“It does seem very hard upon them, my dear, to be sure,” replied her companion; “but as to why it is so, I am sure it is impossible for us to guess. It must be partly their own faults of course; but at any rate, my dear, I wish you would not go on, working yourself up so. I can’t bear to see you, Miss Mary, looking vexed and miserable for what you can’t help the least bit in the world. And besides, my dear, I must say, that it is nowise right for a young lady like you to run the risk of getting near very bad people indeed, whose ways I don’t like to talk to you about. I know you can’t abide Sir Matthew Dowling, and I can’t say I ever saw or heard of much to like in him; but for all that, there is not any good that I can see in disbelieving what he told us about these very people. He must know more about them than we can, and it was quite shocking I do assure you, Miss Mary, the things he told me. A great deal too bad to repeat, I promise you.”
Mary burst into tears. “I am very unhappy, Mrs. Tremlett,” said she, “and it is not putting faith in Sir Matthew Dowling that can make me less so. That I may be led to do many things from my great ignorance, which were I better informed I should not do, is very likely; and it is therefore my duty to obtain information upon this tremendous subject as speedily as possible. Would to God, my good friend, that you could give it me! but as you cannot, we will cease to speculate together upon what we neither of us understand. I am sorry that our awful adventure yesterday, prevented my purposed visit to the poor woman in Hoxley-lane. We both agreed, you know, that I could get no harm there; and I have an object in view in making that visit that I am sorry to have delayed. We will go there to-morrow, nurse Tremlett, — and so early in the morning, as to run no risk of meeting any of the fine folks who love to show themselves on the Ashleigh road.”
Mary Brotherton did go early the following morning to Hoxley-lane. But her visit was too late, by exactly twenty-four hours.
CHAPTER XV.
A TETE-A-TETE WALK — LIVELY IF NOT INSTRUCTIVE CONVERSATION — THE RICH VISITING THE POOR — MISPLACED CONFIDENCE — INNOCENT SIN.
THE fashionable and luxurious Sir Matthew Dowling was not usually an early riser, but on the morning of the day which followed Martha’s visit to Hoxley-lane, he almost outdid the lark. His attorney having been sent for from Ashleigh with all speed within an hour after he had received his daughter’s report, all things regarding the procuring indentures had been made easy, and he found himself when he waked in the morning, in every sense ready for action.
Great, and very awful is the power of wealth in a bad man’s hands; for scarcely is there any barrier which the law can raise for the protection of those who have it not, sufficiently strong to save them at all times and seasons, from the aggressions of those who have it. How Mr. Cantabury, the attorney of Sir Matthew Dowling, contrived to to get his part of the business executed so speedily, it would be difficult to say; but certain it is, that considerably before the knight’s usual hour of breakfast on the following morning this active friend and agent, arrived at the lodge with documents, which only wanted the signature of the parties concerned, to render them of sufficient power to bind little Michael during the next eleven years of his life as apprentice to Mr. Elgood Sharpton, for the purpose of learning the business of a stocking-weaver.
The name of Deep Valley, by which Mr. Elgood Sharpton’s factory was universally known, was not mentioned, but instead of this he was described as Elgood Sharpton Esq., of Thistledown House, Derbyshire, a designation most satisfactorily proving his honourable station, and, of course, his high respectability.
Sir Matthew perused the document, smiled, nodded his approval, replaced the red tape with which it had been tied, and lodged it in his coat-pocket, ‘saying kindly to the judicious attorney as he did so, “Cantabury! we must get you made coroner at the next vacancy — or if we miss that, something or other else that may suit you, my good fellow. You deserve to be taken care of, and you shall.”
Mr. Cantabury expressed his gratitude and departed; whereupon Martha was again summoned to the presence of her father.
“What a capital good girl you are, Martha,” said the knight, affectionately patting her cheek, “always up and about before any of the rest are out of their beds — I tell you what, Martha, you and I will have our breakfast comfortably together without waiting for any of them, and then I will walk down with you myself to see Michael’s mother, and settle with her about the little fellow’s destination.”
