A Little Princess, Part 2 of 15

Thanks for coming tonight. Before we get stuck in, did you know you can listen to the Sleepy Bookshelf ad-free by joining our premium feed? You'll also get exclusive bonus episodes and a seven-day free trial, so you can decide whether you like it or not. Follow the link in the show notes to learn more. In a world of noise and uncertainty, IG is the investment platform that backs you. Take a reflexive stocks-ISA, which gives you the freedom to withdraw funds anytime and replace them in the same tax year, all without losing your £20,000 tax-free allowance. And if that's not enough, pay no commission on your stock shares and ETFs when you invest with IG. IG. Trade. Invest. Progress. Your capital's at risk, other fees may apply. Tax treatment depends on individual circumstances and is subject to change. Aisha owns a bistro. She loves it, but the admin, not so much. Luckily, her Monzo Business Bank account takes some of the strain, like expensing, with real-time visibility and spend limits all managed in one app. So she's free to cook up a storm without having to make a meal of the admin. Make the switch and join over 800,000 other UK businesses already banking with us. Search Monzo Business today. Team plan starts from £25 a month. UK soul traders are limited company directors only. Teas and seas apply. Hello, it's Elizabeth. And I'm excited to share with you the newest show from Slumber Studios. It's called Sleepy History. And it's exactly what it sounds like. Intriguing stories, people, mysteries and events from history, delivered in a supremely calming atmosphere. Explore the legend of El Dorado. See what life was like for the Roman gladiators. Uncover the myths and mysteries of Stonehenge. You'll find interesting but relaxing episodes like these on Sleepy History. And the same great production quality you've come to know and love from the Sleepy Bookshelf. So check it out. And perhaps you'll have another way to get a good night's rest. Just search Sleepy History in your preferred podcast player. Good evening. And welcome to this Sleepy Bookshelf. Where we put down our worries from the day and pick up a good book. I'm your host, Elizabeth. I am so glad you chose to be here tonight. This evening we are returning to a little princess. But before that, let's focus on calming our minds and bodies. Take a few deep breaths on your own. Before finding a more natural rhythm. As you breathe, think about why you notice that breath the most. Perhaps it's as the air sweeps in through your nose. Or maybe it's the slightly warmer air sweeps out through your mouth. Or maybe it's in the rise and fall of your chest. Your ribcage gently expanding and contracting while you breathe in and out. In and out. Wherever you do notice it the most, keep your attention there. And each time your mind tries to wander, bring it back to that place. When you're ready, feel free to focus on the sound of my voice as I recap our last episode. Sarah Kru and her father were arriving at Miss Minchin's Seminary for Girls in London. After a long voyage from India where Sarah had lived till now. Her young, rich, widowed father, Captain Kru, had arranged for her to get an education as was customary. And they met with Miss Minchin, who was a tall, ugly woman as far as Sarah could see. Then the captain took Sarah back to his hotel where they were to spend the final few days together. As a wealthy, joyful young father, the captain doted on his daughter and brought her every luxury she could ever need. But her special gift was a carefully selected doll named Emily, who was to be Sarah's special friend. Even Emily was bought a bespoke wardrobe befitting a princess. And after a tearful and loving goodbye, Captain Kru left Sarah in her beautiful room at the Seminary as she locked her door, engaged at her father's disappearing cab. And that is where we pick up tonight. So just lie back and relax as I turn to the next pages of A Little Princess. Chapter 2 A French Lesson When Sarah entered the schoolroom the next morning, everybody looked at her with wide, interested eyes. By that time, every pupil from Lavigny-Herbert, who was nearly 13 and felt quite grown up, to Lottie Lee, who was only just four and the baby of the school, had heard a great deal about her. They knew very certainly that she was Miss Mention's show pupil and was considered a credit to the establishment. One or two of them had even caught a glimpse of her French maid, Mariette, who had arrived the evening before. Lavigny-Herbert had managed to pass Sarah's room when the door was open and had seen Mariette opening a box which had arrived late from some shop. It was full of petticoats with lace frills on them, frills and frills. She whispered to her friend, Jesse, as she bent over her geography. I saw her shaking them out. I heard Miss Mention say to Miss Amelia that her clothes were so grand they were ridiculous for a child. My mama says that children should be dressed simply. She has got one of those petticoats on now. I saw it when she sat down. She has silk stockings on. Whispered Jesse, bending over her geography also. And what little feet? I never saw such little feet. Ah, sniffed Lavigny-Herbert spitefully. That is the way her slippers are made. My mama says that even big feet can be made to look small if you have a clever shoemaker. I don't think she's pretty at all. Her