Story

Taken from this journal:

Canadian Illustrated News (Montreal) 18 November 1872, 315-316; 23 November 1872,331-332. 

Ellen Vavasour Noel

The House-Keeper at Lorne Hall

On the rose-clad stoop of a large comfortable farmhouse near Cornwall an old woman is sitting. She has been knitting, but her work has dropped from her hand and she is leaning thoughtfully back in her low rocking-chair. 

"Aunty, what are you thinking of?" 

On being thus addressed she turned towards the speaker, a bright-looking young girl who has just come out of the house, and said: 

"Would you like to hear a story, Nora?" 

"A story! that I would, Aunty," Nora eagerly replied, as she seated herself beside her. "Is it about something which happened long ago when you were young?" 

"Yes, child; it happened many years ago in the family that I lived with, when I first went to service. I was about your age, Nora, when I went to live at Lorme Hall, some miles from Montreal. My mistress was a widow and very wealthy; she had two children, to whom I was engaged as nurse. I had been living with Mrs. Lorme some months, when she decided upon going to Chicago to visit a relative; I, to my great delight, was to go with her to take care of the children; and we were busily engaged getting ready for our journey when I was unfortunately taken seriously ill; so my mistress had to leave me behind and take one of the housemaids in my place as nurse. Mrs. Lorme left orders that I was to be well taken care of and remain at the Hall until her return. She was a kind mistress, Nora, and a fair sweet-looking lady too. Poor thing, it would have been better for her if she had never paid that visit; but we poor mortals can't see ahead; if we could what a world of trouble we might save ourselves sometimes. 'Tis all right, I suppose, yet it is pretty hard to see things happen as they do often, and still to believe that it is best so for us. When I had recovered a little and was able to go about again, I missed the dear pretty chil- dren very much. The great house seemed very lonely and silent as I wandered drearily from one grand room to another, listening in vain for the pattering feet and merry voices of the absent little ones.

"Some weeks went by; I was quite strong again, and Mrs. Barton, the house-keeper, finding that I was handy with my needle, kept me busy, for which I was not sorry, as I did not like being idle. And now, Nora, I must tell you about Mrs. Barton. She had lived for a long time in Mrs. Lorme's family, and when her young lady, to whom she was much attached, got married, she went with her to Lorme Hall, where she became house-keeper. She was a little pale, pock-marked woman; her hair was perfectly white, but not from age, for she was not more than forty. It had become so, she said, when she lost her husband years before, when she was a young girl. I can fancy, Nora, that I see her before me now. Her trim little figure, clothed in grey or brown, for she always wore those colours, and her white hair put smoothly back beneath a black lace cap. She was, as I have said, devotedly attached to her mistress, and Mrs. Lorme returned that affection, placing the greatest confidence in her, treating her like an old friend rather than a servant, and Airs. Barton was worthy of her esteem; there was not one among the numerous domestics of which she had the charge that did not regard her with respect and kindly feelings. Time passed, the day fixed for Mrs. Lorme's return went by, and yet in her letters to Mrs. Barton she did not speak of coming home. Mrs. Barton, I could see, wondered at her mistress' long absence. It was so unusual for her to remain long away from Lorme Hall. It was now the middle of summer; they had been gone three months when a letter arrived, telling Mrs. Barton that she was going to be married the following week to a gentleman she had met in Chicago, and that in a short time afterwards they would return to the Hall, accompanied by a party of friends. The news, as you may suppose, Nora, created no little excitement. With many wishes for her beloved mistress' future happiness Mrs. Barton set us to work to prepare for the reception of the bridal party. Two weeks later they arrived. The children were wild with delight to get home again. My mistress looked extremely well and happy; her husband, Mr. Crossham, the new master of Lorme Hall, was a fine-looking man, about, I should think, forty-five. We were all favourably impressed with his appearance and pleasing manners. Mrs. Barton was suffering from a violent attack of neuralgia, and did not see him until two or three days after his arrival at the Hall. It was one morning as I was following her up the front staircase to attend to some directions she had just given me, when as we reached the top of the stairs Mr. Crossham passed us going down. I looked at Mrs. Barton to tell her who it was, but the words froze on my lips. She was bending over the balustrade watching his retreating form; her face, Nora, was as white as your collar, and wore a wild startled expression. She turned to me, and grasping my arm in her agitation so tightly that it pained me, in a hollow tone she whispered: 

"'Who is that, Kate, who is it?' 

