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THE CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> THE CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY




But the more Rachel saw of her cousin, the more she realized this
peril. When she went down on Monday morning to complete the matters
of business that had been slurred over on the Saturday, she found
that Fanny had not the slightest notion what her own income was to
be. All she knew was that her General had left everything
unreservedly to herself, except £100 and one of his swords to Major
Keith, who was executor to the will, and had gone to London to "see
about it," by which word poor Fanny expressed all the business that
her maintenance depended on. If an old general wished to put a major
in temptation, could he have found a better means of doing so?
Rachel even thought that Fanny's incapacity to understand business
had made her mistake the terms of the bequest, and that Sir Stephen
must have secured his property to his children; but Fanny was
absolutely certain that this was not the case, for she said the Major
had made her at once sign a will dividing the property among them,
and appointing himself and her Aunt Curtis their guardians. "I did
not like putting such a charge on my dear aunt," said Fanny, "but the
Major said I ought to appoint a relation, and I had no one else! And
I knew you would all be good to them, if they had lost me too, when
baby was born."

"We would have tried," said Rachel, a little humbly, "but oh! I am
glad you are here, Fanny!"

Nothing could of course be fixed till the Major had "seen about it."
After which he was to come to let Lady Temple know the result; but
she believed he would first go to Scotland to see his brother. He
and his brother were the only survivors of a large family, and he had
been on foreign service for twelve years, so that it would be very
selfish to wish him not to take full time at home. "Selfish,"
thought Rachel; "if he will only stay away long enough, you shall
learn, my dear, how well you can do without him!"

The boys had interrupted the conversation less than the previous one,
because the lesser ones were asleep, or walking out, and the elder
ones having learnt that a new week was to be begun steadily with
lessons, thought it advisable to bring themselves as little into
notice as possible; but fate was sure to pursue them sooner or later,
for Rachel had come down resolved on testing their acquirements, and
deciding on the method to be pursued with them; and though their
mamma, with a curtain instinctive shrinking both for them and for
herself, had put off the ordeal to the utmost by listening to all the
counsel about her affairs, it was not to be averted.

"Now, Fanny, since it seems that more cannot be done at present, let
us see about the children's education. Where are their books?"

"We have very few books," said Fanny, hesitating; "we had not much
choice where we were."

"You should have written to me for a selection."

"Why--so we would, but there was always a talk of sending Conrade and
Francis home. I am afraid you will think them very backward, dear
Rachel, especially Francie; but it is not their fault, dear children,
and they are not used to strangers," added Fanny, nervously.

"I do not mean to be a stranger," said Rachel.

And while Fanny, in confusion, made loving protestations about not
meaning that, Rachel stepped out upon the lawn, and in her clear
voice called "Conrade, Francis!" No answer. She called "Conrade"
again, and louder, then turned round with "where can they be--not
gone down on the beach?"

"Oh, dear no, I trust not," said the mother, flurried, and coming to
the window with a call that seemed to Rachel's ears like the roar of
a sucking dove.

But from behind the bushes forth came the two young gentlemen, their
black garments considerably streaked with the green marks of laurel
climbing.

"Oh, my dears, what figures you are! Go to Coombe and get yourselves
brushed, and wash your hands, and then come down, and bring your
lesson books."

Rachel prognosticated that these preparations would be made the
occasion, of much waste of time; but she was answered, and with
rather surprised eyes, that they had never been allowed to come into
the drawing-room without looking like little gentlemen.

"But you are not living in state here," said Rachel; "I never could
enter into the cult some people, mamma especially, pay to their
drawing-room."

"The Major used to be very particular about their not coming to sit
down untidy," said Fanny. "He said it was not good for anybody."

Martinet! thought Rachel, nearly ready to advocate the boys making no
toilette at any time; and the present was made to consume so much
time that, urged by her, Fanny once more was obliged to summon her
boys and their books.

It was not an extensive school library--a Latin grammar an extremely
dilapidated spelling-book, and the fourth volume of Mrs. Marcet's
"Little Willie." The other three--one was unaccounted for, but Cyril
had torn up the second, and Francis had thrown the first overboard in
a passion. Rachel looked in dismay. "I don't know what can be done
with these!" she said.

