“Oh! Mrs. Chichester, how long you have been absent!” exclaimed the mistress of the house, who opened the door. “I really began to be alarmed——”
“Thanks for your kind consideration,” interrupted Viola, with a smile—for the benevolent lady was none other than the neglected and persecuted wife of Mr. Chichester. “I have brought home a poor creature, whom I found insensible—dying—in the streets; and I request you to provide a room for her.”
“Ah! my dear lady, what an excellent disposition you possess!” exclaimed the mistress of the house.
Then she bustled about to help the invalid up stairs; and the poor creature speedily experienced a feeling akin to happiness, when cheered by a comfortable fire and a good meal.
Mrs. Chichester also supplied her with warm clothes; and a night’s rest made her an altered being.
On the following day she was enabled to narrate her history, which she did in the ensuing manner.
CHAPTER CLXXVII.
THE HISTORY OF AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN.
“My name is Lydia Hutchinson. My father was the curate of a small village near Guildford; and fortune had frowned upon him with such continuous rancour from the moment he left the University where he graduated, that it was somewhat late in life ere he ventured to think of matrimony. After filling several different curacies, from which he was invariably removed at the deaths of the old incumbents and the arrival of the new ones, he seemed at length to settle down in the little village to which I have alluded. There he fell in love with the daughter of a half-pay officer as poor as himself; and, with only eighty pounds a-year to depend upon, he embarked in the voyage of matrimony. A year after this union, a son was born, and christened by the name of Edgar: an interval of eighteen months elapsed, and I was ushered into the world. But my mother died in giving birth to me.
“To say that my brother and myself were the only consolation which my poor father now possessed, were merely to tell the common tale of parental love in the widowed breast. We were indeed his only consolation! Often and often has he told us this, when we were old enough to comprehend his meaning, and appreciate the full value of his kindness. He was an excellent man. In order to let his children be respectably dressed and maintain a decent appearance—especially at church on Sunday—he stinted himself of almost the common necessaries of life. He undertook my brother’s education himself; and from his lips I also learnt the rudiments of the knowledge which I possess. There was resident in the village, a widow lady of great accomplishments, but reduced circumstances; and out of his pittance my father even contrived to spare something to procure her services in giving me lessons in music, drawing, embroidery, and French. Under her tuition I progressed rapidly in those branches; and, when I was sixteen, I was considered to be better educated than if I had been brought up at a boarding-school.
“Since I have mentioned that age, I will not weary you with any farther details concerning the earlier portion of my life. My brother Edgar had already obtained a situation as an usher in a school at Guildford, and my father, though loth to part with us both, was well aware of the necessity of placing us in positions which would enable us to earn our own bread. For of course his small income would cease at his death; and it had been impossible for him to save a single penny. He, however, anticipated that, when we were both provided for, he should be able to lay aside a few pounds during the remaining years of his life, so as not to leave his dearly-beloved children completely dependent on themselves at his decease. Under such circumstances he gladly availed himself of an opportunity of placing me as junior teacher in an extensive ladies’ boarding-school at Kensington.
“My father brought me up to London, and left me at Mrs. Lambkin’s establishment, which was called Belvidere House. He wept when he took leave of me; but as Mrs. Lambkin (who was a widow, about forty years of age) spoke very kindly, and promised to take great care of me, the sorrow of parting was somewhat mitigated on both sides. I was to receive no salary the first year; but if I suited, my remuneration was fixed at six pounds for the second year to be increased subsequently.
“When my father took his leave, Mrs. Lambkin said, ‘My dear sir, do not be grieved at parting from your daughter. She will find a mother in me. I will be all to her that her own maternal parent would be, were she alive. God bless her! she’s a pretty, amiable looking girl; and I already love her!’—Then Mrs. Lambkin put her handkerchief to her eyes; and my poor father was deeply affected. Mrs. Lambkin proceeded to inform him that she had scarcely ever known a moment’s happiness since poor dear Mr. Lambkin’s death, which took place, she said, five years previously, and in a most distressing manner. ‘In fact, Mr. Hutchinson,’ she continued, ‘Mr. Lambkin lost his valuable life when gallantly attempting to rescue an ill-used and most virtuous young woman from a brutal assault on the part of half-a-dozen intoxicated policemen.’—My father expressed great sorrow at this information. Mrs. Lambkin had wine and cake brought in, and at length my father took his leave, greatly comforted to think that I should have obtained a situation in the establishment of so kind-hearted and excellent a lady.
