 CHAPTER 1 OF RISEMAN STEPPS On an autumn afternoon of 1919, a hatless man with a slight limp might have been observed ascending the gentle broad eclivity of Riseman's steps, which lead from King's Cross Road up to Riseman's Square in the great metropolitan industrial district of Clarkinwell. He was rather less than stout and rather more than slim. His thin hair had begun to turn from black to grey, but his complexion was still fairly good, and the rich very red lips under a small grayish moustache and over a short pointed beard were quite remarkable in their suggestion of vitality. The brown eyes seemed a little small, they peered at near objects. As to his age, an experienced and cautious observer of mankind without previous knowledge of this man would have said no more than that he must be past forty. The man himself was certainly entitled to say that he was in the prime of life. He wore a neat dark grey suit which must have been carefully folded at nights, a low white starched collar and a made black tie that completely hid the shirt front. The shirt cuffs could not be seen. He was shot in old black leather slippers, well polished. He gave an appearance of quiet, intelligent, refined and kindly prosperity, and in his little eyes shone the varying lights of emotional sensitiveness. Riseman's steps, twenty in number, are divided by a half landing into two series of ten. The man stopped on the half landing and swung round with a casual air of purposelessness, which however concealed imperfectly a definite design. The suspicious and cynical, slyly watching his movements, would have thought, what's that fellow after? A man interested in a strange woman acquires one equine attribute. He can look in two directions at once. This man could and did look in two directions at once. Below him and straight in front he saw a cobbled section of King's Cross Road, a hell of noise and dust and dirt, with the county of London tram cars and motor lorries and heavy horse-drawn vans sweeping north and south in a vast clanger of iron thudding and grating on iron and granite beneath the bedroom windows of a defenceless populace. On the far side of the road were conspicuous to the right the huge red Nell Gwynn tavern set on the site of Nell's still-huge palace and displaying printed exhortations to buy fruity Portuguese wines and to attend meetings of workers, and conspicuous to the left red routen house surpassing in immensity even Nell's vanished palace, divided into hundreds and hundreds of clean cubicles for the accommodation of the defeated and the futile at a few coppers a night and displaying on its iron facade a newspaper promise to divulge the names of the winners of horse races. Nearer to the man who could look two ways lay the tiny open space not open to vehicular traffic which was officially included in the title Reissmann's Steps. At the south corner of this was a second hand bookseller's shop and at the north an abandoned and decaying Mission Hall both these are butted on Kingscross Road. Then on either hand farther from the thoroughfare and nearer the steps came a few private houses with carefully-curtained windows and one other shop a confectioner's and next also on either hand two business yards full of lorries, goods, gear and the hum of hidden machinery. When the earth itself faintly throbbed for to the vibrations of traffic and manufacture the underground railway running beneath Reissmann's Steps added the muffled uproar of its subterranean electric trains. While gazing full at the spectacle of Kingscross Road the man on the steps peered downwards on his right at the confectioner's shop which held the woman who had begun to inflame him. He failed to describe her but his thoughts pleasantly held her image and she held his thoughts. He dreamed that one day he would share with her sympathetic soul his own vision of this wonderful Clarkinwell in which he lived and she now lived. He would explain to her eager ear that once Clarkinwell was a murmuring green land of medicinal springs, wells, streams with mills on their banks, nunneries, aristocrats and holy clerks who presented mystery plays. Yes he would tell her about the dream of Adam and Eve being performed and the costume of Adam and Eve to a simple and unshucked people. Why not? She was a widow and no longer young. And he would point out to her how the brown backs of the houses which fronted on Kingscross Road resembled the buttressed walls of a mighty fortress and how the grim ochreish unwindowed backs of the houses of Reiserman Square behind him looked just like lofty medieval keeps. And he would relate to her the story of the palace of Nell Gwynn contemporary of Louise Lavallière and dividing with Louise the honour of being the first and most ingenuous of modern vampires. However before had he had the idea of unfolding his mind on these enthralling subjects to a woman. Rain began to fall. It fell on the bargain books exposed in a stand outside the bookseller's shop. The man did not move. Then a swift gentlemanly person stepped suddenly out of Kingscross Road into the approach to the steps and after a moment's hesitation entered the shop. The man on the steps quietly limped down and followed the potential customer into the shop which was his own. End of chapter 1 Chapter 2 of Reiserman's Steps by Arnold Bennett This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Antoniogus. The Customer The shop had one window in Kingscross Road but the entrance with another window was in Reiserman's Steps. The Kingscross Road window held only cheap editions in their paper jackets of popular modern novels such as those of Ethel M. Dell, Charles Garvis, Zane Gray, Florence Barkley, Nat Gould and Gene Stratton Porter. The side window is set out with old books, first editions, illustrated editions and complete library editions in Carrefour, Morocco of renowned and serious writers whose works indispensable to the collections of self-respecting book gentlemen as distinguished from bookmen have passed through decades of criticism into the impregnable paradise of eternal esteem. The side window was bound to attract the attention of collectors and bibliomaniacs. It seemed strangely even fatally out of place in that dingy and sordid neighborhood where existence was a dangerous and difficult adventure in almost frantic quest of food, drink and shelter, where the familiar and beloved landmarks were public houses and where the immense majority of the population read nothing but sporting prognostications and results and on Sunday mornings accounts of bloody crimes and juicy sexual irregularities. Nevertheless the shot was in fact well placed in Reissmann's steps. It had a picturesque air and Reissmann's steps also had a picturesque air with all its outworn chaviness, grime and decay. The steps leading up to Reissmann's square, the glimpse of the square at the top with its church bearing a massive cross on the west front, the curious perpendicular effects of the tall blind ocherish houses. All these touched the imagination of every man who had in his composition any unusually strong admixture of the universal human passion, love of the past. The shop reinforced the appeal of its environment. The shop was in its right appropriate place. For the secret race of collectors always ravenously desiring to get something for much less than its real value, the window in Reissmann's steps was irresistible. And all manner of people, including book collectors, passed along King's Cross Road in the course of a day, and all the collectors upon catching sight of the shop exclaimed in their hearts what a queer spot for a bookshop, bargains. Moreover the business was of old date and therefore had firmly established connections quite extra local. Scores of knowing persons knew about it and were proud of their knowledge. What, they would say, with effect in surprise to acquaintances of their own tastes, you don't know Reissmann's steps, King's Cross Road, best hunting ground in London. The name Reissmann on a signboard, whose paint had been flaking off for twenty years, was to enhance the prestige of the shop, for it proved ancient local associations. Reissmann must be of the true ancient blood of Clarkinwell. The customer with his hands behind him and his legs somewhat apart was staring at a case of calf bindings. A short carefully dressed man, dapper and alert, he had the air neither of a bookman nor of a member of the upper middle class. Sorry to keep you waiting, I just had to slip out and of nobody else here, said the bookseller quietly and courteously, but with no trace of obsequiousness. Not at all, replied the customer, I was very interested in the books here. The bookseller, like many shopkeepers, a fairly sure judge of people, perceived instantly that the customers to have acquired deportment from somewhere after adolescence, together with the art of dressing. There was abruptness in his voice, and the fact was that he had learned manners above his original station in a strange place, Palestine under Allenby. I suppose you haven't got such a thing as a Shakespeare in stock, I mean a pretty good one. What sort of a Shakespeare? I've got a number of Shakespeare's. Well, I don't quite know, I've been thinking for a long time I ought to have a Shakespeare. Illustrated, asked the bookseller, who had now accurately summed up his client, as one who might know something of the world, but who was a simpleton in regard to books. I really haven't thought. The customer gave a slight good-humoured snigger. I suppose it would be nice to have pictures to look at. I have a good clean boydell and a docile, but perhaps I'd be rather big. You can't hold them except on a desk or on your knee. Ah, that wouldn't do. Oh, not at all. The