Doctor Thomas Hardon, of Somesham, seemed likely to have full enjoyment
of his brother's property, for Time kept on busy at work over his
harvest. Septimus Hardon slowly and laboriously did copying for the
law-stationers, apparently quite content with his lot, for he scarcely
ever gave a thought now to the quest he had commenced with old Matt;
Lucy toiled on incessantly at her sewing-machine, the bright needle
flashing up and down, and the treadles set in motion by her feet were
hardly ever still. Journeys were made to and from the warehouse from
whence she had her work, but mostly alone, for Lucy had lost her
protector: he had not returned since the day upon which he had been
taken ill, and they knew not where he lodged. The information might
have been obtained from Agnes, but save a short note or two enclosed in
the regular letters sent to Mrs Jarker, in which she implored her to
watch over the child, Lucy had not heard from her. Mr Sterne came and
went, visiting them as he would have visited at any other house,
treating Lucy with a calm, cold deference that made her weep bitterly
after each visit, and grow paler day by day; for the curate told himself
that he had at last conquered a foolish fancy, that he had triumphed as
became him, and that all he felt now was a sublime pity which prompted
him to watch her when she went out alone, and follow her at a distance
till he saw her once more in safety, when he would hurry home; for his
heart was very full of pity for Lucy Grey, even though he knew not of
the tears she shed in secret.
As to carrying on his researches alone, the very thought of such a
proceeding never occurred to Septimus Hardon--it seemed to border too
much upon the impossible; and besides, he was deep in that Slough of
Despond--poverty, which, instead of prompting men to energetic action,
too often enervates and breeds despair. So he waited on day after day,
hoping to see old Matt again, and yet dreading the prosecution of his
claim-shrinking when it was named, for he seemed to grow less hopeful as
time wore on. The curate had hinted more than once how willing he would
be to aid him; but Septimus always shrank so from entering upon the
matter, that Mr Sterne, from motives of delicacy, soon ceased to broach
the subject.
The sewing-machine clicked on early and late, and Jean's lark, when he
heard it, would set up his crest and whistle away, waking the echoes of
the court, while at the open window, when the bird was silent, Jean
Marais himself would crane forward and listen eagerly to the fragment of
some mournful little air which he could just catch at times, as the
machine stopped, and Lucy arranged a portion of her work. But the sweet
notes from the first-floor seemed to rouse the lark to fresh exertions,
when its master would angrily chide it, and perhaps cover it with a
handkerchief, but only to snatch it away hurriedly.
"For she loves to hear him whistle," he would say; and then he would
smile again, as the bird burst forth once more in its joyous carol.
At times Lucy would ascend to the attic to take up a bunch of green food
she had bought for the birds, or a few flowers for the cripple, whose
eyes brightened when he saw her, but these visits were mostly paid when
_ma mere_ was from home; for in spite of her civil words, there was
something in the old woman's quiet smile that chilled her; so that she
dreaded meeting her more than if her looks had been those of anger. But
she knew not the bitter words that had passed between mother and son
upon the subject, when _ma mere_ once angrily crushed a bunch of violets
Lucy had taken up to the suffering youth.
The sewing-machine was clicking away merrily one day, so that Mrs
Jarker could hear it from her sick-bed; Septimus Hardon was busily
copying at his little table, and the lark jocund as ever, when a slow
step was heard upon the stairs. Lucy stopped her machine to listen, and
even Septimus raised his head from his work. But there was no mistake--
it was not a visitor for up-stairs, but old Matt's own shuffling
footstep, and Lucy run to admit him.
Paler, thinner, more haggard, he came slowly into the room, rubbing his
hands and smiling with pleasure at the warmth of the greeting he
received.
"Never better," he said; "capital, thank you; been ill, though, and not
able to get out before, though I was afraid you would get all the work
done without me. What have you done since I saw you, sir?"
"Nothing," said Septimus quietly.
"Didn't expect you had," said Matt drily. "No offence, sir; but I
thought perhaps you might want me; so if you'll get your hat, sir, we'll
start at the point where we left off, and see after the doctor."
"But you will not be well enough," said Septimus, hanging back from the
task--more on his own account than on that of the old man.
"Don't you be afraid of that, sir. I should have been well weeks ago if
it hadn't been for fidgeting about your affairs, and wanting to get out.
I'm as strong as a lion now, sir; but let's be at it. I want a new
suit of clothes out of the estate, you know, sir, when you get it;" and
the old man chuckled and nodded at Lucy.
