Sally. A Sydney tale, in three parts

PART I PAGE ANNIE BELVILLE 1 PART It SALLY 141 PART HI GEORGE HARRINGTON, M.D

PART I ANNIE BELVILLE CHAPTER

I On a cool spring afternoon in '85, a handsome lady "of uncertain age " (as most handsome ladies are) alighted from a carriage drawn by a pair of well-matched bays, and, attended by a footman, attired in dark-green and silver livery, entered the vestibule of Sydney Theatre Royal. Treasurer Goodman, bowing courteously, advanced to meet her. After an interchange of pleasant commonplaces, he placed before her the plan of the dress-circle. With the celerity of practised familiarity, she selected three seats, paid for them, placed a receipt-slip in her purse, together with the change, and turned to leave. Mr. Goodman, ever polite, accompanied her to the door of her carriage, bade her adieu, raised his hat, and again bowed. She delivered an order to the footman, who had scarcely repeated it to the liveried coachman, when, with sudden authority, she called—" Wait !

" Before she had entered the theatre, she had noticed passingly a young girl — a child, almost — sparely clothed, and holding out to passers-by a small box ; but the girl's face had been turned in another direction, so that her features had not been visible. Now, however, these stood clearly and awfully revealed — awfully, because they spelt out distinctly one grim word, written in large capitals of hollow and angular endurance — "Starvation.'' The eyes of the richly-clad lady met those of the meanly garbed girl. The lady raised a hand and slightly beckoned. In surprised, mechanical obedience, the girl stepped towards the carriage, colliding, iu her confusion, with a SALLY passing elbow that scattered over the pavement the contents of her small box —several boxes of wax matches. "You look ill, my girl," said the lady, solicitously.

"I'm hungry, my lady, not ill," replied tingirl, trying hard to force back outrushing tears. "Poor child ! And is this your only means of living?" pointing to the scattered match-boxes. "Yes, my lady." " Have you no parents .' " "Only my mother, and she's" — a brave little gulping down — "she's ill; very ill. Some days" — with a pitiful attempt at cheerfulness — "I'm lucky enough to sell out; but, to-day ! " — she glanced disconsolately at her strewn wares. "Nevermind, child. Take this," and the lady handed the child her purse ; " it contains enough to provide food for yourself and mother for a few days Drive on, William ! " The carriage rolled away, leaving the match-vending child-girl standing on the kerb, with a purse in her hand. For some seconds, she remained as one in a bewildered trance ; but reality becomes swiftly positive to minds under Necessity's stern tutorship, and, ere a minute had elapsed, sinwas moving rapidly across King Street, utterly oblivious to the salutations of pavement friends.

Speeding along Castlereagb Street, she entered an alley-way directly opposite St. James's School. The alley-way included a row of small tenements, each of the same miserable pattern and dimensions, and none of them prophetic of the change that should come to the locality when city architecture and business enterprise should demolish them to make room for the erection of the Tivoli Theatre and Hotel — the latter hostelry being well known to public fame under the management of that prince of caterers, F. W. Forster, and his charming and accomplished wife and daughter, under whicii capable trinity the hotel has achieved a fame unique in the Southern Hemisphere. The match-girl entered one of the miserable bouses in the alley. A woman of rough exterior and loud and rapid voice confronted her with — "What about the rent, Sally .

I'm two weeks out of it now, and I can't be waitin' any longer. People as can't pay rent and has to lie abed orter go to horspital. Wot else was horspitals built for? You hear me, Sally? I wants me rent ; or, pack yer must ! " "You'll get your rent soon, Mrs. Jones," said the girl, pausing at the stair-foot before ascending. " The sooner the better ! " The loud tones of the landlady penetrated a dim, cold room up-stairs, awakening from a troubled sleep a woman upon whom Death had written his notice of claim. The woman was Mrs. Wallace, Sally's mother. Sally mounted the stairs swiftly, and entered their " home " — this one small, low, scantily-furnished room. A four-post wooden bedstead (the death-pallet of the woman), a small, cheap chest of drawers, and two candle-boxes were its lares et pennies.

