Hannah accepted life as she found it, she accepted imperfection, but
this did not prevent her from pondering on human existence in her own
fashion. Finding pleasure and excitement in little things, because
there were no others, seeing those about her doing the same, though,
as she believed, with less intensity, she could still wonder whether
more was not expected of human beings, or whether, in getting food
and shelter and what happiness came their way, they were doing all
that was required of them. Robert Corder could see himself as a man
with a definite mission against evil; Wilfrid, perhaps, was somewhat
shamefacedly hoping to alleviate the physical sufferings of men, but
the mass of people was like herself, without her special advantages,
living from one day of small things to another, grateful when sorrow
was avoided and pathetically thankful for peace, and in a world which
knew the procession of sun and moon and stars, the miracle of spring
and the pageantry of autumn, the occupations of these two-legged
creatures, running about the earth, seemed insufficient. They vexed
themselves about things of no apparent moment, such as mattresses; they
became excited over a mild entertainment, such as having tea with Mr.
Blenkinsop; they wasted time, which ought surely to have been given
to some higher purpose, in trying new modes of hairdressing for the
benefit of a strange sailor who would not notice them. But what were
these higher purposes and who pursued them, outside the special band of
thinkers and creators? And to these people did their efforts sometimes
seem as unimportant as hers to Hannah Mole? She envied artists with
their definite objects and work which seemed to them imperative, but
envy was one of the emotions she never allowed herself for long, and it
vanished when she realised that she, too, should be an artist in her
own sphere, that, indeed, she was already doing almost her best to be
one, and that the results of her labours, if they were good, were no
more to be despised than was a painting of a Dutch interior because it
did not deal with gods and goddesses.
This decision to be a conscientious artist was an inspiriting one,
particularly as it exacted the expression of her own, and not Robert
Corder's, conception of what the housekeeper to a Nonconformist
minister should be. It was comforting to think there would be
disloyalty in pandering to his notions, for in her relations with
Robert Corder she sometimes felt guilty. She who boasted that she could
like anybody, had not tried to like him, yet Wilfrid had told her that
a little encouragement would be for the good of the community. The
artist, however, did not consider the good of the community. The best
work was not done in that way, and Hannah felt perfectly free to go
on disliking Robert Corder and to get from that exercise the peculiar
kind of pleasure which, as she suspected, he was beginning to get out
of his dislike for her. She was cleverer at disguising her feelings
than he was, cleverer in every way, she believed, and her pleasure
would increase in proportion to her concealment and his revelations.
She must be allowed this joy, she told herself: moreover, nothing
was more dangerous than going contrary to nature for the sake of an
imagined future good, and, if future good must be considered, what
could be better for Robert Corder and his family than the impact of an
independent mind on his?
Miss Mole was feeling rather gay and conceited after her tea with Mr.
Blenkinsop. She had made that serious young man laugh once and smile
unwillingly several times, and, in a secluded corner of the tea shop,
where the food and the tea were good, she had talked freely for the
first time for many years. In her situations, she had listened more
often than she had spoken, and though some of them had been lost
through the sharp readiness of her tongue, that tongue had merely been
restive with pent-up energy and lack of exercise, like a horse, not
ill-natured, but riotous when it sees a stretch of grass. To have a
listener like Mr. Blenkinsop was to have the grass and no punishment
for bolting. There had been no need to pick her words--and when she
did not pick them they were harmless enough--with a potential, if not
an active, fellow-sinner, and when she left him she was afraid she had
talked too much for his convenience, though not for her own comfort.
Voluntarily, he had not spoken of his affairs, and when, giving him
his chance, she tried to tease him about the gilded gratings of the
bank and the dangerous reactions of his evening liberty, he had assured
her that he was not an impulsive person. She had expressed amazement
and this was one of the moments when he smiled, but he was solemn
when he went on to say that due consideration was always given to his
undertakings.
'Then you haven't my excuse,' she said, 'or my fun. It's a wonderful
world, Mr. Blenkinsop, when you may find an adventure round any corner.'
'Yes, but one doesn't,' he replied crushingly.
'Of course one can avoid them. It's a startling thought that if I'd
been of the avoiding kind, I should never have known you. I'm sorry
this incident always crops up when we meet, but I suppose it's in both
our minds. I'm referring--'
'I know what you're referring to.'
