A Woman's Burden: A Novel

"And you think now he hadn't even done that always?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Parsley, "that is my idea; as I have told you, I saw the man once at Lesser Thorpe, although, not being able to get a good look at him, I couldn't be sure it was he. Now if it was, Barton was the only man whom he could have come to see in our parish, and you'd think he'd be glad to keep out of his way."

"That of course I don't know; but that you are right and Mr. Barton did have some hold over this man, I do know, because he told me so himself." Whereupon Miriam gave Mrs. Parsley a succinct account of the use made by Barton of the man he called the "Shadow."

"Humph!" remarked the old lady, seeing the possibilities of the situation. "So Barton got Farren to hunt down your brother, did he? and just now Mr. Farren was very busy following a red-haired man who came from the direction of these Mansions. Putting two and two together, my dear, I should say you had received a visit from your brother."

Miriam was astonished at her accomplishment in the way of deduction. She tried not to betray herself.

"How do you make that out?" she asked.

"The man Farren was following had very striking auburn hair – very much like your own. Come now, it was Jabez, wasn't it?"

"Yes; since you know so much, I may as well admit the truth – it was. After his recognition a year ago by Major Dundas Jabez returned to the Cape. There he found that his partner had sold their claim, and had levanted with the proceeds. The result is he returns here with nothing in his pocket, and once again throws himself on me."

"Of course – exactly," said Mrs. Parsley grimly. "I know the breed. And how much did you give him?"

"Thirty pounds – it was all I had. But I made him promise never to trouble me again. Yes; and he agreed. He's going to America."

"Agreed! My dear, in spite of all your troubles, you are as innocent as a baby. The only way you'll ever get rid of that man is to tell the truth and have him put in gaol. Promises! Bah! His promises! He'll not go to America, not he! He'll spend the thirty pounds and come back for more, that's what he'll do, and you'll have him like a black dog on your shoulders all your life, unless – " Mrs. Parsley rubbed her nose.

"Unless what?"

"Well, my dear, to tell you the truth, I'm not exactly clear in my own mind as to the position. This Farren knows what Jabez has done, since Barton employed him to find it out. Now that Barton is dead, and Farren we may safely say is hard up, I rather fancy your thirty pounds'll go in blackmail. Or else Jabez, to escape the other man's clutches, will make for the States after all."

"Oh, I only hope he does. It would be awful if, after so long, he were to be given up to the police – you don't think really that will happen, Mrs. Parsley, do you?"

"Depends entirely, I should say, on his willingness to be bled. But anyhow I don't see why you should mind, my dear."

"Oh, Mrs. Parsley, whatever Jabez has done – whatever he is, he is my brother."

"Humph! There is a limit even to fraternal affection to my thinking. Jabez is a bad, bad man, and all your goodness won't turn him into a good one. While he has you to fall back upon he will never do any good for himself. Leave him to Farren's clutches, my dear, and let the pair of them kick it out in the mud."

"But if Jabez gets into trouble his real name will become known. Then think of the disgrace to me."

"Fiddle-de-dee; nobody can disgrace you but your own self. Besides, if the name of Jabez Crane does appear in the police report, who's going to connect it with you? There are hundreds of Cranes in the world."

"Mrs. Darrow, Major Dundas."

"What, that Julia creature?" Mrs. Parsley snapped her fingers. "My love, her opinion is not worth that. She has all the instincts but none of the brains of a really bad woman. As to Major Dundas, what can he know more than he knows already?"

"He doesn't know everything."

"Well I do," snapped Mrs. Parsley, "and there is nothing for you to be ashamed of that I can see. If there was, do you think I'd be sitting here? I approve of all you have done – yes, even to taking that will. I wish you had burnt it. And yet I don't know – " she added. "No; then you wouldn't have got rid of that idiot. After all, things are best as they are. Leave those two to themselves, my dear, and they'll finish each other sooner or later – sooner rather than later I fancy; though she'll manage to come out 'on top' as the Americans say – d'you know, I do like the Americans, dear!"

"But I really believe Hilda loves him – in fact, sometimes I think I was very wrong not to leave him to her."

"Loves him! Rubbish! It'll be a day with more than twenty-four hours in it when Hilda loves anyone but herself. Bless me, I believe you've a hankering after that man still. What you saw in him I never could make out."

