Though nearly threescore years have intervened, the remembrance is
still fresh on my memory of a certain spot which excelled all others I
have since looked upon in its bright emerald hue and verdant freshness.
It was on the outskirts of a village, which was only redeemed from
positive ugliness by most of its tenements being ancient, though
stretching away in a long straight line, and without either water or
trees to vary the monotonous aspect of the turnpike-road. Turning
abruptly from this road into a narrow lane, seemingly never-ending,
and sloping gently downwards, a pleasing surprise was afforded on
emerging into a deep valley, where the interminable winding of many
sparkling tiny rivulets kept up a continual murmur, enchanting to
listen to on a hot summer's day. Here were many fine old walnut-trees
also, beneath whose thick-spreading boughs the rays of a burning sun
never penetrated. Innumerable rows of osier-willows were planted on
the banks, used in the art of basket-making, the osiers being of the
finest and whitest kind, while everywhere and all around extended
beds of watercresses. Yet it was not altogether the streamlets or the
beautiful trees which made this spot so peculiarly refreshing: nowhere
did grass appear so rich and green as in this quiet valley; it looked
always as if it had just rained, the earth sending up the delicious
perfume, and the thrush singing meanwhile, as it does after a shower
in summer weather. Yet was there nothing indicative of damp or marsh
land; all was healthy and hilarious-looking, and no plants throve here
indigenous to unhealthy soils. Narrow planks of rough wood were thrown
across the bright waters, which had to be crossed many times before
reaching the dwelling-place of Taffy Lewin, the presiding genius of
the place. This dwelling-place was a thatched cottage, containing
three rooms; and Taffy herself, when I first saw her, almost realised
my idea of the superannuated or dowager-queen of the fairies: she
was then seventy years of age, and one of the least specimens of
perfectly-formed humanity that I have ever beheld. So agile and quick
was she in all her movements, that a nervous person would have been
frequently startled; while her little, black, bead-like eyes sparkled
in a most unearthly manner when her ire was aroused. She always wore a
green skirt and a white calico jacket, her gray hair being tucked back
beneath her mob-cap: she was, in short, the prettiest little old fairy
it is possible to imagine; and as neat, clean, and bright-looking in
her exterior, as if an enchanter's wand had just conjured her up front
amid the crystal streams and watercress beds.
'And so it is from _hence_ the fine watercresses come that I have
enjoyed so much each morning at breakfast?' said I to the friend who
accompanied me on my first introduction to Springhead, for so the
valley was named.
'Yes,' she answered; 'and Taffy Lewin is the sole proprietress and
gatherer of the cresses, for which she finds a ready sale in the
immediate neighbourhood, her musical but clear and piercing cry of
"Watercress fresh gathered--fine cress," being as well recognised, and
duly attended to, as the chimes of our venerable church clock.'
'And has the old dame no other means of support?' quoth I; for the
glimpse I had obtained of the interior of the cottage in the midst of
this 'greenerie' certainly hinted that the trade of gathering this
simple root was a most lucrative one; not only order and neatness, but
comfort apparently reigning within.
'She disposes of the produce of these fine walnut-trees,' answered
my friend; 'and she has also a companion residing with her, who
manufactures the most beautiful baskets from these delicate osiers,
which always fetch a high price. Taffy pays a very low rent to the
gentleman who owns this valley and the adjacent lands; and excepting,
I believe, a small sum in the savings' bank, to which she only resorts
on emergencies, I do not know that she has any other means of support
either for herself or her companion. Her story is a singular one, and
I think you would like to hear it after we have made our purchases of
baskets from poor Miss Clari.'
Miss Clari, as she was called, was a middle-aged female of plain
appearance; and my interest and pity were excited on observing, from
her lustreless eyes, that she was an imbecile. She was, however,
animated with the spirit of industry. Her long and thin fingers rapidly
and dexterously plied their task: she took no notice of _us_, but
continued chanting in a low sad voice the words of a quaint French
ditty. When Taffy approached her, she looked up and smiled: such a
smile it was; I have never forgotten it.
'We have only these two baskets left, ladies,' said Taffy Lewin; 'for
Miss Clari cannot make them fast enough for the sale they have; and
yet, poor dear soul! she never ceases, save when she sleeps, for her
fingers go on even when she is eating.'
'And are you not afraid that such close application may injure her
health?' said I.
'La, miss, try and take it from her, and see how she wanders about
with the tears silently coursing down her cheeks, and her fingers at
work all the same. Bless her dear heart! if it _hurt_ her, Taffy Lewin
wouldn't let her do it.'
'Is she your daughter, Taffy?' inquired I.
'_My_ daughter!' cried the little dame, her black beads twinkling
ominously. 'No, she is no daughter of mine; there is gentle blood flows
in _her_ veins, and she was not _born_ what you see her now. But take
your baskets, ladies; Miss Clari is no gossip, as ye see, and I have
work to do; for we eat not the bread of idleness here.'
I paid for the exquisitely-wrought baskets, and we quickly took our
departure. On our homeward route my friend imparted the following
particulars:--
When Taffy Lewin was a young woman, she had entered the service of
a family named Drelincourt as assistant nursery-maid; but the head
nurse soon after giving up her place, Taffy was promoted to it. This
situation was by no means a pleasant one, as Taffy soon found out, the
children being spoilt, and unruly to the greatest degree; but the wages
were high, and Taffy was a friendless orphan, and so she thought it
wisest to persevere. There were eight children, six girls and two boys.
Mrs Drelincourt was in very delicate health, and the squire himself
devoted to field-sports and boon companions. Drelincourt Hall was
indeed nearly always full of company, the lady not being able to exist
without the excitement of society suited to her taste any more than her
husband could. Extravagance and recklessness were visible in all the
domestic arrangements; and report said that not for many years longer
was it possible to carry on this game.
A few years witnessed great changes, however, at the old hall: Mrs
Drelincourt was gathered to her fathers, and five out of the eight
children were carried off, a boy and two girls only being left; these
three children seeming to concentrate in their own persons all the
unmanageable propensities of their departed brothers and sisters.
Mr Drelincourt was stunned by the overwhelming force of the bereavement
he had sustained, and he found his only present consolation and
contentment in lavishing redoubled affection on his remaining children,
and in gratifying their childish whims; much to their own detriment,
poor things! He was not an ill-meaning, though a weak man, and idly
disposed; avoiding trouble of all kinds, and determinately blind to
anything that promised to occasion it; so he spoiled his children,
and lived beyond his income, because it was pleasant to do so, and he
hated to be bored! After establishing a gentleman at Drelincourt in
the capacity of tutor to his son, Mr Drelincourt betook himself to the
continent, whither his physician recommended him for change of scene,
and more complete restoration of his shattered spirits.
Mr Drelincourt returned home, after some months' absence, with a
second wife, having espoused a widow lady. This lady had one child
by her first marriage, a little girl of ten or twelve years old, who
accompanied her mother to the new home provided for them. This second
union greatly displeased and surprised Mr Drelincourt's family and
connections; for the lady, though suitable in point of years, and
of a most gentle disposition, was altogether penniless; the small
stipend she had enjoyed in right of her deceased husband ceasing on
her marrying again. Thus Mr Drelincourt had not only a wife added to
his already heavy encumbrances, but a wife's child also on his hands;
when, in truth, he had not wherewithal to make provision for his own
two daughters. The Drelincourt estates were strictly entailed in the
male line; but should Mr Drelincourt not leave a son to inherit the
burthened landed property, it passed into stranger hands; and fearful
was the contemplation of such a contingency with a helpless family of
females, and nought but debts and disgrace for their inheritance!
However, the two Misses Drelincourt were brought up as if they were
heiresses; and with dispositions full of pride and arrogance unchecked,
it may easily be supposed that the introduction of a stepmother and
a new sister was highly disagreeable; they having been told all the
circumstances.
Clari St Eude, Mrs Drelincourt's daughter, was a plain, timid girl.
Having been nurtured in retirement and comparative poverty, she shrank
from the display of wealth around her now; but doubly she shrank from
the cold demeanour of her new associates, who took no pains to conceal
their contempt and aversion for the interloper. The Misses Drelincourt
and their brother Henry found that open impertinence would not be
tolerated, even by their doting father, when offered to his wife; but
in venting all their jealousy and petty spleen on the poor unoffending
Clari, who never resented and never complained, the case was far
different. Ah, it is not in _open_ warfare or unkindness that the
heaviest cross is to be borne: it is hypocrisy and concealment we need
dread.
