THIN ICE
I THINK it was the finger-marks on the china cabinet that first brought me to a realizing sense of Charlotte's growing deficiencies. I saw it all in a flash then. The way you see the hidden face in a picture puzzle when you do see it. After that, I could scarcely see anything else. I was astonished that it had escaped me so long. To be sure, an indefinable sense of uneasiness had been gnawing at the edges of my consciousness for some time, and I knew I had cowardly refused to face it.
But now I could no longer veil the horrid fact that Charlotte, The Good, the envy of my friends, the boasted treasure of our household, was beginning to ravel out and run down like any ordinary, native-born, garden-variety of maid. It was difficult to adjust myself to such an unwelcome truth. I had leaned so long and so comfortably upon her virtues that life had begun to broaden out before me like a primrose path somewhat as it had before I took up housekeeping at all. It was many months since I had felt constrained to look under the bureau after sweeping days, or consider the linen-closet shelves.
I had joined the Women's Historical Society, in the meantime, and some other feminine clubs for the improvement of my mind, and had even hunted out my long-disused paints with a free conscience. So you may know what a shock it was.
The farther I looked the more certain it became. Undeniably, dust lay upon the tops of the books in the library. The silver had lapsed into an uncommunicative dullness, and, like the preacher of old, we looked through a glass darkly. Long pauses became noticeable when Charlotte was "doing up" the rooms, which to my newly awakened consciousness had a disturbing, not to say sinister bearing.
I may as well own up frankly that I hate personally to conduct sweeping day. Dust, either passive or active, I ignore whenever possible and I didn't want to investigate Charlotte's methods in reducing the same. The prospect of having to do so, as in earlier housekeeping days, lay like a leaden weight upon my usually cheerful spirits.
Next I perceived, with that facility for reading the true inwardness of situations which comes readily enough when the key is supplied, that Charlotte was not only longer and less particular about her tasks than she used to be, but that a change was apparent in her own demeanor. She was less responsive, less brisk, more wanting in that trigness which had been our special delight.
Charlotte had never been easy of personal approach. With all the decorum and deferential solicitude for our comfort so happily characteristic of her English training and tradition—and so soothing to Canadian nerves—I was quite aware that there was no solid basis for any real interest in our welfare. It was a veneer, an accomplishment like her clothes-brushing feats, and her genius in serving tea. None the less was it balm to long-wounded dignity, and lacerated feelings.
I had abandoned myself to it with the joy of the disinherited returning to his own. Gradually our intercourse had taken on that semi-confidential character which pleasantly assumes perfection on both sides, and leans to suggestiveness rather than to command.
I knew this was wrong, of course, but it was difficult enough to conceal the gratitude Charlotte's conduct and manners had inspired in me, without attempting the rôle of exacting mistress. I own my weakness, and tremble under the scorn of the upright, but I wasn't brought up in England, and I never possessed ability in the histrionic line. To veil my emotions under a calm exterior, and not fall down and worship Charlotte was the most I could expect of myself. We are the product of our past and mine has been harrowing and humbling.
But now that my paragon was beginning to show the frailties of ordinary housemaid nature, and I was face to face with the penalties of my own laxness, the situation began to look serious. Charlotte's consciousness of virtue had been impregnable from the beginning, and her application of it so superior to anything I had ever experienced before, that I was glad enough to let her follow her own sweet and sufficient way. But it left me nothing to take hold of in the present predicament. How should one set about reproaching the irreproachable? Besides, was it fair after so long a course of uprightness, to bear down upon her with the first appearance of falling short? And more important still from my standpoint, was it expedient?
These were difficult questions. There was that in Charlotte's bearing which distinctly discouraged any idea of arraignment. There had been small but unmistakable signs. The lift of an eye-brow, the turn of a shoulder, which gave indefinable but sufficient evidence that Charlotte's feelings were not to be trifled with. After all (said the poltroon within me), was it necessary? She might be only a little out of sorts; would it not be better to wait? So I argued and temporized with the enemy, trying to shut my eyes to disorder without, and my ears to the voice of conscience within.
Things went on thus for a week or two longer, then quite suddenly one morning the worm in me turned of its own accord. That instinctive sense of right and justice at the heart of every one of us, rose and prevailed against the specious arguments of my own cowardice.
It was nearly ten o'clock of a fresh Monday morning (all Monday mornings are fresh, or should be) and Charlotte's presence was still audible in the breakfast room, lingering over the dishes. Breakfast had been slackly served in an undusted room, and now nearly an hour and a half later the dishes were still unfinished. Something rose up in me and I denied it not. I hastened to the breakfast room. Charlotte was putting away a tray of glasses. Hitherto I had quailed before her air of ingenuous industry, but at last the spirit of my ancestors was roused.
"Charlotte," I said firmly, "you mustn't linger like this. It is nearly ten o'clock, and time you were at other work. These dishes should have been out of the way long ago."
Charlotte raised a face to me speechless with astonishment.
"You know," I went on, "there is a good deal to be done this spring. Housecleaning is nearly due. We can't afford to be slack with the ordinary work."
"I've done me best, ma'am," Charlotte found voice to reply stiffly.
"No, Charlotte, you have not. I'm sorry to say it. I'm sorry to see it. You are not the girl you were when you came to me. Things have begun to run down all over the house. You are running down, Charlotte, that is the real trouble. I feel it my duty to tell you so, and to say that I cannot have things going on in the slack and irresponsible way you have been handling them of late. I have trusted your honor in the matter, Charlotte. I thought you had too high a sense of it to become so shiftless as you have. It has been apparent for some time, and I am deeply troubled over it."
We faced each other for a full moment, while a deep flush of resentment flamed in Charlotte's cheek. Then feeling a little breathless myself, I must admit, I closed the door with what I trust was quiet dignity and retired to my room.
Lunch was served with unmistakable empressement. Scrupulous attention to our slightest wants emphasized an air of injured pride in Charlotte which boded ill. It was difficult to restrain a little extra pleasantness—that drop of oil so potent to make domestic as well as other wheels run smoothly, but which applied too lavishly only impedes. I did restrain it, however, and flattered myself that my demeanor betrayed no consciousness of any cloud on the domestic horizon.
I reflected a good deal on my way downtown that afternoon. Charlotte was not only my right hand now—she was my sole dependence for the summer. She had earlier intimated her willingness to accompany us to country solitudes, and without her, I should be in a sad plight. "Surely!" I said to myself, "she could not have found occasion for serious offense in my slight rebuke of the morning, so ridiculously inadequate to the real situation. Yet one never knows. The unlikeliest is the most likely where maids are concerned." Though I tried hard to dismiss the subject, I was conscious of much inward disquiet.
Scarcely had I got my hat off after returning, when I heard Charlotte's steps in the corridor making for my room. "Milk-tickets are all gone, ma'am," I murmured to myself reminiscently, reaching for my pocketbook. But it was not milk-tickets this time; far from it. "I've come to tell you, ma'am," said Charlotte, entering the room at my bidding, "that I'm leavin'."
There was suppressed excitement in her tone, not to say triumph. The sword had fallen.
"Leaving, Charlotte!" I said as pleasantly as I could when I got my breath, and with a calmness that almost surprised myself.
"Yes, Ma'am, on the twentieth o' June."
This was the date fixed for our departure and its selection indicated a certain attempt at reasoning on Charlotte's part.
"Sit down a moment, Charlotte," I said composedly, "let's talk it over."
As she hesitatingly emerged farther into the room, I saw that her eyes were rimmed with red. She carried her head high, however, and her whole aspect betrayed consciousness of injured virtue.
"Why do you wish to leave us, Charlotte?"
"I don't care to stay where I don't give satisfaction," she replied a little over hastily.
"But you do give satisfaction, or have until recently."
"You said as I was slow. I've done me best. I can't do no more, an' I don't care to stay where I don't suit."
