THE NEW HOUSEMAID.

Tuapeka Times, Volume XX, Issue 1375, 6 August 1887, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE NEW HOUSEMAID.

BY G. R. SIMS.

(From Stories in Black and White.)

' Mrs. Garfoyle was terribly worried about her housemaids. She could not get one that suited her. They came and went) short and tall, dark and fair, but not one erf. them stayed longer than a month. TKe poor lady spent her days at the rigistry offices in search of the treasure she wanted, but all in vain. There were plenty of mistresses wanting servants, but very few servants wanting mistresses, and the few were very particular.

One young person, who had three months' character from her last place, Mrs. Garfoyle liked the look of, but the young person came and looked Mrs Garfoyle up and down, and evidently did not like her, for she turned her head and walked away.

Mrs. Garfoyle, waiting day after day iv the registry office, made the acquaintancv of some of her companions in misfortune, and the mistresses compared notes.

All agreed that never had there -been &ach a dearth of domestic servants, and never had domestic servants been so utterly unfitted for the duties they undertook. The old order of things was quite reversed.

The mistresses did not question the servants at the office, the servants questioned the mistresses.

One day Mrs. Garfoyle saw a like-look-ing young woman in waiting, and beckoned to her.-

" Do you want a housemaid's place ?" , "Yes, I do. What wages are yoa giving?" "£lB a year." "Oh ! How long was year last housemaid with you?" "A month." " Hum ! Do you change your servants often, then ?"

"If they don't suit me, certainly. I have been unfortunate in my girls." "Oh! £18 a year— well ! Is your kitchen in the back or front ?" "In the back" " Ah ! that's bad ! I suppose there's a housemaid's pantry ?" " Yes, there is ; a very good one.'' "Ah ! Many in family ?" "Only two — myself and my husband.' " What time do you go to bed ?" "Really," said Mrs. Garfoyle, with rising indignation, " I am not accustomed to be examined like this. "

" Aren't you, ma'am ? Well, I'm particular about my situations, you see, and I don't think your place'U suit. Good morning !"

And with that the young person bounced off, and Mrs. Garfoyle turned to the other ladies in waiting, who joined her in a chorus of "Well, Inevers!" and "Did you evers !"

The next day Mrs. Garfoyle was a little more fortunate. She had almost secured a decent-looking young woman — Tft^ges, &c. , had been arranged, and Mrs. G. was taking the address of the girl's last mistress in order to enquire as to character, when the servant said abruptly: "There's one question I've forgotten to ask. you, ma'am. Do you have Australian meat ?"

Mrs. Garfoyle did, and she had to confess the soft impeachment.

"Then I must decline the situation, ma'am," said the girl. " I only take one meat meal a day, and I'm not going to have that frozen stuff. There ain't no proper nourishment in it."

" It is quite good enough for me," said the lady angrily.

"•Then it ain't for me."

- And with that the girl turned on her heel and walked away. Mrs. Garfoyle Had, wasted another morning at the registry office and returned servantless and disconsolate home.

The worry of housekeeping was beginning to tell on the little woman. Mr. Garfoyle was constantly away, she had no, one to fell her troubles to, and the difficulty with servants was beginning to make - her thoroughly wretched. Never was a woman more unfortunate, she thought to herself . Her housemaid* smashed to dust everything they touched, they stepped on their dresses coming up stairs, and shot the tea-tray, china an<J all, from the top to the bottom ; thej cleaned her brass fenders with scouring paper and ruined them for ever; they blacked her steel grates and they rubbed her picture-frames with a wet cloth, which took half the gilt off. And her cooks were as bad as her housemaids. The foung an 2: had followers who arrived in relays at the areagate after nightfall, the middle-aged ones kept a private gin bottle n the cupbourd to which they paid frequent visits, and they emptied the beer barrel in half its allotted time. The old ones were disagreeable, ordered her out of the, kitchen, and had views about the keys of the store cupboard which were diametrically opposed to her own. The cooks who were agreeable could not cook, and the cooks that could cook gave themselves so many airs that they were insupportable. But at last Mrs. Garfoyle had succeeded in getting a cook to suit her. Her only fault was that she was so deaf the poor lady had to shout every order into her ear through a trumpet, and sometimes the orders got mixed, and the dinner was frequently more disagreeable than otherwise.

It is a long lane that has no turning, and at length, after many weary days spent at the registry office, Mrs. Garfoyle believed that she had secured a girl who would be just the kind of housemaid she wanted.

