Fan: Chapter 9
Chapter 9
On the next morning, after a sharp frost, the sun shone brightly as in
spring. Fan was up early and enjoyed her breakfast, notwithstanding the
late supper, and not in the least disturbed by the scornful words flung
at her by the housemaid when she brought up the tray. After breakfasting
she went to Miss Starbrow's room, to find her still in bed and not
inclined to get up.
"Put on your dress and go for a walk in Kensington Gardens," she said. "I
think it is a fine day, for a wonder. You may stop out until one o'clock,
if you like, and take my watch, so as to know the time. And if you wish
to rest while out don't sit down on a bench, or you will be sure to have
someone speak to you. According to the last census, or Registrar-
General's report, or whatever it is, there are twenty thousand young
gentlemen loafers in London, who spend their whole time hanging about the
parks and public places trying to make the acquaintance of young girls.
Sit on a chair by yourself when you are tired--you can always find a
chair even in winter--and give the chairman a penny when he comes to
you."
"I haven't got a penny, Mary. But it doesn't matter; I'll not get tired."
"Then I must give you a purse and some money, and you must never go out
without it, and don't mind spending a little money now and then, and
giving away a penny when you feel inclined. Give me my writing desk and
the keys."
She opened the desk and took out a small plush purse, then some silver
and coppers to put in it, and finally a sovereign.
"The silver you can use, the sovereign you must not change, but keep it
in case you should require money when I am not with you."
With all these fresh proofs of Mary's affection to make her happy, in her
lovely new dress and hat, and the beautiful gold chain on her bosom, Fan
went out for her walk feeling as light-hearted as a linnet. It was the
last day of November, usually a dreary time in London, but never had the
world looked so bright and beautiful to Fan as on that morning; and as
she walked along with swift elastic tread she could hardly refrain from
bursting bird-like into some natural joyous melody. Passing into the
Gardens at the Queen's Road entrance, she went along the Broad Walk to
the Round Pond, and then on to the Albert Memorial, shining with gold and
brilliant colours in the sun like some fairy edifice. Running up the
steps she walked round and round the sculptured base of the monument,
studying the marble faces and reading the names, and above all admiring
the figures there--blind old Homer playing on his harp, with Dante,
Shakespeare, Milton, and all the immortal sons of song, grouped about him
listening. But nothing to her mind equalled the great group of statuary
representing Asia at one of the four corners, with that colossal calm-
faced woman seated on an elephant in the centre. What a great majestic
face, and yet how placid and sweet it looked, reminding her a little of
Mary in her kindly moods. But this noble face was of marble, and never
changed; Mary's changed every hour, so that the soft expression when it
came seemed doubly sweet. By-and-by she walked away towards the bridge
over the Serpentine, and in the narrow path, thickly bordered with trees
and shrubs and late flowers, she stepped aside to make room for a lady to
pass, who held by the hand a little angel-faced, golden-haired child,
dressed in a quaint pretty costume. The child stood still and looked up
into Fan's face, and then she also involuntarily stopped, so taken was
she with the little thing's beauty.
"Mammy," said the child, pointing to Fan, "I'se like to tiss the pretty
laly."
"Well, my darling, perhaps the young lady will kiss you if you ask very
nicely," said the mother.
"Oh, may I kiss her?" said Fan, reddening with pleasure, and quickly
stooping she pressed her lips to the little cherub face.
"I loves you--what's your name?" said the child.
"No, darling, you must not ask questions. You've got your kiss and that
ought to satisfy you"; and with a smile and nod to Fan she walked on.
Fan pursued her walk to the Serpentine, with a new delicious sensation in
her heart. It was so strange and sweet to be spoken to by a lady, a
stranger, and treated like an equal! And in the days that were not so
long ago with what sad desire in her eyes had she looked at smiling
beautiful faces, like this lady's face, and no smile and no gentle word
had been bestowed on her, and no glance that did not express pity or
contempt!
At the head of the Serpentine she stood for ten or fifteen minutes to
watch the children and nursemaids feeding the swans and ducks. The swans
were very stately and graceful, the ducks very noisy and contentious, and
it was great fun to see them squabbling over the crumbs of bread. But
after leaving the waterside she came upon a scene among the great elms
and chestnuts close by which amused her still more. Some poor ragged
children--three boys and a girl--were engaged in making a great heap of
the old dead fallen leaves, gathering them in armfuls and bringing them
to one spot. By-and-by the little girl came up with a fresh load, and as
she stooped to put it on the pile, the boys, who had all gathered round,
pushed her over and covered her with a mass of old leaves; then, with a
shout of laughter at their rough joke, they ran away. She struggled out
and stood up half-choked with dust, her face covered with dirt, and dress
and hair with the black half-rotten leaves. As soon as she got her breath
she burst out in a prolonged howl, while the big tears rushed out, making
channels on her grimy cheeks.
