A Fluttered Dovecote by George Manville Fenn
about Monsieur de Tiraille orTheodore Saint Purre, I really don't think that I could have told them.
Time slipped on--I can hardly tell you how, but it really did pass. Ihad been home for the Christmas vacation, and tried hard to keep fromgoing back to the Cedars, but in vain. Mamma declared that it was allfor my good, and was what she called inflexible. So, after a regularround of gaiety, I was back at the hateful place once more, with the oldroutine wheel going round, and round, and round, and seeming to grindall the skin off my temper, so that I grew cross, and fretful, andpeevish. Forming our minds, indeed! They did form our minds there, anda very bad shape they made them into. I know I was one of the mostamiable of girls when I went down there; while at home now I ammelancholy, and irritable, and--and--well, I don't know what.
Time went on--cold winterly days, when we could hardly smell the fire;and as to warming ourselves, we had better have been guilty of hightreason. Mrs Blunt was better, and loved a good fire, getting quiteclose to it; but Miss Furness had a theory that too much warmth wasunwholesome, and that after coals had been put on, a fire ought never tobe poked; and I declare if that tiresome old thing used not to lock upthe fire-irons in the book cupboard when she left the room, so that weshould not touch the grate; and there we used to be, poking it withpieces of slate pencil till they broke, or burning the end of the bigruler by hammering the burning coals with that.
Wet days, when there was no walking. Northeasterly windy days, whenMiss Furness's nose turned more red than ever, and her eyes watered withthe bleak breezes that she would face. Health was everything, she usedto say, and perhaps she was right; but I know I would rather be poorlyand comfortable than healthy and always in misery and pain.
Dull, dreary days, with lessons from this one and lessons from that one.Italian I made some progress with, and music I always did love; but asfor French, of late that had been sadly neglected. I really blushed attimes to take up my exercises to Monsieur de Tiraille; but he neveruttered a word of praise or blame, but always sighed softly as he lookedover them, while I was stern and obdurate as fate itself. No, I couldnot forgive him; and note after note that he would have had me take Ipretended not to see, while as to those which he sent by Clara, Ireturned them unopened. I repeat I could not forgive; for he hadwounded me deeply, and in my tenderest sensibilities, and I showed himalways that I was entirely changed. I was sorry for him, for he lookedvery unhappy. Yes, I pitied him, and pitied his weakness that hadtempted him to forsake me for Miss Furness. I could have sufferedanything else at his hands--neglect, scorn, contempt; but to forsake mefor her--oh, it was too bad! But I was resigned: might they be happy!
Yes, I said so; and then I smiled in bitter mockery, as I looked uponMiss Furness's vinegary aspect, thought of her early morning walks, andcold, uncomfortable ways, and asked myself what there was in her to makea man happy, when, like a flash, the answer came--_money_! For Irecollected the hints I had heard dropped of Mrs Blunt being sometimesin pecuniary difficulties, and borrowing of Miss Furness, who had beenvery saving, and had had one or two legacies left her; so that really,and truly, the establishment was more hers than Mrs Blunt's; and if shehad liked she could have laid claim to the concern, but perhaps waswaiting her time. Yes, that must be the secret; and Achille must knowit. Why, of course she had told him, and they had made their planstogether. I had quite given him up; but somehow the idea of those twoscheming and plotting for their future angered me terribly, and wheneverI had such thoughts I used to be obliged to shed a few bitter tears; sothat I grew quite to sympathise with Mrs Blunt, and could see plainlyenough now why Miss Furness was allowed to assume so much, and to sleepon the first floor, besides being taken into consultation upon everyimportant occasion, when the other teachers were nowhere, or onlyadmitted upon sufferance.
How the romance of one's life seemed to have passed away, while one wasreally living under a cloud!--and I knew now the meaning of theexpression. And yet there was something resigned in my feelings, and Idid not mind it so very much; for I was waiting for the end of mysojourn here. I had learned the truth of there being something pleasantin melancholy, and I was always repeating the words of the old song--
"Go! You may call it madness, folly, You shall not chase my grief away; There's such a charm in Melancholy, I would not, if I could, be gay."