Mary Vane, the young person, in question had attracted the attention of several ladies by her neat, comely, almost ladylike appearance. |Uie was six-and-twenty, she said ; she came*from* the country, her parents were dead, she had been in service for two years, and could have a character from her last place. . Mrs. Garfoyle was fortunate enough to bear the prize away from all the other competitors. The only difficulty about Mary would be her character, which must be a written one. Her last mistress Lived in Liverpool, and it was quite impossible for Mrs. Garfoyle to travel down there for a personal interview.

Written characters are not desirable with servants — there is a regular agency for their-manufacture ; but in this case the girl was so prepossessing and so evidently honest that the poor worried mistress determined to risk it.

Mary gave the address, and Mrs. Garfoyle .wrote. The answer came in course of post, Mary Vane was everything that sould be desired. She had left of her own accord, as she wished to be in service in London, where she had friends. ■ Mr.?. Garfoyle was delighted. She had Secured a treasure at last, and in due

course jnary was installed in her new home, and gave every satisfaction. Everything being in order now in the Garfoyle household, we can turn for s moment to enter into the story of the master and mistress. Mrs. Garfoyle had been married only eighteen months. ' She had fallen in love with her husband when he came to dine one day at papa's house. Papa was a wholesale dealer in the City, and John Garfoyle was a traveller for a firm in the North of England, who supplied the merchant with some of his good. Mr Gar foyle was about to establiah an agency in London on his own account, and he had offered papa excellent terms to transfer his custom to him. The business was arranged at a little dinner at the private house.

Mr. Garfoyle was about five-and-thirty —dark, handsome, well-educated, and his manners were excellent. He was a perfect gentleman. Papa admitted that himself, though there was something about John he did not like, but what it was he found it impossible to define." - John came again and again to dinner, for he had established close and advantageous relations with papa. On Sundays, too, he was a regular caller. He always made himself very agreeable to the young lady, and presently the old story was told again. The course of their love did not run very smoothly. The young lady was an heiress to a limi6ed extent. She had a good round sum under the will of a relative, and papa was afraid that the money had influenced John Garfoyle's courtship. Still, there w&i no doubt John was in a good- position, and haJ an excellent chance of improving it. Papa knew that, and at last, yielding to his daughter's entreaties, consented to the match.

A nic 3 little house was taken, and Mr. and Mrs. Garfoyle were happy enough for a timi . Then John resumed his old travelling business, and the poor 1 ttle ■woman grew very miserable over his lung absences. Of course, business had to be attended to, but business that kept a man away from home for weeks and weeks together was very objectionable to a newlymarried lady. When the wedding-ring is getting worn and thin, that sort of business sometimes conies as a boon and a blessing to a sorely -tried wife.

The new housemaid, Mary Vane, had been in the Garfoyle service a week before John returned from one of his trips to the north. It was dusk when he drove up to the door, and he had on his travelling ulster, so Mary hardly noticed him as he passed her in the hall, and was received by his wife with every demonstration of wifely affection. Dinner was at six, and John went straight upstairs to dress. He rang for hot water, and Mary took it up and put it outside the door. Then she went down and began to lay the table for dinner. It was to be a tete-a-tete dinner, only Mr. and Mrs. Garfoyle.

When Mary came into the room with the soup the gas was full on. Mr. Garfoyle was sitting at the head of the table. He raised his head as the new housemaid entered, and their eyes met. There was a cry — down went the soup-tureen on to the floor of the diningroom, and down went the new housemaid after it in a dead faint. " Are you better now, Mary ?" . The girl had been carried up to her room, and lay very quiet and still. Mrs. Garfoyle sat beside her, waiting to question her directly she recovered as to her extraordinary conduct.

" Yes, thank you, ma'am — a little."

"Are you subject to these — these strange attacks ?" " No, ma'am." " What made you faint — had you been feeling ill?" " No, ma'am, it was the shock."

" Shock .—what shock ?"

*' The shock of seeing the master. I thought it was the ghost of my dead husband."

Mrs. Garfoyle looked at the girl in blank amazement. /

' ' Your dead husband ! You never told me you were a widow."

" No, ma'am ; it was very wrong of me. I know I ought to have told you everything."

"Tell me now."

Little by litble the girl told her astonished mistress -the strange story of her life.

Mary Vane was the daughter of a small -tradesman in Liverpool. She fell in love with a gentleman she met one evening accidentally in the streets, and she walked out with him. She wanted to take him home and introduce him- to her father and mother, but he objected, urging various excuses ; but it was quite understood between the girl and himself that they were engaged, and would be married in due course. One evening her lover, who was known to her as John Glover, met her, and told her that he was engaged to another lady, the daughter of his employer, but he did not love her. If it were known that was going to marry someone else, he would dischargee! from his situation and be ruined. If Mary would marry him secretly it could be done, and by-and-bye, when he had made a business for himself, as he intended to, their secret might be Known, and it would not matter.

