THE WRONG WOMAN IN THE WRONG PLACE.
Give me again my hollow tree,
My crust of bread, and liberty.
The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse--POPE.
The new cook's first compliment to Charlotte was, 'Upon my word, you
are a genteel young woman, I dare say you have a lot of sweethearts.'
The indignant denial of the Lady of Eschalott was construed into her
being 'sly,' and Mrs. Cook promised herself to find her out.
Those were not happy days with the little maiden. The nurse looked
down on her, and the cook filled the kitchen with idlers, whose looks
and speeches were abhorrent to her. Sometimes the woman took offence
at her for being high; at others, she forced on her advice upon her
dress, or tried to draw out confidences either on lovers or the affairs
of the family. Charlotte was sadly forlorn, and shut herself up in her
pantry, or in her own little attic with Jane's verbenas which cook had
banished from the kitchen, and lost her sorrows in books hired at the
library. She read, and dreamt, created leisure for reading, lived in a
trance, and awoke from it to see her work neglected, reproach herself,
and strain her powers to make up for what was left undone. Then,
finding her efforts failing, she would be distressed and melancholy,
until a fresh novel engrossed her for a time, and the whole scene was
enacted over again.
Still, it was not all idleness nor lost ground. The sense of
responsibility was doing her good, she withstood the cook's follies,
and magnanimously returned unopened a shining envelope of Mr.
Delaford's. At Christmas, when Mr. and Mrs. Frost went to pay a visit
at Beauchastel, and the cook enjoyed a course of gaieties, the only use
she made of her liberty was to drink tea once with Mrs. Martha, and to
walk over to Marksedge to see old Madison, who was fast breaking, and
who dictated to her his last messages to his grandson.
James and Isabel spent a pleasant lively Christmas with their
hospitable old friends, and James returned full of fresh vigour and new
projects. His first was to offer his assistance to the Vicar, so as to
have a third service on the Sunday; but there were differences of
opinion between them, and his proposal was received so ungraciously,
that a coolness arose, which cut him off from many openings for
usefulness.
However, he had enough to occupy him in his own department, the school.
He was astonished at his boys' deficiency in religious instruction, and
started a plan for collecting them for some teaching for an hour before
morning service. Mr. Calcott agreed with him that nothing could be
more desirable, but doubted whether the parents would compel their sons
to attend, and advised James to count the cost, doubting whether, in
the long run, he would be able to dispense with one day of entire rest.
This was the more to be considered, since James expended a wonderful
amount of energy in his teaching, did his utmost to force the boys on,
in class and in private, drilled his usher, joined in the games, and
gave evening lectures on subjects of general information.
Some responded to his training, and these he strenuously encouraged,
asking them to dinner and taking them to walk; and these were
enthusiastically fond of him, and regarded his beautiful wife as a
being of a superior order. Fitzjocelyn and James used to agree that
intercourse with her was a very important element in their training,
and the invitations were made as impartial as possible, including the
intelligent and well-conducted, irrespective of station. Isabel's
favourite guest was a good, well-mannered lad, son to Mr. Ramsbotham's
follower, the butcher, but, unluckily, Mrs. Richardson and her friends
did not esteem it a compliment when their sons were asked to meet him,
and, on the other hand, James did not always distinguish real merit
from mere responsiveness to his own mind. Dull boys, or such as had a
half sullen, half conservative dislike to change, did not gain notice
of an agreeable kind, and while intending to show strict justice, he
did not know how far he was affected by his prepossessions.
His lectures had emancipated him from evening parties; and, after Mrs.
Frost's departure, visiting gave Isabel little trouble. The calm,
lofty manners that had been admired in Miss Conway, were thought pride
in Mrs. James Frost, and none of the ladies of Northwold even wished to
do more than exchange morning calls with her, and talk among themselves
of her fine-ladyism. She recked nothing of their keeping aloof; her
book and her pen were far pleasanter companions on her alternate
evenings of solitude, and in them she tried to lose her wishes for the
merry days spent with granny and Clara, and her occasional perceptions
that all was not as in their time. James would sometimes bring this
fact more palpably before her.
The separation of the families had not diminished the income of the
household, but the difference in comfort was great. Isabel knew
nothing of management, and did not care to learn. She had been willing
to live on a small scale, but she did not understand personal
superintendence, she was careless of display, and perfectly happy as
long as she was the guest of the grandmother, but she had no
comprehension of petty tidinesses or small economies. Now James,
brought up on a very different scale, knew in detail how the household
ought to live, and made it a duty not to exceed a fixed sum. He had
the eye for neatness that she wanted; he could not believe it a
hardship to go without indulgences to which his grandmother and sister
had not been accustomed. Thus, he protested against unnecessary fires;
Isabel shivered and wore shawls; he was hurt at seeming to misuse her,
resigned his study fire, and still found the coals ever requiring to be
renewed, insisted that his wife should speak to the cook, and mystified
her by talking about the regulation of the draught of the kitchen fire;
and when Isabel understood, she forgot the lecture.
He was a devoted and admiring husband, but he could not coolly discover
innumerable petty neglects and wasteful habits. Impatient words broke
out, and Isabel always received them so meekly that he repented and
apologized; and in the reconciliation the subject was forgotten, but
only to be revived another time. Isabel was always ready to give warm
aid and sympathy in all his higher cares and purposes, and her mild
tranquillity was repose and soothing to him, but she was like one in a
dream. She had married a vision of perfection, and entered on a
romance of happy poverty, and she had no desire to awaken; so she never
exerted her mind upon the world around her, when it seemed oppressive;
and kept the visionary James Frost before her, in company with Adeline
and the transformed Sir Hubert. It was much easier to line his tent
with a tapestry of Maltese crosses, than to consider whether the hall
should be covered with cocoanut matting.
How Christmas passed with Clara, may be seen in the following letter:--
'Cheveleigh, Jan. 1851.
'Dearest Jem,--I can write a long letter to-night, for a fortunate cold
has spared me from one of Sir Andrew's dinner-parties. It is a
reminiscence of the last ball, partly brought on by compunction at
having dragged poor granny thither, in consideration of my unguarded
declaration of intense dislike to be chaperoned by Lady Britton. Granny
looks glorious in black velvet and diamonds, and I do trust that her
universal goodwill rendered the ball more tolerable to her than it was
to me. She, at least, is all she seems; whereas I am so infested with
civilities, that I long to proclaim myself little Clara Frost, bred up
for a governess, and the laughing-stock of her school. Oh! for that
first ball where no one danced with me but Mr. Richardson, and I was
not a mere peg for the display of Uncle Oliver's Peruvian jewels! I
have all the trouble in the world to be allowed to go about fit to be
seen, and only by means of great fighting and coaxing did I prevail to
have my dress only from London instead of Paris.
'And no wonder I shivered all the way to the ball. Fancy Jane
insisting on my going to display my dress to that poor dying Marianne;
I was shocked at the notion of carrying my frivolities into such a
scene, but Jane said her mind ran on it, and it was 'anything to take
off her thoughts from that man.' So I went into her room, and oh! if
you could have seen the poor thing, with her short breath and racking
cough, her cheeks burning and her eyes glistening at that flimsy
trumpery. One bunch of the silver flowers on my skirt was wrong; she
spied it, and they would not thwart her, so she would have the needle,
and the skeleton trembling fingers set them right. They said she would
sleep the easier for it, and she thanked me as if it had really set her
more at rest; but how sad, how strange it seems, when she knows that
she is sinking fast, and has had Mr. Danvers with her every day. He
thinks all is well with her; but it was a melancholy, blank, untaught
mind, to begin to work on. Louis would call her life a mournful
picture of our civilization. She has told it all to Jane: she was of
the mechanic class, just above the rank that goes to Sunday-schools;
she went to a genteel weekly school, and was taken out pleasuring on
Sunday--no ground-work at all. An orphan at fifteen, she never again
knew tenderness. Then came dressmaking till her health failed, and she
tried service. She says, Isabel's soft tones made a paradise for her;
but late hours, which she did not feel at the time, wore her out, and
Delaford trifled with her. Always when alone he pretended devotion to
her, then flirted with any other who came in his way, and worry and
fretting put the finish to her failing health. She had no spirit to
break entirely with him, and even now is pining for one kind word,
which he seems to be too hard and selfish to send to her, in answer to
a letter of forgiveness that she wrote a fortnight back. What a wretch
he must be! Jane says, he tried flirting with poor little Charlotte,
and that she was a little 'took up' with his guitar and his verses; but
then, Jane says, 'Charlotte has somewhat at the bottom, and knows
better than to heed a man as wasn't real religious.' I suppose that is
the true difference between Charlotte and Marianne, and even if we
looked into Delaford's history, most likely we should find him another
nineteenth-century victim to an artificial life. At least, I trust
that Jane has been the greatest blessing, Marianne herself speaks of
her as more than a mother to her; and I believe I told you of the poor
girl's overpowering gratitude, when she found we would not turn her out
to die homeless. We read, and we talk, and Mr. Danvers comes; but I
believe dear old Jane does more for her than all.
