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CHURCHILL | GODINHO | JOHNSON | KEDDIE | LETTS
LOWE | MACKAY | MCGILL | MOSS | NAGEL | SHAW
WITH JESSA ROGERS

TEACHING
MAKING A DIFFERENCE
FOURTH EDITION
 Emergent curriculum 206 7.6 Inquiry-based pedagogy 245
Outcomes-focused curriculum 207 Inquiry as a systematic, sequenced study 246
6.4 The hidden curriculum 208 7.7 Planning to differentiate the learning for student
Hidden curriculum as implicit and unintended 208 diversity 247
6.5 Teachers as curriculum workers 209 Individual learning plans and contracts 249
Teachers as critical consumers and creators of Summary 252
curriculum 210 Key terms 252
6.6 Curriculum as praxis 211 From theory to practice 254
Curriculum exceeds the textbook 211 Websites 255
Curriculum as a shared understanding 212 References 256
Summary 214 Acknowledgements 259
Key terms 214
From theory to practice 214 CHAPTER 8
Websites 215
References 215
Pedagogy: the agency that
Acknowledgements 217 connects teaching with
learning 260
CHAPTER 7 Introduction 261
Planning for practice: 8.1 Connectedness: knowing yourself 262
The discipline of noticing 263
connecting pedagogy, Storying your practice 264
assessment and Cycles of personal development 265
curriculum 218 8.2 Pedagogies of practice 266
Introduction 220 Pedagogical frameworks 267
7.1 Curriculum, pedagogy, assessment 221 Critical pedagogy 268
Curriculum 221 Pedagogical content knowledge (PCK) 268
Pedagogy 222 Technological pedagogies 270
Assessment and reporting 222 Instructional pedagogy: explicit teaching 271
7.2 Layers of curriculum planning: macro What distinguishes the practice of expert
to micro 224 teachers? 273
The Australian Curriculum and state Rethinking a definition of pedagogy 274
curriculums 225 8.3 Pedagogy: learning places and spaces 275
International Baccalaureate and school Place-based pedagogy 275
programs 227 The physical environment 276
7.3 Some guiding principles for planning 229 Reggio Emilia schools 278
Planning begins with knowing your students 230 8.4 Collaborative pedagogy: establishing the
Planning requires attention to intellectual classroom culture 279
engagement 230 Classroom discourses 280
Planning entails a critically reflective stance 230 Building relationships 281
Planning must retain a degree of flexibility 231 Working as a group 281
Planning should include entry points for student Cooperative learning 282
input and negotiation 232 Teacher-facilitated group work 284
7.4 Planning at the micro-level: individual 8.5 Dialogic pedagogy 285
lesson plans 233 Learning to question: questioning to learn 286
Strategic planning for lessons 233 Framing questions 286
7.5 Planning a unit of work: a sequence of Student questions 287
lessons 238 Substantial conversations 288
What might a unit planner look like? 239 8.6 Dispositional thinking pedagogy 291
Learning experiences 243 Critical, creative and reflective thinking 291

vi CONTENTS
 Summary 295 10.2 Approaches to ICTs in schools 338
Key terms 295 Attitudes to ICTs 338
From theory to practice 296 Funding 340
Websites 297 Behind the times 341
References 297 10.3 Planning for teaching with ICTs 342
Acknowledgements 301 Persistence and attitude to ICTs 343
Access 343
CHAPTER 9 Skills 345
Functionality 345
Organising the learning Confidence 346
environment 302 Concerns and restrictions 346
Introduction 304 Letting go 347
9.1 Creating effective classroom learning 10.4 The Digital Technology Impact
environments 304 Framework 348
A focus on professional knowledge 305 Transforming the curriculum 350
Proactive planning 305 10.5 Curriculum transformation 352
Applying your professional knowledge in Examples in practice 352
context 306 Summary 359
9.2 A model for organising the learning Key terms 359
environment 307 From theory to practice 360
Examining the model 308 Websites 360
Learning-friendly classrooms 309 References 360
9.3 Sociocultural principles 309 Acknowledgements 362
Safe and supportive school environments 309
Implementation 310 CHAPTER 11
Planning for teaching in an ILFE 319
9.4 Challenge and engagement 321
Interactive student engagement
Facilitating learning 321 and management 363
Challenging and engaging? 323 Introduction 365
Classroom practice 324 11.1 Establishing an effective learning
9.5 Tools and issues 324 environment 367
Putting it all together 324 Basic behaviour responsibilities 368
Summary 328 Proactive management 369
Key terms 328 Behaviour guidelines 371
From theory to practice 329 11.2 Planning for student engagement and
Websites 329 management 375
References 329 Understanding student behaviour 377
Acknowledgements 332 Working from a positive mindset 380
Planning for behaviour 382
CHAPTER 10 11.3 Strategies and skills to effectively engage and
manage students 385
Teaching with information Managing behaviour 386
and communication Six-step strategy for taking control 387
technologies 333 Applying interactive skills and strategies 391
11.4 Reflecting on your management 401
Introduction 334
Reflecting on a teacher’s role 401
10.1 The nature of technology and ICTs 335
Reflecting on student management 402
Educational technologies 335
When it’s working 402
Technological pedagogical content
When it’s not working 404
knowledge 336

CONTENTS vii
 Behaviour management plan 409 12.6 Reporting on student learning 459
Summary 412 Expectations on schools 459
Key terms 412 Expectations on teachers 459
From theory to practice 412 Sample report — primary 461
Websites 415 Sample report — secondary 463
References 415 12.7 Assessment and reporting: future challenges
Acknowledgements 416 and dilemmas 464
The system and the individual 464
CHAPTER 12 Empowering the student 465
Focus of learning and operational changes 467
Assessment and what matters: Summary 469
feedback, reporting and Key terms 469
fairness 417 From theory to practice 470
Websites 471
Introduction 419
References 471
12.1 Assessment in learning and assessment
Acknowledgements 475
audiences 422
Equity and culture-fair assessment 424
Evidence-based learning 425 PART 4
Assessment for learning 428 Effectiveness, professionalism
Theoretical frameworks for conceptualising
student achievement 429
and the future 476
The link between assessment, curriculum,
CHAPTER 13
teaching and learning 430
Assessment can be problematic 431 Reflective practice 477
12.2 Assessment concepts and terminology 432 Introduction 478
Informal and formal assessments 432 13.1 Reflecting on reflection: beyond the gaze 479
Diagnostic assessments 434 13.2 Thinking differently about thinking 480
Summative and formative assessments 435 Reframing thinking 480
Assessment for, of and as learning 437 Reflection on action 481
Norm-referenced and criterion-referenced Reflection in action 481
assessment frameworks 439 Reflective practice in teacher education 481
Outcomes, standards, benchmarks and 13.3 Mobilising reflection 483
performance measures 440 Making reflection manageable 483
12.3 Assessment design, strategies and 13.4 Autobiographical reflection 485
techniques 441 Autobiographical writing 486
The assessment process: quality issues 442 Why use multiple data sources to reflect
Selecting and implementing assessment upon? 487
strategies and techniques 444 13.5 Critically reflective practice 488
Authentic assessment 447 Understanding ‘critical’ 488
Rubrics 449 Critically reflective teaching 488
Portfolios 450 13.6 Technologies of reflection 490
Self-assessment and peer assessment 452 Notes/written reflections 490
Assessment and digital environments 453 Reflective journal 490
12.4 Assessment feedback 454 Portfolio or e-portfolio 490
Why feedback is important 455 Blogs and wikis 491
Feedback techniques 456 Audio and video recordings 491
12.5 Monitoring and recordkeeping 457 Observation by a critical friend 491
Forms of records 457 Pedagogical documentation 492

viii CONTENTS
 Practitioner research 492 14.8 Investigating your own practical theories 531
Professional learning communities 493 Journal keeping 531
13.7 Reflexivity and teaching: beyond the self 494 Personal narratives 532
Reflexivity fosters insights 494 Critical incidents 536
Reflexivity in action 495 Summary 539
13.8 Teachers as critically reflective Key terms 539
practitioners 496 From theory to practice 540
Why does this matter? 496 Websites 542
Teachers as leaders 497 References 542
Summary 499 Acknowledgements 544
Key terms 499
From theory to practice 499 CHAPTER 15
Websites 500
References 500
Professional, ethical and legal
Acknowledgements 502 issues for teachers 545
Introduction 547
CHAPTER 14 15.1 The nature of teachers’ work 548
Conceptions of teachers’ work 548
Theorising about teaching What constitutes good teaching? 550
practice 503 15.2 Teachers’ thinking about their work 551
Introduction 504 Teachers’ thinking through the career life
14.1 Tacit knowledge 506 cycle 551
14.2 A teacher’s practical theory 509 Other perspectives on teachers’ thinking 552
How do I build it? 510 Teacher culture 552
14.3 Components of a teacher’s practical 15.3 Professionalism and accreditation 554
theory 512 The development of professional standards in
Beliefs 512 Australia 555
Values 513 The implications of professional standards for
Principles 514 teachers 556
Rules 514 15.4 Ethical frameworks and codes of conduct
Aims and goals 515 for teachers 558
Strategies and tactics 516 The Melbourne Declaration 559
Student cues 516 15.5 Teachers and the law 563
Teacher attributes 516 Teachers, accountability and the law 563
14.4 Images and metaphors 516 Schools, accountability and the law 564
14.5 Contextual variables 517 Issues in duty of care in practice 566
14.6 Novice to expert 518 Implications — sufficient and reasonable 568
The novice 518 Issues in duty of care revisited 569
Advanced beginner 519 15.6 Professional learning for your career 571
Competence 519 Ongoing professional development 571
Proficient and expert 519 Professional associations 573
Effective teachers continue to grow in Summary 577
expertise 520 Key terms 577
14.7 Process of critical reflection 522 From theory to practice 578
What is critical reflection? 522 Websites 578
Becoming a critically reflective practitioner 526 References 579
Unpacking and applying the critically reflective Legal authorities 580
model to our practice 528 Acknowledgements 580

CONTENTS ix
 CHAPTER 16 16.4 The broader social change context 592
Political–economic trends impacting on
The future of teaching: schools 592
schooling, equity and social 16.5 Teachers making a difference 594
change 581 Teacher practice: critical and socially just
pedagogy 595
Introduction 583
16.6 Supporting equity and justice: a whole-school
16.1 The purposes of schooling 583
approach 600
Schools in crisis? 584
Relationships at the core of teachers’ work 602
Can schools be neutral or apolitical? 585
Summary 604
16.2 Equity: a mandate of schooling 586
Key terms 604
A brief history of the purposes of mass
From theory to practice 605
schooling 586
Websites 606
16.3 Contemporary teacher practice: realities
References 606
and constraints 588
Acknowledgements 607
A snapshot of contemporary teacher practice 589
Attempting to address inequity through
Index 608
education 590

x CONTENTS
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to Peter Ferguson (1951–2017), one of our founding authors on Teaching: Making
a difference. For decades before his career as an academic, he was a much-loved teacher in Tasmania.
He will be remembered for his great contribution to science education and as an author who inspired
thousands of learners across Australia.

