Some years ago I was brought by reverse of fortune to form one of that
vast number of women in search of employment, the thought of whom
makes one’s heart ache as one looks at their numerous applications
for situations in the columns of our daily papers. I had long been an
orphan, but not a penniless one, till a great bank-failure, such as
have from time to time brought so much misery and embarrassment upon
the middle classes of society, swept away my little all, and left me
entirely dependent upon my own exertions for future maintenance.
As the shock conveyed by the news of my loss passed away, I was not in
utter despair. I had been well educated, was a tolerable musician, and
had travelled much; so it seemed to me that I should have no difficulty
in finding a situation as companion or governess; and I strove hard to
conquer my natural shrinking from the irksomeness of such a life, and
to become reconciled to my altered position. Friends promised to help
me, and for a time I depended upon their promises. But finding that
no situation was forthcoming through their efforts, I determined to
try the effect of an advertisement in the _Times_. I composed it with
care, endeavouring to set my qualifications in their best light, and
felt sanguine as to the result. I expected to have at least a dozen
responses, and was disappointed at receiving only two. The first letter
I opened was in a woman’s handwriting, and consisted of a string of
impertinent queries, linked to a statement of the writer’s requirements
in the governess she engaged for her daughters—requirements which I
felt sure I could never fulfil; winding up with a request that if I
felt equal to the demands of the situation, I would call at a certain
address in the neighbourhood of Regent’s Park. Such a letter checked
my expectations, and with some impatience I destroyed it. The next was
very different. It was a courteously worded note from a gentleman,
informing me that he was seeking a governess, or rather companion, for
his ward, a girl of eighteen; and would be glad to have an interview
with me, if I would kindly make such arrangements for one as would suit
my convenience. The tone of his letter pleased me, and as he gave the
address of an hotel not far from the part of London where I was then
residing, I immediately wrote a reply, naming an hour at which on the
following day I would call upon him.
It was with not a little trepidation that I set out the next morning
to fulfil my engagement. I had the vaguest ideas of what I ought to do
or say in the new position in which I found myself, and for which my
previous experience had ill prepared me. My heart sank within me as I
inquired for Mr Aslatt, and was conducted by a waiter to his private
room. Would the stranger be a very formidable personage? I wondered.
The first glance at him was reassuring. A more benevolent countenance
I have never seen; and his tall stately figure and genial though
dignified manner, enhanced the pleasing impression it created. He was
not a young man; but so bright was the lustre of his steel-blue eyes,
so full of life and energy their glance, and his words and actions so
quick and lively, that no one would have thought of calling him old,
although his black hair was streaked with gray, and his brow somewhat
lined by the cares and sorrows which come to all as the years pass on.
My fears vanished at his kind reception, and I at once felt at my ease.
‘I do not know whether the services I require will be to your mind,
Miss Bygrave,’ he said; ‘but your duties will be very light. I wish
to obtain a sympathetic companion rather than governess for my ward,
Rose Sinclair, a young lady of most lovable disposition, though
high-spirited and, I fear I must add, rather wilful. The fact is she
has lived with me ever since she was a little child, and perhaps
has been made too much of—spoiled a little, you know. But she is so
engaging, so artless, so affectionate, no one could bear to deny
her anything. She has had masters and governesses in abundance, but
they have seldom known how to manage her. She requires very careful
treatment; she may be led and guided, but she will not be ruled. She
has very good abilities, but is averse to application. I have released
her from regular study; but I should be glad if you could persuade her
to read with you, and practise her music and painting, for both of
which she has rare talent. Her position is a lonely one; she has no one
to depend on but me; and I am most anxious to find for her a companion
who might prove a friend also. If you will excuse such a remark from a
stranger, I will add that your appearance encourages me to hope that
you would prove such a one, if you were willing to try.’
Although Mr Aslatt offered me a far larger salary than I could have
expected, and assured me of his desire that everything should be
done to make me comfortable and at home in his house, I hesitated
for some time before I accepted the situation, for I rather doubted
my ability to control a high-spirited spoiled girl of eighteen. Her
guardian’s partiality for her evidently led him to think lightly of the
difficulties of the post he offered me.
‘I think you cannot fail to be pleased with my ward,’ he continued;
‘she is of such a noble disposition, so generous and gracious; but
as I have said before, she needs to be gently checked, and prevented
from following all the impulses of her young and ardent nature. I do
not think you would find much difficulty in managing her, if you once
succeeded in gaining her affection.’
‘But if I were not so fortunate?’ I said inquiringly.
