by George Moore
Helen fell to thinking, Joe asked her of what she was thinking, and she replied that it was difficult to say: she had walked out with many a man before but never with one like Albert Nobbs. In what way is he different? Joe asked. Helen was perplexed in her telling of Albert Nobbs’ slackness. You mean that he doesn’t pull you about, Joe rapped out; and she answered that there was something of that in it. All the same, she continued, that isn’t the whole of it. I’ve been out before with men that didn’t pull me about, but he seems to have something on his mind, and half the time he’s thinking. Well, what does it matter, Joe asked, so long as there is coin in the pocket and so long as you have a hand to pull it out? Helen didn’t like this description of Albert Nobbs’ courtship, and the words rose to her lips to tell Joseph that she didn’t want to go out any more with Albert, that she was tired of the job, but the words were quelled on her lips by a remark from Joe. Next time you go out with him work him up a bit and see what he is made of; just see if there’s a sting in him or if he is no better than a capon. A capon! And what is a capon? she asked. A capon is a cut fowl. He may be like one. She resolved to get at the truth of the matter next time they went out together. It did seem odd that he should be willing to buy presents and not want to kiss her. In fact, it was more than odd. It might be as Joe had said. I might as well go out with my mother. Now what did it all mean? Was it a blind?
Some other girl that he — Not being able to concoct a sufficiently reasonable story, Helen relinquished the attempt, without, however, regaining control of her temper, which had begun to rise, and which continued to boil up in her and overflow till her swarthy face was almost ugly. I’m beginning to feel ugly towards him, she said to herself. He is either in love with me or he’s —
And trying to discover his purpose, she descended the staircase, saying to herself: now Albert must know that I’m partial to Joe Mackins. It can’t be that he doesn’t suspect. Well, I’m damned.
CHAPTER 50.
BUT HELEN’S PERPLEXITY on leaving the hotel was no greater than Albert’s as she stood waiting by the kerb. She knew that Helen carried on with Joe Mackins, and she also knew that Joe Mackins had nothing to offer Helen but himself. She even suspected that some of the money she had given to Helen had gone to purchase pipes and tobacco for Joe: a certain shrewdness is not inconsistent with innocence, and it didn’t trouble her much that Helen was perhaps having her fling with Joe Mackins. She didn’t want Helen to fall into evil ways, but it was better for her to have her fling before than after marriage. On the other hand, a woman that has been bedded might be dissatisfied to settle down with another woman, though the home offered her was better than any she could get from a man. She might hanker after children, which was only natural, and Albert felt that she would like a child as well as another. A child might be arranged for if Helen wanted one, but it would never do to have the father hanging about the shop: he would have to be got rid of as soon as Helen was in the family way. But could he be got rid of? Not very easily if Joe Mackins was the father; she foresaw trouble and would prefer another father, almost any other. But why trouble herself about the father of Helen’s child before she knew whether Helen would send Joe packing, which she’d have to do clearly if they were to wed — she and Helen. Their wedding was what she had to look to, whether she should confide her sex to Helen to-night or wait. Why not to-night as well as to-morrow night? she asked herself. But how was she to tell it to Helen? Blurt it out — I’ve something to tell you, Helen. I’m not a man, but a woman like yourself. No, that wouldn’t do. How did Hubert tell her wife she was a woman? If she had only asked she’d have been spared all this trouble. After hearing Hubert’s story she should have said: I’ve something to ask you, but sleep was so heavy on their eyelids that they couldn’t think any more and both of them were falling asleep, which wasn’t to be wondered at, for they had been talking for hours. It was on her mind to ask how her wife found out. Did Hubert tell her or did the wife — . Albert’s modesty prevented her from pursuing the subject; and she turned on herself, saying that she could not leave Helen to find out she was a woman; of that she was certain, and of that only. She’d have to tell Helen that. But should the confession come before they were married, or should she reserve it for the wedding night in the bridal chamber on the edge of the bed afterwards. If it were not for Helen’s violent temper — And she fell to thinking: I in my nightshirt, she in her nightgown. On the other hand, she might quieten down after an outburst and begin to see that it might be very much to her advantage to accept the situation, especially if a hope were held out to her of a child by Joe Mackins in two years’ time; she’d have to agree to wait till then, and in two years Joe would probably be after another girl. But if she were to cut up rough and do me an injury! Helen might call the neighbors in, or the policeman, who’d take them both to the station. She’d have to return to Liverpool or to Manchester. She didn’t know what the penalty would be for marrying one of her own sex. She’d have to catch the morning boat.
