by Ellen Wood
“I shall cause you to drop the acquaintance of the Dares, if you allow yourself to listen to all the false and foolish notions they may give utterance to. Cyril Dare will probably go into a manufactory himself.”
Henry looked up curiously. “I don’t think so, papa.”
“I do,” returned Mr. Ashley, in a significant tone. Henry was surprised at the news. He knew his father never advanced a decided opinion unless he had good grounds for it. He burst into a laugh. The notion of Cyril Dare’s going into a manufactory tickled his fancy amazingly.
PART THE SECOND.
CHAPTER I.
A SUGGESTED FEAR.
One morning, towards the middle of April, Mrs. Halliburton went up to Mr. Ashley’s. She had brought him the quarter’s rent.
“Will you allow me to pay it to yourself, sir — now, and in future?” she asked. “I feel an unconquerable aversion to having further dealings with Mr. Dare.”
“I can understand that you should have,” said Mr. Ashley. “Yes, you can pay it to me, Mrs. Halliburton. Always remembering you know, that I am in no hurry for it,” he added with a smile.
“Thank you. You are very kind. But I must pay as I go on.”
He wrote the receipt, and handed it to her. “I hope you are satisfied with William?” she said, as she folded it up.
“Quite so. I believe he gives satisfaction to Mr. Lynn. I have little to do with him myself. Mr. Lynn tells me that he finds him a remarkably truthful, open-natured boy.”
“You will always find him that,” said Jane. “He is getting more reconciled to the manufactory than he was at first.”
“Did he not like it at first?”
“No, he did not. He was disappointed altogether. He had hoped to find some employment more suited to the way in which he had been brought up. He cannot divest himself of the idea that he is looked upon as on a level with the poor errand-boys of your establishment, and therefore has lost caste. He had wished also to be in some office — a lawyer’s, for instance — where the hours for leaving are early, so that he might have had the evening for his studies. But he is growing more reconciled to the inevitable.”
“I suppose he wished to continue his studies?”
“He did so naturally. The foundation of an advanced education has been laid, and he expected it was to go on to completion. His brothers are now in the college school, occupied all day long with their studies, and of course William feels the difference. He gets to his books for an hour when he returns home in an evening; but he is weary, and does not do much good.”
“He appears to be a more persevering, thoughtful boy than are some,” remarked Mr. Ashley.
“Very thoughtful — very persevering. It has been the labour of my life, Mr. Ashley, to foster good seed in my children; to reason with them, to make them my companions. They have been endowed, I am thankful to say, with admirable qualities of head and heart, and I have striven unweariedly to nourish the good in them. It is not often that boys are brought into contact with sorrow so early as they. Their father’s death and my adverse circumstances have been real trials.”
“They must have been,” rejoined Mr. Ashley.
“While others of their age think only of play,” she continued, “my boys have been obliged to learn the sad experiences of life; and it has given them a thought, a care, beyond their years. There is no necessity to make Frank and Edgar apply to their lessons unremittingly; they do it of their own accord, with their whole abilities, knowing that education is the only advantage they can possess — the one chance of their getting on in the world. Had William been a boy of a different disposition, less tractable, less reflective, less conscientious, I might have found some difficulty in inducing him to work as he is doing.”
“Does he complain?” inquired Mr. Ashley.
“Oh no, sir! He feels that it is his duty to work, to assist as far as he can, and he does it without complaining. I see that he cannot help feeling it. He would like to be in the college with his brothers; but I cheer him up, and tell him it may all turn out for the best. Perhaps it will.”
She rose as she spoke. Mr. Ashley shook hands with her, and attended her through the hall. “Your sons deserve to get on, Mrs. Halliburton, and I hope they will do so. It is an admirable promise for the future man when a boy displays thought and self-reliance.”
“Mamma!” suddenly exclaimed Janey, as they sat at breakfast the morning after this, “do you remember what to-day is? It is my birthday.”
Jane had remembered it. She had been almost in hopes that the child would not remember it. One year ago that day the first glimpse of the shadow so soon to fall upon them had shown itself. What a change! The contrast between last year and this was almost incredible. Then they had been in possession of a good home, were living in prosperity, in apparent security. Now — Jane’s heart turned sick at the thought. Only one short year!
