VIOLET OSBORNE.
VOL. III.
VIOLET OSBORNE.
BY
THE LADY EMILY PONSONBY,
AUTHOR OF
“THE DISCIPLINE OF LIFE,”
“MARY LYNDSAY,”
&c., &c.
“... All worldly joys go less
To the one joy of doing kindnesses.”
GEORGE HERBERT.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,
SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN,
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1865.
_The right of Translation is reserved._
LONDON:
PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE,
BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET.
VIOLET OSBORNE.
CHAPTER I.
“La joie de faire du bien est tout autrement douce et touchante que
la joie de recevoir. Revenez-y encore; c’est un plaisir qui ne s’use
point; plus on le goûte, plus on se rend digne de le goûter.”
FENELON.
Lionel returned, and took up his abode at home on tolerably friendly
terms with his father. He appeared to be duly struck with the change in
Ida, and expressed himself warmly regarding her personal appearance;
but seemed in no hurry to bring matters to a crisis.
He had indeed been so long absent, that there was something like a
fresh acquaintance to be made; and, however much all parties might wish
it, it was less easy now that Ida was grown up.
_Ma bonne_, with fewer teeth, and a stronger propensity to slumber,
was still ostensibly the _chaperon_; but it was impossible that Lionel
should come and go with the unceremonious freedom of former days.
His own fastidious taste, and his strong sense of propriety, forced
him to treat Ida with respect, and though unable to break off entirely
his teasing habits, he did for the most part behave to her in a manner
becoming his position.
Lord Ashford and Sir William, who had expected an immediate
arrangement, were annoyed, but both were too prudent to express their
feelings, and after the first disappointment, calmly made up their
minds to a delay. As Ida was still three months less than seventeen,
most people would have considered a delay desirable, and so probably
Lionel felt.
It was very soon apparent that other schemes besides matrimonial
schemes occupied his attention. He had an active mind, and a great
desire, not only that good should be done in the world, but that he
should do it. From childhood upwards he had said--he had said it
constantly in his heart, he had said it in the outpourings of that
heart to his mother, and he had sometimes said it to Ida--that he would
be one of the world’s good men; one of those to whom the world should
look up as a great doer of good works. He had been impatient when he
was a boy to grow up that he might begin his operations; and though
he owned that his time had hitherto been wasted, that he had not as
yet made even a step towards the position to which he aspired, yet
circumstances, not himself, he thought, had been in fault, and the time
was now come when he might begin.
Like a prudent man he determined to begin at home, and he looked
about him for a field, or fields, suited to his wants. With tender
recollection also of his mother and her wishes, he went back into
memory to recall her thoughts, and gradually brought to mind a scheme
in which she had once been absorbed. It was shortly before the time
when the new school had been built in compliance with Mr. Pope’s
wishes. As this last had been expensively done, the funds for the
other scheme had not been forthcoming, and the plan was set aside.
But it recurred to Lionel’s remembrance now, and gradually, even in
its minutest details, was brought to mind. The scheme in question was
for the education of a limited number of girls as servants, moral and
intellectual teaching not neglected, but cooking, washing, and other
useful acquirements added.
With quick decision he resolved on undertaking this plan for his first
work; and having so resolved, went to Ida for help.
She, interested in all his wishes, and interested in every good work,
gave her heart and understanding to its furtherance; but naturally
enough she pleaded ignorance in such matters, and in her turn applied
to Violet for information and assistance.
Violet was delighted. It was a practical plan, suited to her practical
mind, and she entered into it with warmth. Her first observation was,
that it would be costly. Was Mr. Vane prepared for that? He, to whom
this observation was repeated by Ida, insisted on satisfying her, and
came to Boscombe during one of her visits to do it.
He told her that he was prudent. That he should begin with four or
five girls; that he had found a house which, with a few repairs, would
answer the purpose, and which Lord Ashford was willing to let for a
very small rent; and then he added that his mother had left to him
exclusively a few thousands, part of which he was anxious to devote to
a plan on which her heart had been set.
Pleased with all he said, Violet promised help, if help was needed;
but meanwhile she took care so to imbue Ida’s mind with her own
judicious views, that the help a young man was sure to need in such
a scheme should come from her alone. Never mother tried to set off a
daughter’s charms as Violet tried to invest Ida with those special
graces Lionel prized.
The conferences needed in drawing out the rules for the proposed
institution were so numerous, that nothing better could have been
devised for throwing Ida and Lionel together. Looking on the plan in
this light, Lord Ashford and Sir William Hamilton each insisted on
giving a contribution, and the scheme progressed so favourably, that
there was hope of all things being ready for a beginning by Christmas.
“I am quite delighted with the whole thing,” Violet one day observed
to Ida. “The rules and all the arrangements are so good that I feel
confident of its success; and there is no telling what good may be done
when a few young girls are thus placed where only right influences can
reach them. And after a time, Ida, you must take them in charge; and
you must remember that girls, poor girls, like to be amused as well as
rich ones; it will be nice for you two or three times a week to go and
read to them while they work--a good story, something to amuse them,
poor children; and then it might be useful, too, if you were to teach
them to sing.”
She was proceeding eagerly with the expression of her wishes, when
Ida’s deep blush caught her eyes. The house appropriated to the
building was at some distance, on the skirts of Lord Ashford’s park.
Being near _his_ house, and comparatively far from Ida’s, Violet’s
suggestions too pointedly alluded to the time when Ida might be the
resident there. She was no longer what she had been when she so openly
announced the event that was impending. Her love for Lionel had assumed
a new form, that form when it retires from sight and shrinks from the
notice of the world. At the words of her companion she blushed and
stooped her head over the writing on which she was employed.
Violet, quick to see and quick also to feel and approve a sensitiveness
new, yet natural, paused; then, kissing her, murmured, “Forgive me; I
was indiscreet,” and changed the subject.
But, in the almost daily intercourse that now took place, she, like
Lord Ashford, saw the beginning of the end; and though the remembrance
of Ida’s tender years made her patient, she expected a few weeks or
months at latest to bring all things to a happy conclusion.
Satisfied with obtaining her valuable assistance through Ida, and when
absolutely necessary with a discussion of some important subject at
Boscombe, Lionel had not hitherto troubled Violet with visits at home;
but one morning he appeared.
“I will not have this, mamma,” Violet said as she saw him enter the
cottage gate. “Here comes Mr. Vane with a paper in his hand. He takes
more of my time than I can spare as it is, now one thing and now
another; and if he is to come here, and of a morning too, I must have
him spoken to.”
“Only once, dear,” said her mother; “perhaps it is for something
particular.”
“There can be nothing very particular since Wednesday afternoon. Mr.
Vane is fussy, there is no doubt. I like him very much, and I think him
very good, but he does think his plans are the only plans in the world.”
Lionel had been kept waiting for a few moments while the housemaid,
taken by surprise, was changing her working apron for a clean one.
He now came in, and it was with an eagerness which made him forget
the formal manners he still assumed whenever he had time to recollect
himself. He shook hands with both mother and daughter, seated himself
in the place Mrs. Osborne pointed out, and then began:
“Miss Osborne, do you remember a conversation we had about a
schoolmistress three weeks ago?”
“Yes; and I thought you had got her.”
“So did I; but now she declines to come. We are too far from London
for her taste. I heard that from my friend yesterday morning; and
last night a new idea struck me; I could not rest till I came to you
about it. Would not your _protegée_, Miss White, do for us? I know how
anxious you are she should get some more suitable thing than she now
has, and I think in many ways this will be less weary work than her
present task.”
Violet sat silent. For a moment her eyes had sparkled with pleasure,
but then she looked grave.
