"Seven years in only two situations is a good character in itself," he remarked. "Who are your references?"
The groom laid two papers on the table.
"I don't take written references," said the General.
"Be pleased to read my papers, sir," answered the groom.
My uncle looked sharply across the table. The groom sustained the look with respectful but unshaken composure. The General took up the papers, and seemed to be once more favorably impressed as he read them. "Personal references in each case if required in support of strong written recommendations from both his employers," he informed my aunt. "Copy the addresses, Mina. Very satisfactory, I must say. Don't you think so yourself?" he resumed, turning again to my aunt.
Lady Claudia replied by a courteous bend of her head. The General went on with his questions. They related to the management of horses; and they were answered to his complete satisfaction.
"Michael Bloomfield, you know your business," he said, "and you have a good character. Leave your address. When I have consulted your references, you shall hear from me."
The groom took out a blank card, and wrote his name and address on it. I looked over my uncle's shoulder when he received the card. Another surprise! The handwriting was simply irreproachable--the lines running perfectly straight, and every letter completely formed. As this perplexing person made his modest bow, and withdrew, the General, struck by an after-thought, called him back from the door.
"One thing more," said my uncle. "About friends and followers? I consider it my duty to my servants to allow them to see their relations; but I expect them to submit to certain conditions in return--"
"I beg your pardon, sir," the groom interposed. "I shall not give you any trouble on that score. I have no relations."
"No brothers or sisters?" asked the General.
"None, sir."
"Father and mother both dead?"
"I don't know, sir."
"You don't know! What does that mean?"
"I am telling you the plain truth, sir. I never heard who my father and mother were--and I don't expect to hear now."
He said those words with a bitter composure which impressed me painfully. Lady Claudia was far from feeling it as I did. Her languid interest in the engagement of the groom seemed to be completely exhausted--and that was all. She rose, in her easy graceful way, and looked out of the window at the courtyard and fountain, the house-dog in his kennel, and the box of flowers in the coachman's window.
In the meanwhile, the groom remained near the table, respectfully waiting for his dismissal. The General spoke to him sharply, for the first time. I could see that my good uncle had noticed the cruel tone of that passing reference to the parents, and thought of it as I did.
"One word more, before you go," he said. "If I don't find you more mercifully inclined toward my horses than you seem to be toward your father and mother, you won't remain long in my service. You might have told me you had never heard who your parents were, without speaking as if you didn't care to hear."
"May I say a bold word, sir, in my own defense?"
He put the question very quietly, but, at the same time, so firmly that he even surprised my aunt. She looked round from the window--then turned back again, and stretched out her hand toward the curtain, intending, as I supposed, to alter the arrangement of it. The groom went on.
"May I ask, sir, why I should care about a father and mother who deserted me? Mind what you are about, my lady!" he cried--suddenly addressing my aunt. "There's a cat in the folds of that curtain; she might frighten you."
He had barely said the words before the housekeeper's large tabby cat, taking its noonday siesta in the looped-up fold of the curtain, leaped out and made for the door.
Lady Claudia was, naturally enough, a little perplexed by the man's discovery of an animal completely hidden in the curtain. She appeared to think that a person who was only a groom had taken a liberty in presuming to puzzle her. Like her husband, she spoke to Michael sharply.
"Did you see the cat?" she asked.
"No, my lady."
"Then how did you know the creature was in the curtain?"
For the first time since he had entered the room the groom looked a little confused.
"It's a sort of presumption for a man in my position to be subject to a nervous infirmity," he answered. "I am one of those persons (the weakness is not uncommon, as your ladyship is aware) who know by their own unpleasant sensations when a cat is in the room. It goes a little further than that with me. The 'antipathy,' as the gentlefolks call it, tells me in what part of the room the cat is."
My aunt turned to her husband, without attempting to conceal that she took no sort of interest in the groom's antipathies.
"Haven't you done with the man yet?" she asked.
The General gave the groom his dismissal.
"You shall hear from me in three days' time. Good-morning."
Michael Bloomfield seemed to have noticed my aunt's ungracious manner. He looked at her for a moment with steady attention before he left the room.
V.
"You don't mean to engage that man?" said Lady Claudia as the door closed.
"Why not?" asked my uncle.
"I have taken a dislike to him."
This short answer was so entirely out of the character of my aunt that the General took her kindly by the hand, and said:
"I am afraid you are not well."
She irritably withdrew her hand.
"I don't feel well. It doesn't matter."
"It does matter, Claudia. What can I do for you?"
"Write to the man--" She paused and smiled contemptuously. "Imagine a groom with an antipathy to cats!" she said, turning to me. "I don't know what you think, Mina. I have a strong objection, myself, to servants who hold themselves above their position in life. Write," she resumed, addressing her husband, "and tell him to look for another place."
"What objection can I make to him?" the General asked, helplessly.
"Good heavens! can't you make an excuse? Say he is too young."
My uncle looked at me in expressive silence-- walked slowly to the writing-table--and glanced at his wife, in the faint hope that she might change her mind.