_MY NEW CHARGE._
* * * * * * SHIRE,
_March 19._
I HAVE been here three days, and have not been able before to write in
my journal. I will say naught of the leave-taking at home. It was bad
enough, and I don't want to live it over again. Oh, how weary I was
when I arrived here, though I enjoyed the journey, too. I rode part of
the way on horseback by myself, and sometimes on a pillion behind Mr.
Carey's servant, as far as Exeter, and from thence I came in the wagon.
They were all very kind to me, and at Exeter, where I stayed two days,
Mrs. Carey made me most kindly welcome; so that it was like a new grief
to part with her. She asked me many questions about the parish, and
specially about the poor people. She would know something of the gentry
and farmers as well, but here Mr. Carey checked her.
"Don't tempt the child to gossip, my love," said he.
Mrs. Carey blushed and laughed, but took all in good part. For my part
I was not sorry, for I know my tongue sometimes runs too fast, and I
hardly ever talk about "people" without saying something I am sorry for
afterwards.
I saw the Cathedral, which is very grand and beautiful. I hoped we
might meet the Bishop, but he is away on his visitations.
From Exeter I came in my Lord's wagon to Stanton Court. It was late
when we arrived, and I could see little of the house, save that it was
a grand one, with many lighted windows, and with large trees about it.
We went up a long avenue, and round to a side door which opened into
a square paved hall. Here I waited a good while, till I was ready to
faint from weariness and hunger.
At last, an elderly woman appeared, and seeing me standing there alone,
she asked me very kindly what I wanted, and whom I wanted to see. I
made myself known to her, and gave her the note for my Lady which I had
brought from Mr. Carey.
"Oh yes. You are the young lady from Chester, who is to live with my
Lady Betty. But you should not be here among the servants. Come with
me, and I will show you your room, and provide you some supper, for I
am sure you must be tired and hungry."
I followed her through a door, across the great hall, up-stairs, and
through passages, till I was thoroughly turned round and did not
know where I was at all. At last we entered a turret room, where was
a bright fire, which was all I could see at first, my eyes were so
dazzled.
"I caused a fire to be kindled, lest the room might be damp, as it has
not been used lately," said my companion. "You will find everything
comfortable. 'Tis my Lady's pleasure that all under her roof should be
so, each according to their degree. I will cause your mails to be sent
up, as well as some refreshment, and you will do well to change your
travelling dress, and be ready in case my Lady should wish to see you
to-night."
"Is my Lady Betty's room near to this?" I ventured to ask.
"Yes, but I was not speaking of her, poor dear child, but of her
mother, my Lady Stanton."
She lingered a moment, arranging the furniture, and then coming near
me, she said, in a low tone:
"My dear, I do hope you will be kind and patient with poor Lady Betty.
She is one by herself, and she hath so few pleasures, poor thing. You
will, wont you?"
"Indeed I will," said I. "I love children dearly."
"That is well. But she is not like a healthy child, you see, and I
sometimes think that her mind is as badly twisted as her body. Her late
governess was very sharp with her, and I know she did her harm: and so
my Lady thought, for she sent her away very soon. But I will say no
more. I am the housekeeper, my dear. I am a far-away cousin of my Lord,
but I never presume on my relationship, though they are all very kind
to me. Do you ask for Mrs. Judith, if you wish to find me. Mr. Carey,
with whom you travelled, is a nephew of mine. Now I must send your
supper, and let my Lady know that you are come. She has asked for you
to-day."
She went out, and presently came up a man with my mails, followed by a
maid with a tray containing hot soup and other good things.
"Here is your supper, mistress," said she, pertly enough. "'Tis easy to
see you have already got into Mrs. Judith's good graces."
"Set it on the table," said I, thinking her freedom very impertinent.
She gave her head a toss, but said no more, and presently I heard
her laughing with the man outside the door. "Pretty well for a poor
parson's daughter," I heard them say. I opened my mails, and dressed
myself neatly in one of my new gowns, and then sat down to enjoy the
good supper provided for me. I had hardly finished, when Mistress
Judith opened my door.
"You are to go to my Lady in her dressing-room at once," said she.
