Temptation of a Teacher

Chapter One ~ 1886-2

Lady Arletta gave a spontaneous little laugh that was very attractive.

“I am sure that Mrs. Metcalfe is right,” she said, “and that is exactly what I will do. I will go up to London as soon as I have sorted matters out here and, however reprehensible it may seem, I shall buy myself some pretty gowns and, because I know that it would please Papa, they will not be black!”

Mr. Metcalfe picked up his papers that were on the table and put them into a leather bag.

“I think, my Lady,” he said, “that is the only sensible thing we have decided upon this afternoon. I promise you I shall think over your problem very carefully and hope eventually to come up with some sort of solution.”

He spoke with confidence.

At the same time at the back of his mind he knew that there was really no one who was congenial, understanding and kind in her family who this lovely young girl could appeal to for shelter.

When he said ‘goodbye’ and Arletta walked with him down the long passages that led to the hall, he thought that the whole house looked dismal and overwhelming and the sooner Lady Arletta was away from it the better.

She had taken on responsibilities this last year that would have seemed heavy and arduous even to a young man and, because he was very fond of her, Mr. Metcalfe wanted desperately to find some magical means by which she could be happy in the future.

‘There has to be a way,’ he ruminated as he drove away in his ancient pony cart drawn, however, by a young horse, which would make short work of the five miles that lay between Weir House and the small town where he lived and had his office.

When he had gone and Arletta saw him disappearing under the branches of the great oak trees that lined the drive, she walked back into the hall.

She was thinking, as Mr. Metcalfe had done, that the house seemed dismal and even the sunlight could not percolate through the windows to light up the portraits of the many Weir ancestors on the walls.

They needed cleaning and the stair carpet, which was almost threadbare, should have been replaced years ago.

She was well aware that the new Earl would find it all depressing and out of date.

She was quite sure that Cousin Hugo would have very strong ideas of how he could improve the house and had always thought ridiculous the sacrifices that his predecessor had made to restore what had been thrown away in the past.

“A few debts never hurt anyone!” Arletta had heard him say once.

She was sure that he had meant it as a joke.

At the same time she was certain that he did not have her father’s strict principles that had made him determined that he would never be in debt even for the smallest amount.

He had also sworn to make good any deficits that his father had left outstanding.

She was intelligent enough to realise that this was the reaction of a man who ever since he was a small boy had known that his father was spending more than he owned and that many people and small firms suffered in consequence.

And yet now it was hard to think that the ‘bad old days’ might return and she felt that she could not bear after so much pinching and saving to see her cousin Hugo being a spendthrift like her grandfather.

‘I must go away,’ she told herself firmly.

Slowly she walked back through the hall, where there were no servants, into the room where she had been sitting with Mr. Metcalfe.

It was a very pretty room because, as it faced South, there always seemed to be more sunshine in it than anywhere else and her mother had made it particularly her own.

She had accumulated in it all the furniture that was light, pretty and mostly French and pictures that were quite the opposite of the heavy portraits of the Weirs.

Winter or summer there were always flowers to fill the air with fragrance and make vivid patches of colour against the pale green panelling that had been installed in the reign of Queen Anne.

‘I shall miss this room,’ Arletta thought to herself.

Instinctively, as if she felt that she would understand, she lifted her eyes to the portrait of her mother that hung over the mantelpiece.

It was a very lovely picture of a very lovely women.

Looking at it, Arletta felt that the smile on her mother’s lips and the light in her eyes expressed not only her character and her personality but also her French blood, which made her so different from the Weirs, who could trace their ancestry back to Saxon times.

It seemed strange that her grandfather should have married a Frenchwoman and yet at the same time Arletta could understand that he was a rebel like her father.

His revolt had obviously been against the pomposity of his relations and perhaps too against the heavy atmosphere and gloom of the family house.

‘I wish I had known my grandmother,’ Arletta had often reflected.

Her mother had said to her,

“You are very like her, my dearest, and when I hear you laugh, I feel like a child again and listening to my mother who always seemed to come into the nursery laughing.”

Arletta looked at the portrait for some time and then she said aloud,

“You will have to help me, Mama, because it is going to be very difficult to know what I can do with my life now.”

Then she turned away to begin thinking once again that the first real task must be to find herself a chaperone.

She had a vague idea in her mind that there were Ladies of Quality in London who would present a young girl not only at Court but to the Social world.

She had no idea how one began to find one and instinctively, because she was very sensitive, she shied away from pushing herself forward or saying in so many words that she wanted to be noticed.

She also had the uncomfortable feeling that such a plan would suggest that she had the possibility of marriage in mind.

But was she likely to find a husband here in the country where she had lived for so long and where there never seemed to be any eligible bachelors, or if there were, she had never met them.

‘I don’t want to marry,’ she told herself. ‘I want to live!’

