AND THE LAST, (_thank goodness! say I_.)
WHICH MY COURTEOUS READERS MUST READ, IF THEY WANT TO KNOW WHAT
IT’S ABOUT, AS I’VE NO ROOM TO TELL THEM.
Fare thee well! and if for ever,
Why, for ever----
POPULAR SONG, _by Byron, which, for the reason above mentioned, I
haven’t space to finish_.
Well, I’ll give you my word, gentle reader--though I dare say you’ll
hardly believe it--such was the state of things I got to at last;
everything was going crooked in the house--the under nurserymaid
quarrelling with the upper nurserymaid, the upper housemaid complaining
of the under housemaid, and that brute of a footman ill-treating that
monkey of a page--until it was nothing else but jingle-jangle,
wringle-wrangle, from the moment we got up in the morning to the very
instant we went to bed at night. But I do think I could have borne it
all, if it hadn’t been for one dreadful “_contretemps_,” which fairly
drove me out of my senses.
You see, our footman had, like a stupid, fallen down with the urn, and
scalded himself so bad, that I packed him off as an in-door patient to
the hospital--as it struck me I couldn’t do less--and the one I had
after him I did fancy would have turned out such a jewel; but, alas!
alas!--let me restrain my feelings.
When he came after the place, I thought I never saw such a fine,
honest, open countenance in all my born days; and the man did appear
_so_ clean, and was _so_ respectful and meek, and _so_ willing and
good-tempered looking, and was _so_ fond of children, that, I declare,
if he didn’t ask me if he might shake hands with my little Kitty (who
was now nearly seven, and, as he said, as fine and pretty a girl for her
age as he’d ever beheld, and so like its mamma.) The sole stipulation he
made, was that he might be allowed to go to church at least twice every
Sunday--though this only pleased me the more with him. And when he told
me he had lived for the last eighteen years with one of the bishops of
the land (bless us and save us! I said to myself, there’s a character
for you!) and that the only cause for his leaving was, that his poor
master, who had always been a kind one to him, had got embarrassed in
railway speculations, and been obliged to break up his palace in the
country. His lady, however, was staying in town, and would be happy to
see me any morning I pleased to name; so, as I had no idea of letting
such a treasure of a servant slip through my fingers, I made the
appointment for the very next day. The Bishop’s lady--who had the first
floor over a very nice pastry-cook’s in May-fair, for a temporary
residence in London--received me with great condescension, and told me
with almost tears in her poor eyes, that Thompson’s account was very
true, and that if anything in their difficulties grieved her more than
another, it was parting with such an estimable treasure as that good,
honest, worthy man. I don’t think I ever saw such a perfect lady in all
my life. Her dress though, it struck me, was a little too showy for a
person in her station; and (between ourselves) when I looked at her
steadfastly in the face, I declare if the beautiful high colour she had
got on her cheeks wasn’t as artificial as a Grand Banquet on the stage.
Still, as I knew that the heads of our mother church had none of your
tight-laced, puritanical notions about dress--and if they had, why they
confined them chiefly to the lead-coloured quaker-cut liveries of their
men-servants--I didn’t see why a poor wife shouldn’t wear what she
liked. Her ladyship apologized for the absence of his lordship,
informing me that he was down in the country attending to his flock, so
that I at once saw the dreadful straits to which they were reduced, and
couldn’t help feeling how hard it must be for the poor man at his time
of life to have to begin to work for his living. And I’m sure, from her
ladyship’s charming manners, which--though, perhaps, a _leetle_ too free
for the vulgar world--still proved to me that she had been accustomed
all her days to better things. She spoke of Thompson in such
affectionate terms, that I couldn’t help thinking _she_ was the best of
mistresses, while _he_ was the best of servants; and poor _I_, the
luckiest of women, to have fallen in with such people. Just as I was
about to say “good morning” and take my leave, a dashing cabriolet drove
up, and her ladyship, on looking through the window, exclaimed, “De-har,
de-har me! if it is’nt the archbeeshop, my de-har reverend uncle! why
what evar keyan have brought ‘York’ up to town. Perhaps you will be
keyind enough to exkeyuse me.” In my politest way I answered,
“Certainly,” and sailing like a swan out of the room, I determined to
have a good stare at the archbishop as I marched down stairs. When I
peeped through the window in the passage that gave into the shop, there
he was, dressed in the first style of fashion, eating brandy cherries
with his white kid gloves on, and--what at the time I couldn’t for the
life of me understand--a pair of the most beautiful little curly
mustachios I ever recollect to have seen in all my born days.
Well, the first night after that treasure of a Thompson had entered our
service, and we had been in bed from four to five hours, judging by our
rushlight, I was dreaming that I was flying so nicely, just skimming
along the surface of the earth, for all the world as if I was a great
goose, and saying to myself, “Ah! now I see how it’s done; you have only
got to hold your breath, and wag your arms--so,” when I was awoke by the
sound of a pair of heavy boots tramping up stairs. First, I thought it
was that plaguy kitten, playing with Edward’s Wellingtons, outside the
door, and dragging them down the stairs after her; but, lud-a-mercy-me,
on looking at the door, I declare if I couldn’t see, by the bright line
of light shining underneath it, that somebody was in the house. So I
bounced out of bed, and turning the key, (for we had only got the night
bolt down,) I snatched up my beautiful amethyst brooch off the
dressing-table, as well as (between ourselves) my false front tooth out
of the tumbler of water there, and popping them both under the pillow,
I jumped into bed again, determined to sell them only with my life. I
had no sooner succeeded in waking Mr. Sk--n--st--n, who sleeps as heavy
as an alderman at church, than positively the handle of the door began
to move. Up jumped Edward, and I clung to him like a barnacle, saying,
in a low whisper, “What are you about?--would you risk your precious
life when you know it’s not insured?” But out he got, and down I dived
under the clothes almost to the bottom of the bed, expecting every
minute that I should be dragged out by my hair, and forced by a couple
of villains, holding a pistol at each of my ears, to give up not only my
love of a brooch to pacify them, but even my superb ivory front tooth,
which had, at least, five shillings’ worth of gold about it. The first
thing I heard when I took my fingers out of my ears, was the sound of a
stranger’s voice, saying, “Do you know as your street door is open?”
Then, coming up from under the bed-clothes, and putting my head half out
between the curtains, while I held them together as close as ever I
could, there I saw a great, big, black policeman standing at our
bed-room door, with his dark lantern in his hand, and Mr. Edward, in the
chintz dressing-gown I made him out of the old covering to our easy
chair, staring at him with all his eyes, and with his old militia sword
in one hand, and the rushlight out of the shade in the other. On taking
a second look at the policeman, whose face I thought I remembered
somewhere, oh, heavens! if I didn’t know, by the size of his whiskers,
it was the impudent puppy who had winked at me over the parlour blinds.
And then, drat his impudence, if he didn’t turn his bull’s eye full upon
me in my nightcap, and this made me blink so, that positively I do
believe the fellow must have thought that I was winking at him. So I
pulled the curtains to, as quick as I could, and giving a slight scream,
I told Edward to go down stairs with the man that very moment, and make
our treasure of a footman get up and see whether the spoons and forks
were all right. He couldn’t have been gone five minutes, when back Mr.
Sk--n--st--n came, tearing up stairs, in a towering passion, with the
gratifying information that my treasure of a footman, who had stipulated
to go to church, at least twice every Sunday, and lived for the last
eighteen years with one of the bishops of the land, had gone off with
the
[Illustration: “_Do you know as your street-door is open?_”]
whole of our silver plate, and left nothing but that bilious-looking
“British” behind him.
Of course, Mr. Edward made out that it was all _my_ fault, and would
have it that if I’d had a grain of sense in my head, I might have seen
that the character was false, and the bishop’s lady a common
impostor--as, indeed, her reverend ladyship turned out. For when I went
after her the next day, to give it her well, I learnt that she, too, had
decamped from her lodgings the very same night as her inestimable
treasure of a Thompson, without paying the week’s rent, and leaving
nothing behind her but an empty rouge pot, and a hair trunk full of
brickbats.
I needn’t tell the reader, I suppose, that I never heard the last of
this; and positively, I was no sooner out of one scrape than, with so
many bothering servants about one, I was into another.
You see everybody worth speaking of had left town for the season, and as
I wouldn’t for the world have had it thought that I hadn’t gone for a
trip on the Continent, I was forced, owing to Mr. Edward’s stinginess,
and continual declarations that he was being ruined, to paper up the
drawing-room blinds, and shut up all the shutters in front, to make
believe that I was either at Paris, or Margate; while all the while I
was living at the back of the house, very nearly in the dark, and like a
vegetable had grown so white from mere want of light, that, positively,
my face had no more colour in it than a potatoe-shoot in a coal-cellar.
So, as my fine gentleman was taking his pleasure at the Warwick Assizes,
and wouldn’t give me his consent to leave London, why I started off one
fine morning without it, sending a letter for Mr. Edward, telling him
that I had gone down to Gravesend, and leaving word with the servants,
that I had gone up the Rhine. Then, packing up my carpet-bag and
bonnet-box, and luckily catching the “Father of the Thames” at
Hungerford-market, I jumped on it, and was soon at the end of my voyage.
