Mary Barton Page #40

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

								

certain."

"Ay, and a notable body, too. I'll just step up stairs and show you
the patchwork quilt she gave me but last Saturday."

Mary was glad she was going out of the room. Her words irritated her;
perhaps not the less because she did not fully believe them. Besides
she wanted to speak to Alice, and Mrs. Wilson seemed to think that
she, as the widow, ought to absorb all the attention.

"Dear Alice," began Mary, "I'm so grieved to find you so deaf; it
must have come on very rapid."

"Yes, dear, it's a trial; I'll not deny it. Pray God give me strength
to find out its teaching. I felt it sore one fine day when I thought
I'd go gather some meadow-sweet to make tea for Jane's cough; and
the fields seemed so dree and still, and at first I could na make
out what was wanting; and then it struck me it were th' song o' the
birds, and that I never should hear their sweet music no more, and I
could na help crying a bit. But I've much to be thankful for. I think
I'm a comfort to Jane, if I'm only some one to scold now and then;
poor body! It takes off her thoughts from her sore losses when she
can scold a bit. If my eyes are left I can do well enough; I can
guess at what folk are saying."

The splendid red and yellow patch quilt now made its appearance, and
Jane Wilson would not be satisfied unless Mary praised it all over,
border, centre, and ground-work, right side and wrong; and Mary did
her duty, saying all the more, because she could not work herself up
to any very hearty admiration of her rival's present. She made haste,
however, with her commendations, in order to avoid encountering
Jem. As soon as she was fairly away from the house and street, she
slackened her pace, and began to think. Did Jem really care for Molly
Gibson? Well, if he did, let him. People seemed all to think he was
much too good for her (Mary's own self). Perhaps some one else, far
more handsome, and far more grand, would show him one day that she
was good enough to be Mrs. Henry Carson. So temper, or what Mary
called "spirit," led her to encourage Mr. Carson more than ever she
had done before.

Some weeks after this, there was a meeting of the Trades' Union to
which John Barton belonged. The morning of the day on which it was to
take place he had lain late in bed, for what was the use of getting
up? He had hesitated between the purchase of meal or opium, and had
chosen the latter, for its use had become a necessity with him. He
wanted it to relieve him from the terrible depression its absence
occasioned. A large lump seemed only to bring him into a natural
state, or what had been his natural state formerly. Eight o'clock was
the hour fixed for the meeting; and at it were read letters, filled
with details of woe, from all parts of the country. Fierce, heavy
gloom brooded over the assembly; and fiercely and heavily did the men
separate, towards eleven o'clock, some irritated by the opposition of
others to their desperate plans.

It was not a night to cheer them, as they quitted the glare of the
gas-lighted room, and came out into the street. Unceasing, soaking
rain was falling; the very lamps seemed obscured by the damp upon
the glass, and their light reached but to a little distance from the
posts. The streets were cleared of passers-by; not a creature seemed
stirring, except here and there a drenched policeman in his oil-skin
cape. Barton wished the others good night, and set off home. He had
gone through a street or two, when he heard a step behind him; but he
did not care to look and see who it was. A little further, and the
person quickened step, and touched his arm very lightly. He turned,
and saw, even by the darkness visible of that badly-lighted street,
that the woman who stood by him was of no doubtful profession. It
was told by her faded finery, all unfit to meet the pelting of that
pitiless storm; the gauze bonnet, once pink, now dirty white; the
muslin gown, all draggled, and soaking wet up to the very knees; the
gay-coloured barège shawl, closely wrapped round the form, which yet
shivered and shook, as the woman whispered: "I want to speak to you."

He swore an oath, and bade her begone.

"I really do. Don't send me away. I'm so out of breath, I cannot say
what I would all at once." She put her hand to her side, and caught
her breath with evident pain.

"I tell thee I'm not the man for thee," adding an opprobrious name.
"Stay," said he, as a thought suggested by her voice flashed across
him. He gripped her arm--the arm he had just before shaken off, and
dragged her, faintly resisting, to the nearest lamp-post. He pushed
her bonnet back, and roughly held the face she would fain have
averted, to the light, and in her large, unnaturally bright gray
eyes, her lovely mouth, half open, as if imploring the forbearance
she could not ask for in words, he saw at once the long-lost Esther;
she who had caused his wife's death. Much was like the gay creature
of former years; but the glaring paint, the sharp features, the
changed expression of the whole! But most of all, he loathed the
dress; and yet the poor thing, out of her little choice of attire,
had put on the plainest she had, to come on that night's errand.

"So it's thee, is it! It's thee!" exclaimed John, as he ground his
teeth, and shook her with passion. "I've looked for thee long at
corners o' streets, and such like places. I knew I should find thee
at last. Thee'll may be bethink thee o' some words I spoke, which put
thee up at th' time; summut about street-walkers; but oh no! thou
art none o' them naughts; no one thinks thou art, who sees thy fine
draggle-tailed dress, and thy pretty pink cheeks!" stopping for very
want of breath.

"Oh, mercy! John, mercy! listen to me for Mary's sake!"

She meant his daughter, but the name only fell on his ear as
belonging to his wife; and it was adding fuel to the fire. In vain
did her face grow deadly pale round the vivid circle of paint, in
vain did she gasp for mercy,--he burst forth again.

"And thou names that name to me! and thou thinks the thought of her
will bring thee mercy! Dost thou know it was thee who killed her, as
sure as ever Cain killed Abel. She'd loved thee as her own, and she
trusted thee as her own, and when thou wert gone she never held up
head again, but died in less than a three week; and at the judgment
day she'll rise, and point to thee as her murderer; or if she don't,
I will."

He flung her, trembling, sickening, fainting, from him, and strode
away. She fell with a feeble scream against the lamp-post, and
lay there in her weakness, unable to rise. A policeman came up in
time to see the close of these occurrences, and concluding from
Esther's unsteady, reeling fall, that she was tipsy, he took her
in her half-unconscious state to the lock-ups for the night. The
superintendent of that abode of vice and misery was roused from his
dozing watch through the dark hours, by half-delirious wails and
moanings, which he reported as arising from intoxication. If he had
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes