Jane Fairfax

by Joan Aiken

  But Jane had instant recourse to Colonel Campbell, who stopped reading about the Treaty of Amiens only long enough to snap: “Of course, of course! Send as many letters by the fellow as you please; perfectly in order. Never trouble me with such trifling matters again!”

  Such an arrangement was an immense comfort to Jane, saving, as it did, so much postage for the poor ladies in Highbury, and for Colonel Campbell too. Jane had, of course, written home immediately on arrival to assure her friends of her safe establishment in Manchester Square, to describe the kindness of her hosts and friendly reception by Rachel, and had added a pitiful postscript: “Please give my very best remembrances to Mr Knightley. I was sorry not to be able to bid him Goodbye.” Colonel Campbell had franked the first letter for her. But, prudently, she did not wish to trespass on his kindness too often.

  A few weeks after the establishment of a regular teaching routine, when, one afternoon, the girls were returning from a botanical ramble in Kensington Gardens with Miss Winstable, Jane thought she recognised, ahead of them in Wigmore Street, the backs of two very familiar figures. She hesitated a while, for, accustomed as she was to know every face she met along the street of Highbury, she still found it hard to accept the largeness of London and the fact that every person in the street must necessarily be a stranger. But as they overtook the group ahead — for the two gentlemen (who were accompanied by a boy, Jane now saw) had come to a halt, apparently to bid one another a long and conversational farewell — they were to be recognised, indubitably, as well-loved, familiar neighbours.

  “Mr Knightley! Mr Weston!” burst out from Jane, irrepressible with joy.

  Miss Winstable turned on her a scandalized countenance.

  “Jane! My dear child! Ladies do not ever call out to persons in the street — most particularly not to unknown gentlemen. I can hardly believe it of you!”

  “But they are not unknown gentlemen, Miss Winstable—they are friends!”

  Despite this endorsement, Miss Winstable was for instantly hurrying her charges away from such potentially dangerous and undesirable contact, when the two gentlemen, approaching and removing their hats in the most civil manner, contrived to block her escape.

  “Jane, my dear child! What a fortunate chance! I was just on my way to deliver a note and a packet to you from your aunt — I believe it consists of a pair of mitts, or a pair of socks, or some such article. I told her I was coming to London to visit brother John in Brunswick Square and asked if there were any article she might like conveyed to you.” He bowed to Miss Winstable, and Jane made haste to introduce him as “a very old friend of my grandmother’s And this,” she added quickly, “is Mr Weston, another neighbour, who lives part of the time in Highbury, and part of it in London.” The governess fluttered, unsure of what course to follow, but both gentlemen were so polite, and seemed so truly genteel and unexceptionable that finally, with reluctance, she permitted them to accompany her charges a short way along the street; indeed she could see no means of preventing it.

  “And you must also allow me to introduce my son,” added Mr Weston beaming. “My son Frank, you know. Frank and I were just returning from the park when we encountered Knightley here, so we turned to walk along with him, as he said he was intending to call at Colonel Campbell’s; Frank informs me that his guardians, Mr and Mrs Churchill, are acquainted with the Colonel and Mrs Campbell.”

  The boy Frank was meanwhile regarding the two girls with ingenuous interest, and they studied him with a similar unaffected friendly scrutiny. He was older than they by some three or four years — a slender, fair-haired, open-faced boy with a fresh colour and ready smile.

  “Do you go to school in London?” Jane asked him.

  “No, in Yorkshire,” he told her. “But my guardian has come to London to see a doctor, so I was granted a holiday to come with her — only I am obliged to visit a dentist, so it is not all pleasure.” He laughed, puffing out his cheek and making a gesture as of an enormously swelled jaw, and the girls laughed too.

  “I have just b-been to a d-dentist also,” said Rachel shyly. “It is a d-dreadful experience!”

  “Don’t forget, my boy, that your dental trouble gives us this happy chance to see one another,” put in his father. “And that is a great joy, for me at any rate.”

