With something like the wondering pleasure that must have been felt by
the first photographer who applied his developing liquid to a sensitised
plate and then saw spring out by magic, as it were, first faint, then
stronger lines, feature by feature, the lineaments of a beautiful face,
gazed old Matt Space upon Lucy Grey as Time, that wonderful developer,
caused her day by day to take more and more the aspect of a beautiful
woman. Yesterday almost it seemed to him that she was a mere girl, a
child; but the transition had been rapid. True, hers was a time of life
when the bud is seen to expand rapidly; but here there had been forcing
powers at work. In fact, in quiet self-dependence, thought, and her
managing ways, Lucy had been for years a woman, and the friend and
counsellor of her mother in many a sore trial. Familiarity with sorrow,
poverty, her step-father's struggles, and their life in the busy streets
of London, had all tended to develop the mind of Lucy Grey, who might
truly be said never to have known a girlhood: nurse to her little sister
and brother in sickness and health, attendant of her ailing mother,
housekeeper, cheerer of Septimus Hardon's misery, and now busy worker
for the family's support, it were strange indeed if she had not stepped
as it were from child to woman, for in such cases as hers years seem
secondary.
But the years had not been stationary, for Lucy Grey was now seventeen,
and the old printer used to gaze with pride upon the fair girl, who
chose him gladly for her companion to and from the warehouse for which
she worked.
But Matt was angry and annoyed, for he had been made the half confidant
of a secret which galled and worried him. Twenty times a day he vowed
that he would have no more of it; and at such times the consumption of
his snuff was terrible. There was hardly a lamp-post in Carey-street to
which he had not fiercely declared that he would "split," nodding
mysteriously the whole while; but night after night, when he met the
appealing look of Lucy, all his resolutions faded like mist in the sun,
and he would whisper the next post he passed that he was getting to be a
fool in his old age.
The old man had carried the letter he received to Lucy, giving it to her
at dinner-time, while Mrs Hardon was lying down; and then furtively
watched the eager looks, the flushing cheeks, and tear-wet eyes, as the
reader devoured the contents.
"You'll be here to-night, Mr Space?" said Lucy, looking up. "You'll go
with me?"
"Old Matt Space, miss, is your humble servant, and he'll do what you
tell him; but he don't like that at all. He don't like secrets;" and
the old man pointed to the note. "Why not tell her?" and he nodded
towards the inner room.
"No, no," whispered Lucy hurriedly.
"All right, miss, all right. I'll be here at seven. Be taken bad, I
suppose, and slip off for an hour." And at the appointed time the old
man hurried from the office where he was employed, at the great risk of
being told that he would be wanted no more, and accompanied Lucy to
where in the dusk of evening, she stood talking to the dark,
showily-dressed woman, whose agitated, mobile countenance made the paint
upon her cheeks look weird and strange. She had hold tightly of Lucy's
hand, and more than once old Matt saw her kiss it fondly, clinging to it
as if it were her last hold upon innocence and purity.
Twice during their interview the old man advanced, signing that it was
time they went, by many a hasty jerk with his thumb; but the appealing
looks he encountered sent him muttering back to his former post beneath
a lamp, where he stood watching uneasily.
And old Matt had something to watch, too; for twice he saw the
villainously-countenanced Mr Jarker slink by on the opposite side of
the way, trying very hard to appear ignorant of a meeting taking place,
but failing dismally, for from time to time his head was turned in the
direction, besides which many a passer-by paused to gaze, with something
like effrontery, upon the sweet, candid face of Lucy, while more than
one seemed disposed to turn back. All this troubled the old man, and
made him redouble his watchfulness as he walked a little nearer to the
speakers; but he did not see that, some fifty yards down the street,
standing in a doorway, there was another watcher, from beneath whose
broad white brow a pair of keen grey eyes were fixed uneasily upon the
group, with a troubled, puzzled expression.
"God--God bless you!" whispered the woman; "you must go now, my
darling!" just as a well-dressed man sauntered back, cigar in hand, and,
slightly stooping, addressed some observation to the startled girl; when
old Matt, who had been watching his movements and followed close behind,
suddenly shouldered him on one side, and so vigorously, that he stepped
into the road to save himself from falling. Then there was a shout from
a passing cabman, a half-uttered cry, and the daintily-dressed lounger
was rubbing the marks of a muddy wheel from his dark trousers, while old
Matt, with a gruff "Come along, miss!" drew Lucy's arm through his own,
and with a short, sharp nod to her companion, marched her off.
But Matt did not turn back to see the next change in the scene, or he
might have looked upon Mr William Jarker crossing the road and speaking
to the dark woman, who replied fiercely and shortly, as she turned from
him in an abrupt manner, but only to return and say a few words quietly
ere she hurried off. Then the city dandy, recovered from his fright,
followed the steps of old Matt and Lucy, till a firm hand was laid upon
his shoulder, when turning, he encountered the calm, fixed gaze of a man
of some one- or two-and-thirty, dressed as a clergyman.
"Stand back, sir, or I give you into custody for insulting that young
lady," he said, in quiet, hard, measured tones.
"Young what?" was the reply; but there was a something so firm and
convincing in the look of the keen grey eyes upon him, that, muttering
inaudibly, the fellow shrank back, and was soon lost in the passing
crowd.
The Reverend Arthur Sterne then looked hastily round, to see that Lucy
Grey had passed down the next street, to whose corner he hurried, where
he could see her nearly at the bottom, with old Matt striding fiercely
along. He then turned to look for the woman who had been Lucy's
companion, but she had disappeared. However, he walked hastily in the
direction she had taken, and searched eagerly for some distance, now
thinking that he caught sight of her bonnet on this side, now upon that,
but always disappointed; several times he was about to return, but a
delusive glimpse of some figure in the distance led him on, till, tired
and disheartened, he turned to reach his apartments, when he
encountered, first, the ill-looking countenance of Mr William Jarker,
who made a sort of slouching attempt at a bow, and directly after, a
quiet-looking individual, with a straw in his mouth and his hands in his
pockets, whom Mr Sterne passed without notice, though he had recognised
the birdcatcher, whose wife he had from time to time visited. But Mr
Sterne was not aware that he had been followed by the ruffian, as a
bull-dog would follow his master, or a hound his quarry--though it is
disgracing the latter simile to use it. Nor was Mr Jarker aware that
that quiet-looking individual had been following him in turn till he was
once more about to track the curate, when for a moment he and the quiet
individual stood face to face, apparently without seeing one another;
but it was observable that Mr Jarker immediately went off in quite
another direction, while, after slowly twisting his straw and winking to
himself, the quiet man slowly took the same route as Mr Sterne.
Volume Two, Chapter III.