PATIENCE COME TO GRIEF.
In the early part of March, Samuel Lynn and William departed on their
journey to France. And the first thought that occurred to Patience
afterwards was one that is apt to occur to many thrifty housekeepers on
the absence of the master--that of instituting a thorough cleansing of
the house, from garret to cellar; or, as Anna mischievously expressed
it, "turning the house inside out." She knew Patience did not like her
wild phrases, and therefore she used them.
Patience was parting with Grace--the servant who had been with them so
many years. Grace had resolved to get married. In vain Patience assured
her that marriage, generally speaking, was found to be nothing better
than a bed of thorns. Grace would not listen. Others had risked the
thorns before her, and she thought she must try her chance with the
rest. Patience had no resource but to fall in with the decision, and to
look out for another servant. It appeared that she could not readily
find one; at least, one whom she would venture to engage. She was
unusually particular; and while she waited and looked out, she engaged
Hester Dell, a humble member of her own persuasion, to come in
temporarily. Hester lived with her aged mother, not far off, chiefly
supporting herself by doing fine needlework at her own, or at the
Friends' houses. She readily consented to take up her abode with
Patience for a month or so, to help with the housework, and looked upon
it as a sort of holiday.
"It's of no use to begin the house until Grace shall be gone," observed
Patience to Anna. "She'd likely be scrubbing the paper on the walls,
instead of the paint, for her head is turned just now."
"What fun, if she should!" ejaculated Anna.
"Fun for thee, perhaps, who art ignorant of cost and labour," rebuked
Patience. "I shall wait until Grace has departed. The day that she goes,
Hester comes in; and I shall have the house begun the day following."
"Couldn't thee have it begun the same day?" saucily asked Anna.
"Will thee attend to thy stitching?" returned Patience sharply. "Thy
father's wristbands will not be done the better for thy nonsense."
"Shall I be turned out of my bedroom?" resumed Anna.
"For a night, perchance. Thee canst go into thy father's. But the top of
the house will be done first."
"Is the roof to be scrubbed?" went on Anna. "I don't know how Hester
will hold on while she does it."
"Thee art in one of thy wilful humours this morning," responded
Patience. "Art thee going to set me at defiance now thy father's back is
turned?"
"Who said anything about setting thee at defiance?" asked Anna. "I
_should_ like to see Hester scrubbing the roof!"
"Thee hadst better behave thyself, Anna," was the retort of Patience.
And Anna, in her lighthearted wilfulness, burst into a merry laugh.
Grace departed, and Hester came in: a quiet little body, of forty
years, with dark hair and defective teeth. Patience, as good as her
word, was up betimes the following morning, and had the house up
betimes, to institute the ceremony. Their house contained the same
accommodation as Mrs. Halliburton's, with this addition--that the garret
in the Quaker's had been partitioned off into two chambers. Patience
slept in one; Grace had occupied the other. The three bedrooms on the
floor beneath were used, one by Mr. Lynn, one by Anna; the other was
kept as a spare room, for any chance visitor; the "best room" it was
usually called. The house belonged to Mr. Lynn. Formerly, both houses
had belonged to him; but at the time of his loss he had sold the other
to Mr. Ashley.
The ablutions were in full play. Hester, with a pail, mop,
scrubbing-brush, and other essentials, was ensconced in the top
chambers; Anna, ostensibly at her wristband stitching (but the work did
not get on very fast), was singing to herself in an undertone in one of
the parlours, the door safely shut; while Patience was exercising a
general superintendence, giving an eye everywhere. Suddenly there echoed
a loud noise, as of a fall, and a scream resounded throughout the house.
It appeared to come from what they usually called the bedroom floor.
Anna flew up the stairs, and Hester Dell flew down the upper ones. At
the foot of the garret stairs, her head against the door of Anna's
chamber, lay Patience and a heavy bed-pole. In attempting to carry the
pole down from her room, she had somehow overbalanced herself, and
fallen heavily.
"Is the house coming down?" Anna was beginning to say. But she stopped
in consternation when she saw Patience. Hester attempted to pick her up.
"Thee cannot raise me, Hester. Anna, child, thee must not attempt to
touch me. I fear my leg is br----"
Her voice died away, her eyes closed, and a hue, as of death, overspread
her countenance. Anna, more terrified than she had ever been in her
life, flew round to Mrs. Halliburton's.
Dobbs, from her kitchen, saw her coming--saw the young face streaming
with tears, heard the short cries of alarm--and Dobbs stepped out.
"Why, what on earth's the matter now?" asked she.
Anna seized Dobbs, and clung to her; partly that to do so seemed some
protection in her great terror. "Oh, Dobbs, come in to Patience!" she
cried. "I think she's dying."
The voice reached the ears of Jane. She came forth from the parlour.
Dobbs was then running in to Samuel Lynn's, and Jane ran also,
understanding nothing.
