Mary Elwood. A novel

Chapter I

My project may deceive me, But my intents are fixed and will not leave me. Mary appeared downstairs as usual in the morning, and went round and kissed her sisters and step-mother in an absent sort of way, with out an attempt at a smile. "Where were you last night, Mary ?— Couldn't you find shelter? — Why were you so late ? " came in a chorus. " I was on the hills, and was caught in the storm." " What a goose you were. You might have seen that it was coming," said Effie. " You VOL. II. B missed Lady Stephens, too. She called just after you went out." " I was sorry that you were not at home," chimed in Mrs. Elwood. "Lady Stephens asked especially after you." " Really ! " said Mary ; but she showed so little interest that the subject was dropped. She moved about as if in a dream, hardly speaking, and sat through Gertie's French reading like a lay-figure, only rousing herself occasionally to say languidly, " Faites la liai- > i son.

" Am I reading very badly?" asked Gertie at last. " You look as if you were being martyred." " No, you're doing very well." " I believe you are ill." " No, I am all right. Go on." Gertie said no more, but continued her reading, and Mary forced herself to show more interest, but stopped the lesson promptly as soon as the hour was over, and went to look for her step-mother. She found Mrs. Elwood alone. " Are you at liberty, mamma ? Can I speak to you for a minute ? " " Yes, what is it ?" returned Mrs. Elwood, looking at her anxiously, for Mary's pale face and strange, abstracted manner had been puzzling her all the morning. " I want to be a governess, mamma. I hope you won't object." " What do you mean ? Have you lost your senses ? " exclaimed Mrs. Elwood. " Certainly not. I have thought over it calmly, and weighed the advantages and the disadvantages, and I am quite sure that I shall be happier, and that it will be better for me.

I know I am not twenty-one, and that you can force me to stay at home, but I hope you won't do it." " I don't think you know what you are talking about, child. If you can't be satisfied at home, you may be sure that you will not find more kindness and consideration else where." " I shall not expect it." " But I should not hear of your being SO' foolish, so say no more about it. And such a home as you have got ! I am sure it is your own fault if you are not happy." " I must go," persisted Mary, in a low tone, her voice beginning to tremble with suppressed excitement. Mrs. Elwood looked at her. She was always a little afraid of the girl, and doubtful whether she could coerce her, so she resorted to parleying. " What is your reason? ' " I can't give it. But listen to me this once. Don't put any hindrance in my way.

I shall do nothing to disgrace you, and it will be happier for everybody. Please promise not to say anything to the others about it until it is decided. I will ask you about it again to morrow." i' Glad to gain time for thought, Mrs. Elwood agreed. Mary put in an appearance at meals, but disappeared immediately after, locking herself up in her bedroom. Her step-mother was at her wit's end, and could not think what had happened to put the idea into the girl's head. She had no par ticular objection to governess life for Mary ; indeed, she thought the discipline of such a position might be useful to her. But what would people say ? And it would certainly be looked upon as a mad freak, and might ruin her prospects. But, on the other hand, Mary was getting beyond her control, and if she were opposed in this matter she might adopt some course which would be worse ; so when she presented herself again and asked — " What have you decided, mamma?

Will you stand by me ? " Mrs. Elwood, instead of answering in the negative, began to argue the point, painting the disagreeables of a dependent position in forcible colours, and urging as an objection the opinion that would be passed upon such a proceeding in Brentham. " I don't care what people say. It is no business of theirs, and I am going to do what I believe will be for the best." " Well, I don't know but that it would be a good thing for you to try. You might learn to value your home." " Then you won't oppose me ? " " You must take your own way, and the responsibility. I wash my hands of you." " Grant me one more thing. Please tell the others next week, and ask them not to speak to me about it. I shall be so grateful." Mrs. Elwood did as she was requested. Effie and Gertie obeyed orders, and con tented themselves with staring at Mary as if she were a stray specimen from a mena gerie, but Tom bluntly replied, " I shall speak about it," and took the very first opportunity of doing so.

He had been grumbling at Mary and her unsociable temper during the last week, and had once suggested to her that if she meant to go on in that style she had better apply for a separate maintenance, to which Mary had replied, " I may take your advice ; " but he had no idea that she was really going to act upon it, and could not bring himself to believe, in spite of Mrs. Elwood's assevera tions, that she was in earnest. " What is all this nonsense I hear about you ? " he asked her, curtly. " I am sure I cannot tell, Tom," replied Mary, coolly, looking him full in the face. Her coolness exasperated Tom. " What did you expect to get by talking to the mater in that style?" " Perhaps you have forgotten the advice you gave me a little while ago." Tom waved his hand angrily. The two appeared to have changed characters.

