BETTERING HERSELF.
Juliet Mitchell had gone up to the little room which she shared with
Emily Rowles. It did not contain much furniture, and what there was
had seen its best days long before. The chest of drawers had lost most
of its handles; the looking-glass which stood on the drawers swung
round the wrong way unless it was propped up by a book or by a box. It
had swung round in this manner, but had stuck half-way. When Juliet
entered the room she came face to face with the glass, and
consequently face to face with herself.
What she saw was enough to frighten her, and did frighten her. The
scowling brows, the flushed cheeks, the pushed-out lips, were more
like those of some fierce and raging animal than the features of a
young girl in a Christian land. She stopped short and glared at her
own reflection. It glared back as angrily at her. "What a horrid,
ugly, cross thing, you are!" said Juliet.
The face in the glass said the very same words with its lips, though
it made no sound. Then Juliet stood still and talked with herself.
"You are the ugliest, the crossest, most stupid, awkward creature I
ever did come near; and so I tell you plainly, Juliet Mitchell. Since
you came into this house not a thing but what is tiresome have you
done. Why, if your aunt was to jaw you from morning to night you would
do no better; and you can't stand being jawed, you know. And your aunt
just looks at you in a way that is more piercing than if she was to
talk for weeks! And your uncle, he's your own mother's own brother;
but there! he'd be glad enough if you was to take yourself off. And
that's about the best thing you can do. Take yourself off and get your
own living like other girls of your age. Nobody wants you, here or in
London. There's a many little places going; and when you've shown that
you can take care of yourself and don't want none of their advice, nor
none of their money either, then won't they be pleased to get a letter
from you!"
Like many another young girl--ay, and boy too--Juliet had a great
notion of independence--of getting away from advice and restraint, and
of earning money for herself. In London more than in the country,
girls go off and engage themselves as servants or in some other
capacity, and so start alone in the world like little boats putting
out on a stormy sea without sail or oar, rudder or compass. And many,
many are wrecked on the first rock; and many go through wild tempests
and suffer terrible hardships. A few battle through the winds and
waves and reach a happy shore.
Had Juliet asked advice of anyone, or had she knelt and implored
guidance from her Heavenly Father, she would not have made the mad
resolve which now shaped itself in her mind. It was the resolve to go
away from Littlebourne Lock, on that side of the river which she knew
least--away from her relations, from the village, from the church,
from the railway, to find a situation with some stranger in a place
where no one knew her; in a word, to provide for herself.
As her resolve grew more fixed she felt calmer, and even pleased.
Smiles began to flicker over her features; and when she next looked in
the glass she murmured to her reflection, "I say, you ain't so
bad-looking after all!"
A knock on the door roused her. Mrs. Rowles came in.
The good aunt sat down on the foot of the bed and drew the girl
towards her, putting her motherly arm round the little figure, and
smoothing the ruffled hair. Mrs. Rowles went on to explain to Juliet
the great danger which she had run, and the extreme naughtiness of
flat disobedience; and all the while Juliet stood with a calm face and
silent manner, so that her aunt thought she was penitent. But this
quietness was caused by her having so fully made up her mind as to
what she would do next. She let Mrs. Rowles speak on, and appeared
meek and humble; but in reality her thoughts were not on anything that
she heard.
"And so," said Mrs. Rowles, rising at length and unclasping the
sheltering arms, "when you have been with us a little longer, and have
learnt a little more, we will get you a nice situation--and Mrs.
Webster knows all the good situations that are going,--and you shall
have a start in life; and I've written to your mother to tell her what
I think of doing for you. We shall have her answer the day after
to-morrow."
Juliet said coldly, "All right."
"I thought you might like another frock," said Mrs. Rowles, "so I have
been making one for you out of a gown of my own; and here are two new
print aprons, and I've put a fresh ribbon on your hat. You are quite
set up now, my dear."
"I suppose," said Juliet without thanking her aunt, "that them things
are good enough for going to service."