This young girl, Clari St Eude, had little outwardly to prepossess
the stranger in her favour: she was of a nervous temperament, easily
alarmed, and chilled by an unkind word or look; but she had a clinging
affectionate heart, and a forgiving temper. Her mother's position was
a trying one, and Clari knew this, child as she was; nor would she for
worlds have increased it by a hint that she had cause of sorrow or
repining. Mrs Drelincourt struggled for peace, preserved and fostered
it by every means in her power; nor was it probable that, even had
she been otherwise disposed, Mr Drelincourt would have listened to or
credited complaints against his own spoiled offspring.
Although Taffy Lewin's services as a nurse had for some time been
dispensed with, she retained her comfortable chair in the commodious
nursery, where the tiny woman got through oceans of needlework. Now,
though Taffy certainly did feel a species of regard for Blanch and
Laura Drelincourt, and also for Master Henry--nurslings spared out
of a fine flock--she was by no means blind to their many defects
and unamiable qualities, though she had long found all remonstrance
useless. To this cheerful, sunny nursery of bygone days, often crept
the pale and sickly stranger, Clari St Eude; hour after hour she would
sit in silence by Taffy's side, until the kind-hearted little nurse
began to pity, and then to love her, and finally won the confidence of
the nervous, sensitive girl, who wept on her motherly bosom, and told
her 'she wished mamma had not married the rich English gentleman, for
she loved their Provence home better far than this.'
Clari inhabited a large sombre apartment all alone, and quite away
from the rest of the family. This was a sore trial to the timid girl,
though she never confessed her nameless fears, and struggled hard to
master them; and as it was 'convenient' that she should occupy this
chamber, her mother disliked to offer objections, nor was she, indeed,
fully aware of her daughter's nervous sufferings. Clari tried to step
sedately and composedly into that huge dark bed, with its black,
hearse-like plumes, after she had extinguished her candle, and the
darkness and silence were absolute: she tried to reason with herself,
and to analyse the cause of her trepidation, for she was not aware
that her physical debility accounted in a great degree for such mental
weakness. Henry Drelincourt, with boyish mischief, had soon found
out that 'Miss Wheyface' was a great coward; and it was one of his
favourite amusements to play off practical jokes, and try to frighten
her; while she, on her part, tried by all means in her power not to let
the cruel boy know that he but too often succeeded.
At this juncture Mr and Mrs Drelincourt were absent from home for a
few days, when, one morning, Miss Norman, the governess, who presided
at the breakfast-table, remarked how singular it was that Miss St
Eude, usually the first to make her appearance, had not yet come down.
The brother and sisters looked at each other, and began to titter,
and there was evidently a joke of some kind amongst them, which they
exceedingly enjoyed. But as their hilarity and free-masonry increased,
so did Miss Norman's indefinable apprehensions--Clari not coming, and
mischief mysteriously brewing!
At length Miss Norman sought Clari's chamber; but it was fastened, and
no answer was returned to her repeated summons; but a low, moaning
noise proceeded from within. After consulting Taffy Lewin, the door was
burst open, and poor Clari was found in the agonies of a brain-fever.
Taffy, from former experience, well knowing the imminent danger of the
hapless sufferer, medical advice was summoned, and Mrs Drelincourt
was instantly recalled. The doctors spoke of some sudden shock the
nerves of their patient had sustained, but of what kind, or under what
physical influence, it was impossible to say: the room was a dreary
one, the young girl was of a highly-nervous, excitable temperament,
and nervous disorders often took strange turns--frightful dreams, or
ill-arranged reading, sometimes produced distressing effects. Clari St
Eude recovered rapidly from the fever; but the brain was irretrievably
injured. The light of reason was never re-illumined: all efforts were
useless; there was hopeless darkness within.
