Fenn George Manville
The Rosery Folk

“There is one outside. Mrs Badley must ha’ left it there when she cleaned up,” cried Brother William eagerly; and Martha said “Oh!”

Then he led the way back into the keeping-room, and opened a second door, while Martha’s quick eyes were taking in everything, not an article of furniture escaping her gaze; not that she was admiring or calculating their quality or value, but as if she were in search of some particular thing that so far she had found absent; this object being a spot of dirt.

“This here’s the dairy,” said Brother William, entering, and holding open the double doors of the cool, dark, shady place – brick-floored, like the washhouse, but with a broad erection of red-brick all round like a rough dresser, upon which stood rows of white-lined pans, with a large white table in the middle, and the churn, scales, and beaters, and other utensils used in the preparation of the butter, along with the milk-pails at one end.

Martha’s wandering eyes were as badly off as Noah’s dove in the early days after the flood; they could find no place to rest, for everything was scrupulously clean. The cream looked thick and heavy and almost tawny in its yellowness; and upon two large dishes were a couple of dozen rolls of delicious-looking butter, reposing beneath a piece of while muslin, ready for taking to market on the following day.

“Myste and cool, isn’t it?” said Brother William. “You see it’s torst the north, and I’ve got elder-trees to shade the window as well.”

Martha nodded, and continued her search for that spot of dirt which her reason told her must be somewhere; but certainly it was not hiding there.

“There’s four cows in full milk now, Martha. Cream’s rich; isn’t it? Wait a moment.”

“Where do you get your hot-water to scald the churn and things?” said Martha sharply, checking Brother William as he was moving towards the open door.

“There’s a big byler in the kitchen,” said Brother William, eager to make the best of things; and then, as Martha said no more, but went on with her dirt quest, he left the dairy, and came back directly after with an old-fashioned, much worn, silver tablespoon.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind tasting the cream, Martha. This here is ’bout the freshest,” he said, going to one of the broad shallow pans, inserting the spoon, which, Martha had seen at a glance, was beautifully clean, and gently drawing the cream sidewise, so that it crinkled all over, so thick was it and rich, and the spoon came out piled up as it were with the luscious produce of the little farm.

Martha’s face was perfectly solemn, as she watched Brother William’s acts, and she did not move a muscle till he spoke.

“Open your mouth,” he said seriously – “Wide.”

Martha obeyed, and did open her mouth – wide, for it was rather a large mouth; but the lips were well shaped and red, and the teeth within were even and white.

Brother William carefully placed the spoonful of cream within; and Martha closed her lips, solemnly imbibing the luscious spoonful, when, as a small portion was left visible at one corner, Brother William carefully removed it with an orange silk pocket-handkerchief; and Martha quietly said: “Thank you.”

“Would you like to look at the cows now, or have tea?” said Brother William; whereupon Martha opined that it would be better to have tea, as Fanny would be expecting them.

But Fanny was evidently not expecting them, and did not come in until Martha had made the tea and cut the bread-and-butter, Brother William leaning his arms on the back of the big, well bees’-waxed Windsor chair, and gazing at her busy fingers, as she spread the yellow butter and cut a plateful of slices.

“Seems just as if you were doing it at home,” said Brother William; “only it looks nicer here.”

Then Fanny was summoned, and Martha made way for her to preside at the tea-tray.

“No; you’d better pour out,” the girl said absently. “I’d rather sit here.”

“Here” was where she could see through the open window out into the road; and there she sat while the meal was discussed, little attention being paid to her by her brother, who divided his time between eating heartily himself, and pressing slices of ham upon Martha, who took her place in the most matter-of-fact way, and supplied her host’s wants, which were frequent, as the teacups were very small. In fact, so occupied with their meal were Brother William and Martha, that they did not notice a slow, deliberate step in the road, passing evidently down the lane; neither did they see that Fanny’s face, as she bent lower over her cup, became deeply suffused, and that she did not look up till the step had died away, when she uttered a low sigh, as if a burden had been removed from her breast.