customer, who was non-plus by the names mentioned, snatched at the opportunity given to decline them. I've got nice little edition in eight volumes, very handy, with outline drawings by Flaxman, and nicely printed. You don't often see it, not like any other Shakespeare I know of. Quite cheap too. I'll see if I can put my hand on it. The shop was full of bays formed by bookshelves protruding at right angles from the walls. The first bay was well-lighted and tidy, but the others, as they receded into the gloomy backward of the shop, were darker and darker and untidier and untidier. The effect was of mysterious and vast populations of books imprisoned forever in everlasting shade, chained, deprived of air and sun and movement, hopeless, resigned, marterised. The bookseller stepped over piles of cast books into the farthest bay, which was carpeted a foot thick with a disorder of volumes, and lighted a candle. You don't choose the electric light in that corner, said the client briskly following. He pointed to a dust-covered lamp in the grimy ceiling. Few's gone. They do go. The bookseller answered blandly, and the blandness was not in the least impaired by his private thought that the customer's remark came near to impudence. Searching he went on. We're not quite straight here yet. The truth is we haven't been straight since 1914. Dear me, five years. Another piece of good-humoured cheek. I suppose you couldn't step in tomorrow, the bookseller suggested, after considerable groping and spilling of tallow. Freed not, said the custom with polite reluctance. Very busy. I was just passing, and it struck me. The Globe edition is very good, you know. Standard text, Macmillan's. Nothing better of the sort. I could sell you that for three and six. Sounds promising, said the customer brightly. The bookseller blew out the candle and dusted one hand with the other. Of course, it's not illustrated. Oh, well, after all, the Shakespeare's for reading, isn't it? Said the customer, for whom Shakespeare was a volume, not a man. While the bookseller was wrapping up the Green Globe Shakespeare in a creased bit of brown paper with an addressed label on it, he put the label inside. The customer cleared his throat and said with a nervous laugh, I think you employ here a young charwoman, don't you? The bookseller looked up in mild surprise, peering. He was startled and alarmed, but his feeling seldom appeared on his face. I do. He thought, what is this inquisitive fellow getting at? It's not what I call manners, anyhow. Her name's Elsie, I think. I don't know her surname. The bookseller went on with his packing and said not. As I'm here, I thought I might as well ask you, the customer continued with a fresh nervous laugh. I ought to explain that my name's Rasty, Dr. Rasty of Middleton Square. Dare say you've heard of me. From your name, your family belongs to the district. Yes, agreed the bookseller. I do. He was very proud of the name Riceman, and he did not explain that it was the name only of his deceased uncle, and that his own name was Earl Forward. I've got a lad in my service, the doctor continued, shell-shot case. He's improving, but I find he's running after this girl Elsie. Quite OK, of course, most respectable. Only it's putting him off his work, and I just thought as I happened to be in here, you wouldn't mind me asking you about her. Is she a good girl? I'd like him to marry, if it's the right sort. Might do him a lot of good. She's right enough, answered the bookseller calmly and indifferently, of nothing against her. Had her long? Oh, some time. The bookseller said no more. Beneath his impassive and courteous exterior he hid a sudden spasm of profound agitation. The next minute Dr. Rastey departed, but immediately returned. Afraid your books outside are getting a bit wet, he cried from the doorway. Thank you. Thank you. Said the bookseller mildly and unperturbed, thinking you must be a managing and interfering kind of man. Can't I run my own business? Some booksellers kept waterproof covers for their outside display, but this one did not. He had found in practice that a few drops of rain did no harm to low-priced volumes. End of chapter 2 Chapter 3 of Rysam and Steps by Arnold Bennett This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Antoniogus The bookseller at home At the back of the rather spacious and somber shop, which by reason of the bays of bookshelves seemed larger than it really was, came a small room with a doorway but no door into the shop. This was the proprietor's den. Seated at his desk therein he could see through a sort of irregular lane of books to the bright oblong of the main entrance, which was seldom closed. There were more books to the cubic foot in the private room even than in the shop. They rose in tears to the ceiling and they lay in mounds on the floor. They also covered most of the flat desk and all the windowsill. Some were perched on the silent grandfather's clock, the sole piece of furniture except the desk a safe and two chairs and a step ladder for reaching the higher shelves. The bookseller retired to this room as to a retreat upon the departure of Dr. Raster and looked about, fingering one thing or another, in a mild amicable manner and disclosing not the least annoying still humor, worry or pressure of work. He sat down to a cumbersome typewriter on the desk and after looking at some correspondence inserted a sheet of cheap letter paper into the machine. The printed letterhead on the sheet was T. T. Reisserman but in fulfilment of the new law the name of the actual proprietor, Henry Earl Forward had been added in violet with an India rubber stamp and crookedly. Mr. Earl Forward began to tap placidly and very deliberately as one who had the whole of eternity before him for the accomplishment of his task. A little bell rang. The machine dated from the age when typewriters had this contrivance for informing the operator that the end of a line would be reached in two or three more taps. Then a great clatter occurred at the window and the room became dark. The blue-black blind had slipped down discharging thick clouds of dust. Dear, dear, murmured Mr. Earl Forward groping towards the window. He failed to raise the blind again. The cord was broken. As he coughed gently in the dust he could not recall that the blind had been once drawn since the end of the war. I must have that seen too, he murmured, and turned on the electric light over the desk. The porcelain shade of the lamp wore a heavy layer of dust which, however, had not arrived from the direction of the blind being the product of slow, secular accumulation. Mr. Earl Forward regretted to be compelled to use electric current and rightly considering the price but the occasion was quite special. He could not see the tap by a candle. Many a time on winter evenings he had gently told an unimportant customer in that room that a fuse had gone and lighted a candle. He was a solitary man and content in his solitude. At any rate he had been content until the sight of the newly-come lady across the way began to disturb the calm deep of his mind. He was a man of routine and happy in routine. Dr. Raster's remarks about his charwoman were seriously upsetting him. He foresaw the possibility if the charwoman should respond to the alleged passion of her suitor of a complete derangement of his existence. But he was not a man to go out to meet trouble. He had faith in time which for him was endless and inexhaustible and even in this grave matter of his domesticity he could calmly reflect that if the lady across the way whom he had not yet spoken to should favour him he might be in a position to ignore the vagaries of all char women. He was in fact a very great practical philosopher. Afternacious it is true in his ideas but nevertheless profoundly aware of the wisdom of compromising with destiny. Twenty-one years earlier he had been a placid and happy clerk in an insurance office anticipating an existence devoted only to fire risks. Destiny had sent him one evening to his uncle, T. T. Reisserman, in Reisserman's steps and into the very room where he was now tapping. Reisserman took to him seeing in the young man a resemblance to himself. Reisserman began to talk about his well-loved Clarkinwell and especially about what was for him the marvellous outstanding event in the Clarkinwell history namely the construction of the underground railway from Clarkinwell to Euston Square. Henry had never forgotten the old man's almost melodramatic recital so full of astonishing and quaint incidents. The old man swore that exactly one thousand lawyers had signed a petition in favour of the line and exactly one thousand butchers had signed another similar petition. All Clarkinwell was mad for the line but when the construction began all Clarkinwell trembled. The earth opened in the most unexpected and undesirable places. Streets had to be barred to horse traffic pavements resembled switchbacks. Hundreds of houses had to be propped and along the line of the tunnel itself scores of houses were suddenly vacated lest they should bury their occupants. The sacred workhouse came near to dissolution and was only saved by inconceivable timbrings. The still more sacred Cobham's head public house was first shaken and torn with cracks and then inundated by the bursting of the New River Main and the landlady died of shock. The thousand lawyers and the thousand butchers wished they had never humbly prayed for the accursed line and all this was as nought compared to the culminating catastrophe. There was a vast excavation at the mouth of the tunnel near Clarkinwell Green. It was supported by enormous brick piers and by scaffoldings erected upon the most prodigious beams that the wood trade could