DEDICATION xi
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Rick Churchill
After two decades of teaching and curriculum leadership in South Australia, Rick Churchill was appointed
as a teacher educator in the Faculty of Education at the University of Tasmania, where he completed his
Doctor of Philosophy in 1998. He has since worked in pre-service and postgraduate teacher education at
three universities in Tasmania, Queensland and Victoria. Included among his roles in teacher education
have been coordinator of professional experience at both the University of Tasmania and the Univer-
sity of Southern Queensland, coordinator of graduate entry programs at USQ and La Trobe University,
coordinator of pre-service programs and Associate Dean (Academic) at USQ, and Associate Professor
in Teacher Education and Associate Dean (Academic) at La Trobe University. He taught a variety of
pre-service teacher education programs, particularly in the areas of classroom management, beginning
teacher professionalism and transition into the profession. Rick retired from his position at La Trobe
University and relocated to the East coast of Tasmania in 2014, but maintains an active involvement in
doctoral supervision and in consultancy and volunteer activities.
Sally Godinho
Sally Godinho is an Honorary Fellow at Melbourne University’s Graduate School of Education. She has
over 30 years’ experience in education, having taught in primary schools and lectured undergraduate
and postgraduate students in curriculum and pedagogy. Sally completed her Doctor of Philosophy and
Master of Education degrees at the University of Melbourne. Her research and publications have focused
on teachers’ pedagogies, students’ classroom interactions, integrative approaches to curriculum design,
and two-way learning environments.
Nicola F Johnson
Nicola F Johnson is an Associate Professor in the School of Education in the Faculty of Education and
Arts at Federation University Australia. Nicola obtained her Doctor of Philosophy from Deakin Univer-
sity, and her undergraduate qualifications were earned at Bethlehem Tertiary Institute in New Zealand.
Nicola’s research concerns internet over-use, the social phenomena of internet usage, technological exper-
tise, and the use of information and communication technologies to enhance teaching and learning. Nicola
is the author of The multiplicities of internet addiction: The misrecognition of leisure and learning
(Ashgate, 2009) and Publishing from your PhD: Negotiating a crowded jungle (Gower, 2011), and
co-editor of Critical perspectives on technology and education (Palgrave Macmillan, 2015). Her latest
co-authored book is entitled Everyday schooling in the digital age: High school, high tech? (Routledge,
2018).
Amanda Keddie
Amanda Keddie is a Professor of Education within REDI (Research for Educational Impact) at Deakin
University. She obtained her Doctor of Philosophy from Deakin University. She was awarded a Bachelor
of Education at the University of Tasmania and has worked as a primary school teacher. In her career,
Amanda has predominantly held research positions — previous to her current position she held an
ARC Future Fellowship at the University of Queensland, a Postdoctoral Fellowship at the University of
Queensland, a Leverhulme Fellowship at Roehampton University (London) and a Research Fellowship at
Griffith University. She is a leading researcher in the fields of gender, cultural diversity and social justice,
and has published extensively in these areas. She is the author of Educating for diversity and social justice
(2012), Leadership, ethics and schooling for social justice (2015 with Richard Niesche) and Supporting
and educating young Muslim women (2017).

xii ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Will Letts
Will Letts is Associate Dean Academic in the Faculty of Arts and Education at Charles Sturt Univer-
sity in Bathurst, NSW. Will earned his Doctor of Philosophy in Curriculum and Instruction (Science
Education) from the University of Delaware and his BA in Biology from Bates College in Maine, USA.
His research interests include the cultural studies of science and science education, especially with respect
to sex, gender, and sexuality; interrogating subjectivities in ECE/teacher education; and the enactment of
pedagogical documentation in tertiary settings. You can reach Will at [email protected].
Kaye Lowe
Kaye Lowe is Adjunct Associate Professor at the University of Canberra and Director of Read4Success.
Since completing a PhD at Indiana University, she has been an academic at the University of Kentucky
(US), James Madison University (US), University of Western Sydney and Charles Darwin University.
She was the Chief Investigator and Evaluator of Reading First in Kentucky. She has worked in many
learning contexts including P–12, parent education, adult education, jails and juvenile justice. She works
with education systems to bring about change in literacy instruction. She is author and creator of i-READ:
Literacy Intervention for Middle and Secondary Schools and regularly conducts parent education courses
throughout Australia. Her research interests include literacy and language learning, supporting Indigenous
learners, parent education, technology and literacy learning, boys’ education, adult literacy education
and inspiring reluctant writers. She has written four books and numerous articles on literacy learning,
reading and writing. She has been the recipient of many grants, three of which were projects of national
significance.
Jenny Mackay
Jenny Mackay is an author and internationally recognised specialist in behaviour management and
student–teacher interactions. Following extensive research analysis into classroom dynamics she has
originated a methodology that conveys comprehensive, practical student management skills and guides
teachers in their classroom practice. She travels widely, delivering seminars for her educational consul-
tancy, and is based in Melbourne where, until recently, she taught in the Department of Education at
Deakin University.
Michèle McGill
Michèle McGill has been engaged with pre-service and postgraduate teacher education for over three
decades in Tasmania and Queensland as well as in Alberta, Canada. Her primary focus has been work-
ing with beginning teachers (undergraduate and postgraduate) and with experienced teachers to uncover
their personal pedagogies. As the world of the real and the virtual are rapidly merging and learners and
their contexts are rapidly changing, the ways in which teachers understand and express their personal
pedagogies are becoming critical. Her research interests are in working with teachers and the processes
through which teachers determine their personal narratives and case studies to uncover their personal ped-
agogies and how they influence and guide their teaching practice. Michèle is the co-author with Associate
Peter McIlveen of Unpacking the case: Designing for learning, 3rd edition (Pearson, 2015). Michèle has
now retired from the University of Queensland with the role of Honorary Lecturer and is continuing
her research into teachers’ personal pedagogy through publishing, conference presentations and work-
ing with a research group to focus on assisting teachers to uncover and acknowledge their own personal
pedagogies.
Julianne Moss
Julianne Moss is Professor in Education, holds a personal chair in Pedagogy and Curriculum at Deakin
University and is an Honorary Senior Fellow at the University of Melbourne. Currently she is Director
of REDI (Research for Educational Impact), Deakin University’s strategic research centre in education.
She is a past President of the Australian Association for Research in Education (AARE) and was Course
Director of Deakin’s Master of Teaching from 2013–2015. Julianne obtained her Doctor of Philosophy

ABOUT THE AUTHORS xiii

from Deakin University and her postgraduate and undergraduate qualifications were earned at the Uni-
versity of Tasmania. She began her career as a teacher of visual arts in secondary schools in the Northern
Territory. Following this she taught in secondary and primary schools in Tasmania and held leadership
positions as a regional support officer in literacy and later as a principal in the Tasmanian government
school system. Her research interests centre on curriculum reform, curriculum theory, teacher professional
learning (particularly in the context of issues of understanding student diversity), educational exclusion
and social inclusion. She has contributed over 100 academic and professional publications. Over the past
ten years, Julianne has been researching and developing visual methods for researching education. Her
recent book, edited with Barbara Pini, Visual research methods in education (2016, Palgrave Macmillan),
explores these issues in depth.
Michael C Nagel
Dr Michael C Nagel is an Associate Professor within the School of Education at the University of
the Sunshine Coast where he researches and teaches in the areas of human development and learning.
A prolific author, he has written many journal articles and thirteen books related to child development
with a particular interest in the developing paediatric brain, behaviour and learning. Along with being a
contributor to a number of textbooks used in undergraduate and postgraduate education courses through-
out Australia, Dr Nagel has also been nominated as ‘Australian Lecturer of the Year’ each year since
2010. Dr Nagel is a member of the prestigious International Neuropsychological Society, the Queensland
Director of the Australian Council on Children and the Media, and is a feature writer for the Jigsaw and
Child series of magazines, which collectively offers parenting and educational advice to more than one
million Australian readers. When he is not busy professionally, he spends his time learning the important
lessons of adolescence and life from his own children, Madeline and Harrison.
Kylie Shaw
Kylie Shaw is the Deputy Head of Research in the School of Education at the University of Newcastle
where she lectures in a range of undergraduate and postgraduate courses. Kylie obtained her Doctor of
Philosophy from the University of Newcastle in the area of student experience in higher education. She
has been a teacher for twenty years and has taught in primary and middle school contexts. She has been the
Academic Coordinator of Middle Years and Coordinator of Learning Support K–12 in the independent
school system. Her research interests include innovative approaches to teaching and learning and her
expertise has been sought in this area through consultancies with Microsoft and Pearson International.
She is currently Chief Investigator on an Australian Research Centre (ARC) Discovery Project examining
the learning profiles and wellbeing of doctoral learners and on a NSW Department of Education research
project exploring the impact of physical activity interventions on literacy learning in primary schools.

Contributor
Jessa Rogers
Dr Jessa Rogers is Project Director — Indigenous Education and Research Strategy in the Office of
the Pro Vice-Chancellor (Academic Innovation) (PVCAI) at the University of New England (UNE). The
PVCAI portfolio is responsible for teaching and learning quality and academic innovation. Jessa’s role
in this portfolio is to oversee the reform of the university’s curriculum in order to embed Indigenous
perspectives across the university’s course offerings, enrich current Indigenous research practices, and
increase support of Indigenous researchers and higher degree research (HDR) students at UNE. Prior to
joining UNE, Dr Rogers was a Fellow at Harvard University in the Department of Anthropology. She
is on the Federal Expert Group for the English Language Learning for Indigenous Children (ELLIC)
program and recently completed her 3-year term on the National NAIDOC Committee. Jessa’s PhD at
the Australian National University looked at the use of Indigenous research methods and methodolo-
gies with young Indigenous women to understand their experiences of education away from home. Jessa

xiv ABOUT THE AUTHORS

previously opened Australia’s first boarding school for Aboriginal young mothers and babies and was
the youngest Aboriginal principal in Australia. Jessa is a Wiradjuri woman with cultural connections
to Cootamundra and surrounding areas of NSW, and whānau connections (through marriage) to Ngāti
Kauwhata, Ngāti Raukawa in Aotearoa New Zealand. Her current research looks at Kanaka ‘Ōiwi youth
experiences attending Indigenous boarding schools in Hawai‘i using Indigenous visual research methods.
Dr Rogers was brought onto this edition of Teaching: Making a difference to include a greater inclusion
of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander perspectives.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS xv

PART 1

THE TEACHING
PROFESSION
1 Introducing teaching as a profession 2
2 Historical insights into teaching 40
CHAPTER 1

Introducing teaching as a
profession
LEARNING OBJECTIVES

After studying this chapter, you should be able to:

1.1 describe teaching as a twenty-first century profession
1.2 begin to understand and analyse your own professional identity
1.3 discuss key aspects of pedagogical knowledge
1.4 describe reflective practice and its importance in ongoing professional development
1.5 recognise that personal and professional beliefs impact on pedagogical decision-making and
teacher agency.
OPENING CASE

Why teaching?
Tory has just landed his first full-time ongoing
teaching job. The position is in a middle school in
rural Australia, in a town of less than 10 000 peo-
ple. He accepted the job after applying unsuccess-
fully for more than 40 positions in the metropolitan
area close to where he completed his teacher
education. With a double degree and qualifica-
tions to teach in early childhood settings and
primary schools, he has won a position in a P–12
school with an enrolment of just over 300 students.
The school ICSEA (Index of Community Socio-
Educational Advantage) is 950. Tory has had one
placement in a school where he taught a multi-
aged class of Year 5 and 6 students. While his new position will involve teaching Year 7 and 8 students,
he is feeling confident, as during his course he chose electives in integrated curriculum and science edu-
cation. This school was in an area where students had a positive view of themselves and their learning.
Tory had gleaned from the interview that this may not be the case in his new school. School attendance
and retention were key issues that the school had identified in the school plan as key priorities over the
next three years.
Nonetheless, Tory is thrilled to have finally secured a full-time position with a regular salary and school
holidays, providing time to fulfil his long-held travel plans. He has completed endless days of casual
teaching and two short-term contracts of six months each, and received lots of encouragement from
teachers and principals. In his last contract position, he had hoped to secure at least a one-year contract,
but there was a long list of teachers who had to be reassigned in the region, and associate teachers on
government-funded initiatives who were ahead of him each time a vacancy arose. He greatly appreciated
the encouraging feedback he’d received from his colleagues, but it was challenging to explain to his family
and friends why he was not able to secure an ongoing teaching position.
Tory, like many people who join the teaching profession, was the first in his family to attain a degree.
After all the long hours he’d spent studying while holding down a full-time position in a hardware chain,
having to move away from his family and friends to take up this full-time position was not necessarily
seen as a win by those close to him. Like many people who go on to become successful teachers, Tory’s
choice of career was inspired by some of his own brilliant teachers. He particularly recalls his Year 3/4
teacher, Ms Rossi. Ms Rossi, he had imagined as a nine year old, was ‘pretty old’. Later, when he returned
to his old primary school for a five-week professional experience, he realised that Ms Rossi had been
in her early thirties when she taught him. The sorts of things he recalls her doing, and that he observed
her still doing in her classroom, was the curriculum planning that included student access to a range of
before-school activities. Outside the classroom were boxes of class sporting equipment, an early morn-
ing computer roster, a table in the hallway for revising and catching up on tasks, a bowl of fresh fruit
that had been donated by FoodSavers, and a compost bucket for the leftovers. There was also a list
of classroom monitors for general clean-up and kitchen garden duties. While he knew that he would
be teaching older students, he also knew that central to the foundation for education is the need for
all students to develop a sense of belonging to their school community, and strong relationships with
their teacher.
........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
QUESTIONS
1. What influenced you to be a teacher?
2. Think about how you remember your school teachers. How would you like your students to think
of you?
3. How are expert and beginning teachers similar and different?
4. Consider how culture and family impact on education.
5. What career progression and leadership options are available for teachers today?

