by E. H. Young
‘And Ruth?’
‘Ruth?’ Hannah repeated.
‘Have you forgotten that she is at the school concert to-night? Or did you remember it very well?’
‘Very well,’ Hannah replied.
‘I see. Well, Miss Mole, there is, of course, no objection to your having visitors, as long as they don’t interfere with your duties, but I thought it was understood that you were to fetch Ruth.’
To be attacked on the subject of her duties, which were always punctiliously fulfilled, for, as Wilfrid said, she had a professional conscience, to receive suggestions that she was neglecting Ruth, was more than Miss Mole could bear, and she made no effort to keep the anger out of her voice as she replied quickly, ‘Then you made a mistake. Wilfrid offered to fetch her for me.’
‘That was very obliging of Wilfrid,’ Robert Corder said smoothly, ‘but I don’t care to have my daughter’s safety dependent on a young man who isn’t scrupulous to keep his promises.’
‘It isn’t too late to start now,’ Hannah said, with a glance at the clock.
‘Then, Miss Mole, I shall be glad if you will go.’
‘I’m sorry to refuse, Mr. Corder, but I couldn’t insult Wilfrid like that.’
‘Wilfrid?’ he said coldly.
‘That is what he has asked me to call him. I don’t distrust him and I won’t behave as if I do.’
‘But, at my request –’
Miss Mole shook her head, smiling as she would have smiled at a child who could not be blamed for his stupidity. ‘I wouldn’t kick a puppy at anyone’s request.’
‘Puppy is a good word in this connection,’ he said, and Hannah realized that his temper was very bad and that though he seemed impervious to anything but petty slights to his own dignity, he might have troubles worthy of sympathy.
‘It was an unfortunate word to use,’ she said lightly. ‘I meant any young thing. Wilfrid will keep his promise, Mr. Corder, and Ruth will like being fetched by him. It isn’t every girl who has such a handsome cousin. And,’ she went on quickly, as he frowned, ‘your daughter was anxious that the house should not be left.’
‘And you were anxious to see Mr. Blenkinsop.’
Miss Mole was deaf to this interruption. ‘She didn’t want Doris and her young man to be waiting about in the street. I should have thought the atmosphere of Beresford Road would have a sobering effect, much more sobering than the Downs, where I suppose they wander.’
‘Miss Mole, I dislike this sort of talk.’
‘But they do it, you know.’
‘And I was not aware that Doris,’ he overcame his repugnance with difficulty, ‘that Doris had what you call a young man.’
‘Yes, he’s quite young,’ Hannah said simply. ‘He’s the grocer’s assistant. You see, when he called for orders –’
‘I don’t wish to hear about it. I dislike the idea very much.’
‘Yes, Doris isn’t particularly attractive, is she? I shouldn’t have chosen her myself, but there’s no accounting for tastes, as they say, and I think she has improved a little under the influence of the grocer’s assistant’s love. And he’s highly respectable – at least, they’ve both told me so, and the grocer himself corroborates. I’ve made inquiries. He’s rather a friend of mine.’
‘You seem to make friends rather easily, Miss Mole.’
‘Yes, isn’t it lucky for me?’ she said brightly, and then, as though she noticed his clouded brow for the first time, she asked in her softest voice, ‘Have I done anything to annoy you?’ and immediately perceived that the frontal attack was the one for Robert Corder. A patch of red showed on each cheek and he fidgeted with the papers on his desk.
‘I did hear something to-night which disturbed me a little,’ he confessed, and Hannah, glad that he was not looking at her, braced herself for the shock. ‘And then,’ he went on, ‘I am disappointed in Samuel Blenkinsop. He neglects the chapel, but he visits my house when I am out of it and goes off without a word. I don’t understand it.’
Hannah’s body slackened suddenly and she found that all her muscles ached. ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ she asked.
‘I shan’t keep you a moment, Miss Mole, but yes, sit down, of course. Can you tell me, as you seem so intimate with Blenkinsop, whether I have offended him? I know,’ he said, smiling faintly, ‘that my views sometimes alarm the more timid spirits in my congregation, but I always welcome candid criticism.’
