Rosa Lambert — page 203: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

192 ROSA LAMBERT. Cc nn meneame errs LLL upon me, “you will indeed pity me much. But let me bring this painful narrative to as speedy a conclusion as possible. Days passed by—they grew into weeks—and still no remittance came. Starvation was staring me in the face: indeed I went for days with only a sorry crust, in order that the poor child might have enough to eat. I could scarcely open my eyes to the frightful fact that it had been unnaturally abandoned in this manner: yet stronger and stronger in my mind grew the conviction that my mother and I had been too ready to undertake this charge without knowing a single thing in respect to the persons interested in the matter. The remittance came not—the undertaker was clamorous for the pay- ment of the balance of his account—the landlord demanded his rent. I had no friend in the whole world to whom J could apply. I did think of you, ma’am: I knew that if you had the means, you would assist me: but I knew not where you were. Well, at length things came to a crisis: the land- Jord put in an execution for his rent—and when this terrible misfortune happened, I went to him and to the undertaker, proposing that they should at once sell off all the little furniture, pay themselves what was owing, and give me the balance, as it was use- less to incur expenses by delaying the sale in the hope that the remittance would come. My propo- sition was at once carried out; and when every- thing had been sold off, I had just fifteen shillings to receive.” “Poor Frances !” I exclaimed, my eyes moist- ened with tears. ‘ And what did you do then P” “There was a widow-woman in the village, named Stirling, who was poor—but whom I be- lieved respectable. I told her the precise circum- stances under which the child had been thrown upon my hands; and I proposed that she should take charge of the little Jemima, while I went out to service again. I gave her authority to receive any letter which might come to the village ad- dressed to me; and if the remittance arrived, so much the better—but if not, I undertook to set apart as much as I could possibly afford from my wages for the maintenance of the little girl. Mrs. Stirling agreed: I gave her ten shillings out of my fifteen; and knowing that it was useless to seek for a situation in that neighbourhood where my character had suffered so much, I came up to Lon- don. The distance was five-and-twenty miles: I rode half the way—walked the other half—and ar- rived in London with but a shilling in my pocket. Ah, ma’am—many persons in my situation would have put the child in the poor-house: but I could not find it in my heart to do so—for I really loved the poor little being; and I love her now. And that very goodness on my part towards Jemima was afterwards used as an argument against my- self, to prove that she was really my own child. Oh, L have indeed suffered dreadfully—dread- fully !” llere I’rances paused again, overcome by her feclings; and at length she continued in the fol- lowing manner :— “Sleaven did not altogether abandon me: for within the very first hour that L set foot in Lon- don, I obtained a place. I fell in with a lady in whose service L had been before L entered your's, mivau, when you were in Jermyn Street; and this lady, happening to want a maid at the time, took me back at once. I wrote to Mrs. Stirling to tell her where I was; and at the end of the month, when my wages were due, I remitted her as much as I could afford. She wrote to tell me that no letter containing the expected ten pounds had reached her; and she pretty plainly hinted that she thought I had deceived her. At the end of the following month I sent her more money: she wrote back in a dissatisfied manner—and her letters revealed to me her true character. I saw that she was mercenary and most unreasonable,— expecting me to perform impossibilities. In an- other fortnight she suddenly made her appearance at the house—told me that her own landlord had distrained for rent—that he had sold off her fur- niture—and that she had therefore come up to London, to be near me. I reproached her for taking such a step without my consent; and she then threw off the mask,—saying that she knew the child was my own—that it was notorious in the village—that my own mother had told her in confidence such was the case—and that it was ridiculous to suppose I should have continued to trouble myself about the offspring of other people. I was astounded and dismayed when I found the woman thus turning round upon me: but I could not close my eyes to the fact that the case was in reality most suspicious against me. Trembling for my situation—and what was more, for my charac- ter, on which my bread depended—I was com- pelled to submit. Mrs. Stirling took a lodging in Somers Town; and she was continuously perse- cuting me for money. I answered her demands to the utmost of my ability: the only consolation I had, was that she really did not neglect nor ill- treat the poor child. But in her rapacity she was insatiable. The frequency of her visits caused me to lose my place; and I had some difficulty in obtaining another. This second one I lost through the same cause; and I was well nigh driven to despair. I threatened to take the child away from her, and entrust it to the charge of another person: but Mrs. Stir- ling vowed that she would not part with the girl—and that if I carried her off by stealth, she would stick to me as long as she lived, ruining me in every situation which I might succeed in obtaining. What was I todo? Spirit-broken— wretched to a degree—and completely in the power of that vile woman, I was forced to submit. Again I was fortunate enough to procure a situa- tion; and by giving at least two-thirds of my wages to Mrs. Stirling, I rendered her visits less frequent than they had been at the two former houses. Nevertheless, I lived in incessant terror : my life was a burden to me: and every knock which I heard at the door, sent the blood cold to my heart. At length the family went abroad ; and most of the servants were dismissed, with a month’s wages and a written character. Then, ma’am, I fell in with yourself and Captain Beau- mont; and you were kind enough to take me into your service again.” « And all this while,” I asked, “ have you never received a single remittance from the unnatural mother of that child ?”’ “Never, ma’am—solemnly I assure you!” re- plied Frances. “I have frequently written to the village post-oflice—indeed every time I have entered a fresh place: but there has never been a J00KsS.com —