“Susan Grant, Miss Loach.”
“Call me ma’am. I am Miss Loach only to my equals. Your age?”
“Twenty-five, ma’am.”
“Do you know your work as parlor-maid thoroughly1?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was two years in one place and six months in another, ma’am. Here are my characters from both places, ma’am.”
As the girl spoke2 she laid two papers before the sharp old lady who questioned her. But Miss Loach did not look at them immediately. She examined the applicant3 with such close attention that a faint color tinted4 the girl’s cheeks and she dropped her eyes. But, in her turn, by stealthy glances, Susan Grant tactfully managed to acquaint herself with the looks of her possible mistress. The thoughts of each woman ran as follows —
Miss Loach to herself. “Humph! Plain-looking, sallow skin, rather fine eyes and a slack mouth. Not badly dressed for a servant, and displays some taste. She might turn my old dresses at a pinch. Sad expression, as though she had something on her mind. Honest-looking, but I think a trifle inquisitive6, seeing how she examined the room and is stealing glances at me. Talks sufficiently7, but in a low voice. Fairly intelligent, but not too much so. Might be secretive. Humph!”
The thoughts of Susan Grant. “Handsome old lady, probably nearly sixty. Funny dress for ten o’clock in the morning. She must be rich, to wear purple silk and old lace and lovely rings at this hour. A hard mouth, thin nose, very white hair and very black eyebrows8. Got a temper I should say, and is likely to prove an exacting9 mistress. But I want a quiet home, and the salary is good. I’ll try it, if she’ll take me.”
Had either mistress or maid known of each other’s thoughts, a conclusion to do business might not have been arrived at. As it was, Miss Loach, after a few more questions, appeared satisfied. All the time she kept a pair of very black eyes piercingly fixed10 on the girl’s face, as though she would read her very soul. But Susan had nothing to conceal11, so far as Miss Loach could gather, so in the end she resolved to engage her.
“I think you’ll do,” she said nodding, and poking12 up the fire, with a shiver, although the month was June. “The situation is a quiet one. I hope you have no followers13.”
“No, ma’am,” said Susan and flushed crimson14.
“Ha!” thought Miss Loach, “she has been in love — jilted probably. All the better, as she won’t bring any young men about my quiet house.”
“Will you not read my characters, ma’am?”
Miss Loach pushed the two papers towards the applicant. “I judge for myself,” said she calmly. “Most characters I read are full of lies. Your looks are enough for me. Where were you last?”
“With a Spanish lady, ma’am!”
“A Spanish lady!” Miss Loach dropped the poker15 she was holding, with a clatter16, and frowned so deeply that her black eyebrows met over her high nose. “And her name?”
“Senora Gredos, ma’am!”
The eyes of the old maid glittered, and she made a clutch at her breast as though the reply had taken away her breath. “Why did you leave?” she asked, regaining17 her composure.
Susan looked uncomfortable. “I thought the house was too gay, ma’am.”
“What do you mean by that? Can any house be too gay for a girl of your years?”
“I have been well brought up, ma’am,” said Susan quietly; “and my religious principles are dear to me. Although she is an invalid18, ma’am, Senora Gredos was very gay. Many people came to her house and played cards, even on Sunday,” added Susan under her breath. But low as she spoke, Miss Loach heard.
“I have whist parties here frequently,” she said drily; “nearly every evening four friends of mine call to play. Have you any objection to enter my service on that account?”
“Oh, no, ma’am. I don’t mind a game of cards. I play ‘Patience’ myself when alone. I mean gambling19 — there was a lot of money lost and won at Senora Gredos’ house!”
“Yet she is an invalid I think you said?”
“Yes, ma’am. She was a dancer, I believe, and fell in some way, so as to break her leg or hurt her back. She has been lying on a couch for two years unable to move. Yet she has herself wheeled into the drawing-room and watches the gentlemen play cards. She plays herself sometimes!”
Miss Loach again directed one of her piercing looks at the pale face of the girl. “You are too inquisitive and too talkative,” she said suddenly, “therefore you won’t suit me. Good-day.”
Susan was quite taken aback. “Oh, ma’am, I hope I’ve said nothing wrong. I only answered your questions.”
“You evidently take note of everything you see, and talk about it.”
“No, ma’am,” said the girl earnestly. “I really hold my tongue.”