“Scarcely had my father left the door, when Mrs. Lambkin turned round towards me, and in a tone which I considered somewhat inconsistent with her former manner and language, exclaimed, ‘Now, miss, dry those tears, and go up to your room to make yourself decent for afternoon school. The young ladies at Belvidere House all belong to the first families of distinction, and are accustomed to see the teachers well dressed.’ Then, ringing the bell, she said to a smart servant who answered the summons, ‘Jessica, show Miss Hutchinson to her room.’ Jessica took a good long stare at me, then turning sharply round, told me to follow her. We proceeded up two handsome flights of stairs, beautifully carpetted. On the second floor, the doors of several bed-rooms stood open; and I could not help admiring the comfort—nay, even the luxury, which their interior revealed to the hasty glance that I threw into them. ‘These are the young ladies’ rooms,’ said Jessica abruptly: ‘yours is higher up.’ On the third floor I also observed the doors of several chambers standing open, and permitting glimpses of great neatness inside. ‘These are our rooms,’ said Jessica—alluding, as I afterwards discovered, to the servants’ apartments. Up another flight we went; and now we reached the attics. ‘These are the junior teachers’ rooms,’ cried Jessica, ‘and this is yours,’ she added, flinging open the door of a garret, wherein I perceived nothing save a mean-looking bed, one chair, a table with a wash-hand basin on it, a brown stone pitcher in a corner, and a glass as large as the palm of my hand hanging to a pin stuck in the wood-work of the window.
“I was about to offer some observation, thinking that Jessica had made a mistake in showing me to this garret; but I checked myself—being unwilling to commence my noviciate at Belvidere House with any thing in the shape of a complaint. ‘Will you have the kindness to bring me up my trunk and bonnet-box?’ said I, in as polite and meek a manner as possible.—Miss Jessica burst out laughing in my face. ‘Well! that is a pretty thing, I don’t think!’ she exclaimed, tossing her head haughtily: ‘an under teacher to ask an upper servant to bring up her trunk! Well—I never!’—‘I am very sorry if I have offended you,’ I said.—‘If you really don’t know better,’ answered Jessica, looking at me attentively, ‘I don’t mind forgiving you this time. And I’ll do more, too, for I’ll tell the scullery girl to help you up with your things; but of course even she wouldn’t do it alone.’—My heart rose into my mouth; and it was only by means of a desperate effort that I restrained my tears.—‘Do the other teachers sleep on this floor?’ I asked, more for the sake of concealing my emotions, than gratifying my curiosity.—‘Miss Muddle, the head teacher,’ replied Jessica, ‘sleeps in the room of the first class young ladies: Miss Spinks, the second teacher, sleeps with the second class; Miss Pantile, the third teacher, with the third class; Miss Rhodes, Miss Jessop, and you occupy this part of the house. But I’ll go and tell
Betsy to help you up with your things.’
“Jessica walked away in the most stately manner, preceding me down stairs, and evidently considering me her inferior. Betsy was summoned; and with no small amount of grumbling, that dirty slattern condescended to hold one end of my trunk, while I carried the other. Scarcely had I dressed myself in my second best gown (I had but three)—when Jessica came up to say that Mrs. Lambkin was excessively angry at the length of time I took to make myself decent. Jessica herself was in a very bad humour at being obliged to mount four flights to convey this message, and told me in an insolent manner not to dawdle so again.
“Trembling, miserable, and unhappy, I went down to the school-room, where Mrs. Lambkin scolded me, before the other teachers and the young ladies, in no measured terms. Then, because I cried, she scolded me the more. At length she set me to teach four little girls, of ages varying from eight to ten. Miss Muddle, Miss Spinks, and Miss Pantile, all surveyed me with the most sovereign contempt: Miss Rhodes and Miss Jessop, who were not much older than myself (whereas the three senior teachers were all past thirty) looked at me in a more friendly manner. The ages of the boarders varied from eight to sixteen. They were all beautifully dressed; and some of the elder ones were very pretty. There were about forty young ladies altogether in the establishment.
