My father could not resign his office without notice, and, besides,
he wished Miss Selby to have leisure for leaving her home of many
years; after which there would be a few needful repairs. The delay
was not a great grievance to any of us except little Martyn. We
were much more Cockney than almost any one is in these days of
railways. We were unusually devoid of kindred on both sides, my
father's holidays were short, I was not a very movable commodity,
and economy forbade long journeys, so that we had never gone farther
than Ramsgate, where we claimed a certain lodging-house as a sort of
right every summer.
Real country was as much unknown to us as the backwoods. My father
alone had been born and bred to village life and habits, for my
mother had spent her youth in a succession of seaport towns,
frequented by men-of-war. We heard, too, that Chantry House was
very secluded, with only a few cottages near at hand--a mile and a
half from the church and village of Earlscombe, three from the tiny
country town of Wattlesea, four from the place where the coach
passed, connecting it with the civilisation of Bath and Bristol,
from each of which places it was about half a day's distance,
according to the measures of those times. It was a sort of
banishment to people accustomed to the stream of life in London; and
though the consequence and importance derived from being raised to
the ranks of the Squirearchy were agreeable, they were a dear
purchase at the cost of being out of reach of all our friends and
acquaintances, as well as of other advantages.
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