Enough of science and of art,
Close up those barren leaves!
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.--WORDSWORTH
'Half-past five, Miss Phoebe.'
'Thank you;' and before her eyes were open, Phoebe was on the floor.
Six was the regulation hour. Systematic education had discovered that
half-an-hour was the maximum allowable for morning toilette, and at
half-past six the young ladies must present themselves in the
school-room.
The Bible, Prayer Book, and 'Daily Meditations' could have been seldom
touched, had not Phoebe, ever since Robert had impressed on her the duty
of such constant study, made an arrangement for gaining an extra
half-hour. Cold mornings and youthful sleepiness had received a daily
defeat: and, mayhap, it was such a course of victory that made her frank
eyes so blithesome, and her step so free and light.
That bright scheme, too, shone before her, as such a secret of glad hope,
that, knowing how uncertain were her chances of pleasure, she prayed that
she might not set her heart on it. It was no trifle to her, and her
simple spirit ventured to lay her wishes before her loving Father in
Heaven, and entreat that she might not be denied, if it were right for
her and would be better for Robert; or, if not, that she might be good
under the disappointment.
Her orisons sent her forth all brightness, with her small head raised
like that of a young fawn, her fresh lips parted by an incipient smile of
hope, and her cheeks in a rosy glow of health, a very Hebe, as Mr.
Saville had once called her.
Such a morning face as hers was not always met by Miss Fennimore, who,
herself able to exist on five hours' sleep, had no mercy on that of her
pupils; and she rewarded Phoebe's smiling good-morrow with 'This is
better than I expected, you returned home so late.'
'Robert could not come for me early,' said Phoebe.
'How did you spend the evening?'
'Miss Charlecote read aloud to me. It was a delightful German story.'
'Miss Charlecote is a very well-informed person, and I am glad the time
was not absolutely lost. I hope you observed the condensation of the
vapours on your way home.'
'Robert was talking to me, and the nightingales were singing.'
'It is a pity,' said Miss Fennimore, not unkindly, 'that you should not
cultivate the habit of observation. Women can seldom theorize, but they
should always observe facts, as these are the very groundwork of
discovery, and such a rare opportunity as a walk at night should not be
neglected.'
It was no use to plead that this was all very well when there was no
brother Robert with his destiny in the scales, so Phoebe made a meek
assent, and moved to the piano, suppressing a sigh as Miss Fennimore set
off on a domiciliary visit to the other sisters.
Mr. Fulmort liked his establishment to prove his consequence, and to the
old family mansion of the Mervyns he had added a whole wing for the
educational department. Above, there was a passage, with pretty little
bed-rooms opening from it; below there were two good-sized rooms, with
their own door opening into the garden. The elder ones had long ago
deserted it, and so completely shut off was it from the rest of the
house, that the governess and her pupils were as secluded as though in a
separate dwelling. The schoolroom was no repulsive-looking abode; it was
furnished almost well enough for a drawing-room; and only the easels,
globes, and desks, the crayon studies on the walls, and a formidable
time-table showed its real destination.
The window looked out into a square parterre, shut in with tall laurel
hedges, and filled with the gayest and sweetest blossoms. It was Mrs.
Fulmort's garden for cut flowers; supplying the bouquets that decked her
tables, or were carried to wither at balls; and there were three long,
narrow beds, that Phoebe and her younger sisters still called theirs, and
loved with the pride of property; but, indeed, the bright carpeting of
the whole garden was something especially their own, rejoicing their
eyes, and unvalued by the rest of the house. On the like liberal scale
were the salaries of the educators. Governesses were judged according to
their demands; and the highest bidder was supposed to understand her own
claims best. Miss Fennimore was a finishing governess of the highest
order, thinking it an insult to be offered a pupil below her teens, or to
lose one till nearly beyond them; nor was she far from being the treasure
that Mrs. Fulmort pronounced her, in gratitude for the absence of all the
explosions produced by the various imperfections of her predecessors.
A highly able woman, and perfectly sincere, she possessed the qualities
of a ruler, and had long experience in the art. Her discipline was
perfect in machinery, and her instructions admirably complete. No one
could look at her keen, sensible, self-possessed countenance, her decided
mouth, ever busy hands, and unpretending but well-chosen style of dress,
without seeing that her energy and intelligence were of a high order; and
there was principle likewise, though no one ever quite penetrated to the
foundation of it. Certainly she was not an irreligious person; she
conformed, as she said, to the habits of each family she lived with, and
she highly estimated moral perfections. Now and then a degree of scorn,
for the narrowness of dogma, would appear in reading history, but in
general she was understood to have opinions which she did not obtrude.
