Chapter X: Part 10

It might reasonably be supposed that old Matt had introduced Septimus as a customer; but no, this would have been introducing him to the abode of which he was ashamed; and Septimus had long since discovered the spot for himself, and come to the conclusion that it was a place where he could well suit himself, or rather the requirements of his pocket.

Isaac was smoking away as usual, and giving the finishing touch to a boot-sole by means of a piece of broken glass, whose keen edge took off minute shavings of the leather. Mrs Slagg was busily carrying on trading transactions with a dirty man, and giving the best price for a barrowful of old newspapers; but both Isaac and Mrs Slagg seemed out of spirits, and when a customer presented himself in the shape of Septimus Hardon, the translator put down his work slowly, sighed, laid his pipe upon a shelf, and seemed to carry out his bargain with more than his usual heaviness. As a rule, Isaac was a man given to smiling--smiling very slowly, and bringing his visage back to its normal state, a solid aspect; but there was no smile visible now; and when his visitor for "three-and-nine and the old uns," became the lucky possessor of a pair-- no, not a pair--of two Oxonian shoes, Isaac took the money with another sigh, put it in an old blacking-bottle upon the shelf, which he used as a till, dropped the old boots upon a heap close by, took up his pipe, smoked, sighed, and then scraped away at his boot-sole without taking a single peep at his neighbour.

For Isaac Gross was sore at heart concerning the state of his old friend Matt, as sore at heart as was his customer; and when, slightly limping and pinched, Septimus creaked away in his new shoes, Mrs Slagg having finished her paper purchases, and retaken her seat inside her door,--a seat she seldom quitted, making her customers perform the weighing and lifting when practicable,--she peeped round the door-jamb twice in vain; and though trade was prosperous as her love, in spite of its being enshrined so softly in fat, Mrs Keziah Slagg's heart was also sore, and she too sighed.

The feeling that everyone was watching him was stronger than ever upon Septimus Hardon that morning as he made his way along the big streets and alleys on his way towards one of the hospitals, and after letting the matter sleep as it were for some time, he had now awakened to the fact that he should like to prosecute his claim; though he told himself frequently that he was too weak and wanting in decision to go on without help--the help he could not now obtain. He knew that Mr Sterne would willingly assist him, but his was not the required help; and he shrank from making him his confidant, while he eagerly sought the aid of the old printer now it was not forthcoming.

There are some strange contradictions in the human heart; and at the present time, had old Matt presented himself to go on with the search in the unbusiness-like way already followed, the chances are that Septimus Hardon would have shrunk from it, or allowed himself unwillingly to be dragged into farther proceedings.

But old Matt was not present; and now, with the idea troubling him that much time had been wasted, and the matter must be at once seen to, Septimus Hardon made his way towards the hospital; not that he was ill in body, though troubled greatly in mind concerning the man who had been his friend in the hardest struggle of his life. For there were strong passions in the vacillating soul of Septimus Hardon, and he had been greatly moved when, after another long absence, during which he had anxiously waited for the old man, a letter had been delivered, telling how that Matthew Space lay seriously ill in a hospital-ward.

For the first few days after their parting, Matt's last words had strangely haunted Septimus, and he could not rest for thinking of them; but they grew fainter with the lapse of time; Matt came not to spur him once more to his task, and he sank lower and lower, while Doctor Hardon of Somesham, portly and smiling, grew great in the estimation of the people of the little town.

Septimus had tried more than once in his unbusiness-like, haphazard way to find out the residence of old Matt, at such times as the thoughts of his last words were strong upon him. "He said he was ill, and then talked of medicine and attendance. He was wandering," said Septimus. "I remember I had great difficulty in getting him along. Perhaps he is dead. Well, well; so with all of us. Let it rest, for I'll take no farther steps."

A rash promise to make, as he felt himself when one day came the few lines written in a strange hand, asking his attendance at the hospital. Only a few lines in a crabbed hand, without a reference to the search; but now the desire had risen strong in him once more, though he called himself selfish to think of his own affairs at such a time.

Septimus was not long in responding to the note, but he found the old man delirious. The second time, Lucy begged to go and see her old friend, and wept bitterly over his shrivelled hand; but the old man was incoherent, and knew them not.

And now for the third visit Septimus made his way to the hospital, where he found the old man apparently sinking from the effects of some operation. The doctor had just left, when one of the nurses, a great, gaunt, bony woman, with a catlike smile, and a fine high colour in her cheeks, ushered the visitor to the bedside--a bed, one of many in the light, clean, airy ward.

Septimus Hardon was shocked at the change which had taken place in the old man, as he lay with his hands spread out upon the white coverlet of the bed, pale and glassy-eyed, and rather disposed to wander in his speech; but his face seemed to light up when he heard his visitor's voice.

"No; no better," he whispered. "Let's see, I told you, didn't I? Mrs Hardon, medicine and attendance, wasn't it? To be sure it was. Yes, medicine and shocking bad attendance here. That's it; and I can't tell you any more. I'm falling out of the forme, sir, unless some of these doctors precious soon tighten up the quoins."

"No, no," said Septimus cheerily, "not so bad as that; a good heart is half the battle."

"Yes, yes, yes, so it is," whispered the old man feebly; "but, I say, is she gone?"

Septimus told him the nurse had left the room, and the old man continued:

"You can't keep a good heart here, sir, nohow. I wouldn't have come if I'd known all I know now. You saw her, didn't you?"

"The nurse?" said Septimus.

"Yes, her," replied the old man, shuddering; "she's a wretch, with no more feeling in her than a post. She'll do what the porters shrink from, sir. They have to carry the--you know what I mean, sir--down to the deadhouse; and I've known her laugh at the young one, and do it herself in a way that makes your blood run cold. Just wink, sir, if you see her coming. She'll be here directly with my wine or jelly: says I'm to have some on the little board, don't it?"

Septimus looked at the board above his head, and found that wine was ordered.

"Yes," said the old man, "the doctors are trumps, sir, everyone of them; and no poor fellow out of the place could get the care and attention I've done here. My doctor couldn't do more if I paid him ten pound a day; and I always feel wonderful after he's gone; seems to understand my chronics, sir, as you wouldn't believe in. But those nurses, sir--don't tell 'em I said so, but they're devils, sir, devils. Medicine and attendance, sir; it's all the first and none of the last."

"Hush," said his visitor, seeing as he thought that the old man was beginning to wander, "Mrs Hardon would have liked to see you, and Lucy; but she could not leave her mother to-day."

"God bless her!" said the old man fervently. "He asleep in the bed there told me she came the other day, looking like an angel of comfort in this dreary place, sir. God bless her! Tell her, sir, that the old man's true as steel, sir; the old blade's notched and rusty, but he's true as steel, sir. Do you hear? tell her that old Matt's true as steel. But these nurses, sir," he whispered, holding by his visitor's coat, and drawing him nearer, "they're devils, sir, regular devils!"

"Not quite so bad as that," said Septimus, smiling.

"Not so bad, sir? Worse, sir, worse; ever so much worse. They'd do anything. There's no Sisters of Mercy here, sir, like they're talking of having at some places; they're sisters of something else--she-demons, sir, and one daren't complain or say a word. They'd kill a poor fellow as soon as look at him, and do, too,--dozens."

"Nonsense," said Septimus, smiling, "don't be too hard, Matt."

"'Tain't nonsense, sir," whispered the old man eagerly. "I ain't wandering now, though I have been sending up some queer proofs--been touched in the head, you know, and thought I was going; but it didn't seem to matter much if I could only have been easy in my mind, for I wanted to be out of my misery. But I couldn't be comfortable on account of the medicine and attendance, and your uncle. What business has he to get himself made head doctor here, sir, just because I came; and then to set the nurses against me to get me out of the way? He knows I'm against him, and mean you to have your rights, and he's trying with medicine and attendance to--no, stop, that's not it," whispered the old man, "I've got wrong sorts in my case, and that's not what I wanted to say." And then for a few moments it was pitiable to witness the struggle going on against the wandering thoughts that oppressed him; but he seemed to get the better of his weakness, and went on again.

"There, that's better, sir; your coming has seemed to do me good, and brightened me up. I get like that sometimes, and it seems that I've no power over my tongue, and it says just what it likes. Tell Miss Lucy I'm getting better, and that I want to get out of this place. I know what I'm saying now, sir, though I can't make it quite right about that medicine and attendance that we wanted to know about; for it bothers me, and makes my head hot, and gets mixed up with the medicine and attendance here. But I shall have it right one of these days; I did nearly, once, but it got away again."

In his anxiety now to know more, Septimus drew out paper and pencil.

"Don't think about it now," he said; "but keep these under your pillow, and put it down the next time you think anything."

Old Matt smiled feebly, and drew forth his old memorandum-book, and slowly opening it, showed the worn stumpy piece of pencil inside.

"I'd thought of that, sir, and should have done so before, only I was afraid that I might put down the wrong thing--something about the nurses, you know, when they would have read it, and then, perhaps, I shouldn't have had a chance to say any more. And 'tisn't really, sir, it isn't nonsense about them. You think I'm wandering, and don't believe it; and it's just the same with the doctors--they don't believe it neither. There was one poor chap on the other side of the ward, down at the bottom there--he told the doctor his nurse neglected him, and drank his wine, putting in water instead, beside not giving him his medicine regular; so the old doctor called for the nurse, and--"

"But you must not talk any more," said Septimus kindly, "you are getting exhausted."

"I ain't," said the old man angrily; "it does me good, revives me; and you don't believe me, that's what it is."

"Yes, I do, indeed," cried Septimus. "Then let me finish," whispered the old man. "Doctor Hardon called and asked her where she saw the entry. There, now, there," whimpered Matt, "see what you've done: you made me upset a stickful of matter, and got me all in a pye again. No; all right, sir, I see, I see--he asked her about it before the patient, speaking very sharply, for the doctors mean well, sir. And then what did the old crocodile do, sir, but just turn her eyes towards the whitewash, smooth her apron, raise her hands a bit, and then, half smiling, looks at the doctor like so much pickled innocence, but never says a word; while he, just to comfort the poor fellow, told him to keep up, and it should all be seen to; and then there was a bit of whispering between the doctor and the nurse, and then he went off. But I could see who was believed, for I heard the doctor mutter something about sick man's fancies as he came across to me. That poor chap died, sir!"

