Workhouse Characters Part 8

Tears rose in the daughter's eyes; she seemed to remember with a sense of loss that her mother had never kissed her like that since she was a little child, before Horace was born.

"TOO OLD AT FORTY"

I had no place to flee unto; and no man careth for my soul.

Miss Allison sat at her desk in the cla.s.s-room, where she had sat for over twenty years, and gazed dreamily out of the window into the courtyard below, where the girls of the ---- High School were at play.

In her hand she held a letter, which had brought the white, rigid look to her face, like that of a soldier who has received his death-wound.

Perhaps she ought to have been prepared for the shock; the system of "too old at forty" has long been in working order in girls' schools, possibilities had been freely discussed in the mistresses' room; but, nevertheless, the blow had struck her dumb and senseless. The note was very polite--"owing to changes on the staff her valuable services would be no longer required after the summer vacation"--but Miss Allison had seen enough of the inner workings of High Schools to know that changes on the staff meant that the old and incompetent were to be crushed out to make room for the young and fresh. Miss Allison was not incompetent--her worst enemy could not accuse her of that--but she was getting just a little tired, just a little irritable; above all, her forty-second birthday had come and gone. Teaching is well known to affect the nerves, and in Miss Allison's case nervous exhaustion caused her tongue to run away with her; her sharp speeches to the idlers of her form were reported at home--losing nothing in the telling--and duly retailed by captious parents to the head mistress; the constant complaints were becoming a nuisance. Moreover, a young mistress, who would take interest in the sports and could bowl round-arm, was badly wanted on the staff. Miss Allison belonged to an older generation, when athletics were not a _sine qua non_; she had never been a cricketer, at hockey her pupils easily outran her, and she had lost her nerve for high-diving--altogether, she had lived past her age. The queer part was, it had all taken such a little time; it seemed only yesterday that she had come to the school, the youngest on the staff, and now she was the oldest there, far older than the young girl from Girton who reigned as head. And yet life was not nearly over yet; Miss Allison remembered with dismay that women went on living for fifty, sixty, seventy, and even eighty and ninety years--it might be that half the journey still lay before her.

She made a rapid calculation in her brain of her little capital in the savings-bank, which yielded her (after the income-tax had been recovered) an annual sum of 10 13s. 9d. Though too old to teach, she was too young to buy much of an annuity with the capital, and she knew the state of the labour market too well to cherish any illusions as to the possibility of obtaining work. Perhaps she ought to have saved more, but for some years she had her invalid mother mainly dependent upon her, and illness runs away with money; she grudged nothing to the dead, but she remembered almost with shame the amount she had spent in holiday tours.

Her eyes rested with a sense of coming loss on the crowd in the playground, a kaleidoscopic scene of flying legs and whirling draperies, the sun shining on bright frocks and on the loose locks of gold and auburn till the dreary courtyard seemed to blossom like a flower-garden.

How she had loved all these girls, toiled and slaved for them, rejoiced in their success and mourned for their disappointments; but the children of the Higher Education, unlike Saturn, devour the mothers of the movement, and suddenly these fair young girls had turned into rivals and enemies, beating her down in the dust with cricket bats and hockey sticks. An hour of bitter atheism fell upon Miss Allison; all her life had been spent in serving "the cause," the Higher Education of Women had been her creed, but now in middle life it had failed and she was left helpless and superfluous as the poor women of an earlier generation, who hung so forlornly round the neck of their nearest male relation.

A dry sob half choked her, as she rose mechanically in obedience to the bell to take her cla.s.s in geometry.

IN THE LUNATIC ASYLUM

O Father, we beseech Thee, sustain and comfort Thy servants who have lost the powers of reason and self-control, suffer not the Evil One to vex them, and in Thy mercy deliver them from the darkness of this world....--_Prayer for Lunatics._

I pa.s.sed through the s.p.a.cious grounds of A---- Asylum on my way to visit the patients chargeable to our parish. A group of men were playing Rugby football, but even to the eye of the tyro there was something wrong with the game--there was no unity, no enthusiasm; some lurking sinister presence--grotesque, hideous, that made one shudder--worse than strait-waistcoat and padded-room. In conversation the lunatics struck me as no worse mentally than the rest of us outside. Most of them complained of unlawful detention, and begged pathetically for freedom.

