Autobiographical fiction; England -- Fiction; Feminist fiction; Governesses -- Fiction; Single women -- Fiction
Miss Matilda, a strapping hoyden of about fourteen, with a short frock
and trousers, shrugged her shoulders and made a slight grimace, but
took a candle and proceeded before me up the back stairs (a long,
steep, double flight), and through a long, narrow passage, to a small
but tolerably comfortable room. She then asked me if I would take some
tea or coffee. I was about to answer No; but remembering that I had
taken nothing since seven o’clock that morning, and feeling faint in
consequence, I said I would take a cup of tea. Saying she would tell
“Brown,” the young lady departed; and by the time I had divested myself
of my heavy, wet cloak, shawl, bonnet, &c., a mincing damsel came to
say the young ladies desired to know whether I would take my tea up
there or in the schoolroom. Under the plea of fatigue I chose to take
it there. She withdrew; and, after a while, returned again with a small
tea-tray, and placed it on the chest of drawers, which served as a
dressing-table. Having civilly thanked her, I asked at what time I
should be expected to rise in the morning.
“The young ladies and gentlemen breakfast at half-past eight, ma’am,”
said she; “they rise early; but, as they seldom do any lessons before
breakfast, I should think it will do if you rise soon after seven.”
I desired her to be so kind as to call me at seven, and, promising to
do so, she withdrew. Then, having broken my long fast on a cup of tea
and a little thin bread and butter, I sat down beside the small,
smouldering fire, and amused myself with a hearty fit of crying; after
which, I said my prayers, and then, feeling considerably relieved,
began to prepare for bed. Finding that none of my luggage was brought
up, I instituted a search for the bell; and failing to discover any
signs of such a convenience in any corner of the room, I took my candle
and ventured through the long passage, and down the steep stairs, on a
voyage of discovery. Meeting a well-dressed female on the way, I told
her what I wanted; but not without considerable hesitation, as I was
not quite sure whether it was one of the upper servants, or Mrs. Murray
herself: it happened, however, to be the lady’s-maid. With the air of
one conferring an unusual favour, she vouchsafed to undertake the
sending up of my things; and when I had re-entered my room, and waited
and wondered a long time (greatly fearing that she had forgotten or
neglected to perform her promise, and doubting whether to keep waiting
or go to bed, or go down again), my hopes, at length, were revived by
the sound of voices and laughter, accompanied by the tramp of feet
along the passage; and presently the luggage was brought in by a
rough-looking maid and a man, neither of them very respectful in their
demeanour to me. Having shut the door upon their retiring footsteps,
and unpacked a few of my things, I betook myself to rest; gladly
enough, for I was weary in body and mind.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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