A Woman's Burden: A Novel

"I'm his mother."

"So I believe. But you don't want me to pay you for that, I suppose? Well, here is my Gorgon."

Hilda remained to see the new governess. Like Mrs. Darrow, she was devoured by curiosity; centred on this occasion solely upon the new-comer's physical attractions – or lack of them. It was quite possible of course that this creature might be better looking than Mr. Barton's eyes could judge. With Mrs. Darrow she continually glanced towards the door, and Barton chuckled. As his chuckle was invariably a prelude to something disagreeable, even Mrs. Darrow felt uneasy at the sound.

Outside, in the narrow passage, could be heard voices, and the bumping of heavy luggage being got in. Then the door opened, and the little maid-servant announced, "Miss Crane." Immediately afterwards the new governess entered the room.

"Why, she's pretty!" cried Dicky in surprise.

Barton led Miriam to the throne whereon, bitterly disappointed, Mrs. Darrow sat in state.

"Julia, this is Miss Miriam Crane. Miss Crane, my niece, Mrs. Dacre Darrow."

The widow gave her hand and murmured some commonplace; but from that moment she hated Miriam with all the fervour her petty nature was capable of. Barton looked at the three women taking stock of each other, and chuckled again.

CHAPTER II.

A RED RAG TO A BULL

Miriam, having been thus formally introduced into the parish of Lesser Thorpe by no less a personage than the lord of the manor himself, speedily settled down to her official duties in Pine Cottage. The cottage was typical of its kind – a very fairy cottage, a jumble of angles and gables, casements and rusticity, with a thatched roof, and walls overgrown with roses. Now, in the month of June, the roses were in full bloom, and the place was brilliant with them. It lay a short distance off the village road, half clasped to the breast of the pine forest, whence it took its name. The little garden a-bloom in front was encircled by a white paling fence and a quickset hedge. At the back an orchard of apple and plum trees stretched until it seemed to lose itself in the woods beyond. A charming Arcadian place it was, for which, be it remembered, Mrs. Darrow paid no rent. Yet she continually grumbled at being compelled to live in it.

"I ought to be in my proper place at the Manor House," she confided to Miss Crane, "but Uncle Barton is so selfish; don't you think so?"

"Really," replied Miriam, knowing that all she said would be repeated by this she-Judas, "I don't know, my acquaintance with Mr. Barton is so slight."

"Where did you meet him?"

"In London, at a governess' institution at Kensington. He inquired for someone to teach your son, Mrs. Darrow, and as I seemed likely to suit him, he engaged me."

It will be noticed that Miriam suppressed Waterloo Bridge, the Pitt Hotel, and Mrs. Perks. This was by Barton's express desire, and indeed by her own; for she had no wish to reveal her past to Mrs. Darrow, who, as she had quickly perceived, bore her no love. Indeed, the widow was at no great pains to conceal her dislike for Miriam. She was horribly jealous of her, notwithstanding her expressed opinion that no woman with red hair could be considered even passable. She feared her, too, because she judged her to be a spy of Uncle Barton's; and, moreover, in her own mind she was distinctly conscious of an existent air of mystery about the governess which she was in no way able to explain. On her part, Miriam rarely referred to the past, in spite of Mrs. Darrow's hints in that direction, and her reticence in this respect only put that lady the more on the alert. She had already made up her mind that Miriam was an adventuress, and watched her, constantly hoping that in some way she would commit herself. But Miss Crane was too discreet for that. She paid strict attention to her duties, made herself in every way agreeable, and soon became popular in the parish. The discovery that she possessed a contralto voice of excellent quality, coupled with musical accomplishment far before that of anyone else in Lesser Thorpe, did nothing to lessen her popularity, whereat Mrs. Darrow of course hated her more than ever. In all the world there is nothing so consistently relentless as the hatred of a petty-minded vain woman. In her own estimation Mrs. Darrow was a truly noble creature, but then her introspection was notoriously short-sighted, and was invariably made through the medium of rose-coloured spectacles. She admitted to herself that she detested Miriam, and the stronger her detestation became, the more she smiled.

With Dicky, the new governess speedily made friends. He was an impressionable lad, and was at once attracted by her beauty and fascinated by the music of her voice. He became her slave, much to the disgust of his mother, who thought that no one should be loved or admired but herself. On all possible occasions she thwarted Miriam's wise regulations for the boy's comfort and health; but an appeal to Uncle Barton soon put this right. Mrs. Darrow was inclined to rebel, and but that her cynical relative held the purse, would most assuredly have done so. When Mr. Barton intimated that Miriam was to have full control of the boy, the widow grumbled and wept copiously. Such an opportunity for hysterical display was not likely to pass her. But eventually she gave in, and extorted from the old man a new dress in recompense for her submission. She promised not to interfere with Dicky's education, but entered a protest against Miss Crane's mode of action. In a word she was as spiteful as she dared be, but not knowing exactly on what footing Miriam stood with Barton, she judged it wiser to keep her venomous tongue within bounds.