"I told her it was Mr. Crossham. Dropping her hand from my arm the words 'Oh, my God,' burst from her lips, as, turning from me, she disappeared down one of the passages leading to her room. Her strange emotion puzzled me exceedingly; but as she did not, when she saw me again, allude to what had occurred, and I did not dare ask an explanation, I was obliged to smother my curiosity as best I could. 

"For some time the Hall was a scene of continual gayety, and then when autumn came and the guests began to depart Mr. and Mrs. Crossham went with some of the gay party to New York. The children were left behind, very much I saw against my mistress’ wishes, but Mr. Crossham thought it best, she told Mrs. Barton. Poor little dears, it was their first separation from their mamma. Miss Ellie, the youngest, was a fair delicate child about five years old, she fretted and pined sadly for her mamma. Do what I could to comfort and cheer her, it was of no use; the call still was for her dear mamma to come back to Ellie. She could not understand why they had been left at home, although I overheard Master Frank, who was two years older, trying to enlighten her on the subject. He had heard some of the servants' gossip and told his sister that it was their new papa's fault that they were left alone, that their mamma wanted to take them, but he did not care about them and would not let their mamma take them with her. 'I don't care one bit for him, Ellie,' he added, clenching his little fist in his anger and indignation. 'I don't care one bit for him, he is not nice, and I'll tell mamma when she comes back that we don't want him to live with us any longer.' And this dislike increased during his mother's absence. He used to say that Mr. Crossham would not let her come back to them, and on their return home, after fondly embracing his mamma, he turned contemptuously away from his step-father's proffered kiss, saying, 

"'I don't want to kiss you, for you took mamma away from us.' 

"Mr. Crossham's face flushed either with surprise or anger. He gave a low whistle, and walked into the drawing-room. My mistress did not see this, she had passed down the hall to meet Ellie, but Mrs. Barton did and to my astonishment never reproved the boy. 

"A month or two went by, Christmas came. Christmas! ah, Nora! what magic there is in that word to the young. It is a season longed for by them and welcomed with smiles and gladness; but as the years go by and they find, alas, too often, the bright dreams of youth unrealised, and see the vacant places of absent dear ones and miss familiar voices that are hushed for ever on earth, that once joyous time becomes a day of sad regrets, silent heart-aches and yearnings perhaps for that Christmas when all earthly things shall be forgotten. I have seen many Christmases since that one, Nora, and happy ones too, but it was, I think, the happiest in all my life. On that day your uncle George arrived unexpectedly from Ireland. Two years before, when I left the old country with my parents, I had promised to be his wife, though I might have to wait for years before he would be able to claim me. His elder brother had died suddenly, and the farm becoming his, he sold it and came out to America. He is old and gray-haired now, Nora, but a taller, finer looking young man could not be seen than he then was. You may imagine my feelings when I went down to the house-keeper's sitting-room where I was told some one wanted to see me and found that it was George. When I went with him that morning to the little church near Lorme Hall, so prettily decorated with evergreens, berries and flowers, and kneeling by his side thanked God for His good- ness to us, there was not, Nora, a happier girl in the world than I was that bright Christmas morning. 

"Soon after Mrs. Crossham announced her intention of spending the rest of the winter in Montreal,—Mr. Crossham found the Hall so dull. He had always resided in a city, and disliked the country. As they intended to board, she would take, she said, only one servant with her, and asked me to go. I did so, although I was not very willing, as you may suppose, Nora, to leave the Hall, for George had been appointed gardener there, and I was so happy; still, after my mistress' kindness to us, I could not refuse; besides I was fond of the children, who had become much attached to me. 

