Mary Barton

  XXV. MRS. WILSON'S DETERMINATION.

  "Something there was, what, none presumed to say, Clouds lightly passing on a smiling day,-- Whispers and hints which went from ear to ear, And mixed reports no judge on earth could clear." --CRABBE.

  "Curious conjectures he may always make, And either side of dubious questions take." --IBID.

  Mary went home. Oh! how her head did ache, and how dizzy her brainwas growing! But there would be time enough she felt for giving wayhereafter.

  So she sat quiet and still by an effort; sitting near the window,and looking out of it, but seeing nothing, when all at once shecaught sight of something which roused her up, and made her drawback.

  But it was too late. She had been seen.

  Sally Leadbitter flaunted into the little dingy room, making itgaudy with the Sunday excess of colouring in her dress.

  She was really curious to see Mary; her connection with a murdererseemed to have made her into a sort of lusus naturae, and wasalmost, by some, expected to have made a change in her personalappearance, so earnestly did they stare at her. But Mary had beentoo much absorbed the last day or two to notice this.

  Now Sally had a grand view, and looked her over and over (a verydifferent thing from looking her through and through), and almostlearnt her off by heart:--"Her every-day gown (Hoyle's print youknow, that lilac thing with the high body) she was so fond of; alittle black silk handkerchief just knotted round her neck, like aboy; her hair all taken back from her face, as if she wanted to keepher head cool--she would always keep that hair of hers so long; andher hands twitching continually about"--

  Such particulars would make Sally into a Gazette Extraordinary thenext morning at the workroom and were worth coming for, even iflittle else could be extracted from Mary.

  "Why, Mary!" she began. "Where have you hidden yourself? You nevershowed your face all yesterday at Miss Simmonds's. You don't fancywe think any the worse of you for what's come and gone. Some on us,indeed, were a bit sorry for the poor young man, as lies stiff andcold for your sake, Mary; but we shall ne'er cast it up against you.Miss Simmonds, too, will be mighty put out if you don't come, forthere's a deal of mourning, agait."

  "I can't," Mary said, in a low voice. "I don't mean ever to comeagain."

  "Why, Mary!" said Sally, in unfeigned surprise. "To be sure, you'llhave to be in Liverpool, Tuesday, and maybe Wednesday; but afterthat you'll surely come, and tell us all about it. Miss Simmondsknows you'll have to be off those two days. But between you and me,she's a bit of a gossip, and will like hearing all how and about thetrial, well enough to let you off very easy for your being absent aday or two. Besides, Betsy Morgan was saying yesterday, sheshouldn't wonder but you'd prove quite an attraction to customers.Many a one would come and have their gowns made by Miss Simmondsjust to catch a glimpse at you, at after the trial's over. Really,Mary, you'll turn out quite a heroine."

  The little fingers twitched worse than ever; the large soft eyeslooked up pleadingly into Sally's face; but she went on in the samestrain, not from any unkind or cruel feeling towards Mary, butsolely because she was incapable of comprehending her suffering.

  She had been shocked, of course, at Mr. Carson's death, though atthe same time the excitement was rather pleasant than otherwise; anddearly now would she have enjoyed the conspicuous notice which Marywas sure to receive.

  "How shall you like being cross-examined, Mary?"

  "Not at all," answered Mary, when she found she must answer.

  "La! what impudent fellows those lawyers are! And their clerks,too, not a bit better. I shouldn't wonder" (in a comforting tone,and really believing she was giving comfort) "if you picked up a newsweetheart in Liverpool. What gown are you going in, Mary?"

  "Oh, I don't know and don't care," exclaimed Mary, sick and weary ofher visitor.

  "Well, then! take my advice, and go in that blue merino. It's oldto be sure, and a bit worn at elbows, but folk won't notice that,and th' colour suits you. Now mind, Mary. And I'll lend you myblack-watered scarf," added she really good-naturedly, according toher sense of things, and withal, a little bit pleased at the idea ofher pet article of dress figuring away on the person of a witness ata trial for murder. "I'll bring it to-morrow before you start."

  "No, don't!" said Mary; "thank you, but I don't want it."

  "Why, what can you wear? I know all your clothes as well as I do myown, and what is there you can wear? Not your old plaid shawl, I dohope? You would not fancy this I have on, more nor the scarf, wouldyou?" said she, brightening up at the thought, and willing to lendit, or anything else.

  "O Sally! don't go on talking a-that-ns; how can I think on dress atsuch a time? When it's a matter of life and death to Jem?"

  "Bless the girl! It's Jem, is it? Well now, I thought there wassome sweetheart in the background, when you flew off so with Mr.Carson. Then what, in the name of goodness, made him shoot Mr.Harry? After you had given up going with him, I mean? Was heafraid you'd be on again?"

  "How dare you say he shot Mr. Harry?" asked Mary, firing up from thestate of languid indifference into which she had sunk while Sallyhad been settling about her dress. "But it's no matter what youthink as did not know him. What grieves me is, that people shouldgo on thinking him guilty as did know him," she said, sinking backinto her former depressed tone and manner.

