one’s elders is even more disgusting. It seems you have not learned much at all at Miss Angstead’s, have you?”
Wretchedness at Mama’s rebuke combined with self-pitying anger overcame any caution I had. I had always been proud of my learning, and though I had made up with Sir Jeremy, his suggestion that I had not really learned my Plato still rankled. And here was Mama, once proud of my accomplishments, now saying I had learned nothing while at school! I clenched my teeth and glared at Mama. “I have learned—academics! But how do you suppose I am going to learn how to get on with anything else but books! I suppose if I had a father, I might have—”
I stopped in horror at what I was saying, for I looked at Mama’s wretched and stricken face, and remorse overcame me at my thoughtless, stupid words; how could I say such things when I knew in my very heart of hearts that whatever Mama had done was done in the best way she could and for my benefit? I clapped my hands over my mouth and turned away, saying: “I am sorry, Mama, very sorry. I did not mean to say that, it was wrong of me. I know you do what’s best for me, it’s just that—that...” I could not reveal my frustrated plans to her; indeed, I felt there was no one I could discuss them with, so I said, “I’ve felt so tired lately and irritable for no reason I can think of. I know that does not excuse me, but sometimes it overcomes me, and I am simply not aware of what I am saying. The most stupid things, too!” I looked up, about to turn around to her again, and caught sight of the door, so very slightly ajar. I could see Sir Jeremy’s profile through the doorway, and though he did not see me, I realized by his arrested expression that he had probably heard what I had said. No doubt my voice had risen as I became excited. I turned quickly back to Mama, leaning against the door so that it shut gently. My red face probably convinced her of my very real remorse, and she extended her hand to mine.
“Apology accepted,” she said, and kissed my cheek. “Perhaps it is your anemia coming back.”
I looked at her and saw that sad look again and wished I had never opened my mouth today, that I could take the words back. But of course what was done was done. I stared at my shoes and at my hands wringing each other.
“Now, now!” said Mama, smiling. “It’s not as bad as all that! Come! Let’s go back to Sir Jeremy, shall we?”
* * * *
Perhaps I was mistaken, but it seemed from then on that Sir Jeremy became more . . . well, “paternal” toward me. He seemed to take more of an interest in my studies, brought me books, admonished me on taking better care of myself, and teased me that I was growing to look just like Mama. I was not sure whether Mama noticed this or not, but it did seem that whenever Sir Jeremy took my attention from her, a look of relief flickered over her face and then was gone. I felt a little hurt but supposed that perhaps since I had been at school for most of the years past. Mama was not used to having me at home at all hours. Indeed, I believe I was rather a burden on Mama, though she would never say so or even think it. After all, it is not an easy thing for a lone woman to raise a child, and to have to deal with a cantankerous and supposedly sickly one is probably worse.
While I was not really sickly, I was certainly at least cantankerous. I was bored when I was not at my studies. A young lady lives a restricted life in London. If I wished to go to the shops, I had to have a maid or a groom go with me, though this was seldom, as we had few servants. I could not go riding in London as freely as I could in the country around Bath for the same reason, and while there were diversions scheduled for the members of Miss Angstead’s Seminary, there were few at home for me. That is not to say that Mama did not do her best to take me out to see the sights in London: she did. But our excursions were more likely than not to be made
Wretchedness at Mama’s rebuke combined with self-pitying anger overcame any caution I had. I had always been proud of my learning, and though I had made up with Sir Jeremy, his suggestion that I had not really learned my Plato still rankled. And here was Mama, once proud of my accomplishments, now saying I had learned nothing while at school! I clenched my teeth and glared at Mama. “I have learned—academics! But how do you suppose I am going to learn how to get on with anything else but books! I suppose if I had a father, I might have—”
I stopped in horror at what I was saying, for I looked at Mama’s wretched and stricken face, and remorse overcame me at my thoughtless, stupid words; how could I say such things when I knew in my very heart of hearts that whatever Mama had done was done in the best way she could and for my benefit? I clapped my hands over my mouth and turned away, saying: “I am sorry, Mama, very sorry. I did not mean to say that, it was wrong of me. I know you do what’s best for me, it’s just that—that...” I could not reveal my frustrated plans to her; indeed, I felt there was no one I could discuss them with, so I said, “I’ve felt so tired lately and irritable for no reason I can think of. I know that does not excuse me, but sometimes it overcomes me, and I am simply not aware of what I am saying. The most stupid things, too!” I looked up, about to turn around to her again, and caught sight of the door, so very slightly ajar. I could see Sir Jeremy’s profile through the doorway, and though he did not see me, I realized by his arrested expression that he had probably heard what I had said. No doubt my voice had risen as I became excited. I turned quickly back to Mama, leaning against the door so that it shut gently. My red face probably convinced her of my very real remorse, and she extended her hand to mine.
“Apology accepted,” she said, and kissed my cheek. “Perhaps it is your anemia coming back.”
I looked at her and saw that sad look again and wished I had never opened my mouth today, that I could take the words back. But of course what was done was done. I stared at my shoes and at my hands wringing each other.
“Now, now!” said Mama, smiling. “It’s not as bad as all that! Come! Let’s go back to Sir Jeremy, shall we?”
* * * *
Perhaps I was mistaken, but it seemed from then on that Sir Jeremy became more . . . well, “paternal” toward me. He seemed to take more of an interest in my studies, brought me books, admonished me on taking better care of myself, and teased me that I was growing to look just like Mama. I was not sure whether Mama noticed this or not, but it did seem that whenever Sir Jeremy took my attention from her, a look of relief flickered over her face and then was gone. I felt a little hurt but supposed that perhaps since I had been at school for most of the years past. Mama was not used to having me at home at all hours. Indeed, I believe I was rather a burden on Mama, though she would never say so or even think it. After all, it is not an easy thing for a lone woman to raise a child, and to have to deal with a cantankerous and supposedly sickly one is probably worse.
While I was not really sickly, I was certainly at least cantankerous. I was bored when I was not at my studies. A young lady lives a restricted life in London. If I wished to go to the shops, I had to have a maid or a groom go with me, though this was seldom, as we had few servants. I could not go riding in London as freely as I could in the country around Bath for the same reason, and while there were diversions scheduled for the members of Miss Angstead’s Seminary, there were few at home for me. That is not to say that Mama did not do her best to take me out to see the sights in London: she did. But our excursions were more likely than not to be made
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