Major Jenkyns wrote to propose that he and his wife should spend a night
at Cranford, on his way to Scotland—at the inn, if it did not suit Miss
Matilda to receive them into her house; in which case they should hope to
be with her as much as possible during the day. Of course, it _must_ suit
her, as she said; for all Cranford knew that she had her sister’s bedroom
at liberty; but I am sure she wished the Major had stopped in India and
forgotten his cousins out and out.
“Oh! how must I manage?” asked she helplessly. “If Deborah had been
alive, she would have known what to do with the gentleman-visitor. Must I
put razors in his dressing-room? Dear! dear! and I’ve got none. Deborah
would have had them. And slippers and coat-brushes?” I suggested that
probably he would bring all these things with him. “And after dinner, how
am I to know when to get up, and leave him to his wine? Deborah would
have done it so well; she would have been quite in her element. Will he
want coffee, do you think?” I undertook the management of the coffee,
and told her I would instruct Martha in the art of waiting, in which it
must be owned she was terribly deficient; and that I had no doubt Major
and Mrs. Jenkyns would understand the quiet mode in which a lady lived by
herself in a country town. But she was sadly flustered. I made her empty
her decanters, and bring up two fresh bottles of wine. I wished I could
have prevented her being present at my instructions to Martha; for she
frequently cut in with some fresh direction, muddling the poor girl’s
mind, as she stood open-mouthed, listening to us both.
“Hand the vegetables round,” said I (foolishly, I see now—for it was
aiming at more than we could accomplish with quietness and simplicity):
and then, seeing her look bewildered, I added, “Take the vegetables round
to people, and let them help themselves.”
“And mind you go first to the ladies,” put in Miss Matilda. “Always go to
the ladies before gentlemen, when you are waiting.”
“I’ll do it as you tell me, ma’am,” said Martha; “but I like lads best.”
We felt very uncomfortable and shocked at this speech of Martha’s; yet
I don’t think she meant any harm; and, on the whole, she attended very
well to our directions, except that she “nudged” the Major, when he did
not help himself as soon as she expected, to the potatoes, while she was
handing them round.
The Major and his wife were quiet, unpretending people enough when they
did come; languid, as all East Indians are, I suppose. We were rather
dismayed at their bringing two servants with them, a Hindoo body-servant
for the Major, and a steady elderly maid for his wife; but they slept
at the inn, and took off a good deal of the responsibility by attending
carefully to their master’s and mistress’s comfort. Martha, to be sure,
had never ended her staring at the East Indian’s white turban and brown
complexion, and I saw that Miss Matilda shrunk away from him a little
as he waited at dinner. Indeed, she asked me, when they were gone, if
he did not remind me of Blue Beard? On the whole, the visit was most
satisfactory, and is a subject of conversation even now with Miss
Matilda; at the time, it greatly excited Cranford, and even stirred
up the apathetic and Honourable Mrs. Jamieson to some expression of
interest, when I went to call and thank her for the kind answers she
had vouchsafed to Miss Matilda’s inquiries as to the arrangement of a
gentleman’s dressing-room—answers which I must confess she had given in
the wearied manner of the Scandinavian prophetess:
“Leave me, leave me to repose.”