Norah Boyce was one of numerous young women who have seen better days.
During the seven years which had elapsed since she had bidden farewell
to a Parisian boarding-school, she had enjoyed all the sweets of
existence which fall to the lot of a girl whom nature has endowed with
beauty and a deceased parent with an income of five hundred pounds a
year. And then, of a sudden, catastrophe overtook her. Societies
collapsed, banks failed, labourers went on strike and brought down
dividends on railway investments. The five hundred pounds was reduced
to something considerably under one, and Norah spent her nights in
tears, and her days in studying the newspapers in search of "something
to do."
Being still young in experience, she started by spending a small fortune
on advertisements in which she expressed her willingness to undertake
secretarial duties, to act as companion to an invalid lady--as governess
to young children, or as instructress in the arts of poker-work,
marquetry, and painting on china; then as time went on and the public
continued to treat her overtures with contempt, she abandoned this mode
of procedure, and contented herself with reading the notices for which
_other_ people had paid, and in wasting postage-stamps in reply.
It was when this occupation had been continued for several months and
her spirits had fallen to the lowest possible ebb that her eye was
attracted by a paragraph which awakened new hopes. A lady wished to
meet with a young person of good principles and cheerful disposition,
who would accompany her to church on Sundays, spend some hours of every
morning in reading aloud, playing upon the harmonium, and making herself
useful and agreeable; and applicants were directed to apply in person at
Number 8 Berrington Square, between three and five o'clock in the
afternoon.
"I shall try for it!" cried Norah instantly. "It will be horribly
humiliating. I shall be shown into the dining-room, and expected to
take a seat between the sideboard and the door, as servants do when they
are applying for a situation, but anything is better than sitting here,
doing nothing! I don't feel remarkably cheerful at present, but it is
in the old lady's power to put me in the wildest spirits, if she is so
inclined. She must be old--no human creature under sixty could have
written that advertisement. She can't have any children, or she would
not be advertising for a companion; she must be well off, or she could
not afford to pay for `extras' in this rash fashion; she would have to
put up with being dull as I have done the last month. Heigho! It would
be very pleasing if she took a fancy to me, and adopted me as her heir!
I don't in the least see why she shouldn't! I can be very charming when
I choose. I shall put on my sealskin coat, and my best hat!"
A few hours later, Miss Boyce knocked at the door of Number 8 Berrington
Square, was informed that Mrs Baker was at home, and shown into a room
on the right of the entrance hall. It was the dining-room. "Of course!
I knew it!" said Norah to herself, and straightway proceeded to take
stock of her surroundings. A red flock wall-paper, a heavy mahogany
sideboard, on which were flanked an imposing array of biscuit-boxes and
cruets; mahogany chairs upholstered in black haircloth; an india-rubber
plant in the centre of the table, and an American organ in the corner!
The visitor rolled her eyes to the ceiling, and went through an
expressive pantomime of despair, for she was an artistic, beauty-loving
creature, whose spirits were sensibly affected by the colour of a
wallpaper, and to whom it was a real trial to live in ugly surroundings.
She had barely time to compose herself before the door opened, and the
mistress of the house made her appearance.
Mrs Baker was an old lady of the white rabbit type, weak-eyed, anaemic,
and kindly, and evidently unaccustomed to the engagement of "young
persons," for she shook hands with Norah, seated herself in an easy
chair by the fire, and waited developments with a blandly inquiring
smile.
It was evident that Norah was expected to advertise her capabilities
without the aid of the usual cross-questionings, so, taking her courage
in both hands, she launched forth into explanations, prefaced, it must
sorrowfully be admitted, by a reference to better days; confessed to a
passion for reading aloud and playing on the harmonium, and dwelt at
length on the advantages of her scholastic training. When at last she
paused for breath, after having talked for a good five minutes on end,
the old lady blinked her eyes, and said:
"What, love?--I didn't quite catch what you were saying. I am a little
hard of hearing!"
"I might have known it!" Norah told herself reproachfully. "Deaf, of
course! It just completes the character," and in a heightened voice she
proceeded to repeat every word of her former statement. Signs of
impatience became visible on the listener's face as she proceeded, and
she hurried on in order to announce the name of her musical professor
before she should be interrupted by the question which was evidently
hovering on the old lady's lips.
