CHAPTER TWO.
CHRISTABEL.
Alice Benden had reached Cranbrook, and was busied with her variouserrands. Her position was slightly superior to that of Emmet andCollet, for she was the wife of a man who "lived upright," whichenigmatical expression signified that he had not to work for his living.Edward Benden's father had made a little money, and his son, who had nochildren to whom to leave his property, chose to spend it rather thanbequeath it to distant relatives who were strangers to him. He ownedsome half-dozen houses at Staplehurst, one of which was occupied by thePardues, and he lived on the rents of these, and the money saved by histhrifty father. The rents he asked were not unreasonable, but if atenant failed to pay, out he must go. He might as well appeal to thedoor-posts as to Edward Benden.
This agreeable gentleman treated his wife much as he did his tenants.He gave a sum of money into her hands for certain purchases, and withthat sum those purchases must be made. It was not of the least use toexplain failure by an unexpected rise in prices, or the fact that thearticle required could not be had at a given time. Mr Benden expectedperfection--in every one but himself. Excuses, many and often verypoor, were admitted for that favoured individual, but no other had achance to offer any.
On the present occasion, Alice had ten shillings for her marketing, withwhich she was expected to provide six rabbits, a dozen pigeons,twenty-four eggs, five yards of buckram, a black satin cap and a brownsilk doublet for her husband, a pair of shoes for herself, and sundrythings at the spicer's. The grocer, or grosser, as the word wasoriginally spelt, only sold wholesale, and his stock as we have it wasdivided among the spicer, pepperer, and treacle-monger. That her moneywould not stretch thus far Alice well knew, and she knew also that ifshe were to avoid a scolding, Mr Benden's personal wants must besupplied, whatever became of her own. Her first call, therefore, was atthe capper's for the satin cap, which cost one shilling and eightpence;then at the tailor's for the doublet, which took four and sixpence; thenshe paid ninepence for the pigeons, which were for Mr Benden's personaleating; and next she went to the spicer's. A sugarloaf she must have,expensive as it was, for her tyrant required his dishes sweet, anddemanded that the result should be effected by dainty sugar, not likecommon people by honey or treacle: nor did she dare to omit thecurrants, since he liked currant cake with his cheese and ale. Twopounds of prunes, and four of rice, she meant to add; but those were notespecially for him, and must be left out if needful. When she hadreached this point, Alice paused, and counted up what money she hadleft.
"Doublet, 4 shillings 6 pence; cap, 1 shilling 8 pence; pigeons, 9pence; sugarloaf, 7 pence; currants, 1 shilling: total, 8 shillings 6pence." Thus ran Alice's calculations. "Only eighteenpence left. Theother things I wanted will come to 6 shillings 9 pence. What can I dowithout?"
The buckram must go: that was the heaviest article in the list, fiveyards at ninepence a yard. Alice's Sunday gown must be worn without anew lining for a while longer. Two rabbits instead of six, at twopencea piece; three pennyworth of eggs at eight a penny: these she couldscarcely do without. The shoes, too, were badly wanted. Rice andprunes could not be had to-day. Alice bought a pair of cheaper shoesthan she intended, paying tenpence instead of a shilling; purchased thetwo rabbits and the eggs; and found that she had one penny left. Shedecided that this would answer her purpose--nay, it must do so. MrBenden was not likely to ask if she had all she needed, so long as shedid not fail to supply his own requirements. She arranged with thepoulterer to put by the rabbits, pigeons, and eggs, for which she wouldsend a boy in the afternoon; and carrying the rest of her parcels, withwhich she was well laden, she took the road to Staplehurst.
As she turned the corner of the last house in Cranbrook, she was broughtto a stand-still by a voice behind her.
"Alice!"
A light sprang to Alice's eyes as she turned quickly round to greet aman a few years older than herself--a man with grave dark eyes and abrown beard. Passing all her parcels into the left hand, she gave himthe right--an action which at that time was an indication of intimatefriendship. The kiss and the hand-clasp have changed places since then.
"Why, Roger! I look not to see thee now. How goes it this morrow withChristie?"
"As the Lord will, good sister."
"And that, mefeareth, is but evil?"
"Nay, I will not lay that name on aught the Lord doth. But she sufferssorely, poor darling! Wilt come round our way and look in on her,Alice?"
"I would I might, Roger!" said Alice, with a rather distressed look."But this morrow--"
"Thou hast not good conveniency thereto." Roger finished the sentencefor her. "Then let be till thine occasion serveth. Only, when it sodoth, bethink thee that a look on Aunt Alice is a rare comfort to thelittle maid."
"Be thou sure I shall not forget it. Tom came in last night, Roger. Heand Tabitha and the childre, said he, fare well."
"That's a good hearing. And Edward hath his health?"
"Oh ay, Edward doth rarely well."
Mr Benden was not apt to lose his health, which partly accounted forthe very slight sympathy he was wont to show with those who were. Itwas noticeable that while other people were spoken of by affectionatediminutives both from Alice and her brother, Edward and Tabitha receivedtheir names in full.