Patience was reviving when they entered. All her cry was, that they must
not move her. One of her legs was in some manner doubled under her, and
doubled over the pole. Jane felt a conviction that it was broken.
"Who can run fastest?" she asked. "We must have Mr. Parry here."
Hester waited for no further instruction. She caught up her
fawn-coloured Quaker shawl and grey bonnet, and was off, putting them on
as she ran. Anna, sobbing wildly, turned and hid her face on Jane, as
one who wants to be comforted. Then, her mood changing, she threw
herself down beside Patience, the tears from her own eyes falling on
Patience's face.
"Patience, dear Patience, canst thee forgive me? I have been wilful and
naughty, but I never meant to cross thee really. I did it only to tease
thee; but I loved thee all the while."
Patience, suffering as she was, drew down the repentant face to kiss it
fervently. "I know it, dear child; I know thee. Don't thee distress
thyself for me."
Mr. Parry came, and Patience was carried into the spare room. Her leg
was broken, and badly broken; the surgeon called it a compound fracture.
So there was an end to the grand cleansing scheme for a long time to
come! Patience lay in sickness and pain, and Hester had to make her her
first care. Anna's spirits revived in a day or two. Mr. Parry said a
cure would be effected in time; that the worst of the business was the
long confinement for Patience; and Anna forgot her dutiful fit of
repentance. Patience _would_ be well again, would be about as before;
and, as to the present confinement, Anna rather grew to look upon it as
the interposition of some good fairy, who must have taken her own
liberty under its special protection.
Whether Anna would have succeeded in eluding the vigilance of Patience
_up_ cannot be told; she certainly did that of Patience _down_. Anna had
told Herbert Dare that he was not to pay a visit to Atterly's field
again, or expect her to pay one; but Herbert Dare was about the last
person to obey such advice. Had William Halliburton remained to be--as
Herbert termed it--a treacherous spy, there's no doubt that Herbert
would have striven to set his vigilance at defiance: with William's
absence, the field, both literally and figuratively, was open to him. In
the absence of Samuel Lynn, it was doubly open. Herbert Dare knew
perfectly well that if the Quaker once gained the slightest inkling of
his secret acquaintance with Anna, it would effectually be put a stop
to. To wear a cloak resembling William Halliburton's, on his visits to
the field, had been the result of a bright idea. It had suddenly
occurred to Mr. Herbert that if the Quaker's lynx eyes did by mischance
catch sight of the cloak, promenading some fine night at the back of his
residence, they would accord it no particular notice, concluding the
wearer to be William Halliburton taking a moonlight stroll at the back
of _his_ residence. Nevertheless, Herbert had timed his visits so as to
make pretty sure that Samuel Lynn was out of view, safely ensconced in
Mr. Ashley's manufactory; and he had generally succeeded. Not quite
always, as the reader knows.
Anna was of a most persuadable nature. In defiance of her promise to
William, she suffered Herbert Dare to persuade her again into the old
system of meeting him. Guileless as a child, never giving thought to
wrong or to harm--beyond the wrong and harm of thus clandestinely
stealing out, and that wrong she conveniently ignored--she saw nothing
very grave in doing it. Herbert could not come indoors; Patience would
be sure not to welcome him; and therefore, she logically argued to her
own mind, she must go out to him.
She had learnt to like Herbert Dare a great deal too well not to wish to
meet him, to talk with him. Herbert, on his part, had learnt to like
her. An hour passed in whispering to Anna, in mischievously untying her
sober cap, and letting the curls fall, in laying his own hand fondly on
the young head, and telling her he cared for her beyond every earthly
thing. It had grown to be one of his most favourite recreations; and
Herbert was not one to deny himself any recreation that he took a fancy
to. He intended no harm to the pretty child. It is possible that, had
any one seriously pointed out to him the harm that might arise to Anna,
in the estimation of Helstonleigh, should these stolen meetings be found
out, Herbert might for once have done violence to his inclinations, and
not have persisted in them. Unfortunately--very unfortunately, as it was
to turn out--there was no one to give this word of caution. Patience was
ill, William was away: and no one else knew anything about it. In point
of fact, Patience could not be said to know anything, for William's
warning had not made the impression upon her that it ought to have done.
Patience's confiding nature was in fault. For Anna deliberately to meet
Herbert Dare or any other "Herbert" in secret, she would have deemed a
simple impossibility. In the judgment of Patience, it had been nothing
less than irredeemable sin.
