A Fluttered Dovecote by George Manville Fenn
weapons. I didnot mind her beginning to say the verb _aimer_, because I always used toretaliate with something Italian, and she was beaten directly; for anyone with half an eye could see why she was so fond of that especialstudy.
How the monster with the short, crisp beard used to stare at me! Justas he did at the very first, when mamma was with me; and for a long timeI used to fancy that every teacher and pupil must see how his eyes weredirected at me, though I suppose really there was nothing for any one tosee. But, oh, what a battle I used to have when lessons were over, andI had settled down into a quiet, dreamy way. Then would come the faceof the Reverend Theodore Saint Purre, our curate in town, to look at mereproachfully, so sadly that I used to have many a good cry; and Ihardly knew how to bear it. And certainly before I left London, I usedto think a great deal of Mr Saint Purre; and I'm sure no young lady wasmore regular at church than I was. I was there every morning at eight,at the prayers, when really it was such a job in the cold weather to getup and be dressed--nicely dressed--in time. Then, I never missed oneWednesday or Friday, nor a saint's day; and as to Sundays, I went threetimes as a matter of course. Of course papa was, as you know, wickedenough to hint that so much going to church did not constitute truereligion, and he did not believe in it. Wasn't it shocking? I did askmyself once, though, whether I should have gone so often if there hadbeen a different curate.
I must own that I certainly did think a great deal of Theodore SaintPurre before I left London, as I said before; but then it was not mywish to leave--I was forced away, and I had not dreamed of the nobleexile then: the tender chords of sympathy for others' sorrows had notthen been touched. I had not learned to pity one who was driven by acruel tyrant from home and estate to gain his bread upon a cold shore byimparting the "_langue douce_" of his "_chere patrie_." I had not thenseen the stern but handsome refugee--so handsome as, after all, I amcompelled to think him; so interesting even in the little errors ofpronunciation of our tongue. I always thought French a great botheruntil I heard him speak it, and then I grew to quite idolise the bright,sparkling idioms. Shakespeare was, of course, soon banished to make wayfor Moliere; and then after reading to him, Monsieur Achille wouldperhaps say a few words of praise, every one of which would make my facetingle so that I felt red right up to the roots of my hair.
But the Cedars was, after all, a dreadfully tiresome place, and seemedmade up of aggravation. What was the use of having a lawn for tennis,with the nets all so ostentatiously displayed, as if the young ladiescould always enjoy a little recreation there, when, so sure as one had aracquet in hand and any one began to serve, squeak, screech, or croakcame the voice of Miss Furness, Miss Sloman, or the Fraulein, toannounce some new lesson, when, of course, we had to go in? I declareif I did not, over and over again, say that vulgar, wicked word that Ihad learned of papa, and tried so hard to break myself of, though itseemed of not the slightest use, and the more I tried the metre it wouldkeep forcing itself into my mind--I declare if I did not, over and overagain say "Jigger the lessons!"
What it meant, I never knew; and to be candid, I have always been afraidto ask for fear of its being unladylike and strange.
I used to get up every morning sighing and declaring that I would notstay, till I took hold of the books to prepare my French exercises, whensomehow I glided into a better frame of mind; for they seemed to cheerme up, and render the place a little less distasteful. I know very wellnow that my conduct afterwards was very sad, and that I can offer nodefence; but when there is any scandal, and things that were untrue havebeen said, of course I feel bound to speak up; and, whether out of placeor not, I mean to say here that, whether it was to tease me, or whethershe meant it, all that Clara hinted was untrue.
Why is it that girls delight so much in making the course of--I meanhave such a strong desire to hint, and laugh, and look as if saying, "Iknow."
