Works of Ellen Wood, page 134
For the town which Mr. Halliburton had been desirous to remove to, the one in which his cousin, Mrs. Dare, resided, was no other than Helstonleigh.
Mrs. Halliburton drew a long face when she set eyes on her husband’s condition. “Edgar! you must be wet through and through!”
“Yes, I am. There was no help for it.”
“You should have come inside when I wanted you to do so,” she cried, in a voice of distress. “You should indeed.”
“And have suffered you to take my place outside? Nonsense, Jane!”
Jane looked at the hotel. “We had better remain here for the night. What do you think?”
“Yes, I think so,” he replied. “It is too wet to go about looking after anything that might be less expensive. Inquire if we can have rooms, Jane, whilst I see after the luggage.”
Mrs. Halliburton went in, leading Janey, and was confronted by the barmaid, a smart young woman in a smart cap. “Can we sleep here to-night?” she inquired.
“Yes, certainly. How many beds?”
“I will go up with you and see,” said Mrs. Halliburton. “Be so kind as not to put us in your more expensive rooms,” she added, in a lower tone.
The barmaid looked at her from top to toe, as it is much in the habit of barmaids to do when such a request is preferred. She saw a lady in a black silk dress, a cashmere shawl, and a plain straw bonnet, trimmed with white. Simple as the attire was, quiet as was the demeanour, there was that about Mrs. Halliburton, in her voice, her accent, her bearing altogether, which proclaimed her the gentlewoman; and the barmaid condescended to be civil.
“I have nothing to do with the rooms,” she said; “I’ll call the chambermaid. My goodness! You had better get those wet things off, sir, unless you want to be laid up with cold.”
The words were uttered in surprise, as her eyes encountered Mr. Halliburton. He looked taller, and thinner, and handsomer than ever; but he had a hollow cough now, and his cheek was hectic, and he was certainly wet through.
The chambermaid allotted them rooms. Mr. Halliburton, after rubbing himself dry with towels, got into a warmed bed, and had warm drink supplied to him. Jane, after unpacking what would be wanted for the night, returned to the sitting-room, to which her children had been shown. A good-natured maid, seeing the boys’ clothes were damp, had lighted a fire, and they were kneeling round it, having been provided with bread and butter and milk. Intelligent, truthful, good-looking boys they were, with clear skins and bright, honest eyes, and open countenances. Janey had fallen asleep on a chair, her flaxen curls making her a pillow on its elbow. The boys crowded to one side of the fireplace when their mother came in, leaving the larger space for her; and William rose and gave her a chair. Mrs. Halliburton sat down, having laid on the table a Book of Common Prayer, which she had brought in her hand.
“Mamma, I hope papa will not be ill!”
“Oh, William, I fear it. Such a terrible wetting! And to be so long in it! How is it that he was so much worse than you are?”
“Because he sat at the end, and the gentleman next him did not hold the umbrella over him at all. When it came on to rain, some of the passengers had umbrellas and some had not, so they were divided for the best. We three had one between us, and we were wedged in between two fat old men, who helped to keep us dry. What a pity there was not a place for papa inside!”
“Yes; or if he would only have taken mine!” cried Mrs. Halliburton. “A wetting would not have hurt me, as it may hurt him. What place did they call that, William, where I got out to ask him to change?”
“Bromsgrove Lickey. Mamma, you have had no tea!”
“I do not care for any,” she sighed. Hers was a hopeful nature; but something within her, this evening, seemed to whisper of trial for the future. She turned to the table, where stood the remains of the children’s meal, cut a piece of bread from the loaf, and slowly spread it with butter. Then she poured out a little milk.
“Dear mamma, do have some tea!” cried William; “that’s nothing but our milk and water.”
She shook her head and took the milk. Tea would only be an additional expense, and she was too completely dispirited to care what she drank.
“I will read now,” she said, taking up the Prayer-book. “And afterwards, I think, you had better say your prayers here, near the fire, as you have been so wet.”
She chose a short psalm, and read it aloud. Then the children knelt down, each at a separate chair, to say their prayers in silence. Not as children’s prayers are sometimes hurried over, knelt they; but with lowly reverence, their heads bowed, their young hearts lifted, never doubting but they were heard by God. They had been trained in a good school.
Did you ever have a sale of old things? Goods and chattels which may have served your purpose and looked well in their places, seem so old when they come to be exhibited that you feel half-ashamed of them? And as to the sum they realise — you will not have much trouble in hoarding it. Had Mr. Halliburton known the small sum that would be the result of his sale; had Jane dreamt that they would go for an “old song,” they had never consented to part with them. Better have been at the cost of carrying them to Helstonleigh. Their bedding, blankets, etc., they did take: and it was well they did so.
I feel almost afraid to tell you how very little money they had in hand when they arrived. All their worldly wealth was little more than a hundred and twenty pounds. Debts had to be paid before leaving London; and it cost money to give up their house without notice, for their landlord was severe.
One hundred and twenty pounds! And with this they had to buy fresh furniture, and to live until teaching came in. A forlorn prospect on which to recommence the world! No wonder that Jane shunned even tea at the inn, or any other expense that might lessen their funds! But hope is buoyant in the human heart: and unless it were so, half the world might lay themselves down to die.
Morning came: a bright, sunny, beautiful morning after the rain. Not, apparently, had Mr. Halliburton suffered. His limbs felt a little stiff, but that would go off before the day closed. Their plans were to take a small house, as cheap a one as they could find, in accordance with — you really must for once excuse the word — gentility. That — a tolerably fair appearance — was necessary to Mr. Halliburton’s success as a teacher.
“A dry, healthy spot, a little way out of the town,” mused the landlord of the “Star,” to whom they communicated their desire. “The London Road would be the place then. And you probably will find there such a house as you require.”
They found their way to the London Road — a healthy suburb of the town; and there discovered a house they thought might suit them: a semi-detached house of good appearance, inclosed by iron railings, and standing a little back from the road. A sitting-room was on either side the entrance, a kitchen at the back. Three bedrooms were above; and above these again was a garret. A small garden was behind the house; and beyond that was a field, which did not belong to them. The adjoining house was similar to this one; but that possessed a large and productive garden. An inmate of that house showed them over this one, dressed as a Quakeress. Her features were plain, but her complexion was fair and delicate, and she had calm blue eyes.
“The rent of the house is thirty-two pounds per annum,” she said, in reply to Mrs. Halliburton’s question. “It belongs to Thomas Ashley; but thee must not apply to him. I will furnish thee with the address of the agent, who has the letting of Friend Ashley’s houses. It is Anthony Dare. You will find the house pleasant and healthy, if you decide upon it,” she added, speaking to both of them.
The latter name had struck upon Mr. Halliburton’s ear. “Jane!” he whispered to his wife, “that must be the Mr. Dare who married my cousin, Julia Cooper. His name was Anthony Dare.”
Mr. Halliburton proceeded alone to the office of Mr. Dare, the gentleman you met at Mr. Cooper’s; Mrs. Halliburton returning to her children at the hotel. They had decided to take the house. Mr. Dare was not at home. “In London, with his wife,” the head clerk said. But the clerk had power to let the house. Mr. Halliburton gave him some particulars with regard to himself, and they were considered satisfactory; but he did not mention that he was related to Mrs. Dare.
The next thing was about furniture. The clerk directed Mr. Halliburton to a warehouse where both new and second-hand things might be obtained, and he proceeded to it, calling in at the “Star” for his wife. She knew a great deal more about furniture than he. They did the best they could, spending about fifty pounds. A Kidderminster carpet was bought for the best sitting-room. The other room, which was to be Mr. Halliburton’s study, and the bedrooms, went for the present without any. “We will buy all those things when we have succeeded a bit,” said Mr. Halliburton.
CHAPTER XII.
ANNA LYNN.
They slept that night again at the “Star,” and the following morning early, they and their furniture took possession together of the house. A busy day they found it, arranging things. Jane — who had determined, as the saying runs, “to put her shoulder to the wheel,” not only on this day, but on future days — did not intend to engage a regular servant. That, like the carpets, might be indulged in as they succeeded; but in the mean time she thought a young girl might be found who would come in for a few hours daily, and do what they wanted done.
In the course of the morning, the fair, pleasant face of the Quakeress was seen approaching the back door from the garden. She wore a lilac print gown, a net kerchief crossed under it on her neck, and the peculiar net cap, with its high caul and neat little border.
“I have stepped in to ask if I can help thee with thy work,” she began. “Thee hast plenty to do, setting things straight, and thy husband does not look strong. I will aid if thee pleasest.”
“You are very kind to be so thoughtful for a stranger,” replied Jane, charmed with the straightforward frankness of the Quakeress. “I hope you will first tell me to whom I am indebted.”
“Thee can call me Patience,” was the ready reply. “I live next door, with Samuel Lynn and his daughter Anna. His wife died soon after the child was born. I was related to Anna Lynn; and when she was departing she sent for me, and begged me not to leave her child, unless Samuel should take unto himself another wife. But that appears to be far from his thoughts. He loves the child much; she is as the apple of his eye.”
“Is Mr. Lynn in business?” asked Jane.
“Not on his own account now. He was a glove manufacturer, as a young man, but he had not a large capital; and when the British ports were opened for the admission of gloves from the French, it ruined him — as it did many others in the city. Only the rich masters could stand that. Numbers went then.”
“Went!” echoed Jane. “Went where?”
“To ruin. Ah! I remember it: though it is a long time ago now. It was, I think, in the year 1825. I cannot describe to thee the distress and destruction it brought upon this city, until then so flourishing. The manufacturers had to close their works, and the men went about the streets starving.”
“Did the distress continue long?”
“For weeks, and months, and years. The town will never be again, in that respect, what it has been. Samuel Lynn was a man of integrity, and he gave up business while he could pay everyone, and accepted the post of manager in the manufactory of Thomas Ashley. Thomas Ashley is one of the first manufacturers in the city, as his father was before him. When thee shall know the place and the people better, thee will find that there is not a name more respected throughout Helstonleigh than that of Thomas Ashley.”
“I suppose he is a rich man?”
“Yes, he is rich,” replied Patience, who was as busy with her hands as she was in talking. “His household is expensive, and he keeps his open and his close carriages; but for all that he must be putting by money. It is not for his riches that Thomas Ashley is respected, but for his high character. There is not a more just man living than Thomas Ashley; there is not a manufacturer in the town who is so considerate and kind to his workmen. His rate of wages is on the highest scale, and he is incapable of oppression. He has a son and daughter. He, the boy, causes him much uneasiness and cost.”
“Is he — not steady?” hastily asked Jane.
“Bless thee, it is not that!” was the laughing answer of Patience. “He is but a young boy yet. When he was fourteen months old, the nurse let him fall from her arms, from the first landing to the hall below. At first they thought he was not hurt: Margaret Ashley herself thought it; the doctors thought it. But in a little time injury grew apparent. It lay in one of the hips; he is often in great pain, and will be lame for life. Abscess after abscess forms in the hip. They take him to the sea-side; to doctors in London; but nothing cures him. A beautiful boy as you ever saw; but his hurt renders him peevish. He is fond of books; and David Byrne, who is a Latin and Greek scholar, goes daily to instruct him; but the boy is thrown back by his fits of illness. It is a great grief to Thomas and Margaret Ashley. They —— Why, Anna, is it thee? What dost thou do here?”
