“I wore my bridal robe,And I rivalled its whiteness;Bright gems were in my hair;How I hated their brightness!”“We Met.”—Haynes Bayly.
“I wore my bridal robe,And I rivalled its whiteness;Bright gems were in my hair;How I hated their brightness!”“We Met.”—Haynes Bayly.
“I wore my bridal robe,And I rivalled its whiteness;Bright gems were in my hair;How I hated their brightness!”“We Met.”—Haynes Bayly.
Themorrow came, and any one who could have beheld my downcast looks, and heard the sighs that came from the very bottom of my heart, would little have fancied that I was so near that interesting period of a maiden existence, which is erroneously styled the happiest moment of her life.
My mamma was good enough to say that my bridal robe fitted me admirably; remarking that, perhaps, it would have looked richer had the skirt been a trifle more full. Edwardhad presented me with a splendid Nottingham-lace veil to throw over my head on this occasion, and a superb “Berthe” to match. But in my then state of mind, I looked upon these articles as gaudy nothings, attaching a value to them merely as being the gifts of my bosom’s lord.
My mamma tried in vain to console me. She told me that I had nothing to fear about entering into life, and begged of me to summon up all my inward woman, to give me strength to go through with it. Had she not, she asked me, prevailed upon Edward to leave his old dwelling, and take a pretty little cottage for me in P—rk V—ll—ge, R—g—nt’s P—rk, so that she might always be near to me and him. And she assured me, in a gentle way, that I need not be alarmed, on account of my youthful inexperience, as she would make it a duty to superintend all my domestic arrangements until I got in the way of managing them myself; which, with my natural abilities, she fondly said, would not take me long. And she further told me that, as a start in life, she had a little surprise for me; for she had determined, that in addition to some of her best pickles and preserves, with which she intended to stock my store-room, before my return from the honeymoon, she purposed presenting me with two bottles of her celebrated cherry brandy, which she declared she would not have parted with to any one but her own flesh and blood—although her friends were always welcome to come and taste it whenever they pleased—that she alone knew the true way of making it—and that she was determined the secret should die with her. And, moreover, she said, that as, after the advice she had given me over-night, I could easily perceive how necessary it was for a young wife to have proper people about her, she would kindly relieve me of any anxiety I might feel in suiting myself with my first servant, by finding me, during my short absence from town, such a one as she, from her knowledge of these matters, would answer for proving quite a treasure. I thanked her with only a sorry smile, being at such a time unable to appreciate her goodness, for my thoughts were far—far away.
At a little after 10, the two Misses B—yl—s, whom I had selected for my bridemaids, and who are carriage people, drove up to the door in their papa’s sweet little pony phaeton. Having taken off their cloaks, and changed their bonnets forthe white chip ones they had brought with them in a band-box, they looked truly charming; for they are dear, good, showy girls, and were dressed in some elegant robes of book muslin, trimmed with peach-blossom, and carry themselves divinely.
When Edward arrived, I thought I never saw him look better. His hair had been beautifully curled, and he wore the blue coat, and the white trousers of plighted affection; and when he presented me with a charming bouquet, for the first time in my life, I felt the language of flowers.
My father had bespoken two handsome carriages for the festive day; and when we arrived at the church, I really thought, as we moved in procession along the pews, that my limbs would have given way under me, and that I should have dropped in the aisle.
Of the imposing marriage ceremony I recollect little or nothing. It was all a vague, misty dream to me. I was slightly conscious of a ring being put upon the third finger of my left hand, and of saying, quite mechanically, in a voice full of emotion, once or twice, “I will,” though I was so overcome with a sense of the step I was taking, that I had no knowledge at the time of what I was responding to. Edward, as my mother afterwards told me, bore it very well, and quite like a man. I was delighted to learn that he was observed to pay great attention to the service, and seemed to be fully aware of what he was undertaking, in so solemn a manner, to do towards me.
When we returned to my papa’s Halls to breakfast, I was a tender and affectionate wife, so that when old Mr. B—yl—s said, “Mrs. Sk—n—st—n, will you allow me the pleasure of a glass of wine with you?” and I remembered thatthatwas nowmyname, it came upon me as if some one had just fired a pistol off in my ears.
The breakfast was a sumptuous repast, and included every delicacy of the season; but I remember, I was so affected, that I could only touch part of the wing of a chicken, one jelly, some lobster salad, a custard, and some wedding-cake, which was a very expensive and rich one, being one of the very best that Partrington could make.
After my papa had proposed “bumpers, and all the honours,” and essayed a speech, which he could not proceed with forhis emotion, poor man—but which we all knew was intended to call down a blessing on myself, and (to use his own touching words) “the man who had robbed him of me”—Edward returned thanks in a beautiful speech, which he had read to me the day preceding. It was full of lovely quotations from our very best poets, and was intended to solace my poor papa and mamma for the loss of me, by assuring them that he would consider nothing on earth too good for me, and would gladly part with his last sixpence to make me happy.
