The Parsonage Again 1 page

For a few months I remained peaceably at home, in the quiet enjoyment of liberty and rest, and genuine friend ship, from all of which I had fasted so long, and in the earnest prosecution of my studies to recover what I had lost during my stay at Wellwood House, and to lay in new stores for future use.

My father’s health was still very infirm, but not materially worse than when I last saw him, and I was glad I had it in my power to cheer him by my return, and to amuse him with singing his favourite songs.

No one triumphed over my failure, or said I had better have taken his or her advice, and quietly stayed at home. All were glad to have me back again, and lavished more kindness than ever upon me, to make up for the sufferings I had undergone; but not one would touch a shilling of what I had so cheerfully earned and so carefully saved, in the hope of sharing it with them. By dint of pinching here, and scraping there, our debts, already were nearly paid. Mary had had good success with her drawings, but our father had insisted upon her likewise keeping all the produce of her industry to herself. All we could spare from the supply of our humble wardrobe, and our little casual expenses, he directed us to put into the savings’ bank, saying we knew not how soon we might be dependant on that alone for support, for he felt he had not long to be with us, and what would become of our mother and us when he was gone, God only knew.¹

Dear papa! if he had troubled himself less about the afflictions that threatened us in case of his death, I am convinced that dreaded event would not have taken place so soon. My mother would never suffer him to ponder the subject if she could help it.

“Oh Richard!” exclaimed she, on one occasion, “if you would but dismiss such gloomy subjects from your mind, you would live as long as any of us—at least you would live to see the girls married, and yourself a happy grandfather with a canty old dame^u for your companion.”

My mother laughed, and so did my father, but his laugh soon perished in a dreary sigh.

“Them married—poor penniless things!” said he, “who will take them I wonder!”

“Why nobody shall, that isn’t thankful for them.—Wasn’t I penniless when you took me? and you pretended, at least, to be vastly pleased with your acquisition.—But it’s no matter whether they get married or not: we can devise a thousand honest ways of making a livelihood; and I wonder Richard, you can think of bothering your head about our poverty in case of your death, as if that would be anything compared with the calamity of losing you—an affliction that, you well know, would swallow up all others, and which you ought to do your utmost to preserve us from; and there is nothing like a cheerful mind for keeping the body in health.”

“I know, Alice, it is wrong to keep repining as I do, but I cannot help it; you must bear with me.”

“I won ’t bear with you, if I can alter you!” replied my mother: but the harshness of her words was outdone by the earnest affection of her tone and pleasant smile that made my father smile again, less sadly, and less transiently than was his wont.

“Mamma,” said I, as soon as I could find an opportunity of speaking with her alone, “my money is but little, and cannot last long; if I could increase it, it would lessen papa’s anxiety on one subject at least. I cannot draw like Mary, and so the best thing I could do would be to look out for another situation.”

“And so you would actually try again, Agnes!”

“Decidedly, I would.”

“Why my dear, I should have thought you had had enough of it.”

“I know,” said I, “everybody is not like Mr. and Mrs. Bloomfield—”

“Some are worse,” interrupted my mother.

“But not many I think,” replied I, “and I’m sure all children are not like theirs; for I and Mary were not; we always did as you bid us, didn’t we?”

“Generally: but then, I did not spoil you; and you were not perfect angels after all: Mary had a fund of quiet obstinacy, and you were somewhat faulty in regard to temper; but you were very good children on the whole.”

“I know I was sulky sometimes, and I should have been glad to see these children sulky sometimes too; for then I could have understood them; but they never were; for they could not be offended, nor hurt, nor ashamed: they could not be unhappy in any way, except when they were in a passion.”

“Well, if they could not, it was not their fault; you cannot expect stone to be as pliable as clay.”

“No, but still, it is very unpleasant to live with such unimpressible, incomprehensible creatures. You cannot love them, and if you could, your love would be utterly thrown away; they could neither return it, nor value, nor understand it.—But however, even if I should stumble on such a family again, which is quite unlikely, I have all this experience to begin with, and I should manage better another time; and the end and aim of this preamble is, let me try again.”

