Just Jemima/Chapter 3

T twenty past seven, Mrs. Parkins cried on me to come ben to the kitchen. She had snodded hersel' up, and ye would never ha'e dreamed she had ever cooked as much as a haricot bean in a' her life.

"Now, Jemima," she says, "you may help Frederick to carry things between here and the dining-room. When you are not doing that, you must stand where he will show you, and watch—not stare—and learn as much as you can. Do nothing unless Frederick tells you."

With that she hurried awa', leavin' me wi' the young man, which had noo a nate black jayket. He was busy puttin' things on a tray.

"Thank ye for the tea," says I.

"Welcome," says he. "I'm sure Mrs. Parkins would ha'e thought o' it hersel', if she hadna been so hardwrought."

"She seems to be a wonder," says I, wi' a squint at a' the numerous pots and pans on the range. "Has she never a cook?"

"Oh, ay," says he, "frequently. But I'll tell ye aboot things later on, if ye like."

"I'm no' curious," says I.

"I believe ye," says he. "But noo I'll be obliged if ye'll gi'e me a hand."

At 7:30 he played on a thing called a gong, which made ma flesh creep. Then he showed me ma place in the dinin'-room—at the end o' the sideboard, where I was sort o' hid by a screen. I kept weel back till a' the folk was in the room, but as soon as I heard them gettin' their soup, I took a keek at them. My! It was as guid as a picture hoose!

I was pretty sure which was which withoot bein' told. The man at the top o' the table I took to be Mr. Parkins, though Mrs. P. hadna mentioned his bein' alive and I couldna ha'e took the porter's word serious. He didna seem onything to beware o'. He had a long nose on a long face, wi' a wheen hairs across the top, and a droopin' red mustache, and a pair o' eyes that would ha'e been fine in a fish; but he was vera pleasant and polite to everybody. He looked a useless kin' o' body. I would ha'e been sorry for him if I hadna been sorry for his wife. She was a treat; you would ha'e said she was at "Seaview" for her holidays. But every silver linin' has its cloud.

Then I couldna but recognize the Col. and Mrs. Beetle. They was up in years. She was a wee lady, gray like a moose, and wi' aboot as much spirits, but I was sure she was nice. I hated the Col. at first sight. Nae doubt he had been a brave man in his time, but if a man canna be kind when he's auld, what's the use of him gettin' auld? He had a pair of eyebrows like mustaches, and when onybody spoke to him, they gaed up as if he had pulled a string, and he looked as fierce as a teeger. But he was pleasant enough to everybody except his wife. If she opened her mooth, he near bit her nose off. He sat betwixt her and Miss Tinto. Miss T. was nae chicken, though she behave like one fresh from the shell. She said "How funny!" to near everything that was told her. I fancied she was mashed on Mr. Shark, which sat opposite her. He was liker a goat nor a shark, but he had a kind face, which is better nor a handsome appearance. His conversation was aboot the things he had picked up on the seashore that afternoon, and I got that interested, I near inquired if he hadna catched onything in the wilk line.

There was naething special aboot Mrs. Pagan. She was a fat wife wi' gold glasses and nae end o' jewelry, and she payed attention to her rations. She had a black bottle dressed up in a napkin in front o' her. The Col. had a yellow one, naked.

I was that ta'en up wi' them a', that when Frederick, after grein' them their fish, touched ma elbow, I near let oot a yell.

"Dae ye think ye could fill the glasses?" he whispers. "Miss Tinto first."

"Leave it to me," says I, and I stepped oot, never noticin' that he was offerin' me a big water joog. I heard him gi'e a hiss, but jist then the Col. lifted the yellow bottle, and I jamp forward.

I was jist in time.

"Excuse me," says I, polite-like, nippin' the bottle frae his fingers, "but ladies first, if you please." And next moment I was fillin' up Miss Tinto's tumbler.

She let oot a screech ye could ha'e heard a mile awa'.

Afore I could ask her what was wrang wi' her, I heard Mrs. Parkins' voice, and oh! it was like cauld water doon ma back.

"Replace Colonel Beadle's whisky, and leave the room."

She didna need to bid me twice. I kent I was done for. I gi'ed the man his bottle and stottered frae the room. Hoo I reached ma bedroom history will never tell. I bolted the door and checked ma finger, but the agony was naething to me then. I sunk doon on ma faithful box, and fiung ma apron ower ma held and grat.

When aboot five years had rolled awa', I got up to destroy the post card I had wrote to ma mither, but afore I could dae it, there was a knockin' at the door. Wi' ma heart in ma mooth, I opened.

Frederick was standin' there, holdin' a big tray. He was solemn except for his big black eyes.

"Ye'll be hungry," says he. "Tak' a grip o' this."

I shook ma head.

"Cheer up!" says he, and pushed the tray at me, so that I had to tak' it. He was for off when I managed to ask if I had gotten the sack.