Tom was heated and out of temper ; Mary was perfectly composed. " You will please remember there are others to be consulted before you make a fool of yourself and disgrace the family." " Is that your idea of disgrace ? It isn't mine." " I don't care what your ideas are ; but you may give up this ridiculous scheme." " Go I shall, Tom. And if you exercise your authority, which I don't own, to prevent my leaving home in a quiet and ordinary way, I shall go in a way that you will like still less." "It certainly is not for my pleasure that I wish to keep you at home," he sneered. Mary's eyes flashed, but she answered with perfect self-control — " I am sufficiently determined to go with out your adding any persuasion." " Go, then ! " said Tom, savagely. " But before you publish to the world that you are such a vixen — " Mary's tiger rose.

She drew herself up, and her eyes flashed dangerously. Their lightning seemed to strike Tom dumb, for he stared at her an instant and then turned away without finishing his sentence. After a few moments' silence, Mary asked, as if nothing had happened — " Is it pleasant out ?" " It's not amiss. There will be rain," returned Tom, in the same way. " Then I had better go out before it comes," she said, and left the room. Tom did not again allude directly to the subject. He was moody and taciturn, seldom spoke to her, but occasionally spoke at her, inquiring whether Polly had " found a place," or "got suited," and suggesting that she might write to Uncle Horace to recommend her. " Uncle Horace," their mother's brother, was a retired Colonel. He belonged to an old Hampshire family, and was a proud, hot tempered man, with a peremptory manner ac quired in his regiment.

Many years ago he had paid a visit to his brother-in-law in the North, and one or two sarcastic remarks still lived in the memory of the Elwoods, for children, when they under stand satire, are slow to forgive it. Mary had been very careful that no news of her intentions should reach her uncle, and there was not much likelihood of its getting round to him, for he had not been smitten with his sister's successor, and had heard little, and seen nothing, of his nephews and nieces since their father's death. Tom's disagreeableness and the constraint and distance between herself and her sisters, the natural result of their being forbidden to speak upon the subject uppermost in their thoughts, made Mary the more anxious to find a situation as soon as possible. She was obliged to wait for some time, as Mrs. Elwood insisted that she should give herself a month to think over it before taking any steps.

Then came troublesome negotiations in answer to her advertisement. One lady, to whom she would have liked to go, thought her too young and inexperienced ; another found her too handsome ; a third she did not like. All this time she was making diligent preparation, working hard at arithmetic and algebra, rubbing up the weak points in her German and Latin grammar, and practising two hours daily. Mary had too much sense to imagine that anybody could teach, or even that a clever person must necessarily be a good teacher ; but she had a firm belief in the existence of a large reserve of latent force in human nature. This persuasion it was that led her to try her strength with Tom at tennis, and to enter prize competitions and attempt difficult things again and again, feeling sure that she might succeed if she could but bring the necessary pressure to bear upon herself.

It also led her into the mistake of imagining that enthusiastic resolution might take the place of patient labour and practice, and that a mood of exaltation under sufficient stress of circum stances might produce, for the time being, a Raphael or a Rubinstein. This faith flat tered her hatred of impossibilities, and widened to her imagination the area of man's capabilities. Happily common - sense pre vented her from depending upon such a source of strength, and she cultivated with much patience whatever faculties she felt herself possessed of, adopting the surer means of obtaining success, while she held the other in view as supplemental. The notion had its use. It acted as an encouragement when present attainments fell short, and powers were small, and, when the future was alarming, whispered a hope that she might rise to the occasion, and helped her to Trust to the moment with a dauntless mind.

This she was obliged to do in the present case so long as her pupil's powers and pro ficiency was an unknown quantity. The pupil herself became at last a very shadowy per sonage, and Mary began to fear, as one negotiation after another came to nought, that she might not be able, unaided as she was, to find a suitable situation. If everything at home had been pleasant, her resolution might have failed, for Mary readily forgot and forgave. Even towards Sydney she felt no active ill-will, though the sight of him vividly recalled that afternoon, and she avoided him as much as possible. But the wound was too deep to be easily healed, and, being constantly chafed by Tom's unkindness and petty naggings from Effie, she became more and more anxious to get away. So she turned her attention to nursing again, and made up her mind to advertise once more, and, if nothing came of it, to become a hospital nurse.

