AT THE FAIR.
MRS. SPENCER did not speak to Lizzie again that night; she thought it
would be best to wait until the girl was in a better frame of mind.
So the next morning, when breakfast was over, and a suitable
opportunity offered, she said, "Elizabeth, are you sorry for what took
place last night?"
Instead of answering Lizzie picked up the corner of her apron, and
began twisting it round her fingers.
"We must come to some understanding with each other, you know," went
on the lady; "because I cannot keep you if you are determined to go on
as you have been doing this last month. The first month you were with
me you did very well indeed, and beyond showing you how I liked things
done, you gave me no trouble; but since then, scarcely a day has passed
but I have had to find fault with you."
"If I don't suit, I'd better go," said Lizzie sullenly.
"But do you know what that will mean for you, my girl?" asked the lady.
"You have made a bad beginning of life as it is, and if you leave me,
it will make things worse. You have already had three situations within
twelve months, and for a girl to be constantly changing her places like
that, proves that there must be something amiss with her."
"No! It ain't me; it's the places," said Lizzie.
"Well now, tell me frankly why you left your first place," said Mrs.
Spencer. "I don't like to see a girl act so foolishly as you are doing.
It will end in trouble for you by and by, I feel sure."
"I must take my chance of that, I suppose," said the obstinate girl
still twisting at her apron.
"But you have not answered my question, and I should like to know why
you left your first place," reiterated the lady. "You left your last on
account of the children, but I have heard that there were no children
where you lived first."
"No; but the place was hard, and I thought I'd like to go where there
were children. I want an easy place where—where—"
"Where the work is put out, I suppose," said the lady with a smile.
"Well, I can assure you, there are no such places as that to be got,
Elizabeth; and so you had better make up your mind to settle down
here until you have earned a character, and are able to take a better
situation."
"There's nothing amiss with my character," said Lizzie in an indignant
tone.
"Cannot you see that you are making your character anything but what
it should be by so frequently changing? People will say you are so
discontented, it is useless to take you into their homes; and the
better the place may be, the less likely they are to give you a trial.
Now, make up your mind to turn over a new leaf, and stay where you are
for a year. If you will promise to do this, I will look over the past,
and give you another trial; for I am thinking of the sort of character
I should have to give you, if you left me now."
"Oh! You needn't trouble about that," said the girl pertly, "I shan't
want you to give me a character. I'm not going to service again."
"Not—going—to—service—again!" repeated Mrs. Spencer in great
astonishment. "Why, your Sunday-school teacher told me that your mother
was so thankful you were out, for your father's work had been so very
slack lately."
Lizzie hung her head, and looked rather foolish.
"What do you think of doing, if you are not going to service again?"
asked the lady.
The question had to be repeated more than once before Lizzie would
answer, but at length she muttered, "I'm going home to help Mother with
the washing—she takes in washing now."
The lady looked puzzled; but still this did not seem such an
unreasonable thing, only she thought it was rather a short-sighted
business to take the girl away and put her to the wash-tub when she
could do so much better for herself in service.
This she thought was a question for her mother to consider, however;
and so she said no more to Lizzie upon the subject, but resolved to
call and see her mother about it.
So an hour or two afterwards, just as Mrs. Betts was busy ironing, she
was surprised by a visit from Mrs. Spencer, and greatly astonished when
she heard the errand upon which she had come.
"I told her distinctly last night that I could not have her at home,
and her father said the same thing," said the poor woman looking
greatly troubled over the account the lady gave of Lizzie's behaviour.
"I'm very much obliged to you, ma'am, for the trouble you have taken
with her; and if you could persuade her to stop with you I should feel
very grateful. Tell her, ma'am, she can't come home—we can't afford to
keep her; and as to taking in washing and having her home to do it,
why, I might as well be without it."
"I think you are wise in trying to induce her to stay in service," said
the lady; and she went back to see what she could do with the foolish
girl, who seemed bent upon running into trouble, and causing distress
and anxiety to her friends.
She did not know what to say when she heard that her mistress had been
to see her mother.
"What did you want to go for?" she said sullenly. "I know Mother will
want me at home, for she is going to have some more washing, and so I
should like you to suit yourself by this day month," added Lizzie.
"No, Elizabeth; I shall not take your warning," said her mistress
firmly. "You must try and do better in future, and for your mother's
sake put up with what you do not like."
"I hate service, and I never shall like it," said Lizzie, now beginning
to cry; but she did not say any more about leaving, and her mistress
hoped things would smooth down, and she would grow reconciled when she
found it was impossible for her to go home to live.
On Sunday, Mrs. Betts told her again she must not think of giving up
her situation. She had heard from Emma Russell about the new washing,
and had seen her mistress, and she had told her that Emma was so kind
to the children, so considerate and obliging, that she intended to buy
her a new dress as soon as the children get better.