What did Herbert Dare promise himself, in thus leading Anna into this
imprudence? Herbert promised himself nothing--beyond the passing
gratification of the hour. Herbert had never been one to give any care
to the future, for himself or for any one else; and he was not likely to
begin to do it at present. As to seeking Anna for his wife, such a
thought had never crossed his mind. In the first place, at the rate the
Dares--Herbert and his brothers--were going on, a wife for any of them
seemed amongst the impossibilities. Unless, indeed, she made the bargain
beforehand to live upon air; there was no chance of their having
anything else to live upon. But, had Herbert been in a position,
pecuniarily considered, to marry ten wives, Anna Lynn would not have
been one of them. Agreeable as it might be to him to linger with Anna,
he considered her far beneath himself; and pride, with Herbert, was
always in the ascendant. Herbert had been introduced to Anna Lynn at
Mrs. Ashley's, and that threw a sort of prestige around her. She was
also enshrined in the respectable Quaker body of the town. But for these
facts, for being who she was, Herbert might have been less scrupulous in
his behaviour towards her. He would not--it may be as well to say he
dared not--be otherwise than considerate towards Anna Lynn; but, on the
other hand, he would not have considered her worthy to become his wife.
On the part of Samuel Lynn, he would far rather have seen his child in
her coffin, than the wife of Herbert Dare. The young Dares did not bear
a good name in Helstonleigh.
In this most uncertain and unsatisfactory state of things, what on
earth--as Dobbs had said to Anna--did Herbert want with her at all? Far,
far better that he had allowed Anna to fall in with the sensible advice
of William Halliburton--"Do not meet him again." It was a sad pity; and
it is very probable that Herbert Dare regretted it afterwards, in the
grievous misery it entailed. Misery to both; and without positive ill
conduct on the part of either.
But that time has not yet come, and we are only at the stage of Samuel
Lynn's absence and Patience's broken leg. Anna had taken to stealing out
again; and her wits were at work to concoct a plausible excuse for her
absences to Hester Dell, that no tales might be carried to Patience.
"Hester, Patience is a fidget. Thee must see that. She would like me to
keep at my work all day, all day, evening too, and never have a breath
of fresh air! She'd like me to shut myself up in this parlour, as she
has now to be shut up in her room; never to be in the garden in the
lovely twilight; never to run and look at the pretty lambs in the field;
never to go next door, and say 'How dost thee?' to Jane Halliburton!
It's a shame, Hester!"
"Well, I think it would be, if it were true," responded Hester, a simple
woman in mind and language, who loved Anna almost as well as did
Patience. "But dost thee not think thee art mistaken, child? Patience
seems anxious that thee should go out. She says I am to take thee."
"I dare say!" responded Anna; "and leave her all alone! How would she
come downstairs with her broken leg, if any one knocked at the door?
She's a dreadful fidget, Hester. She'd like to watch me as a cat watches
a mouse. Look at last night! It's all on account of these shirts. She
thinks I shan't get them done. I shall."
"Why, dear, I think thee wilt," returned Hester, casting her eyes on the
work. "Thee art getting on with them."
"I am getting on nicely. I have done all the stitching, and nearly the
plain part of the bodies; I shall soon be at the gathers. What did she
say to thee last night?"
"She said, 'Go to the parlour, Hester, and See whether Anna does not
want a light.' And I came and could not find thee. And then she said
thee wast always running into the next door, troubling them, and she
would not have it done. Thee came in just at the time, and she scolded
thee."
"Yes, she did," resentfully spoke Anna. "I tell thee, Hester, she's the
worst fidget breathing. I give thee my word, Hester, that I had not been
inside the Halliburtons' door. I had been in this garden and in the
field. I had been close at work all day----"
"Not quite all day, dear," interrupted Hester, willing to smooth matters
to the child as far as she was able. "Thee hadst thy friend Mary Ashley
here to call in the morning, and thee hadst Sarah Dixon in the
afternoon."
"Well, I had been at work a good part of the day," corrected Anna, "and
I wanted some fresh air after it. Where's the crime?"
"Crime, dear! It's only natural. If I had not my errands to go upon, and
so take the air that way, I should like myself to run to the field, when
my work was done."
"So would any one else, except Patience," retorted Anna. "Hester, look
thee. When she asks after me again, thee hast no need to tell her,
should I have run out. It only fidgets her, and she is not well enough
to be fidgeted. Thee tell her I am at my sewing. But I _can't_ be sewing
for ever, Hester; I must have a few minutes' holiday from it now and
then. Patience might have cause to grumble if I ran away and left it in
the day."
"Well, dear, I think it is only reasonable," slowly answered Hester,
considering the matter over. "I'll not tell her thee art in the garden
again; for she must be kept tranquil, friend Parry says."
"She was just as bad when I was a little girl, Hester," concluded Anna.
"She wouldn't let me run in the garden alone then, for fear I should eat
the gooseberries. But it is not the gooseberry season now."
"All quite true and reasonable," thought Hester Dell.
And so the young lady contrived to enjoy a fair share of evening
liberty. Not but that she would have done with more, had she known how
to get it. And as the weeks went on, and the cold weather of early
spring merged into summer days, more genial nights, she and Herbert Dare
grew bold in their immunity from discovery, and scarcely an evening
passed but they might have been seen, had any one been on the watch, in
Farmer Atterly's field. Anna had reached the point of taking his arm
now; and there they would pace under cover of the hedge, Herbert
talking, and Anna dreaming that she was in Eden.