CHAPTER TWO.
HOW JENNY FARED THE FIRST EVENING.
"Well, for sure, Aunt Persis will be some fain to see you!" said TomFenton, as he and his uncle, old Anthony, went forward up the hill."But whence come you, now, Uncle? Are you very weary? Eh, but I'm gladyou've won home safe!"
"God bless thee, my lad! Ay, He's brought me home safe. A bitfootsore, to be sure, and glad enough of rest: but gladder to besuffered to do His will, and minister to His suffering servants. Whencecome I? Well, from Kidderminster, to-day; but--"
"Dear heart! but you never footed it all the way from Kidderminster?"
"No, no, dear lad. A good man gave me a lift for a matter o' eightmiles or more. But, dear me! I mind the time I could ha' run nigh on amile in five minutes, and ha' trudged my forty mile a day, nor scarcefelt it. I reckon, Tom, lad, thou'rt not so lissome as I was at thyyears. Well, to be sure! 'Tis all right; I'm only a good way nearerHome."
They walked on together for a few minutes in silence. Tom's thoughtshad gone back from the momentary pleasure of welcoming his uncle, towhom he was greatly attached, to his sore disappointment about Jenny.
"What is it, Tom?" said the old man quietly.
"Oh, only a bit of trouble, Uncle. Nought I need cumber you with."
"Jenny Lavender?" was the next suggestion.
"Ay. I thought not you knew how I'd set my heart on her, ever since shewas that high," said Tom, indicating a length of about a yard. "I'venever thought o' none but her all my life. But she's that taken up witha sorry popinjay of a fellow, she'll not hear me now. I'd alwaysthought Jenny'd be my wife."
Poor Tom's voice was very doleful, for his heart was sore.
"Thou'd alway thought so," said the quiet voice. "But what if the Lordthinks otherway, Tom?"
Tom came to a sudden stop.
"Uncle Anthony! Eh, but you don't--" and Tom's words went no further.
"My lad, thou'rt but a babe in Christ. 'Tisn't so many months sincethou first set foot in the narrow way. Dost thou think He means JennyLavender for thee, and that thy feet should run faster in the way of Hiscommandments for having her running alongside thee? Art thou wellassured she wouldn't run the other way?"
Old Anthony had spoken the truth. Tom was but a very young Christian,of some six months' standing. He had never dreamed of any antagonismarising between his love to Christ and his love to Jenny Lavender.Stay--had he not? What was that faint something, without a name--a sortof vague uneasiness, which had seemed to creep over him whenever he hadseen her during those months--a sense of incongruity between her lightprattle and his own inmost thoughts and holiest feelings? It was soslight that as yet he had never faced it. He recognised now it wasbecause his heart had refused to face it. And conscience told him,speaking loudly this time, that he must hold back no longer.
"Uncle Anthony," he said, in a troubled voice, "I'm sore afeard I've notset the Lord afore me in that matter. I never saw it so afore. But nowyou've set me on it, I can't deny that we shouldn't pull same way. Butwhat then? Must I give her up? Mayn't I pray the Lord to touch herheart, and give her to me, any longer?"
The old man looked into the sorrowful eyes of the young man, whom heloved as dearly as if he had been his own son.
"Dear lad," he said, "pray the Lord to bring her to Himself. That'ssafe to be His will, for He willeth not the death of a sinner. But asto giving her to thee, if I were thou, Tom, I'd leave that with Him.Meantime, thy way's plain. `Be ye not unequally yoked together.' Thecommand's clear as daylight. Never get a clog to thy soul. Thou canstlive without Jenny Lavender; but couldst thou live without JesusChrist?"
Tom shook his head, without speaking.
"To tell truth, Tom, I'm not sorry she's going away. Maybe the Lord'ssending her hence, either to open her eyes and send her back weary andcloyed with the world she's going into so gaily now, or else to openthine, and show thee plain, stripped of outside glitter, the real thingshe is, that thou mayest see what a sorry wife she would make to aChristian man. No, I'm not sorry. And unless I mistake greatly, Tom,the time's coming when thou shalt not be sorry neither. In themeantime, `tarry thou the Lord's leisure.' If He be the chief object ofthy desire, thy desire is safe to be fulfilled. `This is the will ofGod, even our sanctification.'"