Previous to leaving town that afternoon, we had some capital fun with passing some of my wedding-cake through my ring, for that sweet girl, Em—ly B—yl—s, and her angelic sister, to sleep upon.
While I changed my bridal robe, I requested my weeping mother to take care and see that a large piece of my wedding-cake was sent round to each of the better class of our friends whom we wished to have the pleasure of visiting, and to whom I had previously addressed cards and “At-homes” for that day month. And then taking a last fond look at my papa’s Halls, I was led, blushing, to the carriage by dear Edward, and we were soon on the road for Brighton, having torn ourselves away from my affectionate mamma, who gave us her blessing and some sandwiches.
I will pass over the happy moments of the first fortnight of my honeymoon. We took apartments in Rottendean, near Brighton, so that we might be able to enjoy the beauty and fashion of the town, with all the quietude of the village. Here it was that Edward cemented the love he had now built up in my heart, by the present of a work-box, with a charmingly-done picture of the extremely elegant Pavilion on the lid.
Well do I remember that precious time, when, arm-in-arm, we would wander, for whole hours together, in our buff slippers, along the golden sands, talking (alas! blind mortals) of the happiness which we thought was never to end. All was beautiful and bright, and seemed to us both like a fairy dream, until the second Saturday after we had been there; when I received a long letter from my beloved mamma, informing me that she had not forgotten her dear Caroline; and that at last, after seeing, she should say, forty servants, she had succeeded in finding the treasure she had been seeking for me—that she had arranged to give her £10 a year, and find her own teaand sugar, as she was just the respectable middle-aged woman that she should like to place with her pet, and had a ten years’ excellent character from her last situation, which had been with a clergyman in the country. She was cleanly, even tempered, an early riser, a good plain cook, and a devout Christian; she was honest, industrious, and sober; in fact, she had just taken the pledge—although, indeed, before that, she had always had a natural aversion to spirits of all kinds—that she had arranged to have the maid in my house about four days before our leaving Brighton, so that she might have it all clean, comfortable, and tidy for us against our return to town; and my dear mamma concluded her affectionate epistle by praying in her heart that her poor, dear girl might find the woman the inestimable blessing that she confidently expected and devoutly wished her to prove to me. (But more of this hereafter.)
I had read my dear mamma’s epistle to my husband, and he remarked that he was sure it was very kind of her—very kind of her, indeed, he said—to put herself to so much trouble on our behalf. Though he hurt my feelings by adding, that he thought it might contribute more to my happiness hereafter if she were to be restrained from taking quite so active an interest in our domestic affairs for the future; for, during all his experience, he had remarked that relations by marriage agreed much better the less they saw of one another. Not that he wanted altogether to estrange me from my family—Heaven forbid! he said; but he wished his darling angel (that is, myself) to undertake the management of his establishment herself—although he could not help allowing that my dear mamma was an excellent woman, and meant very well.
This cut me to the heart; for I had strange, melancholy forebodings of dissensions in store for us, of which I feared the over-anxiety of my dear mamma would be the cause.
After three weeks of continued happiness, we left the shores of honest Rottendean, and returned to hollow-hearted London, and I felt satisfied that my husband would no longer be displeased with dear mamma’s fond care, when he found what a treasure of a maid she had procured for us.
Moral reflection after writing the above.—“Laws were made,” my Edward says, “to protect people’s property;” but my opinion is, that they were made for nothing of the kind; or, if they were, that those who made them knew nothing at all about their business; or else I’m sure there wouldn’t be half the picking and stealing that there is going on every day in the lodging-houses at the sea-side. For the way in which we were robbed right and left, where we lived at Brighton (or at Rottendean, which is the same thing), and the hole thatthatstory-telling old landlady of ours used to make in our cold meat, was enough to turn a right-minded woman like myself crazy. I’m sure we must have been keeping the whole family, we must; for they not only couldn’t keep their fingers off our meat, but they went dipping them into our tea-caddy, and candle-box, and sugar-basin, so that one need have had a purse a mile long to have paid one’s way with any credit to oneself. I declare it was enough to drive any well-disposed body away from the place; and I can only say, that from all I’ve seen and suffered myself there, I can well understand King George the Fourth (who was a perfect gentleman) turning his nose up at the people, and vowing that he’d have nothing more to do with the scurvy set.
OF THE TERRIBLE GOINGS-ON OF MY FIRST MAID, AND WHOM WE ALL EXPECTED WOULD HAVE TURNED OUT SUCH A “TREASURE.”
