WELCOMELITTLE STRANGER.
WELCOMELITTLE STRANGER.
This, of course, was fine nuts to crack for Mr. Edward; who must go cutting his stupid jokes upon a subject which as I told him at the time, I thought would be much better left alone. But there was no stopping him; and he wanted to send out for a pennyworth of baby-pins, and put ansto the stranger—saying that the Misses B—yl—s’s had sent it to me only half-finished.
On the 22nd of March, 1841, the following advertisement appeared in theTimesand theMorning Post:—“On the 20th instant, at Duvernay Villa, P—rk V—ll—ges, R—g—nt’s P—rk, the lady of Edward Sk—n—st—n, Esq., of a daughter.” And quite early on the morning of the day mentioned in the advertisement, anybody passing our house might have seen my dear mother tying up our knocker with a white kid glove.
My baby was the loveliest tiddy ickle sing of a ducks-o’-diamonds that I think I ever saw in all my life—and, thank Heaven! all its little limbs were straight, and it hadn’t a single blemish upon it—if, indeed, I except some strange marks it had on one side of its beautiful little neck, and which I told nurse I was as certain as certain could be was a letter and some figures; for I could make out a perfect F, and a 4 anda 2, and when I cast it up in my own mind, I remembered this was exactly what that impudent, big-whiskered monkey of a policeman, who had frightened me so by winking at me, had got printed on the collar of his coat. At first, I was rather vexed that it wasn’t a boy; for, to tell the truth, I had set my heart upon having one. When, however, I came to turn it over in my mind, I wasn’t at all sorry that it was a girl, for she would be such a nice companion for me when she grew up, and, of course, would take all the trouble of the house off my hands. Besides, I do think boys are such Turks, and so difficult for a woman to manage, so that, as it was a mere toss-up between the two, I do think, if I had had a choice in the matter, I should have cried “woman” after all.
I wish any one could only have seen my dear, dear mother—I can assure them it really was a treat worth living for—sitting by the fireside, with my little unconscious angel lying in her lap, and pulling down its sweet little nose, so as to seduce it into symmetry. She told me the first duty a mother owed to her infant was to pay proper attention to its nose, as really, at that tender age, it was as plastic as putty, and could be drawn out just like so much india-rubber; indeed, Nature, she might say, seemed to have kindly placed the child’s nose in its mother’s hands, and left it for her to say whether the cherub should be blessed with an aquiline, or cursed with a snub. I had to thank herself, she said, for the shape of mine; for when I was born, she really had fears that it would take after my father, and his was a bottle; so that it was only by never neglecting my nasal organ for an instant, and devoting every spare minute she had to its growth and formation, that she had been able to rescue it from the strong likeness it had, at first, to my father’s. And she begged of me to carry this maxim with me to my grave—“That noses might be grown to any shape, like cucumbers; and that it was only for the mother to decide whether the infant nasal gherkin should be allowed to run wild, and twist itself into a ‘turn up,’ or should, by the process of cultivation, be forced to grow straight, and elongate itself into a Grecian.” And then the dear, good body informed me that, touching the dear cherub’s eyes, I should find they would require a great deal of looking after—indeed, quite as much as the nose; for all children naturally squinted,and she thought nothing on earth looked so dreadful and vulgar as to see a pair of eyes wanting to go different ways, for all the world like two perverse greyhounds coupled together; and she was convinced that goggle-eyes and swivel-eyes, and, in fact, every other variety of eye but the right, merely arose from bad nursing. Consequently, I ought to be very careful not to allow any nurse with even so much as a cast to enter my service, until my little dear had learnt to look straight before it. And, above all, I was to be very particular, for some time to come, never to permit my little petsy wetsy to look over its head, for fear its eyes should become fixed in that uncomfortable position, and I should have my poor little girl walking about with them always turned up like a methodist preacher. Then she begged of me, as I loved my baby, never to allow it to yawn without putting my hand under its chin, to prevent it dropping its jaw, or I should have the misery of seeing my eldest daughter going through the world with its mouth always open, like a carriage dog, or one of the French toy nut-crackers. Moreover, she said she hoped I would be very particular with the little darling’s little wee legs; for if I should be imprudent enough to rub them downwards, as sure as her name was B—ff—n, I should have the pleasure of seeing them in after life with no more calf to them than an ostrich’s; whereas, if I took care to rub them upwards every morning, then, when she grew up, I should have the satisfaction of beholding the dear with as fine a pair of legs as an opera-dancer, or, she might say, a fashionable footman. So that, by the time dear mother had finished her instruction, I plainly saw, from what she said, that Nature had not done half its duty to babies, but had sent them into the world with their joints as imperfectly put together as cheap furniture, and that if the greatest care wasn’t taken with them, they would be as certain to warp in all kinds of ways as any of the other articles which are puffed off as such temptations to persons about to marry.
My poor Edward was nearly out of his wits with joy at having such a beautiful child; and the stupid ninny would go giving Mrs. Toosypegs half a sovereign when she declared that it was the very image of its papa—and so the little angel was. But my gentleman must go cutting his stupid jokes again, and saying that as he missed a silverspoon down-stairs, he should like to know whether the child had been born with one in its mouth—which set Mrs. Toosypegs off laughing so violently, that she seemed to think that she might as well work out her half sovereign that way as any other. So, upon that, Mr. Edward went on, and said, that as it hadn’t been born with a silver spoon, perhaps it had with a Britannia metal one, which, he said, would be quite as lucky, as every one knew that it was a very good substitute for silver.
