Chapter 35
"That he is: side by side with Brumm. A nice pair of 'em! Charlotte East, take my advice; don't you have anything to say to Thorneycroft. A woman had better climb up to the top of her topmost chimbley and pitch herself off, head foremost, than marry a man given to drink."
Charlotte East felt vexed at the allusion--vexed that her name should be coupled openly with that of Adam Thorneycroft by the busy tongues of Honey Fair. That an attachment existed between herself and Adam Thorneycroft was true; but she did not wish the fact to become too apparent to others. Latterly she had been schooling her heart to forget him, for he was taking to frequent public-houses.
Mrs. Brumm went home, and was soon followed by her husband. He was not much the worse for what he had taken: he was a little. Mrs. Brumm reproached him with it, and a wordy war ensued.
They arose peaceably in the morning. Andrew was a civil, well-conducted man, and but for Horned Rams would have been a pattern to three parts of Honey Fair. He liked to be dressed well on Sunday and to attend the cathedral with his two children: he was very fond of listening to the chanting Mrs. Brumm--as was the custom generally with the wives of Honey Fair--stayed at home to cook the dinner. Andrew was accustomed to do many odd jobs on the Sunday morning, to save his wife trouble. He cleaned the boots and shoes, brushed his clothes, filled the coal-box, and made himself useful in sundry other ways. All this done, they sat down to breakfast with the two children, the unfortunate Jacky less black than he had been the previous night.
"Now, Jacky," said Brumm, when the meal was over, "get yourself ready; it has gone ten. Polly too."
"It's a'most too cold for Polly this morning," said Mrs. Brumm.
"Not a bit on't. The walk'll do her good, and give her an appet.i.te for dinner. What is for dinner, Bell? I asked you before, but you didn't answer."
"It ain't much thanks to you as there's anything," retorted Mrs. Brumm, who rejoiced in the aristocratic name of Arabella. "You plant yourself again at the Horned Ram, and see if I worries myself to come after you for money. I'll starve on the Sunday first."
"I can't think what goes of your money," returned Andrew. "There had not used to be this fuss if I stopped out for half an hour on the Sat.u.r.day night, with my wages in my pocket. Where does yours go to?"
"It goes in necessaries," shortly answered Mrs. Brumm. But not caring for reasons of her own to pursue this particular topic, she turned to that of the dinner. "I have half a shoulder of mutton, and I'm going to take it to the bake'us with a batter pudden under it, and to boil the taters at home."
"That's capital!" returned Andrew, gently rubbing his hands. "There's nothing nicer than baked mutton and a batter pudden. Jacky, brush your hair well: it's as rough as bristles."
"I had to use a handful of soda to get the dye out," said Mrs. Brumm.
"Soda's awful stuff for making the hair rough."
Andrew slipped out to the Honey Fair barber, who did an extensive business on Sunday morning, to be shaved. When he returned he went up to wash and dress, and finally uncovered a deal box where he was accustomed to find his clean s.h.i.+rt. With all Mrs. Brumm's faults she had neat ways.
The s.h.i.+rt was not there.
"Bell, where's my clean s.h.i.+rt?" he called out from the top of the stairs.
Mrs. Bell Brumm had been listening for the words and received them with satisfaction. She nodded, winked, and went through a little pantomime of ecstasy, to the intense delight of the children, who were in the secret, and nodded and winked with her. "Clean s.h.i.+rt?" she called back again, as if not understanding.
"My Sunday s.h.i.+rt ain't here."
"You haven't got no Sunday s.h.i.+rt to-day."
Andrew Brumm descended the stairs in consternation. "No Sunday s.h.i.+rt!"
he repeated.
"No s.h.i.+rt, nor no collar, nor no handkercher," coolly affirmed Mrs.
Brumm. "There ain't none ironed. They be all in the wet and the rough, wrapped up in an old
Brumm stared considerably. "Why, what's the meaning of that?"
"The irons are in p.a.w.n," shortly answered Mrs. Brumm. "You know you never came home with the money, so I couldn't get 'em out."
Another wordy war. Andrew protested she had no "call" to put the irons in any such place. She impudently retorted that she should put the house in if she liked.
A hundred such little episodes could be related of the domestic life of Honey Fair.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE MESSRS. BANKES.
On the Monday morning, a troop of the gloveress girls flocked into Charlotte East's. They were taking holiday, as was usual with them on Mondays. Charlotte was a favourite. It is true, she "bothered" them, as they called it, with good advice, but they liked her in spite of it.
Charlotte's kitchen was always tidy and peaceful, with a bright fire burning in it: other kitchens would be full of bustle and dirt.
Charlotte never let them hinder her; she worked away at her gloves all the time. Charlotte was a glove-maker; that is, she sewed the fingers together, and put in the thumbs, forgits, and quirks. Look at your own gloves, English made. The long strips running up inside the fingers are the forgits; and the little pieces between, where the fingers open, are the quirks. The gloves Charlotte was occupied with now were of a very dark green colour, almost black, called corbeau in the trade, and they were sewn with white silk. Charlotte's st.i.tches were as beautifully regular as though she had used a patent machine. The white silk and the fellow glove to the one she was making, lay inside a clean white handkerchief doubled upon her lap; other gloves, equally well covered, were in a basket at her side.
The girls had come in noisily, with flushed cheeks and eager eyes.
Charlotte saw that something was exciting them. They liked to tell her of their little difficulties and pleasures. Betsy Carter had informed her mother that there was going to be a "party at the Alhambra tea-gardens," if you remember; and this was the point of interest to-day. These "Alhambra tea-gardens," however formidable and perhaps suggestive the name, were very innocent in reality. They belonged to a quiet roadside inn, half a mile from the town, and comprised a large garden and extensive lawn. The view from them was beautiful; and many a party from Helstonleigh, far higher in the scale of society than these girls, would go there in summer to take tea and enjoy the view. A young, tall, handsome girl of eighteen had drawn her chair close to Charlotte's. She was the half-sister of Mark Mason, and had her home with him and his wife; supporting herself after a fas.h.i.+on by her work.
But she was always in debt to them, and she and Mrs. Mark did not get along well together. She wore a new shawl, and straw bonnet trimmed with blue ribbons: and her dark hair fell in glossy ringlets--as was the fas.h.i.+on then. Two other girls perched themselves on a table. They were sisters--Amelia and Mary Ann Cross; others placed themselves where they could. Somewhat light were they in manner, these girls; free in speech.
Nothing farther. If an unhappy girl did, by mischance, turn out badly, or, as the expressive phrase had it, "went wrong," she was forthwith shunned, and shunned for ever. Whatever may have been the faults and failings prevailing in Honey Fair, this sort of wrong-doing was not common amongst them.
"Why, Caroline, that is new!" exclaimed Charlotte East, alluding to the shawl.
Caroline Mason laughed. "Is it not a beauty?" cried she. And it may be remarked that in speech and accent she was superior to some of the girls.
Charlotte took a corner of it in her hand. "It must have cost a pound at least," she said. "Is it paid for?"
Again Caroline laughed. "Never you mind whether it's paid for or not, Charlotte. You won't be called upon for the money for it. As I told my sister-in-law yesterday."
"You did not want it, Caroline; and I am quite sure you could not afford it. Your winter cloak was good yet. It is so bad a plan, getting goods on credit. I wish those Bankeses had never come near the place!"
"Don't you run down Bankes's, Charlotte East," interposed Eliza Tyrrett, a very plain girl, with an ill-natured expression of face. "We should never get along at all if it wasn't for Bankes's."
"You would get along all the better," returned Charlotte. "How much are they going to charge you for this shawl, Caroline?"
Caroline and Eliza Tyrrett exchanged peculiar glances. There appeared to be some secret between them, connected with the shawl. "Oh, a pound or so," replied Caroline. "What was it, Eliza?"
Eliza Tyrrett burst into a loud laugh, and Caroline echoed it. Charlotte East did not press for the answer. But she did press the matter against dealing with Bankes's; as she had pressed it many a time before.
A twelvemonth ago, some strangers had opened a linen-draper's shop in a back street of Helstonleigh; brothers of the name of Bankes. They professed to do business upon credit, and to wait upon people at their own homes, after the fas.h.i.+on of hawkers. Every Monday would one of them appear in Honey Fair, a great pack of goods on his back, which would be opened for inspection at each house. Caps, shawls, gown-pieces, calico, flannel, and finery, would be displayed in all their fascinations. Now, you who are reading this, only reflect on the temptation! The women of Honey Fair went into debt; and it was three parts the work of their lives to keep the finery, and the system, from the knowledge of their husbands.
"Pay us so much weekly," Bankes's would say. And the women did so: it seemed like getting a gown for nothing. But Bankes's were found to be strict in collecting the instalments; and how these weekly payments told upon the wages, I will leave you to judge. Some would have many s.h.i.+llings to pay weekly. Charlotte East and a few more prudent ones spoke against this system; but they made no impression. The temptation was too great. Charlotte a.s.sumed that this was how Caroline Mason's shawl had been obtained. In that, however, she was mistaken.
"Charlotte, we are going down to Bankes's. There'll be a better choice in his shop than in his pack. You have heard of the party at the Alhambra. Well, it is to be next Monday, and we want to ask you what we shall wear. What would you advise us to get for it?"
"Get nothing," replied Charlotte. "Don't go to Bankes's, and don't go to the Alhambra."
The whole a.s.sembly sat in wonder, with open eyes. "Not go to the party!"
echoed pert Amelia Cross. "What next, Charlotte East?"
"I told you what it would be, if you came into Charlotte East's," said Eliza Tyrrett, a sneer on her countenance.
"I am not against proper amus.e.m.e.nt, though I don't much care for it myself," said Charlotte. "But when you speak of going to a party at the Alhambra, somehow it does not sound respectable."