"Oh, poor little girl, don't cry," said Fan, going up to her, but the
child only howled the louder. Then Fan remembered her money and Mary's
words, and taking out a penny she offered it to the little girl.
Instantly the crying ceased, the child clutched the penny in her dirty
little fist, then stared at Fan, then at the penny, and finally turned
and ran away as fast as she could run, past the fountains, out at the
gate, and into the Bayswater Road.
When she was quite out of sight Fan resumed her walk, laughing a little,
but with misty eyes, for it was the first time in her life that she had
given a penny away, and it made her strangely happy. Before quitting the
Gardens, however, one little incident occurred to interfere with her
pleasure. Close to the Broad Walk she suddenly encountered Captain Horton
walking with a companion in the opposite direction. There was no time to
turn aside in order to avoid him; when she recognised him he was watching
her face with a curious smile under his moustache which made her feel a
little uncomfortable; then, raising his hat, he passed her without
speaking.
"You know that pretty girl?" she heard his friend ask, as she hurried
away a little frightened towards the Queen's Road gate.
Miss Starbrow appeared very much put out about this casual encounter in
the Gardens when Fan related the incidents of her walk.
"I'll not walk there again, Mary, so as not to meet him," said Fan
timidly.
"On the contrary, you shall walk there as often as you like--I had almost
said whether you like it or not; and in the Grove, where you are still
more likely to meet him." She spoke angrily; but after a while added, "He
couldn't well have done less than notice you when he met you, and I do
not think you need be afraid of anything. It is not likely that he would
address you. He put an altogether false complexion on that affair
yesterday--a cowardly thing to do, and caused us both a great deal of
pain, and for that I shall never forgive him. Think no more about it,
Fan."
It was pretty plain, however, that she permitted herself to think more
about it; for during the next few days she was by no means cheerful,
while her moody fits and bursts of temper were more frequent than usual.
Then, one Wednesday evening, when Fan assisted her in dressing to receive
her visitors, she seemed all at once to have recovered her spirits, and
talked to the girl and laughed in a merry light-hearted way.
"Poor Fan, how dull it must always be for you on a Wednesday evening,
sitting here so long by yourself," she said.
"Oh no, Mary, I always open the door and listen to the music; I like the
singing so much."
"That reminds me," said Miss Starbrow. "Who do you think is coming this
evening?"
"Captain Horton," she answered promptly.
Miss Starbrow laughed. "Yes; how quick you are at guessing. I must tell
you all about it; and do you know, Fan, I find it very delightful to have
a dear trusty girl to talk to. I suppose you have noticed how cross I
have been all these days. It was all on account of that man. He offended
me so much that day that I made up my mind never to speak to him again.
But he is very sorry; besides, he looked on you as little more than a
child, and really meant it only for a joke. And so I have half forgiven
him, and shall let him visit me again, but only on Wednesday evenings
when there will be others. I shall not allow him to come whenever he
likes, as he used to do. Fan was silent. Miss Starbrow, sitting before
the glass, read the ill-concealed trouble in the girl's face reflected
there.
"Now don't be foolish, Fan, and think no more about it," she said. "You
are very young--not nearly sixteen yet, and gentlemen look on girls of
that age as scarcely more than children, and think it no harm to kiss
them. He's a thoughtless fellow, and doesn't always do what is right, but
he certainly did not think any harm or he would not have acted that way
in my house. That's what he says, and I know very well when I hear the
truth."
After finishing her hair, Miss Starbrow, not yet satisfied that she had
removed all disagreeable impression, turned round and said, "Now, my
solemn-faced girl, why are you so silent? Are you going to be cross with
me? Don't you think I know best what is right and believe what I tell
you?"
The tears came to the girl's eyes. "I do believe you know best, Mary,"
she said, in a distressed voice. "Oh, please don't think that I am cross.
I am so glad you like to talk to me."
Miss Starbrow smiled and touched her cheek, and at length stooped and
kissed her; and this little display of confidence and affection chased
away the last remaining cloud, and made Fan perfectly happy.
