It was not the cook, but Mary, the housemaid, that entered.
“If you please, sir,” said she, whimpering, “I should wish to leave my situation.”
“A conspiracy, by heavens! Well, you may go.”
“To-night, sir, if you please,” answered the woman.
“This moment, for all I care!” exclaimed Mr Witherington in his wrath.
The housemaid retired; and Mr Witherington took some time to compose himself.
“Servants all going to the devil in this country,” said he at last; “proud fools—won’t clean rooms after black people, I suppose—yes, that’s it, confound them all, black and white! here’s my whole establishment upset by the arrival of a baby. Well, it is very uncomfortable—what shall I do?—send for sister Moggy?—no, I’ll send for Jonathan.”
Mr Witherington rang the bell, and Jonathan made his appearance.
“What is all this, Jonathan?” said he; “cook angry—Mary crying—both going away—what’s it all about?”
“Why, sir, they were told by William that it was your positive order that the two black people were to sleep with them; and I believe he told Mary that the man was to sleep with her.”