The Clever Woman of the Family

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

  While Coombe and mamma decided the question by lifting the lesser ones into the fly, Rachel counted heads. Her mission exceeded her expectations. Here was a pair of boys in knickerbockers, a pair in petticoats, a pair in pelisses, besides the thing in arms. When the fly had been nearly crammed, the two knickerbockers and one pelisse remained for the carriage, quite against Rachel's opinion, but "Little Wilfred can sit on my lap, he has not been well, poor little man," was quite conclusive; and when Rachel suggested lying back to rest, there was a sweet, low laugh, and, "Oh, no thank you, Wilfred never tires me."

  Rachel's first satisfaction was in seeing the veil disclose the face of eight years back, the same soft, clear, olive skin, delicate, oval face, and pretty deep-brown eyes, with the same imploring, earnest sweetness; no signs of having grown older, no sign of wear and tear, climate, or exertion, only the widow's dress and the presence of the great boys enhancing her soft youthfulness. The smile was certainly changed; it was graver, sadder, tenderer, and only conjured up by maternal affection or in grateful reply, and the blitheness of the young brow had changed to quiet pensiveness, but more than ever there was an air of dependence almost beseeching protection, and Rachel's heart throbbed with Britomart's devotion to her Amoret.

  "Why wouldn't the Major come, mamma?"

  "He will soon come, I hope, my dear."

  Those few words gave Rachel a strong antipathy to the Major.

  Then began a conversation under difficulties, Fanny trying to inquire after her aunt, and Rachel to detail the arrangements made for her at Myrtlewood, while the two boys were each accommodated with a window; but each moment they were claiming their mother's attention, or rushing across the ladies' feet to each other's window, treating Rachel's knees as a pivot, and vouchsafing not the slightest heed to her attempts at intelligent pointing out of the new scenes.

  And Fanny made no apology, but seemed pleased, ready with answers and with eyes, apparently ignorant that Rachel's toes were less insensible than her own, and her heavy three-years-old Wilfred asleep on her lap all the time.

  "She feeble, helpless, sickly!" thought Rachel, "I should have been less tired had I walked the twenty miles!"

  She gave up talking in despair, and by the time the young gentlemen had tired themselves into quiescence, and began to eat the provisions, both ladies were glad to be allowed a little silence.

  Coming over the last hill, Conrade roused at his mother's summons to look out at "home," and every word between them showed how fondly Avonmouth had been remembered far away.

  "The sea!" said Fanny, leaning forwards to catch sight of the long grey line; "it is hard to believe we have been on it so long, this seems so much more my own."

  "Yes," cried Rachel, "you are come to your own home, for us to take care of you."

  "I take care of mamma! Major Keith said so," indignantly exclaimed Conrade.

  "There's plenty of care for you both to take," said Fanny, half- smiling, half-sobbing. "The Major says I need not be a poor creature, and I will try. But I am afraid I shall be on all your hands."

  Both boys drummed on her knee in wrath at her presuming to call herself a poor creature--Conrade glaring at Rachel as if to accuse her of the calumny.

  "See the church," said Lady Temple, glad to divert the storm, and eagerly looking at the slender spire surmounting the bell-turret of a small building in early-decorated style, new, but somewhat stained by sea-wind, without having as yet acquired the tender tints of time. "How beautiful!" was her cry. "You were beginning the collection for it when I went away! How we used to wish for it."

  "Yes, we did," said Rachel, with a significant sigh; but her cousin had no time to attend, for they were turning in a pepper-box lodge. The boys were told that they were arrived, and they were at the door of a sort of overgrown Swiss cottage, where Mrs. Curtis and Grace stood ready to receive them.

