometimes she would lay aside her tapestry and close her eyes. I would go on reading, unsure whether she was awake or not. Sometimes I stopped to see if she had noticed. Often I caught her sleeping; but then she would catch me for she would awake suddenly and demand to know why I was not reading.

  I would say meekly: "I thought you were sleeping, Lady Bodrean. I was afraid I should disturb you."

  "Nonsense," she would retort. "Pray go on and I will say when we shall stop."

  She kept me reading on that day until my eyes were tired and my voice weary. I began to think of escaping at any price, but I always came back to the thought of going away and never seeing Tybalt again.

  Orange and Lemon turned out to be blessings for they needed daily exercise and this gave me the opportunity to get away from the house and it was easy to slip over to Giza House and have a chat with Tabitha.

  One day I called and knew immediately that something exciting had happened. She took me into the drawing room and told me that Sir Edward was planning an expedition to Egypt. It was going to be one of his most ambitious efforts. She hoped to accompany the party. "Now that Sabina is married," she said, "there is no need for me to stay here."

  "You will have some job to do?"

  "Not an official job, of course, but I can make myself useful. I can housekeep if that should be necessary and I have picked up quite a lot. I can be useful in a fetch-and-carry sort of way as amateu
rs are."

  I looked at her ecstatically. "How I envy you!"

  She smiled that gentle sweet smile of hers. "Lady Bodrean can be trying I daresay."

  I sighed.

  Then she went on to talk about the expedition.

  "Will Tybalt be accompanying his father?" I asked.

  "Indeed yes. It's going to be one of the most important missions so far. I gather the archaeological world is talking of nothing else. Of course you know that Sir Edward is perhaps one of the greatest men of his profession in the world."

  I nodded. "And Tybalt is following in his footsteps."

  She looked at me shrewdly and I wondered whether I had betrayed the state of my feelings.

  "He is his father all over again," she said. "Men such as they are have one great passion in their lives . . . their work. It's something that those about them must always remember."

  I could never resist talking about Tybalt.

  "Sir Edward seems so much more remote. He hardly seems to see anyone."

  "He does come down from the clouds now and then . . . or should I say up from the soil. One should never expect to know men like them in a few years. They're a lifetime study."

  "Yes," I said. "I suppose that's what makes them interesting."

  She smiled gently. "Sometimes," she went on, "I have thought that it would be well for such men to live the lives of hermits or monks. Their work should be their families."

  "Did you know Lady Travers?"

  "At the end of her life, yes."

  "And you think Sir Edward is happier as a widower than he was as a husband?"

  "Did I give that impression? I came to them as a rather privileged housekeeper. We had known them for some years and when the need arose ... I took this post as you have taken yours."

  "And Lady Travers died after that?"

  "Yes."

  I wanted to know what Tybalt's mother was like, and as Dorcas and Alison had often told me, I was far from tactful. So I blundered on: "It wasn't a very happy marriage, was it?"

  She looked startled. "Well. . . They had little in common and as I said men like Sir Edward perhaps don't make model husbands."

  I was certain then that she was warning me.

  She said brightly: "You remember Evan Callum."

  "Of course."

  "He's coming to visit us. I hear that Hadrian will be returning also. They'll be here soon, both of them. They'll be interested to hear about Sir Edward's expedition."

  I stayed talking although I knew I shouldn't. I wanted to glean all I could. Tabitha was quite animated.

  "It would be wonderful if you could come," she said. "I am sure you would prefer it to looking after that not-very-agreeable lady."

  "Oh, if only I could."

  "Never mind. Perhaps some day ..."

  I went back to Keverall Court in a daze. I was dreaming again. That was my only comfort. I dreamed that Tabitha was taken ill; she couldn't go. Someone must take her place, said Sir Edward. "I know," cried Tybalt. "What about Miss Osmond? She was always interested."

  How ridiculous and how unkind to wish an illness on Tabitha!

  "I am surprised, Miss Osmond," said Lady Bodrean. "I have been ringing my bell for half an hour."

  "I'm sorry. I forgot the time."

  "Forgot the time! You are not here to forget time, Miss Osmond. You are not paid for that, you know."

  Oh, why didn't I tell the disagreeable old woman that I would serve her no longer!

  Simply because, said my logical self, if you did you would have to do something. You would have to go away and how would you ever see Tybalt if you did?

  I had somehow betrayed my inability to accept my position with resignation and this was something Lady Bodrean seemed to have made up her mind to enforce.

  She reminded me far more than was necessary that I was a paid servant. She tried to curtail my liberty whenever possible. She would send me on an errand and time me. She would make me walk round the gardens with her carrying her basket while she cut flowers; she would tell me to arrange them—and my efforts in this artistic endeavor had always amused Dorcas and Alison. They used to say, "If anyone can disarrange a bowl of flowers, that is Judith." At the rectory it was a joke; here it was a serious matter. If she could humiliate me, she did; and she was seeking and finding many opportunities.

