"I'm 'ere."
Letty couldn't know, of course, that this announcement, made in a
menacing female bass, was due to the fact that three swaying
bodies had been endeavoring so to get round the deployed paper
wings as to see what was hidden there, and had found their efforts
vain. All she could recognize was the summons to the bar of social
judgment. To the bar of social judgment she would have gone
obediently, had it not been for that rebelliousness against being
"looked down upon" which had lately mastered her. As it was, she
lengthened her neck by another half inch, receiving from the
exercise a new degree of self-strengthening.
"Mrs. Courage is 'ere, madam," Steptoe seconded, "and begs to sye as
she's givin' notice to quit madam's service----"
The explosion came as if Mrs. Courage was strangling.
"When I wants words took out of my mouth by 'Enery Steptoe or anybody
else I'll sye so. If them as I've come into this room to speak to
don't feel theirselves aible to fyce me----"
"Madam'll excuse an old servant who's outlived 'er time," Steptoe
intervened, "and not tyke no notice. They always abuses the kindness
that's been showed 'em, and tykes liberties which----"
But not for nothing had Mrs. Courage been born to the grand manner.
"When 'Enery Steptoe talks of old servants out-livin' their time and
tykin' liberties 'e speaks of what 'e knows all about from personal
experience. 'E was an old man when I was a little thing not _so_
high."
The appeal was to the curiosity of the girl behind the screen. To
judge of how high Mrs. Courage had not been at a time when Steptoe was
already an old man she might be enticed from her fortifications. But
the pause only offered Steptoe a new opportunity.
"And so, if madam can dispense with 'er services, which I understand
madam can, Mrs. Courage will be a-leavin' of us this morning, with all
our good wishes, I'm sure. Good-dye to you, Mary Ann, and God bless
you after all the years you've been with us. Madam's givin' you your
dismissal."
Obedient to her cue Letty lowered her guard just enough to incline her
head with the grace Steptoe had already pronounced "letter perfect."
The shock to Mrs. Courage can best be narrated in her own terms to
Mrs. Walter Wildgoose later in the day.
"Airs! No one couldn't imagine it, Bessie, what 'adn't seen it for
theirselves--what them baggages'll do--smokin'--and wearin' pearl
necklaces--and 'avin' their own limousines--all that I've seen and 'ad
got used to--but not the President's wife--not Mary Queen of
England--could 'a myde you feel as if you was dirt hunder their feet
like what this one--and 'er with one of them marked down sixty-nine
cent blouses that 'adn't seen the wash since--and as for looks--why,
she didn't 'ave a look to bless 'erself--and a-'oldin' of 'erself like
what a empress might--and bowin' 'er 'ead, and goin' back to 'er
pyper, as if I'd disturbed 'er at 'er readin'--and the dead and
spitten image of 'Enery Steptoe 'imself she is--and you know 'ow many
times we've all wondered as to why 'e didn't marry--and 'im with
syvings put by--Jynie thinks as 'e's worth as much as--and you know
what a 'and Jynie is for ferritin' out what's none of 'er
business--why, if Jynie Cykebread could 'a myde 'erself Jynie
Steptoe--but that's somethink wild 'orses wouldn't myke poor Jynie
see--that no man wouldn't look at 'er the second time if it wasn't for
to laugh--pitiful, I call it, at 'er aige--and me always givin' the
old rip to know as it was no use 'is 'angin' round where I was--as if
I'd marry agyne, and me a widda, as you might sye, from my crydle--and
if I did, it wouldn't 'a been a wicked old varlet what I always
suspected 'e was leadin' a double life--and now to see them two fyces
together--why, I says, 'ere's the explanytion as plyne as plyne can
make it...."
All of which might have been true in rhetoric, but not in fact. For
what had really given Mrs. Courage the _coup de grace_ we must go back
to the scene of the morning.
Ignoring both Letty's inclination of the head and Steptoe's
benediction she had shown herself hurt where she was tenderest.
"Now that there's no one to ryse their voice agynst the disgryce
brought on this family but me----"
"Speak right up, Jynie. Don't be afryde. Madam won't eat you. She
knows that you've come to give notice----"
Mrs. Courage struggled on. "No one ain't goin' to bow me out of the
'ouse I've been cook-'ousekeeper in these twenty-seven year----"
"Sorry as madam'll be to lose you, Jynie, she won't stand in the wye
of your gettin' a better plyce----"
Mrs. Courage's roar being that of the wounded lioness she was, the
paper shook till it rattled in Letty's hand.
"I _will_ be listened to. I've a right to be 'eard. My 'eart's been as
much in this 'ouse and family as 'Enery Steptoe's 'eart; and to see
shyme and ruin come upon it----"
Steptoe's interruption was in a tone of pleased surprise.
"Why, you still 'ere, Mary Ann? We thought you'd tyken leave of us.
Madam didn't know you was speakin'. She won't detyne you, madam won't.
You and Jynie and Nettie'll all find cheques for your wyges pyde up to
a month a 'ead, as I know Mr. Rashleigh'd want me to do...."
Shame and ruin! Letty couldn't follow the further unfoldings of
Steptoe's diplomacy because of these two words. They summed up what
she brought--what she had been married to bring--to a house of which
even she could see the traditions were of honor. Vaguely aware of
voices which she attributed to Jane and Nettie, her spirit was in
revolt against the role for which her rashness of yesterday had let
her in, and which Steptoe was forcing upon her.
Jane was still whimpering and sniffling:
"I'm sure I never dreamed that things would 'appen like what 'as
'appened--and us all one family, as you might sye--'opin' the best of
everyone----"
"Jynie, stop," Mrs. Courage's voice had become low and firm, with
emotion in its tone, making Letty catch her breath. "My 'eart's
breakin', and I ain't a-goin' to let it break without mykin' them
that's broken it know what they've done to me."
"Now, Mary Ann," Steptoe tried to say, peaceably, "madam's grytely
pressed for time----"
"'Enery Steptoe, do you suppose that you're the only one in the world
as 'as loved that boy? Ain't 'e my boy just as much as ever 'e was
yours?"
"'E's boy to them as stands by 'im, Mrs. Courage--and stands by them
that belongs to 'im. The first thing you do is to quit----"
"I'm not quittin'; I'm druv out. I'm druv out at a hour's notice from
the 'ome I've slyved for all my best years, leavin' dishonor and
wickedness in my plyce----"
Letty could endure no more. Dashing to the floor the paper behind
which she crouched she sprang to her feet.
"Is that me?" she demanded.
The surprise of the attack caught Mrs. Courage off her guard. She
could only open her mouth, and close it again, soundlessly and
helplessly. Jane stared, her curiosity gratified at last. Nettie
turned to whisper to Jane, "There; what did I tell you? The commonest
thing!" Steptoe nodded his head quietly. In this little creature with
her sudden flame, eyes all fire and cheeks of the wine-colored damask
rose, he seemed to find a corroboration of his power of divining
character.
It seemed long before Mrs. Courage had found the strength to live up
to her convictions, by faintly murmuring: "Who else?"
"Then tell me what you accuse me of?"
Mrs. Courage saw her advantage. "We ain't 'ere to accuse nobody of
nothink. If it's 'intin' that I'd tyke awye anyone's character it's a
thing I've 'ardly ever done, and no one can sye it _of_ me. All we
want is to give our notice----"
"Then why don't you do it--and go?"
Once more Steptoe intervened, diplomatically. "That's what Mrs.
Courage is a-doin' of, madam. She's finished, ain't you Mary Ann?
Jynie and Nettie is finished too----"
But it was Letty now who refused this mediation.
"No, they ain't finished. Let 'em go on."
But no one did go on. Mrs. Courage was now dumb. She was dumb and
frightened, falling back on her two supporters. All three together
they huddled between the portieres. If Steptoe could have calmed his
protegee he would have done it; but she was beyond his control.
"Am I the ruin and shame to this house that you was talkin' about just
now? If I am, why don't you speak out and put it to me plain?"
There was no response. The spectators looked on as if they were at the
theater.
"What have you all got against me anyhow?" Letty insisted,
passionately. "What did I ever do to you? What's women's hearts made
of, that they can't let a poor girl be?"
Mrs. Courage had so far recovered as to be able to turn from one to
another, to say in pantomime that she had been misunderstood. Jane
began to cry; Nettie to laugh.
"Even if I was the bad girl you're tryin' to make me out I should
think other women might show me a little pity. But I'm not a bad
girl--not yet. I may be. I dunno but what I will. When I see the
hateful thing bein' good makes of women it drives me to do the other
thing."
This was the speech they needed to justify themselves. To be good made
women hateful! Their dumb-crambo to each other showed that anyone who
said so wild a thing stood already self-condemned.
But Letty flung up her head with a mettle which Steptoe hadn't seen
since the days of the late Mrs. Allerton.
"I'm not in this house to drive no one else out of it. Them that have
lived here for years has a right to it which I ain't got. You can go,
and let me stay; or you can stay, and let me go. I'm the wife of the
owner of this house, who married me straight and legal; but I don't
care anything about that. You don't have to tell me I ain't fit to be
his wife, because I know it as well as you do. All I'm sayin' is that
you've got the choice to stay or go; and whichever you do, I'll do
different."
Never in her life had she spoken so many words at one time. The effort
drained her. With a torrent of dry sobs that racked her body she
dropped back into her chair.
The hush was that of people who find the tables turned on themselves
in a way they consider unwarranted. Of the general surprise Steptoe
was quick to take advantage.
"There you are, girls. Madam couldn't speak no fairer, now could
she?"
To this there was neither assent or dissent; but it was plain that no
one was ready to pick up the glove so daringly thrown down.
"Now what I would suggest," Steptoe went on, craftily, "is that we all
go back to the kitchen and talk it over quiet like. What we decide to
do we can tell madam lyter."
For consent or refusal Jane and Nettie looked to Mary Ann, whose
attitude was that of rejecting parley. She might, indeed, have
rejected it, had not Letty, bowing her head on the arms she rested on
the table, begun to cry bitterly.
It was then that you saw Mrs. Courage at her best. The gesture with
which she swept her subordinates back into the hall was that of the
supremacy of will.
"It shan't be said as I crush," she declared, nobly, directing
Steptoe's attention to the weeping girl. "Where there's penitence I
pity. God grant as them tears may gush out of an aichin' 'eart."