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Semanticate
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acabal committed Dec 6, 2023
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<body epub:type="bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<section id="chapter-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h2>
<p>A swarthy turbaned face shone at Miriam from a tapestry screen standing between her and the ferns rising from a basket framework in the bow of the window. Consulting it at intervals as the afternoon wore on, she found that it made very light of the quiet propositions that were being elaborated within hearing of her inattentive ears. Looking beyond it she could catch glimpses between the crowded fernery, when a tram was not jingling by, of a close-set palisade just across the roadway and beyond the palisade of a green level ending at a row of Spanish poplars. The trams seemed very near and noisy. When they passed by the window, the speakers had to raise their voices. Otherwise the little drawing-room was very quiet, with a strange old-fashioned quietness. It was full of old things, like the Gobelin screen, and old thoughts like the thoughts of the ladies who were sitting and talking there. She and her mother had seemed quite modern, fussy, worldly people when they had first come into the room. From the moment the three ladies had come in and begun talking to her mother, the things in the room, and the view of the distant row of poplars had grown more and more peaceful, and now at the end of an hour she felt that she, and to some extent <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Henderson too, belonged to the old-world room with its quiet green outlook shut in by the poplars. Only the trams were disturbing. They came busily by, with their strange jingle-jingle, plock-plock, and made her inattentive. Why were there so many people coming by in trams? Where were they going? Why were all the trams painted that hard, dingy blue?</p>
<p>A swarthy turbaned face shone at Miriam from a tapestry screen standing between her and the ferns rising from a basket framework in the bow of the window. Consulting it at intervals as the afternoon wore on, she found that it made very light of the quiet propositions that were being elaborated within hearing of her inattentive ears. Looking beyond it she could catch glimpses between the crowded fernery, when a tram was not jingling by, of a close-set palisade just across the roadway and beyond the palisade of a green level ending at a row of Spanish poplars. The trams seemed very near and noisy. When they passed by the window, the speakers had to raise their voices. Otherwise the little drawing-room was very quiet, with a strange old-fashioned quietness. It was full of old things, like the Gobelin screen, and old thoughts like the thoughts of the ladies who were sitting and talking there. She and her mother had seemed quite modern, fussy, worldly people when they had first come into the room. From the moment the three ladies had come in and begun talking to her mother, the things in the room, and the view of the distant row of poplars had grown more and more peaceful, and now at the end of an hour she felt that she, and to some extent <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Henderson too, belonged to the old-world room with its quiet green outlook shut in by the poplars. Only the trams were disturbing. They came busily by, with their strange jingle-jingle, plock-plock, and made her inattentive. Why were there so many people coming by in trams? Where were they going? Why were all the trams painted that hard, dingy blue?</p>
<p>The sisters talked quietly, outlining their needs in smooth gentle voices, in small broken phrases, frequently interrupting and correcting each other. Miriam heard dreamily that they wanted help with the lower school, the children from six to eight years of age, in the mornings and afternoons, and in the evenings a general superintendence of the four boarders. They kept on saying that the work was very easy and simple; there were no naughty girls⁠—hardly a single naughty girl⁠—in the school; there should be no difficult superintendence, no exercise of authority would be required.</p>
<p>By the time they had reached the statement of these modifications Miriam felt that she knew them quite well. The shortest, who did most of the talking and who had twinkling eyes and crooked pince-nez and soft reddish cheeks and a little red-tipped nose, and whose small coil of sheeny grey hair was pinned askew on the top of her head⁠—stray loops standing out at curious angles⁠—was Miss Jenny, the middle one. The very tall one sitting opposite her, with a delicate wrinkled creamy face and coal-black eyes and a peak of ringletted smooth coal-black hair, was the eldest, Miss Deborah. The other sister, much younger, with neat smooth green-grey hair and a long sad greyish face and faded eyes, was Miss Haddie. They were all three dressed in thin fine black material and had tiny hands and little softly moving feet. What did they think of the trams?</p>
<p>“Do you think you could manage it, chickie?” said <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Henderson suddenly.</p>
<p>“Do you think you could manage it, chickie?” said <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Henderson suddenly.</p>