  There was a confusion of embraces, fondlings, and tears, as Fanny clung to the aunt who had been a mother to her--perhaps a more tender one than the ruling, managing spirit, whom she had hardly known in her childhood; but it was only for a moment, for Wilfred shrieked out in an access of shyness at Grace's attempt to make acquaintance with him; Francis was demanding, "Where's the orderly?" and Conrade looking brimful of wrath at any one who made his mother cry. Moreover, the fly had arrived, and the remainder had to be produced, named, and kissed--Conrade and Francis, Leoline and Hubert, Wilfred and Cyril, and little Stephana the baby. Really the names were a study in themselves, and the cousins felt as if it would be hopeless to endeavour to apply them. Servants had been engaged conditionally, and the house was fully ready, but the young mother could hardly listen to her aunt's explanations in her anxiety that the little ones should be rested and fed, and she responded with semi-comprehending thanks, while moving on with her youngest in her arms, and as many hanging to her dress as could get hold of it. Her thanks grew more emphatic at the sight of cribs in inviting order, and all things ready for a meal.

  "I don't drink tea with nurse," was Conrade's cry, the signal for another general outcry, untranquillized by soothings and persuasions, till the door was shut on the younger half of the family, and those who could not open it remained to be comforted by nurse, a soldier's widow, who had been with them from the birth of Conrade.

  The Temple form of shyness seemed to consist in ignoring strangers, but being neither abashed nor silenced, only resenting or avoiding all attempts at intercourse, and as the boys rushed in and out of the rooms, exploring, exclaiming, and calling mamma, to the interruption of all that was going on, only checked for a few minutes by her uplifted hand and gentle hush, Grace saw her mother so stunned and bewildered that she rejoiced in the fear of cold that had decided that Rachel alone should spend the evening there. Fanny made some excuses; she longed to see more of her aunt, but when they were a little more settled,--and as a fresh shout broke out, she was afraid they were rather unruly,--she must come and talk to her at the dear Homestead. So kind of Rachel to stay--not that the boys seemed to think so, as they went racing in and out, stretching their ship-bound legs, and taking possession of the minute shrubbery, which they scorned for the want of gum-trees and parrots.

  "You won't mind, Rachel dear, I must first see about baby;" and Rachel was left to reflect on her mission, while the boys' feet cantered up and down the house, and one or other of them would look in, and burst away in search of mamma.

  Little more satisfactory was the rest of the evening, for the boys took a great deal of waiting on at tea, and then some of the party would not go to sleep in strange beds without long persuasions and comfortings, till Fanny looked so weary that it was plain that no conversation could have been hoped from her, even if the baby had been less vociferous. All that could be done for her was to wish her good-night, and promise to come down early.

  Come early! Yes, Rachel might come, but what was the use of that when Fanny was at the mercy of so many claimants? She looked much better than the day before, and her sweet, soft welcome was most cordial and clinging. "Dear Rachel, it is like a dream to have you so near. I felt like the old life come back again to hear the surge of the sea all night, and know I should see you all so soon again."

  "Yes, it is a great satisfaction to have you back in your old home, under our wing. I have a great deal to tell you about the arrangements."

  "Oh yes; thank you--"

  "Mamma!" roared two or three voices.

  "I wanted to explain to you--" But Fanny's eye was roaming, and just then in burst two boys. "Mamma, nurse won't undo the tin box, and my ship is in it that the Major gave me."

  "Yes, and my stuffed duck-bill, and I want it, mamma."

  "My dear Con, the Major would not let you shout so loud about it, and you have not spoken to Aunt Rachel."

  The boys did present their hands, and then returned to the charge. "Please order nurse to unpack it, mamma, and then Coombe will help us to sail it."

  "Excuse me, dear Rachel," said Fanny, "I will first see about this."r />
  And a very long seeing it was, probably meaning that she unpacked the box herself, whilst Rachel was deciding on the terrible spoiling of the children, and preparing a remonstrance.

  "Dear Rachel, you have been left a long time."

  "Oh, never mind that, but, Fanny, you must not give way to those children too much; they will be always-- Hark! was that the door- bell?"

  It was, and the visitor was announced as "Mr. Touchett;" a small, dark, thin young clergyman he was, of a nervous manner, which, growing more nervous as he shook hands with Rachel, became abrupt and hesitating.

  "My call is--is early, Lady Temple; but I always pay my respects at once to any new parishioner--resident, I mean--in case I can be of any service."

  " Thank you, I am very much obliged," said Fanny, with a sweet, gracious smile and manner that would have made him more at ease at once, if Rachel had not added, "My cousin is quite at home here, Mr. Touchett."

