The housemaid said she was a housemaid, and didn't understand stoves.
She had always lived where kitchen-maids were kept.
I said calmly, "Oh, well, it's fortunate that I am a woman, and can cook
for the lot of you until help comes. Perhaps you will kindly bring tea
into the hall, and then get your own as quickly as possible. I shall
require the kitchen by six o'clock."
They were horribly discomposed, and I left them murmuring vaguely in
protest, very pleased with myself and my fine womanly attitude, though
at the bottom of my heart I knew quite well that Bridget would come to
the rescue, and never a saucepan should I be allowed to touch.
As a matter of fact the good soul descended on the slackers like a
whirlwind, and the while she drove them before her, treated them to an
eloquent lecture upon the future sufferings, privations, rebellions, and
retaliations of the prospective husbands of females who had grown to
woman's estate, and yet could not cook a meal. Through the green baize
door I could hear the continuous torrent of invective, broken at first
by protest, later on by soft exclamations of surprise, and finally--oh,
the relief of that moment!--by an uncontrollable explosion of laughter.
The Cockney mind is keenly alive to humour, and when a racy Irishwoman
gets fairly started on a favourite subject, the delicious contradictions
of her denunciations are hard to beat! That laughter saved the
situation, and the domestic wheels began to move.
Charmion wrote to an emergency lady in town. I didn't see the letter,
but I diagnosed its tone. Peremptory and--lavish! Wages no object, but
speed essential, or words to that effect. Anyway, in two days' time a
married couple arrived, were pleased to approve of us, and settled down
with the air of coming to stay. She was an excellent cook, and he
seemed a rather indifferent gardener, which just suited our views. If
gardeners are experts they want their own way, insist on bedding-out,
carpet-beds, and similar atrocities. We meant to run our garden on
different lines!
Hurrah! I am so relieved. The truants have _not_ gone to Uplands. I
met the cook in the village to-day, recognised her, and tackled her to
her face. She flushed and wriggled, looked uncomfortable, but not as
penitent as I should have liked to have seen.
"Was it necessary to wait until we had actually arrived, before letting
us know that you had changed your mind?"
She stood on one foot, and drew circles on the road with the other.
"Didn't decide myself till just the last minute."
"You hadn't taken another place then? I understood from your note--"
"I'm staying on with my mother. I may go to a lady at Guildford."
Silence. One department of my brain felt an immense relief, the other
an immense exasperation.
"Then you were free all the time! Doesn't it strike you as wrong and
dishonourable to show such a want of concern for other people's
convenience?"
She muttered. I caught the sound of a few words--"_I'm not the Only
One_!" and put on my most dignified air.
"However, it is all for the best. You certainly would not have suited
us. I hope for your own sake you will learn to keep your word."
I walked on, nose in the air, aggressively complacent in appearance, but
those words rankled!
"_Not the only one_!" Now what did she mean by that? Obviously the
insinuation was meant to go home, but how and where had we been to
blame? Not in our treatment of the woman herself. We had offered good
wages, and to pay for the time she had been kept waiting; yet something
had happened which had made her willing to lose money and time, and that
something was not another place! I felt puzzled, and, at the bottom of
my heart, _worried_ about it all!
Later on I paid my first visit to the little draper's shop, and ran the
fire of a universal scrutiny from the staff. The "young ladies" knew
who I was, and were devoured by curiosity, but it was not a friendly
curiosity! Instead of the eager smiles which usually greet a new
customer, there was a pursed-up gravity, a stolid attention to business,
which was decidedly blighting. At home in Ireland every tradesman was
more or less a friend, and what they did not know of Kathie's affairs
and mine was not worth hearing.
"Pastimes, I believe!" said the sales-woman with the pasty face, when I
directed the parcel to be sent home. Was it fancy which read a note of
reproach in her intonation?
Coming home, I met General Underwood in a bath-chair, being pushed along
by a man in livery. He has white hair and a yellow face. He looks
tired and ill, and lonely and sad. I'm sure he hates the bath-chair,
and fights horribly with his doctor, who insists on fresh air. He
rolled his tired eyes at me as I passed, and said something in a low
voice to his attendant. I was misguided enough to turn my head, and
behold! the Bath-chair was tilted round so that he might look after
_me_. The man knew me by sight, and was laying bare the whole horrible
truth.
"That's her, sir! The lady from Pastimes!" I felt ruffled, and went
straight into my "sulky," where I stayed till lunch-time. We had a
delicious _souffle_, and Charmion asked no questions, and went out of
the way to be particularly sweet. I felt better every moment, and by
the time coffee arrived had quite recovered my spirits.
If the General _had_ lived in Pastimes, he would have had to use the
bath-chair just the same, and his hair would have been quite as white!
Pastimes could not have made him young! Charmion is right. I wear my
heart on my sleeve. I must learn to be more callous and matter-of-fact!