Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles Part 40

THE FORGOTTEN LETTER.

It was the last day of March, and five o'clock in the afternoon. The great bell had rung in Mr. Ashley's manufactory, the signal for the men to go to their tea. Scuffling feet echoed to it from all parts, and clattered down the stairs on their way out. The ground floor was not used for the indoor purposes of the manufactory, the business being carried on in the first and second floors. The first flight of stairs opened into what was called the serving-room, a very large apartment; through this, on the right, branched off Mr. Ashley's room and Samuel Lynn's. On the left, various pa.s.sages led to other rooms, and the upper flight of stairs was opposite to the entrance-stairs. The serving-counter, running completely across the room, formed a barrier between the serving-room and the entrance staircase.

The men flocked into the serving-room, pa.s.sed it, and rattled down the stairs. Samuel Lynn was changing his coat to follow, and William Halliburton was waiting for him, his cap on, for he walked to and fro with the Quaker, when Mr. Ashley's voice was heard from his room: the counting-house, as it was frequently called.

"William!" It was usual to distinguish the boys by their Christian name only; the men by both their Christian and surnames. Samuel Lynn was "Mr.

Lynn."

"Did thee not hear the master calling to thee?"

William had certainly heard Mr. Ashley's voice; but it was so unusual to be called by it, that he had paid no attention. He had very little communication with Mr. Ashley; in the three or four weeks he had now been at the manufactory Mr. Ashley had not spoken to him a dozen words.

He hastened into the counting-house, taking off his cap in the presence of Mr. Ashley.

"Have the men gone to tea?" inquired Mr. Ashley, who was sealing a letter.

"Yes, sir," replied William.

"Is George Dance gone?" George Dance was an apprentice, and it was his business to take the letters to the post.

"They are all gone, sir, except Mr. Lynn; and James Meeking, who is waiting to lock up."

"Do you know the post-office?"

"Oh, yes, sir. It is in West Street, at the other end of the town."

"Take this letter, and put it carefully in."

William received the letter from Mr. Ashley, and dropped it into his jacket pocket. It was addressed to Bristol; the London mail-bags were already made up. Mr. Ashley put on his hat and departed, followed by Samuel Lynn and William. James Meeking locked up, as it was his invariable business to do, and carried the keys into his own house. He inhabited part of the ground floor of the premises.

"Are thee not coming home with me this evening?" inquired Samuel Lynn of William, who was turning off the opposite way.

"No; the master has given me a letter to post. I have also an errand to do for my mother."

It happened (things do happen in a curious sort of way in this world) that Mrs. Halliburton had desired William to bring her in some candles and soap at tea-time, and to purchase them at Lockett's shop. Lockett's shop was rather far off; there were others nearer; but Lockett's goods were of the best quality, and his extensive trade enabled him to sell a halfpenny a pound cheaper. A halfpenny was a halfpenny with Jane then.

William went on his way, walking fast.

As he was pa.s.sing the cathedral, he came into contact with the college boys, then just let out of school. It was the first day that Gar had joined; he had received his appointment, according to promise. Very thankful was Jane; in spite of the drawback of having to provide them with linen surplices. William halted to see if he could discern Gar amidst the throng: it was not unnatural that he should look for him.

One of the boys caught sight of William standing there. It was Cyril Dare, the third son of Mr. Dare, a boy older and considerably bigger than William.

"If there's not another of that Halliburton lot posted there!" cried he, to a knot of those around. "Perhaps he will be coming amongst us next--because we have not enough with the two! Look at the fellow, staring at us! He is a common errand-boy at Ashley's."

Frank Halliburton, who, little as he was, wanted neither for spirit nor pluck, heard the words and confronted Cyril Dare. "That is my brother,"

said he. "What have you to say against him?"

Cyril Dare cast a glance of scorn on Frank, regarding him from top to toe. "You audacious young puppy! I say he is a sn.o.b. There!"

"Then I say he is not," retorted Frank. "You are one yourself, for saying it."

Cyril Dare, big enough to have crushed Frank to death, speedily had him on the ground, and treated him not very mercifully when there. William, a witness to this, but not understanding it, pushed his way through the crowd to protect Frank. All he saw was that Frank was down, and two big boys were kicking him.

"Let him alone!" cried he. "How can you be so cowardly as to attack a little fellow? And two of you! Shame!"

Now, if there was one earthly thing that the college boys would not brook, it was being interfered with by a stranger. William suffered.

