A Bevy of Girls

Nesta felt for a moment as though she were Red Riding Hood, and the wolf were within. She lifted the latch and went in. The first person she saw was a sandy-haired middle-aged woman, with a strong likeness to Mary Hogg. The woman said, “Oh, my!” then she gave a little curtsey, then she said, “Oh, my!” again. Nesta stood and stared at her. A small boy who had been lying face downward on the floor, started to his feet, thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, and stared also. Another boy, who had been bending over a book, and who was a little older, flung the book on the floor, and added to the group of starers.

“Mary Hogg sent me,” said Nesta.

She used the words wondering if they would be a talisman, the “open sesame” which her hungry soul desired. They certainly had an immediate effect, but not the effect she expected. Mrs Hogg darted forward, dusted a chair, and said:

“Honoured Miss, be seated.”

Nesta dropped into the chair, for she was really very tired.

“If you are one of the young ladies from the Castle, I’m sorry I ain’t got all the sewing done yet, but I will to-morrow.”

“No,” said Nesta, “it isn’t that. I’m not one of the young ladies from the Castle; I’m just a girl, a stranger, and I want a bed for the night. I travelled in the same train with your daughter, Mary Hogg, and she sent me on here. She said you would give me a bed, and that you’d expect me to pay. I can pay you. I have got eight and sixpence. I hope you won’t charge me a great deal, for that is all the money I have in the wide world. But I can pay you; will you give me a bed?”

Now this was most exciting to Mrs Hogg. It was still more exciting to the two boys, whose names were Ben and Dan. They stood now side by side, each with his hands in his pockets, and his glowing eyes fixed on Nesta’s face. Mrs Hogg stood silent; she was considering deeply.

“There’s but two rooms,” she said, at last. “This room, and the bedroom beyond; but there’s the scullery.”

“I could sleep anywhere,” said Nesta, who was terrified at the thought of being thrust out of this humble habitation.

“There’s only one thing to be done,” said Mrs Hogg, “you must share my bed.”

This was scarcely agreeable, but any port in a storm, Nesta thought.

“Very well.”

“I’ll charge you twopence a night.”

“Thank you,” said Nesta.

“The boys will have to leave the room and sleep in the scullery.”

“Hooray!” said Dan.

“Hurroa!” cried Ben.

“Quiet, lads, quiet,” said the mother. “You go right out of the way and let the young lady rest herself.”

“I’m just a girl,” said Nesta. “I’d best not be a young lady; I’m just a girl, and I’m very glad to come and stay with you. I shall be rather hungry presently,” she continued; “could you give me any supper?”

“If it’s anything special, I’ll charge you what it costs,” said Mrs Hogg; “but if it’s anything, why, it’ll be three ha’pence for supper, twopence for breakfast, threepence for dinner. Them’s my terms.”

“It must be anything,” said Nesta.

Mrs Hogg nodded. She whispered to her eldest boy, who, with another “Hooray!” rushed out of the cottage, followed by his brother. Nesta sank down in the shadow; she had found a refuge. For the present she was safe. Even Horace, with all his penetration, could not possibly find her in Mrs Hogg’s kitchen, in Souchester. She made a hurried calculation. She might live here for over a week quite comfortably. In her present terrible plight a week seemed like forever.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Unaccustomed Fare

Mrs Hogg’s bedroom was choky and Mrs Hogg herself snored loudly. But the place was really clean, and Nesta was too tired to lie long awake. When she did open her eyes in the morning, it was to the pleasant perfume of fried herring. A small boy was standing gazing at her out of two of the roundest eyes Nesta had ever seen. She came to the conclusion that the eyes of the entire Hogg family were not made like other people’s; they were as round as marbles, and protruded very slightly from the head. The boy said:

“Red herrings!” thrust his tongue into his cheek, winked at her, and vanished.

Nesta proceeded to dress herself, and went into the living room. The place of honour was reserved for her. There was bread for breakfast, but no butter. There was, however, a sort of lard, which the children much appreciated. There was tea, but very little milk, and coarse brown sugar. Mrs Hogg helped the boys liberally, but she did not give them any of the red herring. Nesta noticed that Ben’s eyes watered when he glanced at it. She herself could not touch it, so she transferred the morsel which had been put on her plate to that of the little boy. The boy shouted; he did not seem to be able to speak quietly. He said “Hurra!” The moment he said “Hurra!” the eldest boy said “Hooray!” and stretched out his hand and snatched a piece of herring from the dish. Mrs Hogg rose and smacked both the boys on their ears, whereupon they fell to crying bitterly.

“Oh, don’t,” said Nesta. “How can you? It seems so cruel.”

“Crool?” said Mrs Hogg; “crool to smack yer own children? Why, don’t Bible Solomon say, ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child’? There’s no spoiling of my children in this house. Put back that fish, you greedy boy. Ain’t it got to do for Missie’s dinner and supper, as well as for her breakfast; you put it back this blessed minute.”

Nesta felt a sudden sense of dismay. To be obliged to eat red herring as her sole sustenance for one whole day did seem dreadful, but she reflected that anything was better than her father’s and brother’s wrath, and the sneers of her two sisters, and better than Marcia’s gracious, and yet most intolerable forgiveness. Nesta was not at all sorry yet, for what she had done, but she was sorry for the sense of discomfort which now surrounded her. She had borne with her supper, which consisted of porridge and milk, the night before, but her breakfast was by no means to her taste. When the boys had gone to Sunday school, she said almost timidly:

“If I can’t help you in any way can’t I go out?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake do, my dear. I don’t want to see you except when you want to see me. You’re welcome to half my bed, although I was half perished in the night, for you would take all the clothes and wrap yourself in them. I’ve got rheumatics in my back, and I could have cried out with the pain. You’re a selfish young miss, I take it.”

Nesta was accustomed to home truths, but Mrs Hogg’s home truths hurt her more than most. She felt something like tears burning at the back of her eyes.

“Perhaps I am,” she said. “I know I’m not at all happy.”

She went out of the house, and wandered down the summer road. Soon she got into an enchanting lane where wild flowers of all sorts grew in wild profusion. Here also was a distant, a very distant glimpse of the blue, blue sea. She was glad to be away from it; she was glad, of course, to be here. She had not an idea what would become of her in the end. She felt as though all her life had suddenly been drawn up short, as though the thread of her existence had been snapped. It was her own doing; she had done it herself.

She heard the church bells ringing in the distance, but she knew it was impossible for her to go to church. She began to wonder what they were doing at home, and to wonder what the Griffiths were doing. She found she did not like to think either of her home or of the Griffiths. What could she do when her eight and sixpence was gone? Mrs Hogg was not at all an affectionate woman; she would exact her pence to the uttermost farthing. Nesta felt that if she were to live on red herrings for a week, she would feel very thin at the end of it. She detested red herrings She sincerely hoped there would be a variety in the Hogg menu. But Mrs Hogg’s emphatic statement did not seem to point that way. At least for to-day she was to be supported on butterless bread and red herrings.

Still she wandered on, the country air fanning her cheeks. There was peace everywhere except in her own troubled heart. As yet she was not at all sorry, there was only sorrow for herself, she was not sorry for the pain she was giving others. Had the temptation come to her again she would have succumbed.

“The people at home don’t love me much,” she thought, “or they’d have sent for me. I gave them every chance. It might have been naughty of me to run away, but I gave them the chance of sending for me. But they never sent a line or a message; they never would have done it, if Mr Griffiths had not gone to see mother and found out the truth. Oh, to think of what he would say when he came in. I wonder what he did say. I wonder what Flossie is doing. I wonder – oh, I wonder!”

She went on until she was tired, then she sat down by the edge of a babbling brook, dipped her hand into the water, and amused herself watching the minnows and other small fish as they floated past her in the bed of the stream. There were forget-me-nots growing on the edge of the bank; she picked some and tore them to pieces. Then she started up impatiently. What was she to do when the eight and sixpence was out? She began to think of Mary Hogg up at the Castle. It must be nice to have something to do. She wondered if the St. Justs would take her on as one of their servants. They kept such a lot, perhaps they might have room for her. She did not relish the idea. She had some pride, and she did not care to sink to the position of a domestic servant. Nevertheless, she thought it would be better than doing nothing at all; better than going back to her family; better than starving. But then the St. Justs might not have her. She could not honestly say she would make a good servant. She felt certain in her heart that she would be unpardonably careless, thoughtless, unable to do any one thing properly. Why, she could not even make a bed! She used to try at home, sometimes, and always failed miserably.

Then she began to consider another fact. The St. Justs would very quickly discover who she was. Oh, no, she must not go there; she must go to somebody else. But who else? She had really no time to lose. Perhaps she could go as reader or companion. That was much better. That would be quite nice. There must surely be a blind lady in the village, and blind old ladies always wanted companions to read to them. Nesta could read – how often she had read to her mother. Oh, yes, she would really do that part quite nicely. She was the quickest reader she knew. She could gabble through a story at breathless speed; it did not matter whether she pronounced her words right or wrong. Yes, a blind old lady was the very thing.

She began to feel hungry, for her breakfast had not been very satisfying. Whatever happened she must be in time for the Hogg dinner. This was the principal meal of the day; it would cost her threepence. She began to think that she was paying dear for the sort of food she got at the Hoggs’.

She walked back without meeting any one, and entered her new home. She was right; they were preparing for dinner. Mrs Hogg was stirring something over the fire; the boys were in their old attitude of rapt attention, their hands in their pockets. There was a cloth on the table which had once been white; it was certainly that no longer. There were coarse knives and forks and very coarse plates, with the thickest glasses to drink out of that Nesta had ever seen. Mrs Hogg said:

“If you’ll take your ’at off, Miss, dinner’ll be ready in a twinkle.”

Nesta retired into the bedroom; she came back in a few minutes. When she did so the youngest boy came up to her, and whispered in her ear:

“Pease pudding for dinner.” He then said, looking round at his brother, “Hurra!” and the brother, as was his invariable habit, cried “Hooray!”

The pease pudding was lifted out of the pot in a bag; the bag was opened, the boys looking on with breathless interest. It was put in the centre of the table on a round dish, and the family sat down.

“Your grace, Dan,” said Mrs Hogg.

Dan said:

“For all your mercies – ” He closed his eyes and mumbled the rest.

Then Mrs Hogg cut liberal slices of the pease pudding and helped Nesta and the two children. She gave Nesta the largest share. Nesta disliked pease pudding as much as she disliked fried herring, but that did not matter; she was so hungry now that she ate it. The pease pudding was followed by a dumpling, which the boys greatly appreciated. There were currants in it, so few that to search for them was most exciting and caused “Hurras!” and “Hoorays!” to sound through the cottage. This was a dinner which was, as the boys expressed it, “filling.”

“Seems to puff you out,” said Ben.

“Seems to stuff you up,” said Dan.

“Out you both go now,” said Mrs Hogg, and she and Nesta were alone. Mrs Hogg washed up and put the place in perfect order. She then sat down by the table, put on her spectacles, and opened her Bible.

“Ain’t you got a Bible with you?” she said.

“No,” replied Nesta, “I haven’t got anything with me.”

“Shall I read aloud to you, Miss?”

“No, thank you,” replied Nesta.

Mrs Hogg glanced up at Nesta with small favour in her face.

“Please,” said Nesta, coming close to her, “I want to get something to do. I am a young lady, you know.”

“Maybe you be; but you took all the clothes off me last night, and that ain’t young-ladyish to my way o’ thinking.”

“I’m sorry,” said Nesta, who thought it best to propitiate Mrs Hogg, “Please,” she continued, in a coaxing tone, “do you happen to know a blind lady in the village?”

“A blind lady – what do you mean?”

“Isn’t there one?” cried Nesta, in a tone of distress. “Why, you talk as though you wanted some one to be blind. What do you mean?”

“Well, I do; I want to read to her.”

“Sakes alive! what a queer child.”

“But is there one?”

“There ain’t as far as I’m aware. There’s old Mrs Johnston, but she ain’t blind; she has the very sharpest of eyes that were ever set into anybody’s head. She’s crool, too, crool, the way she snaps you up. She used to have a lady to read to her, but that lady has gone to Ameriky to be married. She went a week ago, and they say Mrs Johnston almost cried, crool as she used to be to Miss Palliser. Now, if you really wanted to – ”

“But I do; I do,” said Nesta. “I want to very badly indeed. May I go to see her? What is her address?”

“What ails her is rheumatism. She can’t stir without screeching out loud, and she wants some one to bolster her up. Not that I think much of you myself, but anyhow you might as well go and see.”

“Would she like me to go and see her to-day?”

“Bless you!” said Mrs Hogg, “on the Sawbath? Not a bit of it. She’d never give you nothing to do if you went and broke in on her Sunday rest. It’s church with her, as far as church indoors can be church, and she wouldn’t see you if you called fifty times. But you might go to-morrow, if you so liked it.”

Chapter Twenty Eight

Applying for a Situation

On the morrow between twelve and one o’clock, Nesta, who had no best clothes to put on, but who had to make the best of what she stood up in, as Mrs Hogg expressed it, started on her mission of inquiry to Mrs Johnston’s. Mrs Johnston lived in the high street. It was not much of a street, for Souchester was quite a tiny place; but still there were a few houses, and three or four shops, and amongst those houses was one with a hall door painted yellow, and pillars painted green. In that house lived Mrs Johnston. Nesta’s whole horizon, every scrap of her future, seemed now to be centred in Mrs Johnston. She had lain awake a good part of the night thinking about her, and making her plans. If Mrs Johnston would pay her – say ten shillings a week, she could easily manage to live quite well. She would still board with the Hoggs and take her food with them. She would soon get accustomed to the red herrings and to the half of Mrs Hogg’s bed. She would soon get accustomed to the boys, who could only articulate, as far as she was concerned, the words “Hooray” and “Hurroa.” In fact she would get accustomed to anything, and she would stay there until her family, tired out with looking for her, would cease to trouble their heads. By-and-by perhaps they would be sorry, and they would hold out the olive branch, and she would go home, but that time was a long way off.

Meanwhile all her future would depend on Mrs Johnston. She reached the house and rang the bell.

The house was not pretty, but it seemed to be immaculately neat. A girl as neat as the house itself presently opened the door. When she saw Nesta, she said:

“My missus can’t see anybody to-day,” and was about to slam the door in Nesta’s face, when that young lady adroitly slipped her foot in.

“I must see her. It is most important. It has something to do with the St. Justs,” said Nesta.

She was desperate and had to make up an excuse to secure her interview at any cost. The servant girl was impressed by the word St. Just, and telling Nesta she might stay in the hall and she would inquire, she went away to find her mistress.

Mrs Johnston’s celebrated rheumatism was at its worst that day. She was consequently more cranky than usual, and less inclined to be civil to any who wanted her.

“A girl, did you say, Mercy? Speak out, my lass. What sort of a girl?”

“A kind of lady girl, ma’am.”

“A stranger?”

“Yes; I never seen her before.”

“Did she say what she wanted?”

“I think the people from the Castle sent her, ma’am. She said it was to do with the St. Justs.”

“Why, then, for goodness’ sake show her in. I am expecting Miss Angela, and perhaps she will call some time to-day. We must have the place in apple-pie order. I hope to goodness that girl hasn’t come to say that Miss Angela can’t come. I’ve been counting on her visit more than anything.”

“In course, you have, ma’am, and no wonder. She’s a beautiful young lady.”

“Well, show the other young lady in, Mercy,” said Mrs Johnston; “but tell her that I’m bad with the rheumatics and I can’t entertain her long. If I ring the bell twice, Mercy, you will bring up the gingerbread and milk; but if I ring it three times, it will be for the gingerbread and cowslip wine, and if I don’t ring it at all, why, you are to bring up nothing. It all depends on what the young lady wants.”

How poor Nesta would have enjoyed the gingerbread and milk, let alone the gingerbread and cowslip wine which she was never to taste, for her diet at the Hoggs’ was the reverse of appetising. Try as she would she could scarcely manage it; hunger would, of course, bring her to it in time. But although she was nearly starving for her ordinary food, she was not hungry enough yet for the food which the Hoggs consumed. Mercy came back to her.

“You may come in, Miss,” she said. “It is entirely because you are a young lady from the Castle; but my missis wishes to tell you that her rheumatics are awful bad to-day. You’ll be as gentle as you can with her, Miss.”

Nesta nodded, and entered the room, the door of which Mercy held open for her.

Now, Nesta could never be remarked for her graceful or gentle movements, and she managed, in coming into the room, to excite Mrs Johnston’s quickly aroused ire, by knocking violently against a little table which held a tray full of some pretty silver ornaments. One of them was knocked down, and the whole arrangement was destroyed.

“Clumsy girl!” muttered Mrs Johnston under her breath. She looked up with a frown on her face as Nesta approached.

Mercy stooped to rearrange the silver ornaments.

“Go away, Mercy, for goodness’ sake!” snapped the old lady. “Shut the door, and remember about the bell. If I don’t ring, bring nothing whatever, Mercy. You understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Mercy.