I was much gratified to hear a gentle ring at the street-door bell, which, I felt sure, was some one come to inquire after my health; and as Miss Susan was out, I told Mrs. Toosypegs to tell whoever it was that I had got a very fine little girl, and that we were going on as well as could be expected. When she came up again, she told me that it was a life guardsman, with tremendous big black mustachios, who said he was quite delighted to hear it; so I at once saw that it was none other than that dreadful amorous ogre of a Ned Twist, who was making such violent cupboard love to my maid; and I asked Mrs. Toosypegs whether she had ever noticed any strange goings on in the kitchen, and requested her, as a favour, to keep a sharp eye upon Susan. I felt satisfied, that now she had got me safe in bed, she would be carrying on fine games, and I should be having half the barracks at supper in my kitchen every night; so I begged of Mrs. Toosypegs, whenever she went down-stairs, to make a point of looking in the coal-cellar, saying that was the cage in which she stowed her Robbing Red-breasts—as Edward very cleverly calls them.
Mrs. Yapp, I regret to say, made herself very disagreeable throughout the whole business, and would have it that mother was conspiring against my daughter and myself to kill us. The fact was, they were both at daggers drawn about the way in which my baby and myself ought to be treated; for one was for bathing the little darling in cold water, and the other in warm; and the one for bandaging it up like a little mummy, and the other letting its beautiful little limbs be perfectly free. One would have it that the soothing syrup was really what it professed to be, a blessing to mothers, while the other declared that it was nothing more than a poison to children. As for myself, one said I couldnever get round if I didn’t have plenty of air, and the other vowed that I should never get up again if the room wasn’t kept as close as possible. Dear mother assured me that I could only gain strength by taking as much solid food as I could manage, while Mrs. Yapp persisted in telling me, that in my state I ought to take nothing but slops—at least, if I wanted to get well; and they used to pester the poor doctor so, whenever he came, that at last he took offence, and said, that as he saw that I was in very good hands, he thought his services were no longer required. Somehow or other, Mrs. Toosypegs seemed to agree with everybody; so that I could not tell what on earth to do. Every day at dinner there was a regular fight at my bedside; for mother would insist upon my just taking a mouthful of the lean of a mutton-chop that she had cooked for me, while Mrs. Yapp declared that it would be the death of me, and would stand begging and praying of me to try a spoonful or two of her nice gruel—so, between the two, I couldn’t get either any rest or food, for they neither would allow me to touch what the other recommended. And I do verily believe, if it hadn’t been for Mrs. Toosypegs giving me, on the sly, whatever I took a fancy to, I must, positively and truly, have been starved to death.
Directly the little cherub of a baby, too, used to cry, they both raced after each other up-stairs. One said it had got the wind, and the other the stomach-ache; and mother prescribed a spoonful of dill-water with some sugar, while the other stood out for as much rhubarb and magnesia as would lie on a sixpence.
All this delighted Edward extremely to hear, and he said that things were going on beautifully; and they were both of them getting as miserable and discontented as he could possibly have wished. At the same time, he desired Mrs. Toosypegs never to allow the ladies to come bothering me, and on no account to pay any attention to what either of them said; for the wicked rogue told me, that, in order to bring about the explosion he so devoutly prayed for, he always made it a point of siding with both of them. Accordingly, whenever Mrs. Yapp came complaining to him, he invariably agreed with her that Mrs. B—ff—n knew nothing about the treatment of infants, and he should take it as a favour if she would keep dear mother from interfering with me as much as possible;—while, onthe other hand, whenever Mrs. B—ff—n asked him what she had better do, he always told her Mrs. Yapp was quite ignorant of the management of children, and that, of course, he wished my dear mother to prevent her from coming into the bedroom at all. So he supposed it was this that made them both so determined on pursuing their own plans; and though he assured me it was far from comfortable work sleeping upon that wretched sofa in the back drawing-room, with nothing but cloaks to cover him, still, he said, he shouldn’t murmur, if it was stuffed with broken bottles instead of horse-hair, so long as his two mothers-in-law slept together, and had an opportunity of carrying on their quarrels in bed.
So matters went on; until, I declare to goodness, I got nearly as sick and tired of my own dear mother as I was worn out of all patience with the mother of my husband’s poor first wife; and I began to wish to be quit of them both nearly as much as Edward did. I verily believe their continual quarrellings, and bickerings, and squabblings, threw me back frightfully; and, indeed, Mrs. Toosypegs told me, that, with the very fine constitution I have of my own, I ought to have been out of bed and about at least ten days earlier than I was, (it was more than a month before I got thoroughly down-stairs.) To my great horror, just before Mrs. Toosypegs went, she brought me word that the small-pox had broken out among the soldiers in Albany-street Barracks; and as I knew that those soldierswouldcome bothering after our pretty Susan, of course I saw clear enough that they would be bringing it into the house in their red jackets, and I should have my little girl catching it—poor innocent dear—and perhaps growing up with her face full of holes, and looking for all the world like a sponge. So I determined pretty quickly on getting nurse to go with me to the establishment in Bloomsbury-square, and get the sweet cherub vaccinated.
