The Shuttle & The Making of a Marchioness. Frances Hodgson Burnett

have cost one and twopence, you see. And I really could get on without it.”

      Lady Maria put up her lorgnette and looked at her protégée with an interest which bordered on affection, it was so enjoyable to her epicurean old mind.

      “I didn’t suspect it was as bad as that, Emily,” she said. “I should never have dreamed it. You managed to do yourself with such astonishing decency. You were actually nice—always.”

      “I was very much poorer than anyone knew,” said Emily. “People don’t like one’s troubles. And when one is earning one’s living as I was, one must be agreeable, you know. It would never do to seem tiresome.”

      “There’s cleverness in realising that fact,” said Lady Maria. “You were always the most cheerful creature. That was one of the reasons Walderhurst admired you.”

      The future marchioness blushed all over. Lady Maria saw even her neck itself blush, and it amused her ladyship greatly. She was intensely edified by the fact that Emily could be made to blush by the mere mention of her mature fiancé‘s name.

      “She’s in such a state of mind about the man that she’s delightful,” was the old woman’s internal reflection; “I believe she’s in love with him, as if she was a nursemaid and he was a butcher’s boy.”

      “You see,” Emily went on in her nice, confiding way (one of the most surprising privileges of her new position was that it made it possible for her to confide in old Lady Maria), “it was not only the living from day to day that made one anxious, it was the Future!” (Lady Maria knew that the word began in this case with a capital letter.) “No one knows what the Future is to poor women. One knows that one must get older, and one may not keep well, and if one could not be active and in good spirits, if one could not run about on errands, and things fell off, what could one do? It takes hard work, Lady Maria, to keep up even the tiniest nice little room and the plainest presentable wardrobe, if one isn’t clever. If I had been clever it would have been quite different, I dare say. I have been so frightened sometimes in the middle of the night, when I wakened and thought about living to be sixty-five, that I have lain and shaken all over. You see,” her blush had so far disappeared that she looked for the moment pale at the memory, “I had nobody—nobody.”

      “And now you are going to be the Marchioness of Walderhurst,” remarked Lady Maria.

      Emily’s hands, which rested on her knee, wrung themselves together.

      “That is what it seems impossible to believe,” she said, “or to be grateful enough for to—to—” and she blushed all over again.

      “Say ‘James’,” put in Lady Maria, with a sinful if amiable sense of comedy; “you will have to get accustomed to thinking of him as ‘James’ sometimes, at all events.”

      But Emily did not say “James.” There was something interesting in the innocent fineness of her feeling for Lord Walderhurst. In the midst of her bewildered awe and pleasure at the material splendours looming up in her horizon, her soul was filled with a tenderness as exquisite as the religion of a child. It was a combination of intense gratitude and the guileless passion of a hitherto wholly unawakened woman—a woman who had not hoped for love or allowed her thoughts to dwell upon it, and who therefore had no clear understanding of its full meaning. She could not have explained her feeling if she had tried, and she did not dream of trying. If a person less inarticulate than herself had translated it to her she would have been amazed and abashed. So would Lord Walderhurst have been amazed, so would Lady Maria; but her ladyship’s amazement would have expressed itself after its first opening of the eyes, with a faint elderly chuckle.

      When Miss Fox-Seton had returned to town she had returned with Lady Maria to South Audley Street. The Mortimer Street episode was closed, as was the Cupps’ house. Mrs. Cupp and Jane had gone to Chichester, Jane leaving behind her a letter the really meritorious neatness of which was blotted by two or three distinct tears. Jane respectfully expressed her affectionate rapture at the wondrous news which “Modern Society” had revealed to her before Miss Fox-Seton herself had time to do so.

      “I am afraid, miss,” she ended her epistle, “that I am not experienced enough to serve a lady in a grand position, but hoping it is not a liberty to ask it, if at any time your own maid should be wanting a young woman to work under her, I should be grateful to be remembered. Perhaps having learned your ways, and being a good needlewoman and fond of it, might be a little recommendation for me.”

      “I should like to take Jane for my maid,” Emily had said to Lady Maria. “Do you think I might make her do?”

      “She would probably be worth half a dozen French minxes who would amuse themselves by getting up intrigues with your footmen,” was Lady Maria’s astute observation. “I would pay an extra ten pounds a year myself for slavish affection, if it was to be obtained at agency offices. Send her to a French hairdresser to take a course of lessons, and she will be worth anything. To turn you out perfectly will be her life’s ambition.”

      To Jane Cupp’s rapture the next post brought her the following letter:—

      DEAR JANE,—It is just like you to write such a nice letter to me, and I can assure you I appreciated all your good wishes very much. I feel that I have been most fortunate, and am, of course, very happy. I have spoken to Lady Maria Bayne about you, and she thinks that you might make me a useful maid if I gave you the advantage of a course of lessons in hairdressing. I myself know that you would be faithful and interested and that I could not have a more trustworthy young woman. If your mother is willing to spare you, I will engage you. The wages would be thirty-five pounds a year (and beer, of course) to begin with, and an increase later as you became more accustomed to your duties. I am glad to hear that your mother is so well and comfortable. Remember me to her kindly.

      Yours truly,

      EMILY FOX-SETON

      Jane Cupp trembled and turned pale with joy as she read her letter.

      “Oh, mother!” she said, breathless with happiness. “And to think she is almost a marchioness this very minute. I wonder if I shall go with her to Oswyth Castle first, or to Mowbray, or to Hurst?”

      “My word!” said Mrs. Cupp, “you are in luck, Jane, being as you’d rather be a lady’s maid than live private in Chichester. You needn’t go out to service, you know. Your uncle’s always ready to provide for you.”

      “I know he is,” answered Jane, a little nervous lest obstacles might be put in the way of her achieving her long-cherished ambition. “And it’s kind of him, and I’m sure I’m grateful. But—though I wouldn’t hurt his feelings by mentioning it—it is more independent to be earning your own living, and there’s more life, you see, in waiting on a titled lady and dressing her for drawing-rooms and parties and races and things, and travelling about with her to the grand places she lives in and visits. Why, mother, I’ve heard tell that the society in the servants’ halls is almost like high life. Butlers and footmen and maids to high people has seen so much of the world and get such manners. Do you remember how quiet and elegant Susan Hill was that was maid to Lady Cosbourne? And she’d been to Greece and to India. If Miss Fox-Seton likes travel and his lordship likes it, I may be taken to all sorts of wonderful places. Just think!”

      She gave Mrs. Cupp a little clutch in her excitement. She had always lived in the basement kitchen of a house in Mortimer Street and had never had reason to hope she might leave it. And now!

      “You’re right, Jane!” her mother said, shaking her head. “There’s a great deal in it, particular when you’re young. There’s a great deal in it.”

      When the engagement of the Marquis of Walderhurst had been announced, to the consternation of many, Lady Maria had been in her element. She was really fine at times in her attitude towards the indiscreetly or tactlessly inquiring. Her management of Lady Malfry in particular had been a delightful thing. On hearing of her niece’s engagement, Lady Malfry had naturally awakened to a proper and well-behaved