_IV. -- Gertrude the Governess: or, Simple Seventeen_
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IT was a wild and stormy night on the West Coast of
Scotland. This, however, is immaterial to the present
story, as the scene is not laid in the West of Scotland.
For the matter of that the weather was just as bad on the
East Coast of Ireland.
But the scene of this narrative is laid in the South of
England and takes place in and around Knotacentinum Towers
(pronounced as if written Nosham Taws), the seat of Lord
Knotacent (pronounced as if written Nosh).
But it is not necessary to pronounce either of these names
in reading them.
Nosham Taws was a typical English home. The main part of
the house was an Elizabethan structure of warm red brick,
while the elder portion, of which the Earl was inordinately
proud, still showed the outlines of a Norman Keep, to which
had been added a Lancastrian Jail and a Plantagenet Orphan
Asylum. From the house in all directions stretched
magnificent woodland and park with oaks and elms of
immemorial antiquity, while nearer the house stood raspberry
bushes and geranium plants which had been set out by the
Crusaders.
About the grand old mansion the air was loud with the
chirping of thrushes, the cawing of partridges and the
clear sweet note of the rook, while deer, antelope and
other quadrupeds strutted about the lawn so tame as to eat
off the sun-dial. In fact, the place was a regular menagerie.
From the house downwards through the park stretched a
beautiful broad avenue laid out by Henry VII.
Lord Nosh stood upon the hearthrug of the library.
Trained diplomat and statesman as he was, his stern
aristocratic face was upside down with fury.
"Boy," he said, "you shall marry this girl or I disinherit
you. You are no son of mine."
Young Lord Ronald, erect before him, flung back a glance
as defiant as his own.
"I defy you," he said. "Henceforth you are no father of
mine. I will get another. I will marry none but a woman
I can love. This girl that we have never seen----"
"Fool," said the Earl, "would you throw aside our estate
and name of a thousand years? The girl, I am told, is
beautiful; her aunt is willing; they are French; pah! they
understand such things in France."
"But your reason----"
"I give no reason," said the Earl. "Listen, Ronald, I
give one month. For that time you remain here. If at the
end of it you refuse me, I cut you off with a shilling."
Lord Ronald said nothing; he flung himself from the room,
flung himself upon his horse and rode madly off in all
directions.
As the door of the library closed upon Ronald the Earl sank
into a chair. His face changed. It was no longer that of
the haughty nobleman, but of the hunted criminal. "He must
marry the girl," he muttered. "Soon she will know all.
Tutchemoff has escaped from Siberia. He knows and will tell.
The whole of the mines pass to her, this property with it,
and I--but enough." He rose, walked to the sideboard,
drained a dipper full of gin and bitters, and became again
a high-bred English gentleman.
It was at this moment that a high dogcart, driven by a groom
in the livery of Earl Nosh, might have been seen entering the
avenue of Nosham Taws. Beside him sat a young girl, scarce
more than a child, in fact not nearly so big as the groom.
The apple-pie hat which she wore, surmounted with black
willow plumes, concealed from view a face so face-like in
its appearance as to be positively facial.
It was--need we say it--Gertrude the Governess, who was
this day to enter upon her duties at Nosham Taws.
At the same time that the dogcart entered the avenue at one
end there might have been seen riding down it from the other
a tall young man, whose long, aristocratic face proclaimed
his birth and who was mounted upon a horse with a face even
longer than his own.
And who is this tall young man who draws nearer to Gertrude
with every revolution of the horse? Ah, who, indeed? Ah,
who, who? I wonder if any of my readers could guess that
this was none other than Lord Ronald.
The two were destined to meet. Nearer and nearer they came.
And then still nearer. Then for one brief moment they met.
As they passed Gertrude raised her head and directed towards
the young nobleman two eyes so eye-like in their expression
as to be absolutely circular, while Lord Ronald directed
towards the occupant of the dogcart a gaze so gaze-like that
nothing but a gazelle, or a gas-pipe, could have emulated
its intensity.
Was this the dawn of love? Wait and see. Do not spoil
the story.
