VIII
Merely to be Prepared
I couldn’t have been asleep many minutes (though, when I come to think of it, no one ever is, in London), because I had waited up till eleven for Abigail.
It was like this: the day before, cook had asked me if she might stay out till eleven that night, as she wanted to go and see an old lady in whose employ she had once been. The old lady was seriously ill; she couldn’t get her off her mind; and she felt she ought to give her what little pleasure she could, as she wouldn’t be likely to get over it.
I begged her to take the whole afternoon; such affection was really touching. I saw myself in a few years’ time, decrepit, aged, and infirm, being visited by a crowd of devoted retainers, who murmured one to another:
“She had her faults, goodness knows, but at least we will scatter seeds of kindness!”
In any case, I was pleased for cook to take some extra time, as she is invariably home early—the Naval Division at the Crystal Palace have to be under glass by nine o’clock.
She thanked me, but declined the afternoon, as she thought half-past nine or ten in the evening would suit the old lady best; she was in a West End nursing home. It seemed late to visit one who was so aged and so ill, but, of course, I gave the extended leave.
She returned at 10.55, looking very bright, a bunch of roses in her coat-belt, a box of chocolates dangling from her finger, and a programme in her hand.
Yes, thank you; she had had a lovely time. The old lady?—er—oh, yes! she was getting on nicely, thank you.