Gazing at Robert Corder, Hannah forgot Mr. Blenkinsop. This self-deception which, she could well believe, was sincere, had startled her into the fear that her opinion of herself was just as fond, and the world she had made for herself, in which she was wise and witty, of wide sympathies and an understanding heart, would have slipped silently into rums if she had not found a desperate strength with which to prop it up. If it did not stand, she would go under with it; she would have to admit that Robert Corder was wrong in his dislike of her and one of her pleasures was the conviction that he was right, that she was too subtle for his comfort and too clear-sighted. It would be terrible to have to own that, however much they might differ, they had this bond of seeing themselves as no other person could.
‘What is the matter, Miss Mole?’ he asked suavely.
‘I was – thinking,’ Hannah said.
‘You are doubting,’ he said helpfully, ‘whether you are justified in telling me.’
‘No,’ said Hannah, ‘I’m afraid I’d forgotten all about Mr. Blenkinsop.’
‘In other words, you were not listening to what I said.’
‘Indeed I was, but it made me think of other things.’ She looked at him with the bright intelligence she kept for him. ‘Isn’t that what conversation is for?’
‘Not as I understand it,’ he replied, and Hannah was smilingly silent.
‘And now,’ she said, feeling that this was her moment, while he was angry, ‘I hope you’ll tell me what you’ve heard about me. For I can’t bear suspense,’ she added truthfully.
‘No,’ he said coldly, ‘I prefer to try to forget it.’
‘Oh, well, if you can forget it,’ she said, rising as the door-bell rang, ‘I shan’t worry about it either,’ but she was not so easy as she appeared. She fancied that Robert Corder’s way of forgetting things was to put them in some safe place until he wanted them, and she knew that while she watched for an obvious danger, another, unsuspected, might creep up behind her. The obvious danger was Mr. Pilgrim. He was not the only person who knew Hannah Mole outside her professional capacity, but he was close at hand and that very night she was to feel that he was coming nearer, to hear his feet as she had heard them, ten years ago, padding up her little garden path. She had been angry then, but amused because she had been happy: she was angrier now because that happiness was only a little cherished dust, and it would need all her skill and energy to keep it from being blown away by the indignant breath of the sinless. It seemed hard that she should not be allowed to keep it without fighting for it; it was so frail a possession that, in the turmoil, she might lose it, and in its frailty, if she had been given to pity of herself, she would have seen her tragedy. She had no memories which sustained her with their own strength; it was she who had to be tender with the weak. She could have faced the world with a glorious failure, but she must hide this one, which had ended meanly, and she was ten years older now and sometimes she was tired. She did not want to be sent roving again, just yet: she wished, as she had said, to make a good job of her undertaking, and the happiness of these people was becoming important to her.
When she opened the door to Doris, she looked at her sharply to see whether the course of her love was running smooth, and the sight of her face, rosy with the kisses of the grocer’s assistant, was a pleasant one.
‘Good girl,’ Hannah said. ‘It’s just striking ten. Have you had a nice walk?’
‘I’ve been to see his mother, Miss,’ Doris said proudly. ‘She was a bit stiff, but he says he thinks she’ll get used to me.’
‘Wel
l, there!’ Hannah said in congratulation, and watched one happy person go up to bed.
The voices of Wilfrid and Ruth, who came in soon afterwards, sounded happy too, and Ethel, following close on their heels, showed an excitement which roused Hannah’s misgivings. Something had happened on which she would raise expectations not to be fulfilled, and the joyousness meant future trouble, but not until she began her confidences, when Wilfrid and Ruth had gone to bed, did Hannah understand that the chief part of the trouble might be for herself.
Mr. Pilgrim had been to the Girls’ Club. The one in connection with his own chapel was ill-attended and badly managed and he had gone to see how Miss Corder managed hers. It appeared that he was delighted with everything, he had given the girls a little address, and he hoped Ethel would allow him to consult her again.
‘So I must help him if I can, mustn’t I, Miss Mole?’
‘Practical experience is what he wants,’ Hannah said briskly. ‘Let him go to the club and watch you do it.’
‘Yes,’ Ethel said, a little doubtfully. ‘But you see, Patsy Withers is generally there and she’s so interfering. She wasn’t there to-night, or she would have made Mr. Pilgrim think she runs the Club. And she’s so silly with men. I thought I might ask him to tea one day.’
Hannah kept a silence which made Ethel anxious. ‘Don’t you think I might do that, Miss Mole?’
