Forgotten Tales of Long Ago

by E. V. Lucas

Chapter VII

I was awakened the next morning about seven o'clock by Mr. Davis, who came into the stable below, calling out:

'What! hollo, lassy! Be you awake? Come, it's time to get up. Breakfast is almost ready, and you must be in the gardens by eight o'clock.'

I had slept so soundly, and had such an uncommonly long night to what I had for the last eight months been accustomed to, that I did not at first recollect where I was, but, quickly remembering everything, I answered Mr. Davis, and, dressing myself as expeditiously as possible I went down. Going into an outhouse, where there was plenty of water, I gave myself a good washing, and, having combed my hair with a comb that Mrs. Williams had given me, I went into the house and found the family just beginning their breakfast.

'I'll be flogged if the girl does not look five pounds better than she did yesterday morning, when I first saw her at Mrs. Williams's!' said Mr. Davis. 'You have slept well, girl, I'll answer for it.'

'Yes, sir,' I replied. 'I have slept better than I did all the time I was at Mr. Smith's.'

'I knew she would sleep well upon the sweet hay,' said Mrs. Davis. 'But, come, child, take your breakfast. It is almost time you should be gone.'

Breakfast being soon over, I accompanied the children to the garden, where, having conducted me to Mr. Joseph, they went to their own work in another part of the grounds.

Mr. Joseph was a grave man, between fifty and sixty years of age. He superintended all the work of the garden. Some of the children he instructed himself in what they were to do, and some he put under the care of other people. He had read a good deal, and understood botany, and knew the Latin names of all the trees and plants in the garden. That Mr. Freeman had sent me to be under his own care, I was very glad, for he seemed a very good-natured man. After a little conversation, in which he asked me if I could read, if I knew anything about gardening, and a few more of the like questions, he set me to pick the weeds and stones out of a bed of pinks, and, having shown me how to do it, he left me to myself. I worked diligently at my new employment (frequently congratulating myself on the happy change I had made). The clock struck twelve, when we all went home to dinner. One hour was allowed for that repast. When I returned in the afternoon, Mr. Joseph came to see what I had done. He commended my diligence, and, as the first bed was tolerably well weeded, he told me to go on to the next, and I was again left to myself.

In high spirits at being praised, which was quite a new thing to me, I worked on all the afternoon till about four o'clock, when it became too dark to distinguish plants from weeds; then, in company with the children, I returned home to Davis's cottage. What a delightful contrast did this cottage present to the miserable shop and parlour at Smith's! There everything was spoiled by dirt and confusion: here all was clean. The brick floor was nicely swept and sanded, a cheerful fire blazed in the grate, and the tea, with plenty of coarse bread and salt butter, was ready upon the table, and the countenances of the family expressed health and contentment. After tea was over I again offered my services to Mrs. Davis to assist her in her sewing. They were willingly accepted, and this evening passed as the former one had done. At ten o'clock I again retired to my bed in the loft.

The week passed rapidly away, and I had the pleasure of being very much praised by Mr. Joseph, who said I should soon be a better gardener than any of the children on the grounds. Saturday night came, and Mr. Davis received for my work at the rate of sixpence a day, which, he said, was rather more than he had expected. Mrs. Davis was also very well contented, and said that what with the money I earned, and what with the sewing I did for her of an evening, they should be very well paid for me. I was much pleased that my new friends were so well satisfied with me, and I looked upon myself as being now settled in a comfortable home. I was also upon very good terms with the children. The girls were pleased that I mended their clothes for them, which prevented their being so much blamed by their mother; and Tommy was so grateful to me for having mended some of his that he made me a little box for me to put my money in when I had any. I offered the money that had been given to me at Covent Garden to Mrs. Davis, but she told me to keep it till I wanted a pair of shoes, and that then they would make up the deficiency for me. I accordingly put it into my box and deposited it in a safe corner of my loft.

Thus passed away the winter months. I was under the care of Mr. Joseph more than the other children that were employed about the grounds; for, as I could read, he taught me the Latin as well as the English names of the different plants and flowers, so that I could bring him any that he wanted from either the green or the hothouse. When I had been there two months, my wages were raised to four shillings a week; besides that, Mr. Joseph often gave me a penny for myself.

