THE MARKET
I
Rachel thought she understood all Louis' mental processes. With the
tragic self-confidence of the inexperienced wife, she was convinced
that she had nothing to learn about the secret soul of the stranger to
whom she had utterly surrendered herself, reserving from him naught
of the maiden. Each fresh revelation of him she imagined to be final,
completing her studies. In fact, it would have taken at least ten
years of marriage to prove to her that a perception of ignorance is
the summit of knowledge. She had not even realized that human nature
is chiefly made up of illogical and absurd contradictions. Thus
she left the house that Saturday morning gloomy, perhaps hopeless,
certainly quite undecided as to the future, but serene, sure of her
immediate position, and sure that Louis would act like Louis. She knew
that she had the upper hand, both physically and morally. The doctor
had called and done his work, and given a very reassuring report. She
left Louis to Mrs. Tams, as was entirely justifiable, merely informing
him that she had necessary errands, and even this information she gave
through her veil, a demure contrivance which she had adapted for the
first time on her honeymoon. It was his role to accept her august
decisions.
The forenoon was better than the dawn. The sun had emerged; the
moisture had nearly disappeared, except in the road; and the impulse
of spring was moving in the trees and in the bodies of young women;
the sky showed a virginal blue; the wandering clouds were milky and
rounded, the breeze infinitely soft. It seemed to be in an earlier age
that the dark colliers had silently climbed the steep of Bycars
Lane amid the dankness and that the first column of smoke had risen
forlornly from the chimney.
In spite of her desolated heart, and of her primness, Rachel stepped
forward airily. She was going forth to an enormous event, namely, her
first apparition in the shopping streets of the town on a Saturday
morning as Mrs. Louis Fores, married woman. She might have postponed
it, but into what future? Moreover, she was ashamed of being diffident
about it. And, in the peculiar condition of her mind, she would have
been ashamed to let a spiritual crisis, however appalling, interfere
with the natural, obvious course of her duties. So far as the world
was concerned, she was a happy married woman, who had to make her
debut as a shopping housewife, and hence she was determined that her
debut should be made.... And yet, possibly she might not have ventured
away from the house at all, had she not felt that if she did not
escape for a time from its unbreathable atmosphere into the liberty of
the streets, she would stifle and expire. Wherever she put herself
in the house she could not feel alone. In the streets she felt alone,
even when saluting new acquaintances and being examined and probed by
their critical stare. The sight of these acquaintances reminded her
that she had a long list of calls to repay. And then the system of
paying calls and repaying, and the whole system of society, seemed
monstrously fanciful and unreal to her. There was only one reality.
The solid bricks of the pavement suddenly trembled under her feet as
though she were passing over a suspension-bridge. The enterprise of
shopping became idiotic, humorous, incredibly silly in the face of
that reality.
Nevertheless, the social system of Bursley, as exemplified in Wedgwood
Street and the market-place, its principal shopping thoroughfares, was
extremely alluring, bright, and invigorating that morning. It almost
intoxicated, and had, indeed, a similar effect to that of a sparkling
drink. Rachel had never shopped at large with her own money before.
She had executed commissions for Mrs. Maldon. She had been an unpaid
housekeeper to her father and brother. Now she was shopping as
mistress of a house and of money. She owed an account of her outlay
to nobody, not even to Louis. She recalled the humble and fantastic
Saturday night when she had shopped with Louis as reticule-carrier
... centuries since. The swiftness and unforeseeableness of events
frightened the girl masquerading as a wise, perfected woman. Her heart
lay like a weight in her corsage for an instant, and the next instant
she was in the bright system again, because she was so young.
Here and there in the streets, and in small groups in the chief shops,
you saw prim ladies of every age, each with a gloved hand clasped over
a purse. (But sometimes the purse lay safe under the coverlet of
a perambulator.) These purses made all the ladies equal, for their
contents were absolutely secret from all save the owners. All the
ladies were spending, and the delight of spending was theirs. And in
theory every purse was inexhaustible. At any rate, it was impossible
to conceive a purse empty. The system wore the face of the ideal.
