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A Proposal
All looked so easy and bright in the future that it seemed harsh on the part of Fate to crush out hope after hope. All appeared so promising when Hazel had discussed her position with Mr Geringer, and then during the next few months bit by bit the morsels of blue sky were blotted out of her horizon, till all above her seemed cold grey cloud, and her life a blank.
First then was her mother’s health to battle for, and to comfort her when they had to move to furnished lodgings and manage without a servant.
“Yes, it will be better,” said Edward Geringer to himself with a smile. “Let it work.”
He had thought the matter out thoroughly – for the family, save for a little consideration displayed by the creditors, were absolutely penniless; and he let them go into lodgings, and waited to be asked for help.
The first appeal to him was about Percy, the son; and he responded willingly, advising sensibly and well that the lad should go into some City office and fight his way in the world.
Hazel sighed, for she had hoped for more schooling and then a career at college, in spite of her talk of her brother’s working. So Percy went into the office of Suthers, Rubley, and Spark, the sugar-brokers, and came home grumbling every night.
It was hard to bear, for it upset poor weak Mrs Thorne, who sympathised with her son, and talked of the degradation, and sighed and petted him, calling him her noble boy, inveighing against Fate, and making the lad ten times as discontented with his position as he had been before, and so increased the load on Hazel’s shoulders just at a time when she was nearly broken-hearted.
For it was unmistakable: Archibald Graves, the true, the sterling, the handsome, the best of men, had been yielding to home-pressure. Old Graves said it was preposterous. The girl was right enough, but he was not going to see his son throw himself away and set up a home with a penniless girl so as to keep her mother and family as well.
Archibald Graves was indignant at first, then he thought it over. Hazel was the nicest and dearest of girls, but certainly Mrs Thorne only wanted a vowel left out of her name for it to describe her exactly. He did not like Percy either, whom he thought “a spoiled young cub.” Then there were more words with his father; introductions to friends of his sisters, especially to one Miss Pettifer, who was reputed rich, and so on, till Archibald Graves, in following his own likings, set it all down to his father’s stern orders.
He told himself that he was only doing his duty in ceasing his visits to the Thornes, and after nearly breaking her heart, pride came to Hazel Thorne’s help, and she grew pale and sterner of face as the weeks passed, and no Archibald, while Edward Geringer came regularly, called her his dear child, and went away smiling and praising himself for his self-restraint.
It is needless to go on describing Hazel Thorne’s troubles during these months, when, in addition to the suffering produced by the falling away of one to whom she had looked for help, there was the attendance on the querulous, sick, thoughtless mother, always complaining of her fate and the fact that a lady should be brought down to such a life. There was Percy to combat when he talked of throwing up his situation, “appointment” he called it – the children – the little sisters – to teach, and, above all, the battle to fight of finding money, and lowering her pride to accept help from relatives who gave grudgingly when unwillingly appealed to.
Mr Geringer had thoughtfully placed money in her hands twice.
“The result of a little speculation in which I was engaged with poor Thorne, my dear child,” he said; but that failed fast, and as Hazel toiled on at her task of giving lessons to three or four pupils she had got together, she looked blankly forward at the future, and wondered what they all would do.
It was nearly six months since her father’s death, and she could not conceal the fact from herself that they were rapidly going down-hill. Instead of Percy being a help, he was an expense; and everything depended upon her. Under the circumstances, the only prospect open to her was to start a school; but while the grass was growing the steed was starving, and she used to look with envy at the smart well-dressed mistress of the national school hard by, with her troop of girls who came pouring out at noon; and at last came like an inspiration the idea – why should not she get a post as mistress?
To think was to act, and she boldly called on the mistress, who sent her away terribly dejected, with the information that at least a year’s training in the system, however well educated the would-be teacher might be, was absolutely necessary. Hazel, however, obtained a good deal of information as well, ready to ponder over – how she might either go to Whitelands or to Smith Square, Westminster; what would be the cost; the probabilities of her obtaining a school afterwards; the salary; etcetera, etcetera.
