CHAPTER VI.
A NEW WORLD.
I could read aloud well, unusually well, I think, for mamma had takengreat pains with my pronunciation. She was especially anxious that bothHaddie and I should speak well, and not catch the Great Mexingtonaccent, which was both peculiar and ugly.
But the book which Miss Broom had put before me was hardly a fair test.I don't remember what it was--some very dry history, I think, bristlingwith long words, and in very small print. I did not take in the sense ofwhat I was reading in the very least, and so, of course, I read badly,tumbling over the long words, and putting no intelligence into my tone.I think, too, my teacher was annoyed at the purity of my accent, for noone could possibly have mistaken _her_ for anything but what she was--anative of Middleshire. She corrected me once or twice, then shut thebook impatiently.
"Very bad," she said, "very bad indeed for eleven years old."
"I am not eleven, Miss Broom," I said. "I am only nine past."
"LITTLE GIRLS MUST NOT CONTRADICT, AND MUST NOT BERUDE."]
"Little girls must not contradict, and must not be rude," was the reply.
What had I said that could be called rude? I tried to think, therebybringing on myself a reprimand for inattention, which did not have theeffect of brightening my wits, I fear.
I think I was put through a sort of examination as to all myacquirements. I know I came out of it very badly, for Miss Broompronounced me so backward that there was no class, not even theyoungest, in the school, which I was really fit for. There was nothingfor it, however, but to put me into this lowest class, and she said Imust do extra work in play hours to make up to my companions.
Even my French, which I now _know_ must have been good, was found faultwith by Miss Broom, who said my accent was extraordinary. And certainly,if hers was Parisian, mine must have been worse than that ofStratford-le-Bow!
Still, I was not unhappy. I thought it must be always like that atschool, and I said to myself I really would work hard to make up tothe others, who were so much, much cleverer than I. And I satcontentedly enough in my place, doing my best to learn a page of Englishgrammar by heart, from time to time peeping round the table, till, to mygreat satisfaction and delight, I caught sight of the rosy-cheekeddamsel at the farther end of the table.
I was so pleased that I wonder I did not jump up from my place and runround to speak to her, forgetful that though I had thought so much ofher, she had probably never noticed me at all the only other time of ourmeeting, or rather passing each other.
But I felt Miss Broom's eye upon me, and sat still. I acquitted myselfpretty fairly of my page of grammar, leading to the dry remark from thegoverness that it was plain I "could learn if I chose." As this was thefirst thing I had been given to learn, the implied reproach was notexactly called for. But none of Miss Broom's speeches were remarkablefor being appropriate. They depended much more on the mood she happenedto be in herself than upon anything else.
I can clearly remember most of that day. I have a vision of a longdining-table, long at least it seemed to me, and a plateful of roastmutton and potatoes which I could not manage to finish, followed by ricepudding with which I succeeded better, though I was not the leasthungry. Miss Aspinall was at one end of the table, Miss Broom at theother, and Miss Fenmore, who seemed always to be jumping up to ring thebell or hand the governesses something or other that had been forgottenby the servant, sat somewhere in the middle.
No one spoke unless spoken to by one of the teachers. Miss Aspinall shotout little remarks from time to time about the weather, and repliedgraciously enough to one or two of the older girls who ventured to askif Miss Ledbury's cold, or headache, was better.
Then came the grace, followed by a shoving back of forms, and a march inorder of age, or place in class rather, to the door, and thence down thepassage to what was called the big schoolroom--a room on the groundfloor, placed where by rights the kitchen should have been, I fancy. Itwas the only large room in the house, and I think it must have beenbuilt out beyond the original walls on purpose.
And then--there re-echo on my ears even now the sudden bursting out ofnoise, the loosening of a score and a half of tongues, girls' tonguestoo, forcibly restrained since the morning. For this was the recreationhour, and on a wet day, to make up for not going a walk, the "youngladies" were allowed from two to three to chatter as much as theyliked--in English instead of in the fearful and wonderful jargon yclept"French."
I stood in a corner by myself, staring, no doubt. I felt profoundlyinterested. This was a _little_ more like what I had pictured to myself,though I had not imagined it would be quite so noisy and bewildering.But some of the girls seemed very merry, and their laughter and chatterfascinated me--if only I were one of them, able to laugh and chattertoo! Should I ever be admitted to share their fun?
The elder girls did not interest me. They seemed to me quite grown-up.Yet it was from their ranks that came the first token of interest inme--of notice that I was there at all.
"What's your name?" said a tall thin girl with fair curls, which onecould see she was very proud of. She was considered a beauty in theschool. She was silly, but very good-natured. She spoke with a sort oflisp, and very slowly, so her question did not strike me as rude. Norwas it meant to be so. It was a mixture of curiosity and amiability.
"My name," I repeated, rather stupidly. I was startled by being spokento.
"Yes, your name. Didn't Miss Lardner say what's your name? Dearme--don't stand gaping there like a monkey on a barrel-organ," saidanother girl.