"Sometimes I think he must have fascinated me – that it could not really be love I felt for him but pity. I saw how it was with him, and thought that I could save him."

"Save him! Strikes me, Miriam, you've gone through your life looking upon yourself as a sort of human rocket apparatus. You can't save people against their wills, my dear; and some of 'em won't be saved. Look at Shorty – and that Gerald Arkel is a pig if ever there was one. He prefers his own dunghill – that's vulgar perhaps, my dear, but it's expressive, and that's the great thing! Anyhow, I do hope you've got over all that sort of thing now, Miriam, because I have news of the scamp."

"News of Gerald? – Oh, Mrs. Parsley, he is not ill – not dead?"

The old lady snorted.

"Dead. No, my dear, 'naught was never in danger.' He's alive and sinning. But he's alone! Hilda has left him!"

"Hilda – left – Gerald?"

"Yes; is it so utterly impossible? Come, my dear, I don't deny he's good looking, but there are other men in the world you know. They've been going it properly, I can tell you. The Manor House is mortgaged – that I could have told you three months ago; in fact, now she's spent his money for him, he has ceased to be so far as she is concerned, and she hasn't lost much time in nominating his successor either – she's gone off with an American millionaire. What d'you think of that? They're in Florence, I believe."

"Poor Gerald," she said slowly. "He has reaped his whirlwind."

"And why not; he sowed it, goodness knows. You don't mean to tell me you pity him? There! – I do believe I'm right, you – no! – you wouldn't go to the fellow now?"

"Only if he were ill – if he were dying would I go to him. When he left me that night in this very room, I told him when I saw him again it would be on his death-bed. When the end comes I shall be there."

Mrs. Parsley rose and kissed her. She could not but admire deep down in her soul the unswerving steadfastness of this woman. It touched her more than anything in life had touched her for years past; for she had a very tender heart had Mrs. Parsley.

"You are a silly fool, my dear," she said, "a great big silly donkey. We are both silly donkeys, I believe, when it comes to the point. But after the way that man's insulted you – well, most women would have liked to dance a polka on his grave."

"You wouldn't – if he had been your husband."

"P'r'aps not – but although I said I was a donkey, not in my most asinine moments would I have gone as far as that. Gerald Arkel should never have been my husband. And if he had, that hussy would never have got him – that I swear! But you, dear, you've just been soft soap in their hands; you're so good-natured and gentle and sweet, that I could – but there, I love you for it all the more."

So saying, Mrs. Parsley expressed her affection in a warm embrace, and seeing it was hurtful to her friend, changed the subject.

She was never at a loss for a topic. There were all sorts of parochial and urban schemes to be discussed, among the latter a new home for strayed street boys, which the good lady had established in one of the Lambeth lanes. She was now well known in that neighbourhood, and though she had her people under well nigh despotic rule, was none the less beloved on that account. Even the recalcitrant Mother Mandarin yielded to her. As for the street boys, who were her especial care, she had banged so many of their heads together, that they now no longer swore at her so much as they swore by her. By sheer persistence and strength to enforce her commands, she had brought about a cleansing nothing short of Augean. Her sway was absolute as that of any Cæsar – her methods every whit as drastic and vastly more beneficial.

"Do you know I had rather a shock last week, Miriam?" said Mrs. Parsley, rubbing her nose.

"Did you; how?"

"Well, that wretched Gideon Anab – no, he shan't be called Gideon Anab since he has fallen away from grace – that wretched Shorty has gone back to live with his disreputable old grandmother!"

"You don't say so; and where has he been all this time?"

"Somewhere in Whitechapel, I believe. I know he went off last year with five pounds of my money. I'm disappointed in that boy, Miriam. I thought his instincts were good, and that if he had the chance he'd rise. But he hasn't; he's taken a rise out of me instead!"

"The young vagabond he wants a good flogging."

"No good, my dear. Take my word for it, when they're past me they're past everything. However, he has promised a lot now, and we're going to begin over again, Miriam, my dear, for the last time. But I haven't told you what really gave me the shock. How old do you think the wretch is?"

"Oh, I don't know; about sixteen."

"He's twenty-three! You may well stare. It's perfectly true. Not that he hasn't wickedness for ninety-nine; still, even now I don't despair of him. I'll lead him to the stool of repentance yet, if I have to lead him by the ear."