At length the long-wished-for day arrived, and the young foreigner made her
appearance in the family of Mr. Harewood. She was a fine, handsome-looking
girl, and though younger in fact, was taller and older-looking than Ellen,
but was not nearly so well shaped, as indolence, and the habit of being
carried about instead of walking, had occasioned her to stoop, and to move
as if her limbs were too weak to support her.
The kindness and politeness with which she was received in the family of
Mr. Harewood, did not appear to affect the Barbadoes girl in any other
way than to increase that self-importance which was evidently her
characteristic; and even the mild, affectionate Ellen, who had predisposed
her heart to love her very dearly, shrunk from the proud and haughty
expression which frequently animated her features, and was surprised to
hear her name her mamma with as much indifference as if she were a common
acquaintance; for Ellen did not know that the indulgence of bad passions
hardens the heart, and renders it insensible to those sweet and tender ties
which are felt by the good and amiable, and which constitute their highest
happiness.
In a very short time, it became apparent that passion and peevishness were
also the traits of this unfortunate child, who had been indulged in the
free exercise of a railing tongue, and even of a clawing hand, towards
the numerous negro dependants that swarmed in her father's mansion, over
whom she had exercised all the despotic sovereignty of a queen, with the
capriciousness of a petted child, and thereby obtained a habit of tyranny
over all whom she deemed her inferiors, as appeared from the style in which
she now conducted herself constantly towards the menials of Mr. Harewood's
family, and not unfrequently towards the superiors.
For a few days Mr. Harewood bore with this conduct, and only opposed
it with gentleness and persuasion; but as it became evident that this
gentleness emboldened the mistaken child to proceed to greater rudeness, he
commenced a new style of treatment, and the English education of Matilda,
so far as concerned that most important part of all education, the
management of the temper, in the following manner:
On the family being seated at the dinner-table, Miss Hanson called out, in
a loud and angry tone, "Give me some beer!"
Mr. Harewood had previously instructed the servant who waited upon them how
to act, in case he was thus addressed; and in consequence of his master's
commands, the man took no notice whatever of this claim upon his attention.
"Give me some beer!" cried she again, in so fierce a manner that the boys
started, and poor Ellen blushed very deeply, not only from the sense of
shame which she felt for the vulgarity of the young lady's manners, but
from a kind of terror, on hearing such a shrill and threatening voice.
The servant still took no notice of her words, though he did not do it with
an air of defiance, but rather as if it were not addressed to him.
The little angry child muttered, loud enough to be heard--"What a fool the
wretch is!" but as nobody answered what was in fact addressed to no one,
she was at length compelled to look for redress to Mrs. Harewood, whom,
regarding with a mixture of rage and scorn, she now addressed--"Pray,
ma'am, why don't _you_ tell the man to give me some beer? I suppose he'll
understand _you_, though he seems a fool, and deaf."
"My children are accustomed to say--'Please, Thomas, give me some beer;'
or, 'I'll thank you for a little beer;' and the loud rude manner in which
you spoke, probably astonished and confused him. As, however, I certainly
understand you, I will endeavour to relieve you.--Pray, Thomas, be so kind
as to give Miss Hanson some beer," said Mrs. Harewood.
Thomas instantly offered it; but the little girl cried out in a rage--"I
won't have it--no! that I won't, from that man: I'll have my own negro to
wait--that I will!--Must I say _please_ to a servant? must a nasty man in
a livery be _kind_ to me?--no! no! no! Zebby, Zebby, I say, come here!"
The poor black woman, hearing the loud tones of her young lady, to which
she had been pretty well used, instantly ran into the room, before Mr.
Harewood had time to prevent it, and very humbly cried out--"What does
Missy please wanty?"
"Some beer, you black beetle!"
"Is, Missy," said the poor woman, with a sigh, reaching the beer from
Thomas with a trembling hand, as if she expected the glass to be thrown
in her face.
Charles had with great difficulty refrained from laughter on the outset of
this scene; but indignation now suffused his countenance. The young vixen
was an acute observer, and, had she not been cruelly neglected, might have
been a sensible child. It instantly struck her, that his features disputed
her right; and, determined not to endure this from any one, she instantly
threw the beer in the face of poor Zebby, saying--"There's that for _you_,
madam."
It was not in the forbearance of the children to repress their feelings;
even Edmund exclaimed--"What a brute!"
Ellen involuntarily started up, and hid her face in her mother's lap, while
Charles most good-naturedly offered his handkerchief to the aggrieved
Zebby, kindly condoling with her on her misfortune.
