CHAPTER XIV

THE CHANGE IN JESSIE

THE sisters consulted seriously after Mildred was gone. She had undoubtedly made a very kind proposal. If they yielded to her offer, and allowed her to do the work, and if she did it well, she might receive payment of another kind, since success in that direction would be extremely likely to bring other work to her hands. The Misses Coxen rather shrank from this possibility.

Yet why not? Mildred, as well as the Misses Coxen, had her way to make in life; and if she were a capable dressmaker, she was sure, sooner or later, to find employment for her needle. The Misses Coxen could not expect always to enjoy a monopoly of dressmaking in the neighbourhood.

In point of fact, they had not done so: since any lady who was particular as to cut and style would certainly not go to them, unless for some very simple piece of work. Most ladies thereabout had procured all better dresses from London; really good dressmakers in Maxham being unknown.

It was surely unreasonable that Mildred Pattison, who had both the will and the power to work, should be expected not to exercise that power.

And if she did not set up in the place, somebody else would do so before long. Not only might many dresses now made in London be made in Maxham, but the two sisters found it increasingly difficult to get through even such work as fell to their share; and where a plain opening exists, it is likely before long to be filled. The Misses Coxen had long been aware of a growing need for another good workwoman in the village, and they reluctantly arrived at the sage conclusion that, on the whole, their wiser policy would be not to attempt to stand in Mildred's light, but rather to endeavour to use her—perhaps even to put her under obligation to themselves. This was not a lofty view of the question, though a good deal better than an opposite view would have been. At present, it must be confessed, the matter of obligation seemed to lie the other way.

An interview with Miss Gilbert ended in the dress material being handed over to Mildred.

"I'm only too delighted," Miss Gilbert confessed in an under tone. "I see that you know what you are about, and I was beginning to regret having tried the other quarter. My dress would have been an utter failure, of course, but I did not know that when I rashly went to them. Please follow your own devices in making this. I particularly want the dress to look nice, and I am not afraid about it—now."

The emphasis with which Miss Gilbert spoke showed that she had been very much afraid.

Four days of hard toil followed—hard at all events in Mildred's still weakly condition. Perhaps a little for her own sake, and certainly also for the Misses Coxen's sake, as well as under the pressure of a strong sense of duty which never allowed her to do less than her best, Mildred threw her whole energy into the task which she had undertaken, and the dress when completed proved to be, in its owner's eyes, "the very prettiest she had ever had in all her life."

"It is simply perfect," Miss Gilbert exclaimed, in her girlish manner, to Mildred. "I have never seen anything better done. You ought to set up in London, or in some large town. Positively you are thrown away in this little out of the way place."

"I don't think I should care to live in London, Miss," Mildred answered. "If I can get work to do in Old Maxham, I shall be quite content."

"You will not have to wait long for that. I shall take care to let my friends know at once that it has become possible to get a dress made in Maxham fit to be worn."

"But—" and Mildred hesitated; "I think it should be understood that I wouldn't on any account do anything to harm the Miss Cozens. I could not do it! They have been so long here, and I'm only a new-comer. I don't mean to make dresses for any of their old customers."

"Poor little women! I am told that they turn out the most wonderful sacks in the way of gowns! Of course I had no idea of that when I asked them to make my dress. They don't even know enough to be willing to improve." Miss Gilbert laughed and then she grow grave. "But you are right, Miss Pattison; quite right. My brother would say so. It is nice and good of you to think of them before yourself. Only people can't possibly send their better dresses to people who simply spoil the material. If they could turn out a dress looking respectable—but I'm told that they can't. The dresses that you will have to make will be those which otherwise would have been made in town. Don't you see?"

Mildred knew that it might be so, but she also knew that the sisters would not see it to be so, and in her kind-heartedness she felt a touch of pitying soreness for the pair who had always counted themselves such an important part of Old Maxham.