"Dear me, how nice you look! But come, follow me, and mind the steps
at the door of my Lady's room, and don't be over bashful when my Lady
speaks to you."
Mrs. Judith was so evidently flurried, that I felt flurried myself,
but I tried to compose myself. It came over me, that here was one of
the occasions on which I needed the help of that great Master whom I
was to serve, and I murmured the prayer for grace I was accustomed to
use every morning; and I don't know how it was, it seemed to quiet me
directly.
"Mind the steps," said Mrs. Judith, as she opened the door; and it
was well she did warn me, or I should have greeted my new mistress by
falling on my nose before her.
As it was, I made my courtesy, and followed my conductor into the
room where sat my Lady Stanton. She almost dazzled my eyes, she was
so beautiful and so richly dressed. She sat by her toilet-table, and
seemed to be about undressing for the night, for her maid was getting
out the things, and honored me with a stare behind her mistress' back.
"Come near to me, Mistress Merton," said my Lady, speaking with a
clear, sweet voice, which struck me at once as having a ring of sadness
in it. "You need not wait now, Brewster," she added, speaking to the
dressing-maid. "I will call when I need you."
My Lady asked me kindly about my journey, and my mother, as if she
meant to set me at my ease. Then she said:
"I suppose you have very little notion of what you are to do?"
"Very little, my Lady," I answered, which was the truth.
My Lady smiled. "You will find out by degrees. You are to spend most of
your time with my little daughter—to amuse her and keep her contented,
and to teach her what you can, and what she is able to learn without
too much trouble. You will take your meals with Mrs. Judith, or else
with the family, when we have no company. You will have certain hours
to yourself, and are at liberty to walk out, so you go not too far
from home, and I shall be glad if you can persuade Lady Betty to go
out also. You will come to prayers with the rest of the family every
morning. Mrs. Judith will show you where you are to sit. That is all I
have to say to you at present, but I will see you again. I dare say you
are wearied with your ride, and it is late."
She signed for me to go, and I followed Mrs. Judith back to my room,
which was quite in another part of the house.
When I was alone again, I thought over all I had heard, and I could not
but feel that my position would probably be a hard one. It did not seem
that I was to have any authority over the child, though I was expected
to teach her. I was to have nothing to do with the servants, and yet I
was not to be one of the family.
I did not see my way at all, but I remembered what dear mother once
said—that if we could see but one step before us, we were to take that
step, and then the next would be made plain.
So I consoled myself with thinking that at any rate I had nothing to do
to-night but to make myself comfortable. I unpacked some of my chief
treasures—my few books, my work-box, and especially my new Bible, and a
pretty Prayer-book which Mr. Smith gave me. My room is a very neat and
pretty one—a turret room, with a closet, and two deep, narrow windows.
There is a small bed with green hangings, a chair, table, and chest of
drawers, and what I prized most, a kind of desk, or cabinet, with a
place on which to write, and a good many little drawers and shelves.
I liked the aspect of my room, and after I had said my prayers, and
read my Bible verses, I began to feel more at home, and to think that
perhaps I might be happy here after all. I could not but shed a few
tears when I thought how far-away were mother and all my friends, and
then the thought came across me, that we were all in the presence of
the same Heavenly Father, and that His eye sees all at one glance, as
it were. I never so strongly felt his presence as at that moment; and
I did pray earnestly that He would make me to love Him more, that He
would guide me, and make my way plain before me.
I did not sleep till late—there seemed to be so many strange noises,
the wind did so roar in the chimney and among the great trees; and when
it fell, there was another sound which I could not understand—a kind of
long, low roar, which rose and fell, but never wholly ceased. At last,
my weariness overcame me, but it seemed as if I had not slept more than
half an hour, when I was wakened by the loud, passionate crying of a
child.
I saw the sun was shining, and springing up, I hastened to dress. I had
hardly done so, the child crying all the time, when there came a knock
at the door, and some one hastily opened it.
"I crave your pardon, mistress, but will you please come to my young
Lady directly?" said a decent, kind-faced woman, who looked like a
servant. "She has heard that you are come, and is determined to see
you. Do make haste, before my Lord is waked by her noise."
