Chapter XVII: How Mrs. Allison Made Amends

MRS. BRADFORD passed the interval between her mother's death and funeral in what Margaret called "a continual worritting." She was ever harping on the money question, and wondering who would get the best share, or if it would be "divided equal"; whether there was much or little, and who would have the furniture, of which she knew Mrs. Allison had the disposal. She professed to be surprised that Margaret seemed so little moved by what excited herself so much.

"You take things very easy, Margaret," she said. "If you knew just what was coming, you couldn't put yourself less about."

"I don't know, then," replied Margaret. "And more than that, I don't trouble. Whatever mother had was her own, to do as she liked with, and whoever gets it, you'll not hear me say she's done wrong. As to you, Ann, it is always the money and not mother that is in your mind and on your tongue. You could not trouble yourself less, if her that's lying upstairs was a stranger, and naught akin to you, instead of your own mother. Please never to say another word to me about the money, or I shall be vexing you, and I don't want, 'specially at a time like this."

Mrs. Bradford was nothing if not prudent, and she took Margaret's hint, but thought the more.

By Mr. Collinge's orders, decent mourning was ordered for each of the sisters, so that, after all, as Ann remarked, Margaret's having ordered a coloured bonnet did not matter so much, though "it would have come in for second best if it had been black."

It was not deemed necessary for Adam Livesey to journey all the way from Millborough to be at the funeral, and as to the children's "black," it was to stay until their mother's return.

At length Mrs. Bradford's curiosity was set at rest—but alas! not her mind—by the reading of the will.

It set forth that inasmuch as the testatrix had only a life interest in a principal sum of twelve hundred pounds, that amount would be equally divided between her four daughters, in accordance with their father's will. That previous to, and during her widowhood, she had saved a sum of two hundred and fifty pounds. Of this she left ten pounds to her eldest daughter, Ann, "because she is better off than her sisters, and has had more from me at various times. Beside which, she has told me that she did not look for another penny from me, so she will receive, by her own showing, more than she expected or desired."

To her daughters Eliza and Martha, fifty pounds each were left, and certain articles of furniture and clothing were to be allotted to each, as well as to Margaret, by way of keepsakes, Ann having already asked for and received her full share. Then, after the payment of funeral expenses and all just debts, the remainder of the money, and whatever further sum might accrue from the sale of the furniture, was left absolutely to Margaret, youngest daughter of the testatrix and wife of Adam Livesey, of Millborough, Lancashire.

"There are no debts, I believe, except those for the funeral and the doctor's bill, and they will be nearly met by the club moneys. So that you, Mrs. Livesey, may reckon on coming into the hundred and forty pounds, beside something from the furniture. There will be Government duties to pay, of course, but near relationship lightens these," said Mr. Collinge, as he folded up the will.

The scene which followed was not pleasant, though the two sisters Eliza and Martha showed no disappointment, but tearfully owned it was good of mother to have denied herself and worked to leave them all a bit extra, when she might have spent every penny, and no blame to her. For their parts, they were content for Margaret to have more than themselves, for it was true that mother had done many a thing for those that were near at hand, and nothing for her that had least to do with and most to do for.

It gladdened Margaret's heart to hear these words, for she had started from her chair, on being made acquainted with the terms of the will, and looked from one to another, as if she could hardly believe them true.

She took in their meaning when she remembered her mother's oft-repeated expression, and the last on her lips, "I've made amends."

Margaret had to hear some fierce cruel words of reproach, all the more cruel because untrue and undeserved, from her eldest sister, whose disappointment and anger knew no bounds.

"So this is what you came for!" she cried. "It was to tell stories and undermine me with poor mother, that you left your husband and children for all this while, was it? I wondered, and so did other folks, that you could stop away; but you thought it would pay you. And it has, seemingly, for you've robbed us all of our rights, and me most of all. But your tricks will come by you main. 'Ill-gotten, soon goes.'"

If Margaret had not been equally overcome by the thought of her mother's kindness, and her way of making amends, and astonishment at Mrs. Bradford's sudden attack, she would perhaps have said words in reply that she would have been sorry for afterwards.

"Ann," she began, while the tears streamed down her checks, "I never said anything to poor mother. I didn't know she had a penny laid by. As for thinking she was going to leave me this money! How could I? If I'd known of it, I should have thought it would go to all alike, or more to you than me, when I hadn't seen mother for years."

Sobs stopped Mrs. Livesey's utterance, and though her sister did allude to "crocodile tears," the sympathy was with Margaret, and Martha bade her wipe her eyes and never mind, adding, "Better bear ill than do ill."

Mr. Collinge, too, interfered, and with authority, and told Mrs. Bradford that her sister's coming could have had no influence upon their mother, for Mrs. Allison's will had been made fully three months before.

"Then what did you come here for last week, with Miss Collinge, if it wasn't for her to witness something?" asked Mrs. Bradford, moved to tears now, though not of sorrow for the loss of her mother.