Septimus slowly wiped his pen, and carefully put away his paper, sighing
the while, for he was unwilling to start, and the fit of eagerness had
long ago evaporated; but at last he declared himself to be in readiness,
and the pair once more started off upon their search.
Upon this occasion they directed their steps at once to Finsbury, and,
after a slow, and what seemed to Matt a painful, walk, they reached
their destination.
"Here is the house," said Septimus, after a reference to his
pocket-book; "this is the number."
"H'm!--`Tollicks' Registry Office for Servants,'" read Matt from the
board over the door. "This isn't the doctor's. Sure of the number,
sir?"
"Yes," said Septimus, referring once more to his pocket-book; "yes; this
is the number I took down."
"So it is," said Matt, after a reference to his own memorandum-book.
"That's right enough; but wait a bit, one never knows where to be right
or wrong with numbers; they always were things as bothered a man; for
you have your numbers so-and-so a, and b, and c, and goodness knows how
many more, until you're regularly puzzled. Perhaps that's an a, or a b,
or something of that kind, and the number we want is somewhere else."
"Let's walk on a little," said Septimus; and they went slowly down one
side and up the other, but this proved to be the only house numbered as
they wanted.
"Do you know of a Mr Phillips, a surgeon, in this neighbourhood?" said
Septimus to the first policeman they met.
The man of order shook his head, beat his white gloves together, and
then rearranged the shaken head in his shiny stock before continuing his
walk.
"Let's go to the fountain-head at once," said Matt; "perhaps they know
something about him. Here we are again--`Tollicks' Registry Office for
Servants.' Let's see what Mr Tollicks knows about him."
"Stop a minute," said Septimus, to keep procrastination alive for a few
moments longer. "Perhaps there is another door."
"No more doors there, unless they're backdoors," growled Matt; and
leading the way, they stood in a floor-clothed room,--the office
itself,--furnished with a green--baize--covered table, bearing a
stencil-plate, inkstand, and brush; and beside the wall a long bench,
upon which sat apparently one of the servants waiting to be hired from
ten to four, as announced by a bill in the window, which spoke of cooks,
housemaids, and general servants as being regularly in attendance; but
most probably the others, tired, had gone home for the day, for the
damsel in question was the only one visible. She was "Corrnwall sure,"
as indicated by the shape of her nose, though any ignorant person might
have been excused for mistaking her for an inhabitant of the sister
isle.
The door gave a sharp "ting" as it was opened, and another as it was
closed,--the refinement of the old jingling door bell of the chandler's
shop,--when the young lady on the bench rose, and made a bob and sat
down again, and someone from an inner chamber cried, "Coming!" Then a
small dog with a very apoplectic voice barked loudly to the tune of a
little bell secured to its neck, and came waddling round the counter to
smell Septimus Hardon's legs; when visiting old Matt for the same
purpose, that gentleman favoured him with a pinch of snuff dropped
softly towards his nose, provoking a most violent fit of sneezing, and a
loud and agitated jingling of the tiny bell.
With the exception of the sneezing, there was now silence in the office
for a few moments, till the sound of rattling milk-cans upon the
pavement was heard. A man gave vent to the well-known melodious London
yodel, and then opened the door, which again said "ting," when from the
inner chamber appeared a tall, stoutish, elderly-young female of very
grand deportment, which she displayed to great advantage by making a
most ceremonious salute--one that would have been invaluable to a
governess in a large-minded family of small means. So elegant was the
salute, that even old Matt was staggered, and performed an operation
rather rare with him--he took off his hat.
"The side-door, my good man," said the lady to the milkman, who grinned,
winked to himself, and drew the door after him, when, quietly placing
the customary "ha'porth" in a cream-tin, he set it in a corner by the
door, jangled his cans as he took them up, and then yelled his way down
the street.
"Mrs Tollicks?" said Septimus, raising his shabby hat.
"Miss Tollicks," said the lady, with another profound courtesy almost
equal to the former. "Perhaps you will be seated, sir."
Perhaps he would have been; but as there was only the form upon which
the auburn-haired damsel sat whilst waiting to be hired, Septimus merely
bowed again, and said, "Thank you," at the same moment inadvertently
directing a glance at the maiden in question.
