{COPYRIGHT STORY.) THE SECOND MRS. STIMPSON

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIV, Issue 10, 11 March 1905, Page 10

{COPYRIGHT STORY.) THE SECOND MRS. STIMPSON

By

Mrs. Campbell Praed

Author of " My Australian Girlhood,” " The Insane Root.”

VIII Eika Stimpson looked lungingb’ cut of her small shop windew, and across Rock-road, which ’ was steeped in spring eunftliinc —sunshine that was not reflected upon her face. She was a plump, well-proportioned woman* who would h»a\e been pretty but for the discontented droop about the corners of her mouth. The world had not used ’the second Mrs stimpson quite fairly, and she did not feel on good terms with it. St imp* on was away at work all day; moreover. Stimpson was not a companionable person, and until Stimpson the Younger put in an appearance six weeks previously, the second Mrs hud found life decidedly dull in the country town to which Fate had transplanted her. As for the shop, there was neither pleasure nor profit in that, she thought. Business was brisk enough on Saturdays, and on Thursdays—market days—'when drovers eanne through the town with cattle, and all the countryside went shopping. But otherwise, trade wns chiefly confined to small children demanding “a ha’-porth o’ liquorice.’’ or “a peppermint stick"’:; and, if fortune favoured the establishment, a party oi thirsty cyHfets, who might, drink half a dozen bottles of lemonade. Ruth Eliza jvas nut a cust-omed to that class of M ratio. and would have said so plainly had there been any listener to whom ehe liked to talk. But a neighbourly chat was a thing she eschewed, not relishing the company of other inhabitants of Rack Road, who would one and al) have been extremely pleased to come and gossip with her- As it happened, however, there was no one in whom Ruth Eliza eared to confide, with the exception of that bundle of pink flannel previously referred to as Stimpson frhe Younger, whose power of understanding Was nt the present stage limited. Just now. -this young gentleman lay asleep in a wicker bassinette, decorated with cheap snuslin and rose-coloured sateen; and his mother, who had finished curly in the day all the work that duty and necessity required of her, having no particular occupation with which to opred the long hours of the afternoon, stood Ixhind the counter, her hands on her hips, and melancholy lines ee tiling on her fair skin. She was young <ind strong, and she was desperately dull. Suddenly a look of interest animated her face. Sue peered forward. “If there isn’t Miss Fancourt! 1 do wish she’d Btep in here.’’ A quaint little figure was coming up tlhe road- an elderly maiden lady almost as small as a child, with slightly bowed >h. alders, bat u brisk walk. Miss Eancourt. of Eancourt Manor—half a mile further on. where the old house was set amid its immemorial elms—was a lady who belonged to the crinoline period. Obviously, she wore one still l»enea< •« her th rec-flounced skirt. Her closely fitting bonnet, with its flat folds of ribbon, was advened with what was formerly called a curtain-u kilted frill covering her knot of grey brown hair. Iler coat was a comfortable garment, with deep packets and wide sleeves. Miss Eancourt had long ago adopted fwbat -she considered a suitable and becoming style of dress, and was never peen in anything else. She had conserTotive tendencies’, and as. notwithstanding her age ami oddities, she was of considerable importance in the little insular town o' Red Regis, it will be seen that she was a person to I>p propitiated. Ruth Eliza was perfectly aware of this, and had for long yearned after an opportunity, hitherto denied her, of furthering a scant acquaintance with Mish Faneourt. She gasped from suspense as th» old lady approached her floor. Miss FancouH usually walked with an object in view. She had now Apparently come from the town, and the seemed tired. < uuld she bo persuaded to enter and Test awhile? Ruth Eliza was prepared to dash out. and proffer hnsidtality, though pride forbade it; fortunately. she was not required to immolate herself thus far. Miss Faneourt was gazing uncertainly in at the window; she turned the door handle,

