Six Plays by Lady Florence Henrietta Fisher Darwin Part 17

EMILY. I'll give it to any one who goes meddling in my brush cupboard now that I've just put all in order against the prying and nozzling of the good-for-nothing baggage what's coming along with your sister.

ROBIN. What's baggage, Mother?

EMILY. [Sharply.] Never you mind. Get and take your elbow off my ironing sheet.

JESSIE. [Looking at her father.] I count as you'd like a piece more bread, Dad?

THOMAS. Well, I don't say but 'twouldn't come amiss. 'Tis hungry work in th' hayfield. And us be to go without our dinners this day, isn't that so, Emily?

EMILY. [Slamming down her iron on the stand.] If I've told you once, I've told you twenty times, 'twas but the one pair of hands as I was gived at birth. Now, what have you got to say against that, Thomas?

THOMAS. [Sheepishly.] I'm sure I don't know.

EMILY. And if so be as I'm to clean and wash and cook, and run, and wait, and scour, and mend, for them lazy London minxes, other folk must go without hot cooking at mid-day.

THOMAS. [Faintly.] 'Twasn't nothing cooked, like. 'Twas a bit of bread as I did ask for.

JESSIE. [Getting up.] I'll get it for you, Dad. I know where the loaf bides and the knife too. I'll cut you, O such a large piece.

EMILY. [Seizing her roughly by the hand.] You'll do nothing of the sort. You'll take this here cold iron into Maggie and you'll bring back one that is hot. How am I to get these curtains finished and hung and all, by the time the dressed up parrots come sailing in, I'd like to know.

[JESSIE runs away with the iron.

THOMAS. [Setting down his mug and coming to the table.] I'd leave the windows bare if it was me, Emily. The creeping rose do form the suitablest shade for they, to my thinking.

EMILY. That shews how much you know about it, Thomas. No, take your hands from off my table. Do you think as I wants dirty thumbs shewing all over the clean net what I've washed and dried and ironed, and been a-messing about with since 'twas light?

THOMAS. Now that's what I be trying for to say. There's no need for you to go and work yourself into the fidgets, Emily, because of little Clara coming back. Home's home. And 'twon't be neither the curtains nor the hot dinner as Clara will be thinking of when her steps into th' old place once more.

JESSIE. [Running back with the hot iron which she sets down on the table.] What will Aunt Clara be thinking of then, Dad?

THOMAS. [Shy and abashed under a withering glance from EMILY who has taken up the iron and is slamming it down on the net.] Her'll remember, very like, how 'twas when her left--some fourteen year ago.

And her'll have her eyes on Gran'ma's chair, what's empty.

ROBIN. I should be thinking of the hot fowl and sparrow gra.s.s what's for dinner.

THOMAS. And her'll look up to th' old clock, and different things what's still in their places. The grand parts where she have been bred up will be forgot. 'Twill be only home as her'll think on.

EMILY. I haven't patience to listen to such stuff.

THOMAS. [After a pause.] I count that 'tisn't likely as a young woman what's been left riches as Clara have, would choose to make her home along of such as we for always, like.

EMILY. We have perches and plenty of them for barn door poultry, but when it comes to roosting spangled plumes and fancy fowls, no thank you, Thomas, I'm not going to do it.

ROBIN. Do let us get and roost some fancy fowls, Mother.

JESSIE. What are spangled plumes, Mother?

EMILY. [Viciously.] You'll see plenty of them presently.

ROBIN. Will Aunt Clara bring the fowls along of she?

[A slight pause during which EMILY irons vigorously.

EMILY. [As she irons.] Some folk have all the honey. It do trickle from the mouths of them and down to the ground.

ROBIN. Has Aunt Clara got her mouth very sticky, then?

EMILY. And there be others what are born to naught but crusts and the vinegar.

JESSIE. Like you, Mother--Least, that's what Maggie said this morning.

EMILY. What's that?

JESSIE. That 'twas in the vinegar jar as your tongue had growed, Mother.

EMILY. I'll learn that wench to keep her thoughts to herself if she can't fetch them out respectful like. [Shouting.] Mag, come you here this minute--what are you after now, I'd like to know, you ugly, idle piece of mischief?

[MAGGIE, wiping a plate comes from the back kitchen.

MAGGIE. Was you calling, mistress?

EMILY. What's this you've got saying to Miss Jessie, I should like to know.

JESSIE. [Running to MAGGIE and laying her hand on her arm.] Dear Maggie, 'tis only what you did tell about poor mother's tongue being in the vinegar jar.

MAGGIE. O Miss Jessie.

EMILY. Hark you here, my girl--if 'twasn't hay time you should bundle up your rags and off with you this minute. But as 'tis awkward being short of a pair of hands just now, you'll bide a week or two and then you'll get outside of my door with no more character to you nor what I took you with.

THOMAS. Come, come Emily. The girl's a good one for to work, and that she is.

EMILY. Be quiet, Thomas. This is my business, and you'll please to keep your words till they're wanted.

MAGGIE. O mistress, I didn't mean no harm, I didn't.

EMILY. I don't want no words nor no tears neither.

MAGGIE. [Beginning to cry loudly.] I be the only girl as have stopped with you more nor a month, I be. T'others wouldn't bide a day, some of them.

EMILY. Be quiet. Back to your work with you. And when the hay is all carried, off with you, ungrateful minx, to where you came from.

JESSIE. O let us keep her always, Mother, she's kind.

ROBIN. Don't you cry, Mag. I'll marry you when I'm a big man like Daddy.

THOMAS. Harken to them, Emily! She's been a good maid to the children. I'd not part with any one so hasty, if 'twas me.