OF THE TERRIBLE GOINGS-ON OF MY FIRST MAID, AND WHOM WE ALL EXPECTED WOULD HAVE TURNED OUT SUCH A “TREASURE.”
“In this bosom what anguish, what hope, and what fearI endure for my beautiful maid.In vain I seek pleasure to lighten my grief,Or quit the gay throng for the shade;Nor retirement nor solitude yields me relief,When I think of my beautiful maid.”Braham’s“Beautiful Maid.”
“In this bosom what anguish, what hope, and what fearI endure for my beautiful maid.In vain I seek pleasure to lighten my grief,Or quit the gay throng for the shade;Nor retirement nor solitude yields me relief,When I think of my beautiful maid.”Braham’s“Beautiful Maid.”
“In this bosom what anguish, what hope, and what fearI endure for my beautiful maid.In vain I seek pleasure to lighten my grief,Or quit the gay throng for the shade;Nor retirement nor solitude yields me relief,When I think of my beautiful maid.”Braham’s“Beautiful Maid.”
Wequitted Brighton by the stage, and had a delightful drive up as far as Tooting, where we left the coach, and stopped to rest ourselves a short time, as dear Edward was fearful lest I should over-fatigue myself by going through the entire journey at once; after which we ordered a post-chaise, and drove up to our house in great style.
As the equipage rattled up Alb—ny St—t, I could not help having a pleasing vision of the prolonged happiness which I now fancied was within arm’s reach of me, (if the courteous reader will allow me the expression.) When we got to our pretty little cottage orné, and I saw the establishment of which I was to be the future mistress, I feltsohonestly proud,sotruly gratified,socharmed with the new duties that it had pleased Providence to impose upon me—even though I was rather knocked up with our journey—that I now began to feel myself quite another thing.
It was extremely curious to see the heads of our new neighbours peeping over the blinds of their parlour windows, as our post-chaise dashed up, with lighted lamps, to our door, while the boy thundered at the knocker. I believe this trifling circumstance tickled my girlish vanity at the moment; but I’m sure my courteous readers will think the feeling very excusable, when they recollect I was as yet but a young bride.
I was greatly alarmed, and not a little surprised, to find the door answered by my dear mamma; for I was convinced that she knew her station in life too well ever to dream of doing such a thing, unless compelled by some calamity. Edward seemed to be as much annoyed as myself, and did not scruple to speak out about it; and, indeed, his feelings made him forget himself in the presence of the post-boy; for he knit his fine brow, and wondered why my dear mamma could not let the servant attend to the door. But, alas! how little did we then dream of the cause.
When all our luggage had been got into the hall, and we had dismissed the post-boy with what I’m sure was a very handsome gratuity for himself, my mamma at once broke to us the terrible news which was to welcome us home.
About three that afternoon, the good, kind soul had given herself the trouble of coming over to see that all was nice and comfortable against our arrival. She had knocked for at least a quarter of an hour, and fancying the maid might be out on an errand, she had gone a little further. But on coming back, she had found the same impossibility of making any one in the house hear. She grew extremely alarmed, though naturally far from a nervous woman, like the rest of our family. She thought the house perhaps had been stripped,and the horrid ideas that passed through her mind she told us no one could imagine. At last she determined on forcing an entrance for herself; so she borrowed a pair of steps from next door; and with extreme difficulty, (for mamma is inclined to be stout,) and almost at the peril of some of the bones in her body, got in at the parlour window.
Down in the kitchen, she found the maid lying on her back on the rug, before the fire, in a state of complete insensibility, while our best linen sheets—which mamma had given out to her the day before, in order that they might be properly aired against our return—were hanging on the horse, burnt to perfect rags, so that they could not even be cut up into glass-cloths; and it was a mercy, she said, for which we ought to go down on our bended knees, that we did not come home and find our cottage orné a mass of black, smouldering, heart-rending ruins.
The state into which this dreadful news threw both Edward and myself may be more easily imagined than described. Mamma’s lively picture of the good-for-nothing woman’s sufferings filled our hearts at the time with pity for the disreputable creature. We all thought it was a fit, and that the slut was afflicted with epilepsy; but alas! it was much worse than that; and she was, therefore, totally undeserving of all sympathy. Though we were then so wrapt up in the woman, (if I might be allowed the expression,) that we were unable to see through the minx; which fully convinces me of the truth of the popular saying—“that we are all blind mortals.”
And a nice state we found the place in, indeed—everything topsy turvy throughout the establishment—indeed, any one, to have seen it, would have said that the whole house had been turned out of windows—not even so much as a spark of fire in the parlour grate—no cloth laid, nor things on the table for tea. Indeed, had we been dying of hunger ever so, there was nothing in the house for us but discomfort and misery—nor was there a thing to welcome us but some hot water—and eventhatwe should not have had, if my dear mamma herself had not prepared it for our reception. So that—to use a figure of speech—the place really seemed as if it did not belong to us, and that we were nothing better than intruders in our own house.
