Their early conversations were about Susan Burnet's business and the general condition of things in that world of upholsterers' young women in which Susan had lived until she perceived the possibilities of a "connexion," and set up for herself. And the condition of things in that world, as Susan described it, brought home to Lady Harman just how sheltered and limited her own upbringing had been. "It isn't right," said Susan, "the way they send girls out with fellers into empty houses. Naturally the men get persecuting11 them. They don't seem hardly able to help it, some of them, and I will say this for them, that a lot of the girls go more than half way with them, leading them on. Still there's a sort of man won't leave you alone. One I used to be sent out with and a married man too he was, Oh!—he used to give me a time. Why I've bit his hands before now, bit hard, before he'd leave go of me. It's my opinion the married men are worse than the single. Bolder they are. I pushed him over a scuttle12 once and he hit his head against a bookcase. I was fair frightened of him. 'You little devil,' he says; 'I'll be even with you yet....' Oh! I've been called worse things than that.... Of course a respectable girl gets through with it, but it's trying and to some it's a sort of temptation...."
"I should have thought," reflected Lady Harman, "you could have told someone."
"It's queer," said Susan; "but it never seemed to me the sort of thing a girl ought to go telling. It's a kind of private thing. And besides, it isn't exactly easy to tell.... I suppose the Firm didn't want to be worried by complaints and disputes about that sort of thing. And it isn't always easy to say just which of the two is to blame."
"But how old are the girls they send out?" asked Lady Harman.
"Some's as young as seventeen or eighteen. It all depends on the sort of work that's wanted to be done...."
"Of course a lot of them have to marry...."
This lurid13 little picture of vivid happenings in unoccupied houses and particularly of the prim14, industrious15, capable Susan Burnet, biting aggressive wrists, stuck in Lady Harman's imagination. She seemed to be looking into hitherto unsuspected pits of simple and violent living just beneath her feet. Susan told some upholsteress love tales, real love tales, with a warmth and honesty of passion in them that seemed at once dreadful and fine to Lady Harman's underfed imagination. Under encouragement Susan expanded the picture, beyond these mere16 glimpses of workshop and piece-work and furtive17 lust7. It appeared that she was practically the head of her family; there was a mother who had specialized18 in ill-health, a sister of defective19 ability who stayed at home, a brother in South Africa who was very good and sent home money, and three younger sisters growing up. And father,—she evaded20 the subject of father at first. Then presently Lady Harman had some glimpses of an earlier phase in Susan Burnet's life "before any of us were earning money." Father appeared as a kindly21, ineffectual, insolvent22 figure struggling to conduct a baker23's and confectioner's business in Walthamstow, mother was already specializing, there were various brothers and sisters being born and dying. "How many were there of you altogether?" asked Lady Harman.
"Thirteen there was. Father always used to laugh and say he'd had a fair baker's dozen. There was Luke to begin with——"
She could only make up her tale to twelve. She became perplexed26. Then she remembered. "Of course!" she cried: "there was Nicodemus. He was still-born. I always forget Nicodemus, poor little chap! But he came—was it sixth or seventh?—seventh after Anna."
She gave some glimpses of her father and then there was a collapse27 of which she fought shy. Lady Harman was too delicate to press her to talk of that.
But one day in the afternoon Susan's tongue ran.
She was telling how first she went to work before she was twelve.
"But I thought the board schools——" said Lady Harman.
"I had to go before the committee," said Susan. "I had to go before the committee and ask to be let go to work. There they was, sitting round a table in a great big room, and they was as kind as anything, one old gentleman with a great white beard, he was as kind as could be. 'Don't you be frightened, my dear,' he says. 'You tell us why you want to go out working.' 'Well,' I says, 'somebody's got to earn something,' and that made them laugh in a sort of fatherly way, and after that there wasn't any difficulty. You see it was after Father's Inquest, and everybody was disposed to be kind to us. 'Pity they can't all go instead of this educational Tommy Rot,' the old gentleman says. 'You learn to work, my dear'—and I did...."
She paused.
"Father's inquest?" said Lady Harman.
Susan seemed to brace24 herself to the occasion. "Father," she said, "was drowned. I know—I hadn't told you that before. He was drowned in the Lea. It's always been a distress28 and humiliation29 to us there had to be an Inquest. And they threw out things.... It's why we moved to Haggerston. It's the worst that ever happened to us in all our lives. Far worse. Worse than having the things sold or the children with scarlet30 fever and having to burn everything.... I don't like to talk about it. I can't help it but I don't....
