The Undesirable Governess — Story, Setting & Ideas

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In Category - Historical Psychological Social Fiction

Authors: Crawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion), 1854-1909, Mills, Arthur Wallis, 1878-1940 [Illustrator] Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2020 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Governesses -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Families -- Fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 35,164

Reading time 153 min

Text sections 5

The Undesirable Governess — Story, Setting & Ideas can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 35,164 words, 2 hr 33 min estimated reading time, and 5 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 17.9 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Governesses -- Fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #62317

Crawford's 1910 novel uses clipped dialogue and narrative asides to chart a governess's calculated transformation from undesirable to indispensable, while the Follitt family's moral timidity and Lady Jane's sharp authority create a tense domestic comedy of manners.

Editorial Edition Score 4.7/5

★★★★★ ★★★★★

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg62317

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say that he let those two----” Lady Jane was unable to express her feelings.

“Oh, yes. As soon as I got home I went to see about it, for I supposed you wouldn’t be pleased. They had locked the poor devil up in the storeroom of the garage, and he couldn’t get out. It’s really time something was done.”

“But didn’t you try to stop them?” asked Lady Jane. “Why didn’t you get in and bring them home yourself?”

“They bolted as soon as they saw us,” answered Claude, “and a pony sixteen years old is no match for a new motor. When I last saw them they were going round Thorley’s at about twenty-five miles an hour.”

“How long ago was that?” asked Lady Jane, for to tell the truth her anger was mingled with some anxiety.

“About three o’clock,” answered Claude.

Colonel Follitt rose. “We had better go and look for them at once,” he said gravely.

But at that moment the subjects of his uneasiness walked in together, pink and white, smoothed and neat, and smiling innocently in a way that would have done credit to a dachshund that had just eaten all the cake on the table when nobody was looking.

They were a pretty pair, about fourteen and fifteen, the one fair, the other dark, with a fresh complexion. In the dead

silence they stood quietly beside the tea-table, apparently waiting for their mother to fill their cups.

“Do you mind telling us where you’ve been?” she inquired, in a tone that boded no good.

The two girls looked at each other and then looked at her. “We’ve been on the moor,” they said together, with a sweet smile.

“So I gathered from what Claude has just told us.”

Lady Jane looked from Gwendolen to Evelyn, and then at Gwendolen again. She had always found it hard to face the air of mild innocence they put on after doing something particularly outrageous.

“Oh, well, since Claude has told you all about it, of course you know. I hope you don’t mind very much.”

“Raddles says the motor’s all right, and that it’s a very good test, because if it will stand that it will stand anything.”

This reassuring statement was vouchsafed by Evelyn, who was the elder sister and the fair one, and, if anything, the calmer of the two. Both had the sweetest possible way of speaking, and seemed quite surprised that their doings should not be thought quite normal.

“It was awfully low-down of you to go and tell, all the same,” Gwendolen observed, smiling at Claude.

“I thought it rather natural,” he answered, “as it seemed quite probable that you had broken your necks.”

“You deserved to, I must say,” said Lady Jane tartly, “though I’m glad you didn’t. I shall send you both to a boarding-school to-morrow.”

But this appalling threat had been used too often to produce anything more than an excess of meek submissiveness. The delinquents at once assumed the air and bearing of young martyrs, took their cups quietly, and sat down side by side on a little sofa.

“I’ll tell you what, you two,” said the Colonel: “I won’t have any one fishing with worms in my trout streams.”

“Why? Is it any harm?” asked Evelyn, apparently surprised.

“Harm!” cried Jocelyn. “It’s poaching, it’s spoiling the fishing outright, and it’s against the law in the close season--that’s all.”

“We didn’t know,” said Gwendolen.

“And you’d better not ride Schoolboy without my leave,” put in Jocelyn.

“Nor take Charley’s Aunt out of her box without asking me,” added Claude.

“Nor borrow my best gun to pot rooks with,” said the Colonel.

“Nor dare to go near any of the motors, and especially not the new Mercèdes,” enjoined Lady Jane very severely.

But by-and-by, when she was dressing for dinner, and had reached the stage of having her hair done, she looked through the evening paper, as she usually did during that tedious process, and she found in the column of advertisements the one she had last inserted, and she read it over.

GOVERNESS WANTED, to take charge of two girls of 14 and 15 respectively; family residing in Yorkshire and London. Must have first-rate degree and references. Charm of manner, symmetry of form, and brilliancy of conversation especially not desired, as husband and three grown-up sons much at home.--Apply by letter to J. F., P.O. Hanton, Yorks.

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The novel opens not with the governess but with a marital standoff over tea. Colonel Follitt's mild 'By-the-bye' and Lady Jane's 'armed neutrality' establish a household where every syllable carries weight. Crawford's narrator immediately undercuts the Colonel's military career by noting he 'was a mild man' who preferred feminine society—a trait his wife finds a 'serious grievance.' This early tension between surface decorum and private irritation sets the pattern for the entire work.

The excerpts reveal a story told through brisk, often ironic narration that shifts between characters' perspectives. The governess Ellen is introduced not through description but through her strategic thinking: she plans to 'redden my nose and go lame again' to maintain her undesirable status. The narrative voice moves fluidly from the Colonel's tea-stirring to Ellen's calculated self-presentation, creating a layered comedy of social performance.

Dialogue as Dueling

Crawford's dialogue is a weapon of indirection. The opening exchange between Colonel and Lady Jane Follitt is a masterclass in marital sparring: his single 'Oh' is parsed as an accusation, her retort 'I know very well what you meant' reveals a long history of unspoken grievances. The narrator steps in to clarify that the Colonel 'took it sweet, with cream'—a detail that deflates his military gravitas while underscoring his domestic passivity.

Later, when Ellen and Lionel discuss her departure, the conversation becomes a dance of evasion. Lionel's repeated questions—'Which would you rather do?'—expose his 'moral timidity,' a trait the narrator explicitly links to the Follitt family. Ellen's reply, 'I should like you to make up my mind for me,' is both a romantic gambit and a tactical retreat. Crawford lets the subtext do the work: the reader senses the proposal before Lionel voices it.

The Narrator's Knowing Asides

Crawford's narrator frequently breaks the fourth wall to comment on character psychology, often with dry humor. When describing the Follitts' moral courage, the narrator observes that 'people with noble qualities are sometimes very hard to live with' and that 'superior individuals who have no moral timidity rarely hesitate to show us what poor creatures we really are.' This generalization frames the family's flaws as endearing rather than contemptible.

Similarly, the narrator notes that Lady Jane's 'genuine affection was tempered by a wholesome dread'—a phrase that encapsulates the family dynamics. These asides create a conspiratorial tone, inviting the reader to share in the narrator's amused detachment. They also serve to pace the story, slowing down moments of tension to allow for reflection, then accelerating back into action.

Pacing Through Repetition and Variation

Crawford controls narrative speed by repeating key phrases with slight variations. The word 'undesirable' recurs as a motif: Ellen is initially 'undesirable,' then 'ceased to be undesirable,' and the comedy hinges on her maintaining that status. This repetition creates a rhythmic structure, like a musical theme.

Scenes alternate between rapid-fire dialogue and extended narrative commentary. The tea-table opening is brisk, with short paragraphs and clipped lines. In contrast, the later scene on the moorland road unfolds slowly, with long paragraphs describing the setting—'the rock by the moorland road'—and the characters' internal deliberations. Crawford uses physical details (the trout pool, the knoll) to anchor these reflective pauses, then jolts the pace with a decisive line like 'We must be married in June.'

Readers will find that Crawford's novel rewards attention to its verbal textures: the way a single word like 'oh' can carry a chapter's worth of marital history, or how a narrator's aside can transform a domestic squabble into a commentary on human nature. The excerpts suggest a work that is both a comedy of manners and a study in strategic self-presentation. Pay close attention to what characters do not say—the silences, the half-finished sentences—for they often speak louder than the dialogue itself.

Reading about Crawford’s governess, I remembered my own first days in a strange household, that quiet arithmetic of usefulness. The Undesirable Governess made me think of the patient way we reshape ourselves for approval. The Little French Girl — A Reader’s Guide held that same soft ache of belonging, a feeling I’d nearly forgotten until now.