I was even forced to stoop to light the fire myself; and my fair readers may well imagine my feelings when I tell themthat there was scarcely even a bundle of wood in the establishment. As soon as it was fairly alight, I gave the bellows to poor Edward, who not being, as he said, “used to that sort of thing,” was consequently in a great passion; so I left him alone to blow up the fire, while I went to see that deceitful bit of goods, with the epilepsy, as I thought, up in the front attic—for my mother had put her to bed during her fit—(pretty fit, indeed!—but more of this hereafter.)
When I got there, I found my dear mamma standing by the bed-side with a brandy-bottle, giving her some of the liquor in a dessert-spoon, with the view of bringing her back to her senses. Asking mamma how the poor thing (a deceitful baggage!) was, she told me that she had given her some spirits before, and it seemed to do her a world of good, for she had gone off to sleep afterwards. Presently, the girl opened her eyes, and from the dull, leaden expression they had, I was quite shocked; for at the time she appeared to me to be literally standing at death’s door. I shook her gently, (though if I had known then half as much as I do now, I really think I should have forgotten myself, and shaken the cat to bits,) and asked her how she felt herself now. Upon which she made an effort to speak; but the woman was no longer herself, for she had entirely lost the use of her tongue, and there was no getting anything out of her. My mamma, however, thought she would be able to understand, even if she could not speak; and told Mary that it was very wrong and wicked of her not to have said that she was subject to fits before she entered our service, and tried to learn whether they were periodical or not, but all to no purpose. So we both left her; and I remarked to mamma, as we came down stairs, that, though I should have felt myself bound to have mentioned the circumstance of her fits in her character, still the omission was very excusable in her late mistress; for it really would have been like taking the bread out of the poor creature’s mouth, which no true lady could be expected to do.
When we returned to the parlour, we found Edward with (thanks to goodness!) a nice fire, but he was so surly, (and well he might be,) at the place being so uncomfortable, that he kept banging the things about, though I did not expect he would have done as much so soon after our marriage; and I recollect at the time it struck me as being highly indecent.We described to him the state of the girl, and were much hurt (though we thought it best not to show it) at the strong want of feeling he displayed upon hearing an account of her affliction; for he was too ready to put a bad construction on her illness; and didn’t hesitate to say that he’d forfeit his head if the fits didn’t turn out to be fits of drunkenness after all, calling the girl, to our great horror, “a gin-drinking toad.” This so kindled my mamma’s wrath, that she declared she wondered how he could ever stand there and say such things; and that she should be very much astonished if his words did not rise up in judgment against him some fine day or other; for that she was never more convinced of anything in her life than that we should eventually find Mary, as she had before said, and would say again, and she did not care who heard her—a perfect treasure. Though she could not help allowing that the fits were a slight drawback, and went somewhat against the girl; still, as she could not reasonably be expected to have more than one every six weeks, and would be sure to have warning when they were coming on, why really my mamma said she could not see that there was so much for a body to put up with, after all.
Edward observed, that, considering all things, he was afraid he should have a good deal to put up with, from a certain quarter that was not a hundred miles off. On which my mamma said something that has escaped me; and Edward replied, I can’t exactly at present call to mind what. So that I felt that a storm was gathering round about my head, and that the house (if I may be permitted to use so strong an expression) would shortly be too hot to hold me. Accordingly, with my usual sagacity in such matters, I went up and kissed dear mamma, and got her to go down stairs and look after the tea, for I was anxious to separate them, as I saw they had every disposition to get together by the ears, which I was sure would give rise to a great deal of pain on both sides.
At tea, little was said by either party—and, indeed, it was a sorry meal. For my poor mamma had been thrown into such a flurry by Edward’s cruel, ungrateful treatment, that she could not for the life of her lay her hands upon the lump-sugar, and we were obliged to put up with moist, to which Edward has a horrid dislike—and Mary had forgotten to take in the milkwhile she was in her fit—and mamma had had the misfortune to cut the bread and butter with an oniony knife, which gave my husband’s stomach quite a turn; so that everything went crooked with us that evening, and we were not sorry when the time came for mamma to leave. As she was putting on her bonnet, she told me that Edward had behaved so rude to her, that he really had quite upset her, (to use a figure of speech,) and she didn’t know how she was ever to manage to get home, for she positively couldn’t say whether she was walking on her head or her heels.
