At the end of a court in Wodgate, of rather larger dimensions than usualin that town, was a high and many-windowed house, of several storiesin height, which had been added to it at intervals. It was in a mostdilapidated state; the principal part occupied as a nail-workshop, wherea great number of heavy iron machines were working in every room on eachfloor; the building itself in so shattered a condition that every partof it creaked and vibrated with their motion. The flooring was so brokenthat in many places one could look down through the gaping and rottenplanks, while the upper floors from time to time had been shored up withprops.
This was the Palace of the Bishop of Wodgate, and here with his armsbare and black, he worked at those locks, which defied any skeleton keythat was not made by himself. He was a short, thickset man, powerfullymade, with brawny arms disproportionately short even for his height, andwith a countenance, as far as one could judge of a face so disfigured byhis grimy toil, rather brutal than savage. His choice apprentices, fullof admiration and terror, worked about him; lank and haggard youths, whonever for an instant dared to raise their dingy faces and lack-lustreeyes from their ceaseless labour. On each side of their master, seatedon a stool higher than the rest, was an urchin of not more than four orfive years of age, serious and demure, and as if proud of his eminentposition, or working incessantly at his little file;--these were twosons of the bishop.
"Now boys," said the bishop, in a hoarse, harsh voice, "steady, there;steady. There's a file what don't sing; can't deceive my ear; I know alltheir voices. Don't let me find that un out, or I won't walk into him,won't I? Ayn't you lucky boys, to have reg'lar work like this, and thebest of prog! It worn't my lot, I can tell you that. Give me that shut,you there, Scrubbynose, can't you move? Look sharp, or I won't move you,won't I? Steady, steady! All right! That's music. Where will you hearmusic like twenty files all working at once! You ought to be happy boys,oughtn't you? Won't there be a treat of fish after this, that's all!Hulloa, there, you red-haired varmint, what are you looking after? Threeboys looking about them; what's all this? Won't I be among you?" and hesprang forward and seized the luckless ears of the first apprentice hecould get hold off, and wrung them till the blood spouted forth.
"Please, bishop," sang out the boy, "it worn't my fault. Here's a manwhat wants you."
"Who wants me?" said the bishop, looking round, and he caught the figureof Morley who had just entered the shop.
"Well, what's your will? Locks or nails?"
"Neither," said Morley; "I wish to see a man named Hatton."
"Well, you see a man named Hatton," said the bishop; "and now what dowant of him?"
"I should like to say a word to you alone," said Morley.
"Hem! I should like to know who is to finish this lock, and to lookafter my boys! If it's an order, let us have it at once."
"It is not an order," said Morley.
"Then I don't want to hear nothing about it," said the bishop.
"It's about family matters," said Morley.
"Ah!" said Hatton, eagerly, "what, do you come from him?"
"It may be," said Morley.
Upon this the bishop, looking up to the ceiling of the room in whichthere were several large chinks, began calling out lustily to someunseen person above, and immediately was replied to in a shrill voice ofobjurgation, demanding in peremptory words, interlarded with many oaths,what he wanted. His reply called down his unseen correspondent, who soonentered his workshop. It was the awful presence of Mrs Hatton a tall,bearded virago, with a file in her hand, for that seemed the distinctivearm of the house, and eyes flashing with unbridled power.
"Look after the boys," said Hatton, "for I have business."
"Won't I?" said Mrs Hatton and a thrill of terror pervaded theassembly. All the files moved in regular melody; no one dared to raisehis face; even her two young children looked still more serious anddemure. Not that any being present flattered himself for an instant thatthe most sedulous attention on his part could prevent an outbreak; allthat each aspired to, and wildly hoped, was that he might not be thevictim singled out to have his head cut open, or his eye knocked out, orhis ears half pulled off by the being who was the terror not only of theworkshop, but of Wodgate itself,--their bishop's gentle wife.
In the meantime, that worthy, taking Morley into a room where there wereno machines at work except those made of iron, said, "Well, what haveyou brought me?"
"In the first place," said Morley, "I would speak to you of yourbrother."
"I concluded that," said Hatton, "when you spoke of family mattersbringing you here; he is the only relation I have in this world, andtherefore it must be of him."
"It is of him," said Morley.
"Has he sent anything?"
"Hem!" said Morley, who was by nature a diplomatist, and instantlycomprehended his position, being himself pumped when he came to pump;but he resolved not to precipitate the affair. "How late is it since youheard from him?" he asked.
"Why, I suppose you know," said Hatton, "I heard as usual."
"From his usual place?" inquired Morley.
"I wish you would tell me where that is," said Hatton, eagerly.
"Why, he writes to you?"
"Blank letters; never had a line except once, and that is more thantwelve year ago. He sends me a twenty-pound note every Christmas; andthat is all I know about him."
"Then he is rich, and well to do in the world? said Morley."
"Why, don't you know?" said Hatton "I thought you came from him!"
"I came about him. I wished to know whether he were alive, and that youhave been able to inform me: and where he was; and that you have notbeen able to inform me."
"Why, you're a regular muff!" said the bishop.
Book 3 Chapter 8
Sybil, Or, The Two Nations Page 29