CHAPTER 1 Introducing teaching as a profession 3

Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
 And all the time Lord Frogmore’s letter was locked up in her desk; and
she had as yet made no reply to it. It was the thing, perhaps, on the whole
which made the persecution in the house less important to her. What did it
matter what Saunders and his kind might do? The humiliation which they
inflicted made her smart for the moment, but it was not so bad even now as
the careless civility which she had borne from their masters, or the no-
account which was generally made of such a person as herself in the world.
She was well used to all that. And to think that by a word at any moment
she would put a stop to it all and change everything! She did not answer the
letter she could scarcely tell why. Not that it did not occupy her day and
night. She thought of it in all ways, turning it over and over. It was a sort of
occupation to her which obliterated everything else to think what she should
say. What should she say? And then the long round of questioning, of
balancing one side against the other would begin.
There was this advance, however, that Mary had come to a perfect
conviction that were she unhampered by others, she herself could be happy
with Lord Frogmore. To marry at all and enter upon a mode of life so
entirely new is a shock to a middle-aged woman. The old maid has
hindrances in her way in this particular which do not affect the girl. She has
formed all her habits often with a certain rigidity, and to be brought into
relations so close as those of matrimonial life, to give up her seclusion, her
privacy, to share everything with another, has a sort of horror in it. Mary too
had something of the primness which in some natures accompanies that
modest withdrawal from the mysteries of life. To a girl it is all romance, to
a woman other reflections come in. She had moments of panic in which she
asked herself how she could bear such a revolution of existence. It is,
however, so deeply impressed upon the feminine mind that to be married is
the better and higher state, a doctrine largely emphasized by the contempt
of the foolish, that she was half ashamed of her own shrinking, and knew
that everybody would consider it fantastical even if for sheer modesty she
had ever breathed to anyone the confession that she felt this panic and
shrinking—which was very unlikely. That was a sentiment never to be
disclosed, to be got over as best she could, to be ignored altogether. But
putting aside that shock to all her habits, both of mind and life, there was
nothing in her which objected to Lord Frogmore. He was kind, he was old,
he would need her care, her help, her services. He was the least alarming
companion that could be thought of: he was sympathetic and understood her
—and she thought she understood him.
But Letitia. There the struggle began. Letitia would not like it! Mary
could not salve her conscience by the hasty advice given with such
frankness by Mrs. Parke. To marry any old gentleman who might present
himself with money enough to support her, and provide for her when he
died, was one thing. To marry Lord Frogmore was another. The mere idea
that Mary might be Lady Anything while Letitia was Mrs. Parke would be
an offence—but Lady Frogmore! What would Letitia say? How would she
like it. She would never forgive that promotion. The thought of Mary
walking out of a room before her, placed at table before her, would drive
her frantic. If that were all how gladly would Mary give up to her any such
distinction! But that was not all. There were the children who would, as
Letitia thought, be defrauded by their uncle’s marriage. That was a matter
which it was not so easy to get over. She tried to represent to herself that
Lord Frogmore was rich, that it was not certain he would leave all he had to
the children, that in any case he would be just; and that whatever he
appropriated to himself would at least go back to the children on his death.
She had taken out her paper, seated herself at the table, prepared her pen
(with little anxious cares that it should be a good one) to write half a dozen
times at least—and had been stopped by that thought of the children. That
was a thought that could not be got over. To take this away from the
children, how could she do it? If she were to endeavor to make the
condition that no money should be given to her (which crossed her mind for
a moment), Mary had too much good sense not to see that this would be
impossible, and also foolish and unjust. And then she had laid down her pen
again, and put by her paper, and returned to herself to think out that
problem—with equal failure. Defraud the children—take from them their
inheritance—how could she do it? she who had been like their aunt, like a
second mother. She retired before that thought with continued affright. It
was a barrier she could not get over. And so the letter was put off day after
day.
She had met the children in their walk one morning, and gone on with
them, glad of the companionship, pleased that little Letty should abandon
the group to cling to her hand and rub against her with a way the child had,
like an affectionate dog, and that Duke in his little imperious way should
place himself exactly before her, walking a step in advance, so that Mary
had to restrain her own movements not to tread on him, one of these little
inconveniences which, to people who love children, are pleasant, as signs of
the liking of the little tyrant. She had begun in her usual way to tell them a
story when the nurse who walked majestically in the rear of the party
interfered.
“If you don’t mind me saying it, miss,” said nurse, who was too well
bred herself not to know that this mode of address was particularly
offensive to a person of Mary’s age, “I’d much rather you did not tell them
stories.”
“But!” cried Mary, with astonishment, “I have always told them stories
—it’s what they expect whenever they see me.”
“That may be,” said the nurse, “but I don’t myself hold with working up
their little brains like that. When their mamma is here she can judge for
herself; but I can’t have them put off their sleep, and excited, and not able
to get their proper rest——”
“But that has never happened,” cried Mary.
“It’s quite soon enough then if it happens now.”
“Well, no doubt that is unanswerable,” said Mary, with a laugh, and she
added half playfully, half vexed, “I think you want to keep me from saying
anything to the children at all.”
“I don’t want to be any way disagreeable, miss,” said nurse, “but so long
as my mistress is away and I’ve all the responsibility, that is just what I’d
like best.”
“Why,” cried Mary, inadvertently. “I stayed here on purpose.”
“To spy upon us and watch all we did,” said the woman red and angry.
“We all know that; and that is just what I will never put up with if there
wasn’t another situation in the world.”
Mary had for the moment forgotten the humiliation of her present
position which made this sudden assault almost more than she could bear.
She disengaged herself with a little difficulty from the children and hurried
in, feeling that she must take some immediate resolution and free herself
from these insults. Saunders and the footman were playing a game of
billiards in the hall when she entered hastily, the great door being open. In
the extreme freedom of this new regime, Saunders, so proper and correct in
the presence of his master, had fallen into habits of self-indulgence, and
was, indeed, most generally under an exhilarating influence, which made
him very ready to exhibit his wit at the expense of any butt that might
present itself, secure of the admiration and applause of his subordinates in
the house. Mary had become rather afraid of an encounter with the butler in
these circumstances, and started a little as she came suddenly upon him in
her hurried passage indoors. He came forward to meet her with his cue in
his hand.
“Well, Miss ’Ill,” he said, “I hope I see you well this fine mornin’. Been
to the post to send off your report, eh; and tell how the servants is going
on?”
“Let me pass,” Mary said.
“We hope you’ve given us a good report, miss. We’re nothing but poor
servants astrivin’ to do our dooties,” said Saunders, with an air of mock
humility, which sent the footman into such screams of obsequious laughter
that he had to throw down his cue and hold his sides with exclamations of
“Oh, Lord, don’t, Mr. Saunders! You’ll kill me with laughing afore you’ve
done.”
“And if you was to give us a bad report what ’ud become of us?” said
Saunders. “But we hopes you won’t say nothing more than you can prove,
Miss ’Ill. And what are you?” he added, changing his tone, “but a servant
yourself, and worse off than any of us—currying favor with bringing other
folks into trouble, or tryin’ to bring folks into trouble; but you’ll not succeed
this time, miss, I’ll promise you. We knows what to expect, and we’re on
our guard. Hi, old man! what are you wanting? The bosses ain’t at home;
can’t you see that with half an eye? Stop a bit, miss, I ain’t done with you
yet.”
“Oh, good Lord, Mr. Saunders!” cried the footman, in a tone of alarm.
“Let me pass, please,” said Mary, trembling, and quite unaware what
strong succours had arrived behind.
The next sound was a firm foot upon the floor coming in—the next a
voice which made Mary’s heart jump up to her throat.
“Where is my brother, sir—where is your master? and how dare you
speak to a lady like that?” said Lord Frogmore.
Lord Frogmore! Saunders himself—whose countenance was a wonder to
behold as he dropped the cue and backed against the table limp and
helpless, his mouth open, his eyes bursting from their sockets with wonder
and fright—was scarcely more discomposed than Mary, who felt herself in
a moment vindicated, restored to her proper place, protected and avenged—
yet at the same time more agitated and shaken than she had ever been in her
life. She turned round and saw him before her, his eyes sparkling with
anger, his neat small person towering, as it seemed, over the discomfited
servants driven back by the first glance of him into servile humiliation.
Lord Frogmore’s voice, which generally was a mild and rather small voice,
thundered through the hall. “You disrespectful rascal! How dare you speak
to a lady in that tone?”
“My lord!” Saunders cried, faltering. At first he could not even think of a
word to say for himself. The footman discreetly stole away.
“My brother is absent, I suppose, and Mrs. Parke; and you cowardly
scamp, you wretched snob, you take this opportunity——”
“Oh, Lord Frogmore, don’t be severe upon the man. He thought I had
written about him to his mistress. Please don’t say any more.”
“I shall write about him to his mistress,” said Lord Frogmore, “or to his
master, which will be more effectual. John Parke is no brother of mine if he
does not turn such a fellow neck and crop out of the house. Get out of my
sight, you brute, if you don’t want to be kicked out.” Saunders was twice
Lord Frogmore’s size and half his age, but the old gentleman made him
cower like a whipped dog. He made a faint effort to bluster.
“I’m responsible to my own master, my lord: I’ll answer to him.”
“By Jove,” said the old lord. “You shall answer to a sound thrashing if
you stay here a moment longer. Out of my sight! Miss Hill,” he said,
turning round and offering Mary his arm, “I suppose there is some room
where I can say a word to you. It is clear that you cannot remain an hour
longer in this house.”
 CHAPTER XVI.
She took him upstairs to the morning-room, in which she had been living,
and which was full of traces of her habitation and ways—the book on the
table, the work, even the writing paper and the new pen which all this time
she had been trying to use to answer his letter. Her heart was beating as
wildly as if she had been a young girl—beating with pride, with pleasure,
with gratitude, and with that satisfaction in being vindicated and re-
established which it is impossible for human nature not to feel. It was no
doubt a very poor foe who had thus been flung under her feet; but he had
been able to humiliate and insult her. And Mary felt as proud of her
deliverer as if he had faced the dragon. His very age and physical
unimportance made her only the more conscious of the force and mastery
he had shown—a man accustomed to command, accustomed to hold a
foremost place. What a difference it had made to everything the moment he
had appeared! The very atmosphere had changed. It had become impossible
for any one in the world to show her anything but respect and reverence as
soon as Lord Frogmore had come. What a difference! What a difference!
Mary had never filled that imposing place, never had it made evident as a
matter of certainty that wherever she appeared respect must necessarily
attend her. She had been respected in her modesty by those who knew her.
But no one had ever thought it necessary to give to Mary the first place.
What a difference! The first inarticulate feeling in her mind was this which
brought her up as upon a stream of new life. Everything had been different
from the moment he had appeared. No more insult, no further call for self-
assertion, no need to take any trouble. His presence did it all. Where he was
there would always be honor, observance, regard.
These thoughts surged through her mind as she went upstairs with him
through the empty house, in which all at once instinctively, without
anything said, she had become as a queen. There was no longer any
question in her mind as to what she should say. All was said it seemed to
Mary. Could the lady who had been delivered from the dragon think what
she should say to her Redcross Knight? It was ridiculous to be so highflown
—and yet it was the only simile she could think of. Dragons are different in
different cases—sometimes they mean only poverty, humiliation, the spurns
which patient merit of the unworthy takes, and not any great heroic danger,
which the champion can make an end of: her champion had ended for her in
a moment the fear of all these things. He had made her see what would be
her fate henceforward if she trusted herself to him. He was a little
gentleman, of short stature, of appearance rather neat than fine, resembling
anything in the world rather than St. George. He was old—was he old?
surely not so old as was thought—surely not as Letitia made him out, an
antediluvian, a person out of date, whom only his own egotism and the care
of Rogers kept alive to keep other people out of their rights. To look at him
with his active step, his eyes that grew quite bright and blue in his anger,
