When Edward and I retired for the night, the sheets which were intended for our bed having been burnt to tinder, and having no others aired, we were obliged to sleep between the blankets, which in no way allayed poor Edward’s irritation. So that, from the time we went to bed to the time we got up in the morning, he did nothing but amuse himself by fancying all sorts of uncomfortable things, and would have it that the feather bed was damp; and said that it was ten to one if my mother’s treasure (as he delighted to call her) didn’t make us both get up in the morning with churchyard coughs at least—or, more probably, with such a severe attack of the rheumatics, as we should never get over to our dying days—and which, he nearly frightened me out of my wits by declaring, he confidently expected would render us both cripples for the rest of our lives. Indeed, he actually, at one time, went so far as to jump up, and swear that he would not rest until he took the bed from under me.
I trust I acted during this severe trial as became a woman with her proper feelings about her; for, as this was the first serious difference Edward and I had had since our union, I thought it best to let him know that I was no longer the mere child that he seemed to take me for, and that I was not going to allow myself to be trodden under foot like a worm, (not I, indeed!) For I felt that, if I did not at once give him to understand to the contrary, he might be induced to presume upon my naturally retiring disposition; so I kept on sobbing as if my heart would break half the night through, and did not allow him to have any quiet until I had made him confess that he was in the wrong—and that he had carried his airs too far—and that my dear mamma, at least, had done all for the best—and that he should be very happy to see her to dinner to-morrow—and that her greatest enemy could not but say, that she meant very well.
Thus my courteous readers will see that my first serious trouble in life arose from servants; and I can assure them it took such a hold of my mind, that it made me more than once half repent of the vows of eternal love and constancy that I had made to my beloved Edward; and wish in my heart (though sincerely attached to my husband) that I was not a married woman. For at the time we really believed Mary to be subject to fits, and this made my naturally kind heart bleed with pity for the deceitful minx, so of course I could not bear to find my husband running the girl down whenever he had an opportunity. Though when my courteous readers find out, as I did, that I had a perfect viper for a maid-of-all-work, and learn that I had taken an habitual drunkard to my bosom, I am sure they will sympathize with me rather than blame me, for all I did for the creature; although, perhaps, they will hardly believe it possible that any one could have been such a fool as I was.
The next morning, Mary came to me with her eyes full of tears to apologize for her drunkenness; while I, in my natural simplicity, imagined that the cat was speaking to me on the subject of her fits. She hoped I would look over it this time, as she did not mean to get in the same state again; on which I told the toad that it was no fault of hers, as it must be plain to every rightly constituted mind, that she could have no control over herself in that respect. She said trouble had brought it upon her, and that it came over her so strong, at times, that she had no power to stand up against it; all which I told her was very natural, (as, indeed, it appeared to me then;) and I asked the creature, in my foolish innocence, if she ever took anything when she found the fit coming upon her. To which she replied, that in such a state she was ready to fly to whatever she could get at; but that her stomach was so weak, that anything strong was too much for her, and upset her directly; and that it was the reason of her leaving her last situation. Upon which, in a most simple-minded way, I told the tippling hussy that I didn’t think it much to the credit of a clergyman to have turned her away for that, and I actually was stupid enough (the reader, I’m sure, will hardly believe it) to tell her that whenever she felt the fit coming on, never to attempt to check it, but to let it have its due course. And that if she would come to me, I would gladly give her whatever she might take a fancy to, (and a pretty advantage she took of my offer, as the courteous reader shall shortly see.)
As soon as Edward had gone to business, I ran upstairs and put on my things, and stepped round to my dear mamma, to tell her all that had occurred, and how Edward was exceeding sorry for what he had said, and had asked me to grant him my pardon; and to prevail upon her to forget all that had passed, and to come to dinner that day. My mamma commended me for having been able to bring my husband to a proper sense of his conduct; and said, that she was not the person to bear animosity to any one, she was sure; though she could not help saying that the names he had called that poor servant girl, under her awful affliction, had given her quite a different opinion of his character, and that she was certain she should never be able to like him half so well again. However, she would try and wipe it all from her mind and begin anew, if it was only for the sake of her own sweet Caroline, (that is myself.)
After we had taken a mouthful of some of the best cold roast pork I think I ever tasted in the whole course of my life, and touched a little stout by way of luncheon, my mamma told me that she was glad that things had turned out as they had, for it had made her again determine to present Edward with the valuable old painting of her noble ancestor, F—tz-R—msb—tt—m, who is said to have come into England with the Conqueror, and which relic, after Edward’s conduct last night, she had made a vow should never belong to a man who could behave so unlike a gentleman as he did. But now as all was straight, and I was her only child, and the picture had been handed down in her family for years, and she had always looked upon me as the heir-at-law to it, she would have it brought round and put up in some part of the house where it could always be before my eyes, and be continually reminding me of my station in life, and that the noble blood of a R—msb—tt—m flowed in my veins.
When we went to look at the portrait of my noble ancestor, we could not help remarking what a fine head it was, and that any one to look at him might tell, from the likeness, that he was related to our family. Though when I said I should wish to have it put up in the drawing-room, and observed that it would be a nice thing to have hanging there on our “At-home” day, as it would show Edward’s friends that he had not married an ordinary person, and prove to them that our family were not mere mushrooms who had never been heard of, mamma remarked that, if that was the case, it would be better—now she thought of it—to have our ancestor done up and cleaned a bit, as she said a good deal of the nobility that was in his face was lost from its being so dirty as it was; and that if he was fresh varnished and had a new frame, he would certainly form a splendid ornament for our drawing-room, on our “At-home” day. And that she knew a young man who had just started in business in the H—mpst—d R—d, who would do it so cheaply that she was sure Edward could not grumble at the expense.
My dear mamma kindly undertook to get all this done for me, though how she was ever to manage it, she said, was more than she could tell; for what with the house and the business she had more on her hands at present than she knew what to do with; and, as she truly observed, she was so full of one thing and another, just now, that she really did not know which way to turn.
I thought it best to tell mamma not to mention the subject that evening at dinner to Edward; stating that I wished it to come as a little surprise to him when the picture was brought home. For to tell the truth, I was afraid that she might get talking of her noble ancestors before him; and as I knew that Edward did not entertain the same elevated opinion of the R—msb—tt—ms as my mamma justly did, and had even once gone so far as to call our gracious William the Conqueror, and his noble knights, a set of vagabond robbers, (upon my word, he did,) I thought it would be better not to let my dear mamma have her heart again wrung by another difference with my husband.
We had a very nice plain family dinner that day—a mere simple joint; but so delightfully cooked—done to a turn—and sent up so respectably, that it did me good to see it; and I really thought that our toad of a Mary would turn out a blessing to us, after all. I had told my mother that she must not look for any fuss and ceremony, or expect us to treat her like a stranger, as she was too near and dear a friend for us to put ourselves out of the way for her. Everything went off so admirably no one can tell—and the plates were so nice and hot—and Mary waited at table so well—and looked so clean and respectable—which really, considering she had had to cook the dinner, I was quite surprised and delighted to see. After dinner, dear Edward would open another bottle of port, and made himself so happy, and got to be such good friends with mamma. Though I really sat on thorns, (if I might be allowed the expression,) all the evening; for knowing their disposition as well as I did, I was in fear that every minute something would come on the carpet which would upset all, and make them get knocking their heads against each other again; so that when the dear soul left us, I said to myself, “I really haven’t been so happy for a long time.”