Didactic fiction; Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Married women -- Fiction
"Upon my unfortunate birthday, then, when we were all in a high degree
of mirth, my mother having left the room after dinner, and staying
away pretty long, my father sent me to see for her. I went according
to his orders; but, though I searched the whole house and called after
her without doors, I could neither see nor hear her. I was a little
alarmed at this (though far from suspecting any great mischief had
befallen her), and ran back to acquaint my father, who answered coolly
(for he was a man of the calmest temper), 'Very well, my dear, I
suppose she is not gone far, and will be here immediately.' Half an
hour or more past after this, when, she not returning, my father
himself expressed some surprize at her stay; declaring it must be some
matter of importance which could detain her at that time from her
company. His surprize now encreased every minute, and he began to grow
uneasy, and to shew sufficient symptoms in his countenance of what he
felt within. He then despatched the servant-maid to enquire after her
mistress in the parish, but waited not her return; for she was scarce
gone out of doors before he begged leave of his guests to go himself
on the same errand. The company now all broke up, and attended my
father, all endeavouring to give him hopes that no mischief had
happened. They searched the whole parish, but in vain; they could
neither see my mother, nor hear any news of her. My father returned
home in a state little short of distraction. His friends in vain
attempted to administer either advice or comfort; he threw himself on
the floor in the most bitter agonies of despair.
"Whilst he lay in this condition, my sister and myself lying by him,
all equally, I believe, and completely miserable, our old servant-maid
came into the room and cried out, her mind misgave her that she knew
where her mistress was. Upon these words, my father sprung from the
floor, and asked her eagerly, where? But oh! Mrs. Booth, how can I
describe the particulars of a scene to you, the remembrance of which
chills my blood with horror, and which the agonies of my mind, when it
past, made all a scene of confusion! The fact then in short was this:
my mother, who was a most indulgent mistress to one servant, which was
all we kept, was unwilling, I suppose, to disturb her at her dinner,
and therefore went herself to fill her tea-kettle at a well, into
which, stretching herself too far, as we imagine, the water then being
very low, she fell with the tea-kettle in her hand. The missing this
gave the poor old wretch the first hint of her suspicion, which, upon
examination, was found to be too well grounded.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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