TESTAMENTARY INTENTIONS.
All this history of the Harmers I have told nearly as I heard it,
passing briefly over such parts as were not essential to the
understanding of the story, and retaining all that was necessary to be
told in order that the relative position of the various inmates of
Harmer Place may be quite understood by any one who may hereafter read
this story of mine. And having done so, I can now proceed with the
regular course of my journal.
That visit of ours to Harmer Place was a very memorable one, and
exercised not a little influence upon my fortunes, although certainly I
little dreamt at the time of our return that evening, that it had done
so. To Polly and I it had been simply an extremely pleasant day. We had
rambled about the garden with Sophy Needham, and had taken tea in the
summer-house, while papa and Mr. Harmer were at dinner. We had then gone
into desert, and, that over, had again rambled out, leaving the
gentlemen over their wine. It was while thus engaged, that a
conversation took place, which I did not hear of for more than a year
afterwards, but which entirely altered my worldly prospects. It was
began by Mr. Harmer, who had been for some time sitting rather silent
and abstracted.
"I think it is high time, my dear doctor, for me to speak to you frankly
and openly, of what my intentions are in reference to the disposal of my
property. I mentioned somewhat of this to you four or five years since,
but I should like now to speak explicitly. I am aware that such matters
are not usually gone into; but I think in many cases, of which this is
one, it is right and better that it should be so. I have no relations
whatever in the world, with the exception of my sisters, who have an
ample life provision, and Sophy Needham, my son's child. My property is
very large; I have the Harmer estates, my own savings in India, and the
accumulation of my brothers, who never lived up to their income for very
many years. In all about seven thousand a year. As I have said, Sophy
Needham is my only connection in the world--you my only friend. To Sophy
I have left half my fortune, the other half I have bequeathed to your
children. Do not start, my dear Ashleigh, or offer any fruitless
objection, my decision is fixed and immovable. For the last thirteen
years my existence has been brightened by your friendly intercourse, in
you I have found a scientific guide and friend; indeed, I may say that
my life as far as this world is concerned, has been entirely made what
it is, tranquil, contented, and happy by your friendship. Ten years ago
you will remember I begged you to retire from practice, and to take up
your abode here with your family, upon any terms you might name, but in
fact as my adopted family. This offer you, from motives I could not but
respect, declined. You loved your profession, and considered it
incompatible with your duty to leave a career of active usefulness.
Things, therefore, went on as before. Towards Sophy my intentions were
not fixed, but she has turned out a very good girl, and I shall
therefore leave her half my fortune, about seventy-five thousand pounds.
Had I any other relation, or any person who could have the smallest
claim upon me, you might hesitate; as it is, not even the most morbid
feeling of delicacy can tell you that you are depriving others of their
expectations. Being so, let the matter be tacitly understood, and say
nothing whatever about it; you ought not to have known of it till my
death, just suppose that you do not know of it now. You will ask me why
have I then told you. For this reason. I wish to benefit your children.
My life is uncertain; but I may live for many years yet, and my money
might come too late to do good. Your son may have spent the best years
of his life struggling in some profession which he does not like; your
daughters may have suffered too. I therefore wish at once to place Harry
with the best man in the profession he wishes to enter, which I have
heard him say is that of a civil engineer, and I shall allow him a
hundred and fifty pounds a year for the present. Your daughters I should
wish sent to some good school in London to finish their education; and
when the time shall come, when such an event may be considered probable,
I should wish it to be publicly known that they will each have upon
their wedding day ten thousand pounds. Your son shall have a like sum
when the time comes for him to enter into a partnership, or start in
business for himself. These sums to be deducted from their moiety of my
fortune at my death. And now, doctor, let us shake hands and not mention
the matter again, and as you do not seem to be drinking your wine, let
us go out and join the young ladies in the garden."