"Did you ever happen to meet a family named Henstock, who lived in
Finsbury Park? A corner house it was--white, with green posts at the
gate?" queried Mrs Baker, bending forward with an expression of
breathless curiosity.
Norah gasped, and shook her head. The connection between the family of
Henstock in the corner house in Finsbury Park, and her own application
for the post of companion, was so exceedingly remote as to reduce her to
a condition of petrified silence.
"How very extraordinary! You are so like Mary Ellen, the very image of
Mary Ellen! She was a great favourite of mine, was Mary Ellen, and she
married a very worthy young man, an assistant in a bank at Bradford.
Yes! She had two lovely little boys. It was very good of you to come
and see me, my dear, and I should like very much to have you with me. I
am reading a most interesting biography at present, and I take in
several periodicals. Yes! Perhaps you could come on Monday morning.
At eleven o'clock."
Three months' experience of answering advertisements had left Norah so
little prepared for this speedy acceptance of her services, that she was
surprised into protest.
"But I do not wish to hurry your decision! Perhaps you would like to
have references, or to consult your--"
"No, love! I have no one to consider but myself, and you have such a
strong resemblance to Mary Ellen! It is in this way: My nephew has been
in the habit of going to church with me. I cannot hear very much; but I
like to go all the same, and John was in the habit of repeating the
sermon to me in the afternoon. Yes! He is a very estimable-minded
young man, and very good to his old aunt! It was he who suggested that
I should advertise for a companion. He said it would be so lonely for
me if he ever went out of town, but he will be very pleased when I tell
him that I have found someone so like Mary Ellen. He has such a dislike
for these new-fashioned, strong-minded girls who are always calling out
for their rights. I am sure, my dear, that you have too much sense for
such notions. You look far too pretty and amiable. Now about the
little matter of remuneration! ... Would half a crown a day be
agreeable?"
Norah gasped again, with a sensation as if a pail of water had been
suddenly douched over her head. Half a crown a day! It was what people
paid to charwomen. Good Gracious! She tried to calculate what sum was
represented by seven half-crowns, and the delay which took place before
she succeeded in settling the point convinced her that, after all, she
would be wise to accept Mrs Baker's offer, since in another situation
she might possibly be required to teach arithmetic and mathematics! She
perjured herself, therefore, by declaring that half a crown would be
very agreeable indeed, and returned home undecided between hilarity and
depression.
For the next three weeks Norah earned her half-crown a day with equal
satisfaction to herself and her employer. The biographies were a trifle
dull, it is true, and the harmonium decidedly creaky and out of tune,
but the old lady was kindly and affectionate, and her companion had the
pleasure of feeling that her services were appreciated. By this time,
however, she had fully grasped the fact that seven half-crowns equal
seventeen-and-six, and in the conviction that further effort was
required to secure herself from anxiety, had recommenced the daily
searchings of the newspaper columns. Then it was that she discovered an
advertisement which filled her with a sense of delighted amusement,
because of its strange likeness and yet contrast to the one of a month
before. Another lady, it appeared, was desirous of finding a companion,
but this time the advertiser was a champion of women's rights, who
wished to meet with someone of like opinions, who would walk with her in
the afternoons and discuss the problems and difficulties of the sex.
"`Curiouser and curiouser!'" quoted Norah to herself. "What a droll
coincidence. Now, if I had not--but of course as I _have_, I could not
possibly... And yet, why not? I am sure after being shut up in that
stuffy room all morning reading those dull, old-fashioned books, I am in
a most daring and revolutionary mood in the afternoons. I should not be
pretending to take an interest in the suffrage question; I should really
and truly feel it... It would be instructive to hear what this lady has
to say for herself, and then, after marching about the country listening
to her tirades, I should probably be quite thankful to get back to
medievalism and my dear old lady in the morning.--I'll do it! I will!
I'll go and see her without an hour's delay..."
The advertisement had not asked for a personal application, but Norah
had gained experience by this time, and was perfectly aware of the
advantage possessed by Miss Boyce in her sealskin coat and best hat,
over the "young persons" who, as a rule, applied for situations. She
intended to be not only heard but seen.
