‘But why must you leave here?’ Caroline asked.
‘Gentlefolks,’ said the woman bitterly; ‘got a grand ’ouse of their own up in London. But they gone and took a fancy to my little bit, ’cause it looks so pretty with the flowers I planted, and the arbour my father made, and the roses as come from mother’s brother in Cambridgeshire.
‘“Such a sweet pretty cottage to stay in for week-ends,” they says; an’ I may go to the Union and stay there, week in, week out, and much they care. There’s something like it in the Bible, only there ain’t no prophets now like there was of old to go and rebuke the folks that takes away poor folks’ vineyards and lambs and things to make week-end cottages of. And of course they can pay for their fancy. An’ it comes a bit ’ard, my dear. An’ that’s all. So now you know.’
‘But that’s dreadful,’ said Caroline; ‘the landlord must be a very wicked man.’
‘It ain’t ’is doing,’ said the woman, sorting bottles swiftly; ‘’e’s but a lad when all’s said and done. Comes of age in a week or two. Ain’t never been ’is own master yet, so to say. It’s ’is cousin as manages the property. ’E’s got it into ’is ’ead to screw another shilling or two out of us somehow; ’ere, there, and everywhere, as they say. To pay for the harches and the flags when Milord comes of age, I suppose. Now you see you can’t do anything, so run along, lovey. You’re a good little gell to trouble about it, and you’re the only one that has. It’ll come home to you all right, never fear. Kind words is never lost, nor acts neither. Good day to you, Missy.’
‘Good-bye,’ said Caroline; ‘but I’m not so sure that I can’t do anything. I’ll ask my uncle. Perhaps he knows my Lord, whoever it is.’
‘Andore,’ said the woman; ‘but nobody don’t know him about here. He’s been abroad for his education, being weak in the chest from a child. But it ain’t no good, dearie. I’ll ’ave to go, same as other folks as ’ad to go afore me.’
‘I shall think of something, you see if I don’t,’ said Caroline. ‘I’ve got an aunt as well as an uncle, and she says you can make things happen. You just keep on saying, “Everything’s going to be all right. I’m not going to worry.” And then everything will be all right. You’ll see. And I’ll come again to-morrow or next day. Good-bye, dear.’
She kissed the woman, paid the sixpence, and went out to the hornbeam arbour with the air of one who has a mission.
‘Come on,’ she said; ‘I’ll tell you as we go along. No, I’m not thirsty now. Oh, well, if you’ve saved some for me. That was jolly decent of you.’ She drank. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘there’s not a moment to be lost; it’s a matter of life and death to the Mineral woman. Come on.’