'And you regret the reference and the incident.'
'Not entirely.'
'Then you've changed.'
'Yes, I've changed.'
'Ah!' Hannah said significantly. 'And I don't regret it at all, for
here I am, having an outing with a single gent, and but for that,
I might still be in Mrs. Widdows' stuffy parlour. But that's not
very likely,' she added honestly. She wished she had called him a
technically single gent and seen what he made of that. Possibly she
had talked so much that he had decided on reserve. She had told him
about her childhood in the country, about her situations and the kind
of books she liked and what she would do if she had a lot of money.
She felt tired by her own eloquence, but relieved, and she did not
think she had given him cause to doubt her discretion. It would be
a pity if she had. She liked Mr. Blenkinsop and she wanted to know
whether the stories she had made about him would come true, and when
she looked back at her past and the men she had met, as her employers
and their relatives and friends--for her life had been singularly
barren of closer relationships with men and women--she decided that Mr.
Blenkinsop was the one to whom she would tell a secret or go for help,
and when, in a quick, frightened thought, she remembered Mr. Pilgrim,
it did not need a great effort of her imagination to see the solid,
bulky form of Mr. Blenkinsop overshadowing the narrow-shouldered,
somewhat slinking figure of the other, like a policeman keeping an eye
on a suspicious character.
Mr. Pilgrim, however, had come no nearer; Mr. Blenkinsop had given
her nothing new to consider except a feeling of safety, and her mind
was free to receive the impression of Uncle Jim. As Hannah always
had her tongue in her cheek when she created romantic stories about
herself, she could make them as extravagant as she chose, and she
was hardly disappointed when she saw a man, in clothes which looked
too tight for him, who had no likeness to her buccaneer. It was just
as well, she thought, when she remembered the difference between the
Miss Mole she had fitted to him and the one with which this plain
Uncle Jim, who might have been a tax collector, was shaking hands.
He had a close-clipped fair moustache in a short face, a pucker of
wrinkles round his eyes which gave him an amused rather than a worried
expression, and though he was bronzed enough to make Robert Corder
look hectic with the colour on his cheekbones, he was not immediately
suggestive of hurricanes and tropic sun. He was an ordinary looking
man yet, in the slowness of his movements and speech and in his calm,
apparently uncritical regard, there was something to make Hannah feel
that here was another person who could be relied on. He had a dwarfing
effect on Robert Corder, but this was Hannah's first opportunity of
comparing the minister with a man who belonged to a wider world than
that of Beresford Road Chapel, and it seemed to her that Uncle Jim in
the pulpit would be less incongruous than Robert Corder on the bridge
of a ship. Uncle Jim's authority was that of the man who knew his trade
and had his position as a consequence and a matter of course, while,
with Robert Corder, the position came first, and the authority derived
from it was a constant source of gratification and made a constant
demand for recognition. Hannah thought sadly that she was rather like
him herself; she had no position to give her a fair start, but she was
not content to let her personality make what mark it could, without
assistance; a sign, she feared, of a weak character.
She made another of her good resolutions and remained silent and
observant. She saw Ruth looking with shining eyes at the imperturbable
face of her uncle and glancing from him to Hannah, as though she wished
to connect them in her happiness and to know what each thought of the
other. Ethel, wearing an extra necklace in honour of the occasion, and
a bright blue frock, rattled her beads and jerked in her seat at the
supper table, but her glances had not the confidence of Ruth's. She
could never forget the presence of her father, and her anxiety was
that conversation should go amicably between him and Uncle Jim. Robert
Corder did his best as host. He invited his brother-in-law to talk of
his experiences and Uncle Jim was as unresponsive as Howard had been
on the night of his return. He said something about the weather and
Robert Corder lifted his eyebrows patiently. He was not really eager
to hear another person talk, but it was exasperating to see such a
waste of opportunity. A single voyage would have supplied the minister
with anecdotes for countless supper tables and sewing meetings, with
texts and illustrations for innumerable sermons, and this man, who
had followed the sea since he was a boy and knew all the ports of the
world, could produce nothing more illuminating than a casual reference
to the weather. Opportunities did not come to those who could use them.
Howard and Jim were alike in their dumb obtuseness, and what sort of
minister Howard would make, his father feared to prophesy. He sank back
in his chair and resigned his duties. He had done all he could.
