Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles Part 55

CHAPTER IX.

AN EXPLOSION FOR MRS. CROSS.

The evil day, hinted at in the last chapter, was not long in coming. It might not have fallen quite so soon but for a misfortune which overtook Jacob Cross. The manufacturer for whom he worked died suddenly, and the business was immediately given up--the made gloves being bought by up a London house, and the stock in trade, leather machines, etc., sold by auction. He had been a first-cla.s.s manufacturer, doing nearly as large a business as Mr. Ashley; and not only Jacob Cross, but many more men in Honey Fair were thrown out of work--one of whom was Andrew Brumm; another, Timothy Carter. This happened only a few months after Mary Ann Cross's marriage.

It struck terror to the heart of Mrs. Cross. Though she had paid some of her debts, she had incurred others: indeed, the very fact of her having to pay had caused her to incur fresh ones. Her position was ominous. She and Amelia had worked for this same manufacturer, now dead, and of course they were at a standstill. Mary Ann Tyrrett had likewise worked for him; but she had left the paternal home; and with her we have nothing just now to do. The position of others was ominous, as well as that of Mrs. Cross. It was the autumn season, and trade was flat. Winter orders had gone in, and there was no necessity to hurry those for the spring; so that the hands thrown out of work, both men and women, stood every chance of remaining out.

A gloom overspread Honey Fair. In many a household the articles least needed went, week after week, to the p.a.w.nbrokers, without being redeemed on the Sat.u.r.day night, as in more prosperous times. Upon the proceeds the families had to exist. It was bad enough for those who were free from debt; but for those already labouring under it--above all, labouring under secret debt--it was something not to be told. Mrs.

Cross had nightmares regularly every night. Visions would come over her now and again of running away, if she had only known where to run to.

The men would stand or sit at their doors all day, with pipes in their mouths: money was sure to be found for tobacco, by hook or by crook.

There they would lounge in gloomy silence, varied by an occasional wordy war with their wives, who wished them anywhere else; or they and their pipes would saunter up and down the road, forming into groups to condole with each other and to abuse the glove trade.

One Monday afternoon there was a small a.s.semblage in the kitchen of Jacob Cross--himself, Andrew Brumm, and Timothy Carter. Brumm and Carter were, in one sense, more fortunate than Cross; inasmuch as that their respective wives worked each for another house, not the one which had closed; therefore they retained their employment. The fact, however, appeared to afford little consolation to the two men, for they were keeping up a chorus of grumbling, when Joe Fisher staggered in--if you have not forgotten him.

Fisher had hitherto managed, to the intense surprise of every one, to keep out of the workhouse. He would be taken on for a job of work now and then; but manufacturers were chary of employing Joe Fisher. For one thing, he gave way to drink. A disreputable-looking object had he become: a tattered coat and waistcoat, pantaloons in rags, and not the ghost of a shirt. People wondered how he found money for drink.

"Who'll give us house-room?" was his salutation, as he pushed himself in, his eyes haggard, his legs unsteady, his face thin from incipient famine. "Will n.o.body give us a corner to lie in?"

The men took their pipes from their mouths. "Turned out at last, Joe?"

"Turned out," replied Joe. "And my missis close upon her down-lying."

Mrs. Cross, who was at the back of the kitchen, washing out her potato saucepan, of which frugal edible, seasoned with salt, the family dinner had consisted, put in her word.

"You couldn't expect nothing else, Joe Fisher. There you have been, in them folks' furnished room, paying nothing, and paying nothing, and you drinking everlasting. They have threatened you long enough. Last week, you know, they took a vow you should go this."

"Where's the wife and little 'uns?" asked meek Timothy Carter.

"You can look at 'em," responded Fisher. "They're not a hundred miles off. They bain't out of view."

He gave a flourish of his hand towards the road, and the men and Mrs.

Cross crowded to the door to reconnoitre. In the middle of the lane, crouched down in its mud, for the weather had been bad, and it was very wet under foot, was untidy Sukey Fisher--a woman all skin and bone now, her face hopeless and desperate. She wore no cap, and her matted hair fell on to her gown--such a gown! all tatters and dirt. Several young children huddled around her.

"Untidy creature!" muttered Mrs. Cross to herself. "She is as fond of a drop as her lazy, quarrelsome husband; and this is what they have brought it to between 'em! Them poor little objects of young 'uns 'ud be as well dead as alive."

"Look at 'em!" began Fisher. "And they call this a free country! They call it a country as is a pattern to others and a refuge for the needy.

Why don't Government, that opened our ports to them foreign French and keeps 'em open, come down and take a look at my wife squatting there?--turned out of our room without a place to put our heads into!"

"If you hadn't put quite as much inside your head, Joe Fisher, and been doing of it for years, you might have had more for the outside on't now," again spoke Mrs. Cross in her sharp tones. The woman was not naturally sharp, as were some in Honey Fair; but the miserable fear she lived in, added to their present privations, told upon her temper.

