THE SEVENTH SCENE.
ST. CRUX-IN-THE-MARSH.
CHAPTER I.
"THIS is where you are to sleep. Put yourself tidy, and then come down
again to my room. The admiral has returned, and you will have to begin
by waiting on him at dinner to-day."
With those words, Mrs. Drake, the housekeeper, closed the door; and the
new parlor-maid was left alone in her bed-chamber at St. Crux.
That day was the eventful twenty-fifth of February. In barely four
months from the time when Mrs. Lecount had placed her master's
private Instructions in his Executor's hands, the one combination of
circumstances against which it had been her first and foremost object to
provide was exactly the combination which had now taken place. Mr. Noel
Vanstone's widow and Admiral Bartram's Secret Trust were together in the
same house.
Thus far, events had declared themselves without an exception in
Magdalen's favor. Thus far, the path which had led her to St. Crux had
been a path without an obstacle: Louisa, whose name she had now taken,
had sailed three days since for Australia, with her husband and her
child; she was the only living creature whom Magdalen had trusted with
her secret, and she was by this time out of sight of the English land.
The girl had been careful, reliable and faithfully devoted to her
mistress's interests to the last. She had passed the ordeal of
her interview with the housekeeper, and had forgotten none of the
instructions by which she had been prepared to meet it. She had herself
proposed to turn the six weeks' delay, caused by the death in the
admiral's family, to good account, by continuing the all-important
practice of those domestic lessons, on the perfect acquirement of which
her mistress's daring stratagem depended for its success. Thanks to
the time thus gained, when Louisa's marriage was over, and the day
of parting had come, Magdalen had learned and mastered, in the nicest
detail, everything that her former servant could teach her. On the
day when she passed the doors of St. Crux she entered on her desperate
venture, strong in the ready presence of mind under emergencies which
her later life had taught her, stronger still in the trained capacity
that she possessed for the assumption of a character not her own,
strongest of all in her two months' daily familiarity with the practical
duties of the position which she had undertaken to fill.
As soon as Mrs. Drake's departure had left her alone, she unpacked her
box, and dressed herself for the evening.
She put on a lavender-colored stuff-gown--half-mourning for Mrs.
Girdlestone; ordered for all the servants, under the admiral's
instructions--a white muslin apron, and a neat white cap and collar,
with ribbons to match the gown. In this servant's costume--in the plain
gown fastening high round her neck, in the neat little white cap at
the back of her head--in this simple dress, to the eyes of all men,
not linen-drapers, at once the most modest and the most alluring that
a woman can wear, the sad changes which mental suffering had wrought
in her beauty almost disappeared from view. In the evening costume of
a lady, with her bosom uncovered, with her figure armed, rather than
dressed, in unpliable silk, the admiral might have passed her by without
notice in his own drawing-room. In the evening costume of a servant,
no admirer of beauty could have looked at her once and not have turned
again to look at her for the second time.
Descending the stairs, on her way to the house-keeper's room, she passed
by the entrances to two long stone corridors, with rows of doors opening
on them; one corridor situated on the second, and one on the first floor
of the house. "Many rooms!" she thought, as she looked at the doors.
"Weary work searching here for what I have come to find!"
On reaching the ground-floor she was met by a weather-beaten old man,
who stopped and stared at her with an appearance of great interest. He
was the same old man whom Captain Wragge had seen in the backyard at St.
Crux, at work on the model of a ship. All round the neighborhood he was
known, far and wide, as "the admiral's coxswain." His name was Mazey.
Sixty years had written their story of hard work at sea, and hard
drinking on shore, on the veteran's grim and wrinkled face. Sixty years
had proved his fidelity, and had brought his battered old carcass, at
the end of the voyage, into port in his master's house.
Seeing no one else of whom she could inquire, Magdalen requested the old
man to show her the way that led to the housekeeper's room.
"I'll show you, my dear," said old Mazey, speaking in the high and
hollow voice peculiar to the deaf. "You're the new maid--eh? And a
fine-grown girl, too! His honor, the admiral, likes a parlor-maid with a
clean run fore and aft. You'll do, my dear--you'll do."
