This was the story which had to be re-arranged for Lilla's benefit,
but Hannah trusted to the inspiration of the moment and wasted no time
which could be spent on the beauty of the October day. The sun shone
with the peculiar brightness of autumn and, in passing through the
trees and gilding them, it seemed to borrow as it gave and strike the
heaps of fallen leaves with added strength. The streets had the white,
swept appearance given by the East wind, chimneys and roofs made sharp
lines on the blue sky, and sounds of voices, footsteps, cars and carts
and horses, had an unusual resonance. Michaelmas daisies and dahlias
flowered in the gardens, there were berries on the rowan trees, the
world seemed to be flying every flag it had, and, when Hannah crossed
The Green, the fall of a chestnut sounded stealthy, as though its
descent were a little shameful in the general glory. It lay among the
leaves, a glossy roan, bursting from its green, spiked shell, and she
stooped to pick it up, but left it lying there. When the children came
out of school one of them would find it and, for her, to remember the
feeling of that polished ball was just as good as to handle it. Indeed,
she thought, it was better, for the good thing remembered or hoped for
had a blessed superiority over the thing grasped, and she fancied that
God, finding the decent order of his plans upset by the wilfulness of
the creatures for whom he made them, had been tenderly inspired with
this idea of compensation.
'And a good thing, too!' she muttered, glancing at the clock on the
otherwise conscientiously Early English Church.
There was no time to go round the hill and look at the river: she must
go down Chatterton Street, which had a turning into Channing Square,
and risk encountering Mrs. Widdows. The risk was not great. She would
be dozing, poor thing, over the fire in the stuffy little sitting-room,
while the woman she had dismissed with contumely--that was a good word,
though Hannah was never sure how to pronounce it--was taking a part
in this fine pageant. She realized that her contribution was purely
spiritual: there was nothing ornamental in her appearance and her
clothes were always of a useful shade, but she held up her head and
walked briskly, enjoying the snap of twigs and the sibilance of leaves
under her feet.
The narrow road she was following widened at its juncture with several
others. The Avenue was stately on her left hand, another road, shaded
by trees, came curling up from the river: on her right, a broader one
skirted that edge of the Downs which she could reach by the short
ascent in front of her, and the ends of all these roads were held
together, as in a knot, by a drinking fountain for men and beasts.
It was hard to believe that the big, sprawling city was so near. This
was a place for leisure, for genteel strolling, for long crocodiles of
school-girls who must partake of the elegant beauties of nature among
their other forms of nourishment, and ladies in small bonnets and
bustles should have been walking under the trees. Here there was no
impingement of new on old or of shabbiness on prosperity, and Hannah
would have felt less affection for this part of Upper Radstowe, lovely
as the trees made it, if it had not grown out of the older one and if
she had not known that her own country, wild under its demureness,
grey-rocked under its springy turf, lay just across the water.
The Downs were not the country, but they came as near it as they could.
They stretched away, almost out of sight, rimmed by distant roads
and houses on all sides but the cliffed one, and great trees as well
as hawthorn bushes grew there. A double row of elms marched straight
towards Lilla's house and, as Hannah walked in their dappled shadows,
she heard the thud of hooves and the creak of leather and the jingle
of steel, and it seemed to fit the mixed character of the Downs that
these riders should be on hired horses, that the sheep, industriously
nibbling, should have dirty fleeces, and that voices thick with
the Radstowe burr should come from the throats of youths kicking a
football. But always, even, it seemed to Hannah, when it rained, the
clouds sailed higher over that part of the world than elsewhere, and
she had heard Lilla say that, except on Saturdays and Sundays, the
view from her windows had almost the appearance of a private park.
Unfortunately, Lilla's house, which was already discernible as a red
and white blot beyond the trees, could not be mistaken for one of
England's stately homes. It had been built for Ernest's father towards
the end of his life, and the attempt to produce something like a small
Elizabethan manor house had been frustrated by his determination
that there should be no misunderstanding about its origin, and below
the flat gables of the top storey, bow windows and a porch bulged on
the ground floor; the tiles were the reddest procurable and white
stucco concealed the bricks. The garden was separated from the road
by its own width of greensward guarded by posts and chains, and this
indication that the Spenser-Smiths had more than enough garden to spare
was callously interpreted by urchins as an invitation to swing on the
chains. Even Lilla's ointment had a fly in it, Hannah thought, beaming
on a culprit who had expected a frown, and she blinked affectedly, for
her own amusement, when she opened the gate and met the full glare of
white and red and yellow under the sunshine.
The doorstep was spotless, the knocker gleamed, potted chrysanthemums
were arranged in tiers in the porch, and Hannah had her nose against a
flower and was savouring its sweet bitterness, when the door opened.
From the parlour-maid's point of view, this was a bad beginning, and
either in punishment or on her quick estimate of this caller's place in
the world, she took Hannah to a small room which had a feeling of not
being lived in. Here the humble and the suppliant sat on the edges of
the chairs; here were kept the books which were not obviously the right
ones for the Spenser-Smiths to possess. The classics, Hannah guessed,
were displayed somewhere to advantage, and these were the pickings from
book-stalls, children's books and those by writers of whose eminence
and respectability Lilla was not assured.
Hannah took down a volume and prepared to wait, but Lilla, apparently,
was anxious to know the worst as soon as possible, and after tactfully
showing annoyance that Hannah should have been left in a room without a
fire, she took her cousin into a drawing-room bright with gay cretonne,
a wood fire and sunshine, and asked cheerfully if this were her free
afternoon.
'Well, yes, as you might say and in a manner of speaking, it is. And a
very nice afternoon, too. It will help us through the winter, as they
always say. And this is a very nice room. You see, Lilla, all's right
with my world.'
'I'm very glad to hear it,' Mrs. Spenser-Smith said with reserve. She
had had some experience of Hannah's high spirits. 'Are you going to
stay to tea?'
'If you press me like that, dear, of course I will. Time exists for me
no longer, unless I'm hungry, and there are ways of misleading one's
stomach. By staying in bed till ten o'clock, I can manage on a cup of
tea till the middle of the day; you're giving me a free meal and I
shall be in bed with a book before the pangs begin again.'
'For goodness sake,' said Lilla, who had rung the bell, 'don't talk
any of your nonsense while Maud's bringing in the tea. And afterwards,
you'd better tell me what you mean by it.'
'I mean,' said Hannah, when the ban of silence was removed, 'that I'm
resting at present, as we say on the stage. Remark the pronoun, Lilla.
I was on the stage once, you know. In a crowd. And they let me wear my
own clothes!'
'Then, if I were you,' said Lilla, 'I should be careful not to mention
it. How you could do it! But I don't suppose you really did. And true
or not, if you say things like that, what's going to become of you?'
'It was a virtuous crowd,' Hannah said meekly. 'We were all booing a
bad man. You can't ask more than that. I booed for a week and they
picked up another shabby female in the next town.'
'I don't want to hear about it,' Lilla said. 'For your own sake, you'd
better not tell me what you know I shan't approve of.'
'Ah,' said Hannah, 'what's your little scheme?'
Lilla tightened her lips. 'I don't know that I'm justified in having
one.'
'That doesn't matter in the least, dear.'
'It matters to me,' she said, and then, with a quick change from the
noble to the practical, she asked sharply, 'Did you get a month's
wages?'
A little shamefaced, Hannah nodded her head. 'I did. I managed to be
unbearably irritating without being actually rude, so she could neither
keep nor rob me. It took some doing, I can tell you. And I was longing
to be rude--personally abusive, you know--but there, I don't suppose
you do; you're so genteel.'
Lilla pushed a cushion behind her back, wreaking on the impassivity of
down the annoyance which would have made as little permanent impression
on Hannah. 'And where are you staying now? You didn't go the same
night, I suppose?'
'No. The next morning--in a cab.' She spoke slowly and her eyes had the
fixity of careful thought. 'A horse cab, with a beery, bottle-nosed old
man on the box.'
'I don't want details.'
'They're part of the story and old bottle-nose is the knight-errant.
It's a pity his type is dying out. They know a lot about life, those
old men, and I like them. They always believe the worst and they don't
mind a bit. He knew what had happened at once and I'm sorry to tell
you that he winked at me. No, I didn't wink back, but I let him know
that I knew how, and then I told him I wanted some cheap lodgings and
he said he knew the very place for me. And so he did. He took me to a
house in Prince's Road, quite near your place of worship, dear, and I'm
sure you'll feel quite happy about me because Mrs. Gibson is a member
of the congregation. I would have let you know sooner, but I've been so
busy in the free library, looking at the advertisements.'
'Nothing,' said Lilla after a pause, 'could have been more unfortunate.'
'Why? I call it very lucky. Only a pound a week for a bed-sitting-room,
a shilling in the slot for the gas-fire, and a share of Mrs. Gibson's
dinner for practically nothing. She's far too generous, but I try to
help her and she says she finds my conversation very bright.'
'Most unfortunate!' Lilla repeated. 'And why that cabman should have
taken you to one of the houses I should have wished you to avoid, is
more than I can understand.'
'It seems quite respectable,' Hannah murmured. 'Mr. Blenkinsop lives
there, you know.'
'Of course I know it! But I suppose you don't see much of him?'
'As much as I can,' Hannah answered cheerfully. 'But he's rather a shy
bird. And if you're worrying about what I've told these people, you can
set your mind at rest. The name of Spenser-Smith has never passed my
lips. Mrs. Gibson wouldn't feel at ease with me if she knew I had such
grand connections.'
Lilla assumed the expression with which she tried to counter Hannah's
attacks. It was almost, but not quite, blank. She gave the cushion
another push and said, 'I was thinking of this silly way of talking
about theatres. It doesn't do, Hannah. It may be bright,' she made
the word astonishingly acid, 'but it will be remembered against you.
The fact is--mind, I'm not sure about it, but I do want you to be
careful--there's a chance that I can get you a post as Mr. Corder's
housekeeper.'
'Who's he? Oh, I know. The minister. Does he want one?'
'No,' said Lilla, compressing her lips again, 'but I think he ought to
have one.'
'Then he's doomed,' said Hannah. 'Thank you, Lilla. I take this very
kind. What's the salary?'
'Nothing's settled. You mustn't count on it. Mr. Corder is a widower
and he's talking it over with his daughter.'
'Oh, he's got a daughter.'
'Two,' said Lilla. 'Ruth is still at school and somebody ought to look
after her. The other night at the Literary meeting----'
'Was Mr. Blenkinsop amusing?' Hannah interpolated.
'No. He didn't seem to be thinking about what he was saying.'
'No wonder!' Hannah murmured. 'But go on, dear, go on. At the Literary
meeting----?'
'Ruth had a large hole in her stocking. It looks so bad. Ethel's
useless, she's always at the Mission, and I've been thinking for some
time that they ought to have a responsible woman in the house. There's
only a skimpy little servant and there's a young man cousin who lives
with them--Mr. Corder's son is at Oxford and, between you and me,
Hannah, I make that possible--and I don't think it's quite nice, but
I wasn't going to suggest anything until I could recommend somebody.
There are plenty of women in the chapel who would jump at the chance,
but I was fond of Mrs. Corder--'
'Say no more, dear!' Hannah exclaimed. 'I understand it all! You want
a good, solid sand-bag to fill up the gap; you want a watchdog, of
no breed or beauty, but warranted to bark; your affection for the
poor woman's memory is stronger than his and you're not going to let
him forget her altogether. Quite right!' Hannah's thin, odd face was
glowing, her eyes, greener than usual, shone. 'It's not complimentary
to me, but it's magnificent and I'll bark like fury. And they say women
are not loyal to each other! Why, already, I feel like a sister to Mrs.
What's-her-name myself!'
'Don't be ridiculous,' said Mrs. Spenser-Smith. 'I liked Mrs. Corder
well enough. She was rather a nonentity, compared with him, poor little
woman, but I believe she did her best, and when I see that Patsy
Withers making eyes at him----'
'I'll remember the name,' Hannah said.
'You haven't got the post yet,' Lilla said sharply, 'and I don't
believe you're really fit for it. I've stretched a point, Hannah. I
don't suppose you could produce a written character which Mr. Corder
would look at twice, and goodness knows what you've been doing all
these years, and if you go, I do hope you'll remember that I've
practically guaranteed you. And, by the way, I've said nothing about
our relationship. I thought it wouldn't be fair to either of you. I
want you to go there on your own merits. I mentioned this to Ernest and
he quite agrees.'
Hannah smiled with pleasant maliciousness and said nothing, but she
gave the impression of being ready to say a good deal and Lilla went
on hastily. 'I'll let you know what happens. I shall see him at the
week-night service.'
'But won't he want to see me?'
'Not necessary,' said Mrs. Spenser-Smith in her best Spenser-Smithian
manner.
'Not advisable, you mean! I daresay you're right. What sort of man is
he? Is he brisk and hearty, or one of those gentle paw-folders?'
'That isn't funny, Hannah, it's vulgar; I might say irreverent. Do try
to remember you're a lady.'
'But I'm not. I come of the same stock as you do, Lilla, and we know
what that is. Simple yeoman stock, and my father often dropped his
aitches and so did yours. I know you don't like remembering it, but
there's the fact. I happened to be educated above my station--though
you, of course, were not!--and there are times when I revert--revert,
Lilla! But I'll try to behave myself and I'll keep my eye on Patsy.
Thank you for the tea, and now I'll go back to Mrs. Gibson and cobble
up some of my underclothes, though I hope they'll be a matter of
indifference to the Reverend Corder.'
'There you are again!' Lilla said with a sigh, and she offered her
cool, rosy face to be kissed.
'It's only a bit of fun between us girls!' Hannah cried, and as she
brushed her cheek against her cousin's, she added, 'You're a good soul,
Lilla. I always liked you.'
'Oh, go along with you,' Lilla said good-naturedly and gently urged
her to the door. There was no knowing what generous foolishness Ernest
would commit, if he found her in the house when he came home.