Her resolution had yet one trial in store. Alf came home from Scotland, where he had formed one of a reading-party. Mary had told him by letter what she intended to do, adding a request that he would not write to her about it. He had strictly complied, and did not allude to the subject when he came home, but his eyes followed her with a tender, wistful expres sion that she could not bear. She felt that she must have it out, so she asked him to come into the library one evening. " Now, Alf," she began, in an airy tone, " I want to talk to you about my going away. Perhaps you think it a queer idea, but you know everyone is happier for finding their work. I remember how, as a chick, I used to envy the housemaid for being allowed to polish the grates. Now, you see, comes my turn to be useful, and I shall have a young mind to polish, which is better still.

As for its being a disgrace and loss of position, you don't believe that nonsense. Even if I did go because I was poor, I should be none the less a lady." Alf was listening with a grave, sad face. " So now congratulate me upon having found a vocation. That is to say, if it is found," she rattled on. " It is time that I ' got suited,' as Tom puts it. If I don't hear of something soon, I shall have to try hospital work." Mary had avoided meeting her brother's eye. As she paused for a moment, he said, in a low, sorrowful voice — " Oh ! Mary." " Why do you say that ? You mustn't be prejudiced," she protested ; and then she broke down, threw her arms round his neck, and burst into a violent fit of crying. " Mary, darling, don't cry so," pleaded Alf, trying to soothe her. " Don't, childie Do tell me what it is."

" Oh, Alf, it has been so terrible," sobbed Mary. " No, I can't tell you. But I am so lonely and miserable. Perhaps I should have stayed at home if you had been here — it is possible — but now I know I shan't be happy until I get away." " Stay with us, dear Mary. We all love you, and will try to make you happy. It is. not too late." "Yes, it is," said Mary. "And I seem to have been forgetting that I am not the only, or even the chief, person to be consulted. I did not mean to be here as long as this." Alf was startled by the bitterness of her tone. "What has happened, dear?" he asked, anxiously. " Have you had some misunder standing with Tom — with any of them ? " "Oh, no ; except that he is mad at the idea of my going away. No, only I have learnt something lately. The blessing that Burns speaks of has been granted to me — - Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us, To see ourselves as ithers see us.

If this useful knowledge has not been a blessing to me, at least it shall be a blessing to other people." Then she dropped her hard, bitter tone, and said wearily, " Now let us talk of something else, and while I am at home let you and me be as happy as we can together. Do you think you will be able to get on with me ?" she added, falling into the old tone again. " Mary, what have we done to you ? " Why are you so unkind ? " The tears rose into Alf's eyes, and rolled down his cheeks, too. Mary could not bear that. She threw her arms round him and kissed him again and again. " Alf, I didn't mean to hurt you. It is because I am so unhappy. But I know you love me, and I won't say such things any more. Please do forget it." Alf kissed her. Mary laid her head on his shoulder, and they sat there silently in the VOL. II.

C gathering twilight until the beautiful harvest moon rose and threw a band of light upon the wall. Then she drew her brother to the window, and as they stood watching a little band of cloud slowly crossing the moon, her face gathered a softer and happier expression, and, turning to Alf, she smoothed back the hair from his forehead and said — " I think I forgot that I had you." " Don't cut yourself off from us as if we didn't care for you. Stay with us, darling." " No, no, I can't," said Mary, hastily ; " but when you go to your first curacy, if you find nobody better, I will come to keep house for you." With which promise Alf was obliged to be content.

Chapter II

Let our old acquaintance be renewed. MEANWHILE Mary's destiny was shaping itself some three hundred miles away. In one of those pleasant houses south west of London, with long gardens running down to the Thames, the future pupil, of whose existence Mary had begun to despair, was leisurely finishing her breakfast and study ing the paper at the same time. She was a tall girl of fifteen, fair, with a pleasant, open expression, but features too heavy for beauty. Two others were at the table — the mother, a middle-aged woman, of a rather common type of stout comeliness, and an elder sister,. in her twentieth year, the most noticeable, though the smallest of the three. She had no real claim to beauty — her lips were too thin, her complexion too pale — -but she was much admired, nevertheless. Her eyes were a clear blue, her hair soft and waving, and her face had a piquancy of expression that was more taking than mere prettiness.

Add to this a figure almost perfect, small, well shaped hands and feet, and a lively coquet tish manner, and it is not to be wondered at that the young lady possessed considerable powers of fascination. She had exercised them upon Mary Elwood in days of yore, when they were school-girls together, and won a romantic affection, which had not grown less, though they had not seen each other since they left school, a year and a half before, and both were bad correspondents. To return to the breakfast table. My lady fair was toying with her engaged ring, looking out over the garden, and smiling at her own thoughts — possibly they were of the giver of the splendid diamond that was revolving round her pretty finger ; possibly of some other swain. Suddenly she recalled her mind to business. " Let me see the paper, Alice.

Mamma, it is quite time that we found a Mrs. General. I don't feel able to victimize myself during the interregnum." " Or willing," suggested Mrs. Blake, smilingly. " Or willing," repeated Maude, bowing to her mother with lively grace. " And yet I shouldn't like to see Alice grow up a thorough dunce." "Oh, Maude!" remonstrated gentle-faced Alice. " You needn't call me a dunce. You shouldn't expect everyone to be as clever as yourself." "My dear child, you have got as many brains as I have if you would but keep your wits about you, and look alive, instead of dreaming." " You are rather idle, my dear," added Mrs Blake. "I can't help it. I was made so. And you know you were idle at school, Maude, so you can't talk to me." Maude made no reply. She was bending over the Times, but suddenly she looked up with an exclamation of astonishment, and said — " Why, mamma, I believe I have found the very thing !

Oh ! how odd. Just read that governess's advertisement. — M. M. E. That must be Mary Elwood, and Brentham is where she lives. But I thought they were well off. What can make her go out as a governess ? " " Have I not heard you speak of her? " " Yes, mamma. I was on the point of going to stay with her before we went abroad." " Perhaps it was as well that you did not go. I was not aware that they were that sort of people." " I don't believe they are ' that sort of people.' It is probably some silly freak ; a case of a cruel step-mother, perhaps." " Is she able to teach at all ? " asked Mrs. Blake, doubtfully. " Perfectly qualified, I should think. She is very clever ; a great deal cleverer than I am," added Maude, glancing mischievously at her mother. Mrs. Blake shook her head. "Ah ! you may shake your head, but it is too true.

She beat me in everything at school." " That was because you did not exert yourself." Maude, having evoked this gratifying de fence of herself, dismissed the subject with — "Ah! there is no knowing what I might do, if I cared to try ; " and went on, " I wonder if it would be nice to have Mary ? " " She might be a companion for you when Major Orres is away." " Yes," returned Maude, meditatively, " and we might go out together. She is tall and dark, and her style is quite different to mine, so we shouldn't clash." " And you really like her, Maude ? " " Oh ! yes," returned Maude, carelessly, " as much as I like any of my friends. And she is devoted to me, which is a great point in her favour, n' est ce pas, Maman?' " It is something," admitted Mrs. Blake, smilingly. " She would make Alice work," continued Maude.

" Child, don't sit gazing there with your mouth ajar. She will think you a specimen." " Oh ! Maude, I know I shan't like her. If she is as clever as all that, she will never have patience with me. Don't have her, mamma," pleaded Alice. " We had better get you a nursery governess at once," retorted Maude. " But we needn't discuss this at present." That meant, Alice knew, that she was to have no say in the matter ; so she determined to put in a parting word, and, being a girl of considerable sense, hit nearer the mark than she was aware. " Listen a minute, mamma. Do find out why she is leaving home first. I dare say it is because she is disagreeable, and can't get on with her people. You wouldn't like a person like that here." Maude's lip curled unpleasantly. It was very unpardonable in a younger sister to feel .so strongly on a point which concerned her in quite a secondary degree, and insufferable that she should express herself with such "brutal frankness."

" I think you forget that you are speaking about my friend," she said. "Alice shouldn't speak so impulsively," assented Mrs. Blake. "But," she continued, in an apologetic tone, " there is something in what she says. I should like to know, dear, why she is leaving home." " One can imagine a reason when there is a step-mother in the case, without any great fault on the girl's part," answered Maude, with her face averted, and in the frigid tone which seldom failed to bring her mother " to reason." " If you have set your heart upon having your friend here, I don't want to oppose you. Perhaps you can find out a little more about it before we decide?" " No doubt I can. Would you like me to write for you ? " " You may if you like, but don't commit me too hastily." Maude had carried her point, and a fortnight later saw Mary Elwood arrive.

