Two months later the plunge was taken. The Charrington family said
good-bye to their picturesque country home, and established themselves
in the top flat of a massive red building in the picturesque district of
the Tottenham Court Road. With one exception the rooms were small;
there was no passage to speak of; the coal-cellar was in pleasing
proximity to the drawing-room door; the view consisted of a forest of
chimney-stacks, and the air was thick with smuts. When Philippa made
her first survey of the premises she felt that she was indeed coming
down in the world; but when she heard the rent demanded she changed her
mind with a shock of surprise. It was preposterous--incredible! The
price of a palace rather than of a sooty tenement midway between earth
and sky! For that price in the country one could have a tennis-lawn,
and a stable, and a pretty flower and vegetable garden, to say nothing
of a roomy and comfortable house. Off went Miss Charrington with her
head in the air, but two long days of search brought her to the sad
conviction that she would have to change her attitude with regard to
London prices, and that the agent had been right in speaking of the flat
as unusually cheap. She did not dare to take it, however, without a
family consultation; so she secured the option for a couple of days, and
went home with the story of her wanderings. The girls howled in unison
at the mention of the rent, but, like their sister, were obliged to come
round to the conclusion that the money must be paid.
"It is really and truly the best thing I could find in a central
position," said Philippa sadly. "The question is--ought we to give up
the idea of living in town, and take a little house in the suburbs? If
we went out in an unfashionable direction we could get one for half the
cost. I asked the agent, and he said there were any number to be had.
They run them up in a few months--rows and rows of them--quite nice,
compact little houses, with all modern conveniences--"
"I know! Thank you," interrupted Theo haughtily. "I've seen them from
the train--hundreds of them--exactly alike, with sunflowers in the front
garden, and the washing in the back, and such nice, sociable neighbours
over the palings!"
"It's all very well, Theo, but can we afford to be snobbish? We shall
have to pocket our pride, and save every penny-piece that is possible.
If the house would be cheaper--"
"I'm not so sure that it would. It is different for a man and his wife.
But you must remember that we should have four, perhaps five railway
contracts to add to the rent. Our great object is to be near our work,
and we might almost as well stay where we are as bury ourselves in an
out-of-the-way suburb. If we go to the flat, Madge will be almost next
door to the Slade School, the boys can come home for lunch, and Hope and
I will be near libraries and concerts, and have some chance of picking
up odd pieces of work. Suppose I go in for journalism? How am I to be
in the hum of things when I live a dozen miles away, and have probably a
bad service of trains?"
"Suppose I get accompanying to do at concerts? I intend to call on some
of the lady professionals who sing father's songs and ask them to give
me a chance. I shall have to get used to going about by myself at
night, but it would be nice to be in a central position, and not have
_too_ far to go," said Hope wistfully; and her eldest sister, looking at
her golden locks and sweet pink-and-white face, came to a sudden
determination.
"We will take the flat. It's no use doing things by halves. We must
hope to save the money in travelling expenses and lunches. I will write
to the agent and settle it to-night."
So the flat was taken, and the question of furniture was the next to
come upon the tapis. For the larger articles there could be no
accommodation; they must be sold for what they would bring; but even
without them there was an incredible number of possessions with which it
seemed impossible to part. Curtains were faded, carpets so darned and
mended as to be incapable of removal, but Edgar Charrington had been
picking up artistic treasures all his life, and the rooms were crowded
with quaint, old-world furniture. There was a Chinese cabinet, shaped
like a pagoda, with coloured Chinese figures standing in the niches. It
would take up more room than could be spared, but who could bear to part
with it, remembering the fascination of those figures to the infant
mind, the later joy of turning over the contents of the daintily fitting
drawers, and sniffing the sweet, musty odour? There was an oak-framed
picture of a church, with a real clock fitted into the steeple. A place
for that must be found somewhere, or life would be robbed of one of its
oldest associations. There was a black silhouette picture of
Great-great-aunt Martha riding on a pillion; and another of Grandfather
and Grandmother Charrington, with a family of six little Charringtons,
clad in _decollete_ dresses, spencers, and pantaloons. What Goth or
Vandal could find it in his heart to part with them? There was a
collection of old china, of pewter, of old beaten silver; and such
stacks of pictures, framed and unframed, as were quite alarming to
count.
"What shall we do with them? Shall we pack half away in chests and ask
the vicar to store them in his loft? He would be only too glad to keep
them for us. It seems absurd to take such a collection. The place will
look like a museum," cried Philippa, in despair; but the idea seemed to
commend itself rather than otherwise to her ambitious young sisters.
