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No. 20, Caroline Terrace was a somewhat exceptional house, in that it had nothing but the cliffs and the meadows beyond it, and white posts and chains to prevent the donkey-boys galloping past it as they pleased, and also in the person of its owner, Miss Charlotte Cripps. Miss Cripps was no Venus, but a formidable old lady, rather like her pug-dog Sam, with bright, black beady eyes and an uncompromising mouth. Candour was Miss Cripps’s principal characteristic, and a candour that flowered upon a stem of sardonic shrewdness. Much of Caroline Terrace lived in awe of Miss Cripps’s tongue, and of the observant and sparkling intelligence behind it. Miss Cripps might march into the Marine Library and declare in her deep contralto: ‘I want Malthus on population,’ a controversial work that was considered rather shocking by married gentlewomen, but such latitude was just Cripps.

There was very little that Miss Charlotte did not see and digest, for she was a very observant old lady, and life was as good as fiction. Moreover, No. 20 had a peculiar little room built over its massive, out-jutting porch, like a priest’s chamber, but not in Gothic. Miss Cripps would sit in a high-backed chair, and command through its three windows the Terrace, the cliffs, and the sea. Caroline Terrace might have been a living library from whose shelves many odd volumes could be taken down and studied.

Miss Cripps was a wealthy old lady with a reputation for carefulness. Being what she was she refused to be either exploited or imposed upon, but her coachman had been with her for twenty-three years, and her indoor staff was equally static. Miss Cripps loved good food, and was wise and generous in her understanding of other domestic tummies. Her butcher’s bill was on the lavish side, and her servants sleek and rosy.

From her spy chamber Miss Charlotte observed many comings and goings, and human happenings that were not without significance. Her candid yet benign cynicism was impartial. She could classify her subjects and group them into Yes’s and No’s, the positive and the negative, according to her liking. Captain Bullard, Major Miller, and the Gages were particularly likeable; the Merrimans a little less so, the Lardners stale fish, the Pankridges more than stale fish. Dr. Rollinson was in a different category, being the beloved physician. The Rev. Nicholas Parbury she regarded as a braying ass.

Her interest at the moment was concentrated upon the Pankridge family, and the Pankridge governess. Mr. Pankridge amused her, a pompous joke in strapped trousers. Clarissa moved her to mordant disrelish. She called her a Pink Pig in a Poke. As for Albert and Victoria, Miss Cripps’s fingers tingled with a passion to smack. Nasty little creatures, and their mother in miniature. As for the governess, Miss Charlotte saw her as a pretty and patient creature who suffered in secret from the Pankridge vulgarity.

To the intelligent this lack of spite against a pretty face on the part of an ugly old woman might have been incomprehensible, but Miss Cripps would have confessed with a twinkle that she had never felt competitive in the world of beauty.

‘My dear, my face was never my fortune, and I have no regrets.’ For, strange as it might seem, Miss Cripps had a feeling for beauty in pictures, precious stones, choice china, sleek furniture, and pleasant faces. She preferred a flower garden to a dung-pit, and the garden at the back of No. 20 was famous for its flowers, and roses in particular.

‘I have never been a rose, my dear, not even a cabbage-rose, but I like ’em.’

So, Isabella, quite unaware of it, had become for the moment the centre-piece of Miss Cripps’s picture. Miss Charlotte observed, and she inferred, and she sympathized. Certain incidents in the daily life of the Pankridge governess were seen by No. 20.

There was that morning when Albert and Victoria fell into a squabble outside No. 19. Albert pulled Victoria’s hair, and Victoria tried to scratch him. Miss Luce, taking Albert by the collar, was well and promptly kicked on a shapely shin. Miss Cripps opened a window.

‘Come here, young man.’

Albert pulled a face at her.

‘Yes,’ said Miss Charlotte, ‘you are a very ugly boy, and pulling faces makes you uglier.’

‘I’m not ugly. You are.’

‘My dear, I know it, but you don’t seem to know that your little face is as ugly as your manners.’

And strange to say Albert boo-hooed.

‘I’ll tell my mother.’

‘Splendid,’ said Miss Cripps, ‘go home at once and tell her.’

