These bukes from Miss Curtis were sanatory tracts, which Rachel was constantly bestowing, and which on Sundays Mrs. Kelland spelt through, with her finger under the line, in happy ignorance whether the subject were temporal or spiritual, and feeling herself in the exemplary discharge of a Sunday duty. Moreover, old feudal feeling made Rachel be unmolested when she came down twice a week, opened the door of the blackhole under the stairs, and read aloud something religious, something improving, and a bit of a story, following it up by mental arithmetic and a lesson on objects, which seemed to Mrs. Kelland the most arrant nonsense in the world, and to her well-broken scholars was about as interesting as the humming of a blue-bottle fly; but it was poor Lovedy's one enjoyment, though making such havoc of her work that it was always expiated by extra hours, not on her pillow, but at it.
These visits of Rachel were considered to encourage the Kelland refractoriness, and it was officially intimated that it would be wise to discontinue them, and that "it was thought better" to withdraw from Mrs. Kelland all that direct patronage of her trade, by which the ladies had enabled her to be in some degree independent of the middle-men, who absorbed so much of the profit from the workers. Grace and Rachel, sufficiently old inhabitants to remember the terrible wreck that had left her a struggling widow, felt this a hard, not to say a vindictive decision. They had long been a kind of agents for disposing of her wares at a distance; and, feeling that the woman had received provocation, Grace was not disposed to give her up, while Rachel loudly averred that neither Mr. Touchett nor any of his ladies had any right to interfere, and she should take no notice.
"But," said Grace, "can we run counter to our clergyman's direct wishes?"
"Yes, when he steps out of his province. My dear Grace, you grew up in the days of curatolatry, but it won't do; men are fallible even when they preach in a surplice, and you may be thankful to me that you and Fanny are not both led along in a string in the train of Mr. Touchett's devotees!"
"I wish I knew what was right to do," said Grace, quietly, and she remained wishing it after Rachel had said a great deal more; but the upshot of it was, that one day when Grace and Fanny were walking together on the esplanade, they met Mr. Touchett, and Grace said to him, "We have been thinking it over, and we thought, perhaps, you would not wish us not to give any orders to Mrs. Kelland. I know she has behaved very ill; but I don't see how she is to get on, and she has this child on her hands."
"I know," said Mr. Touchett, "but really it was flagrant."
"Oh," said Lady Temple, gently, "I dare say she didn't mean it, and you could not be hard on a widow."
"Well," said Mr. Touchett, "Miss Brown was very much put out, and-- and--it is a great pity about the child, but I never thought myself that such strong measures would do any good."
"Then you will not object to her being employed?"
"No, not at all. From a distance, it is not the same thing as close at home; it won't be an example."
"Thank you," said Grace; and "I am so glad," said Lady Temple; and Mr. Touchett went on his way, lightened of his fear of having let his zealous coadjutors oppress the hard-working, and far more brightened by the sweet smile of requital, but all the time doubtful whether he had been weak. As to the victory, Rachel only laughed, and said, "If it made Grace more comfortable, it was well, except for that acknowledgment of Mr. Touchett's jurisdiction."
A few days after, Rachel made her appearance in Mackerel Lane, and announced her intention of consulting Ermine Williams under seal of secrecy. "I have an essay that I wish you to judge of before I send it to the 'Traveller.'"
"Indeed!" said Ermine, her colour rising. "Would it not be better--"
"Oh, I know what you mean, but don't scruple on that score. At my age, with a mother like mine, it is simply to avoid teasing and excitement that I am silent."
"I was going to say I was hardly a fair--"
"Because of your different opinions? But those go for nothing. You are a worthy antagonist, and enter into my views as my mother and sister cannot do, even while you oppose them."
"But I don't think I can help you, even if--"
"I don't want help; I only want you to judge of the composition. In fact, I read it to you that I may hear it myself."
Ermine resigned herself.
"'Curatolatry is a species--'"
"I beg your pardon."
"Curatolatry. Ah! I thought that would attract attention."
"But I am afraid the scholars would fall foul of it."
"Why, have not they just made Mariolatry?"
