trunks, I felt hatred for Grandcourt, his deceit that had led me to this impasse, and for men in general, including you. Had you not watched me with such disapproval I might again have won at the tables.
At Offendene, mamma and my sisters waited in the porch to greet me. Mamma wept as I kissed her. Fresh lines of sorrow had etched into her face. I tried to console her and lift her mood, conscious that any strength she might have must be drawn from me. I assured her I would make things come right. ‘I will be something, I will do something,’ I promised, for in my heart I thought my charm or luck, or some benevolent spirit, would shape our destiny.
Mamma and I spent the day alone together, our food brought to us on trays. Misfortune did not seem so evident in the large friendly house and in each other’s loving company. In our black and yellow bedroom I did not mention Grandcourt and she dared not ask. We did not mention our problems until evening came. I then said I felt sure Lord Brackenshaw would let us stay on for a while rent-free at Offendene.
Mamma countered he was in Scotland and knew nothing about us and anyway neither she nor my uncle would ask favours of him. Moreover, even if he agreed, we had no money to pay bills or the servants, nor did we have money to travel abroad. Uncle intended to adapt to penury: keep no carriage, buy no new clothes, eat no meat for breakfast, subscribe to no periodicals and tutor his sons himself. It all sounded utterly dismal. As for mamma and me, Alice, Bertha, Fanny, Isabel, we were all to move to Sawyer’s Cottage and make do with basic furnishings gleaned from the rectory.
I knew Sawyer’s Cottage. Mr Partridge, an exciseman, had died there. I knew its scrubby cabbage patch, steep narrow staircase, four tiny bedrooms, two cramped parlours with green and yellow wallpaper. Mamma said she and the girls might earn a pittance wage by sewing. ‘Sewing what?’ I asked. ‘A tablecloth border for the Ladies’ Charity at Wancester? A communion cloth for Pennicote church?’
I could not bear her choked-back tears. We must go to law, I said, to recover our fortune such as it had been. This Lassman, this land agent who so carelessly speculated with and lost our money by investing in mines and risky dealings, must be held accountable. Mamma said we had no money to go to law and anyway there was no law for people who are ruined.
She had discussed my fate with uncle. I was to be a governess or teacher. Uncle knew of two possible openings: I could live with a bishop’s family, a Dr Mompert, and teach French and music to his three dismal daughters, or teach the dull narrow curriculum for girls in a school for a wage of £80 a year.
I vowed to mamma I would not see her cooped in Sawyer’s Cottage, that I would not be dictated to by uncle or anyone, or sink so low as to be a governess. I would sooner emigrate. I assured her my determination would prevail, I would devise a rescue plan, I had talent I could employ that had not yet been tapped or recognised. And to provide in the short term, I had pieces of jewellery to sell.
*
I went to my desk and without reflection wrote a note to Herr Klesmer. I urgently requested him to call next day. I said unfortunate family circumstances of a very serious nature obliged me to turn for advice to his great knowledge and judgement.
I dispatched this to Quetcham Hall. I wince even now at the thought of its arrival. I was not good at anticipating how my actions affected others or at considering their point of view. It did not occur to me that Herr Klesmer might be in an agitated state, immersed in problems of his own.
The night my note arrived, Catherine Arrowpoint, in a heated exchange with her parents, had declared to them that she loved Klesmer and intended to marry him. Her parents forbade it. They expected her, their only child, to marry in accordance with their wealth and status. Her husband must be a man connected to the institutions of
At Offendene, mamma and my sisters waited in the porch to greet me. Mamma wept as I kissed her. Fresh lines of sorrow had etched into her face. I tried to console her and lift her mood, conscious that any strength she might have must be drawn from me. I assured her I would make things come right. ‘I will be something, I will do something,’ I promised, for in my heart I thought my charm or luck, or some benevolent spirit, would shape our destiny.
Mamma and I spent the day alone together, our food brought to us on trays. Misfortune did not seem so evident in the large friendly house and in each other’s loving company. In our black and yellow bedroom I did not mention Grandcourt and she dared not ask. We did not mention our problems until evening came. I then said I felt sure Lord Brackenshaw would let us stay on for a while rent-free at Offendene.
Mamma countered he was in Scotland and knew nothing about us and anyway neither she nor my uncle would ask favours of him. Moreover, even if he agreed, we had no money to pay bills or the servants, nor did we have money to travel abroad. Uncle intended to adapt to penury: keep no carriage, buy no new clothes, eat no meat for breakfast, subscribe to no periodicals and tutor his sons himself. It all sounded utterly dismal. As for mamma and me, Alice, Bertha, Fanny, Isabel, we were all to move to Sawyer’s Cottage and make do with basic furnishings gleaned from the rectory.
I knew Sawyer’s Cottage. Mr Partridge, an exciseman, had died there. I knew its scrubby cabbage patch, steep narrow staircase, four tiny bedrooms, two cramped parlours with green and yellow wallpaper. Mamma said she and the girls might earn a pittance wage by sewing. ‘Sewing what?’ I asked. ‘A tablecloth border for the Ladies’ Charity at Wancester? A communion cloth for Pennicote church?’
I could not bear her choked-back tears. We must go to law, I said, to recover our fortune such as it had been. This Lassman, this land agent who so carelessly speculated with and lost our money by investing in mines and risky dealings, must be held accountable. Mamma said we had no money to go to law and anyway there was no law for people who are ruined.
She had discussed my fate with uncle. I was to be a governess or teacher. Uncle knew of two possible openings: I could live with a bishop’s family, a Dr Mompert, and teach French and music to his three dismal daughters, or teach the dull narrow curriculum for girls in a school for a wage of £80 a year.
I vowed to mamma I would not see her cooped in Sawyer’s Cottage, that I would not be dictated to by uncle or anyone, or sink so low as to be a governess. I would sooner emigrate. I assured her my determination would prevail, I would devise a rescue plan, I had talent I could employ that had not yet been tapped or recognised. And to provide in the short term, I had pieces of jewellery to sell.
*
I went to my desk and without reflection wrote a note to Herr Klesmer. I urgently requested him to call next day. I said unfortunate family circumstances of a very serious nature obliged me to turn for advice to his great knowledge and judgement.
I dispatched this to Quetcham Hall. I wince even now at the thought of its arrival. I was not good at anticipating how my actions affected others or at considering their point of view. It did not occur to me that Herr Klesmer might be in an agitated state, immersed in problems of his own.
The night my note arrived, Catherine Arrowpoint, in a heated exchange with her parents, had declared to them that she loved Klesmer and intended to marry him. Her parents forbade it. They expected her, their only child, to marry in accordance with their wealth and status. Her husband must be a man connected to the institutions of
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