Part 9 (2/2)
”I'll be here to the moment, brushed up and smart,” said the old man.
”Why, how proud you ought to be of having such a bodyguard, Miss Lucy!”
The girl looked up and smiled, half sadly, at the old man as she held out her hand, which he took in his own for a moment, kissed respectfully, and then he shuffled from the room.
Ten minutes after, old Matt's step was again heard upon the stairs, and he directly after appeared with a pot of porter in one hand, and something tied up in a cotton handkerchief in the other; while, as he entered, he glanced stealthily from face to face to see what effect his proceedings would have before he spoke.
”You see, Mr Hardon, sir, it's a busy morning with me, and as I'm so far from my lodging--what a fib!” he thought to himself--”I thought I'd ask the favour of being allowed to have a bite here.”
Of course there was no objection raised, and the old man's roast potatoes were soon warming, while Lucy left her work to frizzle the large portion of prime steak over the fire.
”No, no, miss; none of that,” said Matt, taking the fork out of Lucy's hand; ”I've cooked hundreds of bits of steak, miss, and I'm too particular to trust you; and, besides, you'll be keeping me waiting to-night when it's time the work was taken home; and my time's the only valuable possession I'm worth.”
Here old Matt directed a very knowing wink at Septimus Hardon; but he was deep in thought, with his head resting upon his hand. However, Lucy understood the old man's quaint kindness, and resumed her work; but there was a tear twinkling in her eye.
”Lord, Miss Lucy,” said Matt, turning the steak upon the gridiron, and distributing a most appetising odour through the room, where more than once of late hunger had sat gaunt and staring,--”Lord, Miss Lucy, how I should like to see you with one of those new machines; st.i.tch away they do, and the work comes running out by the yard.”
Lucy sighed, and pressed a sore finger to her rosy lips.
”'Spose I may put the cloth on, miss, mayn't I?” said Matt, who was quite at home in the place.
Lucy nodded; and the old man soon had the cloth spread, and the steak done; when, pulling a long face, he groaned heavily.
”There!” he exclaimed, ”that's always the way. Who'd be troubled with a complaint? Thought I could just pick a bit; but now it's all nice and ready, and as prime as can be, I'm done. Such a steak as that is, too, juicy and done to a twist, and the very best cut out of the whole beast.
But there, don't let it be spoiled, miss, please;” and before anyone could stay him the old man was shuffling down the stairs, chuckling to himself as he made his way into the court, while Septimus, stung to the heart by his poverty, and overcome by the old man's kindness, left his chair, and began to pace the room wringing his hands.
”O, that it should have come to this! O, that it should have come to this!” he groaned; but the next moment Mrs Septimus had forgotten her own trouble, and was weeping upon his breast, while Lucy had work enough to pacify the frightened child.
”Don't, don't, darling,” whispered Mrs Septimus in a supplicating voice. ”I know it is all my fault, and I'm thinking of it constantly; but don't let me think that you reproach me, or it will kill me outright.”
There was such agony of spirit in Mrs Hardon's words that Septimus forgot his own wounded pride and misery by turn, in busily trying to soothe the poor invalid, who gladly took her seat at the table, while Septimus, with a smile upon his countenance, kept on vowing how hopeful he would be, as, casting pride to the winds, he distributed old Matt's much-needed steak, not hesitating to partake himself of the old man's bounty.
A gleam of hopeful suns.h.i.+ne seemed to have darted into the room that afternoon as Septimus sat busily writing, and the sharp click of needle upon thimble could be heard from the back-room, where Mrs Septimus was busy helping Lucy, so that the work might be finished in time, though every now and then it fell to someone's lot to amuse the little boy, who, a very spoiled tyrant, seemed bent upon being as capricious and unreasonable as children can be at times. But ever and again the wrinkles would deepen upon Septimus Hardon's forehead, and he would lay down his pen, in dread lest he should include some of his busy thoughts in his copying. What should he do to better his condition? Time back it had seemed so easy a task, that of keeping his wife and children; but, put to the proof, how difficult. Some that he saw were almost without trouble; wealth poured in upon them in return for their bright thoughts. And why should not he be rich when schemes in plenty came flas.h.i.+ng to his brain? There were scores of fortunes to be made had he but capital--that golden key that should open the treasure-house; but he was poor--a beggar, as he told himself again and again, when, to drive away the thoughts, he stooped over his copying, but only to lay it aside once more and sigh.
Old Matt came again that evening, vowing that he was much better, for he had been trying a favourite remedy of his--abstinence. ”A first-rate thing, sir, for indigestion,” said Matt; ”rather lowering, certainly, but surprisingly efficacious as a medicine, while it costs nothing, and saves at the same time. A good walk helps, too, but then that requires what the shoe-shops call a pair of `stout walking,' and my old feet want an easy style of boot. I wouldn't use a new boot on any consideration,”
said Matt, stretching out a dilapidated and crushed Wellington, polished to the highest pitch of l.u.s.tre by a scarlet-coated brigadier. ”I study comfort, sir; ease before appearances.”
Lucy was soon ready, and then, with a couple of inches added to his stature, the old man proudly escorted her through court, lane, and street, to the warehouse; and then patiently waited till her business was transacted. Many a glance was directed at the strangely-a.s.sorted couple, but he would have been a bold man who would have insulted the poor girl, who leaned so trustingly upon the old printer's arm till they reached the court, where he allowed her to go first, stopping and scratching his cheek viciously as he saw Lucy tremblingly hold out her hand to a woman who hurriedly pa.s.sed from the house opposite that occupied by Septimus. They seemed to have met before; but old Matt looked vexed and undecided. Once he closed up, but a glance from Lucy sent him back, when he pa.s.sed the rest of his time in returning with interest the bold, inquisitive stare of Mr William Jarker, who stood with a couple of friends in the entrance of the court, watching Lucy and the stranger with some degree of interest, till Mr Jarker caught Matt's eye, when he turned to his companions, said something, and they walked off together, Matt's quick ear catching the words, ”9:30,” and a click or two as if one of the men carried tools in the pocket of his shooting-jacket.
Directly after, the stranger pa.s.sed old Matt with a quiet appealing look, to which he replied with a nod of a very undecided description, half civil, half angry; and then, still scratching his silver-stubbled cheek, he wished Lucy good-night, shaking his head the while, to which she replied, ”Please don't be angry,” in a way that brought a smile into the old man's countenance; a sunny smile that began at one corner of his month, and then spread through stubbly whisker, and over wrinkle, till it was all over his face, clearing away the shadow that had lain there; but as old Matt turned away, his head began to shake, and the shadow that had been lurking in the farther whisker crept back again, slowly and surely, as night crept down over Bennett's-rents to hide the sordid misery that chose the court for its home.
”What's `9:30'?” said Matt to himself, as pa.s.sing out of the court his thoughts took a fresh direction. ”Nice-looking party that. 'Spose I b.u.t.ton up my coat over my gold repeater. They were thinking about what's o'clock, they were, hang 'em.”
Old Matt s.p.a.ce suited the action to the word, bursting off a b.u.t.ton in the operation, and then carefully picking it up and saving it, as he strode off muttering.
”`Nine-thirty'? What's their little game?”
Volume One, Chapter XII.
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