I never once wrote Monsieur Achille's name upon my blotting-paper, for Iwould not have been guilty of such bold, outrageous conduct; but thetiresome creature would persist in saying that I did, and, as a matterof course, it was of no use to try and stop her. But I could not helpfeeling how shocking it was, and how wrong for Monsieur Achille to takeadvantage of his position as a teacher to behave as he did. He musthave been very badly taught himself; and yet it did seem so sweet whenone was banished in this way from home, joined to him, as it were, bythose before-mentioned chords of sympathy--to him, another exile fromhome; and it was such nonsense to say Mrs Blunt's establishmentembraced all the comforts of a home, when one never saw a singlecomfort: if it did, they must have been embraced so tightly that theywere all smothered--it seemed so sweet to have one to take an interestin every word and look, as Monsieur Achille soon showed that he did.And we had no pets--neither bird nor dog; and what could I do but set toloving something?
I may be wrong, but it seems to me only natural that we should havesomething on which to bestow our love; and if that is taken away uponwhich one wishes to bestow it, why it must gush over upon some otherobject. Of course, I loved Clara; but, then, she loved something else,and one did not get a fair exchange for one's affection; and I wanted agreat deal of devotion to comfort me then, and make up for what I wassuffering. So at last, giving way the least, little, tiniest morsel ata time, I began to feel that I should some day love Monsieur Achillevery passionately; and--oh, how wicked!--I was first quite sure of it atchurch one Sunday, when that dreadful curate was preaching at the oldvicar, and Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy were saying it over to themselveswith their eyes shut, and one's heart was out in the green fields andwoods and far away, and as wicked as a heart can be.
Oh, yes, wicked--wicked--wicked as could be--dreadfully wicked! But itwas all mamma's fault. I had many a good cry about it, but I could nothelp it all; and after walking two and two to church together, likelittle girls--it did seem such a relief to have some one in the buildingwho did not look upon one as a child. For there _he_ used to sit,Sunday after Sunday, behaving so hypocritically, for all the while hewas a Roman Catholic; only he came to church to please Mrs Blunt,though I sometimes fancy it was to please himself as well. But it wasupon this one Sunday that I seemed to notice it so particularly. Justfor want of something better to do, I suppose, I had been taking thegreatest of pains with myself; and I must have looked nice, or elseClara would not have stood and clapped her hands when I was ready. Thenwe went off, and no sooner were we well outside the great iron gatesthan there just before us we could see Monsieur Achille and the Signor,arm in arm, going towards the church, and having evidently just beforebeen taking a walk in the bright, free, green fields from which I wasprisoned. I saw them look very hard towards us when they turned round,and Clara whispered that she knew why they had come, and where they weregoing; for previous to this, I suppose, they had very seldom been in thechurch--at least, we had never hardly seen them.
But it was plain enough where they were going, for they went in justbefore us; and as they stood in the porch waiting for the pew-opener,the Signor commenced crossing himself just as if it were a regular RomanCatholic chapel, till I saw Monsieur Achille pinch his arm and whispersomething, so that he dropped his hand to his side and looked quitehorrified. Then I saw Monsieur Achille whisper to the pew-opener, andthey disappeared within the great swing, red-baize doors, and we wentupstairs to fill the long pews in the gallery.
It was only natural that we should look round the church after beingcomfortably seated, when there, in one of the sideway seats were the twomasters, casting an eye up towards us every now and then, and looking sohard that I felt quite ashamed, and was afraid it would be observed; butI soon remembered that our three Graces were sitting in the pew behind,and I knew they felt sure that the glances were directed at them. Poorthings! And then it was that I had that thought come into my head,forcing its way in as if to make its abode there, although I shut myeyes tightly, and determined not to think of anything of the kind.
People take opiates for pains bodily; but why, oh! why do not Savouryand
Moore, or Godfrey and Cooke, or somebody or another bring out anopiate for pains mental? What would I not have given that day to havelulled the excitement of my feelings, and to have attended quietly to myduties as I ought?
Tiresome, tiresome, tiresome!--oh, how tiresome it was, day after day,to go back to all the old school ways and habits--writing exercises,learning lessons, saying them, and being corrected and snubbed; heard toread, one's emphasis here, there, and everywhere found fault with, whenI'm sure I read far better than those who heard me. Then my writing wasnot in accordance with Mrs Blunt's ideas of penmanship.
