Old Marthe Pettersen, who had been housekeeper to Old Nick for nearly thirty years, had taken pneumonia and died a fortnight after Christmas; she had at least chosen a convenient time, having made all culinary preparations for the festival beforehand.
Old Nick was inconsolable, for Selma Rordam, whom he had got in as a temporary help, was hopelessly incapable; either the cod would be unsalted and insipid or she would serve it up in a liquor approaching brine, not to speak of throwing away the best parts, and boiling the roe to nothing. And last Sunday"s joint of beef had been so tough that he had seriously considered sending it in to the Society for Preservation of Ancient Relics. His breakfast eggs were constantly hard boiled, despite his ironic inquiries as to whether she thought he wanted them for billiard b.a.l.l.s. And as for sewing on b.u.t.tons--for the past fourteen days he had been reduced to boring holes in the waist of his trousers and fastening them with bits of wood.
Everything was going wrong all round.
"Very inconvenient, yes," said Nachmann, called in to discuss the situation. "But you"ll see it"ll come all right in time. Now you take my advice and advertise in the papers for someone; she"s sure to come along: "Wanted, an ideal woman, to restore domestic bliss."" The pair sat down accordingly to draft out an advertis.e.m.e.nt, each to write one out of his own head.
Nachmann"s, when completed, ran as follows:
"MATRIMONIAL.
"Bachelor, middle-aged, no children, would like to make acquaintance of an educated lady of suitable age--widow not objected to. Must be accustomed to domestic duties and of bright and cheerful temperament. Private means not so essential as amiability. Reply to "Earnest," office of this paper."
Old Nick tore up this effusion, and inserted his own, which said:
"HOUSEKEEPER.
"Lady, middle-aged, thoroughly capable cook and housekeeper, wanted for elderly gentleman"s house in seaport town.
Remuneration by arrangement; ability and pleasant companionship most essential. Particulars to "Cookery," c/o this paper."
During the week that followed Old Nick was positively inundated with applications. There were cook-maids, hot and cold, with years of experience at first-cla.s.s hotels; reliable women from outlying country districts; widows from small townships up and down the coast; while a "clergyman"s daughter, aged twenty-three," who already considered herself middle-aged, gave Old Nick some food for thought.
Among all these various doc.u.ments, some large, and small, and bold, others timidly small, was a little pink envelope addressed in a delicate hand. The letter contained, ran as follows:
"DEAR SIR,--In reply to your advertis.e.m.e.nt in to-day"s paper I venture to offer my services as housekeeper. I am a widow without enc.u.mbrance, age thirty-seven, with long experience of keeping house, and able to undertake any reasonable work desired.
"I am of a bright and cheerful temper, with many interests, musical, good reader, and would do my utmost to make your home pleasant and comfortable in every way.
"Trusting to be favoured with a reply, when further particulars can be forwarded.--I beg to remain, yours very truly,
"EMILIE RANTZAU."
Old Nick sat for a long while staring thoughtfully before him.
"Widow, thirty-seven, long experience of keeping house, bright and cheerful temper.... I tell you what, Nachmann, this looks like what we want."
"Heavens, man, but she"s musical--what do you want with that sort of thing in the house? No, no, my friend; the devil take that widow for his housekeeper--not you. She"d play you out of house and home in no time, my boy."
"Well, you know, really, I was getting a bit sick of old Marthe. Felt the lack of refined womanly influence now and again. And I must say this--what"s her name--Emilie Rantzau rather appeals to me. There"s something, I don"t know what to call it, about her letter. Sort of ladylike, you know."
"Yes, and perfumed too, lovely, m-m-m. Patchouli!" said Nachmann, holding the envelope to Nickelsen"s nose.
After some further deliberation Old Nick wrote to Mrs. Emilie Rantzau, and learned that she was the widow of a Danish artist, had spent many years abroad, and wished now to find a position in some small town where she could live a quiet, retired life, occupied solely with her duties.
Her letters were so frank and sincere, that they made quite an impression on Old Nick, and he decided to engage her. She was to come on Sat.u.r.day, and on the Friday before, Nickelsen did not go to his office at all, but stayed at home, going about dusting the rooms with an old handkerchief.
