Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One. Fenn George Manville

it shook all the colour outer your face, mum, and outer yours too, Miss,” he said, awkwardly. “You’ll excuse me, but you look as if you wanted a ride every day out in the country.”

      As he spoke, the girl glanced at a bundle of violets in a broken glass of water in the window; then the tears gathered in her eyes. She seemed to struggle for a moment against her emotion, and then started up and burst into a passion of weeping.

      “My darling!” whispered Mrs Lane, catching her in her arms, and trying to soothe her, “pray – pray don’t give way.”

      “I’ve done it again,” muttered Jenkles – “I’m allus a-doing it – it is my natur’ to.”

      The girl made a brave effort, dashed away the tears, shook back her long dark hair, and tried to smile in the speaker’s face, but so piteous and sad a smile that Jenkles gave a gulp; for he had been glancing round the room, and in that glance had seen a lady and her daughter living in a state of semi-starvation, keeping life together evidently by sewing the hard, toilsome slop-work which he saw scattered upon the table and chairs.

      “She has been ill,” said Mrs Lane, apologetically, “and has not quite recovered. We are very much obliged to you for calling.”

      “Well, you see, mum,” said Jenkles, “it was to set both of us right, like – you as I didn’t mean to do it, and me and my missus that you warn’t hurt. And now I’m here, mum, if you and the young lady there would like a drive once or twice out into the country, why, mum, you’ve only got to say the word, and – ”

      “You’ll excuse me, ma’am,” said the sharp voice of Mrs Sturt, laying great stress on the “ma’am,” “but my ’usban’ is below, and going out on business, and he’d be much obliged if you’d pay us the rent.”

      The girl looked in a frightened way at her mother, who rose, and said, quietly —

      “Mrs Sturt, you might have spared me this – and before a stranger, too.”

      “I don’t know nothing about no strangers, ma’am,” said Mrs Sturt, defiantly. “I only know that my master sent me up for the rent; for he says if people can afford to come home in cabs, and order cabs, and drink port wine, they can afford to pay their rent; so, if you please, ma’am, if you’ll be kind – ”

      “Why, them two cabs warn’t nothing to do with the lady at all,” said Jenkles, indignantly; “and as for the wine, why, that was mine – and – and I paid for it.”

      “And drunk it too, I dessay,” said Mrs Sturt. “Which it’s four weeks at seven-and-six, if you please, ma’am – thirty shillings, if you please.” The girl stood up, her eyes flashing, and a deep flush in her cheeks; but at a sign from her mother she was silent.

      “Mrs Sturt,” she said, “I cannot pay you now; give me till Saturday.”

      “That won’t do for my master, ma’am; he won’t be put off.”

      “But the work I have in hand, Mrs Sturt, will half pay you – you shall receive that.”

      “I’m tired on it,” said Mrs Sturt, turning to the door; “p’r’aps I’d better send him up.”

      “Oh, mamma,” said the girl, in a low, frightened voice, and she turned of a waxen pallor, “don’t let him come here.”

      And she clung trembling to her arm as the retreating footsteps of Mrs Sturt were heard, and, directly after, her vinegary voice in colloquy with her husband.

      “Here, I’ll soon let ’em know,” he was heard to say, roughly.

      The trembling girl hid her face on her mother’s shoulder; but only to start up directly, very pale and firm, as Barney’s heavy step was heard.

      “Blame me if I can stand this,” muttered Jenkles.

      Then without a word he stuck his hat on his head and walked out of the room, in time to meet the master of the house on the stairs.

      “Now, then?” said Barney, as Jenkles stopped short.

      “Now, then,” said Jenkles, “where are you going?”

      “In there,” said Barney, savagely; and he nodded towards the room.

      “No, you ain’t,” said Jenkles; “you’re a-going downstairs.”

      “Oh, am I? I’ll just show you about that.”

      He rushed up two more of the stairs; but Jenkles did not budge an inch – only met the brute with such a firm, unflinching look in his ugly eyes that the bully was cowed, puzzled at the opposition.

      “You’re a-going downstairs to send yer missus up; and jest you tell her to go and take a spoonful o’ treacle out o’ the shop afore she does come up, so as she’ll be a little bit sweeter when the ladies pays her.”

      Then Jenkles walked back into the room, rammed his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a dirty canvas bag, out of which he fished a piece of rag tied tightly, in one corner of which was a sovereign, which had to be set free with his teeth. From another corner he tried to extricate a half-sovereign, but it would not come, the knot was too tight.

      “Here, lends a pair o’ scissors,” he exclaimed, angrily.

      “What are you going to do?” said Mrs Lane.

      “To cut this here out,” said Jenkles; “there, that’s it. Here’s a sov and a arf, mum, as was saved up for our rent. I never did such a thing afore, but that’s nothing to you. I’ll lend it you, and you’ll pay me again when you can. There’s my name on that dirty envelope, and you’ll send it, I know.”

      “No,” exclaimed Mrs Lane, in a choking voice, “I – ”

      At this moment Mrs Sturt entered the room, looking very grim; but no sooner did she see the money lying upon the table than she walked up, took it, said “Thanky,” shortly, and jerked a letter upon the table.

      Jenkles was following her, when Mrs Lane cried “Stop!” seized the letter, tore it open, and read it.

      It was in reply to the second she had written, both of which had reached Captain Vanleigh, though she believed the first had been lost.

      Her letter had been brief —

      “Help us – we are destitute.

      “A.V.”

      The reply was —

      “Do what I wish, and I will help you.”

      No signature.

      Mrs Lane clenched her teeth as she crushed the letter in her hand, then raised her eyes to see the cabman at the door, with her daughter kissing his hand.

      “Oh, God!” she moaned, “has it come to this!”

      The next minute Netta was clinging to her, and they wept in unison as the sound of wheels was heard; and Sam Jenkles apostrophised his ugly steed.

      “Ratty,” he said, “I wonder what it feels like to be a fool – whether it’s what I feels just now?”

      There was a crack of the whip here, and the hansom trundled along.

      “How many half-pints are there in thirty bob, I wonder?” said Sam again.

      And then, as he turned into the main road at Upper Holloway, he pulled up short – to the left London, to the right over the hills to the country.

      “Not above four or five mile, Ratty, and then there’ll be no missus to meet. Ratty, old man, I think I’d better drive myself to Colney Hatch.”

      All among the Ferns

      An autumn morning in a lane. A very prosaic beginning. But there are lanes and lanes; so let not the reader imagine a dreary, clayey way between two low-cropped hedges running right across the flat landscape with mathematical severity, and no more exciting object in view than a heap of broken stones ready for repairs. Our lane is a very different affair,