_Duties of my Lady's Own Woman._
Mrs. Gatty was circumspect not to occupy my _Father's_ Arm-Chair this
Evening, whether he came to claim it or no. When the Tea-Things were
set, I stept up to Mr. _Fenwick_ to let him know we were ready.
"So soon?" said he, looking up from his Book; "why, do you want me to
read to you before Tea?"
"We hope you will oblige us with your Company to Tea, Sir," said I.
"Nay then," said he, in high Good-Humour, "I'll join you directly."
And closing his Book with Alacrity, he followed me down Stairs.
We had made no Difference, to _call_ Difference, for him this Evening.
He took us as he found us; and chatted away on this and that, as much
one of ourselves as if he had not a Word of _Latin_ or _Greek_ in his
Head. Once or twice I tried to lead to Something I thought he would
have liked better,--Something on which he could have harangued while it
would have behoved us to listen; but he darted away from it directly,
and _would_ keep down to the Level of his Company, without seeming to
mind it.
After Tea, we all took out our Work, and my _Mother_ began to snip a
Fly-catcher.
"Oh, now you expect me to read, I suppose," said he; but still delayed,
to chat and laugh about this and the other Trifle with _Prudence_ and
_Gatty_, till at last, a sudden Pause occurring, he had no Excuse for
idling any longer.
He said he would, with our Leave, read us _Shenstone's
"Schoolmistress_." We had never heard of it, and were quite willing
to hear it on his Recommendation. He said it was a Burlesque in the
_Spenserian_ Stanza. We knew what a Burlesque was, but not what was a
_Spenserian_ Stanza. He said, Illustration was the best Explanation,
and began at once. His Voice and Manner of reading were so musical,
that I liked the Melody; and could follow him with Ease till he got to
"_Libs_, _Notus_, and _Auster_." I suppose he guessed we might be at
Fault, so checked himself to tell us they were Names of the Winds. Then
he was about to resume, when _Prue_ interrupted him with, "Pray, Sir,
what is _unkempt_?"
"Uncombed, to be sure," put in _Gatty_.
"Oh, very well, I have been thinking of it ever so long, and could not
make out what it was."
"If I come to Anything you wish to know, pray don't scruple to stop
me," says Mr. _Fenwick_; and went on.
By and by, _Prue_ gets treading on _Gatty's_ Foot at--
"_As erst the Bard by Mulla's Silver Stream_,"
and _Gatty_ frowns at her. Mr. _Fenwick_, perceiving some By-Play going
on, stops to ask if they have Anything to say. _Prudence_ hangs her
Head over her Work, colours a little, and says, "No, Sir."
"I believe," says Mr. _Fenwick_, glancing over the Leaves, "I had
better modernize the old Style a little, that you may follow it better."
We all thanked him, except _Prudence_, who said she liked it best as it
was.
"Why? Did she understand it?"
"No."
"Then why did she like it?"
"Because she did." This Answer made Mr. _Fenwick_ laugh; but I must say
I thought it very stupid. However, he went on, till within a few Verses
of the End; when my _Father_ walked in.
Mr. _Fenwick_, laying down the Book with that Cheerfulness and
Self-Possession which so well became him, took the first Word, and
said--
"Good Evening, Mr. _Honeywood_! Here am I, you see, reading to your
good Wife and Daughters, and trying to prepare myself for Duty on a
larger Scale."
"Sir, you do us honour," says my _Father_, quite civilly; "your Company
must be an Honour to us at any Time, whenever you please to bestow it
on us. Pray go on."
"Oh, we can wait a little While," says Mr. _Fenwick_. "Pray, is there
any News stirring?"
"There's a Whale in the _Thames_," says my Father.
"Indeed!" cried we all.
"And there's an Eye-lash in my Eye," continues he; "pray, Mrs.
_Honeywood_, come and take it out."
While my _Mother_ was thus engaged, we chatted among ourselves. "What
will you have, _Father_?" said I. "Shall I make you some Tea?"
"No, I'd rather you put on Supper half an Hour, and let me have
Something broiled, and some mulled Wine and Toast."
When I returned from giving Orders, I found my _Father_ established in
his Arm-Chair, my _Mother_ returned to her Snipping, _Prue_ and _Gatty_
embroidering different Corners of the same Apron, and Mr. _Fenwick_
ready to resume his Reading. The Poem was soon finished, and when we
had talked it over a little, he asked us what he should read next. I
said I thought he had better not do too much at first, and Supper would
soon be ready. He said, "Oh, he was just getting into the Humour of it,
and there was Plenty of Time to read some short Piece before Supper."
