LILIAN'S HOUSEKEEPING
'Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy bee!
After the fall of the cistus flower,
When the primrose-tree blossom was ready to burst,
I heard thee last, as I saw thee first;
In the silence of the evening hour
I heard thee, thou busy, busy bee.'
Aunt Helen was married in September, with the Rector to read the
service, and Father to give her away, and Lilian and Peggy for
bridesmaids, while the Sunday-school children strewed the path from the
church-door with flowers, and Bobby flung rice and old shoes after the
carriage, and all the village people came to watch, and say how sweet
and pretty she looked, and to wish health and happiness to 'Mrs. John
Neville.'
Things felt very flat when the excitement was all over and the last of
the guests had left the Abbey, and the children found themselves wishing
that life could be a perpetual round of bouquets and favours and
wedding-cake, not forgetting presents to the bridesmaids, for Lilian and
Peggy were the proud possessors of charming gold lockets set with
turquoises, with portraits of Aunt Helen inside them, 'the gifts of the
bridegroom,' as the local paper described them, while a silver watch and
chain consoled Bobby for not taking a more prominent part in the
ceremony, and made him declare that his new uncle was 'a brick, and no
mistake.'
After so much dissipation, it was quite hard to settle down to plain
prose again; but school had already re-opened, and the children had
stolen an extra week of holidays to join in the festivities, so it was
high time they were setting to work once more. It seemed strange to
start off every morning without Lilian, who only went into Warford once
a week now for music-lessons, and Mr. Vaughan had occasional qualms as
to the safety of allowing such youthful Jehus to drive about the country
unattended; but the little yellow pony-trap was so well known on the
road that it would have been rather difficult for anything to happen to
the children. People knew the time of their passing, and looked out for
them daily; kindly women would come to cottage doorways to nod and
smile; the inn-keeper at the Halfway Arms set his clock by their
arrival; they had struck up quite a friendship with the postman, two
milkmen, and the driver of a fish-cart, while the old man who broke
stones by the roadside always nodded and gave them 'Good-morning,' and
fired a facetious remark or two after them, which the children imagined
he must relieve the monotony of his work by composing during the
intervals of their coming and going.
Left alone, Lilian tried to settle down in dead earnest to battle with
her task of housekeeping. It was a heavy burden for such young
shoulders, for in a farmhouse there is always a great deal of extra work
to be done. Pigs, poultry, and young animals had to be fed, and the eggs
gathered in daily; the dairy claimed constant attention, for the pans
must be scalded and the pails polished bright, and though Joe did the
milking and churning, it was Lilian's business to superintend the
making up of the butter, and to weigh each pound with her own hands and
print it with the Abbey stamp.
Nancy, too, proved somewhat of a trial, for though a hard-working and
most kind-hearted girl, she had not been gifted by Providence with
either brains or a memory, and was capable of making the most
astonishing mistakes, which she invariably justified by declaring she
was sure she had done it so 'in Miss Vaughan's time.'
'But, Nancy,' said poor, bewildered Lilian, 'I'm sure Aunt Helen never
told you to rub up the silver with paraffin and brickdust. You're
scratching it horribly. There's a packet of proper pink powder stuff to
do it with somewhere.'
'There's naught like oil and brickdust for putting a polish on metals,'
observed Nancy, complacently scouring away at Bobby's christening mug.
'It beats all they rubbish that the pedlars brings round in boxes, and
tries hard to persuade you to buy, so it do for sure!'
'I have no doubt about it's being very good for fenders and fire-irons,
and things of that sort, but not for the best teapot. Don't you think it
would be better, Nancy, if I were to clean the silver on Friday
mornings, and you could get on with your kitchen?'
'As you wish, Miss Lilian,' said Nancy, relinquishing the
polishing-leather with no great sorrow. 'Miss Vaughan, she always did it
her own self, too. Was you going to do anything with that stock that has
been in the larder since Monday?'
'Oh, Nancy, I had forgotten all about it!' cried Lilian, much
conscience-stricken at the reminder. 'And I had intended to make it into
soup. Do go and fetch it, and see if it is still good.'
But the stock, alas! had accumulated a skim of green mould on the
surface, and generally betrayed such symptoms of distress that it was
fit for nothing but the pig-trough; and when Lilian, warned by its awful
example, visited her neglected shelves, she found so many forgotten
scraps put away into odd corners that she straightway formed the
excellent resolution of reviewing the larder daily after breakfast,
having an uneasy sensation that it was one of the golden rules which
Aunt Helen had particularly impressed upon her, but which, like many
others, had slidden into the background of her remembrance.
