"But how does she manage?"
"What do you mean, how does she manage?"
"Who does everything for her?"
"I never heard such questions as you do ask! Who do you suppose does everything for her? Isn't there me? and isn't there Eustace? Me and Eustace always have done everything for her; she wouldn't have anybody else do anything for her not if it were ever so."
"Has she any income of her own?"
"I wish she had; that would be heaven below."
"But on what do you live?"
"Don't we let lodgings? What do you think we let 'em for? We live on our lodgings, that's what we live on; leastways mother and me; Eustace keeps himself, and a bit over now that Mr. Hooper's started giving him his old clothes. I only hope he'll keep on giving him them. The way Eustace wears out his clothes is something frightful; it always has been Eustace's weakness, wearing out his clothes."
Later Nora did a sum in arithmetic. Miss Gibb had previously told her that, including rent, rates, and taxes the house cost more than forty pounds a year. Nora paid ten shillings a week; Mr. Carter, on the floor below, paid twelve and six; which meant twenty-two and sixpence a week, or fifty-eight pounds ten shillings a year; so that when rent, rates, and taxes had been paid under eighteen pounds per annum were left for the support of the Gibb family, or less than seven shillings a week. And this when times were flourishing! The rooms Nora had had been vacant more than a month before she came; small wonder Miss Gibb-as she would have put it-had "chanced" a lady.
More than another week elapsed before Nora was permitted to see her landlady. She found her in the front room in the basement, which was used by Miss Gibb as well as herself to live and sleep in. There, also, were performed most of the necessary cooking operations.
"Mother," explained Miss Gibb, "always does feel the cold; we can't have a fire going both in the kitchen and in here, so that's how it is. Besides, mother likes to see what's going on, don't you, mother?"
Mother said she did; for she could talk, and that was the only thing she still could do; it seemed to Nora that even the faculty of speech was threatened. Mrs. Gibb spoke very quietly and very slowly, and sometimes she paused, even in the middle of a word; as she listened Nora wondered how long it would be before that pause remained unbroken. Her landlady lay on a chair bedstead. Miss Gibb and her brother, between them, had contrived a method, of which every one was proud, by means of an arrangement of sloping boards, to raise her head and shoulders, when she desired to be raised. Nora was not surprised to find that, in common with the rest of the house, she was spotlessly neat and clean; but she was conscious of something akin to a feeling of surprise when she observed the expression which was on her face; and the more attentively she observed the more the feeling grew. Although she seemed so old-the cares of this world had pressed heavily on her-still, in a sense, she seemed younger than her daughter; for on her face was a look of peace, as on the face of those who are conscious that they also serve although they only stand and wait.
"I have nothing of which to complain," she told her lodger; "only-it's hard on Angelina." Nora noticed that she always referred to her daughter by her full Christian name. Angelina remonstrated.
"Now, mother, don't you be silly; if you are going to say things like that I shall have to send Miss Lindsay away."
The mother looked at her daughter with a look in her eyes which, when she saw it, brought the tears into Nora's; there was in it an eloquence which she wondered if, with all her wisdom, Angelina comprehended. If she had only been able to take the burden of the mother off the daughter's shoulders, how gladly she would have done it. But the days when she was able to bear the burdens of others were gone; it seemed not unlikely that she would be crushed out of existence by her own.
CHAPTER XIX
A YOUNG LADY IN SEARCH OF A LIVING
The more Nora sought for means to earn her own livelihood, the more they seemed to evade her. In her time she had heard a good deal about how difficult it sometimes is to earn one's own living, but she never realized what that meant until she started to earn hers. To begin with, she had only the very vaguest notions of how to set about it. She could not serve in a shop; at least she did not feel as if she could; she was conscious that she was not qualified to be a governess; she had no leaning towards domestic service, though she would have preferred that to serving in a shop; she had no woman's trade at her fingers' ends, so that she was unfit for a workroom. What remained? It seemed to her very little, except some sort of clerkship; she had heard that thousands of women were employed as clerks; or if she could get a post as secretary. That was the objective she had in her mind when she left Cloverlea, a secretaryship; for that she believed herself to have two necessary qualifications-she wrote a very clear hand, and she had some knowledge of typewriting. She had once started a typewriting class in the village; she had taken lessons herself. She had bought a machine and practised on that, until she gave it away to one of the pupils, who wished to take advantage of the information she had acquired to earn something for herself. That was nearly a year ago; she had not practised since; but she did not doubt that if she came within reach of a machine it would all come back to her; and she had attained to a state of considerable proficiency.