"Just what it ought to look, as a temple of the Muses. No use
pretending to be artistic against a commonplace background. Let us make
our rooms as striking, and unusual, and `ancestory' as we can. I hate a
house that looks as if it had been furnished yesterday. When people
come to call, they will: have a pretty good idea of what we are by
looking round our rooms."
"But who is to come, you dear little snob? We know nobody. I'm afraid
the arrival of the Charrington family won't make much stir in the great
Metropolis. I can tell you I felt a lone, lorn creature, walking about
those crowded streets, and thinking that not a single soul knew me or
cared whether I lived or died. As for Aunt Loftus, she may come once,
perhaps, to pay a formal call, but we sha'n't be troubled with her after
that; and I should be sorry to count upon uncle's promised
introductions. We shall be left severely to ourselves."
"I am going up to London to know and be known, and I am not going to be
left alone for anybody," cried Madge, tossing her head with a
consequential air. "Seclusion may suit some people, but not this child.
I'm going to make friends, and have a real good time. I think I shall
start a _salon_, like that Madame de Thingummy in Paris, and make our
house the resort of all the learned and celebrated people of the day.
I've read about her in magazines, and it sounds quite easy. You don't
need to be pretty, nor rich, nor to live in a big house; all you have to
do is to announce that you are at home on certain evenings, and give
cups of coffee, and be very vivacious, and talk, and make people laugh.
_You_ can give the coffee, and I'll talk! There's never any difficulty
in that; the trouble is to be quiet. Wait until you see Cabinet
Ministers, and Presidents of the Academy, and celebrated authors all
driving up to our door, and toiling up hundreds of steps on purpose to
enjoy the fascinations of my society!"
"Very well; I'll wait. It will be good exercise for my patience. For
my own part, I have resigned myself to single blessedness, staying at
home cooking dinners and darning stockings while you are out making your
fortunes. I shall be too busy to be lonely; and if you earn money, I
shall save it. We can't _all_ be fascinating society leaders," said
Philippa cruelly. She was so devoted to Madge, so tempted to applaud
all that she said and did, that as a pure matter of conscience she felt
bound to snub her now and then, just to show her impartiality! It had
very little effect, however, for Miss Madge was too sharp not to see
through the pretence, and refused to be in the least impressed by her
strictures.
What a comfort the girl was in the weeks which followed, when the burden
of responsibility seemed to weigh ever more and more heavily on the
shoulders of the two young heads of the family! Hope was always ready
with sympathy, Theo with dramatic invectives against the cruelty of
fate, but Madge met difficulties with a laugh and a jest, and the sound
thereof was as sunshine in the house. In some respects fortune favoured
the adventurers at the start, for Stephen's firm made no difficulty
about his removal, while Mr Matthews snapped at the offer of the house,
and even promised to buy the fixtures "at a valuation." But here the
disappointments began. Philippa instantly made a valuation on her own
account, and added generously to the total in consideration of those
manifold odds and ends which accumulate in households of thirty years'
standing, but which are hardly worth the cost of cartage to pastures
new: oddments of glass and china, of tin and iron and earthenware;
mouldy volumes which no one will read; chairs minus a leg, rusty
fire-irons, and damaged ornaments.
"With a little glue and patching you might make good things of them yet.
Five pounds at the least! No; say seven pounds. Seven pounds added to
forty-five--over fifty pounds in all! That ought to pay for the removal
and leave something over for carpets and blinds. Thank goodness, I can
mark _that_ expense off the list!" sighed Philippa.
But alas for the frailty of human hopes! The valuer's estimate came to
exactly a third of the sum expected, while one and all the dealers
refused to bid for the valuable collection of antiquities, so that in
the end a cart had to be hired to convey the whole to the village
schoolroom, to be sold at a coming rummage sale!
Scarcely had poor Philippa recovered from this blow than the estimate
from the furniture remover arrived to cast her down once more. She
screamed aloud when her eye lighted on the horrible total. But what
could one do? The things must be moved, and the firm in question had
been recommended for its economy. It was appalling to think of the
inroads into capital which would be made before the real life in town
could begin; and Philippa needed all her courage when the hour came to
say good-bye to the old home, and go forth to prepare the flat for its
inmates. Madge was to accompany her, as a matter of course. It had
been so certain that she would be chosen as helper that the matter was
not even discussed. Hope and Theo took refuge at the vicarage, Steve
with a bachelor friend; Barney was to remain at school until the
half-term; and Madge decreed that no one was to approach the flat until
all preparations were finished, and the artistic beauty of the whole
ready to burst upon the enraptured sight. Philippa thought of the
chimney-pots, and the soot, and the narrow passages, and the weary
flight of stairs, coldly clean, with bottles of fire-extinguisher ranged
on the wall at each landing, to remind the dwellers on the top story of
the peril in which they lived! She thought of the narrow, begrimed
windows, of the cheap fireplaces, and the saffron paper in the
sitting-room, and felt it her painful duty to undeceive the young
enthusiast lest the blow might fall too heavily upon her. But Madge
refused to be cast down, and went through the ordeal of the first
inspection with an undaunted smile.