"Thoroughly trustworthy, and has an excellent character from her last
place," said Miss Tollicks, who had seen the glance; "a very good cook--
plain cook, early riser, strictly temperate; in fact, a disciple of the
late Father Matthew. Requires no followers, and only one half-day out
in the month. Only twenty-two; wages twelve pounds; and a capital
washer."
The damsel had risen, and stood with her eyes half-closed, head on one
side, and her rather large mouth squeezed up into a modest smirk; and as
Septimus Hardon knew nothing of the maiden, he was bound to accept Miss
Tollicks' eulogium; but as to the last-named quality, it was very
evident that the girl was not a capital washer of self, while a
detergent applied to her hair would have made a manifest improvement.
"Indeed," said Septimus, bowing; "I am obliged, but--"
"Only _twelve_ pounds wages," said Miss Tollicks with emphasis.
"And very reasonable," said Septimus; "but--"
"You will find very few general servants willing to go for less than
fourteen," said Miss Tollicks.
"I suppose not," said Septimus; "but at present--"
"Then you don't think this young person would suit your requirements?"
said Miss Tollicks.
"Decidedly not," said Septimus eagerly, for he was getting so
exceedingly confused, that had Miss Tollicks pressed her point, he would
most probably have ended by hiring the damsel off-hand; for every glance
directed for help at old Matt glanced off the impenetrable armour in
which the old man had encased himself.
"Mary Donovan," said the lady of the house with dignity, "it is five
minutes past four; you need not wait any longer to-day."
Mary Donovan rose at the instant, and made a bob to Miss Tollicks, and
one each to Matt and Septimus--bobs that were a disgrace to her after
the elaborate obeisances she had so lately seen made; and then she took
her departure, played out by a couple of "tings," Miss Tollicks smiling
blandly, and courteously holding her head on one side as she stood
waiting to know the object of her visitors' call.
Miss Tollicks was a lady whom no one would have supposed to have been
born a genius, from the utter absence of ennobling qualities in her
face; but for all that she made-up showily, possessed a good figure, had
two little corkscrew curls on either side of her face, a suspicion of
thinness about her hair--parting, which on a small scale exhibited
somewhat the appearance of certain stout ladies' dresses in the back
when they have been without assistance in the hooking department; for
the said parting began correctly, and then gradually opened out, but
only to contract again and finish evenly some distance farther back. By
way of head-dress, Miss Tollicks wore a black-velvet blackbird, with
handsome gold-bead eyes, the said ornithological head-dress being kept
in its place by means of a fillet of black-velvet and gold twist. A
very thick, plain-linked, jet chain was round her neck, a very glossy
buckle at her waist, fastening the cincture of her very rusty black-silk
dress, slightly rubbed at the plaits; so that altogether Miss Tollicks
presented the aspect of a lady superior at the very least.
"We merely called," said Septimus, after an awkward pause, during which
he had been waiting for Matt to begin, "to--er--er--to--er--that is to
ask if you could give us any information respecting a Mr Phillips, a
surgeon, who once resided here."
"Dear me, how disappointing!" said Miss Tollicks. "Now do you know I
thought you had come after servants; I did indeed."
"Really," said Septimus sadly, "I am sorry to have caused you
disappointment; but it was important that I should know, and I called--
urgent--troubled you," he stammered again, looking in vain at Matt, who
only took snuff.
"O, don't apologise, pray," said Miss Tollicks; "come in and sit down,
and let's--let me," she said, correcting herself,--"let me hear what it
is. There, don't laugh at me, for one is obliged to be so particular
how one speaks to the grand people who come for servants."
Miss Tollicks led the way into her inner chamber, where the fat dog
slept snoringly in the sunshine; and, after a little hesitation, her two
visitors took the proffered chairs.
"Mr Flips, surgeon," said the lady of the place, after a little
preliminary conversation, "no, I never heard the name, and I've been
here two years this next week, when my landlord will most likely call.
He says he has a bad memory, but he always recollects the quarter-days.