"Oh yes, quite good enough--if you should happen to hear of a little
place to suit you. Don't you like them?"
"They are right enough," said Juliet.
Then Mrs. Rowles turned and went away, wondering that so young a girl
should be so hard, and totally unsuspicious of the resolve which was
in that young hard heart.
It was a resolve which could not be put in execution at once; Juliet
must needs wait for a favourable opportunity. Two days went by and she
did not find one; then came a letter from her mother saying that if
Juliet could find a situation in the country it would be better than
coming back to overcrowded London, where young girls in swarms were
looking out for means of earning their livings. Mrs. Mitchell said
little more; all were pretty well except baby, who was always poorly.
Juliet now considered that she had got a sort of permission from her
mother to do what she wished to do. She thought she could defy her
uncle and aunt if they found any fault with her actions.
The eventful moment arrived.
Mrs. Rowles and Emily had gone to the village to buy a few things for
the lodgers who were expected shortly. Mr. Rowles was busy at the
lock; Philip was going to take out the _Fairy_ for her first trip
after her repairs.
Juliet came down from the attic. She wore her new-made frock, her
re-trimmed hat, and carried a parcel containing the print aprons. Phil
did not notice what she wore or what she carried.
"Take me in the boat, Phil," she said coaxingly.
"I thought you had had enough of the boat," he replied.
"But you will be in it, this time."
"Oh, I don't want you," said the boy.
"Well, then, just set me down on the opposite bank."
"I don't mind doing that; but you may have to wait a long time before
I come back for you."
"All right," said Juliet; "I don't care how long you are."
She stepped into the _Fairy_, and sat quite still while Philip rowed
her to the far-off bank. Then she got out very gravely, and sat down
on the grass until he was out of sight.
Fields came down to the water's edge. Where Juliet sat there was a
muddy bit of gravel shelving to the river. She did not know what made
this break in the bank. It had been formed by cows and horses coming
down to drink. In the field there were now no animals; had there been
she would have hesitated about remaining in it. But as soon as Phil
had disappeared she stood and looked about her, and perceived that
there was no living creature in sight, except the larks singing on
high and the grasshoppers chirping among the grass.
Juliet walked swiftly across the field to a gate which stood open, and
through which she passed. Hardly had she entered the second field when
she saw at the further side of it about a dozen cows. Her heart fell.
Like most London girls she was horribly afraid of cows. Yet to go back
would be to undo her plan; besides the animals had already seen her,
and all their heads were turned in her direction.
"I must not irritate them," she thought, "and yet I must get on out of
this field. If I creep along under the hedge they will not notice me."
Her frock was a dark green, and her hat a black one. She sidled along
close to the hedge, keeping her eyes on the cows, which presently
resumed their feeding. But as she did not look where she was treading
she went down, splash! into a ditch.
Mud and duckweed covered her boots, several dirty marks were made on
her frock, the parcel fell out of her hand, and probably the black
stains on the paper had penetrated to the contents. This was her first
misfortune.
She got herself out of the ditch and went on more carefully, keeping
still in the shade of the hedge. Then a great spray of bramble caught
a bow of ribbon on her hat and lifted the whole thing off her head.
It flew up in the air, and only after repeated jumps could she get
hold of it and bring it down again. This was her second misfortune.
Her tumblings and jumpings had attracted the attention of the cows
once more, and a calf being young and inquisitive thought he would
like to have a nearer view of the intruder, and began to follow
Juliet. This was her third misfortune.
Her first impulse was to run, but a second thought told her that the
cows would be sure to run after her. So she did not run, but walked as
fast as she could, the calf walking faster and gaining on her. She
stumbled and tripped and panted, and fixed her eyes on a gate, hoping
that she might reach it before the calf came up with her. On she went
with terrified steps, arrived at the gate, and found it fastened.
She threw the parcel over, climbed up the five wooden bars, and was
going to climb down on the other side when she felt the great, warm,
wet lips of the calf playing with her left ankle. She gave one screech
of horror and threw herself head-foremost to the ground. It was soft
and mossy, and she rose, shaken and bruised, and with a hole in the
knee of each stocking.