produce. One night, a spring Sunday in 1862 the year of the second great exhibition the adjacent earth was observed to be gently sinking and then some cellars filled with foul water. Alarm was raised. Rareware officials and metropolitan officers rushed together and for three days and three nights laboured to avert a supreme calamity. Huge dams were built to strengthen the subterranean masonry. Nothing was left undone. Vein effort. On the Wednesday the pavement sank definitely. The earth quaked. The entire populace fled to survey the scene of horror from safety. The terrific scaffolding and beams were flung like firewood into the air and fell with awful crashes. The populace screamed at the thought of workmen entombed and massacred. A silence. Then the great brick piers fifty feet in height moved bodily. The whole bottom of the excavation moved in one mass. The dark and fetid liquid appeared oozing, rolling, surging, smashing everything in its resistless track rushed into the mouth of the new tunnel. The crown of the arch of the mighty fleet sewer had broken. Men wept at the enormity and completeness of the disaster. But the underground railway was begun afresh and finished and grandly inaugurated and at first the public fought for seats in its trains and then could not be persuaded to enter its trains because they were uninhabitable and so on and so on. Old fat riceman told his tale with such force and fire that he had a stroke. In foolishly trying to lift the man Henry had slipped and hurt his knee. The next morning riceman was dead. Henry inherited. A stranger episode, but not stranger than thousands of episodes in the lives of plain people. Henry knew nothing of book-selling. He learned. His philosophic placidity helped him. He had assistants, one after another, but liked none of them. When the last one went to the Great War Henry gave him no successor. He managed and in addition did Ernest's sleep-denying work as a limping special constable. And now in 1919 here he was, an institution. He heard a footstep and in the gloom of his shop made out the surprising apparition of his charwoman and he was afraid and lost his philosophy. He felt that she had arrived specially as she would being a quaint and conscientious young woman to warn him with proper solemnity that she would soon belong to another. Undoubtedly the breezin' interfering Dr. Raster had come in not to buy a Shakespeare inquire about Elsie. Shakespeare was merely the excuse for Elsie. By the way that mislaid flaxman illustrated edition ought to be hunted up soon. Tomorrow, if possible. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of Riseman's Steps by Arnold Bennett This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Anthony Ogres. Elsie. Now, now, Elsie, my girl, what's this? What is it? Mr. Earleforth would spoke benevolently but for him rather quickly and abruptly and Elsie was intimidated. She worked for Mr. Earleforth only in the mornings and to be in the shop in the darkening afternoon made her feel quite queer and apologetic. It was almost as if she had never been in the shop before and had no right there. As the two approached each other the habitual heavenly kindness in the girl's gaze seemed to tranquilise Mr. Earleforth who knew intimately her expression and her disposition. And though he was still disturbed by apprehension he found as usual a mysterious comfort in her presence and this influence of hers exercised itself even upon his fear of losing her forever. A strange exciting emotional equilibrium became established in the twilight of the shop. Elsie was a strongly built winch, plump, fairly tall with a striking free powerful carriage of one bred to various and hard manual labour. Her arms and bust were superb. She had blue-black hair and dark blue eyes and a pretty curve of the lips. The face was square but soft from the constant drawing together of the eyebrows into a pucker of the forehead and the dropping of the corners of the large mouth it could be deduced that she was, if anything, over-conscientious with a tendency to worry about the right performance of her duty. But this warping of her features was too slight to be unpleasant. It was indeed a reassurance. She was 23 years of age. Solitude, adversity and deprivation made her look older. For four years she had been a widow, childless after two nights of marriage and romance with a youth who went to the East in 1915 to die of dysentery. Her clothes were cheap, dirty, slattily and dilapidated. Over a soiled white apron she wore a terribly coarse apron of sacking. This apron was an offence. It was an outrage. But not to her. She regarded as part of a uniform and such an apron was, in fact, part of the regular uniform of thousands of women in Clarkinwell. If else she was slattily dirty and without any grace of adornment the reason was that she had absolutely no inducement or example to be otherwise. It was her natural, respectable state to be so. It's for Mrs. Arb, sir. Elsie began. Mrs. Arb questioned a miss rail forward puzzled for an instant by the unfamiliar name. Yes, yes, I know. Well, what have you got to do with Mrs. Arb? I worked for her in my afternoon, sir. But I never knew this. I only began today, sir. She sent me across seeing as I'm engaged here to see if you've got a good, cheap, secondhand cookery book. Mr. Earl Forward's demeanour reflected no change in his mood. But Elsie had raised him into heaven. It was not to give him notice that she had come. She would stay with him. She would stay forever or until he had no need of her. And she would make a link with Mrs. Arb, the new proprietress of the confectioner's shop across the way. Of course the name of the new proprietress was Arb. He had not thought of her name. He had thought only of herself. Even now he had no notion of her Christian name. Oh, so she wants a cookery book, does she? What sort of a cookery book? She said she's thinking of going in for sandwiches, sir, and things, she said, and having a sign put up for it, snacks-like. The word snacks gave Mr. Earl Forward an idea. He walked across to what he called the modern side of the shop. In the course of the war, when food rations stay at homes, really had to stay at home, and having nothing else to do while waiting for air raids, took to literature in desperation. He had done a very large trade in cheap editions of novels, and quite a good trade in cheap cookery books that profess to teach rationed housewives how to make substance out of shadow. Eventually rubbing his little beard, he stood and gazed rather absently at a shelf of small paper-protected volumes while else he waited with submission. Silence within, but the dulled and still hard rumble of ceaseless motion beyond the book-screened windows. A spell, an enchantment upon these two human beings, both commonplace and both marvellous, bound together, yet incurious each of the other and incurious of the mysteries in which they and all their fellows lived. Mr. Earl Forward never asked the meaning of life, for he had a lifelong, rolling passion. Elsie never asked the meaning of life, for she was dominated and obsessed by a tremendous instinct to serve. Mr. Earl Forward, though a kindly man, had persuaded himself that Elsie would go uncharring until she died without any romantic recompense from fate for her early tragedy, and he was well satisfied that this should be so. Because the result would inconvenience him, he desired that she should not fall in love again and marry. He preferred that she should spend her strength and youth and should grow old for him in sterile celibacy. He had absolutely no eye for the exciting effect of the white and the brown apron strings crossing and recrossing round her magnificent waist. And Elsie knew only that Mr. Earl Forward had material wants, which he satisfied as well as she could. She did not guess, nor come within a hundred miles of guessing, that he was subject to dreams and ideals and longings, that the universe was enigmatic, had not even occurred to her, nor to him. They were too busy with their share in working it out. Now, here's a book that ought to suit Mrs. Arb, said Mr. Earl Forward, picking a volume from the shelf and moving towards the entrance where the clear daylight was. Snacks and tip bits. Let me see. Sandwiches. He turned over leaves. Sandwiches. There's nearly seven pages about sandwiches. How much would it be, sir? One shilling. Oh, she said she couldn't pay more than sixpence, sir, she said. Mr. Earl Forward looked up with a fresh interest. He was exhilarated, even inspired by the conception of a woman who, wishing to brighten her business with a new line of goods, was not prepared to spend more than sixpence on the indispensable basis of the enterprise. The conception powerfully appealed to him, and his regard for Mrs. Arb increased. See here, Elsie. Take this over for Mrs. Arb to look at and tell her with my compliments that you can't get cookery books, not any that are any good, for sixpence in these days. Yes, sir. Elsie put the book under her aprons and hurried off. She sends you her compliments and she says she can't pay more than sixpence, sir. I'm that sorry, sir," Elsie announced, returning. Mr. Earl Forward blandly replaced the book on its shelf and Elsie waited in vain for any comment, then left. I say, Elsie, he recalled her. It's not raining much, but it might soon. As you're here, you'd better help me in with the stand. That'll save me taking the books out before it's moved and it'll save you trouble in the morning. Yes, sir," Elsie eagerly agreed. One at either end of it, they lugged within the heavy book stand that stretched along the length of the window and the flagstones outside the shop. The book showed scarcely a trace of the drizzle. Thank