Lady Betty's Governess;

OR,

THE CORBET CHRONICLES.

BY

LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY

AUTHOR OF

"LADY ROSAMOND," "THE CHEVALIER'S DAUGHTER," "WINIFRED," "FOSTER SISTERS," ETC.

NEW EDITION.

LONDON:

JOHN F. SHAW AND CO.

48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E. C.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

BROTHER AND SISTER

CHAPTER II.

THE LAST SUNDAY

CHAPTER III.

MY NEW CHARGE

CHAPTER IV.

A WELCOME VISITOR

CHAPTER V.

EASTER TIDE

CHAPTER VI.

MAKING PROGRESS

CHAPTER VII.

THE BISHOP'S VISIT

CHAPTER VIII.

MORE THAN A FRIEND

CHAPTER IX.

TRAVELLING MERCHANTS

CHAPTER X.

A SON AND HEIR

CHAPTER XI.

NEWS FROM HOME

CHAPTER XII.

EBENEZER

THE PREAMBLE. ——————

WHEN I was a young maid and just about to be married to my excellent husband, with whom I have lived so long and so happily, my dear and honored mother-in-law gave me as a wedding present, a chronicle (if I may so call it) which she herself had received in like manner, from her grandame, who brought her up. She said it had for some generations been the custom in her family to keep such annals, and in this way had many facts and circumstances been preserved which would otherwise have been lost.

I have always preserved this chronicle with great care, and shall make a copy of it (if time and opportunity present) for the use of my daughters, feeling that my dear and honored cousin, Lord Stanton, hath the best right to the original manuscript.

Thinking upon doing the same put it into my mind to make a similar chronicle for the use of mine own daughters. I feel that it will interest them (especially when I am dead and gone, as I soon shall be) to know what their mother was at their age. I am able to make this account the more full and particular, as during the year or two before I was married, and specially while I was living in the family of my dear and honored lady at Stanton Court, it was my habit to keep a journal, in which I wrote down not only what most concerned me, but a vast deal besides.

In these pages I have transcribed a part of that journal, sometimes supplementing the text with my present recollections of events in those days.

It hath been my lot to see many and sad changes. The Archbishop who was so great with king and court when these pages were written, I saw mobbed, insulted, and finally thrust into prison, from which he was delivered only by death. In him was fulfilled those words of the prophet, "When thou shalt cease to oppress, then shall they oppress thee; and when thou shalt cease to deal treacherously, then shall they deal treacherously with thee!" I could never get over the way Mr. Prynne treated the old man. 'Twas not like a Christian nor a gentleman, however great had been his wrongs, and no one can deny that they were bitter enough.

Then came that terrible event, the death of the king. My husband never approved of Cromwell's course in that matter, though he said, and as I believe truly, that there was a time when Cromwell would have saved him, had the king only been true to himself. But there alas! was his great failing—sorrowfully acknowledged by friends as well as foes. With all his virtues, the king knew neither truth nor gratitude. His want of the first he called kingcraft like his father before him: and as for the last, I do believe he felt himself raised too far above ordinary mortals to owe them anything. If they served him, even to the laying down of their lives, it was well—they did no more than their duty. If they did not, then were they rebels and traitors. But he hath gone to his account, and I will not judge him. My lord adhered to him always and afterward went abroad to the court of the young king, Walter taking the charge of his estates and sending him money.

Since the Restoration, my husband has lived in retirement, though he has had more than one offer of office and preferment. But he loves this quiet country life, and so do I.

My lord is back at the hall with the second lady and her children and his own boys, and we are all good friends. She is an excellent woman, but no more like my own dear lady than a cabbage is like a lily. Yet we are good friends always, and she is very kind to me and my children.

I feel that my time is short, and that I must soon leave my dear husband and children. I pray my precious girls to receive this volume as a legacy from their mother, and to remember her last words—that the path of duty, though its way be hard and thorny, is always the path of safety—the path which leads to honor here and happiness hereafter. "To do his duty in that state of life to which it hath pleased God to call him," is the sum and substance of a Christian's work. A poor plowman or milk-maid can do as much with God's help, and the greatest king on earth can do no more.

MARGARET CORBET

LADY BETTY'S GOVERNESS

CHAPTER I.

