The Cloister and the Hearth: A Tale of the Middle Ages by Charles Reade
CHAPTER LXXVIII
The Hearth
WHEN little Gerard was nearly three months old, a messenger came hotfrom Tergou for Catherine.
"Now just you go back," said she, "and tell them I can't come and Iwon't: they have got Kate." So he departed, and Catherine continued hersentence; "there, child, I _must_ go: they are all at sixes and sevens:this is the third time of asking; and to-morrow my man would comehimself and take me home by the ear, with a flea in't." She thenrecapitulated her experiences of infants, and instructed Margaret whatto do in each coming emergency, and pressed money upon her. Margaretdeclined it with thanks. Catherine insisted, and turned angry. Margaretmade excuses all so reasonable that Catherine rejected them with calmcontempt; to her mind they lacked femininity. "Come, out with yourheart," said she; "and you and me parting; and mayhap shall never seeone another's face again."
"Oh! mother, say not so."
"Alack, girl, I have seen it so often; 'twill come into my mind now ateach parting. When I was your age, I never had such a thought. Nay, wewere all to live for ever then: so out wi' it."
"Well then, mother--I would rather not have told you--your Cornelis mustsay to me, 'So you are come to share with us, eh, mistress?' those werehis words. I told him I would be very sorry."
"Beshrew his ill tongue! What signifies it? He will never know."
"Most likely he would sooner or later. But, whether or no, I will takeno grudge bounty from any family; unless I saw my child starving, andthen Heaven only knows what I might do. Nay, mother, give me but thylove--I do prize that above silver, and they grudge me not that, by allI can find--for not a stiver of money will I take out of your house."
"You are a foolish lass. Why, were it me, I'd take it just to spitehim."
"No, you would not. You and I are apples off one tree."
Catherine yielded with a good grace; and, when the actual parting came,embraces and tears burst forth on both sides.
MARGARET HAD MOMENTS OF BLISS]
When she was gone the child cried a good deal; and all attempts topacify him failing, Margaret suspected a pin, and, searching between hisclothes and his skin, found a gold angel incommoding his backbone.
"There now, Gerard," said she to the babe; "I _thought_ granny gave inrather _sudden_."
She took the coin and wrapped it in a piece of linen, and laid it at thebottom of her box, bidding the infant observe she could be at times asresolute as granny herself.
Catherine told Eli of Margaret's foolish pride, and how she had baffledit. Eli said Margaret was right, and she was wrong. Catherine tossed herhead. Eli pondered.
Margaret was not without domestic anxieties. She had still two men tofeed, and could not work so hard as she had done. She had enough to doto keep the house, and the child, and cook for them all. But she had alittle money laid by, and she used to tell her child his father would behome to help them before it was spent. And with these bright hopes, andthat treasury of bliss, her boy, she spent some happy months.
Time wore on: and no Gerard came; and, stranger still, no news of him.
Then her mind was disquieted, and, contrary to her nature, which waspractical, she was often lost in sad reverie; and sighed in silence.And, while her heart was troubled, her money was melting. And so it was,that one day she found the cupboard empty, and looked in her dependents'faces; and, at the sight of them, her bosom was all pity; and sheappealed to the baby whether she could let grandfather and poor oldMartin want a meal; and went and took out Catherine's angel. As sheunfolded the linen a tear of gentle mortification fell on it. She sentMartin out to change it. While he was gone a Frenchman came with one ofthe dealers in illuminated work, who had offered her so poor a price. Hetold her he was employed by his sovereign to collect masterpieces forher book of hours. Then she showed him the two best things she had; andhe was charmed with one of them, viz., the flowers and raspberries andcreeping things, which Margaret Van Eyck had shaded. He offered heran unheard-of price. "Nay, flout not my need, good stranger," said she:"three mouths there be in this house, and none to fill them but me."
Curious arithmetic! Left out No. 1.
"I flout thee not, fair mistress. My princess charged me strictly, 'Seekthe best craftsmen; but I will no hard bargains; make them content withme, and me with them.'"
The next minute Margaret was on her knees kissing little Gerard in thecradle, and showering four gold pieces on him again and again, andrelating the whole occurrence to him in very broken Dutch.
"And oh what a good princess: wasn't she? We will pray for her, won'twe, my lambkin; when we are old enough?"