Yet, if " Home " be the temple of true affection, here in this vulger den was its pure shrine, its sacred sanctuary. " Mother, dear, are you awake ? " "Yes," came a faint murmur from a discernible shape that might otherwise have been deemed dead, so still ancl motionless it seemed. Sally moved to the bedside, and fondlingly clasped a wasted hand in both of her own. She still held the purse, but the bedridden mother was too insensitive to become aware of its strange presence in her child's bands. "Mother! You are better?" urged the girl, a world of pleading questioning in her tones. "No better, dear," saiel the feeble voice in unvarying monotone. Sally dropped the purse on the bed, and chafed her mother's hand. The simple, loving process seemed to magnetize the woman into a simulation of renewed vitality.

She stirred and smiled. " Sally, you have had luck to-day ? " " The best of luck, mother ! Look ! ' Sally held up the purse. The woman gasped. " You — found — it ? " A terrible fear entered her heart that her child, driven by want, had — had — " No, mother. A lady gave it to me." A sio-h of relief escaped from the sick woman. " A lady ? " "Yes. The Governor's lady, I think. It was in front of the playhouse. A carriage stopped and a lady got out SALLY and went inside. After she came out and got in her carriage again, she saw me, and held up her hand like that"— making a beckoning gesture. "I went over and she ask.-d me what I wets selling matches for. I told her you were sick and that I was hungry. Then she says, 'Oh, y< iu poor child ! take my purse ; there ain't much in it, but it'll get food for a few days.' Then the gentleman whipped up the horses, and off they went."

"The gentleman? Was there a gentleman in the carriage too ? " " I mean the gentleman who was driving. He had a young man beside him, too, who had stood beside the carriage and banged the door when the lady got in. He looked at me as if I was dirt, and turned up bis nose like this" — and Sally tried to imitate the footman's gorgeous superciliousness, with a grimace that would have horrified that functionary had he seen it. "They would be the coachman and footman, Sally. But, have you opened the purse yet ? Perhaps there's nothing in it." " You try. I can't. The catch is hard. I know there's money in it, though. The lady said so. Besides, I can hear it rattle. Listen ! " And Sally shook the purse violently, making long unfamiliar, metallic music in their ears. Mrs. Wallace opened the purse, emptying the contents upon the bed.

Sally's eager eyes delightedly discerned gold. Pouncing upon it, she held a sovereign between a finger and a thumb. " Oh, mother ! A pound ! A whole pound ! Not a half sovereign ! See! How long since we had a pound before! And all this silver too ! Let me count it, mother ! Three half-crowns — no, one's a two-shilling piece — four shillings— this one is very smooth; no one will take it; but never mind! — two sixpences, four threepenny-bits, and — what's this 1 Not another pound 1 Oh, mother ! " " No, my darling. That is a farthing, kept in this purse by that kind lady, for luck ! See, it has a hole in it. May she have luck, God bless her ! " The woman sank back, overpowered with emotion and weakness. Sally looked alarmed. "Oh, mother, I forgot. You must have something at once, but Mother Jones won't let me pass till she get "her rent.

We owe her ten shillings. I'll give it her now. Let me see, two half-crowns — five ; two shillings — seven ; and three — ten ; yes, I'll give Mother Jones the smooth shilling ; she'U pass it somewhere." Sail}' bent over her mother, whose eyes had closed, but who, as Sally knew, was not sleeping. " Listen, mother. I'm going to get you a bottle of port wine, and some fruit and biscuits, as the doctor ordered, weeks ago. Don't worry till I come back. I'll take all the money with me. It wouldn't be safe here while I'm away." The mother opened her eyes. " Oh, Sally, if you lose it ! " " Not me ! " Sally kissed her mother and tripped down the rough stairs. At their foot she met her landlady, whose attitude convicted her of having been listening; but Sal ly and her mother had spoken in whispers, as they nearly always did, being aware of their landlady's inordinate curiosity concerning other people's business.