"It is a dreadful place; why should I be kept here? We have just had a harvest festival, but I'm not thankful. What have we to do with harvest festivals?"

"I am quite well," said a tall, powerful-looking man; "I a.s.sure you there is nothing the matter with me," and as I was chronicling the fact in my notebook a fiendish light blazed in his eyes--the hate of hates, red-gleaming with fury and malice, as if all the devils in h.e.l.l were mocking behind his eyes. For a moment that seemed an eternity I watched, paralysed, and then two stout warders pinioned him from behind and led him away, swearing. "Homicidal mania," said the doctor shortly; "we have to be always on the watch."

I interviewed the man who would be King, and heard his theory as to the illegal usurpation of the Throne by the Guelph family. I saw a new Redeemer of the world, and the woman who had conducted one of the great lawsuits of last century.

The women were more talkative, and complained volubly of captivity. A few were sullen and suspicious, and would not come to the roll-call and I visited them on the stairs and corridors, or wherever they threw themselves down.

The doctor saw to it that my inspection was thorough. I was conducted to the padded-rooms, where maniacs laughed and shouted and sang and blasphemed, some of them throwing themselves frantically against the cushioned walls, others lying silently on the floor, plucking futilely at their sacking clothing. One poor woman lay in bed wasted to a shadow, her bones nearly sticking through her skin. "Pray for him," she cried; "oh, pray for him! His soul is burning in h.e.l.l; night and day he cries to me for a drop of cold water, but I may not take it to him. Look at his poor throat where the rope cut; look at his poor starting eyes. Is there no mercy in heaven?"

"Poor woman!" said the doctor. "Her only son was hanged, and it has turned her brain. She is sinking fast. I don't think she can live the day out, and we shall all say 'Thank G.o.d!' It is a most pitiful case."

In the general ward I saw a magnificent growth of golden hair plaited round and round the head of a young girl who sat in a corner, her face buried in her hands. Beside her sat a visitor, pressing some hot-house grapes upon her. "Just try one, Mabel darling; don't you know me, dear?"

The hands were not withdrawn, but as I pa.s.sed with the doctor she suddenly sprang to her feet. "Has he come?" The doctor paused, and nodded cheerfully at the visitor. "Very good sign, Mrs. Foster; I will see you later about your daughter." At last it was over; my report-sheet was filled, and with great thankfulness I pa.s.sed into the outer air. I gazed at the men and women outside with a sense of comradeship and security; whatever their private troubles, at least they were "uncertified," free men, not possessed of devils, grievously tormented.

One gets used to everything; but that first visit to A---- Asylum stands out in letters of flame in my memory, and as I waited on the platform for my train, I shivered as if with ague and a sense of deadly nausea overpowered me.

I entered an empty compartment, but just as the train was starting the woman whom I had seen visiting at the asylum got in after me, and we were alone together. She glanced at me shyly several times, as if she wished to say something; and then, suddenly clutching my hand, she burst into tears: "Oh! I am so thankful--so thankful! Did you see my poor girl to-day? Yes, I know you did, for I saw you look at her beautiful golden hair--whenever I see the sun shining on cornfields I think of my Mabel's hair. Well, for nigh three years Mabel has sat in that awful place; she has never taken her hands away from her face, nor looked up, nor spoken a word, till this afternoon; and then, whether it was the doctor, or your blue cloak--but, as you saw, she stood up and spoke, and after that she ate some grapes, and knew me again, and grumbled at the way they had done her hair--the nurse says that is the best sign of all, and so does the doctor. Oh! thank G.o.d! thank G.o.d!" and the poor woman sobbed in choking spasms of joy.

I felt that I and my blue cloak were such unconscious agents in the restoration of reason that her grat.i.tude was quite embarra.s.sing.

"Yes, she has been in there just on three years; acute melancholia, they call it, brought on by nervous shock. Our doctor at home always gave me some hope, but not the people in there. I suppose they see such a lot of misery, they get into the habit of despair. Mabel is my only child; my husband died just after she was born, so you can guess what she has been to me. Fortunately, I understood the greengrocery business; so when I lost my husband I went on with the shop just the same, and was able to give her a good education. She took to her books wonderful, and got a scholarship on to the High School; she learnt French and German, and went on to Pitman's College for shorthand and typewriting; and at eighteen she got an engagement as typist and secretary to a City firm.

She was a wonderful pretty girl, my Mabel; just like a lily, with her slight figure and golden head; and the men came about her like flies; but she would never go with any of them; she was such a one to come home and spend her evenings quietly with me, reading or sewing. Then suddenly I saw a change had come over my girl; one of the gentlemen in the office had been after her, and she had fallen in love with him, head over heels, as girls will. I wasn't glad; perhaps it was a mother's jealousy, perhaps it was second-sight a-warning of me; but I couldn't be pleased nohow. He came up to tea on Sunday afternoon, and I hated him at once; if ever liar and scoundrel was written on a man's face, it was there plain for all to read, except my poor child, and she was blind as folks in love always are. Then, though he wasn't a gentleman as I count gentlemen, he was above her in station, and I could see as he looked down on me and the shop; and, as I told my poor girl, them unequal marriages don't lead to no good. But there, I saw it was no use a-talking; we only fell out over the wretch--the only time she ever spoke nasty to me was over him--I saw she would only marry him on the sly if I said 'No'--we must let our children go to their doom when they are in love--and so I took my savings out of the bank and gave her a trousseau of the best; and all the time my heart was heavy as lead.

Folks used to laugh at me and tell me I looked as if I were getting ready for a funeral instead of a wedding. There's many a true word spoken in jest; and that was how I felt all the time--a great, black cloud of horror over everything.

"You should have seen my Mabel on her wedding-day. She looked just beautiful in her plain white dress and long veil. The two bridesmaids wore white muslin, with blue sashes; and Mrs. Allen--my first-floor lodger--said as they might have been three angels of heaven. I drove in the cab to give my girl away. G.o.d only knows how I felt. Folks have told me since that I was white and rigid like a corpse, and that I sat in church with my hand held up before Mabel as if to ward off a blow. We sat, and waited, and waited, and waited. It was summer-time; and, being in the trade, I had not spared the flowers; and the church was heavy with the scent of roses and sweet-peas--I have sickened every summer since at the smell of them. The organist played all the wedding tunes through, and then began them over again--I have hated the sound of them ever since--and still we waited. The best man went out to telephone for the bridegroom; and my eldest nephew took a motor to drive round to fetch him. The clock struck three, and the vicar, looking very troubled for Mabel, came out in his surplice to say the ceremony could not take place that day; so we all drove home again. Mabel never spoke; but she sat up in her bedroom cold as a stone, with her face buried in her hands, just as you saw her this afternoon, leaning her arms on the little writing-table where she used to sit to do her lessons. She would not speak, nor eat, nor move; and by sheer force we tore off her wedding finery and got her into bed. The doctor came and said she was suffering from nervous shock, and if she could cry she might recover. We pitied her and called him, and the bridesmaids swelled up their eyes with crying, hoping to infect her; but not a tear could we get out of her; not even when my nephew came back with a note the scoundrel had left. He was a married man all the time; and the crime of bigamy was too much for him at the end. My sister and I sat up all night, but we could do nothing with her; and at the end of the week the doctor said she must be put away, as it was not safe for her to be at home. Ah, well! we live through terrible things; and when I left my pretty, clever girl at the lunatic asylum I did not think I could bear it; but I went on living.

That is three years ago now and never once has Mabel looked up or spoken till to-day, I think it was your blue cloak; her going-away dress was just that colour, and it seemed to rouse her somehow."

The train drew up at the terminus, and she held out her hand in farewell. "Good-bye. Please think of my Mabel sometimes. I don't know what religion you are, but if you would sometimes say this prayer for her, perhaps G.o.d might hear." She held out a little bit of paper, soiled and smudged as if with many tears; and then the crowds surged between us, and we parted.

THE SWEEP'S LEGACY

(1900)

Most visitors among the poor have come across the person who believes that he has a large fortune kept back from him by the Queen, aided and abetted by the gentlemen of Somerset House and other public offices.

I once knew a sweep in Whitechapel who was firmly persuaded that he had a legacy of five hundred pounds in the Bank of England. "Yes, lady, if I had my rights, I should not be so poor. My aunt, Lady Cable Knight--she married a tip-top n.o.bleman, she did--left me on her dying bed five hundred pounds in gold. The money's in the Bank of England. I seed it there myself on a shelf, labelled A. A.--Anthony Adams--but I ain't no scholard, and the gentleman behind the counter said I must have a scholard to speak for me. The money is there right enough, and I've got my aunt's marriage lines, so that proves it clear."