“When it suits you,” retorted Miss Loach. “Hold it now and let me think!”
While Miss Loach, staring frowningly into the fire, debated inwardly as to the advisability of engaging the girl, Susan looked timidly round the room. Curiously20 enough, it was placed in the basement of the cottage, and was therefore below the level of the garden. Two fairly large windows looked on to the area, which had been roofed with glass and turned into a conservatory21. Here appeared scarlet22 geraniums and other bright-hued flowers, interspersed23 with ferns and delicate grasses. Owing to the position of the room and the presence of the glass roof, only a subdued24 light filtered into the place, but, as the day was brilliant with sunshine, the apartment was fairly well illuminated25. Still, on a cloudy day, Susan could imagine how dull it would be. In winter time the room must be perfectly26 dark.
It was luxuriously27 furnished, in red and gold. The carpet and curtains were of bright scarlet, threaded with gold. The furniture, strangely enough, was of white polished wood upholstered in crimson satin fringed with gold. There were many pictures in large gilded28 frames and many mirrors similarly encircled with gilded wood. The grate, fender and fire-irons were of polished brass29, and round the walls were numerous electric lamps with yellow shades. The whole room represented a bizarre appearance, flamboyant30 and rather tropical in looks. Apparently31 Miss Loach was fond of vivid colors. There was no piano, nor were there books or papers, and the only evidence as to how Miss Loach passed her time revealed itself in a work-basket and a pack of cards. Yet, at her age, Susan thought that needlework would be rather trying, even though she wore no glasses and her eyes seemed bright and keen. She was an odd old lady and appeared to be rich. “I’ll engage you,” said Miss Loach abruptly32; “get your box and be here before five o’clock this afternoon. I am expecting some friends at eight o’clock. You must be ready to admit them. Now go!”
“But, ma’am, I—”
“In this house,” interrupted Miss Loach imperiously, “no one speaks to me, unless spoken to by me. You understand!”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Susan timidly, and obeyed the finger which pointed33 to the door. Miss Loach listened to the girl’s footsteps on the stairs, and sat down when she heard the front door close. But she was up again almost in a moment and pacing the room. Apparently the conversation with Susan Grant afforded her food for reflection. And not very palatable34 food either, judging from her expression.
The newly-engaged servant returned that same afternoon to the suburban35 station, which tapped the district of Rexton. A trunk, a bandbox and a bag formed her humble36 belongings37, and she arranged with a porter that these should be wheeled in a barrow to Rose Cottage, as Miss Loach’s abode38 was primly39 called. Having come to terms, Susan left the station and set out to walk to the place. Apart from the fact that she saved a cab fare, she wished to obtain some idea of her surroundings, and therefore did not hurry herself.
It was a bright June day with a warm green earth basking40 under a blue and cloudless sky. But even the sunshine could not render Rexton beautiful. It stretched out on all sides from the station new and raw. The roads were finished, with asphalt footpaths41 and stone curbing42, the lamp-posts had apparently only been lately erected43, and lines of white fences divided the roads from gardens yet in their infancy44. Fronting these were damp-looking red brick villas45, belonging to small clerks and petty tradesmen. Down one street was a row of shops filled with the necessaries of civilization; and round the corner, an aggressively new church of yellow brick with a tin roof and a wooden steeple stood in the middle of an untilled space. At the end of one street a glimpse could be caught of the waste country beyond, not yet claimed by the ferry-builder. A railway embankment bulked against the horizon, and closed the view in an unsightly manner. Rexton was as ugly as it was new.
Losing her way, Susan came to the ragged47 fringe of country environing the new suburb, and paused there, to take in her surroundings. Across the fields to the left she saw an unfinished mansion48, large and stately, rising amidst a forest of pines. This was girdled by a high brick wall which looked older than the suburb itself. Remembering that she had seen this house behind the cottage of Miss Loach, the girl used it as a landmark49, and turning down a side street managed to find the top of a crooked50 lane at the bottom of which Rose Cottage was situated51. This lane showed by its very crookedness52 that it belonged to the ancient civilization of the district. Here were no paths, no lamps, no aggressively new fences and raw brick houses. Susan, stepping down the slight incline, passed into quite an old world, smacking53 of the Georgian times, leisurely54 and quaint5. On either side of the lane, old-fashioned cottages, with whitewash55 walls and thatched roofs, stood amidst gardens filled with unclipped greenery and homely56 flowers. Quickset hedges, ragged and untrimmed, divided these from the roadway, and to add to the rural look one garden possessed57 straw bee-hives. Here and there rose ancient elm-trees and grass grew in the roadway. It was a blind lane and terminated in a hedge, which bordered a field of corn. To the left was a narrow path running between hedges past the cottages and into the country.
