Jill: A Flower Girl Page 2

steps sadly unsteady. She was trying todance for the benefit of the assembled company, and at the same time wassending up full rich notes, from a throat of vast compass, into thesummer night.

  The song she sang was "Cherry Ripe." The crowd jostled one another, andapplauded her loudly. When Jill burst like a young Fury into theirmidst, one or two of the men, and some of the women, were joining withhearty abandon in the chorus:

  "Cherry ripe, cherry ripe, Ripe, I cry-- Full and fair ones, Come and buy!"

  "Go it, Poll, go it!" they shouted again. "That's better! that's prime!Wish I could buy 'em, makes my mouth water to hear on 'em. Oh! you arein fine voice to-night, Poll Robinson."

  "You let her be," said Jill. "Oh! for shame ain't you cowards? Don'tyou see as she don't know rightly what she's doing? Oh! I _'ate_ you--I 'ate you all. Don't you see for yourselves she's took mor'n sheought? Do you think she would sing to you like that ef she knew thereason why? No one ever tried harder to be good than poor mother. Shenever takes a drop except when the pain's too bad to be borne. Oh!ain't you cowards, every single one on yer? Here, mother, come homewith me at once. You make way, you bad, cowardly men and women. Gohome to your own beds, and let mother and me go to ours. Come along,mother, it's Jill! Come home with me at once. No, you ain't to singany more. I'll pay you all out for this, neighbours, see ef I don't."

  She took the woman under her wing, and, going quickly through theastonished, half-cowed, half-amused people, entered the house.

  CHAPTER TWO.

  Jill pulled her mother's hand fiercely inside her arm. The presence ofthe angry, upright girl had a sobering effect on the older women. A dimsense of shame and distress was stealing over her. She made violentefforts to keep from tottering, and, raising one powerful but shakinghand, tried to straighten her bonnet.

  Jill walked past Mrs Stanley's flat, without stopping to fetch herbasket of flowers. When she reached the top landing of the house sheslipped her hand into her mother's pocket, took out the key which bythen, and opened the door which led into the little flat. The flatconsisted of two rooms and a narrow passage.

  Still holding her mother by the arm, Jill went into the outer room. Shefound a box of matches, and, striking one, lit a candle which was placedon the round table.

  "Now, mother, sit down," she said, in a tender voice. "Here's your ownchair. Sit right down and rest a bit. I'll be no time boiling thekettle, and then we'll have a cup o' tea both on us together; you'llfeel a sight better when you have had your tea, mother."

  The woman sat on the edge of the chair which Jill had pulled forward,she loosened her bonnet-strings, and let her untidy, disorderly bonnetfall off her head of thick black hair.

  "I'll never go and do it any more, Jill," she said, after a pause. "Thepain's better now, and next time it comes I'll bear it. I know I'mtipsy now, but, sure as my name's Poll Robinson, you'll see, Jill, asI'll never go and do it again."

  "To be sure you won't, mother. Don't you fret. Forget all about it--forget as you were tipsy jest now in the street. You'll soon be asright as ever you wor. I'll fetch some cold water to bathe your faceand hands, then you'll feel prime. You cheer up, mother, darlin', andforget what you 'as done."

  "But you won't forget it, Jill. I've shamed you before the folk in thestreet, you can't go and forget it, it's contrary to nature."

  "Why I'se forgot it, mother, already; you sit quiet, and let me tendyou."

  While Jill spoke she bustled about, placed the kettle of water on thelittle gas-stove to boil, and, going out into the passage, filled abasin fall of cold water from a tap. Bringing it back, she tenderlywashed her mother's hot face and hands, combed back her disordered hair,coiled it deftly round her comely head, and then, bending down, kissedthe broad, low forehead.

  "Now you're like yourself, so sweet; why you look beautiful; you're ashandsome as a picter. We'll forget all about that time in the street.See! the kettle's boiling, we'll both be real glad of our tea." Thewoman began to cheer up under the girl's bright influence; her headceased to reel, her hand to shake; she felt instinctively, however, thatshe had better keep silence, for her brain was still too confused forher to talk sensibly.