BROTHER AND SISTER.

March 1, 1637.

SO it is really all settled, and I am to leave this little parsonage, where I have spent all my days hitherto, and go to Stanton Court to live among lords and ladies and to be companion or governess to a poor little hunchbacked girl. I wonder how I shall like it? However, as Felicia says, that is the least part of the matter. Felicia need not have put it so bluntly, I think. That is always her way, but it does not help to make matters easier. As old Esther says, if she wanted to hammer a nail into a board, she would begin head foremost. She thinks, forsooth, it is all because she is so very sincere, but I don't see that she is any more so than other folks. I am sure, when she tells mother after she and I have had a quarrel, she manages to turn things to her own advantage as well as anybody I ever saw. Mother understands her pretty well, that is one comfort.

It really does not matter much, however, whether I like it or not. We cannot all stay at home, that is clear, especially now that my dear father is gone, and we must leave the dear old parsonage for the cottage at the other end of the village, which will hardly hold us all. I don't mind leaving home so much, now that "home" no longer means this queer old pile of stone, all angles and corners and outside stairs, and all overgrown with ivy and traveller's joy, and what not. I don't think I can ever take root in any place again, even though it were far finer than this; and the cottage is by no means so pleasant, though very good for a cottage.

But some of us must earn our own bread, that is plain. Poor Dick is doing so already, with all the cheerfulness in the world, as clerk to old Master Smith, the great stationer in Chester. He never complains, though all his hopes and projects are disappointed, and, why should I? Felicia is older and stronger than I am, 'tis true. But then, as mother says to me: "Who would ever live with her that could help it? She has such an unhappy temper!" So they all say. When "I" get vexed and in a fury, I have a "bad" temper. That is all the difference. As long as I can remember, every one in the house has given way to Felicia, on account of her "unhappy temper," but I don't see that it makes her any happier.

"Felicia!" Never was any one more completely misnamed. That is the worst of these significant names which people are so fond of giving nowadays. A child is named Grace, Mercy, or Peace, and Grace grows up more awkward than a cow, Mercy takes delight in tormenting, and Peace keeps the whole house in an uproar from morning till night.

I would not for the world say anything to reflect upon my honored father, especially now that he is gone from us, but it does seem a pity that he should have risked all his savings for so many years, and all mother's little fortune, in such an adventure as that ship to the Spice Islands. 'Tis true, no doubt, that some great fortunes have been made in that way, like that of Mr. Gunning in Bristol. But I believe it is also true that for one ship that comes home laden with pepper, mace, and nutmegs, at least four go to the bottom or are taken by pirates.

Master Smith says, however, that no such wild scheme is got up, but the foremost to rush into it, and risk their little alls, are masters and fellows in colleges, country clergymen, and widows with a little property—just the people who have the least chance of understanding the matter. I will say that dear mother was as much against it as she could ever be against any scheme of my father's. But he was so sanguine, and he ever thought little of the opinion of women on any subject.

But there is no use in going over all that now. What is done is done. What is "to do," is to make the best struggle we can to live decently and honestly, keep out of debt, and—I don't know what else, I am sure.

March 3.

Dick is come home, by favor of Master Smith, to spend my last Sunday with us. I must say he is very kind to Dick. Indeed, every one has been very kind to us so far, even the new rector. 'Twas he got me my place at Stanton Court, where I am to go the day after to-morrow. To-day we have a new instance of his goodness. He allows mother to take what furniture she chooses from the parsonage, as he means to replenish it entirely. That will be a great help toward fitting up the cottage. Indeed, I hardly know what we should have done without it, for mother hath but little of her own, and most of the furniture here belongs to the house, though my father had it all refitted and repaired more than once. I wish I could stay here to help them move, but that is impossible. I am to go southward with the new rector and his servants, and I may not have such a good opportunity again in a long time.

I have showed Dick what I have written. I do so sometimes, though no one else knows that I keep a journal. Dick has known of it from the first. It was he that put me upon keeping it and gave me this large fair blank book. Before that I used to write upon such scraps as I could find.

