My Mother's Rival by Charlotte Mary Brame (highly illogical behavior .TXT) 📕

delighted. Sir Charles Pomfret wishes me to go over to Pomfort Castle for a few days; he has a fine large party there, and several of my old friends among them."

"What a disappointment to you," she cried. "You must feel these things sorely."

A frown instead of a smile passed over his face.

I remember when he used to laugh, and say that it was a pleasure to give up anything to be with my mother. Now he began to pace up and down the room while she looked after him with pitiful eyes. Suddenly she rose, and, going up to him, laid her hand on his arm. She gazed earnestly into his face.

"Why stay away, Sir Roland? I am sure you might go if you would. I will take care of Lady Tayne. I do not see that you need be anxious, or that there is the least need for giving up the party; let me persuade you to go."

"It seems unkind to leave Lady Tayne," he said. "I have never left her for so long, and never alone."

"If you will trust her to me, I will take the greatest care of her," said Miss Reinhart; "and I am sure, quite sure, that if Lady Tayne knew, she would insist on it--she would indeed. She would be the last to wish you to give up every pleasure for her sake."

It was the thin end of the wedge, but she succeeded in driving it in.

He went. It was the first time he had left my mother, but by no means the last. He went himself to tell her that he had decided on going. She was most amiable and unselfish, and told him what was perfectly true--that she was delighted, and that if he would begin to go out without her she would be most happy. I know that she was unselfishly glad, yet her sweet face was paler that night than usual; and once more I felt sure that there were tears in her eyes.

My father's visit was prolonged for a whole week, and very much he enjoyed it. He wrote home every day; but it did not seem natural to me that Miss Reinhart should be waiting for him in the hall, or that he should tell her all about his visit long before he went to my mother's room.

But it was so, and my poor, dear mother did not know it.


CHAPTER VIII.


The first real rebellion, and the first time that the eyes of people were opened to the amount of influence and authority that Miss Reinhart had acquired in Tayne Hall. One or two domestic matters had gone wrong--nothing very much, but dinner was late several times, and the household machinery did not seem to run on as it had done. My father complained; the cook did not evidently take so much pains.

"There is no one to look after her," he said, with a deep sigh.

Miss Reinhart responded by another.

"Dear Sir Roland, can I help you--may I help you?" she explained. "Your housekeeper is too old; you will never do any good until you have another."

"But," said my father, "she has been here so long; she was my mother's housekeeper long before I was born. It does not seem right to send away an old servant."

"You need not send her away, I said before; you might pension her off."

"I will speak to Lady Tayne about it. She has very peculiar ideas on that point. I must see what she thinks about it."

"Of course," said Miss Reinhart, "you will do as you think best, Sir Roland--and your way is, I am sure, always the best--but I should have thought, considering the very nervous state that Lady Tayne always lies in, that it would have been far better not to let her know about it until it is all over."

My father thought for a few moments, and then he said:

"No, I should not like to do that; it would seem like taking an unfair advantage of her helplessness."

Miss Reinhart blushed deeply.

"Oh, Sir Roland!" she cried, "you could not suppose that I thought of such a thing! I assure you I am quite incapable of it. I thought only of dear Lady Tayne."

And she seemed so distressed, so concerned and anxious that my father hardly knew how to reassure her. She explained and protested until at last, and with something of impatience, he said:

"I will speak to Lady Tayne about it this morning." I knew he felt in want of some kind of moral support when he took my hand and said, in would-be careless words: "Come with me, Laura, to see mamma."

And we went, hand-in-hand, to my mother's room. There, after the usual loving greetings had been exchanged, my father broached the subject which evidently perplexed and sadly worried him. Broached it ever so gently, but I, who knew every look and trick of my mother's face, saw how deeply pained she was. She never attempted to interrupt him, but when he had finished speaking--having passed over very lightly indeed the little domestic matters which had gone wrong since my mother's illness, dwelling principally upon the benefit that would most probably accrue if a younger housekeeper were engaged--my mother declined to do anything of the kind.

"My dear Roland," she said, "it would literally break my heart; think what a faithful old servant she has been."

"That is just it," said my father; "she is too old--too old, Miss Reinhart thinks, to do her work well."

There is a moment's silence.

"Miss Reinhart thinks so," said my mother, in those clear, gentle tones I knew so well; "but then, Roland, what can Miss Reinhart know about our household matters?"