So she bought the daily papers and answered all the advertisements for secretaryships which they contained. There were not as many as she would have wished; some days there were none; and the only answers she received were from agents, who offered to place her name upon their books, in consideration of a fee, which she did not see her way to give them. The way those eight pounds were slipping through her fingers was marvellous; when three weeks had gone she had scarcely thirty shillings left, between her and destitution. Of course, she had been extravagant-monstrously extravagant, as Miss Gibb occasionally told her; but when you have been accustomed all your life to an establishment kept up at the rate of some twelve thousand pounds a year, to say nothing of having five hundred a year for pocket money, it is not easy, all at once, to learn the secret of how to make a shilling do the work of eighteenpence; that is a secret which takes a great deal of learning; by many temperaments it can never be learnt at all.
She had been a month in Swan Street; had paid three weeks' bills; the fourth lay in front of her. It was such a modest bill-Miss Gibb's bills were curiosities; yet when it was paid she would not have six shillings left in the world. It frightened her to think of it; the effort to think seemed to set her head in a whirl; her heart was thumping against her ribs; it made her dizzy. What was she to do? where was she to go? She could not stay in Swan Street; she had not enough to pay next week's rent, to say nothing of food. Yet, what was the alternative? With less than six shillings in the world what could she do?
In a sense, since her coming to Newington Butts she had kept herself to herself. She had this much in common with her father, she could not wear her heart upon her sleeve. She had kept her own counsel; told no one of the straits she was in, of the efforts she was making to find a way to earn her daily bread. But it was plain even to her, as she regarded her few shillings, that the time had come when she must take counsel of some one. If she had to go out into the highways and byways, with her scanty capital, she must learn of some one what highways and byways there were for her to go out into; of herself she knew nothing. As she cast about in her mind for some way out of her trouble, it seemed to her that the only person to whom she could unbosom herself was Miss Gibb.
She rang the bell, paid her bill, and as she watched Angelina, with her tongue out and her head on one side, making magnificent efforts to affix her signature to the receipt, she prepared herself for the ordeal. When the receipt was signed, and Angelina was about to go, Nora stopped her.
"If you have nothing particular to do just now, and you don't mind, there is something which I should like to say to you."
"I don't know that there's anything you might call particular that I've got to do, but there's always something."
Which was true enough; from the first thing in the morning to the last thing at night, Miss Gibb was always doing something; and sometimes also, Nora suspected, in the silent watches of the night. Nora hesitated; she found the subject a difficult one to broach.
"I'm in rather an uncomfortable position; I-I'm afraid I shall have to leave you."
"Why? Aren't we giving satisfaction?"
"If I give you as much satisfaction as you give me there'd be no trouble on that score."
"Oh, you give us satisfaction all right enough; although, of course, any one can see you're several cuts above our place."
"You are likely to be several cuts above me; I am having to leave you because I have not money enough left to pay you next week's rent."
"Not enough money left? How much have you?"
"Five and eightpence halfpenny, to be precise." Miss Gibb changed countenance. "Five and eightpence halfpenny! That's not much."
"No one can appreciate the fact better than I do."
"But however come you to have so little?"
"I hadn't much when I came, and I suppose I've been extravagant."
"You have been that."
"You see," – despite herself Nora sighed-"I haven't been used to economy."
"Any one could see that with half-an-eye; I shouldn't be surprised to learn that you're one of those who've been used to spend as much as five pounds a week."
"I'm afraid I am.
"Then of course there's excuses. We can't get out of ways like that with a hop, skip and a jump; it's not to be expected. But haven't you got any friends who'd help you?"
"I haven't a friend to whom I can apply for help."
"I should have thought you were the kind who'd have had lots of friends. Have you fell out with them?"
"I thought my father was a rich man; but when he died-it was only a very little while ago-it appeared that he wasn't; so I have to make my own way in the world, and that is how I came to Swan Street."
