Miss Mole

by E. H. Young

  ‘And lost him?’ Hannah suggested.

  ‘No, dear. Mr. Blenkinsop isn’t the man to lose things. He’s very careful. If there’s a collar missing, he knows it, and he’ll get Sarah to tighten up his trouser-buttons when they’re nowhere near coming off.’

  ‘I call that very delicate,’ Hannah said.

  ‘Yes, but it vexes the girl sometimes, though I must say he makes it worth her while. Well, off they went with a packet of bread and cheese apiece, and they didn’t come back till dark. It would do Mr. Ridding good, he said, and give that poor little thing a bit of a rest.’

  ‘Is that what he called her?’

  ‘It’s what I call her myself.’

  ‘And how did he know she needed a rest?’

  ‘Anybody that looks at her can see that,’ Mrs. Gibson said. ‘She’s always putting the baby in his pram when Mr. Blenkinsop goes off to business. I thought there might be trouble about that. “Leave him out at the back,” I said to her, but she said how was she to hear him crying when she was in the kitchen, so we risked it – behind the bushes – and Mr. Blenkinsop hasn’t made any complaint, though prams weren’t what he expected when he came here.’ She sighed gently. ‘And I didn’t expect them myself. But things are going on very comfortably and we must hope for the best. Now, Sarah’s going to clear away, and we’ll have a nice cosy time by the fire.’

  At half-past nine Mrs. Gibson had begun to nod and Hannah knew it was time for her to go. She went upstairs to fetch her coat and hat, wondering how she should spend the hour before it was safe to return to Beresford Road. She decided to walk round the hill and down the Avenue and see how many leaves were hanging on the trees and, if Mr. Pilgrim still lingered, she might be able to get upstairs and into her nightgown before she was seen.

  She felt rather desolate and she felt angry. She was sacrificing some of her independence to that man whom she ought to have outfaced, but she could not have him defiling the poor little remains of her romance, and she did not want to be separated from Ruth. Which of these motives was the stronger, she did not know. She kept the memory of her short-lived happiness in a place of its own, which was all she could do for it; she rarely looked at it, but she would keep prying eyes from it, if she could, and the memory of Ruth’s thin face, at once so childish and so mature, seemed to encourage and commend her. Nevertheless, she was conscious of the loneliness, in which she pretended to rejoice, when, through his open door, she saw the warm glow of Mr. Blenkinsop’s shaded lamps cast on the dark landing. He was not the man to sit in a room with the door open and, before he came back, there would be time, she thought, for a peep. It would suit her acid humour to see in what comfort Mr. Blenkinsop passed his evenings, while Hannah Mole, threatened by her past, had to wander in the streets. In the unlikely possibility of Mr. Blenkinsop’s having a past he need not be afraid of it. He had, according to Mrs. Gibson, a nice little income from his mother, and he was a man, and to men a past could be forgiven, even, if repentance followed, by a Non-conformist minister, while Hannah was a woman for whom repentance had no practical results. In this unfairness, she found what consolation she needed, for though what she had done was folly, it had been done fearlessly and she was too proud to feel regret.

  She was advancing for her peep when Mr. Blenkinsop appeared in the doorway. ‘I thought that was your step on the stairs,’ he said.

  ‘And I did my best not to make a sound! I know you don’t like being disturbed.’

  ‘It’s quicker than other people’s,’ he said, ‘and, as a matter of fact, I was just going to have a little walk. I generally have one at this time of night, so perhaps you’ll allow me to see you home.’

  ‘I wasn’t going home, as you call it, yet, ‘ she said. ‘When I have a night out I make the most of it. I’m going round the hill and down the Avenue.’

  ‘I don’t think you ought to do that alone.’

  ‘I shan’t be alone if I’m with you. But no!’ she cried repentantly, ‘I won’t spoil your walk. I’ll go by myself. Let’s start at opposite ends and I’ll meet you at the top of Beresford Road, to show you I’m not murdered, and you can deliver me at the door.’

  ‘That would be a very silly thing to do,’ he said.

  ‘But I like doing silly things.’

  ‘And I don’t,’ he said firmly, following her down the stairs.

  ‘Ah, you ought to learn,’ she said, seeing him plainly now, in the light of the hall, and she thought he looked too set and stolid to learn anything she could teach him. Spectacled and grave, he waited while she said good night to Mrs. Gibson, and they set off together without a word.