When he came to that—"I don't know what else."—Dick demurred. "You have left out the gist of the whole matter Peggy," said he. "Your summing up is like the playbill Master Smith told me of—'The play of Hamlet with the part of Hamlet omitted.'"

"What have I left out?" I asked.

"Tell me, Peggy, what do you suppose we were made for?" said he. "Why were we put into this world, and assigned certain parts and duties therein? Who has put us here, and for what?"

"Our Heavenly Father has put us here, of course," I replied. "But Dick, if you ask me why, I am not sure that I have an answer ready."

"Do you remember when our Lord shall come in His glory and all the holy angels with Him, what will be the invitation to those on His right hand?"

"'Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world,'" I repeated.

"Then, sweetheart, since such a kingdom is prepared for us—a kingdom of Everlasting Life—does it not seem likely that we are placed here as a school of preparation for that glorious heritage? And looking at it in that light, may it not give us a key whereby to understand at least some of the tasks and exercises which are set us in that same school?"

"I suppose it may," said I.

Dick said no more. It is not his way to say a great deal, and perhaps that may be one reason why his words dwell in my mind and I cannot get rid of them if I would. I wish I could think and feel as he does on these subjects. It is the only point on which we do not fully sympathize. Of course I believe in the Christian religion, and say my prayers night and morning. I "fear" God, and I wish I could honestly say that I "love" Him, but I cannot think of Him as Dick does, as a loving Father, ever watching over us for good, ordering all things for the best, and always ready to hear our requests and sympathize with our troubles. It does seem to me as though He were very far off—too far to see or care for all the little joys and sorrows which make up the lives of every-day people.

To-day we are beginning to pull up and pull down, and the house puts on an aspect of mourning. I had been working as hard as I could all the morning at mending the old tapestry hanging (and dusty, disagreeable work it is), when mother came in, and I called her to see the new head I had added to Goliah.

"You have made him as good as new," says my mother.

Dick, who had been helping us, came and looked over my shoulder to admire the truculent aspect of my giant.

"Your work gives one a new notion of the courage of David," said he. "You have made Goliah a regular Cornish giant, like Cormoran and Blunderbore in Jack's story-book."

"Unluckily David himself is not very much handsomer," I rejoined. "I must say I do not much like this fashion of putting pictures from Holy Scripture upon tapestry and Dutch tiles, and the like. One gets odd notions from them. I shall all my life have no other idea of Saint Peter than that I gained, before I can clearly remember, from the painted window in the church."

"Peggy is growing quite a Puritan lately," said Felicia, who was working upon another part of the hangings. "She objects to the painted windows in the church."

"Not to all of them," said I. "Only to the chancel window, and I do think that is profane. I cannot bear to look at it, since I knew for whom that old man in the clouds was intended. Surely if the second commandment means anything—"

"Don't you suppose the good man who gave that window to the church ever so many hundred years ago, knew as much about the meaning of the commandments as you do?" interrupted Felicia.

"Probably not," said Dick, as I did not answer. "It is very likely the poor man had never seen, in all his life, a perfect copy of the Holy Scripture."

"And, moreover, I do not think that anything painted upon a window can be so beautiful as the sky and the clouds seen through it," said I. "I admit that the colors in the old window are very wonderful and beautiful, but I think the sky more beautiful still, and besides I like to see out."

"Every one does not care to be staring abroad in service time," retorted Felicia. "But you are a regular Puritan. I advise you to keep your notions to yourself at Stanton Court, or you will soon get into trouble. The lady will not care to have her daughter's head filled with such fancies."

"I trust my daughter will have sufficient modesty to prevent her intruding her opinions on anybody, whether at home or abroad," said my mother, not without emphasis.

"I dare say she will soon learn it," said Felicia, who is the only one in the family that ever answers mother back. "Poor relations and waiting gentlewomen get plenty of snubbing."

Whenever any one checks Felicia in the least, she always begins to talk about poor relations. I do honestly think that she presumes upon her position as a dependent, knowing that mother will never utterly lose patience with her, because she is my dear father's youngest sister. She has been in one of her worst moods all day, and nothing pleases her. She found fault with the dinner, and snubbed me and the children, till mother at last roused herself and gave her such a setting down as reduced her to silence and sulks for the rest of the meal.