Just then, Septimus gave the old man a meaning look, for one of the nurses came up with a glass of wine, and smiled and curtsied to the visitor.

"I hope he ain't been talking, sir?" said the woman, in a harsh grating voice with the corners a little rubbed down; "getting on charming, ain't he, sir? only he will talk too much.--Now drink your wine up, there's a good soul. Don't sip it, but toss it down, and it will do you twice as much good;" and while the old man, with the assistance of his visitor, raised himself a little, she gave his pillow two or three vengeful punches and shakes as she snatched it off the bed, the result of her efforts being visible in a slit across the middle, which she placed undermost.

"Yes," muttered Matt when the woman had gone. "Yes; toss it down, so as not to taste it. Why, that was half water--beautiful wines and spirits as they have here, sir. That's the very one herself, sir. She killed him."

"Killed who?" exclaimed Septimus, horrified.

"Don't shout, sir; leastwise, not if you want to see me again," said Matt grimly. "Killed that poor fellow I was telling you about. She never forgave him, and a week afterwards and there was the screen round his bed, and the porters came and carried him away. She killed him, sure enough, and I ain't agoing to tell you about the bother there was with his friends about the doctors, and what they did to him afterwards, it might upset you. It almost does me; not that I care much, for it don't matter when you're gone, and I've got no friends."

"Hush, pray; it can't be so," exclaimed Septimus, shuddering.

"No, of course not," chuckled the old man, brightening up from the effects of his stimulant, "O, no; sick man's fancies, sir, ain't they? Just what everyone would say; but she killed him all the same, just as dozens more have been killed here. It don't take much to kill a poor fellow hanging in the balance--him in one scale, and his complaint in the other. The doctor comes and gets in the same scale with him, and bears him down a bit right way; but then as soon as the doctor's gone, the nurse goes and sits in the other scale, and sends him wrong way again. Good nursing's of more consequence sometimes than the doctoring, I can tell you, sir, and if I'd had good nursing I shouldn't have been here at all. Ikey means well, you know, sir; and so does Mother Slagg, eh? but you don't know them, sir, and it don't matter."

"But had you not better be silent now?" hinted Septimus.

"No," said the old man testily; "being so quiet, and having no one to talk to has half-killed me as it is. I don't want to be killed, I want to get out, sir. And, mind you, I don't say about that poor fellow that she poisoned him, or choked him, or played at she-Othello with the pillow, sir; but there's plenty of other ways of doing it. The doctor knows the man's condition, and his danger, and orders him such and such things to keep him going, and bring him round, eh?"

Septimus nodded, for the old man paused for breath; though the wine he had taken made him talk in a voluble and excited manner, but still with perfect coherence.

"Well, sir; and who's got to carry out the doctor's orders? Why, the nurse, to be sure. Just push the pillow a little more under my head, sir; she's made it uncomfortable. That's it; thanky, sir. Well, you nor no one else won't believe that a nurse here would do anything wrong. But now, look here: suppose you see that a lamp wants trimming, what do you do? You give orders for it to be trimmed, sir, don't you?"

Septimus nodded again.

"Well, then," whispered the old man, hooking one of his long fingers in a buttonhole of his visitor's coat; "suppose they don't trim the lamp; suppose it isn't trimmed, eh? what then?"

"It goes out!" said Septimus.

"To be sure--exactly, sir; and there have been lots of lamps go out here. They won't trim them, or forget to trim them, and tell themselves they're only sparing the poor creatures misery, while no one dares to speak about it. Talk of death, sir, they think no more of it here, sir, than one does of snuffing out a candle. You see, decent women won't come to a place like this to do the work these nurses do. It's only to be done for money or love. Now it's done for money, and while it's done for money it can only be done by hard, heartless, drinking creatures who've got women's shapes and devils' hearts, sir. But the doctors are all right, sir, only that they don't see all we poor patients see. If skill and doctoring will put me right, sir, I shall be put right, sir. But I'm scared about it sometimes, and half afraid that some of those beauties will weight the wrong scale so heavily that the doctors won't pull me square. Sick man's fancies, sir, eh? Wanderings, ain't they?"

Septimus Hardon knew not what to say, but whispered such comfort as he could.

"Something ought to be done, you know," said the old man feebly; "but don't hint a word of what I've said, sir, to a soul--please don't," he said pitifully. "You see that all these goings on prey upon a poor fellow's mind; and if he isn't low-spirited lying in a hospital-ward, when is he likely to be? One wants sympathy and comfort, sir, and to feel that there's someone belonging to you who cares for you, and is ready to smooth your pillow, and lay a cold hand upon your hot forehead, and say `God bless you!' and I've no one, no one;" and the old man's voice grew weak and quavering.

"Come, come," whispered Septimus, "take heart, Matt; we'll come as often as they will let us. And you are getting better; see how you have chatted. You are only low now from the reaction. Try and rest a bit, and get rid of some of these fancies."

Old Matt's eyes turned angrily upon his visitor as he exclaimed, "I tell you they are not fancies, sir, but truth. I wouldn't have come if I'd known, for I've seen men drink, and women drink; but never anyone like these she-wolves. Would you trust anyone you loved to the care of a woman who drank, sir?"

"No!"

"They say they must have support, and I suppose they must; but it's hard, hard, hard!" groaned the old man, and he shut his eyes, seeking out the hand of his visitor, and holding it tightly, until, by the rules of the place, he was obliged to leave.

Volume Two, Chapter XIII.

MR JARKER IS "A BIT ODD."

There had been no occasion for Mr William Jarker to carry out the threat he had once made, for in all the long space of time during which Agnes Hardon's child was in Mrs Jarker's care, the money was always paid, faithfully and regularly, once a week, but at how great a cost to its mother none but the Seer of all hearts could tell; and always, in spite of sickness and misery, pain, and the hard bondage of her life, Jarker's wife was tender and loving to the little one within her charge. Perhaps it was the memory of another pair of bright eyes that had once gazed up into her own, perhaps only the loving promptings of her woman's heart; but when, by stealth almost, Agnes Hardon came to kiss her child, she left tearfully but rejoicing, for there was proof always before her of the gentle usage in the fond way in which the little thing clung to its nurse. The preference may have wrung her heart, but it was but another sorrow to bear, and, bending beneath her weight of care, she came and went at such times as seemed best for avoiding Jarker, the curate, and Septimus Hardon.

It was in her power to have let Lucy know where old Matt lodged; but of late they had met but little, and then, in their hurried interviews, his name was not mentioned, for the sorrows of the present filled their hearts.

But now Agnes Hardon was in greater trouble, for something whispered her that this sickness of poor Mrs Jarker was a sickness unto death, and her soul clave to the suffering, ill-used woman who had filled the place of mother to her child; while, at the same time, she trembled for the future of her little one after each visit--ever feeling the necessity, but ever dreading, to take it away, for truly there was a change coming; and time after time when she left the garret, it was with a shudder, for there seemed to be a shadow in the room.

It was almost impossible to ascend the creaking stairs to the garret tenanted by Mr Jarker without hearing Mrs Sims, who, through some spiritual weakness, had left the house in the square to return once more to the Rents--a court honoured by most of those unfortunates who, from unforeseen circumstances, fell from the heights of the square; while the latter was always looked up to, in its topmost or basement floors, for promotion by the more fortunate tenants of the Rents; and now an ascending visitor was almost certain to hear the melancholy, sniffing woman blowing her fire. Generally speaking, we see bellows hang by the mantelpiece, with a time-honoured, bees'-waxy polish glossing them, as though they were family relics whose services were seldom called into requisition; but _chez_ Mrs Sims, the bellows had rather a bad time of it, and were worked hardly enough to make them short-winded. They already wheezed so loudly that it was impossible to take Mrs Sims' bellows for anybody else's bellows; and this was probably due to their having inhaled a sufficiency of ashy dust to make them asthmatic, while the nozzle was decayed and burned away from constant resting upon the specially-cleared bottom-bar; the left half of the broken tongs doing duty for the vanished poker, borrowed once to clear the grating in the court, and never returned, for the simple reason that it found its way to Mrs Slagg's marine-store shop, where it stayed in consideration of the porter receiving the best price given, namely, twopence.

Your boots might creak, and, as was their wont, the stairs would crack and groan, but still there was the sound of the bellows to be heard as you ascended the staircase--puff, puff, puff; and the stooping woman's stays crackled and crumpled at every motion, for Mrs Sims, from always requiring support, external as well as internal, sought the external in whalebone, though for the internal she preferred rum. There was always "suthin' as wanted a bit of fire:" perhaps it was washing-day, which, from the small size of Bennett's-rents' wardrobes, happened irregularly, with Mrs Sims three times a week, when the big tin saucepan used for boiling divers articles of wearing-apparel, in company with a packet of washing-powder, would be placed upon the little damaged grate, upon which it would sit like Incubus, putting the poor weak fire quite out of heart, when it had to be coaxed accordingly. Sometimes the bellows were required to hurry the "kittle," a battered old copper vessel that never boiled if it could help it, and, when compelled by the said hurrying, only did so after passing through a regular course of defiant snorts, even going so far as to play the deceiver, and sputter over into the fire, pretending to be on the boil when many degrees off, and so spoiling Mrs Sims' tea--never the strongest to be obtained. Sometimes, again, the bellows were required to get a decent fire to cook a bit of steak for the master's dinner, or even "to bile the taters." At all events, of all Mrs Sims' weaknesses, the principal lay in her bellows, and she could generally find an excuse for a good blow, accompanied sometimes by a cry over the wind-exhalers, as she sniffed loudly at her task.

There is no doubt but that in her natural good-heartedness Mrs Sims would have operated quite as cheerfully upon any neighbour's fire as she did now upon the handful of cinders in Mrs Jarker's grate; for, in spite of her sniffs, her weakness for the internal and external support, and her whining voice, Mrs Sims was one of those women who are a glory to their sex. Only a very humble private was she in the noble army, but one ever ready for the fight: fever, cholera, black death, or death of any shade, were all one to Mrs Sims, who only seemed happy when she was in trouble. If it was a neighbour who could pay her, so much the better; if it was a neighbour who could not, it mattered little; send for Mrs Sims, and Mrs Sims came, ready to nurse, comfort, sit up, or do anything to aid the needy; and old Matt had been heard more than once to wish she had been a widow.