The advanced lady lived in a flat which was as artistic as the house in
Berrington Square was commonplace. She was a spinster of uncertain age,
tall and angular, and so formidable in appearance that at the sight of
her Norah was overcome with a panic of nervousness.
"Good afternoon," she stammered. "I--I saw your advertisement in the
_Daily News_, and thought that I would--that is to say, that I would
apply--that I would try to--to.--I hope I have not inconvenienced you by
calling in person!"
"Not at all, not at all. I have already received several replies, but
it is far more satisfactory to have a personal interview," returned the
spinster, staring very hard at Norah's hat, and craning her neck to see
how the bows were arranged at the back. "I am ordered to take a certain
amount of outdoor exercise daily, and as my friends are not able to
accompany me, I wish to meet with a lady who is interested in the same
subjects as myself, and with whom I can enjoy exchange of ideas as we
walk. You look rather young, but I gather from the fact of your having
replied to my advertisement, that you are--"
"I am very much interested. I should enjoy hearing your views, and,
though I am young, I have seen a great deal of life. I have travelled
more than most people, and am now alone in the world, and obliged to
earn my own living."
Norah had been in haste to reply, in order to avoid a more compromising
statement, but now she stopped short, surprised by a flash of delight
which illumined the listener's face.
"Ah-h!" cried Miss Mellor, in the rapturous tone of one who has suddenly
been granted a long-craved-for opportunity. "Then you have had
experience! You _know_! You _fed_! You agree with me that the history
of the human race, the throng of events, the multifarious forms of human
life are only the accidental form of the Idea; they do not belong to the
Idea itself, in which alone lies the adequate objectivity of the Will,
but only to that phenomenon which appears to the knowledge of the
individual, and which is just as foreign and unessential to the Idea
itself as the figures which they assume are to the clouds, or the foam
flakes to the brooks! So true! So deeply true! You agree with me, I
feel sure!"
"Certainly. Quite so. I mean to say--naturally! Oh, yes. By all
means!" gasped Norah weakly, and her head fell back against the chair.
She was not to know that the speaker had discovered her little speech in
a book only one short half-hour before, and had learned it off by heart
in the fond hope of being able to introduce it incidentally into
conversation, and she felt faint and dizzy with the effort of trying to
understand.
Miss Mellor saw that she had made an impression, and beamed with
complacent delight.
"Ah, yes; I see that we are at one!" she cried. "And is it not a
comfort to feel that, having once grasped this idea, we shall now be
able to distinguish between the Will and the Idea, and between the Idea
and its manifestation? The events of the world will now have
significance for us, inasfar only as they are the letters out of which
we may read the Idea of man. We can never again believe with the
vulgar--"
"Oh, my goodness!" cried Norah to herself. "To think that it should
have come to this! I'm vulgar! I must be; and I never knew it! I
don't understand one _word_ she is saying. If I ever get out of this
room alive--"
She sank still farther back in her chair and stared at Miss Mellor with
fascinated, unblinking eyes, like a poor little rabbit beneath the spell
of the boa-constrictor. In a dim, far-off way, she heard the stream of
unmeaning eloquence, but her one supreme longing was to bring the
interview to an end, to crawl home and lie down upon the sofa, and put
wet cloths on her head, and go to sleep and forget all about her
sufferings... Suddenly the dock chimed, and she awoke to the fact that
it was over half an hour since she had entered the room. She rose to
her feet, and was about to falter forth apologies for her ignorance,
when, to her astonishment, the advanced lady bore down upon her, and
grasping her hand in fervent fashion, declared that she was enchanted to
have discovered a kindred spirit, and that, suffering as she did from
constant coldness and misunderstanding, it was soul-refreshing to meet
with one whose mind was as her own, and that she would henceforth live
in anticipation of their afternoon communions!
For one moment Norah was stupefied with amazement, the next her eyes
shone, and the dimples dipped in her cheeks, for with a flash of
intuition she had grasped the significance of the situation! What the
advanced lady really desired was not a companion who would talk and air
her own opinions, but a dummy figure to whom she herself could lay down
the law; a target at which she could let fly the arrows of her
newly-acquired wisdom. An occasional murmur of assent would therefore
be the extent of the companion's duties, which feat Norah felt herself
well able to accomplish.
