Griffith Gaunt; or, Jealousy: Volumes 1 to 3 (of 3)Reade, Charles
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Griffith Gaunt; or, Jealousy: Volumes 1 to 3 (of 3)
Reade, Charles
Bigamy -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century
On her arrival at Hernshaw Castle she cast her eyes round to see what
there was to fall in love with; and observed the gamekeeper, Tom
Leicester. She gave him a smile or two that won his heart; but there
she stopped: for soon the ruddy cheek, brown eyes, manly proportions,
and square shoulders of her master attracted this connoisseur in
masculine beauty. And then his manner was so genial and hearty, with a
smile for everybody. Mrs. Ryder eyed him demurely day by day, and often
opened a window slily to watch him unseen.
From that she got to throwing herself in his way: and this with such
art that he never discovered it, though he fell in with her about the
house six times as often as he met his wife or any other inmate.
She had already studied his character, and, whether she arranged
to meet him full, or to cross him, it was always with a curtsy and
a sunshiny smile; he smiled on her in his turn, and felt a certain
pleasure at sight of her: for he loved to see people bright and
cheerful about him.
Then she did, of her own accord, what no other master on earth would
have persuaded her to do: looked over his linen; sewed on buttons
for him; and sometimes the artful jade deliberately cut a button off
a clean shirt, and then came to him and sewed it on during wear. This
brought about a contact none knew better than she how to manage to a
man's undoing. The eyelashes lowered over her work, deprecating, yet
inviting,--the twenty stitches, when six would have done,--the one coy
glance at leaving. All this soft witchcraft beset Griffith Gaunt, and
told on him; but not as yet in the way his inamorata intended. "Kate,"
said he one day, "that girl of yours is worth her weight in gold."
"Indeed!" said 'Mrs. Gaunt, frigidly; "I have not discovered it."
When Caroline found that her master was single-hearted, and loved his
wife too well to look elsewhere, instead of hating him, she began to
love him more seriously, and to hate his wife, that haughty beauty who
took such a husband as a matter of course, and held him tight without
troubling her head.
It was a coarse age, and in that very county more than one wife had
suffered jealous agony from her own domestic. But here the parts were
inverted: the lady was at her ease; the servant paid a bitter penalty
for her folly. She was now passionately in love, and had to do menial
offices for her rival every hour of the day: she must sit with Mrs.
Gaunt, and make her dresses, and consult with her how to set off her
hateful beauty to the best advantage. She had to dress her, and look
daggers at her satin skin and royal neck, and to sit behind her an hour
at a time combing and brushing her long golden hair.
How she longed to tear a handful of it out, and then run away! Instead
of that, her happy rival expected her to be as tender and coaxing with
it as Madame de Maintenon was with the Queen's of France.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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