When Hester left the jail she went straight to Sparrow Street. She knew
that Bet had gone back there, and felt pretty certain either that she
would see the girl herself or be able to leave a message for her with
one of the other lodgers. She climbed the three pair of stairs, and
knocked at the door of Bet's room. A voice, not Bet's, invited her in,
and she found herself in a cloud of tobacco-smoke, and in the presence
of both Granger and Dent, who were lounging one on each side of the
fire, smoking very coarse tobacco, and imbibing beer from a great jug
which stood on a little deal table between them.
Both men started, and removed their pipes from their mouth, when Hester
entered.
"Well, Hetty, what's your pleasure?" asked Granger, in a would-be
facetious tone. "Going, Dent?" For the younger man had risen to his
feet and was preparing to leave the room.
"Yes, I may as well see to that matter by the docks," mumbled Dent, as
he made for the door. Hester stepped between it and him.
"A word with you first, Isaac," she said, in that rich, peculiar voice
of hers. "I want to speak with Bet--where is she?"
Hester laid her hand on the man's shoulder.
"Where's the girl, Elizabeth Granger, Isaac Bent?" she said. "Tell me
that much, and then you can go."
Dent laughed disagreeably.
"Hands off, Hetty," he said. "Bless yer! What do _I_ know of Elizabeth
Granger? Ask her father--he's there--the girl ain't nought to me. Stand
away from the door, Hetty Wright--I'm in no end of a hurry."
"So am I, and so is Will," said Hetty, without budging an inch. "We
want Bet--we want the gel what you, Isaac Dent, has stolen away. She
was Will's--she was his promised wife, and the good words 'most read
over them, and they was very nearly wed. You stepped atween them, and
stole her from Will. You're a thief out and out,--you take away a man's
character from him, and you part him from his lass as well as stealing
bank-notes and sealskin purses from ladies. Oh--I know you! And I'd
rather be Will, lying in prison this minute, than I'd be you. Yes, you
can go now, for I ha' said my say, and I'd never get the truth out of
you ef I was to wait here forever But I'll find Bet, and she shan't be
your wife if I can help it. I ain't a singer for nothing; I ain't the
most popular singer in the slums for nought. So you needn't defy me;
for if I like I can make matters hot for you."
Hester had not only now moved away from the door, but she had flung it
open, and Dent, muttering much, with his face white, and a very hangdog
expression on it, slunk down the stairs. He said to himself: "There
ain't no use in life bandying words with her; and it's true what she
says--there ain't a man or woman in Liverpool what wouldn't do her
bidding."
When Dent was gone Hester went up to Granger, and, altering her
tactics, began to ask him what he knew about Bet. The man was looking
up at her in dull surprise, and with an expression of heavy,
open-mouthed admiration.
"You did tackle him, Het," he said. "My word!--you has a way with you,
lass."
"Let me use it on you, then, Mr. Granger," said Hetty. "I want
Bet--where be she?"
"What will you give me ef I tell you?"
"I haven't much to give. I can sing to yer--tell me, and I'll give you
the bonniest song--one that no bird in springtime could beat."
"Ay, ay, lass," said Granger. "You know your power, and how you can
wheedle anything out of a fellow; but the fact is I don't know where
Bet is hiding; and if I did the secret is Dent's, not mine. But I
don't--so there. What's the matter, Hester?--what are you staring
at?--oh, that child--you let him alone, he's asleep, that child is. I
popped him into bed, and he's asleep. You let him be, Hester Wright."
"I will, when I've looked at him," said Hester.
She moved over to the bed, on which a forlorn little figure lay prone.
A white cheek pressed the pillow, and two big blue eyes looked up
imploringly at Hester.
"Why, it's the cap'n!" said the singer, bending over the boy, and
pushing the bright reddish hair off his forehead. "What are you doing,
laddie?--and where's your brother?"
The captain's eyes said unutterable things, but his lips did not
move--Granger as well as Hester was watching his face.
"He's resting--can't yer see it?" said the man. "You let him go back to
his sleep. His brother?--oh, he's out larking in the street."
A curious look came over Hester's face. Her manner completely altered.
Stooping again, she pressed a very light kiss on the boy's white cold
brow.
"Go to sleep, lad," she said.
Then she turned to Granger.
"I won't trouble you to tell me about Bet," she said, in her most
conciliatory tones. "Ef it's Dent's secret, I know as you ain't to
blame. There's many a hard thing said about a person what hasn't a word
of truth in it. I believe you're a right good man, Mr. Granger. Well, I
must go off, for I'd like to get news of Bet, but ef you like I'll come
back to-night and sing to you."
"Will you?" said Granger, eagerly. "There's nothing like a song, and
somehow, your voice goes through a feller. I'll collect a few
neighbors, and we'll have a bit of supper and a fine time. What hour'll
you come, Hetty?"
"When the clock's gone seven," said Hester.
"I mightn't be in then,--I sometimes gets an odd job, and I may
to-night, down by the docks; but I'll leave the room-door on the latch,
and you can come in when you please. The boy? Oh, he's well enough. You
won't mind hearing Hetty sing, will you, cap'n?"
Again the blue eyes looked up piteously, but the little white lips were
silent. Hester nodded, and smiled brightly at Granger.
"I'll look in as soon as I can," she repeated. "You leave the door on
the latch."
Then she tripped downstairs; she had not even glanced again in the
direction of the little captain.
"Now to see Mother Bunch," said Hester to herself. "There's no doubt as
my hands 'ull be full for the next few days; but I think I see a way of
getting the better of Dent, and of Granger too,--see ef I don't--oh!
that poor child--that poor, poor child!"
At the corner of the street, leaning half tipsily against the wall,
stood the old hag to whom Hester had once given twopence. Her eyes
brightened when she saw who was walking down the street.
"God bless yer, Hetty Wright!" she mumbled.
Hester was accustomed to many such exclamations; they always had a
power over her, and brought a light into her eyes. She stopped now in
front of the old woman.
"Thank you, Mrs. Flannigan. These are hard times with you, I fear."
"So they be, dearie--so they be. I haven't taken sixpence this blessed
day, and 'tis bitter cold standing about, and with not much chance of a
shelter before yon for the night."
"I have thought of something," said Hester. "I'll be very busy for the
next few days, and I'd like to have my hands free. Will you carry round
my basket for me, mother? I'll go to the market and get it filled for
you every morning, and you'll give me the change at night. You shall
have a third of what you earns. One-third goes for stock--one to me,
one to you. It's better nor nought; and ef you say an' it's Hester
Wright's basket, folks 'ull buy, for they know as my cresses and
oranges ain't to be beat in Liverpool."
The old woman's eyes absolutely danced as Hester made her this offer.
"And I won't cheat you of a farthing, darling," she exclaimed. "Oh, but
it's you as is the blessing of God to me!"
"Come home with me, then," said Hester. "The basket is in my room, and
the things unsold,--come at once, for I'm in a rare bit of a hurry."
Having disposed of old Mrs. Flannigan, and in this manner secured for
herself as well as for the dame a means of livelihood for the next few
days, Hester started off for Paradise Row. It was a fact that there was
not a more dishonest nor evil-minded old woman in Liverpool than this
same Mrs. Flannigan; but Hester was firmly convinced that she would be
true to her word, and not rob her of a farthing, and this proved to be
the case.
As usual Mother Bunch was bending over her wash-tub. Her broad back was
turned to Hester as she entered the little room. Even in Paradise Row
the singer was not quite unknown, and Mother Bunch gave her a welcoming
word. Hester soon poured out her story, which was received with many
exclamations, and such growing and deepening interest that the wash-tub
was forgotten and the Irishwoman stood with her arms a-kimbo, fairly
panting with indignation and excitement.
"Oh, the villains!--oh, the black-hearted creatures!" she exclaimed
once or twice. "Right you are, Hetty,--you have got Mother Bunch on
your side, and I have got an ahrum--see, honey,--I'll do whatever you
bids me, darlint,--but I'll save Bet and the poor children."
"Listen, then, Mother Bunch," said Hester. "You tell me that Bet has
left Liverpool. Can you not try and remember where she said she was
going?"
"She didn't tell me, dear. She didn't let out nought. Only it worn't
far away. Too far to walk, honey, and the train was to take the poor
child. Some miles off--maybe fifteen--maybe a score; but railly I can't
remember. I ain't good at mintal 'rithmetic, darlint."
"Never mind about that now," said Hester; "we have to think of the
cap'n first, and of how to outwit Dent. Now, listen. I have got an idea
in the back of my head."
Here Hester began to talk in a very low voice, and Mother Bunch
listened, nodding vehement approval, chuckling audibly once or twice,
grinning broadly at other times, and throwing out several practical and
shrewd suggestions of her own. Before Hester left Paradise Row the two
had come to a complete understanding.
"I'll have his poor sisther's room as snug as snug for him," said
Mother Bunch, in conclusion. "Oh, he'll be safe there. You trust me
that-he'll be safe there!"
"And I'll sit up with him to-night," said Hester. "Well--all right,
Mrs. O'Flaherty, I'll meet you at a quarter to seven at the corner of
Sparrow Street."
There are times when it is dreadful to be quite alone--when the head
reels, and the floor seems to sink down beneath one, and the solid
earth seems no longer firm and supporting. And when one is very young,
and, although the battle of life has gone hard, the years that have
passed over our heads are only a few, and we feel that we ought to be
petted and loved, and made much of, and held tenderly in our mother's
arms, with that tired, weary, drooping little head resting on her
breast,--then the loneliness is very hard to bear, and the brave
child-heart cries in terror, and wonders if God no longer suffers
little children to come to Him.
The captain was very weak and ill. He had gone through a cruel
time,--he did not want to think of it,--he was lying all alone in bed,
quite alone, with a few flickering shadows from the dying fire
reflecting a light on the walls, and making grim shadows, too, which
frightened him so much that he liked best to lie with his eyes shut.
His father would come back presently,--it was far worse to have his
father there than to lie alone in the dark--only, why did his head feel
so queer, and why were his hands so feeble? He did not think he could
punch anyone now; and as to being victor in a fight, why--even Dan
Davis, the weakest boy of his acquaintance, and one for whom he had the
greatest contempt, would have been a match for him.
Still, it was very dull being alone, and the room seemed to grow
darker, and his head lighter. He was thirsty, but there was nothing to
drink. Where was Bet? Where was the general? He opened his little lips
to call these friendly and protecting names, but no audible sound would
come from them.
Oh, what was the matter? He was really frightened now--even his
father's presence would have been better than nothing. Who and what was
that? There was a noise on the stairs--the room door opened, and the
large face and solid tub-like form of Mother Bunch seemed suddenly to
fill the whole apartment. The poor little captain found sudden vent for
one weak cry of rapture, then he fainted away.