“Oh, it’s all in the day’s work. What would you?” asked Mrs Clere, rather more graciously.
“Well, I scarce like to tell you; but I was meaning to ask you the kindness, if you’d give leave for Bessy Foulkes to pass next saint’s day afternoon with us. If you could spare her, at least.”
“I can spare Bessy Foulkes uncommon well!” said Mrs Clere irascibly.
“Why, Mistress Clere! Has Bessy—” Rose began in an astonished tone. Mrs Clere’s servant, Elizabeth Foulkes, was her dearest friend.
“You’d best give Mistress Elizabeth Foulkes the go by, Rose Allen. She’s a cantankerous, ill-beseen hussy, and no good company for you. She’ll learn you to do as ill as herself, if you look not out.”
“But what has Bessy done?”
“Gone into school-keeping,” said Mrs Clere sarcastically. “Expects her betters to go and learn their hornbook of her. Set herself up to tell all the world their duty, and knows it a sight better than they do. That’s what Mistress Elizabeth’s done and doing. Ungrateful hussy!”
“I couldn’t have thought it!” said Rose, in a tone of great surprise, mixed with disappointment. “Bessy’s always been so good a maid—”
“Good! don’t I tell you she’s better than every body else? Tell you what, Rose Allen, being good’s all very well, but for a young maid to stick herself up to be better than her neighbours ’ll never pay. I don’t hold with such doings. If Bess’d be content to be the best cook, or the best cleaner, in Colchester, I’d never say nought to her; but she’s not content; she’d fain be the best priest and the best school-master too. And that isn’t her work, preaching isn’t; dressing meat and scouring pans and making beds is what she’s called to, and not lecturing folks at Market Cross.”
“Has Bessy been preaching at the Market Cross?” asked Rose in genuine horror, for she took Mrs Clere’s statements literally.