She went back in despair, for how could the money be obtained to pay her expenses and keep house as well, while the idea of obtaining a school at the end of a year’s training, with a certain salary and a comfortable home, seemed so Eden-like a prospect that the difficulties to be surmounted appeared to grow.
Like all other difficulties, however, they began to shrink when boldly attacked. Hazel wrote to two or three relatives, as a forlorn hope, and they who had before only doled out a few pounds unwillingly, jumped at the chance of getting the indigent applicant off their hands, and after a consultation, wrote to her saying they were so pleased with her efforts at self-help, that amongst them they would subscribe the funds for paying her fees, at the training institution and for maintaining Mrs Thorne and the children for a year, or such time as Hazel should get a school.
“Oh, mamma, mamma, sunshine at last,” cried the girl, and trembling, weeping, and laughing hysterically, in turn, so great was her joy, she read the letter, which came upon Mrs Thorne as a surprise, her child having kept her quite in ignorance of the plans to prevent disappointment.
“Then, I think it very disgraceful, very disgraceful indeed, Hazel,” said the poor woman indignantly. “They ought to be ashamed of themselves.”
“Ashamed, dear mother!”
“Now, don’t you turn against me in my troubles, Hazel,” cried Mrs Thorne. “What have I done that my own child should begin to degrade me?”
“Degrade you? Oh, my own dear mother!”
“There – there again! I don’t care how low we are forced by the cruelty of my relatives, and your poor dear papa’s. I will never forget that I am a lady.”
“Surely not, dear,” said Hazel soothingly.
“Then why will you persist in calling me by that low, common, degrading term – Mother?”
“Dear mamma, I thought it better under the circumstances.”
“No circumstances could excuse it, Hazel,” said Mrs Thorne with dignity. “Percy never speaks to me like that; and by-the-way, my dear, Percy says he must have a new suit: his mourning is getting so shabby, he is quite ashamed of it, and I’m sure my heart bleeds every time I see the poor boy go out.”
“Yes, mamma, we will see what can be done,” said Hazel, suppressing a sigh.
“And as to that national school business,” continued Mrs Thorne, “it is disgraceful. Write and tell cousin Jane and her husband that, however low we may be reduced by poverty, my daughter will never forget that she is a lady.”
“But, mamma dear,” said Hazel gently; “it was entirely my idea, and I wrote for their help.”
“You – you, Hazel – my child – propose to go to a common training school, and then accept a situation to teach a pack of dirty poor people’s children? Oh, what have I done – what have I done to be called upon to suffer this new – this pitiful degradation! What have I done?”
It was hard work, but by degrees poor Mrs Thorne was brought round to think that perhaps – perhaps – she would go no farther – it might be less degradation to accept an honourable post and do a great duty therein of helping to make so many girls better women by careful training, than to live in indigence as a kind of respectable pauper, subsisting on the assistance of grudging friends.
So the poor, weak, proud woman at last gave way, and the preliminaries being arranged, Hazel was about to leave home for the training institution full of hope, when there was a change in the state of affairs.
All this had taken place unknown to Mr Geringer, who was quite startled when he heard the plans, for they ran counter to his own.
It had been quite in keeping with his ideas that the Thornes should taste the bitters of poverty, and know what being impecunious really meant. The poorer they were the easier would be his task. Matters had gone on swimmingly. Their position had had its effect upon the Graves’s, and his rival, as he called Archibald Graves, had left the field; six months had passed, and Hazel had grown to look upon him as a very dear friend, though not as a lover, and he had come to the conclusion that the time was now ripe for asking her to be his wife; in fact, he had had thoughts of speaking at their last meeting, but had been put off! Now he had come to find Mrs Thorne alone, and after a certain amount of preliminary, was about to speak, when the lady fired off her views and took him by surprise.
“Go – to a training institution – become a schoolmistress!” he cried. “My dear Mrs Thorne, it is impossible.”
“Exactly my words,” said the lady. “‘Hazel, my dear child,’ I said, ‘such a degradation is impossible.’”
“Quite impossible,” said Geringer; and then he drew nearer and talked for some time in a low voice to Mrs Thorne, who shed tears and sobbed greatly, and said that she had always looked upon him as their best and dearest friend.
“I have waited, you see,” he continued, “for of course if I had felt that dear Hazel really cared for this young Graves I should have said nothing, and I fully know my deficiencies, my age, and such drawbacks; but I am tolerably wealthy, and I can give her all she has lost, restore her nearest and dearest to their proper place in society – almost to the position they formerly held in the world’s esteem.”
Mrs Thorne thought they were words of gold, and at Geringer’s request she not only readily promised to prepare Hazel, but that all should be as he wished.
L’homme propose, as the French proverb has it and things do not always turn out as he wishes. Mr Geringer, after the preparation Hazel received from Mrs Thorne, proposed and was refused. Hazel said it was impossible, and such was her obstinacy, as Mrs Thorne called it, she refused to become a rich man’s wife, and insisted upon going to the Whitelands training institution, condemning her unfortunate mother to a life of poverty and degradation, her brother to toil, and blasting her young sisters’ prospects, when she might have married, had her carriage, and all would have gone as merry as a marriage bell.
That was Mrs Thorne’s view of the case, and she kept up her protests with tears and repining, winning Percy to her side till he was always ready to reproach his sister. Hazel bore all, worked with all the energy in her nature for the year of training, was fortunate in getting a school after a few months’ waiting, and was, as we found her, duly installed in the little schoolhouse, her brother being boarded with some humble friends in town.
Chapter Five.
Disturbing Influences
Hazel Thorne felt giddy as she took her seat in the front of the gallery, the seat with a little square patchy cushion close to the red curtains in front of the organist’s pew. Beside and behind her the school children sat in rows, with ample room for three times the number; but the seats were never filled save upon the two Sundays before the annual school feast when somehow the Wesleyan and Congregational Sunday-schools were almost empty, and the church school thronged.
It was precisely the same on Mr Chute’s side of the organ, with his boys beside and behind, and so situated that he could lean a little forward and get a glimpse of Hazel’s profile, and also so that he could leave his seat, go round by the back of the organ, and give the new mistress the hymn-book, and the music used, with all the hymns, chants, and tunes carefully turned down.
It was a pleasant little attention to a stranger, and Hazel turned and thanked him with a smile that was not at all necessary, as Miss Rebecca who played the organ, and saw this through an opening in the red curtains, afterwards said to her brother the Reverend Henry Lambent, while at the time she said: —
“Sh! sh!” For Ann Straggalls was fighting down a desire to laugh, consequent upon Feelier Potts whining sharply: —
“Oh, Goody, me!”
“Like her impudence,” Mr Chute said to himself, in allusion to Miss Rebecca’s interference with the duties of the new mistress. “She’d better not try it on with my boys,” and he went back to think of Hazel Thorne’s sweet sad smile.
And all the time the object of his thoughts felt giddy.
Archibald Graves down there, when she had believed that he had forgotten her; and the more she thought, the more agitated and indignant she grew. At times she felt as if she must leave the church, for there, plainly in view, sat the disturber of her peace, one whom she had put behind her with the past; and when at last they stood up to sing the first hymn, to her horror she found that it was the custom in the old country church for the audience all to turn and face the organ, when Archibald Graves stood gazing up at her, and, strive how she would, she could not help once or twice meeting his eyes.
“It is cruel and unmanly,” she thought, as she resumed her seat, feeling half distracted by the flood of emotion that seemed to sweep away the present.
Fortunately there was an audible “Sh! sh!” from behind the red curtains just then; and this drew Hazel’s attention to the fact that Feelier Potts was, if not “tiddling,” at all events making Ann Straggalls laugh, just when, in a high-pitched drawl, the Reverend Henry Lambent was going on with the service, as if he felt it a great act of condescension to make appeals on behalf of such a lower order of beings as the Plumtonites. What time the round smooth face of Mr William Forth Burge was looking over the edge of his pew, where he always knelt down standing up as Feelier Potts said, and always smelt his hat inside when he came into church. And while this gentleman forgot all about the prayers in his thoughtful meditation upon the face of one who he told himself had the face of an angel, Mr Chute kept forgetting the litany, and let the boys straggle in the responses, for he felt impelled to glance round the front of the organ pew at the soft white forehead he could just contrive to see.
