If I can brook his chosen woman!
Anna Wickham.
"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" wailed the old lady, burying her face in her pocket-handkerchief; "to think as I've lived to see the day! I've always lived with 'Orace, and I've always prayed that the Lord would take me unto Himself before I was left alone with my grey hairs. A poor, pretty thing she is, too, with a pair of blue eyes and frizzled yellow curls, dressed out beyond her station in cheap indecencies of lace showing her neck and arms, as no proper-minded girl should. And she won't have me to live with them—I who have never been parted from 'Orace not one day since he was born thirty year ago come Sunday. Yes, I've got Esther; she's away in service: she's Johnson's child; I've buried two husbands, both of them railway men and both of them dying violent deaths. Johnson was an engine-driver on the Great Northern, and he smashed 'isself to a jelly in that accident near York nigh on forty year ago now. I said I'd never marry on the line again, hating accidents and blood about the place; however, it's a bit lonesome being a widow when you're young, and Thompson courted me so faithful at last I gave in. He was 'Orace's father, a guard on the Midland, and he went to step on his van after the train was off, as is the habit of guards—none of them ever getting killed as I ever heard of except Thompson, who must needs miss his footing and fall on the line, a-smashing of his skull fearful. Yes; I drew two prizes in the matrimonial market—good, steady men, as always came 'ome punctual and looked after the jennies in the window-boxes, and played with the children; but, as Mrs. Wells says, them is the sort as gets killed. If a woman gets 'old on a brute she may be quite sure he'll come safe through all perils both on land and water, and live to torture several unfortunate women into their graves. 'Orace was a toddling babe then, and Esther just ten years older. Fortunately, I was a good hand at the waistcoat-making, and so I managed to keep the 'ome going; 'Orace was always very clever, and he got a scholarship and worked 'isself up as an electrical engineer. One of the ladies got Esther a place at Copt Hall, Northamptonshire, when she was only thirteen, and she's done well ever since, being cook now to Lady Mannering at thirty-six pounds a year. No, she's never got married, Esther—a chap she walked out with wasn't as faithful as he should have been, a-carrying on with another at the same time; and Esther took on awful, I believe, though she's one as holds her tongue, is Esther—at all events, she's never had naught to do with chaps since. She's a good girl, is Esther; but 'Orace and me were always together, and he always was such a one to sit at home with me working at his wires and currents and a-taking me to see all the exhibitions, and explaining to me about the positives and negatives and the volts and ampts; he never went after girls, and I always hoped as he would never fall in love with mortal woman, only with a current; so it knocked all the heart out of me when he took to staying out in the evenings, and then brought the girl in one night as his future wife. 'Orace was the prettiest baby you ever see'd, and when he used to sit on my knee, with his head all over golden curls, like a picture-book, I used to hate to think that somewhere a girl-child was growing up to take him from me—and to think it's come now, just when I thought I was safe and he no more likely to marry than the Pope of Rome, being close on thirty, and falling in love for the first time! And she won't have me to live with them!
"Mrs. Wells has been telling me I mustn't stand in the young people's way. Of course I don't want to stand in their way; but I'm wondering how I'll shift without 'Orace; he always made the fire and brought me a cup of tea before he went to his work; and when the rheumatics took me bad he'd help me dress and be as handy as a woman. I can't get the work I used to; my eyesight isn't what it was, and my fingers are stiff. No, I ain't what I was, and I suppose I mustn't expect it, being turned sixty-seven, and I ain't old enough either for them pensions.
"Well, if it ain't Esther. You're early, lass; and it's not your evening out, neither. I've just been telling this lady how Ruby won't have me to live with them; it's upset me shocking the thought of leaving 'Orace after all these years. I'm trying not to complain, and I know 'Orace has been a son in ten thousand; but I'm afeard of the lonesomeness, and I don't know how I'll live. Mrs. Wells says if the Guardians see my hands they won't give me no outdoor relief, but they'll force me into the House, and I'd sooner be in my bury-hole." And again the poor old lady sobbed into her pocket-handkerchief.
"Don't cry, mother; it's all right; you shan't go on the parish, never fear, neither for outdoor relief nor indoor relief. I've left my place, and I'm coming to live with you and take care of you to the end of your days. I'm not 'Orace, I know, but I'm your daughter, and after the courting's over 'Orace will be your son again."
"Left your place, Esther! What do you mean, lass?"
"What I say, mother. 'Orace wrote and told me what Ruby said, and I was that sorry I went and gave notice. 'Orace is awful upset, too, but there, it is no good talking to a man in love, and perhaps Ruby will get nicer; she's a young thing yet. So when I told my lady all about it she let me come away at once. The family is going to the Riviera next week, and the housekeeper can manage quite well."
"You've left your good place, Esther, all for me?"
"Yes; all right, old dear. I've got a fourteen-year character from my lady, and I'll soon find something to do; I'm not the sort as starves." And Esther rolled up her sleeves, made up the fire, and poured the contents of the indignant kettle into the little black teapot.