“He shall never do so again, my dear,” Arabella said, turning aside to pull open a drawer in one of the chests. She dragged out the soft shawl which had not so long since been swathed round the head of the sufferer from toothache, and put it round the boy, saying coaxingly: “There, let me wrap you up till we have had a fire lit! Is that more comfortable, my little man? Now sit down in this chair, and you shall have something to eat directly!”
He allowed himself to be lifted into the armchair, but his expression was so eloquent of suspicion and terror that it wrung Arabella’s tender heart She smoothed his cropped, sandy hair with one gentle hand, and said soothingly: “You must not be afraid of me: I promise you I will not hurt you, nor let your master either. What is your name, my dear?”
“Jemmy,” he replied, clutching the shawl about him, and fixing her with a frightened stare.
“And how old are you?”
This he was unable to answer, being uninstructed in the matter. She judged him to be perhaps seven or eight years old, but he was so undernourished that he might have been older. While she waited for the summons of the bell to bring her maid to the room, she put more questions to the child. He seemed to have no knowledge of the existence of any parents, volunteering that he was an orphing, on the Parish. When he saw that this seemed to distress her, he tried to comfort her by stating that one Mrs. Balham said he was love-begotten. It appeared that this lady had brought him up until the moment when he had passed into the hands of his present owner. An enquiry into Mrs. Balham’s disposition elicited the information that she was a rare one for jackey, and could half-murder anyone when under the influence of the stimulant. Arabella had no idea what jackey might be, but she gathered that Jemmy’s foster-mother was much addicted to strong drink. She questioned Jemmy more closely, and he, gaining confidence, imparted to her, in the most matter-of-fact way, some details of a climbing-boy’s life which drove the blood from her cheeks. He told her, with a certain distorted pride, of the violence of one of ole Grimsby’s associates, Mr. Molys, a master-sweep, who, only a year before, had been sentenced to two years imprisonment for causing the death of his six-year old slave.
“Two years!” cried Arabella, sickened by the tale of cruelty so casually unfolded. “If he had stolen a yard of silk from a mercer’s factory they would have deported him!”
Jemmy was not in a position to deny or to corroborate this statement, and preserved a wary silence. He saw that the young lady was very angry, and although her wrath did not seem to be directed against himself his experience had taught him to run no unnecessary risks of being suddenly knocked flying against the wall. He shrank into the corner of the chair therefore, and clutched the shawl more tightly round his person.
A discreet knock fell on the door, and a slightly flustered and considerably startled housemaid entered the room. “Was it you rang, miss?” she asked, in astonished accents. Then her eye alighted on Arabella’s visitor, and she uttered a genteel shriek. “Oh, miss! What a turn it gave me! The young varmint to give you such a fright! It’s the chimney-sweep’s boy, miss, and him looking for him all over! You come with me this instant, you wicked boy, you!”
Jemmy, recognizing a language he understood, whined that he had not meant to do it.
“Hush!” Arabella said, dropping her hand on one bony little shoulder. “I know very well it is the sweep’s boy, Maria, and if you look at him you will see how he has been used! Go downstairs, if you please, and fetch me some food for him directly—and send someone up to kindle the fire here!”