After that, though, they did notice that she became brighter and more willing to enter into conversation, seeming at last to take quite an interest in her brother’s account of the loss of a sheep through its getting upside down in a ditch; and she also expressed a feeling of satisfaction upon hearing that hay would fetch a good price in the autumn, so many people having had theirs spoiled.

“Never mind me,” said Fanny, as soon as, between them, she and Martha had put away the tea-things: “I shall go into the garden and look round.”

Brother William evidently did not mind her, for, in his slow deliberate way, he took off Martha to introduce her to the cows; after which she had to scrape acquaintance with the pigs, visit the poultry, who were somewhat disturbed, inasmuch as they were settling themselves in the positions that they were to occupy for the night, and made no little outcry in consequence. Then there were the sheep; and there was last year’s haystack, and this year’s, both of which had to be smelt, Brother William pulling out a good handful from each, to show Martha that there was not a trace of damp in either. This done, a happy thought seemed to strike Brother William, who turned to Martha and exclaimed: “I wonder whether you could churn?”

“Let’s try,” said Martha, with the air of one who would have made the same answer if it had been the question of making a steam-engine or a watch.

Brother William gave one of his legs a vigorous slap, and marched Martha back into the house, through into the dairy. Then he fetched a can of hot-water to rinse out and warm the churn. There was a pot of lumpy cream already waiting, and this was carefully poured in, the lid duly replaced, with the addition of a cloth, to keep the cream from splashing out, and then he stood and watched Martha, who was busily pinning up her dress all round. She then turned up her sleeves and took out a clean pocket-handkerchief, which she folded by laying one corner across to the other, and then tied it over her head and under her chin, making her pleasant comely face look so provocative, that Brother William drew a long breath, took a step forward, and was going to catch Martha in his arms; but he recollected himself in time, gave a slew round, and caught hold of the churn handle instead, and this he began to turn steadily round and round, as if intending to play a tune.

“I thought I was to make it,” said Martha quietly.

“Oh, ah, yes, of course,” he said, resigning the handle; and then he drew back, as if it was not safe for him to stand there and watch, while Martha steadily turned and turned, and the cream within the snowy white sycamore box went “wish-wash, wish-wash, wish-wash,” playing, after all, a very delicious tune in the young farmer’s ears, for it suggested yellow butter, and yellow butter suggested sovereigns, and sovereigns suggested borne comforts and savings, and above all, the turning of that handle suggested the winning of just the very wife to occupy that home.

Five minutes, and there was a glow of colour in Martha’s cheeks. Five minutes more, and the colour was in her brow as well.

“You are tired now,” said Brother William. “Let me turn.”

“No; I mean to make it,” she replied, tightening her lips and turning steadily away.

Another five minutes, and there was a very red spot on Martha’s chin, and her lips were apart; but she turned away, with Brother William quite rapt in admiration at the patient perseverance displayed; and in fact, if it had been a question of another hour, Martha would have kept on turning till she dropped. She did not speak, neither did Brother William; but his admiration increased. Their eyes never met, for Martha’s were fixed steadfastly upon one particular red-brick; not that it was dirty, for it was of a brighter red than the others; and she turned and turned, first with one hand, then with the other, till there was a change in the “wish-wash, wish-wash” in the churn, and then Brother William exclaimed: “That’s done it! Butter!”

“Hah!” ejaculated Martha, with a heavy sigh, and her breath came all the faster for the exertion.

“Look at it!” cried Brother William, taking the lid off the churn. “Can you see?”

Martha was rather short; hence, perhaps, it was that Brother William placed his arm round her waist to raise her slightly; and he was not looking at the butter, and Martha was not looking at it either, but up at him, as he bent down a little lower, and somehow, without having had the slightest intention of doing so the moment before, Brother William gave Martha a very long and solemn kiss.

She shrank away from him the next moment, and looked up at him reproachfully. “You shouldn’t,” she said. “It’s so wrong.”

“Is it?” he said dolefully. “I’m very sorry. I couldn’t help it, Martha. You made the butter so beautifully. Don’t be cross.”

“I’m not cross,” she said, untying the handkerchief, and then proceeding to take out the pins from her dress, holding them between her lips, points outwards; “only you mustn’t do so again.”

