CHAPTER XXVIII.MALVERN HOUSE.
"Come what, come may—Time and the hour runs through the roughest day."
"Come what, come may—Time and the hour runs through the roughest day."
"Come what, come may—Time and the hour runs through the roughest day."
"Come what, come may—Time and the hour runs through the roughest day."
"Come what, come may—
Time and the hour runs through the roughest day."
Macbeth.
Afew days after her aunt had thus frankly unfolded her plans, Helen was out shopping,—officiating as companion and carrier to her cousin Clara—and again encountered Mr. Quentin. He was strolling down Piccadilly, looking like a drawing from a tailor's fashion plate, and evidently in a superbly contented frame of mind. On this occasion (being alone) he condescended to accost Miss Denis, entirely ignoring their previous meeting in the park.
"Delighted to see you,"—shaking her vigorously by the hand. "And how long have you been in town?"
"Nearly two months."
"I need not ask you how you are?"—Yes, to himself, she was getting back her looks—"And where are you staying?"
"With my aunt—in Upper Cream Street."
"Upper Cream Street!" he echoed, with increased respect in his tone, and a look of faint surprise in his dreamy blue eyes. "Then I shall certainly make a point of coming to see you.—What is your number?"
"Thank you, very much; but I am leaving on Monday—(this was Saturday)—and," looking him bravely in the face, she added, "I am going to a situation. I am going out as a governess."
Mr. Quentin was somewhat disconcerted by this rather blunt announcement, but he did not lose his presence of mind, and said in his most airy manner,—
"Oh, really!—well, then, on another occasion I may hope to be morefortunate—during the holidays, perhaps?" glancing interrogatively at Clara Platt, who returned his gaze with a stare of dull phlegmatic hauteur, implying an utter repudiation of her cousin, and all her concerns.
Turning once more to Helen, he said,—
"Heard any news from Port Blair?"
"No, not lately."
"Awful hole, wasn't it? I wonder we did not all hang ourselves, or go mad!"
"I liked it very much, I must confess," she replied, rather shyly.
"Oh!" shrugging his shoulders, "every one to their taste, of course. No doubt it seemed an earthly Paradise to a young lady just out from school; and you had it all your own way, you know. By-the-by, I wonder what has become of Lisle? Some one said he was in California,—I supposeyouhave not heard?"
There was a half-ironic, half-bantering look in his eyes, and the same amiable impulse that impelled him to pull the legs off flies when he was a pretty little boy, was actuating him now.
"I," she stammered, considerably taken aback by this unexpected question, and meeting his glance with a faint flush,—"Oh, no."
"Well, I see that I am detaining you now,"—with another glance at Clara—"I hope we shall meet again before long; good-bye," and with a smile and sweep of his hat, he walked away in a highly effective manner. He was scarcely out of earshot, ere Miss Platt burst forth, as if no longer able to restrain herself,—
"Helen, how could you! Howcouldyou tell him all our private affairs. I never was so disgusted in my life. What was the good of informing him that you were going to be a governess, and, as it were, thrusting the news down his throat?"
"What was the harm? For the future, of course, he will drop my acquaintance. Though there is nothing degrading in the post, I am quite certain that he, as he would call it, 'draws the line at governesses,' and, indeed,—from what I have heard you say—so do you."
"Don't be impertinent to me, if you please, Helen. I think you totally forget yourself sometimes, and all you owe to mother and to us."
"You need not be afraid, that I shalleverallow such a heavy obligation to escape my memory," returned Helen, with complete equanimity.
Was she likely to forget these months of making, and mending, parcel carrying, and general slavery to her cousins Clara and Carrie? Her companion was conscious that there was a hidden sting in this speech, but contented herself with gobbling some incoherent remark, lost in her throat, about "ingratitude" and "insolence." After this little skirmish the two ladies did not exchange another syllable, and they reached their own hall door in dead silence.
"Odious, detestable girl!" cried Clara to her sister, as she flung off her hat, and tore off her gloves in their mutual bower. "What do you think? When we were coming home we met that Mr. Quentin, and he stopped and talked to her for ever so long, and she neverintroducedme!"
"Well, I'm sure! However, it was no loss, you know he has not sixpence."
"No; but listen. He asked her where she was staying, and said he was coming to call, and she actually told him, with the utmost composure, that he need not mind, as she was going to a situation on Monday as governess—I was crimson! I'm sure she did it out of pure spite, just to make me feel uncomfortable."
