MELLICENT
“HAPPY is the corpse, they say, that the rain rains on,� observed Mr. Popham, “but knowing his rheumatic nature, I could have wished him a drier day. However, we must take what comes, and it’s curious that what comes is generally what one would have preferred to be without. Life is very like a switchback railway,� continued Mr. Popham. “Now you’re up, a-looking down upon other human beings; and now you’re down a-looking up at ’em. And similarly your fellow-creatures as regards you. It’s a curious reflection that I shan’t ever measure out his colchicum again; or soothe the morning twinges in his knees and elbers with a lithia lollipop in a glass of warm water; or hear him swear when I tighten his straps and buckles; or fetch and carry his wigs between this and the hairdresser’s in Regent Place. Who do those wigs belong to now? Yesterday his coffin, an extra-sized, double oak casket, metal-lined, with plated handles and silver name-plate, stood in there!� He jerked his head at the double doors leading into the bedroom. “This morning we accompanied him to Woking Cemetery. This afternoon they are a-reading of the Will in Portland Place, and Odlett gave me his solemn word that John Henry shouldn’t remove his ear from the library keyhole without finding out whether a little bit on account of faithful services rendered hadn’t been left to Frederick T. Popham, valet to the above. For he promised to leave me something all along, and almost with his last breath, ‘I haven’t forgotten you, Popham,’ says he. ‘You’ve been remembered, you’ll find, in the Will.’ And ... Lord! Was that you? What a turn you gave me, Miss Mellicent!�
“Why, you’re quite nervous, Mr. Popham, sir,� said Miss Mellicent.
Miss Mellicent had bumped at the door with the end of a coal-scuttle, and now apologized, bringing it in. Miss Mellicent was a thin person of some thirty London summers, dressed in a worn black gown with stray threads sticking out where crape had been ripped off. Her hair would have been a nice brown if it had been less dusty, her gray eyes were timid and kind, and her dingy pale face had a look of belated girlhood—was sometimes quite transfigured into prettiness when she smiled.
“I’ll own I am a little unlike myself,� agreed Mr. Popham. “Perhaps it’s his luggage all ready in a pile near the door, as if we were off to a foreign Spa within the next five minutes, or going down to Helsham to stop in his usual rooms in the south wing. Perhaps it’s his going off so sudden in quite a mild attack. Perhaps it’s the strain of the funeral this morning, perhaps it’s sympathy for Sir George and the family, perhaps it’s a little anxiety on my own account! I know what he had, and I’ve my notions as to how he’s disposed of it! The likeliest way to bring about a lawsuit and get it into Chancery would be his way, bless you! The embroilingest way; the way to bring about the greatest amount of jealousy and bitterness; the way to cost the most to all concerned and bring about the smallest return in the way of satisfaction and profit to ’em, would be the way he’d give the preference to over all. And if he was a-listening to me at this minute,� said Mr. Popham, with a slight uncomfortable glance toward the folding doors that led into the bedroom—“and I’m sure I hope he’s better employed!—he’d own I’ve done him no more than justice!�
“The many years I’ve known General Bastling,� said Miss Mellicent, “and it’s going on for twenty that he’s lodged with us four months in each twelvemonth—I’ve never asked or cared to know. Was he a rich gentleman?�
“Why, I should call him pretty snug at that,� said Mr. Popham. “Ten thousand in Home Rails; a pretty little nest-egg of five thousand in Government Three per Cents; a matter of sixteen hundred invested in the Chillianmugger Anthracite Mining Company; and a nice little bit of loose cash in the current account at Cox’s. That’s what I’ve my eye on, to tell you the truth; and I don’t think it’s unnatural or greedy.�
“I would never believe you selfish or money-seeking,� said Miss Mellicent, folding her hard-worked red hands upon her worn stuff apron, “not if an Angel was to come down out of the stained-glass window in church—I sit under it on a Sunday evening sometimes, when I’m not wanted at home—and tell me so!�
“I hope I’m not naturally more of a groveler than other men in my situation—my late situation—would be,� returned Mr. Popham. “But forty odd is getting on in years, and I’m reluctant at my time of life to go looking for another middle-aged gentleman to valet. The young ones are too harum-scarum and given to late hours for a man like me; and if they weren’t, they’d be unnatural phenomenons. A nice little inn in a country town, with a decentish bar custom and a solid bottle-and-jug department, and a cold lunch in the coffee-room on market-days, would suit me; with Hunt, Harriers, Freemasons, and Friendly Societies’ dinners to cater for; and a private understanding with a few gamekeepers anxious to promote their own interests in a quiet, unassuming way—the guards of the late and early Expresses—and one or two West End poulterers and greengrocers as I have met in what I might call the butterfly stage of my existence, when I wore silk stockings and livery, floured my hair regular, wore a bookay on Levée and Drawing-Room days, and would as soon have eaten cold joint or cleaned the carriage as taken up coals. And why I haven’t relieved you of the scuttle before this, is a question between me and my conscience. Let me take it and put it down. It won’t be the first time, if it is the last, will it?�
“Don’t, Mr. Popham, sir!� pleaded Miss Mellicent; “don’t speak in that downhearted way.� Her red hands plucked at a corner of her dingy stuff apron, her gray eyes were already pink about the rims. Tears rose in them. She coughed and swallowed nervously.