Frank's treatment had been nothing to what he had to submit to. He was knocked down, trampled on, kicked, buffeted, abused; Cyril Dare being the chief and primary aggressor. At that moment the under-master came in view, and the boys made off--all except Cyril Dare.

Reined in against the wall, at a few yards' distance, was a lad on a pony. He had delicately expressive features, large soft brown eyes, a complexion too bright for health, and wavy dark hair. The face was beautiful; but two upright lines were indented in the white forehead, as if worn there by pain, and the one ungloved hand was white and thin. He was as old as William within a year; but, slight and fragile, would be taken to be much younger. Seeing and hearing--though not very clearly--what had pa.s.sed, he touched his pony, and rode up to Cyril Dare. The latter was beginning to walk away leisurely, in the wake of his companions; the upper boys were rather fond of ignoring the presence of the under-master. Cyril turned at hearing himself called.

"What! Is it you, Henry Ashley? Where did you spring from?"

"Cyril Dare," was the answer, "you are a wretched coward."

Cyril Dare was feeling anger yet, and the words did not lessen it. "Of course _you_ can say so!" he cried. "You know that you can say what you like with impunity. One can't chastise a cripple like you."

The brilliant, painful colour flushed into the face of Henry Ashley. To allude openly to infirmity such as this is as iron entering into the soul. Upon a sensitive, timid, refined nature (and those suffering from this sort of affliction are nearly sure to possess that nature), it falls with a bitterness that can neither be conceived by others nor spoken of by themselves. Henry Ashley braved it out.

"A coward, and a double coward!" he repeated, looking Cyril Dare full in the face, whilst the transparent flush grew hotter on his own. "You struck a young boy down, and then kicked him; and for nothing but that he stood up like a trump at your abuse of his brother."

"You couldn't hear," returned Cyril Dare roughly.

"I heard enough. I say that you are a coward."

"Chut! They are sn.o.bs out-and-out."

"I don't care if they are chimney-sweeps. It does not make you less a coward. And you'll be one as long as you live. If I had my strength, I'd serve you out as you served them out."

"Ah, but you have not your strength, you know!" mocked Cyril. "And as you seem to be going into one of your heroic fits, I shall make a start, for I have no time to waste on them."

He tore away. Henry Ashley turned his pony and addressed William. Both boys had spoken rapidly, so that scarcely a minute had pa.s.sed, and William had only just risen from the ground. He leaned against the wall, giddy, as he wiped the blood from his face. "Are you much hurt?" asked Henry, kindly, his large dark eyes full of sympathy.

"No, thank you; it is nothing," replied William. "He is a great coward, though, whoever he is."

"It is Cyril Dare," called out Frank.

"Yes, it is Cyril Dare," continued Henry Ashley. "I have been telling him what a coward he is. I am ashamed of him: he is my cousin, in a remote degree. I am glad you are not hurt."

Henry Ashley rode away towards his home. Frank followed in the same direction; as did Gar, who now came in view. William proceeded up the town. He was a little hurt, although he had disowned it to Henry Ashley.

His head felt light, his arms ached; perhaps the sensation of giddiness was as much from the want of food as anything. He purchased what was required for his mother; and then made the best of his way home again.

Mr. Ashley's letter had gone clean out of his head.

Frank, in the manner usual with boys, carried home so exaggerated a story of William's damages, that Jane expected to see him arrive half-killed. Samuel Lynn heard of it, and said William might stop at home that evening. It has never been mentioned that his hours were from six till eight in the morning, from nine till one, from two till five, and from six till eight. These were Mr. Lynn's hours, and William was allowed to keep the same; the men had half-an-hour less allowed for breakfast and tea.

William was glad of the rest, after his battle, and the evening pa.s.sed on. It was growing late, almost bedtime, when suddenly there flashed into his memory Mr. Ashley's letter. He put his hand into his jacket-pocket. There it lay, snug and safe. With a few words of explanation to his mother, so hasty and incoherent that she did not understand a syllable, he s.n.a.t.c.hed his cap, and flew away in the direction of the town.

Boys have good legs and lungs; and William scarcely slackened speed until he gained the post-office, not far short of a mile. Dropping the letter into the box, he stood against the wall to recover breath. A clerk was standing at the door whistling; and at that moment a gentleman, apparently a stranger, came out of a neighbouring hotel, a letter in hand.

"This is the head post-office, I believe?" said he to the clerk.