But how came all this about?--what had happened? The chamber-door was
well secured within, therefore no trick could have been played off,
said Mr Drelincourt, even had any one had the mind to do so. It was
very mysterious. Miss Norman had her suspicions, and she named them to
Mr Drelincourt; but he dismissed her from his home and service: Taffy
Lewin kept hers within her own bosom, and watched and waited. When
the young Drelincourts were questioned, they answered with bravado,
'What!--are we invisible, or fairies, to fly through the keyhole?' It
did indeed appear foolish to think that any one could have entered
the chamber, it being well known that Miss St Eude always slept with
her door locked; so that it was at length considered an extraordinary
natural visitation, and poor Clari's affliction ceased to be the topic
of conversation.
The Misses Drelincourt and their brother became much subdued after
this sad event, and never willingly approached or saw the unfortunate
girl. She lived now entirely with Taffy Lewin in the nursery. Taffy's
compassion and devotion to her charge were without limits. Whatever
Taffy Lewin's thoughts were on the subject of Miss St Eude's sudden
attack, she never divulged them, even to Mrs Drelincourt. That
exemplary lady's patience and resignation were fully shown forth by
her piety and submission under this heavy and bitter affliction; for
Clari was her only child, and a most beloved one. It was Taffy who
suggested an occupation being found for Miss Clari, seconded by medical
advice. It was indeed a long time before it took a useful or tangible
form; but with perseverance, and kindness, and judicious treatment, at
length there appeared hope that the incessantly-working fingers of the
poor young lady might be moulded so as to benefit herself by creating
amusement. At that time probably they had little thought of the future
blessing this might prove to the bereaved.
Years passed on, and the old mouldering hall of the Drelincourts still
reposed amid its dark pine-woods--unchanged without: within, all was
not as it had been. The haughty and beautiful Blanch Drelincourt had
married, without the knowledge of her friends, a person who supposed
her to be the daughter of a wealthy man, and that a fortune must be
forthcoming. He was undeceived too late, and found that he had to
support a vain and penniless wife with an increasing family. Henry
Drelincourt's education had been an expensive one, and his ruinous and
profligate habits were more expensive still. It seemed clear to every
one that the debts and disgrace so rapidly accumulating would leave to
the heir of Drelincourt little more than the name. This young man came
to pass a few weeks at his father's, to recruit his health, which had
been shattered by a course of dissipation and recklessness. His sister
Laura was now his only companion; and frivolous and unamiable as Laura
Drelincourt was, she possessed one redeeming point, rendering her less
selfish and domineering; and this was, a devoted affection for her
brother.
She was never wearied of tending and studying his whims and caprices,
which were not a few; and when an alarming infectious fever made its
appearance in the village, and from thence spread to the hall--her
brother and father being simultaneously attacked--Laura fearlessly
devoted herself to the duties required in her brother's sick chamber;
Mrs Drelincourt's whole time and attention being taken up with her
husband. Mr Drelincourt fell the first victim to the ravages of the
fearful epidemic, while death among the retainers was busy in several
cases. Henry was only pronounced out of danger when his sister Laura
was attacked, and her life despaired of for many days. Mrs Drelincourt,
now released from attendance on her husband, nursed the suffering
Laura as if she had been her own child, and with the same feelings
of maternal anxiety and solicitude. Laura's life was spared; and she
seemed deeply penetrated with the unselfish and tender care she had
experienced from her stepmother. There was a sense of shame and deep
self-abasement in her manner, which seemed to say even more forcibly
than the circumstances demanded--'I have done you wrong; you are
heaping coals of fire on my head!'
When the brother and sister were permitted to see each other again,
the fatal truth flashed across Laura's mind for the first time, that
Henry, although spared from the violence of the fever, had received
a mortal blow, from which he never would recover; his constitution,
already prematurely broken, was sinking rapidly: it was too evident
that he had not many weeks to live. Nor did Mrs Drelincourt endeavour
to raise false hopes in the sister's bosom, but rather to strengthen
and enable her to bear the inevitable doom approaching. She supported,
she tended and fostered, the dying man with Christian love and motherly
compassion; and he writhed in agony beneath her kindness--the secret
weighing on his mind being evidently unsupportable, while he, too,
murmured, 'This is indeed heaping coals of fire on my head.'