"My hat!" she exclaimed as she peered out of the first window and beheld
the roof-scape in all the beauty of a drizzling autumn rain; and though
the expression was neither lady-like nor elegant, nor in the least
degree appropriate, it yet had a quaint, whimsical sound which made
Philippa laugh and draw a breath of relief.
"Yes! I told you so. I didn't exaggerate, you see. Cheerful and
comprehensive, isn't it? This is the dining-room. Not much room to
spare when you have the table in the middle. I don't know if we can get
it in at all."
"If we can't we'll dine at small tables like a restaurant--far more
_chic_. Not a bad little den when it is dressed up. Jolly cosy in
winter. When summer comes I shall live up on the leads and make a
roof-garden. Is there any way out?"
"Don't know, I'm sure. Come and look at the bedrooms. We can have
first choice, I suppose, as I'm the eldest; but if you don't mind, I'd
like the girls to be at the front. You could hardly imagine that the
one at the side could be smaller and more dreary, but it is; and Theo
would be so wretched! Do you think we could possibly get our things in
here?"
Madge stood prospecting the small square box with a ruminating gaze.
"Bed there--dressing-table there--wash-stand there--chest of--No; can't
be done. We shall have to do without a dressing-table, and use the top
of the bureau. We can manage all right that way; but you will always
have to get up first, and make way for me while I have my last little
snooze. It will be good practice for our tempers, for we really daren't
quarrel in such very close quarters. Let's look at the sitting-room for
a change. You said that was a decent size."
"Oh yes--quite; and a pretty shape, too. Don't you like the shape!
Don't you think that rounded window is sweet in the corner? It would
make a dear, quiet little nook if it were curtained off; wouldn't it
dear?" cried the eldest sister, anxious to divert the artist's eyes from
the saffron paper, with the aggressive roses and the gilded leaves,
which was in such disastrously good condition that the company could not
really be expected to replace it.
"Yes; I'll sit in there when I'm engaged, and let the cord go free. A
very good room, with plenty of possibilities. Nothing square and stiff
about it. That corner would do charmingly for the cabinet; and we will
fit in shelves for the china in that funny little niche. We must keep
the middle of the floor as clear as possible, for I shall want space for
my receptions. _Philippa Charrington_! Do you mean to look me in the
face and say that you are responsible for this paper?"
"No, no--of course not. The last tenant left it. I begged hard for
another, but it was no use. Make the best of it just now, there's a
dear, and perhaps in a year or so we may get another."
"We are going to have another before the week is out," declared Madge;
and when her sister protested, "Look here," she said sturdily, "let us
come to a clear understanding. We made up our minds to make this move
and to face the cost, and we are not going to spoil the house for the
sake of a few pounds. Before we have done with putting things in order
we shall have a dozen unexpected expenses. Things won't fit and will
have to be altered; we shall have to buy little fixings, and have
workmen in and out. If you are going to groan over every sixpence we
shall have a dismal old time. Make up your mind to pay and be cheerful,
since you've got to pay whether you like it or not. About this
wall-paper! I suppose there are some families who could live in peace
and happiness staring at yellow cabbages, but we are not one of them.
We inherit artistic fastidiousness, and should hate them worse every day
of our lives. When we can't afford to go out for amusements, isn't it
our duty to make home as attractive as possible? When we shall spend a
round hundred over the removal, is it worth while to spoil our best room
for the sake of an extra sovereign?"
"You can't possibly--"
"Yes, I can. I can buy a self-coloured paper for next to nothing--a
pretty soft blue, I think, to make a good background for the pictures--
and hang it myself, to save the expense of the workman."
"You can't possibly--"
"Nonsense! I did my own room at home, and there's no matching about a
plain paper. I could not face Theo with that atrocity on the walls.
And besides, think of my _salon_!"
"Oh, well! have it your own way," Philippa cried, with affected disgust.
It was impossible not to feel more interest in the room now that it
could be imagined in its pretty new dress, and the discussion of how it
should be arranged and decorated occupied an hour out of a dreary wait.
The sisters had slept the night before at a boarding-house, and had
hurried to the flat directly after breakfast, so as to be ready to
receive the furniture at ten o'clock as agreed. At eleven o'clock there
was no sign of the vans; but no one expects furniture-vans to be
punctual within an hour or two, and until noon the girls managed to
possess themselves in patience, and to find amusement in wandering from
room to room. But when one o'clock drew near the matter became serious.