Let us speak of Gertrude. Gertrude DeMongmorenci McFiggin
had known neither father nor mother. They had both died
years before she was born. Of her mother she knew nothing,
save that she was French, was extremely beautiful, and that
all her ancestors and even her business acquaintances had
perished in the Revolution.
Yet Gertrude cherished the memory of her parents. On her
breast the girl wore a locket in which was enshrined a
miniature of her mother, while down her neck inside at the
back hung a daguerreotype of her father. She carried a
portrait of her grandmother up her sleeve and had pictures
of her cousins tucked inside her boot, while beneath her--
but enough, quite enough.
Of her father Gertrude knew even less. That he was a
high-born English gentleman who had lived as a wanderer in
many lands, this was all she knew. His only legacy to Gertrude
had been a Russian grammar, a Roumanian phrase-book, a
theodolite, and a work on mining engineering.
From her earliest infancy Gertrude had been brought up by
her aunt. Her aunt had carefully instructed her in Christian
principles. She had also taught her Mohammedanism to make
sure.
When Gertrude was seventeen her aunt had died of hydrophobia.
The circumstances were mysterious. There had called upon her
that day a strange bearded man in the costume of the Russians.
After he had left, Gertrude had found her aunt in a syncope
from which she passed into an apostrophe and never recovered.
To avoid scandal it was called hydrophobia. Gertrude was thus
thrown upon the world. What to do? That was the problem that
confronted her.
It was while musing one day upon her fate that Gertrude's eye
was struck with an advertisement.
"Wanted a governess; must possess a knowledge of French,
Italian, Russian, and Roumanian, Music, and Mining Engineering.
Salary 1 pound, 4 shillings and 4 pence halfpenny per annum.
Apply between half-past eleven and twenty-five minutes to
twelve at No. 41 A Decimal Six, Belgravia Terrace. The
Countess of Nosh."
Gertrude was a girl of great natural quickness of apprehension,
and she had not pondered over this announcement more than half
an hour before she was struck with the extraordinary coincidence
between the list of items desired and the things that she
herself knew.
She duly presented herself at Belgravia Terrace before the
Countess, who advanced to meet her with a charm which at once
placed the girl at her ease.
"You are proficient in French," she asked.
_"Oh, oui,"_ said Gertrude modestly.
"And Italian," continued the Countess.
_"Oh, si,"_ said Gertrude.
"And German," said the Countess in delight.
_"Ah, ja,"_ said Gertrude.
"And Russian?"
_"Yaw."_
"And Roumanian?"
_"Jep."_
Amazed at the girl's extraordinary proficiency in modern
languages, the Countess looked at her narrowly. Where had
she seen those lineaments before? She passed her hand over
her brow in thought, and spit upon the floor, but no, the
face baffled her.
"Enough," she said, "I engage you on the spot; to-morrow you
go down to Nosham Taws and begin teaching the children. I
must add that in addition you will be expected to aid the
Earl with his Russian correspondence. He has large mining
interests at Tschminsk."
Tschminsk! why did the simple word reverberate upon Gertrude's
ears? Why? Because it was the name written in her father's
hand on the title page of his book on mining. What mystery
was here?
It was on the following day that Gertrude had driven up
the avenue.
She descended from the dogcart, passed through a phalanx of
liveried servants drawn up seven-deep, to each of whom she
gave a sovereign as she passed and entered Nosham Taws.
"Welcome," said the Countess, as she aided Gertrude to carry
her trunk upstairs.
The girl presently descended and was ushered into the library,
where she was presented to the Earl. As soon as the Earl's
eye fell upon the face of the new governess he started visibly.
Where had he seen those lineaments? Where was it? At the races,
or the theatre--on a bus--no. Some subtler thread of memory
was stirring in his mind. He strode hastily to the sideboard,
drained a dipper and a half of brandy, and became again the
perfect English gentleman.
While Gertrude has gone to the nursery to make the acquaintance
of the two tiny golden-haired children who are to be her charges,
let us say something here of the Earl and his son.
