There followed for Mavis many, many anxious days, spent from the first thing in the morning till late at night in a fruitless search for work. Her experiences were much the same as those of any attractive, friendless girl seeking to earn her livelihood in London. To begin with, she found that the summer was a time of year in which the openings she sought were all obstinately closed, the heads of firms, or those responsible for engaging additional assistance, being either away on holidays, or back from these in no mood to consider Mavis' application.
Another thing that struck her was that, whenever she went to interview men, she was always treated civilly, cordially, or familiarly; but the womenfolk she saw were invariably rude, directly they set eyes upon her comeliness. Once or twice, she was offered employment by men; it was only their free and easy behaviour which prevented her accepting it. Mavis, as yet, was ignorant of the conditions on which some employers of female labour engage girls seeking work; but she had a sensible head screwed on her pretty shoulders; she argued that if a man were inclined to be familiar after three minutes' acquaintance, what would he be when she was dependent upon him for a weekly wage? It was not compatible with her vast self-respect to lay herself open to risk of insult, suggested by a scarcely veiled admiration for her person after a few moments' acquaintance. It was not as if she had any qualification of marketable value; she knew neither shorthand nor typewriting; she could merely write a decent hand, was on very fair terms with French, on nodding acquaintance with German, and had a sound knowledge of arithmetic.
On the face of it, her best course was to get a situation as governess; but Mavis, after a week's trial, gave up the endeavour. The mothers of possible pupils, with whom the girl's credentials from the college secured an interview, were scarcely civil to the handsome, distinguished-looking girl; they were sure that such looks, seeking for employment, boded ill for anyone indulgent enough to engage her. Mavis could not understand such behaviour; she had read in books how people were invariably kind and sympathetic, women particularly so, to girls in want of work; surely she furnished opportunity for her own sex to show consideration to one of the less fortunate of their kind.
Mavis next advertised in local papers for pupils to whom she would teach music. Receiving no replies, she attempted to get employment in a house of business; this effort resulted in her obtaining work as a canvasser, remuneration being made by results. This meant tramping the pavement in all weathers, going up and coming down countless flights of stairs, swallowing all kinds of humiliating rebuffs in the effort to sell some encyclopedia or somebody's set of novels, which no one wanted. She always met with disappointment and, in time, became used to it; but there were occasions when a purchaser seemed likely, when hope would beat high, only to give place to sickening despair when her offer was finally rejected. On the whole, she met with civility and consideration from the young men (mostly clerks in offices) whom she interviewed; but there was a type of person whose loud-voiced brutality cut her to the quick. This was the West-end tradesman. She would walk into a shop in Bond Street or thereabouts, when the proprietor, taking her for a customer, would advance with cringing mien, wringing his hands the while. No sooner did he learn that the girl wanted him to buy something, than his manner immediately changed. Usually, in coarse and brutal voice, he would order her from the shop; sometimes, if he were in a facetious mood, and if he had the time to spare, he would make fun of her and mock her before a crowd of grinning underlings. To this day, the sight of a West-end tradesman fills Mavis with unspeakable loathing; nothing would ever mitigate the horror which their treatment of her inspired at this period of her life.
Then Mavis, in reply to one of her many answers to advertisements, received a letter asking her to call at an office in Eastcheap, at a certain time. Arrived there, she learned how she could earn a pound a week by canvassing, together with commission, if her sales were successful. She had eagerly accepted the offer, when she learned that she was to make house-to-house calls in certain London suburbs (she was to commence at Peckham), armed with a bottle of pickles and a bottle of sauce. She was furnished with a Peckham local directory and was instructed to make calls at every house in her district, when she was to ask for the mistress by name, in order to disarm suspicion on the part of whoever might open the door. When she was asked inside, she was to do her utmost to get orders for the pickles and the sauce, supplies of which were sent beforehand to a grocer in the neighbourhood. Mavis did not relish the job, but was driven by the goad of necessity. On her way home to tell Mrs. Ellis that she would be leaving immediately to live in Peckham, she slipped on a piece of banana skin and twisted her ankle, an accident which kept her indoors for the best part of a week. When she had written to Eastcheap to say that she was well enough to commence work, she had received a letter which informed her that her place had been filled.
Now, she was sitting in her little bedroom in Kiva Street, a prey to despair; she had no one to comfort her, not even Mrs. Ellis, this person having gone out on a rare visit to an aunt.
Her little stock of money had sadly dwindled; eighteen shillings and her trinkets stood between her and want. She had fought and had been vanquished; there was nothing left for her to do but to write to Mrs Devitt and ask if the offer, that had been mentioned in her last letter to Miss Mee, still held good. During all these weeks of weary effort, Mavis had been largely kept up by the thought that she was a sparrow, who could not fall to the ground without the knowledge of the Most High. Now, it seemed to her that she could sustain her flight but a little while longer; yet, so far as she could see, there was no one to whom her extremity seemed to matter in the least.
Apart from her desire to earn a living, the girl had struggled resolutely in order that she should not seek work of the Devitts. She disliked the family; she had resolved to apply to them only as a last resource.
She had gone one day to Brandenburg College to call on her old employers, but she found that the name-plate had been removed, and that the house was to let. She had made inquiries, to learn that her old friend Miss Annie Mee had died suddenly at Worthing, and also that Miss Helen had sold the school for what it would fetch, and no one knew what had become of her. Mavis grieved at the loss of her friend, but not so deeply, or for so long, as she would if she had not been consumed with anxiety on her own account. She had not forgotten Mr Goss's offer of help: she had called at his house twice, to learn on each occasion that he was out of town. Presently, Mrs Ellis came in; finding Mavis moping, she asked her to the downstairs sitting-room for a cup of tea. The girl gladly went: she sat by the window watching the men working in the yard behind, while Mrs Ellis made tea in the kitchen. Mavis, wanting air, opened the window, although she remembered her landlady's liking for having this particular one shut. No sooner had she done so, than she heard a woman's voice raised in raucous anger, the while it made use of much bad language. It abused certain people for not having done their work. The bad language getting more forceful than before, Mavis moved from the window. Presently, the voice stopped. Soon after, Mrs Ellis, looking red and flustered, came into the room. When she saw that Mavis had opened the window, she became redder in the face, as she said:
"I'm sorry, miss; I couldn't help it."
"Help what?" asked Mavis.
"Talking to the men as I did. I always wanted the window down, so you shouldn't hear."
"It was you, then?"
"Didn't you know, miss?"
"Not altogether. It was something like your voice."
"If I were to talk to them ordinary, they wouldn't listen; so I've to talk to them in my 'usband's language, which is all they understand," said Mrs Ellis apologetically.
The contrast between Mrs Ellis's neat, unassuming respectability and her language to the men made Mavis smile.
"I'm glad you've taken it sensible," remarked her landlady. "Many's the good lodger I've lost through that there window being open."
Tea put fresh heart into Mavis. It was ten days since she had last called on Mr Goss: she resolved to make a further attempt. He was in, she learned from the maid-of-all-work, who opened the door of Mr Goss's house.
On asking to see him, she was shown into a double drawing-room, the front part of which was tolerably furnished; but Mavis could not help noticing that the back was quite shabby; unframed coloured prints, taken from Christmas numbers of periodicals, were fastened to the walls with tin tacks.
Mr Goss came into the room wiping his mouth with his handkerchief. Mavis feared that she had interrupted a meal. Whether she had or not, he was glad to see her and asked if he could help her. Mavis told him how she was situated. In reply, he said that he had a friend who was a man of some importance in a West-end emporium. He asked her if she would like a letter of introduction to this person. Mavis jumped at the offer. When he had written the letter, Mavis asked after his daughter, to learn that she was staying at Margate with her mother. When Mavis thanked and said good-bye to Mr Goss, he warmly pressed the hand that she offered.
The next day, she presented herself at the great house of business where Mr Goss's friend was to be found. His name was Evans. It was only after delay that she was able to see him. He was a grave, kindly-looking man, who scanned Mavis with interest before he read Mr Goss's letter. Mavis could almost hear the beating of her heart while she waited to see if he could offer her anything.
"I'm sorry," he said, as he folded up the letter.
Mavis could not trust herself to speak.
"Very sorry I can't oblige you or Mr Goss," continued the man. "All our vacancies were filled last week. I've nothing at present."
Mavis turned to go.
"You want something to do at once?" said Mr Evans, as he noticed the girl's dismay.
Mavis nodded. The man went on:
"They'd probably take you at Dawes'."
"Dawes'!" echoed Mavis hopefully.
"Do you know anything of Dawes'?"
"Everyone knows Dawes'," smiled Mavis.
"But do you know anything of the place, as it affects girls who live there?"
"No," answered Mavis, who scarcely heeded what Mr Evans was saying; all her thoughts were filled by a great joy at a prospect of getting work.
She was conscious of the man saying something about her consulting Mrs Goss before thinking of going there; but she did not give this aspect of the matter another moment's thought.
"What name shall I ask for?" asked Mavis.
"Mr Orgles, if you go."
"Thank you so much. May I mention your name?"
"If you decide to go there, certainly."
Mavis thanked him and was gone. She, at once, made for Dawes'. The girl knew exactly where it was, its name and situation being a household word to women living in London. Arrived there, she glanced appealingly at the splendid plate-glass windows, as if beseeching them to mitigate some of their aloofness. She approached one of the glass doors, which was opened by a gorgeously attired official. When inside, she looked about her curiously, fearfully. She was in a long room, down either side of which ran a counter, behind which were stationed young women, who bore themselves with a self-conscious, would-be queenly mien. The space between the counters, to which the public was admitted, was promenaded by frock-coated men, who piloted inexperienced customers to where they might satisfy their respective wants. One of these shop-walkers approached Mavis.
"Where can I direct you, madam?"
"I want to see Mr Orgles."
The man looked at her attentively.
"I've come from Mr Evans at Poole and Palfrey's," murmured Mavis.
The man left her and spoke to one of the regal young women, who stood behind the counter as if trying to make believe that they were there, not from necessity, but from choice.
The man returned to Mavis and told her to wait. As she stood in the shop, she saw the young woman whom the man had spoken to mouth something in a speaking tube; this person then whispered to two or three other girls who stood behind the counter, causing them to stare continuously at Mavis. Presently, the speaking tube whistled, when a message came to say that if Miss Keeves would walk upstairs, Mr Orgles would see her. The shop-walker walked before Mavis to show her the way. She could not help noticing that the man's demeanour had changed: he had approached her, when he first saw her, with the servility peculiar to his occupation; now, having fathomed her errand, he marched before her with elbows stuck out and head erect, as if to convey what an important personage he was.
