The New Mistress: A Tale
“Hang the boy! Oh, here’s the round-faced chap. I beg your pardon, can you direct me to the best hotel?”
“Straight past the church, sir, and round into the market-place.”
“Thanks; I can get some lunch or dinner there, I suppose?”
“Ye-es,” said Mr William Forth Burge. “I should think so.”
“I came down from town by the mail last night, and walked over from Burtwick this morning. Strange in the place, you see.”
“May I offer you a bit of dinner, sir? I know London well, though I’m a native here, and as a friend of our new schoolmistress – ”
“Oh, I should hardly like to intrude,” cried the young man apologetically.
“Pray come,” said the ex-butcher eagerly, for he longed to get the young man under his roof. He did not know why: in fact he felt almost hurt at his coming there that morning; and again, he did not know why, but he knew one thing, and that was that he would have given ten pounds that moment to know why Archibald Graves had come down that day, and what he said to Miss Thorne, and – yes, he would have given twenty pounds to know what Hazel Thorne said to him.
The result was, that he carried off the stranger to his handsome house, just outside the town, and soon after Archibald Graves was making himself quite at home, drinking the school-patron’s sherry, smoking his cigars, and getting moment by moment more fluent of tongue, and ready to lay bare the secrets of his heart, if secrets the facts could be called that he was prepared to make known to any one who would talk.
“Has he gone, Bill?” said Miss Burge, entering the drawing-room about eight o’clock that evening, and finding her brother standing before a glass and sprinkling himself with scent.
“Yes, he went a good hour ago.” And the speaker looked very solemn, and uttered a deep sigh.
“I wouldn’t disturb you, dear, at church time, as you had company; but, Bill dear – oh, how nice you smell!” and she rested her hands on his shoulders and reached up to kiss him.
“Do I, Betsey?”
“Lovely, dear; but do tell me what he said about Miss Thorne.”
Her brother’s forehead seemed to have gone suddenly into the corrugated iron business, as he turned his eyes upon his sister.
“He said – he said – ”
“Yes, dear; please go on.”
“He said he had been engaged to her for two or three years, and that as soon as his father left off cutting up rough – ”
“Cutting up rough, Bill? Did he say cutting up rough?”
“Yes, Betsey. I never cut up rough in my business, never. I always made a point of having the best Sheffield knives and steels, and my steaks and chops and joints was always pictures.”
“Yes, dear; but tell me: Miss Thorne is engaged to be married to this gentleman?”
“I suppose so,” said Mr William Forth Burge drearily. “It was always so, Betsey. I could get on in trade, and I could save money, and I always dressed well, and I defy the world to say I wasn’t always clean shaved; but I never did see a young lady that I thought was nice, but somebody else had seen her before and thought the same.”
“Oh, but we never know what might happen, Bill.”
“What’s the good of being rich? What’s the good of having a fine house? What’s the good of everything, if everything’s always going to turn out disappointment? Betsey,” he continued fiercely, “that chap thinks of nothing but hisself. He’s one of your cigar-smoking, glass-o’-sherry chaps, and he ain’t got a good ’art. Why, if you’d got a young man, Betsey, and he come and sit down here and talked about you as that chap did about our young schoolmistress, I’d ha’ punched his head!”
Miss Burge pressed her brother softly back into a chair, and patted his face, and smoothed his hair, and kissed him first on one cheek and then upon the other.
“You’re tired, Bill dear,” she said, “and didn’t get your nap after dinner. Where’s your handkerchief? Here, let me do it dear;” and taking her brother’s flaming handkerchief from his pocket, she softly opened it over his head and face as if she were about to perform a conjuring trick and bring out bowls of gold fish or something of the kind from beneath, but she did not: she merely left it on his head and went away on tiptoe, saying to herself:
“Poor Bill! he has got it again, and badly, too.”
Chapter Eight.
Mr Chute’s Visit
It was a busy morning with Hazel Thorne as she took her place in the large schoolroom, feeling that her responsibilities had now commenced in earnest. For there were no ladies to take classes now, the assistance coming from a pupil-teacher and four or five girls as monitors, against one and all of whom Feelier Potts entertained a deadly hatred, for the simple reason that she had been passed over, and they had all been chosen in her stead.
