Though, to be sure, I had this consolation—I wasn’t the only sufferer, for not one of the neighbours could do a bit better than I did—no, not even poor Mr. S—mm—ns, and he tried hard enough, goodness gracious knows! I declare he used to be out in the broiling hot sun all day, digging away in his shirt sleeves, until his poor bald-head used to look like the top of a beef-steak pudding—and, what for, I should like to know? just to raise, in the course of the year, as many radishes, and cauliflowers, and greens, and rhubard, as he might buy any fine morning in Covent Garden market for a mere sixpence, or a shilling at most. Though he tried his hardest to force a cucumber or two, under a broken ground-glass lamp shade, and spent a little fortune in manure, still the only one that came, of course, was nipped in the gherkin; and, notwithstanding some of his beds were covered with old tumblers, just for all the world like a sideboard, yet I’m sure I never could see the good of them, for his crop of lettuces wouldn’t have made more than one good-sized saladafter all; while the gooseberry and currant bushes, that he went to the expense of having put all round his garden, never bore more than a pie and a small pudding in the best of seasons—and that not till the middle of November. In fact, I’ve made up my opinion long ago, that gardening in the suburbs of London is a wicked and wilful waste of time and money. Really and truly the whole atmosphere of the place is so dreadfully smokey, that, without joking, one might just as well try to rear cauliflowers all round the top of a steam-boat funnel, as to think of getting one’s vegetables out of a metropolitan hop-skip-and-a-jump kitchen garden. Vegetables for the family, indeed! “chickweed and groundsel for fine singing birds,” more likely.
So, as I said before, I made up my mind, not to go making a stupid of myself any longer, playing at market-gardening, and turning myself into a manufacturing green-grocer and fruiterer, by trying to convert a trumpery band-box full of mould and gravel into a productive orchard. Accordingly I determined to root up the whole of those rat-tailed stalks of cabbages, and have the place nicely turfed in the centre, and a few pretty rose-bushes, and geranium trees, and other odd things, that at any rate would be pleasant to one’s eye and nose, put round the sides. Consequently I had up Mr. Dick Farden, and asked him whether he thought he could managethatfor me without spoiling it; but really the fellow was so conceited, and fancied himself so clever, that, of course, he was as confident he could do it for me as he was that he could move my piano—(and a pretty mess he made of that—as the reader knows!) He couldn’t, however, merely give a simple answer to a simple question, and have done with it, but must go on talking his head off, and speaking to me as familiarly as if I was one of his pot-companions, saying that it was very easy to lay the ground out, but he was afraid I should find it quite as hard to raise a nosegay as a salad “in the first city of the world.” For, in all in his experience, he had noticed that Cockney roses were not to be forced beyond the size of grog-blossoms, and he would defy even Mr. Paxton himself to get London tulips any bigger than thimbles. He said that the beautiful climate of Brompton itself, which all the house-agents and physicians cried up as the Devonshire district ofLondon, would only produce hollyhocks in the flower line, and mustard and cress in the vegetable ditto,—and from all he had seen in his time, he had come to the conclusion, that trying to get roses and lilies, this side of Richmond, was really the pursuit of flowers under difficulties; for it appeared to be as if Providence had originally designed that the soil of London should bear nothing beyond bricks and mortar. Though it was not so much the fault of the ground as it was of the cats—and them he could not, for the life of him, help looking upon as the young gardener’s worst companion—for as fast you put in the seed, just as fast would they scratch it up again; and, of course, nothing would satisfy the creatures but they must go lying in your beds of a night. Indeed, the Toms of London seemed, like young Love always to prefer sleeping among the roses. Now, he remembered, he told me, about the time when Walworth went mad about dahlias, and offered a prize of a hundred guineas for the finest specimen that could be grown within two miles of the Elephant and Castle,—he was sure any one might have heard the amateur gardeners firing at the cats, and the guns going off there of a night, for all the world like a review in Hyde-park; but all to no good—for, after all, the prize was carried off by a clever young gentleman, who had no garden at all, and grew the choicest specimen there was at the show in an old black tea-pot, out of his two pair back.
However, I wasn’t going to sit there all day hearing him try to persuade me against what I had set my heart and soul upon, and railing against everything just like an old East Indian with half a liver, for I could easily see that all my fine gentleman wanted was, to save himself the trouble of doing up the garden, and wished, of course, to take our money without doing a single thing for it; but I wasn’t going to encourage him standing all day long with his hands in his pockets—not I indeed. So when he found that I wasn’t quite such a stupid as he seemed to take me for, and was determined upon having the thing done, willy-nilly, then, of course, he must needs try his best to advise me to go to the expense of a lot of box-borders for the place. But I wouldn’t listen to it for a minute, for, as I very plainly told him, I was sure that oyster-shells would be quite good enough for us, especially as dear Edward was so fond of having a dozenor two of Natives before he went to bed of a night, and I knew that I should get a very pretty border out of his suppers in less than a fortnight.
However, upon second thoughts, it struck me that, whilst I was about it, I might just as well have a few really good plants put in, particularly as Mr. Dick Farden said he knew a florist in the neighbourhood, who would do the whole thing for a mere nothing for me, and attend to it afterwards, either by the day, month, or year, on the most reasonable terms. So, as I couldn’t see any great harm in hearing from Mr. Dick Farden’s friend himself what he might consider “a mere nothing,” I arranged in my own mind that the best way would be to let Farden call upon him, and send him round to me on his way down to deliver the letter I intended to write to the director (for there’s nothing but directors now-a-days) of the Servants’ Institution. Accordingly, having scribbled a note to the institution—saying that, as I was in want of a nurse, I should feel obliged if they would send one of their young men round to meas soon as possible, from whom I could learn the terms and advantages of the establishment—I told Mr. Dick Farden to take it to Oxford-street, and, while he was out, to run round and tell his friend the florist to call on mein the evening, so that I might talk over with him about the flowers.
When that precious beauty of a Dick Farden came back, he told me he had brought with him the gentleman I had sent him for, who, he said, had written down a few of the names of such articles as he thought would suit me, and which he could recommend, as they had all been in thenurserya long time. Of course, I imagined the stupid fellow was alluding to the maid I wanted for my little Kitty, and not to a pack of bothering flowers, as I afterwards found out, to my great horror; and there was I going on for upwards of twenty minutes asking all kinds of odd questions of the stranger, fully believing that he was the person from the Servants’ Institution, and not that trumpery friend of Mr. Dick Farden’s, who was in the gardening line.
When the man came in, I said to him, very naturally, “My man-servant tells me that you have brought with you a few of the names of such as you think will suit me. They have all been in the nursery a long time, I believe; and what kind of places have they been accustomed to?”