you, Elsie. Don't mention it, sir. Mr. Earl Forward switched on one electric light in the middle of the shop, switched off the light in his den and lit a candle there. Then he took a thermos flask, a cup, and two slices of bread on a plate from the interior of the grandfather's clock, poured steaming tea into the cup, and enjoyed his evening meal. When the bell of St. Andrew's jangled six, he shut and darkened the shop. The war habit of closing early suited him very well for several reasons. Then, blowing out the candle, he began again to burn electricity in the den and tapped slowly and moved to and fro with the liberation, examining book titles, tapping out lists, tapping out addresses on envelopes, licking stamps, and performing other pleasant little tasks of routine. And all the time, he dwelt with exquisite pleasure on the bodily appearance and astonishing moral characteristics of Mrs. Arb. What a woman! He had been right about that woman from the first glance. She was a woman in a million. At a quarter to seven, he put his boots on and collected his letters for the post. But before leaving to go to the post, he suddenly thought of a tensioning treasury note received from Dr. Raster and took it from his waistcoat pocket. It was a beautiful new note, a delicate object, carefully folded by someone who understood that new notes deserve good treatment. He put it with other less brilliant cash into the safe. As he departed from the shop for the post office at Mount Pleasant, he picked out snacks and tidbits from its shelf again and slipped it into his side pocket. The rain had ceased. He inhaled the fresh damp air with an innocent and genuine delight. Mrs. Arb's shop with the sole building illuminated in ricemen steps. It looked warm and feminine. It attracted. The church rose darkly, a formidable mass in the opening at the top of the steps. The little group of dwelling-hours next to his own establishment showed not a sign of life. They seldom did. He knew nothing of their tenants and felt absolutely no curiosity concerning them. His little yard abutted on the yard of the nearest house, but the wall between them was seven feet high. No sound ever came over it. He turned into the main road. Although he might have dropped his correspondence into the pillar-box close by, he preferred to go to the mighty Mount Pleasant organism with its terrific night movement of vans and flung mailbags because it seemed sure and safer for his letters. Like many people who live alone, he had a habit of talking to himself in the street. His thoughts would, from time to time, suddenly burst almost with violence into a phrase. Then he would smile to himself, Me up my age. Yes, and of course there's that. Once I'm getting used to, he would laugh rather sheepishly. The vanquished were already beginning to creep into the mazes of Rotenhouse. They clicked through a turnstile that was all he knew about existence in Rotenhouse except that there were plants with large green leaves in the windows of the common room. Some of the vanquished entered with boldness, but the majority walked furtively. Just opposite Rotenhouse, the wisdom and enterprise of two railway companies had filled a blank wall with a large poster exhibiting the question, why not take a winter holiday where sunshine rains, etc.? Beneath this blank wall, a newsman displayed the posters of the evening papers together with stocks of the papers. Mr. Earl Forward always read the placards for news. There was nothing much to-night. Death of a well-known statesman. Mr. Earl Forward, as an expert in interpretation, was aware that well-known on a newspaper placard meant exactly the opposite of what it meant in any other place. It meant not well-known. The placards always divided dead celebrities, genuine and false, into three categories. If blank was a supreme personage, the placards said, blank dead. Two most impressive words. If blank was a real personage, but not quite supreme, the placards said, death of blank. Three words, not so impressive. All others, nameless, were in the third category of well-knowns. Nevertheless, Mr. Earl Forward walked briskly back as far as the free library to glance at a paper. Perhaps not because he was disturbed about the identity of a well-known statesman, but because he hesitated to carry out his resolution to enter Mrs. Arb's shop. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of Rysam and Steps by Arnold Bennett Mrs. Arb was listening to a customer and giving change, and when you've got children of your own, she said, and when you've got children of your own, that was her remark. The customer, an insecurely fat woman, was saying, just so Mrs. Arb agreed, handing the change and pushing a little parcel across the counter. Mrs. Arb was listening to a customer and giving change. Mrs. Arb was listening to a customer and pushing a little parcel across the counter. She ignored Mr. Earl Forward completely. He stood near the door, while the fat customer repeated once more what some third person had remarked upon a certain occasion. The customer's accent was noticeably vulgar in contrast with Mrs. Arb's. Mrs. Arb was indeed very well-spoken, and she contrasted not merely with the customer, but with the shop. There were dozens of such little shops in and near Kings Cross Road. The stock and also the ornamentation of the shop came chiefly from the wholesalers of advertised goods, made up into universally recognisable packets. Several kinds of tea in large quantities and picturesque bright tea signs all around the shop. Several kinds of chocolate in several kinds of fancy polished wood, mixed stands, but the chocolate of one maker was in the stand of another. All manner of patent foods, liquid and solid, each guaranteed to give strength. Two competitors in margarine, scores of paper bags of flour, some loaves, two hams cut into, a milk churn in the middle of the shop, tinned fruits, tinned fish, tinned meats, and in the linoleum-lined window the cakes and bonbons which entitle the shop to style itself confectioners. Dirty ceiling, uneven darkwood floor, frowsy mysterious corners, a shabby counter covered with linoleum in black and white check like the bottom of the window, one chair, one small round iron table, no cash desk, no writing apparatus of any sort, a smell of bread, ham and biscuits, a poor little shop showing no individuality, no enterprise, no imagination, no potentiality of reasonable profits, a shop which saved the shopkeeper from the trouble of thinking for himself, the inevitable result of big advertising and kept up to the average mark by the constant visitation of hurried commercial travellers and collectors who had the magic money out of empty tills. And Mrs. Arb, thin, bright, cheerful with scintillating eyes in a neat check dress and a fairly clean white apron. Yes, she was bright, she was cheerful, she had a keen face. Perhaps that was what had attracted Mr. Earl Forward who was used to neither cheerfulness nor brightness. Yet he thought it would have been just about the same if she had been a gloomy woman. Perhaps he had been attracted because she had life, energy, downrightness, masterfulness. Good evening, Mr. Earl Forward, and what can I do for you? She greeted him suddenly, vivaciously, as the fat customer departed. She knew him then. She knew his real name. She knew that his name did not accord with the sign over his shop. A welcoming smile inspired him, as alcohol would have inspired him had he ever tasted it. He was uplifted to a higher plane of existence, and also secretly, he was a little bit flurried. But his demeanour did not betray this. The clock struck rapidly in some room behind the shop, and at the sound Mrs. Arb sprang from behind the counter, shut and locked the shop door, and drew down its blind for a sign to the world that business was over for the day. She had a fine movement with her. In getting out of her way Mr. Earl Forward strove to conceal his limp as much as possible. I thought I'd just look in about that cookery book you wanted, said he. It's very kind of you, I'm sure, said she. But I really don't think I shall need it. Oh, no, I think I shall get rid of this business. There's no doing anything with it. I'm sorry to hear that, said Mr. Earl Forward, and he was. It isn't as if I didn't enjoy it at first. Quite a pleasant change for me to take something in hand. My husband died two years ago and left me nicely off, and I've been withering up ever since, till this came along. It's no life being a widow at my age, but I couldn't stand this either for long. There's no bounce to this business if you understand what I mean. It's like hitting a cushion. You've soon decided. I haven't decided, but I'm thinking about it. You see, it's a queer neighbourhood. Queer? He was shocked, perhaps a little hurt, but his calm tone disclosed nothing of that. He had a desire to explain to Mrs. Arbour Great Length that the neighbourhood was one of almost unique interests. Well, you know what I mean. You see, I come from Fulham, Chelsea, you might call it. I'm not saying that when I lived in this shop before, 18 years ago, is it? I'm not saying I thought it was a queer neighbourhood then. I didn't, and I was here for over a year, too. But I do now. I must confess it hasn't struck me as queer. You know this King's Cross Road. Mrs. Arbour proceeded with increased ardour. You know it. You've walked all along it. Yes. So have I. Oh, I've looked about me. Is there a single theatre in it? Is there one music hall? Is there one dance hall? Is there one picture theatre? Is there one nice little restaurant or a tea shop where a nice person would go if she had a mind? And yet it's a very important street. There are people all day. And you can walk for miles around here and see nothing. And the dirt and untidiness. When I thought Fulham was dirty, now look at this Riceman Square place up behind those funny steps. I walk through there and I lay there isn't one house in it, not one without a broken window. The fact is, the people about here don't want things nice and kept. I'm not meaning you. Certainly not. But people in general. And they don't want anything fresh either. They only want all the nasty old things they've always had. Same as pigs. And yet I must say I admire pigs in a way. Oh dear! She laughed as if at herself, a tinkling laugh, and looked down with her steady agreeable hand still on the door. Twice before she had looked down, it was more than coiness, better than coiness, more genuinely exciting. When she laughed, her face crinkled up very pleasantly. She had energy. All the time her body made little movements. Her glance varied, scintillating, darkling. Her tone ceaselessly varied. And she had authority. She was a masterful woman, but masterful in a broad-minded, genial manner. She was experienced and had learnt from experience. She must be over forty, and still somehow girlish. Best of all, she was original. She had a point of view. She could see. Mr. Earl Ford hated Clarkinwell to be damned. Yet he liked her to damn it. And how natural she was, dignified but not ceremonious, willing to be friends at once. He repeated to himself that from the first sight of her he had known her to be a highly remarkable creature. I brought the book along, he said, prudently avoiding argument. She took it amably from him and out of politeness inspected it again. You shall have it for ninepence and you might be needing it after all, you know. With her face still bent towards snacks and tidbits, her eyes to his eyes. It seemed roguishly. I might. I might. She shut the book with a smart snap. But I won't go beyond sixpence, thank you all the same. And not as I don't think it's very kind of you to bring it over. What a woman. What a woman. She was rapidly becoming the most brilliant, attractive, competent and comfortable woman on earth. And Mr. Earl Forward was rapidly becoming a hero, a knight, a madman capable of sublime deeds. He felt an heroic impulse such as he had never felt. He fought it and was beaten. See here, he said quietly, and with unconscious grandeur, we're neighbours. I'll make you a present of the book. Did she say, as a silly little creature would have said, oh, I couldn't possibly. I really couldn't. Not a bit. She said simply, it's most kind of you, Mr. Earl Forward. It really is. Of course, I accept it with pleasure. Thank you. And she looked down like a girl who had received a necklace and clasped it on her neck. Yes, she looked down. The moment was marvellous to Mr. Earl Forward. But I do think you're a little hard on Riceman Square, as she unlocked the door for his departure. She replied gaily and firmly, not one house without a broken pain. She insisted and held out her hand. Well, we must see one day, said he. She nodded. And if there is, she said, I shall pay your shilling for the book. That's fair. She shook hands. Mr. Earl Forward crossed the space between her shop and his shop with perfect calmness. And as he approached his door, he took from his pocket with the mechanical movement of regular habit a shining key. End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 of Riceman's Steps by Arnold Bennett This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Antoniogus Mrs. Arb's case He would have thought while Mrs. Arb was talking to Mr. Earl Forward that the enigma of the universe could not exist in her presence. Yet as soon as she was alone it was there, pervading the closed little shop. By letting Mr. Earl Forward out she had let the enigma in. She had relocked the door too late. She stood forlorn, apprehensive and pathetically undecided in the middle of the shop and gazed round at the miserable contents of the shop with a dismayed disillusion. Brightness had fallen from her. Impossible to see in her now the woman whose abundant attractive vitality had vitalised Mr. Earl Forward into a new and exalted frame of mind. She had married raising herself somewhat in her middle twenties a clerk of works, popular not only with architects but with actors. Mr. Arb had been clerk of works to some of the very biggest directions of the century. His vocation carried him here and there wherever a large building was being put up. It might be a provincial town hall or a block of offices in London or a huge hydro on some rural countryside or an explosives factory in the middle of pasture land. Mr. Arb's jobs might last a lifetime from six months to three or four years. Consequently he had had no fixed residence. As there were no children his wife would always go about with him and they would live in furnished rooms. This arrangement was cheaper than keeping a permanent home in London and much more cheerful and stimulating. For Mr. Arb it had the advantages with the disadvantages of living with a wife and in genuine interest hobby and solicitude was her husband. All Mrs. Arb's other social relations were bound to be transitory and lukewarm. When Mr. Arb died he left to some of money surprisingly large in view of the fact that clerks of works do not receive high salaries. Architects hearing of the nice comfortable fortune were more surprised than contractors. A clerk of works has great power. A clerk of works may be human. Mrs. Arb found herself with an income but no home, no habit of home life and no masculine guidance or protection. She was heart stricken and what was worse she was thoroughly disorganized. Her immense vitality had no outlet. Time helped her but she lived in suspense undecided what to do quite confident in her own unaided wisdom. An incredible letter from a solicitor announcing that she had inherited the confectioner's business and premises and some money in Reissmann's steps shook and roused her. These pleasant and promising things had belonged to her grandmother's much younger half-sister whom she had once helped by prolonged personal service in a great emergency. The two had not met for many years owing to Mrs. Arb's nomadic existence but they had come together at the funeral of Mr. Arb and had quarrelled magnificently because of Mrs. Arb's expressed opinion that the old lady's clothes showed insufficient respect for the angelic dead. The next event was the solicitor's letter. The old lady had made a deathbed repentance for the funeral costume. Mrs. Arb abandoned the furnished rooms in Fulham where she had been desiccating for two years and flew to Clarkinwell in an eager mood of adventure. She did not like Clarkinwell nor the look of the business and she was beginning to be disappointed but at worst she was far happier and more alive than she had ever been since Mr. Arb's death. She had nevertheless a cancer not a physical one the secret abiding terror lest despite all her outward assurance she might be capable of managing her possessions the more she inherited the more she feared she had a vision of the business going wrong of her investments going wrong and of herself in poverty and solitude this dread was absurd but not less real for that it grew she tried to counter it by the practice of a severe economy the demeanour of Mr. Earl Forward and his gift had suddenly lightened her horizon but the moment he departed she began saying to herself that she was utterly silly to indulge in such thoughts that she had been thinking that men were not like that that men knew what they were about and what they wanted and she looked gloomily in the fancy mirror provided by a firm of cocoa manufacturers and adorned with their name at the top and their address at the bottom she put pieces of gauze over the confection in the window and over the two bony remnants of ham placed the chair seat downwards on the counter and tilted the little table against the counter then extinguished the oil lamp which alone lit the shop and went into the back room lighted by another similar oil lamp in this room which was a parlour kitchen and whose principal table had just been scrubbed Elsie a heelot withdrawn from the world and dedicated to secret toil was untying her sack apron preparatory to the great freedom of the night oh Elsie you did say your name was Elsie didn't you yes ma'am I should take it very kindly if you could stay a bit longer this evening Elsie was dashed she paused on the knot of the apron string it's a quarter of an hour past my time now ma'am she said apologetically and humbly it is so it is well not quite I had an engagement ma'am couldn't you put it off for this once you see I'm very anxious to get straight after all this mess I've been in I'm one that can't stand a mess I'll give you your supper I'll give you a slice of ham and six pence extra I'm sure it's very kind of you ma'am but Mrs. Arb coaxed and she could coax very effectively well ma'am I'm always liked to oblige Elsie yielded not grudgingly nor with the air of conferring a favour but rather with a mild and pure kindness she added coaxing in her tone but I must just run out a half a minute if you'll let me oh of course but don't be long will you off-day and the extra six pence take it now and while you're out I'll be cutting the ham for you it's a pity I've turned out the shop lamp but I dare say I can see if I leave this door open she gave the girl some silver I'm sure it's very kind of you ma'am Mrs. Arb cut an exceedingly thin slice of ham quite happily she had two reasons for keeping Elsie she wanted to talk to somebody she felt that whether she talked or not she could not bear to be alone in the place till bedtime her good spirits returned End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of