  "And don't you think he did it?" asked Sally.

  Mary paused; she was going on too fast with one so curious and sounscrupulous. Besides, she remembered how even she herself had, atfirst, believed him guilty; and she felt it was not for her to caststones at those who, on similar evidence, inclined to the samebelief. None had given him much benefit of a doubt. None had faithin his innocence. None but his mother; and the heart loved morethan the head reasoned, and her yearning affection had never for aninstant entertained the idea that her Jem was a murderer. But Marydisliked the whole conversation the subject, the manner in which itwas treated, were all painful, and she had a repugnance to theperson with whom she spoke.

  She was thankful, therefore, when Job Legh's voice was heard at thedoor, as he stood with the latch in his hand, talking to aneighbour, and when Sally jumped up in vexation and said, "There'sthat old fogey coming in here, as I'm alive! Did your father sethim to look after you while he was away? or what brings the old chaphere? However, I'm off; I never could abide either him or his primgrand-daughter. Good-bye, Mary."

  So far in a whisper, then louder, "If you think better of my offerabout the scarf, Mary, just step in to-morrow before nine, andyou're quite welcome to it."

  She and Job passed each other at the door, with mutual looks ofdislike, which neither took any pains to conceal.

  "Yon's a bold, bad girl," said Job to Mary.

  "She's very good-natured," replied Mary, too honourable to abuse avisitor, who had only that instant crossed her threshold, and gladlydwelling on the good quality most apparent in Sally's character.

  "Ay, ay! good-natured, generous, jolly, full of fun; there are anumber of other names for the good qualities the devil leaves hischildren, as baits to catch gudgeons with. D'ye think folk could beled astray by one who was every way bad? Howe'er, that's not what Icame to talk about. I've seen Mr. Bridgnorth, and he is in a mannerthe same mind as we; he thinks it would have an awkward look, andmight tell against the poor lad on his trial; still if she's illshe's ill, and it can't be helped."

  "I don't know if she's so bad as all that," said Mary, who began todread her part in doing anything which might tell against her poorlover. "Will you come and see her, Job? The doctor seemed to sayas I liked, not as he thought."

  "That's because he had no great thought on the subject, either oneway or t'other," replied Job, whose contempt for medical men prettynearly equalled his respect for lawyers. "But I'll go and welcome.I han not seen th' ould ladies since their sorrows, and it's butmanners to
go and ax after them. Come along."

  The room at Mrs. Wilson's had that still, changeless look you musthave often observed in the house of sickness or mourning. Noparticular employment going on people watching and waiting ratherthan acting, unless in the more sudden and violent attacks: whatlittle movement is going on, so noiseless and hushed; the furnitureall arranged and stationary, with a view to the comfort of theafflicted; the window-blinds drawn down to keep out the disturbingvariety of a sunbeam; the same saddened serious look on the faces ofthe indwellers: you fall back into the same train of thought withall these associations, and forget the street, the outer world, inthe contemplation of the one stationary, absorbing interest within.

  Mrs. Wilson sat quietly in her chair, with just the same look Maryhad left on her face; Mrs. Davenport went about with creaking shoeswhich made all the more noise from her careful and lengthened tread,annoying the ears of those who were well, in this instance, far morethan the dull senses of the sick and the sorrowful. Alice's voicestill was going on cheerfully in the upper room with incessanttalking and little laughs to herself, or perhaps in sympathy withher unseen companions; "unseen," I say, in preference to "fancied,"for who knows whether God does not permit the forms of those whowere dearest when living, to hover round the bed of the dying?

  Job spoke, and Mrs. Wilson answered.

  So quietly that it was unnatural under the circumstances. It made adeeper impression on the old man than any token of mere bodilyillness could have done. If she had raved in delirium, or moaned infever, he could have spoken after his wont, and given his opinion,his advice, and his consolation: now he was awed into silence.

  At length he pulled Mary aside into a corner of the house-place,where Mrs. Wilson was sitting, and began to talk to her.

  "Yo're right, Mary! She's no ways fit to go to Liverpool, poorsoul. Now I've seen her I only wonder the doctor could ha' beenunsettled in his mind at th' first. Choose how it goes wi' poorJem, she cannot go. One way or another it will soon be over; thebest to leave her in the state she is till then."

  "I was sure you would think so," said Mary.

  But they were reckoning without their host. They esteemed hersenses gone, while, in fact, they were only inert, and could notconvey impressions rapidly to the overburdened, troubled brain.They had not noticed that her eyes had followed them (mechanicallyit seemed at first) as they had moved away to the corner of theroom; that her face, hitherto so changeless, had begun to work withone or two of the old symptoms of impatience.