"Yes; but they are very severe on hybrids between Latin and Greek."
"It is not worth while to boggle at trifles when one has an expressive term," said Rachel; "if it turns into English, that is all that is wanted."
"Would it not be rather a pity if it should turn into English? Might it not be hard to brand with a contemptuous name what does more good than harm?"
"That sickly mixture of flirtation and hero worship, with a religious daub as a salve to the conscience."
"Laugh it down, and what do you leave? In Miss Austen's time silly girls ran to balls after militiamen, now, if they run to schools and charities more for the curate's sake than they quite know, is not the alternative better?"
"It is greater humbug," said Rachel. "But I knew you would not agree, at least beforehand, it is appreciation that I want."
Never did Madame de Genlis make a cleverer hit than in the reading of the Genius Phanor's tragedy in the Palace of Truth. Comically absurd as the inconsistency is of transporting the lecture of a Parisian academician into an enchanted palace, full of genii and fairies of the remotest possible connexion with the Arab jinn, the whole is redeemed by the truth to nature of the sole dupe in the Palace of Truth being the author reading his own works. Ermine was thinking of him all the time. She was under none of the constraint of Phanor's auditors, though she carried a perpetual palace of truth about with her; she would not have had either fears or compunctions in criticising, if she could. The paper was in the essay style, between argument and sarcasm, something after the model of the Invalid's Letters; but it was scarcely lightly touched enough, the irony was wormwood, the gravity heavy and sententious, and where there was a just thought or happy hit, it seemed to travel in a road-waggon, and be lost in the rumbling of the wheels. Ermine did not restrain a smile, half of amusement, half of relief, at the self-antidote the paper contained; but the smile passed with the authoress as a tribute to her satire.
"In this age," she said, "we must use those lighter weapons of wit, or no one will attend."
"Perhaps," said Ermine, "if I approve your object, I should tell you you don't use them lightly."
"Ah! but I know you don't approve it. You are not lay woman enough to be impartial, and you belong to the age that was trying the experiment of the hierarchy modified: I to that which has found it will not do. But at least you understand my view; I have made out my case."
"Yes, I understand your view; but--"
"You don't sympathize. Of course not; but when it receives its full weight from the printer's bands, you will see that it will tell. That bit about the weak tea fumes I thought of afterwards, and I am afraid I did not read it well."
"I remember it; but forgive me if I say first I think the whole is rather too--too lengthy to take."
"Oh, that is only because manuscript takes long to read aloud. I counted the words, so I can't be mistaken, at least I collated twenty lines, and multiplied; and it is not so long as the Invalid's last letter about systematic reading."
"And then comes my question again, Is good to come of it?"
"That I can't expect you to see at this time; but it is to be the beginning of a series, exposing the fallacies of woman's life as at present conducted; and out of these I mean to point the way to more consistent, more independent, better combined exertion. If I can make myself useful with my pen, it will compensate for the being debarred from so many more obvious outlets. I should like to have as mu
ch influence over people's minds as that Invalid for instance, and by earnest effort I know I shall attain it."
"I--I--" half-laughing and blushing, "I hope you will, for I know you would wish to use it for good; but, to speak plainly, I doubt about the success of this effort, or--or if it ought to succeed."
"Yes, I know you do," said Rachel. "No one ever can judge of a manuscript. You have done all I wished you to do, and I value your sincerity. Of course I did not expect praise, since the more telling it is on the opposite side, the less you could like it. I saw you appreciated it."
And Rachel departed, while Rose crept up to her aunt, asking, "Aunt Ermine, why do you look so very funny? It was very tiresome. Are not you glad it is over?"
"I was thinking, Rose, what a difficult language plain English is sometimes."
"What, Miss Rachel's? I couldn't understand one bit of her long story, except that she did not like weak tea."
"It was my own that I meant," said Ermine. "But, Rose, always remember that a person who stands plain speaking from one like me has something very noble and generous in her. Were you here all the time, Rosie? I don't wonder you were tired."
"No, Aunt Ermine, I went and told Violetta and Augustus a fairy tale out of my own head."