The partial forgiveness extended to Captain Horton did not have exactly
the results foretold. Miss Starbrow was fond of affirming that when her
mind was once made up about anything it was not to be moved; but in this
affair she had already yielded to persuasion, and had permitted the
Captain to visit her again; and by-and-by the second resolution also
proved weak, and his visits were not confined to Wednesday evenings. She
had struggled against her unworthy feeling for him, and knowing that it
was unworthy, that the strength she prided herself so much on was
weakness where he was concerned, she was dissatisfied in mind and angry
with herself for making these concessions. She really believed in the
love he professed for her, and did not think much the worse of him for
being a man without income or occupation, and a gambler to boot; but she
feared that a marriage with him would only make her miserable, and
between her love for him, which could not be concealed, and the fear that
he would eventually win her consent to be his wife, her mind was in a
constant state of anxiety and restlessness. The little indiscretion he
had been guilty of with Fan she had forgiven in her heart: that he had
actually conceived a fondness for this poor young girl she could not
believe, for in that case he would have been very careful not to do
anything to betray it to the woman he wished to marry; but though she had
forgiven him, she was resolved not to let him know it just yet, and so
continued to be a little distant and formal in her manner, never calling
him by his christian name, "Jack," as formerly, and not allowing him to
call her "Pollie."
All this was nothing to Fan, as she very rarely saw him, but on the few
occasions when she accidentally met him, in the house or when out
walking, he always had that curious smile on his lips, and studied her
face with a bold searching look in his eyes, which made her uncomfortable
and even a little afraid.
One day, about the middle of December, Miss Starbrow began to speak to
her about her future.
"You have improved wonderfully, Fan, since you first came," she said,
"but I fear that this kind of improvement will not be of much practical
use, and my conscience is not quite satisfied about you. I have taken
this responsibility on myself, and must not go on shutting my eyes to it.
Some day it will be necessary for you to go out into the world to earn
your own living; that is what we have got to think about. Remember that
you can't have me always to take care of you; I might go abroad, or die,
or get married, and then you would be left to your own resources. You
couldn't make your living by simply looking pretty; you must be useful as
well as ornamental; and I have taught you nothing--teaching is not in my
line. It would be a thousand pities if you were ever to sink down to the
servant-girl level: we must think of something better than that. A young
lady generally aspires to be a governess. But then she must know
everything--music, drawing, French, German, Latin, mathematics, algebra;
all that she must have at her finger-ends, and be able to gabble
political economy, science, and metaphysics to boot. All that is beyond
you--unattainable as the stars. But you needn't break your heart about
it. She doesn't get much. Her wages are about equal to those of a
kitchen-maid, who can't spell, but only peel potatoes. And the more
learned she is, the more she is disliked and snubbed by her betters; and
she never marries, in spite of what the _Family Herald_ says, but
goes on toiling until she is fifty, and then retires to live alone on
fifteen shillings a week in some cheap lodging for the remnant of her
dreary life. No, poor Fan, you can't hope to be anything as grand as a
governess."
Fan laughed a little: she had grown accustomed to and understood this
half-serious mocking style of speech in which her mistress often
indulged.
"But," she continued, "you might qualify yourself for some other kind of
employment less magnificent, but still respectable, and even genteel
enough. That of a nursery-governess, for instance; you are fond of
children, and could teach them their letters. Or you could be companion
to a lady; some simple-minded, old-fashioned dame who stays at home, and
would not require you to know languages. Or, better still perhaps, you
might go into one of the large West End shops. I do not think it would be
very difficult for you to get a place of that kind, as your appearance is
so much in your favour. I know that your ambition is not a very soaring
one, and a few months ago you would not have ventured to dream of ever
being a young lady in a shop like Jay's or Peter Robinson's. Yet for such
a place you would not have to study for years and pass a stiff
examination, as a poor girl is obliged to do before she can make her
living by sitting behind a counter selling penny postage-stamps. Homely
girls can succeed there: for the fine shop a pretty face, an elegant
figure, and a pleasing lady-like manner are greatly prized--more than a
knowledge of archaeology and the higher mathematics; and you possess all
these essentials to start with. But whether you are destined to go into a
shop or private house, it is important that you should make a better use
of your time just now, while you are with me, and learn something--
dressmaking, let us say, and all kinds of needlework; then you will at
least be able to make your own clothes."
"I should like to learn that very much," said Fan eagerly.
