There followed for Mavis many, many anxious days, spent from the first
thing in the morning till late at night in a fruitless search for work.
Her experiences were much the same as those of any attractive,
friendless girl seeking to earn her livelihood in London. To begin
with, she found that the summer was a time of year in which the
openings she sought were all obstinately closed, the heads of firms, or
those responsible for engaging additional assistance, being either away
on holidays, or back from these in no mood to consider Mavis'
application.
Another thing that struck her was that, whenever she went to interview
men, she was always treated civilly, cordially, or familiarly; but the
womenfolk she saw were invariably rude, directly they set eyes upon her
comeliness. Once or twice, she was offered employment by men; it was
only their free and easy behaviour which prevented her accepting it.
Mavis, as yet, was ignorant of the conditions on which some employers
of female labour engage girls seeking work; but she had a sensible head
screwed on her pretty shoulders; she argued that if a man were inclined
to be familiar after three minutes' acquaintance, what would he be when
she was dependent upon him for a weekly wage? It was not compatible
with her vast self-respect to lay herself open to risk of insult,
suggested by a scarcely veiled admiration for her person after a few
moments' acquaintance. It was not as if she had any qualification of
marketable value; she knew neither shorthand nor typewriting; she could
merely write a decent hand, was on very fair terms with French, on
nodding acquaintance with German, and had a sound knowledge of
arithmetic.
On the face of it, her best course was to get a situation as governess;
but Mavis, after a week's trial, gave up the endeavour. The mothers of
possible pupils, with whom the girl's credentials from the college
secured an interview, were scarcely civil to the handsome,
distinguished-looking girl; they were sure that such looks, seeking for
employment, boded ill for anyone indulgent enough to engage her. Mavis
could not understand such behaviour; she had read in books how people
were invariably kind and sympathetic, women particularly so, to girls
in want of work; surely she furnished opportunity for her own sex to
show consideration to one of the less fortunate of their kind.
Mavis next advertised in local papers for pupils to whom she would
teach music. Receiving no replies, she attempted to get employment in a
house of business; this effort resulted in her obtaining work as a
canvasser, remuneration being made by results. This meant tramping the
pavement in all weathers, going up and coming down countless flights of
stairs, swallowing all kinds of humiliating rebuffs in the effort to
sell some encyclopedia or somebody's set of novels, which no one
wanted. She always met with disappointment and, in time, became used to
it; but there were occasions when a purchaser seemed likely, when hope
would beat high, only to give place to sickening despair when her offer
was finally rejected. On the whole, she met with civility and
consideration from the young men (mostly clerks in offices) whom she
interviewed; but there was a type of person whose loud-voiced brutality
cut her to the quick. This was the West-end tradesman. She would walk
into a shop in Bond Street or thereabouts, when the proprietor, taking
her for a customer, would advance with cringing mien, wringing his
hands the while. No sooner did he learn that the girl wanted him to buy
something, than his manner immediately changed. Usually, in coarse and
brutal voice, he would order her from the shop; sometimes, if he were
in a facetious mood, and if he had the time to spare, he would make fun
of her and mock her before a crowd of grinning underlings. To this day,
the sight of a West-end tradesman fills Mavis with unspeakable
loathing; nothing would ever mitigate the horror which their treatment
of her inspired at this period of her life.
Then Mavis, in reply to one of her many answers to advertisements,
received a letter asking her to call at an office in Eastcheap, at a
certain time. Arrived there, she learned how she could earn a pound a
week by canvassing, together with commission, if her sales were
successful. She had eagerly accepted the offer, when she learned that
she was to make house-to-house calls in certain London suburbs (she was
to commence at Peckham), armed with a bottle of pickles and a bottle of
sauce. She was furnished with a Peckham local directory and was
instructed to make calls at every house in her district, when she was
to ask for the mistress by name, in order to disarm suspicion on the
part of whoever might open the door. When she was asked inside, she was
to do her utmost to get orders for the pickles and the sauce, supplies
of which were sent beforehand to a grocer in the neighbourhood. Mavis
did not relish the job, but was driven by the goad of necessity. On her
way home to tell Mrs. Ellis that she would be leaving immediately to
live in Peckham, she slipped on a piece of banana skin and twisted her
ankle, an accident which kept her indoors for the best part of a week.
