Even in our ashes glow the wonted fires.--GRAY
'My dear, I did not like the voice that I heard just now.'
'I am sure I was not out of temper.'
'Indeed?'
'Well, I am sure any one would be vexed.'
'Cannot you tell me what was the matter without being sure so often?'
'I am sure--there, mamma, I beg your pardon--I am sure I did not mean to
complain.'
'Only, Sarah, neither your voice has such a ring, nor are you so sure,
when nothing has gone wrong. What was it?'
'It is that photography, mamma. Miss Sandbrook is so busy with it! I
could not copy in my translation that I did yesterday, because she had
not looked over it, and when she said she was coming presently, I am
afraid I said it was always presently and never present. I believe I did
say it crossly, and I am sorry I denied it,' and poor Sarah's voice was
low and meek enough.
'Coming? Where is she?'
'In the dark chamber, doing a positive of the Cathedral.'
Mrs. Prendergast entered the schoolroom, outside which she had been
holding this colloquy. The powerful sun of high summer was filling the
room with barred light through the Venetian blinds, and revealing a
rather confused mass of the appliances of study, interspersed with
saucers of water in which were bathing paper photographs, and every shelf
of books had a fringe of others on glass set up to dry. On the table lay
a paper of hooks, a three-tailed artificial minnow, and another partly
clothed with silver twist, a fly-book, and a quantity of feathers and
silks.
'I must tell Francis that the schoolroom is no place for his
fishing-tackle!' exclaimed Mrs. Prendergast.
'O, mamma, it is Miss Sandbrook's. She is teaching him to dress flies,
because she says he can't be a real fisherman without, and the trout
always rise at hers. It is quite beautiful to see her throw. That
delicate little hand is so strong and ready.'
A door was opened, and out of the housemaid's closet, defended from light
by a yellow blind at every crevice, came eager exclamations of 'Famous,'
'Capital,' 'The tower comes out to perfection;' and in another moment
Lucilla Sandbrook, in all her bloom and animation, was in the room,
followed by a youth of some eighteen years, Francis Beaumont, an Indian
nephew of Mrs. Prendergast.
'Hit off at last, isn't it, aunt? Those dog-tooth mouldings will satisfy
even the uncle.'
'Really it is very good,' said Mrs. Prendergast, as it was held up to the
light for her inspection.
'Miss Sandbrook has bewitched the camera,' continued he. 'Do you
remember the hideous muddles of last summer? But, oh! Miss Sandbrook, we
must have one more; the sun will be off by and by.'
'Only ten minutes,' said Lucilla, in a deprecating tone. 'You must not
keep me a second more, let the sun be in ever such good humour. Come,
Sarah, come and show us the place you said would be so good.'
'It is too hot,' said Sarah, bluntly, 'and I can't waste the morning.'
'Well, you pattern-pupil, I'll come presently. Indeed I will, Mrs.
Prendergast.'
'Let me see this translation, Sarah,' said Mrs. Prendergast, as the
photographers ran down-stairs.
She looked over it carefully, and as the ten minutes had passed without
sign of the governess's return, asked what naturally followed in the
morning's employment.
'Italian reading, mamma; but never mind.'
'Find the place, my dear.'
'It is only while Francis is at home. Oh, I wish I had not been cross.'
And though Sarah usually loved to read to her mother, she was uneasy all
the time, watching the door, and pausing to listen at the most moving
passages. It was full half an hour before the voices were heard
returning, and then there was a call, 'Directly, Sarah!' the dark chamber
was shut up, and all subsided.
Mrs. Prendergast stayed on, in spite of an imploring glance from her
daughter, and after an interval of the mysterious manipulations in the
closet, the photograph was borne forth in triumph.
Lucilla looked a little abashed at finding Mrs. Prendergast in presence,
and began immediately, 'There, Mr. Beaumont, you see! I hope Mrs.
Prendergast is going to banish you forthwith; you make us shamefully
idle.'
'Yes,' said Mrs. Prendergast, gravely, 'I am going to carry him off at
once, and make a law against future invasions.'
Francis attempted loud appeals, but his aunt quashed them with demeanour
that showed that she was in earnest, and drove him away before her.
'Indeed, Miss Sandbrook,' said Sarah, with affectionate compunction, 'I
did not mean to speak so loud and so crossly.'
