They had been married nearly three months, and each month seemed longer
to her than any year of her previous existence.
Many changes were visible at the shop. Indeed, from the back wall of the
carters' yard to the sign-board over the front doors, nothing was quite
as it used to be. The big white board, which told the world that the
business "Established 1813" now belonged to Thompson & Marsden, was a
makeshift affair; but the new partner had ordered a gigantic and
artistic fascia, and this, he said, would be a real ornament to High
Street.
He promised soon to inaugurate new departments, to introduce
improvements in the old ones, to revolutionize old-fashioned
time-wasting methods of book-keeping and all other office work; but so
far he had only achieved something very like chaos.
"Don't fuss," he used to say. "I'll soon get to work; but I can't attend
to it for the moment."
Thus the little realm behind the glass had been turned upside down and
not yet replaced upon its feet again. The rooms were blocked with the
opened and unopened packing-cases that contained the materials for Mr.
Marsden's clever arrangement--innumerable desks and cabinets, immense
index cupboards, racks and sideless stands, by the use of which weapons
such antiquated devices as letter-presses, copying-machines, and
pigeon-holes would be abolished. Every shred of paper would be filed
flat; thousands of letters would lie in the space hitherto occupied by
half a dozen; each correspondent would be allotted a file to himself,
letter and answer together; and this novel system would deprive clerks
of the power of making mistakes; order would reign; confusion would be
impossible. But at present, with the two systems inextricably mixed, the
new system half started and the old system half discarded, confusion was
not only possible but unavoidable.
"Let them rub along as they can pro tem. I'll straighten it out for them
directly I settle down to it."
Just now he could throw himself into the business only by fits and
starts, but he assured everybody that it should soon secure his
undivided care.
"_I'll_ wake 'em up;" and he tapped his forehead and laughed. "There's a
reservoir of enterprise here--the ideas simply bubbling over." Then he
would bring out his jewelled cigarette-case, light a cigarette, and
swagger off to keep some pleasant appointment.
He was candidly enjoying the softer side of his new position, and
postponing its arduous duties. He both looked and felt very jolly.
Except when anyone accidentally made him angry, he was always ready to
laugh and joke.
He had a small run-about car, and was rapidly learning to drive it while
a much bigger car was being built for him. He was renewing old
acquaintances and picking up fresh friends. He showed a fine catholic
taste for amusement, and handsomely supported the theatre, the
music-hall, the race-course. In the good company with which he was now
able to surround himself he dashed to and fro all over England, to see
the winter sport between the flags. He dressed grandly, drank bravely,
spent freely--in a word, he was hastily completing his education as a
gentleman.
"Must have my fling, old girl"--He was nearly always jolly about it to
his wife. "But don't you fear that I'm turning into an idler. Not much.
This is my holiday. And no one can say I haven't _earned_ a holiday.
Ever since I was fourteen I've been putting my back into it like a good
'un."
He was especially genial when luck had been kind to him and he had won a
few bets. Returning after a couple of fortunate days at Manchester or
Wolverhampton, he jingled the sovereigns in his pockets and chattered
gleefully.
"Rare fun up there--and little Dick came out on top. Cheer up, Jane.
Give a chap a welcome. This doesn't cost one half what you might
guess.... Besides, anyhow, I've got to do it--for a bit--not forever....
I'm young--don't forget that. Only one life to live--in this vale of
tears."
He pleaded his youth, as if it must always prove a sufficient excuse for
anything; but she never invited either excuses or apologies.
"Well, old girl, I'm leaving you to your own resources again--but, you
understand, don't you? Boys will be boys;" and he laughed. "This isn't
naughtiness--only what is called the levity of youth. Ta-ta--take care
of yourself."
He liked to avail himself of a spare day between two race-meetings, and
run up to London, make a swift tour of the wholesale houses, and do a
little of that easiest and proudest sort of business which is known as
"buying for a sound firm." His vanity was flattered by the outward show
of respect with which these big London people received him. Managers
fawned upon him; even principals begged him to join them at their
luncheon table; and he described to his wife something of his
satisfaction when he found himself seated with the bosses, at places
that he used to enter a few years ago as a poor little devil trotting
about the city to match a ribbon or a tape string.