  Hannah found it difficult to talk to Mr. Blenkinsop when she could not see his face. The sight of it made her feel merry and ready to be absurd; his mere bulk, keeping pace with hers, deadened her faculties, and he seemed to have nothing to say himself. In silence they crossed Regent Square and went through the little alley to the street where stately Georgian houses began when the shops ended, and so reached the Green, and the lamps lighting the little paths.

  ‘I think this is much sillier than walking separately,’ Hannah said and, looking up at him, she had the gratification of seeing him smile unwillingly. The smile only lasted for a moment.

  ‘But you are safer,’ he said.

  ‘If you want to be safe, you’d better be dead.’

  ‘I don’t agree with you,’ Mr. Blenkinsop said.

  ‘Good! Let’s argue about it.’

  ‘I don’t see anything to argue about.’

  ‘Then tell me about the Riddings.’

  ‘You’re very curious about the Riddings.’

  ‘Of course I am. Are you teaching him to play chess?”

  Mr. Blenkinsop cleared his throat. ‘Yes, I’m trying,’ he said bashfully, and then, angrily, as though it were Hannah’s fault, he exclaimed, ‘That girl will break down herself, if she doesn’t get some relief!’

  Hannah was content to be silent for the rest of the walk. She had plenty to think about and so, apparently, had Mr. Blenkinsop, and she believed they were both thinking of Mrs. Ridding; and though, apart from her interesting thoughts, it was, as she had said, a silly walk, she enjoyed the feeling of his unnecessary protection and she was touched by his courtesy.

  When she parted from him at the gate, she saw that the doorstep was illumined as it could not be unless the door was open, and in the hall she found Mr. Corder. She had feared to find Mr. Pilgrim too, and her smile of relief was a new thing to the minister.

  ‘I have just been out to look for you,’ he said.

  ‘How kind of you! Then I suppose you saw me coming down the road with Mr. Blenkinsop.’ He had not expected this frankness and she felt that he was disappointed.

  ‘Mr. Blenkinsop?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes. I’ve spent the evening with Mrs. Gibson and Mr. Blenkinsop saw me home.’

  ‘Ah, Mrs. Gibson. I hope you had a pleasant time. Don’t trouble about my tea, Miss Mole. I have had to make it myself.’

  Chapter 18

  A fortnight later Hannah walked across the downs to pay her call on Lilia. Robert Corder had again reminded her of this duty and she was willing enough to perform it. The shadow cast by Mr. Pilgrim had receded, and though she could still see it like a storm-cloud that might, or might not, break, the sky immediately above her was clear and she felt light-hearted. She had found something very whimsical in the comparative indifference of the family towards a visit which, to her, had been so portentous. At breakfast, the next morning, Robert Corder had made some of those kindly, disparaging remarks of which he was a master. He hoped Mr. Pilgrim would not find city life too much for him after the less exacting demands of the country: fortunately for him, the chapel was a small one, with a congregation of simple-minded people and no intellectual influence there, or in the wider interests of Radstowe, would be expected of him. In other words, though he did not use them, Mr. Pilgrim was not likely to sit on any committees with Robert Corder.

 
Wilfrid’s glance at Hannah was a comment on these bland remarks and a description of the evening’s entertainment. Ethel looked thoughtful and subdued and Ruth was occupied with a letter which was spread out on her knee and sheltered by the table.

  When she looked up her face was radiant. ‘Uncle Jim’s coming for Christmas!’ she cried.

  ‘Indeed?’ Robert Corder said coldly.

  ‘Good man,’ Wilfrid muttered, and Ethel, whose pleasure was spoilt by the fact that Ruth conveyed it, turned to him sharply, saying, ‘He’s no relation of yours!’

  ‘That’s why I like him,’ Wilfrid retorted.

  This little flurry passed unnoticed by Robert Corder. He was looking hurt. ‘I have heard nothing about this visit,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, but you will. He’s going to write to you.’

  ‘Is that a letter from him?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ruth, ready to protect it.

  ‘I never ask to see your letters, as you know,’ her father said, and waited unsuccessfully for a moment. ‘But I think it would have been better if he had written to me first, and I don’t know that it will be convenient to have him. You must remember that we have a room less than we had last time he came, and there will be Howard at home, too. There will be extra mouths to cook for and I think Miss Mole ought to be considered in this matter.’

