She supposed
she must find out something about the kitchen and the servants. Anastasia
had brought up her breakfast that morning, with a flushed face, muttering
complaint against the woman downstairs. A terror struck through her. If
Anastasia should desert her--should give notice!
Timidly she pushed open the door of the big kitchen, and prepared to
play the mistress. Mrs. Dixon was standing at the kitchen table with a
pastry-board before her, making a meat pie. She greeted her new mistress
civilly, though guardedly, and went on with what she was doing.
"Are you going to cook for us?" asked Mrs. Melrose, helplessly.
"That's what I unnerstood fro' Muster Tyson, ma'am."
"Then I came to speak to you about dinner."
"Thank you, ma'am, but Muster Melrose gave me the orders a good while
sen. There was a cart goin' into Pengarth."
Pengarth was the nearest country town, some eight miles away.
Mrs. Melrose coloured.
"I must tell you what the baby requires," she said, drawing herself up.
Mrs. Dixon looked at the speaker impassively, over her spectacles.
Mrs. Melrose hurriedly named a patent food--some special
biscuits--bananas.
"Yo' can have the milk yo' want fro' t' farm," said Mrs. Dixon slowly, in
reply; "but there's nowt of aw them things i' t' house as I knows on."
"Then we must send for them."
Mrs. Dixon shook her head.
"There won't be anoother cart goin' in till t' day after to-morrow."
"I can't have the baby neglected!" exclaimed Mrs.
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