by George Moore
In six months’ time she hoped to have six hundred pounds and if it took her two years to find a partner and a business, she would have at least seventy or eighty pounds more, which would be a great help, for it would be a mistake to put one’s money into a falling business. If she found a partner, she’d have to do like Hubert; for marriage would put a stop to all tittle-tattle; she’d be able to keep her place at Morrison’s Hotel, or perhaps leave Morrison’s and rely on jobs; and with her connection it would be a case of picking and choosing the best: ten and sixpence a night, nothing under. She dreamed of a round. Belfast, Liverpool, Manchester, Bradford, rose up in her imagination, and after a month’s absence, a couple of months maybe, she would return home, her heart anticipating a welcome — a real welcome, for though she would continue to be a man to the world, she would be a woman to the dear one at home With a real partner, one whose heart was in the business, they might make as much as two hundred pounds a year — four pounds a week! And with four pounds a week their home would be as pretty and happy as any in the city of Dublin. Two rooms and a kitchen were what she foresaw. The furniture began to creep into her imagination little by little. A large sofa by the fireplace covered with a chintz. But chintz dirtied quickly in the city; a dark velvet sofa might be more suitable. It would cost a great deal of money, five or six pounds; and at that rate fifty pounds wouldn’t go very far, for they must have a fine double-bed mattress; and if they were going to do things in that style, the home would cost them eighty pounds. With luck these eighty pounds could be earned within the next two years at Morrison’s Hotel.
Albert ran over in her mind the tips she had received. The people in 34 were leaving to-morrow; they were always good for half a sovereign, and she decided then and there that to-morrow’s half-sovereign must be put aside as a beginning of a sum of money for the purchase of a clock to stand on a marble chimney-piece or a mahogany chiffonier. A few days after she got a sovereign from a departing guest, and it revealed a pair of pretty candlesticks and a round mirror. Here tips were no longer mere white and yellow metal stamped with the effigy of a dead king or a living queen, but symbols of the future that awaited her. An unexpected crown set her pondering on the colour of the curtains in their sitting-room, and Albert became suddenly conscious that a change had come into her life: the show was the same — carrying plates and dishes upstairs and downstairs, and taking orders for drinks and cigars; but behind the show a new life was springing up — a life strangely personal and associated with the life without only in this much, that the life without was now a vassal state paying tribute to the life within. She wasn’t as good a servant as heretofore. She knew it. Certain absences of mind, that was all; and the servants as they went by with their dusters began to wonder whatever Albert could be dreaming of.
It was about this time that the furnishing of the parlour at the back of the shop was completed likewise that of the bedroom above the shop, and Albert had just entered on another dream — a dream of a shop with two counters, one at which cigars, tobacco pipes and matches were sold, and at the other all kinds of sweetmeats, a shop with a door leading to her wife’s parlour. A changing figure the wife was in Albert’s imagination, turning from fair to dark, from plump to slender, but capturing her imagination equally in all her changes; sometimes she was accompanied by a child of three or four, a boy the son of a dead man, for in one of her dreams Albert married a widow. In another and more frequent dream she married a woman who had transgressed the moral code and been deserted before the birth of her child. In this case it would be supposed that Albert had done the right thing, for after leading the girl astray he had made an honest woman of her. Albert would be the father in everybody’s eyes except the mother’s, and she hoped that the child’s mother would outgrow all the memory of the accidental seed sown, as the saying runs, in a foolish five minutes. A child would be a pleasure to them both, and a girl in the family way appealed to her more than a widow; a girl that some soldier, the boot-boy, or the hotel porter, had gotten into trouble, and Albert kept her eyes and ears open, hoping rescue from her precarious situation one of those un-happy girls that were always cropping up in Morrison’s Hotel. Several had had to leave the hotel last year, but not one this year. But some revivalist meetings were going to be held in Dublin. Many of our girls attend them, and an unlucky girl will be in luck’s way if we should run across one another. Her thoughts passed into a dream of the babe that would come into the world some three or four months after their marriage, her little soft hands and expressive eyes claiming their protection, asking for it. What matter whether she calls me father or mother? They are but mere words that the lips speak, but love is in the heart and only love matters.
Now whatever can Albert be brooding? an idle housemaid asked herself as she went by. Brooding a love-story? Not likely. A marriage with some girl outside? He isn’t over-partial to any of us. That Albert was brooding something, that there was something on his mind, became the talk of the hotel, and soon after it came to be noticed that Albert was eager to avail himself of every excuse to absent himself from duty in the hotel. He had been seen in the smaller streets looking up at the houses. He had saved a good deal of money, and some of his savings were invested in house property, so it was possible that his presence in these streets might be explained by the supposition that he was investing new sums of money in house property, or, and it was the second suggestion that stimulated the imagination, that Albert was going to be married and was looking out for a house for his wife. He had been seen taking with Annie Watts; but she was not in the family way after all, and despite her wistful and gentle voice she was not chosen. Her heart is not in her work, Albert said; she thinks only of “hen she can get out, and that isn’t the sort for a shop, whereas Dorothy Keyes in a glutton for work, but Albert couldn’t abide the tall, angular woman, built like a boy, with a neck like a swan’s. Besides her unattractive appearance, her manner was abrupt.
Alice’s small, neat figure and quick intelligence marked her out for the job. Alas! Alice was hot-tempered. We should quarrel, Albert said, and picking up her napkin, which had slipped from her knee to the floor, she considered the maids on the floor above. A certain stateliness of figure and of gait put the thought into her mind that Mary O’Brien would make an attractive shopwoman. But her second thoughts were that Mary O’Brien was a Papist, and the experience of Irish Protestants shows that Papists and Protestants don’t mix.
She had just begun to consider the next housemaid when a voice interrupted her musing. That lazy girl, Annie Watts, on the look-out for an excuse to chatter the time away instead of being about her work, were the words that crossed Albert’s mind as she raised her eyes, and so unwelcoming were they that Annie in her nervousness began to hesitate and stammer, unable for the moment to find a subject, plunging at last and rather awkwardly, into the news of the arrival of the new kitchen-maid, Helen Dawes, but never dreaming that the news could have any interest for Albert. To her surprise, Albert’s eyes lighted up. Do you know her? Annie asked. Know her? Albert answered. No, I don’t know her, but —— At that moment a bell rang.
Oh, bother, Annie said, and while she moved away idling along the banisters, Albert hurried down the passage to inquire what No. 47 wanted, and to learn that he needed writing-paper and envelopes. He couldn’t write with the pens the hotel furnished; would Albert be so kind as to ask the page-boy to fetch some J’s? With pleasure, Albert said; with pleasure. Would you like to have the writing-paper and envelopes before the boy returns with the pens, sir? The visitor answered that the writing-paper and envelopes would be of no use to him till he had gotten the pens. With pleasure, sir; with pleasure; and whilst waiting for the page to return she passed through the swing doors and searched for a new face among the different young women passing to and fro between the white-aproned and white-capped chefs, bringing the dishes to the great zinc counter that divided the kitchen-maids and the scullions from the waiters. She must be here, she said, and returned again to the kit
chen in the hope of meeting the newcomer, Helen Dawes, who, when she was found, proved to be very unlike the Helen Dawes of Albert’s imagination. A thick-set, almost swarthy girl of three-and-twenty, rather under than above the medium height, with white, even teeth, but unfortunately protruding, giving her the appearance of a rabbit. Her eyes seemed to be dark brown, but on looking into them Albert discovered them to be grey-green, round eyes that dilated and flashed wonderfully while she talked. Her face lighted up; and there was a vindictiveness in her voice that appeared and disappeared; Albert suspected her, and was at once frightened and attracted. Vindictiveness in her voice! How could such a thing have come into my mind? she said a few days after. A more kindly girl it would be difficult to find. How could I have been so stupid? She is one of those, Albert continued, that will be a success in everything she undertakes; and dreams began soon after that the sweetstuff and tobacco shop could hardly fail to prosper under her direction. Nobody could befool Helen, and when I am away at work I shall feel certain that everything will be all right at home. It’s a pity that she isn’t in the family way, for it would be pleasant to have a little one running about the shop asking for lemon drops and to hear him calling us father and mother. At that moment a strange thought flitted across Albert’s mind — after all, it wouldn’t matter much to her if Helen were to get into the family way later; of course, there would be the expense of the lying-in. Her second thoughts were that women live happily enough till a man comes between them, and that it would be safer for her to forgo a child and choose an older woman. All the same, she could not keep herself from asking Helen to walk out with her, and the next time they met the words slipped out of her mouth: I shall be off duty at three to-day, and if you are not engaged — I am off duty at three, Helen answered. Are you engaged? Albert asked. Helen hesitated, it being the truth that she had been and was still walking out with one of the scullions, and was not sure how he would look upon her going out with another, even though that one was such a harmless fellow as Albert Nobbs. Harmless in himself, she thought, and with a very good smell of money rising out of his pockets, very different from Joe, who seldom had a train fare upon him. But she hankered after Joe, and wouldn’t give Albert a promise until she had asked him. Wants to walk out with you? Why, he has never been known to walk out with man, woman or child before. Well, that’s a good one! I’d like to know what he’s after, but I’m not jealous; you can go with him, there’s no harm in Albert. I’m on duty: just go for a turn with him. Poke him up and see what he’s after, and take him into a sweetshop and bring back a box of chocolates. Do you like chocolates? Helen asked, and her eyes flashing, she stood looking at Joe, who, thinking that her temper was rising, and wishing to quell it, asked hurriedly where she was going to meet him. At the corner, she answered. He is there already. Then be off, he said, and his tone grated. You wouldn’t like me to keep him waiting? Helen said. Oh, dear no, not for Joe, not for Joseph, if he knows it, the scullion replied, lilting the song.
