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The Floating Press - George Gissing

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66 pages

English

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Over the course of his literary careeer, George Gissing emerged as a chronicler of Britain's emerging middle class. In novels such as New Grub Street, he took it upon himself to outline the challenges facing this new demographic niche, which he described as "well educated, fairly bred, but without money." The Paying Guest explores same of the same themes -- class tensions, intrigue, and the grit beneath the glittering surface of the Victorian era.

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 décembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775450313
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE PAYING GUEST
* * *
GEORGE GISSING

*

The Paying Guest First published in 1895 ISBN 978-1-775450-31-3 © 2010 The Floating Press
While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike.
Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX
Chapter I
*
It was Mumford who saw the advertisement and made the suggestion.His wife gave him a startled look.
'But—you don't mean that it's necessary? Have we been extrav—'
'No, no! Nothing of the kind. It just occurred to me that some sucharrangement might be pleasant for you. You must feel lonely, now andthen, during the day, and as we have plenty of room—'
Emmeline took the matter seriously, but, being a young woman of somediscretion, did not voice all her thoughts. The rent was heavy: sowas the cost of Clarence's season-ticket. Against this they had setthe advantage of the fine air of Sutton, so good for the child andfor the mother, both vastly better in health since they quittedLondon. Moreover, the remoteness of their friends favoured economy;they could easily decline invitations, and need not often issuethem. They had a valid excuse for avoiding public entertainments—anexpense so often imposed by mere fashion. The house was roomy, thegarden delightful. Clarence, good fellow, might be sincere in hiswish for her to have companionship; at the same time, thisadvertisement had probably appealed to him in another way.
'A YOUNG LADY desires to find a home with respectable,well-connected family, in a suburb of London, or not more than 15miles from Charing Cross. Can give excellent references. Terms notso much a consideration as comfort and pleasant society. Noboarding-house.—Address: Louise, Messrs. Higgins & Co., FenchurchSt., E.C.'
She read it again and again.
'It wouldn't be nice if people said that we were taking lodgers.'
'No fear of that. This is evidently some well-to-do person. It's avery common arrangement nowadays, you know; they are called "payingguests." Of course I shouldn't dream of having anyone you didn'tthoroughly like the look of.'
'Do you think,' asked Emmeline doubtfully, 'that we should quite do ? "Well-connected family"—'
'My dear girl! Surely we have nothing to be ashamed of?'
'Of course not, Clarence. But—and "pleasant society." What aboutthat?'
'Your society is pleasant enough, I hope,' answered Mumford,gracefully. 'And the Fentimans—'
This was the only family with whom they were intimate at Sutton.Nice people; a trifle sober, perhaps, and not in conspicuouslyflourishing circumstances; but perfectly presentable.
'I'm afraid—' murmured Emmeline, and stopped short. 'As you say,'she added presently, 'this is someone very well off. "Terms not somuch a consideration"—'
'Well, I tell you what—there can be no harm in dropping a note. Thekind of note that commits one to nothing, you know. Shall I writeit, or will you?'
They concocted it together, and the rough draft was copied byEmmeline. She wrote a very pretty hand, and had no difficultywhatever about punctuation. A careful letter, calculated for the eyeof refinement; it supplied only the indispensable details of thewriter's position, and left terms for future adjustment.
'It's so easy to explain to people,' said Mumford, with an air ofsatisfaction, when he came back from the post, 'that you wanted acompanion. As I'm quite sure you do. A friend coming to stay withyou for a time—that's how I should put it.'
A week passed, and there came no reply. Mumford pretended not tocare much, but Emmeline imagined a new anxiety in his look.
'Do be frank with me, dear,' she urged one evening. 'Are we livingtoo—'
He answered her with entire truthfulness. Ground for seriousuneasiness there was none whatever; he could more than make endsmeet, and had every reason to hope it would always be so; but itwould relieve his mind if the end of the year saw a rather largersurplus. He was now five-and-thirty—getting on in life. A man oughtto make provision beyond the mere life-assurance—and so on.
'Shall I look out for other advertisements?' asked Emmeline.
'Oh, dear, no! It was just that particular one that caught my eye.'
