One long, weary, dreadful drag, but somehow or another time slipped
away; though I shudder now when I recall that during that lapse of time
I was growing more and more wicked every day; and matters were slowly
progressing towards the dire hour when my happiness was wrecked for
ever--buoyant bark though it was--upon the shoals and quicksands
surrounding the fair land of love and joy.
It would, perhaps, look particular, or I would repeat that last musical
sentence, which seems to describe so aptly my feelings. But to resume.
One could not help liking French lessons when one had such a teacher;
and, oh, how I used to work to get my exercises perfect! Clara began to
laugh and tease, but then I could fight her with her own weapons. I did
not mind her beginning to say the verb _aimer_, because I always used to
retaliate with something Italian, and she was beaten directly; for any
one with half an eye could see why she was so fond of that especial
study.
How the monster with the short, crisp beard used to stare at me! Just
as he did at the very first, when mamma was with me; and for a long time
I used to fancy that every teacher and pupil must see how his eyes were
directed at me, though I suppose really there was nothing for any one to
see. But, oh, what a battle I used to have when lessons were over, and
I had settled down into a quiet, dreamy way. Then would come the face
of the Reverend Theodore Saint Purre, our curate in town, to look at me
reproachfully, so sadly that I used to have many a good cry; and I
hardly knew how to bear it. And certainly before I left London, I used
to think a great deal of Mr Saint Purre; and I'm sure no young lady was
more regular at church than I was. I was there every morning at eight,
at the prayers, when really it was such a job in the cold weather to get
up and be dressed--nicely dressed--in time. Then, I never missed one
Wednesday or Friday, nor a saint's day; and as to Sundays, I went three
times as a matter of course. Of course papa was, as you know, wicked
enough to hint that so much going to church did not constitute true
religion, and he did not believe in it. Wasn't it shocking? I did ask
myself once, though, whether I should have gone so often if there had
been a different curate.
I must own that I certainly did think a great deal of Theodore Saint
Purre before I left London, as I said before; but then it was not my
wish to leave--I was forced away, and I had not dreamed of the noble
exile then: the tender chords of sympathy for others' sorrows had not
then been touched. I had not learned to pity one who was driven by a
cruel tyrant from home and estate to gain his bread upon a cold shore by
imparting the "_langue douce_" of his "_chere patrie_." I had not then
seen the stern but handsome refugee--so handsome as, after all, I am
compelled to think him; so interesting even in the little errors of
pronunciation of our tongue. I always thought French a great bother
until I heard him speak it, and then I grew to quite idolise the bright,
sparkling idioms. Shakespeare was, of course, soon banished to make way
for Moliere; and then after reading to him, Monsieur Achille would
perhaps say a few words of praise, every one of which would make my face
tingle so that I felt red right up to the roots of my hair.
But the Cedars was, after all, a dreadfully tiresome place, and seemed
made up of aggravation. What was the use of having a lawn for tennis,
with the nets all so ostentatiously displayed, as if the young ladies
could always enjoy a little recreation there, when, so sure as one had a
racquet in hand and any one began to serve, squeak, screech, or croak
came the voice of Miss Furness, Miss Sloman, or the Fraulein, to
announce some new lesson, when, of course, we had to go in? I declare
if I did not, over and over again, say that vulgar, wicked word that I
had learned of papa, and tried so hard to break myself of, though it
seemed of not the slightest use, and the more I tried the metre it would
keep forcing itself into my mind--I declare if I did not, over and over
again say "Jigger the lessons!"
What it meant, I never knew; and to be candid, I have always been afraid
to ask for fear of its being unladylike and strange.
I used to get up every morning sighing and declaring that I would not
stay, till I took hold of the books to prepare my French exercises, when
somehow I glided into a better frame of mind; for they seemed to cheer
me up, and render the place a little less distasteful. I know very well
now that my conduct afterwards was very sad, and that I can offer no
defence; but when there is any scandal, and things that were untrue have
been said, of course I feel bound to speak up; and, whether out of place
or not, I mean to say here that, whether it was to tease me, or whether
she meant it, all that Clara hinted was untrue.
Why is it that girls delight so much in making the course of--I mean
have such a strong desire to hint, and laugh, and look as if saying, "I
know."
I never once wrote Monsieur Achille's name upon my blotting-paper, for I
would not have been guilty of such bold, outrageous conduct; but the
tiresome creature would persist in saying that I did, and, as a matter
of course, it was of no use to try and stop her. But I could not help
feeling how shocking it was, and how wrong for Monsieur Achille to take
advantage of his position as a teacher to behave as he did. He must
have been very badly taught himself; and yet it did seem so sweet when
one was banished in this way from home, joined to him, as it were, by
those before-mentioned chords of sympathy--to him, another exile from
home; and it was such nonsense to say Mrs Blunt's establishment
embraced all the comforts of a home, when one never saw a single
comfort: if it did, they must have been embraced so tightly that they
were all smothered--it seemed so sweet to have one to take an interest
in every word and look, as Monsieur Achille soon showed that he did.
And we had no pets--neither bird nor dog; and what could I do but set to
loving something?
I may be wrong, but it seems to me only natural that we should have
something on which to bestow our love; and if that is taken away upon
which one wishes to bestow it, why it must gush over upon some other
object. Of course, I loved Clara; but, then, she loved something else,
and one did not get a fair exchange for one's affection; and I wanted a
great deal of devotion to comfort me then, and make up for what I was
suffering. So at last, giving way the least, little, tiniest morsel at
a time, I began to feel that I should some day love Monsieur Achille
very passionately; and--oh, how wicked!--I was first quite sure of it at
church one Sunday, when that dreadful curate was preaching at the old
vicar, and Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy were saying it over to themselves
with their eyes shut, and one's heart was out in the green fields and
woods and far away, and as wicked as a heart can be.
Oh, yes, wicked--wicked--wicked as could be--dreadfully wicked! But it
was all mamma's fault. I had many a good cry about it, but I could not
help it all; and after walking two and two to church together, like
little girls--it did seem such a relief to have some one in the building
who did not look upon one as a child. For there _he_ used to sit,
Sunday after Sunday, behaving so hypocritically, for all the while he
was a Roman Catholic; only he came to church to please Mrs Blunt,
though I sometimes fancy it was to please himself as well. But it was
upon this one Sunday that I seemed to notice it so particularly. Just
for want of something better to do, I suppose, I had been taking the
greatest of pains with myself; and I must have looked nice, or else
Clara would not have stood and clapped her hands when I was ready. Then
we went off, and no sooner were we well outside the great iron gates
than there just before us we could see Monsieur Achille and the Signor,
arm in arm, going towards the church, and having evidently just before
been taking a walk in the bright, free, green fields from which I was
prisoned. I saw them look very hard towards us when they turned round,
and Clara whispered that she knew why they had come, and where they were
going; for previous to this, I suppose, they had very seldom been in the
church--at least, we had never hardly seen them.
But it was plain enough where they were going, for they went in just
before us; and as they stood in the porch waiting for the pew-opener,
the Signor commenced crossing himself just as if it were a regular Roman
Catholic chapel, till I saw Monsieur Achille pinch his arm and whisper
something, so that he dropped his hand to his side and looked quite
horrified. Then I saw Monsieur Achille whisper to the pew-opener, and
they disappeared within the great swing, red-baize doors, and we went
upstairs to fill the long pews in the gallery.
It was only natural that we should look round the church after being
comfortably seated, when there, in one of the sideway seats were the two
masters, casting an eye up towards us every now and then, and looking so
hard that I felt quite ashamed, and was afraid it would be observed; but
I soon remembered that our three Graces were sitting in the pew behind,
and I knew they felt sure that the glances were directed at them. Poor
things! And then it was that I had that thought come into my head,
forcing its way in as if to make its abode there, although I shut my
eyes tightly, and determined not to think of anything of the kind.
People take opiates for pains bodily; but why, oh! why do not Savoury
and Moore, or Godfrey and Cooke, or somebody or another bring out an
opiate for pains mental? What would I not have given that day to have
lulled the excitement of my feelings, and to have attended quietly to my
duties as I ought?
