Our House and London out of Our WindowsPennell, Elizabeth Robins
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Our House and London out of Our Windows
Pennell, Elizabeth Robins
London (England) -- Description and travel; Pennell, Elizabeth Robins, 1855-1936 -- Homes and haunts -- England -- London
At this juncture, her little Ernest fell ill; now that I had heard of
him, he took good care that I should not forget him. For three days
there was no sign of Clementine; I had no word from her. At the end of
the first day, I imagined a horrid tragedy of starvation; by the second,
I was reproaching myself as an accessory; by the evening of the third, I
could stand it no longer, and Augustine was despatched to find out what
was wrong. The child's illness was not very serious, but, incidentally,
Augustine found out a good deal besides. Clementine's room, in an
unlovely Workmen's Building, was unexpectedly clean, but to keep it
clean was the easier because it was so bare. Her bed, which she shared
with her little Ernest, was a mattress on the floor in one corner, with
not a sheet or a blanket to cover it; _la vieille grandmere_ slept in a
nest of newspapers in another corner, with a roll of rags for a pillow.
Bedsteads, sheets, covers, had gone the way of the aprons,--they, too,
were _au clou_. The thrift I had advised scarcely met so acute a case of
poverty. I was not at all anxious to burden myself with Clementine's
destitution in addition to her hunger, and to get it out of my mind, I
tried, with my usual generosity, to hand over the difficulty to J. I
cannot say that he accepted it as unconditionally as I could have
wished, for if he was positive that something must be done at once, he
had as little doubt that it was for me to discover the way of doing it.
What I did was simple, though I dare say contrary to every scientific
principle of charity. I told her to bring me her pawn-tickets and I
would go over them with her. She brought them, a pocketful, the next
day, throwing them down on the table before me and sorting them as if
for a game of cards, with many giggles, and occasional cries of
"_Tiens!_ this is my old blue apron"; or, "_Mon Dieu!_ this is my nice
warm grey blanket." Her delight could not have been greater had it been
the apron or the blanket itself. All told, her debts amounted to no very
ruinous sum, and I arranged to pay them off and give her a fresh start
if, on her side, she was prepared to work harder and practise stricter
economy. I pointed out that as I did not need her in the afternoon, she
had a half day to dispose of, and that she should hunt for something to
fill it. She promised everything I asked, and more, and I hoped that
this was the last of my sharing her burdens.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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