Domestic fiction; English fiction -- 19th century; Psychological fiction; Women -- England -- Fiction
"I have not questioned your honesty, Trimmer. The accounts are honest
enough, I have no doubt, but they show a most unjustifiable waste of
money."
"If there's dissatisfaction in your mind, sir, we'd better part. It's
always best for both parties. I'm ready to go at an hour's notice, or
to stay my month, if it's more convenient to my mistress."
"You are a silly old woman," said the Captain. "I don't want you to go.
I am not dissatisfied with you, but with the whole system of
housekeeping. There has been a great deal too much given away."
"Not a loaf of bread without my mistress's knowledge," cried Trimmer.
"I always told Mrs. Tempest every morning who'd been for soup, or wine,
or bread--yes, even to broken victuals--the day before. I had her leave
and license for all I did. 'I'm not strong enough to see to the poor
things myself, Trimmer,' she used to say, 'but I want them cared for. I
leave it all to you.'"
"Very well, Trimmer. That kind of thing must cease from this very hour.
Your mistress will contribute to all the local charities. She will give
the Vicar an allowance of wine to be distributed by him in urgent
cases; but this house will no longer be the village larder--no one is
to come to this kitchen for anything.
"What, sir?--not in case of sickness?"
"No. Poor people are always sick. It is their normal state, when there
is anything to be got by sickness. There are hospitals and infirmaries
for such cases. My house is not to be an infirmary. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir; I understand that everything is to be different from what it
was in my late master's time."
"Precisely. Expenses are to be kept within a certain limit. They are
not to fluctuate, as they do in these books of yours. You must get rid
of two or three women-servants. There are at least three too many. I am
always seeing strange faces about upstairs. One might as well live in a
hotel. Think it over, Trimmer, and make up your mind as to which you
can best spare, and give them a month's wages, and pack them off. I
don't care to have servants about me who are under notice to quit. They
always look sulky."
"Is that all, sir?" inquired the housekeeper, drying her angry tears
upon her linen apron.
"Well, yes, that is all at present. Stay. What wages has my wife given
you?"
"Sixty pounds a year," replied Trimmer, quite prepared to be told that
her stipend was to be reduced.
"Then I shall give you seventy."
At this unexpected grace Trimmer began to tremble with an excess of
indignation. She saw in this bounty a bribe to meanness.
"Thank you, sir; but I have never asked to have my wages raised, and I
am quite contented to remain as I am," she answered with dignity.
"Perhaps, if the ways of the house are to be so much altered, I may not
feel myself comfortable enough to stay."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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