Читать книгу The Greatest Plague of Life: or, the Adventures of a Lady in Search of a Good Servant - Henry Mayhew - Страница 14

HOW MARY TURNED OUT, AND HOW HER GOINGS-ON ON MY “AT-HOME” DAY NEARLY DROVE ME WILD.

“Ay, laugh, ye fiends! laugh, laugh, ye fiends!

Yes, by Heaven! yes, by Heaven! they’ve driven me mad!

I see her dancing in the hall—I see her dancing in the hall—

I see her dancing—she heeds me not!

Yes, by Heaven! yes, by Heaven! they’ve driven me mad!

Yes, by Heaven! yes, by Heaven! they’ve driven me mad!”

Henry Russell, “The Maniac.”

As soon as I had recovered my scattered senses, I rang the bell for Mary; and when she came up, I declare I could scarcely go near her, she smelt of drink so horridly, though wherever she could have got it at that hour I couldn’t, if any one had given me a hundred guineas, make out at the time. (But I wasn’t long in finding out where my lady went to for it, as the reader will presently see.) And I do verily believe that such a toad never entered a respectable woman’s service before.

With my usual command over myself, I requested her to take my bridal robe down, and shake all the smuts off of it in the garden, and to be sure and take care what she was about with it; as white satin was not to be picked up in the streets every day. When the minx brought it up again, I declare I never saw such a grubby thing as it was; and it looked for all the world like as if it was made out of what the gentlemen call Oxford mixture; for she had been trying to rub the blacks off with a damp duster! And yet, it wasn’t advisable to throw it in her teeth, though I could have given it her well, I could. There was a very handsome and expensive dress completely spoilt, and made as pretty ducks-and-drakes of as anything I ever saw. It was of no use to any one, and only fit to be given away.

I was obliged to put on a high-bodied, quiet-looking, dark, snuff-coloured silk dress, which mamma had bought me before my marriage, as it was a good-wearing, serviceable colour, and one that would not show the dirt. But my troubles were doomed not to cease here; for when I was tout-arrangé, and really thought that I didn’t look so bad, after all, I found that nothing with any spirit in it was safe in the house from that abominable toper of a Mary of mine; and that she had positively been drinking all my Eau-de-Cologne, and filling the bottle up with turpentine; so that when I went to pour some of the perfume down my bosom, I actually saturated my things with the filthy stuff, and smelt just like as if I had been newly French-polished.

But, alas! her thievish propensities didn’t stop here; for if she knew where any drink was kept, she would never rest easy until she had got it—no matter how. As for locks and keys, bless you! they were of no more use than policemen. Actually the hussy couldn’t even keep her fingers off mamma’s excellent cherry brandy; but must go picking and stealing even that; and (as I found out afterwards, to my cost,) filling up the bottles with cold tea and new young cherries instead, (the nasty toad!) And the reader will soon see how it turned out.

I thought I should have gone mad on my At-home day. I really expected it would have been the death of poor, dear Edward. And I’m sure, for myself, I made up my mind that, come what would, I’d never go through another such a time, not even if I was to be made a princess. I declare the door-step had never been touched—nor the hall or the stairs swept—not even so much as a mat shaken—nor a thing dusted—so that you might have written your name on the backs of the chairs and tables in the drawing-room—and it was past twelve in the day before I could get that slut Mary even to clear away the breakfast things out of the parlour—and I had the greatest difficulty in the world to make her go and clean herself, for she was just the same as when she got up in the morning, not fit to be seen. I had to light the fire in the drawing-room, and dust the place, dressed as I was, myself, or else it would never have been done.

I don’t suppose I could have finished a quarter of an hour before the first double-knock came to the door, and that slut Mary not down stairs to answer it. So I rushed up to her room and bundled her down as quick as I could; though she had been at her old tricks again, I could see, and wasn’t really in a fit state to be trusted to go to the door; but what could I do? They had knocked again, and I had only just time to sit myself down, and take up one of the books off the drawing-room table, when the street-door was opened. And then, to my great horror, I heard Mary talking, at the top of her voice, to the visitors in the passage; and demanding to shake hands with them, and calling them a set of stuck-up things, because they wouldn’t. So I ran down as fast as my legs would carry me, and looking at her as if I could have eaten her, told her to go down stairs directly, and remember who she was, and what she was, and where she came from.

I found it was poor Mrs. B—yl—s and her lovely girls that Mary had been insulting in this dreadful manner, and who were quite flurried at her strange goings-on. Luckily, Edward was up-stairs dressing, or there’s no knowing what he wouldn’t have done. And I declare, there was not a single person that came into the house that day that she didn’t insult, in some way or other; and twice I had to go down to her; for she would go, singing and dancing about, like a downright maniac; and it was only by promising her some warm spirits and water in the evening, that I could in any way get her to keep her tongue to herself.

