ONE SUMMER SUNDAY MORNING.
LIZZIE fastened the back gate securely after her visitor had departed,
and returned to her little kitchen well pleased with her evening's
work. She put on her cap, thinking that a day or two more only would
she have to wear the odious thing, and then she fell to contemplating
the grandeur that awaited her. She forgot her supper, forgot the
ordinary duties of turning down the beds and making things tidy for the
night—forgot everything but the visions conjured up by Mrs. Stanley's
ready tongue.
Mrs. Spencer returned earlier than she was expected, and that brought
Lizzie back to her present surroundings. For when the lady went
upstairs, and saw the bed-room was just as she had left it, she made
up her mind that the girl was incorrigible, and would have to be
discharged.
"What have you been doing all the evening?" she exclaimed, when Lizzie
went up in answer to her call. "I shall have to send you home, I am
afraid, unless you behave very differently. Now, understand this,
Elizabeth, I give you notice to-night to leave this day month; but
if you choose to turn over a new leaf, and do your work in a proper
manner, I shall not wish to part with you."
Lizzie tossed her head in an indifferent manner, but made no reply.
Her mistress paid her month's wages the next morning, but deducted
sixpence for the broken tumbler as she had threatened, which greatly
offended the girl, for she had made up her mind to take the whole
twelve shillings to Mrs. Stanley.
On Saturday night, she went to bed as early as she could, for she was
afraid of oversleeping herself the next morning. Five o'clock was an
early hour to be astir; but she must contrive to dress and be out soon
afterwards, for she was to join the Stanleys a mile beyond the town by
six. The bonnet and shawl that she was to wear had been thrown over the
gate on Friday night, and she had that safely tucked away in her almost
empty box. The few remaining articles of her wardrobe she made into a
bundle before she went to bed, and then lay down and tried to go to
sleep.
But for once sleep refused to come to her eyes. She lay tossing on
her pillow, her mind full of doubt now as to whether she had done a
wise thing in deciding to run away with this woman. Conscience spoke,
and told her it was a wrong and foolish thing to do; but she assured
herself she must go on now in the path she had chosen, for she had no
clothes to wear, and, therefore, she could not turn back.
A more uncomfortable night Lizzie never spent. She turned from side to
side, but sleep she could not; and at last, when she heard the church
clock strike two, she decided that she must not go to sleep now, for
fear she should not wake up in the morning until it was too late to
join her new adviser.
If the silly girl had only known it—could only have peeped a little
way into the future, she would have seen that this would have been a
merciful interposition of Providence; but she took care not to close
her eyes again. She sat up in bed, and then got a light and a book to
read. But the book did not interest her, and so she dressed herself in
the clean clothes she had put ready. She made this occupy as much time
as possible, and brushed and combed her hair for nearly an hour before
plaiting it up again. In this way, the time went until daylight came,
and then she heard several church clocks strike five, which was the
signal for her to go down-stairs.
She put on her bonnet and shawl, but carried her boots in her hand, as
well as the bundle, and she did not venture to put on her boots until
she was safe outside the back door. There was only the bolt of the
garden gate to draw then, and she would be free—free, and on her way to
meet the splendid fortune that awaited her!
Once outside and in the street, Lizzie walked on with less fear, though
her own echoing footsteps this still Sunday morning almost frightened
her. There was not a creature to be seen, not even a milkman had made
his appearance yet, and Lizzie had walked some distance before the slow
heavy tread of a policeman was heard on the echoing pathway.
Of course he took no notice of the girl, and could not see her face
under the close-fitting black silk bonnet, that had evidently been made
for some very old lady.
So she sped on, and just as the first strokes of six were sounding
through the quiet morning air, Lizzie caught sight of the line of
caravans slowly lumbering down a side road from the other end of the
town.
She waited for them to come up, and in a few minutes Mrs. Stanley
joined her. The woman looked carefully up and down both roads, but
finding there was nobody but their own party in sight, she stopped the
horse of the smartest-looking caravan, and told the girl to jump in as
quickly as she could.
She soon clambered up the steps into the little parlour where she had
had her fortune told, and the key was turned upon her, and the horse
jogged on again.
For some time Lizzie sat listening to the shaking furniture, and trying
to still the throbbing of her head, which now began to ache violently.
At last she lay down on the couch hoping to be able to sleep, but the
shaking and bumping of the clumsy vehicle effectually prevented that.
At last, about ten o'clock, the whole cavalcade came to a standstill,
after a few more bumps and shakes that threatened to overturn them
every time, and then, looking out of the little window, Lizzie could
see they were at the side of a large common, and preparations were
being made for breakfast.