That question puzzled him, for I believe that he himself was quite unconscious how or to what extent he was influenced by my governess.

"I should think," he replied, "that she must have noticed the little disasters and failures. She is only anxious to spare you trouble and help you."

"That would not help me, sending away an attached and faithful old servant like Mrs. Eastwood and putting a stranger in her place."

"But if the stranger should be more efficient of the two, what then, Beatrice?"

"I do not care about that," she said, plaintively. "Mrs. Eastwood could have an assistant--that would be better. You see, Roland, I am so accustomed to her, she knows all my ways, and sends me just what I like. I am so thoroughly accustomed to her I could not bear a stranger."

"But, my darling, the stranger would never come near you," said my father.

"Mrs. Eastwood does," said my mother. "You do not know, Roland, when my maid and nurse are tired she often comes to sit with me in the dead of night, and we can talk about old times, even before you were born. She tells me about your mother and you when you were a little boy. I should not like to lose her. Miss Reinhart does not understand."

"That settles the affair, my darling. If you do not decidedly wish it, it shall never be done."

She drew his face down to hers and kissed it.

"You are so good to me," she said, gently. "You bear so much for my sake. I know that you will not mind a little inconvenience every now and then. I am sure you will not."

"No; if you wish her to stay she shall do so," said Sir Roland; but I, who know every play of his features, feel quite sure that he was not pleased.

Little was said the next morning at breakfast time. Sir Roland said hurriedly that Lady Tayne did not wish to change; she was attached to the old housekeeper, and did not like to lose her. Miss Reinhart listened with a gentle, sympathetic face.

"Yes," she said, "it will, of course, be much more pleasant for Lady Tayne, but you should be considered as well. I know of a person, a most excellent, economical managing woman, who is competent in every way to undertake the situation. Still, if I cannot serve you in one way, can I not in another? Shall I try to make matters easier for Mrs. Eastwood? I understand housekeeping very well. I could do some good, I think!"

"You are very kind to offer," he said. "I really do not like to complain to Lady Tayne. She cannot possibly help it, and it distresses her. Not that there is much the matter, only a few little irregularities; but then you will not have time."

"If you give me the permission," she said, "I will make the time."

"It would really be a kindness," he said, "and I am very grateful to you indeed. Perhaps you will be kind enough just to overlook matters for me."

I was with them, listening in fear and trembling, for I knew quite well that Mrs. Eastwood would never submit to the rule of my governess. No woman on earth ever played her cards so skillfully as Miss Reinhart. She did not begin by interfering with the housekeeping at once; that would not have been policy; she was far too wise.

She began by small reforms. The truth must be told. Since my mother's long illness our household had in some measure relaxed from its good discipline. At first Miss Reinhart only interfered with the minor arrangements. She made little alterations, all of which were conducive to my father's comfort, and he was very grateful. When he saw that she did so well in one direction, he asked her to help in another; and at last came, what I had foreseen, a collision with Mrs. Eastwood.

The Wars of the Roses were nothing to it. But for the pitiful tragedy embodied in it, I could have laughed as at a farce. Miss Reinhart was valiant, but Mrs. Eastwood was more valiant still. The whole household ranged itself on one side or the other. The old servants were all on the housekeeper's side, the new ones went with Miss Reinhart.

"A house divided against itself cannot stand." Ours did not. Before long the rival powers came into collision, and there was a declaration of war--war to the knife!

Miss Reinhart, "speaking solely in the interests of Sir Roland," wished the dinner hour to be changed; it would be more convenient and suitable to Sir Roland if it were an hour later. The housekeeper said that to make it an hour later would be to disturb all the arrangements of the house, and it could not be done.

Miss Reinhart said it was the duty of the housekeeper to obey.

The housekeeper said that she was accustomed to take her orders from the master and mistress of the house, and that she did not recognize that of the governess.

"You will be compelled to recognize mine, Mrs. Eastwood, if you remain here," she said.

"Then I shall not remain," said the old housekeeper, trembling with indignation, which was exactly what Miss Reinhart had desired her to say.

"You had better tell Sir Roland yourself," said my governess, in her cold, impassive manner. "It has nothing whatever to do with me. Sir Roland wishes me to attend to these things, and I have done so--the result does not lie with me."

"I have lived here, the most faithful and devoted of servants, for more than fifty years. Why should you turn me away, or seek to turn