HER POSITION.
Mary seemed to have but just got to sleep again, when she was startled
awake by the violent ringing of a bell, almost at her ear.
"Oh, you needn't trouble yet a long while, miss!" said the girl, who
was already dressing. "I've got ever so many fires to light, ere
there'll be a thought of you!"
Mary lay down again, and once more fell fast asleep.
She was waked the third time by the girl telling her that breakfast was
ready; whereupon she rose, and made herself as tidy as she could, while
Jemima _cleaned herself up a bit,_ and was not a little improved in the
process.
"I thought," she said, "as Mrs. Perkin would 'a' as't you to your first
meal with her; but she told me, when I as't what were to be done with
you, as how you must go to the room, and eat your breakfast with the
rest of us."
"As Mrs. Perkin pleases," said Mary.
She had before this come to understand the word of her Master, that not
what enters into a man defiles him, but only what comes out of him;
hence, that no man's dignity is affected by what another does to him,
but only by what he does, or would like to do, himself.
She did, however, feel a little shy on entering "the room," where all
the livery and most of the women servants were already seated at
breakfast. Two of the men, with a word to each other, made room for her
between them, and laughed; but she took no notice, and seated herself
at the bottom of the table with her companion. Everything was as clean
and tidy as heart could wish, and Mary was glad enough to make a good
meal.
For a few minutes there was loud talking--from a general impulse to
show off before the stranger; then fell a silence, as if some feeling
of doubt had got among them. The least affected by it was the footman
who had opened the door to her: he had witnessed her reception by Mrs.
Perkin. Addressing her boldly, he expressed a hope that she was not too
much fatigued by her journey. Mary thanked him in her own natural,
straightforward way, and the consequence was, that, when he spoke to
her next, he spoke like a gentleman--in the tone natural to him, that
is, and in the language of the parlor, without any mock-politeness.
And, although the way they talked among themselves made Mary feel as if
she were in a strange country, with strange modes, not of living
merely, but of feeling and of regarding, she received not the smallest
annoyance during the rest of the meal--which did not last long: Mrs.
Perkin took care of that.
For an hour or more, after the rest had scattered to their respective
duties, she was left alone. Then Mrs. Perkin sent for her.
When she entered her room, she found her occupied with the cook, and
was allowed to stand unnoticed.
"When shall I be able to see Mrs. Redmain, ma'am?" she asked, when the
cook at length turned to go.
"Wait," rejoined Mrs. Perkin, with a quiet dignity, well copied, "until
you are addressed, young woman."--Then first casting a glance at her,
and perhaps perceiving on her countenance a glimmer of the amusement
Mary felt, she began to gather a more correct suspicion of the sort of
being she might possibly be, and hastily added, "Pray, take a seat."
The idea of making a blunder was unendurable to Mrs. Perkin, and she
was most unwilling to believe she had done so; but, even if she had, to
show that she knew it would only be to render it the more difficult to
recover her pride of place. An involuntary twinkle about the corners of
Mary's mouth made her hasten to answer her question.
"I am sorry," she said, "that I can give you no prospect of an
interview with Mrs. Redmain before three o'clock. She will very likely
not be out of her room before one.--I suppose you saw her at
Durnmelling?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered Mary, "--and at Testbridge."
It kept growing on the housekeeper that she had made a mistake--though
to what extent she sought in vain to determine.
"You will find it rather wearisome waiting," she said next; "--would
you not like to help me with my work?"
Already she had the sunflowers under her creative hands.
"I should be very glad--if I can do it well enough to please you,
ma'am," answered Mary. "But," she added, "would you kindly see that
Mrs. Redmain is told, as soon as she wakes, that I am here?"
"Oblige me by ringing the bell," said Mrs. Perkin.--"Send Mrs. Folter
here."'
A rather cross-looking, red-faced, thin woman appeared, whom she
requested to let her mistress know, as soon as was proper, that there
was a young person in the house who said she had come from Testbridge
by appointment to see her.
"Yes, ma'am," said Folter, with a supercilious yet familiar nod to
Mary; "I'll take care she knows."
