The lady then explained to me what I would have to do, and I felt a growing alarm the longer she spoke. But when she asked me in the end whether I would like to take the post, I thought again of the sixty shillings and said I should like to come.
I started my new situation two days later. If I had no idea of the position of an under-nurse before, I was to get it now. I found out quickly that among the four servants of the house, I was considered to be the most insignificant one, and each of the three other servants made me feel this. Owing to the fact that I spoke English imperfectly, and neither the cook nor the parlour-maid were fond of foreigners, they teased and taunted me at every possible opportunity. Furthermore, they made me do all the work that they themselves did not care to do, such as bringing up coal from the cellar and so forth. In order to get on with them, I did everything. But the nights proved to be even more terrible than the days. I had to sleep in one room with the cook and the parlour-maid, and many times I set my teeth when I thought of my own little room at Marlow. The two girls used to chat together until midnight, relating all about their lovers, and mentioning, I am sure, every Christian name for boys which is to be found in the calendar. The one of whom I was the most afraid was the cook. She was terribly rude, and often raised her hands as if to beat me whenever I did not do a thing to her entire satisfaction.
However, every cup of sorrow contains its drop of mirth, and my happiness arose from the cook's outings and her love-letters. The fact is that when she received a letter from one of her many adorers she was kind even to me.
One day a soldier presented her with a silver brooch, and she was so nice that day to me that I almost liked her in the evening. But when it happened that a day or more passed without having brought her a token of some kind she became furious, and her spiteful rage was beyond all bounds. While I still lived at Marlow I had often stood and watched for the postman, hoping secretly that he might bring something for me, but now I stood and watched for him, filled only with the ardent longing that he might have something for the cook; and I think that now is the right moment, and here the right place, to express my thanks to all the policemen, soldiers, milkmen, butchers and others, who were happy enough to come within scope of the cook's interest and consideration, for the numbers of letters and cards which they despatched to her without knowing that they had made me happy too.
One day there was a great row in the kitchen, and the parlour-maid left the same day. The new parlour-maid was a very pale and ill-looking girl, but she worked very hard. She was never rude to me. I liked her for that and felt sorry for her because she looked so weak. One evening, when the cook had her outing, and we lay alone in our room, the parlour-maid began to sob most piteously.
"What's the matter?" I asked her, and after some hesitation she told me that her sweetheart was lying on the point of death in a hospital for consumption. Then she pulled a letter from behind her pillow and handed it over to me. I lit the candle and by its flickering light I read the lines. Brave yet desperate words of a dying man, together with a poem, which throbbed with the unspeakable longing for health and life, and disclosed the most sweet and most lovable thoughts.
"I am sure," I said, trying hard to conceal my emotion—"I am sure he will get well again."
"No; he is there where only the dying are."
Her eyes were dry when she said that, and only her lips trembled. I put out the light and shuddered. From that evening onward I helped her as much as I could with her work, although I had plenty to do myself.
One night she roused us from our sleep with a terrible scream, and looking round her wildly, she said she was sure that "he" had called for her. On the morning she asked for half a day off, but she returned no more.