The House of Cobwebs and Other Stories Part 21

The house stood empty for two months; it was then taken on a three years'

lease by a family named Rymer--really nice people, said Miss Shepperson to herself after her first interview with them. Mr. Rymer was 'in the City'; Mrs. Rymer, who had two little girls, lived only for domestic peace--she had been in better circ.u.mstances, but did not repine, and forgot all worldly ambition in the happy discharge of her wifely and maternal duties.

'A charming family!' was Miss Shepperson's mental comment when, at their invitation, she had called one Sunday afternoon soon after they were settled in the house; and, on the way home to her lodgings, she sighed once or twice, thinking of Mrs. Rymer's blissful smile and the two pretty children.

The first quarter's rent was duly paid, but the second quarter-day brought no cheque; and, after the lapse of a fortnight, Miss Shepperson wrote to make known her ingenuous fear that Mr. Rymer's letter might have miscarried. At once there came the politest and friendliest reply. Mr.

Rymer (wrote his wife) was out of town, and had been so overwhelmed with business that the matter of the rent must have altogether escaped his mind; he would be back in a day or two, and the cheque should be sent at the earliest possible moment; a thousand apologies for this unpardonable neglect. Still the cheque did not come; another quarter-day arrived, and again no rent was paid. It was now a month after Christmas, and Miss Shepperson, for the first time in her life, found her accounts in serious disorder. This morning she had a letter from Mrs. Rymer, the latest of a dozen or so, all in the same strain--

'I really feel quite ashamed to take up the pen,' wrote the graceful lady, in her delicate hand. 'What _must_ you think of us! I a.s.sure you that never, never before did I find myself in such a situation. Indeed, I should not have the courage to write at all, but that the end of our troubles is already in view. It is _absolutely certain_ that, in a month's time, Mr.

Rymer will be able to send you a cheque in complete discharge of his debt.

Meanwhile, I _beg_ you to believe, dear Miss Shepperson, how very, _very_ grateful I am to you for your most kind forbearance.' Another page of almost affectionate protests closed with the touching subscription, 'ever yours, sincerely and gratefully, Adelaide Rymer.'

But Miss Shepperson had fallen into that state of nervous agitation which impels to a decisive step. She foresaw the horrors of pecuniary embarra.s.sment. Her faith in the Rymers' promises was exhausted. This very morning she would go to see Mrs. Rymer, lay before her the plain facts of the case, and with all firmness--with unmistakable resolve--make known to her that, if the arrears were not paid within a month, notice to quit would be given, and the recovery of the debt be sought by legal process. Fear had made Miss Shepperson indignant; it was wrong and cowardly for people such as the Rymers to behave in this way to a poor woman who had only just enough to live upon. She felt sure that they _could_ pay if they liked; but because she had shown herself soft and patient, they took advantage of her.

She would be firm, very firm.

So, about ten o'clock, Miss Shepperson put on her best things, and set out for Hammersmith. It was a foggy, drizzly, enervating day. When Miss Shepperson found herself drawing near to the house, her courage sank, her heart throbbed painfully, and for a moment she all but stopped and turned, thinking that it would be much better to put her ultimatum into writing.

Yet there was the house in view, and to turn back would be deplorable weakness. By word of mouth she could so much better depict the gravity of her situation. She forced herself onwards. Trembling in every nerve, she rang the bell, and in a scarce audible gasp she asked for Mrs. Rymer. A brief delay, and the servant admitted her.

Mrs. Rymer was in the drawing-room, giving her elder child a piano-lesson, while the younger, sitting in a baby-chair at the table, turned over a picture-book. The room was comfortably and prettily furnished; the children were very becomingly dressed; their mother, a tall woman, of fair complexion and thin, refined face, with wandering eyes and a forehead rather deeply lined, stepped forward as if in delight at the unexpected visit, and took Miss Shepperson's ill-gloved hand in both her own, gazing with tender interest into her eyes.

'How kind of you to have taken this trouble! You guessed that I really wished to see you. I should have come to you, but just at present I find it so difficult to get away from home. I am housekeeper, nursemaid, and governess all in one! Some women would find it rather a strain, but the dear tots are so good--so good! Cissy, you remember Miss Shepperson? Of course you do. They look a little pale, I'm afraid; don't you think so?

After the life they were accustomed to--but we won't talk about _that_.

Tots, school-time is over for this morning. You can't go out, my poor dears; look at the horrid, horrid weather. Go and sit by the nursery-fire, and sing "Rain, rain, go away!"'

Miss Shepperson followed the children with her look as they silently left the room. She knew not how to enter upon what she had to say. To talk of the law and use threats in this atmosphere of serene domesticity seemed impossibly harsh. But the necessity of broaching the disagreeable subject was spared her.

