Collected Works of Frances Trollope, page 202
The important letter to Mr. Woodcomb was as follows:
“Sir, — A wealthy and respectable family have recently had reason to believe that a dear child, long considered as lost, has been sent as an apprentice to Mr. Elgood Sharpton’s factory at Deep Valley. Fully aware that the examination necessary to prove whether this hope be well founded, must be attended with considerable trouble to you — inasmuch as the children must be brought out from their work for me to see, I beg to say that, if, without giving me further trouble, you will permit this, I will pay the sum of one hundred pounds for the accommodation. Should it be refused, I must have recourse to other means for the purpose of ascertaining what it is so important for me to know.
“I am, Sir, “Your obedient servant, “DORCAS TREMLETT.”
It was not till five o’clock in the afternoon, by which time Mary was fully persuaded that her commission had failed, that Mr. Timothy Smith, in his white hat and well-powdered blue coat, was again seen approaching the King’s Head. The heiress, who was sitting near the window, started up, and would certainly have stepped forward to meet him, had not Mrs. Tremlett whispered, “Sit down, Miss Mary, sit down, there’s a darling, and look like a great lady as you did this morning; and that’s what you are, and always should be.” Mary reseated herself, and, after a short interval, the miller knocked at the parlour-door, and was desired to enter. Miss Brotherton pointed to a chair, and he rested himself. “The weather is warm, ladies,” said he, drawing forth a cotton handkerchief, and wiping his head and face, “and I have not loitered in my errand, as you may see by the state I’m in; but my horse is getting in years, like his master, and it’s no easy work to drive him by such a road as that I have comed by.”
“Have you succeeded, sir?” said Miss Brotherton, looking as grand as Mrs. Tremlett could desire.
“I am happy to say, ma’am,” he replied, with dignity, “that the second ten pounds is fairly won.”
“I rejoice to hear it,” cried Mary, brightly colouring; “and I shall have great pleasure in paying it. When, sir, may I see these children?” she added, pulling out her pocket-book as she spoke.
“Here, ma’am, is Mr. Woodcomb’s reply to your note, and on the reading of that, I look to hear you say that the ten pounds is mine.” Miss Brotherton took the dirty epistle offered her, and read: —
“Madam, — My employer is strict in his orders not to let the hands be interrupted, as they too often are in some mills, to gratify the idle curiosity of strangers. But in consideration of your handsome proposal, and hoping that you won’t scruple to follow it with a like sum in case of your finding and carrying away the child, which will be no more than just, seeing that if I part with a hand I must get another in the place of it, on this condition I am willing that all the children out the premises shall be placed in the feeding-room for your inspection at twelve o’clock to-morrow.
“I am, Madam, “Your humble servant, “JAMES WOODCOMB.”
The miller kept his eye fixed upon her as she read, and the result he looked for followed the perusal of the despatch he had brought. Miss Brotherton handed the letter to her friend, and then drew the promised bank-note from her pocket-book. The jolly miller rose, and received it from her hands. “I thank you, madam,” said he, folding it carefully, “and I beg to say, in return, that you would have been troubled to find another man who could have done your errand as well.”
“I am quite satisfied, sir,” she replied, “and will only ask in addition to what you have already done for me, that you would be obliging enough to tell me by what conveyance it will be best for us to get to the factory to-morrow? Mr. Woodcomb, as you probably know, has named twelve o’clock. I suppose the distance is too great for us to walk?”
“Quite impossible, ma’am — altogether out of the question. But I shall have no objection to hire out my chay-cart for the day, if so be you would think that suitable,” said the obliging miller.
“I have no doubt it would do perfectly well, provided you have a horse that can draw it — I should be sorry to lose time in going, and should not choose to be later than the hour appointed,” replied Mary.
