It was entirely owing to the death and defalcations of a trustee that
my sister Linda and I--heiresses in a small way--awoke one morning to
find ourselves penniless! We were orphans, and since our schooldays had
made our home with a widowed aunt in the depth of the country, on the
borders of an ancient village, within a parish whose extent was under
a hundred acres. Aunt Sophy’s house, which enjoyed the flattering name
of “Heart’s Delight,” was a little old manor, with shallow oak stairs,
low ceilings and heavy beams, standing in the midst of rich meadows and
stately trees, and immediately surrounded by a delicious garden, with
mulberry trees, and a stew-pond.
Here we three lived in complete harmony. Aunt Sophy was fifty-four, my
sister Linda, temporary housekeeper and manager, was twenty-four--she
was engaged to Arthur Fortescue, a naval officer on the China
station--whilst I was but twenty, rather pretty, incorrigibly cheerful,
and entirely fancy free.
Mr. Benford, our guardian, who had been father’s best man--and was
presumed to be our best friend--was a bland, somewhat portly, elderly
gentleman, who, when we made rare visits to London, took us to the
theatre, and to dine at smart restaurants, and even lent us his
beautiful blue Panhard! He occupied luxurious bachelor quarters in the
West End, and was generally supposed to be enviably rich. Recently he
died rather suddenly--indeed, suicide had been suspected--and when his
affairs came to be examined, three tragic facts were disclosed. For
years, he had been involved in serious difficulties; his debts were
enormous, and our twelve thousand pounds had long been dispersed in
wild speculations--though he had paid us the interest punctually twice
a year--and now both our guardian and our income had ceased to exist.
At first we felt stunned; and for many days Aunt Sophy remained sternly
incredulous. Ultimately the truth was brought home to her by friends.
Letters and visits of sympathy, offers of advice and help were not
lacking. Linda, who was really the head of the house, promptly decided
that one or both of us must turn out and work for our living, for Aunt
Sophy’s means were limited (barely two hundred a year, besides “Heart’s
Delight” and its contents).
The first and most essential move was to cut down expenses; the
victoria and dogcart, the sleek horse, and sleeker cows, were sold,
maids and gardener dismissed, and the establishment reduced to a
mere general and boy. The old pony remained to take aunt out in the
governess-car, but the meadows were let, and the family silver disposed
of, as well as two much-prized Chippendale chairs.
Arthur Fortescue’s uncle, a wealthy admiral on the retired list
(who invariably spoke of himself as a “sea-dog”), would not consent
to Linda taking any situation--indeed, he was furious at the mere
suggestion--but offered no alternative. However, a girl so capable
and contriving was in the right place at home; she proposed a daring
scheme--to make the garden _pay_, and also to undertake delicate
needlework for one of the great outfitting shops in London.
Summer wore into autumn, yet still I, so to speak, “remained on
hand.” I gardened, and sewed industriously, and did housework, hoping
every day that Aunt Sophy’s anxious wish might be fulfilled, and that
“something nice would turn up for Letty.” A post as companion to an
amiable and wealthy old lady; or as governess to two dear little girls
under ten, was what my friends desired. I spoke French fluently, and
was a good pianist, but as so much more is expected in these days
(Latin, German, Euclid, Mathematics, Gymnastics, Sketching), the value
of my services was placed at the low figure of forty pounds per annum
and washing; and yet in spite of this moderate assessment, no eager
employer had claimed me!
The truth was, we were out of the beaten track--and Early Victorian in
our ideas. Aunt Sophy had a horror of “seeing me in an advertisement,”
as she expressed it. “It was always so much pleasanter and safer to try
and hear of a nice opening through one’s friends.”
And to do them justice, our friends were active--especially Miss
Pinfold--an old maid who lived at the other end of the village;
Mrs. Clarke, our rector’s wife, was also zealous on my behalf. Miss
Pinfold wrote many letters, also scores of postcards, and almost every
acquaintance had been victimised and pestered, irrespective of age or
sex. More than once she said to Aunt Sophy:
“If Letty could only go to _India_! I’ll lay my life a girl with her
remarkable looks will marry some wonderful catch.”
But Aunt Sophy was not in favour of this dazzling idea and looked
coldly on the scheme. India was too far away, and was said to be the
happy hunting-ground of fast women--as well as abounding with snakes!
For my own part, I had always (privately) cherished a burning desire to
see the East, and though I did not believe in the wonderful, or any,
“catch,” I was profoundly interested in Miss Pinfold’s tales of the
days of her grandfather, who had been a famous Indian warrior, and had
fought the Sikhs, and also in the more modern activities of her two
married nieces.
In the end, it was Mrs. Clarke who brought us the great news! She
arrived one evening at tea-time, eager and important, letter in hand,
and breathlessly announced that she had found “the very thing for Letty
at last!” Her husband’s cousin, who received Indian children, and had
“an Indian connection,” knew of a lady, the wife of an official in
good position, who required a governess to take charge of two dear
little girls, aged seven and eight; they were in the hills almost all
the year in a perfect climate; the salary offered was forty pounds and
a second-class passage out, and, if suitable, an engagement for two
years. The governess must be a gentlewoman, young, healthy, energetic,
and Church of England. She would be required to teach French, English,
and music, and expected to arrive not later than the end of February.
It was now November.
“It seems made for Letty!” said Mrs. Clarke--her voice quivering with
triumph as she handed the epistle to my aunt; “you should write _at
once_!”
But Aunt Sophy and Linda were politely dubious.
“Dear Mrs. Clarke, who _is_ this Mrs. Hooper?” enquired my sister.
“Letty could not write and engage herself to a lady we know nothing
about; of course, there must be mutual references; and forty pounds for
India is _so_ little!”
