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Stephen Of Steens; A Tale Of Wild Justice, a fiction by Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch |
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Chapter 7 |
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_ CHAPTER VII Young Mrs. Stephen awoke in her bed of nettles, and sitting up with her back to the wall, pressed her hands to her temples and tried to think. She could not. For the moment the strain had broken her, and her mind ran only on trifles--her wardrobe, a hundred small odds and ends of personal property left behind her in the house. She could not think, but by instinct she did the wisest thing--found her feet and tottered off in the direction of Nansclowan. She had barely passed the turning of the road shutting her off from his sight when Mr. Jose came riding out by the stable gate and turned his horse's head towards Helleston. When Lady Piers heard that Mrs. Stephen was below in the morning-room and wished to speak with her, she descended promptly, but with no very goodwill towards her visitor. She suspected something amiss, for the maid who carried up the news had added that the widow was "in a pretty pore," and wore not so much as a shawl over her indoor garments. Also she knew, as well as her commoner neighbours, that the situation at Steens must be a difficult one. Now Lady Piers was a devoted and gentle-hearted woman, a loving wife and an incomparable housekeeper (the news had found her busy in her still-room), but her judgment of the young fisher-girl who had wheedled old Humphrey Stephen into matrimony was that of the rest of her sex; and even good and devout women can be a trifle hard, not to say inhuman, towards such an offender. Therefore Lady Piers entered the morning-room with a face not entirely cordial, and, finding the pretty widow in tears, bowed and said, "Good-morning, Mrs. Stephen. What can I do for you?" "He's turned me out!" Mrs. Stephen sobbed. "Indeed!" Lady Piers was not altogether surprised. "He used no violence, I hope?" "I d--don't know what you'd c--call violence, my lady, but he pitched Mr. Trudgian through the window." "That seems to border on violence," said Lady Piers with a faint smile. "But who is Mr. Trudgian?" "He's my lawyer, and he comes from Penzance." "I see." Lady Piers paused and added, "Was it not a little rash to introduce this Mr. Trudgian? In the circumstances,"--she laid a slight stress here--"I should have thought it wiser to leave the house as quietly as possible." "But--but the house is _mine_, my lady . . . every stick of it willed to me, and the estate too! Mr. Trudgian had drawn up the will, and was there to read it." "You don't mean to tell me--" Lady Piers started up from her chair. "'Tis atrocious!" she exclaimed, and a pink spot showed itself on each of her delicate cheeks. "Indeed, Mrs. Stephen, you cannot dare to come to me for help; and if you have come for my opinion, I must tell you what I think--that you are a wicked, designing young woman, and have met with no more than your deserts." "But he called me a dear wife, and he spoke of my loving care." "Who did? Mr. Roger?" "My husband did, my lady." "Oh!" There was a world of meaning in Lady Piers' "oh!" Even a good and happy wife may be allowed to know something of men's weakness. "And Mr. Trudgian, I suppose, put that down on parchment?" Mrs. Stephen gazed for a moment disconsolately out of the window, and rose to go. "Nay," Lady Piers commanded, "you must sit down for a while and rest. Sir John is in London, as you know, and were he at home I feel sure you would get little condolence from him. But you are weak and over-worn, and have few friends, I doubt, between this and Porthleven. You cannot walk so far. Rest you here, and I will send you some food, and order John Penwartha to saddle a horse. I can lend you a cloak too, and you shall ride behind him to Porthleven. A _friend_ I cannot find, to escort you; but John is a sensible fellow, and keeps his opinions to himself." _ |
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