A Fluttered Dovecote Part 22

"No; I should never have expected that from what I have seen of your two charming pupils. Mrs de Blount, that they would have had feelings, sentiments, or emotions in common with a young person of the name of-- Jones."

"Then, if your daughter wishes it, my dear madam," said Mrs Blunt, "I think we may venture to say that the matter is settled to your satisfaction. You see," she continued, "that when a new pupil arrives, I look upon mine as quite a maternal charge--one that embraces all that a mother owes to her child, with that of the teacher and trainer of the young and budding intellect."

"Exactly so," said Mrs Campanelle Bra.s.sey, nodding her head.

"And therefore," continued Mrs Blunt, apparently much encouraged--"therefore, my dear madam, I try to study pupils' comfort and wishes, even in those which some people might consider trivial things. I study, as far as I can, the present as well as the future; so that when, strong-winged, these young birds take flight, they may always in their happy futures--"

"Certainly--happy futures," said Mrs Campanelle Bra.s.sey, nodding her head; "certainly, after such training."

"Happy futures, look back," continued Mrs Blunt, "to the days when they were at the Cedars, and feel a tear dim their eye's brightness--a tear, not of sorrow, but of regret."

"Very true," said Mrs Campanelle Bra.s.sey. "I quite agree with you, Mrs de Blount. Charming sentiments."

"And therefore, you see, had there been any dislike to the alteration upon our young friend's part," said Mrs Blunt, "I should not have liked to make the change."

Yes: she actually said all that, just as if she believed it, and even smiled at me as she spoke; while, I declare, I almost felt dumb-founded to hear what she said.

The Cedars certainly must have been a most delightful place to motherly eyes, for at every turn go where we would, Mrs Campanelle Bra.s.sey was lost in admiration, and found everything charming; and she did not scruple to say so, and to such an extent that I grew tired of hearing her. But that did not matter, for there was no getting away; and I had to go with her, into the dining-room again to have some cake and wine, which I had to ring for, and then go and sit down by the side of the visitor, who seemed to know by instinct which would be the softest couch.

James brought in the wine, and when I was asked, as a matter of course, I ought to have declined, and said, with a display of Cedar deportment, "No, thank you;" but I did not intend anything of the sort, and said "Yes," for I knew that Mrs Blunt always had the best sherry brought out for the visitors, and was in consequence terribly stingy over it. So I said, "Yes, if you please," and took a gla.s.s, while she was obliged to smile all the time; for I did not mean to be walked about, and talked at, and talked to all day for nothing.

But at last I was set at liberty, and went off to the schoolroom to discuss the coming of the new girl, who was so handsome and charming in every respect, till Miss Furness returned from the drawing-room, where she had been to be introduced, and desired us to pursue our studies, when, of course, we were all very industrious for quite five minutes.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

MEMORY THE TWENTY-FIRST--I SUFFER.

"I can't think how mammas can be so silly as to believe all that is said by these lady princ.i.p.als," said Clara. "And so there's another new girl coming, just my age? I wonder how she will like Cedar mutton--all gristle and tiff-taff. I wish I was out of it, I do! And so it's all off between you and Monsieur Achille, is it, dear? Well, I'm very glad, for it had got to be dreadfully tiring, really. Now, tell the truth, ain't you glad yourself?"

"N-n-no, I don't think I am," I said. "It will be so dull now, with nothing to look forward to; and--heigho!--who would have thought that he would be so false?"

"Anybody, everybody," said Clara; "and yet you were highly offended because I said French gentlemen were fickle and brittle. Never mind, dear, there will be some one else some day, and I shall be bridesmaid, after all."

"Don't talk such stuff," I said, dolefully; while from the far distant past there seemed to rise up the reproachful countenance of Mr Saint Purre, as I had seen him last, and I could not help sighing; while if any one had asked me whether I was sighing about Monsieur de Tiraille or Theodore Saint Purre, I really don't think that I could have told them.

Time slipped on--I can hardly tell you how, but it really did pa.s.s. I had been home for the Christmas vacation, and tried hard to keep from going back to the Cedars, but in vain. Mamma declared that it was all for my good, and was what she called inflexible. So, after a regular round of gaiety, I was back at the hateful place once more, with the old routine wheel going round, and round, and round, and seeming to grind all the skin off my temper, so that I grew cross, and fretful, and peevish. Forming our minds, indeed! They did form our minds there, and a very bad shape they made them into. I know I was one of the most amiable of girls when I went down there; while at home now I am melancholy, and irritable, and--and--well, I don't know what.