eyes have such a quake colour. She isn't pretty as other pretty people are, said Jesse, stealing a glance across the room. But she makes you want to look at her again. She has tremendously long eyelashes. But her eyes are almost green. Sarah was sitting quietly in her seat, waiting to be told what to do. She had been placed near Miss Mention's desk. She was not abashed at all by the many pairs of eyes watching her. She was interested and looked back, quietly at the children who looked at her. She wondered what they were thinking of, and if they liked Miss Mention, and if they cared for their lessons, and if any of them had a papa at all like her own. She had had a long talk with Emily about her papa that morning. He is on the sea now, Emily, she had said. We must be very great friends to each other, and tell each other things. Emily, look at me. You have the nicest eyes I ever saw. I wish you could speak. She was a child full of imaginings and whimsical thoughts. And one of her fancies was that there would be a great deal of comfort in even pretending that Emily was alive and really heard and understood. De Mariette had dressed her in her dark blue school room frock and tied her hair with a dark blue ribbon. She went to Emily, who sat in a chair of her own and gave her a book. You can read that while I'm downstairs, she said. And seeing Mariette looking at her curiously, she spoke to her with a serious little face. What I believe about dolls, she said, is that they can do things they will not let us know about. Perhaps really Emily can read and talk and walk, but she will only do it when people are out of the room. That is her secret. You see, if people knew that dolls could do things, they would make them work. So perhaps they have promised each other to keep it a secret. If you stay in the room, Emily will just sit there and stare. But if you go out, she will begin to read perhaps, or go and look out of the window. Then if she heard either of us coming, she would just run back and jump into her chair and pretend she had been there all the time. Hm, comme elle est drôle. Mariette said to herself, and when she went downstairs, she told the head house made about it. But she had already begun to like this odd little girl, who had such an intelligent, small face and such perfect manners. She had taken care of children before who were not so polite. Sarah was a fine little person and had a gentle, appreciative way of saying, If you please, Mariette, thank you, Mariette, which was very charming. Mariette told the head house maid that she thanked her as if she was thanking a lady. Elle a l'air d'une princesse, c'est petit? She said. Indeed, she was very much pleased with her new little mistress and liked her place greatly. After Sarah had sat in her seat in the schoolroom for a few minutes, being looked at by the pupils, Miss Minchin rapped in a dignified manner upon her desk. Young ladies, she said, I wish to introduce you to your new companion. All the little girls rose in their places, and Sarah rose also. I shall expect you all to be very agreeable to Miss Crue. She has just come to us from a great distance, in fact, from India. As soon as lessons are over, you must make each other's acquaintance. The pupils bowed ceremoniously, and Sarah made a little curtsy, and then they sat down and looked at each other again. Sarah, said Miss Minchin in her schoolroom manner, come here to me. She had taken a book from the desk and was turning over its leaves. Sarah went to her politely. As your papa has engaged a French maid for you, she began. I conclude that he wishes you to make a special study of the French language. Sarah felt a little awkward. I think he engaged her, she said, because he thought I would like her, Miss Minchin. I am afraid, said Miss Minchin, with a slightly sour smile, that you have been a very spoiled little girl, and always imagine that things are done because you like them. My impression is that your papa wished you to learn French. If Sarah had been older, or less punctilious about being quite polite to people, she could have explained herself in a very few words. But as it was, she felt a flash rising on her cheeks. Miss Minchin was a very severe and imposing person, and she seemed so absolutely sure that Sarah knew nothing, whatever, of French, that she felt as if it would almost be rude to correct her. The truth was that Sarah could not remember the time when she had not seemed to know French. Her father had often spoken it to her when she had been a baby. Her mother had been a French woman, and Captain Crew had loved her language. So it happened that Sarah had always heard it and been familiar with it. I have never really learned French, but she began trying shyly to make herself clear. One of Miss Minchin's chief secret annoyances was that she did not speak French herself, and was desirous of concealing the irritating fact. She therefore had no intention of discussing the matter, and laying herself open to innocent questioning by a new little pupil. Better enough, she said with polite tartness. If you have not learned, you must begin at once. The French master, Monsieur Defache, will be here in a few minutes. Take this book and look at it until he arrives. Sarah's cheeks felt warm. She went back to her seat and opened the book. She looked at the first page with a grave face. She knew it would be rude to