Vane is Missing.
Aunt Hannah had been very busy devoting herself according to her custom in watching attentively while Eliza bustled about, spreading the cloth for high tea—a favourite meal at the Little Manor. She had kept on sending messages to Martha in the kitchen till that lady had snorted and confided to Eliza, “that if missus sent her any more of them aggrawating orders she would burn the chicken to a cinder.”
For Aunt Hannah’s great idea in life was to make those about her comfortable and happy; and as Vane would return from his long walk tired and hungry, she had ordered roast chicken for tea with the sausages Mrs Rounds had sent as a present after the pig-killing.
That was all very well. Martha said “yes, mum,” pleasantly and was going to do her best; but unfortunately, Aunt Hannah made a remark which sent the cook back to her kitchen, looking furious.
“As if I ever did forget to put whole peppers in the bread sauce,” she cried to Eliza with the addition of a snort, and from that minute there were noises in the kitchen. The oven door was banged to loudly; saucepans smote the burning coals with their bottoms heavily; coals were shovelled on till the kitchen became as hot as Martha’s temper, and the plates put down to heat must have had their edges chipped, so hardly were they rattled together.
But in the little drawing-room Aunt Hannah sat as happy and placid as could be till it was drawing toward the time for Vane’s return, when she took her keys from her basket, and went to the store-room for a pot of last year’s quince marmalade and carried it into the dining-room.
“Master Vane is so fond of this preserve, Eliza,” she said. “Oh, and, by the way, ask Martha to send in the open jam tart. I dare say he would like some of that.”
“I did tell Martha so, ma’am.”
“That was very thoughtful of you, Eliza.”
“But she nearly snapped my head off, ma’am.”