Time went on--cold winterly days, when we could hardly smell the fire; and as to warming ourselves, we had better have been guilty of high treason. Mrs Blunt was better, and loved a good fire, getting quite close to it; but Miss Furness had a theory that too much warmth was unwholesome, and that after coals had been put on, a fire ought never to be poked; and I declare if that tiresome old thing used not to lock up the fire-irons in the book cupboard when she left the room, so that we should not touch the grate; and there we used to be, poking it with pieces of slate pencil till they broke, or burning the end of the big ruler by hammering the burning coals with that.

Wet days, when there was no walking. Northeasterly windy days, when Miss Furness's nose turned more red than ever, and her eyes watered with the bleak breezes that she would face. Health was everything, she used to say, and perhaps she was right; but I know I would rather be poorly and comfortable than healthy and always in misery and pain.

Dull, dreary days, with lessons from this one and lessons from that one.

Italian I made some progress with, and music I always did love; but as for French, of late that had been sadly neglected. I really blushed at times to take up my exercises to Monsieur de Tiraille; but he never uttered a word of praise or blame, but always sighed softly as he looked over them, while I was stern and obdurate as fate itself. No, I could not forgive him; and note after note that he would have had me take I pretended not to see, while as to those which he sent by Clara, I returned them unopened. I repeat I could not forgive; for he had wounded me deeply, and in my tenderest sensibilities, and I showed him always that I was entirely changed. I was sorry for him, for he looked very unhappy. Yes, I pitied him, and pitied his weakness that had tempted him to forsake me for Miss Furness. I could have suffered anything else at his hands--neglect, scorn, contempt; but to forsake me for her--oh, it was too bad! But I was resigned: might they be happy!

Yes, I said so; and then I smiled in bitter mockery, as I looked upon Miss Furness's vinegary aspect, thought of her early morning walks, and cold, uncomfortable ways, and asked myself what there was in her to make a man happy, when, like a flash, the answer came--_money_! For I recollected the hints I had heard dropped of Mrs Blunt being sometimes in pecuniary difficulties, and borrowing of Miss Furness, who had been very saving, and had had one or two legacies left her; so that really, and truly, the establishment was more hers than Mrs Blunt's; and if she had liked she could have laid claim to the concern, but perhaps was waiting her time. Yes, that must be the secret; and Achille must know it. Why, of course she had told him, and they had made their plans together. I had quite given him up; but somehow the idea of those two scheming and plotting for their future angered me terribly, and whenever I had such thoughts I used to be obliged to shed a few bitter tears; so that I grew quite to sympathise with Mrs Blunt, and could see plainly enough now why Miss Furness was allowed to a.s.sume so much, and to sleep on the first floor, besides being taken into consultation upon every important occasion, when the other teachers were nowhere, or only admitted upon sufferance.

How the romance of one's life seemed to have pa.s.sed away, while one was really living under a cloud!--and I knew now the meaning of the expression. And yet there was something resigned in my feelings, and I did not mind it so very much; for I was waiting for the end of my sojourn here. I had learned the truth of there being something pleasant in melancholy, and I was always repeating the words of the old song--

"Go! You may call it madness, folly, You shall not chase my grief away; There's such a charm in Melancholy, I would not, if I could, be gay."

I'm not sure whether that is quite right, but it is as I recollect from very, very long--ages ago; and it was about this time that I began to feel--oh, so old, and worn, and weary.

Yes, Achille tried hard to obtain my forgiveness; but I would not notice. He whispered to me more than once, over the lessons, that it was from motives of policy that he had so acted; but I would not hear him. And it was about this time that mamma began to send me word of how frequently Theodore Saint Purre used to call at Chester Square, and how kindly he always inquired after me; and it really was very kind of him, and almost looked as if he took an interest in me. But then, what interest could he feel in the poor, weak school-girl that I was? So I only sighed when mamma wrote, and tried, by being good friends with the new pupil, Euphemia Campanelle Bra.s.sey, to keep from being miserable about Monsieur de Tiraille--for I made a vow never to call him Achille any more. Then he must try to pique me by taking more notice of Clara and Euphemia; but he gained nothing by that movement, for I saw Miss Furness look crochet needles at him--which, I mean to say, is a far better simile than daggers, for they are old, exploded things that have gone off without noise; while crochet needles are things of the present, equally sharp, and more vicious, from being barbed. And then, too, I told Euphemia all about his treatment of me, while Clara already knew it, and laughed in his face, making him look so ashamed, when he had been trying to be so--so--so--well, what's that word?--empresse; whilst the next time he came, Euphemia, who had felt a little flattered, regularly turned up her nose at him. Of course, I am speaking metaphorically, for Patty Smith was the only big girl who really could do that literally, but then it came natural to her. And it was such a good thing that we had got rid of Patty; for, as I have said before, I think, I never could look upon her, big as she was, as anything but a child; while she acted as a regular check upon all our little chats.