I was so upset, that instead of my friends congratulating me on my improved appearance, they did nothing but tell me that they could perceive Mary was worrying me dreadfully, and that they had never seen me look so bad before. And they kindly advised me to get the jade out of the house as soon as possible, saying, that if she were a servant of theirs, they should expect to be burned alive in their beds, for that drunken people were always so careless with their candles. While dear mamma (who is naturally a long-headed woman,) said, that every morning she confidently expected to find the place destroyed by fire, and that her dear children had perished in the flames. All which took such a hold on my mind, that I couldn’t get a wink of sleep for a week afterwards, and was always fancying I could hear the boards crackling, and kept getting up and going over the house, shivering, in my night-dress, to satisfy myself that all was safe.

We were, at one time, as many as fourteen in the drawing-room, and all of them highly desirable acquaintances, being people very well to do in the world; when mamma, who is so proud of her cherry-brandy, would persuade our friends to take some—if it was only a glassful. So (bother take it!) I had to get my keys, and trot downstairs for her stupid cherry-brandy—which I’m sure I couldn’t see the want of, for there was plenty of excellent red and white wine on the table; and that was good enough for any one any day, I should think. Besides, I had set my mind upon keeping the cherry-brandy quietly to myself, as there were only two bottles of it, and Edward had just laid in several dozen of port and sherry. However, I returned with one of the bottles and an agreeable smile on my countenance to the drawing-room, little thinking that I was about to present some of my best friends with a glass of that horrible wash that that tipsy, thieving Mary had filled up the bottle with. Then giving it to mamma, I told her pleasantly that she should fill the glasses, and have all the credit of it to herself. So, the good, dear old lady did as I said, and handing them round, observed to Mrs. L—ckl—y, (who is the wife of Edward’s best client, and of highly genteel connexions,) that she should like her to try that; for she flattered herself that she would find it very fine, and not to be got everywhere, as she had made it herself, after her own peculiar way; and that she felt convinced that any pastrycook would gladly give her twenty guineas for the receipt any morning; and that she always made a point of using none but the very best cognac that could be got for money, together with the finest Morella cherries that were to be picked up in Covent-garden Market. When they had all got their glasses, dear, unconscious mamma sat down with a self-contented smile, waiting for the approbation and eulogiums which she confidently expected they would overwhelm her with. As soon as Mrs. L—ckl—y had taken one cherry and a spoonful of the wash, all the rest followed her example. Dear mamma observing that Mrs. L—ckl—y made a wry face after it, (as well the poor thing might,) said, “I’m afraid the brandy is too strong for you, Mrs. L—ckl—y; but you needn’t be afraid of it, my dear—a bottle of such as that would not hurt you, I can assure you.” Now, really, I shall begin to think you don’t like it, if you don’t finish it. On which Mrs. L—ckl—y (who is an extremely well-bred woman) answered, “You’re very good—it is very nice, I’m sure.” And then the poor thing put another spoonful of the filthy stuff to her lips. Whereupon poor, dear mamma, (who was determined not to be balked of the compliments she innocently thought she was entitled to) tried to prevail on some of the other poor things (who really, considering all, had borne it like martyrs) to go on with theirs. But Mrs. B—yl—s politely excused herself by saying she thought it was not quite so rich as some of mother’s that she had had the pleasure of tasting before, and that sweet woman, Mrs. C—rt—r, said that she was afraid the brandy had gone off a little, (and so it had, with a vengeance.) On which Edward (lawyer like), fancying something was wrong, and thinking it a good opportunity for teasing his poor, dear, innocent mother-in-law, took a glass himself, and had no sooner tasted it, than, instead of swallowing it, like a gentleman, he spit the whole into the fire-place, declaring he had never in all his life tasted such beastly trash. Whereupon, dear mamma, who believed that he only said as much to annoy her, took a glassful likewise; and scarcely had she put her lips to it, than she gave a scream, and the poor, dear soul spluttered it all out of her mouth again, exclaiming—“Oh that shameful minx of a Mary! I know it’s her!—the drunken hussy! If she hasn’t been and drunk all the brandy, and filled the bottle up again with what I’d swear was nasty filthy cold tea and unripe cherries.” No sooner had she made the discovery, than all the poor dear ladies who had partaken of the filthy mixture uttered a piercing scream, while that unfeeling wretch, Edward, rushed out of the room, and I could actually hear the brute bursting with laughter on the landing-place.

All the dears agreed with poor mamma—who was boiling over, (if I might be allowed the expression,) that it was very shameful conduct on the part of the maid, and hoped that mamma would not let it take any effect upon her on their account, as really they didn’t mind about it. And then taking a glass of sherry wine a-piece, just to take the taste out of their dear mouths, they all hurried away, and in less than ten minutes we were left alone in the drawing-room.

