Yes, Joe was strong and well, and I am sure, happy, and I had never had a single misgiving about him since he stood with his fading flowers and shabby clothes at my window that summer day.
At last we were settled in town, and the winter season beginning. Our house was situated in the West End of London, a little beyond Bayswater. One of a row of detached houses, facing another row exactly similar in every way, except that the backs of those we lived in had small gardens, with each its own stable wall at the end, with coachman's rooms above, the front of the stable facing the mews, and having the entrance from there; the mews ran all along the backs of these houses. On the opposite side the houses facing ours had their gardens and back windows facing the high-road, and no stables. There was a private road belonging to this, Holling Park as it was called, and a watchman to keep intruders out, and to stop organ-grinders, beggars, and such invaders of the peace from disturbing us.
Somehow I was never as comfortable as in my snug cottage in the country. Rich, fashionable people lived about us, and all day long kept up the round of “society life.”
In the morning the large handsome houses would seem asleep, nothing moving inside or out, except a tradesman's cart, calling for orders, or workmen putting up or taking down awnings, at some house where there would be, or had been, a ball or entertainment of some kind. About eleven a carriage or two would be driven round from the mews, and stop before a house to take some one for a morning drive; but very seldom was anybody on foot seen about. In the afternoon it was different,—carriages rolled along incessantly, and streams of afternoon callers were going and coming from the houses when the mistress was “at home;” and at my door, too, soon began the usual din of bell and knocker. Joe was quite equal to the occasion, and enjoyed Friday, the day I received. Dressed in his very best, and with a collar that kept his chin in what seemed to me a fearful state of torture, but added to his height by at least half an inch, Joe stood behind the hall-door, ready to open it directly the knocker was released. He ushered in the guests as though “to the manner born,” giving out the names correctly, and with all the ease of an experienced groom of the chambers.
The conservatory leading out of the drawing-room was Joe's especial
pride; it was his great pleasure to syringe the hanging baskets, a
were spent in little surprises for me in the form of pots of musk,
maiden-hair, or anything he could buy; his wages were all sent home, and
he only kept for his own whatever he had given to him, and sometimes a
guest would “tip” him more generously than I liked, for his bright eyes
and ready hands were always at everybody's service.
After my husband's return home, who from the first became Joe's especial care, as to boots, brushing of clothes, etc., it became necessary to give two or three dinner-parties, and I must confess I felt nervous as to how Joe would acquit himself.
In our dining-room was a very large bear-skin rug, and the floor being polished oak, it was dangerous to step on this rug, for it would slip away from the feet on the smooth surface, and even the dogs avoided it, so many falls had they met with upon it.
The first day of my husband's arrival we had my sister and a friend to dine, and had been talking about Joe in the few moments before dinner.
My husband had been laughing at the size of my page, and scolding me a little, or rather pretending to do so, for taking a written character.
“Little woman,” he said, “don't be surprised if one night a few country burglars make us a visit, and renew their acquaintance with Mr. J. Cole.”