A few days after this occurrence, Rhoda Berry was seated in her mother’s cottage at Luton, plaiting straw. It was interesting to watch her deft fingers weaving and interweaving the fine splits of straw, until they formed a plait as delicate as that of a woman’s hair. The operation appeared as intricate as that of lace-making, until the ends were worked in and the Grecian pattern became visible.
At her feet sat, or rather tumbled, her baby boy, amusing himself also with the ends of straw his mother dropped. Mrs Berry was bustling in and out of the little kitchen meanwhile, occupied with her domestic duties, and discussing, with some vehemence, the contents of a letter she had received that morning.
‘I can’t think why you object to the idea, Rhoda,’ she said. ‘Here’s a fine opportunity for us both to live like ladies again, and you almost turn up your nose at it! My brother Will is not one to go from his word, and you heard what he said, that since his wife is dead and he is so lonely, with his only son at sea, he would be grateful if you and I would take up our abode at King’s Farm for the rest of our lives. I know what that means, Rhoda! That he intends to leave all he has to us. Will is not the fellow to invite two women to his house like that, and then leave them to starve. And this is next door to starvation. It’s drudging from morning to night, and making a penny how and when we can. And my brother keeps two house-servants, fancy that! And I should have the management of them both!’
‘Mother, dear! why don’t you go, and leave me here? I am quite capable of earning my own living, and you know the obstacle to my going to King’s Farm. How could I take my baby there, to disgrace my uncle and all his family? But it is a shame that my fault should be the means of keeping you from a good home. Do write and accept this offer, mother, and I shall do well enough in Luton, never fear. Why! I’m earning thirty shillings a week now, even in the worst times. I shall do well enough. That’s more than sufficient for me and baby. But I’ll never take him into another man’s house to be scorned and pointed at.’
‘Now, Rhoda, what nonsense you talk!’ exclaimed Mrs Berry, impatiently. ‘As if anything would tempt me to part from you and the little crow! As if you hadn’t suffered enough without your mother forsaking you, poor girl! No, I’m not made of such stuff as that! Either we go to King’s Farm together, or we don’t go at all. But I must say I would like to see the roses back in your cheeks, Rhoda! You used to have such a fine colour before you went up to London. It would do you and the little crow such a world of good, too, to be running about the green fields and lanes of Somersetshire, and to live amongst the cows and sheep and chickens. You’d be another woman in a fortnight.’
‘I know I should, mother, but, you see, this is one of the good things of this life that I have put away from me by my sin. It is part of the penance God has called upon me to perform. And that I must prevent your taking advantage of Uncle Will’s offer, also, makes it doubly hard to bear.’
‘Why, you don’t suppose I could have any pleasure in it all whilst my only girl was moping down here by herself, do you? It’s that bothering little crow that sticks in the way. Suppose we get rid of him, Rhoda?’ said Mrs Berry, playfully. ‘Let’s drown him in the water-butt. No one will be any the wiser, and it would be a blessing to get rid of him, wouldn’t it, now?’
She expected to see Rhoda shake her head sadly at the proposal, but she was not prepared to see her catch her child up and press it passionately to her bosom, whilst she burst into a flood of tears. That was so unlike her patient, humble, quiet Rhoda, that Mrs Berry was fairly taken aback.
‘Why, my dear, my dear,’ she cried, ‘what is the matter? What have I said to upset you so? I was only in fun, Rhoda. Surely you know that? I wouldn’t harm a hair of the child’s head for all the wealth of the Indies.’
‘Yes, mother, yes; I know it,’ replied the girl, still sobbing. ‘Only, I feel, I foresee that my poor bairn will be my curse and yours, perhaps, through life. The trouble and the expense are nothing—nothing. But it’s the shame that is so hard to bear, not only for myself, but for you and him, poor lamb, when he is old enough to understand.’