“It seems like a hundred years of hell,” moaned the unhappy little bride. “He has been so cruel to me.” And then she told her story.
“I am not really a kitchenmaid. I am Lady Mary ——, but I liked cooking, and mother wanted me to learn, so I used to go into the kitchen in the morning and play about. The chef was charming to me, and—well, I think I must have been mad—I thought I had fallen in love with him, and I ran away and married him a month ago. From the first moment he has been bullying my family for money. He made me come away with him as his kitchenmaid until he got enough money out of my family to start a home of our own. But please do not let him come near me again. He will kill me! That cheque was from my aunt, for I had to tell her of my misery and disgrace. It was sent to enable me to get away and go to her home, where I should be safe.”
“Do not worry any more about that,” said her protectress determinedly. “You shall come to my room now, and I will telegraph to your aunt and put things right.”
She did so, and the girl was restored to her family. Strange as the story may sound, it is a true bill.
While on the subject of servants, the following is an interesting sidelight.
A mistress offered a servant girl a seat for a theatre. The girl beamed with delight. Suddenly her face shadowed, and she asked:
“Are there any countesses in it, ma’am?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Because I don’t think mother would like me to go and see a play with a countess in it, ma’am.”