The girl was smitten/with her handsome lover, and at last consented. Glover made all the arrangements, and they were married by licence in the presence of only the pew-opener and the verger, who were the witnesses.

Maiy had accepted an invitation to Southport from some friends, and thither the newly-married couple proceeded for ther honeymoon — the friends keeping her secret for her from her family. In a week John left her, having to travel for the firm. He was away a month ; then he returned, and again the girl met him at Southport,and stayed with him as his wife.

So things went on for a year, and then, her father being dead, John took apartments for her in Liverpool, and they lived together, their companionship only being broken when John "went on his commercial journeys.

One day, ma'am," the girl continued, "my Husband left me to go to London. He wrote me that he should be away a month. It was his last letter ; I have it in afy box now, and you shall see it. The next I heard was from a friend of my husband, informing me that they had been down to Brighton together from Saturday to Monday, that they had gone out in a boat to bathe, and that my husband must have been seized with the cramp in the sea, for he. went down and his body was never fotfiad^ " The gentlem^lenjPrae'my husband's clothes, and his wpch, and some papers that were in his pockets. The little money I had was soon gone, and I haft to

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do something for a living, and we c t intc sendee, ma'am." " And your husband was like mine?" said Mrs. Garfoyle. " Very like ma'am. It gave me such a turn, I fainted dead away. It's a wonderful resemblance." " That letter — the last your husband sent you — where is it ?" • ' "In my box there, ma'am. Just under the lid is my workbox — it's open — you can take the letter out. It's in that envelope. I keep it in that to take care of it." Mrs. Garfoyle took out the letter and opened it. One glance was enough, and then it was her turn to faint. The last letter from the husband of the new housemaid was in the handwriting of John Garfoyle. * * * * As soon as she had sufficiently recovered herself Mrs. Garfoyle staggered down stairs in search of her husband, or the man she supposed to be her husband. She had not yet fully realised the horror of the situation. She had a vague idea that John would explain. She could not bring herself to see all at once that the new housemaid was the mistress of the house, and that she was only the mistress of the new housemaid's husband. Her face was as white as death, and she trembled violently ; but she braced herself up a little as she opened the diningroom door to confront John with the fatal letter in her hand. But John was not there. Mrs. Garfoyle rang the bell, and the cook answered it. "Have you heard Mr. Garfoyle go out?" "I heard the front door bang-to about a quarter of an hour ago, ma'am," Mrs. Garfoyle looked in the hall. Her husband's hat and overcoat were" not there. He had gone out, and she was left alone to wonder what on earth she should do. She sat down in the arm-chair by the fire, and read the dreadful • letter again. Then she began slowly to realise the full meaning of the situation. Her husband — the man who* had married her — had committed bigamy. He had deserted his wife, the housemaid up stairs, and led her to believe that he was dead in order that h« might marry a woman with money. Yes, th*t was what John wanted — her money. Papa was quite right when ho used to say so. Mrs. Garfoyle read the letter again. "My dear little Wife, — I hope you are better than when I left you, and are not worrying yourself about me. I'hope to get my business done in about three weeks, and than I shall see my pet again. Perhaps some day I shall not have to travel so much, and then we shall be more together. I am pretty jolly, but rather overworked. lam going to run down to Brighton from Saturday to Monday for a change, with a friend of mine. I hope it will put me right. With love and kisses to my darling, believe me always your affectionate husband, John." It was John Garfoyle's writing — there was not the slightest doubt about that — and it was just the kind of letter Mrs. Garfoyle was in the habit of receiving herself while John was .away on his journeys. And this man had pretended to be drowned — what a horrible villian he must be ! — and the servant-girl up stairs was his lawful wife. Oh, it was too horrible ! ' How was it that Mary had not recognised the name of Garfoyle? the poor lady thought to herself ; then suddenly she remembered that Mary had said her husband's name was Glover. If this was so, he must have been married in a false name. Was that a legal marriage ? She would go off at once to her father and tell him everything. She must have someone to help her. She would not stay another night under Mary's husband's roof. She went up stairs to put on her bonnet and mantle, and while she was dressing there came a knock at the front door. She listened, and heard someone admitted. Who was it ? It was John himself. He asked the cook a question, and thei came straight up stairs and knocked at hei bed-room door. Sue opened it, and faced him indig nantly. "I wonder you dare " she began Then she noticed a look in his face whicl checked her. "My dear girl,, r he said, " there is « gentleman down stairs I want you t. see " " What for ? .1 won't see anyone." "Yes, you will. This gentleman will explain to you something you ought to know." "Oh ! ■ Why have you been out? I ■uppose you recognised that woman !" " Yes, I did." "You recognised her as your wife — your deserted .wife. Oh, you wicked wretch ! You married me knowing all the time you had a wife living. Go away ! I won't speak to you. I will never see you again. I shall go to my- father tonight and tell him everything." "John Garfoyle bit his lip, and hii face grew a little paler than usual. " Come down stairs first and see this gentleman, and then you shall say what you like.'" "Who is he?" | "He will tell you himself. Come !" Reluctantly Mrs. Garfoyle consented. Something in John's *manner reassured her. The letter was in John's handwriting, and if he had made up any story to . deceive her she would confront him with that. A tall, military-looking man was seated | in the dining-room when Mrs. Garfoyle and her husband entered it. He rose and bowed politely to the lady. John introduced them. •"My wife — Mr. Harfcopp. My dear, this is my friend Mr. Hartopp, the head of one of the oldest-established detective agencies in London. I have, been very fortunate in finding him at home, for he will give you the explanation you have a right to ask. He knows my story and the story of the girl up stairs." Then you do know her." " Yes, unfortunately ; but let Hartopp tell you all about it. I placed the case in his hands before I married you, and he . will tell you all about it better than I can." Mr. Hartopp glanced from husband to wife ; then gave a little preliminary ' cough, and began : "It was about four years ago, madam, that your husband placed his case in my hands. It was a peculiar one for many reasons. In the first place he had married a girl in Liverpool in the name of Glover, believing that to be his right name, as he had always been Jcnown by it. He had always believed that his mother was the widowed a John Glover. On her death-

