Читать книгу The Young O'Briens: Being an Account of Their Sojourn in London - Margaret Westrup - Страница 7

Table of Contents

"Sarah," said Sheila Pat, "who's in the drawing-room?"

"Mrs. Barclay, miss."

"Oh!" said Sheila Pat.

"Bread and butter—cakes—best milk jug—smallest spoons—that's right." Sarah's muttering ended with a sigh of relief.

"Sarah, are you very busy?"

"I've took the things up, miss, and now I've got to wash up the dinner things."

"Sarah," wheedlingly, "let me help you."

"Oh, no, miss, certainly not, and you oughter be upstairs, too."

"I don't wish to be there," with dignity settling herself on the table. "Sarah, haven't you any silver to clean now? I do like cleaning silver."

"Oh, no, miss, and you're making yourself dirty and all!"

A pause, while Sarah bustled about and the Atom watched her.

"Sarah," sternly issued the small voice, "I inquest you to give me some work at once!"

"Oh—oh, certingly, miss, yes, miss." Sarah, in a flurry, routed out some shining pots and pans and gave them to the Atom to dust. Sheila Pat took them and examined them carefully. There was a long silence, while Sarah made up the fire and left the room to fill the coal box. When she returned she saw the Atom sitting in stiff idleness beside her pots and pans.

"What, done them already, miss! Well, you 'ave been quick; and how nice and bright you've made them look, to be sure!"

The Atom fixed her with a stony eye.

"I haven't touched them," said she.

Sarah collapsed in dire confusion.

"I may wear short dresses," resumed the Atom, coldly, "my fam'ly is resisting about that,—but I am not a baby, Sarah Jane Jones."

Meekly and in awe, Sarah provided her with real work in the drying of cups and saucers and plates. The Atom unbent over her rubbing.

"Have you any brothers, Sarah?"

"Yes, miss, two."

"How old are they?"

"One's three and t'other four and a 'alf, miss."

"Have you any sisters, Sarah?"

"Yes, miss, three."

"How old are they?"

"Two and five and seving, miss. I'm a long way the eldest in the fambly. There's three died between me and Gladys. Father, 'e died eighteen months back, too."

"Your mother has had a lot of trouble, Sarah."

"Yes, miss, and she's mostly ailing."

"Would she like some cough medicine, do you think? You see I've got some in a bottle upstairs. I didn't use it all."

"Thank you, miss. She takes in sewing when she's able, but they pay that bad! Threepence for a blarse! Did you ever, now?"

The Atom fidgeted uncomfortably.

"I don't quite know what a blarse is, Sarah, not quite, you see."

"Why, a bodice as don't fit, miss, just 'angs loose, and you pull it in round the waist with a belt or somethink."

"Oh!" said the Atom, recognising "blouse" now, but too polite to explain.

"No," pursued Sarah, "I'm the worker of the fambly!"

The Atom eyed her gravely.

"You're not very big and strong, are you?" she queried doubtfully.

"Oh, there's a lot of work in me, miss, more'n you'd think. I can go on and on, you see. Why," proudly, "lots o' times when my back's just aching all over and my legs and feet too, I can work just as well as hever!"

"That's spunk, Sarah," said Denis's voice round the door.

"Oh, sir! Oh, Mr. Denis!" Sarah, in her confusion, let fall a plate. "Oh!" she cried, "four pieces! Oh!" She wrung her hands.

Denis laughed.

"My fault, Sarah; put it down to me."

But the poor little maid-of-all-work had no smile left in her; her sharp little face was puckered and drawn into ludicrous lines of woe; tears stood in her pale eyes. "'Alf a crown at least!" she moaned beneath her breath. "I'd never match it under!"

Denis glanced sharply at her. "What do you mean? You talk as if you will have to pay for it!"

"So I do, sir! Ten pounds—washing done out—pay your own breakages—no beer—no followers," she rattled off glibly.

"Do you mean Aunt Kezia makes you pay for everythin' you break?" interposed the Atom.

"Yes, miss!"

There was scorn in Denis's eye; he drew a half crown from his pocket.

"I broke it, Sarah," he said gently. "Would you mind getting the new one for me? You'd bargain better than I should. Come on, Atom, everyone's asking for you."

Sheila Pat held back.

"Is the goody-goo up there, too?"

"The what?"

"The little lame boy."

"No; only his mother. Hurry up!"

They left Sarah half weeping over his magnificent kindness. Denis little knew how from that moment he was a young god—a prince in a fairy tale—a hero—to the romantic Sarah.

Up in the drawing-room a stiff little party sat nursing empty cups. In vain Mrs. Barclay tried to unstiffen it. Her eyes met Nell's, and a gleam of amusement shone in them before she discreetly veiled them beneath decorous lids.

Miss Kezia was cross. She had been taken unawares. With a queer kind of heavy hospitality, she liked to know when a visitor was coming, that she might have cakes and scones of all sorts freshly baked. To-day she had not known, and there was nothing but bread and butter and half a dozen small cakes. So she sat, stiffly disapproving, and refused to unbend.

Sheila Pat marched in, calm and cool, greeted Mrs. Barclay with her most pronounced accent, took her seat upon a chair, pulled down her skirt, and surveyed the room.

"I have a little boy not much older than you," Mrs. Barclay began pleasantly.

"Sure I'm knowin' that already."

"He wants to know you very badly."

Dead silence.

"I hope you will be friends—you and he."

The Atom wriggled on her chair; then,

"I don't care for children much, thank you; that is," her hopeless honesty impelled her, "not some children!"

Nell broke in hastily, "I have spoken to him over the wall."

"So I heard. He is rather lonely. We do not seem to know any nice young people."

Denis suggested, "Used not to know?"

She laughed.

"I stand corrected. Well, I hope we shall soon know very well some very nice young people!" She rose to go.

"Will you come in to-morrow afternoon? Early—about three?"

"Oh, thanks—if Aunt—" Nell looked inquiringly at Miss Kezia.

"I have no objection."

"When will you come, Miss McAlister? It is so long since you have—"

"I have not much time for gadding about, thank you."

"Mind," Mrs. Barclay turned back to the others, "you are all to come!"

Clear and distinct spoke Sheila Pat.

"'Tis engaged I'll be, Mrs. Barclay."

"What do you mean, Sheila?" demanded Miss Kezia, frowning mightily.

"I shall be helping Sarah, thank you."

"What maggot have you got into your head now?"

"'Tisn't a maggot at all," calmly. "I wish to do it. Sarah's a very good girl—for London, that is—and she has too much work entirely."

"Sheila, when I wish you to help in the menial work of the house, I will ask you to do so. Tell Mrs. Barclay at once that you will be very glad to accept her kind invitation."

The Atom heaved a most palpable sigh.

"I will come, then, thank you," she amended her aunt's words.

"Of all the rude little grumps!" Molly attacked her later on.

"I don't care! I do erject to goody-goos!"

"Who is a goody-goo?"

"Why, that silly little Stewart, of course."

"How do you know?"

"Know, is it?" scoffed the Atom. "Hasn't he got big blue eyes and fair hair and a lame leg? Sure I know the sort!" her pig-tail jerking angrily. "And I just can't bear them, Molly O'Brien!"

"I don't see how you can tell. Denis has blue eyes—"

"Oh, Denis!" in a tone of strong contempt for Molly's lack of understanding. "There are eyes and eyes!"