I In the evening dimness of old Mrs. Maldon's sitting-room¹ stood the youthful virgin², Rachel Louisa Fleckring. The prominent fact about her appearance was that she wore an apron³. Not one of those white, waist-tied aprons⁴, with or without bibs, worn proudly, uncompromisingly, by a previous generation of unaspiring housewives and housegirls! But an immense blue pinafore-apron, covering the whole front of the figure except the head, hands, and toes. Its virtues⁵ were that it fully⁶ protected the most fragile frock against all the perils⁷ of the kitchen; and that it could be slipped on or off in one second, without any manipulation of tapes, pins, or buttons and buttonholes—for it had no fastenings of any sort and merely yawned behind. In one second the drudge⁹ could be transformed into the elegant infanta of boudoirs, and vice¹⁰ versa. To suit the coquetry of the age the pinafore was enriched with certain flouncings, which, however, only intensified¹¹ its unshapen ugliness.
 
On a plain, aged¹³" target="_blank">middle-aged¹² woman such a pinafore would have been intolerable to the sensitive eye. But on Rachel it simply had a piquant¹⁴ and perverse¹⁵ air, because she was young, with the incomparable, the unique charm of comely¹⁶ adolescence¹⁷; it simply excited the imagination to conceive the exquisite¹⁸ treasures of contour and tint¹⁹ and texture²⁰ which it veiled. Do not infer that Rachel was a coquette. Although comely, she was homely—a "downright" girl, scorning and hating all manner of pretentiousness²¹. She had a fine best dress, and when she put it on everybody knew that it was her best; a stranger would have known. Whereas of a coquette none but her intimate companions can say whether she is wearing best or second-best on a given high occasion. Rachel used the pinafore-apron only with her best dress, and her reason for doing so was the sound, sensible reason that it was the usual and proper thing to do.
 
 
She opened a drawer of the new Sheraton sideboard, and took from it a metal tube that imitated brass²², about a foot long and an inch in diameter, covered with black lettering. This tube, when she had removed its top, showed a number of thin wax tapers²⁴ in various colours. She chose one, lit it neatly²⁵ at the red fire, and then, standing²⁶ on a footstool in the middle of the room, stretched all her body and limbs upward in order to reach the gas. If the tap had been half an inch higher or herself half an inch shorter, she would have had to stand on a chair instead of a footstool; and the chair would have had to be brought out of the kitchen and carried back again. But Heaven had watched over this detail. The gas-fitting consisted of a flexible pipe, resembling a thick black cord, and swinging at the end of it a specimen²⁷ of that wonderful and blessed contrivance, the inverted²⁸ incandescent²⁹ mantle³⁰ within a porcelain³¹ globe: the whole recently adopted by Mrs. Maldon as the dangerous final word of modern invention. It was safer to ignite the gas from the orifice at the top of the globe; but even so there was always a mild disconcerting explosion, followed by a few moments' uncertainty³² as to whether or not the gas had "lighted properly."
 
When the deed was accomplished³³ and the room suddenly bright with soft illumination, Mrs. Maldon murmured—
 
"That's better!"
 
She was sitting in her arm-chair by the glitteringly set table, which, instead of being in the centre of the floor under the gas, had a place near the bow-window—advantageous in the murky³⁴ daytime of the Five Towns, and inconvenient³⁵ at night. The table might well have been shifted at night to a better position in regard to the gas. But it never was. Somehow for Mrs. Maldon the carpet was solid concrete, and the legs of the table immovably embedded³⁶ therein.
 
Rachel, gentle-footed, kicked the footstool away to its lair³⁷ under the table, and simultaneously³⁸ extinguished the taper²³, which she dropped with a scarce audible click into a vase on the mantelpiece. Then she put the cover on the tube with another faintest click, restored the tube to its drawer with a rather louder click, and finally, with a click still louder, pushed the drawer home. All these slight sounds were familiar to Mrs. Maldon; they were part of her regular night life, part of an unconsciously loved ritual, and they contributed in their degree to her placid³⁹ happiness.
 
"Now the blinds, my dear!" said she.
 
The exhortation⁴⁰ was ill-considered, and Rachel controlled a gesture of amicable⁴¹ impatience⁴². For she had not paused after closing the drawer; she was already on her way across the room to the window when Mrs. Maldon said, "Now the blinds, my dear!" The fact was that Mrs. Maldon measured the time between the lighting⁴³ of gas and the drawing down of blinds by tenths of a second—such was her fear lest in that sinister⁴⁴ interval⁴⁵ the whole prying⁴⁶ town might magically gather in the street outside and peer into the secrets of her inculpable existence.
 
 
II
When the blinds and curtains had been arranged for privacy, Mrs. Maldon sighed securely and picked up her crocheting⁴⁷. Rachel rested her hands on the table, which was laid for a supper for four, and asked in a firm, frank voice whether there was anything else.
 
"Because, if not," Rachel added, "I'll just take off my pinafore and wash my hands."
 
Mrs. Maldon looked up benevolently⁴⁸ and nodded in quick agreement. It was such apparently⁵⁰ trifling⁵¹ gestures, eager and generous, that endeared the old lady to Rachel, giving her the priceless sensation of being esteemed⁵² and beloved. Her gaze lingered on her aged employer with affection and with profound respect. Mrs. Maldon made a striking, tall, slim figure, sitting erect⁵³ in tight black, with the right side of her long, prominent nose in the full gaslight and the other heavily shadowed. Her hair was absolutely black at over seventy; her eyes were black and glowing, and she could read and do coarse crocheting without spectacles. All her skin, especially round about the eyes, was yellowish brown and very deeply wrinkled indeed; a decrepit⁵⁴, senile skin, which seemed to contradict the youth of her pose and her glance. The cast of her features was benign⁵⁵. She had passed through desolating⁵⁶ and violent experiences, and then through a long, long period of withdrawn⁵⁷ tranquillity⁵⁹; and from end to end of her life she had consistently thought the best of all men, refusing to recognize evil and assuming the existence of good. Every one of the millions of her kind thoughts had helped to mould the expression of her countenance⁶⁰. The expression was definite now, fixed⁶¹, intensely characteristic after so many decades, and wherever it was seen it gave pleasure and by its enchantment⁶² created goodness and goodwill—even out of their opposites. Such was the life-work of Mrs. Maldon.
 
Her eyes embraced the whole room. They did not, as the phrase is, "beam" approval; for the act of beaming involves a sort of ecstasy⁶³, and Mrs. Maldon was too dignified⁶⁴ for ecstasy. But they displayed a mild and proud contentment as she said—
 
"I'm sure it's all very nice."
 
It was. The table crowded with porcelain, crystal, silver, and flowers, and every object upon it casting a familiar curved shadow on the whiteness of the damask toward the window! The fresh crimson⁶⁵ and blues⁶⁶ of the everlasting⁶⁷ Turkey carpet (Turkey carpet being the ne plus ultra of carpetry in the Five Towns, when that carpet was bought, just as sealskin was the ne plus ultra of all furs)! The silken-polished sideboard, strange to the company, but worthy⁶⁸ of it, and exhibiting a due sense of its high destiny! The sombre bookcase and corner cupboard, darkly glittering! The Chesterfield sofa, broad, accepting, acquiescent⁶⁹! The flashing brass fender and copper⁷⁰ scuttle⁷¹! The comfortably reddish walls, with their pictures—like limpets on the face of precipices⁷²! The new-whitened ceiling! In the midst the incandescent lamp that hung like the moon in heaven!... And then the young, sturdy girl, standing over the old woman and breathing out the very breath of life, vitalizing everything, rejuvenating⁷³ the old woman!
 
Mrs. Maldon's sitting-room had a considerable renown⁷⁴ among her acquaintance, not only for its peculiar⁷⁵ charm, which combined and reconciled the tastes of two very different generations, but also for its radiant cleanness. There are many clean houses in the Five Towns, using the adjective in the relative sense in which the Five Towns is forced by chimneys to use it. But Mrs. Maldon's sitting-room (save for the white window-curtains, which had to accept the common grey fate of white window-curtains in the district) was clean in the country-side sense, almost in the Dutch sense. The challenge of its cleanness gleamed on every polished surface, victorious⁷⁶ in the unending battle against the horrible contagion⁷⁷ of foul⁷⁸ industries. Mrs. Maldon's friends would assert that the state of that sitting-room "passed" them, or "fair passed" them, and she would receive their ever-amazed compliments with modesty⁷⁹. But behind her benevolent⁴⁹ depreciation⁸⁰ she would be blandly⁸¹ saying to herself: "Yes, I'm scarcely surprised it passes you—seeing the way you housewives let things go on here." The word "here" would be faintly emphasized in her mind, as no native would have emphasized it.
 