“Well, my girl, you are not easily discouraged, I see—I am glad of that—But, let me tell you, you are a good deal paler and thinner than when you first left home, and we cannot have you undermining your health to hoard up money either for yourself or others.”

“Mary tells me I am changed too; and I don’t much wonder at it, for I was in a constant state of agitation and anxiety all day long; but next time I am determined to take things coolly.”

After some further discussion, my mother promised once more to assist me, provided I would wait and be patient; and I left her to broach the matter to my father, when, and how, she deemed it most advisable, never doubting her ability to obtain his consent.

Meantime, I searched, with great interest, the advertising columns of the newspapers, and wrote answers to every “Wanted a Governess,” that appeared at all eligible; but all my letters, as well as the replies, when I got any, were dutifully shewn to my mother; and she, to my chagrin, made me reject the situations one after another—These were low people, these were too exacting in their demands, and these too niggeredly in their remunerations.

“Your talents are not such as every poor clergyman’s daughter possesses, Agnes,” she would say, “and you must not throw them away. Remember, you promised to be patient—there is no need of hurry—you have plenty of time before you, and may have many chances yet.”

At length, she advised me to put an advertisement, myself, in the paper, stating my qualifications, &c.

“Music, Singing, Drawing, French, Latin, and German,” said she, “are no mean assemblage; many will be glad to have so much in one instructor; and this time, you shall try your fortune in a somewhat higher family—in that of some genuine, thorough-bred gentleman, for such are far more likely to treat you with proper respect and consideration, than those purse-proud tradespeople, and arrogant upstarts. I have known several among the higher ranks, who treated their governesses quite as one of the family; though some, I allow, are as insolent and exacting as any one else can be; for there are bad and good in all classes.”²

The advertisement was quickly written and despatched. Of the two parties who answered it, but one would consent to give me fifty pounds,³ the sum my mother bade me name as the salary I should require; and here, I hesitated about engaging myself, as I feared the children would be too old, and their parents would require some one more showy, or more experienced, if not more accomplished than I; but my mother dissuaded me from declining it on that account: I should do vastly well, she said, if I would only throw aside my diffidence, and acquire a little more confidence in myself. I was just to give a plain, true statement of my acquirements and qualifications, and name what stipulations I chose to make, and then await the result.

The only stipulation I ventured to propose, was that I might be allowed two months holidays during the year to visit my friends, at Midsummer and Christmas. The unknown lady, in her reply, made no objection to this, and stated that, as to my acquirements, she had no doubt I should be able to give satisfaction; but in the engagement of governesses, she considered those things as but subordinate points, as, being situated in the neighbourhood of 0-,^v she could get masters to supply any deficiencies in that respect, but, in her opinion, next to unimpeachable morality, a mild and cheerful temper, and obliging disposition were the most essential requisites.

My mother did not relish this at all, and now made many objections to my accepting the situation, in which my sister warmly supported her; but, unwilling to be baulked again, I overruled them all; and, having first obtained the consent of my father, who had, a short time previously, been apprised of these transactions, I wrote a most obliging epistle to my unknown correspondent, and, finally, the bargain was concluded.

