There was always a strangely muffled feeling in that house. If there was still trouble in the basement, it did not penetrate into Mrs. Gibson’s comfortably-furnished rooms, and as Hannah ate her supper and listened to Mrs. Gibson’s gentle and contented talk, she felt as though she were under the influence of some mild narcotic. Mrs. Gibson’s voice rose only when she pressed Hannah to eat. She thought Miss Mole was looking tired. She had been out to choose the chicken herself and Miss Mole must eat as much as she could.
“You’re a lady, Mrs. Gibson, if ever there was one,” Hannah said. “I don’t know anybody else who would have taken so much trouble for me.”
“Oh, my dear!” Mrs. Gibson exclaimed. It saddened and flattered her to think this was true.
“Yes,” Hannah went on, “if Mrs. Spenser-Smith had asked me out to supper, she would have given me yesterday’s mutton hashed. Quite good enough for Miss Mole! She’d keep her chickens for the people who could afford them. It’s the way of the world, but you don’t belong to it. You ought to be in Heaven, Mrs. Gibson, and I hope you won’t go yet. You had all this to see to and Mr. Blenkinsop’s dinner as well.”
Mrs. Gibson nodded her head in satisfaction. “Mr. Blenkinsop was very obliging when I told him you were coming. He said he’d have his dinner early and then it would be out of the way.”
“Ah,” said Hannah, “he was afraid I’d take it up to him!”
“I don’t know, dear. He’s got a kind heart, really. What do you think he did on Sunday? Took Mr. Ridding off for a walk in the country!”
“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 Nonconformist minister, while Hannah was a woman for whom
