Tales and Novels Volume II Part 38

James, who was extremely fond of his brother Frank, called upon him and took him to Mrs. Hungerford's, to ask f.a.n.n.y to accompany them in this walk. They had seldom seen her since they had quitted their father's house and lived in Monmouth; and they were disappointed when they were told, by Mrs. Hungerford's footman, that f.a.n.n.y was not at home; she was gone to walk out with the children. The man did not know which road they went, so they had no hopes of meeting her; and they took their way through one of the shady lanes near Monmouth. It was late before they thought of returning; for, after several weeks' confinement in close houses, the fresh air, green fields, and sweet-smelling wild flowers in the hedges, were delightful novelties. "Those who see these things every day," said James, "scarcely notice them; I remember I did not when I lived at our farm. So things, as my father used to say, are made equal to people in this world. We, who are hard at work in a close room all day long, have more relish for an evening walk, a hundred to one, than those who saunter about from morning till night."

The philosophic reflections of James were interrupted by the merry voices of a troop of children, who were getting over a stile into the lane, where he and Frank were walking. The children had huge nosegays of honeysuckles, dog-roses, and blue-bells, in their little hands; and they gave their flowers to a young woman who attended them, begging she would hold them whilst they got over the stile. James and Frank went to offer their services to help the children; and then they saw that the young woman, who held the flowers, was their sister f.a.n.n.y.

"Our own f.a.n.n.y!" said Frank. "How lucky this is! It seems almost a year since I saw you. We have been all the way to Mrs. Hungerford's to look for you, and have been forced to take half our walk without you; but the other half will make amends. I've a hundred things to say to you: which is your way home? Take the longest way, I entreat you. Here is my arm.

What a delightful fine evening it is! But what's the matter?"

"It is a very fine evening," said f.a.n.n.y, hesitating a little; "and I hope to-morrow will be as fine. I'll ask my mistress to let me walk out with you to-morrow; but this evening I cannot stay with you, because I have the children under my care; and I have promised her that I will never walk with any one when they are with me."

"But your own brother," said Frank, a little angry at this refusal.

"I promised I would not walk with any one; and surely you are somebody: so good night; good bye," replied f.a.n.n.y, endeavouring to turn off his displeasure with a laugh.

"But what harm, I say, can I do the children, by walking with you?"

cried Frank, catching hold of her gown.

"I don't know; but I know what the orders of my mistress are; and you know, dear Frank, that whilst I live with her, I am bound to obey them."

"Oh, Frank, she must obey them," said James.

Frank loosened his hold of f.a.n.n.y's gown immediately. "You are right, dear f.a.n.n.y," said he; "you are right, and I was wrong: so good night; good bye. Only remember to ask leave to walk with us to-morrow evening; for I have had a letter from father and brother George, and I want to show it you. Wait five minutes, and I can read it to you now, f.a.n.n.y."

f.a.n.n.y, though she was anxious to hear her father's letter, would not wait, but hurried away with the children that were under her care; saying she must keep her promise to her mistress exactly. Frank followed her, and put the letter into her hands. "You are a dear good girl, and deserve all the fine things father says of you in this letter. Take it, child: your mistress does not forbid you receiving a letter from your father, I suppose. I shall wish her hanged, if she does not let you walk with us to-morrow," whispered he.

The children frequently interrupted f.a.n.n.y, as she was reading her father's letter. "Pray pull that high dog-rose for me, f.a.n.n.y," said one. "Pray hold me up to that large honeysuckle," said another. "And do, f.a.n.n.y," said the youngest boy, "let us go home by the common, that I may see the glowworms. Mamma said I might; and whilst we are looking for the glowworms, you can sit on a stone, or a bank, and read your letter in peace."

f.a.n.n.y, who was always very ready to indulge the children in any thing which her mistress had not forbidden, agreed to this proposal; and when they came to the common, little Gustavus, for that was the name of the eldest boy, found a charming seat for her; and she sat down to read her letter whilst the children ran to hunt for glowworms.

f.a.n.n.y read her father's letter over three times; and yet few people, except those who have the happiness to love a father as well, and to have a father as deserving to be loved, would think it at all worth reading even once.

"MY DEAR BOYS AND GIRLS,

"It is a strange thing to me to be without you; but, with me or from me, I am sure you are doing well; and that is a great comfort; ay, the best a father can have, especially at my age. I am heartily glad to hear that my Frank has, by his own deserts, got so good a place with that excellent man, Mr. Barlow. He does not hate attorneys now, I am sure.

