THE WORKROOM.
There were two factions in the workroom by the side of the river where
Mrs. Wilting’s daughters worked, with Polly Featherston for their
forewoman. One of these, though very small and consisting, indeed, only
of Ellen Wilting, the eldest girl--who was “serious”--and a little
apprentice who was in her class at the Sunday School--was greatly
against the intrusion of “the gentlemen” into the workroom, and thought
it highly improper and a thing likely to bring all the young ladies who
worked there into trouble. Ellen was, contrary to the usual opinion
which would have selected the plainest sister for this _rôle_, the
prettiest of the girls. She was fair-haired, but not frizzy like the
rest; and her face was pale, with a serious expression which made her
very lady-like, many persons thought, and gave her, the others felt not
without envy, a distinction which did not belong to their own pinkness
and whiteness. There were four sisters, of whom Emma--who was the object
of Law’s admiration--was the youngest. Kate and ’Liza came between these
two, and they were both of Polly’s faction, though without any reason
for being so. They thought Ellen was a great deal too particular. What
was the harm if a gentleman came and sat a bit when they were not too
busy, and talked and made them laugh? The object of life to these young
women was to get as much laughing and talking as possible made
consistent with the greatest amount of work done, of gowns and bonnets
made; and anyone who made the long evening appear a little shorter, and
“passed the time” with a little merriment, was a real benefactor to
them. Ellen, for her part, took more serious views of life. She would
have liked to go to morning service every day had that been practicable,
and called it matins as the ladies themselves did, which was very
uncommon in the River Lane; and she was a member of the Choral Society,
and had a pretty voice, and had sung in a chorus along with Miss
Despard, and even with Miss Huntington before she married. All this made
her feel that it was not “nice” to encourage the gentlemen who were of a
different condition in life, and whose visits could not be for any good.
And she would much rather have heard stories read out of the _Monthly
Packet_, or something in which instruction was joined with amusement,
than from the _Family Herald_; except, indeed, when she got interested
in the trials, continued from number to number, of some virtuous young
heroine like the Lady Araminta. Ellen wore a black gown like the young
ladies in the shops, with her pretty fair hair quite simply dressed,
without any of the padding and frizzing which were popular at the time;
and fondly hoped some time or other to wear a little black bonnet like
those of the sisters who had an establishment near. Her mother sternly
forbade this indulgence now, but it was one of the things to which the
young woman looked forward. And it must be allowed that Ellen rather
prided herself on her total unlikeness in every way to Polly
Featherston, who considered herself the head of the workroom, and who
was certainly the ringleader in all its follies. Kate and ’Liza and Emma
and the other apprentice, though they by no means gave their entire
adhesion to Polly, and had many remarks to make upon her in private, yet
were generally led by her as a person who knew the world and was “much
admired,” and always had somebody after her. That this somebody should
be for the moment “a gentleman,” gave Polly an additional advantage. It
must not be supposed that her reputation was anyhow in danger, though
she was known to “keep company” with the Captain; for Polly, though not
“particular,” and ready to talk and laugh with anyone, was known to be
very well able to take care of herself, and much too experienced to be
taken in by any of the admirers whom she was supposed to be able to wind
round her little finger. For this, and for her powers of attracting
admiration, and for her fluent and ready speech, and the dauntless
disposition which made her afraid of nobody and ready to “speak up,” if
need were, even to the very Dean himself, the girls admired her; and
they would not be persuaded by Ellen that Polly ought to be subdued out
of her loud and cheerful talk, and the doors of the workroom closed on
the gentlemen. Little Emma, indeed, the youngest of the girls, was
vehement against this idea, as was easily understood by all the rest.
“What is the harm?” she cried, with tears in her eyes, tears of vexation
and irritation and alarmed perception of the change it would make if Law
should be shut out; a terrible change, reducing herself, who now enjoyed
some visionary superiority as “keeping company” in her own small person
with a gentleman, into something even lower than ’Liza and Kate, who had
their butchers and bakers, at least, to walk out with on Sunday--a
privilege which Emma seldom dared enjoy with Law. “What is the use,”
Emma said, “of making a fuss? What harm do they do? They make the time
pass. It’s long enough anyhow from eight o’clock in the morning till
nine at night, or sometimes later, and so little time as mother allows
for meals. I am sure I am that tired,” Emma declared, and with reason,
“I often can’t see how to thread my needle; and to have somebody to talk
to passes the time.”