"I will come at once," said I. And I laid down my Bible, having read
only one verse—"'Call upon me in the day of trouble, so will I hear
thee.'"
"Is that Lady Betty crying?" I asked, as the screams struck more loudly
on my ear, upon opening the door.
"Yes, she is in one of her takings, poor thing. Do pacify her if you
can, for I can't, and that's the truth. You see her old nurse is lately
dead, and she don't take to me yet."
She opened, as she spoke, first a door covered with green baize, and
then one of wood, and ushered me into a large, airy room. It was
the finest I had over seen, except my Lady's, but I had no eyes for
anything except the child who sat upright in the bed, her face red with
passion, her poor little hands, as thin as bird's claws, clutching the
bed hangings, as if she would pull them down, while she screamed at the
top of her voice, like one distracted.
"See here, Lady Betty! Here's a pretty young lady come to see you. Now
be good, and speak prettily to her, wont you?"
But Lady Betty only screamed out some inarticulate words.
"There, see what you can do with her," said the maid, in a low voice.
"I dare not go near her, that is the truth. She is like a wild-cat."
I remembered how mother used to deal with me in my "tantrums," as
Esther used to call them, and going up to the bed, I quietly sat myself
down upon it, and looked at Lady Betty, without saying a word. At first
she did not seem to notice me, but as I sat quite still and looked
steadfastly at her, she presently ceased crying, and looked at me in a
kind of wonder.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I am Margaret Merton," I answered. "I have come to see you, but I can
tell you no more till you stop crying."
"I want my mother," she said, pitifully.
"My Lady is not awake yet, I dare say," I answered. "I am sure you
would not like to wake her with crying. That is not a pleasant way of
being roused."
I saw I had gained her attention. "Did I wake you?" she asked.
"Yes, and I could not think at first where I was. I am not used to hear
children cry."
"Haven't you any children at your house?" she asked.
"Yes, I have two twin sisters about as old as you, and a little
brother, but they do not cry."
She was interested directly, and began to ask me questions. I talked to
her till she was quiet, and had forgotten her passion, and then I said,
"I will tell you more when you are dressed."
"But I don't want to be dressed," said she, putting up her lip. "Mary
hurts me so. I want my own old Mary!"
"But you can't have her, my Lady, because she is not here," argued the
maid. "She is dead and gone, as you know very well." Then to me:
"Do persuade her. My Lady will be displeased."
"Will you let me dress you, Lady Betty?" I asked.
"Won't you take hold of my arms hard and hurt me?" she asked, looking
doubtfully at me.
"Not if I can help it. But if I do, you must tell me, and I will be
more careful."
She submitted with a good grace, and I took her in my lap and dressed
her like a baby, Mary handing me the things. The tears were very near
my eyes as I was doing it, for I remembered how I used to dress my poor
little sister Phillis, the one next older than the twins, who died of a
waste a year before my father.
I did not wonder that Lady Betty dreaded to be touched, when I saw how
thin she was—nothing but skin and bone. She is terribly hunchbacked,
too. Her backbone is turned to one side, and curves out so that she has
a great bunch on her shoulders. She cried out once or twice, but on the
whole we got through pretty well. When I had done, she put up her poor
face and kissed me, saying that I had hardly hurt her at all. I was
glad to see that Mary looked relieved and pleased instead of seeming
jealous.
"That is my good little Lady!" said she. "Now, I will bring your
breakfast." And she hastened away.
"Don't you say your prayers?" I asked the child, when we were alone
together.
"Why, no!" she said, as if surprised. "I cannot go to the chapel."
"But you might say them here. Your Heavenly Father will know what you
say as well here as in the chapel."
"Well, I will say them, if you will hear me, as Mary used. I like you,
and I will do as you bid me."
I thought I had made a good beginning. I set her on the side of the
bed, as she could not kneel, and kneeling by her, with her hands
clasped in mine, I made her say after me the Lord's prayer, and
another, which dear mother taught me as a child. Then I made her say,
"God bless my father and mother, and all my friends, and make me a good
girl."
She was very serious and reverent. After we had finished, she asked me
to carry her to the window that she might look out.
