The Lady's Maid's Bell by Edith Wharton

"I could have shaken the man for his stupidity."

Edith Wharton may be known world wide as the scribe behind Age of Innocence, but she equally adapt at making her star-crossed lovers, pine away in much darker circumstances. Her gothic short stories are abound, and deliver quite a punch. Rae Wilson shares her observations on Wharton's cautionary tale and and invites you question the limits of both vows and devotion.

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Welcome to Echoes in the Dark, a podcast dedicated to the oral tradition of storytelling. If you're looking to enjoy more classic literature, struggle to find the time to read, hate reading, or just love listening to stories, then this podcast is for you. At the end of each story, I'll share my analysis on the story's deeper meanings. The Lady's Maid's Bell by Edith Wharton is a short story that was originally published in 1902 in Scribner's magazine. Wharton is best known for the romantic golden age work, The Age of Innocence, which was later adapted into an award-winning film. She wrote some 40 books and another 85 short stories. The entire story is told in first-person perspective. If you want to follow along, you can get a copy on my website, betteressywriting.com. And if you'd like to hear more works by Wharton and her contemporaries, pick up some underused and possibly archaic words, then join me on Patreon and look for stories with Ray. That's Patreon slash CW slash stories with Ray, R-A-E, or just click the link in the show notes. The Lady's Maid's Bell by Edith Warton. It was the autumn after I had the typhoid. Most of my money was gone, and after I'd bored it for two months, thinking about the employment agencies and answering any advertisement that looked anyway respectable, I pretty nearly lost heart, for fretting 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 misses Railton, a friend of the lady that first brought me out to the Saints, 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 mine was a niece of hers, a misses Brimpton, 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. Now, Hartley, misses Raylton 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, vaporish. Her husband well, he's gently 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, the country air, and wholesome food in 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 worshiped 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 fairy 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 too. 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? Why, ma'am, I said, I am not afraid of solitude. 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 game time, I asked. And the gentleman, ma'am? Ah, the gentleman's almost always away, I tell you, said Mrs. Ralston. Quick like and when he's there, says she suddenly. You'll only have to keep out of his way. I took the afternoon train and got out at Devonton Station at about four o'clock. A groom and 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 the Brimpton 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 was 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 gotten to 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, Madame Lydia, she said. I hadn't fancied misses Brimpton was a lady to have many visitors, and somehow the words cheered me. I followed the housemaid upstairs and saw through a door on the upper landing, the main part of the house seemed well furnished, with dark panelling and a number of old portraits. Another flight of stairs led us up to the servant's wing. It was almost dark now, and the housemaid excused herself for not having brought the light. But there's matches in your room, she said. And if you go careful, you'll be all right. Mind the step at the end of the passage. Your room is just beyond. I looked ahead as she spoke, and halfway down the passage I saw a woman standing. She drew back into a doorway as we passed, and the housemaid didn't appear to notice her. She was a thin woman with a white face and darkish stuffed gown and apron. I took her for the housekeeper and thought it odd that she didn't speak, but just gave me a long look as she went by. My room opened into a square hall at the end of the passage. Facing my door was another which stood open. The housemaid exclaimed when she saw it. There, misses Blinder's left that door open again, said she, closing it. Is misses Blinder the housekeeper? There's no housekeeper. Mrs. Blinder's the cook. And is that her room? Moss no, said the housemaid cross like. That's nobody's room. It's empty. I mean and the door hadn't ought to be open. Mrs. Brimpton wants it kept locked. She opened my door and led me into a neat room nicely furnished with a pitcher or two on the walls, and having lit a candle, she took leave, telling me that the servants' hall tea was at six, and that misses Brimpton would see me afterwards. I found them a pleasant spoken set in the servants' hall, and by what they let fall I gathered that, as misses Raylton had said, misses Brimpton was the kindest of laddies. But I didn't take much notice of their talk, for I was watching to see the pale woman in the dark gown come in. She didn't show herself, however, and I wondered if she ate apart. But if she wasn't the housekeeper, why should she? Suddenly it struck me that she might be a trained nurse, and in that case her meals would, of course, be served in her room. If misses Brimpton was an invalid, it was likely enough she had a nurse. The idea annoyed me. I own, for they're not always the easiest to get on with, and if I'd known, I shouldn't have taken the place. But there I was, and there was no use pulling a long face over it. And not being one to ask questions, I waited to see what would turn up. When tea was over, the housemaid said to the footman has mister Ranford gone? And when he said yes, she told me to come up with her to misses Brimpton. Mrs Brimpton was lying down in her bedroom, her lounge stood near the fire, and beside it was a shaded lamp. She was a delicate looking lady, but when she smiled, I felt there was nothing I wouldn't do for her. She spoke very pleasantly in a low voice, asking my name and age and so on, and if I had everything I wanted, and if I wasn't afraid of feeling lonely in the country. That with you I wouldn't be, madam, I said, and the words surprised me when I'd spoken them, for I'm not an impulsive person, but it was just as if I thought aloud. She seemed pleased at that, and said she'd hoped I'd continue in the same mind. Then she gave me a few directions about her toilet, and said Agnes, the housemaid, would show me next morning where things were kept. I am tired tonight and she'll dine upstairs. She said. Agnes will bring me my tray that you may have time to unpack and settle yourself. And later you may come and undress me. Very well, ma'am, I said. You'll ring, I suppose? I thought she looked odd. No. Um Agnes will fetch you, says she quickly, and took up her book again. Well, that was certainly strange. A lady's maid having to be fetched by the housemaid whenever her lady wanted her. I wondered if there were no bells in the house. By the next day I satisfied myself that there was one in every room, and a special one ringing from my mistress's room to mine. And after that it did strike me as queer that whenever misses Brimpton wanted anything, she rang for Agnes, who had to walk the whole length of the servant's wing to call me. But that