“Oh, a very nice place,” he replied; “about the same as yours might be, mum. They had a warmish bed, and have always been accustomed to be out in the open air.”
“Yes, I should want them to be out in the open air a great deal,” I answered, though at the time I couldn’t help fancying that it was very funny that the man should allude in particular to theirwarm beds. “Now I should like you to recommend me one,” I continued, “that’s healthy and strong, and likely to remain with me for some time, for it is so distressing to have to provide yourself with a new one every year.”
“So it is, mum,” he returned. “I think I know the very one you want, mum. It’s a remarkable fine colour, mum.”
“That certainly is a recommendation. I like them to look healthy,” I replied, thinking, of course, that the man was only talking about a nursery maid, and not of some trumpery rose he had got at home.
“It’s a very dark coloured one, mum; indeed, very nearly a black,” he answered; “and of a summer’s evening smells wonderful, I can assure you, mum.”
“Lord a mercy!” I cried out, believing the man wanted to recommend me a negress. “Oh la! all the blacks do, and I wouldn’t have one of them about my house for all I’m worth.”
“Then may be, mum,” he continued, “you’d like one a trifle gayer. Now, there’s a Madame Pompadour we’ve got that I think would just suit you. That’s a remarkable showy one, to be sure, and likes a good deal of raking.”
“Oh, I see,” I replied; “a French bit of goods. No, thank you; they are all of them a great deal too gay by half to please me.”
“Well, mum, if that wont suit you,” he replied, “what would you think of a nice Chinese? We’ve got a perfect beauty, I can assure you—just the very thing for you, mum—climb up anywhere—run all along the area-railings, mum—crawl right over your back-garden door—then up the house into your drawing-room balcony—almost like a wild one, mum.”
“Like a wild one!” I almost shrieked, horror-struck at the idea of intrusting my sweet, little, helpless angel of a Kate to the care of a creature with any such extraordinary propensities. “Too like a wild one for me. I don’t want any such things about my house.”
“But if you object to their running about so much, mum,” he went on, “it’s very easy to tie them up and give them a good trimming occasionally, and then you can keep them under as much as you please.”
“I don’t want one,” I replied, “that will require so much looking after, but one that you know could be trusted anywhere—especially as there will be a little baby to be taken care of.”
“A little baby! Oh! then, if that’s the case, mum,” he had the impudence to say, “I should think you had better have a monthly one while you are about it.”
“A monthly one!” I exclaimed, thinking he was referring to a second Mrs. Toosypegs, instead of a rose; “what can you be thinking of? I tell you I don’t want anything of the kind.”
“Yes, but I’m sure you don’t know how hardy they are, mum,” he added, quite coolly. “I can give you my word, we’ve got one that’s out now, mum, that went through all the severe frosts of last winter with nothing more than a bit of matting as a covering at night-time. Though, for the matter of that, almost all our monthlies are the same, and don’t seem to care where they are put, for really and truly I do think that they would go on just as well, mum, even if their beds were chock full of gravel.”
“I tell you I don’t want anything of the kind,” I said, half offended at what (thanks to that blundering Mr. Dick Farden,) I thought very like the man’s impudence.
“I hope no offence, mum,” he replied; “but you see I must run over what we’ve got. Now, there’s polianthuses. I’m sure you couldn’t have anything much nicer or quieter than that, mum.”
“Polly who?” I inquired.
“Anthus, mum,” he replied.
“Well, what’s that one like?” I asked.
“Oh! the sort is common enough, mum,” he continued—“not very tall, and rather delicate, and will generally have five or six flowers in a cluster at the head—wants a glass, though, if the weather sets in very cold, mum—and——”
“There, that’s enough,” I interrupted, “I’m sick and tired of those common kind of things—they wouldn’t have a glass here, I can tell them.”
“Maybe, then, mum,” he went on, “as it don’t seem as we can suit you with any of those I’ve mentioned, perhaps you don’t want such a thing as an old man.”
“Old man!” I cried. “No, what on earth should I ever do with any old man here, I should like to know?” of course, little dreaming that he was alluding all the while to the plant of that name.
“Oh! I beg your pardon, mum,” he replied, “but I thought yours was just the place for a very fine, and remarkably handsome one that we’ve got, and it struck me that you might have a spare bed that you would like to fill, especially as it would be little or no extra expense for you.”
“No, no, no!” I answered; “I tell you once for all, I’ve no room for any old man here; and, besides, if I had, a nice thing it would be to have him dying directly the cold weather set in.”
“Oh, bless you, mum,” he replied, “a good healthy old man will never die, and look quite lively all the winter through. However, mum, perhaps you’d be kind enough to step round some day to our place, and then we could show you what we’ve got, and you could choose for yourself, mum.”
“Yes,” I answered; “perhaps that would be best, and then I can please myself.”
When the man had gone, I said to myself: “Well, my fine gentleman, I shall never trouble you again,” for I declare that of all the servants I ever heard of, his seemed to be the worst; for, of course, how was I ever to be able to tell that he was only talking of a set of trumpery plants that he had got for sale. I’m sure, if he had two grains of common sense, he ought to have seen that there was some mistake somewhere; though, for the matter of that, I don’t suppose I should ever have found it out myself, had it not been for the gentleman from the Servants’ Institution calling to see me, scarcely half-an-hour afterwards. And then, bless us and save us, if I didn’t go taking him for the nurseryman, though I certainly must do myself the justice to say that I couldn’t help thinking that he looked rather grand for a gardener, with his white cravat, and black coat buttoned up to his chin, and black kid gloves, with the fingers all out, and looking as crumpled and shrivelled as French plums.