“Those girls never behaved worse,” said Miss Rebecca to herself. “If this is to be the way they are kept in order she will never do.”
Miss Rebecca Lambent felt more sore than usual, for she was at heart aggrieved that the new schoolmistress should be so good-looking and ladylike – matters not at all in accordance with what was right for “a young person in her station in life;” and, to make matters worse, Jem Chubb, who blew the bellows, let the wind fail in the middle of the second hymn.
It was fortunate, then, that the girls did behave so badly, and that Feelier Potts would keep spreading out her hands, and saying, “Oh, Goody me!” in imitation of the vicar’s tones, for it took Hazel’s attention, and her task of keeping the girls quiet stayed her thoughts from wandering away.
There was no avoiding the meeting, and when at last – the service being over and the congregation going – the school children, evidently smelling dinner, having rushed off in spite of all efforts to detain them – Hazel slowly descended, it was to find Archibald Graves waiting at the foot of the stairs, and he stepped in front of Mr Chute, who, as he was so near a neighbour, aimed at walking with the new mistress home.
“Let us go off along the road here somewhere, Hazel,” said Archibald Graves abruptly, “I have come down on purpose to see you. Never mind these people; come along.”
What should she do? Miss Rebecca was staring – nay, glowering; the Burges were coming up, and this terrible interview, which she would have given worlds to avoid, was apparently inevitable: for, unlike some young ladies she did not feel disposed to faint. What then, should she do?
The knot was untied, for just then there was a rustle of silk, and Miss Beatrice swept up over the chiselled slabs, to say, in a stern, uncompromising voice —
“Miss Thorne, my brother, the vicar, wishes to speak with you in the vestry.”
Chapter Six.
The Reverend Henry Lambent
“I beg your pardon,” said Archibald Graves, rather abruptly; “I spoke to Miss Thorne before church. I think she is engaged to me.”
The eyes of Beatrice Lambent opened with astonishment and she stared at this daring young man, who had the presumption to talk of interposing between the new schoolmistress and the head of the parish. She was evidently about to speak, for her lips moved, but no words came.
It was Hazel who put an end to the unpleasant dilemma.
“I will come at once. Miss Lambent, if you please,” she said respectfully.
“Miss Beatrice Lambent, if you please,” said the lady haughtily; “Miss Lambent is now descending from the organ-loft.”
“I beg your pardon,” exclaimed Hazel. Then, glancing with quiet dignity at the intruder and back to Miss Beatrice: “Mr Graves was a friend of our family a year or two back. Mr Graves, my mother is at the schoolhouse; if you wish to see me, I must ask you to call there.”
She followed Miss Beatrice up between the rows of pews that lady seeming to take her into moral custody; while, seeing himself the aim of several pairs of eyes, including those of Mr Chute, Mr William Forth Burge, Miss Burge, and above all, those of Miss Lambent, which literally flashed at him, Archibald Graves nodded shortly, turned upon his heel, and tried to march carelessly out of church; but his easy motions were terribly full of restraint.
“I was not aware that Miss Thorne would be so soon having friends,” said Miss Lambent; but her remark elicited no reply, for Mr William Forth Burge and his sister both felt troubled, the schoolmaster angry, and all too much preoccupied with the appearance of Hazel Thorne as she passed into the chancel, and through a bar of brilliant colour cast by the sun from the new stained-glass window, which had been placed in the south end of the chancel in memory of the late vicar, the effect being very strange, seeming to etherealise Hazel; though for the matter of that the same effect would have been seen, had it been noticed, in connection with Miss Beatrice, who had led the way, drawing aside the curtain that hung in front of the vestry door, and tapping softly with her knuckles.
“Come in!”
Very simple words, but they set Hazel’s heart beating, as, in a whisper full of awe, but at the same time very distant and cold, Miss Beatrice said:
“You may go in now.”
