"Cook, kitchen-maid, housemaid, and footman," I read. "My dear Rachel,
these servants are only wanted for a term--the term during which your
guardian has taken the house. We shall have great difficulty in finding
persons of character and capacity to accept a temporary engagement of
that sort, if we try in London. Has the house in Brighton been found
yet?"
"Yes. Godfrey has taken it; and persons in the house wanted him to hire
them as servants. He thought they would hardly do for us, and came back
having settled nothing."
"And you have no experience yourself in these matters, Rachel?"
"None whatever."
"And Aunt Ablewhite won't exert herself?"
"No, poor dear. Don't blame her, Drusilla. I think she is the only
really happy woman I have ever met with."
"There are degrees in happiness, darling. We must have a little talk,
some day, on that subject. In the meantime I will undertake to meet
the difficulty about the servants. Your aunt will write a letter to the
people of the house----"
"She will sign a letter, if I write it for her, which comes to the same
thing."
"Quite the same thing. I shall get the letter, and I will go to Brighton
to-morrow."
"How extremely kind of you! We will join you as soon as you are ready
for us. And you will stay, I hope, as my guest. Brighton is so lively;
you are sure to enjoy it."
In those words the invitation was given, and the glorious prospect of
interference was opened before me.
It was then the middle of the week. By Saturday afternoon the house was
ready for them. In that short interval I had sifted, not the characters
only, but the religious views as well, of all the disengaged servants
who applied to me, and had succeeded in making a selection which my
conscience approved. I also discovered, and called on two serious
friends of mine, residents in the town, to whom I knew I could confide
the pious object which had brought me to Brighton. One of them--a
clerical friend--kindly helped me to take sittings for our little party
in the church in which he himself ministered. The other--a single lady,
like myself--placed the resources of her library (composed throughout of
precious publications) entirely at my disposal. I borrowed half-a-dozen
works, all carefully chosen with a view to Rachel. When these had been
judiciously distributed in the various rooms she would be likely to
occupy, I considered that my preparations were complete. Sound doctrine
in the servants who waited on her; sound doctrine in the minister who
preached to her; sound doctrine in the books that lay on her table--such
was the treble welcome which my zeal had prepared for the motherless
girl! A heavenly composure filled my mind, on that Saturday afternoon,
as I sat at the window waiting the arrival of my relatives. The giddy
throng passed and repassed before my eyes. Alas! how many of them felt
my exquisite sense of duty done? An awful question. Let us not pursue
it.