Neva's three lovers: A Novel by Harriet Lewis - HTML preview

CHAPTER XXV.
 LALLY IN HER NEW SITUATION.

Lally returned to Canterbury in the cab that had brought her out to Sandy Lands, Mrs. Blight’s pert little villa in the suburbs, and entered upon the task of procuring a neat although necessarily scanty wardrobe. She bought a cheap box, which she had sent to her lodgings. A lady’s furnishing house yielded her a change of under garments, another print dress, and a gown of black alpaca, and a supply of collars and cuffs; her entire purchases amounting to three pounds ten shillings. She carried her effects to her attic lodgings, the rent of which she had paid in advance, packed her box, and set out again in the cab for Sandy Lands.

It was noon when the vehicle stopped again before the little villa. The cabman rang the garden bell as before, and when the housemaid appeared he dumped down Lally’s box upon the gravelled walk, received his pay, and departed. The smart housemaid was as contemptuous as before of Lally’s humble garments, but spoke to her familiarly, as if the two were upon a social level, and conducted her toward the rear porch, saying:

“Missus said you was to be shown up to your room, Miss, to make your twilet before seeing the children. If you please,” added the girl, with increasing familiarity, “you and I are to see a good deal of each other, and so I want to know what to call you.”

Whatever the social rank of Lally’s parents, Lally herself was a lady by instinct and education. The housemaid’s easy patronage was offensive to her. She answered quietly:

“You may call me Miss Bird.”

“Oh,” said the housemaid, with a sniff and a toss of her head. “That’s the talk, is it? Well, then, Miss Bird, follow me up to your room. This way, Miss Bird. Up these stairs, Miss Bird.”

Lally followed her guide up the stairs to the third and topmost story, and to a rear room.

“This is the room of the nussery governess,” said the offended housemaid, her nose in the air. “The room on your right is the school-room, Miss Bird. That on the left is the nussery. You are to have your room to yourself, Miss Bird, which I hopes will suit you. There’s no petting of governesses in this here ’stablishment. You rises at seven, Miss Bird, and eats with the children. You begins lessons at nine o’clock, Miss Bird, and keeps ’em up till luncheon, and then comes music, langwidges, and them sort. Dinner in the school-room, Miss Bird, at five o’clock. Your evenings you has to yourself.”

“I shall receive my list of duties from Mrs. Blight,” said Lally pleasantly, “but I am obliged to you all the same.”

The housemaid’s face softened under Lally’s gentleness and sweetness.

“I wouldn’t wonder if she was a born lady, after all,” the girl thought. “She won’t stand putting down, and her face is that sorrowful I pity her.”

But she did not give expression to these thoughts. What she did say was this:

“My name’s Loizy, and if I can do anything for you just let me know. There’s my bell, and I must go. When you get ready, come down stairs to Missus’s boo-door.”

She vanished just as the house boy, or Buttons, as he was called, appeared with Lally’s box. He set this down near the door, and also departed. Left alone, Lally examined her new home with a faint thrill of interest.

The floor was bare, with the exception of a strip of loose and threadbare carpet before the low brass bedstead. There was a chintz-covered couch, a chintz-covered easy-chair, a chest of drawers, and a green-shuttered blind at the single window. The room had a dreary aspect, but to Lally it was a haven of refuge.

She locked her door and knelt down and prayed, thanking God that He had been so good to her as to give her a safe shelter and a home. Then, rising, she dressed herself as quickly as possible, putting on her black alpaca dress, a spotless linen collar and cuffs, a black sash, and a black ribbon in her hair. Thus attired, she descended the stairs, finding the way to the boudoir, at the door of which she knocked.

Mrs. Blight’s languid voice bade her enter.

She obeyed, finding her employer still reclining in an armed chair, looking as if she had not moved since Lally’s previous visit. She had a book in one hand, a paper cutter in the other. She recognized Lally with a sort of pleased surprise.

“Ah, back again, and punctual!” she exclaimed, glancing at a toy clock in white and blue enamel on the low mantel-piece. “I had a great many misgivings after you went away, Miss Bird. Five pounds is a good deal of money to one in your position in life, and the world is so full of swindlers. I have already written to the ladies to whom you referred me. I suppose I should have waited for their answer before engaging you, but I am such an impulsive creature, I always do just as I feel at the spur of the moment. My husband calls me ‘a child of impulse,’ and the words describe me exactly. I’m glad to see you back. I don’t know, I’m sure, what I should have said to Mr. Blight if you had decamped, for he does not appreciate my ability to read faces. The time I got taken in with my last cook—the one we found lying with her head in a brass kettle, and the kitchen fire gone out, at the very hour when I had a large company assembled to dine with me—Charles said, ‘Fudge, don’t let us hear any more about physiognomy.’ You see, I engaged the woman because her face was all that could be desired. And since that time Charles won’t hear a word about physiognomy.”

Lally sat down, obeying a wave of Mrs. Blight’s hand. That “child of impulse,” silly, garrulous, and puffed up with self-importance and vulgarity, pursued her theme until she had exhausted it.

