Mrs. Ormson and the Marsdens, of course, ignored the very existence of such people as the Dudleys; and, when they were unhappily mentioned, laid the blame of all Arthur’s misfortunes at the door of the “woman he married.” As for Miss Hope, from foreign parts, she was sympathetic, but necessarily vague. She did not know in the least how low her nephew had fallen, but hoped, she said, on her return to England, to visit them in their little house, which, spite of all Heather told her concerning its limited accommodation, she had no doubt would be charming, “dear Heather having such a taste in arrangement.”
In brief, from all their old haunts, from all their old acquaintances, from all their pursuits, and thoughts, and ideas, the Dudleys had vanished away.
From the former life they had fallen. As a stone drops into the river’s depths, so they had sunk to that wretched east-end street, and in the circles in which they once mixed, they were forgotten as a dead man out of mind.
The old servants, too, were gone; they were unable to afford to keep any save Priscilla, and she after a long illness had come back almost from death to serve her former mistress—never to leave her, she declared to Bessie, who went to see her in the hospital—never to leave her more.
“I always said to Mrs. Piggott, Miss Bessie, I hoped I should die before crinoline went out of fashion, and when there was a talk of them going to be left off, I fell sick; but now I hear it was all nonsense, so I mean to get better, if it was only for the sake of Mrs. Dudley, who says she misses me, Miss Bessie—misses me!”
As for Bessie, she too, unable to remain away from her old friend, had returned from the country farmhouse, and taken up her abode in a street not very far away from that where Heather lived. She was a good and tasteful needlewoman, and earned a tolerable livelihood with her white, pretty fingers.
Many an hour she and Heather spent together while Arthur was busy; but Arthur was not taken into the secret. Even Heather doubted his discretion in the matter, and there were ample reasons why the girl’s whereabouts should be known to as few persons as possible.
Ned and Mrs. Piggott were married and settled in a public-house on the road to South Kemms, where, Alick informed Heather, they did a capital business, and kept a most regular and respectable tavern. “It is quite a little hotel, mother,” said the young man, adding, “When shall I be able to persuade you to come down to the Hollow and see how lovely the place looks?” but, in reply, Heather shook her head.
“Naturally, the very name of Berrie Down is painful to Arthur,” she answered. “I should like to please you, Alick, but I cannot bear to vex him. His life has been a very hard one, and I ought not to make it any harder.”
Then Alick had another project; he would take a house at the sea-side for a month, and Heather, and the girls, and Leonard should all go down and stay there, and he, and Arthur, and Cuthbert would spend their Sundays with them. “It will be like the old times, for us all to be together again,” finished the youth; “and, dear Heather, I do want to see you looking a little better;” whereupon she called him a foolish boy, and, drawing his face down to hers, kissed it, saying, “people could be well and happy anywhere, in London as in the country, if they would only try to be thankful and contented.”