But she had escaped from the calf. The copse or wood into which she
had entered was dark and cool. A pathway went curving in and out
among the trees. At a sharp turn she came suddenly upon a big man
with a beard, who pointed a gun full at her, and said, "Stand, or I'll
fire!"
This was her fourth misfortune.
Here was a dreadful, cruel robber such as she had read about in
badly-printed penny books, and he would shoot her dead in half a
minute. She gave a scream and turned to run back, but the man strode
after her and laid a huge hand on her shoulder. At this she screamed
and danced with terror.
"Now, now," roared the man, "stop that row! What are you doing here?"
"I want to go away!" cried Juliet.
"So you shall. But answer my questions first."
Glancing up at him Juliet perceived that he was laughing. All her
fears vanished and she began to laugh too.
"What are you doing here?" asked the man again.
"I'm only walking through the wood," said Juliet, recovering her
courage. "There ain't no law against that, I suppose."
"Yes, but there is. 'Trespassers will be prosecuted with the utmost
rigour of the law.' Where do you come from?"
"From over there," and Juliet pointed behind her.
"Oh! And where are you going?"
"Over there," and she pointed before her.
The man whistled. "If you're not a Londoner, I'm a Dutchman. You're
pretty sharp, you are."
"No, I ain't," said Juliet, stolidly; "I'm that stupid and awkward
that I can't do nothing right. So I want a general place, I do."
"Oh!" said the big man, laughing; "awkward and stupid wants a place.
Hope you'll get it, miss. Well, now, look here. Go right on and get
out of the wood as quick as ten thousand lightnings, or else you'll be
prosecuted with the utmost rigour of the law."
Juliet wriggled away from under his heavy hand and ran right ahead,
thankful to escape from the gun.
She came soon to the edge of the wood and found a fence easy to climb.
On the other side of this she came into a lane which led out on a
highroad. It was now late in the day; the sun was getting low, and the
shadows grew longer and the air sweeter. She walked on quietly,
thinking herself safe from pursuit. How surprised every one would be
when they discovered that she had started in life by herself! Perhaps
they would see that she was not so stupid and awkward as they thought.
"But I've got no place yet," said the girl to herself. "I must find
one pretty sharp or I shall have nowhere to sleep to-night. Here's
two houses; either on 'em would do for me."
Two small brick houses stood by the roadside. They had green doors,
and shutters outside the windows, and little gardens in front.
"There ain't not a bit of use in being shy," said Juliet to herself,
her courage all the while sinking lower and lower. "I'm as bold as
brass, I always was. Here goes!"
She walked up to the door of the first cottage and rapped on it with
her knuckles.
It was opened by a tall, thin, elderly woman in a high black bonnet.
"What do you want?" she said.
"Please, missus, I want a place; general servant, like."
The woman looked at her from the crown of her hat to the heels of her
boots. "Oh, do you? Where have you been living?"
"Over there," said Juliet.
"Over where?"
"Littlebourne way."
The woman seemed to be thinking deeply.
"Got a first-rate character, I suppose?"
"Oh, well," said Juliet hastily, "I've not been in a regular
situation, as the saying is, but helping a friend, you know."
"It's a pity you've left her," said the woman. "What wages were you
getting?"
Juliet said, lamely enough, "I didn't have no regular wages. They kep'
me, and gave me these," showing the aprons.
"Ah! Did they send you away?"
"No, missus; I just took French leave and come away when it suited me.
I want to better myself."
"I see. Well, come in. I'll try you. My name is _Bosher_. Do you
hear--_Mrs. Bosher_?"
While Juliet stood in the narrow passage Mrs. Bosher locked and bolted
the door, and at every sound the poor, foolish girl grew more and more
unhappy, and more cut off from all hope and all happiness. Mrs.
Bosher's bonnet and Mrs. Bosher's name were enough to terrify any
young person with a bad conscience.
