Chapter II
Young as I was this relation of my nurse made me weep very much; it brought to my memory things which I had long thought must have been dreams. I well remembered my father's picture; I had seen my mother weep over it, press it to her lips, and address it by the name of her dear Frederick. I earnestly entreated the nurse to take me to the clergyman's, that I might once more have the pleasure of seeing it. She told me to have patience till Sunday, and that when service was over she would speak to him about it. I submitted to this delay without a murmur, and the following Sunday, when service was over, as he was walking through the churchyard, nurse went up to him and told him my request.
'Ah,' said he, looking at the little troop of children that followed the nurse, and immediately fixing his eyes upon me, 'I suppose this is the little lady. What is your name, my dear?'
'Lady Anne, sir,' replied I, curtseying very low. I must here observe that I did not know that lady was a title, but thought it was as much a part of my name as Anne.
'What, still Lady Anne?' said he. 'You are determined not to lose your title. Well, my little lady, come home with me and I will show you your father's picture.'
We then followed the clergyman to his house. The children were told to stay in the garden, with strict orders not to touch anything, and nurse and I were permitted the honour of entering the study. Mr. Sanders then, opening the drawer of a cabinet, took out the miniature portrait of a young and handsome gentleman dressed in regimentals. I no sooner beheld it than a thousand recollections seemed to rush upon my mind. I caught it from his hand, pressed it to my lips, and bursting into a flood of tears, exclaimed:
'It is my father's picture. My own, my dear father. Oh, if I could but see him! Where is he gone to? Do you know where he is gone to?'
'Be calm, my dear child,' said the good man, taking me in his arms. 'We do not know where your father is, or we would write to him. If you could tell us his name, we might find him out. Do you not remember any name they used to call your father?'
'They used to call father my lord; and mother my lady, and they called me Lady Anne,' said I.
'Ah! that is the old story, we know it already,' replied the clergyman with a sigh; 'but who, my dear, was the earl? Can you not recollect his name? Try if you cannot remember.'
'I do not know his name,' replied I, 'but he came one day and was very angry, and made mother cry, and then she fell on the floor and I screamed, and then the Earl was more angry and stamped, and I screamed with all my might, and the Earl rang the bell and went away in a great passion, and then Sally—yes, it was Sally—came to mother.'
'Where was your father, then, my dear?'
'I do not know, father was gone, and I have never seen him since.'
The good clergyman asked me many more questions, to try if he could discover who my friends were; but, as I unfortunately could not tell either my own name, or that of any of the great people who had visited us, his enquiries were fruitless, and he closed the conversation by observing, 'that it was a great pity I had not been taught my own name and address.'
[Lady Anne was then taken to an orphan home, where she was treated very harshly by Mrs. Dawson, the matron. Great fun was made of her grand name.]
At last a man and his wife, who had come down from London on a visit to a relation of theirs in the town, having heard of me, came to the school to make their inquiries. I was accordingly ordered to stand up, that they might satisfy their curiosity with gazing at me, while Mrs. Dawson began to boast of all the good qualities I possessed, and some to which I had no claim.
'She is a very delicate looking child,' said the woman from London; 'she looks more like a gentleman's daughter than a parish girl.'
'She is straight, and tall of her age, ma'am,' replied Mrs. Dawson, 'and that gives her a genteelish look; but I assure you she is as strong as a little horse. She will wash and scour with any girl of her age; and, as for her needle, there is not a girl in the school can work as well. Show your work, Lady Anne.'
'Lady Anne!' repeated the Londoner, as she took my work into her hand, 'that is a strange name. What do you call her so for?'
Mrs. Dawson ran over my story to her as briefly as she could. The two Londoners found it very diverting, and laughed heartily, while the tears stood in my eyes as I thought of my dear parents, one in the grave, and the other I might never see again.
'Well, wife,' said the man, when he had laughed till he was weary, 'suppose we take this young lady on trial for a month; the good woman speaks of her very well; we can but see what she can do, and, if we find her strong enough for our place, it will be a rare piece of luck for us to have an earl's daughter for our servant. What say you, aye or nay?'
'I have no objection to try her,' replied the wife. 'She sews very well, and that is the greatest object with us.'
'Very well, then,' returned the husband. 'Let us away to the overseers, and settle with them about taking her upon trial, for I will not have her as an apprentice till we know what she can do.'
They then went away, and, in about two hours, the one that I called the good-natured overseer came to tell Mrs. Dawson to have me in readiness to go to London on the morning after the morrow with my new master and mistress.
'And I hope, child,' said he, addressing me, 'that you will do all you can to please them, for I give you my word for it, that if you are sent back to us we shall send you to the Bridewell, where you will be kept to hard labour, and be whipped every day; so now you know what you have to trust to.'
I assured him very sincerely that I would do to the utmost of my power to please my master and mistress; and then I very humbly entreated his permission to allow me to go the next day to pay a farewell visit to Mr. Sanders and my nurse, Jenkins.
'Yes, child, you shall go. And mind, Dawson, that you let her go early, that she may find Mr. Sanders at home, for he made me promise that we would not send her away without first letting her call upon him. Good-bye, child, there is a penny for you to spend, and if you are a good girl you shall have a shilling for yourself when you are bound apprentice.'
I curtsied, thanked him, and renewed my promises of good behaviour. He then went away, and Mrs. Dawson told me to sit down to my work, for that too much time had been lost in talking.