It was not until after several further discussions upon the subject of
Mr. Harmer's kind intentions towards us that papa agreed to accept his
offer. When he at last consented to do so, no time was lost in carrying
out the plans, and in a month or two Harry went up to London to be
articled to a well-known engineer. As for us, it was settled that Miss
Harrison should remain with us until Christmas, and that after the
holidays we should go up to a school near London. How delighted we were
at the prospect, and how very slowly that autumn seemed to pass;
however, at last the time came, and we started under papa's charge for
London. When we were once there, and were fairly in a cab on our way to
school, we felt a little nervous and frightened. However, there was a
great comfort in the thought that there would, at any rate, be one face
we knew, that of Clara Fairthorne, who came from our part of the country
we had met her at some of our Christmas parties, and it was by her
parents the school had been recommended to papa. But although we felt
rather nervous, it was not until we were in sight of the school that our
spirits really fell; and even at the lapse of all these years, I do
think that its aspect was enough to make any girl's heart sink, who was
going to school for the first time.
Any one who has passed along the road from Hyde Park Corner to Putney
Bridge may have noticed Grendon House, and any one who has done so, must
have exclaimed to himself "a girls' school." Palpably a girls' school,
it could be nothing else. With the high wall surrounding it, to keep all
passers-by from even imagining what was going on within, with the trees
which grew inside it, and almost hid the house from view, with its
square stiff aspect when one did get a glimpse of it, and with its small
windows, each furnished with muslin curtains of an extreme whiteness and
primness of arrangement, and through which no face was ever seen to
glance out,--certainly it could be nothing but a girls' school.
On the door in the wall were two brass plates, the one inscribed in
stiff Roman characters "Grendon House;" the other "The Misses Pilgrim,"
in a running flourishing handwriting. I remember after we had driven up
to the door, and were waiting for the bell to be answered, wondering
whether the Misses Pilgrim wrote at all like that, and if so, what their
character would be likely to be. In the door, by the side of the plate,
was a small grating, or grille, through which a cautious survey could be
made of any applicant for admission within those sacred precincts.
On passing through the door, and entering the inclosure, one found
oneself in a small, irregular piece of ground, dignified by the name of
the garden, although, from its appearance, it would be supposed that
this was a mere pleasantry; but it was not so. Indeed, no such thing as
a pleasantry ever was or could be attempted about anything connected
with "Grendon House." Certain it is that nothing in the way of a flower
was ever acclimatized there. The gloom and frigidity of the place would
have been far too much for any flower known in temperate climates to
have supported.
I remember, indeed, Constance Biglow, who had a brother who had just
started on an Arctic expedition, lamented that she had forgotten to ask
him to bring home some of the plants from those regions, as an
appropriate present for the Misses Pilgrim, for their garden. I know at
the time we considered it to be a very good, although a dreadfully
disrespectful, joke towards those ladies.
In spring, indeed, a few crocuses (Miss Pilgrim spoke of them as croci)
ventured to come up and show their heads, but they soon faded away again
in such an uncongenial atmosphere. The only thing which really
flourished there was the box edging to the borders, which grew
luxuriantly, and added somehow to the funereal aspect of the place. It
was no wonder nothing grew there, for the house, and the high walls, and
the trees within them, completely shaded it, and cut it off from all
light and air. Round the so-called flower-beds the gravel path was
wider, and was dignified by the name of the carriage drive, though how
any coachman was to have turned a carriage in that little confined
space, even had he got through the impassable gate, was, and probably
ever will remain, a mystery.
Behind the house was the playground, a good-sized triangular-shaped
gravelled yard, for Grendon House was situated at the junction of two
roads, and the house itself stood across the base of the triangle they
formed. This playground was several times larger than the garden, and
was indeed quite extensive enough for such games as we indulged in. It
was, of course, surrounded by the high wall, with its belt of trees,
underneath which was a narrow strip of border, divided into regular
portions; and here the girls were permitted to prove the correctness of
the axiom, that plants will not live without light or air.
So much for the exterior; inside, if the sensation of gloom and
propriety which pervaded the very atmosphere could have been got rid of,
it would have been really a fine house.
The hall, which was very large, extended up to the top of the house;
from it, on the ground floor, led off the dining and schoolrooms, large,
well-proportioned rooms, but very cold and bare-looking, especially the
former; for the schoolroom walls were nearly covered with maps of
different countries, some rolled up and out of use, others hanging down
open; beside them hung genealogized trees of the various monarchies of
Europe; while in the corner was a large stand with a black board for
drawing diagrams in chalk. Nothing else in either of them but bare
walls, and equally bare forms and tables.
There was another little room opening from the great hall: this was the
cloak-room, where the girls put on their bonnets and shawls before going
out for their walks. It was here that, when they were able to slip out
from the schoolroom, they would meet to talk in English for a change,
and interchange those little confidences about nothing in which
school-girls delight. This room looked into the garden; and to prevent
the possibility of any one who might be--which nobody ever
was--wandering there, looking in at the window, white silver paper, with
coloured flowers under it, was stuck on to the glass, something in the
manner of decalcomanie, only that extraordinary and difficult name was
not at that time invented.
Upstairs was the drawing-room. It was here that the Misses Pilgrim
received visitors to the girls, and here that the lady professors, who
came twice a week to teach music, imparted lessons in singing and on the
pianoforte to the pupils.
This room was a model of propriety and frigidity--if there be such a
word, for no other will describe the effect produced. The curtains were
of white muslin, so stiff and carefully arranged that they might have
been cut out of marble. The chairs were of some light wood, with gilding
on them, and so extremely fragile, that it was only with the greatest
caution and care that any one could venture to sit down upon them; there
were couches too, here and there, but these as seats were altogether out
of the question, being so covered with Berlin work of every kind, and
antimacassars of such stiffness and intricacy of pattern, that no one
would ever have thought of assuming a sitting position even upon the
extreme edge of them.
The room was literally crowded with tables of every imaginable shape and
form, generally on twisted legs, and looking as if a breath would upset
them. On these tables were placed works of art and industry of every
description. Vases of wax flowers and fruit, Berlin wool mats of every
colour and pattern, inkstands of various shapes and sizes, books of
engravings, stuffed birds under glass shades; in short, knicknacks of
every sort and kind, and on a great majority of them were inscribed,
"Presented to Miss Pilgrim, or Miss Isabella Pilgrim, by her attached
pupils on her birth-day;" or, "Presented to the Misses Pilgrim by their
attached pupil so-and-so on the occasion of her leaving school."
Through all this it was next to impossible to move without the greatest
risk of bringing some of the little fragile tables down with a crash,
and visitors would generally, after a vague glance of perplexity round,
drop, or rather lower themselves carefully, into one of the little
minikin chairs, as near as possible to the door.
So chilling was the effect of this room, so overwhelming its atmosphere
of propriety, that many fathers and brothers who have come up from the
country to see their daughters or sisters after a long absence, men with
big voices and hearty manner, have felt so constrained and overpowered
by it, that in place of taking them into their arms with a loud-sounding
kiss, they have been known to hold out their hand in a most formal
manner and to inquire almost in a whisper as to their state of health.
In this drawing-room the elder girls used to practise, and if any
visitor was shown up there the proper form to be observed was to rise
from the music-stool, walk to the door, and then, making a deep curtsey,
to leave the room--a performance not unfrequently completely astounding
any one strange to the ceremonies inculcated at young ladies' schools as
being suitable to occasions like this.
It will be judged from all this that "Grendon House" was a model
academy, and indeed it was. The only wonder is that it did not turn us
all into the stiffest pieces of prim propriety possible; but somehow it
did not; for I think, on looking back, that a merrier and more lively
set of girls it would be difficult to have found, and yet we most
certainly had not much to be merry about. "All work and no play makes
Jack a dull boy." It may be so, but it decidedly did not have that
effect upon Jack's sisters. We certainly did work very hard. I suppose
it was necessary in order to cram all the accomplishments girls are
expected to know into our heads; but however it was, I am quite sure
that in those two years I was at school, I worked more hours and
steadier at them, than Harry ever did in four; he allows it himself, and
I am sure it is generally the case, that girls work infinitely harder
than their brothers, and certainly have no amusement or recreation at
all in proportion. I suppose it is all right, but yet I do think that if
we worked a good deal less, and played a great deal more, we should know
quite as much, and be far more healthy and natural than we are.
However, I am not writing an essay, or I should have a great deal more
to say on this point; as it is I must leave it for abler hands, and go
back to my story.