It was certainly one thing to housekeep with Aunt Helen at her elbow to
advise, and quite another to puzzle it out with only her memory and the
cookery-book for assistance. The quantities required for a family of
five persons was a subject which took her some time to master.
'There's the butcher's boy at the back-door, miss,' observed Nancy one
morning, a few days after the wedding, putting her head into the Rose
Parlour, and interrupting the 'Bridal March' from 'Lohengrin' which
Lilian was trying over on the piano. 'He's left his cart at the bottom
of the drive, but he'll fetch up anything you want.'
The butcher only came round weekly at Gorswen, so Lilian abandoned her
music and sallied forth to give her first order.
'We're quite tired of great sirloins of beef and legs of mutton,' she
announced. 'Haven't you anything else this morning?'
'Nice bit of pork, mum,' suggested the man--'fillet of veal.'
'I'm sure the veal would be a change; we haven't had any for a long
time.'
'Very good, mum. How much may we send you?'
'About a pound and a half, I should think,' said Lilian, knitting her
brows and trying in vain to remember the extent of Aunt Helen's weekly
order. 'Or suppose we say two pounds. I expect that would be right.'
The meat arrived in due course, looking such a very small amount when
Nancy placed it on the kitchen-table that Lilian exclaimed in horror:
'Why, Nancy, that will never last us for a week! It looks hardly enough
for one dinner!'
Nancy shook her head doubtfully, but did not offer any assistance in the
dilemma.
'Perhaps if we boiled it, it might swell out a little, and be enough for
twice, at any rate. I think you had better get a pan and put it on at
once. I believe things have to boil for a long time before they're
tender.'
Nancy obeyed without question.
'I suppose you can keep your eye on it, Miss Lilian?' she observed. 'I
shall be busy upstairs in the bedrooms this morning.'
And she departed with broom and dustpan, leaving her young mistress in
charge of the kitchen.
Lilian really did mean to look after that meat. She got it boiling
briskly, and filled up the pan several times with water; then, giving it
a final replenishing, she ran off to practise a few scales and
exercises.
She was quite sure she had not been absent more than ten minutes, but
when she returned to the kitchen she was greeted by a strong smell of
burning, and rushing to her pan, found that every drop of water had
boiled out, and the veal was frizzling at the bottom into a hard black
mass. To take it off was her first act, and to call Nancy to the rescue
her second.
'Well, it do be a pity, Miss Lilian,' said that sympathizing damsel.
'But there, don't take on so! We can cut off that black part at the
bottom, and put the rest down with some vegetables. Happen it'll turn
out all right after all. There'll be just time afore dinner,' chopping
away as she spoke in a vigorous onslaught on the carrots and onions.
It was Saturday, so the children were at home, but even their healthy
appetites were not equal to the very untempting dish which was set
before them, for the unfortunate veal had boiled away to ribbons, and
all the goodness had gone into the lost gravy, while the pulpy remains
tasted so hopelessly burnt as to be perfectly uneatable.
'The vegetables are quite nice, at any rate,' began Father cheerfully;
then seeing Lilian's swimming eyes: 'Never mind, little woman;
experience is always dearly bought, and a vegetarian dinner won't hurt
us for once in a way. We must make out with home produce until the
butcher comes again. There's a young cockerel that will do for Sunday,
and perhaps I can shoot you a rabbit; and we can always fall back upon
eggs and bacon, at any rate, if there is nothing else to be had. Cheer
up! I don't expect to find a full-fledged housekeeper in five minutes!'
After this Lilian determined to provide more generously, and astonished
the grocer by ordering three pounds of cayenne pepper, and a like
quantity of mace (embarrassing possessions which lingered in the
spice-cupboard for years before they were eventually finished), and
generally running the household on so liberal a scale that Father had to
interfere and preach economy. Such very Spartan fare was the result of
his lecture that he wisely fixed her a weekly allowance, and left her to
manage as best she could upon it, and this plan answered far better,
for she had a natural aptitude for arithmetic, and soon learned to make
the various items fall into their proper places, balancing her little
account-book in quite a professional manner.
About this time, too, Lilian took to poring over the 'Ladies' Column' in
the newspaper, and trying the various recipes which were given therein.
Some of them were very successful, and--especially the cakes--were much
appreciated by the children, though others did not turn out quite what
she had expected, in which case it is only charitable to suppose the
oven was at fault.