For the next few months the enterprising Miss Boyce fulfilled her two
daily engagements with equal satisfaction to herself and her employers.
In the morning, within the fusty confines of Number 8 Berrington Square,
she read aloud extracts from antiquated volumes which had been the
favourites of the old lady's youth; likewise retrimmed caps, sprayed the
leaves of the india-rubber plant, retrieved dropped stitches in
knitting, droned out voluntaries and national airs on the wheezy old
harmonium, and listened to endless reminiscences of the Henstock family,
and other worthies equally unknown.
In the afternoons Norah roamed the different parks in company with Miss
Mellor, preserving an attentive silence while that good lady quoted the
opinions of her friends, or paraphrased the leading articles in the
Radical press. Her first feeling towards this, the second of her
employers, had been largely tinged with impatience and lack of sympathy,
but as time went on, she relented somewhat in the hardness of her
judgment, and felt the dawning of a kindly pity. She was a very lonely
woman--this tall angular spinster who talked so loudly of her rights;
love had never come into her life, and in all the breadth of the land
she had hardly a relation whom she could take by the hand.
Once, in the middle of a heated argument on the suffrage, Miss Mellor
paused to look longingly at a curly-headed baby toddling across the
path; and beside the duck-pond in Regent's Park she invariably lost the
thread of her argument in watching the crowds of merry children feeding
their pets. Norah reflected that had Miss Mellor been a happy wife and
mother she might not have troubled her head about a vote. All the same,
the result of education on the woman's question had been to convince
Norah that the demand for "rights" had been founded on some very
definite wrongs. After the long walk the two ladies would return to tea
in the flat, where the companion consumed the wafer-like bread and
butter and dainty cakes with Philistine enjoyment, and even Miss Mellor
herself descended from her high horse, and inquired curiously:
"Where do you get your hats?"
Of her two employers Norah had distinct preference for the old lady,
Mrs Baker. She was of a more lovable nature than the voluble Miss
Mellor, and, moreover, as she herself had announced--she had a nephew!
The nephew was a handsome, well-set-up man of thirty, who possessed
considerable culture and refinement, and a most ingratiating kindliness
of demeanour towards his homely old aunt.
The first Sunday after Norah entered upon her duties, young Mr Baker
did not call at Berrington Square; on the second Sunday he came to
midday dinner; on the third, he met the two ladies at the church door
after morning service, and remained with them for the whole of the
afternoon; on the fourth, he was already seated in the pew when they
entered the church, and he persisted in these good habits until it
became a matter of course that he should spend the whole day in
Berrington Square, as Norah herself had done from the beginning of her
engagement. In the afternoon Mrs Baker would invariably make the
hospitable suggestion that "if John liked" he could descend to a chill,
fireless room in the basement to indulge in an after-dinner weed, but
John refused to move until Miss Boyce had given her repetition of the
morning's service. He said that he was afraid she might forget an
important point, in which case he should be at hand to jog her memory.
"John is so thoughtful!" said his aunt proudly.
As a matter of fact, John never once volunteered a suggestion on any one
of these occasions. He seemed to be fully occupied in using his eyes
and ears, and in truth it was both a pretty and touching sight to see
the young fresh face bent close to the withered countenance of the deaf
old woman, and to listen to the thrush-like tones of the girl's voice,
as with a sweet and simple eloquence she gave her brief resume of the
morning's sermon. The old lady nodded and wagged her head to enforce
the points, while the tears trickled down her cheeks. From time to time
John also would take a promenade to the window, and clear his throat
loudly as he stared at the dusty trees. Strange how much more powerful
those sermons appeared in the repetition!
After the recital was over, young Mr Baker would take Miss Boyce to
examine the ferns in the tiny conservatory, while his aunt enjoyed her
forty winks; in the evening he escorted her back to her lodgings. He
was a most attentive young man!
In Mrs Baker's opinion "John" was infallible, and by and by Norah
became so much infected with this view that her afternoon's occupation
became fraught with misery, as she thought of what "John" would say if
he knew to what heresies she was lending her ears. One Sunday afternoon
returning to the Berrington Square drawing-room after a short absence,
she overheard a few words which sent an added pang through her heart.