One of the advantages of Dublin is that one can get out of it as easily as out of any other city. Steamers were always leaving, morning and evening; she didn’t know how many, but a great many. On the other hand, if she took the straight course and confined her sex to Helen before the marriage, Helen might promise not to tell; but she might break her promise; life in Morrison’s Hotel would be unendurable, and she’d have to endure it. What a hue and cry! But one way was as bad as the other. If she had only asked Hubert Page, but she hadn’t a thought at the time of going to do likewise. What’s one man’s meat is another man’s poison, and she began to regret Hubert’s confession to her. If it hadn’t been for that flea she wouldn’t be in this mess; and she was deep in it! Three months’ company isn’t a day, and everybody in Morrison’s Hotel asking whether she or Joe Mackins would be the winner, urging her to make haste else Joe would come with a rush at the finish. A lot of racing talk that she didn’t understand — or only half. If she could get out of this mess somehow —
But it was too late. She must go through with it. But how? A different sort of girl altogether was needed, but she liked Helen. Her way of standing on the doorstep, her legs a little apart, jawing a tradesman, and she’d stand up to Mrs Baker and to the chef himself. She liked the way Helen’s eyes lighted up when a thought came into her mind; her cheery laugh warmed Albert’s heart as nothing else did. Before she met Helen she often feared her heart was growing cold. She might try the world over and not find one that would run the shop she had in mind as well as Helen. But the shop wouldn’t wait, and at that moment she remembered the letter she had received yesterday: the owners of the shop would withdraw their offer if it was not accepted before next Monday.
And to-day is Friday, Albert said to herself. This evening or never. To-morrow she’ll be on duty all day; on Sunday she’ll contrive some excuse to get out to meet Joe Mackins. After all, why not this evening? for what must be had better be faced bravely; and while the tram rattled down the long street, Rathmines Avenue, past the small houses atop of high steps, pretty boxes with ornamental trees in the gardens, some with lawns, with here and there a more substantial house set in the middle of three or four fields at least, Albert meditated, plan after plan rising up in her mind; and when the car turned to the right and then to the left, and proceeded at a steady pace up the long incline, Rathgar Avenue, Albert’s courage was again at ebb. All the subterfuges she had woven — the long discussion in which she would maintain that marriage should not be considered as a sexual adventure, but a community of interests — seemed to have lost all significance; the points that had seemed so convincing in Rathmines Avenue were forgotten in Rathgar Avenue, and at Terenure she came to the conclusion that there was no use trying to think the story out beforehand; she would have to adapt her ideas to the chances that would arise as they talked under the trees in the dusk in a comfortable hollow, where they could lie at length out of hearing of the other lads and lasses whom they would find along the banks, resting
after the labour of the day in dim contentment, vaguely conscious of each other, satisfied with a vague remark, a kick or a push.
It was the hope that the river’s bank would tempt him into confidence that had suggested to Helen that they might spend the evening by the Dodder. Albert had welcomed the suggestion, feeling sure that if there was a place in the world that would make the telling of her secret easy it was the banks of the Dodder; and she was certain she would be able to speak it in the hollow under the ilex-trees. But speech died from her lips, and the silence round them seemed sinister and foreboding. She seemed to dread the river flowing over its muddy bottom, without ripple or eddy; and she started when Helen asked her of what she was thinking. Albert answered: of you, dear; and how pleasant it is to be sitting with you. On these words the silence fell again, and Albert tried to speak, but her tongue was too thick in her mouth; she felt like choking, and the silence was not broken for some seconds, each seeming a minute. At last a lad’s voice was heard: I’ll see if you have any lace on your drawers; and the lass answered: you sha’n’t. There’s a pair that’s enjoying themselves, Helen said, and she looked upon the remark as fortunate, and hoped it would give Albert the courage to pursue his courtship.
