Mary Barton Read online

  II. A MANCHESTER TEA-PARTY.

  "Polly, put the kettle on, And let's have tea! Polly, put the kettle on, And we'll all have tea."

  "Here we are, wife; did'st thou think thou'd lost us?" quothhearty-voiced Wilson, as the two women rose and shook themselves inpreparation for their homeward walk. Mrs. Barton was evidentlysoothed, if not cheered, by the unburdening of her fears andthoughts to her friend; and her approving look went far to secondher husband's invitation that the whole party should adjourn fromGreen Heys Fields to tea, at the Bartons' house. The only faintopposition was raised by Mrs. Wilson, on account of the lateness ofthe hour at which they would probably return, which she feared onher babies' account.

  "Now, hold your tongue, missis, will you," said her husbandgood-temperedly. "Don't you know them brats never goes to sleeptill long past ten? and haven't you a shawl, under which you cantuck one lad's head, as safe as a bird's under its wing? And as fort'other one, I'll put it in my pocket rather than not stay, now weare this far away from Ancoats."

  "Or, I can lend you another shawl," suggested Mrs. Barton.

  "Ay, anything rather than not stay."

  The matter being decided the party proceeded home, through manyhalf-finished streets, all so like one another, that you might haveeasily been bewildered and lost your way. Not a step, however, didour friends lose; down this entry, cutting off that corner, untilthey turned out of one of these innumerable streets into a littlepaved court, having the backs of houses at the end opposite to theopening, and a gutter running through the middle to carry offhousehold slops, washing suds, etc. The women who lived in thecourt were busy taking in strings of caps, frocks, and variousarticles of linen, which hung from side to side, dangling so low,that if our friends had been a few minutes' sooner, they would havehad to stoop very much, or else the half-wet clothes would haveflapped in their faces: but although the evening seemed yet earlywhen they were in the open fields--among the pent-up houses, night,with its mists and its darkness, had already begun to fall.

  Many greetings were given and exchanged between the Wilsons andthese women, for not long ago they had also dwelt in this court.

  Two rude lads, standing at a disorderly looking house-door,exclaimed, as Mary Barton (the daughter) passed, "Eh, look! PollyBarton's getten* a sweetheart."

  *"For he had geten him yet no benefice." --Prologue to Canterbury Tales.

  Of course this referred to young Wilson, who stole a look to see howMary took the idea. He saw her assume the air of a young fury, andto his next speech she answered not a word.

  Mrs. Barton produced the key of the door from her pocket; and onentering the house-place it seemed as if they were in totaldarkness, except one bright spot, which might be a cat's eye, ormight be, what it was, a red-hot fire, smouldering under a largepiece of coal, which John Barton immediately applied himself tobreak up, and the effect instantly produced was warm and glowinglight in every corner of the room. To add to this (although thecoarse yellow glare seemed lost in the ruddy glow from the fire),Mrs. Barton lighted a dip by sticking it in the fire, and havingplaced it satisfactorily in a tin candlestick, began to look furtherabout her, on hospitable thoughts intent. The room was tolerablylarge, and possessed many conveniences. On the right of the door,as you entered, was a longish window, with a broad ledge. On eachside of this, hung blue-and-white check curtains, which were nowdrawn, to shut in the friends met to enjoy themselves. Twogeraniums, unpruned and leafy, which stood on the sill, formed afurther defence from out-door pryers. In the corner between thewindow and the fireside was a cupboard, apparently full of platesand dishes, cups and saucers, and some more nondescript articles,for which one would have fancied their possessors could find no use--such as triangular pieces of glass to save carving knives and forksfrom dirtying table-cloths. However, it was evident Mrs. Barton wasproud of her crockery and glass, for she left her cupboard dooropen, with a glance round of satisfaction and pleasure. On theopposite side to the door and window was the staircase, and twodoors; one of which (the nearest to the fire) led into a sort oflittle back kitchen, where dirty work, such as washing up dishes,might be done, and whose shelves served as larder, and pantry, andstoreroom, and all. The other door, which was considerably lower,opened into the coal-hole--the slanting closet under the stairs;from which, to the fire-place, there was a gay-coloured piece ofoil-cloth laid. The place seemed almost crammed with furniture(sure sign of good times among the mills). Beneath the window was adresser, with three deep drawers. Opposite the fire-place was atable, which I should call a Pembroke, only that it was made ofdeal, and I cannot tell how far such a name may be applied to suchhumble material. On it, resting against the wall, was a brightgreen japanned tea-tray, having a couple of scarlet lovers embracingin the middle. The fire-light danced merrily on this, and really(setting all taste but that of a child's aside) it gave a richnessof colouring to that side of the room. It was in some measurepropped up by a crimson tea-caddy, also of japan ware. A roundtable on one branching leg, really for use, stood in thecorresponding corner to the cupboard; and, if you can picture allthis, with a washy, but clean stencilled pattern on the walls, youcan form some idea of John Barton's home.

