Inheritance Feud

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

THAT something like friendship should have sprung up be tween the two girls after that would perhaps have been impos sible in a less lonely situation. If any servant was considered as a friend, it was after service of long standing, in certain cases only; Mrs. Betts herself had never achieved it. The young niece of Livia's employer-of any employer, implying a probable ignorance of toil, hardship, hunger and lack of privacy, for such folk lived differently-would not have been a candidate for Livia's heart, back at Emmett's or nearer town. But Annabel was lonely; hungry for Morven, missing even the sparse company of young Peter Melrose, news of whose death had come as the first personal shock of her life; she could hardly recall gentle Mama's demise, and her father had been some weeks dying, which had prepared her.

So she was shorn of young company; and the morning chocolate-visits of the new maid tended to grow longer and longer, stretching by the end from minutes to a full quarter hour; Livia dared not stay longer away from her duties, although after the first week or two Mrs. Retford ceased to spy on her constantly. There wasn't much, in any case, for Mary Reid to pilfer; any small saleable object, a silver snuff box of the late Retford's or a cameo brooch of his widow's, had discreetly gone long since, to be turned into money. Money was a passion with Mrs. Retford; the scrimping and saving of it on small things, tedious to relate, her heart's desire. But she never scrimped on Annabel, her chief invest ment: the girl's appearance was always neat and pretty, and she was given enough fresh gloves and slippers, white hose and beribboned linen, to deny any rumours there might be about the Doon lack of dowry. Once Annabel had offered a pair of white satin shoes to Livia when they were slightly rubbed; the latter shook her head.

"Why? You only have one pair; I've never seen you in any other." "They do me. Your aunt wouldn't like it." And she folded her lips over the rest. Annabel lay back on the pillows and looked at her, a considering, bright-eyed sparrow.

"Aunt is very pleased with you, although she will never say so, Livia. You work hard, and-and you do things you needn't do; you draw such pretty chalk patterns on the flag stones after you've scrubbed them. I never saw anyone else do that." She smiled, and prepared to chatter on; it was pleasant to do so, for aunt Retford and she talked seldom, and then only regarding correct essentials. Annabel would have been, had she had the opportunity, a company-loving person; the presence of other people in a room stimulated her. This luxury had seldom been afforded; she was still to discover herself. Now, the new maid challenged her with silence, covering no doubt a great deal she herself didn't know; where had Livia come from? For aunt Retford, to whom it had not occurred that there would be any need, had not disclosed to her niece that the new maid was from a correction-house and, accordingly, cheap. Perhaps she should have done so; but the likelihood of talk, let alone some intimacy, between the two young women had not manifested itself to her: the imagina tion of the correct of heart is limited.

Livia, now, showed no signs of pleasure at news of Mrs. Retford's own. She hung her head and pleated her apron's stuff with her fingers. "Please, Miss Annabel, will you remember to call me Mary?" It wasn't the first time; one day, the silly little thing would let it out. "But you told me your name was Livia," said Annabel,

opening her eyes wide. "It's my other name. They never use it, miss." Livia, who could quickly lie her way out of any unforeseen emergency, had found this recurrent one a growing embarrassment. She flushed scarlet, and lowered her grey eyes before the clear, amused hazel ones. "My name's Mary Reid," she said firmly, and turned away. "If you're done with the tray, I'll take it." She did so and went towards the door. Annabel called after her, laughing,

"I shall call you Livia Mary. That'll do, won't it?" A dimple showed in her right cheek which was rarely seen, situated near the upper lip which seldom laughed. "Livia suits you better, though, I think. It is an unusual name; where did it come from?" For Annabel, educated on no account to be a bluestocking, had never heard of the wife of Augustus, barely indeed of that emperor. Livia, still standing at the door with the tray, and with her own clear memory of what old Ransome had told her in childhood, opened her lips on a breath; she had been about to say, proudly, as her mother had done, "It's a queen's name," but remembered in time who and where she was now. Miss Annabel, no doubt, thought her queer in the head already, sometimes one name, sometimes the next. Best say no more, or the old woman'd get hold of it and ask questions, perhaps even write back to Emmett's. No, that was fanciful: madam'd grudge the expense and anyway she herself so far was giving satisfaction. Mrs. Betts had told her so, at the same time clucking her English Border tongue about how that poor dear, Miss Annabel, was completely under the thumb of madam; no life of her own or friends at all. There had only been Master Morven, if one could call him a friend. And he'd been sent to the rightabout the moment the old master was dead.

Livia, who had heard Morven Doon mentioned once or twice by then, asked a question. "You steer clear of the likes of him, Mary, if he comes skulking round," was all she received. Her supposedly untutored ears were then regaled briefly with a list of the dangers an honest girl might be in from lingering even one unguarded moment in the company of such as Morven Doon. "Were you even seen to pass the time of day, it'd be the end of your good name in these parts; and once that's gone it don't come back, no matter what." And Mrs. Betts, whom it was difficult to picture as having any cause to know, had turned back to her vegetable-chopping and to a discreet silence.

