Great Britain -- History -- William and Mary, 1689-1702 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
The astonished woman, taken utterly aback, and not in the least
understanding, began to remonstrate. Her first thought was that the
Countess was ill. "Your ladyship--is not well?" she cried, with
solicitude veiling her alarm. "You cannot mean----"
"Ay, but I can! I can!" the old lady answered, mocking her. "You have
done mischief enow, and do no more here! Where is that man of yours,
who went, and never came back, and nought but excuses? And now this."
"Oh, my lady, what ails you?" the waiting-woman cried. "What does this
mean?"
"You know!" said my lady with an oath. "So begone about your business,
and don't let me see your face again or it will be the worse for you."
Disarmed of her usual address by the suddenness of the attack, the
Monterey began to whimper; and again asked how she had offended her
and what she had done to deserve this. "I, who have served you so
long, and so faithfully?" she cried. "What have I done to earn this?"
"God and you know--better than I do!" was the fierce answer. And then,
"Williams," the Countess cried to her major-domo, who, with the
lacqueys and grooms, was standing by, enjoying the fall of the
favourite--"see that that drab does not cross my threshold again; or
you go, do you hear? Ay, mistress, you would poison me if you could!"
the old lady went on, gibing, and pointing with her stick at the face,
green with venom and spite, that betrayed the baffled woman's
feelings. "Look at her! Look at her! There is Madame Voisin for you!
There is Madame Turner! She would poison you all if she could. But you
should have done it yesterday, you slut! You will not have the chance
now. Put her rags out here--here on the road; and do you, Williams,
send her packing, and see she takes naught of mine, not a pinner or a
sleeve, or she goes to Paddington fair for it! Ay, you drab," my lady
continued, with cruel exultation, "I'll see you beat hemp yet! and
your shoulders smarting!"
"May God forgive you!" cried the waiting-woman, fighting with her
rage.
"He may or He may not!" said the dreadful old lady, coolly turning to
go in. "Anyway, your score won't stand for much in the sum, my girl."
And not until the Countess had gone in and Madame Monterey saw before
her the grinning faces of the servants, as they stood to bar the way,
did she thoroughly take in what had happened to her, or the utter ruin
of all her prospects which this meant. Then, choking with passion,
rage, despair, "Let me pass," she cried, advancing and trying
frantically to push her way through them. "Let me pass, you boobies.
Do you hear? How dare----"
"Against orders, Madame Voisin!" said the majordomo with a hoarse
laugh; and he thrust her back. And when, maddened by the touch, and
defeat, she flung herself on him in a frenzy, one of the lacqueys
caught her round the waist lifting her off her legs, carried her out
screaming and scratching, and set her down in the road amid the
laughter of his companions.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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