The tranquil, and I may say happy, life I now led soon made a great alteration in my personal appearance. I grew plump, and by the time the month of March came, I had such a colour in my cheeks that Mr. Joseph said his lily was turned into a rose.

As the days increased in length, our hours of labour were also increased, for we were now on the ground by six in the morning, and did not leave work till seven in the evening. This lengthening of the days was a great advantage to me. I awoke with the dawn, and generally had a full hour to myself before any other part of the family was up. Then I used to contemplate the portrait of my dear father, which I used to talk to as if it could understand me, to mend my clothes, and to read in old school-books of the children's that were lying about, and never looked into by their owners. All the books I had ever read were the Bible, Testament, Prayer Book, and the spelling-book. The old books belonging to the children were an abridgment of the history of England, a small geography, and a little book of poetry. I took such pleasure in reading these books that I could soon repeat the whole pages of them without a single mistake, and the poetry I soon learned from the beginning to the ending of the book.

The flower season was now advanced, and ladies and gentlemen came to walk in the garden, and to buy flowers. I was always anxious to see them, that I might have an opportunity of observing if any of the gentlemen resembled my father's portrait. Mr. Joseph, who knew my story, was so good-natured as to send me to them with flowers, and, as I was always particular to keep myself neat and clean, the ladies were rather pleased with my attendance than otherwise. One day, when I carried a large quantity of flowers to a party, one of the gentlemen said:

'This little damsel is the finest plant in the whole garden, for she carries violets in her eyes and roses upon her cheeks.'

The ladies laughed at what they called his compliment, while I was so much abashed that, giving the flowers into the hands of one of the ladies, I retreated to a distant part of the garden. After this I made my observations at a greater distance, but, alas! among the hundreds who visited the garden, I could not discover one who resembled the portrait.

Thus employed, my days flew rapidly past, and I was so happy that, unless it had been to discover my father, I did not wish for any change in my situation; but clouds of sorrow again gathered around me, and I was soon very unhappy. My unhappiness arose from two causes: the first was that most of the children envied me on account of the partiality shown me by Mr. Joseph, and would jeer at me because I was called Lady Anne. Mr. Davis's children were not among the number of these, for, on account of my mending their clothes, they were upon very good terms with me. The second cause of my unhappiness was of a more serious nature, and arose from what I could not have expected, and from what I could not and would not alter, as I shall soon explain.

As the summer advanced, such of the children as were turned of twelve years of age, and were able to carry a basket upon their heads, were sent to town with flowers and fruit, which would have been crushed and bruised if sent to town in the cart. Mr. Davis's eldest daughter and myself were amongst the number of these.

At first I was much pleased at the thought of this walk, as it was an agreeable change from our usual mode of living; the flowers were light to carry, and the walk was not so long as to be a fatigue. I also looked forward to the pleasure I should have in seeing Mrs. Williams, and thanking her for having procured me such a happy situation.

On the appointed morning we left the garden and proceeded to town under the guidance of two or three women and one man, who was one of the principal gardeners. They also carried their baskets, which were larger and heavier laden than ours.

The walk to town was pleasant. We arrived at the market, and in about two hours had sold off all our stock. Mrs. Williams bought the contents of my basket, and congratulated me on the great improvement in my health and appearance.

Richard having paid some fees which were customary for the privilege of standing in the market, we took up our baskets and began to walk homeward. We had not gone far when Richard entered a public-house, the women and children followed, I, of course, did the same. We went into a room where there was no one but ourselves; there we all had to give up our money to Richard, which he counted over. He took out two shillings to be spent in the house, one shilling for himself, ninepence for each of the women, and sixpence apiece for the children; then, putting the remainder of the money together, said that was for the master. I was so astonished at this proceeding that I asked him what he meant by it. He laughed at me, and said it was a general rule among themselves to make a little deduction on market-days to pay them for the trouble of coming to town.

'I thought,' said I, 'that Mr. Freeman paid us for our work on Saturday night. Does he know that you take this money?'

'Know it, blockhead! no. And it will be the worse for you if you tell him. Come, take your sixpence, and think yourself well off that we let you share with us.'

'I do not want the sixpence,' said I, 'unless it is to give it to Mr. Freeman, for it is his money, and I will not keep it.'

'Lady Anne,' said Susan Davis, 'do not be a simpleton. Take the money, and do not pretend to more honesty than the rest of us.'

