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
She was hardly out of prison when Ernest's father chanced upon a woman
who could provide for him more liberally, and Clementine was again a
free agent. The streets knew her no more, though for an interval the
workhouse did. This was the crisis when, with the shrewdness acquired in
the London slums, she learned something of the English law to her own
advantage, and through the courts compelled the father to contribute to
the support of his son. The weekly three shillings and sixpence paid for
a room. For food she had to work. With prison behind her, she was afraid
to ask for a place in respectable houses, and I should not care to
record the sinks of iniquity and squalid dens where her shrill treble
and little girl's giggle were heard. Ernest was dumped down of a morning
upon any friendly neighbour who would keep an eye on him, until, somehow
or other, _la vieille grandmere_ appeared upon the scene and Clementine
once more had two to feed and the daily problem of her own hunger to
face.
Her responsibilities never drove her to work harder than was absolutely
necessary. "We must all toil or steal," Carlyle says. But Clementine
knew better. She could have suggested a third alternative, for she had
reduced begging to a fine art. Her scent was as keen for charitable
associations as a pig's for truffles, and she could tell to a minute the
appointed time of their alms-giving, and to a penny the value of their
alms. She would, no matter when, drop regular work at the risk of losing
it, to rush off after a possible charity. There was a _Societe_--I never
knew it by any other name--that, while she was with me, drew her from my
kitchen floor or my luncheon dishes as surely as Thursday came round,
and the clock struck one. Why it existed she never made quite clear to
me,--I doubt if she had an idea why, herself. It was enough for her that
the poor French in London were under its special charge, and that, when
luck was with her, she might come away with a loaf of bread, or an order
for coals, or, if she played the beggar well, as much as a shilling.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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