THYRZA SINGS AGAIN
Egremont had a fear that he might seem ungrateful to the man Bower. It
was Bower to whom he had gone for help when he first sought to gather
an audience, and on the whole the help had been effectual. Yet Bower
had not borne the test of nearer acquaintance; Egremont soon knew the
vulgarity of his nature, and had much difficulty in sustaining the show
of friendly intercourse with him. One evening in mid-February, he
called the portly man to speak with him after lecture, and, with what
geniality he could, explained to him the details of his library project
and told whom he had chosen for librarian. Bower professed himself
highly satisfied with everything, and, as usual, affected Egremont
disagreeably with his subservience. The latter was not surprised to
find that Grail had kept silence on the subject; but it was time now
for the arrangements to be made public.
From the lecture-room, Mr. Bower went to a club where he was wont to
relax himself of evenings; here he discussed the library question with
such acquaintances as were at hand. He reached home just after the
closing of the shop. Mary was gone to bed. Mrs. Bower had just finished
her supper, and was musing over the second half of her accustomed pint
of ale. Her husband threw himself into a chair, with an exclamation of
scornful disgust.
'What's wrong now?' asked Mrs. Bower.
'Well, I don't know what _you'll_ call it, but _I_ call it the
damnedest bit of sneaking behaviour as I ever knew! He's given the
librarianship to that fellow Grail. There's the 'ouse at the back for
him to live in, and rent free, no doubt; and there's a good lumping
salary, _that_ you may go bail. Now what do you think o' that job?'
'And him not as much as offerin' it to you!'
'Not so much as offerin' it! How many 'ud he have got to hear his
lectures without me, I'd like to know! I shouldn't have taken it; no,
of course I shouldn't; it wouldn't a' suited me to take a
librarianship. But it was his bounden duty to give me the first offer.
I never thought he'd make one of _us_ librarian; if it had been some
stranger, I shouldn't have made so much of it. But to give it to Grail
in that sneaking, underhanded way! Why, I'd be ashamed o' myself. I've
a rare good mind never to go near his lectures again.'
'You'd better go,' said Mrs. Bower, prudently. 'He might pay you out at
the works. It 'ud be a trick just like him, after this.'
'I'll think about it,' returned the other, with dignity, sitting
upright, and gathering his broad beard into his hand.
'Why, there now!' cried his wife, struck with a sudden thought. 'If
that doesn't explain something! Depend upon it--_depend_ upon
it--that's how Grail got Thyrza Trent to engage herself to him. He'll
a' known it for some time, Grail will a' done. He's a mean fellow, or
he'd never a' gone and set her against Mr. Ackroyd, as it's easy to see
he did. He'll a' told her about the 'ouse and the salary, of course he
will! If I didn't think there was something queer in that job!'
Mr. Bower saw at once how highly probable this was.
'And that is why they've put on such hairs, her an' Lydia,' Mrs. Bower
pursued. 'It's all very well for Mary to pretend as there's nothing
altered. It's my belief Mary's got to know more than she'll tell, and
Lydia's quarrelled with her about it. It's easy enough to see as they
_have_ fell out. Lydia ain't been to chapel since Christmas, an' you
know yourself it was just before Christmas as Egremont went to the
'ouse to see Mr. Grail. If she'd been a bit sharper, she'd never a'
told Mary that. I ain't surprised at Thyrza doin' of under-handed
things; I've never liked her over-much. But I thought better of Lydia.'
'I've not quarrelled with _them_,' said Mr. Bower, magnanimously. 'And
girls must look out for themselves, and do the best for themselves they
can. But that soft-spoken, sneaking Hegremont! You should a' seen him
when he had the cheek to tell me about it; you'd a' thought he was
going to give me a five-pound note.'
'Now, you'll see,' said Mrs. Bower, 'they'll take off old Boddy to live
with them.'
'So much the better. He can't earn his living much longer, and who was
to pay us for his lodging and keep, I'd like to know?'
Thus did the worthy pair link together conjectural cause and effect, on
principles which their habit of mind dictated.
On one point Mrs. Bower was right. Mary and Lydia had not come together
since the former's triumph over her friend. Lydia still visited the
shop to see Mr. Boddy, but generally at the times when Mary was away at
prayer-meetings.
There was no sign that she suffered at all, the good Lyddy; the trouble
of those days before Christmas was lost in the anticipation of the
great change that was soon to come upon her sister's life. To that she
had resolved to look forward cheerfully; the better she came to know
Gilbert, the warmer grew her affection for him. They were made to be
friends; in both were the same absolute honesty of character, the same
silent depths of tenderness, the same stern self-respect. Brother and
sister henceforth, with the bond of a common love which time, whether
it brought joy or sorrow, could but knit closer.
From the first there was, of course, an understanding that the marriage
should take place as soon as the house was ready for Gilbert's tenancy.
Thyrza went secretly and examined the dwelling from the outside, more
than once. That Lydia would come and live there went without saying.
She pretended to oppose this plan at first; said she must be
independent.
'Very well,' said Thyrza, crossing her hands on her lap, 'then I shan't
be married at all, Lyddy, and Mr. Grail had better be told at once.'
There was laughing, and there were kind words.
'I don't think you ought still to call him Mr. Grail,' said Lydia.
'Gilbert? I shall have to say it to myself for a few days. Still, it's
a nice name, isn't it?'
Yes, that point needed no discussion; where Thyrza abode, there abode
Lydia, until--but sadness lay that way. Mrs. Grail was equally clear as
to the arrangements concerning herself; she would keep two rooms and
continue to live in Walnut Tree Walk. Thyrza thought this would be
unkindness to the old lady, but Mrs. Grail had a store of wisdom and
was resolute. In practice, she said, she would not at all feel the
loneliness; she could often be at the house, and it had occurred to her
that her son in the Midlands would be glad to send one of his two girls
to live with her for, say, half a year at a time. Gilbert understood
the good sense of this disposition.
The weather continued doleful, until at length, in the last week of
February, there came a sudden change. A rioting east wind fell upon the
murky vapours of the lower sky, broke up the league of rain and
darkness, and through one spring-heralding day drove silver fleece over
deeps of clear, cold blue. The streets were swept of mire; eaves ceased
to distil their sooty rheum; even in the back-ways of Lambeth there was
a sunny gleam on windows and a clear ring in all the sounds of life.
It was Saturday. Between Egremont and Grail it had been decided that
the latter should to-day take Thyrza to inspect the house. Egremont had
gained the surly compliance of the caretaker--the most liberal
treatment made no difference in the strange old woman's moroseness--and
Grail, promising himself pleasure from Thyrza's surprise, said nothing
more than that he wished to see her at three in the afternoon.
The sisters did not come home together from their work, Lydia had an
engagement with Mrs. Isaacs, of whom we have heard, and went to snatch
a pretence of a dinner in a little shop to which she resorted when
there was need. Thyrza, leaving the work-room at half-past one, did not
take the direct way to Walnut Tree Walk; the sun and the keen air
filled her with a spirit of glad life, and a thought that it would be
nice to see how her future home looked under the bright sky came to her
temptingly. The distance was not great; she soon came to Brook Street
and, with some timidity, turned up the narrow passage, meaning to get a
glimpse of the house and run away again. But just as she reached the
entrance to the rear-yard, she found herself face to face with someone
whom she at once knew for the caretaker whom Gilbert had described to
her. The old woman's eye held her. She was half frightened, yet in a
moment found words.
'Please,' she said--it seemed to her the only way of explaining her
intrusion--'is there any one in the school now?'
The old woman examined her, coldly, searchingly.
'No, there ain't,' she replied. 'Is it you as is a-goin' to live here?'
This was something like witchcraft to Thyrza.
'Yes, I am,' fell from her lips.
