University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.
MRS. HARLEY AND HER TRIALS.

We will leave Nancy at her new abode,
and look in upon Mrs. Harley on Monday afternoon.
The reader has had no history of
her early life. Suffice it to say that she was
very beautiful, and brought up by an indulgent
mother, who had a few thousands, the income
of which, with a part of the principal, she had
lavished upon her daughter's education. She
painted in water colours, and played upon the
piano; she could imitate a mezzotint engraving
exceedingly well, and make a wax japonica
far more superb than a real one; she could
waltz as well as a French dancing-master, and
it was more currently reported than believed
that she once took lessons on the harp. Be
that as it may, her “harp of a thousand strings”
was seldom long in tune at a time. She grew
up fond of excitement—the creature of impulse—living
upon an expected ball or party;
and so exquisitely sensitive, that plain household

affairs could not be discussed in her presence.

Her mother, it was said, predicted from her
birth that she would rise “to great wealth and
preferment,” because the dream-book solemnly
asserted that a child born in that month, and
on that day of the month, would meet with
such a fate! But, as a proof that we often
grievously deceive ourselves, the result was,
that she married a young gentleman of good
standing in society, to be sure, and of respectable
wealth, but not enough to shine as a rich
man. At the time of Nancy's departure they
had been married three years, had been keeping
house about two years, and, incredible as
it may appear, in that time they had employed
and discarded thirteen different domestics!
The reader will pardon this digression, as the
sketch seemed necessary to prepare us for
taking a peep at the domestic arrangements as
they came along under the superintendence
of Mrs. Harley.

Nancy left everything in extremely neat
order, and it required but little experience to
keep things smoothly for a few days at least.
But, for the want of that little experience, what

difficulties ensue! Mrs. Harley's first effort
at making tea gave proof of her utter incompetency.
She omitted to kindle the fire in due
season, and, of course, it was very late before
supper appeared. Thought she, “Anybody
can make a good toast; it is easy to do, and
will be acceptable to Mr. Harley.” So she
proceeded to the simple process of cutting the
bread: she had seen that done times without
number: there could be no art in that! Eight
or ten slices were soon cut about the thickness
of a wafer; the fire was scorching hot,
and the bread, being left to take care of itself
while she laid the table, was sadly burned;
but, by dint of scraping and cutting, it assumed
only a dark brown appearance, dried to a
crisp! In this condition, she deemed rightly a
little melted butter would soften it; but as she
unluckily forgot to add a little water and salt
with it, it made but a poor accompaniment to
a cup of tea, which tasted very much as if it
were made of smoky water, in consequence
of having forgotten the cover to the teakettle!
But, as simple as was this first trial of her skill,
it produced a great deal of heat and an unusual
excitability of temper. She was heard
to exclaim something about the trials of house-keepers,
and to intimate a wish that she were
once more at board.

But Tuesday morning quickly came, and
how should she manage to get a breakfast?
had occurred to her during a wakeful hour of
the night. She resolved that her husband
should not laugh at her inefficiency; and as he
had procured all the requisites for a good fire
the night before, and had actually risen and
made it, lest the lid of the teakettle should be
again forgotten, she proceeded, in like manner
as the evening before, to try her skill at another
plate of toast. Mr. Harley kindly volunteered
to cut the bread; and as the making of coffee
would be attended with trouble, they united in
the belief that cocoa made on the table would
answer the purpose just as well. But Johnny
has awaked, and is crying to be dressed! It
was a forlorn condition to be thus harassed,
and no wonder Mrs. Harley cast about to
know what she could do. It is fortunate for
one at such a time if they have an obliging
husband. Mr. Harley volunteered the office
of nurse and dressing-maid to the child, and
by dint of much running and flurrying a breakfast

was procured, but of how fine a flavour
neither of the parties was heard to
speak.

As Mr. Harley was about leaving the house
for his business, having concluded that a steak
would serve all purposes for a dinner, the utter
impossibility of undertaking such a charge
overwhelmed the sensitive wife entirely. She
burst into tears, and could only articulate,
“Hus—band, will you—pro—procure me
some—help?” The request was irresistible,
and Mr. Harley proceeded forthwith to the
society where the little girl resided, and by
many entreaties succeeded in getting her to
attend him home immediately.

