“Did you think yourself in danger? Do not flatter yourself, solemn little lady. I find on closer examination you are a little minnow that I would just as soon release back into the pond. Perhaps in a year or two you will be worth what a man must lay out in bait, hook and tackle.”
Fanny ran away, with the faint laughter of William Elliot chasing after her.
* * * * * *
Mrs. Butters and her maid, coachman, and groomsmen, having been delayed in their journey from London by an accident to one of her carriage-wheels, arrived at Oxford at about dinner-time. She was between fifty and sixty, in possession of a good fortune from her late husband, active and energetic, inclining to stoutness, decided in her opinions and confident in sharing them. She was a native of Bristol but, to be closer to a married son, now dwelt in Stoke Newington on the outskirts of London. As her niece, Mrs. Smallridge, was expecting her confinement at Christmastime, the kindly widow had agreed to pass the holidays in the retirement of the countryside, where her anticipated reunion with many acquaintances from her earlier life in Bristol was some compensation for leaving the metropolis.
The landlord of the inn saw to her every comfort and soon she was installed in a private dining-room overlooking the thoroughfare, whereupon she lost no time in ordering an early dinner. As he was retiring, the landlord spied Fanny, very tired, thirsty, and extremely footsore but completely gratified by her morning’s sojourn in Oxford, walking slowly up the street.
“There’s the young lady as was enquiring after you, Madam.”
Mrs. Butters had been in receipt of Fanny’s letter upon arriving at the inn and as she desired to interview the prospective governess immediately but did not want to wait for her dinner, Mrs. Butters spoke for more food to be sent up and bade the landlord bring Miss Price to her.
Now came for Fanny the moment when she hoped to impersonate a self-possessed, capable young woman, and not the frightened, tired child she really was. The landlord chivvied her impatiently upstairs, she was not to keep Mrs. Butters waiting—a quick trip to the privy was the only preparation he would allow—and Fanny, who had had perhaps five hours’ sleep in the previous eight-and-forty, unable to wash, brush, or arrange her dress, was ushered in to meet the aunt of Mrs. Smallridge. Her exhaustion contributed to the feeling of unreality, of moving through a dream, which had pursued her since leaving Mansfield Park.
A subdued “how do ye do?” was followed by an uncomfortable silence as Mrs. Butters took her survey of the demure applicant. “You look as though you could do with a hearty meal, Miss Price. Pray have a seat. Do not thank me, I intend to eat too much dinner and then I intend to fall asleep until tea time, so this is the only convenient time for our interview.”
Prompted by Mrs. Butters, Fanny answered her queries, interspersed with mouthfuls of roast beef, turnip, and onions, and found herself growing more comfortable than she could have imagined. Mrs. Butters’ manner was abrupt, but not unkind, and when she learned that Fanny was the daughter of a lieutenant of marines, her face brightened. “Is he indeed? In Portsmouth, you say. My late husband was a shipbuilder in Bristol, so we are both from sea-faring families. Where is the gravy boat? Dear me, that’s the only boat I have anything to do with nowadays. That was a jest, child. That’s better.”
Mr. Smallridge, Fanny learned, was seldom to be found at home. He was of an old and eminent family, had no profession, and had obtained his estate and his independence through his judicious marriage. Mrs. Smallridge desired her children to acquire sufficient education to enable them to mingle in society but, cautioned Mrs. Butters, “We want no prodigies, no bluestockings or eccentrics fiddling about with home laboratories and dephlogisticated air or nonsense of that sort. What is your philosophy of education, Miss Price?”
“I… that is…. “
“Have you read Emile’s Rousseau? Or was it Rousseau’s Emile?”
“Yes ma’am, I have.”
“In the original French?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Well, I have not and I dare say I never shall. My lady’s maid tells me the book has to do with education.”
“Yes ma’am, as I recollect, Rousseau believes that if the child is led with kindness, he will develop according to the dictates of nature, and a love for learning will unfold within him.”
“And what do you think?”
“I have observed that learning one’s letters is a drudgery, and if not compelled to do it, most children would not be put to the trouble of learning to read, but of course reading is the means whereby we may acquire all the published knowledge of the world. Rousseau’s thoughts are impractical, I conclude. And I was told that his own children were not schooled in the fashion he advocates, so his advice should be regarded, I think, with some misgivings, as he never endorsed them by actual application.”
“I was informed that this Rousseau believes it is better to praise a child into acquiring knowledge, rather than beating it into him.”
“Oh, as a general principle, ma’am, I must agree.” Fanny thought of the unsmiling and meticulous Miss Lee presiding over the school-room at Mansfield Park. “However, ma’am, a governess should lead by example in being strictly self-disciplined herself, the better to enforce the same expectation in her pupils.”
“Very well. Now let us turn to your accomplishments. Do you play the piano?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Do you play any instrument?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Can you draw?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Paint in watercolours?” Fanny’s heart sank at being thus exposed.
“No, ma’am.”
“Mrs. Smallridge asked me to enquire. But I don’t believe in the efficacy of these so-called accomplishments as some do. Where there is real aptitude and