Thinking the place looked rather bare, he obtained a big palm and an indiarubber plant to brighten things up a little.
He was queerly nervous and ill at ease every day, with a feeling as if some misfortune were on the way. What would she be like, he wondered? If the experiment turned out a failure, there would be an end of his domestic peace. Perhaps after all he would have done better to stick to the Marthe type....
They were seated at dinner, and her fine dark eyes played over his face.
"No, you must let me make the salad. I promise you it shall be good."
And she took the bowl, her soft, delicate hand just touching his as she did so.
Old Nick murmured something politely, and was conscious that he flushed up to the roots of his white mane.
"Queer sort of woman this." It was on the tip of his tongue to say it aloud, but he checked himself in time. The joint was served, and for the first time in his life he forgot to pick out the marrow. Fancy forgetting that! In old Marthe"s time he invariably sent for toast, and a spoon to get it out with; now he sat attentively listening to Mrs. Rantzau"s stories of the theatre in Copenhagen.
"Very nice claret this of yours, Mr. Nickelsen. I know "78 is supposed to be the best--good body they say. Funny, isn"t it, to talk of wine having a body."
She looked across at him with a smile, showing two rows of fine white teeth. Then, rising, she went over to the sideboard to show him that she too knew how to carve a joint. Old Nick took advantage of the opportunity to observe her more closely.
Dark, glistening hair, tied in what is called a Gordian knot at the back, with a tiny curl or so lower down, and a beautiful white neck.
She was not tall, but her figure was well rounded, and the close-fitting dark dress showed it off to perfection.
Old Nick was so intent in studying her that he had not time to look away before she turned round and laughingly exclaimed:
"Well, are you afraid I shall spoil the joint?"
"No, indeed; I see you are an expert at carving."
In his confusion he upset the sauce tureen. But Mrs. Rantzau laughed heartily, holding his arm as she declared she must evidently have brought misfortune in her train.
Old Nick had been rather uneasy at the thought of what to say to her, but she made conversation so easily herself that he had only to put in an odd remark here and there: "Yes, of course, yes." "No, indeed."
"Exactly."
In the evening Thor Smith, Nachmann and Warden Prois came round for their weekly game of cards. They were all remarkably punctual to-day: the clock had not struck seven before all three were in the hall, and all with unfeigned curiosity plainly on their faces.
"I"m dying to see how the old man gets on with this gay widow," said Thor Smith, touching up his hair and tie before the gla.s.s--a nicety he had never troubled about on previous visits to Old Nick.
Red paper shades had been put on the lamps, and the table was fully laid with tea-urn, cups and saucers, cakes and little fringed serviettes.
Old Nick, in a black frock-coat, advanced ceremoniously towards them; he said very little, however, and seemed generally rather ill at ease.
"Rather a change this," thought Warden Prois. He was more accustomed to finding Old Nick on such occasions in dressing-gown and slippers, with his old rocking-chair drawn up, and his feet on the table. Then, when he heard his visitors arrive, he would send a gruff hail to the kitchen: "Marthe, you old slow-coach, hurry up with that hot water, or I"ll...." But to-day he was as polished and precise as an old marquis.
Prois glanced over towards Nachmann, and Thor Smith in despair picked up an ancient alb.u.m that he had seen at least a hundred times before; the only pictures in it were portraits of the former parson, and of Pepita, a dancer, who had adorned the stage some forty years earlier, when Old Nick was young.
Then Mrs. Rantzau came in. She wore a black velvet dress, with a little red silk handkerchief coquettishly stuck in the breast.
Old Nick introduced them. She was certainly handsome, as she greeted each of the guests with a kindly word and a smile.
Tea was served, and she handed a cup to Smith and one to Prois.
Nachmann had retired to the farthest corner of the sofa, as if on his guard.
She held out a cup towards him. "Mr. Nachmann, a cup of tea now?"
"Excuse me, I can drink most things made with water, including soda, potash and Apollinaris, but tea--no. It affects my nerves. Mr. Prois, now, is a confirmed tea-drinker; he"ll have two cups at least, I"m sure."