Brother William said: “Well, I won’t;” and then, as the pins were taken from Martha’s red lips – so great is the falsity of man – he bent down and let his lips take the place of the pins, and Martha said never a word.

“Joe’s wife said yesterday that she didn’t mean to come and do for me much longer,” said Brother William suddenly.

“Why not?” said Martha.

“Because she said I’d best ask you.”

“And are you going to ask me, William?”

“Yes. When will you come altogether?” he said softly.

Martha glanced round once more, as if in search of that spot of dirt which would keep eluding her search. Then she raised her eyes to Brother William’s shirt front with a triumphant flash, feeling sure that she would see a button off, or a worn hole; but there was neither; and when she turned her eyes upon his hands, the wristbands were not a bit frayed.

“I don’t know,” she said dubiously. “Do you want me to come?”

He nodded, and they went out of the dairy into the sitting room.

“I’ll tell Fanny,” he said. “I hope she’ll be pleased.”

But Fanny was not there; and when they went into the garden, she was not there either, nor yet in the orchard.

“She must have gone down the lane,” said Brother William – “down towards the river. Let’s go and see.”

They went out together, with Martha making no scruple now about holding on by Brother William’s sturdy arm. But though they walked nearly down to the river, Fanny was not there.

“She’ll be cross, and think we neglected her,” said Martha. “I am sorry we went away.”

“I’m not,” said Brother William, trying to be facetious for the second time that evening. “We’ve made half a dozen pounds o’ butter, and a match.”

Martha shook her head.

“Let’s go back and see if she went up to the wood,” cried Brother William.

“She’s reading somewhere,” said Martha as they walked back, to find Fanny standing by the gate, looking slightly flushed and very pretty, ready to smile and banter them for being away so long.

They soon ended the visit to the farm; for, after partaking of supper, and eating one of Brother William’s own carefully grown lettuces, they walked slowly back, in the soft moist evening air, to the Rosery, when, during the leave-takings, Brother William said: “Fanny, Martha’s going to be my wife.”

“Is she?” said Fanny indifferently. “Oh!” And then to herself: “Poor things! What a common, ordinary-looking woman Martha is. And Brother William – Ah, what a degrading life this is!”

The degradation did not seem to affect the others, for Brother William’s cheeks quite shone, and the high lights on Martha’s two glossy smooth hands of hair seemed to be brighter than ever.

“Good-night,” said Brother William. “Good-night, Martha.”

“Good-night, William.”

“You’ll keep a sharp eye on Fanny till I fetch you away; won’t you?”

“I always do, William; but I’m afraid her eyes are sharper than mine.”

“What do you mean?” he said quietly.

“I’m afraid she’s got a sweetheart.”

“Who is it?” said Brother William sternly.

“I don’t know yet. Sometimes I think it’s a real one, and sometimes I think it’s all sham – only one out of her magazines that she talks about; but I’m not sure.”

“Then look here, Martha: you’ve got to be sure,” said Brother William, who was as business-like now as if he had been selling his hay. “You’ve got to make sure, and tell me, for I’m not going to have anybody play the fool with her. If any one does, there’ll be something the matter somewhere;” and shaking his head very fiercely, Brother William strode away, giving a thump with his stick at every step along the road.

End of Volume One

Volume Two – Chapter One.
Aunt Sophia Visits the City

Mr Fred. Saxby stopped in front of the Royal Exchange one morning to buy a rose, and spent some time in selecting it. Red ones would not do; yellow he despised. He wanted a delicate white rose, with a dash of blush pink upon its petals; and when he had discovered one, he made no scruple about paying the flower-girl sixpence and carrying it off with the greatest care to deposit in a glass upon his desk, for reasons known only to himself.

He had rather a busy morning in his close, cool, dark office, in a court out of Throgmorton Street – an office where the light of day had a struggle every morning to get down between two tall piles of building, and illumine the room, failing dismally seven or eight months out of the twelve, and leaving the stockbroker to the tender mercies of his gas company and the yellow flame that danced within a globe.