No sooner had Mr. Dick Farden told me that the other gentleman that I had sent him for had come, than I had him into the parlour, and told him that if he would step with me into the garden, I would arrange with him what I wanted done to it, and he could let me have his opinion about it. The man opened his eyes, and looked at me as wise as an owl; as, indeed, he might; for what on earth could what my garden wanted doing to it, be to him? When we got there, I declare he must have thought me mad, for I took him right up to the middle of it, and told him, I had made up my mind to have a nice grass plot laid down in the centre, so that my dear little pet might play about on it, without coming to any harm. But he only stared the more, and said, “Very good;” though, of course, if he had spoken his real opinion, he would have said “very strange.” Then I told him I had settled upon having some nice flower-beds all round the sides, and said I thought it would look very pretty; on which he looked at me for a short time, with his mouth wide open, as much as to say, “Surely the woman must be out of her mind;” but he only answered, “Indeed.” After that, I asked him what plants he would advise me to have, and whether he thought the soil would be rich enough for dahlias? But, without looking at the ground, and keeping his eye fixed intently on me, he answered, “Certainly;” and then clutching the handle of his umbrella as tight as he could, he retreated several paces off, in a way that I couldn’t for the life of me understand at the time, but which—now that I come to think of it—clearly convinces me that the poor man must have fancied that I had broken loose from Bedlam, and that he expected every minute I should seize hold of the spade, which was within arm’s length of me, and race round the garden after him with it. When I told him that most likely he was not aware of how hard the ground was, and I stamped on it two or three times, and raised myself up on my toes, just to show him that I couldn’t make any impression upon it, the stupid ninny began jumping about and dancing away, and staring at me, till, I declare, his eyes looked for all the world like two farthings. Coupling this with the whole of the man’s previous strange behaviour, upon my word, I thoughthehad gone stark raving mad, though it’s quite plain to menowthat he thought the same ofme, and wasonly playing those antics just to humour me. I seized the spade and he opened his umbrella, and there we stood, face to face, thrusting away at one another as hard as ever we could, and all the time jumping and skipping about, like twodancingbears. I gave a loud scream, and he, poor man, retreated as quick as he could do so backwards to the door, where he met with that scoundrel of a Dick Farden, who had been the cause of it all, and whom I no sooner saw than I told him, for Heaven’s sake, to seize that mad friend of his. Then, lawk a daisy! out it all came; and I learnt, to my great horror, that I had been confounding the two men. Of course I apologized to the gentleman from the Servants’ Institution as a lady ought to, telling him that I was extremely sorry that I had mistaken him for a gardener and a madman; but the man went as red in the face as a tomata, with passion, declaring that he had never been so insulted before in all his life, and vowing that he would make me pay for having dragged him all that way, through a broiling sun, upon a fool’s errand; and then out of the house he bounced, like a human cracker.
When the man had left, I declare I was so vexed at having been made such a stupid of, by that shameful vagabond of a Mr. Dick Farden—for, of course, if it hadn’t been for him, the mistake would never have occurred, and I shouldn’t wonder at all if he hadn’t brought it about intentionally, just so as to have a good laugh at me, out of sheer spite at my stopping his wages—I was so vexed with the fellow, I repeat, that I had him up then and there, and told him that he had better not let me see his face within my doors again, or, as sure as his name was Mr. Dick Farden, I would give him in custody. Then it was that I found out what kind of a person I had been harbouring in my house, for although, up to that time, he had been so civil-spoken and respectful, that one would have fancied that butter wouldn’t have melted in his mouth, then, of course, because it no longer answered his purpose to behave himself, he turned round and abused me like a pickpocket, until I declare I was so mad that, if I hadn’t been a perfect lady, I should have dusted his jacket and combed his hair nicely for him, that I should—a nasty, good-for-nothing, double-faced, clumsy, cowardly, foul-mouthed monster! Augh! if I detest one thing more than another, it’s people that can’t keep a civil tongue in their heads.
IN WHICH I JUST LET THE READER KNOW MY OPINION OF THAT HALF-WITTED IDIOT OF AN EMMA OF MINE.—MAIDS OF ALL WORK CERTAINLY ARE NO GREAT GENIUSES AT THE BEST OF TIMES, BUT I DECLARE I DO THINK THAT GIRL HAD NO MORE BRAINS IN HER HEAD THAN WOULD HAVE FILLED AN EGG-CUP, FOR I’VE TRIED A GOOD MANY SERVANTS IN MY DAY, BUT REALLY AND TRULY SHE WAS THE VERIEST BOOBY THAT EVER WENT OUT TO SERVICE, THOUGH PERHAPS I OUGHT TO ADD, IN JUSTICE TO THE GIRL, THAT, FOR A WONDER, I HAD LITTLE OR NO FAULT TO FIND WITH HER IN OTHER RESPECTS.
IN WHICH I JUST LET THE READER KNOW MY OPINION OF THAT HALF-WITTED IDIOT OF AN EMMA OF MINE.—MAIDS OF ALL WORK CERTAINLY ARE NO GREAT GENIUSES AT THE BEST OF TIMES, BUT I DECLARE I DO THINK THAT GIRL HAD NO MORE BRAINS IN HER HEAD THAN WOULD HAVE FILLED AN EGG-CUP, FOR I’VE TRIED A GOOD MANY SERVANTS IN MY DAY, BUT REALLY AND TRULY SHE WAS THE VERIEST BOOBY THAT EVER WENT OUT TO SERVICE, THOUGH PERHAPS I OUGHT TO ADD, IN JUSTICE TO THE GIRL, THAT, FOR A WONDER, I HAD LITTLE OR NO FAULT TO FIND WITH HER IN OTHER RESPECTS.
“I’ve talked and I’ve prattled with some fifty maids,Andchangedthem as oft, do you see;But of all the bright beauties, I ever knew,Miss Emma’s the maid for me.”Popular Song,with a few slight alterations by myself, and which I was forced to make, for positively all the Maids spoken of in Ballads seem to have been such pinks-of-perfections, and to have come from Llangollen, and Athens, and Judah, and a pack of other such outlandish places, that it is very difficult to find any that will suit me.
“I’ve talked and I’ve prattled with some fifty maids,Andchangedthem as oft, do you see;But of all the bright beauties, I ever knew,Miss Emma’s the maid for me.”Popular Song,with a few slight alterations by myself, and which I was forced to make, for positively all the Maids spoken of in Ballads seem to have been such pinks-of-perfections, and to have come from Llangollen, and Athens, and Judah, and a pack of other such outlandish places, that it is very difficult to find any that will suit me.
“I’ve talked and I’ve prattled with some fifty maids,Andchangedthem as oft, do you see;But of all the bright beauties, I ever knew,Miss Emma’s the maid for me.”Popular Song,with a few slight alterations by myself, and which I was forced to make, for positively all the Maids spoken of in Ballads seem to have been such pinks-of-perfections, and to have come from Llangollen, and Athens, and Judah, and a pack of other such outlandish places, that it is very difficult to find any that will suit me.
I shouldn’t wonder but there are some bilious, discontented people, who will perhaps say that I have been devoting more time and space to Mr. Dick Farden than I ought to have done. But it’s the old fable over again; there was no pleasing everybody, whichever way the man treated the donkey, so of course it’s not to be expected that everybody will be pleased with the account of the way in which Mr. Dick Farden treated me. However, I was determined to do the man justice while I was about him; and now that I’ve come back to Miss Emma, I intend to do the same to her. Perhaps this may meet their eyes some day, and then I dare say it will be a nice blow to them. For, of course,theynever thoughttheywere in the wrong, not they, and will be rather surprised to find out whatIthought about it.