Manners were proper to the utmost degree; they neatly marked the
equality of the shoppers and the profound difference between the
shoppers and the shopkeepers. All ladies were agreeable, all babies in
perambulators were darlings. The homes thus represented by ladies and
babies were clearly polite homes, where reigned suavity, tranquillity,
affection, and plenty. Civilization was justified in Wedgwood
Street and the market-place--and also, to some extent, in St. Luke's
Square.... And Rachel was one of these ladies. Her gloved hand closed
over a purse exactly in the style of the others. And her purse, regard
being had to the inheritance of her husband, was supposed to hide vast
sums; so much so that ladies who had descended from distant heights
in pony-carts gazed upon her with the respect due to a rival. All
welcomed her into the exclusive, correct little world--not only the
shopkeepers but the buyers therein. She represented youthful love. Her
life must be, and was, an idyll! True, she had no perambulator, but
middle-aged ladies greeted her with wistfulness in their voices and in
their eyes.
She smiled often as she told and retold the story of Louis' accident,
and gave positive assurances that he was in no danger, and would
not bear a scar. She blushed often. She was shyly happy in her
unhappiness. The experience alternated between the unreal and the
real. The extraordinary complexity of life was beginning to put its
spell on her. She could not determine the relative values of the
various facets of the experience.
When she had done the important parts of her business, she thought she
would go into the covered market, which, having one entrance in
the market-place and another in Wedgwood Street, connects the two
thoroughfares. She had never been into the covered market because
Mrs. Maldon had a prejudice against its wares. She went out of mere
curiosity, just to enlarge her knowledge of her adopted town. The huge
interior, with its glazed roof, was full of clatter, shouting, and
the smell of innumerable varieties of cheese. She passed a second-hand
bookstall without seeing it, and then discerned admirable potatoes at
three-halfpence a peck less than she had been paying--and Mrs. Maldon
was once more set down as an old lady with peculiarities. However, by
the time Rachel had made a critical round of the entire place, with
its birds in cages, popular songs at a penny, sweetstuffs, cheap
cottons and woollens, bright tinware, colonial fleshmeat, sausage
displays, and particularly its cheeses, Mrs. Maldon was already
recovering her reputation as a woman whose death was an irreparable
loss to the town.
As Rachel passed the negligible second-hand bookstall again, it was
made visible to her by the fact that Councillor Thomas Batchgrew was
just emerging from the shop behind it, with a large volume in his
black-gloved hands. Thomas Batchgrew came out of the dark bookshop
as a famous old actor, accustomed to decades of crude public worship,
comes out of a fashionable restaurant into a fashionable thoroughfare.
His satisfied and self-conscious countenance showed that he knew
that nearly everybody in sight was or ought to be acquainted with his
identity and his renown, and showed also that his pretence of being
unaware of this tremendous and luscious fact was playful and not
seriously meant to deceive a world of admirers. He was wearing a light
tweed suit, with a fancy waistcoat and a hard, pale-grey hat. As he
aged, his tendency to striking pale attire was becoming accentuated;
at any rate, it had the advantage of harmonizing with his unique
whiskers--those whiskers which differentiated him from all the rest of
the human race in the Five Towns.
Rachel blushed, partly because he was suddenly so close to her, partly
because she disapproved of the cunning expression on his red, seamed
face and was afraid he might divine her thoughts, and partly because
she recalled the violent things she had said against him to Louis. But
as soon as Thomas Batchgrew caught sight of her the expression of his
faced changed in an instant to one of benevolence and artless joy; the
change in it was indeed dramatic.
And Rachel, pleased and flattered, said to herself, almost startled--
"He really admires me. And I do believe he always did."
And since admiration is a sweet drug, whether offered by a rascal
or by the pure in heart, she forgot momentarily the horror of her
domestic dilemma.
