Pennie had listened eagerly to every word. Here indeed was news of Kettles and her family at last. How interested Nancy would be!
“Oh!” she exclaimed, taking her godmother’s hand, “do let me go to see them with Nurse and take them the things she buys.”
But to this Miss Unity would not listen for a moment. She would not even consider such a thing possible. All she would promise was that they would soon come again to the College and hear from Mrs Margetts how the poor woman was getting on, and with this Pennie was obliged to be contented.
Miss Unity herself was strangely stirred and interested by what she had been told. The story of Kettles and her mother seemed to cast a different light on Anchor and Hope Alley, that “scandal to Nearminster,” as the dean had called it. She had always considered it the abode of outcasts and wickedness, but surely it could not be right that these people should remain uncared for and uncomforted in sickness and want. They were surrounded by clergymen, district visitors, schools, churches, societies of all sorts established on purpose for their help, and yet here was Kettles’ mother three weeks down with the rheumatism, and only a little child to look after her. What did it mean?
And then, Miss Unity went on to think, her mind getting tangled with perplexity, what of their spiritual privileges? The great Cathedral lifted its spire and pointed heavenwards in vain for them, so near, yet so very far-off. The peace and rest of its solemn silence, the echo of its hymn and praise were useless; it was an unknown land to Anchor and Hope Alley. They were as much shut out from all it had to give as those dusky inhabitants of another country with whose condition Nearminster had lately been concerned. Pennie’s words occurred to Miss Unity. “I know Anchor and Hope Alley, and that makes it so much nicer.” She looked down at her side—where was Pennie?
Now while Miss Unity had been walking along in silence, her mind full of these thoughts and her eyes turned absently away from outward things, Pennie had been sharply observant of all that was going on in the High Street through which they were passing. Nothing escaped her, and the minute before Miss Unity noted her absence she had caught sight of a familiar figure in the distance, and had dashed across the road without a thought of consequences. When her godmother’s startled glance discovered her she was standing at the entrance of Anchor and Hope Alley, and by her side was a figure of about her own height.
And what a figure! Three weeks of nursing, scrubbing, minding children and running errands had not improved poor Kettles’ appearance. The same old bonnet, which Pennie remembered, hung back from her head, but it was more crushed and shapeless; the big boots had large holes in them, and the bony little hand, which clasped a bottle to her chest, was more like a black claw than ever. When Miss Unity reached them the children were staring at each other in silence, Pennie rather shy, and Kettles with a watchful glimmer in her eyes as though prepared to defend herself if necessary. Miss Unity took Pennie’s hand.
“My dear,” she said breathlessly, “how could you? I was so alarmed.”
“This is Kettles,” was Pennie’s answer, “and she says her mother isn’t any better.”
“Don’t you belong to the Provident Club?” asked Miss Unity, with a faint hope that Nurse might have been wrong.