Chapter 26 A Bevy of Girls by L. T. Meade
In Hiding
When Nesta reached the railway station she was almost beside herself with fear. She went to the ticket office to get a third-class single ticket for Newcastle. There was a girl standing just in front of her, a commonplace, respectable looking girl, who asked for a ticket to a place which she pronounced as Souchester. The ticket only cost one and sixpence. It flashed through Nesta’s mind that she might just as well go to Souchester as anywhere else. It had not before entered into her brain that here lay an immediate source of relief. Perhaps her family would be really frightened when they knew nothing about her, so frightened that when they saw her again, they would forgive her.
Scarcely knowing what she did, and with no previous intention of going anywhere but straight home, she too asked for a ticket to Souchester. The man handed it to her.
“One and sixpence, please,” he said.
She pushed in her half-sovereign, received back eight and sixpence change, which she thought great riches, slipped the money into her purse, put the purse into her pocket, and went on the platform. The man directed her which way to go to catch the Souchester train. She followed the girl who had first put the idea into her mind. This girl looked of the servant class. She was respectably dressed, she carried a parcel wrapped up in brown paper. Nesta felt that between her and that girl there was a sort of link; she could not quite account for it, but she was anxious not to lose sight of her.
“Souchester,” said the man who stood on the platform, taking Nesta’s ticket and examining it, “there you are, Miss, right ahead, that train, that train, Miss, it’s just starting, you be quick if you want to catch it.” Nesta hurried. The girl with the brown paper parcel got into a third-class carriage, Nesta followed her, and a minute later the train was in motion. At first it went slowly, then quickly, and soon the gay town of Scarborough was out of sight, and they were going rapidly between fields full of waving corn, with the blue sea still close at hand.
It so happened that Nesta and the girl with the brown paper parcel were the only two in this special compartment. Nesta looked at her companion; she did not exchange a single word with her, but nevertheless, she was for the time being her guiding star. The girl was essentially commonplace; she was stout, very dumpy in figure, she had a large, full-moon face, small eyes, a wide mouth, and high cheek bones. She wore no gloves, and her hands were coarse and red. Presently she pulled a coarse sandwich, made of two hunches of bread with a piece of bacon in the middle, from her brown paper parcel, and began to eat it deliberately. When she had eaten half, she looked at Nesta. Then taking a knife out of her pocket, she cut a piece from her sandwich and offered it awkwardly, and yet with a good-natured smile, to her fellow traveller. Nesta thanked her, and said she was not hungry.
This incident, however, opened the ball, and Nesta was able to ask what sort of place Souchester was.
“Oh, just a country place,” said the girl. “Be yer going there, Miss?”
“I’m a poor girl just like yourself,” said Nesta. She became suddenly interested. If this was not a real adventure, a real proper running away, she did not know what was.
“I am a poor girl like you,” repeated Nesta, “and I am going to Souchester.”
“Now I wonder what for?” said the girl. “My name is Mary Hogg. I’m in a place—it’s a big house, and I’m under kitchenmaid. I have had a week’s holiday to see my aunt, who lives in a poor part of Scarborough, not where the rich folks live. I’ve had a jolly week and now I’m going back to my place. There are very few poor at Souchester, it’s just a little bit of a village, and it’s owned by the St. Just family.”
Nesta suddenly felt she had been entrapped once more. “What St. Justs?” she asked.
“Why, the St. Justs,” answered the girl. “Miss Angela’s folks. You must have heard of Miss Angela St. Just.”
“Yes,” said Nesta, then she added petulantly—“They seem to be everywhere.”
“Oh, no, they ain’t,” said Mary Hogg. “Sir Edward and his daughter, they’ve had what you call reverses, but the rest of the family is rich, very rich. They owns Hurst Castle, and my place. I belong to ’em, so to speak. I’m at Castle Walworth. I’m under kitchenmaid. They keep a power of servants; you can scarce count ’em on your fingers.”
Nesta was interested.
“Have you very hard work to do?” she asked.
“Oh, no; nothing to speak of, and I gets rare good living, and no end of pickings, too, which I takes to my mother, whenever I has time to go and see her. She lives in a bit of a cottage just outside of the village. She’s very poor, indeed, is mother. She’s a widdy. Father died five years ago, and left her with me and two boys. The boys is still at school. The St. Just family is very good to mother, and it was through Miss Angela asking, that I got a place as kitchenmaid at the Castle. I’m proud of my place.”
“You must be,” said Nesta.
“It’s real respectable,” said the girl. “You can’t be like ordinary servants; you mustn’t consider yourself an ordinary servant there. Just think of me—a bit of a girl like me—I ain’t seventeen yet—having to wear a little tight bonnet with strings fastened under my chin, and a regular livery. Grey, it is, with red pipings. That’s the livery the servants at Castle Walworth wear. The bonnets are black, with a bit of red just bordering them inside. We look very nice when we go to church, all in our livery. But when I goes to see mother, then I can wear just what I like, and when I’m with my aunt—oh, my word, I did have a good time at Scarborough—but here we be, Miss, here we be. I’ll wish you good-day, Miss.”