He came home one night, when the rain was beating on the window-panes
and sending a river down St. Saviour's Court to swell the sea of mud in
High Street, and told her he had heard big news while lunching with his
silk merchants.
She was waiting for him by the dining-room fire, and when he first came
in he displayed anger because the cabman had wanted more than his fare.
"But he didn't get it. I took his number--and threatened to report
him.... It's infernally inconvenient not being able to drive up to your
own door--it's like living in a back alley."
Then, with an air of rather surly importance, he told her his news about
Bence.
"They're _afraid_ of him. They gave me the straight tip that he's shaky.
Mark my words, _that_ bubble is going to be burst."
"But people have said so for so long." And she explained that the story
of Bence's approaching destruction was really a very old one. "Year
after year Mr. Prentice used to tell me the same thing--that Bence's
were financially rotten, and couldn't last."
"Prentice is an old ass, and you're quite right not to believe all _he_
tells you. Between you and me and the post, I reckon that Mr. P. wants a
precious sharp eye kept on him--I don't trust him an inch farther than I
can see him.... But what was I saying? Oh, yes, Bence's. Well, it is not
what Prentice says now--it's what _I_ say."
Then he asked if there was anything in the house to eat. Yes, the dinner
that had been ready for him three hours ago was still being kept hot for
him.
"I don't want any dinner. I dined in London.... But I think I could do
with a snack of supper."
He went over to the sideboard, unlocked a lower division of it with his
private key, and drew forth a half-bottle of champagne.
"If you'll help me, I'll make it a whole bottle."
"No, thank you."
Before re-locking the cupboard, he peered into it suspiciously.
"I don't think my wine is any too safe in this cellaret. How do I know
how many keys there aren't knocking about the house? I may be wrong, but
I thought I counted three more bottles than what's left."
Then he rang the bell, and at the same time called loudly for the
parlourmaid.
"Mary! Mary! Why the devil doesn't she come in and ask if anything's
wanted?" He left the room, grumbling and fuming.
Mrs. Marsden heard his voice outside, and the voice of Yates timidly
apologising.
Mary the parlourmaid had a very bad cold, and Yates had ventured to
allow her to go to bed.
"Thank you for nothing.... Where's the cook? Cook--wake up, please;" and
he went into the kitchen.
The servants feared him. They stammered and became stupid when he spoke
to them crossly, but never failed to smile sycophantically when he
expressed pleasure.
All that he required on this occasion from Cook was plenty of hot toast
and cayenne pepper. But he sent Yates to buy some smoked salmon or
herring at the restaurant in High Street.
"And sharp's the word.... What are you waiting for?"
"Oh, I don't mind going, sir--but I shall get wet to the skin."
"Take my umbreller," said the cook.
Yates went down the steep stairs, and the master looked in at the
dining-room door.
"That woman is like some old cat--afraid of a drop of rain on her mangy
old fur."
Then Mrs. Marsden heard his footsteps overhead in the dressing-room.
When he reappeared he had taken off his tie and collar, and was wearing
a crimson velvet smoking jacket.
The toast sandwiches were promptly placed before him, and he sat eating
and drinking,--not really hungry, but avidly gulping the wine; and
rapidly becoming jolly again.
"What was I talking about?"
"Bence's."
"Oh, yes. I tell you, he has just about got to the end of his tether.
All the best people funk having him on their books.... I give him two
years from to-day."
"I wonder."
"Mind you, he has fairly smacked us in the eye with his furniture."
And it was unfortunately but too true that there had of late been an
ugly drop in the sales of Thompson's solid, well-made chairs and tables.
"But," continued Marsden, "we aren't going to take it lying down any
longer. He has got a _man_ to reckon with henceforth. He'll learn what
tit-for-tat means.... It was too late to attempt anything last
Christmas. But let him wait till next December. Then it shall be, A very
happy Christmas to you, Mr. Bence."
