Gothic fiction; Guardian and ward -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
A week or two before my arrival, Esther's daily governess (from all
accounts a miserably weak and injudicious person) had been dismissed,
having been found entirely incompetent to manage her young charge; and,
till another should be procured, I had asked my aunt if I should not
teach her for an hour or two every day. The offer had been very gladly
accepted, and, somehow, after a week or two, all question of obtaining a
new governess had died out, and Essie and her lessons had quietly
devolved on me. I did not mind it very much; the child was good enough,
and, with a little coaxing, got on tolerably well; but it was rather
hard always to be tied down to that duty for the hours that I invariably
felt most like reading or sewing, both of which occupations I found
entirely incompatible with the due direction of Miss Esther's early
mathematical efforts, and the proper supervision of her attempts at
penmanship. I had the benefit of her society at other hours also; she
kept pretty closely at my side during my leisure moments, favored by my
vicinity to the nursery, and was my invariable companion in my walks:
Grace never walked, except when ordered out under pain of her mother's
displeasure, and Félicie was, of course, only too glad to shift the duty
of exercising Miss Esther upon me. And as my aunt had a prejudice
against full carriages, she and Josephine were generally considered a
sufficient burden for the horses on Sunday, and Grace being commonly
threatened with headache on that day, Esther and I were left to
ourselves in the matter of church; and finding one not far distant, that
had some free seats within its ample limits, we profited by the
discovery, and pretty constantly filled two of them; Esther holding fast
to my dress, never for a moment letting go of it through service or
sermon; at times it seemed to me, as I caught her strange troubled eyes
fixed on the rich colors of the chancel window, or the misty blue of the
vaulted roof, that "her heart was envious of her eye," and she clung to
me, uncertain and hesitating, as her one tie to earth. I never could
quite make out the child; with all her pettishness, and very willful and
trying naughtiness, there were moods and fancies about her that
thoroughly puzzled me. The only way, I found, was to be as patient as
possible with the one, and humor the other as far as was practicable.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account