Mad Part 30

"`Mrs Hardon; medicine and attendance.' I wonder whether it's true, or only a sick man's fancy?" muttered Septimus aloud, as he went down the steps, and stood once more in the open air, feeling as though a weight had been raised from his spirits. "Poor creatures, poor creatures! left to the tender mercies of those women, and often neglected and left to die."

"No, no, no! pray don't say so," sobbed a voice at his elbow. "It's bad enough, I know; but not so bad as that, please!" And then a burst of sobs choked the speaker's utterance.

Septimus started, for the voice seemed familiar, and he saw beside him a tall, well-dressed female, with a thick wool-veil drawn down over her face, so that he could not distinguish her features.

"I knew you again, Mr--Mr--Mr--you did tell me your name, but I've forgotten it; and I asked him, and he said--but dear, dear," she sobbed, "can you see that I have been crying? And have you been in that dreadful place?"

"Yes," replied Septimus; "but I really do not know to whom I am talking."

"O dear, O dear!" sobbed the woman, "it's me; you know me, that you called on in Chiswell-street; and I can't take up my fall, for my poor eyes are so red with crying, and people would see. Registry--office for servants, you know; and O dear, O dear!" and she sobbed more loudly than ever.

"Indeed, I beg your pardon," said Septimus kindly; "but I could not know you through that thick veil."

"Then you could not see that I had been crying?" sobbed the poor woman.

"No, indeed," replied Septimus, "and--"

"Don't speak to me yet," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Miss Tollicks; "I'm almost heart-broken, and you set me off saying those cruel words. I'd give anything for a place where I could sit down and have a good cry, if it was only a doorstep, where people could not see me. I'm nearly blind now, and can't tell which way to go. It's ever so much worse than any trouble I ever had with my business."

"Take my arm," said Septimus gently, after an apologetic glance at his shabby clothes. "Lean upon me, and we'll walk slowly down this street.

It is quieter here, and you will feel relieved soon."

"O, thank you, thank you," exclaimed Miss Tollicks, taking the proffered arm, and still sobbing loudly; "but you are sure that people cannot see I have been crying?"

"Certain," said Septimus as they walked on.

"And so you think," said Miss Tollicks, "that they are neglected and die, do you, Mr Hardon? and I'm afraid the poor things are. I've just been to see my poor sister that the doctor recommended to go in, and she's been telling me such dreadful tales about the nurses; and I can't tell whether it's the truth, or whether the poor thing is only light-headed. It was horrible to listen to her, that it was; and you've been to see some one too, Mr Harding?"

"Yes," replied Septimus, "the poor old gentleman who was with me when I called upon you."

"Dear, dear, dear, what a sorrowful world this is!" sobbed Miss Tollicks; "nothing but trouble, always trouble; and how is he, poor man?"

"Not long for this world, I fear," said Septimus softly.

"And did he say anything about the nurses too?" sobbed Miss Tollicks.

"Yes, yes," said Septimus hastily; "but it can't be true. No woman could be such a wretch."

"O, I don't know, Mr Harding; but is my veil quite down? there--thank you. We're strange creatures, and we are either very good or else very bad--especially servants, Mr Harding," sobbed Miss Tollicks. "I'm afraid that it's all true enough, and if they'd only let me stop and nurse my poor sister, I wouldn't care. The business might go and take its chance, for what's the good of money without life? But O, Mr Harding, I did ask my landlord, and he said--and he said--but O! you must not ask me now." And here the poor woman burst out sobbing, quite hysterically, so that more than one person turned round to gaze upon her; but her troubles attracted little notice, for this was no uncommon scene in the long dreary street: the inhabitants were too much accustomed to the sight of weeping friends coming from the great building, where, but a few minutes before, they had been taking, perhaps, a last farewell of a dear one whom they would see no more--a dear one whose face was perhaps already sealed by the angel of death; a sad parting, maybe, from one whose hopeless malady had rendered it necessary for the interior of the hospital to afford the attentions that took the place of those that would have been supplied at home. Poverty and sickness, twin sisters that so often go hand-in-hand, brought here their victims to ask for aid; and those who dwelt hard by paid little heed to pallid out-patients seeking their daily portion of advice, some on crutches, some leaning upon the arms of friends, some in cabs. They were used to painful scenes, and knew by sight patient, student, and doctor; and therefore hardly bestowed a thought upon the sad couple pa.s.sing slowly down the street, at the end of which Septimus saw poor weeping Miss Tollicks into a cab, and left her unquestioned to pace slowly back towards Bennett's-rents.

He walked on and thought--thought of all his troubles, and the want of decision in his character; of how he ought boldly to have investigated his uncle's claim, setting aside his own feelings for the sake of those dependent upon his arm for their support; and he sighed again and again as he took himself to task. And then a prayer rose to his lips as he recalled the scene which he had left--a prayer fervently breathed there in the midst of London's busy flowing stream, as fervent as ever emanated from devotee kneeling in some solemn fane--a prayer that, for the sake of those at home, he might be spared from the smiting of sickness; and then he shuddered as he remembered his father's words, and thought of his wife's increasing helplessness.

"Stark mad! Yes, I must have been," he muttered; "and yet no, why was I to crush down my unselfish love?" And then he stopped short to examine himself as to whether his love had really been unselfish. But he pa.s.sed on again unsatisfied, lost in abstracting thoughts, heedless of being jostled here, pushed there, a walking ensample in his short walk of what he was in his longer journey of life, a man whom everyone would expect to give place, while he full readily made way. Now he was shouted at by a cabman as he crossed the road, then dragged back by a crossing-sweeper as he was about to step in front of an omnibus. But he looked elate, and thoughts of a brighter future rose before his mind as something seemed to whisper that all would yet be well; and as brighter thoughts came lighting in upon his heart's dark places, he saw old Matt well, and finding the entry that should restore him to ease and comfort; his wife and Lucy happy and smiling upon him; and then his head was lifted, his form grew more erect, his nerves and muscles became terse, and, swinging his arms, he strode forward till, turning down a side-street, he set off and ran--ran hard to the bottom, in the lightness of spirit that had come over him. He had no object in view, no reason for hastening, and the act seemed one of folly in a man of his years; but he felt the desire come upon him, and he ran, inflating his chest with the free air; and perhaps there have been times when, moved by similar impulses, men of the present day have felt, if they have not acted, the same as Septimus Hardon.

On again once more, this time to come in contact with a baker, whom he swung round basket and all, and when sworn at he apologised so cheerfully, and with such an aspect of genuine contrition, that the baker closed his voluble harangue with "Well, don't do it again, that's all." And perhaps, after all, the acts of Septimus Hardon were not of so very insane a character. True, they seemed strange for a man who had just come from a bed of sickness, and whose own affairs were in a most unsatisfactory state; but may there not have been something reactive after the oppression of much sorrow, the elasticity of life a.s.serting itself? Be it what it may, certain it is that Septimus Hardon, aged fifty, acted as has been described, though it seemed strange conduct in a man who had suffered as he had.

Breathed again, he once more ran on, full of resolutions for the future, touching the vigorous prosecution of his claim, smiling, too, as he made the vows in doubt as to their fulfilment, for he knew his weakness; but he ran on, feeling more light-hearted than he had felt for years, till suddenly he stopped and proceeded at a more moderate pace; for he trembled for his shoes, in whose durability he had not much faith, trusting their strength but little, for, placing the standard of boot-strength at twenty-six s.h.i.+llings, he remembered that he stood at three s.h.i.+llings and ninepence, plus his old ones, and he trembled.

Near home at last, where he arrived just in time to encounter _ma mere_ the sinister, with her poodles, starting to give select entertainments through the evening in the far West; and, as he turned into the court, his light-heartedness pa.s.sed away, the many hopeful thoughts vanished, and he sighed, for truly it was being under a cloud literally, as well as figuratively, to enter the precincts of Bennett's-rents.

Volume Two, Chapter XV.

THE COMMON LOT AGAIN.

All the renters appertaining to Bennett's were either out in the court, or at door and window, on the day that Mrs Jarker was buried; while Lucy gladdened the heart of Jean Marais by taking charge of the little golden-haired child and carrying it up to his room to see the birds and dogs. Women stood in knots talking, with their arms rolled in their ap.r.o.ns, and a strong smell of rum, of the kind known as "pine-apple,"

and vended at the corner, pervaded these little a.s.semblies. The sports of the children were interrupted, and slapping was greatly in vogue in consequence of mothers never having known their offspring to have been so tiresome before. Hopscotch was banished from the court, tops and b.u.t.tons confiscated, and there was not a boy or girl present who, in the face of so much tyranny, would not have emigrated to some more freedom-giving district, but for the fact that there was a "berryin;"

and the shabby s.h.i.+llibeer hea.r.s.e, and its doleful horse and red-nosed driver, already stood at the end of the court, where the public-house doors were so carefully strapped-back for the convenience of customers.

The time at which the funeral would take place was already well-known, but for hours past the court had been in a state of excitement which prevented domestic concerns from receiving due attention. It was an observable fact that quite a large trade was done at the chandler's shop in halfpenny bundles of wood, consequent upon fires being neglected, and doing what fires will do, going out. Babies screamed until they were hoa.r.s.e, and then fell asleep to wake up and scream again. There were no bones broken, on account of the elasticity of the juvenile framework; but several children in the quadrupedal stage of development were known to have fallen down flights of stairs during their maternal search; while another diversion had been caused by a morsel forcing its foot through the grating over the drain, and refusing to be extricated. It was also observable that there were very few men about, and those visible confined themselves to the cellar-flap of one of the public-houses, only looking down the court at intervals.

At last there was an increased interest, for Mr Pawley and one of his men had entered the house, women parting left and right to let them through. Then there was a buzz of excitement, for Mr Jarker had been seen to enter the public and come out, to stand wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, apparently undecided as to which way he should go; but at length, pale and scared-looking, walking up the court and following the undertaker.

And now the Jarkers were thoroughly canva.s.sed, and many allusions made concerning Bill's treatment of his poor wife. Worn, dejected, hard-- featured women, whose lives had been as hard a bondage as that of the one pa.s.sed away, but who made their brick without straw unrepining, told of her sufferings, and of how she had always been weak and sickly; while it was on all sides allowed that though, as a matter of course, a master might be a little hard sometimes, Jarker had been too hard, as she was so sickly. One thought it was the drains, another fancied the place wasn't quite healthy; but all agreed that there was nothing better to be had at the price; while the market was _so_ handy. What was to become of the child too, formed a surmise in which Mrs Sims took great interest; while, as soon as that lady's back was turned, it was universally agreed that she was "a good soul."

Another buzz of excitement. Mr Jarker has been seen to come out with a c.r.a.pe scarf fastened upon his fur-cap, while a short skimpy cloak hangs awkwardly from his ample shoulders. Mr Jarker is very low-spirited, and finds it necessary to take something short once more in the way of a stimulant, and imbibes half-a-quartern of gin at the public-house, his emblems of woe inducing a great amount of respect being paid to him by the occupants of the place, while one end of the scarf will keep getting in his way.

Mr Jarker is a very great man this day, and comports himself with much dignity; he feels that he is being looked up to, and that he deserves it, but for all that he seems nervous and uncomfortable, and is now fetched back by the undertaker, who regularly takes him into custody, for he rightly fears that very little would make Mr Jarker run off altogether and show himself no more for some days, when perhaps there might be a difficulty about the payment of the expenses. Not that Mr Pawley has much fear upon that score, for there was always a certain pride respecting a decent "berryin" at Bennett's-rents; and supposing any one was very much pressed, there were always friendly hands ready to add their mites, with the understanding that one good turn deserved another. Mr Pawley never suffered much in his transactions at the Rents, of which place he had the monopoly; and he always made a point of insisting that all funerals should be not only what he termed economic, but strictly respectable.

"It's a dooty we owe to the departed," he would observe, while never once could he recall a dissentient, though a.s.sistance was often called in to defray the cost, and the well-known avuncular relative of the poor appealed to. Not that Mr Pawley had very hard work to induce the poor of the district to do their "dooty" by the departed, for the desire was always there to pay the last sad rites decently and in order, even those who were obliged to stoop to get an order for a parish coffin often raising a tiny fund to induce Mr Pawley to embellish the hard outlines of the common plain elm sh.e.l.l with a plate and a few rows of nails, to take off the workhouse look of the charity they grudged to accept.

Mr Pawley managed to get Jarker safely back to the house, and then the excitement increased, for after the former gentleman had prisoned his client in a lodger's room he came down wiping his eye, that seemed more moist than ever, and stood mute-like at the door, surrounded by half the inhabitants of the court, whom he calmly informed that _they_ were coming down directly. Mr Pawley spoke slowly and impressively, for he was a man who had not much to say, but who made the most of it, as if his words were gold and to be beaten out to cover the largest s.p.a.ce at the least possible cost. He considered his words of value, and as he doled them out people listened eagerly, looking upon the day's performance as something of which not the slightest item should be lost; while Mr Pawley made much of his funerals, regarding each one as an advertis.e.m.e.nt to procure another, as he laboured hard to impress upon the dwellers of Bennett's-rents how friendly were his feelings towards them, and how little he thought of the money.

"Now they're a-coming!" he whispered, motioning the people away right and left--a very marshal of management--and then there was the shuffling of feet, the creaking and groaning of the stairs, and the chipping of the wall, as down flight after flight the coffin was carried, resting at the landings, and more than once some neighbour's door was sent flying open. Mrs Sims' was the first, as one of the bearers backed against it, and a lodger's on the first-floor was the next; but the occupiers were down in the court, and so escaped being disturbed.

At last, with the top covered with the powdery whitewash chipped from wall and ceiling, the coffin stood in the pa.s.sage, then in the court for an instant, before being borne into the shabby s.h.i.+llibeer hea.r.s.e; while, amidst a suppressed hum of voices, more than one genuine tear was seen to fall, and more than one ap.r.o.n to be held up by those who saw the poor woman's remains borne away. Then back came Mr Pawley on tiptoe with his handkerchief to his eye, and disappeared in the house, from which he soon reappeared with his prisoner, followed by two relatives; and, as Bill Jarker was marched down to the hea.r.s.e with his ill-fitting cloak, and long c.r.a.pe scarf hanging from his fur-cap, he held his hands together in a strange, peculiar way--a way that, but for the trappings of woe, would have suggested that Mr Jarker was really in custody, and bore steel handcuffs upon his wrists.

