A CHANGE OF FORTUNE.
On leaving the hospital I straightway entered the situation as
assistant newspaper-seller which Sister Helena had procured for me.
I did not contemplate staying there long, because, as the work was
light, the pay was proportionately small; so as soon as my health
should be thoroughly re-established, I meant to give up vending
papers, and look out for some more remunerative employment; providing
always that it was one which I could obtain honestly, for I was quite
determined not to have recourse to any more false testimonials in
future. But an undreamt of surprise was in store for me, and all my
schemes were destined to be completely altered before I had been many
weeks at my new post.
When, as sometimes happened, business was slack, I had nothing to do
but to wait idly for customers to appear; and on these occasions I
usually beguiled the time by studying some of the papers which
composed our stock in trade. One day whilst thus engaged I was
astonished to come across an advertisement commencing thus:
"Gilbertina, daughter of the late Sir Anthony Trecastle of Castle
Manor--" Having read so far, I put down the paper. The _late_ Sir
Anthony! Then my father must have died whilst I was in the hospital,
for I had heard of him as alive and well shortly before that. He and
I had never cared for one another, but notwithstanding this mutual
indifference, it gave me a shock to learn thus suddenly that he was
dead. So many thoughts and recollections of old days rushed into my
mind, that it was some little time before I remembered that I had not
yet finished reading the advertisement, and that as it began with my
name, I had probably better see what it was all about.
This was how the whole ran:--"Gilbertina, daughter of the late Sir
Anthony Trecastle of Castle Manor, is requested to communicate with
Messrs. Fox and Snail, Lincoln's Inn Fields, from whom she will hear
of something greatly to her advantage."
What could Messrs. Fox and Snail, who had been, as I knew, my
father's solicitors, have to tell me, I wondered? and should I
answer this advertisement of theirs or not? If I did, I must
evidently surrender the "incog." which I had hitherto preserved
so successfully, and in that case I saw that I could not reckon
certainly on being able to resume it again. Therefore the question
which I put before myself to be decided upon was this: Am I inclined
to take a step which may involve my leaving the independent career on
which I am launched, and going back to my original station of life?
Well! I had by this time discovered that people who were by birth and
education my equals were, as a rule, more congenial associates to me
than my inferiors; I knew, too, that I had an innate and ineradicable
prejudice in favour of the name of Trecastle, which would make it
pleasant to me once more to call myself by it openly; for even though
I had voluntarily discarded it, yet I had always felt a secret pride
in thinking that it was mine, and that I had the right to bear it if
I chose. Besides this, my experiences had taught me to appreciate
better than formerly the comfort of having my bread and butter found
for me, instead of being obliged to find it for myself, and I had
learnt that there are sometimes drawbacks attendant upon earning
one's own livelihood, notwithstanding the halo of adventure and
enterprise surrounding that process, which constituted its principal
attraction in my eyes. Furthermore, Messrs. Fox and Snail promised to
tell me of what would be greatly to my advantage, and it is not in
human nature to feel averse to hearing of anything that answers to
that description, or to learn that such information is to be had,
without being curious to know exactly what it may be. Altogether,
therefore, there was clearly a good deal to be said in favour of my
complying with the request in the advertisement, and consenting to
become Gilbertina Trecastle once more.
But then, on the other hand, it seemed to me that however desirable
this course might be in some ways, its advantages would be more than
counterbalanced if it involved anything derogatory to my dignity.
Upon no account whatever would I condescend to take any step which
could be construed into a confession of failure and defeat, or be
considered equivalent to taking cap in hand, and suing humbly for
reinstatement. No, indeed! I had supported myself by my own exertions
ever since I had left home, and saw no reason to doubt my being able
to continue to do so. Therefore I had neither failed nor been
defeated, and it was not likely that I was going to do anything to
give rise to a contrary supposition.
After careful consideration of the advertisement, however, I came
to the conclusion that there was nothing to compromise dignity in
responding to such an invitation as it contained, and that I could
do so without any fear of injuring my self-respect, or appearing to
humiliate myself either in my own eyes, or in those of other people.
And, my pride being thus satisfied, I went next day to the office in
Lincolns Inn Fields, announced who I was, and inquired what Messrs.
Fox and Snail had to tell me.
