Of no account

by Ruth Lamb

Her sister gave a searching, suspicious look at Mrs. Livesey, but learned nothing by it, as Margaret's face was openness itself.

"Do you mean to say then," she asked, "that you went straight down and never stopped to listen? You'll hardly make me believe you didn't want to know what Mr. Collinge came about."

The flush deepened on Margaret's face, and her tone was not only sharp, but scornful, as she answered, "You're measuring my corn in your skep, Ann. Nobody could ever say of me that I was fond of sneaking or listening to what wasn't meant for me to hear. I know what you were when I was only a little thing at home, and you were the oldest. You used to want me to pry and tattle then, but if I didn't learn then, I wasn't likely to learn after I'd lost my teacher. Whether you believe me or no, I did come straight downstairs after I'd shown Mr. Collinge and the young lady into mother's room, and I stood by the house door with baby till I heard them on the steps. Mr. Collinge never mentioned a thing, except that he was sorry mother was so ill, and was sure me coming would comfort her. Then he asked after Adam and the children at home, and went away. Believe me or no, as you like," repeated Margaret, with a look and tone which made her elder sister shrink before her.

Mrs. Bradford did believe her, though she did not say so. She only muttered something about Maggie's flare up, and that she was always so sharp that nobody could ask her a civil question without catching it back again. The fact was that the elder sister's disposition was entirely different from that of Mrs. Livesey. The latter was hasty in temper and frank almost to a fault, often speaking when silence would have been better and more likely to evoke a spirit of peace and good-will.

Ann was close, suspicious, mistrustful, ever imagining that others were planning to promote their own interests at her expense. Her husband's position in life was far above that of Adam Livesey, on whom she looked with almost contempt, and wondered how Margaret could ever marry such a one. This was one bone of contention, for we know that Mrs. Livesey would allow no human being to run her husband down, though she might give him what she called "sharp sauce" now and then.

Again, Mrs. Bradford had only two sons, one out of his time and doing well as a journeyman ironmonger, the other serving his behind a grocer's counter. She was also comparatively well off, and had helped her husband to save money, which they both loved rather too well.

Years before, this couple had induced Mrs. Allison to leave the neighbourhood of the Liveseys, having taken pains to make her believe that if she stayed beside those who were so poor, and with so many wants, she would soon be without a bed to lie on, or a roof over her head.

"Margaret will always be at you," Ann had said. "You will never have enough for her, let alone yourself, and with her tribe of children there will be no peace. They will never be off your doorstep. Now if you come to live beside us, you will be out of their way, and our boys will be no trouble to you, but a help."

We know how Mrs. Allison was over persuaded, and what were her feelings at this present time. But her youngest daughter knew nothing of what the mother's clearer sight had discovered respecting Ann's motives in persuading her to make the change of home.

Before her husband's death, Mrs. Allison had saved a little money, not from his earnings, but her own. An active woman in the prime of life, who had not "an idle bone in her body," and with a thorough knowledge of household work, notably high-class cookery, Mrs. Allison had plenty of employment for these talents, and was well paid for their exercise. All that she could spare from her earnings was placed in the savings bank in her own name, and though her husband spent his own money only too lavishly, he never tried to lay a finger on this little hoard of his wife's. Its existence had been kept a profound secret from his daughters.