Friends I Have Made

“But it was a terrible sight to see: first one and then another poor bruised and cut creature dragged out of the ruins as fast as they could clear away the rubbish; and there were the poor things half naked, and with the few bits of furniture belonging to them all in one ruinous smash. I did not see it, you know, but plenty of the neighbours did; and I could find you a dozen ready to go over the whole story again and again, up to the finding of Mrs Molloy and her little gal, her as lives now with her father, top of Number 16 – pretty little gal she is, and so much like her mother as was killed. They tell me the people on both sides came suddenly out of their houses, as if it was an earthquake; and, you know, really an earthquake would not be much worse so far as one house was concerned. You wouldn’t think it, though, but I saved all my birds as was left hanging against the walls.

“Everybody was very sorry, of course, as soon as it was known; and the papers wrote about it, and people talked of it, and then there were a few pounds put together for the benefit of the sufferers; but you know what a sight of pounds it would take to make it all right for that poor little gal up there as lost her mother. Poor little thing, she don’t feel the loss much; but it’s a sad job for her.

“Hark! don’t you hear? That’s her bird. It’s on’y a finch, but he whistles well, and it pleases her. I give it her, you know; and when her father’s out I goes up and feeds it, and gives it water, because she’s too little to do it. She calls me ‘Uncle Bill,’ and I like to hear her; for, you see, being a cripple, I ain’t like other men, and somehow or other I always was fond of little children.

“Well, then, if you don’t mind, I don’t; so come along, and then p’r’aps we can see her.”

Up flight after flight of groaning stairs, to a landing spun across and across with a string web, upon whose intricacies scraps of white rag took the place of flies; and now came the twittering of many birds, and the restless tap, tap, scraping noise of sharp beaks upon wire and perch. My lame guide opened the attic door, after muttering a warning about my head; and there I stood on the top floor of the house in one of those rooms where fancy brought up visions of stern-faced old Huguenot silk weavers bending over their looms, and sending backwards and forwards the busy shuttle, as bright warp crossed the glistening woof.

But there was no loom here, only the long range of lead casement along one side of the room, filtering the rays of light as they entered dyed of a smoky hue – rays of light, though, so joyous that the dozens of little prisoners ranged about the room grew excited, and fluttered, and sang and twittered loudly.

My guide smiled proudly as I walked from cage to cage, and then, evidently with a thought for the bare shelf in the open cupboard, threw off his coat, unfastened his vest, loosened his collar, and then placed a circlet of greasy old black ribbon round his not too tidy black hair, as he seated himself upon his bench and dived into the mysteries of boot-closing.

“I can talk too, you know,” he said; “that’s the best of my trade. Nice birds some of them, ain’t they? Seems a shame to keep ’em behind wires; but then we all have to work behind wires, more or less, for other folks’s pleasure. They sings – we works; don’t you see?”

But I had finished my inspection of mealy linnets and goldfinches, pegging finches and larks; and had taken in at a glance the one bare room, with its whitewashed walls, decorated here with pictures cut from the Illustrated London News and Punch, and there with glass Florence flasks filled with chintz flowers and salt, potichomanie fashion, as performed by our grandmothers; the rusty, broken-barred grate, with its heaped-up ashes; and the general untidiness of the bachelor place, made worse by the plentiful sprinkling of tobacco débris and the many broken craters in which the weed had been consumed. I had seen all I could in a hasty glance, and was now looking out of the open window at another bird in a cage; for at the casement opposite, her little bright eyes glittering through a tangle of long brown hair, was the child of whom Uncle Bill had spoken. Her red lips were apart, and as I looked she shouted in across the court to the lame boot-closer, in a gleeful, childish treble; while he turned his sallow face to me with a smile of gratified pride upon it that told – oh! how plainly – of the true heart, unspoiled by the misery of a London court.

“That’s her,” he said – and his voice seemed to jar discordantly, sounding of the streets, streety; while the proud look upon his face had in it a tinge of the something greater as planted in all hearts by a great Hand – “that’s her. She stands at that window for hours while I’m at work; and I sing to her, as she claps her hands; and, you know, her father leaves her locked up there like that for long enough while he goes out, and I know the little thing would be hungry if – but she ain’t, you know.” (Nods many here.) “I wish he’d let me have her altogether; for he’s a bad sort, is her father, and it worries me as to what’s to become of the little thing. I’m not much account, you see, myself; but, being such a pretty little thing, I should like to see her taken care of, and one daren’t hardly speak to the child when he’s at home, and he won’t hardly let any of the women in the house go near his room at all.