Poor Mrs Jarker would have suffered badly but for this woman's kindness; many a little neighbourly act had been done by Lucy, but Mrs Jarker's need was sore, and beyond minding the child for her occasionally, Lucy's powers of doing good were circumscribed. And now, one night, sat Mrs Sims, sniffing, and forcing a glow from the few embers in the Jarker grate as she made the sick woman a little gruel.

Mr William Jarker ascended the stairs after having had "a drop" at the corner--that is to say, two pints of porter with a quartern of gin in each; and upon hearing the noise of the bellows he uttered what he would have denominated "a cuss," since he bore no love for Mrs Sims, and her sniff annoyed him; but when, upon ascending higher, he found that the sound did not proceed, as he expected, from the second-floor, but from his own room, he began to growl so audibly that the women heard him coming like a small storm, and trembled, since Mr Jarker was a great stickler for the privacy of his own dwelling, which he seemed to look upon as a larger sort of cage in which he kept his wife.

But although forbidden to enter the room, Mrs Sims glanced at the pallid sufferer lying in the bed, with the feeble light of a rush candle playing upon her features; and muttering to herself, "Not if he kills me," resolved not to abdicate; and then, after a few final triumphant puffs, dropping at the same time a tear upon the top of the bellows--a tear of weakness and sympathy--she laid down the wind instrument upon which she had been playing, and thrust an iron spoon into the gruel upon the fire, stirring it round so energetically that a small portion was jerked out of the saucepan upon the glowing cinders, and hissed viciously, forming a fitting finale to Mr Jarker's feline swearing.

But the gruel did not hiss and sputter as angrily, nor did the erst glowing cinders look so black, as did Mr William Jarker when he found "the missus still abed," and Mrs Sims in possession.

"I have said as I won't have it," growled Mr Jarker; "and I says agen as I won't have it. So let people wait till I arsts 'em afore they takes liberties with my place. So now p'r'aps you'll make yourself scarce, Missus Sims;" and then the birdcatcher crossed over to, and began muttering something to, his wife.

But Mrs Sims was nothing daunted; she was in the right, and she knew it, and though her hands trembled, and more of the gruel fell hissing into the fire, as the tears of weakness fell fast, she stood her ground firmly.

"When I've done my dooty by her, as other people, whom I won't bemean myself to name, oughter have done, Mister Jarker, I shall go, and not before," said Mrs Sims. "It's not me as could sit down-stairs and know as that pore creetur there was dying for want of a drop of gruel, and me not come and make it, which didn't cost you a farden, so now then!" Here Mrs Sims bridled a great deal and sniffed very loudly; a couple of tears falling into the fender "pit-pat."

"Don't jaw," said Bill gruffly, making a kind of feint with his hand as he stooped down to light his short black pipe by thrusting the bowl between the bars.

Mrs Sims flinched as if to avoid a blow, to the great delight of Mr Jarker; but exasperated him directly after by sniffing loudly, over and over again, producing, by way of accompaniment to each sniff, a low and savage growl and an oath.

"Well, I'm sure," exclaimed Mrs Sims, "how polite we're a-growing!" But catching sight of the smouldering fire in the ruffian's eye, she hastily poured out the gruel, repenting all the while, for the poor woman's sake, that she had spoken; but upon taking the hot preparation with some toast to the invalid she found her kindness unavailing, for though Mrs Jarker sat up for a minute and tried to take it, she sank back with a faint sigh, and with an imploring look, she whispered her neighbour to please go.

"Not till I've seen you eat this, my pore dear soul," said Mrs Sims boldly, though, poor woman, she was all in a tremble, and kept glancing over her shoulder at Jarker, who, with his back to the fire and his hands in his pockets, glowered and scowled at the scene before him. Mrs Sims passed her arm round the thin, wasted form, and supported the invalid; but, after vainly trying to swallow a few spoonfuls, the poor woman again sank back upon her pillow, sighing wearily, while the sharp, pecking sound made by one of the caged birds against its perch, sounded strangely like the falling of a few scraps of soil upon a coffin--"Ashes to ashes--dust to dust." And then, for some minutes, there was silence in the room, till Mrs Jarker turned whisperingly to her friendly neighbour, to beg that she would go now and not rouse Bill, who was a bit odd sometimes.

So, saucepan in hand, Mrs Sims wished the invalid "Good-night;" and then, trembling visibly, sidled towards the door, evidently fearing to turn her back to Mr Jarker, who was still growling and muttering, as if a storm were brewing and ready to burst; but Mrs Sims' agitation caused her first to drop her iron spoon from the saucepan, and then, as she stooped to recover it, to flinch once more, to the ruffian's great delight, as he made another pugilistic feint--a gymnastic feat that he had learnt through visiting some marsh or another when a fight was to come off between Fibbing Phil and Chancery Joe--a feat that consisted of a violent effort to throw away the right fist, and a quick attempt at catching it with the left hand. But Mrs Sims managed to get herself safely outside the door, and lost no time in hurrying down, the stairs, breathing more freely with every step placed between her and the ruffian; but she shrieked loudly on reaching the first landing, and dropped both saucepan and spoon, for the door was savagely thrown open, and the bellows came clattering after her down the stairs; and all in consequence of Mr Jarker being a bit odd.