Helen turned away hoping that none of the maids would peach upon her, and Albert’s heart rejoiced at seeing her on the other side of the street waiting for the tram to go by before she crossed it. Were you afraid I wasn’t coming? she asked, and Albert, not being ready with words, answered shyly: Not very. A stupid answer this seemed to be to Helen, and it was in the hope of shuffling out of a tiresome silence that Albert asked her if she liked chocolates. Something under the tooth will help the time away, was the answer she got; and they went in search of a sweetmeat shop, Albert thinking that a shilling or one and sixpence would see her through it. But in a moment Helen’s eyes were all over the shop, and spying out some large pictured boxes, she asked Albert if she might have one, and it being their first day out, Albert answered: Yes; but could not keep back the words: I’m afraid they’d cost a lot. For these words Albert got a contemptuous look, and Helen shook her shoulders so disdainfully that Albert pressed a second box on Helen — one to pass the time with, another to take home. To such a show of goodwill Helen felt she must respond, and her tongue rattled on pleasantly as she walked, crunching the chocolates, two between each lamp-post, Albert stinting herself to one, which she sucked slowly, hardly enjoying it at all, so worried was she by the loss of three and sixpence. As if Helen guessed the cause of Albert’s disquiet, she called on her suitor to admire the damsel on the box, but Albert could not disengage her thoughts sufficiently from Helen’s expensive tastes. If every walk were to cost three and sixpence there wouldn’t be a lot left for the home in six months’ time. And she fell to calculating how much it would cost her if they were to walk out once a week. Three fours are twelve and four sixpences are two shillings, fourteen shillings a month, twice that is twenty-eight; twenty-eight shillings a month, that is if Helen wanted two boxes a week. At this rate she’d be spending sixteen pounds sixteen shillings a year. Lord amassy! But perhaps Helen wouldn’t want two boxes of chocolates every time they went out together —— If she didn’t, she’d want other things, and catching sight of a jeweller’s shop, Albert called Helen’s attention to a cyclist that had only just managed to escape a tram car by a sudden wriggle. But Albert was always unlucky. Helen had been wishing this long while for a bicycle, and if she did not ask Albert to buy her one it was because another jeweller’s came into view. She stopped to gaze, and for a moment Albert’s heart seemed to stand still, but Helen continued her chocolates, secure in her belief that the time had not yet come for substantial presents.
At Sackville Street bridge she would have liked to turn back, having little taste for the meaner parts of the city, but Albert wished to show her the north side, and she began to wonder what he could find to interest him in these streets, and why he should stand in admiration before all the small newspaper and tobacco shops, till she remembered suddenly that he had invested his savings in house property. Could these be his houses? All his own? and, moved by this consideration, she gave a more attentive ear to Albert’s account of the daily takings of these shops, calculating that he was a richer man than anybody believed him to be, but a mean one. The idea of his thinking twice about a box of chocolates! I’ll show him! and coming upon a big draper’s shop in Sackville Street she asked him for a pair of six-button gloves. She needed a parasol and some shoes and stockings, and a silk kerchief would not be amiss, and at the end of the third month of their courtship it seemed to her that the time had come for her to speak of bangles, saying that for three pounds she could have a pretty one — one that would be a real pleasure to wear; it would always remind her of him. Albert coughed up with humility, and Helen felt that she had “got him,” as she put it to herself, and afterwards to Joe Mackins. So he parted easily, Joe remarked, and ‘pushing Helen aside he began to whip up the rémoulade, that had begun to show signs of turning, saying he’d have the chef after him. But I say, old girl, since he’s coughing up so easily you might bring me something back; and a briarwood pipe and a pound or two of tobacco seemed the least she might obtain for him. And Helen answered that to get these she would have to ask Albert for money. And why shouldn’t you? Joe returned. Ask him for a thin ‘un, and mayhap he’ll give you a thick ‘un. It’s the first quid that’s hard to get; every time after it’s like shelling peas. Do you think he’s that far gone on me? Helen asked. Well, don’t you? Why should he give you these things if he wasn’t? Joe answered. Joe asked her of what she was thinking, and she replied that it was hard 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 descr
iption 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 her 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. You think that, do you? she answered, and resolved to get the truth of the matter next time they went out together. It did seem odd that Albert 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 until 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.
IV
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 had 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 for 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 would she 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 — 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 neighbours 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. And her thoughts wandered on to the morning boat.
