A Lady of England 35

A Lady of England 35

Caps were a trouble, and she was most grateful to any one who made her

a present of a cap. She could not make nice ones for herself, and she

disliked the style of bought caps.

 

One little story of middle life days at No. 3 illustrates her

indifference to what she wore. A friend was staying in the house, to go

to a wedding; and when the time came her bonnet had not arrived. Old

Mrs. Tucker, knowing that Charlotte possessed a new bonnet, and knowing

also that there was no fear of vexing Charlotte by the act, lent this

new bonnet to the friend, to be worn at the wedding. Charlotte was then

absent. But meeting the friend, either at the wedding or afterwards,

she noticed the bonnet, failed to recognise her own property, and most

innocently begged to apologise for remarking what a particularly pretty

bonnet it was!

 

She had unconsciously a good deal of manner, and used certain gestures,

which either were natural, or through long habit had become a part of

herself. One trick of manner was that of clasping her hands, as an

__EXPRESSION__ of certain feelings; also her head was apt very often to be

slightly on one side. Seeing a young girl, upon Sunday, busily engaged in

copying music, Charlotte Tucker sat down and looked earnestly, with her

head a little on one side. ‘People have different ideas about occupations

for Sunday,’ she remarked at length. ‘I, for instance, would _not_ copy

music on a Sunday.’ The hint, pleasantly given, was at once gracefully

taken, and the music was put aside.

 

Another time this same young girl had been confessing herself very much

of a coward, and regretting the fact. ‘Oh, never mind,’ was Charlotte

Tucker’s consoling reply. ‘Some day, when there is real danger, you’ll

flash out!’ Perhaps she was thinking of the scene in one of her own

little books, when a timid young governess confronts an escaped panther.

 

Once a young girl, at table, being vexed by words said in depreciation

of a near relative, showed her feelings very decisively. A. L. O. E.

afterwards put her arms round the girl, and said, ‘_Quite_ right, my

dear!’

 

Again, she had a mode of crossing her hands upon her chest, with a

meditative air. Many recall this attitude as peculiarly characteristic of

her. If she were thinking deeply, her hands would instinctively take that

position.

 

She was very warm-hearted, and, as one has said, liked ‘to make you happy

and pleased with yourself.’ Ever eager to see the best in everybody, she

wore rose-coloured spectacles which now and then would lead her into

thinking of people much better than they deserved, and ‘disillusionment’

had to be gone through. Always endeavouring to see the best, she often

saw more than the best; and small harm if she did. At least she ensured

thus the making of mistakes on the right side, instead of on the wrong.

The common tendency is so very much the other way. The romantic side of

Charlotte’s nature would interfere with her judgment, and the impulsive

first view would be erroneous. When she had had time for calm thought

she generally worked her way to a sensible view of a question. But the

tendency to over-estimation of others continued through life, and was

perhaps especially to be marked in her Indian Missionary work.

 

In her religious opinions she was a warm Churchwoman, belonging to the

‘Evangelical’ school of thought. As she grew older, however, she became

more and more large-hearted towards those from whom she differed on minor

points, more and more ready to hold out a kind hand of friendship on all

sides. This side of her appeared more distinctly, and developed more

markedly, in India, than in her secluded English home.

 

Both at No. 3, and in her brother’s house, she was wont to read aloud

her own stories to her young nephews and nieces, for the sake of their

‘criticisms,’ and perhaps quite as much for the sake of amusing them.

Some of the then children, now grown up, recall those readings with

pleasure.

 

Life at Binfield was quiet and regular. Charlotte kept up her habit of

early rising; and from eight o’clock till half-past eight each morning

she would take her ‘devotional’ walk in the garden,--hands folded on

chest, head up, step firm and dignified. The impression left by her

‘dignity’ is strong, singularly so, when considered side by side with a

step so springy that some describe it as even ‘jerky.’

 

Mornings were mainly given up to writing in her own room; and little was

seen of her, as a general rule, between breakfast and luncheon. In the

afternoon she was always ready for callers; and if not needed for them or

aught else, she would go and visit the poor. On these rounds she commonly

carried with her the conventional ‘bag,’ full of painted texts and tracts.

 

Evenings were devoted to sociable enjoyments; frequently to music and

dancing. Charlotte was an adept at playing dance-music for her nephews

and nieces; and at Binfield she also danced a great deal with her brother

and the children. It does not seem that she had lost any of her old

light-footedness, whether or not she had had practice during some years

past. Sir Roger de Coverley, the Lancers, and the Minuet were great

favourites. When the Gavotte began, the children stopped, for they could

not spring high enough; but Charlotte was able to make the most wonderful

springs. This does not look as though her spirit were yet broken by all

that she had gone through.

