Soon after this Jill went home. She carried an empty basket, and what
was far more unusual, a pocket destitute of the smallest coin. The few
pence she had earned during this unlucky day she had given to Holly, to
help her to meet her rent and to buy some necessaries for little sick
Kathleen.
Jill went home, however, singing a low, glad song under her breath. Her
temperament was very excitable, she had gone through times of great
depression in her life, but she had also known her moments of ecstasy.
Some of these blissful limes were visiting her to-day. She did not mind
the rain nor her empty pocket. She was glad she had pound the flowers
over that plain deal coffin. It gave her delight to think that the
pauper should go down to the grave as gaily decked for the burial as his
richer brothers.
She stepped along quickly and lightly, singing short snatches of the
street melodies of the day. The fact of having an empty pocket did not
trouble her to-night. She had only to draw on her secret store. She
had only to take a little, a very little, from the money put carefully
out of sight in the old stocking, and all would be well.
It seemed only right and proper to Jill that to-day should be the day of
gifts, that she should pour her flowers over a dead man, and should give
the few pence she had earned to comfort a sick child.
These things were only as they should be, for to-night the crowning gift
of all would take place, when she put her hand in Nat's and promised to
wed him before the registrar in three weeks' time.
Jill reached home at last and ran lightly up the stairs to the top of
the house. She was in a hurry, for she wanted to take some money out of
the stocking to buy a suitable supper for Nat. If she could, too, she
would purchase a bunch of cheap flowers to decorate the room.
In her excitement and strong interest, she, for the first time, gave her
mother the second place in her thoughts. But as she reached the
roughly-painted door which was shut against her, a sudden pang of fear
went through her heart, and she paused for a moment before raising her
hand to raise the knocker. Suppose her mother should be ill again, as
she was the night before! Suppose--a hot rush of colour spread all over
Jill's dark face.
Nat knew nothing of these illnesses of her mother's. Nat had never seen
Poll Robinson except gaily dressed, bright good-humour in her eyes,
pleasant words on her lips, and a general look of comeliness radiating
from her still-handsome person.
Nat had always looked at Jill's mother with admiration in his open blue
eyes. Jill had loved him for these glances. Nothing had ever drawn him
nearer to her than his liking for the comely, pleasant-spoken woman, who
was so dear and beloved to the girl herself. Suppose he saw Poll as
Poll was sometimes to be seen! Jill clenched her well-formed brown hand
at the thought. She sounded a long knock at the door, and waited with a
fast-beating heart for the result.
To the girl's relief a step was heard immediately within, and Poll, her
face pale, her eyes heavy from long hours of suffering, opened the door.
"Oh, mother," said Jill, with a little laugh, "oh, mother dear."
She ran up to the woman and kissed her passionately, too relieved to
find Poll in full possession of her senses to notice the white, drawn,
aged expression of her face.
"Mother," said Jill, "here's an empty basket, and has nothing in my
pocket, either."
"You look bright enough about it, Jill," said Poll. "No flowers and no
money! What's the meaning of this ill-luck?"
"No, no, mother, you ain't to say the word ill-luck to-night. There
ain't no such thing, not this night leastways. I'll tell you another
time about the flowers and about having no money. Nat's coming, mother,
Nat Carter, him as I'm keeping company with. And I'm--I'm going to say
`yea' to his `yea' at last, mother. That's why there shouldn't be no
ill-luck on a night like this."
Jill's sparkling eyes were raised almost shyly to her mother's. She was
not a timid girl, but in acknowledging her love for the first time a
sensation of shyness, new, strange, and sweet, crept over her.
She half expected her mother to fold her in a voluminous embrace, but
Poll did nothing of the kind. She stood very upright, her back to the
window, her massive figure flung out in strong relief against the
background of evening light. But the pale, and even woe-begone
expression of her face was lost in shadow.
"I must take some money out of the stocking to buy supper with," said
Jill. "Susy may be coming as well as Nat, there's no saying; anyhow I'd
like to have a good supper."
She walked across the room to the place where the bureau stood.
"Don't, Jill," said Poll suddenly. "I thought may be you'd be coming in
hungry, and I has supper."
"You has got supper ready, mother?"
"Yes, child, yes. Don't stare at me as if you were going to eat me. I
thought may be you'd be coming in hungry, and that the boys would want
their fill, and that--"
"Mother, you didn't think as Nat were coming?"
"How was I to tell? When gels keep company with young men there's never
no knowing when they'll make up their minds to wed 'em. Anyhow I bought
some supper this morning, and here it be. You come and look, Jill."
Poll took her daughter's hand with almost unnecessary force, and opening
a cupboard in the wall, showed a fresh loaf of bread, a pat of butter,
some radishes, a good-sized pork-pie, and a pound of uncooked sausages.
"There's a few potatoes in a bag there," said Poll. "We'll put 'em down
to boil, and set the sausages on to fry. Ain't that a good enough
supper even for Nat, Jill?"