'My dear,' said Lucilla, leaning back and fanning herself with her hat,
'we all know that we reverse the laws of teacher and pupil! Small blame
to you if you were put out, and now I hope your mamma will keep him to
herself, and that I shall have time to get cool. There! read me some
French, it is a refreshing process--or practise a little. I declare that
boy has dragged me in and out so often, that I haven't energy to tell a
noun from a verb.'
Mrs. Prendergast had hardly descended to the drawing-room before her
husband's voice called her to the study, where he stood, his broad mouth
distended by a broader smile, his eyes twinkling with merriment.
'Old woman' (his favourite name for her), 'do you know what a spectacle I
have been witnessing?' and as she signed inquiry, 'Mrs. Sprydone, with
numerous waggings of the head, and winkings of the eyes, inveigled me
into her den, to see--guess.'
'Francis and Miss Sandbrook in the cloister photographing.'
'Old woman, you are a witch.'
'I knew what they were about, as well as Mrs. Sprydone's agony to open my
eyes.'
'So your obstinate blindness drove her to me! She thought it right that
I should be aware The Close, it seems, is in a fever about that poor
girl. What do you know? Is it all gossip?'
'I know there is gossip, as a law of nature, but I have not chosen to
hear it.'
'Then you think it all nonsense?'
'Not _all_.'
'Well, what then? The good ladies seem terribly scandalized by her
dress. Is there any harm in that? I always thought it very becoming.'
'Exactly so,' said his wife, smiling.
'If it is too smart, can't you give her a hint?'
'When she left off her mourning, she spoke to me, saying that she could
not afford not to wear out what she already had. I quite agreed; and
though I could wish there were less stylishness about her, it is pleasant
to one's own eye, and I see nothing to object to.'
'I'm sure it is no concern of the ladies, then! And how about this lad?
One of their wild notions, is not it? I have heard her tell him
half-a-dozen times that she was six years his elder.'
'Four-and-twenty is just the age that young-looking girls like to boast
of. I am not afraid on her account; she has plenty of sense and
principle, and I believe, too, there is a very sore spot in her heart,
poor girl. She plays with him as a mere boy; but he is just at the time
of life for a passion for a woman older than himself, and his devotion
certainly excites her more than I could wish.'
'I'll tell you what, Peter didn't like it at all.'
'Peter was certainly not in a gracious mood when he was here last week.
I could not make out whether seeing her a governess were too much for
him, or whether he suspected me of ill-using her.'
'No, no; it was rivalry between him and Master Francis!' said the Doctor,
laughing. 'How he launched out against young men's conceit when Francis
was singing with her. Sheer jealousy! He could see nothing but
dilapidation, dissent, and dirt at Laneham, and now has gone and refused
it.'
'Refused Laneham!--that capital college living!--with no better
dependence than his fellowship, and such a curacy as Wrapworth?'
'Indeed he has. Here's his letter. You may read it and give it to Miss
Sandbrook if you like--he seems quite dispirited.'
'"Too old to enter on a new field of duties,"' read Mrs. Prendergast,
indignantly. 'Why, he is but forty-four! What did he think of us for
coming here?'
'Despised me for it,' said the Doctor, smiling. 'Never mind; he will
think himself younger as he grows older--and one can't blame him for
keeping to Wrapworth as long as the old Dean of --- lives, especially as
those absentee Charterises do so much harm.'
'He does not expect them to give him the living? They ought, I am sure,
after his twenty years' labour there already.'
'Not they! Mr. Charteris gratuitously wrote to tell him that, on hearing
of his burying that poor young Mrs. Sandbrook there, all scruples had
been removed, and the next presentation was offered for sale. You need
not tell Miss Sandbrook so.'
'Certainly not; but pray how does Peter mean to avoid the new field of
duty, if he be sure of turning out on the Dean's death? Oh! I
see--"finish his days at his College, if the changes at the University
have not rendered it insupportable to one who remembers elder and better
days." Poor Peter! Well; these are direful consequences of Miss
Sandbrook's fit of flightiness! Yes, I'll show her the letter, it might
tame her a little; and, poor thing, I own I liked her better when she was
soft and subdued.'
'Ha! Then you are not satisfied? Don't go. Let me know how it is. I
am sure Sarah is distracted about her--more than even Francis. I would
not part with her for a great deal, not only on Peter's account, but on
her own and Sarah's; but these ladies have raked up all manner of
Charteris scandal, and we are quite in disgrace for bringing her here.'