Mr. Harewood now, for the first time, spoke.--"Zebby," said he, in a calm
but stern tone, "it is my strict command, that so long as you reside under
my roof, you never give that young lady any thing again, nor hold any
conversation with her: if you disobey my commands, I shall be under the
necessity of discharging you."
The young lady checked herself, and for a moment looked alarmed; but
recovering, she said--"She is not _yours_, and you sha'n't discharge her:
she is my _own_ slave, and I will do what I please with her; poor papa
bought her for me, as soon as I was born, and I'll use her as I please."
"But you know your mamma told you, that as soon as she arrived in England
she would be _free_, and might either return or remain, as _she_ pleased.
Now it so happens that she is much pleased with my family, and having a
sincere regard for your mother, she this morning requested Mrs. Harewood
to engage her in any service she could undertake: convinced that she was
worthy our protection, we have done this, and therefore all _your_ claims
upon her are over."
The little girl, bursting into a passionate flood of tears, ran out of the
room.
Poor Zebby, courtesying, said--"Sir, me hopes you will have much pity on
Missy--she was spoily all her life, by poor massa--her mamma good, very
good; and when Missy pinch Zebby, and pricky with pin, then good mississ
she be angry; but massa say only--'Poo! poo! she be child--naughty tricks
wear off in time.' He be warm man himself."
The poor negro's defence affected the little circle, and Mr. Harewood
observing it, said--"You perceive, my dear children, that this child is
in fact far more an object of compassion than blame, for she has been
permitted to indulge every bad propensity of her nature, and their growth
has destroyed that which was good; of course, her life has been unhappy in
itself, yet punishment has not produced amendment. Poor thing! how many of
the sweetest pleasures of existence are unknown to her! She is a stranger
to the satisfaction of obliging others, and to the consciousness of
overcoming herself, which, I trust, you all know to be an inestimable
blessing. I truly pity her; but I am compelled to treat her as if I blamed
her only; I am obliged to be harsh, in order that I may be useful, and give
pain to produce ease."
In about an hour, finding that no one approached, and feeling the want of
the dinner her shameful rudeness and petulance had interrupted, and which
she had but just begun, Matilda came down stairs, with the air of a person
who is struggling to hide, by effrontery, the chagrin she is conscious of
deserving: no person took any notice of her entrance, and all appearance
of the good meal she wanted was removed. There was a certain something in
the usually-smiling faces of the heads of the mansion that acted as a
repellent to her, and she sat for some time silent; but at length she spoke
to Ellen, who, from her gentle meekness, was ever easy of access, and whom,
intending to mortify, she accosted thus--"Nelly, did you eat my chicken?"
Charles burst into a loud laugh, as Ellen, who had never heard herself thus
addressed, for a moment looked rather foolish; on which he answered for
her, with a somewhat provoking sauciness of countenance--"No, Matty, she
did not eat your chicken."
"My name is not Matty--it is Matilda Sophia, and you are a great booby for
calling me so; but Nelly, or Nell, is short for Ellen, and by one of those
names I shall call her, whenever I choose, if it be only to vex _you_."
"Perhaps, too, you will choose to prick her, and pinch her, Miss Matilda
Sophia Hanson?" answered Charles, sneeringly, drawing out her name as long
and as pompously as it was possible.
"Fie, Charles!" said Edmund; "I am sure you act as if you had forgotten all
that papa told us about Miss Hanson."
Charles, after a moment's thought, acknowledged that he was wrong, very,
very wrong.
Matilda was much struck with this; she was well aware that, under the
same circumstances, she should have said much more than he had, and she was
curious as to what had been said of her, which could have produced this
effect on a boy generally so vivacious and warm-tempered as Charles. After
cogitating upon it some time, she at length concluded that Mr. Harewood had
endeavoured to impress on the minds of his family the consequence she
possessed, as an only child and a great heiress; and although he had
appeared so lately to act under a very different impression, yet it was
very possible that he had only done so because he was out of temper
himself, and, now his mind was become tranquil again, he had repented of
his conduct, and been anxious to prevent his children from following his
example in this respect.
The more Matilda thought of this, the more fully she fixed it in her mind
as an article of belief; but yet there was something in the calm, firm
tones of Mr. Harewood, when he spoke to her, and in his present open, yet
unbending countenance, when he happened to cast his eyes towards her, which
rendered her unsatisfied with the answer she thus gave her own internal
inquiries; and although she had been exceedingly angry with him, for
presuming to speak to her, she yet felt as if his esteem, and indeed his
forgiveness, were necessary for her happiness; and her pride, thus
strengthened, contended with her fears and consciousness of guilt and
folly; and while she resolved inwardly to keep up her dignity with the
young ones, she yet, from time to time, cast an anxious eye towards her
new monitor.