“No, I say – don’t you go near the window, or you’ll frighten her away.”

I kept back in the room so as to look on unseen, and then started forward; for the bright look of pleasure upon the child’s face turned to one of pain, as a rough hand seized her by the shoulder, drew her back, and then the window was dragged in, and fastened so sharply that one of the little panes was jarred out, and fell tinkling far below into the court.

My next glance was at Uncle Bill, who was bending over his work with set teeth, and the sweat standing in drops upon his grimy forehead.

“There, don’t speak to me,” he said, huskily. “I’m a bit put out now; hook it, and see me agen some other time, please.”

I could hear the birds twittering as I went down from landing to landing, meeting no unkindly looks; but, like Uncle Bill, one could not help feeling “a bit put out” concerning the future of the little bird I saw in its cage.

Chapter Seven.

A Great Trouble

In my strange, reticent way I had a great objection to making friends unless they were people who needed my aid; then I seemed drawn to them, and an intimacy was sure to follow. There was one family, though, whom I came to know through Ruth Smith and her husband Luke, and from the very first they interested me – more, though, from the troubles through which they had passed than anything else.

Mr Hendrick was a clerk in some great firm, and as our intimacy increased, and he saw the interest I took in his daughters, each of whom was a well educated young girl, just of an impressionable age, he used to speak very plainly of their future.

“I shall not be sorry,” he said, “to see them the wives of good earnest men, I don’t want them to make wealthy matches; but money is useful, of course.”

“They have never been from home?” I said.

“Oh, yes, both of them. But governesses, poor children, have not a happy time. Of course there are houses where there is a good sensible woman at the head, and the governess finds a home; but in too many cases she does not fare any too well.”

“Yours have had some unpleasant experiences, then?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, smiling. “Ah, that was a hard time.” It was just after my long illness, when I was laid by for six months.

“Of course, it was not reasonable to expect different treatment from the great firm with whom I had been for so many years; but it came like a sharp pang when one morning at breakfast, just as I had made up my mind to go up to town and try again, the postman left a letter.

“It was very kindly written, and enclosed a cheque for fifty pounds; but that did not seem to balance the intimation that the heads of the City place had filled up my post by promoting one of their employés; for they said that it was quite evident I should not be in a condition to do active business for some months to come, and they advocated perfect rest and a sojourn at the sea side.

“I could not complain, for twice over I had been back, telling myself I was strong enough to go on, but each time I had broken down, and on the last occasion had to be sent home in a fly.

“The disease, you see, had left me so dreadfully nervous; and directly I had attempted to think and direct, and plunge generally into the regular bustle of business, I had become confused and flurried, ending by sitting down miserably helpless, and obliged to confess myself beaten.

“‘This is the worst cut of all,’ I said with a groan, as I let the envelope and its enclosures fall to the ground; ‘God help us! what is to become of us?’

“‘Oh, come, come!’ exclaimed my wife – bless her for a dear little woman who always thinks a looking-glass has two bright sides! – ‘come, come! we shall manage right enough, dear, only wait and grow strong.’

“‘Seven of us, and no income – nothing to look forward to in this weary, weary world,’ I groaned; and I sank back and covered my face with my hands.

“‘And as I did so I felt my little woman rest her forehead on my hands, and in a whisper she repeated those lines of Longfellow’s – ’

“‘Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all: Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.’

“I knew the truth of the words – very favourite ones of mine, which I had often quoted about other people’s sorrows – but now I could only moan in my weakness, and think of the future as a cloudy, rainy time, which no sunshine could ever pierce.

“What was to become of our two girls, Hetty and Marie, of whom we had been so proud, and whom we had educated and trained with such care that while domestic in every way, they were ladies in the truest sense of the word – girls of eighteen and twenty? What was to become of the little ones?

“For with my large family I had never been able to put much aside, but had trusted to insurance. What little I had saved had been swept away by the expenses of my long illness; and now I had fifty pounds, a few debts, the insurance-money to keep up, my health was shattered, and no prospective income.

“I can scarcely think about it all now without a strange swelling coming in my throat, for events followed one another pretty quickly then. Of course, I know that I had no business to repine; but I was in so weak and helpless a state that I did and said things very different to the thoughts and acts of a man in robust health.

“The next morning my eldest boy, a lad of fourteen then, sat perfectly still after breakfast, and looked preternaturally solemn. I did not see it then, but there was evidently a conspiracy afloat.

“‘Time you had gone to school, my boy,’ I said.

“‘Not going to-day, father,’ was the answer; and then it came out that the schoolmaster’s brother had undertaken to receive the boy into his office, without premium – he was a land agent and surveyor, and the boy was to reside with him.

“I was stunned almost. I knew it was a blessing in disguise – one hearty boy well provided for – but I was too full of repining to see it then.

“Dick went the next day; and this seemed a new trouble.

“Four days later Marie came to tell me that she was going to be nursery governess at the rectory; and though she was only going to be a mile away, that was another bitter pang; and I fear that I did no little towards sending the poor girl to her new home low-spirited and dejected.

“‘Our home’s being broken up now, dear,’ I said to my wife the evening after Marie had gone; and she gave such a sigh, and began to sob so violently, that I knew there was something being kept back, and taxed her with it.

“‘Tell me this instant,’ I said excitedly. ‘What is it?’

“‘Pray, pray don’t be excited,’ she cried tenderly; ‘you know how it depresses you afterwards.’

“‘Then tell me all about what has been done. Oh! it’s cruel, cruel, cruel, while I am prostrate here, to be deceiving me as you all are.’

“‘Harry, darling,’ my poor little wife sobbed, ‘indeed, indeed we have been doing all for the best, and to help you in our difficulties.’

“‘Yes, yes; I know, I know,’ I said, laying my hand upon her head as she knelt there by my bedside; ‘it is I who am so pitifully mean and weak with my illness. Tell me all, dear; I can bear it now.’

“And I did try so hard; though the weak tears would come rolling from beneath my closed eyelids as she told me that Hetty, my darling, the flower of the flock, with her sweet earnest grey eyes, fair face, and golden-brown hair, had nobly determined, too, to obtain a situation as governess; had, unknown even to her mother, advertised; had received an answer, and obtained an appointment in a merchant’s family at a salary of eight pounds per annum.

“‘Yes; and isn’t it lucky, father?’ exclaimed her bright, cheerful, young voice; for she had been standing at the door.

“‘Oh, my darling! I can’t part with you,’ I groaned.

“‘Only for a little while, father dear,’ she said nestling to me. ‘And eight pounds a year; that will be two pounds for me for dress – must dress well, dear – and six for you and mamma. That will nearly half pay one quarter’s rent, you know; and think! there will be three less to keep, and I do eat so heartily.’

“I tried very hard to follow in the same spirit of gaiety; but in those days I was such a wet blanket that I soon led the way, and it ended in our all sobbing together at the thought of the coming separation.

“This may sound very simple to some people; but by those who have lived in the circle of a united family, happy in their own modest way, I dare say it will be understood.

“The day of parting came so quickly, and my wife took my place, going up to town with Hetty, and seeing her safely installed, while I lay tossing feverishly on my bed, bemoaning my inability to act, and looking with envy through the open window at the labourer toiling in the hot sun with his pickaxe, mending the road.

“‘It’s not much I ask!’ I groaned, in an agony of supplication, as I lay there, and stretched out my thin and trembling hands; ‘only that I may have strength – strength to work. I care not how hard, how humble it may be, only give me back my strength.’

“Perhaps it was from exhaustion, but I felt and thought differently after that; for it seemed to me then, as I lay there, that my prayer was heard, and a sweet restful sleep fell upon me, from which I awakened at last to find it was quite sunset, while, on looking round, there sat my wife watching by the bedside.

“‘Back,’ I said, ‘so soon?’

“‘Soon, dear?’ she said; ‘I have been sitting here an hour. It is seven o’clock, and they say you fell asleep before twelve. It was so sweet and sound a sleep that I would not wake you.’