Indeed, it is my belief, he could not hate any body for half an hour together, if he were to do his worst. Thank G.o.d, none of my children have been brought up to be revengeful or envious; and they are not fighting with one another, as I hear the poor Bettesworths now all are for the fortune. 'Better is a dinner of herbs, where love is, than a stalled ox, and hatred therewith.' I need not have troubled myself to write this text to any of you; but old men will be talkative. My rheumatism, however, prevents me from being as talkative as I could wish. It has been rather severe or so, owing to the great cold I caught the day that I was obliged to wait so long at squire Folingsby's in my wet clothes. But I hope soon to be stirring again, and to be able to take share of the work about our little farm, with your dear brother George. Poor fellow! he has so much to do, and does so much, that I fear he will overwork himself. He is at this present time out in the little field, opposite my window, digging up the docks, which are very hard to conquer; he has made a brave large heap of them, but I wish to my heart he would not toil so desperately.

"I desire, my dear James and Frank, you will not confine yourselves too much in your shop and at your desk: this is all I have to dread for either of you. Give my love and blessing to my sweet girls. If f.a.n.n.y was not as prudent as she is pretty, I should be in fear for her; hearing as I do, that Mrs. Hungerford keeps so much fine company. A waiting-maid in such a house is in a dangerous place: but my f.a.n.n.y, I am sure, will ever keep in mind her mother's precepts and example. I am told that Mrs.

Crumpe, Patty's mistress, is (owing, I suppose, to her great age and infirmities) difficult in her humour; but my Patty has so even and pleasant a temper that I defy any one living, that knows her, not to love her. My hand is now quite tired of writing, this being penned with my left, as my right arm is not yet free from rheumatism: I have not James with me to write. G.o.d bless and preserve you all, my dear children. With such comforts, I can have nothing to complain of in this world. This I know, I would not exchange any one of you for all my neighbour Bettesworth's fine fortune. Write soon to

"Your affectionate father,

"B. Frankland."

"Look! look at the glowworms!" cried the children, gathering round f.a.n.n.y, just as she had finished reading her letter. There were prodigious numbers of them on this common; and they shone over the whole ground, in cl.u.s.ters, or singly, like little stars.

Whilst the children were looking with admiration and delight at this spectacle, their attention was suddenly diverted from the glowworms by the sound of a French-horn. They looked round and perceived that it came from the balcony of a house, which was but a few yards distant from the spot where they were standing.

"Oh! let us go nearer to the balcony!" said the children, "that we may hear the music better." A violin, and a clarinet, at this moment began to play.

"Oh! let us go nearer!" said the children, drawing f.a.n.n.y with all their little force towards the balcony.

"My dears, it is growing late," said she, "and we must make haste home.

There is a crowd of company, you see, at the door and at the windows of that house; and if we go near to it, some of them will certainly speak to you, and that, you know, your mamma would not like."

The children paused and looked at one another, as if inclined to submit; but, at this moment, a kettle-drum was heard, and little Gustavus could not resist his curiosity to hear and see more of this instrument: he broke loose from f.a.n.n.y's hands, and escaped to the house, exclaiming, "I must and will hear it, and see it too!"

f.a.n.n.y was obliged to pursue him into the midst of the crowd: he made his way up to a young gentleman in regimentals, who took him up in his arms, saying, "By Jove, a fine little fellow! A soldier, every inch of him! By Jove, he shall see the drum, and beat it too; let us see who dares say to the contrary."

As the gallant ensign spoke, he carried Gustavus up a flight of stairs that led to the balcony. f.a.n.n.y in great anxiety called after him to beg that he would not detain the child, who was trusted to her care: her mistress, she said, would be extremely displeased with her, if she disobeyed her orders.

She was here interrupted in her remonstrance by the shrill voice of a female, who stood on the same stair with the ensign, and whom, notwithstanding the great alteration in her dress, f.a.n.n.y recognized to be Sally Bettesworth. Jilting Jessy stood beside her.

"f.a.n.n.y Frankland, I protest! What a pother she keeps about nothing,"

cried Saucy Sally. "Know your betters, and keep your distance, young woman. Who cares whether your mistress is displeased or not? She can't turn us away, can she, pray? She can't call ensign Bloomington to account, can she, hey?"

An insolent laugh closed this speech; a laugh in which several of the crowd joined: but some gentlemen were interested by f.a.n.n.y's beautiful and modest countenance, as she looked up to the balcony, and, with tears in her eyes, entreated to be heard. "Oh, for shame, Bloomington! Give her back the boy. It is not fair that she should lose her place," cried they.

Bloomington would have yielded; but Saucy Sally stood before him crying in a threatening tone, "I'll never speak to you again, I promise you, Bloomington, if you give up. A fine thing indeed for a man and a soldier to give up to a woman and a servant-girl! and an impertinent servant-girl! Who cares for her or her place either?"