No, Monsieur de Tiraille gained nothing by that movement, only the holding of himself up to the scorn of the three eldest girls in the establishment; and after that it was that he took to sighing softly, and a.s.suming the martyr, for he attacked the citadel of my poor heart in every conceivable way. But I fortified it with thoughts of the past, and regularly set him at defiance, my only regret--I think, I will not be sure upon that point--my only regret being that the poor exiles of whom he had written to me would suffer from this estrangement, for I knew that he could not do a great deal for them. And when I wondered whether Miss Furness would be generous, and help them out of her store, my heart whispered No, and I felt so pained and sorry, that I enclosed two sovereigns, all I had saved up, in a piece of paper, with the words--"For the poor exiles," written inside, and gave it to him in that dear old, dog's-eared, thumbed Nugent--dear to me from a thousand recollections!

The next time he came he was radiant with hope, but the arrows of his dark eyes glanced from the cold mail of pride with which I was armed now. I was as iron itself, while he seemed perfectly astounded. But he was mistaken: for the money sent was not in token of reconciliation, but so that others who were deserving should not suffer from our estrangement; and I can a.s.sure you that I felt very proud of my ability to crush down the love that, I am afraid, still burned in my breast.

In other respects matters went on very quietly at the Cedars; from being so fierce and snappish, Miss Furness was now quiet, and amiable, and smiling; and though I hated her most horribly, I tried to crush all my dislike down, and make the best of things. I found, too, now, that I was invited occasionally to take tea in the drawing-room, when Mrs Blunt had a few particular friends; and, altogether, they seemed to treat me differently to the way from which I suffered when I first came.

Then, too, Euphemia Campanelle Bra.s.sey being in our room made it a little better; but, for all that, I was dull, and wretched, and miserable. You know, it was so tiresome in the old days with Patty; we did not want to be always drinking Spanish liquorice water, and eating sour apples, and cakes, and gooseberries in bed--it was so childish. It was all very well sometimes; but then Patty was so ravenous, thinking of nothing else but eating, and always wanting to have what she called a feast, and making the room smell horribly of peppermint--which, in its way, is really as bad as onions. But Effie Campanelle Bra.s.sey really was a nice girl, and sensible; and, of course, as we were allowed no suppers, it was nice to have a little in our bedrooms; so we had one box that we used to call the larder, and took it in turns to keep it replenished. Sometimes we used to have sausage rolls, sometimes pork pies, and little tartlets that there was an old woman in the town used to make so nicely. But our greatest difficulty used to be about something to drink; for though we could bring home a paper bag in one hand and a parasol in the other, of course we could not carry a bottle, and you may be sure that we did not care for Spanish liquorice water, nor yet for lemonade. I should have liked bottled stout, though I did take almost a dislike to it after Patty Smith proposed to give me a Seidlitz powder, for the effervescence put me in mind of it. But, as a rule, we used to have wine--sherry or claret--in a dear, nice, champagney-looking bottle, with a silvery top, and a blue heraldic dragon sitting in a castle, with his head out of the top and his tail sticking out of the bottom--a scaly-looking dragon, like Richard Coeur de Lion's legs in the old pictures; while the tail was all barbed like a crochet needle tied back to back to another crochet needle. And, oh, it was such fun! I believe those were the only merry times we had. The new servant always got the wine for us from a man in the town, and we used to lend her the key to put the bottle in the larder when she went up to make the beds; and I'm afraid to tell you how many bottles we drank, for it would be too shocking.

Effie Campanelle Bra.s.sey was a really dear girl, and could enter into matters so much better than Patty Smith, and it was a pleasure to sit in the dusk of a night and tell her all about our disappointments--for, of course, they were disappointments, the poor Signor being found out, and Achille proving so utterly lost to all proper feeling, and acting as he did with Miss Furness.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

MEMORY THE TWENTY-SECOND--WEAK WOMAN.

