The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë (sci fi books to read TXT) 📕

me from the first she was “down of that new governess,” and I soon found she watched her quite as narrowly as I did; and I was glad of it, for I longed to know the truth: the atmosphere of Grassdale seemed to stifle me, and I could only live by thinking of Wildfell Hall.

At last, one morning, she entered my chamber with such intelligence that my resolution was taken before she had ceased to speak. While she dressed me I explained to her my intentions and what assistance I should require from her, and told her which of my things she was to pack up, and what she was to leave behind for herself, as I had no other means of recompensing her for this sudden dismissal after her long and faithful service: a circumstance I most deeply regretted, but could not avoid.

“And what will you do, Rachel?” said I; “will you go home, or seek another place?”

“I have no home, ma’am, but with you,” she replied; “and if I leave you I’ll never go into place again as long as I live.”

“But I can’t afford to live like a lady now,” returned I: “I must be my own maid and my child’s nurse.”

“What signifies!” replied she, in some excitement. “You’ll want somebody to clean and wash, and cook, won’t you? I can do all that; and never mind the wages: I’ve my bits o’ savings yet, and if you wouldn’t take me I should have to find my own board and lodging out of ’em somewhere, or else work among strangers: and it’s what I’m not used to: so you can please yourself, ma’am.” Her voice quavered as she spoke, and the tears stood in her eyes.

“I should like it above all things, Rachel, and I’d give you such wages as I could afford: such as I should give to any servant-of-all-work I might employ: but don’t you see I should be dragging you down with me when you have done nothing to deserve it?”

“Oh, fiddle!” ejaculated she.

“And, besides, my future way of living will be so widely different to the past: so different to all you have been accustomed to⁠—”

“Do you think, ma’am, I can’t bear what my missis can? surely I’m not so proud and so dainty as that comes to; and my little master, too, God bless him!”

“But I’m young, Rachel; I shan’t mind it; and Arthur is young too: it will be nothing to him.”

“Nor me either: I’m not so old but what I can stand hard fare and hard work, if it’s only to help and comfort them as I’ve loved like my own bairns: for all I’m too old to bide the thoughts o’ leaving ’em in trouble and danger, and going amongst strangers myself.”

“Then you shan’t, Rachel!” cried I, embracing my faithful friend. “We’ll all go together, and you shall see how the new life suits you.”

“Bless you, honey!” cried she, affectionately returning my embrace. “Only let us get shut of this wicked house, and we’ll do right enough, you’ll see.”

“So think I,” was my answer; and so that point was settled.

By that morning’s post I despatched a few hasty lines to Frederick, beseeching him to prepare my asylum for my immediate reception: for I should probably come to claim it within a day after the receipt of that note: and telling him, in few words, the cause of my sudden resolution. I then wrote three letters of adieu: the first to Esther Hargrave, in which I told her that I found it impossible to stay any longer at Grassdale, or to leave my son under his father’s protection; and, as it was of the last importance that our future abode should be unknown to him and his acquaintance, I should disclose it to no one but my brother, through the medium of whom I hoped still to correspond with my friends. I then gave her his address, exhorted her to write frequently, reiterated some of my former admonitions regarding her own concerns, and bade her a fond farewell.

The second was to Milicent; much to the same effect, but a little more confidential, as befitted our longer intimacy, and her greater experience and better acquaintance with my circumstances.

The third was to my aunt: a much more difficult and painful undertaking, and therefore I had left it to the last; but I must give her some explanation of that extraordinary step I had taken: and that quickly, for she and my uncle would no doubt hear of it within a day or two after my disappearance, as it was probable that Mr. Huntingdon would speedily apply to them to know what was become of me. At last, however, I told her I was sensible of my error: I did not complain of its punishment, and I was sorry to trouble my friends with its consequences; but in duty to my son I must submit no longer; it was absolutely necessary that he should be delivered from his father’s corrupting influence. I should not disclose my place of refuge even to her, in order that she and my uncle might be able, with truth, to deny all knowledge concerning it; but any communications addressed to me under cover to my brother would be certain to reach me. I hoped she and my uncle would pardon the step I had taken, for if they knew all, I was sure they would not blame me; and I trusted they would not afflict themselves on my account, for if I could only reach my retreat in safety and keep it unmolested, I should be very happy, but for the thoughts of them; and should be quite contented to spend my life in obscurity, devoting myself to the training up of my child, and teaching him to avoid the errors of both his parents.

These things were done yesterday: I have given two whole days to the preparation for our departure, that Frederick may have more time to prepare