Next morning arrived a letter, signed 'Louise E. Derrick.' Thewriter said she had been waiting to compare and think over some twohundred answers to her advertisement. 'It's really too absurd. Howcan I remember them all? But I liked yours as soon as I read it, andI am writing to you first of all. Will you let me come and see you?I can tell you about myself much better than writing. Would tomorrowdo, in the afternoon? Please telegraph yes or no to Coburg Lodge,Emilia Road, Tulse Hill.'
To think over this letter Mumford missed his ordinary train. It wasnot exactly the kind of letter he had expected, and Emmeline sharedhis doubts. The handwriting seemed just passable; there was noorthographic error; but—refinement? This young person wrote, too,with such singular nonchalance. And she said absolutely nothingabout her domestic circumstances. Coburg Lodge, Tulse Hill. A decentenough locality, doubtless; but—
'There's no harm in seeing her,' said Emmeline at length. 'Send atelegram, Clarence. Do you know, I think she may be the right kindof girl. I was thinking of someone awfully grand, and it's rather arelief. After all, you see, you—you are in business—'
'To be sure. And this girl seems to belong to a business family. Ionly wish she wrote in a more ladylike way.'
Emmeline set her house in order, filled the drawing-room withflowers, made the spare bedroom as inviting as possible, and, afterluncheon, spent a good deal of time in adorning her person. She wasa slight, pretty woman of something less than thirty; with a good,but pale, complexion, hair tending to auburn, sincere eyes. Herlittle vanities had no roots of ill-nature; she could admire withoutenvy, and loved an orderly domestic life. Her husband's desire toincrease his income had rather unsettled her; she exaggerated theimportance of to-day's interview, and resolved with nervous energyto bring it to a successful issue, if Miss Derrick should prove apossible companion.
About four o'clock sounded the visitor's ring. From her bedroomwindow Emmeline had seen Miss Derrick's approach. As the distancefrom the station was only five minutes' walk, the stranger naturallycame on foot. A dark girl, and of tolerably good features; ratherdressy; with a carriage corresponding to the tone of her letter—aneasy swing; head well up and shoulders squared. 'Oh, how I hope she isn't vulgar!' said Emmeline to herself. 'I don't like thehat—I don't. And that sunshade with the immense handle.' From thetop of the stairs she heard a clear, unaffected voice: 'Mrs. Mumfordat home?' Yes, the aspirate was sounded—thank goodness!
It surprised her, on entering the room, to find that Miss Derricklooked no less nervous than she was herself. The girl's cheeks wereflushed, and she half choked over her 'How do you do?'
'I hope you had no difficulty in finding the house. I would have metyou at the station if you had mentioned the train. Oh, but—howsilly!—I shouldn't have known you.'
Miss Derrick laughed, and seemed of a sudden much more at ease.
'Oh, I like you for that!' she exclaimed mirthfully. 'It's just thekind of thing I say myself sometimes. And I'm so glad to see thatyou are—you mustn't be offended—I mean you're not the kind ofperson to be afraid of.'
They laughed together. Emmeline could not subdue her delight whenshe found that the girl really might be accepted as a lady. Therewere faults of costume undeniably; money had been misspent inseveral directions; but no glaring vulgarity hurt the eye. And herspeech, though not strictly speaking refined, was free from thefaults that betray low origin. Then, she seemed good-natured thoughthere was something about her mouth not altogether charming.
'Do you know Sutton at all?' Emmeline inquired.
'Never was here before. But I like the look of it. I like thishouse, too. I suppose you know a lot of people here, Mrs. Mumford?'
'Well—no. There's only one family we know at all well. Our friendslive in London. Of course they often come out here. I don't knowwhether you are acquainted with any of them. The Kirby Simpsons, ofWest Kensington; and Mrs. Hollings, of Highgate—'
Miss Derrick cast down her eyes and seemed to reflect. Then shespoke abruptly.
'I don't know any people to speak of. I ought to tell you that mymother has come down with me. She's waiting at the station till I goback; then she'll come and see you. You're surprised? Well, I hadbetter tell you that I'm leaving home because I can't get on with mypeople. Mother and I have always quarrelled, but it has been worsethan ever lately. I must explain that she has married a second time,and Mr. Higgins—I'm glad to say that isn't my name—has adaughter of his own by a first marriage; and we can't bear eachother—Miss Higgins, I mean. Some day, if I come to live here, Idaresay I shall tell you more. Mr. Higgins is rich, and I can't sayhe's unkind to me; he'll give me as much as I want; but I'm surehe'll be very glad to get me out of the house. I have no money of myown—worse luck! Well, we thought it best for me to come alone,first, and see—just to see, you know—whether we were likely tosuit each other. Then mother will come and tell you all she has tosay about me. Of course I know what it'll be. They all say I've ahorrible temper. I don't think so myself; and I'm sure I don't thinkI should quarrel with you , you look