"I don't know why I talk to you as I do, Lady Harman, but I don't seem to mind talking to you. I don't suppose I've opened my mouth to anyone about it, not for years—except to one dear friend I've got—her who persuaded me to be a church member. But what I've always said and what I will always say is this, that I don't believe any evil of Father, I don't believe, I won't ever believe he took his life. I won't even believe he was in drink. I don't know how he got in the river, but I'm certain it wasn't so. He was a weak man, was Father, I've never denied he was a weak man. But a harder working man than he was never lived. He worried, anyone would have worried seeing the worries he had. The shop wasn't paying as it was; often we never tasted meat for weeks together, and then there came one of these Internationals, giving overweight and underselling...."
"One of these Internationals?"
"Yes, I don't suppose you've ever heard of them. They're in the poorer neighbourhoods chiefly. They sell teas and things mostly now but they began as bakers31' shops and what they did was to come into a place and undersell until all the old shops were ruined and shut up. That was what they tried to do and Father hadn't no more chance amongst them than a mouse in a trap.... It was just like being run over. All the trade that stayed with us after a bit was Bad Debts. You can't blame people I suppose for going where they get more and pay less, and it wasn't till we'd all gone right away to Haggerston that they altered things and put the prices up again. Of course Father lost heart and all that. He didn't know what to do, he'd sunk all he had in the shop; he just sat and moped about. Really,—he was pitiful. He wasn't able to sleep; he used to get up at nights and go about downstairs. Mother says she found him once sweeping32 out the bakehouse at two o'clock in the morning. He got it into his head that getting up like that would help him. But I don't believe and I won't believe he wouldn't have seen it through if he could. Not to my dying day will I believe that...."
Lady Harman reflected. "But couldn't he have got work again—as a baker?"
"It's hard after you've had a shop. You see all the younger men've come on. They know the new ways. And a man who's had a shop and failed, he's lost heart. And these stores setting up make everything drivinger. They do things a different way. They make it harder for everyone."
Both Lady Harman and Susan Burnet reflected in silence for a few seconds upon the International Stores. The sewing woman was the first to speak.
"Things like that," she said, "didn't ought to be. One shop didn't ought to be allowed to set out to ruin another. It isn't fair trading, it's a sort of murder. It oughtn't to be allowed. How was father to know?..."
"There's got to be competition," said Lady Harman.
"I don't call that competition," said Susan Burnet.
"But,—I suppose they give people cheaper bread."
"They do for a time. Then when they've killed you they do what they like.... Luke—he's one of those who'll say anything—well, he used to say it was a regular Monopoly. But it's hard on people who've set out to live honest and respectable and bring up a family plain and decent to be pushed out of the way like that."
"I suppose it is," said Lady Harman.
"What was father to do?" said Susan, and turned to Sir Isaac's armchair from which this discourse33 had distracted her.
And then suddenly, in a voice thick with rage, she burst out: "And then Alice must needs go and take their money. That's what sticks in my throat."
Still on her knees she faced about to Lady Harman.
"Alice goes into one of their Ho'burn branches as a waitress, do what I could to prevent her. It makes one mad to think of it. Time after time I've said to her, 'Alice,' I've said, 'sooner than touch their dirty money I'd starve in the street.' And she goes! She says it's all nonsense of me to bear a spite. Laughs at me! 'Alice,' I told her, 'it's a wonder the spirit of poor father don't rise up against you.' And she laughs. Calls that bearing a spite.... Of course she was little when it happened. She can't remember, not as I remember...."
Lady Harman reflected for a time. "I suppose you don't know," she began, addressing Susan's industrious back; "you don't know who—who owns these International Stores?"
"I suppose it's some company," said Susan. "I don't see that it lets them off—being in a company."
