Hopes and Fears or, scenes from the life of a spinster

‘I am sure—there, mamma, I beg your pardon—I am sure I did not mean to complain.’

‘Only, Sarah, neither your voice has such a ring, nor are you so sure, when nothing has gone wrong.  What was it?’

‘It is that photography, mamma.  Miss Sandbrook is so busy with it!  I could not copy in my translation that I did yesterday, because she had not looked over it, and when she said she was coming presently, I am afraid I said it was always presently and never present.  I believe I did say it crossly, and I am sorry I denied it,’ and poor Sarah’s voice was low and meek enough.

‘Coming?  Where is she?’

‘In the dark chamber, doing a positive of the Cathedral.’

Mrs. Prendergast entered the schoolroom, outside which she had been holding this colloquy.  The powerful sun of high summer was filling the room with barred light through the Venetian blinds, and revealing a rather confused mass of the appliances of study, interspersed with saucers of water in which were bathing paper photographs, and every shelf of books had a fringe of others on glass set up to dry.  On the table lay a paper of hooks, a three-tailed artificial minnow, and another partly clothed with silver twist, a fly-book, and a quantity of feathers and silks.

‘I must tell Francis that the schoolroom is no place for his fishing-tackle!’ exclaimed Mrs. Prendergast.

‘O, mamma, it is Miss Sandbrook’s.  She is teaching him to dress flies, because she says he can’t be a real fisherman without, and the trout always rise at hers.  It is quite beautiful to see her throw.  That delicate little hand is so strong and ready.’

A door was opened, and out of the housemaid’s closet, defended from light by a yellow blind at every crevice, came eager exclamations of ‘Famous,’ ‘Capital,’ ‘The tower comes out to perfection;’ and in another moment Lucilla Sandbrook, in all her bloom and animation, was in the room, followed by a youth of some eighteen years, Francis Beaumont, an Indian nephew of Mrs. Prendergast.

‘Hit off at last, isn’t it, aunt?  Those dog-tooth mouldings will satisfy even the uncle.’

‘Really it is very good,’ said Mrs. Prendergast, as it was held up to the light for her inspection.

‘Miss Sandbrook has bewitched the camera,’ continued he.  ‘Do you remember the hideous muddles of last summer?  But, oh! Miss Sandbrook, we must have one more; the sun will be off by and by.’

‘Only ten minutes,’ said Lucilla, in a deprecating tone.  ‘You must not keep me a second more, let the sun be in ever such good humour.  Come, Sarah, come and show us the place you said would be so good.’

‘It is too hot,’ said Sarah, bluntly, ‘and I can’t waste the morning.’

‘Well, you pattern-pupil, I’ll come presently.  Indeed I will, Mrs. Prendergast.’

‘Let me see this translation, Sarah,’ said Mrs. Prendergast, as the photographers ran down-stairs.

She looked over it carefully, and as the ten minutes had passed without sign of the governess’s return, asked what naturally followed in the morning’s employment.

‘Italian reading, mamma; but never mind.’

‘Find the place, my dear.’

‘It is only while Francis is at home.  Oh, I wish I had not been cross.’  And though Sarah usually loved to read to her mother, she was uneasy all the time, watching the door, and pausing to listen at the most moving passages.  It was full half an hour before the voices were heard returning, and then there was a call, ‘Directly, Sarah!’ the dark chamber was shut up, and all subsided.

Mrs. Prendergast stayed on, in spite of an imploring glance from her daughter, and after an interval of the mysterious manipulations in the closet, the photograph was borne forth in triumph.

Lucilla looked a little abashed at finding Mrs. Prendergast in presence, and began immediately, ‘There, Mr. Beaumont, you see!  I hope Mrs. Prendergast is going to banish you forthwith; you make us shamefully idle.’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Prendergast, gravely, ‘I am going to carry him off at once, and make a law against future invasions.’

Francis attempted loud appeals, but his aunt quashed them with demeanour that showed that she was in earnest, and drove him away before her.