"The night before we left, Mrs. Barton came into the nursery, where I was sitting by the fire, finishing a piece of work. Since my mistress' marriage she had become greatly changed. Her health seemed to be failing, the pleasant cheerfulness of her manner had given place to a gloomy reserve. As she seated herself near me and I looked on her haggard, troubled face, I again wondered, as I had often done before, what had caused the alteration. She spoke of our departure on the morrow. I felt for her, for I knew how lonely she would be during our absence. I told her so and wished she could go with us. 

"'Would to Heaven that I were going with you,' she exclaimed, 'then I could see what he—' she stopped—and getting up from her seat came to my side. 'Kate,' she said in an earnest tone, as she looked eagerly into my face, 'Kate, you are a good faithful girl. I can trust you. Promise me if anything should happen when you are away to make you think my dear mistress is not happy you will at once let me know.' This appeal startled me. What was it she feared. I knew she disliked Mr. Crossham, for I had noticed her shrink from going into a room where she knew he was or turn out of her way to avoid meeting him, and she kept a prying curiosity,—very unusual in her with regard to other things—over every action and word of his. I had also seen her, when she thought no one was observing her, intently regarding him with an expression on her pale face I could never fathom. 

"On our arrival in Montreal Mr. Crossham procured apartments at the St. Lawrence Hall, and a dreary enough time myself and the children passed for the rest of the winter in that gay crowded house. My mistress, too, seemed to become weary of the continual round of gaiety Mr. Crossham persuaded her to enter upon, and to long for the quiet comforts of her own elegant home. Spring came at last, but Mr. Crossham put off from week to week our return to Lorme Hall, although my mistress was most anxious to return again to the country. I began to dislike Mr. Crossham, as I became convinced of the utter selfishness of his character. His temper, also, was very violent,—and that he had begun to treat his gentle wife with indifference and neglect, was but too apparent. She was often left alone, and I saw sometimes the traces of tears on her fair face. I did not forget my promise to Airs. Barton, but expecting to see her almost from day to day I did not write; besides, what could Mrs. Barton do, I thought. If my mistress was unhappy she could not help it. 

"Little Ellie, always a delicate child, became this spring seriously unwell. The Doctor ordered change of air; her mother becoming much alarmed about her determined to return home immediately. Mr. Crossham did not accompany us; he had two or three engagements which must be attended to, he gave as an excuse, but if the child got worse to let him know. So my mistress, with her sick darling, returned alone to Lorme Hall. Mrs. Barton questioned me closely as to what had occurred during our absence. 'Did my mistress still seem happy?' 'Was Mr. Crossham land to her and the children?' I could not satisfactorily answer these questions, and Mrs. Barton seemed much distressed and troubled at my replies. On her removal to the country little Ellie began to recover, though slowly, and then Mrs. Barton, who had not left Lorme Hall for about eight years, went for a few days to Montreal; but why she went she did not tell anyone, not even my mistress. 

"Mr. Crossham had not been long at Lorme Hall after his return from Montreal, before his harsh tyrannical temper and heartless conduct towards his wife and her children were noticed and talked about among the servants who sincerely pitied their gentle mistress. How bitterly she must have repented that second hasty marriage, in which she had wrecked her happiness and destroyed the peace of her happy home. 

"Towards the close of the summer an infant daughter was laid in my mistress's arms, but it was a delicate babe, and lived only a few days. I was regretting its loss—for my mistress grieved sadly after it—to Mrs. Barton one day. Her answer rather astonished me. I did not know what to think of her when she replied: 

'"Kate, I have prayed for that child's death, and now on my knees I thank God for granting that prayer. Don't regret it!' 

"Mr. Crossham spent most of his time in the city, spending his wife's money, for he had none of his own. It was now too evident it was for that the mean wretch had married my poor mistress. 

"One morning after being absent some days in Montreal, Mr. Crossham returned home, accompanied by a Captain Carter, who had been his constant companion the winter before. He seemed to be greatly excited and in a terrible hurry to get back to Montreal, for he ordered the horses to be at the door again immediately after dinner. He then proceeded to his wife's boudoir where Mrs. Woodford, our clergyman's wife, an old and dear friend of my mistress, was sitting with her, for she was spending the day at the Hall. I happened also to be just then in the room, placing fresh flowers in a vase, but my mistress at that moment was in the adjoining apartment. Mr. Crossham, bowing to Mrs. Woodford, enquired where Mrs. Crossham was, and being told he followed her into the next room, closing the door carefully after him. 