When we first caught sight of Grendon House our spirits fell many
degrees, and when we entered its solemn portals we felt terribly awed
and uncomfortable. We were, of course, shown up into that dreadful
drawing-room, and I think papa was as much affected by it as we were; he
certainly was not a bit like himself, and he stayed a very short time
talking to Miss Pilgrim, who came up in great state, and in a very stiff
silk dress, which rustled alarmingly as she walked, to receive us. Miss
Pilgrim was small but stately, almost overpoweringly so. Her hair was
arranged in little stiff ringlets on each temple; her nose was very
prominent; her lips thin and rather pinched; her eyes bright and
searching; she was, on the whole, in good keeping with the room, and yet
I thought that, although she looked so sharp, and spoke so shortly and
decidedly, that she was kind at heart, and that I should like her. And I
may say I did; she was, although strict and sharp with us girls--as
indeed she had need to be--kind-hearted and thoughtful, and I parted
with her when I left school with regret. Her sister Isabella was so
exactly the counterpart of herself that one description will do for the
two; and, except that she wore her hair in flat braids instead of in
ringlets, and that she was not quite so sharp and decided, although
equally kind, she might have been easily mistaken for her elder sister.
When papa got up to go away, I could not help crying a little; for,
though I was fifteen, I had never been away from home before. However, I
soon came round after he was once fairly gone. Polly was longer
recovering herself; but she, too, soon got over it, when I told her that
if we cried the girls would be sure to call us cry-babies.
Presently Miss Pilgrim, who had considerately left us for a few minutes
to let us have our cry out, came back again, and took us up to show us
our room, where we could take off our things. She also kindly sent for
Clara Fairthorne, so that we might go down into the schoolroom with some
one we knew. It was rather an ordeal going in there, and seeing all the
faces lifted up from their work to look at the new comers. However, it
was not so bad as we had expected; they did not stare at us
disagreeably, nor did they, when we went out into the playground
afterwards, ask us so many questions as papa had warned us they would.
Indeed, there was no occasion for their doing so, as they had heard all
about us from Clara. One or two of them took us under their special
protection, as it were, for the first few days, and we felt at home very
much sooner than I had expected that we should do. We were about twenty
in all, from Annie Morgan and Selma Colman, the two parlour boarders,
down to Julia Jackson, a West-Indian child of eleven years old, the
darling and pet of the whole school.
I am not going to write a long account of my schooldays. The daily
routine of one girl's school is so much like that of another, that there
is nothing new to be told of it; the little disputes, the rivalries, the
friendships sworn to last for life, but which seldom survive a year or
two of occasional correspondence,--all these things have been so
frequently told, that I shall not repeat them, but shall only mention
briefly such incidents as had an effect upon my after life.
The account of one day's work is a description of all. Breakfast at
eight; school from half-past eight until twelve; then a walk for
three-quarters of an hour. Dinner at one; play for half an hour; school
from two till half-past five; another half-hour's play; tea at six;
school till eight; then to bed.
Looking back upon it now, I wonder how I, and all the countless girls
who go through such slavery as this, keep their health and spirits. Our
walk was no recreation to us; we went, two and two, through the streets,
or into Kensington Gardens--the same walks week after week--till we knew
every stone on the pavement we walked on. It was a dreadfully formal
affair, and I think I would rather have been in school. The only play we
really had was the half-hour after dinner and the half-hour after tea,
and also on Saturday afternoons. Then, indeed, we made up for all the
day's repression,--running, jumping, skipping, laughing, and shouting
like mad girls, till I am sure sometimes we scandalized the whole
neighbourhood, and that passers by on the other side of the high wall
paused in astonishment at such an outburst of joyous cries and laughter.
Even at this time, as at all others during the day, we had to speak
French, not a word of English being allowed to be spoken in "Grendon
House;" and I remember congratulating myself that French girls laughed
the same way as we did, for we should certainly have been obliged to
laugh in French, had such a thing been possible. I was very good friends
with all my schoolfellows, and, indeed, there was very little
quarrelling among us,--just a sharp word or two, and a little extra
stateliness and ceremony for a day or so; but even this was uncommon,
for we had neither time nor opportunity to quarrel. My greatest
favourite was Ada Desborough, who was a month or two younger than
myself. Ada was tall, slight, with a very pretty figure, and a
particularly easy, graceful carriage. She was lively, talkative, full of
fun,--indeed inclined, to be almost too noisy, and it was easy to see
she would turn out a perfect flirt.