'There's a splendid one here, Nancy,' she announced one day, 'under the
heading of "What to do with your Cold Mutton." You mince it all up with
herbs, and make it into a kind of pasty, and it sounds most delicious.
It says, "First take a couple of onions." By-the-by, did Joe bring in
any onions this morning? Those in the basket are all finished.'
'No, Miss; Joe, he's never been near to-day, though there's master's
shooting-boots waiting for him to clean.'
'Oh, then do run down, Nancy, please, and ask him to dig up a few, while
I put the meat through the mincing-machine. You'll very likely find him
in the orchard or the stackyard.'
Nancy soon returned flushed and out of breath, with a full apron.
'I couldn't find Joe nowheres,' she panted. 'But he'd put these down in
the harness-room, so I just took them. Shall I chop them up for you
now?'
'Please do. But oh, Nancy, stop! Let me look! These are not onions;
they're the gladiolus bulbs that David has just taken up from the
garden! What a mercy you did not put them into the pasty! We might all
have been poisoned!'
'Lor!' said Nancy, much abashed, 'I made so sure they was onions I never
thought to look at 'em. But if it's only a couple you're needing, miss,
there are two or three left in the larder that would do. Was it anything
else you'll be wanting?'
'It says, "Take a little dried thyme, sage and sweet marjoram,"' read
Lilian, with her finger on the recipe, '"together with a few pieces of
lemon-peel." I wonder what it calls "a little." I haven't the slightest
idea, but I suppose we must put plenty in to make it a nice flavour, or
it won't taste of anything.'
So, putting a very liberal interpretation on the words, she cut up a
goodly supply of those herbs, and mixed them in with the meat.
The pasty came out of the oven baked to a turn, and smelling delicious,
and Lilian felt quite a thrill of satisfaction as it was placed on the
table, and Father began to cut it. But the 'Ladies' Column' should have
been a little more explicit as to the quantity of flavouring, for, when
it came to a matter of eating, the herbs so entirely predominated that
the mutton was utterly lost, and, as she had unfortunately cut up the
stalks as well as the leaves, the mixture bore a horrible resemblance to
chopped hay. It was distinctly galling, but, still, she learned by her
mistakes; for practice gives the best training, and there is no such
invaluable teacher as hard experience.
Well-meaning friends were kind in their offers of help and advice, but,
as Lilian said:
'You can't run down in the middle of mixing a pudding to ask Miss
Forster how much sugar to put into it, or send for the Rector's
housekeeper to tell you when the custard is thick enough. Mrs.
Davenport told me to write her a post-card if I got into a fix, and she
would come over and set me straight; but I don't think I should quite
like that, and I'm sure Nancy wouldn't.'
Father did not encourage her to seek outside help, thinking it better
that the Abbey should manage its own affairs, even at the cost of a
little inconvenience, and kindly shut his eyes to many small
deficiencies, knowing that time was the best remedy, and that old heads
do not naturally grow on young shoulders.
At first the cares of her new position were a terrible burden on the
poor child's mind, for she was, if anything, too conscientious, and
almost morbidly anxious to do right and fill the place which Aunt Helen
had left so empty. She would wake at four o'clock in the morning, and
not dare to close her eyes again, for fear Nancy should oversleep
herself, and the children be late for school. She would visit the dairy
ten times a day to see that the thunder had not turned the milk, nor the
cat crept in through the window. She counted and recounted the linen and
the silver, and sat worrying over her account-books at night till Father
threatened to burn them.
I think her greatest trial, however, was on the few occasions when Mr.
Vaughan was obliged to stay away for the night, and leave her
responsible for the safe keeping of the whole establishment. She would
go round with Nancy and a candle, carefully locking all the doors and
securing the shutters, peering fearfully into cupboards and starting at
her own shadow on the wall; and, having finally retreated to her
bedroom, would barricade the door with a tin box, and place the poker
handy on a chair by her bedside. But in spite of these precautions, the
nights were misery all the same. Sleep refused to come, and she lay
awake hour after hour, imagining every sound to be a burglar breaking
into the premises, and wondering how Peggy could slumber so peacefully
in the other little white bed. It is amazing, when the house is
perfectly quiet, how many creaks and peculiar noises make themselves
heard which we never think of noticing in the daytime. The wind blowing
the ivy about would sound like a hand tapping upon the pane, the cattle
trampling in the fields suggested footsteps under the window, and a
mouse behind the wainscot would raise her to such a pitch of panic that
she would often be obliged to get up and light the candle to reassure
herself, and when she at last fell asleep it was generally with her
fingers stuffed in her ears, and her head buried under the bedclothes,
an uncomfortable proceeding, resulting in such white cheeks and heavy
eyes that Father, with some difficulty finding out the cause of the
trouble, never left in future without arranging for old David to sleep
in the house during his absence.