He lives down in Dorsetshire, and when he comes up I can ask him if you
like; perhaps he would know; or you might write; but he's sure to write
to me directly to say he is coming, so that, as he says, I may be ready
for him, just as if one ever was ready for one's landlord. Two years--
yes, just two years," she continued musingly. "There was a whole year
at the millinery, which didn't half-pay the rent; for people here don't
seem to wear bonnets, and when they do, they've been turned and cleaned
and altered or somethinged or anothered, although I put my prices so low
that there was no room for a bit of profit. Then there was the fancy
stationery three months, which was worse, for the only kind of
stationery the people fancied was penny-stamps, which cost me a penny
a-piece, and then people either wanted them to be stuck on their
letters, or else wrapped, up in paper. Then there was the newspaper and
periodical trade, which was worse than all; for, as if just out of
aggravation, the people always came and asked for the very thing you had
not got. I declare that if it wasn't that you can sit down and read
your stock, the periodical trade would be unbearable. Only think of the
trouble people gave you by ordering things regularly and never coming
and fetching them; so that the back numbers used to get piled up most
terribly. And now, you know, I've been six months at this, and it's so
trying, you can't think; for, you see, I'm worse off than anybody: I've
not got to please the missuses--I beg pardon, the mistresses only, but
the servants; and really, after my experience I can say that there's no
pleasing anyone."
Septimus Hardon glanced hopelessly at Matt, but he would not see him,
and took pinch after pinch of snuff furiously, with a comical expression
upon his countenance the former could not interpret.
"You see, though," continued Miss Tollicks, who seemed to have made up
her mind to thoroughly enjoy herself with a good talk; "you see, though,
there is one advantage--there's no stock required, and it is genteel;
but really, after all, it is so vexatious and pays so badly that I think
I shall give it up, and take to tobacco. I suppose it's a business that
pays well, and people do use it to such an extent that it's quite
wonderful. But let me see! Phillips--Flips--Flips--no, I never even
heard of the name; but, do you know, I shouldn't wonder if a doctor did
once live here; for there's a regular street-door bell that rings
down-stairs, and another that rings up in the second-floor front, just
as the night-bell used to at Doctor Masters's, where I once lived at,
as--ahem, ahem!--excuse my cough, pray," said Miss Tollicks, colouring;
"but there!" she said sharply the next moment, "where I lived as
lady's-maid, and I don't see why I should be ashamed of it."
"Hear, hear!" said old Matt, speaking for the first time.
"But can you tell who lived here before you?" said Septimus.
"O, yes; a dairy," replied Miss Tollicks; "but it was only here six
months, and my landlord told me the people didn't pay any rent, but went
off in the night so shabby, leaving nothing behind but a black-and-white
plaster cow, and a moss-basket with three chalk eggs, in the window; and
my landlord says that's why he looks so sharp after me, which isn't
nice, you know; but then you can't be surprised. Let me see, I think it
was a coffee-house before that."
"Perhaps," said Septimus, rising, "you will find that out for me when
your landlord calls. I don't think we will trouble him by writing; and
maybe you'll ask him how long it is since a Mr Phillips lived here, and
if he can tell you to where he removed."
"That I will," said Miss Tollicks pleasantly; "and if you would not mind
taking one of my cards, you might be able to recommend me to one or two
patrons; and you too, sir," she continued, handing one to Matt, which he
took with a comical amused expression, and carefully placed inside the
lining of his hat.
"Hadn't you better ask for the landlord's address, and write at once?"
growled Matt, as soon as they were outside the house.
"Perhaps it would be better," said Septimus, hesitating; "but no, we
won't trouble her again; and it would only hasten the matter a day or
two--possibly not at all. She has been very civil and obliging."
"Very," said Matt. "Good sort of woman, she seems; but what a tongue!
As soon as ever she had trapped us in that room, `Matt, my lad,' I said,
`the people in this world are divided into two classes--talkers and
listeners. You belong to the second class, so keep your place;' and I
did, sir, as you know. I never attempt to tackle a woman on her own
ground, sir, which is talking. I can talk, sir, leastwise I could when
I was well; but it's my humble opinion that that woman would have rapped
out three words to my one."
"There," said Matt, after they had walked a little way along the street,
he all the while rubbing his forefinger slowly round and round his pill
snuff-box, "I've taken all my snuff, as ought to have lasted till
to-morrow night, and all through that precious woman's tongue. Let's go
in here, sir, and get a penn'orth."
"Here" was a very dirty-looking little tobacconist's and news-agent's;
and, so as to leave no stone unturned, Matt, whilst being served, made
inquiry touching Mr Phillips, a surgeon.
"No," said the woman who served, as she allayed the irritation of her
nasal organ by rubbing it with the back of the hand which held the
snuff-scoop, and so provoked a loud fit of sneezing,--"no, not in my
time."
"How long has that been?" said Matt.