Lord Nosh was the perfect type of the English nobleman and
statesman. The years that he had spent in the diplomatic service
at Constantinople, St. Petersburg, and Salt Lake City had given
to him a peculiar finesse and noblesse, while his long residence
at St. Helena, Pitcairn Island, and Hamilton, Ontario, had
rendered him impervious to external impressions. As
deputy-paymaster of the militia of the county he had seen
something of the sterner side of military life, while his
hereditary office of Groom of the Sunday Breeches had brought
him into direct contact with Royalty itself.
His passion for outdoor sports endeared him to his tenants.
A keen sportsman, he excelled in fox-hunting, dog-hunting,
pig-killing, bat-catching and the pastimes of his class.
In this latter respect Lord Ronald took after his father. From
the start the lad had shown the greatest promise. At Eton he had
made a splendid showing at battledore and shuttlecock, and at
Cambridge had been first in his class at needlework. Already his
name was whispered in connection with the All-England ping-pong
championship, a triumph which would undoubtedly carry with it
a seat in Parliament.
Thus was Gertrude the Governess installed at Nosham Taws.
The days and the weeks sped past.
The simple charm of the beautiful orphan girl attracted all
hearts. Her two little pupils became her slaves. "Me loves oo,"
the little Rasehellfrida would say, leaning her golden head in
Gertrude's lap. Even the servants loved her. The head gardener
would bring a bouquet of beautiful roses to her room before she
was up, the second gardener a bunch of early cauliflowers, the
third a spray of late asparagus, and even the tenth and eleventh
a sprig of mangel-wurzel of an armful of hay. Her room was full
of gardeners all the time, while at evening the aged butler,
touched at the friendless girl's loneliness, would tap softly at
her door to bring her a rye whiskey and seltzer or a box of
Pittsburg Stogies. Even the dumb creatures seemed to admire her
in their own dumb way. The dumb rooks settled on her shoulder
and every dumb dog around the place followed her.
And Ronald! ah, Ronald! Yes, indeed! They had met. They had
spoken.
"What a dull morning," Gertrude had said. _"Quelle triste matin!
Was fur ein allerverdamnter Tag!"_
"Beastly," Ronald had answered.
"Beastly!!" The word rang in Gertrude's ears all day.
After that they were constantly together. They played tennis
and ping-pong in the day, and in the evening, in accordance with
the stiff routine of the place, they sat down with the Earl and
Countess to twenty-five-cent poker, and later still they sat
together on the verandah and watched the moon sweeping in great
circles around the horizon.
It was not long before Gertrude realised that Lord Ronald felt
towards her a warmer feeling than that of mere ping-pong. At
times in her presence he would fall, especially after dinner,
into a fit of profound subtraction.
Once at night, when Gertrude withdrew to her chamber and before
seeking her pillow, prepared to retire as a preliminary to
disrobing--in other words, before going to bed, she flung wide
the casement (opened the window) and perceived (saw) the face of
Lord Ronald. He was sitting on a thorn bush beneath her, and
his upturned face wore an expression of agonised pallor.
Meanwhile the days passed. Life at the Taws moved in the
ordinary routine of a great English household. At 7 a gong
sounded for rising, at 8 a horn blew for breakfast, at 8.30
a whistle sounded for prayers, at 1 a flag was run up at
half-mast for lunch, at 4 a gun was fired for afternoon tea,
at 9 a first bell sounded for dressing, at 9.15 a second bell
for going on dressing, while at 9.30 a rocket was sent up to
indicate that dinner was ready. At midnight dinner was over,
and at 1 a.m. the tolling of a bell summoned the domestics to
evening prayers.
Meanwhile the month allotted by the Earl to Lord Ronald was
passing away. It was already July 15, then within a day or
two it was July 17, and, almost immediately afterwards, July 18.
At times the Earl, in passing Ronald in the hall, would say
sternly, "Remember, boy, your consent, or I disinherit you."
And what were the Earl's thoughts of Gertrude? Here was the
one drop of bitterness in the girl's cup of happiness. For
some reason that she could not divine the Earl showed signs
of marked antipathy.
Once as she passed the door of the library he threw a bootjack
at her. On another occasion at lunch alone with her he struck
her savagely across the face with a sausage.