Accordingly, on the morrow, we jumped into a cab, and went down to the place. When we got there, I may safely say I never saw such a beautiful sight in all my life. If there was one dear little baby, I’m sure there must have been at least a hundred; and I really felt as if I could have taken them all in my arms, and hugged them every one—though,I must say, that the noise they made was almost too much for me, for what with the cries of some fifty of them, and the prattling of the mothers to the rest—I declare it was for all the world like the parrot-room at the Zoological Gardens. Whenmyturn came for going in with my child to the doctor, I told Mrs. Toosypegs she must take the child, for I knew I should never be able to bear the sight of that unfeeling wretch of a doctor poking his great big lancet into its pretty little arms; and that I should go making a stupid of myself, and fainting right off at the first drop of blood I saw. So in went nurse, while I stopped outside, and, to drive the thoughts out of my mind, I began playing with a very nice respectable child that was next to me. While I was amusing myself in this way, a poor woman, seeing my arms empty, came up to me, and asked me if I would be kind enough to hold her child for a few minutes, while she stepped out to get a glass of water, for the heat of the place was really too much for her. Of course, I was very glad to oblige her, like a stupid, and, taking her baby, I said, “Certainly, with a great deal of pleasure”—though, if I had known what was going to happen then, I most assuredly would have seen her further first.
When nurse came back with my own poor dear little thing crying its beautiful blue eyes out, I told her to sit down with it just for a moment, while I went and looked after the other poor thing’s mother, who, I feared, from the time she had been gone for the drop of water she spoke about, must have fainted off in the passage! But though I looked all about for her, both outside and inside the house, to my great horror, she was nowhere to be found. So I marched back, and sat down, and waited until all the mothers and children had gone, and nurse and myself and the two babies were the only people left in the place, when I really began to grow dreadfully alarmed, for I felt assured that some dreadful accident or mistake must have occurred. And when the porter came to tell me I must go, as he wanted to shut up the doors, I informed him of what had happened, and asked him to let me leave the brat with him, so that he might give it to the mother when she called. But the brute would not hear of such a thing, and said that the best way would be for me to take it home with me, and leave my address with him,and then he could send the mother up to me when she came after it. Accordingly I gave the man my card, with particular instructions that he was to make the woman come on to me as fast as her legs would carry her, directly she called; for as I very truly said at the time, I didn’t know how I should ever be able to get through the night with the pair of them.
When we got home, there was a fine piece of work with the pair of them, for the little brat of a stranger wouldn’t eat a thing, though we tried with both the spoon and the bottle, and really squalled in such a way that I was obliged to give it something to pacify it. Edward was so surly at the noise the two children made, that I really thought, what with the noise he and the babies made, I should have gone clean out of my senses; for he said, I didn’t seem to think that two mothers-in-law were sufficient to have in the house at once, but I must go adding to them two babies.
I really do believe it must have been nearly eleven o’clock before I had the doors done up, for I made certain that brute of a mother would never think of leaving her child with me all night. But I soon found myself preciously mistaken, for, on undressing the poor little half-starved thing, I declare if there was not tacked to the body of its little petticoat a strip of paper, on which was written:—“Plese to treet im wel—Is name is Alfred;”—so that it was now as plain as the nose on my face I had been made a regular fool of, and the unfeeling wretch of a mother, observing, I dare say, my love for children, and that I was very well dressed, was induced to single me out, drat her! as her victim; for of course it was her intention, from the first, to make me adopt her brat, whether I liked it or not.
As it was impossible to send the infant round to the workhouse at that late hour of the night, why, I was obliged to take it up-stairs to bed with me, and a precious night both Edward and I had of it, goodness knows! For directly that little brute of an Alfred began to cry, of course he set my little pet of a Kate off, too; consequently, while I was trying to get the one off to sleep with a drop, I was obliged to make Edward set up in bed and rock the other, which he did, all the while grumbling and abusing me in a most shameful manner; wondering how I could ever have been such a born idiot tohave allowed myself to have had a strange child put upon me in such a place.
Early in the morning, immediately after Edward had left for business, I sent Susan off to the workhouse with the squalling young urchin, instructing her to tell the parish authorities how shamefully I had been imposed upon, and to say that I felt it to be my duty, under the circumstances, to hand it over to them. But, hang it! there seemed to be no chance of getting rid of the brat, for back came Susan, all in a fluster, and said that the porter at the gate had told her, in a very impudent manner, that I must come round myself the next Board day and represent the case to the Guardians; and if the facts would bear investigation, why, perhaps they might make out an order to have it admitted.
Here was a pretty state to be in; for Susan said the next Board day wasn’t for five days to come, and it was impossible for me ever to think of keeping the child all that time, and I really felt as if I could have put it in the old fish-basket we had in the house, and tied it to the first knocker that I came to. Indeed, as it was, I did go up-stairs to Mrs. Yapp, and both dear mother and myself tried, for upwards of an hour, as hard as ever we could, to get her to adopt the poor little foundling. But of course it was of no use appealing to the maternal feelings of a hard-hearted creature like her; for we couldn’t get her to take it, although both of us kept pointing out to her what a comfort, we had no doubt, it would grow up to be to her in her old age, and what a noble act she would be doing in rescuing the poor little innocent dear from the workhouse, and, might be, a prison; saying that it was impossible, under the circumstances, to tell what would become of it—but it was all to no use. Although she has got four hundred a-year, and no children, still the mean old thing positively refused to have anything to do with the poor dear little “incumbrance,” but I do verily believe that if the child had only had the good luck to be sickly, she would willingly have consented to have acted the part of a mother to it, if it was only for the sake of having some one to physic.
Consequently, I made up my mind to send it down to Edward by Susan, telling him what the workhouse people had said, and begging him to go up to them with it, and makethem take it in directly, as I told him he must very well know they were in law bound to do.
In about two hours, Susan came back, like a good girl, to my infinite delight, without the baby. When I asked her what on earth she had done with it, I thought I should have died with laughter; for she told me, that on her way down to Chancery Lane she had met with Mary Hooper,—who had been a fellow-servant of hers, and who is now living as nurserymaid at Mr. C—tl—n’s, the solicitor, in John Street, Bedford Row—and as she was going to take the two little Misses C—tl—n for a walk in Gray’s-inn Gardens, of course my Miss Susan must go in with her.