"A bit odd!"--in one of those fits which had often prompted him to strike down his weak, suffering, patient wife with dastardly, cruel hand, and then to kick her with his heavy boots, or drag at her hair until her head was bleeding--oddness which made the tiny child in the room shrink from him; while before now it had been traced on the poor woman's features in blackened and swollen bruises. But shrieks, and the falling of heavy blows, were common sounds in Bennett's-rents, and people took but little notice of Mr Jarker's odd fits.

Bill took no heed to the weary, strangling cough which shook his wife's feeble frame, but smoked on furiously till the fire went out. She would not get up to put on more coals, and he wasn't agoing to muck his hands; for, as has been before hinted, Mr Jarker had soft, whitish hands, which looked as though they had never done a hard day's work; and at last, when the place looked more cheerless and dull than usual, he prepared himself for rest.

"You're allus ill," growled the ruffian, who had had just drink enough to make him savage; "and it's my belief as you wants rousing up." But there came no answer to his remark. The little one slept soundly upon the two chairs which formed its bed, and, with half-closed eyes, the woman lay, breathing very faintly, as her lips moved, forming words she had heard from Mr Sterne.

Bill felt himself to be ill-used, and was very sulky, a feeling which made him kick his boots to the end of the room, where one knocked over a linnet's cage, when, still growling, the owner had to go and pick it up, which he did at the expense of his dignity, and there and then shook the cage till the unoffending bird rustled and fluttered about, panting and terror-stricken, to be half-drowned by the water he poured into its little glass the next minute. For, what business had his wife to be ill and allus having parsons and Mrs Simses a-pottering about in his place? Hadn't he made a row about it when she came when the kid was born, and hadn't she allus come at uncomfortable times since? Didn't she come when it died, and weren't things uncomfortable now, and she a-making them worse? He wouldn't have it--that he wouldn't; and, growling and swearing in a low tone, Mr Jarker divested himself of a part of his attire, and threw himself upon the bed.

The rushlight danced and flickered, and a few drops of rain pattered against the window as the night breeze sighed mournfully down the court; first one and then another bird scraped at its perch, roused as it had been by the noise and light, so that it sounded again and again like the earth upon the coffin-lid; some loose woodwork amongst the pigeon-traps upon the roof swung in the wind, and beat against the tiles, and then all was very quiet and still in the wretched attic.

"Bill--Bill, dear," murmured a voice after a while--a strange harsh-sounding voice, as if it came from a parched and fevered throat; "Bill!"

No answer, only the heavy breathing of the ruffian, and the pattering as of earth upon the coffin-lid.

"Bill--Bill, dear--water!" whispered the voice once more; but there was no answer, only the restless pattering noise of the birds. Then again silence so still and profound that it seemed hardly to be London. But the silence was broken by a little liquid trilling laugh, the laugh of the child, as some bright-hued happy dream passed over its imagination; though there was silence again the next moment, to be broken once more by the strange husky voice, a voice that seemed new to the place, as in almost agonising tones it whispered:

"Kiss me, Bill!"

But there was for response only the sound as of the earth pattering upon the coffin-lid more fitfully and hollow. While now, slowly and timidly, a thin white arm was raised, and, seen there in the dim light, it was as though it was waved threateningly above the drunken ruffian's head; but no--there was no threat in the act--no calling down of judgment from on high; for the arm was passed lovingly, tenderly, round the coarse bull neck, and still there was no response to the appeal.

"Kiss me, Bill!" was once more whispered; but a long, deep-drawn, stertorous breath told that William Jarker slept heavily, as the arm lay motionless, clasping his neck; and then came a sigh, as piteous and heart-rending as ever rose from suffering breast.

On sped the hours; the rushlight burned down into the socket, flickered once, and expired; the distant sounds of traffic floated by once or twice; the customary heavy tramp of the policeman was heard to pass along the court; and now and then the ruffian breathed more stertorously than usual, or ejaculated some unconnected words in his sleep. Then the child started and whimpered for a few minutes, but sank to sleep again; and still through the night came that restless, pattering noise, that hollow rattle as of dry earth--"ashes to ashes, dust to dust"--the sound as of dry earth falling upon a coffin-lid.

The stars paled as they set; the morning came, and the red-eyed lamplighter hurried from post to post, extinguishing the sickly-looking gas-jets; the noises in the streets grew louder and louder, and many a weary client lodging near woke to wonder whether his case would come on that day. The men in Bennett's-rents who had work slowly tramped to it, many who were without rose to seek it, while others, again, to use their own words, took it out in sleep, and amongst these was Mr William Jarker.

"Mammy, mammy!" at length rang in pitiful tones upon the ruffian's ear, and as he woke to the sensations of a hot, aching, fevered head and furred tongue, he tried to clear his misty, spirit-clouded faculties.

"Mammy, mammy!" again cried the child, who had climbed upon the bed, and was shaking her foster-mother; "mammy, mammy!" she cried more pitifully, and then burst into a loud wail at her inability to wake her.

