NOVELIST. THE VICAR'S GOVERNESS. CHAPTER XXIV. CHAPTER XXIV.

Waikato Times, Volume xxvi, Issue 2458, 8 May 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE MOUNSEYS GOVERNESS. Tiik Thursday afternoon which M« Moansey had named in her letter duly came, and Miss Williams weut to Oldcastle to be inspected. This is not a very agreeable occupation, dear ladies. You who sit in the world's easy places can scarcely appreciate the feelings with which many a poor womau of birth and education goes up to these painful interviews. Stared at in the hall, and stared at in the drawing-room ; commented on by the footman, and commented on by the mistress; deprived, too often by some hapless accident, of a position even superior to the would-be patroness, how bitter must this trial be to numbers of sorrowful and sensitive hearts ! • Miss Williams, I presume?' said Mra Mounsey, bowing from her red velvet couch to welcome her visitor, without rising. Miss Williams bowed in return. ' Pray be seated,' said the lady of the house, graciously. 'You— ah ! — are living with the family of the Rev. Arthur Manners, the Vicar of Narbrough, at present, are you not ?' ' Yes,' said Miss Williams. ' Aud why nre you leaving your situation ?' inquired Mrs Mounscy. ' The sea air is too strong for me,' replied Miss Williams, blushing scarlet. •Ah ! indeed. You look delicate ; that is a very serious objection.' 1 1 am not very delicate.' •Ah ! Have you any constitutional complant— any organic disease V 'No, certainly not.' I And your health is your only reason for leaving Mrs Manners ? May I ask, did she discharge jou, or did you resign your situation ?' I 1 resigned.' • Ah ! indeed. Well, as to your attainments ? You speak and can teach French, you said in your letter? ' 'Yes.' ' And as to music ? Will you take off your gloves, and give me a little specimen of your capabilities ?' Mias Williams hesitated; but Mrs Mounsey looked at her so authoritively, that she timidly arose. 'My hands are very cold,' she said. Indeed she had been shiveringly seeking her way in the town, which was utterly strange to her, for the last hour, in a piercing March wind. • You can warm them,' said Mrs Mounsey ; and so trembling, and conscious that her musical abilities were but small, she sat down to the grand rosewood piano, and made a very feeble display. 1 That will do, 1 said Mrs Mousey, presently. 'You cannot, I think, expect the forty pounds which you mentioned in your letter as the salary you require, with such a very deficient musical education ?' • This is v hat I have now.' 'But my children are so youngyounger than Mrs Manners,' of course ; they, no doubt, had a master for music? 1 • No,' • You surprise me. Your touchy is io very poor. My children know a little of music already. My sister has instructed them ; and indeed 1 should have had no necessity for any further assistance in their education for some years, but unfortunately she had been obliged to leave my house for the South. Our maternal grandmother, Mis Gerard, has been suddenly seized with a dangerous disorder, and my sister Laura has been compelled to leave me to attend on our aged relative, who ia a lady of some property.' 'Indeed.' • J hercfore I could not think of giving so high a salary as you ask. I would go as far as £25 perhaps, with board, of course, but not including washing ; and I think, when you consider the ages of my children, and also that I am somewhat surprised at Mre Manners having a governess whose accomplishments appear to be so small, that my offer is very liberal.' •Shall I accept it? -can I accept it?' thought the poor girl opposite to her. ' But George, I may see George— perhaps he will be sorry for me then.' ' I— l do not know what to say, she faltered. • I have had many applications,' said Mrs Mounsey, going on with her pointlacc work, or rather with poor Laura Claytons, for Mrs Mouusey merely put in a few wrong stitches occasionally ; ' and if you do not thiuk it sufficient, of course——' 'Oh ! is the last "chance going away — the last chance of seeing him again!' thought Amy Williams, despairing; so she said, • I— l will agree, as your children ore so'young. ' And about their wardrobe?' continued Mrs Monnsey, majestically ; ' I shall expeot you to keep them in order.' ' What, make their dresses ?' ' My children's best dresses are made at the first milliner's in the town ; but I mean to make their school frocks, and keep them in repair.' • I am afnid I am not a very good work-women.' •May I ask what you are good at, then ?' said Mrs Mrmnsey, with asperity, 1 as I have had firat-class finishing goTerness offered to me for the salary you expected?' • I can teach singing and sing.' • Will you kindly give me a specimen ?' •Yes,' replied Miss Williams. Her nervousness was gone ; a feeling of indignation had come in its place, and sho sat down again to tho piano, and in her clear sweet voice sang so well that Mrs Mounsey was slightly surprised. ' Your singing is certaiuly superior to your playina I ,' she said ; and as she particularly wished her dear little Louisa to excel in that art, she became a little more civil to the poor governess. ' Are you acqu.iinted with Mr G.'orge Manners ?' she asked presently. • Yea,' replied Miss Williams. ' Does he frequently go down to Narbrousfh Vicarage ?' 'Not lately,' said Miss Williams b-iefly. 'Not lately? Ah! iudeed, How is that ?' 'Perhaps his busiuess engagements— but I do not know.' •H« is » ri?inar yourg man, Mr Mousey says J & very rising young man

