CHAPTER XVII 206
seemed to throw her into ecstasies . She would have Sophie to look over all her " toilettes ," as she called frocks ; to furbish up any that were " passees ," and to air and arrange the new . For herself , she did nothing but caper about in the front chambers , jump on and off the bedsteads , and lie on the mattresses and piled-up bolsters and pillows before the enormous fires roaring in the chimneys . From school duties she was exonerated : Mrs . Fairfax had pressed me into her service , and I was all day in the storeroom , helping ( or hindering ) her and the cook ; learning to make custards and cheese-cakes and French pastry , to truss game and garnish desert-dishes .
The party were expected to arrive on Thursday afternoon , in time for dinner at six . During the intervening period I had no time to nurse chimeras ; and I believe I was as active and gay as anybody -- Adele excepted . Still , now and then , I received a damping check to my cheerfulness ; and was , in spite of myself , thrown back on the region of doubts and portents , and dark conjectures . This was when I chanced to see the third-storey staircase door ( which of late had always been kept locked ) open slowly , and give passage to the form of Grace Poole , in prim cap , white apron , and handkerchief ; when I watched her glide along the gallery , her quiet tread muffled in a list slipper ; when I saw her look into the bustling , topsy-turvy bedrooms , -- just say a word , perhaps , to the charwoman about the proper way to polish a grate , or clean a marble mantelpiece , or take stains from papered walls , and then pass on . She would thus descend to the kitchen once a day , eat her dinner , smoke a moderate pipe on the hearth , and go back , carrying her pot of porter with her , for her private solace , in her own gloomy , upper haunt . Only one hour in the twenty-four did she pass with her fellow-servants below ; all the rest of her time was spent in some low-ceiled , oaken chamber of the second storey : there she sat and sewed -- and probably laughed drearily to herself , -- as companionless as a prisoner in his dungeon .
The strangest thing of all was , that not a soul in the house , except me , noticed her habits , or seemed to marvel at them : no one discussed her position or employment ; no one pitied her solitude or isolation . I once , indeed , overheard part of a dialogue between Leah and one of the charwomen , of which Grace formed the subject . Leah had been saying something I had not caught , and the charwoman remarked -