‘Well,’ Hannah said, ‘you know what family teas are.’
‘Yes,’ Ethel agreed again.
‘And your father and he would have so much to say to each other that I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to help him very much. And you wouldn’t be at your best.’
‘How do you mean – my best?’
‘You wouldn’t speak with the same authority in the bosom of your family.’
‘Oh,’ Ethel said, and she looked and sounded disappointed.
‘But,’ said Hannah quickly, easing her own conscience, ‘you mustn’t take my advice. You must do as you think best.’
‘But I don’t know what that is!’ Ethel cried. ‘I thought you’d help me. You know, Miss Mole, it’s dreadful, sometimes, not to have a mother.’
There were tears in her eyes and Hannah thought of Mrs. Corder, who trusted Miss Mole to do what she could. ‘Then I’ll tell you exactly what I think,’ she said quietly. ‘Do nothing until he speaks to you about it again.’
‘But, perhaps, he never will!’
‘I know,’ Hannah said, thinking now of all the women who waited for the words they would not hear. ‘But if he’s not in earnest about his work, it’s not for you to remind him.”
‘Isn’t it? But that’s just one of the ways where women help.’
‘Not at this stage of your acquaintance.’
‘I feel as if I’ve known him for a long time. You do feel like that with some people, don’t you? He was so friendly to-night. And I was wondering if we should have a Christmas party, for Howard, you know.’
‘You’ll have to speak to your father about that,’ Hannah said.
She went very slowly up to bed and her feet felt heavy. It was no use running from Mr. Pilgrim: dodge and double as she might, he was bound to catch her in the end, but if he caught Ethel at the same time, the loss to one might be balanced by the gain to another, and that, after all, was the only way to reckon. The world would gain something from a happy Ethel – if such a man as Mr. Pilgrim could make her happy – and Hannah Mole would get something out of it, in spite of him.
Her thoughts had carried her past Ruth’s half-open door, but Ruth’s voice arrested them.
‘Is that you, Miss Mole?’ she called cautiously. ‘I thought it might be Father,’ she explained. ‘That’s why I spoke like that. It didn’t sound a bit like you, Moley. You generally run upstairs so much quicker than anybody else.’
‘So I’ve been told before,’ Hannah said.
‘You’re not tired, are you?’
‘Yes I am, rather.’
‘Oh, dear! And I’m afraid you had a dull evening. I enjoyed the concert and Wilfrid was so nice, coming home, not trying to show off, or anything silly. He’s like that when you’re alone with him. And Ethel’s in a very good temper and Howard will be here in a few days, but I don’t like you to be tired. I do hope we’re not going to be too much for you.’
‘I hope not,’ Hannah said, with a wry smile. ‘I shall be all right in the morning,’ she added cheerfully, but she stayed up for a long time, in the cold of her bedroom, working at Ruth’s dress, repaying the child, whom she was afraid to kiss, for her first sign of thoughtfulness.
Chapter 21
The arrival of Howard Corder unfortunately coincided with the arrival of Mr. Blenkinsop’s letter, and what should have been a glad little family gathering had Robert Corder’s views of the younger generation for its entertainment. Mr. Blenkinsop was the text of the discourse, but everyone felt that illustrations from the home circle might be supplied, and Wilfrid sat in lively, and Howard in patient, expectation of reproach. Mr. Corder spared them this, however, and, breaking off suddenly, he remarked with a smile, that he did not want to spoil Howard’s first evening at home.
Wilfrid twisted an eyebrow in Miss Mole’s direction and Howard looked steadily at his plate. He seemed to have all the patience the other Corders lacked and a capacity for being contented if he were given the chance.
‘Howard must tell us all the news of Oxford,’ his father said, generously resigning his position of spokesman.
‘Oh – it’s just the same as usual. We’ve had a lot of fog.’ Howard said, and suddenly, at a slight movement from the head of the table, Wilfrid and Ethel both began to speak at once.
Wilfrid waved a hand courteously. ‘Go on. Your turn.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing. I was just going to say it’s funny you should have had that letter from Mr. Blenkinsop –’
‘Funny!’ Robert Corder exclaimed.
‘I mean – queer, because I’ve had one from Patsy Withers. She doesn’t want to help me with the Club any longer.’
‘Indeed? Well, no doubt Miss Withers has very good reasons for her decision and I can see no likeness between her and Mr. Blenkinsop.’
‘Oh, no!’ Ethel agreed eagerly, ‘but she did promise to help, and now she says Wednesday evening doesn’t suit her. Oh! Perhaps she likes going to the week-night service.’
‘That would be very strange,’ her father said bitingly. ‘As a matter of fact, she was there last time. I told you it was a mistake to have Wednesday for the Club.’
‘But the girls wanted it then, and the Club’s for the girls.’
‘Then you must be prepared to lose your helpers.’
‘I should think you’d be glad,’ said Ruth. ‘I hate Patsy Withers.’
‘Ruthie, Ruthie!’
‘I do,’ Ruth said stubbornly. ‘She’s like barley sugar, yellow and squirmy, and her voice is like it too, all sweet and waggly, and she talks to me as if I’m about six.’
‘If you were six I should send you to bed,’ said her father. ‘I won’t have such remarks made at my table.’
‘But you were making them yourself about Mr. Blenkinsop,’ Ruth said sullenly.
‘That’s a very different matter,’ he said, and he went out of the room. This was his usual way of emphasizing a disapproval which he forebore to express in words, and possibly he believed it left his family depressed. Ethel, indeed, looked frightened, and Ruth looked glum until her next speech sent Wilfrid into a roar of laughter.
‘I don’t think it’s good for people to be ministers,’ she said, and Ethel cried, ‘Oh, hush, Wilfrid, hush! Father will hear you. And it’s very wrong of you, Ruth, to say such things. It’s a noble profession. Isn’t it, Miss Mole?’
‘All professions can be noble,’ Hannah replied gravely. It was only a little while since Ethel had extolled the doctor’s calling in the same words, only a little longer since Ruth had flushed in loyalty to her father when Miss Mole had disconcerted him, and in these changes she meas
ured the profundity of Ethel’s feelings and the extent of Ruth’s trust. It was Howard, to whom Miss Mole was a stranger, who looked uncomfortable, and Ethel, glancing from one face to another, looking for support and thinking of Mr. Pilgrim, assuring herself she was right but wishing they would all agree with her, saw her brother’s look and misinterpreted it.
‘And when your own brother’s a minister, you’ll change your mind,’ she said.
‘Oh, shut up,’ said Howard. ‘Let’s go into the other room and play at something.’
‘Coming, Mona Lisa?’ Wilfrid asked.
Hannah shook her head and remained by the fire, under the hissing gas. As soon as Robert Corder heard the young people in the drawing-room, he would look into the dining-room to see if Miss Mole was doing her duty; in his present mood he would be more disappointed than pleased to see her there, and Miss Mole was willing to disappoint him, but what a pity it was, she thought, that he and she could not be companionable. Did it never occur to him, that she might crave for maturer society sometimes and need more relaxation than she got? From seven o’clock in the morning until half-past ten at night, she was busy in his service, dusting, cooking carefully, making beds, shopping economically, darning socks and stockings and his undergarments, superintending Doris, who was slow and stupid, and she got her little periods of leisure by her own speed and contrivance. If he had been a different kind of man, they could have had good talks by the fire when she took in his tea at ten o’clock. And, perhaps, he was thinking the very same thing, and wishing she were a different kind of woman and more like Miss Patsy Withers, and it seemed to Hannah that Lilia would have been cleverer if she had chosen her watchdog of the breed Mr. Corder admired. The angularity and asperity of Miss Mole simply served to show up the softness and sweetness of the other, but Lilia’s thrifty turn of mind had seized on the opportunity of doing two good deeds in one, supplying Mr. Corder with a housekeeper and sparing herself the inconvenience of having a penniless cousin on her hands. She would have done better to have introduced Patsy herself into the family and let her see what she could make of it. Patsy would probably have found that a hero is more easily worshipped at a distance and Robert Corder would have learnt that flattery does not flavour food, and Hannah saw that the result of this combined ignorance might be as dangerous to her as Mr. Pilgrim, though not so disagreeable, and might be disastrous to Ruth. And Patsy had been at the week-night service and Mr. Corder had heard something which disturbed him. Now what could that be? Hannah asked herself, tapping her lips with her scissors.
