“Whisht, whisht!” said Mr. Charles; “don’t cry! It cannot be so bad as you think. If anybody has done anything to disturb you, of course we’ll put it all right—we’ll put it all right; don’t cry. Tell me what’s happened, and no doubt we’ll be able to put it all right.”
“Oh! how can you ask me what’s happened—everything’s happened!” cried Matilda. “There is not a servant in the house that does not insult us. They say disagreeable things to Elvin; they hate the poor Ayah, though I don’t mind that so much, for I want an opportunity to send her away. I am sure they pinch poor Tommy when they have a chance, for the child’s arms are black and blue. And as for me!” cried Matilda, rising into renewed excitement; “it’s all because they think we’re interlopers, and because the other Heriots, the old family, have gone and twisted their minds. They think no more of me than if I was the dust below the feet of that Marjory. Marjory, indeed! an old maid, as that old witch said, that never had any right to be mistress—that was never anything but the old gentleman’s daughter—”
“Hem—ahem!” Mr. Charles made a great sound of coughing; it was the only thing he could do to drown all this, and to keep himself from getting angry. (“I was very near getting into a passion,” he said afterwards; “I was very near speaking sharp, as I would have been sorry to have spoken.”) To prevent this, he coughed so much that Matilda’s voice was drowned, and his own angry feelings cooled down.
“You will excuse my cough. I have got cold, it appears,” he said, pleased with his own skill in having devised this expedient; and then, when a momentary pause had been obtained, he added, “We’ll not discuss Marjory, if you please. The servants here have been good kind of creatures; faithful and honest, so far as I’ve seen. You must excuse them if they feel the change. Some of them have been long here, and are used to—to the old family, as you say. But if there’s been any real insult, any disrespect, no doubt you have a right to my services; I cannot think, however, that any one in this house has been guilty of that. Miss Bassett—”
“Oh, don’t ask anything of me,” said Verna, turning her back. “She chooses to manage her own affairs herself. I don’t mean to interfere.”
“Oh! you wicked, cruel girl!” cried Matilda, throwing herself, sobbing, on the sofa. “Oh! why was I spared from the voyage, or from my confinement—the one coming so close on the other? Why was I made to live after my poor Charlie—my Charlie, that never would let any one worry me? If he were here, none of you would dare—you would all be trying which could be kindest—you would, every one! Oh! what shall I ever do in this hard-hearted place? Why didn’t you take me and leave me with Charlie, and be done with it, rather than kill me an inch at a time, as you are doing now?”
Mr. Charles walked about the room in confusion and dismay, and heard a great deal more of this, before he could get free to inquire into the real causes of the fray. When he escaped at last, the confusion of his mind was such that he stepped into the middle of Fleming’s tray full of glasses for dinner, and broke several before he could pull himself up. When the further perturbation and excitement consequent upon this crash had been dispelled, and the pieces of broken glass carefully picked up and disposed of, Mr. Charles, still tremulous, swallowed a glass of sherry, and opened his mind to the old retainer of the house.
“Fleming,” he said, “we’ve had a great and blessed dispensation in our ladies, in this house. They’ve been free of the follies of their kind in a way that’s quite extraordinary to think of. But we must not expect that we’re always to be so fortunate, or that Providence has just singled us out, you know, for special favour. We must try and put up with what’s sent, and do our duty to the best of our ability—”
“’Deed, Mr. Chairles,” said Fleming, “I have nae doubt it’s real important to you to be able to take that comfort to yoursel’, being one of the family, and in a manner bound to do your best; but as for me, I’m but a servant. I’ve served my forty year, which is long enough to gi’e me the best of characters in ony place; and I’ve saved a pickle siller, and invested it—by your advice, Sir, and that of ithers—in a very advantageous manner; and if I’m ever to mairry a wife, and hae a fireside of my ain, I have nae time to lose. I’m no saying but what you’ll make a great hand o’t, and carry the leddies through and break them in; but for me at my age to stand yon bit creature’s temper and her ignorance, and haud my tongue and clip my words to please her—by George! it’s what I’ll no do! And when I’m driven to sweer, Mr. Chairles—”
“And, by George! I’ll not do it either!” said Mr. Charles, smiting his lean thigh. He was so roused up and stimulated by this valiant resolution, that he took another glass of sherry on the spot, a thing he had not been known to do for years. “I wish ye joy of the wife, &c.,” he said. “I’ll not follow your example in that; but why I should make myself miserable and ridiculous, for an idiot of a strange woman, at my time of life! By George! I’ll not do it, any more than you!”