"Not a doubt of it," acquiesced her sister. "How excessively annoying! That man knows the Sharpes, and Talbots, and Jenkins', and the whole thing will come out now; after all the trouble we have taken to keep it quiet, and telling every one she was going to friends in the suburbs."
"Yes," chimed in Clara, wrathfully. "What possesses people to persecute us with questions about our cousin—ourprettycousin, forsooth! Such a sweet-looking, interesting girl. Pah! I'm perfectly sick of her name, and the prying and pushing of one's acquaintance, is really shameless. Old Mrs. Parsons has returned to the charge again and again. She has no more tact or delicacy than a cook. Do we ever worry her, aboutherpoor relations, and 'how they have beenleft,' as she calls it?"
"No, thank goodness," replied Carrie, emphatically; now addressing herself to her own plain reflection in the looking-glass. "There is no coarse, vulgar curiosity aboutus, I am happy to say.Weare ladies."
And with this sustaining conviction in their bosoms, these two sweet sisters descended affectionately arm in arm to luncheon.
On Monday morning, Mrs. Platt herself carried her niece to her future abode in the family brougham. Their destination was a square, detached, red brick mansion, remarkable for long rows of windows with brown wire blinds, an outward air of primness bordering on severity, and a brass plate on the gate the size of a tea-tray, which bore the following address: "Malvern House.—Mrs. Kane's establishment for young ladies."
As Helen and her aunt ascended the spotless steps, and rang the dazzling bell, the sound of many pianos, all discoursing different tunes, scales, songs, and exercises, was absolutely deafening.
Mrs. Kane received her new governess very graciously, and when Mrs. Platt had taken her departure, she personally introduced her to the scene of her future labours without any unnecessary delay, sweeping down upon the classes with Miss Denis in her train, and launching her into school-life with a neat little speech, which had done worthy service on similar occasions.
The school-room was a long apartment, lighted by five windows and lined with narrow black desks, at which were seated about fifty girls; and although silence was the rule, a little low buzz, a kind of intangible humming of the human voice, was distinctly audible to the new arrival, as she stood in the midst of what, to a timid young woman, would have seemed a kind of social lion's den.
Mrs. Kane had twenty boarders and thirty day scholars; and between the two parties an internecine war was quietly but fiercely carried on from term to term, and from year to year, and handed down from one generation to another, as faithfully as the feud between the Guelphs and Ghibellines. It was rumoured in both factions that Bogey'ssuccessor ("Bogey" was their flattering sobriquet for their late governess) "had come in a carriage and pair; Annie Jones had seen it out of the music-room window;" and the young ladies were inclined to treat her with more tolerance, than if she had merely arrived in an ordinary "growler." Of course, all the hundred eyes were instantly unwinkingly fixed on the new-comer as she walked up the room in the wake of her employer. They beheld a young lady in deep mourning, slight and fair, and—yes—positively pretty! quite as good-looking, and not much older than Rosalie Gay, the belle of the school. They noticed that she did not appear the least bit shy or nervous (twelve years in a similar establishment stood to Helen now); she was not a whit abashed by the gaze of all these tall, staring girls, who were subsequently surprised to discover that she was perfectly conversant with school rules and routine; and more than this, that despite her youth, and fair sad face, she could be both determined and firm.
A large staff of masters, who taught music, singing, drawing, dancing, and literature, came and went all day long at Malvern House; but the only resident teachers besides Helen, were a Mrs. Lane, a widow, who looked after the housekeeping, poured out tea, and taught needlework, and Mademoiselle Clémence Torchon, a Parisienne, with whom Helen found herself thrown into the closest companionship. They occupied the same room, sat side by side at table, and walked together daily behind the long line of chattering boarders. Clémence was a young woman of about eight-and-twenty, who had come to England more with a view of learning that language, than of imparting her own tongue. She was square, and stout, and sallow; was better conversant with French poetry, than verbs, maintaining her personal dignity by a stolid impassive demeanour; boasted a noble appetite, and was unblushingly selfish, and surprisingly mean. She honoured her new companion with a large share of her confidence, and during their daily airings, poured into her unwilling ears, the praises of a certain adorable "Jules," and even compelled her, when half asleep at night, to sit up and listen to hisletters! letters written on many sheets of pink paper, and crammed with vaguely sentimental stilted sentences, signifying nothing tangible, nothing matrimonial, but nevertheless affording the keenest pleasure to Mademoiselle Torchon. The young English teacher could not afford to quarrel with so close an associate, and feigned a respectable amount of civility and interest; but how often did she wish "ce cher Jules," not to speak of his effusions,—at the bottom of the deep blue sea! Once or twice mademoiselle had hinted, that she was good-naturedly prepared to receive a return of confidences in kind; and had even gone so far as to say, "Haveyouever had a lover?"
