Mad Part 28

"I ain't," said the old man angrily; "it does me good, revives me; and you don't believe me, that's what it is."

"Yes, I do, indeed," cried Septimus. "Then let me finish," whispered the old man. "Doctor Hardon called and asked her where she saw the entry. There, now, there," whimpered Matt, "see what you've done: you made me upset a stickful of matter, and got me all in a pye again. No; all right, sir, I see, I see--he asked her about it before the patient, speaking very sharply, for the doctors mean well, sir. And then what did the old crocodile do, sir, but just turn her eyes towards the whitewash, smooth her ap.r.o.n, raise her hands a bit, and then, half smiling, looks at the doctor like so much pickled innocence, but never says a word; while he, just to comfort the poor fellow, told him to keep up, and it should all be seen to; and then there was a bit of whispering between the doctor and the nurse, and then he went off. But I could see who was believed, for I heard the doctor mutter something about sick man's fancies as he came across to me. That poor chap died, sir!"

Just then, Septimus gave the old man a meaning look, for one of the nurses came up with a gla.s.s of wine, and smiled and curtsied to the visitor.

"I hope he ain't been talking, sir?" said the woman, in a harsh grating voice with the corners a little rubbed down; "getting on charming, ain't he, sir? only he will talk too much.--Now drink your wine up, there's a good soul. Don't sip it, but toss it down, and it will do you twice as much good;" and while the old man, with the a.s.sistance of his visitor, raised himself a little, she gave his pillow two or three vengeful punches and shakes as she s.n.a.t.c.hed it off the bed, the result of her efforts being visible in a slit across the middle, which she placed undermost.

"Yes," muttered Matt when the woman had gone. "Yes; toss it down, so as not to taste it. Why, that was half water--beautiful wines and spirits as they have here, sir. That's the very one herself, sir. She killed him."

"Killed who?" exclaimed Septimus, horrified.

"Don't shout, sir; leastwise, not if you want to see me again," said Matt grimly. "Killed that poor fellow I was telling you about. She never forgave him, and a week afterwards and there was the screen round his bed, and the porters came and carried him away. She killed him, sure enough, and I ain't agoing to tell you about the bother there was with his friends about the doctors, and what they did to him afterwards, it might upset you. It almost does me; not that I care much, for it don't matter when you're gone, and I've got no friends."

"Hush, pray; it can't be so," exclaimed Septimus, shuddering.

"No, of course not," chuckled the old man, brightening up from the effects of his stimulant, "O, no; sick man's fancies, sir, ain't they?

Just what everyone would say; but she killed him all the same, just as dozens more have been killed here. It don't take much to kill a poor fellow hanging in the balance--him in one scale, and his complaint in the other. The doctor comes and gets in the same scale with him, and bears him down a bit right way; but then as soon as the doctor's gone, the nurse goes and sits in the other scale, and sends him wrong way again. Good nursing's of more consequence sometimes than the doctoring, I can tell you, sir, and if I'd had good nursing I shouldn't have been here at all. Ikey means well, you know, sir; and so does Mother Slagg, eh? but you don't know them, sir, and it don't matter."

"But had you not better be silent now?" hinted Septimus.

"No," said the old man testily; "being so quiet, and having no one to talk to has half-killed me as it is. I don't want to be killed, I want to get out, sir. And, mind you, I don't say about that poor fellow that she poisoned him, or choked him, or played at she-Oth.e.l.lo with the pillow, sir; but there's plenty of other ways of doing it. The doctor knows the man's condition, and his danger, and orders him such and such things to keep him going, and bring him round, eh?"

Septimus nodded, for the old man paused for breath; though the wine he had taken made him talk in a voluble and excited manner, but still with perfect coherence.

"Well, sir; and who's got to carry out the doctor's orders? Why, the nurse, to be sure. Just push the pillow a little more under my head, sir; she's made it uncomfortable. That's it; thanky, sir. Well, you nor no one else won't believe that a nurse here would do anything wrong.

But now, look here: suppose you see that a lamp wants tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, what do you do? You give orders for it to be trimmed, sir, don't you?"

Septimus nodded again.

"Well, then," whispered the old man, hooking one of his long fingers in a b.u.t.tonhole of his visitor's coat; "suppose they don't trim the lamp; suppose it isn't trimmed, eh? what then?"

"It goes out!" said Septimus.

"To be sure--exactly, sir; and there have been lots of lamps go out here. They won't trim them, or forget to trim them, and tell themselves they're only sparing the poor creatures misery, while no one dares to speak about it. Talk of death, sir, they think no more of it here, sir, than one does of snuffing out a candle. You see, decent women won't come to a place like this to do the work these nurses do. It's only to be done for money or love. Now it's done for money, and while it's done for money it can only be done by hard, heartless, drinking creatures who've got women's shapes and devils' hearts, sir. But the doctors are all right, sir, only that they don't see all we poor patients see. If skill and doctoring will put me right, sir, I shall be put right, sir.

But I'm scared about it sometimes, and half afraid that some of those beauties will weight the wrong scale so heavily that the doctors won't pull me square. Sick man's fancies, sir, eh? Wanderings, ain't they?"

Septimus Hardon knew not what to say, but whispered such comfort as he could.

"Something ought to be done, you know," said the old man feebly; "but don't hint a word of what I've said, sir, to a soul--please don't," he said pitifully. "You see that all these goings on prey upon a poor fellow's mind; and if he isn't low-spirited lying in a hospital-ward, when is he likely to be? One wants sympathy and comfort, sir, and to feel that there's someone belonging to you who cares for you, and is ready to smooth your pillow, and lay a cold hand upon your hot forehead, and say `G.o.d bless you!' and I've no one, no one;" and the old man's voice grew weak and quavering.

"Come, come," whispered Septimus, "take heart, Matt; we'll come as often as they will let us. And you are getting better; see how you have chatted. You are only low now from the reaction. Try and rest a bit, and get rid of some of these fancies."

Old Matt's eyes turned angrily upon his visitor as he exclaimed, "I tell you they are not fancies, sir, but truth. I wouldn't have come if I'd known, for I've seen men drink, and women drink; but never anyone like these she-wolves. Would you trust anyone you loved to the care of a woman who drank, sir?"

"No!"

"They say they must have support, and I suppose they must; but it's hard, hard, hard!" groaned the old man, and he shut his eyes, seeking out the hand of his visitor, and holding it tightly, until, by the rules of the place, he was obliged to leave.

Volume Two, Chapter XIII.

MR JARKER IS "A BIT ODD."

There had been no occasion for Mr William Jarker to carry out the threat he had once made, for in all the long s.p.a.ce of time during which Agnes Hardon's child was in Mrs Jarker's care, the money was always paid, faithfully and regularly, once a week, but at how great a cost to its mother none but the Seer of all hearts could tell; and always, in spite of sickness and misery, pain, and the hard bondage of her life, Jarker's wife was tender and loving to the little one within her charge.

Perhaps it was the memory of another pair of bright eyes that had once gazed up into her own, perhaps only the loving promptings of her woman's heart; but when, by stealth almost, Agnes Hardon came to kiss her child, she left tearfully but rejoicing, for there was proof always before her of the gentle usage in the fond way in which the little thing clung to its nurse. The preference may have wrung her heart, but it was but another sorrow to bear, and, bending beneath her weight of care, she came and went at such times as seemed best for avoiding Jarker, the curate, and Septimus Hardon.

It was in her power to have let Lucy know where old Matt lodged; but of late they had met but little, and then, in their hurried interviews, his name was not mentioned, for the sorrows of the present filled their hearts.

But now Agnes Hardon was in greater trouble, for something whispered her that this sickness of poor Mrs Jarker was a sickness unto death, and her soul clave to the suffering, ill-used woman who had filled the place of mother to her child; while, at the same time, she trembled for the future of her little one after each visit--ever feeling the necessity, but ever dreading, to take it away, for truly there was a change coming; and time after time when she left the garret, it was with a shudder, for there seemed to be a shadow in the room.

It was almost impossible to ascend the creaking stairs to the garret tenanted by Mr Jarker without hearing Mrs Sims, who, through some spiritual weakness, had left the house in the square to return once more to the Rents--a court honoured by most of those unfortunates who, from unforeseen circ.u.mstances, fell from the heights of the square; while the latter was always looked up to, in its topmost or bas.e.m.e.nt floors, for promotion by the more fortunate tenants of the Rents; and now an ascending visitor was almost certain to hear the melancholy, sniffing woman blowing her fire. Generally speaking, we see bellows hang by the mantelpiece, with a time-honoured, bees'-waxy polish glossing them, as though they were family relics whose services were seldom called into requisition; but _chez_ Mrs Sims, the bellows had rather a bad time of it, and were worked hardly enough to make them short-winded. They already wheezed so loudly that it was impossible to take Mrs Sims'

bellows for anybody else's bellows; and this was probably due to their having inhaled a sufficiency of ashy dust to make them asthmatic, while the nozzle was decayed and burned away from constant resting upon the specially-cleared bottom-bar; the left half of the broken tongs doing duty for the vanished poker, borrowed once to clear the grating in the court, and never returned, for the simple reason that it found its way to Mrs Slagg's marine-store shop, where it stayed in consideration of the porter receiving the best price given, namely, twopence.

Your boots might creak, and, as was their wont, the stairs would crack and groan, but still there was the sound of the bellows to be heard as you ascended the staircase--puff, puff, puff; and the stooping woman's stays crackled and crumpled at every motion, for Mrs Sims, from always requiring support, external as well as internal, sought the external in whalebone, though for the internal she preferred rum. There was always "suthin' as wanted a bit of fire:" perhaps it was was.h.i.+ng-day, which, from the small size of Bennett's-rents' wardrobes, happened irregularly, with Mrs Sims three times a week, when the big tin saucepan used for boiling divers articles of wearing-apparel, in company with a packet of was.h.i.+ng-powder, would be placed upon the little damaged grate, upon which it would sit like Incubus, putting the poor weak fire quite out of heart, when it had to be coaxed accordingly. Sometimes the bellows were required to hurry the "kittle," a battered old copper vessel that never boiled if it could help it, and, when compelled by the said hurrying, only did so after pa.s.sing through a regular course of defiant snorts, even going so far as to play the deceiver, and sputter over into the fire, pretending to be on the boil when many degrees off, and so spoiling Mrs Sims' tea--never the strongest to be obtained. Sometimes, again, the bellows were required to get a decent fire to cook a bit of steak for the master's dinner, or even "to bile the taters." At all events, of all Mrs Sims' weaknesses, the princ.i.p.al lay in her bellows, and she could generally find an excuse for a good blow, accompanied sometimes by a cry over the wind-exhalers, as she sniffed loudly at her task.

There is no doubt but that in her natural good-heartedness Mrs Sims would have operated quite as cheerfully upon any neighbour's fire as she did now upon the handful of cinders in Mrs Jarker's grate; for, in spite of her sniffs, her weakness for the internal and external support, and her whining voice, Mrs Sims was one of those women who are a glory to their s.e.x. Only a very humble private was she in the n.o.ble army, but one ever ready for the fight: fever, cholera, black death, or death of any shade, were all one to Mrs Sims, who only seemed happy when she was in trouble. If it was a neighbour who could pay her, so much the better; if it was a neighbour who could not, it mattered little; send for Mrs Sims, and Mrs Sims came, ready to nurse, comfort, sit up, or do anything to aid the needy; and old Matt had been heard more than once to wish she had been a widow.

Poor Mrs Jarker would have suffered badly but for this woman's kindness; many a little neighbourly act had been done by Lucy, but Mrs Jarker's need was sore, and beyond minding the child for her occasionally, Lucy's powers of doing good were circ.u.mscribed. And now, one night, sat Mrs Sims, sniffing, and forcing a glow from the few embers in the Jarker grate as she made the sick woman a little gruel.

Mr William Jarker ascended the stairs after having had "a drop" at the corner--that is to say, two pints of porter with a quartern of gin in each; and upon hearing the noise of the bellows he uttered what he would have denominated "a cuss," since he bore no love for Mrs Sims, and her sniff annoyed him; but when, upon ascending higher, he found that the sound did not proceed, as he expected, from the second-floor, but from his own room, he began to growl so audibly that the women heard him coming like a small storm, and trembled, since Mr Jarker was a great stickler for the privacy of his own dwelling, which he seemed to look upon as a larger sort of cage in which he kept his wife.

But although forbidden to enter the room, Mrs Sims glanced at the pallid sufferer lying in the bed, with the feeble light of a rush candle playing upon her features; and muttering to herself, "Not if he kills me," resolved not to abdicate; and then, after a few final triumphant puffs, dropping at the same time a tear upon the top of the bellows--a tear of weakness and sympathy--she laid down the wind instrument upon which she had been playing, and thrust an iron spoon into the gruel upon the fire, stirring it round so energetically that a small portion was jerked out of the saucepan upon the glowing cinders, and hissed viciously, forming a fitting finale to Mr Jarker's feline swearing.

But the gruel did not hiss and sputter as angrily, nor did the erst glowing cinders look so black, as did Mr William Jarker when he found "the missus still abed," and Mrs Sims in possession.

"I have said as I won't have it," growled Mr Jarker; "and I says agen as I won't have it. So let people wait till I arsts 'em afore they takes liberties with my place. So now p'r'aps you'll make yourself scarce, Missus Sims;" and then the birdcatcher crossed over to, and began muttering something to, his wife.