Rysam and Steps by Arnold Bennett this Librivox recording is in the public domain recording by Antoniogus Under an Umbrella The entrance gates to the yard of Daff at the Builder and Stone Mason which lay between Mrs. Arb's shop and the steps proper were set back a little from the general frontage of the north side of Rysam and Steps so that there was a corner at that point sheltered from eastern north east winds in this corner stood a young man under an old umbrella his clothes were such as would have entitled him to the newspaper reporter's description respectably dressed no better his back was against the blind wall of Mrs. Arb's it was raining again with a squally wind but the wind being in the north east the young man was only getting spotted with rain a young woman ran out of Mrs. Arb's and joined him she placed herself close to him touching him breast to breast it was the knackle and rational thing to do and also she had to receive as much protection as possible the girl was wearing all else's clothes else's sack apron covered her head and shoulders like a bridal veil but she was not Mrs. Arb's Elsie nor Mr. Earl Forwards she was not the drudge she had suddenly become a celestial visitant the attributes of such an unearthly being were in her shining face and in the solace of her little bodily movements extraordinary mean and ugly apparel could not impair them in the least the man slowly hesitatingly put one arm round her waist the other was occupied with the umbrella she yielded her waist to him and looked up at the man and he looked down at her not a word then he said in a deep voice where's your hat and things he said this is one who apprehended calamity I haven't finished yet she haunts her gently I'm that sorry how long shall you be I don't know Joe she's all by herself and she begged and prayed me to stop on and help her she's all by herself and strange to it and I couldn't find it in my heart to refuse you have to do what's right haven't you the man's chin sort of sulky and despairing gloom but he said nothing he was not a facile talker even on his best days she took the umbrella from him without altering its position put both arms round me and hold me tight she murmured he obeyed reluctantly tardily but in the end fiercely after a long pause he said I know I know she cried oh Joe it can't be helped he had many arguments and good ones against her decision but he could not utter them he never could argue she just gazed up at him softly tears began to run down his cheeks now now she soothed him with her free hand she worked up the tail of her apron between them and while still fast in his clutched wiped his eyes delicately she kissed him keeping her lips on his she kissed him until she knew from the feel of his muscles everywhere that the warm soft contact with her had begun to dissolve his resentment then she withdrew her lips and kissed him again differently they stood motionless in the dark corner under the umbrella and the rain pattered dullly on the umbrella and dropped off the umbrella and rounded them and pattered with a brighter sound on the flagstones of Reisserman's steps a few people passed at intervals up and down the steps but the class pair ignored them and the wayfarers did not look twice nor even smile at the lovers who in fact were making love as honest love is made by lovers who sold drawing rooms and sofas to treat look here Joe Elsie whispered I want you to go home now but you must call at Smithsons on your way they don't close till nine o'clock and get them braces as I'm giving you for a birthday present I see them still in the window this morning I should have slipped in and bought them then but I was on an errand for Miss Rale forward and besides I didn't like to somehow without you and me with my apron on too but you must buy them tonight so as you can wear them tomorrow I want to say to myself tomorrow morning he is wearing them braces I brought you the money she loosed one of his hands from her waist got at the silver in her pocket and inserted it into his breast pocket you promise me Joe it's a fair and square promise he made no reply you promise me darling Joe she insisted he nodded he could not speak in his desolation and in his servitude to her she smiled her lovely thanks for his obedience now let me see you start off she cajoled him I know you I know what you'll do if I don't see you start with me own eyes then it's tomorrow night he said gruffly she nodded they kissed again Elsie pushed him away and then stood watching until he had vanished round the corner of the disused mission hall into King's Cross Road she stood watching indeed for some moments after that she was crying my word said Mrs. Arb vivaciously I was beginning to wonder if you meant to come back after all you've been that long it'll be cold here's the ham and very nice it is too end of chapter 7 chapter 8 of Ryseman's Steps by Arnold Bennett this Librivox recording is in the public domain recording by Antoniogus the carving knife the two women were working together in a living room over the shop an oil lamp had been hung on a hook which would have held a curtain loop had there been any curtains the lamp tilted slightly forward had a round sheltered reflector behind it thus a portion of the lower part of the room was brilliantly lighted and all the rest of the room in shadow Elsie was scrubbing the floor in the full glare of the reflector she scrubbed placidly and honestly with no eagerness but with no sign of fatigue Mrs. Arb sat in the fireplace with her feet up raised out of the damp on the rail of a chair and cleaned the mantelpiece she had worked side by side with Elsie through the evening silent sometimes vivaciously chatty sometimes desirous generally of collecting useful pieces of local information inevitably a sort of community had established itself between the two women Mrs. Arb would talk freely and yet give nothing but comment Elsie talked little and yet gave many interesting facts let me see said Mrs. Arb with a casual air it's that Mr. Earl Ford you say you work for in the mornings isn't it but I told you I did when you sent me in about the book ma'am and I told you before that too Elsie answered surprised at such forgetfulness oh of course you did well does he live all alone oh yes ma'am and what sort of gentleman is he Elsie instinctively loyal grew cautious he's a very nice gentleman ma'am treats you well does he well of course ma'am he has his ways but he's always very nice nice and polite eh yes ma'am and I'll say this too he never tries to take any liberties know that he doesn't and so he has his ways eccentric oh no ma'am at least I don't know what you mean ma'am I'm sure I don't he's very particular in some things but then in plenty of things he takes no notice of you and you can do it or leave it as you choose Elsie suspected and mildly resented a mere inquisitiveness on the part of Mrs. Arb and I did quickly I think this flaw is about done she rung a cloth out of her pale at her right hand the clock below struck its quick wary reverberating note it kept on striking that's never 11 o'clock Mrs. Arb exclaimed completely aware that it was 11 o'clock how time flies when you're hard at it doesn't it Elsie silently disagreed with this proposition in her experience of toil she had found that time lag Elsie I'm sure I'm much obliged to you I can finish myself don't you stay a minute longer no ma'am said Elsie who had exchanged three hours overtime for sixpence and a slice of ham at this moment and before Elsie had raised her damp knees from the damp floor a very sharp and imperious tapping was heard my gracious who's that it's the shop door said Elsie well go Mrs. Arb decided the procedure quite cheerfully she was cheerful because the living room with other rooms was done and in a condition fit to be seen by possible purchasers of her premises and business she had no intention to live in the living room herself and also she was cheerful because of a wild and silly and yet not wholly silly idea that the wrapping at the shop door would have made for herself some absurd manlike excuse for calling again that night she had even thus early her notions about Mr. Earl forward the undying girl in her ran downstairs with a candle and unlocked the shop door as she opened it a man pushed forward roughly into the shop not Mr. Earl forward a young man with a dangerous look in his burning eyes and gestures indicating dark excitement what do you want? she demanded trying to control the situation firmly and not succeeding the young man glanced at her she perceived that he carried a torn umbrella and that his clothes were very wet she heard the heavy rain outside you can't come in here at this time of night she added the shops closed she gave a sign for him to depart she actually began to force him out mere temerity on her part she thought why am I doing this he might attack me instead of departing the young man dropped his umbrella and sprang for the big carving knife which she had left on the counter after cutting the slice of ham for Elsie in that instant Mrs. Arb decided absolutely and without any further vacillation that she would sell the place sell it at once and for what it would fetch already she had been a little alarmed by the sinister aspect of several of her customers she remembered the great Clarkinwell murder she saw how foolish she had been ever to come to Clarkinwell at all the man waved the carving knife over his head and hers was Elsie he growled savagely, murderously Mrs. Arb began dimly to understand this comes of taking charwomen you don't know she said pathetically to herself and yet I could have sworn by that girl then a strong light shone in the doorway leading to the back room Elsie stood there