"Mother, Mother, up in Heaven,
Stand up on the jasper sea,
And be witness I have given
All the gifts required of me."
_Elizabeth Barrett Browning_.
"Before these young gentlewomen come, Rhoda, I want a word with you."
"Yes, Madam."
"I am sure, my dear, that you have too much wit to object to what I am
about to say."
Rhoda had learned to dread this beginning, as it was generally the
prelude to something disagreeable. But she was learning, also, to
submit to disagreeable things. She only said, meekly, "Yes, Madam."
"I suppose, my dear, you will have felt, like a maid of some parts and
spirit as you are, that your dwelling any longer with me and Phoebe in
this house would not be proper."
"Not be proper!" Rhoda's cheek blanched. She had never recognised
anything of the kind. Was she not only to lose her fortune, but to be
turned out of her home? When would her calamities come to an end? "Not
proper, Aunt Anne!--why not?"
This was not altogether an easy question to answer with any reason but
the real one, which last must not be told to Rhoda. Mrs Latrobe put on
an air of injured astonishment.
"My dear!--sure, you would not have me tell you that? No, no!--your own
good parts, I am certain, must have assured you. Now, Rhoda, I wish, so
far as is possible, to spare you all mortification. If you consider
that it would be easier to you to support your altered fortunes
elsewhere, I am very willing to put myself to some trouble to obtain for
you a suitable service; or if, on the other hand, you have not this
sensibility, then my Lady Betty's cottage is at your disposal when she
leaves it. The time that these young gentlewomen are here will be
enough to think over the matter. When they go, I shall expect your
answer."
Had Phoebe wished to tell out to Rhoda a recompense of distress
equivalent to every annoyance which she had ever received from her, she
could have wished for no revenge superior to that of this moment. For
her, who had all her life, until lately, looked forward to dispensing
her favours as the Queen of Cressingham, to be offered apartments in the
Maidens' Lodge as an indigent gentlewoman, was in her eyes about the
last insult and degradation which could be inflicted on her. She went
white and red by turns; she took up the hem of her apron, and began to
plait it in folds, with as much diligence as though it had been a matter
of serious importance that there should be a given number of plaits to
an inch, and all of the same width to a thread. Still she did not
speak.
Mrs Latrobe required no words to inform her of what was passing in
Rhoda's mind. But she forestalled any words which might have come, by
an affectation of misunderstanding her.
"You see, my dear Rhoda," she said, in a would-be affectionate tone, "I
am bound to do all I can for my only sister's only child. I would not
do you so much injury as to suppose you insensible to the kindness I
have shown you. Indeed, if you had been something younger, and had
wished to learn any trade, I would willingly have paid the premium with
you. And 'tis no slight matter, I can assure you. Eighty pounds would
have been the least for which I could have put you with a milliner or
mantua-maker, to learn her trade. But, however, 'tis no good talking of
that, for you are a good nine years too old. So there is nothing before
you but service, without you marry, or to take my Lady Betty's house.
Now, my dear, you may go and divert yourself; we will not talk of this
matter again till the young gentlewomen have ended their visit."
And with a nod of dismissal, Mrs Latrobe rose and passed out of the
room, evidently considering her duties exceeded by her merits, and
leaving Rhoda too stunned for words.
Trade, indeed! If there could be a deeper depth than the Maidens'
Lodge, it was trade, in Rhoda's eyes. Domestic service was incomparably
more respectable and honourable. As to matrimony, which her aunt had,
as it were, flung into the scales as she passed, Rhoda's heart was still
too sore to think of it.
An hour later brought Betty and Molly.
"How do you, Rhoda, dear?" inquired the former, kindly.
"Well!--got over it, Red Currants?" interrogated Molly.
"Over what, I beg?" said Rhoda, rather haughtily.