The shadow that fell on Hannah the next morning was not the one of
Robert Corder's displeasure. It was a darker one that hung over her all
the week and, on the evening of the supper-party, she slipped out of
the house and walked swiftly up the road. At the top of it, she stood
still and, drawing a deep breath, looked back. The road was empty.
There was nothing to be seen, and she had not expected to see anything,
except the lighted windows of the houses and the street lamps which
stood like sentinels who were tired of keeping unnecessary watch and
did not recognise a fugitive in Miss Mole, and there was no one to
notice her as she paused with her back against the railings of a garden
and a wry smile on her lips. She was thinking that, until this moment,
she had not run away from anything since the days when she had believed
in the clever bear and pretended a wolf was coming after her.
'Drat the man!' she said, recovering her jauntiness.
She had shut her door in his face, ten years ago, and that was a
heartening memory, and if she avoided him now it was for reasons which
he would be the last person to understand. And, if she had stayed,
what a pleasantly-shocking little talk he and Robert Corder, closeted
in the study, would have had about her! She could imagine the shakings
of heads over Mr. Pilgrim's revelations, the pursings of lips, and
Robert Corder's sudden, angry realisation that he would have to
face an awkward situation. She had spared him that, for the present,
and it had been easier than she dared to hope when the name of Mr.
Pilgrim fell blastingly on her ears. It was Mr. Pilgrim for whom she
had been so ready to kill the fatted calf--but it was she who was the
prodigal! It was he who was the eligible bachelor of her hopes and,
characteristically, she had time to be sorry for Ethel before she began
to consider herself. Even Ethel could hardly be enthusiastic about
Mr. Pilgrim after she had seen him, and Ruth and Wilfrid were already
in dismay at the prospect of an evening with a strange minister. They
enraged Ethel with their prophecies of how he would look and what he
would say and, in spite of Hannah's distress, she longed to prompt
them. They wondered if he would be content to discuss ministerial
affairs with Robert Corder, a possibility at which Ethel rolled anxious
eyes, or whether they would be expected to help in his entertainment,
and it was then that Wilfrid opened the door for Hannah by thanking his
God they had her to rely on.
'And if he's not the man I take him for, he'll think she's a rare bird
to find in Beresford Road. But if he is, and I'm afraid he is, then
it will be she who'll get all the fun. So you'll enjoy yourself, Mona
Lisa, if no one else does, and you must do your best for us.'
Ethel was affronted as, no doubt, Wilfrid meant her to be, and her
anger against him, assuaged by the imminence of Mr. Pilgrim, returned
in force. She had been keeping her father's house, she reminded him,
for the last two years and this was not the first time they had
received a guest. He was trying to make Miss Mole think she did not
know how to behave--he was always praising some one to annoy somebody
else--and, as a matter of fact, it would be easier for her without
Miss Mole. It was very difficult to be the hostess when there was
another woman there, older than oneself. It made her nervous. They had
had the Spenser-Smiths to supper and Mrs. Spenser-Smith had said how
nice everything had been.
'That was because she talked all the time. This Pilgrim fellow may
stammer, or something, and then the uncle will have to do the talking
and that'll be the last visit Pilgrim pays here. You mark my words!
It's better to have Miss Mole in the hand than to drive Pilgrim into
the bush.'
'Oh, how horrid you are!' Ethel cried. 'Of course he doesn't stammer.
How could he preach?'
'Perhaps he can't.'
'And you're disgusting about Father, and perfectly ridiculous about
Miss Mole.' Ethel's voice was getting beyond control. 'Why should you
think she's such a brilliant conversationalist? I've never noticed it.'
'Ah, she's like old Samson's parrot. She can do it when she chooses.
But then, I know I'm prejudiced about her.'
Hannah raised her head from her darning and looked coolly from one to
the other. 'I don't know what your manners will be like on Thursday,'
she said quietly, 'but I hope they won't be what they are now. You
needn't continue the discussion because I happen to be engaged that
evening.'
'Oh, I say, what luck! Can't you be engaged to me?'
'But, Miss Mole--' Ethel began and her face was stilled by her rapid
calculations.
'If you're thinking about the cooking, you needn't worry about that. I
shall leave the supper prepared and, as you say, it will be easier for
you without me, and for everybody else.'
'It won't. It'll be much worse,' Ruth muttered, and Ethel, preoccupied
with a new thought, could only dart a glance at this second ally of
Miss Mole's before she asked--'But what will Father think?'
'I don't know,' Hannah replied simply.
'And I don't mean to be rude, Miss Mole--'
'But you succeeded,' Hannah said.
'I'm sorry, Miss Mole. It was only because Wilfrid made me so angry.
And I don't think Father will like it. And suppose Doris makes
mistakes?'
'She will,' Hannah said pleasantly, and she could have added the
assurance that Mr. Pilgrim would not know.
