“I hope I see you well, sir,” said Mrs. Billickin, recognising her visitor with a bend.
“Thank you, quite well. And you, ma’am?” returned Mr. Grewgious.
“I am as well,” said Mrs. Billickin, becoming aspirational with excess of faintness, “as I hever ham.”
“My ward and an elderly lady,” said Mr. Grewgious, “wish to find a genteel lodging for a month or so. Have you any apartments available, ma’am?”
“Mr. Grewgious,” returned Mrs. Billickin, “I will not deceive you; far from it. I have apartments available.”
This with the air of adding: “Convey me to the stake, if you will; but while I live, I will be candid.”
“And now, what apartments, ma’am?” asked Mr. Grewgious, cosily. To tame a certain severity apparent on the part of Mrs. Billickin.
“There is this sitting-room—which, call it what you will, it is the front parlour, Miss,” said Mrs. Billickin, impressing Rosa into the conversation: “the back parlour being what I cling to and never part with; and there is two bedrooms at the top of the ’ouse with gas laid on. I do not tell you that your bedroom floors is firm, for firm they are not. The gas-fitter himself allowed that to make a firm job, he must go right under your jistes, and it were not worth the outlay as a yearly tenant so to do. The piping is carried above your jistes, and it is best that it should be made known to you.”
Mr. Grewgious and Rosa exchanged looks of some dismay, though they had not the least idea what latent horrors this carriage of the piping might involve. Mrs. Billickin put her hand to her heart, as having eased it of a load.
“Well! The roof is all right, no doubt,” said Mr. Grewgious, plucking up a little.
“Mr. Grewgious,” returned Mrs. Billickin, “if I was to tell you, sir, that to have nothink above you is to have a floor above you, I should put a deception upon you which I will not do. No, sir. Your slates will rattle loose at that elewation in windy weather, do your utmost, best or worst! I defy you, sir, be you what you may, to keep your slates tight, try how you can.” Here Mrs. Billickin, having been warm with Mr. Grewgious, cooled a little, not to abuse the moral power she held over him. “Consequent,” proceeded Mrs. Billickin, more mildly, but still firmly in her incorruptible candour: “consequent it would be worse than of no use for me to trapse and travel up to the top of the ’ouse with you, and for you to say, ‘Mrs. Billickin, what stain do I notice in the ceiling, for a stain I do consider it?’ and for me to answer, ‘I do not understand you, sir.’ No, sir, I will not be so underhand. I do understand you before you pint it out. It is the wet, sir. It do come in, and it do not come in. You may lay dry there, half your lifetime; but the time will come, and it is best that you should know it, when a dripping sop would be no name for you.”
Mr. Grewgious looked much disgraced by being prefigured in this pickle.
“Have you any other apartments, ma’am?” he asked.
“Mr. Grewgious,” returned Mrs. Billickin, with much solemnity, “I have. You ask me have I, and my open and my honest answer air, I have. The first and second floors is wacant, and sweet rooms.”
“Come, come! There’s nothing against them,” said Mr. Grewgious, comforting himself.
“Mr. Grewgious,” replied Mrs. Billickin, “pardon me, there is the stairs. Unless your mind is prepared for the stairs, it will lead to inevitable disappointment. You cannot, Miss,” said Mrs. Billickin, addressing Rosa, reproachfully, “place a first floor, and far less a second, on the level footing of a parlour. No, you cannot do it, Miss, it is beyond your power, and wherefore try?”
Mrs. Billickin put it very feelingly, as if Rosa had shown a headstrong determination to hold the untenable position.
“Can we see these rooms, ma’am?” inquired her guardian.
“Mr. Grewgious,” returned Mrs. Billickin, “you can. I will not disguise it from you, sir; you can.”
Mrs. Billickin then sent into her back parlour for her shawl (it being a state fiction, dating from immemorial antiquity, that she could never go anywhere without being wrapped up), and having been enrolled by her attendant, led the way. She made various genteel pauses on the stairs for breath, and clutched at her heart in the drawing-room as if it had very nearly got loose, and she had caught it in the act of taking wing.
“And the second floor?” said Mr. Grewgious, on finding the first satisfactory.
“Mr. Grewgious,” replied Mrs. Billickin, turning upon him with ceremony, as if the time had now come when a distinct understanding on a difficult point must be arrived at, and a solemn confidence established, “the second floor is over this.”
“Can we see that too, ma’am?”
“Yes, sir,” returned Mrs. Billickin, “it is open as the day.”
That also proving satisfactory, Mr. Grewgious retired into a window with Rosa for a few words of consultation, and then asking for pen and ink, sketched out a line or two of agreement. In the meantime Mrs. Billickin took a seat, and delivered a kind of Index to, or Abstract of, the general question.
“Five-and-forty shillings per week by the month certain at the time of year,” said Mrs. Billickin, “is only reasonable to both parties. It is not Bond Street nor yet St. James’s Palace; but it is not pretended that it is. Neither is it attempted to be denied—for why should it?—that the Arching leads to a mews. Mewses must exist. Respecting attendance; two is kep’, at liberal wages. Words has arisen as to tradesmen, but dirty shoes on fresh hearth-stoning was attributable, and no wish for a commission on your orders. Coals is either by the fire, or per the scuttle.” She emphasised
