Complete Works of George Moore

by George Moore

  Kate did not know what ‘another date’ meant, but Hender would be able to tell her.

  ‘You’ve only to tell me when you want to see the piece, and I’ll give you places. Would you like to come to-night?’

  ‘Not to-night, thank you, sir. I shall be busy all the evening, and my husband is not very well.’

  The conversation then came to an irritating pause. Mr. Lennox had scraped up the last fragments of the omelette, and poured himself out another cup of tea, when Mrs. Ede appeared with the broiled bacon. On seeing Kate talking to Mr. Lennox, she at once assumed an air of mingled surprise and regret.

  Kate noticed this, but Mr. Lennox had no eyes for anything but the bacon, which he heaped on his plate and devoured voraciously. It pleased Kate to see him enjoy his breakfast, but while she was admiring him Mrs. Ede said as she moved towards the door, ‘Can I do anything for you, sir?’

  ‘Well, no,’ replied Mr. Lennox indifferently; but seeing that Kate was going too he swallowed a mouthful of tea hastily and said, ‘I was just telling the lady here that we had a tremendous success last night, and that she ought to come and see the piece. I think she said she had no one to go with. You should take her. I’m sure you will like the Cloches.’

  Mrs. Ede looked indignant, but after a moment she recovered herself, and said severely and emphatically: ‘Thank you, sir, but I’m a Christian woman. No offence, sir, but I don’t think such things are right.’

  ‘Ah! don’t you, indeed?’ replied the mummer, looking at her in blank astonishment. But the expression of his face soon changed, and as if struck suddenly by some painful remembrance, he said, ‘You’re a Dissenter or something of that kind, I suppose. We lost a lot of money at Bradford through people of your persuasion; they jolly well preached against us.’

  Mrs. Ede did not answer, and after a few brief apologetic phrases to the effect that it would not do for us all to think alike, Kate withdrew to her work-room, asking herself if Mr. Lennox would take offence and leave them. Hender suspected that something had occurred, and was curious to hear what it was; but there sat those idiotic little girls, and of course it wouldn’t do to speak before them. Once she hinted that she had heard that Mr. Lennox, though a very nice man, was a bit quick-tempered, a query that Kate answered evasively, saying that it was difficult to know what Mr. Lennox was like. Words were an effort to her, and she could not detach a single precise thought from the leaden-coloured dreams which hung about her.

  Click, click, went the needles all day long, and Kate wondered what a woman who lived in a thirty-pound house could want with a ten-pound dress. But that was no affair of hers, and as it was most important she should not disappoint her, Kate kept Hender to dinner; and as compensation for the press of work, she sent round to the public for three extra half-pints. They needed a drink, for the warmth of the day was intense. Along the red tiles of the houses, amid the brick courtyards, the sun’s rays created an oven-like atmosphere. From the high wall opposite the dead glare poured into the little front kitchen through the muslin blinds, burning the pot of green-stuff, and falling in large spots upon the tiled floor; and overcome by the heat, the two women lay back on the little red calico-covered sofa, languidly sipping their beer, and thinking vaguely of when they would have to begin work again. Hender lolled with her legs stretched out; Kate rested her head upon her hand wearily; Mrs. Ede sat straight, apparently unheeding the sunlight which fell across the plaid shawl that she wore winter and summer. She drank her beer in quick gulps, as if even the time for swallowing was rigidly portioned out. The others watched her, knowing that when her pewter was empty she would turn them out of the kitchen. In a few moments she said, ‘I think, Kate, that if you’re in a hurry you’d better get on with your dress. I have to see to Mr. Lennox’s dinner, and I can’t have you a-hanging about. As it is, I don’t know how I’m to get the work done. There’s a leg of mutton to be roasted, and a pudding to be made, and all by four o’clock.’

  Kate calmed the old woman with a few words, and taking Ralph’s dinner from her, carried it upstairs. She found her husband better, and, setting the tray on the edge of the bed, she answered the questions he put to her concerning the actor briefly; then begged of him to excuse her, as she heard voices in the shop. Mr. Lennox had come in bringing two men with him, Joe Mortimer, the low comedian, and young Montgomery, the conductor; and it became difficult to prevent Hender from listening at the doors, and almost useless to remind her of the fact that there were children present, so excited did she become when she spoke of Bret’s love affairs.

