Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 687

Mrs Pratt murmured something about its being very kind of Mr Farrar; her eyes downcast, and hands fluttering about her apron-strings.

'We thought it best to bring this ourselves, Mrs Pratt, because we wish to be in communication with Marian,' I said. 'And of course you know where she is. You know her, do you not?'

'Yes, Miss,' replied Mrs Pratt. She sat very pale and still a few moments, and then went on slowly and hesitatingly: 'If you really wish to see her' —

Lilian very earnestly assured her that she did.

'Then will you please to come this way, ladies?' she whispered, still, I fancied, a little nervously and doubtfully.

We rose at once, and followed her into the passage, up a narrow staircase, and into a front-room on the first floor. One glance shewed me that this was very different from what might have been expected in Mrs Pratt's best room – different in the way of being very pretentious. It was in fact evidently intended to be considered a drawing-room, and was crowded with tawdry finery, which not even its exquisite cleanliness could make to look respectable. Gaudy furniture, gaudy curtains, gaudy vases, with quantities of artificial flowers; a round table spread with gaudily bound books, &c. – all looking in such strange contrast with Mrs Pratt herself in her homely simplicity.

'Will you tell us where to find my sister?' eagerly began Lilian, after a hasty glance around. 'Sister!' said Mrs Pratt. 'You are not ashamed to call her that; or – is it that you do not know?' 'I have guessed that – that her mother was to be pitied,' said Lilian in a low voice, a crimson flush suffusing her face.

'And you can still call her sister?'

'Yes.'

'God bless you, dear young lady! It's only the best and purest could say that. Let me – pray let me.'

And before Lilian could prevent her, Mrs Pratt sank on her knees and kissed the young girl's hands. It expressed all the more to me, because I judged that Mrs Pratt was not naturally so emotional as most people. She recovered herself quickly too. After turning away for a few moments towards the window, where she stood wiping her eyes, she was the same self-contained, quiet-looking, little woman we had first seen.

'Please forgive me, ladies; but, as you have guessed, I do know Marian Reed. Her poor mother was my only sister, and since her death, Marian has always lived with us. Mr Farrar has always paid very handsome for her; and she has been brought up like a – lady.' Mrs Pratt hesitated a little over the word, and added: 'I mean, compared with people like us – a deal better than my own little ones.'

To gain a little time for Lilian, I asked: 'How many children have you, Mrs Pratt?'

'We have seven, Miss; but I've a good husband; a better man than Jonathan doesn't breathe; and business is brisk; so we want for nothing.'

The latter part of her sentence was meant for a hint, I thought, and I was all the more favourably inclined towards her in consequence. At anyrate we were amongst honest people.

'Is – Marian in the house now?' inquired Lilian. 'May I see her?'

Once more I noticed the reluctance in Mrs Pratt's face, as she replied: 'Yes, Miss; I'll go and tell her.'

'No; please do not tell her; let me introduce myself.'

Mrs Pratt consented; and to be quite honest with us, did not leave the room. Standing at the open door, she called out: 'Miss Reed – Marian, dear!'

No reply.

'Marian, dear, will you please come down for a few minutes?'

'What for?' called out a voice from some upper chamber.

'Somebody wants to see you, dear.'

I heard a word which seemed very much like 'Bother!' and a sound as of a book thrown down. Then there was a somewhat heavy and leisurely tread descending the stairs.

'Well, what is it?'

A girl of about twenty or twenty-one years of age entered the room, looking as though she had been disturbed and resented it. At sight of her my heart sank. Lilian's sister! This underbred girl, arrayed in the latest style of elegance as interpreted by Islington. Everything about her was in the extreme of penny-fashion-book style; the largest of chignons, the fluffiest of curls covering her forehead down to her eyebrows, the longest of ribbons streaming down her back, and the latest inventions in the way of imitation jewellery. I am bound to acknowledge that she was in her way good-looking; with plenty of dark hair, large round dark eyes, red (not pink) and white complexion, and good though large figure, and yet – Could any one in the world be more disappointing, as Lilian's sister?

She crossed the room, seated herself with a dégagé air in a lounging-chair, and playing with a bunch of trinkets, it was then the fashion to call charms, upon her watch-chain, she languidly inquired if we had come about the music lessons.