"We heard him talking to my mistress, his voice becoming louder, the tone more angry as the conversation continued. 

"There was a veranda on that side of the house. I went out on it to take some plants that were there, out of the sun. The plants were near my mistress' windows, which also opened on the veranda. I heard Mr. Crossham exclaim passionately, 

"'You refuse, madam!it must be signed.' 

"'I will not rob my children,' was my mistress' answer in a cold determined tone. 

"I left the plants and walked to the end of the gallery, for I would not listen to their conversation. Five minutes later, when I again passed through the boudoir, I saw that my mistress had joined Mrs. Woodford, but her flushed and agitated looks showed that something unpleasant had occurred. I went down to the dining-room. Mrs. Barton was there and Master Frank was playing in the room. Presently, Mr. Crossham with Captain Carter entered the apartment and approached the sideboard on which the decanters of wine stood. As soon as Mr. Crossham saw Master Frank he called to him in angry tones to stop his noise and clear out of the room. The boy delayed an instant to collect his playthings, whereupon Mr. Crossham rushed at him, and with one blow struck him to the ground, saying with a muttered curse, 'That will teach you, sir, to obey me!' 

"Mrs. Barton sprang to the poor child and lifted him in her arms. 

"'Come now, Crossham, upon my word that is too bad,' exclaimed Captain Carter, who seemed ashamed of his friend's conduct. 'I hope, ma'am,' he continued, addressing Mrs. Barton, 'that the boy is not much hurt.' 

"She did not answer him, but turning to Mr. Crossham with pale face and flashing eyes, said, 

"'Wretch, twenty years have not changed you, then; you broke your father's heart, now you would kill this child, because his mother is not weak enough to let you any longer squander his property.' 

"At these strange words of Mrs. Barton's, Mr. Crossham started, a change came over his countenance—a startled look of fear and astonishment—but with an effort he recovered his self-possession, saying to Captain Carter: 

'"The woman is either mad or drunk. Pack up your traps instantly,' he exclaimed, turning to Mrs. Barton; 'after such language you shall not remain an hour longer in my house.' 

'"Your house!' replied Mrs. Barton scornfully: 'your house, indeed! When my mistress tells me to leave her house I will do so, but not before.' 

"In his rage I think he would have struck her had not Captain Carter interposed. Casting a look on him of wither- ing contempt and hatred, Mrs. Barton, closely followed by me, left the apartment. Giving Master Frank to me she went up to my mistress' room. 

"Early in the afternoon Mr. Crossham and his friend returned to Montreal. The business which made Mr. Crossham pay such a hasty visit to the Hall was not satisfactorily arranged, for he left in a terrible temper, my mistress having shut herself in her room, refusing to see him again as he desired. 

"Some days went by—dark rainy days—and within the Hall all seemed as gloomy as the weather without. My mis- tress, pale, sad and silent, spent most of the time in her own apartment; while Mrs. Barton, restless, excited, and more mysterious than ever, wandered uneasily about the house. Mr. Crossham did not return to the Hall; he wished, I sup- pose, by staying away to alarm my mistress, to frighten her into giving him the money—a large amount which he required to pay some debts he had contracted—my mistress very justly refusing to deprive her children of so large a sum. I trembled with fear for my mistress on Mrs. Barton's account, as I thought of Mr. Crossham's anger on his return when he would find her still at the Hall, that in this instance, also, his hitherto submissive wife had dared to oppose him. 

"One afternoon I was sitting at one of the front win- dows sewing. Hearing the noise of a carriage approaching the house I looked out and saw Mr. Lorme—a cousin of my mistress—accompanied by a respectable-looking man, driving up to the door. 

"'Here is Mr. Lorme!' I exclaimed to Mrs. Barton, who was passing the room; 'Mr. Lorme and some stranger with him.' 

