Bone Street/Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
AN OLD FRIENDSHIP RENEWED
Spring had come, but in Beckton the only signs were that it was lighter, brighter and slightly warmer. The grime and smoke still existed. But out on the moors it shouted a welcome to you. Jack and Mary anticipated all week the joyous hours that would be spent out in the fresh air away from the grime of Beckton. These big, clean spaces blew away from Mary the effects of a close atmosphere, and enabled her to retain some of her natural freshness.
One Sunday they had been out since ten o’clock, and still had about a mile to tramp before the accustomed place for eating was reached. As they both felt hungry they decided to call at the first cottage they came to and endeavour to persuade the inmates to make them some tea. “I believe,” said Jack, “that there is a house just down this lane. I was down there a long while ago, during father’s time. Shall we try it?”
“Do, please,” answered Mary.
So they proceeded down the lane, arriving where two cottages stood side by side. Knocking at the first door, no answer was received. They were turning, when the door of the adjoining cottage opened, and who should Jack see but Mr. Grimshaw, his fellow-lodger before his accident occurred.
“Well, I’ll be blessed,” said the old chap, “it’s Jack Newcome or I’m blind.” They shook hands, delighted at meeting after so many years. “And is this thi wife, Jack?” he asked.
“Nay, not yet,” was the reply, while Mary blushed prettily.
“Come in,” said Mr. Grimshaw, “both of you. I was just sitting down to my tea. Have you had yours?”
And Jack explained that they had intended asking the favour of buying some tea to drink with their sandwiches.
“Wait a minute,” said the old chap, “the kettle is boiling, we’ll have some more tea in a jiffy, and you’ll have tea with me, or I’ll know the reason why.”
Inside, everything was neat and clean, although one missed the touch of a woman about the place. The floor was clean and sanded, the grate was shining with blacklead. There was even a cat in a basket and some black and white kittens, which immediately drew Mary to her knees and the cat to its feet.
“And how long have you been here?” asked Jack.
“Ever since you disappeared from Beckton,” was the reply. “Do you know, Jack, I have wondered scores of times what had happened to you, and to think of you dropping in like this. Aye,” he continued, “it’s a strange world; I heard of this place to be let with a bit of land to it, so I started a poultry farm, and I’ve done well, really Jack, I don’t regret one minute getting sacked, for I feel stronger and healthier by far since I came here; but come, tell me your story.”
And over tea Jack related his adventures to the old chap, while Mary listened quietly, although occasionally her eyes filled with tears, and at one point her hand met Jack’s under the tablecloth, which told him a lot. He told him how Mary had entered his life, and the old chap threw an appreciative look at the girl which immediately won her. Tea over, he led Jack through the back door to look at the poultry, while Mary decided to stay and wash up the tea things. As he showed the young man round he could not help but notice the pleasure on his face.
“Well, it’s grand to see you again,” said Jack, “and so comfortable.”
“Aye,” was the reply. “I can manage fairly well by myself. The people next door wash for me, but otherwise I do my own work. I expect I shall have to look out for someone else soon, for they are leaving in July—you see he’s a carter and wants to be in Beckton near his work, and his boss has promised him a house near the stables. Nah then, when are you getting married?”
“Whitsuntide,” was the reply.
“And where are you going to live?”
“Well, we are thinking of going just on the outskirts of the town, you see I don’t start till eight, and I want to get the lass away from the grime and smoke, for if possible she won’t work then.”
Mr. Grimshaw studied a moment, then said, “Why not speak for next door. I think it’s just about the place for you; there’s not as much land to that cottage as I have, but there’s a good poultry run. You can get to Beckton from here in less than an hour.”
Jack reflected a moment. “Yes, why not? True, train fares would cost about three shillings and sixpence a week, but against that was the fact that the rent would be less, for a house in Beckton would be at least six shillings, that is, a decent house.”
“What is the rent here?” he asked.
“Two shillings and sixpence,” replied the other.
“What, with the land in?”
“Yes, two shillings and sixpence clear—of course, there’s no gas, but there’s water laid on.”
Just then Mary approached them.
“Oh, Jack,” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it lovely here? Look at the beautiful hens.” And she clapped her hands with such vigour that the poultry scurried away. “Oh, you darlings,” said the girl. “I’m sorry. Please let me feed them, Mr. Grimshaw. We used to feed them at this time at home.”
“Do you understand poultry, miss?” he asked.
“Mary,” she stated, holding up her finger admonishingly.
“Right then, Mary,” he smiled.
“Yes,” she said. “I just love them; at home they were my special charge.”
“How would you like a place like this yourself?” he asked cunningly.
“Now you are teasing me. Isn’t he, Jack?” she appealed.
“I’m not quite sure,” said the latter smilingly.
“Oh, tell me,” she said, “you’ve some idea. Please tell me, Jack.”
“Well, it’s Mr. Grimshaw’s idea,” he said. “Perhaps he had better tell you.”
And Mr. Grimshaw took it up.
“Well, Mary,” he said, “you’re going to be married soon.” (Mary blushed.) “And the house next door is to be let some time after Easter. There’s two bedrooms and a kitchen, a bit of land and a few poultry; the hen coops can be bought cheap, and if you understand poultry you can make a little money that way. The house is owned by a shopkeeper at Beckton, and I don’t think you would have any difficulty in getting it; the rent is two shillings and sixpence a week, and you’d pay twice that amount in town for the same accommodation.”
“Oh, lovely,” said Mary. “Do let’s try and get it, Jack. Please, Jack.”
And what could Jack do but agree? Besides, he wanted to himself.
Mr. Grimshaw was delighted, and as for Mary she could hardly restrain herself. They must see the landlord at once.
“To-night, Jack,” she insisted, “now right away; someone may be after it even now.” Mr. Grimshaw decided to accompany them, so he locked up, and they departed for the town. Arriving in town they made straight for the house where the landlord lived. Fortunately, he was at home, and not averse to doing business on Sunday, and they came away with the satisfaction of fixing up for when the other tenant departed.
“Oh, Jack, that’s lovely,” said Mary. “Let’s hurry and tell Marthalice—you come, too, Mr. Grimshaw.” Mr. Grimshaw grinned appreciatively. “Oh, won’t it be grand,” continued Mary. “When we get settled, there’s room for quite a lot of hens, but it will be too late to breed our own for this year by the time we get settled. Oh well, never mind, we shall be all right for next year.”
“But you can be starting now,” said Mr. Grimshaw.
“How?” was the question.
“Oh, I can arrange to put down a few extra sitting hens in my place, and if you both come over next Saturday, you may be able to make some satisfactory arrangements with the present tenant. He’s not a bad chap. I think he would allow me to put chicks on his land as they grow up, and if you do that there will be a stock when you take over.”
So they made their plans while walking on their way to tell Marthalice. In they walked, Mary flushed and rosy, happiness beaming from every feature.
“Ay, bairn,” said Marthalice. “Tha looks as if tha’d hed a fortune left. Why, Mr. Grimshaw!” she gasped when she saw that gentleman. “Wheer’s tha dropped from? Come in and sit thi down. Well, I’m glad and fain to see thi.”
“Nay,” said Mr. Grimshaw. “It was these two dropped in to tea, an’ I wor nivver more capped in mi life than to see Jack knocking at next door.” And he related how he had met them.
“Well, it’s reight grand t’ see thi again, Mr. Grimshaw. It must be five or six years sin’ I saw thi last; nah, tell us how tha’t getting on.”
But Mary was anxious to take up the story. “Oh, Marthalice,” she exclaimed, “he’s got such a beautiful cottage.” Then flinging her arms round the other’s neck, whispered, “And we’re to have the next door and raise chicks.”
“What’s that?” asked the old lady. “Sithee, lass,” she continued, “sit thi down, and let’s have t’tale reight side up.”
But Mary preferred to stand with an arm encircling a broad waist until the story was told, and when it was told she turned to find a quiver on the homely face and a dimness of eye which told their own tale.
“Why, Marthalice,” she cried, “have I hurt you by talking of my new house? Oh, I’m sorry”—impulsively laying her cheek against the wrinkled face of the older woman.
“Nay, bairn,” answered the other, “tha’s noan hurt mi. Bless thi, tha wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m nobbut happy cos ye are, an’ if a couple ivver deserved it you two do.”
But she was troubled, although she would not show it further.
“But, you dear woman, you’re not going to lose us altogether; we’re only an hour away, and we will see each other almost every week. Indeed,” she continued, “you couldn’t lose me if you tried.”
It was nine o’clock when Mr. Grimshaw dragged himself away, after extracting a definite promise from Marthalice that she would accompany the couple on their next visit. Jack and Mary accompanied him to the station, which was about a quarter of an hour’s walk away, and as they went they discussed in detail their plans for the future, Mr. Grimshaw assisting with his lately acquired knowledge. Jack was a bit subdued at the sadness of Marthalice, which she had so bravely tried to hide, but he knew it was a law of life that all things must make way for love, so with a pleasant “Good night, lass,” the day closed for these two.