In a short time, to Matilda's great relief, Mr. Harewood stepped into
the library to get a book; and the children, in the hope that, when he
returned, he would kindly indulge them, either by reading to them, or
relating occasionally such anecdotes or observations as the work he read
might furnish him with, left their seats, and pressed round the place
where their parents were sitting.
Matilda did not like to be left alone, nor did she feel as if she had a
right to be held as a child among the rest: again her pride and her
repentance had a great struggle, and she knew not to which she should give
the preference, for her heart swelled alike with pride and sorrow; she
moved towards the same place, and sought, in the bustle of the moment, to
divert the painful feeling which oppressed her.
In a few moments, Mr. Harewood was heard to shut the library-door; and as,
of course, he might be expected to re-enter very soon, and would now be
much nearer to her than he had been, and would certainly adopt some more
decided kind of conduct and language towards her, Matilda became again
extremely desirous of knowing what he really had said about her, and she
two or three times essayed to speak; but a little remaining modesty, which
was nearly all the good which her unhappy education had left her, prevented
her, until she found that she had no time beyond the present instant left
for satisfying her curiosity on so important a point, when, in a
considerable flutter of spirits, she whispered to Ellen, but in a voice
sufficiently articulate to be heard by others--"Pray what did your papa say
of me?"
"That you were very much to be pitied."
"Pitied! Pray what am I to be pitied for?"
Ellen blushed very deeply: she could not answer a question which called
down confusion on the head of her who asked it--one, too, whom she was
inclined to love, and whose petulance towards herself, however unprovoked,
she had already forgiven. She looked wistfully in the face of her mamma,
who replied for her--"We all think you are much to be pitied, because you
are evidently a poor, little, forlorn, ignorant child, without friends, and
under the dominion of a cruel enemy, that renders you so frightful, it is
scarcely possible for even the most humane people to treat you with
kindness, or even endure you."
Matilda involuntarily started up, and examined herself in the
looking-glass.--"If I had happened to be your _own_ daughter, ma'am," she
said, crying again, "you would not have thought me ugly; but because I come
from Barbadoes, you don't like me; and it is cruel and wicked to treat me
so. But I will go back--I will--I will."
"I wish most sincerely you had never come, for it is painful to me to
witness the folly and sin you are guilty of; but, since you are here, I
will endeavour to bear with you, until I have found a good school to send
you to. If you would give yourself time to consider, you would know that
the enemy I spoke of is your own temper, which would render even perfect
beauty hideous; you know very well that I received you with the greatest
kindness, and that you have outraged that kindness. But I can forgive you,
because I see that you are a silly child, who fancies herself of
importance; whereas children, however they may be situated, are poor
dependent creatures."
Matilda answered only by a scornful toss of her head, and uttering the
word--"Dependent!"
"Edmund," said Mrs. Harewood, taking no notice of her insolent look, "you
are a strong healthy boy, forward in your education, capable of reflection,
and decidedly superior, not only in age, but wisdom, to any other in
the room; answer me candidly, as if you were speaking to a boy like
yourself--Do you feel it possible so to conduct yourself, that, if you
were left alone in the world, you could be happy and independent?"
"My dear mamma," said Edmund, "you must be laughing at me; a pretty figure
I should cut, if I were to set up for a man, without any one to advise me
how to act, to tell me when I was wrong, and to manage every thing for me!
how could I do right without my papa, or some proper guardian? and how
could I be happy without you, mamma?"
As Edmund spoke, he threw his arms round his mother; and the others
followed his example, saying--"No, no, we could do nothing without you
and dear papa; pray do stay with us, and make us good."
As they spoke, the tears were in their eyes, and Matilda was affected: she
remembered the tenderness of her own mother, and how often she had turned
a deaf ear to her expostulations. She was convinced that these children, at
this very time, enjoyed a sweeter pleasure than she had ever experienced
from the gratification of her desires, and she even longed to confess her
folly, and gain her share of Mrs. Harewood's caresses; but pride still
struggled in her heart; and though her reason was convinced of the truth,
that children are indeed dependent on their friends for all that renders
life valuable, yet her temper still got the better, and she resolutely held
her tongue, though she ceased to look haughty and ill-humoured.