Mrs. Halliburton turned from the kitchen cupboard, where she and Patience were arranging crockery, to behold a little girl who was no doubt Anna Lynn. Dark blue eyes were deeply set beneath their long lashes, which lay on a damask and dimpled cheek; her pretty teeth shone like pearls between her smiling lips, and her chestnut hair fell in a mass of careless curls upon her neck. Never, Mrs. Halliburton thought, had she seen a face so lovely. Jane was a pretty child; but Jane faded into nothing in comparison with the vision standing there.
“Thee has thy cap off again, Anna!” cried the Quakeress, with some asperity of tone. “Art thee not ashamed to be so bold? — going about with thy head uncovered!”
“The cap came off, Patience,” gently responded Anna. She had a sweetly timid manner; a modest expression.
“Thee need not tell me what is untrue. When the cap is tied on, it will not come off, unless purposely removed. Go home and put it on. Thee may come back again. Perhaps Friend Halliburton will permit thee to stay awhile with her children, who are arranging their books in the study. Is thy French lesson learnt?”
“Not quite,” replied Anna, running away.
She returned with a pretty little white net cap on, the model of that worn by Patience. Her luxuriant curls were pushed under it, and the crimped border rested on the fair forehead.
“Nay, there is no call to put all thy hair out of sight, child,” said Patience. “Where are thy combs.”
“In my hair, Patience.”
Patience took off the cap, formed two flat curls, by means of the combs, on either side the temples, put the cap on again, and tucked the rest of the hair smoothly under it. Mrs. Halliburton then took Anna’s hand, and led her to her own children.
“What a pity it is to hide her hair!” she said afterwards to Patience.
“Dost thee think so? It is the custom with our people. Anna’s hair is fine, and of a curly nature. Brush it as I will, it curls; and she has acquired a habit of taking her cap off when I am not watching. Her father, I grieve to say, will let her sit by the hour together, her hair down, as thee saw it now, and her cap anywhere. I believe he thinks nothing she does is wrong. I talk to him much.”
“I never saw a more beautiful child!” said Jane, warmly.
“I grant thee that she is fair; but she is eleven years old now, and her vanity should be checked. She is sometimes invited to the Ashleys’, where she sees the mode in which Mary Ashley is dressed, according to the fashion of the world, and it sets her longing. Samuel Lynn will not listen to me. He is pleased that his child should be received there as Mary Ashley’s equal; he cannot forget the time when he was in a good position himself.”
“Who teaches Anna?”
“She attends a small school for Friends, kept by Ruth Darby. It is the holidays now. Her father educates her well. She learns French and drawing, and other branches of study suitable for girls. Take care! let me help thee with that heavy table.”
Presently they went to see how things were getting on in the study. Jane could not keep her eyes from the face of that lovely child. It partly hindered her work, which there was little need of on that busy day; a day so busy that they were all glad when it was over, and they were at liberty to retire to rest.
Rarely had Jane witnessed so beautiful a view as that which met her sight the following morning, when she drew up her blind. The previous day had been hazy — nothing was to be seen; now the atmosphere had cleared. The great extent of scenery spread around, the green fields, the growing corn, the sparkling rivulets, the woods with their darker and their brighter trees, the undulating slopes — all were charming. But beyond all, and far more charming, bounding the landscape in the distant horizon, stretched the long chain of the far-famed Malvern Hills. As the sun cast upon them its light and shade, their outline so clearly depicted against the sky, and their white villas peeping out from the trees at their base — Jane felt that she could have gazed for ever. A wondrous picture is that of Malvern, as seen from Helstonleigh in the freshness of the early morning.
“Edgar!” she impulsively exclaimed, turning to the bed — for Mr. Halliburton had not risen— “you never saw anything more beautiful than the view from this window. I am sure half the Londoners never dreamt of anything like it.”
There was no reply. “Perhaps he may be still asleep,” she thought. But upon approaching the bed, she saw that his eyes were open.
“Jane,” he gasped, “I am ill.”
“Ill!” she repeated, a spasm darting through her heart.
“Every limb is paining me. My head aches, and I am burning with fever. I have felt it coming on all night.”