II
"Eh, lass!" Thomas Batchgrew was saying familiarly, after he had
inquired about Louis, "I'm rare glad for thy sake it was no worse."
His frank implication that he was glad only for her sake gratified and
did not wound her as a wife.
The next moment he had dismissed the case of Louis and was displaying
to her the volume which he carried. It was a folio Bible, printed by
the Cornishman Tregorthy in the town of Bursley, within two hundred
yards of where they were standing, in the earliest years of the
nineteenth century--a bibliographical curiosity, as Thomas Batchgrew
vaguely knew, for he wet his gloved thumb and, resting the book on
one raised knee, roughly turned over several pages till he came to the
title-page containing the word "Bursley," which he showed with pride
to Rachel. Rachel, however, not being in the slightest degree a
bibliophile, discerned no interest whatever in the title-page.
She merely murmured with politeness, "Oh, yes! Bursley," while
animadverting privately on the old man's odious trick of wetting his
gloved thumb and leaving marks on the pages.
"The good old Book!" he said. "I've been after that volume for six
months and more. I knew I should get it, but he's a stiff un--yon is,"
jerking his shoulder in the direction of the second-hand bookseller.
Then he put the folio under his arm, delighted at the souvenir of
having worsted somebody in a bargain, and repeated, "The good old
Book!"
Rachel reflected--
"You unspeakable old sinner!"
Still, she liked his attitude towards herself. In addition to the book
he insisted on carrying a small white parcel of hers which she had
not put into the reticule. They climbed the steps out of the covered
market and walked along the market-place together. And Rachel
unmistakably did find pleasure in being seen thus with the great and
powerful, if much criticized, Thomas Batchgrew, him to whom several
times, less than a year earlier, she had scathingly referred as
_that man_. His escort in the thoroughfare, and especially
his demeanour towards herself, gave her a standing which she could
otherwise scarcely have attained. Moreover, people might execrate him
in private, but that he had conquered the esteem of their secret souls
was well proved by their genuine eagerness to salute him as he walked
sniffing along. He counted himself one of the seven prides of the
district, and perhaps he was not far out.
"Come in a minute, lass," he said in a low, confidential voice,
as they reached his branch shop, just beyond Malkin's. "I'll--" He
paused.
A motor, apparently enormous, was buzzing motion-less in the wide
entry by the side of the shop. It very slowly moved forward, crossed
the footpath and half the street opposite the Town Hall, impeding a
tram-car, and then curved backward into a position by the kerbstone.
John's Ernest was at the steering-wheel. Councillor Batchgrew stood
still with his mouth open to watch the manoeuvre.
"This is John's Ernest--my son John's eldest. Happen ye know him?"
said Batchgrew to Rachel. "He's a good lad."
John's Ernest, a pleasant-featured young man of twenty-five, blushed
and raised his hat. And Rachel also blushed as she nodded. It was
astonishing that old Batchgrew could have a grandson with so honest
a look on his face, but she had heard that son John, too, was very
different from his father.
"Dunna go till I've seen thee," said Mr. Batchgrew to John's Ernest,
and to Rachel, "Come in, Mrs. Fores."
John's Ernest silenced the car, and extricated himself with practised
rapidity from the driver's seat.
"Where are ye going?" asked his grandfather.
"I'm going to lock the garage doors," said John's Ernest, with a
humorous smile which seemed to add, "Unless you'd like them to be left
open all Saturday afternoon." Rachel vividly remembered the playful,
boyish voice which she had heard one night when the motor-car had
called to take Mr. Batchgrew to Red Cow.
The councillor nodded.
In the small, untidy, disagreeable, malodorous shop, which in about
half a century had scarcely altered its aspect, Thomas Batchgrew
directed Rachel to a corner behind the counter and behind a partition,
with a view of a fragment of the window. As she passed she saw one of
the Batchgrew women (the wife of another grandson) and three little
girls of various sizes flash in succession across an open doorway at
the back. The granddaughter-in-law, who had an abode full of costly
wedding-presents over the shop, had been one of her callers, but when
they flashed across that doorway the Batchgrew women made a point of
ignoring all phenomena in the shop.