'Yes,' said Mrs. Prendergast, 'while we lived at our dear old country
home, I never quite believed what I heard of jealous ill-nature, but I
have seen how it was ever since those Christmas parties, when certainly
people paid her a great deal of attention.'
'Who would not?--the prettiest, most agreeable young woman there.'
'It may be vexatious to be eclipsed not only in beauty, but in style, by
a strange governess,' said Mrs. Prendergast. 'That set all the mothers
and daughters against her, and there have been some spiteful little
attempts at mortifying her, which have made Sarah and me angry beyond
description! All that they say only impels me towards her. She is a
rare creature, most engaging, but I do sometimes fear that I may have
spoilt her a little, for she has certainly not done quite so well of
late. At first she worked hard to keep in advance of Sarah, saying how
she felt the disadvantage of superficial learning and desultory habits;
she kept in the background, and avoided amusements; but I suppose
reaction is natural with recovered spirits, and this summer she has taken
less pains, and has let Francis occupy her too much, and--what I like
least of all--her inattention brings back the old rubs with Sarah's
temper.'
'You must take her in hand.'
'If she were but my daughter or niece!'
'I thought you had made her feel as such.'
'This sort of reproof is the difficulty, and brings back the sense of our
relative positions. However, the thing is to be done as much for her
sake as for our own.'
Lucilla knew that a lecture was impending, but she really loved and
esteemed Mrs. Prendergast too much to prepare to champ the bit. That
lady's warmth and simplicity, and, above all, the largeness of mind that
prevented her from offending or being offended by trifles, had endeared
her extremely to the young governess. Not only had these eight months
passed without the squabble that Owen had predicted would send her to
Hiltonbury in a week, but Cilla had decidedly, though insensibly, laid
aside many of the sentiments and habits in which poor Honor's opposition
had merely confirmed her. The effect of the sufferings of the past
summer had subdued her for a long time, the novelty of her position had
awed her, and what Mrs. Prendergast truly called the reaction had been so
tardy in coming on that it was a surprise even to herself. Sensible that
she had given cause for displeasure, she courted the _tete-a-tete_, and
herself began thus--'I beg your pardon for my idleness. It is a fatal
thing to be recalled to the two passions of my youth--fishing and
photography.'
'My husband will give Francis employment in the morning,' said Mrs.
Prendergast. 'It will not do to give Sarah's natural irritability too
many excuses for outbreaks.'
'She never accepts excuses,' said Lucilla, 'though I am sure she might.
I have been a sore trial to her diligence and methodicalness; and her
soul is too much bent on her work for us to drag her out to be foolish,
as would be best for her.'
'So it might be for her; but, my dear, pardon me, I am not speaking only
for Sarah's sake.'
With an odd jerk of head and hand, Cilly exclaimed, 'Oh! the old
story--the other f--flirting, is it?'
'I never said that! I never thought that,' cried Mrs. Prendergast,
shocked at the word and idea that had never crossed her mind.
'If not,' said Cilla, 'it is because you are too innocent to know
flirting when you see it! Dear Mrs. Prendergast, I didn't think you
would have looked so grave.'
'I did not think you would have spoken so lightly; but it is plain that
we do not mean the same thing.'
'In fact, you in your quietness, think awfully of that which for years
was to me like breathing! I thought the taste was gone for ever, but,
you see'--and her sad sweet expression pleaded for her--'you have made me
so happy that the old self is come back.' There was a silence, broken by
this strange girl saying, 'Well, what are you going to do to me?'
'Only,' said the lady, in her sweet, full, impressive voice, 'to beg you
will indeed be happy in giving yourself no cause for self-reproach.'
'I'm past that,' said Lucilla, with a smile on her lip and a tear in her
eye. 'I've not known that sensation since my father died. My chief
happiness since that has lain in being provoking, but you have taken away
that pleasure. I couldn't purposely vex you, even if I were your adopted
child!'
Without precisely knowing the full amount of these words, Mrs.
Prendergast understood past bitterness and present warmth, and, gratified
to find that at least there was no galling at their mutual relations,
responded with a smile and a caress that led Lucilla to continue--'As for
the word that dismayed you, I only meant to acknowledge an unlucky
propensity to be excited about any nonsense, in which any _man_ kind is
mixed up. If Sarah would take to it, I could more easily abstain, but
you see her coquetries are with nobody more recent than Horace and
Dante.'