The train stopped and the two girls alighted on the platform. Nesta walked hurriedly by her companion’s side. The girl with the brown paper parcel did not seem to want anything more to do with her. The tickets were taken by the ticket collector, and then they found themselves side by side in a narrow road, a road branching off to right and left. It was a winding road, quite pretty and very countrified indeed. If there was a village, there seemed to be no trace of one.
“Where’s the village?” asked Nesta, doing her best to detain the sole person in all the world whom she thought she had a right to speak to.
“Why, there—down in the valley, nestling among all them trees,” said Mary Hogg. “This is my way,” she added, “straight up this steep hill, and there’s the Castle, and the flag is flying; that shows the family are at home. They’ll be waiting for me. If Mrs Gaskell, that’s our housekeeper, finds I’m five minutes late, why she’ll blow my nose off.”
“How awful!” said Nesta.
“Oh, she ain’t really so bad; she’s quite a kind sort; but the family is at home, and I’m due back now, so I’ll wish you good-evening, Miss.”
“Stay one minute, just one minute.”
“I can’t really, Miss; I must hurry; time’s up, and time’s everything at Castle Walworth. We, none of us, dare be one minute late, not one blessed minute. There’s the family has their pleasure, and they must have time for that, and we servants, we has our work, and we must have time for that. That’s the way of the world, Miss. I can’t stay to talk, really, Miss.”
“Then I’ll walk with you,” said Nesta.
“It’s a steep hill, Miss, and if you’ve come to see your friends—”
“That’s just what I haven’t—I have come to—Oh, Mary Hogg, I must confide in you. I have come here because I want to—to hide for a little.”
“My word! To hide!” said Mary Hogg. She really quite interested at last. She forgot the awful Mrs Gaskell and all the terrors that punctuality caused in the St. Just establishment. Her eyes became round as the letter “O,” and her mouth formed itself into much the same shape.
“You be a bad ’un!” she said. “So you’ve run away?”
“Yes, I have. I haven’t time to tell you my story, but I want to stay at Souchester just for a little! you must help me, for I wouldn’t have come to Souchester but for you.”
“There now; didn’t I say you were bad? What in the name of wonder have I to do with it?”
“I was going in quite another direction, and I heard you ask for a ticket to Souchester, and I thought I’d come too, and I got into the same carriage with you because I thought you looked kind and—and respectable. I’ve got some money,” continued Nesta, speaking with sudden dignity. “I’m not a beggar, but I want to go to a very cheap place just to spend the night. Do you know of any place? It won’t do you any harm to tell me if there’s anybody in the village who would give me a bed.”
“But, do you mean a very, very cheap place?” asked Mary Hogg, who thought on the spot that she might do a good deal for her mother. Mrs Hogg was so poor that she was glad even of stray sixpences and pence.
“I don’t mind how poor it is, if it is only cheap; that is what I want—something very cheap.”
“There’s mother’s house. Would you mind going there?”
“Of course I wouldn’t. Where is it?”
“I must be quick; I really must. You had better come a little way up the hill with me, and I’ll tell you. It’s rather steep, but there, I’ll go a little slower. I’ll tell Mrs Gaskell that I met a fellow creature in distress. She’s a very Christian woman, is Mrs Gaskell, and that, perhaps, will make her more inclined to be lenient with me. I’ll tell her that.”
“But you won’t tell her my name, will you?”
“In course not, seeing as I don’t know it.”
“That’s true,” said Nesta, with a relieved laugh.
“And I don’t want to,” said Mary Hogg.
“Better not,” said Nesta.
“Well, if you think mother’ll give you a bed—”
“I don’t know—it was you who said it.”
“She will, if you pay her. You may have to give her fourpence—can you afford that?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“She’ll give you your breakfast for three ha’pence, and a sort of dinner meal for threepence. Can you manage that?”
“Yes, quite well.”
Nesta made a mental calculation. If Mrs Hogg was really so very reasonable, she might stay with her for several days. Eight and sixpence would last a long time at that rate.
“You are very kind,” she said, with rapture. “That will do beautifully. Now, just tell me where she lives, will you?”
“You say as Mary Hogg told you to come. Mother’ll know what that means. It’s a very small house; ’tain’t in no way the sort as you’re used to.”
“I don’t mind. Tell me where it is.”
“Well; there’s the village yonder. You foller your nose and you’ll get it. By-and-by you’ll cross the stream over a little bridge, but still foller after your nose, and you’ll come to a cottage just at the side of the road, standing all alone. You can go up the path and knock at the door, and when you knock, mother’ll say, ‘Come right in,’ and you’ll go right in, and mother ’ll say, ‘What do you want?’ and you’ll say, ‘Mary Hogg sent me.’ Then you’ll manage the rest. Good-bye to you; I really must run.”
Mary put wings to her feet, and toiling and panting with her brown paper parcel, she hurried up the steep hill towards that spot where Castle Walworth reflected from its many windows the gleam of the now westering sun.
Nesta stood for a minute just where her new friend had left her, and then went down towards the village. She felt in her pocket for her little purse; she took it out and opened it. Yes, there was the money that Mrs Griffiths had lent her—eight shillings and sixpence. She felt herself quite wealthy. At the Hogg establishment she might really manage to live for several days.
Following Mary’s directions she reached the little village street, found the rustic bridge, crossed it and went along a pretty shady road. Some people passed her, poor people returning from their work, people of her own class, some well dressed, some the reverse. They all looked at her, for people will stare at a stranger in country villages. Then a carriage passed by with several gaily dressed ladies in it, and they also turned and looked at Nesta. Nesta hurried after that. How awful it would be if she suddenly met Angela St. Just Angela would know her, of course, and she would know Angela. But no one in the carriage seemed to recognise her, and the prancing horses soon bowled out of sight.
Then she came to a cottage covered with ivy, roof and all; it almost seemed weighted down by the evergreens. She saw a tiny porch made of latticework, which was also covered with evergreens. The porch was so small and so entirely covered that Nesta had slightly to stoop to get within. There was a little door which was shut; she knocked, and a voice said, “Come right in.”
Nesta felt for a moment as though she were Red Riding Hood, and the wolf were within. She lifted the latch and went in. The first person she saw was a sandy-haired middle-aged woman, with a strong likeness to Mary Hogg. The woman said, “Oh, my!” then she gave a little curtsey, then she said, “Oh, my!” again. Nesta stood and stared at her. A small boy who had been lying face downward on the floor, started to his feet, thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, and stared also. Another boy, who had been bending over a book, and who was a little older, flung the book on the floor, and added to the group of starers.
“Mary Hogg sent me,” said Nesta.
She used the words wondering if they would be a talisman, the “open sesame” which her hungry soul desired. They certainly had an immediate effect, but not the effect she expected. Mrs Hogg darted forward, dusted a chair, and said:
“Honoured Miss, be seated.”
Nesta dropped into the chair, for she was really very tired.
“If you are one of the young ladies from the Castle, I’m sorry I ain’t got all the sewing done yet, but I will to-morrow.”
“No,” said Nesta, “it isn’t that. I’m not one of the young ladies from the Castle; I’m just a girl, a stranger, and I want a bed for the night. I travelled in the same train with your daughter, Mary Hogg, and she sent me on here. She said you would give me a bed, and that you’d expect me to pay. I can pay you. I have got eight and sixpence. I hope you won’t charge me a great deal, for that is all the money I have in the wide world. But I can pay you; will you give me a bed?”
Now this was most exciting to Mrs Hogg. It was still more exciting to the two boys, whose names were Ben and Dan. They stood now side by side, each with his hands in his pockets, and his glowing eyes fixed on Nesta’s face. Mrs Hogg stood silent; she was considering deeply.
“There’s but two rooms,” she said, at last. “This room, and the bedroom beyond; but there’s the scullery.”
“I could sleep anywhere,” said Nesta, who was terrified at the thought of being thrust out of this humble habitation.
“There’s only one thing to be done,” said Mrs Hogg, “you must share my bed.”
This was scarcely agreeable, but any port in a storm, Nesta thought.
“Very well.”
“I’ll charge you twopence a night.”
“Thank you,” said Nesta.
“The boys will have to leave the room and sleep in the scullery.”
“Hooray!” said Dan.
“Hurroa!” cried Ben.
“Quiet, lads, quiet,” said the mother. “You go right out of the way and let the young lady rest herself.”
“I’m just a girl,” said Nesta. “I’d best not be a young lady; I’m just a girl, and I’m very glad to come and stay with you. I shall be rather hungry presently,” she continued; “could you give me any supper?”
“If it’s anything special, I’ll charge you what it costs,” said Mrs Hogg; “but if it’s anything, why, it’ll be three ha’pence for supper, twopence for breakfast, threepence for dinner. Them’s my terms.”
“It must be anything,” said Nesta.
Mrs Hogg nodded. She whispered to her eldest boy, who, with another “Hooray!” rushed out of the cottage, followed by his brother. Nesta sank down in the shadow; she had found a refuge. For the present she was safe. Even Horace, with all his penetration, could not possibly find her in Mrs Hogg’s kitchen, in Souchester. She made a hurried calculation. She might live here for over a week quite comfortably. In her present terrible plight a week seemed like forever.