“Has she come?”
“No, Mamma, not yet.”
“I wish it were well over. The thought of it worries and excites me. A
cushion for my back, Bella.”
And poor, peevish Mrs. Coventry sank into an easy chair with a nervous
sigh and the air of a martyr, while her pretty daughter hovered about
her with affectionate solicitude.
“Who are they talking of, Lucia?” asked the languid young man lounging
on a couch near his cousin, who bent over her tapestry work with a happy
smile on her usually haughty face.
“The new governess, Miss Muir. Shall I tell you about her?”
“No, thank you. I have an inveterate aversion to the whole tribe. I’ve
often thanked heaven that I had but one sister, and she a spoiled child,
so that I have escaped the infliction of a governess so long.”
“How will you bear it now?” asked Lucia.
“Leave the house while she is in it.”
“No, you won’t. You’re too lazy, Gerald,” called out a younger and more
energetic man, from the recess where he stood teasing his dogs.
“I’ll give her a three days’ trial; if she proves endurable I shall not
disturb myself; if, as I am sure, she is a bore, I’m off anywhere,
anywhere out of her way.”
“I beg you won’t talk in that depressing manner, boys. I dread the
coming of a stranger more than you possibly can, but Bella _must_ not be
neglected; so I have nerved myself to endure this woman, and Lucia is
good enough to say she will attend to her after tonight.”
“Don’t be troubled, Mamma. She is a nice person, I dare say, and when
once we are used to her, I’ve no doubt we shall be glad to have her,
it’s so dull here just now. Lady Sydney said she was a quiet,
accomplished, amiable girl, who needed a home, and would be a help to
poor stupid me, so try to like her for my sake.”
“I will, dear, but isn’t it getting late? I do hope nothing has
happened. Did you tell them to send a carriage to the station for
her, Gerald?”
“I forgot it. But it’s not far, it won’t hurt her to walk” was the
languid reply.
“It was indolence, not forgetfulness, I know. I’m very sorry; she will
think it so rude to leave her to find her way so late. Do go and see
to it, Ned.”
“Too late, Bella, the train was in some time ago. Give your orders to me
next time. Mother and I’ll see that they are obeyed,” said Edward.
“Ned is just at an age to make a fool of himself for any girl who
comes in his way. Have a care of the governess, Lucia, or she will
bewitch him.”
Gerald spoke in a satirical whisper, but his brother heard him and
answered with a good-humored laugh.
“I wish there was any hope of your making a fool of yourself in that
way, old fellow. Set me a good example, and I promise to follow it. As
for the governess, she is a woman, and should be treated with common
civility. I should say a little extra kindness wouldn’t be amiss,
either, because she is poor, and a stranger.”
“That is my dear, good-hearted Ned! We’ll stand by poor little Muir,
won’t we?” And running to her brother, Bella stood on tiptoe to offer
him a kiss which he could not refuse, for the rosy lips were pursed up
invitingly, and the bright eyes full of sisterly affection.
“I do hope she has come, for, when I make an effort to see anyone, I
hate to make it in vain. Punctuality is _such_ a virtue, and I know this
woman hasn’t got it, for she promised to be here at seven, and now it is
long after,” began Mrs. Coventry, in an injured tone.
Before she could get breath for another complaint, the clock struck
seven and the doorbell rang.
“There she is!” cried Bella, and turned toward the door as if to go and
meet the newcomer.
But Lucia arrested her, saying authoritatively, “Stay here, child. It is
her place to come to you, not yours to go to her.”
“Miss Muir,” announced a servant, and a little black-robed figure stood
in the doorway. For an instant no one stirred, and the governess had
time to see and be seen before a word was uttered. All looked at her,
and she cast on the household group a keen glance that impressed them
curiously; then her eyes fell, and bowing slightly she walked in. Edward
came forward and received her with the frank cordiality which nothing
could daunt or chill.
“Mother, this is the lady whom you expected. Miss Muir, allow me to
apologize for our apparent neglect in not sending for you. There was a
mistake about the carriage, or, rather, the lazy fellow to whom the
order was given forgot it. Bella, come here.”
“Thank you, no apology is needed. I did not expect to be sent for.” And
the governess meekly sat down without lifting her eyes.
“I am glad to see you. Let me take your things,” said Bella, rather
shyly, for Gerald, still lounging, watched the fireside group with
languid interest, and Lucia never stirred. Mrs. Coventry took a second
survey and began:
“You were punctual, Miss Muir, which pleases me. I’m a sad invalid, as
Lady Sydney told you, I hope; so that Miss Coventry’s lessons will be
directed by my niece, and you will go to her for directions, as she
knows what I wish. You will excuse me if I ask you a few questions, for
Lady Sydney’s note was very brief, and I left everything to her
judgment.”
