Recollections of a chaperonSullivan, Arabella Jane
General
Recollections of a chaperon
Sullivan, Arabella Jane
English fiction -- 19th century
George, who all this time had continued his attempts to reach Henry’s
feet, as they sat at opposite ends of the table, at length gave it a
tremendous shake.
“Do be quiet, boys!” exclaimed Captain Wareham, in a voice of thunder;
“and do stop that eternal strumming at the piano-forte—give one some
peace, Matilda!”
Matilda, delighted to be released, jumped up from her half-finished
tune, and ran to assist James in his labours at the slate.
“Caroline, why do you set Matilda to practise just at breakfast-time?”
“Why, papa, you said Miss Patterson was to come at ten o’clock for the
future; and you said Matilda should practise an hour before she came;
so I did not very well know how to help it.”
“Nonsense! You always contrive to do the disagreeable thing.”
He turned round, and was again absorbed in the important intelligence
contained in the newspaper; for at that time Buonaparte had just
returned from Egypt, and the proceedings in France were watched by
all Europe with intense anxiety and interest. The second dish of tea
remained by his side untasted.
After about a quarter of an hour he turned angrily to Caroline, saying—
“Why on earth do you not send away the breakfast things? Nothing
shortens the day so much as letting the breakfast remain late upon the
table—this is another thing I can never teach you!”
“I thought you might wish to drink your tea, papa,” answered Caroline,
timidly.
“I do not want any more; it is so horribly bad!” he replied. “And now,
I suppose, we must have the weekly bills, and I must give you some
money!”
Caroline’s spirit sank within her. The first Monday in every month was
to her a weary day; and she anticipated that this would indeed be black
Monday, as papa did not seem to be quite well.
The apparatus for the morning repast was removed. Caroline brought the
household book and the bills, and presented them one by one to her
father, who was horrified at the amount of each.
“Why, here is beef again!—there is no occasion to feed the whole family
on beef! If the servants have their beef on Sunday, surely that is
enough. You know, Caroline, I can scarcely afford to live as I do, and
yet it seems you become every day more expensive in your housekeeping.”
“I am very sorry, papa, but you told me to have some luncheon in case
the Jenkinsons called last Wednesday; and you have often said you hated
cold mutton, and that it was painful to you that any one should imagine
you were inhospitable; and I thought it did not make much difference,
and there would be the cold beef, which always looks handsome.”
“So, I suppose you mean to imply it is my fault that the bills are
high. I am sure no man can spend less upon himself than I do! I wish
you would tell me where to get the money, that is all!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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