The discipline of the school had been fairly maintained, but Hazel was not long in finding out that there were plenty of young revolutionary spirits waiting their opportunity to test the strength of the new mistress, nor in seeing that Miss Feelier Potts would be one of the leaders in any small insurrectionary movement that might take place.
There was plenty to do that first morning – to feel the way, as it were; to find out what had been going on; how it was done; what the girls knew, and the hundred other little difficulties that a strange mistress would have to deal with on taking possession of a new post.
Monday morning too, and there were the school pence to be paid – hot, moist, sticky pennies, that had been carried generally in hot, moist, sticky hands. These had to be received and noted, and the excuses listened to as well.
“Mother hadn’t got no change’s morning, teacher” – “Pay next week, teacher” – “Mother says, teacher, as there’s four on us, she oughtn’t to pay more’n thruppens” – “Mother ’ll call and pay when she comes by.” Then there was Sarah Ann Simms’ case. Sarah Ann had not brought her penny, and the book showed that she had not brought it the week before, nor the month before; in fact, it seemed as if Sarah Ann was in debt for her schooling from the time she had commenced.
Upon Sarah Ann being questioned, she didn’t know nothink, only that mother – who appeared to be ready to set all school rules, regulations, and laws at defiance – said she shouldn’t pay.
Hazel Thorne was pondering upon this crux, when there was a tap at the door, and Mr Samuel Chute entered, smiling to say “Good morning.”
“I thought I’d just drop in, and see if there was anything I could do,” he said, upon shaking hands, after which he wiped the hand he had used upon his fair hair. “It’s very awkward coming first to a school,” he went on, “and if you’ll only send for me, or ask for anything, you shall have it directly. I hope you’ve got plenty of chalk.”
Hazel believed there was plenty, and promised to send and ask for assistance if any was required, wishing heartily the while that her visitor would go; but although it was evident through the thin partition that the boys were enjoying themselves in their master’s absence, Mr Chute seemed in no hurry to depart.
“You’ll have some trouble, I daresay,” he continued, rubbing his hands together, and looking contemplatively at Hazel. “Some of the girls are like their brothers in my school. The young Potts’ are a terrible nuisance.”
“I daresay I shall be able to manage them by degrees,” replied Hazel —
“Are you sure you have plenty of chalk?”
“I think there is an abundance of school necessaries.”
“Oh, no! Oh dear, no!” said Mr Chute, with a pitying smile. “You’ll find lots of things wanting. They’re very stingy over them; and if it wasn’t for old Burge, I don’t know what we should do. You are sure you have plenty of chalk?”
“Please, teacher, there’s a whole boxful in the cupboard,” said Miss Potts.
“Silence! How dare you speak when you are not asked?” said Mr Chute fiercely; and Miss Potts began to hurry away, terribly alarmed, back to her place, but watched her opportunity to turn and squint horribly at the visitor, to the great delight of the other girls – especially of Ann Straggalls the fat, who, poor girl, seemed to suffer from an infirmity; for no sooner did she see anything mirth-provoking than she exploded loudly, no matter where she was, into a boisterous laugh – a laugh that was a constant source of trouble to her; for which she had suffered endless punishments, besides having been ordered three times out of church by Miss Rebecca Lambent, who would rise spectrally above the red curtains of the organ-loft, and stand pointing at the door till the trembling girl had gone.
Ann Straggalls horrified Hazel upon this occasion by giving vent to one of her explosions, and then turning purple as she tried to hide her face.
“Ah, you’ll have to punish her,” said Mr Chute. “Oh, by-the-way, Miss Thorne – ”
“If he would only go!” thought Hazel, for the girls were getting very lively and boisterous, seeing their teacher’s attention taken off, and catching a little of the infection from beyond the partition shutters.
“I say, you’ll have a deal of trouble over the school pence” – Mr Chute was a prophet in this case, though he did not know it – “they’ll try all sorts of plans to get out of paying – a few of them will; but don’t you be imposed upon by their excuses. It’s only a penny a week, you know. There’s the Simms’s never will pay, and they ought to be turned out of the schools, for it isn’t fair for some children to pay and some not, is it?”
“Of course not,” replied Hazel. “Oh, why won’t he go? Surely he must see that my time is wanted.”
Just then the noise in the boys’ school became furious, and Mr Chute made an effort to let his rebellious subjects know that, though invisible in body, he was present with them in spirit, by going on tiptoe across the school and rapping on one of the sliding shutters sharply with his knuckles.