  But when they were silent she stood up, and startled them almost asif a dead person had spoken, by saying clearly and decidedly--

  "I go to Liverpool. I hear you and your plans; and I tell you Ishall go to Liverpool. If my words are to kill my son, they havealready gone forth out of my mouth, and nought can bring them back.But I will have faith. Alice (up above) has often telled me Iwanted faith, and now I will have it. They cannot--they will notkill my child, my only child. I will not be afeard. Yet oh! I amso sick with terror. But if he is to die, think ye not that I willsee him again; ay! see him at his trial? When all are hating him,he shall have his poor mother near him, to give him all the comfort,eyes, and looks, and tears, and a heart that is dead to all but him,can give; his poor mother, who knows how free he is from sin--in thesight of man at least. They'll let me go to him, maybe, the veryminute it's over; and I know many Scripture texts (though you wouldnot think it), that may keep up his heart. I missed seeing him erehe went to yon prison, but nought shall keep me away again oneminute when I can see his face; for maybe the minutes are numbered,and the count but small. I know I can be a comfort to him, poorlad. You would not think it, now, but he'd always speak as kind andsoft to me as if he were courting me, like. He loved me above abit; and am I to leave him now to dree all the cruel slander they'llput upon him? I can pray for him at each hard word they say againsthim, if I can do nought else; and he'll know what his mother isdoing for him, poor lad, by the look on my face."

  Still they made some look, or gesture of opposition to her wishes.She turned sharp round on Mary, the old object of her pettishattacks, and said, "Now, wench! once for all, I tell you this. HEcould never guide me; and he'd sense enough not to try. What hecould na do, don't you try. I shall go to Liverpool tomorrow, andfind my lad, and stay with him through thick and thin; and if hedies, why, perhaps, God of His mercy will take me too. The grave isa sure cure for an aching heart!"

  She sank back in her chair, quite exhausted by the sudden effort shehad made; but if they even offered to speak, she cut them short(whatever the subject might be), with the repetition of the samewords, "I shall go to Liverpool."

  No more could be said, the doctor's opinion had been so undecided;Mr. Bridgnorth had given his legal voice in favour of her going, andMary was obliged to relinquish the idea of persuading her to remainat home, if, indeed, under all the circumstances, it could bethought desirable.

  "Best way will be," said Job, "for me to hunt out Will, earlytomorrow morning, and yo, Mary, come at after with Jane Wilson. Iknow a decent woman where yo two can have a bed, and where we maymeet together when I've found Will, afore going to Mr. Bridgnorth'sat two o'clock; for, I can tell him, I'll not trust none of hisclerks for hunting up Will, if Jem's life's to depend on it."

  Now Mary disliked this plan inexpressibly; her dislike was partlygrounded on reason, and partly on feeling. She could not bear theidea of deputing to any one the active measures necessary to betaken in order to save Jem. She felt as if they were her duty, herright. She durst not trust to any one the completion of her plan:they might not have energy, or perseverance, or desperation enoughto follow out the slightest chance; and her love would endow herwith all these qualities independently of the terrible alternativewhich awaited her in case all failed and Jem was condemned. No onecould have her motives; and consequently no one could have hersharpened brain, her despairing determination. Besides (only thatwas purely selfish), she could not endure the suspense of remainingquiet, and only knowing the result when all was accomplished.

  So with vehemence and impatience she rebutted every reason Jobadduced for his plan; and of course, thus opposed, by what appearedto him wilfulness, he became more resolute, and angry words wereexchanged, and a feeling of estrangement rose up between them, for atime, as they walked homewards.

  But then came in Margaret with her gentleness, like an angel ofpeace, so calm and reasonable, that both felt ashamed of theirirritation, and tacitly left the decision to her (only, by the way,I think Mary could never have submitted if it had gone against her,penitent and tearful as was her manner now to Job, the good old manwho was helping her to work for Jem, although they differed as tothe manner).

  "Mary had better go," said Margaret to her grandfather, in a lowtone; "I know what she's feeling, and it will be a comfort to hersoon, maybe, to think she did all she could herself. She would,perhaps, fancy it might have been different; do, grandfather, lether."

  Margaret had still, you see, little or no belief in Jem's innocenceand besides, she thought if Mary saw Will, and heard herself fromhim that Jem had not been with him that Thursday night, it would ina measure break the force of the blow which was impending.

  "Let me lock up house, grandfather, for a couple of days, and go andstay with Alice. It's but little one like me can do, I know" (sheadded softly); "but, by the blessing o' God, I'll do it and welcome;and here comes one kindly use o' money, I can hire them as will dofor her what I cannot. Mrs. Davenport is a willing body, and onewho knows sorrow and sickness, and I can pay her for her time, andkeep her there pretty near altogether. So let that be settled. Andyou take Mrs. Wilson, dear grandad, and let Mary go find Will, andyou can all meet together at after, and I'm sure I wish you luck."

  Job consented with only a few dissenting grunts; but on the wholewith a very good grace for an old man who had been so positive onlya few minutes before.

  Mary was thankful for Margaret's interference. She did not speak,but thre
w her arms round Margaret's neck, and put up her rosy-redmouth to be kissed; and even Job was attracted by the pretty,child-like gesture; and when she drew near him, afterwards, like alittle creature sidling up to some person whom it feels to haveoffended, he bent down and blessed her, as if she had been a childof his own.

  To Mary the old man's blessing came like words of power.