It was clear that her mind was made up and though Robert Corder
resented Miss Mole's engagement, in a place unnamed, and let her know
it, he also let her know, but without intention, that he was secretly
relieved, for a housekeeper, like a son at Oxford, was a good thing to
mention casually, but an irritation in the flesh, when she happened to
have a trick of misinterpreting the most obvious remarks. It was this
which had obliged him to ignore his discovery of her in Ruth's bedroom
and he felt mentally securer when she was out of the house.
She could divine all this with the acuteness which was partly natural
and partly an acquired habit of self-defence, she could see him on the
brink of asking what her engagement might be and retiring, as usual,
under cover of some unnecessary orders, and now, just before the guest
was due, she had run up the street to find a temporary refuge with Mrs.
Gibson.
As she turned into Prince's Road she reflected sagely on the sequence
of events and the difficulty of deciding that this one was good and
that one evil. If she had not deceived Mrs. Widdows and gone out to
buy the reel of silk, she could not have saved Mr. Ridding's life, and
while Mr. Blenkinsop seemed to regret this preservation, it had been
the means of providing Hannah with a shelter in her time of need. It
was impossible to please everybody, and even the menace of Mr. Pilgrim,
which had been darkening her life for the past week, might prove to
be one of those clouds with a silver lining, but no one could really
know until the end of time, when each little action and its consequence
would be balanced in the scales, and she was sure the adjudicator would
not be aggrieved, though he might be astonished, at the result. She was
conscious in herself of a tolerance which must be a dim reflection of a
greater one; she refused to be harsher with herself than she was with
other people or than her vague but tender God was with all the world,
and she had recovered her spirits when she saw the lighted window of
Mrs. Ridding's basement kitchen and rang the bell of Mrs. Gibson's
front door.
There was always a strangely muffled feeling in that house. If there
was still trouble in the basement, it did not penetrate into Mrs.
Gibson's comfortably-furnished rooms, and as Hannah ate her supper and
listened to Mrs. Gibson's gentle and contented talk, she felt as though
she were under the influence of some mild narcotic. Mrs. Gibson's voice
rose only when she pressed Hannah to eat. She thought Miss Mole was
looking tired. She had been out to choose the chicken herself and Miss
Mole must eat as much as she could.
'You're a lady, Mrs. Gibson, if ever there was one,' Hannah said. 'I
don't know anybody else who would have taken so much trouble for me.'
'Oh, my dear!' Mrs. Gibson exclaimed. It saddened and flattered her to
think this was true.
'Yes,' Hannah went on, 'if Mrs. Spenser-Smith had asked me out to
supper, she would have given me yesterday's mutton hashed. Quite good
enough for Miss Mole! She'd keep her chickens for the people who could
afford them. It's the way of the world, but you don't belong to it. You
ought to be in Heaven, Mrs. Gibson, and I hope you won't go yet. You
had all this to see to and Mr. Blenkinsop's dinner as well.'
Mrs. Gibson nodded her head in satisfaction. 'Mr. Blenkinsop was very
obliging when I told him you were coming. He said he'd have his dinner
early and then it would be out of the way.'
'Ah,' said Hannah, 'he was afraid I'd take it up to him!'
'I don't know, dear. He's got a kind heart, really. What do you think
he did on Sunday? Took Mr. Ridding off for a walk in the country!'
'And lost him?' Hannah suggested.
'No, dear. Mr. Blenkinsop isn't the man to lose things. He's very
careful. If there's a collar missing, he knows it, and he'll get Sarah
to tighten up his trouser-buttons when they're nowhere near coming off.'
'I call that very delicate,' Hannah said.
'Yes, but it vexes the girl sometimes, though I must say he makes it
worth her while. Well, off they went with a packet of bread and cheese
apiece, and they didn't come back till dark. It would do Mr. Ridding
good, he said, and give that poor little thing a bit of a rest.'
'Is that what he called her?'
'It's what I call her myself.'
'And how did he know she needed a rest?'
'Anybody that looks at her can see that,' Mrs. Gibson said. 'She's
always putting the baby in his pram when Mr. Blenkinsop goes off to
business. I thought there might be trouble about that. "Leave him
out at the back," I said to her, but she said how was she to hear
him crying when she was in the kitchen, so we risked it--behind the
bushes--and Mr. Blenkinsop hasn't made any complaint, though prams
weren't what he expected when he came here.' She sighed gently. 'And I
didn't expect them myself. But things are going on very comfortably and
we must hope for the best. Now, Sarah's going to clear away, and we'll
have a nice cosy time by the fire.'
At half-past nine Mrs. Gibson had begun to nod and Hannah knew it
was time for her to go. She went upstairs to fetch her coat and hat,
wondering how she should spend the hour before it was safe to return
to Beresford Road. She decided to walk round the hill and down the
Avenue and see how many leaves were hanging on the trees and, if Mr.
