“I won’t stand it much longer—and so I tell you.”
“Tell him, my dear Sally—if you dare. And now oblige me by speaking a little lower, for there is nothing like trees for carrying tales.”
She began again in a lower voice, but in the same tone, and, from the occasional words I heard—for I could not help listening—I gathered that she was angry because some unknown “he” paid too much attention to some unknown “her.” But I could guess who they were. Sarah, it was well known in the house, had an admirer, a man some years younger than herself, who lived a long way off—in London, I think I had heard it said—and who paid her visits at irregular intervals. Mr. Rayner took great interest in this love-affair, and derived much amusement from it; he had somehow discovered that the admirer, whose name was Tom Parkes, was inclined to pay more attention than was meet to the kitchen-maid, Jane; and it was Mr. Rayner’s opinion that there would be very little left of Jane if she encouraged the fickle swain’s attentions.
So Sarah was giving vent to her jealousy in an earnest and intimate conversation with her master’s guest. It seemed a very strange proceeding. I knew that men in the position of gentlemen do treat women of a lower class with more consideration than is necessary when they are young and pretty; but Sarah’s face, which looked as if it was worn and lined before its time with hard work and strong passions, was more repellent than attractive, and I was glad I could not see it as I heard her fierce words more plainly, and knew how her great black eyes must be flashing and her mouth twitching, as they did whenever she was annoyed.
“Look what I’ve done for him; think how I’ve worked for him!” she said. “He would never be where he is now if it wasn’t for me. Does he think his new fancy will plan for him and plot for him, and risk—”
“Hush, hush—don’t speak so loud! Where’s your old discretion, Sally?”
“Let him look for discretion in Miss Baby, with her round face and her child’s eyes. Does he think he can make use of her? Nonsense! It wants a woman that’s strong in her head and strong in her limbs to do the work he wants done, and not a soft little chit like that!”
“Depend upon it, however useful she might be, he would never compare her services with yours, Sally. He is only amusing himself with this little simpleton,” the man said soothingly.
But she interrupted him in a tone of half-suppressed savagery that made me shudder, out of her sight though I was.
“Amusing himself, do you say? Only amusing himself! Looking at her, talking to her, not because he wants to make use of her, but because he likes her, loves her”—she hissed—“as he has never loved any of his poor tools, though they were handsomer a thousand times than this wretched girl! If I thought that, if I really believed that, he’d find me more than his match for once. I’d spoil her beauty for her, and for him, if I hanged for it!”