Yet she was aware that in that day and age the two terms were synonymous.

Young women were brought up to get married as quickly as possible after they left the schoolroom.

Nothing else was open to them, the only alternative being to become an old maid, caring for some ill or tiresome parent, as she had done, and then to become a useful aunt to her nephews and nieces.

As she had none, that position was obviously not open to her.

Once again she was back to asking herself the same question.

‘What can I do? What can I do?’

Then, as she asked it, and it seemed as if even the pictures on the walls were saying the same, the door opened and somebody looked in.

Arletta turned round, stared and then gave an exclamation of astonishment.

“Jane! Is it really you?”

The newcomer, who had just put her head round the door, then came into the room.

“I rang the bell, but nobody answered,” she explained. “But I thought perhaps I would find you here.”

Arletta ran towards her and kissed her.

“Dear Jane, this is such a surprise!” she enthused. “I had no idea you were at home.”

“I arrived only this afternoon,” Jane Turner replied, “and, when I heard that your father had died, I came at once to see you.”

“That is very kind of you.”

“I am so sorry,” Jane Turner remarked.

“It was the best thing that could happen,” Arletta replied. “His heart attacks grew more frequent and he was in constant terrible pain from his gout. It was only because he was so exceptionally strong that he survived as long as he did.”

“Papa told me how well you looked after him,” Jane said. “Oh, poor Arletta! It must have been dreadful. I often thought of you.”

“It was rather ghastly,” Arletta admitted, “but I am so thrilled to see you again, Jane. Why have you come home?”

A smile appeared on the rather plain face of the woman she was talking to, which for the moment made her look almost pretty.

Arletta stared at her and then gave a little cry.

“Something has happened – I know it has! Jane, what is it?”

Jane Turner drew in her breath.

“You will hardly believe it, Arletta, but I am to be married!”

“How wonderful!” Arletta exclaimed. “And to whom?”

“You will never guess,” Jane Turner replied. “It is to Simon Sutton!”

For a moment Arletta looked blank.

Then she said,

“You don’t mean – it cannot be – ?”

“Yes, it is. You remember him when he was Papa’s Curate. You know he went out to Jamaica and in eight years he has risen and risen and, because they appreciate him so much out there, he is to become a Bishop!”

“And you are to marry him!” Arletta cried. “Oh, Jane, how really wonderful!”

“I never thought – I never dreamt,” Jane went on, “that he loved me and yet, because he wrote to me almost every week and kept saying how much he missed me, I have, of course, thought about him.”

The colour came into her cheeks and she looked down shyly and Arletta put out her hand.

“Oh, Jane, it’s like a Fairy story. And he has loved you all this time.”

“Ever since he was here in Little Meldon,” Jane replied. “I knew in a way that he was unhappy when he left, but I did not dare to think that it was because of me.”

“But it was,” Arletta insisted.

“Yes. He arrived in England two days ago and told me that now he could afford to be a married man and he wants me to go back with him immediately to Jamaica and to be there when he is consecrated.”

Arletta clasped her hands together.

“It’s the most exciting thing I have ever heard. Oh, Jane, I am so happy for you and I suppose that you have now come home to be married?”

“Of course. Papa has to marry us,” Jane answered, “and, as Simon has something to do in London, he arrives tomorrow evening.”

“Dear Jane, I am so very glad that I shall be able to be at your Wedding.”

“There is no time to ask many other people,” Jane replied, “and, of course, I want you.”

She looked a little shy as she asked,

“Will you be my only bridesmaid?”

“Of course I will, Jane, and I should have been very hurt if you had not asked me.”

“It seems wrong for me to have one when I am so old. Do you realise I shall be twenty-eight in a month’s time?”

“I am sure you are just the right age to be a Bishop’s wife,” Arletta laughed.

As if she could not help it, Jane laughed as well.

Arletta had known Jane ever since she was a child. Because Jane was the Vicar’s daughter, she had not only come to play with Arletta in the Big House, but the Earl had persuaded the Vicar to teach his daughter many of the subjects that were beyond the scope of her Governess.

The Reverend Adolphus Turner was a Classics scholar and Arletta had studied history and literature with him, while the Governess kept to the more mundane subjects.

She was taught music by one teacher and art by another, who both came to their home.

Actually it was Jane, for whom it was planned that she would be a Governess who helped her with a great many other lessons.

Although there was such a difference in their ages, they had become very close friends and, if Arletta loved anyone outside her family, it was Jane.

She was happier now than she could possibly say that Jane was to be married to the man she loved.

It had always seemed to her such a waste that anyone so sweet, kind and understanding could not, because she was not particularly pretty, attract the few local young men who might have been interested in her.

That she was now to be the wife of the Anglican Bishop of Jamaica exceeded all Arletta’s hopes and excitedly she made Jane tell her exactly what had happened and what her plans were for the future.