‘Be calm, be calm, whatever happens,’ I said within
myself; and truly I kept this resolution so well, and was so fully occupied in
steadying my nerves and stifling the rebellious flutter of my heart, that when
I was admitted into the hall and ushered into the presence of Mrs. Bloomfield,
I almost forgot to answer her polite salutation; and it afterwards struck me,
that the little I did say was spoken in the tone of one half–dead or
half–asleep. The lady, too, was somewhat chilly in her manner, as I discovered
when I had time to reflect. She was a tall, spare, stately woman, with thick
black hair, cold grey eyes, and extremely sallow complexion.
With due politeness, however, she showed me my
bedroom, and left me there to take a little refreshment. I was somewhat
dismayed at my appearance on looking in the glass: the cold wind had swelled
and reddened my hands, uncurled and entangled my hair, and dyed my face of a
pale purple; add to this my collar was horridly crumpled, my frock splashed
with mud, my feet clad in stout new boots, and as the trunks were not brought
up, there was no remedy; so having smoothed my hair as well as I could, and
repeatedly twitched my obdurate collar, I proceeded to clomp down the two
flights of stairs, philosophizing as I went; and with some difficulty found my
way into the room where Mrs. Bloomfield awaited me.
She led me into the dining–room, where the family
luncheon had been laid out. Some beefsteaks and half–cold potatoes were set
before me; and while I dined upon these, she sat opposite, watching me (as I
thought) and endeavouring to sustain something like a conversation—consisting
chiefly of a succession of commonplace remarks, expressed with frigid
formality: but this might be more my fault than hers, for I really could NOT
converse. In fact, my attention was almost wholly absorbed in my dinner: not
from ravenous appetite, but from distress at the toughness of the beefsteaks,
and the numbness of my hands, almost palsied by their five–hours’ exposure to
the bitter wind. I would gladly have eaten the potatoes and let the meat alone,
but having got a large piece of the latter on to my plate, I could not be so
impolite as to leave it; so, after many awkward and unsuccessful attempts to
cut it with the knife, or tear it with the fork, or pull it asunder between
them, sensible that the awful lady was a spectator to the whole transaction, I
at last desperately grasped the knife and fork in my fists, like a child of two
years old, and fell to work with all the little strength I possessed. But this
needed some apology—with a feeble attempt at a laugh, I said, ‘My hands are so
benumbed with the cold that I can scarcely handle my knife and fork.’
‘I daresay you would find it cold,’ replied she with
a cool, immutable gravity that did not serve to reassure me.
When the ceremony was concluded, she led me into the
sitting–room again, where she rang and sent for the children.
‘You will find them not very far advanced in their
attainments,’ said she, ‘for I have had so little time to attend to their
education myself, and we have thought them too young for a governess till now;
but I think they are clever children, and very apt to learn, especially the
little boy; he is, I think, the flower of the flock—a generous, noble–spirited
boy, one to be led, but not driven, and remarkable for always speaking the
truth. He seems to scorn deception’ (this was good news). ‘His sister Mary Ann
will require watching,’ continued she, ‘but she is a very good girl upon the
whole; though I wish her to be kept out of the nursery as much as possible, as
she is now almost six years old, and might acquire bad habits from the nurses.
I have ordered her crib to be placed in your room, and if you will be so kind
as to overlook her washing and dressing, and take charge of her clothes, she
need have nothing further to do with the nursery maid.’
I replied I was quite willing to do so; and at that
moment my young pupils entered the apartment, with their two younger sisters.
Master Tom Bloomfield was a well–grown boy of seven, with a somewhat wiry
frame, flaxen hair, blue eyes, small turned–up nose, and fair complexion. Mary
Ann was a tall girl too, somewhat dark like her mother, but with a round full
face and a high colour in her cheeks. The second sister was Fanny, a very
pretty little girl; Mrs. Bloomfield assured me she was a remarkably gentle
child, and required encouragement: she had not learned anything yet; but in a
few days, she would be four years old, and then she might take her first lesson
in the alphabet, and be promoted to the schoolroom. The remaining one was
Harriet, a little broad, fat, merry, playful thing of scarcely two, that I
coveted more than all the rest—but with her I had nothing to do.
I talked to my little pupils as well as I could, and
tried to render myself agreeable; but with little success I fear, for their
mother’s presence kept me under an unpleasant restraint. They, however, were
remarkably free from shyness. They seemed bold, lively children, and I hoped I
should soon be on friendly terms with them—the little boy especially, of whom I
had heard such a favourable character from his mamma. In Mary Ann there was a
certain affected simper, and a craving for notice, that I was sorry to observe.
But her brother claimed all my attention to himself; he stood bolt upright
between me and the fire, with his hands behind his back, talking away like an
orator, occasionally interrupting his discourse with a sharp reproof to his
sisters when they made too much noise.
‘Oh, Tom, what a darling you are!’ exclaimed his
mother. ‘Come and kiss dear mamma; and then won’t you show Miss Grey your
schoolroom, and your nice new books?’
‘I won’t kiss YOU, mamma; but I WILL show Miss Grey
my schoolroom, and my new books.’
‘And MY schoolroom, and MY new books, Tom,’ said
Mary Ann. ‘They’re mine too.’
‘They’re MINE,’ replied he decisively. ‘Come along,
Miss Grey— I’ll escort you.’
When the room and books had been shown, with some
bickerings between the brother and sister that I did my utmost to appease or
mitigate, Mary Ann brought me her doll, and began to be very loquacious on the
subject of its fine clothes, its bed, its chest of drawers, and other
appurtenances; but Tom told her to hold her clamour, that Miss Grey might see
his rocking–horse, which, with a most important bustle, he dragged forth from
its corner into the middle of the room, loudly calling on me to attend to it.