  The tray was soon hoisted down, and before the merry clatter of cupsand saucers began, the women disburdened themselves of theirout-of-door things, and sent Mary upstairs with them. Then came along whispering, and chinking of money, to which Mr. and Mrs. Wilsonwere too polite to attend; knowing, as they did full well, that itall related to the preparations for hospitality; hospitality that,in their turn, they should have such pleasure in offering. So theytried to be busily occupied with the children, and not to hear Mrs.Barton's directions to Mary.

  "Run, Mary, dear, just round the corner, and get some fresh eggs atTipping's (you may get one apiece, that will be fivepence), and seeif he has any nice ham cut, that he would let us have a pound of."

  "Say two pounds, missis, and don't be stingy," chimed in thehusband.

  "Well, a pound and a half, Mary. And get it Cumberland ham, forWilson comes from there-away, and it will have a sort of relish ofhome with it he'll like,--and Mary" (seeing the lassie fain to beoff), "you must get a pennyworth of milk and a loaf of bread--mindyou get it fresh and new--and, and--that's all, Mary."

  "No, it's not all," said her husband. "Thou must get sixpennyworthof rum, to warm the tea; thou'll get it at the 'Grapes.' And thoujust go to Alice Wilson he says she lives just right round thecorner, under 14, Barber Street" (this was addressed to his wife);"and tell her to come and take her tea with us; she'll like to seeher brother, I'll be bound, let alone Jane and the twins."

  "If she comes she must bring a tea-cup and saucer, for we have buthalf-a-dozen, and here's six of us," said Mrs. Barton.

  "Pooh, pooh, Jem and Mary can drink out of one, surely."

  But Mary secretly determined to take care that Alice brought hertea-cup and saucer, if the alternative was to be her sharinganything with Jem.

  Alice Wilson had but just come in. She had been out all day in thefields, gathering wild herbs for drinks and medicine, for inaddition to her invaluable qualities as a sick nurse and her worldlyoccupations as a washerwoman, she added a considerable knowledge ofhedge and field simples; and on fine days, when no more profitableoccupation offered itself, she used to ramble off into the lanes andmeadows as far as her legs could carry her. This evening she hadreturned loaded with nettles, and her first object was to light acandle and see to hang them up in bunches in every available placein her cellar room. It was the perfection of cleanliness; in onecorner stood the modest-looking bed, with a check curtain at thehead, the whitewashed wall filling up the place where thecorresponding one should have been. The floor was bricked, andscrupulously clean, although so damp that it seemed as if the lastwashing would never dry up. As the cellar window looked into anarea in the street, down which boys might throw stones, it wasprotected by an outside shutter, and wa
s oddly festooned with allmanner of hedge-row, ditch, and field plants, which we areaccustomed to call valueless, but which have a powerful effecteither for good or for evil, and are consequently much used amongthe poor. The room was strewed, hung, and darkened with thesebunches, which emitted no very fragrant odour in their process ofdrying. In one corner was a sort of broad hanging shelf, made ofold planks, where some old hoards of Alice's were kept. Her littlebit of crockery-ware was ranged on the mantelpiece, where also stoodher candlestick and box of matches. A small cupboard contained atthe bottom coals, and at the top her bread and basin of oatmeal, herfrying-pan, teapot, and a small tin saucepan, which served as akettle, as well as for cooking the delicate little messes of brothwhich Alice was sometimes able to manufacture for a sick neighbour.

  After her walk she felt chilly and weary, and was busy trying tolight her fire with the damp coals, and half-green sticks, when Maryknocked.

