CHAPTER XIII.

THE CITY KNIGHT'S FAMILY.

BRISTOL, at the time of our story, was the second city in England, and was famous for its wealth and luxury, for its West India trade and its sugar refineries, and, alas! also for the infamous slave-trade of which it was the centre, and which dealt in white skins as well as black ones, which not only brought in negroes, but carried out white boys and girls, stolen in the streets sometimes, never to be heard of again. It contained some splendid churches and several ancient endowed schools and hospitals, but the streets were so narrow that no carts were used save those drawn with dogs. And there was hardly a coach in the whole city, for the simple reason that there was no place in which to use one.

Winifred found Lady Corbet in her own private sitting-room, and was reminded at once of Mrs. Alwright, not only by the basket of linen piled up to be darned and the huge bunch of keys in its little basket on the table, but even by something in the lady's manner of handling her needle and scissors.

"Ah! So you have come betimes, Mrs. Evans!" was her greeting. "I am truly glad to see you! My girls are losing their time and running wild for want of something to do. I have no time to teach them myself, and my last governess has just married Sir John's managing clerk—and a good match for her too, poor thing, for she was an orphan, and Mr. Thomas Green is a good, kind, and steady man, though perhaps a thought elderly. And what can you teach, child—anything besides tapestry and cut-work? I suppose, for instance, you don't know anything about figures?"

"Yes, madam," replied Winifred—she could not bring herself to say my lady—"I know how to cast accounts, and how to keep a household book."

"Dear me, how glad I am!" exclaimed Lady Corbet, relaxing a little from the stateliness with which she had met Winifred, and which did not seem in the least natural to her. "Then I am sure you will help me now and then, won't you? Sir John he insists that I shall keep an account of all the expenses of the house, but what is the use, when I never can make my sums come out twice alike?"

Winifred professed her willingness to render any assistance which might be needed.

"Well, that is kind of you. You see, in such a great household as this—for Sir John he will have all his clerks and 'prentices live in the family—there is a great deal going out all the time, and unless some one looks after things, presently everything is at sixes and sevens. Now I cannot make up my mind to do like my cousin Norton the alderman's wife—she just spends and spends, and seems to know no more what it costs to live than my Betty. I cannot think that is right, somehow. It seems as if one ought to give an account of one's stewardship, don't you think so, sweetheart?" asked Lady Corbet, who seemed quite delighted at having some one to whom she could talk freely.

"I do, indeed, madam!" replied Winifred, feeling her heart warm toward the bustling lady, whom she had at first thought she never could like. "I shall be glad to give you help about accounts or any other matter. Mrs. Alwright taught me a good deal about housekeeping when I used to go to the Hall."

"Mrs. Alwright!" exclaimed Lady Corbet. "Dear me, child, you don't surely mean Hannah Alwright—she that was brought up by my old Lady Carew, and afterward went to live with her daughter, Lady Peckham at Holford Hall?"

"The same, madam," replied Winifred, her heart beating fast. "My lady was the kindest friend I ever had; and I used to go to Mrs. Alwright two or three times a week to learn fine work and other things, and I stayed at the Hall for two weeks before my lady went away to London."

"Laws me! Do you know, my dear—" Lady Corbet's dignity had dissolved into thin air by this time—"I thought of Cousin Margaret the moment I saw you at Mistress Bowler's the other day! Not that you look like her, either, but you have something in your manner—and do you know anything of my cousin, Mrs. Evans?"

"Indeed I do not, madam," said Winifred, sadly. "I hoped I might hear news of her from you."

"And I wish I had it for you, with all my heart!" returned Lady Corbet. "But it is long since I have had anything to do with the family. You see I am related to the Carews by my mother's side, and my old lady, she would have me to live with her after my parents died. It was good in her, no doubt, but we did not get on well. My lady must needs have everything in her own way, and she set out to break off my match with John Corbet, though I had been betrothed to him in my parents' life-time, and with their consent—and to marry me to Mr. Hervey, a cousin of her own, and a much grander match, to be sure, as things were then, than my poor John Corbet. But though I approve of young folks being guided by their elders in all such matters, I would not give up my poor John for any Mr. Hervey, so there was a breach directly. My cousin Margaret took my part, though she dared not say a great deal, for every one in the house stood in awe of my lady. However, married I was, and my lady would never see me afterward. And how was my cousin, Mrs. Evans? Did not poor Arthur's death break her down very much? Why, my dear, how white you are! Is the room too warm for you?"