Jack Groates had begun to hobble about on crutches before the Vicar might come downstairs: and by the time that the Vicar could get out of doors, Jack had cast aside his crutches and had taken to a stick. He would soon be as "right as a trivet," the doctor said. The Vicar, having less strength of constitution, was longer in climbing the hill, and his arm was still good for little.

But the Vicar looked as joyous as a man could well look, while Jack Groates had a depressed aspect. An unaccountable cloud had arisen between himself and Jessie—unaccountable except to Jessie herself, and no doubt to Miss Sophy Coxen. It was a complete mystery to Jack's mother. He had never yet told her, or allowed Mimy to tell her, of the gossip which had reached his ears.

Mrs. Groates was not a person who would lend herself to the hearing of gossip, and people were rather careful what they ventured to say to her concerning Jack. She was apt to fire up, like a cat in defence of its kittens, if anything adverse were spoken as to any of her children—Jack above all. And though there was nothing exactly adverse to Jack in this particular tale, it was quite possible that her ire might be aroused at the very idea of any girl rejecting Jack, more especially before he had come forward with an offer.

Jessie seldom entered Groates' Store now to see Mrs. Groates, and when she did appear, her manner was constrained. She was by no means her old blithe little self; for the alteration in the condition of affairs was quite as much of a grief to her as to Jack.

She had, however, reluctantly made up her mind that Jack could, after all, have meant little, or he would not so soon have believed Miss Sophy's gossip. He too had grown cold and constrained; and she did not know how entirely this was caused by her own changed manner to him.

He said nothing, even to his mother; and Mrs. Groates would not try to force his confidence.

"If anything is wrong, it may come right again, if nobody meddles," she considered. "I don't hold with meddling in other folks' affairs in a hurry. Maybe they have had a bit of a quarrel, and maybe they'll make it up again. I'll wait and see."

But as days went by, and Jack's face grew longer, and Jessie's manner stiffer, Mrs. Groates found it increasingly hard to maintain silence.

"You're very busy nowadays, Jessie," she said one day, meeting her in the street. Jessie would have hurried by, but Mrs. Groates stopped her.

"Yes, I've a lot to do—helping Mildred," Jessie answered nervously, looking around, as if she wanted to escape.

"We're older friends of yours than Miss Pattison, but she seems to have stepped into our shoes with you, Jessie." There was a note of reproach in the voice. "You used to like coming to see us,—to see me and Jack."

"Of course I like going to see you. I don't see why I should care so very particularly for going to see—Jack!" with a slight break.

"Now, Jessie!"

"And I've got ever so much to do now. I'm learning dressmaking from Mildred Pattison, and I like it very much. I mean to be a dressmaker. Millie is getting heaps to do."

"And the Misses Coxen don't mind?"

Jessie's face had for a moment a curiously bitter look.

"I don't care if they do," she said shortly. "I mean, I don't care if Miss Sophy does. She can't expect to have everything always her own way. I don't mind if you tell her so too."

"Why, Jessie, you're not like yourself to-day, not one bit. What has come over you, I wonder?"

"Nothing. I'm just the same as I always was. Only I've got to hurry home, or I shall keep Millie waiting."

"Good-bye, then;" and Mrs. Groates turned away, very much hurt, while Jessie ran off with her eyes full.

It was hard to have to snub her kind friends, but what else could she do? If Jack had not the sense to understand and to come after her, things had to be thus. She at least would put it into the power of nobody to say that "Jessie had gone after Jack."

Mrs. Groates meanwhile walked on, thinking what a pity it was that so nice a girl should be so altered, and as she so considered, she met Miss Sophy Coxen.

"Good afternoon. It's a fine day," said Miss Sophy. "And how are you all getting on? I haven't seen much of you lately, but you must have had a deal to do with Jack laid by. He seems to be pretty nearly all right again now. I saw you talking just now to Jessie Perkins."

"Yes. How is Miss Coxen's hand?"

"Oh, pretty bad still. The doctor don't give any hope of its being fit for work for a long while yet. Just see what a time Mr. Gilbert's arm has been getting better. I don't think Mr. Bateson cures people as quick as he ought. He might do something or other, I should think."