<p>“I think I could.”</p>
<p>“No doubt, my dear, oh, no doubt,” said Miss Jenny with a little sound of laughter as she tapped her knee with the pince-nez she had plucked from their rakish perch on the reddened bridge of her nose.</p>
<p>“I don’t think I could teach Scripture.”</p>
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<p>“Mother, why <em>did</em> you pile it on?”</p>
<p>They would soon be down at the corner of Banbury Park where the tram lines ended and the Favorite omnibuses were standing in the muddy road under the shadow of the railway bridge. Through the jingling of the trams, the dop-dop of the hoofs of the tram-horses and the noise of a screaming train thundering over the bridge, Miriam made her voice heard, gazing through the spotted veil at her mother’s quivering features.</p>
<p>“They might have made me do all sorts of things I can’t do.”</p>
<p><abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Henderson’s voice, breathless with walking, made a little sound of protest, a narrowed sound that told Miriam her amusement was half annoyance. The dark, noisy bridge, the clatter and rattle and the mud through which she must plunge to an omnibus exasperated her to the limit of her endurance.</p>
<p><abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Henderson’s voice, breathless with walking, made a little sound of protest, a narrowed sound that told Miriam her amusement was half annoyance. The dark, noisy bridge, the clatter and rattle and the mud through which she must plunge to an omnibus exasperated her to the limit of her endurance.</p>
<p>“I’d got the post,” she said angrily; “you could see it was all settled and then you went saying those things.”</p>
<p>Glancing at the thin shrouded features she saw the faint lift of her mother’s eyebrows and the firmly speechless mouth.</p>
<p>“Piccadilly⁠—jump on, chickie.”</p>
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<p>“No, chick, you sit there.”</p>
<p>Miriam screwed herself into the corner seat, crossing her knees and grazing the tips of her shoes.</p>
<p>“This is the only place on the top of a bus.”</p>
<p><abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Henderson sat down at her side.</p>
<p><abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Henderson sat down at her side.</p>
<p>“I always make Harriett come up here when we go up to the West End.”</p>
<p>“Of course it’s the only place,” she insisted in response to her mother’s amused laugh. “No one smoking or talking in front; you can see out in front and you can see the shops if there are any, and you’re not falling off all the time. The bus goes on the left side of the road and tilts to the left.”</p>
<p>The seats were filling up and the driver appeared clambering into his place.</p>
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<p>“Yes, but wasn’t it awfully rum their liking us in that funny way?”</p>
<p>“I’m sure I don’t see why they should not.”</p>
<p>“Oh, mother, you know what I mean. I like them. I’m perfectly sure I shall like them. D’you remember the little one saying all girls ought to marry? Why did she say that?”</p>
<p>“They are dear funny little <abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">O.M.</abbr>’s,” said <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Henderson merrily. She was sitting with her knees crossed, the stuff of her brown canvas dress was dragged across them into an ugly fold by the weight of the velvet panel at the side of the skirt. She looked very small and resourceless. And there were the Pernes with their house and their school. They were old maids. Of course. What then?</p>
<p>“They are dear funny little <abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">O.M.</abbr>’s,” said <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Henderson merrily. She was sitting with her knees crossed, the stuff of her brown canvas dress was dragged across them into an ugly fold by the weight of the velvet panel at the side of the skirt. She looked very small and resourceless. And there were the Pernes with their house and their school. They were old maids. Of course. What then?</p>
<p>“I never dreamed of getting such a big salary.”</p>
<p>“Oh, my chickie, I’m afraid it isn’t much.”</p>
<p>“It is, mother, it’s lovely.”</p>
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<p>The little shock sent her mind feeling out along the road they had just left. She considered its unbroken length, its shops, its treelessness. The wide thoroughfare, up which they now began to rumble, repeated it on a larger scale. The pavements were wide causeways reached from the roadway by stone steps, three deep. The people passing along them were unlike any she knew. There were no ladies, no gentlemen, no girls or young men such as she knew. They were all alike. They were⁠ ⁠… She could find no word for the strange impression they made. It coloured the whole of the district through which they had come. It was part of the new world to which she was pledged to go on September 18th. It was her world already; and she had no words for it. She would not be able to convey it to others. She felt sure her mother had not noticed it. She must deal with it alone. To try to speak about it, even with Eve, would sap her courage. It was her secret. A strange secret for all