"I know them fathers; I had one of my own, and he wasn't of any account; though I will say this, I always liked him."
"I have been trying to find something by means of which I could earn enough money to keep me. I hoped to have found it before now, but I haven't, and that's the trouble."
"What sort of work have you been looking for?"
"I've been endeavouring to get a post as secretary, among other things, and I've answered no end of advertisements, but nothing has come of one of them."
"Secretary? what's that? The notices that the water'll be cut off if it's not paid for, they're signed by a secretary; I always took him to be some kind of a bailiff."
Nora endeavoured to explain, but her explanation was not very lucid, and Miss Gibb was not extremely impressed.
"Is that the only kind of work you want?" she asked; "a secretary?"
"Indeed it isn't; I should be glad to do anything."
"Some people, when they say they'd be glad to do anything, mean nothing, which is about all they're good for; I know. How would you like to go out charing?"
"Charing? Well, I may be glad to have an opportunity of doing that."
"Yes, no doubt; I fancy I see you at it! you charing! My word! Strikes me you're the kind who'll find it difficult to get work of any sort."
"You're not very reassuring."
"Facts is facts."
"That's true enough; and it's no use blinking them. I fear you're right; I shall find it hard; anyhow while I'm looking for work it's clear that I can't continue to be your lodger. That's what I wanted to explain."
"And pray why not?"
"Isn't it pretty obvious? With five and eightpence halfpenny, and no prospect of more, how am I to pay you next week's rent?"
"I did think you'd have talked better sense than that."
"Angel!"
"If there's one thing I cannot stand it is to hear people talk right-down silly; I never could stand it, and I never shall. I wouldn't take this week's bill if it wasn't that we were so short; but if that there poor-rate isn't paid next week we shall have the brokers in, so paid it must be; them there poor-rates is demons; they'll turn me grey yet before I've done. But as for your next week's rent-we'll talk about that when it's due."
"Are you proposing that I should run up debts with you, which I may never be able to pay? Do you call that sense?"
"As it happens that's not what I'm proposing; though if I were as sure of most things as I am of that you'll pay me first chance you get, it might be better for me; but you can hardly say you've got no money when you've got plenty of things you can get money on."
"I don't understand."
"Look at your clothes-lovely some of them are; you can get money on them."
"Get money on my clothes? How?"
"Why, bless me, aren't there pawnbrokers? What do you think they're for? Taken to the proper place, by the proper person, you'd get a lot of money on those things of yours; I know. I always say that so long as you've something to pawn it's like having money at the bank."
It was to Nora as though Miss Gibb's words had opened out to her a new world, of which she had not dreamed. In none of the country towns within miles of Cloverlea was there a pawnshop; to her knowledge she had never seen one; there were plenty within an easy stroll of Swan Street; she had passed and re-passed them, but her attention had not been called to what they were; they had escaped her notice. In her mind the word pawnshop stood for almost the lowest word in the scale of degradation; it was the drunkard's last hope; the friend of the felon; the resource of those to whom there was no resource left; that gate into the unthinkable which was associated only with despair. And that it should be suggested to her that she should enter a pawnbroker's den-she had heard it spoken of as a "den" – to "raise" money on the clothes she had worn yesterday, and had hoped to wear again to-morrow-in her blackest hours she had not anticipated such a fate for herself as that. The proposal actually appalled her; filled her with a fear of she knew not what; shamed her; hurled her from a pedestal into a morass. She stammered as she replied, conscious of the crass banality of what she was saying-
"I-I don't think I-I should like to pawn any-any of my things if-if I could help it."
Miss Gibb's scorn was monumental, as if she resented something which the other implied, though it had been left unuttered.
"And who do you think does like to pawn their things if they can help it? Do you suppose people pawn their boots because they've got their pockets full of money? I am surprised to hear you talk, I really am; should have thought at your time of life you'd have known better. Wouldn't you rather pawn your clothes than starve?"
"If you-if you put it in that crude way, I suppose I would."
Nora smiled; a horrible libel on what a smile ought to be. There was no pretence of a smile about Miss Gibb; there never was; she was always like a combatant, who, armed at all points, is ever ready for the fray.
