Suffice it to say that everything that could have gone wrong, did. Things Mrs. Burke sternly suggested I remember and attend to, I did not; conversely, everything I had been instructed not to do, I did.
In some cases, my failures were my own fault.I had been too befuddled and exhausted to retain even a tenth of what I was told and never once thought to write anything down. This was chiefly the case when the linens came back from the laundress a dingy yellow—the sand for cleaning was heaped too close to the pump—and when I gave Mrs. Jennings syrup of rhubarb instead of castor oil, causing her to suffer a little stomach upset.
But some of the problems I encountered could be directly attributed to the citizenry of Lambton.
I did indeed arrive at the chandler’s early on Tuesday, and believing him to be a kindly man with warm brown eyes, I asked him whether he might bundle up Mrs. Jennings’s “usual order” of all-wax candles for me. The man returned to the counter with a hefty box and obligingly announced he would send around his bill if I would be so kind as to pay it promptly.
“Certainly,” I replied a little coldly, for like every other gentlewoman, I disliked talk of money. “But is this Mrs. Jennings’s usual order?”
“Yes, miss.”
“She uses this many candles in a month?” I asked, incredulous and looking askance at the box before me, wondering how I would manage to carry it.
“A month? This will see her through more than half the year,” he stated proudly.
“But I only wish for a month’s supply.”
His face fell. “Oh.” He sighed and added, “A month’s supply will cost extra, you see.”
“How so?”
“Costs extra to unbundle and repackage so few, miss.”
I was faced with a decision. I could dig in my heels and haggle with this man, but the smell from the back room was nauseating, and a line had begun to form behind me. Thus, I opted to accept almost a year’s worth of candles on the condition that they were of the highest quality. This earned me a smile and assurances of every kind, and I bravely took up the box, hoisting it on my hip and marching back to Mrs. Jennings’s house.
Only later, when the door knocker sounded, did I discover my error in giving in to the chandler.
Doreen was never anywhere she could be found if she could help it, so I went to the door myself. Upon opening it, I saw a short, stout figure dressed in a purple coat, red gloves, and a matching red velvet structure on her head that was meant to be a hat. She bustled her way past me into the hall and announced herself as Mrs. Edmonton—the lady Mrs. Burke had warned I should never let in the house.
After I introduced myself, I settled the lady in a chair, asked Mrs. Smith to bring refreshments, and went to Mrs. Jennings’s room to retrieve her from the warmth of her bed. Thankfully, I had thought to help her dress earlier, and she was only resting under the counterpane while I went out. I put slippers on her feet, a shawl around her shoulders, and a lace cap on her head, and she was quickly fit to be seen.
Mrs. Jennings seemed delighted to receive a visitor.
“How good of you to come,” she said sweetly, looking once at me as if pleading for an introduction.
“Mrs. Edmonton has come to visit, ma’am,” I explained.
“Oh! Yes, yes. Do sit down.”
Mrs. Edmonton made herself comfortable. “I hope you are not ruined, Mrs. Jennings.”
The widow looked pleasantly at her visitor and nodded wisely, so I decided I must intervene.
“Ruined?” I asked.
“I understand you took a crate of candles off the chandler, miss.”
“I did.”
“Well, he will charge you a premium, I assure you. And you should know that he dipped those tapers half a year ago and has not been able to pass them off on anybody. That you took them off his hands at last is something of a joke in the village.”
“Indeed?” I issued a cold stare at the lady.
Mrs. Edmonton was not subtle enough to be subdued by a mere look. “The wax was full of ash on account of the back door blowing open.”
“At least they are wax,” I replied with a tight smile.
“I doubt they are. Likely he dumped tallow into the vat. He does that whenever he thinks he can get away with it. I get my candles from Derby since nine out of ten candles made in Lambton stink,” she said with great satisfaction, “and poor Mrs. Jennings here will now have a year’s supply of stinkers.”