"Hold your magging," said Joe Fisher. "I never like to quarrel with petticuts, one's own belongings excepted. All as I say, Mother Cross, is, don't _you_ mag."

Mrs. Cross made no reply to this, and Fisher resumed.

"This comes of letting the Government and the masters have their own way! If we had that there strike among us, that I've so often told ye on, things would be different. Let a man sit down a minute, Cross."

Cross civilly pushed a chair towards him, concentrating his attention afterwards upon Mrs. Fisher. A crowd had collected round her; and Mrs.

Buffle, with a feeling of humanity that few had given that lady credit for possessing, sent out an old woollen shawl to the shivering woman, and a basin of hasty pudding. The mother could not feed the whining children fast enough with the one iron spoon.

A young man ran up to Cross's door. It was Adam Thorneycroft. He did not live in Honey Fair, but often found his way to it, although Charlotte had rejected him. "Is Joe Fisher here?" asked he. "Fisher, why don't you go to the workhouse and tell them the state your wife is in? She can't stop there."

"Her state is no concern of your'n, Master Thorneycroft," was the sullen answer.

Thorneycroft turned on his heel, a scornful gesture escaping him at Fisher's half-stupid condition. "I must be off to my work," he observed; "but can't one of you, who are gentlemen at large, just go to the workhouse and acquaint them with the woman's helplessness, and that of her children around her?"

Timothy Carter responded to it. "I'll go," said he; "I haven't nothing to do with myself this afternoon."

Timothy and Adam walked away together, Tim treading with gingerly feet past his own door, lest his wife should recognise his step, bolt out, and stop him. Charlotte East was standing at her door, and Adam halted.

Timothy walked on: he did not feel himself perfectly safe yet.

"What a life that poor woman's is!" exclaimed Charlotte.

"Ay," a.s.sented Adam; "and all through Fisher's not sticking to his work."

Charlotte moved her face gravely towards him. "Say through his drinking, Adam."

"Do you speak that as a warning, Charlotte?" he continued. "I think you mean well by me, but you go just the wrong way to show it. If you wanted me to keep steady, you should have come and helped me in it. Good-bye. I am late."

"Gentlemen at large, young Thorney called us!" cried Jacob Cross to his friend Brumm, as Fisher went off and they sat down again. "He's not far out. What's to be the end on't?"

"Why, the work'us," responded Mrs. Cross, who rarely let an opportunity slip of putting in her own opinion. "The work'us for us as well as for the Fishers, unless things take a turn. When great, big, able-bodied men is throwed out o' work, and yet has to eat and drink, and other folks at home has to eat and drink, and nothing to stay their stomachs upon, the work'us can't be far off."

"Never for me!" said Andrew Brumm. "I'll work to keep me and mine out on it, if it is at breaking stones upon the road. I know one thing--if ever I do get into certain work again, I'll make my missis be a bit providenter than she was before."

"Bell Brumm ain't one of the provident sort," dissented Mrs. Cross. "How do you manage to get along at all, Drew, these bad times? You don't seem to get into trouble."

"Well, we manage somehow," replied Andrew. "But we have to pinch. My missis sticks at her work, now I be out on't. She hardly looks off it; and I does the house, and sees to the children. Nine shilling, all but her silk, she earned last week. And finding that we _can_ exist on that after a fashion, has set me thinking that when my good wages was added to it we ought to have put by for a rainy day," he continued, after a pause. "Just let me get the chance again!"

"It's surprising the miracles wages works when folks ain't earning none!" put in Mrs. Cross in a tone of irony, who did not altogether like the turn the conversation was taking. "When you get into work again, Drew Brumm, your wife won't be more able to save than the rest of us."

"But she shall," returned Andrew. "And she sees for herself now that it might be done."

"I was a-making a calkelation yesterday how long we might hold out on our household things," observed Jacob Cross--a silent man, in general.

"If none of us can get work, they'll have to go, piecemeal. One can't clam; one must live upon something."

"I'm resolved upon one point--that I won't have no underhand debt again," resumed Brumm. "Last spring I found out the flaring trade my missis was carrying on with them Bankes's--and the way I come to know of it was funny: but never mind that. 'Bell,' says I to her, 'I'd rather sell off all I've got and go tramping the country, than I'd live with a sword over my head'--which debt is. And I went down to Bankes's and said to 'em, 'If you let my wife get into debt again, I won't pay it, as I now give you notice, and I'll have you up before the justices for a pest.' I thought I'd make it strong, you see, Cross. And I paid off their bill, so much a week, and got shut of 'em. Them Bankes's does more mischief in Honey Fair than everything else put together."

"Why, what do Bankes's do?" asked Jacob, in happy ignorance.

"Do!" returned Brumm. "Don't you know----"

But at that critical moment, Mrs. Cross, in bustling behind Andrew Brumm's chair, which was on the tilt, contrived to get her foot entangled in it. Brumm, his chair, and his pipe, all came down together.

"Mercy on us!" uttered Jacob Cross, coming to the rescue. "How did you manage that, Brumm?"