"She came quickly to the window and looked out with an eager, inquiring gaze, and then clasping her hands, her face bright with happiness, her frame trembling with emo- tion, she said: 

'"Tis he! Merciful Heaven, I thank Thee!' as she hastily quitted the apartment, leaving me to imagine who the stranger could be whose arrival occasioned her such joy. 

"I soon became aware that something unusual had happened, for Mr. Crossham was written to return at once to the Hall, and Mrs. Barton sent for Mr. and Mrs. Woodford, who, with Mr. Lorme and Mrs. Barton, were closeted for a long time with my mistress. All the satisfaction I could get from Mrs. Barton was that the stranger was a relation of hers whom my mistress' cousin had brought to see her. 

"That day passed and part of the following before Mr. Crossham made his appearance. Airs. Barton, who was on the watch for his arrival, called me to come with her, and conducting me to a room near the library, said: 

'"You will soon now, Kate, hear a secret, the knowledge of which during the past year has nearly killed me.' 

"She was pale with excitement and trembled violently. I made her sit down while I went for a glass of water. In passing through the hall I saw Mr. Woodford, who, with his wife, had been nearly all the morning in the house, go into the library, followed by Mr. Lorme and Mr. Crossham. 

"I waited for some minutes in silent wonder by Mrs. Barton, who with her eyes fixed on the opposite door seemed to have forgotten my presence. Sounds of voices followed, the tones waxed louder, I could distinguish Mr. Lorme's and Mr. Crossham's in angry altercation. Some of the servants passing through the hall attracted by the noise stopped in alarm to listen. Presently the library bell rang loudly. Mrs. Barton started up saying, 'Come now, Kate, you must hear all, come with me.' I followed her across the passage to the library door at which she knocked, Mr. Woodford opened it, and as we passed in closed it again. 

"Mr. Lorme with flushed brow and flashing eyes stood at the table, near him, with a pale defiant expression on his handsome face, Mr. Crossham was standing. 

"'Madame' said Mr. Lorme addressing Mrs. Barton, 'the time has come for you to throw aside the mask which you have so long assumed and to denounce this—pointing to Mr. Crossham—villainous imposter. Who is he?' 

"'My husband,' wasMrs. Barton's reply. 

"Mr. Crossham laughed scornfully. 'A likely story indeed! Woman! you know it is an infernal lie!' he passionately exclaimed. 'I never saw your ugly face before I saw it in this house as that of one of my servants.' 

"'Yes, you have, Robert Carson,' and Mrs. Barton advanced and looked steadily at him. 'Ah! you start at the sound of that name. 'Tis many years since you heard it, no doubt. I can hardly blame you,' she continued in bitter accents, 'for not recognizing me, for I am sadly changed since that night, twenty years ago, when you fled as a thief from your father's house. I was young then, and these white locks, since bleached by sorrow and the disgrace you brought upon your home, you then praised for their dark beauty; disease had not then marred my face. I cannot blame you for not knowing me, but you are little changed. Thoughts of the father whose heart you broke, of the wife you so cruelly and disgracefully deserted, have not troubled you, Robert Carson. Did you never wonder what became of me?' 

"To this address Mr. Crossham listened with well-affected surprise and indignation, although I thought at some of her words his countenance changed slightly. To her last words he replied in an insolent sneering tone. 

"'Your story, woman, is not well got up. It is rather singular that it is only now after being my servant for more than a year, that you find out I have the honour to be your husband.' 

"'It is not only now that I find that out. With horror I recognized you, as this girl can prove,' and she turned to me, 'the first time I saw you after you came here, and for a while I was nearly crazed by the dreadful discovery and the perplexity I was in as to what I should do. At length, I deter- mined to keep my secret. I knew my dear mistress loved you, and I thought that you perhaps had become a better, as well as an older, man, and maybe you believed me dead. It would be no sin, I hoped, to act so, and I kept my secret till I saw time had not changed you one whit, that you were breaking my beloved mistress' heart, squandering her property, and bringing ruin and wretchedness on this house.' 