The effect was magical, and he came back triumphant.
“That’s how I serve them,” he said, with a self-satisfied smirk. “They know I won’t stand any nonsense; and, I say, Miss Thorne, if you hear me using the cane, don’t you take any notice, you know. It’s good for them sometimes. You’ll have to use it yourself.”
“I hope not,” said Hazel quietly; and she glanced towards the door.
“Ah, but you will,” he said, laughing, and in profound ignorance of the fact that Feelier Potts was imitating his every action for the benefit of her class, even to going across and pretending to tap at the partition.
“I believe in kindness and firmness combined, Mr Chute.”
“So do I,” he said, as if lost in admiration. “That’s exactly what I said to Lambent; and I say, Miss Thorne, just a friendly word, you know. You back me up and I’ll back you up; don’t you stand any nonsense from Lambent and those two. They’re always meddling and interfering.”
“Those two?” said Hazel, thinking of Ophelia Potts and Ann Straggalls.
“Yes; Rebecca and Beatrice, Lambent’s sisters, you know. Rebel and Tricks we call them down here. They’re as smooth as can be to your face, and they go and make mischief to Lambent. You must have your eyes open, for they’re always telling tales. Beatrice is going to marry the young squire at Ardley, at least she wants to, and Rebecca wants old Burge, but he can’t see it.”
“You really must excuse me now, Mr Chute,” said Hazel. “I have so much to do.”
“Yes, so have I,” he said pleasantly; but he did not stir. “You are sure you have plenty of chalk?”
“Oh yes, plenty.”
“And slate-pencil? I believe the little wretches eat the slate-pencil, so much of it goes.”
“I will send for some if I want it,” said Hazel; “I must go now to those classes.”
“Yes, of course, but one minute. My mother wants to be introduced to your mother, as we are to be neighbours, you know, and if there’s anything household you want, mind you send for it.”
“Yes, certainly, Mr Chute.” – Oh, I wish he would go!
“May I bring my mother in to-night to see you?”
“Not to-night, please, Mr Chute; we are hardly settled yet.”
“No, of course not. Well, good-bye; I must go now.”
He held out his hand.
For some time past Miss Lambent and her sister had been waiting. They had entered the boys’ school to leave a message, and for a while their presence had acted as a brake upon the spirits of the young gentlemen; but waves of noise soon began to rise and fall, growing louder as the time went on.
“Master’s in the girls’ school,” one of the boys had said. “Should he fetch him?”
“No, boy; go on with your lessons,” said Miss Beatrice; and she exchanged glances with her sister. Then they settled themselves to wait, standing like a pair of martyrs to circumstances, listening to the increasing noise, and at last marching together out of the boys’ school and towards the girls’.
“Henry had better send for Mr Chute, and give him a good talking to,” said Miss Lambent.
“I formed my own impressions yesterday,” said Miss Beatrice. “These proceedings only endorse them. She will never do for Plumton.”
“Never!” said Miss Rebecca; and after an inquiring look, given and taken, the sisters entered the girls’ school, to find Miss Feelier Potts standing up, gazing pensively at Ann Straggalls, as she held and pressed her hand in perfect imitation of the action of Mr Samuel Chute, who was taking a farewell of the new mistress as if he were going on a long voyage – never to return.
Chapter Nine.
Excitement at Plumton
“I don’t know what has come to Henry,” said Miss Lambent. “If I had been in his place I should have immediately called a meeting of the governors of the school, paid Miss Thorne, and let her seek for an engagement elsewhere.”
“I quite agree with you, Rebecca,” replied Miss Beatrice. “Henry is behaving weakly and foolishly in all these matters. But we cannot be surprised. He is so profound a thinker and so deeply immersed in his studies that these little matters escape him.”
“I think it unpardonable. Here is a strange girl – for she is a mere girl, and far too young, in my estimation – appointed to the school, and just because she has rather a genteel appearance, everybody is paying her deference. Henry is really absurd. He says that Miss Thorne is quite a lady, and that allowances should be made. No allowances are made for me.”
“Don’t be angry, Rebecca.”
“I am not angry, Beatrice. I never am angry: but in a case like this I feel bound to speak. There is that absurd Miss Burge ready to praise her to one’s very face, and Mr William Forth Burge actually told me yesterday, when I went up to him to talk about the preparations, that we ought to congratulate ourselves upon having found so excellent a mistress. I haven’t patience with him.”
