THE MOUSE HELPS THE LIONESS, AND MARGARETTA GAINS A THIRD FRIEND.
NELLY CORRY'S active fingers were never idle, and her cleverness, good
taste, and modest manners were the means of introducing her to the best
houses in the neighbourhood, as well as to Northbrook Hall. One of her
customers, a childless widow, resided in a pretty cottage about half a
mile from it.
This lady, Mrs. Moffat, was much interested in the little seamstress,
who was so good a daughter and so industrious, and very often made
the girl bring her work into her own sitting-room. There the actual
stitching was done, the cutting and snipping being effected in the
little workroom proper. Mrs. Moffat would encourage Nelly's artless
talk, which had in it no suggestion of gossip or scandal. It was
usually about the mother, or the married brothers and sisters, in
whom Mrs. Moffat took a kindly interest. It charmed her to note how
Nelly's innocent face brightened as she spoke of her many blessings,
and persistently brought the bright side to the front during these
conversations.
"And yet," thought the lady, "what a life of continuous toil this
little creature leads, without ever uttering a complaining word! She
regards work, plenty of work, as a rich blessing, and takes it up
joyfully, seeing in it, daily bread and comforts for mother."
One day as Nelly sat sewing at Mrs. Moffat's, she was unusually silent.
Not for want of something to talk about, for her mind was full of a
plan for Margaretta's benefit, but she knew not how to begin.
Mrs. Moffat set her tongue at liberty by asking, "Is there anything
amiss, Nelly? You are silent this morning."
"Nothing, thank you, ma'am. I was thinking so much about poor Miss
Longridge, and it came into my mind that with mother to love me, I was
so much better off in our little place than she is at Northbrook Hall."
[Illustration]
"She has a mother, Nelly, and her grandmamma."
"A mother in one way, but she is so far-away, and Miss Longridge has
been here seven months and only seen her once—four weeks ago. Poor
young lady! She is dreadfully lonely, for the old lady is—well, you
know, ma'am, when people get quite old, they cannot help being—"
Here Nelly stopped for a word. She did not like to say cross or
ill-tempered. So she blushed, and bending her head over her work,
stitched away diligently.
Mrs. Moffat knew enough of Lady Longridge to fill up the blank, so
she did not ask Nelly's meaning. But she drew from her the story
of Margaretta's daily life, her yearning for instruction, her
friendlessness, the solitary wanderings in the grounds, and efforts to
get out of the hearing of the relentless old relative, who compared her
sweet rich voice to the screams of a railway-whistle.
"But surely Lady Longridge has someone to teach her granddaughter,"
said Mrs. Moffat.
"No, ma'am. Miss Margaretta has no lessons of any kind, and she cannot
practise, for the only old piano is just dreadful. It is never tuned,
and if it were it would not keep in tune. The young lady's mamma would
have left her beautiful piano for her daughter; but Lady Longridge
would not have it there, or a scrap that belonged to her. You see,
ma'am, she has fancies, being old, and she seems to think she is poor
and cannot afford to spend any money on her granddaughter."
Mrs. Moffat remained silent for a little while, turning over in her
own mind a plan suggested by Nelly's confidences. She was a highly
accomplished woman, a born musician, who delighted to encourage musical
talent in others, and at once the thought occurred to her—
"Here am I, a lonely woman, with such talents as I possess running to
waste for want of an opportunity to exercise them. And just within
reach is a sweet young creature, wanting exactly what I am able to
give. How can we be brought together?"
Soon afterwards Nelly Corry knew that her innocent stratagem had been
successful, for Mrs. Moffat said—
"How I wish I could be of use to this dear lonely girl! I am sure I
can trust you, Nelly. Tell me, now, what I can do for her. It would be
quite a delight to me to give her an opportunity of using my piano, and
I might perhaps direct her musical studies a little. Do you think Lady
Longridge would let her come here?"