“The four little girls whom I had to teach, were as stupid as they well could be, and so pert that I scarcely knew how to manage them. They laughed and giggled at every attempt which I made to instruct them. Sometimes Mrs. Lambkin would exclaim, ‘Hutchinson, there’s too much noise with your class;—and when I spoke very low to my pupils, it was, ‘Hutchinson, you’re literally doing nothing there!’ The three senior teachers were alone addressed by Mrs. Lambkin as Miss: with the three juniors it was plain Rhodes, Jessop, and Hutchinson.
“At tea-time, the three senior teachers sate near the mistress of the establishment, and had tea and thin bread-and-butter: the three junior teachers sate amongst the little girls, and had milk-and-water, and thick bread-and-butter. The same arrangement existed at breakfast. At dinner, the three junior teachers were expected to eat the cold meat; though none of the little girls were made to partake of it, and, as I once heard Jessica observe, ‘such a thing as cold meat was never touched in the kitchen.’ I only mention these trifling details to give you an idea of Mrs. Lambkin’s fashionable academy. I may add that the junior teachers had to make their own beds, and fetch up their own water in the great stone pitchers.
“I soon found that Mrs. Lambkin was very far from being so amiable as she had appeared in the presence of my father—except of an evening, after about six or seven o’clock; and then she grew more cheerful—nay, jovial, and was very familiar with us all. But she was constantly leaving the room where we all sate, and remaining away for only a few minutes each time; but the oftener she went out in this strange manner, I noticed that the more good-humoured she grew.
“Thus some weeks passed away. One evening I had solicited permission to go out for a few minutes to take a letter to the post for my father (for the servants would do nothing to oblige the junior teachers), when one of the eldest boarders in the establishment (the Honourable Miss Adeline Enfield) accosted me in the passage, and, in a hasty whisper, said, ‘Dear Miss Hutchinson, will you put this letter in the post for me?’—‘Certainly,’ I replied.—‘You need not say a word about it, you know,’ added Miss Enfield; and she glided away.—I did not think very seriously of the matter, knowing that it was against the rules of the establishment for the young ladies to write to their friends or parents without allowing Mrs. Lambkin to inspect their letters; and as I considered this to be a harsh regulation, I did not hesitate to oblige Miss Enfield—especially as she had addressed me in so kind a tone. I accordingly posted her letter, and thought no more of the subject. But the next time I was going out, Miss Enfield repeated her request, and again ran away ere I could reply. I noticed that this letter was addressed to the same person as the former one—namely, ‘Captain Cholmondeley, Barracks, Knightsbridge;’—but supposing that he might be a relative, I did not hesitate to post the epistle.
“That same night, after I had retired to my garret, the door was opened softly, and the Honourable Miss Enfield entered. She was in her night clothes; and, placing her finger on her lip to enjoin caution, she said, ‘My dear Miss Hutchinson, you can do me such a favour, if you will!’—‘Certainly I will, if I can,’ was my answer.—‘Oh! you can very easily,’ continued the young lady, who, by-the-by, was a sweet pretty girl, and very interesting: ‘a letter will come addressed to you, by the first post to-morrow morning.’—‘Indeed!’ I said; ‘and how do you know that?’—‘Because, though the envelope will be addressed to you, the letter inside will be for me,’ she answered, laughing.—‘And what would Mrs. Lambkin say if she knew it?’ I asked.—‘She cannot know it unless you tell her; and I am sure you will not do that, dear Miss Hutchinson,’ returned the Honourable Miss Enfield.—‘I will oblige you this time,’ I said, after some consideration; ‘but pray do not let this take place again.’—Then she kissed me so affectionately, I was really pleased to have made a friend of her; for I was so forlorn and unhappy in my situation—though I never let my father know how completely we had been deceived in Mrs. Lambkin’s disposition.
“On the following morning the letter came: and when I could find an opportunity, I gave the contents (which was a small note carefully sealed) to Miss Enfield. She thanked me with a sweet smile. Three or four days afterwards, another letter came addressed to me, with another enclosure for Miss Enfield. I was determined not to give it to her during the day, because I could find no opportunity to speak to her unobserved. Accordingly, as I anticipated, she came up to my room in the evening, after we had all retired to rest. I then gave her the note, but with a firm and decided assurance that I would not be the intermediate of any further correspondence carried on in so secret a manner. She cried very bitterly at my resolve, and by means of some tale which it is not worth while to repeat, but which seemed to me satisfactory at the time, induced me to convey a letter to the post for her next day, and receive the answer in the usual manner. I foolishly allowed myself to be over-persuaded and fulfilled her wishes in both respects. I must observe that her letter was addressed to the same person as the two preceding ones.