smile, and she was very determined not to be rude. But it was very odd to find herself expected to study a page which told her that Le Père meant the father, and La Mer meant the mother. Miss Minchin glanced toward her scrutinizingly. You look rather cross, Sarah, she said. I am sorry you do not like the idea of learning French. I am very fond of it, answered Sarah, thinking she would try again. But you must not say but when you are told to do things, said Miss Minchin. Look at your book again. And Sarah did so, and did not smile, even when she found that Le Fille meant the son, and Le Frère meant the brother. When Monsieur Defache comes, she thought, I can make him understand. Monsieur Defache arrived very shortly afterward. He was a very nice, intelligent, middle-aged Frenchman, and he looked interested when his eyes fell upon Sarah, trying politely to seem absorbed in her little book of phrases. Is this a new pupil for me, Madame? He said to Miss Minchin. I hope that is my good fortune. Her papa, Captain Crue, is very anxious that she should begin the language, but I am afraid she has a childish prejudice against it. She does not seem to wish to learn, said Miss Minchin. I am sorry of that, mademoiselle. He said kindly to Sarah. Perhaps when we begin to study together, I might show you that it is a charming tongue. Little Sarah rose in her seat. She was beginning to feel rather desperate, as if she were almost in disgrace. She looked up into Monsieur Defache's face with her big, green, grey eyes, and they were quite innocently appealing. She knew that he would understand as soon as she spoke. She began to explain quite simply in pretty and fluent French. Madame had not understood. She had not learned French exactly, not out of books, but her papa and other people had always spoken it to her, and she had read and written it, as she had read and written English. Her papa loved it, and she loved it because he did. Her dear mama, who had died when she was born, had been French. She would be glad to learn anything Monsieur would teach her, but what she had tried to explain to Madame was that she already knew the words in this book, and she held out the little book of phrases. When she began to speak, Miss Minchin started quite violently and sat, staring at her over her eyeglasses almost indignantly, until she had finished. Monsieur Defache began to smile, and his smile was one of great pleasure. To hear this pretty childish voice, speaking in his own language so simply and charmingly, made him feel almost as if he were in his native land, which in dark, foggy days in London sometimes seemed worlds away. When she had finished, he took the phrasebook from her with a look almost affectionate, and he spoke to Miss Minchin. Ah, Madame, he said, there is not much I can teach her. She has not learned French. She is French. Her accent is exquisite. She ought to have told me, exclaimed Miss Minchin, much mortified, turning to Sarah. I tried, said Sarah. I suppose I did not begin right. Miss Minchin knew she had tried, and that it had not been her fault that she was not allowed to explain. And when she saw that the pupils had been listening, and that LaVinia and Jesse were giggling behind their French grammars, she felt infuriated. Silence, young ladies. She said severely, wrapping upon the desk. Silence at once. And she began, from that minute, to feel rather a grudge against her show pupil. Chapter 3 Armangard On that first morning, when Sarah sat at Miss Minchin's side, aware that the whole schoolroom was devoting itself to observing her, she had noticed very soon one little girl, about her own age, who looked at her very hard, with a pair of light, rather dull blue eyes. She was a fat child, who did not look as if she were in the least clever, but she had a good, naturally pouting mouth. Her flaxen hair was braided in a tight pigtail, tied with a ribbon. And she had pulled this pigtail around her neck, and was biting the end of the ribbon, resting her elbows on the desk, as she stared, wonderingly at the new pupil. When Monsieur Dufage began to speak to Sarah, she looked a little frightened. And when Sarah stepped forward, and looking at him with the innocent, appealing eyes, answered him without any warning in French, the fat little girl gave a startled jump, and grew quite red in her awed amazement. Having wept, hopeless tears for weeks in efforts to remember that Le Maire meant the mother, and Le Paire the father. When one spoke sensible English, it was almost too much for her suddenly to find herself, listening to a child her own age, who seemed not only quite familiar with these words, but apparently knew any number of others, and could mix them up with verbs as if they were mere trifles. She stared so hard, and bit the ribbon on her pigtails so fast that she attracted the attention of Miss Minchon, who, feeling extremely cross at the moment, immediately pounced upon her. Miss St John, she exclaimed severely, What do you mean by such conduct? Remove your elbows. Take your ribbon out of your mouth. Sit up at once. Upon which Miss St John gave another jump, and when Le Vigne and Jessie tittered, she became redder than ever. So red indeed, that she almost looked as if tears were coming into her poor, dull, childish eyes. And Sarah saw her, and was so sorry for her that she began rather to like her, and want to be her friend. It was