'I cannot take the money,' said I. 'Mr. Sanders told me never to take other people's property, but always to do as I would be done by.'

'You shall not have the money,' said Richard, at the same time giving me a violent slap across the shoulders. 'Mr. Sanders was a canting old Methodist, and you are like him. But take care, if you say a word of what has passed I will be the death of you.'

The women and children were also in a violent rage, and began beating me and pulling my hair, so that I was afraid they would really kill me, and I cried out, begging them not to beat me, and that I would not tell.

'Let her alone,' said Susan Davis; 'she will not tell, I'll answer for her. I'll talk to her when we are at home; and, I dare say, next market-day, she will do as we do.'

'Aye, let her alone,' said Richard, 'or Joseph will find out that we have been thumping her. She has a pretty swelled face to show. But mind, girl, if you say a word of what has passed I'll tie you neck and heels, and throw you into a pond.'

I was obliged to renew my promise of secrecy, and soon after we left the house.

When we came to town in the morning the distance had appeared as nothing to me, my heart was then so light; but now I felt so wretched that the distance seemed more than double, the empty basket felt so heavy on my head, and I felt myself like a guilty culprit who had robbed her master.

When we arrived at the grounds Richard went to give an account of the morning's sale, and what money he thought proper, to his master. The women and children went to their work in different parts of the garden, and I also concealed myself from Mr. Joseph's sight, lest he should see that I had been in tears.

In the afternoon he called for me, and I tremblingly obeyed his summons.

'Why, Lady Anne, how is this?' said he. 'Why do you not like to come to me as usual? How did you like your walk this morning? But what is the matter? You have been crying.'

'I am so tired,' I replied, 'and the basket was heavy.'

'That is not all,' said he, regarding me very earnestly; 'somebody has been beating you, for you have the marks of the blows upon your face and shoulders. Who was it?'

'Pray, sir, do not ask me,' said I; 'for if I tell you I shall be beat more.'

'Well, well,' said he, 'I will not ask you. I have long seen that the girls envied you. They think that I favour you, and, if I do, it is their own fault. There is not one among them that, if I sent to the greenhouse for a plant, but will either come back without it, or bring me a wrong one, though they have all been sent to school, and might have learned to read if they would. There are Davis's two daughters: Mr. Freeman paid for their schooling for two years, yet neither of them can read the names of the plants. But you are envied because I employ you in doing what they cannot do. Well, never mind, Rose, you shall not go to town any more with them, but stay here with me, and attend to the ladies and gentlemen.'

I was glad to hear Mr. Joseph say this, for I was in hopes I should be free from any further trouble, and be as happy as I had been; but sorrow had again burst upon me like a storm, and I was not yet to be rescued from its fury.

When we went home at night, Susan took an opportunity when her father was out of the house to tell her mother the adventures of the morning, with some alterations of her own; and I was astonished to hear her mother defend the conduct of Richard and the others, and blame me for not joining the robbery; and, when I would not say that the next time we went to town (for I did not dare to tell them that I was not to go any more) I would take my share in the plunder, she was completely in a rage, and kept repeating that there was no harm in taking the money. At last I ventured to say:

'Would you think it right of me, ma'am, if I was to rob you?'

'To rob me, child! No. But that is quite a different thing. To rob me! No. You would be the most ungrateful creature that ever lived if you did. I took you in, and sheltered you when you had not a hole to put your head in, nor a morsel of victuals to eat.'

'You did, ma'am,' I replied; 'and I would do anything I could to serve you. I would not rob nor injure you upon any account. And I cannot rob Mr. Freeman, for he gave me employment when I had none, and he pays me six shillings a week. How ungrateful I should be if I could rob him. I cannot do it; indeed, I cannot.'

'Take your supper and go to bed,' said Mrs. Davis. 'I cannot argue with you, but I know that you are a very foolish child.'

I did as I was ordered, and retired to my loft, and happy should I have been if this disagreeable business ended there, but a few evenings after, just before we left the gardens, I went to put a knife into a basket that belonged to Susan, and, to my surprise and grief, found that it concealed five fine peaches in it. I trembled so when I saw them that I could scarcely cover them over again, and soon after, as we were walking home, with great civility and humility I ventured to remonstrate with her on the great impropriety, and indeed danger, of her robbing the garden.