wasn't the only queer thing in the house. The very next day I found out that misses Brimpton had no nurse. And then I asked Agnes about the woman I had seen in the passage the afternoon before. Agnes said she had seen no one. And I saw that she thought I was dreaming. To be sure? It was dusk when we went down the passage, and she had excused herself for not bringing a light, but I had seen the woman plain enough to know her again if we should meet. I decided that she must have been a friend of the cook's or of one of the other woman's servants. Perhaps she had come down from town for a night's visit, and the servants wanted it kept secret. Some ladies are very stiff about having their servants' friends in the house overnight. At any rate, I made up my mind to ask no more questions. In a day or two, another odd thing happened. I was chatting one afternoon with misses Blinder, who was a friendly disposed woman, and had been longer in the house than the other servants, and she asked me if I was quite comfortable and had everything I needed. I said I had no fault to find with my place or with my mistress. But I thought it odd that in so large a house there was no sewing room for the lady's maid. Why? says she, there is one. The room you're in is the old sewing room. Oh, said I, and where did the other lady's maid sleep? At that she grew confused and said hurriedly that the servants' rooms had all been changed about last year and she didn't rightly remember. That struck me as peculiar. But I went on as if I hadn't noticed. Well, there's a vacant room opposite of mine, and I mean to ask Miss Bripton if I might use that as a sewing room. To my astonishment, Mrs. Blinder went white and gave my hand a kind of squeeze. Oh don't do that, my dear, said she, trembling like. To tell you the truth, that was Emma Saxon's room. And my mistress has kept it closed ever since her death. And who was Emma Saxon? Mrs. Brampton's former maid. Oh, the one that was with her so many years, said I remembering what Mrs. Reldon had told me. Mrs. Blinder nodded. What sort of woman was she? No better walked the earth, said Mrs. Blinder. My mistress loved her like a sister. But I mean, what did she look like? Mrs. Blinder got up and gave me a kind of angry stare. I'm no great hand at describing, she said, and I believe my pastry's rising. And she walked off into the kitchen and shut the door after her. I had been near a week at Brimpton before I saw my master. Word came that he was arriving one afternoon and a change passed over the whole household. It was plain that nobody loved him below stairs. Mrs. Blinder took uncommon care with the dinner that night, but she snapped at the kitchen maid in a way quite unusual with her. And mister Wace, the butler, a serious, slow spoken man, went about his duties as if he'd been getting ready for a funeral. He was a great Bible reader, Mr. Wace was, and had a beautiful assortment of text at his command, but that day he used such dreadful language that I was about to leave the table when he assured me it was all out of Isaiah. And I noticed that whenever the master came, Mr. Waste took to the prophets. About seven, Agnes called me to my mistress's room, and there I found Mr. Brimpton. He was standing on the hearth, a big, fair, full-necked man with a red face and little bad-tempered blue eyes. The kind of man a young simpleton might have thought handsome and would have been like to pay dear for thinking it. He swung about when I came in and looked me over in a trice. I knew what the look meant from having experienced it once or twice in my former places. Then he turned his back on me and went on talking to his wife, and I knew what that meant too. I was not the kind of morsel he was after. The typhoid had served me well enough in one way, but it kept that kind of gentleman at arm's length. This is my new maid, Hartley, said Mrs. Brampton in her kind voice, and he nodded and went on with what he was a saying. In a minute or two he went off and left my mistress to dress for dinner. And I noticed as I waited on her that she was white and chilled to the touch. Mr Brimpton took himself off the next morning and the whole house drew a long breath when he drove away. As for my mistress, she put on her hat and furs, for it was a fine winter morning, and went out for a walk in the gardens, coming back quite fresh and rosy, so that for a minute, before her color faded, I could guess what a pretty young lady she must have been, and not so long ago either. She had met Mr Ranford in the grounds, and the two came back together. I remember, smiling and talking as they walked along the terrace under my window. That was the first time I saw Mr Ranford, though I had often heard his name mentioned in the hall. He was a neighbor, it appeared, living a mile or two beyond Brimpton, at the end of the village, and as he was in the habit of spending his winters in the country, he was almost the only company my mistress had at that season. He was a slight tall gentleman of about thirty, and I thought him rather melancholy looking, till I saw his smile, which had a kind of surprise in it. Like the first warm day in spring. He was a great reader, I heard, like my mistress, and the two were forever borrowing books of one another, and sometimes, mister Wace told me, he would read aloud to misses Brimpton by the hour in the big dark library where she sat in the winter afternoons. The servants all liked him, and perhaps that's more of a compliment than the masters suspect. He had a friendly word for every one of us, and we were all glad to think that Mrs. Brimpton had a pleasant, companionable gentleman like that to keep her company when the master was away. Mr Ranford seemed on excellent terms with Mr Brimpton too, though I couldn't but wonder that two gentlemen so unlike each other should be so friendly. But then I knew how the real quality can keep their feelings to themselves. As for Mr Brimpton, he came and went, never staying more than a day or two, cursing the dullness and the solitude, grumbling at everything, and, as I soon found out, drinking a deal more than was good for him. After misses Brimpton left the table he would sit half the night over the old Brimpton port and Madeira, and once, as I was leaving my mistress's room rather than later than usual, I met him coming up the stairs in such a state that I turned sick to think of what some ladies have to endure and hold their tongues about. The servants said very little about their master, but from what they let drop, I could see it had been an unhappy match from the beginning. Mr Brimpton was coarse, loud, and pleasure loving. My mistress, quiet, retiring, and perhaps a trifle cold. Not that she was not always pleasant spoken to him. I thought her wonderfully forbearing. But to a gentleman as free as Mr Brimpton, I dare say she seemed a little offish. Well, things went on quietly for several weeks. My mistress was kind, my duties were light, and I got on well with the other servants. In short, I had nothing to complain of. Yet there was always a weight on me. I can't say why it was so, but I know it was not the loneliness that I felt. I soon got used to that, and being still languid from the fever, I was thankful for the quiet and the good country air. Nevertheless, I was never quite easy in my mind. My mistress, knowing I had been ill, insisted that I should take my walk regular and often invented errands for me, a yard of ribbon to be fetched from the village, a