  The tea was made strong and fragrant. Jill stood by the littlemantelpiece while she sipped hers. Her eager eyes watched her motherwith an affectionate and sad solicitude.

  "Now, mother, you must go to bed at once, and have a good sleep," shesaid, when the meal was over.

  "I didn't mean to go and done it," said the woman again.

  "Course you didn't, mother, and you'll never do it no more. Go and liedown now."

  "Where are the lads, Jill?"

  "They'll be in presently. It's all right. You lie down; you look awfulspent and worn."

  "But the pain's better, my gal."

  "That's right. You sleep while you're easy."

  "Jill, don't you 'ate your poor wicked old mother?"

  "No, mother. I love you better than all the rest of the world puttogether. Now lie down, and don't fret yourself. I has a sight of finethings to tell you in the morning; but go to sleep now, do!"

  The exhausted woman was only too glad to obey. The moment her headtouched the pillow, her tired eyes closed and she went off intodreamless slumber.

  Jill stole softly from the room, closing the door behind her.

  She had scarcely done so before a shuffling, lumbering sound was heardon the landing; the outer door was banged vigorously from without, andrough boys' voices called to Jill to open and let them in.

  She flung the door open without a minute's delay.

  "Come in," she said, "and take off your boots, and be quiet ef you can,for mother's not well, and I won't have her woke to please anybody.You're both shameful late, and I've half a mind to let you sleep in thepassage all night. There's your supper; and now _do_ try to be quiet."

  The elder boy, called Bob, pulled off his heavy boots and stole acrossthe room. The younger followed his example.

  "There's your supper," said Jill. She pointed to two plates, on whichsome lumps of cold suet pudding were placed. "Do be quick," she said,speaking petulantly for the first time, "for I'm so tired myself I'm fitto drop."

  "Is it true that mother's bad, Jill?" asked the youngest boy, peering upat his sister half anxiously, half wickedly.

  "Yes, of course it's true. Mother's often bad. Why do you ask?"

  "But old Hastie down in the street, he said that she had gone and--why,what's the matter, Jill? You look so fierce that you quite take theheart out of a fellow."

  "You shut up," said Jill. "You whisper in this room one word of whatHastie said, and you'll feel my fist, I can tell you."

  "Only it's true, Jill, and you know it," said Bob, putting down hisplate, and coming up and standing by his younger brother's side. "Youneedn't beat the life out of poor Tom for telling the truth. You knowthat Hastie only spoke the solemn truth, Jill, and you has no call toround on Tom."

  "Hastie told a lie," said Jill; "and when Tom quotes his words to me, hetells lies."

  "Then mother hasn't been out this evening."

  "No; she's been in her bed since two o'clock, orful bad with pain.You're dreadful cruel boys even to doubt her. She's the best mother onthis earth. Oh, let _me_ see Hastie, and I'll give him a spice of mymind. Now go and lie down, the pair on yer. I'm shamed of yer bringingup them lies."

  The boys slouched off, frightened at their sister's blazing cheeks andfiery words. They lay down side by side in an old press bed at one endof the kitchen, and Jill, opening the door, slipped softly down to fetchher flowers from Mrs Stanley. The old woman was still up. She lookedat the girl anxiously.

  "You found her then, honey?"

  "Oh, yes; quite easy. She was out for a little bit of exercise. She'sin bed and asleep a long time back."

  "Where you ought to be, Jill. You look fit to drop."

  "I ain't then; I'm quite fresh. Where are my flowers?"

  "There,
dearie. Good-night to you, Jill Robinson."

  "Good-night, Mrs Stanley. Thank yer for keeping the flowers."

  Jill took up her basket and departed. In the passage which belonged toher mother's flat she spent some little time watering her flowers,removing the withered ones, and making her basket look trim and freshfor the morrow.

  The clock which belonged to a neighbouring church had struck one longbefore she laid her head on her pillow.

  CHAPTER THREE.

