No Name

Between nine and ten o’clock the same evening, Louisa, waiting anxiously, heard the long-expected knock at the house door. She ran downstairs at once and let her mistress in.

Magdalen’s face was flushed. She showed far more agitation on returning to the house than she had shown on leaving it. “Keep your place at the table,” she said to Louisa, impatiently; “but lay aside your work. I want you to attend carefully to what I am going to say.”

Louisa obeyed. Magdalen seated herself at the opposite side of the table, and moved the candles, so as to obtain a clear and uninterrupted view of her servant’s face.

“Have you noticed a respectable elderly woman,” she began, abruptly, “who has been here once or twice in the last fortnight to pay me a visit?”

“Yes, ma’am; I think I let her in the second time she came. An elderly person named Mrs. Attwood?”

“That is the person I mean. Mrs. Attwood is Mr. Loscombe’s housekeeper; not the housekeeper at his private residence, but the housekeeper at his offices in Lincoln’s Inn. I promised to go and drink tea with her some evening this week, and I have been to-night. It is strange of me, is it not, to be on these familiar terms with a woman in Mrs. Attwood’s situation?”

Louisa made no answer in words. Her face spoke for her: she could hardly avoid thinking it strange.

“I had a motive for making friends with Mrs. Attwood,” Magdalen went on. “She is a widow, with a large family of daughters. Her daughters are all in service. One of them is an under-housemaid in the service of Admiral Bartram, at St. Crux-in-the-Marsh. I found that out from Mrs. Attwood’s master; and as soon as I arrived at the discovery, I privately determined to make Mrs. Attwood’s acquaintance. Stranger still, is it not?”

Louisa began to look a little uneasy. Her mistress’s manner was at variance with her mistress’s words—it was plainly suggestive of something startling to come.

“What attraction Mrs. Attwood finds in my society,” Magdalen continued, “I cannot presume to say. I can only tell you she has seen better days; she is an educated person; and she may like my society on that account. At any rate, she has readily met my advances toward her. What attraction I find in this good woman, on my side, is soon told. I have a great curiosity—an unaccountable curiosity, you will think—about the present course of household affairs at St. Crux-in-the-Marsh. Mrs. Attwood’s daughter is a good girl, and constantly writes to her mother. Her mother is proud of the letters and proud of the girl, and is ready enough to talk about her daughter and her daughter’s place. That is Mrs. Attwood’s attraction to me. You understand, so far?”

Yes—Louisa understood. Magdalen went on. “Thanks to Mrs. Attwood and Mrs. Attwood’s daughter,” she said, “I know some curious particulars already of the household at St. Crux. Servants’ tongues and servants’ letters—as I need not tell you—are oftener occupied with their masters and mistresses than their masters and mistresses suppose. The only mistress at St. Crux is the housekeeper. But there is a master—Admiral Bartram. He appears to be a strange old man, whose whims and fancies amuse his servants as well as his friends. One of his fancies (the only one we need trouble ourselves to notice) is, that he had men enough about him when he was living at sea, and that now he is living on shore, he will be waited on by women-servants alone. The one man in the house is an old sailor, who has been all his life with his master—he is a kind of pensioner at St. Crux, and has little or nothing to do with the housework. The other servants, indoors, are all women; and instead of a footman to wait on him at dinner, the admiral has a parlor-maid. The parlor-maid now at St. Crux is engaged to be married, and as soon as her master can suit himself she is going away. These discoveries I made some days since. But when I saw Mrs. Attwood to-night, she had received another letter from her daughter in the interval, and that letter has helped me to find out something more. The housekeeper is at her wits’ end to find a new servant. Her master insists on youth and good looks—he leaves everything else to the housekeeper—but he will have that. All the inquiries made in the neighborhood have failed to produce the sort of parlor-maid whom the admiral wants. If nothing can be done in the next fortnight or three weeks, the housekeeper will advertise in the Times, and will come to London herself to see the applicants, and to make strict personal inquiry into their characters.”

Louisa looked at her mistress more attentively than ever. The expression of perplexity left her face, and a shade of disappointment appeared there in its stead. “Bear in mind what I have said,” pursued Magdalen; “and wait a minute more, while I ask you some questions. Don’t think you understand me yet—I can assure you, you don’t understand me. Have you always lived in service as lady’s maid?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Have you ever lived as parlor-maid?”

“Only in one place, ma’am, and not for long there.”

“I suppose you lived long enough to learn your duties?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What were your duties besides waiting at table?”

“I had to show visitors in.”

“Yes; and what else?”

“I had the plate and the glass to look after; and the table-linen was all under my care. I had to answer all the bells, except in the bedrooms. There were other little odds and ends sometimes to do—”

“But your regular duties were the duties you have just mentioned?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How long ago is it since you lived in service as a parlor-maid?”

“A little better than two years, ma’am.”

“I suppose you have not forgotten how to wait at table, and clean plate, and the rest of it, in that time?”

At this question Louisa’s attention, which had been wandering more and more during the progress of Magdalen’s inquiries, wandered away altogether. Her gathering anxieties got the better of her discretion, and even of her timidity. Instead of answering her mistress, she suddenly and confusedly ventured on a question of her own.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” she said. “Did you mean me to offer for the parlor-maid’s place at St. Crux?”

“You?” replied Magdalen. “Certainly not! Have you forgotten what I said to you in this room before I went out? I mean you to be married, and go to Australia with your husband and your child. You have not waited as I told you, to hear me explain myself. You have drawn your own conclusions, and you have drawn them wrong. I asked a question just now, which you have not answered—I asked if you had forgotten your parlor-maid’s duties?”

“Oh, no, ma’am!” Louisa had replied rather unwillingly thus far. She answered readily and confidently now.

“Could you teach the duties to another servant?” asked Magdalen.

“Yes, ma’am—easily, if she was quick and attentive.”

“Could you teach the duties to Me?”

Louisa started, and changed color. “You, ma’am!” she exclaimed, half in incredulity, half in alarm.

“Yes,” said Magdalen. “Could you qualify me to take the parlor-maid’s place at St. Crux?”

Plain as those words were, the bewilderment which they produced in Louisa’s mind seemed to render her incapable of comprehending her mistress’s proposal. “You, ma’am!” she repeated, vacantly.

“I shall perhaps help you to understand this extraordinary project of mine,” said Magdalen, “if I tell you plainly what the object of it is. Do you remember what I said to you about Mr. Vanstone’s will when you came here from Scotland to join me?”

“Yes, ma’am. You told me you had been left out of the will altogether. I’m sure my fellow-servant would never have been one of the witnesses if she had known—”

“Never mind that now. I don’t blame your fellow-servant—I blame nobody but Mrs. Lecount. Let me go on with what I was saying. It is not at all certain that Mrs. Lecount can do me the mischief which Mrs. Lecount intended. There is a chance that my lawyer, Mr. Loscombe, may be able to gain me what is fairly my due, in spite of the will. The chance turns on my discovering a letter which Mr. Loscombe believes, and which I believe, to be kept privately in Admiral Bartram’s possession. I have not the least hope of getting at that letter if I make the attempt in my own person. Mrs. Lecount has poisoned the admiral’s mind against me, and Mr. Vanstone has given him a secret to keep from me. If I wrote to him, he would not answer my letter. If I went to his house, the door would be closed in my face. I must find my way into St. Crux as a stranger—I must be in a position to look about the house, unsuspected—I must be there with plenty of time on my hands. All the circumstances are in my favor, if I am received into the house as a servant; and as a servant I mean to go.”