After dinner, I was going to sit down to my work again, but mother stopped me.

"No, my dear. This is your last Saturday at home, perhaps for a long time, and you shall not spend it all over the needle. Do you and Dick go out together and have a fine long walk. 'Tis a pleasant afternoon, and you can visit all your old haunts before dark."

"But then you and Felicia, will have all the work to do," I objected, though my heart leaped at the thought of one more long solitary walk with Dick—a thing I had hardly dared to hope for.

"Oh, never mind 'me,'" said Felicia, in a voice which trembled with rage. "'I' am nobody—only fit for a drudge and slave. Nobody cares for me, or thinks of me, now that my poor dear brother is gone." And with that she began to cry.

Mother checked me as I began to speak, and sent me for my hood and cloak. When I came back, she met me at the door.

"It is best not to answer Felicia when she is in one of these moods," said she. "Poor thing, she suffers more than any one else from her unhappy temper."

I am not so sure of that. I do think she finds a certain enjoyment in being miserable and making others so. It is rather too bad in her, thus to try to spoil Dick's holiday, but she was always jealous of his fondness for me. However, I said nothing, of course, and Dick and I were soon out in the lane. We meant to go and see the old people at the almshouses, and then across the deer-park to the spring, and so home by the church.

We found Goody Crump sitting up reading her Bible, as usual, with everything tidy and pleasant about her, but she complained sadly of the weather.

"Why, Goody, I thought it seasonable weather for March!" said I. "You know they say a peck of dust in March is worth a king's ransom."

"And so it is to the farmers, especially since the winter hath been so wet," replied the old woman, "but these east winds rack my poor old bones sadly. However," she added, with her pleasant smile, "I reckon, children, 'tis the old bones which are in fault more than the weather. I dare say the east wind doesn't trouble you."

"How old are you, Goody?" I ventured to ask.

"I was ninety-eight my last birthday, my dear. I was a good big girl when the great Queen Elizabeth came to the throne, and I well remember when I was a little thing, like your Jacky, seeing the fires lighted which were to burn two poor men at the stake, for reading their English Bibles. Ah! Children, you don't know what it is to live in troublous times. But those were grand days, too—grand days!" she repeated, and her old face did so light up as she spoke. "'Twas a new world, as it might be, what with the discoveries by sea and land, and fighting the Spaniards, and the spread of the True Gospel all over the land. Why, children, I remember when a copy of Holy Scripture was like treasure hid in a field. They that had it, kept it with jealous care, and resorted to it with fear and trembling, yet with heartfelt joy, knowing that it as good as sealed their death-warrant if found in their hands. Then came the days of Queen Elizabeth, when we dwelt under our own vines and fig-trees, as it were, and none to make us afraid. Then the ships went away beyond seas.

"My master he sailed with Captain Drake, as was the first Englishman who went round the world—sailed away, and left me a six months wife, to tend his widowed mother, that was ever the best of mothers to me. Eh dear! 'Twas weary waiting and never knowing whether he were dead or alive. My oldest child was two years old and more before it ever saw its father's face. But back he came at last, and brought what kept us comfortable for many a long year. But all is gone now—the gold, and the brave sailor lad, and all my fair children—and I shall soon follow. These be good and quiet times, children, but not like those days."

"None so quiet, either; what with Star Chamber prosecutions, and fines, and the ship-money, and the troubles in Ireland," said Dick, who hears all the news, being as it were at head-quarters in Master Smith's shop. "There is trouble enough, both at home and abroad, and many even fear a civil war."

"I trust I shall not live to see it," said Goody Crump. "Few and evil—no, but I'll not say that, either!" said she, catching herself up. "'Tis true, I have seen many and sad changes, but I've had my share of happiness, too. And 'tis no small thing to have such a snug harbor in which to end my days at last, with the church near by, and kind friends to close my eyes and see me decently laid under ground. No! No! I've naught to complain of. Little I thought once to end my days in an almshouse, and now I am thankful for the almshouse itself."

"Then it does not make you unhappy to be dependent, as some folks say?" said I, thinking of Felicia.

The old woman smiled again.

"Bless your dear heart, no! We are all dependent, child. One almost as much as another, for that matter."

"You mean upon God," said I.