While she was there, she said, there were some impudent young barristers, whose chambers were on the ground floor, leaning out of one of the windows at the back, and smoking their nasty cigars, and playing the fool with the nursery maids, instead of minding their business. And as she was walking up and down, they must needs go getting into conversation with her; and pretending to admire the baby she had got in her arms, first asking her how old it was, and then declaring that they never before, in the whole course of their lives, saw such a fine boy for his age; and then inquiring whether it was her own, and a whole pack of other rubbish besides. At last one of the gentlemen, who she said had got red hair and sandy whiskers, begged to be allowed to give the dear little baby a kiss, as he was passionately fond of children. So she handed the child up to him, and no sooner had the sharp fellow got hold of it, than he refused to let her have it back again, unless she came round to their chambers and fetched it herself; whereupon Susan told him, that as he wouldn’t give the child up without it, she supposed she must. But no sooner had she got outside the gardens, than it very properly struck her, that as the gentleman was so fond of children, she might just as well leave it with him altogether, instead of letting it go to the workhouse, poor little pet!
I really thought I should have killed myself with laughing, for I remembered I had that very morning, before sending the infant round to the workhouse, sewed on again the identical strip of paper which I had found stitched on to its little petticoat body, just to show it to the workhouse authorities, and which requested the party into whose handsthe poor babe fell to treat it kindly, and that its name was Alfred.
I told Susan I wasverymuch pleased with what she had done, and I gave her five shillings, and said she might go out for a holiday as soon as she liked, adding, that she had in a very clever manner given the impudent fellows a good deal more than they sent, and in a way that not only showed she was one too many for them, but would teach them never again to go making love to the child for the sake of the maid.
When Edward came home, he was as pleased as Punch. He declared it just served the lawyers right, and was a bit of sharp practice that did Susan much credit. And then he made a very good pun upon it, for he said that he had a very great mind to go down and stick a board up in the gardens opposite the window of the young fellow to whom Susan had handed the innocent creature, with “Lambs taken in toGray’s Innhere,” painted in large letters upon it.
HOW, WHAT WITH ONE THING AND ANOTHER, IT REALLY IS A MERCY THAT I WAS NOT IN MY GRAVE LONG AGO.
HOW, WHAT WITH ONE THING AND ANOTHER, IT REALLY IS A MERCY THAT I WAS NOT IN MY GRAVE LONG AGO.
“For there’s nae luck about the house,There’s nae luck at a’,There’s little pleasure in the house,” &c.“There’s nae luck about the House.”
“For there’s nae luck about the house,There’s nae luck at a’,There’s little pleasure in the house,” &c.“There’s nae luck about the House.”
“For there’s nae luck about the house,There’s nae luck at a’,There’s little pleasure in the house,” &c.“There’s nae luck about the House.”
PositivelyI was no sooner out of one scrape, than, as sure as the next day came round, I was safe to be in another. The beauty of it was, too, that my unlucky stars (and having been born under Saturn, the reader may well imagine that I’ve had no very pleasant time of it) seemed determined I should invariably be the victim of other people’s misdemeanours. For I always thought that that old quack of a Mrs. Yapp would be the death of some of us, with her filthy medicines, and so she nearly was—indeed, it’s quite a mercy that the whole house wasn’t dead and buried long ago.
I think I mentioned somewhere before, that the old hen had got four hundred a year, but positively, if it had onlybeen five-and-twenty, she couldn’t have been stingier than she was. I never knew her give a penny away to a soul, and as for making any present to my dear little Kitty-pitty, bless you, not even so much as a mere six-and-sixpenny coral and bells did she give the angel, and which I thought was the very least she could have done, after we had been keeping her in the handsome way we had, without expecting the least return for it. If she could save a farthing she would walk her legs off; indeed, I’ve known her go miles just to get a thing a halfpenny a pound cheaper, though she must have worn out at least sixpenny-worth of shoe leather in the journey.
Well, in one of her rambles after bargains, the old thing had stumbled upon a little poking hole of an out-of-the-way chemist’s shop, with a bill in the window, announcing thatthey(pretty they!) were now sellingtheirbest Epsom salts at the low price of seven pounds a shilling; and as my lady was in the habit of paying twopence and threepence for every pound weight of the stuff she swallowed, why this was a temptation that she could not resist; so she must needs go prancing into the shop, saying she would take one pound just to try.
The old thing came home to dinner, quite full of her bargain, and she would undo the parcel, and show us what a beautiful quality the stuff was; declaring, that if it only turned out as good as she expected, she would buy all there was in the place, for they were so cheap, she said, that she felt perfectly satisfied they must have been stolen,—and promising herself a couple of ounces of it, by way of a nice treat in the morning.
At breakfast, the next day, she told us that it seemed as if some superior power had led her to buy her salts yesterday; for she had just heard from Susan that the small-pox had already reached the next door but one, and she had no doubt that it would be our turn next. Then she went on so dreadfully about it, and we all got so terribly alarmed, that we were ready to do anything—for she kept dinning in our ears, that vaccination was only good for seven years, and that the only chance we had of escaping it, and preventing our faces being pitted all over like a honeycomb, was to sweeten our blood with a little cooling medicine, and that really a spoonful ortwo of her salts all round was just the very thing we wanted. Edward too seemed to take a delight in aggravating the horrors of the disease, and exaggerating the virtues of the remedy which Mrs. Yapp had prescribed for us, and kept on until at last we did as she wished, and swallowed a couple of spoonfuls each. After which I had Miss Susan up, and made her take some, as well, for I had no idea of having her laid up in the house, and paying, goodness knows what amount, in doctor’s bills for her. But she was too much afraid of her complexion and beauty being spoiled to require much persuasion.