Rachel shared the general estimate of the sitting-room. She appreciated its charm, and admitted to herself that her first vision of it, rather less than a month before, had indeed given her a new and startling ideal of cleanliness. On that occasion it had been evident, from Mrs. Maldon's physical exhaustion⁸², that the housemistress had made an enormous personal effort to dazzle and inspire her new "lady companion," which effort, though detected and perhaps scorned by Rachel, had nevertheless succeeded in its aim. With a certain presence of mind Rachel had feigned⁸³ to remark nothing miraculous⁸⁴ in the condition of the room. Appropriating the new ideal instantly, she had on the first morning of her service "turned out" the room before breakfast, well knowing that it must have been turned out on the previous day. Dumbfounded for a few moments, Mrs. Maldon had at length said, in her sweet and cordial benevolence⁸⁵, "I'm glad to see we think alike about cleanliness." And Rachel had replied with an air at once deferential⁸⁶, sweet, and yet casual, "Oh, of course, Mrs. Maldon!" Then they measured one another in a silent exchange. Mrs. Maldon was aware that she had by chance discovered a pearl—yes, a treasure beyond pearls. And Rachel, too, divined the high value of her employer, and felt within the stirrings of a passionate⁸⁷ loyalty⁸⁸ to her.
 
 
III
And yet, during the three weeks and a half of their joint⁸⁹ existence, Rachel's estimate of Mrs. Maldon had undergone certain subtle modifications⁹⁰.
 
At first, somewhat overawed, Rachel had seen in her employer the Mrs. Maldon of the town's legend, which legend had travelled to Rachel as far as Knype, whence she sprang. That is to say, one of the great ladies of Bursley, ranking in the popular regard with Mrs. Clayton-Vernon, the leader of society, Mrs. Sutton, the philanthropist, and Mrs. Hamps, the powerful religious bully⁹¹. She had been impressed by her height (Rachel herself being no lamp-post), her carriage, her superlative dignity, her benevolence of thought, and above all by her aristocratic Southern accent. After eight-and-forty years of the Five Towns, Mrs. Maldon had still kept most of that Southern accent—so intimidating⁹² to the rough, broad talkers of the district, who take revenge by mocking it among themselves, but for whom it will always possess the thrilling prestige of high life.
 
And then day by day Rachel had discovered that great ladies are, after all, human creatures, strangely resembling other human creatures. And Mrs. Maldon slowly became for her an old woman of seventy-two, with unquestionably wondrous⁹³ hair, but failing in strength and in faculties⁹⁴; and it grew merely pathetic to Rachel that Mrs. Maldon should force herself always to sit straight upright. As for Mrs. Maldon's charitableness, Rachel could not deny that she refused to think evil, and yet it was plain that at bottom Mrs. Maldon was not much deceived about people: in which apparent inconsistency there hid a slight disturbing suggestion of falseness that mysteriously fretted⁹⁶ the downright Rachel.
 
Again, beneath Mrs. Maldon's modesty concerning the merits of her sitting-room Rachael soon fancied that she could detect traces of an ingenuous⁹⁸ and possibly senile "house-pride," which did more than fret⁹⁷ the lady companion; it faintly offended her. That one should be proud of a possession or of an achievement was admissible, but that one should fail to conceal⁹⁹ the pride absolutely was to Rachel, with her Five Towns character, a sign of weakness, a sign of the soft South. Lastly, Mrs. Maldon had, it transpired¹⁰⁰, her "ways"; for example, in the matter of blinds and in the matter of tapers. She would actually insist on the gas being lighted with a taper; a paper spill, which was just as good and better, seemed to ruffle¹⁰¹ her benign placidity¹⁰²: and she was funnily economical with matches. Rachel had never seen a taper before, and could not conceive where the old lady managed to buy the things.
 
In short, with admiration¹⁰³ almost undiminished, and with a rapidly growing love and loyalty, Rachel had arrived at the point of feeling glad that she, a mature, capable, sagacious, and strong woman, was there to watch over the last years of the waning¹⁰⁴ and somewhat peculiar old lady.
 