'I cannot wish it to be otherwise with her,' said Mrs. Prendergast
gravely.
'No! It is a bad speculation,' said Lucilla, sadly. 'She will never
wish half her life could be pulled out like defective crochet; nor wear
out good people's forbearance with her antics. I did think they were
outgrown, and beat out of me, and that your nephew was too young; but I
suppose it is ingrain, and that I should be flattered by the attentions
of a he-baby of six months old! But I'll do my best, Mrs. Prendergast; I
promise you I'll not be the schoolmistress abroad in the morning, and you
shall see what terms I will keep with Mr. Beaumont.'
Mrs. Prendergast was less pleased after than before this promise. It was
again that freedom of expression that the girl had learnt among the
Charterises, and the ideas that she accepted as mere matters of course,
that jarred upon the matron, whose secluded life had preserved her in far
truer refinement. She did not know how to reply, and, as a means of
ending the discussion, gave her Mr. Prendergast's letter, but was amazed
at her reception of it.
'Passed the living! Famous! He will stick to Wrapworth to the last
gasp! That is fidelity! Pray tell him so from me.'
'You had better send your message through Dr. Prendergast. We cannot but
be disappointed, though I understand your feeling for Wrapworth, and we
are sorry for the dispirited tone about the letter.'
'Well he may be, all alone there, and seeing poor Castle Blanch going to
rack and ruin. I could cry about it whenever I think of it; but how much
worse would it have been if he had deserted too! As long as he is in the
old vicarage there is a home spot to me in the world! Oh, I thank him, I
do thank him for standing by the old place to the last.'
'It is preposterous,' thought Mrs. Prendergast. 'I won't tell the
Doctor. He would think it so foolish in him, and improper in her; I
verily believe it is her influence that keeps him at Wrapworth! He
cannot bear to cross her wishes nor give her pain. Well, I am thankful
that Sarah is neither beautiful nor attractive.'
Sincere was Lucilla's intention to resume her regular habits, and put a
stop to Francis Beaumont's attentions, but the attraction had already
gone so far that repression rendered him the more assiduous, and often
bore the aspect (if it were not absolutely the coyness) of coquetry.
While deprecating from her heart any attachment on his part, her vanity
was fanned at finding herself in her present position as irresistible as
ever, and his eagerness to obtain a smile or word from her was such an
agreeable titillation, that everything else became flat, and her hours in
the schoolroom an imprisonment. Sarah's methodical earnestness in study
bored her, and she was sick of restraint and application. Nor was this
likely to be merely a passing evil, for Francis's parents were in India,
and Southminster was his only English home. Nay, even when he had
returned to his tutor, Lucilla was not restored to her better self. Her
craving for excitement had been awakened, and her repugnance to mental
exertion had been yielded to. The routine of lessons had become bondage,
and she sought every occasion of variety, seeking to outshine and dazzle
the ladies of Southminster, playing off Castle Blanch fascinations on
curates and minor canons, and sometimes flying at higher game, even
beguiling the Dean himself into turning over her music when she sang.
She had at first, by the use of all her full-grown faculties, been just
able to keep sufficiently ahead of her pupil; but her growing indolence
soon caused her to slip back, and not only did she let Sarah shoot ahead
of her, but she became impatient of the girl's habits of accuracy and
research; she would give careless and vexatious answers, insist
petulantly on correcting by the ear, make light of Sarah and her grammar,
and hastily reject or hurry from the maps, dictionaries, and cyclopaedias
with which Sarah's training had taught her to read and learn. But her
dislike of trouble in supporting an opinion did not make her the less
pertinacious in upholding it, and there were times when she was wrathful
and petulant at Sarah's presumption in maintaining the contrary, even
with all the authorities in the bookshelves to back her.
Sarah's temper was not her prime quality, and altercations began to run
high. Each dispute that took place only prepared the way for another,
and Mrs. Prendergast, having taken a governess chiefly to save her
daughter from being fretted by interruptions, found that her annoyances
were tenfold increased, and irritations were almost habitual. They were
the more disappointing because the girl preserved through them all such a
passionate admiration for her beautiful and charming little governess,
that, except in the very height of a squabble, she still believed her
perfection, and was her most vehement partisan, even when the wrong had
been chiefly on the side of the teacher.
