Autobiographical fiction; England -- Fiction; Feminist fiction; Governesses -- Fiction; Single women -- Fiction
So saying, she ran off to make her hasty toilet, leaving me to pilot my
way back to my sitting-room, where, in due time, I was served with a
cup of tea. After that, I sat musing on Lady Ashby’s past and present
condition; and on what little information I had obtained respecting Mr.
Weston, and the small chance there was of ever seeing or hearing
anything more of him throughout my quiet, drab-colour life: which,
henceforth, seemed to offer no alternative between positive rainy days,
and days of dull grey clouds without downfall. At length, however, I
began to weary of my thoughts, and to wish I knew where to find the
library my hostess had spoken of; and to wonder whether I was to remain
there doing nothing till bed-time.
As I was not rich enough to possess a watch, I could not tell how time
was passing, except by observing the slowly lengthening shadows from
the window; which presented a side view, including a corner of the
park, a clump of trees whose topmost branches had been colonized by an
innumerable company of noisy rooks, and a high wall with a massive
wooden gate: no doubt communicating with the stable-yard, as a broad
carriage-road swept up to it from the park. The shadow of this wall
soon took possession of the whole of the ground as far as I could see,
forcing the golden sunlight to retreat inch by inch, and at last take
refuge in the very tops of the trees. Ere long, even they were left in
shadow—the shadow of the distant hills, or of the earth itself; and, in
sympathy for the busy citizens of the rookery, I regretted to see their
habitation, so lately bathed in glorious light, reduced to the sombre,
work-a-day hue of the lower world, or of my own world within. For a
moment, such birds as soared above the rest might still receive the
lustre on their wings, which imparted to their sable plumage the hue
and brilliance of deep red gold; at last, that too departed. Twilight
came stealing on; the rooks became more quiet; I became more weary, and
wished I were going home to-morrow. At length it grew dark; and I was
thinking of ringing for a candle, and betaking myself to bed, when my
hostess appeared, with many apologies for having neglected me so long,
and laying all the blame upon that “nasty old woman,” as she called her
mother-in-law.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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