"Well, Sal, how's yer mother?" greeteel the woman. with perceptibly mollified tone ; for, although she had been unable to catch three consecutive words of the bedroom colloquy, the jingle of money had penetrates! her ears. "About the same, Mrs. Jones. I'm just going for some port wine for her." " Port wine ! " exclaimed the astounded landlady, who would as soon have expected to hear Sally talk of buying a sealskin jacket. " The calm wa}' in which she sed it quite knocked me back'ards," she afterwards remarked. Before, however, she could rally even her ready flow of words, Sally extended her hand, with — " There's the two weeks' rent we owe you, and please give me a receipt when I come back. Count the money first." Mrs. Jones counted it. " This shillun's bad ! " "Bad? Bad?' "Yes, smooth. Take it to the pub for the port wine."

"Never mind," said the dissembling young diplomatist, who bad no desire to let Mrs. Jones see her rummaging out another shilling from the purse ; " never mind, you can pass it right enough, and I'll give you a spoonful of the port. wine when I connback. After saying which, she rushed out of the house, up the SALLY alley, and into Castlereagb Street, almost ov ert inning an old man who was wheeling a barrow -load of "Ole Clo" near the corner. "Now then, Sally! Were are yer goin'-to, can't yer i be shouted, in feigned anger. "All right, Paddy. I can't stop now. I'm going for some medicine for mother." She was off before Paddy had time to reply. Off along Castlereagh Street, off round the corner into Market Street, off crossing Pitt Street, dodging omnibuses, cabs, and traps of all kinds with the agility and assurance of an accustomed street orphan off without pause until she entered the " Bottle Department " of Roberts's Hotel.

Tin-re, with a last, lingering, loving look at her sovereign, she placed it on tincounter, behind which stood a fair young man busily talking to a dark young man. "A bottle of the best port wine, please. "The best?" said the fair young man, doubtfully and somewhat resentingly. "Yes, please. What price is it, though?" she added, hurriedly, just then remembering that she needed to buy several other nourishing articles. "Twelve shillings," was the lofty announcement of the fair young man, as he nonchalantly fingered the sovereign. " Twelve shillings ! Is that the cheapest good wine ? " Both men laughed. The fair young man's laugh was a sneer. But the dark young man's laugh was a merry appreciation of a supposed humorous situation. The dark young man had a kind face, anel it became grave almost to apology as he noticed the girl's perplexity.

Then he came forward. " Do you want if for an invalid ? " " For my mother. But — twelve shillings ! " "Is more than you can afford, eh?" "Yes. She's very ill, but that's nearly all the money we've got ! " 'J "I've a very good wine I can recommend for five shillings ; also some at six-and-six, which is really 'invalid port,' and has been bottled twelve years. Of course, you can have wine for half-a-crown, but " "I'll take a bottle of six-and-six if you'll let me have it for six shillings," said Sally, with a keen stroke of general ship inspired by the sympathy apparent in the dark young man s manner. " "All right. Our prices are never altered, but I'll put the sixpence to it myself, and I hope your mother will soon be better," said the good-natured dark young man. Sally accepted her purchase and her change, and, with the bottle, neatly wrapped in brown paper, under her arm, emerged again into Market Street.

Between Pitt and Castlereagh Streets she bought some sponge-cakes and half a-pound of wine-biscuits, and then she entered a corner grocery and ordered some tea, sugar, fresh eggs, and butter. " I'll come back for them in a few minutes, Mr. Robinson. I want to take these home first." she said, indicating her parcels. " Indeed ! I dessay you will ! " sneered the grocer. " Wot about that arf-a-crown your mother owes me ? I can't let you have any more goods till " The anathema that had been coining to expression on his lips miscarried at the sight of a half-sovereign that Sally placed on the counter, with the curt command — ■ " Take the half-crown and the amount of my present order out of that, and have the other ready in a few minutes." " Oh, thank you, Sally ; I'll send the boy along with the goods," smirked the grocer, his native obsequiousness conjured forth at the sight of the small gold disc.