“You are looking very well, Miss Bird,” she said, changing the subject, “but all in black—why, you are quite a black-bird, I declare,” and she laughed at her own wit. “Are you in mourning? Have you lately lost a friend?”

“Yes, madam,” replied Lally sorrowfully, “I have lately lost the only friend I had in the whole world.”

“Oh, indeed. That is sad; but I do hope you won’t wear a long face and go moping about the house, frightening the children,” said Mrs. Blight, with a candor that was less charming than oppressive to her newly engaged governess. “You must do as the poet so romantically says:

“‘Wear a smile,

Though the cold heart runs darkly to ruin the while.’

“If he doesn’t say that, it’s some such thing, and a very pretty sentiment too. And now let us discuss your new duties.”

She proceeded to sketch Lally’s duties much as the housemaid had done. Then she gave a history of each one of the five children who were to be under Lally’s supervision. Three of the children were boys, and their fond mother described them as paragons. Her girls also were extraordinary in their mental and physical attractions, “having once been taken at the Zoological gardens during a visit to London, by a strange gentleman, for the children of a nobleman!”

“I will accompany you to the nursery, Miss Bird,” said the lady, arising. “I desire to introduce you to my darlings. I have great faith in the instincts of children, and I want to see what my children think of you.”

Accordingly Mrs. Blight conducted Lally again to the upper floor and to the nursery, which was at the moment of their entrance in a state of wildest confusion and disorder.

The nurse, a stout old woman, and the nursemaid, a red-faced young girl, were in a state of despair, and frantically holding their hands to their ears, while five robust, boisterous, frouzy-headed children rode about the room upon chairs, played “tag,” and otherwise disported themselves.

The entrance of Mrs. Blight and Lally caused a cessation of the noise. The mother called her children to her, but they retreated with their fingers in their mouths, looking askance at their new governess. The three “noble boys” presently set up a loud bellowing, and the two girls who had been “mistaken by a strange gentleman for the children of a nobleman,” hid behind their nurses.

It required all the persuasions, coupled with threats, of Mrs. Blight, to induce her shy children to show themselves to Lally. It appeared that they had a horror of governesses, regarding them as tyrants and ogresses created especially to destroy the happiness of children; but Lally’s smiles, added to the fact that she looked but little more than a child, finally induced them to be sociable and to approach her.

“In a day or two you won’t be able to do anything with them, Miss,” said the head nurse. “They’ll ride rough-shod over you.”

“They are so spirited,” murmured Mrs. Blight. “Study their characters closely, Miss Bird, and be very tender with them. I have one child more than the Queen, and my children are named for the royal family. These three boys are Leopold, Albert Victor, and George. The girls are named Victoria and Alberta. My elder children are at school. Children, this is Miss Bird, your new governess. Now come with her into the school-room. Lessons begin immediately.”

The little flock, with Lally at their head, was conducted to the school-room, a large, bare apartment, furnished with two benches, a teacher’s chair and desk, and a black-board. Here Mrs. Blight left them, convinced that she had fulfilled her duties as parent and employer, and returned to her book.

Lally proceeded to examine into the acquirements of her pupils, finding them lamentably ignorant. Lessons were given out, but there was no disposition on the part of her pupils to study. They threw paper balls at each other, whispered and giggled, and altogether proved at the very outset a sore trial to their young teacher. Their shyness lasted for but a brief period, and then, having no longer fear of the sad-faced governess, they began to romp about the room, to shout, and to engage in a general game of frolics.

Lally had a vein of decision in her character, and with the exercise of a gentle firmness induced her pupils to return to their seats. She explained their lessons to them, with an unfailing patience, but the hours of that September afternoon seemed almost endless to her. The children were froward, disobedient, and idle. They had been spoiled by their mother, and were full of mischievous tricks, so that Lally’s soul wearied within her.

Dinner, a very plain and frugal one, was served to the governess and the children in the school-room at five o’clock. After dinner, Lally’s time belonged to herself, and she put on her hat and went out for a walk, having a longing for the fresh air.

This first day at Sandy Lands was a fair type of the days that followed. The children, under Lally’s firm but gentle rule, became more quiet and studious, and conceived an affection for their young governess. Mrs. Blight was delighted with their improvement. She had received a reply from Lally’s former employers, giving the young girl very high praise, and was consequently well pleased with herself for securing such valuable services as Lally’s at a salary less than half she had ever before paid to a governess.

Mr. Blight was a lawyer in good practice at Canterbury, and spent his days at his office, returning to Sandy Lands to dine, and leaving home immediately after breakfast. He was a small, ferret-eyed man, always in a hurry, a mere money making machine, with a great ambition to make or acquire a fortune. At present he lived fully up to his income, a fact which gave both him and Mrs. Blight much secret anxiety. With ten children to educate and provide for, several servants to pay, a carriage and pair for Mrs. Blight, and the lawyer’s wines, cigars, frequent elaborate dinners to his friends, and other items by no means small to settle, Mr. Blight was continually harassed by debt, and yet had not sufficient strength of will to reduce his expenses and live within his income.

One cause, perhaps, of their indiscreet self-indulgence was that they had “expectations.”

