The old Worcester jug E-Book

Eglanton Thorne

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 154

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

MIDWAY in a long lane of houses, running east and west between Plymouth and Stonehouse, stood, some years ago, a small whitewashed house with bright green shutters and bright green door. It was hardly more than a cottage in size. The houses opposite were far larger, but the smaller dwelling had the advantage in respectability of appearance. It claimed attention, too, by the announcement painted in large letters over the door: JOHN GRIFFIN'S OLD CURIOSITY SHOP.

Leseprobe

THE

OLD WORCESTER JUG;

OR,

JOHN GRIFFIN'S LITTLE MAID.

BY

EGLANTON THORNE

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER.

I. A GOOD BARGAIN

II. A SUDDEN PARTING

III. MAGGIE'S SECOND VISIT TO THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP

IV. JOHN GRIFFIN MAKES A VOW

V. MAUD PLATTEN AND LESLIE THORNTON

VI. HOW JOHN GRIFFIN KEPT HIS VOW

VII. CHRISTMAS DAY

VIII. MAUD PLATTEN VISITS THE SHOP

IX. THE JUG FINDS A PURCHASER

X. MAGGIE GOES TO THE DOCTOR'S HOUSE

XI. COLONEL PLATTEN RECEIVES A STRANGE REQUEST

XII. MAGGIE IS CLAIMED

XIII. OLD GRIFFIN FALLS ASLEEP

THE OLD WORCESTER JUG

CHAPTER I.

A Good Bargain.

MIDWAY in a long lane of houses, running east and west between Plymouth and Stonehouse, stood, some years ago, a small whitewashed house with bright green shutters and bright green door. It was hardly more than a cottage in size. The houses opposite were far larger, but the smaller dwelling had the advantage in respectability of appearance. It claimed attention, too, by the announcement painted in large letters over the door: JOHN GRIFFIN'S OLD CURIOSITY SHOP.

The house stood a little back from the lane, and a narrow flagged path led to the door. There was no shop frontage, but the window was filled with specimens of almost every variety of china and glass ware, and both shutters bore the words:

JOHN GRIFFIN, Dealer in British and Foreign China ALL KINDS OF OLD CHINA BOUGHT, SOLD, OR GIVEN IN EXCHANGE.

REPAIRS NEATLY EXECUTED

Small as the shop was, it was perhaps the most important of all in the lane. This fact, however, did not reflect great credit on its owner, since most of the shops in that dingy thoroughfare were pawnbrokers', or second-hand stores of one kind or another, with a disproportionately large number of public-houses. But John Griffin's shop had peculiarities of its own, and his circumstances were certainly superior to those of his neighbours.

Although the lane had a bad character, being the resort of the most degraded characters of the two towns to which it belonged, so that few persons of the gentler classes passed that way, unless drawn there by business or charitable intent, it sometimes happened that a carriage drove up to John Griffin's door; and on rare occasions ladies had been seen to pass in and out the narrow doorway, drawing their skirts closely round them as they stepped through with an air of fastidious caution.

To any one possessed by the china mania, "THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP" offered many attractions. Packed into its limited space were varieties of almost every china ware. The dealer prided himself on his thorough knowledge of his business. He was also a connoisseur of the fragile and costly articles, in which he did a not inconsiderable trade. No trouble was too great for him to take, in order to increase his knowledge or add to his store of curiosities. He would often walk a long distance merely to look upon a rare specimen of antique china.

One cold, damp December evening, Griffin was in his shop, examining some cracked cups and saucers and a venerable teapot, which he had that day purchased at a sale. The place dignified by the name of shop was only the front room of the house. It was scarcely fourteen feet square; but the quantity of goods it contained exceeded all expectation. Not an inch of space was wasted. To enter required the utmost caution, so narrow was the passage left between piles of most brittle ware, and tables and chests loaded with all sorts of curiosities.

The upper part of the walls to the edge of the low ceiling was hung with plates and dishes. Some of these were brown and cracked, colourless and common in appearance; others were prettily painted with landscapes, flowers, or figures. Many of the ugliest and shabbiest articles seemed to have gained places of high honour, showing that in respect to valuable china, it is not wise to judge by looks.

John Griffin did not deal exclusively in china. Standing against the back wall, and well-laden with goods, were three carved oak cabinets, richly-coloured by age; old pictures and quaintly wrought mirrors leaned against them; clocks of ancient form stood on the mantel-shelf; second-hand books lay in piles on the floor, and even a few broken-ribbed umbrellas were stowed away behind the door. The shop always seemed to be in the most hopeless muddle; but there was method in the confusion, and Griffin himself had never any difficulty in finding the article he wanted.

The china-dealer was by no means the terrible personage his name might suggest. He was a short, square-set man, about sixty years of age, with a large head, well covered by curly grey hair, keen grey eyes, made the keener by the round, thick-rimmed spectacles he wore, and the earnest intent expression of a man whose aims in life have all set into one narrow channel. He did not look unamiable this evening as he stood in his shop talking to himself, as was his habit. He had just taken a large, well-thumbed book from a drawer close at hand, and was comparing a mark that his quick eyes had discovered at the bottom of the cup, with one printed on the page before him.

"I thought so," he said, in a tone of triumph; "this is real old Dresden, and no mistake. Pity there should be that chip; but a little china clay and a touch of the brush will soon set that right, and few people will be the wiser. I didn't throw my money away when I bought that."

He gave a low chuckle of satisfaction at the thought. Just then he became conscious of a faint, somewhat hesitating knock at the door.

"Who's there?" asked Griffin; and as there was no response, he put down the cup, went to the door and opened it.

A woman stood in the narrow passage, with a little girl by her side.

"Do you buy old china?" she inquired.

"Yes, I buy it, ma'am, if it's worth buying," he replied, looking wonderingly at her.

She was a tall, slight woman, with pale, emaciated face, lit up by glittering dark eyes. She wore a thin black shawl, and a widow's bonnet, which was at the last degree of shabbiness. Evidently she was very poor, yet Griffin instinctively addressed her as he was wont to address his lady customers. Miserable as she looked, her pure refined speech, and the grace of her manner at once told him that she was a lady. Griffin's dealings with gentlefolks had taught him to distinguish between a real lady and a "would-be-fine" one.

"I have some china here, which I wish to dispose of," said the lady, taking from her child a large bag, which she seemed to carry with difficulty, though she was better able to support its weight than her mother.

"Very good, ma'am; please to walk inside, and I'll look at it," said the dealer; "only be careful how you move, if you please, or your skirts may do a mischief."

The lady advanced a few steps into the room, whilst the child lingered in the doorway, looking on with large dark eyes, preternaturally anxious and shrewd.

"This, I believe, is a Lowestoft bowl," said the widow, taking from the bag a small bowl of pale blue china, embellished with flowers of a darker blue.

"They calls them Lowestoft, but they're really Oriental," said Griffin, carelessly taking the bowl, and tapping it with his knuckles as if to test its soundness. "This ain't real Lowestoft china. You can see it in the book, if you like to look. I get a plenty of bowls like this: they're no great rarity."

"Then you would not be inclined to buy it," said the lady, laying her trembling hand on the table for support.

"I don't say I won't buy it," he returned, in his peculiar, nasal drawl; "but I couldn't give you more than five shillings for it."

"Only five shillings!" said the lady, heaving a deep sigh.

"I couldn't do more, ma'am, it wouldn't pay me," he said; "but you've some other things in your bag; let me see."

The white, wasted hand drew out a plate of pretty blue and gold ware.

"I have three others like this I could bring you, if you would care to buy them," she said.

Pretty though it was, the plate had clearly no attraction for the dealer. His lips emitted a faint sound of contempt at the sight of it.

"No, no, it wouldn't be worth my while to buy that," he said, decidedly, "it's scarce ten year old, and quite a common sort of china. I don't make no account of that. I'd give it to my wife to do what she liked with."

