Just Jemima/Chapter 12

HE next week was pretty dull. But for a new boarder arrivin', and cook drappin' the tureen o' lentil soup twa minutes afore dinner, there would ha'e been next to naething to put in ma bography aboot "Seaview."

The new boarder was a lady, single—and likely to remain that—which had lately had the flue, and could talk o' naething except her simpsons, or something o' the sort. She drank bilin' water till I was feart she would turn into a steam engine. The tureen was a total loss, and vera little o' the soup was saved. The boarders had to get what Mrs. Parkins called Emergency Soup—it was maistly seasonin'—and cook was highly depressed that night, and dreamed she was torpedoed along wi' Colonel Beetle, which saved hissel' by pinchin' the kitchen table and leavin' her to droon, after hittin' her ower the nut wi' a spurtle that was his oar. But I couldna believe the Colonel would really dae sich a thing, even to his wife. As ma fayther says, aye think the best o' folk in this world, and maybe ye'll be saved a heap o' apologisin' in the next.

Ay, it was a pretty dull week, and the weather was terrible close and maistly wet—which meant afternoon tea for the boarders every blessed day, for they was a' ower up in years to excurse theirsel's in the rain. I tried to keep cheery, but something seemed to ha'e gaed wrang wi' ma spirits, though I managed to eat ma usual without ony great difficulty.

Frederick never referred to that unlucky night, except that he speired for ma health the mornin' after—and got a frozen answer. Maybe he deserved it, but someway I couldna prove to masel' that he did; for though he hadna exactly apologised, he had said he was sorry. He seemed to be jist the same as afore, but I kent there was a difference. I didna gang to his mither's on the Sunday. I gaed up the Sunnyburn Road, but I didna meet the porter, and I heard afterwards that there had been a special train that day. Of course, it was right that the traffic o' the railway should be carried on. In ony case, I merely wanted to tell the porter that I couldna meet him again—for a long while, onyway. He wrote me a letter upbraidin' me in the richest language—I was sure he had got it frae a book—and I sent him a short note biddin' him cheer up and pay attention to his duty, and maybe he would live to die a station master.

There was naething daein', as far as I could see, in the love line betwixt Mr. Shark and Miss Tinto, but I wasna despairin', for at their time o' life folk dinna usually jump at marriage like a hungry cat at a finnan haddie. They keep gaun back and forward and round aboot, sniffin'-like, and whiles naething comes o' it at a'. Ye really canna dae onything to help them, and they're that easy scared.

"We must jist ha'e patience," I remarks to Mrs. Parkins, one morning at the end of the week.

"What on earth are you talking about?" says she.

I drawn her attention at the window to Miss Tinto switherin' at the garden gate leadin' to the shore, and then to Mr. Shark, which was walkin', doubled up, along the sand as if he was lookin' for his lunch.

"Still," says I, "I believe Cupid'll triumph ower the wilks in the long run, mem, and we'll live to see a weddin' at 'Seaview.'"

"Don't be absurd, Jemima," she says. "You should try to interest your mind in things that concern yourself."

"It's jist that I would like to see everybody happy, mem"

"And do you imagine," she says, "that marriage is the only thing to make people happy?"

"Single folk imagines it is," says I, and then I minded Mr. Parkins, and was rael glad when cook cam' up the stair wi' a wire.

That would ha'e been Frederick's duty, but he hadna turned up that mornin'; he wasna comin' till the afternoon, Mrs. Parkins had told cook, though she hadna mentioned what he was awa' for. If I had been curious, I would ha'e wondered mair nor I did, no' that there was much time for wonderin' in the mornin' at "Seaview."

"No answer," says Mrs. Parkins to cook, which respectfully scooted, and to me she says:—

"We must prepare the white room for a new guest—Captain Smith, a nephew of Colonel Beadle—who will arrive in time for dinner. Captain Smith, I believe, is recovering from an illness got in the war."

"A real sojer!" I cries. "He'll be young, I suppose, mem."

"Probably he is," says she, "but I hardly see how his age can concern you, Jemima. Come now, get busy!"

"Wi' pleasure!" says I, for I was feelin' quite set up wi' the thought o' a young face in the dinin'-room.

When I got doon to the kitchen I cries:

"Cooky, what dae ye think? There's a real, live young man comin' to 'Seaview,' and he's an officer back frae the wars—so I hope ye've got an extra fine programme o' dinner for the night."

"The programme's fine enough," says she, "but I doubt the dinner'll be so-so. I dinna seem to be able to turn oot onything perfect the noo."

"Ye're ower modest," says I. "Ye've had several successes this last week. On Tuesday, for instance, the boarders couldna say enough aboot the dinner—they was still talkin' aboot it in the lounge"

"I wouldna be surprised to hear they h&d gaed on talkin' aboot it in their sleeps," she says. "Yon was a terrible dinner, lassie."

"Terrible, but tasty," says I, "and it's the tasty that gets the votes. And I meant to tell ye that last night there was great praise for the fish frissoles"

"I dinna believe ye! I wouldna ha'e eaten one o' them for a pension," she says, but a' the same she began to cheer up. "Weel, I'll dae ma best for your sojer, lassie," she says shortly. "In ony case I wanted to mak' something extra nice for Frederick the night. I suppose ye ken where he is the day."