"I walked fast," said Winifred, recovering herself by a violent effort, though she felt stunned and giddy.

"Yes, I dare say, and you are not used to the crowded streets. Here, take my smelling-bottle. Yes, poor Arthur died five or six years ago, soon after he went abroad, and a pity it was, for he was a likely youth, and they say the present lord will never do any good. Well, my dear, your color has come back, sure enough. So if you are ready, we will go see my girls. Just let me lay out the clean towels and napkins for the maids."

Winifred had time to recover the calmness which had been so sorely shaken, while Lady Corbet bustled about, arranging the linen. She understood at once that the first report of Arthur's death was the one to which Lady Corbet referred. She was conscious of a mingled feeling of relief and intense disappointment. She could not feel that no news was good news, but at least it was not bad news. She was quite her usual self when Lady Corbet announced that she was ready to go up-stairs. The school-room was in the upper floor of a wing built out into the garden, and as they opened the green baize door which separated it from the rest of the house, their ears were met by the sound of passionate crying.

"Ah, my poor Betty!" said Lady Corbet. "I do hope, my dear Mrs. Evans, you will be able to prevent that child's sisters from teasing her life out. They dare not do so before me or their father, but so sure as she is left alone with them, there is 'such' a time! Heyday! What does this mean?" she exclaimed, as she opened the door: "Betty, what are you doing there!"

The scene partly explained itself. A pale little girl of nine years or thereabout was perched very insecurely, as it seemed, on the top of a high cabinet or chest of drawers. She had evidently climbed to her elevation by means of a stool placed upon a table, but the table had been pushed away, and she had no means of descending. While her two sisters, twins of fourteen, stood laughing at her discomfiture. A third girl, some two or three years older, sat reading in a window, with rather an elaborate appearance of taking no notice of the others.

"What does this mean?" asked Lady Corbet again, helping the child down from her dangerous position. "What have you been about?"

"Jem threw my doll up there on the cabinet," sobbed Betty, "and when I climbed up to get it, they took away the table! And they said," continued Betty, clinging to her mother, and pointing to a cupboard high up in the wall, "they said there was a skeleton in there!"

"Nonsense!" returned Lady Corbet, sharply. "There is nothing whatever in the cupboard. Are you not ashamed, girls, to treat your poor sister so? Here is Mrs. Evans, your new governess, wondering at your bad manners!"

To do them justice, the girls did look heartily ashamed.

"I must say, Paulina, I think you might use your influence to prevent such tricks," said her mother, severely, turning to the young lady in the window, who had not moved. "At least," she added, sharply, "you might rise to your feet when your mother and your governess enter the room!"

Paulina rose with the air of a martyr.

"I beg your pardon, madam!" said she, in a mournful voice. "I am so used to noise and confusion that a little more or less does not attract my attention."

"She is just as bad as the rest, only she is slyer about it!" cried the little girl. "I hate them all, that I do, and I wish I was dead—so!"

Paulina darted a glance at her sister which was anything but amiable, and then casting her eyes on the floor, she stood in silence.

"Hush! Hush! Let me hear not one word more, or nobody will have anything but bread and water till supper time!" said Lady Corbet, decidedly. "This is your new governess, Mrs. Winifred Evans, who has been brought up by my cousin the Lady Peckham, and is doubtless well qualified to teach you all you should know. She will remain with you from eight in the morning till six at night—were not those the hours we agreed upon, Mrs. Evans?—and you will obey her as you would your father and mother. Let me hear no complaints of any of you, from oldest to youngest—do you hear?"

The young ladies courtesied demurely. Paulina lifted her heavy eyelids, and looked first at the newcomer and then at her mother.

"Do I understand you, madam, to include me in the list of Mrs. Evans' pupils?" she asked.

"Of course!" said her mother, sharply, again. "You have many things yet to learn, mistress, though you think yourself so wise. Let me hear that you show yourself both obedient and apt to learn."

Paulina, courtesied again, with an intensification of the martyr expression.