  About four o'clock on the following morning Mrs Robinson stirred,opened her eyes and looked around her.

  The light was streaming full into the little bedroom. It was clean andfresh, for Jill would permit nothing else. There were no cobwebs to beseen on the walls, and the floor was white with constant scrubbing. Theglass in the one small window was washed until it shone, and the littleblind, which was neatly pinned across was fresh, and in perfect order.

  Poll Robinson lay in bed and gazed around her. The scene of the nightbefore bed passed completely from her memory and her mind now wasaltogether absorbed in wondering how she could outstrip Jill and smugglesome stale flowers, which she had hidden the night before under her bed,into her basket Jill never held with these doings, but Poll thought themperfectly justifiable. The way to do a thriving business was to mix thestale goods discriminately with the fresh, and to sell one with theother. Jill would not hear of it, and Poll had to own that Jill by herhonesty and method, and by her own bright and spruce appearance, hadgained a very tidy connection.

  But though Poll liked the money which now flowed in regularly, shesighed more than once for the good old days when she need not scrub hersitting-room nor polish her windows, nor worry herself about her unsoldflowers.

  The flowers did very well thrust under the bed in the old times, andthey sold very well, too, mixed up with fresh bunches the next day.

  The neighbouring clock struck a quarter past four, and Mrs Robinson,with a profound sigh, raised herself on her elbow, and looked at hersleeping daughter.

  There was a good deal of resemblance between the mother and child. Bothwere dark, and had big, brilliant eyes, and masses of raven hair.

  The face of the older woman looked young enough this morning. The linesof care, pain, and dissipation had vanished with her last night's sleep.A high colour, partly caused by an inward fever and ache, whichscarcely ever left her, gave a false beauty to Poll Robinson's face.

  She stooped, kissed Jill on her forehead, and getting out of bed beganto dress. She saw that the girl looked tired, and she determined to goto Covent Garden for the fresh flowers herself.

  She hastily put on her clothes, and slipping her flowers from under thebed, went out into the kitchen. The boys were snoring loudly in theirpress bedstead. Poll went across the room, and shook Tom vigorously.

  "Look yere," she said, "you tell Jill that I'm fetching the flowers thismorning. Tell her to lie easy, and take her sleep out. Do you hear me,you good-for-naught? Do you hear what I'm saying? or are ye too sleepyto take it all in?"

  "I hear right enough, mother," replied Tom, rubbing his sleepy eyes."Are you better this morning, mother?"

  "Yes, to be sure; why shouldn't I be?"

  Tom looked down at Bob, who was asleep. Then he glanced towards theopen door of the bedroom. He was not at all afraid of his mother; buthe had a wholesome dread of Jill.

  "Look yere," he said: "is it true what Hastie says?"

  "What did Hastie say?"

  Mrs Robinson placed her arms akimbo.

  "He said as you were real bad last night,--real bad--and out in thestreet, you mind."

  "Well, and what ef I wor?"

  "Only, Jill says it's a lie. She said she'll smack Hastie for sayingit."

  Mrs Robinson's face underwent a quick, queer change.

  "Bless Jill," she said. "You lie down and go to sleep, Tom, and don'tbother me."

  The boy slipped at once under the bed-clothes. He pretended to sleep,but he watched his mother furtively. Seen now in her fresh trim morningdress she was a presentable, and even handsome woman. She put on acoloured apron of the same pattern and design as Jill's, twisted aturban round her head, and taking up her basket prepared to go out.

  First of all, however, she went to an old bureau, and pulled open one ofthe small top drawers. In this drawer she and Jill kept their loosepence and silver. She was looking now for the money to buy the flowerswith which she must stock her basket.

  She knew that this time yesterday there were three shillings in penceand silver in the drawer. Now when she opened it, nothing whatever inthe shape of money was to be seen. A piece of gay print, with which sheintended to make an apron for herself, had also vanished.

  Poll stood before the empty drawer with astonishment and confusion.Where had the money gone?