'All right. You can go in and look about. I ain't get nothink to hide
away.'
Thyrza was in astonishment, and a little afraid. Yet she dearly wished
to see the interior of the house. The old woman turned, and she
followed her.
'There ain't no need for me to go draggin' about with you,' said the
caretaker, when they were within the door. 'I've plenty o' work o' my
own to see to.'
'May I look into the rooms, then?'
'Didn't I say as you could? What need o' so many words?'
Thyrza hesitated; but, the old creature having begun to beat a
door-mat, she resolved to go forward boldly. She peeped into all the
cheerless chambers, then returned to the door.
'Don't you want to see the school-rooms?' the old woman asked. 'Go
along that passage, and mind the step at the end.'
Thyrza was bolder now. The aspect of the house had not depressed her,
for she knew that it was to be thoroughly repaired and furnished, and
she was predisposed to like everything she saw. It would be her home,
hers and Lyddy's; the dignity of occupying a whole house would have
compensated for many little discomforts. Thanking the old woman for her
direction she went along the dark passage, and came into the large
school-room. And this was to be filled with books! She looked at the
maps and diagrams for a few moments; though it was so bright a day, the
place still kept much of its chill and gloom. Gilbert had told her of
the rooms up above, and she thought she might as well complete her
knowledge of the building by seeing them. At the first landing on the
staircase she came to a window by which the sun streamed in
brilliantly: the rays gladdened her. It was nice that the old woman had
remained behind; the sense of being quite alone, together with the
sudden radiance, affected her with a desire to utter her happiness, and
as she went on she sang in a sweet undertone, sang without words, pure
music of her heart.
In one of the two rooms above, Egremont happened to be taking certain
measurements. Impatient to get his plans completed in detail, he had
resolved to come for half an hour on this same day which had been
appointed for Grail's visit. Curious as he was to see the woman whom
Grail was about to marry--as yet he knew nothing more of her than her
casually learnt name--delicacy prevented him from using the opportunity
this afternoon would give; the two were to arrive at three o'clock, and
long before that time he would have finished his measuring and be gone.
And now he was making his last notes, when the sound of as sweet a
voice as he had ever heard made him pause and listen. The singer was
approaching; her voice grew a little louder, though still in the
undertone of one who sings but half consciously. He caught a light
footstep, then the door was pushed open.
His hand fell. Even such a face as this would he have desired for her
whose voice had such a charm. Her dress told him her position; the
greater was his wonder at the features, which seemed to him of
faultless delicacy--more than that, of beauty which appealed to him as
never beauty had yet. Thyrza stood in alarm; the murmur had died
instantly upon her lips, and for a moment she met his gaze with
directness. Then her eyes fell; her cheeks recovered with interest the
blood which they had lost. She turned to retreat.
But Egremont stepped rapidly forward, saying the first words that came
to him.
'Pray don't let me be in your way! I'm this moment going--this moment.'
From her singing, he concluded that she was accustomed to be here.
Thyrza again met his look. She guessed who this must be. The kindness
of his face as he stood before her caused her to speak the words she
was thinking:
'Are you Mr. Egremont, sir?'
Then she was shocked at her boldness; she did not see the smile with
which he replied:
'Yes, that is my name.'
'I am Miss Trent. Perhaps you have--perhaps Mr. Grail has told you--'
This, Miss Trent? This, Gilbert Grail's wife? His astonishment scarcely
allowed him to relieve her promptly.
'Oh then, we already know each other, by name at least. You have come
to look at the building. Mr. Grail is downstairs?'
'No, sir. I came in alone. I thought I should like to see--'
'Of course. You have been over the house?'
He wondered rather at her coming alone, but supposed that Grail was
withheld by some business.
'Yes, sir,' she answered.
'I'm afraid you think it doesn't look very promising. But I'm sure we
can do a great deal to improve it.'
'I think it's very nice,' Thyrza said, not at all out of politeness,
but because she did indeed think so.
