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A Daughter Of The Lodge
by
‘Mrs. Rockett, I’m sorry to tell you that you will have to leave the lodge. My lady allows you two months, though, as your wages have always been paid monthly, only a month’s notice is really called for. I believe some allowance will be made you, but you will hear about that. The lodge must be ready for its new occupants on the last day of October.’
The poor woman all but sank. She had no voice for protest or entreaty–a sob choked her; and blindly she made her way to the door of the room, then to the exit from the Hall.
‘What in the world is the matter?’ cried May, hearing from the sitting-room, whither she had retired, a clamour of distressful tongues.
She came into the kitchen, and learnt what had happened.
‘And now I hope you’re satisfied!’ exclaimed her mother, with tearful wrath. ‘You’ve got us turned out of our home–you’ve lost us the best place a family ever had–and I hope it’s a satisfaction to your conceited, overbearing mind! If you’d tried for it you couldn’t have gone to work better. And much you care! We’re below you, we are; we’re like dirt under your feet! And your father’ll go and end his life who knows where miserable as miserable can be; and your sister’ll have to go into service; and as for me–‘
‘Listen, mother!’ shouted the girl, her eyes flashing and every nerve of her body strung. ‘If the Shales are such contemptible wretches as to turn you out just because they’re offended with me, I should have thought you’d have spirit enough to tell them what you think of such behaviour, and be glad never more to serve such brutes! Father, what do you say? I’ll tell you how it was.’
She narrated the events of the afternoon, amid sobs and ejaculations from her mother and Betsy. Rockett, who was just now in anguish of lumbago, tried to straighten himself in his chair before replying, but sank helplessly together with a groan.
‘You can’t help yourself, May,’ he said at length. ‘It’s your nature, my girl. Don’t worry. I’ll see Sir Edwin, and perhaps he’ll listen to me. It’s the women who make all the mischief. I must try to see Sir Edwin–‘
A pang across the loins made him end abruptly, groaning, moaning, muttering. Before the renewed attack of her mother May retreated into the sitting-room, and there passed an hour wretchedly enough. A knock at the door without words called her to supper, but she had no appetite, and would not join the family circle. Presently the door opened, and her father looked in.
‘Don’t worry, my girl,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll see Sir Edwin in the morning.’
May uttered no reply. Vaguely repenting what she had done, she at the same time rejoiced in the recollection of her passage of arms with Miss Shale, and was inclined to despise her family for their pusillanimous attitude. It seemed to her very improbable that the expulsion would really be carried out. Lady Shale and Hilda meant, no doubt, to give the Rocketts a good fright, and then contemptuously pardon them. She, in any case, would return to London without delay, and make no more trouble. A pity she had come to the lodge at all; it was no place for one of her spirit and her attainments.
In the morning she packed. The train which was to take her back to town left at half-past ten, and after breakfast she walked into the village to order a cab. Her mother would scarcely speak to her; Betsy was continually in reproachful tears. On coming back to the lodge she saw her father hobbling down the avenue, and walked towards him to ask the result of his supplication. Rockett had seen Sir Edwin, but only to hear his sentence of exile confirmed. The baronet said he was sorry, but could not interfere; the matter lay in Lady Shale’s hands, and Lady Shale absolutely refused to hear any excuses or apologies for the insult which had been offered her daughter.