"Oh, then we'll have holidays till we have got books, mamma," said
Conrade, putting his hands on the sofa, and imitating a kicking
horse.

"It is very necessary to see what kind of books you ought to have,"
returned Rachel. "How far have you gone in this?"

"I say, mamma," reiterated Conrade, "we can't do lessons without
books."

"Attend to what your Aunt Rachel says, my dear; she wants to find out
what books you should have."

"Yes, let me examine you."

Conrade came most inconveniently close to her; she pushed her chair
back; he came after her. His mother uttered a remonstrating, "My
dear!"

"I thought she wanted to examine me," quoth Conrade. "When Dr.
M'Vicar examines a thing, he puts it under a microscope."

It was said gravely, and whether it were malice or simplicity, Rachel
was perfectly unable to divine, but she thought anyway that Fanny had
no business to laugh, and explaining the species of examination that
she intended, she went to work. In her younger days she had worked
much at schools, and was really an able and spirited teacher, liking
the occupation; and laying hold of the first book in her way, she
requested Conrade to read. He obeyed, but in such a detestable
gabble that she looked up appealingly to Fanny, who suggested, "My
dear, you can read better than that." He read four lines, not badly,
but then broke off, "Mamma, are not we to have ponies? Coombe heard
of a pony this morning; it is to be seen at the 'Jolly Mariner,' and
he will take us to look at it."

"The 'Jolly Mariner!' It is a dreadful place, Fanny, you never will
let them go there?"

"My dear, the Major will see about your ponies when he comes."

"We will send the coachman down to inquire," added Rachel.

"He is only a civilian, and the Major always chooses our horses,"
said Conrade.

"And I am to have one too, mamma," added Francis. "You know I have
been out four times with the staff, and the Major said I could ride
as well as Con!"

"Reading is what is wanted now, my dear, go on."

Five lines more; but Francis and his mother were whispering together,
and of course Conrade stopped to listen. Rachel saw there was no
hope but in getting him alone, and at his mother's reluctant desire,
he followed her to the dining-room; but there he turned dogged and
indifferent, made a sort of feint of doing what he was told, but
whether she tried him in arithmetic, Latin, or dictation, he made
such ludicrous blunders as to leave her in perplexity whether they
arose from ignorance or impertinence. His spelling was phonetic to
the highest degree, and though he owned to having done sums, he would
not, or did not answer the simplest question in mental arithmetic.
"Five apples and eight apples, come, Conrade, what will they make?"

"A pie."

That was the hopeful way in which the examination proceeded, and when
Rachel attempted to say that his mother would be much displeased, he
proceeded to tumble head over heels all round the room, as if he knew
better; which performance broke up the seance, with a resolve on her
part that when she had the books she would not be so beaten. She
tried Francis, but he really did know next to nothing, and whenever
he came to a word above five letters long stopped short, and when
told to spell it, said, "Mamma never made him spell;" also muttering
something depreciating about civilians.

Rachel was a woman of perseverance. She went to the bookseller's,
and obtained a fair amount of books, which she ordered to be sent to
Lady Temple's. But when she came down the next morning, the parcel
was nowhere to be found. There was a grand interrogation, and at
last it turned out to have been safely deposited in an empty dog-
kennel in the back yard. It was very hard on Rachel that Fanny
giggled like a school-girl, and even though ashamed of herself and
her sons, could not find voice to scold them respectably. No wonder,
after such encouragement, that Rachel found her mission no sinecure,
and felt at the end of her morning's work much as if she had been
driving pigs to market, though the repetition was imposing on the
boys a sort of sense of fate and obedience, and there was less active
resistance, though learning it was not, only letting teaching be
thrown at them. All the rest of the day, except those two hours,
they ran wild about the house, garden, and beach--the latter place
under the inspection of Coombe, whom, since the "Jolly Mariner"
proposal, Rachel did not in the least trust; all the less when she
heard that Major Keith, whose soldier-servant he had originally been,
thought very highly of him. A call at Myrtlewood was formidable from
the bear-garden sounds, and delicate as Lady Temple was considered to
be, unable to walk or bear fatigue, she never appeared to be
incommoded by the uproar in which she lived, and had even been seen
careering about the nursery, or running about the garden, in a way
that Grace and Rachel thought would tire a strong woman. As to a
tete-a-tete with her, it was never secured by anything short of
Rachel's strong will, for the children were always with her, and she
went to bed, or at any rate to her own room, when they did, and she
was so perfectly able to play and laugh with them that her cousins
scarcely thought her sufficiently depressed, and comparing her with
what their own mother had been after ten months' widowhood, agreed
that after all "she had been very young, and Sir Stephen very old,
and perhaps too much must not be expected of her."