But before beginning my account of that wretched half-witted girl, I should like the reader to understand that it is far from my nature to blame any menial for want of those intellects which are not in our power to command. Of course, poor servants can’t be expected to have had theinestimable blessings of a finished education, like ourselves, and, therefore, a deficiency of understanding in them should be rather pitied than blamed. Though with respect to my Emma, her abominable stupidity wassohard to bear with, that at times, upon my word, it was as much as ever I could do to keep myself from flying out at her, and giving it her soundly. Often and often have I been forced to have a hard battle with myself, to prevent myself from shaking her well, and trying to knock something like sense into the stupid’s brain. It’s all very well for a pack of self-conceited men to say “that a good woman has no head.” I’m sure for the matter of that, my Emma had none at all, and she was bad enough, heaven knows! But what in my opinion, deprived the pitiable object of all sympathy was, that she wasn’t wholly uneducated, and had been taught to read and write, but la! the benefits of reading and writing were entirely thrown away uponher; and I verily believe that even if her education had extended to the blessings of the use of the globes, she would have been as little like a rational creature, after all. It’s all very well to talk about manuring the soil, but what are you to do, I should like to know, when there’s no soil to manure? As Edward very truly said, as for furnishingherupper story, you might have put in the table of weights and measures and a complete bookcase beside, and even then her head would have been as empty as ever, for it would all have gone in at one ear and come out at the other; and, as he very wittily added, the girl’s knowledge-box was lined with less reading than a hair trunk.
The stupid things the girl would say and do, and the dreadful scrapes she would get me into, all through her horrible simplicity, were enough to make the blood of a gold fish boil. Positively, one was always obliged to be speaking by the card, as Hamlet says in the play, though what speaking by the card means I really can’t say, for I never knew anybody but the sapient pig Toby, who was accustomed to do so. If you wanted anything done, you had to tell it to her in a hundred different ways, or else she would be sure to make some dreadful blunder or other; for, as for the flowers of speech, bless you! she paid no more regard to flowers than a cat does! If a double knock came to the door early in the day, and I had my hair in papers, or was down in the kitchen,seeing about dear Edward’s dinner, or was in the bed-room, making up the dirty linen for the wash, or in the drawing-room, dusting the china, (and consequently not dressed to receive company) and I told her, “I wouldn’t see them, and that I was out,” down stairs she’d frisk, and say to whomever it might be, “Missus says she wont see you, and she’s out.” Now I put it to every respectable married woman (who of course has, over and over again, been obliged to tell hundreds of white fibs like this in her time,) whether it wasn’t enough to ruffle a quaker, to have your best friends—carriage-folks, may be—insulted and turned away from your door in such a dreadful way?
Again, I recollect just as the evenings were getting chilly, I thought Edward would relish a round or two of nice hot toast—not cut too thick, and well buttered—indeed, I thought I could take a mouthful of it myself—and accordingly, having told Miss Emma to make some, she must needs, when she brought it up, go setting it down on the slop basin. So I said to her, “Bless me, Emma, what is that footman down stairs for, I should like to know?”
“There’s no footman down stairs, I can assure you, mum,” answered the stupid thing, staring her eyes half out of her head with wonder.
“I tell you there is,” I exclaimed, “under the dresser. At least, all I can say is, therewasthis morning—though you know as well as I do, that it’s no business to be lying there, all among the pots and pans—especially when I had a hook put up over the fire-place on purpose to have the footman hung upon. Why don’t you go and bring the thing up directly?” I continued, as she stood lost in astonishment. “Perhaps you will tell me next that it’s walked out of the house!”
“There’s been no footman in the house, mum, ever since I’ve been here,” she answered, sobbing, and wiping her eyes with her apron. “The only one I’ve seen, I’m sure, is Mr. Simmons’ John, and he was sowing potatoes in the garden next door.”
“Bless the child!” I cried out, “was there ever such a stupid!” and actually I had to take her down stairs and teach her that a footman was a thing made of brass, with legs that would go inside any fender, and used in the best of familiesto stand a hot toast before the fire of a winter’s evening—andthatI supposed was the reason why they gave the thing such a name.
I declare it really wasn’t prudent to trust that Emma to do a thing, and even that little lamb of a Kitty of mine was scarcely safe with a stupid, like her, in the house. For I recollect once, I had been thinking the simpleton had a great deal of spare time on her hands, and might just as well do a little needlework, as sit twiddling her finger and thumb of an evening, so I told her that my little poppet of a Kitty was growing so fast that all her things were getting too short for her, and she really wanted a tuck out in her best frock, and would certainly look all the better for it, so I would thank her to attend to it that night, and let it be done before she went to bed. In the evening, I was in the parlour, boiling down some quince pips to make a nice fixature for my hair, and all the while I could hear that sweet little cherub of mine down stairs crying; so I said to myself what the dickens can that idiot be doing with the child in the kitchen at this time of night, when it ought to have been undressed and in bed a good hour ago? Off I trotted to see what precious bit of stupidity my lady was at now. When I reached the kitchen I thought I should have fainted, for there sat that Emma, with my little angel on her knee, dressed out in its best frock, and with its dear little innocent face daubed all over with treacle, just as if it had been tarred. “What on earth have you been doing with the child, Emma?” I exclaimed.
“I thought as you said it was to have a tuck out in its best frock, ma’am,” she replied, “it could have nothing nicer than plenty of bread and treacle.” And then to my horror I learnt from her, that when I told her I fancied the child would look all the better for having atuck outin its best frock, bless and save us, if the stupid oaf didn’t imagine that I wished it to have agrand feastin its Sunday clothes! “Oh, you stupid, stupid thing!” I said, “and what business have you to go giving the darling all that mess, when the doctor has ordered me to let it have nothing but slops?”
“Nothing but slops, mum!” she exclaimed, with her mouth wide open with astonishment.
“Yes, you stupid, nothing but slops,” I answered; “don’t you even know what slops are now?”
“In course I do, mum,—augh!—oh, la!” she replied; and from the way in which she turned up her nose, and the wry face she made, I could easily see that she fancied that the dear babe was to be fed with the grouts of the tea-cups, or whatever else might be in the slop-basin, when the breakfast things came down.
Positively, nothing was to be done with the woman, I was convinced. She was naturally so thick-headed, that there was no making the least impression upon her; and really I do think one might just as well have tried to drill wisdom into a barber’s block as to have made her understand even the most every-day things imaginable. If a body, without thinking of it, used a word or a phrase with two meanings to it, and one was the right and the other the wrong, of course the bright genius would go and puzzle her brains till she found out the wrong one. And the worst of it was, she never would come and ask, or one wouldn’t have minded, so that I do think, as long as she was in the house, not one day went over our heads without some dreadful blunder or other being committed by the ninny. Now, for instance, Mr. Edward had been saying, in his nasty mean way, as he never had a pudding or a pie for dinner, he supposed ribbon had got so dear the housekeeping couldn’t afford pastry; so I thought I would put a stop to his shabby satire, and let him have a nice “dog in a blanket,” as a treat for dinner one day—especially as he’s very partial to it; and, certainly, if it’s made with a nice thin crust, and plenty of good strawberry—or even I don’t mind if it’s raspberry—jam, I do think it is as nice a dish as can well be put upon table—only the worst of it is, one’s apt to eat too much of it; and, I don’t know whether my fair readers find it so with them or not, but to me it’s rather indigestible, or, I must say, I should let dear Edward have it oftener.