Proud and happy was Martha made by this invitation, and gaily did she sally forth, when the cheerful meal was ended, for the rare pleasure of a tète-à-tête walk with the great man. Nothing could exceed Sir Matthew’s good humour, he chatted, and joked, and talked of taking them all on a trip to Paris, and in short was hardly silent for a single moment. But amidst all this communicative confidential gossip, he never said a word more concerning the business they were upon.
Once or twice Martha began to say something intended to preface an inquiry as to the local destination of Michael, but some lively sally from her father always turned the conversation into another channel, till at length they entered the gloomy region of Hoxley-lane; after which, neither of them spoke again till Martha said—” This is the house, papa. — But I believe we had better go in the back way. Shall I step in first and say that you are coming?”
“No, no, my dear, there is no occasion to be so ceremonious, we will go in together.”
Martha then lifted the latch, and they did go in together, causing the sick woman to start as if she had seen a spectre. It was nearly three years since Mrs. Armstrong had last found herself in the overpowering presence of Sir Matthew Dowling; and the belief that this visit was for the express purpose of receiving her thanks, increased the embarrassment so startling a condescension was calculated to produce.
Martha saw her colour change from pale to red, and then to pale again, and gently approaching her, said, “Mrs. Armstrong, my father, Sir Matthew Dowling, is come himself to talk with you about little Michael.”
“It is very — condescending, miss,” murmured the poor woman, “ — and I’m very grateful for this, and all favours.”
“Very good, very good,” said the knight, in return — not, however, looking very steadily in her face. “This young lady, who I suppose you know is Miss Martha Dowling, my daughter, paid you a visit yesterday, I believe, and spoke to you, did she not, about your little “Yes, sir,” was the concise reply.
“And you approved, she tells me, of his being put to a good trade.”
“In course, sir, I can’t but approve, and be thankful for his being put in the way to help himself, and his poor crippled brother, too, when am gone — but — I hope no offence, sir, I’d be right glad to know your honour’s pleasure as to the place where he is to be.”
“And that is a little more than I can tell you, my good woman,” replied Sir Matthew, in a friendly familiar tone. “I can tell you where his master that is to be, lives. That,” he continued, drawing the indentures out of his pocket, “that we shall find written down here — But he is one of the first in his line, and a capital trade it is, I promise you, so that he has got work-shops, I believe, in half-a-dozen places. — However, I’ll make it my business to learn whereabouts Michael is to be, and let you know.”
As he said this, Sir Matthew opened the instrument and busied himself in unscrewing the top of his neat little portable ink-bottle.
“Then if it is all the same to you sir,” replied the widow Armstrong, in rather an unsteady voice, “I should like well to know where it would be, before I put my hand to the binding him.”
Martha looked up, more than half afraid that such cautious acceptance of the important service offered, might offend her hot-tempered father; but equally to her surprise and satisfaction she perceived that his countenance instead of expressing any thing of the kind, wore a look of more than usual good-humour, as he replied, beginning at the same time to replace the red tape round the papers. “That shall be just as it pleases you, my good wo
man, we won’t say any thing more about it, just yet.” Then turning to Martha, he said, in a sort of halfwhisper. “I can’t stay now, Martha, we must go, dear, because I expect to find some one waiting for me at home. But we must not deceive the poor dear woman either. She ought to know, Martha that this is a chance I may not have again, God knows when, if ever. Can’t you explain to her, my dear, that this is a sort of thing that by no means happens every day. Sometime ago I had an opportunity of doing this gentleman a good turn about one of his principal hands for whom he was greatly interested — for he is like a father to them all, and he promised then to return it whenever I had any thing of the same sort at heart. So now, I have written to him about this boy, and he has answered me as kind as possible; only he tells me that he has got such quantities of applications from the people round him, that when he has a vacancy among the bound hands, he can’t keep it open, and that he must have yes or no at once. I am afraid, therefore, that we must give it up, my dear.”
