Frederica and her Guardians Part 1

Frederica and her Guardians.

by Margaret Robertson.

CHAPTER ONE.

The Perils of Orphanhood.

The house in which the Vanes lived stood in a large and beautiful garden, and both were enclosed by a high brick wall, over which only the waving tops of the trees could be seen from the street. There were a good many such houses in M. at the time my story opens. They were originally built in the country, amid green fields and orchards, where, on summer days, one might sit and look at country sights and listen to country sounds, and quite forget that the hum and bustle of a great town sounded close at hand.

As time went on, and commerce prospered, the town extended itself in all directions. Houses, some large and some small, were built near those pleasant country homes, and in a few years stretched far beyond them.

Sometimes the gardens were encroached upon, and streets were opened, and building lots laid out and occupied close to the house itself, till only a narrow strip of dusty lawn was left. But in some streets the high brick garden-walls made a blank between great blocks of stores and terraces of dwellings for a good many years, and in some streets there are high brick garden-walls still.

The house in which the Vanes lived was a long time before it yielded up a foot of its large garden which the wall shut in. This wall was broken on two sides by gates. In a narrow street which led down towards the river were two heavy wooden doors, one large enough to admit a carriage, the other smaller, for the convenience of those who entered on foot. On another side, from one of the great thoroughfares of the city, the grounds were entered by handsome iron gates. A clump of evergreens and ornamental shrubs in part hid the house, even when the gates, were open, and a low cedar hedge and a fence of iron network separated the lawn and the carriage-drive from the more extensive grounds behind the house.

The house itself had no particular claim to be called handsome, except that it was large and well built of grey hewn stone. It was high and square, and on one side a wing had been thrown out, which rather spoiled the appearance of the original building; but, standing back from the bustle and dust of the street, behind the green, lawn and pebbly carriage-drive, and partly hidden by the trees and shrubs, it looked a very pleasant and pretty place for a home.

This house was built and occupied many years by Mr St. Hubert, an immigrant from France, and at his death it was left to his only child, Mrs Vane, with a condition that neither it nor a foot of the land about it should be sold during her life-time. A great many tales might be told of what happened in that house from first to last--most of them sorrowful tales enough--but it is only the story of poor Mrs Vane and her children that is to be told here.

Almost every one spoke of this lady as "poor Mrs Vane." Her friends had all said, "Poor Theresa," when it was first known that she was to be married to Mr Vane; for he was a poor man, and a widower with three children, who, they all said, wished to marry her because she was the daughter of a man who was supposed to be rich. Her father would have given half of what he possessed, rather than that she should have married Mr Vane; but he had never crossed a wish of hers during all the eighteen years of her life, and it was too late to begin then. So, though he did not like him, he gave his consent to the marriage, on condition that he should leave the army, and accept a situation in a public office, which he, being a man of wealth and influence, was able to obtain for him. It did not cost Mr Vane much self-denial to do this--though he used afterwards to declare that it did--for he was a man who first of all considered what was for his own ease and pleasure. Nor did it trouble him much to send his children from him. His eldest daughter was adopted by his first wife's mother, who resided in the town of M.; and his other children--a boy and girl--were sent home to be cared for and educated by their father's friends in England; and he took up his residence in the luxurious home of his father-in-law with very good will.

It did not prove a happy marriage. It might have done so, perhaps, if after a few years Mrs Vane's health had not failed. If she could have continued the gay life to which she had been introduced, and could have shone a belle among her husband's friends, as she had done in her own smaller circle while a girl, she might have had a sort of happiness, while it lasted, and so might he. But after awhile her health failed, and at the time of her father's death, which happened when her eldest child was thirteen years of age, she was a confirmed invalid.

She was "poor Mrs Vane" indeed then. A suffering, solitary, forsaken woman she felt herself to be the day her dead father was carried away from the house he had built. Not that her husband had ever been unkind to her, or even openly neglectful. But he had never cared for her as she had cared for him; and it was not in his nature to understand the wants or cravings of a sick unsatisfied heart like hers, much less to minister to them. He was sorry that she could no longer go into the society she had always adorned, and he often told her so; but he never gave up a pleasure which society could offer to him for her sake. He grieved for her sufferings, and did what might be done during a brief visit or two each day to relieve them; but long before her father's death she had come to feel that his grief was of a kind that could very well be left in her chamber when he went away. After a time the vain craving for his sympathy, which made the first years of her illness so miserable, wore away, and a kind of dull content, growing gradually out of an interest in other things, took its place; but she was "poor Mrs Vane" still to the few friends who had not forgotten her already in her enforced retirement.

