EMILY CHANDOS.
In the grey dawn of an August morning, I stood on a steamer that was
about to clear out from alongside one of the wharves near London
Bridge. It was bound for a seaport town in France. Scarcely dawn yet,
the night-clouds still hung upon the earth, but light was breaking in
the eastern horizon. The passengers were coming on board—not many; it
did not appear that the boat would have much of a freight that day. I
heard one of the seamen say so; I knew nothing about it; and the scene
was as new to me as the world is to a bird, flying for the first time
from a cage where it has been hatched and reared.
I was fifteen, and had left Miss Fenton's for good; thoroughly
well-educated, so far. And now they were sending me to a school in
France to finish.
I will not say precisely where this school was situated: there are
reasons against it; but what little record I give of the establishment
shall be true and faithful. It was not at Boulogne or at Calais, those
renowned seaports, inundated with Anglo-French schools; neither was it
in Paris or Brussels, or at Dieppe. We can call the town Nulle, and
that's near enough. It was kept by two ladies, sisters, the Demoiselles
Barlieu. The negotiations had been made by my trustees, and Mrs. Hemson
had brought me to London, down to the steamer on this early morning,
and was now consigning me to the care of Miss Barlieu's English
governess, whom we had met there by appointment. She was a very plain
young person, carrying no authority in appearance, and looking not much
like a lady. Authority, as I found, she would have little in the
school; she was engaged to teach English, and there her duties ended.
"You had better secure a berth and lie down," she said to me. "The
night has been cold, and it is scarcely light enough yet to be on
deck."
"Any ladies for shore?" cried a rough voice at the cabin door.
"Shore!" echoed Miss Johnstone, in what seemed alarm. "You are surely
not going to start yet! I am waiting for another young lady."
"It wont be more than five minutes now, mum."
"A pupil?" I asked her.
"I believe so. Mademoiselle Barlieu wrote to me that two——"
"Any lady here of the name of Johnstone?"
The inquiry came from a middle-aged, quiet-looking person, who was
glancing in at the cabin door. By her side stood a most elegant girl of
seventeen, perhaps eighteen, her eyes blue, her face brilliantly fair,
her dress handsome.
"I am Miss Johnstone," said the teacher, advancing.
"What a relief! The steward thought no governess had come on board, and
I must not have dared to send Miss Chandos alone. My lady——"
"You would, Hill; so don't talk nonsense," interrupted the young lady,
with a laugh, as she threw up her white veil, and brought her beauty
right underneath the cabin lamp. "Would the fishes have swallowed me up
any the quicker for not being in somebody's charge? Unfasten my cloak,
Hill."
"This young lady is Miss Chandos, ma'am," said the person addressed as
Hill, presenting the beautiful girl to Miss Johnstone. "Please take
every care of her in going across."
The young lady wheeled round. "Are you our new English teacher?"
"I am engaged as English governess at Mademoiselle Barlieu's," replied
Miss Johnstone, who had not at all a pleasant manner of speaking. "She
wrote word to me that I might expect Miss Chandos and Miss Hereford on
board."
"Miss Hereford!" was the quick response. "Who is she?"
But by that time I was lying down on the berth, and the rough voice
again interrupted.
"Any lady as is for shore had better look sharp, unless they'd like to
be took off to t'other side the Channel."
"What fun, Hill, if they should take you off!" laughed Miss Chandos, as
the former started up with trepidation. "Now don't stumble overboard in
your haste to get off the boat."
"Good-bye to you, Miss Emily, and a pleasant journey! You won't fail to
write as soon as you arrive: my lady will be anxious."
"Oh, I will gladden mamma's heart with a letter, or she may be thinking
the bottom of the steamer has come out," lightly returned Miss Chandos.
"Mind, Hill, that you give my love to Mr. Harry when he gets home."
Those who were for shore went on shore, and soon we were in all the
bustle and noise of departure. Miss Chandos stood by the small round
table, looking in the hanging-glass, and turning her shining golden
ringlets round her fingers. On one of those fingers was a ring, whose
fine large stones formed a hearts-ease: two were yellow topaz, the
other three dark amethyst: the whole beautiful.
"May I suggest that you should lie down, Miss Chandos?" said our
governess for the time being. "You will find the benefit of doing so."