Mary passed what would have been a dreary morning to one dependent on
her company. It was quite three o'clock when she was at length summoned
to Mrs. Redmain's boudoir. Folter, who was her guide thither, lingered,
in the soft closing of the door, long enough to learn that her mistress
received the young person with a kiss--almost as much to Mary's
surprise as Folter's annoyance, which annoyance partly to relieve,
partly to pass on to Mrs. Perkin, whose reception of Mary she had
learned, Folter hastened to report the fact, and succeeded thereby in
occasioning no small uneasiness in the bosom of the housekeeper, who
was almost as much afraid of her mistress as the other servants were of
herself. Some time she spent in expectant trepidation, but gradually,
as nothing came of it, calmed her fears, and concluded that her
behavior to Mary had been quite correct, seeing the girl had made it no
ground of complaint.
But, although Hesper, being at the moment in tolerable spirits, in
reaction from her depression of the day before, received Mary with a
kiss, she did not ask her a question about her journey, or as to how
she had spent the night. She was there, and looking all right, and that
was enough. On the other hand, she did proceed to have her at once
properly settled.
The little room appointed her looked upon a small court or yard, and
was dark, but otherwise very comfortable. As soon as she was left to
herself, she opened her boxes, put her things away in drawers and
wardrobe, arranged her books within easy reach of the low chair Hesper
had sent for from the drawing-room for her, and sat down to read a
little, brood a little, and build a few castles in the air, more lovely
than evanescent: no other house is so like its builder as this sort of
castle.
About eight o'clock, Folter summoned her to go to Mrs. Redmain. By this
time she was tired: she was accustomed to tea in the afternoon, and
since her dinner with the housekeeper she had had nothing.
She found Mrs. Redmain dressed for the evening. As soon as Mary
entered, she dismissed Folter.
"I am going out to dinner," she said. "Are you quite comfortable?"
"I am rather cold, and should like some tea," said Mary.
"My poor girl! have you had no tea?" said Hesper, with some concern,
and more annoyance. "You are looking quite pale, I see! When did you
have anything to eat?"
"I had a good dinner at one o'clock," replied Mary, with a rather weary
smile.
"This is dreadful!" said Hesper. "What can the servants be about!"
"And, please, may I have a little fire?" begged Mary.
"Certainly," replied Hesper, knitting her brows with a look of slight
anguish. "Is it possible you have been sitting all day without one? Why
did you not ring the bell?" She took one of her hands. "You are
frozen!" she said.
"Oh, no!" answered Mary; "I am far from that. You see nobody knows yet
what to do with me.--You hardly know yourself," she added, with a merry
look. "But, if you wouldn't mind telling Mrs. Perkin where you wish me
to have my meals, that would put it all right, I think."
"Very well," said Hesper, in a tone that for her was sharp. "Will you
ring the bell?"
She sent for the housekeeper, who presently appeared--lank and tall,
with her head on one side like a lamp-post in distress, but calm and
prepared--a dumb fortress, with a live garrison.
"I wish you, Mrs. Perkin, to arrange with Miss Marston about her meals."
"Yes, ma'am," answered Mrs. Perkin, with sedatest utterance.
"Mrs. Perkin," said Mary, "I don't want to be troublesome; tell me what
will suit you best."
But Mrs. Perkin did not even look at her; standing straight as a rush,
she kept her eyes on her mistress.
"Do you desire, ma'am, that Miss Marston should have her meals in the
housekeeper's room?" she asked.
"That must be as Miss Marston pleases," answered Hesper. "If she prefer
them in her own, you will see they are properly sent up."
"Very well, ma'am!--Then I wait Miss Marston's orders," said Mrs.
Perkin, and turned to leave the room. But, when her mistress spoke
again, she turned again and stood. It was Mary, however, whom Hesper
addressed.
"Mary," she said, apparently foreboding worse from the tone of the
housekeeper's obedience than from her occurred neglect, "when I am
alone, you shall take your meals with me; and when I have any one with
me, Mrs. Perkin will see that they are sent to your room. We will
settle it so."
"Thank you," said Mary.
"Very well, ma'am," said Mrs. Perkin.
"Send Miss Marston some tea directly," said Hesper.
Scarcely was Mrs. Perkin gone when the brougham was announced. Mary
returned to her room, and in a little while tea, with thin bread and
butter in limited quantity, was brought her. But it was brought by
Jemima, whose face wore a cheerful smile over the tray she carried:
she, at least, did not grudge Mary her superior place in the household.