And her husband was "poor Mr Vane" to himself and everybody else when Mr St. Hubert died. The old man had treated him shamefully, he thought and declared, for his name was not mentioned in his will. The house and a certain income was insured to his wife while she lived, and at her death all the property was to be divided between the children, and given up to them as each came of age. But he had nothing; and even his wife's income was not allowed to pa.s.s through his hands.

It was not a very large income. It would not have sufficed for her and her children, had they been living in the gay world, entertaining and being entertained. But living quietly, as her health obliged them to live, it might be considered ample for them all. At any rate, she knew it would have to suffice; for Mr Vane, having always spent his own income on his own pleasures, was ill prepared to give up any part of it.

They did not grow happier together after this. Some time before Mr St.

Hubert's death the care of household affairs had been committed by him into the hands of a relative of his own--a widow of the name of Ascot; and during his life-time nothing transpired to occasion any doubt as to her entire fitness for the position he had given her. She was a French woman by birth, and spoke English very imperfectly, though her deceased husband had been an Englishman. She was a very quiet, firm person, faithful in the performance of all her duties, and careful and exact in the management of the household expenses. She never presumed on her relations.h.i.+p in any way that was disagreeable to Mr St. Hubert, and, by her attention to himself and her kindness to Mrs Vane, won his confidence entirely; and his anxiety as to the future of his daughter and her children was in a great measure allayed by the promise she made never to leave them while they needed her care.

But after his death matters were not so well managed. At least, they were not managed to the satisfaction of poor Mrs Vane. In a very short time an entire change was effected in the household. Mr Vane found it an improvement as far as _his_ comfort was concerned, or probably Mrs Ascot's stay in the house would have been short. But it was not so with Mrs Vane. Mrs Ascot was very quiet, very reasonable, and, above all, very firm. "Nothing was so necessary for Mrs Vane as entire quiet,"

she declared; and the poor mother had not the strength or courage to carry on a battle with her stronger will. So her two little daughters were sent to school, and her two little sons, with their nurse, were banished to the part of the house most distant from their mother's room, and were only permitted to visit it at certain times. They would have been sent to school, too, if Mrs Ascot could have accomplished it; but, as the eldest was only four years of age at the time of his grandfather's death, this she could hardly do.

Only one thing saved Mrs Vane from falling into hopeless fretfulness or helpless imbecility--this was the constant presence of her eldest and dearest child, Selina. Even Mrs Ascot's cold-heartedness could not separate these two. Even Mr Vane's selfishness was not equal to planning or permitting anything that could come between the mother and her child. For the little girl was blind,--had been blind from her seventh year, and since that time she had never once been beyond the sound of her mother's voice.

A great many of G.o.d's best blessings come to us disguised as sorrows.

It seemed to this mother, when she could no longer doubt that the light of heaven was to be denied to her child, that G.o.d could deal no harder blow, and in her wild angry way she prayed that the little creature might die. She thought of all that had made life sweet to herself, from all which her child must be shut out for ever, and she utterly refused to be comforted.

And yet, as the years went on, the affliction of the child did more for the mother than all the blessings that had been showered on her youth, than all the trials that had fallen on her later years--it made her forget herself. In seeking to brighten her little daughter's life, her own was brightened. She suffered herself to be beguiled into exertions for her sake, that would have seemed impossible for her own. She welcomed the few visitors that came, because Selina liked to hear new voices and make new friends. The daily walk in the garden or the drive in the carriage sometimes seemed a weariness to her; but they deepened the rose on the little girl's cheek, and she went for her sake. She recalled the little songs and tales of her childhood for her pleasure, and took pains to learn such simple fancy work as the blind child could be taught to do.

In her little daughter the mother found solace for many a sorrow. She was a fair, slender child, more like her father than her mother, but like neither in disposition. She was sweet and cheerful always, even merry in her quiet way. She knew her blindness was a great misfortune, but it did not press upon her as such. She never repined under it, nor murmured that she was not like the rest; but rather comforted herself and her mother, saying that no schools nor visits could ever take her from her and from home; and after a time her mother was comforted and reconciled to her affliction.

"For after all," she thought, "what has life to give to any one? Far better that she should live here always, safe, and ignorant of the world and its ways, than that she should taste of pleasure only to have it turn to bitterness on her lips, as it has done on mine. If she could only be always a child! What will become of my darling when I must go and leave her?"