letter posted, or a book returned to Mr. Ranford. As soon as I was out of doors, my spirits rose and I looked forward to my walks through the bare, moist smelling woods. But the moment I caught sight of the house again my heart dropped down like a stone in a well. It was not a gloomy house exactly. Yet I never entered it, but a feeling of gloom came over me. Mrs. Brimpton seldom went out in winter, while Only on the finest days did she walk an hour at noon on the South Terrace. Excepting mister Ranford, we had no visitors, but the doctor who drove over from Devington about once a week. He sent for me once or twice to give me some trifling direction about my mistress, and though he never told me what her illness was, I thought, from a waxy look she had now and then of a morning, that it might be the heart that ailed her. The season was soft and unwholesome, and in January we had a long spell of rain. That was a sore trial to me. I own, for I couldn't go out and sitting over my sewing all day, listening to the drip drip of the eaves, I grew so nervous that the least sound made me jump. Somehow the thought of that locked room across the passage began to weigh on me. Once or twice, in long rainy nights, I fancied I heard noises there. But that was nonsense, of course, and the daylight drove such notions out of my head. Well, one morning, Mrs. Brampton gave me quite a start of pleasure by telling me she wished me to go to town for some shopping. I hadn't known till then how low my spirits had fallen. I set off in high glee, and my first sight of the crowded streets and the cheerful looking shops quite took me out of myself. Toward afternoon, however, the noise and confusion began to tire me, and I was actually looking forward to the quiet of Brimpton and thinking how I should enjoy the drive home through the dark woods when I ran across an old acquaintance, a maid I had once been in service with. We had lost sight of each other for a number of years, and I had to stop and tell her what had happened to me in the interval. When I mentioned where I was living, she rolled up her eyes and pulled a long face. What? The misses Brampton that lives all the year at her place on the Hudson. My dear, you won't stay there three months Oh, but I don't mind the country, says I, offended somehow at her tone. Since the fever I'm glad to be quiet. She shook her head. It's not the country I'm thinking of. All I know is she's had four maids in the last six months. And the last one who was a friend of mine, told me nobody could stay in the house. Did she say why? I asked. No. She wouldn't give me her reason, but she says to me Mrs Ansi, she says, if ever a young woman as you know of thinks a goin' there, you tell her it's not worth while to unpack her boxes. Is she young and handsome? said I, thinking of mister Brimpton. Not her. She's the kind that mothers engage when they've gay young gentlemen at college. Well, though I knew the woman wasn't idle gossip, the words stuck in my head, and my heart sank lower than ever as I drove up to Brimpton in the dusk. There was something about the house. I was sure of it now. When I went in to tea, I heard that mister Brimpton had arrived, and I saw at a glance that there had been a disturbance of some kind. Mrs. Blinder's hand shook so that she could hardly pour the tea, and mister Wace quoted the most dreadful text full of brimstone. Nobody said a word to me then, but when I went up to my room, misses Blinder followed me. Oh my dear, says she, taking my hand, I'm so glad and thankful you've come back to us. That struck me, as you may imagine. Why? said I, did you think I was leaving for good? No, no, to be sure, said she, a little confused, but I can't bear to have Madame left alone for a day even. She pressed my hand hard and Oh misses Hartley, says she, be good to your mistress, as you're a Christian woman. And with that she hurried away and left me staring. A moment later, Agnes called me to misses Brimpton. Hearing Mr Brimpton's voice in her room, I went round by the dressing room, thinking I would lay out her dinner gown before going in. The dressing room is a large room with a window over the portico that looks toward the gardens. Mr Brimpton's apartments are below. When I went in, the door into the bedroom was ajar and I heard Mr Brimpton saying angrily, one would suppose he was the only person fit for you to talk to. I don't have many visitors in winter, misses Brimpton answered quietly. You have me, he flung at her sneering. You are here so seldom, said she. Well, whose fault is that? You make the place about as lively as a family vault. With that I rattled the toilet things to give my mistress warning, and she rose and called me in. The two dined alone, as usual, and I knew by mister Wace's manner at supper that things must be going badly. He quoted the prophet something terrible and worked on the kitchen maid so that she declared she wouldn't go down alone to put the cold meat in the ice box. I felt nervous myself, and after I had put my mistress to bed, I was half tempted to go down again and persuade misses Blinder to sit up a while over a game of cards. But I heard her door closing for the night, and so I went on to my own room. The rain had begun again, and the drip drip drip seemed to be dropping into my brain. I lay awake listening to it, and turning over what my friend in town had said. What puzzled me was that it was always the maids who left. After a while I slept, but suddenly a loud noise wakened me. My bell had rung. I sat up, terrified by the unusual sound, which seemed to go on jangling through the darkness. My hands shook so that I couldn't find the matches. At length, I struck a light and jumped out of bed. I began to think I must have been dreaming, but I looked at the bell against the wall and there was the little hammer still quivering. I was just beginning to huddle on my clothes when I heard another sound. This time it was a door of the locked room opposite mine softly opening and closing. I heard the sound distinctly and it frightened me so that I stood stock still. Then I heard a footstep hurrying down the passage towards the main house, the floor being carpeted. The sound was very faint, but I was quite sure it was a woman's step. I turned cold with the thought of it, and for a minute or two I durst breathe or move. Then I came to my senses. Alice Hartley, says I to myself, someone left that room just now and ran down the passage ahead of you. The idea isn't pleasant, but you may as well face it. Your mistress has rung for you, and to answer her bell, you've got to go the way that other woman has gone. Well I did it. I never walked faster in my life, yet I thought I should never get to the end of the passage or reach misses Brampton's room. On the way I heard nothing and saw nothing. All was dark and quiet as the grave. When I reached my mistress's door, the silence was so deep that I began to think I must be dreaming, and was half minded to turn back. Then a panic seized me and I knocked. There was no answer. And I knocked again loudly. To my astonishment the door was opened by mister Brimpton. He started back when he saw me, and in the light of my candle his face looked red and savage. You, he said in a queer voice, how many of you are there in God's name? At that I felt the ground give under me, but I said to myself that he had been drinking and answered as steadily as I could May I go in, sir? Mrs. Brimpton has rung for me. You may all go