"Very well, you shall learn then. I have been making inquiries, and find
that there is a place in Regent Street, where for a moderate premium they
do really succeed in teaching girls such things in a short time. I shall
take you there to-morrow, and make all arrangements."
Very soon after this conversation Fan commenced her new work of learning
dressmaking, going every morning by omnibus to Regent Street, lunching
where she worked, and returning to Dawson Place at four o'clock. After
the preliminary difficulties, or rather strangeness inseparable from a
new occupation, had been got over, she began to find her work very
agreeable. It was maintained by the teachers in the establishment she was
in that by means of their system even a stupid girl could be taught the
mystery of dressmaking in a little while. And Fan was not stupid,
although she had an extremely modest opinion of her own abilities, and
was not regarded by others as remarkably intelligent; but she was
diligent and painstaking, and above everything anxious to please her
mistress, who had paid extra money to ensure pains being taken with her.
So rapid was her progress, that before the end of January Miss Starbrow
bought some inexpensive material, and allowed her to make herself a
couple of dresses to wear in the house; and these first efforts resulted
so well that a better stuff was got for a walking-dress.
The winter had thus far proved a full and happy one to Fan; in February
she was even more fully occupied, and, if possible, happier; for after
leaving the establishment in Regent Street, Miss Starbrow sent her to the
school of embroidery in South Kensington to take lessons in a new and
still more delightful art. But at the end of that month Fan unhappily,
and from no fault of her own, fell into serious disgrace. She had gone to
the Exhibition Road with a sample of her work on the morning of a bright
windy day which promised to be dry; a little later Miss Starbrow also
went out. Before noon the weather changed, and a heavy continuous rain
began to fall. At one o'clock Miss Starbrow came home in a cab, and as
she went into the house it occurred to her to ask the maid if Fan had got
very wet or had come in a cab. She knew that Fan had not taken an
umbrella.
"No, ma'am; she walked home, but didn't get wet. A young gentleman came
with her, and I s'pose he kept her dry with his umbrella."
"A young gentleman--are you quite sure?"
"Yes, ma'am, quite sure," she returned, indignant at having her sacred
word doubted. "He was with her on the steps when I opened the door, and
shook hands with her just like an old friend when he went away; and she
was quite dry."
Miss Starbrow said no more. She knew that the servant, though no friend
to Fan, would not have dared to invent a story of this kind, and resolved
to say nothing, but to wait for the girl to give her own account of the
matter.
Fan said nothing about it. On leaving the school of embroidery, seeing
how threatening the sky was, she was hurrying towards the park, when the
rain came down, and in a few moments she would have been wet through if
help had not come in the shape of an umbrella held over her head by an
attentive young stranger. He kept at her side all the way across the
Gardens to Dawson Place, and Fan felt grateful for his kindness; she
conversed with him during the walk, and at the door she had not refused
to shake hands when he offered his. In ordinary circumstances, she would
have made haste to tell her mistress all about it, thinking no harm;
unfortunately it happened that for some days Miss Starbrow had been in
one of her worst moods, and during these sullen irritable periods Fan
seldom spoke unless spoken to.
When Miss Starbrow found the girl in her room on going there, she looked
keenly and not too kindly at her, and imagined that poor Fan wore a look
of guilt on her face, whereas it was nothing but distress at her own
continued ill-temper which she saw.
"I shall give her till to-morrow to tell me," thought the lady, "and if
she says nothing, I shall conclude that she has made friends out of doors
and wishes to keep it from me."
Fan knew nothing of what was passing in the other's mind; she only saw
that her mistress was even less gracious to her than she had been, and
thought it best to keep out of her sight. For the rest of the day not one
word passed between them.
Next morning Fan got ready to go to Kensington, but first came in to her
mistress as was her custom. Miss Starbrow was also dressed in readiness
to go out; she was sitting apparently waiting to speak to Fan before
leaving the house.
"Are you going out, Mary?" said Fan, a little timidly.
"Yes, I am going out," she returned coldly, and then seemed waiting for
something more to be said.
"May I go now?" said Fan.
"No," the other returned after some moments. "Change your dress again and
stay at home to-day." Presently she added, "You are learning a little too
much in Exhibition Road--more, I fancy, than I bargained for."
Fan was silent, not knowing what was meant.
Then Miss Starbrow went out, but first she called the maid and told her
to remove Fan's bed and toilet requisites out of her room into the back
room.