Miss Loach’s house was a mixture of old and new. Formerly58 it had been an unpretentious cottage like the others, but she had added a new wing of red brick built in the most approved style of the jerry-builder, and looking like the villas in the more modern parts of Rexton. The crabbed59 age and the uncultured youth of the old and new portions, planted together cheek by jowl, appeared like ill-coupled clogs60 and quite out of harmony. The thatched and tiled roofs did not seem meet neighbors, and the whitewash walls of the old-world cottage looked dingy61 beside the glaring redness of the new villa46. The front door in the new part was reached by a flight of dazzling white steps. From this, a veranda62 ran across the front of the cottage, its rustic63 posts supporting rose-trees and ivy64. On the cottage side appeared an old garden, but the new wing was surrounded by lawns and decorated with carpet bedding. A gravel65 walk divided the old from the new, and intersected the garden. At the back, Susan noted66 again the high brick wall surrounding the half-completed mansion. Above this rose tall trees, and the wall itself was overgrown with ivy. It apparently was old and concealed67 an unfinished palace of the sleeping beauty, so ragged and wild appeared the growth which peeped over the guardian68 wall.
With a quickness of perception unusual in her class, Susan took all this in, then rang the bell. There was no back door, so far as she could see, and she thought it best to enter as she had done in the morning. But the large fat woman who opened the door gave her to understand that she had taken a liberty.
“Of course this morning and before engaging, you were a lady,” said the cook, hustling69 the girl into the hall, “but now being the housemaid, Miss Loach won’t be pleased at your touching70 the front bell.”
“I did not see any other entrance,” protested Susan.
“Ah,” said the cook, leading the way down a few steps into the thatched cottage, which, it appeared was the servants’ quarters, “you looked down the area as is natural-like. But there ain’t none, it being a conservitery!”
“Why does Miss Loach live in the basement?” asked Susan, on being shown into a comfortable room which answered the purpose of a servants’ hall.
The cook resented this question. “Ah!” said she with a snort, “and why does a miller71 wear a white ‘at, Miss Grant, that being your name I take it. Don’t you ask no questions but if you must know, Miss Loach have weak eyes and don’t like glare. She lives like a rabbit in a burrow72, and though the rooms on the ground floor are sich as the King might in’abit, she don’t come up often save to eat. She lives in the basement room where you saw her, Miss Grant, and she sleeps in the room orf. When she eats, the dining-room above is at her service. An’ I don’t see why she shouldn’t,” snorted the cook.
“I don’t mean any —”
“No offence being given none is taken,” interrupted cook, who seemed fond of hearing her own wheezy voice. “Emily Pill’s my name, and I ain’t ashamed of it, me having been cook to Miss Loach for years an’ years and years. But if you had wished to behave like a servant, as you are,” added she with emphasis, “why didn’t you run round by the veranda and so get to the back where the kitchen is. But you’re one of the new class of servants, Miss Grant, ‘aughty and upsetting.”
“I know my place,” said Susan, taking off her hat.
“And I know mine,” said Emily Pill, “me being cook and consequently the mistress of this servants’ ‘all. An’ I’m an old-fashioned servant myself, plain in my ‘abits and dress.” This with a disparaging73 look at the rather smart costume of the newly-arrived housemaid. “I don’t ‘old with cockes feathers and fal-dedals on ‘umble folk myself, not but what I could afford ’em if I liked, being of saving ‘abits and a receiver of good wages. But I’m a friendly pusson and not ‘ard on a good-lookin’ gal74, not that you are what I call ‘andsome.”
Susan seated beside the table, looked weary and forlorn, and the good-natured heart of the cook was touched, especially when Susan requested her to refrain from the stiff name of Miss Grant.