"What do you propose for Christmas?"
"You wait, too."
"Yes, but, Dick, you won't begin launching out without consulting
me--allowing some weight to my opinion?"
"No, of course I shan't. We're partners, aren't we? I know what a
partnership is. But you won't need persuading. You'll jump at my ideas
when you hear them."
"Why not let me hear them now? I could be thinking over them--I like to
brood upon plans."
"Well, something is going to happen in our basement next Christmas,
which will be tidings of peace and great joy to everybody but Bence;"
and he laughed with riotous amusement. "Get me my pipe, old woman. I
can't go into business matters now. You wait, and trust your Dickybird."
She brought him his pipe and tobacco; and he explained to her that he
fancied a pipe because he had been smoking cigars ever since the
morning, and the tip of his tongue felt sore.
He puffed at the pipe in silence, and luxuriously stretched his
slippered feet towards the warmth of the fire.
"You best go to by-by, Jane. I'm too tired to talk. I've had a heavy
day--one way and another; and a longish journey before me to-morrow....
Good-night. Tell 'em I must be called at eight-thirty sharp."
This was a typical evening. There were many evenings like it.
Frequently two or three days passed without her once entering the shop.
Sometimes she could not brace herself sufficiently to go down and face
the staff. They all saw her subjection to her husband; and although they
endeavoured not to betray their thoughts, it was obvious that to almost
all of them she appeared as the once absolute princess who had, in
abdicating, sunk to a state of ignominious dependence. She walked among
them with downcast eyes; for too often she had surprised their glances
of pity.
But she saw that in the street also--pity or contempt. One or other each
citizen's face seemed to show her plainly. She knew exactly what shop
and town said and thought of her new partner.
At dusk on these winter afternoons, when she had not lately used the
door of communication, Miss Woolfrey or Mr. Mears would come through it
and inform her of the day's affairs. Miss Woolfrey's reports consisted
merely of vapid and irresponsible gossip, but Mrs. Marsden seemed to
have discovered fresh merits in this sandy, freckled, commonplace
chatter-box--perhaps for no other reason than because she belonged so
entirely to the old regime and was intellectually incapable of absorbing
unfamiliar ideas. But it was Mears who supplied any real instruction,
and it was with him that Mrs. Marsden talked seriously.
One afternoon when he was about to leave her, she detained him.
"Mr. Mears--I've something to ask you."
"Yes, ma'am."
She had laid her hand upon his great fore-arm; she was gazing at him
very earnestly; but she hesitated, with lips trembling nervously, and
seemed for a few moments unable to say any more.
"Yes, ma'am."
Then she spoke quickly and eagerly.
"Stick to me, Mr. Mears. Whatever happens, don't give me up. I should be
truly lost without you. Even if it's difficult, stick to me."
"As long as he lets me," said Mears huskily.
"He's going to talk to you. Humour him. He has a great respect for you,
really."
"He hasn't shown it so far."
"Make allowances. It's his way. He has such notions about the new
style--which we--which you and I mayn't always approve. But he knows
your value. He has said so again and again."
It was not long after this secret appeal--one morning that Marsden
spent in Mallingbridge--when the shop heard "the Guv'nor begin on Mr.
M."
"Look here, my friend," said Mr. Marsden loudly, "it's about time that
we took each other's measure. Is it you or I who is to be cock of the
walk? Just step in here, please."
This was said outside the counting-house. The proprietor and the manager
at once disappeared; and the news flew far and wide, downstairs and
upstairs. "He has got old Mears behind the glass.... He is giving old
Mears a dressing-down." All had known that the thing was infallibly
coming; the encounter between the greater and the lesser force had been
unaccountably delayed; every man and woman in the building now trembled
for the result.
"You want to put your authority up against mine. That won't do. One boss
is enough in a larger establishment than this."
But behind the glass old Mears was very firm. He made himself as big as
possible, standing at his full height, seeming to imitate Marsden's
trick of squaring the shoulders and throwing back the head.