Ada and I would sometimes quarrel, and she would take up with some one
else for three weeks or a month, and then come back to me all of a
sudden, and be as affectionate as ever. She was such a warm-hearted girl
it was impossible to be angry with her; and, on the whole, she was by
far my greatest friend all the time I was at Grendon House. It was
through Ada that the only break which ever occurred in the monotony of
our life at Grendon House took place. Ada's mother, Lady Eveline
Desborough, lived in Eaton Square, and Ada generally went home from
Saturday afternoon till Sunday evening. Sometimes, perhaps twice in a
half-year, she would bring an invitation from her mamma for three or
four of us to go there to spend the next Saturday afternoon with her. I
was always of the number, as being Ada's particular friend. We looked
forward to these little parties as a change; but there was not any great
amusement in them.
Lady Desborough was the widow of General Sir William Desborough, and
moved in quite the extreme fashionable world. She was a tall, elegant
woman, with a haughty, aristocratic face. She used, I really think, to
try and unbend to us girls; but her success was not great: she was so
tall and haughty-looking, so splendidly dressed, and her attempt at
cordiality was so very distant that we were all quite awed by it.
The programme of the afternoon's amusement was generally as follows. We
would go first either to the Polytechnic or the Zoological Gardens, or,
in fact, wherever we chose, under the escort of Lady Desborough's
housekeeper, a respectable middle-aged woman, who used to let us wander
about and do just as we liked. This part of the day was really
enjoyable; when we got back to Eaton Square, we had our tea together in
the small room behind the dining-room, where Lady Desborough dined in
solitary state. This was great fun. Ada made tea with a vast affectation
of ceremony, and the laughing and noise we made were prodigious, and
would have scandalized Miss Pilgrim, could she have heard us; and we
should not have ventured to indulge in it, had not Ada assured us that
the partition was so thick that it was quite impossible for our voices
to penetrate to the next room. When tea was over, we quieted down
gradually at the thought of what was in store for us, for when Lady
Desborough had finished her dinner, and gone up into the drawing-room,
we were sent for, and went up-stairs, putting on our best company
manners, as inculcated at "Grendon House," and seated ourselves on the
edges of the chairs, in the primest of attitudes, with our feet
perfectly straight, and our hands folded before us. We would first have
a little frigid conversation, and Lady Desborough would then ask us to
oblige her by playing on the piano, and as we always, by Miss Pilgrim's
order, brought a piece of music each with us, there was no possibility
of evading the infliction, but each had in turn to perform her piece;
and then we sat stiff and uncomfortable, till the welcome intelligence
came that Miss Pilgrim's servant was at the door with a cab.
After the first year I was at school had passed, and when we were about
sixteen, the stiffness of these visits wore away, but we never were
quite comfortable with Lady Desborough; and, indeed, did not enjoy our
visit as much even as we had done the year before, for we were too old
to go now sightseeing under the housekeeper's care, and our merry teas
were exchanged for stiff dinners with Lady Desborough.
Ada had one brother, whom I have not yet spoken of. He was five years
older than she was, and she always spoke of him in enthusiastic terms;
but I never saw him except the twice I went to Eaton Square, in my first
half-year. He was then rather more than twenty, and seemed a quiet young
man, and I thought a little shy, and out of his element with us five
girls. He was tall, and dark like his sister, but with a thoughtful,
studious face, very unlike hers. Ada said that at ordinary times he was
full of fun. All I can say is at these two visits I saw nothing of it.
He had, I believe, entered the Guards, but after a short time determined
to see some active service, and accordingly exchanged into the Lancers,
I understood from Ada, very much to his mother's dissatisfaction.
I have now briefly told all the events which occurred in my two years at
school, which had in any way a bearing upon my after-life. I have told
them all at once, in order that I may not have to go back to my
schooldays again, which, indeed, were monotonous enough. I have read and
heard that in some schools the girls engage in all sorts of fun and
flirtation and adventures. It may be so; I do not know. I can only say
we had no such goings on at "Grendon House," but, although naturally
lively and full of fun enough, were certainly a quiet, well-conducted,
ladylike set of girls, and no such nonsense, as far as I ever heard,
entered into any one of our heads.