East Lynne [202]
his father. He was in the seventh heaven, and had been ever since the encounter with the yellows.
"You'd have gone into laughing convulsions, Lucy had you seen the drowned cur. I'd give all my tin for six months to come to have a photograph of him as he looked then!"
Lucy laughed in glee; she was unconscious, poor child, how deeply the "drowned cur" had injured her.
When Miss Carlyle was in her dressing-room taking her things off--the room where once had slept Richard Hare--she rang for Joyce. These two rooms were still kept for Miss Carlyle--for she did sometimes visit them for a few days--and were distinguished by her name--"Miss Carlyle's rooms."
"A fine row we have had in the town, Joyce, this afternoon."
"I have heard of it, ma'am. Served him right, if they had let him drown! Bill White, Squire Pinner's plowman, called in here and told us the news. He'd have burst with it, if he hadn't, I expect; I never saw a chap so excited. Peter cried."
"Cried?" echoed Miss Carlyle.
"Well, ma'am, you know he was very fond of Lady Isabel, was Peter, and somehow his feelings overcame him. He said he had not heard anything to please him so much for many a day; and with that he burst out crying, and gave Bill White half a crown out of his pocket. Bill White said it was he who held one leg when they soused him in. Afy saw it-- if you'll excuse me mentioning her name to you, ma'am, for I know you don't think well of her--and when she got in here, she fell into hysterics."
"How did she see it?" snapped Miss Carlyle, her equanimity upset by the sound of the name. "I didn't see her, and I was present."
"She was coming here with a message from Mrs. Latimer to the governess."
"What did she go into hysterics for?" again snapped Miss Carlyle.
"It upset her so, she said," returned Joyce.
"It wouldn't have done her harm had they ducked her too," was the angry response.
Joyce was silent. To contradict Miss Corny brought triumph to nobody. And she was conscious, in her innermost heart, that Afy merited a little wholesome correction, not perhaps to the extent of a ducking.
"Joyce," resumed Miss Carlyle, abruptly changing the subject, "who does the governess put you in mind of?"
"Ma'am?" repeated Joyce, in some surprise, as it appeared. "The governess? Do you mean Madame Vine?"
"Do I mean you, or do I mean me? Are we governesses?" irascibly cried Miss Corny. "Who should I mean, but Madame Vine?"
She turned herself round from the looking-glass, and gazed full in Joyce's face, waiting for the answer. Joyce lowered her voice as she gave it.
"There are times when she puts me in mind of my late lady both in her face and manner. But I have never said so, ma'am; for you know Lady Isabel's name must be an interdicted one in this house."
"Have you seen her without her glasses?"
"No; never," said Joyce.
"I did to-day," returned Miss Carlyle. "And I can tell you, Joyce, that I was confounded at the likeness. It is an extraordinary likeness. One would think it was a ghost of Lady Isabel Vane come into the world again."
That evening after dinner, Miss Carlyle and Lord Mount Severn sat side by side on the same sofa, coffee cups in hand. Miss Carlyle turned to the earl.
"Was it a positively ascertained fact that Lady Isabel died?"
The earl stared with all his might; he thought it the strangest question that ever was asked him. "I scarcely understand you, Miss Carlyle. Died? Certainly she died."
"When the result of the accident was communicated to you, you made inquiry yourself into its truth, its details, I believe?"
"It was my duty to do so. There was no one else to undertake it."
"Did you ascertain positively, beyond all doubt, that she did die?"
"Of a surety I did. She died in the course of the same night. Terribly injured she was."
A pause. Miss Carlyle was ruminating. But she returned to the charge, as if difficult to be convinced.
"You deem that there could be no possibility of an error? You are sure that she is dead?"
"I am as sure that she is dead as that we are
"You'd have gone into laughing convulsions, Lucy had you seen the drowned cur. I'd give all my tin for six months to come to have a photograph of him as he looked then!"
Lucy laughed in glee; she was unconscious, poor child, how deeply the "drowned cur" had injured her.
When Miss Carlyle was in her dressing-room taking her things off--the room where once had slept Richard Hare--she rang for Joyce. These two rooms were still kept for Miss Carlyle--for she did sometimes visit them for a few days--and were distinguished by her name--"Miss Carlyle's rooms."
"A fine row we have had in the town, Joyce, this afternoon."
"I have heard of it, ma'am. Served him right, if they had let him drown! Bill White, Squire Pinner's plowman, called in here and told us the news. He'd have burst with it, if he hadn't, I expect; I never saw a chap so excited. Peter cried."
"Cried?" echoed Miss Carlyle.
"Well, ma'am, you know he was very fond of Lady Isabel, was Peter, and somehow his feelings overcame him. He said he had not heard anything to please him so much for many a day; and with that he burst out crying, and gave Bill White half a crown out of his pocket. Bill White said it was he who held one leg when they soused him in. Afy saw it-- if you'll excuse me mentioning her name to you, ma'am, for I know you don't think well of her--and when she got in here, she fell into hysterics."
"How did she see it?" snapped Miss Carlyle, her equanimity upset by the sound of the name. "I didn't see her, and I was present."
"She was coming here with a message from Mrs. Latimer to the governess."
"What did she go into hysterics for?" again snapped Miss Carlyle.
"It upset her so, she said," returned Joyce.
"It wouldn't have done her harm had they ducked her too," was the angry response.
Joyce was silent. To contradict Miss Corny brought triumph to nobody. And she was conscious, in her innermost heart, that Afy merited a little wholesome correction, not perhaps to the extent of a ducking.
"Joyce," resumed Miss Carlyle, abruptly changing the subject, "who does the governess put you in mind of?"
"Ma'am?" repeated Joyce, in some surprise, as it appeared. "The governess? Do you mean Madame Vine?"
"Do I mean you, or do I mean me? Are we governesses?" irascibly cried Miss Corny. "Who should I mean, but Madame Vine?"
She turned herself round from the looking-glass, and gazed full in Joyce's face, waiting for the answer. Joyce lowered her voice as she gave it.
"There are times when she puts me in mind of my late lady both in her face and manner. But I have never said so, ma'am; for you know Lady Isabel's name must be an interdicted one in this house."
"Have you seen her without her glasses?"
"No; never," said Joyce.
"I did to-day," returned Miss Carlyle. "And I can tell you, Joyce, that I was confounded at the likeness. It is an extraordinary likeness. One would think it was a ghost of Lady Isabel Vane come into the world again."
That evening after dinner, Miss Carlyle and Lord Mount Severn sat side by side on the same sofa, coffee cups in hand. Miss Carlyle turned to the earl.
"Was it a positively ascertained fact that Lady Isabel died?"
The earl stared with all his might; he thought it the strangest question that ever was asked him. "I scarcely understand you, Miss Carlyle. Died? Certainly she died."
"When the result of the accident was communicated to you, you made inquiry yourself into its truth, its details, I believe?"
"It was my duty to do so. There was no one else to undertake it."
"Did you ascertain positively, beyond all doubt, that she did die?"
"Of a surety I did. She died in the course of the same night. Terribly injured she was."
A pause. Miss Carlyle was ruminating. But she returned to the charge, as if difficult to be convinced.
"You deem that there could be no possibility of an error? You are sure that she is dead?"
"I am as sure that she is dead as that we are