It was decreed that, on the last day of January, I was to enter upon my new office, as governess in the family of Mr. Murray, of Horton Lodge, near 0-, about seventy miles from our village—a formidable distance to me, as I had never been above twenty miles from home in all the course of my twenty years sojourn on earth, and as, moreover, every individual, in that family and in the neighbourhood, was utterly unknown to myself and all my acquaintances. But this rendered it only the more piquant to me: I had now, in some measure, got rid of the mauvaise honte^w that had formerly oppressed me so much; there was a pleasing excitement in the idea of entering these unknown regions, and making my way alone among its strange inhabitants; I now flattered myself I was going to see somethingof the world; Mr. Murray’s residence was near a large town, and not in a manufacturing district, where the people had nothing to do but to make money; his rank, from what I could gather, appeared to be higher than that of Mr. Bloomfield, and, doubtless, he was one of those genuine thorough-bred gentry my mother spoke of, who would treat his governess with due consideration as a respectable, well educated lady, the instructor and guide of his children, and not a mere upper servant, then, my pupils, being older, would be more rational, more teachable, and less troublesome than the last, they would be less confined to the school-room, and not require that constant labour and incessant watching; and, finally—bright visions mingled with my hopes, with which, the care of children, and the mere duties of a governess had little or nothing to do; so that the reader will see I had no claim to be regarded as a martyr to filial piety, going forth to sacrifice peace and liberty for the sole purpose of laying up stores for the comfort and support of my parents; though, certainly, the comfort of my father, and the future support of my mother had a large share in my calculations, and fifty pounds appeared to me no ordinary sum. I must have decent clothes becoming my station, I must, it seemed, put out my washing,^x and also pay for my four annual journeys between Horton Lodge and home; but, with strict attention to economy, surely twenty pounds, or little more, would cover those expenses, and then there would be thirty for the bank, or little less; what a valuable addition to our stock! Oh! I must struggle to keep this situation, whatever it might be! both for my own honour among my friends, and for the solid services I might render them by my continuance there.

CHAPTER VII

Horton Lodge

The thirty-first of January was a wild, tempestuous day; there was a strong north wind, with a continual storm of snow drifting on the ground, and whirling through the air. My friends would have had me delay my departure, but fearful of prejudicing my employers against me by such want of punctuality at the commencement of my undertaking, I persisted in keeping the appointment.

I will not inflict upon my readers an account of my leaving home on that dark winter morning, the fond farewells, the long—long journey to 0-, the solitary waitings in inns for coaches or trains—for there were some railways then¹-and, finally the meeting at O—, with Mr. Murray’s servant, who had been sent, with the phaeton, to drive me from thence to Horton Lodge.

I will just state that the heavy snow had thrown such impediments in the way of both horses and steam-engines, that it was dark some hours before I reached my journey’s end, and that a most bewildering storm came on at last, which made the few miles’ space between 0- and Horton Lodge a long and formidable passage. I sat resigned, with the cold, sharp snow drifting through my veil, and filling my lap, seeing nothing, and wondering how the unfortunate horse and driver could make their way even as well as they did, and indeed it was but a toilsome, creeping style of progression to say the best of it.

At length we paused; and, at the call of the driver, some one unlatched and rolled back upon their creaking hinges, what appeared to be, the park^y gates. Then we proceeded along a smoother road, whence, occasionally, I perceived some huge, hoary mass gleaming through the darkness, which I took to be a portion of a snow-clad tree.

After a considerable time, we paused again, before the stately portico of a large house with long windows descending to the ground.

I rose with some difficulty from under the superincumbent snowdrift, and alighted from the carriage, expecting a kind and hospitable reception would indemnify me for the toils and hardships of the day. A gentlemanly person in black opened the door, and admitted me into a spacious hall lighted by an amber-coloured lamp suspended from the ceiling; he led me through this, along a passage, and, opening the door of a back room, told me that was the school-room. I entered, and found two young ladies and two young gentlemen, my future pupils, I supposed. After a formal greeting, the elder girl, who was trifling over a piece of canvass and a basket of German wools,^z asked if I should like to go up-stairs.

I replied in the affirmative, of course.

“Matilda, take a candle, and show her her room,” said she.