'My husband and I were talking about you last night,' began Mrs. Rymer, as soon as the door had closed, in a tone of the friendliest confidence. 'I had an idea; it seems to me so good. I wonder whether it will to you? You told me, did you not, that you live in lodgings, and quite alone?'

'Yes,' replied Miss Shepperson, struggling to command her nerves and betraying uneasy wonder.

'Is it by choice?' asked the soft-voiced lady, with sympathetic bending of the head. 'Have you no relations in London? I can't help thinking you must feel very lonely.'

It was not difficult to lead Miss Shepperson to talk of her circ.u.mstances--a natural introduction to the announcement which she was still resolved to make with all firmness. She narrated in outline the history of her family, made known exactly how she stood in pecuniary matters, and ended by saying--

'You see, Mrs. Rymer, that I have to live as carefully as I can. This house is really all I have to depend upon, and--and--'

Again she was spared the unpleasant utterance. With an irresistible smile, and laying her soft hand on the visitor's ill-fitting glove, Mrs. Rymer began to reveal the happy thought which had occurred to her. In the house there was a spare room; why should not Miss Shepperson come and live here--live, that is to say, as a member of the family? Nothing simpler than to arrange the details of such a plan, which, of course, must be 'strictly businesslike,' though carried out in a spirit of mutual goodwill. A certain sum of money was due to her for rent; suppose this were repaid in the form of board and lodging, which might be reckoned at--should one say, fifteen shillings a week? At midsummer next an account would be drawn up, 'in a thoroughly businesslike way,' and whatever then remained due to Miss Shepperson would be paid at once; after which, if the arrangement proved agreeable to both sides, it might be continued, cost of board and lodging being deducted from the rent, and the remainder paid 'with regularity'

every quarter. Miss Shepperson would thus have a home--a real home--with all family comforts, and Mrs. Rymer, who was too much occupied with house and children to see much society, would have the advantage of a sympathetic friend under her own roof. The good lady's voice trembled with joyous eagerness as she unfolded the project, and her eyes grew large as she waited for the response.

Miss Shepperson felt such astonishment that she could only reply with incoherencies. An idea so novel and so strange threw her thoughts into disorder. She was alarmed by the invitation to live with people who were socially her superiors. On the other hand, the proposal made appeal to her natural inclination for domestic life; it offered the possibility of occupation, of usefulness. Moreover, from the pecuniary point of view, it would be so very advantageous.

'But,' she stammered at length, when Mrs. Rymer had repeated the suggestion in words even more gracious and alluring, 'but fifteen shillings is so very little for board and lodging.'

'Oh, don't let _that_ trouble you, dear Miss Shepperson,' cried the other gaily. 'In a family, so little difference is made by an extra person. I a.s.sure you it is a perfectly businesslike arrangement; otherwise my husband, who is prudence itself, would never have sanctioned it. As you know, we are suffering a temporary embarra.s.sment. I wrote to you yesterday before my husband's return from business. When he came home, I learnt, to my dismay, that it might be rather _more_ than a month before he was able to send you a cheque. I said: "Oh, I must write again to Miss Shepperson. I can't bear to think of misleading her." Then, as we talked, that idea came to me. As I think you will believe, Miss Shepperson, I am not a scheming or a selfish woman; never, never have I wronged any one in my life. This proposal, I cannot help feeling, is as much for your benefit as for ours.

Doesn't it really seem so to you? Suppose you come up with me and look at the room. It is not in perfect order, but you will see whether it pleases you.

Curiosity allying itself with the allurement which had begun to work upon her feelings, Miss Shepperson timidly rose and followed her smiling guide upstairs. The little spare room on the second floor was furnished simply enough, but made such a contrast with the bedchamber in the Acton lodging-house that the visitor could scarcely repress an exclamation. Mrs.

Rymer was voluble with promise of added comforts. She interested herself in Miss Shepperson's health, and learnt with the utmost satisfaction that it seldom gave trouble. She inquired as to Miss Shepperson's likings in the matter of diet, and strongly approved her preference for a plain, nutritive regimen. From the spare room the visitor was taken into all the others, and before they went downstairs again Mrs. Rymer had begun to talk as though the matter were decided.

'You will stay and have lunch with me,' she said. 'Oh yes, indeed you will; I can't dream of your going out into this weather till after lunch. Suppose we have the tots into the drawing-room again? I want them to make friends with you at once. I _know_ you love children.--Oh, I have known that for a long time!'

Miss Shepperson stayed to lunch. She stayed to tea. When at length she took her leave, about six o'clock, the arrangement was complete in every detail.

On this day week she would transfer herself to the Rymers' house, and enter upon her new life.

She arrived on Sat.u.r.day afternoon, and was received by the a.s.sembled family like a very dear friend or relative. Mr. Rymer, a well-dressed man, polite, good-natured, with a frequent falsetto laugh, talked over the teacups in the pleasantest way imaginable, not only putting Miss Shepperson at ease, but making her feel as if her position as a member of the household were the most natural thing in the world. His mere p.r.o.nunciation of her name gave it a dignity, an importance quite new to Miss Shepperson's ears. He had a way of shaping his remarks so as to make it appear that the homely, timid woman was, if anything, rather the superior in rank and education, and that their simple ways might now and then cause her amus.e.m.e.nt. Even the children seemed to do their best to make the newcomer feel at home. Cissy, whose age was nine, a.s.siduously handed toast and cake with a most engaging smile, and little Minnie, not quite six, deposited her kitten in Miss Shepperson's lap, saying prettily, 'You may stroke it whenever you like.'

Miss Shepperson, to be sure, had personal qualities which could not but appeal to people of discernment. Her plain features expressed a simplicity and gentleness which more than compensated for the lack of conventional grace in her manners; she spoke softly and with obvious frankness, nor was there much fault to find with her phrasing and accent; dressed a little more elegantly, she would in no way have jarred with the tone of average middle-cla.s.s society. If she had not much education, she was altogether free from pretence, and the possession of property (which always works very decidedly for good or for evil) saved her from that excess of deference which would have accentuated her social shortcomings. Undistinguished as she might seem at the first glance, Miss Shepperson could not altogether be slighted by any one who had been in her presence for a few minutes. And when, in the course of the evening, she found courage to converse more freely, giving her views, for instance, on the great servant question, and on other matters of domestic interest, it became clear to Mr. and Mrs.

Rymer that their landlady, though a soft-hearted and simple-minded woman, was by no means to be regarded as a person of no account.

The servant question was to the front just now, as Mrs. Rymer explained in detail. She, 'of course,' kept two domestics, but was temporarily making shift with only one, it being so difficult to replace the cook, who had left a week ago. Did Miss Shepperson know of a cook, a sensible, trustworthy woman? For the present Mrs. Rymer--she confessed it with a pleasant little laugh--had to give an eye to the dinner herself.

'I only hope you won't make yourself ill, dear,' said Mr. Rymer, bending towards his wife with a look of well-bred solicitude. 'Miss Shepperson, I beg you to insist that she lies down a little every afternoon. She has great nervous energy, but isn't really very strong. You can't think what a relief it will be to me all day to know that some one is with her.'

On Sunday morning all went to church together; for, to Mrs. Rymer's great satisfaction, Miss Shepperson was a member of the orthodox community, and particular about observances. Meals were reduced to the simplest terms; a restful quiet prevailed in the little house; in the afternoon, while Mrs.

Rymer reposed, Miss Shepperson read to the children. She it was who--the servant being out--prepared tea. After tea, Mr. and Mrs. Rymer, with many apologies, left the home together for a couple of hours, being absolutely obliged to pay a call at some distance, and Miss Shepperson again took care of the children till the domestic returned.

After breakfast the next day--it was a very plain meal, merely a rasher and dry toast--the lady of the house chatted with her friend more confidentially than ever. Their servant, she said, a good girl but not very robust, naturally could not do all the work of the house, and, by way of helping, Mrs. Rymer was accustomed to 'see to' her own bedroom.

'It's really no hardship,' she said, in her graceful, sweet-tempered way, 'when once you're used to it; in fact, I think the exercise is good for my health. But, of course, I couldn't think of asking _you_ to do the same. No doubt you will like to have a breath of air, as the sky seems clearing.'

What could Miss Shepperson do but protest that to put her own room in order was such a trifling matter that they need not speak of it another moment.

Mrs. Rymer was confused, vexed, and wished she had not said a word; but the other made a joke of these scruples.

'When do the children go out?' asked Miss Shepperson. 'Do you take them yourself?'

'Oh, always! almost always! I shall go out with them for an hour at eleven.

And yet'--she checked herself, with a look of worry--'oh, dear me! I must absolutely go shopping, and I do so dislike to take the tots in that direction. Never mind; the walk must be put off till the afternoon. It _may_ rain; but--'

Miss Shepperson straightway offered her services; she would either shop or go out with the children, whichever Mrs. Rymer preferred. The lady thought she had better do the shopping--so her friend's morning was pleasantly arranged. In a day or two things got into a happy routine. Miss Shepperson practically became nursemaid, with the privilege of keeping her own bedroom in order and of helping in a good many little ways throughout the domestic day. A fortnight elapsed, and Mrs. Rymer was still unable to 'suit herself'

with a cook, though she had visited, or professed to visit, many registry-offices and corresponded with many friends. A week after that the subject of the cook had somehow fallen into forgetfulness; and, indeed, a less charitably disposed observer than Miss Shepperson might have doubted whether Mrs. Rymer had ever seriously meant to engage one at all. The food served on the family table was of the plainest, and not always superabundant in quant.i.ty; but the table itself was tastefully ordered, and, indeed, no sort of carelessness appeared in any detail of the household life. Mrs. Rymer was always busy, and without fuss, without irritation. She had a large correspondence; but it was not often that people called. No guest was ever invited to lunch or dinner. All this while the master of the house kept regular hours, leaving home at nine and returning at seven; if he went out after dinner, which happened rarely, he was always back by eleven o'clock. No more respectable man than Mr. Rymer; none more even-tempered, more easily pleased, more consistently polite and amiable. That he and his wife were very fond of each other appeared in all their talk and behaviour; both worshipped the children, and, in spite of that, trained them with a considerable measure of good sense. In the evenings Mr. Rymer sometimes read aloud, or he would talk instructively of the affairs of the day. The more Miss Shepperson saw of her friends the more she liked them. Never had she been the subject of so much kind attention, and in no company had she ever felt so happily at ease.

Time went on, and it was near midsummer. Of late Mrs. Rymer had not been very well, and once or twice Miss Shepperson fancied that her eyes showed traces of tears; it was but natural that the guest, often preoccupied with the thought of the promised settlement, should feel a little uneasy. On June 23 Mrs. Rymer chose a suitable moment, and with her most confidential air, invited Miss Shepperson to an intimate chat.

'I want to explain to you,' she said, rather cheerfully than otherwise, 'the exact state of our affairs. I'm sure it will interest you. We have become such good friends--as I knew we should. I shall be much easier in mind when you know exactly how we stand.'

Thereupon she spoke of a certain kinsman of her husband, an old and infirm man, whose decease was expected, if not from day to day, at all events from week to week. The event would have great importance for them, as Mr. Rymer was ent.i.tled to the reversion of several thousands of pounds, held in use by his lingering relative.

'Now let me ask you a question,' pursued the lady in friendship's undertone. 'My husband is _quite_ prepared to settle with you to-morrow. He wishes to do so, for he feels that your patience has been most exemplary.

But, as we spoke of it last night, an idea came to me. I can't help thinking it was a happy idea, but I wish to know how it strikes you. On receiving the sum due to you, you will no doubt place it in a bank, or in some way invest it. Suppose, now, you leave the money in Mr. Rymer's hands, receiving his acknowledgment, and allowing him to pay it, with four per cent, interest, when he enters into possession of his capital? Mind, I only suggest this; not for a moment would I put pressure upon you. If you have need of the money, it shall be paid _at once._ But it struck me that, knowing us so well now, you might even be glad of such an investment as this. The event to which we are looking forward may happen very soon; but it _may_ be delayed. How would you like to leave this money, and the sums to which you will be ent.i.tled under our arrangements, from quarter to quarter, to increase at compound interest? Let us make a little calculation--'

Miss Shepperson listened nervously. She was on the point of saying that, on the whole, she preferred immediate payment; but while she struggled with her moral weakness Mrs. Rymer, anxiously reading her face, struck another note.

'I mustn't disguise from you that the money, though such a small sum, would be useful to my husband. Poor fellow! he has been fighting against adversity for the last year or two, and I'm sure no man ever struggled more bravely. You would never think, would you? that he is often kept awake all night by his anxieties. As I tell him, he need not really be anxious at all, for his troubles will so soon come to an end. But there is no more honourable man living, and he worries at the thought of owing money--you can't imagine how he worries! Then, to tell you a great secret--'

A change came upon the speaker's face; her voice softened to a whisper as she communicated a piece of delicate domestic news.

'My poor husband,' she added, 'cannot bear to think that, when it happens, we may be in really straitened circ.u.mstances, and I may suffer for lack of comforts. To tell you the whole truth, dear Miss Shepperson, I have no doubt that, if you like my idea, he would at once put aside that money to be ready for an emergency. So, you see, it is self-interest in me, after all.' Her smile was very sweet. 'But don't judge me too severely. What I propose is, as you see, really a very good investment--is it not?'

Miss Shepperson found it impossible to speak as she wished, and before the conversation came to an end she saw the matter entirely from her friend's point of view. She had, in truth, no immediate need of money, and the more she thought of it, the more content she was to do a kindness to the Rymers, while at the same time benefiting herself. That very evening Mr. Rymer prepared a legal doc.u.ment, promising to pay on demand the sum which became due to Miss Shepperson to-morrow, with compound interest at the rate of four per cent. While signing this, he gravely expressed his conviction that before Michaelmas the time for payment would have arrived.

'But if it were next week,' he added, with a polite movement towards his creditor, 'I should be not a bit the less grateful to our most kind friend.'