“Woman!” said Mrs. Frith. “Woman yourself. Who’s a woman? I’m not a woman. No, I’m not. And if I am a woman, you’re not the one to say so. Ah, I know how many bottles have gone out of this house and come in—not by me.”
“Hold your impudent tongue,” said Nurse.
“I shall not hold my tongue, so now,” retorted Mrs. Frith.
Michael had squeezed himself behind the kitchen door fascinated by this duel. It was like Alice in Wonderland, and every minute he expected to see Cook throwing plates at Nanny, who was certainly making faces exactly like the Duchess. The area door slammed, and Michael wondered what was going to happen. Presently there came the sound of a deep tread in the passage and a policeman entered.
“What’s all this?” he said in a deep voice.
“Constable,” said Nurse, “will you please remove this dreadful woman?”
“What’s she been doing?” asked the policeman.
“She’s drunk.”
Mrs. Frith apparently overwhelmed by the enormity of the accusation tottered to her feet and seized a saucepan.
“None of that now,” said the policeman roughly, as he caught her by the waist.