"Of course Miss Crane is very clever, Uncle Barton, but – " she began tentatively.

"She ought to be clever," interrupted the old man. "I don't pay her a pound a week for nothing. Go on, Julia, but what – ?"

"She is too severe; she starves the child. The poor boy is allowed no tea, very little meat, and not even a biscuit between meals. She insists upon his taking cold baths, although he is far too delicate for them; and every day she nearly walks him off his feet. Then she won't teach him his lessons in the schoolroom, but is ridiculous enough to make him read to her in the garden."

"What a mistaken régime, Julia, yet under it Dicky is growing and improving every day. Any other complaints?"

"She doesn't make him study enough."

"Ah, she teaches him from the book of nature you see, and so relieves his congested brain – quite right. I don't believe in cramming a delicate lad like that. You let him read what he liked, Julia, and the poor little chap was positively getting literary indigestion."

"Well, at all events, I don't approve of Miss Crane."

"I never thought you would."

"She dresses ridiculously – quite above her station."

"Oh, but you see, she is a pretty woman, eh?"

Mrs. Darrow tossed her head disdainfully.

"Pretty, indeed! with that red hair and pasty complexion! It is extraordinary how you men like these unhealthy women." Then, after a pause, "But she doesn't like you!"

"H'm! who does?"

"I do" – this with a most fascinating smile. "I love you!"

"Ah!" Barton chuckled. "You are so tender-hearted. I tell you what, Julia, I am beginning to think I did very wrong to interfere with Dicky's education at all. As his mother you have more right to manage him than I. I've a good mind to send away Miss Crane, and you can engage a twenty-pound governess – to be paid out of your income."

"Oh no, don't send Miss Crane away. I really think, with a hint or two from me, she will do very well. But she is peculiar, to say the least of it. Tell me, uncle, who is Miss Crane?"

"She is Miss Crane, that is all I know."

"Has she a past?"

"Seeing that she is some twenty-five years of age, naturally."

"Yes, but – " Mrs. Darrow hesitated, not quite knowing how to put it. "Well, as you seem to think, she is not bad-looking, and there is John, you know, and Gerald."

"Well?"

"They may fall in love with her."

"What – both of them? At all events they have not seen her yet, so suppose we postpone discussion of that contingency?"

"Well!" Mrs. Darrow's expression and gestures spoke volumes, "I warn you; don't say I haven't warned you. Mark me, there is something queer about Miss Crane. I am not a suspicious woman, and I like to think well of everybody; but Miss Crane – well, you take my word for it, she'll astonish us all some day! Queer, yes, I should think she was queer!"

Barton shrugged his shoulders, and went off without making reply, and for the moment Mrs. Darrow was baffled. But she still continued to suspect Miriam – Heaven only knows of what – and to keep a close watch on her every action. It gave quite a new zest to her life, this new pursuit. And shortly all the parish, that is, the female portion of it, was in Mrs. Darrow's confidence; and Miriam was watched not alone by one, but by a hundred envious eyes, and debated about at a dozen tea-tables. But all this espionage resulted in nothing, and the suspect went serenely on her way, as did Una through the Forest of a Thousand Dangers. The toads spat venom, but the snakes could not bite.

"Dicky," said Miss Crane one warm and sunny morning, "I want you to put on your cap and take me up the village."

"No lessons this morning?" Dicky jumped up with joy, after the manner of boyhood.

"No lessons this morning," laughed Miriam, "some fresh air, dear, instead. I'm not going to have you grow up a pale-faced bookworm."

"I love my books," said Dicky, as they left the cottage, not without a disapproving word from Mrs. Darrow.

"I know you do, Dicky, almost too well. But you must get your health first, and then the rest can follow."

The boy understood. He was thoroughly in sympathy with Miriam. And without being aware of it, he was learning a great deal from her, apart altogether from his studies. She told him stories, interested him in the wonders of earth and sky – things which so frequently escape the careless – and taught him generally how to use his eyes. In the very hedges, Dicky found a new world of flower and berry, and tiny active insect life. She pointed out to him the fluttering dragon-flies, the beetle rolling his ball of mud; she revealed to him the miracle of a grain of wheat, showing him how it bears upon it the image of a man with folded arms. The boy had imagination, and did not need to be told twice. Suggestion was everything to him. He was a dreamer – a poet in embryo. Indeed, Miriam soon found that he had far too vivid an imagination, so much so that she felt obliged to discourage any extreme stimulation of it.

"Observe more, and think less, Dicky," she said. "I want you to notice lots of things that you see every day and don't notice now, perhaps because you do see them every day; there are lots of interesting things you know in the fields and the hedges – lots of little worlds and their inhabitants, all as busy as can be, and to be seen if we only look for them."

"I believe you lived in the country," said Dicky admiringly, "you know such a lot of jolly things, Miss Crane."