in for what I care, says he, and pushing by me walked down the hall to his own bedroom. I looked after him as he went, and to my surprise, I saw that he walked as straight as a sober man. I found my mistress lying very weak and still, but she forced a smile when she saw me, and signed to me to pour out some drops for her. After that she lay without speaking, her breath coming quick, and her eyes closed. Suddenly, she groped out with her hand and Emma, says she faintly. It's Hartley, madam, I said. Do you want anything? She opened her eyes wide and gave me a startled look. I was dreaming, she said. You may go now, Hartley, and thank you kindly. I'm quite well again, you see. And she turned her face away from me. There was no more sleep for me that night, and I was thankful when daylight came. Soon afterwards, Agnes called me to misses Brimpton. I was afraid she was ill again, for she seldom sent for me before nine, but I found her sitting up in bed, pale and drawn looking, but quite herself. Hardly, says she quickly. Will you put on your things at once and go down to the village for me? I want this prescription made up. Here she hesitated a minute and blushed. And I should like you to be back again before mister Bripton is up. Certainly, madam, I said. And stay a moment. She called me back as if an idea had just struck her. While you're waiting for the mixture, you'll have time to go on to mister Renfort's with this note. It was a two mile walk to the village, and on my way I had time to turn things over in my mind. It struck me as peculiar that my mistress should wish the prescription made up without Mr Brimden's knowledge, and putting this together with the scene of the night before, and with much else that I had noticed and suspected, I began to wonder if the poor lady was weary of her life and had come to the mad resolve of ending it. The idea took such hold of me that I reached the village on a run and dropped breathless into a chair before the chemist's counter. The good man, who was just taking down his shutters, stared at me so hard that it brought me to myself. Mr Limo, I says, trying to speak indifferent, will you run your eye over this and tell me if it's quite right? He put on his spectacles and studied the prescription. Well, it's one of doctor Walton's, says he. What should be wrong with it? Well, is it dangerous to take? Dangerous? How do you mean? I could have shaken the man for his stupidity. I mean if a person was to take too much of it, by mistake, of course, says I, my heart in my throat. Lord bless you no, it's only lime water. You might feed it to a baby by the bottle pool. I gave a great sigh of relief and hurried on to mister Ranford's. But on the way, another thought struck me. If there was nothing to conceal about my visit to the chemist, was it my other errand that misses Brimpton wished me to keep private? Somehow, that thought frightened me worse than the other. Yet the two gentlemen seemed best friends, and I would have staked my head on my mistress's goodness. I felt ashamed of my suspicions and concluded that I was still disturbed by the strange events of the night. I left a note at Mr Ranford's and hurrying back to Brimpton, slipped in by a side door without being seen as I thought. An hour later, however, as I was carrying in my mistress's breakfast, I was stopped in the hall by Mr Brimpton. What were you doing out so early? he says, looking hard at me. Uh early me, sir? I said in a tremble. Come, come, he says, an angry red spot forming on his forehead. Didn't I see you scuttling home through the shrubbery an hour or more ago? I'm a truthful woman by nature, but at that a lie popped out ready made. No, sir, you didn't, said I, and looked straight back at him. He shrugged his shoulders and gave a sullen laugh. I suppose you think I was drunk last night, he asked suddenly. No, sir, I didn't, I answered, this time truthfully enough. He turned away with another shrug. A pretty notion my servants have of me, I heard him mutter as he walked off. Not till I had settled down to my afternoon sewing did I realize how the events of the night had shaken me. I couldn't pass that locked door without a shiver. I knew I had heard someone come out of it and walked down the passage ahead of me. I thought of speaking to misses Blinder or to mister Wace, the only two in the house who appeared to have any inkling of what was going on, but I had a feeling that if I questioned them they would deny everything, and that I might learn more by holding my tongue and keeping my eyes open. The idea of spending another night opposite the locked room sickened me, and once I was seized with the notion of packing my trunk and taking the first train to town. But it wasn't in me to throw over a kind mistress in that manner, and I tried to go on with my sewing as if nothing had happened. I hadn't worked ten minutes before the sewing machine broke down. It was one I had found in the house, a good machine, but a trifle out of order. misses Blinder said it had never been used since Emma Saxon's death. I stopped to see what was wrong, and as I was working at the machine, a drawer which I had never been able to open slid forward and a photograph fell out. I picked it up and sat looking at it in amaze. It was a woman's likeness and I knew I had seen the face somewhere. The eyes had an asking look that I had felt on me before. And suddenly I remembered the pale woman in the passage. I stood up, cold all over and ran out of the room. My heart seemed to be thumping in the top of my head, and I felt as if I should never get away from the look in those eyes. I went straight to misses Blinder. She was taking her afternoon nap and sat up with a jump when I came in. Mrs. Blinder, said I, who is that? And I held out the photograph. She rubbed her eyes and stared. Why, Emma Saxon, says she. Where did you find it? I looked hard at her for a minute. Mrs. Blinder, I said. I've seen that face before. Mrs Blinder got up and walked over to the looking glass. Dear me, I must have been asleep, she says. My front is all over on one ear. And now do run along, Miss Hartley, dear, for I hear the clock striking four, and I must go down this very minute and put on the Virginia ham for mister Brimpton's dinner. To all appearances, things went on as usual for a week or two. The only difference was that Mr Brampton stayed on instead of going off as he usually did, and that Mr Ranford never showed himself. I heard Mr Brimpton remark on this one afternoon when he was senting in my mistress's room before dinner. Where's Ranford? says he. He hasn't been near the house for a week. Does he keep away because I'm here? Mrs. Brimpton spoke so low that I couldn't catch her answer. Well, he went on, two's company and three strumpery. I'm sorry to be in Ranford's way, and I suppose I shall have to take myself off again in a day or two and give him a show. And he laughed at his own joke. The very next day, as it happened, mister Ranford called. The footman said the three were very merry over their tea in the library, and mister Brimpton strolled down to the gate with Mr Ranford when he left. I have said that things went on as usual. And so they did with the rest of the household. But as for myself, I had never been the same since the night my bell had rung. Night after night, I used to lie awake listening for it to ring again, and for the door of the locked room to open stealthily. But the bell never rang, and I heard no sound across the passage. At last, the silence began to be more dreadful to me than the most mysterious sounds. I felt that someone were cowering there behind the locked door, watching and listening as I watched and listened, and I could almost have cried out, whoever you are, come out and let me see your face, but don't lurk there and spy on me in the darkness. Feeling as I did, you may wonder I didn't give warning. Once I very nearly did so, but at the last moment something held me back, whether it was compassion for my mistress, who had grown more and more dependent on me, or unwillingness to try a new place, or some other feeling that I couldn't put a name to. I lingered on as if spellbound, though every night was dreadful to me, and the days but little better. For one thing, I didn't like misses Brimpton's looks. She had never been the same since that night, no more than I had. I thought she would brighten up after mister Brimpton left, but though she seemed easier in her mind, her spirits didn't revive, nor her strength either. She had grown attached to me, and seemed to like to have me about. And Agnes told me one day that since Emma Saxton's death, I was the only maid her mistress had taken to. This gave me a warm feeling for the poor lady, though, after all, there was little I could do to help her. After mister Brimpton's departure, mister Renford took to coming again, though less often than formerly. I met him once or twice in the grounds or in the village, and I couldn't but think there was a change in him too, but I set it down to my disordered fancy. The weeks passed, and Mr Brimpton had now been a month absent. We heard he was cruising with a friend in the West Indies, and mister Waist said that was a long way off. But though you had the wings of a dove and went to the uttermost parts of the earth, you couldn't get away from the Almighty. Agnes said that as long as he stayed away from Brimpton, the Almighty might have him and welcome. And this raised a laugh, though Mrs. Blinder tried to look shocked, and Mr. Wace said the bears would eat us. We were all glad to hear the West Indies were a long way off, and I remember that in spite of Mr. Wace's solemn looks, we had a very merry dinner that day in the hall. I don't know if it was because of my being in better spirits, but I fancy Mrs. Brimpton looked better too, and seemed more cheerful in her manner. She had been for a walk in the morning and after luncheon she laid down in her room and I read aloud to her. When she dismissed me, I went to my own room feeling quite bright and happy, and for the first time in weeks walked past the locked door without thinking of it. As I sat down to my work, I looked out and saw a few snowflakes falling. The sight was pleasanter than the eternal rain, and I pictured to myself how pretty the bear gardens would look in their white mantle. It seemed to me as if the snow would cover up all the dreariness indoors as well as out. The fancy had hardly crossed my mind when I heard a step at my side. I looked up, thinking it was Agnes. Well well, Agnes, said I, and the words froze on my tongue, for there, in the doorway stood Emma Saxon. I don't know how long she stood there. I only know I couldn't stir or take my eyes from her. Afterward I was terribly frightened, but at the time it wasn't fear I felt, but something deeper and quieter. She looked at me long and long, and her face was just one dumb prayer to me. But how in the world was I to help her? Suddenly she turned and I heard her walk down the passage. This time I wasn't afraid to follow. I felt that I must know what she wanted. I sprang up and ran out. She was at the other end of the passage, and I expected her to take the turn toward my mistress's room, but instead of that, she pushed open the door that led to the backstairs. I followed her down the stairs and across the passageway to the back door. The kitchen and hall were empty at that hour, the servants being off duty except for the footman who was in the pantry. At the door she stood still a moment, with another look at me, then she turned the handle and stepped out. For a minute I hesitated. Where was she leading me to? The door had closed softly after her, and I opened it and looked out, half expecting to find that she had disappeared. But I saw her a few yards off, hurrying across the courtyard to the path through the woods, her figure looked black and lonely in the snow, and for a second my heart failed me, and I thought of turning back. But all the while she was drawing me after her, and catching an old shawl of misses Blinder's, I ran out into the open. Emma Saxon was in the wood path now. She walked on steadily and I followed at the same pace till we passed out of the gates and reached the high road. Then she struck across the open fields to the village. By this time the ground was white, and as she climbed the slope of a bare hill ahead of me, I noticed that she left no footprints behind her. At sight of that, my heart shriveled up within me and my knees were water. Somehow it was worse here than indoors. She made the whole countryside seem lonely as the grave, with none but us two in it, and no help in the wide world. Once I tried to go back, she turned and looked at me, and it was as if she had dragged me with ropes. After that I followed her like a dog. We came to the village, and she led me through it, past the church, and the blacksmith's shop, and down the lane to mister Ranford's. Mr Ranford's house stands close to the road, a plain old fashioned building with a flagged path leading to the door between box borders. The lane was deserted, and as I turned into it I saw Emma Saxon pause under the old elm by the gate. And now another fear came over me. I saw that we had reached the end of our journey and that it was my turn to act. All the way from Brimpton I had been asking myself what she wanted of me, but I had followed in a trance as if it were, and not till I saw her stop at Mr Ramford's gate did my brain begin to clear itself. It stood a little way off in the snow, my heart beating fit to strangle me, and my feet frozen to the ground, and she stood under the elm and watched me. I knew well enough that she hadn't led me there for nothing. I felt there was something I ought to say or do, but how was I to guess what it was? I had never thought harm of my mistress and mister Ranford, but I was sure now that, from one cause or another, some dreadful thing hung over them. She knew what it was. She would tell me if she could. Perhaps she would answer if I questioned her. It turned me faint to think of speaking to her, but I plucked up heart and dragged myself across the few yards between us. As I did so I heard the house door open, and saw Mr Ranford approaching. He looked handsome and cheerful as my mistress had looked that morning. And at sight of him, the blood began to flow again in my veins. Why, Hartley? said he, what's the matter? I saw you coming down the lane just now and came out to see if you had taken root in the snow. He stopped and stared at me. What are you looking at? he says. I turned toward the elm as he spoke, and his eyes followed me, but there was no one there. The lane was empty as far as the eye could reach. A sense of helplessness came over me. She was gone, and I had not been able to guess what she wanted. Her last look had pierced me to the marrow, and yet it had not told me. All at once I felt more desolate than when she had stood there watching me. It seemed as if she had left