Edward had gone to chambers when dear mother, who was reading the advertisements in theTimes, gave a loud scream, and cried out, “We are all poisoned!” And sure enough she showed me an advertisement at the top of the second column in the first page, headedCaution, and running as follows:—
“THE stout, elderly Lady, with tortoiseshell spectacles, and dressed in a black straw bonnet, trimmed with canary ribbon, with a small squirrel tippet, and a black German velvet gown, is earnestly requested not to take any of the pound of Salts she bought at the Chemist’s in M—nm—th Str—t, S—v—n D—ls, and said she would have more if she liked them, as through the mistake of an inexperienced apprentice, she was served with Oxalic Acid instead.”
“THE stout, elderly Lady, with tortoiseshell spectacles, and dressed in a black straw bonnet, trimmed with canary ribbon, with a small squirrel tippet, and a black German velvet gown, is earnestly requested not to take any of the pound of Salts she bought at the Chemist’s in M—nm—th Str—t, S—v—n D—ls, and said she would have more if she liked them, as through the mistake of an inexperienced apprentice, she was served with Oxalic Acid instead.”
No one can imagine the dreadful state this threw us all into, and it was as much as I could do to prevent mother from flying at Mrs. Yapp and tearing her to pieces, limb by limb, on the spot; only I said that she had much better turn her thoughts to some antidote, and leave the wretched old woman to her own dreadful feelings. Whereupon, dear mother merely called her a murderess some half-dozen times, and gave her to understand, that even if she was lucky enough, to get over it, as sure as their names were Yapp and B—ff—n, she would have her hung for it. The old cat, however, told her not to talk in that foolish way—as she had done it all for the best—but to see about taking as much chalk or lime as we possibly could, as that was the only thing that could save us. And then I declare if the old thing didn’t seize hold of the fire shovel with one hand, and a plate off the breakfast table with the other, and jumping up on a chair, began scraping away at my beautiful ceiling, whilst I ran down-stairs, and, telling Susan what had happened, and what Mrs. Yapp had prescribed as an antidote, we both of us madea rush at the plaster of Paris images that the girl had stuck up over the mantelpiece; and whilst she was devouring her beautiful painted parrot, I eat Napoleon Bonaparte all but his boots.
Dear mother, who wouldn’t believe in anything that Mrs. Yapp said, declared that nothing would do her good but candles, and the poor dear soul had got through a whole rushlight and the better part of a long six, by the time that Mrs. Toosypegs (whom I had packed off in a cab to our doctor, and the chemist who had sold Mrs. Yapp the poison, and for Edward) got back to us again, bringing the chemist himself with her, and who said he was happy to inform us that it was all a mistake, and that the packet of oxalic acid, which they had fancied the young man had served the lady in tortoiseshell spectacles with, had been found, and that we had taken nothing but the very best Epsom salts after all.
Edward came rushing in shortly afterwards; and when he heard that it had only been a false alarm, I declare if he didn’t fall down on the sofa, and nearly split his sides; which made us all so wild, that I really felt as if I could have boxed the ears of the unfeeling monster; and I know for a positive fact that dear mother’s hands were itching to do it as well. As it was, the good old soul rated him soundly; for not being able to contain herself, she flew out at him, and told him that he ought to be ashamed of himself to lie there, as he was, chuckling over the distresses of the very woman whom he had sworn to love and cherish in sickness as well as in health—to say nothing of herself, who was my mother—and that at a time, too, when he ought to go down on his bended knees, and thank his stars for our miraculous escape. But Edward only grinned the more, and kept telling her that it was as good fun as the Derby-day, and that he had never known such capital sport after the Epsom Cup before.
This was too much for my beloved parent; and she didn’t hesitate to tell him that she wouldn’t stop in the house another minute; and, after his inhuman, and, she might say, ungentlemanly conduct, would never set foot in it again so long as she lived. And accordingly, out of the room she bounced, and up-stairs she went, and having packed up her things, off she took herself.
Directly Edward found how well he had got rid of dearmother, he began to see what he could do with Mrs. Yapp. But though he said all kinds of sharp, cutting things to her, still it was no good, for she hadn’t got mother’s fine spirit, and really seemed to be as hard to get out of the house as black beetles are. However, at one time, he did make her say, that directly she learnt that her house in the country was fit to receive her, and the smell of the paint was fairly out of it, she would not trouble us any more with her company.
When at night I talked over the circumstances with Edward, I could not help confessing to him, I was far from sorry that dear mother had left, and that there was a prospect of Mrs. Yapp doing the same shortly—for, what with one and the other, they so tormented poor Susan, that I declare it was one round of noises from morning till night. First Mrs. Yapp would come to me, saying, that Susan had insulted her in a most disrespectful manner; and then Mrs. B—ff—n would march up to tell me that she couldn’t get Susan to do a thing for her. And after that I should have Mrs. Toosypegs come tearing up to say, that Susan had had the impudence to assert that the kitchen was no place of hers; and lastly, up would come Miss Susan herself, to know who was her Missus—and whether it was Mrs. Yapp, Mrs. B—ff—n, Mrs. Toosypegs, or myself; and declaring that it was more than one pair of hands could do to attend to the whole of them. So as Mrs. B—ff—n had gone, and Mrs. Toosypegs was going on the morrow, and Mrs. Yapp had threatened to go in a few days, why, thank heavens, there seemed to be a chance of some peace and comfort at last.
