Fan: Chapter 14
Chapter 14
At the last moment, when all the preparations were complete, Miss
Starbrow determined to accompany Fan to her new home, and, after dropping
her there, to pay a long-promised visit before leaving England to an old
friend of her girlhood, who was now married and living at Salisbury.
Eyethorne took her some distance out of her way; and at the small country
station where they alighted, which was two and a half miles from the
village, she found from the time-table that her interview with the
Churtons would have to be a short one, as there was only one train which
would take her to Salisbury so as to arrive there at a reasonably early
hour in the evening. At the station they took a fly, and the drive to
Eyethorne brought before Fan's eyes a succession of charming scenes--
green hills, broad meadows yellow with buttercups, deep shady lanes, and
old farm-houses. The spring had been cold and backward; but since the
beginning of May there had been days of warm sunshine with occasional
gentle rains, and the trees, both shade and fruit, had all at once rushed
into leaf and perfect bloom. Such vivid and tender greens as the foliage
showed, such a wealth of blossom on every side, such sweet fragrance
filling the warm air, Fan had never imagined; and yet how her prophetic
heart had longed for the sweet country!
A sudden turn of the road brought them in full sight of the village,
sheltered on the east side by low green hills; and beyond the village, at
some distance, a broad belt of wood, the hills on one hand and green
meadowland on the other. Five minutes after leaving the village they drew
up at the gate of Wood End House, which was at some distance back from
the road almost hidden from sight by the hedge and trees, and was
approached by a short avenue of elms. Arrived at the house, they were
received by Mr. and Mrs. Churton, and ushered into a small drawing-room
on the ground floor; a room which, with its heavy-looking, old-fashioned
furniture, seemed gloomy to them on coming in from the bright sunshine.
Mrs. Churton was rather large, approaching stoutness in her figure, grey-
haired with colourless face, and a somewhat anxious expression; but she
seemed very gentle and motherly, and greeted Fan with a kindliness in her
voice and manner which served in a great measure to remove the girl's
nervousness on coming for the first time as an equal among gentlefolks.
Mr. Churton had not, in a long married life, grown like his spouse in any
way, nor she like him. He was small, with a narrow forehead, irregular
face and projecting under-lip, which made him ugly. His eyes were of that
common no-colour type, and might or might not have been pigmented, and
classifiable as brown or blue--Dr. Broca himself would not have been able
to decide. But the absence of any definite colour was of less account
than the lack of any expression, good or bad. One wondered, on seeing his
face, how he could be a retired barrister, unless it meant merely that in
the days of his youth he had made some vague and feeble efforts at
entering such a profession, ending in nothing. Possibly he was himself
conscious that his face lacked a quality found in others, and failed to
inspire respect and confidence; for he had a trick of ostentatiously
clearing his throat, and looking round and speaking in a deliberate and
somewhat consequential manner, as if by these little arts to
counterbalance the weakness in the expression. His whole get-up also
suggested the same thought--could anyone believe the jewel to be missing
from a casket so elaborately chased? His grey hair was brushed sprucely
up on each side of his head, the ends of the locks forming a
supplementary pair of ears above the crown. He was scrupulously dressed
in black cloth and spotless linen, with a very large standing-up collar.
In manner he was gushingly amiable and polite towards Miss Starbrow, and
as he stood bowing and smiling and twirling the cord of his gold-rimmed
glasses about his finger, he talked freely to that lady of the lovely
weather, the beauty of the country, the pleasures of the spring season,
and in fact of everything except the business which had brought her
there. Presently she cut short his flow of inconsequent talk by remarking
that her time was short, and inquiring if Miss Churton were in.
Mrs. Churton quickly replied that she was expecting her every moment;
that she had gone out for a short walk, and had not perhaps seen the fly
arrive. No doubt, she added a little nervously, Miss Starbrow would like
to see and converse with Miss Affleck's future teacher and companion.
"Oh, no, not at all!" promptly replied the other, with the habitual
curling of the lip. "I came to-day by the merest chance, as everything
had been arranged by correspondence, and I am quite satisfied that Miss
Affleck will be in good hands." At which Mr. Churton bowed, and turning
bestowed a fatherly smile on Fan. "It is not at all necessary for me to
see Miss Churton," continued Miss Starbrow, "but there is one thing I
wish to speak to you about, which I omitted to mention in my letters to
you."
Mr. and Mrs. Churton were all attention, but before the other had begun
to speak Miss Churton came in, her hat on, and with a sunshade in one
hand and a book in the other.