"You must not mind what Mr. Mazey says to you," remarked t he
housekeeper, opening her door as the old sailor expressed his approval
of Magdalen in these terms. "He is privileged to t alk as he pleases;
and he is very tiresome and slovenly in his habits; but he means no
harm."
With that apology for the veteran, Mrs. Drake led Magdalen first to
the pantry, and next to the linen-room, installing her, with all due
formality, in her own domestic dominions. This ceremony completed, the
new parlor-maid was taken upstairs, and was shown the dining-room, which
opened out of the corridor on the first floor. Here she was directed to
lay the cloth, and to prepare the table for one person only--Mr. George
Bartram not having returned with his uncle to St. Crux. Mrs. Drake's
sharp eyes watched Magdalen attentively as she performed this
introductory duty; and Mrs. Drake's private convictions, when the table
was spread, forced her to acknowledge, so far, that the new servant
thoroughly understood her work.
An hour later the soup-tureen was placed on the table; and Magdalen
stood alone behind the admiral's empty chair, waiting her master's first
inspection of her when he entered the dining-room.
A large bell rang in the lower regions--quick, shambling footsteps
pattered on the stone corridor outside--the door opened suddenly--and a
tall lean yellow old man, sharp as to his eyes, shrewd as to his lips,
fussily restless as to all his movements, entered the room, with two
huge Labrador dogs at his heels, and took his seat in a violent hurry.
The dogs followed him, and placed themselves, with the utmost gravity
and composure, one on each side of his chair. This was Admiral Bartram,
and these were the companions of his solitary meal.
"Ay! ay! ay! here's the new parlor-maid, to be sure!" he began, looking
sharply, but not at all unkindly, at Magdalen. "What's your name, my
good girl? Louisa, is it? I shall call you Lucy, if you don't mind.
Take off the cover, my dear--I'm a minute or two late to-day. Don't
be unpunctual to-morrow on that account; I am as regular as clock-work
generally. How are you after your journey? Did my spring-cart bump you
about much in bringing you from the station? Capital soup this--hot as
fire--reminds me of the soup we used to have in the West Indies in the
year Three. Have you got your half-mourning on? Stand there, and let me
see. Ah, yes, very neat, and nice, and tidy. Poor Mrs. Girdlestone! Oh
dear, dear, dear, poor Mrs. Girdlestone! You're not afraid of dogs, are
you, Lucy? Eh? What? You like dogs? That's right! Always be kind to
dumb animals. These two dogs dine with me every day, except when there's
company. The dog with the black nose is Brutus, and the dog with the
white nose is Cassius. Did you ever hear who Brutus and Cassius were?
Ancient Romans? That's right---good girl. Mind your book and your
needle, and we'll get you a good husband one of these days. Take away
the soup, my dear, take away the soup!"
This was the man whose secret it was now the one interest of Magdalen's
life to surprise! This was the man whose name had supplanted hers in
Noel Vanstone's will!
The fish and the roast meat followed; and the admiral's talk rambled
on--now in soliloquy, now addressed to the parlor-maid, and now directed
to the dogs--as familiarly and as discontentedly as ever. Magdalen
observed with some surprise that the companions of the admiral's dinner
had, thus far, received no scraps from their master's plate. The two
magnificent brutes sat squatted on their haunches, with their great
heads over the table, watching the progress of the meal, with the
profoundest attention, but apparently expecting no share in it. The
roast meat was removed, the admiral's plate was changed, and Magdalen
took the silver covers off the two made-dishes on either side of the
table. As she handed the first of the savory dishes to her master,
the dogs suddenly exhibited a breathless personal interest in the
proceedings. Brutus gluttonously watered at the mouth; and the tongue of
Cassius, protruding in unutterable expectation, smoked again between his
enormous jaws.
The admiral helped himself liberally from the dish; sent Magdalen to the
side-table to get him some bread; and, when he thought her eye was off
him, furtively tumbled the whole contents of his plate into Brutus's
mouth. Cassius whined faintly as his fortunate comrade swallowed the
savory mess at a gulp. "Hush! you fool," whispered the admiral. "Your
turn next!"