His wife, hearing the door open, flew to his
presence, and, delighted with the idea that help
was so quickly obtained, really resumed her
accustomed cheerfulness, and felt that the interval
between this and Friday, when the
housekeeper would arrive, was not so very
long, after all. She took the little stranger to
the nursery, and bade her amuse Johnny till it
was time to superintend the dinner. But did
the reader ever take charge of a little girl who
had scarcely learned the names of things,

much less their uses? If so, her expectations
will not be very exalted of immediate aid from
this source. It requires a good manager to
train such a child to be useful. “You may
go, Dorcas,” said Mrs. Harley, as the clock
struck one, “and put the potatoes to boil.”
She forgot that the fire had gone out, and that
the child did not know where to find the potatoes,
nor how to boil them if they were at
hand. Poor Dorcas went down stairs, stood
in the kitchen, put her fingers in her mouth,
and looked out in the street to see how well
the boys coasted down the hill back of the
windows! There was a dead silence. Mrs.
Harley went to the kitchen door in due time,
and inquired if “she was going on well?”
Dorcas, not daring to say to the contrary,
breathed out a low “Yes, ma'am.”

“Then you may come and lay the table
now,” said her mistress. The child came, purple
with staying in the cold kitchen, clothed as
she was in her light summer garments, all the
worse for wear, and awkwardly attempted to
proceed as Mrs. Harley awkwardly dictated.

A few moments before two o'clock, Mrs.
Harley inquired of Dorcas if the potatoes were

nearly done. Again she stammered “Yes,
ma'am.”

“Then you may begin to cook your steak
now,” said Mrs. Harley. The child was ordered
to her cold kitchen, and there was a
dead calm.

It was dinner-time. Mr. Harley came home,
and Dorcas was told to bring up dinner. While
they were waiting for its arrival, Mrs. Harley
was expatiating on Dorcas's good qualities.

“Why,” said she, “I shouldn't wonder if in
time we made out to do very well alone with
her. The child does not seem half as awkward
as I expected; these societies, after all,
have a very good influence on poor children;
they make them obedient and kind, and really
I think that we shall never regret having taken
one from its secluded walls. Do just come in
the nursery, husband; I want to show you
some flowers I have been arranging to wear
in my hair to-night at Mrs. Blake's, while Johnny
was asleep and Dorcas getting dinner.”

“I am in such haste, my dear, I cannot look
at them now. Let's have dinner: I engaged
to meet a man on business at three this afternoon,”
said Mr. Harley.

“Dorcas, bring up dinner!” vociferated Mrs.
Harley, at the top of the stairs. No dinner
came, and Mr. Harley, not his wife, ran down
to see the cause of the delay. What was his
consternation at finding little Dorcas curled up
in a chair, alternately looking at the pictures
in an old almanac, and the boys as they coasted
down the hill. Not a spark glimmered on
the hearth. The breakfast relics were scattered
on the table, while the potatoes were
still ensconced in the barrel, and the steak in
the closet!

“Well, wife,” said Mr. Harley, “we are in
a fine predicament, I must confess.”

“What has happened to put you in such a
fluster?” said the astonished wife. “Your eyes
glisten like a maniac's!” While attempting
thus to divine the cause, as she was disposing
a bit of blonde lace over some flowers, Mr.
Harley took his hat and left the house. Alarmed
at such an unusual proceeding, she threw
down the lace and made her way to the kitchen.
Ungovernable tempers often vent themselves
in harsh expressions; we will not disgrace
Mrs. Harley by repeating hers; suffice
it to say, poor Dorcas fell faster than a thermometer,

by a sudden change from heat to
cold, in Mrs. Harley's estimation. Instead of
a comfort, she had a torment. She could not
endure it: anger, sorrow, and self-reproach
found vent in tears, and in the depths of despair
to bring about a better state of things,
she resolved to dress herself and go to Mrs.
Hunt's, and if money and persuasion could
prevail, to use both lavishly to procure the
immediate services of the housekeeper. “It
is high time,” thought she, “to conciliate my
husband's esteem.”

Intent on this scheme, Dorcas was left with
John, feeling that her new home was not as
pleasant as the one she had left: a scanty meal
was provided for her there; now she had none,
because she could not provide for others.

The “experienced housekeeper,” as luck
would have it, had gone on a visit to her daughter
in a neighbouring town; but Mrs. Hunt,
kindly disposed towards her suffering friend,
offered her the help of her chamber-maid,
whom she was about sending away that very
afternoon, adding, by way of recommendation,
that “poor help is better than none.” Mrs. Harley,
having a vivid recollection of Dorcas,

could not coincide with the remark, but supposing
age was synonymous with usefulness in
a domestic, concluded Bridget would do for a
few days. Now Bridget was a stout Irish
woman, who counted her beads, made confession
of her sins (which were many), and attended
mass regularly, and all the wakes to
which she was invited.

About five that afternoon she entered upon
service in Mrs. Harley's employ, who did not
see her till she appeared in person at her door,
to which she had been directed with extreme
accuracy, lest she might go to the wrong place,
as she had done once before.