the shop bell tinkled, and Ruth Eliza lifted a flushed fare which—in order to hide her anxiety—she had bobbed beneath the counter in search of some imaginary article she was supposed to have dropped. “Good afternoon,” remarked Miss Fancourt suavely. “You have some excellent bananas,” —she pointed to a bunch hanging from the ceiling. “I wish to have a few.” “How many would you like, Ma’am?” rejoined Ruth Eliza, reaching for a knife, and racking her brain for something to say that might detain her visitor before it was too late, “ Six, if you please. Your bananas arc finer than any I have, observed in the town, and your fruit generally looks good.” Miss Fancourt took a chair without being invited, and glanced about her. “You seem to be a discriminating purchaser.” “Stimpson buys the stock—that being what 1 always said I never would do—• it wasn't likely,” returned Ruth Eliza buntly. “Nor it wouldn’t be wise either,” she added, as an afterthought, “me being no judge of such things.” ’‘Perhaps you have not kept a shop before?” said Miss Eancourt gently. “No doubt it must be difficult to get accustomed to it.” “f was brought up to the millinery,” was the rather bitter response. 1 never had no call to set me hand to anything else till I took up with Stimpson?’ ‘Ah!" There was a world of meaning in the monosyllable. Silence reigned for half a minute while Ruth Eliza carefully chose the choicest Iran an as. “It seems a long while since you were this way, Ma’am,” she ventured. “Does it?’ eaid Miss Eancourt. with a smile that looked almost depreeaand that certainly could not help being kind, “I wonder you're not too busy to notice who goes by.” “I get through me work quickly, Ma’am. I never was one to let the grass grow under me feet. And there’s days like this afternoon—when time hangs heavy—me being alone so much. If it wasn’t for baby—” Miss Fancourt’s hand shook suddenly as she took the paper bag containing the bananas. She was going to say something which seemed unkind. Bhe disliked saying it immensely; yet she had come for the purpose, for she felt that it had to be said. Young woman,” she inquired in a tone that meant to be answered. “When were you married?” Eliza flushed afresh, warmly. “We was married a year last Easter Eve. to be sure.” “1 am truly glad to hear it.” Miss Fancourt spoke with evident satisfaction. “W here did the ceremony take place?” “Lp at the Parish Church, to be sure,” re peated Ruth Eliza. “Any one ♦•an have a look at the entry, I s’pose,” she added a little defiantly, “if they’re set on seeing it. But folks want such a deal of explaining to—not meaning you, of course, Ma’am. It’s very kind of you to comp, and I’m sure I’m only too plca.sed to mention how it happened. ou see I couldn't go back o’ me word to the first Mrs Stimpson—and that’s how it came about.” Mi-s Eancourt placed her old-fashion-ed sunshade securely on her knees, with her small, neatly-gloved hand* crossed over it, hnd drew up her feet on td the under rail of her chair.Y Thus comfortably settled,— the forgotten bag of bananas lying on the counter—she regarded Ruth Eliza earnestly. “F should like hou to tell me all you ran,” she said gently. “That|is, of course, if you feel nt liberty to do so.” Miss Funcourt was a sympathetic soul, though v.ithal of u prejudiced turn of mind. Iler kindly old eyes were shining now. Henceforth the sceptre of Fanconi I Manor might be extended in

Ruth Eliza’s favour. Ruth Eliza plainly realised the probable issues at stake. .She was relieved to find a ready listener in Miss Faneourt, and broke boldly through the unaccustomed erust of reserve that had been closing round her. “Well, you see, Ma’am, it was this way. The first Mrs Stimpson you must know, was called by name Ruth Annie. “She’d stood godmother to me as a little un, and that kind hearted she was, which may have eoine to your knowledge, living in the same plaee. A better woman never stepped than the first Mrs Stimpson, for all she was in the habit of -saying that she was but a poor thing, and getting on in life. That was by reason of her having married Stimpson, who was ten or twelve year, younger than she. She was always'good to nio and mine, having been a girl friend of my mother's. And when father died, in poor circumstances, leaving mother with u growing family through having lost a deal of money in the upholstering, which was his line of business, Mrs Stimpson she’d write up to mother: “Send Ruth Eliza along to Red Regis when you want to get nd of one of ’em. It'll be n nice change for her. and she can stop a goodish while.” And so I did, ma'am, and glad to do it, too. Many's the school feast I’ve been to up at the Manor in those days, but yon disremember me, -which is but natural.” Miss Fancourt shook her hea-d evasively. Her memory was certainly

at a loss. For some time past she ha 4 fancied that she must be getting old. “So many come and go, now-a days,”* she said in an apologetic tone, "And girls grow up so fast. I used to know, everyone in Red Regis. Now it sjeios to me that I see nothing but strange faces. My sight is failing me, I fear. I knew the first Mrs Stimpson well, and I may say, young woman, that it has been—you must pardon my plain speaking—a matter of sorrow to me that poor Stimpson, who I feel sure is u well meaning man, should have been led by loneliness into doing anything of which she would not approve.”

Ruth Eliza bridled. Politic reasons alons prevented the free expression of her feelings. “I can assure you, ma'am, it was quite another pair of shoes, so t» speak.”

