Mr. Poskitt's Nightcaps

Chapter 4

Next to the church and the King Georgewith possibly the exception of the blacksmith's shop, where most of the idlers gathered to gossip of an afternoon, especially in winterMiss Partridge's general store was the chief institution in Orchardcroft. To begin with, it was the only house of a mercantile character in the place, and it would have fared ill with any one rash enough to have set up an opposition business to it; to end with, its proprietor was so good-natured that she made no objection to the good wives of the village if they lingered over their purchases to chat with each other or with her. Life in Orchardcroft was leisurely, and an hour could easily be spent in fetching a stone of flour or a quarter of a pound of tea from Miss Partridge's emporium. And, as Miss Partridge often remarked, the women were better employed in exchanging views at her counter than the men were in arguing at the tap of the King George.

It was a queer little place, this general storea compendium of grocery, drapery, confectionery, and half-a-dozen other trades. There were all sorts of things in the window, from rolls of cheap dress goods to home-made toffee; inside the shop itself, which was neither more nor less than the front room of a thatched cottage, there was a display of articles which was somewhat confusing to eyes not accustomed to such sights. It was said of a celebrated London tradesman that he could supply anything from a white elephant to a pinMiss Partridge could hardly boast so much, but it was certain that she kept everything which the four hundred-odd souls of Orchardcroft required for their bodiesbutcher's meat excepted. What was more, she knew where everything was, and could lay her hands on it at a moment's notice; what was still more, she was as polite in selling a little boy a new ready-made suit as in serving a ploughman with his Saturday ounce of shag or nail-rod tobacco. For that reason everybody liked her and brought their joys and sorrows to her.

On a bright spring afternoon, when the blackbirds and thrushes were piping gaily in her holly-hedged garden, Miss Partridge sat behind her counter knitting. She was then a woman of close upon sixtya rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed woman, small in stature, grey of hair, out of whose face something of a benediction seemed always to shine upon everybody. She wore a plain black dressnobody in Orchardcroft could remember Miss Partridge in anything but black for more than thirty yearsover which was draped a real silk white shawl, fastened at the neck with a massive brooch of Whitby jet, and on her head was a smart cap in which were displayed several varieties of artificial flowers. Shawl and cap denoted that Miss Partridge was dressed for the day; in the morning less showy insignia were displayed.

"We're very quiet this afternoon, Martha Mary," observed Miss Partridge to her general factotum, who, having finished the housework, was now dusting the upper shelves. "There's been nobody in since old Isaac came for his tobacco."

"No, m'm," said Martha Mary, "but there's Jane Pockett coming up the garden just now."

"Then we shall hear something or other," said Miss Partridge, who knew Mrs. Pockett's characteristics; "Jane has always some news."

Mrs. Pockett, a tall, flabby lady, who acted a great part in the village drama of life, seeing that she saw all its new-comers into the world and all its out-goers leave its stage for ever, came heavily into the shop and dropped still more heavily into a chair by the counter. And without ceremony she turned a boiled-gooseberry eye on the little shopkeeper.

"Hev' yer heerd the noos?" she said.

"What news, Jane?" asked Miss Partridge.

Mrs. Pockett selected a mint humbug from a bottle on the counter and began to suck it.

"Well, of course, yer remember Robert Dicki'son, t' miller, at Stapleby yonder?" she said. "Him as died last year, leavin' a widder and two childer, a boy an' a girl?"

Miss Partridge's head bent over her knitting.

"Yes," she said.

"Well," continued Mrs. Pockett, "it were thowt 'at he died middlin' weel off, but now it turns out 'at he didn't. In fact, he's left nowt, and t' mill were mortgaged, as they term it, and now they're barn to sell 'em up, lock, stock, and barril. It's a pity, 'cos t' lad's a nice young feller, and they say 'at if nobbut they could pay t' money he could work up a good trade. It's a thousand pounds 'at they want to settle matters. See yer, I hev' a bill o' t' sale i' my pockett' billposter gev' me it this mornin'. Ye'll notice 'at there's a nicish bit o' furniture to dispose on. But what will t' widder and t' two childer do, turned out i' that way?"

"It's very sad," said Miss Partridge; "very sad."

She laid the bill aside and began to talk of something else. But when Jane Pockett had purchased three yards of flannel and departed, she read the bill through and noted that the sale was to take place on the next day but one. And taking off her spectacles she laid them and the knitting down on the counter, and bidding Martha Mary mind the shop, she went up to her own room and, closing the door, began to walk up and down, thinking.

Forty years slipped away from Miss Partridge, and she was once more a girl of nineteen and engaged to Robert Dickinson. She remembered it all vividlytheir walks, their talks, their embraces. She opened an old desk and took from it a faded photograph of a handsome lad, some equally faded ribbons, a tarnished locketall that was left of the long-dead dream of youth. She put them back, and thought of how they had parted in anger because of a lover's quarrel. He had accused her of flirting, and she had been too proud to defend herself, and he had flung away and gone to a far-off colony, and she had remained behindto be true to his memory all her life. And twenty years later he had come back, bringing a young wife with him, and had taken Stapleby Millbut he and she had never met, never spoken. And now he was dead, and his widow and children were to be outcasts, beggars.

Customers who came to the little shop that evening remarked to each other on its mistress's unusually quiet mood, and hoped Miss Partridge was not going to be ill. But Miss Partridge was quite well when she came down to breakfast next morning, dressed in her best and wearing her bonnet, and she looked very determined about something.

"You'll have to mind the shop this morning, Martha Mary, for I'm going to Cornchester," she said. "Get Eliza Grimes to come and do the housework."

Once in Cornchester Miss Partridge entered the local bankan institution which she regarded with great aweand had a whispered consultation with the cashier, which resulted in that gentleman handing over to her ten banknotes of a hundred pounds eachthe savings of a lifetime.

"Going to invest it, Miss Partridge?" said the cashier, smiling.

"Y-yes," answered Miss Partridge. "Y-yes, sirto invest it."

She put the thousand pounds in her old-fashioned reticule and went off to a legal gentleman whom she had once or twice had occasion to consult. To him she made a communication which caused him to stare.

"My dear madam," he exclaimed. "This is giving away all you possess."

"No," interrupted Miss Partridge. "I have the shop."

"Well, at any rate, take the place as security," began the solicitor; "and"

"No," said Miss Partridge, firmly. "No, sir! No one is to know; no one is ever to knowexcept youwhere the money came from. It's my money, and I've a right to do what I please with it."

"Oh, very well," said the solicitor. "Very well. I'll settle the matter at once. And you may be sure the poor things will be very grateful to their unknown benefactor."

Miss Partridge walked home by way of Stapleby churchyard. She turned into its quietude and sought out Robert Dickinson's grave. There were daisies growing on the green turf that covered it, and she gathered a little bunch of them and carried them home to put away with the ribbons and the locket. And that done she took off her best things and dropped once more into the old way of life.