Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Mothers and sons -- Fiction; Religious fiction; Unmarried mothers -- Fiction
Mr Benson had little thought for outward tokens of respect just then,
nor had Mrs Morgan much time to spare; but she smoothed her ruffled
brow, and calmed her bustling manner, as soon as ever she saw who it
was that awaited her; for Mr Benson was well known in the village
where he had taken up his summer holiday among the mountains year
after year, always a resident at the shop, and seldom spending a
shilling at the inn.
Mrs Morgan listened patiently--for her.
"Mr Jones will come this afternoon. But it is a shame you should be
troubled with such as her. I had but little time yesterday, but I
guessed there was something wrong, and Gwen has just been telling me
her bed has not been slept in. They were in a pretty hurry to be gone
yesterday, for all that the gentleman was not fit to travel, to my
way of thinking; indeed, William Wynn, the post-boy, said he was
weary enough before he got to the end of that Yspytty road; and he
thought they would have to rest there a day or two before they could
go further than Pen trê Voelas. Indeed, and anyhow, the servant is to
follow them with the baggage this very morning; and now I remember,
William Wynn said they would wait for her. You'd better write a note,
Mr Benson, and tell them her state."
It was good, though unpalatable advice. It came from one accustomed
to bring excellent, if unrefined sense, to bear quickly upon any
emergency, and to decide rapidly. She was, in truth, so little
accustomed to have her authority questioned, that before Mr Benson
had made up his mind, she had produced paper, pens, and ink from the
drawer in her bureau, placed them before him, and was going to leave
the room.
"Leave the note on this shelf, and trust me that it goes by the maid.
The boy that drives her there in the car shall bring you an answer
back."
She was gone before he could rally his scattered senses enough to
remember that he had not the least idea of the name of the party to
whom he was to write. The quiet leisure and peace of his little study
at home favoured his habit of reverie and long deliberation, just as
her position as mistress of an inn obliged her to quick, decisive
ways.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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