Maggie MacKeever Read Online Free

and doormats were available for purchase, as was brickdust for the cleaning of knives, at one penny the quart. For twopence, a chair could be mended, or scissors ground and set. Ballad singers stood on street corners, carrying yards of songs, raising their voices in fierce competition with organ-grinders and Punch-and-Judy shows.
    “Elizabeth is very naive in some aspects,” remarked Morgan, as they came to Harley Street. “She is very considerate of her servants and anxious for the salvation of their souls, but at the same time observes that the difference between their station and her own is divinely ordained. I vow I do not know how people can believe such nonsense!” The doctor being too prudent to put forth an opinion, she lapsed at last into silence.
    Had Dr. Kilpatrick put forth an opinion at that moment, it would not have concerned Elizabeth Fry. Harley Street linked London with Marylebone. Within the brick houses adorned by large flat facades, tall sash windows and wrought-iron balconies, dwelt wealthy aristocratic folk, scholars and leading government figures and diplomats. How they must dislike to have the diabolical forces of reform, in the energetic person of Miss Phyfe, thrust into their ranks. Phyfe House loomed before them. Without ceremony Morgan mounted the steps and opened the front door.
    As always when he entered Phyfe House, Dr. Kilpatrick was awestruck. As avid a student of architecture as of human nature, he was most appreciative of such details as the classical plasterwork, and positively covetous of the fine examples of woodcarving by Grinling Gibbons, projecting sprays of leaves and flowers and fruit worked almost in the round. Enviously he eyed the delicate vase-turned baluster and finely molded handrail of the wooden staircase. With less admiration he gazed upon the source of the irritated tones which smote his ear.
    She was an elderly female in the garb of an upper servant, and there was a heavy Scottish burr to her irate speech. “I’m thinkin’ it’s mickle clansmen the master must ha’—and naebody has heard of the half of them, forayed! But we canna turn away a one of them, och noo! I wadna wonder at it if we were all found murdered in our beds one morn!” she uttered, arms akimbo, fists planted on her hips.
    From this outburst, Miss Phyfe deduced that yet another claim had been placed on her absent cousin’s legendary hospitality. Morgan could not fairly bewail the earl’s openhandedness when by it she was provided a roof over her own head, and a pillow on which to lay that head, as well as several excellent meals a day. “ How could you leave them to kick their heels in the drawing room, Hannah? The poor things must be exhausted. Have some refreshments brought immediately, and chambers prepared. Alister, I am sorry for this uproar. You will stay to tea.”
     Dr. Kilpatrick glanced at the Scottish housekeeper. Here was no servant for whom a lowly place had been preordained. Hannah’s privileged position was a result of the fact that she had once served as the current earl’s nursemaid, during which service she had somehow inspired him with an uncritical fondness. Currently, the Scotswoman was glowering at the doctor in a manner strongly indicative of a wish that he would remove himself elsewhere. Alister made it no point to be so obliging. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
    “Excellent!” retorted Miss Phyfe. “The family is so large and Charles’s generosity so well known that I am always a trifle apprehensive when strangers appear. Hannah is so unreasonable when she takes one of her dislikes! She did not even inquire the names of these new arrivals, poor souls—and to call a guest in this house a ‘flibbertigibbet,’ Hannah, is not at all the thing. Now, pray go and do as I have instructed you.”
    Hannah was not so easily cowed. “Hech!” she ejaculated. “I’m thinkin’ we’ll ha’ more than a few trinkets stolen if ye go on in this way. ‘Twasn’t