“We have always plenty of talk even when we are by ourselves,” said
Ellen; “and I am sure we might make better use of our time and have much
more improving conversation if these men would not be always coming
here.”
“Oh! if you are so fond of improvement,” cried Polly, “I daresay you
would like to have Mr. Sterndale the Scripture Reader come and read to
us; or we might ask Mr. Langton upstairs, who is a clergyman. I
shouldn’t mind having _him_; he is so shy and frightened, and he
wouldn’t know what to say.”
“Lord!” cried Kate; “fancy being frightened for us!”
“Oh!” said the better-informed Polly, “there’s heaps as are frightened
for us; and the gooder they are the more frightened they would be; a
curate is always frightened for us girls. He knows he daren’t talk free
in a friendly way, and that makes him as stiff as two sticks. As sure as
fate, if he was pleasant, somebody would say he had a wrong meaning, and
that’s how it’s always in their mind.”
“A clergyman,” said Ellen authoritatively, “would come to do us good.
But it wouldn’t be his place to come here visiting. It’s our duty to go
to him to relieve our consciences. As for Mr. Sterndale, the Scripture
Reader, I don’t call him a Churchman at all; he might just as well be a
Dissenter. What good can he do anybody? The thing that really does you
good is to go to church. In some places there are always prayers going
on, and then there is half an hour for meditation, and then you go to
work again till the bell rings. And in the afternoon there is even-song
and self-examination, and that passes the time,” cried Ellen, clasping
her hands. “What with matins, and meditation, and something new for
every hour, the days go. They’re gone before you know where you are.”
The young women were silenced by this enthusiastic statement. For after
all, what could be more desirable than a system which made the days fly?
Polly was the only one who could hold up her head against such an
argument. She did her best to be scornful. “I daresay!” she cried, “but
I should just like to know if the work went as fast! Praying and
meditating are very fine, but if the work wasn’t done, what would your
mother say?”
“Mother would find it answer, bless you,” said Ellen, her pale face
lighted with enthusiasm; “you do double the work when you can feel
you’re doing your duty, and could die cheerful any moment.”
“Oh! and to think how few sees their duty, and how most folks turns
their backs upon it!” replied the little apprentice, who was on Ellen’s
side.
Polly saw that something must be done to turn the tide. The girls were
awed. They could not hold up their commonplace little heads against this
grand ideal. There were little flings of half-alarmed impatience indeed
among them, as when Kate whispered to ’Liza that “one serious one was
enough in a house,” and little Emma ventured a faltering assertion “that
going to church made a day feel like Sunday, and it didn’t seem right
to do any more work.” Polly boldly burst in, and threw forth her
standard to the wind.
“Week days is week days,” she said oracularly. “We’ve got them to work
in and to have a bit of fun as long as we’re young. Sundays I say
nothing against church--as much as anyone pleases; and it’s a great
thing to have the Abbey to go to, where you see everybody, if Wykeham
the verger wasn’t such a brute. But, if I’m not to have my bit of fun,
I’d rather be out of the world altogether. Now I just wish Mr. Law were
passing this way, for there’s the end of Lady Araminta in the _Family
’Erald_, and it is very exciting, and she won’t hear of marrying the
Earl, let alone the Duke, but gives all her money and everything she has
to the man of her heart.”
“The baronet!” cried Kate and ’Liza in one breath. “I always knew that
was how it was going to be.” Even Ellen, wise as she was, changed
colour, and looked up eagerly.
It was Polly who took in that representative of all that the world calls
letters and cultivation, to these girls. Ellen looked wistfully at the
drawer in which the treasure was hidden. “I will read it out if you
like,” she said somewhat timidly. “I can’t get on with this till the
trimming is ready.” Thus even the Church party was vanquished by the
charms of Art.