“I’ll look to having a fitting horse, ma’am, and one as is used to the road, and that is what but few are. The road is no very good one in parts, that’s the truth, and I’m not over sure that there’s another man besides myself that would like to undertake the job; but I’ve no objection to driving you myself, ladies, provided you think it worth while to pay a tradesman for the loss of his time — of course I can’t charge my labour like a postboy.”
“If you take means, sir, to get us to Deep Valley Mill, by the hour appointed, and drive us back again safely to this house, we shall not dispute about the price. But remember, if you please, that the carriage, or cart, or whatever it is, must have accommodation for the child I hope to bring away with me.”
“I will take care of that, ma’am. I will put a little stool in on purpose — and I think if I say two guineas, ma’am, for the job, which is no easy one, that you can’t complain of the price.”
“I certainly shall not complain of it,” said Miss Brotherton.
Nine o’clock was then fixed as the hour of setting out, and Mr. Timothy Smith departed.
Mrs. Prescot’s roast chicken and French beans were treated very differently from her previous breakfast and luncheon. Mary Brotherton was in higher spirits than she had enjoyed for many weeks — she felt confident of success, and for the first time in her life, perhaps, fully enjoyed the possession of the wealth which gave her such power of surmounting difficulties. The kind-hearted Mrs. Tremlett was at length as sanguine, and almost as happy as herself; and very freely confessed, again and again, that her dear young lady knew ten times better how to manage things than she did, old as she was.
The evening was again spent in a long late ramble, and though they did not forget that over a certain towering height, pointed out by Mrs. Prescot, lay the dismal spot called the Deep Valley, the exceeding happiness which was anticipated for one who dwelt there, made them almost forget the misery of the rest.
CHAPTER XXIII.
MISS BROTHERTON AND HER FRIEND ARRIVE AT THE DEEP VALLEY — A REVIEW — DISAPPOINTMENT — u A SUDDEN THOUGHT STRIKES” THE HEIRESS — SHE CONCLUDES A BARGAIN, THOUGH NOT THE ONE FOR WHICH SHE MEDITATED — SHE SETS OUT UPON A WALK.
Mr. Timothy Smith was punctual to his appointment, and at a very few minutes past nine, Mrs. Tremlett and Mary were jogging along in the miller’s jockey-cart, on a seat whereon cushions, that looked very like pillows, had been carefully strapped, and with a little stool placed before them, the sight of which conjured up so delightful a picture of the manner in which they should return, and the joy it would be her lot to confer, and to witness, that the pretty eyes of the heiress sparkled through tears of pleasure, and she would not have exchanged her present expedition for the best party of pleasure that ever was devised by man.
A considerable part of the way was the same as that followed by Mr. Parsons when he conveyed Michael to the factory, and need not be again described. The tranquil loneliness of that portion of the road which ran along the stream, before it made the turn which brought the hideous prison-house in sight, lulled her spirits into a state that but ill prepared her for the aspect of the grim, desolate-looking dwelling into whose recesses she was about to penetrate; and when it suddenly became visible, something like a groan escaped her.
“I hope that jolt didn’t hurt you, ma’am?” said the miller, turning towards her. “Here we are, safe and sound, and that’s half my bargain, at any rate.”
The vehicle drew up to a small door in the exterior wall of the extensive enclosure in which the buildings stood; Mr. Smith threw the reins upon the neck of his horse, and bringing his stout person cautiously to the ground, offered his services to assist the two ladies in doing the same.
Miss Brotherton trembled as she stood waiting till the miller’s summons at the door should be answered. Now that the moment was come which was to decide the question of her success or failure, she no longer felt the same confidence which had cheered her while the trial was still distant, and her heart sunk with anticipated disappointment. Several minutes of irksome delay gave her time to dwell on these oppressive forebodings; and when the door was at length slowly and cautiously opened by Mr. Woodcomb himself, her pale face spoke such painful anxiety, that the suspicious guardian of the unholy spot was comforted from the satisfactory conviction that her tale was true, and that she came not under any false pretences to look at that which he considered it to be the first duty of his life to conceal.