  ‘Oh, Moley – !’ Ruth exclaimed, and turned scarlet. Here was another annoyance for Robert Corder. ‘That is not the way to address Miss Mole,’ he said. ‘Miss Mole, I would rather you did not allow it.’

  ‘But she doesn’t! I mean – it just slipped out. Miss Mole, two people wouldn’t make such a terrible lot of difference, would they?’

  ‘With due notice, I can feed a regiment,’ Hannah said grandly.

  ‘There!’ said Ruth, looking at her father boldly.

  ‘Of course she can,’ said Ethel, less in support of Ruth than in depreciation of Miss Mole. ‘I’ve done it myself and nobody thought anything of it.’

  ‘Yes, we did. We thought a lot, because we couldn’t eat the Christmas puddings. You didn’t fill the basins and the water got in. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘Ruthie, Ruthie, that isn’t kind. Ethel did her best. Now don’t get excited, but run off to school or you’ll be late.’

  ‘But I am excited and there’s plenty of time. And Wilfrid will be away for the Christmas days and you know you always make him and Howard share a room when they’re here together, and what difference will Uncle Jim make? You can’t not have him, when it’s the first Christmas he’s had at home for years. But it won’t be the last! He’s left the sea!’

  ‘Left the sea?’ Robert Corder repeated, and he looked towards the letter which Ruth was putting in her pocket.

  ‘Retired,’ said Ruth, enjoying her private information. ‘He says he thinks he’ll buy a little farm,’ and she disappeared before her father could make it difficult for her to keep her letter to herself.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said, tolerantly. ‘I suppose we must forgive a bluff sailor for his rough and ready manners. No doubt I shall hear from him before long.’

  ‘And you’ll let him come, won’t you?’ Ethel begged.

  Robert Corder decided to become the indulgent father. ‘I see I shall have an unhappy Christmas if I don’t,’ he said playfully and Hannah made a mental note of this weakness which, in anyone else, she might have called amiability.

  It was plain that he did not care for Uncle Jim, who was Mrs. Corder’s brother and, with Mr. Blenkinsop’s affairs already developing in her mind, Hannah began busying herself with Uncle Jim, his sister and her husband, and seeking any information she could get, though she could manage very well without it.

  While she crossed the downs, keeping to the paths for the sake of Lilia’s carpets, thinking that a grey sky was lovelier than a blue one, that the bare trees were exquisite against it and that the proper place for leaves was the ground, she was imagining little past scenes between Uncle Jim and Robert Corder, and clumsily tender ones between Mr. Blenkinsop and Mrs. Riddings. She did not trouble about the construction of her dramas: she saw pictures and framed sentences; she saw Uncle Jim with a protective arm round his sister’s waist and heard Mr. Blenkinsop saying solemnly, ‘Yes, since that very first evening –’ She imagined Uncle Jim as a modern buccaneer, bronzed and bearded, and though she feared he would not actually have rings in his ears, it would be surprising not to see them there, and suddenly, the actors in her little scene became Uncle Jim and herself. Those flashing eyes of his pierced below her plain exterior and recognized a kindred spirit, and he would carry her off to sea, for really, it was absurd for a sailor to think he could turn farmer, but if he persisted, she would be there to help him, and they would adopt Ruth and live happy ever after.

  ‘H’m,’ Hannah said in self-derision. She had arrived at Lilia’s chain and posts, and the windows of the red and white house were looking at her with coldly-practical eyes. Her fancies could not live under that gaze. The bold buccaneer would choose a buxom wench for partner; Miss Mole must continue to trust in the rich old gentleman, and she was wondering whether Lilia knew anything about Mr. Samson, when the severe parlourmaid opened the door and, making no mistake this time, took Hannah to the drawing-room.

  ‘You’re looking very well, Hannah,’ Lilia said, taking the credit to herself.

  ‘And you’re looking more like a robin than ever, dear,’ Hannah said, making the usual peck at her cousin’s cheek. ‘It’s nice to see you in your natural habitat, or whatever they call it. You have such an exalted expression in chapel that I hardly know you, though of course, I’m proud of our slight acquaintance.’