"Do you think, Jemima," asked Mary, "you could manage to answer my bell
when I ring?"
"I should only be too glad, miss; it would be nothing but a pleasure to
me; and I'd jump to it if I was in the way; but if I was up stairs,
which this house ain't a place to hear bells in, sure I am nobody would
let me know as you was a-ringin'; and if you was to think as how I was
giving of myself airs, like some people not far out of this square, I
should be both sorry and ashamed--an' that's more'n I'd say for my
place to Mrs. Perkin, miss."
"You needn't be afraid of that, Jemima," returned Mary. "If you don't
answer when I ring, I shall know, as well as if you told me, that you
either don't hear or can't come at the moment. I sha'n't be exacting."
"Don't you be afeared to ring, miss; I'll answer your bell as often as
I hear it."
"Could you bring me a loaf? I have had nothing since Mrs. Perkin's
dinner; and this bread and butter is rather too delicately cut," said
Mary.
"Laws, miss, you must be nigh clemmed!" said the girl; and, hastening
away, she soon returned with a loaf, and butter, and a pot of marmalade
sent by the cook, who was only too glad to open a safety-valve to her
pleasure at the discomfiture of Mrs. Perkin.
"When would you like your breakfast, miss?" asked Jemima, as she
removed the tea-things.
"Any time convenient," replied Mary.
"It's much the same to me, miss, so it's not before there's bilin'
water. You'll have it in bed, miss?"
"No, thank you. I never do."
"You'd better, miss."
"I could not think of it."
"It makes no more trouble--less, miss, than if I had to get it when the
room-breakfast was on. I've got to get the things together anyhow; and
why shouldn't you have it as well as Mrs. Perkin, or that ill-tempered
cockatoo, Mrs. Folter? You're a lady, and that's more'n can be said for
either of them--justly, that is."
"You don't mean," said Mary, surprised out of her discretion, "that the
housekeeper and the lady's-maid have breakfast in bed?"
"It's every blessed mornin' as I've got to take it up to 'em, miss,
upon my word of honor, with a soft-biled egg, or a box o' sardines,
new-opened, or a slice o' breakfast bacon, streaky. An' I do _not_
think as it belongs proper to my place; only you see, miss, the
kitchen-maid has got to do it for the cook, an' if I don't, who is
there? It's not them would let the scullery-maid come near them in
their beds."
"Does Mrs. Perkin know that the cook and the lady's-maid have it as
well as herself?"
"Not she, miss; she'd soon make their coffee too 'ot! She's the only
lady down stairs--she is! No more don't Mrs. Folter know as the cook
has hers, only, if she did, it wouldn't make no differ, for she daren't
tell. And cook, to be sure, it ain't her breakfast, only a cup o' tea
an' a bit o' toast, to get her heart up first."
"Well," said Mary, "I certainly shall not add another to the breakfasts
in bed. But I must trouble you all the same to bring it me here. I will
make my bed, and do out the room myself, if you will come and finish it
off for me."
"Oh, no, indeed, miss, you mustn't do that! Think what they'd say of
you down stairs! They'd despise you downright!"
"I shall do it, Jemima. If they were servants of the right sort, I
should like to have their good opinion, and they would think all the
more of me for doing my share; as it is, I should count it a disgrace
to care a straw, what they thought. We must do our work, and not mind
what people say."
"Yes, miss, that's what my mother used to say to my father, when he
wouldn't be reasonable. But I must go, miss, or I shall catch it for
gossiping with you--that's what _she'll_ call it."
When Jemima was gone, Mary fell a-thinking afresh. It was all very
well, she said to herself, to talk about doing her work, but here she
was with scarce a shadow of an idea what her work was! Had _any_ work
been given her to do in this house? Had she presumed in
coming--anticipated the guidance of Providence, and was she therefore
now where she had no right to be? She could not tell; but, anyhow, here
she was, and no one could be anywhere without the fact involving its
own duty. Even if she had put herself there, and was to blame for being
there, that did not free her from the obligations of the position, and
she was willing to do whatever should _now_ be given her to do. God was
not a hard master; if she had made a mistake, he would pardon her, and
either give her work here, where she found herself, or send her
elsewhere. I need not say that thinking was not all her care; for she
thought in the presence of Him who, because he is always setting our
wrong things right, is called God our Saviour.