For a few days after I was occupied entirely with my own affairs. We had
promised to go to the Park to see that strange sister Sarah, who
troubled Aunt Milly’s mind so much; and we had, of course, to make some
little preparations for going--more, indeed, than were very convenient
at such a time, as you may very well suppose. However, Aunt Connor, who
had not paid the last half year’s interest, sent it just then, “all in a
lump,” as she said herself, “thinking it would do you more good;” as
indeed it did, though perhaps poor Aunt Connor had other motives than
that one for not sending it just when it was due. Harry was quite
pleased at the thought of going to the Park. He got leave of absence for
a few days; and, naturally, it was a satisfaction to him, after feeling
that he had been obliged to keep his wife in the shade so long, to say
that it was to my relations we were going. And what with all the
preparations for his going away as well, I was so very busy that I got
little leisure to think. It is very common to say what good
opportunities for thought one has in working at one’s needle--and it is
very true so far as quiet, leisurely work is concerned; but when it
happens to be making shirts and such things--and you know, with most
men, merely to _say_ they are made at home is enough to make them feel
as if they did not fit,--it is quite a different matter. I was too busy,
both mind and fingers, to do much thinking; and that was far better for
me than if I had found more leisure. I used to go up to Lizzie’s room,
which we called the nursery, and work there. Baby sat on the carpet,
well protected with cushions, and furnished with things to play with. He
was not very particular--his playthings were of a very humble and
miscellaneous order; but I am sure he was as happy as a little king.
“And eh, isn’t it grand that his birthday’s come before the Captain
gangs away? He’ll, maybe, be back,” said Lizzie, peering into my face
with a sidelong look, “before another year.”
“Hush!” said I, hastily; “but you must remember, Lizzie, to be
particularly nice and tidy, and to look as if you were twenty, at least,
when we go to the Park.”
Here Lizzie drew herself up a little. “I’ve never been among a housefu’
o’ servants,” said Lizzie, “that’s true--but I’ve been wi’ a leddy, and
that suld learn folk manners better nor a’ the flunkeys in the world.
For Menico says, as well as I can understand him, that there’s twa
men-servants, and as mony maids as would fill a house. Eh, mem, wouldn’t
it be a great vexation to see a wheen idle folk aye in the road?
Menico’s no like a common man; there’s no an article he canna do; but as
for just flunkeys to hand the plates and do about a house--eh, if it was
me, I would think they werena men.”
“But Miss Mortimer’s man is not a flunkey; it was he who came with us in
the omnibus,” said I.
“Yon _gentleman_?” said Lizzie, in great dismay. “I thought he was a
minister; and eh, to think of _him_ puttin’ on fires and waitin’ at the
table! I would far sooner be a woman mysel’.”
“And have you any objection to be a woman apart from that?” said I. “I
did not think you had been so ambitious, Lizzie. What would _you_ do if
you were a man?”
Lizzie’s colour rose, and her work fell from her hand. “I would gang to
the wars with the Captain,” cried the girl, “I would aye make a spring
in before him where danger was. I would send word every day how he did,
and what he was doing. I would stand by our ain flag if they hacked me
in pieces. I wouldna let the Hielanders stay still, no a moment!--I
would dash them down on the enemy wi’ a’ their bayonets, and cry
‘Scotland and the Queen!’ and if we were killed, wha’s heeding!--it
would be worth a man’s while to die!”
This outburst was more than I could bear. I forgot to think it was only
Lizzie, a woman and a child, that spoke. I put my hands over my eyes to
shut out the prospect she brought before me, but only saw the picture
all the clearer, as my hand, with all its warm pulses beating, shut out
the daylight. I could see Harry rushing before them with his sword
drawn. I could hear his voice pealing out over their heads; I could see
the smoke close over him and swallow him up. Ah, heaven!--pictures and
stories are made out of such scenes. This creature by my side had flamed
up into exulting enthusiasm at the thought. How many hearts attended
those charging regiments, breaking against each other, heart upon
heart! It came to my heart to wonder, suddenly, whether there might not
be some young Russian woman, like me, imagining that fight. Her husband
and my Harry might meet under those dreadful flags,--she and I, would
not we meet, too, in our agony? I held out my arms to her with a cry of
anguish--we were sisters, though _they_ were foes.
