England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Short stories, English
That same afternoon I heard some conversation not meant for me. Behind
the house was a square patch of ground called a garden, containing a few
trees and some sweet herbs. I was sitting on the bench there, underneath
the high, old-fashioned dining-room windows, thinking how hot the sun
was, wishing for something to do, and wondering when Dr. Lewis meant
to send me home. He and Mrs. Podd were out together; Anne was in the
kitchen, teaching Mrs. Lake some mysteries of French cookery. Miss Dinah
sat in the dining-room, in her spectacles, darning table-cloths.
"Oh, have you come in!" I suddenly heard her say, as the door opened.
And it was Mrs. Podd's voice that answered.
"The sun is so very hot: poor dear Dr. Lewis felt quite ill. He has gone
up to his room for half-an-hour to sit quietly in the shade. Where are
my girls?"
"I'm sure I don't know," replied Miss Dinah: and it struck me that her
tone of voice was rather crusty. "Mrs. Podd, I must again ask you when
you will let me have some money?"
"As soon as I can," said Mrs. Podd: who seemed by the sound, to have
thrown herself upon a chair, and to be fanning her face with a rustling
newspaper.
"But you have said that for some weeks. When is the 'soon' to be?"
"You know I have been disappointed in my remittances. It is really too
hot for talking."
"I know that you say you have. But we cannot go on without some money.
The expenses of this house are heavy: how are they to be kept up if our
guests don't pay us? Indeed you must let me have part of your account,
if not all."
"My dear sweet creature, the house is not yours," returned Mrs. Podd, in
her most honeyed accents.
"I manage it," said Miss Dinah, "and am responsible for getting in the
accounts. You know that our custom is to be paid weekly."
"Exactly, dear Miss Dinah. But I am sure that my cousin, Emma Lake,
would not wish to inconvenience me. I am indebted to her; not to you;
and I will pay her as soon as I can. My good creature, how _can_ you sit
stewing over that plain sewing this sultry afternoon?"
"I am obliged to," responded Miss Dinah. "We have not money to spend on
new linen: trouble enough, it is, I can assure you, to keep the old
decent."
"I should get somebody to help me. That young woman, Miss Lewis, might
do it: she seems to have been used to all kinds of work."
"I wish you would shut that door: you have left it open," retorted Miss
Dinah: "I don't like sitting in a draught, though it is hot. And I must
beg of you to understand, Mrs. Podd, that we really cannot continue to
keep you and your daughters here unless you can manage to give us a
little money."
By the shutting of the door and the silence that ensued, it was apparent
that Mrs. Podd had departed, leaving Miss Dinah to her table-cloths.
But now, this had surprised me. For, to hear Mrs. Captain Podd and her
daughters talk, and to see the way in which they dressed, one could not
have supposed they were ever at a fault for ready-cash.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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