'Because I have almost made up my mind to engage a gentleman. I require something advanced, you know; and the gentleman who is organist at our church gives lessons to a select few, and' —

'Are you Marian?' asked Lilian, white and trembling.

'I am Miss Reed,' very stiffly returned that young lady.

'This young lady is Miss Farrar,' I put in, to help Lilian.

'O indeed!' returned Miss Reed.

I saw that the name told her nothing. I know now that she had never been told her father's name.

With slowly gathering colour, Mrs Pratt now came to my assistance. 'Mr Farrar was the gentleman who – paid for your schooling and all that, Marian, dear – the quarterly allowance came from him.'

'And who was he?'

'Your father!' returned her aunt, in a low broken voice: 'and these ladies have come to tell us that he has been ill, and – and' —

'He is dead!' said Marian; taking note of our black clothes, and becoming as pale as one of her complexion could become.

'Come!' I thought, not a little relieved, 'she can feel.' But I very quickly found that I had been somewhat premature in giving her credit upon that account. It is possible to feel without the feeling being worth very much. I saw in what way she was touched, as she went on, with a little catch in her breath, looking from one to the other of us: 'What has he left me?'

We were silent; and putting the right construction upon our silence, she hurriedly added: 'You don't mean to say he hasn't left me anything, after' —

Without any further anxiety on the score of her feelings, I put in: 'Mr Farrar has left no will, Miss Reed; and all his property comes to this young lady – his daughter.'

'Then I say it is mean, and shameful – downright shameful! and' —

'Hush, Marian, pray; Marian, dear, you forget!' pleaded Mrs Pratt, laying her hand upon the girl's arm.

'Am I not his daughter too? Am I not to say a word if I am left a beggar, after being always led on to expect to be a lady? It is shameful; and I do not care who hears me say so!' Flashing a look of angry defiance at us.

Lilian sat gazing at her; in her sorrow and disappointment, utterly incapable of uttering a word. It had not occurred to her that she might find this kind of sister. She had probably never before been in contact with any one like Marian Reed, and indeed we had both of us expected to see a very different person from this. If she had been only poor – anything like the children of poor parents generally, there would have been some reason for hope. But now! I afterwards found that Mr Farrar's very liberal allowance had been expended entirely on Marian Reed herself, Mr Pratt very decidedly objecting to accept more than a fair remuneration for her board and lodging; and the command of so much money had fostered a natural vanity and love of dress, until she had become the fine lady before us.

'If you will only be good enough to allow me to explain, you will, I think, do Mr Farrar more justice, as well as spare his daughter, Miss Reed,' I said, in a tone which made her turn sharply towards me with a look and gesture which seemed to say: 'And who are you?'

Having succeeded so far as to quiet her, I went on: 'Mr Farrar's illness terminated rather suddenly at last, Miss Reed; and the lawyer who was summoned did not arrive in time for the will to be signed' —

'But he might have' —

I stopped her again. 'Mr Farrar did what he could in trusting his daughter to carry out his wishes; and you will find her only too anxious to do all that is right.'

I saw the round black eyes turn sharply and speculatively upon Lilian for a moment; then she replied, in a slightly mollified tone: 'So much depends upon what people consider right, you know.'

I saw that Lilian was battling against herself, and longed to say to my darling: 'Trust to your instinct, which is altogether against asking this girl to come to live with you. Whatever else you may do, do not yield to a false sentiment in this one thing.' Unfortunately (or fortunately; looking at the question from this distance of time, I am not really sure which I ought to write), Lilian did not obey her instinct. In her anxiety lest she should not carry out her father's wishes, she was afraid to trust to her own feelings in the matter. When Marian a little impatiently asked:

'I should like to know what you call right?' Lilian replied in a low faltering voice:

'He wished me to be good to you; and I came to-day to ask you to live with me, and – be my sister – for – dear papa's sake. He has left a great deal of money, and quite intended you to share it.'

'That is,' I hastened to interpose, seeing the effect of the word 'share' upon the other – 'Mr Farrar no doubt meant that the allowance which you have hitherto received should be continued to you, Miss Reed. I have reason to think something of that kind was to be done.' 'That would be very kind and generous. Wouldn't it, Marian, dear?' said Mrs Pratt.

'And' (I went on) 'perhaps you would prefer remaining with the friends who have been so good to you, and going on as before, Miss Reed?'