“Ask anything you like, madam,” answered the soft, sad voice.
“You are Scotch, I believe.”
“Yes, madam.”
“Are your parents living?”
“I have not a relation in the world.”
“Dear me, how sad! Do you mind telling me your age?”
“Nineteen.” And a smile passed over Miss Muir’s lips, as she folded her
hands with an air of resignation, for the catechism was evidently to be
a long one.
“So young! Lady Sydney mentioned five-and-twenty, I think, didn’t
she, Bella?”
“No, Mamma, she only said she thought so. Don’t ask such questions. It’s
not pleasant before us all,” whispered Bella.
A quick, grateful glance shone on her from the suddenly lifted eyes of
Miss Muir, as she said quietly, “I wish I was thirty, but, as I am not,
I do my best to look and seem old.”
Of course, every one looked at her then, and all felt a touch of pity at
the sight of the pale-faced girl in her plain black dress, with no
ornament but a little silver cross at her throat. Small, thin, and
colorless she was, with yellow hair, gray eyes, and sharply cut,
irregular, but very expressive features. Poverty seemed to have set its
bond stamp upon her, and life to have had for her more frost than
sunshine. But something in the lines of the mouth betrayed strength, and
the clear, low voice had a curious mixture of command and entreaty in
its varying tones. Not an attractive woman, yet not an ordinary one;
and, as she sat there with her delicate hands lying in her lap, her head
bent, and a bitter look on her thin face, she was more interesting than
many a blithe and blooming girl. Bella’s heart warmed to her at once,
and she drew her seat nearer, while Edward went back to his dogs that
his presence might not embarrass her.
“You have been ill, I think,” continued Mrs. Coventry, who considered
this fact the most interesting of all she had heard concerning the
governess.
“Yes, madam, I left the hospital only a week ago.”
“Are you quite sure it is safe to begin teaching so soon?”
“I have no time to lose, and shall soon gain strength here in the
country, if you care to keep me.”
“And you are fitted to teach music, French, and drawing?”
“I shall endeavor to prove that I am.”
“Be kind enough to go and play an air or two. I can judge by your touch;
I used to play finely when a girl.”
Miss Muir rose, looked about her for the instrument, and seeing it at
the other end of the room went toward it, passing Gerald and Lucia as if
she did not see them. Bella followed, and in a moment forgot everything
in admiration. Miss Muir played like one who loved music and was perfect
mistress of her art. She charmed them all by the magic of this spell;
even indolent Gerald sat up to listen, and Lucia put down her needle,
while Ned watched the slender white fingers as they flew, and wondered
at the strength and skill which they possessed.
“Please sing,” pleaded Bella, as a brilliant overture ended.
With the same meek obedience Miss Muir complied, and began a little
Scotch melody, so sweet, so sad, that the girl’s eyes filled, and Mrs.
Coventry looked for one of her many pocket-handkerchiefs. But suddenly
the music ceased, for, with a vain attempt to support herself, the
singer slid from her seat and lay before the startled listeners, as
white and rigid as if struck with death. Edward caught her up, and,
ordering his brother off the couch, laid her there, while Bella chafed
her hands, and her mother rang for her maid. Lucia bathed the poor
girl’s temples, and Gerald, with unwonted energy, brought a glass of
wine. Soon Miss Muir’s lips trembled, she sighed, then murmured,
tenderly, with a pretty Scotch accent, as if wandering in the past,
“Bide wi’ me, Mither, I’m sae sick an sad here all alone.”
“Take a sip of this, and it will do you good, my dear,” said Mrs.
Coventry, quite touched by the plaintive words.
The strange voice seemed to recall her. She sat up, looked about her, a
little wildly, for a moment, then collected herself and said, with a
pathetic look and tone, “Pardon me. I have been on my feet all day, and,
in my eagerness to keep my appointment, I forgot to eat since morning.
I’m better now; shall I finish the song?”
“By no means. Come and have some tea,” said Bella, full of pity
and remorse.
“Scene first, very well done,” whispered Gerald to his cousin.
Miss Muir was just before them, apparently listening to Mrs. Coventry’s
remarks upon fainting fits; but she heard, and looked over her shoulders
with a gesture like Rachel. Her eyes were gray, but at that instant they
seemed black with some strong emotion of anger, pride, or defiance. A
curious smile passed over her face as she bowed, and said in her
penetrating voice, “Thanks. The last scene shall be still better.”
Young Coventry was a cool, indolent man, seldom conscious of any
emotion, any passion, pleasurable or otherwise; but at the look, the
tone of the governess, he experienced a new sensation, indefinable, yet
strong. He colored and, for the first time in his life, looked abashed.