"Yes," said Juliet's new mistress, "my name is Bosher"--here the
bonnet nodded,--"and now you are my servant, and while you are in my
service you will do precisely everything that I tell you. I have a
brother who has a gun; sometimes he shoots rooks, sometimes he
shoots--other things. He lives next door. If you do a single thing
that displeases me, you shall be prosecuted with the utmost rigour of
the law."
Juliet longed to scream, or kick, or run away; but she did not dare to
move. "The utmost rigour of the law" might mean something awful: it
might mean being hanged, or being shot by Mrs. Bosher's brother. The
passage was almost dark, and Juliet stood trembling beside her
dreadful mistress. Oh, if only it were possible to be back once more
at the lock! Oh, if only she could escape from this new situation!
Locked doors, and windows shuttered on the outside, made this cottage
a very prison. The man with the gun living-next door, the unknown
rigour of the law hanging over her head, Mrs. Bosher glaring through
the twilight--how endure them even for a night? And how get away from
them in the morning?
She was pushed into a kitchen and bidden to wash up some cups and
saucers. "And woe betide you if you break one of them!" said Mrs.
Bosher, her bonnet nodding so strangely that it seemed to be the
speaker rather than its wearer.
Juliet was so fearful lest she might let slip a cup or saucer that she
spent about half an hour in washing the crockery. While she did this
at a side table, Mrs. Bosher was ironing linen at the table in the
middle of the room. From time to time the sharp, sensible eyes of the
woman rested upon the face of the girl, and at such moments the top of
the black bonnet nodded as if it were alive.
When Juliet had finished her task Mrs. Bosher said, "Now, you shall
have bread-and-milk for supper, and then go to bed."
"I don't like bread-and-milk," returned Juliet, "and it is too early
to go to bed."
"Indeed. What do you like for supper? And at what hour do you prefer
to go to bed?"
"I like bread and cheese; and we went to bed at ten o'clock when
uncle's work was done."
The bonnet nodded faster than before.
"You will eat bread-and-milk or nothing, and if your aunt let you sit
up till ten o'clock I am not so foolish."
A basin of the food which Juliet declined to eat was set before her.
She was very hungry, but having refused it already she let it lie
untasted. Meanwhile Mrs. Bosher lighted a lamp.
"It is nearly nine o'clock. Now you go to bed. Come along."
There was a door which Mrs. Bosher opened, revealing a flight of
stairs. She pushed Juliet up them, and though the girl would have
liked to rebel, she did not dare to do so. In fact, she thought the
wisest plan would be to go quietly up to the bed-room, and, as soon as
Mrs. Bosher herself was in bed, to get out by the window and make her
way back to Littlebourne Lock. There was a full moon, and the night
was almost as light as the day.
So she let herself be pushed upstairs into an almost empty little room
in the roof, and when she heard the door locked upon her she laughed
silently, thinking that the cruel woman had done the very thing her
prisoner wished her to do. Mrs. Bosher's heavy steps went down the
wooden stairs; the door of the house was opened, shut, and locked, and
Juliet's spirits rose when she knew that she was alone. She might as
well run away at once.
She looked at the window. It was in the roof--a skylight. There was no
means of getting up to it, and no means of opening it that Juliet
could perceive. Oh, she was caught in a trap! One or two large stars
stared down through the small panes, and the diffused light of the
moon was enough to show the girl how hopeless was her condition. She
was in prison, caught, with no chance of escape. What a terrible
position she had brought herself into! If her aunt could see her! If
her own dear mother could see her!
Juliet threw herself on the little hard bed and wept bitterly. Not a
sound could she hear! Alone, hungry, miserable!
After a while her sobs ceased and she felt sleepy. She pulled up a
blanket and quilt which she had been lying on and thought that she
might as well sleep a little, and waken with fresh courage and fresh
plans. Like many other people Juliet made her most earnest prayers
when she was in trouble. She turned and knelt upon the bed, saying all
her petitions with earnestness; then she lay down again, and her
dreams took her far away from all her many misfortunes.