  But at six o’clock she put on her hat, and there was no dissuading her; Mrs. Barnes must wait for her dress. There was still much to be done, and when Mrs. Ede called from the kitchen that tea was ready, Kate did not at first answer, and when at last she descended she remained only long enough to eat a piece of bread and butter. Her head was filled with grave forebodings, that gradually drifted and concentrated into one fixed idea — not to disappoint Mrs. Barnes. Once quite suddenly, she was startled by an idea which flashed across her mind, and stopping in the middle of a ‘leaf,’ she considered the question that had propounded itself. Lodgers often make love to their landladies; what would she do if Mr. Lennox made love to her? Such a thing might occur. An expression of annoyance contracted her face, and she resumed her sewing. The hours passed slowly and oppressively. It was now ten o’clock, and the tail had still to be bound with braid, and the side strings to be sewn in. She had no tape by her, and thought of putting off these finishing touches till the morning, but plucking up her courage, she determined to go down and fetch from the shop what was required. The walk did her good, but it was hard to sit down to work again; and the next few minutes seemed to her interminable: but at last the final stitch was given, the thread bitten off, and the dress held up in triumph. She looked at it for a moment with a feeling of pride, which soon faded into a sensation of indifference.

  All the same her day’s labour was over; she was now free. But the thought carried a bitterness: she remembered that there was no place for her to go to but her sick husband’s room. Yet she had been looking forward to having at least one night’s rest, and it exasperated her to think that there was nothing for her but a hard pallet in the back room, and the certainty of being awakened several times to attend to Ralph. She asked herself passionately if she was always going to remain a slave and a drudge? Hender’s words came back to her with a strange distinctness, and she saw that she knew nothing of pleasure, or even of happiness; and in a very simple way she wondered what were really the ends of life. If she were good and religious like her mother or her mother-in-law — But somehow she could never feel as they did. Heaven seemed so far away. Of course it was a consolation to think there was a happier and better world; still — still — Not being able to pursue the thread any further, she stopped, puzzled, and a few moments after she was thinking of the lady who used to read Byron and Shelley, and who resisted her lover’s entreaties so bravely. Every part of the forgotten story came back to her. She realized the place they used to dream in. She could see them watching with ardent eyes the paling of the distant sky as they listened to the humming of insects, breathing the honied odour of the flowers; she saw her leaning on his arm caressingly, whilst pensively she tore with the other hand the leaves as they passed up the long terrace.

  Then as the vision became more personal and she identified herself with the heroine of the book, she thought of the wealth of love she had to give, and it seemed to her unutterably sad that it should bloom like a rose in a desert unknown and unappreciated.

  This was the last flight of her dream. The frail wings of her imagination could sustain her no longer, and too weary to care for or even to think of anything, she went upstairs, to find Mrs. Ede painting her son’s chest and back with iodine. He had a bad attack, which was beginning to subside. His face was haggard, his eyes turgid, and the two women talked together. Mrs. Ede was indignant, and told of all her trouble with the dinner. She had to fetch c
igars and drinks. Kate listened, watching her husband all the while. He began to get a little better, and Mrs. Ede took advantage of the occasion to suggest that it was time for evening prayers.

  In days when speech was possible, it was Ralph who read the customary chapter of the Bible and led the way with the Lord’s Prayer; but when words were forbidden to him his mother supplied his place. The tall figure knelt upright. It was not a movement of cringing humility, but of stalwart belief, and as she handed her the Bible, Kate could not help thinking that there was pride in her mother-in-law’s very knees.

  The old woman turned over the leaves for a few seconds in silence; then, having determined on a chapter, she began to read. But she had not got beyond a few sentences before she was interrupted by the sound of laughing voices and stamping feet.

  She stopped reading, and looked from Kate to her husband. He was at the moment searching for his pocket-handkerchief. Kate rose to assist him, and Mrs. Ede said:

  ‘It’s shameful! it’s disgraceful!’

  ‘It’s only Mr. Lennox coming in.’

