Chapter Twenty Six.
“A ruck of trouble.”
“Well, be sure! if there ever was a woman in such a ruck of trouble!” said poor Collet Pardue, wiping her eyes. “Here’s my man took to prison, saints knows what for—my man ’at was as quiet as ever a mouse, and as good to me as if he’d ha’ been a cherubim, and me left with all them childre—six lads and four lasses—eight o’ my own, and two of poor Sens’s—and the lads that mischievous as I scarce knows whether I’m on my head or my heels one half o’ the day! Here’s that Silas a-been and took and dropped the bucket down the well, and never a drop o’ water can we get. And Aphabell he’s left the gate open, and nine out o’ my fourteen chicken strayed away. And I sent Toby for a loaf o’ biscuit-bread, a-thinking it’d be a treat for the little uns, and me not having a mite o’ time to make it—and if the rogue hasn’t been and ate it all up a-coming home—there’s the crumbs on his jacket this minute!”
“I didn’t!” shouted Tobias resentfully, in answer to this unjust accusation. “I didn’t eat it all up! I gave half on it to Esdras—a good half.” The last words were uttered in a tone of conscious virtue, the young gentleman evidently feeling that his self-denial was not meeting its due reward.
“Ha’ done then, thou runagate!” returned his mother, aiming a slap at him, which Tobias dodged by a dip of his head. “Eh, deary me, but they are a weary lot, these childre!”
“Why stand you not up to them better, Collet Pardue?” asked the neighbour who was the listener to poor Collet’s list of grievances. “Can’t you rouse yourself and see to them?”
“Seems to me, Mistress Hall, I’ve got no rouse left in me, wi’ all these troubles a-coming so thick,” said poor Collet, shaking her head. “If you’d six lads and four maids, and your man in prison for nought, and the bucket down the well, and the chicken strayed, and your poor old mother sick a-bed, and them pies in the oven a-burning this minute—Oh me!”
Collet made a rush at the oven, having to push Charity Bradbridge out of her way, who was staring open-mouthed at the brilliant parrot wrought in floss silks on the exterior of Mrs Tabitha’s large work-bag.
“I’ve told you twenty times, Collet Pardue, you lack method,” pursued Mrs Hall, with a magisterial air. “Why set you not Esdras to hunt the chicken, and Noah to fish up the bucket, and Beatrice to wait on your mother, and Penuel to see to the pies, and leave yourself freer? I make my childre useful, I can tell you. The more children, the more to wait on you.”
“Well, Mistress Hall, I’ve always found it t’other way about—the more childre, the more for you to wait on. Pen, she’s ironing, and Beatie is up wi’ mother. But as to Esdras hunting up the chicks, why, he’d come home wi’ more holes than he’s got, and that’s five, as I know to my cost; and set Noah to get up the bucket, he’d never do nought but send his self a-flying after it down the well, and then I should have to fish him up. ’Tis mighty good talking, when you’ve only three, and them all maids; maids can be ruled by times; but them lads, they’re that cantankerous as— There now, I might ha’ known Noah was after some mischief; he’s never quiet but he is! Do ’ee look, how he’s tangled my blue yarn ’at I’d wound only last night—twisted it round every chair and table in the place, and— You wicked, sinful boy, to go and tangle the poor cat along with ’em! I’ll be after you, see if I’m not! You’ll catch some’at!”
“Got to catch me first!” said Noah, with a grin, darting out of the door as his over-worried mother made a grab at him.
Poor Collet sat down and succumbed under her sufferings, throwing her apron over her face for a good cry. Beatrice, who came down the ladder which led to the upper chambers, took in the scene at a glance. She was a bright little girl of ten years old. Setting down the tray in her hand, she first speedily delivered the captive pussy, and then proceeded deftly to disentangle the wool, rolling it up again in a ball.
“Prithee, weep not, Mother, dear heart!” she said cheerily. “Granny sleeps, and needs no tending at this present. I’ve set pussy free, I shall soon have the yarn right again. You’re over-wrought, poor Mother!”
Her child’s sympathetic words seemed to have the effect of making Collet cry the harder; but Tabitha’s voice responded for her.
“Well said, Beatrice, and well done! I love to see a maid whose fingers are not all thumbs. But, dear me, Collet, what a shiftless woman are you! Can’t you pack those lads out o’ door, and have a quiet house for your work? I should, for sure!”
“You’d find you’d got your work cut out, Mistress Hall, I can tell you. ‘Pack ’em out o’ door’ means just send ’em to prey on your neighbours, and have half-a-dozen angry folks at you afore night, and a sight o’ damage for to pay.”
“Set them to weed your garden, can’t you? and tie up that trailing honeysuckle o’er the porch, that’s a shame to be seen. Make ’em useful—that’s what I say.”
“And ’tis what I’d be main thankful to do if I could—that I’ll warrant you, Mistress Hall; but without I stood o’er ’em every minute of the time, the flowers ’d get plucked up and the weeds left, every one on ’em. That’d be useful, wouldn’t it?”