I'm not sure whether that is quite right, but it is as I recollect fromvery, very long--ages ago; and it was about this time that I began tofeel--oh, so old, and worn, and weary.
Yes, Achille tried hard to obtain my forgiveness; but I would notnotice. He whispered to me more than once, over the lessons, that itwas from motives of policy that he had so acted; but I would not hearhim. And it was about this time that mamma began to send me word of howfrequently Theodore Saint Purre used to call at Chester Square, and howkindly he always inquired after me; and it really was very kind of him,and almost looked as if he took an interest in me. But then, whatinterest could he feel in the poor, weak school-girl that I was? So Ionly sighed when mamma wrote, and tried, by being good friends with thenew pupil, Euphemia Campanelle Brassey, to keep from being miserableabout Monsieur de Tiraille--for I made a vow never to call him Achilleany more. Then he must try to pique me by taking more notice of Claraand Euphemia; but he gained nothing by that movement, for I saw MissFurness look crochet needles at him--which, I mean to say, is a farbetter simile than daggers, for they are old, exploded things that havegone off without noise; while crochet needles are things of the present,equally sharp, and more vicious, from being barbed. And then, too, Itold Euphemia all about his treatment of me, while Clara already knewit, and laughed in his face, making him look so ashamed, when he hadbeen trying to be so--so--so--well, what's that word?--empresse; whilstthe next time he came, Euphemia, who had felt a little flattered,regularly turned up her nose at him. Of course, I am speakingmetaphorically, for Patty Smith was the only big girl who really coulddo that literally, but then it came natural to her. And it was such agood thing that we had got rid of Patty; for, as I have said before, Ithink, I never could look upon her, big as she was, as anything but achild; while she acted as a regular check upon all our little chats.
No, Monsieur de Tiraille gained nothing by that movement, only theholding of himself up to the scorn of the three eldest girls in theestablishment; and after that it was that he took to sighing softly, andassuming the martyr, for he attacked the citadel of my poor heart inevery conceivable way. But I fortified it with thoughts of the past,and regularly set him at defiance, my only regret--I think, I will notbe sure upon that point--my only regret being that the poor exiles ofwhom he had written to me would suffer from this estrangement, for Iknew that he could not do a great deal for them. And when I wonderedwhether Miss Furness would be generous, and help them out of her store,my heart whispered No, and I felt so pained and sorry, that I enclosedtwo sovereigns, all I had saved up, in a piece of paper, with thewords--"For the poor exiles," written inside, and gave it to him in thatdear old, dog's-eared, thumbed Nugent--dear to me from a thousandrecollections!
The next time he came he was radiant with hope, but the arrows of hisdark eyes glanced from the cold mail of pride with which I was armednow. I was as iron itself, while he seemed perfectly astounded. But hewas mistaken: for the money sent was not in token of reconciliation, butso that others who were deserving should not suffer from ourestrangement; and I can assure you that I felt very proud of my abilityto crush down the love that, I am afraid, still burned in my breast.
In other respects matters went on very quietly at the Cedars; from beingso fierce and snappish, Miss Furness was now quiet, and amiable, andsmiling; and though I hated her most horribly, I tried to crush all mydislike down, and make the best of things. I found, too, now, that Iwas invited occasionally to take tea in the drawing-room, when MrsBlunt had a few particular friends; and, altogether, they seemed totreat me differently to the way from which I suffered when I first came.