On the whole, in spite of this return to old faults, Lucilla was improved
by her residence at Southminster. Defiance had fallen into disuse, and
the habit of respect and affection had softened her and lessened her
pride; there was more devotional temper, and a greater desire after a
religious way of life. It might be that her fretfulness was the effect
of an uneasiness of mind, which was more hopeful than her previous fierce
self-satisfaction, and that her aberrations were the last efforts of old
evil habits to re-establish their grasp by custom, when her heart was
becoming detached from them.
Be that as it might, Mrs. Prendergast's first duty was to her child, her
second to the nephew intrusted to her, and love and pity as she might,
she felt that to retain Lucilla was leading all into temptation. Her
husband was slow to see the verification of her reluctant opinion, but he
trusted to her, and it only remained to part as little harshly or
injuriously as might be.
An opening was afforded when, in October, Mrs. Prendergast was entreated
by the widow of one of her brothers to find her a governess for two girls
of twelve and ten, and two boys younger. It was at a country-house, so
much secluded that such temptations as at Southminster were out of reach,
and the younger pupils were not likely to try her temper in the same way
as Sarah had done.
So Mrs. Prendergast tenderly explained that Sarah, being old enough to
pursue her studies alone, and her sister, Mrs. Willis Beaumont, being in
distress for a governess, it would be best to transfer Miss Sandbrook to
her. Lucilla turned a little pale, but gave no other sign, only
answering, 'Thank you,' and 'Yes,' at fit moments, and acceding to
everything, even to her speedy departure at the end of a week.
She left the room in silence, more stunned than even by Robert's
announcement, and with less fictitious strength to brave the blow that
she had brought on herself. She repaired to the schoolroom, and leaning
her brow against the window-pane, tried to gather her thoughts, but
scarcely five minutes had passed before the door was thrown back, and in
rushed Sarah, passionately exclaiming--
'It's my fault! It's all my fault! Oh, Miss Sandbrook, dearest Miss
Sandbrook, forgive me! Oh! my temper! my temper! I never thought--I'll
go to papa! I'll tell him it is my doing! He will never--never be so
unjust and cruel!'
'Sarah, stand up; let me go, please,' said Lucy, unclasping the hands
from her waist. 'This is not right. Your father and mother both think
the same, and so do I. It is just that I should go--'
'You shan't say so! It is my crossness! I won't let you go. I'll write
to Peter! He won't let you go!' Sarah was really beside herself with
despair, and as her mother advanced, and would have spoken, turned round
sharply, 'Don't, don't, mamma; I won't come away unless you promise not
to punish her for my temper. You have minded those horrid, wicked,
gossiping ladies. I didn't think you would.'
'Sarah,' said Lucilla, resolutely, 'going mad in this way just shows that
I am doing you no good. You are not behaving properly to your mother.'
'She never acted unjustly before.'
'That is not for you to judge, in the first place; and in the next, she
acts justly. I feel it. Yes, Sarah, I do; I have not done my duty by
you, and have quarrelled with you when your industry shamed me. All my
old bad habits are come back, and your mother is right to part with me.'
'There! there, mamma; do you hear that?' sobbed Sarah, imploringly.
'When she speaks in that way, can you still--? Oh! I know I was
disrespectful, but you can't--you can't think that was her fault!'
'It was,' said Lucilla, looking at Mrs. Prendergast. 'I know she has
lost the self-control she once had. Sarah, this is of no use. I would
go now, if your mother begged me to stay--and that,' she added, with her
firm smile, 'she is too wise to do. If you do not wish to pain me, and
put me to shame, do not let me have any more such exhibitions.'
Pale, ashamed, discomfited, Sarah turned away, and not yet able to govern
herself, rushed into her room.
'Poor Sarah!' said her mother. 'You have rare powers of making your
pupils love you, Miss Sandbrook.'
'If it were for their good,' sighed Lucilla.
'It has been much for her good; she is far less uncouth, and less
exclusive. And it will be more so, I hope. You will still be her
friend, and we shall often see you here.'
Lucilla's tears were dropping fast; and looking up, she said with
difficulty--'Don't mind this; I know it is right; I have not deserved the
happy home you have given me here. Where I am less happy, I hope I may
keep a better guard on myself. I thought the old ways had been
destroyed, but they are too strong still, and I ought to suffer for
them.'
Never in all her days had Lucilla spoken so humbly!