“You’ve brought them up ill, Collet, or they’d be better lads than that. I’d have had ’em as quat as mice, the whole six, afore I’d been their mother a week.”
“I cast no doubt, Mistress Hall,” said Collet, driven to retort as she rarely did, “if you’d had the world to make, it’d ha’ been mortal grand, and all turned out spic-span: look you, the old saw saith, ‘Bachelors’ wives be always well-learned,’ and your lads be angels, that’s sure, seein’ you haven’t ne’er a one on ’em; but mine isn’t so easy to manage as yourn, looking as I’ve six to see to.”
“You’ve lost your temper, Collet Pardue,” said Mrs Tabitha, with calm complacency; “and that’s a thing a woman shouldn’t do who calls herself a Christian.”
Before Collet could reply, a third person stood in the doorway. She looked up, and saw her landlord, Mr Benden.
As it happened, that gentleman was not aware of the presence of his sister-in-law, who was concealed from him by the open door behind which she was sitting, as well as by a sheet which was hanging up to air in the warm atmosphere of the kitchen. He had not, therefore, the least idea that Tabitha heard his words addressed to Collet.
“So your husband has been sent to prison, Mistress, for an heretic and a contemner of the blessed Sacrament?”
“My husband contemns not the blessed Sacrament that our Lord Jesus Christ instituted,” answered Collet, turning to face her new assailant; “but he is one of them that will not be made to commit idolatry unto a piece of bread.”
“Well said, indeed!” sneered Mr Benden. “This must needs be good world when cloth-workers’ wives turn doctors of religion! How look you to make my rent, Mistress, with nought coming in, I pray you?”
“Your rent’s not due, Master, for five weeks to come.”
“And when they be come, I do you to wit, I will have it—or else forth you go. Do you hear, Mistress Glib-tongue?”
“Dear heart, Master Benden!” cried Collet, in consternation. “Sure you can never have the heart to turn us adrift—us as has always paid you every farthing up to the hour it was due!”
“Ay, and I’ll have this, every farthing up to the hour ’tis due! I’ll have no canting hypocrites in my houses, nor no such as be notorious traitors to God and the Queen’s Majesty! I’ll—”
“O Master, we’re no such, nor never was—” began the sobbing Collet.
But both speeches were cut across by a third voice, which made the landlord turn a shade paler and stop his diatribe suddenly; for it was the voice of the only mortal creature whom Edward Benden feared.
“Then you’d best turn yourself out, Edward Benden, and that pretty sharp, before I come and make you!” said the unexpected voice of the invisible Tabitha. “I haven’t forgot, if you have, what a loyal subject you were in King Edward’s days, nor how you essayed to make your court to my Lord of Northumberland that was, by proclaiming my Lady Jane at Cranbrook, and then, as soon as ever you saw how the game was going, you turned coat and threw up your cap for Queen Mary. If all the canting hypocrites be bundled forth of Staplehurst, you’ll be amongst the first half-dozen, I’ll be bound! Get you gone, if you’ve any shame left, and forbear to torture an honest woman that hath troubles enow.”
“He’s gone, Mistress Hall,” said little Beatrice. “I count he scarce heard what you last spake.”
“O Mistress Hall, you are a good friend, and I’m for ever bounden to you!” said poor Collet, when she was able to speak for tears. “And if it please you, I’m main sorry I lost my temper, and if I said any word to you as I shouldn’t, I’ll take ’em back every one, and may God bless you!”
“Well said, old friend!” answered Tabitha, in high good-humour.
“And, O Mistress, do you think, an’ it like you, that Master Benden will turn us forth on Saint Austin’s morrow?—that’s when our rent’s due.”
“What is your rent, neighbour?”
“’Tis thirteen-and-fourpence, the house, Mistress—but then we’ve the bit o’ pasture land behind, for our horse and cow—that’s eight shillings more by the year. And I’ve only”—Collet went to a chest, and lifted out an old black stocking—“I haven’t but sixteen shillings laid by towards it, and look you, there’ll be no wages coming in save Toby’s and Esdras’ and Aphabell’s, and we’ve to live. With ’leven of us to eat and be clad, we can’t save many pence for rent, and I did hope Master Benden ’d be pleased to wait a while. Of course he must have his own, like any other; but if he would ha’ waited—”
“He’ll wait,” said Tabitha, and shut her mouth with a snap. “But lest he should not, Collet, come by Seven Roads as you go to pay your rent, and whatso you may be short for the full amount, I’ll find you.”
“Eh dear, Mistress Hall, I could cut my tongue in leches (slices) that it ever spake a word as didn’t please you!” cried the grateful Collet, though Tabitha had spoken a multitude of words which were by no means pleasing to her. “And we’ll all pray God bless you when we’re on our knees to-night, and all your folks belike. And I will essay to keep the lads better-way, though in very deed I don’t know how,” concluded she, as Tabitha rose, well pleased, patted Charity on the head, told Beatrice to be a good maid and help her mother, and in a mood divided between gratification and grim plans for giving Mr Benden the due reward of his deeds, set out on her walk home.