"Here is my daughter," said the mother. "Constance, Miss Starbrow and
Miss Affleck."
Miss Churton advanced to the first lady, but did not give her hand as she
had meant to do; for the moment she appeared in the room and her name was
mentioned a cloud had come over the visitor's face, and she merely bowed
distantly without stirring from her seat.
For the real Miss Churton offered a wonderful contrast to that portrait
of her which the other had drawn from her imagination. She might almost
be called tall, her height being little less than that of the dark-browed
lady who sat before her, regarding her with cold critical eyes; but in
figure she was much slimmer, and her light-coloured dress, which was
unfashionable in make, was pretty and became her. She was, in fact, only
twenty-two years old. There were no lines of deep thought on her pure
white forehead when she removed her hat; and no dimness from much reading
of books in her clear hazel eyes, which seemed to Fan the most beautiful
eyes she had ever seen, so much sweet sympathy did they show, and so much
confidence did they inspire. In colour she was very rich, her skin being
of that tender brown one occasionally sees in the face of a young lady in
the country, which seems to tell of a pleasant leisurely life in woods
and fields; while her abundant hair was of a tawny brown tint with bronze
reflections. She was very beautiful, and when, turning from Miss
Starbrow, she advanced to Fan and gave her hand, the girl almost trembled
with the new keen sensation of pleasure she experienced. Miss Churton was
so different from that unlovely mental picture of her! She imagined for a
moment, poor girl, that Mary would show her feelings of relief and
pleasure; but she quickly perceived that something had brought a sudden
cloud over Mary's face, and it troubled her, and she wondered what it
meant.
Before Miss Churton had finished welcoming Fan, Miss Starbrow, looking at
her watch and directly addressing the elder lady, said in a cold voice:
"I think it would be as well if Miss Affleck could leave us for a few
minutes, and I will then finish what I had begun to say."
Miss Churton looked inquiringly at her, then turned again to Fan.
"Will you come with me to the garden?" she said.
Fan rose and followed her through a back door opening on to a grassy
lawn, beyond which were the garden and orchard. After crossing the lawn
and going a little way among the shrubs and flowers they came in sight of
a large apple-tree white with blossoms.
"Oh, can we go as far as that tree?" asked the girl after a little
delighted exclamation at the sight. When they reached the tree she went
under it and gazed up into the beautiful flowery cloud with wide-open
eyes, and lips half-parted with a smile of ineffable pleasure.
Miss Churton stood by and silently watched her face for some moments.
"Do you think you will like your new home, Miss Affleck?" she asked.
"Oh, how lovely it all is--the flowers!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know
that there was any place in the world so beautiful as this! I should like
to stay here for ever!"
"But have you never been in the country before?" said the other with some
surprise.
"Yes. Only once, for a few days, years ago. But it was not like this. It
was very beautiful in Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, but this--"
She could find no words to express her feeling; she could only stand
gazing up, and touching the white and pink clustering blossoms with her
finger-tips, as if they were living things to be gently caressed. "Oh, it
is so sweet," she resumed. "I have always so wished to be in the country,
but before Miss Starbrow took me to live with her, and before--they--
mother died, we lived in a very poor street, and were always so poor and
--" Then she reddened and cast down her eyes and was silent, for she had
suddenly remembered that Miss Starbrow had warned her never to speak of
her past life.
Miss Churton smiled slightly, but with a strange tenderness in her eyes
as she watched the girl's face.
"I hope we shall get on well together, and that you will like me a
little," she said.
"Oh, yes, I know I shall like you if--if you will not think me very
stupid. I know so little, and you know so much. Must you always call me
Miss Affleck?"
"Not if you would prefer me to call you Frances. I should like that
better."
"That would seem so strange, Miss Churton. I have always been called
Fan."
Just then the others were seen coming out to the garden, and Miss Churton
and Fan went back to meet them. Mr. Churton, polite and bare-headed,
hovered about his visitor, smiling, gesticulating, chattering, while she
answered only in monosyllables, and was blacker-browed than ever. Mrs.
Churton, silent and pale, walked at her side, turning from time to time a
troubled look at the dark proud face, and wondering what its stormy
expression might mean.
"Fan," said Miss Starbrow, without even a glance at the lady at Fan's
side, "my time is nearly up, and I wish to have three or four minutes
alone with you before saying good-bye."