Her listener's thoughts turned promptly to a certain moonlight night, the scent of orange-flowers, the shade of palms, and all the appropriate accessories of a love-tale, not forgetting Gilbert Lisle's eloquent dark eyes, and low-whispered, broken vows. Nevertheless, Miss Denis cleverly parried this embarrassing question, and mademoiselle, having but little interest to spare from her own affairs, dismissed the subject with an encouraging assurance "that, perhaps some day or other she might also have a Jules," as she was, though rathertristeand frightfully thin, "pas mal pour une Anglaise!"
Mrs. Kane withdrew into private life the moment that school hours were over. When the bell rang at four o'clock for the departure of the day scholars, she disappeared and left the burden of surveillance to Miss Denis and mademoiselle—the latter, like the unselfish darling that she was, shuffled off her share of the load upon her companion's shoulders, and generally ascended to her own room, where she lay upon her bed, devouring chocolate-creams and French novels for the remainder of the day.
Helen's duties commenced at seven o'clock in the morning, at which hour she was obliged to be in the school-room, to keep order, and they were not at an end till she had turned off the gas in the dormitories at half-past nine at night; after that, her time was her own,—and she was then at liberty to listen to Clémence's maunderings, and Jules' last letter.
Mrs. Kane soon discovered that her new governess was a clever girl,with stability and force of character beyond her years, moreover, that she had unusual influence with the pupils, and was popular in the school-room; so she engaged her permanently at a salary of forty pounds a year—and washing. This offer was accepted with alacrity, for Mrs. Platt seemed to have wholly forgotten her niece, and the comfortable home that she had promised to secure for her, and Helen gladly settled herself down, as a permanent member of the Malvern House staff. Weeks rolled into months, months into quarters, and nothing came to break the dull monotony of her existence, beyond occasional letters from Mrs. Home and Mrs. Durand, and a visit to Smithson Villa; she actually hailed the arrival of the yellow brougham, with unalloyed delight, and had not shrunk from sharing it,—not merely with her hostess, and the dogs, and the weekly groceries, but with a leg of New Zealand mutton, that was to furnish forth the family dinner. She liked Lady Grubb, despite her little eccentricities. She even enjoyed (so low had she fallen!) the perusal of Mrs. Creery's latest effusions from Port Blair. In Lady Grubb's back drawing-room, with one of these in her hand, she seemed to hold in her grasp the last feeble link that bound her to her former happy life among those distant tropical seas.
She did her utmost to live altogether in the present, to invest all her thoughts and energies in her daily tasks, and to shut her eyes to the future—and still more difficult feat—to close them to the past. Month after month, she toiled on with busy, unabated zeal (Mrs. Kane warmly congratulating herself on the possession of such arara avis, and giving her mentally, a considerable increase of salary). She rose early, and went to rest late, her mind was at its fullest tension all day long; she was working at too high pressure, the strain was beyond her physical powers, and the consequence was, she broke down. Gradually she lost sleep, and appetite, became pale, and thin, and haggard.
"My dear," said Mrs. Kane with some concern, "we must get you away for a change. The doctor says you ought to go home, and have a good long rest."
"But I have no home, Mrs. Kane.—I am an orphan," she returned, gravely. "I'm not nearly as ill as I seem, in fact I'm not ill at all! There is nothing the matter with me, I'm as strong as a horse. You must not mind mylooks!"
"Would you not like to go to your aunt's for a week or two? I see she has returned from abroad."
"No, thank you, I would ten times rather go to the poor-house," she answered, unguardedly. "Excuse me, perhaps I'm a little hasty, but I'm proud, and I, if I must come to beggary, prefer public charity, to the private benevolence of—relations."
But in spite of Helen's repudiation of the hospitality of her kindred, Mrs. Kane wrote a polite little note to 15, Upper Cream Street, that brought Mrs. Platt to Malvern House, the very next day,—in a peevish, not to say injured, frame of mind.