Nesta went and stood in front of Mrs Johnston.

“Take a seat, my dear,” said the good lady, for she recalled that even a clumsy visitor from the Castle was worth propitiating. “So you have come from Miss Angela St. Just. I do trust and hope that the sweet young lady isn’t going to disappoint me?”

“But I haven’t,” said Nesta, “and she didn’t send you a message.”

“But you are staying there?”

“No; I’m not.”

“Then what message have you from the St. Justs, may I ask?”

Mrs Johnston held herself very upright. Even her rheumatism gave way to her anger.

“What has brought you here, may I ask, young girl?”

“I came,” said Nesta, “because Mrs Hogg sent me.”

“Mrs Hogg? Hogg? You don’t mean Mary Hogg, the laundress?”

“I don’t know whether she’s a laundress or whether she’s not, but I am lodging there.”

Mrs Johnston sat still more upright. “I am lodging there for the present I know the St. Justs, but I am lodging there, and I want something to do in this place, and I thought perhaps you’d let me – oh, please don’t get so red in the face! Please don’t! Please hear me out. I thought perhaps you’d let me come and read to you, the same as the girl who went to America. Mrs Hogg said you wanted some one.”

“Mary Hogg shall never have one scrap of my washing again. What does she mean by sending me a total stranger? I shall request Mary Hogg to mind her own business.”

“Please, it isn’t her fault. I wanted a blind one, but when there wasn’t one, I thought, perhaps, you’d do.”

“What?” said Mrs Johnston.

“Some one who is blind; but you aren’t blind.”

“Thank Heavens, no! I can see quite well, and I don’t much admire your face, Miss.”

“But I could read to you. I can read, oh, so well. I have an invalid mother, and I’ve read to her, oh, stories upon stories out of the penny papers. I can read ever so quickly. I wish you’d try me. What I want is ten shillings a week, and, and – oh, not my food. I could have my food at Mrs Hogg’s. It is awfully plain – pease pudding and herrings mostly; but I don’t mind that if only you’d pay me ten shillings a week and let me come to you every day.”

“You are the most audacious girl! I really never heard of anything quite so extraordinary in the whole course of my life. And, pray, may I ask why you said you had come from the St. Justs?”

“I know them, you see, and I thought your maid wouldn’t let me in, so I made up an excuse.”

“Then you are a liar as well. Now, let me give you my answer. I don’t know you or anything about you. I don’t like your appearance. I don’t intend to employ you as my reader. You are exceedingly awkward and your dress is untidy. If you are a lady you scarcely look like one, and ladies don’t go to lodge with women like Mary Hogg.”

“If they are very poor they do,” said Nesta. “I have got very little money.”

“What is your name?”

“Oh, please, don’t ask me. I would rather not say.”

“Indeed! You’d rather not say. And do you suppose that I’d take a girl into my employment – a girl who cannot give me her name?”

“I’d rather not. What is the use? You are very cruel. I wish there had been a blind one about; she wouldn’t be so cruel.”

“Will you please go. Just go straight out by that door. Don’t knock yourself against my silver again. The hall is very short, and the front door within a few feet away. Open it; get to the other side; shut it firmly after you and depart. Don’t let me see you again.”

Nesta did depart. She felt as though some one had beaten her. She had never, perhaps, in all her pampered existence, received so many blows in such a short time as that terrible old Mrs Johnston had managed to inflict. At first, she was too angry to feel all the misery that such treatment could cause; but when she entered the Hogg establishment and found in very truth from the moist atmosphere of the place, from the absence of any preparations for a meal, and from the worried expression on Mrs Hogg’s face, that she was indeed a laundress, she burst into tears.

“Highty tighty!” said Mrs Hogg. “I can’t have any more of this. Out you go. Did you see her?”

“Oh, don’t ask me. She’s a perfect terror!”

“She has a sharp bark, but what I say is that her bark’s worse nor her bite. She pays regular. Now, why couldn’t you bring yourself to mind her and to soothe her down a bit? Maybe she’d do well by you.”

“She wouldn’t have me on any terms. She turned me right out. She didn’t like me at all.”

“I’m not surprised at that. I don’t much like von, either. But there’s your dinner in the corner there. I wropt it up in a bit o’ paper. You’d best take it out and eat it in the fields. It’ll be all mess and moither and soapsuds and steaming water here for the rest of the day.”