Accordingly, as, of course, I fanciedthatsilly Emma of mine, blockhead as she is, couldn’t well go making any mistake with so simple a dish as a “roley-poley pudding,” and I didn’t feel much in the humour to go messing with flour in that hot kitchen, I had the girl up, and to guard against mistakes, I asked her whether she knew what a dog in a blanket was? Of course the wiseacre did; anybody, she fancied, would know what a dog in a blanket was.
“Well, then,” said I, “do you think you could manage one for me?”
“Oh! yes, certainly, mum,” answered Miss Clever; “I used to have to do one every night at my last missus’s.”
“Very well, then,” I replied, though I really can’t tell how I could ever have been so stupid as to have fancied that any woman—however partial she might be to roley-poleys—could have managed to eat one of the heavy things every night of her life before going to bed—“here’s some strawberry jam for you, and, for heaven’s sake, don’t spare it, but take care and spread it at least an inch thick upon your crust, or else it’s not worth eating!”
“Oh, thank you, mum!” she returned, as she took it, and trotted out of the room with what I thought at the time a highly satisfied air, (as well, indeed, she might.) In about half-an-hour, my lady marched into the parlour as coolly as possible, and saying she had done the dog in a blanket as I had desired, asked if she should bring it up stairs to me.
“No,” I replied, quite innocently, “I don’t want to see it; you can put it on the fire now, and let it boil slowly for about an hour to an hour and a quarter, for I wouldn’t thank you for it unless it’s well done.”
Open went her mouth again, and out came her eyes, while she stammered: “Boil it! why you don’t mean to say you’re going to eat it, mum?”
“Eat it! of course I am—for dinner,” I replied. “Why, what on earth have you been doing with it? You have rolled it up, I suppose.”
“Oh! yes, mum,” she answered, “as nice and snug as ever you seed anything in all your life.”
“And you haven’t spared the jam—have you, simpleton?” I added.
“Oh! no, mum,” she returned; “I emptied the whole pot.”
“You’re sure you spread it on your crust an inch thick, now, as I told you?” I inquired; for I began to have my misgivings from the girl’s manner, that something or other was wrong.
“Certainly, mum,” she replied, “on the crust and on the crumb too; and, with many thanks to you, mum, I eat as many as four slices.”
“Youeatmyjam!” I screamed; “oh dear! you shameful wicked——! but what on earth has become of my beautiful dog in a blanket?”
“He’s all safe, mum,” she answered, alarmed at my manner; “he’s down stairs—I put him in the baby’s cradle.”
“In my sweet angel’s cradle!” I shrieked, and, saying no more, I rushed down stairs, when, sure enough, there I found that hairy brute of a Carlo of ours rolled up in one of the Witneys belonging to my baby’s bassinet, and, kicking away as if it were half stifled. “Oh, you good-for-nothing bit of goods!” I exclaimed—“how dare you, Emma, ever tell me such an abominable falsehood, as that you used to do a dog in a blanket every night at your last mistress’s!—oh! you wicked story, you!”
“I’m nothing of the kind, mum, and it’s the plain truth!” she answered, sobbing, “and you can go and ask Miss Mackay yourself, if I hadn’t to do her Italian greyhound up in flannel every evening before I went to bed.”
I declare even I—vexed as I was—could hardly give it the girl asshedeserved, andIfelt inclined to do. But, really, her utter want of even common comprehension did seem to me so pitiable, that I couldn’t bring myself to do more than tell her that I should have that pot of jam out of her next quarter, as sure as she was born—though as, luckily for her, she hadn’t wasted any flour, I should look over her shameful, idiotic conduct once more—giving her this warning, that if she didn’t contrive to cram some more brains into her head for the future, she must look out for another situation.
I’m certain my fair readers will allow that some little credit was due to me for the command I had over my temper throughout this trying occasion—especially when I tell them that do what I would, I never could keep the fleas out of that Carlo’s beautiful coat, so that no wonder my little cherub of a Kitty was so restless the night after that dog had been rolled up in one of her blankets. When I went to dress her in the morning, I declare if the beautiful white skin of the angel wasn’t covered all over with large red spots, forall the world like the sixpenny wooden horse I had bought her for a toy. Nor did the annoyance stop here, for, being accustomed to take the little thing into our bed of a morning, to play with her—goodness gracious me! if Edward and myself were not quite as much tormented with the nasty lively irritating things, as even little Kitty had been, so that really and truly we couldn’t for the life of us get what I call a nice comfortable night’s rest for weeks afterwards.
Even if I had felt inclined to bear with the miserable girl’s wretched stupidity, still her abominable love of gossiping was quite enough to make any respectable, quiet, well-disposed lady, like myself, take her by the ears and bundle her into the streets. Though, of course, her chattering gossip wasn’t to be wondered at, for we all know that empty barrels make the greatest noise, and her head was so empty, that I declare she would make noise enough for fifty women, and talk fourteen to the dozen any day; for, without exaggeration, her tongue was so long that it was impossible for her to keep it between her teeth. If the butcher-boy came with the joint, there she would stand gossiping at the area-gate, wasting her own time and the boy’s too. When the baker brought the bread, it was just the same; or even if it was that little chit from the green-grocer, it made no difference to her. Though what the dickens an empty-headed thing, like she was, could have to say to them all, I never could make out. While as for the servants in the neighbourhood, I declare she was bosom friends with the whole street. If I didn’t keep my eye upon her every moment of the day, off she’d be, out in the garden, chattering away over the wall, either with the housemaid at the Tomlins’s, on the right, or with the cook at the Allen’s, on the left, or with that impudent monkey of a footman at the Simmons’s, at the back. And as for a morning, when she was pretending to be cleaning down that door-step, I do think, if I had to ring once, I had to ring a dozen times for Edward’s hot water to shave with. Of course, she couldn’t hear the bell—how could she?—when she was gossiping away with the next doors, putting a lot of tales about the neighbourhood, all against me, as I felt convinced she was? For positively the maids on both sides of us knew just as much about my affairs as I did myself; and I’m sure, that even if she had lived atthe Tomlins’s or the Allen’s, she couldn’t have known more of their secrets; for often and often she has stood for better than half an hour telling me a pack of things about them, that, of course, they wouldn’t have liked anybody to know. I used to think it was very strange, and couldn’t for the life of me make out how it was things that I fancied nobody in the world but Edward and myself were acquainted with, could come round to me in the way they did. Until one fine morning, a little bird whispered in my ear, that it was that beauty of an Emma of mine, who, instead of sweeping round the area-railings, was pulling my character to pieces, and vilifying me to the first of the neighbours’ maids that she could lay hold of, saying Mrs. Sk—n—st—n did this, Mrs. Sk—n—st—n did that, or Mrs. Sk—n—st—n did the other,—(of course, there’s no necessity for me to go repeating what the good-for-nothing minx actuallydidsay of me,)—so that, at last it really came to this—if even Edward and I had a word or two together about any little trifling matter, off thegoodnews went—“There’s been another row at the Sk—n—st—ns’,” right up to the York and Albany; and “There’s been another row at the Sk—n—st—ns’,” right down to Cumberland Market.
