"Of course. And with herself, too," added the Vicar, as he read the short letter. "She wants you to go to her, Maria."
Mrs. Page was the one rich relation of the Kettle family: first cousin to the late Mrs. Kettle. She lived in Leamington, in a handsome house of her own, and with a good establishment; and she might have been as happy there as any wealthy and popular widow lady ever was yet. But, though good at heart, Mrs. Page was intensely capricious and exacting; she lived in almost perpetual hot water with her servants, and changed them every two or three months. This week, for instance, she would be rich in domestics, not lacking one in any capacity; the next week the whole lot would depart in a body, turned away, or turning themselves away, and Mrs. Page be reduced to a couple of charwomen. But her goodness of heart was undeniable; and many a Christmas Day had Mr. Kettle received from her a fifty-pound note, to be distributed by himself and Maria amongst their poor.
Every now and then she would send a peremptory summons for Maria; and the Vicar never allowed it to be disobeyed.
"She is getting old now, Maria, she is nearly the only relative left of your poor mother's, and I cannot permit you to neglect her," he would say. But he did not choose to append to this another reason, which, perhaps, weighed greatly with himself, and add, "She is rich, and will probably remember you in her will if you do not offend her."
"The servants all went off the day before yesterday, Maria; and she says that she is feeling very ill, and she wants you to go to her as soon as convenient," said Mr. Kettle, passing the letter to his daughter.
"But I cannot go, papa."
"Not go!"
"I do not see that I can. There is so much work at home just now."
"What work?"
"With the parish----"