But Mr. Edward--just like his mean spite--wouldn’t send me the money I
had written to him for; consequently, as lodgings were so high, and
those filthy, gassy shrimps so dear, and the donkey-boys so
extortionate, and I’d had enough of tea-parties at that stupid Windmill
Hill, and was tired of those twopenny-halfpenny fêtes at Rosherville
Gardens, and the housekeeping money I had brought with me was nearly
all gone--why, in a fit of disgust, one evening, I packed up my
carpet-bag and bonnet-box again, and putting myself on board the
sixpenny opposition steamer, was soon landed at London Bridge--though I
had expressly bargained with the cheats to take me on to Hungerford.
When I got home, I was astonished to see all the drawing-room shutters
of the house open, and such a blaze of light in the room, that if I
hadn’t known that Edward was still at the assizes, I should have
declared some one had been lighting up my chandelier and candelabras in
my absence. I went over to the other side of the way, and then, if I
didn’t see such a number of shadows, moving to and fro, on the blinds,
that I plainly perceived the room was full of company; and then I could
tell by the motions of one of the black things handing some article or
other to some one, who was drinking something, that a grand evening
party was going on in my first floor, without my knowing a word about
it. So I went to the door, and gave a gentle ring, so as not to alarm
the company. Presently it was opened by that scullery-maid dressed
out,--oh! you should have seen the thing--mercy! how she was dressed to
be sure! Directly she saw me, she made a rush towards the stairs, but
knowing by her dress and manner that something was wrong, I stopped her
by catching hold of the skirt of her trumpery shilling-a-yard crimson,
French poplin dress--with a broad satin stripe upon it, to make it look
rich--and, pulling it all out of the gathers so nicely, dragged the
tawdry, fal-lal minx into the back parlour, and turned the key upon her.
Then I crept on tip-toe up stairs to the drawing-room door, where I
stood listening to all that was going on within. “Will yer hallow me to
hoffer yer some of this ere am, Miss,” said what I could have sworn was
the young man at our grocer’s.--“You are very keyind, certingly, Mr.
Roberts,” said that grand affected bit-of-goods of my upper housemaid.
“Come, Miss Saunders,” said my footman, “you aint a doing nuffin; make
yerself at home, I beg. Will yer allow Mrs. Fisher to send yer just a
mouthful of her hexcellent kawphy.” “You’re very perlite, Mr. Heddard,”
answered that under nurserymaid, drat her; “since yer so pressing, I’ll
just try a wineglas of that there dog’s-nose, and then, if the kimpany
his hagreeable I’ll take the libbity of propogin a toast.” And
[Illustration: “_Oh! here’s Missus!_”]
when they had all answered, “Ho, yes, certingly,” the barefaced minx
said, “Here’s hold missus! and hopen has how her trip hup the Rhind will
keep her a good month longer at Gravesend.” And then, after a general
titter, I could hear them all getting up from their chairs, and saying
one after another, “Here’s hold missus!” and sure enough here’s hold
missus it was, for in I bounced among them just at that moment, and then
it was--“Oh dear, who would have thought it,”--and there was _such_ a
scene, no one can tell. Off fainted that under housemaid, right into the
arms of Mr. Roberts, and down went my glasses and decanters out of Mr.
“Heddard’s” hands, who endeavoured to hide himself under the table, and
then over it went; for up jumped Mrs. Fisher from her chair, upsetting
my best china tea set in her alarm, while some hid themselves behind the
door, and others behind the satin damask ottomans. Then away they all
slunk, first one and then another, whilst I was giving it to that Mrs.
Fisher, who had got her front fresh baked for the grand occasion. And
when I’d given _her_ notice to quit, I went down into the kitchen, and
did the same to _every one of them_ there, telling them they need none
of them expect any character from me.
On Mr. Edward’s arrival, which was just upon a fortnight afterwards, I
felt it my duty, of course, to let him know all that had occurred, and
what I had done; but my fine gentleman didn’t say a word, and only
walked whistling up and down the room; and when I told him that I
couldn’t make out what had come to servants now-a-days, for that, do
what I would, I could not get a good one, he had the impudence to turn
round and say, “No; and you never will, as long as you live, Madam.”
“And why shouldn’t I, Mr. Clever?” I inquired.
“Because, Mam, good mistresses make good servants.”
“Well, indeed!” I answered, “I do admire that. I should rather think it
was just the very reverse, and that good servants made good mistresses.