Maude met her at the station, and Mary was so de lighted to see her friend, that she nearly left umbrella and bag in the carriage. " I never dreamt of such luck as this, old Maude," she said, squeezing her friend's arm as they went down the steps from the plat form. Didn't you fancy you were coming to Warwick House again? " " I suppose I did," said Mary, laughing ; " for I turned so queer after I left Belchester. I thought it was from the motion of the train, until I remembered that I always had the same feeling when I was going off to school, and that I had never been on that line since I left. I feel very queer now, at any rate, Maude," she resumed, when a few minutes' drive had brought them to the house. " I think I will run away. Is your mother very formidable ? " " Not in the least. And she takes to any body that I like, so she is prepared to receive you with open arms.

Heie she is." Mary was received kindly by Mrs. Blake, and doubtfully by her pupil, and was then taken up to a pleasant room on the second story, with a view over the river. " There is a room downstairs that you can have if you prefer it," said Maude. " I shall like this best. I sleep at the top of the house at home," answered Mary, who was nearly as conservative as the prisoner who was found lying under his bed and ex plained to the warder that he was accustomed to a four-poster. " This is charming. How pretty the river looks, and what splendid deodoras ! Our evergreens are nothing to yours." "I suppose they are fine?" said Maude, carelessly. " But I have been having some cut down. I would rather see the boats than the shrubs." " Perhaps you expect the boats to bring somebody ? " " Oh, no. Percy seldom comes by water.

I suppose you were thinking of him. Besides he is away now." " Indeed, then I shall see more of you. Is it very selfish to be glad ? I am afraid you feel dull when he is away." Maude shrugged her shoulders. " It is better than seeing too much of each other. It is such a bore to have to find something fresh to talk about." Mary laughed. " Then I am sure / mustn't bestow too much of my company upon you." " I'll tell you when I am tired of you," said Maude, pinching her cheek. " Now take off your things, for you must be nearly starved, you poor child, after such a journey. I'll send you a maid." " Oh, no ; don't you know that I am going in for independence. That would be a poor beginning." " You funny girl, was that your idea in running away from home ? " " I believe in self-help," replied Mary evasively, feeling it impossible to give Maude a hint of the true state of the case ; for, devoted as she was to her, Mary had never been able to talk to her upon any subject that lay near her heart.

" I can't say that I go in for it on my own account. But I am glad you have fallen in love with the idea. It's an ill wind that blows nobody good ; " and, waving a kiss with the tips of her fingers, Maude left her. Mary found Mrs. Blake by no means for midable, and she contrived to make friends with Alice in the course of the evening, and lav down to rest well pleased with the result of her experiment. She made her appearance in good time next morning, and found Alice, early for once, waiting to fulfil her promise of showing her the garden before breakfast. It was very different in style from that of Elwood Grange, but it had its own beauties, and Mary was charmed with it. The long stretch of velvet lawn, the well kept shrubs, gave an air of quiet and cultivation which was wanting in the more romantic garden at her own home.

Then there was the river, often lively, always interesting ; and on the other side, the towing-path bordered with willows, and a meadow backed by large trees, all, so far as the eye was concerned, forming part of the grounds. " I do like your garden," she said, warmly. " It's very nice just now, and there are lots of apples this year." " Oh, shocking ! Is that what you like best ? What a beautiful laurel that is !" " There were two, but Maude had the other cut down because it blocked out the river. Lots of our friends come past — Maude's friends, at least. There are not many that I care for. I hate army men." " Why ! Isn't your future brother-in-law in the army?" " I suppose that is why I hate them. I can't bear Percy. Are you very shocked, Miss Elwood?" " I am not easily shocked." " I hardly ever like Maude's friends.

I thought I should be awfully shy of you, and I didn't want you to come a bit ; but I am very glad you did now." Maude was watching them through the window. " Look there," she said to her mother, as Mary and Alice came towards the house with their arms round each other ; " wasn't I a true prophet, faithless mother mine? " " She seems a very pleasant, ladylike girl," admitted Mrs. Blake. " We have yet to see what sort of a governess she will make." " A very good one," said Maude, decidedly, feeling her judgment called in question. " I told you so before." " You are generally right, dear. I hope it may be so in this instance. She certainly appears to be very fond of you."