Then there was a crowding towards the entrance of the court to see Mr Jarker shut in, Mr Pawley mount beside his red-nosed driver, and then the old broken-kneed horse went bowing its head and shambling along through the streets, with no more way made for it than if its doleful load had been so much merchandise.

Septimus Hardon had stood at his window watching the proceedings, as he slowly wiped again and again his pen upon a coat-tail; for the scene brought up a sad day in Carey-street, and he could not but recall the bright-eyed, yellow-haired child he had lost, and this set him thinking of the little one up-stairs in Lucy's charge. But Septimus Hardon never thought very long upon any one particular subject; and, sighing deeply, he returned to his writing, while the people in the court slowly flocked back to form groups and talk until such time as it was necessary to get "master's tea." There was a considerable amount of thirst engendered though, and the public-houses at the top and bottom of the court must have done quite a powerful stroke, of trade that day in cream-gin and pine-apple rum; for the dull soft bang of the strapped-back doors was heard incessantly. For now, _a la militaire_, people's feelings seemed to undergo a reaction; children played and hooted again unabashed; the organ-man played the Olga waltz to a select circle of youthful dancers, while admiring mammas looked on and smiled; a party of "n.i.g.g.e.r"

serenaders arrived at the lower public-house, and played and sang for a full hour, the coppers rattling in the reversed banjo freely, after the fortunes of the celebrated Old Bob Ridley had been musically rendered by a melodious gentleman of intense blackness, who had thrummed the wires of his instrument until his fingers were worn white. Then, too, after the departure of the sable minstrels, a lady volunteered a song; but she sang not, for an interdict was placed upon the proceedings by the landlord, who "couldn't stand none o' that, now." Then an altercation ensued, which ended in an adjournment, and the voluble declaration of some half-dozen departing matrons that they'd have no more to do with the goose-club.

But Mrs Sims was not there. Ten minutes after the starting of the shabby funeral she went up to Septimus Hardon's rooms to fetch the little girl, but had to ascend to the attic, where she found her leaning against Lucy, who was seated upon the floor, laughing at the little thing's delight as first one and then the other of the poodles stood up and carried a stick in its mouth, while the dark eyes of Jean were fixed upon the beautiful group before him, ardently though with a speechless admiration.

With many thanks Mrs Sims bore away the tiny girl, whose sleeves Lucy had tied up with bows of c.r.a.pe, and, as she accompanied the woman down the stairs it was only by an effort that she refrained from s.n.a.t.c.hing the little one back and bearing it into her own room. But Mrs Sims bore the prattling little thing away and seated it upon the carpet in her lodging, when, preparing to relieve herself after so much sorrow, she took up the bellows: but as the fire was out she only made a dust, and, laying the pneumatic comfort aside, she took to "spazzums," which necessitated the sending of Marry Hann, a neighbour's child, for half-a-quartern of rum, which relieved the pain so much that she repeated the dose more than once, and, carrying the little girl with her, went down again for a social chat, being now insensible to pain.

Half-an-hour had not elapsed, though, before a fresh twinge induced her to try another instalment of her "spefizzick," and now she not only became insensible to pain but to everything else. Mr Jarker did not at once return after the funeral, but parted with his fellow-mourners without a word, after stopping at a public-house honoured by Mr Pawley, and settling the expenses readily over some gin and beer, accompanied by pipes; and, though more than one neighbour declared they saw him enter the door quite late, and come out early next morning, it was certain that he did not go up to his attic, a place which for some time he shunned after dark.

Mrs Sims declared she saw nothing of him, and doubtless her testimony was very trustworthy, for she had not the slightest recollection of what took place that night after the last administration of the "spefizzick,"

nor of how she came into her own room till her angry husband explained.

For when in the dusk of evening Lucy returned from the warehouse with a fresh pile of work, she found Mrs Sims seated nodding upon the doorstep with the sleeping child in her flaccid arms, and in momentary danger of falling upon the broken flags. So taking the little thing, Lucy bore it to her own room; and from that time forth it often came to pa.s.s that she crossed the court when Mr Jarker was from home, and attended to the wants of the little neglected child.

Volume Two, Chapter XVI.

A BATTLE: SCIENCE WINS.

"What! another operation?" said old Matt with a groan.

"To be sure," said the house-surgeon cheerily; "why not?"

"But I'm so much better," said Matt; "and I've no end of work to get through."