"Well, Helen," she exclaimed, as her niece entered the drawing-room, "so I hear you are in the doctor's hands;"—making a peck at her as she spoke. "Let me see! there's not much the matter with you, I fancy.—For goodness' sake, don't get the idea into your head that you aredelicate!"
"You may be sure that that is the last thing I shall do, Aunt Julia."
"I must talk to Mrs. Kane, and tell her you should take extract of malt. She will have to fatten you up.—Yes, certainly, you want fattening;"—speaking exactly as if she were alluding to a young Christmas turkey. "And so, I hear, you are giving satisfaction, and that you are a very good musician, and linguist! I am glad your poor father's extravagant education, has not been entirely thrown away! Mrs. Kane speaks very highly of you. But, dear me, child, why did you not take equal advantage of other opportunities; why did you not make hay in the Andamans?"
"Hay! aunt. There was none to make, beyond a very small crop in the General's compound."
"You know very well whatImean, you provoking girl! I'm certain you had offers of marriage. Now had you not?"
Helen made no disclaimer to this, beyond a slight shrug of her shoulders.
"Come, come! Silence gives consent. How many?"
"What does it signify, aunt? All girls out there——"
"That is no answer," persisted Mrs. Platt, tapping her foot on the floor.
"Well, I do not think it is fair to tell."
"But you could have married?"
"Yes, I suppose I may admit as much as that."
"And instead of being comfortably settled in your own house, here you are, slaving away all your best years, and best looks in a school. I'm sure you are sorry enoughnow, that you did not say 'yes!'"
"On the contrary, I have never regretted saying 'no,'—and never will."
"Perhaps there was some one who didnotcome forward?" inquired the elder lady, with a rather sour smile.
"Perhaps there was, aunt!" she rejoined, with a laugh, that entirely baffled Mrs. Platt, who, after surveying her for some seconds in searching silence, exclaimed,—
"Well, you are a queer girl! I can't make you out! I certainly could not imagineyoucaring a straw for any man! Your face entirely belies your real disposition; it gives people the idea that you are capable of deep feelings—perhaps of what is called 'une grande passion'—whereas, in reality, you are cold and as unresponsive as the typical iceberg. However, considering your present circumstances, and youth, and good looks,—perhaps it is just as well!"
Having delivered herself of this opinion, as though it were an oracle, Mrs. Platt sank into a tone of easy confidential discourse, and imparted to her listener, that her recent campaign on the Continent, had not been entirely barren of results. A certain elderly widower, had been "greatly attracted" by Clara, and had paid her considerable attention, and that it was not unlikely, that they would have a wedding before very long. And after a good deal more in this strain, and yet more, on the subject of the frightful expenses she had incurred abroad, and the paralyzing prices of some of the French hotels, Mrs. Platt,with a final recommendation of extract of malt, went her way, and drove home alone, in her comfortable, plush-lined brougham.
Helen continued to struggle on from day to day, and conscientiously fulfilled her allotted duties. She indignantly refused to accept therôleof invalid; she told herself that, could she but tide over the next six weeks, she would contrive a trip to some cheap seaside resort, and there recruit her shattered health—her health that was her only capital! What was to become of her if she broke down? she would have no resource but charity! She shivered at the very thought. Each day her round of tasks became more of an effort; she felt as if some dreadful, unknown illness was lying in wait, and dogging her steps hour after hour. Sometimes the room swam round, and figures and words in exercise-books seemed to mix and run about before her aching eyes. But so far, by sheer force of will she fought off the enemy, and fiercely refused to surrender.
When ten days had elapsed, Mrs. Platt was once more in Mrs. Kane's drawing-room, the bearer of a letter in her pocket, that she flattered herself would remove her poor relation entirely out of her own orbit.
"My dear, I declare you look really ill—very ill!" she exclaimed, as her niece entered. "Don't come near me,"—moving suddenly across the room, and making a gesture of repudiation with both hands,—"keep away, there's a good girl! I'm certain you are sickening for something,—diphtheria or small-pox! Small-pox is raging. You must see a doctor immediately, and take precautions. If it is anything, you will have to be sent to a hospital atonce!"
"You need not be the least alarmed, Aunt Julia; there is nothing the matter with me. My head aches, and I'm tired sometimes; that is all, I assure you."