John Griffin could not more strongly depreciate a piece of china than by saying that he would give it to his wife, since he was careful to guard from her touch everything which he esteemed as valuable.

The lady looked discouraged. With reluctance she drew from her bag the last article it contained.

"This I know to be old," she said; "and I have heard my—I have been told that it is of considerable value."

It was a curious old-fashioned jug. The dealer knew its worth better than she did. Though he took it from her with an air of indifference, its appearance excited his warmest interest. He examined the jug carefully.

It was of rare old Worcester ware, and quaintly moulded. Its colour was pale yellow. The rim and handle were wreathed with roses and poppies; whilst butterflies, bees, and beetles were painted below at equal intervals. The spout was shaped to form the head of a man with long, pointed beard, and remarkably red cheeks and lips.

But the chief beauty of the jug was seen in the three exquisite little pictures of country life which adorned its wider circumference. One picture showed some cows in a meadow, and two pretty milkmaids, coquettishly dressed, about to bear away the milk. One girl had her bucket safely poised on her head, whilst her companion was in the act of receiving her burden from the hands of an obliging young man, with long, flowing locks. In the next picture, there was but one milkmaid, who leaned idly against a tree, stool in hand, and empty pails beside her, listening to the talk of a swain who stood near, dressed in the most fanciful of rural costumes; whilst the cows lay on the grass, lazily chewing the cud, and apparently content to await the milkmaid's pleasure. The third picture represented the milkmaid engaged in milking one of the reddest of cows, whilst her swain, resting beneath the tree, charmed her ear with the notes of his flute.

John Griffin did not notice all these details, however. He cast one rapid glance at the pictures, and then began searching with eyes and hands for crack or flaw. None was to be found. The jug was perfect, and a mark well-known to Griffin proved it to be genuine old Worcester. But the dealer was too clever at making bargains to declare unguardedly how valuable he thought it. He meant to get possession of it; but it would not do to show eagerness.

"It is good of its kind," he said, when he had made his hasty examination. "May I ask what price you've heard put upon it?"

"Oh, I cannot tell," said the lady; "I never thought I should have to sell the jug; for it is an old family possession, which I would not willingly part with. But of course I want to get a good price for it. It is very handsome, I think."

"Oh, it's pretty enough in its way," said the dealer, in a tone of depreciation. "But prettiness ain't everything. You see that jug there, mum," pointing to a plain-looking specimen of no particular colour, and with no beauty of form—"I daresay you wouldn't think it, for it's not what you would call a pretty jug, but I expect to get nine guineas for that jug."

"Indeed!" said the lady, in a faint tone of surprise. "How is that?"

"Plymouth, mum, real old Plymouth, marked so as any one can see,— I don't know where I could find its equal," said the dealer, in a tone of enthusiasm.

"But what sort of jug is mine, and what would you give me for it?" asked the widow, anxious to get her business over.

"It's Worcester, mum; and as it's without a crack, I can give you fifteen shillings for it."

"Only fifteen shillings!" she said; in a tone of disappointment, for his mention of the price of the other jug had made her think that he could not offer her less than a pound for this, and she had hoped he would say more.

"Fifteen shillings, and five for the bowl; and if you like to bring me the other plates I'll give you twenty-two shillings and sixpence for the lot. I'll take them to oblige you, for it's not my custom to buy such common china."

"Thank you," said the widow, after a moment's hesitation; "I agree to it."

Griffin put his hand in his pocket, and drew out a leathern bag, from which he extracted a sovereign and half-a-crown, and handed them to the lady.

"Shall I take all this now?" she said. "Will you pay for the plates before you get them?"

"It's no difference, mum," said the old dealer, "bring me the plates whenever you like: I know what it is to deal with ladies."

"You are very good," said the lady, faintly; "my little girl shall bring them to you to-morrow morning. We are living close by."

Till now Griffin had hardly been aware of the presence of the child, who stood still as a little statue in the doorway; but at these words he turned his gaze on her. He was conscious of a strange inward thrill as he met the full deep glance of her large brown eyes, which looked the larger for the tears that stood in them.

They would come—those tears—in spite of her resolve to be a good girl and not mind parting with the jug, which seemed like a part of her little life, for she could not remember the time when she had not loved to look at the pictures upon it, and hear her mother tell stories about the pretty cows and prettier milkmaids.

The child looked very different from the children Griffin was accustomed to see playing in the lane. Her face was small and pretty, though the sad, anxious look it now wore was not such, happily, as is often seen on children's faces. Her dress was threadbare, but perfectly clean and neat, and there was a delicacy and refinement in her bearing only rendered the more striking by her shabby clothing.

John Griffin noted all this as he looked upon her, and the child's unusual demeanour made him uncomfortable, for it seemed to him that her large dark eyes had power to read his thoughts, and she divined that he was taking an unfair advantage of her mother's ignorance. Griffin had a strange sense of being found out as he looked away from the child.

Yet he had never before thought it wrong to drive as good a bargain as he could. Since he began his trade it had been his endeavour to buy as cheaply as possible, in order to sell again at the highest price. It was absurd that this child's open, innocent gaze should make him feel as if he had done a mean action.

"Come, Maggie," said the child's mother, giving her the bag, "we must be going."

But as she turned to go, a violent fit of coughing seized the poor woman. So severe was the attack, that she staggered back against the wall of the passage, faint and panting for breath.

"Oh, mamma," cried little Maggie, running to her, and taking her hand; then turning to the dealer, she fixed on him a distressed, beseeching glance.

"I'll get you some water; it's dreadful, a cough like that," said old Griffin, with an alacrity strange to him where china was not concerned.

"No, thank you; I am better now," said the widow, slowly recovering breath; "it's nothing, I'm used to it."

"Poor mamma is so ill," said Maggie, addressing the old man with the easy confidence of childhood; "and she has eaten nothing to-day."

"Hush, Maggie!" interrupted her mother, in a sharp, quick tone. "Come along. Good night."

As she spoke she passed out into the cold, dark night. A delicate woman should not have been abroad on such a night. The keen wind which blew in at the open door made even old Griffin shiver.

"Who ever was that coughing so?" asked his wife, looking out of the inner room as he closed the door.

"A poor lady that came to sell some china," he replied.

"She must be very ill. I can't bear to hear a cough like that; it's what I call a churchyard cough," remarked Mrs. Griffin. "Did you buy any of the china?"

"Yes, I did; and a nice bit I've got too," returned her husband.

"What is it?" asked his wife, coming to the door of the shop.

Mrs. Griffin felt little interest in old china save as a means of making money. To her taste modern china seemed far preferable to most of the old cracked ware which her husband took such pains to mend and preserve. But the jug which Griffin was now holding up to view struck her as being a nice purchase.

"Why, that's a real pretty jug now!" she exclaimed. "What may you have given for that?"

"Fifteen shillings," he replied.

"And what do you expect to sell it for?"

"I hope I may make five guineas by it," he said.

"You don't mean it! Come now, that is a good bargain," she exclaimed, in a tone of delight; "and what about that bowl, did you buy that too?"

"Oh, that isn't good for much," he said; "and I bought that plate too, and three others that are to come. I don't know what made me buy them, for they're poor stuff."

"The plate is very pretty, I think," said Mrs. Griffin, examining it. "When are the others coming?"

"The child is to bring them to-morrow morning," said her husband, rather absently.

"What child? You surely haven't paid for them before you've got them?" she said.

"Yes, I have," he returned; "and you need not look as if you thought me foolish. She was a real lady. It'll be all right, I know; but if not, I sha'n't lose anything."

"Well, I only hope you'll get the plates," said his wife, in a tone expressive of strong doubt, as she retreated down the passage; "but anyhow, as you say, you'll have made a good bargain."