I only wanted to catch the beauty in the fact; for I don’t like listening to what other people say, and so determined to wait quietly until I could overhear her telling her fine stories myself. As I expected, it wasn’t long before I pounced upon her very nicely, and then it was, oh dear me, who would have thought it! For the very morning after that affair of the “dog in a blanket,” I thought my lady was a long time hearth-stoning the step, and I just put my head very quietly out of the window, and there sure enough she was, with those two idle sluts of maids, from both the next doors, all three of them in their night-caps, with their hair like door-mats, and their gowns all open behind, and their brooms in their hands, sweeping away, as a make-believe, just for a minute, and then laying their heads together, and standing gossiping for at least five—then off again for a bit more sweeping—and then back again for a bit more scandal. This was just what I wanted, so rubbing my hands with glee, I popped on my flannel dressing-gown, and stole down
The Morning Gossip.The Morning Gossip.
stairs, as silently as a black-beetle. When I came to the passage, I slipped behind the door, and heard them going on so nicely, no one can tell!
“Did you hever hear of sitch wulgarity, Miss Ginger? honly to think of her calling on a common jam pudden, a dog in a blanket!” said that minx of an Emma of mine.
“Well, I never heerd tell on the likes of sitch low talk—did you hever, Miss Twigg?” exclaimed that slut of a maid at the Tomlins’s.
“Not I, my dear; but then to be sureI’veonly lived in the fust of families,” answered that slip-shod, draggle-tail of a Miss Twigg at the Allens’. “But, after all, it’s no more than I should have looked for from sitch a stuck-up thing as she is, for missus says as how her friends his honly coal-eavers.”
As the reader can well conceive, I felt the tips of my fingers itching to be among the impudent, story-telling jades, but, thank goodness! I restrained my feelings—merely saying to myself, “Coal-heavers, indeed! well, if three barges and one wagon make a coal-heaver, I should like to know what makes a merchant, andthat’swhatmyfriends are, as that Mrs. Allen very well knows.”
“What do you think?” continued Miss Emma—“why Mrs. Sk—n—st—n hactually had the himperance to tell me that she’d stop the pot of jam she guv me, as plain as she could speak, hout of my wages. But I aint a goin to let her—no, not if I summonses the stingy old cat for it.”
“You a’nt—a’nt you?” I cried, bursting out from my hiding-place, for upon my word, my blood was up so, that I seized hold of her by the shoulders, and gave her such a shaking as she wont forget in a hurry, while her two friends scampered off with their brooms immediately they caught sight of me. “So you’ll summonsme, will you?” I continued, when I couldn’t shake her any longer—“you’ll summonsme, will you? and so you may, this day month, if you please—and you may summons me, if you like, for not giving you a character, into the bargain, for you wont get one fromme,—you ungrateful, wicked, stupid, double-faced idiot, you!”
The courteous reader will, no doubt, be surprised that I didn’t pack the hussey out of the house then and there, and will, I dare say, be blaming me for allowing such a creature toremain one moment longer in my establishment. But I know I have always been too considerate to servants, and of course that is the reason why they treat me as they do. Besides, dear Edward was unfortunately from home, (having been called away to the Guildford Assizes by professional business,) and he does side with the servants so, that I thought it might prevent his making a noise, if I gave her the usual month’s warning, instead of bundling her and her trumpery box into the streets, as she deserved.
But, of course, it was only the old story over again, the more indulgent I was to her, the more I suffered for it. For I declare it was not more than two days after this that her abominable stupidity again got me into such a dreadful scrape, that I can only say that it was extremely lucky for her that I didn’t find it out till I got in the country, or there’s no telling what I might have done to her.
Mr. Sk—n—st—n had written me a letter to say that he feared that business would detain him in Guildford for at least a fortnight longer, as his cause stood last but three in the list, and the special jury cases had not yet been disposed of. So as I couldn’t, for the life of me, see the fun of being boxed up in town all alone, while my dear husband was enjoying himself in the country, and paying goodness knows what in hotel bills, when I was sure that one-half of the money would keep us very comfortably in lodgings in a country town like that Guildford, so I say I made up my mind, as the fine weather seemed likely to last, to pack up my box, and run down to him on the morrow, especially as I knew it would be such an agreeable surprise to him, and he was entitled by law to a guinea a-day for his expenses, and which I was convinced would be more than sufficient for the two of us.
Accordingly, immediately after breakfast, the next morning, I told that Miss Emma to bring down my hair-trunk, out of the back attic, and I set to work packing it, so that I might be in time to catch the three o’clock train. As it was only for a week or so, I thought one morning and one afternoon dress would be quite sufficient. Still, as there was a chance of my having to see company, (for every one knows how gay a country town is during the assizes, and this year there was to be a grand trial for a dreadfully shocking murder, which Iwas sure would fill Guildford with all the best people for miles round,) I thought it better, as I felt convinced that, under the circumstances, I should meet with several of the first ladies in the neighbourhood, to put up my beautiful new Barège, which I had just had home from the dressmaker’s, and only worn the Sunday before at church, where it was generally admired.
Really, when I came to turn it over in my mind, it was such heavenly weather that, upon my word, it seemed to me like a sin to go shutting oneself up in those close first and second class carriages, with a set of old molly-coddles, that will have all the windows up, when for half or even a quarter of the money that one is obliged to pay for being stifled alive, one can have all the advantage of travelling in an open carriage, and breathing that beautiful, pure, and balmy country air, which, to a person living in such a smoky place as London, is positively beyond all price. Not that I should wish any one to suppose that it was the paltry difference between the fares that influenced my opinion, for I declare I would sooner any day pay the price of the first class carriages to be allowed to ride in the third. Besides, it wasn’t as if I was likely to meet with any one that I was acquainted with—though for the matter of that, it was little or nothing to me if I did. So (I make no secret about it, for I don’t care who knows it) I made up my mind to go in the third class—especially as I should have to pay that minx of a Miss Emma her board wages for the fortnight, so that what with cab hire, and those shameful impositions of turnpikes, I was fearful lest the money that Edward had left with me for the housekeeping might run short, and I should be driven up in a corner for want of funds. Consequently, I put on an old dress that I didn’t care about spoiling, for I wasn’t going to be stupid enough to run the chance of having an expensive gown entirely ruined by those filthy smuts from the engine, or to go decking oneself out so as to attract notice where you rather wished to avoid it.