So then my _Mother_ said she thought a Paper of the _Tatler_ would be
just long enough; and mentioned a favourite Number that she had not
read for a good While--that charming Piece[1] beginning,--"There are
several Persons who have many Pleasures and Entertainments in their
Possession which they do not enjoy;" and proceeding to give such a
touching Picture of domestic Felicity. Mr. _Fenwick_ read it with
such Feeling that we were all delighted with it; and it seemed to me
that even my _Father_, who sat quite silent, with his Back to us, was
moved by it, for I noticed his breathing very hard,--his only Way of
expressing strong Feeling. "Ah!" thought I to myself, "if Mr. _Fenwick_
were to read to us in this nice Way every Evening, and my _Father_ were
to grow fond of it and of him, and get into the Way of coming Home
early, instead of sipping Spirits and Water with _Don Saltero_, how
happy we should be!"
[1] No. 95.
"And now," says my _Mother_, "there's a Sequel to that Paper, which
I should very much like to hear, save for the Fear of tiring Mr.
_Fenwick_."
"Oh, I'm not at all tired," said he;
"Pray give it me; for I am already quite in love with this good Man and
his Wife."
So my _Mother_ looked him out No. 114, which begins, "I was walking
about my Chamber this Morning in a very gay Humour, when I saw a Coach
stop at my Door, and a Youth of about fifteen alight out of it,"--and
goes on to describe the Death of the Wife and Mother of the Family. We
were presently all in Tears; _Gatty_ even sobbing; and Mr. _Fenwick_
seemed irresolute once or twice whether to proceed or stop. However,
he went on, and when he came to the Husband fainting, my Attention was
divided between him and my _Father_, who at that Crisis gave not a Sigh
but a Snore. He was fast asleep. My _Mother_, ashamed of him, gave him
a little Nudge, and said, "My Dear!" on which he turned on his Side,
murmured, "Very like a Whale!" and was off again as sound as a Top.
None of us could help laughing a little, and after this, there were no
more Tears shed. We supped, and separated for the Night.
_Gatty_ and I still slept together; and, as we were undressing, she
said, "I fear your Sister thought me affected to-night for crying at
that Death-Bed Scene; she gave me such a Look! Indeed I could not
help it; I have witnessed one so much like it; and my Spirits are yet
tender."
I said, "Pray do not think of it again--_Prudence_ has that sharp Look
sometimes, and seems just now under some little Misapprehension; but in
the Main, there cannot be a better Creature. She has not seen so much
of you as I have, but yet, I am sure she likes you, and admires you
too."
"Nobody can do that," says _Gatty_; "but I don't want to be admired,
though I own it is pleasant to me to be liked, and not to be
misapprehended."
As she lay down, she said sighing, "Most likely, this is the last
Night I shall pass in this dear little Bed."
I said, "Shall you be sorry to leave us?"
"To be sure I shall!" cried she; "you have been Kindness itself to me;
even my Illness was solaced, and my Recovery has been very pleasant;
but my Life in Servitude is anything but comfortable. I have heard or
read a Line somewhere:
'_And_ Betty's _praised for Labours not her own_.'"
"In _my_ Case, the Reading might be--
'_And_ Gatty's _blamed for Blunders not her own_.'"
"It cannot be helped. Good Night!"
"I hope," said I, "we shall never quite lose Sight of one another."
"Oh no! I hope not. You must write to me now and then."
"Perhaps you can come to us when you have a Holiday."
"I never have a Holiday. Lady _Betty_ knows I had no Friends when I
came to Town, and does not approve of my making any."
"No Friends! That does sound dreary!"
"It _is_ dreary."
I had now extinguished the Candle. She said no more; but I could hear
her from Time to Time give a great Sigh.
"_Gertrude_," I at length said softly, "are you crying?"
She cleared her Throat a little, but made no Answer.
"Tell me, Dear, what's the Matter."
"I'm only a little low," she replied, huskily.
"How I wish I had given you some reviving Drops, before I put out the
Candle! I will light it again."
"Oh no! Drops would do me no good--they would not give me what I want."
"What _do_ you want?"
"To see my Mother once more, and my Brothers, and my Sisters, and every
one at Home. I do pine for them all so, you can't think!"
And now she sobbed outright, though quietly. "It seems so long since I
came away, and the Prospect before me is so forlorn; no certain Hope of
going back; or ever, ever seeing them any more!"
"_Gertrude_, I _shall_ get up and give you the Drops. They will give
you Strength."
"I'm afraid they won't."
"Yes, they will. You have over-tired yourself to-day; you are trying to
get about too soon. The Drops will quiet you and set you to sleep, and
to-morrow you will be better."