They turned to the left at the top of the hill, and went a few yardsalong the lane, to a little cottage embowered in ivy, which wasAnthony's home.
"Wilt thou come in, Tom, lad?"
"No, Uncle, I thank you. You've opened my eyes, but it's made 'em smarta bit too much to face the light as yet. I'll take a sharp trudge overthe moor, and battle it out with myself."
"Take the Lord with thee, lad. Satan'll have thee down if thou doesn't.He's strong and full o' wiles, and if he can't conquer thee in hisblack robe, he'll put on a white one. There's no harm in thy saying tothe Lord, `Lord, Thou knowest that I love Jenny Lavender'; but take carethat it does not come before, `Lord, Thou knowest that I love _Thee_.'Maybe He's putting the same question to thee to-night, that He did toPeter at the lake-side."
"Ay, ay, Uncle. I'll not forget. God bless thee!"
Tom wrung old Anthony's hand, and turned away.
One moment the old man paused before he went in.
"Lord, Thou lovest the lad better than I do," he said, half aloud. "DoThy best for him!"
Then he lifted the latch, and met a warm welcome from his wife Persis.
"Mrs Jenny, your servant!" said the smooth tones of Robin Featherstoneat the farmhouse door, about twenty hours later. "The horse awaits yourgood pleasure, and will only be less proud to bear you than I shall toride before you."
Jenny's silly little heart fluttered at the absurd compliment.
"Farewell, Grandmother," she said, going up to the old lady. "Pray,your blessing."
Old Mrs Lavender laid her trembling hand on the girl's head.
"May God bless thee, my maid, and make thee a blessing! I have but oneword for thee at the parting, and if thou wilt take it as thy motto forlife, thou mayest do well. `Look to the end.' Try the ground aforethou settest down thy foot. `Many a cloudy morrow turneth out a fairday,' and `'tis ill to get in the hundred and lose in the shire.' Solook to the end, Jenny, and be wise in time. `All that glittereth isnot gold,' and all gold does not glitter, specially when folk's eyes beshut. We say down in my country, `There's a hill against a stack allCraven through,' and thou'lt find it so. God keep thee!"
Jenny's father gave her a warm embrace and a hearty blessing, and hishand went to his eyes as he turned to Robin Featherstone.
"Fare you well, Robin," said he, "and have a care of my girl."
The elegant Mr Featherstone laid his hand upon that portion of hiswaistcoat which was supposed to cover his heart.
"Mr Lavender, it will be the pride of my heart to serve Mrs Jenny,though it cost my life."
He sprang on the brown horse, and Jenny, helped by her father, mountedthe pillion behind him. Women very seldom rode alone at that day.
Kate ran after them, as they started, with an old shoe in her hand,which she delivered with such good (or bad) effect that it hit the horseon the ear, and made it shy. Happily, it was a sedate old quadruped,not given to giddy ways, and quickly recovered itself.
"Good luck!" cried Kate, as they rode away.
A second horse followed, ridden by one of Colonel Lane's stable-boys,carrying Jenny's two bags.
It was not a mile from the farm to Bentley Hall, and they were soon inthe stable-yard, where Jenny alighted, and was taken by Featherstoneinto the servants' hall, where with another complimentary flourish heintroduced her to the rest of the household.
"My lords and ladies, I have the honour to present to you the Lady JaneLavender."
"Now you just get out of my way, with your lords and ladies," said thecook, pushing by them. "Good even, Jenny. We've seen Jenny Lavenderafore, every man jack of us."
Mr Featherstone got out of the way without much delay, for the
cook hada gridiron in his hand, and he had been known before now to boxsomebody's ears with that instrument.
He recovered his dignity as soon as he could, and suggested that Jennyshould go up to the chamber of her new mistress.
"Maybe Mrs Millicent should be pleased to take her," he said, making alow bow to Mrs Lane's maid.
"She knows her way upstairs as well as I do," answered Millicentbluntly. "Have done with your airs, Robin! and prithee don't put Jennyup to 'em.
"Now, Jenny, you run up and wait for Mrs Jane; she'll be there in aminute, most like. You can hang your hood and cloak behind the door."
There were no bonnets in those days, nor shawls; women wore hoods ortall hats on their heads when they went out, and cloaks in cold weather;when it was warm they merely tied on a muslin or linen tippet, fasteningit with a bow of ribbon at the throat.
The gown sleeves then came down mostly to the wrist; but sometimes onlyto the elbows, where they were finished with a little frill. How theneck was covered, in the house, depended on its owner's notions. If shewere gay and fashionable, it was not covered at all. But if she weresensible and quiet, she generally wore the same kind of muslin tippetthat was used on warm days out of doors. Old women sometimes wore theclose frill round the neck, which had been used in Queen Elizabeth'stime; but this was quite gone out of fashion for younger ones.
Mrs Jane's room was empty. Jenny knew her way to it well enough, forshe had often been there before; but her heart beat high when she sawsomething in the corner that had never been there before--a neat, littlelow bed, covered with a quilt of coarse, padded blue silk. That was forJenny, as Jenny knew. The room was long, low, and somewhat narrow.Four windows, so close together as to have the effect of one, ran alongthe whole length of one end, filled with small diamond-shaped panes ofgreenish glass.
In the midst of these stood a toilet-table, whereon were a number ofpots and boxes, the uses of which were as yet unknown to the new maid.The large bed was hung with flowered cherry-coloured satin; an inlaidchair, filled with cushions, stood before the fireplace, and a smallTurkey carpet lay in front of it.
Jenny stood contemplating everything, with a sense of great elation tothink that her place henceforward would be in the midst of all thiscomfort and grandeur. Suddenly a quick step ran up the polishedstaircase, the door opened, and a young lady made her made herappearance.
Her description will serve for the ladies of that day in general.
Her skirt came just down to the foot, and was moderately full; it wasmade of green satin. Over this was the actual gown, of tawny oryellowish-brown silk, trimmed with silver lace. The skirt was open infront, and was bunched up all round so as barely to reach the knees.The bodice, which was tight to the figure, was laced up in front withsilver; it was cut low on the neck, and over it was a tippet of clearmuslin, tied with green ribbon to match the skirt. The sleeves wereslightly fulled, and were finished by very deep cuffs of similar muslin,midway between the wrist and the elbow. The young lady's hair wasdressed in a small knob behind; it came a little over the forehead atthe front in a point, and flowed down at the sides in slender ringlets.
"Oh, Jenny, are you come? That is right," said she.
"Yes, madam, to serve you," answered Jenny, dropping a courtesy.
"Very good. Here, pick up these pins, and put them into that box. Youmust learn to dress me, and dress my hair. Dear me, you have all tolearn! Well, never mind; the best woman living had to begin once."
"Yes, madam," said smiling Jenny.
Mrs Jane sat down before the toilet-table, and with more rapidity thanJenny could well follow, showed her the articles upon it, and the usesfor which they were designed.
"Here is pearl powder; that is for my forehead. This is rouge, for mycheeks and lips. Now, mind what you do with them! Don't go and put thewhite powder on my cheeks, and the red upon my nose! This is pomatumfor my hair; and this empty box holds my love-locks (you'll have tolearn how to put those in, Jenny); in this bottle is a wash for my face.I don't dye my hair, nor use oils for my hands--one must draw the linesomewhere. But the other matters you must learn to apply."
Jenny listened in silent amazement. She had never realised till thatmoment what an artificial flower her young mistress was.
Her own cosmetics were soap and water; and she was divided betweendisgust and admiration at the number of Mrs Jane's beautifiers. PoorJenny had no idea that Mrs Jane used a very moderate amount of them, ascontrasted with most fashionable ladies of her day.
"I must have a word with you, Jenny, as to your manners," said MrsJane, more gravely. "I can't do to have you falling in love withanybody. It would be very inconvenient, and, in fact, there's nobodyhere for you. Remember _now_, you are above Featherstone and all themen-servants; and you must not set your cap at the chaplain, becausehe's Mrs Millicent's property."
