When Gerard and his friend quitted the convent they proceeded at a briskpace, into the heart of the town. The streets were nearly empty; andwith the exception of some occasional burst of brawl or merriment froma beer-shop, all was still. The chief street of Mowbray, calledCastle Street after the ruins of the old baronial stronghold in itsneighbourhood, was as significant of the present civilization of thiscommunity as the haughty keep had been of its ancient dependence. Thedimensions of Castle Street were not unworthy of the metropolis: ittraversed a great portion of the town, and was proportionately wide; itsbroad pavements and its blazing gas-lights indicated its modern orderand prosperity; while on each side of the street rose huge warehouses,not as beautiful as the palaces of Venice, but in their way not lessremarkable; magnificent shops; and here and there, though rarely, someancient factory built among the fields in the infancy of Mowbray by somemill-owner not sufficiently prophetic of the future, or sufficientlyconfident in the energy and enterprise of his fellow-citizens, toforesee that the scene of his labours would be the future eye-sore of aflourishing posterity.
Pursuing their course along Castle Street for about a quarter of a mile,Gerard and Stephen turned down a street which intersected it, and soon, through a variety of ways and winding lanes, till they arrived at anopen portion of the town, a district where streets and squares and evenrows, disappeared, and where the tall chimneys and bulky barrack-lookingbuildings that rose in all directions, clustering yet isolated,announced that they were in the principal scene of the industry ofMowbray. Crossing this open ground they gained a suburb, but one ofa very different description to that in which was situate the conventwhere they had parted with Sybil. This one was populous, noisy, andlighted. It was Saturday night; the streets were thronged; an infinitepopulation kept swarming to and fro the close courts and pestilentialcul-de-sacs that continually communicated with the streets by narrowarchways, like the entrance of hives, so low that you were obliged tostoop for admission: while ascending to these same streets, from theirdank and dismal dwellings by narrow flights of steps the subterraneousnation of the cellars poured forth to enjoy the coolness of the summernight, and market for the day of rest. The bright and lively shops werecrowded; and groups of purchasers were gathered round the stalls, thatby the aid of glaring lamps and flaunting lanthorns, displayed theirwares.
"Come, come, it's a prime piece," said a jolly looking woman, who waspresiding at a stall which, though considerably thinned by previouspurchasers, still offered many temptations to many who could notpurchase.
"And so it is widow," said a little pale man, wistfully.
"Come, come, it's getting late, and your wife's ill; you're a good soul,we'll say fi'pence a pound, and I'll throw you the scrag end in forlove."
"No butcher's meat to-morrow for us, widow," said the man.
"And why not, neighbour? With your wages, you ought to live like aprize-fighter, or the mayor of Mowbray at least."
"Wages!" said the man, "I wish you may get 'em. Those villains, Shuffleand Screw, have sarved me with another bate ticket: and a pretty figuretoo."
"Oh! the carnal monsters!" exclaimed the widow. "If their day don'tcome, the bloody-minded knaves!"
"And for small cops, too! Small cops be hanged! Am I the man to send upa bad-bottomed cop, Widow Carey?"
"You sent up for snicks! I have known you man and boy John Hill thesetwenty summers, and never heard a word against you till you got intoShuffle and Screw's mill. Oh! they are a bad yarn, John."
"They do us all, widow. They pretends to give the same wages as therest, and works it out in fines. You can't come, and you can't go, butthere's a fine; you're never paid wages, but there's a bate ticket. I'veheard they keep their whole establishment on factory fines."
"Soul alive, but those Shuffle and Screw are rotten, snickey, badyarns," said Mistress Carey. "Now ma'am, if you please; fi'penceha'penny; no, ma'am, we've no weal left. Weal, indeed! you look verylike a soul as feeds on weal," continued Mrs Carey in an under tone asher declining customer moved away. "Well, it gets late," said the widow,"and if you like to take this scrag end home to your wife neighbourHill, we can talk of the rest next Saturday. And what's your will, sir?"said the widow with a stern expression to a youth who now stopped at herstall.
He was about sixteen, with a lithe figure, and a handsome, faded,impudent face. His long, loose, white trousers gave him height; he hadno waistcoat, but a pink silk handkerchief was twisted carelessly roundhis neck, and fastened with a very large pin, which, whatever wereits materials, had unquestionably a very gorgeous appearance. A loosefrock-coat of a coarse white cloth, and fastened by one button round hiswaist, completed his habiliments, with the addition of the covering tohis head, a high-crowned dark-brown hat, which relieved his complexion,and heightened the effect of his mischievous blue eye.
"Well, you need not be so fierce, Mother Carey," said the youth with anaffected air of deprecation.
"Don't mother me," said the jolly widow with a kindling eye; "go to yourown mother, who is dying in a back cellar without a winder, while you'vegot lodgings in a two pair."