As a teacher she was excellent; but her own strong conformation prevented
her from understanding that young girls were incapable of such tension of
intellect as an enthusiastic scholar of forty-two, and that what was
sport to her was toil to a mind unaccustomed to constant attention.
Change of labour is not rest, unless it be through gratification of the
will. Her very best pupil she had killed. Finding a very sharp sword,
in a very frail scabbard, she had whetted the one and worn down the
other, by every stimulus in her power, till a jury of physicians might
have found her guilty of manslaughter; but perfectly unconscious of her
own agency in causing the atrophy, her dear Anna Webster lived foremost
in her affections, the model for every subsequent pupil. She seldom
remained more than two years in a family. Sometimes the young brains
were over-excited; more often they fell into a dreary state of drilled
diligence; but she was too much absorbed in the studies to look close
into the human beings, and marvelled when the fathers and mothers were
blind enough to part with her on the plea of health and need of change.
On the whole she had never liked any of her charges since the renowned
Anna Webster so well as Phoebe Fulmort; although her abilities did not
rise above the 'very fair,' and she was apt to be bewildered in
metaphysics and political economy; but then she had none of the
eccentricities of will and temper of Miss Fennimore's clever girls, nor
was she like most good-humoured ones, recklessly _insouciante_. Her only
drawback, in the governess's eyes, was that she never seemed desirous of
going beyond what was daily required of her--each study was a duty, and
not a subject of zeal.
Presently Miss Fennimore came back, followed by the two sisters, neither
of them in the best of tempers. Maria, a stout, clumsily-made girl of
fifteen, had the same complexion and open eyes as Phoebe, but her
colouring was muddled, the gaze full-orbed and vacant, and the lips,
always pouting, were just now swelled with the vexation that filled her
prominent eyelids with tears. Bertha, two years younger, looked as if
nature had designed her for a boy, and the change into a girl was not yet
decided. She, too, was very like Maria; but Maria's open nostrils were
in her a droll _retrousse_, puggish little nose; her chin had a boyish
squareness and decision, her round cheeks had two comical dimples, her
eyes were either stretched in defiance or narrowed up with fun, and a
slight cast in one gave a peculiar archness and character to her face;
her skin, face, hands, and all, were uniformly pinky; her hair in such
obstinate yellow curls, that it was to be hoped, for her sake, that the
fashion of being _crepe_ might continue. The brow lowered in petulance;
and as she kissed Phoebe, she muttered in her ear a vituperation of the
governess in schoolroom _patois_; then began tossing the lesson-books in
the air and catching them again, as a preliminary to finding the places,
thus drawing on herself a reproof in German. French and German were
alternately spoken in lesson hours by Phoebe and Bertha, who had lived
with foreign servants from infancy; but poor Maria had not the faculty of
keeping the tongues distinct, and corrections only terrified her into
confusion worse confounded, until Miss Fennimore had in despair decided
that English was the best alternative.
Phoebe practised vigorously. Aware that nothing pleasant was passing,
and that, be it what it might, she could do no good, she was glad to stop
her ears with her music, until eight o'clock brought a pause in the shape
of breakfast. Formerly the schoolroom party had joined the family meal,
but since the two elder girls had been out, and Mervyn's friends had been
often in the house, it had been decided that the home circle was too
numerous; and what had once been the play-room was allotted to be the
eating-room of the younger ones, without passing the red door, on the
other side of which lay the world.
Breakfast was announced by the schoolroom maid, and Miss Fennimore rose.
No sooner was her back turned, than Bertha indulged in a tremendous
writhing yawn, wriggling in her chair, and clenching both fat fists, as
she threatened with each, at her governess's retreating figure, so
ludicrously, that Phoebe smiled while she shook her head, and an
explosive giggle came from Maria, causing the lady to turn and behold
Miss Bertha demure as ever, and a look of disconsolate weariness fast
settling down on each of the two young faces. The unbroken routine
pressed heavily at those fit moments for family greetings and for
relaxation, and even Phoebe would gladly have been spared the German
account of the Holt and of Miss Charlecote's book, for which she was
called upon. Bertha meanwhile, to whom waggishness was existence, was
carrying on a silent drama on her plate, her roll being a quarry, and her
knife the workmen attacking it. Now she undermined, now acted an
explosion, with uplifted eyebrows and an indicated 'puff!' with her lips,
with constant dumb-show directed to Maria, who, without half
understanding, was in a constant suppressed titter, sometimes concealed
by her pocket-handkerchief.
Quick as Miss Fennimore was, and often as she frowned on Maria's
outbreaks, she never could detect their provocative. Over-restraint and
want of sympathy were direct instruction in unscrupulous slyness of
amusement. A sentence of displeasure on Maria's ill-mannered folly was
in the act of again filling her eyes with tears, when there was a knock
at the door, and all the faces beamed with glad expectation.
