Читать книгу Martin of Old London - George Herbert Ely - Страница 4
ОглавлениеMARTIN AT HOME
And who was Mr. Slocum?
Martin was the only son of a master mariner who, retiring after many years at sea, had settled in a little house near the Tower. He had suffered many misfortunes. Ship after ship in which he had invested his savings was lost, and the last of them, the Merry Maid, sailing from Bristol in the year ’62, had never been heard of again.
“Have you seen or heard aught of the Merry Maid?” was the question the old captain had put to all seafaring men coming into the river.
The answer was always the same. Martin often wondered what had become of the vessel. Many a time he wished that he could go sailing over the seas to try to find some trace of her. But when his father and mother both died of the Plague, he felt bound to stay on shore and help to look after his little sister Lucy.
They were left almost destitute, having nothing except the small sum that was realised by the sale of Captain Leake’s furniture. This was in the hands of a lawyer, and as it would bring in only a few shillings a week, it was clear that Martin would have to earn something.
He was taken from St. Paul’s school, and the lawyer found him a job in the shop of Mr. Greatorex, a wealthy goldsmith in Cheapside, who had known his father, and indeed had had an interest in the Merry Maid.
“I’ll give the lad a trial,” Mr. Greatorex had said when the lawyer approached him. “He’ll not get on very far unless he is apprenticed, of course; but I’m not inclined to take him as an apprentice without a premium; at any rate, until I find out the kind of lad he is. I’ve lost hundreds of pounds in that unlucky vessel. Let him come and do odd jobs for a while. Mr. Slocum will tell me how he gets on.”
Martin had never seen Mr. Greatorex himself. Unlike most of the city merchants of that day, who lived over their shops, the goldsmith had built himself a house in the country, and left his business almost entirely to Mr. Slocum, his manager.
There were three apprentices who lived in the house, two of them sleeping under the shop counter. They rather despised the new boy. Martin had to come early in the morning to take down the shutters and sweep out the shop. All day he was running errands between the shop and the workrooms in Foster Lane, or carrying parcels to customers, or fetching things for Mr. Slocum and the housekeeper.
At the close of business he had to put up the shutters, and was often very tired by the time he reached home. At first one or two of the apprentices were inclined to bully him, but he showed himself to have plenty of spirit and a neat way with his fists, and his tormentors soon learnt to leave him alone. But his life was a hard one. Mr. Slocum was ill-tempered, and nothing but Martin’s care for his sister kept him from running away to sea.
All the way home Martin puzzled about Mr. Slocum’s journey down the river in the foreign boat. The apprentices talked among themselves about their master, and Martin knew that he often went out at night, not returning until very late. He was late also in the morning, except when Mr. Greatorex was expected to ride in from the country. And his temper seemed to grow worse every day. He barked at the apprentices like an angry dog, and if they or Martin committed the slightest fault, they had learnt to expect a thrashing.
The house where Martin lived was a large old building that stood by itself some distance from the riverside. It had once been the mansion of a nobleman, but of late years it had been let out in tenements.
The basement was occupied by an old seaman named Dick Gollop and his wife. Gollop had served under Captain Leake in many a voyage, and retired at the same time, obtaining employment as a constable. His thick round figure and bandy legs were well known along the waterside, and he was so good-tempered that the small boys of the neighbourhood liked to go with him on his rounds, and beg him to tell them a story.
When Martin and his sister were left homeless it was arranged that they should live with the Gollops, the lawyer paying a small sum weekly for their board and lodging. Martin slept in a small parlour at the back, and Lucy in a slip room. They had their meals with the constable and his wife, whose tongue was sometimes rather sharp, but whose heart was kind.
“You’re late to-night, young master,” said Susan Gollop as Martin entered the kitchen. Supper was on the table, and Lucy had already begun her meal. Gollop was not present.
“Look what I’ve got,” said the little girl, holding up a cake of hardbake.
“Ay, the Mounseer gentleman will spoil you, that he will,” said Susan. “I never liked foreigners, but the Mounseer has a kind heart, and he has took to you most uncommon.”
The Mounseer was an old French gentleman who had fled from persecution in France a few years before, and now occupied the first floor of the Gollops’ house. He had struck up a friendship with Lucy, and regularly every day escorted her to and from the dame’s school she attended about a mile away. Mrs. Gollop was glad to earn a little every week for looking after his room and his clothes; but he bought his own food and did himself what little cooking he needed.
“And what do you think?” Susan went on. “The second floor is let at last.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Martin. “You’ll get more money now.”
“I wish I might,” said the old woman. “But the new gentleman will do for himself. He’s a nice, fair-spoken gentleman, I will say that, Seymour by name, and I wonder at him making his own bed and dusting and all that. But there, I suppose he knows his own business; it’s not for me to say; only I would have liked to make a shilling or two extra doing for him as I did for the lodger what’s gone.”
At this moment heavy footsteps were heard clumping down the stone stairs.
“Here’s my old man,” said Susan, going to the door.
“A fine night, my hearties,” said the constable as he came in. “And plaguey hot. Never did I know a summer as dry as this. Give me a drink, Sue.”
He hung his three-cornered hat on a peg, threw his staff into a corner, stripped off his long coat, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. His broad red face beamed as he sat down to his simple supper of bread and cheese and beer.
“Well, young master, what’s your own news to-day?” he said to Martin. “Have you been conveying gold and silver about the city? When I think of the watches and the goblets and the golden rings you carry on you, I wonder to myself whether, being a constable, I oughtn’t to go with you.”
“I haven’t done much of that to-day,” said Martin. “I had to fetch some tobacco for Mr. Slocum—ah, I must tell you! I was down by the river just now, and I saw Mr. Slocum get into a boat with a foreign sailor, from a Portugal ship, I was told.”
“Well, that’s not a wonderful bit of news to tell the Lord Mayor about. These warm nights many folks like a row on the river. It freshens ’em up and helps ’em to sleep. I reckon all the watermen were busy, and Mr. Slocum took the first boat that was handy.”
“I don’t think so. The boat seemed to be waiting for him.”
“Maybe he had business with the master of the Portugal ship—a matter of earrings for the crew, belike.”
“But he came down in a sneaking sort of way, as if he didn’t want to be seen.”
“Steady, my lad; don’t you go for to be too sharp, getting fancies into your head. It’s none of your business, what Mr. Slocum does; and if he didn’t wish to be seen, he won’t thank you for talking about it. So take my advice and keep your mouth shut.”
