There was an expression of displeasure on the face of my mistress as she looked at me. She asked, “How did you break the lamp-glass? Tell me the truth—for though I may pardon the accident, I will not pardon any falsehood about it.”
I begged that I might tell her everything, and that I might begin from the day when I came to my place. I did so. I told her all, and very much in the same way that I have just been writing it now. She listened to me with great attention, and at parts of what I told her, I could see her countenance change very much indeed. When I had done, she said, “Fanny, you have told me that which has shocked me very much. I can say nothing further to you till I have spoken to Mr. Morgan; meantime you must be silent, and go on as usual.”
Mr. Morgan was at that time from home, and not expected for some days. Meanwhile, Mrs. Morgan had missed several bottles of wine from the cellar. She had a distinct knowledge of three bottles that were not in their places.
The morning after his arrival he did not go to London as usual. He and my mistress were talking together in the study for a long time. I knew well what they were talking about, and so flurried did I feel, that I could hardly get on with my work. At length I met mistress as she was going up-stairs. She said she was coming to bid me go into the study; and her manner was so kind that I obeyed her without fear. My master, too, spoke very kindly to me. I found that my mistress had written to tell him what had been passing at home in his absence, and that he, chancing to be at Dudley, which is only a short distance from Birmingham, had gone there to make further inquiry about me; that he had been at the school, had seen the matron, and had also seen my aunt. All that he had heard about me had satisfied him, and convinced him that what I had told my mistress was nothing but the truth. “Is this your handkerchief, Fanny?” said my master, taking up one from a side table. “Yes, sir, it is,” I said, unfolding it, “and here is my name marked; it was given to me by a favorite little schoolfellow, and I feared I had lost it.”—“Where do you think I found this handkerchief, Fanny?”—“Indeed, sir, I can't tell; but, thank you, sir, for I am so glad it is found.” “I found it in the wine-cellar.” I must have looked very much alarmed, for my mistress said kindly, “Don't look so frightened, Fanny.” My master rang the bell: it was answered by Mary Wild. “Stay here,” he said; “and, Fanny, go and tell the nurse to come down.” When the nurse entered, he rang the bell again. No one came. Indeed, there was no one to come but the cook; and that not being her bell, she did not think of answering it. “Shall I tell her, sir?” said Mary Wild, who, as well as the nurse, now beginning to suspect something was wrong, turned very pale. “No!” said my master, angrily, “no one shall leave the room.” Just then the door opened, and the cook entered. The plausible smooth face she had put on was gone in an instant, on seeing what was the state of things. After a moment's silence, he began “This handkerchief,” he said, “though marked with Fanny's name, was not put in the wine-cellar by her.” He looked sternly at the cook—“Silence!” he said, to the cook, when she tried [pg 494] to speak. He then went on: “If the three bottles of wine stolen out of the cellar are still in the house, they shall be found—here is a search warrant, and at the door is a policeman, ready to enforce its execution. There is no escape, and in confession is the best chance of mercy.” Mary Wild looked at the cook. I shall never forget that woman's face at that moment. She seemed choking with feelings that she tried to hide, and uncertain what it would be the best for her to do; she went at last toward the door, and suddenly opening it, was rushing out of the room and up-stairs. “Stop!” cried my master, following her.—“I must go,” she said, “I am ill. This sudden shock—to think that I—that it should come to this—to be suspected.”—And then she screamed, and tried to throw herself into a fit; but the fit would not come. Mr. Morgan said, “You had better be quiet, and submit quietly to what you can not escape from.”—“I will,” she screamed out; “I have nothing to fear—I am innocent; only let me go up-stairs; only let me have a few minutes to—” “Not an instant,” said my master. He then opened the window, and called to the policeman, who had been waiting in the garden. The boxes of each of the servants were examined. In the cook's box were found two of the bottles, besides many things belonging to my mistress—cambric pocket-handkerchiefs, chamber-towels, silk-stockings, and many other articles, marked with the names of visitors who had been staying in the house. Folded up in some crumpled bits of paper, and put into the sleeve of an old gown, was a silver fork, that had been lost more than a year ago, and that mistress had supposed to have been stolen by the housemaid who had lived there before Mary Wild came. In the nurse's box were several things that looked very unlikely to be her own, but they did not belong to mistress. In a corner of the nursery cupboard was the third bottle of wine; that also had been opened. In Mary Wild's box there was nothing to excite suspicion.
When the examination was over, master gave the cook in charge to the policeman. The nurse was told to leave the house within an hour. She would have had much to say, but master would not hear her.
A month's notice was given to Mary Wild. I was glad of it; for though I knew that she had entered into many of the wicked cook's deceptions, there was a something about her that made me think she would have been good, if she had not been under such evil influence. All had been so sudden, that I almost fancied it had been a dream. For a few days we went on without other servants, and I thought things had never been so comfortable as they were during this time; but Mary Wild was taken so very ill, that a doctor was sent for. She became worse and worse, and I scarcely ever left her. In her delirium she would talk about things that had passed between the cook and herself; and though she did not know what she was saying, I felt sure that what she said had been. A very long time she was ill; then a sudden change took place: and she was out of danger. Poor thing! how quiet, and patient, and sorrowful she was: and how grateful for every thing that was done for her! Mistress was so much touched by the many signs of sorrow Mary had shown, that she allowed her to remain in her place. Though I was so young, only just seventeen, my mistress, knowing that I was fond of the children, trusted them to my care. She engaged another nurse for three months to “put me in the way.” At the end of that time she sent to the school for another girl to fill the place which had been mine. Very great was my delight to find that she was the one who had been my most favorite schoolfellow; the very girl who had given me the handkerchief.
The cook was committed for trial; her sentence was six months' imprisonment. What became of the nurse I never knew.
The Point Of Honor.
One evening in the autumn of the year 1842. seven persons, including myself, were sitting and chatting in a state of hilarious gayety in front of Señor Arguellas' country-house, a mile or so out of Santiago de Cuba, in the Eastern Intendencia of the Queen of the Antilles, and once its chief capital, when an incident occurred that as effectually put an extinguisher upon the noisy mirth as if a bomb-shell had suddenly exploded at our feet. But first a brief account of those seven persons, and the cause of their being so assembled, will be necessary.