holding the wall lamp in her hand as soon as he caught sight of her the man still brandishing the knife ran desperately towards her she hesitated and then retreated a little the man plunged into the room and banged the door after that Mrs. Arb heard not a sound she was non-plussed helpless and panic-stricken ah, if the late Mr. Arb had been alive how he would have handled the affair not by force for he had never been physically strong but by skill by adroitness by rapid chicane only she could not imagine precisely what the late Mr. Arb would have done in his unique and powerful sujacity she was overwhelmed by a sudden and final sense of the folly the tragedy of solitary existence for a woman like her she had wisdom, energy initiative, moral strength but there were things that women could do and things that women could not do and a woman who was used to a man needed a man for all sorts of purposes and she resolved passionately that she would not live alone another day longer than she could help this resolve however did not mitigate her loneliness in the candle-lit shop with the shut door in front of her hiding dreadful matters and the rain pelting on the flagstones of ricemen's steps she looked timidly forth a policeman might by heaven's mercy be passing if not she must run in the wet as she was to the police station she then noticed a faint light in Mr. Earl Forward's shop and dashed across through the window she could see Mr. Earl Forward walking in his shop with a candle in his hand she tattooed wildly on the window a tram car thundered down King's Cross Road tremendously heedless of murders after a brief terrible interval the lock of Mr. Earl Forward's portal grated and Mr. Earl Forward appeared blandly in the doorway holding the candle oh Mr. Earl Forward she cried and stepped within and clutched his sleeve and told him what had occurred and as she poured out the words and Mr. Earl Forward kept apparently all his self-possession and bland calm an exquisite and intense feeling of relief filled her whole being I'll come over said Mr. Earl Forward rather wet isn't it he cut a fine figure in the eyes of Mrs. Arb he owed his prestige at that moment however not to any real ability to decide immediately and courageously upon the right effective course to follow but to the simple fact that his reactions were very slow Mr. Earl Forward was always afraid after the event he limped vigorously into the dangers of Mrs. Arb's dwelling with his placidity undisturbed by the realization of those dangers and he had no conception of what he should do Mrs. Arb followed timorously the door into Mrs. Arb's back room was now wide open the lamp near the carving knife the white table there also the candle was still burning in the shop but the umbrella had vanished from the shop floor the back room was empty no symptom of murder nor even of a struggle only the brief faint rumble of an underground train could be heard and felt in the silence perhaps he's chased her upstairs I'll go and see anyhow he's left the knife behind him Mr. Earl Forward picked up the carving knife and thereby further impressed Mrs. Arb take the lamp, said Mrs. Arb open it up here he called from the first floor Mrs. Arb ascended together they looked into each room she's taken her jacket exclaimed Mrs. Arb noticing the empty peg behind the door when they came down again to the back room ah, that's better Mr. Earl Forward commented expelling breath I left my candle lighted he said a moment later I'll go and blow it out but, oh, I'm coming back I'm coming back while he was gone Mrs. Arb had a momentary lapse into terror suppose she glimpsed again the savage and primeval passion half disclosed in the gestures and the glance of the young man hints of forces uncontrollable terrific and fatal I expected that young fellow that's running after her said Mr. Earl Forward when he returned seems he'd had shell shock so I heard she'll have to leave him alone that's clear he was glad to think that he had found a new argument to help him to persuade Elsie not to desert him she seemed to be so respectable observed Mrs. Arb well, she is poor girl sighed Mrs. Arb she felt a genuine perturbing compassion for Elsie ought I to go until the police, Mr. Earl Forward if I were you I shouldn't have the police meddling it's all right well anyhow, I can't pass the night here by myself no, I can't and that's flat she smiled almost comically you go off to bed said Mr. Earl Forward with a magnificent wave of the hand I'll make myself comfortable in this rocking chair I'll stop till daylight Mrs. Arb said that she couldn't think of such a thing and that he was too kind he mastered her then she said she would put a bit of coal on the fire you needn't he stopped her I'll go across and get my overcoat and a quilt it'll be all right it'll be all right he reappeared with his overcoat on and the quilt a little rain spotted Mrs. Arb was wearing a long thick mantle what's this? he asked what's the meaning of this? I couldn't leave you to sit up by yourself I couldn't really I'm going to sit up too End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 of Rysam and Stepp's by Arnold Bennett this Libra Vox recording is in the public domain recording by Antoni Ogis Sunday morning she never came to you this morning question Mr. Earl Forward with eager and cheerful interest no, did she to you? Mr. Earl Forward shook his head smiling you seem to be quite the philosopher about it said Mrs. Arb but it must be most inconvenient for a man oh no I can always manage I can well it's very wonderful of you that's all I say this was Sunday morning the third day after the episode of the carving knife what's so funny said Mrs. Arb is that she should come yesterday and Friday just as if nothing had happened and yet she doesn't come today and yet it was settled plainly enough she was to come early an hour to you and an hour to me wasn't it now I do think she might have sent round a message or something even if she is ill yes but you can see it never strikes them the inconvenience they're causing not that she's a bad girl she's a very good girl they always work better for gentlemen remarked Mrs. Arb with an air vivacious and enigmatic Mr. Earl Forward strolling towards the Stepp's had chance this world there is such a thing as chance to see Mrs. Arb all dressed presumably for church standing in her shop and regarding the same with the owner's critical appreciative eye Mr. Earl Forward had a good view of her as anybody else might have had because only the blue blind of the door was down this being the recognised sufficient sign to the public of a shut shop the two small windows were blinds but they were seldom drawn except to protect butter against sunshine the pair had exchanged smiles Mrs. Arb had hospitably unlocked and Mr. Earl Forward had entered to him she presented a finely satisfactory appearance dressed in black with vermilion flowers in her hat good shoes on her feet and good uncreased gloves held in her ringed hand she was slim Mr. Earl Forward thought of her as petite but she was imposing with all her keen restlessness of slight movements and her changing glance no matter how her glance changed it was always the glance of authority and of intelligence on her part Mrs. Arb beheld Mr. Earl Forward with favour his pointed short beard so well trimmed with the basis of a pillar of society she still liked his full red lips and his fresh complexion and he was exceedingly neat true he wore the same black shirt-hiding tires on weekdays and his wristbands were still invisible his hat and overcoat were not distinguished but he had on a distinguished new blue suit she was quite sure that he was inaugurating it that day his slight limp pleased and touched her his unshakable calmness impressed her oh he was a man with reserves both of character and of goods secure in these reserves he could front the universe he was self-reliant without being self-confident he was grave but his little eyes had occasionally a humorous gleam she had noticed the gleam even when he picked up the carving knife on Thursday night his demeanour in that dreadful crisis had been perfect in brief Mr Earl Forward considered as an entity was nearly faultless Mr Earl Forward on the other hand was still secretly trembling as he realised more and more clearly the dangers which he had narrowly escaped in the Thursday night affair and he had not begun to tremble until Friday morning rather early isn't it if you're going to church he suggested I always like to be early if it's a strange church and I've not been in there at all yet St Andrews I don't know what its name is the one up the steps in the middle of the square yes St Andrews that is without another word they then by a common impulse both moved out of the shop which Mrs Arb smartly locked up in spite of the upset caused by Elsa's defection and the prospect of future trouble and annoyance in this connection they were very happy and they had quite overlooked the fact that their combined years amounted to 90 or thereabouts the sun was feebly shining on the Sabbath scene the bells of St Andrews were jangling I see you have some plant pots on your top window sill observed Mrs Arb water them an implied criticism Mr Earl forward enjoyed it for it proved that they were getting intimate as indeed became two people who had slept well opposite one another in two chairs through the better part of a coldish night I do not said Mr Earl forward waggishly stoutly the truth was that for years he had seen the plant pots without noticing them they were never moved never touched the unconquerable force of nature was illustrated in the simple fact that one or two of the plants still sturdily lived displaying a grimy green I love plants said