Clergy -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
But it would be as well for the servants not to know anything of the
affair: so he collected the clothes she had taken off the night before,
and threw them into a fire-proof closet of which he always kept the key
in his pocket. When he went down-stairs he said to the housemaid, ‘Mrs.
Dempster is gone to her mother’s; bring in the breakfast.’
The servants, accustomed to hear domestic broils, and to see their
mistress put on her bonnet hastily and go to her mother’s, thought it
only something a little worse than usual that she should have gone
thither in consequence of a violent quarrel, either at midnight, or in
the early morning before they were up. The housemaid told the cook what
she supposed had happened; the cook shook her head and said, ‘Eh, dear,
dear!’ but they both expected to see their mistress back again in an hour
or two.
Dempster, on his return home the evening before, had ordered his man, who
lived away from the house, to bring up his horse and gig from the stables
at ten. After breakfast he said to the housemaid, ‘No one need sit up for
me to-night; I shall not be at home till to-morrow evening;’ and then he
walked to the office to give some orders, expecting, as he returned, to
see the man waiting with his gig. But though the church clock had struck
ten, no gig was there. In Dempster’s mood this was more than enough to
exasperate him. He went in to take his accustomed glass of brandy before
setting out, promising himself the satisfaction of presently thundering
at Dawes for being a few minutes behind his time. An outbreak of temper
towards his man was not common with him; for Dempster, like most
tyrannous people, had that dastardly kind of self-restraint which enabled
him to control his temper where it suited his own convenience to do so;
and feeling the value of Dawes, a steady punctual fellow, he not only
gave him high wages, but usually treated him with exceptional civility.
This morning, however, ill-humour got the better of prudence, and
Dempster was determined to rate him soundly; a resolution for which Dawes
gave him much better ground than he expected. Five minutes, ten minutes,
a quarter of an hour, had passed, and Dempster was setting off to the
stables in a back street to see what was the cause of the delay, when
Dawes appeared with the gig.
‘What the devil do you keep me here for?’ thundered Dempster, ‘kicking my
heels like a beggarly tailor waiting for a carrier’s cart? I ordered you
to be here at ten. We might have driven to Whitlow by this time.’
‘Why, one o’ the traces was welly i’ two, an’ I had to take it to Brady’s
to be mended, an’ he didn’t get it done i’ time.’
‘Then why didn’t you take it to him last night? Because of your damned
laziness, I suppose. Do you think I give you wages for you to choose your
own hours, and come dawdling up a quarter of an hour after my time?’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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