  At least, I said to myself, this has taught me what a happy home Dorcas and Alison gave me and I ought to be forever grateful for that.

  I shall never forget the day she told me that there was to be a ball at Keverall Court.

  "Of course a young lady in my daughter's position must be brought out formally. I am sure you realize that, Miss Osmond, because although you yourself are not in the same position, you did learn something of gracious living when you were allowed to take lessons here."

  "Graciousness is something that I miss nowadays," I retorted.

  She misunderstood. "You were very fortunate to be allowed to glimpse it for a while. I always think it is a mistake to educate people beyond their stations."

  "Sometimes," I said, "it enables the sons and daughters of erudite churchmen to be of use to their betters."

  "I am glad to see you take that view, Miss Osmond. I have to confess you do not always show such becoming humility."

  She was an exceedingly stupid woman. I had learned that Sir Ralph had married her for her fortune. Why he should have done so was beyond my understanding when he was a rich man in his own right. But what I could understand was why he had acquired his reputation for seeking consolation elsewhere.

  "Now," she went on, "there will be a great deal for you to do. Invitations to be drawn up and sent out. You've no idea, Miss Osmond, what giving a ball like this entails."

  "I can hardly be expected to," I replied, "coming from such a stratum of society."

  "Dear me no. It will be an education for you to learn. Such experience for one in your position is so useful."

  "I shall do my humble best," I retorted with irony.

  But that, of course, was lost on Lady Bodrean.

  Jane, Lady Bodrean's personal maid, winked at me. "A nice cup of tea?" she said. "I've got it all ready." She had a little spirit lamp in her room, which she had made very comfortable.

  I sat down and she poured out.

  "My word, she's got it in for you."

  "I gather my company doesn't give her much pleasure. I wonder she doesn't allow herself the treat of being rid of it."

  "I know her. She's enjoying herself. She likes tormenting people. She was always like that. I've been with her since before she married. She's got worse."

  "It couldn't have been very comfortable for you."

  "Oh, I know how to handle her. Sugar, Miss Osmond?"

  "Thank you. Yes," I said thoughtfully, "she does seem to dislike me more than is warranted. Mind you, I am ready to admit I don't perform my duties with great efficiency. I can't imagine why she doesn't do what she is always hinting she will. Dismiss me."

  "She doesn't want that. Who's she going to torment then?"

  "There's a fairly large staff to choose from. Surely from among you all she could find some highly tormentable type."

  "Oh you joke about it, Miss Osmond. Sometimes I think you're going to explode though."

  "So do I," I said.

  "I remember you coming here for your lessons. We used to say, 'My word, that one's got more spirits than all the rest of them put together. Regular little firebrand!'"

  "And now you see the metamorphosis of Judith Osmond."

  "Eh? I've seen it happen before. The nursery governess before that Miss Graham. Nice spirited sort of girl, she was. But she hadn't been here long when things started to happen. Sir Ralph had his eyes on her and when Lady Bodrean got to work . . . My word, she changed. In the old days Sir Ralph, he were a one. No woman safe from him. He's changed a lot too. He's got quieter. I've seen him have some funny dizzy turns too. Slowed him down a bit. There've been some scandals." She came closer to me and her
lively brown eyes were alight with pleasure. "Women," she said. "Couldn't leave a pretty girl alone. The fur used to fly. Many times I've heard . . . being in the next room, you know. Couldn't help but hear even if I tried not to."

  I could picture her, ear to keyhole while a younger Don Juan of a Sir Ralph stood accused before his wronged wife.

  "After a while she seemed to make up her mind that there was nothing she could do about it. He'd go his way, she'd go hers. He wanted a son, of course. And there wasn't another child after Miss Theodosia. So Master Hadrian came to live here. But she, her ladyship, seemed to be more of a tartar every day; and once she gets her knife into someone . . . she's going to use it."

  I said: "I should get out, I suppose."

  Jane moved farther towards me and whispered confidentially, "You could find a better place. I've thought about this. What about Miss Theodosia?"

  "What of her?"

  "This ball . . . well, it's a sort of coming out. All the fine rich gentlemen of the neighborhood will be invited. Then they'll have balls and such like goings on. You know what it's all leading up to."

  "Miss Theodosia is being paraded before them, in all her charms, and by no means the least of these is the nice golden dowry glittering round her neck. 'Young gentleman, show your credentials and make your bid.'"

  "You always had your answer, didn't you? I used to say to Miss Graham, 'My goodness, that one's got a bit of lip, she has.' But what I'm getting at is this. Before long they'll find a husband for Miss Theodosia, and then you're her friend ... so ..."

  "I, her friend. Please don't let Lady Bodrean hear you call me that. I'm sure she would be most indignant."

  "Now you're getting bitter. It's all along of once being treated like one of them and now finding yourself here in a paid job. You have to be clever. Now you and Theodosia were together as children. You were the one who used to order her about. Theodosia's not like her mother. Suppose you remind her of your friendship."

  "Ingratiate myself with the daughter of the house?"