That evening the Captain again paid them a visit. It was not often that
he came two days in succession, and Emma, who was the least important of
all, was very impatient of his appearance, notwithstanding the saucy
speech she had made to Law. In her heart she thought there was no
comparison between the father and son. The Captain was an old man. He
had no business to come at all, chatting and making his jokes; it was a
shame to see him turning up night after night. She wondered how Miss
Despard liked to have him always out. Emma regarded Miss Despard with
great interest and awe. She wondered when she met her in the street, as
happened sometimes, what she would say _if she knew_. And Emma wondered,
with a less warm thrill of personal feeling, but yet with much heat and
sympathetic indignation, what Miss Despard would think if she knew of
Polly. She would hate her, and that would be quite natural. Fancy having
Polly brought in over your head in the shape of a stepmother! and if
Emma herself felt indignant at such an idea, what must Miss Despard do
who was a lady, and used to be the mistress? It made the girl’s heart
ache to think that she would have to close the door upon Law again, for
it would never do to have the father and son together. Polly, on the
contrary, bore a look of triumph on her countenance. She pushed her
chair aside a little as Emma had done for Law, thus making room for him
beside her, and she said, with a delighted yet nervous toss of her
mountain of hair, “Ah, Captain, back again! Haven’t you got anything
better to do than to come after a lot of girls that don’t want you? Do
we want him, Kate?” to which playful question Kate replied in good
faith, No, she did not want him; but, with a friendly sense of what was
expected of her, giggled and added that the Captain didn’t mind much
what _she_ thought. The Captain, nothing daunted, drew in a stool close
to Polly, and whispered that, by George, the girl was right; it didn’t
matter much to him what _she_ thought; that it was someone else he would
consult on that subject; upon which Polly tossed her head higher than
ever, and laughed and desired him to Get along! The Captain’s coming was
not nearly so good for the work as Law’s, who was not half so funny, and
whom they all received in a brotherly sort of indifferent, good-humoured
way. The Captain, on the contrary, fixed their attention as at a play.
It was as good as a play to watch him whispering to Polly, and she
arching her neck, and tossing her head, and bidding him Get along!
Sometimes, indeed, he kept them all laughing with his jokes and his
mimicries, himself enjoying the enthusiasm of his audience. But though
on these occasions he was very entertaining, the girls perhaps were
still more entertained when he sat and whispered to Polly, giving them
the gratification of an actual romance, such as it was, enacted before
their eyes. A gentleman, an officer, with such a command of fine
language, and such an air! They gave each other significant glances and
little nudges to call each other’s attention, and wondered what Miss
Despard would think, and what would happen if really, really, some fine
day Polly Featherston were made into a lady, a Chevalier’s wife, and Mr.
Law’s stepmother--what _would_ everybody say? and Miss Despard, would
she put up with it? Even the idea of so exciting an event made the blood
move more quickly in their veins.
The Captain was not in his jocular mood to-night. He was magnificent, a
thing which occurred now and then. In this state of mind he was in the
habit of telling them splendid incidents of his early days--the things
he said to the Duke of Blank, and what the Duke of Blank replied to him,
and the money he gave for his horses, and how he thought nothing of
presenting any young lady he might be paying attention to (for he was a
sad flirt in those days, the Captain allowed) with a diamond spray worth
a thousand pounds, or a sapphire ring equally valuable, or some pretty
trifle of that description. But he was altogether serious to-night. “I
intended to have come earlier,” he said, “for I have family business
that calls me home soon; but I was detained. It is very tiresome to be
continually called upon for advice and help as I am, especially when in
one’s own affairs something important has occurred.”
“La, Captain, what has happened?” said Polly. “You ought to tell us. We
just want something to wake us up. You’ve had some money left you; or I
shouldn’t wonder a bit if the Commander-in-Chief----”
Here she stopped short with sudden excitement, and looked at him.
Captain Despard was fond of intimating to his humbler friends that he
knew the Commander-in-Chief would send for him some day, indignant with
those whose machinations had made him shelve so valuable an officer for
so long. It seemed possible to Polly that this moment had arrived, and
the idea made her black eyes blaze. She seemed to see him at the head of
an expedition, leading an army, and herself the general’s lady. It did
not occur to Polly that there was no war going on at the moment; that
was a matter of detail; and how should she know anything about war or
peace, a young woman whose knowledge of public manners was limited to
murders and police cases? She let her work fall upon her knee, and there
even ran through her mind a rapid calculation, if he was starting off
directly, how long it would take to get the wedding things ready, or if
she could trust the Wiltings to have them packed and sent after her in
case there should not be time enough to wait.