It was Robert. This was the time of day when he knew Miss Fennimore
could best tolerate him, and he seldom failed to make his appearance on
his way down-stairs, the only one of the privileged race who was a wonted
object on this side the baize door. Phoebe thought he looked more
cheerful, and indeed gravity could hardly have withstood Bertha's face,
as she gave a mischievous tweak to his hair behind, under colour of
putting her arm round his neck.
'Well, Curlylocks, how much mischief did you do yesterday?'
'I'd no spirits for mischief,' she answered, with mock pitifulness,
twinkling up her eyes, and rubbing them with her knuckles as if she were
crying. 'You barbarous wretch, taking Phoebe to feast on strawberries
and cream with Miss Charlecote, and leaving poor me to poke in that
stupid drawing-room, with nothing to do but to count the scollops of
mamma's flounce!'
'It is your turn. Will Miss Fennimore kindly let you have a walk with me
this evening?'
'And me,' said Maria.
'You, of course. May I come for them at five o'clock?'
'I can hardly tell what to say about Maria. I do not like to disappoint
her, but she knows that nothing displeases me so much as that
ill-mannered habit of giggling,' said Miss Fennimore, not without
concern. Merciful as to Maria's attainments, she was strict as to her
manners, and was striving to teach her self-restraint enough to be
unobtrusive.
Poor Maria's eyes were glassy with tears, her chest heaved with sobs, and
she broke out, 'O pray, Miss Fennimore, O pray!' while all the others
interceded for her; and Bertha, well knowing that it was all her fault,
avoided the humiliation of a confession, by the apparent generosity of
exclaiming, 'Take us both to-morrow instead, Robin.'
Robert's journey was, however, fixed for that day, and on this plea,
licence was given for the walk. Phoebe smiled congratulation, but Maria
was slow in cheering up; and when, on returning to the schoolroom, the
three sisters were left alone together for a few moments, she pressed up
to Phoebe's side, and said, 'Phoebe, I've not said my prayers. Do you
think anything will happen to me?'
Her awfully mysterious tone set Bertha laughing. 'Yes, Maria, all the
cows in the park will run at you,' she was beginning, when the grave
rebuke of Phoebe's eyes cut her short.
'How was it, my dear?' asked Phoebe, tenderly fondling her sister.
'I was so sleepy, and Bertha would blow soap-bubbles in her hands while
we were washing, and then Miss Fennimore came, and I've been naughty now,
and I know I shall go on, and then Robin won't take me.'
'I will ask Miss Fennimore to let you go to your room, dearest,' said
Phoebe. 'You must not play again in dressing time, for there's nothing
so sad as to miss our prayers. You are a good girl to care so much. Had
you time for yours, Bertha?'
'Oh, plenty!' with a toss of her curly head. 'I don't take ages about
things, like Maria.'
'Prayers cannot be hurried,' said Phoebe, looking distressed, and she was
about to remind Bertha to whom she spoke in prayer, when the child cut
her short by the exclamation, 'Nonsense, Maria, about being naughty. You
know I always make you laugh when I please, and that has more to do with
it than saying your prayers, I fancy.'
'Perhaps,' said Phoebe, very sadly, 'if you had said yours more in
earnest, my poor Bertha, you would either not have made Maria laugh, or
would not have left her to bear all the blame.'
'Why do you call me poor?' exclaimed Bertha, with a half-offended,
half-diverted look.
'Because I wish so much that you knew better, or that I could help you
better,' said Phoebe, gently.
There Miss Fennimore entered, displeased at the English sounds, and at
finding them all, as she thought, loitering. Phoebe explained Maria's
omission, and Miss Fennimore allowed her five minutes in her own room,
saying that this must not become a precedent, though she did not wish to
oppress her conscience.
Bertha's eyes glittered with a certain triumph, as she saw that Miss
Fennimore was of her mind, and anticipated no consequences from the
neglect, but only made the concession as to a superstition. Without
disbelief, the child trained only to reason, and quick to detect fallacy,
was blind to all that was not material. And how was the spiritual to be
brought before her?
Phoebe might well sigh as she sat down to her abstract of Schlegel's
Lectures. 'If any one would but teach them,' she thought; 'but there is
no time at all, and I myself do not know half so much of those things as
one of Miss Charlecote's lowest classes.'
Phoebe was a little mistaken. An earnest mind taught how to learn, with
access to the Bible and Prayer Book, could gain more from these
fountain-heads than any external teaching could impart; and she could
carry her difficulties to Robert. Still it was out of her power to
assist her sisters. Surveillance and driving absolutely left no space
free from Miss Fennimore's requirements; and all that there was to train
those young ones in faith, was the manner in which it _lived_ and worked
in her. Nor of this effect could she be conscious.
