Lady Good-for-Nothing | Page 5

bracket.
Across its glass face ran the legend BOWLING GREEN INN, in
orange-coloured lettering, and the ray of its oil-lamp wavered on the
boughs of two tall maples set like sentinels by the Inn gateway and
reddening now to the fall of the leaf. Yes, the ground about his feet was
strewn with leaves: it must be one of these that had brushed by his face.
If the folk in the streets had been sullen, those of the Inn were eager
enough, even obsequious. A trio of grooms fell to unharnessing the
horses; a couple of porters ran to and fro, unloading the baggage and
cooking-pots; while the landlady shouted orders right and left in the
porchway. She deemed, honest soul, that she was mistress of the
establishment, until Manasseh undeceived her.
Manasseh's huge stature and gold-encrusted livery commanded respect
in spite of his colour. He addressed her as "woman." "Woman, if you
will stop yo' cacklin' and yo' crowin'? Go in now and fetch me fish,
fetch me chickens, fetch me plenty eggs. Fetch me a dam scullion. Heh?
Stir yo' legs and fetch me a dam scullion, and the chickens tender. His
Exc'llence mos' partic'ler the chickens tender."
Still adjuring her he shouldered his way through the house to the
kitchen, whence presently his voice sounded loud, authoritative, above
the clatter of cooking-pots. From time to time he broke away from the
business of unpacking to reiterate his demands for fish, eggs,
chicken--the last to be tender at all costs and at pain of his tremendous
displeasure.
"And I assure you, ma'am," said Captain Vyell, standing in the passage
at the door of his private room, "his standard is a high one. I believe the
blackguard never stole a tough fowl in his life. . . . Show me to my
bedroom, please, if the trunks are unstrapped; and the child, here, to
his. . . . Eh? What's this?--a rush-light? I don't use rush-lights. Go to
Manasseh and ask him to unpack you a pair of candles."
The landlady returned with a silver candlestick in either hand, and
candles of real wax. She had never seen the like, and led the way
upstairs speculating on their cost. The bedrooms proved to be clean,

though bare and more than a little stuffy--their windows having been
kept shut for some days against the gale. The Collector commanded
them to be opened. The landlady faintly protested. "The wind would
gutter the candles--and such wax too!" She was told to obey, and she
obeyed.
In the boy's room knelt a girl--a chambermaid--unstrapping his small
valise. She had a rush-light on the floor beside her, and did not look up
as the landlady thrust open the lattice and left the room with the
Collector, the boy remaining behind. His candle stood upon a chest of
drawers by the window; and, as the others went out, a draught of wind
caught the dimity curtain, blew it against the flame, and in an instant
ignited it.
The girl looked up swiftly at the sudden light above her, and as
swiftly--before the child could cry out--was on her feet. She caught the
fire between her two hands and beat it out, making no noise and
scarcely flinching, though her flesh was certainly being scorched.
"That was lucky," she said, looking across at him with a smile.
"Ruth!--Ruth!" called the landlady's voice, up the corridor. "Here, a
moment!"
She dropped the charred curtain and hurried to answer the call.
"Ruth! Where's the bootjack? His Honour will take off his
riding-boots."
"Bootjack, ma'am?" interrupted the Collector, leaning back in a chair
and extending a shapely leg with instep and ankle whereon the
riding-boot fitted like a glove. "I don't maul my leather with bootjacks.
Send Manasseh upstairs to me; ask him with my compliments what the
devil he means by clattering saucepans when he should be attending to
his master. . . . Eh, what's this?"
"She can do it, your Honour," said the landlady, catching Ruth by the
shoulder and motioning her to kneel and draw off the boot. (It is likely

she shirked carrying the message.)
"Oh, very well--if only she won't twist my foot. . . . Take care of the
spur, child."
The girl knelt, and with her blistered hand took hold of the boot-heel
below the spur. It cost her exquisite pain, but she did not wince; and her
head being bent, no one perceived the tears in her eyes.
She had scarcely drawn off the second boot, when Manasseh appeared
in the doorway carrying a silver tray with glasses and biscuits; a glass
of red wine for his master, a more innocent cordial for the young
gentleman, and both glasses filmed over with the chill of crushed ice.
The girl was withdrawing when