A CHEERFUL KITCHEN.
Of all the domestics turned adrift from Llangorren, one alone interests
us--Joseph Preece--"Old Joe," as his young mistress used familiarly to
call him.
As Jack Wingate has made his mother aware, Joe has moved into the house
formerly inhabited by Coracle Dick; so far changing places with the
poacher, who now occupies the lodge in which the old man erewhile lived
as one of the retainers of the Wynn family.
Beyond this the exchange has not extended. Richard Dempsey, under the
new _regime_ at Llangorren, has been promoted to higher office than was
ever held by Joseph Preece; who, on the other hand, has neither turned
poacher, nor intends doing so. Instead, the versatile Joseph, as if to
keep up his character for versatility, has taken to a new calling
altogether--that of basket-making, with the construction of bird-cages,
and other kinds of wicker-work. Rather is it the resumption of an old
business to which he had been brought up, but abandoned long years agone
on entering the service of Squire Wynn. Having considerable skill in
this textile trade, he hopes in his old age to make it maintain him.
Only in part; for, thanks to the generosity of his former master, and
more still that of his late mistress, Joe has laid by a little
_pecunium_, nearly enough for his needs; so that, in truth, he has taken
to the wicker-working less from necessity than for the sake of having
something to do. The old man of many _metiers_ has never led an idle
life, and dislikes leading it.
It is not by any accident he has drifted into the domicile late in the
occupation of Dick Dempsey, though Dick had nothing to do with it. The
poacher himself was but a week-to-week tenant, and of course cleared out
soon as obtaining his promotion. Then, the place being to let, at a low
rent, the ex-charon saw it would suit him; all the better because of a
"withey bed" belonging to the same landlord, which was to let at the
same time. This last being at the mouth of the dingle in which the
solitary dwelling stands--and promising a convenient supply of the raw
material for his projected manufacture--he has taken a lease of it along
with the house.
Under his predecessor the premises having fallen into
dilapidation--almost ruin--the old boatman had a bargain of them, on
condition of his doing the repairs. He has done them; made the roof
water-tight; given the walls a coat of plaster and whitewash; laid a new
floor--in short, rendered the house habitable, and fairly comfortable.
Among other improvements, he has partitioned off a second sleeping
apartment, and not only plastered but papered it. More still, neatly and
tastefully furnished it, the furniture consisting of an iron bedstead,
painted emerald green, with brass knobs; a new washstand, and dressing
table with mahogany-framed glass on the top, three cane chairs, a towel
horse, and other etceteras.
For himself? No; he has a bedroom besides. And this, by the style of the
plenishing, is evidently intended for one of the fair sex. Indeed, one
has already taken possession of it, as evinced by some female apparel
suspended upon pegs against the wall; a pin-cushion, with a brooch in
it, on the dressing table; bracelets and a necklace besides, with two or
three scent bottles, and several other toilet trifles scattered about in
front of the framed glass. They cannot be the belongings of "Old Joe's"
wife nor yet his daughter; for among the many parts he has played in
life, that of Benedict has not been. A bachelor he is, and a bachelor he
intends staying to the end of the chapter.
Who, then, is the owner of the brooch, bracelets, and other bijouterie?
In a word, his niece--a slip of a girl who was under-housemaid at
Llangorren; like himself, set at large, and now transformed into a
full-fledged housekeeper--his own. But before entering on parlour duties
at the Court, she had seen service in the kitchen, under the cook; and
some culinary skill, then and there acquired, now stands her old uncle
in stead. By her deft manipulation, stewed rabbit becomes as jugged
hare, so that it would be difficult to tell the difference; while she
has at her fingers' ends many other feats of the _cuisine_ that give him
gratification. The old servitor of Squire Wynn is in his way a
_gourmet_, and has a tooth for toothsome things.
