The solitude of her own room was no welcome refuge to Carmina, in her
present state of mind. She went on to the schoolroom.
Miss Minerva was alone. The two girls, in obedience to domestic
regulations, were making their midday toilet before dinner. Carmina
described her interview with Mrs. Gallilee, and her meeting with Mr. Le
Frank. “Don’t scold me,” she said; “I make no excuse for my folly.”
“If Mr. Le Frank had left the house, after you spoke to him,” Miss
Minerva answered, “I should not have felt the anxiety which troubles me
now. I don’t like his going to Mrs. Gallilee afterwards--especially when
you tell me of that change in her manner towards you. Yours is a vivid
imagination, Carmina. Are you sure that it has not been playing you any
tricks?”
“Perfectly sure.”
Miss Minerva was not quite satisfied. “Will you help me to feel as
certain about it as you do?” she asked. “Mrs. Gallilee generally looks
in for a few minutes, while the children are at dinner. Stay here, and
say something to her in my presence. I want to judge for myself.”
The girls came in. Maria’s perfect toilet, reflected Maria’s perfect
character. She performed the duties of politeness with her usual happy
choice of words. “Dear Carmina, it is indeed a pleasure to see you again
in our schoolroom. We are naturally anxious about your health. This
lovely weather is no doubt in your favour; and papa thinks Mr. Null
a remarkably clever man.” Zo stood by frowning, while these smooth
conventionalities trickled over her sister’s lips. Carmina asked what
was the matter. Zo looked gloomily at the dog on the rug. “I wish I was
Tinker,” she said. Maria smiled sweetly. “Dear Zoe, what a very strange
wish! What would you do, if you were Tinker?” The dog, hearing his name,
rose and shook himself. Zo pointed to him, with an appearance of the
deepest interest. _“He_ hasn’t got to brush his hair, before he goes
out for a walk; _his_ nails don’t took black when they’re dirty. And, I
say!” (she whispered the next words in Carmina’s ear) _“he_ hasn’t got a
governess.”
The dinner made its appearance; and Mrs. Gallilee followed the dinner.
Maria said grace. Zo, always ravenous at meals, forgot to say Amen.
Carmina, standing behind her chair, prompted her. Zo said “Amen; oh,
bother!” the first word at the top of her voice, and the last two in a
whisper. Mrs. Gallilee looked at Carmina as she might have looked at
an obtrusive person who had stepped in from the street. “You had better
dress before luncheon,” she suggested, “or you will keep the carriage
waiting.” Hearing this, Zo laid down her knife and fork, and looked over
her shoulder. “Ask if I may go with you,” she said. Carmina made the
request. “No,” Mrs. Gallilee answered, “the children must walk. My maid
will accompany you.” Carmina glanced at Miss Minerva on leaving the
room. The governess replied by a look. She too had seen the change in
Mrs. Gallilee’s manner, and was at a loss to understand it.
Mrs. Gallilee’s maid Marceline belonged to a quick-tempered race: she
was a Jersey woman. It is not easy to say which of the two felt most
oppressed by their enforced companionship in the carriage.
The maid was perhaps the most to be pitied. Secretly drawn towards
Carmina like the other servants in the house, she was forced by her
mistress’s private instruction, to play the part of a spy. “If the young
lady changes the route which the coachman has my orders to take, or if
she communicates with any person while your are out, you are to
report it to me.” Mrs. Gallilee had not forgotten the discovery of the
travelling bag; and Mr. Mool’s exposition of the law had informed her,
that the superintendence of Carmina was as much a matter of serious
pecuniary interest as ever.
But recent events had, in one respect at least, improved the prospect.
If Ovid (as his mother actually ventured to hope!) broke off his
engagement, when he heard the scandalous story of Carmina’s birth,
there was surely a chance that she, like other girls of her sensitive
temperament, might feel the calamity that had fallen on her so acutely
as to condemn herself to a single life. Misled, partly by the hope of
relief from her own vile anxieties; partly by the heartless incapability
of appreciating generous feeling in others, developed by the pursuits
of her later life, Mrs. Gallilee seriously contemplated her son’s future
decision as a matter of reasonable doubt.
In the meanwhile, this detestable child of adultery--this living
obstacle in the way of the magnificent prospects which otherwise awaited
Maria and Zoe, to say nothing of their mother--must remain in the
house, submitted to her guardian’s authority, watched by her guardian’s
vigilance. The hateful creature was still entitled to medical attendance
when she was ill, and must still be supplied with every remedy that the
doctor’s ingenuity could suggest. A liberal allowance was paid for the
care of her; and the trustees were bound to interfere if it was not
fairly earned.
Looking after the carriage as it drove away--Marceline on the front
seat presenting the picture of discomfort; and Carmina opposite to
her, unendurably pretty and interesting, with the last new poem on
her lap--Mrs. Gallilee’s reflections took their own bitter course.
“Accidents happen to other carriages, with other girls in them. Not to
my carriage, with that girl in it! Nothing will frighten _my_ horses
to-day; and, fat as he is, _my_ coachman will not have a fit on the
box!”
It was only too true. At the appointed hour the carriage appeared
again--and (to complete the disappointment) Marceline had no report to
make.
Miss Minerva had not forgotten her promise. When she returned from
her walk with the children, the rooms had been taken. Teresa’s London
lodging was within five minutes’ walk of the house.
That evening, Carmina sent a telegram to Rome, on the chance that the
nurse might not yet have begun her journey. The message (deferring other
explanations until they met) merely informed her that her rooms were
ready, adding the address and the landlady’s name. Guessing in the
dark, Carmina and the governess had ignorantly attributed the sinister
alteration in Mrs. Gallilee’s manner to the prospect of Teresa’s
unwelcome return. “While you have the means in your power,” Miss Minerva
advised, “it may be as well to let your old friend know that there is a
home for her when she reaches London.”