“Certainly I do. We may all be out of the house before another month, and I am not going to leave the servants here in idleness, with no master to wait on.”
“Who is to do the cooking, Sir Percival, while you are still staying here?”
“Margaret Porcher can roast and boil—keep her. What do I want with a cook if I don’t mean to give any dinner-parties?”
“The servant you have mentioned is the most unintelligent servant in the house, Sir Percival.”
“Keep her, I tell you, and have a woman in from the village to do the cleaning and go away again. My weekly expenses must and shall be lowered immediately. I don’t send for you to make objections, Mrs. Michelson—I send for you to carry out my plans of economy. Dismiss the whole lazy pack of indoor servants tomorrow, except Porcher. She is as strong as a horse—and we’ll make her work like a horse.”
“You will excuse me for reminding you, Sir Percival, that if the servants go tomorrow they must have a month’s wages in lieu of a month’s warning.”
“Let them! A month’s wages saves a month’s waste and gluttony in the servants’ hall.”
This last remark conveyed an aspersion of the most offensive kind on my management. I had too much self-respect to defend myself under so gross an imputation. Christian consideration for the helpless position of Miss Halcombe and Lady Glyde, and for the serious inconvenience which my sudden absence might inflict on them, alone prevented me from resigning my situation on the spot. I rose immediately. It would have lowered me in my own estimation to have permitted the interview to continue a moment longer.