A Lady of England: The Life and Letters of Charlotte Maria Tucker. Agnes Giberne
men-servants do you keep?
Cramp. None at all. [Aside.] What impertinent curiosity!
Nell. [Aside.] Shall I venture to address her again? I can scarcely command myself. [Aloud.] Pray, Ma’am, are you fond of music?
Miss C. I’m a regular dab at it.
Nell. What instrument do you play?
Miss C. All sorts of instruments, from the drum to the Jew’s harp.
Nell. You don’t play the cornopion?
Miss C. Like bricks—and sing all the time. You shall hear me to-morrow. [All stare in mute amazement.]
Cramp. May I trouble you, Ma’am, to let me see your letter of introduction from Lady Myres again?
Miss C. Heartily welcome. You will read all about me there. Full details of manners and accomplishments. She says I’m a little absent sometimes; so if ever I make a few trifling blunders, I hope you’ll set them down to that score.
Nell. [Aside to Wriggles.] I wish she were absent now, for I think I shall die in convulsions.
Miss C. I’ll teach you all sorts of things suitable for a lady. Knitting, netting—crow—crowfoot …
Wrig. I see that nothing is beyond your apprehension.
Miss C. What do you say about apprehension? Are you a police officer?
Wrig. No, Madam, I am a humble Professor of Geography, Geology, Algebra, and …
Miss C. O I’m a match for you in all that, and I know Latin, Greek, and American besides.
Wrig. And what tongue, Madam, do you prefer?
Miss C. O I’m not particular about those sort of things; but if you want my opinion, why I think pickled tongues are excellent.
Wrig. [Turning away laughing.] This is either too bad or too good! [Aloud.] And your other studies, Ma’am?
Miss C. As for Arithmetics, they’re at my fingers’-ends.
Nell. I have not yet got beyond the Rule of Three.
Miss C. You shall know the Rule of Four-and-twenty, before I have done with you. We’ll skip the 4, 5, and 6.
Nell. And the Rule of Three inverse?
Miss C. In verse? Yes, you shall have it in all sorts of verse, merry, tragical, and comical.
Nell. [Aside.] I shall expire with laughter. [Retires to the window.]
Wrig. [Aside.] I really cannot stand this any longer. [Follows her.]
Scull (the artist). Pray, Madam, may I venture to ask if you paint?
Miss C. You are a very impudent fellow, to ask a gentle—woman if she paints. Do I look as if I painted?
Scull. I beg a million pardons, Ma’am, but as I paint myself …
Miss C. You paint precious badly then, for you’re as yellow as a cowslip!
Cramp. [Aside.] Is the woman intoxicated or insane?
Scull. I think—I imagine that there is a little misapprehension, Ma’am, on your part. My vocation is that of an artist.
Nell. O Miss Cob, you must see his sketches.
Scull. You see, Ma’am, there is a new work to come out at Christmas, which is to be entitled—The Mouse on the Mantelpiece. The letterpress is in very able hands—a very pretty little fairy-tale for grown-up children—that’s all the rage now, you know, in this enlightened age. But the illustrations will be the great thing. A steel-plate frontispiece, of course, in which will be introduced a number of winged mice in a variety of positions—a very clever thing, I can assure you; and then wood-cuts—I have the honour of being intrusted with the designs for them. We are to have a different illustration for the top of every column.
Nell. That will no doubt be capital.
Scull. It will form a very elegant little volume altogether—the most remarkable publication of the day.
Miss C. Well, after my wet walk, I think I’d be the better for something to warm me.
Nell. You shall have some tea directly, Ma’am.
Miss C. Tea! Wishy-washy stuff!
Nell. Would you prefer gruel?
Miss C. Gruel! I wish you joy of your fare!
Nell. [Aside.] The fair Arithmetician looks as though she would not have 3 Scruples to a Dram!
Cramp. I dare say Miss Cob is fatigued after her long walk. Nelly, show her the apartment. I hope everything is comfortable there.
Nell. Certainly, Papa. [Aside to Wriggle.] At any rate, I will venture to say that her room is better than her company. [Exeunt Nelly and Miss Cob.]
And so on—the wind-up of the story being that Miss Cob is found to be a burglar in woman’s disguise; while the artist is a harmless nobody. But elderly Wriggles, the tutor, who has lived quietly in the house for a month past, and of whom even Mr. Cramp has had no suspicions, turns out to be the much dreaded nephew, and to him by right Grimhaggard Hall now appertains. As, however, he has managed to fall deeply in love with the punning heroine, all difficulties are solved by their marriage—Nellie being equally in love with him. Thus the nephew gains the old home, and the uncle does not lose it.
CHAPTER VII
A.D. 1849–1853
THE FIRST GREAT SORROW, AND THE FIRST BOOK
It must have been at about this time that Charlotte became increasingly anxious for more of definite outdoor work among the poor. Her wish was to be allowed to visit in the Marylebone Workhouse; but difficulties for a while barred her way. Mr. Tucker objected strongly, fearing the risk of infectious diseases for his daughters; and no doubt the risk in those days was far greater than in these, considering the then condition of Workhouses generally.
So long as permission was refused, Charlotte seems to have contented herself with the simple duties of home-life. She was not one who would restlessly fight for and insist upon her own way at all costs, under the plea of doing what was right. Rather, one may be sure, she counted the prohibition as in itself sufficient indication of the Divine Will. However, while submitting, she probably used from time to time some little pressure to bring about another state of things; and somewhere about the beginning of 1851 her parents’ ‘reluctant consent’ was, we are told, at length given. From that time she and Fanny visited regularly in the Workhouse.
In 1849 Charlotte’s eldest sister, Sibella, was married to the Rev. Frederick Hamilton, for some time Curate to Mr. Garnier, the Vicar of Holy Trinity Church, which they all regularly attended. Mr. Garnier and his wife, Lady Caroline, were especial friends of Charlotte, through many a long year. Thus the first break in the charmed circle of sisters was made; and Fanny was now ‘Miss Tucker,’ Charlotte being the second home-daughter.
Until the spring of 1850 Mr. Tucker kept his health and vigour to a marvellous extent for a man eighty years old—for one too who had worked more or less hard through life from the age of fourteen or fifteen. He still attended to his India House business, not seeming to find it too much for his strength; and in the April of that year, after making a speech in Court, he was congratulated by a brother-Director upon the force and energy with which he had spoken. ‘Ah,’ he replied, ‘it is only the last flicker of the taper before it goes out.’
No one had noticed aught to be wrong with him, but perhaps he had himself been conscious of failing power. Soon afterwards a sharp attack of