Joan Haste - H. Rider Haggard (fiction books to read .TXT) 📗
- Author: H. Rider Haggard
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would like to carve you, because you see you are handsome, though
whether or no you are right-thinking remains to be proved.”
Joan smiled; there was something very quaint about the little lady.
“I hope that Mr. Bird does not want me to sit to him to-night,” she
said, “for, do you know, I am dreadfully tired, and I think that I
will go to bed.”
“No, no; he will only make a beginning to-night, perhaps of two or
three sticks, and afterwards he will study you. You will be much
better for some sleep after your journey—though you have not yet told
me where you came from,” and she shook her straw-coloured head
doubtfully.
Joan made no answer, not feeling inclined to submit herself to
cross-examination at the moment; but, going round the table, she shook
hands with Mr. Bird and with Sally, who had been watching her all the
evening and now put up her face to be kissed in a way that quite won
Joan’s heart.
“That shows that Sally likes you,” said Mrs. Bird, in a gratified
voice; “and if Sally likes you I shall too, for she is never wrong
about people. And now good night, my dear. We breakfast at half-past
seven; but first I read some prayers if you would like to attend them:
I read, and my two ‘babies’ follow in a book. Be sure you put your
light out.”
Joan stumbled upstairs, and, too tired even for thought, was soon in
bed. Beneath her she could hear a clapping and cracking of fingers,
which told her that she was being vigorously discussed by the Bird
family after their own strange fashion; and to this queer lullaby she
went to sleep.
MESSRS. BLACK AND PARKER
Joan slept well that night, and woke to find the sunlight streaming in
at her window. Coming down to the sitting-room at a quarter past
seven, she saw that, early as it was, it had been swept and garnished
and the breakfast laid.
“Good morning, my dear!” said Mrs. Bird: “I am glad to see that you
are an early riser. I suppose it is a habit which you bring with you
from the country. It was not so with the late accountant, who would
never breakfast till nine if he could help it, and on Sundays not till
ten; but I think that an affection of the liver from which he suffered
made him sleepy. And now I am going to have prayers. Maria, come to
prayers.”
Maria shuffled in, obedient, and diving into the back room reappeared
wheeling her master before her, who, as he came, smiled sweetly and
waved his hand in greeting to Joan. Mrs. Bird handed two Bibles to her
husband and her daughter, pointing out the passage which was to be
read with her finger, then she gave them each a manual of prayer.
These preparations finished, she began to read the chapter of the
Bible aloud; and it was curious and touching to see the attention with
which her deaf-and-dumb audience followed the words they could not
hear, glancing from time to time at the motions of her lips to make
sure that they were keeping pace with her. When the reading was
finished, she shut the Bible and knelt down—an example that Mr. Bird
could not follow, for his limbs were paralysed. Sally, however, placed
herself near Joan, making it clear to her by signs that she was to
indicate by pointing each sentence as it passed her mother’s lips.
Prayers being over—and surely family worship was never carried on
under greater difficulties—breakfast followed, and then the business
of the day began. Mr. Bird carved while Mrs. Bird and her daughter
sewed at gowns that they were making. For a time Joan looked on
helplessly; then, wearying of idleness, asked if she could not do
something.
“Can you sew, my dear?” said Mrs. Bird.
“Pretty well,” she answered; “but not like you.”
“That is scarcely wonderful, considering that I have done nothing else
for more than twenty years; but here are some seams to be run up, if
you have nothing better to do.”
Joan took the seams and began to run them; indeed, she “ran” until her
back ached with stooping.
“You are getting tired, my dear,” said Mrs. Bird, “as I expected you
would, not being accustomed to the work,” and she peered at her kindly
through her spectacles. “Now you had better rest awhile and talk. What
part of England do you come from?”
“From the Eastern counties,” answered Joan.
“Dear me! that is strange—quite a coincidence, I declare. I come from
the East coast myself. I was born at Yarmouth, though it is many and
many a year since I have seen a herring boat. You see, my story is a
very simple one. I was an orphan girl, for my dear father was drowned
in an October gale when fishing at sea, and I came to London with a
family as nursemaid. They did not treat me kindly—even now I cannot
say that they did, although I wish to be charitable—for they
discharged me because I was not strong enough to do the work, and if I
had not been taken in out of pity by a widow woman, a dressmaker and
my predecessor in this very house, I do not know what would have
become of me. My husband was her only child, and it was part of my
duty, and indeed of my pleasure, to look after him in his affliction
so far as I was able. Then when his mother died I married him, for I
could not make up my mind to leave him alone, and this of course I
must have done unless I became his wife. So you see, my dear, I took
him on and the business with him, and we have been very happy ever
since—so happy that sometimes I wonder why God is so good to me, who
am full of faults. One sorrow we have had, it is true, though now even
that seems to have become a joy: it was after Sally was born. She was
a beautiful baby, and when for the first time I grew sure that she
would be deaf and dumb also, I cried till I thought my heart would
break, and wished that she might die. Now I see how wicked this was,
and every night I thank Heaven that I was not taken at my word, for
then my heart would have broken indeed.” And the dear little woman’s
eyes filled with tears as, putting her arm round the child’s waist,
she kissed her tenderly.