the color as of a winter apple in his cheek, his neat well cared for person—it
was almost absurd, Mary thought, to call him an old man at all.
Lord Frogmore put her in a chair when they reached the morning-room,
and bade her rest a little. “I came to see if there was not an answer to my
letter,” he said, “but there are other things more important to be thought of
first. How long have you been here alone exposed to these impertinences?
You can’t be left to run such a risk again.”
“Oh, it doesn’t really matter now—it is all over now,” said Mary, with a
faint smile.
“You are trembling still,” said the old lord. “I have a thousand minds to
go and thrash the fellow still.”
“Oh, no,” she said, putting out her hand as if to detain him. “I am not
afraid of anything now.”
The old gentleman took the hand which she held out. “Do you mean to
give me this, Mary?” he said.
Upon this she roused herself, and with a changing color made her last
stand, “Oh, Lord Frogmore, I could do nothing that would be injurious to
the children,” she said.
“The children—what children? There are no children,” said the old lord,
thinking of himself only and his own concerns. Then he perceived her
meaning with a sudden, quick start, letting her hand drop in his impatience.
“What,” he said, “is it John’s children you are bringing up in this ridiculous
way? My dear, when John succeeds me he will be quite rich enough to
provide for his own children. I have nothing to do with them. If you put the
children in my way and in the way of my happiness in my old age, they
shall never get a penny from me. I shall leave everything I can away from
them. Be sure you will do them harm, and not good by bringing them up
between you and me.”
“Lord Frogmore—I would not do them harm for anything in the world.”
“Well,” he said, with a smile, “you will do them a great deal of harm if
you bring them in between us. I remember now what Mrs. John told you.
That all I had belonged to them. She is an odious woman.”
“Lord Frogmore.”
“Don’t say anything more, my dear. She is an odious woman. You have
not found it out, because you think everybody as good as yourself. She it is
who is the cause of the impudence of her servants as well as of any other
wrong things. No, my dear, let Mrs. John and her brats go by. I am an old
man, Mary, that is the worst of it. I can’t hope to stand by you very long. Do
you think you can like me well enough to give me the best chance of living
to be a Methuselah? I’ll live as long as ever I can if you’ll share my life
with me, Mary, my dear.”
“Oh, Lord Frogmore!” she said.
And, as a matter of fact, Mary said very little more. They came to
understand each other very thoroughly without many words on her part.
When the hour of luncheon arrived it produced no tray carried by the under-
housemaid, as was usual, but John, the footman, in his best livery to
announce that my lord was served in the dining-room. “You mean Miss Hill
is served,” said the old gentleman, sternly. And John humbly begged his
lordship’s pardon. Saunders kept out of sight, not trusting himself in Lord
Frogmore’s presence. And the way in which Lord Frogmore talked at lunch
was soon reported all over the house, and carried an universal shudder. “I
shall lose no time in letting my brother know what has been going on,” he
said. “And I don’t think you should stay here any longer. Mrs. John would
be unhappy if she knew to what you are exposed.”
“Oh,” said Mary; “they will be kinder now.”
“Kinder! I could not let any lady run such a risk. I suppose they know
that you would not say anything as long as you could help it. That is the
penalty of being too good.”
“They did not think at all,” said Mary. “They supposed I was to be a spy
and tell everything. But don’t please take much notice, Lord Frogmore. In
another month Mr. Parke and Letitia will be back again.”
 “You must not remain another night,” said the old gentleman. “Allow me
to have the pleasure of taking you home. I cannot consent to your remaining
here.”
John went downstairs much and deeply impressed. He told the
assembled company in the servants’ hall that his lordship had said nothing
to him personally. “But the rest of you may just get ready to go. Mr.
Saunders won’t get even his month’s warning. That much I can tell you, and
you’ll have to clear out—but there’s nothing against me.”
“Nobody can say,” said cook, “as I’ve shown any incivility to Miss ’Ill.
I’m one as likes Miss ’Ill. I always did say as you was going too far.”
“I’ve never said a word good, bad, or indifferent,” said the housemaid,
“since the first day: and then it was John as sauced her, and I only looked
on.”
“I never sauced her,” cried John.
Saunders alone was silent. His confederates had all given him up as is
inevitable in such circumstances, and it was very evident that there was no
help possible for him. There was dismay also in the nursery, but in those
regions the authorities held apart and did not compromise themselves in the
servants’ hall.
Mary, however, felt herself taken hold of as by a little beneficent
providence when she was taken in hand by Lord Frogmore. He arranged at
once a little programme for her. It was too late now to go up so far as
Yorkshire that afternoon, so he permitted her to remain for the night at
Greenpark, to pack and arrange for her journey. He himself in the
meanwhile would remain at the railway hotel near the station, and in the
morning he would come for her and take her home. It was very startling to
Mary to be thus swept away. She had herself strongly developed the instinct
of putting up with what was disagreeable—with the certainty that there
were many things in life which it was impossible to mend, and which had to
be borne as cheerfully as possible. But Lord Frogmore had no mind to put
up with anything. The idea of enduring a moment’s annoyance which could
be prevented seemed folly to the imperative old gentleman. The difference
was that he had always had it in his power to prevent the greater part at
least of the annoyances of life, whereas Mary never had possessed that
power. He whirled her away next day in a reserved carriage with all the
luxury with which it was possible to surround a railway journey—she who
had been accustomed to a humble corner in the second class! and deposited
her that evening in the vicarage in a tumult of joy and excitement which it
would be impossible to describe. The old people, the vicar and his wife,
were indeed full of alarm, terrified by the telegram that announced Mary’s
immediate return, and troubled to think that something must have happened
to account for so sudden and important a journey. They had comforted each
other by the reflection that it could not be Mary’s fault. Mary who was
always so good and patient. But an event so sudden is always alarming, and
it took them a long time to understand the rights of the matter, and what
Lord Frogmore had to do with it and what they had to do with him. Old Mr.
Hill was not very much older than Lord Frogmore, but he was not nearly so
lively either in intelligence or in physique, and it required a great deal of
explanation to make him understand the real state of the case. Mary going
to marry—that old gentleman! This was the first thought of the
unsophisticated household. The thought that Mary was to become Lady
Frogmore did not penetrate their minds till some time after. As for Mary
herself the process was quite different. She had actually forgotten that Lord
Frogmore was an old gentleman nearly as old as her father, and the idea of
being Lady Frogmore had become quite familiar, and caused her no
excitement. She was still troubled about Letitia, and the possible money to
the children, but otherwise she had begun to regard her own prospects with
a satisfied calm. It is astonishing how quickly the mind accustoms itself to a
new resolution even when it entails a revolution in life. Mary was surprised,
and even a little offended, that her family should have so much difficulty in
understanding her position. “My dear,” her mother said, “I hope you have
well considered what you are going to do. Lord Frogmore is a very nice
gentleman, but he is only five years younger than your father. I looked him
up in the peerage. Mary, he is sixty-six.”
“Is that all?” said Mary. “Letitia speaks as if he were a hundred: but,
mother, for a woman, forty is almost as old.”
“Oh, what nonsense,” said Mrs. Hill, “more than a quarter of a century
of difference. It is a great temptation in a worldly point of view, my dear,
but Mary——!”
Mr. Hill was a venerable person of large bulk, whose voice came out of
the depths of his throat, and who was, Mary said to herself with energy, a
hundred years older than Lord Frogmore. He had a large head, with heavy
white hair, and always a solemn aspect. This big white head he shook
slowly at his daughter and said, mumbling, “You must think it well over.
My child, you must think it well over—we mustn’t do anything rashly.” As
if it were possible to deliberate further when everything was settled, when
Mary had brought her old lover home and accepted his escort and allowed
him to disentangle her from her troubles. She felt vexed and angry with the
objections, which proved what excellent people, how unworldly, and how
simple-minded her parents were.
“What I think of is Tisch—and what a fuss she will be in,” said Agnes,
Mary’s sister, in whose voice there was perhaps a note of exultation over
the discomfiture of Letitia. This it was that made Mary falter and grow pale.
Her just duty was to write to Letitia, and how, oh, how, was this to be done!
The other remarks of her family only made her impatient with their futility
—as if she did not like Lord Frogmore as well, nay better, for being old and
having need of her! But Letitia! She put it off for three days pleading to
herself that she was tired; that she must have a rest; that until Lord
Frogmore went away she could do nothing. To tell the truth it was a relief
when Lord Frogmore went away. The shabby little vicarage on the edge of
the moors was not congenial to him. He did not know what to say to the
mumbling old vicar, who was so very conscious of being only five years
older than his intending son-in-law, but who was a-hundred years older as
Mary truly felt. And there was but one spare room at the vicarage, the
chimney of which, being very little used, smoked when a fire was lit (the
Hills themselves had no fires in their bedrooms on the theory that it was a
piece of self-indulgence and extravagance, though coal was cheap enough),
and there was not a corner for Rogers, without whom Lord Frogmore was
not at his ease, nor taken care of as he required to be. These drawbacks a
bridegroom of twenty-six or thirty-six might have made a jest of, but at
sixty-six it is another matter. And Mary was very glad when he went away.
He was to return in a fortnight for the marriage with a special licence,
though there was just time for the banns to be proclaimed in Grocombe
church three Sundays, a formula which the vicar would not dispense with.
Mary saw the old lord away with a sense of satisfaction. But she went back
to the vicarage with a cold trembling all over her. The letter to Letitia could
be put off no longer.
Truth compels us to say that it was a most specious letter—a letter in
which innocence was made to look like guilt, a letter full of excuses, of
explanations, of deprecations, trying to show how she could have done
nothing else, how no harm could follow, and yet that the culprit was
conscious of a thousand dreadful consequences. The effort of writing it
made Mary ill. She kept her bed in a fever of anxiety and excitement,
counting the hours till Letitia should receive it, thinking, with her heart in
her mouth, “Now she has got it, what will she say? What will she do?”
It did not take a very long time to show what Letitia meant to say and do.
Mary thought the world had come to an end when she heard by return of
post, as it were, a carriage, that is a cab from the nearest station rattle up to
the door with every crazy spring and buckle jingling as if in fury, and heard
a whirlwind in the passage, and, rising up, tremblingly beheld her mother’s
little parlor fill, as by an excited crowd, with two impetuous figures—
Letitia, pale with passion, and behind her the imposing form of the
Dowager Lady Frogmore.
 CHAPTER XVII.
The parlor at Grocombe Vicarage was but a small room and a shabby one.
There was a drawing-room which was the admiration of the parish into
which all visitors were shown, but Mrs. Hill and her daughters had too
much respect for it to use it commonly; and the centre of their domestic life
was the parlor, where all their makings and mendings were done, and where
Agnes did not disdain to boil the eggs in the morning and make the toast for
tea, both of which operations were so much better done, she thought, when
“you did them yourself.” She had been making a dress for her mother;
indeed, the very dress in which Mrs. Hill intended to appear “at the
ceremony,” and the large old sofa which stood between the door and the
window was rendered unavailable for all the ordinary uses of a sofa by
having the materials of this dress stretched out upon it. Mary was in a chair
by the fire with a white knitted shawl wrapped round her, much oppressed
with her cold. There was a little tea kettle upon the old-fashioned hob of the
grate. It may be supposed with what a start of discomposure and vexation
the invalid of the moment started up when the door of this sanctuary was
flung open and the visitors appeared. Fearful under any circumstances
would have been the sight of Letitia to Mary at this moment, but in the
drawing-room she might at least have been kept at arm’s length. She
stumbled to her feet with a cry; her nose was red, her eyes were streaming,
and the feverish misery of her cold depressed any spirit with which she
might have met this invasion. Letitia on the other hand swept in like an
army, her head high, her hazel eyes blazing like fire, full of the energy of
wrath. She was a small woman, but she might have been a giantess for the
effect she produced. After her there came a personage really large enough to
fill the little parlor, but who produced no such effect as Letitia,
notwithstanding that she swept down a rickety table with the wind of her
going as she hobbled and halted in. But Mary recognized with another thrill
of alarm the Dowager Lady Frogmore, and felt as if her last day had come.
Letitia swept in and did not say a word till she had reached the chair
which Mary had hurriedly vacated. She had the air of bearing down upon
her unfortunate friend, who retreated towards the only window which filled
