“Miss, I'll have his blood; I will, miss, I will.”
“For goodness' sake, cook, go back to your kitchen; put that dreadful pair of boots under your apron.”
“No, miss; I'll be revenged. He has insulted me.”
“You can't be revenged now, cook; you see he has shut himself in; you had better go back to your kitchen.”
The groom, who was washing the carriage, stood, mop in hand, grinning, appreciating the discomfiture of the coachman, who was paying the penalty of his joke.
“Cook, if you don't go back to your kitchen instantly, I'll give you notice. It is shameful—think what a scandal you are making in the stable-yard. Go back to your kitchen—I order you. It is half-past six, go and attend to your master's dinner.”
“He has insulted me, he has insulted me. I'll have your blood!” she cried, battering at the door. The rattling of chains was heard as the horses turned their heads.
“Put those boots under your apron, cook; go back to your kitchen, do as I tell you.”
The woman retreated, Maggie following. At intervals there were stoppages, and cook re-stated her desire to have the coachman's blood. Maggie did not attempt to argue with her, but sternly repeated her order to go back to her kitchen, and to conceal the old boots under her apron.
“What business had he to rummage in my box, interfering with my things; he put them all along the kitchen table; he did it because I told you, miss, that he was carrying on with the kitchenmaid. He goes with her every evening into the wood shed, and a married man, too! I wouldn't be his poor wife.”