The Honorable Miss: A Story of an Old-Fashioned Town by L. T. Meade (online e reader .TXT) 📗
- Author: L. T. Meade
Book online «The Honorable Miss: A Story of an Old-Fashioned Town by L. T. Meade (online e reader .TXT) 📗». Author L. T. Meade
"Lor, ma, I really do think you are indelicate, when the man hasn't even proposed!" exclaimed Alice. "There's Matty, she's off giggling again. I do believe she'll soon laugh day and night without stopping."
"Are we to have Mrs. Middlemass up or not, mother?" exclaimed Sophy.
"Yes, child, yes. Bring her up by all means. We'll contrive to make some sort of a bargain with her."
Sophy disappeared, and a moment or two later she ushered Mrs. Middlemass into the bedroom where the above conversation had taken place.
The pedler was a very stout person, with a red face, and the bundle which she carried in front of her and propelled first into the room, was of enormous dimensions.
"Good-day, Mrs. Bell," she said. "Good-day, young ladies. And what may I have the pleasure of serving you with to-day, Mrs. Bell? I've got some elegant goods with me, just the style for your beautiful young ladies."
With this speech, which was uttered with great gravity, Mrs. Middlemass proceeded to open her bundle, and to exhibit the worst muslin, cashmere, French merino, and other fabrics, which she offered for the highest price.
"There," she said, "there's a cashmere for you! Feel it between your finger and thumb, Mrs. Bell, mum, there's substance, there's quality. It would make up lovely. Shall I cut a length a-piece for the three young ladies, ma'am?"
"No, no," said Mrs. Bell, "that cashmere is dark and heavy, and coarse, too. I don't expect it's all-wool. It's shoddy, that's what it is."
"Shoddy, ma'am! That a lady whom I've served faithful for years should accuse me of selling shoddy! No, Mrs. Bell, may Heaven forgive you for trying to run down a poor widow's goods. This is as pure all-wool cashmere as is to be found in the market, and dirt cheap at three and elevenpence a-yard. Have a length for yourself, ma'am; it would stylish you up wonderful."
"No," said Mrs. Bell, "I don't want a dress to-day, and that cashmere isn't worth more than one and six. What we are wishing for—though I don't know that we really want anything—do we, girls? But what we might buy, if you had it very cheap, is a bit of something light and airy that would make up very elegantly for the evening. Do you care to have another evening-dress, Matty? I know you have a good few in your wardrobe."
"I don't know," said Matty, "until I see what Mrs. Middlemass has. I don't want anything common. I can get common things at Perry's; and perhaps I had better send for my best dress to London, ma."
This remark of giggling Miss Matty's was really astute for she knew that Mrs. Middlemass held Perry, the draper, in the most sovereign contempt.
"Right you are, my dear," said the pedler, a smile of gratified vanity spreading over her face, "you can get your common things, and very common things they'll be, at Perry's. But maybe old Auntie Middlemass can give you something as genteel as the London shops. You look here, my pretty. Now, then."
Here Mrs. Middlemass went on her knees, and with slow and exasperating deliberation, unfastened a parcel carefully done up in white muslin. From the depths of this parcel she extracted a very thin and crackling silk of a shade between brick and terra-cotta, which was further shot here and there with little threads of pale blue and yellow. This texture she held up in many lights, not praising it by any words, for she guessed well the effect it would have on her company. She knew the Bells of old: they were proof against anything that wasn't silk, but at the glitter and sheen of real silk they gave way. They instantly, one and all, fell down and worshipped it.
"It is pretty," said Matty at last, with a little sigh, and she turned away as one who must not any longer contemplate so dazzling a temptation.
Mrs. Bell's heart quite ached for her eldest-born at this critical juncture. It was so natural for her to wish for silk attire when the hero was absolutely at the gates. And such a hero! So tall, so handsome, such an Adonis—so aristocratic! But, alas! silk could not be had for nothing. It would be an insult to offer Bell's old coat and the two pairs of trousers gone at the knees for this exquisite substance.
"Sixteen yards," solemnly pronounced Mrs. Middlemass, when the silence had been sufficiently long. "Sixteen yards for three pound ten. There! it's a present I'm making to you, Miss Matty."
"I like it very much," said Matty.
"Like it! I should think you do. It was the fellow of it I sold this morning to Lady Georgiana Higginbotham, of Castle Higgins. She who is to be married next month. 'Middlemass,' she said, when she saw it, 'I'm in love with it. It has a sheen about it, and a quality. Cut me twenty yards, Middlemass; I do declare I'll wear it for my travelling dress, and no other.' She'll do it, too, Miss Matty, you'll see. And beautiful she'll look."
The three girls sighed. They sighed in unison. As there was a lover in the question, the two younger were willing that Matty should have a new frock. But a silk! Each girl wanted the silk for herself.
"It is exquisite," said Matty.
"Exquisite," repeated Alice.
"Quisite," said Sophy.
"I'll put it away for you, miss," said the pedler, beginning to pack up her other things. "There, take it, miss," she said, flinging a long sweep of the glittering texture over Matty's arm. "Now, it does become you, my dear. Doesn't it, ma'am?" turning to the mother. "Well, now, I never noticed it before, but Miss Matty has a great look of Lady Georgiana. Remarkable likeness! You wouldn't be known from her, miss when you had that dress on. Their eyes! the complexion! the figure! all ditto, ditto, ditto."
The girls smiled; but what amount of flattery will not one accept when judiciously offered? They were all pleased to hear Mrs. Middlemass compare one of their number to Lady Georgiana, although they knew perfectly that the pedler had never in the whole course of her life even spoken to that young lady, who was a head and shoulders taller than Matty, and as unlike her in all particulars as a girl could be.
"There!" said the pedler. "Three pound ten! Dirt-cheap. Going, you may say, for nothing, and because it's the last piece I have of it. Lady Georgiana paid me seven pounds for the length I cut her this morning. I'd like to see you in this dress, Miss Matty, and, maybe, if all reports is true, you'll want me to sell you something different, and more—more—well, more, perhaps, bridal-like, by-and-bye, my pretty young lady."
This last speech finished the fate of the silk. If rumor had reached down to the strata of pedlers, etc., it simply could not be disregarded. Mrs. Bell bargained and haggled for the best part of an hour. She stripped herself of many necessary garments, and even ransacked her very meagre little collection of jewelry. Finally the purchase was completed with the sale of the ring which Bell had given her on the day when he had gone down on his knees for the third and successful time. That ring, of a showy style, but made of real gold and real gems, was beloved by Mrs. Bell above all her worldly goods. Nevertheless, she parted with it to make up the necessary price for the shot silk; for, what will not a mother do for her child?
CHAPTER XII. NINA, YOU ARE SO PERSISTENT.
"I wish you wouldn't worry me so, miss."
"Well, answer my question. Has Mr. Hart come back?"
"Yes—no—I'm sure I can't say. Maybe he's in his room, maybe he's not. You do look dirty, miss, and tired—my word, awful tired. Now, where have you been, Miss Josephine, since early yesterday morning? After no good, I'll be bound. Oh, dear me, yes, after no good! You're a wild one, and you're a daring one; and you'll come to a bad end, for all your eyes are so bright, if you don't mind."
Josephine's queer, restless eyes flashed with an angry gleam.
"Do you know what this is?" she said, doubling up her small hand, and thrusting the hard-looking fist within an inch or two of her irate landlady's nose. "I knocked a man down before now with this, and I have no respect for women. You'd better not anger me, Mrs. Timms."
"Oh, dear no, miss, I'm sure I meant no disrespect!"
"That's right. Don't say what you don't mean in future."
"I won't, Miss Josephine. Now I come to think of it, I expect Hart was at home; I heard him shuffling about overhead last night."
"I'll go up and see," said Josephine.
She nodded to Mrs. Timms, and walked slowly, as though she were dead tired, and every step was an effort to her, up the stairs. They were rickety stairs, very dirty and dark, and unkept. Josephine went on and on, until her upward ascent ended under a sloping attic roof. Here she knocked at a closed door.
"Come in," said a voice.
She entered a long, low room, which did service as a sitting-room, kitchen and studio, all combined. A little, old man with a long, white beard and a bald head was bending over a stove, frying eggs.
"Is that you, Nina?" he said, without looking round. "If it is, you may as well fry these eggs while I lay the cloth for supper."
"No, you can finish them yourself," replied Josephine. "I'm dead tired. I'd rather eat no supper than cook it."
She flung herself into a long, low wicker-work chair, folded her hands and closed her eyes. The old man turned the tail of one eye to glance at her. Then he resumed his cooking, attending to it very carefully, removing each egg, as it was browned, to a hot and clean dish which stood in readiness.
"There," he said, at last, "supper's ready. Here's the vinegar, here's the pepper, here's the salt, here's the pewter jug with the beer, here's the bread and butter, and last, but not least, here's your tea, Josephine. You're nowhere without your tea, are you, child?"
"Pour it out for me," said Josephine. "Put an egg on a plate and give it to me. I'll be better when I've eaten. I can't talk until I have eaten. I was taken this way last night—I'll be better presently."
The old man gave her a long, curious glance; then he fetched a tray, piled it with refreshments, and brought it to her side. She ate and drank ravenously. The food acted on her like magic; she sat upright—her eyes sparkled, her pallor left her, and the slight shade of petulance and ill-humor which had characterized her when she entered the room gave place to a sunshiny and radiant smile.
"Well, Daddy," she said, getting up, going to the old man and giving him a kiss. "So you have come back at last. I was pretty sick of being a whole fortnight by myself, with no one but that interesting Mrs. Timms for company. You never wrote to me, and however careful I was, that five shillings wouldn't go far. What did you do in London? And why didn't you write?"
"One question at a time, Nina. Don't strangle me, child. Sit down quietly, and I'll tell you my news. I'm a good grandfather to you, Josephine. I'm a very good and faithful grandfather to you."
"So you tell me every day of my life. I'll retort back now—I'm a good grandchild to you—the best in the world."
"Bless me, what have you ever done, chit, but eat my bread and drink my water? However, I have news at last. Now, how eager you look! You would like to be a fine lady and forget your old granddad."
"I'd like to be a fine lady, certainly," responded Josephine.
She said nothing further, but sitting still, with her small hands crossed in her lap, she absolutely devoured the old man's face with her eyes.
He was accustomed to her gaze, which glittered and shone, and never wavered, and was by some people thought uncanny. He finished his supper slowly and methodically, and until
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