The Duchess of Rosemary Lane: A Novel

by B. L. Farjeon

The doctor smiled and walked away.

Seth Dumbrick was afraid to mention the matter to the Duchess, for he knew that she would leap for joy at the prospect, and that the hope deferred would make her worse both in body and spirits. The truth was, he was too poor for the luxury. The Duchess's illness had exhausted every penny of his savings. He confided in Sally, who entered at once upon the consideration of the difficulty, but her suggestions were not of a practical character.

"If we had some o' them cherubims o' gold," she mused, "or some o' them gold flowers out of the Temple----"

"They might lead us," added Seth, "to the real flowers we want to see growing."

Sally was ready with another suggestion, in the shape of a subscription among the Duchess's playmates.

"They're so fond on her that they'll do anythink for her. They'll all give. Betsy Newbiggin, and Jane Preedy----" but she was stopped by the look of suppressed merriment on Seth's face.

"Pins and spoonfuls of liquorice-water won't take us into the country, Sally. No, we must think of something else. Perhaps I shall have a bit of good luck"--adding, under his breath--"if I do, and there's money in it, it'll be the first bit of good luck that has ever fell to Seth Dumbrick's lot."

There seemed no way out of the difficulty, and the Duchess remained in the same languid state. But the bit of good luck that Seth had not the slightest expectation of meeting with did occur, and in a strange way.

The duties of the postman in Rosemary Lane were light, and there were persons in the neighbourhood who had never arrived at the dignity of receiving a letter. Certainly no child had ever received one. General astonishment was therefore created when it became known that the postman, stopping to deliver a communication at the Royal George, the celebrated gin-palace of the locality, had produced a letter, addressed to "The Duchess of Rosemary Lane," and, with an air which proclaimed that he looked upon the matter as a joke, had asked the proprietor of the gin-palace if he knew any person answering to that description. Regarding the matter in a more serious light when he was informed that there really was such a person in existence, the postman proceeded to Seth Dumbrick's stall, and delivered the letter in the presence of a dozen or so curiousmongers, who had became aware of the circumstance, and considered it sufficiently interesting to warrant an inquiry. The postman, with a stern sense of duty, did not part with the letter too easily. It was a Government affair, he said, and he might be called over the coals for it. Indeed, under any circumstances, he declared his intention of making a special memorandum with reference to it, for his own satisfaction and that of the head of his department. The idea of a duchess in Rosemary Lane was something almost too astounding for credibility.

"Nevertheless it is a fact," said Seth Dumbrick, looking at the letter with much inward astonishment; not knowing what the letter might contain, he deemed it prudent to conceal any exhibition of this feeling. "She lives with me."