Chapter 11

LAVINIA'S PILGRIMAGE

It was past nine when Lavinia turned into the Old Bailey. The chief trade done by the coffee house was in the early morning. After market hours there were few customers save when there was to be an execution at Tyburn the next morning, and those eager to secure a good sight of the ghastly procession and perhaps take part in it, assembled opposite the prison door over night. Mrs. Fenton in the evenings thought no more of business, but betook herself to the theatre or one of the pleasure gardens in the outskirts of London.

Lavinia remembered this and hoped for the best. At such a time Mrs. Fenton with her love of pleasure would hardly stay at home.

Lavinia hurried past grim Newgate and crossed the road. The coffee house was on the other side. Hannah was standing in the doorway in a cruciform attitude, her arms stretched out, each hand grasping the frame on either side. She was gossipping with a man and laughing heartily. Lavinia decided that her mother must be out. If at home she would never allow Hannah this liberty. Lavinia glided to the woman and touched one of the outstretched hands. Hannah gave a little "squark" when she felt the girl's cold fingers.

"It's only me Hannah," whispered Lavinia.

"Only me--an' who's me?... Bless us an' save us child, what do you go about like a churchyard ghost for? Where in 'eaven's name have ye sprung from? I never come across anybody like you, Miss Lavvy, for a worryin' other people. I've been a-crying my eyes out over ye."

"And mother, has she been crying too?"

"Your mother? Not she," returned Hannah with a sniff of contempt. "Catch her a-cryin' over anything 'cept when she hasn't won a prize in a lottery. But come you in. I've ever so much to tell you. You'd best be off Reuben. I'll see you later."

Reuben who was one of the men employed at Coupland's soap works in the Old Bailey, looked a little disappointed, but he obeyed nevertheless.

"You've given us a pretty fright and your lady mother's been in a mighty tantrum. I tell you it's a wonder as she didn't tear my eyes out. She swore as it was all my fault a lettin' you go. But what have you come back for?"

"I had to. But don't bother, it's only for a few hours. Mother's out I know."

"Course she is. Simpson the cattle dealer's a-beauing her to Marybone Gardens. They won't be back this side o' midnight. Now just tell me what you been a-doin' of. You're a pretty bag o' mischief if ever there was one. Who's the man this time? T'aint the one as you runned away with, is it?"

"No, indeed," cried Lavinia, indignantly. "I don't want ever to see him again."

"Well, your mother does," returned Hannah with an odd kind of laugh.

"Whatever for?"

"I'll let you have the story d'rectly, but you tell me your tale first."

By this time they were in the shop and Hannah caught sight of Lavinia's white, drawn face and her tear-swollen eyes.

"You poor baby. What's your fresh troubles?"

"Nothing--that is, not much. I'm tired. I'm faint. Give me some coffee--cocoa--anything."

Faint indeed she was. At that meal with Lancelot Vane she had eaten very sparingly. She was too excited, too much absorbed and interested in seeing him so ravenous to think of herself. In addition she had gone through much fatigue.

"Coffee--cocoa--to be sure," cried the kindly Hannah, "an' a hot buttered cake besides. You shan't say a word till I've gotten them ready."

The cook had gone. There was no one in the house save Hannah. The two went into the kitchen where the fire was burning low--with the aid of the bellows Hannah soon fanned the embers into a flame and she was not 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.

Then Giles volunteered to show Lavinia the way to the ferry, the starting point of which on the Surrey side was near Petersham Meadows, and in due time she was landed at Twickenham.