There were no novels to read; no _Times_, with its mysteriousadvertisements, that seem to mean such a deal; no morning concerts, nowalks or rides--only exercise, two and two, as walking advertisements ofthe Cedars. I declare at last, in spite of the French lessons--orperhaps partly owing to the whirl within
How the monster with the short, crisp beard used to stare at me! Justas he did at the very first, when mamma was with me; and for a long timeI used to fancy that every teacher and pupil must see how his eyes weredirected at me, though I suppose really there was nothing for any one tosee. But, oh, what a battle I used to have when lessons were over, andI had settled down into a quiet, dreamy way. Then would come the faceof the Reverend Theodore Saint Purre, our curate in town, to look at mereproachfully, so sadly that I used to have many a good cry; and Ihardly knew how to bear it. And certainly before I left London, I usedto think a great deal of Mr Saint Purre; and I'm sure no young lady wasmore regular at church than I was. I was there every morning at eight,at the prayers, when really it was such a job in the cold weather to getup and be dressed--nicely dressed--in time. Then, I never missed oneWednesday or Friday, nor a saint's day; and as to Sundays, I went threetimes as a matter of course. Of course papa was, as you know, wickedenough to hint that so much going to church did not constitute truereligion, and he did not believe in it. Wasn't it shocking? I did askmyself once, though, whether I should have gone so often if there hadbeen a different curate.
I must own that I certainly did think a great deal of Theodore SaintPurre before I left London, as I said before; but then it was not mywish to leave--I was forced away, and I had not dreamed of the nobleexile then: the tender chords of sympathy for others' sorrows had notthen been touched. I had not learned to pity one who was driven by acruel tyrant from home and estate to gain his bread upon a cold shore byimparting the "_langue douce_" of his "_chere patrie_." I had not thenseen the stern but handsome refugee--so handsome as, after all, I amcompelled to think him; so interesting even in the little errors ofpronunciation of our tongue. I always thought French a great botheruntil I heard him speak it, and then I grew to quite idolise the bright,sparkling idioms. Shakespeare was, of course, soon banished to make wayfor Moliere; and then after reading to him, Monsieur Achille wouldperhaps say a few words of praise, every one of which would make my facetingle so that I felt red right up to the roots of my hair.
But the Cedars was, after all, a dreadfully tiresome place, and seemedmade up of aggravation. What was the use of having a lawn for tennis,with the nets all so ostentatiously displayed, as if the young ladiescould always enjoy a little recreation there, when, so sure as one had aracquet in hand and any one began to serve, squeak, screech, or croakcame the voice of Miss Furness, Miss Sloman, or the Fraulein, toannounce some new lesson, when, of course, we had to go in? I declareif I did not, over and over again, say that vulgar, wicked word that Ihad learned of papa, and tried so hard to break myself of, though itseemed of not the slightest use, and the more I tried the metre it wouldkeep forcing itself into my mind--I declare if I did not, over and overagain say "Jigger the lessons!"
What it meant, I never knew; and to be candid, I have always been afraidto ask for fear of its being unladylike and strange.
I used to get up every morning sighing and declaring that I would notstay, till I took hold of the books to prepare my French exercises, whensomehow I glided into a better frame of mind; for they seemed to cheerme up, and render the place a little less distasteful. I know very wellnow that my conduct afterwards was very sad, and that I can offer nodefence; but when there is any scandal, and things that were untrue havebeen said, of course I feel bound to speak up; and, whether out of placeor not, I mean to say here that, whether it was to tease me, or whethershe meant it, all that Clara hinted was untrue.
Why is it that girls delight so much in making the course of--I meanhave such a strong desire to hint, and laugh, and look as if saying, "Iknow."