They say that it is natural for women to be weak, and of course they who said so must know best about it. So if woman is naturally weak, I do not think I need be very much ashamed of owning that I was the same as the rest of my s.e.x, and willing at last to forgive poor Achille; for really he did begin to look so pale and distressed, so worn, and sallow, and miserable, and seemed so to humble himself before me, that I began to be afraid he was contemplating something dreadful. He appeared so dejected, and bent, and old, and directed at me such penitent looks, that no one with a heart beating within her breast could have resisted for long; and by degrees his sorrow began to melt away the hard, cold, icy armour in which I was encased, to sap the walls of the citadel of stone I had built round my heart, and one day--I could not help it--I could not resist the piteous look he directed at me, but forgave him with one quick, sharp glance, which brought almost a sob from his breast; while, though his eyes were cast down, I could see him swelling almost, as it were, with emotion, and I escaped from the room as soon as I possibly could, to try and calm the wild, fluttering sensation that pervaded my very being.

Then Clara laughed at me, and sneered, and flouted, and jeered; but I did not care, for something seemed always telling me that I loved him very dearly. But I made up my mind to refrain from all meetings, and to do nothing clandestine, except the correspondence with a few notes; though I knew that it was nonsense to think for a moment that papa or mamma would ever give their consent to my loving and being espoused by a French master.

And then began the notes again; while now that I think of it all, it seems perfectly wonderful that we were not found out, over and over and over again, for Achille grew so terribly barefaced--I mean in his ways, for of course he did not remove his beautiful beard. Sometimes it was Clara who had a note for me, sometimes Euphemia; and then I did not like it, for it did not seem nice for them to be the bearers of the notes; and if the thing had been possible, I declare that at such times I should have felt jealous; for I could not help thinking it possible that he had squeezed their hands when he had delivered the notes; and, as a matter of course, such a thing was too dreadful to contemplate for more than about half a minute at a time.

You may be sure I never asked them if such had been the case; but I know that I used to be snappish, and not like to say "thank you" for the missives, however welcome they might be. But they never knew the reason, only thought that perhaps something had put me a little out of temper.

And what notes those used to be!--all bewailing his inability to meet me; for it was quite out of the question to make any appointments, with that horrible dog ranging and roaming about like a fierce wolf, night after night; nearly driving the poor old gardener mad, too, with the mischief he did.

"I declare, miss," the old man said to me, "I'd sooner set up and watch in the garden myself night after night, than hev that there blessed beast a-destroying of everythink. Certainly, there ain't such a deal jest now; but what it will be when we comes to verbenas and bedding plants saints knows. Ribbon gardening, indeed!--the whole blessed garden's torn to ribbons already. If some one would only poison him!"

"If some one would only poison him!" I mentally said, after him.

But no one did, and we had to content ourselves with notes. Yes, such notes!--not what they were of old--full of patriotism; but all the same, pressing me to fly with him, to be his, to leave this land of cold and fogs for his own sunny south, where all would be smiles, and beauty, and love, and blue skies, and emerald verdure, and sunshine. Oh, what a future he painted! It was quite enough to destroy one's sleep for the night, for one could do nothing but lie in the wild waking dream of an excited imagination. And then, after such waking hours, there was a violent headache in the morning. What could I do, being so weak, and leaning towards him as I did then? I knew how wicked it was, and how grievous; but then, it all seemed like fate--like something that was to be; and I used to think that all would come right in the end, when mamma and papa would forgive me, and we should all be happy together.

"He knows that you will have a nice little sum of money when you come of age," said Clara, spitefully.

"That I'm sure he doesn't," I said. "How can you talk such nonsense?

Why, he don't know anything about our position at home."

"Why, how can you say so?" replied Clara, "when you told him in my hearing, one night down in the conservatory, months ago."

And that was right, though I had not recalled it at the time; but it was too bad of Clara to try and make out that Achille was prompted by mercenary motives, when he was the very soul of generosity, and kept himself horribly poor by the amounts he gave away. And, besides, he was too much of a gentleman to care for money, except as regarded the good it would do to his fellow creatures.

But there, as it must have been seen all along, Clara always was petty, and spiteful, and full of little remarks of that sort, which she would throw at you, when they would come round, and hard, and p.r.i.c.kly, just like one of those nasty, spikey chestnut shucks that will not bear to be handled. So I grew not to mind what she said; and when I told Achille, he used to laugh, and say that she was "une drole de fille," and, like me, he took no further notice of it.

I would not consent for such a time--months, and months, and months; but I knew that at last I should be compelled to yield, and go with him.

"But not yet," I said, "not yet," and I drove it off as long as I could; but at last I gave up, and promised to be his--the promise that should make me another's! And then began a week of such nervous excitement as was almost unbearable. Such foolish ideas, too, came into my head--some of them so childish that I was almost ashamed of them; such as wishing, like I had read of somewhere, to save up pieces of bread and b.u.t.ter, and to purchase a suit of boy's clothes. In short, it seemed as if nothing but absurdities would come into my head.