Above that elegant gentleman, Mr Featherstone! Jenny felt as if shetrod on perfumed air. She was not in the least surprised to be toldthat she was not to marry the chaplain; the family chaplain, of whomthere was one in every family of any pretension, was considered a poormean creature, whose natural wife was the lady's maid; and Jenny quiteunderstood that Mrs Millicent took precedence of her.
"You take your seat at table, Jenny, next below Mrs Millicent. Ofcourse you know you are not to speak there? If any one should have suchill-manners as to address you, you must answer quite respectfully, butas short as possible. Well, now to tell you your duties. You riseevery morning at five of the clock; dress quietly, and when you areready, wake me, if I have not woke sooner. Then you dress me, go withme to prayers in the chapel, then to breakfast in the hall; in themorning (when I am at home) you follow me about in my duties in thekitchen, stillroom, and dairy; you help me to see to the poultry, get upmy muslins and laces, and mend my clothes. In the afternoon you go outvisiting with me, work tapestry, embroider, or spin. In the evening, ifthere be music or dancing, you can join; if not, you keep to yourneedle."
Jenny courtesied, and meekly "hoped she should do her duty." Someportions of this duty, now explained to her, were sufficiently to hertaste; others sounded very uninteresting. These were the usual servicesexpected from a lady's maid two hundred years ago.
"Very well," said Mrs Jane, looking round. "I think that is all at thepresent. If I think of any other matter, I will mention it. Now ringthat little bell on the side-table, and Millicent shall give you yourfirst lesson in dressing my hair."
Jenny found that first lesson a trial. Millicent was quick and precise;she gave her instructions almost sharply, and made little allowance forJenny's ignorance and inaptitude.
She seemed to expect her to know what to do without being told, or atthe utmost to need only once telling. Jenny found it necessary to haveall her wits about her, and began to think that her new situation wasnot quite so perfect a Paradise as she had supposed it.
From this exercise they went down to supper in the hall, where Jennyfound herself placed at the higher table between Millicent and thesteward--a stiff, silent, elderly man, who never said a word to her allsupper-time. Robin Featherstone sat at the lower table; for the twotables made the only distinction between the family and the household,who all ate together in the hall.
The next discovery was that she must never ask for a second helping, butmust take what was given her and be content. Accustomed to the freedomand plenty of the farmhouse kitchen, Jenny sadly felt the constraint ofher new life. She was obliged to fall back for her consolation on thepleasure of her elevation above all her old associates. It was ratherpoor fare.
When, after assisting Mrs Jane to undress, with sundry snubbings fromMillicent, and some not ill-natured laughter from her young mistress atJenny's blunders, she was at last free to lie down to rest herself, shewas conscious of a little doubt, whether the appellation of "MrsJenny," the higher place at the table, and the distinction of beingnobody in the drawing-room, were quite as agreeable as plenty to eat anddrink, and liberty to run into
the garden, dance and sing whenever shechose to do so.
The Sunday which followed was spent as the Holy Day was wont to be spentby Cavalier families who were respectable and not riotous.
The Lanes were members of the Church of England, but the Church had beenabolished, so far as it lay in the power of those in authority at thattime. Many of the clergy were turned out of their livings--it cannot bedenied that some of them had deserved it--and the Book of Common Prayerwas stringently suppressed. No man dared to use it now, exceptsecretly. Those solemn and beautiful prayers, offered up by manygenerations, and endeared to their children as only childhood's memoriescan endear, might not be uttered, save in fear and trembling, in thedead of night, or in hushed whispers in the day-time.
Early in the morning, before the world was astir, a few of ColonelLane's family met the chaplain in the private chapel, and there in lowvoices the morning prayers were read, and the responses breathed. Therewas no singing nor chanting; that would have been too much to dare. Themen who had themselves suffered so much for holding secret conventicles,and preferring one style of prayer to another, now drove theirfellow-countrymen into the very same acts, and imposed on them the samesufferings.
This secret service over, the family met at breakfast, after which theydrove in the great family coach to Darlaston Church. The present Vicar,if he may so be termed, was an independent minister. These ministers,who alone were now permitted to minister, were of three kinds.
