Enid was free. The farmhouse stood empty, with the ivy hanging in
festoons and long streamers about the windows, the grass growing rank
and strong over the carriage drive, and a board at the gate offering
this eligible modernised residence to be let on lease. Its sometime
mistress had gone with her little daughter to the seaside for eight or
ten months. After her stay at Eastbourne she would return to
Mallingbridge, and take furnished apartments--or perhaps rent one of the
tiny new villas on the Linkfield Road. She wished to be near her mother,
and she apologized now for leaving Mrs. Marsden quite alone during so
many months; but, as she explained, Jane needed sea air.
"Never mind about me," said Mrs. Marsden. "Only the child matters. Build
up her health. Make her strong. I shall do very well--though of course I
shall miss you both."
She was getting accustomed to solitude and silence. Truly she had never
been so entirely isolated and lonely as now. In the far-off days when
Enid used by her absence to produce a wide-spreading sense of loss,
there had been the work and bustle of the thriving shop to counteract
the void and quiet of the house. And there had been Yates. Now there was
nobody but the plain-faced grim-mannered Eliza, who had become the one
general-servant of the broken home.
Mr. Marsden still lunched and dined at the house, but he was never there
for breakfast. He did not go upstairs to his bedroom and dressing-room
once in a week. Sometimes for a fortnight he and his wife did not meet
at meals. His voracious appetite manifested itself intermittently;
there were days on which he gorged like a boa-constrictor, and others on
which he felt disinclined to eat at all. Then he required Eliza to tempt
him with savoury highly-spiced food, or to devise some dainty surprise
which would stimulate his jaded fancy and woo him to a condescending
patronage. He would toy with a bird--or a couple of dozen oysters--or a
bit of pickled mackerel. Now and then, after he had been drinking more
heavily than usual, he would himself inspire Eliza.
"Eliza, I can't touch all that muck;" and he pointed with a slightly
tremulous hand at the dinner table. "But I believe I could do with just
a simple hunk of bread and cheese, and a quart of stout. Run out and get
some stout--get two or three bottles, with the screw tops. You know, the
large bottles."
Then perhaps he would find eventually that this queer dinner-menu was a
false inspiration. The bread and cheese were more than he could grapple
with--and he asked for something else to assist the stout.
In a word, he was rather troublesome about his meals; and Mrs. Marsden
fell into the habit of taking her scanty refreshment at irregular hours.
He did not upbraid her for keeping out of his way. Eliza looked after
him in a satisfactory manner; and he never upset or frightened Eliza.
Grim Eliza ran no risk of receiving undesired attentions.
Everybody knew that Mr. Marsden often drank too much. One night when he
failed to appear at dinner time, he was found--not by Eliza but by the
Borough constabulary--in a state of total intoxication on the pavement
outside the Dolphin.
After this regrettable incident the Dolphin dismissed him and his
barmaid together. The attendance at the saloon had been dropping off. A
siren cannot draw custom, when you have a great hulking bully who sits
in the corner and threatens to punch the head of every inoffensive
moderate-sized gentleman upon whom the siren begins to exert her spell.
The Dolphin was very glad to see the backs of Miss Ingram and her
friend.
Miss Ingram secured an engagement at the bar of the Red Cow, and Mr.
Marsden faithfully followed her thither. The Red Cow was the
disreputable betting public-house of which the town council were so much
ashamed; people went there to bet, and it was likely to lose its
license; but Marsden was content to make it his temporary club, and
indeed seemed to settle down there comfortably enough.
He still occasionally came to the shop. All eyes were averted when he
swung one of the street doors and slouched in. He seemed to know and
almost to admit that he was a disgrace and an eyesore, and though he
scowled at the shop-walker swiftly dodging away and diving into the next
department, he did not bellow a reprimand. He hurried up the shop; and
it was only when he got behind the glass that he attempted to display
anything like the old swagger and bluster.
"Well, Mears, what's the best news with you?... You all look as if you
were starting for a funeral--as black as a lot of mutes. How's
business?" And he began to whistle, or to rattle the bunch of duplicate
shop-keys that he carried in his trousers pocket. "I say, Mears, old
pal--I'm run dry. Can't you and the missus do an advance--something on
account--however small--to keep me going?"
A few shillings were generally produced, and the advance was solemnly
entered in the books, to the governor's name.
Then he nearly always announced that he had come to the shop for the
purpose of keeping a business appointment.
"Look here. I'm expecting a gentleman. Show him straight in."
These gentlemen were more dreadful to look at than the governor himself.
He gave appointments to most terrific blacklegs--the unwashed rabble of
the Red Cow, book-makers and their clerks, race-course touts,--inviting
them to the shop in order to establish his credit, and prove to these
seedy wretches that he was veritably the Marsden of Thompson &
Marsden's.
For such interviews he used to turn his wife out of the room. At a word
she meekly left the American desk and walked out.
"That you, Rooney? Come into my office. Here I am, you see. Sit down."
The Red Cow gentlemen were overcome by the grandeur of Mr. Marsden in
his own office; the size and magnificence of the establishment filled
them with awe and envy; it surpassed belief.
"Blow me, but it's true," they said afterwards. "Every word what he told
us is the Gospel truth. He's the boss of the whole show. I witnessed it
with my own eyes."
Yet if his visitors had possessed real business acumen, the shop would
have impressed them with anything but confidence.
To a trade expert one glance would have sufficed. The forlorn aspect of
the ruined shop told the gloomy facts with unmistakable clearness. So
few assistants, so pitiably few customers, such a beggarly array of
goods! Those shelves have all been dressed with dummies; those rolls of
rich silk are composed of a wooden block, some paper, and half a yard of
soiled material; within those huge presses you will find only darkness.
Emptiness, desolation, death!