  ‘Only Mr. Lennox!’ At that moment she was interrupted by the lighter laughter of female voices; she paused to listen, and then, shutting the book fiercely, she said, ‘From the first I was against letting our rooms to a mummer; but I didn’t think I should live to see my son’s house turned into a night house. I shall not stop here.’

  ‘Not stop here — eh, eh? We must tell — tell him that it can’t be allowed,’ Ralph wheezed.

  ‘And I should like to know who these women are he has dared to bring into — People he has met in Piccadilly, I suppose!’

  ‘Oh no!’ interrupted Kate, ‘I’m sure that they are the ladies of the theatre.’

  ‘And where’s the difference?’ Mrs. Ede asked fiercely. Sectarian hatred of worldly amusement flamed in her eyes, and made common cause with the ordinary prejudice of the British landlady. Mr. Ede shared his mother’s opinions, but as he was then suffering from a splitting headache, his chief desire was that she should lower the tone of her voice.

  ‘For goodness’ sake don’t speak so loud!’ he said plaintively. ‘Of course he mustn’t bring women into the house; but he had better be told so. Kate, go down and tell him that these ladies must leave.’

  Kate stood aghast at hearing her fate thus determined, and she asked herself how she was to tell Mr. Lennox that he must put his friends out of doors. She hesitated, and during a long silence all three listened. A great guffaw, a woman’s shriek, a peal of laughter, and then a clinking of glasses was heard. Even Kate’s face told that she thought it very improper, and Mrs. Ede said with a theatrical air of suppressed passion:

  ‘Very well; I suppose that is all that can be done at present.’

  Feeling very helpless, Kate murmured, ‘I don’t see how I’m to tell them to go. Hadn’t we better put it off until morning?’

  ‘Till morning!’ said Mr. Ede, trying to button his dirty nightshirt across his hairy chest. ‘I’m not going to listen to that noise all night. Kate, you g-go and tur-r-rn them out.’

  ‘I’m sorry, dearie,’ said Mrs. Ede, seeing her daughter-in-law’s distress. ‘I’ll soon send them away.’

  ‘Oh no! I’d rather go myself,’ said Kate.

  ‘Very well, dear. I only thought you might not like to go down among a lot of rough people.’

  The noise downstairs was in the meanwhile increasing, and Ralph grew as angry as his asthma would allow him. ‘They’re just killing me with their noise. Go down at once and tell them they must leave the house instantly. If you don’t I’ll go myself.’

  Mrs. Ede made a movement towards the door, but Kate stopped her, saying:

  ‘I’ll go; it’s my place.’ As she descended the stairs she heard a man’s voice screaming above the general hubbub:

  ‘I’ll tell you what; if Miss Beaumont doesn’t wait for my beat another night, I’ll insist on a rehearsal being called. She took the concerted music in the finale of the first act two whole bars before her time. It was damned awful. I nearly broke my stick trying to stop her.’

  ‘Quite true; I never saw the piece go so badly. Bret was “fluffing” all over the shop.’

  Kate listened to these fragments of conversation, asked herself how she was to walk in upon those people and tell them that they must keep quiet.

  ‘And the way Beaumont tries to spoon with Dick. She nearly missed her cue once with sneaking after him in the wings.’

  A peal of laughter followed. This sally determined Kate to act; and without having made up her mind what to say, she turned the handle of the door and walked into the room.

  The three gas-burners were blazing, wine-glasses were on the table, and Mr. Lennox stood twisting a corkscrew into a bottle which he held between his fat thighs. On the little green sofa Miss Lucy Leslie lay back playing with her bonnet-strings. Her legs were crossed, and a lifted skirt showed a bit of striped stocking. Next her, with his spare legs sprawled over the arm of the easy-chair, was Mr. Montgomery, the thinnest being possible to imagine, in grey clothes. His nose was enormous, and he pushed up his glasses when Kate came into the room with a movement of the left hand that was clearly habitual. On the other side of the round table sat Mr. Joe Mortimer, the heavy lead, the celebrated miser in the Cloches. A tall girl standing behind him playfully twisted his back hair. He addressed paternal admonitions to her from time to time in an artificially cracked voice.

  ‘Please, sir,’ said Kate pleadingly, ‘I’m very sorry, but we cannot keep open house after eleven o’clock.’