me all alone to carry the weight of the secret I couldn't guess. The snow went round me in great circles, and the ground fell away from me. A drop of brandy and the warmth of Mr Renford's fire soon brought me to, and I insisted on being driven back at once to Brimpton. It was nearly dark, and I was afraid my mistress might be wanting me. I explained to Mr Ranford that I had been out for a walk and had been taken with a fit of giddiness as I passed this gate. This was true enough, yet I never felt more like a liar than when I said it. When I dressed misses Brimpton for dinner, she remarked on my pale looks and asked me what ailed me. I told her I had a headache, and she said she would not require me again that evening, advised me to go to bed. It was a fact that I could scarcely keep on my feet, yet I had no fancy to spend a solitary evening in my room. I sat downstairs in the hall as long as I could hold my head up, but by nine I crept upstairs, too weary to care what happened if I could but get my head on a pillow. The rest of the household went to bed soon afterward. They kept early hours when the master was away and before ten I heard misses Blinder's door close and mister Wace's soon after. It was a very still night, earth and air all muffled in snow. Once in bed I felt easier and lay quiet, listening to the strange noises that come out in a house after dark. Once I thought I heard a door open and close again below. It might have been the glass door that led to the gardens. I got up and peered out of the window. But it was in the dark of the moon and nothing visible outside but the streaking of snow against the panes. I went back to bed and must have dozed, for I jumped awake to the furious ringing of my bell. Before my head was clear I had sprung out of bed and was dragging on my clothes. It is going to happen now, I heard myself saying, but what I meant I had no notion. My hands seemed to be covered with glue. I thought I could never get into my clothes. At last I opened my door and peered down the passage. As far as my candle flame carried, I could see nothing unusual ahead of me. I hurried on breathless. But as I pushed open the biased door leading to the main hall, my heart stood still, for there at the head of the stairs was Emma Saxon, peering dreadfully down into the darkness. For a second I couldn't stir, but my hand slipped from the door and as it swung shut the figure vanished. At the same instant there came another sound from below stairs, a stealthy, mysterious sound, as of a latch key turning in the house door. I ran to misses Brimpton's room and knocked. There was no answer. And I knocked again. This time I heard someone moving in the room. The bolt slipped back and my mistress stood before me. To my surprise, I saw that she had not undressed for the night. She gave me a startled look. What is it, Hartley? she says in a whisper. Are you ill? What are you doing here at this hour? I am not ill, madam, but my bell rang. At that she turned pale and seemed about to fall. You are mistaken, she said harshly. I didn't ring. You must have been dreaming. I had never heard her speak in such a tone. Go back to bed, she said, closing the door on me. But as she spoke, I heard sounds again in the hall below. A man's step this time. And the truth leaped out on me. Madam, I said, pushing past her, there is someone in the house. Someone Mr Brimpton, I think? I hear his step below. A dreadful look came over her, and without a word, she dropped flat at my feet. I fell on my knees and tried to lift her. By the way she breathed, I saw it was no common faint. But as I raised her head there came quick steps on the stairs and across the hall. The door was flung open, and there stood Mr Brimpton in his travelling clothes, the snow dripping from him. He drew back with a start as he saw me kneeling by my mistress. What the devil is this? he shouted. He was less high colored than usual, and the red spot came out on his forehead. Mrs Brimpton has faded, sir, said I. He laughed unsteadily and pushed by me. It's a pity she didn't choose a more convenient moment. I'm sorry to disturb her, but I raised myself up aghast at the man's action. Sir, said I, are you mad? What are you doing? Going to meet a friend, said he, and seemed to make for the dressing room. At that my heart turned over. I don't know what I thought or feared, but I sprang up and caught him by the sleeve. Sir, sir, said I, for pity's sake, look at your wife. He shook me off furiously. It seems that's done for me, says he, and caught hold of the dressing room door. At that moment I heard a slight noise inside. Slight as it was, he heard it too, and tore the door open, but as he did so he dropped back. On the threshold stood Emma Saxon. All was dark behind her, but I saw her plainly. And so did he. He threw up his hands as if to hide his face from her, and when I looked again, she was gone. He stood motionless as if the strength had run out of him. And in the stillness, my mistress suddenly raised herself, and opening her eyes, fixed a look on him. Then she fell back, and I saw the death flutter pass over her. We buried her on the third day in a driving snowstorm. There were few people in the church, for it was bad weather to come from town, and I've a notion my mistress is one that hadn't many near friends. Mr Renford was among the last to come, just before they carried her up the aisle. He was in black, of course, being such a friend in the family, and I never saw a gentleman so pale. As he passed me, I noticed that he leaned a trifle on a stick he carried, and I fancy Mr Brimpton noticed it too, for the red spot came out sharp on his forehead, and all through the service he kept staring across the church at Mr. Ranford, instead of following the prayers as a mourner should. When it was over, and we went out to the graveyard, Mr. Ranford had disappeared, and as soon as my poor mistress's body was underground, Mr. Brimpton jumped into the carriage nearest the gate and drove off without a word to any of us. I heard him call out to the station. And we servants went back alone to the house. That was The Lady's Bell by Edith Wharton, and I have to say this one kept me glued to my screen, uh, scrolling as I read through, eager to find out what happened next. No, I try not to deliver things that I feel are just not enjoyable to me and not worth your time. I don't shy away from saying, eh, I don't really love that. But if it's truly horrific, I just refuse to record it and present it. And so with that being said, for this story, I really love how Wharton leaves us with a ton of questions at the end. Does she wrap things up and give us a resolution? She does, but she there's so much she does not explain. Unlike uh our friend Edgar Allan Poe, another one of my favorite authors, but uh he always leaves uh things answered for the most part. We're left with very few questions when it comes to his stories, and often in the beginning, he will tell you straight up this is exactly where this is going. Wharton, however, took us on a delightful adventure in which she introduced multiple characters and each player followed the motto of ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies. So, for people who are in positions of servitude, it is quite common for them to move about the house and to choose to be seen only when the employer wants them to be seen. Otherwise, you kind of move under the radar. This is also similar to say hi in restaurants, where you