Clarissa and the Poor Relations

by Alicia Cameron

  But the young ladies were laughing so hard at the outrage on Waity’s face that they had to grasp onto each other to keep upright. Miss Micklethwaite’s forehead smoothed a trifle.

  ‘I think, Louisa, that you and I will be needed to keep these two in check.’ she said.

  ‘Well, if you think so, Augusta, then of course we shall go.’ said Miss Appleby in a confused voice.

  ‘I do,’ said Miss Micklethwaite, her grim voice repressing the unseemly levity of the young ladies, ‘And what is more we had better go now to change for dinner. Perhaps I can find some knee breeches.’

  ‘Knee breeches. Whatever can you mean?’ said Miss Appleby to the retreating back of her friend. ‘Girls?’ she uttered vaguely. But it was no use the two young ladies had collapsed in an unseemly heap onto the sofa, in helpless gales of laughter.

  Later that evening, Clarissa sat in bed hugging her knees. A life with her brother and his wife was a bad enough thought, but she was determined that no such fate must touch her friends. She had seen too well the life of the despised poor relations, women who drudge for their families for a little more status than a maid and less money - for rare indeed was the family who took on the responsibility of a portionless female with any acceptance of equality. They must be grateful for the benefits of their position, the benefits which might include insult, humiliation and exhaustion from the performance of a hundred thankless tasks each day: the complete inability to order a second of one’s own life. Even if she could bear it, her dear, dear, friends must not.

  Chapter 2

  The Ladies Contrive

  If they were to quit the Academy before the arrival of Mr Thorne, the ladies had a great deal to do. Miss Micklethwaite did venture the opinion that it would be better to await his arrival and inform him of her decision, but when Clarissa declared that it would be better if he were faced with a fait accompli she could not but see the force of it. A young man of overbearing manner who was ten years her senior, Mr Thorne would not take kindly to his wishes being overset. No doubt, thought Augusta, he also had some plans as to how to manage Clarissa’s money for her: plans that might be to his advantage. Of this, she said nothing, merely marshalling the ladies in the packing.

  They could now take all the books that they had been so unwilling to leave behind (even though Basic Arithmetic for young Scholars was unlikely to be of use in a country house), for Sullivan had declared his intention of travelling ahead with the trunks, whilst Mary could accompany the ladies on the hired postchaise. This was a relief, for who knows what state the house would be in and Sullivan could be depended upon to provide the basic comforts for their arrival.

  He had something to say to Clarissa before he left. ‘You have not been wont to worry much about your mode of dress here miss, quite understandable, I’m sure. But it will not do to arrive in Hertfordshire looking, well…’ Sullivan paused, embarrassed.

  ‘Shabby genteel. I know.’ said Clarissa. ‘But there is hardly time…I’ll discuss it with the ladies. Thank you Sullivan’

  ‘Very good, ma’am.’

  Oriana had already done some thinking about this she confided when Clarissa brought up the subject. ‘And I believe I have the very solution, if you will not take it amiss. Your mama’s wardrobe and some chests of fabric that I found have given us some unexpected treasures. If you would not object to having her black silk evening gown altered for you, I should think that would be the very thing. Plus the two black muslin gowns that Mrs Trimble in town is making for you will be sufficient for daywear until we find someone in Hertfordshire.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Clarissa, blushing, ‘But will they be grand enough for the lady of the manor? I wish to be taken seriously when I deal with the locals. I do not want feminine folderols, but only to at least look like a lady of quality rather than the silly schoolgirl that I fear I am.’

  Oriana suppressed a sigh and grabbed at her hand. ‘Only come with me and see what your mamma has been hiding.’

  Upstairs, in her mother’s room were closets and chests that she had not explored since she was a child. Oriana had thrown them opens and had heaped the gorgeous contents onto the bed. Clarissa gave a little sigh at entering her mamma’s sanctum, but soon became embroiled in the quite luminous hoard before her. Laid away carefully in mothballs and lavender, was all the finery of a Viscount’s daughter that was useless for a provincial schoolteacher. To be sure, fashions of whale-boned bodices and crinoline skirts looked strange to the young ladies who wore the simpler styles, but the sheer luxury and colour of the silks, satins, brocades and gold net could not but delight them.

