Willie was too busy to come down to Ventnor again, and I became so depressed by the relaxing air and by the sight of the many poor consumptive people I met at every turn, veritable signposts in their different stages of disease of the road I had been warned that I was on, that I decided to go nearer home. My doctor suggested Hastings, and there I went, taking my small family under the kindly escort of one of my nephews.
Willie soon came down, and, as my health improved rapidly, we stayed on for some time, making frequent visits to my Aunt "Ben" at Eltham, who was making our stay at the seaside possible. This was practically my first introduction to my aunt, as my former visits were when, as a little child, I was only allowed to sit by her side in the "tapestry room" trying to do some needlework under her supervision, and assisting her in the consumption of the luscious peaches she always had on the table. In those days I would have been wild with terror at the idea of being left alone with this aunt, who always wore the fashions of her early Victorian youth, and who would not tolerate the slightest noise in the house. I now found her of fascinating interest, and even the painful sense of "hush" in her house, the noiseless stepping of the servants and the careful seclusion of sunlight had attractions for me. My uncle, Benjamin Wood, had died very many years before, and my aunt never alluded to him. She herself had never left Eltham since his death, and had only once been in a railway train, living in complete seclusion in her fine old Georgian house, only "taking the air" in the grounds adjoining or emerging forth in her chariot to drive for an hour daily.
She lived in the intellectual world of the Greek poets, and of Addison, Swift and Racine; and there was a leisure and a scholarly atmosphere about her life that seemed to banish the hurry and turmoil of the modern world at her gate. She was extremely generous in subscribing to what she termed "Organizations for the better conduct of charitable relief," and, though of no particular religious belief, she subscribed to the various objects of local charity when asked to do so by the clergyman of the parish. The latter gentleman once made the mistake of offering to read the Scriptures to her on the occasion of an illness, and I well remember his face of consternation when she replied: "I thank you, Mr. ——, but I am still well able to read, and the Scriptures do not interest me." Yet during the many years I spent in constant companionship with her the quiet peace which reigned by her side gave me the most restful and soothing hours of my life.
After we had paid her several visits in this way she informed me that she had ascertained that I was much alone, that she was very tenderly attached to me, and would wish to provide for me and my children if I would come to live near her so that I could be her constant companion. She added that she considered that this arrangement would be more "seemly" for me, as Willie was obliged to be away from home so much.
After consultation with the (county court) judge, Gordon Whitbread, her nephew and my cousin, who always transacted her business for her, she bought a house for me at the other side of her park, and arranged to settle a regular income on me and to educate my children. In return she asked that her "Swan"—as she always called me—should be her daily companion. This I was until her death, at the age of ninety-four, about fifteen years later.
My aunt lived a life of great seclusion, and, with the exception of George Meredith (the author), and the Rev. —— Wilkinson, who each came down once a week to read to her, her oculist and great friend, Dr. Bader, and two old ladies, friends of her youth, she rarely saw anyone. Her house—"The Lodge," Eltham—was fine old Georgian, spoilt inside by the erection of mock pillars in the hall. She was very particular that no one should tread upon the highly polished floors, and, as the two large halls had only rugs laid about on the shining surface, one had either to make many "tacks" to reach the desired door or seat, or take a short cut on tiptoe and risk her "displeasure."
It was amusing to watch George Meredith on his excursion from the front door to the dressing-room at the foot of the stairs, where my aunt kept three pairs of slippers for the use of her "gentlemen readers" lest their boots should soil the carpets. To reach this little room he had—if in a good mood and conforming to his old friend's regulations—to walk straight ahead past the room, and make a detour round a pillar of (imitation) green marble and a table, back to the door. On days of rebellion against these forms and ceremonies he would hesitate for a moment just inside the door, and, with a reckless uplifting of his head, begin a hasty stride across the sacred places; a stride which became an agitated tip-toeing under the scandalized gaze of the footman. Before he began to read to my aunt the following dialogue invariably took place:—
"Now, my dear lady, I will read you something of my own."
"Indeed, my dear Mr. Meredith, I cannot comprehend your works."
"I will explain my meaning, dear Mrs. Wood."