"Yah-h-h-h!" roared Bill without moving; when, at the dreaded sound, the little thing ceased its cry, and, cowering beside the sleeping woman, laid a sunny head upon her cheek, and passed two tiny, plump arms round her neck, in a soft, sweet embrace that has power in its innocent love to warm even the coldest, though futile here.

"Blame it, how cold!" growled Mr Jarker, trying to raise the arm that had lain upon his neck the long night through; but it was stiff and heavy; and, shrinking hastily away, the frightened man sat up, gazed for an instant at the face beside him, and then leaping, with a howl of terror, from the bed, rushed half-clad from the room.

And why did he flee? Was it that there was still the sound as of falling earth rattling upon a coffin-lid? For what was there to fear in the pale face of that sleeping woman, with the earthly pains and sorrow-traces faded away, to leave the countenance calm, softened, and almost beautiful; for there had come back something of the old, old look of maidenhood and happier times, when she had looked with admiration upon the stalwart form of the ruffian she had wed, and believed in him, wedding him to become his willing slave? Hers had been a hard life; born in misery and suffering, growing under sorrow and poverty and vice; yet had she been a woman with a woman's heart. But now she slept, to wake, we hope, where justice is tempered by mercy, and the secrets and sorrows of every heart are known. But now she slept, and her sleep must have been peaceful--happy--for the lines of sorrow had passed away, and there was a smile upon her lip.

Nothing to fear. Guilt fled, but Innocence stayed, and the soft, silky curls of the child were mingled with the thin dark locks of the woman, as a tiny smooth round cheek rested upon the marble temple, and a little hand played in the cold breast that should never warm it more.

Nothing to fear; though the simple people who soon assembled in the room spoke in whispers, passing in and out on tiptoe, many with their aprons to their eyes; while poor Mrs Sims, when she returned to her own room with the child, quieted it by means of a large slice of sugared bread-and-butter, and relieved her own mind by sitting down to have a good long, soft blow at the fire, what time the tears pattered down plenteously on the bellows.

Nothing to fear; for calm and still was the face of the sleeping woman, who with her latest breath had rendered the love she had sworn to her husband, and now in peace she rested; but still through the long day, through the long night, and when the hard, harsh shape of the coffin stood in the room, there came at intervals the sharp, hollow, rattling noise, as of earth falling upon its lid, when the listeners' ears would strain to catch those awful accompanying words--"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust!"

Volume Two, Chapter XIV.

SICK MAN'S FANCIES.

There was a strange battle in the breast of the Reverend Arthur Sterne about this time. Now he would feel satisfied in his own mind that he had obtained the victory over self, while directly after, an encounter with Lucy, or some little incident that occurred during one of his visits, would teach him his weakness. Pained, and yet pleased, he left Septimus Hardon's rooms on the day after Mrs Jarker's death, for he had been gazing upon a picture that an artist would have been delighted to copy: Lucy Grey weeping over the sunny-haired child she had just fetched from Mrs Sims' room. He was pained, for the scene had brought up the thoughts of its mother, and her strange intimacy with Lucy, though the gentle, loving interest shown for the helpless, worse than orphan child, made his heart swell and beat faster as he thought of the mine of wealth, the tenderness the fair girl could bestow were she all he could have wished.

But the pain and sorrow predominated as he left the house and slowly descended, for he encountered _ma mere_ upon the staircase, and he felt the colour mount to his temples as he met her sardonic smile and thought of her words; and then he hurried away, feeling at times that he must leave the place and seek another home, for his present life was wearying in the extreme. He would have done so before but for one powerful thought, one which he could feel would maintain its sway, so that he would be drawn back and his efforts rendered useless--efforts that he made to break the chain that fettered him. For her part, Lucy avoided him, meeting him but seldom, and then with flushed cheek and averted eye; while though in any other instance he would have declared instantly that flush to have been that of shame or modesty, yet here, tortured by doubt, he could not satisfy himself, for at such times as he tried to be content came the memory of the scene in the Lane, and the words of the old Frenchwoman.

Lucy had fetched the child from across the court, but it was only admitted by Mrs Septimus under sufferance, for she was in one of her weak fits that day, and if it had not been that Septimus encouraged the act, the little thing would have remained in Mrs Sims' charge.

"Keep her, at all events, till I come back," Septimus had said, and his evident desire to go out had somewhat shortened the curate's visit, for the desire was strong now upon Septimus to gain fresh information touching the legitimacy of his birth. The more now that obstacles sprung up, the more he felt disposed to assert his right; but he acknowledged to himself that it was but a passing fit, and that he would soon return to his old weakness and despondency. Still there was a warm feeling of friendship for Matt to prompt him to revisit the hospital at an early day, and, soon after the curate had left Bennett's-rents, Septimus was on his way to the sick-bed of the old man.

He thought a great deal of old Matt's assertion that he had seen an entry somewhere; but the more he thought, the more it seemed that this was merely a hallucination produced by his illness, for he could not but recall how he had confused it with matters of the past and present.

The old man slept when Septimus reached his bedside, and some time elapsed before he unclosed his dim eyes, and then they gazed blankly into his visitor's before he recognised him, when a light seemed to spread across his features, and he smiled faintly.

"Come again? That's right. I wanted to ask you something, sir," he said.

"Indeed!" said Septimus eagerly, for he felt that it had to do with the matter in which he was interested.