  ‘Look. Some Brussels lace that we can use to trim your mourning gowns,’ said Oriana, ‘and a lace shawl from Spain to wear with your mamma’s black silk in the evening. And when we get to Hertfordshire you will likely find a dressmaker to make the velvet of this cloak into riding habit. And if you were to buy some lengths of fine wool we can fashion a very respectable carriage dress and trim the bonnet and muff with this ermine.’

  Clarissa fingered the strange clothes with confusion and delight. ‘Trimmed with ermine …oh no, Oriana. I just wished to look more respectable.’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense.’ cried Oriana stoutly; ‘You must look the thing. You cannot well go into Hertfordshire looking like you have spent last winter counting the coals on the fire individually, however true it maybe. You would not like your new neighbours to pity you would you?’

  ‘I should not.’ exclaimed Clarissa, revolted by the idea, ‘But what modes there were in Mamma’s time. Very grand, of course. But mother was such a bookish woman that it seems strange to think of her going to balls wearing such stiff as this.’ she held up a purple satin gown with gold brocade overdress.

  ‘Yes, very strange. One must suppose the colour was fashionable at the time. However, don’t you think that we could quite easily cut it up to make an underdress and perhaps an evening cape for Miss Appleby? If we made a simple over dress of this lavender crepe it would be quite in keeping with her semi-mourning for your mama. And it would add little to your consequence to have your companion dressed as she is now.’

  Looking at Oriana’s delight, Clarissa believed that she must have missed the fashionable world more than she thought, and also that she had been itching to gown Clarissa for some time.

  So the ladies devised their scheme to dress their elders in clothes more befitting their new station and it seemed that it could all be done at very little cost with the aid of the riches in the late Mrs Thorne’s chest. A fine dove coloured muslin from mamma’s cupboard could be taken in several inches for Miss Appleby, along with a pelisse to match, which could very well be given a ‘touch of Paris’ (as Miss Petersham called it) by trimming it with some dark grey velvet ruched ribbon from one of the assorted dresses.

  Miss Micklethwaite was more of a problem. It was useless to suppose she would allow herself to be done up in purple satin. She was, indeed, the daughter of a respectable solicitor who had been forward thinking in the education of ladies, and as such was the social inferior of the rest of the ladies. Even Miss Appleby boasted an impoverished Baronet somewhere in her family tree, but Miss Micklethwaite had no such claims to gentility. She was far too proud ‘to ape her betters’ as she declared when referring to her brother’s wife whose father had made a fortune in trade. Therefore the ladies settled on some dark sturdy poplin (which had served as a voluminous coat to protect her mother’s extraordinary gowns) which could form a simple habit and some black figured muslin that could be fashioned into a simple evening gown. They had such an abundance of beautiful furs in ermine and sable that they almost decided to trim a hat and muff for her, but it would not do - she would not have worn it. It was only when Clarissa found a fox stole at the very bottom of the trunk, which could very well do the same purpose that she was satisfied.

  ‘For she cannot object to that.’ declared Clarissa stoutly, ‘since it is such as anyone with a respectable allowance might possess.’

  The
ladies took such of their spoils as they wished to their sitting room there to beginning cutting and pinning to their hearts’ delight. They were found there by Misses Micklethwaite and Appleby, returned from their constitutional. When they were informed what was toward, Miss Appleby began to cry, ‘Oh my dear girl, you cannot. I have never had such gowns in my life ... your dear mama…’

  ‘Would be happy to see you wear them and glad that you could add a little to my consequence with my new neighbours. It would not do, you know for them to think me a nip-cheese to my companion. And you need not think me generous, you know, for they will cost me nothing and you will be obliged to help make them.’

  ‘Oh, of course…’ said Miss Appleby, still sobbing with gratitude.