"Cannot you walk?" I asked.
"Yes, but it hurts me. I like to be carried best."
She was nothing to lift, so I humored her by carrying her to the
window. It was the first chance I had to look out, and I exclaimed
at the beauty of the view which met my eyes. The green grass of the
lawn—oh, so green—stretched away to the woods, of which the buds were
at least two weeks in advance of those I had left at home, and in
some places showed a faint tinge of their summer's hue. On one side I
could just catch a glimpse of a fine formal garden, with statues, and
a fountain, and high clipped hollys and yews. The church tower peeped
from the trees at the end of the long avenue, and away at the horizon
lay a broad belt of glittering blue. I was so taken by surprise that I
did not think what it was, and asked Lady Betty.
"Why, that is the sea!" said the child. "Did you never see the sea
before? I love to sit and look at it, and at night I lie and listen to
the sound of the waves, till I long to fly away over there, where the
birds go. Would you not like to fly, Margaret Merton?"
"You are to say Mistress Merton," said Mary, who now came in with the
breakfast.
"I shall say what I like!" retorted the peevish child. "Margaret is a
pretty name, and I love to say it. I may call you Margaret, may I not?"
"Surely, my love, if your mother does not object."
"My mother wont care. Every one lets me do as I please, only my aunt
Jemima, and you need not mind her."
"Come now and have your breakfast," said I.
"I don't want my breakfast. I am not hungry."
"But you will be hungry by and by," I urged. "And besides, your mother
will not be pleased if you do not eat your good bread and milk. It is
that which makes little girls fat and rosy."
"I shall never be fat and rosy, I know!" said Lady Betty, in so sad
a tone for a child, that the tears came to my eyes. "But never mind,
Margaret, I will eat it if you want me to. Only please sit by me and
talk to me!"
I was quite ready to do that, and we grew very merry over the bread and
milk, Mary putting the room to rights meantime. I was telling my Lady a
long story about our old cat and her kittens, and how she carried them
all back to the rectory in her mouth when we moved.
I had just come to the most interesting part of the story, when the
door opened, and a lady entered whom I had not seen before. She seemed
to me about thirty-five, though I have since learned that she is not
nearly so old. She was very plain, with hair, eyes and skin which
seemed all of a color, and there was a wonderful formal, precise air
about her.
I broke off my story and rose, of course, while Lady Betty greeted the
new-comer with:
"Now, Aunt Jemima, do go away! Margaret is telling me such a pretty
tale, and I want to hear the end of it."
"Margaret, forsooth! And pray who is this young person with whom you
are so intimate already?" asked the lady, glancing at me, as if she
suspected me of committing some great impropriety.
"Why, Margaret Merton, of course!" answered the child, pettishly.
"Oh, I understand. The young damsel who was expected a week ago. How
did it happen, Mistress Margaret Merton, that you did not arrive at the
time appointed?"
I explained to her that I had waited for Mr. Carey, who had changed his
plans at the last moment.
She seemed to consider my excuse as of little consequence, for she
hardly heard me through before she turned to Lady Betty.
"Well, child, and how do you find yourself this morning?" Then, without
waiting for an answer, she turned again to me:
"It appears to me, Mistress Merton, that it would be more seemly for
you to 'stand' in attendance upon your young mistress, than to be
sitting thus familiarly by her side."
I felt my face grow scarlet at the reproof. The truth is that I had
never thought of Lady Betty as my mistress at all, but only as a poor
suffering child who was to be made comfortable. And I had treated
her just as I would have treated one of our own twins, or one of the
village children in a fit of the earache. I knew not what to say, but
Lady Betty answered for me:
"I choose to have her sit by me, Aunt Jemima, and that is enough. She
is good to me, and I love her, and she shall do as 'I' choose, wont
you, Margaret?"
I did not know what to say or do, for I had never heard a child speak
to a grown person in that way. I thought the best way was to say
nothing.
Lady Jemima reproved the child sharply for her impertinence, and even
went so far as to shake her. The child screamed loudly, at which I
could not wonder, for the shaking must have hurt her very much, so thin
and weak as she was. I thought, for my part, Lady Jemima deserved the
shaking quite as much as Lady Betty; and I confess I should like to
have given it her myself. At that moment my Lady Stanton appeared at
the open door.
