The Melbourne steamer made the port of Sydney, at a late hour of the
night. On landing, we proceeded direct to a hotel, where, after some
difficulty, we obtained accommodation for the night.
In the morning, after eating our breakfast--which in Sydney is the most
important meal of the day--my companion and I walked out into the
streets. We soon parted company--each taking a different direction,
since each had his own affairs to attend to.
I proceeded direct to the house where I had left my sister, two years
before. I was both surprised, and disappointed, at not finding her
there; and perceiving that the house was no longer a milliner's shop.
I inquired for the people who formerly occupied the premises; but could
learn nothing of them.
"I am justly served," thought I, "I should have corresponded with my
sister; and this disappointment could not have happened."
My relatives had been lost to me once. That should have been a warning.
I should have taken precautions against a recurrence of this
misfortune. Instead of doing so, I had led Martha to believe, that I
had gone back to England; and during my absence had never written to
her. I now perceived how foolishly I had acted; and felt as if I
deserved never to see my sister again.
I should have been more deeply aggrieved by my conduct, but that I still
entertained the hope of being able to find her.
Sydney was not a large city; and if my sister was still within its
limits, there was no reason why I should not discover her whereabouts--
especially with the energy and perseverance I determined to make use of
in the search.
This search I lost no time in instituting. I turned into the next
street--though rather mechanically than otherwise: for I was still
undecided as to how I should act.
All at once I remembered, that the woman, with whom Martha had gone into
partnership, was a Mrs Green. I remembered, too, hearing Mrs Green
say, that she had resided in Sydney for several years. Some one,
therefore, should know her; and, if she could be found, it was natural
to infer, that I should learn something of Martha.
While sauntering along the street, into which I had entered, my eye fell
upon a little shop, which bore the sign of a milliner over the window.
That should be the place for me to commence my inquiries. I entered the
shop, where I saw standing behind a counter the worst-looking woman I
had ever beheld. She was not ugly, from having a positively hideous
face, or ill-formed features; but rather from the spirit that gave
expression to both. It was a combination of wicked passions--comprising
self-esteem, insolence, avarice, and everything that makes human nature
despicable. The woman was dressed in a style that seemed to say:
"vanity for sale."
I asked her, if she could give me any intelligence of a Mrs Green, who
formerly kept a milliner's shop in the next street.
A disgusting grin suddenly spread over the features of the woman, as she
promptly replied, "Yes; Mrs Green was chased out of Sydney over a year
ago. She thought to smash my business; but she got smashed herself."
"Can you tell me where she is to be found?" I inquired.
"Yes. She saw it wasn't no use to try to carry on business against me;
and she's hooked it to Melbourne."
"There was a young woman with her, named Martha Stone," I continued,
"can you tell me where _she_ is?"
"Yes. She's another beauty. I am not at all astonished at young men
inquirin' for _her_. Don't think I am, mister. I've kept that lady
from starving for the last six months; and I'm about tired of it, I can
tell you. This is a nice world we live in, sure enough. What might you
be wantin' with Miss Stone?"
"I wish to know where she is to be found--nothing more," I answered.
"Certainly. You wish to know where she is! Of course you do. Why
not?" said the disgusting creature, in a tone, and with a significant
leer, that I have ever since been vainly endeavouring to forget. "What
right have you to think, that I should know where any such a person
lives?" continued the woman. "I wish you to understand, sir, that _I am
a lady_."
I should certainly never have thought it, without being told; but, not
the least grateful for the information, I answered:
"You say, that you know where Miss Stone is to be found. I am her
brother, and wish to find her."
"Oh! that's it, is it?" retorted the woman with a look of evident
disappointment. Then, turning round, and forcing her neck someway up a
narrow staircase, she screamed out, "Susan! Susan!"
Soon after, a very young girl--apparently half-starved--made her
appearance at the bottom of the stairs.
"Susan," said the only woman I ever hated at first sight, "tell this
man, where Miss Stone lives."
There was something not so bad in the creature after all; and I began to
fancy, I had been wronging her.
"Please, sir," said Susan, pointing with outstretched arm towards one of
the sides of the shop, "go up this street, till you come to the baker's
shop; then turn round this way, and go on till you pass the public-house
with the picture of the horse on it; then turn that way, and go on till
you come to where the house was burnt down; cross the street there, and
go on to the house where they sell lollies; go by that, and at the
turning beyond go this way until you come to the house with the green
window blinds--"
"That will do," I exclaimed. "I don't want to lose my senses, as well
as my sister. Can you tell me, Susan, the name of the street, and the
number of the house, in which Miss Stone resides?"
"No, sir, thank you," answered Susan.
"Can you go there--if this lady will give you leave?"
"Yes, sir, if you please," said the girl, glancing timidly at her
mistress.
I thought the mistress would refuse; and even hoped she would. Anxious
as I was to find my sister, I did not like to receive even so slight a
favour from one whom I had hated with so very little exertion.
The woman, contrary to my expectations, consented to the child's going
out to show me the way; and I am so uncharitable as to believe, that her
consent was given with the hope that, in finding my sister, I should
meet with some chagrin!
I followed Susan through the streets, until we came to a dirty, wretched
suburb of the city, where the girl pointed out a house, and told me to
knock at the door.
Giving the poor little slavey half-a-crown, I sent her away; and, the
next minute, my sister was sobbing in my arms.
Everything in the room proclaimed her to be in the greatest poverty.
Strange that I did not regret it; but, on the contrary, was gratified by
the appearance of her destitution! It was proof that she was still
virtuous and honest. Moreover, I fancied she would now be the more
willing to accept the protection, I had come to offer her. She was
under the impression, that I had just returned from England. When I
undeceived her on this point, she seemed much grieved, that I had been
so long in the colonies, without letting her know it.
I soon learnt from her the simple story of her life, since our last
parting. At the time she had joined Mrs Green in business, the latter
was deeply in debt; and, in about three months after, all the stock in
the little shop was sold off to meet Mrs Green's liabilities. Their
business was broken up; and Mrs Green had gone to Melbourne--as her
rival had stated. Martha had obtained employment in two or three
milliner's establishments in the city; and, as she blushingly told me,
had good reasons for leaving them all.
She was now making a sort of livelihood, by working for anyone who
chanced to have sewing to give her; and was obtaining occasional, but
ill paid employment, from the lady who had assisted me in finding her.
"Oh, Rowland!" said Martha, "that woman is the worst that ever lived.
She never lets me have a piece of sewing, at a price that will allow me
more than bread and water, and yet I have been obliged to take it from
her, because I cannot get enough sewing elsewhere. I often work from
six o'clock in the morning till ten at night--when I can get anything to
do; and yet I've often been very, very hungry. I'm sure it is as bad
here, as the stories I've heard about poor sempstresses in London. Ah,
brother! Good girls are not wanted in this place. People seem only to
care for those who are bad; and while they have everything they wish,
girls like me must live as you see I've been doing. Oh, Rowland! is it
not a cruel world?"
I was much gratified at hearing my sister talk in this manner: for each
word was evidence, that she had been leading an honourable life; and,
moreover, her despondency led me to believe: that she would no longer
oppose my projects, as she had previously done.
It was all for the best, that she had not done as I wished her two years
before. Had she then consented to returning with me to England, I
should have gone thither--notwithstanding my disappointment about
Lenore. By doing so, I should have missed meeting my brother--besides I
should have lost the opportunity of making above fifteen hundred
pounds--which I had gathered on the gold-fields of Victoria.
Volume Three, Chapter XX.