Then Uncle Jim volunteered a remark.
'What's the matter with the gas?' he said, looking at the pendant
light. 'It oughtn't to make a noise like that. I'll have a look at it
to-morrow.'
'I've been looking at it for more than two months and it doesn't take
the slightest notice,' Hannah said mournfully.
Ruth laughed and looked at her uncle. She had been hoping Miss Mole
would say something to show she was not just an ordinary housekeeper
who was afraid to speak.
Robert Corder frowned. 'Then, Miss Mole,' he said sharply, 'you should
have called in the plumber.'
'But would he come, if I did call to him? And would he go, if once he
came? Plumbers,' she said, 'are like everything else. You want them
badly and, when you get them, you're sorry.'
'I think,' Robert Corder said in the bland manner of his annoyance,
'you must make a point of wanting the things you should not have.'
'That was implied,' Hannah said brightly. She had broken her good
resolution and Uncle Jim had waked to the fact of her existence.
'We'll try combined tactics to-morrow,' he said, and then he created
a timely diversion. 'I've got some Chinese silks upstairs. I'll bring
them down after supper.'
Hannah stayed in the dining-room and Robert Corder lingered by the fire.
'You and I, Miss Mole,' he said, 'are not interested in the Chinese
silks.'
'Aren't we?' Hannah replied. 'I expect they're beautiful.'
'Oh, no doubt, no doubt, but hardly matters of concern to you and me.'
Was he trying to remind her of her age and position and hinting that
she should not follow the others to the drawing-room?
'Not of concern, certainly. That's why I'm staying here,' she said
reassuringly. 'I wonder if Mr. Erley can stop these jets from hissing
as well as the other one from bubbling. I thought I was getting used to
the noise, but, as Christmas draws nearer, it sounds like all the geese
and turkeys making a fuss at the thought of being killed.'
'What a very unpleasant idea!' he said, frowning quickly.
'Yes, isn't it?' Then she looked up at him and laughed. 'I've spoilt
your Christmas pudding and now I've spoilt your goose.'
Mr. Corder suddenly condescended to jest. 'Or, as you might say, you
have cooked it.'
Hannah laughed still more merrily. She was not going to be beaten by
the ladies at the sewing-meeting and Robert Corder might have found it
necessary to withdraw in good-humoured dignity, before Miss Mole took
advantage of his affability, if Ruth had not appeared, to say that
Uncle Jim had given her a lovely silk with little flowers all over it,
and did Miss Mole think it could possibly be made into a frock in time
for the Spenser-Smith's party?
'We'll try,' Hannah said slowly. She was thinking of the little
velveteen dress which was to have been a surprise and which would seem
so humble in comparison with the flowery silk.
'I knew you'd say that!' In her excitement, Ruth turned to her father
and exclaimed, 'she never says she can't do anything when she knows
you want it! And do come and stop Ethel from choosing a bright pink.
There are heaps of others and the drawing-room's like a shop.'
'Just a minute, Miss Mole. I suppose you have replied to Mrs.
Spenser-Smith's invitation?'
'No,' Hannah said, 'your daughter has done that.'
'But I think it would be courteous to send a separate little note. It's
very kind of her to ask you.'
'Yes, but I wasn't sure that I ought to go,' Hannah said meekly.
'But certainly, certainly! You could hardly refuse and you will find it
quite a homely, friendly affair. Just write to Mrs. Spenser-Smith and
express your appreciation.'
'In the first, or the third, person?' Hannah enquired.
'The first, Miss Mole, would be more suitable. Write it in the form of
a note.'
'Very well,' Hannah said, and she began to plan her humble little
letter, but Ruth had her by the arm to lead her into the drawing-room,
and was asking if she had a party frock.
'Black silk and jet trimmings. It's the only wear for a housekeeper.'
'And Uncle Jim's got all those lovely things!' Ruth sighed.
'If you dare to say anything to him about me, I'll never speak to you
again!' Hannah whispered vehemently, but Uncle Jim did not need a hint.
He was looking at the mass of stuff he had bought and wondering how he
was to get rid of it and Hannah's modest protests were useless when he
thrust a roll of silk into her arms.
Ruth's happiness was now complete. 'And won't Mrs. Spenser-Smith be
secretly vexed when she sees us all looking so grand!' she cried.