“No,” the Captain said, with that curl of his lip which expressed his
contempt of the authorities who had so foolishly passed him over. “It is
nothing about the Commander-in-Chief--at least not yet. There will soon
be a means of explaining matters to his Royal Highness which may lead
to----. But we will say nothing on that point for the moment,” he added
grandly, with a wave of his hand. Then he leaned over Polly, and
whispered something which the others tried vainly to hear.
“Oh!” cried Polly, listening intently. At first her interest failed a
little; then she evidently rose to the occasion, put on a fictitious
excitement, clasped her hands, and cried, “Oh, Captain, _that_ at last!”
“Yes--that is what has happened. You may not see all its importance at
the first glance. But it is very important,” said the Captain with
solemnity. “In a domestic point of view--and otherwise. People tell you
interest does not matter now-a-days. Ha! ha!” (Captain Despard laughed
the kind of stage-laugh which may be represented by these
monosyllables.) “Trust one who has been behind the scenes. Interest is
everything--always has been, and always will be. This will probably have
the effect of setting me right at the Horse Guards, which is all that is
necessary. And in the meantime,” he added, with a thoughtful air, “it
will make a great difference in a domestic point of view; it will change
my position in many ways, indeed in every way.”
Polly had been gazing at him during this speech, watching every movement
of his face, and as she watched her own countenance altered. She did
not even pretend to take up her work again, but leaned forward
nervously fingering the thread and the scissors on the table, and
beginning to realise the importance of the crisis. To Captain Despard it
was a delightful opportunity of displaying his importance, and there was
just enough of misty possibility in the castle of cards he was building
up to endow him with a majestic consciousness of something about to
happen. But to Polly it was a great deal more than this. It was the
crisis of something that was at least melodrama, if not tragedy, in her
life. All her hopes were suddenly quickened into almost reality, and the
change in her fortunes, which had been a distant and doubtful if
exciting chance, seemed suddenly in a moment to become real and near.
The spectacle that this afforded to the other young women in the
workroom it is almost beyond the power of words to describe. Their
bosoms throbbed. A play! plays were nothing to it. They pulled each
other’s gowns under the table. They gave each other little nods, and
looks under their eyebrows. Their elbows met in emphatic commentary. He,
absorbed in his own all-important thoughts, she looking up at him with
that rapt and pale suspense--never was anything more exciting to the
imagination of the beholders. “He won’t look at her,” one whispered;
“she’s all of a tremble,” said another; and “Lord, what _are_ they
making such a fuss about?” breathed Kate.
“Yes, it will alter our position in every way,” the Captain said,
stroking his moustache, and fixing his eyes on vacancy. Then Polly
touched his arm softly, her cheek, which had been pale, glowing crimson.
_Our_ position! the word gave her inspiration. She touched him shyly at
first to call his attention; then, with some vehemence, “Captain! that
will make----a deal easier,” she said; but what words were between
these broken bits of the sentence, or if any words came between, the
excited listeners could not make out.
“Yes,” he said with dignity. But he did not look at her. He maintained
his abstracted look, which was so very impressive. They all hung upon,
not only his lips, but every movement. As for Polly, the suspense was
more than she could bear. She was not a patient young woman, nor had she
been trained to deny herself like Ellen, or control her feelings as
women in a different sphere are obliged to do. She resumed her work for
a moment with hurried hands, trying to control her anxiety; then
suddenly threw it in a heap on the table, without even taking the
trouble to fold it tidily. She did not seem to know what she was doing,
they all thought.
“I am going home,” she said, with a hoarseness in her voice. “There is
nothing very pressing, so it won’t matter. I’ve got such a headache I
don’t know what to do with myself.”
“Oh, Polly, a headache! that’s not like you--yes, there’s Mrs.
Arrowsmith’s dress that was promised.”
“I don’t care--and she’s not a regular customer. And it’s only a bit of
an alpaca with no trimmings--you can finish it yourselves. Captain, if
you’re coming my way, you can come--if you like; unless,” said Polly,
with feverish bravado, “you’ve got something to say to the girls more
than you seem to have to me--I’m going home.”
The Captain woke up from his abstraction, and looked round him,
elevating his eyebrows. “Bless my heart, what is the matter?” he said.
And then he made a grimace, which tempted the girls to laugh
notwithstanding Polly’s tragic seriousness. “I had hoped to have
contributed a little to the entertainment of the evening, my dear young
ladies. I had hoped to have helped you to ‘pass the time,’ as you say.