Magdalen presented the second dish. Once more the old gentleman helped
himself largely--once more he sent her away to the side-table--once
more he tumbled the entire contents of the plate down the dog's throat,
selecting Cassius this time, as became a considerate master and an
impartial man. When the next course followed--consisting of a plain
pudding and an unwholesome "cream"--Magdalen's suspicion of the function
of the dogs at the dinner-table was confirmed. While the master took the
simple pudding, the dogs swallowed the elaborate cream. The admiral was
plainly afraid of offending his cook on the one hand, and of offending
his digestion on the other--and Brutus and Cassius were the two trained
accomplices who regularly helped him every day off the horns of his
dilemma. "Very good! very good!" said the old gentleman, with the most
transparent duplicity. "Tell the cook, my dear, a capital cream!"
Having placed the wine and dessert on the table, Magdalen was about to
withdraw. Before she could leave the room, her master called her back.
"Stop, stop!" said the admiral; "you don't know the ways of the house
yet, Lucy. Put another wine-glass here, at my right hand--the largest
you can find, my dear. I've got a third dog, who comes in at dessert--a
drunken old sea-dog who has followed my fortunes, afloat and ashore, for
fifty years and more. Yes, yes, that's the sort of glass we want. You're
a good girl--you're a neat, handy girl. Steady, my dear! there's nothing
to be frightened at!"
A sudden thump on the outside of the door, followed by one mighty bark
from each of the dogs, had made Magdalen start. "Come in!" shouted the
admiral. The door opened; the tails of Brutus and Cassius cheerfully
thumped the floor; and old Mazey marched straight up to the right-hand
side of his master's chair. The veteran stood there, with his legs wide
apart and his balance carefully adjusted, as if the dining-room had been
a cabin, and the house a ship pitching in a sea-way.
The admiral filled the large glass with port, filled his own glass with
claret, and raised it to his lips.
"God bless the Queen, Mazey," said the admiral.
"God bless the Queen, your honor," said old Mazey, swallowing his port,
as the dogs swallowed the made-dishes, at a gulp.
"How's the wind, Mazey?"
"West and by Noathe, your honor."
"Any report to-night, Mazey!"
"No report, your honor."
"Good-evening, Mazey."
"Good-evening, your honor."
The after-dinner ceremony thus completed, old Mazey made his bow, and
walked out of the room again. Brutus and Cassius stretched themselves on
the rug to digest mushrooms and made gravies in the lubricating heat of
the fire. "For what we have received, the Lord make us truly thankful,"
said the admiral. "Go downstairs, my good girl, and get your supper. A
light meal, Lucy, if you take my advice--a light meal, or you will
have the nightmare. Early to bed, my dear, and early to rise, makes
a parlor-maid healthy and wealthy and wise. That's the wisdom of
your ancestors--you mustn't laugh at it. Good-night." In those words
Magdalen was dismissed; and so her first day's experience of Admiral
Bartram came to an end.
After breakfast the next morning, the admiral's directions to the
new parlor-maid included among them one particular order which, in
Magdalen's situation, it was especially her interest to receive. In the
old gentleman's absence from home that day, on local business which
took him to Ossory, she was directed to make herself acquainted with the
whole inhabited quarter of the house, and to learn the positions of the
various rooms, so as to know where the bells called her when the bells
rang. Mrs. Drake was charged with the duty of superintending the voyage
of domestic discovery, unless she happened to be otherwise engaged--in
which case any one of the inferior servants would be equally competent
to act as Magdalen's guide.
At noon the admiral left for Ossory, and Magdalen presented herself in
Mrs. Drake's room, to be shown over the house. Mrs. Drake happened to
be otherwise engaged, and referred her to the head house-maid. The
head house-maid happened on that particular morning to be in the same
condition as Mrs. Drake, and referred her to the under-house-maids. The
under-house-maids declared they were all behindhand and had not a minute
to spare--they suggested, not too civilly, that old Mazey had nothing on
earth to do, and that he knew the house as well, or better, than he
knew his A B C. Magdalen took the hint, with a secret indignation
and contempt which it cost her a hard struggle to conceal. She had
suspected, on the previous night, and she was certain now, that the
women-servants all incomprehensibly resented her presence among them
with the same sullen unanimity of distrust. Mrs. Drake, as she had seen
for herself, was really engaged that morning over her accounts. But of
all the servants under her who had made their excuses not one had even
affected to be more occupied than usual. Their looks said plainly, "We
don't like you; and we won't show you over the house."
