Jenny had taken her for a walk to Ilford and they were going home to the
house in Ley Street.
There were only two walks that Jenny liked to go: down Ley Street to
Barkingside where the little shops were; and up Ley Street to Ilford and
Mr. Spall's, the cobbler's. She liked Ilford best because of Mr. Spall.
She carried your boots to Mr. Spall just as they were getting
comfortable; she was always ferreting in Sarah's cupboard for a pair to
take to him. Mr. Spall was very tall and lean; he had thick black
eyebrows rumpled up the wrong way and a long nose with a red knob at the
end of it. A dirty grey beard hung under his chin, and his long, shaved
lips curled over in a disagreeable way when he smiled at you.
When Jenny and Catty went to sing the New Year in at the Wesleyan Chapel
he brought them home. Jenny liked him because his wife was dead, and
because he was a Wesleyan and Deputy Grand Master of the Independent
Order of Good Templars. You had to shake hands with him to say good-bye.
He always said the same thing: "Next time you come, little Missy, I'll
show you the Deputy Regalia." But he never did.
To-day Jenny had made her stand outside in the shop, among the old boots
and the sheets of leather, while she and Mr. Spall went into the back
parlour to talk about Jesus. The shop smelt of leather and feet and
onions and of Mr. Spall, so that she was glad when they got out again.
She wondered how Jenny could bear to sit in the back parlour with Mr.
Spall.
Coming home at first she had to keep close by Jenny's side. Jenny was
tired and went slowly; but by taking high prancing and dancing steps she
could pretend that they were rushing along; and once they had turned the
crook of Ley Street she ran on a little way in front of Jenny. Then,
walking very fast and never looking back, she pretended that she had gone
out by herself.
When she had passed the row of elms and the farm, and the small brown
brick cottages fenced off with putty-coloured palings, she came to the
low ditches and the flat fields on either side and saw on her left the
bare, brown brick, pointed end of the tall house. It was called Five
Elms.
Further down the road the green and gold sign of The Green Man and the
scarlet and gold sign of the Horns Tavern hung high on white standards
set up in the road. Further down still, where Ley Street swerved slightly
towards Barkingside, three tall poplars stood in the slant of the swerve.
A queer white light everywhere, like water thin and clear. Wide fields,
flat and still, like water, flooded with the thin, clear light; grey
earth, shot delicately with green blades, shimmering. Ley Street, a grey
road, whitening suddenly where it crossed open country, a hard causeway
thrown over the flood. The high trees, the small, scattered cottages, the
two taverns, the one tall house had the look of standing up in water.
She saw the queer white light for the first time and drew in her breath
with a sharp check. She knew that the fields were beautiful.
She saw Five Elms for the first time: the long line of its old red-tiled
roof, its flat brown face; the three rows of narrow windows, four at the
bottom, with the front door at the end of the row, five at the top, five
in the middle; their red brick eye-brows; their black glassy stare
between the drawn-back curtains. She noticed how high and big the house
looked on its slender plot of grass behind the brick wall that held up
the low white-painted iron railing.
A tall iron gate between brown brick pillars, topped by stone balls. A
flagged path to the front door. Crocuses, yellow, white, white and
purple, growing in the border of the grass plot. She saw them for the
first time.
The front door stood open. She went in.
The drawing-room at the back was full of the queer white light. Things
stood out in it, sharp and suddenly strange, like the trees and houses in
the light outside: the wine-red satin stripes in the grey damask curtains
at the three windows; the rings of wine-red roses on the grey carpet; the
tarnished pattern on the grey wall-paper; the furniture shining like dark
wine; the fluted emerald green silk in the panel of the piano and the
hanging bag of the work-table; the small wine-red flowers on the pale
green chintz; the green Chinese bowls in the rosewood cabinet; the blue
and red parrot on the chair.
Her mother sat at the far end of the room. She was sorting beads into
trays in a box lined with sandal wood.
Mary stood at the doorway looking in, swinging her hat in her hand.
Suddenly, without any reason, she was so happy that she could hardly bear
it.