The Young Lady CHAPTER 5.
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Cecilia, or Mrs. Merlin, had been weeping for nearly an hour after Uncle Peter's departure, when the door of her room was opened by the chambermaid, who said —
"Susan has gone away, ma'am."
"Gone away, where?" asked Mrs. Merlin, shading her face with her hand, so as to conceal the evidence of her unhappiness.
"Left and gone to another place, ma'am."
"Very well, I will come down and see about it in a little while," was the reply, made to get rid of the servant until she could compose her mind.
The chambermaid withdrew, and in about half an hour Mrs. Merlin went down into the kitchen, where she had not been before for a month, and then her visit was more by accident than design. She found the fire out, and the breakfast things unwashed and piled upon a table. No one was there. After calling several times for Melissa, the chambermaid, that individual slowly descended, and joined her mistress in the basement.
"Where did Susan go, Melissa?" asked Mrs. Merlin.
"I don't know, ma'am. I came down here about an hour ago for something, and found things just as you see."
"How do you know then, that she has gone away to another place?"
"O, because she has been saying all along, that she meant to go when her month was up, and she asked Mr. Merlin for her wages this morning."
"What made her go away?"
"Indeed I don't know, ma'am. She wasn't satisfied about something."
"I'm sure I don't know what she could be dissatisfied about," Mrs. Merlin said. And that was true enough — for she didn't see her cook much oftener than once a week, took no kind of interest in her or any of the servants, and frequently grumbled at the table in the presence of Hiram, the waiter, because things were not cooked to please her. Of course Hiram took good care to tell Susan, with some little exaggerations of his own, all that was said about her deficiencies. She was a well-meaning woman, somewhat deficient in her knowledge of the branch of domestic economy in which she was endeavoring to do her best, and from her anxiety to please, exceedingly sensitive. Whenever Hiram repeated a complaint, with his own peculiar expression of voice and countenance, she would feel unhappy for hours afterwards. Finally, she determined to go away, and did so without saying a word to Mrs. Merlin, whose treatment of her appeared very unkind.
"She thought you weren't pleased with her, I believe," Melissa replied to Mrs. Merlin's last remark.
"But how could she think that? I never said anything to her in my life in the way of finding fault."
"I don't know, ma'am. Some people are very queer," was the chambermaid's vague reply.
"You will have to cook, Melissa, until we can get someone in Susan's place," Mrs. Merlin said, after thinking for a few moments.
"But I never cooked a meal in my life," was Melissa's prompt answer, tossing her head with a slight air of indignation at the idea of being reduced to the kitchen. "I don't know anything about cooking."
Mrs. Merlin could not reply to this, that she must make the effort, and she would show her — for she knew nothing herself about culinary affairs, as they had ever been esteemed far beneath her.
"What, then, is to be done?" she asked, in a troubled voice.
"Indeed, ma'am, and it's more than I can tell. I never accept a place to do anything but chamber-work."
"Go up, then, and take the baby, and send nurse down to me."
Melissa tripped away up to the nursery, and flinging open the door, said, as she entered —
"Here, Gray, give me the baby! Mrs. Merlin wants you down in the kitchen."
"In the kitchen! And what does she want with me in the kitchen?" asked Mrs. Gray with a heavy contraction of her brow.
"To cook dinner, I suppose. Susan, you know, has cleared out, and Mrs. Merlin is in a quandary. She said I must cook until someone could be gotten in Susan's place! But I told her pretty quick that I didn't know anything about cooking; that I always engaged to do chamber-work. It's a pretty how-do-you-do, that, whenever a cook gets the sulks, and goes off, the chambermaid must be made a scullion of. But I'm not the one to stand it, no how."
"Cook dinner!" exclaimed the nurse, as soon as Melissa had breathed out her indignation.
"Yes, to cook dinner! That's what she wants with you."
"But I didn't come here to cook."
"Nor I either. And what is more, I'm not going to do it. That's settled and fixed! But you'd better run down quick. She's waiting for you."
Reluctantly did nurse transfer her charge to the arms of Melissa, and then descended, grumbling to the basement.
"Susan has gone off, and I want you to get dinner for us today," Mrs. Merlin said, as soon as Mrs. Gray made her appearance.
"Who'll take care of the baby?" asked the nurse, in a sullen and reluctant tone.
"Melissa will have to take charge of her."
"But why can't she cook?"
"She says she knows nothing about cooking."
"It's easy enough to say anything," grumbled the nurse. "She knows as much about cooking as I do."
Worried at the sudden departure of the cook and vexed at both the chambermaid and nurse, Mrs. Merlin had it on her tongue to say, in a pettish tone —
"Go up to the nursery, and I will get dinner myself!"
But the sudden recollection that she knew no more about the preparation of a meal, than she did about alchemy, caused her to restrain the words. Although, her education had been finished some years before — this was a matter of such little importance, that she had given no attention to it. Or, rather, the truth was that culinary accomplishments, in the school where she had been finished off, were considered beneath the attention of a lady.
A feeling of indignation coming to her aid, in the emergency in which she found herself placed, caused her to reply to her nurse's last remark with a degree of earnestness and decision that had its due effect.
"That is neither here nor there, now. I want you to get dinner and supper today — in fact, to cook until I can get someone in Susan's place. Will you do it, or not?"
"Of course I will do it," half grumbled out the nurse. "But, then, it's not the place of a — "
"That can't be helped now, and so it's no use to talk about it," Mrs. Merlin said in a decided tone.
As the chamber-work was unfinished, she had to go to the nursery and take charge of little Cecilia, while Melissa went about the house and put things in order. It took her just twice as long as usual to get through, so that Mrs. Merlin was "tied down" to her babe until dinner time, when her husband, instead of finding her in the parlor, as usual, had to seek her in the nursery, where he was entertained with the story of her difficulties, perplexities, etc., for about half an hour, when the bell rang for dinner, and Melissa came in to take charge of the babe, which she did with the air of one who wished her indignation at a gross imposition upon her rights to be seen.
Descending to the dining-room, the table was found "set in its usual neat order, for that was Hiram's business. But the beef was burnt to a crisp. The Irish potatoes had been allowed to lie in the water after they were done, until thoroughly water-logged, and the sweet potatoes were not over half cooked.
"Isn't it too bad to be annoyed in this way?" Mrs. Merlin said, when she found the dinner completely spoiled. "These creatures have not a spark of principle about them. Just to think that Susan, who has been allowed to do just as she pleased ever since she has been in the house, should have gone off without a word, and left me in such a predicament. Too bad! Too bad!" And thus she worried her husband with complaints, by way of dessert to a spoiled dinner — instead of having, in the absence of a regular cook, to whom the whole business of preparing the meal might have been safely trusted, gone into the kitchen occasionally to have made sure that everything was going on right. But we forget — that would have been of no account. Her education had been finished, without including the vulgar duties appertaining to the various branches of domestic economy.
"I declare, Gray, you have spoiled everything!" exclaimed Melissa, as she met the nurse at table, after Mr. and Mrs. Merlin had retired, and attempted to eat the unpalatable food that had been prepared.
"I know that as well as you do," Gray replied, tossing her head. They'll soon get tired of my cooking! I came to nurse."
"But for our own sakes, you needn't have hatched up such a mess as this."
"I can stand it as long as they can. If everything was just to their taste, there wouldn't be any hurry in getting a cook. I know what I'm about."
And so it seemed, truly, for during the three days the family was without a cook, the food came served up in the most abominable style, and always from a half hour to an hour past the usual time. To remedy this was beyond the power of the accomplished mistress of the family. To add to the discomforts of Mrs. Merlin's situation under the circumstances, her chambermaid managed to find enough to do about the house that had absolutely to be done to occupy nearly the whole of her time, so that the mother was compelled to nurse little Cecilia almost constantly from morning to night, except when visitors came. Then Melissa had to take the babe whether or not. But, from some cause or other, the little innocent always screamed incessantly during the whole time she was in charge of the chambermaid, who coolly kept the door of the nursery open, in order that the mother might have the full benefit of her babe's distress. Twice Uncle Peter came in, while his niece was engaged below with company; and once he found the babe actually lying upon its back, in the middle of the floor, screaming, and Melissa seated near the window with a book in her hand. This was more than the excitable old man could bear. Catching up the little creature, he drew it tenderly to his bosom, and with soothing words, soon hushed it into quiet, broken at short intervals by a kind of spasmodic sigh or sob. Before this much had been gained, Melissa was by his side, endeavoring to take the babe from his arms.
With a loud and angry exclamation of reproof, Uncle Peter pushed her from him with a violence that threw her with some force against the opposite wall. As she recovered herself, he made towards her, having lifted his cane from the floor where it had fallen on taking up the babe, with the real intention of making her feel its weight. Perceiving by his manner that the old man was truly in earnest, Melissa precipitately left the room, and hurried down into the kitchen, frightened, and yet highly indignant at the outrage that had been offered her.
The poor little babe that had been screaming at the top of its voice for at least half an hour, was soon asleep in the arms of the old man, whose anger at its cruel treatment was in an exact ratio to the deep and tender love with which he loved it.
It was fully an hour before Mrs. Merlin, relieved from her necessary attentions to visitors, could return to the nursery. For the first half hour after she had resigned Cecilia to the care of Melissa, she was greatly annoyed, and even distressed by her cries; but these were suddenly quieted, she did not know why, and after that, a thought of her babe did not once pass through her mind. On entering the nursery, she startled at the unexpected apparition of Uncle Peter with Cecilia asleep in his arms. As his eye fell upon his niece, an angry frown darkened over the old man's face.
Before either had time to speak, Melissa glided into the room, full to the brim, and ready to run over with indignation at the outrage she had received. She had passed, however, but a few steps beyond the threshold of the door, before Uncle Peter was on his feet, with his cane uplifted, and making towards her with the evident intention of giving her a taste of its quality — at the same time that he applied to her several terms that need not be repeated here. She very naturally shrank from an encounter with the excited old man, and fled in confusion.
"O dear, Uncle Peter! What do you mean?" exclaimed Cecilia, her face growing pale with alarm.
