“It was agin the grit church, marm —— But it’s a long story. My poor good man had not a long been dead,—as good a man as hever lived, marm,” and Becky dropped a courtesy; “he fell off a scaffold, and pitched right on his ‘ead, or I should not have come on the parish, marm,—and that’s the truth on it!”
“Very well, I shall call and hear all about it; a sad case, I dare say. You see, your husband should have subscribed to our Loan Society, and then they’d have found him a ‘andsome coffin, and given three pounds to his widder. But the poor are so benighted in these parts. I’m sure, sir, I can’t guess what brought you here; but that’s no business of mine. And how are all at Old Brompton?” Here Mrs. Mivers bridled indignantly. “There was a time when Miss Mainwaring was very glad to come and chat with Mr. M. and myself; but now ‘rum has riz,’ as the saying is,—not but what I dare say it’s not her fault, poor thing! That stiff aunt of hers,—she need not look so high; pride and poverty, forsooth!”
While delivering these conciliatory sentences, Mrs. Mivers had gathered up her gown, and was evidently in the bustle of departure. As she now nodded to Becky, Percival stepped up, and, with his irresistible smile, offered her his arm. Much surprised and much flattered, Mrs. Mivers accepted it. As she did so, he gently detained her while he said to Becky,—“My good friend, I have brought you the poor lad to whom you have been a mother, to tell you that good deeds find their reward sooner or later. As for him, make yourself easy; he will inform you of the new step he has taken, and for you, good, kind-hearted creature, thank the boy you brought up if your old age shall be made easy and cheerful. Now, Beck, silly lad, go and tell all to your nurse! Take care of this step, Mrs. Mivers.”
As soon as he was in the street, Percival, who, if amused at the ventilator, had seen the five shillings gleam on Becky’s palm, and felt that he had found under the puce-coloured gown a good woman’s heart to understand him, gave Mrs. Mivers a short sketch of poor Becky’s history and misfortunes, and so contrived to interest her in behalf of the nurse that she willingly promised to become Percival’s almoner, to execute his commission, to improve the interior of Becky’s abode, and distribute weekly the liberal stipend he proposed to settle on the old widow. They had grown, indeed, quite friendly and intimate by the time he reached the smart plate-glazed mahogany-coloured facade within which the flourishing business of Mr. Mivers was carried on; and when, knocking at the private door, promptly opened by a lemon-coloured page, she invited him upstairs, it so chanced that the conversation had slid off to Helen, and Percival was sufficiently interested to bow assent and to enter.
Though all the way up the stairs Mrs. Mivers, turning back at every other step, did her best to impress upon her young visitor’s mind the important fact that they kept their household establishment at their “willer,” and that their apartments in Fleet Street were only a “conwenience,” the store set by the worthy housewife upon her goods and chattels was sufficiently visible in the drugget that threaded its narrow way up the gay Brussels stair-carpet, and in certain layers of paper which protected from the profanation of immediate touch the mahogany hand-rail. And nothing could exceed the fostering care exhibited in the drawing-room, when the door thrown open admitted a view of its damask moreen curtains, pinned back from such impertinent sunbeams as could force their way through the foggy air of the east into the windows, and the ells of yellow muslin that guarded the frames, at least, of a collection of coloured prints and two kit-kat portraitures of Mr. Mivers and his lady from the perambulations of the flies.
But Percival’s view of this interior was somewhat impeded by his portly guide, who, uttering a little exclamation of surprise, stood motionless on the threshold as she perceived Mr. Mivers seated by the hearth in close conference with a gentleman whom she had never seen before. At that hour it was so rare an event in the life of Mr. Mivers to be found in the drawing-room, and that he should have an acquaintance unknown to his helpmate was a circumstance so much rarer still, that Mrs. Mivers may well be forgiven for keeping St. John standing at the door till she had recovered her amaze.
Meanwhile Mr. Mivers rose in some confusion, and was apparently about to introduce his guest, when that gentleman coughed, and pinched the host’s arm significantly. Mr. Mivers coughed also, and stammered out: “A gentleman, Mrs. M.,—a friend; stay with us a day or two. Much honoured, hum!”
Mrs. Mivers stared and courtesied, and stared again. But there was an open, good-humoured smile in the face of the visitor, as he advanced and took her hand, that attracted a heart very easily conciliated. Seeing that that was no moment for further explanation, she plumped herself into a seat and said,—
“But bless us and save us, I am keeping you standing, Mr. St. John!”
“St. John!” repeated the visitor, with a vehemence that startled Mrs. Mivers. “Your name is St. John, sir,—related to the St. Johns of Laughton?”