  She thrust her hand into her pocket. Had she by any chance put it therewhen she went out to buy drink? If so, it was gone. Her pocket wasquite destitute of the smallest coin. Could she have left the door openwhen she went out? No, she was quite confident on that point. She hada vivid recollection of locking the door, and taking the key with her.

  The money was gone, and she could in no way account for itsdisappearance. What was she to do? She had not a halfpenny in theworld to buy flowers with. Should she wake Jill, and tell her of herloss? No, she did not want to do that. The girl was looking sadlytired, and Poll did not want to confess that through her weakness andwant of self-control some of their valuable little earnings hadvanished.

  She stood for a moment considering. Then she determined to go to themarket, and trust to one of the flower merchants giving her sufficientflowers to stock her basket and Jill's on credit. She must start atonce, for the morning was passing, and the best and cheapest flowerswould be sold.

  She opened the door, and closed it softly behind her. Then she ran witha quick, light step down-stairs. No one would have recognised this trimand active woman for the disreputable-looking creature whom Jill hadrescued the night before.

  She quickly passed the buildings where their little flat was, andentered the low neighbourhood of Drury Lane. Drury Lane was a greathaunt for flower girls. Poll had lived there herself for years. Amemory of the old free life came back to her as she walked, and shecould not help breathing a hearty sigh. The old life seemed attractiveto her this morning; she forgot the blows her cruel husband had givenher; she forgot the dirt, and the sickness, and the misery. She onlyremembered the absolute freedom from restraint, the jolly,never-may-care sort of existence. Everything was altered now; for Jillhad taken the reins into her own hands. She and her mother belonged tothe respectable class of flower girls. They bought good flowersstraight from the market, and sold them to regular customers, and hadtheir own acknowledged corner where they could show their wares intempting and picturesque array. They were clean, decent sort of peoplenow. Poll knew this, but she could not take pride in the fact thismorning.

  She walked quickly along, with her usual swinging, free sort of motion.Some of her old cronies nodded and smiled to her. Poll was sogood-tempered and good-natured that the flower girls who were still lowdown, very low down in the world, could not look on her with envy. Shewould have shared her last crust with the worst of them.

  Jill was not nearly so popular as her mother, far Jill was proud, anddid not want to know the girls who had been the friends of MrsRobinson's youth.

  A red-eyed woman, with a bent figure, a white face, and a constantcough, came up and joined Poll as she approached the neighbourhood ofthe great market.

  "And how are you, Betsy?" asked Poll. "Does your cough hack you as badas ever?"

  "No, it's better," replied the poor creature. "I bought some of themcough-no-mores, and they seem to still it wonderful. I'm glad I metyou, Poll; I think it wor the good Lord sent you in my way thismorning." The woman gasped painfully as she spoke.

  "Here, lean on me, Betsy Peters," said Poll, stopping, and offering herstrong arm. "Don't press me, like a
good soul, for my side aches orful.Now then, wot is it, Betsy?"

  "It certain sure wor the good Lord let me meet yer," repeated MrsPeters. "I cried to Him for near an hour last night, and yere's theanswer. It's wonderful, that it is."

  "Only me and Jill we don't believe in the pious sort," answered Poll."Not that it matters, ef I can help you, Betsy."

  "Yes, but it do matter," replied Mrs Peters. "It seems a pity, forthat sort of belief is a real comfort to poor folk. My word, ain't Iheld on to it many and many a time? It wor only last night, and I werepraying fit to burst my heart, and at larst it seemed to me as ef Isee'd Him, His face wondrous pitiful-like, and his smile thatencouraging. And I seemed to hear Him a-saying, `You hold on, BetsyPeters, for you're a'most in Paradise now. You give a good grip o' Me,and I'll land you safe.' My word! it did comfort me. It seemed to liftme out o' myself. It's a pity as you don't hold on to that sort ofthing, neighbour."

  Poll gave a quick, impulsive sort of sigh.

  "Well, I'm glad as you finds the comfort o' it, Betsy," she said. "Butwhat can I do for you?