  ‘Now, don’t begin your nonsense, but tell me how you’re getting on.’

  ‘I shouldn’t like to boast,’ Hannah said, ‘until I hear what Mr. Corder has told you.’

  ‘Very little. Naturally, as I recommended you, he wouldn’t like to make any complaints to me. And perhaps there are none to make,’ she added generously. ‘How do you think you are managing yourself?’

  ‘Splendidly! Almost too well, I’m sometimes afraid. I’m glad to have you to confide in, Lilia. I’m rather worried and I want your advice.’

  ‘Then it’s the first time you’ve wanted anybody’s,’ Lilia said dryly, and her bright eyes hardened with suspicion.

  ‘Thank God, I’ve never had the same need to!’ Hannah exclaimed. ‘You’ll hardly believe me, Lilia –’

  ‘You may be sure of that, but, whatever it is, just talk about something else till the tea has come in.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hannah, ‘that’s the kind of thing it is. And I hope it’s a good tea, because I’ve been rather mean with ours lately. Saving up for Christmas. We’re going to have Mrs. Corder’s brother with us. Do you know anything about him?’

  ‘I believe he’s a sailor of some sort. I think he calls himself a captain, but not, of course, in the Navy.’

  ‘No, if he had been, I should have heard of it. I don’t much mind about his profession. It’s his character, his impressionability, his income, I’m after. And his age. That’s rather important, but he can hardly be a stripling.’

  ‘Really, Hannah – now, let me show you these little bags I’m making for Christmas presents,’ she said brightly as the maid came in. ‘Pretty, aren’t they?’

  ‘Very pretty,’ Hannah said, wondering which one she would get. Lilia’s presents to people like herself would be of the hashed-mutton variety, and Hannah was glad. A handsome present from Lilia would have been difficult to accept and, so far, she had not been put to that inconvenience.

  ‘I thought one of these would do very well for Ethel Corder.’

  ‘She’d love it, but give her a gaudy one, and put a modest little cheque inside.’

  ‘I don’t think I need reminding of that,’ Lilia said coldly. ‘First and last, I do a good deal for the Corders.’

  ‘And Ethel’s devoted to you. If I wasn’t devoted to you myself, I should get rather tired of hearing your name
. And little does she suspect that you and I were practically fed at the same bosom. Figuratively speaking, Lilia, figuratively speaking! And I’ve heard Mr. Corder use that expression himself.’

  ‘Not about human beings,’ Lilia said, ‘and I don’t like it.’

  ‘But between us girls!’ Hannah protested mildly. ‘You must give me a little licence, and that reminds me of another thing I want to ask you. Do you know an old man called Samson, who lives next door to us in Beresford Road? Keeps a parrot and dozens of cats.’

  ‘I’ve heard the parrot and a very objectionable noise it makes. Isn’t he a common old man with a red face?’

  ‘Yes, gloriously common,’ Hannah said. ‘That’s why I like him. I’m common myself. There’s no need to think before you speak, with him. It does me good. I’ve made friends with him, Lilia, you won’t be surprised to hear. He’s had bronchitis lately, and I’ve been doing his shopping for him, and if there are any coppers in his change he lets me keep them for my trouble, on condition that I don’t put them in the plate on Sunday.’

  ‘Then, if that’s the truth, and I don’t suppose it is, I think you’re very unwise. Isn’t there anybody else to do it for him?’

  ‘Not a soul, poor old dear. He looks after the house himself, and very neat and clean it is, in spite of the cats.’

  ‘Then it’s still more unwise, but, of course, I don’t really believe you’d take the man’s money.’

  ‘That’s the truest part of a perfectly true tale. Funny, isn’t it? It pleases him and I don’t mind a bit. It doesn’t often come to more than twopence halfpenny, because I do some juggling with sixpences and threepenny-bits.’

  ‘Well, you’d better be careful. You were not engaged to look after the neighbours and, from what I remember of the man, I don’t think Mr. Corder would approve of the acquaintance.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Hannah, ‘that’s where I score. I happen to have a trump card up my sleeve and out it will come when it’s wanted, I confess I’m looking forward to the moment.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ Lilia sighed, ‘it’s no good talking to you. You’ll go your own way and you’ll come to grief and it will be most unpleasant for me.’