I never once wrote Monsieur Achille's name upon my blotting-paper, for Iwould not have been guilty of such bold, outrageous conduct; but thetiresome creature would persist in saying that I did, and, as a matterof course, it was of no use to try and stop her. But I could not helpfeeling how shocking it was, and how wrong for Monsieur Achille to takeadvantage of his position as a teacher to behave as he did. He musthave been very badly taught himself; and yet it did seem so sweet whenone was banished in this way from home, joined to him, as it were, bythose before-mentioned chords of sympathy--to him, another exile fromhome; and it was such nonsense to say Mrs Blunt's establishmentembraced all the comforts of a home, when one never saw a singlecomfort: if it did, they must have been embraced so tightly that theywere all smothered--it seemed so sweet to have one to take an interestin every word and look, as Monsieur Achille soon showed that he did.And we had no pets--neither bird nor dog; and what could I do but set toloving something?
I may be wrong, but it seems to me only natural that we should havesomething on which to bestow our love; and if that is taken away uponwhich one wishes to bestow it, why it must gush over upon some otherobject. Of course, I loved Clara; but, then, she loved something else,and one did not get a fair exchange for one's affection; and I wanted agreat deal of devotion to comfort me then, and make up for what I wassuffering. So at last, giving way the least, little, tiniest morsel ata time, I began to feel that I should some day love Monsieur Achillevery passionately; and--oh, how wicked!--I was first quite sure of it atchurch one Sunday, when that dreadful curate was preaching at the oldvicar, and Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy were saying it over to themselveswith their eyes shut, and one's heart was out in the green fields andwoods and far away, and as wicked as a heart can be.
Oh, yes, wicked--wicked--wicked as could be--dreadfully wicked! But itwas all mamma's fault. I had many a good cry about it, but I could nothelp it all; and after walking two and two to church together, likelittle girls--it did seem such a relief to have some one in the buildingwho did not look upon one as a child. For there _he_ used to sit,Sunday after Sunday, behaving so hypocritically, for all the while hewas a Roman Catholic; only he came to church to please Mrs Blunt,though I sometimes fancy it was to please himself as well. But it wasupon this one Sunday that I seemed to notice it so particularly. Justfor want of something better to do, I suppose, I had been taking thegreatest of pains with myself; and I must have looked nice, or elseClara would not have stood and clapped her hands when I was ready. Thenwe went off, and no sooner were we well outside the great iron gatesthan there just before us we could see Monsieur Achille and the Signor,arm in arm, going towards the church, and having evidently just beforebeen taking a walk in the bright, free, green fields from which I wasprisoned. I saw them look very hard towards us when they turned round,and Clara whispered that she knew why they had come, and where they weregoing; for previous to this, I suppose, they had very seldom been in thechurch--at least, we had never hardly seen them.
But it was plain enough where they were going, for they went in justbefore us; and as they stood in the porch waiting for the pew-opener,the Signor commenced crossing himself just as if it were a regular RomanCatholic chapel, till I saw Monsieur Achille pinch his arm and whispersomething, so that he dropped his hand to his side and looked quitehorrified. Then I saw Monsieur Achille whisper to the pew-opener, andthey disappeared within the great swing, red-baize doors, and we wentupstairs to fill the long pews in the gallery.
It was only natural that we should look round the church after beingcomfortably seated, when there, in one of the sideway seats were the twomasters, casting an eye up towards us every now and then, and looking sohard that I felt quite ashamed, and was afraid it would be observed; butI soon remembered that our three Graces were sitting in the pew behind,and I knew they felt sure that the glances were directed at them. Poorthings! And then it was that I had that thought come into my head,forcing its way in as if to make its abode there, although I shut myeyes tightly, and determined not to think of anything of the kind.
People take opiates for pains bodily; but why, oh! why do not Savouryand
Tiresome, tiresome, tiresome!--oh, how tiresome it was, day after day,to go back to all the old school ways and habits--writing exercises,learning lessons, saying them, and being corrected and snubbed; heard toread, one's emphasis here, there, and everywhere found fault with, whenI'm sure I read far better than those who heard me. Then my writing wasnot in accordance with Mrs Blunt's ideas of penmanship.
There were no novels to read; no _Times_, with its mysteriousadvertisements, that seem to mean such a deal; no morning concerts, nowalks or rides--only exercise, two and two, as walking advertisements ofthe Cedars. I declare at last, in spite of the French lessons--orperhaps partly owing to the whirl within