— my husband has a great respect for Mi Manners. And his cousin, tho Baronet, in he much in the North ?' ' Ho is at the Hall now.' 'Ah ! DOO3 he go much to the Vioarage V ' Oh yes, a good deal. 1 'Ah ! Tho first Mrs Manners Mi George Manners's mother, was, I bi'liove, a Munnera also ; sister to Lady Manners, the lute Sir Hugh's lady, was she not : Bat the present one ?' ' She is a very nice person.' • But not lady-like I presume. It was very strange— a gentleman of Mr Manners's birth and position marrying a* ho did. But there is no accounting" for these thing*. It must be very uncomfortable for Mr George Manners seeing hia mother's place occupied in such a manner. 1 'He is very ranch attached to his stepmother.' ' You surprise me ! Attached to his stepmother P I can scarcely credit that.' 'Ho is indeed. She is just like a mother to him, and he is very fond of the little girls.' 'It is very amiable of him, very amiable, indeed, bhe must have been a great beauty, I suppose ; but her manners — are thoy very deficient.' • She i* so kind to me, I can only speak of her with the greatest gratitude.' •Ah ! well, naturally she will not feel tho same distinctions of rank which a bom lady does,' said Mrs Mounsoy, feeling it was her duty to keep Miss Williams in her proper position ; though had she not accepted Mr Mounsey, or rather had not that gentleman proposed for her — md about doing which he had had considerable hesitation, on account of her want of fortnne — both she and her taster would probably at this time have been struggling in the world as govornessea themselves, being left totally penniless by a bankrupt father. But Mrs Mounsey was a rich woman now, and had completely forgotten this little possibility, I and thnrefore she treated Miss Williams with beooraing dignity. After a little more hard bargaining, and after promising to mend tho house linen in her leisure hours, Miss Williams rose to leave. 'Stay a minute, Miss William*,' said Mrs Mounsey, rising and ringing the bell, Miss Williams paused ; she thought her hostess was about to order up some refreshments, of whioh she stood greatly in need. 'Bring down M.ister and Miss Mounsey,' said the mis'r.'ss of the house, when the servant objyed her summons. This was the treat f-ho was going to give the poor ti r ed wom.;n, who had travelled sixty miles ro be inspected.' ' Well, darlings,' said Mrs Mounsey, her whole faco changing as the door opened, and two little whitefaced, unhealthy, ugly children were ushered in. 1 Well, Johnny, my pct — and Lovey — what makes you look so cross ? What's vexing mamma's darling P' 'I don't want that woman to come,' said Louey, pointing to Miss Williams ; ' I want auntie.' ' But auntie was obliged to go to poor granny, Louey knows — to granny who lives in a pretty house, and has, oh ! Biioh pretty china ; und perhaps when she dies she may leave Louey some of her pretty things.' ' I wish she would die then,' remarked Louey. ' Oh ! naughty Lonoy— Louey shouldn't say that. And if this lady comes, Louey must try to be good and learn her lessons — and grow up a wise, Wise little lady.' • I don't like h<?r,' said Louey. • Perhnps you will, darling. It's extraordinary, do you know, Miss Williams the power of ob.-ervation this child has for one so young. She has her likes and her dislikes, I oan tell you. Do you like her, Johnny ?' she continued, addressing the little boy, who was sucking his thumb, aid regarding Miss Williams with stupid solemnity. ' Yes,' replied Johnny, removing that luxury from his mouth ; 'she's pretty.' 4 Oh ! you complimentary little gentleman ! Miss Williams, I rausn't have you turning my son's head,' said Mrs Mounsoy, highly delighted with the brilliancy of Johnny's remarks. 'And you'll be" good Johnny?' she went on coavingly — but Johnny waß sileut, and would not commit himself to any promises on this point. • He's high-spirited,"' said Mrs Mounsey ; but all bays are. That is what I tell 'Mr Mounsey. But what did Johnny do lately ? What did naughty Johnny do ? and nearly broke poor mamma's heart ?' ' Broke my head,' said Johnny, again removing his thumb. ' Oh ! it was dreadful !' said Mrs Mounsey — ' dreadful ! I was lying down ;we expected — ah ! to be sure, we expected Mr Georgo Manners to dinner that day, and I heard a fall and a cry. 1 pprang up, and there — there, when I rushed to tho landing, lay my dear little boy, bleeding nnd senseless, in tho hall below." ' I wasn't,' ?aid Johnny. • Wasn't what, darling P But you should not contradict mamma.' • I wasn't, paid Johnny, again. 