This was “soft soder,” as the inimitable Slick calls it; and the poor doubting, trembling, helpless bit of human nature, lying on the bed from whence she knew full well she should never rise, did not listen to it unmoved. She felt, as he intended she should, her heavy responsibility, and looked up into the face of Martha in a manner that very speakingly asked for counsel.
The good girl understood the appeal, and frankly answered it. “You hear what my father says, Mrs. Armstrong,” said she, leaning over the poor invalid.
“Yes, miss, I do,” replied the anxious woman, “and, God help me! — I feel as weak and ignorant as a baby about what I ought to say in return.”
“I don’t know how that can be,” said the innocent Martha a little reproachfully. “You know exactly how the case stands, and must certainly be able to judge what you think it right to do under these circumstances.”
“I hope excuse, miss, if I seem over mothersome and foolish about him,” replied the poor widow in a deprecating tone, “but he’s a precious boy to me, and the binding him, comes upon me unawares like.”
“Well then, there’s nothing more to be said, I think,” said Martha withdrawing herself from the bed. “It seems a matter of feeling, papa, and I don’t think we ought to battle against it, for it is very likely she would be unhappy if we persuaded her, let it turn out as it would.”
Instead of answering, Sir Matthew suddenly wheeled round, and looked out of the window, as if the bit of stony mould extending ten feet deep to the ditch that fenced it, contained something of peculiar interest and curiosity. During this interval, which lasted about a minute, the widow Armstrong again fixed her eyes upon the face of Martha, with an appealing look that seemed to implore assistance from her judgment, while it evidently expressed confidence in her kindness. When Sir Matthew again permitted his countenance to be visible to them, it expressed nothing but indifference; but Martha thought it was such an easy good-natured sort of indifference that there could be no danger in bringing him back to the subject, even though he said as he turned round, “Come, my dear Martha, I cannot stay another moment, I do assure you.” —
“I am quite ready, papa,” she replied; but don’t you think it is almost a pity to let such an opportunity be lost for poor Michael?”
“Certainly it is, my dear,” he replied in the most good-humoured accent imaginable. “But what would you have me do, my dear child? Depend upon it there is no real charity in assisting people against their will, or in a manner in any way contrary to their inclinations. You know perfectly well, that it was my real and sincere wish that this good woman’s child should be well provided for. An opportunity for doing this, better far than I could have hoped for, is now proposed but evidently does not meet her wishes. Unfortunately I must send the answer by to-day’s post, and surely you would not recommend me to accept this situation for the boy, excellent as it is, against his mother’s will?”
“No papa — only it seems to me that Mrs. Armstrong has not quite made up her mind about it; and I thought perhaps that a few minutes’ consideration might enable her to perceive how great a loss it would be to Michael were she to refuse it.”
“Well, Martha!” returned the knight with a sort of jocose sigh, and at the same time seating himself on one of the widow’s treasured rush-bottomed chairs, “I would rather make the person I expect wait at Dowling Lodge for an hour, than either disappoint your kind heart, or hurry this good woman into saying any thing that she does not really mean. What does the little fellow himself say about it?”
“He’s grateful and thankful, sir, for what is offered to him, and willing he is to accept it. ’Tis only my poor weak sick heart that has got no courage left in it. You think, miss, he had better take it?” she added, turning her anxious eyes upon Martha.
For a moment Martha felt a repugnance to the taking upon herself, as it were, the responsibility of the transaction, but an exclamation from her father settled the business at once.
“Poor soul!” said he. “How natural is this weakness! Give her, by your advice, the strength she wants, Martha — it is the most valuable gift you can bestow!”
“Indeed papa is very right, Mrs. Armstrong,” said Martha cheerfully. “Michael will never forgive me if I let you throw away this golden opportunity.”
“And I am sure I should never forgive myself if I threw away for him any thing that you could call so, my dear young lady, — I know-full well all you have done for him, and been to him, and to doubt your judgment, would be a sin indeed. So if you please, miss, I am quite ready to sign.”