As to dreams or repinings, or even listening to her hopes and fears for
her project of pleasure, they were excluded by the concentrated attention
that Miss Fennimore's system enforced. Time and capacity were so much on
the stretch, that the habit of doing _what_ she was doing, and nothing
else, had become second nature to the docile and duteous girl; and she
had become little sensible to interruptions; so she went on with her
German, her Greek, and her algebra, scarcely hearing the repetitions of
the lessons, or the counting as Miss Fennimore presided over Maria's
practice, a bit of drudgery detested by the governess, but necessarily
persevered in, for Maria loved music, and had just voice and ear
sufficient to render this single accomplishment not hopeless, but a
certain want of power of sustained effort made her always break down at
the moment she seemed to be doing best. Former governesses had lost
patience, but Miss Fennimore had early given up the case, and never
scolded her for her failures; she made her attempt less, and she was
improving more, and shedding fewer tears than under any former dynasty.
Even a stern dominion is better for the subjects than an uncertain and
weak one; regularity gives a sense of reliance; and constant occupation
leaves so little time for being naughty, that Bertha herself was getting
into training, and on the present day her lessons were exemplary, always
with a view to the promised walk with her brother, one of the greatest
pleasures ever enjoyed by the denizens of the west wing.
Phoebe's pleasure was less certain, and less dependent on her merits, yet
it invigorated her efforts to do all she had to do with all her might,
even into the statement of the pros and cons of customs and free-trade,
which she was required to produce as her morning's exercise. In the
midst, her ear detected the sound of wheels, and her heart throbbed in
the conviction that it was Miss Charlecote's pony carriage; nay, she
found her pen had indited 'Robin would be so glad,' instead of 'revenue
to the government,' and while scratching the words out beyond all
legibility, she blamed herself for betraying such want of self-command.
No summons came, no tidings, the wheels went away; her heart sank, and
her spirit revolted against an unfeeling, unutterably wearisome
captivity; but it was only a moment's fluttering against the bars, the
tears were driven back with the thought, 'After all, the decision is
guided from Above. If I stay at home, it _must_ be best for me. Let me
try to be good!' and she forced her mind back to her exports and her
customs. It was such discipline as few girls could have exercised, but
the conscientious effort was no small assistance in being resigned; and
in the precious minutes granted in which to prepare herself for dinner,
she found it the less hard task to part with her anticipations of delight
and brace herself to quiet, contented duty.
The meal was beginning when, with a very wide expansion of the door,
appeared a short, consequential-looking personage, of such plump, rounded
proportions, that she seemed ready to burst out of her riding-habit, and
of a broad, complacent visage, somewhat overblooming. It was Miss
Fulmort, the eldest of the family, a young lady just past thirty, a very
awful distance from the schoolroom party, to whom she nodded with
good-natured condescension, saying: 'Ah! I thought I should find you at
dinner; I'm come for something to sustain nature. The riding party are
determined to have me with them, and they won't wait for luncheon. Thank
you, yes, a piece of mutton, if there were any under side. How it
reminds me of old times. I used so to look forward to never seeing a
loin of mutton again.'
'As your chief ambition?' said Miss Fennimore, who, governess as she was,
could not help being a little satirical, especially when Bertha's eyes
twinkled responsively.
'One does get so tired of mutton and rice-pudding,' answered the less
observant Miss Fulmort, who was but dimly conscious of any one's
existence save her own, and could not have credited a governess laughing
at her; 'but really this is not so bad, after all, for a change; and some
pale ale. You don't mean that you exist without pale ale?'
'We all drink water by preference,' said Miss Fennimore.
'Indeed! Miss Watson, our finishing governess, never drank anything but
claret, and she always had little _pates_, or fish, or something, because
she said her appetite was to be consulted, she was so delicate. She was
very thin, I know; and what a figure you have, Phoebe! I suppose that is
water drinking. Bridger did say it would reduce me to leave off pale
ale, but I can't get on without it, I get so horridly low. Don't you
think that's a sign, Miss Fennimore?'
'I beg your pardon, a sign of what?'
'That one can't go on without it. Miss Charlecote said she thought it
was all constitution whether one is stout or not, and that nothing made
much difference, when I asked her about German wines.'
'Oh! Augusta, has Miss Charlecote been here this morning?' exclaimed
Phoebe.
'Yes; she came at twelve o'clock, and there was I actually pinned down to
entertain her, for mamma was not come down. So I asked her about those
light foreign wines, and whether they do really make one thinner; you
know one always has them at her house.'