There was something so beautiful in the scene that Joan almost cried
in sympathy, and even Jim, who seemed to understand everything, for
one moment ceased to smile, and having wiped away a tear from his
round blue eye, stretched out his great arms and swept both the mother
and the daughter into a confused embrace.
“You say that you are full of faults,” said Joan, turning her head
until the three of them had recovered their composure, “but I think
you are an angel.”
“If to tend and care for those whom one loves is to be an angel, I
think that we shall most of us get to heaven,” she answered, shaking
her head; then added, “Oh! you wretched Jim, you have broken my
spectacles—the new ones.”
Jim, watching his wife’s lip and the damaged glasses, looked so
comically distressed that Joan burst out laughing, while Sally, seeing
what was the matter, ran to the back room to fetch another pair.
“And now, my dear,” Mrs. Bird said presently, “you say that you have
come to London to get work, though why you should want work if you
have plenty of money I do not quite understand. What kind of
employment do you wish to take? For my part I cannot think, for, to be
frank with you, my dear, you seem too much of a lady for most things.”
“I thought,” said Joan diffidently, “that I might perhaps get a
situation as one of those girls in shops whom they use to hang cloaks
on for the approval of customers. You see, I am—tall, and I am not
clever enough to teach, so I know nothing else for which I should be
fit.”
Mrs. Bird shook her head. “I dare say that you might come by such
employment, my dear, but I tell you at once that I do not approve of
it. I know something of the wickedness of London, and I think that
this sort of occupation puts too many temptations in the way of a
young lady like you, who are so beautiful, and do not seem to have any
home ties to keep your thoughts from them. We are most of us weak,
remember; and flattery, and promises, and grand presents, all of which
would be offered to you, are very nice things.”
“I am not afraid of such temptations, Mrs. Bird,” Joan answered, with
a sad confidence that at once attracted the quick little woman’s
attention.
“Now, when a person tells me that she is not afraid of a thing,” she
said, glancing at her, “I conclude that she is either totally without
experience and foolhardy, or that, having won the experience and
passed through the fire, she no longer fears a danger which she has
overcome, or–-” and she stopped.
This vein of speculative reflection did not seem to recommend itself
to Joan; at any rate she changed the subject.
“You have twice called me a lady, Mrs. Bird,” she said, “but I must
tell you that I am nothing of the sort. Who my father was I don’t even
know, though I believe him to have been a gentleman, and my mother was
the daughter of a yeoman farmer.”
“Married?” asked Mrs. Bird interrogatively.
Joan shook her head.
“Ah! I understand,” said Mrs. Bird.
“That is partly why I left home,” explained Joan.
“Meaning Bradmouth? Don’t look surprised, my dear. I saw the name on
the clergyman’s testimonial, and also on your box.”
“Yes, Bradmouth. I lived there with an aunt, and everybody looked down
upon me because of my position.”
“That was very wicked of them. But did they begin to look down upon
you all at once, or had you, perhaps, some other reason for coming
away? I suppose your aunt knew that you were coming?”
“No, she did not know. We do not get on together, and I thought it
best not to tell her. Also, she wanted me to marry somebody whom I
dislike.”
“Because there is somebody else whom you do like, I suppose, my dear.
Well, it is no affair of mine. But if you will not think me
impertinent, where then do you get your money from?”
“A gentleman–-”
“A gentleman!” exclaimed Mrs. Bird, dropping her work in horror.
“Oh! no, not that,” said Joan, blushing; “he is a kind of guardian, a
friend of my father’s, I believe. At any rate he has paid for me all
these years, and says that he will allow me five pounds a month;
though I would rather earn my own living if possible.”
“A friend of your father’s? What a strange story! I suppose that he
is not your father, my dear?”
“My father!” said Joan, opening her eyes wide in amazement—“Mr.
Levinger my father! Of course not. Why, if he were, would he have
treated me like a stranger all my life?”
“It is possible,” said Mrs. Bird drily; “I have
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