The information I received in reply was this. Before my father left
England, immediately after my mother's death, he made a will and
deposited it with his solicitors. He seems to have thought of
altering it after his second marriage, for he observed to them
casually once, that he should not wonder if he were to make a fresh
will some day or other when he had not anything else to do, and
happened to be in the humour for it. But whatever his intentions on
the subject may have been, that day was still to come when he died
suddenly. The only will he left was the one already mentioned, and
as in that he bequeathed everything he had to me, it was now only
necessary that I should prove my identity in order to enter into
possession of my inheritance without further obstacle. I had but
little difficulty in establishing satisfactorily that I really was
Gilbertina Trecastle, and as soon as that had been done, my fortunes
changed for the better as suddenly as though a benevolent magician
had waved his wand over them. Instead of being an ill-paid shop
assistant at the beck and call of an employer, I found myself raised
all at once to a position of ease and independence, with ample means,
and no one to dictate to or interfere with me. And this latter
condition was, as may be imagined, decidedly preferable to the former
one.
Considering the manner of my departure from home, and the antipathy
that had always existed between my step-mother and me, I certainly
anticipated that she would now disapprove of me more strongly than
ever, and avoid having to do with me as much as possible. But it
seemed that the transformation of my circumstances had worked an
equally marvellous transformation in her opinion of me; for the tone
she adopted towards me was totally different from what it had been in
the days of my insignificance, when I could be snubbed and bullied to
any extent with impunity. Then she had been all verjuice, gall, and
vinegar: now she was all honey, oil, and butter. Then she had
pronounced me ignorant, stupid, evil-disposed, tiresome, all that was
objectionable, and utterly unfit to be admitted into society: now she
sang my praises unweariedly whenever she had an opportunity, and
declared me to be clever, amusing, witty, agreeable, and in every way
charming and delightful. How she can have thought it likely for any
one of ordinary intelligence to be taken in by such palpable and
unblushing humbug, I cannot imagine. Certainly the chief effect it
had upon me was to make me feel more disgusted with her than ever,
and wonder whether there was _any_ limit to her capacity for toadying
and cringing when she thought it suited her game to do so.
Of course I knew very well that she would not be thus anxious to
curry favour with me for nothing; and that there was sure to be some
secret motive for all the lying compliments and fulsome flattery with
which she sought to impress me favourably, and to make me forget her
former conduct. Very soon this motive became apparent; for the hints
she gave showed plainly that, as she found Castle Manor an extremely
comfortable abode, she did not at all want to leave it, and was in
hopes of being able to establish herself there permanently.
I really must not be offended at her frankness, she said; but I had
such a place in her affection and esteem, and she was so anxious for
my welfare, that she could not resist giving me a word of advice,
even at the risk of being thought interfering. In her opinion I
was too young and inexperienced to live alone, and I should find
the management of property a great tie and worry. She did hope,
therefore, that I would get some older person to live with me, whom I
could regard as a friend; who would set me free to amuse myself by
relieving me of business cares when I liked; and who would be always
at hand to be consulted in case of need. There would certainly be
plenty of candidates for the post of companion to an individual so
attractive and popular as I was, to associate with whom would be a
constant pleasure and privilege; so I might reckon on a wide field to
choose from, as soon as I should make known what I wanted. Till then,
was there any way in which _she_ could be useful? Would I not like
her to stay for a while and help me to settle down comfortably? I had
only to say the word, and she would be most happy to fall in with any
arrangement of the kind that I might propose.
I, however, had not the slightest wish to have her as an inmate of my
house on any terms at all. To forgive her was one thing; to live with
her was another. Having learnt that it was a duty to forgive her, I
had made up my mind to do so, and had therefore renounced all
intention of revealing her early history and plebeian connections, or
making any other attempt to pay her off for past injuries. But beyond
that point, it seemed to me I was not bound to go; and I saw no kind
of necessity for inviting her to live with me. She could not be in
want of money, as she still possessed whatever she had had when she
married my father. And if she disliked solitude, she could go and
domicile herself with one of her own daughters--both of whom had got
married during my absence from home. Evidently, therefore, there was
no possible reason for me to think that I ought to inflict her
company upon myself; and I might, with a clear conscience, turn a
deaf ear to her overtures. So, instead of responding as she hoped, I
took the liberty of giving her plainly to understand that the sooner
she cleared out of Castle Manor the better, as I was in a hurry to
occupy my house, and only waited for her departure in order to do so.
I really did try hard not to do anything needlessly harsh by her. But
she would _not_ go till I put my foot down firmly and unmistakably;
and it was scarcely to be expected that I should, of my own free will
and without any feeling of obligation in the matter, ever choose to
live in the same house with her again. So I do not know that I could
well have acted otherwise than I did.
Finding that I stuck firmly to my point, she took herself off at
last; whereupon I went straight home, and have lived there the
greater part of the time since--endeavouring to the best of my
ability to perform the duties of my new position as a lady squire.
What with looking after the interests--both physical and moral--of my
tenants and poorer neighbours, and managing my house and estate, I
have plenty of occupation to keep my brain active and to interest
me; and, consequently, I have taken to this quiet country existence
much more kindly than I should have imagined possible in the days
when I had not become acquainted, by personal experience, with
the feelings of a landowner. But that does not prevent me from
contemplating another foreign trip before long; for my natural spirit
of restlessness and adventure is too vigorous to rest satisfied
without an occasional indulgence.
My present age is just twenty-four; but I often find it hard to
realise that I am not a great deal older than that, when I come in
contact with other young ladies of the same age. I seem to have
knocked about the world and seen so much more of it than they have,
as a rule, that I can hardly fancy it possible for the length of
their lives and mine to be identical--unless they have wasted their
opportunities sadly!
As Kitty Clement has played a somewhat prominent part in these pages,
it may be well that I should tell all I know of her career up to this
time. Since my restoration I have seen her several times at parties
in London, and have, on these occasions, studied her only from a
distance; because, as I am not anxious to be recognised as her
former maid, Jill, I do not intend to claim kindred, renew the old
acquaintance begun at Lugano, or do anything else that would direct
her attention to me. But the strange charm which she always had for
me is not yet wholly dead; and I still cannot help observing her
course with an interest which I do not feel in that of any one else.
Her great object evidently is, to make her husband a conspicuous
figure in the political world. She has persuaded the Premier to
appoint him to some government office of minor importance; receives
at her parties hosts of members of parliament, fashionables, and
lions, once a week regularly; and does all she can to increase the
influence and popularity of his name in every way possible. If he had
anything like her ability, strength, and wits, and were as much above
the common run of men as she is above that of women, her help would
certainly make him Prime Minister before long. But, unluckily for her
schemes, his talents are in no respect above the average; and though
he discharges the duties of his office in a most painstaking and
praiseworthy manner, yet devotion to work alone will never enable a
man to rank as a great leader. Even, however, if her ambition should
not be fully gratified, she may at all events congratulate herself on
being an extremely great lady, and enjoying a position that many
women would deem the acme of felicity. She interchanges dinners with
royalties; her parties are thronged; and as I frequently see her
goings and comings chronicled in the newspapers, I imagine that she
has attained sufficient celebrity for the general public to wish to
be informed of her movements. And what more than that does the heart
of an ordinary woman desire?
She has presented her husband with an heir to the title, and other
children also; she is spoken of as an exemplary wife and mother;
no breath of slander has ever touched her; and she is--to all
appearance--as perfectly contented with her lot as she certainly has
cause to be. As for the feeling she once had for Captain Norroy, I
have no doubt it has been crushed to nothing, and that when he and
his wife are amongst her guests, she behaves to them exactly as she
does to every one else--that is to say, with a stately graciousness
and _aplomb_ which seem as though beyond the power of human beings or
events to ruffle.
Yet the expression of her face strikes me as being strangely hard and
cold for a person so admired and popular as she is, and who is so
successful in making herself generally agreeable. It is not the look
of a woman who has all she wants, but of one who has incased herself
in impervious armour, which she never lays aside, and which no soft
emotion can penetrate either from within or from without. And
notwithstanding all her prosperity and appearance of contentment, I
cannot help doubting whether she is really and in her secret soul
happy. Does ambition fill and satisfy her life entirely? Or is there
room for any lurking regret for the dream of love that came to her
once--the romance that might have been, which is now buried far out
of sight, and can never come to life again?
And sometimes, too, I wonder, whether her nature was always as stony
as it is now (for even to her husband and children she is rather kind
than loving), whether her softness towards Captain Norroy was only
the exception that proved the rule, and whether she ever has felt or
could feel genuine, warm affection for other people. She seems
incapable of tenderness now; but I am not sure whether before her
marriage she may not have had a capacity for loving which she has now
lost--perhaps killed deliberately for fear of its proving troublesome
to her. And if so, and if in those days she and I had been thrown
together (as might very likely have happened, had it not been for my
step-mother) as equals instead of as mistress and maid, should we
have become friends, I wonder?
Who can say! Now, as always, she is an enigma hard to read.
THE END.
_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh._
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Obvious printing errors have been silently corrected throughout.
Otherwise, inconsistencies and possible errors have been preserved.