  ‘Stop snivelling and give the girls a hand, Louisa. It is quite right, you cannot show Clarissa up with her neighbours - even I can see that. Give me the poplin, I’ll see to it. If you think that you two girls will measure me then you are much mistaken. A fox-trimmed bonnet. Whatever next. I’ll be as fine as my fool of a sister-in-law.’ She added with grim humour. It seemed to Clarissa that her sister-in-law had been spared much by their departure to Hertfordshire.

  In the next few days the ladies trimmed bonnets, made a number of simple dresses (with the help of a girl from the village) all of which were given a little ‘town gloss’ by the eagle eye of Miss Petersham (so lately one of the town’s leading beauties) and packed the more colourful treasures for use at a later date. They also had to hire a postchaise (and four, for Clarissa had decided to arrive in style) and had calculated that the journey could be done with only one night at an inn. The small sum that had been left her by her mother was dwindling fast (a fact she must keep from her companions) and she knew that it might last her some six months only in the country. Oriana thought that they should strive to give a respectable front: any show of poverty might lead unscrupulous persons to believe them open to swindle. They wrote letters to their various relatives telling them of their plans in the vaguest terms possible. Clarissa knew that hers would cross her brother on the road but she wished to be able to say that she had sent it. Really, she was becoming quite duplicitous.

  Miss Petersham possessed some fine simple gowns which she had brought from her home, but she directed a missive to her brother’s butler direct to send on her trunks to Hertfordshire. It would be seen as a pretty poor show if he forbade this --which Oriana knew he would wish to do. He could have ignored such a request if it was directed at him but she hardly thought he would care to display his ill-temper to Settings, the butler without whom life at home would cease to run smoothly. Oriana felt herself to be duplicitous too, but she was far less repentant than Clarissa.

  All of them were imbued with new energy and vigour, for they saw that they had a close escape from becoming the despised poor relations, and could look forward to an adventure that might be fraught with challenge, but in which they might really be useful.

  When Miss Appleby had shared her misgivings to Miss Micklethwaite about the wisdom of their enterprise and her hope that she would not be a burden to her dear Clarissa, her friend was as forthright as always.

  ‘I understand your feelings, Louisa, but think a little. If this all comes to naught then we will all just go back to our original plan. You and I to drudge for our family,’ Here Miss Appleby gave an obligatory sound of protest, ignored by her friend, ‘Oriana to be under the will of her brute of a brother and Clarissa to sell the estate and return home to that prosy bore she’s related to. However, if it does take off, we should have been real use to her. She could not well manage so ambitious a plan without us. I can knock the house into shape if it’s not too far-gone. You can keep up with the genteel side of things, that ladylike way of behaving in company that I was not brought up to nor, since she has been brought up here, has Clarissa. Oriana can help with the estate but Clarissa and she are far too pretty to be able to keep the pack of hounds that will be paying them calls if I’m not mistaken. They shall need us to give them countenance.’

  ‘Indeed, my dear Augusta, we must go.’ said Miss Appleby

  Though it seemed impossible to believe, they found themselves tucked up in a neat postchaise, resplendent in their newly trimmed pelisses and bonnets, setting off to Hertfordshire fully three days before Mr Thorne was due to arrive. Since it clearly would not do to travel on Sunday, they sat off in fine fettle early on Friday morning, with the early spring frosts nipping at the air, full of hope for the new life ahead of them and some sad thoughts for the life they had left behind. Clarissa looked at the sparkle in her friends’ eyes, and was satisfied.

  Chapter 3

  A Brother Thwarted

  Cornelia Thorne had, until recently, no desire to house her husband’s orphaned sister, her house having only three guest bedrooms. She had made representations to her husband on this head but he had felt that his father would have expected no less of him. When Cornelia thought that Clarissa would not mind one of the attic rooms, to be nearer to the darling children, it did not cross her mind that her own bedchamber was as far away from her children’s as it was reasonably possible to be. At first, John had no fault to find with this scheme, but upon reflection he thought it might not be thought well of in the village of Little Sowersby if it became known. When his sister, father and stepmother had visited him last, Clarissa had made friends in the village, including Juliana Sowersby, the daughter of the Manor. It would not do, he explained to his wife, to be thought shabby by the Sowersbys.