But Miss Reed very quickly gave us to understand that she did not prefer it; though Mrs Pratt put in a gentle word or two on my side: 'You have always been very comfortable with us, dear!'

Comfortable! That evidently would not be sufficient to satisfy Marian Reed any longer.

'I have been brought up as a young lady, aunt' (at present she had no doubts upon the point); 'and learned music, and French, and dancing, and all that; so papa must have intended me to come to live with him some time, and it seems only fair that my sister should ask me. – What's your name, dear? It seems funny my not knowing your name; doesn't it?'

'My name is Lilian.'

'Lilian! What a pretty name – quite charmong!'

I saw that it was to be; and that the only thing I could now do was to gain a little delay, so I said: 'Of course you will want a little time to prepare, Miss Reed.' She was about to protest; but I quietly went on: 'It will be necessary to procure mourning, and so forth.'

'O yes; I had forgotten that,' she replied, eyeing Lilian's black dress, nearly covered with crape. 'Of course I shall;' adding a little apologetically: 'You mustn't expect me to feel exactly the same as you do about it, you know. Of course I am very sorry, and all that; but I do not remember ever having seen papa; so it isn't to be expected that I can feel quite as much as though I had always known him.'

'No,' replied Lilian, with what I fancied to be a sigh of relief. She would have even jealously resented this stranger claiming the privilege to share her grief as well as her money. Had he not loved her – and had she not loved him?

There was silence again for a few moments, which was broken by Marian Reed, the most self-possessed of any of us, for even I, the least interested, felt somewhat nonplussed by the aspect of affairs: 'It will take me a good week or ten days to get distangy mourning;' with a glance towards Lilian, as she gave that evidence of having learned French. 'Suppose we say ten days?'

'Very well,' replied Lilian, rising.

'But you haven't given me the address yet, you know. And you must excuse my reminding you that there's been nothing said about last quarter's remittance, which was due last week, and which we have been a great deal inconvenienced by not receiving.'

I hastened to put the packet into her hand. 'This was placed ready for you, Miss Reed; but for the address upon it we might not have found you; and I daresay you will find it correct.'

'O yes; no doubt;' taking it with a negligent air, in amusing contrast with her next words: 'And then there's the mourning, you know; that will have to be paid for; and good mourning is so expensive.'

'O yes; of course; I beg your pardon,' said Lilian, hurriedly taking out her pocket-book. 'This is the address; and – No; I find I have not enough money with me; but I will send you a cheque when I get home, if that will do. And of course you will like to make some little acknowledgment to the friends who have been always so kind to you.'

'Of course I should, if you send enough,' sharply replied Miss Reed.

The colour rose in Lilian's cheeks. 'I will send what you please.'

'Well, you couldn't say more than that, I'm sure,' graciously responded Miss Reed. 'But I'd rather leave it to you.'

'Will fifty pounds be enough?'

Mrs Pratt looked awe-struck; but her niece, who evidently prided herself upon sang-froid, calmly said: 'O yes; quite enough; thank you.'

'If you will let us know the day and train, we will drive to the station to meet you,' said Lilian, her voice sinking lower.

'Yes; I will write and tell you when I am ready, dear.' And after going through the ceremony of shaking hands and bidding us good-morning, Miss Reed sank languidly back into her seat again, leaving her aunt to shew us out.

As we reached the foot of the stairs, we could see into a side-room, the door of which was open, and observing some children sitting round a table, I asked: 'Are these your little ones, Mrs Pratt?'

'Yes, Miss. Would you like to walk in?'

I did wish to walk in, and availed myself of the invitation, notwithstanding poor Lilian's pleading look. She was, I knew, anxious to get away as quickly as possible. But I wanted to judge for myself as to whether the contrast between Mrs Pratt's children and their cousin was as great as between herself and that young lady. Seven children, whose ages seemed to range between about five and fifteen, were seated round a neatly spread table at dinner; and though the fare seemed of the homeliest, they were partaking it with quiet enjoyment under the supervision of an elder sister, a girl of about fifteen, pretty, and fresh, and neat-looking in her print frock. Altogether as refreshing a contrast to the cousin up-stairs as could well be conceived.

After one little shy blushing acknowledgment of our greeting, she attended to her business again.

'Don't stare at the ladies, Billy,' she whispered, guiding the spoonful of rice which, in his astonishment at seeing us, he was sending over his shoulder towards his mouth.

'She's quite a mother to them already,' said Mrs Pratt, brightening up wonderfully in the presence of her children. 'I can't find it in my heart to let her go to service until the others are grown up a bit. We can't spare Susy, can we, dears?'

This seemed to two or three of the younger ones to indicate that there had been some proposition to take her, and that we were the delinquents. But we hastened to reassure them, and tears were soon dried again, though two or three pairs of sharp little eyes kept watch over Susy.

How heartily I wished that this had been the sister we were seeking; this modest, good, unpretending Susy. I think the same thought was in Lilian's mind as she wistfully eyed her. The tinkling of a bell sounded in some back place, and Susy bade one of her little brothers: 'Run, Tommy, and tell Miss Reed dinner will soon be ready.'

Then I noticed a tray ready spread on a side-table; and in reply to my look of inquiry, Mrs Pratt explained: 'Miss Reed' (she was evidently more accustomed to call her Miss Reed than Marian) 'lives up-stairs, ladies, since she went for a year to boarding-school; she prefers it.' 'And so do we,' heartily put in her husband, entering at the moment. 'We bring our little ones up to work, ladies. They won't get two hundred a year without earning it, and I won't have fine notions put into their heads. I shall be satisfied, I tell them, if they grow up respectable, and not ashamed to look any one in the face. Miss Reed likes to be a fine lady, and we've got no right to object to that. I don't take any more from her than what pays for her lodging and keep – not a penny; and of course she's a right to do what she likes with the rest; but she never pleased me more than when she made up her mind to keep to her own rooms. Excuse me, ladies; but I've been accustomed to speak my mind, and somehow I always feel bound to say what my mind is, when Miss Reed's being talked about.'

Lilian was silent. I murmured something to the effect that I quite agreed with him as regarded making his children as much as possible independent of circumstances.

'Miss Reed's going away, father,' said Mrs Pratt. 'These ladies came to tell her that – the gentleman is dead.'

'Dead!'

'And this young lady is Miss Farrar, Jonathan. She has come to ask Marian to go and live with her.'

It took Mr Pratt some little time to get over the surprise; but I soon saw that it was not an altogether disagreeable one.

'It is so good of you, dear young lady,' murmured Mrs Pratt, who scarcely took her eyes from Lilian's face. 'So much more than Miss Reed could expect.'

'You may well say that, mother!' ejaculated Mr Pratt. 'It is more than she could expect – a deal. Though, to tell the truth, I shan't be so very down-hearted about her going, for my part. We can let our rooms again, and – Well, as I said before, I don't want any of our young ones to grow up after Miss Reed's pattern.' At a murmured word from his wife, he put his hand for a moment on her shoulder. 'Mrs Pratt is more soft-hearted, and she naturally feels more for her sister's child than I do; but she's been a good deal put upon, and she'll see it's all for the best that Miss Reed should go, by-and-by. I can only say that she's kept true to her promise to her dying sister, and the girl can't say anything to the contrary. Her aunt's been a regular slave to her, always ready to cocker up one, who – Well, there, mother; I won't say any more: what's gone's past; and I hope Miss Reed will be satisfied now, that's all. I never denied but what she's a fine lass enough – to look at; and when she's got all she wants in the way of being fine enough, I daresay she'll be all right. Anyhow, she needn't be afraid of our shaming her. Business is good, and like to be; but if it wasn't, it would make no difference; we shall not run after her. If she likes to come and see her aunt sometimes, I think it would do her good, because, as I've said before, Mrs Pratt's soft-hearted about her; but even she wouldn't be soft-hearted enough to run after a girl who didn't want to see her.'

'Of course you will come to see us at Fairview, Mrs Pratt,' said Lilian, in her earnest unmistakably sincere way; 'and of course she will come often to see you.'

'One thing we needn't go far to see, Miss,' said Mr Pratt, who was evidently impressed in Lilian's favour. 'I know the real thing when I see it; and that's why the Brummagem up-stairs doesn't go down with me. There – there; I've done, mother. Good-day, ladies; and thank you kindly, for us.'

And after shaking hands with Mrs Pratt and her children, Lilian pressing her purse into Susy's hand, we took our departure, escorted to the cab by Mr Pratt.

'ONE SHILLING.'

One of the eighteenth-century poets exclaims in a burst of enthusiasm how 'happy is the man who, void of cares and strife, in silken purse or leathern pouch retains a Splendid Shilling.' Then, poor fellow, as if overcome with the prospect, he dwells on the various pleasures which the splendid shilling was able to realise. Had he lived exactly a hundred years later, his poem might have been ten times the length, for what a vast variety of things may be enjoyed or purchased for a shilling is now a matter of daily wonder. The penny still keeps its ground in small matters. So does the sixpence. But these inferior coins, as well as those of higher denominations, are nothing in point of popularity to the shilling. Looking to its growing importance, we would recommend every one to have always a shilling ready in the pocket. He will hardly walk a hundred yards in any busy thoroughfare without seeing how the shilling may be laid out to advantage. 'Price One Shilling,' 'Admission One Shilling,' stare us in the face in all directions.

'Price One Shilling' is very observable at the booksellers'. Shilling books crowd the railway book-stalls in profusion; not merely garish volumes of sensational fiction in gaudily printed covers, but standard works in good type on good paper. Gilt-edged leather-bound Bibles and Prayer-books; the plays of Shakspeare; the poems of Scott, Byron, Burns, Cowper; the novels and romances of Fielding, Smollett, Scott, Lytton, Cooper – the completeness of many of these shilling works is remarkable. Monthly magazines have in most part abandoned the old half-crown standard, and have come into the shilling circle. Shilling atlases of maps, useful for schools, are becoming plentiful. Stationery pays a like homage to the silver coin in the neatly arranged packets and boxes of paper and envelopes, the boxes of colours and of drawing instruments, the fitted writing-cases for emigrants and soldiers, the grosses of steel pens (reminding the older among us of the days when steel pens were charged a shilling each), the pen-knife with an ever-pointed pencil at one end, &c. Published music displays a similar tendency towards the shilling in collections, after the copyright sheets have had their day. The gems of an opera, with the words in two languages; the great symphonies of Beethoven; the charming Lieder ohne Wörter of Mendelssohn; the books of instruction for the chief musical instruments – all are made up into shilling worths to an extent that has attracted the attention of most of us.

Go on a leisurely ramble through the principal streets, and see how multifarious are the indications in the same direction. The shilling razor is now a really serviceable article, made to shave as well as to sell (the gross of green spectacles, bought by the Vicar of Wakefield's son Moses, were, as we all remember, made to sell only). Shilling telescopes are in the windows, as are shilling thermometers and shilling microscopes; shilling spectacles are to be had by those who need them, and shilling eyeglasses by fast gents who do not. The smallest retailed portions of some beverages are priced a shilling, as are the largest of others. A shilling, paid by a simpleton of either sex, purchases a mystic delineation of character from handwriting. When the verger or some other official has shewn you the architectural and monumental curiosities of a cathedral; or an old dame has escorted you through the ruins of an abbey or castle, telling her tale of marvel as she goes; or a domestic has taken you through the principal rooms of an old country mansion – a shilling is, more frequently than any other coin, the honorarium awarded. Shilling hat clubs, clothes clubs, coal clubs, goose clubs, watch clubs, &c. are rather plentiful in the metropolis – speculations in which working-men think they lay out their money to advantage; but do they? The shilling has been long used by the recruiting sergeant wherewith to secure fresh additions to the ranks. A shilling dinner, provided by a 'Restaurant Company, Limited,' had a struggle for existence some time back; but beef at tenpence a pound put an end to it. A shilling is (practically) the smallest cab fare. Oaths, till lately (we hope they are not so now), were a shilling each in some judicial proceedings, and, not unfrequently, dear at the price.

Nor are fine-art and professional investments any less within the influence of the mighty shilling. There are many varieties of the Shilling Art Union, in which persons do a little quiet lottery-gambling under the guise of art. Shilling lessons in various accomplishments are given by persons whose pecuniary means are not up to the level of their professional aspirations. A shillingworth of postage-stamps, if you believe the advertisers (which you had better not), will initiate you into 'a light and genteel employment.' Shilling photographs constitute quite a world in themselves in our shop windows; and it is amusing to see the impartiality with which princesses, bishops, swimming-men, pets of the ballet, poets, clergymen, criminals, tragic actresses, monastic brothers, acrobatic brothers, and opera stars are admitted. Shilling photographs are to be had so minute that a shilling microscope is necessary to render them visible.