Woman's Trials

Three months more elapsed.  Mrs. Marion was still an inmate of the family.  Up to this time, not a word had come from her husband, and she had not been able to pay Mrs. Darlington a single dollar.

Painfully did she feel her dependent situation, although she was treated with the utmost delicacy and consideration.  But all the widow’s means were now exhausted in the payment of the second quarter’s rent, and she found her weekly income reduced to thirty-five dollars, scarcely sufficient to meet the weekly expense for supplying the table, paying the servants, etc., leaving nothing for future rent bills, the cost of clothing, and education for the younger children.  With all this, Mrs. Darlington’s duties had been growing daily more and more severe.  Nothing could be trusted to servants that was not, in some way, defectively done, causing repeated complaints from the boarders.  What proved most annoying was the bad cooking, to remedy which Mrs. Darlington strove in vain.  One day the coffee was not fit to drink, and on the next day the steak would be burnt or broiled as dry as a chip, or the sirloin roasted until every particle of juice had evaporated.  If hot cakes were ordered for breakfast, ten chances to one that they were not sour; or, if rolls were baked, they would, most likely, be as heavy as lead.

Such mishaps were so frequent, that the guests of Mrs. Darlington became impatient, and Mr. Scragg, in particular, never let an occasion for grumbling or insolence pass without fully improving it.

“Is your coal out?” said he, one morning, about this time, as he sat at the breakfast table.

Mrs. Darlington understood, by the man’s tone and manner, that he meant to be rude, though she did not comprehend the meaning of the question.

“No, sir,” she replied, with some dignity of manner.  “Why do you ask?”

“It struck me,” he answered, “that such might be the case.  But, perhaps, cook is too lazy to bring it out of the cellar.  If she’ll send for me to-morrow morning, I’ll bring her up an extra scuttleful, as I particularly like a good cup of hot coffee.”

His meaning was now plain.  Quick as thought, the blood rushed to the face of Mrs. Darlington.

She had borne so much from this man, and felt towards him such utter disgust, that she could forbear no longer.

“Mr. Scragg,” said she, with marked indignation, “when a gentleman has any complaint to make, he does it as a gentleman.”

“Madam!” exclaimed Scragg, with a threat in his voice, while his coarse face became red with anger.

“When a gentleman has any complaint to make, he does it as a gentleman,” repeated Mrs. Darlington, with a more particular emphasis than at first.

“I’d thank you to explain yourself,” said Scragg, dropping his hands from the table, and elevating his person.

“My words convey my meaning plainly enough.  But, if you cannot understand, I will try to make them clearer.  Your conduct is not that of a gentleman.”

Of course, Mr. Scragg asked for no further explanation.  Starting from the table, he said, looking at Mrs. Scragg—­

“Come!”

And Mrs. Scragg arose and followed her indignant spouse.

“Served him right,” remarked Burton, in a low voice, bending a little towards Miriam, who sat near him.  “I hope we shall now be rid of the low-bred fellow.”

Miriam was too much disturbed to make a reply.  All at the table felt more or less uncomfortable, and soon retired.  Ere dinner time, Mr. and Mrs. Scragg, with their whole brood, had left the house, thus reducing the income of Mrs. Darlington from thirty-five to twenty-three dollars a week.

At dinner time, Mrs. Darlington was in bed.  The reaction which followed the excitement of the morning, accompanied as it was with the conviction that, in parting with the Scraggs, insufferable as they were, she had parted with the very means of sustaining herself, completely prostrated her.  During the afternoon, she was better, and was able to confer with Edith on the desperate nature of their affairs.

“What are we to do?” said she to her daughter, breaking thus abruptly a silence which had continued for many minutes.  “We have an income of only twenty-three dollars a week, and that will scarcely supply the table.”

Edith sighed, but did not answer.

“Twenty-three dollars a week,” repeated Mrs. Darlington.  “What are we to do?”

“Our rooms will not remain vacant long, I hope,” said Edith.

“There is little prospect of filling them that I can see,” murmured Mrs. Darlington.  “If all our rooms were taken, we might get along.”

“I don’t know,” returned Edith to this, speaking thoughtfully.  “I sometimes think that our expenses are too great for us to make any thing, even if our rooms were filled.  Six hundred dollars is a large rent for us to pay.”

“We’ve sunk three hundred dollars in six months.  That is certain,” said Mrs. Darlington.

“And our furniture has suffered to an extent almost equivalent,” added her daughter.

“Oh, do not speak of that!  The thought makes me sick.  Our handsome French china dinner set, which cost us a hundred and fifty dollars, is completely ruined.  Half of the plates are broken, and there is scarcely a piece of it not injured or defaced.  My heart aches to see the destruction going on around us.”

“I was in Mr. Scragg’s room to-day,” said Edith.

“Well, what of it?” asked her mother.

“It would make you sick in earnest to look in there.  You know the beautiful bowl and pitcher that were in her chamber?”

“Yes.”

“Both handle and spout are off of the pitcher.”

“Edith!”

“And the bowl is cracked from the rim to the centre.  Then the elegant rosewood washstand is completely ruined.  Two knobs are off of the dressing-bureau, the veneering stripped from the edge of one of the drawers, and the whole surface marked over in a thousand lines.  It looks as if the children had amused themselves by the hour in scratching it with pins.  Three chairs are broken.  And the new carpet we put on the floor looks as if it had been used for ten years.  Moreover, every thing is in a most filthy condition.  It is shocking.”

Mrs. Darlington fairly groaned at this intelligence.

“But where is it all to lead, Edith?” she asked, arousing herself from a kind of stupor into which her mind had fallen.  “We cannot go on as we are now going.”

“We must reduce our expenses, if possible.”

“But how are we to reduce them?  We cannot send away the cook.”

“No.  Of course not.”

“Nor our chambermaid.”

“No.  But cannot we dispense with the waiter?”

“Who will attend the table, go to market, and do the dozen other things now required of him?”

“We can get our marketing sent home.”

“But the waiting oh the table.  Who will do that?”

“Half a dollar a week extra to the chambermaid will secure that service from her.”

“But she has enough to do besides waiting on the table,” objected Mrs. Darlington.

“Miriam and I will help more through the house than we have yet done.  Three dollars a week and the waiter’s board will be saving a good deal.”

Mrs. Darlington sighed heavily, and then said—­

“To think what I have borne from that Scragg and his family, ignorant, low-bred, vulgar people, with whom we have no social affinity whatever, who occupy a level far below us, and who yet put on airs and treat us as if we were only their servants!  I could bear his insolence no longer.  Ah, to what mortifications are we not subjected in our present position!  How little dreamed I of all this, when I decided to open a boarding-house!  But, Edith, to come back to what we were conversing about, it would be something to save the expense of our waiter; but what are three or four dollars a week, when we are going behind hand at the rate of twenty?”

“If Mrs. Marion”—­

Edith checked herself, and did not say what was in her mind.  Mrs. Darlington was silent, sighed again heavily, and then said—­

“Yes; if it wasn’t for the expense of keeping Mrs. Marion.  And she has no claim upon us.”

“None but the claim of humanity,” said Edith.

“If we were able to pay that claim,” remarked Mrs. Darlington.

“True.”

“But we are not.  Such being the case, are we justified in any longer offering her a home?”

“Where will she go?  What will she do?” said Edith.

“Where will we go?  What will we do, unless there is a change in our favour?” asked Mrs. Darlington.

“Alas, I cannot tell!  When we are weak, small things are felt as a burden.  The expense of keeping Mrs. Marion and her two children is not very great.  Still, it is an expense that we are unable to meet.  But how can we tell her to go?”

“I cannot take my children’s bread and distribute it to others,” replied Mrs. Darlington, with much feeling.  My first duty is to them.”

“Poor woman!  My heart aches for her,” said Edith.  “She looks so pale and heart-broken, feels so keenly her state of dependence, and tries so in every possible way to make the pressure of her presence in our family as light as possible, that the very thought of turning her from our door seems to involve cruelty.”

“All that, Edith, I feel most sensibly.  Ah me! into what a strait are we driven!”

“How many times have I wished that we had never commenced this business!” said Edith.  “It has brought us nothing but trouble from the beginning; and, unless my fears are idle, some worse troubles are yet before us.”

“Of what kind?”

“Henry did not come home until after two o’clock this morning.”

“What!” exclaimed the mother in painful surprise.

“I sat up for him.  Knowing that he had gone out with Mr. Barling, and, finding that he had not returned by eleven o’clock, I could not go to bed.  I said nothing to Miriam, but sat up alone.  It was nearly half past two when he came home in company with Barling.  Both, I am sorry to say, were so much intoxicated, that they could scarcely make their way up stairs.”

“Oh, Edith!” exclaimed the stricken mother, hiding her face in her hands, and weeping aloud.

Miriam entered the room at this moment, and, seeing her mother in tears, and Edith looking the very image of distress, begged to know the cause of their trouble.  Little was said to her then; but Edith, when she was alone with her soon after, fully explained the desperate condition of their affairs.  Hitherto they had, out of regard for Miriam, concealed from her the nature of the difficulties that were closing around them.

“I dreamed not of this,” said Miriam, in a voice of anguish.  “My poor mother!  What pain she must suffer!  No wonder that her countenance is so often sad.  But, Edith, cannot we do something?”

Ever thus, to the mind of the sweet girl, when the troubles of others were mentioned to her, came, first, the desire to afford relief.

“We can do nothing,” replied Edith, “at present, unless it be to assist through the house, so that the chambermaid can attend the door, wait on the table, and do other things now required of the waiter.”

“And let him go?”

“Yes.”

“I am willing to do all in my power, Edith,” said Miriam.  “But, if mother has lost so much already, will she not lose still more if she continue to go on as she is now going?”

“She hopes to fill all her rooms; then she thinks that she will be able to make something.”

“This has been her hope from the first,” replied Miriam.

“Yes; and thus far it has been a vain hope.”

“Three hundred dollars lost already,” sighed Miriam, “our beautiful furniture ruined, and all domestic happiness destroyed!  Ah me!  Where is all going to end?  Uncle Hiram was right when he objected to mother’s taking boarders, and said that it was the worst thing she could attempt to do.  I wish we had taken his advice.  Willingly would I give music lessons or work with my hands for an income, to save mother from the suffering and labour she has now to bear.”

“The worst is,” said Edith, following out her own thoughts rather than replying to her sister, “now that all our money is gone, debt will follow.  How is the next quarter’s rent to be paid?”

“A hundred aid fifty dollars?”

“Yes.  How can we pay that?”

“Oh dear!” sighed Miriam.  What are we to do?  How dark all looks!”

“If there is not some change,” said Edith, “by the close of another six months, every thing we have will be sold for debt.”

“Dreadful!” ejaculated Miriam, “dreadful!”

For a long time the sisters conferred together, but no gleam of light arose in their minds.  All the future remained shrouded in darkness.