and signing it—“Your heart-broken and affectionate—though she-can-never-consent-to-live-with-you-again—wife Caroline,” and then putting the key of the tea-caddy inside the note, I left it with Betsy, telling her to give it to her master when he came home, and to be sure and have the breakfast all ready and comfortable for him by nine o’clock at the latest—and that I was going to Mrs. B—ff—n’s, but on no account to tell Mr. Sk—n—st—n where I had gone, as I wouldn’t have him know it for the world. Then off I went, with Kate in my arms and a tear in my eye, and made the best of my way round to dear mother’s, as I felt convinced, even if Betsy didn’t tell my husband, that would be the first place to which he would fly to seek me, and that I should have him come rushing round to me and begging and praying of me to return to his disconsolate home, before a couple of hours were over my head.
When I reached my own dear mother’s, and told what had happened, oh, it would have done any married lady’s heart good to have seen the affectionate old thing kiss me and fondle me, vowing I had got her own fine spirit, and that she was so delighted to find I was no worm, and that the noble way in which I had acted would teach Mr. Sk—n—st—n as much. When I asked her whether she was perfectly sure that Edward would come after me, she tried to make my mind easy by telling me that it was as sure as coals were coals—though this far from quelled my fears; for from the quality of the ton father had last sent us, I had my doubts upon that subject. But mother went on, saying, “The men are always sure to come after one the first time, my angel—though a second, I must confess, grows a little dangerous; and with a person of Mr. Sk—n—st—n’s disposition, however much I might recommend you once to declare you had separated yourself from him for ever, still I should not, as a mother, like to advise you to try it twice, unless, indeed, you could get him beforehand to agree to allow you a very handsome separate maintenance, as the wretch ought to do, my dove. Now, I recollect about three years after you were born, sweetest, I had a serious quarrel with Mr. B—ff—n, your father, about the parson’s nose, I think, of as fine and fat a duck as ever came to table—and which tit-bit we were both extremely partial to. And the long and short of it was, he said such things to me that I felt I ought not to stop another minute in the house of such a man. So, accordingly, since all my relations lived in Kent, I engaged a small bed out by the night, and left your wretch of a father, my love—for ever!! But, as I expected, he soon found out where I had gone to, and, rushing round, he threw himself at my feet, and began tearing his poor dear bald head so frightfully, that I was obliged to consent to return to his home, and see whether the contrition he professed was really sincere or not by the present he made me; but, when I tell you, my life, that the next day he only brought me home a trumpery plated ale tankard, which, of course, was more for himself than it was for me, you will be able to judge of the deceitfulness of man, and, if you take my advice, you will stipulate to have from Mr. Sk—n—st—n whatever you may want before you are weak enough to consent to make him happy by returning home. Remember, my angel, such chances seldom occur more than once in a poor woman’s lifetime; so, if you will listen to me, you will not throw away this golden opportunity, but sit down quietly now, and just turn over in your mind whether you think you could bring yourself ever to live under the same roof with Mr. Sk—n—st—n again, even if he were to promise to insure his life in your favour, so as to make you comfortable after his death, my angel, or else to double the money he allows you for the housekeeping every week, or any other little trifling sign of repentance which you think he ought to show, my poppet. Only mark my words—‘If you don’t strike the iron whilst it’s hot, you’ll live to repent it, as your too trusting mother has over and over again done, my lamb!’”
Upon my word, if dear mother wasn’t as good as a witch, for, in about a couple of hours, round came Mr. Sk—n—st—n all of a fluster. Then, of course, he was all sorrow and affection, and nothing was too good for me, and, if I would only consent to come back again, he’d be the happiest of men. Oh! I was so glad to think that poor I had humbled my grand lord, no one can tell; and, when I saw that tear twinkling in the corner of his eye, I really couldn’t for the life of me help smiling inwardly, with honest pride, to think of the triumph I had gained, and that I had brought my headstrong gentleman to his proper senses, and made him conscious of my worth. Though, of course, he must go begging and praying of me, after a bit, that I would keep all my troubles about my servants to myself for the future, and not be always tormenting him with them when he came home of an evening, tired, from business, saying that then he was sure we should go on so comfortably together. So I told him that it was foolish of him to expect that we could ever get a good servant who would do all the work of that great big house, and clean the boots and knives, and be dressed in the afternoon to answer the door as well; and, as I saw that he was just in the humour not to refuse me anything, and I had made up my mind long ago to have a page in the house, just like the boy at the L—ckl—y’s, directly I could wheedle my husband into it, I said that, unless some alteration was made in our establishment, I was sure I should be in my grave before long. And when he said, “What alteration do you propose, my dear?—for goodness’ sake, have anything you like, if it will only put an end to these disturbances between us,”—I pretty soon clenched the business, and got him to promise I might get a nice genteel youth, and put him in a handsome livery, who could follow us to church with the prayer-books, (which I do think looks so respectable;) or, if ever I went out for a walk, could come trotting after me, and enable me to go past the barracks in Albany-street without the fear of being insulted by those soldier fellows!
So we went home so pleasantly together, the reader don’t know; and, bless my Edward’s kind heart, when I reminded him of the dresses, and sheets, and things I had lost, if he didn’t give me a very handsome cheque indeed, to buy some new ones with, though I said at the time, when I took it, that it was more than I wanted. But, to do my husband justice, though he is very hasty, I’m sure no one can strive more than he does to make amends for it afterwards.
I’ll warrant he doesn’t go sleeping out again in a hurry!
CHAPTER XIV.
NOW THANK GOODNESS I’VE COME TO THAT MISCHIEVOUS YOUNG MONKEY Of A PAGE, WHO CERTAINLY WAS MORE THAN ONE POOR WOMAN COULD MANAGE, AND LITERALLY AND TRULY NOTHING LESS THAN A MILLSTONE ROUND MY NECK, (IF I MAY BE ALLOWED SO STRONG AN EXPRESSION,) AND WHILE MY HAND’S IN, I SHALL JUST TAKE THE LIBERTY OF SPEAKING MY MIND VERY FREELY ABOUT THE GOINGS ON, TOO, OF THAT HIGHTY-FLIGHTY BEAUTY OF A NURSE (I NEVER KNEW SUCH A NURSE) OF A MISS SARAH OF MINE.
“My pretty page.”
Popular Duet, which I remember when I was at school at Boulogne, poor Miss Rippon was so fond of singing with that impudent wretch of a French music-master, whom she afterwards ran away with; though what she could ever have seen in the man, is more than I could ever make out.
“With a few alterations, oh, la!
We’ll make a beautiful boy.”
Comic Song.
“Of all the girls that are so smart,
There’s none like pretty Sally.”
Sally in our Alley.