"Hope not," he says, wi' a bit laugh. "Ye gi'ed them a' a shake up, but they was needin' it badly. Miss Tinto's great on temperance."

"Oh, me!" I groaned.

"I canna bide the noo—got to serve the coffee," he says. "If ye feel fit for it, ye might gi'e me a hand at washin' up later on." And wi' that he sloped.

I set the tray on the bed and shut the door. I drapped a few mair tears, and then I asked a blessin' on the meat includin' Frederick, and then I blew ma nose and started on the tray. Oh, what tastiness! Oh, what hunger!

Half an hour later, I was busy at the big sink wi' Fredpick. There was aboot a thousand dishes, but I dldna mind that.

"The Colonel," says Frederick, "has got ower his fright. I heard him sayin' ye was a neat little baggage."

"What cheek!" says I, but I couldna help smilin'. I didna smile for long, though. "What will Mrs. Parkins say to me?" I asked him.

"I'm thinkin' she'll gi'e ye another chance when she sees hoo ye can wash dishes," he says. "Ye're the smartest I've struck, Jemima."

I frowned upon him.

"Ye shouldna to be callin' me that—so soon," I tells him. I doubt I was blushin' slightly.

"I was hopin' we was like to be frien's," says he.

"Maybe—I dinna ken—though ye've been extra kind to me; but, ye see, I could never, never call ye 'Frederick.'"

"I hope ye never will, for ma real name is 'Alec.' But Mr. Parkins's bein' the same, Mrs. Parkins had to gi'e me another. So ye can surely manage to say 'Alec.'"

"What lots o' hot water there is here!" says I.

"We ha'e got to call each other something," he says. "There's a new cook comin' the morn—at least she's expected—and she'll think us daft if we're ower polite.'

"I dinna want to be that," says I, and stuck.

"I'd tak' it as a special favour, Miss Just," says he.

"Oh, that doesna soun' right either," I cries. "But dae ye no' conseeder Jemima a queer name? Some folk does. I've often wished I had been christened 'Gladys'—a lovely name!"

"I've heard uglier," he replies, "but I'd sooner hear Jemima, Jemima."

"Aweel," says I, wi' a sigh o' resignment, "what must be must be! But I'm no' gaun to call ye 'Alec' for ages. I was brought up vera strict, and although I dinna ken everything aboot the world yet, still I'm no' entirely as green as grass. And so ye must understand. Alec,—oh, dear, I wasna thinkin' what I was sayin'!"

Jist then a bell rang twice.

"That's for you," says he. "Ye're wanted in her office. D'ye ken where it is?"

"Will ye show me?" I says, dryin' ma hands. I was feelin' as if I had tumbled off a steeple.

"I will that," he says. "And see here, Jemima, keep up your heart. She canna eat ye. And if she does sack ye, I'll throw up ma place, and then she'll be done for. Mind ye, I like her, but" And his black eyes gi'ed me a look.

I could ha'e kicked masel' for turnin' red.

Aweel, I didna get the sack. In fac', I was surprised at the softness o' Mrs. Parkins. She did gi'e me a bit lecture, but she didna seek to terrify me. She said I could thank ma stars she had a sense o' humour; a' the same, she couldna afford to ha'e folk affronted in her hoose, and Miss Tinto had been greatly upset.

"Ay," I remarks, "she looks as if she would tak' the huff gey easy, but, as ma fayther says whiles, 'we canna choose oor customers in this world, mem.'"

"That is very true, Jemima," she says, "but you must not interrupt."

Then she gi'ed me instructions in ma duties aboot the hoose, and presented me wi' a long list o' the boarders' likes and dislikes.

"If this is your own writin', mem," says I, "it does ye credit; it's really splendid!"

I couldna be sure whether she catched the compliment or no'. She told me it was time I was tidyin' up the kitchen and gettin' to ma bed. She would be round later to lock up.

"Remember," says she, "to wind your clock. The alarum is set for six."

"Trust me," says I; "the lark'll be a bad second the morn's mornin'!"

In the kitchen I found Frederick preparin' for to depart. Everything was as neat as a new pin.

I didna ken what to say to him, but I doubt I gi'ed him a look o' gratitude which would haunt him till his diein' day.

"So ye ha'ena got the sack," he says, cheery-like. "I hope ye'll be happy here. Mind, ye can aye depend on me. Noo, I must gang. See ye the morn, aboot 6:30. Guidnicht, Jemima," he says frae the door.

"Guidnicht," says I, "and thank ye."

When I gaed to ma room I couldna help wonderin' aboot him. It seemed queer for a chap like him to be daein' jobs aboot a hoose. But it was nane o' ma business, and I was ower sleepy to wonder long. "He has a kind heart onyway," was ma last thought, and as the poet says: "Kind hearts is mair nor cornets," whatever that means.