the little room with cold wintry light. “Well!” Mrs. Parke cried, as she came
to a sudden pause, facing Mary with a threatening look. “Well!” But it was
ill she meant.
“Well,—Letitia,” cried poor Mary, faintly.
“I have come to know if it was you that wrote me that disgraceful letter.
Could it be you? Tell me, Mary, it’s all some terrible mistake, and that I
have not lost my friend.”
“Oh, Letitia! You have lost no friend. I—I hope—we shall always be
friends.”
“Did you write that letter?” said Letitia, coming a step nearer. “You—
that I trusted in with my whole heart—that I took out of this wretched place
where you were starving, and made you as happy as the day is long. Was it
you—that wrote to me like that, Mary Hill?”
Mary was capable of no response. She fell back upon the window, and
stood leaning against it, nervously twisting and untwisting her shawl.
“Letitia,” said the dowager, from behind, “don’t agitate yourself—and
me: tell this person that it can’t go any further: we won’t allow it, and that’s
enough. We’ve come here to put a stop to it.” Lady Frogmore emphasized
what she said with the stamp of a large foot upon the floor. Her voice was
husky and hoarse by nature, and she was out of breath either with fretting or
with the unusual rapidity of motion, which had brought her in like a heavy
barge, tugged in the wake of a little bustling steamboat. She cast a glance
round to see if there was a comfortable chair, and dropped heavily into that
which was sacred to the vicar on the other side of the fire, from which she
looked round, contemplating the shabby parlor and the figure of Mary in
her shawl against the window. “We’ve come—— to put a stop to it,” she
repeated in her deep voice.
Now Mary, though held by many bonds to Letitia, had at the bottom of
her mild nature a spark of spirit—and it flashed through her mind
involuntarily that it was she who would soon be Lady Frogmore, and that
this large disagreeable woman was only the dowager. She put a stop to it!
So impudent a threat gave Mary courage. “I don’t know,” she said, “who
has any business to interfere; and I don’t think there is anyone who has any
right. I don’t say that to you, Letitia. You are not like anyone else. I very
much wish—oh, if you would only let me! to explain everything to you.”
“She has every right,” said Mrs. Parke; “and so has my husband. I
suppose you don’t know that this is Lady Frogmore?”
 “I know—that it is the dowager,” said Mary. She was aware, quite aware
of what was in her heart, the meaning underneath, which Letitia understood
with an access of fury. In Mary’s mild voice there was a distinct
consciousness that this title was hers—hers! the poor dependent, the less
than governess! Mrs. Parke made a step forward as if she would have fallen
upon her antagonist.
“You think that’s what you’ll be! Oh, you Judas, taking advantage of all
I’ve done for you. Oh, you wicked, treacherous, designing woman! You
wouldn’t have had enough to eat if I hadn’t taken you in. Look at this
wretched hole of a place and think what rooms you’ve had to live in the last
six years—and pretending to care for the children, and bringing them to
ruin! I’ve heard of such treachery, but I never, never thought I’d ever live to
see it, and see it in you. I trusted you like a sister; you know I did. It was all
I could do to keep the children from calling you Aunt Mary, as if you
belonged to them; and you nobody, nobody at all! I got into trouble with my
husband about you, for he couldn’t bear to see you always there. Oh, Mary,
Mary Hill! where would you have been all these years but for me—and to
turn upon me like this—and ruin me! I that was always so good to you!”
This address melted Mary into tears and helplessness. “Letitia,” she said,
with a sob, “I never, never denied you had been kind: and I love the
children, as if—as if—they were my own. It will be no worse for the
children. Oh, if you only would believe what I say! I asked him before I
would give him any answer, and he said, no, no, it would make no
difference to the children. I would rather die than hurt them; but he said no,
no, that it would hurt them if I refused. Letitia!”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Parke. “So you’re our benefactor, it appears.
Grandmamma, this lady is going to patronize us you’ll be glad to hear. She
has taken care of the children before she would accept his beautiful love.
Oh!” cried Letitia, in her desperation, clenching the hand which was out of
her muff as if she would have knocked down her former friend. She drew a
long breath of fury, and then she said, “You think nobody can interfere! You
think a noble family can be played upon by any wicked treacherous thing
that likes to try, and that no one can do anything to stop it! but you’re
mistaken, there, you’re mistaken there!”
Foam flew from Letitia’s lips. In her excitement she began to cry—hot
tears of rage gathering in her eyes, and a spasm in her throat breaking the
words. She sat down in the chair which Mary had so hurriedly vacated,
overcome by passion, but carrying on her angry protest with mingled sobs
and threats only half articulate. Poor Mary could not stand against the
storm. A cold shiver of alarm lest this might turn out to be true, mingled
with the shiver of her cold, which answered to the draughts from the
window. Hunted out of her warm corner by the fire, exposed to the chill, her
heart sinking, her cough coming on, there is no telling to what depth of
dejection poor Mary might have fallen. She was saved for the moment at
least by the rush at the door of her mother and sister, who, after a pause of
wonder and many consultations, had at last decided that it was their duty to
be present to support Mary—however grand and exalted her visitors might
be. They came in one after the other a little awed but eager, not knowing
what to expect. But they both in the same moment recognized Letitia and
rushed toward her with open arms and a cry of “Oh, Tisch!” in the full
intention of embracing and rejoicing over such an old friend. “Why didn’t
you send for me, Mary?” cried Mrs. Hill. “I thought it was some grand
stranger, and it’s Tisch, our dear old Tisch! What a pleasure to see you here
again, my dear!”
Mrs. Parke put on a visage of stone. She could not avoid the touch of the
mistress of the house who seized upon her hand with friendly eagerness, but
she drew back from the kiss which was about to follow, and ignored Agnes
altogether with a stony gaze. “I’m sorry I can’t meet you in the old way,”
she said. “I was a child then and everything’s changed now. We have come
here upon business, and unpleasant business too. I’m glad to see you,
however, for you will have sense enough to know what I mean.”
“Sense enough to know what she means!” cried the vicar’s wife. “I am
sure I don’t know what that means to begin with, Tisch Ravelstone! You
were never so wonderfully clever that it wanted sense to understand you—
so far as I know.”
“I am the Honorable Mrs. Parke and this is Lady Frogmore,” said Letitia
with angry dignity. “Now perhaps you understand.”
“Not in the least, unless it’s congratulations you mean, and that sort of
thing; but you do not look much like congratulators,” said Mrs. Hill. She
drew a chair to the table and sat down and confronted the visitors firmly. “It
looks as if you did not like the match,” she said.
 “The match—shall never be,” said Lady Frogmore, in that voice which
proceeded out of her boots, waving her arm, which was made majestic by
the lace and jet of her cloak.
“It shall never be!” cried Letitia. “Never! My husband has already taken
steps——”
“My son—has taken steps—the family will not allow it. They will never
allow it.”
“Never!” said Letitia, raising her voice until it was almost a scream.
“Never! if we should carry it into every court in the land.”
The ladies of the vicarage were very much startled. They lived out of the
world. They did not know what privileges might remain with the nobility,
for whom such excellent people have an almost superstitious regard, and
the boldness of an assertion, whatever it was, had at all times a great effect
upon them. For the moment Mrs. Hill could only stare, and did not know
what to reply. She reflected that she might do harm if she spoke too boldly,
and that it might be wiser to temporize. And she also reflected that the sight
of a man was apt to daunt feminine visitors who might be going too far. She
said, therefore, after that stare of consternation, “I’m sure I don’t know
what you mean, Tisch, nor how you can put a stop to a marriage; but
perhaps the vicar may understand. Agnes, tell your father to come here. I
am sorry you did not take this lady to the drawing-room, Tisch, you who
know the house so well. This is the room we sit in in the morning, where we
do all our little household jobs. Agnes is making me my dress for the
ceremony, and everything is in confusion. Dress-making always does make
a mess,” said Mrs. Hill, rising with dignity to arrange, yet with a quick fling
of the long breadths of the silk spread out on the sofa to dazzle the
spectators with a glimpse of the dress which she was to wear at the
ceremony. She then addressed herself to Mary, who still stood shivering in
the window. “My dear,” she said, “you’ll get your cold a great deal worse,
standing there. Yes, I see Tisch has got your chair—but come here to the
corner of the fire—she’ll make a little room for you. It’s a pity she should
have such a bad cold just on the eve—Oh, here is the vicar. This is Lady
Frogmore, my dear. What did you say, Mary? The Dowager Lady
Frogmore? Yes, to be sure. And this is my husband, Mr. Hill. As for the
other lady, you know very well, my dear, who she is.”
 “Why, it’s Tisch!” said the vicar, “my little Tisch! Who would have
thought it? Why we ought to have the bells ringing, for you haven’t been
here, have you, since you were married, Tisch? and cheated me out of that
too, which was unkind. Anyhow, you are very welcome, my dear.” He took
her hand in both of his and swung her by it, which was the vicar’s way. He
was a large flabby old man, with much bonhommie of manner, and ended
off everything he said with a laugh. Letitia had not been able to avoid the
paternal greeting. But she pulled her hand away as soon as that was
possible. All these references to her absence and to her marriage were gall
and wormwood to Mrs. Parke.
The vicar looked around after this, much discomfited by finding himself
ousted from his usual chair. He wavered for a moment not knowing where
to go, but finally planted himself in front of the fire, leaning his shoulders
against the mantel-piece. He had an old coat on, very much glazed and
shabby, and a large limp white neckcloth, fully deserving of that name,
loosely tied. He looked round him amiable and a little unctuous, not
perceiving, for his faculties were not very alert, the storm in the air. “Well,
ladies,” he said, “I suppose you’ve come to talk things over, and all the fal-
lals and things for the wedding, eh? It’s astonishing what interest ladies
always take in anything of this kind, though they can’t be called, can they,
on this occasion, the young couple?” He chuckled in his limp good humor,
as he stood and warmed himself. “Only six years, I’ll give you my word for
it, younger than myself—and going to be my son-in-law—but Mary there
doesn’t seem to mind.”
His laugh had the most curious effect in that atmosphere charged with
fiery elements. It was so easy, so devoid of any alarm or possibility of
disturbance. Tisch, who knew very well that all that could be done was to
frighten these simple people if possible, had too much sense not to see that
her mission would be a failure furious as she was—but the dowager had not
this saving salt. She held out her arm again with all the lace and jet. “We’ve
come to put a stop to it,” she said.
“Eh?” said the vicar. His chuckle was a little different now, and he
repeated it at the end of his ejaculation, which was scarcely a question.
“They’ve come,” said Mrs. Hill, raising her voice, “to put a stop to
Mary’s marriage. Don’t you know? They won’t have it, they won’t allow it
—they say a noble family—Mr. Hill, don’t you hear?”
 For he went on chuckling, which was exasperating, and made his wife
and daughters long to seize him by the shoulders and shake him. “Oh,” he
said, “they’re going to put a stop to Mary’s marriage. How are they going to
do that, my dear? Has he got another wife living?” And the vicar chuckled
more than ever at such a good joke.
“Father!” and “my dear!” cried daughter and wife, simultaneously, in
indignation. But the vicar went on laughing unmoved.
“Well?” he said. “We don’t know much about his life. He might have
had several other wives living, he’s old enough. And that’s the only way I
know.”
“It shall be put a stop to,” cried the dowager, “my son has taken steps.
My son has been heir presumptive ever since he was born. It shall be put a
stop to. If no one else will do it, I’ll do it. I’ll have him shut up. I’ll have
him put in an asylum. He can’t be allowed to ruin the family. Letitia, can’t
you speak?”
“My good lady,” said the vicar, carried out of himself and out of his
natural respect for a peeress by his amusement and elation in being sent for
and looked up to as the arbiter, which was a new and unusual position for
this good man. “My good lady, is it Frogmore you are speaking of?” He
laughed all the time so that all the women could have murdered him.
“Frogmore! I’d like to see any one shut up Frogmore in an asylum, or
dictate to him what he is to do.” He stopped to laugh again with the most
profound enjoyment of the joke. “I think I never heard anything so good.
Frogmore! Why he’s only in his sixties—six years younger than I am. Do
you think you could put me in an asylum, or make me give up anything I
wanted to do, my dear?” He looked up at his wife and rippled over with
laughter, while she, almost put upon the other side by this appeal, gave him
a glance which might have slain the vicar on the spot. The ladies of his
house habitually dictated to the vicar; they put no faith in his power of
acting for himself. What he proposed to do they generally found much fault
with, and considered him to require constant guidance. But now for once he
had his revenge. He went on chuckling over it till their nerves could
scarcely sustain the irritation; but for the moment the vicar was master of
the situation, and no one dared say him nay.
Letitia had taken no part in this, such sense as she had showing her that
it was vain to maintain that altogether hopeless struggle. She had her own
undertaking ready to her hand, and a much more hopeful one. Mary, who
