In the Year of Jubilee | Page 5

servants like I've got?' retorted the
married sister.
'It's your own fault. You should get better; and when you've got them,
you should manage them. But that's just what you can't do.'
'Oh, _you_'d be a wonderful housekeeper, we know all about that. If
you're not satisfied, you'd better find board and lodging somewhere else,
as I've told you often enough. You're not likely to get it as cheap.'
They squabbled for some minutes, Fanny looking on with ingenuous
amusement, and putting in a word, now for this side, now for that.
'And what am I going to have for breakfast?' demanded Mrs. Peachey
at length, surveying the table. 'You've taken jolly good care of
yourselves, it seems to me.'
She jumped up, and rang the bell. When a minute's interval brought no
reply, she rang again. Beatrice thought it probable that the bell might be
rung without effect, 'till all was blue.'
'We'll see about that,' answered her sister, and forthwith invaded the
lower parts of the house. Thence, presently, her voice became audible,
rising gradually to shrillness; with it there blended the rougher accents
of the housemaid, now in reckless revolt. Beatrice listened for a minute
or two in the hall, then passed on into the drawing-room with a
contemptuous laugh. Fanny, to whom the uproar seemed to bring a
renewal of appetite, cut herself a slice of bread and butter, and ate it as
she stood at the window.
'Dirty cat! beast! swine!'
The mistress of the house, fairly beaten away by superior force of
vocabulary, reappeared with these and other exclamations, her face
livid, her foolish eyes starting from their sockets. Fanny, a sort of
Mother Cary's chicken, revelled in the row, and screamed her
merriment.
It was long before the domestic uproar wholly subsided, but towards
eleven o'clock the sisters found themselves together in the
drawing-room. Ada sprawled limply on a sofa; Beatrice sat with legs
crossed in the most comfortable chair; and Fanny twirled about on a

music stool.
The only books in the room were a few show-volumes, which belonged
to Arthur Peachey, and half-a-dozen novels of the meaner kind,
wherewith Ada sometimes beguiled her infinite leisure. But on tables
and chairs lay scattered a multitude of papers: illustrated weeklies,
journals of society, cheap miscellanies, penny novelettes, and the like.
At the end of the week, when new numbers came in, Ada Peachey
passed many hours upon her sofa, reading instalments of a dozen serial
stories, paragraphs relating to fashion, sport, the theatre, answers to
correspondents (wherein she especially delighted), columns of facetiae,
and gossip about notorious people. Through a great deal of this matter
Beatrice followed her, and read much besides in which Ada took no
interest; she studied a daily newspaper, with special note of law suits,
police intelligence, wills, bankruptcies, and any concern, great or small,
wherein money played a part. She understood the nature of investments,
and liked to talk about stocks and shares with her male acquaintances.
They were the daughters of a Camberwell builder, lately deceased; to
each of them had fallen a patrimony just sufficient for their support in
elegant leisure. Ada's money, united with a small capital in her
husband's possession, went to purchase a share in the business of
Messrs. Ducker, Blunt & Co., manufacturers of disinfectants; Arthur
Peachey, previously a clerk to the firm, became a junior partner, with
the result that most of the hard work was thrown upon his shoulders. At
their marriage, the happy pair first of all established themselves in a
modest house near Camberwell Road; two years later, growing
prosperity brought about their removal to De Crespigny Park, where
they had now resided for some twelve months. Unlike their elder sister,
Beatrice and Fanny had learnt to support themselves, Beatrice in the
postal service, and Fanny, sweet blossom! by mingling her fragrance
with that of a florist's shop in Brixton; but on their father's death both
forsook their employment, and came to live with Mrs. Peachey.
Between them, these two were the owners of house-property, which
produced L140 a year. They disbursed, together, a weekly sum of
twenty-four shillings for board and lodging, and spent or saved the rest
as their impulses dictated.

CHAPTER 2

Ada brooded over her wrongs; Beatrice glanced over The Referee.
Fanny, after twirling awhile in maiden meditation, turned to the piano
and jingled a melody from 'The Mikado.' She broke off suddenly, and,
without looking round, addressed her companions.
'You can give the third seat at the Jubilee to somebody else. I'm
provided for.'
'Who are you going with?' asked Ada.
'My masher,' the girl replied with a giggle.
'Where?'
'Shop-windows in the Strand, I think.'
She resumed her jingling; it was now 'Queen of my Heart.' Beatrice,
dropping her paper, looked fixedly at