The Soul of Susan Yellam

Fancy Broomfield left Salisbury for Nether-Applewhite with a heavy heart not hidden by a pathetic smile. Possibly Alfred Yellam had a glimpse of unshed tears, when she took her place beside him in his van. And his ears may have caught a poignant note of distress quavering now and again beneath her prattle. Country folk are observant, although they keep their observations to themselves. Fancy had been happy at home. When she took a place in Salisbury, in the time-honoured Cathedral Close, she saw her people frequently. As she moved farther from Salisbury, she was grievously conscious of what separation from her father included. The fact that he was failing in health, and therefore in fortune, punctuated her misgivings. Alfred won her confidence with a few curt words about her new place and its master. He did not mention her bouncing predecessor, but he talked of the Parson and his household with the incisive tones of one who knew. What he said was reassuring. Most maidservants approach a new place with justifiable apprehensions concerning the mistress. In this case there was no mistress. Possibly disagreeable fellow-servants may arouse even livelier forebodings. A cook, for example, holds the keys of Heaven and Hell in her hands. Fancy had envisaged an immense cook with a great red face, and a liver swollen to atrabiliar disproportions. She was pleased to learn that the autocrat of the Parson's kitchen was not much larger than herself and consistently amiable.