When Edward and I retired for the night, the sheets which were intended for our bed having been burnt to tinder, and having no others aired, we were obliged to sleep between the blankets, which in no way allayed poor Edward’s irritation. So that, from the time we went to bed to the time we got up in the morning, he did nothing but amuse himself by fancying all sorts of uncomfortable things, and would have it that the feather bed was damp; and said that it was ten to one if my mother’s treasure (as he delighted to call her) didn’t make us both get up in the morning with churchyard coughs at least—or, more probably, with such a severe attack of the rheumatics, as we should never get over to our dying days—and which, he nearly frightened me out of my wits by declaring, he confidently expected would render us both cripples for the rest of our lives. Indeed, he actually, at one time, went so far as to jump up, and swear that he would not rest until he took the bed from under me.
I trust I acted during this severe trial as became a woman with her proper feelings about her; for, as this was the first serious difference Edward and I had had since our union, I thought it best to let him know that I was no longer the mere child that he seemed to take me for, and that I was not going to allow myself to be trodden under foot like a worm, (not I, indeed!) For I felt that, if I did not at once give him to understand to the contrary, he might be induced to presume upon my naturally retiring disposition; so I kept on sobbing as if my heart would break half the night through, and did not allow him to have any quiet until I had made him confess that he was in the wrong—and that he had carried his airs too far—and that my dear mamma, at least, had done all for the best—and that he should be very happy to see her to dinner to-morrow—and that her greatest enemy could not but say, that she meant very well.
Thus my courteous readers will see that my first serious trouble in life arose from servants; and I can assure them it took such a hold of my mind, that it made me more than once half repent of the vows of eternal love and constancy that I had made to my beloved Edward; and wish in my heart (though sincerely attached to my husband) that I was not a married woman. For at the time we really believed Mary to be subject to fits, and this made my naturally kind heart bleed with pity for the deceitful minx, so of course I could not bear to find my husband running the girl down whenever he had an opportunity. Though when my courteous readers find out, as I did, that I had a perfect viper for a maid-of-all-work, and learn that I had taken an habitual drunkard to my bosom, I am sure they will sympathize with me rather than blame me, for all I did for the creature; although, perhaps, they will hardly believe it possible that any one could have been such a fool as I was.
The next morning, Mary came to me with her eyes full of tears to apologize for her drunkenness; while I, in my natural simplicity, imagined that the cat was speaking to me on the subject of her fits. She hoped I would look over it this time, as she did not mean to get in the same state again; on which I told the toad that it was no fault of hers, as it must be plain to every rightly constituted mind, that she could have no control over herself in that respect. She said trouble had brought it upon her, and that it came over her so strong, at times, that she had no power to stand up against it; all which I told her was very natural, (as, indeed, it appeared to me then;) and I asked the creature, in my foolish innocence, if she ever took anything when she found the fit coming upon her. To which she replied, that in such a state she was ready to fly to whatever she could get at; but that her stomach was so weak, that anything strong was too much for her, and upset her directly; and that it was the reason of her leaving her last situation. Upon which, in a most simple-minded way, I told the tippling hussy that I didn’t think it much to the credit of a clergyman to have turned her away for that, and I actually was stupid enough (the reader, I’m sure, will hardly believe it) to tell her thatwhenever she felt the fit coming on, never to attempt to check it, but to let it have its due course. And that if she would come to me, I would gladly give her whatever she might take a fancy to, (and a pretty advantage she took of my offer, as the courteous reader shall shortly see.)
As soon as Edward had gone to business, I ran upstairs and put on my things, and stepped round to my dear mamma, to tell her all that had occurred, and how Edward was exceeding sorry for what he had said, and had asked me to grant him my pardon; and to prevail upon her to forget all that had passed, and to come to dinner that day. My mamma commended me for having been able to bring my husband to a proper sense of his conduct; and said, that she was not the person to bear animosity to any one, she was sure; though she could not help saying that the names he had called that poor servant girl, under her awful affliction, had given her quite a different opinion of his character, and that she was certain she should never be able to like him half so well again. However, she would try and wipe it all from her mind and begin anew, if it was only for the sake of her own sweet Caroline, (that is myself.)
After we had taken a mouthful of some of the best cold roast pork I think I ever tasted in the whole course of my life, and touched a little stout by way of luncheon, my mamma told me that she was glad that things had turned out as they had, for it had made her again determine to present Edward with the valuable old painting of her noble ancestor, F—tz-R—msb—tt—m, who is said to have come into England with the Conqueror, and which relic, after Edward’s conduct last night, she had made a vow should never belong to a man who could behave so unlike a gentleman as he did. But now as all was straight, and I was her only child, and the picture had been handed down in her family for years, and she had always looked upon me as the heir-at-law to it, she would have it brought round and put up in some part of the house where it could always be before my eyes, and be continually reminding me of my station in life, and that the noble blood of a R—msb—tt—m flowed in my veins.