"What do I mean, ha! Why I mean to trounce that huzzy! That's what I mean to do if ever she shows her face in my presence. The cruel, heartless wretch!"
"Oh, Uncle! Tell me — what has she done?" eagerly asked Cecilia, laying her hand on the old man's arm.
"She's done what you'd never found out, if she had continued in it until your child had died of cruel treatment. That's what she's done!"
"But what is it Uncle? Oh, do tell me!" urged Cecilia, suddenly alarmed, endeavoring, as she spoke, to take her sleeping babe from his arms. But he gently pushed her aside, saying, as he did so —
"No — no — I'm going to be her nurse after this. I see that no one can be trusted with her — not even her mother!"
"Do tell me, Uncle, what has been the matter!" Cecilia urged, with tears.
"Where's Mrs. Gray?"
"She has had to cook since Susan left us."
"But why didn't you send Melissa into the kitchen instead of your nurse?"
"She doesn't know anything about cooking."
"Then why didn't you go into the kitchen with her and show her?"
"Uncle Peter!"
"You needn't stand there Uncle Petering me, madam, as if I had asked you some strange, unheard of question? Why didn't you take her into the kitchen and show her — ha?"
"You know very well that I don't know any more about cooking than she does!" was the half indignant reply.
"You don't indeed! And yet are mistress of your own house! A pretty affair truly! What kind of a fix would your husband be in, if he didn't know anything more about his business — than you do about housekeeping?"
"But that's a different affair altogether," rejoined the niece.
"I can't see exactly how. He has to engage daily in active employments, and with his hands, too, as in conducting his correspondence, showing goods, making entries, etc., in order to sustain his family, and bring into it every possible comfort. Suppose he looked upon all the minute details of business as too burdensome, or beneath him — how long do you think you would be able to live independently in your present style? Not six months, let me tell you! And if your husband is compelled thus to devote himself energetically to business for your sake — surely the duty is as binding upon you to devote yourself with a like energy and devotion to the business of your department, for his sake and the sake of your family! It is just as necessary, therefore, that you should know how to cook, as it is that he should know how to do anything connected with his business; for you are no better than he is.
"His ignorance of anything in his calling, would injure his worldly interests, and injuring him, injure you. In like manner, your ignorance of anything in domestic economy, strikes at once at the comfort and health of your husband, yourself and family. You thought it beneath a lady of your supposed standing, I know, to be acquainted with anything below theparlor. But in holding such opinions, you committed a direct fraud upon your husband in getting married, let me tell you. No man expects, when taking a wife, that he is going to be tied to a fluttering-butterfly — beautiful to look upon when dancing in the sunshine, but of no use to anybody whatever."
But this severe cutting could not throw Mrs. Merlin's thoughts away from the mystery connected with her babe and Melissa.
"But tell me, Uncle," she said, in a choking voice, as soon as he had ceased speaking, "what has Melissa been doing to little Cecilia?"
"She has been treating her with cruel neglect!" replied the old man warmly. "When I came in about an hour ago, I found this dear little creature lying upon its back in the middle of the floor, screaming as if it would go into fits — and she sitting by the window reading one of your confounded love-sick novels! I felt like knocking her brains out on the spot, and did send her reeling across the room and against the wall, when she came smirking up to me, after I had taken the child in my arms."
"Is it possible that she neglected the babe in such a way?" Mrs. Merlin said, her face becoming instantly flushed with indignation.
"Yes it is possible! And that's just the way you may expect to have your children treated — so long as your affection is not strong enough to cause you to look after them yourself."
"But Uncle," urged Cecilia, "I had to see the ladies who called this morning, and therefore had to leave the babe in Melissa's care."
"You might have left it in the care of its nurse, whom you can trust; but not in the care of a flyaway thing like Melissa."
"They nurse, you know, has had to be our cook for the last few days."
"Yes, I know. But if you had understood the business of rightly taking care of a house, as every woman who gets married should understand it — there would have been no necessity for sending Mrs. Gray into the kitchen. All this, you see, grows out of your false notions that it is beneath you, or not genteel, to know anything about domestic affairs, especially such as appertain to the kitchen, which are really, the most important in the whole economy of a family, for health, and often life are immediately connected with them. Had you known how cooking ought to be done — you could have taken your chambermaid into the kitchen, and shown her how to prepare a meal, instead of sending your nurse down there, and entrusting your babe with such a creature as Melissa. But all this grows out of your ignorance of almost everything but what is no manner of use to you."
A great deal more, equally to the point, was advanced by Uncle Peter, much to the pain and mortification of Cecilia, and finally to her acknowledgment that she had been wrong. But this acknowledgment grew out of her seeing the truth in the light of his understanding and perception of it, and not in her own. The consequence was, that she soon thought and felt pretty much as she did before, and acted pretty much in the same way. The reconciliation that took place between her and Uncle Peter, on the occasion of her consenting to see things as he saw them, did not last long. The new cook and chambermaid that soon took their places in her establishment, left her mind free to enter again into her mirthful round of idleness, at which the old man soon became so offended, that he came again into direct collision with her, and a new breach was made, that did not heal for a long time, although he would visit the house as often as two or three times a week to see little Cecilia.
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