"No," says I.

"Neither dae I," says she. "But he's a nice lad, is Frederick, eh?"

"Nice enough," says I, as if he had been a sago puddin' without sugar.

"Oh, but I think he's extra nice, and it'll be a bad job for this hoose if he leaves."

"Wha said he was leavin'?" I cries afore I could think.

"It's no' jist certain," says she, "but seein' he hasna spoke to you aboot it, ye'd better no' say I mentioned it. It was jist a passin' remark o' his, and maybe he wasna serious."

"Weel, it's nae affair o' mines," I says, "and it's time I was gettin' the room ready for the Captain."

I was at the door when she says:—

"Ha'e you and him cast oot?"

"What for would we dae that?" I asks, wi' a deceitful smile—oh, I'll admit it was deceitful.

"I'm sure I canna say," says she; "but young folks casts oot for vera little, and it struck me ye ha'e been kin' o' short wi' Frederick the last week or so."

"I ha'ena noticed it, masel'," says I.

"I was wonderin' if that porter man had onything to dae wi' it," says she.

"There's naething wrang wi' the porter," I tells her. "Him and me is auld frien's noo."

"I've naething against the porter," she says, "except that he's nae shakes compared wi' Frederick."

"Frederick'll be feelin' his ears burnin', wherever he is," says I.

She gi'ed me a solemn look.

"Like yoursel', Jemima," says she, "Frederick's been rael kind to me, and I'm no' so fed up wi' kindness that I tak' it for granted." And suddenly she wipes her eyes wi' her apron, sayin': "Ye're young enough to be thinkin' o' lads, lassie—though I was young at it masel', without success; but ye'll no' chance on a lad like Frederick every day—and that's ma advice to you, and I hope ye'll tak' it as kindly as it's meant." And she stottered into the scullery afore I could speak—no' that I had a word to say.

I was angry, but whether it was wi' her, or Frederick, or masel', I couldna be exactly sure. When I was daein' the room for the Captain I done a sma' weep, sort o' wishin' I was hame in ma fayther's hoose, at the fireside betwixt his serious face and ma mither's cheery yin. Hooever, I'm no' easy beat, and it was a lovely day, and the sea was like silver and gold, and the flowers was growin', and there was a heap to be thankful for—at least, ma fayther would ha'e said there was.

I was puttin' the window screens straight, when I chanced to look doon at the garden, and the sight I beheld near made me yell. I fair lost ma head, and ran back and rang the bell for the mistress. Then mindin' that cook would come, I rushed to the stairhead to stop her, and bashed into Mrs. Parkins, knockin' the puff oot o' her.

But I had nae thought then o' beggin' her pardon.

"Quick!" says I. "Come and see! Miss Tinto and Mr. Shark in the summer hoose, and he's holdin' her hand!"

"Really, Jemima!" says she.

"Ay, really and truly, mem!" says I. "I wouldna wonder if they're embracin' by noo."

Cook comin' up the stair then put me dumb, and by the time Mrs. Parkins had explained that she hadna rung, and that Frederick would need to examine the bells, I had come to ma senses and was ready to apologise.

"You must try to be less easily excited," Mrs. Parkins says to me. "I shall trust you to keep as sacred what you have just witnessed—or imagined."

"I wouldna gi'e the puir things awa' for gold untold, mem," says I. "I wonder if he'll announce the engagement at dinner this evenin'. I fancy I see him risin' to his feet, jist after the roly-poly, and cryin' for silence"

"Oh, get away with you!" she says, strivin' no' to laugh. "I'll be extremely angry if you say another word."

I would risk a guid deal to mak' Mrs. Parkins laugh, for she needs it, but I hope I ken when to clay up.

I was rael happy that minute, but the next, when I was alone, ma spirits fell doon like a bag o' coals.

"Oh, Heaven!" says I to masel' "ha'e I catched the flue, or is it merely the dumps?"

Aweel, the day slipped awa', and in the afternoon Frederick turned up. He seemed to me to be lookin' better than ever I had seen him, and somehow I had a queer wee cauld shudder aboot ma heart. There was plenty work o' waitin' for him, and I had scarcely a word wi' him. And then it was time for Captain Smith to arrive.

I was at ma post at the stairhead when the Westerbay cab dunted up, but as Frederick—a wee bit late, for he should ha'e been ready ootside—opened the door, I couldna help slipping doon a few steps, jist to see what the Captain was like. But I hardly noticed him then. I never got sich a start in a' ma born days.

Frederick seemed to fa' back, and then he pulled hissel' up, and stood as stiff as a poker and saluted like a sojer.

And the Captain he fell back and pulled hissel' up, but he didna half return the salute. He gi'ed a laugh and cries, "Hullo, Sergeant!" and then he stepped forward and took Frederick's hand, and shook it for a' the world as if Frederick had been his long lost brither!

But for Mrs. Parkins at the foot o' the stair and a lump as hard as a nut in ma throat, I believe I would ha'e yelled "hurray"—though I didna seem to ha'e onything to hurray aboot.