"Indeed, ma'am, I do not know. Thorley, that is her ladyship's maid,
could tell more than anybody else. Lady Longridge never comes near the
workroom, which is the old nursery at Northbrook, though she knows when
I am there, for she sometimes grumbles at having to pay me for altering
Miss Margaretta's frocks."
"How could I see Thorley? I know her by sight already, for I call on
Lady Longridge now and then."
"She gets out very little, for it seems as if her mistress could hardly
bear her to be out of hearing, but I am sure she will contrive to come
to you if you will see her."
It was arranged that Nelly should take a message to Thorley on the
following day, and certain hours were named at which she would find
Mrs. Moffat at home for a week to come. Two days later, Thorley called
at Clough Cottage, and had a long talk with its mistress. At its close,
she said—
"If, madam, you could persuade my lady to fall in with your plan, it
would be the saving of Miss Margaretta; but please do not let her think
that it will be a favour to you. And if you would be so kind as to make
her pay for it."
There was something quite whimsical in the look on Thorley's face as
she said this, for she was in mortal dread of giving offence. Mrs.
Moffat was a lady of means, who visited the county families, being as
well-bred as any of them, and to suggest her receiving payment was
something dreadful.
The maid began to try and explain her meaning, but Mrs. Moffat
interrupted her with a smile, and said, "I think I know enough of
Lady Longridge to comprehend the difficulty. We have to make great
allowances for the peculiarities of aged people, and at four-score they
are privileged."
"Lady Longridge is turned eighty-one, and just a wonder for her age,"
said Thorley enthusiastically, and with a look of infinite relief. "I
have served her five-and-twenty years."
"She is fortunate in retaining such faithful service. Well, Thorley,
I think I understand your meaning. You believe that if Lady Longridge
supposed that I particularly wished to assist her granddaughter in her
studies, and that the dear girl's presence would give pleasure to a
solitary woman, she would say 'No.' And yet she does want a teacher for
her granddaughter."
"I could not quite say that much. Miss Margaretta has been at her
grandma to let her have lessons, and the rector has ventured to tell
my lady that her granddaughter's time is being wasted, and that she is
being let run wild as no working man's child would be. He told her what
people were saying, and how it was the talk of the countryside that her
son's only child was being frightfully neglected. I don't know how he
dared, but, though he is so quiet mostly, he speaks out in a matter of
right or wrong. So my lady has been asking about a governess, but she
does not like to pay for a good one; besides, she does not wish one
altogether at the Hall; and who that knew how dull it is, would like to
come? It takes years to get used to the life there, and it is hard for
the young.'
"Tell me exactly what course would be best, and speak out. Do not fear
my being displeased."
"Then, madam, I think if you could call at Northbrook, very soon,
just whilst my lady is worrited about getting someone to teach Miss
Margaretta, she might perhaps ask your advice. You need not tell her
straight out what is in your mind, but if only you could get to know
what ladies have asked who have written about coming, you might see
your way by making a great favour of it. As to the money part, you
would know better than I should. Only my lady values most what she has
to pay for."
Mrs. Moffat was shrewd enough to realise the position at once. She paid
the proposed visit, as it happened, in the nick of time; found Lady
Longridge irritated and perplexed, the former at the unconscionable
salaries asked by governesses, when only a few years ago twenty pounds
a year would have been considered ample.
"Not that my son and his wife thought so. They gave a hundred and board
to the one who used to teach Margaretta, as though money were picked up
in the streets! There is only one of these," and she laid her hand on a
pile of letters, "that asks less, and she cannot write plainly, and has
misspelt two words."
"She is perhaps one of the old twenty-pound-a-year class, belonging to
the days when persons who could earn a living in no other way went out
as governesses amongst people who knew not whether they were fit to
teach or otherwise. But you, Lady Longridge, are better able to judge.
Besides, teaching is now a distinct profession, and a highly honourable
one, in which the incapables of old times would stand no chance to-day."
