CHAPTER VII.
GATHERING CLOUDS.
After that first day at Green Bank, the remembrance of things in detailis not so clear to me.
To begin with, the life was very monotonous. Except for the differentlessons, one day passed much like another, the principal variety beingthe coming of Sunday and the two weekly half-holidays--Wednesday andSaturday. But to me the half-holidays brought no pleasure. I think Idisliked them more than lesson days, and most certainly I dislikedSundays most of all.
Looking back now, I think my whole nature and character must have gonethrough some curious changes in these first weeks at school. I grewolder very rapidly.
There first came by degrees the great _disappointment_ of it all--forthough I am anxious not to exaggerate anything, it was a bewildering"disillusionment" to me. Nobody and nothing were what I had imaginedthey would be. Straight out of my sheltered home, where every thoughtand tone and word were full of love, I was tossed into this world ofschool, where, though no doubt there were kind hearts and nice naturesas there are everywhere, the whole feeling was different. Even thegood-nature was rough and unrefined--the tones of voice, the ways ofmoving about, the readiness to squabble, though very likely it was morea kind of bluster than anything worse, all startled and astounded me, asI gradually awoke from my dream of the delights of being at schoolsurrounded by companions.
And there was really a prejudice against me, both among teachers andpupils. A story had got about that my family was very, very poor, thatfather had had to go abroad on this account, and that my schooling wasto be paid for out of charity. So even my gentleness, my soft way ofspeaking, the surprise I was too innocent to conceal at much that I saw,were all put down to my "giving myself airs." And I daresay the veryefforts I made to please those about me and to gain their affection didmore harm than good. Because I clung more or less to Harriet Smith, myroom-mate, and the nearest to me in age, I was called a little sneak,trying to get all I could "out of her," as she was such a rich littlegirl.
I overheard these remarks once or twice, but it was not for some timethat I in the least knew what they meant, and so I daresay thecoarse-minded girls who made them thought all the worse of me because Idid not resent them and just went quietly on my own way.
What I did want from Harriet was sympathy; and when she was in thehumour to pay attention to me, she did give me as much as it was in herto give.
I shall never forget the real kindness she and Emma too showed me thatfirst night at Green Bank, when a great blow fell on me after we wentupstairs to go to bed.
Some one had unpacked my things. My night-dress was lying on the bed, mybrushes and sponges were in their places, and when I opened the verysmall chest of drawers I saw familiar things neatly arranged in them.But there seemed so few--and in the bottom drawer only one frock, andthat my oldest one, not the pretty new one mamma had got me for Sundaysor any special occasion.
"Where can all my other things be?" I said to Harriet, who was greatlyinterested in my possessions.
"What more have you?" she said, peering over my shoulder.
I named several.
"And all my other things," I went on, "not clothes, I don't mean, but myworkbox and my new writing-desk, and the picture of father and mamma andHaddie"--it was before the days of "carte-de-visite" or "cabinet"photographs; this picture was what was called a "daguerreotype" onglass, and had been taken on purpose for me at some expense--"and mychina dog and the rabbits, and my scraps of silk, and all my puzzles,and, and----" I stopped short, out of breath with bewilderment. "Canthey be all together for me to unpack myself?" I said.
Emma, the most experienced of the three, shook her head.
"I'm afraid," she was beginning, when the door opened, and Miss Broom'sface appeared.
"Young ladies," she said, "I cannot have this. No talking after the lastbell has rung. My dear Miss Smith, you are not usually so forgetful. Ifit is _you_, Miss Marchant, it is a very bad beginning, disobedience thevery first evening."
"She didn't know," said both the girls. "It isn't her fault." "And ifshe had known," Harriet went on, "she couldn't have helped it. MissBroom, somebody's took such lots of her things. Tell her, Gerry."
Under her protection I repeated the list of missing articles, but beforeI had got to the end the governess interrupted me.
"You are a most impertinent child," she said, "to say such a thing.There are no thieves at Green Bank--what a mind you must have! Yourthings are safely packed away. Such as you really need you shall havefrom time to time as I or Miss Aspinall think fit. The frock you have onmust be kept as your best one, and you must wear the brown check everyday. You have far too many clothes--absurd extravagance--no wonder----"but here she had the sense to stop short.
I did not care so much about my clothes.
"It's the other things I mind," I began, but Miss Broom, who was alreadyat the door, again interrupted.
"Nonsense," she said. "We cannot have the rooms littered with rubbish.Miss Aspinall left it to me. You may have your Biblical dissected mapson Sundays, and perhaps some of the other puzzles during the Christmasholidays, but young ladies do not come to school to amuse themselves,but to work hard at their lessons."