"Has Louis decided about them debentures?" Thomas Batchgrew asked,
still in a very low and confidential tone, as the two stood together
in the corner. He had put the Book and the parcel down on a very
ragged blotting-pad that lay on a chipped and ink-stained deal desk,
and began to finger a yellow penholder. There was nobody else in the
shop.
Rachel had foreseen his question.
She answered calmly: "Yes. He's quite decided that on the whole it'll
be better if he doesn't put his money into debentures."
There was no foundation whatever for this statement; yet, in
uttering the lie, she was clearly conscious of a feeling of lofty
righteousness. She faced Thomas Batchgrew, though not with a
tranquillity perfectly maintained, and she still enjoyed his
appreciation of her, but she did not seem to care whether he guessed
that she was lying or not.
"I'm sorry, lass!" he said simply, sniffing. "The lad's a fool. It
isn't as if I've got to go hawking seven per cent. debentures to get
rid of 'em--and in a concern like that, too! They'd never ha' been
seven per cent if it hadna been for me. But it was you as I was
thinking of when I offered 'em to Louis. I thought I should be doing
ye a good turn."
The old man smiled amid his loud sniffs. He was too old to have
retained any save an artistic interest in women. But an artistic
interest in them he certainly had; and at an earlier period he had
acquainted himself with life, as his eye showed. Rachel blushed a
third time that morning, and more deeply than before. He was seriously
nattering her now. Endearing qualities that had expired in him long
ago seemed to be resuscitated and to animate his ruined features.
Rachel dimly understood how it was that some woman had once married
him and borne him a lot of children, and how it was that he had been
so intimate and valued a friend of the revered husband of such a woman
as Mrs. Maldon. She was, in the Five Towns phrase, "flustered." She
almost believed what Thomas Batchgrew had said. She did believe it.
She had misjudged him on the Thursday night when he spread the lure of
the seven per cent. in front of Louis. At any rate, he assuredly did
not care, personally, whether Louis accepted the debentures or not.
"However," the councillor went on, "he's got to know his own business
best. And I don't know as it's any affair o' mine. But I was just
thinking of you. When the husband has a good investment, th' wife
generally comes in for something.... And what's more, it 'ud ha'
stopped him from doing anything silly with his brass! _You_
know."
"Yes," she murmured.
"I'm talking to ye because I've taken a fancy to ye," said the
councillor. "I knew what you were the first time I set eyes on ye. Oh,
I don't mind telling ye now--what harm is there in it? I'd a sort of a
fancy as one day you and John's Ernest might ha' hit it off. I had it
in my mind like."
A crude compliment, possibly in bad taste, possibly offensive; but
Rachel was singularly moved by the revelation thus made. Before she
could find a reply John's Ernest came into the shop, followed by an
aproned assistant.
III
Then she was sitting by John's Ernest's side in the big motor-car,
with her possessions at her feet. The enthronement had happened in a
few moments. John's Ernest was going to Hanbridge.
"Ye can run Mrs. Fores up home on yer way," Thomas Batchgrew had
suggested.
"But Bycars Lane is miles out of your way!" Rachel had cried.
Both men had smiled. "Won't make a couple of minutes' difference in
the car," John's Ernest had modestly murmured.
She had been afraid to get into the automobile--afraid with a sort of
stage-fright; afraid, as she might have been had she been called
upon to sing at a concert in the Town Hall. She had imagined that all
Bursley was gazing at her as she climbed into the car. Over the face
of England automobiles are far more common than cuckoos, and yet for
the majority, even of the proud and solvent middle class, they still
remain as unattainable, as glitteringly wondrous, as a title. Rachel
had never been in an automobile before; she had never hoped to be
in an automobile. A few days earlier, and she had been regarding a
bicycle as rather romantic! Louis had once mentioned a motor-cycle
and side-carriage for herself, but she had rebuffed the idea with a
shudder.