Miss Matilda, a strapping hoyden, of about fourteen, with a short frock and trousers, shrugged her shoulders, and made a slight grimace, but took a candle and proceeded before me, up the back stairs, a long, steep, double flight, and through a long, narrow passage, to a small, but tolerably comfortable room. She then asked me if I would take some tea or coffee. I was about to answer no, but, remembering that I had taken nothing since seven o’clock that morning, and feeling faint in consequence, I said I would take a cup of tea. Saying she would tell “Brown,” the young lady departed; and by the time I had divested myself of my heavy, wet cloak, shawl, bonnet, &c., a mincing damsel came to say, the young ladies desired to know whether I would take my tea up there or in the school-room. Under the plea of fatigue, I chose to take it there. She withdrew; and, after a while, returned again with a small tea-tray, and placed it on the chest of drawers which served as a dressing-table.Having civilly thanked her, I asked at what time I should be expected to rise in the morning.

“The young ladies and gentlemen breakfast at half-past eight, ma’am,” said she; “they rise early; but, as they seldom do any lessons before breakfast, I should think it will do if you rise soon after seven.”

I desired her to be so kind as to call me at seven; and, promising to do so she withdrew. Then, having broken my long fast on a cup of tea, and a little thin bread and butter, I sat down beside the small, smouldering fire, and amused myself with a hearty fit of crying; after which, I said my prayers, and then, feeling considerably relieved, began to prepare for bed; but, finding that none of my luggage was brought up, I instituted a search for the bell; and failing to discover any signs of such a convenience in any corner of the room, I took my candle, and ventured through the long passage, and down the steep stairs, on a voyage of discovery. Meeting a well-dressed female on the way, I told her what I wanted, but not without considerable hesitation, as I was not quite sure whether it was one of the upper servants, or Mrs. Murray herself. It happened, however, to be the lady’s-maid.

With the air of one conferring an unusual favour, she vouchsafed to undertake the sending up of my things; and when I had re-entered my room, and waited and wondered a long time, greatly fearing that she had forgotten, or neglected to perform her promise, and doubting whether to keep waiting, or go to bed, or go down again, my hopes, at length, were revived by the sound of voices and laughter, accompanied by a tramp of feet along the passage, and, presently, the luggage was brought in by a rough-looking maid and a man, neither of them very respectful in their demeanour to me.

Having shut the door upon their retiring footsteps, and unpacked a few of my things, I, at length, betook myself to rest, gladly enough, for I was weary in body and mind.

It was with a strange feeling of desolation mingled with a strong sense of the novelty of my situation, and a joyless kind of curiosity concerning what was yet unknown, that I awoke the next morning feeling like one whirled away by enchantment, and suddenly dropped from the clouds into a remote and unknown land, widely and completely isolated from all he had ever seen or known before; or like a thistle-seed borne on the wind to some strange nook of uncongenial soil, where it must lie long enough before it can take root and germinate, extracting nourishment from what appears so alien to its nature, if indeed, it ever can; but this gives no proper idea of my feelings at all; and no one, that has not lived such a retired, stationary life as mine, can possibly imagine what they were—hardly even if he has known what it is to awake some morning and find himself in Port Nelson in New Zealand,² with a world of waters between himself and all that knew him.

I shall not soon forget the peculiar feeling with which I raised my blind and looked out upon the unknown world—a wide, white wilderness was all that met my gaze, a waste of—

“Deserts tossed in snow,
And heavy-laden groves.”^aa

I descended to the school-room with no remarkable eagerness to join my pupils, though not without some feeling of curiosity respecting what a further acquaintance would reveal. One thing, among others of more obvious importance, I determined with myself; I must begin with calling them Miss and Master. It seemed to me, a chilling and unnatural piece of punctilio between the children of a family and their instructor and daily companion, especially where the former were in their early childhood, as at Wellwood House; but even there, my calling the little Bloomfields by their simple names had been regarded as an offensive liberty, as their parents had taken care to show me, by carefully designating them Master and Miss Bloomfield, &c., in speaking to me. I had been very slow to take the hint, because the whole affair struck me as so very absurd; but now, I determined to be wiser, and begin at once with as much form and ceremony as any member of the family would be likely to require; and indeed, the children being so much older, there would be less difficulty; though the little words Miss and Master seemed to have a surprising effect in repressing all familiar, open-hearted kindness, and extinguishing every gleam of cordiality that might arise between us.