" Never mind sending. Give me my change. I'll come back for the things." "It would never do," thought Sally, "to let old Mother Jones know that we've got half-a-pound of tea and four of sugar all at once ; she'd always be borrowing ! " " Three-an'-six, an' two-an'-six you owed, is six shillin's ; four shillin's change, and thank you," warbled the unctuous shopman. " You're quite sure I won't send 'em, Sallv ! " But Sally was out in the street, casting up accounts in her mind, anxious to know how much balance remained of her sovereign. " I've spent thirteen-and-six ! Only a few shillings left, and soon there'll be the rent again ! How money does go! What will mother say? Nevermind; we can't eat it and have it too," — may be summed up as the philosophy of her cogitations.

Chapter II

■■ What a time yer've been, Sally ! " was the greeting of the now smiling Mrs. Jones, as the young match-girl re-entered her humble abode. " I was just up a-listenin' if yer pore mother called." Sally was too shrewd to offer any observation as to her own suspicions of Mrs. Jones's movements, and merely asked that ladv to lend her a corkscrew. "Cert 'nly, my dear. Shall I dror the cork for yer? And 'ere's a cup o' warm milk ; I know yer've 'ad not Link ter-day." Sally drank the milk gratefully. She had begun to feel herself sinking for need of nourishment. Two hours previous she had been suffering the pangs of hunger, but the subsequent excitement bad chased away that sensation, ancl she had forgotten her own necessities in the joy of procuring comforts for her mother. She, however, prudently declined Mrs. Jones's offer to " dror the cork," but renewed her promise to give her a drop of the wine.

When she entered the up-stairs room, her mother's eves were closed, but they immediately opened at the sound of Sally's voice. "What a time I have been, mother! You must be famishing." Sally drew the cork from the wine-bottle, poured some wine into a cup, and raised her mother up to drink it. Mrs. Wallace sipped the wine so slowly that Sally remon strated. " You're to drink it up quick, mother ; and I'm going to prop you up with pillows and give you some biscuits to eat, while I go back to the grocer's." The woman drank the wine obediently. " It is good," she murmured, as she sank back once more. "You must take a little, Sally, before you go out again." " Only a teaspoonful, then," agreed Sally, measuring out that quantity and gulping it down. " But I promised Mother Jones a drop, so I'll take it down to her now.

And, look ! mother, I'm putting the bottle in this drawer," opening and closing the midelle one. " If Mother Jones calls you while I'm away, don't answer her." Sally picked up a basket, a relic of their better fortunes, and, taking a cup containing Mrs. Jones's allowance of wine, she departed, closing the door behind her. Mrs. Jones was trying to revive the fire, by alternately using her mouth as a bellows and her apron as a fan, but she left combustion to its own chances as -non as she saw Sally, cup in hanel, and, taking tinchina beaker from the child, she slopped its contents inside her throat with practised rapidity. "That's good wine, Sal, but — mild!" " Not quite as fiery as rum, Mrs. Jones. I'm going out for some bread, and will you please get the kettle boiling, as I want to make some tea."

Sally returned within ten minutes, with a well-filled basket. Mrs. Jones was invisible — probably she was away passing the smooth shilling — but the fire was burning brightly ancl the kettle was singing. Her mother was propped up, as she had left her, anel was slowly masticat ing ei biscuit. " There ! mother ; we've food for a few days. Oh ! I am hungry." "My dear child, eat one of those cakes and some biscuits. Then you can get the tea ready ; for, of course, you have bought some tea ? " "Yes," said Sally, putting a whole biscuit into her mouth, and pausing to crunch it. " Look, mother ! " Sally placed the articles, one by one, on top of the chest of drawers. " Bread — I got that just now. Half-a-dozen oranges — for you only ; I'm not to have as much as a smell of one. Then" — another biscuit disappeared and another pause followed for business purposes — "tea and sugar, butter and new-laid eggs!

What a grand tea we'll have! And look, mother! See what else I've brought! Six-pen'orth of acid-drops from Prince's! It's a long time since you've had any : they'll comfort you at night when you can't sleep." Acid-drops were Mrs. Wallace's one moral weakness. After the death of ber husband, Mrs. Wallace had taken SALLY to occasional orgies of acid-drops, as some women lake to spirituous comforts, or to smoking cigarettes, or to toilette stimulants, or to religious missions, or other soothers of the sorrowing heart. None but the widowed heart can imagine the relief that this simple _____ quaint dissipation gave to Mrs. Wallace's forlorn and broken soul. Acid-drops soothed her nerves — as masticants often do by stimulating the secretion of saliva and thus assisting digestion— and, by some mysterious sympathy of the material with the spiritual, prevented her mind from brooding over and intensifying its troubles.