'What business have you to look into my basket?' said she. 'If you do not choose to take a little fruit yourself you have no right to meddle with them that do; however, I shall tell mother, and I hope she'll turn you into the wide world again as you were when you came to us.'

When we arrived at home Mr. Davis was in the house, and Susan did not choose to say anything till he went out; she then opened the basket, showed the peaches to her mother, and made a heavy complaint of my impertinence in telling her she ought not to take them, that it was stealing, and would, if discovered, most likely be the cause of her being discharged from the garden.

Mrs. Davis was in such a passion that she struck me several times, and said I should be the cause of her children being turned out of work.

'Don't say me, mother,' said Tommy, 'for I shall not steal. The Catechism says I am to keep my hands from picking and stealing, and father says if I steal I shall come to be hanged, so that you may depend upon it I shall not steal, and I wish sisters would not.'

'You are a little blockhead,' replied his mother; 'and as for Lady Anne, if she does not mind what she is about I shall turn her out of doors, and she may go a-begging.'

The peaches were then put out of sight. Soon after this Mr. Davis came in; we had our supper, and at ten o'clock went to bed.

In the course of the following day the peaches were missed at the garden, for Mr. Freeman had counted the fruit on some of the principal trees, and this day he found that three peaches had been taken from one tree and two from another. We were all questioned about it, and all our baskets were examined, but as all denied the theft and no fruit could be found, no one could be charged with it. Mr. Freeman was very angry on this occasion, as he well might, and ordered Mr. Joseph to keep a strict watch over all the workpeople, as he was determined to make an example of whoever should be detected robbing him, let it be who it might. I was anxious to know what the children did with the fruit, as I never saw them eating it, and I soon found that when their father was out of the house (for they did not dare to let him know of their ill practices) the fruit was exposed in the window for sale. Their father having a small garden, in which were a few fruit trees, served as an excuse for all the fruit they had to sell, and thus they contrived to deceive their father and rob their master.

The strict watch kept by Mr. Joseph, and some of the honest people in the garden, prevented any fruit being taken for some time, but the plum season coming on, and the plums on a tree not being so easily counted, nor so soon missed, as peaches, the children again ventured to take a few, and their father having two fine trees of the kind in his garden, if once the plums could be got home there was no likelihood of their being detected.

I did not watch the children, nor wish to know anything of what they did in the garden, yet somehow it seemed as if I was always to find them out in their thefts, for I one day suddenly came upon them just as they were cramming about a dozen fine Orlean plums into their pockets. I covered my face with my hands, and said:

'Oh, why will you do so? We shall all be discharged.'

'You shall be discharged,' said Susan, darting at me and slapping me with all her strength. 'What business have you to watch us? This is the first bit of fruit we have taken since those nasty peaches, and now, I suppose, you will go and tell.'

'No, I shall not,' replied I; 'but I wish you would not take any more fruit. You know what Mr. Freeman said.'

'Yes, and you shall know what my mother will say. I am not to be followed about and watched, and lose my place, for a tell-tale beggar-girl.'

I again assured her that I should not tell, and went away to a distant part of the garden, my mind being very unhappy, for I thought that if these thefts were discovered we should all be discharged, and again I thought that perhaps I was doing very wrong in concealing them, but then how could I bring people who were so kind to me into disgrace, and even into want of bread? I did not know what to do, but, after much considering in my own mind, I determined that when Saturday night came to ask Mr. Joseph to give me only five shillings, and not to ask me any questions, for I thought that the odd shilling would partly pay for the fruit Mr. Davis's children took. Having made this determination I felt rather happier, though I dreaded the resentment of Mrs. Davis and the children. When night came we went home together, the children not speaking to me once the whole way. When we arrived at the house Mr. Davis was out, and Susan asked her mother to give Tommy his supper, as she had something to say to her. The mother, who saw something particular was the matter, hurried the child to bed, while I sat on a chair near the door sick at my very heart. No sooner had her brother left the room than Susan told of the discovery of the plums, with many additions of her own. Mrs. Davis was in such a passion that she could scarcely speak for two or three minutes; she seized me by the arm, and shook me violently.