1 What does ho mean, Louey 1 Can you tell what he means V 'Ho wasn't senseless ma ; he was shouting. That's what ho means,' replied Louoy, who wns clever. ' Is that it, Johnny j* ' Yes, it's a pack o' lies.' •Oh Johuiiy.' ' I was'nt senseless,' 6aid Johnny, determinedly. ' But you were'very much hurt ?' • Yes.' ' Poor fellow ' how he clung to mamma all day. That's true, isn't it, pet?' ' Yes, you gave me toffy*' ' Yes, I gave my darling everything I had. Oh ! Johnny must never — never ride on the bannisters again. He will promise mamma that ?' • Yes.' •And why? Because poor mamma wishes him not, isn't that the reason ? 'No,' replied the truthful Johnny; 1 'cause I broke my bead ;' and then put his thumb into his mouth again, and declined all further conversation. ' I must go now, I think,' said Miss Williams, rising ; you will write, then, to MrH Manners ?' • Yes,' answered Mrs Mounsey, resuming her dignified manner. ' I wish, lam sure, it had been JMr Manners' first lady ; but I suppose it cannot be helped,' After this it was agreed that, should Mrs Manners' answer be satisfactory, Miss Williams was to enter into her new situation in about three week's after this interview. ' And I assure you I consider you have been very fortunate in securing it, was Mrs Mounsoy's parting address to her now governess j *f ar I have had no many applications. But of courae it depends on what Mm Manners (ays ; and I cannot but regret that it is not Mr Geo. Manners' own mother you could have referred to.' ' What will he say when he findi me here ?— -what will ho say !' thought Amy Williams as she descended Mrs Mounsey'u steps. Ah ! if that lady could have looked into her heart at that moment, there would have been very short wi>rk with the arrangement they had just made. 'To come to my house with a motive,' Mrs Mounsey would have mid ; ' ' the vile motive of meeting a young man !' Yes, dear madarae, that was her motive, and that has beon the motive of many a young woman besides. There are pretty speeches said ; kindly glances given ; affectionate inquiries made— all with a moi.JS! too, Miss William? wan goiug to

be Miss Mounsey'a governess; going to put up with two cross, spoilt children ; to Pit in .1 dull dark schoolroom ; to mend and turn Mis Mounsey 'a drcses, and to bo bullied and snubbed by that lady ; and nil for twenty five pounds a year — mid her motive ! And it had good need to bo a strong one if she had known of various other liitlo agreeable items which lay ready cut out for her in the mind of her kindly patroness. How strange she felt as 3he walked down the handsome new street, and looked at the large stone houses on every side. .Windsor-street is a new place, and it looked very new. The trees planted in the public garden, in the centre of the semicircle of which it is composed, are still but mere suburbs. Tho Venetian blinds arc still new and green. The flowerpots and stands in the open vestibules are of tho newest and most elaborate patterns. It is a new place, is inhabited chiefly by new people —for it is absolutely marvellous how men rise in a town like Oldcastle, A. young fellow goes into an office, and probably begins his career there by sweeping it 1 out. But how docs he end it?— He ends it often in the highest place. He ,aits and gives his ordeis where die once swept the floor. Industry ; some lucky speculation ; some fortunate waiting for the "tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood leads on to fortune "—" — and the new nun is mide. Society opens her arms to him after a little while ; smiles on the moneyed man, and sits at his sumptuous table. His wife, perhaps, is a little coar3<?, but his daughters are not — and all honour to him ! He is worthy of his success, niost likely. Worthy of it from the patient self-denial he must have exercised when he first entered on the race, not twenty or thirty years back, probably, and maybe trembled before the great man then whose place he now occupies. But these, perhaps, arc extreme cases. The majority of the townspeople have, however, " risen." That is, they began life in a lower social grade than that which they now occupy, and almost all the country homes of the old gentry around are now inhabited by this class ; while gorgeous villas, parks,, and halls have sprnug up in every direction. Mr Peel, Miss Claytons admirer, is, however, one of the extreme cases. He began his life as a blacksmith's lad, and laboured at