Let physiologists and psychologists explain the operation, if they can; the circumstances are merely recorded here as having evolved into a fact. Sally, who was no physiologist nor psychologist, recognized the fact and honoured it as conducing to the alleviation of her mother's sorrows, and one of her greatest child-trials had been that her mother had been compelled to go without acid-drops — "her one comfort," as Sally playfully termed the habit. On her first errand, that day, Sally had been too intent on getting the port wine to think of acid-drops ; she had even passed Prince's without remembering them ; but, on her second trip, her partially relieved mind had included the favourite sweets in its list of luxuries, and she had chided herself severely for her previous absent mindedness. Mrs. Wallace took from Sally the small paper bag, with its familiar superscription, and mechanically put one of the drops into her mouth.

She spoke not, but the fountains of her heart welled up in her eyes. Sally placed the rest of the lollies under her mother's pillow. " There ! you can have as many as ever you like after tea. How many eggs can you eat, mother? Two, I'm sure. Anyhow, I'll boil three, and make some toast and some strong tea, and " "Not too strong, Sally. It may have to last us a long time." "Never mind. Tt shall be strong to-night, just by way of celebrating our good fortune, for it iru< good fortune to meet that lady." "Yes, God bless her!" "I knew I had forgotten something — milk! Well, T can get some off Mother Jones." Who can imagine the joy of tbat tea'' Not you, ye favoured nestlers in the lap of luxury, who have made dining an art ! Not the epicurean who sits down daily before a late dinner of six courses, and seldom, if ever, knows what it is to have even a sharp appetite, and to whom the terms famine, hunger, and thirst, are vague mythological expressions signifying abstract ideas only !

Nor you, ye doughty trenchermen and trencherwomen — for there are trencherwomen too, if the term is permissible — whose God being the stomach and whose religion is self-indulgence, seldom spare a thought or a penny to the poor around you ! Only those who have passed through the Valley of Sorrow themselves can imagine it. Two women — one in the final stage of consumption ; the other a mere child, almost as transparent through famine as her mother was through disease — regarding this homely diet as a royal feast that constituted an epoch in their history. Ah ! these women had lived on bread and water alone for five days previously. Once, and once only, during those five days, had Sally been able to buy a pint of milk, which she had boiled and left beside her mother's bed, while that mother slept, lest she should be compelled to share it.

Talk of the heroism of the great, the noble, the rich ! True heroism is to be found among God's poor. None of the other residents in the alley knew of the extreme poverty of the Wallaces, or these almost as destitute neighbours would at least have drawn the fangs of the wolf, Famine. Even Mrs. Jones, to give their rough and vulgar landlady her due, would have seen that .Mrs. Wallace was supplied with proper food occasionally, for, although coarse and fond of drink, her heart was kind in a material fashion ; but she never dreamt of the dire straits in which the mother and daughter found themselves. She did not push her inquiries far with Sally, for the latter had a ready and incisive tongue. On the other hand, Sally, in dread lest her mother should be deported to hospital and lest she herself should be consigned to an asylum, both as paupers, presented the bravest face that she could assume to her landlady and neighbours.

So the mother and daughter endured their hardships in silence. But that tea! Was there ever such another! Was there ever such inexpressible thankfulness ever gained at so little cost 1 Wealth, wealth, what are thy possibilities ? Thou canst not purchase happiness for thy possessors ; but, for others, what canst thou not do ? SALLY 14 The grand tea was over and the tea-things bad been carefully bestowed. By the light of a candle, Mrs. Wallace and Sally examined the gift-purse. It was of dark-green Russia-leather, fashioned somewhat like a pocket-book, mounted in silver and bearing the monogram of the letters AB, in Roman characters, conjoined, and entwined with a small running flower. It was not a new purse, though far fr being well-worn; the outside edges were somewhat frayed. Mrs. Wallace searched its various receptacles for a card, or paper bearing an address of some sort, in the hope of being able to return it, with thanks, to their generous friend.