"--Most fortunate indeed!" John was saying. "You might have searched
the world over, and not found another like her. I had begun to fear
that the type was extinct. A sweet, modest, old-fashioned girl!"
That evening Norah wet her pillow with her tears, and astonished the
advanced lady the next afternoon by contradicting assertions, and
raising up objections in a most unprecedented fashion. These signs of
backsliding were very distressing to Miss Mellor, who had been
encouraged by her companion's unfailing acquiescence to imagine herself
unanswerable in argument, but she was encouraged to believe that example
might perhaps accomplish what precept had failed to inspire.
"You will, I know, rejoice with me on a great honour which has been
conferred upon me by my fellow-workers," she announced proudly one day.
"I have been promoted from the reserves to a foremost position in the
fighting line. I am nominated for active service on Friday next!"
Norah's eyes were exceptionally large and expressive, and the
saucer-like stare of curiosity which she turned upon the speaker was
very gratifying to that good lady's feelings.
"On Friday evening. At the Albert Hall. The Chancellor is to speak.
We shall be there. Twenty are nominated for service. _I_ am Number
Nine!"
Norah stared harder than ever. This sounded rather perilously like the
story of a Nihilist Plot which she had read in a shilling shocker some
weeks before. She had visions of bomb explosions and wholesale arrests,
and, as ever, the thought of John obtruded itself into the foreground of
her mind. What would John think if Miss Mellor were arrested, and gave
the name of Norah Boyce as her chosen friend and confidante?
"Number Nine, for _what_?" she gasped nervously, and Miss Mellor was
hurried into unthinking reply:
"For screaming--I mean protesting. The first eight champions will raise
their voices in rotation. They will be silenced, probably ejected.
Then it will be My Turn."
"Ejected!" Norah looked scared. "Turned out. Oh-h! How dreadful!
They will seize hold of you--men will seize hold of you, and pull and
drag. They will pinch your arms... It must be horrid to be pinched!"
"What would have become of the world if other great reformers had ceased
their struggles through dread of being pinched?" demanded Miss Mellor
sternly; and Norah felt snubbed, and looked it. She had no courage left
for further argument.
On the next Friday afternoon Norah took her way to the flat to accompany
her fighting employer on the walk abroad which should invigorate her for
the evening's fray, but to her dismay found the good lady stretched upon
the sofa, very flushed as to face, and husky as to voice.
"It is quinsy," she announced. "I'm subject to it. I felt it coming
on, but I would not give in. I have gargled and fomented all morning,
but it is too late. I couldn't scream to save my life. It's a
terrible, terrible disappointment, but I am thankful that I need not
upset the Committee's plans. You shall take my place!"
"I?" cried Norah shrilly. "No, no--I can't! I couldn't--I wouldn't--
not for anything in the whole wide world! Call out before a whole
meeting, have them all staring at me, strange men catching hold of me,
dragging my sleeves, crushing my hat--_never_! I'd sooner die!"
"Then," croaked Miss Mellor hoarsely, "I shall go myself!" And from
this point she refused to budge. She was ill; in the natural course of
events she would grow worse; if she went out into the damp and the cold,
and endured the excitement of a crowded political meeting, she would
most certainly be very ill indeed; but she had promised; she could not
disappoint the Committee at the eleventh hour; she had no energy to seek
further for a substitute. Then her voice took a pathetic turn, and she
sighed feebly.
"I have been kind to you, Norah. I have tried to be your friend.
Danvers (the maid) would accompany you to the Hall. You have nothing to
do but to sit still and interrupt when your turn arrives. How can you
be so selfish and unkind?"
As time went on and argument and appeal alike failed to move Miss Mellor
from her position, a paralysis of helplessness seized Norah in its grip.