"Oh, mother, it's a feast fit for a wedding," said Jill, laughing with
pleasure. "And flowers, I do declare! Mother, there's no one like you.
You forgets nothing."
"Don't praise me to-night, child, I can't quite abear it," said Poll.
"Go and smarten yourself up for that young man of yourn, and let your
old mother cook the supper."
Jill went into the other room, coiled her black hair freshly round her
head, took off her gaily-coloured apron, and put on in its place a white
one trimmed with embroidery. In her hair she stuck a crimson rose, and
came back to the kitchen looking demure and sweet.
Nat arrived in good time, accompanied by his sister, Susy. The boys
came in after their day's work, and the whole party sat down to the
excellent supper which Poll had prepared.
The meal was nearly drawing to a close when Susy, bending forward, said
in her sharp voice to Jill--
"Nat tells me that you and he will most likely wed one another afore the
next Bank Holiday."
Jill coloured, glanced at Nat, who was watching her with all his heart
in his eyes, and then nodded to Susy.
"And you and he mean to take the flat under this?"
Jill nodded again.
"It's early days for you to speak of these things with Jill, Susy," said
her brother. "We hasn't made up all our plans yet, Jill and me."
"Oh yes, you has, Nat. And what I say is this, that seven shillings a
week is a sight too much for you two to pay. It's beginning
extravagant, and what's that but ending in ruin? Yes, I'm out-spoke,"
continued Susy, raising her shrill, confident young voice, "and what I
say is, `begin small, and you'll end big!' Ain't I right, Mrs
Robinson?"
"For sure, dearie," said Poll, in an absent voice. She was scarcely
attending.
"Be you a-going to get married, Jill?" exclaimed Tom in an ecstasy.
"Oh, jiminy! Won't we make the cakes and ale fly round on the day of
the wedding! My stars, I'd like to go courting myself. Will you have
me to go company with, miss?"
He pulled his forelock and gave Susy an impudent leer as he spoke. She
did not take the least notice of him, but continued in a tone of solemn
earnestness:
"You know, Jill, that you and Nat are goin' to take the rooms under
this. And what I say is they're too dear and too many. What do you
want with four rooms all to yourselves? You'll be both out all day, Nat
with his donkey-cart, and you with your flowers."
"May be not," interrupted Nat. "May be I can 'arn enough for both of
us."
"Oh, no, you can't, Nat; and Jill ain't the one to let you. You'll both
be out all day, and you can't make no use of four rooms, let alone the
furnishing on 'em. Now I ain't talking all this for nothing. You are
both set on the rooms, and it ain't no use trying to turn obstinate
folks from their own way. What I want to say is this, that I'm willing
to take the best bedroom off you, ef you'll let me have it, and pay you
'arf-a-crown a week for it. And Jill can let me cook my food by her
fire, and use her oven when I want to. That will be a bargain as 'ull
suit us both fine, and your rent 'ull be brought down to four-and-six.
What do you say, Jill? I'm looking for fresh quarters, so I must have
my answer soon."
Jill looked at Nat, who rose suddenly, went up to his sister, and laid
one hand suddenly on her shoulder.
"Look you here, my gel," he said, "Jill and I can say nothing to-night.
We'll give you your answer in a day or so. And now, Jill, if you'll put
on your hat we'll go out a bit, and have a talk all by ourselves and fix
up matters."
"It would be a right good thing for Jill to join the Guild," said Susy.
"You ought to persuade her, Nat. She'd be a credit to you in the
uniform, instead of going about the outlandish guy she is, in that
flashy apron and turban."
"The prettiest bit of a wild flower in Lunnon for all that," murmured
Nat under his breath. His honest eyes glowed with admiration. Jill
smiled up at him.
She went into the other room to fetch her despised turban, which she
tied under her chin, instead of coiling it as usual round her head.
"You'll wait till we come back, Susy," said her brother. She nodded
acquiescence, and proceeded to give enlarged editions of her views on
various matters to poor Poll. The boys lounged about for a little, then
went out.
Susy helped Poll to wash up the supper things, and then she drew in her
chair close to the little stove, glad, warm as the evening was, to toast
her toes, and quite inclined to pour some more of her wisdom over Poll's
devoted head.
Mrs Robinson, however, had a knack of shutting up her ears when she did
not care to listen. She sat now well forward on her seat, her big hands
folded on her knee, her large black eyes gazing through Susy at
something else--at a picture which filled her soul with sullen pain.
Susy expatiated on the delights of the Flower Girls' Guild, on the
advantages of the neat uniform, on the money-profit which must surely
arise by keeping flowers in the room provided by the Guild all night.
Susy was intent on proselytising. If she could only get Mrs Robinson
and Jill to join the Guild she felt that her evening's work would not be
in vain.
Poll sat mute as if she were taking in every word. Suddenly she spoke.
"What are you staying on for, Susy Carter?"