"You will teach them whatever you think best, Mrs. Evans. I have perfect confidence in you," said Lady Corbet, turning to Winifred. "But I hope you will be particular as to their behavior, both toward each other and toward yourself, and also as to their needlework, which is, in my opinion, one of the most necessary things for a lady to understand. Now, let me hear a good account of you, my mistresses, or it will be the worse for you all!"

There were a few minutes of silence after Lady Corbet left the room. Paulina had returned to her book, turning her back ostentatiously on the company. The younger girls stood as if uncertain what to do next, and were evidently much disposed to giggle. Winifred saw that her task might be a somewhat difficult one, and she determined to take it in hand at once.

"What work are you doing, young ladies?" she asked, in the calm, clear tones which always command attention. "Let me see your frames."

Jemima brought her own and her sisters' frames from a closet, but Paulina made no movement.

"I will attend to your elder sister first," said Winifred. "Mrs. Paulina, let me see your work."

There was a slight but decided emphasis in the tone, which made Paulina think it best to obey. She threw down her book, unwillingly enough, and brought her tapestry work to the table. It was less perfect than either of her sisters, and was indeed in utter confusion.

"I can do nothing with it!" said she, pettishly. "I hate the sight of it! Where is the use of wasting so much precious time upon needlework, which is, after all, of no use to any one?"

"Pall only says so because she cannot work as well as Phyllis!" said Betty, pertly.

"You should not speak so of your elder sister," said Winifred, gravely. "You have made a mistake in the very beginning of your pattern, Mrs. Paulina, and that has put you wrong all through. You cannot go on well when you begin wrong, whether in tapestry work or anything else."

Paulina, seemed interested in the remark, and her brow cleared up a little.

"I understand that," said she, "but what is the use of beginning at all? How much better to discipline one's mind and heart by good works and acts of devotion!"

"And what better discipline or work could you find than that of obedience to your parents?" asked Winifred. "That is the discipline God himself has prepared for you, and surely it is more likely to be beneficial than any you can contrive or arrange for yourself. This must all come out, Paulina, or else you must take a new piece. I should advise you to begin anew from the beginning, for I fear you will never make anything of this."

"I would rather try taking this out," said Paulina, the martyr expression returning, as she sat down with her frame in her old place by the window. "I don't wish to choose the easiest way, for my part!"

Winifred could not forbear smiling.

Paulina saw the smile, and colored.

"Yes, I expect to be laughed at," said she, in a tone which was certainly not that of a martyr. "I have always been ridiculed and persecuted ever since I began to try to lead a devout life, and I always expect to be, but I mean to persevere, for all that."

Winifred turned to the work of the other girls, praised what they had done well, corrected their mistakes, and finally, having set them all down to work, proposed that she should read or relate to them a tale while they were at their frames. The proposition was received with great favor by the younger ones, especially by Betty, who declared that she loved nothing so much as a tale.

"And let it be all about giants, and fairies, and enchanted castles," pleaded Jemima.

"I will tell you plenty of such tales in our play hours," said Winifred, "but not in school-time. Let me see if I cannot make a true story as interesting to you as a fairy tale."

She then began the touching story of Richard Grenville's death, as she had read it in Hackluyt's "Voyages," and was glad to see that her auditors were capable of being interested, and that even Paulina, who had begun by turning her back upon the company, became so engaged with the story as to forget her self-imposed task of picking out. As the clock struck eleven, there was a general cry of "Oh, do go on!"

"Not now," said Winifred. "We must keep to our hours, and you have been sitting still long enough. Does madam your mother allow you to walk in the garden?"

"She will let us, I know, if you go with us," replied Phyllis, one of the twins. "Shall I ask her?"

"If you please."

Phyllis skipped away and presently returned, followed by her mother.

"What is this about walking in the garden?" asked Lady Corbet.

Winifred explained.

"O yes, they may go if you like to go with them and keep an eye upon them. But perhaps you will not care to do that?"

"Indeed I shall, madam. I have not been in a garden since I used to gather rose-leaves in that at the Hall."

"Ah, but you must not expect to see anything like the Hall gardens here, my dear. My cousin, Sir Edward, was always famous for his taste in gardening and the like, but Sir John has no time for such matters. Only do not let these wild girls meddle with fruit or flowers, for their father will be very angry. You must watch them well."

