Whether Mrs. Wilcox was right or wrong in her conjecture, the Tyson baby
had shown infinite delicacy in retiring from a world where he had caused
so many complications. He had done mischief enough in his short life, and
I believe to the last Tyson owed the little beggar a grudge. He had
spoiled the complexion of the loveliest woman in Leicestershire. At any
rate Tyson thought he had. Other people perhaps knew better.
If she had been thin and pale before the baby's death, she was thinner
and paler now. She had the look of a woman who carries a secret about
with her. She trembled and blushed when you spoke to her. And when she
had ceased to blush she took to dabbing on paint and powder. It was just
like her folly to let everybody see she was pining. And the more she
pined the more she painted. Ah, she might well hide her face!
Scandal may circulate for years before it comes to the ears of the
persons most concerned in it; still, one could not help wondering how
much Tyson knew. He was going to take her away, which was certainly very
wise of him. Poor man, she had made Leicestershire rather too hot to hold
him.
He was always going up to London now, and people who had met him there
hinted that the country gentleman had become a man about town. Still, you
must not believe the half of what you hear; and supposing there was some
truth in the report, why, what could you expect with a wife like that?
By March it was settled that they were to leave Thorneytoft and make
London their headquarters. Tyson had taken a flat in Ridgmount Gardens.
This, he said, was a good central position and handy for the theatres.
At any rate, he could not afford a better one so long as that infernal
estate swallowed up two-thirds of his income.
It looked as if they meant to make a clean sweep of their past. They
began by making a clean sweep of the servants, from the kitchen-maid
upwards. Here they were forestalled. Before it could come to his turn the
thoughtful Pinker gave notice. His example was followed by Swinny the
virtuous. Swinny, as it happened, was a niece of Farmer Ashby's, the same
who saw Stanistreet driving with his arm round Mrs. Nevill Tyson's waist;
she was first cousin to the landlord of "The Cross-Roads," where the
Captain retired on the night of the quarrel, and she was sister to Miss
Batchelor's maid. The scandal was all in the family. It was this
circumstance, no doubt, that had given such color and consistency to
the floating rumor.
Swinny, having regard to her testimonials, was not openly offensive.
She told Tyson that she was sorry to leave a good master and mistress,
but she never could abide the town. No more could Pinker. And she must
go where there was a baby. Then Swinny, having shaken the dust of
Thorneytoft from her virtuous feet, called on every member of her family,
and told to each the same unvarying tale. She wasn't going to stay in a
place where there were such goings on; it was as much as her character
was worth. The gentlemen were after Mrs. Nevill Tyson from morning till
night, you couldn't keep 'em off--not that lot. She hadn't much to say to
them, but she fair ran after the Captain--it was perfectly disgraceful.
When Mr. Tyson sent him to the right-about, she waited till her husband's
back was turned, then she wrote to him to come. And, as if nothing else
would serve her, she had him up in the nursery when her little baby was
dying. They were actually whispering the two of them, and making eyes
at each other over the child's coffin. Why, Pinker, he caught 'em in the
library the very day of the funeral. Oh, it wasn't the Captain's fault.
She whistled and he came, that was all. So far Swinny.