“He must be rather an amusing fellow then,”—I continued, wondering that my man should take the accomplishments of Amiel in such an injured manner.
“Oh, I don’t say anything against his amusingness,”—and Morris rubbed his nose with a doubtful air—“It’s all very well for him to cut capers and make himself agreeable if he likes,—but it’s the deceit of him that surprises me sir. You’d think to look at him that he was a decent sort of dull chap with no ideas beyond his duty, but really sir, it’s quite the contrary, if you’ll believe me. The language he uses when he’s up to his games downstairs is something frightful! And he actually swears he learnt it from the gentlemen of the turf, sir! Last night he was play acting, and taking off all the fashionable folks,—then he took to hypnotising—and upon my word it made my blood run cold.”
“Why, what did he do?” I asked with some curiosity.
“Well, sir, he took one of the scullery-maids and sat her in a chair and just pointed at her. Pointed at her and grinned, for all the world like a devil out of a pantomime. And though she is generally a respectable sober young woman, if she didn’t get up with a screech and commence dancing round and round like a lunatic, while he kept on pointing. And presently she got to jumping and lifting her skirts that high that it was positively scandalous! Some of us tried to stop her and couldn’t; she was like mad, till all at once number twenty-two bell rang—that’s the prince’s [p 124] room,—and he just caught hold of her, set her down in her chair again and clapped his hands. She came to directly, and didn’t know a bit what she’d been doing. Then twenty-two bell rang again, and the fellow rolled up his eyes like a clergyman and said, ‘Let us pray!’ and off he went.”
I laughed.
“He seems to have a share of humour at anyrate,”—I said; “I should not have thought it of him. But do you think these antics of his are mischievous?”
“Well that scullery girl is very ill to-day,”—replied Morris; “I expect she’ll have to leave. She has what she calls the ‘jumps’ and none of us dare tell her how she got them. No sir, believe me or not as you like, there’s something very queer about that Amiel. And another thing I want to know is this—what does he do with the other servants?”
“What does he do with the other servants?” I repeated bewilderedly—“What on earth do you mean?”
“Well sir, the prince has a chef of his own hasn’t he?” said Morris enumerating on his fingers—“And two personal attendants besides Amiel,—quiet fellows enough who help in the waiting. Then he has a coachman and groom. That makes six servants altogether. Now none of these except Amiel are ever seen in the hotel kitchens. The chef sends all the meals in from somewhere, in a heated receptacle—and the two other fellows are never seen except when waiting at table, and they don’t live in their own rooms all day, though they may sleep there,—and nobody knows where the carriage and horses are put up, or where the coachman and groom lodge. Certain it is that both they and the chef board out. It seems to me very mysterious.”
I began to feel quite unreasonably irritated.