"Very well, then; you say you've got no money, and I say how do you make that out when you have got things that you can pawn? If you like to go hungry rather than put away a lace petticoat-which you can get out again, mind you, whenever you've a chance-all I can say is I don't; I've known what it is to be hungry, I have."
"But I fear that I-I shouldn't know how to set about pawning a lace petticoat even if I wanted to save myself from going hungry."
"Who said you would? Who said anything about your setting about it? Not me; I do hope I have more sense than that. Why, you'd be worse than a baby at the game; it needs some knowing. I'll do all in that way that's wanted; if I don't know pretty well all about pawning that there is to know I ought to, I've been pawning pretty nearly ever since I could walk. What's more, I've pawned pretty nearly every blessed thing that there is to pawn, down to a towel-horse and a kitchen fender. Mother and Eustace and me would have been a case for a coroner's inquest long ago if I hadn't; and I will say this for them there pawnbrokers, that, considering the class they've got to do with, and that they have got to make a living, they've got as much of the milk of human kindness in them as most. You're going to stop here, that's what you're going to do, and mother and Eustace and me will put our heads together to see about finding you some work to do, though I don't know about that there secretary. Only for goodness' sake don't you lose heart; no one ever gained anything by doing that. I've seen as much of the world as most, and I know from my own experience that when things are tightest is just the moment when help comes. Mother says it comes from heaven; but I don't know, it may or it may not; but it comes from somewhere, and that often from where you least expected it. When next week's bill comes due, if nothing's turned up, you give me something, and I'll take it round to Mr. Thompson-he's about as good as any-and I'll get as much on it as ever I can, and you'll be able to pay all right; you see, I'm not concealing from you that we've got to live as well as you, and them poor-rates there's no shirking. But don't you fear; mother and Eustace and me will have found you something to do between us long before you've spent all the money you've got in the bank; but whatever you do do, don't you go losing heart."
So the child taught the woman, who was learning rapidly that age is not measured by the years one has lived; Miss Gibb was a century older than she was, though she was only just in her teens. Two visits were paid to Mr. Thompson, each time with a petticoat. Nora lived on the proceeds of those two petticoats for nearly another month, during which all the members of the establishment were putting their heads together in endeavours to find her something to do. The heart-sickness it meant for her; the consciousness of wasted effort; the sense of shame; the realization of her own futility; she had aged more during the time she had been in Swan Street than in all the preceding years. She had long ceased to confine herself to attempts to find a post as secretary, or as clerk. She tramped half over London in her desire to answer, in person, advertisements of all sorts and kinds, always in vain. Any one but a sheer ignoramus-Miss Gibb's ignorance outside her own sphere of action was colossal-would have told her at a glance that her efforts were foredoomed to failure. And why? The idea of such a one as she was occupying some of the situations for which she applied was in itself an absurdity; her appearance, her bearing, her manners, her dress, all were against her; perhaps her dress handicapped her worst of all. She did not know it; she thought her frocks were as simple as they could be; and so they were, in the sense of the great costumier, with the simplicity which is the hall-mark of the dressmaker's art. There was not one of them which had not cost her ten or fifteen guineas. The would-be employer saw this at once, and decided that the applicant was unsuited, which she was; so Nora was sent sorrowing away.
So with Nora the world went from bad to worse; until, as if to justify Miss Gibb's prophetic instinct, when things seemed really at their "tightest," help came to her from a quarter-as Angelina had foretold-from which she had least expected it.
CHAPTER XX
KING SOLOMON
John Hooper, Esquire, barrister-at-law, of Fountain Court, Inner Temple, was the employer of Mr. Eustace Gibb, who was the brother of Miss Gibb. It is not easy to define the relation which Mr. Gibb occupied with regard to Mr. Hooper. Mr. Hooper, although, presumably, learned in the law, had never held a brief in his life, and, to be frank, did not particularly want one; only his uncle worried. He had a small income of his own, and great expectations from his uncle; as his expenditure always exceeded his income, he regarded it as of the first importance that he should continue to stand in what he called his uncle's "good books," since he looked to that gentleman for sufficient financial assistance to enable him to what he termed "rub along." To please his uncle, who appeared to think he ought, very shortly, to be sitting on the woolsack, since he could get no briefs of his own he worked on those of other people; in other words he devilled for a gentleman who was always promising to do more work than, as he knew very well, he could do, and who, therefore, allowed Mr. Hooper, among others, to do some of the work which he was paid to do, but for which he paid Mr. Hooper nothing; there was not so much of this as Mr. Hooper chose to allow his uncle to imagine; still, from his point of view, there was emphatically enough.
