“Ah, she ain’t the real old gentry,” said Betty, with a sigh.
Perhaps Mrs. Preston had a weakness for real old gentry too, and she had a dull life, poor woman, and was glad of a little gossip. She had heard the story before, but she asked to hear it again, hoping for a little amusement; for a woman, however bowed down to the level of her fortune, gets tired sometimes, even of such a resource as needlework. She would not sit down, for she felt that might be considered lowering herself to their level. But she stood with her hand upon the back of an old high wooden chair, and asked questions. If they were not the real old gentry, and were such upstarts, why was it that the place was called by their name, and how did they come there?
“Some say as it was a poor old creature in Masterton as give him the money,” said Mrs. Swayne, “away from her own child as was gone off a-soldiering. I wouldn’t say it was money that would thrive. He was called to make the will for her, or something; an old miser, that was what she was; and with that he bought the place. And the folks laughed and said it was Brownlow’s. But he ain’t a man to laugh at, ain’t Mr. Brownlow hisself. A body may have their opinion about the young folks. Young folks ain’t nothing much to build upon, as you was a-saying, Mrs. Preston, at their best; but I wouldn’t be the one as would cross him hisself. He’s terrible deep, and terrible close, like all them lawyers. And he has a way of talking as is dreadful deceiving. Them as tries to fight honest and open with the likes of him hasn’t no chance. He ain’t a hard neighbor, like, nor unkind to poor folk; but I wouldn’t go again’ him, not for all the world, if it was me.”
“That’s all you know, you women,” said Mr. Swayne; “he’s the easiest-minded gentleman going, is Mr. Brownlow. He’s one as pays your little bits o’ bills like a prince, and don’t ask no bothering questions—what’s this for, and what’s that for, and all them niggle-naggles. He’s as free with his money—What are you two women a-shaking of your heads off for, as if I was a-saying what isn’t true?”
“It’s true, and it ain’t true,” said Mrs. Swayne; “and if you ever was any way in trouble along of the young folks, Mrs. Preston, or had him to do with, I give you my warning you’ll have to mind.”
“I shall never have any thing to do with Mr. Brownlow,” said the lodger, with a half-frightened smile. “I’m independent. He can’t have any thing to say to me.”
Mrs. Swayne shook her head, and so did Betty, following her lead. The landlady did not very well know why, and neither did the old woman. It was always a practicable way of holding up the beacon before the eyes of Pamela’s mother. And that poor soul, who was not very courageous, grew frightened, she could not tell why.
“But there was something to-day as made me laugh,” said old Betty—“not as I was in spirits for laughing—what with my back, as was like to split, and my bad knee, and them noises in my ears. But just to see how folks forget! Miss Sara she came in. She was along of your young miss, mum, and a-making a fuss over her; and she says, ‘Betty,’ says she, ‘we ain’t a-going to let you open the gate, and your rheumatics so bad; send for one of them grandchildren o’ yours.’ Atween oursels, I was just a-thinking o’ that; for what’s enough for one is enough for two, and it’s allays a saving for Polly. My Polly has seven on ’em, mum, and hard work a-keeping all straight. So I up and says, ‘A poor man’s childer is his fortin’, Miss,’ says I; ‘they’re all on ’em a-working at summat, and I can’t have ’em without paying.’ And no more I oughtn’t to, serving rich folks. ‘What! not for their grandmother?’ says she. ‘If I had a nice old grandmother like you—’”
“Law!” said Mrs. Swayne, “and her own grandmother living in a poky bit of a place in Masterton, as every body knows—never brought out here for a breath of fresh air, nor none of them going a-nigh of her! To think how little folks is sensible when it’s themselves as is to blame!”
“That’s what it is,” said the triumphant Betty. “When she said that, it was her conscience as spoke. She went as red as red, and stopped there and then. It was along of old Mrs. Fennell, poor old soul! Why ain’t she a-living out here, and her own flesh and blood to make her comfortable? It was on my lips to say, Law! Miss, there’s old Mrs. Fennell is older nor me.”