Albert, too, looked upon the remark as fortunate, and she tried to ask if there was lace on all women’s drawers; and meditated a reply that would lead her into a confession of her sex. But the words: it’s so long since I’ve worn any, died on her lips; and instead of speaking these words she spoke of the Dodder, saying: What a pity it isn’t nearer Morrison’s. Where would you have it? Helen replied — flowing down Sackville Street into the Liffey? We should be lying there as thick as herrings, without room to move, or we should be unable to speak to each other without being overheard. I dare say you are right, Albert answered, and she was so frightened that she added: but we have to be back at eleven o’clock, and it takes an hour to get there. We can go back now if you like, Helen rapped out. Albert apologised, and hoping that something would happen to help her out of her difficulty, she began to represent Morrison’s Hotel as being on the whole advantageous to servants. But Helen did not respond. She seems to be getting angry and angrier, Albert said to herself, and she asked, almost in despair, if the Dodder was pretty all the way down to the sea. Helen, remembering a walk she had been with Joe, answered: there are woods as far as Dartry — the Dartry Dye works, don’t you know them? But I don’t think there are any very pretty spots. You know Ring’s End, don’t you? Albert said he had been there once; and Helen spoke of a large three-masted vessel that she had seen some Sundays ago by the quays. You were there with Joe Mackins, weren’t you? Well, what if I was? Only this, Albert answered, that I don’t think it is usual for a girl to keep company with two chaps, and I thought — Now, what did you think? she said. That you didn’t care for me well enough — For what? she asked. You know we’ve been going out for three months, and it doesn’t seem natural to keep talking always, never wanting to put your arm around a girl’s waist. I suppose Joe isn’t like me then? Albert asked; and she laughed, a scornful little laugh. But, Albert went on, isn’t the time for kissing when one is wedded? This is the first time you’ve said anything about marriage, Helen rapped out. But I thought there had always been an understanding between us, said Albert. It is only now that I’m able to tell you what I have to offer you. The words were well chosen, and the girl’s anger at Albert’s neglect was lost sight of. Tell me about it, she said, her eyes and voice revealing her cupidity to Albert, who continued all the same to unfold her plans, losing herself in details that bore Helen, whose thoughts returned to the dilemma she was in — to refuse Albert’s offer or to break with Joe; and that she should be obliged to do either one or the other was a disappointment to her. All you say about the shop is right enough, but it isn’t a very great compliment to a girl. What, to ask her to marry? Albert interjected. Well, no, not if you haven’t kissed her first. Don’t speak so loud, Albert whispered; I’m sure that couple heard what you said, for they went away laughing. I don’t care whether they laughed or cried, Helen answered. You don’t want to kiss me, do you? and I don’t want to marry a man who isn’t in love with me. But I do want to kiss you, and Albert bent down and kissed Helen on both cheeks. Now you can’t say I haven’t kissed you, can you? You don’t call that kissing, do you? she asked. But how do you wish me to kiss you, Helen? Well, you are an innocent, she said, and she kissed Albert vindictively. Helen, leave go of me; I’m not used to such kisses. Because you’re not in love, Helen replied. In love? Albert repeated. I loved my old nurse very much, but I never wished to kiss her like that. At this Helen exploded with laughter. So you put me in the same class as your old nurse! Well, after that! Come, she said, taking pity upon him for a moment, are you or are you not in love with me? I love you deeply, Helen, Albert said. Love? she repeated: the men who have walked out with me were in love with me — In love, Albert repeated after her. I’m sure I love you. I like men to be in love with me, she answered. But that’s like an animal, Helen. Whatever put all that muck in your head? I’m going home, she replied, and rose to her feet and started out on the path leading across the darkening fields. You’re not angry with me, Helen? Angry? No, I’m not angry with you; you’re a fool of a man, that’s all. But if you think me a fool of a man, why did you come out this evening to sit under those trees? And why have we been keeping company for the last three months, Albert asked, going out together every week? You didn’t always think me a fool of a man, did you? Yes, I did, she answered; and Albert asked her for a reason for choosing his company. Oh, you bother me asking reasons for everything, Helen said. But why did you make me love you? Albert continued. Well, if I did, what of it? and as for walking out with you, you won’t have to complain of that any more. You don’t mean, Helen, that we are never going to walk out again? Yes, I do, she said sullenly. You mean that for the future you’ll be walking out with Joe Mackins, Albert lamented. That’s my business, she answered. By this time they were by the stile at the end of the field, and in the next field there was a hedge to get through and a wood, and the little path they followed was full of such vivid remembrances that Albert could not believe that she was treading it with Helen for the last time, and besought her to take back the words that she would never walk out with him again.
CHAPTER 51.
THE TRAM WAS nearly empty and they sat at the far end, close together, Albert beseeching her not to cast her off. If I’ve been stupid to-day, Albert pleaded, it’s because I’m tired of the work in the hotel; I shall be different when we get to Lisdoonvarna: we both want a change of air; there’s nothing like the salt water and the cliffs of Clare to put new spirits into a man. You will be different and I’ll be different; everything will be different. Don’t say no, Helen; don’t say no. I’ve looked forward to this week in Lisdoonvarna. But Helen could not hold out hopes that she would go to Lisdoonvarna, and Albert urged the expense of the lodgings; he had already engaged. We shall have to pay for the lodgings; and there’s the new suit of clothes that has just come back from the tailor’s; I’ve looked forward to wearing it, walking with you in the strand, the waves crashing up into cliffs, with green fields among them, I’ve been told! We shall see the ships passing and wonder whither they are going. I’ve bought three neckties and some new shirts, and what good will these be to me if you’ll not come to Lisdoonvarna with me? The lodgings will have to be paid for, a great deal of money, for I said in my letter we shall want two bedrooms. But there need only be one bedroom, but perhaps I shouldn’t have spoken like that. Oh, don’t talk to me about Lisdoonvarna, Helen answered. I’m not going to Lisdoonvarna with you. But what is to become of the hat I’ve ordered for you? Albert asked; the hat with the big feather in it; and I’ve bought stockings and shoes for you. Tell me, what shall I do with these, and with the gloves? Oh, the waste of money and the heart-breaking! What shall I do with the hat? Albert repeated. Helen didn’t answer at once. Presently she said: you can leave the hat with me. And the stockings
? Albert asked. Yes, you can leave the stockings. And the shoes? Yes, you can leave the shoes too. Yet you won’t go to Lisdoonvarna with me? No, she said, I’ll not go to Lisdoonvarna with you. But you’ll take the presents? It was to please you I said I would take them, because I thought it would be some satisfaction to you to know that they wouldn’t be wasted. Not wasted? Albert repeated. You’ll wear them when you go out with Joe Mackins. Oh, well, keep your presents. And then the dispute took a different turn, and was continued till they stepped out of the tram at the top of Dawson Street. Albert continued to plead all the way down Dawson Street, and when they were within twenty yards of the hotel, and she saw Helen passing away from her for ever into the arms of Joe Mackins, she begged her not to leave her. We cannot part like this, she cried; let us walk up and down the street from Nassau Street to Clare Street, so that we may talk things over and do nothing foolish. You see, Albert began, I had set my heart on driving on an outside car to the Broadstone with you, and catching a train, and the train going into lovely country, arriving at a place we had never seen, with cliffs, and the sunset behind the cliffs. You’ve told all that before, Helen said, and, she rapped out, I’m not going to Lisdoonvarna with you. And if that is all you had to say to me we might have gone into the hotel. But there’s much more, Helen. I haven’t told you about the shop yet. Yes, you have told me all there is to tell about the shop; you’ve been talking about that shop for the last three months. But, Helen, it was only yesterday that I got a letter saying that they had had another offer for the shop and that they could give me only till Monday morning to close with them; if the lease isn’t signed by them we’ve lost the shop. But do you think, Helen asked, that the shop will be a success? Many shops promise well in the beginning and fade away till they don’t get a customer a day.