Mr Aslatt smiled, and slightly shrugged his shoulders. ‘I do not think
we need fear that alternative,’ he replied pleasantly. ‘But should my
hopes be disappointed, and the position prove distasteful to you, you
will be perfectly at liberty to resign it whenever you please.’
I thanked him, and after a little more discussion agreed to undertake
the office of companion to his ward.
Early in the following week I quitted London, and proceeded to Westwood
Hall, as Mr Aslatt’s residence was named, a large country house,
situated in a neighbourhood not many miles from the metropolis. I found
a carriage waiting for me at the quiet little station where I alighted
from the train. After a pleasant drive through pretty country lanes,
where the trees often met overhead, we passed through some large iron
gates, beside which stood a picturesque lodge, and drove through an
avenue of elms to an old-fashioned mansion in red brick. The building
formed three sides of a square, and in the space thus inclosed were
flower-beds of various shapes, brilliant with many-hued flowers; and in
the centre stood an antique sun-dial upon a carved stone base, round
which, as I afterwards noted, ran in distinct letters the motto, ‘Time
is short; Death is nought; Love is all.’ I had scarcely time to notice
the general surroundings of the place, before the carriage stopped at
the large oaken door.
Mr Aslatt had apparently been on the look-out for it, for he met me
with a cordial greeting before I crossed the threshold, and led me into
a large oak-panelled hall which formed the centre of the house. It
was a curious apartment. The floor, ceiling, tables, chairs, settee,
were all of oak, and most elaborately carved. The walls were decorated
with banners, shields, swords, helmets, and various old family relics.
Everything was old; and I felt for a moment as if I had been suddenly
transported from the nineteenth century, and carried back into the
middle ages. But though the oaken furniture was dark with age, the hall
did not strike me as gloomy, perhaps because immediately on entering,
my eyes rested on the one bright object it contained. A girl was seated
upon the settee, whose bright golden hair and dress of pale blue made
a delightful spot of colour amidst the prevailing sombreness. A large
black dog, of rather forbidding aspect, crouched at her feet, but
sprang up as I entered, and began to bark furiously. ‘Quiet, Nero;
quiet, sir!’ said the young lady, without rising, while regarding me
with an intentness which made me flush.
‘Rose, this is Miss Bygrave,’ said her guardian; and at his word she
rose and moved slowly across the polished floor to meet me, still
surveying me calmly and coolly with her large blue eyes, as if anxious
to arrive at a correct estimate of my character and qualifications.
She was tall and womanly in figure, but wore her long golden hair in
a cloud over her neck and shoulders, merely confined by a ribbon,
as a child’s might have been. Though a beautiful girl, she appeared
unconscious of the fact. Her regular clear-cut features were expressive
of self-reliance and determination, without being in the least harsh
or unfeminine. Her manner was perfectly self-possessed, and her
bearing slightly haughty; but it was not long before I discovered that
underneath that appearance of womanly dignity there was the simplicity
and waywardness of a very child.
‘How do you do, Miss Bygrave?’ she said somewhat coldly, giving me her
hand, and scanning my face with a deliberation which I should have
resented from any one else, but to which I now submitted humbly, as if
it had been the right of the proud young beauty who stood before me.
Then as if the result of her scrutiny were satisfactory, she added more
graciously: ‘I daresay you are tired with your long drive; come, and I
will shew you to your room.’
I followed her up the wide staircase and along a corridor to a room
overlooking the extensive garden which lay at the back of the house.
I was much pleased with the appearance of my bedroom. From what I
had seen down-stairs I was prepared for an oaken chamber hung with
tapestry, with gloomy recesses, hearse-like bed, and ancient furniture.
Nothing of the kind, however, met my view. Here everything was modern,
and even luxurious, and in such style as would have suited the most
fastidious taste.
‘I hope you will be comfortable here,’ said Miss Sinclair.
‘It will be my own fault if I am not,’ I replied, as I advanced to the
window opening on to a small veranda, from which steps led down into
the garden. ‘How pretty the garden looks!’ I remarked. ‘I shall often
feel inclined to walk there, I fancy.’
‘You must not think of going there after sunset,’ said Miss Sinclair
decidedly.
‘Why not?’ I asked in surprise.
‘Because—— Well, perhaps I ought not to mention it, for my guardian
does not like it talked about; and yet you would be sure to hear of it
some time or other, so I may as well tell you at once. The truth is
the house is haunted; not this part, but the left corridor, where the
rooms are very, very old. And the ghost has been seen coming out of the
window of the Blue Chamber—which communicates with the garden, as this
does—and going down the steps.’