"Now, Jenny, you run up and wait for Mrs Jane; she'll be there in a minute, most like. You can hang your hood and cloak behind the door."

There were no bonnets in those days, nor shawls; women wore hoods or tall hats on their heads when they went out, and cloaks in cold weather; when it was warm they merely tied on a muslin or linen tippet, fastening it with a bow of ribbon at the throat.

The gown sleeves then came down mostly to the wrist; but sometimes only to the elbows, where they were finished with a little frill. How the neck was covered, in the house, depended on its owner's notions. If she were gay and fashionable, it was not covered at all. But if she were sensible and quiet, she generally wore the same kind of muslin tippet that was used on warm days out of doors. Old women sometimes wore the close frill round the neck, which had been used in Queen Elizabeth's time; but this was quite gone out of fashion for younger ones.

Mrs Jane's room was empty. Jenny knew her way to it well enough, for she had often been there before; but her heart beat high when she saw something in the corner that had never been there before--a neat, little low bed, covered with a quilt of coa.r.s.e, padded blue silk. That was for Jenny, as Jenny knew. The room was long, low, and somewhat narrow.

Four windows, so close together as to have the effect of one, ran along the whole length of one end, filled with small diamond-shaped panes of greenish gla.s.s.

In the midst of these stood a toilet-table, whereon were a number of pots and boxes, the uses of which were as yet unknown to the new maid.

The large bed was hung with flowered cherry-coloured satin; an inlaid chair, filled with cushions, stood before the fireplace, and a small Turkey carpet lay in front of it.

Jenny stood contemplating everything, with a sense of great elation to think that her place henceforward would be in the midst of all this comfort and grandeur. Suddenly a quick step ran up the polished staircase, the door opened, and a young lady made her made her appearance.

Her description will serve for the ladies of that day in general.

Her skirt came just down to the foot, and was moderately full; it was made of green satin. Over this was the actual gown, of tawny or yellowish-brown silk, trimmed with silver lace. The skirt was open in front, and was bunched up all round so as barely to reach the knees.

The bodice, which was tight to the figure, was laced up in front with silver; it was cut low on the neck, and over it was a tippet of clear muslin, tied with green ribbon to match the skirt. The sleeves were slightly fulled, and were finished by very deep cuffs of similar muslin, midway between the wrist and the elbow. The young lady's hair was dressed in a small k.n.o.b behind; it came a little over the forehead at the front in a point, and flowed down at the sides in slender ringlets.

"Oh, Jenny, are you come? That is right," said she.

"Yes, madam, to serve you," answered Jenny, dropping a courtesy.

"Very good. Here, pick up these pins, and put them into that box. You must learn to dress me, and dress my hair. Dear me, you have all to learn! Well, never mind; the best woman living had to begin once."

"Yes, madam," said smiling Jenny.

Mrs Jane sat down before the toilet-table, and with more rapidity than Jenny could well follow, showed her the articles upon it, and the uses for which they were designed.

"Here is pearl powder; that is for my forehead. This is rouge, for my cheeks and lips. Now, mind what you do with them! Don't go and put the white powder on my cheeks, and the red upon my nose! This is pomatum for my hair; and this empty box holds my love-locks (you'll have to learn how to put those in, Jenny); in this bottle is a wash for my face.

I don't dye my hair, nor use oils for my hands--one must draw the line somewhere. But the other matters you must learn to apply."

Jenny listened in silent amazement. She had never realised till that moment what an artificial flower her young mistress was.

Her own cosmetics were soap and water; and she was divided between disgust and admiration at the number of Mrs Jane's beautifiers. Poor Jenny had no idea that Mrs Jane used a very moderate amount of them, as contrasted with most fashionable ladies of her day.

"I must have a word with you, Jenny, as to your manners," said Mrs Jane, more gravely. "I can't do to have you falling in love with anybody. It would be very inconvenient, and, in fact, there's n.o.body here for you. Remember _now_, you are above Featherstone and all the men-servants; and you must not set your cap at the chaplain, because he's Mrs Millicent's property."

Above that elegant gentleman, Mr Featherstone! Jenny felt as if she trod on perfumed air. She was not in the least surprised to be told that she was not to marry the chaplain; the family chaplain, of whom there was one in every family of any pretension, was considered a poor mean creature, whose natural wife was the lady's maid; and Jenny quite understood that Mrs Millicent took precedence of her.

"You take your seat at table, Jenny, next below Mrs Millicent. Of course you know you are not to speak there? If any one should have such ill-manners as to address you, you must answer quite respectfully, but as short as possible. Well, now to tell you your duties. You rise every morning at five of the clock; dress quietly, and when you are ready, wake me, if I have not woke sooner. Then you dress me, go with me to prayers in the chapel, then to breakfast in the hall; in the morning (when I am at home) you follow me about in my duties in the kitchen, stillroom, and dairy; you help me to see to the poultry, get up my muslins and laces, and mend my clothes. In the afternoon you go out visiting with me, work tapestry, embroider, or spin. In the evening, if there be music or dancing, you can join; if not, you keep to your needle."

Jenny courtesied, and meekly "hoped she should do her duty." Some portions of this duty, now explained to her, were sufficiently to her taste; others sounded very uninteresting. These were the usual services expected from a lady's maid two hundred years ago.

"Very well," said Mrs Jane, looking round. "I think that is all at the present. If I think of any other matter, I will mention it. Now ring that little bell on the side-table, and Millicent shall give you your first lesson in dressing my hair."

Jenny found that first lesson a trial. Millicent was quick and precise; she gave her instructions almost sharply, and made little allowance for Jenny's ignorance and inapt.i.tude.

She seemed to expect her to know what to do without being told, or at the utmost to need only once telling. Jenny found it necessary to have all her wits about her, and began to think that her new situation was not quite so perfect a Paradise as she had supposed it.

From this exercise they went down to supper in the hall, where Jenny found herself placed at the higher table between Millicent and the steward--a stiff, silent, elderly man, who never said a word to her all supper-time. Robin Featherstone sat at the lower table; for the two tables made the only distinction between the family and the household, who all ate together in the hall.

The next discovery was that she must never ask for a second helping, but must take what was given her and be content. Accustomed to the freedom and plenty of the farmhouse kitchen, Jenny sadly felt the constraint of her new life. She was obliged to fall back for her consolation on the pleasure of her elevation above all her old a.s.sociates. It was rather poor fare.

When, after a.s.sisting Mrs Jane to undress, with sundry snubbings from Millicent, and some not ill-natured laughter from her young mistress at Jenny's blunders, she was at last free to lie down to rest herself, she was conscious of a little doubt, whether the appellation of "Mrs Jenny," the higher place at the table, and the distinction of being n.o.body in the drawing-room, were quite as agreeable as plenty to eat and drink, and liberty to run into the garden, dance and sing whenever she chose to do so.

The Sunday which followed was spent as the Holy Day was wont to be spent by Cavalier families who were respectable and not riotous.

The Lanes were members of the Church of England, but the Church had been abolished, so far as it lay in the power of those in authority at that time. Many of the clergy were turned out of their livings--it cannot be denied that some of them had deserved it--and the Book of Common Prayer was stringently suppressed. No man dared to use it now, except secretly. Those solemn and beautiful prayers, offered up by many generations, and endeared to their children as only childhood's memories can endear, might not be uttered, save in fear and trembling, in the dead of night, or in hushed whispers in the day-time.

Early in the morning, before the world was astir, a few of Colonel Lane's family met the chaplain in the private chapel, and there in low voices the morning prayers were read, and the responses breathed. There was no singing nor chanting; that would have been too much to dare. The men who had themselves suffered so much for holding secret conventicles, and preferring one style of prayer to another, now drove their fellow-countrymen into the very same acts, and imposed on them the same sufferings.

This secret service over, the family met at breakfast, after which they drove in the great family coach to Darlaston Church. The present Vicar, if he may so be termed, was an independent minister. These ministers, who alone were now permitted to minister, were of three kinds.

Some were true Christians--often very ripely spiritual ones--who preached Christ, and let politics alone. Another cla.s.s were virulent controversialists, who preached politics, and too often let Christianity alone. And a third consisted of those concealed Jesuits whom Rome had sent over for the purpose of stirring up dissension, some of whom professed to be clergy of the Church, and some Nonconformists.

The gentleman just now officiating at Darlaston belonged to the second cla.s.s. His sermon was a violent diatribe against kings in general, and "Charles Stuart" in particular, to which the few Royalists in his congregation had to listen with what patience they might.

Jenny Lavender did not carry away a word of it. Her head was full of the honour and glory of driving in the Bentley Hall coach (wherein she occupied the lowest seat by the door), and of sitting in the Bentley Hall pew.

She only hoped that Ruth Merston and Dolly Campion, and all the other girls of her acquaintance, were there to see her.

They drove back in the same order. Then came dinner.

As Jenny took her seat at the table she perceived that a stranger was present, who sat on the right hand of Mrs Lane, and to whom so much deference was paid that she guessed he must be somebody of note. He was dressed in a suit of black plush, slashed with yellow satin, and a black beaver hat; for gentlemen then always wore their hats at dinner. His manners charmed Jenny exceedingly. Whenever he spoke to either of the ladies, he always lifted his plumed hat for a moment. Even her model gentleman, Robin Featherstone, had never treated her with that courtesy.

Jenny was still further enchanted when she heard Mrs Lane say to him, "My Lord."

So interested and excited was she that she actually presumed to ask Millicent, in a whisper, who the stranger was. Millicent only demolished her by a look. The steward, on the other side of Jenny, was more accommodating.

"That is my Lord Wilmot," he said; "an old friend of the Colonel."

Jenny would have liked to ask a dozen questions, but she did not dare.

She already expected a scolding from Millicent, and received it before an hour was over.

"How dare you, Jane Lavender," demanded Jenny's superior officer, "let your voice be heard at the Colonel's table?"

"If you please, Mrs Millicent," answered Jenny, who was rather frightened, "I think only Mr Wright heard it."

"You think! Pray, what business have you to think? Mrs Jane does not pay you for thinking, I'm sure."

Jenny was too much cowed to say what she thought--that Mrs Jane did not pay her extra to hold her tongue. She only ventured on a timid suggestion that "they talked at the lower table."

"Don't quote the lower table to me, you vulgar girl! You deserve to be there, for your manners are not fit for the upper. Everybody knows the lower table is only for the household"--a word which then meant the servants--"but those who sit at the upper, and belong to the family, must hold their tongues. If we did not, strangers might take us for the gentlewomen."

Jenny silently and earnestly wished they would.

"Now then, go into the parlour and behave yourself!" was the concluding order from Millicent.