"Yes," said Lady Longridge, ignoring all but the compliment, "I can
spell yet, though I am over eighty. Can you tell me of anyone hereabout
who would teach Margaretta, just to make out a little income? I would
give fifty pounds a year for three or even two hours' lessons a day,
morning or afternoon, as might suit her best. I am wearied out of my
life with all these letters."
"Would you give sixty to a competent person?"
"Yes, even sixty, but no board. Mind, no board," added the old lady,
eagerly.
"I will think about this and tell you to-morrow without fail." And Mrs.
Moffat departed, leaving Lady Longridge much relieved.
"She will find somebody, Thorley, I am convinced of it. She is a clever
woman, with a good head and plenty of common sense, which almost make
one wish she had to teach for a living. What a governess she would make
for that gipsy of a girl!"
Thorley felt herself a dreadful hypocrite as she replied that Mrs.
Moffat was quite a lady, and had plenty of money. Also that she did
a world of good with it; but this remark caused such a snappish
rejoinder, that she wished it had been suppressed.
Lady Longridge looked eagerly for Mrs. Moffat's coming, and greeted her
with the inquiry, "Have you brought good news?"
"I cannot tell whether you will think it so, but if you like, I will
give your granddaughter the benefit of all I know, on the terms named
yesterday."
"You! You teach, and for money!" shrieked the old lady. "You are rich;
you want none. I cannot understand you."
"If you agree to my proposal, you will give fifteen pounds a quarter
into the hands of Mr. Moorhouse, our new rector, towards the repairs
and restoration of the church. I shall not touch a penny of it myself.
But the work is badly wanted, and is dear to his heart and to mine. I
do not believe in our living in ceiled houses and being surrounded with
luxuries, and allowing the House of God to fall into wreck and ruin."
"You have given I don't remember how much already, for the man flung
that in my face when he came begging here. He could not say that I
indulged in luxuries."
"I have given, but it has been of that which cost me nothing—not even
a little self-denial. Now I am anxious to work for some extra money,
in order that I may give it under more satisfactory conditions. I have
never yet known the happiness of earning anything."
"No more have I, if you call it happiness. But there is an old proverb
which says, 'There is more made by saving than getting.' Not," added
Lady Longridge, "that I have saved much, only I have had to be careful.
I will think of what you have said, but could you not call it fifty?"
"For myself I would say nothing. But this is for God's cause and His
house. No, Lady Longridge, you must give me a decided answer before I
leave, or you will lose your chance of paying me a salary. If I take
your money, mind, I mean to earn it. If you do not pay me sixty pounds
per annum, someone else will double the amount, for a similar return.
Will you read this letter in proof of what I say?"
Mrs. Moffat handed one as she spoke. It was from a greater personage
than Lady Longridge, and the writing was familiar to her. It said—
"My dear Hilda,—If you are bent on earning money in order to try the
luxury of giving at a considerable cost to yourself, do let us have the
benefit. You would have a submissive and adoring pupil in my daughter,
who would come to you daily, and share the advantages with Lady
Longridge's granddaughter, if you choose. You have only to name your
terms."
"Margaretta shall come to you, and I will pay the sixty pounds a year
to Mr. Moorhouse. I shall be helping a good work too," added the old
woman, with a look of self-gratulation.
"You will enable me to do so much more, but I protest against your
claiming second-hand credit," said Mrs. Moffat.
The old lady laughed. She rather liked to meet her match sometimes, and
the thought of having made a good bargain, even at the cost of sixty
pounds a year, put her into a good humour for the time being. She was
eager for Margaretta to begin her studies, but as the morrow would be
Friday, it was decided that the girl should go to Clough Cottage on the
Monday morning following.
How Thorley and the little seamstress rejoiced in the success of their
innocent plan needs not be told, or with what impatience Margaretta
counted the hours that must intervene before she should once more touch
a piano worthy the name. In the meanwhile she hunted up her books and
music, to be ready for use when needed.