 

Besides playing for the children, she would plan games for them, and

would superintend charades; and when they grew older she would read

Shakespeare with them, often knitting busily all the while as she read.

Singing too had a share in these sociable evenings. She still steadily

refrained from going out to parties at other people’s houses; but she

never failed to be present at any party in their own house, not only

making her appearance, but contributing her utmost to the entertainment

of guests.

 

Her village work included visiting of the poor, and also, for a while,

a class of big boys in the night-school. With the boys she was not

successful. They were very troublesome and naughty, and she could not

get hold of them at all. This failure is curious, in contrast with her

after-success among the Native boys in India, those ‘dear brown boys,’

as she often called them. Western and Eastern boys differ considerably,

however; and no doubt the explanation resides in this fact. Also, an

English ploughboy requires different treatment from a high-caste Indian;

but she was ‘friends’ with boys of all castes there.

 

In a letter to Mrs. Hamilton, written from Binfield, she says: ‘The

Curate is already a comfort to me personally, for he has taken my

night-class off my hands. I have no scruple in letting him do so, for

I believe it is far better for the boys. They were too much for poor

old Char. I had seventeen last night, and felt my inefficiency.’ And in

another letter, soon after: ‘We had a talk about the proposed Sunday

School. I asked not to have boys. My feeling is that I am too old for

them.’

 

She was not too old, many years later, for Batala boys; but plainly she

had not the requisite gifts for managing or winning rough English village

lads.

 

A few recollections, jotted down by three of her nieces, may close this

chapter:--

 

 

I.

 

‘In 1869 she came to her house near Sutton; but that sorrowful

year to her did not leave much impression upon me, probably

because she was so little with us, and so much with her sister

who died in our house. I remember her next in the summer of

1870, when my sister was born, coming into the nursery to

announce the fact, and afterwards showing us the baby, assuring

us that she was “as fragile as egg-shells.” She played the organ

in our little country church, and visited the poor,--on one

occasion going out at night to administer a mustard plaster to

one poor woman, who thought herself dying, and sent for Miss

Tucker....

 

‘As we grew older she would help us with our charades and games,

planning wonderful card games herself, and ornamenting them with

brush and stencil. It was she who introduced us to Shakespeare,

making me love him as no one else ever could, and making us read

him in parts.... On Sunday afternoons she would take us up to

her room, in order that my Mother might rest in peace from the

children; and there we always spent a delightful time, looking

over her dressing-case with its treasures, and listening to

the histories of each trinket and curiosity, or messing with

her paints. I do not remember that we ever felt ourselves to

be in the way in that happy room. It was during this time that

she wrote _The Haunted House_, which thrilled me with so much

horror, that it was not until years after that I learnt there

was a spiritual meaning underlying the tale.

 

‘She was never ill, but always felt the cold extremely in

winter, though she did not complain much. One day I came down

to breakfast, exclaiming, “How beautiful the snow is!”--when

she told me how pleased she was that I could say so, instead of

saying, “How _cold_ it is!” When I was ill in the year 1872, she

often came to see me, quite disregarding the infection of my

throat; she would play her guitar to me, or, as I grew better,

would patiently guide my little fingers to the right places on

the strings. She made up a pretty letter in rhyme, and sent it

in a stamped envelope to amuse me. I do not remember her ever

talking to me on religious subjects; but her untiring energy and

gentle patience made much impression on me....

 

‘My aunt would never give way to us little ones when she was

convinced that we were wrong; and I well remember a prolonged

struggle between her and my baby-sister, who was left in her

charge one day.... My aunt regarded the sin of drunkenness with

the greatest horror; she rarely mentions it in her books, and

generally, where it is touched upon, she writes with the deepest

pathos, as in _The Great Impostor_. She would only talk of

brandy by its French name, and considered it dangerous to take

Tincture of Rhubarb, on account of the spirit it contains....

 

‘My aunt would never have expressed disapproval of others, as

many of the younger generation do, who are of her own way of

thinking. Where she did not approve, she was usually silent....

 

‘But stern as she was by nature, her intense love--the love of a

strong nature--made her gentle to the weaknesses of others. She

could not sympathise often with the weak, but she could pity and

love. Long years of home-discipline gave humility, self-control,

and gentleness.’