I suppose, then, you mean to say that I am not fit to have the
management of my own house!”
“I do, Caroline. Ah, you may stare; but management, as you call it, or
government, as I term it, is not quite so easy a science as you seem to
imagine. Every family is in itself a little kingdom, and it requires
almost as much knowledge to rule wisely in the one as in the other.”
“Very pretty!” I said. “Pray go on; perhaps you will tell me how I _am_
to govern, as _you_ call it?”
“Why, madam, there are but two ways. Human nature can only be ruled
through its love or through its fears. The one _leads_ our
fellow-creatures to serve us as _willing friends_, the other _forces_
them to serve us as _unwilling slaves_. It is for you and other
mistresses to choose between the two--remembering that it is the natural
disposition of kindness to beget kindness, and of tyranny to beget
rebellion?”
“Oh, indeed!” I replied. “Then I suppose you would like your system of
kindness carried out in the kitchen? and nicely they’d treat you for
it!”
“Indeed, I think not. At any rate, the stake is so little that it is
worth the risk; and I, for one, have such faith in the power of
kindness, _combined with firmness_, that though I don’t mean to say but
that you might occasionally meet with ingratitude, still that would
merely be the exception that proves the rule. The heart has been so
wonderfully constructed that it has not been left to us to choose
whether we would be thankful or not for benefits received; but gratitude
has been, made an animal instinct. The very dog likes the hand that
fosters it, and I do not think servants worse than dogs--though you and
many other ladies I know seem to do so. Do you not expect from your
domestics that they should consider your interest theirs, and yet you
forget that the first step in the process is to make their happiness
yours. How did they manage in the olden time? There was none of this
hubbub about bad servants then, and none of this continual changing and
changing; but the old servant’s son grew, like his father, to be grey in
the service of the same family. And why was this? Because he was looked
upon, and treated, and loved _like one of the family_.
“Very pretty talk,” I answered; “then, I dare say, you would like them
to come and sit down at the same table with us?”
“They did so then, in _many_ families, and certainly in _all_ families
of the same rank as our own. And what was the consequence? Why they
felt, as they ate at the same board, that they participated in the
comforts and property of their master, and consequently had the same
desire as he had to increase the one and protect the other.”
“Well, then,” I answered, “why not have yours up, and let them dine with
you every day, if you prefer their company to mine, for _I’m_ not going
to sit at the same table with them, I can tell you!”
“No, Caroline, society has so altered since the time I am speaking of,
that he who would endeavour to return to the old custom must be more
case-hardened against the world’s ridicule than I am. To be candid, I am
too much of a moral coward to be a moral Quixote. Society, as at present
constituted, is so based upon pride, vanity, and show, that the
principal struggle of life, in what is called the “genteel world,” is
how to trick your neighbour into the belief that you are twice as rich
as you really are--a species of moral swindling, or obtaining the
world’s estimation under false pretences. And what comes of all this?
Why, they who have but their three or four hundred a year must make it
appear to the world that they have a thousand, and all this by good
management, as it is termed--or in plainer words, by pinching the belly
to adorn their back.”
“Well, sir,” I stammered out, for I was getting in a
passion--“proceed--pray proceed--I’m quite interested with the rubbish.”
“As I was saying, then, Madam, we put ourselves to all kinds of
unnecessary expense to gain the good opinion of mere acquaintances and
comparative strangers, who don’t care a snap of the fingers for us; and
in order to do this, and “make both ends meet,” as we call it, we stint
ourselves, and those about us, of a thousand little luxuries which would
make home dear and happy, wholly regardless of either the feelings or
the esteem of those who live under the same roof with ourselves, and
whose affection can add so much to our comfort.”
“Oh, yes, certainly,” I added; “I’m perfectly of your opinion,--let the
servants do just as they please,--and a deal of comfort at home we
should have then.”
“_Your_ fault, and the fault of many other ladies I could name, is, that
you have your servants--like your furniture--for _show_--though--unlike
your furniture--you don’t think you can _spoil them_, however much you
_use_ them. And then you wonder that they don’t treat you with respect,
but take every advantage they can of you. You carry out your contract
to the mere dry letter with them, and yet are continually grumbling
because they don’t carry out theirs to the spirit with you. Only let
mistresses be kind--_yet firm_ with their servants, and at the same time
speak the whole truth, and nothing but the truth of them, to one
another, and depend upon it, the laws of mere human nature are such,
that servants--with few exceptions--will be willing, obedient, and
devoted to them.”