Some were true Christians--often very ripely spiritual ones--whopreached Christ, and let politics alone. Another class were virulentcontroversialists, who preached politics, and too often let Christianityalone. And a third consisted of those concealed Jesuits whom Rome hadsent over for the purpose of stirring up dissension, some of whomprofessed to be clergy of the Church, and some Nonconformists.
The gentleman just now officiating at Darlaston belonged to the secondclass. His sermon was a violent diatribe against kings in general, and"Charles Stuart" in particular, to which the few Royalists in hiscongregation had to listen with what patience they might.
Jenny Lavender did not carry away a word of it. Her head was full ofthe honour and glory of driving in the Bentley Hall coach (wherein sheoccupied the lowest seat by the door), and of sitting in the BentleyHall pew.
She only hoped that Ruth Merston and Dolly Campion, and all the othergirls of her acquaintance, were there to see her.
They drove back in the same order. Then came dinner.
As Jenny took her seat at the table she perceived that a stranger waspresent, who sat on the right hand of Mrs Lane, and to whom so muchdeference was paid that she guessed he must be somebody of note. He wasdressed in a suit of black plush, slashed with yellow satin, and a blackbeaver hat; for gentlemen then always wore their hats at dinner. Hismanners charmed Jenny exceedingly. Whenever he spoke to either of theladies, he always lifted his plumed hat for a moment. Even her modelgentleman, Robin Featherstone, had never treated her with that courtesy.
Jenny was still further enchanted when she heard Mrs Lane say to him,"My Lord."
So interested and excited was she that she actually presumed to askMillicent, in a whisper, who the stranger was. Millicent onlydemolished her by a look. The steward, on the other side of Jenny, wasmore accommodating.
"That is my Lord Wilmot," he said; "an old friend of the Colonel."
Jenny would have liked to ask a dozen questions, but she did not dare.She already expected a scolding from Millicent, and received it beforean hour was over.
"How dare you, Jane Lavender," demanded Jenny's superior officer, "letyour voice be heard at the Colonel's table?"
"If you please, Mrs Millicent," answered Jenny, who was ratherfrightened, "I think only Mr Wright heard it."
"You think! Pray, what business have you to think? Mrs Jane does notpay you for thinking, I'm sure."
Jenny was too much cowed to say what she thought--that Mrs Jane did notpay her extra to hold her tongue. She only ventured on a timidsuggestion that "they talked at the lower table."
"Don't quote the lower table to me, you vulgar girl! You deserve to bethere, for your manners are not fit for the upper. Everybody knows thelower table is only for the household"--a word which then meant theservants--"but those who sit at the upper, and belong to the family,must hold their tongues. If we did not, strangers might take us for thegentlewomen."
Jenny silently and earnestly wished they would.
"Now then, go into the parlour and behave yourself!" was the concludingorder from Millicent.
Poor Jenny escaped into the parlour, with a longing wish in her heartfor the old farmhouse kitchen, where nobody thought of putting a lockupon her lips. She felt she was buying her dignities very dear.
What was she to do all this long Sunday afternoon? Being Sunday, ofcourse she could not employ herself with needlework; and though she wasfond of music, and was a fairly good performer on the virginals, she didnot dare to make a noise.
She was not much of a reader, and if she had been, there were no bookswithin her reach but the Bible and a cookery book, on the former ofwhich, for private reading, Jenny looked as a mere precursor of theundertaker.
Sunday afternoon and evening, at the farmhouse, were the chief times ofthe week for enjoyment. There were sure to be visitors, plenty of talkand music, and afterwards a dance: for only the Puritans regarded theSabbath as anything but a day for amusement, after morning service wasover. Farmer Lavender, though a sensible and respectable man in hisway, was not a Puritan; and though his mother did not much like Sundaydancing, she had not set her face so determinately against it as toforbid it to the girls.
The long use of _The Book of Sports_, set forth by authority, andpositively compelling such ways of spending the Sabbath evening, hadblunted the perception of many well-meaning people. The idea was thatpeople must amuse themselves, or they would spend their leisure time inplotting treason! and the rulers having been what we should callRitualists, they considered that the holiness of the day ended whenDivine service was over, and people were thenceforward entitled to doanything they liked. Yet there in the Bible was the Lord's command to"turn away from doing their pleasure on His holy day."