A Fluttered Dovecote
Page 3
grass.
"Mrs and Miss Bozerne," said mamma to the footman, a nasty tall, thin,straggley young man, with red hair that would not brush smooth, and afreckly face, a horrible caricature of our John, in a drab coat andscarlet plushes, and such thin legs that I could not help a smile. Buthe was terribly thin altogether, and looked as if he had been a page-boywatered till he grew out of knowledge, and too fast; and he clung to thedoor in such a helpless way, when he let us in, that he seemed afraid toleave it again, lest he should fall.
"This way, ladies," he said, with a laugh-and-water sort of a smile; andhe led us across a handsome hall, where there were four statues and agreat celestial globe hanging from the ceiling--only the globe hanging;though I'm sure it would have been a charity and a release for someyoung people if a few of the muses had shared the fate of the globe--atall events, that four. First and foremost of all was Clio. I wish shehad been hung upon a date tree!
"This way, ladies," said the tall creature, saving himself once morefrom tippling over by seizing the drawing-room door-handle, and then, ashe turned and swung by it, sending the blood tingling into my cheeks byannouncing--
"Mrs and Miss Bosom."
Any one with a heart beating beneath her own can fancy our feelings. Ofcourse I am aware that some unfeeling, ribald men--I do not includethee, oh, Achille!--would have turned the wretch's blunder into asubject for jest; but thanks to the goddess of _Bonheur_, there was noneof the race present, and Mrs Fortesquieu de Blount came mincingforward, smiling most benignly in her pet turban.
A dreadful old creature--I shall never forget her! Always dressed inblack satin, a skin parting front, false teeth, and a thick gold chainhung over her shoulders; while the shocking old thing always thrusteverything artificial that she wore right under your eyes, so that youcould not fail to see how deceptive she was.
She was soon deep in conversation with mamma; while I looked wearilyround the room, which was full to overflowing with all sorts of fancywork, so that you could not stir an inch without being hooked, orcaught, or upsetting something. There were antimacassars,sofa-cushions, fire-screens, bead-mats, wool-mats, crochet-mats,coverings for the sofa, piano, and chimney-piece, candle-screens,curtains, ottomans, pen wipers--things enough, in short, to have set upa fancy fair. And, of course, I knew well enough what they all meant--presents from pupils who had been foolish enough to spend their money inbuying the materials, and then working them up to ornament the oldtabby's drawing-room.
Well, I don't care. It's the truth; she was a horrible old tabby, withnothing genuine or true about her, or I would not speak sodisrespectfully. She did not care a bit for her pupils, more than tovalue them according to how much they brought her in per annum, so thatthe drawing-room boarders--there were no parlour boarders there, nothingso common--stood first in her estimation.
I felt so vexed that first day, sitting in the drawing-room, I couldhave pulled off the old thing's turban; and I'm sure that if I had thefalse front would have come with it. There she was, pointing out thedifferent crayon-drawings upon the wall; and mamma, who cannot tell adecent sketch from a bad one, lifting up her hand and pretending to bein ecstasies.
Do you mean to tell me that they did not both know how they weredeceiving one another? Stuff! Of course they did, and they both likedit. Mamma praised Mrs Blount, and Mrs Blount praised mamma and her"sweet child"; and I declare it was just like what the dreadful Americanman said in his horrid, low, clever book--that was so funny, and yet onefelt ashamed at having laughed--where he writes to the newspaper editorto puff his show, and promises to return the favour by having all hisprinting done at his office; and papa read it so funnily, and called it"reciprocity of allaying the irritation of the dorsal region," which wesaid was much more refined than Mr Artemus Ward's way of putting it.
I was quite ashamed of mamma, that I was, for it did seem so little;and, oh! how out of patience I was! But there, that part of theinterview came to an end, and a good thing too; for I knew well enough agreat deal of it was to show off before me, for of course Mrs Blounthad shown mamma the drawings and things before.
So then we were taken over the place, and introduced to the teachers andthe pupils who had returned, and there really did seem to be some nicegirls; but as for the teachers--of all the old, yellow, spectacledthings I ever did see, they were the worst; while as for the GermanFraulein, I don't know what to say bad enough to describe her, for Inever before did see any one so hooked-nosed and parroty.
