setting out.
“My Lady,” (I wrote)
The very high Regard I have for your Ladyship, as well as your unfailing Kindness to me upon ev’ry Occasion, compels me to inform you of my impending Flight from Lymeworth. The Cause of that Flight I cannot divulge. Suffice it to say that I have impos’d upon your Good Humour longer than my Unworthiness merits. I should certainly want Feeling were I to fail to confess the Grief which stirs in my Bosom as I bid thee and Lymeworth Farewell. I have known happy Years here, have learnt the gentle Passion of Filial Love, the Gentle Arts of Reading and Writing, the harsher Lessons of History, and the robust Sports of Horsemanship, the Hunt, Angling, and Shooting. I hope with all my Heart you will not deem my Desertion perfidious. Someday, in the Fullness of Time, I shall explain the Causes of my Departure. Until then, farewell Sweet Mother (if I may so call you). I am,
Your most obedient and affectionate
Step-Daughter, till Death,
Fanny.
I seal’d this Letter not without a Tear, knowing as I did the Grief it could not but communicate to Lady Bellars. I wisht I could hide myself in the Skirts of her Gown, as I had when I was small. My Heart o’erflow’d with Melancholick Humours and my Memory brimm’d with the sweetest Recollections. Lady Bellars could have treated me no better had I been born of her own Blood. She had rais’d me as a true Daughter—a Daughter of her Heart, if not of her Womb—and, tho’ I had no Dowery and no Hopes of a fine Match, I was in some wise more fortunate than Mary because I was less oppress’d by Familial Duty. Mary should surely be married off to whate’er loathsome Fellow brought Lord Bellars’ Dynasty the largest Holdings of Land. And tho’ I could not but smile at her Fate, I knew the Injustice of it. E’en she did not deserve such Usage; no Woman did. ’Tis a Paradox that the Lack of a Dowery can be a Boon to some Ladies, for what had attracted Lord Bellars to Lady Bellars but her Dowery, and should she not have been far happier without him?
Certainly I could carry no Portmanteau upon horseback; thus ’twas essential that I hang all my Belongings about my Person, concealing my Valuables within my Breech, my Coat Pockets, e’en within the Crown of my Hat.
O I cut a fine Figure as a Boy! My long Hair bound up close to my Skull with Ribbands and Pins (so as to remain hidden under my Riding Wig), my Face bare of Paint or Patch, my Breasts hidden ’neath Coat and Cloak, my Hat tilted rakishly forward to shadow my Face, my Jack-Boots and Sword giving me the Assurance of a Beau.
I stood before the Glass and practis’d talking like a Man.
“Stand and deliver,” I fancied a Gentleman of the Road demanding.
“Damme if yer not a Rascal and a Knave,” I replied in my deepest Voice.
But ’twas no good; I still sounded like a Girl.
“Sir, yer a Rascal and a Knave,” I said in a deeper Voice. ’Twas better, if only by an Ounce.
Well then, again.
“Damme if yer not a Son of a Whore!” I said with still greater Assurance and (what I hop’d was) a fine manly Tenor. ’Twas fair enough, tho’ not perfect. I should ne’er sing Bass, but perhaps I might pass as a Castrato!
I fasten’d the Letter to my Pillow with a Pin, snatch’d my Poems and secreted them about my Person, bade Farewell to my beloved Chamber, and crept down to the Stables.
The Clock struck Eight as I let myself quietly down the Back-Stair, and thence thro’ a secret Passage which led to the Library. I thankt my Guardian Angel that Mrs. Locke and the other Servants were below in the Kitchen preparing Breakfast, and I took one last Look at the detested Letter as I cross’d the Library to reach the double Doors that open’d upon the Park. I confess I contemplated whether or not to burn it, but decided instead upon Cunning and Stealth for my Revenge upon Lord Bellars; then I made my Escape.