The whole town slid away behind her. The car was out of the
market-place and crossing the top of Duck Bank, the scene of Louis'
accident, before she had settled her skirts. She understood why the
men had smiled at her; it was no more trouble for the car to go to
Bycars than it would be for her to run upstairs. The swift movement of
the car, silent and arrogant, and the occasional deep bass mysterious
menace of its horn, and the grace of John's Ernest's gestures on the
wheel as he curved the huge vehicle like a phantom round lumbering
obstacles--these things fascinated and exalted her.
In spite of the horrible secret she carried all the time in her heart,
she was somehow filled with an instinctive joy. And she began to
perceive changes in her own perspective. The fine Louis, whom she
had regarded as the summit of mankind, could never offer her an
automobile; he existed entirely in a humbler world; he was, after all,
a young man in a very small way of affairs. Batchgrew's automobile
would swallow up, week by week, more than the whole of Louis' income.
And further, John's Ernest by her side was invested with the mighty
charm of one who easily and skilfully governs a vast and dangerous
organism. All the glory of the inventors and perfecters of
automobiles, and of manufacturing engineers, and of capitalists who
could pay for their luxurious caprices, was centred in John's Ernest,
merely because he directed and subjugated the energy of the miraculous
machine.
And John's Ernest was so exquisitely modest and diffident, and yet had
an almost permanent humorous smile. But the paramount expression on
his face was honesty. She had never hitherto missed the expression of
honesty on Louis' face, but she realized now that it was not there....
And she had been adjudged worthy of John's Ernest! The powerful of the
world had had their eyes on her! Not Louis alone had noted her! Had
Fate chosen, and had she herself chosen, that very motor-car might
have been hers, and she at that instant riding in it as the mistress
thereof! Strange thoughts, which intensely flattered and fostered her
self-esteem. But she still had the horrible secret to carry with her.
When the car stopped in front of her gate, she forced open the door
and jumped down with almost hysterical speed, said "Good-bye" and
"Thank you" to John's Ernest, who becomingly blushed, and ran round
the back of the car with her purchases. The car went on up the lane,
the intention of John's Ernest being evident to proceed along Park
Road and the Moorthorne ridge to Hanbridge rather than turn the car
in the somewhat narrow lane. Rachel, instead of entering the house,
thrust her parcels frantically on to the top step against the front
door, and rushed down the steps again and down the lane. In a minute
she was overtaking a man.
"Louis!" she cried.
From the car she had seen the incredible vision of Louis walking down
the lane from the house. He and John's Ernest had not noticed each
other, nor had Louis noticed that his wife was in the car.
Louis stopped now and looked back, hesitant.
There he was, with his plastered, pale face all streaked with
greyish-white lines! Really Rachel had difficulty in believing her
eyes. She had left him in bed, weak, broken; and he was there in the
road fully dressed for the town and making for the town--a dreadful
sight, but indubitably moving unaided on his own legs. It was simply
monstrous! Fury leaped up in her. She had never heard of anything more
monstrous. The thing was an absolute outrage on her nursing of him.
"Are you stark, staring mad?" she demanded.
He stood weakly regarding her. It was clear that he was already very
enfeebled by his fantastic exertions.
"I wonder how much farther you would have gone without falling!" she
said. "I'll thank you to come back this very instant!... This very
instant!"
He had no strength to withstand her impetuous anger. His lower lip
fell. He obeyed with some inarticulate words.
"And I should like to know what Mrs. Tams was doing!" said Rachel.
She neither guessed nor cared what was the intention of Louis'
shocking, impossible escapade. She grasped his arm firmly. In ten
minutes he was in bed again, under control, and Rachel was venting
herself on Mrs. Tams, who took oath that she had been utterly unaware
of the master's departure from the house.