Madame Flirt
happy until Lavinia had eaten and drank.
Then Lavinia told the story of her adventures, hesitatingly at first and
afterwards with more confidence seeing that Hannah sympathised and did
not chide or ridicule.
"An' do 'ee mean to tell me you're going to Twitenham to-morrow?"
Lavinia nodded.
"What, over a worthless young man who gets drunk at the first chance he
has?"
Lavinia fired up.
"He's not worthless and he wasn't drunk."
"Hoity-toity. What a pother to be sure. Well, I'll warrant he is by this
time."
"How do you know? If he is it won't be his fault. The others were
drinking and filling his glass. I saw them, the wretches," cried Lavinia
with heightened colour. "But it is nothing to me," she went on tossing
her head. "Why should I bother if a man drinks or doesn't drink?"
"Why indeed," said Hannah ironically. "Since you don't care we needn't
talk about him."
"No, we won't, if you've only unkind things to say."
"Eh, would you have me tell you how well you've behaved and how good you
are? First you run away to be married to a man you don't care for, and
in the next breath you take no end of trouble and tire yourself to death
over another man you say you don't care for either. Are you going
through your life like that--men loving you and you leaving them?"
"You're talking nonsense, Hannah. You know nothing about it," cried
Lavinia angrily. "Let me manage my own affairs my own way and tell me
what mother's doing. You read me a riddle about her just now."
"'Tisn't much of a riddle. It's just what one might guess she'd do when
she's on the scent for money. You've become mighty valuable to her all
of a sudden."
"I! Valuable? Oh la! That's too funny."
"You think so, do you child? Wait till you hear. _I_ call it a monstrous
shame an' downright wicked. A mother sell her own child! It's
horrible--horrible."
"What are you talking about, you tiresome Hannah?" cried the girl
opening her eyes very wide.
"Ah, you may well ask. After you was locked up she pocketted that letter
from your spark and off she went to his lodgings in the Temple. She well
plied herself with cordials an' a drop o' gin or two afore she started,
an' my name's not Hannah if she didn't repeat the dose as she came back.
I knowed it at once by her red face an' her tongue a-wagging nineteen to
the dozen. She can't keep her mouth shut when she's like that. It all
comed out. She'd been to that Mr. Der--Dor--what's his name?"
"Dorrimore. Yes--yes. Go on. I want to hear," exclaimed Lavinia
breathlessly.
"I wouldn't ha' said a word agen her if she'd insisted upon the fine
young gentleman paying for his frolic a trying to fool you--which he
didn't do an' you may thank yourself for your sperrit Miss Lavvy--that
was only what a mother ought to do, but to sell her own child to make
money out of her own flesh an' blood--well I up an' told her to her face
what I thought of her."
"Make money out of _me_, good gracious Hannah, how?"
"The fellow offered her fifty guineas if she'd hand you over to him. He
swore he'd make a lady of you."
"What! Marry me?"
"Marry you! Tilly vally, no such thing. He'd spend money on you--fine
dresses, trinkets, fallals and all that, but a wedding ring, the
parson--not a bit of it. An' when he tired of you he'd fling you away
like an old glove."
"Would he?" cried Lavinia indignantly. "Then he won't."
"No, but it means a tussle with your mother. What a tantrum she went in
to be sure when she found you was gone. She fell upon poor me an' called
me all the foul names she could lay her tongue to. Look at these."
Hannah pushed back her cap and her hair and showed four angry red
streaks down the side of her face. Mrs. Fenton had long nails and knew
how to use them.
Lavinia was horrified. Throwing her arms round the honest creature's
neck she kissed her again and again. Then she exclaimed despairingly:--
"What am I do to do to-night? I dursn't stay here."
"I'm not so sure about that. I'm thinking it can be managed. Your
mother's gone to Marybone Gardens with Dawson, the Romford cattle
dealer. They won't be home till latish an' I'll go bail as full o'
strong waters as they can carry. It's not market day to-morrow and your
mother'll lie in bed till noon. You can share my bed an' I'll let 'ee
out long afore the mistress wakes."
"Oh thank you--thank you Hannah. How clever you are to think of all
this."
"Not much cleverness either. Trust a woman for finding out a way when
love's hanging on it."
"Love?" rapped out Lavinia sharply.
"Aye, it's love as is taking you to Twitenham with the young man's
rubbishy play."
"You've not read it, Hannah. It's not fair to call it rubbishy."
"Not read it, no, nor never shall, and may be I'll never see it acted
either. But I hope it will be, Lavinia, for your sake. But take care,
it's ill falling in love with a man who's fond of his cups."
Lavinia made no reply. Her face had suddenly gone grave.
Hannah ceased to tease her and bustled about to get supper--something
warm and comforting, stewed rabbit and toasted cheese to follow.
The bedroom shared by Lavinia and Hannah was in the front of the house.
About two o'clock both were awakened by the champing of a horse and the
squeaking and scraping of wheels followed by a loud wrangling in a deep
bass growl and a shrill treble.
"That's the mistress--drat her," grumbled Hannah from under the
coverlet. "She's a-beatin' down the coachman. She always does it."
The hubbub was ended, and not altogether to the satisfaction of the
hackney coachman judging by the way he banged his door. Mrs. Fenton
stumbled up the stairs to her room rating the extortion of drivers, and
after a time all was silence.
Daylight was in the room when Lavinia awoke. She slipped quietly out of
bed not wanting to disturb Hannah, but the latter was a light sleeper.
