“No more business in him, sir,” said Matt as he descended the stairs, “than—Ah, here we are, then! Thought I was going away without seeing you again, miss;” for he had encountered Lucy upon the stairs.
“Hush!” she whispered, “I only wanted to ask you to please be careful. I was so frightened this afternoon.”
Old Matt buttoned up his coat as tightly as if his honour were inside it, pursed up his lips, nodded his head seriously, and then laying one finger upon the side of his nose he shuffled off, looking as mysterious as if he were the repository of state secrets, and ready to bid defiance to all the racks and thumbscrews of the good old times.
Lucy Grey stood for a minute gazing after the shabby figure, and then, turning to ascend, she coloured slightly upon finding herself face to face with the old Frenchwoman who occupied the attic floor, and who now, with a sneering smile upon her thin lips and an inquisitive light peering from her half-closed eyes, looked at her, and then passed softly and silently as a cat down the stairs without saying a word.
Volume Two—Chapter Five.
Homes in London.
Bennett’s-rents still upon that day—a bright breezy day—when for a whole hour the god that kisseth carrion shone down into the court to lick up every trace of green damp and moisture from the foul, broken pavement. There was a pump in Bennett’s-rents, and a channel ran down the centre of the paving, whose broken slabs rose and fell in wet weather to the passing step, spurting out little founts of dirty water, while the channel itself was choked, from being turned into a receptacle for the superfluous odds and ends of the inhabitants—to wit: potato, turnip, and carrot peelings; the shells of whelks, periwinkles, mussels, and crabs; egg-shells were at times seen there, as also the nacreous covering of the oyster, but not as the débris of banquets, since these latter were only brought in by the grotto-building children, and the former thrown out by the jobbing bookbinder’s-finisher when robbed of their albumen for purposes of trade. Heads, tails, and the vertebra of plaice, or the real Yarmouth bloater, were common objects of the shore. Babies had been seen in that channel, which possessed a certain charm from its safety, since the child that rolled in rolled no farther. It was the favourite resort of the small fry of the neighbourhood,—a neighbourhood that rejoiced in small children, and big babies of an elastic nature, which prevented falls and contusions from stopping their growth,—for the refuse in that channel could be raked about and poked at with bits of stick to the formation of dams, where walnut cock-boats could be sailed, or mussel-prows launched; and occasional visitants from as far off as Lower Series-place had been known to perch there and peck, for the channel was famed for its ample supply of impromptu playthings for the little savages of the place. A large lobster-claw found therein had formed the coral of Dredge minor, whose father worked at Covent-garden Market, and never slept at home by night. Little Jenny Perkins wore a necklace composed of periwinkle-shells; while whelk-shells, stuck at the end of thick pieces of firewood, and previously filled with peas, formed rattles that were indestructible.
Like Lower Series-place, Bennett’s-rents was famous for its prolific inhabitants. Long as daylight lasted, there was a dense small population of half-dressed aborigines, hooting, racing about, playing, and quarrelling, aided in their efforts by levies from others of the rags of Lincoln’s-inn. Why called Bennett’s-rents was not obvious, though it might have been from the hideous cracks and seams in the frowzy old houses, whose windows looked as if they had been in a brown-paper-and-rag war, in which glass had suffered a terrible defeat, and submitted now, with an ill grace, to the presence of the new settlers.