She found her way to old Mazey, not by the scanty directions given her,
but by the sound of the veteran's cracked and quavering voice, singing
in some distant seclusion a verse of the immortal sea-song--"Tom
Bowling." Just as she stopped among the rambling stone passages on the
basement story of the house, uncertain which way to turn next, she heard
the tuneless old voice in the distance, singing these lines:
"His form was of the manliest beau-u-u-uty,
His heart was ki-i-ind and soft;
Faithful below Tom did his duty,
But now he's gone alo-o-o-o-oft
--But now he's go-o-o-one aloft!"
Magdalen followed in the direction of the quavering voice, and found
herself in a little room looking out on the back yard. There sat old
Mazey, with his spectacles low on his nose, and his knotty old hands
blundering over the rigging of his model ship. There were Brutus
and Cassius digesting before the fire again, and snoring as if they
thoroughly enjoyed it. There was Lord Nelson on one wall, in flaming
watercolors; and there, on the other, was a portrait of Admiral
Bartram's last flagship, in full sail on a sea of slate, with a
salmon-colored sky to complete the illusion.
"What, they won't show you over the house--won't they?" said old Mazey.
"I will, then! That head house-maid's a sour one, my dear--if ever
there was a sour one yet. You're too young and good-looking to please
'em--that's what you are." He rose, took off his spectacles, and feebly
mended the fire. "She's as straight as a poplar," said old Mazey,
considering Magdalen's figure in drowsy soliloquy. "I say she's as
straight as a poplar, and his honor the admiral says so too! Come along,
my dear," he proceeded, addressing himself to Magdalen again. "I'll
teach you your Pints of the Compass first. When you know your Pints,
blow high, blow low, you'll find it plain sailing all over the house."
He led the way to the door--stopped, and suddenly bethinking himself
of his miniature ship, went back to put his model away in an empty
cupboard--led the way to the door again--stopped once more--remembered
that some of the rooms were chilly--and pottered about, swearing and
grumbling, and looking for his hat. Magdalen sat down patiently to
wait for him. She gratefully contrasted his treatment of her with the
treatment she had received from the women. Resist it as firmly,
despise it as proudly as we may, all studied unkindness--no matter how
contemptible it may be--has a stinging power in it which reaches to
the quick. Magdalen only knew how she had felt the small malice of
the female servants, by the effect which the rough kindness of the old
sailor produced on her afterward. The dumb welcome of the dogs, when the
movements in the room had roused them from their sleep, touched her more
acutely still. Brutus pushed his mighty muzzle companionably into her
hand; and Cassius laid his friendly fore-paw on her lap. Her heart
yearned over the two creatures as she patted and caressed them. It
seemed only yesterday since she and the dogs at Combe-Raven had roamed
the garden together, and had idled away the summer mornings luxuriously
on the shady lawn.
Old Mazey found his hat at last, and they started on their exploring
expedition, with the dogs after them.
Leaving the basement story of the house, which was entirely devoted to
the servants' offices, they ascended to the first floor, and entered the
long corridor, with which Magdalen's last night's experience had already
made her acquainted. "Put your back ag'in this wall," said old Mazey,
pointing to the long wall--pierced at irregular intervals with windows
looking out over a courtyard and fish-pond--which formed the right-hand
side of the corridor, as Magdalen now stood. "Put your back here,"
said the veteran, "and look straight afore you. What do you see?"--"The
opposite wall of the passage," said Magdalen.--"Ay! ay! what
else?"--"The doors leading into the rooms."--"What else?"--"I see
nothing else." Old Mazey chuckled, winked, and shook his knotty
forefinger at Magdalen, impressively. "You see one of the Pints of the
Compass, my dear. When you've got your back ag'in this wall, and when
you look straight afore you, you look Noathe. If you ever get lost
hereaway, put your back ag'in the wall, look out straight afore you, and
say to yourself: 'I look Noathe!' You do that like a good girl, and you
won't lose your bearings."
After administering this preliminary dose of instruction, old Mazey
opened the first of the doors on the left-hand side of the passage. It
led into the dining-room, with which Magdalen was already familiar.
The second room was fitted up as a library; and the third, as a
morning-room. The fourth and fifth doors--both belonging to dismantled
and uninhabited rooms, and both locked-brought them to the end of the
north wing of the house, and to the opening of a second and shorter
passage, placed at a right angle to the first. Here old Mazey, who had
divided his time pretty equally during the investigation of the rooms,
in talking of "his honor the Admiral," and whistling to the dogs,
returned with all possible expedition to the points of the compass, and
gravely directed Magdalen to repeat the ceremony of putting her back
against the wall. She attempted to shorten the proceedings, by declaring
(quite correctly) that in her present position she knew she was
looking east. "Don't you talk about the east, my dear," said old Mazey,
proceeding unmoved with his own system of instruction, "till you know
the east first. Put your back ag'in this wall, and look straight afore
you. What do you see?" The remainder of the catechism proceeded as
before. When the end was reached, Magdalen's instructor was satisfied.
He chuckled and winked at her once more. "Now you may talk about the
east, my dear," said the veteran, "for now you know it."
The east passage, after leading them on for a few yards only, terminated
in a vestibule, with a high door in it which faced them as they
advanced. The door admitted them to a large and lofty drawing-room,
decorated, like all the other apartments, with valuable old-fashioned
furniture. Leading the way across this room, Magdalen's conductor pushed
back a heavy sliding-door, opposite the door of entrance. "Put
your apron over your head," said old Mazey. "We are coming to the
Banqueting-Hall now. The floor's mortal cold, and the damp sticks to the
place like cockroaches to a collier. His honor the admiral calls it
the Arctic Passage. I've got my name for it, too--I call it,
Freeze-your-Bones."
Magdalen passed through the doorway, and found herself in the ancient
Banqueting-Hall of St. Crux.
On her left hand she saw a row of lofty windows, set deep in embrasures,
and extending over a frontage of more than a hundred fee t in length. On
her right hand, ranged in one long row from end to end of the opposite
wall, hung a dismal collection of black, begrimed old pictures, rotting
from their frames, and representing battle-scenes by sea and land. Below
the pictures, midway down the length of the wall, yawned a huge cavern
of a fireplace, surmounted by a towering mantel-piece of black marble.
The one object of furniture (if furniture it might be called) visible
far or near in the vast emptiness of the place, was a gaunt ancient
tripod of curiously chased metal, standing lonely in the middle of the
hall, and supporting a wide circular pan, filled deep with ashes from
an extinct charcoal fire. The high ceiling, once finely carved and gilt,
was foul with dirt and cobwebs; the naked walls at either end of the
room were stained with damp; and the cold of the marble floor struck
through the narrow strip of matting laid down, parallel with the
windows, as a foot-path for passengers across the wilderness of the
room. No better name for it could have been devised than the name which
old Mazey had found. "Freeze-your-Bones" accurately described, in three
words, the Banqueting-Hall at St. Crux.
"Do you never light a fire in this dismal place?" asked Magdalen.
"It all depends on which side of Freeze-your-Bones his honor the
admiral lives," said old Mazey. "His honor likes to shift his quarters,
sometimes to one side of the house, sometimes to the other. If he lives
Noathe of Freeze-your-Bones--which is where you've just come
from--we don't waste our coals here. If he lives South of
Freeze-your-Bones--which is where we are going to next--we light the
fire in the grate and the charcoal in the pan. Every night, when we do
that, the damp gets the better of us: every morning, we turn to again,
and get the better of the damp."
