________________________________________________
_ "Forty next birthday!" Mr. Povey exclaimed one day, with an
expression and in a tone that were at once mock-serious and
serious. This was on his thirty-ninth birthday.
Constance was startled. She had, of course, been aware that they
were getting older, but she had never realized the phenomenon.
Though customers occasionally remarked that Mr. Povey was stouter,
and though when she helped him to measure himself for a new suit
of clothes the tape proved the fact, he had not changed for her.
She knew that she too had become somewhat stouter; but for
herself, she remained exactly the same Constance. Only by
recalling dates and by calculations could she really grasp that
she had been married a little over six years and not a little over
six months. She had to admit that, if Samuel would be forty next
birthday, she would be twenty-seven next birthday. But it would
not be a real twenty-seven; nor would Sam's forty be a real forty,
like other people's twenty-sevens and forties. Not long since she
had been in the habit of regarding a man of forty as senile, as
practically in his grave.
She reflected, and the more she reflected the more clearly she saw
that after all the almanacs had not lied. Look at Fan! Yes, it
must be five years since the memorable morning when doubt first
crossed the minds of Samuel and Constance as to Fan's moral
principles. Samuel's enthusiasm for dogs was equalled by his
ignorance of the dangers to which a young female of temperament
may be exposed, and he was much disturbed as doubt developed into
certainty. Fan, indeed, was the one being who did not suffer from
shock and who had no fears as to the results. The animal, having a
pure mind, was bereft of modesty. Sundry enormities had she
committed, but none to rank with this one! The result was four
quadrupeds recognizable as fox-terriers. Mr. Povey breathed again.
Fan had had more luck than she deserved, for the result might have
been simply anything. Her owners forgave her and disposed of these
fruits of iniquity, and then married her lawfully to a husband who
was so high up in the world that he could demand a dowry. And now
Fan was a grandmother, with fixed ideas and habits, and a son in
the house, and various grandchildren scattered over the town. Fan
was a sedate and disillusioned dog. She knew the world as it was,
and in learning it she had taught her owners above a bit.
Then there was Maggie Hollins. Constance could still vividly
recall the self-consciousness with which she had one day received
Maggie and the heir of the Hollinses; but it was a long time ago.
After staggering half the town by the production of this infant
(of which she nearly died) Maggie allowed the angels to waft it
away to heaven, and everybody said that she ought to be very
thankful--at her age. Old women dug up out of their minds
forgotten histories of the eccentricities of the goddess Lucina.
Mrs. Baines was most curiously interested; she talked freely to
Constance, and Constance began to see what an incredible town
Bursley had always been--and she never suspected it! Maggie was
now mother of other children, and the draggled, lame mistress of a
drunken home, and looked sixty. Despite her prophecy, her husband
had conserved his 'habits.' The Poveys ate all the fish they
could, and sometimes more than they enjoyed, because on his sober
days Hollins invariably started his round at the shop, and
Constance had to buy for Maggie's sake. The worst of the worthless
husband was that he seldom failed to be cheery and polite. He
never missed asking after the health of Mrs. Baines. And when
Constance replied that her mother was 'pretty well considering,'
but that she would not come over to Bursley again until the Axe
railway was opened, as she could not stand the drive, he would
shake his grey head and be sympathetically gloomy for an instant.
All these changes in six years! The almanacs were in the right of
it.
But nothing had happened to her. Gradually she had obtained a sure
ascendency over her mother, yet without seeking it, merely as the
outcome of time's influences on her and on her mother
respectively. Gradually she had gained skill and use in the
management of her household and of her share of the shop, so that
these machines ran smoothly and effectively and a sudden
contretemps no longer frightened her. Gradually she had
constructed a chart of Samuel's individuality, with the submerged
rocks and perilous currents all carefully marked, so that she
could now voyage unalarmed in those seas. But nothing happened.
Unless their visits to Buxton could be called happenings!
Decidedly the visit to Buxton was the one little hill that rose
out of the level plain of the year. They had formed the annual
habit of going to Buxton for ten days. They had a way of saying:
"Yes, we always go to Buxton. We went there for our honeymoon, you
know." They had become confirmed Buxtonites, with views concerning
St. Anne's Terrace, the Broad Walk and Peel's Cavern. They could
not dream of deserting their Buxton. It was the sole possible
resort. Was it not the highest town in England? Well, then! They
always stayed at the same lodgings, and grew to be special
favourites of the landlady, who whispered of them to all her other
guests as having come to her house for their honeymoon, and as
never missing a year, and as being most respectable, superior
people in quite a large way of business. Each year they walked out
of Buxton station behind their luggage on a truck, full of joy and
pride because they knew all the landmarks, and the lie of all the
streets, and which were the best shops.
At the beginning, the notion of leaving the shop to hired custody
had seemed almost fantastic, and the preparations for absence had
been very complicated. Then it was that Miss Insull had detached
herself from the other young lady assistants as a creature who
could be absolutely trusted. Miss Insull was older than Constance;
she had a bad complexion, and she was not clever, but she was one
of your reliable ones. The six years had witnessed the slow,
steady rise of Miss Insull. Her employers said 'Miss Insull' in a
tone quite different from that in which they said 'Miss Hawkins,'
or 'Miss Dadd.' 'Miss Insull' meant the end of a discussion.
'Better tell Miss Insull.' 'Miss Insull will see to that.' 'I
shall ask Miss Insull.' Miss Insull slept in the house ten nights
every year. Miss Insull had been called into consultation when it
was decided to engage a fourth hand in the shape of an apprentice.
Trade had improved in the point of excellence. It was now admitted
to be good--a rare honour for trade! The coal-mining boom was at
its height, and colliers, in addition to getting drunk, were
buying American organs and expensive bull-terriers. Often they
would come to the shop to purchase cloth for coats for their dogs.
And they would have good cloth. Mr. Povey did not like this. One
day a butty chose for his dog the best cloth of Mr. Povey's shop--
at 12s. a yard. "Will ye make it up? I've gotten th'
measurements," asked the collier. "No, I won't!" said Mr. Povey,
hotly. "And what's more, I won't sell you the cloth either! Cloth
at 12s. a yard on a dog's back indeed! I'll thank you to get out
of my shop!" The incident became historic, in the Square. It
finally established that Mr. Povey was a worthy son-in-law and a
solid and successful man. It vindicated the old pre-eminence of
"Baines's." Some surprise was expressed that Mr. Povey showed no
desire nor tendency towards entering the public life of the town.
But he never would, though a keen satirical critic of the Local
Board in private. And at the chapel he remained a simple private
worshipper, refusing stewardships and trusteeships. _
Read next: BOOK II CONSTANCE: CHAPTER II - CHRISTMAS AND THE FUTURE: PART III
Read previous: BOOK II CONSTANCE: CHAPTER II - CHRISTMAS AND THE FUTURE: PART I
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