Britannia Mews by Margery Sharp

Author:Margery Sharp
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media

CHAPTER VI

1

As Alice had guessed, Adelaide and Gilbert were by now permanently settled in Britannia Mews. If from time to time they talked of moving to a more respectable neighbourhood, nothing ever came of it; they had got used to the Mews; and they had also, as Adelaide pointed out, got used to being well off.

“And where else could we be well off, Gilbert, on two pounds ten a week? I’ve got used to having money to spare; if we moved only a step up, I should have to pinch and scrape. And we live very comfortably here?”

“Very. You’re such an admirable cook.”

“It is such a pleasure to me to see you enjoy your meals. No, dear, if I can’t have three maids, I’ll have none.”

“I wish I could give you three maids.”

“You give me everything I need,” said Adelaide.

It was true. His constant thoughtfulness for her had never flagged; he was never ill-humoured, or even casual in his manners; as for his drinking, it was automatically cut down by the fact that he gave Adelaide five shillings a week. Unlike Henry, he refused to become indebted to her; he even brought her small presents—a bunch of flowers, a piece of china from a street stall; his raffish side was catered to at the Club, and outside it he genuinely preferred Adelaide’s society to that of the public-house. Never had one man more literally stepped into another’s shoes, for Henry Lambert’s wardrobe, so fortunately saved from the rapacity of the Sow, was now Gilbert Lauderdale’s; but with what a difference he wore it! Adelaide sometimes smiled to think how she had promised not to try to reform him: it was he who had reformed her. Under his influence her character gradually shed its acquired harshness, its acquired brutality: gratitude at being treated like a lady made her once more ladylike, she recovered her old delicacy of thought and speech. They were devoted to each other; and because their relation was not passionate, it was serene. At night and morning they kissed, but their most familiar gesture of affection was a quiet caress, Gilbert’s arm about Adelaide’s shoulder, or Adelaide’s hand slipped through the crook of his elbow, a dozen times a day.

When Adelaide saw Mrs. Mounsey in the Mews, she smiled and nodded to her. The Sow was no longer an object of fear. Indeed she had lost, Adelaide fancied, much of her local power, for Gilbert’s unprecedented and successful revolt undermined her prestige. Moreover, many of her victims had disappeared, flitting, shooting the moon, drifting east to the rookeries of Clerkenwell and Bethnal Green; a new class of tenant took their place. In 1892 rents were raised; Adelaide, faced with a demand for two shillings a week more, tartly informed the collector that unless certain amenities were forthcoming as a quid pro quo, she was prepared to lead a tenants’ strike. Something inspired her to mention the name of Miss Octavia Hill, and there was that in her appearance

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