Lucia saw it, and hated Miss Muir with a sudden hatred; for, in all the
years she had passed with her cousin, no look or word of hers had
possessed such power. Coventry was himself again in an instant, with no
trace of that passing change, but a look of interest in his usually
dreamy eyes, and a touch of anger in his sarcastic voice.
“What a melodramatic young lady! I shall go tomorrow.”
Lucia laughed, and was well pleased when he sauntered away to bring her
a cup of tea from the table where a little scene was just taking place.
Mrs. Coventry had sunk into her chair again, exhausted by the flurry of
the fainting fit. Bella was busied about her; and Edward, eager to feed
the pale governess, was awkwardly trying to make the tea, after a
beseeching glance at his cousin which she did not choose to answer. As
he upset the caddy and uttered a despairing exclamation, Miss Muir
quietly took her place behind the urn, saying with a smile, and a shy
glance at the young man, “Allow me to assume my duty at once, and serve
you all. I understand the art of making people comfortable in this way.
The scoop, please. I can gather this up quite well alone, if you will
tell me how your mother likes her tea.”
Edward pulled a chair to the table and made merry over his mishaps,
while Miss Muir performed her little task with a skill and grace that
made it pleasant to watch her. Coventry lingered a moment after she had
given him a steaming cup, to observe her more nearly, while he asked a
question or two of his brother. She took no more notice of him than if
he had been a statue, and in the middle of the one remark he addressed
to her, she rose to take the sugar basin to Mrs. Coventry, who was quite
won by the modest, domestic graces of the new governess.
“Really, my dear, you are a treasure; I haven’t tasted such tea since my
poor maid Ellis died. Bella never makes it good, and Miss Lucia always
forgets the cream. Whatever you do you seem to do well, and that is
_such_ a comfort.”
“Let me always do this for you, then. It will be a pleasure, madam.” And
Miss Muir came back to her seat with a faint color in her cheek which
improved her much.
“My brother asked if young Sydney was at home when you left,” said
Edward, for Gerald would not take the trouble to repeat the question.
Miss Muir fixed her eyes on Coventry, and answered with a slight tremor
of the lips, “No, he left home some weeks ago.”
The young man went back to his cousin, saying, as he threw himself
down beside her, “I shall not go tomorrow, but wait till the three
days are out.”
“Why?” demanded Lucia.
Lowering his voice he said, with a significant nod toward the governess,
“Because I have a fancy that she is at the bottom of Sydney’s mystery.
He’s not been himself lately, and now he is gone without a word. I
rather like romances in real life, if they are not too long, or
difficult to read.”
“Do you think her pretty?”
“Far from it, a most uncanny little specimen.”
“Then why fancy Sydney loves her?”
“He is an oddity, and likes sensations and things of that sort.”
“What do you mean, Gerald?”
“Get the Muir to look at you, as she did at me, and you will understand.
Will you have another cup, Juno?”
“Yes, please.” She liked to have him wait upon her, for he did it to no
other woman except his mother.
Before he could slowly rise, Miss Muir glided to them with another cup
on the salver; and, as Lucia took it with a cold nod, the girl said
under her breath, “I think it honest to tell you that I possess a quick
ear, and cannot help hearing what is said anywhere in the room. What you
say of me is of no consequence, but you may speak of things which you
prefer I should not hear; therefore, allow me to warn you.” And she was
gone again as noiselessly as she came.
“How do you like that?” whispered Coventry, as his cousin sat looking
after the girl, with a disturbed expression.
“What an uncomfortable creature to have in the house! I am very sorry I
urged her coming, for your mother has taken a fancy to her, and it will
be hard to get rid of her,” said Lucia, half angry, half amused.
“Hush, she hears every word you say. I know it by the expression of her
face, for Ned is talking about horses, and she looks as haughty as ever
you did, and that is saying much. Faith, this is getting interesting.”
“Hark, she is speaking; I want to hear,” and Lucia laid her hand on her
cousin’s lips. He kissed it, and then idly amused himself with turning
the rings to and fro on the slender fingers.
“I have been in France several years, madam, but my friend died and I
came back to be with Lady Sydney, till--” Muir paused an instant, then
added, slowly, “till I fell ill. It was a contagious fever, so I went of
my own accord to the hospital, not wishing to endanger her.”
“Very right, but are you sure there is no danger of infection now?”
asked Mrs. Coventry anxiously.
“None, I assure you. I have been well for some time, but did not leave
because I preferred to stay there, than to return to Lady Sydney.”
“No quarrel, I hope? No trouble of any kind?”