"The grand passion of her life is yet to come," said Rachel.

"I hope not," said Grace.

"You may be certain of that," said Rachel. "Feminine women always
have it one time or other in their lives; only superior ones are
exempt. But I hope I may have influence enough to carry her past it,
and prevent her taking any step that might be injurious to the
children."




CHAPTER II



RACHEL'S DISCIPLINE



"Thought is free, as sages tells us--
Free to rove, and free to soar;
But affection lives in bondage,
That enthrals her more and more."
JEAN INGELOW.


An old friend lived in the neighbourhood who remembered Fanny's
father, and was very anxious to see her again, though not able to
leave the house. So the first day that it was fine enough for Mrs.
Curtis to venture out, she undertook to convey Fanny to call upon
her, and was off with a wonderfully moderate allowance of children,
only the two youngest boys outside with their maid. This drive
brought more to light about Fanny's past way of life and feelings
than had ever yet appeared. Rachel had never elicited nearly so much
as seemed to have come forth spontaneously to the aunt, who had never
in old times been Fanny's confidante.

Fanny's life had been almost a prolonged childhood. From the moment
of her marriage with the kind old General, he and her mother had
conspired to make much of her; all the more that she was almost
constantly disabled by her state of health, and was kept additionally
languid and helpless by the effects of climate. Her mother had
managed her household, and she had absolutely had no care, no duty at
all but to be affectionate and grateful, and to be pretty and
gracious at the dinner parties. Even in her mother's short and
sudden illness, the one thought of both the patient and the General
had been to spare Fanny, and she had been scarcely made aware of the
danger, and not allowed to witness the suffering. The chivalrous old
man who had taken on himself the charge of her, still regarded the
young mother of his children as almost as much of a baby herself, and
devoted himself all the more to sparing her trouble, and preventing
her from feeling more thrown upon her by her mother's death. The
notion of training her to act alone never even occurred to him, and
when he was thrown from his horse, and carried into a wayside-hut to
die, his first orders were that no hurried message might be sent to
her, lest she might be startled and injured by the attempt to come to
him. All he could do for her was to leave her in the charge of his
military secretary, who had long been as a son to him. Fanny told
her aunt with loving detail all that she had heard from Major Keith
of the brave old man's calm and resigned end--too full of trust even
to be distressed with alarms for the helpless young wife and
children, but committing them in full reliance to the care of their
Father in heaven, and to the present kindness of the friend who stood
by his pillow.

The will, which not only Rachel but her mother thought strangely
unguarded, had been drawn up in haste, because Sir Stephen's family
had outgrown the provisions of a former one, which had besides
designated her mother, and a friend since dead, as guardians. Haste,
and the conscious want of legal knowledge, had led to its being made
as simple as possible, and as it was, Sir Stephen had scarcely had
the power to sign it.

It was Major Keith who had borne the tidings to the poor little
widow, and had taken the sole care of the boys during the sad weeks
of care utter prostration and illness. Female friends were with her,
and tended her affectionately, but if exertion or thought were
required of her, the Major had to be called to her sofa to awaken her
faculties, and she always awoke to attend to his wishes, as though he
were the channel of her husband's. This state of things ended with
the birth of the little girl, the daughter that Sir Stephen had so
much wished for, coming too late to be welcomed by him, but awakening
her mother to tearful joy and renewed powers of life. The nine
months of little Stephana's life had been a tone of continual change
and variety, of new interests and occupations, and of the resumption
of a feeling of health which had scarcely been tasted since the first
plunge into warm climates. Perhaps it was unreasonable to expect to
find Fanny broken down; and she talked in her own simple way with
abundant overflowing affection of her husband; but even Mrs. Curtis
thought it was to her more like the loss of her own father than of
the father of her children; and though not in the least afraid of
anything unbecoming in her gentle, retiring Fanny, still felt that it
was more the charge of a girl than of a widow, dreaded the boys,
dreaded their fate, and dreaded the Major more.