With this remarkable explanation, old Mazey led the way to the lower
end of the Hall, opened more doors, and showed Magdalen through another
suite of rooms, four in number, all of moderate size, and all furnished
in much the same manner as the rooms in the northern wing. She looked
out of the windows, and saw the neglected gardens of St. Crux, overgrown
with brambles and weeds. Here and there, at no great distance in the
grounds, the smoothly curving line of one of the tidal streams peculiar
to the locality wound its way, gleaming in the sunlight, through gaps
in the brambles and trees. The more distant view ranged over the flat
eastward country beyond, speckled with its scattered little villages;
crossed and recrossed by its network of "back-waters"; and terminated
abruptly by the long straight line of sea-wall which protects the
defenseless coast of Essex from invasion by the sea.
"Have we more rooms still to see?" asked Magdalen, turning from the view
of the garden, and looking about her for another door.
"No more, my dear--we've run aground here, and we may as well wear
round and put back again," said old Mazey. "There's another side of the
house--due south of you as you stand now--which is all tumbling about
our ears. You must go out into the garden if you want to see it; it's
built off from us by a brick bulkhead, t'other side of this wall here.
The monks lived due south of us, my dear, hundreds of years afore his
honor the admiral was born or thought of, and a fine time of it they
had, as I've heard. They sang in the church all the morning, and drank
grog in the orchard all the afternoon. They slept off their grog on the
best of feather-beds, and they fattened on the neighborhood all the year
round. Lucky beggars! lucky beggars!"
Apostrophizing the monks in these terms, and evidently regretting that
he had not lived himself in those good old times, the veteran led
the way back through the rooms. On the return passage across
"Freeze-your-Bones," Magdalen preceded him. "She's as straight as a
poplar," mumbled old Mazey to himself, hobbling along after his youthful
companion, and wagging his venerable head in cordial approval. "I never
was particular what nation they belonged to; but I always _did_ like 'em
straight and fine grown, and I always _shall_ like 'em straight and fine
grown, to my dying day."
"Are there more rooms to see upstairs, on the second floor?" asked
Magdalen, when they had returned to the point from which they had
started.
The naturally clear, distinct tones of her voice had hitherto reached
the old sailor's imperfect sense of hearing easily enough. Rather to her
surprise, he became stone deaf on a sudden, to her last question.
"Are you sure of your Pints of the Compass?" he inquired. "If you're not
sure, put your back ag'in the wall, and we'll go all over 'em again, my
dear, beginning with the Noathe."
Magdalen assured him that she felt quite familiar, by this time, with
all the points, the "Noathe" included; and then repeated her question
in louder tones. The veteran obstinately matched her by becoming deafer
than ever.
"Yes, my dear," he said, "you're right; it _is_ chilly in these
passages; and unless I go back to my fire, my fire'll go out--won't it?
If you don't feel sure of your Pints of the Compass, come in to me and
I'll put you right again." He winked benevolently, whistled to the dogs,
and hobbled off. Magdalen heard him chuckle over his own success in
balking her curiosity on the subject of the second floor. "I know how
to deal with 'em!" said old Mazey to himself, in high triumph. "Tall and
short, native and foreign, sweethearts and wives--_I_ know how to deal
with 'em!"
Left by herself, Magdalen exemplified the excellence of the old sailor's
method of treatment, in her particular case, by ascending the stairs
immediately, to make her own observations on the second floor. The stone
passage here was exactly similar, except that more doors opened out of
it, to the passage on the first floor. She opened the two nearest doors,
one after another, at a venture, and discovered that both rooms were
bed-chambers. The fear of being discovered by one of the woman-servants
in a part of the house with which she had no concern, warned her not to
push her investigations on the bedroom floor too far at starting. She
hurriedly walked down the passage to see where it ended, discovered that
it came to its termination in a lumber-room, answering to the position
of the vestibule downstairs, and retraced her steps immediately.
On her way back she noticed an object which had previously escaped her
attention. It was a low truckle-bed, placed parallel with the wall, and
close to one of the doors on the bedroom side. In spite of its strange
and comfortless situation, the bed was apparently occupied at night by
a sleeper; the sheets were on it, and the end of a thick red fisherman's
cap peeped out from under the pillow. She ventured on opening the door
near which the bed was placed, and found herself, as she conjectured
from certain signs and tokens, in the admiral's sleeping chamber. A
moment's observation of the room was all she dared risk, and, softly
closing the door again, she returned to the kitchen regions.