Mrs. Maldon did not see the situation from quite the same angle. She did not, for example, consider herself to be in the least peculiar, but, on the contrary, a very normal woman. She had always used tapers; she could remember the period when every one used tapers. In her view tapers were far more genteel and less dangerous than the untidy, flaring¹⁰⁵ spill, which she abhorred¹⁰⁶ as a vulgarity. As for matches, frankly¹⁰⁷ it would not have occurred to her to waste a match when fire was available. In the matter of her sharp insistence¹⁰⁸ on drawn⁵⁸ blinds at night, domestic privacy seemed to be one of the fundamental decencies of life—simply that! And as for house-pride, she considered that she locked away her fervent¹⁰⁹ feeling for her parlour in a manner marvellous and complete.
 
No one could or ever would guess the depth of her attachment¹¹⁰ to that sitting-room, nor the extent to which it engrossed¹¹¹ her emotional life. And yet she had only occupied the house for fourteen years out of the forty-five years of her widowhood, and the furniture had at intervals¹¹² been renewed (for Mrs. Maldon would on no account permit herself to be old-fashioned). Indeed, she had had five different sitting-rooms in five different houses since her husband's death. No matter. They were all the same sitting-room, all rendered identical by the mysterious force of her dreamy meditations¹¹³ on the past. And, moreover, sundry¹¹⁴ important articles had remained constant to preserve unbroken the chain that linked her to her youth. The table which Rachel had so nicely laid was the table at which Mrs. Maldon had taken her first meal as mistress of a house. Her husband had carved mutton at it, and grumbled¹¹⁵ about the consistency⁹⁵ of toast; her children had spilt jam on its cloth. And when on Sunday nights she wound up the bracket-clock on the mantelpiece, she could see and hear a handsome young man in a long frock-coat and a large shirt-front and a very thin black tie winding¹¹⁶ it up too—her husband—on Sunday nights. And she could simultaneously see another handsome young man winding it up—her son.
 
Her pictures were admired.
 
"Your son painted this water-colour, did he not, Mrs. Maldon?"
 
"Yes, my son Athelstan."
 
"How gifted he must have been!"
 
"Yes, the best judges say he showed very remarkable¹¹⁷ promise. It's fading, I fear. I ought to cover it up, but somehow I can't fancy covering it up—"
 
The hand that had so remarkably¹¹⁸ promised had lain mouldering¹¹⁹ for a quarter of a century. Mrs. Maldon sometimes saw it, fleshless, on a cage-like skeleton in the dark grave. The next moment she would see herself tending its chilblains.
 
And if she was not peculiar, neither was she waning. No! Seventy-two—but not truly old! How could she be truly old when she could see, hear, walk a mile without stopping, eat anything whatever, and dress herself unaided? And that hair of hers! Often she was still a young wife, or a young widow. She was not preparing for death; she had prepared for death in the seventies. She expected to live on in calm satisfaction through indefinite decades. She savoured life pleasantly, for its daily security was impregnable. She had forgotten grief.
 
When she looked up at Rachel and benevolently nodded to her, she saw a girl of line character, absolutely trustworthy, very devoted¹²⁰, very industrious¹²¹, very capable, intelligent, cheerful—in fact, a splendid girl, a girl to be enthusiastic about! But such a mere⁸ girl! A girl with so much to learn! So pathetically young and inexperienced and positive and sure of herself! The looseness of her limbs, the unconscious abrupt¹²² freedom of her gestures, the waviness¹²³ of her auburn hair, the candour of her glance, the warmth of her indignation against injustice¹²⁴ and dishonesty, the capricious and sensitive flowings of blood to her smooth cheeks, the ridiculous wise compressings of her lips, the rise and fall of her rich and innocent bosom—these phenomena¹²⁵ touched Mrs. Maldon and occasionally made her want to cry.
 
Thought she: "I was never so young as that at twenty-two! At twenty-two I had had Mary!" The possibility that in spite of having had Mary (who would now have been fifty, but for death) she had as a fact been approximately as young as that at twenty-two did not ever present itself to the waning and peculiar old lady. She was glad that she, a mature and profoundly experienced woman, in full possession of all her faculties, was there to watch over the development of the lovable, affectionate, and impulsive¹²⁶ child.

《How to Live on 24 Hours a Day》