"She came soon after your mistress was here; and I could not help
comparing the two accounts I had heard, and wishing it was my girl that
was being praised," added poor Mrs. Betts.
"I don't," said Lizzie doggedly. "I might be quite as good as Emma, but
nobody would ever think any more of me for it; and so I mean to take
things easy. It's Emma's luck to be thought so much of," she concluded.
"Luck has nothing to do with it," said Mrs. Betts. "She has earned a
character for being good-natured and obliging, while you have got one
for discontent. I tell you, though, that you must be contented where
you are, for I cannot and will not have you at home, though this fresh
washing has come in," concluded her mother.
So Lizzie went back feeling greatly disappointed and very unhappy;
for she had made up her mind that when her mother got this washing,
she would certainly be compelled to have her home in spite of what
she had told her mistress. In fact, the foolish girl began to think
it was entirely owing to her, that her own plans had failed. If she
had not gone to her mother as she did, Lizzie felt sure that, having
secured the washing for her, she could easily have persuaded her that
it was best to give up her place and come home to help with it; but the
premature disclosure of these plans had spoiled them altogether.
So it was in no pleasant mood that she went back on Sunday evening. And
far from resolving to try and do better in future, she made up her mind
to do all she could to vex and annoy her mistress. By this means, too,
she might be able to compel her mother to let her go home, and once at
home, she would turn over a new leaf, and be so steady and industrious,
that her mother would not want to part with her again.
Just as she was about to turn into the street where she lived, her
attention was attracted by half-a-dozen caravans that slowly rolled
along the road, a group of men and women talking loudly in dispute
beside them.
Lizzie paused a minute to look at the gaudily-painted picture on the
outside of one, when an elderly red-faced woman stepped up to her.
"My dear, can you tell me the way to Snowfields?" she said.
Lizzie's head was full of the pictures painted on the caravan, and
she wondered whether she could go and see the wax-work figures they
represented.
"Are these shows going to Snowfields?" she said, after she had taken
some pains to point out the way to the woman.
"Yes, my dear, we shall be there for a week; and if you like to come
round some evening and ask for Mrs. Stanley, why, you shall see the
wax-works, and maybe have your fortune told if you can bring a bit of
silver with you, just to cross your hand with," said the woman.
Lizzie looked doubtful. "I haven't got much money," she said in a
faltering tone.
"Oh! A little bit will do, my dear; or an old silver spoon that your
mother has thrown away."
The silly girl felt flattered that the woman should think her mother
was rich enough to throw away old silver spoons, and went on holding
her head a trifle higher, while the woman hurried to overtake her
friends, smiling as she thought how easy the girl could be taken in.
Lizzie reached home in a rather better mood than when she set out on
her walk, and was altogether more pleasant and obliging during the next
day; so that her mistress thought the advice she had doubtless received
at home had made some impression upon her, and that she had resolved to
do better in future.
So when on Wednesday morning she asked if she might go out for an
hour in the evening, Mrs. Spencer thought it would encourage her
to persevere if she let her have some relaxation, and so gave her
permission, but told her not to stay out so late as she had done the
previous week.
As soon as the tea-things were cleared away, Lizzie went upstairs to
dress herself; for she had made up her mind to go as smart as she could
to see Mrs. Stanley. She had trimmed the sleeves of her dress with
white lace, and tacked a broad piece round the neck, and put on her
best hat and gloves, thinking to impose still further on the woman's
notion that she was a lady.
She was careful to button her black cloth jacket close when she went
out, so that her mistress did not notice how smart she had made her
frock look; but before she got to Snowfields, she took it off and
carried it across her arm.
There was little fear that she would meet Emma Russell or any of her
friends on the road to Snowfields; for this was a piece of waste ground
lying at the back of the town, and altogether out of the way of the
general traffic, although there seemed a good many people on their Way
thither this evening.
Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, there was no one walking along
the road who recognized Lizzie, and she reached the ground feeling
quite elated over her success so far. She had brought sixpence—all the
money she possessed, and she carefully pulled out her lace ruffles,
drew up her gloves, and put on an air that she thought must convince
everybody of her right to be considered a lady.
The business of the evening was just beginning when she reached the
ground. There was a steam roundabout, a stall for shooting at a target,
besides the wax-work show, in front of which a girl about her own age,
dressed in red velveteen and spangles, walked up and down a narrow
platform in front of the picture that had caught her attention on
Sunday night, and expatiated on the wonders to be seen inside.
Lizzie stood still to have another look at the picture; for it was
nearly dark on Sunday, and only a few of the most glaring points could
be seen. And as she looked, she noticed that the name of "Stanley"
appeared on the show, and over the roundabout—in fact, the whole fair
seemed to belong to the Stanleys, so that Lizzie felt doubly glad she
had put on her best frock to visit a lady of such wealth and importance.