But Mrs Sims was nothing daunted; she was in the right, and she knew it, and though her hands trembled, and more of the gruel fell hissing into the fire, as the tears of weakness fell fast, she stood her ground firmly.

"When I've done my dooty by her, as other people, whom I won't bemean myself to name, oughter have done, Mister Jarker, I shall go, and not before," said Mrs Sims. "It's not me as could sit down-stairs and know as that pore creetur there was dying for want of a drop of gruel, and me not come and make it, which didn't cost you a farden, so now then!"

Here Mrs Sims bridled a great deal and sniffed very loudly; a couple of tears falling into the fender "pit-pat."

"Don't jaw," said Bill gruffly, making a kind of feint with his hand as he stooped down to light his short black pipe by thrusting the bowl between the bars.

Mrs Sims flinched as if to avoid a blow, to the great delight of Mr Jarker; but exasperated him directly after by sniffing loudly, over and over again, producing, by way of accompaniment to each sniff, a low and savage growl and an oath.

"Well, I'm sure," exclaimed Mrs Sims, "how polite we're a-growing!"

But catching sight of the smouldering fire in the ruffian's eye, she hastily poured out the gruel, repenting all the while, for the poor woman's sake, that she had spoken; but upon taking the hot preparation with some toast to the invalid she found her kindness unavailing, for though Mrs Jarker sat up for a minute and tried to take it, she sank back with a faint sigh, and with an imploring look, she whispered her neighbour to please go.

"Not till I've seen you eat this, my pore dear soul," said Mrs Sims boldly, though, poor woman, she was all in a tremble, and kept glancing over her shoulder at Jarker, who, with his back to the fire and his hands in his pockets, glowered and scowled at the scene before him.

Mrs Sims pa.s.sed her arm round the thin, wasted form, and supported the invalid; but, after vainly trying to swallow a few spoonfuls, the poor woman again sank back upon her pillow, sighing wearily, while the sharp, pecking sound made by one of the caged birds against its perch, sounded strangely like the falling of a few sc.r.a.ps of soil upon a coffin--"Ashes to ashes--dust to dust." And then, for some minutes, there was silence in the room, till Mrs Jarker turned whisperingly to her friendly neighbour, to beg that she would go now and not rouse Bill, who was a bit odd sometimes.

So, saucepan in hand, Mrs Sims wished the invalid "Good-night;" and then, trembling visibly, sidled towards the door, evidently fearing to turn her back to Mr Jarker, who was still growling and muttering, as if a storm were brewing and ready to burst; but Mrs Sims' agitation caused her first to drop her iron spoon from the saucepan, and then, as she stooped to recover it, to flinch once more, to the ruffian's great delight, as he made another pugilistic feint--a gymnastic feat that he had learnt through visiting some marsh or another when a fight was to come off between Fibbing Phil and Chancery Joe--a feat that consisted of a violent effort to throw away the right fist, and a quick attempt at catching it with the left hand. But Mrs Sims managed to get herself safely outside the door, and lost no time in hurrying down, the stairs, breathing more freely with every step placed between her and the ruffian; but she shrieked loudly on reaching the first landing, and dropped both saucepan and spoon, for the door was savagely thrown open, and the bellows came clattering after her down the stairs; and all in consequence of Mr Jarker being a bit odd.

"A bit odd!"--in one of those fits which had often prompted him to strike down his weak, suffering, patient wife with dastardly, cruel hand, and then to kick her with his heavy boots, or drag at her hair until her head was bleeding--oddness which made the tiny child in the room shrink from him; while before now it had been traced on the poor woman's features in blackened and swollen bruises. But shrieks, and the falling of heavy blows, were common sounds in Bennett's-rents, and people took but little notice of Mr Jarker's odd fits.

Bill took no heed to the weary, strangling cough which shook his wife's feeble frame, but smoked on furiously till the fire went out. She would not get up to put on more coals, and he wasn't agoing to muck his hands; for, as has been before hinted, Mr Jarker had soft, whitish hands, which looked as though they had never done a hard day's work; and at last, when the place looked more cheerless and dull than usual, he prepared himself for rest.

"You're allus ill," growled the ruffian, who had had just drink enough to make him savage; "and it's my belief as you wants rousing up." But there came no answer to his remark. The little one slept soundly upon the two chairs which formed its bed, and, with half-closed eyes, the woman lay, breathing very faintly, as her lips moved, forming words she had heard from Mr Sterne.