After the plain manner in which the Reverend Henry Lambent had shown
himself disposed to take the part of the young schoolmistress against
his sisters, the attacks made by Rebecca and Beatrice were not so open;
but they found many little ways of displaying in a petty spirit that
they were by no means her friends.
Ladies by birth, it was hardly to be expected that they should stoop to
pettiness, but years of residence in a little country place with few
people of their own class for associates, and that mutual friction which
is an imperceptible popular educator in manners, had made them what they
were, and disposed to grow more little of mind as the years went on.
Their lives were too smooth and regular, too uneventful. A school
examination, a blanket club, and a harvest festival, were the great
points of their existence, and though they visited in the parish, and
were supposed to make themselves acquainted with the cares and sorrows
of the poor, their calls were made in a perfunctory spirit, and they did
not possess that simple power of appealing to the heart which wins the
confidence of rich and poor. Unfortunately, then, they grew narrower as
their years became more, and, at the same time, from the want of some
good, genuine, honest troubles to take them out of themselves, acidity
began to cark and corrode their natures, and work a considerable change.
If Rebecca Lambent had met with a man who possessed good firm qualities
and been married, she would doubtless have turned out a quiet matronly
body, ready to smile at trifles, and make the best of things; but
unfortunately the right _he_ had never presented himself, and Rebecca
had become a thorough district-visiting old maid, as narrow as could be,
and ready to look upon a child who had not read "The Pilgrim's Progress"
as on the high road to destruction.
Beatrice Lambent's heart was still tender. Rebecca said that she quite
hated men. Beatrice thought the declaration quite suitable, as far as
her sister was concerned, but her own hatreds were directed at the other
sex, and Hazel Thorne was made the scapegoat in her eyes to bear the
sins of others. For as the days glided by, she felt a growing dislike
to the young schoolmistress, who was always committing some grievous
error, her last being that of accepting the glass of water offered to
her by George Canninge.
It would be going far to say that Beatrice Lambent would gladly have put
poison in that water had she dared, but certainly she would gladly have
dashed it in the recipient's face.
It was terrible to her that George Canninge--the hope to which her
somewhat ardent imagination was now clinging as probably the last likely
to come in her way--should take so much notice of this stranger girl,
finding in her an attraction that asked from him the attentions he would
in an ordinary way have paid to the vicar's sister; and more than once
she had shed tears on Mrs Canninge's breast, when that lady bade her be
of good cheer, and not to take any notice of these acts.
"It is a mere nothing, my dear Beatrice," said Mrs Canninge. "George
is naturally very chivalrous, and he seems to have taken it into his
head that this girl needs his help and protection."
"But it is so cruel to me," sighed Beatrice. "If you could let him
think it caused me pain, he might not act so again."
"My dear child," replied Mrs Canninge, "you do not know my son so well
as I. Poor boy, he is very headstrong, and fond of asserting himself.
Depend upon it if I were to attempt to lead him towards you, the
consequences would be disastrous. We should be setting him from sheer
obstinacy towards this girl, who by-the-way appears to me to be either
very innocent and weak, or else crafty and clever to a degree."
"But surely you cannot think she dare aspire to a thought of your son
wishing to be attentive to her."
"Oh no, my dear child. That would be impossible. But there, do not
trouble yourself about it. You will see that George has forgotten all
about her in a few weeks."
Beatrice promised that she would not trouble, but went on growing more
exercised in spirit day by day. She took herself to task also about
several little acts of pettiness in which she had detected herself, and
made a vow that she would not be so contemptible again, but preserve
towards Hazel Thorne a ladylike dignity of manner that would be more in
keeping with her position as sister of the vicar of Plumton All Saints.
Human nature is, however, very weak, and the nature of Beatrice Lambent
was a little weaker. She had always her sister Rebecca at her elbow--a
lady who was rapidly becoming the incarnation of old-maidish pettiness
and narrow-minded local policies--and strive how she would, Rebecca's
constant droppings kept wearing a nature which, though desirous of being
firm, was not hardened like unto stone.
The sisters attended the schools with their old readiness and every now
and then, as if something within prompted her to be constantly watching
for a chance of attack, Beatrice found herself making unpleasant remarks
to or of Hazel Thorne and then going home angry and bitter, as she
realised how ladylike and quiet the schoolmistress remained under every
attack.
For, calling up the whole strength of her character, Hazel had
determined to persevere. She had several times been so cruelly
mortified by the treatment of the sisters that she felt that she must
go; but this was her first school, and she knew that she was bound to
stay there a sufficient time to obtain good testimonials for a second.
The vicar came down on the day following the examination, and told her
that the inspector had expressed himself greatly disappointed at the
state of the school.
"I am sorry to say, Miss Thorne, that he casually let drop his intention
of speaking rather hardly respecting our state, which--I am afraid I
must tell you his exact words."
"If you please, sir," said Hazel quietly; and she raised her eyes with
the strange effect of making him lower his, and speak in a quick,
indirect way.
