CHAPTER XV.
IN WHICH BECKY CONTINUES HER LETTER AND RELATES HOW SHE OBTAINED THE SITUATION AT NO. 118.
I had to wait a little while before my knock was answered, and then Iheard, in a woman's voice,
"Who's there?"
"A girl," I replied. "I heard you were in want of one."
"Are you alone?"
"Yes."
The street-door was thrown suddenly open, and a woman appeared on thedoorstep, with a lighted candle in her hand, which the wind instantlyblew out. The woman was Mrs. Preedy, lodging-house keeper, my presentmistress. She tried to see my face, but the night was too dark.
"Wait a minute," she said; "stand where you are."
Upon my word, my dear, I believe she was afraid of poor little me.
She retreated into the passage, and re-lit the candle. Shading andprotecting it with her hand, she bade me walk in, but not to shut thestreet-door. I obeyed her, and she examined me, seeming to measurewhether she was a match for me in strength.
"How did you know I wanted a servant?" she asked.
"They told me at the greengrocer's round the corner," I said.
"Where did you live last?"
I replied promptly, "I have never been in service. But I am sure Ishould suit you. I am strong and willing, and I don't mind what I doso long as the place is comfortable."
"It's comfortable enough," she said. "Are you a London girl?"
"No, I come from the country."
"What made you leave the country?"
I cast down my eyes. "I had a quarrel with my young man."
Just reflect for a moment, my dear, upon my boldness!
"It ain't the thing to take a girl without a character," said Mrs.Preedy.
Upon this I delivered a master-stroke.
"You can consider it in the wages," I said.
It had an effect upon the woman. "How much do you expect?" she asked.
"I'm not particular," I answered; "all I want is a comfortable home."
There were plenty more questions and answers. Mrs. Preedy must have beenin a desperate plight for a domestic, or I should have stood a poorchance of being engaged; but engaged I was at L8 a year, "all found,"and I commenced my new life at once by following my mistress intothe kitchen, and washing up the plates and dishes, and cleaning thecandlesticks. Mrs. Preedy's eye was on me.
"It's easy to see," she said, "that you've never been in service before.But I dare say you'll do. Mind! I make my girls pay for all theybreak!"
I can't help laughing when I think of her words. Reckoning up the thingsI have already let slip--(they _will_ do it; I can't prevent them;really I believe they are alive)--I have arrived at the conclusionthat the whole of my first month's wages will be presented to me inbroken crockery. My cheerfulness over my misfortunes is a source ofconsiderable astonishment to my mistress.
When I finished washing up the things, I was sent out to "The GreenDragon" for the supper beer, and upon my return, took possession ofmy very small bedroom, and, unpacking my bundle of clothes (which hadalready been untied and examined by Mrs. Preedy while I was fetching thesupper beer--artful woman!) I went to bed. Mrs. Preedy had no need totell me to be up early in the morning. I was awake all night, but I wasnot unhappy, for I thought of you and of the likelihood that I might beable to help you.
My name, my dear, is Becky.
So behold me fairly launched on my adventure. And let me entreat ofyou, once and for all, not to distress yourself about me. I am verycomfortable, and as the house is almost empty there is not much to do.It is astonishing how easily we accustom ourselves to circumstances.
Mrs. Preedy had only one lodger when I entered her service--a bedriddenold lady, Mrs. Bailey, who has not left her bed for more than threeyears. She lives on the first floor in a back room, and is the widowof a soldier who bequeathed to her half-a-dozen medals, and a smallannuity, upon which she just manages to live. This is what the old ladyherself declares; she has "barely enough--barely enough; not a penny tospare!" But Mrs. Preedy is firm in the belief--popularly shared by everyhouseholder in Great Porter Square--that the old lady is very rich, andhas a hoard of gold hidden in her apartment, the exact locality beingthe mattress upon which she lies. As she never leaves her bed, thedemonstration of this suspicion is not practicable without violence tothe old lady's bones and feelings. She pays Mrs. Preedy twelve shillingsa week for her room and two meals a day, and she occasionally takes afancy to a little delicacy, which may cost her about eighteenpence morea week, so it is not difficult to calculate the amount of the annuity.
The days of Mrs. Bailey's existence should pass wearily enough in allconscience, but she appears to enjoy herself, her chief source ofamusement being two birds, a linnet which never sings a note, and abullfinch that looks as old as Methuselah. Their cages hang on the wallat the foot of the old lady's bed. They never catch a glimpse of thesun, and their movements have scarcely in them the brisk movement offeathered things. Their hops are languid, and the bullfinch mopesdreadfully.
The old lady was an object of interest to me at once. One by one,shortly after the murder next door was committed, Mrs. Preedy's lodgersleft her. Only Mrs. Bailey remained, the apparent reason being thatshe was helpless. She appears to have but one friend in the world (nottaking her birds into account), a sister older than herself, who comesto spend an afternoon with her once in every month, who is very deaf,almost blind, and who cannot walk without the assistance of a thickstick. The old creature, whose name I do not know, takes snuff, andinspires me with a fear that she will one day suddenly fall all topieces--in the way that I once saw harlequin in a pantomime do. I haveno hope that, if such a dreadful thing happens, she will have a clown ather elbow, as the harlequin had, who in the most marvellous manner putthe pieces together and brought them to life again. To see these two oldladies, as I saw them a few days ago, with the languid linnet and themoping bullfinch, is a sight not easy to forget.
Although I have written such a long letter, I have not told you halfI intended. To-morrow I will send you another, which I will writeto-night, while Mrs. Preedy is asleep. If you think I have nothing tosay which has the slightest bearing upon the murder, you are mistaken;but you must restrain your impatience till to-morrow.
My darling, I write in a light vein, I know, but my feeling is deep andearnest. I want to cheer you, if I can, and win a smile from you. Beforewe met in Leicester Square, on the day you were released, I was seriousenough, and in deep trouble; but the moment we were together again, hopeentered my heart, and, with that bright angel, a little of the gaiety ofspirits in which you used to take delight. Hope is with me now. Receiveit from me, if you are despondent. I kiss it into this letter, and sendyou my heart with it. No--how can I do that, when you have my heartalready! And if, with that in your possession, you do not now and thensee a ray of light in the midst of your anxieties, I shall call youungrateful. Adieu, my love for a few hours.
For ever and ever your own, BECKY.