The Whirlpool

Name: The Whirlpool
Author: Gissing, George

Gissing, George

England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century

The listener's face was tumid and discoloured, his eyes bloodshot. With
fearful intensity he watched every movement of Mrs. Maskell's features.

'How do you know I know him?'

'You've been at his place. I've seen you, though you didn't see me; and
before I saw you I heard your voice. One remembers voices, you know.'

'Go on. What else have you seen or heard?'

'Mrs. Carnaby has been there too.'

'I know that!' Hugh shouted rather than spoke. 'She was there with Mrs
Fenimore--Redgrave's sister--and several other people.'

'Yes; last summer. I caught sight of her as she was sitting in the
veranda, and it amused me to think how little she suspected who was
looking at her. But she has been there since.'

'When?'

Mrs. Maskell consulted her memory, and indicated a day in the past
winter. She could not at this moment recall the exact date, but had a
note of it. Mrs. Carnaby came at a late hour of the evening, and left
very early the next day.

'How are you going to make this lie seem probable?' asked Hugh, a
change of voice betraying the dread with which he awaited her answer;
for the time of which she spoke was exactly that when Redgrave had
offered himself as a partner in the firm of Mackintosh & Co. 'Do you
want me to believe that she came and went so that every one could see
her?'

'Oh no. I was new to the place then, and full of curiosity. I have my
own ways of getting to know what I wish to know. Remember, once more,
that it's very easy to recognise a voice. I told you that I was in a
position of confidence. Whenever Mr. Redgrave wishes for quietness, he
has only to mention it; our servants are well disciplined. I, of
course, am never seen by visitors, whoever they may be, and whenever
they come; but it happens occasionally that I see _them_, even when Mr.
Redgrave doesn't think it. Still, he is sometime very careful indeed,
and so he was on that particular evening. You remember that his rooms
have French windows--a convenient arrangement. The front door may be
locked and bolted, but people come and go for all that.'

'That's the bungalow, is it?' muttered Carnaby. 'And how often do you
pretend you have heard _her_ voice?'

'Only that once.'

It was worse than if she had answered 'Several times.' Hugh looked long
at her, and she bore his gaze with indifference.

'You don't pretend that you _saw_ her?'

'No, I didn't see her.'

'Then, if you are not deliberately lying, you have made a mistake.'

Mrs. Maskell smiled and shook her head.

'What _words_ did you hear?'

'Oh--talk. Nothing very particular.'

'I want to know what it was.'

'Well, as far as I could make out, Mrs. Carnaby was going to get a
bicycle, and wanted to know what was the best. Not much harm in that,'
she added, with a silent laugh.

Hugh sat with his hands on his knees, bending forward. He said nothing
for a minute or two, and at length looked to the window.

'You were going back to Wimbledon?'

'Yes. I have only been in town for an hour or two.'

'Is Redgrave there?'

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

The WhirlpoolGissing, George

General

The Whirlpool

Gissing, George

England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century

The listener's face was tumid and discoloured, his eyes bloodshot. With
fearful intensity he watched every movement of Mrs. Maskell's features.

'How do you know I know him?'

'You've been at his place. I've seen you, though you didn't see me; and
before I saw you I heard your voice. One remembers voices, you know.'

'Go on. What else have you seen or heard?'

'Mrs. Carnaby has been there too.'

'I know that!' Hugh shouted rather than spoke. 'She was there with Mrs
Fenimore--Redgrave's sister--and several other people.'

'Yes; last summer. I caught sight of her as she was sitting in the
veranda, and it amused me to think how little she suspected who was
looking at her. But she has been there since.'

'When?'

Mrs. Maskell consulted her memory, and indicated a day in the past
winter. She could not at this moment recall the exact date, but had a
note of it. Mrs. Carnaby came at a late hour of the evening, and left
very early the next day.

'How are you going to make this lie seem probable?' asked Hugh, a
change of voice betraying the dread with which he awaited her answer;
for the time of which she spoke was exactly that when Redgrave had
offered himself as a partner in the firm of Mackintosh & Co. 'Do you
want me to believe that she came and went so that every one could see
her?'

'Oh no. I was new to the place then, and full of curiosity. I have my
own ways of getting to know what I wish to know. Remember, once more,
that it's very easy to recognise a voice. I told you that I was in a
position of confidence. Whenever Mr. Redgrave wishes for quietness, he
has only to mention it; our servants are well disciplined. I, of
course, am never seen by visitors, whoever they may be, and whenever
they come; but it happens occasionally that I see _them_, even when Mr.
Redgrave doesn't think it. Still, he is sometime very careful indeed,
and so he was on that particular evening. You remember that his rooms
have French windows--a convenient arrangement. The front door may be
locked and bolted, but people come and go for all that.'

'That's the bungalow, is it?' muttered Carnaby. 'And how often do you
pretend you have heard _her_ voice?'

'Only that once.'

It was worse than if she had answered 'Several times.' Hugh looked long
at her, and she bore his gaze with indifference.

'You don't pretend that you _saw_ her?'

'No, I didn't see her.'

'Then, if you are not deliberately lying, you have made a mistake.'

Mrs. Maskell smiled and shook her head.

'What _words_ did you hear?'

'Oh--talk. Nothing very particular.'

'I want to know what it was.'

'Well, as far as I could make out, Mrs. Carnaby was going to get a
bicycle, and wanted to know what was the best. Not much harm in that,'
she added, with a silent laugh.

Hugh sat with his hands on his knees, bending forward. He said nothing
for a minute or two, and at length looked to the window.

'You were going back to Wimbledon?'

'Yes. I have only been in town for an hour or two.'

'Is Redgrave there?'

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

The Whirlpool

The Whirlpool

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