Then we went upstairs to see the dormitories--there were no bedrooms--and afterwards returned to the drawing-room, where the lady principalkissed me on both cheeks and said I was most welcome to herestablishment, and I declare I thought she meant to bite me, for herdreadful teeth went _snap_, though perhaps, like mamma's, they were notwell under control.
Then mamma had some sherry, and declared that she was more enchantedwith the place than she had been at her last visit; and she hoped Ishould be very happy and very good, and make great progress in mystudies. When Mrs Blount said she was quite certain that I shouldgratify my parents' wishes in every respect, and be a great credit tothe establishment; and I knew she was wondering all the time how manysilk dresses and how many bonnets I had brought, for everything aboutthe place was show, show always, and I soon found out how theplainly-dressed girls were snubbed and kept in the background. As forMiss Grace Murray, the half-teacher, half-pupil, who had her educationfor the assistance she gave with the younger girls, I'm sure it wasshameful--such a sweet, gentle, lovable girl as she was--shameful thatshe should have been so ill-treated. I speak without prejudice, for shenever was any friend of mine, but always distrusted me, and more thanonce reported what I suppose she was right in calling flippantbehaviour; but I could not help it. I was dreadfully wicked while atthe Cedars.
At last the fly bore mamma away, and I wanted to go to my dormitory, totry and swallow down my horrible grief and vexation, which would showitself; while that horrible Mrs Blunt--I won't call her anything else,for her husband's name was spelt without the "o," and he was a painterand glazier in Tottenham Court Road--that horrible Mrs Blunt kept onsaying that it was a very proper display of feeling, and did me greatcredit; and patting me on the back and calling me "my child," when allthe time I could have boxed her ears.
There I was, then, really and truly once more at school, and all thetime feeling so big, and old, and cross, and as if I was being insultedby everything that was said to me.
The last months I spent at Guisnes the sisters made pleasant for me bybehaving with a kind of respect, and a sort of tacit acknowledgment thatI was no longer a child; and, oh, how I look back now upon those quiet,retired days! Of course they were _too_ quiet and _too_ retired; butthen anything seemed better than being brought down here; while as toreligion, the sisters never troubled themselves about my not being thesame as themselves, nor tried to make a convert of me, nor called meheretic, or any of that sort of thing. All the same it was quitedreadful to hear Aunt Priscilla go on at papa when I was at home for thevacation, telling him it was sinful to let me be at such a place, andthat it was encouraging the sisters to inveigle me into taking the veil.That we should soon have the Papists overrunning the country, andrelighting the fires in Smithfield, and all such stuff as that; whilepapa used very coolly to tell her that he most sincerely hoped that shewould be the first martyr, for it would be a great blessing for herrelatives.
That used to offend her terribly, and mamma too; but it served her rightfor making such a fuss--the place being really what they called apension, and Protestant and Catholic young ladies were there together.Plenty of them were English, and the old sisters were the dearest,darlingest, quietest, lovablest creatures that ever lived, and I don'tbelieve they would have roasted a fly, much more an Aunt Priscilla.
And there I was, then, though I could hardly believe it true, and was atschool; and as I said before, I wanted to get up to my dormitory. Isaid "my," but it was not all mine; for there were two more beds in theroom.
As soon as I got up there, and was once more alone, I threw myself downupon my couch, and had such a cry. It was a treat, that was; for Idon't know anything more comforting than a good cry. There's somethingsoftening and calming to one's bruised and wounded feelings; just as ifnature had placed a reservoir of tears ready to gently flood our eyes,and act as a balm in times of sore distress. It was so refreshing andnice; and as I lay there in the bedroom, with the window open, and thesoft summer breeze making the great cedar trees sigh, and the dimitycurtains gently move, I gazed up into the bright blue sky till a veilseemed to come over my eyes, and I went fast asleep.
There I was in the train once more, with the eyes of thatforeign-looking man regularly boring holes through my lids, until it wasquite painful; for, being asleep, of course I kept them closely shut.It was like a fit of the nightmare; and as