The truckle-bed, and the strange position in which it was placed, dwelt
on her mind all through the afternoon. Who could possibly sleep in it?
The remembrance of the red fisherman's cap, and the knowledge she had
already gained of Mazey's dog-like fidelity to his master, helped her to
guess that the old sailor might be the occupant of the truckle-bed. But
why, with bedrooms enough and to spare, should he occupy that cold and
comfortless situation at night? Why should he sleep on guard outside his
master's door? Was there some nocturnal danger in the house of which the
admiral was afraid? The question seemed absurd, and yet the position of
the bed forced it irresistibly on her mind.
Stimulated by her own ungovernable curiosity on this subject, Magdalen
ventured to question the housekeeper. She acknowledged having walked
from end to end of the passage on the second floor, to see if it was as
long as the passage on the first; and she mentioned having noticed with
astonishment the position of the truckle-bed. Mrs. Drake answered her
implied inquiry shortly and sharply. "I don't blame a young girl like
you," said the old lady, "for being a little curious when she first
comes into such a strange house as this. But remember, for the future,
that yo ur business does not lie on the bedroom story. Mr. Mazey sleeps
on that bed you noticed. It is his habit at night to sleep outside his
master's door." With that meager explanation Mrs. Drake's lips closed,
and opened no more.
Later in the day Magdalen found an opportunity of applying to old Mazey
himself. She discovered the veteran in high good humor, smoking his
pipe, and warming a tin mug of ale at his own snug fire.
"Mr. Mazey," she asked, boldly, "why do you put your bed in that cold
passage?"
"What! you have been upstairs, you young jade, have you?" said old
Mazey, looking up from his mug with a leer.
Magdalen smiled and nodded. "Come! come! tell me," she said, coaxingly.
"Why do you sleep outside the admiral's door?"
"Why do you part your hair in the middle, my dear?" asked old Mazey,
with another leer.
"I suppose, because I am accustomed to do it," answered Magdalen.
"Ay! ay!" said the veteran. "That's why, is it? Well, my dear, the
reason why you part your hair in the middle is the reason why I sleep
outside the admiral's door. I know how to deal with 'em!" chuckled old
Mazey, lapsing into soliloquy, and stirring up his ale in high triumph.
"Tall and short, native and foreign, sweethearts and wives--_I_ know how
to deal with 'em!"
Magdalen's third and last attempt at solving the mystery of the
truckle-bed was made while she was waiting on the admiral at dinner. The
old gentleman's questions gave her an opportunity of referring to the
subject, without any appearance of presumption or disrespect; but he
proved to be quite as impenetrable, in his way, as old Mazey and Mrs.
Drake had been in theirs. "It doesn't concern you, my dear," said the
admiral, bluntly. "Don't be curious. Look in your Old Testament when
you go downstairs, and see what happened in the Garden of Eden through
curiosity. Be a good girl, and don't imitate your mother Eve."
Late at night, as Magdalen passed the end of the second-floor passage,
proceeding alone on her way up to her own room, she stopped and
listened. A screen was placed at the entrance of the corridor, so as to
hide it from the view of persons passing on the stairs. The snoring she
heard on the other side of the screen encouraged her to slip round it,
and to advance a few steps. Shading the light of her candle with
her hand, she ventured close to the admiral's door, and saw, to her
surprise, that the bed had been moved since she had seen it in the
day-time, so as to stand exactly across the door, and to bar the way
entirely to any one who might attempt to enter the admiral's room.
After this discovery, old Mazey himself, snoring lustily, with the red
fisherman's cap pulled down to his eyebrows, and the blankets drawn
up to his nose, became an object of secondary importance only, by
comparison with his bed. That the veteran did actually sleep on
guard before his master's door, and that he and the admiral and the
housekeeper were in the secret of this unaccountable proceeding, was now
beyond all doubt.
"A strange end," thought Magdalen, pondering over her discovery as she
stole upstairs to her own sleeping-room--"a strange end to a strange
day!"