"But it shan't be," said Jean. "What's the use of me if I'm not to help?
No. Don't stiffen and look at me like that. I'm not offering you
charity. Perhaps you may have heard that I've been left a lot of
money--in trust. It's your money as much as mine; if it's anybody's it's
God's money. I felt I just couldn't pass your door this morning, and I
spoke to you, though I was frightfully scared--you looked so
stand-offish.... Now listen. All I've got to do is to send your name to
my lawyer--he's in London, and he knows nothing about anybody in
Priorsford, so you needn't worry about him--and he will arrange that you
get a sufficient income all your life. No, it isn't charity. You've
fought hard all your life for others, and it's high time you got a rest.
Everyone should get a rest and a competency when they are sixty. (Not
that you are nearly that, of course.) Some day that happy state of
affairs will be. Now the kettle's almost boiling, and I'm going to make
you a cup of tea. Where's the caddy?"
There was a spoonful of tea in the caddy, but in the cupboard there was
only the heel of a loaf--no butter, no cheese, no jam.
"I'm at the end of my tether," Miss Abbot admitted. "And unless I touch
the money laid away for my rent, I haven't a penny in the house."
"Then," said Jean, "it was high time I turned up." She heated the teapot
and poked the bit of coal into a blaze. "Now here's your tea"--she
reached for her bag that lay on the table--"and here's some money to go
on with. Oh, please don't let's go over it all again. Do, my dear, be
reasonable."
"I doubt it's charity," said poor Miss Abbot, "but I cannot refuse.
Indeed, I don't seem to take it in.... I've whiles dreamed something
like this, and cried when I wakened. This last year has been something
awful--trying to hide my failing eye-sight and pretending I didn't need
sewing when I was near starving, and always seeing the workhouse before
me. When I got up this morning there seemed to be a high wall in front
of me, and I knew I had come to the end. I thought God had forgotten
me."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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