As I cannot, like Dogberry,^ab find it in my heart to bestow all my tediousness upon the reader, I will not go on to bore him with a minute detail of all the discoveries and proceedings of this and the following day. No doubt he will be amply satisfied with a slight sketch of the different members of the family, and a general view of the first year or two of my sojourn among them.

To begin with the head, Mr. Murray was, by all accounts, a blustering, roystering^ac country squire, a devoted fox-hunter, a skilful horse-jockey and farrier, an active, practical farmer, and a hearty bon-vivant^ad—by all accounts I say, for, except on Sundays when he went to church, I never saw him from month to month, unless, in crossing the hall or walking in the grounds, the figure of a tall, stout gentleman, with scarlet cheeks and crimson nose, happened to come across me; on which occasions, if he passed near enough to speak, an unceremonious nod, accompanied by a “Morning Miss Grey,” or some such brief salutation was usually vouchsafed. Frequently indeed, his loud laugh reached me from afar, and oftener still, I heard him swearing and blaspheming against the footmen, groom, coachman, or some other hapless dependent.

Mrs. Murray was a handsome, dashing lady of forty, who certainly required neither rouge nor padding to add to her charms, and whose chief enjoyments were, or seemed to be, in giving or frequenting parties, and in dressing at the very top of the fashion.

I did not see her till eleven o’clock on the morning after my arrival, when she honoured me with a visit, just as my mother might step into the kitchen to see a new servant girl—yet not so, either, for my mother would have seen her immediately after her arrival, and not waited till the next day; and moreover, she would have addressed her in a more kind and friendly manner, and given her some words of comfort as well as a plain exposition of her duties; but Mrs. Murray did neither the one nor the other. She just stepped into the school-room, on her return from ordering dinner in the house-keeper’s room, bid me good morning, stood for two minutes by the fire, said a few words about the weather and the “rather rough” journey I must have had yesterday, petted her youngest child—a boy of ten, who had just been wiping his mouth and hands on her gown, after indulging in some savoury morsel from the house-keeper’s stores—told me what a sweet, good boy he was, and then sailed out, with a self-complacent smile upon her face, thinking, no doubt, that she had done quite enough for the present, and had been delightfully condescending^ae into the bargain. Her children evidently held the same opinion, and I alone, thought otherwise.

After this she looked in upon me once or twice, during the absence of my pupils, to enlighten me concerning my duties towards them. For the girls, she seemed anxious only to render them as superficially attractive, and showily accomplished, as they could possibly be made without present trouble or discomfort to themselves; and I was to act accordingly—to study and strive to amuse and oblige, instruct, refine, and polish, with the least possible exertion on their part, and no exercise of authority on mine. With regard to the two boys it was much the same, only instead of accomplishments, I was to get the greatest possible quantity of Latin grammar and Valpy’s delectus ³ into their heads, in order to fit them for school—the greatest possible quantity at least, without trouble to themselves. John might be a “little high-spirited,” and Charles might be a little “nervous and tedious—”

“But at all events, Miss Grey,” said she, “I hope you will keep your temper, and be mild and patient throughout; especially with the dear little Charles, he is so extremely nervous and susceptible, and so utterly unaccustomed to anything but the tenderest treatment. You will excuse my naming these things to you; for the fact is, I have hitherto found all the governesses, even the very best of them, faulty in this particular. They wanted that meek and quiet spirit which St. Matthew, or some of them, says is better than the putting on of apparel—you will know the passage to which I allude, for you are a clergyman’s daughter;^af but I have no doubt you will give satisfaction in this respect as well as the rest. And remember, on all occasions, when any of the young people do anything very improper, if persuasion and gentle remonstrance will not do, let one of the others come and tell me; for I can speak to them more plainly than it would be proper for you to do. And make them as happy as you can Miss Grey, and I dare say you will do very well.”