  A deep silence followed this announcement. Miss Leslie looked up at Kate curiously. Mr. Lennox stopped twisting the corkscrew into the bottle, and the low comedian, seizing the opportunity, murmured in his mechanical voice to the girl behind him, ‘Open house! Of course, she’s quite right. I knew there was a draught somewhere; I felt my hair blowing about.’

  Everybody laughed, and the merriment still contributed to discountenance the workwoman.

  ‘Will he never speak and let me go?’ she asked herself. At last he did speak, and his words fell upon her like blows.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Ede,’ he said in a loud, commanding voice. ‘I made no agreement with you that I wasn’t to bring friends home with me in the evening. Had I known that I was taking lodgings in a church I wouldn’t have come.’

  She felt dreadfully humiliated, and nothing was really present in her mind but a desire to conciliate Mr. Lennox.

  ‘It isn’t my fault, sir. I really don’t mind; but my mother-in-law and my husband won’t have people coming into the house after ten o’clock.’

  Mr. Lennox’s face showed that his heart had softened towards her, and when she mentioned that her husband was lying ill in bed, turning round to his company, he said:

  ‘I think we are making too much noise; we shouldn’t like it ourselves if—’

  But just at that moment, when all was about to end pleasantly, Mrs. Ede was heard at the top of the stairs.

  ‘I’m a Christian woman, and will not remain in a house where drinking and women—’

  This speech changed everything. Mr. Lennox’s eyes flashed passion, and he made a movement as if he were going to shout an answer back to Mrs. Ede, but checking himself, he said, addressing Kate, ‘I beg that you leave my rooms, ma’am. You can give me warning in the morning if you like, or rather, I’ll give it to you; but for this evening, at least, the place is mine, and I shall do what I like.’ On that he advanced towards the door and threw it open.

  Tears stood in her eyes. She looked sorrowfully at Mr. Lennox. He noticed the pitiful, appealing glance, but was too angry to understand. The look was her whole soul. She did not see Miss Leslie sneering, nor Mr. Montgomery’s grinning face. She saw nothing but Mr. Lennox, and, stunned by the thought of his leaving them, she followed her mother-in-law upstairs. The old woman scolded and rowed. To have that lot of men and women smoking and drinking after eleven o’clock in the house was not to be thought of, and she t
ried to force her son to say that the police must be sent for. But it was impossible to get an answer from him: the excitement and effort of speaking had rendered him speechless, and holding his moppy black hair with both hands, he wheezed in deep organ tones. Kate looked at him blankly, and longed for some place out of hearing of his breath and out of the smell of the medicine-bottles. His mother was now insisting on his taking a couple of pills, and called upon Kate to find the box. The sharp, sickly odour of the aloes was abominable, and with her stomach turning, she watched her husband trying vainly to swallow the dose with the aid of a glass of water. Stop in this room! No, that she couldn’t do! It would poison her. She wanted sleep and fresh air. Where could she get them? The mummer was in the spare room; but he would be gone to-morrow, and she would be left alone. The thought startled her, though she soon forgot it in her longing to get out of her husband’s sight. Every moment this desire grew stronger, and at last she said:

  ‘I cannot stay here; another night would kill me. Will you let me have your room?’

  ‘Certainly I will, my dear,’ replied the old woman, astonished not so much at the request, but at the vehemence of the emphasis laid upon the words. ‘You’re looking dreadfully worn out, my dear; I’ll see to my boy.’

  As soon as her request had been granted, Kate hesitated as if she feared she was doing wrong, and she looked at her husband, wondering if he would call her back.

  But he took no heed; his attention was too entirely occupied by his breath to think either of her or of the necessity of sending for the police, and he waved his mother away when she attempted to speak to him.

  ‘Are those men going to stop there all night?’ Mrs. Ede asked.

  ‘Oh, I really don’t know; I’m too tired to bother about it any more,’ replied Kate petulantly. ‘It’s all your fault — you’re to blame for everything; you’ve no right to interfere with the lodgers in my house.’

  Mrs. Ede raised her arms as she sought for words, but Kate walked out of the room without giving her time to answer. Suddenly a voice cried in a high key: