The Maidens' Lodge Part 16

_Isabella Fyvie Mayo_.

As the two girls turned into the little garden of Number Three, the latch of the door was lifted, and Mrs Jane came out.

"Good evening!" said she. "Come to see my sister, are you? I and my Deb are doing for her to-day, for her Nell has got a holiday--gone to see her mother--lazy s.l.u.t!"

"Which is the lazy s.l.u.t, Mrs Jane?" asked Rhoda, laughing.

"Heyday! they're all a parcel together," answered Mrs Jane. "Nell and her mother, and her grandmother before them. And Marcella, too, she's no better. Go in, if you want a string of complaints. You can come out when you've had plenty."

"How many complaints are plenty, Mrs Jane?"

"One," said Mrs Jane, marching off. "Plenty for me."

Rhoda lifted the latch, and walked in, Phoebe following her. She tapped at the inner door.

"Oh, come in, whoever it is," said a querulous, plaintive voice. "Well, Mrs Rhoda, I thought you would have been to see me before. A poor lonely creature, that n.o.body cares for, and never has any comfort nor pleasure! And who have you with you? I'm sure she's in a deep consumption from the looks of her. Coltsfoot, my dear, and h.o.r.ehound, with plenty of sugar, boiled together; and a little mallow won't hurt.

But they'll not do you much good, I should say; you're too far gone: still, 'tis a duty to do all one can, and some strange things do happen: like Betty Collins--the doctors all gave her up, and there she is, walking about, as well as anybody. And so may you, my dear, though you don't look like it. Still, you are young--there's no telling: and coltsfoot is a very good thing, and makes wonderful cures. Oh, that careless Jane, to leave me all alone, just when I wanted my pillows shaking! And so inconsiderate of Nell to go home just to-day, of all days, when she knew I was sure to be worse; I always am after a fast-day. Fast-days don't suit me at all; they are very bad for sick people. They make one's spirits so low, and are sure to give me the vapours. Oh dear, that Jane!"

"What's the matter with that Jane?" demanded the bearer of the name, stalking in, as Phoebe was trying to brace up her courage to the point of offering to shake the pillows. "Want another dose of castor oil?

I've got it."

A faint shriek of deprecation was the answer.

"Oh dear! And you know how I hate it! Jane, do shake up my pillows.

They feel as if there were stones instead of flocks in them, or--"

"Nutmegs, no doubt," suggested Mrs Jane. "Shake them up? Oh yes, and you too--do you both good."

"Oh, don't, Jane! Have you an orange for me?"

"Sit down, my dears," said Mrs Jane, parenthetically. "Can't afford them, Marcella. Plenty of black currant tea. Better for you."

"I don't like it!" said Mrs Marcella, plaintively.

"Oranges are eightpence a-piece, and currants may be had for the gathering," observed Mrs Jane, sententiously.

"They give me a pain in my side!" moaned the invalid.

"Well, the oranges would give you a pain in your purse. I'd rather have one in my side, if I were you."

"You don't know what it is to be ill!" said Mrs Marcella, closing her eyes.

"Don't I? I've had both small-pox and spotted fever."

"So long ago!"

"Bless you, child! I'm not Methuselah!" said Mrs Jane.

"Well, I think you might be, Jane, for really, the way in which you can sit up all night, and look as fresh as a daisy in the morning, when you have not had a wink of sleep, and I am perfectly worn-out with suffering--just skin and bone, and no more--"

"There's a little tongue left, I reckon!" said Mrs Jane.

"The way she will get up and go to market, my dears, after such a night as that," pursued Mrs Marcella, who always ran on her own line of rails, and never shunted to avoid collision; "you never saw anything like her--the amount she can bear! She's as tough as a rhinoceros, and as strong as an elephant, and as wanting in feeling as--as--"

"A sensitive plant," popped in Mrs Jane. "Now, Marcella, open your mouth and shut your eyes, and take this."

"Is it castor oil?" faintly screamed the invalid, endeavouring to protect herself.

"Stuff! 'Tis good Tent wine. Take it and be thankful."

"Where did you get it, Jane?"

"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies," said Mrs Jane. "It was honestly come by."

"Well, I think we must be going, Mrs Marcella," said Rhoda, rising.

"Oh, my dear! Must you, really? And so seldom as you come to see a poor thing like me, who hasn't a living creature to care for her--except Jane, of course, and she doesn't, not one bit! Dear! And to think that I was once a pretty young maid, with a little fortune of my own; and there was many a young gentleman, my dear, that would have given his right hand for no more than a smile from me--"

"Heyday! how this world is given to lying!" interpolated Mrs Jane.

"And we were a large family then--eight of us, my dear; and now they are all dead, and I am left quite alone, except Jane, you know. Oh dear, dear, but to think of it! But there is no thankfulness in the world, nor kindness neither. The people I have been good to! and now that I have _come down_ a little, to see how they treat me! Jane doesn't mind it; she has no tender feelings at all; she can stand all things, and never say a word, I am sure I don't know how she does it. I am all feeling! These things touch me so keenly. But Jane's just like a stone. Well, good evening, my dear, if you must go. I think you might have come a little sooner, and you might come oftener, if you would.

But that is always my lot, to be neglected and despised--a poor, lonely, ugly old maid, that n.o.body cares for. And it wasn't my fault, I am sure; I never chose such a fate. I cannot think why such afflictions have been sent me. I am sure I am no worse than other people. Clarissa is a great deal vainer than I am; and Jane is ever so much harder; and as to Dorothy, why, 'tis misery to see her--she is so cheerful and full of mirth, and she has not a thing to be content with--it quite hurts me to see anyone like that. But people are so wanting in feeling! I am sure--"

"Go, if you want," said Mrs Jane, shortly, holding the door open.

"Oh, yes, go! Of course you want to go!" lamented Mrs Marcella. "What pleasure can there be to a bright young maid like you, to sit with a poor, sick, miserable creature like me? Dear, dear! And only to think--"

Rhoda escaped. Phoebe followed, more slowly. Mrs Jane came out after them, and shut the door behind them.

"She's in pain, this evening," said the last-named person in her usual blunt style. "Some folks can bear pain, and some can't. And those that can must beat with those that can't. She'll be better of letting it out a bit. Good evening."

"Oh, isn't it dreadful!" said Rhoda, when they were out of the gate. "I just hate going to see Mrs Marcella, especially when she takes one of her complaining fits. If I were Mrs Jane, I should let her have it out by herself. But she is hard, rather--she doesn't care as I should."

But Phoebe thought that a mistake. She had noticed the drawn brow of the silent sister, while the sufferer was detailing her string of troubles, and the sudden quiver of the under lip, when allusion was made to the eight of whom the family had once consisted: and Phoebe's deduction was, not that Jane Talbot bore no burden, but that she kept it out of sight. Perhaps that very characteristic bluntness of her manner denoted a tight curb kept upon her spirit.

Rhoda had noticed nothing of all this. Herself a surface character, she could not see below the surface in another.

The Wednesday evening came, and with it Sir Richard Delawarr's coach, conveying his two younger daughters. They were extremely unlike in person. Gatty was tall, calm, and deliberate; Molly was rather diminutive for her years, and exceedingly lively. While Gatty came forward in a stately, courteous manner, courtesying to Madam, and kindly answering her inquiries after Betty, Molly linked her arm in Rhoda's, with--

"How goes it, old jade?"

And when Mr Onslow, who happened to be crossing the hall, stopped and inquired in a rather timid manner if Mrs Betty's health were improving, Molly at once favoured him with a slap on the back, and the counter query,--

"What's that to you, you old thief?" Phoebe was horrified. If these were aristocratic manners, she preferred those of inferior quality. But noticing that Gatty's manners were quiet and correct, Phoebe concluded that Molly must be an exceptional eccentricity. She contemplated the prospect of a month in that young lady's company with unmitigated repugnance.

"Well, Mrs Molly, my dear,--as smart as ever!" remarked Madam, turning to Molly with a smile. "All right, old witch!" said Molly. And to Phoebe's astonishment, Madam smiled on, and did not resent the impertinence.

"Well!--how do you like Gatty and Molly?" said Rhoda to Phoebe, when they were safe in their own room.