There was an old lady connected with the family, the widow of a wealthy London banker who had been Mr. Blight’s uncle. This old lady was supposed to have no relatives of her own to enrich at her death, and the Blights had lively hopes of inheriting her fifty thousand pounds, which had descended to her absolutely at her husband’s death, and of which she was free to dispose as she might choose.

This lady lived in London, at the West End, was very eccentric, very irascible, and went little in society, being quite aged and infirm. She was in the habit of coming down to Sandy Lands annually in September, ostensibly to spend a month with her late husband’s relatives; but she always returned home within a week, alleging that she could not bear the noise of the Blight children, and that a month under the same roof with them would deprive her of life or reason. It was now about the time of this lady’s annual visit, and one morning, when Lally had been about two weeks at Sandy Lands, Mrs. Blight came up to the school-room, an open letter in her hand, and dismissing the children to the nursery for a few minutes, said confidentially:

“Miss Bird, I have just received a letter from the widow of my husband’s uncle, a remarkable old lady, with fifty thousand pounds at her own absolute disposal. My husband is naturally the old lady’s heir, being her late husband’s nephew, and we expect to inherit her property. Her name is Mrs. Wroat.”

“An odd name!” murmured Lally.

“And she’s as odd as her name,” declared Mrs. Blight. “She comes here at this time every year, and always brings a parrot, a lap-dog, a band-box in a green muslin case, a blue umbrella, and a snuffy old maid, who eyes us all as if we had designs on her mistress’s life. The absurd old creature is devoted to her mistress, who is a mere bundle of whims and eccentricities. The old lady calls for a cup of coffee at midnight, and she hates our dear children, and she thrashed Leopold with her cane last year, because he put nettles in her bed and flour on her best cap, the poor dear innocent child. And I never dared to interfere to save Leopold, though his screams rang through the house, and I stood outside her door listening and peeping, for you know we must have her fifty thousand pounds, even if she takes the lives of all my darlings!” and Mrs. Blight’s tone was pathetic. “She’s a nasty old beast—there! Of course I say it in confidence, Miss Bird. It would be all up with us, if Aunt Wroat were to hear that I said that. She’s very tenacious of respect, and all that bother, and insisted I should punish Albert Victor because he called her ‘an old curmudgeon.’”

“When do you expect this lady?” asked Lally.

“To-morrow, with her maid, lapdog, parrot, umbrella and bandbox. She writes that she will stay a month, and that she must have no annoyance from the children, and that she won’t have them in her room—the old nuisance! If it wasn’t for her money, I’d telegraph her to go to Guinea, but as we are situated I can’t. I must put up with her ways. And what I want of you, Miss Bird, is to see that the children do not stir off this floor while she is here. Let them die for want of exercise, the poor darlings, rather than we offend this horrid old woman. If we sacrifice ourselves, she can’t leave her property to some fussy old charity, that’s one comfort.”

“I will do my best to keep the children out of Mrs. Wroat’s sight,” said Lally gravely.

“You must succeed in doing so, for the old lady says this will probably be her last visit to us, as she is growing more and more infirm, and she hints that it is time to make her will. Everything depends upon her reception on the occasion of this visit. Let her get miffed at us, and it’s all up. I declare I wish I had a place where I could hide the children during her stay. She must not see or hear them, Miss Bird.”

“Is there anything more that I can do, Mrs. Blight?”

“Yes; she always has the governess play upon the piano and sing to her in the evening. She is fond of music, desperately so. We always hire a cottage piano and put it in her sitting-room while she stays, and the governess plays to her there evenings. She’s very liberal with a governess who can play well. She gave Miss Oddly last year a five-pound note. And always when she leaves us after a visit, she hands me twenty pounds and says she never wants to be indebted to anybody, and that’s to defray her expenses while here. I have to take it. I wouldn’t dare to refuse it.”

“I shall be glad to amuse her in any way, Mrs. Blight,” declared the young governess. “I shall not mind her eccentricities, and shall remember that she is ‘aged and infirm.’”

“And she has fifty thousand pounds which we must have,” said Mrs. Blight. “Don’t fail to remember that!”

Much relieved at having guarded against a meeting between her expected guest and her children, Mrs. Blight departed to seek an interview with her cook.

Extensive preparations were made that day for the reception of Mrs. Wroat. Two rooms were prepared for her use, one of them having two beds, one bed being for the use of the maid. A cottage piano was hired and put into one of the rooms. The choicest articles of furniture in the house were arranged for her use. The hint that Mrs. Wroat was thinking of making her will was sufficient to render her time-serving, money-hunting relatives gentle, pliable, and apparently full of tender anxiety for her happiness and comfort.

Mr. Blight was informed of the good news when he came home to dinner, and he sought a personal interview with his children’s governess, entreating her to keep the youngsters out of sight during the visit of Mrs. Wroat, as she valued her situation.

Everything being thus arranged, it only remained for the guest to arrive.

No. 232 of the SELECT LIBRARY, entitled “Neva’s Choice,” is the sequel to the foregoing novel, and the story of Neva’s romance, together with the intrigues and plottings of her enemies, is charmingly brought to its conclusion.

END