Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One

Now, her instructions had been stringent; and knowing that it would be like high treason to speak to Humphrey, she determined that she would not, just as an industrious young needle, which had been warned not to get rusty by associating with common bits of steel, might have gone on busily through its work like the one Polly held in her hand.

But supposing that, instead of a common piece of steel, a magnet that had been rubbed with the loadstone of love should come in its way, what could the poor needle do?

Even as did little Polly – vow that aunt would be so cross; and then feel herself drawn, drawn closer and closer to the iron-barred window, till her little hands were caught in two strong, muscular fists, which pressed them so hard that they almost hurt.

“Oh! you mustn’t, mustn’t come!” sobbed Polly. “If aunt found it out she would almost kill me!”

“No, no, little one,” said Humphrey; “why should she?”

“You – you don’t know aunt,” whispered Polly. “She’s ordered me not to speak to you.”

“Not to speak to me!”

“Yes; nor to any one else. She would be so angry if she knew. You don’t want to get me scolded.”

“No, no,” he whispered – “not for worlds.”

“Pray, pray, go then; and you must not speak to me any more.”

“But Polly, dear Polly,” whispered Humphrey, “tell me one thing, and then I’ll go and wait years and years, if you like, only tell me that.”

Humphrey stopped short, for a singular phenomenon occurred. Polly’s fingers seemed to suddenly change from within his hands to his wrists, and to become bony and firm, a sharp voice at the same moment exclaiming —

“Who’s this?”

Humphrey Lloyd was a man, every inch of him, and he spoke out boldly —

“Well, if you must know, it’s me – Humphrey.”

“Go round to the side door, and come to my room,” said Mrs Lloyd, in a low, angry voice.

Humphrey was heard to go rustling through the laurels, as Mrs Lloyd exclaimed —

“Go up to your room, Miss, this instant; and don’t you stir till I call you down.”

Shivering with fear and shame, Polly made her escape to run up to her room, throw herself on the bed, and cry as if her heart would break, just missing Humphrey, who came round without loss of time.

“Now,” said Mrs Lloyd, as soon as the door was closed, “what have you to say to this?”

“Only that it was my fault,” said Humphrey – “all my fault; so don’t blame the poor little girl. It was all my doing.”

“Now, look here, Humphrey Lloyd,” exclaimed the housekeeper, speaking in a low, angry voice, “you like your place here?”

“Yes, if you and he could treat me a little better.”

“Never mind about that,” said Mrs Lloyd.

“It’s no use to mind,” said Humphrey, bitterly. “If I had been a dog instead of your own flesh and blood, you couldn’t have treated me worse.”

“Treated you badly!” exclaimed Mrs Lloyd; “haven’t you been well fed, educated, and placed in a good situation?”

“Yes – all that,” said Humphrey. “And for reward you fly in my face. Now, look here, Humphrey. If you so much as look at that girl again, let alone speak to her, off you go. You shall not stay on the premises another day.”

“Well,” said Humphrey, “that’s pleasant; but all the same I don’t see what power you have in the matter, so long as I satisfy the young master.”

“Then just content yourself with satisfying your young master, sir, and mind, that girl’s not for you, so let’s have no more of it. Now go.”

“But look here,” said Humphrey. “I told you to go,” said Mrs Lloyd, pointing. “Your place is at the keeper’s lodge. Go and stay there, and don’t go thinking you can influence Master Dick – Mr Trevor – to keep you, because even if you could, the girl should go away, and you should see her no more. Now go.”

“Poor little lassie,” muttered Humphrey, as, in obedience to Mrs Lloyd’s pointing finger, he slowly left the room, walked heavily along the passage, and out into the dark evening, to pass round the house, and cross the lawn, where he could see through the open windows into the dining-room.

“Nice for me,” he muttered. “Forbidden to go near her – girl in my own station. What does the old woman mean?”

He stood gazing in at the merry, laughing party of young, well-dressed men.

“Nice to be you,” he thought; “plenty of money to spend; people to do all you tell them to; nobody to thwart you. But I wonder what the old lady means.”

He laughed to himself directly after, in a low, bitter fashion.

“No, not so bad as that,” he said, half aloud. “She’s ambitious, and scheming, but that would be going too far.”

Kinks in the Line

Matters were not so pleasant, though, with the four occupants of the dining-room as Humphrey Lloyd believed. Vanleigh had his skeleton in the cupboard and was very impecunious; Sir Felix had wealth, but he was constantly feeling that his friend Vanleigh was an incubus whom he would give the world to shake off, but wanted the moral courage; Pratt suffered from poverty, and now told himself that he must be bored by his friend’s affairs; lastly, Trevor had come down to his old home thinking it would be a bower of roses, and it was as full of thorns, as it could possibly be.

The dinner had been a failure. At every turn the influence of Mrs Lloyd was perceptible, and proof given that so far she had been sole mistress of the house.

“By the way, Vanleigh, try that claret,” said Trevor, in the course of the dinner. “Lloyd, the claret to Captain Vanleigh.”

The Captain tasted it, and set down his glass.

Pratt took a glass, and made a point of drinking it.

Trevor saw there was something wrong.

“Bring me that claret,” he said.

The butler poured him out a glass of very thin, poor wine.

Lloyd was then proceeding to fill Sir Felix’s glass, but he declined.

“I thought we had some good old claret,” said Trevor, fuming.

“Yes, sir,” said the butler.

“Fetch a bottle directly,” exclaimed Trevor. “Really, gentlemen, I am very sorry,” he continued, as the butler went out of the room. “It’s a mistake. Here, Robert, what champagne’s that?”

The footman brought a bottle from the ice-pail.