Chapter XVIII--My Lady Dunstanwolde sits late alone and writes

A Lady of Quality

by Francis Hodgson Burnett

That she must leave the Panelled Parlour at her usual hour, or
attract attention by doing that to which her household was
unaccustomed, she well knew, her manner of life being ever stately
and ceremonious in its regularity. When she dined at home she and
Anne partook of their repast together in the large dining-room, the
table loaded with silver dishes and massive glittering glass, their
powdered, gold-laced lacqueys in attendance, as though a score of
guests had shared the meal with them. Since her lord's death there
had been nights when her ladyship had sat late writing letters and
reading documents pertaining to her estates, the management of which,
though in a measure controlled by stewards and attorneys, was not
left to them, as the business of most great ladies is generally left
to others. All papers were examined by her, all leases and
agreements clearly understood before she signed them, and if there
were aught unsatisfactory, both stewards and lawyers were called to
her presence to explain.

"Never did I--or any other man--meet with such a head upon a
woman's shoulders," her attorney said. And the head steward of
Dunstanwolde and Helversly learned to quake at the sight of her bold
handwriting upon the outside of a letter.

"Such a lady!" he said--"such a lady! Lie to her if you can;
palter if you know how; try upon her the smallest honest shrewd
trick, and see how it fares with you. Were it not that she is
generous as she is piercing of eye, no man could serve her and make
an honest living."

She went to her chamber and was attired again sumptuously for
dinner. Before she descended she dismissed her woman for a space on
some errand, and when she was alone, drawing near to her mirror,
gazed steadfastly within it at her face. When she had read Osmonde's
letter her cheeks had glowed; but when she had come back to earth,
and as she had sat under her woman's hands at her toilette, bit by
bit the crimson had died out as she had thought of what was behind
her and of what lay before. The thing was so stiffly rigid by this
time, and its eyes still stared so. Never had she needed to put red
upon her cheeks before, Nature having stained them with such richness
of hue; but as no lady of the day was unprovided with her crimson,
there was a little pot among her toilette ornaments which contained
all that any emergency might require. She opened this small
receptacle and took from it the red she for the first time was in
want of.

"I must not wear a pale face, God knows," she said, and rubbed
the colour on her cheeks with boldness.

It would have seemed that she wore her finest crimson when she
went forth full dressed from her apartment; little Nero grinned to
see her, the lacqueys saying among themselves that his Grace's
courier had surely brought good news, and that they might expect his
master soon. At the dinner-table 'twas Anne who was pale and ate but
little, she having put no red upon her cheeks, and having no appetite
for what was spread before her. She looked strangely as though she
were withered and shrunken, and her face seemed even wrinkled. My
lady had small leaning towards food, but she sent no food away
untouched, forcing herself to eat, and letting not the talk
flag--though it was indeed true that 'twas she herself who talked,
Mistress Anne speaking rarely; but as it was always her way to be
silent, and a listener rather than one who conversed, this was not
greatly noticeable.

Her Ladyship of Dunstanwolde talked of her guests of the
afternoon, and was charming and witty in her speech of them; she
repeated the mots of the wits, and told some brilliant stories of
certain modish ladies and gentlemen of fashion; she had things to say
of statesmen and politics, and was sparkling indeed in speaking of
the lovely languisher whose little wrist was too delicate and slender
to support the loaded whip. While she talked, Mistress Anne's soft,
dull eyes were fixed upon her with a sort of wonder which had some of
the quality of bewilderment; but this was no new thing either, for to
the one woman the other was ever something to marvel at.

"It is because you are so quiet a mouse, Anne," my lady said,
with her dazzling smile, "that you seem never in the way; and yet I
should miss you if I knew you were not within the house. When the
duke takes me to Camylotte you must be with me even then. It is so
great a house that in it I can find you a bower in which you can be
happy even if you see us but little. 'Tis a heavenly place I am
told, and of great splendour and beauty. The park and flower-
gardens are the envy of all England."

"You--will be very happy, sister," said Anne, "and--and like a
queen."

"Yes," was her sister's answer--"yes." And 'twas spoken with a
deep in-drawn breath.