Tiresome, tiresome, tiresome!--oh, how tiresome it was, day after day,
to go back to all the old school ways and habits--writing exercises,
learning lessons, saying them, and being corrected and snubbed; heard to
read, one's emphasis here, there, and everywhere found fault with, when
I'm sure I read far better than those who heard me. Then my writing was
not in accordance with Mrs Blunt's ideas of penmanship.
There were no novels to read; no _Times_, with its mysterious
advertisements, that seem to mean such a deal; no morning concerts, no
walks or rides--only exercise, two and two, as walking advertisements of
the Cedars. I declare at last, in spite of the French lessons--or
perhaps partly owing to the whirl within me, and the dreadfully worried
state I was in--I grew quite low-spirited, and could not eat, and used
to sit and mope, and I could see that I was getting paler and paler
every day.
This sort of thing, though, would not do for Mrs Blunt, who saw in it
the probable loss of a pupil and plenty of pounds a year; and one
morning there was a summons for me to go into the drawing-room, where
I found Mrs Blunt and a gentleman in black--so prim, so
white-handkerchiefed and gold-sealed! All his grey hair was brushed up
into a point, like an ice-mountain on the top of his head; while,
whenever he spoke, his words came rolling out like great sugar-coated
pills--so soft, so sweet, so smooth, you might have taken him for a
great mechanical bon-bon box, and the hand he gently waved for the
spring that set him in motion. I knew well enough that he was a doctor,
as soon as I went in, and that he had been sent for to see me.
"Miss Bozerne, Dr Boole," said Mrs Blunt.
And then, after ever so much bowing and saluting, there was the horrid
old wretch, screwing his face up, and wagging his head, and peeping at
me out of his half-shut eyes; and he felt my pulse and told me to put
out my tongue. While directly after he drew in a long breath and
pinched his lips together, as if he knew all about my complaint, and
could see through it in a moment. But he did not know that I was
mentally delivering him a homily upon hypocrisy, of which dreadful stuff
it seemed to me there was an abundance at Allsham, it being about the
place like an epidemic--or I suppose I ought to say it was in the place
like an epidemic. And I must confess I had caught the complaint very
badly, though Dr Boole was no use for that, seeing that he could not
cure himself. Oh! if everybody troubled with hypocrisy would only call
in the doctor, what a fortune each medical man would soon make!
Well, the doctor left hold of my wrist, after putting it down gently, as
if it were something breakable, and put his gold eyeglasses up for
another inspection.
Was not my appetite rather failing? Did I not have a strong inclination
to sigh? Did I not feel low-spirited, and wake of a morning
unrefreshed?
Why, of course I did. And so would any one who had been treated as I
had, and so I felt disposed to tell him; but it would have been of
little use. So I let them say and think what they liked; and when the
interview was over, the doctor rose and walked out of the room, bowing
in a way that must have delighted Mrs Blunt's ideas of deportment; for
he had written something upon a half-sheet of note-paper, and left
orders that the prescription should be immediately made up.
"Of course," said Mrs Blunt, "I shall write to your dear mamma by the
next post, Miss Bozerne; but she need be under no concern, for the
kindness of a home will be bestowed upon you. And now you had better
return to the pursuance of your course of studies."
I took the extremely polite hint; but I did not take the medicine when
it was sent in. What did I want with medicine? Why, it was absurd. I
used to pour it out into the glass, and then take it to the open window
and throw it as far out as I could, so as to make a shower of fine
physic fall upon the grass and pathway--such small drops that no one
could see it had been thrown out. And, after all, I'm sure it was only
a little bitter water, coloured and scented, and labelled to look
important.
At the doctor's next visit I was horribly afraid that he would ask me
whether I had taken the medicine; and sure enough he did, only Mrs
Blunt directly said "Yes," and he was satisfied, and said I was much
better, though he did not quite like my flushed, feverish-looking face.
So he wrote another prescription for that, when I was only colouring up
on account of being asked about his nasty stuff.