“They’ll take her from me; they’ll never allow me to keep her. I’m too bad; too well known. They’ll ask the police about me, and take her away to-morrow. And they’re right. I’m not fit to bring her up—not unless I make a change.”
That was the thought which pulled Bet up, and made her pace the streets for hour after hour before returning to her charge. Change!—was it possible for her to change sufficiently to bring up a child to a good and useful life? Bet was afraid that it was not. But then her very boldness and seeming callousness covered a strong will and a passionate nature, which, once roused to love, loved with head-strong impetuosity.
The more imminent the separation from the child seemed, the more Bet longed to keep her, and the result of her long thinking on the plainstones of Glasgow was that she went home to nestle down beside Mary, saying to herself, “I’ll try! I’ll try, for her sake!”
Her case, however, was desperate, so Bet was awake very early in the morning, and had Mary up and dressed and out into the cool morning air before the bells and steam whistles had begun to call the factory folks and ironworkers from their homes. Bet’s intention was to make her way to Edinburgh, but as she was fearful of her destination being suspected, and herself pursued, she took a very different route when leaving the city. She had not a penny in her pocket, and, as a matter of fact, had to beg her way, by a long and circuitous route, to the capital. We were duly informed of her disappearance, and, though there was no special charge against her, we should doubtless very soon have had her in our hands had Bet resumed her own line of business. But this did not happen. Bet, while begging at a farm outside the city, had been told to go and work, and replied that she was willing to do so there and then. This resulted in her being employed on the place for nearly a month. At the end of that time she had a little money to draw, and entered the city to have a struggle for honesty and a new life.
I am afraid that Bet’s resolve would have all gone to the wall through the taint of crime and the power of hunger had she not chanced to meet an old prison companion who had been struggling in the same way for some months. This woman not only gave temporary shelter to the wanderers, but introduced Bet to a lady who, with some of her friends, had formed a kind of private prisoners’ aid society. Mrs Colbrun—as I shall name her, knowing her aversion to publicity—heard Bet’s story, which, probably for the first time in Bet’s life, was a truthful one in every detail, and, with many a warning that the new life would be full of hardship and temptation, agreed to give her a start by recommending her among her friends as help in rough house-work. Thus Bet was secured from absolute want, and, as she was a strong-bodied woman and eager to do her best, it was not long before she had a regular round of houses employing her at stated intervals at washing and cleaning, besides occasional jobs from outsiders. During the first few years of this life Bet had many a hard struggle and sore temptation; but then the innocent prattle and loving caresses of Mary made all smooth and endurable. Bet, I should have observed, was by no means a good-looking woman. She had an evil look which was very much against her in her new line. People often employed her with reluctance on that account, and got rid of her as soon as possible, so with all her willingness she was always very poor. Her life was a lonely one, and I have no doubt she often asked herself with bitterness whether the change from her former reckless course was altogether a good one. As Mary grew in years and cleverness, however, and became more of a companion to her protector, her gentle influence gradually asserted itself, and chased many of these clouds from Bet’s half-savage mind. When she was just twelve Mary insisted upon being taken from school and set to work, and through Mrs Colbrun was apprenticed to dressmaking in a big establishment in Princes Street. Mary did not grow up a great beauty, but she had a quiet, engaging manner, and an artlessness and simplicity which made her a favourite. She remained in that establishment for six or seven years, by the end of which time the relative positions of Bet and her had changed, for Bet’s health had become uncertain, and Mary’s wage formed almost their sole support. Mary had forgotten many of the incidents of her youth, but singularly enough, the scene at the fire was imprinted on her memory as vividly as the day after it had occurred. She often spoke of it, and speculated on how different both their lives might have been but for that great calamity. She never really understood Bet’s shudder at the thought, for Mary did not know that her second mother had been a thief, and saved from a life of crime by her own innocent prattle. We are all children alike in that respect, and never know a tithe of the good we have done.
At this time came the grand turning-point in Mary’s life, for the son of one of the partners of the firm, who acted as cashier, fell in love with the quiet, lady-like Mary Cooper, passing over beauties in dozens to do so, and, after a long course of opposition from his parents, which as usual only strengthened his passion, succeeded in so adjusting matters that Mary consented to become his wife. When the matter was settled Bet looked as if she did not know whether to cry or rejoice, and, I believe, did a little at both.
“How am I ever to fit you to go among such grand folks,” she said in manifest distress.
“You have been fitting me all my life,” said Mary, with a bright look and a soft embrace, which she had generally found effectual in banishing all objections.
“That’s all very well,” answered Bet, only half mollified; “but where is your outfit to come from? You must have dresses, and no end of things. Ten or twenty pounds would not be too much. Only think! if you went among them in your poor rags, wouldn’t they sneer at you all your life after?”
“I don’t know; I never thought of that,” was Mary’s simple rejoinder, “but so long as Herbert does not sneer at me I shall never care for any one else. He will shield me from all trouble.”