Mr Saxby’s room was “as clean as hands could make it,” – the housekeeper’s words – but all the same it did not seem clean. There was a dingy look about everything, excepting the rose he bought every morning, and himself. In one part of the room was a tiny machine, untouched save by electricity, which went on, unwinding, inking its letters and stamping mile after mile of tape-like paper, informing the reader the while that the shares of this railway were up, of that down; that foreign stocks had made this change, consols were at that, and so on, and so on, while the occupant of the office paid not the slightest heed, but divided his attention between the Times and the rose.

Just in the midst of one of his most earnest inspections of the flower, during which he took a long soft inhalation of its odorous breath, a clerk entered with a card. “Miss Raleigh, sir.”

“Bless my heart!” ejaculated the stockbroker, hastily setting down the rose, for the act of smelling it had taken him down to a velvet lawn, sloping to the riverside; and upon that lawn he had seemed to see some one walking, wearing a similar rose; but it was not the lady who now entered, and of whom he had heard nothing since he warned her not to venture in the Cornish mine.

“Good-morning, Miss Raleigh,” he exclaimed, placing a chair. “I hardly expected to see you.”

“Why not?” said Aunt Sophia shortly. “Where did you expect I should go?”

“I hope you are well, ma’am, and – Sir James and Lady Scarlett?”

“No; I’m not well; I’m worried,” said the lady. “Sir James and Lady Scarlett are both ill. Has – But never mind that now. Look here, Mr Saxby; you always give me very bad advice, and you seem determined not to let me get good interest for my money. Now, tell me this, sir. I have been receiving a great many circulars lately about different excellent investments; above all, several about gold mines in the north of India.”

“So I suppose, ma’am,” said Mr Saxby rubbing his hands softly.

“And I suppose you will say that they are not good; but here is one that I received yesterday which cannot fail to be right. I want some shares in that.”

“And you won’t have one, ma’am,” said Mr Saxby, who was far more autocratic in his own office than at a friend’s house.

“What! are they all sold?”

“Sold? Pooh! ma’am, hardly any. There are not many people lunatics enough to throw their money into an Indian gold mine.”

“Saxby, you are the most obstinate, aggravating man I ever did know. Look here; will not these figures convince you?”

“No, ma’am; only make me more obstinate – more aggravating still.”

“Then what do these figures mean?”

“Mean, madam? To trap spinster ladies with small incomes, half-pay officers, poor clergymen with miserable livings – the whole lot of poor genteel people, and those who like to dabble in investments – people who can’t afford to lose, and people who can. Why, my dear madam, use your own judgment. If there were a safe fifteen per cent, there, the shares would be gone in one hour, and at a heavy premium the next.”

“Humph!” said Aunt Sophia. “Of course you do all my nephew’s business?”

“Yes, madam; it all comes here.”

“You know what shares he holds?”

“I think so. Of course, he may have been to other brokers; but he would not have done so without good reason.”

“As far as you can, then,” said Aunt Sophia, “keep an eye upon what are sold, and I should like to be made acquainted with any sales that may take place.”

“Well, really, my dear Miss Raleigh, such a proceeding – ”

“Yes, yes, man; I know all about that; but you know to what a state he has been reduced. I love him like a son, and I – Now look here, Saxby; I’m telling you this, because I think you are an honest man.”

“Well, I hope I am, ma’am.”

“Then look here; I will speak out. I won’t mention any names; but I am afraid that designing people are at work to get possession of some of his property, and I want it watched.”

“Rather a serious charge, Miss Raleigh.”

“Stuff and nonsense, man! Not half serious enough. Just look at this prospectus for a moment. There are some good names to it. I’ll talk about those other matters afterwards.”

Aunt Sophia fixed her double glasses upon her nose, and stared through them upon the neat and dapper stockbroker, who stared in return, and frowned, otherwise he would have laughed, for the spring of Aunt Sophia’s pince-nez was very strong, and its effect was to compress the organ upon which it rested, so that the ordinarily thin sharp point of the lady’s nose was turned into a sickly-looking bulb, that was, to say the least, grotesque.

