CHAPTER XVI.
AND THE LAST, (thank goodness! say I.)
WHICH MY COURTEOUS READERS MUST READ, IF THEY WANT TO KNOW WHAT IT’S ABOUT, AS I’VE NO ROOM TO TELL THEM.
Fare thee well! and if for ever,
Why, for ever——
Popular Song, by Byron, which, for the reason above mentioned, I haven’t space to finish.
Well, I’ll give you my word, gentle reader—though I dare say you’ll hardly believe it—such was the state of things I got to at last; everything was going crooked in the house—the under nurserymaid quarrelling with the upper nurserymaid, the upper housemaid complaining of the under housemaid, and that brute of a footman ill-treating that monkey of a page—until it was nothing else but jingle-jangle, wringle-wrangle, from the moment we got up in the morning to the very instant we went to bed at night. But I do think I could have borne it all, if it hadn’t been for one dreadful “contretemps,” which fairly drove me out of my senses.
You see, our footman had, like a stupid, fallen down with the urn, and scalded himself so bad, that I packed him off as an in-door patient to the hospital—as it struck me I couldn’t do less—and the one I had after him I did fancy would have turned out such a jewel; but, alas! alas!—let me restrain my feelings.
When he came after the place, I thought I never saw such a fine, honest, open countenance in all my born days; and the man did appear so clean, and was so respectful and meek, and so willing and good-tempered looking, and was so fond of children, that, I declare, if he didn’t ask me if he might shake hands with my little Kitty (who was now nearly seven, and, as he said, as fine and pretty a girl for her age as he’d ever beheld, and so like its mamma.) The sole stipulation he made, was that he might be allowed to go to church at least twice every Sunday—though this only pleased me the more with him. And when he told me he had lived for the last eighteen years with one of the bishops of the land (bless us and save us! I said to myself, there’s a character for you!) and that the only cause for his leaving was, that his poor master, who had always been a kind one to him, had got embarrassed in railway speculations, and been obliged to break up his palace in the country. His lady, however, was staying in town, and would be happy to see me any morning I pleased to name; so, as I had no idea of letting such a treasure of a servant slip through my fingers, I made the appointment for the very next day. The Bishop’s lady—who had the first floor over a very nice pastry-cook’s in May-fair, for a temporary residence in London—received me with great condescension, and told me with almost tears in her poor eyes, that Thompson’s account was very true, and that if anything in their difficulties grieved her more than another, it was parting with such an estimable treasure as that good, honest, worthy man. I don’t think I ever saw such a perfect lady in all my life. Her dress though, it struck me, was a little too showy for a person in her station; and (between ourselves) when I looked at her steadfastly in the face, I declare if the beautiful high colour she had got on her cheeks wasn’t as artificial as a Grand Banquet on the stage. Still, as I knew that the heads of our mother church had none of your tight-laced, puritanical notions about dress—and if they had, why they confined them chiefly to the lead-coloured quaker-cut liveries of their men-servants—I didn’t see why a poor wife shouldn’t wear what she liked. Her ladyship apologized for the absence of his lordship, informing me that he was down in the country attending to his flock, so that I at once saw the dreadful straits to which they were reduced, and couldn’t help feeling how hard it must be for the poor man at his time of life to have to begin to work for his living. And I’m sure, from her ladyship’s charming manners, which—though, perhaps, a leetle too free for the vulgar world—still proved to me that she had been accustomed all her days to better things. She spoke of Thompson in such affectionate terms, that I couldn’t help thinking she was the best of mistresses, while he was the best of servants; and poor I, the luckiest of women, to have fallen in with such people. Just as I was about to say “good morning” and take my leave, a dashing cabriolet drove up, and her ladyship, on looking through the window, exclaimed, “De-har, de-har me! if it is’nt the archbeeshop, my de-har reverend uncle! why what evar keyan have brought ‘York’ up to town. Perhaps you will be keyind enough to exkeyuse me.” In my politest way I answered, “Certainly,” and sailing like a swan out of the room, I determined to have a good stare at the archbishop as I marched down stairs. When I peeped through the window in the passage that gave into the shop, there he was, dressed in the first style of fashion, eating brandy cherries with his white kid gloves on, and—what at the time I couldn’t for the life of me understand—a pair of the most beautiful little curly mustachios I ever recollect to have seen in all my born days.
Well, the first night after that treasure of a Thompson had entered our service, and we had been in bed from four to five hours, judging by our rushlight, I was dreaming that I was flying so nicely, just skimming along the surface of the earth, for all the world as if I was a great goose, and saying to myself, “Ah! now I see how it’s done; you have only got to hold your breath, and wag your arms—so,” when I was awoke by the sound of a pair of heavy boots tramping up stairs. First, I thought it was that plaguy kitten, playing with Edward’s Wellingtons, outside the door, and dragging them down the stairs after her; but, lud-a-mercy-me, on looking at the door, I declare if I couldn’t see, by the bright line of light shining underneath it, that somebody was in the house. So I bounced out of bed, and turning the key, (for we had only got the night bolt down,) I snatched up my beautiful amethyst brooch off the dressing-table, as well as (between ourselves) my false front tooth out of the tumbler of water there, and popping them both under the pillow, I jumped into bed again, determined to sell them only with my life. I had no sooner succeeded in waking Mr. Sk—n—st—n, who sleeps as heavy as an alderman at church, than positively the handle of the door began to move. Up jumped Edward, and I clung to him like a barnacle, saying, in a low whisper, “What are you about?—would you risk your precious life when you know it’s not insured?” But out he got, and down I dived under the clothes almost to the bottom of the bed, expecting every minute that I should be dragged out by my hair, and forced by a couple of villains, holding a pistol at each of my ears, to give up not only my love of a brooch to pacify them, but even my superb ivory front tooth, which had, at least, five shillings’ worth of gold about it. The first thing I heard when I took my fingers out of my ears, was the sound of a stranger’s voice, saying, “Do you know as your street door is open?” Then, coming up from under the bed-clothes, and putting my head half out between the curtains, while I held them together as close as ever I could, there I saw a great, big, black policeman standing at our bed-room door, with his dark lantern in his hand, and Mr. Edward, in the chintz dressing-gown I made him out of the old covering to our easy chair, staring at him with all his eyes, and with his old militia sword in one hand, and the rushlight out of the shade in the other. On taking a second look at the policeman, whose face I thought I remembered somewhere, oh, heavens! if I didn’t know, by the size of his whiskers, it was the impudent puppy who had winked at me over the parlour blinds. And then, drat his impudence, if he didn’t turn his bull’s eye full upon me in my nightcap, and this made me blink so, that positively I do believe the fellow must have thought that I was winking at him. So I pulled the curtains to, as quick as I could, and giving a slight scream, I told Edward to go down stairs with the man that very moment, and make our treasure of a footman get up and see whether the spoons and forks were all right. He couldn’t have been gone five minutes, when back Mr. Sk—n—st—n came, tearing up stairs, in a towering passion, with the gratifying information that my treasure of a footman, who had stipulated to go to church, at least twice every Sunday, and lived for the last eighteen years with one of the bishops of the land, had gone off with the
“Do you know as your street-door is open?”