Poor Mrs Vane! She sought refuge in the present, from the griefs of the past, and the fears for the future; for she was one of those who have no safe place to which they can flee from trouble. She had scarcely even a form of religion. She had been altogether untaught as regards sacred things. Her mother had been a Jewess, and had died young, and her father had had no religion. Her husband troubled himself very little about these things, either for her or himself. He had chosen G.o.dfathers and G.o.dmothers for his children, and had them baptised, and then his duty was done. And the poor, solitary, suffering mother knew not where to betake herself in her time of need. Her fears for the future of all her children pressed on her heavily often, and she longed sadly and earnestly for some true friend to whom she might trust them.

And so the months and years pa.s.sed, with nothing to break the monotony of their life but the monthly visits of the two school girls, Frederica and Theresa. Very pleasant breaks they were. The girls always came into the still suns.h.i.+ne of their mother's pretty room like a fresh sweet breeze from the outer world, bringing health and fragrance on its wings.

They were bright days indeed. Selina lived another life in the tales told by the school girls; and even their mother forgot her cares and ailments for the time as she listened to their merry talk. They were not at all alike: Selina was growing up tall and fair, like an English girl, her blind beautiful eyes clear and cloudless as the summer heaven; Frederica was small and dark, as much a Jewess in appearance as ever her grandmother had been; Theresa was more like Frederica than Selina, but plainer than either. But they were all alike in one thing: they loved each other and their mother dearly, and longed earnestly for the time when their school days should be over, and they should be happy together.

So poor Mrs Vane, who had comfort in so few things, had much comfort in her daughters and their love. And she needed all their comfort, poor soul! for some troubles, hard to bear, fell to her lot at this time-- troubles which she could not let them share with her, and which need not be told here.

CHAPTER TWO.

A whole week of holidays!--unexpected, unhoped-for holidays! For Mrs Glencairn was a Scotch lady, and had small respect for days "appointed by men." All the days in the year were good days to a G.o.dfearing people, said she; and as a general thing, Easter pa.s.sed in their school just like any other time. But this year there was to be a whole week of holidays, whatever might be the reason. The pupils who stayed wearied themselves with conjectures as to why it had so happened; but the happy little girls who could go home to enjoy them, accepted the boon without a question, content with the fact itself.

Content! That hardly expresses the feelings of the little Vanes as they went dancing down the street, unconsciously jostling the many church-goers in their joyful excitement. Perfect happiness was in their hearts, shone in their faces, and rang out in their voices, and people as they pa.s.sed turned again to look at them, so charming was the sight to see. They were happy in their own holiday, and happy in the thought that their coming home would make a holiday for their mother and Selina and their little brothers.

"And I am sure there will be some flowers out in the garden," said Theresa,--"hyacinths or snowdrops, at least. And all the walks will be so neat and the borders. That is one good thing about Mrs Ascot, she does see that the garden is beautifully kept."

"Yes, very. But I only hope mama will be well. It is so lovely to-day; and we must have a drive. It will make no difference though Dixen be busy in the garden, because I shall drive myself."

"But will mama like that, do you think?" asked Theresa doubtfully.

"Of course she will like it, and Selina too. They have perfect confidence in me," said Frederica firmly. "And as for p.r.i.c.kly Polly,"-- she shrugged her shoulders.

"But no, my children! What shall I say to your papa when you shall be brought home in little morsels, and the carriage, and your dear mama!"

And Theresa clasped her hands, and threw back her head with an air so ludicrously like Mrs Ascot, that her sister laughed merrily.

"She will go to church to-day. What if we should meet her?"

"Oh! she would be sure to go back with us. Let us go down the other way!"

Laughing and running, the girls turned into a narrow street. In their haste they ran against a little old gentleman just stepping out from an office door. They did not quite overturn him, but they startled him out of his good manners, and he uttered an angry exclamation in French.

Then, as they turned to apologise, he exclaimed, "The young ladies Vane!

What next, I wonder?"

"Mr St. Cyr! a thousand pardons." They had been speaking English all the way down the street, but they spoke French to him, and both the girls dropped their very best curtseys.

"It must be that my little cousins have come to get their wills made, or their marriage contracts drawn, in all this haste."

Mr St. Cyr was the gentleman to whom their grandfather had committed the arrangement of his affairs; it was he who still managed the property; and through his hands their mother's income came still.

"I was going to church this morning, but I shall be happy to defer it for you. You need not have been in such haste, however."

The girls laughed, and apologised again.

"We were running away from p.r.i.c.kly Polly," said Theresa.

"From Madame Marie Pauline Precoe Ascot," explained Frederica.

"Is she coming after you? You had much better come in here," said Mr St. Cyr, pretending great fright.

"Oh, no! But she is sure to go to church today, and we thought we might meet her. And if she knew we were going home, it might shorten her devotions."

"If she knew we had a holiday, she would want to come home to vex us.

We are not among her favourites--especially Fred."