Chapter Eleven.
Hannah was unsuccessful in her search for coarse needlework. Badly and miserably paid as such work was, the slop-shops had their full complement of workers, and had nothing to give her, even though she went so far as to promise to do the work for even more wretched prices than had hitherto been given.
She was obliged to leave Roy the next day, and again the next, and for these two days the drops were each time resorted to. On the evening of the third day, she had obtained some partial success. She was given half-a-dozen shirts to make. These shirts were of the coarsest check, and Hannah would obtain tenpence for each. She was in quite good spirits, for she could now work and stay at home with Roy.
But there was a change in little Roy. He was no longer the laughing, rosy, healthy child whom Hannah had brought to her cellar. His blue eyes were heavy, his movements languid, and his fair skin was assuming that waxen tint which Hannah had noticed in Mrs Martin’s baby over the way. Hannah was a strangely ignorant woman, and she never associated this change in little Roy with the drops which he had taken now for three days in succession. She saw a vast difference in him, but she concluded that such was the way with all children. Through how many, many changes had her Davie gone? Why, at his very best he never looked half as healthy as little Roy did at his worst. No, she was not the least uneasy about the little fellow. But as he now had grown troublesome and restless at night, she gave him a few more drops from the fatal mixture, and when taking these he went off into feverish and fitful slumber, she congratulated herself on possessing so valuable a remedy.
While the shirts were being made she stayed quietly at home with the little boy, who in his waking moments would stand gravely and quietly by her knee, now and then putting up a small hot hand to stroke her cheeks, exclaiming as he did so in his broken English, “Pitty yed face, pitty yed face.” Then adding, as he raised his heavenly blue eyes to hers, “’Oy ’oves ’oo vevy much.”
At these words, uttered so innocently by the little child, down would go Hannah’s work, needle, and thimble, and he would find himself clasped tightly to her bosom; while down the red cheeks, which he had praised, would flow large salt tears which had lain locked up and frozen since Davie died. Yes, Roy was becoming more and more a necessity to Hannah Searles, and a treasure without which she did not now believe she could find life endurable.
One evening, leaving the child asleep, she went into the court. She was gossiping with a neighbour, and enjoying the sensation of the outside air, which was at least better than the cellar atmosphere which she had quitted, when Meg Harris came up to her. Meg and Faith had found a shelter for themselves in another house in this court, and now Meg came up alone to speak to Hannah.
“And how ere you getting on widhout yer mother?” asked Hannah. “But I needn’t go fur to axe,” she continued, “fur though you ain’t much to boast on now, Meg, yet you look more peart than when she wor allers a wallopping of yer.”
“But I have a h’anxiety on my mind,” said Meg, shrugging her thin shoulders and speaking in a low, confidential tone. “I ha’ a gal along wid me, and a young gal wot ain’t none of h’our people. You might ha’ noticed her, Hannah, when you was walking down Middle Street.”
“Yes,” answered Hannah, “she looked a white-faced, mealy-mouthed little ’un. I mind me as I thought as I had seen her somewhere afore.”
“Her father is a carpenter, Hannah, a werry, werry upper kind o’ carpenter. She’s real respectable, is Faithy. And wot does yer think? She have a little brother, a little lovely duck of a child, and he went out o’ the house on Sunday night last and got losted, and this poor little Faith, she’s near distracted. She and me, we’re a looking fur the young ’un h’everywhere. I thought as I’d tell yer, Hannah, fur you see’s a deal o’ life, and you might ha’ noticed as they ha’ put him in the h’advertisements, and ten pound offered fur him.”
Hannah Searles had perfect control of feature.
“I ha’ seen about a missing child,” she said after a moment’s pause. “A child h’aged two year, dressed in blue, wid real gold ’air?”
“Yes, yes,” said Meg. “Oh! Hannah, ef you could only help us to find of him—I think as Faith ull die ef he ain’t found.”
“I’ll keep my h’eyes open,” said Hannah, and then she nodded to Meg and went back to her cellar.
She was trembling all over as she stumbled down the stairs. But when she had securely locked the door and lighted a long dip candle and had seen with her own eyes little Roy sleeping quietly, she became calmer. She went over and knelt by the bed, and took one of the little hands in hers.
“I’d rayther be torn in bits, nor give h’up this little hand,” she said to herself.
But she had got a great fright, and gazed long and greedily at her treasure.
It was plain that if she wanted to keep little Roy, she must move away from here as fast as possible. She could scarcely find a cheaper home, but be that as it may she dare not stay so near to Faith. Presently, tired out, she sank down on the floor; she still trembled at the nearness of the danger, but she also felt disappointment. The baby whom she considered her own baby now was so beautiful, so grand, so fine and strong, so unlike any other child she had ever looked at, that she had often pictured to herself his high birth. He might, for aught she knew, be the son of a prince. Any prince in the land would be proud of him. And Hannah had delighted herself with the thought that this child, of perhaps Royalty, was happy and at home with such a woman as she—a woman at whom all respectable folks would point a finger of scorn; but yet whom the pure and innocent little child loved.
But he was of no high birth. He was only a son of the people after all. Many, many degrees above herself in respectability it was true, but still a child of the vast multitude. Her last scruple at keeping him vanished at this fact. He would lose nothing by remaining with her, and for his sake she would, she could, become good.