are seen really only when the people who need your service need you. Other than that, be in the background. As someone who has worked in the service industry, I myself have had to resist participating in conversations that I overhear at a table because it's not my place. My place is simply to serve that food, check on them to make sure it's okay, and to completely disregard anything that I hear. And so that's what we have here. Now, the motto of Ask Me No Questions and I'll Tell You No Lies is not exclusively held by those in positions of servitude, because we also have the lady of the house, Mrs. Bripton, who does not ask her husband um why he stays away for so long. And we have the husband who really doesn't ask his wife why Mr. Ranford visits so much. And what is the connection? We do wonder, perhaps these two, uh Mrs. Brampton and Mr. Ranford having a little dalliance of some sort. And maybe Emma Saxon knew about it. Now we don't really know why Emma Saxon died. Did Mr. Brimpton have something to do with it? Um did she take ill on her way to Mr. Ranford's one day? Not really sure. But lo and behold, we know that she is no longer living and she is the one thing that is able to keep connected um the lady of the house and Mr. Ranford. Now the idea of ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies, is very much today still honored by children. And if you really think about it, are the servants, at least our main character, Mrs. Hartley, are they not a bit like children? Um, you know, be seen and not heard for the most part. Children are also very perceptive of what is going on in a household. Parents are not happily married, the home is financially struggling. Um, they can sense things out. Holiday gifts hidden somewhere, kids are going to have a hint of what is going on. So that is one thing that comes to mind in this story. Now, another thing that comes to my mind are the it's the idea of servants keeping their master secrets. We know that there have been four maids throughout the past year prior to Miss Hartley arriving, and none of them survived this household. None of them were able to stick it out. Why is it that they weren't able to stick it out? Now, this kind of brings me back to Mr. Brimden. Is it that he has uh pursued the young maids and uh as such um the ghostly powers that be ensure that those maids do not last? Um that's that's one thought. Did he have a little dalliance with Emma Saxon? That is one thought that comes to mind when you think about the fact that he sees her at the bathroom door and he is really shocked and taken back, like, oh my god, what is that? Then again, I'm tempted to withdraw that idea. Here's why. When Hartley goes to her mistress's door after hearing the bell the first time, he Brimpton, Mr. Brimpton says to her, Um, you can come in, all of you, like I all the maids, doesn't matter how many, something to that effect. So there is this implication that someone has already gone in before her. And then, of course, we have the mistress who takes her medication and calls out the word Emma, right? She calls out the wrong name and then fully opens her eyes and like, oh, sorry. I said the wrong name, must have been dreaming. Hmm. So Emma's already been in that room. He's already seen Emma. So actually, I'm gonna say that no, his reaction was not to um seeing the deceased Emma and him feeling regret, maybe that he had caused her demise and death. Okay, I'm gonna take that off the table because he's already seen her in the house um within this past year. So we're gonna we're gonna drop that. And we're gonna just say that his shock is purely related to the fact that he expected to find Mr. Ranford hiding in his wife's dressing room, and instead it's another maid. He's like, good gracious, what on earth? And that maid looks pale and ghostly. Ah, all right. So that's all I got for you on that. Um, but yeah, uh, nobody in this house is willing to tell what's going on. None of the servants. It's a little interesting. The the um, oh gosh, was the butler who makes a point to like say all these biblical phrases every time his master comes around? Um, I know the guy's not nice, but what's up with all the biblical phases? So do we feel that the Mr. of the house has done someone some wrong? Was he the cause of Emma's death? I'm curious. Um, or is he just being strictly seen as the cause for his wife's illness and ailment? Hmm, interesting. Speaking of illness and ailment, the wife is drinking lime water, we find out, and it's harmless. And so this makes me think: is the doctor just prescribing this wealthy woman a basic placebo, just because there's really nothing wrong with her. Uh, she's just like depressed, pretty much. And so back in those days, it'd be like, oh, well, you know, go get some country air and take this and you'll be fine. Nice little contrast to the um mate, Mrs. Hartley, who's just overcome uh typhoid fever. So, you know, we have someone who really was incredibly sick, taking care of someone who's just melancholy. Okay, so she's taking lime water. Does this mean that she's not really sick at all? Has never Really been sick? Is she just mopey and depressed because she can't be with Mr. Ranford, her boyfriend? Uh assuming they are having an affair, when did this affair start? Had it been going on for years, and only a year prior did her husband put an end to it? Uh maybe he caught Emma sneaking out, right? We have Hartley who was sent off on this errand and to drop off a note for Ranford. So maybe the husband catches Emma sneaking out and uh puts it into it. Maybe puts an end to her. Uh but then again, if he had put an end to her, he would have reacted when she came in to service the mistress the first time. So as much as I want to make him a murderer, it's just not sinking, locking into place. It's he's not a murderer. He's just a jerk. Okie dokie. Another question that this uh lovely tale brings up. What will you do for the ones you vow to care for and for the ones that you love? So we've got the husband who is just at this point, he's just like, You're I don't even believe that you're sick. I think you just want to not be near me, okay? He's not happy with his wife. Um, he's probably cheated on her many times. She's been out here in the country for quite some time. And um then we have, you know, it's I like his comment. Uh, you keep this place as welcoming as a family vault. I thought that was pretty funny. And if you think about it, I mean, she's all sick and barely alive. There's a ghost running around. So yeah, it's like a, you know, Emma's like family. It's like the home of the dead. I don't know. Anyway, um, so yeah, the four of the ones that you love. So we have Hartley saying to Mr. Blimpton, hey, sir, your wife is passed out on the ground. Could you pay attention to her? And he's like, Yeah, whatever. She's putting on a show. I'm gonna see who's behind this door. I know exactly why she's putting on a show because she has a secret. A secret, right? We have Mrs. Hartley who thinks a couple times, you know what? I'm not gonna put up with this. I'm getting out of here. This place is just depressing and creepy and weird, and I'm out of here. She never really says, I'm not gonna be able to get another job. She never really says that. Um, and I would imagine after being in care of this woman for a little bit of time, her prospects of getting another job would greatly be improved. But lo and behold, she feels it's her duty to stay and to care for her mistress because her mistress has been so kind to her. Mm-hmm. Even though it's causing her suffering, right? All of the other people in the house who will not say what happened to Emma Saxon, they will not say, so you know, something not good happened to this girl. Um, lo and behold, and maybe, maybe, no, let me back that up. Maybe it's not just because something bad happened to her, maybe it's also because her ghost still haunts the house, but probably something bad happened to her. So, what bad happened to her? Someone please tell us. But no one will say. And is this out of loyalty duty for someone they love, being their mistress? Everyone loves the lady of the house, but they hate the husband. And I would kind of feel like, why not hate the lady of the house for making you guys hang out with a ghostly spirit? I don't know. I'm just saying I'd have a little bit of hard feelings towards her for that. Or for having you bear witness to whatever horrible thing happened to Emma Saxon. What happened to her? I don't know. Maybe we'll never know. I'm sure someone online somewhere has some theory about what happened. But Edith Wharton ain't telling us, so you know. Okay, we know that there were at least four other maids during the one-year gap between um Emma Saxon's death and Hartley's arrival. So all we know is that they can't stay in the house. We don't know if they can't stay in the house because the house feels dreary, because they've seen Emma's ghosts, because the lady of the house hasn't really taken to them. We're not really giving any explanation. We just know that they can't stay there. I was kind of expecting for Hartley to die, to be honest. I mean, she came to this house, she's sickly, she's running out in the snow without any shoes on. I thought she was gonna die, but she does not. Wharton does not give us this kind of ending, and I appreciate it. I kind of like the fact that okay, so hear me out. The lady passes on. She can now be with Emma in death, I guess. We're gonna assume that uh once she died, um Emma is no longer needed in the house, and so Emma can go be peace. So they can all both go and be dead together, right? There, there you go. You guys are dead. Um, and Randolph, um, what is this guy's name? Lover Boy. Um, Ranford, he is leaning on a cane. So maybe he'll kill over soon, and then everyone can be happy. And, you know, uh, Mr. Blimpton has already parted till death do you part. I'm out of here. He's like, get me away from this horrible, evil place. Um, and so lo and behold, the fact that all the servants go back to the house, I don't know that this guy is really gonna sell his summer home. He doesn't really have any need to do so anytime soon. So it's a kind of a nice little gift by the lady of the house, right? Like, you know, you guys, you helped me out when I was having an affair, and you didn't reveal my secrets when the ghost of my former maid was haunting the house and still caring for me. So my gift to you is a home to live in and keep up while my husband, who has a summer home, is never going to visit it unless he bothers to like remarry or something. Interesting though, I just remember it's said in the beginning that she had two children, but they were dead. So, what is going on with this household? Um, I'm just going back there. Let's see here. Uh, my niece will take the recommendation. Let's see here. I want for quiet. My niece is an angel. And read aloud. Just going back. Rosie girl like you. Do do do do do do do. Her former maid died last spring. Have been there with her 20 years and worship the ground she walked on. She's a kind mistress to all, uh, kind to everybody. Servants are all good humored. And okay. Oh dear. Yeah, okay. Basically, stay out of his way. She wants a maid that can be something of a companion. Why can't I find this right now? Well mannered and educated above your station.

unknown 1:13:27

Okay.

SPEAKER_00 1:13:31

Ah, okay. My niece is nervous, vaporish. Her husband, well, he's generally away. I love that description of him. Yeah, well, not much to say about him. Everybody thinks he's a jerk. It's not that he's just a jerk to the servants, but uh he's apparently a jerk to the aunt of the lady of the house. And the two children are dead. Mm-hmm. A year ago, I would as soon have thought of shutting a rosy active girl like you into a vault. Okay, so um, I wouldn't have done this as well ago, but hey, look at you. You're you're sickly. You could use some country air. That's that's quite interesting. Okay. So this woman's kids are dead. What happened to her kids? Emma was with her for 20 years. How long? Who lived all the year round at her country place on the Hudson? So she's been up at this house. She may not have been up at the house for 20 years, but she's been there a while, had the same maid for a while. What happened to her kids? You can't tell me the husband killed the kids and the maid. That just don't make no sense. It's like, oh, these kids, they're hiding your affair. Blah, I'll kill them. We don't even know like the age the kids died. Um, so much we don't know. Dun dun dun. You know, my thought is, hey, after her kids pass, maybe typoid fever had been going around. So um, I get the phone, the kids may have been dead for a little while, but um, you know, maybe the kids got sick when they were young and they both passed away, some kind of fever or something, plague. And so she is melancholy, goes to the country estate, and kind of never really gets out of her funk. She's kind of hating her life, mate goes with her, and then she sees the neighbor guy. We never get the sense that he's got a lady. So, why does this bachelor guy have a summer estate? Not a hundred percent sure. Maybe he used to be married, maybe he is never been married and just a bachelor guy and inherited this place. But lo and behold, he goes there during his summer and they spend some time together, and after a while, her spirits are lifted and she feels better, and she can put on her coat and go outside when she sees him, but when she sees her husband, oh no, she's all gloom and get the doctor so I can have some more lime water. And after the while, the husband's just like, oh, this is a little crap. And I'm tired of this maid keeping your secrets. So there's that. Yeah. Uh Wharton gives us some lovely messages on uh the the you know the risk of not asking questions, the dangers of trying to keep a life where you are honest at all times, right? Because the maid does not want to lie. No one wants to lie. Even the mid lady of the house doesn't want to lie. She gets to the point where she plum, dumb, uh faints and shortly dies of shock, basically. Uh because that's far easier than telling the truth. Who's in that bathroom? My ghost friend. Um so yeah. Sacreds, they can be a killer. And you know, just a little cautionary tale about unhappy marriages as well. Right? And oh, you know, I see what I say, cautionary tale about lying to yourself. Because this woman knows that she's not as sick as she pretends to be, right? I mean, she's certainly magically healthy when Mr. Ranford's around. Mm-hmm. And she's just drinking lime water. So, you know, there's that uh placebo effect going to work. And so there you have it. That's all I got for you on this one. But I hope you enjoyed this story. Um, and yeah, we shall have more Edith Wharton. We shall, we shall. All right. Well, until next time, right? I hope you enjoyed this story and do come back for another Gothic tale.