'I will put a stop to this,' said she as soon as she had recovered her breath. 'You shall not stay here to be the ruin of my children, you ungrateful creature. Don't we feed you and clothe you? Don't you have all the children's old clothes, and don't you mend them up and make them look so smart that you look as well dressed as they do, though their clothes are new and yours are old? Oh, you ungrateful creature. You would ruin us all for our kindness to you.'

She then ran over the affair of the peaches, and of my refusing to take the money at the market, reproaching me at every sentence, till she increased her anger to such degree that she seemed to lose her reason, and, again seizing me by the arm, she said she would give me cause to repent of my ingratitude to the latest moment of my life, when at the instant I expected to be dashed to the ground, to her great dismay, and to my great relief, an inner door opened, and her husband entered the room.

'Stop, mistress,' said he, 'do not dare to hurt that child. I came in by the wash-house, and have heard all Suke's story, and have heard who stole the peaches. Little did I think, when there was such a piece of work about them, that my own children were the thieves, and little did I think, when Suke was so pleased at going to market, that it was because she was to go shares with a parcel of thieves in robbing her master.'

'Now, John,' said his wife, 'how can you talk so? What harm is there in the children taking a few pence apiece? They have more trouble when they go to town, and they ought to be paid for it. You know that all the workpeople make a market-penny.'

'I know no such thing,' replied her husband. 'They are allowed money for refreshment when they go to town, and if they take more than the master allows I say that they cheat him, but I'll put a stop to Suke's tricks, for she shall not go to town any more. I shall speak to Mr. Joseph about that.'

'Why, surely you are not going to tell him that they divided a few pence among them.'

'No, wife, I am not, but I shall ask him not to let her leave the garden, for that I don't think she is steady enough to be sent to town yet. And now, you two girls, hear what I say to you. Every one of those plums must be returned. You must take all of them back again, and lay them under the trees that you took them from, and next time that I know you to steal a single thing, aye, if its only a single plum, I'll horsewhip you while I can stand over you.'

The father was now silent, the two girls sat weeping, and the mother, who had been very much agitated, first by anger and then by fear, threw herself into a chair, and burst into a violent passion of tears. Mr. Davis walked two or three times across the floor, and then stopping, said:

'Now what's the use of crying and taking on in this manner? Is it not as easy to be honest as to be thieves? Oh, wife, wife, you do not consider what a bad course our girls have begun in. They have begun with trifles, but they will go on till they take something great, and then they will either be transported or hung, and that will break our hearts, and bring our grey hairs with sorrow to the grave.'

'Oh, John, do not talk so,' said Mrs. Davis; 'I cannot bear to hear you talk about the grave. The girls shall not steal any more. If they bring home any more fruit I will not put it into the window, nor sell it, so now let us have done with it, and let us be friends again.'

'Aye, let us be friends, with all my heart,' said Mr. Davis, taking his wife's hand, 'and I hope nothing of this sort will ever happen again. Now, children, leave off crying, and be good girls, and remember that honesty is the best policy, for if you follow bad practices you will also be poor and despised.'

Soon after this we had our supper, which we took nearly in silence, for we were all of us in grief, though from different causes, and from some angry glances cast at me by Mrs. Davis I saw I had yet more to dread from her resentment. When I was going to bed Mr. Davis said: 'Good-night, Lady Anne, do not cry; I am not angry with you. You are a good girl. I wish my own children were as honest.'

Mrs. Davis and the girls also wished me good-night, but in such a cold, constrained manner that I trembled for what might be the consequences of their anger. When I reached my loft I gazed with tears upon my father's picture, and earnestly did I wish and pray that I might at some time be restored to his protection. I then retired to my bed among the hay, and there, for the first time since I had been in the family, I wept myself to sleep.

Early in the morning I went to the garden. Mrs. Davis's children did not choose to walk with me, so I went alone. When I returned home to breakfast (it being market-day Mr. Davis was gone to town) his wife and daughters did not speak to me once during the meal, excepting to tell me that the plums were laid under the trees. I finished my breakfast as soon as I could and returned to my work, grieved that I had lost the goodwill of people who were really kind to me, but whose practices were such as I could not follow. The hour of dinner came, and with a heavy heart I went to the cottage, dreading the angry looks, and perhaps reproaches, of Mrs. Davis. When I arrived there I found the brother and sister-in-law of Mrs. Davis were paying her a visit. I had seen these people once before, and soon after I came into the family; they were pedlars, and traversed the county from one end of it to the other. The man carried a large pack filled with linens, muslins, stuffs, and many other articles for clothing; his wife carried two boxes, with trinkets, lace, millinery, and a great variety of light goods. When I entered the room they turned their eyes upon me as if I had been the subject of their conversation, which I quickly found had been the case, for Mrs. Davis said to them:

'That is the girl I have been telling you of. She would be of great use to you, for she could carry one of the boxes, and in my house she is of no use in the world, but quite a burden to us, and she makes quarrels between my husband and me, for you know that Davis is so particular, and has such odd notions about honesty, that he seems to think it next thing to murder to take a bit of fruit or a sixpence belonging to Mr. Freeman. You never heard such a piece of work as we had last night because the girls had taken a few plums.'

She then in her own way told her brother of the keeping back part of the market-money and of the peaches. I was surprised that she was not ashamed of telling such things, but she was not, and her brother only laughed at them, and said that honesty was very well in its place, but that it was ridiculous to carry it so far.'

'But, however,' said he, 'I shall have no objection to Lady Anne (I think you call her) being very honest with us. I shall not be afraid of her robbing me.'

'No, indeed,' replied his sister; 'you will have no cause. You might trust her with your pack and boxes all open; she would not rob you of a farthing's worth; she is only too honest, that is her fault.'

'And it is a fault that perhaps I can cure her of,' returned her brother. 'But she has only been used to gardening. She will be of very little use to us, for we do not want a girl merely to carry a band-box.'

'She can work very well at her needle,' quickly answered his sister. 'It is unknown the sewing she has done for me since she has been here. I have never had the children so tidy in my life as since she has been with us. I shall miss her help very much, that I know I shall.'

'Do not let me go,' said I, for I was really frightened at the thought of being sent away with Mr. Sharpley and his wife. 'Pray let me stay. I will work so hard; I will do everything I can to please you.'

'Will you promise to take a little fruit, as the others do, and not say anything when you see my children take some, and to take a market-penny when you can get it?' answered Mrs. Davis. 'Promise me that, and you shall stay.'

'I cannot promise it,' said I, bursting into tears, 'for I must not steal.'

'Very well, then, you shall go,' returned she. 'It is entirely your own fault. I had no wish to part with you, but I cannot keep you to turn my children out of bread.'

'Lady Anne is a nonsuch of honesty,' said Mr. Sharpley; 'but I warrant she will tell a different tale by this time twelvemonths. What say you, wife? Shall we take her or not?'

'As she can work at her needle,' replied Mrs. Sharpley, 'suppose we give her a trial for a few months. If she does not do for us, we can bring her back again; and as for her honesty, that will not hurt us.'

'Well, then, I suppose it is a bargain,' said Mr. Sharpley, 'so, my girl, if you have any better clothes make haste and put them on; and, sister, let us have a bit of dinner, as I want to be going.'

'And I want you gone,' replied his sister, 'for if my good man comes home before you are off, it's ten to one but he knocks all the business on the head, and I shall have the girl on my hands again. Lady Anne, make haste; and you, Suke, look after her a little.'

This command to Susan to watch me prevented my following a plan I had just formed, which was to run back to the garden and tell Mr. Joseph that they were going to send me away against my will; but I suppose they were afraid I should do so, for Susan did not leave me a single moment till I was washed and dressed. I then entered the room where they all were, and presented myself before them, with the tears running down my face.

'She is a genteel-looking child,' said Mrs. Sharpley; 'but what are you crying for, simpleton? We shall not hurt you, and you need not steal unless you like, so pray set your heart at ease.'

I did try to check my tears, for I considered that I could never be happy at the cottage any more, though it grieved me to the heart to part with people who had been so kind to me, especially Mr. Joseph, Mr. Davis, and little Tommy, who was gone to town with his father; and these I was obliged to leave, without so much as saying good-bye to them. I was not able to eat a morsel of dinner, and Mr. and Mrs. Sharpley having finished theirs, we rose up to depart. I sobbed so that I could not speak. Mrs. Davis and the girls seemed a little affected. They shook hands with me, wished me well, and said they hoped I should grow wiser in time; then, with a band-box before me, that was fastened by a strap that went over my shoulders, I left the cottage, following my new master and mistress.