When she had written to Eastcheap to say that she was well enough to
commence work, she had received a letter which informed her that her
place had been filled.
Now, she was sitting in her little bedroom in Kiva Street, a prey to
despair; she had no one to comfort her, not even Mrs. Ellis, this
person having gone out on a rare visit to an aunt.
Her little stock of money had sadly dwindled; eighteen shillings and
her trinkets stood between her and want. She had fought and had been
vanquished; there was nothing left for her to do but to write to Mrs
Devitt and ask if the offer, that had been mentioned in her last letter
to Miss Mee, still held good. During all these weeks of weary effort,
Mavis had been largely kept up by the thought that she was a sparrow,
who could not fall to the ground without the knowledge of the Most
High. Now, it seemed to her that she could sustain her flight but a
little while longer; yet, so far as she could see, there was no one to
whom her extremity seemed to matter in the least.
Apart from her desire to earn a living, the girl had struggled
resolutely in order that she should not seek work of the Devitts. She
disliked the family; she had resolved to apply to them only as a last
resource.
She had gone one day to Brandenburg College to call on her old
employers, but she found that the name-plate had been removed, and that
the house was to let. She had made inquiries, to learn that her old
friend Miss Annie Mee had died suddenly at Worthing, and also that Miss
Helen had sold the school for what it would fetch, and no one knew what
had become of her. Mavis grieved at the loss of her friend, but not so
deeply, or for so long, as she would if she had not been consumed with
anxiety on her own account. She had not forgotten Mr Goss's offer of
help: she had called at his house twice, to learn on each occasion that
he was out of town. Presently, Mrs Ellis came in; finding Mavis moping,
she asked her to the downstairs sitting-room for a cup of tea. The girl
gladly went: she sat by the window watching the men working in the yard
behind, while Mrs Ellis made tea in the kitchen. Mavis, wanting air,
opened the window, although she remembered her landlady's liking for
having this particular one shut. No sooner had she done so, than she
heard a woman's voice raised in raucous anger, the while it made use of
much bad language. It abused certain people for not having done their
work. The bad language getting more forceful than before, Mavis moved
from the window. Presently, the voice stopped. Soon after, Mrs Ellis,
looking red and flustered, came into the room. When she saw that Mavis
had opened the window, she became redder in the face, as she said:
"I'm sorry, miss; I couldn't help it."
"Help what?" asked Mavis.
"Talking to the men as I did. I always wanted the window down, so you
shouldn't hear."
"It was you, then?"
"Didn't you know, miss?"
"Not altogether. It was something like your voice."
"If I were to talk to them ordinary, they wouldn't listen; so I've to
talk to them in my 'usband's language, which is all they understand,"
said Mrs Ellis apologetically.
The contrast between Mrs Ellis's neat, unassuming respectability and
her language to the men made Mavis smile.
"I'm glad you've taken it sensible," remarked her landlady. "Many's the
good lodger I've lost through that there window being open."
Tea put fresh heart into Mavis. It was ten days since she had last
called on Mr Goss: she resolved to make a further attempt. He was in,
she learned from the maid-of-all-work, who opened the door of Mr Goss's
house.
On asking to see him, she was shown into a double drawing-room, the
front part of which was tolerably furnished; but Mavis could not help
noticing that the back was quite shabby; unframed coloured prints,
taken from Christmas numbers of periodicals, were fastened to the walls
with tin tacks.
Mr Goss came into the room wiping his mouth with his handkerchief.
Mavis feared that she had interrupted a meal. Whether she had or not,
he was glad to see her and asked if he could help her. Mavis told him
how she was situated. In reply, he said that he had a friend who was a
man of some importance in a West-end emporium. He asked her if she
would like a letter of introduction to this person. Mavis jumped at the
offer. When he had written the letter, Mavis asked after his daughter,
to learn that she was staying at Margate with her mother. When Mavis
thanked and said good-bye to Mr Goss, he warmly pressed the hand that
she offered.
