CHAPTER III
BUYING A NEW CLOAK
Foster's shop was the shop of Monkshaven. It was kept by two Quakerbrothers, who were now old men; and their father had kept it beforethem; probably his father before that. People remembered it as anold-fashioned dwelling-house, with a sort of supplementary shop withunglazed windows projecting from the lower story. These openings hadlong been filled with panes of glass that at the present day wouldbe accounted very small, but which seventy years ago were muchadmired for their size. I can best make you understand theappearance of the place by bidding you think of the long openings ina butcher's shop, and then to fill them up in your imagination withpanes about eight inches by six, in a heavy wooden frame. There wasone of these windows on each side the door-place, which was keptpartially closed through the day by a low gate about a yard high.Half the shop was appropriated to grocery; the other half todrapery, and a little mercery. The good old brothers gave all theirknown customers a kindly welcome; shaking hands with many of them,and asking all after their families and domestic circumstancesbefore proceeding to business. They would not for the world have hadany sign of festivity at Christmas, and scrupulously kept their shopopen at that holy festival, ready themselves to serve sooner thantax the consciences of any of their assistants, only nobody evercame. But on New Year's Day they had a great cake, and wine, readyin the parlour behind the shop, of which all who came in to buyanything were asked to partake. Yet, though scrupulous in mostthings, it did not go against the consciences of these good brothersto purchase smuggled articles. There was a back way from theriver-side, up a covered entry, to the yard-door of the Fosters, anda peculiar kind of knock at this door always brought out either Johnor Jeremiah, or if not them, their shopman, Philip Hepburn; and thesame cake and wine that the excise officer's wife might just havebeen tasting, was brought out in the back parlour to treat thesmuggler. There was a little locking of doors, and drawing of thegreen silk curtain that was supposed to shut out the shop, butreally all this was done very much for form's sake. Everybody inMonkshaven smuggled who could, and every one wore smuggled goods whocould, and great reliance was placed on the excise officer'sneighbourly feelings.
The story went that John and Jeremiah Foster were so rich that theycould buy up all the new town across the bridge. They had certainlybegun to have a kind of primitive bank in connection with theirshop, receiving and taking care of such money as people did not wishto retain in their houses for fear of burglars. No one asked themfor interest on the money thus deposited, nor did they give any;but, on the other hand, if any of their customers, on whosecharacter they could depend, wanted a little advance, the Fosters,after due inquiries made, and in some cases due security given, werenot unwilling to lend a moderate sum without charging a penny forthe use of their money. All the articles they sold were as good asthey knew how to choose, and for them they expected and obtainedready money. It was said that they only kept on the shop for theiramusement. Others averred that there was some plan of a marriagerunning in the brothers' heads--a marriage between William Coulson,Mr. Jeremiah's wife's nephew (Mr. Jeremiah was a widower), and HesterRose, whose mother was some kind of distant relation, and who servedin the shop along with William Coulson and Philip Hepburn. Again,this was denied by those who averred that Coulson was no bloodrelation, and that if the Fosters had intended to do anythingconsiderable for Hester, they would never have allowed her and hermother to live in such a sparing way, ekeing out their small incomeby having Coulson and Hepburn for lodgers. No; John and Jeremiahwould leave all their money to some hospital or to some charitableinstitution. But, of course, there was a reply to this; when arethere not many sides to an argument about a possibility concerningwhich no facts are known? Part of the reply turned on this: the oldgentlemen had, probably, some deep plan in their heads in permittingtheir cousin to take Coulson and Hepburn as lodgers, the one a kindof nephew, the other, though so young, the head man in the shop; ifeither of them took a fancy to Hester, how agreeably matters couldbe arranged!
All this time Hester is patiently waiting to serve Sylvia, who isstanding before her a little shy, a little perplexed and distracted,by the sight of so many pretty things.
Hester was a tall young woman, sparely yet largely formed, of agrave aspect, which made her look older than she really was. Herthick brown hair was smoothly taken off her broad forehead, and putin a very orderly fashion, under her linen cap; her face was alittle square, and her complexion sallow, though the texture of herskin was fine. Her gray eyes were very pleasant, because they lookedat you so honestly and kindly; her mouth was slightly compressed, asmost have it who are in the habit of restraining their feelings; butwhen she spoke you did not perceive this, and her rare smile slowlybreaking forth showed her white even teeth, and when accompanied, asit generally was, by a sudden uplifting of her soft eyes, it madeher countenance very winning. She was dressed in stuff of sobercolours, both in accordance with her own taste, and in unaskedcompliance with the religious customs of the Fosters; but Hesterherself was not a Friend.
Sylvia, standing opposite, not looking at Hester, but gazing at theribbons in the shop window, as if hardly conscious that any oneawaited the expression of her wishes, was a great contrast; ready tosmile or to pout, or to show her feelings in any way, with acharacter as undeveloped as a child's, affectionate, wilful,naughty, tiresome, charming, anything, in fact, at present that thechances of an hour called out. Hester thought her customer theprettiest creature ever seen, in the moment she had for admirationbefore Sylvia turned round and, recalled to herself, began,--
'Oh, I beg your pardon, miss; I was thinking what may the price ofyon crimson ribbon be?'
Hester said nothing, but went to examine the shop-mark.
'Oh! I did not mean that I wanted any, I only want some stuff for acloak. Thank you, miss, but I am very sorry--some duffle, please.'
Hester silently replaced the ribbon and went in search of theduffle. While she was gone Sylvia was addressed by the very personshe most wished to avoid, and whose absence she had rejoiced over onfirst entering the shop, her cousin Philip Hepburn.
He was a serious-looking young man, tall, but with a slight stoop inhis shoulders, brought on by his occupation. He had thick hairstanding off from his forehead in a peculiar but not unpleasingmanner; a long face, with a slightly aquiline nose, dark eyes, and along upper lip, which gave a disagreeable aspect to a face thatmight otherwise have been good-looking.
'Good day, Sylvie,' he said; 'what are you wanting? How are all athome? Let me help you!'
Sylvia pursed up her red lips, and did not look at him as shereplied,
'I'm very well, and so is mother; feyther's got a touch ofrheumatiz, and there's a young woman getting what I want.'
She turned a little away from him when she had ended this sentence,as if it had comprised all she could possibly have to say to him.But he exclaimed,
'You won't know how to choose,' and, seating himself on the counter,he swung himself over after the fashion of shop-men.
Sylvia took no notice of him, but pretended to be counting over hermoney.
'What do you want, Sylvie?' asked he, at last annoyed at hersilence.
'I don't like to be called "Sylvie;" my name is Sylvia; and I'mwanting duffle for a cloak, if you must know.'
Hester now returned, with a shop-boy helping her to drag along thegreat rolls of scarlet and gray cloth.
'Not that,' said Philip, kicking the red duffle with his foot, andspeaking to the lad. 'It's the gray you want, is it not, Sylvie?' Heused the name he had had the cousin's right to call her by since herchildhood, without remembering her words on the subject not fiveminutes before; but she did, and was vexed.
'Please, miss, it is the scarlet duffle I want; don't let him takeit away.'
Hester looked up at both their countenances, a little wondering whatwas their position with regard to each other; for this, then, wasthe beautiful little cousin about whom Philip had talked to hermother, as sadly spoilt, and shameful
ly ignorant; a lovely littledunce, and so forth. Hester had pictured Sylvia Robson, somehow, asvery different from what she was: younger, more stupid, not half sobright and charming (for, though she was now both pouting and cross,it was evident that this was not her accustomed mood). Sylviadevoted her attention to the red cloth, pushing aside the gray.
Philip Hepburn was vexed at his advice being slighted; and yet heurged it afresh.
'This is a respectable, quiet-looking article that will go well withany colour; you niver will be so foolish as to take what will markwith every drop of rain.'
'I'm sorry you sell such good-for-nothing things,' replied Sylvia,conscious of her advantage, and relaxing a little (as little as shepossibly could) of her gravity.
Hester came in now.
'He means to say that this cloth will lose its first brightness inwet or damp; but it will always be a good article, and the colourwill stand a deal of wear. Mr. Foster would not have had it in hisshop else.'
Philip did not like that even a reasonable peace-making interpretershould come between him and Sylvia, so he held his tongue inindignant silence.
Hester went on:
'To be sure, this gray is the closer make, and would wear thelongest.'