The day after Mrs. Toosypegs had left, Susan came to ask me whether it would be convenient for me to let her have a holiday on the morrow, and as I had been stupid enough to promise her one for getting rid of the strange child in the clever way she had, I didn’t see how I could well refuse, and consented to let her have one accordingly.
On the morrow, hearing my lady come down-stairs, I went to the window to see how she looked; for I felt certain that she would be dressed out to death. Sure enough, there she was, with at least six flounces to her skirt, and a black trumpery imitation blond lace bonnet, with a lot of bright red flowers stuck all about it, and what I would stake my
“Going out for a Holiday.”“Going out for a Holiday.”
existence was Mrs. Yapp’s green silk parasol—for I knew it by the carved ivory handle; as she had over and over again told me, the stick of it had been presented her by an old flame of hers, who was the third officer of an East Indiaman.
However, as it wasn’t my parasol, of course I had got nothing to do with it, and I had had quite hubbub enough in the house, without going making any more noises about such a trumpery affair as that. Besides, if the woman couldn’t spare time enough to look after her own things, why, I wasn’t going to do it for her; and she had no right to go out for the day as she had that morning, leaving her drawers open as a temptation to the poor girl.
The day afterwards, I thought something was in the wind, for Miss Susan came to me all of a fluster, and said that she should feel obliged if I would let her have ten shillings in advance. I however very properly gave her to understand that, as she had already had one pound fifteen on account of her next quarter, I shouldn’t do anything of the kind, adding that it really was astonishing to me what on earth she did with all her money.
Miss Susan seemed to be dreadfully put out by my refusal, (and well the wicked puss might, from what came out afterwards) for one evening, Edward had just got home from chambers, when he met a man on the door step, and on asking him what he wanted, he said that he wished to speak with the lady who owned the parasol he had brought with him, and which Edward knew very well belonged to Mrs. Yapp. So, when I opened the door, my husband asked the man to step into the parlour, and finding Mrs. Yapp there, told him that that was the lady he wanted. Whereupon the man said he was the head waiter of the Chalk Farm Tavern, and had brought home the parasol that she had left with his missus, on account of her not having money enough to pay the whole of the bill she had incurred when she was there with a life-guardsman. Mrs. Yapp blushed a bright orange right up to her eyes, (for it was impossible for her bilious complexion to blush crimson,) and said that it certainly was her parasol, but how it ever came into the man’s possession she wouldn’t attempt to say; for as to her ever having been inside a tavern with a life-guardsman, it was an abominable, wicked falsehood, that it was, and the man was a scoundrel to dare to come there and try to extort money from her under any such shameful pretences.
I declare I could hardly smother my laughter with my pocket-handkerchief, for, as I whispered in Edward’s ear, it was Susan, I knew, that had been running up the bill there with that vagabond, Ned Twist, and that two or three days before I had seen her going out with that very parasol, I could see Edward was determined to have a bit of fun, for, with a wicked smile, he asked the man whether there might not be some mistake, for Mrs. Yapp was a highly respectable lady, and he could not bring himself to believe that she would, at her time of life, go keeping company with a life-guardsman. But the man said, “What mistake can there be?—didn’t the lady acknowledge that the parasol was hers?—and how should I have known where the owner of it lived, if she hadn’t at the time given her address. But of course she wont acknowledge it, because I’ve mentioned it before company; though I’ll be bound, that if I had seen her alone, she would have recollected all about it pretty quickly; still it’s useless her trying to get out of it; for there’s the bill, and if she’ll look at it, she’ll see what she had, and that there was five shillings paid, and a matter of two and threepence left owing, and that’s what I want; and if I don’t get it, I shall take the parasol back—that’s all.” And the man handed Mrs. Yapp the account, who threw it back upon the table.
“I don’t want to see your bill, sir,” she cried. “It’s all a shameful imposition, and you know it is; and what’s more, if you don’t give me up my parasol this minute, I shall appeal to Mr. Sk—n—st—n to make you. I never heard of such a thing, in all my life, coming here and taking away a respectable woman’s character, in the hopes of getting a trumpery two and threepence. Did you see me at your ‘Chalk Farm,’ as you call it, sir?”
“No,” replied the man; “but the waiter that served you did, and so did missus; and she said, you were with Ned Twist,—and he’s very well known to us, for he brings more business to our house than any other man in the regiment,—and if it hadn’t been for fear of losinghiscustom, we shouldn’t have trustedyou.”
“Well, my good man,” said my husband, with a roguish grin, “as you’re so positive, I’d better pay you the money, rather than have any disturbance about such an unpleasant business.” And Edward having done so, the man left, when Mrs. Yapp flewout in a most dreadful way, and declared, that Edward ought to be ashamed of himself for encouraging the man in the way he did, and going on as if he really believed what the villain had said. But Edward just put it to her, as a woman of the world, to say whether he could have done otherwise, when the facts of the case were so very strong against her; in all of which I of course agreed. And I declare itwassuch capital fun to see how she went on, when Edward took up the bill, and began reading it aloud as follows:—
Then Edward kept remarking upon the different items, saying that it was very easy to see what was for Mr. Ned Twist, and what was for the lady—whoever it might be that accompanied him. And really and truly, if it was his dear mother-in-law, and she had been foolish enough to go falling in love with any of those good-looking dogs at the barracks, he didn’t see that there was any necessity for concealing her passion; for if the man were respectable, why, he should be very happy to see him, and question him as to whether his intentions were honourable towards her. It would have done any one’s heart as much good as it did mine to see how angry this made the poor bilious old lady, who, all the time that Edward was teasing her, was biting her lips, and shaking her leg up and down with downright passion, while she pretended to be very busy reading a book—(I never saw such reading)—until at last her nasty bile got the better of her, and would not allow her to stand a joke; for, declaring that she would leave the house the very next day, she bounced out of the room, slamming the door after her as hard as she could, till she made all the glasses on the sideboard jingle again, and upshe went sulking to her room, where she stopped, and wouldn’t come down to dinner, nor allow us to send any up to her—as if she thought that would hurt us—a stupid old toad! All this, I said to myself, comes of having people in the house who must go getting angry over a mere joke.