“Halt!” said Mr Saxby, reading quickly: “Society for the Elevation of the Human Race in large and Crowded Towns; patrons, the Right Hon. – hum-ha-hum; his Grace the – hum-ha-hum; the Lord Bishop of – hum-ha-hum; directors – hum-ha-hum; M.P. – hum – Mr – hum,” – Mr Saxby’s voice grew less and less distinct, becoming at last a continuance of the sound expressed in letters by hum, but he finished off sharply with: “Secretary, Mr Arthur Prayle! – Well, ma’am, and what of this?”

“What of it, Saxby? Why, wouldn’t it be a most admirable thing to invest in a Society which will benefit my fellow-creatures and bring in a large percentage as well?”

“Admirable, my dear madam,” said Saxby; “but you don’t quite express the result.”

“What do you mean?”

“Singular, ma’am, not plural, and no percentage.”

“Now, look here, Saxby: I have come here on business, if you please, not to hear you discuss points of grammar. What do you mean by your singular and plural?”

“I mean, my dear madam,” said Saxby, with a chuckle, “that this Society,” – he flipped the prospectus with his finger as he spoke – “would benefit one fellow-creature only, and give no percentage at all. What is more, you would never see your money back.”

“Ho!” ejaculated Aunt Sophia. “And pray, who would be the fellow-creature?”

“Well, ma’am, it is being rather hard upon a gentleman whom I have had the pleasure of meeting, and who is no doubt acting in the best of faith; but the secretary is the only fellow-creature who will get anything out of that affair. He will of course take care that the office expenses are paid, he is an office expense. There will be nothing for a soul beside.”

“Oh, this is prejudice, Mr Saxby.”

“Business prejudice, perhaps, ma’am; but, to my mind, this is only one of many Societies that are constantly springing up like toadstools – that kind that comes up fair and white, looks very much like a good mushroom for a time, and then dissolves into a nasty black inky fluid, and is gone.”

“It is prejudice,” said Aunt Sophia.

“Maybe, ma’am; but there are numbers of silly Societies got up, such as appeal to weak sensitive people; the secretary gets a few letters in the daily papers, and plenty of ladies like yourself subscribe their money, say, for the Suppression of Sunday Labour amongst Cabhorses, the Society for Dieting Destitute Blackbeetles, and the Provident Home for Canaries whose Patrons are out of Town. These, my dear madam, are exaggerations, but only slight ones, of many Societies got up by ingenious secretaries, who turn a bottle of ink, a ream of neatly headed note-paper, and some cleverly monogrammed envelopes, into a comfortable income.”

“That will do,” said Aunt Sophia shortly as she took off her pince-nez and allowed the blood to resume its circulation – “that will do, Mr Saxby. – Then you will not buy the shares for me?”

“No, ma’am, not a share. I should deserve to be kicked out of the Stock Exchange, if I did.”

“Very well, sir – very well, sir,” said the lady, rising and tightening her lips. “That will do.”

“And now, as business is over, my dear madam, may I ask for the latest report concerning our friend Scarlett’s health?”

“Yes, sir, you may,” said Aunt Sophia shortly. “It is very bad. His nerve is completely gone.”

“Ah, but I hope it will return,” said Saxby. “Patience, ma’am, patience. When stocks in a good thing, mind, I say a good thing, are at their lowest, they take a turn, and become often enough better than ever. And – er – may I ask how – how Miss Raleigh junior is?”

“No, sir; you may not,” said Aunt Sophia shortly. “Good-morning!”

“Phe-ew! What an old she-dragon it is!” said Mr Saxby to himself as the door closed upon Aunt Sophia’s angular form.

“I am right!” said Aunt Sophia to herself as she got into the hansom cab that she had waiting. “Here! – hi!” she cried, poking at the little trapdoor in the roof with her parasol. “Waterloo Station.”

Then, as the cab rattled along: “Arthur Prayle is a smooth-looking, smooth-tongued scoundrel; I know he is, and I’ve a good mind to let him have a few hundreds, so as to take off his mask. I won’t mistrust Saxby any more. He’s as honest as the day, and I’m glad I’ve put him on his guard. But he must be snubbed, very hard, and I must speak to Naomi. I do believe the hard, money-grubbing, fog-breathing creature thinks that he is in love!”