'I don't care,' said Sylvia, still rejecting the dull gray. 'I likethis best. Eight yards, if you please, miss.'
'A cloak takes nine yards, at least,' said Philip, decisively.
'Mother told me eight,' said Sylvia, secretly conscious that hermother would have preferred the more sober colour; and feeling thatas she had had her own way in that respect, she was bound to keep tothe directions she had received as to the quantity. But, indeed, shewould not have yielded to Philip in anything that she could help.
There was a sound of children's feet running up the street from theriver-side, shouting with excitement. At the noise, Sylvia forgother cloak and her little spirit of vexation, and ran to thehalf-door of the shop. Philip followed because she went. Hesterlooked on with passive, kindly interest, as soon as she hadcompleted her duty of measuring. One of those girls whom Sylvia hadseen as she and Molly left the crowd on the quay, came quickly upthe street. Her face, which was handsome enough as to feature, waswhitened with excess of passionate emotion, her dress untidy andflying, her movements heavy and free. She belonged to the lowestclass of seaport inhabitants. As she came near, Sylvia saw that thetears were streaming down her cheeks, quite unconsciously toherself. She recognized Sylvia's face, full of interest as it was,and stopped her clumsy run to speak to the pretty, sympatheticcreature.
'She's o'er t' bar! She's o'er t' bar! I'm boun' to tell mother!'
She caught at Sylvia's hand, and shook it, and went on breathlessand gasping.
'Sylvia, how came you to know that girl?' asked Philip, sternly.'She's not one for you to be shaking hands with. She's known alldown t' quay-side as "Newcastle Bess."'
'I can't help it,' said Sylvia, half inclined to cry at his mannereven more than his words. 'When folk are glad I can't help beingglad too, and I just put out my hand, and she put out hers. To thinko' yon ship come in at last! And if yo'd been down seeing all t'folk looking and looking their eyes out, as if they feared theyshould die afore she came in and brought home the lads they loved,yo'd ha' shaken hands wi' that lass too, and no great harm done. Inever set eyne upon her till half an hour ago on th' staithes, andmaybe I'll niver see her again.'
Hester was still behind the counter, but had moved so as to be nearthe window; so she heard what they were saying, and now put in herword:
'She can't be altogether bad, for she thought o' telling her motherfirst thing, according to what she said.'
Sylvia gave Hester a quick, grateful look. But Hester had resumedher gaze out of the window, and did not see the glance.
And now Molly Corney joined them, hastily bursting into the shop.
'Hech!' said she. 'Hearken! how they're crying and shouting down ont' quay. T' gang's among 'em like t' day of judgment. Hark!'
No one spoke, no one breathed, I had almost said no heart beat forlistening. Not long; in an instant there rose the sharp simultaneouscry of many people in rage and despair. Inarticulate at thatdistance, it was yet an intelligible curse, and the roll, and theroar, and the irregular tramp came nearer and nearer.
'They're taking 'em to t' Randyvowse,' said Molly. 'Eh! I wish I'dKing George here just to tell him my mind.'
The girl clenched her hands, and set her teeth.
'It's terrible hard!' said Hester; 'there's mothers, and wives,looking out for 'em, as if they were stars dropt out o' t' lift.'
'But can we do nothing for 'em?' cried Sylvia. 'Let us go into t'thick of it and do a bit of help; I can't stand quiet and see 't!'Half crying, she pushed forwards to the door; but Philip held herback.
'Sylvie! you must not. Don't be silly; it's the law, and no one cando aught against it, least of all women and lasses.
By this time the vanguard of the crowd came pressing up BridgeStreet, past the windows of Foster's shop. It consisted of wild,half-amphibious boys, slowly moving backwards, as they werecompelled by the pressure of the coming multitude to go on, and yetanxious to defy and annoy the gang by insults, and curses halfchoked with their indignant passion, doubling their fists in thevery faces of the gang who came on with measured movement, armed tothe teeth, their faces showing white with repressed and determinedenergy against the bronzed countenances of the half-dozen sailors,who were all they had thought it wise to pick out of the whaler'screw, this being the first time an Admiralty warrant had been usedin Monkshaven for many years; not since the close of the Americanwar, in fact. One of the men was addressing to his townspeople, in ahigh pitched voice, an exhortation which few could hear, for,pressing around this nucleus of cruel wrong, were women cryingaloud, throwing up their arms in imprecation, showering down abuseas hearty and rapid as if they had been a Greek chorus. Their wild,famished eyes were strained on faces they might not kiss, theircheeks were flushed to purple with anger or else livid with impotentcraving for revenge. Some of them looked scarce human; and yet anhour ago these lips, now tightly drawn back so as to show the teethwith the unconscious action of an enraged wild animal, had been softand gracious with the smile of hope; eyes, that were fiery andbloodshot now, had been loving and bright; hearts, never to recoverfrom the sense of injustice and cruelty, had been trustful and gladonly one short hour ago.
There were men there, too, sullen and silent, brooding on remedialrevenge; but not many, the greater proportion of this class beingaway in the absent whalers.
The stormy multitude swelled into the market-place and formed asolid crowd there, while the press-gang steadily forced their way oninto High Street, and on to the rendezvous. A low, deep growl wentup from the dense mass, as some had to wait for space to follow theothers--now and then going up, as a lion's growl goes up, into ashriek of rage.
A woman forced her way up from the bridge. She lived some little wayin the country, and had been late in hearing of the return of thewhaler after her six months' absence; and on rushing down to thequay-side, she had been told by a score of busy, sympathizingvoices, that her husband was kidnapped for the service of theGovernment.
She had need pause in the market-place, the outlet of which wascrammed up. Then she gave tongue for the first time in such afearful shriek, you could hardly catch the words she said.
'Jamie! Jamie! will they not let you to me?'
Those were the last words Sylvia heard before her own hystericalburst of tears called every one's attention to her.
She had been very busy about household work in the morning, and muchagitated by all she had seen and heard since coming into Monkshaven;and so it ended in this.
Molly and Hester took her through the shop into the parlourbeyond--John Foster's parlour, for Jeremiah, the elder brother,lived in a house of his own on the other side of the water. It was alow, comfortable room, with great beams running across the ceiling,and papered with the same paper as the walls--a piece of elegantluxury which took
Molly's fancy mightily! This parlour looked out onthe dark courtyard in which there grew two or three poplars,straining upwards to the light; and through an open door between thebacks of two houses could be seen a glimpse of the dancing, heavingriver, with such ships or fishing cobles as happened to be moored inthe waters above the bridge.
They placed Sylvia on the broad, old-fashioned sofa, and gave herwater to drink, and tried to still her sobbing and choking. Theyloosed her hat, and copiously splashed her face and clusteringchestnut hair, till at length she came to herself; restored, butdripping wet. She sate up and looked at them, smoothing back hertangled curls off her brow, as if to clear both her eyes and herintellect.
'Where am I?--oh, I know! Thank you. It was very silly, but somehowit seemed so sad!'
And here she was nearly going off again, but Hester said--
'Ay, it were sad, my poor lass--if I may call you so, for I don'trightly know your name--but it's best not think on it for we can dono mak' o' good, and it'll mebbe set you off again. Yo're PhilipHepburn's cousin, I reckon, and yo' bide at Haytersbank Farm?'
'Yes; she's Sylvia Robson,' put in Molly, not seeing that Hester'spurpose was to make Sylvia speak, and so to divert her attentionfrom the subject which had set her off into hysterics. 'And we camein for market,' continued Molly, 'and for t' buy t' new cloak as herfeyther's going to give her; and, for sure, I thought we was i'luck's way when we saw t' first whaler, and niver dreaming as t'press-gang 'ud be so marred.'
She, too, began to cry, but her little whimper was stopped by thesound of the opening door behind her. It was Philip, asking Hesterby a silent gesture if he might come in.
Sylvia turned her face round from the light, and shut her eyes. Hercousin came close up to her on tip-toe, and looked anxiously at whathe could see of her averted face; then he passed his hand soslightly over her hair that he could scarcely be said to touch it,and murmured--
'Poor lassie! it's a pity she came to-day, for it's a long walk inthis heat!'
But Sylvia started to her feet, almost pushing him along. Herquickened senses heard an approaching step through the courtyardbefore any of the others were aware of the sound. In a minuteafterwards, the glass-door at one corner of the parlour was openedfrom the outside, and Mr. John stood looking in with some surprise atthe group collected in his usually empty parlour.
'It's my cousin,' said Philip, reddening a little; 'she came wi' herfriend in to market, and to make purchases; and she's got a turn wi'seeing the press-gang go past carrying some of the crew of thewhaler to the Randyvowse.
'Ay, ay,' said Mr. John, quickly passing on into the shop on tip-toe,as if he were afraid he were intruding in his own premises, andbeckoning Philip to follow him there. 'Out of strife cometh strife.I guessed something of the sort was up from what I heard on t'bridge as I came across fra' brother Jeremiah's.' Here he softlyshut the door between the parlour and the shop. 'It beareth hard onth' expectant women and childer; nor is it to be wondered at thatthey, being unconverted, rage together (poor creatures!) like thevery heathen. Philip,' he said, coming nearer to his 'head youngman,' 'keep Nicholas and Henry at work in the ware-room upstairsuntil this riot be over, for it would grieve me if they were misledinto violence.'
Philip hesitated.
'Speak out, man! Always ease an uneasy heart, and never let it gethidebound.'
'I had thought to convoy my cousin and the other young woman home,for the town is like to be rough, and it's getting dark.'
'And thou shalt, my lad,' said the good old man; 'and I myself willtry and restrain the natural inclinations of Nicholas and Henry.'
But when he went to find the shop-boys with a gentle homily on hislips, those to whom it should have been addressed were absent. Inconsequence of the riotous state of things, all the other shops inthe market-place had put their shutters up; and Nicholas and Henry,in the absence of their superiors, had followed the example of theirneighbours, and, as business was over, they had hardly waited to putthe goods away, but had hurried off to help their townsmen in anystruggle that might ensue.
There was no remedy for it, but Mr. John looked rather discomfited.The state of the counters, and of the disarranged goods, was suchalso as would have irritated any man as orderly but lesssweet-tempered. All he said on the subject was: 'The old Adam! theold Adam!' but he shook his head long after he had finishedspeaking.
'Where is William Coulson?' he next asked. 'Oh! I remember. He wasnot to come back from York till the night closed in.'
Philip and his master arranged the shop in the exact order the oldman loved. Then he recollected the wish of his subordinate, andturned round and said--
'Now go with thy cousin and her friend. Hester is here, and oldHannah. I myself will take Hester home, if need be. But for thepresent I think she had best tarry here, as it isn't many steps toher mother's house, and we may need her help if any of those poorcreatures fall into suffering wi' their violence.'
With this, Mr. John knocked at the door of the parlour, and waitedfor permission to enter. With old-fashioned courtesy he told the twostrangers how glad he was that his room had been of service to them;that he would never have made so bold as to pass through it, if hehad been aware how it was occupied. And then going to a cornercupboard, high up in the wall, he pulled a key out of his pocket andunlocked his little store of wine, and cake, and spirits; andinsisted that they should eat and drink while waiting for Philip,who was taking some last measures for the security of the shopduring the night.
Sylvia declined everything, with less courtesy than she ought tohave shown to the offers of the hospitable old man. Molly took wineand cake, leaving a good half of both, according to the code ofmanners in that part of the country; and also because Sylvia wascontinually urging her to make haste. For the latter disliked theidea of her cousin's esteeming it necessary to accompany them home,and wanted to escape from him by setting off before he returned. Butany such plans were frustrated by Philip's coming back into theparlour, full of grave content, which brimmed over from his eyes,with the parcel of Sylvia's obnoxious red duffle under his arm;anticipating so keenly the pleasure awaiting him in the walk, thathe was almost surprised by the gravity of his companions as theyprepared for it. Sylvia was a little penitent for her rejection ofMr. John's hospitality, now she found out how unavailing for itspurpose such rejection had been, and tried to make up by a modestsweetness of farewell, which quite won his heart, and made himpraise her up to Hester in a way to which she, observant of all,could not bring herself fully to respond. What business had thepretty little creature to reject kindly-meant hospitality in thepettish way she did, thought Hester. And, oh! what business had sheto be so ungrateful and to try and thwart Philip in his thoughtfulwish of escorting them through the streets of the rough, riotoustown? What did it all mean?
Sylvia's Lovers — Complete Page 3