“Now, Tom,” cried Rosamond, stopping short, “if you do that, I solemnly declare I’ll never have you here again! What could papa do? Do you think he could cure Raymond’s wife of being a ridiculous little prig? And if he could—why, before your letter got to Meerut, she will be gone up to London; and by the time she comes back we’ll be safe in our own Rectory. Here, come in, and get our string and basket at Mrs. Bungay’s.”
“I’ll pay her out!” muttered Tom, as he followed his sister into Mrs. Bungay’s shop, one of much smaller pretensions, for the sale of baskets, brushes, mats, &c.
The mistress, a stout, red-faced woman, looked as if she had been ‘speaking a bit of her mind,’ and was at first very gruff and ungracious, until she found they were real customers; and moreover, Tom’s bland Irish courtesy perfectly disarmed her, when Rosamond, having fixed her mind on a box in the very topmost pigeon-hole, they not only apologized for the trouble they were giving, but Tom offered to climb up and bring it down, when she was calling for the errand-boy in vain.
“It’s no trouble, sir, thank you; I’d think nothing of that for you, my lady, nor for Mr. Charnock—which I’m sure I’ll never forget all he did for us at the fire, leading my little Alferd out like a lamb! I beg your ladyship’s pardon, ma’am, if I seemed a bit hasty; but I’ve been so put about—and I thought at first you’d come in on the same matter, which I’m sure a lady like you wouldn’t ever do—about the drains, and such like, which isn’t fit for no lady to speak of! As if Water Lane weren’t as sweet and clean as it has any call to be, and as if we didn’t know what was right by our tenants, which are a bad lot, and don’t merit no money to be laid out on them!”
“So you have houses in Water Lane, Mrs. Bungay? I didn’t even know it!”
“Yes, Lady Rosamond! My husband and I thought there was no better investment than to buy a bit of land, when the waste was inclosed, and run ’em up cheap. Houses always lets here, you see, and the fire did no damage to that side. But of course you didn’t know, Lady Rosamond; a real lady like you wouldn’t go prying into what she’s no call to, like that fine decked-out body Duncombe’s wife, which had best mind her own children, which it is a shame to see stravaging about the place! I know it’s her doing, which I told young Mrs. Charnock Poynsett just now, which I’m right sorry to see led along by the like of her, and so are more of us; and we all wish some friend would give her a hint, which she is but young—and ’tis doing harm to Mr. Charnock Poynsett, Lady Rosamond, which all of us have a regard for, as is but right, having been a good customer, and friend to the town, and all before him; but we can’t have ladies coming in with their fads and calling us names for not laying out on what’s no good to nobody, just to satisfy them! As if Wil’sbro’ hadn’t been always healthy!”
Tom was wicked enough to put in a good many notes of sympathy, at the intervals of the conjunctive whiches, and to end by declaring, “Quite right, Mrs. Bungay! You see how much better we’ve brought up my sister! I say—what’s the price of that little doll’s broom?”
“What do you want of it, Tom?”
“Never you mind!”
“No mischief, I hope?”