"Five years," replied the woman.
Septimus Hardon walked out of the shop, and, after paying for his snuff,
old Matt followed him into the street, and they bent their steps
homewards.
"I'm dull and stupid and not right, you see," said Matt, "or else I
should have known why the name wasn't in the newest of those two
Directories. One, you see, was more than ten years old, and the other--
well, it wasn't the newest. But you leave it to me, sir, and I'll try
and find a medical directory, for I think there is such a thing. I know
there is a legal one, for I helped print it; and there's one for the
parsons, so there's safe to be one for the doctors. I'll ferret it out,
sir; and I shall be better to-morrow. Those look nice, don't they?"
said the old man, stopping short in front of a pork-butcher's shop.
"Very," said Septimus dreamily, and without glancing at the freshly-made
chains of sausages hanging from the hooks in the window.
"You may always buy your sausages here, and depend upon 'em," said Matt;
"and if you'll listen to my advice, you'll take a pound back with you.
They'll wrap 'em in a bit of paper for you, and you can slip them in
your pocket, and have a nice fry for tea when you get home, and then
rest content; for, though we haven't done much, and I should have liked
you to have taken that landlord's name and address, yet things are
getting in train, I can tell you. So you wait quietly at home, sir,
till I come again, for I suppose you won't want to do anything yourself.
I shall be stronger and better to-morrow or next day, I hope, for
somehow I can't get along as I used, and feel weak and muddled. But
there, sir, slip in and get them sausages, and have a bit of patience,
and don't try to build any more till our mortar's a bit settled."
Septimus Hardon smiled sadly at the idea of his being impatient to go on
with the search, and, obeying his companion's hest, he obtained the
pound of flesh; and then they walked slowly on till they were once more
within the shadow of the law.
"And now I'm off, sir," said Matt, stopping short in Carey-street. "I
think I shall go and lie down."
"Can I do anything for you?" said Septimus earnestly.
"Yes, sir," said Matt; "let me have my own way, please. You let me go
my way, and I'll work the matter out for you if it's possible, so that
it shall be in trim for the lawyers, and then I'll give up. But there,
I won't do anything without consulting you first, and--no, thank you;
I'd rather not. No; I like sausages well enough sometimes, but not
to-day, thank you; I'm off in a moment. Don't you do anything, whatever
you do, to put your uncle on his guard. Depend upon it, he thinks now,
after all this time, that you've given it quite up; while, if things go
on as I hope, we shall come down upon him one of these days in a way
that shall startle him--shake his nerves so that he sha'n't find a tonic
for them."
Old Matt shuffled off, once more steadily refusing to partake of any
refreshment; while Septimus slowly and thoughtfully made his way towards
the entrance to the Rents, pondering over his visit to the churches some
weeks back, and then thinking that it would be better to settle down
contentedly in his present state, for fear that after research, labour,
and endless publicity, the words of his uncle should prove to be those
of truth, and his condition worse than it was at the present time.
"Better the present doubt and obscurity," he muttered. "Octavius
Hardon, Lavinia Addison, Ellen Morris--all witnesses to the truth, but
dead, dead."
"Stop, stop!" cried a voice, as he turned into the Rents; and the next
moment, with his hand to his side, old Matt stood by him, gasping. "I
ain't the thing to-night, sir; I'm ill, but I've got it here--here
somewhere," he said, tapping his forehead, "and I can't get it out.
It's here, though. It's `medicine and attendance, Mrs Hardon--so
much,' isn't it? That's it, sir, ain't it?"
Septimus stared wonderingly at him.
"You may well look, sir," said Matt, panting still; "but that's it, and
I've seen it somewhere, and I'll tell you where directly. It all came
like a flash just after I left you; there it was, just as I saw it
written down: `Medicine and attendance, Mrs Hardon--so much;' and I can
keep seeming to see the words dance before my eyes now. I saw them
written down somewhere once, and I can't just now say where; but I seem
to feel that I've got them all right, and I shall have it. Good-night,
sir. Remember me to Miss Lucy;" and the old man staggered away,
muttering aloud, "Medicine and attendance--medicine and attendance;"
while more than one person in the street turned to look at the bent
figure, to shake a sapient head, and mutter, "Or hospital."
For poor old Matt looked sick unto death, though Septimus Hardon, deep
in his own thoughts, had taken but little notice of the old man's
indisposition.
Volume Two, Chapter XI.