Free The Master of Liversedge by Alice Chetwynd Ley Page B

t’ snow’s clearing.’
    ‘It is indeed,’ replied Mary. ‘I’d like to change my boots for these slippers, if I may.’
    Nell ushered her into a small cloakroom on the ground floor, and good naturedly helped her to remove her half boots.
    ‘There’s company, besides yoursen,’ she gossiped. ‘Pretty little Miss Grey’s here with Miss Foster — they came not much above a half an hour since. You’ll mind seeing Miss Grey t’ other night, when that awful business happened — Maister Will’s not going to get over that in a hurry, mark my words. He’s taking it hard, poor lad.’
    The freedom of speech of the North country domestics always struck strangely on Mary’s ears after a long absence. Farther South, manners were more guarded; but she warmed to the personal touch that always greeted her in Yorkshire.
    The housekeeper shepherded her along a passage which led to the parlour, and, tapping on the door, announced her.
    Mary walked into the room: she was not feeling completely at ease, which was only natural in the circumstances. Her feelings of diffidence were increased, however, by the sudden silence which greeted her arrival; and by the long calculating stare bestowed on her by Miss Grey.
    It was true that she had seen Lucinda Grey before, on the night of the Luddite attack; but she had then been too fatigued and upset to take much notice of her. Now, as her troubled brown eyes met the contemptuous blue ones across the room, she realized with a shock that here was one of the loveliest women she had ever known. The cherry red gown that Miss Grey was wearing accentuated her fair skin, and gave added lustre to her rich golden curls. She turned her head with a languorous movement, and Mary noticed that William Arkwright’s eyes were reluctant to leave her face.
    Mary was just beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable when her employer rose, and came towards her, drawing her into the circle. Mrs. Arkwright, too, who had been busy picking up some dropped stitches in her work, sat up and gave her a friendly, if verbose, greeting.
    ‘May I present Miss Lister?’ said Arkwright to the others. ‘Miss Grey — Miss Foster.’
    Miss Foster managed a quiet ‘How d’ye do’, but Lucinda Grey contented herself with a cool nod. Mary felt the colour rising in her cheeks, and despised herself for the weakness.
    ‘Come, sit by Caro and let her entertain you,’ said Arkwright, setting a chair for her beside his stepsister. His tone was kinder than any he had so far used towards her, and she felt disproportionately grateful for it.
    She began to talk to Caroline, and in her attempts to draw the girl out, soon forgot her own diffidence. After a while, they were chatting happily together as if they had known each other for years. Mary noticed presently that Mr. Arkwright had transferred his attention from Miss Grey for the time being, and was an interested listener to the conversation between Caroline and herself. This brought on a return of her former self-consciousness, and some of the spontaneity went out of her remarks.
    ‘Show Miss Lister some of your drawings, Caro,’ suggested Arkwright, suddenly.
    As the girl rose to obey, Mary glanced quickly at his face, trying to read its expression. Could she be mistaken, or had he noticed her shyness, and was trying to find a way to set her at ease again? She would not have judged him to be a man who was either perceptive or careful of the feelings of others. She did not know what to think, and his countenance told her nothing.
    The sketches did the trick, however: in looking, commenting and occasionally laughing over them with Caroline, Mary quite recovered her poise.
    When tea was brought in and conversation became general, the sketches were passed round.
    ‘Do you draw, sir?’ asked Miss Grey, turning towards Arkwright with one of her languorous movements.
    He shook his head. ‘I received scant encouragement as a boy — the only portrait I ever executed was done in