had been placed by her mother in a low chair close to the corner of the fire,
was so near to her as to be at her mercy. The vicar’s large person standing in
front of the fire shut them off from the rest, throwing a shadow over this
pair; and while he occupied the entire space over them with his voice and
his laugh, Letitia caught at Mary’s shoulder and began another argument in
her ear. “Mary Hill,” she said, “you know you daren’t look me in the face.”
“I have done you no harm, Letitia,” said Mary trembling.
“You are going to take my children’s bread out of their mouths. They’ll
have nothing—nothing! For how can we save off our allowance? The little
things will be ruined, and all through you.”
“Letitia, oh, for goodness sake, listen to me for a minute. He says it will
make no difference. They will not be the worse. I told him I would do
nothing against them—and he says if I refuse he will cut them off altogether
—Letitia——!”
“Don’t talk nonsense to me, Mary Hill! Do you think he will not rather
leave his money to his own children than to ours.”
“He has no children,” said Mary.
“No, not now; but when a man is going to get married——”
“Letitia!”
“Oh, don’t be a fool, Mary Hill! You’re not a baby not to know. When a
man marries—if he were Methuselah—one knows what he looks for. John
and I would scorn to ask anything from you, though you will ruin us too.
But the children! A mother must fight for her children. Poor little Duke,
whom you always pretended to be so fond of—he’s fond of you, poor child
—he sent his love to his Aunt Mary, little thinking they will all be ruined—
because of you——”
“Letitia, oh what can I do?”
“You can give him up,” said Mrs. Parke, “in a moment. It will not give
you much trouble to do that. An old fool like Frogmore, an old precise,
wearisome old——. Why, he’s older than your father: and you who are
engaged to my poor brother Ralph, such a fine man.”
“I never was engaged to your brother Ralph!” cried Mary, with
indignation.
 “You say so now: but if one had asked you ten years ago. We might
make up a little something for him even now—a little goes a long way in
Australia: and with someone whom he was fond of to keep him right,
Mary!”
“Letitia! It is all a mistake. I never, never was fond of him.”
“And now, when you might save him if you liked! This has been such a
blow to him. He would marry you to-morrow and take you away out of
everybody’s reach. The man that was really, really, oh, you won’t deny it!
the man of your heart.”
“I do deny it! Never, never! I would not marry your brother Ralph if—if
there was not another. I would marry nobody,” said Mary, raising her head,
“nobody—except the man I am going to marry!”
“You will say you are in love with him next. A man that is older than
your father—that has lived such a life, oh, such a life! all to humble us and
bring us down to the ground—that have been so kind to you, treated you
like a sister—and trusted you with everything, Mary.”
Mary knew very well that this was not true—but it is so difficult to
contradict any one who asserts thus boldly that she has been kind. Perhaps
Letitia meant to be kind. She could not have had any other notion—at least
at first. But Mary could not be warm in her response. She said, “It is misery
to me to think of doing you any harm. I would not harm—a hair of one of
their heads—not for the world!”
“No—you wouldn’t stab them or give them poison—but you would do
far worse, take everything from them—their whole living. You would
change everything for us. I,” cried Letitia, tears coming into her voice as
she realized the emancipation of her once slave, “would not mind—for
myself—I’m used to—putting up with things—for the sake of my family;
but there is John—and little Duke—their inheritance taken from them that
came from their ancestors—that they’ve always been brought up to—
everything changed for them. And all because a friend—one we’ve been so
kind to—my oldest friend, Mary, one brought into the family by me; oh,
that is the worst of it! If it had not been for me you would never, never have
known that there was such a person as Lord Frogmore. They’ve a right to
say it’s all my doing. Oh, Mary Hill, it was a fine thing for me to marry
John Parke, and then to bring my friends with me into the family and ruin
them all!”
 Mary felt herself as obdurate and hard as the nether millstone. She
folded her shoulders in her shawl and her mind in what she felt to be a
determined ingratitude. Yes, she was ungrateful. They had been kind to her,
but she would not give up her life for that. It was not fair to ask her. And
how could she change when everything was settled? She turned her
shoulder to her friend. “He said it should do them no harm,—I told him I
would not consent to do them any harm.”
“Oh, as for that!” Letitia cried. She leaned down close, near to Mary’s
ear with her hand upon her shoulder. “Mary,” she said, “you’re my oldest
friend. We used to play together, don’t you recollect? It was you who was
kind to me in those days. Sometimes I’ve seemed to forget, but I don’t
forget, Mary. It wouldn’t have mattered if we had cut each other out as girls
—that’s natural; but now! You might win the day and welcome. Get the title
and go out of the room before me and all that——” Letitia’s laboring
bosom gave forth a sob at the dreadful possibility, but she went on. “But it
is the others I am thinking of. It isn’t me, Mary! And we that were always
such friends.”
There came from Mary’s bosom an answering sob of excitement and
misery, but she made no reply.
“I can understand, dear,” said Letitia, putting her arm around the arched
shoulders, “that now you have made up your mind to marry you don’t feel
as if you could give it up. I don’t ask you to give it up—but oh, think how
far better than an old man like that it would be to have one that was really
fond of you, one of your own age, a person that was natural! Oh, Mary, hear
me out. Father has settled to give him something, and we could make out
between us what would be quite a fortune in Australia. And he worships the
very ground you tread on—and you were always fond of him you know,
you know—— Oh, Mary!”
“Don’t you know that you’re insulting me?” cried Mary, so miserable
that to be angry was a relief to her. “Oh! take away your hand. Oh! go away
and leave me. I won’t listen to you any more.”
“Mary—John told me to tell you that he had turned that insolent
Saunders and all those horrid servants out of the house. He never even
consulted me, and it’s a dreadful inconvenience, every servant we had. But
he turned them every one out of the house. You might be satisfied after that,
to see how much we think of you. He said no one should ever be suffered to
be insolent to you in our house. We have all esteemed you above
everything, Mary. Insulting! Is it insulting to want you to marry my own
brother—my favorite—and to make sacrifices that you should have
something to marry on.”
“Letitia,” said Mary, in her passion springing up from her seat, “so long
as you talk of the children my heart’s ready to break, and I don’t know what
to do—but you shall not put this scandal upon me. Oh! no, no. I won’t bear
it. It is an insult! Mother, don’t let her come after me. I won’t have it. I
won’t hear another word.”
For Letitia, too, had risen to her feet. She stood staring for a moment
while Mary pushed past her flying. But the fugitive had no more than
reached the door when she was caught by the shriek of Mrs. Parke’s
valediction. “Mary Hill! If you go and do it after all I’ve said—oh! I hope
you’ll be miserable! I hope you’ll be cursed for it—you and all belonging to
you. I’ll never forgive you—never, never, never! I hope if you have a child
it’ll be an idiot and kill you. I wish you were dead. I wish you would go
mad. I wish the lightning might strike you. I wish——”
Letitia fell back in her chair, choking with rage and hatred; and Mary,
like a hunted creature, with a cry of pain flew sobbing upstairs. The others
looked on aghast, not knowing what to think or say.
 CHAPTER XVIII.
When Lord Frogmore arrived at Grocombe Vicarage the day but one before
his marriage, Mary was still so pale, so depressed and nervous, that the
brisk old bridegroom was much disturbed. It had been agreed in the family
that it would be better to say nothing about that visit, which after all, though
disagreeable, had done nobody any harm. This arrangement had been
consented to by everybody, but Mrs. Hill and Agnes were always doubtful
whether the vicar and Mary could keep their own counsel. And it turned out
that these discreeter members of the family were right. For, indeed, Lord
Frogmore had not spent an hour with his bride before he ascertained the
cause of her low spirits and troubled looks. He was angry yet relieved.
“I had begun to think you had found out since I left you that you would
not be happy with an old man,” he said.
“Oh, Lord Frogmore!”
“It was a reasonable fear. You are a great deal younger than I am, though
you think yourself so old, Mary. However, if it is only Mrs. John and the
dowager who have frightened you, it is to be hoped we may get over that.”
Mary shivered but did not speak. It was her cold hanging about her still
her mother thought, but Lord Frogmore was not quite of that opinion.
“They must have said something very nasty to take such a hold upon
you. What was it? Come now, Mary. You will not make me think worse of
them (which is what you are afraid of) by anything you can tell me, and it
will be a relief to you to get it out.”
“It was—nothing particular,” Mary said; but again a shudder ran through
her. “It was just, I suppose, what people say when they are very angry.”
“Come, Mary. What did she say?”
“Oh, Frogmore,” cried Mary at last, “she could not mean it. You know
she could not mean it. Poor Letitia! she is a mother, and they say a mother
will do any thing I am sure she had no ill meaning. She said she hoped I
would be cursed, that if I had a——oh, I can’t, I can’t repeat what she said.
That she wished I were dead, or would go mad, or—— No, no, she could
not mean it. People don’t curse you nowadays. It is too dreadful,” Mary
cried, and she shivered more and more, wrapping herself up in her shawl.
 “The devil,” cried Lord Frogmore. “The little fierce devil!—a mother.
She is no more a mother than a tigress is. She hates you because after all her
ill-treatment of you you will have the upper hand of her. And I hope you
will take it and make her feel it too. What a woman for my poor brother
John to have brought into the family! I can forgive his mother, who is as
stupid as a figurehead, but would cut herself or anyone else in little pieces if
she thought it would be good for John; but not John’s wife, the odious little
shrew—the——”
“Oh, Frogmore,” cried Mary, “don’t speak of her so. I can never forget
how kind she was to me.”
“Kind to you—accepting all your time and care and affections and
downright hard work, and giving you how much for them?—nothing. Now,
Mary, there must be an end of this. She has made a slave of you for years. I
hope you don’t mean to let her make a victim of you at the end.”
“Oh—she could not mean it. I don’t think she could mean it; but to curse
me—just when everyone, even the old women in the almshouses, send their
blessing.”
Mary fell into a fit of shivering again, vainly wrapping herself in the
shawl to restore warmth, and keeping with difficulty her teeth from
chattering. The old lord was much disturbed by this sight. He tried to caress
and soothe her into composure, but elicited little save a weeping apology.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Frogmore.”
“Mary,” he said at length, “I suppose we’ve both agreed as to the source
from which blessings and curses come—or rather, let us say good fortune
and bad, for I don’t like to credit God with the curses, for my part.”
Mary, a little startled, looked at him with wide, open eyes, the tears, for
the moment at least, arrested. She was not sure whether he was not about to
say something profane, and as a clergyman’s daughter she felt it her duty to
be on her guard.
“Well,” said Lord Frogmore, “I shouldn’t, for my part, think the people
who call down curses were very likely to be heard up there—do you think
so, my dear? If they are it is not in accordance with anything we know.
Curses are only in use in romance books. And as for believing that Mrs.
John has any credit in that quarter I don’t, Mary. I’d back the old women in
the almshouses against twenty Mrs. Johns.”
 It was very profane—still it introduced a view of the subject which
proved, after a while, consolatory to Mary. She recognized reason in it. And
the presence of the old lord, who was so cheerful and self-possessed, and
was afraid of nobody, was also very supporting, as Mrs. Hill said. He had
the confidence of a man who had always been accustomed to have his own
way, and to be baulked by nobody, which is a great prop to the minds of
people who have the persistent sensation, due to the records and traditions
of many failures, that something is always likely to interpose between the
cup and the lip. Lord Frogmore did not take any such contingency into
consideration. When he found that Mary’s cold was so obstinate he changed
all his plans with the most lordly indifference to calculations and resolved
to take her to the Riviera for what he had too much sense to call the
honeymoon. “Moons,” he said to Mr. Hill, “do not drop honey when the
bridegroom is sixty-seven, but I hope to make it very pleasant to Mary for
all that.” And this was exactly what he did. The marriage and all the little
fuss and excitement—for the parish was moved from one end to the other
for the vicar’s daughter and her wonderful match—shook her up and roused
her spirits. And she wanted to do credit to the old lord, and would not have
him carry off a bride with watery eyes and a red nose. So that even before
they left Grocombe, Mary had recovered herself. She had a few wedding
presents, for her friends were not rich enough to send anything worthy of a
lady who was going to be a viscountess. But there was one which moved
her much, and amused the old lord. The family at the hall had taken no
notice of what was going on in the vicarage—indeed it was so rough a
man’s house that the amenities of life were disregarded altogether. But the
day before the wedding Ralph Ravelstone, who had been known to be at
home, but had showed very little, appeared at the vicarage with a stable-boy
behind him leading a colt. He went in to the house, leaving this group at the
gate, and paid his respects to the family, where he was received without
enthusiasm. “You see I’ve come back,” he said.
“Yes, we heard you had come back,” said Mrs. Hill.
“Mary would tell you. I’m rather put out about Mary. I always meant,”
said Ralph, “to marry her myself. Oh, I don’t mind if Frogmore hears. He’s
a connection of mine and very jolly. I always meant to marry her myself.”
“You showed your good taste, Mr. Ralph; but I am glad that I was first in
the field,” said Lord Frogmore.
 “That’s what it is to have plenty of money,” said Ralph, with a grave
face. “You see things on the other side didn’t turn out as well as I expected.
I’ve brought her a wedding present, though. He looks leggy at present, but
he’s a good sort. You wouldn’t know his sire’s name perhaps, but it’s well
known in Yorkshire, and if he’s well trained he’ll make a horse. There he is
at the gate. I don’t say but he looks a bit leggy as he is now——”
“Oh—is it that foal? l am sure it was very kind of you, Ralph,” said Mrs.
Hill, in an extremely doubtful tone.
They had all gone to the window to look, and for a moment there had
been some perplexity in the minds of the ladies as to which of the two
animals visible was the wedding present—the half-grown stable-boy or the
neglected colt. Mary repeated, still more doubtfully, “I am sure it is very
kind of you, Ralph,” and there was a momentary pause of consternation.
But this Lord Frogmore disposed of in his brisk way.
“We’ll send him to the Park,” he said, “where I don’t doubt he’ll be
attended to; and who knows what races you may not win with him, Mary.
She shall run him under her own name. We’ll make the Frogmore colors
known on the turf, eh, my dear? Mr. Ravelstone has given you a most
valuable present, and for my part I am very much obliged.”
“Lord Frogmore always speaks up handsome,” said Ralph. “I saw that
the first moment we met at Tisch’s little place. And that little shaver, don’t
you remember? By Jove, now he’ll have his little nose put out of joint.”
It was not perhaps a very elegant joke, and the ladies took no notice of it
save by alarmed mutual glances between themselves. But Frogmore—the
refined and polite little old gentleman; Frogmore, with his old-fashioned
superiority in manners; Frogmore—laughed! There was no doubt of it—
laughed and chuckled with satisfaction.
“Well,” he said, “such things can’t be helped. It’s best in all
circumstances not to count one’s eggs before—— My brother John’s family
were, perhaps, what we may call a little cocksure.”
“I don’t know much about your brother,” said Ralph. “But, lord, I
shouldn’t like to come in Tisch’s way when she knows. Oh, she knows,
does she? I’d just like to see her face when she reads it in the papers. Tisch
is a fine one for pushing on in the world, but when she’s roused——”
“Ralph,” said Mrs. Hill, “you might be better employed than speaking
against your sister. She has been very kind to Mary; and Lord Frogmore
would never have met my daughter at all if it had not been in her house.”
“That was all the worse for me perhaps, Mrs. Hill,” said Ralph.
“You are quite right, my dear lady,” said Lord Frogmore. “We have all I
am sure the greatest respect for Mrs. John. She has made my brother an
excellent wife, and she has put me in the way of acquiring for myself a
similar blessing.” He made this little speech in his precise way, quite
concluding the argument, and even quieting Ralph in a manner which much
impressed the ladies. But the big bushman shook his head and his beard as
he went away. “That’s all very well,” he said, “but if Tisch has ever a
chance to come in with a back-hander—” He went off continuing to shake
his head all the way.
Fortunately, Mary did not notice this, being diverted by the perplexity
and embarrassment caused by Ralph’s “leggy” gift, what to do with it, how
to find accommodation for it in the little stable at the vicarage, already
occupied by an old and self-opinionated pony, very impatient of being
interfered with. But Mrs. Hill and Agnes shook their heads too behind the
bride’s back. If Tisch ever had it in her power to do an ill-turn to Mary!
Even all the excitement of the wedding preparations could not banish this
thought from Mrs. Hill’s mind. She impressed upon her other daughter the
oft-repeated lesson that there is no light without an accompanying shadow.
“In the course of nature,” said the vicar’s wife, “poor Mary will be left a
widow to struggle for herself. It is true that the settlement is all we could
desire—but if Tisch is at the back of it, her husband being the heir, how can
we know what may happen—and your father an old man, and me with so
little experience in the ways of the world——”
“But, mother,” said Agnes, with hesitation, “Mary is not so old, she is
only two years older than I am. She may have——”
“Oh, my dear! Heaven forbid there should be any family!” cried Mrs.
Hill lifting up her hands and eyes.
 CHAPTER XIX.
Mary came back from her travels a most composed and dignified young
matron, bearing her honors sweetly, yet with a mild consciousness of their
importance. I say young, for though she was forty she had always preserved
her slim youthfulness of aspect, and the unwrinkled brow which belongs to
a gentle temper and contented soul. She looked younger as Lady Frogmore
than she had done as Miss Hill. The simple dresses, which were perhaps a
little too simple for her age, had not become her so well as those she now
wore, the rich silks and velvets which the ladies at the vicarage felt and
pushed and admired with an elation of soul in regarding “Our Mary,” which
it would be impossible to put into words. Mrs. Hill herself had now a velvet
dress, a thing to which she had looked wistfully all her life as the acme of
woman grandeur without any hope of ever attaining it; and Agnes had been
supplied with a little trousseau to enable her to pay in comfort her first visit
to the Park. But when Mary appeared in the Frogmore diamonds at the head
of her own table, receiving the best people in the county, Agnes was silent
in awe and admiration. For Mary Hill, who had never asserted herself
anywhere, had insensibly acquired the self-possession of her new rank, her
sister could not tell how. And the little old gentleman beamed like a wintry
sun upon his household and his guests. Impossible to imagine a kinder host,
a more delightful brother-in-law. He was good to everybody who had ever
had to do with Mary—the old aunts in London; even, oddly enough, Ralph
Ravelstone, who so frankly informed Lord Frogmore of his intention to
marry Mary had all gone well with him. There had been an additional little
episode about Ralph which nobody knew of, not even Mary herself. For
Lord Frogmore had received from Mrs. John Parke, a day or two before the
marriage, the note which Mary had written to Ralph begging him to meet
her at the sundial in the grounds of Greenpark on that eventful day Lord
Frogmore had made his first appearance. The reader may recollect that this
note had been an urgent appeal for an interview, when Letitia had
demanded of Mary that she should send Ralph away. Lord Frogmore burnt
the little note, which, indeed, was evidently a note written in great
perturbation of mind, and drew his wife into conversation upon the events
of the day, from which he very speedily understood the situation, and the
exact character of Mary’s intercourse with Ralph. He replied by a most
polite note to Letitia, informing her that he was very glad to be able to do,
in response to her friendly recommendation, something for her brother—
not, perhaps, equal to his merits, but the best that was in his power—by
making Ralph agent for his Westmoreland property. There was not very
much responsibility, nor a large income, but at all events a life of activity
and freedom which he believed was in consonance with Mr. Ravelstone’s
habits and tastes. Letitia was entirely overwhelmed by this communication.
She grew pale while she read, overawed as by a superior spirit.
It will be well, however, to draw a veil over the behavior of Letitia at this
trying moment of her career. She had reason to be angry. There was
scarcely any of the lookers on at this drama of ordinary life who did not
acknowledge that. All her actions for years had been shaped by the
conviction that sooner or later she would be Lady Frogmore. She had
married John Parke on that understanding. It is possible, indeed, that, as no
one else offered, she might have married him anyhow, for the substantial, if
modest, advantages which his individual position secured. But nowadays
Letitia did not remember that, and felt convinced that she had married him
because he was heir-presumptive to Lord Frogmore. Who could say now
when that designation might be erased from the peerage? And even if it
were now erased, there was still the humiliating certainty that Mary—Mary
Hill—was my Lady Frogmore, a fact that produced paroxysms almost of
madness in the bosom of Mrs. John Parke. And she had a right to be angry.
Even Mrs. Hill allowed this. To have had for years only an old bachelor
between you and your highest hopes—and then that he should marry at
sixty-seven! If ever woman had a grievance, Letitia was that woman. A
certain amount of rage, virulence, revengeful feeling was what everybody
expected. It was even allowed that the part of the interloper being a
dependent of her own—a useful old friend—made things worse. She was
bound, indeed, for her own sake, to preserve appearances a little more than
she did; but, except in that respect, nobody blamed her. It was a very hard
case. And more than by anybody else was this felt by Lady Frogmore, who
did everything that woman could do to conciliate Letitia. She sent endless
presents to the children, invited them to the Park—condescended in every
way to keep them in the foreground. She even urged that Duke should
spend as much time with them as possible, in order that Lord Frogmore
should get to know his heir! His heir! Poor Mary insisted upon this—
repeated it, lost no opportunity of directing attention to the fact—good
heavens!—until at last one day——
One day—it was early in the year, a day in spring, when she had been
married for more than a twelvemonth, and had quite got used to her
position, and felt as if she had worn velvet and diamonds, and a coronet
upon her pocket-handkerchiefs, all her life. Mary had got so used to it all
that when a stranger in a London shop, or a cottager, or any person of the
inferior classes called her ma’am instead of my lady, she was much amused
by the mistake. And she had forgotten all evil prognostications, and was
almost happy in a sort of truce with Letitia, kept up by the presents and the
visits and numberless overtures of amity which it pleased her to make, and
which Mrs. John condescended to accept. She had begun to think that all
was well, and to know herself to be happy, and to feel as if nobody could
ever be ill or die, or fall into trouble more.
When suddenly Mary made a discovery—the first suspicion of which
threw her into a faintness which made the world swim all about her. It was a
beautiful day, full of light and life and hope. The birds were twittering in
every tree, talking over their new nests and where to build them, flitting
about to look at different sites. Mary was out walking in the grounds,
rejoicing in the lovely air, when suddenly it occurred to her what was the
matter with her, for she had been slightly invalidish—out of her usual way.
All at once her head swam, her whole being grew faint. She tottered along
as well as she could till she came to one of the late cuttings in the avenue,
where the great trunk of a tree was lying on the side of the path, and then
she sat down to think. A great tremor came over her, a something of
sweetness indescribable, something like the welling out of a fountain of joy
and delight. She had never been a knowing woman or experienced in the
courts of life, but rather prim and old-maidish in her reserve. And she had
not known or thought what might be going on—was that what it was? She
sat down to think, and for half-an-hour Mary’s mild spirit was, as it were in
heaven. Tears, delicious tears came to her eyes—a tender awe came over
her, a feeling which is one of the compensations of women for the many
special troubles that they have to bear. As the one is indescribable so are the
others. Mary could not for her life have put into words the emotions which
filled her heart.
Presently Lord Frogmore came in sight walking briskly up the avenue,
the trimmest, most active, cheerfullest of old gentlemen. He was never far
off from where his wife was, liking to be near her, regarding her with an
honest homely affection that had something polished in it. He came up to
her quickening his pace. “Are you tired, Mary,” he said, “or were you
waiting for me?”
“Partly the one and partly the other,” said Mary, bringing herself back to
ordinary life with a little start and shock. He seated himself beside her upon
the tree.
“I think, my dear,” he said, “that you have been of late more easily tired
than you used to be.”
“Oh, no,” said Mary, with a sudden flush, for she was jealous of her
secret, and shy as a girl, not knowing how it ever could be put into words.
She got up quickly, shaking her skirts from the dead leaves which had been
lying in the crevices. “I am not in the least tired now,” she said, “and it is
time to get home.”
“On account of little Duke?” said Lord Frogmore. “You may be sure the
boy is happy enough. I think you are as fond of that boy, Mary, as if he were
your own.”
She had been a step in advance of him going on, but now she turned
round suddenly and gave him a look—such a look. Never in all their life
before had Mary’s mild eyes confessed such unfathomable things. The look
filled Lord Frogmore with amazement and dismay. “Mary,” he said, “my
dear, what is the matter? What has happened? What is wrong?”
She made him no reply; but suddenly the light went out altogether from
the eyes which had turned to him so solemn and terrible a look. And Mary
did what she had never done in her life—slid down at his feet in a faint,
falling upon the grass on the side of the way. It was all so quiet—so
instantaneous—that poor Lord Frogmore was taken doubly unprepared.
There was nothing violent even about the fall. She slipped from his side
noiselessly, and lay there without a movement or a cry. The old lord was for
a moment terrified beyond measure, but presently perceived that it was
merely a faint, and knelt down by her, taking off her bonnet, fanning her
with his hat, watching till the life should come back. He had shouted for
help, but Mary came to herself before any help arrived. She raised herself
from the ground, the damp freshness of which had restored her, and put up
her hand to her uncovered head in confusion. And then the colorless face