When I looked up Lizzie was crying bitterly, partly with her own
excitement, partly, because she saw how cruel her suggestion had been to
me. She did not mean it so, poor child. Baby sat playing all the time
among his cushions, crowing to himself over the bright-coloured ball he
had found under his heap of toys. I thought to myself he would laugh all
the same whatever happened, and wondered how I should bear to hear him.
But that was enough, that was too much. I stopped myself, as best I
could, from going on any further. I got some linen that had to be cut
out, and rose up to do it;--it was very delicate work. If I were not
very careful, a snip of the scissors, too much or too little, might
spoil all the stuff; for Harry was very fastidious, you know, about all
his things, like most young men. It took some trouble to steady my hand
enough--but I did manage it. I wonder what the Russian woman did, to
calm _her_ agitation down.
Lizzie recovered very hastily when she saw what I was doing. She picked
up her work, and sewed for a long time so silently and swiftly, that the
snip of my scissors and the movement of her arm, as she drew through her
needle, were the only sounds, except those which baby made, to be heard
in the room. At last she took courage to address me with great humility,
asking only if it was “the day after the morn” that we were going to the
Park?
I nodded my head in return, and Lizzie took courage to go on. The next
question was whether the Italian gentleman would be there?
“The Italian gentleman! what has he to do with the Miss Mortimers?”
cried I.
“Eh, it’s no me said it,” cried Lizzie, in alarm; “but yesterday, the
day the leddy was here Menico was a’ the gate out there, ance errand wi’
a letter. I said what way did it no go to the post? and he said the post
wouldna do. But I wouldna let on the leddy was here.”
“He went out with a letter, did he?” said I, in much surprise. “Was that
where he was all day? I did not see him about till it was dark.”
“There maun be another leddy?” said Lizzie, inquisitively; “and he gaed
her some grand name or another. He’s awfu’ funny wi’ his names. He ca’s
baby _Signorino_ and _ragazzino_, and I dinna ken a’ what. I looked them
up in the dictionary, and they were a’ right meanings enough. But it
wasna Miss Mortimer he ca’ed the other leddy. Eh, mem, isn’t Menico
getting grand at his English? and I’me aye improving mysel’ too,” said
Lizzie, with a little blush and awkward droop of her head.
I was not much in the humour for laughing at poor Lizzie’s
self-complacency; but I was rather anxious to hear all the gossip I
could get for Aunt Milly’s sake. I asked immediately “Were they kind to
Menico at the Park?”
Lizzie hesitated a little in her answer. “He’s rael clever at speaking,”
she said, apologetically,--I suppose finding it rather hard to go back
so soon after her laudation--“but when it’s a long story it’s no so easy
to ken--no _a’_ he means. But I’m no thinking they were very good to
him--for he was awfu’ angry when he came hame. And eh, to see him at his
dinner! You would think he hadna seen meat for a week. It’s no a guid
account of a house--no meaning ony harm of a great house like the Park,”
said Lizzie, reflectively,--“when a man comes awfu’ hungry hame.”
Here there was a little pause while Lizzie threaded her needle. I don’t
know whether she was indulging in any melancholy anticipations of the
hospitality of the Park. However, presently she resumed her story again.
“And eh, mem! far mair than that,” said Lizzie, making a fresh start,
“he brought back the very same letter just as it was--it might be
because the leddy was out, or I dinna ken what it might be; but I saw
him gi’e it back to the gentleman. And the gentleman, instead of being
angry, he just took the letter and shook his head, and set fire to it at
the candle. The door was open, and I saw him do it as I came up the
stairs. It gaed to my heart to see him burning the good letter,” said
Lizzie; “there was, maybe, something in’t that somebody might have likit
to hear.”
“But, Lizzie, don’t you know nobody has any business with a letter
except the person who wrote it, and the person it is addressed to?” said
I.
I spoke, I confess, in an admonitory spirit. We did not get very many
letters, but Harry was sadly careless of those he did get.
“Eh, but foreigners are no like other folk,” cried Lizzie; “there’s
something awfu’ queer in burning a letter, and it a’ sealed up. I
couldna find it in my heart;--and when it’s a long story, it’s awfu’
fickle to understand Domenico, the half o’ what he says.”
Lizzie ended with a sigh of unsatisfied curiosity. Perhaps, if I could
have done it, I might have been as anxious to cross-question Domenico as
she.