I ran across the Velvet Lawns to the Stables, my small Feet slipping within the
“My Lady,” (I wrote)
The very high Regard I have for your Ladyship, as well as your unfailing Kindness to me upon ev’ry Occasion, compels me to inform you of my impending Flight from Lymeworth. The Cause of that Flight I cannot divulge. Suffice it to say that I have impos’d upon your Good Humour longer than my Unworthiness merits. I should certainly want Feeling were I to fail to confess the Grief which stirs in my Bosom as I bid thee and Lymeworth Farewell. I have known happy Years here, have learnt the gentle Passion of Filial Love, the Gentle Arts of Reading and Writing, the harsher Lessons of History, and the robust Sports of Horsemanship, the Hunt, Angling, and Shooting. I hope with all my Heart you will not deem my Desertion perfidious. Someday, in the Fullness of Time, I shall explain the Causes of my Departure. Until then, farewell Sweet Mother (if I may so call you). I am,
Your most obedient and affectionate
Step-Daughter, till Death,
Fanny.
I seal’d this Letter not without a Tear, knowing as I did the Grief it could not but communicate to Lady Bellars. I wisht I could hide myself in the Skirts of her Gown, as I had when I was small. My Heart o’erflow’d with Melancholick Humours and my Memory brimm’d with the sweetest Recollections. Lady Bellars could have treated me no better had I been born of her own Blood. She had rais’d me as a true Daughter—a Daughter of her Heart, if not of her Womb—and, tho’ I had no Dowery and no Hopes of a fine Match, I was in some wise more fortunate than Mary because I was less oppress’d by Familial Duty. Mary should surely be married off to whate’er loathsome Fellow brought Lord Bellars’ Dynasty the largest Holdings of Land. And tho’ I could not but smile at her Fate, I knew the Injustice of it. E’en she did not deserve such Usage; no Woman did. ’Tis a Paradox that the Lack of a Dowery can be a Boon to some Ladies, for what had attracted Lord Bellars to Lady Bellars but her Dowery, and should she not have been far happier without him?
Certainly I could carry no Portmanteau upon horseback; thus ’twas essential that I hang all my Belongings about my Person, concealing my Valuables within my Breech, my Coat Pockets, e’en within the Crown of my Hat.
O I cut a fine Figure as a Boy! My long Hair bound up close to my Skull with Ribbands and Pins (so as to remain hidden under my Riding Wig), my Face bare of Paint or Patch, my Breasts hidden ’neath Coat and Cloak, my Hat tilted rakishly forward to shadow my Face, my Jack-Boots and Sword giving me the Assurance of a Beau.
I stood before the Glass and practis’d talking like a Man.
“Stand and deliver,” I fancied a Gentleman of the Road demanding.
“Damme if yer not a Rascal and a Knave,” I replied in my deepest Voice.
But ’twas no good; I still sounded like a Girl.
“Sir, yer a Rascal and a Knave,” I said in a deeper Voice. ’Twas better, if only by an Ounce.
Well then, again.
“Damme if yer not a Son of a Whore!” I said with still greater Assurance and (what I hop’d was) a fine manly Tenor. ’Twas fair enough, tho’ not perfect. I should ne’er sing Bass, but perhaps I might pass as a Castrato!
I fasten’d the Letter to my Pillow with a Pin, snatch’d my Poems and secreted them about my Person, bade Farewell to my beloved Chamber, and crept down to the Stables.
The Clock struck Eight as I let myself quietly down the Back-Stair, and thence thro’ a secret Passage which led to the Library. I thankt my Guardian Angel that Mrs. Locke and the other Servants were below in the Kitchen preparing Breakfast, and I took one last Look at the detested Letter as I cross’d the Library to reach the double Doors that open’d upon the Park. I confess I contemplated whether or not to burn it, but decided instead upon Cunning and Stealth for my Revenge upon Lord Bellars; then I made my Escape.
I ran across the Velvet Lawns to the Stables, my small Feet slipping within the
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