"Don't you get up," said Lavinia. "I can dress and let myself out
without bothering you."
"What, an' go into the early morning air wi'out a bite or sup inside
you? I'm not brute beast enough to let you do that."
And Hannah bounced out of bed bringing her feet down with a thump which
must have awakened Mrs. Fenton in the room below had the lady been in a
normal condition, which fortunately was not the case.
Within half an hour the two stole out of the house, and on reaching the
Ludgate Hill end of the Old Bailey turned eastwards. Their destination
was the Stocks Market occupying the site where the present Mansion House
stands. The Stocks Market was the principal market in London at that
time, Fleet Market was not in existence and Covent Garden, then mainly a
fashionable residential quarter, was only in its infancy as to the sale
of fruit and vegetables.
But the Stocks Market eastwards of St. Paul's was not in the direction
of Twickenham, or Twitenham as it was then called. Why then were Lavinia
and Hannah wending their way thither?
It was in this wise. Hannah was quick witted and fertile in resources.
Moreover she was a native of Mortlake, then surrounded by fruit growing
market gardens and especially celebrated for its plums, the fame of
which for flavour and colour and size has not quite died out in the
present day. Hannah had had her sweethearting days along by the
riverside and in pleasant strolls on Sheen Common, and not a few of her
swains cherished tender recollections of her fascinating coquetry. She
knew very well she would find some old admirer at the Stocks Market who
for auld lang syne would willingly give Lavinia a seat in his covered
cart returning to Mortlake with empty baskets. And Mortlake of course,
is no very long distance from Twickenham.
So it came about. The clock of St. Christopher le Stocks struck five as
the two young women entered the market. The Bank of England as we now
know it did not then exist. St. Christopher's, hemmed in by houses,
occupied the site of the future edifice, as much in appearance like a
prison as a bank. Sir Thomas Gresham's Exchange then alone dominated the
open space at the entrance of the Poultry.
The market was in full swing. Shopkeepers, hucksters and early risen
housewives keen on buying first hand and so saving pennies were
bargaining at the various stalls. Hannah went about those set apart for
fruit and soon spotted some one she knew--a waggoner of honest simple
looks. His mouth expanded into the broadest of grins and he coloured to
his ears when he caught sight of Hannah.
"Ecod Hannah, my gal, if the sight o' 'ee baint good fur sore eyes. I'm
in luck sure-ly. Fi' minutes more an' 'ee'd ha' found me gone. Dang me
if 'ee baint bonnier than ever."
"Don't 'ee talk silly, Giles Topham. Keep your nonsense for Hester
Roberts."
"Hester Roberts! What be that flirty hussy to I?" retorted Giles
indignantly.
"You know best about that, Giles. What be 'ee to me? That's more to the
purpose I'm thinking."
"I be a lot to 'ee Hannah. Out wi' the truth now, an' tell me if I
baint."
Lavinia was beginning to feel herself superfluous in the midst of this
rustic billing and cooing, and was moving a few steps off when Hannah
having whispered a few words to Giles which might have been a reproof or
the reverse beckoned to her, and without further ado told her old
sweetheart what she wanted.
"I'd a sight sooner take 'ee Hannah--meanin' no offence to 'ee miss--but
if it can't be, why----"
"Of course it can't, you booby. You know that as well as I do."
"Aye. Some other time may be," rejoined Giles grinning afresh. "So 'ee
be a-goin' to see the great Mr. Pope? 'Ee'll have to cross by the ferry
and 'tis a bit of a walk there from Mortlake but I'll see 'ee safe."
"I should think you would or I'll never speak to you again."
Giles gave another of his grins and set to work arranging the baskets
in his cart so as to form a seat for Lavinia, and having helped the girl
to mount, bade Hannah adieu, a matter which took some few minutes and
was only terminated by a hearty kiss which Hannah received very
demurely. Then Giles after a crack of his whip started his horse, at the
head of which he marched, and with waving handkerchiefs by Hannah and
Lavinia the cart took the road to London Bridge.
The nearest way to Mortlake would have been the Middlesex side, crossing
the river at Hammersmith, but Hammersmith Bridge had not been thought of
and the cart had to plod through Lambeth, Vauxhall, Wandsworth, Putney
and Barnes.
At intervals Giles climbed into the cart and entertained Lavinia with
guileless talk, mainly relating to Hannah and her transcendent virtues.
Nor did he stop at Hannah herself but passed on to her relatives, her
mother who was dead and her grandmother who was ninety and "as hale an'
hearty as you please."
"A wonnerful old dame she be an' mighty handy with her needle, a'most as
she used to be when she was a girl a-working at the tapestry fact'ry by
the riverside. It were a thunderin' shame as ever the tapestry makin'
was done away with at Mortlake an' taken to Windsor. It was the King's
doin's that was. Not his Majesty King George, but King Charles--long
afore my time, fifty years an' more agone. Lords an' ladies used to come
to Mortlake then I'm told an' buy the wool picture stuff, all hand sewn,
mind ye, to hang on the walls o' their great rooms. Some of it be at
'Ampton Palace this very day."
Thus and much more Giles went on and Lavinia listened attentively. The
cart rumbled through the narrow main street of Mortlake and reached
Worple way where Giles and his mother lived in a cottage in the midst of
a big plum orchard.
The old woman was astonished to see a pretty girl seated in her son's
cart but the matter was soon explained, and she insisted upon Lavinia
having a meal before going on to Twickenham.