After looking about her for some minutes, hoping to see Mrs. Stanley
appear from behind some of the caravans, Lizzie stepped up to the edge
of the platform, and tried to make the girl understand that she wanted
to speak to her, but the din of the steam roundabout, the crack, crack,
bang, bang, of the rifles, and the grinding of an Italian organ just
inside the wax-work exhibition itself, made this perfectly impossible,
and all the notice the girl vouchsafed to her, was to call in a louder
tone:
"Walk up, ladies, walk up, the performance is just about to begin.
Only one penny to see all the wonders of this marvellous exhibition."
And as she repeated these words, the girl moved the gilded stick she
carried in front of the gaudily-painted picture, and walked on in lofty
disregard of Lizzie's beseeching looks.
At last, as there seemed no other way open to make her arrival known
to the lady she was in search of, Lizzie went up the few steps, and
presented herself to the man who was taking money in front of the
curtain that hung over the entrance to the show.
"I want to see Mrs. Stanley, if you please," she said, putting on her
most ladylike air.
The man looked at her with a puzzled expression, and just at that
moment the curtain was pushed aside, and two or three boys and
girls came out of the exhibition, looking very hot, and bringing an
overpowering smell of sawdust and paraffin with them.
"You want to see Mrs. Stanley," said the man slowly, looking the girl
all over, and noting every point about her dress and appearance. "And
what may you want her for?" he said, resting his elbows on the little
green baize-covered table the more easily to look at the girl more
closely.
She drew herself up and looked indignant. "I have come to see her," she
said; "she told me to come on Sunday evening."
"Oh! She did, did she? Well, then, it's all right, I s'pose. Only she
ain't got time to see many visitors, I can tell you, young lady;" and
then the man poked his head inside the curtain and called, "Tottie,
Tottie, come here."
A pale cross-looking girl, dressed in bright pink tarlatan, came
presently to the front.
"What do you want now?" she demanded.
"Open t'other door and call your mother; here's a lady come to see
her," and Lizzie thought she saw the man wink as he spoke.
Certainly the girl stared at her before she dropped the curtain and
went to open the door.
This show did not seem to be largely patronized, in spite of the
pictures and the shrill invitations to "walk up, walk up" constantly
uttered by the girl outside. People seemed to prefer riding on the
wooden homes and swans of the roundabout or shooting for nuts.
In a few minutes the girl in pink came back, and said shortly, "She's
to go round."
"Rosina, Rosina," called the man, still sitting with his elbows on the
table.
But if Rosina heard, she did not choose to answer the call, until in
her regular walk up the little platform she came near the entrance, and
then putting her head round she said sharply, "What now?"
"Just show this lady the way round to the general's quarters," he said
in a lofty tone, and he motioned Lizzie to go down the steps again.
And the girl with the wand in an equally dignified manner pointed to a
little opening between the caravans, which gave access to the space at
the back, where horses were tethered, ugly lurcher dogs sprawled about,
and the kitchen arrangements for the whole fair seemed to be carried
on. But a neatly painted caravan, with pretty lace curtains at the
little windows, stood in the midst of the nondescript litter, and at
the door stood the woman she had seen on Sunday night.
Lizzie gave another pull at her lace and gloves, and Mrs. Stanley, who
noticed it, said in a less boisterous tone than she usually adopted,
"So you've kept your promise, miss, and come to see the show people."
"Yes," said Lizzie, in the most languid tone she could assume. "I've
come, but I shan't be able to stop long."
"Oh! That's a pity now; for I might ha' showed yer all the sights o'
the fair, besides telling your fortune. You've brought the bit of
silver I spoke about, ain't yer?"
"Yes, I've brought sixpence," said Lizzie.
"Well, come up here now, and we'll shut the door and have a quiet chat
to ourselves," said the woman; and Lizzie, feeling very much gratified
at this distinction, went up the little flight of steps.
She was amazed when she stepped inside to find herself in a cosy little
room, with a bright carpet on the floor, a chintz-covered sofa at the
opposite end, and chairs ranged along the sides, and a mahogany table
in the centre.
"You see, I've got a tidy room to ask a lady into," said the woman,
placing a chair for her guest and one for herself near the table.
"Ye-es, I did not think these places were so comfortable," said Lizzie,
lost in amazement at her surroundings.
"Well, miss, I wouldn't tell everybody, but I must confess the show
business isn't bad for making money. This is very well when we're on
the road, but you should see our winter quarters. Oh! We're in clover
in the wintertime. Like the bees, we make our honey or money in the
summer, and spend it in the winter. And now for the bit of silver to
cross the palm with. Take off your gloves, my dear, and hold your hand
up to the light so that I can see the lines, and then we'll have a look
at the cards and see what they say," and Mrs. Stanley produced a dirty
pack of cards from her capacious pocket, and proceeded to shuffle them.