It did not disturb her at first that no one came to unfasten the
door. She expected Mrs. Stanley would bring her breakfast as soon as
it was ready. Of course they would not expect her to share in the
rough-and-ready meal they would provide for themselves. Mrs. Stanley
knew what was in store for her—the fortune that awaited her, and would
contrive to get the meal as nicely served in consideration of her
coming glory.
So Lizzie flattered herself, while she kept down the pangs of hunger
which began to make themselves felt in spite of her headache. But an
hour passed, and from the glimpse Lizzie could get from the window it
seemed as though the meal was over, for boys and girls were lying about
on the common, or helping to fetch water for the horses.
At last she concluded they must have forgotten her, and she began
rattling the door to try and get out or attract attention. They must
hear her, she felt sure, for women's voices sounded quite close; but it
was some time before the door was opened.
Then Mrs. Stanley thrust in her head exclaiming, "Now then, what is it?"
Lizzie was annoyed. This was not the sort of greeting she expected to
receive. "I should like some breakfast," she said, in a tone intended
to be haughty and indignant.
"I daresay you would," said Mrs. Stanley with a short laugh, and then
she shut and locked the door again, and left her prisoner to her
meditations.
Lizzie waited and waited, but no breakfast came, and at last she lay
down on the little sofa and cried herself to sleep.
Repentance had commenced. She had begun to forget her greatness and
grandeur under the pangs of hunger and neglect, such as she had thought
would never fall to her share again, and there was no room in her small
mind for any other feeling than self-pity before she went to sleep. She
had not wholly given up faith in the fortune-teller yet. To give up
such high hopes all at once would be impossible. But she was angry with
Mrs. Stanley, and thought she ought to treat one whom she knew was a
favourite of the stars with more consideration.
Not one thought of the poor mother, who, even now, was almost wild with
grief and dismay at her sudden disappearance, ever crossed Lizzie's
mind yet.
She slept for two or three hours, and was rudely awakened by being
rolled off the couch on to the floor. She screamed out loudly, thinking
something dreadful had happened. But if her screams were heard, no
notice was taken of them; and at length Lizzie regained sufficient
consciousness of the past, aided by her present surroundings, to
understand that they were on the road again. But looking up, the girl
saw that there was a change in the aspect of the place. The windows
were only half the size they were before she went to sleep; for now
only a few inches at the top admitted daylight, and most of the place
was in semi-darkness.
She crept across the jolting van, aided by the rattling furniture,
until she reached the door, which she tried to open, but found it was
still locked as before.
She began to doubt the kind intentions of her supposed friend now, and
burst into tears, still rattling the handle of the door to attract the
attention of her jailers.
It was some time, however, before anyone came near her. They were
journeying at a good pace, faster than they had come along in the
morning; and the thought suddenly came to Lizzie that perhaps some one
was in pursuit of her, and they were trying to get out of the way.
Miserable as she was, this thought made her drop the handle of the
door, for she did not want to be captured and taken home just as the
promised fortune was within her grasp. No, no; anything but that. She
would bear this hunger that was gnawing her with what patience she
could muster, for fear her rattling the door-handle should attract the
attention of anyone passing by.
They were passing through a town, she fancied now, by the sounds that
met her ears every now and then, for she could see nothing but the sky
from the narrow slits of window left unshuttered. She was left to the
miserable company of her own thoughts for an hour or two longer, then
the whole cavalcade came to a standstill again, and presently the door
was opened.
"I suppose you want your dinner now, don't you?" said Mrs. Stanley as
she came in. She carried a couple of thick slices of bread and dripping
in her not over-clean hands, which she laid upon the table.
The girl put out her hand to take it; for it was nearly twenty-four
hours since she had tasted food, and she was ravenously hungry.
But the woman put her hand upon it before she could do this. "Don't be
in a hurry," she said with a grim smile; "we'll settle up first. Give
me that twelve shillings your mistress gave you."
Lizzie put her hand into her pocket and took out her purse, not daring
to disobey, for the woman's looks almost frightened her.
She turned the silver out into her hand and counted it. "There ain't
twelve shillings here," she said throwing the purse on the table.
"Come, hand out the other sixpence!"
"I haven't got it," said Lizzie, beginning to cry again.
"What have you done with it, then? Don't tell me no lies, or my Tom
shall give you a taste of the horsewhip."
Faint from hunger, and broken-spirited already at her forlorn
condition, Lizzie could only sob out her story of the broken tumbler.
The woman pretended not to believe such a tale, and made it the excuse
for insisting that Lizzie should strip herself that she might search
her clothes. To protest was useless; the girl was soon made to do as
she was told. And when her nice neat garments, that her mother had
taken such pains to make for her, lay in a heap near the door, the
woman suddenly opened it and kicked them out, then took a bundle from
under her arm which Lizzie had not noticed before, and threw them at
her feet.
"You can put them on when you're tired of being without," she said with
a short laugh.
Lizzie kicked the clothes from her indignantly. She would not even
unroll the bundle to see what it contained, but cowered down upon the
couch, feeling herself insulted and outraged, and for the first time
suspecting the good intentions of the woman in whose power she had
placed herself. She would go away from them, if she was to be treated
like this, she thought—she so soon to be a lady to have her clothes
taken away from her. She forgot the food on the table in her anguish
over this indignity, and sat huddled together crying for nearly an hour
before she even looked at the garments that had been provided for her.
She was shivering with cold by that time, and looked eagerly round for
the old woollen shawl she had worn in the morning. But it was nowhere
to be seen now. Mrs. Stanley had taken that away with her. A little
longer she sat crying and bemoaning her sad fate, then she stooped and
unrolled the bundle of clothes.
The sight of the coarse, ragged, ill-washed garments brought on a
fresh storm of sobs and tears, and Lizzie turned from them in disgust,
sobbing out:
"Oh, mother, mother! I wish I was with you now."
But it was herself she pitied—no thought for the pain and anguish she
was causing that dear mother came to Lizzie yet.
Cold at length compelled her to put on these evil-smelling garments,
and when she was dressed, she ate the bread and dripping and turned
to the door again. It opened at her touch now, and Mrs. Stanley, who
seemed to be busy at needlework, although it was Sunday evening, was
sitting on the steps.
"Eh? You're dressed at last, then," she said. "Your tea is nearly cold,
I reckon. Here, Mollie," she called, "bring that mug of tea for the
lady," and then Mrs. Stanley broke into a mocking laugh as she surveyed
the "lady" in her ragged garments standing at the door of the caravan.
Lizzie retreated inside as the girl brought the tea, for she was
ashamed to be seen in such a guise. The girl set down the tea at the
top of the steps, and then returned to her employment of breaking up
walnut shells into a steaming pot that hung over a fire of brushwood.
Lizzie was thirsty, and eagerly took the half-cold tea. It was weak and
smoky, had been slightly sweetened with coarse sugar, but had not a
drop of milk in it. The vile decoction almost made her sick after she
had swallowed it, and she asked if she could not have some water to
drink.
"Water! What next, I wonder? Where do you think we are to get water for
you in this place?" said Mrs. Stanley, who sewed on steadily at the
pink dress she was making.
Lizzie looked round then, and saw that they were on a wide desolate
heath; but she learned from the talk of the men, who were lounging
about smoking short black pipes, that they were not going to stay here
long, but would recommence their journey again in an hour or two, and
would travel on all night in order to reach some race-course in time to
commence business the next day.
Was it there she was to meet her fortune, Lizzie wondered. She had
heard of "races," and knew they were somehow connected with horses, but
beyond this the girl's ideas were of the vaguest description, and she
sat there in the doorway of the van wondering how she would have to set
about the business.
She was startled by the girl superintending the steaming pot suddenly
calling out:
"It's done."
"All right, turn it out to cool," said Mrs. Stanley without looking up
from her work.
The whole mess was turned into a pail the next minute, and then the
girl lounged off to join her companions, who were quarrelling with some
boys of the party over the division of some apples one of them had
stolen from a neighbouring orchard.
After a little while, Mrs. Stanley turned and glanced at Lizzie still
sitting listlessly in the doorway.
"You can come out of that now," she said gruffly.
But Lizzie had no desire to be seen in her present costume, and said
rather shortly, "I don't want to."
"That don't matter. You come out as I tell you, and go and give
yourself a good wash in that pail," nodding as she spoke to where the
girl had emptied the contents of the pot.
Lizzie looked alarmed. She had always prided herself on her white skin,
and she knew the juice of walnut shells would stain it brown.
"Come on," called the woman roughly, seeing her hesitate.
The girl came slowly down the steps.
"If you please, I would rather not," she said meekly, all the pertness
taken out of her now.
She stood still at the bottom of the steps, and looked imploringly
at the woman she had deemed her benefactor. For answer, Mrs. Stanley
dropped her work, seized Lizzie by the arm, and, before she was aware
of it, had ducked her head into the pail of warm dye. She let her raise
it for a minute or two that the air might dry it a little, and then
dipped it again. This process she repeated two or three times, then
thrust her arms in, and held her over it while she bathed her neck.
When she had finished she said, "There! Now you'll do. Your own mother
wouldn't know you by the time your hair is cut."
And saying this, she returned to her work, leaving Lizzie to do as she
pleased now.