The gentleman could hardly forbear a smile.

"I have no objection to tell you, Mrs. Bradford, though I am not obliged to do so. I came in order that Mrs. Allison might place her club books and some other necessary documents in my keeping. Also to receive her instructions to furnish all her daughters with suitable mourning, free of expense to themselves. If you object to this, you can still pay for yours. Miss Collinge accompanied me, as she has often done before, when I have called upon your mother—not a matter of necessity, but out of good-will. As the directions were given and the books handed over in her presence, she was so far a witness. In fact, she took them out of a drawer in Mrs. Allison's room, at her request. She also heard your mother say that she wished each of her daughters to have what would make them equal, and the money she had saved unknown to any of her children would insure this. She said that you, Mrs. Bradford, suspected her of having put by a little, and wanted to get at it. I could say more, but for your sake, I will be silent."

Mr. Collinge had been induced to speak thus frankly, in order to defend Margaret, as well as to punish her elder sister for her greed and unseemly display of temper on such an occasion. His words had the effect intended, and Mrs. Bradford, instead of continuing the attack, seemed glad to get away from the house, which was left in Margaret's charge.

"The articles left to your sisters are all mentioned, and can be removed without delay. Whatever the remainder produces will belong to you, so you are the fittest person to take charge of them," said Mr. Collinge.

"Eh, but I don't want to stay any longer than can be helped, sir," replied Mrs. Livesey. "Just think! I've been near on a month away from my husband, and there are five more at home beside this—" indicating the baby by a little jerk of the head in her direction. "I wouldn't mind for a day or two, but I must be back at Millborough by the week end."

"So you shall, Mrs. Livesey. This is Tuesday. I am sure you will be able to return home on Friday," said Mr. Collinge, sympathising with her anxiety.

The house and its contents were not difficult to deal with, so the articles bequeathed to the elder sisters were promptly removed, those which Mrs. Livesey chose to keep packed, and the remainder prepared for sale by auction.

When Margaret started on her homeward journey, it was with a greatly replenished wardrobe, many useful additions to her household goods, and the certainty that, after all expenses were paid, she would have at least a hundred and fifty pounds, in addition to the three hundred which she had always known would come to her in due time.

Though Adam and his wife had exchanged several letters during her absence, each was ignorant of much that had happened to the other. How could Adam employ another hand to tell of the great inward change which had taken place in himself? It is doubtful whether he could have expressed in words the feelings uppermost in his mind, even had Margaret been by his side to listen. Much less could he have conveyed these thoughts in writing.

So the letters dealt only with the continued health of the children at Millborough, and Margaret's told of the gradual fading of her mother, until the end came.

Mrs. Livesey was eager for Adam to know about her unexpected windfall, but unwilling that the tidings should reach him otherwise than from her own lips. So she gave no hint of it in writing, though the extent of her luggage puzzled the man not a little.

"Oh, Margaret! I am glad to see you. Give me baby till you get out," was Adam's greeting. "Long-looked-for, come at last!" And the man's hands were extended to relieve his wife of the child, his much missed pet and darling.

But a month is a long time in a baby's life, and Adam's youngest had become unaccustomed to the sight of the bearded face in which she used to delight to bury her fat fingers. She turned her head away from the extended arms, buried it on her mother's shoulder, and clung round her neck.

"It's dada, love," said Margaret. "Baby's own dada. He wants to lift her down and carry her as she likes. See, my pet!" and she tried, but in vain, to coax the child into looking at Adam.

"Eh dear! I must keep her myself till she gets used to you again. Who would have thought it?"

"I might ha' done," said Adam, ruefully, for it gave the father's loving heart a pang. "But we'll not frighten her. Let me help you out, and then I'll get in and reach out your things. The train goes no further, so there's no call to hurry yourself."

"I've a lot of things in the van beside these, Adam," said Mrs. Livesey, indicating her smaller parcels, "and there's more yet to come by goods train. You'll see there's a deal come back with me that didn't go with me."

"I've got you and the little 'un safe back, and that's best of all, however good the rest may be," said Adam. "And though you've had your troubles, you look a deal better in the face—plumper like. And you've a bit of nice fresh colour again, as you used to have. Not so much yet, but something towards it, as if you were growing younger."

And Adam, as he noted these improvements, looked with a face full of affection and pleasure at that of his wife.

Margaret smiled, and said, "Why, Adam, you might think I'd been at the mill for grinding old folks into young 'uns again. Happen you'll grow younger too, in a while, for I think I'm bringing what will ease your mind. You must get a cab. We can't carry the luggage home as we brought it here."

The cab was called, and, with no little pride on Margaret's part, and surprise on Adam's, the many packages with Mrs. Livesey's name appended were at length collected and piled thereon.

Then husband and wife got into the vehicle, and out came Margaret's secret.