bed Bhe informed that she had never been married to Glover, as she was a married woman separated from her husband, and that her real husband was a Mr. Garfoyle who had died many years previously, and consequently the son's name was Garfoyle.

"It was while I was investigating the circumstances of his mother's marriage, and trying to find out who the late Mr. Garfoyle was on your husband's behalf, that I had occasion to visit Liverpool, and there, by the merest accident, I alighted on some information concerning the young woman who then called herself Mrs. Glover, and whose name previously had been Mary Ann Barton."

" You mean the girl up stairs— the girl who calls herself Mary Vane ?" asked Mrs. Garfoyle.

"I mean the woman your husband tells me is now your housemaid ; if she calls herself Mary Vane the name is an assumed one."

"Let Hartopp go on, my dear," exclaimed Mr. Garfoyle, " I'm anxious for you to hear the end."

The private detective gave another little cough, and then continued his narrative.

"Searching for the registration of marriage of Mary "Ann Barton I found it, but I found it two years previous to the date your husband had given me, and I found the name of the husband to be Charles Spence."

Mrs. Garfoyle uttered an exclamation of surprise.

" Later on I found the registration of the marriage of Mary Ann Barton with John Glover." "My husband!"

VYour husband, ma'am. I followed up a certain clue, and I found — what ? That at the time your husband married this girl she had a husband living."

" Living !"

"Yes, but in a lunatic asylum. He u was hopelessly insane, and the woman knew he would never come out to trouble ljpr. She bad let your husband fall in love with her and marry her, knowing herself to be a married woman."

" But the story she has told me — about John being drowned, about a secret marriage, about her being married from her father's house ?"

" Lies !" broke in John Garfoyle. "The girl was a liar from the first ; I found that out soon after I married her." "But this letter?" Mrs. Garfoyle produced the letter, and held it before her husband's face.

He took it and read it attentively. " That letter," he said, " was written a month or so after our marriage. As soon as I found out how I had been deceived I gave her a sum of money and left her." " But you should have prosecuted her for bigamy. You should have had the marriage annulled-."

" I didn't prosecute the girl for bigamy because I didn't want to drag my private affairs before the world, and there was no necessity to have the marriage annulled,so I was advised, as it was never a valid marriage, and I was perfectly free to marry again. When 1 met you and fell in love with you, my dear, I was a free man. Why should I drag myself and my antecedents throught the law courts ?" Such was John Garfoyle's explanation, backed up by the evidence of his friend, the private inquiry agent, and Mrs. Garfoyle was satisfied, and agreed that the secret of her husband's past should be kept to themselves. Only she determined to consult a solicitor, to see if John was right in his conclusion that his former marriage did not need annulling.

The next day Mary Vane left the house with a sum of money which Mrs. Garfoyle gave her. It was explained to her that the accidental likeness of Mr. Garfoyle to her late husband would render the place an undersirable one for her to retain. She went without a murmur. It was not to her interest to make a fuss — it certainly was not to the Garfoyles'. They never heard of her again, and the only inconvenience that resulted was that Mrs. Garfoyle had to spend another weary week at the registry office in finding "a new housemaid."