“Good morning, Smith — all’s right, and all’s ready for you. Walk in, ladies, if you please,” said the stern manager, relaxing his habitual frown, and intending to be extremely gracious.
Mary and her friend stepped forward, and heard the stout lock and two heavy bolts secured behind them.
“This way, ladies, this way, if you please; there is no need to trouble you to enter the factory, which, do what we will to keep it nice, can never be quite free from dust. You are a trifle after your time, Mr. Smith, but it’s no matter; dinner time is over, but if the ladies will walk into this room they shall have all satisfaction. Howsomever, as the young uns is again at work, I can’t well stop the mills to march ’em in all together. Nevertheless, I don’t see but it may be quite as agreeable, or may be more, for the ladies to look at ’em one or two at a time.”
Miss Brotherton did not attempt to speak, but placed herself in a chair near the open door, and bent her head to indicate that she was satisfied with the proposed arrangement.
“You had best walk this way with me, Mr. Smith,” said the amiable Woodcomb, “the ladies look quite agitated, as is but natural, and would sooner be without strangers I don’t doubt.” A proposal which truly was a welcome one to all parties — for Mrs. Tremlett and Mary longed to be at liberty to speak without restraint — Mr. Smith was thirsting for his accustomed mug of ale, and the manager himself bursting to make a few inquiries respecting his mysterious visiters.
“Have you seen the colour of their money yet, friend Smith?” — were the first words uttered as they crossed the court.
“Twenty good pounds,” replied the miller, expressively patting the pocket where the treasure lay, “and given as freely as if it had been twenty pence — out of a full pocket-book, too, Mr. Woodcomb, I can tell you that — and I can tell you besides, that your money’s as sure as the bank, and your customer one as is thinking of her own concerns and not of yours.”
“That’s what I’m judging too, Mr. Smith. One can see in a minute if folks eyes are roving here and there, up and down, to take account of all they can see. God grant that those poor whey-faced females may find what they want, and we shall both of us have made a good day’s work of it. I sha’n’t wish the thing talked of, that’s a fact, not but what I shall be ready with an answer, if I’m troubled with questions. People as have money to throw about, like these folks, are not to be put off with a short word, and a lock turned in their faces. It mayn’t chance once in a century that any such should trouble themselves concerning the cart-loads of live lumber as we takes off to relieve the overstocked parishes. But now it is come to pass, in course we must manage to get through it quietly — so I’m not without my answer, Mr. Smith, if the squire should hear of it, and make a riot.”
“No, to be sure you arn’t — besides there’s no need to say nothing,” replied the miller.
Mr. Woodcomb, in answer to this, gave an assenting nod, and an approving smile. “Now then, my man,” said he, more gaily than he often uttered any thing, “sit you down here, and you shall presently have a snack and a mug to keep you company. I’ll see myself to the turning in a few of the hands at a time, to be looked at. For I have been thinking the matter over, Master Miller, and I judge it will make ten times less talk and tumult that way, than if they were all turned out at once. I’ll have out a few boys and girls together, chance-like, just as they come — and ten to one nobody but Poulet will find out that there’s any thing more going on than some job, as I wants to get done.”
Mr. Woodcomb accordingly proceeded to the different parts of the large establishment, and contrived, without stopping the work any where, to perform the task he had undertaken. As the selected children came forth from the various rooms, he told them to cross the court to the ‘prentice-house, where they would find one as wanted to look at them, adding an order to come back again as quick as light, “if they didn’t wish to be strapped dead.”
Whenever such promises were made, Mr. Woodcomb was known to be strictly a man of his word; and Mary and her friend had soon gazed with anxious eyes and shuddering hearts upon a greater number of half-starved trembling little wretches, than could possibly have been made to pass before them in an equally short space of time, by any other mode or process whatever.