Had Sir Matthew Dowling wanted any strengthening of the motives which actuated the deed he was about to perpetrate, he would have found it in this speech. The phrase, “I know what you have been to him,” requiring no very forced interpretation, in order to suggest to him that it was probable she knew what he had been to him also. However, he felt no inclination to disturb the business which was proceeding so satisfactorily, and therefore again smiled very kindly as he said, “I am sure nobody can find fault with your conduct in this business, Mrs. Armstrong. It has been exactly what it ought to be, and the better I think of you, the more anxious I feel to ensure this excellent situation for your boy. But stay a moment, I came down here in such a hurry, that I forgot the necessity of having a witness. Wait here for a moment, Martha, and I dare say I shall find some of Mrs. Armstrong’s neighbours who may not only be able to witness these indentures, but also to give her their opinion upon the advantage of them.”
So saying the knight arose, and walked out of the room; but, before an anxious inquiry from the poor woman about the possibility of writing to her boy could be answered by Martha, he returned again, followed by Parsons and another overlooker from one of his own factories, whom he found accidentally close to the premises.
“Here is a bit of good luck for us, Martha,” said Sir Matthew, as he entered, “I should have been sadly put to it for time, if I had had to run about till I could find a men who knew how to write his name. I have asked two fellows already, but they both said, ‘No.’ — There is one comfort for you, at any rate, Mrs. Armstrong, your boy will never be in such a state of ignorance as that.”
Sir Matthew as he spoke, again untied the paper, and dipping a pen which had been stuck within his coat sleeve into the ink-bottle, he gave both pen and paper into the hands of Martha, saying, “There ear, you will hold it for her better than I shall — only make haste! — I hate to break an appointment.”
Martha received the paper, and without a moment’s delay, laid it before the pale and trembling woman, placing at the same time the pen in her right hand, and indicating with her own finger the place, to which Sir Matthew had pointed, as that where her signature should be.
The poor woman received both submissively; and after a moment’s pause, looked up once more into the face of Martha who was bending over her. A kind and encouraging smile sat upon her plain but expressive features, and without further hesitation, the widow Armstrong signed her name.
“Here Parsons, sign away!” said Sir Matthew gaily, as he withdrew the document from the bed. The ready servant obeyed, and his fellow-driver followed his example, without waiting for any further instructions.
“Now then, Martha, let us be off!” cried the knight, moving towards the door as he pocketed the papers. But stopping suddenly before he opened it he said, “By the way, Parsons, as chance has brought you here, we may as well make use of you about getting a few necessaries for our little stocking-weaver. We must trust to you to get whatever may be wanted. He may take the clothes he has worn at the lodge, for Sundays, but of course they would not be suitable for him to work in.”
“Very well, Sir Matthew, I will see about it,” replied the important overlooker.
“I must have no time lost, if you please,” rejoined his master rather sharply; “for Mr. Elgood Sharpton mentioned in his letter, that he should be having some of his people passing this way who might take charge of him, and I am sure I can’t say when they may happen to call. So go directly into the town, Parsons, and buy whatever you think the boy may want. I dare say this will be very nearly the last expense, Mrs. Armstrong,” he added, “that I shall be put to for him, and I assure you that I shall pay it very willingly.”
With these words he left the room, and Martha pronouncing a short but kind farewell, followed him. Soon after she had overtaken him, and again passed her arm through his, she was startled by a violent burst of laughter, and on looking back, perceived at no great distance behind them, Parsons and his companion, taking their way over a style that led by a short cut to Brookford factory. It was from them the hearty laugh had proceeded.
CHAPTER XVI.
MISS BROTHERTON VISITS THE WIDOW ARMSTRONG, AND LAYS THE FOUNDATION OF A VERY LASTING FRIENDSHIP — SHE THEN CALLS AT DOWLING LODGE, BUT FAILS OF OBTAINING WHAT SHE WENT FOR.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 187