“What do you say?” and he eagerly examined her countenance. “Don’t you
think it will do?”
“No,” she said, slowly shaking her head. “I am very, very sorry, but I
am afraid it ought not to be. It is very kind of you to have thought
of it, but it will not do. Miss White is not fit; is she, mamma? I am
afraid there is no doubt about it.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, with disappointment in his tone. “I know
you do not think her a very good teacher for the mind; but this is
different, and those who are least intellectual are often the best for
practical life.”
“But that is just what she is not. She is not fit, if fitness is
considered, for her present situation; but she is far less fit to make
girls good useful women. No. I could not, ought not, to say it would
do; I know you would soon find out your mistake.”
“I am very sorry, then,” he said, rising from his seat; “and that is
all I have to say. But thank you for your openness. It is not everybody
that I should have trusted when a _protegée_ was in question; but I
knew I should only have truth from you.”
“I hope so indeed,” Violet said, smiling.
“Ah! it is not so common a thing as you think. Is it, Mrs. Osborne?”
Mrs. Osborne, not being certain what he had asked, only smiled; and
turning again to Violet he said,
“Shall you see Ida to-day?”
“I am afraid not. I am busy to-day.”
“No more shall I. I must ride to B---- to talk to the clergyman there
about a mistress. He is sensible, and may give a good opinion, which is
more than I can say for your friend Mr. Pope.”
“Mr. Pope is sensible up to a certain point,” Violet observed, never
willing to agree with Lionel in his depreciation of men and things.
“The point is only so high, then,” he replied playfully, making
the mark of a child’s height with his hand; then, as if suddenly
remembering how much he had unbent, he drew up and added, “If you
chance to see Ida, will you be good enough to tell her where I am gone.
Good morning.”
Violet returned to her employment. She was adapting some fine chords
from Beethoven to the words of a psalm--that is, she had been so
occupied when Lionel entered; but though she resumed her place she
now sat idly before the music, a pen in her hand, but her thoughts
wandering.
Mrs. Osborne watched her for some time, then went to her and put her
hand on her shoulder.
“You are sorry about Amy, dear?”
Violet started.
“Yes, mamma. How you guess! It would have been the very thing for her
and her mother together; and such a comfortable house as it will be;
but I could not have said she was fit. If she had been my sister I
could not have said it.”
“No, dear. I don’t think you could. Amy will never influence young
girls. You were very right to speak as you did, dear.”
Violet sighed.
“Ah! mamma, what I was thinking, was how much responsibility we take
upon ourselves ignorantly. If I had thought of Amy as I do now, how
differently I should have advised about her! I remember,” she paused,
then, trying to speak steadily and indifferently, but her voice
becoming hoarse and low, went on, “Mr. Leicester once said he thought
her so much better fitted to be a dressmaker than a schoolmistress; it
was after we had seen how helpless she was, and how many difficulties
there were in making her understand our views about her future life;
but I would not hear of it for her. I was so bent on keeping her a
lady; and now I see that he was right.”
“Perhaps so, dear, but it could not be expected that at eighteen you
should have the experience you have now.”
“But, mamma, my mistakes may do real harm. Yesterday Amy was hearing
a class of boys, and she was fretful and aggravating, and I saw them
making faces at her. It made me wretched all day; and when Mr. Vane
spoke this morning my heart at first bounded at the thought of freeing
her and them; but in a moment I felt it would not do; and there she
must stay, and perhaps she is making the boys wicked; and it is my
fault.”
“That is morbid, darling; you must not have such thoughts. I always
trust that if we sincerely wish to do good, God will not suffer even
our mistakes to do real harm.”
“You are very comforting, mamma,” and Violet rose up and kissed her
mother. “I will not fret about Amy any more. I hope something will rise
up for her in time; and for myself I can at least resolve to make _no
more mistakes_.”
And with this earnest resolve her countenance brightened, and she
turned her thoughts again to the work before her.