By this time a little group had gathered round me. The girls composingit all laughed, and though it does not sound very witty--to begin with,I never heard of a monkey "gaping"--I have often thought since thatthere was some excuse for the laughter. I was small and thin, and I hada trick of screwing up my eyes which made them look smaller than theyreally were. And my frock was crimson merino with several rows of blackvelvet above the hem of the skirt.
I was not offended. But I did not laugh. The girl who had spoken lastwas something of a tomboy, and looked upon also as a wit. Her name wasJosephine Mellor, and her intimate friends called her Joe. She had veryfuzzy red hair, and rather good brown eyes.
"I say," she went on again, "what _is_ your name? And are you going tostay to dinner every day, or only when it rains, like Lizzie Burt?"
Who was Lizzie Burt? That question nearly set my ideas adrift again. Butthe consciousness of my superior position fortunately kept me to thepoint.
"I am going to be at dinner always," I said proudly. "I am a boarder."
The girls drew a little nearer, with evidently increased interest.
"A boarder," repeated Josephine. "Then Harriet Smith'll have to give upbeing baby. You're ever so much younger than her, I'm sure."
"What are you saying about me?" said Harriet, who had caught the soundof her own name, as one often does.
"Only that that pretty snub nose of yours is going to be put out ofjoint," said Miss Mellor mischievously.
Harriet came rushing forward. She was my rosy-cheeked girl! Her face wasredder than usual. I felt very vexed with Miss Mellor, even though I didnot quite understand her.
"What are you saying?" the child called out. "I'm not going to have anyof your teasing, Joe."
"It's not teasing--it's truth," said the elder girl. "You're not thebaby any more. _She_," and she pointed to me, "she's younger than you."
"How old are you?" said Harriet roughly.
"Nine past," I said. "Nine and a half."
"Hurrah! Hurrah!" shouted Harriet. "I'm only nine and a month. I'm stillthe baby, Miss Joe."
She was half a head at least taller than I, and broad in proportion.
"What a mite you are, to be sure," said Miss Mellor, "nine and a halfand no bigger than that."
I felt myself getting red. I think one or two of the girls must have hadperception enough to feel a little sorry for me, for one of them--Ifancy it was Miss Lardner--said in a good-natured patronising way,
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"You haven't told us your name yet, after all."
"It's Geraldine," I said. "That's my first name, and I'm always calledit."
"Geraldine what?" said the red-haired girl.
"Geraldine Theresa Le Marchant--that's all my names."
"My goodness," said Miss Mellor, "how grand we are! Great Mexington'sgrowing quite aristocratic. I didn't know monkeys had such fine names."
Some of the girls laughed, some, I think, thought her as silly as shewas.
"Where do you come from?" was the next question.
"Come from?" I repeated. "I don't know."
At this they all did laugh, and I suppose it was only natural. SuddenlyHarriet Smith made a sort of dash at me.
"Oh, I say," she exclaimed. "I know. She's going to sleep in our room. Isaw them putting sheets on the bed in the corner, but Jane wouldn't tellme who they were for. Emma," she called out loudly to a girl of fourteenor fifteen, "Emma, I say, she's going to sleep in our room I'm sure."
Emma Smith was taller and thinner and paler than her sister, but stillthey were rather like. Perhaps it was for that very reason that they goton so badly--they might have been better friends if they had been moreunlike. As it was, they quarrelled constantly, and I must say it wasgenerally Harriet's fault. She was very spoilt, but she had somethinghearty and merry about her, and so had Emma. They were the daughters ofa rich Great Mexington manufacturer, and they had no mother. They werefavourites in the school, partly I suspect because they had lots ofpocket money, and used to invite their companions to parties in theholidays. But they were not mean or insincere, though rough andnoisy--more like boys than girls.
Emma came bouncing forward.
"I say," she began to me, "if it's true you're to sleep in our room Ihope you understand you must do what I tell you. I'm the eldest. You'renot to back up Harriet to disobey me."
"No," I said. "I don't want to do anything like that."
"Well, then," said Harriet, "you'll be Emma's friend, not mine."
My face fell, and I suppose Harriet saw it. She came closer to me andlooked at me well, as if expecting me to answer. But for the first timesince I had been in my new surroundings I felt more than bewildered--Ifelt frightened and lonely, terribly lonely.
"Oh, mamma," I thought to myself, "I wish I could see you to tell youabout it. It isn't a bit like what I thought it would be."
But I said nothing aloud. I think now that if I had burst out crying itwould have been better for me, but I had very little power of expressingmyself, and Haddie had instilled into me a great horror of being acry-baby at school.
In their rough way, however, several of the girls were kind-hearted, thetwo Smiths perhaps as much so as any. Harriet came close up to me.
"I'm only in fun," she said; "of course we'll be friends. I'll tell youhow we'll do," and she put her fat little arm round me in a protectingway which I much appreciated. "Come over here," she went on in a lowervoice, "where none of the big ones can hear what we say," and she drewme, nothing loth, to the opposite corner of the room.
As we passed through the group of older girls standing about, one or twofragments of their talk reached my ears.
"Yes--I'm sure it's the same. He's a bank clerk, I think. I've heardpapa speak of them. They're awfully poor--come-down-in-the-world sort ofpeople."
"Oh, then, I expect when she's old enough she'll be a governess--perhapsshe'll be a sort of teacher here to begin with."