I told Edward that, as she had declared she would go on the morrow, and Susan told me that she really was packing up her things in real earnest, he might as well go up and tell her that he had only meant what he said in fun, and get her to come down to tea; or else, perhaps, what with her passion, and starving herself, she might be laid up before she left our house with a bilious fever. But he wouldn’t think of doing anything half so rash, he said, adding, that it would be quite time enough to apologize as soon as she should be dressed ready to go on the morrow.
Next day, Edward wouldn’t go down to chambers, for fear, as he said, that I should go playing the fool, and making it up with Mrs. Yapp. Knowing that she was going by the one o’clock coach, I got a nice little luncheon ready for her (just a few sandwiches cut from the lean part of the silver side of a round of beef, between some digestive bread); and when she came down to wish us good-bye, Edward told her he was sorry that she had taken in earnest what he only intended in joke—and I confessed that I knew it was Susan who had taken her parasol all the while, saying I was sure that if anything similar had occurred to me, I shouldn’t allow so slight a thing as that to ruffle my temper; and that I trusted she wouldn’t think of leaving us so soon—though I really was afraid of pressing her too much, for fear she might think I meant what I said. So, after a little coaxing, we got her to sit down and take a mouthful with us, telling her that Susan should run out to get her a coach, and I would slip on my things and go down with her to the coach-office, and see her off with a great deal of pleasure.
While we were waiting for Susan to come with the coach, there was a ring at the door, and, when I opened it, it was a man who said that he had brought his bill for the tobacco, and which he said he should feel obliged if I would settle. So I showed him in to Edward, as the only person in the house that smoked. But no sooner did he get into the room than he handed the bill to me, and said he believed I should findthat it was all correct, and when I looked at it I declare that it was nothing more than a string of near upon twenty half-ounces of “bird’s-eye returns.” So I asked Edward whether he knew anything about it; but the man said it was for me. Whereupon I asked him what he meant; and he had the impudence to persist in saying that I myself was the party who had purchased it for——
“For whom?” I said, with great indignation.
The man put his finger up to his mouth, as much as to say “Mum” before company.
“Say what you have to say, man,” I replied, “and don’t stand there making any of your signs and signals to me.”
On this, he came as close as he dared to me, and keeping his eye fixed on Edward, said, in a low whisper through the corner of his mouth—“You know—for Ned Twist, the life-guardsman.”
I gave a loud scream, and flying to Edward, cried out—“Oh, Edward, here’s a man says I owe him a bill for tobacco for that odious Ned Twist, the life-guardsman!”
Edward went up to him directly, and told him that it must be the servant that he wanted, and not myself, as I was his wife.
“Lord bless you!” replied the man, “as if I hadn’t seen the lady in my shop, along with Ned Twist, scores and scores of times, in the very same black velvet shawl that she’s got on now.”
I forgot what they said to each other after this, but I know they were just getting to high words—for the impudent wretch would keep insisting that it was I, and none other, who had purchased the tobacco of him for Ned Twist; and I was expecting every moment that Edward would be knocking him down, when, to my great joy, I heard Miss Susan come up in the hackney-coach to the door, and I ran to it, and brought her into the room. Then it turned out that all the time during my confinement that minx, Miss Susan, had been in the habit of going out of an evening, two or three times a week, dressed in my black velvet shawl, and running up all kinds of debts for Mr. Ned Twist, all round the neighbourhood.
Of course, this was more than I could bear; so I just told Miss Susan that she would please to provide herself with a new situation that day month; and very luckily, her quarterwould be just up then, or else I should certainly have had to have packed her off with a good part of her wages in advance.
The worst of it all was too, that Mrs. Yapp, although she had been living under our roof, and feeding off the fat of the land at our table for near upon a couple of months, must go insulting me before she left our house, and repeated to me in a most tantalising and unladylike way, all that I had said to her in the morning, about putting up with what she was pleased to call a mere joke, and reminding me of what I had very imprudently told her, that if I found a servant wearing my things, I should not care so much about it, after all. So as I wasn’t going to put up with her nasty taunts all the way down to the coach-office, I said I felt very ill, and wasn’t in a fit state to go such a distance. Edward, too, it struck me at the time, might have behaved himself with a little more decency, for he would keep saying all kinds of unpleasant things, and which I dare say,hethought very clever indeed; but I couldn’t see the point of them, thoughMrs. Yappmust go giggling at them, as if they were the finest fun alive.
As for that Mr. Ned Twist, all I can say is, that if I could only have caught him, I should have told him a bit of my mind; and, as it was, I was as near as near could be, going round to the colonel of the regiment, and telling him that he ought to be ashamed of himself, to allow his men to go on in that way. For really there was some little excuse to be made for that stupid, conceited, highty-flighty, bit of goods of a Miss Susan of mine, for I’m sure the girl was head over ears in love with the gawky fellow, while he was only playing the fool with her. Every moment she could spare, there she was with a pen in her hand, scribbling a letter off to him, or else with a needle, making some shirts for the rip; and I declare, if she hadn’t gone to the expense of having his portrait cut out in black paper, and had paid at least eighteen pence extra for the sake of having the fellow’s mustachios and whiskers put in with a little trumpery bronze. Whenever, too, the minx could lay her hand upon any of my excellent jams or preserves, she would be sure to go making them up into pies or tarts, or something for that ogre of hers in a red coat; and once I found stowed away in the dresser-drawer a raspberry-jam tart, (we had had a roley-poleypudding for dinner the day before,) with a lot of open-work over it, and a small heart made out of pastry, and the initials E. T. in the same elegant material.
