“Was Lady Dowling in presence?” inquired Miss Brotherton, smiling.
“No, my dear, thank God she was not, or we should have had sour looks with our sweetmeats, I can tell you.”
“Did Sir Matthew bring his little favourite with him? The little boy he has adopted you know?”
“Oh! dear, haven’t you heard all that yet? Well now, upon my word, Mary Brotherton, it will not do, your shutting yourself up in this way. Catching cold, indeed! As if I, the daughter of my own poor dear father, wasn’t likely to know more than Mrs. Tremlett about catching cold! Why, my dear, the little boy has been sent away I don’t know how long, with a monstrous premium, paid by Sir Matthew, to get him entered at one of the first commercial houses in Europe. Dr. Crockley was exceedingly agreeable and attentive to me all day yesterday. And, indeed, so he was, I must say, to every body. We do sometimes differ about spinal complaints, and I think he is a great deal too speculative. But it is impossible to deny that he can be very agreeable when he chooses it, and it was he that told me all about this last noble act of Sir Matthew. To be sure he is an honour to the country if ever there was one, Sir Matthew, I mean. It is such men as that, Miss Brotherton, that brings wealth and prosperity to our glorious country. To think only of the hands he employs! Fifteen hundred children taking all his mills together, he told us yesterday, besides several women and men. Oh! it is glorious to be sure! However, Dr. Crockley did just whisper to me, but I don’t believe he meant it should go much farther, he did certainly hint, that poor cross Lady Dowling, did not like to have the little fellow in the house, and that was one reason why good Sir Matthew was in such a hurry to place him.”
“Did you happen to hear to what part of the country the boy had been sent, Mrs. Gabberly?”
“Why, no! my dear, I can’t say I did. But that makes no difference you know. Every body is aware that it is a noble situation for him, and that’s the main point of course.”
“Oh! certainly. I only asked from idle curiosity. And I suppose, Mrs. Gabberly, that it is because I am so idle, that I do often feel curious about things that nobody else seems to care about. Do you know I am dying to get into a factory, and see all these dear little children at work. It must be so pretty to see them all looking so proud and so happy, and all enjoying themselves so much! I really must get a peep at it,” said Miss Brotherton.
“Law! my dear! What a very queer notion,” replied Mrs. Gabberly.
“Perhaps it is,” said Mary smiling, “as nobody else in the whole neighbourhood ever talks about it; but if I have such a fancy, there can be no reason why I should not indulge it, can there?”
Why, good gracious, my dear child! only think of the dirt! You would be downright poisoned, Mary.”
“Poisoned? How can that be, dear Mrs. Gabberly, when every body agrees that it is such a blessing to the country, to have brought such multitudes of children to work together in these factories?”
“Nonsense, my dear!” replied Mrs. Gabberly, knitting her brows. “This is some of Mrs. Tremlett’s vulgar ignorance, I am very sure. How can a girl of your good understanding, Miss Brotherton, speak as if what was good and proper for the working classes, had any thing to do with such as you. Fie! my dear! Pray never let any body in the neighbourhood hear you talk in this strange wild way, I do assure you, that there is nothing that would do you so much injury in the opinion of all the first families hereabouts. And nobody knows this neighbourhood better than I do.”
“I am quite aware of that Mrs. Gabberly,” said the young lady very respectfully, “and that is one reason why I wish to talk to you about this notion of mine. Is it really true, Mrs. Gabberly, that none of the ladies in the neighbourhood ever go into the factories?”
“To be sure it is. Why should they go, for goodness sake?”
“Oh! I don’t know exactly. — But I cannot see why they should not — if they wish it,” replied Miss Brotherton, modestly.
“Well now, but I do, my dear. And I do beg and entreat that you won’t talk any more about it. I am quite sure, Mary, that somebody or other has been talking nonsense to you, about all this. If you had got any friends or connexions towards Fairly now, I should think they had been telling you all the romantic stuff that has been hatching there about factory children, and God knows what beside. But I don’t believe you have ever gone visiting that way, have you, my dear?”