"Adam, my dear lad," said she, as glad tears came welling up into her eyes, "Adam, mother told me, over and over, how sorry she was that she left us in such a way, and that she'd taken so little notice of us for years and years. She kept saying that she'd made amends, and so she had. When her will was read, I found out what she meant, though I couldn't understand before. She'd saved money, and she's left me a great deal, the biggest share, besides most of her clothes, and her watch, and some silver spoons, and a lot o' things more than I can tell you all at once. I've brought what I could, and the others will be here to-morrow. Just think, Adam! There'll be a hundred and fifty pound extra, beside the three hundred."

Margaret repeated the last sentence slowly, and with much stress on each word. She seemed to think this would be necessary, in order that Adam might grasp news of such an amazing and unexpected character.

"I'm very glad, Margaret. It would comfort you so to know that your mother was full of love to you at the last. It would be almost more than money to hear her speak in that kind way. And I'm glad about what she has left you, because your sisters married men that could do more for them than I could ever do for you. This will make things so much better for you and the little 'uns. Thank God!"

"For you too, Adam. It would be no pleasure to me, if you weren't to be bettered by it."

Adam said he was sure it wouldn't. To begin with, it would give him an easier mind to think that, come what might, there was this little sum between his family and want. And again he murmured, "Thank God!"

Margaret did just notice these last words, accompanied as they were with a look that she had never before seen on Adam's face; but her mind was too full of her good fortune, and the distance to be traversed too short to allow either of much thought or questioning. Then baby, who had been gazing at her father with the inquiring steadiness peculiar to the age of innocence, all at once awoke to the fact that he was not a stranger, as she at first imagined.

Holding out her arms, she was received into those of Adam, who was delighted to see his pet ready to spring toward him as the little tongue once more shaped the word "Dada."

"She knows me now; little Bess knows dada," he said, as the plump arms went round his neck and the rosy cheek nestled lovingly in the old place, giving the father a sense of having recovered his tiny treasure.

A few more moments, and Margaret caught sight of the other five, eagerly watching for mother's coming, and grouped about the door of their cottage home.

Their astonishment at seeing their parents arrive in a cab, like real ladies and gentlemen ride in, almost rendered them speechless. But amazement gave way to joy, and mother was welcomed and baby squabbled over, each child being eager to take her, until, as Adam said, the little thing was "fair moithered" with the noise they made, and frightened at so many faces.

Little Bess settled the matter by clinging to her father with one arm and dealing a vigorous slap at Maggie, when her eldest sister strove to take her from his protecting grasp.

"Do be, children. You're fit to pull the child to pieces. Why, she'd forgot her dada at first, and do you think she'd remember a set of 'ruffi'ns,' like you? Eh dear! I soon find out I'm among you again."

Though Mrs. Livesey called them 'ruffi'ns,' they all felt that she was glad to be amongst them, for whilst Adam was handing out the packages, a great deal of hugging and kissing had to be done. The mother was not given to great displays of tenderness, but there was usually more in her heart than in her actions. The sight of the little group safe, well, and bearing about them all the signs of having been carefully watched over, made her almost too glad for words, and there was moisture in her eyes as she put down little Adam, "her baby but one."

Not till these greetings were over and the sound of the cab wheels had died away, did Sarah Evans make her appearance, neat and smiling, and with the words, "I'm glad to see you safe back, Mrs. Livesey."

The mother's eye had already travelled round the house, and long experiences of its ins and outs enabled her to realize the beautiful cleanliness of every part. There were no neglected shelves or dusty corners; no windows dim with dirt, no unwashed crockery on table or dresser.

It was high summer, so the one fire was in the little kitchen at the back. There it blazed merrily, and the bright fender and the few tin articles reflected its glow. The kettle sang a pleasant song, and a little rasher of bacon, only meant for the newly arrived house-mother, sent out a savoury smell to greet the nostrils of the tired and hungry traveller.

Mrs. Livesey's first words to Sarah Evans were not an answer to the young woman's greeting, but they came straight from the mother's heart.

"Eh! But you've done well by them all since I've been away. I'm sure I don't know how to thank you."

The words were just what Sarah had worked to win, and her bright face told that she regarded them as far better payment than the modest sum which had hitherto rewarded her services.

The girl busied herself in taking off Margaret's things, giving her warm water to wash with, and bestowing on her all the kindly attentions which cannot be bought, but which proceed from an honest and good heart.

They were very grateful to Margaret, who said, "Dear, dear, I'm not used to be waited on. It's mostly my work to run about after other folks."

But Sarah continued her thoughtful ministry until the meal was over, and the younger children in bed. Then, when she had done what she could, she said, "I'll be going home now, for mother hasn't been so well the last day or two. She'll be glad to see me, and you and Mr. Livesey 'll have plenty to talk about. But I'll come over for an hour or two in the morning, to fetch a few things that I can't take with me to-night, and if I can just help you to straighten up, I will."

So, with true delicacy and thought for others, Sarah Evans left husband and wife alone together as soon as possible.