I dared not say anything more. There may have been some reason inputting away a certain number of my treasures, for dear mamma, in herwish to do all she possibly could for my happiness, had very probablysent more things with me than was advisable. But I was not a sillyspoilt child; I had always been taught to be reasonable, and I wouldhave given in quite cheerfully if Miss Broom had put it before me in anykindly way.
I was not left quite without defence, however.
"I don't see but what you might let her have some things out," saidEmma. "Harry and I have. Look at the mantelpiece--the china figures andthe Swiss chalets are our ornaments, and there's quite room for somemore."
But Miss Broom was by this time at the door, which shut after hersharply without her saying another word.
"Horrid old cat," said both the Smiths.
I said nothing, for if I had I knew I should have burst into tears. Butafter I was ready for bed and had said my prayers, I could not help theone bitter complaint.
"I wouldn't mind anything else if only she'd let me have papa andmamma's picture," I said.
"_Of course_ you should have that," said Emma. "I'm sure Miss Ledburywould let you have it. I think even Miss Aspinall would. Don't beunhappy, Gerry, I'll see if I can't do something for you to-morrow."
And with this consolation I fell asleep. Nor did Emma forget herpromise. The next day I found my daguerreotype installed on themantelpiece, where it stayed all the time I was at school.
My happiest days were those of our French lessons, for then Miss Fenmorewas the teacher. She spoke French very well, and she was most kind andpatient. Yet for some reason or other she was not much liked in theschool. There was a prejudice against her as there was against me:partly, because she did not belong to that part of the country, she wassaid to "give herself airs"; partly, I think, because she was quiet andrather reserved; partly, I am afraid, because some of the elder girlswere jealous of her extreme loveliness. She was as kind to me as shedared to be, but I had no lessons from her except French, and she hassince told me that she did not venture to show me anything likepartiality, as it would only have made my life still harder andlonelier.
The remembrances which stand out the most clearly in my mind will give afair idea of my time at Green Bank. The next great trouble I had came onmy first Sunday there.
It had been settled that I was to write to mamma once a week--by everymail, that is to say. The usual day for writing home was Wednesday, thehalf-holiday, but as the South American mail left England that very day,mamma had arranged with Miss Ledbury that I should be allowed to add alittle on Sundays to my letter, as otherwise my news would be a wholeweek late before it left.
So on the first Sunday afternoon I got out my writing things with greatsatisfaction, and when Miss Broom asked me what I w
as going to do, I waspleased to be able to reply that Miss Ledbury had given leave for aSunday letter. Miss Broom said something to Miss Aspinall, but thoughthey both looked very disapproving, they said no more.
I wrote a long letter. This time, of course, it had to be a completeone, as I had only come to Green Bank on the Thursday. I poured out myheart to mamma, but yet, looking back now and recalling, as I know Ican, pretty correctly, all I said, I do not think it was exaggerated orwrong. I tried to write cheerfully, for childish as I was in many ways,I did understand that it would make mamma miserable to think I wasunhappy.
I was just closing the envelope when Miss Broom entered the room.
"What are you doing?" she said. "Dear, dear, you don't mean to say youhave been all this afternoon writing that letter? What a waste of time!No, no, you must not do that. Miss Ledbury will seal it."
"It doesn't need sealing," I replied. "It is a gumming-down envelope."
But she had come close to me, and drew it out of my hand.
"No letters leave this house without being first read by Miss Ledbury orMiss Aspinall," she said. "Why do you stare so? It is the rule at everyschool," and so in those days I suppose it was. "If you have writtennothing you should not, you have no reason to dread its being seen."
"Yes, I have," I replied indignantly. Even the three or four days I hadbeen at school had made me months older. "I have," I repeated. "Nobodywould say to strangers all they'd say to their own mamma."
I felt my face growing very red; I pulled the letter out of the envelopeand began to tear it across. But Miss Broom's strong hands caught holdof mine.
"You are a very naughty girl," she said, "a very naughty girl indeed. Isaw at once how spoilt and self-willed you were, but I never could havebelieved you would dare to give way to such violent temper."
She dragged the letter out of my fingers--indeed, I was too proud tostruggle with her--and left the room. I sat there in a sort of stupefiedindifference. That day had been the worst I had had. There was not theinterest of lessons, nor the daily bustle which had always somethingenlivening about it. It was so dull, and oh, so different from home! Thehome-sickness which I was too ignorant to give a name to began to comeover me with strides; but for my letter to mamma I felt as if I couldnot have lived through that afternoon. For even the Smiths were away.They were what was called "weekly boarders," going home every Saturdayat noon and staying till Monday morning.