It was her duty to translate to the Earl his Russian
correspondence. She sought in it in vain for the mystery.
One day a Russian telegram was handed to the Earl. Gertrude
translated it to him aloud.
"Tutchemoff went to the woman. She is dead."
On hearing this the Earl became livid with fury, in fact this
was the day that he struck her with the sausage.
Then one day while the Earl was absent on a bat hunt,
Gertrude, who was turning over his correspondence, with that
sweet feminine instinct of interest that rose superior to
ill-treatment, suddenly found the key to the mystery.
Lord Nosh was not the rightful owner of the Taws. His distant
cousin of the older line, the true heir, had died in a Russian
prison to which the machinations of the Earl, while Ambassador
at Tschminsk, had consigned him. The daughter of this cousin
was the true owner of Nosham Taws.
The family story, save only that the documents before her withheld
the name of the rightful heir, lay bare to Gertrude's eye.
Strange is the heart of woman. Did Gertrude turn from the Earl
with spurning? No. Her own sad fate had taught her sympathy.
Yet still the mystery remained! Why did the Earl start
perceptibly each time that he looked into her face? Sometimes
he started as much as four centimetres, so that one could
distinctly see him do it. On such occasions he would hastily
drain a dipper of rum and vichy water and become again the
correct English gentleman.
The denouement came swiftly. Gertrude never forgot it.
It was the night of the great ball at Nosham Taws. The whole
neighbourhood was invited. How Gertrude's heart had beat with
anticipation, and with what trepidation she had overhauled her
scant wardrobe in order to appear not unworthy in Lord Ronald's
eyes. Her resources were poor indeed, yet the inborn genius for
dress that she inherited from her French mother stood her in
good stead. She twined a single rose in her hair and contrived
herself a dress out of a few old newspapers and the inside of
an umbrella that would have graced a court. Round her waist she
bound a single braid of bagstring, while a piece of old lace that
had been her mother's was suspended to her ear by a thread.
Gertrude was the cynosure of all eyes. Floating to the strains
of the music she presented a picture of bright girlish innocence
that no one could see undisenraptured.
The ball was at its height. It was away up!
Ronald stood with Gertrude in the shrubbery. They looked into
one another's eyes.
"Gertrude," he said, "I love you."
Simple words, and yet they thrilled every fibre in the girl's
costume.
"Ronald!" she said, and cast herself about his neck.
At this moment the Earl appeared standing beside them in the
moonlight. His stern face was distorted with indignation.
"So!" he said, turning to Ronald, "it appears that you have
chosen!"
"I have," said Ronald with hauteur.
"You prefer to marry this penniless girl rather than the
heiress I have selected for you."
Gertrude looked from father to son in amazement.
"Yes," said Ronald.
"Be it so," said the Earl, draining a dipper of gin which he
carried, and resuming his calm. "Then I disinherit you.
Leave this place, and never return to it."
"Come, Gertrude," said Ronald tenderly, "let us flee together."
Gertrude stood before them. The rose had fallen from her head.
The lace had fallen from her ear and the bagstring had come
undone from her waist. Her newspapers were crumpled beyond
recognition. But dishevelled and illegible as she was, she was
still mistress of herself.
"Never," she said firmly. "Ronald, you shall never make this
sacrifice for me." Then to the Earl, in tones of ice, "There is
a pride, sir, as great even as yours. The daughter of
Metschnikoff McFiggin need crave a boon from no one."
With that she hauled from her bosom the daguerreotype of her
father and pressed it to her lips.
The earl started as if shot. "That name!" he cried, "that face!
that photograph! stop!"
There! There is no need to finish; my readers have long since
divined it. Gertrude was the heiress.
The lovers fell into one another's arms. The Earl's proud face
relaxed. "God bless you," he said. The Countess and the guests
came pouring out upon the lawn. The breaking day illuminated a
scene of gay congratulations.
Gertrude and Ronald were wed. Their happiness was complete.
Need we say more? Yes, only this. The Earl was killed in the
hunting-field a few days after. The Countess was struck by
lightning. The two children fell down a well. Thus the
happiness of Gertrude and Ronald was complete.
