Fan saw no more company after that evening, for which she was not sorry;
but that had been a red-letter day to her--not soon, perhaps never, to
be forgotten.
Great as the human adaptiveness is at the age at which Fan then was,
that loving-kindness of her mistress--of one so proud and beautiful
above all women, and, to the girl's humble ideas, so rich “beyond
the dreams of avarice”--retained its mysterious, almost incredible,
character to her mind, and was a continual cause of wonder to her, and
at times of ill-defined but anxious thought. For what had she--a poor,
simple, ignorant useless girl--to keep the affection of such a one as
Miss Starbrow? And as the days and weeks went by, that vague anxiety did
not leave her; for the more she saw of her mistress, the less did she
seem like one of a steadfast mind, whose feelings would always remain
the same. She was touchy, passionate, variable in temper; and if her
stormy periods were short-lived, she also had cold and sullen moods,
which lasted long, and turned all her sweetness sour; and at such times
Fan feared to approach her, but sat apart distressed and sorrowful. And
yet, whatever her mood was, she never spoke sharply to Fan, or seemed
to grow weary of her. And once, during one of those precious half-hours,
when they sat together at the bedroom fire before dinner, when Miss
Starbrow in a tender mood again drew the girl to her side and kissed
her, Fan, even while her heart was overflowing with happiness, allowed
something of the fear that was mixed with it to appear in her words.
“Oh, Mary, if I could do something for you!” she murmured. “But I can do
nothing--I can only love you. I wish--I wish you would tell me what to
do to--to keep your love!”
Miss Starbrow's face clouded. “Perhaps your heart is a prophetic one,
Fan,” she said; “but you must not have those dismal forebodings, or if
they will come, then pay as little heed to them as possible. Everything
changes about us, and we change too--I suppose we can't help it. Let us
try to believe that we will always love each other. Our food is not less
grateful to us because it is possible that at some future day we shall
have to go hungry. Oh, poor Fan, why should such thoughts trouble your
young heart? Take the goods the gods give you, and do not repine because
we are not angels in Heaven, with an eternity to enjoy ourselves in.
I love you now, and find it sweet to love you, as I have never loved
anyone of my own sex before. Women, as a rule, I detest. You can do, and
are doing, more than you know for me.”
Fan did not understand it all; but something of it she did understand,
and it had a reassuring effect on her mind.
Her life at this period was a solitary one. After breakfast she would go
out for a walk, usually to Kensington Gardens, and returning by way of
Westbourne Grove, to execute some small commissions for her mistress.
Between dinner and tea the time was mostly spent in the back room on the
first floor, which nobody else used; and when the weather permitted she
sat with the window open, and read aloud to improve herself in the art,
and practised writing and drawing, or read in some book Miss Starbrow
had recommended to her. With all her time so agreeably filled she did
not feel her loneliness, and the life of ease and plenty soon began
to tell on her appearance. Her skin became more pure and transparent,
although naturally pale; her eyes grew brighter, and could look glad
as well as sorrowful; her face lost its painfully bony look, and was
rounder and softer, and the straight lines and sharp angles of her
girlish form changed to graceful curves from day to day. Miss Starbrow,
regarding her with a curious and not untroubled smile, remarked:
“You are improving in your looks every day, Fan; by-and-by you will be a
beautiful girl--and then!”
The attitude of the servants had not changed towards her, the
cook continuing to observe a kind of neutrality which was scarcely
benevolent, while the housemaid's animosity was still active; but it
had ceased to trouble her very much. Since the evening on which Fan
had baffled her by blowing out the candle, Rosie had not attempted to
inflict corporal punishment beyond an occasional pinch or slap, but
contented herself by mocking and jeering, and sometimes spitting at her.
Rosie is destined to disappear from the history of Fan's early life in
the first third of this volume; but before that time her malice bore
very bitter fruit, and for that and other reasons her character is
deserving of some description.
She was decidedly pretty, short but well-shaped, with a small English
slightly-upturned nose; small mouth with ripe red lips, which were never
still except when she held them pressed with her sharp white teeth to
make them look redder and riper than ever. Her brown fluffy hair
was worn short like a boy's, and she looked not unlike a handsome
high-spirited boy, with brown eyes, mirthful and daring. She was
extremely vivacious in disposition, and active--too active, in fact, for
she got through her housemaid's work so quickly that it left her many
hours of each day in which to listen to the promptings of the demon of
mischief. It was only because she did her work so rapidly and so well
that her mistress kept her on--“put up with her,” as she expressed
it--in spite of her faults of temper and tongue. But Rosie's heart was
not in her work. She was romantic and ambitious, and her shallow little
brain was filled with a thousand dreams of wonderful things to be. She
was a constant and ravenous reader of _Bow Bells_, the _London Journal_,
and one or two penny weeklies besides; and not satisfied with the
half-hundred columns of microscopical letterpress they afforded her,
she laid her busy hands on all the light literature left about by her
mistress, and thought herself hardly treated because Miss Starbrow was
a great reader of French novels. It was exceedingly tantalising to know
that those yellow-covered books were so well suited to her taste, and
not be able to read them. For someone had told her what nice books they
were--someone with a big red moustache, who was as fond of pretty red
lips as a greedy school-boy is of ripe cherries.
