"You'll not find no better, search all Colchester through!" said Mrs
Clere, to a fat woman who did not look particularly amiable, holding up
some worsted florence, drab with a red stripe.
"Well, I'm not so sure," replied the cross-looking customer. "Tomkins,
now, in Wye Street, they showed me some Kendal frieze thicker nor that,
and a halfpenny less by the yard."
"Tomkins!" said Mrs Clere, in a tone not at all flattering to the
despised Tomkins. "Why, if that man knows a Kendal frieze from a piece
of black satin, it's all you can look for. Never bred up to the
business, _he_ wasn't. And his wife's a poor good-for-nought that
wouldn't know which end of the broom to sweep with, and his daughters
idle, gossiping hussies that'll drive their husbands wild one o' these
days. Don't talk to me about Tomkins!"
And Mrs Clere turned over the piece of florence as roughly as if it had
been Tomkins instead of itself.
"It was right good frieze," said the customer doubtfully.
"Then you'd better go and buy it," snapped Mrs Clere, whom something
seemed to have put out that morning, for she was generally
better-tempered than that.
"Well, but I'm not so sure," repeated the customer. "It's a good step
to Wye Street, and I've lost a bit o' time already. If you'll take
tenpence the ell, you may cut me off twelve."
"Tenpence the fiddlesticks!" said Mrs Clere, pushing the piece of
worsted to one side. "I'll not take a farthing under the shilling, if
you ask me while next week. You can just go to Tomkins, and if you
don't find you've got to darn his worthless frieze afore you've done
making it up, why, my name isn't Bridget Clere, that's all. Now, Rose
Allen, what's wanting?"
"An't please you, Mistress Clere, black serge for a girdle."
"Suit yourself," answered Mistress Clere, giving three pieces of serge,
which were lying on the counter, a push towards Rose. "Well, Audrey
Wastborowe, what are you standing there for? Ben't you a-going to that
Tomkins?"
"Well, nay, I don't think I be, if you'll let me have that stuff at
elevenpence the ell. Come now, do 'ee, Mistress Clere!"
"I'm not to be coaxed, I tell you. Shilling an ell, and not a bit
under."
"Well! then I guess I shall be forced to pay it. But you'll give me
good measure?"
"I'll give you as many ells as you give me shillings, and neither more
nor less. Twelve? Very good."
Mrs Clere measured off the florence, tied it up, received the twelve
shillings, which Audrey drew from her pocket as slowly as possible,
perhaps fancying that Mrs Clere might relent, and threw it into the
till as if the coins were severely to blame for something. Audrey took
up her purchase, and went out.
"Whatever's come to Mistress Clere?" asked a young woman who stood next
to Rose, waiting to be served. "She and Audrey Wastborowe's changed
tempers this morrow."
"Something's vexed her," said Rose. "I'm sorry, for I want to ask her a
favour, when I've done my business."
"She's not in a mood for favour-granting," said the young woman.
"That's plain. You'd better let be while she's come round."
"Nay, I can't let be," whispered Rose in answer.
"Now or never, is it? Well, I wish you well through it."
Mistress Clere, who had been serving another customer with an ounce of
thread--there were no reels of thread in those days; it was only sold in
skeins or large hanks--now came to Rose and the other girl.
"Good-morrow, Gillian Mildmay! What's wanting?"
"Good-morrow, Mistress Clere! My mother bade me ask if you had a fine
marble cloth, about five shillings the ell, for a bettermost gown for
her."
Mrs Clere spoke a little less crossly, but with a weary air.
"Marbled cloth's not so much worn as it was," she said; "but I have a
fair piece that may serve your turn. It's more nor that, though. I
couldn't let it go under five and eightpence."
"Mother'll want it better cheap than that," said Gillian. "_I_ think
that'll not serve her, Mistress Clere. But I want a pair of tawny
sleeves, an't like you, wrought with needlework."
Sleeves, at this time, were not a part of the dress, but were buttoned
in as the wearer chose to have them. Gillian found these to suit her,
paid for them, and went away. Mrs Clere turned to Rose.
"Now, then, do be hasteful, Rose Allen; I'm that weary!"
"You seem so in truth, Mistress Clere. I'm feared you've been
overwrought," said Rose, in a sympathising tone.
"Overwrought? Ay, body and soul too," answered Mrs Clere, softening a
little in response to Rose's tone. "Well! folks know their own troubles
best, I reckon, and it's no good harrying other folks with them. What
priced serge would you have?"
"About eighteenpence, have you some?"
"One and eightpence; and one and fourpence. The one-and-fourpenny's
right good, you'll find."
"Thank you, I'll take the one-and-fourpenny: it'll be quite good enough
for me. Well, I was going to ask you a favour, Mistress Clere; but
seeing you look so o'erwrought, I have no mind to it."
"Oh, it's all in the day's work. What would you?" asked Mrs Clere,
rather more graciously.
"Well, I scarce like to tell you; but I _was_ meaning to ask you the
kindness, if you'd give leave for Bessy Foulkes to pass next saint's day
afternoon with us. If you could spare her, at least."
"I can spare Bessy Foulkes uncommon well!" said Mrs Clere irascibly.
"Why, Mistress Clere! Has Bessy--" Rose began in an astonished tone.
Mrs Clere's servant, Elizabeth Foulkes, was her dearest friend.
"You'd best give Mistress Elizabeth Foulkes the go by, Rose Allen.
She's a cantankerous, ill-beseen hussy, and no good company for you.
She'll learn you to do as ill as herself, if you look not out."
"But what has Bessy done?"
"Gone into school-keeping," said Mrs Clere sarcastically. "Expects her
betters to go and learn their hornbook of her. Set herself up to tell
all the world their duty, and knows it a sight better than they do.
That's what Mistress Elizabeth's done and doing. Ungrateful hussy!"
"I couldn't have thought it!" said Rose, in a tone of great surprise,
mixed with disappointment. "Bessy's always been so good a maid--"
"Good! don't I tell you she's better than every body else? Tell you
what, Rose Allen, being good's all very well, but for a young maid to
stick herself up to be better than her neighbours 'll never pay. I
don't hold with such doings. If Bess'd be content to be the best cook,
or the best cleaner, in Colchester, I'd never say nought to her; but
she's not content; she'd fain be the best priest and the best
school-master too. And that isn't her work, preaching isn't; dressing
meat and scouring pans and making beds is what she's called to, and not
lecturing folks at Market Cross."
"Has Bessy been preaching at the Market Cross?" asked Rose in genuine
horror, for she took Mrs Clere's statements literally.
"That's not while to-morrow," said Mrs Clere in the same sarcastic
tone. "She's giving the lecture at home first, to get perfect. I
promise you I'm just harried out of my life, what with one thing and
another!"
"Well, I'd like to speak with Bessy, if I might," said Rose in some
perplexity. "We've always been friends, Bessy and me; and maybe she'd
listen to me--or, any ways, to Mother. Could you kindly give leave for
her to come, Mistress Clere?"
"You may have her, and keep her, for all the good she is to me,"
answered the clothier's wife, moving away. "Mind she doesn't give you
the malady, Rose Allen: that's all I say! It's a fair infection going
about, and the great doctors up to London 'll have to come down and look
to it--see if they don't! Oh, my lady can go if it like her--she's so
grand now o' days I'm very nigh afeared of her. Good-morrow!"
And Rose went out with her parcel, lost in wonder as to what could be
the matter--first with Mistress Clere, and then with her friend
Elizabeth.