At first I paid little heed to his story, but after a time I got fond of the old sweep, and began to wonder if I could not help him to obtain this legacy. He was a good old man--always serene, always "trustful in the Lord," though he well knew the pangs of hunger and cold, for younger and stronger men were crushing him out of his profession. A poor deformed creature lived with him--one of those terrible abortions found in the homes of the poor--epileptic, crippled, hydrocephalous, whom I took for the son of the house but on inquiry I found he was no relation.

"We were neighbours up George Yard, lady; no, he ain't no son of mine, H'albert ain't. He's very afflicted, poor chap, and 'is own family would have nothing to do with 'im, so I gave 'im a 'ome. The lad don't eat much, and the Lord will reward me some day. If I only had that money, though, we might live comfortable!" Of course it was strictly against the rules of the Buildings for "H'albert" to share the room, but even women rent-collectors have hearts.

"If you only had some proof of your claim to the money, I would try to help you," I said one day when the rent had been missed. I had noticed the little room getting barer and shabbier week by week, and to-day the old man, his wife, and "H'albert" looked pinched and blue with cold and hunger. Already I had secretly paid a visit to Somerset House to inspect the will of Lady Cable Knight.

"Well, I've got my aunt's marriage lines; doesn't that prove it? But the Queen she gets 'old of us poor people's money. We've no chance against the rich; we're no scholards--they never larnt us nothing when I was a boy. The man in a paper 'at, that sells whelks in Whitechapel, knows all about it, but he's no scholard neither."

Touched by the want of scholarship amongst his friends, I put my attainments at his service, and we went together to claim five hundred pounds in gold, labelled "A. A." on a shelf in the Bank of England.

I half hoped that, after the habit of his cla.s.s, the old man would not "turn up." But when I got out of the train at Broad Street, our place of rendezvous, I saw him waiting at the corner, "cleaned" for the occasion, in a strange old swallow-tail coat that might have figured at stately Court dances when George III was king. On his arm he carried a coa.r.s.e bag of sacking, not quite cleansed from soot. We attracted no small attention as we pa.s.sed through the City, and it was quite a relief when the cla.s.sic walls of the Bank hid us from the vulgar gaze, though it was no small ordeal to face the clerks and explain our errand. But I suppose those gentlemen are used to monetary claims of this kind, and to their eternal honour be it said that they never smiled, not even at the production of the sooty marriage certificate by way of establishing our claim.

When at last we pa.s.sed out again into the roar and glare of the street, the bag provided for the spoil empty as before, I saw the old man draw his sleeve across his eyes, leaving a long sooty trail. "It's no good, ma'am; the poor have no chance against the rich. I didn't even see the bag marked A. A. this time. Most likely the Queen and those gentlemen have spent it all long ago. But I thank you, lady, all the same, and will you allow me to pay your fare for coming down to speak for me?"

When his offer was refused, he wrung my hand in silence, and then turned eastwards towards his home.

I watched him till he disappeared in the crowd, a forlorn and pathetic figure, not without dignity in his strange old-world garb.

AN ALIEN[1]

"No, I ain't got it, ma'am; he says I'm a foreigner. I filled up the papers same as you told me, and then the gentleman called and asked for the birth-certificate, same as you said he would. 'I ain't got it,' I says. 'I suppose when I was born children were too common and folks too busy to go twenty miles down the hillside to crow over a baby at Carlisle Town Hall. There were fifteen of us all told, and my father only a farm labourer; if he went abroad the work stayed at 'ome, and 'e'd no time for gallivanting with seventeen mouths to fill. But I've got my baptism here all right; my mother was a pious body, and as soon as she could stand up she went to be churched and take the new stranger to be washed free of original sin in font-water; 'ere's the date written on it, 1837--year Queen Victoria began her most happy reign--you'll believe that, I suppose, in a parson's 'andwriting? Stands to reason I was born afore I was christened; they couldn't put the cross on my forehead, now could they, till my face was out in the world? Silly talk, I calls it, so now don't say no more, but pay me that five shillings and give me the book with the tickets--same as other ladies!'

"'You've lost your domicile,' he says.

"'Don't know what that is,' I says.