Many were the stolen interviews between the daring little housemaid and
her gentleman lover; sometimes in the house itself, in a shaded part
of the hall, or in one of the reception-rooms when a happy opportunity
offered--and opportunities always come to those who watch for them;
sometimes out of doors in the shadow of convenient trees in the
neighbouring quiet street and squares after dark. But Rosie was not too
reckless. There was a considerable amount of cunning in that small
brain of hers, which prevented her from falling over the brink of the
precipice on the perilous edge of which she danced like a playful kid so
airily. It was very nice and not too naughty to be cuddled and kissed
by a handsome gentleman, with a big moustache, fine eyes, and baritone
voice! but she was not prepared to go further than that--just yet; only
pretending that by-and-by--perhaps; firing his heart with languishing
sighs, the soft unspoken “Ask me no more, for at a touch I yield”; and
then she would slip from his arms, and run away to put by the little
present of sham jewellery, and think it all very fine fun. They were
amusing themselves. His serious love-making was for her mistress.
She--Rosie--had a future--a great splendid future, to which she must
advance by slow degrees, step by step, sometimes even losing ground a
little--and much had been lost since that starved white kitten had come
into the house.
When Miss Starbrow, in a fit of anger, had dismissed her maid some
months before, and then had accepted some little personal assistance in
dressing for the play, and at other times, from her housemaid, Rosie at
once imagined that she was winning her way to her mistress's heart, and
her silly dream was that she would eventually get promoted to the vacant
and desirable place of lady's-maid. The cast-off dresses, boots, pieces
of finery, and many other things which would be her perquisites would
be a little fortune to her, and greatly excited her cupidity. But there
were other more important considerations: she would occupy a much higher
position in the social scale, and dress well, her hands and skin would
grow soft and white, and her appearance and conversation would be that
of a lady; for to be a lady's-maid is, of course, the nearest thing to
being a lady. And with her native charms, ambitious intriguing brain,
what might she not rise to in time? and she had been so careful, and,
she imagined, had succeeded so well in ingratiating herself with her
mistress; and by means of a few well-constructed lies had so filled Miss
Starbrow with disgust at the ordinary lady's-maid taken ready-made out
of a registry-office, that she had begun to look on the place almost
as her own. She had quite overlooked the small fact that she was not
qualified to fill it, and never would be. If she had proposed such an
arrangement, Miss Starbrow would have laughed heartily, and sent the
impudent minx away with a flea in her ear; but she had not yet ventured
to broach the subject.
Fan's coming into the house had not only filled her with the indignation
natural to one of her class and in her position at being compelled
to wait on a girl picked up half-starved in the streets; but when it
appeared that her mistress meant to keep Fan and make much of her, then
her jealousy was aroused, and she displayed as much spite and malice as
she dared. She had not succeeded in frightening Fan into submission, and
she had not dared to invent lies about her; and unable to use her only
weapon, she felt herself for the time powerless. On the other hand, it
was evident that Fan had made no complaints.
“I'd like to catch the little beggar daring to tell tales of me!” she
exclaimed, clenching her vindictive little fists in a fury. But when her
mistress gave her any commands about Fan's meals, or other matters,
her tone was so sharp and peremptory, and her eyes so penetrating, that
Rosie knew that the hatred she cherished in her heart was no secret. The
voice, the look seemed to say plainly, as if it had been expressed in
words, “One word and you go; and when you send to me for a character,
you shall have justice but no mercy.”
This was a terrible state of things for Rosie. There was nothing she
could do; and to sit still and wait was torture to one of her restless,
energetic mind. When her mistress was out of the house she could give
vent to her spite by getting into Fan's room and teasing her in every
way that her malice suggested. But Fan usually locked her out, and would
not even open the door to take in her dinner when it was brought; then
Rosie would wait until it was cold before leaving it on the landing.
When Miss Starbrow was in the house, and had Fan with her to comb her
hair or read to her, Rosie would hang about, listening at keyholes, to
find out how matters were progressing between “lady and lady's-maid.”
But nothing to give her any comfort was discovered. On the contrary,
Miss Starbrow showed no signs of becoming disgusted at her own
disgraceful infatuation, and seemed more friendly towards the girl than
ever. She took her to the dressmaker at the West End, and had a very
pretty, dark green walking-dress made for her, in which Fan looked
prettier than ever. She also bought her a new stylish hat, a grey fur
cape, and long gloves, besides giving her small pieces of jewellery, and
so many things besides that poor Rosie was green with envy. Then, as a
climax, she ordered in a new pretty iron bed for the girl, and had it
put in her own room.
“Fan will be so much warmer and more comfortable here than at the top of
the house,” she remarked to Rosie, as if she too had a little malice in
her disposition, and was able to take pleasure in sprinkling powder on a
raw sore.