The Turn of the Screw | Page 6

respectable person-- till her
death, the great awkwardness of which had, precisely, left no
alternative but the school for little Miles. Mrs. Grose, since then, in the
way of manners and things, had done as she could for Flora; and there
were, further, a cook, a housemaid, a dairywoman, an old pony, an old
groom, and an old gardener, all likewise thoroughly respectable.
So far had Douglas presented his picture when someone put a question.

"And what did the former governess die of?--of so much
respectability?"
Our friend's answer was prompt. "That will come out. I don't
anticipate."
"Excuse me--I thought that was just what you ARE doing."
"In her successor's place," I suggested, "I should have wished to learn if
the office brought with it--"
"Necessary danger to life?" Douglas completed my thought. "She did
wish to learn, and she did learn. You shall hear tomorrow what she
learned. Meanwhile, of course, the prospect struck her as slightly grim.
She was young, untried, nervous: it was a vision of serious duties and
little company, of really great loneliness. She hesitated--took a couple
of days to consult and consider. But the salary offered much exceeded
her modest measure, and on a second interview she faced the music,
she engaged." And Douglas, with this, made a pause that, for the
benefit of the company, moved me to throw in--
"The moral of which was of course the seduction exercised by the
splendid young man. She succumbed to it."
He got up and, as he had done the night before, went to the fire, gave a
stir to a log with his foot, then stood a moment with his back to us.
"She saw him only twice."
"Yes, but that's just the beauty of her passion."
A little to my surprise, on this, Douglas turned round to me. "It WAS
the beauty of it. There were others," he went on, "who hadn't
succumbed. He told her frankly all his difficulty-- that for several
applicants the conditions had been prohibitive. They were, somehow,
simply afraid. It sounded dull--it sounded strange; and all the more so
because of his main condition."
"Which was--?"
"That she should never trouble him--but never, never: neither appeal
nor complain nor write about anything; only meet all questions herself,
receive all moneys from his solicitor, take the whole thing over and let
him alone. She promised to do this, and she mentioned to me that when,
for a moment, disburdened, delighted, he held her hand, thanking her
for the sacrifice, she already felt rewarded."
"But was that all her reward?" one of the ladies asked.
"She never saw him again."

"Oh!" said the lady; which, as our friend immediately left us again, was
the only other word of importance contributed to the subject till, the
next night, by the corner of the hearth, in the best chair, he opened the
faded red cover of a thin old-fashioned gilt-edged album. The whole
thing took indeed more nights than one, but on the first occasion the
same lady put another question. "What is your title?"
"I haven't one."
"Oh, I have!" I said. But Douglas, without heeding me, had begun to
read with a fine clearness that was like a rendering to the ear of the
beauty of his author's hand.

I
I remember the whole beginning as a succession of flights and drops, a
little seesaw of the right throbs and the wrong. After rising, in town, to
meet his appeal, I had at all events a couple of very bad days-- found
myself doubtful again, felt indeed sure I had made a mistake. In this
state of mind I spent the long hours of bumping, swinging coach that
carried me to the stopping place at which I was to be met by a vehicle
from the house. This convenience, I was told, had been ordered, and I
found, toward the close of the June afternoon, a commodious fly in
waiting for me. Driving at that hour, on a lovely day, through a country
to which the summer sweetness seemed to offer me a friendly welcome,
my fortitude mounted afresh and, as we turned into the avenue,
encountered a reprieve that was probably but a proof of the point to
which it had sunk. I suppose I had expected, or had dreaded, something
so melancholy that what greeted me was a good surprise. I remember as
a most pleasant impression the broad, clear front, its open windows and
fresh curtains and the pair of maids looking out; I remember the lawn
and the bright flowers and the crunch of my wheels on the gravel and
the clustered treetops over which the rooks circled and cawed in the
golden sky. The scene had a greatness that made it a different affair
from