Hilda Lessways | Page 4

it out of
Freehold Villas Mr. Skellorn obviously came to something superior,
wider, more liberal.
Suddenly Hilda heard her mother's voice, in a rather startled
conversational tone, and then another woman speaking; then the voices
died away. Mrs. Lessways had evidently opened the back door to
somebody, and taken her at once into the sitting-room. The occurrence

was unusual. Hilda went softly out on to the landing and listened, but
she could catch nothing more than a faint, irregular murmur. Scarcely
had she stationed herself on the landing when her mother burst out of
the sitting-room, and called loudly:
"Hilda!" And again in an instant, very impatiently and excitedly, long
before Hilda could possibly have appeared in response, had she been in
her bedroom, as her mother supposed her to be: "Hilda!"
Hilda could see without being seen. Mrs. Lessways' thin, wrinkled face,
bordered by her untidy but still black and glossy hair, was upturned
from below in an expression of tragic fretfulness. It was the
uncontrolled face, shamelessly expressive, of one who thinks himself
unwatched. Hilda moved silently to descend, and then demanded in a
low tone whose harsh self-possession was a reproof to that volatile
creature, her mother:
"What's the matter?"
Mrs. Lessways gave a surprised "Oh!" and like a flash her features
changed in the attempt to appear calm and collected.
"I was just coming downstairs," said Hilda. And to herself: "She's
always trying to pretend I'm nobody, but when the least thing happens
out of the way, she runs to me for all the world like a child." And as
Mrs. Lessways offered no reply, but simply stood at the foot of the
stairs, she asked again: "What is it?"
"Well," said her mother lamentably. "It's Mr. Skellorn. Here's Mrs.
Grant--"
"Who's Mrs. Grant?" Hilda inquired, with a touch of scorn, although
she knew perfectly well that Mr. Skellorn had a married daughter of
that name.
"Hsh! Hsh!" Mrs. Lessways protested, indicating the open door of the
sitting-room. "You know Mrs. Grant! It seems Mr. Skellorn has had a
paralytic stroke. Isn't it terrible?"

Hilda continued smoothly to descend the stairs, and followed her
mother into the sitting-room.
CHAPTER II
THE END OF THE SCENE
I
The linen money-bag and the account-book, proper to the last
Wednesday in the month, lay on the green damask cloth of the round
table where Hilda and her mother took their meals. A paralytic stroke
had not been drastic enough to mar Mr. Skellorn's most precious
reputation for probity and reliability. His statement of receipts and
expenditure, together with the corresponding cash, had been due at two
o'clock, and despite the paralytic stroke it was less than a quarter of an
hour late. On one side of the bag and the book were ranged the older
women,--Mrs. Lessways, thin and vivacious, and Mrs. Grant, large and
solemn; and on the other side, as it were in opposition, the young, dark,
slim girl with her rather wiry black hair, and her straight, prominent
eyebrows, and her extraordinary expression of uncompromising
aloofness.
"She's just enjoying it, that's what she's doing!" said Hilda to herself, of
Mrs. Grant.
And the fact was that Mrs. Grant, quite unconsciously, did appear to be
savouring the catastrophe with pleasure. Although paralytic strokes
were more prevalent at that period than now, they constituted even then
a striking dramatic event. Moreover, they were considered as direct
visitations of God. Also there was something mysteriously and
agreeably impressive in the word 'paralytic,' which people would repeat
for the pleasure of repeating it. Mrs. Grant, over whose mighty breast
flowed a black mantle suited to the occasion, used the word again and
again as she narrated afresh for Hilda the history of the stroke.
"Yes," she said, "they came and fetched me out of my bed at three
o'clock this morning; and would you believe me, though he couldn't

hardly speak, the money and this here book was all waiting in his desk,
and he would have me come with it! And him sixty-seven! He always
was like that. And I do believe if he'd been paralysed on both sides
instead of only all down his right side, and speechless too, he'd ha'
made me understand as I must come here at two o'clock. If I'm a bit late
it's because I was kept at home with my son Enoch; he's got a whitlow
that's worrying the life out of him, our Enoch has."
Mrs. Lessways warmly deprecated any apology for inexactitude, and
wiped her sympathetic eyes.
"It's all over with father," Mrs. Grant resumed. "Doctor hinted to me
quiet-like as he'd never leave his bed again. He's laid himself down for
the rest of his days.... And he'd been warned! He'd had warnings. But
there!..."
Mrs. Grant contemplated with solemn gleeful satisfaction