During this drive, Grace and Rachel had the care of the elder boys,
whom Rachel thought safer in her keeping than in Coombe's. A walk
along the cliffs was one resource for their amusement, but it
resulted in Conrade's climbing into the most break-neck places, by
preference selecting those that Rachel called him out of, and as all
the others thought it necessary to go after him, the jeopardy of
Leoline and Hubert became greater than it was possible to permit; so
Grace took them by the hands, and lured them home with promises of an
introduction to certain white rabbits at the lodge. After their
departure, their brothers became infinitely more obstreperous.
Whether it were that Conrade had some slight amount of consideration
for the limbs of his lesser followers, or whether the fact were--what
Rachel did not remotely imagine--that he was less utterly
unmanageable with her sister than with herself, certain it is that
the brothers went into still more intolerable places, and treated
their guardian as ducklings treat an old hen. At last they quite
disappeared from the view round a projecting point of rock, and when
she turned it, she found a battle royal going on over an old lobster-
pot--Conrade hand to hand with a stout fisher-boy, and Francis and
sundry amphibious creatures of both sexes exchanging a hail of
stones, water-smoothed brick-bats, cockle-shells, fishes' backbones,
and other unsavoury missiles. Abstractedly, Rachel had her theory
that young gentlemen had better scramble their way among their poor
neighbours, and become used to all ranks; but when it came to
witnessing an actual skirmish when she was responsible for Fanny's
sons, it was needful to interfere, and in equal dismay and
indignation she came round the point. The light artillery fled at
her aspect, and she had to catch Francis's arm in the act of
discharging after them a cuttlefish's white spine, with a sharp "For
shame, they are running away! Conrade, Zack, have done!" Zack was
one of her own scholars, and held her in respect.

He desisted at once, and with a touch of his rough forelock, looked
sheepish, and said, "Please ma'am, he was meddling with our lobster-
pot."

"I wasn't doing any harm," said Conrade. "I was just looking in, and
they all came and shied stones at us."

"I don't care how the quarrel began," said Rachel. "You would not
have run into it if you had been behaving properly. Zack was quite
right to protect his father's property, but he might have been more
civil. Now shake hands, and have done with it."

"Not shake hands with a low boy," growled Francis. But happily
Conrade was of a freer spirit, and in spite of Rachel's interference,
had sense enough to know himself in the wrong. He held out his hand,
and when the ceremony had been gone through, put his hands in his
pockets, produced a shilling, and said, "There, that's in case I did
the thing any harm." Rachel would have preferred Zachary's being
above its acceptance, but he was not, and she was thankful that a
wood path offend itself, leading through the Homestead plantations
away from the temptations and perils of the shore.

That the two boys, instead of listening to her remonstrance, took to
punching and kicking one another, was a mitigated form of evil for
which she willingly compounded, having gone through so much useless
interference already, that she felt as if she had no spirit left to
keep the peace, and that they must settle their little affairs
between themselves. It was the most innocent diversion in which she
could hope to see them indulge. She only desired that it might last
them past a thrush's nest, in the hedge between the park and
plantation, a somewhat treasured discovery of Grace's. No such good
luck. Either the thrush's imprudence or Grace's visits had made the
nest dangerously visible, and it was proclaimed with a shout.
Rachel, in hot haste, warned them against taking birds'-nests in
general, and that in particular.

"Nests are made to be taken," said Francis.

"I've got an egg of all the Australian birds the Major could get me,"
said Conrade, "and I mean to have all the English ones."

"Oh, one egg; there's no harm in taking that; but this nest has young
birds."

The young birds must of course be seen, and Rachel stood by with
despairing frowns, commands, and assurances of their mother's
displeasure, while they peeped in, tantalized the gaping yellow
throats, by holding up their fingers, and laid hands on the side of
the nest, peeping at her with laughing, mischievous eyes, enjoying
her distress. She was glad at last to find them coming away without
the nest, and after crossing the park, arrived at the house, tired
out, but with two hours of the boys still on her hands. They,
however, were a little tired, too; and, further, Grace had hunted out
the old bowls, much to the delight of the younger ones. This sport
lasted a good while, but at last the sisters, who had relaxed their
attention a little, perceived that Conrade and Hubert were both
missing, and on Rachel's inquiry where they were, she received from
Francis that elegant stock answer, "in their skins." However, they
came to light in process of time, the two mothers returned home, and
Mrs. Curtis and Grace had the conversation almost in their own hands.
Rachel was too much tired to do anything but read the new number of
her favourite "Traveller's Magazine," listening to her mother with
one ear, and gathering additional impressions of Sir Stephen Temple's
imprudence, and the need of their own vigilance. To make Fanny feel
that she could lean upon some one besides the military secretary,
seemed to be the great object, and she was so confiding and
affectionate with her own kin, that there were great hopes. Those
boys were an infliction, no doubt, but, thought Rachel, "there is
always an ordeal at the beginning of one's mission. I am mastering
them by degrees, and should do so sooner if I had them in my own
hands, and no more worthy task can be done than training human beings
for their work in this world, so I must be willing to go through a
little while I bring them into order, and fit their mother for
managing them."

She spent the time before breakfast the next morning in a search
among the back numbers of the "Traveller's Magazine" for a paper upon
"Educational Laws," which she thought would be very good reading for
Fanny. Her search had been just completed when Grace returned home
from church, looking a good deal distressed. "My poor thrushes have
not escaped, Rachel," she said; "I came home that way to see how they
were going on, and the nest is torn out, one poor little fellow lying
dead below it."

"Well, that is much worse than I expected!" burst out Rachel. "I did
think that boy Conrade would at least keep his promises." And she
detailed the adventure of the previous day, whence the conclusion was
but too evident. Grace, however, said in her own sweet manner that
she believed boys could not resist a nest, and thought it mere
womanhood to intercede for such lawful game. She thought it would be
best to take no notice, it would only distress Fanny and make "the
mother" more afraid of the boys than she was already, and she doubted
the possibility of bringing it home to the puerile conscience.

"That is weak!" said Rachel. "I received the boy's word, and it is
my business to deal with the breach of promise."

So down went Rachel, and finding the boys rushing about the garden,
according to their practice, before her arrival, she summoned
Conrade, and addressed him with, "Well, Conrade, I knew that you
were violent and disobedient, but I never expected you to fail in
your honour as a gentleman."

"I'll thrash any one who says I have," hotly exclaimed Conrade.

"Then you must thrash me. You gave your word to me not to take your
Aunt Grace's thrush's nest."

"And I didn't," said Conrade, boldly.

But Rachel, used to flat denials at the village-school, was not to be
thus set aside. "I am shocked at you, Conrade," she said. "I know
your mamma will be exceedingly grieved. You must have fallen into
very sad ways to be able to utter such a bold untruth. You had
better confess at once, and then I shall have something to tell her
that will comfort he."

Conrade's dark face looked set as iron.

"Come; tell me you are sorry you took the nest, and have broken your
word, and told a falsehood."

Red colour flushed into the brown cheek, and the hands were clenched.

"There is not the smallest use in denying it. I know you took it
when you and Hubert went away together. Your Aunt Grace found it
gone this morning, and one of the poor little birds dead below.
What have you done with the others?"

Not a word.

"Then I grieve to say I must tell all to your mother."

There was a sort of smile of defiance, and he followed her. For a
moment she thought of preventing this, and preparing Fanny in
private, but recollecting that this would give him the opportunity
of preparing Hubert to support his falsehood, she let him enter with
her, and sought Lady Temple in the nursery.

"Dear Fanny, I am very sorry to bring you so much vexation. I am
afraid it will be a bitter grief to you, but it is only for Conrade's
own sake that I do it. It was a cruel thing to take a bird's-nest at
all, but worse when he knew that his Aunt Grace was particularly fond
of it; and, besides, he had promised not to touch it, and now,
saddest of all, he denies having done so."

"Oh, Conrade, Conrade!" cried Fanny, quite confounded, "You can't
have done like this!"

"So, I have not," said Conrade, coming up to her, as she held out her
hand, positively encouraging him, as Rachel thought, to persist in
the untruth.

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