After the repast was ended she went back to the Panelled
Parlour.

"You may sit with me till bedtime if you desire, Anne," she
said; "but 'twill be but dull for you, as I go to sit at work. I
have some documents of import to examine and much writing to do. I
shall sit up late." And upon this she turned to the lacquey holding
open the door for her passing through. "If before half-past ten
there comes a message from Sir John Oxon," she gave order, "it must
be brought to me at once; but later I must not be disturbed--it will
keep until morning."

Yet as she spoke there was before her as distinct a picture as
ever of what lay waiting and gazing in the room to which she went.

Until twelve o'clock she sat at her table, a despatch box by her
side, papers outspread before her. Within three feet of her was the
divan, but she gave no glance to it, sitting writing, reading, and
comparing documents. At twelve o'clock she rose and rang the
bell.

"I shall be later than I thought," she said. "I need none of
you who are below stairs. Go you all to bed. Tell my woman that she
also may lie down. I will ring when I come to my chamber and have
need of her. There is yet no message from Sir John?"

"None, my lady," the man answered.

He went away with a relieved countenance, as she made no
comment. He knew that his fellows as well as himself would be pleased
enough to be released from duty for the night. They were a pampered
lot, and had no fancy for late hours when there were no great
entertainments being held which pleased them and gave them chances to
receive vails.

Mistress Anne sat in a large chair, huddled into a small heap,
and looking colourless and shrunken. As she heard bolts being shot
and bars put up for the closing of the house, she knew that her own
dismissal was at hand. Doors were shut below stairs, and when all
was done the silence of night reigned as it does in all households
when those who work have gone to rest. 'Twas a common thing enough,
and yet this night there was one woman who felt the stillness so deep
that it made her breathing seem a sound too loud.

"Go to bed, Anne," she said. "You have stayed up too long."

Anne arose from her chair and drew near to her.

"Sister," said she, as she had said before, "let me stay."

She was a poor weak creature, and so she looked with her pale
insignificant face and dull eyes, a wisp of loose hair lying damp on
her forehead. She seemed indeed too weak a thing to stand even for a
moment in the way of what must be done this night, and 'twas almost
irritating to be stopped by her.

"Nay," said my Lady Dunstanwolde, her beautiful brow knitting as
she looked at her. "Go to your chamber, Anne, and to sleep. I must
do my work, and finish to-night what I have begun."

"But--but--" Anne stammered, dominated again, and made afraid,
as she ever was, by this strong nature, "in this work you must
finish-- is there not something I could do to--aid you--even in some
small and poor way. Is there--naught?"

"Naught," answered Clorinda, her form drawn to its great full
height, her lustrous eyes darkening. "What should there be that you
could understand?"

"Not some small thing--not some poor thing?" Anne said, her
fingers nervously twisting each other, so borne down was she by her
awful timorousness, for awful it was indeed when she saw clouds
gather on her sister's brow. "I have so loved you, sister--I have so
loved you that my mind is quickened somehow at times, and I can
understand more than would be thought--when I hope to serve you.
Once you said--once you said--"

She knew not then nor ever afterwards how it came to pass that
in that moment she found herself swept into her sister's white arms
and strained against her breast, wherein she felt the wild heart
bounding; nor could she, not being given to subtle reasoning, have
comprehended the almost fierce kiss on her cheek nor the hot drops
that wet it.

"I said that I believed that if you saw me commit murder,"
Clorinda cried, "you would love me still, and be my friend and
comforter."

"I would, I would!" cried Anne.

"And I believe your word, poor, faithful soul--I do believe it,"
my lady said, and kissed her hard again, but the next instant set her
free and laughed. "But you will not be put to the test," she said,
"for I have done none. And in two days' time my Gerald will be here,
and I shall be safe--saved and happy for evermore--for evermore.
There, leave me! I would be alone and end my work."

And she went back to her table and sat beside it, taking her pen
to write, and Anne knew that she dare say no more, and turning, went
slowly from the room, seeing for her last sight as she passed through
the doorway, the erect and splendid figure at its task, the light
from the candelabras shining upon the rubies round the snow- white
neck and wreathed about the tower of raven hair like lines of
crimson.