"'Lorme, this farce has lasted long enough. The plot, I confess, is not bad, but you must prove that this woman, not your cousin, is my wife,' said Mr. Crossham in a cool scorn- ful manner. 

"'You then deny the truth of her statement?' 

'"I do, most assuredly, every word of it, and defy you to prove that it is true,' and Mr. Crossham drew himself up and looked boldly into Mr. Lorme's face. 

"A slight smile of triumph gleamed for an instant in Mr. Lorme's eyes. Looking towards Mr. Woodford, he said, 'bring in our witness, Woodford.' 

"Mr. Woodford opened the door and ushered in the stranger who had come to the Hall the day before with Mr. Lorme. 

"Mr. Crossham started back as if an unseen hand had suddenly struck him, and gazed in a sort of horror and amazement at the stranger who had drawn near and was intently regarding him. 

"'Do you know this man?' Mr. Lorme inquired of the new comer. 

"'I do; he is Robert Carson, and with deep shame I acknowledge it, my brother,' was the reply. 

'"This woman,' pointing to Mrs. Barton, 'claims to be his wife, but he denies it; can you tell whether what she says is true?' 

'"Sir, it is true! She is his wife! Robert!' he continued, addressing Mr. Crossham in stern, bitter accents, "tis useless for you to deny it. She is Susan Copely, whom years ago you lawfully married.' 

"'Are you satisfied that I can prove it, infamous scoundrel that you are!' Mr. Lorme passionately exclaimed. 'A felon's doom awaits you; soon the world will know that the dashing Mr. Crossham has turned out a swindling impostor, a consummate villain.' 

"Nora, I shall never forget the expression of Mr. Crossham's, or rather, Robert Carson's countenance. It was livid with rage. His eyes actually glared with hate and fury as he confronted Mr. Lorme. He made a rapid dive into one of his pockets, something gleamed in his hands as he drew it forth, and God knows what would have followed had not his brother, who was a large powerful man, rushed quickly upon him and wrenched the pistol from his grasp. 

"I screamed with horror, and rushing to the door fled from the room. 

"Soon after, our late haughty master in shame and ignominy departed from the Hall never to return. He was allowed, as Mrs. Lorme desired it, to escape unpunished. He immediately left Montreal, and we heard no more of him until about two years afterwards when his brother wrote to tell Mr, Lorme he had been shot in a gambling-saloon in California. 

"And now, Nora, I will tell you part of Mrs. Barton's story, which she afterwards told me. Robert Carson was the son of a respectable farmer in England. She was married to him when quite a girl. Not long after their marriage he had stolen a considerable amount of money and escaped to America. His father died heart-broken at his son's conduct, and the rest of the family, taking her with them, immigrated to Canada, and from there to one of the Eastern States; but Mrs. Barton, as she called herself, remained in Montreal with Mrs. Lorme's father's family and afterwards, as I have said, when her young mistress got married became her house-keeper. She had never met or heard of her guilty hus- band until, to her horror and amazement, he came to Lorme Hall as her mistress' husband. He did not recognize her, and her reasons for not making herself known have been already stated. I told you, if you recollect Nora, that after our return from Montreal Mrs. Barton went there. It was to see Mr. Lorme, to whom she revealed everything, and asked his advice, for he was a lawyer. They wrote to her brother-in-law, with whom she had frequently corresponded, to come to Montreal to bear witness to the truth of her story. Mr. Carson had gone to the far West on urgent business, but on receiving their letters on his return home, he started as soon as possible for Montreal. 

"Airs. Lorme told Mrs. Barton that in Chicago where she had met Mr. Crossham, as I will still call him, he was considered a gentleman and moved in good society, and so Nora, he was very gentlemanly in appearance and fine-look- ing, too. It was some time before my poor mistress recovered from the shock she received, but at last in her children's love and the peaceful rest of her beautiful home, the remembrance of that dark page in her life's history grew fainter as time passed. 

"Mrs. Barton never left her, as a loved and trusted friend she remained at Lorme Hall until her death." 

Canadian Illustrated News (Montreal) 18 November 1872, 315-316; 23November 1872,331-332.