Ghosts -- Fiction; Invalids -- Fiction; Women authors -- Fiction
“My last situation was with a Mrs. Solomon. I’m sorry, milady, to
have to ask you to take up a character from such people. I’d always
been in the best service before that.... I was hallboy with the
Jutes, third and then second with His Grace the Duke of Richland,
first footman under the Countess Foreglass. I was five years with
the Sylvestres; you know, Ma’am, he was first cousin to the Duke of
Trent, near to the Throne itself, as one might say. I’d never
lowered myself to an untitled family before. But after the divorce I
couldn’t get nothing. Ma’am, I hope you’ll believe me, but from the
moment I accepted Mr. Solomon’s place all I was planning to do was
to get out of it. They was Jews, if I may mention such a thing to
you. I took ten pounds a year less than I’d had at his Lordship’s,
but Mr. Solomon, he said in his facetious way that being in the
witness box ’ad knocked at least ten pounds off my value, an’ he
ground me down. But I’ll have to ask you to take up my character
from him. That’s the worst of it, Ma’am, milady.”
We had to break it to him that we were without titles, but he said
sorrowfully that having been in a witness box in the divorce court
made it impossible for him to stand out.
Burden and I have always been on good terms. I understand him, you
see, his point of view, and his descent in the social scale when he
went to live with Jews. What I was going to tell you was, that
notwithstanding our friendship he resented my interference in his
department when I insisted on selecting the wine for your—our—dinner
party. I am almost sorry I quarrelled with him on your account. He
looks at me coldly now, he is remembering my American blood,
despising it. And to think I have lost the priceless regard of
Burden for a man who can eat boiled and tired cod, masked with egg
sauce, washed down with ginger beer!
Where was I? The sculpture at the British Museum; then the next day
at the National Gallery. Our spirits kneeled there; we grew small.
No, we didn’t, I’m disingenuous. We said so, not meaning it in the
least. After twenty minutes we forgot all about the pictures.
Rumpelmayer’s, St. James’s Park, out to Coombe.
Did you realise we were seeing each other every day, how much time
we spent together?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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