a way of hers, always to want to spring into any fray in which someone was made uncomfortable, or unhappy. If Sarah had been a boy and lived a few centuries ago, her father used to say, She would have gone about the country with her sword drawn, rescuing and defending everyone in distress. She always wants to fight when she sees people in trouble. So she took rather a fancy to fat, slow little Miss St John, and kept glancing toward her through the morning. She saw that lessons were no easy matter to her, and that there was no danger of her ever being spoiled, by being treated as a show pupil. Her French lesson was a pathetic thing. Her pronunciation made even Monsieur Defage smile in spite of himself. And Le Vigne and Jessie, and the more fortunate girls, either giggled or looked at her in wondering disdain. But Sarah did not laugh. She tried to look as if she did not hear when Miss St John called Le Bon Pain, Le Bon Pang. She had a fine, hot little temper of her own, and it made her feel rather savage when she heard the titters, and saw the poor, stupid, distressed child's face. It isn't funny really, she said between her teeth as she bent over her book. They ought not to love. When lessons were over, and the pupils gathered together in groups to talk, Sarah looked for Miss St John, and finding her bundled, rather disconciledly in a window seat, she walked over to her and spoke. She only said the kind of thing little girls always say to each other, by way of beginning in acquaintance. But there was something friendly about Sarah, and people always felt it. What is your name? She said. To explain Miss St John's amazement, one must recall that a new pupil is, for a short time, a somewhat uncertain thing. And of this new pupil, the entire school had talked the night before, until it fell asleep, quite exhausted by excitement and contradictory stories. A new pupil, with a carriage and a pony and a maid, and a voyage from India to discuss, was not an ordinary acquaintance. My name's Ermengard St John, she answered. Mine is Sarah Crue, said Sarah. Yours is very pretty. It sounds like a storybook. Do you like it? fluttered Ermengard. I like yours. Miss St John's chief trouble in life was that she had a clever father. Sometimes this seemed to her a dreadful calamity. If you have a father who knows everything, who speaks seven or eight languages, and has thousands of volumes, which he has apparently learnt by heart, he frequently expects you to be familiar with the contents of your lesson books at least. And it is not improbable that he will feel you ought to be able to remember a few incidents of history, and to write a French exercise. Ermengard was a severe trial to Mr St John. He could not understand how a child of his could be a notably and unmistakably dull creature, who never shone in anything. Good heavens, he had said more than once, as he stared at her. There are times when I think she is as stupid as her Aunt Eliza. If her Aunt Eliza had been slow to learn, and quick to forget a thing entirely when she had learnt it, Ermengard was strikingly like her. She was the monumental dunce of the school, and it could not be denied. She must be made to learn, her father said to Miss Mention. Consequently, Ermengard spent the greater part of her life in disgrace or in tears. She learned things, and forgot them, or if she remembered them, she did not understand them. So it was natural that, having made Sarah's acquaintance, she should sit and stare at her with profound admiration. You can speak French, can't you? She said respectively. Sarah got onto the window seat, which was a big, deep one, and tucked up her feet, sat with her hands clasped around her knees. I can speak it, because I have heard it all my life, she answered. You could speak it if you had always heard it. Oh no, I couldn't, said Ermengard. I could never speak it. Why? inquired Sarah, curiously. Ermengard shook her head so that the pigtail wobbled. You heard me just now, she said. I'm always like that. I can't say the words. They're so queer. She paused a moment, and then added with a touch of awe in her voice. You are clever, aren't you? Sarah looked out of the window into the dingy square, where the sparrows were hopping and twittering on the wet, iron railings, and the sooty branches of the trees. She reflected a few moments. She had heard it, said very often, that she was clever. And she wondered if she was. And if she was, how it had happened. I don't know, she said. I can't tell. Then, seeing a mournful look on the round, chubby face, she gave a little laugh and changed the subject. Would you like to see Emily? She inquired. Who is Emily? Ermengard asked, just as Miss Minchin had done. Come up to my room and see. Said Sarah, holding out her hand. They jumped down from the window seat together and went upstairs. Is it true? Ermengard whispered as they went through the hall. Is it true that you have a playroom all to yourself? Yes, Sarah answered. Papa asked Miss Minchin to let me have one because, well, it was because when I play I make up stories and tell them to myself, and I don't like people to hear me, it spoils it if I think people listen. They had reached the passage leading to Sarah's room by this time, and Ermengard stopped short, staring, and quite losing her breath. Are you make up stories? She gasped. Can you do that? As well as speak French. Can