Penelope and the Others Part 19

And what a figure! Three weeks of nursing, scrubbing, minding children and running errands had not improved poor Kettles' appearance. The same old bonnet, which Pennie remembered, hung back from her head, but it was more crushed and shapeless; the big boots had large holes in them, and the bony little hand, which clasped a bottle to her chest, was more like a black claw than ever. When Miss Unity reached them the children were staring at each other in silence, Pennie rather shy, and Kettles with a watchful glimmer in her eyes as though prepared to defend herself if necessary. Miss Unity took Pennie's hand.

"My dear," she said breathlessly, "how could you? I was so alarmed."

"This is Kettles," was Pennie's answer, "and she says her mother isn't any better."

"Don't you belong to the Provident Club?" asked Miss Unity, with a faint hope that Nurse might have been wrong.

"No, 'um," said Kettles, looking up at the strange lady.

"Nor the Clothing Club, nor the Coal Club? Does n.o.body visit your mother?" asked Miss Unity again.

"n.o.body don't come 'cept Mrs Margetts from the College," said Kettles.

"Father says--"

"Oh, never mind that!" said Miss Unity hastily, "we don't want to know."

"Please let her talk," put in Pennie beseechingly. "Father says,"

continued Kettles, her sharp eyes glancing rapidly from one face to the other, "as how he won't have no 'strict ladies in _his_ house; nor no pa'sons nuther," she added.

As these last dreadful words pa.s.sed Kettles' lips the dean, rosy and smiling, went by on the other side arm in arm with another clergyman.

Could he have heard them? He gave a look of surprise at the group as he took off his hat. Poor Miss Unity felt quite unnerved by this unlucky accident, and hardly knew what to say next.

"But--" she stammered, "that isn't kind or--or nice, of your father, when they want to come and see you and do you good."

"Father says he doesn't want doing good to," said Kettles, shutting her lips with a snap.

Miss Unity felt incapable of dealing further with Kettles' father. She changed the subject hurriedly.

"What have you in that bottle?" she asked. "It would be better to spend your money on bread."

"Oils to rub mother with," answered Kettles with a pinched smile; then with a business-like air she added, "I can't stop talking no longer, she's alone 'cept the children. If the baby was to crawl into the fire she couldn't move to stop him, not if he was burnt ever so."

Without further leave-taking she dived down the dark alley at a run, her big boots clattering on the flag-stones.

Pennie felt very glad to have met and talked to Kettles at last, and as she and her G.o.dmother went on, she made up her mind to write to Nancy that very night and tell her all about it; also to write a long description of the meeting in her diary. She was just putting this into suitable words when Miss Unity spoke.

"I have thought of something, Pennie, that would be nice for you to do for that little girl--Keturah her name is, I think."

"She's never called by it," said Pennie. "Don't you think Kettles suits her best, and it's far easier to say."

"Not to me!" answered Miss Unity. "I do not like the name at all. But what I want to suggest is this; you are anxious to do something for her, are you not?"

"I told you about it, you know," said Pennie seriously. "Nancy and I mean to collect for some boots and stockings. Did you see her boots? I should think they must have been her father's, shouldn't you?"

"I don't wish to think about her father in any way," said Miss Unity with a slight shudder, "but I should like to do something for the poor mother and the little girl. Now it seems to me that we could not do better than make her a set of underlinen. I would buy the material, Betty would cut out the clothes from patterns of yours, and you and I would make them. This would give you an object for your needlework, and you would not find it so wearisome perhaps."

She spoke quite eagerly, for she felt that she had hit upon an excellent scheme which would benefit both Pennie and Keturah. It was new and interesting, besides, to take an independent step of this kind instead of subscribing to a charity, as she had hitherto done when she wished to help people.

It may be questioned whether Pennie looked upon the plan with equal favour, but she welcomed it as a sign that Miss Unity was really beginning to take an interest in Kettles. She would have preferred the interest to show itself in any other way than needlework, but it was much better than none at all, and, "I should have to work anyway," she reflected.

"I don't see why, Pennie," said her G.o.dmother hesitatingly, "we should not buy the material this afternoon."

Pennie could see no reason against it, in fact it seemed natural to her that after you had thought of a thing you should go and do it at once.

To Miss Unity, however, used to weigh and consider her smallest actions, there was something rash and headlong in it.

"Perhaps we had better think it over and do it to-morrow," she said, pausing at the door of a linen-draper's shop.

"Kettles wants clothes very badly," said Pennie, "and I shall be a long while making them. I should think we'd better get it now. But shall you go to Bolton's?" she added; "mother always goes to Smith's."

"Bolton's" was a magnificent place in Pennie's eyes. It was the largest shop in the High Street, and she had heard her mother call it extravagantly dear. Miss Unity, however, would not hear of going anywhere else. She had always dealt at Bolton's; they supplied the materials for the Working Societies and the choristers' surplices, and had always given satisfaction. So Pennie, with rather an awed feeling, followed her G.o.dmother into the shop, and was soon much interested in her purchases; also in the half-confidential and wholly respectful remarks made from time to time across the counter by Mrs Bolton, who had bustled forward to serve them. Her husband was a verger at the Cathedral, and this justified her in expressing an interest from a discreet distance in all that went on there.

"Quite a stir in the town since the bishop's sermon, Miss," she remarked as she placed a pile of calico on the counter. "I think this will suit your purpose--if not too fine."

"I was thinking of unbleached," said Miss Unity, "such as we use for the Working Societies. Yes, it was a very fine sermon."

Mrs Bolton retired into the back of the shop, and reappeared with a boy carrying another large bale.

"This will be the article then," she said, unrolling it, "and certainly more suitable too. Yes, there's nothing talked of now but the missions.

Is he a coloured gentleman, do you know, Miss, or does the climate produce that yellow look he has? Six yards, _and_ some Welsh flannel.

Thank you."

It was rather alarming to Pennie to see such quant.i.ties of calico measured off without shape or make, and to think how far her needle would have to travel before it took the form of clothes for Kettles.

She sat soberly eyeing it, and following the rapid course of Mrs Bolton's scissors.

"I wish I could work as fast as she cuts," she thought to herself, "they'd be ready in no time."

"You'll no doubt be present at the Inst.i.tute on Friday, Miss," resumed Mrs Bolton after the flannel was disposed of. "I'm told the dissolving views will be something quite out of the common. This is a useful width in tape."

"I will take two pieces of the narrow, thank you," said Miss Unity, "and that will be all. Yes, I think perhaps I may go."

"What did she mean by dissolving views?" asked Pennie on the way home.

"They are coloured pictures, my dear;" said her G.o.dmother after some consideration, "which fade imperceptibly one into the other."

"Are they like a magic lantern?" continued Pennie. "What are the pictures about?"

"Various subjects," answered Miss Unity; "but these will represent scenes from the Karawayo Islands. There is to be a missionary address."

"Haven't we done a lot this afternoon?" said Pennie, as they turned into the Close. "Lots we never meant to do."

It was true indeed as far as Miss Unity was concerned; she had seldom spent such an afternoon in her life. She had been taken out for a walk in the mud, with rain threatening; she had talked in the open High Street, under the very eye of the dean, with a little vagrant out of Anchor and Hope Alley; she had of her own accord, unadvised and una.s.sisted, formed an original plan, and not only formed it, but taken the first step towards carrying it out. Miss Unity hardly knew herself and felt quite uncertain what she might do next, and down what unknown paths she might find herself hurrying. In spite, however, of some fatigue and a sense of confusion in the head, she sat down to tea in a cheerful and even triumphant spirit.

Pennie, too, had a great deal to think over after she had written to Nancy, and made a careful entry in her diary. It had been such a nice afternoon, and it came just when she had been feeling a little discontented and tired of Nearminster. There were the dissolving views, too.

Did Miss Unity mean to take her to the Inst.i.tute on Friday? Pennie had been to very few entertainments. The circus at Easney, and the fair at Cheddington made up her experience, and she thought she should like to go very much. The address would not be very interesting if it were like the bishop's sermon, but the pictures fading one into the other had a beautiful sound; and then it was to be in the evening, which would involve stopping up late, and this was in itself agreeable and unusual.

She went to sleep with this on her mind, and it was the first thing she thought of in the morning.

When she entered the breakfast-room her G.o.dmother was reading a note.