Then my fine philosopher, having concluded his moral lecture, went on
telling me, first, that my love of display had ruined him; and next,
that he had made up his mind to turn over a new leaf, and to cut down a
few of the showy-extravagances at home, instead of beggaring himself for
the sake of my mere acquaintances; and lastly, that the first step he
intended to take was to reduce the eight servants he had in his house to
two at the most.
“Then all I can say is, sir,” I replied, “that you must get rid of me
also; for I’m not going to stop in it, sir, I can tell you, to be
pointed at by the whole world as a lady who had once kept her eight
servants, and now can only afford to keep her two.”
And the only reply the brute made me was, “That I might do as I
pleased.”--“Indeed!” said I to myself, “I see what it is, my grand Turk;
I must read you another part of my strong lessons, and if I don’t have
you down on your knees for all this, why my name’s not Sk--n--st--n.”
So, what did I do, but I rose from my chair in a most stately way, and
looking divorces, or at least separate maintenances, at him, I marched
out of the room as dignified as a drum-major. Having written a very
strong letter to the monster, telling him that his ill-treatment had
driven me to dear, dear respected mother’s, and that I hoped and trusted
he wouldn’t come after me, as I now really, positively, and truly, _had_
left him “FOR EVER,” I was no sooner out of the door than I began to
repent of what I had done, for I remembered mother’s maxim, that
husbands never came after their wives twice, and I was even doubtful how
she would receive me under the circumstances. Sure enough, too, I didn’t
meet with the welcome from her that she gave me on the previous
occasion; and drat it! if, after a week had elapsed, and no Mr.
Sk--n--st--n had come, she didn’t tell me I had better go back. But I
told her, “I wouldn’t go near the place--no, not for the whole
world--for fear he should see me;” adding that, as all the servants were
going at the end of the month, he’d be sure to come and fetch me when he
was left alone in the house, and _wanted me_ to get him some more.” Oh!
they are so selfish, these men.
After three weeks had gone by, and still no Mr. Sk--n--st--n, mother
told me that the thing looked very serious, and said, “she would go
round to Edward with me, and either force him to take me back, or make
me a handsome allowance; for, to tell the truth, she couldn’t afford to
keep me any longer, unless she was paid for it.”
When we got to our villa, what should I see, the very first thing, but
my beautiful stair-carpets hanging out of window, with a large
auctioneer’s bill pasted on them, announcing that all our costly
furniture, together with the valuable lease of our desirable premises,
was to be sold “without reserve” that very day, at that very hour; and
when I went into the place, I declare if all the carpets and oil-cloths
hadn’t been taken up, and all the things ticketed, and huddled together
in confusion, while the drawing-room was as full of Jew brokers as it
could hold, “foohing” away enough to knock one down.
In my stupid way, I had been overdoing it again; for, on making
inquiries, I found that Mr. Edward, disgusted at being left alone in
that great big house, without even a wife or a servant to wait upon him,
and, moreover, having received a letter from Mrs. Y--pp, his
mother-in-law No. 2, saying that she purposed, at Christmas, coming to
spend another month with her “dear boy, at his beautiful villa,” had
rushed off and taken up his residence in a common boarding house in
G--ldf--rd St--t, R--ss--ll Sq--re, n--r the F--ndl--ng H--sp--t--l,
where I am at present staying, and where I intend to stay so long as Mr.
Edward does, for if I leave him again, “FOR EVER,” my name’s not
C--R--L--NE SK--N--ST--N,
Late of Duvernay Villa,
P--rk V--ll--ge, R--g--nt’s P--rk.
P.S. I stop the press to announce that Mr. Sk--n--st--n has just got
hold of an early copy of this book, and oh! Lord-a-mercy me! I’m a
ruined woman!
LIST OF PLATES.
THE GREATEST PLAGUE OF ONE’S LIFE _Frontispiece_.
“ARE YOU NOT IRISH?” page 47
“THE CAT DID IT!” 60
FOLLOWERS 91
“IT’S MY COUSIN, MA’AM!” 95
GOING OUT FOR A HOLIDAY 125
THE MORNING GOSSIP 182
THE SENTIMENTAL NOVEL READER 214
OUT FOR AN AIRING 238
“OH, AH! LET ’EM RING AGAIN!” 263
“DO YOU KNOW AS YOUR STREET DOOR IS OPEN?” 278
“OH! HERE’S MISSUS!” 281
T. C. Savill, Printer, 4, Chandos-street, Covent-garden.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] I give the name of this deceitful creature in full, as it cannot
possibly hurt the feelings of any of my friends.
[B] See “The Castle Fiend,” nearly at the bottom of page 3.
[C] See the same powerfully-written penny romance, same page.