Livia herself had had more to do than trouble further about Morven Doon. Her duties, which were constant by day, took her about the place but not beyond; she hadn't seen him, or met anyone who had. Her sole company since she'd come had been the Betts couple, Mrs. Retford-if she could be called company, Livia thought wryly-and Miss Annabel. It wasn't enough servants for a house even this size. She remembered now that Miss Annabel and she had been disagreeing about something a moment ago and, recalling what it was, said firmly that it would be better, wouldn't it, if Miss just remembered to call her Mary by itself? But the pretty face frowned.

"I don't see " Annabel was beginning, and Livia changed course abruptly. At such moments, she'd often had reason to know at Emmett's, it paid to divert the attention of whoever was being awkward. Now, she racked her brains, and hit on something, "I did hear say there were folks coming soon to look over the big house, to buy it," she said. "Where did I hear that? Can't say I remember." Betts, she supposed; there was no one else who'd have any news. She stooped to pick up the hot-water can, fetched upstairs earlier that morning. "Shall I pour out into the ewer now, Miss Annabel?"

But there was no reply. If Livia had hoped to distract the other girl's attention she had more than succeeded; the heiress to Malvie sat quite still, face white against the pillows. "Buy the house?" she said. "Buy Malvie? Oh, no, it can't be-it can't be, Livia!"

So I'm Livia again in any case, thought the other grimly. It seemed there was no help for it; best say nothing more. Miss Annabel didn't speak up often enough in presence of her aunt to be likely to mention any servant's name. Perhaps, now, she'd say more to the old woman about Malvie sale, and Mrs. Retford would ask where she'd heard it. Perhaps-oh, what use in thinking up more ifs and perhapses? She had her own work to do, and provided she got on with that, and kept mum, nobody could say much. She bobbed a curtsey to Miss Annabel, still staring ahead from her bed, and herself departed with the used chocolate-tray.

The news about Malvie had indeed come from Betts, who'd got it from Abel Judd the son of old Aaron the blacksmith, at his Fleece. Betts was permitted to escape there for some hours on a Friday. Two dark-clad gentlemen, he'd heard, lawyers by the of them, had come riding in lately from Edinburgh, and Molly the maid had taken up their gear and a posset before they slept that night, and had overheard something before she knocked on the door. Next day the two gentlemen went up to visit Sir Hubert Melrose at Maddon, and he rode back down with them at night to partake of wine, and the three talked together till all hours. Twenty years older, Sir Hubert looked, and grey of face and hair since the death of his son; it was the first time, almost, he'd ridden out since Master Peter was killed. There'd only be little Master Paul left now to inherit Maddon. Sad, that; and sad too about Malvie. The times were coming when these great houses would all be in crumbled ruin, with no money to keep them up, unless they sold in the south to some rich buyer. Time Malvie was sold, perhaps in time to get back to the grand place it had once been; not but what there was hardly ever a Doon with enough silver to put back a roof-tile if it fell off, or mend a window. They were a feckless race, the Doons. The Doons! Miss Annabel, now, kept prisoner by that aunt of hers; and young Master Morven, knocking about the shore and Bart Judd's boat all day, and whatever they did at night..

But everyone at the Fleece, and in the countryside, knew very well what Bart and Morven did with their boat at night. It was politic not to mention it, any more than one had once mentioned the devil.

A restlessness had taken Livia after that conversation with

Annabel Doon.

After the day's work was over-the fire-lighting, the carry ing upstairs of heated water, the scrubbing and sanding and chalk-patterns, the polishing and sweeping and dusting and cleaning of small many-paned windows up and down the house; the brushing of curtains and rubbing up of handles and latches, as well as the great tirling-pin so seldom used on the Mains front door-the washing and ironing and pleating of caps and cuffs and under-petticoats, the starching and rins ing, the threading in again of ribbons and darning of the ladies' hose-after all this, and more, it would be near even ing, when Livia's work, with the speed she made at it, was done. Sometimes, lately, she'd walk out for a breath of air, beyond the house, beyond the hedge. Once or twice she'd cover the half-mile down the lane, and stand for a while look ing out over the sea. There was Man always on the horizon, a dark blotch out of the almost constant mist about its base. Once there'd been a long ship in the channel with furled sails, still in the evening. She'd asked Betts and he said it was a revenue-cutter; they sent them to cruise up and down on occasion, and keep watch. Watch on what, Livia didn't ask; she was sharp, and she knew. Once, again, in the near distance, across the curve of the small bay, she'd seen the dark hump of the smithy-buildings, and an open door and an old thin man bending over his forge. She'd known he was old by the slowness of his movements; he was tall and thin as gibbet meat, a mere hanging together of old bones. But he could work; she watched him for a while, leaning in darkness and silence by herself against a wall. Often after that she'd come out and watch the slow, dedicated, busy old man; he'd forge and hammer objects nearby the fire, which he kept bright orange against the night. Anyone who worked as hard as that deserved to get rich, she decided.