  They were parting from the Westons, on the corner of Manchester Square, when, by chance, here came Colonel Campbell back from his club, so the introductions must be made over again, and Miss Winstable, inexpressibly agitated at being discovered by her employer in the company of three strange males, was at least relieved to have the situation ratified and regularized by the Colonel’s total lack of displeasure and outrage. He even expressed happiness at making their acquaintance, said he had heard a great deal about Mr Knightley from the Bateses, and about Mr Weston, from the Churchills. Indeed he pressed them to come in and take a glass of wine, but both gentlemen pleaded other engagements. Mr Weston must escort his son to the dentist. Mr Knightley said, “Another time, I shall be happy,” smiling kindly at Jane. “Your aunt and grandmother will indeed be glad when I tell them I have seen you looking so well —” and he strode off along the street while Jane gazed wistfully after him.

  The girls were obliged to hear a great many more strictures from Miss Winstable, after re-entering the schoolroom, as to the appalling impropriety of addressing any male person in the street. “Not at all the kind of thing that any of dear Lady Selsea’s girls would do!” If it had been Rachel, accustomed only to the wilderness of Flanders or Corsica, it might have been a little more excusable, but for Jane, brought up in a region of such unimpeachable respectability as Surry, she could only feel vicarious shame. “I blush for you, my child, I do indeed!”

  Her thin cheeks were indeed reddened, and the look she gave Jane was one of disapproval, unmixed with any liking.

  “I am sorry, Miss Winstable,” Jane repeated politely for the third time, adding, “But you see, Mr Knightley is such a very, very kind neighbour. He sends my aunt and grandmother two great loads of firewood every winter, besides I do not know how many bushels of apples. And he taught me to ride — I would not for anything in the world be behindhand in paying him proper attention.” Her voice faltered, remembering the happy freedom of those rides, and Rachel cast her a glance full of sympathy.

  That evening Colonel Campbell demanded more information about Jane’s acquaintances, and she was pleased to tell him what she knew: Mr Knightley, Mr John Knightley, the beauties of Donwell Abbey and its estates were carefully described.

  “And Mr Weston? What is his story?”

  A sad one, Jane told the Colonel. Mr Weston’s young wife, who came from a proud Yorkshire family, the Churchills, had died, leaving him with a baby son. Since so young a man, still with his way to make in the world, seemed no very adequate guardian for a baby, the wealthy Churchills had offered to adopt the boy, Frank, and had done so when he was but an infant. During the subsequent nine or ten years Mr Weston, now engaged in business with his two brothers in London, had prospered very well, and had been able recently to exchange the small house in Highbury where his leisure was spent for a small but handsome estate adjoining the village. He still divided his time between London and Surry, but was looked up to, respected, and greatly liked by all his village neighbours. And he had never lost touch with his son, for the Churchills, coming south to London every spring, raised no objection to Mr Weston calling at their house in Manchester Street and taking Frank on educational excursions to see the Elgin Marbles, or less educational ones to Astley’s Amphitheatre.

  “He seemed like a pleasant, good-humoured lad,” remarked the Colonel. “Surprising, that — hey? For his aunt, Mrs Churchill, has the reputation of being the most froward, ill-tempered woman, and her husband the most downtrodden and hen-pecked; is not that so, Cecelia?”

  “Yes, perfectly true,” said his wife. “I have sat with Mrs Churchill on several committees, and a more difficult, assertive person I have seldom encountered; one qu
ite despairs of getting any motion passed if it is opposed by her, for she simply repeats her own opinion over and over, without listening to a word uttered by anybody else. But I am glad to hear that the boy is so sweet-natured; no doubt he takes after his father. I hope he will make a pleasant playmate for our girls.”

  Miss Winstable looked as if she would have liked to oppose any scheme involving the entry of youthful males into her schoolroom sphere; but Jane explained that most of Frank Churchill’s time was spent at school in Yorkshire.

  “Perhaps then we may see him at Easter. And now, how about a little music — hey?”

  Jane had earnestly impressed upon Signor Negretti the value and importance there would be in Rachel’s being able, within the least possible time, to demonstrate her rapid attainment of musical proficiency.

  “For if he sees she can do one thing well, that will encourage him to believe that she may do others. And that will greatly encourage her.”

  To this end, a piece of music for four hands by Dussek had been selected by the Signor which, while demanding a bravura performance from the player of the first part, left the second player little to supply but a few chords and single notes. As it was a lively, cheerful écossaise, the girls had practised it with great diligence and no little amusement, making as much noise as they could, until Miss Winstable, at her carpet-work in the drawing-room, urged them to hush! or they would disturb dear Mrs Campbell, so busy reading parliamentary reports.

  So, when the Colonel called for music, Jane suggested, “Shall we play him our duet, Rachel?”

  Mutely, Rachel nodded, the screen was removed, and the two young ladies took their places. The well-rehearsed piece was played with tremendous panache, indeed both the girls were in fits of laughter as they brought it to its rattling conclusion.

  “You stole my note, Rachel, you wretch!”

  “N-no, I d-didn’t — you stole mine!”

  Even Mrs Campbell raised her head from her minutes long enough to call out “Bravo!”

  To Jane’s dismay the Colonel left his seat and came into the conservatory to stand by them.

  “Well, that was a very spirited performance, indeed!” he said, appearing to note with surprise his daughter’s pink cheeks and laughing look. At his approach, however, all laughter left her; she became pale, gulped, and looked down at her hands.

  “Now let me hear you play something on your own, Rachel,” said the Colonel.

  “Oh, n-no, p-pray, P-Papa, I c-couldn’t!” she faltered.

  “Hey-day? What sort of foolishness is this? If you can play with Jane so nimbly, you can surely play by yourself. And your mother and I naturally wish to hear you. We wish to know how your capacities are progressing. No nonsense, now, if you please! Play something — anything — no matter how simple.”

  “Oh, p-pray, pray P-Papa — d-do not make me —”

  “Are you a girl or a worm?” thundered the Colonel furiously, thumping on the lid of the piano so that it boomed, and all the sheets of music flew about. “Enough of this ridiculous missishness. I demand to hear you play!”

  “Oh, come, James — if the child can’t, just now, perform by herself, then she cannot —” called Mrs Campbell, too late, from the other room, for Rachel, in a burst of tears, with blood pouring from her nose, fled from the conservatory, leaving Jane staring stormily at the Colonel.

  Twice she opened her mouth to speak, twice she closed it again.

  “Ridiculous affectation! Can’t play, indeed? Won’t, is more like it. What — are we to expend good money on music lessons for a little squeaking milksop who is too delicate ever to be heard in execution? A fine thing for my daughter, upon my word!”

  Fuming, he turned on his heel, strode through the double drawing-room, and down the stairs. A moment later they heard the front door slam behind him.

  Jane could only be thankful that Miss Winstable, pleading indigestion (to which indisposition she was a martyr) had retired early to bed. Very devoutly Jane hoped that she would never come to hear of this scene, for in any dissension between the Colonel and his daughter, the governess could be relied on to come down heavily on the parental side, and descant at immense length on the importance, the absolute necessity, of sparing no pains, stretching every faculty to its utmost, in order to please parents, those givers of life and arbiters of destiny. “Not to play when your Papa wished it! Fie, for shame, miss! Lady Selsea’s daughters would have played for days together — for weeks together indeed. It is too bad — disgraceful — the outside of enough!”

  Chapter 4

  The process of encouraging Rachel not to be afraid of her father, of persuading Colonel Campbell not to terrify his daughter advanced, it seemed to Jane, by infinitesimally slow degrees. True, with Jane’s co-operation and assistance Rachel, who had a very pretty alto voice, had learned the second part of a duet which Signor Negretti had himself arranged from a French ballad, a chanson Béarnaise and, this accomplished, they went on to an Italian song, “Arietta Veneziano”. Singing in French or Italian, Rachel was able to forget her speech difficulty and warble away with fair confidence. It had been Jane’s hopeful scheme that, on his birthday, which fell late in March, the two girls should entertain the Colonel to a little concert.

  But, alas for such schemes! Just before the birthday, by unhappy mischance, Miss Winstable came across, and angrily drew to the Colonel’s notice, an exercise book belonging to Rachel which, instead of having its pages dutifully covered with French irregular verbs, was filled with drawings of people: “Not even portraits so much as caricatures!” gasped the outraged governess. Unfortunately most of them were all too recognizable: Miss Winstable herself, swathed in veils and gauzy shawls, hovering irresolutely outside a closed door as if uncertain whether to enter or to listen at the keyhole; one of Mrs Campbell, so deeply buried among pamphlets and piles of minutes that only a wisp of brown hair and the tip of a long nose, perfectly familiar, were to be seen; one of the Colonel’s valet, Tonkin, tiptoeing up the stairs with an armful of starched white cravats and a comically apprehensive expression on his face; one of the redoubtable Mrs Churchill, laying about her with an umbrella; and, worst of all, one of the Colonel, his brow as black as Rachel’s pencil could portray it, his lower lip out-thrust, and his daughter before him on her knees, quivering with such terror that she was reduced to the shape of a dish of lemon jelly which stood beside her.

  The Colonel summoned his daughter, raged at her, roared at her, and at last dismissed her in such a state that she had to be put to bed for three days.

  Then Jane was sent for in her turn, and the tongue-lashing she received was hardly less in degree than poor Rachel’s: ranged over the various heads of Subversion — Disrespect — Encouragement of Rachel in these faults — and, in general, of inciting Rachel to disobey her governess and make fun of authority.

  “That book was meant for French verbs, not for impertinent drawings!” he thundered.

  Jane, unlike Rachel, stood up for herself, though terrified.

  “Sir! You are unjust! Firstly, Rachel knows all the French irregular verbs — she speaks French perfectly well — quite as well as a French person, I believe, and a great deal better than Miss Winstable.”

  Jane herself spoke French with tolerable fluency, for it was Signor Negretti’s second language and they had conversed in it for the past two years; she was therefore well aware of the governess’s shortcomings in this area.

  “Nonetheless the book was allotted for a specific educational purpose, not for vulgar scribbles. Young people must learn to be systematic and obedient, whether they understand the reasons for their activities or not.”

  Jane took a deep breath and said, “Still I think you are unjust, sir. When — when you brought me here, both you and Mrs Campbell told me that one of the reasons for my coming was because you wished me to — to help Rachel become more — more confident and less timid. How can she ever learn these things if — if she is to be scolded and put down when she does a thing that s
he can do well — such as her drawing? And how can she ever learn to be sure of herself — if, if she is reminded all the time only of her faults, of her difficulties?”

  Throughout this long speech her heart beat very fast in her breast, but she stood her ground, trembling and gazing resolutely at the Colonel, trying not to think what her relatives would say if she were to be sent back to Highbury in disgrace.

  There was a moment’s silence. Then — “I am not angry with you, Jane,” said the Colonel presently, in a more moderate tone (though she thought that he was, still, judging by the spark in his eye and the curl of his lip). “But I wish you, child as you are, to stop a moment and consider the difference between Rachel’s position and your own. There is a difference, though we try to make as little of it as may be. Rachel, when she is grown, will have twelve thousand pounds of her own. Which is well for her, poor girl, for she will never have even passable looks with which to entice a suitor. And even her twelve thousand won’t see her far in the matrimonial stakes, unless, as well, she learns the feminine art of attracting by her ways, her manners, her amiability, and her accomplishments. For you, my child, it is different; being, most regrettably, undowered, you must, perforce, take up a profession, and your friends have chosen for you the useful, and not too disagreeable or arduous one of teaching — for which, being naturally clever, you are well-suited. You may — I don’t doubt you will — go far, supposing that a suitably well-connected position may be found for you. (Rachel’s grandmother was at school with the Duchess of Richmond; and Mrs Churchill is a friend of Lady Castlereagh, so we may have good hopes; these things must be thought of and planned for, well in advance.) Your future, though hard-working, is therefore assured; you will be independent and self-supporting. But, for Rachel, if she is to take any sort of place in the world, it is otherwise; she must marry; she must learn to please a man; and she will certainly not do that by stammering, fumbling, and going red when she is spoken to, or by making silly and vulgar drawings in her French copy book.”