"I do! I do!" exclaimed little Gustavus, springing from the ensign's arms. "I care for her! She is not an impertinent girl; and I'll give up seeing the kettle-drum, and go home with her directly, with all my heart."

In vain Sally attempted to withhold him; the boy ran down the stairs to f.a.n.n.y, and marched off with her in all the conscious pride of a hero, whose generosity has fairly vanquished his pa.s.sions. Little Gustavus was indeed a truly generous child: the first thing he did, when he got home, was to tell his mother all that had pa.s.sed this evening. Mrs. Hungerford was delighted with her son, and said to him, "I cannot, I am sure, reward you better, my dear, than by rewarding this good young woman. The fidelity with which she has fulfilled my orders, in all that regards my children, places her, in my opinion, above the rank in which she was born. Henceforward she shall hold in my house a station to which her habits of truth, gentleness, and good sense, ent.i.tle her."

From this time forward, f.a.n.n.y, by Mrs. Hungerford's desire, was always present when the children took their lessons from their several masters.

Mrs. Hungerford advised her to apply herself to learn all those things which were necessary for a governess to young ladies. "When you speak, your language in general is good, and correct; and no pains shall be wanting, on my part," said this haughty but benevolent lady, "to form your manners, and to develop your talents. This I partly owe you for your care of my children; and I am happy to reward my son Gustavus in a manner which I am certain will be most agreeable to him."

"And, mamma," said the little boy, "may she walk out sometimes with her brothers? for I do believe she loves them as well as I love my sisters."

Mrs. Hungerford permitted f.a.n.n.y to walk out for an hour, every morning, during the time that her children were with their dancing-master; and at this hour sometimes her brother James, and sometimes her brother Frank, could be spared; and they had many pleasant walks together. What a happiness it was to them to have been thus bred up, from their earliest years, in friends.h.i.+p with one another! This friends.h.i.+p was now the sweetest pleasure of their lives.

Poor Patty! She regretted that she could not join in these pleasant meetings; but, alas! she was so useful, so agreeable, and so necessary to her infirm mistress, that she could never be spared from home.

"Where's Patty? why does not Patty do this?" were Mrs. Crumpe's constant questions whenever she was absent. Patty had all the business of the house upon her hands, because n.o.body could do any thing so well as Patty. Mrs. Crumpe found that no one could dress her but Patty; n.o.body could make her bed, so that she could sleep on it, but Patty; no one could make jelly, or broth, or whey, that she could taste, but Patty; no one could roast, or boil, or bake, but Patty. Of course, all these things must be done by n.o.body else. The ironing of Mrs. Crumpe's caps, which had exquisitely nice plaited borders, at last fell to Patty's share; because once, when the laundry-maid was sick, she plaited one so charmingly, that her lady would never afterwards wear any but of her plaiting. Now Mrs. Crumpe changed her cap, or rather had her cap changed, three times a day; and never wore the same cap twice.

The labours of was.h.i.+ng, ironing, plaiting, roasting, boiling, baking, making jelly, broth, and whey, were not sufficient: Mrs. Crumpe took it into her head that she could eat no b.u.t.ter but of Patty's churning. But, what was worse than all, not a night pa.s.sed without Patty's being called up to see "what could be the matter with the dog that was barking, or the cat that was mewing?" And when she was just sinking to sleep again, at daybreak, her lady, in whose room she slept, would call out, "Patty!

Patty! There's a dreadful noise in the chicken-yard."

"Oh, ma'am, it is only the c.o.c.ks crowing."

"Well, do step out, and hinder them from crowing at this terrible rate."

"But, ma'am, I cannot hinder them indeed."

"Oh yes, you could, if you were up. Get up and whip 'em, child. Whip 'em all round, or I shall not sleep a wink more this night." {Footnote: Taken from life.}

How little poor Patty slept, her lady never considered: not that she was in reality an ill-natured woman, but sickness inclined her to be peevish; and she had so long been used to be humoured and waited upon by relations and servants, who expected she would leave them rich legacies, that she considered herself as a sort of golden idol, to whom all that approached should and would bow as low as she pleased. Perceiving that almost all around her were interested, she became completely selfish.

She was from morning till night, from night till morning, nay, from year's end to year's end, so much in the habit of seeing others employed for her, that she absolutely considered this to be the natural and necessary course of things; and she quite forgot to think of the comfort, or even of the well-being, of those creatures who were "born for her use, and live but to oblige her."

From time to time she was so far awakened to feeling, by Patty's exertions and good-humour, that she would say, to quiet her own conscience, "Well! well! I'll make it all up to her in my will! I'll make it all up to her in my will!"

She took it for granted that Patty, like the rest of her dependents, was governed entirely by mercenary considerations; and she was persuaded that the hopes of this legacy would secure Patty her slave for life. In this she was mistaken.