Edith Wharton
The Lady's Maid's Bell
Wharton, Edith. "The Lady's Maid's Bell."
Scribner's Magazine 32 (Nov. 1902): 549-60.
About the print version
The Lady's Maid's Bell
Wharton, Edith Edited by editor
Scribner's Magazine Nov. 1902
Note: Vol. 32
Published: 1902
I
IT was the autumn after I had the typhoid. I'd been three months in
hospital, and when I came out I looked so weak and tottery that the two or three
ladies I applied to were afraid to engage me. Most of my money was gone, and
after I'd boarded for two months, hanging about the employment-agencies, and
answering any advertisement that looked any way respectable, I pretty nearly
lost heart, for fretting hadn't made me fatter, and I didn't see why my luck
should ever turn. It did though -- or I thought so at the time. A Mrs. Railton,
a friend of the lady that first brought me out to the States, met me one day and
stopped to speak to me: she was one that had always a friendly way with her. She
asked me what ailed me to look so white, and when I told her, "Why, Hartley,"
says she, "I believe I've got the very place for you. Come in to-morrow and
we'll talk about it."
The next day, when I called, she told me the lady she'd in mind was a niece
of hers, a Mrs. Brympton, a youngish lady, but something of an invalid, who
lived all the year round at her country-place on the Hudson, owing to not being
able to stand the fatigue of town life.
"Now, Hartley," Mrs. Railton said, in that cheery way that always made me
feel things must be going to take a turn for the better -- "now understand me;
it's not a cheerful place i'm sending you to. The house is big and gloomy; my
niece is nervous, vaporish; her husband -- well, he's generally away; and the
two children are dead. A year ago, I would as soon have thought of shutting a
rosy active girl like you into a vault; but you're not particularly brisk
yourself just now, are you? and a quiet place, with country air and wholesome
food and early hours, ought to be the very thing for you. Don't mistake me," she
added, for I suppose I looked a trifle downcast; "you may find it dull, but you
won't be unhappy. My niece is an angel. Her former maid, who died last spring,
had been with her twenty years and worshipped the ground she walked on. She's a
kind mistress to all, and where the mistress is kind, as you know, the servants
are generally good-humored, so you'll probably get on well enough with the rest
of the household. And you're the very woman I want for my niece: quiet,
well-mannered, and educated above your station. You read aloud well, I think?
That's a good thing; my niece likes to be read to. She wants a maid that can be
something of a companion: her last was, and I can't say how she misses her. It's
a lonely life . . . Well, have you decided?"
"Why, ma'am," I said, "I'm not afraid of solitude."
"Well, then, go; my niece will take you on my recommendation. I'll telegraph
her at once and you can take the afternoon train. She has no one to wait on her
at present, and I don't want you to lose any time."
I was ready enough to start, yet something in me hung back; and to gain time
I asked, "And the gentleman, ma'am?"
"The gentleman's almost always away, I tell you," said Mrs. Ralston,
quick-like -- "and when he's there," says she suddenly, "you've only to keep out
of his way."
I took the afternoon train and got out at D -- -- -station at about four
o'clock. A groom in a dog-cart was waiting, and we drove off at a smart pace. It
was a dull October day, with rain hanging close overhead, and by the time we
turned into the Brympton Place woods the daylight was almost gone. The drive
wound through the woods for a mile or two, and came out on a gravel court shut
in with thickets of tall black-looking shrubs. There were no lights in the
windows, and the house did look a bit gloomy.
I had asked no questions of the groom, for I never was one to get my notion
of new masters from their other servants: I prefer to wait and see for myself.
But I could tell by the look of everything that I had got into the right kind of
house, and that things were done handsomely. A pleasant-faced cook met me at the
back door and called the house-maid to show me up to my room. "You'll see madam
later," she said. "Mrs. Brympton has a visitor."
I hadn't fancied Mrs. Brympton was a lady to have many visitors, and somehow
the words cheered me. I followed the house-maid upstairs, and saw, through a
door on the upper landing, that the main part of the house seemed
well-furnished, with dark panelling and a number of old portraits. Another
flight of stairs led us up to the servants' wing. It was almost dark now, and
the house-maid excused herself for not having brought a light. "But there's
matches in your room," she said, "and if you go careful you'll be all right.
Mind the step at the end of the passage. Your room is just beyond."
I looked ahead as she spoke, and half-way down the passage, I saw a woman
standing. She drew back into a doorway as we passed, and the house-maid didn't
appear to notice her. She was a thin woman with a white face, and a darkish
stuff gown and apron. I took her for the housekeeper and thought it odd that she
didn't speak, but just gave me a long look as she went by. My room opened into a
square hall at the end of the passage. Facing my door was another which stood
open: the house-maid exclaimed when she saw it.
"There -- Mrs. Blinder's left that door open again!" said she, closing it.
"Is Mrs. Blinder the housekeeper?"
"There's no housekeeper: Mrs. Blinder's the cook."
"And is that her room?"
"Laws, no," said the house-maid, cross-like. "That's nobody's room. It's
empty, I mean, and the door hadn't ought to be open. Mrs. Brympton wants it kept
locked."
She opened my door and led me into a neat room, nicely furnished, with a
picture or two on the walls; and having lit a candle she took leave, telling me
that the servants'-hall tea was at six, and that Mrs. Brympton would see me
afterward.
I found them a pleasant-spoken set in the servants' hall, and by what they
let fall I gathered that, as Mrs. Railton had said, Mrs. Brympton was the
kindest of ladies; but I didn't take much notice of their talk, for I was
watching to see the pale woman in the dark gown come in. She didn't show
herself, however, and I wondered if she ate apart; but if she wasn't the
housekeeper, why should she? Suddenly it struck me that she might be a trained
nurse, and in that case her meals would of course be served in her room. If Mrs.
Brympton was an invalid it was likely enough she had a nurse. The idea annoyed
me, I own, for they're not always the easiest to get on with, and if I'd known,
I shouldn't have taken the place. But there I was, and there was no use pulling
a long face over it; and not being one to ask questions, I waited to see what
would turn up.
When tea was over, the house-maid said to the footman: "Has Mr. Ranford
gone?" and when he said yes, she told me to come up with her to Mrs. Brympton.
Mrs. Brympton was lying down in her bedroom. Her lounge stood near the fire
and beside it was a shaded lamp. She was a delicate-looking lady, but when she
smiled I felt there was nothing I wouldn't do for her. She spoke very
pleasantly, in a low voice, asking me my name and age and so on, and if I had
everything I wanted, and if I wasn't afraid of feeling lonely in the country.
"Not with you I wouldn't be, madam," I said, and the words surprised me when
I'd spoken them, for I'm not an ...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Go to the beginning of the document
Go to previous page
Go to next page
Go to the end of document
