We were, at one time, as many as fourteen in the drawing-room, and all of them highly desirable acquaintances, being people very well to do in the world; when mamma, who is so proud of her cherry-brandy, would persuade our friends to take some—if it was only a glassful. So (bother take it!) I had to get my keys, and trot downstairs for her stupid cherry-brandy—which I’m sure I couldn’t see the want of, for there was plenty of excellent red and white wine on the table; and that was good enough for any one any day, I should think. Besides, I had set my mind upon keeping the cherry-brandy quietly to myself, as there were only two bottles of it, and Edward had just laid in several dozen of port and sherry. However, I returned with one of the bottles and an agreeable smile on my countenance to the drawing-room, little thinking that I was about to present some of my best friends with a glass of that horrible wash that that tipsy, thieving Mary had filled up the bottle with. Then giving it to mamma, I told her pleasantly that she should fill the glasses, and have all the credit of it to herself. So, the good, dear old lady did as I said, and handing them round, observed to Mrs. L—ckl—y, (who is the wife of Edward’s best client, and of highly genteel connexions,) that she should like her to try that; for she flattered herself that she would find it very fine, and not to be got everywhere, as she had made it herself, after her own peculiar way; and that she felt convinced that any pastrycook would gladly give her twenty guineas for the receipt any morning; and that she always made a point of using none but the very best cognac that could be got for money, together with the finest Morella cherries that were to be picked up in Covent-garden Market. When they had all got their glasses, dear, unconscious mamma sat down with a self-contented smile, waiting for the approbation and eulogiums which she confidently expected they would overwhelm her with. As soon as Mrs. L—ckl—y had taken one cherry and a spoonful of the wash, all the rest followed her example. Dear mamma observing that Mrs. L—ckl—y made a wry face after it, (as well the poor thing might,) said, “I’m afraid the brandy is too strong for you, Mrs. L—ckl—y; but you needn’t be afraid of it, my dear—a bottle of such as that would not hurt you, I can assure you.” Now, really, I shall begin to think you don’t like it, if you don’t finish it. On which Mrs. L—ckl—y (who is an extremely well-bred woman) answered, “You’re very good—it is very nice, I’m sure.” And then the poor thing put another spoonful of the filthy stuff to her lips. Whereupon poor, dear mamma, (who was determined not to be balked of the compliments she innocently thought she was entitled to) tried to prevail on some of the other poor things (who really, considering all, had borne it like martyrs) to go on with theirs. But Mrs. B—yl—s politely excused herself by saying she thought it was not quite so rich as some of mother’s that she had had the pleasure of tasting before, and that sweet woman, Mrs. C—rt—r, said that she was afraid the brandy had gone off a little, (and so it had, with a vengeance.) On which Edward (lawyer like), fancying something was wrong, and thinking it a good opportunity for teasing his poor, dear, innocent mother-in-law, took a glass himself, and had no sooner tasted it, than, instead of swallowing it, like a gentleman, he spit the whole into the fire-place, declaring he had never in all his life tasted such beastly trash. Whereupon, dear mamma, who believed that he only said as much to annoy her, took a glassful likewise; and scarcely had she put her lips to it, than she gave a scream, and the poor, dear soul spluttered it all out of her mouth again, exclaiming—“Oh that shameful minx of a Mary! I know it’s her!—the drunken hussy! If she hasn’t been and drunk all the brandy, and filled the bottle up again with what I’d swear was nasty filthy cold tea and unripe cherries.” No sooner had she made the discovery, than all the poor dear ladies who had partaken of the filthy mixture uttered a piercing scream, while that unfeeling wretch, Edward, rushed out of the room, and I could actually hear the brute bursting with laughter on the landing-place.
All the dears agreed with poor mamma—who was boiling over, (if I might be allowed the expression,) that it was very shameful conduct on the part of the maid, and hoped that mamma would not let it take any effect upon her on their account, as really they didn’t mind about it. And then taking a glass of sherry wine a-piece, just to take the taste out of their dear mouths, they all hurried away, and in less than ten minutes we were left alone in the drawing-room.
Then we both agreed to make that cat, Mary, finish before our very eyes the whole of the other bottleful, (which we made up our minds she had of course served in the same manner,) and directly after she had eaten it all up, to give her warning, as it would be the best way of punishing her for her wicked goings-on. So down stairs we went, and having got the bottle out of the store-room closet, we made the wretch devour the whole of it on the spot—though from the ready way in which the minx resigned herself to her fate, and from the effect it had upon her shortly afterwards, (for it only made her more tipsy than before,) to our horror we found out that she had never touched that bottle at all—and, indeed, she told us as much when she had drunk up every drop, and had the impudence to say she should like to be punished again. So we immediately gave her warning, and told her not to think of sending to us for a character, indeed. But in the evening, the cherry brandy we had forced her to take, made her so dreadfully bad, that we had to carry her upstairs and put her to bed again. All of which was a mere nothing to us, compared with the good humour it put Edward into; who kept telling us, with a nasty vulgar giggle, that we ought to be ashamed of ourselves for driving the poor girl into another fit; and he said he hoped that dear mamma would take care that the next servant she engaged for him wasn’t subject to epilepsy, (an aggravating monster!)
Next day I stepped round to mother’s, to consult about the best means of getting a new servant as soon as possible; for I was determined on finding some excuse for packing Mary out of the house directly I was suited. Mamma, however,
“Are you not Irish?” “Och! no, Ma’am I’m Corrnwall sure!”
after what Edward had said, declined, with great, and, I must say, becoming dignity, interfering in the business further than sending any maids she might hear of round for me to look at—as she wasn’t going to put herself in the way again, indeed, of being reproached, as she had been, by her own dear child’s ungrateful husband. But though mamma was kind enough to send me several servants from the tradesmen in the neighbourhood, yet I never saw one for days; for that baggage, Mary, kept setting them against the place, and saying everything that was bad of us directly they came to the house.
One morning, however, as Edward was going out, he met one on the door-step, and sent her into the parlour to me. She was a tall, strong, big-boned, clean-looking, tidy, and respectable ugly woman, and looked as if she wasn’t afraid of work: so with my usual quick-sightedness l saw at a glance that she was just the person to suit me. When I asked her what her name was, she answered, with a curtsey, and a peculiar twang that was far from agreeable: “Norah Connor, sure.” To which I replied: “I am afraid you’re Irish, and I’ve an objection to persons from that country”—(mother had told me never to take an Irish woman in the house on any account.) But the woman answered in a tone so meek, that one would have fancied butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth: “Irish, did ye say? Och! sure now, and isn’t it Cornwall I am?” And so, with my customary sagacity, I at once saw that I was mistaking the Cornwall brogue for the Irish one; for having been bred up in London, I could not of course be expected to be particularly acquainted with the dialects of other countries,—if, indeed, I except that of “Le Belle France.” After asking her the usual questions as to “tea and sugar,” and wages, and cooking, and character, and, in particular, sobriety—in all of which she seemed to be quite comme il faut (as they say in Boulogne)—I arranged with her that I would go after her character directly her late mistress could see me.