He pointed to Miss Lethwait. Jane withdrew her eyes in aversion, and they fell on Lucy. She made a sign to the child, and Lucy ran up, her brown eyes sparkling, her dark hair flowing, the bright rose shining in her damask cheeks.
“There is a resemblance in this young lady’s face to the one I have been speaking of, Mr. Vaughan. The eyes and hair and complexion are just alike.”
“Is there? Why that’s—somebody told me that was little Lady Lucy Chesney—your sister, of course, Lady Jane. She’s very pretty, but she’s not a bit like Miss Beauchamp.”
Was it to be ever so? Should they come seemingly on the very track of Clarice, only to find their hopes mocked? Things seemed to be going all the wrong way to-night with Jane Chesney.
CHAPTER XXVIII.TURNED AWAY!
Lady Jane Chesney sat in the small drawing-room. It was nearly the only room that the servants had put into habitable order since the revelry of the previous night. Possibly Miss Lethwait may have deemed that to be the reason why her breakfast was that morning served apart. In the simple-mannered household, the governess had hitherto taken her meals with the family; but Jane would not again sit down to the same board with one who had so forgotten herself. Lucy, by Jane’s orders, was allowed to remain later in bed.
Lord Oakburn had taken his breakfast with Jane in this same small drawing-room. Every thing in the house seemed at sixes and sevens, and he made no remark upon the absence of the governess and Lucy. He had risen somewhat later than usual, and it may be that he supposed they had already breakfasted. His lordship was expending all his superfluous breath in a tirade against party-giving.
“Where’s the use of it, after all?” he asked of Jane. “What end does it answer? Here we have got the house turned topsy-turvy just for the sake of two or three hours’ crush! Two or three hours! All that trouble for just two or three hours! There’s no sense in it, Jane. What good does it do? Who benefits by it? The folks have the trouble of dressing themselves, and they come out for an hour, and then go back and undress!—wishing themselves quiet at home all the while. We shall be two days getting straight. The thing’s just this, Jane: it may be all very well for those people who keep a full set of servants in each department to enter on the folly, but it’s an awful bother to those who don’t. Catch me giving one next year! If you must give it on your own score, my Lady Jane, I shall go out the while.”
Did the thought cross the earl’s mind as he spoke, that ere the next year should dawn, Lady Jane would no longer be his house’s mistress? Most probably: for he suddenly ceased in his grumbling, drank down his tea at a gulp, and quitted the room, Jane vainly reminding him that he had made less breakfast than usual.
She had the things taken away, and she got her housekeeping book—for Jane was an exact account-keeper still—and made out what was due to Miss Lethwait. She had not been with them three months yet, but Jane would pay her as though she had. Ringing the bell, Pompey came in answer to it.
“Desire Miss Lethwait to step here,” said Jane.
Miss Lethwait came in at once. It was an idle hour with her, Lucy being yet in her room. She was dressed rather more than usual, in a handsome gown that she generally wore to church on a Sunday: a sort of fancy material with rich colours in it. Had she put it on in consequence of her new position in relation to Lord Oakburn?—to look well in his eye? There was little doubt of it. All night long she had lain awake: her brain, her mind, her thoughts in a tumult; the hot blood coursing fiercely through her veins at the glories that awaited her. One moment these glories seemed very near; real, tangible, sure: the next, they faded away to darkness, and she said to herself that probably Lord Oakburn had only spoken in the passing moment’s delusion: a delusion which would fade away with the morning light.
The torment, the uncertainty did not cease with the day, and it brought a rich colour to her pale face, rarely seen there; never save in moments of deep emotion. As she entered Lady Jane’s presence with this bloom on her cheeks and the purple light shining from her magnificent hair, her handsome gown rustling behind her and her fine figure drawn to its full height, even Jane, with all her prejudice, was struck with her real grandeur.
It did not soften Jane one bit; nay, it had the opposite effect. How haughty Jane could be when she chose, this moment proved. She was sitting herself, but she did not invite the governess to sit: she pointed imperiously with her hand for her to stand, there, on the other side the table, as she might have pointed to a servant. In her condemnation of wrong-doing, Jane Chesney did not deem the governess fit to sit in her presence.
“Miss Lethwait, I find it inexpedient to retain you in my household,” began Jane, in a