'Did mamma see her?' asked poor Phoebe, anxiously.
'Oh yes, she was bent upon it. It was something about you. Oh! she
wants to take you to stay with her in that horrible hole of hers in the
City--very odd of her. What do you advise me to do, Miss Fennimore? Do
you think those foreign wines would bring me down a little, or that they
would make me low and sinking?'
'Really, I have no experience on the subject!' said Miss Fennimore,
loftily.
'What did mamma say?' was poor Phoebe's almost breathless question.
'Oh! it makes no difference to mamma' (Phoebe's heart bounded); but
Augusta went on: 'she always has her soda-water, you know; but of course
I should take a hamper from Bass. I hate being unprovided.'
'But about my going to London?' humbly murmured Phoebe.
'What _did_ she say?' considered the elder sister, aloud. 'I don't know,
I'm sure. I was not attending--the heat does make one so sleepy--but I
know we all wondered she should want you at your age. You know some
people take a spoonful of vinegar to fine themselves down, and some of
those wines _are_ very acid,' she continued, pressing on with her great
subject of consultation.
'If it be an object with you, Miss Fulmort, I should recommend the
vinegar,' said Miss Fennimore. 'There is nothing like doing a thing
outright!'
'And, oh! how glorious it would be to see her taking it!' whispered
Bertha into Phoebe's ear, unheard by Augusta, who, in her satisfied
stolidity, was declaring, 'No, I could not undertake that. I am the
worst person in the world for taking anything disagreeable.'
And having completed her meal, which she had contrived to make out of the
heart of the joint, leaving the others little but fat, she walked off to
her ride, believing that she had done a gracious and condescending action
in making conversation with her inferiors of the west wing.
Yet Augusta Fulmort might have been good for something, if her mind and
her affections had not lain fallow ever since she escaped from a series
of governesses who taught her self-indulgence by example.
'I wonder what mamma said!' exclaimed Phoebe, in her strong craving for
sympathy in her suspense.
'I am sorry the subject has been brought forward, if it is to unsettle
you, Phoebe,' said Miss Fennimore, not unkindly; 'I regret your being
twice disappointed; but, if your mother should refer it to me, as I make
no doubt she will, I should say that it would be a great pity to break up
our course of studies.'
'It would only be for a little while,' sighed Phoebe; 'and Miss
Charlecote is to show me all the museums. I should see more with her
than ever I shall when I am come out; and I should be with Robert.'
'I intended asking permission to take you through a systematic course of
lectures and specimens when the family are next in town,' said Miss
Fennimore. 'Ordinary, desultory sight-seeing leaves few impressions; and
though Miss Charlecote is a superior person, her mind is not of a
sufficiently scientific turn to make her fully able to direct you. I
shall trust to your good sense, Phoebe, for again submitting to defer the
pleasure till it can be enhanced.'
Good sense had a task imposed on it for which it was quite inadequate;
but there was something else in Phoebe which could do the work better
than her unconvinced reason. Even had she been sure of the expediency of
being condemned to the schoolroom, no good sense would have brought that
resolute smile, or driven back the dew in her eyes, or enabled her voice
to say, with such sweet meekness, 'Very well, Miss Fennimore; I dare say
it may be right.'
Miss Fennimore was far more concerned than if the submission had been
grudging. She debated with herself whether she should consider her
resolution irrevocable.
Ten minutes were allowed after dinner in the parterre, and these could
only be spent under the laurel hedge; the sun was far too hot everywhere
else. Phoebe had here no lack of sympathy, but had to restrain Bertha,
who, with angry gestures, was pronouncing the governess a horrid
cross-patch, and declaring that no girls ever were used as they were;
while Maria observed, that if Phoebe went to London, she must go too.
'We shall all go some day,' said Phoebe, cheerfully, 'and we shall enjoy
it all the more if we are good now. Never mind, Bertha, we shall have
some nice walks.'
'Yes, all bothered with botany,' muttered Bertha.
'I thought, at least, you would be glad of me,' said Phoebe, smiling;
'you who stay at home.'
'To be sure, I am,' said Bertha; 'but it is such a shame! I shall tell
Robin, and he'll say so too. I shall tell him you nearly cried!'
'Don't vex Robin,' said Phoebe. 'When you go out, you should set
yourself to tell him pleasant things.'
'So I'm to tell him you wouldn't go on any account. You like your
political economy much too well!'
'Suppose you say nothing about it,' said Phoebe. 'Make yourself merry
with him. That's what you've got to do. He takes you out to entertain
you, not to worry about grievances.'
'Do you never talk about grievances?' asked Bertha, twinkling up her
eyes.
Phoebe hesitated. 'Not my own,' she said, 'because I have not got any.'
'Has Robert, then?' asked Bertha.
'Nobody has grievances who is out of the schoolroom,' opined Maria; and
as she uttered this profound sentiment, the tinkle of Miss Fennimore's
little bell warned the sisters to return to the studies, which in the
heat of summer were pursued in the afternoon, that the walk might be
taken in the cool of the evening. Reading aloud, drawing, and sensible
plain needlework were the avocations till it was time to learn the
morrow's lessons. Phoebe being beyond this latter work, drew on, and in
the intervals of helping Maria with her geography, had time to prepare
such a bright face as might make Robert think lightly of her
disappointment, and not reckon it as another act of tyranny.
When he opened the door, however, there was that in his looks which made
her spirits leap up like an elastic spring; and his 'Well, Phoebe!' was
almost triumphant.
'Is it--am I--' was all she could say.
'Has no one thought it worth while to tell you?'
'Don't you know,' interposed Bertha, 'you on the other side the red baize
door might be all married, or dead and buried, for aught we should hear.
But is Phoebe to go?'
'I believe so.'
'Are you sure?' asked Phoebe, afraid yet to hope.
'Yes. My father heard the invitation, and said that you were a good
girl, and deserved a holiday.'
Commendation from that quarter was so rare, that excess of gladness made
Phoebe cast down her eyes and colour intensely, a little oppressed by the
victory over her governess. But Miss Fennimore spoke warmly. 'He cannot
think her more deserving than I do. I am rejoiced not to have been
consulted, for I could hardly have borne to inflict such a mortification
on her, though these interruptions are contrary to my views. As it is,
Phoebe, my dear, I wish you joy.'
'Thank you,' Phoebe managed to say, while the happy tears fairly started.
In that chilly land, the least approach to tenderness was like the gleam
in which the hardy woodbine leaflets unfold to sun themselves.
Thankful for small mercies, thought Robert, looking at her with fond
pity; but at least the dear child will have one fortnight of a more
genial atmosphere, and soon, maybe, I shall transplant her to be
Lucilla's darling as well as mine, free from task-work, and doing the
labours of love for which she is made!
He was quite in spirits, and able to reply in kind to the freaks and
jokes of his little sister, as she started, spinning round him like a
humming-top, and singing--
Will you go to the wood, Robin a Bobbin?
giving safe vent to an ebullition of spirits that must last her a good
while, poor little maiden!
Phoebe took a sober walk with Miss Fennimore, receiving advice on
methodically journalizing what she might see, and on the scheme of
employments which might prevent her visit from being waste of time. The
others would have resented the interference with the holiday; but Phoebe,
though a little sorry to find that tasks were not to be off her mind, was
too grateful for Miss Fennimore's cordial consent to entertain any
thought except of obedience to the best of her power.
Miss Fennimore was politely summoned to Mrs. Fulmort's dressing-room for
the official communication; but this day was no exception to the general
custom, that the red baize door was not passed by the young ladies until
their evening appearance in the drawing-room. Then the trio descended,
all alike in white muslin, made high, and green sashes--a dress carefully
distinguishing Phoebe as not introduced, but very becoming to her, with
the simple folds and the little net ruche, suiting admirably the tall,
rounded slenderness of her shape, her long neck, and short, childish
contour of face, where there smiled a joy of anticipation almost
inappreciable to those who know not what it is to spend day after day
with nothing particular to look forward to.
Very grand was the drawing-room, all amber-coloured with satin-wood,
satin and gold, and with everything useless and costly encumbering tables
that looked as if nothing could ever be done upon them. Such a room
inspired a sense of being in company, and it was no wonder that Mrs.
Fulmort and her two elder daughters swept in in as decidedly procession
style as if they had formed part of a train of twenty.
The star that bestowed three female sovereigns to Europe seemed to have
had the like influence on Hiltonbury parish, since both its squires were
heiresses. Miss Mervyn would have been a happier woman had she married a
plain country gentleman, like those of her own stock, instead of giving a
county position to a man of lower origin and enormous monied wealth. To
live up to the claims of that wealth had been her business ever since,
and health and enjoyment had been so completely sacrificed to it, that
for many years past the greater part of her time had been spent in
resting and making herself up for her appearance in the evening, when she
conducted her elder daughters to their gaieties. Faded and tallowy in
complexion, so as to be almost ghastly in her blue brocade and heavy gold
ornaments, she reclined languidly on a large easy-chair, saying with
half-closed eyes--
'Well, Phoebe, Miss Fennimore has told you of Miss Charlecote's
invitation.'
'Yes, mamma. I am very, _very_ much obliged!'
'You know you are not to fancy yourself come out,' said Juliana, the
second sister, who had a good tall figure, and features and complexion
not far from beauty, but marred by a certain shrewish tone and air.
'Oh, no,' answered Phoebe; 'but with Miss Charlecote that will make no
difference.'
'Probably not,' said Juliana; 'for of course you will see nobody but a
set of old maids and clergymen and their wives.'
'She need not go far for old maids,' whispered Bertha to Maria.
'Pray, in which class do you reckon the Sandbrooks?' said Phoebe,
smiling; 'for she chiefly goes to meet them.'
'She may go!' said Juliana, scornfully; 'but Lucilla Sandbrook is far
past attending to her!'
'I wonder whether the Charterises will take any notice of Phoebe?'
exclaimed Augusta.
'My dear,' said Mrs. Fulmort, waking slowly to another idea, 'I will tell
Boodle to talk to--what's your maid's name?--about your dresses.'
'Oh, mamma,' interposed Juliana, 'it will be only poking about the
exhibitions with Miss Charlecote. You may have that plaid silk of mine
that I was going to have worn out abroad, half-price for her.'
Bertha fairly made a little stamp at Juliana, and clenched her fist.
If Phoebe dreaded anything in the way of dress, it was Juliana's
half-price.
'My dear, your papa would not like her not to be well fitted out,' said
her mother; 'and Honora Charlecote always has such handsome things. I
wish Boodle could put mine on like hers.'
'Oh, very well!' said Juliana, rather offended; 'only it should be
understood what is to be done if the Charterises ask her to any of their
parties. There will be such mistakes and confusion if she meets any one
we know; and you particularly objected to having her brought forward.'
Phoebe's eye was a little startled, and Bertha set her front teeth
together on edge, and looked viciously at Juliana.
'My dear, Honora Charlecote never goes out,' said Mrs. Fulmort.
'If she should, you understand, Phoebe,' said Juliana.
Coffee came in at the moment, and Augusta criticized the strength of it,
which made a diversion, during which Bertha slipped out of the room, with
a face replete with mischievous exultation.
'Are not you going to play to-night, my dears?' asked Mrs. Fulmort.
'What was that duet I heard you practising?'
'Come, Juliana,' said the elder sister, 'I meant to go over it again; I
am not satisfied with my part.'
'I have to write a note,' said Juliana, moving off to another table;
whereupon Phoebe ventured to propose herself as a substitute, and was
accepted.
Maria sat entranced, with her mouth open; and presently Mrs. Fulmort
looked up from a kind of doze to ask who was playing. For some moments
she had no answer. Maria was too much awed for speech in the
drawing-room; and though Bertha had come back, she had her back to her
mother, and did not hear. Mrs. Fulmort exerted herself to sit up and
turn her head.
'Was that Phoebe?' she said. 'You have a clear, good touch, my dear, as
they used to say I had when I was at school at Bath. Play another of
your pieces, my dear.'
'I am ready now, Augusta,' said Juliana, advancing.
Little girls were not allowed at the piano when officers might be coming
in from the dining-room, so Maria's face became vacant again, for
Juliana's music awoke no echoes within her.
Phoebe beckoned her to a remote ottoman, a receptacle for the newspapers
of the week, and kept her turning over the _Illustrated News_, an
unfailing resource with her, but powerless to occupy Bertha after the
first Saturday; and Bertha, turning a deaf ear to the assurance that
there was something very entertaining about a tiger-hunt, stood, solely
occupied by eyeing Juliana.
Was she studying 'come-out' life as she watched her sisters surrounded by
the gentlemen who presently herded round the piano?
It was nearly the moment when the young ones were bound to withdraw, when
Mervyn, coming hastily up to their ottoman, had almost stumbled over
Maria's foot.
'Beg pardon. Oh, it was only you! What a cow it is!' said he, tossing
over the papers.
'What are you looking for, Mervyn?' asked Phoebe.
'An advertisement--_Bell's Life_ for the 3rd. That rascal, Mears, must
have taken it.'
She found it for him, and likewise the advertisement, which he, missing
once, was giving up in despair.
'I say,' he observed, while she was searching, 'so you are to chip the
shell.'
'I'm only going to London--I'm not coming out.'
'Gammon!' he said, with an odd wink. 'You need never go in again, like
the what's-his-name in the fairy tale, or you are a sillier child than I
take you for. They'--nodding at the piano--'are getting a terrible pair
of old cats, and we want something young and pretty about.'
With this unusual compliment, Phoebe, seeing the way clear to the door,
rose to depart, most reluctantly followed by Bertha, and more willingly
by Maria, who began, the moment they were in the hall--
'Phoebe, why do they get a couple of terrible old cats? I don't like
them. I shall be afraid.'