"Well, then, Alice, I shall look for thee--when thou shalt be able tocome. The Lord have thee in His keeping!"
"The Lord be with thee, dear Roger!"
And Roger Hall turned down a side street, while Alice went on towardStaplehurst. They were deeply attached to each other, this brother andsister, and all the more as they found little sympathy outside theirmutual affection. Roger was quite aware of Alice's home troubles, andshe of his. They could see but little of each other, for while MrBenden had not absolutely forbidden his brother-in-law to enter hishouse, it was a familiar fact to all parties that his sufficiently sharptemper was not softened by a visit from Roger Hall, and Alice'ssufferings from the temper in question were generally enough to preventher from trying it further. It was not only sharp, but also uncertain.What pleased him to-day--and few things did please him--was by no meanssure to please him to-morrow. Alice trod on a perpetual volcano, whichwas given to opening and engulfing her just at the moment when she leastexpected it.
Roger's home troubles were of another sort. His wife was dead, and hisone darling was his little Christabel, whose few years had hitherto beenpassed in pain and suffering. The apothecary was not able to find outwhat hidden disorder sapped the spring of little Christie's health, andmade her from her very babyhood a frail, weak, pallid invalid, scarcelyfit to do anything except lie on a sofa, learn a few little lessons fromher father, and amuse herself with fancy work. A playfellow she couldseldom bear. Her cousins, the three daughters of her Uncle Thomas, wholived about a mile away, were too rough and noisy for the frail child,with one exception--Justine, who was lame, and could not keep up withthe rest. But Justine was not a comfortable companion, for shepossessed a grumbling temper, or it would perhaps be more correct to sayshe was possessed by it. She suffered far less than Christie, yetChristie was always bright and sunny, while Justine was dark and cloudy.Yet not even Justine tried Christie as did her Aunt Tabitha.
Aunt Tabitha was one of those women who wish and mean to do a great dealof good, and cannot tell how to do it. Not that she realised thatinability by any means. She was absolutely convinced that nearly allthe good done in the Weald of Kent was done by Tabitha Hall, while thereal truth was that if Tabitha Hall had been suddenly transported toBotany Bay, or any other distant region, the Weald of Kent would havegot along quite as well without her. According to Aunt Tabitha, the onegrand duty of every human creature was to rouse himself and otherpeople: and, measured by this rule, Aunt Tabitha certainly did her duty.She earnestly impressed on Alice that Mr Benden would develop into aperfect angel if only she stood up to him; and she was never tired ofassuring Christie that her weakness and suffering were entirely theresult
of her own idle disinclination to rouse herself. Thus urged,Christie did sometimes try to rouse herself, the result being that whendeprived of the stimulating presence of Aunt Tabitha, she was fit fornothing but bed for some time afterwards. It was a good thing for herthat Aunt Tabitha's family kept her busy at home for the most part, sothat her persecutions of poor Christie were less frequent than theywould otherwise have been.
Mr Thomas Hall, the younger brother of Roger and Alice, had the air ofa man who had been stood up to, until he had lost all power or desire ofstanding up for himself. He remarked that it was a fine morning with anaspect of deprecation that would have made it seem quite cruel todisagree with him, even if it were raining hard. He never contradictedhis Tabitha: poor man, he knew too well what would come of it! It wouldhave been as easy for him to walk up to the mouth of a loaded cannonwhen the gunner was applying the match, as to remark to her, in howevermild a tone, that he preferred his mutton boiled when he knew she likedit roasted. Yet he was a good man, in his meek unobtrusive way, andChristie liked her Uncle Thomas next best to her father and Aunt Alice.
"Christie, I marvel you are not weary!" said her lively, robust cousinFriswith [a corruption of Frideawide], one day.
Not weary! Ah, how little Friswith knew about it!
"I am by times, Friswith," said Christie meekly.
"Mother saith she is assured you might have better health an' you would.You lie and lie there like a log of wood. Why get you not up and goabout like other folks?"
"I can't, cousin; it hurts me."
"Hurts you, marry! I wouldn't give in to a bit of a hurt like that! Inever mind being hurt."
Christie silently doubted that last statement.
"Hear you, Christie?"
"Yes, Friswith, I hear."
"Then why rouse you not up, as Mother saith?"
"I can't, Friswith; my head pains me this morrow."
"Lack-a-daisy, what a fuss you make o'er a bit of pain! Well, I must beaway--I've to go to Cranbrook of an errand for Mother; she lacks asarcenet coif. If I can scrimp enough money out of this, I'll have somecarnation ribbon to guard my hat--see if I don't!"
"Oh, Friswith! It isn't your money, 'tis Aunt Tabitha's."
"I'll have it, though; I hate to go shabby. And I can tell you, I metBeatrice Pardue last night, with a fresh ribbon on hers. I'll not haveher finer than me. She's stuck-up enough without it. You look out onSunday as I go by the window, and see if my hat isn't new guarded withcarnation. I'll get round Mother somehow; and if she do give me awhipping, I'm not so soft as you. Good-morrow!"
"Friswith, don't!"
Friswith only laughed as she closed the door on Christabel, and ran offlightly down the Cranbrook road.