"Why," said the old man, hesitating, "it was about the nurses, and your father, and--do you think that they had anything to do with the rats?"

Shuddering, and with the cold sweat breaking out upon his face at the bare recollection, Septimus laid a hand upon the old man's breast, and gazed wonderingly at him.

"Hush," said Matt in a whisper, "don't speak loud, sir. I've been trying to put it all into shape. I think they had; and it's that woman who drinks my wine that knows all about it. They're keeping you out of your rights, sir, and they're all in the plot. Stoop down, please, a little closer; I want to whisper," and he drew his visitor nearer to him, so that his lips nearly touched his ear. "Medicine and attendance, sir, eh? That was it, wasn't it?"

Septimus felt his heart sink with disappointment, as he slowly nodded his head.

"I've found it out, sir," continued the old man; "found it out for you after travelling all over London. They think I've been here all the time; but, bless you, I've been out every night, and had it over with the posts in the street. They don't know it, bless you; but I've been tracking that entry, and, after the doctor has dodged me all over London, I've followed him here. It's not Doctor Hardon, sir, and yet it is, you know; but I've not quite separated them, for they're somehow mixed up together, and I've not had time to put that quite right; but I'll do it yet. Interest for that shilling you once gave me, sir, just at the time I was that low that I'd nearly made up my mind to go off one of the bridges, and make a finish. But just see if either of the nurses is coming, sir, and tell me, for they're all in it, and they'll keep you and Miss Lucy out of your rights. Tell her I'm true as steel, sir, will you?"

"Yes, yes," said Septimus anxiously, for the old man seemed to be growing excited.

"But about that doctor, sir, and the entry," he continued, "it's here, sir; it's the house-surgeon, and I saw him make a memorandum here by my bedside: `Medicine and attendance: Mrs Hardon.' He put it down in his pocket-book, after sharpening his pencil upon a bright shining lancet; and he did not know that I was watching him. Take him by the throat, sir, as soon as you see him, and make him give it to you."

"Try and compose yourself, Matt," said Septimus sadly, for he now felt that the whole history of the entry was but the offspring of a diseased mind. For a while he had suffered himself to hope that by some strange interposition of chance, with the old man for instrument, the whole matter was likely to be cleared up; but now the air-built castles were broken down--swept away by the sick man's incoherent speeches, and, after seeing him turn upon his side and close his eyes, the visitor rose to leave.

But old Matt heard the movement of his chair, and unclosed his eyes directly.

"You'll come again, sir, won't you?" he said, speaking quite calmly. "That always seems to make me clearer--shutting my eyes and having five minutes' doze. I'm weak, sir--very weak now; but I'm getting right, and I'll turn that over in my mind about the entry against you come again, when I can talk better, and try to set it right. But stop; let me see," he exclaimed,--"stop, I have it. I remember now, I did think all about it, and where it was I saw the entry; and for fear it should slip my mind again, I did as you told me, and as I always meant to do--put it down in my pocket-book under the pillow here;" and he drew forth the tattered memorandum-book, and held it out to his visitor.

Septimus turned over the leaves with trembling hands, coming upon technical references to trade matters,--amounts in money of work done; calculations of quantity in pages of type. Then there were the baptismal and marriage entries they had made out, and beneath them some tremblingly--traced characters, evidently formed by the old man when in a reclining position; but, with the exception of the one word "Hardon," they were completely illegible. He then turned to the old man; but his eyes were closed, and he seemed sleeping; so he replaced book and pencil beneath the pillow, and then, passing between the beds of other sufferers, each intent upon his own misery, he came suddenly upon the smiling nurse, evidently waiting to see if there was a gratuity ready for her hand.

It was hard work parting with that shilling; but Septimus felt it to be a duty to slip it into the Jezebel's hand, and to whisper a few beseeching words that she would be kind and attentive to the old man.

"A quiet, patient old creature; you may rest quite happy about that, sir," said the nurse. "I'll treat him just as I would my own brother."

"He will get better?" said Septimus interrogatively.

The woman screwed her lips up very tightly as she said she hoped he might, but Septimus thought of the expiring lamp and its supply of oil; and it was little of his own affairs, and the possibility of there being an entry locked in the old man's clouded memory, that he thought of as he stammered, "Pray do all you can for him. I am sorry I can offer you no more."

"Bless you, sir, you needn't even have done that. If it had been a guinea, it would have been all the same, and I shouldn't have thought a bit the better of you. We have a painful duty to perform here, sir, and it's an unthankful task, for there's no gratitude from the patients; but when a friend or relative makes one a little offering, why, setting aside the value, sir, it does seem to make things better, and to sweeten the toil. We never do expect any praise; while as to some of the tales the patients make up, you'd be surprised. Poor things! you see, their minds wander a bit, and they always seem to take a dislike to those who are like mothers to them. But there, sir, I always says to myself, I says, it's no use to take any notice of the poor things' whims, so long as we know we do our duty by them."

"I suppose," said Septimus, "their complaints weaken their intellects a good deal?"

"Wonderfully, I do assure you, sir. Now I shouldn't be a bit surprised if that poor gentleman, your friend, has been telling you all sorts of things?"

Septimus did not believe all that Matt had said, but he evaded the question.