The next day, she presented herself at the great house of business
where Mr Goss's friend was to be found. His name was Evans. It was only
after delay that she was able to see him. He was a grave,
kindly-looking man, who scanned Mavis with interest before he read Mr
Goss's letter. Mavis could almost hear the beating of her heart while
she waited to see if he could offer her anything.
"I'm sorry," he said, as he folded up the letter.
Mavis could not trust herself to speak.
"Very sorry I can't oblige you or Mr Goss," continued the man. "All our
vacancies were filled last week. I've nothing at present."
Mavis turned to go.
"You want something to do at once?" said Mr Evans, as he noticed the
girl's dismay.
Mavis nodded. The man went on:
"They'd probably take you at Dawes'."
"Dawes'!" echoed Mavis hopefully.
"Do you know anything of Dawes'?"
"Everyone knows Dawes'," smiled Mavis.
"But do you know anything of the place, as it affects girls who live
there?"
"No," answered Mavis, who scarcely heeded what Mr Evans was saying; all
her thoughts were filled by a great joy at a prospect of getting work.
She was conscious of the man saying something about her consulting Mrs
Goss before thinking of going there; but she did not give this aspect
of the matter another moment's thought.
"What name shall I ask for?" asked Mavis.
"Mr Orgles, if you go."
"Thank you so much. May I mention your name?"
"If you decide to go there, certainly."
Mavis thanked him and was gone. She, at once, made for Dawes'. The girl
knew exactly where it was, its name and situation being a household
word to women living in London. Arrived there, she glanced appealingly
at the splendid plate-glass windows, as if beseeching them to mitigate
some of their aloofness. She approached one of the glass doors, which
was opened by a gorgeously attired official. When inside, she looked
about her curiously, fearfully. She was in a long room, down either
side of which ran a counter, behind which were stationed young women,
who bore themselves with a self-conscious, would-be queenly mien. The
space between the counters, to which the public was admitted, was
promenaded by frock-coated men, who piloted inexperienced customers to
where they might satisfy their respective wants. One of these
shop-walkers approached Mavis.
"Where can I direct you, madam?"
"I want to see Mr Orgles."
The man looked at her attentively.
"I've come from Mr Evans at Poole and Palfrey's," murmured Mavis.
The man left her and spoke to one of the regal young women, who stood
behind the counter as if trying to make believe that they were there,
not from necessity, but from choice.
The man returned to Mavis and told her to wait. As she stood in the
shop, she saw the young woman whom the man had spoken to mouth
something in a speaking tube; this person then whispered to two or
three other girls who stood behind the counter, causing them to stare
continuously at Mavis. Presently, the speaking tube whistled, when a
message came to say that if Miss Keeves would walk upstairs, Mr Orgles
would see her. The shop-walker walked before Mavis to show her the way.
She could not help noticing that the man's demeanour had changed: he
had approached her, when he first saw her, with the servility peculiar
to his occupation; now, having fathomed her errand, he marched before
her with elbows stuck out and head erect, as if to convey what an
important personage he was.
She was shown into a plainly furnished office, where she was told to
wait. She wondered if, at last, she would have any luck. She sat there
for about ten minutes, when a man came into the room, shutting the door
after him. He was about sixty-five, and walked with a stoop. His face
reminded Mavis of a camel. He had large bulging eyes, which seemed to
gaze at objects sideways. He looked like the deacon at a house of
dissenting worship, which, indeed, he was. Mavis rightly concluded this
person to be Mr Orgles.
"You wished to see me?" he asked.
"Mr Orgles?"
"That's my name."
Mavis explained why she had called: it was as much as she could do to
hide her anxiety. Mr Orgles not making any reply, she went on speaking,
saying how she would do her utmost to give satisfaction in the event of
her being engaged.