"He said that the state the school was the more to be deplored from the
fact that we had secured a young lady of evident power of teaching. The
object lesson, he said, was most masterly, and therefore--"
The vicar stopped and raised his eyes for a moment to meet the dear,
candid look that seemed to search his soul.
"Pray tell me all, sir."
"I--I hesitate. Miss Thorne," he said, "because I do not think the
inspector's opinion was just."
"I thank you, sir," said Hazel gravely.
"He--he suggested that you could not be giving your heart to your work,
and that in consequence the children were far more backward than in
either of the neighbouring schools."
"It must be from want of ability, sir," said Hazel; "for I cannot charge
myself with neglecting my duties in the slightest degree."
"Exactly. I am sure of it. I know you have not, Miss Thorne. I merely
repeat the inspector's words as a kind of duty, and I leave it to you to
make any alterations you may think best in the direction of your
teaching, for I sincerely hope that we may have a better account to show
on Mr Barracombe's next visit."
He smiled gravely, bowed, and went away with a longing desire to shake
hands, but this he kept down, and walked hurriedly home.
The vicar's sisters were not so agreeable in their remarks upon their
first visit after the inspection. They did not attack Hazel with rebuke
upon the poor way in which the girls had shown up, but condoled with her
in that peculiarly aggravating manner adopted by some women towards
those they do not admire.
"We were so sorry for you, Miss Thorne," said Rebecca; "my heart quite
bled to see how badly the children answered."
"And it seemed to me such a pity," said Beatrice, "that they will be so
inattentive to the many orders you must have given them about their
needlework. Did it not strike you as being exceedingly grubby?"
That word "grubby" was brought out in a way that was absolutely
wonderful. The pronunciation was decidedly Parisian in the rolling of
the r, and Miss Beatrice seemed to keep the word upon her tongue,
turning it about so as to thoroughly taste how nasty it was before she
allowed it to pass forth into the open air.
"The girls do make their work exceedingly dirty before it is done," said
Hazel quietly. "I deeply regretted, too, that they should have answered
so badly. I am afraid that it was often from their not understanding
the questions."
"Oh, I don't think that, Miss Thorne," said Rebecca, with a kind of
snap. "You'll excuse me, I set it down to their ignorance."
"And yet, Miss Lambent, I next day asked the girls as many of the
inspector's questions as I could recall, and they answered them with the
greatest ease."
"Oh, really, Miss Thorne, I cannot agree with you there," said Beatrice,
with an unpleasant smile. "If they could answer you, why could they not
answer the inspector?"
"From inability to understand him, ma'am."
"I could understand every question. Rebecca, could not you!"
"Every word, sister. I thought Mr Barracombe singularly clear and
perspicuous. The very model of a school inspector."
Hazel bowed.
"I shall try very hard to make them more ready in their answers by
another time," she said with humility.
"I hope you will, I am sure, Miss Thorne," said Beatrice, "for it must
have been very painful to you, even as it is to us, to know that you
have had a bad report of your school. May we--do you object to our
taking a class each for a very little while?"
"Which class would you like, ma'am?" said Hazel gravely, in reply.
"Oh, whichever you please, Miss Thorne; we never like interfering
between the mistress and her pupils, and wish to be of help so as to get
the children on--do we not, Rebecca?"
"Decidedly, Beatrice. To help you. Miss Thorne: certainly not to usurp
your position. I thought if we could take a class for you now and then
in Scripture history it might be useful to you. Perhaps--I say it with
all deference. Miss Thorne, to one who has been trained--you are not so
strong in Scripture history as we are."
"I feel my weakness in many subjects, Miss Lambent," replied Hazel.
"Oh no, don't say that," said Beatrice, with a flash of her cold blue
eyes. "You are so very clever. Miss Thorne. We were quite struck by
your object lesson. But Scripture history, you know. We have been
always with our brother, and we have made it so deep a study that it has
come natural to us to have all these theological matters at our tongues'
ends. Catechism, too--I think, Rebecca, we remarked that the girls were
much behind in `Duty towards my Neighbour' and `I desire.'"
"Very much so, Beatrice; and `Death unto Sin' was dreadful."
"So was `To examine themselves,'" said Beatrice. "I think, Miss Thorne,
we might be of some assistance there."
"I shall be very glad of your help. Miss Lambent," said Hazel, who was
quite unmoved. "Pray do not think I resent or should resent your coming
at any time. No amount of time could be too much to spend upon the
children."
"That's her nasty, cunning assumption of humility," thought Beatrice.
"She hates our coming, but she dare not say so."
"Is there any other branch where we might assist you, Miss Thorne?"
asked Rebecca. "There are so many girls, and you are--you will excuse
me for saying so--you are very young, and I could not help noticing--
pray before I go any farther fully understand that we would not on any
account interfere. As you must have seen, our brother the vicar objects
to the proper duties of the schoolmistress being interfered with."