Miss Faneourt scented the girl's Indignation, and replied soothingly: “No doubt, no doubt. I sec that now. Popular opinion has been unjust to you, young woman, and I grieve that I should ha.ve allowed myself to be influenced to such a degree by the talk of the town which reached me. Pray continue your story. Yon became a milliner, I think you said.”

“Well, ma’am,” explained Ruth Eliza' somewhat sulkily, "mother had moved into a small house at Walh-am Green, and took lodgers, but Mrs (Stimpson It was that thought of getting me apprenticed to the millinery. Wickens Bros, was where I went—a nice little shop at the west end of the Fulham Road, with a most genteel trade—and the business suited me wonderful well.”

Ruth Eliza warmed to her subject as she proceeded. "Then Mrs Stimpson ’ud have me

down here whenever I could get a holiday—tier having always been partial to me. It’s different— as most-like you’re aware, ma’am—to go to a place for a holiday, and to have to live in it. I never bothered me head about Stimpson in those days, but I enjoyed coming down here for « breath of country air, though London was the place to live in, I thought, even then, and I’ve had no cause to change sny views since. Well, things went on ao, till the first Mrs Btimpson was tenjk with the disease that carried her off. Suffered something horri'd with bad legs, she had, for nigh on a quarter of a century, she used to sny, and it set in to the bone, and developed perry-and-titus. The doctor said there wasn’t no hope from the first, but she wouldn’t have Stimpson told tilt she was dying. What she did, was to send for me, and as I was just out o’ me time, I got a few days, as I thought, and caiine down.

“She was lying a-bed —room over this —and Stimpson, of course, was out. He works for Mr. Vetch, the builder, and if it wasn’t for him drawing a steady wage of his own that way, he’d be nowhere, for this little shop' which it’s always been his hobby to keep on with, don’t turn right shilling a week. The first Mrs. Stimpson managed it in her time —just to pleasure him—but she couldn’t make a profit to speak of. out of it, though she put her back into it, she did—which is more’n you can say of me, to be honest. If you was to ask me. I should say it helped her into her grave. There’s nothing much coming in, in a neighbourhood like this. Tisn’t to be expected. Weil, Ma’am, as 1 was saying. Mrs. Stimpson she took my hand, and held on to it till it kind of came to me that she’d never leave hold. “"Dear! Dear!’ I said, ‘I am sorry to see you like this.’

“‘Ruth Elizat’ said she, “I have but one regret in going, and that ds Stimpson.’ “ ‘He’ll take on terrible,’ I said to please her, and could ha’ bitten me tongue out the. next minute when I see what was coming. “‘Ruth Eliza!’ said she, ‘I done a good bit for you, but you’re worth it. I got the best possible opinion of you. Ruth Eliza. If you was to say vou’d have, him, you’d take a load off me.’ “Well, Ma’am, of course it was true •he had done a good bit for me one time and another, but to pay if back that way had never been in me mind, and I was taken as you might say by surprise “ •Stimpson’s silent,’ said she, ‘but he’s kind. You’ll never hear a hard word from him. I brought him up as a bov and I ought to know, lie was own nephew to my sister Sarah’s husband that died (which, of course, she’d told me many a time), and him having no parents of his own he lived along of Sarah and me from a little feller; and

when Sarah died, he was about 19, and folks began to talk, so I married him. I’d put it to him plain what I was about to do, but he said he didn't wish to bestir himself looking elsewhere, and he thought it best to go on as we was, for he never was one to care what folks said. But I thought 1 could do bettor by him if I married him. so we went to church, and a happier couple never was.’ ’• That was the first Mrs. Stimpson’s story. “ ‘Now,’ said she, “He isn’t fit to live alone. No widower is; and he hasn’t been accustomed to it at anytime. I won’t say nothing about duty, Ruth Eliza, nor yet gratitude, for I wouldn’t wish to force the affections of any young woman, but if you can say’ the word, I shall die happy.’ ” “And you said it?” inquired Miss Fancourt breathlessly. “I said it. Ma’am. That comes c.f being too kind-hearted. ‘l’ll take him,’ I said, ■for better or worse, and if it turns out worse, I’ll stick to him, so help me God, for I owe it to you.’ "Weil, she hud Stimpson upstairs after that, as soon as ever he comes home, but 1 didn’t know—not then—what passed. It wasn’t for me to speak, and 1 hoped against hope she’d get better, and all would lie forgotten. But she didn't. She died the next Tuesday, and me and Stimpson followed her to the grave. I’d looked for him to show sentiment for once in his life, but he was that quiet there was no knowing how he took it. When she’d been put away, as we were coming down Queen’s Lane on our road home, he out with what was in his mind. '■■Ruth Annie spoke to me about you,’ said he. ‘I wouldn’t wish to go against any fancy’ of hers, and all tilings considered we can’t do better. So vou can take it from me, that I’m willing? " ‘Weil, willing ain't the word for me,’ I said.’yßut a promise is a promise, and the dead don’t give back no bond. I’m bound,’ I said, ‘so here I am, and I'll do the best I can. When’s it to come off?’’ “ ‘I cale’late that three months is about long enough to wait, as things be,’ was his answer. ‘But there ain’t no need for you to go back to London. There’s room and plenty, as you’ra aware, over the shop. I’d have to engage a woman if you went, so you may as well stop.’ “It wasn’t what you might call a canoodling courting—was it, Ma’am? Stimpson’s not the sort to overstep the mark. I thought to rneself at the time, if you was half a man and give me a good kiss, I’d slap your face, but I’d like you all the better for it. “So it happened—as most-like you’ve heard that I housekeeped for him those three months, bearing in mind the first Mrs Stimpson’s wishes, for I knew very well she’d not rest easy with him handed over to a stranger. And when Faster Eve came, him and me walked up

to church quiet-like, and got ourselves married. A sister o' mine and her husband living at Battersea came down as witnesses; and over and above telling them, neither me nor Stimpson didn’t feel no call to talk about the affair just then in the. place, seeing it didn't concern anyone else, and the time and all being rayther precipitous. “But dear! dear! The to-do there’s been about it. Vou wouldn’t believe that Rock Road was so particular. I’m sure whatever kind of folk came to live in the neighbourhood, I shouldn’t want to interest rneself in ’em. But that's the custom in the country, I’m told. In London, folks are too thick upon the ground to pay attention to anyone who doesn’t get in their way. Gimme London, where there’s more work and less talk. I’ve been forced to say to Stimpson more’n once, ‘You’d best own up that we’re, married, and let’s ha’ done witli it, if 'tis only for my sake,’- —but never a word passes his lips. He’d ha' got set on to, himself, at the works, I make no doubt, but all Red Regis knows there’s nothing to be got out o' him, aud his fellow workmen kind of take it ill that he’s so unsociable, but I’m sure that’s nothing to what lie is at home. Tisn’t cheerful living with Stimpson. “I can mind the day. Miss Fancourt, when I’ve had as many as ten of the neighbours in, asking whatever made mo marry Stimpson, and anything else that came uppermost—short of whether I’d married him at all, which was what they really wanted to know. Terrible reflective too they were, in some of the things they said. And if there happened to be anything going on at the Manor to which you'd kindly invited ’em, I do assure vou, ma’am, there’s not a. woman living in Boek Road but ’nd come in and tell me all about it, just to mark the difference that I wasn’t, there meself. I won't say but what it made me mouth water, but 1 didn’t earc not a jot,” pursued Ruth Eliza, fiercely. "Till Mrs Sturt at No. 19, said she wasn’t aooing to have her fifth baptised along of my boy. ’ “Ah!” said Miss Fancourt, reverting to the point she started from. "You have a baby?" “To be sure, ma'am,” asseverated Ruth Eliza, in whose mind this main fact had never been lost sight, of. “And

him as fine a child at six weeks as you'd find in Red Regis. Jest you taka a peep at him." Ruth Eliza retired into the little room at the hack of the*shop with Miss Fancourt at I.er heels. The second Mrs Stimpson and the lady c.f the Manor, now oddly in accord, stepped, reverently and noiselessly to the side of the bassinette where the snub-nosed morsel of humanity reposed beneath the rose pink coverlet. Two tiny eyes twinkled as they bent over him. Slimpson the younger was awake, and no prince robed in purple and swansdown ever looked lovelier, thought Ruth Eliza. Shu forgot her wrongs—forgot even •Stimpson—as she raised the child and. took off liis outer flannels. Ha smuggled a bare downy head against the ample curves of her neek and bosom, curves that swelled with motherlove. Miss Fancourt gazed at the pair appreciatively. Her sight might not be us good as it was once, but it enabled her to see a sudden and transforming beauty in Ruth Eliza. Bye and bye surreptitiously wiped away a drop thab glistened down the side of her nose. “Ah.” she said softly. "My housekeeper is fond of babies, Mrs Stimpson. You must bring him up to the Manor and take a cup of tea with her next Sunday.”