'Mervyn didn't mean--' began perplexed Phoebe, cut short by Bertha's
boisterous laughter. 'Oh, Maria, what a goose you are! You'll be the
death of me some day! Why, Juliana and Augusta are the cats themselves.
Oh, dear! I wanted to kiss Mervyn for saying so. Oh, wasn't it fun! And
now, Maria,--oh! if I could have stayed a moment longer!'
'Bertha, Bertha, not such a noise in the hall. Come, Maria; mind, you
must not tell anybody. Bertha, come,' expostulated Phoebe, trying to
drag her sister to the red baize door; but Bertha stood, bending nearly
double, exaggerating the helplessness of her paroxysms of laughter.
'Well, at least the cat will have something to scratch her,' she gasped
out. 'Oh, I did so want to stay and see!'
'Have you been playing any tricks?' exclaimed Phoebe, with consternation,
as Bertha's deportment recurred to her.
'Tricks?--I couldn't help it. Oh, listen, Phoebe!' cried Bertha, with
her wicked look of triumph. 'I brought home such a lovely sting-nettle
for Miss Fennimore's peacock caterpillar; and when I heard how kind dear
Juliana was to you about your visit to London, I thought she really must
have it for a reward; so I ran away, and slily tucked it into her
bouquet; and I did so hope she would take it up to fiddle with when the
gentlemen talk to her,' said the elf, with an irresistibly comic
imitation of Juliana's manner towards gentlemen.
'Bertha, this is beyond--' began Phoebe.
'Didn't you sting your fingers?' asked Maria.
Bertha stuck out her fat pink paws, embellished with sundry white lumps.
'All pleasure,' said she, 'thinking of the jump Juliana will give, and
how nicely it serves her.'
Phoebe was already on her way back to the drawing-rooms; Bertha sprang
after, but in vain. Never would she have risked the success of her
trick, could she have guessed that Phoebe would have the temerity to
return to the company!
Phoebe glided in without waiting for the sense of awkwardness, though she
knew she should have to cross the whole room, and she durst not ask any
one to bring the dangerous bouquet to her--not even Robert--he must not
be stung in her service.
She met her mother's astonished eye as she threaded her way; she wound
round a group of gentlemen, and spied the article of which she was in
quest, where Juliana had laid it down with her gloves on going to the
piano. Actually she had it! She had seized it unperceived! Good little
thief; it was a most innocent robbery. She crept away with a sense of
guilt and desire to elude observation, positively starting when she
encountered her father's portly figure in the ante-room. He stopped her
with 'Going to bed, eh? So Miss Charlecote has taken a fancy to you, has
she? It does you credit. What shall you want for the journey?'
'Boodle is going to see,' began Phoebe, but he interrupted.
'Will fifty do? I will have my daughters well turned out. All to be
spent upon yourself, mind. Why, you've not a bit of jewellery on! Have
you a watch?'
'No, papa.'
'Robert shall choose one for you, then. Come to my room any time for the
cash; and if Miss Charlecote takes you anywhere among her set--good
connections she has--and you want to be rigged out extra, send me in the
bill--anything rather than be shabby.'
'Thank you, papa! Then, if I am asked out anywhere, may I go?'
'Why, what does the child mean? Anywhere that Miss Charlecote likes to
take you of course.'
'Only because I am not come out.'
'Stuff about coming out! I don't like my girls to be shy and backward.
They've a right to show themselves anywhere; and you should be going out
with us now, but somehow your poor mother doesn't like the trouble of
such a lot of girls. So don't be shy, but make the most of yourself, for
you won't meet many better endowed, nor more highly accomplished. Good
night, and enjoy yourself.'
Palpitating with wonder and pleasure, Phoebe escaped. Such permission,
over-riding all Juliana's injunctions, was worth a few nettle stings and
a great fright; for Phoebe was not philosopher enough, in spite of Miss
Fennimore--ay, and of Robert--not to have a keen desire to see a great
party.
Her delay had so much convinced the sisters that her expedition had had
some fearful consequences, that Maria was already crying lest dear Phoebe
should be in disgrace; and Bertha had seated herself on the balusters,
debating with herself whether, if Phoebe were suspected of the trick (a
likely story) and condemned to lose her visit to London, she would
confess herself the guilty person.
And when Phoebe came back, too much overcome with delight to do anything
but communicate papa's goodness, and rejoice in the unlimited power of
making presents, Bertha triumphantly insisted on her confessing that it
had been a capital thing that the nettles were in Juliana's nosegay!
Phoebe shook her head; too happy to scold, too humble to draw the moral
that the surest way to gratification is to remove the thorns from the
path of others.