She knew that in the end she would be compelled to consent, for of two
horrifying alternatives it seemed the least to dare a certain amount of
buffeting for herself, rather than allow another woman to run the risk
of serious, even fatal, consequences. At nine o'clock that evening,
then, behold a trembling and faint-hearted Number Nine seated at the end
of one of the rows of stalls at the Albert Hall, the faithful Danvers by
her side, listening with all her ears, not to the eloquence of the
Chancellor of the Exchequer, but to the shrill interruptions from
feminine tongues which punctuated his utterances. Numbers One and Two
had been escorted from the gallery by indulgent, if somewhat
contemptuous, stewards. Numbers Pour and Five had received less
consideration; Number Six had been undeniably hustled; Number Seven had
squealed aloud. Norah realised with a dread sinking of the heart that
the temper of the meeting was rising, and that each fresh disturber of
the peace would receive less consideration. Only one more, and then...
The great building whirled before her eyes, the faces on the platform
became faint and blurred, her heart pounded so loudly that it seemed
impossible that her neighbours should not hear its thuds. She turned
her head to look at the nearest door and examine the faces of the group
of stewards waiting in readiness at its portal. Were they _very_ big,
_very_ fierce, _very_ formidable? Which of the number would be the
first to tear her from her seat? Her pretty face was blanched and drawn
beneath her flower-wreathed hat; one of the stewards meeting her glance
moved forward to her side with a stifled exclamation of dismay. He bent
low over her, whispering in her ear:
"Miss Boyce! what are you doing here? Are you alone? You ought not to
be here without a man to look after you. It is getting too noisy--too
excited. If there are any more interruptions things will become
dangerous. Let me take you out quietly, while there is time--"
John Baker, by all that was confounding and terrible! John, the last
man on earth whom she would have wished to witness her humiliation!
John, who had called her a "modest, old-fashioned girl." ... It was the
last straw to poor Norah's composure; her fluttering heart gave one
sickening leap, and then appeared to stop altogether; she held out her
hands with a feeble, despairing gesture, and collapsed in a limp little
heap in John Baker's arms.
When Norah came back to consciousness she was lying on a form in a bare,
boarded room, and John was engaged in sprinkling water from a water-jug
over the front of her best silk blouse. She sat up hastily, brushed the
hair from her forehead, and stared around with bewildered eyes. A roar
of applause from the great hall broke the silence, and brought back
struggling remembrance.
"Did you--did you turn me out?"
"I _carried_ you out! You fainted, and I brought you in here. It was
no wonder; you were not accustomed to such sights. Did you imagine in
your faintness that you had been turned out like those other screaming
women, you poor little frightened girl?" asked John's big voice in its
most caressing tones.
Norah shivered with dismay.
"I was--I am--I mean I _should_ have been, if I had stayed five minutes
longer! I'm Number Nine!" she cried; and then seeing John's stare of
stupefied dismay, promptly threw up her hands to her face, and burst
into weak-minded tears.
"Oh--oh! What _will_ you think of me--what _will_ you say!--I was
obliged to earn some money--and half a crown a day was not enough,--Mrs
Baker gives me half a crown. I--I go to another lady in the afternoons,
and she is a Suffragette. She is very kind to me, and very patient,
because I'm stupid, and can't understand, and--and I don't seem to care!
I don't _want_ a vote, but she was Number Nine to-night, and she is
ill--her throat is very bad, she might be dangerously ill if she came
out. She would only stay at home if I promised to take her place, and,
she has been very kind.--I promised, and now I've failed. I was too
terribly frightened. And then I saw your face... Oh, what _do_ you
think of me?"
But John Baker refused to give any expression of opinion. All he said
was:
"Half a crown a day! She offered you _that_! Oh, my poor little girl!"
And his voice was so low and tender that at the sound of it Norah
sobbed afresh.
"Don't cry. Put on your hat. I will take you into the air, and drive
you home in a taxi. You will feel better in the air," said John
quietly.
He gave her his arm, and escorted her into the corridor, and as they
walked along, another roar sounded from within the precincts of the
hall, and through an open doorway shot a dishevelled female form,
struggling in the grasp of half a dozen stewards. Danvers herself! The
faithful Danvers, who, seeing the collapse of her mistress' proxy, had
gallantly taken upon herself the duties of Number Nine. Norah
shuddered, and grasped more tightly John's protecting arm.
"Oh, what _must_ you think of me?" she demanded once more; and John,
looking down at her as they reached the cool air of the street, replied
sturdily:
"I think that no woman can serve two masters. Can't you make up your
mind to take _one_ instead?"