Mary Barton Page #22

Mary Barton: A Tale of Manchester Life is the first novel by English author Elizabeth Gaskell, published in 1848. The story is set in the English city of Manchester between 1839 and 1842, and deals with the difficulties faced by the Victorian working class.

• Novel

								


"And did you wait all that time in the street?" asked the housemaid,
who had done her work for the present, and come into the kitchen for
a bit of gossip.

"My eye as like! you don't think I'm such a fool as to catch my death
of cold, and let the horses catch their death too, as we should ha'
done if we'd stopped there. No! I put th' horses up in th' stables at
th' Spread Eagle, and went mysel, and got a glass or two by th' fire.
They're driving a good custom, them, wi' coachmen. There were five on
us, and we'd many a quart o' ale, and gin wi' it, to keep out cold."

"Mercy on us, Thomas; you'll get a drunkard at last!"

"If I do, I know whose blame it will be. It will be missis's, and
not mine. Flesh and blood can't sit to be starved to death on a
coach-box, waiting for folks as don't know their own mind."

A servant, semi-upper-housemaid, semi-lady's-maid, now came down with
orders from her mistress.

"Thomas, you must ride to the fishmonger's, and say missis can't give
above half-a-crown a pound for salmon for Tuesday; she's grumbling
because trade's so bad. And she'll want the carriage at three to go
to the lecture, Thomas; at the Royal Execution, you know."

"Ay, ay, I know."

"And you'd better all of you mind your P's and Q's, for she's very
black this morning. She's got a bad headache."

"It's a pity Miss Jenkins is not here to match her. Lord! how she and
missis did quarrel which had got the worst headaches; it was that
Miss Jenkins left for; she would not give up having bad headaches,
and missis could not abide any one to have 'em but herself."

"Missis will have her breakfast up-stairs, cook, and the cold
partridge as was left yesterday, and put plenty of cream in her
coffee, and she thinks there's a roll left, and she would like it
well buttered."

So saying, the maid left the kitchen to be ready to attend to the
young ladies' bell when they chose to ring, after their late assembly
the night before.

In the luxurious library, at the well-spread breakfast-table, sat
the two Mr. Carsons, father and son. Both were reading; the father
a newspaper, the son a review, while they lazily enjoyed their
nicely prepared food. The father was a prepossessing-looking old
man; perhaps self-indulgent you might guess. The son was strikingly
handsome, and knew it. His dress was neat and well appointed, and his
manners far more gentlemanly than his father's. He was the only son,
and his sisters were proud of him; his father and mother were proud
of him: he could not set up his judgment against theirs; he was proud
of himself.

The door opened and in bounded Amy, the sweet youngest daughter of
the house, a lovely girl of sixteen, fresh and glowing, and bright
as a rosebud. She was too young to go to assemblies, at which her
father rejoiced, for he had little Amy with her pretty jokes, and her
bird-like songs, and her playful caresses all the evening to amuse
him in his loneliness; and she was not too much tired, like Sophy and
Helen, to give him her sweet company at breakfast the next morning.

He submitted willingly while she blinded him with her hands, and
kissed his rough red face all over. She took his newspaper away after
a little pretended resistance, and would not allow her brother Harry
to go on with his review.

"I'm the only lady this morning, papa, so you know you must make a
great deal of me."

"My darling, I think you have your own way always, whether you're the
only lady or not."

"Yes, papa, you're pretty good and obedient, I must say that; but I'm
sorry to say Harry is very naughty, and does not do what I tell him;
do you, Harry?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean to accuse me of, Amy; I expected
praise and not blame; for did not I get you that eau de Portugal from
town, that you could not meet with at Hughes', you little ungrateful
puss?"

"Did you! Oh, sweet Harry; you're as sweet as eau de Portugal
yourself; you're almost as good as papa; but still you know you did
go and forget to ask Bigland for that rose, that new rose they say he
has got."

"No, Amy, I did not forget. I asked him, and he has got the Rose,
sans reproche; but do you know, little Miss Extravagance, a very
small one is half-a-guinea?"

"Oh, I don't mind. Papa will give it me, won't you, dear father? He
knows his little daughter can't live without flowers and scents."

Mr. Carson tried to refuse his darling, but she coaxed him into
acquiescence, saying she must have it, it was one of her necessaries.
Life was not worth having without flowers.

"Then, Amy," said her brother, "try and be content with peonies and
dandelions."

"Oh, you wretch! I don't call them flowers. Besides, you're every bit
as extravagant. Who gave half-a-crown for a bunch of lilies of the
valley at Yates', a month ago, and then would not let his poor little
sister have them, though she went on her knees to beg them? Answer me
that, Master Hal."

"Not on compulsion," replied her brother, smiling with his mouth,
while his eyes had an irritated expression, and he went first red,
then pale, with vexed embarrassment.

"If you please, sir," said a servant, entering the room, "here's one
of the mill people wanting to see you; his name is Wilson, he says."

"I'll come to him directly; stay, tell him to come in here."

Amy danced off into the conservatory which opened out of the room,
before the gaunt, pale, unwashed, unshaven weaver was ushered in.
There he stood at the door, sleeking his hair with old country habit,
and every now and then stealing a glance round at the splendour of
the apartment.

"Well, Wilson, and what do you want to-day, man?"

"Please, sir, Davenport's ill of the fever, and I'm come to know if
you've got an Infirmary order for him?"

"Davenport--Davenport; who is the fellow? I don't know the name."

"He's worked in your factory better nor three year, sir."

"Very likely; I don't pretend to know the names of the men I employ;
that I leave to the overlooker. So he's ill, eh?"

"Ay, sir, he's very bad; we want to get him in at the fever wards.

"I doubt if I have an in-patient's order to spare; they're always
wanted for accidents, you know. But I'll give you an out-patient's,
and welcome."

So saying, he rose up, unlocked a drawer, pondered a minute, and then
gave Wilson an out-patient's order to be presented the following
Monday. Monday! How many days there were before Monday!

Meanwhile, the younger Mr. Carson had ended his review, and began to
listen to what was going on. He finished his breakfast, got up, and
pulled five shillings out of his pocket, which he gave to Wilson
as he passed him, for the "poor fellow." He went past quickly, and
calling for his horse, mounted gaily, and rode away. He was anxious
to be in time to have a look and a smile from lovely Mary Barton, as
she went to Miss Simmonds'. But to-day he was to be disappointed.
Wilson left the house, not knowing whether to be pleased or grieved.
It was long to Monday, but they had all spoken kindly to him, and who
could tell if they might not remember this, and do something before
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes