of sound like the sigh of a kettle.âHere again, my voice proved a surprise to Lady Hariot and the music master.
âFive octaves! It is unparalleled!â he cried out in astonishment. âThe voice itself, I grant, is of no particular merit, though strong and clear and of good pitch â but what a range! We should make an opera singer of the child, Lady Hariot, she is wasted otherwise.â
But to this suggestion Lady Hariot was utterly opposed. Opera singers, she held, were little better than whores; no proper person would commit a decent girl to such a life. And I came, after all, of gentle stock; Colonel Brandon, my guardian, was a gentleman greatly esteemed by all who knew him, both in Dorset and in London. He had married a Miss Marianne Dashwood, a young lady of excellent family (though not wealthy) from Sussex; Colonel Brandon himself was a most upright character, owner of a comfortable property, Delaford, in Dorset . . . No, no, it was quite out of the question that I should become an opera singer. What my precise connection with the Colonel was, no clue had revealed; but simply the fact that there was such a connection must serve to guard me from any such disreputable future.
â Nevertheless Mr Godfinch trained my voice painstakingly and thoroughly; he was a zealous and practical little fellow who taught dancing also, in Exeter and Taunton; he had a great red birthmark, poor devil, right across one cheek; I reckon he rated my prospects of matrimony quite as low as I did myself, and concluded that he had best supply me with a practical means of earning a living.
Lady Hariot continued to worry about my place of abode.
âI have heard questionable tales of Dr Moultrie,â she said. âHe is a lazy old wretch, that is sure. I doubt if he can be a good influence on you, child â and he tipples disgracefully; only last Sunday, at the rail, I was scandalized by the smell of eau-de-vie. Can his teaching really be of any further benefit to you?â Now that you are acquiring manners and deportment here at the Hall, was her unspoken corollary.
But I made haste to reassure her. âTruly, maâam, he is very clever, and I learn a great deal from him of â of literature, and Latin, and ancient history, and much else besides. I do believe he could answer any question that I thought to put.â
And he would, I knew, be furiously angry at any suggestion that I might discontinue my visits to the parsonage; in fact when I first began going up to the Hall he had become very morose, threatening and choleric; much pacification and blandishment were required before he would accept that I was not to be wholly reft away from him and would not blacken his character to the Squire. His enmity was not to be thought of; indeed it was a terrifying prospect.
Lady Hariot sighed. âLearning and superior character do not always go hand-in-hand, I know. And certainly learning is never to be despised; especially in such a remote neighbourhood as this, where we have to make the most of our advantages.â
I daresay she was thinking of the Squire, who fell asleep nightly over the first page of the newspaper and never progressed to the second.
So I was suffered to continue my lessons at the rectory, where, indeed, I learned far more than Lady Hariot reckoned; and which lessons were by no means unalloyed pleasure; but, as with Mr Godfinch, I esteemed that my safest plan was to acquire all the knowledge that came my way, by whatever means, and trust that some part of it would, in the future, repay any evils or inconveniences encountered during its acquisition.
Thus my chequered life proceeded; the happiest times were when, up at Kinn Hall, Triz and I had leave to wander in the grounds or the gardens, or ramble down to the shore. (Though in the latter case we were subject to countless warnings and prohibitions; Lady Hariot understood vaguely that in the past some child from the village had been
âFive octaves! It is unparalleled!â he cried out in astonishment. âThe voice itself, I grant, is of no particular merit, though strong and clear and of good pitch â but what a range! We should make an opera singer of the child, Lady Hariot, she is wasted otherwise.â
But to this suggestion Lady Hariot was utterly opposed. Opera singers, she held, were little better than whores; no proper person would commit a decent girl to such a life. And I came, after all, of gentle stock; Colonel Brandon, my guardian, was a gentleman greatly esteemed by all who knew him, both in Dorset and in London. He had married a Miss Marianne Dashwood, a young lady of excellent family (though not wealthy) from Sussex; Colonel Brandon himself was a most upright character, owner of a comfortable property, Delaford, in Dorset . . . No, no, it was quite out of the question that I should become an opera singer. What my precise connection with the Colonel was, no clue had revealed; but simply the fact that there was such a connection must serve to guard me from any such disreputable future.
â Nevertheless Mr Godfinch trained my voice painstakingly and thoroughly; he was a zealous and practical little fellow who taught dancing also, in Exeter and Taunton; he had a great red birthmark, poor devil, right across one cheek; I reckon he rated my prospects of matrimony quite as low as I did myself, and concluded that he had best supply me with a practical means of earning a living.
Lady Hariot continued to worry about my place of abode.
âI have heard questionable tales of Dr Moultrie,â she said. âHe is a lazy old wretch, that is sure. I doubt if he can be a good influence on you, child â and he tipples disgracefully; only last Sunday, at the rail, I was scandalized by the smell of eau-de-vie. Can his teaching really be of any further benefit to you?â Now that you are acquiring manners and deportment here at the Hall, was her unspoken corollary.
But I made haste to reassure her. âTruly, maâam, he is very clever, and I learn a great deal from him of â of literature, and Latin, and ancient history, and much else besides. I do believe he could answer any question that I thought to put.â
And he would, I knew, be furiously angry at any suggestion that I might discontinue my visits to the parsonage; in fact when I first began going up to the Hall he had become very morose, threatening and choleric; much pacification and blandishment were required before he would accept that I was not to be wholly reft away from him and would not blacken his character to the Squire. His enmity was not to be thought of; indeed it was a terrifying prospect.
Lady Hariot sighed. âLearning and superior character do not always go hand-in-hand, I know. And certainly learning is never to be despised; especially in such a remote neighbourhood as this, where we have to make the most of our advantages.â
I daresay she was thinking of the Squire, who fell asleep nightly over the first page of the newspaper and never progressed to the second.
So I was suffered to continue my lessons at the rectory, where, indeed, I learned far more than Lady Hariot reckoned; and which lessons were by no means unalloyed pleasure; but, as with Mr Godfinch, I esteemed that my safest plan was to acquire all the knowledge that came my way, by whatever means, and trust that some part of it would, in the future, repay any evils or inconveniences encountered during its acquisition.
Thus my chequered life proceeded; the happiest times were when, up at Kinn Hall, Triz and I had leave to wander in the grounds or the gardens, or ramble down to the shore. (Though in the latter case we were subject to countless warnings and prohibitions; Lady Hariot understood vaguely that in the past some child from the village had been
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