"Indeed; and how did they like it?"
"Violetta looked at me all the time, and Augustus gave three winks, so I think he liked it."
"Appreciated it!" said Aunt Ermine.
CHAPTER IV. THE HERO.
"And which is Lucy's? Can it be That puny fop, armed cap-a-pie, Who loves in the saloon to show The arms that never knew a foe."--SCOTT.
"My lady's compliments, ma'am, and she would he much obliged if you would remain till she comes home," was Coombe's reception of Alison. "She is gone to Avoncester with Master Temple and Master Francis."
"Gone to Avoncester!" exclaimed Rachel, who had walked from church to Myrtlewood with Alison.
"Mamma is gone to meet the Major!" cried three of the lesser boys, rushing upon them in full cry; then Leoline, facing round, "Not the major, he is lieutenant-colonel now--Colonel Keith, hurrah!"
"What--what do you mean? Speak rationally, Leoline, if you can."
"My lady sent a note to the Homestead this morning," explained Coombe. "She heard this morning that Colonel Keith intended to arrive to-day, and took the young gentlemen with her to meet him."
Rachel could hardly refrain from manifesting her displeasure, and bluntly asked what time Lady Temple was likely to be at home.
"It depended," Coombe said, "upon the train; it was not certain whether Colonel Keith would come by the twelve or the two o'clock train."
And Rachel was going to turn sharply round, and dash home with the tidings, when Alison arrested her with the question--
"And who is Colonel Keith?"
Rachel was too much wrapped up in her own view to hear the trembling of the voice, and answered, "Colonel Keith! why, the Major! You have not been here so long without hearing of the Major?"
"Yes, but I did not know. Who is he?" And a more observant person would have seen the governess's gasping effort to veil her eagerness under her wonted self-control.
"Don't you know who the Major is?" shouted Leoline. "He is our military secretary."
"That's the sum total of my knowledge," said Rachel, "I don't understand his influence, nor know where he was picked up."
"Nor his regiment?"
"He is not a regimental officer; he is on our staff," said Leoline, whose imagination could not attain to an earlier condition than "on our staff."
"I shall go home, then," said Rachel, "and see if there is any explanation there."
"I shall ask the Major not to let Aunt Rachel come here," observed Hubert, as she departed; it was well it was not before.
"Leoline," anxiously asked Alison, "can you tell me the Major's name?"
"Colonel Keith--Lieutenant-Colonel Keith," was all the answer.
"I meant his Christian name, my dear."
"Only little boys have Christian names!" they returned, and Alison was forced to do her best to tame herself and them to the duties of the long day of anticipation so joyous on their part, so full of confusion and bewildered anxiety on her own. She looked in vain, half stealthily, as often before, for a recent Army List or Peerage. Long ago she had lost the Honourable Colin A. Keith from among the officers of the -th Highlanders, and though in the last Peerage she had laid hands on he was still among the surviving sons of the late Lord Keith, of Gowanbrae, the date had not gone back far enough to establish that he had not died in the Indian war. It was fear that predominated with her, there were many moments when she would have given worlds to be secure that the newcomer was not the man she thought of, who, whether constant or inconstant, could bring nothing but pain and disturbance to the calm tenour of her sister's life. Everything was an oppression to her; the children, in their wild, joyous spirits and gladsome inattention, tried her patience almost beyond her powers; the charge of the younger ones in their mother's absence was burthensome, and the delay in returning to her sister became well-nigh intolerable, when she figured to herself Rachel Curtis going down to Ermine with the tidings of Colonel Keith's arrival, and her own discontent at his influence with her cousin. Would that she had spoken a word of warning; yet that might have been merely mischievous, for the subject was surely too delicate for Rachel to broach with so recent a friend. But Rachel had bad taste for anything! That the little boys did not find Miss Williams very cross that day was an effect of the long habit of self-control, and she could hardly sit still under the additional fret, when, just as tea was spread for the school-room party, in walked Miss Rachel, and sat herself down, in spite of Hubert, who made up a most coaxing, entreating face, as he said, "Please, Aunt Rachel, doesn't Aunt Grace want you very much!"