  "Oh yes," he said, "so--so I understood."

  "I know no place in England so well; it is quite a home to me, so beautiful it is," continued Fanny.

  "And you see great changes here."

  "Changes so much for the better," said Fanny, smiling her winning smile again.

  "One always expects more from improvements than they effect," put in Rachel, severely.

  "You have a large young party," said Mr. Touchett, looking uneasily towards Lady Temple.

  "Yes, I have half a dozen boys and one little girl."

  "Seven!" Mr. Touchett looked up half incredulous at the girlish contour of the gentle face, then cast down his eyes as if afraid he had been rude. "Seven! It is--it is a great charge."

  "Yes, indeed it is," she said earnestly; "and I am sure you will be kind enough to give your influence to help me with them--poor boys."

  "Oh! oh!" he exclaimed, "anything I can do--" in such a transport of eager helpfulness that Rachel coldly said, "We are all anxious to assist in the care of the children." He coloured up, and with a sort of effort at self-assertion, blurted out, "As the clergyman of the parish--," and there halted, and was beginning to look foolish, when Lady Temple took him up in her soft, persuasive way. "Of course we shall look to you so much, and you will be so kind as to let me know if there is any one I can send any broth to at anytime."

  "Thank you; you are very good;" and he was quite himself again. "I shall have the pleasure of sending you down a few names."

  "I never did approve the broken victual system," began Rachel, "it creates dependence."

  "Come here, Hubert," said Fanny, beckoning a boy she saw at a distance, "come and shake hands with Mr. Touchett." It was from instinct rather than reason; there was a fencing between Rachel and the curate that made her uncomfortable, and led her to break it off by any means in her power; and though Mr. Touchett was not much at his ease with the little boy, this discussion was staged off. But again Mr. Touchett made bold to say that in case Lady Temple wished for a daily governess, he knew of a very desirable young person, a most admirable pair of sisters, who had met with great reverses, but Rachel snapped him off shorter than ever. "We can decide nothing yet; I have made up my mind to teach the little boys at present."

  "Oh, indeed!"

  "It is very kind," said the perplexed Lady Temple.

  "I beg your pardon, I only thought, in case you were wishing for some one, that Miss Williams will be at liberty shortly."

  "I do not imagine Miss Williams is the person to deal with little boys," said Rachel. "In fact, I think that home teaching is always better than hired."

  "I am so much obliged," said Fanny, as Mr. Touchett, after this defeat, rose up to take leave, and she held out her hand, smiled, thanked, and sent him away so much sweetened and gratified, that Rachel would have instantly begun dissecting him, but that a whole rush of boys broke in, and again engrossed their mother, and in the next lull, the uppermost necessity was of explaining about the servants who had been hired for the time, one of whom was a young woman whose health had given way over her lace pillow, and Rachel was eloquent over the crying evils of the system (everything was a system with Rachel) that chained girls to an unhealthy occupation in their early childhood, and made an overstocked market and underpaid workers--holding Fanny fast to listen by a sort of fascination in her overpowering earnestness, and great fixed eyes, which, when once their grasp was taken, would not release the victim; and this was a matter of daily occurrence on which Rachel felt keenly and spoke strongly.

  "It is very sad. If you want to help the poor things, I will give anything I can."

  "Oh, yes, thank you, but it is doleful merely to help them to linger out the remnant of a life consumed upon these cobwebs of vanity. It is the fountainhead that must be reached--the root of the system!"

  Fanny saw, or rather felt, a boy making signs at the window, but durst not withdraw her eyes from the fascination of those eager ones. "Lace and lacemakers are facts," continued Rachel; " but if the middle men were exploded, and the excess of workers drafted off by some wholesome outlet, the price would rise, so that the remainder would be at leisure to fulfil the domestic offices of womanhood."

  There was a great uproar above.

  "I beg your pardon, dear Rachel," and away went Fanny.

  "I do declare," cried Rachel, when Grace, having despatched her home- cares, entered the room a quarter of an hour after; "poor Fanny's a perfect slave. One can't get in a word edgeways."