“No quarrel, but--well, why not? You have a right to know, and I will
not make a foolish mystery out of a very simple thing. As your family,
only, is present, I may tell the truth. I did not go back on the young
gentleman’s account. Please ask no more.”
“Ah, I see. Quite prudent and proper, Miss Muir. I shall never allude to
it again. Thank you for your frankness. Bella, you will be careful not
to mention this to young friends; girls gossip sadly, and it would annoy
Lady Sydney beyond everything to have this talked of.”
“Very neighborly of Lady S. to send the dangerous young lady here,
where there are _two_ young gentlemen to be captivated. I wonder why
she didn’t keep Sydney after she had caught him,” murmured Coventry to
his cousin.
“Because she had the utmost contempt for a titled fool.” Miss Muir
dropped the words almost into his ear, as she bent to take her shawl
from the sofa corner.
“How the deuce did she get there?” ejaculated Coventry, looking as if he
had received another sensation. “She has spirit, though, and upon my
word I pity Sydney, if he did try to dazzle her, for he must have got a
splendid dismissal.”
“Come and play billiards. You promised, and I hold you to your word,”
said Lucia, rising with decision, for Gerald was showing too much
interest in another to suit Miss Beaufort.
“I am, as ever, your most devoted. My mother is a charming woman, but I
find our evening parties slightly dull, when only my own family are
present. Good night, Mamma.” He shook hands with his mother, whose pride
and idol he was, and, with a comprehensive nod to the others, strolled
after his cousin.
“Now they are gone we can be quite cozy, and talk over things, for I
don’t mind Ned any more than I do his dogs,” said Bella, settling
herself on her mother’s footstool.
“I merely wish to say, Miss Muir, that my daughter has never had a
governess and is sadly backward for a girl of sixteen. I want you to
pass the mornings with her, and get her on as rapidly as possible. In
the afternoon you will walk or drive with her, and in the evening sit
with us here, if you like, or amuse yourself as you please. While in the
country we are very quiet, for I cannot bear much company, and when my
sons want gaiety, they go away for it. Miss Beaufort oversees the
servants, and takes my place as far as possible. I am very delicate and
keep my room till evening, except for an airing at noon. We will try
each other for a month, and I hope we shall get on quite comfortably
together.”
“I shall do my best, madam.”
One would not have believed that the meek, spiritless voice which
uttered these words was the same that had startled Coventry a few
minutes before, nor that the pale, patient face could ever have kindled
with such sudden fire as that which looked over Miss Muir’s shoulder
when she answered her young host’s speech.
Edward thought within himself, Poor little woman! She has had a hard
life. We will try and make it easier while she is here; and began his
charitable work by suggesting that she might be tired. She acknowledged
she was, and Bella led her away to a bright, cozy room, where with a
pretty little speech and a good-night kiss she left her.
When alone Miss Muir’s conduct was decidedly peculiar. Her first act was
to clench her hands and mutter between her teeth, with passionate force,
“I’ll not fail again if there is power in a woman’s wit and will!” She
stood a moment motionless, with an expression of almost fierce disdain
on her face, then shook her clenched hand as if menacing some unseen
enemy. Next she laughed, and shrugged her shoulders with a true French
shrug, saying low to herself, “Yes, the last scene _shall_ be better
than the first. _Mon dieu_, how tired and hungry I am!”
Kneeling before the one small trunk which held her worldly possessions,
she opened it, drew out a flask, and mixed a glass of some ardent
cordial, which she seemed to enjoy extremely as she sat on the carpet,
musing, while her quick eyes examined every corner of the room.
“Not bad! It will be a good field for me to work in, and the harder the
task the better I shall like it. _Merci_, old friend. You put heart and
courage into me when nothing else will. Come, the curtain is down, so I
may be myself for a few hours, if actresses ever are themselves.”
Still sitting on the floor she unbound and removed the long abundant
braids from her head, wiped the pink from her face, took out several
pearly teeth, and slipping off her dress appeared herself indeed, a
haggard, worn, and moody woman of thirty at least. The metamorphosis was
wonderful, but the disguise was more in the expression she assumed than
in any art of costume or false adornment. Now she was alone, and her
mobile features settled into their natural expression, weary, hard,
bitter. She had been lovely once, happy, innocent, and tender; but
nothing of all this remained to the gloomy woman who leaned there
brooding over some wrong, or loss, or disappointment which had darkened
all her life. For an hour she sat so, sometimes playing absently with
the scanty locks that hung about her face, sometimes lifting the glass
to her lips as if the fiery draught warmed her cold blood; and once she
half uncovered her breast to eye with a terrible glance the scar of a
newly healed wound. At last she rose and crept to bed, like one worn out
with weariness and mental pain.
_Chapter II_