'I will do my best to make it so, as soon as it is vacant. These two
rooms,' he added, loth to take leave at once, 'we shall use for
lectures. Have you been into the other one?'
He led the way, taking up his hat from the desk. Thyrza was overcoming
her timidity. All she had ever heard of Egremont prepared her to find
him full of gentleness and courtesy and good-humour; already she
thought that far too little had been said in his praise. His singular
smile occupied her imagination; she wished to keep her eyes on his
face, for the pleasure of following its changes. Indeed, like her own,
his features were very mobile, and the various emotions now stirring
within him animated his look. She kept at a little distance from him,
and listened with the keenest interest to all he said. When he paused,
after telling her the number of books he had decided to begin with, she
said:
'Mr. Grail does so look forward to it. I'm sure nothing could have made
him so happy.'
Egremont was pleased with a note of sincerity, of self forgetfulness in
these words. He replied:
'I am very glad. I know he'll be at home among books. Are you fond of
reading?'
'Yes, sir. Mr. Grail lends me books, and explains what I don't
understand.'
'No doubt you will find plenty of time.'
'Yes, sir. I shan't go to work then. But of course there'll be the
house to look after.'
Egremont glanced towards the windows and murmured an assent. Thyrza
moved a little nearer the door.
'I think I'll go, now I've seen everything.'
'I am going myself.'
She preceded him down the stairs. He watched her ungloved hand touch
place after place on the railing, watched her slightly bent head with
its long braid of gold and the knot of blue ribbon. At the turning to
the lower flight, he caught a glimpse of her profile, and felt that he
would not readily forget its perfectness. At the foot he asked:
'Do you wish to pass through the house? If not, this door is open.'
'I'll go this way, sir.'
She just raised her face.
'Good-bye, Miss Trent,' he said, offering his hand.
'Good-bye, sir.'
Then he opened the door for her. After standing for a few moments in
the vestibule, he went to speak a word to the caretaker.
Thyrza walked home, looking neither to right nor to left. There was a
little spot of colour on each cheek which would not melt away. Reaching
the room upstairs, she sat down without taking off her things. She
ought to have prepared her dinner, but did not think of it, and at
length she was startled by hearing a clock strike three.
She ran down to the Grails' room. Gilbert and his mother had just
finished their meal. The latter gossiped for a moment, then went out.
'I want you to go somewhere with me,' Gilbert said.
'Yes, I'm quite ready; but--'
'But--'
'I have something to tell you, Gilbert. I wonder whether you'll be
cross.'
'When was I cross last, Thyrza?'
'No, but I'm not sure whether I ought to have done something. As I was
coming home, I thought I'd walk past the house. When I got there, I
thought I'd just go up the passage and look. And that old woman met me,
and asked me if it was me that was going to live there. How did she
know?'
Gilbert laughed.
'That's more than I can tell.'
'But that isn't all. She said I might go in and look about if I liked.
And I thought I would--did I do wrong?'
She saw a shade of disappointment on his face. But he said:
'Not at all. Did you go over all the rooms?'
'Yes. But there's something else. I went into those school-rooms
upstairs, never thinking there was any one there, because the old woman
told me there wasn't. But there _was_--and it was Mr. Egremont.'
'Really? Did he knew who you were?'
'I told him, Gilbert.'
He laughed again, and there was a look of pride in his eyes.
'Well, there's nothing very dreadful yet. And did he speak nicely?'
'Yes, very nicely. And when I went away, he shook hands.'
'It's a very queer thing that you happened to go just today. That's
exactly where I meant to take you this afternoon. I'm rather
disappointed.'
'I'm very sorry. But couldn't I go with you again? We shall be alone
this time: Mr. Egremont said he was just going.'
'It won't tire you?'
'Oh, but I should like to go! I made up my mind which'll be Lyddy's
room. I wonder whether you'll guess the same.'
'Come along, then!'