Part 17 (1/2)

Good Luck L. T. Meade 43300K 2022-07-22

The next day it was all over the place that Jim Hardy and Louisa Clay were engaged. Harry heard the news as he was coming home from doing a message for Grannie; Grannie heard it when she went shopping; Alison heard it from the boy who sold the milk--in short, this little bit of tidings of paramount interest in Alison's small world was dinned into her ears wherever she turned. Jim was engaged. His friends thought that he had done very well for himself, and it was arranged that the wedding was to take place just before Lent. Lent would fall early this year, and Jim's engagement would not last much over six weeks.

Notwithstanding all she had said the day before, Alison turned very pale when the cruel news came to her.

”What can it mean?” said Grannie, who followed the girl into her bedroom. ”I don't understand it--there must be an awful mistake somewhere. You can't, surely, have thrown over a good fellow like that, Alison?”

”No, he threw me over,” said Alison.

”Child, I jest don't believe yer.”

”All right, Grannie; I'm afraid I can't help it whether you believe me or not. Jim is dead to me now, and we won't talk of him any more.

Grannie dear, let us go into the kitchen; you and I have something else to attend to. What is to come o' me? What am I to do for myself now that I can't get a situation for want of a character, and now that I have lost my young man?”

Alison laughed in a bitter way as she said the last words. She looked straight out of the window, and avoided meeting Grannie's clear blue eyes.

”I must get something to do,” said Alison. ”I am young, and strong, and capable, and the fact of having a false charge laid to my door can't mean surely that I am to starve. I must get work, Grannie; I must learn to support myself and the children. Oh, and you, you dear old lady; for you can't do much, now that your 'and is so bad.”

”It do get worse,” said Grannie, in a solemn voice; ”it pains and burns awful now and then, and the thumb and forefinger are next to useless--they aint got any power in 'em. 'Taint like my usual luck, that it aint. I can't understand it anyhow. But there, child, for the Lord's sake don't worry about an old body like me. Thank the Lord for his goodness, I am at the slack time o' life, and I don't want no thought and little or no care. I aint the p'int--it's you that's the p'int, Ally--you and the chil'en.”

”Well, what is to be done, grandmother? It seems to me that we have not a day to lose. We never could save much, there was too great a drag on your earnings, and mine seemed swept up by rent and twenty other things, and now neither you nor I have been earning anything for weeks. We can't have much money left now, have we?”

”We have got one pound ten,” said Grannie. ”I looked at the purse this morning. One pound ten, and sevenpence ha'penny in coppers; that's all. That wouldn't be a bad sum if there was anythink more coming in; but seeing as ther' aint, it is uncommon likely to dwindle, look at it from what p'int you may.”

”Well, then, we haven't an hour to lose,” said Alison.

”We haven't an hour to lose,” repeated Grannie. She looked around the little room; her voice was cheerful, but there was a dreary expression in her eyes. Alison noticed it. She got up and kissed her.

”Don't, child, don't; it aint good to move the feelin's when things is a bit rough, as they are now. We have got to be firm, Alison, and we have got to be brave, and there aint no manner o' use drawing on the feelin's. Keep 'em under, say I, and stand straight to your guns.

It's a tough bit o' battle we're goin' through, but we must stand to our guns, that's wot I say.”

”And I too,” said the girl, stiffening herself under the words of courage. ”Well now, I know you are a very wise woman, Grannie; what's to be done?”

”I am going to see Mr. Williams, that old clergyman in Bayswater wot was so good to me when my husband died. I am going to see him to-morrow,” said Grannie. ”Arter I have had a good spell of talk with him, I'll tell you more.”

”Do you think he could get me a situation?”

”Maybe he could.”

”I wish you would go to him at once, Grannie. There really doesn't seem to be a day to be lost.”

”What's the hour, child? I don't mind going to him now, but I thought it might be a bit late.”

”Not at all; you'll see him when he comes home to dinner. Shall I go with you? Somehow I pine for a change and a bit of the air.”

”No, darlin', I'd best see him by myself, and then there's the bus fare to consider; but ef you'd walk with me as far as St. Paul's Churchyard, I'd be much obleeged, and you can see me into the bus. I am werry strong, thank the Lord; but somehow, when the crowd jostle and push, they seem to take my nerve off--particular since this 'and got so bad.”

Grannie went into her little room to get ready for her expedition, and Alison also pinned on her hat and b.u.t.toned on her pilot-cloth jacket.

Grannie put on her best clothes for this occasion. She came out equipped for her interview in her neat black shawl and little quilted bonnet. The excitement had brought a bright color to her cheeks and an added light to her blue eyes.

”Why, Grannie, how pretty you look,” said her granddaughter. ”I declare you are the very prettiest old lady I ever saw.”