I observed that while Mrs. Murray was so extremely solicitous for the comfort and happiness of her children, and continually talking about it, she never once mentioned mine, though they were at home surrounded by friends, and I an alien among strangers; and I did not yet know enough of the world, not to be considerably surprised at this anomaly.

Miss Murray, otherwise Rosalie, was about sixteen when I came, and decidedly a very pretty girl; and in two years longer, as time more completely developed her form, and added grace to her carriage and deportment, she was positively beautiful; and that in no common degree. She was tall and slender, but not thin, perfectly formed, exquisitely fair, but not without a brilliant, healthy bloom; her hair which she wore in a profusion of long ringlets, was of a very light brown, strongly inclining to yellow, her eyes were pale blue, but so clear and bright, that few would wish them darker, the rest of her features were small, not quite regular, and not remarkably otherwise, but altogether you could not hesitate to pronounce her, a very lovely girl. I wish I could say as much for mind and disposition as I can for her form and face.

Yet think not I have any dreadful disclosures to make; she was lively, light-hearted, and could be very agreeable, with those who did not cross her will. Towards me, when I first came she was cold and haughty, then, insolent and overbearing; but on a further acquaintance, she gradually laid aside her airs, and in time, became as deeply attached to me as it was possible for her to be to one of my character and position; for she seldom lost sight, for above half-an-hour at a time, of the fact of my being a hireling, and a poor curate’s daughter; and yet, upon the whole, I believe she respected me more than she herself was aware of, because I was the only person in the house, who steadily professed good principles, habitually spoke the truth, and generally endeavoured to make inclination bow to duty; and this I say, not of course in commendation of myself, but to show the unfortunate state of the family to which my services were, for the present devoted.⁴ There was no member of it in whom I regretted this sad want of principle so much as Miss Murray herself; not only because she had taken a fancy to me, but because there was so much of what was pleasant and pre-possessing in herself, that, in spite of her failings, I really liked her—when she did not rouse my indignation, or ruffle my temper by too great a display of her faults, which however, I would fain persuade myself, were rather the effect of her education than her disposition: she had never been perfectly taught the distinction between right and wrong; she had, like her brothers and sisters, been suffered from infancy, to tyrannize over nurses, governesses, and servants; she had not been taught to moderate her desires, to control her temper or bridle her will, or to sacrifice her own pleasure for the good of others; her temper being naturally good, she was never violent or morose, but from constant indulgence and habitual scorn of reason, she was often testy and capricious; her mind had never been cultivated: her intellect at best was somewhat shallow; she possessed considerable vivacity, some quickness of perception, and some talent for music and the acquisition of languages, but till fifteen, she had troubled herself to acquire nothing; then the love of display had roused her faculties, and induced her to apply herself, but only to the more showy accomplishments; and when I came, it was the same-every thing was neglected but French, German, music, singing, dancing, fancy-work,^ag and a little drawing—such drawing as might produce the greatest show with the smallest labour, and the principal parts of which were generally done by me. For music and singing, besides my occasional instruction, she had the attendance of the best master the country afforded; and in them, as well as in dancing, she certainly attained great proficiency. To music, indeed, she devoted too much of her time, as, governess though I was I frequently told her: but her mother thought that if she liked it, she could not give too much time to the acquisition of so attractive an accomplishment.

Of fancy-work I knew nothing but what I gathered from my pupil and my own observation; but no sooner was I initiated, than she made me useful in twenty different ways: all the tedious parts of her work were shifted onto my shoulders; such as, stretching the frames, stitching in the canvass, sorting the wools and silks, putting in the grounds, counting the stitches, rectifying mistakes, and finishing the pieces she was tired of.

At sixteen, Miss Murray was something of a romp, yet not more so than is natural and allowable for a girl of that age; but at seventeen, that propensity, like all other things, began to give way to the ruling passion, and soon was swallowed up in the all absorbing ambition, to attract and dazzle the other sex. But enough of her: now let us turn to her sister.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 564