Then followed some remark about looking far ahead, and a laugh at theidea of "the monkey" ever developing into a governess.
But after my usual fashion it was not till I thought it over afterwardsthat I understood that it was I and my father they had been discussing.In the meantime I was enjoying a confidential talk with HarrietSmith--that is to say, I was listening to all she said to me; she didnot seem to expect me to say much in reply.
I felt flattered by her condescension, but I did not in my heart feelmuch interest in her communications. They were mostly about Emma--howshe tried to bully her, Harriet, because she herself was five yearsolder, and how the younger girl did not intend to stand it much longer.Emma was as bad as a boy.
"As bad as a boy," I repeated. "I don't know what you mean."
"That's because you've not got a brother, I suppose," said Harriet. "Ourbrother's a perfect nuisance. He's so spoilt--papa lets him do just ashe likes. Emma and I hate the holidays because of him being at home. Butit's the worst for me, you see. Emma hates Fred bullying her, so shemight know I hate her bullying me."
This was all very astonishing to me.
"I have a brother," I said after a moment or two's reflection.
"Then you know what it is. Why didn't you say so?" asked Harriet.
"Because I don't know what it is. Haddie never teases me. I love beingwith him."
"My goodness! Then you're not like most," said Harriet elegantly,opening her eyes.
She asked me some questions after this--as to where we lived, how manyservants we had, and so on. Some I answered--some I could not, as I wasby no means as worldly-wise as this precocious young person.
She gave me a great deal of information about school--she hated thegovernesses, except the old lady, and she didn't care about her much.Miss Broom was her special dislike. But she liked school very well,she'd been there a year now, and before that she had a daily governessat home, and it was very dull indeed. What had I done till now--had Ihad a governess?
"Oh no," I said. "I had mamma."
"Was she good to you," asked my new friend, "or was she very strict?"
I stared at Harriet. Mamma was strict, but she was very, very good tome. I said so.
"Then why are you a boarder?" she asked. "_We_'ve not got a mamma, buteven if we had I'm sure she wouldn't teach us herself. I suppose yourmamma isn't rich enough to pay for a governess for you."
"I don't know," I said simply. I had never thought in this way ofmamma's teaching me, but I was not at all offended. "I don't think anygoverness would be as nice as mamma."
"Then why have you come to school?" inquired Harriet.
"Because"--"because father and mamma have to go away," I was going tosay, when suddenly the full meaning of the words seemed to rush over me.A strange giddy feeling made me shut my eyes and I caught hold ofHarriet's arm.
"What's the matter?" she said wonderingly, as I opened my eyes andlooked at her again.
"I'd rather not talk about mamma just now," I said. "I'll tell youafterwards."
"Up in our room," said Harriet, "oh yes, that'll be jolly. We've got allsorts of dodges."
But before she had time to explain more, or I to ask her why "dodges"--Iknew the meaning of the word from Haddie--were required, a bell rangloudly.
Instantly the hubbub ceased, and there began a sort of silentscramble--the elder girls collecting books and papers and hurrying totheir places; the younger ones rushing upstairs to the other schoolroom,I following.
In a few minutes we were all seated round the long tables. It was asewing afternoon, and to my great delight I saw that Miss Fenmore, thepretty governess whom I had taken such a fancy to, though I had not yetspoken to her, was now in Miss Broom's place.
Mamma had provided me with both plain work and a little simple fancywork, but as my things were not yet unpacked, I had neither with me, andI sat feeling awkward and ashamed, seeing all the others busilypreparing for business.
"Have you no work, my dear?" said Miss Fenmore gently. It was the firstkind speech I had had from a governess.
"It isn't unpacked," I said, feeling my cheeks grow red, I did not knowwhy.
Miss Fenmore hesitated for a moment. Then she took out a stocking--orrather the beginning of one on knitting-needles.
"Can you knit?" she asked.
"I can knit plain--plain and purl--just straight on," I said. "But I'venever done it round like that."
"Never mind, you will learn easily, as you know how to knit. Come andsit beside me, so that I can watch you."
She made t
he girls sit a little more closely, making a place for mebeside her, and I would have been quite happy had I not seen a crossexpression on several faces, and heard murmurs of "favouring," "spoiltpet," and so on.
Miss Fenmore, if _she_ heard, took no notice. And in a few moments allwas in order. We read aloud in turns--the book was supposed to be astory-book, but it seemed to me very dull, though the fault may havelain in the uninteresting way the girls read, and the constant change ofvoices, as no one read more than two pages at a time. I left off tryingto listen and gave my whole attention to my knitting, encouraged by MissFenmore's whispered "very nice--a little looser," or "won't it be niceto knit socks for your father or brother, if you have a brother?"
I nodded with a smile. I was burning to tell her everything. Already Ifelt that I loved her dearly--her voice was as sweet as her face. Yetthere were tones in the former and lines in the latter telling of muchsorrow and suffering, young as she was. I was far too much of a child tounderstand this. I only felt vaguely that there was something about herwhich reminded me of mamma as she had looked these last few weeks.
And my heart was won.
The Carved Lions Page 6