“Are the Canninges coming?” said Miss Beatrice, changing the conversation; and as she spoke, standing in the vicarage drawing-room, with her eyes half-closed, a faint flush came into her cheeks, and she looked for the moment a very handsome, graceful woman. A connoisseur would have said that she was too thin, but granted that it showed breeding and refinement while her dress was in perfect taste.
“Yes; Mrs Canninge told me yesterday that she should certainly drive over, and that she would persuade George Canninge to come. He ought not to want any persuasion, Beatrice,” and Rebecca accompanied her words with a very meaning look.
“Nonsense, dear! What attraction can a school-treat have to a gentleman like George Canninge?”
“He might find pleasure in proceedings that are watched over by his friends. And now look here, Beatrice, I am never angry, I never quarrel, and I never say cruel things, but I must say that I do not think George Canninge is so attentive to you as he used to be.”
“Hush, Rebecca,” cried Beatrice; “how can you speak like that? There is no engagement between us.”
“But there ought to be,” said Miss Lambent tartly. “Marriage is a subject upon which I have never thought for myself.”
“Rebecca!”
“Well, not directly,” replied the lady. “I may perhaps have given such a matter a thought indirectly, but in your case I have thought about it a great deal.”
“Pray say no more, Rebecca.”
“I must say more, Beatrice, for in a case like this, your welfare is at stake, and for my part, I do not see how George Canninge could do better than by making you mistress of Ardley.”
“My dear Rebecca!”
“It would be rather stooping on our side, for the Canninges are little better than traders; but Mrs Canninge is very nice, and I said to her, yesterday – ”
“Surely, Rebecca, you did not allude to – to – ”
“George Canninge and yourself? Indeed, I did, my dear. Mrs Canninge and I thoroughly understand one another, and I feel sure that nothing would please her better than for George Canninge to propose to you.”
Miss Beatrice sighed softly, and soon after the sisters went up to dress.
For it was a festival day at Plumton All Saints, being that of the annual school feast.
This school feast or treat was rather an ancient institution, and was coeval with the schools, but it had altered very much in its proportions since its earlier days, when the schoolmaster invested in a penny memorandum-book, and went round to all the principal inhabitants for subscriptions, which rarely exceeded a shilling, and had to be lectured by each donor upon the best way of teaching the children under his charge. Those treats first consisted of a ride in one of the farmers’ waggons as far as a field, where the children were regaled with very thin milk and water, and slices of large loaves spotted with currants, which slices were duly baptised in the milk and water, and called by the children – “cake.”
Then there was a great advance to a real tea in a barn, and again a more generous affair through the generosity of one vicar, who had the children all up to the vicarage, and after they had done no little mischief to his flower-beds, sent them home loaded with fruity cakes, and toys.
Then there was a decadence with a tendency towards thin milk and water and country buns, followed by a tremendous rise when Mr William Forth Burge came upon the scene; and the present was the second feast over which he had been presiding genius.
In preparation for this festival, probably for reasons of his own, the patron had gone about smiling a great deal, and rubbing his hands. He had obtained carte blanche from the vicar to do as he pleased, and it had pleased him to say to Miss Burge:
“Betsy, we’ll do the thing ’andsome this time, and no mistake. Money shan’t stand in the way, and I want Miss Thorne – and Mr Chute,” he added hastily, “to see that we know how to do things at Plumton.”
The result was that for a whole week the children nearly ran mad, and attention to object, or any other lessons, was a thing impossible to secure; and once every day – sometimes twice – Mr Chute was obliged to go into the girls’ school and confide to Miss Thorne the fact that he should be heartily glad when it was all over.
Hazel Thorne participated in his feelings, but she did not feel bound to go to the boys’ school to impart her troubles, having terrible work to keep her scholars to their tasks.
For to a little place like Plumton the preparations were tremendously exciting, and between school hours, and afterwards, the entrance to Mr William Forth Burge’s garden was besieged with anxious sightseers, the wildest rumours getting abroad amongst the children, who were ready to believe a great deal more than they saw, though they had ocular demonstration that a large marquee was being erected, that ropes were stretched between the trees for flags, that four large swings had been made; and as for the contents of that marquee the most extravagant rumours were afloat.