"Nonsense," I said quite sharply—for me. "You know well enough that I have been satisfied with you; that you have given us comfort in many ways since you've been with us. You have been willing and thorough and cheerful in your work, and I haven't failed to show how much I appreciated these good qualities, in various ways. But lately it has been different. You have not done your work with the care and readiness you showed earlier. I would not be a good mistress if I overlooked carelessness such as you have shown yourself capable of, or let you be satisfied with anything less than your own best. Our ways in this country are very different from those you have been accustomed to, but the laws governing character are the same everywhere, and nothing reveals our character more surely than the quality of our work."
Charlotte's eyes were fixed upon me with absorbed attention, and something very like amazement. It was the first time she had seen this side of me and I resolved to atone for the fact by making the acquaintance a thorough one.
I cast overboard for the time, all consideration for my own immediate future and addressed myself strictly to the subject in hand. I did not spare her. Every delinquency of the past weeks was reviewed in detail, but I tried to make it clear that the real failure and remedy for all of us lie not in circumstances but in ourselves; that our value to the world outside as well as to the broader issues of life, depend upon this inner relation and conduct, and that the fundamental principle is the same whatever the station or class.
I spoke firmly and directly, but as kindly as I could, and ended by saying cheerfully, "Now, Charlotte, suppose you go on with your usual duties for the present. Think it all over not so much from the point of whether you go or stay, but whether you are giving as good and faithful service as it is in your power to give, and becoming as good a woman as it is in you to be."
Charlotte went silently out and I sat on in the gathering dusk with a touch of that glow in the heart which comes when for the moment we put personal interests aside, and let fundamentals surge up and speak for themselves. Of course I knew I had flung discretion to the winds so far as our summer was concerned, and I could not help a sinking of the heart when I reflected what our probable fate would be if she kept her resolve to leave on the twentieth. I had no clue to her real mind or disposition. She had been impenetrable from the beginning. She was a product of the English system, velvet-footed, detached, a silent cog in the domestic machinery. Probably she never had been approached on the personal plane before. Still, in spite of it all, I felt better for my deliverance. At least I had put the situation on its proper basis and whatever the consequences, they must be faced on the same terms.
It was about twenty-four hours later that reformation began to take place in our establishment. It declared itself in the spotless linen and lustrous silver which adorned the table, and in sundry dainty garnishings which began to reappear with the viands.
The parlor became innocent of dust and the brass fender disclosed unsuspected capacities for shininess. The pantries presently partook of the remobilization, and showed a spotless order never before achieved by even the erstwhile orderly Charlotte herself. Moreover, the tones in which she chirruped to the bird or addressed the melancholy cat that had taken up its abode with us, were as healing balm to my soul, or would have been, if only I could have known what her intentions were. That she was a reformed character and meant to stay and do her whole duty, or that she was relieved at the prospect of early departure and wished to give me a sample of her excellence before going, was plain,—but which?—became a momentous question.
So it went on until about two weeks before our prospective departure. I had not opened up the subject, nor had Charlotte. But the situation looked serious indeed, when one day Charlotte appeared at my door bearing a huge paste-board box in her arms.
"May I show you me noo furs, ma'am?" she asked hesitatingly.
"Why certainly, Charlotte, I should like very much to see them."
Untying the tapes with evident relish, Charlotte drew forth for my admiring inspection an enormous bolster muff in the latest style, and a neck-piece to match, adorned with many tails. The dangling price-labels revealed their value—fifty-two dollars.
"They were marked down, ma'am, it bein' spring. They was said to be a great bargain. I thought you'd know," she said, stroking them with loving pride.
I stroked them too, and praised. Fifty-two dollars! But then, why not? Charlotte is really the moneyed member of our household, considering her income in relation to her requirements.
"I'm goin' to send me old ones back home for me sister," she continued. "I thought perhaps you'd be so kind, ma'am, as to tell me how I'd best do 'em away from the moths. They're that bad in this country."
"Why certainly, Charlotte. Suppose I put them away for you along with our own winter things. I have a big chest I keep them in and we never have the least trouble."
"O ma'am, would you be so kind! I'd know they was safe then!" she exclaimed with kindling eyes.
"And I would be safe too!" I exclaimed in the depths of my own heart with a greater sense of relief than I dare let Charlotte see.