Martin came in furious. "They will not change it. I trow they think Istole it."
"I am beholden to thee," said Margaret, hastily, and almost snatched itfrom Martin, and wrapped it up again, and restored it to itshiding-place.
Ere these unexpected funds were spent, she got to her ironing andstarching again. In the midst of which Martin sickened; and died afteran illness of nine days.
Nearly all of her money went to bury him decently.
He was gone; and there was an empty chair by her fireside. For he hadpreferred the hearth to the sun as soon as the Busybody was gone.
Margaret would not allow anybody to sit in this chair now. Yet whenevershe let her eye dwell too long on it, vacant, it was sure to cost her atear.
And now there was nobody to carry her linen home. To do it herself shemust leave little Gerard in charge of a neighbour. But she dared nottrust such a treasure to mortal; and besides she could not bear him outof her sight for hours and hours. So she set inquiries on foot for a boyto carry her basket on Saturday and Monday.
A plump, fresh-coloured youth, called Luke Peterson, who looked fifteen,but was eighteen, came in, and blushing, and twiddling his bonnet, askedher if a man would not serve her turn as well as a boy.
Before he spoke she was saying to herself, "This boy will just do."
But she took the cue, and said, "Nay; but a man will maybe seek morethan I can well pay."
"Not I," said Luke, warmly. "Why, Mistress Margaret, I am yourneighbour, and I do very well at the coopering. I can carry your basketfor you before or after my day's work, and welcome. You have no need topay _me_ anything. 'Tisn't as if we were strangers, ye know."
"Why, Master Luke, I know your face, for that matter; but I cannot callto mind that ever a word passed between us."
"Oh yes, you did, Mistress Margaret. What have you forgotten? One dayyou were trying to carry your baby and eke your pitcher full o' water:and, quo' I, 'Give me the baby to carry.' 'Nay,' says you, 'I'll giveyou the pitcher, and keep the bairn myself:' and I carried the pitcherhome, and you took it from me at this door, and you said to me, 'I ammuckle obliged to you, young man,' with such a sweet voice; not like thefolk in this street speak to a body."
"I do mind now, Master Luke; and methinks it was the least I could say."
"Well, Mistress Margaret, if you will say as much every time I carryyour basket, I care not how often I bear it, nor how far."
"Nay, nay," said Margaret, colouring faintly. "I would not put upon goodnature. You are young, Master Luke, and kindly. Say I give you yoursupper on Saturday night, when you bring the linen home, and yourdawn-mete o' Monday; would that make us anyways even?"
"As you please; only say not I sought a couple o' diets, I, for such atrifle as yon."
With chubby-faced Luke's timely assistance, and the health and strengthwhich Heaven gave this poor young woman, to balance her many ills, thehouse went pretty smoothly awhile. But the heart became more and moretroubled by Gerard's long and now most mysterious silence.
And then that mental torture, Suspense, began to tear her heavy heartwith his hot pinchers, till she cried often and vehemently, "Oh, that Icould know the worst."
While she was in this state, one day she heard a heavy step mount thestair. She started and trembled. "That is no step that I know. Illtidings!"
The door opened, and an unexpected visitor, Eli, came in, l
Margaret eyed him in silence, and with increasing agitation.
"Girl," said he, "the skipper is come back."
"One word," gasped Margaret, "is he alive?"
"Surely, I hope so. No one has seen him dead."
"Then they must have seen him alive."
"No girl; neither dead nor alive hath he been seen this many months inRome. My daughter Kate thinks he is gone to some other city. She bade metell you her thought."
"Ay, like enough," said Margaret, gloomily; "like enough. My poor babe!"
The old man in a faintest voice asked her for a morsel to eat: he hadcome fasting.
The poor thing pitied him with the surface of her agitated mind, andcooked a meal for him, trembling, and scarce knowing what she was about.
Ere he went he laid his hand upon her head, and said, "Be he alive, orbe he dead, I look on thee as my daughter. Can I do nought for thee thisday? bethink thee now."
"Ay, old man. Pray for him; and for me!"
Eli sighed, and went sadly and heavily down the stairs.
She listened half stupidly to his retiring footsteps till they ceased.Then she sank moaning down by the cradle, and drew little Gerard tightto her bosom. "Oh, my poor fatherless boy; my fatherless boy!"