“And who is there at Fairly, dear Mrs. Gabberly, who would be likely to talk to me on such a subject?” said Mary, colouring to the temples, with eagerness to hear the answer. “Good gracious! my dear, did you never hear tell of that poor wrong-headed clergyman, George Bell? Such a difference to be sure between one man and another. My dear good Mr. Gabberly never in his life breathed a word that could hurt the feelings of his neighbours. He visited them every one, and was on the best and most friendly terms with them all, which is what I call living in the true spirit of Christian charity. Whereas this tiresome, troublesome, Mr. Bell, has taken it into his head to find out wrong, where every body else sees nothing but right; and God forbid, my dear, that you should take it into your dear innocent head to follow any of his mischievous fancies; I wonder what he’ll get by it? Great goose he must be, to be sure, not to see that he is going exactly the way to set every body that can be of the least use to him smack against him in all things!”
“What is it he does, Mrs. Gabberly, that is so very wrong?” demanded Miss Brotherton.
“What is it he does? Why just every thing he ought not to do, my dear, that’s all. You would hardly believe, perhaps, that a clergyman should actually encourage the poor to complain of the very labour by which they live? And yet I give you my word and honour that is exactly what he has been doing. It’s incredible, isn’t it, almost? He positively says, loud enough for all the country to hear him, that the labour in the factories — such a blessing as it is to the poor — he actually says that it is bad for the children’s health. Such stuff, you know, my dear, as if the medical men did not know best; and there’s numbers of ’em that declare that it’s quite impossible to tell in any way satisfactory that it can do ’em any harm at all. And, upon my word, I don’t know what poor people will come to! It’s quite out of the question to attempt pleasing ’em. If they’ve got no work they are perfectly outrageous about that, and ready to tear people to pieces just to get it; and no sooner is there enough to do, than away they go bawling again, swearing that the children are over-worked; isn’t it provoking my dear?”
“Mr. George Bell,” said Mary, very distinctly.
“Yes, my dear, that’s the name of the foolish man who seems to take a pleasure in making people fancy they are not well enough off, when I’m sure, by all I can hear and understand, these very identical people may consider themselves first and foremost of the whole world for prosperity,” replied Mrs. Gabberly.
“Fairly?” rejoined Miss Brotherton, interrogatively.
“Yes, my dear, Fairly’s where he lives, if I don’t mistake.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Gabberly,” said the young lady, rising somewhat abruptly; “I am very glad you had such a pleasant day yesterday. Good bye.” And without permitting the stream of Mrs. Gabberly’s eloquence to well forth upon her afresh, the heiress slipped through the parlour door, and escaped.
CHAPTER XIX.
A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY — A PLAIN STATEMENT, LEADING TO THE CONVICTION THAT EVEN WHERE IGNORANCE IS NOT BLISS, KNOWLEDGE IS NOT ALWAYS HAPPINESS — A HASTY FRIENDSHIP THAT MAY NEVERTHELESS PROVE LASTING.
To order the carriage, and to give Mrs. Tremlett notice that she wished her to make all speed in preparing to accompany her in it, was to Miss Brotherton the work of a moment. As the business she was upon might, however, take some hours, she urged her old friend to eat luncheon as if certain of having no dinner; and having given time for this, and interrogated her coachman concerning distance and so forth, the hopeful, animated girl, sprung into her carriage as the clock struck two, determined not to re-enter her mansion till she had lost so
me portion of the ignorance which had of late so cruelly tormented her.
The roads were good, and by the help of a short bait, Miss Brotherton and her companion reached Fairly turnpike a little after four. Here she made inquiries for the residence of Mr. Bell, and having learned in what direction she should find it, repeated the instructions to her coachman, and bade him drive on.
“Are the horses to be put up there, ma’am?” demanded the coachman.
“Yes — no, James, not there I suppose — that is, not at the clergyman’s house; but of course you will be able to find some place quite near, you know; and William must wait — no, not wait, but come back as soon as he knows where you put up, that I may send for you when I am ready.”
To these, not over-clear, instructions James answered “Yes ma’am,” and drove off.
In obedience to the directions received at the tollbar, the carriage soon left the high-road, and proceeded down a grassy lane, which harvest carts for the time had rolled into smoothness. Less than a quarter of a mile of this, brought the wanderers to another turning, that in five minutes placed them before the gates of an edifice the aspect of which made Mary pull the check-string.
“That looks like a parsonage-house! Does it not?” said Miss Brotherton.