the forge many a summer's day, and now must often drive past the old workshop on his way to .his grand new Hall. But he has the good taste not to be all new in his surroundings. He bought a very extensive property, belonging originally to an ancient but decayed Northumbrian family, on which, amidst its grand old trees, stood the family mansion, , crumbling and falling like the fortunes of its unfortunate possessors. Mr Peel pulled down the old house, but he did not cut down the old trees. He drove up in his smart new carriage, through an avenue which had budded and leafed, and budded and leafed again, a hundred years. The old people were all gone— the place had been called by their name, its the village ale-house yet is (though the new proprietor has some idea of changing it, and going with the times) ; but the old trees stood still. Mr Peel looked at them with pride through his plate-glass windows, and listened to 'the cawing of the rooks, and fed fat cattle in the "wide vast park— for he could not bear the idea of grass land being wasted— and never thought of the "fair women and brave men" whe had wandered there before him ; or of the broken hearts which had gone away to drag ont existence in some cheap water-iug-place abroad, who had been born to inherit the acres he had bought. The Mounseys, on the contrary, belonged to the other class. Mr Mounseys father had been a doctor ; a doctor in a very small way ; but still a professional man, and he had scraped and pinched, and managed to article his only son to one of the first solicitors in the place. Mr Mounsey was a prudent man, and his high nose wag not red in his youth ; and his high; nose and light playful ways did him a good turn in those days. Mr Gordon, his employer, a well connected, satirical old lawyer, was a bachelor; but with him lived his maiden sinter, Miss Gordon, who, though neither young nor handsome, had £10,000 of her own, and the smart young clerk in the office knew all about this little fact. How it came'about was never known, but it did. One fine morning Dorothy Gordon, spinster, was married to John Mounsey, bachelor, and tho chains were rivited too fast for all the law in England to unbind. Mr Gordon was a pemible man, and was also a bit of a philosopher, and" after his first nnger was over ho took the affair very quietly. ' Dorothy was an old fool for her pajns,' ha said. 'If she wanted a husband, why had she not taken one before ? However, it was her business.' But by-and-by he made it his to make the best of it. He took his sister's young husband into partnership, giving him n small share in the business, and Mr Mounsey bad been a 'rising man' ever since. The first Mrs Mounsey died in conrse of yoars, and old Gordon died, and the nmart dapper young clerk changed into a tniddlo'figed tiresome man — but very respectable. Everyone said Mr Mounsey was a roost respectable man, and the present Mrs Mounsey held herself among the highest aristocracy of Oldcaetlo, and had the greatest respect for her position and herself. So among the new street* and tho new squares, tho poor, tired, cold governess, wandered op. She was thinking how often George had trod this pavement — how often looked at this or that. Not that be had ; for he very seldom went along the fashionable quarters of the town, and had not cared much to aßsocinto with the greatest people who lived there. She then found her way to the street where he, had lived ; tho quiet little off- 1 street where old lira Carr, hU landlady, daily congratulated herself and her neighbours (to their disgust) on having such a nice steady young man te lodge with her. It was a dull little house, Miss Williams thought, after she had found it. Dull, with short yellow blinds to the dull windows of tho dull parlour where George had lived. It was not a very grand place for a hero like i«he thought him to exist in, certainly. It looked very commonplace and shabby ; yot th» poor girl stood gazing wistfully in at tho window, and with a great throb at her heart, saw Georgo's pipe lying neglected on the mantelpiece, and some cards and letters which perhaps he had opened and nuns? away. Yes, it was only a shabby little room, but it seemed very dear to her ; and this foolish, stupid young woman, after glancing round to see no one wa* observing her, Btoopeddown and kiMood tho cold grey smoky Btone outside tho window, and then turned her tired and weary steps away. (To he cot) tin >i cd. )

DcniXft the last year the pawnbrokers' business m Berlin has increased nearly 1 1 per cent. More thau GO per cent, of the people who habitually resort to the pawnshops are workingmen and small traders. Heretofore a Canadian voter who owned property in tho electiou districts might vote in both of them. The new law will not allow that privilege no one l*iug allowed to vote more than ouee t