Then, too, Euphemia Campanelle Brassey be
ing in our room made it alittle better; but, for all that, I was dull, and wretched, andmiserable. You know, it was so tiresome in the old days with Patty; wedid not want to be always drinking Spanish liquorice water, and eatingsour apples, and cakes, and gooseberries in bed--it was so childish. Itwas all very well sometimes; but then Patty was so ravenous, thinking ofnothing else but eating, and always wanting to have what she called afeast, and making the room smell horribly of peppermint--which, in itsway, is really as bad as onions. But Effie Campanelle Brassey reallywas a nice girl, and sensible; and, of course, as we were allowed nosuppers, it was nice to have a little in our bedrooms; so we had one boxthat we used to call the larder, and took it in turns to keep itreplenished. Sometimes we used to have sausage rolls, sometimes porkpies, and little tartlets that there was an old woman in the town usedto make so nicely. But our greatest difficulty used to be aboutsomething to drink;
Time slipped on--I can hardly tell you how, but it really did pass. Ihad been home for the Christmas vacation, and tried hard to keep fromgoing back to the Cedars, but in vain. Mamma declared that it was allfor my good, and was what she called inflexible. So, after a regularround of gaiety, I was back at the hateful place once more, with the oldroutine wheel going round, and round, and round, and seeming to grindall the skin off my temper, so that I grew cross, and fretful, andpeevish. Forming our minds, indeed! They did form our minds there, anda very bad shape they made them into. I know I was one of the mostamiable of girls when I went down there; while at home now I ammelancholy, and irritable, and--and--well, I don't know what.
Time went on--cold winterly days, when we could hardly smell the fire;and as to warming ourselves, we had better have been guilty of hightreason. Mrs Blunt was better, and loved a good fire, getting quiteclose to it; but Miss Furness had a theory that too much warmth wasunwholesome, and that after coals had been put on, a fire ought never tobe poked; and I declare if that tiresome old thing used not to lock upthe fire-irons in the book cupboard when she left the room, so that weshould not touch the grate; and there we used to be, poking it withpieces of slate pencil till they broke, or burning the end of the bigruler by hammering the burning coals with that.
Wet days, when there was no walking. Northeasterly windy days, whenMiss Furness's nose turned more red than ever, and her eyes watered withthe bleak breezes that she would face. Health was everything, she usedto say, and perhaps she was right; but I know I would rather be poorlyand comfortable than healthy and always in misery and pain.
Dull, dreary days, with lessons from this one and lessons from that one.Italian I made some progress with, and music I always did love; but asfor French, of late that had been sadly neglected. I really blushed attimes to take up my exercises to Monsieur de Tiraille; but he neveruttered a word of praise or blame, but always sighed softly as he lookedover them, while I was stern and obdurate as fate itself. No, I couldnot forgive him; and note after note that he would have had me take Ipretended not to see, while as to those which he sent by Clara, Ireturned them unopened. I repeat I could not forgive; for he hadwounded me deeply, and in my tenderest sensibilities, and I showed himalways that I was entirely changed. I was sorry for him, for he lookedvery unhappy. Yes, I pitied him, and pitied his weakness that hadtempted him to forsake me for Miss Furness. I could have sufferedanything else at his hands--neglect, scorn, contempt; but to forsake mefor her--oh, it was too bad! But I was resigned: might they be happy!
Yes, I said so; and then I smiled in bitter mockery, as I looked uponMiss Furness's vinegary aspect, thought of her early morning walks, andcold, uncomfortable ways, and asked myself what there was in her to makea man happy, when, like a flash, the answer came--_money_! For Irecollected the hints I had heard dropped of Mrs Blunt being sometimesin pecuniary difficulties, and borrowing of Miss Furness, who had beenvery saving, and had had one or two legacies left her; so that really,and truly, the establishment was more hers than Mrs Blunt's; and if shehad liked she could have laid claim to the concern, but perhaps waswaiting her time. Yes, that must be the secret; and Achille must knowit. Why, of course she had told him, and they had made their planstogether. I had quite given him up; but somehow the idea of those twoscheming and plotting for their future angered me terribly, and wheneverI had such thoughts I used to be obliged to shed a few bitter tears; sothat I grew quite to sympathise with Mrs Blunt, and could see plainlyenough now why Miss Furness was allowed to assume so much, and to sleepon the first floor, besides being taken into consultation upon everyimportant occasion, when the other teachers were nowhere, or onlyadmitted upon sufferance.
How the romance of one's life seemed to have passed away, while one wasreally living under a cloud!--and I knew now the meaning of theexpression. And yet there was something resigned in my feelings, and Idid not mind it so very much; for I was waiting for the end of mysojourn here. I had learned the truth of there being something pleasantin melancholy, and I was always repeating the words of the old song--
"Go! You may call it madness, folly, You shall not chase my grief away; There's such a charm in Melancholy, I would not, if I could, be gay."
I'm not sure whether that is quite right, but it is as I recollect fromvery, very long--ages ago; and it was about this time that I began tofeel--oh, so old, and worn, and weary.
Yes, Achille tried hard to obtain my forgiveness; but I would notnotice. He whispered to me more than once, over the lessons, that itwas from motives of policy that he had so acted; but I would not hearhim. And it was about this time that mamma began to send me word of howfrequently Theodore Saint Purre used to call at Chester Square, and howkindly he always inquired after me; and it really was very kind of him,and almost looked as if he took an interest in me. But then, whatinterest could he feel in the poor, weak school-girl that I was? So Ionly sighed when mamma wrote, and tried, by being good friends with thenew pupil, Euphemia Campanelle Brassey, to keep from being miserableabout Monsieur de Tiraille--for I made a vow never to call him Achilleany more. Then he must try to pique me by taking more notice of Claraand Euphemia; but he gained nothing by that movement, for I saw MissFurness look crochet needles at him--which, I mean to say, is a farbetter simile than daggers, for they are old, exploded things that havegone off without noise; while crochet needles are things of the present,equally sharp, and more vicious, from being barbed. And then, too, Itold Euphemia all about his treatment of me, while Clara already knewit, and laughed in his face, making him look so ashamed, when he hadbeen trying to be so--so--so--well, what's that word?--empresse; whilstthe next time he came, Euphemia, who had felt a little flattered,regularly turned up her nose at him. Of course, I am speakingmetaphorically, for Patty Smith was the only big girl who really coulddo that literally, but then it came natural to her. And it was such agood thing that we had got rid of Patty; for, as I have said before, Ithink, I never could look upon her, big as she was, as anything but achild; while she acted as a regular check upon all our little chats.
No, Monsieur de Tiraille gained nothing by that movement, only theholding of himself up to the scorn of the three eldest girls in theestablishment; and after that it was that he took to sighing softly, andassuming the martyr, for he attacked the citadel of my poor heart inevery conceivable way. But I fortified it with thoughts of the past,and regularly set him at defiance, my only regret--I think, I will notbe sure upon that point--my only regret being that the poor exiles ofwhom he had written to me would suffer from this estrangement, for Iknew that he could not do a great deal for them. And when I wonderedwhether Miss Furness would be generous, and help them out of her store,my heart whispered No, and I felt so pained and sorry, that I enclosedtwo sovereigns, all I had saved up, in a piece of paper, with thewords--"For the poor exiles," written inside, and gave it to him in thatdear old, dog's-eared, thumbed Nugent--dear to me from a thousandrecollections!
The next time he came he was radiant with hope, but the arrows of hisdark eyes glanced from the cold mail of pride with which I was armednow. I was as iron itself, while he seemed perfectly astounded. But hewas mistaken: for the money sent was not in token of reconciliation, butso that others who were deserving should not suffer from ourestrangement; and I can assure you that I felt very proud of my abilityto crush down the love that, I am afraid, still burned in my breast.
In other respects matters went on very quietly at the Cedars; from beingso fierce and snappish, Miss Furness was now quiet, and amiable, andsmiling; and though I hated her most horribly, I tried to crush all mydislike down, and make the best of things. I found, too, now, that Iwas invited occasionally to take tea in the drawing-room, when MrsBlunt had a few particular friends; and, altogether, they seemed totreat me differently to the way from which I suffered when I first came.
Then, too, Euphemia Campanelle Brassey be