And before Mrs. Tremlett could answer, William had already opened the door, and let down the steps. It was very easy to get out, and very easy to inquire if Mr. Bell were at home; but when answered in the affirmative, Miss Brotherton felt that it was not very easy to decide in what manner to explain the cause of her visit to the object of it. She had by no means settled this point to her satisfaction, when the door of a small parlour, lined with books, was opened to her, and she found herself in the presence of the gentleman she had so unceremoniously come to visit.
There was much in the countenance of Mr. Bell to reassure a more timid spirit than that of Mary Brotherton; nevertheless she stood before him for a minute or two in some embarrassment, not so much from fear of him, as of herself. Did she fail to make him at once understand the motive of her inquiries, he could not avoid thinking both them and herself impertinent, and this consciousness caused a much brighter glow than usual to mantle her cheeks, as she stood before him, with her eyes fixed timidly, and almost beseechingly, on his face.
Although Miss Brotherton had not quite the easy and (tant soit peu) assured air of a woman of fashion, there was enough in her appearance to indicate her claim to observance, as well as admiration, and Mr. Bell opened the conversation by earnestly requesting that she would sit down.
His aspect had done much towards giving her courage, and his voice did more.
“You are very kind sir,” said she, “to receive so courteously a stranger, who has in truth no excuse whatever to offer for thus intruding on you. Nevertheless, I am greatly tempted to hope, that if I can succeed in making you understand the object of my visit, you will forgive the freedom of it.”
“And I,” returned Mr. Bell, smiling, “am greatly tempted to believe that let the object of this visit be what it may, I must always feel grateful to it. Is there any thing, my dear young lady, that I can do to serve you?”
“There is indeed, Mr. Bell!” she replied, with great earnestness of voice and manner. “I am come to you for instruction. Though you do not know me, you probably may know the place at which I live. My name is Mary Brotherton, and my house is called Millford Park.”
“Certainly, Miss Brotherton, both your name, and that of your residence are known to me — on what subject can I give you any information that may be useful?”
“Circumstances, Mr. Bell, have lately directed my attention to a subject which my own situation in life, as well as the neighbourhood in which I live ought to have long ago made thoroughly familiar to me — such is not the case, however; I am profoundly, and I fear shamefully ignorant respecting the large and very important class of our population employed in the factories. I am in possession of a large fortune wholly amassed from the profits obtained by my father from this species of labour, and I cannot but feel great interest in the welfare and prosperity of the people employed in it — especially as I understand a very large proportion of them are young children — and moreover, that from some cause or other, which I can by no means understand, the whole class of ‘the factory people,’ as I hear them called, are spoken of with less kindness and respect by those who have grown rich upon their industry, than any other description of human beings whatever. I am told, sir, that it would be unsafe, improper, and altogether wrong were I to attempt making myself personally acquainted with them, as I would wish to do — and having accidentally, Mr. Bell, heard your name mentioned as a person who took an interest in their concerns, I have come to you thus unceremoniously, in the hope that you would have the kindness to give me more accurate information on the subject, than I have found it possible to obtain elsewhere.”
Mr. Bell, who had placed himself immediately opposite to her, looked in her young face, and listened to her earnest voice as she spoke, with the deepest attention. It soon became sufficiently clear that he considered not this intrusion as requiring apology, but that on the contrary his very heart and soul were moved by her words. He paused for a moment after she had ceased speaking, as if unwilling to interrupt her by his reply; but when he found that she remained silent, he said, “The subject on which you are come to converse with me, my dear Miss Brotherton, is assuredly the very last I should have expected to hear named by a young lady in your position — for it is one from which the rich and great of our district turn away with loathing and contempt. Yet is it the one of all others to which I would if possible direct their best attention, involving as it does both their interest and their duty beyond any other. But I fear I cannot enter upon it without wounding many prejudices which of necessity you must have imbibed, and proving to you that much which doubtless you have been educated to consider right, is on the contrary most lamentably wrong. Can you bear this my dear young lady?”
“I hope I could, in a search after truth, Mr. Bell, even if my mind were in the condition you suppose,” replied Mary. “But this is not the case. You will not have to remove many false impressions I think. — It is the total absence of all knowledge on the subject, which I am bold enough to ask you to remedy.”
“And most willingly will I endeavour to do so, to the very best of my ability,” replied Mr. Bell. “But to me it is a beguiling subject, and if I detain you too long, you must tell me so.”
“Fear not,” replied Mary, smiling. “I shall be more willing to hear, than you to speak.”