"Oh, well,"—rather relieved—"I'm sure Ihopeso, otherwise it would be most awkward! I understand now, that you really require a change, and it is principally about that, I have come over to see you. I have had a letter I wish to show you,"—sinking into an easy chair, and commencing to fumble in her pocket. "Yes, here it is,"—handing itto her niece, who unfolded it, and ran her eyes over the following effusion:—
"Dearest Mother,—Carrie and I cannot possibly go home this week, there is so much coming off; andMr. Jones is here! Please send down our black lace dresses, our new opera cloaks, and some flowers from that man in the Bayswater Road. We shall be rather short of money, so you might enclose some—say, a five pound note—in an envelope in my dress pocket. So sorry you are having all this worry about Helen. What a tiresome creature she is! Of course it is quite out of the question, that we should take her in; besureyou impress that very firmly on her mind, mother dear. Is there not a convalescent home for broken-down governesses? Some charitable institution that she could go to?—"
"Charitable institution!" echoed Helen, aloud.
"Oh, dear me! I believe I've given you the wrong letter," exclaimed Mrs. Platt, in great confusion. "Here! this must be your uncle's,"—extending her hand as she spoke. "I'm getting so blind, and this room is so dark, I really can't see what I'm doing," she added, in a rather apologetic tone, her eyes sinking before her niece's,—for she saw in them that she had read what Carrie had written; as for Helen, her heart beat unusually fast, her nerves were on edge, her wrath was kindled.
"Quite out of the question that we should take her in!" She had never dreamt of being lodged again under her aunt's roof, but somehow, seeing the fact so plainly stated in black and white, stung her to revolt.
What had her aunt and cousins done for her, that she should be sent hither or thither at their bidding? She had toiled for them, as an upper servant, a lady help, in return for food and lodging, and she was now wholly independent, and earning her own living by incessant hard work. These thoughts flew through her mind as she opened letter No. 2, which was written in a small cramped hand on a large sheet of paper, and ran as follows:—
"Crowmore,
"Terryscreen, May 8th.
"Dear Madam,—I am this day in receipt of your communication, informing me that my late wife's niece, Helen Denis, is in England, an orphan, and entirely dependent on her friends."—"Dependent on her friends!" re-read Helen, quivering with indignation and self-restraint—"I shall be glad to give her a home under my roof, and if you will favour me with her address I shall correspond with her personally, and make all needful arrangements for her journey to this place.
"I am, Madam,
"Your obedient servant,
"Malachi Sheridan."
"A very kind letter," said his niece, gratefully.
"Yes, poor crazy creature," acquiesced Mrs. Platt, "I suppose hehaslucid intervals,"—then, after a pause, she added—"Of course you will go, Helen?"
"I am not sure; I must think it over."
"Think it over! what nonsense. What more do you want? At any rate, Helen, bear in mind, thatIhave done all I can."
"Yes, Aunt Julia; pray do not trouble yourself any more about me; I release you of all responsibility on my behalf. Indeed, in future, you may as well forget my existence!"
She had risen as she spoke, and leant her elbow on the chimney-piece, and her head on her hand. She looked unusually tall, and unexpectedly dignified. For a moment Mrs. Platt felt almost in awe of her penniless niece, but she soon recovered her ordinary mental attitude, and said rather sharply,—
"Don't talk nonsense! I see your nerves and temper are completely unstrung! I hope you will be all the better for your trip to Ireland, but I'mafraidyou will find Mr. Sheridan's girls, a pair of uncouth, ill-bred savages, and, of course, the place is quite in the wilds, and——"
"So much the better, aunt; I like the wilds, as you call them, and you know I'm accustomed to savages."
"Then I'm sure ifyouare satisfied,—I am," said Mrs. Platt,huffily. "And now I really must be going, for we have some people coming to dinner,"—and with a polite message for Mrs. Kane, and a request that Helen "would write if anything turned up," a vague sentence, meaning perhaps a good situation, perhaps an offer of marriage,—Mrs. Platt embraced her niece, and took her departure.
Helen remained shivering over the drawing-room fire, re-reading her uncle's letter, and pondering on her future plans. After all, disappointing as had been her experience of cousins, she might yet draw a prize in the lottery of fate, and she determined to brave these Irish Sheridans. She had thirty pounds in her desk, quite a small fortune, and if the worst came to the worst, she could always beat a retreat. With this prudent reservation in her mind, and a burning impatience to escapeanywhere, from her present surroundings, she sat down that very hour, and wrote a grateful acceptance of her uncle's invitation, and announced her intention of starting for Crowmore, within a week.