The indifference did not last long. Gradually both it and theindignation broke down. I laid my head on the table before me and burstinto convulsive crying.
I do not think I cried loudly. I only remember the terrible sort ofshaking that went through me--I had never felt anything like it in mylife--and I remember trying to choke down my sobs for fear of Miss Broomhearing me and coming back.
"MY POOR LITTLE GIRL, WHAT _IS_ THE MATTER?"]
Some one opened the door and looked in. I tried to be perfectly quiet.But the some one, whoever it was, had seen and perhaps heard me, for shecame forward, and in another moment I felt an arm steal gently round me,while a kind voice said softly, very softly,
"My poor little girl, what _is_ the matter?" and looking up, I saw thatthe new-comer was Miss Fenmore.
"Oh," I said through my tears, "it's my letter, and she's taken itaway--that horrid, _horrid_ Miss Broom."
And I told her the whole story.
Miss Fenmore was very wise as well as kind. I have often wondered howshe had learnt so much self-control in her short life, for though shethen seemed quite "old" to me, I now know she cannot have been more thaneighteen or nineteen. But she had had a sad life--that of an orphansince childhood. I suppose sorrow had done the work of years in hercase--work that is indeed often not done at all! For she had a characterwhich was good soil for all discipline. She was naturally so sweet andjoyous--she seemed born with rose-coloured spectacles.
"Dear child," she said, "try not to take this so much to heart. Idaresay your letter will be sent just as it is. Miss Broom is sure toapply to Miss Aspinall, perhaps to Miss Ledbury. And Miss Ledbury isreally kind, and she must have had great experience in such things."
But the last words were spoken with more hesitation. Miss Fenmore knewthat the class of children composing Miss Ledbury's school had not had ahome like mine.
Suddenly she started up--steps were coming along the passage.
"I must not talk to you any more just now," she said, "I came to fetch abook."
After all, the steps did not come to the schoolroom. So after sittingthere a little longer, somewhat comforted by the young governess'swords, I went up to my own room, where I bathed my eyes and smoothed myhair, mindful of Haddie's warning--not to get the name of a cry-baby!
Late that evening, after tea, I was sent for to Miss Ledbury in thedrawing-room. It was a very rainy night, so only a few of the eldergirls had gone to church. Miss Ledbury herself suffered sadly fromasthma, and could never go out in bad weather. This was the first time Ihad seen her to speak to since I came.
I was still too unhappy to feel very frightened, and I was not naturallyshy, though I seemed so, owing to my difficulty in expressing myself.And there was something about the old lady's manner, gentle though shewas, which added to my constraint. I have no doubt she found me verydull and stupid, and it must have been disappointing, for she did meanto be kind.
She spoke to me about my letter which she had read, according to herrule, to which she said she could make no exceptions. I did not clearlyunderstand what she meant, so I just replied "No, ma'am," and "Yes,ma'am." She said the letter should be sent as it was, but she gave meadvice for the future which in some ways was very good. Could I notcontent myself with writing about my own affairs--my lessons, the booksI was reading, and so on? What was the use of telling mamma that I didnot like Miss Aspinall, and that I could not bear Miss Broom? Would itplease mamma, or would it make school-life any happier for me to take upsuch prejudices? These ladies were my teachers and I must respect them.How could I tell at the end of three days if I should like them or not?
I felt I _could_ tell, but I did not dare to say so. All I longed forwas to get away. So when the old lady went on putting words into mymouth, as it were, about being wiser for the future, and not touchy andfanciful, and so on, I agreed with her and said "No, ma'am" and "Yes,ma'am" a few more times, meekly enough. Then she kissed me, and again Ifelt that she meant to be kind and that it was wrong of me to disappointher, but somehow I could not help it. And I went upstairs to bed feelingmore lonely than ever, now that I quite understood that my letters tomamma must never be anything more than I might write to a stranger--amere mockery, in short.
There was but one person I felt that I could confide in. That was MissFenmore. But the days went on and she seemed to take less instead ofmore notice of me. I did not understand that her position, poor girl,was much more difficult than mine. If she had seemed to pet me or makemuch of me it would only have made Miss Broom still more severe to me,and angry with her. For, as was scarcely to be wondered at, Miss Broomwas very indignant indeed at the way I had spoken of her in my letter tomamma. And Miss Fenmore was entirely at that time dependent upon herposition at Green Bank. She had no home, and if she brought displeasureupon herself at Miss Ledbury's her future would look very dark indeed.
Yet she was far from selfish. Her caution was quite as much for my sakeas for her own.