When I had finished packing, I sat down, for the first time that day, just to try and coax myself to eat a mouthful of the beautiful little leg of mutton that I had had for dinner the day before, and which had looked such a picture in the butcher’s shop, that I took quite a fancy to it, as I was sure thatit would eat as nice and tender as lamb, and so it did. While I was thus occupied, I gave that simpleton of a Miss Emma a card, on which I had written, in a large round hand, “Mrs. Sk—n—st—n, passenger, Guildford,” so that there might be no mistake about my luggage, and told her (as I do like to have my meals in quiet) to fasten it on my box with a tack or two, and then to run round and fetch me a cab as quick as she could; for, on looking at the clock, I found I had no time to spare, and I wanted to cut up the remainder of the mutton into a sandwich or two, as I didn’t see the good of leaving it for that good-for-nothing servant of mine, when I was going to put her upon board wages; and, as I said to myself, who knows but I might be thankful for something to eat on the journey, and even if I shouldn’t be, why it would save me the expense of having any cold meat with my tea.
When the cab came round, and I went to see my trunk safe on the box with the driver, lo and behold! if that blockhead of an Emma hadn’t been sewing the card on to the handle with some cotton, instead of nailing it on to the lid, as I desired her. But of course she would have it that it was all my fault, saying, that when I told her to fasten it on with a tack or two, she naturally fancied that I meant with a needle and thread—instead of a hammer and nails, as any one, with half a grain of sense in their heads, would have understood me. But there was no time to have it altered then, so I jumped into the cab, disgusted with the whole world, and determined to prevent accidents, by not allowing the trunk to go out of my sight for a moment.
What with quarrelling with that Emma, and searching for coppers to give those dreadful cheats at the turnpikes, and the cabman going the longest way round to make me fancy the distance was greater than it was, positively, when I got to the railway, the bell was ringing. While I was quarrelling with that shameful impostor of a cabman about the fare, I turned round, and saw a porter running off with my trunk on his green velveteen shoulder. I screamed after him, telling him to put it down that instant, but it was all to no use. So taking the cabman’s number, and paying what he asked, off I rushed into the office, and whilst I was getting my ticket, told the gentleman that one of their porters had, in a mostshameful manner, carried off my trunk, and I should certainly hold the company responsible for any damage or loss that might happen to it. But of course he would have it that I needn’t alarm myself, and would find it all right, saying that if there was a card on it marked “Guildford,” it would be put with the Guildford luggage, and taken out at the proper station. But there was no time for looking into the matter, for when I got on the platform, the second bell rang, and I was no sooner in my place, than off went the train.
I don’t know whether it has ever struck the reader, but it seems to me that it never rains but when you’re going out upon pleasure. No matter if it has been fine for a month previously, only just put on your things for a trip into the country, or down the river, or for a fête at Vauxhall, or even go out in a new bonnet and leave your umbrella at home, and of course down itmustpour in torrents, just because you don’t want it; and positively as if the clerk of the weather had got a spite against you. When my peas were coming up, of course there wasn’t a drop of rain for six weeks, and now that I had set my heart upon a beautiful excursion, a few miles out of town, it must begin to spit the very moment the train left Nine Elms, and come down in perfect cataracts by the time we got to Wandsworth. Talk about subscriptions for the damage done to market-gardeners and florists, by a heavy shower, I’m sure I never see it begin to rain but what my bosom bleeds to think of the dreadful destruction that must then be going on among the artificial flowers in the ladies’ bonnets; and, goodness gracious! if mine didn’t hang down and look as pappy as if they had been boiled. To be sure, there was a young man next to me who was also going to Guildford, and who, being a perfect gentleman, was kind enough to offer me a part of his umbrella, for he couldn’t help seeing that my parasol was of no more use to me than an extinguisher, and I declare even then—for what is one umbrella between two, especially when it’s only a small German as his was—even then I say, the rain kept dripping down my neck and all over my shoulders, until my black silk Polka was so wet that it looked as shiny as a policeman’s oil-skin cape, and I was so drenched to the skin, that upon my word I was quite glad to get out of the bothering train, and takeshelter even in the little poking lonely railway hotel, where at least I said to myself, I shall be able to change my soaking things, and get dry and comfortable before going on to Guildford.
When I got into the station, I told a porter to look after my luggage, adding that it was merely one box, with “Mrs. Sk—n—st—n, passenger, Guildford,” written on a card, attached to the handle; and presently back he came, saying that the only box in the office was a hair trunk, without any name at all on it.
“Is it a brown hair trunk?” I asked, quite alarmed.
“Yes, mum,” he answered, “a brown hair trunk, with brass nails.”
On going and looking at it, I said, “Yes, that’s mine, and the card has got torn off, just as I expected.”
Directly I got to the hotel, I requested the landlady to let me have a room with a good fire in it, and a cup of hot tea as soon as ever she could, as I was wet through, and afraid of catching my death, unless I had something warm, and put on some nice dry things immediately. Once in my room, with my bonnet off, I couldn’t help saying to myself, “Drat those third-class carriages! I declare if I’m not as wet as a bathing woman!” And so I was, for my hair hung down the sides of my face positively like skeins of silk. As for my poor, beautiful Leghorn bonnet, it had no more shape in it than a basket-woman’s in Covent Garden Market, and whenever I went across the room I declare the wet came dripping from me for all the world as if I was a walking umbrella.
However, I soon had my box up stairs, and set to work about getting my things out. But when I put the key in the lock, do what I would I couldn’t make it turn. Of course, I thought some of the crumbs of the mutton sandwiches I had in my pocket must have got into it, so I kept blowing down it, and knocking it on my hand, but all to no good, till at last, I got into such a passion with it, that I put the end of my parasol into the handle of the key, and at last forced it round.
Oh dear, oh dear! I thought I should have fainted when I lifted up the lid. Goodness gracious me! if I hadn’t got some brute of a man’s box, instead of my own. I flew to the bell and nearly pulled it down. When the landlady came up,I shrieked out, “They’ve given me the wrong box; you must send down to the station directly and see if mine is there, for I know I shall be laid up for months with a cold, if I don’t have it.”