One thing was notable in spite of the inattention, and that was the fact that the schools were wonderfully well filled by children, who came in good time, and who duly paid their pence, many of the scholars having been absentees for months, some since the last school-treat, but who were coming “regular now, please, teacher.”
The morning had arrived when, after receiving strict orders to be at the schools punctually at eleven, fully half the expected number were at the gates by nine, clamouring for admittance; and at last the noise grew so loud that Mrs Thorne cast an appealing look at her daughter, and sighed.
“Ah, Hazel,” she murmured, “if you had only listened to poor Mr Geringer, we should have been spared this degradation.”
“Oh, hush, dear,” whispered Hazel. “Pray say no more. Indeed I don’t mind, and the poor children seem so happy.”
“But I mind it, Hazel,” sighed Mrs Thorne. “It is a degradation indeed. Of course you will not be expected to walk with the children as far as those people’s?”
“Oh, yes,” said Hazel, trying to speak lightly. “They are all going in procession with flags and banners.”
“Flags and banners, Hazel?” exclaimed Mrs Thorne, with a horrified look.
“Yes, dear. Mr Burge wants to give the children a great treat, and there is to be a brass band that he has engaged on purpose. I have just had a note from Miss Burge. She says her brother wished to keep it a secret to the last.”
“But not a regular brass band, Hazel?”
“Yes, dear. It will be at the head of the procession, and the children are to be marched all round the town.”
“But not a brass band with a big drum, my dear? Surely not. Don’t say with a big drum?”
“Really, mother, dear, I don’t know,” replied Hazel, bending down and kissing her. “I suppose so.”
“Thank Heaven, that my poor husband was spared all this!”
“Oh, hush, dear,” whispered Hazel piteously.
“But you will not stoop to walk round the town with them, Hazel? And surely you are never going to put that ridiculous bunch of cowslips in your dress?”
“Mother, dear,” said Hazel quietly, “I am the mistress of the girls’ school, and it is my duty to walk with them. I am going to wear the bunch of spring flowers, for they were brought for me by the girls, who will all wear a bunch like it. Here is a bouquet, though, that Mr Burge has sent for the mistress out of his greenhouse. I suppose I must carry that in my hand.”
“Oh, my poor girl! my poor girl!”
“Now, mother, dear mother, do not be so foolish,” said Hazel. “Why should I be ashamed to walk with my girls? Are we not living an honourable and independent life, and is it not ten thousand times better than eating the bread of charity?”
“Ah me! ah me!” sighed Mrs Thorne.
“Now, dear, you will dress and come up to the treaty and I will see that you are comfortable.”
“I come? No, no, no!”
“Yes, dear, Mr Burge begs that you will. Come, girls.”
This was called up the stairs to her little sisters, who came running down, dressed in white with blue sashes for the first time since their father’s death.
“What does this mean?” exclaimed Mrs Thorne.
“They are coming with me, dear, each carrying a great bouquet.”
“Never! I forbid it!” cried the poor woman.
“It was Mr Burge’s particular request,” said Hazel gently; “and, mother dear, you will nearly break their hearts if you forbid them now.”
“There, there, there,” sobbed Mrs Thorne; “it’s time I died and was taken out of your way. I’m only a nuisance and a burden to you.”
“Mother!”
Only that one word, but the way in which it was uttered, and the graceful form that went down upon its knees before her to draw the head she kept rocking to and fro down upon her breast proved sufficient to calm the weak woman. Her sobs grew less frequent, and she at last began to wipe her eyes, after kissing Hazel again and again.
“I suppose we must accept our fate, my dear,” she said at last. “I’m sure I do mine. And now mind this. Cissy – Mabel!”
“Yes, mamma! Oh, sister Hazel, isn’t it time to go?”
“I say you will mind this. Cissy – Mabel, you are to – But must they walk in procession with those terrible children, Hazel?”
“Why not, dear? They will be with me, and what can be more innocent and pleasant than this treat to the poor girls? There, there, I know, for my sake, you will come up and lend your countenance to their sports.”
“Well, well,” sighed Mrs Thorne. “I’ll try. But mind me, Hazel,” she exclaimed sharply, “I’m not coming up with that dreadful woman, Mrs Chute. I am coming by myself.”
“Yes, dear, I would,” said Hazel.
“And mind this. Cissy and Mabel, though you are going to walk behind the school children and carry flowers, you are not to forget that you are young ladies. Mind that.”