"Not at all. Why, Hubert?"
"Oh, if you would only go away, and not spoil our fun when the Major comes."
For once Rachel did laugh, but she did not take the hint, and Alison obtained only the satisfaction of hearing that she had at least not been in Mackarel Lane. The wheels sounded on the gravel, out rushed the boys; Alison and Rachel sat in strange, absolute silence, each forgetful of the other, neither guarding her own looks, nor remarking her companion's. Alison's lips were parted by intense listening; Rachel's teeth were set to receive her enemy. There was a chorus of voices in the hall, and something about tea and coming in warned both to gather up their looks before Lady Temple had opened the door, and brought in upon them not one foe, but two! Was Rachel seeing double? Hardly that, for one was tall, bald, and bearded, not dangerously young, but on that very account the more dangerously good-looking; and the other was almost a boy, slim and light, just of the empty young officer type. Here, too, was Fanny, flushed, excited, prettier and brighter than Rachel had seen her at all, waving an introduction with head and hand; and the boys hanging round the Major with deafening exclamations of welcome, in which they were speedily joined by the nursery detachment. Those greetings, those observations on growth and looks, those glad, eager questions and answers, were like the welcome of an integral part of the family; it was far more intimate and familiar than had been possible with the Curtises after the long separation, and it was enough to have made the two spectators feel out of place, if such a sensation had been within Rachel's capacity, or if Alison had not been engaged with the tea. Lady Temple made a few explanations, sotto voce, to Alison, whom she always treated as though in dread of not being sufficiently considerate. "I do hope the children have been good; I knew you would not mind; I could not wait to see you, or I should have been too late to meet the train, and then he would have come by the coach; and it is such a raw east wind. He must be careful in this climate."
"How warm and sunshiny it has been all day," said Rachel, by way of opposition to some distant echo of this whisper.
"Sunshiny, but treacherous," answered Colonel Keith; "there are cold gusts round corners. This must be a very sheltered nook of the coast."
"Quite a different zone from Avoncester," said the youth.
"Yes, delightful. I told you it was just what would suit you," added Fanny, to the colonel.
"Some winds are very cold here," interposed Rachel. "I always pity people who are imposed upon to think it a Mentone near home. They are choking our churchyard."
"Very inconsiderate of them," muttered the young man.
"But what made you come home so late, Fanny?" said Rachel.
Alison suspected a slight look of wonder on the part of both the officers at hearing their general's wife thus called to account; but Fanny, taking it as a matter of course, answered, "We found that the -th was at Avoncester. I had no idea of it, and they did not know I was here; so I went to call upon Mrs. Hammond, and Colonel Keith went to look for Alick, and we have brought him home to dine."
Fanny took it for granted that Rachel must know who Alick was, but she was far from doing so, though she remembered that the -th had been her uncle's regiment, and had been under Sir Stephen Temple's command in India at the time of the mutiny. The thought of Fanny's lapsing into military society was shocking to her. The boys were vociferating about boats, ponies, and all that had been deferred till the Major's arrival, and he was answering them kindly, but hushing the extra outcry less by word than sign, and his own lowered voice and polished manner--a manner that excessively chafed her as a sort of insult to the blunt, rapid ways that she considered as sincere and unaffected, a silkiness that no doubt had worked on the honest, simple general, as it was now working on the weak young widow. Anything was better than leaving her to such influence, and in pursuance of the intention that Rachel had already announced at home, she invited herself to stay to dinner; and Fanny eagerly thanked her, for making it a little less dull for Colonel Keith and Alick. It was so good to come down and help. Certainly Fanny was an innocent creature, provided she was not spoilt, and it was a duty to guard her innocence.
Alison Williams escaped to her home, sure of nothing but that her sister must not be allowed to share her uncertainties; and Lady Temple and her guests sat down to dinner. Rachel meant to have sat at the bottom and carved, as belonging to the house; but Fanny motioned the Colonel to the place, observing, "It is so natural to see you there! One only wants poor Captain Dent at the other end. Do you know whether he has his leave?"
The Clever Woman of the Family Page 8