'Poor Jane! when her task of nursing is over, I do not know what she
will turn to. The grand servants only keep terms with her because
Uncle Oliver gave notice that no one should stay in the house who did
not show respect to his _friend_ Mrs. Beckett. It takes all her love
for Missus and Master Oliver to make her bear it; and her chief solace
is in putting me to bed, and in airing Master Oliver's shirt and
slippers. You would laugh to hear her compassionating the home
minced-pies! and she tells me she would give fifty pounds rather than
bring Charlotte here. My uncle wished grandmamma to manage the house,
and she did so at first, but she and the servants did not get on well
together; and she said, what I never knew her say before, that she is
too old, and so we have an awful dame who rules with a high hand.
'You ask whether the dear granny is happy. You know she is all
elasticity, and things are pleasanter here to her than to me, but I do
not think she enjoys life as she did at home. It is hard to have her
whole mission reduced to airing those four horses. We have tormented
my uncle out of making us use more than two at a time, by begging for
six and the Lord Mayor's coach; but aired alternately they must be, and
we must do it, and by no road but what the coachman chooses; and this
does not seem to me to agree with her like trotting about the town on
her errands. There is no walking here, excepting in the
pleasure-ground, where all my grandfather's landscape-gardening has
been cut up so as to be a mere vexation to her. The people round are
said to be savage and disaffected, and the quarter of a mile between
the park and the village is subject to miners going home. They did
once holloa at me, and orders were issued that I should walk no more.
I believe that if they saw me fearless, and coming among them for
friendly purposes, they would leave off hooting; but the notion
frightens granny, so I am a prisoner. They are the people to think it
a mockery to be visited by a lady bedizened as I am, and stuck up in a
carriage; so we can do very little except through Mr. Danvers, and my
uncle is always discontented at the sight of him, and fancies he is
always begging. A little sauciness on my part has the best effect when
anything is wanted, for my uncle is very kind to me in his own fashion,
which is not mine.
'We have made something of a nest in the last of the suite of rooms,
the only one habitably small; but it is wonderful where all the time in
the day goes. My uncle likes me to ride with him in the morning, and I
have to help granny air the horses in the afternoon; and in the
evening, when we are lucky enough to dine alone, I play them both
asleep, unless they go to backgammon. Think of granny reduced to that!
We should be very happy when he is detained in his study, but that
granny thinks it is bad for him. Dear granny!
I see the object of her life is to win him back to serious thoughts.
She seems to think of him like a schoolboy who must be lured to find
home pleasanter than idle ways; and she begs me quite sadly to bear
with him, and make him happy, to prevent him from longing after his
counting-house at Lima. She tried to make him promise never to go
back, but he has only promised never to go while she lives, and she
seems to think it would be fatal, and to charge all his disregard of
religious matters upon herself for having sent him out. If you could
see her pleased smile when we extort a subscription, or when she gets
him to church; but when those South American mails come in on
Sundays--alas! Those accounts are his real element, and his moments of
bliss are over the 'Money-market and City intelligence,' or in
discussing railway shares with Sir Andrew. All the rest is an
obstinate and dismal allegiance to the days of Shrievalty, about as
easy to recall as the days when the Pendragons wore golden collars and
armlets. Imitated hospitality turns into ostentation; and the people
who seek after silver covers and French cookery are no more to my taste
than they are, in good earnest, to Uncle Oliver's. The nice people, if
there are any, won't come in our way, except Mr. Henderson; and when we
do pluck up courage to disgust Mr. Coachman by calling on Mrs.
Henderson, we are very happy. But she is a wise woman, and will not
bring her pretty Fanny into our world; and when I press her, behold! I
remember what I used to think of patronage.
'But Louis has promised to come at Easter, and he will teach me a
little more charity, I hope; and, what is better (no, I don't mean
that), will tell me about the dear, dear, trebly dear Terrace and all
the doings. I hope you will begin your Sunday scheme; but granny fears
the bad set will not care, and the good will prefer having their
families together. It is worse than I expected even of Mr. Purvis to
refuse the afternoon service, when you offered to take all the trouble
off his hands; granny hopes you will take care what you are about with
him. Tell Louis we have a famous letter from Mary to show him if he
will bring us all news of every one, and especially of his godchild.
Contrary to custom, you tell us more about her than her mamma does.
'Your most affectionate Sister,
'CLARA.'
Before Easter, Charlotte's poor rival was lying at rest in Cheveleigh
churchyard, and Jane's task of love was at an end.