As she spoke she drew back, holding the curtain for Hazel to pass; and trying to master her emotion, the latter raised the latch and entered the vestry.
The vicar was standing with his hat in hand, gazing out of the little window at the cheerful prospect of a piece of blank old stone wall, surmounted by a large waterspout, and though he must have heard the door open and close, he did not turn, but stood there as stiff and uncompromising of aspect as his sisters.
He had seen Hazel Thorne twice before, but in a gloomy room in London; and being of rather a preoccupied turn of mind, he had paid so little heed to her personal appearance that he would hardly have recognised her again. A new mistress had been required, and the customary correspondence had taken place; he had called at the institution, asked a few questions, and there was an end of the matter, the strong recommendations of the lady-principal being sufficient for the engagement to be decided on.
Hazel stood waiting for him to turn round, but the Reverend Henry Lambent remained gazing at the water-pipe for some few moments before coughing slightly to clear his throat. Then, in a voice full of haughty condescension, he began:
“I am glad to find that you arrived punctually. Miss Thorne, in accordance with the arrangements that were made; and I take this opportunity of saying a few words to you at this commencement of your career in Plumton.”
Here he stopped, and faced slowly round, allowing his half-closed eyes to rest indifferently upon the new mistress, who was standing facing the window, and upon whose rather pale care-worn face the light fell strongly as he turned.
Very plainly dressed in her well-fitting mourning, Hazel Thorne was one who could have claimed a second look from the sternest of mortals.
It was not that she was surpassing beautiful, and could boast of finely-chiselled nostrils, Juno-like brow, or any of the wonderfully entrancing features with which some novelists endow their heroines; Hazel was simply a sweet-faced, thoroughly English girl, but there was an expression in her eyes, a touching look so full of appeal that it even affected the cold, unimpassioned vicar, who remained silent for some moments as if wondering, and then hastily said:
“I beg your pardon. Miss Thorne, will you sit down!”
He placed a chair for her, and drew another forward from where it was half hidden behind the folds of the surplice but lately hung upon its proper peg, and, astonished at himself waited till Hazel had seated herself before following suit.
“That young man” seemed to have vanished from his thoughts, and the lecture he had intended to read the young schoolmistress upon the bad appearance of such meetings as those which had taken place that morning dropped from his memory, and his lips formed words that surprised him as much as his acts.
“I trust that you have found everything correct at – at the schoolhouse, Miss Thorne?”
“Quite, I thank you,” replied Hazel, with quiet dignity, and she entirely forgot that she was addressing her superior, and left out the “sir.”
“Of course everything is very strange and new to you at first; but er – er, you will soon feel quite at home with us, I hope.”
“Indeed, I hope so,” said Hazel earnestly. “The time has been so short as yet.”
“Yes – of course – so very short,” replied the vicar. “My sisters will call to-morrow, I have no doubt and see Mrs Thorne. I shall be down at the school in the afternoon. You saw Miss Burge, of course, this morning?”
“Oh yes. Miss Burge walked up to church with me.”
“And Mr William Forth Burge too, if I mistake not. Most admirable people, Miss Thorne. Great patrons of our schools. I trust that you will – er – er – try to – er – that is, endeavour to meet them in little matters, connected with the management of the children.”
“You may rely upon my trying to thoroughly fulfil my duties, Mr Lambent,” said Hazel quietly.
“Of course – to be sure, Miss Thorne, no doubt,” he said hastily; and as he spoke he wondered at himself more and more; “but I must not detain you, Miss Thorne. Er – allow me one moment, the curtain is rather awkward to one unaccustomed to the place.”
And, to the astonishment – the utter astonishment – of his sisters, who were standing as stiffly in the chancel as if they were a couple of monumental effigies, the Reverend Henry Lambent opened the door, passed out first, and then stood holding the curtain aside for Hazel to pass, which she did, bowing gravely and with quiet dignity to the two ladies before gliding along the nave and out of the door.
Neither of the sisters spoke, but stood, like the vicar, watching the new mistress leave the church.
At last Miss Beatrice turned.
“What excuse did she make, Henry?” she said.