The garden possessed neither the extent nor the variety of that at Holford Hall, but still it was a garden, and it was with a sensation of exquisite delight that Winifred found herself once more among flowers and shrubs, and the familiar odors of lavender, rosemary, and lilies. Paulina walked silently at her side. She was a tall, pretty girl, and would have been attractive but for the air of self-conscious and almost sullen constraint which pervaded her whole face and manner. She seemed like a person who was trying hard to sustain an assumed character, and, as it seemed, with very indifferent success.

"Tell me about Lady Peckham," said she, at last, abruptly. "My mother speaks of her as if she were a saint! Was she really so?"

"What do you mean by a saint, Mrs. Paulina?" asked Winifred.

Paulina's ideas did not seem very clear. She thought a saint was one who observed all the hours of prayer, and took the sacraments frequently, and attended on the poor and sick, and gave up the world by retiring into a convent or some such place.

"And is that all?" asked Winifred.

"Of course, a saint would read none but religious books, and wear coarse clothes with haircloth next the skin, and perhaps lie all night in her coffin or upon ashes, and do many penances."

"Mrs. Paulina, do you read your Bible and Prayer-book?" asked Winifred.

"Of course," answered Paulina, indignantly. "I have read the Bible all through twice, and I know the daily prayers and the Litany and Communion Service by heart."

"Well, will you tell me which of the saints of the Bible is described as wearing haircloth next his skin, and sleeping in his coffin upon ashes?"

Paulina could not think of any one.

"Feeding the poor, and constant prayer, and such like are all well in their way, but they are not enough to make a saint," continued Winifred. "St. Paul says he might give all his goods to feed the poor, and give his body to be burned, yes, and even have faith so that he could remove mountains, and yet all these things might profit him nothing."

"I don't see what will make a saint, then," said Paulina.

"Suppose you read that same chapter I have quoted—the thirteenth of First Corinthians—and see if it will help you."

"But please tell me about Cousin Margaret," said Paulina.

"I will at another time. At present I must see to your sisters. Come, girls, let us have a race from end to end of this green alley, and see if it will not give us an appetite for dinner."

"I cannot run," said Betsey. "It makes my side ache and my heart beat so."

"Well, then, you shall be judge. Come, now—start fair! One, two, three, and away!"

This was a new idea—this having a governess who could play with them. When they were out of breath with exercise, Winifred showed them how to make larkspur rings and whole families of dolls out of foxgloves and the small green berries which had fallen from the trees. Never had a play hour passed so pleasantly, so free from quarrelling and fault-finding.

"Well, you do look all as fresh as roses!" said Lady Corbet, approvingly, as, with shining hair, neatly arranged dress, and rosy cheeks, the young ladies presented themselves before her at dinner. "Even Betty has a little color in her pale face. I am sure, Mrs. Evans, you know how to deal with them, and I shall leave them entirely to you."

The afternoon was not quite as pleasant as the morning. There was an examination in tables and arithmetical rules, in which all were utterly deficient—indeed, arithmetic was not a common acquirement in those days. None of the girls except Paulina could read intelligently, and Betty scarcely at all. There was some mortification and not a few tears over the tasks set them, and Betty declared she could not learn to read—there was no use in trying. However, by a mixture of decision and gentleness, the lessons were dragged through at last.

"That was very well, my dear!" said Winifred, as Phyllis finished her recitation of the pence table, after two or three trials. "I see you have taken pains, and I doubt not the next time you will have it quite perfect."

"How can you say so, Mrs. Evans?" exclaimed Paulina, who had appeared quite absorbed in the book she was reading. "Phyllis made at least three mistakes, and hesitated at all the questions. I do not see how you can call that a good lesson."

Phyllis' smile vanished, and she cast an angry glance at her sister.

"Just like you. Grudging a morsel of praise to any one but yourself," she muttered.

"I call it a good lesson, because Phyllis has taken pains and applied herself," said Winifred. "I think you would be much better employed in doing so than in watching the lessons of others for whom you are in no way responsible. Let me request that I may have no more such interference from any of you."

Paulina, returned to her book with her cheeks flushed scarlet, nor did she speak again during the whole afternoon.