Part 13 (1/2)
Grannie pursed up her lips, but did not speak.
She knew far better than Alison that these small wages, although an immense help, could not possibly do the work which her feather-st.i.tching money had accomplished.
”Well, dearie,” she said, after a pause, ”I am glad that things are so far good; but have you quite made up your mind not to marry poor Jim, then, Alison?”
”No, no, not quite,” she replied, coloring; ”but the fact is, I want two strings to my bow. By the way, I did not tell you that the Clays have invited me to a party there to-morrow night?”
”The Clays!” exclaimed Grannie. ”Sakes! you aint goin' to them?”
”Yes, but I am. I have promised.”
”I don't think the Clays are the sort of people that a girl of your breed ought to know, Alison. Poor as we are, we hold up our heads, and why shouldn't we, being----”
”Oh, Grannie, here is your fifteen s.h.i.+llings,” interrupted Alison. ”I saw Mr. Squire, and he said he was sorry, but he really could not offer more, as the feather-st.i.tching was not done.”
”He were put out, weren't he?” said Grannie, her little face puckered up in her intense anxiety to know how Mr. Squire bore the calamity.
”After a fas.h.i.+on, yes,” said Alison; ”but he said the new embroidery which is coming in so much would do quite as well, and he knew a woman who would do the things in a hurry. He said: 'Give my compliments to Mrs. Reed, and say I am sorry to lose her nice work,' and he paid me my money and bowed me out of the shop.”
”It is all over, Grannie,” continued the girl, cruel in her severity, and not knowing she was stabbing the old woman's heart at every word.
”You place wonderful store by that feather-st.i.tching, but the new embroidery will do quite as well for all the fine ladies, and other women will get the money.”
”Yes, yes,” said Grannie, ”yes, it is the will o' the Lord. Somehow, that seems to steady me up--to bear it like.”
She went out of the room tottering a little, but came back quite cheerful when the children returned home for the midday meal.
After dinner Alison went to see Mr. Shaw. She did not like this job at all, but she knew she had no chance of getting another place unless she could induce Shaw to give her a character. She planned how best to go to the shop without being observed by the rest of the shop people. She was too handsome a girl not to have created a great deal of attention during her stay at Shaw's, and now, with this story about the theft hanging over her head, she would be more interesting and more worthy of criticism than ever. She dreaded beyond words being seen at Shaw's, more particularly by Louisa Clay and Jim Hardy. She crept in by a side entrance, and as the shop was very full at this hour (Christmas being so close at hand, the crowd this afternoon was denser than ever), she managed to escape attention. She could see without being noticed. She observed Louisa flaunting about the shop, looking very handsome, and on every possible occasion appealing to Jim for advice or help. Jim was the walker to-day, and Louisa was always calling him to her on one pretext or another. It seemed to Alison's jealous eyes that the young man did not dislike her too-evident attentions. He always replied to her with courtesy, and, according to Alison, stood by her side longer than was necessary.
”I must get that situation in Oxford Street,” muttered the girl to herself. ”I shall feel fit to kill those two if ever they are wed, and the further I am off the better.”
Her angry and excited feelings gave her courage, and she was able to ask a comparative stranger--a girl who scarcely knew her--if she could see Mr. Shaw.
”I am afraid you cannot to-day,” was the reply. ”The manager is too busy, but if you like to call again----”
”No, no, I see him there. I'll ask him myself,” was the reply.
”Lor', what cheek!” muttered the new shop-girl; but Alison was too far away to hear her.
She had approached Mr. Shaw as he was wis.h.i.+ng one of his customers ”A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.” He turned round with a smile on his lips. Things were doing remarkably well, and he could afford to be cheerful. Suddenly his rather staring, bloodshot eyes encountered the full gaze of Alison's clear blue ones.
”Eh, Miss Reed?” he said, stepping back in astonishment.
”Yes, sir; can I speak to you?” said Alison.
”Certainly, my dear, certainly; come this way. She has found out who the thief is, and will come back once more,” muttered the manager to himself. ”She's the best and most attractive shopwoman I ever had; she shall come back immediately after Christmas.”
He hurried Alison through the shop into his own little counting-house.
He shut the door then, and asked her to seat herself.