‘Indeed, Miss Sandbrook,’ said Sarah, with affectionate compunction, ‘I did not mean to speak so loud and so crossly.’

‘My dear,’ said Lucilla, leaning back and fanning herself with her hat, ‘we all know that we reverse the laws of teacher and pupil!  Small blame to you if you were put out, and now I hope your mamma will keep him to herself, and that I shall have time to get cool.  There! read me some French, it is a refreshing process—or practise a little.  I declare that boy has dragged me in and out so often, that I haven’t energy to tell a noun from a verb.’

Mrs. Prendergast had hardly descended to the drawing-room before her husband’s voice called her to the study, where he stood, his broad mouth distended by a broader smile, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

‘Old woman’ (his favourite name for her), ‘do you know what a spectacle I have been witnessing?’ and as she signed inquiry, ‘Mrs. Sprydone, with numerous waggings of the head, and winkings of the eyes, inveigled me into her den, to see—guess.’

‘Francis and Miss Sandbrook in the cloister photographing.’

‘Old woman, you are a witch.’

‘I knew what they were about, as well as Mrs. Sprydone’s agony to open my eyes.’

‘So your obstinate blindness drove her to me!  She thought it right that I should be aware The Close, it seems, is in a fever about that poor girl.  What do you know?  Is it all gossip?’

‘I know there is gossip, as a law of nature, but I have not chosen to hear it.’

‘Then you think it all nonsense?’

‘Not all.’

‘Well, what then?  The good ladies seem terribly scandalized by her dress.  Is there any harm in that?  I always thought it very becoming.’

‘Exactly so,’ said his wife, smiling.

‘If it is too smart, can’t you give her a hint?’

‘When she left off her mourning, she spoke to me, saying that she could not afford not to wear out what she already had.  I quite agreed; and though I could wish there were less stylishness about her, it is pleasant to one’s own eye, and I see nothing to object to.’

‘I’m sure it is no concern of the ladies, then!  And how about this lad?  One of their wild notions, is not it?  I have heard her tell him half-a-dozen times that she was six years his elder.’

‘Four-and-twenty is just the age that young-looking girls like to boast of.  I am not afraid on her account; she has plenty of sense and principle, and I believe, too, there is a very sore spot in her heart, poor girl.  She plays with him as a mere boy; but he is just at the time of life for a passion for a woman older than himself, and his devotion certainly excites her more than I could wish.’

‘I’ll tell you what, Peter didn’t like it at all.’

‘Peter was certainly not in a gracious mood when he was here last week.  I could not make out whether seeing her a governess were too much for him, or whether he suspected me of ill-using her.’

‘No, no; it was rivalry between him and Master Francis!’ said the Doctor, laughing.  ‘How he launched out against young men’s conceit when Francis was singing with her.  Sheer jealousy!  He could see nothing but dilapidation, dissent, and dirt at Laneham, and now has gone and refused it.’

‘Refused Laneham!—that capital college living!—with no better dependence than his fellowship, and such a curacy as Wrapworth?’

‘Indeed he has.  Here’s his letter.  You may read it and give it to Miss Sandbrook if you like—he seems quite dispirited.’

‘“Too old to enter on a new field of duties,”’ read Mrs. Prendergast, indignantly.  ‘Why, he is but forty-four!  What did he think of us for coming here?’

‘Despised me for it,’ said the Doctor, smiling.  ‘Never mind; he will think himself younger as he grows older—and one can’t blame him for keeping to Wrapworth as long as the old Dean of – lives, especially as those absentee Charterises do so much harm.’

‘He does not expect them to give him the living?  They ought, I am sure, after his twenty years’ labour there already.’

‘Not they!  Mr. Charteris gratuitously wrote to tell him that, on hearing of his burying that poor young Mrs. Sandbrook there, all scruples had been removed, and the next presentation was offered for sale.  You need not tell Miss Sandbrook so.’