Out in the Forty-Five Part 53

"There is some porcelain sells for its weight in gold," said my Aunt Kezia.

"Thank you for the compliment, Aunt Kezia."

"Nay, la.s.s, I'm a poor hand at compliments; but I know gold when I see it--and bra.s.s, too. You'll be home in good time for Sophy's wedding."

"Aunt Kezia, who does Sophy marry?"

"Mr Liversedge, the Rector."

"Is not he rather rough?"

"Rough? Not a bit of it. He is a rough diamond, if he be."

"I fancied from what Sam said when he came back to Carlisle--"

"Oh, we had seen nought of him then. He has done more good at Brocklebank than Mr Digby did all the years he was there. You'll see fast enough when you get back. 'Tis the nature of the sun to shine."

"What do you mean by that, Aunt Kezia?"

"Keep your eyes open--that's what I mean. Girls, your father bade me please myself about tarrying a bit before I turned homeward. I doubt I'm not just as welcome to your grandmother as to you; but I think we shall do best to bide till we see if the others can come with us. Maybe Ephraim may be ready to go home by then, too. 'Tis a bad thing for a young man to get into idle habits."

"O Aunt Kezia, Ephraim is not idle!" I cried.

"Pray, who asked you to stand up for him, Miss?" replied my Aunt Kezia.

"'A still tongue makes a wise head,' la.s.s. I'll tell you what, I rather fancy Mrs Desborough thinks me rough above a bit. If I'm to be stroked alongside of these fine folks here, I shall feel rough, I've no doubt.

That smart, plush fellow, with his silver clocks to his silk stockings, took up my basket as if he expected it to bite his fingers. We don't take hold of baskets that road in our parts. I haven't seen a pair of decent clogs since I pa.s.sed Derby. They are all slim French finnicking pattens down here. How many of those fine lords-in-waiting have you in the house?"

"Three, and a black boy, Aunt."

"And how many maids?"

"I must count. Lucette and Perkins, and the cook-maid, and the kitchen girl, four; and two chambermaids, six, and a seamstress, seven."

"What, have you a mantua-maker all to yourselves?"

"Oh, she does not make gowns; she only does plain sewing."

"And two cook-maids, and two chambermaids, and two beside! Why, whatever in all the world can they find to do?"

"Lucette is Grandmamma's woman, and Perkins is my Aunt Dorothea's," said I.

"But what have they got to do? That's what I want to know," said my Aunt Kezia.

"Well, Lucette gets up Grandmamma's laces and fine things," said I, "and quills the nett for her ruffles, and dresses her hair, and alters her gowns--"

"What's that for?" said my Aunt Kezia.

"When a gown has been worn two or three times," said Hatty, "they turn it upside down, Aunt, and put some fresh tr.i.m.m.i.n.g on it, so that it looks like a new one."

"But what for?" repeated my Aunt Kezia.

"Why, then, you see, people don't remember that you had it on last week."

"I'll be bound I should!"

"We have very short memories in London," said Hatty, laughing.

"Seems so! But why should not folks remember? I am fairly dumfoozled with it all. How any mortal woman can get along with four men and seven maids to look after, pa.s.ses me. I find Maria and Bessy and Sam enough, I can tell you: too many sometimes. Mrs Desborough must be up early and down late; or does Mrs Charles see to things?"

I began to laugh. The idea of Grandmamma "seeing to" anything, except fancy work and whist, was so extreme diverting.

"Why, Aunt Kezia, n.o.body ever sees to anything here," said Hatty.

"And do things get done?" asked my Aunt Kezia with uplifted eyebrows.

"Sometimes," said Hatty, again laughing. "They don't do much dusting, I fancy. I could write my name on the dust on the tables, now and then, and generally on the windows."

My Aunt Kezia glanced at the window, and set her lips grimly.

"If I were mistress in this house for a week," said she, "I reckon those four men and seven maids would scarce send up a round robin begging me to stop another!"

"Lucette does her work thoroughly," said I, "and so does Cicely, the under chambermaid; and Caesar, the black boy, is an honest lad. I am afraid I cannot say much for the rest. But really, Aunt, it seemed to me when I came that people hadn't a notion what work was in the South."

"I guess it'll seem so to me, coming and going too," said my Aunt Kezia, in the same tone as before. "No wonder. I couldn't work in silk stockings with silver clocks, and sleeves with lace ruffles, and ever so many yards of silk bundled up of a heap behind me. I like gowns I can live in. I've had this on a bit over three times, Hatty."

"I should think so, Aunt!" said Hatty, laughing something like her old self. "Why, I remember your making it the winter before last. Did not I run the seams?"

"I dare say you did, child. When you see me bedecked in the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, you may expect to catch larks by the sky falling. At least, I hope so."

"Mademoiselle!" said Lucette's voice at the door, "Madame bids me say the company comes from going, and if Madame and Mesdemoiselles will descend, she will be well at ease."

"That's French lingo is it?" said my Aunt Kezia. "Poor la.s.s!"

So down we went to the drawing-room, where we found Grandmamma, my Aunt Dorothea, and my Uncle Charles, who came forward and led my Aunt Kezia to a chair. (Miss Newton told me that ceremony was growing out of date, and was only practised now by nice old-fashioned people; but Grandmamma likes it, and I fancy my Uncle Charles will keep it up while she lives.)

"Madam," said Grandmamma, "I trust Mr Courtenay is well, and that you had a prosperous journey."

"He is better than ever he was, I thank you, Madam," answered my Aunt Kezia. "As for my journey, I did not much enjoy it, but here I am, and that is well."

"Your other niece, Miss Drummond, is in Town, as I hear," said Grandmamma. "Dorothea, my dear, it would doubtless be agreeable to Mrs Kezia if that young gentlewoman came here. Write a line and ask her to tarry with us while Mrs Kezia stays."

"I thank you, Madam," said my Aunt Kezia.

"If Miss Keith be with her, she may as well be asked too," observed Grandmamma, after she had refreshed her faculties with a pinch of snuff.

My Aunt Dorothea sat down and writ the note, and then, bidding me ring the bell, sent Caesar with it. He returned with a few lines from Flora, accepting the invitation for herself, but declining it for Annas. I was less surprised than sorry. Certainly, were I Annas, I should not care to come back to Bloomsbury Square.

"Poor white thing!" said my Aunt Kezia, when she saw Flora in the evening. "Why, you are worse to look at than these girls, and they are ill enough."