Free The Ghost Feeler by Edith Wharton Page B

hadn’t made me fatter, and I didn’t see why my luck should ever turn. It did though – or I thought so at the time. A Mrs Railton, a friend of the lady that first brought me out to the States, met me one day and stopped to speak to me: she was one that had always a friendly way with her. She asked me what ailed me to look so white, and when I told her, ‘Why, Hartley,’ says she, ‘I believe I’ve got the very place for you. Come in tomorrow and we’ll talk about it.’
    The next day, when I called, she told me the lady she’d in mind was a niece of hers, a Mrs Brympton, a youngish lady, but something of an invalid, who lived all the year round at her country-place on the Hudson, owing to not being able to stand the fatigue of town life.
    â€˜Now, Hartley,’ Mrs Railton said, in that cheery way that always made me feel things must be going to take a turn for the better – ‘now understand me; it’s not a cheerful place I’m sending you to. The house is big and gloomy; my niece is nervous, vapourish; her husband – well, he’s generally away; and the two children are dead. A year ago I would as soon have thought of shutting a rosy active girl like you into a vault; but you’re not particularly brisk yourself just now, are you? and a quiet place, with country air and wholesome food and early hours, ought to be the very thing for you. Don’t mistake me,’ she added, for I suppose I looked a trifle downcast; ‘you may find it dull, but you won’t be unhappy. My niece is an angel. Her former maid, who died last spring, had been with her twenty years and worshipped the ground she walked on. She’s a kind mistress to all, and where the mistress is kind, as you know, the servants are generally good-humoured, so you’ll probably get on well enough with the rest of the household. And you’re the very woman I want for my niece: quiet, well-mannered, and educated above your station. You read aloud well, I think? That’s a good thing; my niece likes to be read to. She wants a maid that can be something of a companion: her last was, and I can’t say how she misses her. It’s a lonely life Well, have you decided?’
    â€˜Why, ma’am,’ I said, ‘I’m not afraid of solitude.’
    â€˜Well, then, go; my niece will take you on my recommendation. I’ll telegraph her at once and you can take the afternoon train. She has no one to wait on her at present, and I don’t want you to lose any time.’
    I was ready enough to start, yet something in me hung back; and to gain time I asked, ‘And the gentleman, ma’am?’
    â€˜The gentleman’s almost always away, I tell you,’ said Mrs Railton, quick-like – ‘and when he’s there,’ says she suddenly, ‘you’ve only to keep out of his way.’
    I took the afternoon train and got out at D— station at about four o’clock. A groom in a dog-cart was waiting, and we drove off at a smart pace. It was a dull October day, with rain hanging close overhead, and by the time we turned into Brympton Place woods the daylight was almost gone. The drive wound through the woods for a mile or two, and came out on a gravel court shut in with thickets of tall black-looking shrubs. There were no lights in the windows and the house did look a bit gloomy.
    I had asked no questions of the groom, for I never was one to get my notion of new masters from their other servants: I prefer to wait and see for myself. But I could tell by the look of everything that I had got into the right kind of house, and that things were done handsomely. A pleasant-faced cook met me at the back door and called the housemaid to show me up to my room. ‘You’ll see madam later,’ she said. ‘Mrs Brympton has a visitor.’
    I hadn’t fancied Mrs Brympton was a lady to have many visitors, and somehow the words cheered me. I