  Fanny at last returned, but with her baby; and there was no chance for even Rachel to assert herself while this small queen was in presence. Grace was devoted to infants, and there was a whole court of brothers vying with one another in picking up her constantly dropped toys, and in performing antics for her amusement. Rachel, desirous to be gracious and resigned, attempted conversation with one of the eldest pair, but the baby had but to look towards him, and he was at her feet.

  On her departure, Rachel resumed the needful details of the arrangements respecting the house and servants, and found Lady Temple as grateful and submissive as ever, except that, when advised to take Myrtlewood for a term of seven years, she replied, that the Major had advised her not to bind herself down at once.

  "Did you let him think we should quarrel?"

  "Oh, no, my dear; but it might not agree with the children."

  "Avonmouth! Grace, do you hear what heresy Fanny has been learning? Why, the proportion of ozone in the air here has been calculated to be five times that of even Aveton!"

  "Yes, dearest," said poor Fanny, very humbly, and rather scared, "there is no place like Avonmouth, and I am sure the Major will think so when he has seen it."

  "But what has he to do with your movements?"

  "Sir Stephen wished--" murmured Fanny.

  "The Major is military secretary, and always settles our head- quarters, and no one interferes with him," shouted Conrade.

  Rachel, suspicious and jealous of her rival, was obliged to let Fanny pass on to the next item, where her eager acceptance of all that was prescribed to her was evidently meant as compensation for her refractoriness about the house.

  Grace had meanwhile applied herself to keeping off the boys, and was making some progress in their good graces, and in distinguishing between their sallow faces, dark eyes, and crisp, black heads. Conrade was individualized, not only by superior height, but by soldierly bearing, bright pride glancing in his eyes, his quick gestures, bold, decided words, and imperious tone towards all, save his mother--and whatever he was doing, his keen, black eye was always turning in search of her, he was ever ready to spring to her side to wait on her, to maintain her cause in rough championship, or to claim her attention to himself. Francis was thick-set, round-shouldered, bullet-headed and dull-eyed, in comparison, not aggressive, but holding his own, and not very approachable; Leoline, thin, white- cheeked, large-eyed and fretful-lipped, was ready to whine at Conrade's tyranny and Francis's appropriations, but was grateful for Grace's protection, and more easy of access than his elders; and Hubert was a handsom
e, placid child, the good boy, as well as the beauty of the family. The pair in the nursery hardly came on the stage, and the two elders would be quite sufficient for Mrs. Curtis, with whom the afternoon was to be spent.

  The mother, evidently, considered it a very long absence, but she was anxious to see both her aunt and her own home, and set out, leaning on Rachel's arm, and smiling pleased though sad recognition of the esplanade, the pebbly beach, bathing machines and fishing boats, and pointing them out to her sons, who, on their side, would only talk of the much greater extent of Melbourne.

  Within the gates of the Homestead, there was a steep, sharp bit of road, cut out in the red sandstone rock, and after a few paces she paused to rest with a sigh that brought Conrade to her side, when she put her arm round his neck, and leant on his shoulder; but even her two supporters could not prevent her from looking pale and exhausted.

  "Never mind," she said, "this salt wind is delightful. How like old times it is!" and she stood gazing across the little steep lawn at the grey sea, the line of houses following the curve of the bay, and straggling up the valley in the rear, and the purple headlands projecting point beyond point, showing them to her boys, and telling their names.

  "It is all ugly and cold," said Francis, with an ungracious shiver. "I shall go home to Melbourne when I'm a man."

  "And you will come, mamma ?" added Conrade.

  He had no answer, for Fanny was in her aunt's arms; and, like mother and daughter, they clung to each other--more able to sympathize, more truly one together, than the young widow could be with either of the girls.

  As soon as Fanny had rested and enjoyed the home atmosphere downstairs, she begged to visit the dear old rooms, and carried Conrade through a course of recognitions through the scarcely altered apartments. Only one had been much changed, namely, the schoolroom, which had been stripped of the kindly old shabby furniture that Fanny tenderly recollected, and was decidedly bare; but a mahogany box stood on a stand on one side; there was a great accession of books, and writing implements occupied the plain deal table in the centre.