Greatly distressed and perplexed at the unkind way she had been spoken
to, Fan changed her dress and sat down in the cold back room to do some
work. After a while she heard a great noise as of furniture being dragged
about, and presently Rosie came in with the separate pieces of her
dismantled bed.
"What are you doing with my things?" exclaimed Fan in surprise.
"Your things!" retorted Rosie, with scorn. "What your mistress told me to
do, you cheeky little beggar! Your things indeed! 'Put a beggar on
horseback and he'll ride to the devil,' and that's what Miss Starbrow's
beginning to find out at last. And quite time, too! Embroidery! That's
what you're going to wear perhaps when you're back in the slums you came
from! I thought it wouldn't last!" And Rosie, banging the things about,
pounding the mattress with clenched fist, and shaking the pillows like a
terrier with a rat, kept up this strain of invective until she had
finished her task, and then went off, well pleased to think that the day
of her triumph was not perhaps very far distant.
On that day, however, Rosie herself was destined to experience great
trouble of mind, and an anxiety about her future even exceeding that of
Fan, who was spending the long hours alone in that big, cold, fireless
room, grieving in her heart at the great change in her beloved mistress,
and dropping many a tear on the embroidery in her hands.
It was about three o'clock, and feeling her fingers quite stiff with
cold, she determined to go quietly down to the drawing-room in the hope
of finding a fire lighted there so as to warm her hands. Miss Starbrow
had not returned, and the house was very still, and after standing a few
moments on the landing, anxious not to rouse the maid and draw a fresh
volley of abuse on herself, she went softly down the stairs, and opened
the drawing-room door. For a moment or two she stood motionless, and then
muttering some incoherent apology turned and fled back to her room. For
there, very much at his ease, sat Captain Horton, with Rosie on his
knees, her arms about his neck, and her lips either touching his or in
very close proximity to them.
Rosie slipped from her seat, and the Captain stood up, but the intruder
had seen and gone, and their movements were too late.
"The spy! the cat!" snapped Rosie, grown suddenly pale with anger and
apprehension.
"It's very fine to abuse the girl," said the Captain; "but it was all
through your infernal carelessness. Why didn't you lock the door?"
"Oh, you're going to blame me! That's like a man. Perhaps you're in love
with the cat. I s'pose you think she's pretty."
"I'd like to twist her neck, and yours too, for a fool. If any trouble
comes you will be to blame."
"Say what you like, I don't care. There'll be trouble enough, you may be
sure."
"Do you mean to say that she will dare to tell?"
"Tell! She'll only be too glad of the chance. She'll tell everything to
Miss Starbrow, and she hates me and hates you like poison. It would be
very funny if she didn't tell."
He walked about the room fuming.
"It will be as bad for you as for me," he said.
"No, it won't. I can get another place, I s'pose."
"Oh, yes; very fine, and be a wretched slavey all your life, if you like
that. You know very well that I have promised you two hundred pounds the
day I marry your mistress."
"Yes; because I'm not a fool, and you can't help yourself. Don't think
_I_ want to marry you. Not me! Keep your love for Miss Starbrow, and
much you'll get out of her!"
"You idiot!" he began; but seeing that she was half sobbing he said no
more, and continued walking about the room. Presently he came back to
her. "It's no use quarrelling," he said. "If anything can be done to get
out of this infernal scrape it will only be by our acting together. Since
this wretched Fan has been in the house, Miss Starbrow is harder than
ever to get on with; and even if Fan holds her tongue about this--"
"She won't hold her tongue."
"But even if she should, we'll never do any good while she has that girl
to amuse herself with. You know perfectly well, Rosie, that if there is
anyone I really love it is you; but then we've both of us got to do the
best we can for ourselves. I shall love you just the same after I am
married, and if you still should like me, why then, Rosie, we might be
able to enjoy ourselves very well. But if Fan tells at once what she saw
just now, then it will be all over with us--with you, at any rate."
"She won't tell at once--not while her mistress is in her tantrums. The
little cat keeps out of her way then. Not to-day, and perhaps not to-
morrow; and the day after I think Miss Starbrow's going to visit her
friends at Croydon. That's what she said; and if she goes, she'll be out
all day."
"Oh!" ejaculated the Captain; then rising he carefully closed and locked
the door before continuing the conversation. They were both very much
interested in it; but when it was at last over, and the Captain took his
departure, Rosie did not bounce away as usual with tumbled hair and merry
flushed face. She left the drawing-room looking pale and a little scared
perhaps, and for the rest of the day was unusually silent and subdued.