  "Come in," said Alice, remembering, however, that she had barred thedoor for the night, and hastening to make it possible for any one tocome in.

  "Is that you, Mary Barton?" exclaimed she, as the light from thecandle streamed on the girl's face. "How you are grown since I usedto see you at my brother's! Come in, lass, come in."

  "Please," said Mary, almost breathless, "mother says you're to cometo tea, and bring your cup and saucer, for George and Jane Wilson iswith us, and the twins, and Jem. And you're to make haste, please!"

  "I'm sure it's very neighbourly and kind in your mother, and I'llcome, with many thanks. Stay, Mary, has your mother got any nettlesfor spring drink? If she hasn't, I'll take her some."

  "No, I don't think she has."

  Mary ran off like a hare to fulfil what, to a girl of thirteen, fondof power, was the more interesting part of her errand--the money-spending part. And well and ably did she perform her business,returning home with a little bottle of rum, and the eggs in onehand, while her other was filled with some excellent red-and-white,smoke-flavoured, Cumberland ham, wrapped up in paper.

  She was at home, and frying ham, before Alice had chosen hernettles, put out her candle, locked her door, and walked in a veryfoot-sore manner as far as John Barton's. What an aspect of comfortdid his house-place present, after her humble cellar! She did notthink of comparing; but for all that she felt the delicious glow ofthe fire, the bright light that revelled in every corner of theroom, the savoury smells, the comfortable sounds of a boilingkettle, and the hissing, frizzling ham. With a little old-fashionedcurtsey she shut the door, and replied with a loving heart to theboisterous and surprised greeting of her brother.

  And now all preparations being made, the party sat down; Mrs. Wilsonin the post of honour, the rocking-chair, on the right-hand side ofthe fire, nursing her baby, while its father, in an oppositearm-chair, tried vainly to quiet the other with bread soaked inmilk.

  Mrs. Barton knew manners too well to do anything but sit at thetea-table and make tea, though in her heart she longed to be able tosuperintend the frying of the ham, and cast many an anxious look atMary as she broke the eggs and turned the ham, with a verycomfortable portion of confidence in her own culinary powers. Jemstood awkwardly leaning against the dresser, replying rather grufflyto his aunt's speeches, which gave him, he thought, the air of beinga little boy; whereas he considered himself as a young man, and notso very young neither, as in two months he would be eighteen.Barton vibrated between the fire and the tea-table, his onlydrawback being a fancy that every now and then his wife's faceflushed and contracted as if in pain.

  At length the business actually began. Knives and forks, cups andsaucers made a noise, but human voices were still, for human beingswere hungry and had no time to speak. Alice first broke silence;holding her tea-cup with the manner of one proposing a toast, shesaid, "Here's to absent friends. Friends may meet, but mountainsnever."

  It was an unlucky toast or sentiment, as she instantly felt. Everyone thought of Esther, the absent Esther; and Mrs. Barton put downher food, and could not hide the fast-dropping tears. Alice couldhave bitten her tongue out.

  It was a wet blanket to the evening; for though all had been saidand suggested in the fields that could be said or suggested, everyone had a wish to say something in the way of comfort to poor Mrs.Barton, and a dislike to talk about anything else while her tearsfell fast and scalding. So George Wilson, his wife, and childrenset off early home, not before (in spite of mal-a-propos speeches)they had expressed a wish that such meetings might often take place,and not before John Barton had given his hearty consent; anddeclared that as soon as ever his wife was well again they wouldhave just such another evening.

  "I will take care not to come and spoil it," thought poor Alice, andgoing up to Mrs. Barton, she took her hand almost humbly, and said,"You don't know how sorry I am I said it."

  To her surprise, a surprise that brought tears of joy into her eyes,Mary Barton put her arms round her neck, and kissed the self-reproaching Alice. "You didn't mean any harm, and it was me as wasso foolish; only this work about Esther, and not knowing where sheis, lies so heavy on my heart. Good-night, and never think no moreabout it. God bless you, Alice."

  Many and many a time, as Alice reviewed that evening in her afterlife, did she bless Mary Barton for these kind and thoughtful words.But just then all she could say was, "Good-night, Mary, and may Godbless YOU."