The others at once withdrew, going back to the house, while Miss Starbrow
sat down on a garden bench and drew the girl to her side. "Well, my
child, what do you think of your new teacher?" she began.
"I like her so much, Mary, I'm sure--I know she will be very kind to me;
and is she not beautiful?"
"I am not going to talk about that, Fan. I haven't time. But I want to
say something very serious to you. You know, my girl, that when I took
you out of such a sad, miserable life to make you happy, I said that it
was not from charity, and because I loved my fellow-creatures or the poor
better than others; but solely because I wanted you to love me, and your
affection was all the payment I ever expected or expect. But now I
foresee that something will happen to make a change in you--"
"I can never change, or love you less than now, Mary!"
"So you imagine, but I can see further. Do you know, Fan, that you cannot
give your heart to two persons; that if you give your whole heart to this
lady you think so beautiful and so kind, and who will be paid for her
kindness, that her gain will be my loss?"
Fan, full of strange trouble, put her trembling hand on the other's hand.
"Tell me how it will be your loss, Mary," she said. "I don't think I
understand."
"I was everything to you before, Fan. I don't want a divided affection,
and I shall not share your affection with this woman, however beautiful
and kind she may be; or, rather, I shall not be satisfied with what is
over after you have begun to worship her. Your love is a kind of worship,
Fan, and you cannot possibly have that feeling for more than one person,
although you will find it easy enough to transfer it from one to another.
If you do not quite understand me yet, you must think it over and try to
find out what I mean. But I warn you, Fan, that if ever you transfer the
affection you have felt for me to this woman, or this girl, then you
shall cease to be anything to me. You shall be no more to me than you
were before I first saw you and felt a strange wish to take you to my
heart; when you were in rags and half-starved, and without one friend in
the world."
The tears started to the girl's eyes, and she threw her arms round the
other's neck. "Oh, Mary, nothing, nothing will ever make me love you
less! Will you not believe me, Mary?"
"Yes, dear Fan, don't cry. Good-bye, my darling. Write to me at least
once every fortnight, and when you want money or anything let me know,
and you shall have it. And when May comes round again let me see you
unchanged in heart, but with an improved mind and a little colour in your
dear pale face."
After Miss Starbrow's departure Fan was shown to her room, where her
luggage had already been taken by the one indoor servant, a staid,
middle-aged woman. It was a light, prettily furnished apartment on the
first floor, with a large window looking on to the garden at the back.
There were flowers on the dressing-table--Miss Churton had placed them
there, she thought--and the warm fragrant air coming in at the open
window seemed to bring nature strangely near to her. Looking away, where
the trees did not intercept the view, it was all green country--gently-
sloping hills, and the long Eyethorne wood, and rich meadow-land, where
sleepy-looking cows stood in groups or waded knee-deep in the pasture. It
was like an earthly paradise to her senses, but just now her mind was
clouded with a great distress. Mary's strange words to her, and the
warning that she would be cast out of Mary's heart, that it would be
again with her as it had been before entering into this new life of
beautiful scenes and sweet thoughts and feelings, if she allowed herself
to love her new teacher and companion, filled her with apprehension. She
sat by the window looking out, but with a dismayed expression in her
young eyes; and then she remembered how Mary, in a sudden tempest of
rage, had once struck her, and how her heart had almost burst with grief
at that unjust blow; and now it seemed to her that Mary's words if not
her hand had dealt her a second blow, which was no less unjust; and
covering her face with her hands she cried silently to herself. Then she
remembered how quickly Mary had repented and had made amends, loving her
more tenderly after having ill-treated her in her anger. It consoled her
to think that Mary had so great an affection for her; and perhaps, she
thought, the warning was necessary; perhaps if she allowed her heart to
have its way, and to give all that this lovely and loving girl seemed to
ask, Mary would be less to her than she had been. She resolved that she
would strive religiously to obey Mary's wishes, that she would keep a
watch over herself, and not allow any such tender feelings as she had
experienced in the garden to overcome her again. She would be Miss
Churton's pupil, but not the intimate, loving friend and companion she
had hoped to be after first seeing her.
While Fan sat by herself, occupied with her little private trouble, which
did not seem little to her, downstairs in the small drawing-room there
was another trouble.
"Before you go up to your room I wish to speak to you, Constance," said
her mother.
Miss Churton stood swinging her straw hat by its ribbon, silently waiting
to hear the rest.
"All right, Jane," said Mr. Churton to his wife. "I am just going to run
up to the village for an hour. You don't require me any more, do you?"