I think, during those early struggles, her correspondence with Aunt
Helen was her greatest help and comfort, for to that dearest of friends
she could unburden all her worries and perplexities, and be sure of
sympathy.
'It is so hard to do exactly right,' wrote Lilian--'to be generous
without being extravagant, and economical without being stingy. Father
says we must be careful, and spend as little as we can, but things to
eat seem to cost such a terrible amount all the same. I wish we could
live on porridge and potatoes, like the Irish do! Life would be far
simpler.
'About going on with my education. You ask if I am keeping up my French
and German, but there really seems no time. The two hours' practising
for Herr Frankenburg is as much as I can possibly get in. I am busy
with Nancy all morning, the music takes the best part of the afternoon,
then the children come home, and after tea I must see that they learn
their lessons and go to bed, and Father likes someone to talk to in the
evenings. It is so dull for him if I am buried in a German exercise when
he wants to tell me about the farm. I try to attack a few "improving"
books when I can manage it, and I have begun to read Carlyle's "French
Revolution" to Father in the evenings, but I am sorry to say it
generally sends him to sleep. He is so tired with the threshing just
now, poor darling! and, as he said one night: "You see, my dear, I have
so many troubles of my own at present that the trials of the French
peasantry of a hundred years ago seem an affair of quite minor
importance."'
Aunt Helen's letter back was just like a little piece of her dear self.
'I can sympathize thoroughly with all your worries,' it ran, 'for I,
too, was left motherless at sixteen, to manage as best I could. Of
course, keep up our family standard of cleanliness and order as much as
you possibly can, but you will find it a mistake to be too particular
and exacting. Rather, let the children run in sometimes with dirty boots
than check their confidence by continual fault-finding. I am sorry that
the education must needs be somewhat neglected, but after all the other
is more important. There are plenty of "blue" Girton girls in the world
who do not seem to me to be of much use to anyone except themselves,
while as the "little mother" of your home you are filling a place that
is the sphere of every true woman. And because you have no time for
reading is not any reason why your thinking powers need rust away. There
is so much wisdom to be learnt from even the little ordinary incidents
of life if one knows how to appreciate them. People say one is apt to
grow narrow with living in the country, but I have generally found the
people who do so are those who have no interests outside the round of
society pleasures or social gossip, and to my mind they would be narrow
anywhere. When you know a little about botany and natural history, all
the common things on the farm have something to teach you. The quaint
sayings of the villagers are often as full of humour as those Scotch
books over which people rave so much, and many of their stories are such
interesting survivals of ancient folklore that I have often longed to
collect them in writing. While surely, to a thoughtful mind, the
constant sight of so much loveliness around tends to have a more
ennobling effect than an environment of bricks and mortar and smoky
chimneys, whatever the Londoners may say.
'Do your household duties thoroughly, but don't let them absorb you
entirely, for Father does not want you to be a mere domestic drudge,
with no ideas beyond the potato-pan and the pepper-pot. When I was a
young girl I often tilted up a volume of Tennyson and read snatches
while I compounded a pudding, and found it had a wonderfully inspiring
effect, and did not spoil the cooking either, for my "Tennyson" puddings
generally turned out a great success.
'You will find the housekeeping comes easier as you grow older, and in
the meantime remember you are not only educating yourself, but bringing
up the younger ones, who look to you now instead of to me for example,
and who will be far more influenced by what you do and what you are than
by any amount of good advice you may bestow upon them. It is hard to
write all this from a distance of so many thousand miles, when I am
longing to sit over the fire in the Rose Parlour, and have a good chat
with you, like we used to do sometimes when the children had gone to
bed.
'I am afraid there seems very little festivity or party-going for you,
dear child, and I should have been glad to hear you had been asked out
rather more; but, after all, much society often means much rivalry and
heartburning. I have tried both, and find there is more real pleasure to
be had from the intellectual than from the social side of life, for
while the latter is apt to fail us just when we most require it, the
former is "warranted to wear well and improve with keeping," and, so far
from being affected by the changes and chances of this world, sticks by
us when health and wealth and even friends can fall away.'