"_I_ am the boss. And what I say _goes_."
"And your partner, sir? Mrs. Thompson, I should say Mrs. Marsden--are we
to disregard her?"
"No. But I speak for self and partner. Please make a note of that."
"Very good, sir."
"Then that's all right. It was a case of '_Twiggez-vous?_' But I think
you twig now that I don't stand nonsense--or go on paying salaries in
exchange for bounce and impudence."
"May I ask if you think I am not earning my salary, sir?"
"I haven't said you aren't."
"Or do you think, sir, if you hunted the country, you'd find a man
who'd give the same service for the same money?"
"Oh, if you want to blow your trumpet--"
"No, sir, I want to find my bearings--to learn where I am--if I _can_.
It isn't boasting, it's only business. I've a value here, or I haven't.
I've been under the impression I was valuable. You know that, don't you,
sir?"
"Oh, I've no quarrel with you--if you'll go on serving me faithfully."
"I'll serve the firm faithfully, sir--with the uttermost best that's in
me."
"All right then."
"Because that's _my_ way, sir--the old-fashioned style I took up as a
boy--and couldn't change now, sir, if I wanted to."
When Mears came from behind the glass his face was flushed; he breathed
stertorously; and he held his hands beneath the wide skirts of his frock
coat to conceal the fact that they were shaking. But he kept the
coat-tails swishing bravely, and he marched up and down between two
counters with so grand a tramp that no one dared look at him closely.
Then, after a few minutes, Marsden came swaggering, with his hat cocked
and a lighted cigar in his mouth. Before going out into the street, he
ostentatiously paused; and spoke to Mr. Mears amicably, even jovially.
And the shop comprehended that the battle was over, and that there was
to be a truce between the two men.
On some days when Mrs. Marsden would probably have come down from the
house into the counting-house she was prevented from doing so by a
grievous headache.
These headaches attacked her suddenly and with appalling force. At first
the pain was like toothache; then it was like earache, and then the
whole head seemed to be rent as if struck with an axe--and afterwards
for several hours there was a dull numbing discomfort, with occasional
neuralgic twinges and throbbings.
Resting in her bedroom after such an attack, she was surprised by
receiving a visit from Enid. She was lying on a sofa that Yates had
pushed before the fire, and at the sound of voices outside the door she
started up and hastily scrambled to her feet.
"Mother dear, may I come in? I'm so sorry you're ill."
Since their parting last autumn they had not set eyes on each other, and
for a little while they talked almost as strangers.
"Yates, bring up the tea."
"Oh, but isn't it too early for tea?"
"No. Get it as quickly as you can, Yates. Mrs. Kenion must be ready for
tea--after her long drive."
"I came by train. Thank you--I own I should like a cup, if it isn't
really troubling you."
"Of course not.... Do take the easy chair."
"This is very comfortable.... But won't you lie down again? I have
disturbed you."
"Not in the least. I think it will do me good to sit up. Won't you take
off your coat?"
Enid let the fur boa fall back from her slender neck, and undid two
buttons of her long grey coat.
"Really," she said, with a little laugh, "it's so cold that I haven't
properly thawed yet."
She was charmingly dressed, and she looked very graceful and
well-bred--but not at all plump; in fact rather too thin. While they
drank their tea, she told her mother of the kindness of her husband's
relatives--a sister-in-law was a particular favourite; but everybody was
nice and kind; there were many pleasant neighbours, and all had called
and paid friendly attentions to the young couple.
"I am so glad to hear that," said Mrs. Marsden. "My only fear of the
country was that you might sometimes feel yourself too much isolated."
"Oh, I'm never in the least lonely. There's so much to do--and even if
there weren't people coming in and out perpetually, the house would take
up all my time."
"Ah yes.... I suppose you are quite settled down by now."
"No, I wish we were. Things are still rather at sixes and sevens.
Otherwise I should have begged you to come and see for yourself. We are
both so anxious to get you out there."
"I shall be delighted to come, my dear. But I myself have been rather
rushed of late."
"Of course you have.... Er--Mr. Marsden is away, Yates told me."