“She was very grateful to me for my kindness, and treated me with marked attention. Being the daughter of a noble house, her conduct towards me produced a pleasant effect in respect to the three senior teachers, who, seeing that Miss Enfield courted my society, began to treat me more as their equal than they had hitherto done. Mrs. Lambkin also grew less harsh towards me; and my position acquired some degree of comfort.
“One evening, after I had retired to my garret, Miss Enfield paid me another visit. She had another favour to ask me. ‘The day after to-morrow,’ she said, ‘I shall have leave to go out for a little shopping. Will you accompany me?’—I replied that I should do so with much pleasure.—‘Very well,’ she said; ‘leave me to manage it. I will ask Mrs. Lambkin to-morrow night, when she has been out of the room three or four times——.’—‘I do not understand why you should choose that moment,’ I said.—‘Oh!’ was the answer, ‘when she has had her third or fourth glass, she can refuse me nothing; and she is sure to ask whom I will have of the teachers to accompany me.’—‘Her third or fourth glass!’ I exclaimed.—‘Yes, to be sure,’ returned Miss Enfield. ‘What! I thought every one knew that she drinks like a fish; although she does do it on the sly. Her husband was a dreadful drunkard.’—‘Indeed! I am sorry to hear this,’ I observed. ‘Moreover, I thought that her husband was a most respectable person.’—‘Oh! I dare say Mrs. Lambkin has been telling you that nonsense about her husband’s death,’ said Miss Enfield, laughing. ‘The truth is, he was coming home one night most terribly the worse for liquor, when he became involved in a dispute with a bad woman; and when the police interfered, he made a desperate a
ssault upon them, and was killed by an unlucky blow with one of their bludgeons.’—‘She told quite a different tale to my father,’ I observed.—‘Yes, because your father is a clergyman, and may recommend some boarders to her house,’ returned Miss Enfield. ‘Did she not also seem mighty civil and polite before him?’—I confessed that she did.—‘And the moment his back was turned, did she not turn also?’—This I likewise admitted.—‘She cannot keep her temper long, you see. But I must go now, for fear Miss Muddle should awake, and happen to find out that I have left my bed. Good night, dear Miss Hutchinson. The day after to-morrow we will go out shopping together.’
“Then the Honourable Miss Enfield withdrew, leaving me greatly astonished at what I had heard. I lay awake the greater part of the night, reflecting on all that she had told me; and when I thought of this young lady’s rank, youth, beauty, and brilliant prospects, I felt sad at the idea that the purity of her soul had been in the least degree interfered with by tales of drunken men, bad women, and police-riots, as well as by the example of an intemperate school-mistress. Miss Enfield’s communication had shed a new light upon my mind. The term ‘bad woman’ set me thinking what it could mean; and at last I comprehended its signification. Oh!—how I shuddered when that first consciousness of the real extent to which female frailty can reach, grew more and more defined in my imagination, until I understood its deep shade of guilt. The first step towards teaching the youthful mind to become infidel, is to suffer it to know that there live men, in Christian countries, who deny the truth of revealed religion:—the first step towards inducing a young girl to harbour impure thoughts, is to show her that female depravity has, in its worst sense, an indubitable existence!
“The Honourable Miss Enfield was as good as her word. She obtained permission to go out shopping, and also for me to accompany her. It was three o’clock, on a beautiful spring afternoon, when Miss Enfield and myself sallied forth together. ‘The best shops lie in this direction,’ I observed, pointing towards the left.—‘Oh! no, my dear Miss Hutchinson,’ she said, with a merry laugh: ‘the spot that will suit me is in this direction;’—and she took the road to London. I made no objection; my duty was to accompany her for the sake of appearances—not precisely to take care of her, because, although eight months younger than I, she was as tall and as matured in form as myself. Indeed she was very precocious, but, as I have before said, very pretty.
The Mysteries of London, Vol. II [Unabridged & Illustrated] (Valancourt Classics) Page 38
