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Authors: Taylor Caldwell
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and you can have the scraps and even a cup of coffee. Don’t say a word to the Missus. She has me save the scraps for Fido, out back in his kennel.”
Ellen was grateful in spite of a first shiver at the thought of eating from the plates of others. Though she and her aunt were beset by the most stringent poverty and were always hungry in consequence, they had never eaten a morsel the other had left, not even the last crumbs. However, the odors in the kitchen, the array of food she had never encountered before, incited the girl to a passionate craving which she could not control. “Fido’s too fat anyways,” said Mrs. Jar-din, congratulating herself on her charitable nature.
She placed many of the dishes on a large silver tray and motioned to Ellen to take it into the dining room, and followed her to give her her first lesson in serving. The gentlemen were just entering the room through the velvet portieres and Walter Porter said genially, “Good morning, Mrs. Jardin. Fine day, isn’t it?”
“Just lovely, Mr. Porter,” said Mrs. Jardin, giving the older man her most impish and confidential smile. (He always gave her a substantial tip on his departure, but not Mr. Francis, a poor figure of a young man, so thin and so “washed out” in appearance. In anticipation, however, she often, in a maternal fashion, urged him to “eat hearty, it’s good for you, Mr. Francis.”)
Francis, waiting courteously for his father to seat himself, suddenly saw Ellen, who was stretching her long young arms to place everything neatly on the table, as Mrs. Jardin had taught her this morning. He stopped in the very motion of sitting and both he and his father stared with pleased astonishment at the girl. She did not see this, but Mrs. Jardin, who saw everything, observed the reaction from the gentlemen and her face was avid again, bright with curiosity.
“This here is Ellen Watson, the new housemaid, Mr. Walter,” she said. “If she don’t please, just tell me. She’s new and raw and I’m trying to be patient in training her.”
“Of course. Capital,” murmured Walter Porter, shaking out the big square of white table napkin. “I’m sure she will be splendid, won’t you, Ellen?”
The girl flushed a bright rose at being addressed so directly by so distinguished a gentleman, and could not answer at once. Mrs. Jardin gave her a sharp thrust in her side and she almost dropped a platter, and she said in a trembling voice, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
What a beautiful voice, thought young Francis. What a beautiful girl. She is like a fire in this awful room which is always chilly and dank. He was suddenly breathless. When Ellen presented him with the pancakes and sausages he could only, for a moment or two, look up into that miraculous face and see only those large blue eyes, so brilliantly shining and so timid. Mrs. Jardin keenly watched not only the table but the young man, and she felt gleeful. Another scandal in this house, unless one watched out. But what could he see in this ugly girl, such a gawk, so clumsy and with such rough hands? A real hoyden as well as a wench of bad repute, as the minister called it. Not like Miss Amelia Beale, who was a real lady though poor, too.
It isn’t possible for anyone to be so beautiful, Francis was thinking, finally looking away from Ellen. She has a noble face, the face of an aristocrat, as well as being too exquisite to be believed. And what eyes! Like a newborn infant’s, clear and glowing. His character was somewhat listless, due partly to nature and partly to the malaria he had contracted a year ago during the war with Spain. But now the listlessness was gone and he felt totally alive and moved and even joyful. He wanted to touch Ellen as a shivering man wants to move from dimness into the warm sun.
Mrs. Jardin was muttering commands to Ellen and the girl was following orders in a hurried confusion and with a desperate desire to escape admonitions. If she did well she would
Ellen was grateful in spite of a first shiver at the thought of eating from the plates of others. Though she and her aunt were beset by the most stringent poverty and were always hungry in consequence, they had never eaten a morsel the other had left, not even the last crumbs. However, the odors in the kitchen, the array of food she had never encountered before, incited the girl to a passionate craving which she could not control. “Fido’s too fat anyways,” said Mrs. Jar-din, congratulating herself on her charitable nature.
She placed many of the dishes on a large silver tray and motioned to Ellen to take it into the dining room, and followed her to give her her first lesson in serving. The gentlemen were just entering the room through the velvet portieres and Walter Porter said genially, “Good morning, Mrs. Jardin. Fine day, isn’t it?”
“Just lovely, Mr. Porter,” said Mrs. Jardin, giving the older man her most impish and confidential smile. (He always gave her a substantial tip on his departure, but not Mr. Francis, a poor figure of a young man, so thin and so “washed out” in appearance. In anticipation, however, she often, in a maternal fashion, urged him to “eat hearty, it’s good for you, Mr. Francis.”)
Francis, waiting courteously for his father to seat himself, suddenly saw Ellen, who was stretching her long young arms to place everything neatly on the table, as Mrs. Jardin had taught her this morning. He stopped in the very motion of sitting and both he and his father stared with pleased astonishment at the girl. She did not see this, but Mrs. Jardin, who saw everything, observed the reaction from the gentlemen and her face was avid again, bright with curiosity.
“This here is Ellen Watson, the new housemaid, Mr. Walter,” she said. “If she don’t please, just tell me. She’s new and raw and I’m trying to be patient in training her.”
“Of course. Capital,” murmured Walter Porter, shaking out the big square of white table napkin. “I’m sure she will be splendid, won’t you, Ellen?”
The girl flushed a bright rose at being addressed so directly by so distinguished a gentleman, and could not answer at once. Mrs. Jardin gave her a sharp thrust in her side and she almost dropped a platter, and she said in a trembling voice, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
What a beautiful voice, thought young Francis. What a beautiful girl. She is like a fire in this awful room which is always chilly and dank. He was suddenly breathless. When Ellen presented him with the pancakes and sausages he could only, for a moment or two, look up into that miraculous face and see only those large blue eyes, so brilliantly shining and so timid. Mrs. Jardin keenly watched not only the table but the young man, and she felt gleeful. Another scandal in this house, unless one watched out. But what could he see in this ugly girl, such a gawk, so clumsy and with such rough hands? A real hoyden as well as a wench of bad repute, as the minister called it. Not like Miss Amelia Beale, who was a real lady though poor, too.
It isn’t possible for anyone to be so beautiful, Francis was thinking, finally looking away from Ellen. She has a noble face, the face of an aristocrat, as well as being too exquisite to be believed. And what eyes! Like a newborn infant’s, clear and glowing. His character was somewhat listless, due partly to nature and partly to the malaria he had contracted a year ago during the war with Spain. But now the listlessness was gone and he felt totally alive and moved and even joyful. He wanted to touch Ellen as a shivering man wants to move from dimness into the warm sun.
Mrs. Jardin was muttering commands to Ellen and the girl was following orders in a hurried confusion and with a desperate desire to escape admonitions. If she did well she would
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