What position Mr. Gibb filled in his chambers he himself occasionally wondered. To those whom he wished to impress with his legal standing he spoke of him as his clerk; to those whom it was impossible to impress, and they were many, as his office boy; while in his own circle of intimates, which was of rather a peculiar kind, he generally referred to him as King Solomon. Mr. Gibb generally referred to himself as Mr. Hooper's right-hand man.
"I'm his right hand man, that's what I am," he was wont to tell any one who showed interest in the subject; whereat the listener whistled, or did worse, and wondered, if he stopped at that. His duties appeared chiefly to consist in sitting, if Mr. Hooper was in his chambers, in a sort of lobby, which opened on to the staircase, which he called his office, and where he did nothing; or if Mr. Hooper was not in his chambers, he went out, as far out as he thought was discreet, and did nothing there. Sometimes when, as was not infrequently the case, both employer and employed had nothing to do, Mr. Hooper would summon Mr. Gibb into his inner room, and would talk to him-and Mr. Gibb would talk to him. It was the words of wisdom which Mr. Gibb would casually let drop in the course of these conversations which induced Mr. Hooper to allude to him, in the privacy of his own circle, as King Solomon; the barrister declared that it was worth his while to pay Mr. Gibb ten shillings a week, which he with difficulty did, merely on account of the benefit which he derived from hearing him talk.
It was during one of these conversations that Mr. Gibb touched on a subject which was foremost both in his heart and head. He had taken a strenuous part in the family endeavours to find for Miss Lindsay some employment by means of which she could at least provide herself with the wherewithal to keep herself alive. He had entered on the search with sanguine zest. Apart from any feeling which he might himself entertain for the lady he felt that his reputation was at stake. He had pledged himself to find for her at least half-a-dozen ways of earning a living in a ridiculously short space of time; and as yet he had not found her one; and she herself still searched. He was aware of the visits to Mr. Thompson; they troubled him nearly as much as they troubled Nora; he felt almost as if he was himself responsible for their continuation. He knew that any day another might have to be paid; the knowledge made him desperate. He had had, for some time, a vague intention of speaking to his employer on the matter; but he was aware that Mr. Hooper did not always take him seriously, and he was curiously unwilling to have Miss Lindsay made the subject of that gentleman's chaff. Yet the thought of that further impending visit pressed heavily on his mind; so that presently the barrister perceived that in his air there was something singular.
"You're not up to your usual mark, Mr. Gibb; those pearls of wisdom which I love to cherish as they drop from your lips don't seem dropping; stock run out?"
Mr. Gibb looked up at the ceiling, then down to Mr. Hooper.
"The fact is, sir, I've got something on my mind."
"Is it possible? My good Mr. Gibb, do I ever allow anything to stop on my mind? Get it off!"
"It's easy to talk, sir, but I don't seem as though I can."
"Perhaps it would do your mind good to tell me what's on it; I have known that prescription work a cure. Give your mind its head, Mr. Gibb, let her go."
Mr. Gibb hesitated; he was trying to find fitting words in which to express what he had to say.
"It's like this, sir; I know somebody who very much wants to find the means of earning a living."
"Not an uncommon character, Mr. Gibb. I suppose there are the usual requirements, large salary wanted, and very little work."
"Not at all, sir, not in this case. The person to whom I'm alluding would be only too glad to do any amount of work, for very little wages."
"That is unusual; I fear an effort has been made to impose upon your innocence. Who's the gentleman?"
"It's not a gentleman, sir, it's a lady."
"A lady? I say, Mr. Gibb! warnings out all along that coast; if at this period of your existence you get yourself mixed up with a lady, especially one who is on the look out for means of earning a living, your whole career may be blighted. She may look upon you as her living, and then where are you?"
"No fear of that, sir; this is a lady born and bred; she's as high as the heavens above me."