Then we both agreed to make that cat, Mary, finish before our very eyes the whole of the other bottleful, (which we made up our minds she had of course served in the same manner,) and directly after she had eaten it all up, to give her warning, as it would be the best way of punishing her for her wicked goings-on. So down stairs we went, and having got the bottle out of the store-room closet, we made the wretch devour the whole of it on the spot—though from the ready way in which the minx resigned herself to her fate, and from the effect it had upon her shortly afterwards, (for it only made her more tipsy than before,) to our horror we found out that she had never touched that bottle at all—and, indeed, she told us as much when she had drunk up every drop, and had the impudence to say she should like to be punished again. So we immediately gave her warning, and told her not to think of sending to us for a character, indeed. But in the evening, the cherry brandy we had forced her to take, made her so dreadfully bad, that we had to carry her upstairs and put her to bed again. All of which was a mere nothing to us, compared with the good humour it put Edward into; who kept telling us, with a nasty vulgar giggle, that we ought to be ashamed of ourselves for driving the poor girl into another fit; and he said he hoped that dear mamma would take care that the next servant she engaged for him wasn’t subject to epilepsy, (an aggravating monster!)

Next day I stepped round to mother’s, to consult about the best means of getting a new servant as soon as possible; for I was determined on finding some excuse for packing Mary out of the house directly I was suited. Mamma, however,

“Are you not Irish?” “Och! no, Ma’am I’m Corrnwall sure!”

after what Edward had said, declined, with great, and, I must say, becoming dignity, interfering in the business further than sending any maids she might hear of round for me to look at—as she wasn’t going to put herself in the way again, indeed, of being reproached, as she had been, by her own dear child’s ungrateful husband. But though mamma was kind enough to send me several servants from the tradesmen in the neighbourhood, yet I never saw one for days; for that baggage, Mary, kept setting them against the place, and saying everything that was bad of us directly they came to the house.

One morning, however, as Edward was going out, he met one on the door-step, and sent her into the parlour to me. She was a tall, strong, big-boned, clean-looking, tidy, and respectable ugly woman, and looked as if she wasn’t afraid of work: so with my usual quick-sightedness l saw at a glance that she was just the person to suit me. When I asked her what her name was, she answered, with a curtsey, and a peculiar twang that was far from agreeable: “Norah Connor, sure.” To which I replied: “I am afraid you’re Irish, and I’ve an objection to persons from that country”—(mother had told me never to take an Irish woman in the house on any account.) But the woman answered in a tone so meek, that one would have fancied butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth: “Irish, did ye say? Och! sure now, and isn’t it Cornwall I am?” And so, with my customary sagacity, I at once saw that I was mistaking the Cornwall brogue for the Irish one; for having been bred up in London, I could not of course be expected to be particularly acquainted with the dialects of other countries,—if, indeed, I except that of “Le Belle France.” After asking her the usual questions as to “tea and sugar,” and wages, and cooking, and character, and, in particular, sobriety—in all of which she seemed to be quite comme il faut (as they say in Boulogne)—I arranged with her that I would go after her character directly her late mistress could see me.

Next morning, when we came down, the parlour fire was not even laid, and all the supper-things were on the table just as we had left them over-night. For Mary had got up when I rang the up-stairs bell, at six o’clock, to a moment, and though she had come down and got the street-door key out of our room, she must have gone up-stairs immediately afterwards, and tumbled into bed again, for it was clear that she had never shown her face in the kitchen that day.

Edward flew into a tremendous passion, and rushed up to her room, where he thundered at the door so that I thought he would have broken it off its hinges, telling the lazy thing to get up and leave his house that very instant. As soon as she came down, Edward, being determined to see the creature clear off the premises, before he left for business, went and got her trunk and band-box himself, and paying her her wages up to the very day, bundled her into the street, things and all, where the brazen-faced hussy stopped ringing at the bell, and declaring that she would summon us if she did not receive a month’s warning; until she collected quite a crowd all round the house, and kept telling them in a loud voice, so that all the neighbours could hear, that I had behaved to her worse than a slave-driver would—and that she had been half-starved—and forced to live on sprats, (as I’m a living woman, she’d only had them once!) and that I took a delight in making her tipsy, (which the courteous reader knows to be a wicked falsehood,) and that we either couldn’t or wouldn’t pay her her wages. Nor did she cease her abuse, until Edward got the policemen to make her move on; which she did, vowing that she would have it all out before the magistrate, and make us suffer for it.

So that there was I in a pretty state, indeed, left without a servant, and obliged to have a charwoman in until that wild Irish cat—whom I, in my blessed innocence, fancied to be a Cornwall woman—was ready to come into the house, (I wish to goodness gracious, from the bottom of my heart, that I had never seen the face of the fury,) and I hardly know, I’m sure, how I shall be able to wait a whole month before telling the reader all about the shameful way in which she went on towards me—and how I really thought the vixen would have had my life before she had done with me.