When we went to look at the portrait of my noble ancestor, we could not help remarking what a fine head it was, and that any one to look at him might tell, from the likeness, thathe was related to our family. Though when I said I should wish to have it put up in the drawing-room, and observed that it would be a nice thing to have hanging there on our “At-home” day, as it would show Edward’s friends that he had not married an ordinary person, and prove to them that our family were not mere mushrooms who had never been heard of, mamma remarked that, if that was the case, it would be better—now she thought of it—to have our ancestor done up and cleaned a bit, as she said a good deal of the nobility that was in his face was lost from its being so dirty as it was; and that if he was fresh varnished and had a new frame, he would certainly form a splendid ornament for our drawing-room, on our “At-home” day. And that she knew a young man who had just started in business in the H—mpst—d R—d, who would do it so cheaply that she was sure Edward could not grumble at the expense.
My dear mamma kindly undertook to get all this done for me, though how she was ever to manage it, she said, was more than she could tell; for what with the house and the business she had more on her hands at present than she knew what to do with; and, as she truly observed, she was so full of one thing and another, just now, that she really did not know which way to turn.
I thought it best to tell mamma not to mention the subject that evening at dinner to Edward; stating that I wished it to come as a little surprise to him when the picture was brought home. For to tell the truth, I was afraid that she might get talking of her noble ancestors before him; and as I knew that Edward did not entertain the same elevated opinion of the R—msb—tt—ms as my mamma justly did, and had even once gone so far as to call our gracious William the Conqueror, and his noble knights, a set of vagabond robbers, (upon my word, he did,) I thought it would be better not to let my dear mamma have her heart again wrung by another difference with my husband.
We had a very nice plain family dinner that day—a mere simple joint; butsodelightfully cooked—done to a turn—and sent upsorespectably, that it did me good to see it; and I really thought that our toad of a Mary would turn out a blessing to us, after all. I had told my mother that she must not look for any fuss and ceremony, or expect us to treat herlike a stranger, as she was too near and dear a friend for us to put ourselves out of the way for her. Everything went offsoadmirably no one can tell—and the plates weresonice and hot—and Mary waited at tablesowell—and lookedsoclean and respectable—which really, considering she had had to cook the dinner, I was quite surprised and delighted to see. After dinner, dear Edwardwouldopen another bottle of port, and made himselfsohappy, and got to besuchgood friends with mamma. Though I really sat on thorns, (if I might be allowed the expression,) all the evening; for knowing their disposition as well as I did, I was in fear that every minute something would come on the carpet which would upset all, and make them get knocking their heads against each other again; so that when the dear soul left us, I said to myself, “I really haven’t been so happy for a long time.”
Edward was in such a good humour, that when we went to bed, I thought it a capital time to tell him about the picture, and got him to promise that he would not go on about it before mamma; for thoughhemight not care about our noble ancestors, still, as mamma’s family was her weak point, it was very natural that she should cling to the R—msb—tt—ms as fondly as she did. Besides, I told him that he had a nasty way of his own of saying what he thought—and that if he didn’t take care, he’d find he’d get into nice trouble through it some of these fine days; and I was sure that if I went speaking my mind upon every occasion, my conscience would not allow me to rest quiet in my bed.
Mary went on pretty well for a day or two, when we noticed that the creature began to get rather confused in her intellects, and to be quite beside herself, so that she scarcely seemed to know what she was about, and kept breaking everything she put her hands upon. I, in my innocence, began to fear that another fit was coming on, and I should be having the minx laid up insensible on my “At-home” day—and a nice pickle I should be in then, goodness knows. So, with my usual good nature, I asked her if she would take anything, and whether she thought a little brandy would put her straight. On which the hussy really began to see through my mistake, and to understand that I was treating her for fits instead of drunkenness; and said that she was sure I was very good, and that she would try a glass—which theminx had, and pretended that it quite took her breath away to drink it (the deceitful cat!)—and she actually had the face to come to me and beg another one that evening, saying that the first one had done her a world of good. So that there was I, really and truly encouraging the horrid wretch in the worst of vices; and, as I heard afterwards, she went about the neighbourhood, saying that it was no fault of hers, and that I took a delight in making her tipsy; and the worst of it all was, that it was on that very evening the picture came home.