“I lay there quite still for a few minutes, holding her hand in mine, and then I said quite calmly —

“‘Lizzie, I’m going to get strong now.’

“‘Yes, yes; of course, dear,’ she said; and I saw the hopeless tears gathering in her eyes.

“I smiled. She told me afterwards that I had not smiled with such a calm contented look on my countenance for many, many months, and it frightened her; for she thought it might be the precursor of a terrible change.

“‘Yes,’ I said, ‘get strong;’ and I patted the little transparent hand that had grown with anxiety and watching as thin as my own. ‘Yes,’ I repeated again, ‘get strong. I can feel it now. What is to-morrow?’

“‘Friday,’ she said; and her eyes dilated with fear.

“‘Then get a few things ready, and on Saturday we will go down to one of those little villages near Dover for a month. The sea-air will give me the strength I want, and then to work once more. Thank God the worst is past!’

“‘Harry, Harry, dear Harry!’ she sobbed, flinging her arms wildly round me, and drawing my head to her bosom. ‘Oh, speak to me – speak again! You are worse – much worse. No, no; let go, let go,’ she cried frantically, as she struggled to get away, ‘let me ring.’

“‘What for? what for, little woman?’ I said, holding her more tightly to my breast.

“‘To get help – to send for the doctor,’ she cried wildly.

“‘Hush, hush!’ I said. ‘Look at me – look in my eyes – do I seem worse?’

“‘N-no,’ she faltered, gazing at me with her poor face all drawn and haggard; ‘but – but – ’

“‘Lay your head on my arm, darling, and listen,’ I said calmly. ‘There, there, I tell you calmly and sanely that I am better. I know I am better. The old weary feeling has gone; and I believe – yes, I believe that my prayer has been heard.’

“Poor little weary heart, that had been so tortured for my sake! It was long enough before I could calm her to the same belief as mine; but at last she sat there with her head resting on the pillow nearest mine, and she answered my questions about her journey to town with Hetty.

“‘A nice house?’ I said.

“‘Yes; a large pretentious place in a new square.’

“‘And the people?’

“‘I only saw the mistress and children.’

“‘Nice?’

“‘Ye-es.’

“‘Wife a little pompous, perhaps?’

“‘Yes; I could not help thinking so,’ she faltered.

“‘And the children rude and disagreeable?’ I said, smiling.

“‘I’m – I’m afraid so,’ she faltered.

“‘Never mind, never mind,’ I said cheerfully. ‘It shan’t be for long, little woman. I shall never rest till I have a comfortable home for our darlings once again; and Hetty, God bless her! she has a way and disposition that must make every one love her. Mistress, children, servants, they will all love and respect her; so we must be patient for a while – only be patient.’

“These words frightened my poor wife again, but my calm quiet smiles reassured her; and that evening I eat up and had tea with those who were left – the two little ones – by the open window of my bedroom, and a sweet sense of calmness and content was over me, such as I had not known for many weary months.

“I was down in the garden the next morning before the sun was hot. I had always loved my bit of garden, and by the help of a hoe walked all round it, feeling a little sad to see how it had gone to ruin, but already making plans for the future.

“‘Ah, Mr Hendrick!’ said a cheery voice, and I recognised a neighbour with whom I had often ridden up to business of a morning; ‘glad to see you so much better.’

“‘Thank you, I am much better,’ I said, catching the extended hand, and feeling a warm glow at my heart in the friendly grasp.

“‘By the way don’t be offended,’ he said, ‘but are you going to leave your house?’

“‘I am thinking of doing so,’ I said sadly.

“‘I don’t mean that,’ he said hastily. ‘I mean for a month or six weeks. An old friend of mine, a country lawyer, wants a furnished residence for self and family for a time, handy to town, where he has a big railway case on. I thought, perhaps if you were going to the sea side for a bit – you know – he’s well off – ask stiff rent, and that sort of thing – eh? – think it over.’

“‘I – I will,’ I said, gasping for breath; for this new piece of good fortune was almost too much for me.

“Suffice it that I promised to send him word, and the result was that, though it delayed my going for a few days, before the next week was over I was down in a pleasant cottage by the sea side, with not only enough for current expenses, but a good surplus coming from the rent of our own house, for my neighbour had secured for me a far higher sum than I should have asked; and there was no occasion to touch the fifty pounds, with which I cleared off all my debts.

“That was a calm and delicious time, when with the sweet sense of returning strength I lay upon the sands, drawing in the iodine-laden sea-breeze, and seeming to feel a change day by day. We had the most cheerful letters from the girls and our boy, telling us of their success, and Hetty’s were above all long and affectionate.

“But I was not satisfied; there seemed to me to be a forced gaiety about Hetty’s letters that troubled me, and I could not think them real, for it seemed to me as if she wrote these notes solely for the sake of making me cheerful, and they had the opposite result. In fact, I would at that time far rather have heard that she was uncomfortable, and longing for the time when she might return home.

“Meanwhile, as the weeks slipped by, I grew so well that I felt almost like my former self; and had anything been wanting to complete my cure, it was a visit from a former partner of the firm I had served. He had left them years before to commence business for himself, and had thriven so that his establishment was as large as that from which he had split.

“We had always been on civil terms, but I never thought he had noticed me. Now, however, on finding out that I was disengaged, he came to me with a most brilliant offer – at least it seemed so to me then.

“‘I always longed to have your clear head to depend on,’ he said, ‘but, of course, honour forbade any negotiations while you were with the old firm. Now you are free, I shall be very glad if you will join me.’

“‘I’m afraid my clear head has gone for ever,’ I said sadly.

“‘Pooh, nonsense, man!’ he said, laughing. ‘You’ve had a nasty attack, but that’s all gone, and you’ll be your own man in another week. Come, say the word, you’ll join me, and I won’t make promises, but come to me and let me feel that I’ve always somebody at the house that I can trust and depend on while I’m away, and perhaps some day we’ll talk about a junior partnership.’

“I could not thank him, but I gave him my hand, and he left me, evidently congratulating himself on having done a good stroke of business; while I – I felt as if I could never atone for my repinings under affliction.

“But my great trouble was to come.

“We were sitting at breakfast the next morning, talking about how it would be quite unnecessary now to give up the house, when a letter came.

“It was a strange hand, from London, and somehow with a sense of impending evil I began slowly turning it over, and telling my wife that it had been down to the old house, and re-directed here, so that it was over a day old.

“At last I opened it, read it, and it dropped from my hands.

“I caught it up again though, the next moment, and read it out to my wife. It was as follows: —

“‘50, Woodmount Square.’

“‘Wednesday.’

“‘Sir, – It is an unpleasant task, but as I have had your daughter living beneath my roof, I feel it to be my duty to inform you that two days ago she left here in a clandestine manner, and has not thought proper to return. It is, of course, a very painful admission to make, especially to her father, but as it is a duty, I do not shrink therefrom. Your daughter’s conduct has given Mrs Saint Ray great cause for anxiety from the first, as it has been flighty, and not at all lady-like. We should very shortly have dismissed her, as we do not approve of gentlemen visiting the instructress of our children. As she has, however, taken this step, I have no more to say, and feeling that I have done my duty,’

“‘I am,’

“‘Your obedient Servant,’

“‘Alexander Saint Ray.’

“‘Mr Hendrick.’

“If I had any remnant of my old weakness hanging about before, it was all cleared away now, as I stood tearing the letter to fragments.

“‘It’s a lie – a wicked, atrocious lie!’ I exclaimed, stamping on the pieces. ‘Our darling has been driven away, or there is something wrong. She would never act like this.’

“‘Never, Harry,’ exclaimed my wife, who stood there flushed and angry one moment, pale as ashes the next. ‘But stop! what are you going to do?’

“‘Going to do?’ I roared, ‘going to seek for our child.’

“‘But you are not strong enough – the agitation – ’

“‘Strong! agitation!’ I exclaimed, catching her so tightly by the arm that she winced. ‘Look at me, Lizzy; I never felt stronger in my life.’

“In less than an hour I was being whirled up to town by the train, and on reaching the station, the cab that took me on to Woodmount Square seemed to crawl.

“I thundered so at the knocker, and dragged so fiercely at the visitors’ bell, that the footman in a tawdry livery stared at me aghast as he opened the door, and I strode in.