"What is all this?" she asked.
Lady Betty at once began to tell her story, and Lady Jemima hers.
My Lady said nothing till it came to the shaking. Then her great dark
eyes flashed, and she turned upon her sister-in-law, and bade her never
to touch the child again at her peril.
Lady Jemima at first began to justify herself, but stopped suddenly,
burst into tears, and ran out of the room.
My Lady tried to quiet the child, who was still crying, and at last
succeeded by telling her that her father would hear her, and be very
angry. Then she bade me go and get my breakfast, and she would stay
with Lady Betty. She followed me to the door and closed it after her.
"This is not a good beginning!" said she. "What did you do to displease
my sister and make all this trouble?"
"I told her, adding that I was very sorry, but I had no thought of
doing anything wrong, but only of pleasing Lady Betty, who would have
me sit down with her, and tell her a story while she ate her bread and
milk."
"Well, well!" said she. "'Twas no great matter to make such an ado
about, but you must manage as quietly as you may. I am glad that Betty
takes to you, and I hope you may be able to teach her something: but be
very gentle with her, and above all, try to keep her quiet, for nothing
vexes my Lord so much as her screams. There, go and get your breakfast,
and look about you if you choose. I shall be with Betty for the next
hour."
She went back to Lady Betty and shut the door. I did not know what to
do, for I had been so confused the night before that I had not observed
which way we had come, and had no notion in what part of the house
to look for Mrs. Judith's room. As I stood hesitating, Lady Jemima
appeared again, her eyes red with crying.
"What's the matter?" she asked, in a more gentle voice than I had yet
heard her use: "Why do you stand here?"
"Because I do not know which way to go, my Lady!" I answered. "I am to
go to Mrs. Judith's room for my breakfast, and I don't know where to
find it."
"I will show you," she said. "Follow me."
"But that is taking too much trouble for you, my Lady," said I.
"I choose to do it," she returned. "It is fit that I should humble
myself as a penance for so forgetting myself before you this morning.
Let it be a warning to you."
I did not understand what was to be the warning, and there was
something very strange to my ears in the way Lady Jemima talked of
doing penance. However I said no more, but followed her down-stairs,
noting the turns this time, that I might not be at a loss again. We met
several persons who spoke to Lady Jemima, and looked rather curiously
at me, especially one tall, stately gentleman, who said to her, in a
laughing way:
"Good morning, my Lady Abbess. Have you found a new penitent, or
novice, or whatever you please to call her?"
"Certainly a novice, brother, but I fear not much of a penitent,"
replied Lady Jemima, primly. "'Tis Betty's new governess, or waiting
gentlewoman, which ever you please to call her."
"So!" said my Lord, as I now perceived him to be, looking at me with
more attention. "You have undertaken a hard task, my young lady. I
would as soon be nurse to a wild-cat. But 'tis no wonder the poor
thing is cankered and crabbed, considering her misfortune. Be kind and
faithful to her, and you shall lose nothing thereby, I promise you."
I courtesied, but did not speak. As mother says, "Mumchance is a safe
game."
"Here is Mistress Judith's room," said Lady Jemima, opening the door.
"Many thanks, madam," I began, but she cut me short at once.
"You owe me no thanks: I did it to please myself." Then more
graciously: "I will see you again, and perhaps I may be of use to you.
I daresay you need instruction in your religious duties."
I courtesied again, and she left me. I could not but think that
pleasing oneself was an odd way of doing penance.
Mrs. Judith was very kind to me, and provided me a nice breakfast.
When I had eaten, I thought I would look about me a little, as my Lady
had said. The trees of the park came up quite close on this side of
the house, and I found myself directly in a little wood, where grew in
profusion primroses and many other flowers which had not begun to think
of coming out in the North. I gathered two pretty little nosegays, one
for my own room, and one for Lady Betty. And finding some snail shells,
I put them in my pocket, thinking that they might amuse the child. I
could have spent my whole hour in the wood, but I remembered that my
clothes were yet to be put in order.
So I went back to my room and unpacked all my things, arranging them as
I was used to do in my old room in the Rectory. Then, having still a
few minutes, I read the one hundred and third Psalm, which came in my
regular course, and said my morning prayers. The chaplain is gone away,
so we have no prayers in the chapel at present.
Then I went back to Lady Betty's room. My Lady was still there, and
smiled as she saw my flowers, while Betty uttered a cry of delight, as
she took them in her hands and smelled them.
"Do you then love flowers as well as myself?" said my Lady, gently.
"Yes, my Lady," I answered.
"Margaret used to have a garden when she lived at home," said Lady
Betty. "She told me so this morning. I wish I could have one, but then
I could not dig in it myself, as she used to."
"Perhaps you may, some day, when you are stronger," said my Lady. "You
and Mistress Merton seem to have made friends very readily."
"She is so good to me," said Betty. "She dressed me without hurting me
a bit. I love her better than anybody but my own old Mary."
"Mistress Merton was very kind to dress you," answered my Lady. "But,
my daughter, she is not your nurse or waiting-woman—she is your
governess, and you must be good and obey her, and strive to learn all
that she can teach you."
I was not sorry to hear my Lady say this. It is much more comfortable
to understand one's position, be that position what it may. But Lady
Betty did not seem pleased at all.
"I don't want a governess!" she whimpered. "Mrs. Burley was a
governess, and she was cross to me: and I want Margaret to dress me and
tell me tales, as she did this morning."
"Oh, very well! That is as you and she can agree," said my Lady,
smiling, as did I. "I dare say she will tell you tales if you are good;
only, Mistress Merton, you must not let this imperious little girl make
a slave of you."
"But you will dress me, won't you?" asked the child, turning to me.
"Surely, if your mother is willing," I said. "Why not?"
My Lady gave me a sweet smile, and a glance from her beautiful eyes,
as she kissed Lady Betty, and sat her in her easy chair (for she had
been all this while on her mother's lap). The child made up a crying
face, but refrained, as her mother held up her finger, though her poor
little mouth quivered piteously as my Lady left the room, and I feared
we might have another scene.
Luckily, I bethought myself of the shells in my pocket, and these and
the rest of the story about the kittens diverted the impending storm.
But I am running on at too great length with my first day's experiences
at Stanton Court. I will only add that I dined with Mrs. Judith at
noon, the house being full of company; and being used to eat my dinner
earlier, I was hungry enough. Mrs. Judith says, 'tis the fashion now,
not to dine till noon, and some very modish people put it off an hour
later, which seems absurd enough. I had no more trouble this day with
Lady Betty, who was good enough, only she has a pert, fretful way of
speaking, which I do not at all like.
I have begun making her a great rag baby, such as Phillis and I used to
play with. Lady Betty is much interested, and I mean the job shall be a
good long one. I rise before six and thus have an hour to myself before
I go to my child. I have dressed her every morning and undressed her at
night, making the condition that she shall learn a Bible verse every
time, from my repetition. Then we talk a little, and I sing a psalm to
her, and she goes to sleep quietly enough.
Mary sleeps in the room with her, and is disposed to be very kind and
faithful: but she does not know how to manage very well.
_March 23._
I am getting settled to this way of life, and have begun lessons with
Lady Betty. She knew her letters, but that was all, so I begin at the
beginning. We have half an hour's lesson, then an hour of talk and play.
I have had a long conversation with my Lady, whom I like more and more
all the time. I told her how Phillis and John had died of wasting
sickness, and how my mother had then taken a different way with the
others, giving them little or no medicine, and plenty of fresh air and
good plain food, and how they had improved under the regimen.
She seemed pleased with the notion, and said, as it grew warmer, we
might perhaps get Betty out of doors. She likes my plan of teaching and
says I shall manage matters my own way. Beside that, she hath caused my
place to be fully settled in the family as Lady Betty's governess, and
yesterday, hearing Anne give me a slighting answer about my room, which
it is her business to take care of, she gave her a short but sharp
setting down, and bade her beg my pardon, which she did, sulkily enough.
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