So I gave her the Drops, which she thankfully took; and in Half-an-hour
or so I was glad to find she was asleep.
The next Morning, while we were dressing, as she had quite recovered
her Composure, I took Advantage of what might be my last Opportunity to
question her a little more than I had yet done on her Position at Lady
_Betty's_.
"Well," says she, "'tis not good to complain, I know, but however, I
will this once say Somewhat of my Life behind the Scenes, with as
few Notes and Comments as I can. My first Grievance is sleeping with
that _Frenchwoman_, a low Person whom it is impossible to like. I
wake sooner than she does, and avail myself of it for a little quiet
Reading or Needlework on my own Account before she is stirring. But
first, I light the Fire in the little Closet beneath my _Lady's_
Chamber, put down the Irons, and warm some Coffee for _Pompon's_
Breakfast and mine, which she takes in an uncomfortable Sort of Way,
running in and out half dressed, without ever sitting down, so that
my Breakfast is uncomfortable too. Then I have to iron out every
individual Thing that Lady _Betty_ took off Overnight, even to her
Gloves; and to air her clean Linen. Having then fed her Parrots and
cleaned their Cages, (_Pompey_ has the Monkey and Lapdog in Charge,)
I sit down to fine Work, and have scarce set a dozen Stitches, when
Lady _Betty's_ Bell is pulled as if the Wire would crack, and her
High-Heeled Slipper raps the Floor to let me know she is ready for her
Chocolate. _Pompey_ brings it up to the Door, and I carry it in, and
wait on her while she drinks it. After this, she remains in Bed two
Hours, sometimes sleeping, but oftener sitting up propped with Pillows,
doing any Fancy-Work she is in the Humour for, getting me to thread
her Needle, change her Silks, hold her Scissors, and Sometimes to read
a Novel to her. If she is very late, it may chance that one of her
female Cronies arrives in her Chair, runs up to tell her some Piece of
Gossip, and perhaps rouses her to get up and dress in a Hurry to go to
some Auction; in which Case she needs not so much two Waiting Women
as twenty. But oftener, she is uninterrupted, and after wasting half
the Morning, rises to waste the other half in a lengthened, capricious
Toilette; trying on a dozen Things she does not mean to wear, and
studying what Colours suit her Complexion. As she does not so much as
put on her own Gloves herself, Madame _Pompon_ is on hard Duty all
this While, I standing by and handing her the Pins and Everything she
wants. If my _Lady_ thinks herself in good Looks, all the better for
us; but if she spies out so much as a Freckle, woe unto us! we are sure
to suffer for what we can't help. To put her in good Humour, _Pompon_
flatters her to a Degree that is nauseous to me, and sometimes gets
a Rebuff for her Pains: then I am set to write half-a-dozen trivial
Notes to her Dictation, or perhaps the Invitations to a Rout or a
Drum, which _Pompey_ is then summoned to carry out. Then, my Work is
called for to be examined; I am chidden if I have not done enough,
and receive numerous Orders and Counter-Orders about it. At last, my
_Lady_ goes out in her Chair, during which Time I keep close to my
Needle, and then _Pompon_ and I dine together. Lady _Betty_ returns,
receives Visitors, and I am on Duty as Woman in waiting, to bring
her Scent-Bottle, hold her Handkerchief, her Gloves, and hear the
News and Gossip of the Day and a thousand Impertinences. At length
my _Lady_ dines: then I resume my Needle; then she dresses for the
Evening, which is as tedious a Transaction as her Morning Toilette.
Her Dressing-Room is the loveliest, most luxurious Apartment you ever
saw; at first I thought it Fairy-Land, and did not mind being shut up
in it; but oh, how tired I am of it now! Its Silken Draperies, polished
Mirrours, Spider-Tables, Ivory Caskets, Alabaster Vases, Silver
Footbath, old Porcelain, grotesque Toys and delicate Trinkets give
me no more Entertainment than so much Rubbish. Elaborately dressed,
she goes forth not to return till two, three, or four o'Clock in the
Morning. Madame _Pompon_ goes down Stairs to play Cards, or puts on
her Calash and goes out to see her Friends, or if she stays with me,
nods over a _French_ Novel, or babbles all kinds of Nonsense while she
manufactures some Piece of Finery. Meanwhile, I sew and sew at that
eternal Embroidery, or try to keep myself awake with a Book, if I can
find one to my Mind, till my _Lady_ returns jaded or excited from the
Ridotto, to be undressed and have hot Soup in Bed. Thus, you see, I
have no Change, no Exercise; and what is worse, no Food or Medicine for
the Mind; and oh, _Patty! is_ this a Life for an accountable Creature?"
[Illustration]