Mrs. Gaskell was noted as a kind mistress, and her servants
stayed with her for years; one established a record and was in
Mrs. Gaskell’s service for over fifty years.
But Ruth said she would rather hear about Sally’s sweethearts, much to
the disappointment of the latter, who considered the dinner by far the
greatest achievement.
“Well, you see, I don’t know as I should call them sweethearts; for
excepting John Rawson, who was shut up in the mad-house the next week,
I never had what you may call a downright offer of marriage but once.
But I had once; and so I may say I had a sweetheart. I was beginning to
be afeared though, for one likes to be axed; that’s but civility; and
I remember, after I had turned forty, and afore Jeremiah Dickson had
spoken, I began to think John Rawson had perhaps not been so very mad,
and that I’d done ill to lightly his offer, as a madman’s, if it was to
be the only one I was ever to have; I don’t mean as I’d have had him,
but I thought, if it was to come o’er again, I’d speak respectful of him
to folk, and say it were only his way to go about on all fours, but that
he was a sensible man in most things. However, I’d had my laugh, and so
had others, at my crazy lover, and it was late now to set him up as a
Solomon. However, I thought it would be no bad thing to be tried again;
but I little thought the trial would come when it did. You see, Saturday
night is a leisure night in counting-houses and such-like places, while
it’s the busiest of all for servants. Well! it was a Saturday night,
and I’d my baize apron on, and the tails of my bed-gown pinned together
behind, down on my knees, pipeclaying the kitchen, when a knock comes to
the back door. ‘Come in!’ says I; but it knocked again, as if it were
too stately to open the door for itself; so I got up, rather cross, and
opened the door; and there stood Jerry Dixon, Mr. Holt’s head clerk; only
he was not head clerk then. So I stood, stopping up the door, fancying he
wanted to speak to master; but he kind of pushed past me, and telling me
summut about the weather (as if I could not see it for myself), he took
a chair, and sat down by the oven. ‘Cool and easy!’ thought I; meaning
hisself, not his place, which I knew must be pretty hot. Well! it seemed
no use standing waiting for my gentleman to go; not that he had much to
say either; but he kept twirling his hat round and round, and smoothing
the nap on’t with the back of his hand. So at last I squatted down to
my work, and thinks I, I shall be on my knees all ready if he puts up a
prayer, for I knew he was a Methodee by bringing-up, and had only lately
turned to master’s way of thinking; and them Methodees are terrible
hands at unexpected prayers when one least looks for ’em. I can’t say
I like their way of taking one by surprise, as it were; but then I’m a
parish clerk’s daughter, and could never demean myself to dissenting
fashions, always save and except Master Thurstan’s, bless him. However,
I’d been caught once or twice unawares, so this time I thought I’d be up
to it, and I moved a dry duster wherever I went, to kneel upon in case
he began when I were in a wet place. By and by I thought, if the man
would pray it would be a blessing, for it would prevent his sending his
eyes after me wherever I went; for when they takes to praying they shuts
their eyes, and quivers th’ lids in a queer kind o’ way—them Dissenters
does. I can speak pretty plain to you, for you’re bred in the Church like
mysel’, and must find it as out o’ the way as I do to be among dissenting
folk. God forbid I should speak disrespectful of Master Thurstan and
Miss Faith, though; I never think on them as Church or Dissenters, but
just as Christians. But to come back to Jerry. First, I tried always to
be cleaning at his back; but when he wheeled round, so as always to face
me, I thought I’d try a different game. So, says I, ‘Master Dixon, I ax
your pardon, but I must pipeclay under your chair. Will you please to
move?’ Well, he moved; and by and by I was at him again with the same
words; and at after that, again and again, till he were always moving
about wi’ his chair behind him, like a snail as carries its house on its
back. And the great gaupus never seed that I were pipeclaying the same
places twice over. At last I got desperate cross, he were so in my way;
so I made two big crosses on the tails of his brown coat; for you see,
whenever he went, up or down, he drew out the tails of his coat from
under him, and stuck them through the bars of the chair; and flesh and
blood could not resist pipeclaying them for him; and a pretty brushing
he’d have, I reckon, to get it off again. Well! at length he clears his
throat uncommon loud; so I spreads my duster, and shuts my eyes all
ready; but when nought comed of it, I opened my eyes a little bit to see
what he were about. My word! if there he wasn’t down on his knees right
facing me, staring as hard as he could. Well! I thought it would be hard
work to stand that, if he made a long ado; so I shut my eyes again,
and tried to think serious, as became what I fancied were coming; but,
forgive me! but I thought why couldn’t the fellow go in and pray wi’
Master Thurstan, as had always a calm spirit ready for prayer, instead o’
me, who had my dresser to scour, let alone an apron to iron. At last he
says, says he,’Sally! will you oblige me with your hand?’ So I thought
it were, maybe, Methodee fashion to pray hand in hand; and I’ll not deny
but I wished I’d washed it better after blackleading the kitchen fire.
