The Beth Book
"Did you say you sat up with him alone all night?" she asked.
"Yes, there's no 'arm, you know," Harriet answered on the defensive,
without precisely knowing why.
"Well, what did he say?" Beth rejoined without comment.
But Harriet, put out of countenance, omitted the details, and brought
the story to an abrupt conclusion.
Another of Harriet's interests in life was the _Family Herald_, which
she took regularly, and as regularly read aloud to Beth, to the best
of her ability--from the verses to "Violet," or "My own Love," on the
first page, to the "Random Readings" on the last. They laughed at the
jokes, tried to guess the riddles, were impressed with the historical
anecdotes and words of wisdom, and became so hungry over the recipes
for good dishes that they frequently fried eggs and potatoes, or a
slice stolen from the joint roasting at the fire, and feasted
surreptitiously.
Beth tried in after years to remember what the stories in the _Family
Herald_ had been about, but all she could recall was a vague incident
of a falling scaffold, of a heroine called Margaret taking refuge in
the dark behind a hoarding, and of a fascinating hero whom Harriet
called Ug Miller. Long afterwards it dawned upon Beth that his name
was Hugh.
When Mildred went to her aunt, Beth and Bernadine became of necessity
constant companions, and it was a curious kind of companionship, for
their natures were antagonistic. Like rival chieftains whose
territories adjoin, they professed no love for each other, and were
often at war, but were intimate nevertheless, and would have missed
each other, because there was no one else with whom they could so
conveniently quarrel. Harriet took the liveliest interest in their
squabbles, which, under her able direction, rapidly developed from the
usual little girls' scrimmages into regular stand-up fights.
One day Beth pulled Bernadine's hair passionately, and Bernadine
retaliated by clawing Beth's face, and then howled as a further relief
to her feelings. Mrs. Caldwell rushed to see what accident had
happened to the dear child, and Harriet came to see the sport.
"Mamma, Beth pulled my hair," Bernadine whined.
Mrs. Caldwell immediately thumped Beth, who seldom said a word in her
own defence. Harriet was neutral till her mistress had disappeared,
and then she supported Beth.
"Just you wait till after dinner," she said. "Come into the kitchen
when your ma's asleep, and fight it out. Don't you be put upon by
tell-pie-tits."
"What's the use of my going into the kitchen?" Beth rejoined;
"Bernadine doesn't fight fair. She's a horrid, low little coward."
"Am I!" Bernadine howled. "Just you wait till after dinner! I'm as
brave as you are, and as strong, though you _are_ the biggest." Which
was true. Bernadine was sallow, thin, wiry, and muscular; Beth was
soft, and round, and white. She had height, age, and weight on her
side; Bernadine had strength, agility, and cunning.
"Phew--w--w!" Beth jeered, mimicking her whine. "You'd 'tell mamma' if
you got a scratch."
"I won't, Beth, if you'll fight," Bernadine protested.
"We'll see after dinner," Harriet put in significantly, and then
returned to her work.
After the four o'clock dinner, during the dark winter months, Mrs.
Caldwell dozed for half-an-hour in her chair by the fire. This was the
children's opportunity. They were supposed to sit still and amuse
themselves quietly while their mother slept; and, until she slept,
they would sit motionless, watching her, the greater their anxiety to
get away the more absolute their silence. Mrs. Caldwell looked as if
she were being mesmerised to sleep by the two pairs of bright eyes so
resolutely and patiently fixed upon her. The moment her breathing
showed she was sound asleep, the children stole to the kitchen,
shutting the doors after them softly, and instantly set to work.
It was a gruesome sight, those two children, with teeth set and
clenched fists, battering each other in deadly earnest, but with no
noise save the fizzle of feet on the brick floor, an occasional thump
up against a piece of furniture, or the thud when they fell. They were
afraid to utter a sound lest Aunt Victoria, up in her room, should
hear them, and come down interfering; or their mother should wake, and
come out and catch them. They bruised and blackened and scratched each
other, and were seldom without what they considered the honourable
scars of these battles. Sometimes, when Bernadine was badly mauled,
she lost her temper, and threatened to tell mamma. But Beth could
always punish her, and did so, by refusing to fight next time,
although, without that recreation, life were a blank.
Harriet always cleared away obstacles to give them room, and then sat
down to eat her dinner, and watch the fight. She had the tastes, and
some of the habits, of a Roman empress, and encouraged them with the
keenest interest for a long time, but when she had finished her dinner
she usually wearied of the entertainment, and would then stop it.
"I say, yer _ma's_ comin'! I can 'ear 'er!" she would exclaim. "'Elp
us to wash up, or I shan't be done for the reading."
When Harriet wanted help, Bernadine usually slipped away, helping
anybody not being much in her line; but Beth set to work with a will.
Beth, always sociable, had persuaded her mother to let Harriet come to
the reading; and Harriet accordingly, in a clean cap and apron, with a
piece of sewing, was added to the party.
So long as she sat on a high chair, at a respectful distance, and
remembered that she was a servant, her being there rather gratified
Mrs. Caldwell than otherwise, once she had yielded to Beth's
persuasion, and saw the practical working of the experiment; it made
her feel as if she were doing something to improve the lower classes.
It was a pity she did not try to improve Beth and Bernadine by finding
some sewing for their idle hands to do. During the reading, dear
little Bernadine, "so good and affectionate always," would sit on the
floor beside her mother, whose pocket she often picked of a penny or
sixpence to vary the monotony when she did not understand the book.
Beth also sat idle, listening intently, and watching her sister. If
the reading had been harrowing or exciting, she would fight Bernadine
for the sixpence when they went to bed. There were lively scenes
during the readings. They all wept at the pathetic parts, laughed
loudly when amused, and disputed about passages and incidents at the
top of their voices. Mrs. Caldwell forgot that Harriet was a servant,
Harriet forgot herself, and the children, unaccustomed to wordy
warfare, forgot their fear of their mother, and flew at each other's
throats.
When the story was very interesting, Mrs. Caldwell read until she was
hoarse, and then went on to herself--"dipping," the children called
it. It was a point of honour with them not to dip, and they would
remonstrate with their mother loudly when they caught her at it. Their
feeling on the subject was so strong that she was ashamed to be seen
dipping at last. She used to put the book away until they were safe in
bed, and then gratify her curiosity; but they suspected her, because
once or twice they noticed that she was unaffected by an exciting
part; so one night they came down in their night-dresses and caught
her, and after that the poor lady had to be careful. She might thump
the children for coming downstairs, but she could not alter the low
opinion they had of a person who dipped.
CHAPTER XVI
Beth's brain began to be extraordinarily busy. She recorded nothing,
but her daily doings were so many works of her imagination. She was
generally somebody else in these days, seldom herself; and people who
did not understand this might have supposed that she was an
exceedingly mendacious little girl, when she was merely speaking
consistently in the character which she happened to be impersonating.
She would spend hours of the afternoon alone in the drawing-room,
standing in the window looking out while she wove her fancies; and she
soon began to go out also, by the back-door, when the mood was upon
her, without asking anybody's leave. She had wandered off in this way
on one occasion to the south side, whither her people rarely went. At
the top of the cliff, where the winding road began which led down to
the harbour, a paralysed sailor was sitting in a wickerwork wheeled
chair, looking over the sea. Beth knew the man by sight. He had been a
yachtsman in the service of one of her great-uncles, and she had heard
hints of extraordinary adventures they had had together. It filled her
with compassion to see him sitting there so lonely and helpless, and
as she approached she resolved herself into a beneficent being, able
and willing to help. She had a book under her arm, a costly volume
which Mrs. Caldwell had borrowed to read to the children. Beth had
been looking at the pictures when the desire to go out suddenly seized
upon her, and had carried the book off inadvertently.
"How are you to-day, Tom?" she said, going up to the invalid
confidently. "I'm glad to see you out. We shall soon have you about
again as well as ever. I knew a man in Ireland much worse than you
are. He couldn't move his hands and arms. Legs are bad enough, but
when it's hands and arms as well, you know, it's worse. Well, now you
couldn't tell there'd ever been anything the matter with him."
"And what cured 'im?" Tom asked with interest.
"Oh, he just _thought_ he'd get well, you know. You've got to set
yourself that way, don't you see? If mountains can be moved by faith,
you can surely move your own legs!"
"That sounds reasonable any way," Tom ejaculated.
"Do you like reading?" said Beth.
"Yes, I read a bit at times."
"Well, I've brought you a book," Beth proceeded, handing him the
borrowed volume. "You'll find it interesting, I'm sure. It's a great
favourite of mine."
"You're mighty good," the sailor said.
"Oh, not at all," Beth answered largely. Then she wished him good-bye.
But she often visited him again in the same character, and the stories
she told that unhappy invalid for his comfort and encouragement were
amazing. When the book was missed, and her mother bothered about it,
she listened serenely, and even helped to look for it.
Beth strolled homewards when she left her protege, and on the way she
became Norna of the Fitful Head. She tried Minna and Brenda first, but
these characters were too insipid for her taste. Norna was different.
She did things, you know, and made charms, and talked poetry, and
people were afraid of her. Beth believed in her thoroughly. She'd be
Norna, and make charms. But she had no lead. Norna looked about her.
She knew by magic that Cleveland was coming to consult her, and she
had no lead. There was a border of lead, however, over the attic
window outside. All she had to do was to steal upstairs, climb out of
the window on to the roof, and cut a piece of the lead off. It was now
the mystic moment to obtain lead, but she must be wary. She strolled
through the kitchen in a casual way. Harriet was busy about the grate,
and paid no attention to her; so she secured the carving-knife without
difficulty, went up to the attic, and opened the window. She was now
on the dangerous pinnacle of a temple, risking her life in order to
obtain the materials for a charm which would give her priceless power.
On the other side of the street, there lived in the Orchard House
another widow-woman with three daughters. She let lodgings, and was
bringing up her children to honest industry in that state of life. She
and Mrs. Caldwell took a kindly interest in each other's affairs. Mrs.
Davy happened to be changing the curtains in front that afternoon when
Beth crept out of the attic window on to the roof, and she was