She was shown into a plainly furnished office, where she was told to wait. She wondered if, at last, she would have any luck. She sat there for about ten minutes, when a man came into the room, shutting the door after him. He was about sixty-five, and walked with a stoop. His face reminded Mavis of a camel. He had large bulging eyes, which seemed to gaze at objects sideways. He looked like the deacon at a house of dissenting worship, which, indeed, he was. Mavis rightly concluded this person to be Mr Orgles.
"You wished to see me?" he asked.
"Mr Orgles?"
"That's my name."
Mavis explained why she had called: it was as much as she could do to hide her anxiety. Mr Orgles not making any reply, she went on speaking, saying how she would do her utmost to give satisfaction in the event of her being engaged.
While she was pleading, she was conscious that the man was looking in his sideways fashion at her figure. He approached her. Mavis suddenly felt an instinct of repugnance for the man. She said all she could think of, but Mr Orgles remained silent; she anxiously scanned his face in the hope of getting some encouragement from its expression, but she might as well have stared at a brick wall for all the enlightenment she got. Then followed a few moments' pause, during which her eyes were riveted on Mr Orgles's nostrils: these were prominent, large, dilating; they fascinated her. As he still remained silent, she presently found courage to ask:
"Will you take me?"
He turned his face so that one of his eyes could look into hers, fiercely as she thought. He shook his head. Mavis uttered a little cry; she rose to go.
"Don't go," said a voice beside her.
Mr Orgles was standing quite near.
"Do you badly want a place?"
"Very badly."
"H'm!"
His big nostrils were dilating more than ever; he turned his head so that one of his eyes again looked into hers.
"Something might be got you," continued the man.
"It all depends on influence."
Mavis looked up quickly.
"I was wondering if you'd like me to do my best for you?"
"Oh, of course I would."
"Excuse me," said Mr Orgles, as he took what seemed to be a tiny piece of fluff from the skirt of her coat. "You must have got it coming upstairs."
"Do you think you would speak for me?" Mavis found words to ask.
Mr Orgles's eyes again rested on Mavis, as he said:
"It depends on you."
"On me?"
"You say you have never been out in the world before?"
"Not really in the world."
"I am sorry."
"Sorry!" echoed Mavis.
"Because you haven't lived; you don't know what life can be—is," cried Mr Orgles, who now waved his arms and moved jerkily about the girl.
She looked at him in astonishment.
"Excuse me; a further bit of fluff," said Mr Orgles.
This time he placed his hand upon the breast of her coat and seemed in no hurry to remove it.
Mavis flushed and moved away; at any other time she would have hotly resented his conduct, but today she was desperately anxious to get employment, Mr Orgles took courage from her half-heartedness.
"Let me show you," he cried.
"Show me what?" she asked, perplexed.
"How to live: how to enjoy life: how to be happy. The rest is easy: you will be employed here; you will rise to great things; and it will all be owing to me."
Mavis looked at the excited, gesticulating old man in surprise; she wondered if he were right in his senses. Suddenly, his gyrations ceased; he glanced at the door and then moved his head in order to dart a horrid glance at the girl. He then approached her with arms outstretched.
Mavis intuitively knew what he meant. Her body quivered with rage; the fingers of her right hand clenched. Perhaps the man saw the anger in her eyes, because he stopped; but he was near enough for Mavis to feel his hot breath upon her cheek.
Thus they stood for a moment, he undecided, she on the defensive, when the door opened and a man came into the room. Mr Orgles, with an unpleasant look on his face, turned to see who the intruder might be.
"I've been looking for you, Orgles," said the man.
"Indeed, sir! Very sorry, sir," remarked Mr Orgles, who wore such an attitude of servility to the newcomer that Mavis could hardly believe him to be the same man.
"I see you're busy," continued the intruder. "Engaging someone in Miss Jackson's place?"
"I was thinking about doing so, sir."
"Why hesitate?"
Here the man—he was tall, dark, and fresh-coloured—looked kindly at Mavis; although not a gentleman, he had an unmistakable air of authority.
"There's no reason why I shouldn't, sir, only—"
"Only what?"
"She's had no experience, sir."
The man turned to Mavis and said:
"If your references are satisfactory, you can consider yourself as engaged from next week."
"Oh, thank you," said Mavis, trying to voice her gratitude.
"Call to-morrow with your references at eleven and ask for Mr Skeffington Dawes," said the stranger.
A great gladness and a great reproach came to the girl's heart: a great gladness at having secured work; a great reproach at having believed that there was no one who cared if a human sparrow, such as she, should fall.
She bowed her thanks to Mr Skeffington Dawes and left the room, all unconscious of the malignant glance that Mr Orgles shot at her, after turning his head to bring the girl within his range of vision.
After securing a place in "Dawes'," which Mavis did at her interview with Mr Skeffington Dawes (one of the directors of the firm), her first sensation was one of disappointment, perhaps consequent upon reaction from the tension in her mind until she was sure of employment.
Now, she was resentful at having to earn her bread as a shop-girl, not only on account of its being a means of livelihood which she had always looked down upon, but also, because it exposed her to the insults of such creatures as Orgles. She sat in Mrs Ellis' back sitting-room three days before she was to commence her duties at "Dawes'"; she was moody and depressed; on the least provocation, or none at all, she would weep bitter tears for ten minutes at a time.
This physical lowness brought home to her the fear of possibly losing her hitherto perfect health. The prospect of being overtaken by such a calamity opened up a vista of terrifying possibilities which would not bear thinking about.
Now, she was to earn fifteen pounds a year and "live in," a term meaning that "Dawes'" would provide her with board and lodging; she might, also, add to her salary by commissions on sales. The effort of packing her belongings took her mind from brooding over troubles, real or imaginary, and served to heighten her spirits. Mrs Ellis' words, also, put heart into her.
"People will take to a nice-mannered, well-spoken, fine-looking young lady like you, miss," she said to Mavis.
"Nonsense!" replied Mavis.
"It ain't, miss. I've kep my eyes open, and I see how young ladies, such as you, either go 'up' or go 'down.' You're one of the 'go uppers,' and now you've a chance, why, you might, one day, have a business of your own."
"Mind you come and deal with me if I do. You shall always have 'tick' for as much as you like."
"Thank you very much, miss; but I couldn't enjoy wearing a thing if I didn't know it was paid for. I should think everyone was looking at it."
"Time to talk about that when I get my own business."
"And if things go wrong, which God forbid, you've always a home here!"
"Mrs Ellis!"
"I'm not so young as I was, and that yard gets me in the throat crool in the cold weather. You'd be useful there too, miss, if you wouldn't mind learning a few swear words."
"Oh, Mrs Ellis!" laughed Mavis.
"It's difficult at first, miss; but it's wonderful how soon you drop into it if you give your mind to it," declared the landlady solemnly.
Four evenings later, Mavis arrived at "Dawes'," having sent her boxes earlier in the day. She was to commence work on the morrow, and had been advised by the firm that it would be as well to take up her abode in her future quarters the night before.
Nine o'clock found her on the pavement before the firm's great windows, now securely shuttered; she wondered how she should find her way inside, there being no door in the spread of shutters by which she could gain admittance. Noticing that one or two men were dogging her footsteps, she asked a policeman how she could get into "Dawes'."
"A new hand, miss?" asked the policeman.
"Yes."
"I thought so. First to the right and first to the right again, where you'll see two or three open doors belonging to the firm," the policeman informed her. He had directed many fresh, comely young women, who had arrived from the country, to the "young ladies'" entrance; later, he had seen the same girls, when it was often with an effort that he could believe them to have been what they once were.
Mavis followed his directions and nearly missed the first on the right, this being a narrow turning. Many-storied buildings, looking like warehouses, were on either side of this; their height was such that the merest strip of sky could be seen when Mavis looked up. She then came to an open door. Above this was a fanlight, which fitfully lighted a passage terminating in a flight of uncarpeted stone steps. It was all very uninviting. The girl looked about for someone of whom to make further inquiries. No one came in or went out; all that Mavis could see was one or two over-dressed men, who were prowling about on the further side of the way. A little distance up the turning was another open door lit in the same way as the first. This also admitted to a similar passage, which, also, terminated in a flight of bare stone steps. Just as she got there, two young women flaunted out; they were in evening dress, but Mavis thought the petticoats that they aggressively displayed were cheap, torn, and soiled. They pushed past Mavis, to be joined by two of the prowlers in the street. Mavis walked inside, where she waited for some time without seeing anyone; then, an odd-looking, malformed creature came up, seemingly from a hole at the end of the passage. She had scarcely any nose; she wore spectacles and the uniform of a servant. Before she disappeared up the stairs, Mavis saw that she carried blankets in one hand, a housemaid's pail in the other. She breathed noisily through her nostrils. When she was well out of sight, Mavis thought that she might have got the information she wanted from this person. Presently, the clattering of a pail was heard, a sound which gradually came nearer. In due course, the malformed creature appeared at the foot of the stairs.
"I've come," said Mavis to this person.
"'Ave yer?"
The person vanished, seemingly through the floor.
Mavis was taken aback by the woman's rudeness; even to this creature, shop-girls were, apparently, of small account. By and by, Mavis heard her clumping up from below. When she appeared, Mavis put authority into her voice as she said:
"Can I see anyone here?"
"If you've any eyes in your 'ead," snorted the servant, as she disappeared from view.
Still no one came. Mavis was making up her mind to explore the downstair regions when the footfalls of the rude person were heard coming down.
"I've been waiting quite ten minutes," Mavis began angrily, as the person came in view.
"'Ave yer?"
"Look here, I'm not used to be answered like that," Mavis began; but she was wasting her breath; the servant went on her way in complete disregard of Mavis's wrath.
Mavis thought of trying another entrance, when a young woman came downstairs. She had a pasty face, with a turned-up nose and large, romantic eyes. She carried a book under her arm. When she saw Mavis, she stopped to look curiously at her.
"I've come here to start work tomorrow. Can you tell me where I'm to go?" asked Mavis.
"I'm in a great hurry. I've a Browning—"
"If you'll only tell me where to go," interrupted Mavis.
"It's this way," cried the girl, as she led the way up the stairs. "I've a Browning to return to—"
"If you'll only tell me where I'm to go—"
"You'd never find it. I'd have shown you round, but I've to return a Browning to a gentleman."
"It's very kind of you," remarked Mavis, who was wondering how much further she had to climb.
"Do you love Browning?" asked the girl with the big eyes.
"I can't say I do."
"You—don't—love—Browning?" asked the other in astonishment.
"I'm sorry, but I don't."
"I couldn't live without Browning. Here's your room: you'll probably find someone inside. My name's Miss Meakin."
"Mine is Mavis Keeves. Thanks so much."
Mavis opened the door of a not over-large room, which was lit by a single gas burner. Mavis looked at the four small beds, the four chests of drawers, the four washing stands, the four cane chairs, and the four framed bits of looking glass, which made up the furniture of the room. Upon three of the beds were tumbled articles of feminine attire; others had slipped on the not over-clean floor. Then Mavis noticed the back of a girl who was craning her neck out of the one window at the further end of the room. The atmosphere of the apartment next compelled attention; it was a combination of gas (the burner leaked), stale body linen, cheap scents and soapsuds; it stuck in her throat and made her cough.
"Is that Pongo?" asked the girl, who was still staring out of the window.
"It's me," said Mavis.
"Eh!"
The girl brought her body into the room. Mavis saw a girl who would have had a fine figure if she had been two or three inches taller. She was swarthy, with red lips and fine eyes; she was dressed in showy but cheap evening finery.
"Common and vulgar-minded," was Mavis's mental comment as she looked at this person.
"Are you the new girl?" the stranger asked.
"Yes."
"I took you for Bella, the slavey. Sorry! Pleased to meet you."
"Thank you."
"Have you just come in from outside?"
"Yes."
"You didn't see anything of a gentleman in a big motor car?"
"No."
"I'm expecting my boy in one. He promised to call for me in his motor car to-night and take me out to dinner and supper," continued the girl.
"I'm rather hungry too," remarked Mavis.
"Are you going out to dinner and supper?"
"Don't they give supper here?"
"They do," answered the girl, emphasising the last word, as if to disparage the meal supplied to their young ladies by "Dawes'."
"It will have to be good enough for me," said Mavis, who resented the patronising manner of the other.
"Excuse me," remarked the dark girl suddenly, as she again craned out of the window.
"Certainly," said Mavis dryly, as she wondered what had happened to the boxes she had had sent on earlier in the day.
"No sign of him yet. I'm afraid he's had a breakdown," exclaimed the girl, after looking down the street for some time, a remark to which Mavis paid no attention. The girl went on:
"You were speaking of the supper 'Dawes'' supply. I couldn't eat it myself. I simply lode their food."
"What?" asked Mavis, whose ears had caught the mispronunciation.
"Yes, I simply lode the food they give for supper, the same as Miss Potter and Miss Allen, the other young ladies who sleep in this room. Indeed, we can only eat restaurant food in the evenings."
"What's wrong with the supper here?" asked Mavis, nervously thinking of her hearty appetite and the few shillings that remained after settling up with Mrs Ellis.
"Taste and try: you've only to go right to the bottom of the 'ouse. Excuse me."
Here the swarthy young woman leaned so far out of the window that Mavis feared she would lose her balance and fall into the street. Then Mavis heard footsteps and the clatter of a pail in the passage. The door opened, and the misshapen person who had been rude to her when she was waiting downstairs appeared.
"Here she is," called this person, at which two men entered with Mavis's trunks; these they dumped on the floor.
"Thank you," said Mavis.
"Heavy work, miss," remarked one of the men.
"Be off with you," cried the servant.
"Now then, beauty," laughed the other of the men.
"Be off with you; none of your cadging here."
"But they're heavy, and if—" began Mavis.
"It's what they're paid for. Be off with you," snorted the servant.
"There he is!" cried the girl who had been leaning out of the window.
"Motor and all?" asked Mavis.
"Eh! Oh, he hasn't brought the motor; we'll 'ave to take a 'an'som. Good-bye for the present. My name's Impett—Rose Impett."
"Mine's Keeves," said Mavis, thinking she may as well be agreeable to those she had to live with. She then went to her boxes and saw that the odd-looking servant had uncorded them.
"Thank you," said Mavis.
"I dessay it's more than you deserve," remarked the servant.
"I daresay," assented Mavis.
"Let's have a look at you."
"What?"
"You needn't be jealous of me; let's have a look."
The servant urged Mavis to stand by the flaring gas, where she looked her up and down, Mavis thought maliciously.
"H'm! Wonder how long it'll be before I have to pray for you?"
"Eh!"
"Same as I has to for the others."
"I don't understand."
"Look on the bed; see 'ow they leave their clothes, and such clothes. That's what their souls is like."
"Indeed!" said Mavis, scarcely knowing what to say.
"All the same, I prays for them, though what God A'mighty thinks o' me for all the sinners I pray for, I can't think. Supper's downstairs, if you can eat it; and my name's Bella."
Bella left the room. Mavis thought that she rather liked her than otherwise, despite her rudeness earlier in the evening. Mavis unpacked her more immediate requirements before seeking supper in the basement. She descended to the floor on which was the passage communicating with the street, but the staircase leading to the supper-room was unlit, therefore she was compelled to grope her way down; as she did so, she became aware of a disgusting smell which reminded Mavis of a time at Brandenburg College when the drains went wrong and had to be put right. She then found herself in a carpetless passage lit by gas flaming in a wire cage; here, the smell of drains was even more offensive than before. There was a half-open door on the right, from which came the clatter of knives and plates. Mavis, believing that this was the supper-room, went in.
She found herself in a large, low room, the walls of which were built with glazed brick. Upon the left, the further wall receded as it approached the ceiling, to admit, in daytime, the light that straggled from the thick glass let into the pavement, on which the footsteps of the passers-by were ceaselessly heard. The room was filled by a long table covered by a scanty cloth, at which several pasty-faced, unwholesome-looking young women were eating bread and cheese, the while they talked in whispers or read from journals, books, or novelettes. At the head of the table sat a dark, elderly little woman, who seemed to be all nose and fuzzy hair: this person was not eating. Several of the girls looked with weary curiosity at Mavis, while they mentally totted up the price she had paid for her clothes; when they reached their respective totals, they resumed their meal.
"Miss Keeth?" said the dark little woman at the head of the table, who spoke with a lisp.
"Yes," replied Mavis.
"If you want thupper, you'll find a theat."
"Thank you."
Mavis sank wearily in the first empty chair. "Dawes'" had already got on her nerves. She was sick at heart with all she had gone through; from the depths of her being she resented being considered on an equality with the two young women she had met and those she saw about her. She closed her eyes as she tried to take herself, for a brief moment, from her surroundings. She was recalled to the present by a plate, on which was a hunk of bread and a piece of cheese, being thrust beneath her nose. She was hungry when she came downstairs; now, appetite had left her. Her gorge rose at the pasty-faced girls, the brick-walled cellar, the unwholesome air, and the beady-eyed little woman seated at the head of the table. She thought it better, if only for her health's sake, to try and swallow something. She put a piece of cheese in her mouth. Mavis, by now, was an authority on cheap cheese; she knew all the varieties of flavour to be found in the lesser-priced cheeses. Ordinarily, she had been enabled to make them palatable with the help of vinegar, mustard, or even with an onion; but tonight none of these resources were at hand with which to make appetising the soapy compound on her plate. Miss Striem, the dark little woman at the head of the table, noted her disinclination to tackle the cheese.
"You can have anything exthra if you care to pay for it," she remarked.
"What have you?" asked Mavis.
"Ham, bloater, or chicken pathte, and an exthellent brand of thardines."
"I'll try the ham paste," said Mavis.
An opened tin of ham paste was put before her. Mavis noticed that the other girls were looking at her out of the corners of their eyes.
She put some of the paste on to her plate; it looked unusual, even for potted meat; but ascribing its appearance to the effect of the light, Mavis spread some on a bit of bread and put this in her mouth. Only for a moment; the next, she had removed it with her handkerchief. One of the girls tittered. Miss Striem looked sharply in this person's direction.
"I can't eat this: it's bad!" cried Mavis.
"Perhaps you would prefer a thardine."
"Anything, so long as it's fit to eat."
Some of the girls raised their eyebrows at this remark. All of them were more or less frightened of Miss Striem, the housekeeper.
An opened tin of sardines was set before Mavis. She had only to glance inside to see that its contents were mildewed.
"Thanks," she said, pushing the tin away.
"I beg your pardon," remarked Miss Striem severely.
"They're bad too. I'm not going to eat them."
"You'll have to pay for them juth the thame."
"What?" cried Mavis.
"If you order, you pay. Ith a rule in the houth," said Miss Striem, as if the matter were forthwith dismissed from her mind.
"To sell girls bad food?" asked Mavis.
"I cannot discuth the matter; the thum due will be deducted from your wageth."
Mavis's blood was up. Her wage was small enough without having anything deducted for food she could not eat.
"I shall go to the management," she remarked.
"You'll what?"
"Go to the management. I'm not going to be cheated like that."
"You call me a cheat?" screamed the little woman, as she rose to her feet.
Mavis was, for the moment, taken aback by Miss Striem's vehemence. The girl next to her whispered, "Go it," under her breath.
"You call me a cheat?" repeated Miss Striem.
"I shall say what I have to say to the management," replied Mavis coolly.
"And I'll thay what I have to thay; and you'll find out who is believed in a way you won't like."
"I shall prove my case," retorted Mavis, as she grabbed the ham paste and the tin of sardines.
Miss Striem sat down. A giggle ran round the table.
"Can you tell me where the sitting-room is, please?" Mavis asked of the girl next to her.
"What?" replied the girl whom she had spoked to.
Mavis repeated her question.
"There's no such thing; there's only this place open at meal times and your bedroom."
"Thanks; I'll go there. Good night."
Mavis, carrying her ham paste and sardines, walked the evil-smelling passage and up the stairs to her room. Once outside the supper-room, she repented of having had words with Miss Striem, who was, doubtless, a person of authority; but it was done now, and Mavis reflected how she had justice and evidence on her side. The bedroom was empty. Mavis placed the ham paste and sardines on her washing-stand; she then took advantage of the absence of the other girls to undress and get into bed. She fell into a heavy slumber, which gave place to a state of dreamy wakefulness, during which she became conscious of others being in the room; of hearing herself discussed; of a sudden commotion in the apartment. A sequence of curious noises thoroughly awoke her. The unaccustomed sight of three other girls in the room in which she slept caused her to sit bolt upright. The girl, Miss Impett, to whom she had already spoken, was sitting on her bed, yawning as she pulled off her stockings. Another, a fine, queenly-looking girl, in evening dress, was sitting on a chair with her hands pressed to her stomach; her eyes were rolling as if she were in pain. The third girl, also in evening dress, but not so handsome as the sufferer, was whispering consoling words.
"Is she ill?" asked Mavis.
"It's the indigestion," replied the last girl Mavis had noticed.
"Can I do anything?" asked Mavis.
"She always has it dreadful when she goes out to supper; now she's paying for it and—" She got no further; her friend was seized with another attack; all her attention was devoted to rubbing the patient's stomach, the while the latter groaned loudly. It was a similar noise which had awakened Mavis.
"I suppose we shan't get to sleep for an hour," yawned Miss Impett, as she struggled into a not too clean nightdress.
"Oh, you cat, you!" gasped the sufferer.
"It's your own fault," retorted Miss Impett. "You always over-eat yourself and drink such a lot of that filthy creme de menthe."
"Don't you wish you had the chance?" snapped the girl who was attending her friend.
"I always drink Kummel; it's much more ladylike," remarked Miss Impett.
"You'd drink anything you can bally well get," the sufferer cried at a moment when she was free of pain.
"I am a lady. I know how to be'ave when a gentleman offers me a drink," retorted Miss Impett.
"You a lady—you—!" began the sufferer's ministering angel. She got no further, being checked by her friend casting a significant glance in Mavis's direction.
Half an hour later, Mavis fell asleep. It was a strange experience when, the next morning, she had to wash and dress with three other girls doing the same thing in the little space at their disposal.
She had asked if there were any chance of getting a bath, to be surprised at the astonished looks on the faces of the others. At a quarter to eight, they scurried down to breakfast, at which meal Miss Striem presided, as at supper.
Breakfast consisted of thick bread, salt butter, and the cheapest of cheap tea. It was as much as Mavis could do to get any of it down, although she was hungry. She could not help noticing that she was the object of much remark to the other girls present, her words with Miss Striem on the previous evening having attracted much attention. After breakfast, Mavis was taken upstairs to the department in which she was to work. It was on the roomy ground floor, for which she was thankful; she was also pleased that the girl selected to instruct her in her duties was her Browning friend of last night. Her work was not arduous, and Mavis enjoyed the handling of dainty things; but she soon became tired of standing, at which she sat on one of the seats provided by Act of Parliament to rest the limbs of weary shop assistants.
"You mustn't do that!" urged Miss Meakin.
"Why not?"
"You'll get yourself disliked if you do."
"What are they here for, if not to sit on?"
"They have to be there; but you won't be here long if you're seen using them, 'cept when the Government inspector is about."
"It's cruel, unfair," began Mavis, but her friend merely shrugged her shoulders as she moved away to wait on a customer.
Mavis was disposed to rebel against the unwritten rule that seats are not to be made use of, but a moment's reflection convinced her of the unwisdom of such a proceeding.
Later on in the morning, Miss Meakin said to Mavis:
"I hear you had a dust up with old Striem last night."
Mavis told her the circumstances.
"She's an awful beast and makes no end of money out of the catering. But no one dare say anything, as she's a relation of one of the directors. All the young ladies are talking of your standing up to her."
"I suppose she'll report me," remarked Mavis.
"She daren't; she's too keen on a good thing; but I'll bet she has her knife into you if she gets a chance."
Presently, Miss Meakin got confidential; she told Mavis how she was engaged to be married; also, that she met her "boy" by chance at a public library, where they both asked the librarian for Browning at the same time, and that this had brought them together.
The girls went down to dinner in two batches. When it was time for Mavis to go (she was in the second lot), she was weary with exhaustion; the continued standing, the absence of fresh air, her poor breakfast, all conspired to cause her mental and physical distress.
The contaminated air of the passage leading to the eating-room brought on a feeling of nausea. Miss Meakin, noticing Mavis change colour, remarked:
"We're all like that at first: you'll soon get used to it."
If the atmosphere of the downstair regions discouraged appetite, the air in the glazed bricked dining-room was enough to take it away; it was heavy with the reek arising from cooked joints and vegetables. Mavis took her place, when a plate heaped up with meat and vegetables was passed to her. One look was enough: the meat was cag mag, and scarcely warm at that; the potatoes looked uninvitingly soapy; the cabbage was coarse and stringy; all this mess was seemingly frozen in the white fat of what had once been gravy. Mavis sickened and turned away her head; she noticed that the food affected many of the girls in a like manner.
"No wonder," she thought, "that so many of them are pasty-faced and unwholesome-looking."
She realised the necessity of providing the human machine with fuel; she made an effort to disguise the scant flavour of the best-looking bits she could pick out by eating plenty of bread. She had swallowed one or two mouthfuls and already felt better for the nourishment, when her eye fell on a girl seated nearly opposite to her, whom she had not noticed before. This creature was of an abnormal stoutness; her face was covered with pimples and the rims of her eyes were red; but it was not these physical defects which compelled Mavis's attention. The girl kept her lips open as she ate, displaying bloodless gums in which were stuck irregular decayed teeth; she exhibited the varying processes of mastication, the while her boiled eyes stared vacantly before her. She compelled Mavis's attention, with the result that the latter had no further use for the food on her plate. She even refused rice pudding, which, although burned, might otherwise have attracted her.
The air of the shop upstairs was agreeably refreshing after the vitiated atmosphere of the dining-room; it saved her from faintness. Happily, she was sent down to tea at a quarter to four, to find that this, by a lucky accident, was stronger and warmer than the tepid stuff with which she had been served at breakfast. As the hours wore on, Mavis noticed that most of the girls seemed to put some heart into their work; she supposed that this elation was caused by the rapidly approaching hour of liberty. When this at last arrived, there was a rush to the bedrooms. Mavis, who was now suffering tortures from a racking headache, went listlessly upstairs; she wondered if she would be allowed to go straight to bed. When she got into the room, she found everything in confusion. Miss Potter, Miss Allen, and Miss Impett were frantically exchanging their working clothes for evening attire. Mavis was surprised to see the three girls painting their cheeks and eyebrows in complete indifference to her presence. They took small notice of her; they were too busy discussing the expensive eating-houses at which they were to dine and sup. Miss Potter, in struggling into her evening bodice, tore it behind. Mavis, seeing that Miss Allen was all behind with her dressing, offered to sew it.
"Thank you," remarked Miss Potter, in the manner of one bestowing a favour. Mavis mended the rent quickly and skilfully. Perhaps her ready needle softened the haughty Miss Potter's heart towards her, for the beauty said:
"Where are you off to to-night?"
"Nowhere," answered Mavis.
"Nowhere!" echoed Miss Potter disdainfully, while the other occupants of the room ejaculated "My!"
"Haven't you a 'boy'?" asked Miss Potter.
"A what?"
"A young man then," said Miss Potter, as she made a deft line beneath her left eye with an eye pencil.
"I don't know any young men," remarked Mavis.
"Hadn't you better be quick and pick up one?" asked Miss Impett.
"I don't care to make chance acquaintances," answered Mavis.
To her surprise, her remark aroused the other girls' ire; they looked at Mavis and then at one another in astonishment.
"I defy anyone to prove that I'm not a lady," cried Miss Impett, as she bounced out of the room.
"I'm as good as you any day," declared Miss Potter, as she went to the door.
"Yes, that we are," cried Miss Allen defiantly, as she joined her friend.
Mavis sat wearily on her bed. Her head ached; her body seemed incapable of further effort; worst of all, her soul was steeped in despair.
"What have I done, oh, what have I done to deserve this misery?" she cried out.
This outburst strengthened her: needs cried for satisfaction in her body, the chief of these being movement and air. She walked to the window and looked out on the cloudless September night; there was a chill in the air, imparting to its sweetness a touch of austerity. Mavis wondered from what peaceful scenes it came, to what untroubled places it was going. The thought that she was remote from the stillness for which her heart hungered exasperated her; she closed the window in order to spare herself being tortured by the longing which the night air awoke in her being. The atmosphere of the room was foul when compared with the air she had just breathed; it seemed to get her by the throat, to be on the point of stifling her. The next moment she had pinned on her hat, caught up her gloves, and scurried into the street. Two minutes later she was in Oxford Street, where she was at once merged into a stream of girls, a stream almost as wide as the pavement, which was sluggishly moving in the direction of the Park. This flow was composed of every variety of girl: tall, stumpy, medium, dark, fair, auburn, with dispositions as varied as their appearances. Many were aglow with hope and youthful ardour; others were well over their first fine frenzy of young blood. There were wise virgins, foolish virgins, vain girls, clever girls, elderly girls, dull girls, laughing girls, amorous girls, spiteful girls, girls with the toothache, girls radiantly happy in the possession of some new, cheap finery: all wending their way towards the Marble Arch. Most walked in twos and threes, a few singly; some of these latter were hurrying and darting amongst the listless walk of the others in their eagerness to keep appointments with men. Whatever their age, disposition, or condition, they were all moved by a common desire—to enjoy a crowded hour of liberty after the toil and fret of the day. As Mavis moved with the flow of this current, she noticed how it was constantly swollen by the addition of tributaries, which trickled from nearly every door in Oxford Street, till at last the stream overflowed the broad pavement and became so swollen that it seemed to carry everything before it. Here were gathered girls from nearly every district in the United Kingdom. The broken home, stepmothers, too many in family, the fascination which London exercises for the country-grown girl—all and each of these reasons were responsible for all this womanhood of a certain type pouring down Oxford Street at eight o'clock in the evening. Each of them was the centre of her little universe, and, on the whole, they were mostly happy, their gladness being largely ignorance of more fortunate conditions of life. Ill-fed, under-paid, they were insignificant parts of the great industrial machine which had got them in its grip, so that their function was to make rich men richer, or to pay 10 per cent, dividends to shareholders who were careless how these were earned. Nightly, this river of girls flows down Oxford Street, to return in an hour or two, when the human tide can be seen flowing in the contrary direction. Meantime, men of all ages and conditions were skilfully tacking upon this river, itching to quench the thirst from which they suffered. It needed all the efforts of the guardian angels, in whose existence Mavis had been taught to believe, to guide the component parts of this stream from the oozy marshland, murky ways, and bottomless quicksands which beset its course.