“Well, she gets her board and washing free,” put in Miss Pinfold, who
happened to be present, “and has the forty pounds in her pocket, and,
as I’ve said before, Letty will never come home Letty Harlowe--she’ll
make a great match!” and she rubbed her knees with an air of complacent
finality.
“Not likely,” objected Linda; “and Letty is not going to India on
the chance of finding a husband. Arthur says those days were over
sixty years ago. Of course, I know Letty has always devoured books on
India, and longs to see it; but she is not to jump at Mrs. Hooper’s
offer--though it is so good of Mrs. Clarke to bring it and, I know
she,” looking at her, “would be the first to advise caution.”
Ultimately Mrs. Hooper proved to be my fate. Her references were
unexceptional. Colonel Hooper was in the Indian Army, and held an
important post on “the Survey.” She wrote Aunt Sophy a letter that was
almost gushing, and promised to take every care of the dear girl and
treat her, in short, as the daughter of the house! I may mention that
my references had been forwarded, and included a warm recommendation
from a lady of title.
The next weeks simply flew! My outfit was put in hand, an escort
was found for me in Mrs. Russell, a distant relative, whose husband
commanded a regiment in Bengal, and our passages were booked in the
_Malwa_, which sailed on February 5th. Linda had insisted that I
should travel first-class, and share Mrs. Russell’s cabin. She had
known our mother, and was sure to be kind to me. The extra passage
money and my outfit made a deep hole in our finances, and Linda sold
almost the whole of our jewellery in order to meet these expenses. All
my ornaments now consisted of a pair of gold bangles, a watch, and a
string of Parisian pearls, fastened by an old diamond clasp that had
belonged to my grandmother.
I will draw a veil over those last weeks at home, my tearful farewells
to the neighbours, Aunt Sophy, and the dogs. Linda and I spent our
last day together in London, and the next morning she escorted me down
to Tilbury in order to see me off. The _Malwa_ seemed to be a full
ship; there were numbers of passengers bound for Gibraltar and Egypt.
In the saloon a wire was awaiting me; it was from Mrs. Russell, and
said, “My boy dangerously ill, appendicitis, departure postponed,
sorry.” Undoubtedly I was condemned to travel alone, and must just make
the best of the situation. Linda was most dreadfully concerned. She
actually broke down, and wept.
“I felt so confident, and happy at your having _one_ friend in India,”
she sobbed. “Oh, it’s really heart-breaking!”
After I had comforted her a little, we descended together in order
to inspect my cabin and arrange my belongings. We found Mrs.
Russell’s place already occupied--evidently by a lady who used a
prodigious amount of scent. She had secured the bottom berth, the best
looking-glass, and her odds and ends were scattered about in a most
disorderly fashion.
Afterwards, when Linda and I walked about together, she said:
“How I hate your going alone, Letty; you are so young--yes, and so
pretty. How I wish there was some nice, motherly woman I could pin you
on to!” and she looked around the crowd with a face of blank despair.
“Do be careful who you speak to, and who you get to know; keep to
yourself as much as possible, and above all avoid men.”
Never had I seen Linda so depressed, so nervous or so tearful--not
even when Arthur went to China--and I must confess that I, too, wept
bitterly as I signalled to a figure that waved from the dock.
Going down the Channel the weather was moderate. I found my allotted
place at dinner, and kept it, too. There were about twelve at our
table. On my left was a florid young officer, with prominent brown eyes
and turned-up moustache, who talked to me persistently; but after that
evening I spent two miserable days in my berth. My cabin companion
proved to be a stout, showy lady, with auburn hair, expressive dark
eyes, and an exquisite complexion. She seemed to fill the whole cabin,
and to be under the impression that she was its sole occupant.
At an early hour the stewardess brought her a stiff whisky and soda,
afterwards, she smoked cigarettes, breakfasted on grilled duck and
porter, and then made a leisurely and elaborate toilette--sitting
before the glass on a rickety camp stool doing up her face with various
little brushes and pencils, serenely indifferent to my interested
inspection. Her hair, which seemed coarse and rather scanty, was
supplemented by a generous supply of curls and rolls; her petticoats
were the most elaborate I ever beheld, and her dress, blouse, and furs
looked equally expensive. She wore enormous diamond earrings, a jaunty,
rather _outré_ hat, and eventually sallied forth in obvious good humour
with her own appearance.
All the afternoon she sprawled in her berth, smoking, dozing, and
drinking whiskies and soda. Subsequently she attired herself for dinner
in a costume that was far more suitable to a ballroom than board
ship. The lady kept late hours, snored noisily, and never vouchsafed
the faintest recognition of me, until I brusquely introduced myself
to her notice. I was watching her toilette on the third morning out,
with almost painful intensity. I had read of the “art of making up the
face,” and now I was receiving first-rate, first-hand, instruction. As
the artist was about to put away her brushes I could not refrain from
exclaiming:
“You’ve forgotten the left eyebrow!”
“Laws, so I ’ave!” she answered with astonishing composure. “And so you
are not dumb or dead, you little cherub up aloft? My! but you ’ave ’ad
a time! You look like a happorth of soap after a week’s washing. Take
my advice and ’ave a good old whisky and soda, and _that_ will buck you
up.”
Although I turned a deaf ear to this suggestion, I managed to dress,
and with the assistance of the stewardess crawled on deck the same
afternoon. It was bitterly cold and sunless, and I realised that I was
all alone aboard this great rolling steamer, on the grey heaving sea,
amidst a crowd of total strangers. No doubt I looked rather shaky and
forlorn, for a nice old gentleman, with a friendly face, came forward
and led me to a chair, whilst another--a younger man--placed a rug over
my knees.
“I’m glad to see you are up,” said the former. “Anything is better than
stifling down below, eh?”