"Dying; she's only drunk," said the youth.
"And if she is only drunk," rejoined Mrs Carey in a passion, "what makesher drink but toil; working from five o'clock in the morning to seveno'clock at night, and for the like of such as you."
"That's a good one," said the youth; "I should like to know what mymother ever did for me, but give me treacle and laudanum when I was ababby to stop my tongue and fill my stomach; by the token of which,as my gal says, she stunted the growth of the prettiest figure in allMowbray." And here the youth drew himself up, and thrust his hands inthe side pockets of his pea-jacket.
"Well, I never," said Mrs Carey. "No; I never heard a thing like that!"
"What, not when you cut up the jackass and sold it for veal cutlets,mother."
"Hold your tongue, Mr Imperence," said the widow. "It's very well knownyou're no Christian, and who'll believe what you say?"
"It's very well known that I'm a man what pays his way," said the boy,"and don't keep a huckster's stall to sell carrion by star-light; butlive in a two pair, if you please, and has a wife and family, or asgood."
"O! you aggravating imp!" exclaimed the widow in despair, unable towreak her vengeance on one who kept in a secure position, and whosemovements were as nimble as his words.
"Why, Madam Carey, what has Dandy Mick done to thee?" said agood-humoured voice, it came from one of two factory girls who werepassing her stall and stopped. They were gaily dressed, a lighthandkerchief tied under the chin, their hair scrupulously arranged; theywore coral neck-laces and earrings of gold.
"Ah! is it you, my child," said the widow, who was a good-heartedcreature. "The dandy has been giving me some of his imperence."
"But I meant nothing, dame," said Mick. "It was a joke,--only a joke."
"Well, let it pass," said Mrs Carey. "And where have you been this longtime, my child; and who's your friend?" she added in a lower tone.
"Well, I have left Mr Trafford's mill," said the girl.
"That's a bad job," said Mrs Carey; "for those Traffords are kind totheir people. It's a great thing for a young person to be in theirmill."
"So it is," said the girl, "but then it was so dull. I can't stand acountry life, Mrs Carey. I must have company."
"Well, I do love a bit of gossip myself," said Mrs Carey, with greatfrankness.
"And then I'm no scholar," said the girl, "and never could take tolearning. And those Traffords had so many schools."
"Learning is better than house and land," said Mrs Carey; "though I'mno scholar myself; but then, in my time, things was different. But youngpersons--"
"Yes," said Mick; "I don't think I could get through the day, if itwurno' for our Institute."
"And what's that?" asked Mrs Carey with a sneer.
"The Shoddy-Court Literary and Scientific, to be sure," said Mick; "wehave got fifty members, and take in three London papers; one 'NorthernStar' an
d two 'Moral Worlds.'"
"And where are you now, child?" continued the widow to the girl.
"I am at Wiggins and Webster's," said the girl; "and this is my partner.We keep house together; we have a very nice room in Arbour Court, No.7, high up; it's very airy. If you will take a dish of tea with usto-morrow, we expect some friends."
"I take it kindly," said Mrs Carey; "and so you keep house together! Allthe children keep house in these days. Times is changed indeed!"
"And we shall be happy to see you, Mick; and Julia, if you are notengaged;" continued the girl; and she looked at her friend, a prettydemure girl, who immediately said, but in a somewhat faultering tone,"Oh! that we shall."
"And what are you going to do now, Caroline?" said Mick.
"Well, we had no thoughts; but I said to Harriet, as it is a fine night,let us walk about as long as we can and then to-morrow we will lie inbed till afternoon."
"That's all well eno' in winter time with plenty of baccy," said Mick,"but at this season of the year I must have life. The moment I came outI bathed in the river, and then went home and dressed," he added in asatisfied tone; "and now I am going to the Temple. I'll tell you what,Julia has been pricked to-day with a shuttle, 'tis not much, but shecan't go out; I'll stand treat, and take you and your friend to theTemple."
"Well, that's delight," said Caroline. "There's no one does the handsomething like you, Dandy Mick, and I always say so. Oh! I love the Temple!'Tis so genteel! I was speaking of it to Harriet last night; shenever was there. I proposed to go with her--but two girls alone,--youunderstand me. One does not like to be seen in these places, as if onekept no company."
"Very true," said Mick; "and now we'll be off. Good night, widow."
"You'll remember us to-morrow evening," said Caroline. "To-morrowevening! The Temple!" murmured Mrs Carey to herself. "I think the worldis turned upside downwards in these parts. A brat like Mick Radley tolive in a two pair, with a wife and family, or as good as he says;and this girl asks me to take a dish of tea with her and keeps house!Fathers and mothers goes for nothing," continued Mrs Carey, as she tooka very long pinch of snuff and deeply mused. "'tis the children gets thewages," she added after a profound pause, "and there it is."
Book 2 Chapter 10