The New Mistress Part 22

Mr Samuel Chute did not say those last words, though it formed part of the speech he had written out when he planned making that offering of flowers, and promised the boys who had gardens at home a penny apiece for a bunch, which bunches had been rearranged by him into a whole, and carefully tied up with string.

The bunch was laid down outside the door when he first entered, and at last brought in and held as has been stated.

Hazel felt ready to laugh, for there was a smirk upon Mr Chute's face, and a peculiar look that reminded her of a French peasant in an opera she had once seen, as he stood presenting a large bunch of flowers to the lady of his love. There was a wonderful resemblance to the scene, which was continued upon the stage by the lady boxing the peasant's ears and making him drop the huge bouquet which she immediately kicked, so that it came undone, and the flowers were scattered round.

Of course this did not take place in the real scene, for, after the first sensation relating to mirth, Hazel felt so troubled that she was ready to run away into the cottage to avoid her persecutor.

For was there ever a young lady yet who could avoid looking upon an offering of flowers as having a special meaning? The pleasant fancy of the language of flowers is sentimental enough to appeal to every one who is young; and here was Mr Chute presenting her with his first bouquet, a very different affair, so she thought, to the bunches of beautiful roses brought from time to time by Miss Burge.

"Just a few flowers out of our garden, my dear," the little lady said, without any allusion to the fact that her brother had selected every rose himself, cutting them with his own penknife, and afterwards carefully removing every spine from the stems.

What should she do? She did not want Chute's flowers, but if she refused them the act would be looked upon almost as an insult, and it was not in Hazel's nature to willingly give pain. So she rather weakly took them, thanked the donor, and he went away smiling, after giving her a look that seemed, according to his ideas, to tell her that his heart was hers for ever, and that he was her most abject slave.

Hazel saw the glance, and thought that Mr Chute looked rather silly; but directly after repented bitterly of what she had done, and wished that she had firmly refused the gift.

"And yet what nonsense!" she reasoned. "Why should I look upon a present of a few flowers as having any particular meaning? They are to decorate the school for the inspection, and I will take them in that light."

Acting upon this, she quietly called up Feelier Potts and another of the elder girls who were whispering together, evidently about the the gift, sent them to the cottage for some basins and jugs, and bade them divide the flowers and put some in water in each window, a proceeding afterwards dimly visible to Mr Chute, who did not feel at all pleased.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

INSPECTION DAY.

"I should put on my best silk this morning, Hazel," said Mrs Thorne, unrolling the broad white strings of her widow's cap and rolling them the reverse way to make them lie flat.

"Put on my best silk, dear!" said Hazel, aghast.

"Now, that is what I don't like in you, Hazel," cried Mrs Thorne dictatorially. "You profess to be so economical, and grudge every little outlay for the house, but directly I propose to you anything that affects your personal vanity you are up in arms."

"My dear mother, you mistake me."

"Oh, dear me, no, Hazel. I may be a poor, suffering, weak woman, but I have not lived to my years through trouble and tribulation without being able to read a young girl's heart. That silk is old-fas.h.i.+oned now, I know, but it is quite good enough for the purpose, and yet has sufficient tone about it, having been made by a first-cla.s.s dressmaker, to let the inspector see that you are a lady."

"My dear mother," began Hazel.

"Now, don't interrupt me, Hazel. I do not often interfere, but there are times, as I told Mr Lambent when he called last, when I feel bound to make some little corrections in your ways. You must let Her Majesty's inspector see that you are a lady, and who knows what may happen! He may be so struck by the fact that he finds a real lady in charge of this school that he will feel bound to make you an offer of marriage. Mr Lambent a.s.sured me that he was a very gentlemanly man and tolerably young. By-the-way, Hazel, have you noticed how very kind and attentive Mr Lambent is?"

"Yes, mother. He is very good and considerate, and thanked me yesterday for the efforts I have made with the school."

"Quite right; so he ought. But as I was saying about Her Majesty's inspector, you must let him see that you are a lady by birth and education."

"My dear mother, I think the inspector must find that the majority of schoolmistresses are ladylike, and of course highly educated."

"I am talking about my daughter," said Mrs Thorne, who had great difficulty in getting her cap-strings to lie flat. "I wish you to impress upon him, Hazel, that you are a lady; in fact I feel it to be my duty to speak to him myself."

"My dearest mother!"

"Now, pray do not be so rash and impetuous, my dear," said the lady, bridling. "The best way would be to ask him to come into the drawing-room and hand him a little refreshment--a gla.s.s of wine and a biscuit."

"But you forget that we are living in a cottage now. The inspector will be staying with Mr Lambent and he will get what refreshment--"

"Hazel, don't be obstinate. I know what I am saying. Oh no, I don't forget that I am living in a mean and sordid cottage with contemptible windows," she cried, with an irritating shake of the head, and a querulous ring in her voice that jarred to Hazel's heart. "I know that this room is merely what you call a parlour by construction; but the fact of your mother--_your_ mother occupying it, my child, makes it a drawing-room. You will put on your silk dress, Hazel?"

"No, mother; I am going to put on the clean gra.s.scloth," said Hazel quietly. "The other would be unsuitable for the school, and the dark silk would show the dust and chalk."

"Was ever woman troubled with such a wilful girl before!" moaned Mrs Thorne. "Oh, dear me!--oh, _dea_-ar me!"

She declined to be comforted, and Hazel remained obstinate absolutely refusing to go to the school in silk attire, but wearing an extremely simple, closely-fitting, gra.s.scloth dress, with plain white collar and cuffs, and looking dreadful--so Miss Lambent afterwards said to her sister; a prejudiced statement, for if ever there was an exemplification of the proverb regarding the needlessness of foreign ornament it was in Hazel Thorne's appearance that day.

As a rule she was disposed to be pale, but the excitement consequent upon the important event had brought the colour into her cheeks, and she looked brighter than she had for months.

Mr Chute's flowers were on the sills of the windows, the room had been well sprinkled and swept, there was not a vestige of a cobweb to be seen, and the girls had a.s.sembled in strong force, there having been a theory in the school that an inspection meant tea and cake afterwards, a theory that Feelier Potts, basing her remarks on experience, strongly opposed; but the children mustered all the same, and in many cases suffering a good deal from hair oil, applied so that patches of their foreheads shone and invited comparison with the rest of their faces.

Mr William Forth Burge was one of the first arrivals, and he paused with his sister upon the doorstep, to unfold a clean orange silk handkerchief, and have a loud blow, like a knight of old seizing the bugle at the castle-gate.

"How nice you do look, Bill!" said little Miss Burge, smiling at him tenderly, as she raised her hand to the latch.

"Do I, Betsey! Am I all right! Do I look well!"

"Beautiful!" said Miss Burge enthusiastically. "There ain't a wrinkle about your back, nor sides, nor nowhere."

"That's right!" he exclaimed. "I was rather afraid, for they're precious tight, Betsey; and the coat feels as if it would give way about the arms."

"But see how it shows off your figure, Bill dear," said the little lady; "and you are getting a bit too stout."

"Ye-es, I s'pose I am; but it don't matter, Betsey, so long as the 'art's in the right place. Come along."

They entered, and their greeting to Hazel was very warm. Soon after there was a buzz of voices heard outside, when the colour disappeared from the cheeks of the young mistress, for she knew that the crucial time had come. There was a sharp tapping at the door directly afterwards, and one of the elder girls went to open it, Hazel continuing her work with the cla.s.ses, in support of the very old fiction that the inspector would come and take school and scholars quite by surprise.

Then the door was thrown open, and a little scene enacted on the threshold, the ladies drawing back to allow so important a personage as Her Majesty's inspector to enter first, and Mr Slingsby Barracombe drawing back in turn with the vicar, to allow Miss Lambent and her sister to take precedence.

After a little hesitation, and a few words, the ladies entered, smiling, the gentlemen followed, and Hazel advanced to meet them, when there was the sound of wheels, a carriage stopped, steps were let down, and George Canninge handed out his mother, walked with her to the school, and entered.

Salutations, introductions, and a buzz of conversation followed, during which time Hazel felt in agony. Why had Mr Canninge come? she asked herself. She did not know why, but his presence unnerved her, and she dreaded disgracing herself in his eyes.

"We thought we should like to be present," said the young squire. "I hope Mr Barracombe will not consider us in the way."

On the contrary, he was delighted to see present any of the patrons of the school, and said so as soon as he knew the social status of the Canninges; after which he asked to be excused, smiled, bowed, and turned to the task he had in hand. Then George Canninge shook hands warmly "with those dreadfully vulgar folks, the Burges," as Mrs Canninge said, while she kept an eye upon her son and the schoolmistress in turn.

As a rule the Rev Henry Lambent was the great man at the schools, but upon this occasion he sank into a very secondary position, following the inspector with a stiff kind of deference, as Mr Slingsby Barracombe raised his gla.s.ses to his eyes, balanced them upon his nose, looked at Hazel gravely for a few moments, and then bowed formally without a word, before taking off his gla.s.ses and holding them behind him with both hands as if they were hot, while he marched about the school.

National school children are at such times supposed to be all intent upon their lessons, and never to raise their eyes to look at visitors, especially such an awe-inspiring personage as an inspector; but it would be just as reasonable to expect a pinch of steel filings to refrain from turning towards a magnet plunged in their midst. Certainly the girls in Hazel Thorne's charge followed the inspector, their eyes taking in every movement and Feelier Potts's malicious features almost involuntarily moulding themselves into an excellent imitation of the peculiarities of his face.

When Mr Barracombe had solemnly walked round the school once, with the Reverend Henry Lambent hat in hand, behind him, and the other visitors forming themselves into a deferential audience, who watched him as if he were going through some wonderful performance, he said, with a loud expiration of his breath--

"Hah!" an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n that might mean anything, and one that committed him to naught.