  Though Cornelia complained of her house to all that knew her as cramped, it was larger indeed than in her parents’ home in Warwickshire. Mrs Thorne had taken a step up in the world in marrying John, her solid husband whose small independence allowed them to keep their home in a genteel manner, but forbade the luxuries that her heart craved. She kept a cook-maid, a groom and of course a nurse for her three energetic children, but she decried to her special friends the lack of a lady’s maid. Many felt sorry for the tumble that Cornelia was thought to have taken in life, but many more saw through her and simply thought she gave herself airs.

  She was a pretty woman, with an abundance of brown hair, which she kept dressed in the latest mode and a rounded figure hardly affected by child bearing. Her husband could perceive no fault in her, she was petted and indulged by him in every way but since neither of them could bear to be less than respectable, this did not lead them towards debt. In the sudden inheritance of a large estate by his sister (why was her mother so much better connected that John’s, in every other way the superior woman.) Cornelia saw a way of introducing much more money into her household with her arrival.

  So it was that as she was packing her husband’ portmanteau for his journey she was charging him to deliver sweet messages to Clarissa.

  ‘Do tell my dearest sister that I shall be in transports to see her again. As will William and Percy and little Bella be to see their dear Aunt.’

  Though he doubted that the children would remember their ‘dear Aunt’, John took this speech in the spirit it was meant, ‘You are all generosity, my dear, to one whose pert manners might have given you disgust.’ He regarded his wife with a tenderness that was seen rarely in his eyes. He regarded the world through suspicious eyes, set into a grave face. Inclined to early portliness and not a little pomposity, he looked a good deal older than his thirty years.

  Completely forgetting what she had called Clarissa after her last visit, Cornelia smiled in a saintly way. ‘Well, I trust that I would never criticize your late step-mama, but let us just say that Clarissa will no doubt benefit from the tone of a well-ordered household and the moral guidance of her older brother.’

  Since Clarissa had seldom shown any tendency to follow his moral lead, John might have doubted this. However, his wife’s glowing opinion of him allowed him to ignore this and set off in good heart to bring his sister back to her new home.

  In the inside pocket of his greatcoat were certain papers that his lawyer had drawn up for him, wanting
only Clarissa’s signature to allow him to sell the estate and bank any other incomes accrued. His lawyer agreed with him that the funds and income had best be handled by themselves, allowing of course the young lady an income of, say, one hundred pounds a quarter. This John had not been inclined to permit, since it gave Clarissa an income for fripperies, which quite outdid his wife’s. The lawyer had been all understanding - it would quite unbalance the household. A much smaller allowance then, with monies due put into the housekeeping, and the large funds invested and a small commission taken by her brother for increasing her profits. His wife agreed with him—for what could a young lady know of business? It would be relief to Clarissa for John to take it out of her hands.

  When she signed the papers, Clarissa may never trouble her head with such things again. John rode on his way portentously, thinking of the investments that his man of business recommended, for it never occurred to the young man that any female, even one as unnatural as his sister, could fail to see the advantages to his scheme. He knew himself to be dutiful brother, and was proud.

  He arrived at The Academy as Mr Peterkin (who had come to try his luck with Clarissa again) was coming away from the door in great agitation of spirit.

  ‘Sir.’ He exclaimed, ‘Mr Thorne. Can it be that you have come to visit your unhappy sister.’

  ‘Do I know you, sir?’ uttered Mr Thorne, removing from his arm Mr Peterkin’s clutching fingers.

  ‘Indeed - upon your last visit - my name is Hubert Peterkin - the Reverend Mr Norbert’s curate, you know. Can it be that you do not know that your sister has gone?’

  ‘Nonsense’ declared Mr Thorne and continued on his way to the door confidently. As he approached, he felt that ebb away as he saw all the unmistakable signs of a house that had been closed up.