I thought I’d better tell him it were not so clean as I could wish, so
says I, ‘Master Dixon, you shall have it, and welcome, if I may just go
and wash ’em first.’ But, says he, ‘My dear Sally, dirty or clean it’s
all the same to me, seeing I’m only speaking in a figuring way. What I’m
asking on my bended knees is, that you’d please to be so kind as to be
my wedded wife; week after next will suit me, if it’s agreeable to you!’
My word! I were up on my feet in an instant! It were odd now, weren’t
it? I never thought of taking the fellow, and getting married; for all,
I’ll not deny, I had been thinking it would be agreeable to be axed. But
all at once, I couldn’t abide the chap. ‘Sir,’ says I, trying to look
shamefaced as became the occasion, but for all that, feeling a twittering
round my mouth that I were afeared might end in a laugh.—‘Master Dixon,
I’m obleeged to you for the compliment, and thank ye all the same, but
I think I’d prefer a single life.’ He looked mighty taken aback; but in
a minute he cleared up, and was as sweet as ever. He still kept on his
knees, and I wished he’d take himself up; but, I reckon, he thought it
would give force to his words; says he, ‘Think again, my dear Sally.
I’ve a four-roomed house, and furniture conformable; and eighty pound a
year. You may never have such a chance again.’ There were truth enough
in that, but it was not pretty in the man to say it; and it put me up a
bit. ‘As for that, neither you nor I can tell, Master Dixon. You’re not
the first chap as I’ve had down on his knees afore me, axing me to marry
him (you see I were thinking of John Rawson, only I thought there were no
need to say he were on all fours—it were truth he were on his knees, you
know), and maybe you’ll not be the last. Anyhow, I’ve no wish to change
my condition just now.’ ‘I’ll wait till Christmas,’ says he. ‘I’ve a pig
as will be ready for killing then, so I must get married before that.’
Well now! would you believe it? the pig were a temptation. I’d a recipe
for curing hams, as Miss Faith would never let me try, saying the old
way were good enough. However, I resisted. Says I, very stern, because
I felt I’d been wavering, ‘Master Dixon, once for all, pig or no pig,
I’ll not marry you. And if you’ll take my advice, you’ll get up off your
knees. The flags is but damp yet, and it would be an awkward thing to
have rheumatiz just before winter.’ With that he got up, stiff enough.
He looked as sulky a chap as ever I clapped eyes on. And as he were so
black and cross, I thought I’d done well (whatever came of the pig) to
say ‘No’ to him. ‘You may live to repent this,’ says he, very red. ‘But
I’ll not be too hard upon ye, I’ll give you another chance. I’ll let
you have the night to think about it, and I’ll just call in to hear your
second thoughts, after chapel to-morrow.’ Well now! did ever you hear
the like? But that is the way with all of them men, thinking so much
of theirselves, and that it’s but ask and have. They’ve never had me,
though; and I shall be sixty-one next Martinmas, so there’s not much time
left for them to try me, I reckon. Well! when Jeremiah said that, he put
me up more than ever, and I says, ‘My first thoughts, second thoughts,
and third thoughts is all one and the same; you’ve but tempted me once,
and that was when you spoke of your pig. But of yoursel’ you’re nothing
to boast on, and so I’ll bid you good-night, and I’ll keep my manners, or
else, if I told the truth, I should say it had been a great loss of time
listening to you. But I’ll be civil—so good-night.’ He never said a word,
but went off as black as thunder, slamming the door after him. The master
called me in to prayers, but I can’t say I could put my mind to them, for
my heart was beating so. However, it was a comfort to have had an offer
of holy matrimony; and though it flustered me, it made me think more of
myself.”