"Is she? Then she's tallish. Old?"
"No, sir; in her early prime."
"Meaning?"
"I couldn't say exactly, sir; I should say somewhere about twenty. You could tell better than me.
"What on earth do you mean?"
"If you saw her."
"If I saw her! Look here, Mr. Gibb, have you got anything at the back of your head?" Mr. Gibb sighed. "Is she hideous?"
"No, sir; she's the most beautiful young lady ever I set eyes on; and I've seen a few."
"You have, Mr. Gibb, I admit it; still as I don't know what your type of beauty really is your remark conveys little to me."
"It would convey more, sir, if you were to see her. You wouldn't want to see her twice to know that she's the most beautiful young lady ever you set eyes on. I feel sure of it. I wish you would see her, sir."
"May I ask, Mr. Gibb, what it is you're driving at? Why should I see her?"
"So that you might understand."
"Understand what?"
"How it is."
"How what is? I'll trouble you, Mr. Gibb, to be a trifle more explicit. Where's this lady of birth and breeding, who's as high as the heavens above you, to be found?"
"She's lodging at my mother's. Yes, sir, I don't wonder you look surprised; I know it's no place for a lady, especially one like her; and that's the trouble, she is a lady; I know a lady when I see one as well as I know a gentleman."
"You must forgive me, Mr. Gibb, but I'm wondering if you do; it's not every one who can tell a lady by the look of her."
"Perhaps not, sir; but you can. If you saw her you'd soon tell. She'd have found something long ago she could have turned her hand to if she'd been one of your common sort; but that's the mischief, she's a lady; and I happen to know that she's in a very bad way. She lost her father and her mother, and she doesn't seem to have a friend in the world; if she doesn't find something soon by which she can earn a little money I don't know what will become of her. I wish you would see her, sir."
"What good do you suppose will be gained by my seeing her? What sort of work does she want?"
"She has been trying for a secretaryship; but she's tried, and tried, and nothing's come of it; and now she'd be only too glad to do anything by which she could earn money. You see, sir, you know all kinds of people, and I thought that if you saw her, so that you might know what she's like, and how it is with her, you might think of some one who could give her work; I know you wouldn't regret it if you did."
"Mr. Gibb, you're a-you're a person of a Mephistophelian habit! Mind you, I've no more chance of putting anything in the way of your lady born and bred, who's as high as the heavens above you, than the man in the moon; but I've got plenty of time on my hands; I'm always ready to see any one; and I've no objection to see her."
"Thank you, sir. Will you see her to-morrow morning?"
"Look here, Mr. Gibb, are you trying to bustle me?"
"Well,' sir, you see she's pawning her things-"
"Pawning her things! and you say she's a lady."
"Yes, sir, she is pawning her things, and she is a lady; and it's because I've reason to know that she may have to pawn something else either to-day or to-morrow that I've mentioned her to you at all; because when she's pawned all she's got what will she do?"
"Do you want me to lend her some money? or to give her some?"
Mr. Gibb smiled.
"When you've seen her, sir, you won't need to ask me that. Then you'll see her to-morrow morning?"
"Now don't you go putting any false hopes in her head, you'll only be doing her a disservice if you do; nothing will come of my seeing her, I'm only doing it to oblige you; let that be clearly understood."
"Yes, sir; thank you very much."
When Mr. Gibb got home he rushed straight up to Miss Lindsay, who was commencing the nondescript apology for a meal which served her as tea and supper.
"Miss Lindsay, I believe I've found you something which may lead to something."
"Oh, Eustace! have you? what is it?"
"It's my chief." Mr. Gibb never would refer to him as "governor," as other clerks did; he thought it vulgar. "It's Mr. Hooper!"
"Mr. Hooper?"
"I happened to mention to him to-day that you were looking out for a secretaryship, and he said would you call round and see him to-morrow morning."
"Oh, Eustace! how shall I ever thank you? Is it for himself he wants a secretary?"
"That I can't say; but if you'll take my advice you'll call and see him."
"Of course I'll call and see him; I'm-I'm all trembling! as if I wouldn't call and see him! Do you think I've any chance?"
"That also I can't say; but if you'll allow me to give you what I should describe as a hint-"