“Mercy me, mum, you don’t say so!” repliedthatlandlady; “and I shouldn’t wonder if yours has gone on to Southampton, now; however, the porter will be here when the next train comes in, and then I can ask him all about it, for really there isn’t a single soul in the house that I can spare at present.”
“Why, my good woman,” I exclaimed, “I’m drenched to the skin, and what am I to do in the meantime?”
“You shall have your tea directly, mum, and the next train wont be above an hour at the most. Would you like a nice hot chop with it, mum?”
“Chop! No!” I screamed, “I don’t want any chops; I want my box.”
“Very well, mum, you shall have it as soon as possible—with a nice mixed pickle, mum;” and then, hearing one of the bells ring, out she flew, leaving me to steam away before the fire, just as if I was a potato.
There I sat, “dratting” the stupidity of that Emma, until positively I felt the shivers coming on, and was convinced that if I didn’t do something, I should be having a doctor’s bill as long as my arm to pay, and be, perhaps, a martyr to the rheumatism for the rest of my days. All of a sudden, just as I was driven to desperation, it struck me that perhaps the plaguy box belonged to a married couple, and there might be a gown or a wrapper in it that one could put on; and as I dare say whoever had got my trunk wouldn’t be very particular with it, I didn’t see why I should go sparing theirs. Accordingly I began unpacking it. The first thing I took out was a great big ugly pilot coat, smelling away of tobacco smoke enough to knock one down,—then, three or four coloured shirts, some with blue stripes like a bed-tick, and others with large red spots, as if they had been made out of a clown’s dress,—then there was a box of shaving soap—and a bottle of whisker-dye—and a fishing-rod—and a couple of pairs of trowsers, with patterns big enough for druggets—and a bothering German flute—a bright blue surtout—amagic razor-strop—a pot of Yarmouth bloaters—a volume of Blair’s Sermons—and some socks, oh, la! as full of large round holes as the front of a peep-show. I really didn’t know what to do. It was impossible for me to sit trembling away there like a jelly, so I made up my mind just to slip on the pilot coat, and a pair of the socks, which at least were dry, while I hung my gown over the chair, before the fire, and then wait patiently until I could gain some tidings of my lost box. When I took a peep at myself in the glass, upon my word, if, with that beastly pilot coat on, I didn’t look more like an old apple-woman in the streets than a respectable married female. However, I did feel more comfortable, and it was not the time to think about looks.
Whilst I was seated in front of the fire, with the collar of the coat turned up so as to keep my neck warm, and longing for a nice cup of warm tea, who should come in but the maid with the tray, but no sooner did she catch sight of me, than she took me for a brute of a man, and saying, “I beg your pardon, sir, I thought it was the lady in the next room,” she whisked out of the place, although I called out—“Here! here! that tea is for me!” as loud as ever I could.
A lady in the next room, then! thought I to myself—I’ll go and ask her to lend me a few things till I can get my own, for I’m sure she can never have the heart to refuse me. So directly I heard the maid go down stairs, I went and knocked at her door, and when she said “Come in,” I positively felt so ashamed of the figure I knew I was, that I declare I hadn’t the courage to look her in the face; so, with my eyes cast down on the ground, I said, “I have to apologize—for intruding upon you—but—I thought that perhaps—you might have a gown or so—that you did not want—and which would be kind enough to let me—have for a short time—for”——and I was going on to explain the distressing situation I was in, when the creature cut me short by hallooing out in a horribly gruff voice, “A gown or two that I don’t want! hang me if I haven’t got a whole box full in the next room that are of no use to me, and that anybody’s welcome to.”
I was about to express my thanks for what appeared to me to be the height of generosity, especially from one that I had never seen before in all my life, when, on turning my eyestowards the stranger, I couldn’t help thinking that whoever it was, she had either got on my beautiful Barège gown, or else one of the very same pattern, and I was just about to march round and see whether it had got a cross body, as mine had, before I accused any one of wearing my things—when, lo and behold! the person called out, “Where the deuce did you get that pea-coat from?”
“Where,” I cried, “didyouget that gown from, I should like to know, sir,” for I no sooner saw the creature’s face, than, from the whiskers, I at once knew that it was the young man who had come down with me in the train, and who was sitting there with his coat off, and my beautiful best gown tied by the sleeves in a knot round his neck; and directly he took my plaid shawl off his head, I saw he had split the dress somehow or other all down the back.
“Never mind the gown,” he answered, “what business had you to go meddling with my trunk?”
“Imeddle withyourtrunk!” I exclaimed, “what right hadyouto go running away withminein the shameful way you have?”
However, I was too glad to get back my things, to stand asking questions of a person, who, if it hadn’t been for his civility in sharing his umbrella with me, I certainly should have given into custody on the spot. Though when I looked over my box, I declare if the brute hadn’t so tossed about and tumbled all my clean things, and so torn and ruined my beautiful Barège, that as soon as I had sufficiently recovered myself, and put on some dry things, I packed up my box again and made the best of my way back to town; for I saw that it was useless to think of spending a fortnight in Guildford, with nothing but a morning-wrapper to put on—especially as by so doing there could be no chance of Edward’s knowing a word about the occurrence, which I felt convinced he would be certain to say was entirely my fault.
Directly I set foot in my own house again, I had Miss Emma into the parlour, and showing her the state that my gown was in, all through her abominable stupidity, I told her that she really was so dangerous a blockhead to have near one, that although I wouldn’t thrust her into the wide world without a place to put her head in that night, still she wouldbe pleased to quit my service first thing in the morning—which I took very good care she did.
And thus ended my acquaintance with Miss Emma, and I very naturally made a vow that the next woman I had in my service should have some little learning in her head, at least. Though positively, it was only jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire, for when the other creature came in she was, if possible, harder to put up with than the good-for-nothing hussey that I had just turned out of the house. Bless us and save us! if her head wasn’t crammed brim full of trumpery penny novels and rubbishing romantic melo-dramas. Was there ever such a woman—a great big, fat thing, with a currant-jelly complexion, and always marching about the house with a broom in her hand, either fancying herself “Ada the Betrayed,” or “Amy,” in “Love and Madness”—or else sitting for hours, after the parlour dinner was over, all among the dirty plates and dishes, with her feet on the fender, crying her eyes out, over “The Murder at the Old Smithy,” or “The Heads of the Headless,” just, for all the world, as you see her in the picture,—which I will tell the gentle reader all about in the next chapter—and a pretty chapter of accidents it will be—for, of all the plagues of servants I ever had anything to do with, that woman certainly was the greatest, and she got me intoonescrape, that I’m sure I shall never forget to my dying hour—but more of this hereafter.