"There's a good many things doctors can't do, and that's one, I shouldn't wonder," sagely remarked Mrs. Groates.

"Well, I don't know. I don't see why he shouldn't. It's very bad for us, I know; very bad indeed!" shaking her head till the curls danced. "I don't know whatever we shall do by-and-by. There's that Miss Pattison setting up herself for a fine London dressmaker, after pretending she wanted to help us, and getting all the work of the place into her hands. There 'll be nothing loft at all for sister and me to do, and however in the world we're to get along—. And that chit of a Jessie making believe to work too, as conceited as anything. They'll take the bread out of our mouths; and much they'll care."

"But I thought Miss Pattison was so good in finishing off that dress for Miss Gilbert that you couldn't get done, and not even wanting to be paid for the work," remarked Mrs. Groates, who pretty well understood the state of the case.

"O yes, I dare say. She's deep, that Miss Pattison. It sounded fine and grand, and it's brought her in a lot of work; and she knew what she was about all the while. I've got no patience with that sort of showing off. And now she'll do her best to ruin sister and me."

"I think you are wrong, Miss Sophy; I do think so really," Mrs. Groates answered, trying to control her indignation. "Miss Pattison isn't that sort, I'm sure. Not as I know her well; but I do like to be fair to people. And only yesterday Mrs. Mokes was in a regular taking because she says that Miss Pattison wouldn't have nothing to do with making dresses for her. She wasn't going to make dresses for none of your customers. And Mrs. Mokes was as vexed as could be."

"Yes, I dare say! That's the way. Setting up herself to make dresses for the ladies of Maxham Hall and Lee Court. She's doing both, I know. And they've never been to sister and me all the years we've done dressmaking here. Oh, I dare say Miss Pattison wasn't likely to make a dress for anybody so humble as Mrs. Mokes—I shouldn't wonder if she wouldn't! But as for her pretending it's for our sake,—no, no, I know better."

Mrs. Groates was silent. She really did not feel capable of answering this outflow of ill-will. That Miss Sophy was utterly in the wrong in her estimate of Mildred Pattison, Mrs. Groates had not the smallest doubt, but to convince Miss Sophy of the same would be a difficult matter. The outflow went on, unchecked:—

"There's carriages stopping at the door of Periwinkle Cottage, and ladies going up Miss Perkins' stairs to be tried on, and Miss Perkins thinking herself as grand as anything. And as for Jessie, why her head's fairly turned. If you don't see it, I do. Jessie used to be mighty good friends with your Jack, and folks did say something was to come of it, but now she'll scarce turn her head his way. Jack's nothing like good enough for her."

"How do you know?" demanded Mrs. Groates, her motherly heart aching for Jack.

"Why, anybody can see, I should think. It don't take much in the way of eyes. And it isn't seeing only. I said something to Jessie herself about Jack one day,—just in a friendly sort of way. And, dear me, didn't she give herself airs, and toss up her head.

"'Marry Jack Groates?' says she; 'not if I was to be paid for it!'

"'But you would if he asked you,' says I.

"'I wouldn't, though,' said she. 'Jack may get another sort of wife. He needn't look to have me. I hope I'll be able to look higher than that, anyway.'"

By which it may be perceived that Miss Sophy was not exact in her report of what had occurred, and that the story had gained in size.

"I'm sorry to hear that Jessie is such a little goose," Mrs. Groates replied, outwardly cool, inwardly burning. "Whether or no Jack ever wants to marry her, I'm sure of one thing, and that is that she'll never find a truer or better husband than my Jack would be. But he needn't be in a hurry. There's plenty of girls to be had."

"And plenty of young men, too, for the matter of that!" Miss Sophy retorted. "If Jessie likes to look higher, there's no particular reason why she shouldn't, I suppose. As for Jack choosing, everybody's known for a long while past that he's been wanting Jessie. But it don't seem likely that he'll get her."