Lady's maids -- Fiction; Love stories; Wessex (England) -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
6. FROM MIDNIGHT TO HALF-PAST ONE A.M.
Intentness pervaded everything; Night herself seemed to have become a
watcher.
The four persons proceeded across the glade, and into the park
plantation, at equidistances of about seventy yards. Here the ground,
completely overhung by the foliage, was coated with a thick moss which
was as soft as velvet beneath their feet. The first watcher, that
is, the man walking immediately behind Manston, now fell back,
when Manston’s housekeeper, knowing the ground pretty well, dived
circuitously among the trees and got directly behind the steward, who,
encumbered with his load, had proceeded but slowly. The other woman
seemed now to be about opposite to Anne, or a little in advance, but on
Manston’s other hand.
He reached a pit, midway between the waterfall and the engine-house.
There he stopped, wiped his face, and listened.
Into this pit had drifted uncounted generations of withered leaves, half
filling it. Oak, beech, and chestnut, rotten and brown alike, mingled
themselves in one fibrous mass. Manston descended into the midst of
them, placed his sack on the ground, and raking the leaves aside into a
large heap, began digging. Anne softly drew nearer, crept into a bush,
and turning her head to survey the rest, missed the man who had dropped
behind, and whom we have called the first watcher. Concluding that he,
too, had hidden himself, she turned her attention to the second watcher,
the other woman, who had meanwhile advanced near to where Anne lay
in hiding, and now seated herself behind a tree, still closer to the
steward than was Anne Seaway.
Here and thus Anne remained concealed. The crunch of the steward’s
spade, as it cut into the soft vegetable mould, was plainly perceptible
to her ears when the periodic cessations between the creaks of the
engine concurred with a lull in the breeze, which otherwise brought
the subdued roar of the cascade from the further side of the bank
that screened it. A large hole--some four or five feet deep--had been
excavated by Manston in about twenty minutes. Into this he immediately
placed the sack, and then began filling in the earth, and treading it
down. Lastly he carefully raked the whole mass of dead and dry leaves
into the middle of the pit, burying the ground with them as they had
buried it before.
For a hiding-place the spot was unequalled. The thick accumulation
of leaves, which had not been disturbed for centuries, might not be
disturbed again for centuries to come, whilst their lower layers still
decayed and added to the mould beneath.
By the time this work was ended the sky had grown clearer, and Anne
could now see distinctly the face of the other woman, stretching from
behind the tree, seemingly forgetful of her position in her intense
contemplation of the actions of the steward. Her countenance was white
and motionless.
It was impossible that Manston should not soon notice her. At the
completion of his labour he turned, and did so.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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