Isabella, looking up at that funny old pug-face topped by a white lace cap, smiled and responded with a little curtsy. Her ankle was hurting her, for the dear boy’s boot had caught the bone, but she took Albert by the hand and led the children back to No. 12A, feeling that Caroline Terrace must consider her a dreadful failure.

Miss Cripps was to observe other developments. Mr. George Travers appeared to have formed a habit of strolling along the Terrace with lingering leisureliness. Did he cast interested glances at No. 12A? He did. Now Miss Cripps had no high opinion of Handsome George, and no particular liking for him. Mr. Travers was the nephew of Mr. Jeremy Baxter, ex-wine-merchant, who had built the new white house where the incipient High Street met the fields, and he had put Mr. George into his London business. His nephew drove down once a fortnight in a smart curricle with a blood horse between the shafts, to spend a week-end with his uncle. Mr. George was handsome as far as his mouth, but the lower part of his face was weak and capricious. Moreover, he was too full of manners and was capable of buckish impertinence, and Miss Cripps did not like impertinent young men. George was a gadfly. And was George interested in the Pankridge’s pretty governess? Possibly.

Miss Cripps and Captain Bullard were very good friends, for Captain Bullard enjoyed the spice and flavour of Miss Charlotte’s conversation. Sometimes they sat on a seat together in the holly walk and were unashamedly scandalous, and this particular seat commanded a glimpse of the Terrace, for a gardener with original ideas had cut a round window in the holly hedge. Miss Cripps called it her peep-hole. It so happened that she and the Captain were seated here when Miss Luce came forth with the children for their morning walk, and Mr. Travers, who was taking a fortnight’s holiday, strolled along as a handsome coincidence in a blue coat and nankeen trousers. Miss Cripps nudged Captain Bullard’s elbow. Handsome George was smiling at the children. He chucked Victoria under the chin.

‘Hallo, my pretty.’

Then, with an apologetic charm he lifted his hat to Miss Luce.

‘Excuse me. I’m afraid I am rather fond of children. Yes, please excuse me.’

Victoria was ogling this nice and decorative gentleman, and Albert too was taken with Mr. Travers. Victoria offered a hand, while sucking the first finger of the other hand.

‘We’re going for a walk.’

‘So am I, my pretty.’

Victoria cooed.

‘Let’s walk with you.’

The invitation was opportune. Again, Mr. Travers raised his hat.

‘May I?’

Miss Luce smiled at him.

The two on the seat exchanged glances.

‘Enter—the villain,’ said Miss Cripps, more prophetically than she knew.

Had Handsome George been accused of villainy his weak mouth might have fallen open. He—a villain? Oh, no, sir; no, madam! He was just an amorous male with much experience of the erotic act, and if a pretty girl chose to share his satisfaction, what of it? Handsome George had gone to bed with sundry serving-wenches and ladies of the town. Moreover, he possessed a reassuring smile, manners, and some subtlety in the art of seduction.

Miss Luce, the children, and Mr. Travers wandered along the cliffs, and Mr. Travers held each child by the hand. He had surrendered his gold-topped cane to Albert. He made playful conversation, with challenging glances at Isabella. Albert and Victoria were smitten, and on their best behaviour, and for such mercies Miss Luce was grateful.

‘I have heard you play the piano. I adore Chopin.’

‘What’s that,’ said Victoria, ‘shopping?’

‘No, music, my dear.’

They dawdled, and Mr. Travers expatiated on the view. Why not sit and enjoy it? He seated himself on the grass, and took Victoria into his lap and tickled her. Ecstatic squirmings and giggles. Albert was twirling the hero’s cane. Miss Luce, after a moment’s hesitation, sat down and spread her skirts.

‘See me walk,’ said Albert.

He strutted, flourishing the cane like a swaggering drum-major. Victoria pulled at Mr. Travers’s cravat.

‘Go on tickling me.’

‘You forward young woman.’

He tickled her, and cast playful and appreciative glances at Isabella.

So, the scene was set for the gossips and the malicious, and the Misses Lardner, out for exercise, and walking three abreast, happened upon this pretty picture: Mr. Travers hatless and reclining upon one elbow and telling two children a fairy story, while a demure maiden listened. The Misses Lardner went by head in air, especially so Miss Caroline, who had hopes of making Mr. Travers her own. Handsome George did not see them, or hear the disapproving rustle of their skirts, but Miss Luce had seen them, and kept her head averted.