“You an’ me will be good friends, I’ve no doubt,” said Emily, “an’ you can call me Mrs. Pill, that being the name of my late ‘usband, who died of gin in excess. The other servants is housemaid and page, though to be sure he’s more of a man-of-all-work, being forty if he’s a day, and likewise coachman, when he drives out Miss Loach in her donkey carriage. Thomas is his name, my love.” The cook was rapidly becoming more and more friendly, “and the housemaid is called Geraldine, for which ‘eaven forgives her parents, she bein’ spotty and un’ealthy and by no means a Bow–Bell’s ‘eroine, which ‘er name makes you think of. But there’s a dear, I’m talking brilliant, when you’re dying for a cup of tea, and need to get your box unpacked75, by which I mean that I sees the porter with the barrer.”
The newly-arrived parlor-maid was pleased by this friendly if ungrammatical reception, and thought she would like the cook in spite of her somewhat tiresome76 tongue. For the next hour she was unpacking77 her box and arranging a pleasant little room at the back. She shared this with the spotty Geraldine, who seemed to be a good-natured girl. Apparently Miss Loach looked after her servants and made them comfortable. Thomas proved to be amiable78 if somewhat stupid, and welcomed Susan to tea affably but with sheepish looks. As the servants seemed pleasant, the house comfortable, and as the salary was excellent, Susan concluded that she had — as the saying is — fallen on her feet.
The quartette had tea in the servants’ hall, and there was plenty of well-cooked if plain victuals79. Miss Loach dined at half-past six and Susan assumed her dress and cap. She laid the table in a handsome dining-room, equally as garish80 in color as the apartment below. The table appointments were elegant, and Mrs. Pill served a nice little meal to which Miss Loach did full justice. She wore the same purple dress, but with the addition of more jewellery. Her sharp eyes followed Susan about the room as she waited, and at the end of the dinner she made her first observation. “You know your work I see,” she said. “I hope you will be happy here!”
“I think I will, ma’am,” said Susan, with a faint sigh.
“You have had trouble?” asked Miss Loach quickly.
“Yes, ma’am!”
“You must tell me about it tomorrow,” said the old lady rising. “I like to gain the confidence of my servants. Now bring my coffee to the room below. At eight, three people will arrive — a lady and two gentlemen. You will show them into the sitting-room81 and put out the card-table. Then you can go to the kitchen and wait till I ring. Be sure you don’t come till I do ring,” and Miss Loach emphasized this last order with a flash of her brilliant eyes.
Susan took the coffee to the sitting-room in the basement and then cleared the table. Shortly before eight o’clock there was a ring at the front door. She opened it to a tall lady, with gray hair, who leaned on an ebony cane82. With her were two men, one a rather rough foolish-looking fellow, and the other tall, dark, and well-dressed in an evening suit. A carriage was just driving away from the gate. As the tall lady entered, a breath of strong perfume saluted83 Susan’s nostrils84. The girl started and peered into the visitor’s face. When she returned to the kitchen her own was as white as chalk.
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1
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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2
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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3
applicant
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| n.申请人，求职者，请求者 | |
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tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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5
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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6
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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7
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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8
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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9
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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10
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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11
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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12
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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13
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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15
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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16
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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17
regaining
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| 复得( regain的现在分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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27
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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flamboyant
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| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
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31
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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palatable
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| adj.可口的，美味的；惬意的 | |
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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primly
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| adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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40
basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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41
footpaths
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| 人行小径，人行道( footpath的名词复数 ) | |
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42
curbing
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| n.边石，边石的材料v.限制，克制，抑制( curb的现在分词 ) | |
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43
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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44
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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45
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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47
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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48
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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49
landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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50
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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51
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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52
crookedness
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| [医]弯曲 | |
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53
smacking
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| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
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54
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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55
whitewash
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| v.粉刷，掩饰；n.石灰水，粉刷，掩饰 | |
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56
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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57
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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58
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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59
crabbed
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| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
clogs
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| 木屐； 木底鞋，木屐( clog的名词复数 ) | |
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61
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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65
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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68
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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69
hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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70
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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71
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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72
burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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73
disparaging
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| adj.轻蔑的，毁谤的v.轻视( disparage的现在分词 )；贬低；批评；非难 | |
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gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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75
unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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76
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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unpacking
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| n.取出货物，拆包[箱]v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的现在分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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78
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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victuals
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| n.食物；食品 | |
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80
garish
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| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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81
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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82
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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83
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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84
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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