"Have you crossed the Channel many times?" was the reply of Miss
Chandos, as she coolly proceeded with her hair: her tone to Miss
Johnstone was a patronizing one.
"Only twice; to France and home again."
"And I have crossed it a dozen times at least, between school and
Continental voyages with mamma, so you cannot teach me much in that
respect. I can assure you there's nothing more disagreeable than to be
stewed in one of these suffocating berths. When we leave the river,
should it prove a rough sea, well and good; but I don't put myself in a
berth until then."
"Have you been long with the Miss Barlieus?" inquired Miss Johnstone of
her.
"Two dismal years. But I have outlived the dismality now—if you will
allow me to coin a word. Mamma has known the Barlieus all her life: an
aunt of theirs was her governess when she was young; and when we were
returning home from Italy, mamma went to the place and left me there,
instead of taking me on to England. Was I not rebellious over it! for
three months I planned, every day, to run away on the next."
"But you did not?" I spoke up from my berth, greatly interested.
Miss Chandos turned round and looked at me. "No," she laughed, "it was
never accomplished. I believe the chief impediment was, the not knowing
where to run to. Are you the Miss Hereford?"
"Yes."
"What a bit of a child you seem! You won't like a French school, if
this is your first entrance to one. Home comforts and French schools
are as far apart as the two poles."
"But I am not accustomed to home comforts; I have no home. I have been
for some years at an English school where there was little comfort of
any sort. Do your friends live in England? Have you a home there?"
"A home in England!" she answered, with some surprise at the question,
or at my ignorance. "Of course: I am Miss Chandos. Chandos is mamma's
present residence; though, strictly speaking, it belongs to Sir
Thomas."
All this was so much Greek to me. Perhaps Miss Chandos saw that it was,
for she laughed gaily.
"Sir Thomas Chandos is my brother. Harry is the other one. We thought
Tom would have retired from the army and come home when papa died, two
or three years ago; but he still remains in India. Mamma writes him
word that he should come home and marry, and so make himself into a
respectable man; he sends word back that he is respectable enough as it
is."
"Your papa was——?"
"Sir Thomas Chandos. Ah, dear! if he had but lived! He was so kind to
us! Mamma is in widow's weeds yet, and always will be."
"And who was she who brought you on board?"
"Hill. She is the housekeeper at Chandos. Some one has always taken me
over until this time, generally Harry. But Harry is away, and Miss
Barlieu wrote word to mamma that the English governess could bring me,
so Hill was despatched with me to town."
"What a beautiful ring that is!" I exclaimed, as the stones flashed in
the lamp-light.
Her eyes fell upon it, and a blush and a smile rose to her face. She
sat down on the edge of my berth, and twirled it over with the fingers
of her other hand.
"Yes it is a nice ring. Let any one attempt to give me a ring that is
not a nice one; they would get it flung back at them."
"Is Mademoiselle Barlieu's a large school?"
"There were seventy-five last trimestre."
"Seventy-five!" I repeated, amazed at the number.
"That includes the externes—nearly fifty of them—with whom we have
nothing to do. There are three class-rooms: one for the elder girls,
one for the younger, and the third (it's the size almost of the large
hall at the Tribunal of Commerce) for the externes."
"Are there many teachers?"
"Six, including the English governess and the two Miss Barlieus; and
six masters, who are in nearly constant attendance."
"Altogether, do you like being there?"
"Yes," she said, laughing significantly, "I like it very well _now_. I
am going on deck to watch the day break; so adieu for the present.
We had a rough passage; of which I cannot think to this day
without—without wishing not to think of it; and late in the afternoon
the steamer was made fast to the port it was bound for. In the midst of
the bustle preparatory to landing, a gentleman, young, vain, and
good-looking, leaped on board, braving the douaniers, who were too late
to prevent him, and warmly greeted Miss Chandos.
"My dear Emily!"
"Speak in French, Alfred," she said, taking the initiative and
addressing him in the language—her damask cheeks, her dimples, and her
dancing eyes all being something lovely to behold. "I have not come
alone, as I thought I should. A duenna, in the shape of the English
governess, has charge of me."
"Miss Chandos, the men are calling out that we must land."
The interruption came from Miss Johnstone, who had approached, looking
keenly at the gentleman. The latter, with scant courtesy to the
governess, made no reply: he was too much occupied in assisting Miss
Chandos up the landing-steps. Miss Chandos turned her head when she
reached the top.