Pilgrim still lingered, she might be able to get upstairs and into her
nightgown before she was seen.
She felt rather desolate and she felt angry. She was sacrificing some
of her independence to that man whom she ought to have outfaced,
but she could not have him defiling the poor little remains of her
romance, and she did not want to be separated from Ruth. Which of
these motives was the stronger, she did not know. She kept the memory
of her short-lived happiness in a place of its own, which was all she
could do for it; she rarely looked at it, but she would keep prying
eyes from it, if she could, and the memory of Ruth's thin face, at
once so childish and so mature, seemed to encourage and commend her.
Nevertheless, she was conscious of the loneliness, in which she
pretended to rejoice, when, through his open door, she saw the warm
glow of Mr. Blenkinsop's shaded lamps cast on the dark landing. He
was not the man to sit in a room with the door open and, before he
came back, there would be time, she thought, for a peep. It would
suit her acid humour to see in what comfort Mr. Blenkinsop passed his
evenings, while Hannah Mole, threatened by her past, had to wander in
the streets. In the unlikely possibility of Mr. Blenkinsop's having a
past he need not be afraid of it. He had, according to Mrs. Gibson, a
nice little income from his mother, and he was a man, and to men a past
could be forgiven, even, if repentance followed, by a Nonconformist
minister, while Hannah was a woman for whom repentance had no practical
results. In this unfairness, she found what consolation she needed, for
though what she had done was folly, it had been done fearlessly and she
was too proud to feel regret.
She was advancing for her peep when Mr. Blenkinsop appeared in the
doorway. 'I thought that was your step on the stairs,' he said.
'And I did my best not to make a sound! I know you don't like being
disturbed.'
'It's quicker than other people's,' he said, 'and, as a matter of fact,
I was just going to have a little walk. I generally have one at this
time of night, so perhaps you'll allow me to see you home.'
'I wasn't going home, as you call it, yet,' she said. 'When I have a
night out I make the most of it. I'm going round the hill and down the
Avenue.'
'I don't think you ought to do that alone.'
'I shan't be alone if I'm with you. But no!' she cried repentantly, 'I
won't spoil your walk. I'll go by myself. Let's start at opposite ends
and I'll meet you at the top of Beresford Road, to show you I'm not
murdered, and you can deliver me at the door.'
'That would be a very silly thing to do,' he said.
'But I like doing silly things.'
'And I don't,' he said firmly, following her down the stairs.
'Ah, you ought to learn,' she said, seeing him plainly now, in the
light of the hall, and she thought he looked too set and stolid to
learn anything she could teach him. Spectacled and grave, he waited
while she said good night to Mrs. Gibson, and they set off together
without a word.
Hannah found it difficult to talk to Mr. Blenkinsop when she could
not see his face. The sight of it made her feel merry and ready to be
absurd; his mere bulk, keeping pace with hers, deadened her faculties,
and he seemed to have nothing to say himself. In silence they crossed
Regent Square and went through the little alley to the street where
stately Georgian houses began when the shops ended, and so reached the
Green, and the lamps lighting the little paths.
'I think this is much sillier than walking separately,' Hannah said
and, looking up at him, she had the gratification of seeing him smile
unwillingly. The smile only lasted for a moment.
'But you are safer,' he said.
'If you want to be safe, you'd better be dead.'
'I don't agree with you,' Mr. Blenkinsop said.
'Good! Let's argue about it.'
'I don't see anything to argue about.'
'Then tell me about the Riddings.'
'You're very curious about the Riddings.'
'Of course I am. Are you teaching him to play chess?'
Mr. Blenkinsop cleared his throat. 'Yes, I'm trying,' he said
bashfully, and then, angrily, as though it were Hannah's fault, he
exclaimed, 'That girl will break down herself, if she doesn't get some
relief!'
Hannah was content to be silent for the rest of the walk. She had
plenty to think about and so, apparently, had Mr. Blenkinsop, and she
believed they were both thinking of Mrs. Ridding; and though, apart
from her interesting thoughts, it was, as she had said, a silly walk,
she enjoyed the feeling of his unnecessary protection and she was
touched by his courtesy.
When she parted from him at the gate, she saw that the doorstep was
illumined as it could not be unless the door was open, and in the hall
she found Mr. Corder. She had feared to find Mr. Pilgrim too, and her
smile of relief was a new thing to the minister.
'I have just been out to look for you,' he said.
'How kind of you! Then I suppose you saw me coming down the road with
Mr. Blenkinsop.' He had not expected this frankness and she felt that
he was disappointed.
'Mr. Blenkinsop?' he repeated.
'Yes. I've spent the evening with Mrs. Gibson and Mr. Blenkinsop saw me
home.'
'Ah, Mrs. Gibson. I hope you had a pleasant time. Don't trouble about
my tea, Miss Mole. I have had to make it myself.'