While she was pleading, she was conscious that the man was looking in
his sideways fashion at her figure. He approached her. Mavis suddenly
felt an instinct of repugnance for the man. She said all she could
think of, but Mr Orgles remained silent; she anxiously scanned his face
in the hope of getting some encouragement from its expression, but she
might as well have stared at a brick wall for all the enlightenment she
got. Then followed a few moments' pause, during which her eyes were
riveted on Mr Orgles's nostrils: these were prominent, large, dilating;
they fascinated her. As he still remained silent, she presently found
courage to ask:
"Will you take me?"
He turned his face so that one of his eyes could look into hers,
fiercely as she thought. He shook his head. Mavis uttered a little cry;
she rose to go.
"Don't go," said a voice beside her.
Mr Orgles was standing quite near.
"Do you badly want a place?"
"Very badly."
"H'm!"
His big nostrils were dilating more than ever; he turned his head so
that one of his eyes again looked into hers.
"Something might be got you," continued the man.
"It all depends on influence."
Mavis looked up quickly.
"I was wondering if you'd like me to do my best for you?"
"Oh, of course I would."
"Excuse me," said Mr Orgles, as he took what seemed to be a tiny piece
of fluff from the skirt of her coat. "You must have got it coming
upstairs."
"Do you think you would speak for me?" Mavis found words to ask.
Mr Orgles's eyes again rested on Mavis, as he said:
"It depends on you."
"On me?"
"You say you have never been out in the world before?"
"Not really in the world."
"I am sorry."
"Sorry!" echoed Mavis.
"Because you haven't lived; you don't know what life can be--is," cried
Mr Orgles, who now waved his arms and moved jerkily about the girl.
She looked at him in astonishment.
"Excuse me; a further bit of fluff," said Mr Orgles.
This time he placed his hand upon the breast of her coat and seemed in
no hurry to remove it.
Mavis flushed and moved away; at any other time she would have hotly
resented his conduct, but today she was desperately anxious to get
employment, Mr Orgles took courage from her half-heartedness.
"Let me show you," he cried.
"Show me what?" she asked, perplexed.
"How to live: how to enjoy life: how to be happy. The rest is easy: you
will be employed here; you will rise to great things; and it will all
be owing to me."
Mavis looked at the excited, gesticulating old man in surprise; she
wondered if he were right in his senses. Suddenly, his gyrations
ceased; he glanced at the door and then moved his head in order to dart
a horrid glance at the girl. He then approached her with arms
outstretched.
Mavis intuitively knew what he meant. Her body quivered with rage; the
fingers of her right hand clenched. Perhaps the man saw the anger in
her eyes, because he stopped; but he was near enough for Mavis to feel
his hot breath upon her cheek.
Thus they stood for a moment, he undecided, she on the defensive, when
the door opened and a man came into the room. Mr Orgles, with an
unpleasant look on his face, turned to see who the intruder might be.
"I've been looking for you, Orgles," said the man.
"Indeed, sir! Very sorry, sir," remarked Mr Orgles, who wore such an
attitude of servility to the newcomer that Mavis could hardly believe
him to be the same man.
"I see you're busy," continued the intruder. "Engaging someone in Miss
Jackson's place?"
"I was thinking about doing so, sir."
"Why hesitate?"
Here the man--he was tall, dark, and fresh-coloured--looked kindly at
Mavis; although not a gentleman, he had an unmistakable air of
authority.
"There's no reason why I shouldn't, sir, only--"
"Only what?"
"She's had no experience, sir."
The man turned to Mavis and said:
"If your references are satisfactory, you can consider yourself as
engaged from next week."
"Oh, thank you," said Mavis, trying to voice her gratitude.
"Call to-morrow with your references at eleven and ask for Mr
Skeffington Dawes," said the stranger.
A great gladness and a great reproach came to the girl's heart: a great
gladness at having secured work; a great reproach at having believed
that there was no one who cared if a human sparrow, such as she, should
fall.
She bowed her thanks to Mr Skeffington Dawes and left the room, all
unconscious of the malignant glance that Mr Orgles shot at her, after
turning his head to bring the girl within his range of vision.