Odds and ends

by B. M. Croker

There were various bazaars, where Miss A. Fleude served on committees, and assisted at stalls, carried dolls for raffles, dipped in bran-pies, and was gay, vivacious, and useful, and pretended to enjoy herself! Local ladies, when comparing notes, said:

“That Miss Fleude at Battsbridge isn’t a bad sort of person—I shall ask her to help me at my rummage sale.”

But even at the rummage sales poor Annie failed to find a likely suitor! And yet poor Annie was not plain: tall, flat-backed, with rather a long face, thick brown hair, fine brown eyes, a passable nose, and beautiful white teeth. Sometimes she would stare at herself in her little spotted mirror, with a drawer beneath it, and shake her head at her reflection, and say:

“Oh, you wretched, blighted sort of creature! Whatever were you born for, I should like to know? Have you ever had one really happy day to look back upon—one splendid, dazzling hour? And yet you are not ugly, you are not an idiot, you have thirty pounds a year—and more to come. But what is the good of it all? No one wants you—you are like a thing in prison, and the best that could happen to you would be to have a nice, easy, painless sort of illness—and to die!”

As she thus wished for her own demise, tears would rise into her eyes and trickle down her face; then she would shake her fist at her reflection, and say:

“Annie, you must buck up! When things come to the worst, they mend. I’ll subscribe to the library, I’ll buy a bicycle, and I’ll stick up for myself more than I do; everyone imposes on me because I am so good-natured. I’m called ‘Gentle Annie.’ I mend Mrs. Brandon’s lace—yes, and her stockings—I go messages for the Finches, and I teach the Jones’ child music. I take the smallest piece of cake, the weakest cup of tea—but I’m not going to be good-natured and gentle any more, but fierce and aggressive, and fighting, and I’ll just see how that will answer!”

But these good resolutions were generally of short duration—her courage evaporated within an hour; she had arranged her aunt’s knitting, shrieked through the ear-trumpet till she was hoarse, undertook other people’s distasteful tasks, and was just as obedient, “gentle,” and good-natured as ever.

At last cruel Fortune remembered her captive, the unfortunate woman, who never had a gleam of sun in her life, who had no one to love and to care for—for who could care for Mrs. Pyzer? a passionate, selfish, and greedy old beldame—a woman whose life was passing away, as if she were a stone at the bottom of a disused well.

Light and hope came to Annie through the misfortune of another. Mrs. Brandon, who had been becoming more and more near-sighted, had recently consulted a specialist, who announced “cataract on both eyes.” This was a terrible verdict to a woman so fond of reading, so active in her garden, and such an indefatigable correspondent. However, after the first shock, she pulled herself together, and seriously considered the situation. She would be obliged to employ a companion and secretary—what a bore to have a strange woman (who would probably be odious) with her continually day after day, and she becoming blinder and blinder, and falling by degrees into that other woman’s power. A stranger would read her letters, would see her accounts, examine her bank-book, and would probably require a handsome salary. Mrs. Brandon began to look through a list of her connections. There was Constance Talbot, a woman of a certain age, who would no doubt be glad of a temporary home; but she would never stand the dulness of the place, and always be wanting to run about the country, to lunch, and bridge. Then there was her widowed niece, Mrs. Forrest; but she had such an awful tongue, and was a most dangerous gossip. No, no, Sissie Forrest would never do. Suddenly an idea dawned upon her! Why should she not make use of good-natured Annie Fleude, who had ample time on her hands, a pleasant voice, and wrote a good hand? She need not pay her a penny—on the contrary, Annie would look upon the employment as an honour, and a favour; she would be only too thankful for a few hours to escape from that odious, deaf old woman.

Mrs. Brandon in appearance was tall, commanding, and arrogant, with a high aquiline nose and piercing black eyes. In character she was hard, determined and ambitious; her manner to her inferiors was uncertain. One day she would be confidential, and even sympathetic, another distant, and disagreeable. It was no secret that she had a handsome fortune (twelve hundred a year) when as an heiress who was “getting on,” she had given her hand to the Rector of Froom, and resignedly settled herself to enact the rôle of parson’s wife. The Rector had survived ten years, and died, leaving his widow a well-to-do matron, with one son, who had now been in India for a considerable time.