"There's not ee scrap of writing of any kind here, Sally. We must keep the purse, I suppose ; yet I should like that lady to know that you deserved her generosity. Oh ! What is this ? " One of ber exploring skeleton-fingers held pressed against a tightly-folded paper in an inner pocket. "A receipt for three seats at the theatre for to-morrow evening's performance I The lady will need this paper again, Sally." Mrs. Wallace, who was a fairly-educated woman, ex plained to Sally the meaning of the document, and instructed her as to how she must, the next morning, go to and wait at the theatre entrance in tbe hope that the lady might again call there, in which case, Sally could return the purse and slip ; failing that, she was to hand in the purse and slip at the box-office, with sufficient explanation.

"I should like to see the lady, if only once, Sally, to thank her and bless her to her face. What was she like ?" "I told you, mother. I thought it was the Governor's lady." "I don't think so. The Governor's lady doesn't go to the theatre office to book seats. Sb.- has ;i box, decorated with crimson plush and flowers, and she can take as manj people as she likes with her, and needu t pay anything." "How do you know mother?" "I was lady's-maid to a great English actress at one time, child. I came from London with her, and remained in her service for four years. She is dead now, poor thing. While in her employ, I married your father. She would have taken us back to England, but your father wouldn't go. Nor would either she or he allow me to go alone, although I wanted to see her safely landed back in London, and then to come back to your father.

I parted from her on board the steamer at Circular Quay, the best, the noblest friend I ever bad ! " "She wrote to you, mother?" asked Sally tearfully. " Yes, while she played in England ; but, after about a year, she accepted an engagement to play in America, and the letters ceased. About ten years ago, I read of her death." "You were very sorry?" whispered Sally. " Yes, indeed ; but my greatest grief was that I hadn't been there to close her eyes. . . . This candle is burning low, Sally, and I want to tell you what to say to the lady, if you see her to-morrow." " Suppose you write a note, mother, thanking her ? You write so beautifully ! " " The very thing ! How bright you are, Sally ! If I can hold a pen, I'll write to her. Just set me up, and put the pillow to my back. I'll do my best.

You'll find a few sheets of note-paper in the small drawer." Sally found the note-paper, and, after a few efforts and pauses, the note was written. Then the daughter lay down beside the mother, and, for the first time that week, both slept without feeling the pangs of hunger.

Chapter III

That same evening, Mrs. Belville sat alone in her drawing room at Harrington Hall, Petersham. It was a spacious, square room, richly and usefully furnished. Everything, from the cornice-pole to the carpet, was of the very best quality purchasable, though most of the furniture was plain. Mrs. Belville's drawing-room contained no gimcrack tables to be wary of, no spider-legged chairs, on which a man of average weight need fear to risk sitting; everything was sensible and solid. A stranger's first impression of the room was, "How pleasant!" His matured verdict was, "How good ! " "The contents of Mrs. Belville's drawing-room are very valuable, but that fact scarcely strikes you until you have itemized them ; next, you become conscious of their beauty as well as of their value; and, after that, you go home and look at your own fashionable tawdriness, and wonder what has conicover the woman of the present day, that, slavishly following fashion, she makes a toyshop of her house, instead of emulating this — Home !

" Such was the eulogy pronounced upon Mrs. Belville's drawing-room by a young society matron, whose first drawing-room had resembled a fancy bazaar; she, unlike many other approvers, had the sense to see her own defective taste, and the courage to defy fashion, by altering that taste. Mrs. Belville reclined in a comfortable chair, with an open book on her lap. But she was not reading. Her thoughts were far away. Her fit of retrospection would have afforded any artist a rare opportunity for limning her picture. Her age was nearly forty ; her height, five feet six inches, and she was broad in proportion, without being a massive woman. Her eyes were dark and large ; her hair, profusely abundant, matched her eyes. Her skin was clear, Id her teeth were white and even, and owed nothing to the manufacturing dentist, and her brow was broad and massive.