"Be so good as to look in the cabin, Miss Johnstone; I have left a
hundred things there, odds and ends. My warm cloak is somewhere."
Miss Johnstone appeared anything but pleased. It is not usual for
pupils to order their teachers to look after their things; and Miss
Chandos was of somewhat imperious manner: not purposely: it was her
nature. I turned with Miss Johnstone, and we collected together the
items left by Miss Chandos. By the time we got to the custom-house, she
had disappeared. Twenty minutes after, when we and our luggage had been
examined, we found her outside, walking to and fro with the gentleman.
"Where are your boxes, Miss Chandos?" asked Miss Johnstone.
"My boxes? I don't know anything about them. I gave my keys to one of
the commissionaires; he will see to them. Or you can, if you like."
"I do not imagine that it is my business to do so," was Miss
Johnstone's offended reply. But Miss Chandos was again walking with her
companion, and paid no heed to her.
"Halloa, De Mellissie! have you been to England?" inquired a passing
Englishman of Miss Chandos's friend.
"Not I," he replied. "I stepped on board the boat when it came in, so
they took their revenge by making me go through the custom-house and
turning my pockets inside out. Much good it did them!"
An omnibus was waiting round the corner, in which we were finally to be
conveyed to our destination, Mademoiselle Barlieu's. Seated in it was a
little, stout, good-tempered dame of fifty, Mademoiselle Caroline, the
senior teacher. She received Miss Chandos with open arms, and a kiss on
each cheek. The gentleman politely handed us by turn into the omnibus,
and stood bowing to us, bareheaded, as we drove away.
"Do you think him handsome?" Miss Chandos whispered to me, the glow on
her face fading.
"Pretty well. What is his name?"
"Alfred de Mellissie. You can be good-natured, can't you?" she added.
"I can, if I like."
"Then be so now, and don't preach it out to the whole school that he
met me. He——"
"Is that gentleman a relative of yours, Miss Chandos?" interrupted Miss
Johnstone from the end of the omnibus.
Miss Chandos did not like the tone or the question: the one savoured of
acrimony, the other she resented as impertinent. She fixed her haughty
blue eyes on Miss Johnstone before she answered: they said very
plainly, "By what right do you presume to inquire of me?" and Miss
Johnstone bit her lips at the look.
"They are not related to us. Madame de Mellissie is an intimate friend
of my mother, Lady Chandos." And that was all she condescended to say,
for she turned her back and began laughing and chattering in French
with Mademoiselle Caroline.
The Miss Barlieus received us graciously, giving us all the same
friendly greeting that the old teacher had given only to Miss Chandos.
Two pleasant, kind-hearted maiden ladies were they, not very young.
Miss Annette confessed to having passed thirty-five. We were their
visitors that evening, and were regaled with nice things in their own
parlour.
I said I would relate the mode of treatment in that school. It was a
superior establishment, the terms high _for France_; but they were not
much more than half the amount of Miss Fenton's. Here they included the
month's holiday at autumn. At Miss Fenton's the holidays were three
months in the year; and if you stayed (as I did), extra money had to be
paid.
The dormitories were spacious and airy, a small, separate, thoroughly
clean bed being given to each pupil. No French school can be
overcrowded, for they are under the close inspection of the Government;
and the number of pupils to be taken is registered. A large airy room
is set apart as an infirmary, should any fall sick.
Clang! clang! clang! went the great bell in the morning, waking us out
of our sleep at six. Dressing, practising, lessons, and prayers,
occupied the time until eight. Miss Johnstone read prayers to the
English pupils, all Protestants; Mademoiselle Caroline read them to the
French, who were Roman Catholics. For breakfast there was as much
bread-and-butter as we liked to eat, and a small basin each of good
rich milk. Some of the English girls chose tea in preference, which
they were at liberty to do. On Sunday morning's the breakfast was a
treat: coffee and _petits pains_, a sort of roll. We had them hot, two
each, and a small pat of butter. Such coffee as that we never get in
England: one-third coffee, two-thirds hot milk, and strong then.
Breakfast over (to go back to the week days), we played till nine, and
then came studies until twelve.
The professed dinner hour was half-past twelve, but the cook rarely
sent in before a quarter to one. We all dined together with Miss
Barlieu and Miss Annette, at two long tables. I remember the dinner,
that first day, as well as though I had eaten it yesterday. A plateful
of soup first, very poor, as all French soup is; after that the
bouilli, the meat that the soup is made of. The English at first never
like this bouilli, but in time they learn to know how good it is, eaten
with the French piquante mustard. Sometimes carrots were served with
the bouilli, sometimes small pickled cucumbers: this day we had
cucumbers. Remembering Miss Fenton's, I wondered if that comprised the
dinner—and, talking of Miss Fenton's, I have never mentioned that in
her house we were not allowed bread at dinner; here, if we could have
eaten a whole loaf, we might have had it.
It did not comprise the dinner; there came on some delicious roast veal
and potatoes; and afterwards fried pancakes, with sugar. On Sundays we
sometimes had poultry, always a second dish of vegetables, and a fruit
or cream tart. The drink was the same as at Miss Fenton's—beer or
water, as might be preferred. Four or five of the girls had wine; but
it was either supplied by the parents, or paid for as an extra. It was
commonly reported that in some other schools, in the colleges
especially, the soup, the bouilli, bread and potatoes, comprised the
dinner _every day_, with a roast joint in addition on Sundays.
At two o'clock came school again until four, when we were released for
half an hour, and had each a slice of bread-and-butter, called
collation. Then school again until six, and supper at seven. The
suppers varied; meat was never served, but vegetables were often:
sometimes bread and cheese and salad; or bread and butter, with an egg,
or with shrimps, or fried potatoes; and tea to drink. I think this was
a more sensible mode of living than Miss Fenton's: altogether I can
truly say that we experienced liberality and kindness at Miss
Barlieu's; it was a far better home than the other.
But I have not got past the first day yet. In assorting her clothes
after unpacking, Miss Chandos missed a new velvet mantle; there was
some commotion about it, and she was told that she ought to have
watched more narrowly the visiting her trunks in the custom-house. Miss
Chandos took the loss equably, as she appeared to do most things. "Oh,
if it's lost, mamma must send me over another," was her careless
comment.
We were at our studies in the afternoon when Mademoiselle Annette
entered. The mode of sitting was different here from what it had been
at Miss Fenton's. There, we sat on a hard form for hours together
without any support for the arms or back: stooping was the inevitable
consequence, and many of the girls got a curve in the spine; or, as the
saying ran, "grew aside." In France we sat at a sloping desk, on which
our arms rested, so that the spine could not get fatigued: I never
once, the whole period I stayed at Miss Barlieu's, saw a crooked girl.
Mademoiselle Annette entered and accosted Miss Chandos.
"I understand, Miss Chandos, that you did not take any care of your
boxes yourself at the custom-house; merely gave up your keys?"
A slight accession of colour, and Miss Chandos turned round her fair
bright face, acknowledging that it was so.
"But, my dear, that was evincing great carelessness."
"I don't see it, Mademoiselle Annette," was Miss Chandos's smiling
dissent. "What are the commissionaires for, but to take charge of keys,
and examine baggage?"
"Well; they have been up from the customs to say that the mantle was
not left there. The commissionaire himself is here now; he says
everything taken out of your boxes was safely put in again."
"It was a beautiful mantle, Mademoiselle Annette, and I daresay
somebody caught it up and ran away with it when the man's attention was
turned the other way. It can't be helped: there are worse misfortunes
at sea."
"What gentleman was it that you were walking about with?" resumed
Mademoiselle Annette.
"Gentleman?" returned Miss Chandos, in a questioning tone, as if she
could not understand, or did not remember. "Gentleman, Mademoiselle
Annette?"
"A gentleman who came on board to speak to you; and who assisted you to
land: and with whom you were walking about afterwards, while the other
ladies were in the custom-house?"
"Oh, I recollect; yes. There was a gentleman who came on board: it was
Monsieur de Mellissie." Very brilliant had Miss Chandos's cheeks
become; but she turned her face to the desk as if anxious to continue
her studies, and Mademoiselle Barlieu saw it not.
"What took him on board?" resumed Mademoiselle Annette.
"As if I knew, Mademoiselle Annette!" lightly replied the young lady.
"He may have wanted to speak to the captain—or to some of the
sailors—or to me. He did not tell me."
"But you were promenading with him afterwards!"
"And very polite of him it was to give up his time to promenade with
me, while I was waiting for them to come out," replied Miss Chandos. "I
returned him my thanks for it, Mademoiselle Annette. If the new English
teacher had had a thousand boxes to clear, she could not have been much
longer over it. I thought she was never coming."
"Well, my dear, do not promenade again with Monsieur de Mellissie. It
is not the right thing for a young lady to do; and Miladi Chandos might
not be pleased that you should."
"On the contrary, Mademoiselle Annette, mamma charged me with twenty
messages to give him, in trust for his mother," replied the undaunted
girl. "I was glad of an opportunity of delivering them."
Mademoiselle Annette said no more. She charged the girls as she quitted
the room to get ready their geography books, for she should return for
that class in five minutes.
"I say, Emily Chandos, whatever is all that about?" asked a young lady,
Ellen Roper.
"I don't care! It's that new English teacher who has been reporting!
Alfred jumped on board as soon as we touched the side, and I stayed
with him until the omnibus was ready—or until we were ready for the
omnibus. Where was the harm? _You_ did not tell, Anne Hereford?"
"I have not spoken of it to any one."
"No; I was sure of that: it's that precious teacher. I did not like her
before, but for this I'll give her all the trouble I can at my English
lessons. Such folly for Mademoiselle Barlieu to engage a girl as
governess; and she's no better. I could teach her. She's not nice,
either; you can't like or respect her."
"I think the Miss Barlieus were surprised when they saw her," observed
Ellen Roper. "Mademoiselle Annette asked her this morning if she were
really twenty-one. So that is the age she must have represented herself
to be in writing to them."
In the course of a day or two Emily Chandos received a letter from
home. Lady Chandos had discovered that the velvet mantle, by some
unaccountable mischance, had not been put into the boxes. She would
forward it to Nulle.
The De Mellissies were staying in the town. Madame de Mellissie, the
mother, an English lady by birth, had been intimate with Lady Chandos
in early life; they were good friends still. Her son, and only child,
Monsieur Alfred de Mellissie, chief of the family now in place of his
dead father, appeared to make it the whole business of his life to
admire Emily Chandos. The school commented on it.
"It can never lead to anything," they said. "He is only a Frenchman of
comme-ça family, and she is Miss Chandos of Chandos."
And—being Miss Chandos of Chandos—it occurred to me to wonder that she
should be at that French school. Not but that it was superior—one of
the first to be found in France; but scarcely the place for Miss
Chandos.
I said as much—talking one day with Mademoiselle Annette, when I was by
her, drawing.
"My dear, Emily Chandos, though one of the most charming and loveable
girls ever seen, is inclined to be wild; and Miladi Chandos thinks the
discipline of a school good for her," was the answer. "They do not care
to have a governess residing at Chandos."
"But why, Mademoiselle?"
Mademoiselle Annette shook her head mysteriously. "I know not. Miladi
said it to me. She is altered terribly. There is always a cloud hanging
over Chandos. Go on with your sketch, my dear; young ladies should not
be curious."
One of the first questions put to me by the girls was—were any names
given in for my visiting. I did not understand the question. We elder
ones were seated at the desk-table, doing German exercises—or
pretending to do them. Miss Barlieu had found me so well advanced, that
I was put in the first classes for every study. Ellen Roper saw I
looked puzzled, and explained.
"When a pupil is placed at school in France, her friends give in the
names of the families where she may visit, and the governess writes
them down. It is not a bad custom."
"It is a miserable custom, Ellen Roper," retorted Miss Chandos. "When
the Stapletons were passing through Nulle last spring, they invited me
to the hotel for a day, and Mademoiselle Barlieu put her veto upon it,
because their name had not been given in by mamma. Lady Stapleton came
and expostulated; said her husband, Sir Gregory, was the oldest friend
possible of the late Sir Thomas Chandos, had been for years, and that
they would take every imaginable care of me, and she knew Lady Chandos
would wish me to go. Not a bit of it; you might as well have tried to
move the house as to move Mademoiselle Barlieu. Miladi Chandos had not
given her the name, she said, and she could not depart from the usual
custom. Don't you remember what a passion I was in? Cried my eyes out,
and would not do a single devoir. Anne Hereford, you can write home and
ask them to give in some names to Miss Barlieu."
Home! What home had I to write to?