“What, Maryann?” exclaimed Will.
“The same. You seems to know ’em all, sir.”
“Yes, I know them well. Is Maryann still with my—with Mrs Osten?”
“Yes, sir, she is, an’ wot’s more, she aint likely to quit in a ’urry. W’y, sir, that ’ooman ’as ’ad no fewer than six hoffers of marriage, an’ ’as refused ’em all for love of the old lady. My wife, she says to me the other night, when she wos a-washin’ of the baby in the big bread can—you see, sir, the washin’ tub’s gone and sprung a leak, an’ so we’re redoosed to the bread can—Well, as I wos a-sayin’, my wife says to me—‘Richards,’ says she, ‘it’s my belief that Marryhann will never marry, for her ’art an’ soul is set upon Mrs Osten, an’ she’s got a strange feelin’ of sartinty that Master Will, as she calls the runaway boy, will come back to comfort ’is mother an’ look arter the furrin estates. No, Richards, mark my words, Maryhann will never marry.’”
“‘It may be so, Jemimar,’ says I,—Did you speak, sir?” said the coachman, turning sharp round on hearing Will utter an exclamation of surprise.
“Is your wife’s name Jemima?”
“Yes, it is; d’you ’appen to know her, too?”
“Well, I think I do, if she is the same person who used to attend upon Mrs Osten—a tall and—thin—and and—somewhat—”
“Stiff sort of woman—hout with it, sir, you’ll not ’urt my feelins. I didn’t marry Jemimar for her beauty, no, nor yet for her money nor her youth, for she aint young, sir—older than myself a long way. I took her for her worth, sir, her sterlin’ qualities. You know, sir, as well as I do, that it aint the fattest an’ youngest ’osses as is the best. Jemimar is a trump, sir, without any nonsense about her. Her capacity for fryin’ ’am, sir, an’ bilin’ potatoes is marvellous, an’ the way she do dress up the baby (we’ve only got one, sir) is the hadmiration of the neighbour’ood.”
“You said something just now about the deceased Mr Osten’s estate. Can you tell me how he came by it?”