Then, ordering his sister to hold the reins, he mounted, and made me stand for
ten minutes, watching how manfully he used his whip and spurs. Meantime,
however, I admired Mary Ann’s pretty doll, and all its possessions; and then
told Master Tom he was a capital rider, but I hoped he would not use his whip
and spurs so much when he rode a real pony.
‘Oh, yes, I will!’ said he, laying on with redoubled
ardour. ‘I’ll cut into him like smoke! Eeh! my word! but he shall sweat for
it.’
This was very shocking; but I hoped in time to be
able to work a reformation.
‘Now you must put on your bonnet and shawl,’ said
the little hero, ‘and I’ll show you my garden.’
‘And MINE,’ said Mary Ann.
Tom lifted his fist with a menacing gesture; she
uttered a loud, shrill scream, ran to the other side of me, and made a face at
him.
‘Surely, Tom, you would not strike your sister! I
hope I shall NEVER see you do that.’
‘You will sometimes: I’m obliged to do it now and
then to keep her in order.’
‘But it is not your business to keep her in order,
you know—that is for—’
‘Well, now go and put on your bonnet.’
‘I don’t know—it is so very cloudy and cold, it
seems likely to rain;—and you know I have had a long drive.’
‘No matter—you MUST come; I shall allow of no
excuses,’ replied the consequential little gentleman. And, as it was the first
day of our acquaintance, I thought I might as well indulge him. It was too cold
for Mary Ann to venture, so she stayed with her mamma, to the great relief of
her brother, who liked to have me all to himself.
The garden was a large one, and tastefully laid out;
besides several splendid dahlias, there were some other fine flowers still in
bloom: but my companion would not give me time to examine them: I must go with
him, across the wet grass, to a remote sequestered corner, the most important
place in the grounds, because it contained HIS garden. There were two round
beds, stocked with a variety of plants. In one there was a pretty little
rose–tree. I paused to admire its lovely blossoms.
‘Oh, never mind that!’ said he, contemptuously.
‘That’s only Mary Ann’s garden; look, THIS is mine.’
After I had observed every flower, and listened to a
disquisition on every plant, I was permitted to depart; but first, with great
pomp, he plucked a polyanthus and presented it to me, as one conferring a
prodigious favour. I observed, on the grass about his garden, certain apparatus
of sticks and corn, and asked what they were.
‘Traps for birds.’
‘Why do you catch them?’
‘Papa says they do harm.’
‘And what do you do with them when you catch them?’
‘Different things. Sometimes I give them to the cat;
sometimes I cut them in pieces with my penknife; but the next, I mean to roast
alive.’
‘And why do you mean to do such a horrible thing?’
‘For two reasons: first, to see how long it will
live—and then, to see what it will taste like.’
‘But don’t you know it is extremely wicked to do
such things? Remember, the birds can feel as well as you; and think, how would
you like it yourself?’
‘Oh, that’s nothing! I’m not a bird, and I can’t
feel what I do to them.’
‘But you will have to feel it some time, Tom: you
have heard where wicked people go to when they die; and if you don’t leave off
torturing innocent birds, remember, you will have to go there, and suffer just
what you have made them suffer.’
‘Oh, pooh! I shan’t. Papa knows how I treat them,
and he never blames me for it: he says it is just what HE used to do when HE
was a boy. Last summer, he gave me a nest full of young sparrows, and he saw me
pulling off their legs and wings, and heads, and never said anything; except
that they were nasty things, and I must not let them soil my trousers: end
Uncle Robson was there too, and he laughed, and said I was a fine boy.’
‘But what would your mamma say?’
‘Oh, she doesn’t care! she says it’s a pity to kill
the pretty singing birds, but the naughty sparrows, and mice, and rats, I may
do what I like with. So now, Miss Grey, you see it is NOT wicked.’
‘I still think it is, Tom; and perhaps your papa and
mamma would think so too, if they thought much about it. However,’ I internally
added, ‘they may say what they please, but I am determined you shall do nothing
of the kind, as long as I have power to prevent it.’
He next took me across the lawn to see his
mole–traps, and then into the stack–yard to see his weasel–traps: one of which,
to his great joy, contained a dead weasel; and then into the stable to see, not
the fine carriage–horses, but a little rough colt, which he informed me had
been bred on purpose for him, and he was to ride it as soon as it was properly
trained. I tried to amuse the little fellow, and listened to all his chatter as
complacently as I could; for I thought if he had any affections at all, I would
endeavour to win them; and then, in time, I might be able to show him the error
of his ways: but I looked in vain for that generous, noble spirit his mother
talked of; though I could see he was not without a certain degree of quickness
and penetration, when he chose to exert it.
When we re–entered the house it was nearly tea–time.
Master Tom told me that, as papa was from home, he and I and Mary Ann were to
have tea with mamma, for a treat; for, on such occasions, she always dined at
luncheon–time with them, instead of at six o’clock. Soon after tea, Mary Ann
went to bed, but Tom favoured us with his company and conversation till eight.
After he was gone, Mrs. Bloomfield further enlightened me on the subject of her
children’s dispositions and acquirements, and on what they were to learn, and
how they were to be managed, and cautioned me to mention their defects to no
one but herself. My mother had warned me before to mention them as little as
possible to HER, for people did not like to be told of their children’s faults,
and so I concluded I was to keep silence on them altogether. About half–past
nine, Mrs. Bloomfield invited me to partake of a frugal supper of cold meat and
bread. I was glad when that was over, and she took her bedroom candlestick and
retired to rest; for though I wished to be pleased with her, her company was
extremely irksome to me; and I could not help feeling that she was cold, grave,
and forbidding—the very opposite of the kind, warm–hearted matron my hopes had
depicted her to be.
to be continued...
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