‘I thought so,’ said Miss Faith, ‘that young woman is sly.’

Miss Helen agreed with her; Miss Caroline was significantly silent.

‘Poor Mr. Travers. Such a simple young man. I hope he is not serious.’

Miss Luce, cast for the part of the designing female, watched the three graces dwindle into the distance. Mr. Travers was finishing his story, and it was a most moral story, fit for childish ears. The Prince was betrothed to Cinderella.

‘Did they get married?’ asked Victoria.

‘Of course they did, my dear. The hero and the heroine always get married.’

He gave Isabella a suggestive smile, and Miss Luce sat with clasped hands, her lashes lowered. She was rather taken with Mr. Travers. Almost he was the Prince of the Fairy Tale.

Albert supplied the anticlimax.

‘I know what happened afterwards.’

‘Do you, my lad?’

‘Yes, lots of babies.’

Mr. Travers let out a pleasant laugh, and fancied that Miss Luce blushed. Assuredly the precocity of Albert was disturbing to so sensitive a creature, and Handsome George was intrigued. It might be great fun to cause the pretty governess much more serious blushes.

Mrs. Lardner heard of the affair from her eldest daughter, and Mrs. Lardner was a lady who had run to fat, both physically and mentally. Comfortably lazy and fond of food, she reposed like a cat on a cushion, and suffered her somewhat distinguished husband and her dominant daughters to treat her like a large infant. Mary Lardner had married at nineteen, and borne seven children, four of whom had died in infancy, and having been married so young she was puzzled by the prevarication of her daughters. The Lardner girls did not attract, perhaps because they resembled their gaunt and formidable father more than they did their Polly Peachum of a mother. Mary had been golden-curled, fresh-coloured, and saucy.

Yet, her daughters did—on occasions—use their mother as a receptacle for confidences. She was like a large basket that accepted anything and everything, for Mary Lardner was a good listener, since listening entailed no effort. It was Faith who described the scene on the cliff; her indignation was not wholly disinterested.

‘I am sure it was quite a shock to poor Caroline to see that girl ogling Mr. Travers.’

‘And Mr. Travers liking it?’

‘Men are just—awful,’ said Miss Faith.

Mary accepted the awfulness of man. Maybe she was a little disappointed, for three dormant daughters about the house could be something of an infliction. She had hoped that Caroline and Mr. Travers—— Well, yes, and yet there was a streak of naughtiness in fat Mrs. Mary. These daughters of hers were such superior young women; they patronized her; they talked down at her.

‘Really, Mother, so-and-so isn’t pronounced like that.’

Maybe Mrs. Mary allowed herself secret chuckles. She had married, but Faith, Hope, and Charity had failed to fascinate mere man.

Mr. Ludovic Lardner, Q.C., received the information in bed. In his dry way he was very fond of Mary; she was comfortable to sleep with, and never lectured him. Nor did she fidget or snore, or wake him with cold feet. She wore a pretty lace cap at night, decorated with pink or blue ribbons, and Mr. Lardner found her more sympathetic than his daughters.

Confound it, why did not the girls marry?

Mr. Lardner wore a night-cap with a red tassel, less dignified than a barrister’s wig, but even in bed Mr. Lardner’s dignity was impeccable.

‘What’s this about Caroline, my dear?’

‘I had hoped that she and George Travers were making a match of it.’

Ludovic had no great liking for Handsome George.

‘Well, aren’t they? I am not so sure that it would be—advisable.’

‘But he will come in for his uncle’s money.’

‘And squander it—most probably. I rather fancy young Travers is a dissolute fellow.’

‘Well, what I was going to say was, Ludovic, George Travers seems to be making up to the Pankridge’s governess.’

‘Indeed. So much the worse for him.’

‘She’s rather pretty, isn’t she?’

Mr. Lardner rubbed his chin.

‘My dear, that girl puzzles me.’

‘Does she, Ludovic? How?’

‘I feel I have seen her before—somewhere, but I can’t place her.’

‘Perhaps it was in court?’

‘By Jove, my dear, that may be it. I’ll try and remember.’