They had brought a tea-basket with them, but there were no chairs on
which to sit, no table to hold the cups and saucers. They were growing
tired, and were longing to get to work while daylight lasted, and to
have a bed to sleep on before night fell. It was two o'clock before the
first van arrived, and seven before the men departed, leaving the two
young mistresses to thread their way between stacks of furniture,
unopened crates, and boxes of luggage. There was no room for a servant
to sleep in the flat, and the charwoman who was engaged to help could
not come until the following day, so it was hopeless to try to do more
than get one bedroom in tolerable order. By Hope's forethought the
necessary blankets and linen had been packed in one box and plainly
labelled, so preparations were soon made, and by eight o'clock the tired
workers were already longing for bed. Downstairs in the basement was a
public dining-room where dinner could be obtained for a shilling a head;
but they were too dishevelled and footsore to feel inclined to appear in
public, so they refreshed themselves instead with more tea, more cakes,
more dried-up sandwiches. Philippa leant back in her chair and sighed
heavily as she looked first at her roughened hands, then at the hopeless
disorder by which she was surrounded.
"I used to dream," she said slowly--"I used to dream of coming up to
London. Father seemed so often on the eve of doing something great, and
I used to imagine what it would be like if the book really turned out as
he expected, or the picture made his name famous. He would have brought
us to town, and we should have been rich, and every one would have
wanted to know us--"
"I know! So have I. `Beautiful Miss Charringtons--the rage of the
London season.' That's the kind of thing, isn't it? I'm not beautiful,
of course, but I'm vivacious--that's my point. I can _espiegle_ fifty
times better than Hope, though she is such a darling. You are very
handsome, Phil, when you look pleasant; and Theo has the air of a
princess in disguise. We are an interesting family. It seems hard
lines that the world should not know us. We do seem slightly--just a
little--what you might call _cornered_ up here."
"We do indeed. Oh, it is different--so different from what I expected!"
faltered poor, tired Philippa, with a sob; and then of a sudden her
fears and dreads caught her in a grip from which there was no escape.
She looked round the strange, unlovely room, through the bare window at
the great city, lurid and threatening in the light of many lamps, and
trembled at the thought of what she had done. She had been as a mother
to these children, and she had brought them away from their peaceful
home to face a thousand trials, a thousand difficulties: Stephen,
constitutionally despondent, to be burdened with fresh responsibilities;
the girls, ardent and credulous, to be ready prey for unscrupulous
acquaintances; Barney, pining for mischief, to a swift and certain ruin!
Her face blanched; she held out her hands to her sister with a gesture
of terrified appeal.
"Madge, Madge, I'm frightened! Suppose it is all a mistake! Suppose we
fail, and all the money goes, and we are left penniless and alone in
this great wilderness! I have read of it so often: people come up
hoping to make their fortunes, and the time passes, and they move into
smaller and smaller rooms--and no work comes--and they fall ill. It is
my doing! I persuaded Stephen. Oh Madge, if it's all a mistake, you
will believe I did it for the best, won't you? I was not thinking of
myself. It would have been easier for me to stay where we were. You
will not blame me if the money goes and there is none left? Promise
that you will never blame me."
But Madge lay back in her chair and folded her arms out of reach of the
trembling hands.
"I will, though!" she replied bluntly. "I'll make an awful row; and
quite right, too, for it _will_ be your fault. If you lose heart the
very first night, and fall to crying and groaning, how do you expect to
get on? If _you_ get low in your mind, Steve will be indigo, and Hope
and Theo will have no spirit left in them. As for me, I'm not _going_
to fail, nor fall ill, nor starve, nor throw myself over London Bridge,
nor anything else interesting or melodramatic I've always longed to come
up to town, and now that I am here I am going to enjoy myself in the
best way I can. It is ripping to work hard when you feel you are
getting on, and a little taste of success now and then will be a
wonderful fillip. There must be some compensations for being poor, and
I mean to find them out, and see if I can't get as much fun for sixpence
as Avice Loftus does for a sovereign."
"I--I believe you will," said Philippa, with a feeble laugh. "You
mustn't think me a coward, Madge; I could be brave for myself; but it is
the awful feeling of responsibility that weighs upon me. All this day I
have been saying to myself, `Now we are here. What is the next step?
What ought we to do next?'"
"Go to bed, I should say. You look as if you needed it," came the curt
rejoinder; and at that Philippa was obliged to laugh outright.
"Oh, Mr Dick, Mr Dick! your common-sense is invaluable. Come along,
then; let us go. We shall need all the rest we can get to prepare us
for our hard work to-morrow."