"Yes, but only for a few days. I get him back to-morrow night;" and Mrs.
Marsden laughed cheerfully. "Do you know, he has taken a leaf out of Mr.
Kenion's book. He is quite mad about racing."
"Is he? How amusing!"
"These violent delights have violent ends. He says it is only a passing
fancy; and I suppose he'll be taking up something else directly--golf
perhaps--and going mad about that."
"No doubt. Men all seem alike, don't they?" And Enid smiled and nodded
her head. "Though I must say, Charles is very true to his hunting. I
mean to wean him from steeple-chasing; but I like him to hunt. It keeps
him in such splendid health."
"Yes, dear. It must be tremendous exercise. Do you ride to the meets
with him?"
"No, I never seem to have time--and for the moment, though we've six
horses in the stable, there's not one that I quite see myself on." And
Enid laughed again, gaily. "Good enough for Charles, you know--but _he_
can ride anything. He wants to get me a pony-cart, and I shall be safer
in that."
The constraint was wearing off. While they talked, each availed herself
of any chance of investigating the other's face--a shy swift glance,
instantaneously deflected to the teacups or the mantelpiece, if a head
turned to meet it. At first there had been difficulty in speaking of the
husbands, but now it was quite easy; and it all sounded fairly natural.
"Oh, but that is just the sort of thing Charlie says." The daughter
helped the mother. "Men always think they can manage things better than
we can--and they're _always_ troublesome about the servants. The only
occasions on which Charles makes one _really_ angry are when he upsets
the servants."
And Mrs. Marsden helped Enid.
"You must employ all your tact--men are so easily led, though they won't
be driven."
"No, they must be led," said Enid, with a return to complete
artificiality of manner. "How true that is!"
But there was a very subtle alteration in Enid. Beneath the artificial
manner gradually there became perceptible something altogether new and
strange. This was another Enid--not the old Enid. She had evidently
caught the peculiar tone of bucolic gentility and covert-side fashion
common to most of her new associates, and this had slightly altered her;
but deeper than the surface change lay the changes slowly manifesting
themselves to the instinctive penetration of her mother. Enid was
softer, more gentle, a thousand times more capable of sympathy.
"Dick," Mrs. Marsden was saying, "is fearfully ambitious."
"That's a good fault, mother."
"He even talks of--of going into Parliament."
"And why not?"
"He belongs to the Conservative Club here--but he wants," and Mrs.
Marsden showed embarrassment,--"he would like to join the County Club."
"Oh!"
"Do you think Mr. Charles--or his family--would be kind enough to use
influence?"
"Yes, mother dear, I'll make them--if possible." Enid had leant forward;
and she shyly took her mother's hand, and gently squeezed it. "But now I
must go. I do hope I haven't increased your headache."
"No, my dear, you have done me good."
Enid rose, buttoned her coat, and began to pull on her grey reindeer
gloves.
"Mother! My old room--is it empty, or are you using it for anything?"
"Oh, Dick uses that, dear."
"And the dressing-room?"
"He uses that, too."
"Would you mind--would he mind if I went in and looked round?"
"No.... Of course not."
"Only for a peep. Then I'll come back--and say good-bye."
But she was a long time in the other rooms; and when she returned Mrs.
Marsden saw and affected not to see that she had been crying.
The warmth of the fire after the cold of the street, or the sight of her
old home after a few months in her new one, had properly thawed elegant,
long-nosed Enid. She sank on her knees by the sofa, flung her arms round
the neck of her mother, and kissed her again and again; and Mrs. Marsden
felt what in vain she had waited for during so many years--her child's
heart beating with expansive sympathy against her breast.
"Mother, how good you were--oh, how good you were to me!" And she clung
and pressed and kissed as in all her life she had never done till now.
"Enid--my darling."
When she had gone, Mrs. Marsden lay musing by the fire. It was
impossible not to divine the very simple cause of this immense
alteration in Enid. Already poor Enid had learnt her lesson--she knew
what it was to have a rotten bad husband.