“You are of course aware, Miss Brotherton,” resumed the clergyman, “that the large proportion of young labourers to whom you have just alluded, are calculated to amount, in Yorkshire and Lancashire alone to upwards of two hundred thousand.”
“Is it possible?” exclaimed Mary. “Alas! Mr. Bell you must not think that ‘of course’ I know any thing — had you named two thousand as the number, my surprise would have been less.”
“But so it is, Miss Brotherton. Above two hundred thousand young creatures, including infants among them, counting only five years of life, are thus employed in the counties I have named; and they surely form a class, which both from their numbers, and their helplessness are entitled to English sympathy and protection?”
“Unquestionably!” cried Mary, eagerly, “I always feel that the labouring poor have great and unceasing claims upon the sympathy and assistance of the rich. — But this claim must be equally great I should suppose amongst all the labouring classes. Is it not, Mr. Bell?”
“I feel it difficult to answer your question by a negative,” he replied, “because, taken in its broadest sense, it most assuredly demands an affirmative. Nevertheless it is unquestionably true that at this moment there is no race of human beings in any portion of the known world — the most wretched of negro slaves not excepted, Miss Brotherton — who require the protection and assistance of their happier fellow-creatures, in the same degree as the young crea
tures employed in our factories.”
Miss Brotherton looked at him, not doubtingly, but with considerable surprise, and timidly replied, “But the negro slave, Mr. Bell, has no choice left him — he is the property of his master.”
“Neither has the factory child a choice, Miss Brotherton. He too is a property; nor is it the least horrible part of the evil which noiselessly has grown out of this tremendous system, that the beings whom nature has ordained throughout creation to keep watch and ward over the helpless weakness of infant life, are driven by it to struggle with, and trample down the holiest and dearest of human ties — even the love of a parent for its offspring. Picture to yourself a bleak winter’s morning, Miss Brotherton, when the mother of factory children must be up hours and hours before the sun to rouse her half-rested little ones; and nervously watching her rude clock till the dreaded moment comes, must shake the little creatures, whose slumber the very beast of the field might teach her to watch over and guard, till they awake, and starting in terror from their short sleep, ask if the hour be come? The wretched mother, and the wretched child then vie with each other in their trembling haste to seize the tattered mill-clothes, and to put them on. The mother dreads the fine of one quarter of the infant’s daily wages, which would be levied, should it arrive but a minute too late, and the poor child dreads the strap, which, in addition, is as surely the punishment for delay. Miss Brotherton, I have seen with my own eyes the assembling of some hundreds of factory children before the still unopened doors of their prison-house, while the lingering darkness of a winter’s night had yet to last three hours. I shall never forget one bitter morning, last January twelvemonth! The last piteous summons from a dying parishioner had left me no choice but to exchange my pillow for the bitter biting blast of Howley common, and the path across it leading me within a hundred yards of a large cotton-factory, I witnessed a spectacle, which to my dying day I shall never recall without a shudder! There was just moon enough to show me all the dreary sternness of the scene. — The ground was covered deep with snow, and a cutting wind blew whistling through the long line of old Scotch firs which bordered an enclosure beside the road. As I scudded on beneath them, my eye caught the little figures of a multitude of children, made distinctly visible, even by that dim light, by the strong relief in which their dark garments showed themselves against the snow. A few steps further brought me in full view of the factory gates, and then I perceived considerably above two hundred of these miserable little victims to avarice all huddled together on the ground, and seemingly half buried in the drift that was blown against them. I stood still and gazed upon them — I knew full well what, and how great was the terror which had brought them there too soon, and in my heart of hearts I cursed the boasted manufacturing wealth of England, which running, in this direction at least, in a most darkened narrow channel, gives power, lawless and irresistible to overwhelm and crush the land it pretends to fructify. While still spell-bound by this appalling picture, I was startled by the sound of a low moaning from the other side of the road, at a short distance from me, and turning towards it perceived a woman bending over a little girl who appeared sinking to the ground. A few rapid steps brought me close to them, and I found on examination that the child was so benumbed and exhausted as to be totally incapable of pursuing her way — it was her mother who was urging her forward, and who even then seemed more intent upon saving a fine, than on the obvious sufferings of her sinking child. I know, poor wretch, that little choice was left her, and that the inevitable consequence of saving her from the factory, and leading her gently home to such shelter as her father’s roof could give, would be to watch her perish there for want of food.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 193