“Yes, Janey dear,” she replied in sadly subdued tones. “I did not forget it. I — —”
A double knock at the door interrupted what she would have further said. They heard Dobbs answer it: visitors were chiefly for Mrs. Reece.
Who should be standing there but Samuel Lynn! He did not choose the familiar back way, as Patience did, had he occasion to call, but knocked at the front.
“Is Jane Halliburton within?”
“You can go and see,” said crusty, disappointed Dobbs, flourishing her hand towards the study door. “It’s not often that she’s out.”
Jane rose at his entrance; but he declined to sit, standing while he delivered the message with which he had been charged.
“Friend, thee need not send thy son to the manufactory again in an evening, except on Saturdays. On the other evenings he may remain at home from tea-time and pursue his studies. His wages will not be lessened.”
And Jane knew that the considerate kindness emanated from Thomas Ashley.
She managed better with her work as the months went on. By summer she could do it quickly; the days were long then, and, by dint of sitting closely to it, she could earn twelve shillings a week. With William’s earnings, and the six shillings taken from Mrs. Reece’s payments, that made twenty-two. It was quite a fortune compared with what had been. But like most good fortunes it had its drawbacks. In the first place, she could not always earn it; she was compelled to steal unwilling time to mend her own and the children’s clothes. In the second place, a large portion of it had to be devoted to buying their clothes, besides other incidental expenses; so that in the matter of housekeeping they were not much better off than before. Still, Jane did begin to think that she should see her way clearer. But there was sorrow of a different nature looming in the distance.
One afternoon, which Jane was obliged to devote to plain sewing, she was sitting alone in the study when there came a hard short thump at it, which was Dobbs’s way of making known her presence there.
“Come in!”
Dobbs came in and sat herself down opposite Jane. It was summer weather, and the August dust blew in at the open window. “I want to know what’s the matter with Janey,” began she, without circumlocution.
“With Janey?” repeated Mrs. Halliburton. “What should be the matter with her? I know of nothing.”
“Of course not,” sarcastically answered Dobbs. “Eyes appear to be given to some folks only to blind ’em — more’s the pity! You can’t see it; my missis can’t see it; but I say that the child is ill.”
“Oh, Dobbs! I think you must be mistaken.”
“Now I’d thank you to be civil, if you please, Mrs. Halliburton,” retorted Dobbs. “You don’t take me for a common servant, I hope. Who’s ‘Dobbs’?”
“I had no wish to be uncivil,” said Jane. “I am so accustomed to hearing Mrs. Reece call you Dobbs, that — —”
“My missis is one case, and other folks is another,” burst forth Dobbs, by way of interruption. “I have a handle to my name, I hope, which is Mrs. Dobbs, and I’d be obleeged to you not to forget it again. Wh
at’s the reason that Janey’s always tired now, I ask — don’t want to stir — gets a bright pink in the cheeks and inside the hands?”
“It is only the effect of the hot weather.”
The opinion did not please Dobbs. “There’s not a earthly thing happens but it’s laid to the weather,” she angrily cried. “The weather, indeed! If Janey is not going off after her pa, it’s an odd thing to me.”
Jane’s heart-pulse stood still.
“Does she have night-perspirations, or does she not?” demanded Dobbs. “She tells me she’s hot and damp; so I conclude it is so.”
“Only from the heat — only from the heat,” panted Jane eagerly. She dared not admit the fear.
“Well, the first time I go down to the town, I shall take her to Parry. It won’t be at your cost,” she hastened to add in ungracious tones, for Jane was about to interrupt. “If she wants to know what she is took to the doctor for, I shall tell her it is to have her teeth looked at. She has a nasty cough upon her: perhaps you haven’t noticed that! Some can’t see a child decaying under their very nose, while strangers can see it palpable.”
“She has coughed since last week, the day of the rain, when she went with Anna Lynn into the field at the back, and they got their feet wet. Oh, I am sure there is nothing seriously the matter with her,” added Jane, resolutely endeavouring to put the suggested fear from her. “I want her in: she must help me with my sewing.”
“Then she’s not a-going to help,” resolutely returned Dobbs. “She has had a good dinner of roast lamb, sparrow-grass and kidney potatoes, and she’s sitting back in my easy chair, opposite to my missis in hers. Her wanting always to rest might have told some folks that she was ailing. When children are in health, their legs and wings and tongue are on the go from morning till night. You never need pervide ’em with a seat but for their meals; and, give ’em their way, they’d eat them standing. Jane’s always wanting to rest now, and she shall rest.”
“But, indeed she must help me to-day,” urged Jane. “She can sew straight seams, and hem. Look at this heap of mending! and it must be finished to-night. I cannot afford to be about it to-morrow.”
“What sewing is it you want done?” questioned Dobbs, lifting up the work with a jerk. “I’ll do it myself sooner than the child shall be bothered.”
“Oh no, thank you. I should not like to trouble you with it.”
“Now, I make the offer to do the work,” crossly responded Dobbs; “and if I didn’t mean to do it, I shouldn’t make it. You’d do well to give it me, if you want it done. Janey shan’t work this afternoon.”
Taking her at her word, and indeed glad to do so, Jane showed Dobbs a task, and Dobbs swung off with it. Jane called after her that she had not taken a needle and cotton. Dobbs retorted that she had needles and cotton of her own, she hoped, and needn’t be beholden to anybody else for ‘em.
Jane sat on, anxious, all the afternoon. Janey remained in Mrs. Reece’s parlour, and revelled in an early tea and pikelets. Jane was disturbed from her thoughts by the boisterous entrance of Frank and Gar; more boisterous than usual. Frank was a most excitable boy, and had been told that evening by the head master of the college school, the Reverend Mr. Keating, that he might be one of the candidates for the vacant place in the choir. This was enough to set Frank off for a week. “You know what a nice voice you say I have, mamma; what a good ear for music!” he reiterated. “As good, you tell us, as Aunt Margaret’s used to be. I shall be sure to gain the post if you will let me try. We have to be at college for an hour morning and afternoon daily, but we can easily get that up if we are industrious. Some of the best Helstonleigh scholars who have shone at Oxford and Cambridge were choristers. And I should have about ten pounds a-year paid to me.”
Ten pounds a-year! Jane listened with a beating heart. It would more than keep him in clothes. She inquired more fully into particulars.
The result was that Frank had permission to try for the vacant choristership, and gained it. His voice was the best of those tried. He went home in a glow. “Now, mamma, the sooner you set about a new surplice for me the better.”
“A new surplice, Frank!” Ah, it was not all profit.
“A chorister must have two surplices, mamma. King’s scholars can do with one, having them washed between the Sundays: choristers can’t. We must have them always in wear, you know, except in Lent, and on the day of King Charles the Martyr.”
Jane smiled; he talked so fast. “What is that you are running on about?”
“Goodness, mamma, don’t you understand? All the six weeks of Lent, and on the 30th of January, the cathedral is hung with black, and the choristers have to wear black cloth surplices. They don’t find the black ones: the college does that.”
Frank’s success in gaining the place did not give universal pleasure to the college school. Since the day of the disturbance in the spring, in which William was mixed up, the two young Halliburtons had been at a discount with the desk at which Cyril Dare sat; and this desk pretty well ruled the school.
“It’s coming to a fine pass!” exclaimed Cyril Dare, when the result of the trial was carried into the school. “Here’s the town clerk’s own son passed over as nobody, and that snob of a Halliburton put in! Somebody ought to have told the dean what snobs they are.”
“What would the dean have cared?” grumbled another, whose young brother had been amongst the rejected ones. “To get good voices in the choir is all he cares for in the matter.”
“I say, where do they live — that set?”
“In a house of Ashley’s, in the London Road,” answered Cyril Dare. “They couldn’t pay the rent, and my father put a bum in.”
“Bosh, Dare!”
“It’s true,” said Cyril Dare. “My father manages Ashley’s rents, you know. They’d have had every stick and stone sold, only Ashley — he is a regular soft over some things — took and gave them time. Oh, they are a horrid lot! They don’t keep a servant!”
The blank astonishment this last item of intelligence caused at the desk, can’t be described. Again Cyril’s word was disputed.
“They don’t, I tell you,” he repeated. “I taxed Halliburton senior with it one day, and he told me to my face they could not afford one. He possesses brass enough to set up a foundry, does that fellow. The eldest one is at Ashley’s manufactory, errand-boy. Errand-boy! And here’s this one promoted to the choir, over gentlemen’s heads! He ought to be pitched into, ought Halliburton senior.”
In the school, Frank was Halliburton senior; Gar, Halliburton junior. “How is it that he says he was at King’s College before he came here? I heard him tell Keating so,” asked a boy.
At this moment Mr. Keating’s voice was heard. “Silence!” Cyril Dare let a minute elapse, and then began again.
“Such a low thing, you know, not to keep servants! We couldn’t do at all without five or six. I’ll tell you what: the school may do as it likes, but our desk shall cut the two fellows here.”
And the desk did so; and Frank and Gar had to put up with many mortifications. There was no help for it. Frank was brave as a young lion; but against some sorts of oppression there is no standing up. More than once was the boy in tears, telling his griefs to his mother. It fell more on Frank than it did on Gar.
Jane could only strive to console him, as she did William. “Patience and forbearance, my darling Frank! You will outlive it in time.”
CHAPTER II.
SHADOWS IN HONEY FAIR.
August was hot in Honey Fair. The women sat at their open doors, or even outside them; the children tumbled in the gutters; the refuse in the road was none the better for the month’s heat.
Charlotte East sat in her kitchen one Tuesday afternoon, busy as usual. Her door was shut, but her window was open. Suddenly the latch was lifted and Mrs. Cross came in: not with the bold, boisterous movements that were common to Honey Fair, but with creeping steps that seemed afraid of their own echoes, and a scared face.
Mrs. Cross
was in trouble. Her two daughters, Amelia and Mary Ann, to whom you have had the honour of an introduction, had purchased those lovely cross-barred sarcenets, green, pink, and lilac, and worn them at the party at the Alhambra: which party went off satisfactorily, leaving nothing behind it but some headaches for the next day, and a trifle of pecuniary embarrassment to Honey Fair in general. What with the finery for the party, and other finery, and what with articles really useful, but which perhaps might have been done without, Honey Fair was pretty deeply in with the Messrs. Bankes. In Mrs. Cross’s family alone, herself and her daughters owed, conjointly, so much to these accommodating tradesmen that it took eight shillings a week to keep them quiet. You can readily understand how this impoverished the weekly housekeeping; and the falsehoods that had to be concocted, by way of keeping the husband, Jacob Cross, in the dark, were something alarming. This was the state of things in many of the homes of Honey Fair.
Mrs. Cross came in with timid steps and a scared face. “Charlotte, lend me five shillings for the love of goodness!” cried she, speaking as if afraid of the sound of her own voice. “I don’t know another soul to ask but you. There ain’t another that would have it to lend, barring Dame Buffle, and she never lends.”
“You owe me twelve shillings already,” answered Charlotte, pausing for a moment in her sewing.
“I know that. I’ll pay you off by degrees, if it’s only a shilling a week. I am a’most drove mad. Bankes’s folks was here yesterday, and me and the girls had only four shillings to give ‘em. I’m getting in arrears frightful, and Bankes’s is as cranky over it as can be. It’s all smooth and fair so long as you’re buying of Bankes’s and paying ‘em; but just get behind, and see what short answers and sour looks you’ll have!”
“But Amelia and Mary Ann took in their work on Saturday and had their money?”
“My patience! I don’t know what us should do if they hadn’t! We have to pay up everywhere. We’re in debt at Buffle’s, in debt to the baker, in debt for shoes; we’re in debt on all sides. And there’s Cross spending three shilling good of his wages at the public-house! It takes what me and the girls earn to pay a bit up here and there, and stop things from coming to Cross’s ears. Half the house is in the pawn-shop, and what’ll become of us I don’t know. I can’t sleep o’ nights, hardly, for thinking on’t.”