I
It was one of those swift and violent marriages which occur when the
interested parties are so severely wounded by the arrow of love that
only immediate and constant mutual nursing will save them from a fatal
issue. (So they think.) Hence when Annie came from Sneyd to inhabit the
house in Birches Street, Hanbridge, which William Henry Brachett had
furnished for her, she really knew very little of William Henry save
that he was intensely lovable, and that she was intensely in love with
him. Their acquaintance extended over three months; And she knew equally
little of the manners and customs of the Five Towns. For although Sneyd
lies but a few miles from the immense seat of pottery manufacture, it is
not as the Five Towns are. It is not feverish, grimy, rude, strenuous,
Bacchic, and wicked. It is a model village, presided over by the
Countess of Chell. The people of the Five Towns go there on Thursday
afternoons (eightpence, third class return), as if they were going to
Paradise. Thus, indeed, it was that William Henry had met Annie,
daughter of a house over whose door were writ the inviting words, "Tea
and Hot Water Provided."
There were a hundred and forty-two residences in Birches Street,
Hanbridge, all alike, differing only in the degree of cleanliness of
their window-curtains. Two front doors together, and then two
bow-windows, and then two front doors again, and so on all up the street
and all down the street. Life was monotonous, but on the whole
respectable. Annie came of an economical family, and, previous to the
wedding, she had been afraid that William Henry's ideal of economy
might fall short of her own. In this she was mistaken. In fact, she was
startlingly mistaken. It was some slight shock to her to be informed by
William Henry that owing to slackness of work the honeymoon ought to be
reduced to two days. Still, she agreed to the proposal with joy. (For
her life was going to be one long honeymoon.) When they returned from
the brief honeymoon, William Henry took eight shillings from her, out of
the money he had given her, and hurried off to pay it into the Going
Away Club, and there was scarcity for a few days. This happened in
March. She had then only a vague idea of what the Going Away Club was.
But from William Henry's air, and his fear lest he might be late, she
gathered that the Going Away Club must be a very important institution.
Brachett, for a living, painted blue Japanese roses on vases at Gimson &
Nephews' works. He was nearly thirty years of age, and he had never done
anything else but paint blue Japanese roses on vases. When the demand
for blue Japanese roses on vases was keen, he could earn what is called
"good money"--that is to say, quite fifty shillings a week. But the
demand for blue Japanese roses on vases was subject to the caprices of
markets--especially Colonial markets--and then William Henry had
undesired days of leisure, and brought home less than fifty shillings,
sometimes considerably less. Still, the household over which Annie
presided was a superiorly respectable household and William Henry's
income was, week in, week out, one of the princeliest in the street; and
certainly Annie's window-curtains, and her gilt-edged Bible and
artificial flowers displayed on a small table between the
window-curtains was not to be surpassed. Further, William was "steady,"
and not quite raving mad about football matches; nor did he bet on
horses, dogs or pigeons.
Nevertheless Annie--although, mind you, extraordinarily happy--found
that her new existence, besides being monotonous, was somewhat hard,
narrow and lacking in spectacular delights. Whenever there was any
suggestion of spending more money than usual, William Henry's fierce
chin would stick out in a formidable way, and his voice would become
harsh, and in the result more money than usual was not spent. His
notion of an excursion, of a wild and costly escapade, was a walk in
Hanbridge Municipal Park and two shandy-gaffs at the Corporation
Refreshment House therein. Now, although the Hanbridge Park is a
wonderful triumph of grass-seed and terra-cotta over cinder-heaps and
shard-rucks, although it is a famous exemplar to other boroughs, it is
not precisely the Vale of Llangollen, nor the Lake District. It is the
least bit in the world tedious, and by the sarcastic has been likened to
a cemetery. And it seemed to symbolize Annie's life for her, in its
cramped and pruned and smoky regularity. She began to look upon the Five
Towns as a sort of prison from which she could never, never escape.
I say she was extraordinarily happy; and yet she was unhappy too. In a
word, she resembled all the rest of us--she had "somehow expected
something different" from what life actually gave her. She was
astonished that her William Henry seemed to be so content with things as
they were. Far, now, from any apprehension of his extravagance, she
wished secretly that he would be a little more dashing. He did not seem
to feel the truth that, though prudence is all very well, you can only
live your life once, and that when you are dead you are dead. He did not
seem to understand the value of pleasure. Few people in the Five Towns
did seem to understand the value of pleasure. He had no distractions
except his pipe. Existence was a harsh and industrious struggle, a
series of undisturbed daily habits. No change, no gaiety, no freak!
Grim, changeless monotony!
And once, in July, William Henry abandoned even his pipe for ten days.
Work, and therefore pay, had been irregular, but that was not in itself
a reason sufficient for cutting off a luxury that cost only a shilling a
week. It was the Going Away Club that swallowed up the tobacco money.
Nothing would induce William Henry to get into arrears with his payments
to that mysterious Club. He would have sacrificed not merely his pipe,
but his dinner--nay, he would have sacrificed his wife's dinner--to the
greedy maw of that Club. Annie hated the Club nearly as passionately as
she loved William Henry.
Then on the first of August (a Tuesday) William Henry came into the
house and put down twenty sovereigns in a row on the kitchen table. He
did not say much, being (to Annie's mild regret) of a secretive
disposition.
Annie had never seen so much money in a row before.
"What's that?" she said weakly.
"That?" said William Henry. "That's th' going away money."