The Captives [238]
certain.
She pushed open the other door and peeped into the further room. She saw a dirty unmade bed, a tin washhand stand, and an open carpet-bag filled with soiled linen. No, he would come back.
She sat there thinking out her plans. She was suddenly clear, determined, resourceful, all the things that she had never been in her life before. First she must see the landlady; next she must go to the shops--but suppose he should return while she was there, pack his bag and leave for ever? She must risk that. She thought that he would not return at once because he would want, as he said, "to tire her out." "To tire her out!" She laughed at that. She looked about the room and decided how she would improve it. She nodded to herself. Yes, and the bedroom too. All this time she was so happy that she could scarcely prevent herself from singing aloud.
She went out, down the dark stairs, and found the maid, under a swinging candle-flame, still scrubbing. How strange that in that short space of time, when the whole of life had altered for her, that girl had been on her knees scrubbing!
"Could you tell me, please," she asked, "whether I could see somebody who is in charge of this house--the landlady or--"
"Is there anything I can do?" said a voice behind her.
She turned to find a short stout woman in voluminous black--black bonnet, black cape, black gloves--watching her with sharp bright eyes.
"Are you the landlady?" Maggie asked.
"I ham," said the woman. "Mrs. Brandon--ma'am."
The servant-girl had suspended operations, kneeling up and watching with open mouth developments.
"I'm very glad to meet you," said Maggie. "How do you do?"
"How do you do, ma'am?" said Mrs. Brandon.
"The point is just this," said Maggie, speaking rather fast as though she were confused, which she was not. "Mr. Warlock is a very old friend of mine and I'm afraid he's very ill indeed. He's very ill and there's nobody to look after him. What I was wondering was whether there was a bedroom in your house that I could have--so that I could look after him, you see, and get him anything he wants."
Mrs. Brandon overlooked Maggie from head to foot--very slowly she did it, her eyes passing over the rather shabby black hat, the short hair, the plain black dress, the shoes worn and soiled. She also looked at Maggie's wedding-ring.
"Well, Mrs.--" she began.
"Mrs. Trenchard is my name," said Maggie, blushing in spite of herself at the long scrutiny.
"I 'ope you're not reproaching anybody with neglect of the gentleman." She had an action, as she talked, of flinging a very seedy-looking black boa back across her neck vindictively. "Wot I mean to say is that gentleman lodgers must take their chance and e's two weeks overdue with 'is rent as it is . . . but of course I'm not saying I couldn't oblige. 'E's a nice gentleman too, although not talkative so to speak, but if it would give 'im 'appiness to 'ave a lady friend close at 'and as you might say, why I wouldn't like to be one to stand in 'is way. 'Live and let live,' 'as always been my motter, and a very good one too."
She said all this very slowly, with a good many significant pauses. Maggie, however, felt nothing but happiness at the prospect of getting her way. She had gone far beyond all personal sensations of shame or fear or hesitation.
"Would you show me the room, please?" she asked.
They pushed past the servant-girl, whose eyes followed them up the stairs with hungry curiosity.
They climbed to the top of the house. Mrs. Brandon displayed a dark sulky little room with damp of the tomb clinging to its wall.
"Ten bob a week," she said. She sunk her voice to a confidential whisper. "The best of this 'ouse is that you can do what you like. No one minds and no one sees. 'Them as lives in glass 'ouses.' That's what I say."
"I'll take it," said Maggie.
"You'll be wanting a key, my dear," said Mrs. Brandon, suddenly very friendly. "To let yerself in an' out at nights. I'll fetch yer one."
She did. Maggie thanked her.
"I wonder," she said, "whether you have
She pushed open the other door and peeped into the further room. She saw a dirty unmade bed, a tin washhand stand, and an open carpet-bag filled with soiled linen. No, he would come back.
She sat there thinking out her plans. She was suddenly clear, determined, resourceful, all the things that she had never been in her life before. First she must see the landlady; next she must go to the shops--but suppose he should return while she was there, pack his bag and leave for ever? She must risk that. She thought that he would not return at once because he would want, as he said, "to tire her out." "To tire her out!" She laughed at that. She looked about the room and decided how she would improve it. She nodded to herself. Yes, and the bedroom too. All this time she was so happy that she could scarcely prevent herself from singing aloud.
She went out, down the dark stairs, and found the maid, under a swinging candle-flame, still scrubbing. How strange that in that short space of time, when the whole of life had altered for her, that girl had been on her knees scrubbing!
"Could you tell me, please," she asked, "whether I could see somebody who is in charge of this house--the landlady or--"
"Is there anything I can do?" said a voice behind her.
She turned to find a short stout woman in voluminous black--black bonnet, black cape, black gloves--watching her with sharp bright eyes.
"Are you the landlady?" Maggie asked.
"I ham," said the woman. "Mrs. Brandon--ma'am."
The servant-girl had suspended operations, kneeling up and watching with open mouth developments.
"I'm very glad to meet you," said Maggie. "How do you do?"
"How do you do, ma'am?" said Mrs. Brandon.
"The point is just this," said Maggie, speaking rather fast as though she were confused, which she was not. "Mr. Warlock is a very old friend of mine and I'm afraid he's very ill indeed. He's very ill and there's nobody to look after him. What I was wondering was whether there was a bedroom in your house that I could have--so that I could look after him, you see, and get him anything he wants."
Mrs. Brandon overlooked Maggie from head to foot--very slowly she did it, her eyes passing over the rather shabby black hat, the short hair, the plain black dress, the shoes worn and soiled. She also looked at Maggie's wedding-ring.
"Well, Mrs.--" she began.
"Mrs. Trenchard is my name," said Maggie, blushing in spite of herself at the long scrutiny.
"I 'ope you're not reproaching anybody with neglect of the gentleman." She had an action, as she talked, of flinging a very seedy-looking black boa back across her neck vindictively. "Wot I mean to say is that gentleman lodgers must take their chance and e's two weeks overdue with 'is rent as it is . . . but of course I'm not saying I couldn't oblige. 'E's a nice gentleman too, although not talkative so to speak, but if it would give 'im 'appiness to 'ave a lady friend close at 'and as you might say, why I wouldn't like to be one to stand in 'is way. 'Live and let live,' 'as always been my motter, and a very good one too."
She said all this very slowly, with a good many significant pauses. Maggie, however, felt nothing but happiness at the prospect of getting her way. She had gone far beyond all personal sensations of shame or fear or hesitation.
"Would you show me the room, please?" she asked.
They pushed past the servant-girl, whose eyes followed them up the stairs with hungry curiosity.
They climbed to the top of the house. Mrs. Brandon displayed a dark sulky little room with damp of the tomb clinging to its wall.
"Ten bob a week," she said. She sunk her voice to a confidential whisper. "The best of this 'ouse is that you can do what you like. No one minds and no one sees. 'Them as lives in glass 'ouses.' That's what I say."
"I'll take it," said Maggie.
"You'll be wanting a key, my dear," said Mrs. Brandon, suddenly very friendly. "To let yerself in an' out at nights. I'll fetch yer one."
She did. Maggie thanked her.
"I wonder," she said, "whether you have