It was after a long private conference between the brother and sister,
wherein recent agitation had left the invalid more weakened than usual,
that Henry, faintly requesting his gentle nurse to come beside him,
murmured, 'Mother'--it was the first time he had ever called her so--'I
wish you to bring poor Clari here; I wish to see her.' Clari--almost
forgotten during the late scenes of sorrow enacting in the hall--left
wholly to Taffy's care, had entirely escaped contagion; and in the
quiet distant nursery plied her simple amusement of weaving osiers,
by degrees promising to become an expert basket-manufacturer. Clari
came with her afflicted mother to Henry Drelincourt's side; and with
her pale face, and vacant smile, and expressionless eyes, gazed on the
dying man, taking up one of his thin wasted hands, and twining the
fingers round her own, muttering, 'Oh, pretty--pretty!'
Henry, in his turn, gazed on the hapless girl with a prolonged
and agonized look: the big round tears coursed down his sunken
cheeks--blessed tears!--as he turned towards Mrs Drelincourt, and with
clasped hands and streaming eye ejaculated, 'Can you forgive me?' She
seemed not to understand his meaning, and returned an inquiring and
astonished look, evidently thinking, poor lady, that her patient was
light-headed.
'Do you not understand me? _Look at her: I did it!_' he added in hollow
whispers, sinking back pale and exhausted. The truth now for the first
time flashed on the unhappy mother's mind; speech was denied her; and
she could only fold her child in her arms, and again and again embrace
her with low, pitying moans. But the poor girl had caught the sound of
Henry's words, '_forgive_;' and with smiles disengaging herself from
her mother's arms, she knelt down beside him; and passing her long
slender fingers caressingly over his wan face, she looked up at her
mother, and repeated gently, '_Forgive--mother--forgive!_'
Before another day had flown, Henry Drelincourt was no more: he died
in his sister Laura's arms, with one of his hands clasped in his
stepmother's. He had heard her words of forgiveness: and there was
another present who tremblingly besought pardon too--and unfolded a
tale which Henry had not power to do--and this was the weeping Laura,
from whom Mrs Drelincourt heard the following sad confession of
heedless, unprincipled folly:--
It seemed that when they were children, during inclement weather they
had had access to a large room, unused, and filled with lumber of
various descriptions--antique dresses, ancient pictures, &c. &c. They
delighted to rummage the huge closets and cabinets, and one day, in
removing an oak chest, which their united strength scarcely sufficed to
do, they struck against the panelling of the chamber, which gave way,
and discovered an opening: this opening proved to be a narrow passage
between the walls, and terminated in a hitherto unknown entrance to the
room occupied by Clari St Eude. What a discovery for these mischief,
trick-loving imps! They found the panel in this room could easily
be pushed aside, closed again, and no suspicion, no trace left of
intruders. Breathless with excitement and delight, they restored the
oak chest to its place; and big with their wonderful secret, the young
conspirators frequently met in the 'rubbish chamber' to organise their
plans, which were no less than a determination to play off some 'real
good trick' on that 'obstinate minx Clari,' the very first opportunity
that offered.
Too soon the opportunity presented itself: the fatal trick was played
off--some ghastly tableau represented with the aid of phosphorus
lights. The simple, weak-minded sleeper awakened to this scene of
apparent horror with the perfect remembrance of her well-secured
chamber-door; and the frightful sequel ensued which has been already
narrated. Henry Drelincourt had indeed powerful reasons for preserving
their direful secret, nor had his cautions been lost on his weaker
and more talkative sisters. Taffy Lewin's suspicions had indeed been
powerfully aroused, although they of course took no tangible form; but
she watched and waited, nor was she surprised when the repentant and
sorrowing Laura repeated the sad tale to her.
But now the heir of Drelincourt was dead, and the estates must pass
away into stranger hands; and what was to become of Mrs Drelincourt,
her helpless daughter, and the equally helpless Laura? There was no
provision whatever for them; they knew not where to turn, or where
to seek shelter or daily bread. The gentleman who succeeded to the
Drelincourt property was an impoverished man, with a large expensive
family; he was good-natured, and felt for their destitute condition,
but frankly confessed that it was not in his power to do much for them.
On visiting the hall, he had several interviews with Taffy Lewin;
and having young children, he earnestly desired to retain her in the
capacity of nurse, the commendations he received from Mrs Drelincourt
being of so high a nature.
But Taffy Lewin's decision was already made: she had related to the
new owner the sad history attached to Clari St Eude, and expressed her
firm determination never to desert this helpless being: 'For she will
soon, very soon, have only me; her mother is not long for this world,
sir.' Taffy went on to say that she had saved a little money, and meant
to return to her native village, and establish herself there, where,
by needlework, and Clari's basket-making, she hoped to earn a decent
livelihood.
'And what is to become of Mrs Drelincourt in the meantime, my good
Taffy?' asked Colonel Howard, the new proprietor, 'and of Miss Laura
also?'
'As to my lady,' answered Taffy Lewin, 'have a little patience, sir.
Poor thing! let her rest her bones in the old church at Drelincourt; it
wont be for long she needs _this_ shelter, _that_ is awaiting her full
soon. She has failed rapidly since master departed and Master Henry;
the shock altogether was too much for her. As to Miss Laura, she must
go out a-governessing, or something of that kind: young ladies often
do--and she can play music, and draw trees, and work most beautifully
all sorts of fancy kickshaws.'
'Ah, my worthy Taffy,' answered the colonel smiling, 'I fear much
that no one will be inclined to receive Miss Laura Drelincourt in the
capacity you suggest. But should your fears prove true with respect to
Mrs Drelincourt, which I sincerely trust they may not'--Taffy shook
her head--'why, then, all we can do is this; it is the only plan I can
suggest or follow out:--My brother is the proprietor of land in the
close vicinage of your native place, and I know of a little spot that
you can retire to; at my representation he will let you have it cheap,
for he is a kind fellow. I must give what I can towards assisting you
to maintain these two helpless girls, though it seems to me Miss Clari
is the most likely one to help herself.'
This, and a great deal more, said Colonel Howard, to all of which
Taffy Lewin thankfully acceded. Sooner even than the tiny woman
had anticipated, poor Mrs Drelincourt sank into her grave; and
Taffy, accompanied by her two charges, bade adieu for ever to the
gray venerable walls which had witnessed such chequered scenes. At
Springhead Taffy established herself forthwith; her quick little
eyes saw its wonderful 'capabilities;' and 'What a God-send were the
osiers!' said she; and what with needlework, and watercresses, and
basket-making, Taffy had need to dip but lightly into her hoard of
savings.
Laura Drelincourt did not long continue to reside with her faithful
nurse: her sister Blanch was left a widow, with no means of supporting
her family. Taffy Lewin appealed to Colonel Howard, intreating him to
permit Laura to share with her destitute sister the stipend he had
originally intended for the use of the former and Clari. Taffy said
that Clari and she could support themselves well; Laura was miserable
at Springhead; Blanch and her children were starving; and it was far
better and happier for them all that the sisters lived together, and
managed for themselves. Colonel Howard immediately agreed to Taffy's
request; and thus poor Clari was left solely dependent on the good
little soul, who is indeed her only friend and earthly stay.
'As to Miss Drelincourt and her sister,' continued my friend, 'they
set up a boarding-school for young ladies; but it did not answer; and
when Taffy last heard of them, they were living at a cheap village in
Wales on Colonel Howard's bounty--a sad fall for these proud, arrogant
ladies. Taffy's sole anxiety is respecting the future fate of her
unfortunate charge, should it please Providence to remove herself first
from this transitory scene. The Misses Howard not long ago paid a visit
to Springhead, and assured the tiny woman that she might set her heart
at rest on that score, for Miss Clari should be their care if death
deprived her of her present faithful protectress. They will not prove
false to their promise; they are my most valued friends; and when I pay
my annual visit to Drelincourt Hall, I inhabit the chamber formerly
occupied by poor Miss Clari, still known as "Miss Clari's Room." Taffy
refuses all pecuniary aid; she is in want of nothing, she says, but a
thankful heart. And it offends the honest pride of the Fairy Queen to
offer assistance.'
Thus my friend concluded her reminiscences; and I never since then
see watercresses on the table, or beautiful basket-work, without
associating them in my mind with the memories I retain of the good
Taffy Lewin and her 'greenerie.'