Dear mamma had stepped round to tell us, that now he was fresh varnished, the dear man looked so heavenly in his new gilt frame, that she felt as if she could hug him. She was in tremendous spirits about it, and told Edward that it was an ornament that she knew she did wrong in not presenting to the British Museum, for that a descendant of the very same family had been Mayor of Norwich three times running. But Edward behaved himself like a perfect gentleman, and only said “he should hardly believe it.” A little after eight, the young man from the H—mpst—d R—d came round with the picture and the bill himself, which dear Edward (who, I regret to say, is naturally mean, being penny wise and pound foolish) said he didn’t consider quite so cheap as my mother had made out. However, when he saw the picture, he seemed to think nothing more of it, and told the young man to go and get some green cord, so that he might have our ancestor hung, as soon as possible, in the drawing-room.
When the young man returned, Edward and myself went to the top of the stairs with the candles, while that good-for-nothing creature, Mary, (whom I’m sure we none of us suspected of being in liquor at the time,) helped the young man up with the picture, and mamma went behind, so that she might take care that it wasn’t grazed against the banisters; and kept telling Mary, for goodness’ sake to mind what she was about, for that she would not have anything happen to it for all she was worth. Mary, who was in the advance, and consequently obliged to come upstairs backwards, went on very well at first, (though how she ever could have managed to do so, in the state she must have been in, is a wonder to us all.) They had nearly reached the first landing when one of the stair-rods being out, the carpet was loose, and we were horrified by seeing Mary’s feet slip from underher, while the drunken cat let go her hold of the picture, so that she might save herself from falling. But what with the liquor the toad had taken on the sly, and what with that which I had given her that afternoon, and what with coming upstairs backwards, she had lost all command over herself, so that, after making one or two vain attempts to keep her balance, we saw her, with horror, pitched head first into the middle of our noble ancestor; at the same time knocking backwards the young man from the H—mpst—d R—d; who would, I am sure, have been killed on the spot, had he not luckily broken his fall by tumbling right upon dear mamma,—who was providentially not more than half-a-dozen stairs from the bottom—and taking her legs from under her, they all three fell one a-top of another, right into the hall—amidst the screams of my mother, the crashing of the frame of our noble ancestor, and (I regret to add) the laughter of my husband. I immediately rushed to poor mamma’s assistance, confidently believing that she hadn’t a sound limb in her poor body. And when I tell my courteous readers that I found my dear parent was nearly smothered underneath the young man from the H—mpst—d R—d, (and he must have been eleven stone, if he was an ounce,) and that that slut, Mary, (who was certainly no sylph,) was right a-top of the young man, I am sure they will agree with me, that it was a perfect miracle how dear mother was ever able to bear it all as she did—for I am happy to say, she was only dreadfully bruised, and that, indeed, no one was seriously hurt by the fall but my poor noble ancestor, from whom my mother dated her descent, and who was literally broken to bits—though my poor dear mamma (as she afterwards told me) was black and blue all over for weeks. At the time, she thought little of her own sufferings, for she was chiefly concerned about the injuries her noble ancestor had sustained; and when she saw the head of her family all knocked in, as it was, her grief knew no bounds. My husband, I am ashamed to say, did not seem to be at all affected by mamma’s distresses; and in a nasty, contrary spirit, no longer grumbled about paying the money for the picture, when it was broken; and, I verily believe, looked upon the accident as a good bit of fun; though I should like to know how he would have liked it himself, the brute!
As soon as we were in the parlour, and my poor mamma had got round again, Edward observed—with a sarcastic grin, that I could almost have shaken him for, I could—“What a pity it was that that poor girl, Mary, should be so subject to fits!” On which my mother burst out, saying, “Fits, indeed! she never saw such fits. It was nothing more nor less than downright drunkenness, that it was; and how she could ever have been imposed upon as she had been, she really couldn’t say; but that it had all come upon her like a thunderbolt immediately after she saw the girl staggering up the stairs; and that, indeed, to tell the truth, she had had her suspicions before; and that on the day of our arrival from Brighton, it struck her that there was a strong smell of spirits in the house, but which, at the time, she attributed to the French polish of the new furniture.” And then I mentioned that the way in which Mary had drunk the brandy I had given her that afternoon—just as if it was so much water—struck me as looking very queer at the time; and that I was sure, that if it wasn’t for our “At-home” day being so near at hand, I should bundle the baggage into the streets directly without a moment’s warning—only half a loaf was better than no bread at all—and it would never do to be left in the house without any one to open the door on such an occasion.
Consequently, as I felt I was in the slut’s power, I thought it would be better to avoid having any words with her, but to go on treating her civilly until such time as I could turn her neck and crop out of the house.
The evening before our “At-home” day, while I was busy in the parlour with a warm flat-iron, taking the creases out of my white satin bridal robe—which had got dreadfully tumbled in the carriage going to church, and which mother had told me I ought to receive my friends in on the morrow—mamma came round to see us, (Edward was going over some of his filthy law papers,) and with her customary good nature—for she is always thinking of something for us—brought with her a darling little pet of a camphine night-lamp that she had picked up that day for a mere nothing; and which she pointed out to dear Edward would be an immense saving to us in the course of the year, as it gave the light of two rushlights, and only cost one farthing for forty-eight hours. And then the dear old soul, who has always had an excellent head for figures,entered into a very nice calculation as to how many rushlights went to the pound, and how many we burnt in the course of the year, and what the expense was; and then putting them against the expense of the camphine, she proved to Edward as clearly as ever I heard anything in all my life, that, with a very little extra, he might be able to buy me another new bonnet every year out of the difference. And then the good old body filled the lamp with some camphine she had brought in her pocket in a phial; and lighted it, just to show us how a child of ten years old might manage the thing, it was so simple; and to let us see how, when turned down, it gave the light of a rushlight, or when turned up, it was nearly equal to that of a mould candle, and certainly superior to that of a long-six. But Edward (just like a lawyer) observing that it smoked when the flame was high, thought such a circumstance might be a slight drawback to its beauty; but dear mamma said that of course no one but a maniac would ever be such an idiot as to go turning it up that height.
As soon as mother had gone, Edward retired to bed, and left me sitting up to finish my dress, and new cover my white satin shoes, which had got dreadfully soiled with the mud in going to and from the carriage on our wedding-day. And besides, I had to clean my white kid gloves, and to let them hang up all night so as to get the filthy smell of the turpentine out of them before the morning. It was long past midnight before I had finished the better part of what I wanted to do; and as I could hear Mary (who had been waiting up to clean the room overnight so that she might have nothing to do in the morning to prevent her being ready dressed long before the visitors came) knocking the things about below in a dreadful ill-humour at being kept up so late; and as it wasn’t worth while having a fresh candle put up just to do the few little odd jobs that remained, I rang the bell for Mary; and lighting mamma’s darling little pet of a camphine lamp, (drat the thing! I wish it had never come into the house,) went up stairs, taking my things with me. When I got to my room, I hung my beautiful bridal robes on the back of a chair, and put out Edward’s nice clean white trousers ready for him in the morning. I could scarcely keep my eyes open while Mary was undoing me, and was so glad to get into bed, that I quite forgot, before doingso, to turn down the camphine lamp. But just as I was dozing off, I remembered it, and told Mary, who was hanging up my things, to be sure and turn it down before she left the room; instead of which, the minx, (who I’m sure was half-fuddled at the time,) went and turned the thing the wrong way, like a stupid; so that there were both dear Edward and myself sleeping in a state of blessed innocence, while the filthy thing was smoking away as hard as it could go all night, just for all the world like the funnel of a steam-boat, and sending out soot enough to have smothered a whole regiment. As I had got all the next day upon my mind, luckily I awoke as soon as it was light in the morning; and when I turned round, and saw my dear Edward’s face an inch thick of black, I really thought at first that I was in bed with a filthy negro. So I gave him a good shaking, and woke him directly; and no sooner had he rubbed his eyes open and looked at me, than the wretch burst out laughing, and declared that I looked just like a chimney-sweep. I gave a scream, and jumped out of bed like lightning—if I might be allowed so strong an expression—and there was the whole place one mass of smuts: and the beautiful clean dimity curtains, that had not been up a week—and the white counterpane—and the toilet-covers—and the window-blinds—and the towels—and my face—and my night-cap—looking just as if they had been all washed in Indian ink; and, what nearly drove me right out of my senses—my beautiful white satin bridal robes were actually the same as if some evil-minded person had been dragging them—just for the pleasure of the thing—up and down the chimney, and positively would have induced one, at first sight, to believe that a body had been led to the altar in bombazeen. I declare the beastly sooty stuff was everywhere,—there was a shovelful, at least, in my white satin shoes—and my white gloves were like black kid both inside and out—and it had even got right up my nostrils—and I do verily believe that a quantity had gone down my throat, for I generally sleep with my mouth open. But what annoyed me so that I could hardly bear myself was, that Edward kept chuckling at all my distress, (just like a man—for of course he knewhewouldn’t have the cleaning of it.) But when I showed him the grubby state that his ducks were in, I was quite glad to see howangry it made him. And then of course it was all his mother-in-law’s fault bringing him her bothering twopenny-halfpenny lamps; and I really thought I should have been obliged to go into hysterics when I heard him say that the next time he caught my dear, respected mamma in his house, he’d pack her off with a flea in her ear!
And a pretty situation I was in, to be sure. I daren’t for the life of me open my mouth, for fear that the hussy should leave me at a moment’s notice, at such a time, when, bad as she was, it was impossible to do without her; and there were my bridal robes spoilt before my very eyes, and I didn’t know how on earth I was ever to receive my friends, as I really hadn’t a single thing to put on.