His accomplished niece, with somewhat of his own cleverness, bears the
pretty name of Amy--Amy Preece, for she is his brother's child. And she
is pretty as her name, a bright, blooming girl, rose-cheeked, with form
well rounded, and flesh firm as a Ribston pippin. Her cheerful
countenance lights up the kitchen late shadowed by the presence and
dark, scowling features of Coracle Dick--brightens it even more than the
brand-new tin-ware, or the whitewash upon its walls.
Old Joe rejoices; and if we have a regret, it is that he had not long
ago taken up housekeeping for himself. But this thought suggests another
contradicting it. How could he while his young mistress lived? She so
much beloved by him, whose many beneficences have made him, as he is,
independent for the rest of his days, never more to be harassed by care
or distressed by toil, one of her latest largesses, the very last, being
to bestow upon him the pretty pleasure craft bearing her own name. This
she had actually done on the morning of that day, the twenty-first
anniversary of her birth, as it was the last of her life; thus by an act
of grand generosity commemorating two events so strangely, terribly in
contrast! And as though some presentiment forewarned her of her own sad
fate, so soon to follow, she had secured the gift by a scrap of writing;
thus at the change in the Llangorren household enabling its old boatman
to claim the boat, and obtain it too. It is now lying just below, at the
brook's mouth, by the withey bed, where Joe has made a mooring place for
it. The handsome thing would fetch L50; and many a Wye waterman would
give his year's earnings to possess it. Indeed, more than one has been
after it, using arguments to induce its owner to dispose of it--pointing
out how idle of him to keep a craft so little suited to his present
calling!
All in vain. Old Joe would sooner sell his last shirt, or the
newly-bought furniture of his house--sooner go begging--than part with
that boat. It oft bore him beside his late mistress, so much lamented;
it will still bear him lamenting her--ay, for the rest of his life. If
he has lost the lady, he will cling to the souvenir which carries her
honoured name!
But, however faithful the old family retainer, and affectionate in his
memories, he does not let their sadness overpower him, nor always give
way to the same. Only at times when something turns up more vividly than
usual recalling Gwendoline Wynn to remembrance. On other and ordinary
occasions he is cheerful enough, this being his natural habit. And never
more than on a certain night shortly after that of his chance encounter
with Jack Wingate, when both were a-shopping at Rugg's Ferry. For there
and then, in addition to the multifarious news imparted to the young
waterman, he gave the latter an invitation to visit him in his new home,
which was gladly and off-hand accepted.
"A bit o' supper and a drop o' somethin' to send it down," were the old
boatman's words specifying the entertainment.
The night has come round, and the "bit o' supper" is being prepared by
Amy, who is acting as though she was never more called upon to practise
the culinary art; and, according to her own way of thinking, she never
has been. For, to let out a little secret, the French lady's-maid was
not the only feminine at Llangorren Court who had cast admiring eyes on
the handsome boatman who came there rowing Captain Ryecroft. Raising the
curtain still higher, Amy Preece's position is exposed; she, too, having
been caught in that same net, spread for neither.
Not strange then, but altogether natural. She is now exerting herself to
cook a supper that will give gratification to the expected guest. She
would work her fingers off for Jack Wingate.
Possibly the uncle may have some suspicion of why she is moving about so
alertly, and besides looking so pleased like. If not a suspicion, he has
a wish and a hope. Nothing in life, now, would be so much to his mind as
to see his niece married to the man he has invited to visit him. For
never in all his life has old Joe met one he so greatly cottons to. His
intercourse with the young waterman, though scarce six months old, seems
as if it had been of twice as many years; so friendly and pleasant, he
not only wants it continued, but wishes it to become nearer and dearer.
If his niece be baiting a trap in the cooking of the supper, he has
himself set that trap by the "invite" he gave to the expected guest.
A gentle tapping at the door tells him the triangle is touched; and,
responding to the signal, he calls out,--
"That you, Jack Wingate? O' course it be. Come in!"
And in Jack Wingate comes.