And what could not be seen could readily be guessed. Behind the glass
only two people--a man laboriously muddling with unfilled ledgers, a
girl at a type-writing machine--only one type-writer, a sadly feeble
clicking in the midst of vast unoccupied space; not a sound in the
covered yard; no horses, no carts; no purchased goods to be handled in
the immense packing rooms; no stock, no cash, no credit, no nothing!
When a customer appeared, the shop seemed to stir uneasily in the sleep
that was so like death; a faint vibration disturbed the heavy
atmosphere; shop-walkers flitted to and fro; assistants yawned and
stretched themselves. What is it? Yes, it _is_ another customer.
"What can we show madam?"
"Well, I wanted--but really I think I've made a mistake--" and the
stranger looked about her, and seemed perplexed. "My friends said it was
in High Street--but I see this isn't it. Yes, I've made a mistake. Good
morning."
"_Good_ morning, madam."
The bright spring sunshine pouring in at the windows lit up the
threadbare, colourless matting, showed the dust that danced above the
parquet after each footfall; but it could not reach the great mirror on
the stairs. The mirrors were growing dimmer and dimmer. As the black
figure passed and repassed, the first reflected Mrs. Marsden was
scarcely less vague and unsubstantial than the line of Mrs. Marsdens
walking by her side.
Mr. Mears and Miss Woolfrey, disconsolately pacing the lower and the
upper floor, seemed like captains of a ship becalmed--like honest
captains of a water-logged ship, feeling it tremble and shiver as it
settled down beneath their feet, knowing that it was soon to sink, and
thinking that they were ready to go down with it. When they paused in
their rounds of inspection, it was because really there was nothing to
inspect. They turned their heads and looked, from behind the dusty piles
of carpets or the trays of fly-blown china, at the establishment over
the way--looked from death to life; and for a few minutes watched the
jostling crowd and the brilliant range of colours on the other side of
the road.
No dust there. Here, it was impossible to prevent the dust. The
dust-sheets were in tatters; the brooms and sprinklers were worn out;
there were not enough hands to sweep and rub. Mears himself looked
dusty.
And when the sunlight fell upon him, he looked very old, very grey, and
rather shaky. He never blew out his cheeks or swished his coat-tails
now. The voluminous frock-coat seemed several sizes too large for him;
it was greasy at the elbows, and frayed at the cuffs. The salary of
Mears was hopelessly in arrear. For a long time Mears, like the
governor, had found himself obliged to crave for something on
account--just to keep going with.
One sunny April day Marsden entered the shop about noon, went into the
office; and, not discovering his wife there, ordered the type-writing
girl to fetch her immediately.
"What is it, Richard?" said Mrs. Marsden, presently appearing.
"Oh, there you are--at last. You never seem to be in your right place
when you're wanted. I've been waiting here five minutes--and not a soul
on the lookout to receive people."
"I am sorry."
"Anybody could walk in from the street and march slap into this room,
without being asked who he was and what his business was. And a nice
idea it would give a stranger of our management."
"I am sorry. But was that all you had to say to me?"
"No. Look here," he went on grumblingly. "Bence, if you please, has
asked me for an appointment."
"Will you see him?"
"Yes--I think so."
"Very good."
"Yes, I've told the little bounder I'll see him."
"Do you wish me to be present at the interview?"
"No--better not."
A quarter of an hour afterwards Mr. Archibald Bence was coming up the
empty shop. It was years since he had crossed the threshold; and
certainly his eyes were expert enough to see now, if he cared to look
about him, the dire results of his implacable rivalry. But he showed
nothing in his face: smugly self-possessed, smilingly imperturbable, he
followed the shop-walker straight to the counting-house.
The shop-walker announced him at the door of the inner room, and he
marched in. He bowed low, as Mrs. Marsden, with a slight inclination of
the head, passed out. Then Marsden shut the door.
But upstairs and downstairs the dull air vibrated as if electric
discharges were passing through it in all directions; the whole shop
stirred and throbbed; the whispering assistants quivered. "Did you see
him?" "I couldn't get a peep at him." "I just saw the top of his hat."
Bence had come to call upon the governor. Bence was in the shop. That
great man was behind their glass.
Soon they heard sounds of the noisy interview--at least, Marsden was
making a lot of noise. The minutes seemed long; but there were only five
or six of them before the counting-house doors opened and Bence
reappeared. He was perfectly calm, talking quietly and politely, though
the governor bellowed.
"All right, Mr. Marsden, don't excite yourself. I only asked a
question."
"Yes, a blasted impertinent one."
"Well, no bones broken, anyhow," and Bence smiled.
"If you should ever change your mind--come over the road, and let me
know."
"I'll see you damned first."
Nothing, however, could ruffle Bence.
"Just so. But, as I was saying, if you ever _should_ care to do
business--well, I'm not far off. Good morning to you."
Mrs. Marsden, when she returned to the inner room, found her husband
standing near the desk, sullenly scowling at the floor.
"I was a fool to swear at him. I ought to have kicked him down the
shop.... Can you guess what he came about?"
"I'm not clever at guessing. I'll wait till you tell me."
"He wanted us to close more than half the shop, and sublet it to him for
the remainder of the lease." And Marsden sullenly and growlingly
described the details of this impudent proposal. Bence suggested that
the yard and the new packing rooms could be used by him as a warehouse;
that all departments to the west of the silk counter might be
transferred to the eastern side; that he would build a party wall at his
own expense, and use all this western block "for one thing or another."
Bence's question in plain words therefore was, Would they now confess to
the universe that their premises were about four times too big for their
trade?
"Not to be thought of," said Mrs. Marsden.
"No. I suppose not;" and Marsden glanced at her furtively, and then
rattled the keys in his pocket. "We won't think of it."