"I think you should remain here until this matter is settled, and
Constance is made clearly to understand what Miss Starbrow's wishes are.
My wishes, which will be considered of less moment, I have no doubt,
shall be stated afterwards."
"Very well, my dear, I will do anything you like. At the same time, I
think I really must be going. I have been kept in all day, you know, and
should like to take a little--ahem--constitutional."
"Yes, Nathaniel, I have no doubt you would. But consider me a little in
this. I have succeeded in getting this girl, and you know how much the
money will be to us. Do you think it too much to keep away from your
favourite haunt in the village for a single day?"
"Oh, come, come, Jane. It's all right, my dear. I'm sure Miss Starbrow
was greatly pleased at everything. You can settle all the rest with
Constance. I think she's quite intelligent enough to understand the
matter without my presence." And here Mr. Churton gave vent to a slight
inward chuckle.
"I insist on your staying here, Nathaniel. You know how little regard our
daughter has for my wishes or commands; and as Miss Starbrow has spoken
to us both, you cannot do less than remain to corroborate what I have to
tell Constance."
Her daughter reddened at this speech, but remained silent.
"Well, well, my dear, if you will only come to the point!" he exclaimed
impatiently.
"Constance, will you give me your attention?" said her mother, turning to
her.
"Yes, mother, I am attending."
"Miss Starbrow has informed us that Miss Affleck, although of gentle
birth on her father's side, was unhappily left to be brought up in a very
poor quarter of London, among people of a low class. She has had little
instruction, except that of the Board School, and never had the advantage
of associating with those of a better class until this lady rescued her
from her unfortunate surroundings. She is of a singularly sweet,
confiding disposition, Miss Starbrow says, and has many other good
qualities which only require a suitable atmosphere to be developed. Miss
Starbrow will value at its proper worth the instruction you will give
her; and as to subjects, she has added nothing to what she had written to
us, except that she does not wish you to force any study on the girl to
which she may show a disinclination, but rather to find out for yourself
any natural aptitude she may possess. And what she particularly requests
of us is, that no questions shall be put to her and no reference made to
her early life in London. She wishes the girl to forget, if possible, her
suffering and miserable childhood."
"I shall be careful not to make any allusion to it," replied the other,
her face brightening with new interest. "Poor girl! She began to say
something to me about her early life in London when we were in the
garden, and then checked herself. I dare say Miss Starbrow has told her
not to speak of it."
"Then I suppose you had already begun to press her with questions about
it?" quickly returned Mrs. Churton.
"No; she spoke quite spontaneously. The flowers, the garden, the beauty
of the country, so strangely different to her former surroundings--that
suggested what she said, I think."
Her mother looked unconvinced. "Will you remember, Constance, that it is
Miss Starbrow's wish that such subjects are not to be brought up and
encouraged in your conversations with Miss Affleck? I cannot command you.
It would be idle to expect obedience to any command of mine from you. I
can only appeal to your interest, or whatever it is you now regard as
your higher law."
"I have always obeyed you, mother," returned Miss Churton with warmth. "I
shall, as a matter of course, respect Miss Starbrow's and your wishes in
this instance. You know that you can trust me, or ought to know, and
there is no occasion to insult me."
"Insult you, Constance! How can you have the face to say such a thing,
when you know that your whole life is one continual act of disobedience
to me! Unhappy girl that you are, you disobey your God and Creator, and
are in rebellion against Him--how little a thing then must disobedience
to your mother seem!"
Miss Churton's face grew red and pale by turns. "Mother," she replied,
with a ring of pain in her voice, "I have always respected your opinions
and feelings, and shall continue to do so, and try my best to please you.
But it is hard that I should have to suffer these unprovoked attacks; and
it seems strange that the girl's coming should be made the occasion for
one, for I had hoped that her presence in the house would have made my
life more bearable."
"You refer to Miss Affleck's coming," said her mother, without stopping
to reply to anything else, "and I am glad of it, for it serves to remind
me that I have not yet told you my wishes with regard to your future
intercourse with her."
At this point Mr. Churton, unnoticed by his wife, stole quietly to the
door, and stepping cautiously out into the hall made his escape.
"You need not trouble to explain your wishes, mother," said Miss Churton,
with flushing cheeks. "I can very well guess what they are, and I promise
you at once that I shall say nothing to cause you any uneasiness, or to
make any further mention of the subject necessary."
"No, Constance, I have a sacred duty to perform, and our respective
relations towards Miss Affleck must be made thoroughly clear, once for
all."