But when a lady bids me go----”
“Oh, you needn’t unless you like,” cried Polly; “don’t mind me! I don’t
want nobody to go home with me. I can take care of myself--only leave me
alone if you please. I won’t be made fun of, or taken off. Let me out
into the fresh air, or I think I shall faint.” The Captain took an
unfair advantage of the excited creature. He turned round upon them all
when Polly rushed out to get her jacket and hat, which hung in the hall,
and “took her off” on the spot, making himself so like her, that it was
all they could do to keep from betraying him by their laughter. When
she had put on her “things,” she put her head into the room she had just
left. “Good-night, I’m going,” she said, with a look of impassioned
anxiety and trouble. She was too much absorbed in her own feelings to
see through the mist in which their faces shone to her, the laughter
that was in them. She only saw the Captain standing up in the midst of
them. Was he coming after her? or was he going to fall off from her at
this crisis of his affairs? Perhaps it was foolish of her to rush off
like this, and leave him with all these girls about him. But Polly had
never been used to restrain her feelings, and she could not help it she
vowed to herself. Everything in the future seemed to depend upon whether
he came after her or not. Oh, why could not she have had a little more
patience! oh, why should not he come with her, say something to her
after all that had passed! As great a conflict was in her mind as if she
had been a heroine of romance. The Captain and she had been “keeping
company” for a long time. He had “kept off” others that would not have
shilly-shallyed as he had done. A man’s “intentions” are rarely inquired
into in Polly’s sphere. But if he cared for her the least bit, if he had
any honour in him, she felt that he would follow her now. Polly knew
that she might have been Mrs. Despard long ago if she had consented to
be married privately as the Captain wished. But she was for none of
those clandestine proceedings. She would be married in her parish
church, with white favours and a couple of flys, and something that
might be supposed to be a wedding breakfast. She had held by her notions
of decorum stoutly, and would hear of no hole-and-corner proceedings.
And now when fortune was smiling upon them, when his daughter had got
hold of someone (this was Polly’s elegant way of putting it), and when
the way would be clear, what if he failed her? The workroom with its
blaze of light and its curious spectators had been intolerable to her,
but a cold shudder crossed her when she got out of doors into the
darkness of the lane. Perhaps she ought to have stayed at any cost, not
to have left him in the midst of so many temptations. Her heart seemed
to sink into her shoes. Oh, why had she been so silly! Her hopes seemed
all dropping, disappearing from her. To sink into simple Polly
Featherston, with no dazzling prospect of future elevation, would be
death to her, she felt, now.
Polly was half way up the lane before the Captain, coming along at his
leisure, made up to her; and, what with passion and fright, she had
scarcely any voice left. “Oh, you have come after all!” was all she
could manage to say. And she hurried on, so rapidly that he protested.
“If you want to talk, how can we talk if we race like this?” he said.
“Who wants to talk?” cried Polly breathless; but nevertheless she
paused in her headlong career. They went up the hill together, on the
steep side next the Abbey, where there never was anybody, and there the
Captain discoursed to Polly about his new hopes. She would have liked it
better had he decided how the old ones were to be realised. But still,
as he was confidential and opened everything to her as to his natural
confidant, her excitement gradually subsided, and her trust in him
returned. She listened patiently while he recounted to her all the
results that would be sure to follow, when an influential son-in-law, a
member of a noble family, brought him to the recollection of the
Commander-in-Chief.
“They think I’m shelved and superannuated,” he said; “but let me but
have an opening--all I want is an opening; and then you can go and
select the handsomest phaeton and the prettiest pair of ponies, my
lady--”
Polly laughed and reddened with pleasure at this address, but she said
prudently, “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. I wouldn’t give
up being a Chevalier. It’s a nice little house and a nice little income
too.”
“Pooh! a nothing,” cried the Captain. This was very fine and gave a
sense of superiority and exaltation. Polly could not but allow a vision
to float before her eyes of the phaeton and the ponies, nay more, of the
march of a regiment with the flags and the music. She even seemed to
see the sentry at her own door, and all the men presenting arms as she
passed (what less could they do to the wife of their commander?). But,
on the other hand, to live here at Michael’s where she was born, and be
seen in her high estate by all the people who had known her as a poor
dressmaker, that was a happiness which she did not like to give up, even
for the glories of a high command far away.