you? Sarah looked at her in simple surprise. By anyone can make up things, she said. Have you never tried? She put her hand, warningly, on Ermengard's. Let us go very quietly to the door, she whispered. And then I will open it quite suddenly, perhaps we may catch her. She was half-laughing, but there was a touch of mysterious hope in her eyes, which fascinated Ermengard, though she had not the remotest idea what it meant, or whom it was she wanted to catch, or why she wanted to catch her. Whatsoever she meant, Ermengard was sure it was something delightfully exciting. So, quite thrilled with the expectation, she followed her on tiptoe along the passage. They made not the least noise, until they reached the door. Then Sarah suddenly turned the handle and threw it wide open. Its opening revealed the room, quite neat and quiet, a fire gently burning in the grate, and a wonderful doll sitting in a chair by it, apparently reading a book. Oh, she got back to her seat before we could see her. Sarah explained, of course they always do, they're as quick as lightning. Ermengard looked from her, to the doll, and back again. Can she walk? Walk? She asked breathlessly. Yes, answered Sarah. At least I believe she can. At least I pretend I believe she can, and that makes it seem as if it were true. Have you never pretended things? No, said Ermengard. Never. I... Tell me about it. She was so bewitched by this odd new companion, that she actually stared at Sarah, instead of at Emily, notwithstanding that Emily was the most attractive doll person she had ever seen. Let us sit down, said Sarah, and I will tell you, it's so easy that when you begin you can't stop, and you just go on and on doing it always, and it's beautiful. Emily, you must listen. This is Ermengard's Saint John, Emily. Ermengard? This is Emily. Would you like to hold her? Oh, may I? Said Ermengard. May I freely? Oh, she's beautiful. And Emily was put into her arms. Never in her dull, short life had Miss Saint John dreamed of such an hour as the one she spent with the queer new people before they heard the lunch bell ring, and were obliged to go downstairs. Sarah sat upon the hearth rug and told her strange things. She sat rather huddled up, and her green eyes shone, and her cheeks flushed. She told stories of the voyage, and stories of India, but what fascinated Ermengard the most was her fancy about the dolls who walked and talked, and who could do anything they chose when the human beings were out of the room, but who must keep their powers a secret, and so flew back to their places, like lightning when people returned to the room. We couldn't do it, said Sarah seriously. You see, it's a kind of magic. Once, when she was relating the story of the search for Emily, Ermengard saw her face suddenly change. A cloud seemed to pass over it, and put out the light in her shining eyes. She drew her breath in so sharply that it made a funny, sad little sound, and then she shut her lips and held them tightly closed, as if she was determined either to do or not to do something. Ermengard had an idea that if she had been like any other little girl, she might have suddenly burst out sobbing and crying, but she did not. Have you a... a pain, Ermengard ventured? Yes, Sarah answered after a moment's silence, as it is not in my body. Then she added something in a low voice, which she tried to keep quite steady, and it was this. Do you love your father more than anything else in the whole world? Ermengard's mouth fell open a little. She knew that it would be far from behaving like a respectable child at a select seminary to say that it had never occurred to her that you could love your father, that you would do anything desperate to avoid being left alone in his society for ten minutes. She was indeed greatly embarrassed. I... I scarcely ever see him, she stammered. He is always in the library, reading things. I love mine more than all the world ten times over, Sarah said. That is what my pain is. He has gone away. She put her head quietly down on her little huddled up knees and sat very still for a few minutes. She is going to cry out loud, thought Ermengard fearfully. But she did not. Her short, black locks tumbled about her ears and she sat still. Then she spoke without lifting her head. I promised him I would bear it and I will. You have to bear things. Think what soldiers bear. Papa was a soldier. If there was a war he would have to bear marching and thirstiness and perhaps deep wounds. And he would never say a word, not one word. Ermengard could only gaze at her, but she felt that she was beginning to adore her. She was so wonderful and different from anyone else. Presently she lifted her face and shook back her black locks with a queer little smile. If I go on talking and talking, she said and telling you things about pretending I shall bear it better. You don't forget, but you bear it better. Ermengard did not know why a lump came into her throat and her eyes felt as if tears were in them. Lavigne and Jesse are best friends. She said rather huskily. I wish we could be best friends. Would you have me for yours? You're clever and I'm the stupidest child in the school, but I... I do so like you. I'm glad of that. Said Sarah. It makes you thankful when you are liked. Yes. We will be friends. And I'll tell you what, a sudden gleam came lighting her face. I can help you with your French lessons.