They came so quickly in succession, however, that no interval was left in which Miss Brotherton and her faithful attendant could exchange a word on the melancholy panorama of human misery that passed before them. Strange and unwonted as was the spectacle of “two ladies sitting in the ‘prentice-house,” the cowed and frightened children, for the most part did little more than stand before her with eyes and mouth wide open for a single minute, and then start off again, while Mary herself aided the celerity of the process by a shake of the head, and a wave of the hand, which indicated plainly enough that they were not to stay, but go.
“What a multitude, nurse Tremlett!” she exclaimed at length, her spirits worn with repeated disappointments, and the contemplation of the wretched creatures for whom she knew she brought no help. “The train seems endless!”
The old woman returned her a speaking look, and whispered in her ear— “Could you not question them, Mary? Might not this dismal work be shortened by your asking them if the boy is here? They can’t have any reason to hide him. They can’t be agents of Sir Matthew.”
Mary took the hint, and said to the next young skeleton that presented itself—” Can you tell me if there is a boy here named Michael Armstrong?”
The result was a stupid and silent stare, and, without answering, the child darted off like the rest. Thrice she repeated the question, but with no better success, for two out of the three were among those newly arrived to supply vacancies caused by the late mortality, and the third from working and sleeping in another chamber, had never heard poor Michael’s name. “No!” was pronounced by this one, “No, ma’am,” by the two new comers, and Mary’s heart almost failing her, she resumed her silent examination. In truth there was in most of the unhappy faces that thus presented themselves, such a look of blighted intellect, and dogged apathy, that she clung to the ever-lessening hope of seeing the boy appear, in preference to any further questioning. And thus the coming and going lasted for another half-hour without a word being spoken.
At length the sad monotony of the spectacle was broken, at least to the eyes of Mary, by the appearance of a little girl, who though pale and lamentably thin, had not yet lost thereby the sweet expression of her delicate features, neither had the soul within yielded to the paralyzing influence of the hopeless, helpless, unvarying misery by which she was surrounded. Her soft gray eyes still retained their eloquent power of speaking, and the look of surprise, mixed with something that was almost approaching to pleasure, with which she fixed them upon Mary’s face caused her to make a sudden movement to detain her, as the child, following the example of the rest, was turning away. At first this movement was caused entirely by the interest which the little creature herself inspired — but it almost immediately occurred to her, that here, at length, there was a chance of receiving a rational and intelligent answer to any question she might ask; and such strength did this idea gain as she continued to look at the child, that she told Mrs. Tremlett to stop the approach of those who were coming on, and by keeping them waiting in the court for a minute or two, to give her time to see if she could not learn something from this most interesting-looking little creature. Mrs. Tremlett showed that she too thought something might now be hoped for, and with great alacrity stepped out into the court to meet the fresh arrivals, shutting, to Mary’s extreme satisfaction, the door of the room behind her.
“My dear little girl!” said Miss Brotherton, taking the child’s pale and slender hand in hers, “How came you in this sad place? You do not look as if you were used to it.” —
“Not for very long, ma’am,” was the reply.
“But you have been here during the few last weeks?”
“I have been here for several months,” answered the little girl.
“Can you tell me” — and Mary almost gasped as she asked the question—” Can you tell me, if there be a boy here called Michael Armstrong?”
The look of modest and well-pleased curiosity with which the soft eyes were fixed on Mary’s face, was instantly changed for an expression of deep anguish — for a few moments no reply was uttered, and large tears were already chasing each other down her cheeks before the trembling child found voice to speak; at last she uttered, almost in a whisper, and still looking through her tears in Mary’s face—” Michael Armstrong is dead!”
“Dead! — Oh, do not say so!” cried Mary, in a voice so shrill as to reach the ears of Mrs. Tremlett, who immediately opening the door, close to which she had been stationed, entered in dismay, exclaiming, “What is the matter, Mary? For Heaven’s sake, tell me, was it you who cried out in such a piercing voice?”
Several of the children, who were by this time assembled in the court, followed at her heels, thrusting open the door, and staring at the scene before them.