her life as Hanover had been. But Hanover was beautiful, with distant country through the <i xml:lang="de">Saal</i> windows with its colours misty in the sunlight, the beautiful, happy town and the woodland villages so near. This new secret was shabby, ugly and shabby. The half-perceived something persisted unchanged when the causeways and shops disappeared and long rows of houses streamed by, their close ranks broken only by an occasional cross road. They were large, high, flat-fronted houses with flights of grey stone steps leading to their porchless doors. They had tiny railed-in front gardens crowded with shrubs. Here and there long narrow strips of garden pushed a row of houses back from the roadway. In these longer plots stood signboards and showcases. “Photographic Studio,” “Commercial College,” “Eye Treatment,” “Academy of Dancing.”⁠ ⁠… She read the announcements with growing disquietude.</p>
<p>Rows of shops reappeared and densely crowded pavements, and then more high straight houses.</p>
<hr/>
<p>She roused herself at last from her puzzled contemplation and turned to glance at her mother. <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Henderson was looking out ahead. The exhausted face was ready, Miriam saw, with its faintly questioning eyebrows and tightly-held lips, for emotional response. She turned away uneasily to the spellbound streets.</p>
<p>She roused herself at last from her puzzled contemplation and turned to glance at her mother. <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Henderson was looking out ahead. The exhausted face was ready, Miriam saw, with its faintly questioning eyebrows and tightly-held lips, for emotional response. She turned away uneasily to the spellbound streets.</p>
<p>“Useless to try to talk about anything.⁠ ⁠… Mother would be somehow violent. She would be overpowering. The strange new impressions would be dissolved.”</p>
<p>But she must do something, show some sign of companionship. She began humming softly. The air was so full of clamour that she could not hear her voice. The houses and shops had disappeared. Drab brick walls were passing slowly by on either side. A goods’ yard. She deepened her humming, accentuating her phrases so that the sound might reach her companion through the reverberations of the clangour of shunting trains.</p>
<hr/>
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<p>“Well, you haven’t spoken to me.”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“I shan’t take any of my summer things there,” said Miriam.</p>
<p><abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Henderson’s face twitched.</p>
<p><abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Henderson’s face twitched.</p>
<p>“Shall I?”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid you haven’t very much in the way of thick clothing.”</p>
<p>“I’ve only got my plaid dress for every day and my mixy grey for best and my dark blue summer skirt. My velveteen skirt and my nainsook blouse are too old.”</p>
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<p>“That’s not the point.”</p>
<p>“Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, my chick.”</p>
<p>“I’m not making anything. The simple fact is that the grey dresses are piggy.”</p>
<p><abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Henderson flushed deeply, twining and untwining her silk-gloved fingers.</p>
<p><abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Henderson flushed deeply, twining and untwining her silk-gloved fingers.</p>
<p>“She thinks that’s ‘gross exaggeration.’ That’s what she wants to say,” pondered Miriam wearily.</p>
<p>They turned into Langham Place.</p>
<p>She glanced to see whether her mother realised where they were.</p>
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<p>“You’ll see our <abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">A.B.C.</abbr> soon. You know. The one we go to after the Saturday pops. You’ve been to it. You came to it the day we came to Madame Schumann’s farewell. It’s just round here in Piccadilly. Here it is. Glorious. I must make the others come up once more before I die. I always have a scone. I don’t like the aryated bread. We go along the Burlington Arcade too. I don’t believe you’ve ever been along there. It’s simply perfect. Glove shops and fans and a smell of the most exquisite scent everywhere.”</p>
<p>“Dear me. It must be very captivating.”</p>
<p>“Now we shall pass the parks. Oh, isn’t the sun A1 copper bottom!”</p>
<p><abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Henderson laughed wistfully.</p>
<p><abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Henderson laughed wistfully.</p>
<p>“What delicious shade under those fine old trees. I almost wish I had brought my <i xml:lang="fr">en-tout-cas</i>.”</p>
<p>“Oh no, you don’t really want it. There will be more breeze presently. The bus always begins to go quicker along here. It’s the Green Park, that one. Those are clubs that side, the West End clubs. It’s fascinating all the way along here to Hyde Park Corner. You just see Park Lane going up at the side. Park Lane. It goes wiggling away, straight into heaven. We’ve never been up there. I always read the name at the corner.”</p>
<p>“You ridiculous chick⁠—ah, there is the Royal Academy of Arts.”</p>
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