A little while after this, I declare there was no possibility of getting that girl to do a single thing in the house, for it appears that bothering regiment was about to change its quarters. And there she was, sighing and crying away in secret, and going mooning about the place with her eyes as red as two brandy-balls. When I stepped round to Albany Street, to see Mrs. L—ckl—y, in the evening, she told me it was just the same with her Maria—as, indeed, she said, it was with the maids all down the street, on both sides of the way; and when I let fall, by accident, the name of Ned Twist, she knew it directly, and told me she verily believed the fellow supped in her kitchen twice a week at least. Her maid was going clean out of her mind, she said, for his sake—although she had told her, over and over again, that the fellow didn’t care two pins about her; for she, Mrs. L—ckl—y, knew for a positive fact that the good-looking glutton was all the while paying his addresses to the girls at both the pastrycooks in the street, as well as to the maid at the fruiterer’s over the way. Really, she said, there wasn’t a female servant in the whole street that hadn’t been spoiling her head of hair for the rogues, and she was sure that there would be as many locks given away on the day of the fellows’ departure as would stuff a decent-sized mattress; though how that general lover, Mr. Ned Twist, would ever be able to find enough hair for the whole of his sweethearts, was a mystery to her. For if he behaved to them all alike, and gave a lock to each, there was no doubt the amiable villain would be obliged to throw in his whiskers and mustachios, in order that the supply might in any way be equal to the demand; while the good-looking vagabond would be obliged to go about with nearly all his hair cut off, like a French poodle, or else cropped as short as a knapsack.
When the day came for Susan to go, the poor girl had only a matter of eight shillings to receive out of the whole of her quarter’s wages. And Edward asked her how on earth she meant to live until she got a new situation. Whereupon the wretched dupe burst into tears, and said she was sure she couldn’t say; she had spent chief part of her earnings inpaying for tobacco and drink for Ned Twist; and had lent him seven half-crowns; but she wouldn’t mind about that so much, only she had sent two letters to him at Windsor, and he had never even answered them. And what was worse than all, she had heard, since he left, that she wasn’t the only girl who had been fool enough to believe what he said, and to squander all her wages upon him; for she knew for a fact that in Albany Street alone, he had borrowed several pounds, in small sums, from different maids-of-all-work like herself, under the pretence of putting up the banns.
“But, my poor girl,” said Edward, “what could ever have induced you to believe the vagabond?”
“I can’t tell, sir,” sobbed Susan; “only he used to come of an evening, and fill my head with a lot of stuff about honour and glory, and bleeding for his country; and saying that whenever the trumpet sounded, he would gladly die upon the battle-plain in defence of the maids of merry England; and then he used to say that the soldier loved only three things as dearly as his life—and they were, his country, his honour, and his sweetheart—and ask me, who was so quick as the gallant Son of Mars to protect a lovely and defenceless woman from the tyrant’s grasp. So I couldn’t help thinking that he was one of the noblest men I ever met, and after all his fine sayings, I never dreamt that he would go borrowing my wages, and running away without paying me, and leaving me perhaps to starve while I’m out of place; for what’s to become of me now, goodness only knows.”
This tale affected us both so much, that we quite pitied the poor girl, for I saw that it had been all along as I had expected; and upon my word, the man was so handsome, that there was every allowance to be made for our simple Susan. As I said before, and say again, Government ought not to allow these men to have so much idle time on their hands as they have, or else make it a rule, that if there must be soldiers, at any rate, that they should be ugly ones; for her Majesty’s ministers ought to know that the red coats and bright buttons alone are quite sufficient to turn the heads of all the young girls, without the irresistible aggravation of a handsome face, and a pair of black mustachios.
Edward, who I must allow, is blessed with a good heart of his own, (though he has sometimes a strange way of showingit,) gave Susan a sovereign, and I added to it a pair of my old black silk stockings, (which cost me, I remember, as much as five and sixpence when they were new,) and an old morning wrapper that I couldn’t wear any longer, and I told her that, if at any time before she got into a situation, she chose to come in and help my new maid, or nurse my little girl, she might always rely upon having her dinner and tea in the house,—though I know it’s foolish to be overkind to servants;—still as this was a case of real charity, I felt that I couldn’t well do less, as I’m sure all my readers will be ready to allow.
Though, after Susan had left me, I regret to say I found she was in no way deserving of my sympathy; for when my butcher’s bill came in, I discovered that she had been in the habit of getting things for that gormandizing Don Giovanni of hers in the life-guards, and having them put down to my account; for, as Mrs. L—ckl—y had given me to understand, that Mr. Ned Twist—drat him!—was particularly partial to bullock’s heart with veal stuffing, and that he would go through fire and water any day to get it, I at once saw by the bill who had been dining with Miss Susan every other day in the kitchen during my confinement; for there it was, sure enough. Leg of mutton, four-and-nine; bullock’s heart, one-and-three; fillet of veal, six-and-two; bullock’s heart, one-and-three; ribs of beef, five-and-seven; bullock’s heart, one-and-three; belly of pork, three-and-one; bullock’s heart, one-and-three. And so it went on, right down to the end of the chapter.