"Why should you wish to make it clear after telling me that you cannot
trust me to obey your wishes, or even to speak the truth? Mother, I shall
not listen to you any longer!"
"You _shall_ listen to me!" exclaimed the other; and rising and
hurrying past her daughter, she closed the door and stood before it as if
to prevent escape.
Miss Churton made no reply; she walked to a chair, and sitting down
dropped her hat on the floor and covered her face with her hands. How sad
she looked in that attitude, how weary of the vain conflict, and how
despondent! For a little while there was silence in the room, but the
girl's bowed head moved with her convulsive breathing, and there was a
low sound presently as of suppressed sobbing.
"Would to God the tears you are shedding came from a contrite and
repentant heart," said the mother, with a tremor in her voice. "But they
are only rebellious and passing drops, and I know that your stony heart
is untouched."
Miss Churton raised her pale face, and brushed her tears away with an
angry gesture. "Forgive me, mother, for such an exhibition of weakness. I
sometimes forget that you have ceased to love me. Please say what you
wish, make things clear, add as many reproaches as you think necessary,
and then let me go to my room."
Mrs. Churton checked an angry reply which rose to her lips, and sat down.
She too was growing tired of this unhappy conflict, and her daughter's
tears and bitter words had given her keen pain. "Constance, you would not
say that I do not love you if you could see into my heart. God knows how
much I love you; if it were not so I should have ceased to strive with
you before now. I know that it is in vain, that I can only beat the air,
and that only that Spirit which is sharper than a two-edged sword, and
pierceth even to the dividing of the bones and marrow, can ever rouse you
to a sense of your great sin and fearful peril. I know it all only too
well. I shall say no more about it. But I must speak to you further about
this young girl, who has been entrusted to my care. When I replied to the
advertisement respecting her, I thought too much about our worldly
affairs and the importance of this money to us in our position, and
without sufficiently reflecting on the danger of bringing a girl at so
impressible an age under your influence. The responsibility rests with
me, and I cannot help having some very sad apprehensions. Wait,
Constance, you must let me finish. I have settled what to do, and I have
Miss Starbrow's authority to take on myself the guidance of the girl in
all spiritual matters. I spoke to her about it, and regret to have to say
that she seems absolutely indifferent about religion. I was deeply
shocked to hear that Miss Affleck has never been taught to say a prayer,
and, so far as Miss Starbrow knows, has never entered a church. Miss
Starbrow seemed very haughty and repellent in her manner, and declined,
almost rudely, to discuss the subject of religious teaching with me, but
would leave it entirely to me, she said, to teach the girl what I liked
about such things. It is terrible to me to think how much it may and will
be in your power to write on the mind of one so young and ignorant, and
who has been brought up without God. Constance, I will not attempt to
command, I will ask you to promise not to say things to her to destroy
the effect of my teaching, and of the religious influence I shall bring
to bear on her. I am ready to go down on my knees to you, my daughter, to
implore you, by whatever you may yet hold dear and sacred, not to bring
so terrible a grief on me as the loss of this young soul would be. For
into my charge she has been committed, and from me her Maker and Father
will require her at the last day!"
"There is no occasion for you to go on your knees to me, mother. I repeat
that I will obey your wishes in everything. Surely you must know that,
however we may differ about speculative matters, I am not immoral, and
that you can trust me. And oh, mother, let us live in peace together. It
is so unspeakably bitter to have these constant dissensions between us. I
will not complain that you have been the cause of so much unhappiness to
me, and made me a person to be avoided by the few people we know, if
only--if only you will treat me kindly."
"My poor girl, do you not know that it is more bitter to me, a thousand
times, than to you? Oh, Constance, will you promise me one thing?--
promise me that you will go back to the Bible and read the words of
Christ, putting away your pride of mind, your philosophy and critical
spirit; promise that you will read one chapter--one verse even--every
day, and read it with a prayer in your heart that the Spirit who inspired
it will open your eyes and enable you to see the truth."
"No, mother, I cannot promise you that, even to save myself from greater
unhappiness than you have caused me. It is so hard to have to go over the
old ground again and again."
"I have, I hope, made you understand my wishes," returned her mother
coldly. "You can go to your room, Constance."
The other rose and walked to the door, where she stood hesitating for a
few moments, glancing back at her mother; but Mrs. Churton's face had
grown cold and irresponsive, and finally Constance, with a sigh, left the
room and went slowly up the stairs.