8
We have done much in the last few years to destroy the severe limitations of Victorian delicacy34, and all of us, from princesses and prime-ministers' wives downward, talk of topics that would have been considered quite gravely improper35 in the nineteenth century. Nevertheless, some topics have, if anything, become more indelicate than they were, and this is especially true of the discussion of income, of any discussion that tends, however remotely, to inquire, Who is it at the base of everything who really pays in blood and muscle and involuntary submissions36 for your freedom and magnificence? This, indeed, is almost the ultimate surviving indecency. So that it was with considerable private shame and discomfort37 that Lady Harman pursued even in her privacy the train of thought that Susan Burnet had set going. It had been conveyed into her mind long ago, and it had settled down there and grown into a sort of security, that the International Bread and Cake Stores were a very important contribution to Progress, and that Sir Isaac, outside the gates of his home, was a very useful and beneficial personage, and richly meriting a baronetcy. She hadn't particularly analyzed38 this persuasion39, but she supposed him engaged in a kind of daily repetition, but upon modern scientific lines, of the miracle of the loaves and fishes, feeding a great multitude that would otherwise have gone hungry. She knew, too, from the advertisements that flowered about her path through life, that this bread in question was exceptionally clean and hygienic; whole front pages of the Daily Messenger, headed the "Fauna40 of Small Bakehouses," and adorned41 with a bordering of Blatta orientalis, the common cockroach42, had taught her that, and she knew that Sir Isaac's passion for purity had also led to the Old Country Gazette's spirited and successful campaign for a non-party measure securing additional bakehouse regulation and inspection43. And her impression had been that the growing and developing refreshment44 side of the concern was almost a public charity; Sir Isaac gave, he said, a larger, heavier scone45, a bigger pat of butter, a more elegant teapot, ham more finely cut and less questionable46 pork-pies than any other system of syndicated tea-shops. She supposed that whenever he sat late at night going over schemes and papers, or when he went off for days together to Cardiff or Glasgow or Dublin, or such-like centres, or when he became preoccupied47 at dinner and whistled thoughtfully through his teeth, he was planning to increase the amount or diminish the cost of tea and cocoa-drenched farinaceous food in the stomachs of that section of our national adolescence48 which goes out daily into the streets of our great cities to be fed. And she knew his vans and catering49 were indispensable to the British Army upon its manœuvres....
Now the smashing up of the Burnet family by the International Stores was disagreeably not in the picture of these suppositions. And the remarkable50 thing is that this one little tragedy wouldn't for a moment allow itself to be regarded as an exceptional accident in an otherwise fair vast development. It remained obstinately51 a specimen—of the other side of the great syndication.
It was just as if she had been doubting subconsciously52 all along.... In the silence of the night she lay awake and tried to make herself believe that the Burnet case was just a unique overlooked disaster, that it needed only to come to Sir Isaac's attention to be met by the fullest reparation....
After all she did not bring it to Sir Isaac's attention.
But one morning, while this phase of new doubts was still lively in her mind, Sir Isaac told her he was going down to Brighton, and then along the coast road in a car to Portsmouth, to pay a few surprise visits, and see how the machine was working. He would be away a night, an unusual breach53 in his habits.
"Are you thinking of any new branches, Isaac?"
"I may have a look at Arundel."
"Isaac." She paused to frame her question carefully. "I suppose there are some shops at Arundel now."
"I've got to see to that."
"If you open——I suppose the old shops get hurt. What becomes of the people if they do get hurt?"
"That's their look-out," said Sir Isaac.
"Isn't it bad for them?"
"Progress is Progress, Elly."
"It is bad for them. I suppose——Wouldn't it be sometimes kinder if you took over the old shop—made a sort of partner of him, or something?"
Sir Isaac shook his head. "I want younger men," he said. "You can't get a move on the older hands."
"But, then, it's rather bad——I suppose these little men you shut up,—some of them must have families."
"You're theorizing a bit this morning, Elly," said Sir Isaac, looking up over his coffee cup.
"I've been thinking—about these little people."
"Someone's been talking to you about my shops," said Sir Isaac, and stuck out an index finger. "If that's Georgina——"
"It isn't Georgina," said Lady Harman, but she had it very clear in her mind that she must not say who it was.
"You can't make a business without squeezing somebody," said Sir Isaac. "It's easy enough to make a row about any concern that grows a bit. Some people would like to have every business tied down to a maximum turnover54 and so much a year profit. I dare say you've been hearing of these articles in the London Lion. Pretty stuff it is, too. This fuss about the little shopkeepers; that's a new racket. I've had all that row about the waitresses before, and the yarn55 about the Normandy eggs, and all that, but I don't see that you need go reading it against me, and bringing it up at the breakfast-table. A business is a business, it isn't a charity, and I'd like to know where you and I would be if we didn't run the concern on business lines.... Why, that London Lion fellow came to me with the first two of those articles before the thing began. I could have had the whole thing stopped if I liked, if I'd chosen to take the back page of his beastly cover. That shows the stuff the whole thing is made of. That shows you. Why!—he's just a blackmailer56, that's what he is. Much he cares for my waitresses if he can get the dibs. Little shopkeepers, indeed! I know 'em! Nice martyrs57 they are! There isn't one wouldn't skin all the others if he got half a chance...."
Sir Isaac gave way to an extraordinary fit of nagging58 anger. He got up and stood upon the hearthrug to deliver his soul the better. It was an altogether unexpected and illuminating59 outbreak. He was flushed with guilt60. The more angry and eloquent61 he became, the more profoundly thoughtful grew the attentive62 lady at the head of his table....
When at last Sir Isaac had gone off in the car to Victoria, Lady Harman rang for Snagsby. "Isn't there a paper," she asked, "called the London Lion?"
"It isn't one I think your ladyship would like," said Snagsby, gently but firmly.
"I know. But I want to see it. I want copies of all the issues in which there have been articles upon the International Stores."
"I want you to go out into London and get them now."
Snagsby hesitated and went. Within five minutes he reappeared with a handful of buff-covered papers.
"There 'appened to be copies in the pantry, me lady," he said. "We can't imagine 'ow they got there; someone must have brought them in, but 'ere they are quite at your service, me lady." He paused for a discreet65 moment. Something indescribably confidential66 came into his manner. "I doubt if Sir Isaac will quite like to 'ave them left about, me lady—after you done with them."
She was in a mood of discovery. She sat in the room that was all furnished in pink (her favourite colour) and read a bitter, malicious67, coarsely written and yet insidiously68 credible69 account of her husband's business methods. Something within herself seemed to answer, "But didn't you know this all along?" That large conviction that her wealth and position were but the culmination70 of a great and honourable71 social service, a conviction that had been her tacit comfort during much distasteful loyalty72 seemed to shrivel and fade. No doubt the writer was a thwarted73 blackmailer; even her accustomed mind could distinguish a twang of some such vicious quality in his sentences; but that did not alter the realities he exhibited and exaggerated. There was a description of how Sir Isaac pounced74 on his managers that was manifestly derived75 from a manager he had dismissed. It was dreadfully like him. Convincingly like him. There was a statement of the wages he paid his girl assistants and long extracts from his codes of rules and schedules of fines....
When she put down the paper she was suddenly afflicted76 by a vivid vision of Susan Burnet's father, losing heart and not knowing what to do. She had an unreasonable77 feeling that Susan Burnet's father must have been a small, kindly, furry78, bunnyish, little man. Of course there had to be progress and the survival of the fittest. She found herself weighing what she imagined Susan Burnet's father to be like, against the ferrety face, stooping shoulders and scheming whistle of Sir Isaac.
There were times now when she saw her husband with an extreme distinctness.
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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pointedness
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| n.尖角，尖锐；棱角 | |
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pricks
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| 刺痛( prick的名词复数 )； 刺孔； 刺痕； 植物的刺 | |
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renovate
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| vt.更新，革新，刷新 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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fluster
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| adj.慌乱，狼狈，混乱，激动 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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persecuting
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的现在分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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scuttle
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| v.急赶，疾走，逃避；n.天窗；舷窗 | |
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lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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specialized
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| adj.专门的，专业化的 | |
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defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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insolvent
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| adj.破产的，无偿还能力的 | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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braces
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| n.吊带，背带；托架( brace的名词复数 )；箍子；括弧；（儿童）牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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bakers
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| n.面包师( baker的名词复数 )；面包店；面包店店主；十三 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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improper
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submissions
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| n.提交( submission的名词复数 )；屈从；归顺；向法官或陪审团提出的意见或论据 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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analyzed
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| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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fauna
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| n.(一个地区或时代的)所有动物，动物区系 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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cockroach
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| n.蟑螂 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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scone
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| n.圆饼，甜饼，司康饼 | |
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questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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adolescence
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| n.青春期，青少年 | |
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catering
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| n. 给养 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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subconsciously
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| ad.下意识地，潜意识地 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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turnover
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| n.人员流动率，人事变动率；营业额，成交量 | |
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yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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blackmailer
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| 敲诈者，勒索者 | |
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martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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dissuasive
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| 劝戒的 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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insidiously
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| 潜在地，隐伏地，阴险地 | |
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credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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culmination
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| n.顶点；最高潮 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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furry
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| adj.毛皮的；似毛皮的；毛皮制的 | |
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