The Maidens Lodge | Page 2

the Abbey. She asked for
an interview with Madam.
"I cannot disturb Madam," said the grey-haired servant, not unkindly;
"her daughter was buried this morning. You must come again, my good
woman."
"Must I so, Baxter?" replied the applicant. "Tell her she has one
daughter left. Surely, if ever she will see me, it were to-night."
"Eh, Mrs Anne!" exclaimed the man, who remembered her as a baby in
arms. "Your pardon, Madam, that I knew you not sooner. Well, I
cannot tell! but come what will, it shall never be said that I turned my
young mistress from her mother's door. If I lose my place by it, I'll take
in your name to Madam."
The answer he received was short and stern. "My daughter was buried

this morning. I will not see the woman."
Baxter softened it a little in repeating it to Mrs Latrobe. But he could
not soften the hard fact that her mother refused to see her. She was
turning away, when suddenly she lifted her head and held out her child
to him.
"Take it to her! 'Tis a boy."
Mrs Latrobe knew Madam. If a grandchild of the nobler sex produced
no effect upon her, no more could be hoped. Baxter carried the child in,
but he shook his grey head when he brought it back. He did not repeat
the message this time.
"I'll have nought to do with that beggar tradesfellow's brats!" said
Madam, in a fury.
"Mrs Anne, there's one bit of comfort," said old Baxter, in a whisper.
"Master slipped out as soon as I told of you, and I saw him cross the
field towards the church. Go you that way, and meet him."
She did not speak another word, but she clasped the child tight to her
bosom, and hurried away. As she passed a narrow outlet at the end of
the Abbey Church, close to the road, Mr Furnival shambled out and
met her.
"Eh, Nancy, poor soul, God bless thee!" faltered the poor father, who
was nearly as much to be pitied as his child. "She'll not see thee, my
girl. And she'll blow me up for coming. But that's nothing--it comes
every day for something. Look here, child," and Mr Furnival emptied
all his pockets, and poured gold and silver into Anne's thin hand. "I can
do no more. Poor child! poor child! But if thou art in trouble, my girl,
send to me at any time, and I'll pawn my coat for thee if I can do no
better."
"Father," said Mrs Latrobe, in an unsteady voice, "I am sorry I was ever
an undutiful child to you."

The emphasis was terribly significant.
So they parted, with much admiration of the grandson, and Mr Furnival
trotted back to his penance; for Madam kept him very short of money,
and required from him an account of every shilling. The storm which
he anticipated broke even a little more severely than he expected; but
he bore it quietly, and went to bed when it was over.
Since that night nothing whatever had been heard of Mrs Latrobe until
four months before the story opens. When Mr Furnival was on his
death-bed, he braved his wife's anger by naming the disowned daughter.
His last words were, "Perpetua, seek out Anne!"
Madam sat listening to him with lips firmly set, and without words. It
was not till he was past speech that she gave him any answer.
"Jack," she said at last, to the pleading eyes which were more eloquent
than the hushed voice had been, "look you here. I will not seek the girl
out. She has made her bed, and let her lie on it! But I will do this for
you--and I should never have done that without your asking and
praying me now. If she comes or sends to me, I will not refuse her
some help. I shall please myself what sort. But I won't turn her quite
away, for your sake."
The pleading eyes turned to grateful ones. An hour later, and Madam
was a widow.
Fourteen years passed, during which Rhoda grew up into a maiden of
nineteen years, always in the custody of her grandmother. Her father
had fallen in one of the Duke of Marlborough's battles, and before his
death had been compelled to sell Peveril Manor to liquidate his
gambling debts. He left nothing for Rhoda beyond his exquisite
wardrobe and jewellery, a service of gold plate, and a number of unpaid
bills, which Madam flatly refused to take upon herself, and defied the
unhappy tradesmen to impose upon Rhoda. She did, however, keep the
plate and jewels; and by way of a sop to Cerberus, allowed the
"beggarly craftsmen," whom she so heartily despised, to sell and divide