made for the poor ignorant thing; for being cursed, as the philosopher says, with—what some people would have called—a pretty face, and having been only a year or so up from the country, it was but natural that the silly creature should have been tickled by the flattery of the pack of fellows who, to my great horror, were continually running after her; for what with the young men in the neighbourhood, and what with those dreadful barracks in Albany Street, I declare if our house wasn’t completely besieged with the girl’s lovers. I do verily believe, so long as that good-looking puss remained with us, that from morning till night we had one of the soldiers walking up and down in front of our door, just like a sentinel—for, upon my word, as fast as one went away, another used to come, for all the world as if they were relieving guard in St. James’s Park; and really and truly, the whole of my valuable time was taken up either in answering single knocks, and telling them for about the hundredth time Mr. Smith did not live there, or else in pulling up the windows, and ordering the vagabonds to go along with them, and mind their own business.
And here let me pause for a minute to remark upon the shameful nuisance that those barracks in Albany Street are to all persons living in that otherwise quiet and pretty neighbourhood—for I’m sure there’s not a person whose house is within half-a-mile of the dreadful place that isn’t wherrited out of their lives by them. Upon my word, the Life Guardsmen there are so frightfully handsome, that they ought not to be allowed by Government to wander at large in those fascinating red jackets, and with those large jet-black mustachios of theirs, sticking out on each side of their face, just like two sticks of Spanish liquorice—nor be permitted to go about as they do, breaking, or at least cracking, the hearts of all the poor servant-girls in the neighbourhood, as if they were so much crockery. And what on earth the hearts of the good-looking wretches themselves can be made of is more than I can say; for either they must be as impenetrable to Cupid’s arrows as bags of sand, or I’m sure else they must be as full of holes as a rushlight-shade. I don’t know what the regiment may cost the nation every year, (but of course it’s no trifling sum, and what they do for it except make love to the maids, I can’t see)—but this I do know for a positive fact, that the expense the Life Guardsmen are to the respectable inhabitants of Albany Street and its neighbourhood is actually frightful; for they seem to be of opinion that love cannot live on air, and consequently always begin by paying their addresses to the cooks, and if the larder be good, I will do them the justice to say, that their constancy is wonderful; and really the sum they cost poor Albany Street and its surrounding districts in the matter of cold meat alone is really so dreadful, that I really do think if a petition were got up, and the case properly represented to Government, the Paymaster of the Forces could not refuse to make them a large allowance every year for the excellent rations served out to the soldiers every day by the maids. Really the amiable fellows’ appetites seem to be as large as their hearts—and they are as big as the Waterloo omnibuses, Heaven knows, and will carry fourteen inside with perfect ease and comfort any day. Talk about locusts in the land—I’d back a regiment of Life Guardsmen for eating a respectable district out of house and home in half the time, for positively the fine-looking vagabonds seem to have nothing else to do but to walk about Albany Street, looking down every area like so many dealers in hare and rabbit skins, crying out—“Any affection or cold meat this morning, cook?” I don’t know if any of my courteous readers have ever been in Albany Street when the bugle is sounded for the fellows to return to their barracks, but upon my word the scene is really heartbreaking to housekeepers, for there isn’t an area down the whole street but from which you will see a Life Guardsman, with his mouth full, ascending the steps, and hurrying off to his quarters for the night. Anybody will agree with me that one Don Giovanni is quite enough to turn the fair heads of a whole parish; but upon my word, when a whole regiment of them are suddenly let loose upon one particular locality, the havoc among the hearts is positively frightful; and there isn’t a man in the Life Guards, I know, (unless he’s afflicted with red mustachios,) that isn’t a regular six-foot two Lothario. Besides, Mrs. Lockley, the wife of one of Edward’s best clients, assures me that there was one fascinating monster of a Life Guardsman who, the day after his regiment was quartered in Albany Street Barracks, began bestowing his affection on the cook at the bottom of the street, near Trinity Church, and loved all up the right-hand side of the way, and then commenced loving down the left; and she says, she verily believes the amiable villain would have got right to the bottom of the street again, had he not been stopped by the Colosseum—so that the wretch was actually obliged to remain constant to the cook who lived at the house next to it for upwards of a month, at an expense of at least a guinea a-week to the master, and half-a-crown to the cook, for tobacco, for the gallant servant-killer.
But to return to that poor simpleton, Susan. One day, Mr. Sk—n—st—n having been obliged to go down to those bothering Kingston Assizes, upon professional business, I was, of course, left all alone, with Susan in the house; and really, from the loneliness of the neighbourhood, and the savage looks of those dreadful soldiers, whom I could not keep away from the place, it had such a dreadful effect upon my nerves, that I got quite stupid and frightened, and kept fancying I heard people trying to open our street door with false keys, and others attempting to break in at the back. So I made up my mind, when it was just close upon eight o’clock, that I wouldn’t sit there trembling any longer, and told that girl Susan to eat her supper directly, but on no account to touch the remains of that delicious beefsteak-pie, as I’d set my heart upon having it cold for dinner to-morrow,—for really, I do think it is as nice a dish as one can eat,—and lock up the doors, and get ready to go to bed. And when she had done so, I went down, and having satisfied myself that the house was all safe, saw little Miss Mischief of a Susan up stairs before me; and as I thought there was something odd about her conduct, I saw her into bed, and took the key of her room, and locked her in.
I don’t think I could have been in bed myself above half-an-hour, when just as I was dozing off into a nice, comfortable sleep, I was roused by our area bell going cling-a-ling-ling so gently, that I at once knew something was in the wind somewhere. In about five minutes, there was another pull, louder than the first, and in about three minutes after that, another. So I jumped out of bed, and slipping on my wrapper, threw up the window, when lo and behold! there was one of those plaguy Life Guardsmen waiting to be let in at our area gate. “Who’s there?” I cried, pretty loudly.
“It’s only me, my charmer!” he answered, in a loud whisper.
“Who are you, and what do you want here at this time of night?” I demanded.
“Come, that’s a good ’un, after asking me to supper with you,” he replied. “Come down, I tell you. It’s only Ned Twist, of the Guards.—How about that cold beefsteak-pie, my heart’s idol?”
“Go along about your business,” I said, in a loud voice. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself—you ought.”
“Come, none of your jokes,” he replied; “I am so plaguy hungry. I’m good for the whole of that pie of your missus’s; so come down, and let us in, there’s a beauty.”
“Go along with you, do!” I said, in a very loud voice, “or I’ll call the police.”