Mrs Arb they passed up the steps Mr Earl forward a foot or so behind his heroin now what I don't understand said she turning upon him and stopping is why the square should be so much higher than the road it means that all the carts and things even the milk carts have to go all the way round by Gilbert street to get into the square from the side why couldn't they have had it all on the same level exquisitely feminine he thought why couldn't they have had it all on the same level absurd delicious he adored the delicious girlish absurdity well he said it's like this you see in the old days they used to make tiles in Clark and Well and they scooped out the clay for the tiles in large quantities and this is the result with a certain eagerness he amplified the explanation I should never have thought of that said Mrs Arb ingenuously but actually what sort of church is St Andrews oh it was built in the 30s and cost 4,541 pounds cheap I doubt if you'll build it today for 20,000 supposed to hold 1,100 people really but I mean is it high or low or broad I haven't the least idea answered Mr Earl forward I did go in one day to look at the Reredos to oblige a customer but I've never been to a service he spoke jauntily do you know why I go to church when I do go said she because it makes me feel nice it's a great comfort especially when it's a foggy day and you can't see very well and there's not too many people I don't mean I like sermons no but what I say is if you enjoy part of the service the least you can do is to stay it out don't you agree she looked up at him as it were appealing for approval wonderful moment for Mr Earl forward and for Mrs Arb too he thought to himself she has a vigorous mind not one woman in a hundred would have said that and so petite and smart too it doesn't really matter about her being only a confectioner End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 of Ryciman's Steps by Arnold Bennett this Librivox recording is in the public domain recording by Antoniogus Ryciman's Square St Andrew's Church of Yellow Bricks with freestone dressings a blue slate roof and a red coping was designed and erected in the brilliant reign of William IV whose government under Lord Grey had a pious habit since lost by governments of building additional churches in populous parishes at its own expense unfortunately its taste in architecture was less laudable than its practical interest in the inculcation among the lowly of the Christian doctrine about the wisdom and propriety of turning the other cheek St Andrew's of a considerably mixed Gothic character had architecturally nothing whatever to recommend it its general proportions its arched windows its mullions, its finials its crosses, its spire and its buttresses were all in every detail utterly silly and offensive the eye could not rest anywhere upon its surface without pain and time which is supposed to soften and dignify all things had been content in malice at all out of the heights of the ignoble temple came persistent monotonous loud sounds fantastic and nerve-wracking to match its architecture the church yard was a garden flanked by iron rails and by plain trees upon which brutal terrifying surgical operations had been performed in the garden which we seen the withering of melancholy but still beautiful blossoms and tulips the quantity of cultivated vegetables dishevelled grass some heaps of rubble and patches of unproductive brown earth nobody might walk in the garden whose gates were most securely padlocked Ryseman's square had been built round St Andrew's in the hungry forties it had been built all at once according to plan it had form houses with areas and basements were all alike and were grouped together in sections by triangular pediments with ornamentations thereon in a degenerate regency style these pediments and the window facings and the whole walls up to the beginning of the first floor were stuck-o'd and painted in many places the paint was peeling off and the stuck-o crumbling the fronts of the doorsteps had been with vegetable growth some of the front doors and window frames could not have been painted for 15 or 20 years all the horizontal lines in the architecture had become curved long cracks showed in the brickwork where two dwellings met the fan lights and some of the ironwork feebly recalled the traditions of the 18th century the areas except one or two were obscene the square had once been genteel it ought now to have been picturesque but was not it was merely decrepit, foul and slattingly it had no attractiveness of any sort evolution had swirled round it missed it and left it neither electricity nor telephones had ever invaded it and scores of windows still had Phoenician blinds all men except its inhabitants and the tax collector the rate collector and the school attendance officer had forgotten Reisserman's square it lay now frowsily supine in a needed Sunday indolence after the week's hard labour all the upper windows were shut and curtained and most of the ground floor windows the rare glimpses of forlorn interiors were desolating not a child played in the roadways but here in there a housewife had hung her door mats and canaries on the railings to take the holy sabbathire and newspapers fresh as newly gathered fruit waited folded on doorsteps for students of crime and passion to awake from their beds in darkened and stifling rooms also little milk cans with tarnished brass handles had been suspended in clusters on the railings certainly in their elegance and their detached disdain rose superior to the terrific environment the determined church bells ceaselessly jangled the church is rather nice said Mrs. Arp but what did I tell you about the square wait a moment wait a moment replied Mr. Earl forward let us walk round shall we they began to walk round presently Mr. Earl forward stopped in front of a house which had just been painted to remind the spectator of the original gentility of the hungry forties no broken pains there I think he remarked triumphantly Mrs. Arp's glance searched the facade for even a crack pain and found none she owed him a shilling well she said somewhat dashed but still briskly of course there was bound to be one house that was all right don't they say it's the exception proves the rule he understood that he would not receive his shilling and he admired her the more for her genial feminine unscruplessness at the corner of Gilbert Street Mrs. Arp suddenly burst out laughing I hadn't noticed we had any Savoys up here she said painted over the door of the corner house were the words Mrs. Hotel the house differed in no other detail from the rest of the square I wonder if they have any self-contained sweets Mr. Earl Ford was about to furnish the history of this singular historic survival when they both almost simultaneously through a large interstice of the curtains noticed Elsie sitting and rocking gently by the ground floor window of a house near to Percy's hotel her pale face was half turned within the room and its details obscure in the twilight of the curtained interior for there could be no mistake about her identity is it here she lives said Mrs. Arp I suppose so I know she lives somewhere in the square but I never knew the number the front door of the house opened and Dr. Raster emerged fresh, dapper, prim correct, busy speeding without haste the incarnation of the professional you felt that he would have emerged from Buckingham Palace in just the same manner to mark the Sabbath which his ceaseless duties forbade him to honour otherwise he wore a silk hat this hat he raised on perceiving Mr. Earl Ford and a lady and he raised also though scarcely perceptibly his eyebrows you've been to see my charwoman doctor Mr. Earl Ford obeyingly stopped him Dr. Raster hesitated a moment your charwoman ah yes I did happen to see her ah then she is unwell nothing serious I hope no no said the doctor his voice rather higher than usual she'll be all right tomorrow an excellent constitution I should imagine a strictly formal reply courteous probably nobody in Clarkinwell except perhaps his man Joe knew how Dr. Raster talked and looked when he was not talking and looking professionally Dr. Raster would sometimes say with a dry brief laugh we medicos thereby proclaiming a cast an order a clan separated by awful invisible impregnable barriers from the common remainder of mankind barriers into humanity in his case the secret life of the brain was indeed secret and the mask of the face tongue and demeanour made an everlasting privacy he cleared his throat yes yes by the way I've been reading that Shakespeare very fine very fine I shall read it all one of these days good morning he raised his hat again and departed I shall go in and see her poor thing said Mrs. Arb with compassion shall you well I'm here I think it'll be nice if I did don't you oh yes Mr. Earl forward admiringly agreed End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 of Reisserman's Steps by Arnold Bennett this Libravox recording is in the public domain recording by Anthony August Els's home the house which Mrs. Arb decided to enter had a full but not an extraordinary share of experience of human life there were three floors of it on the ground floor lived a meat salesman his wife and three children the eldest of whom was five years of age three rooms and some minute appurtenances on this floor the meat salesman shouted and bawled cheap bits of meat in an open-fronted shop in Exmouth Street during a 60-hour week which ended at midnight on Saturday he possessed enormous vocal power all the children out of Nortoness had rickets on the first floor lived a French polisher his wife and two children the eldest of whom was three years of age one child less than the ground floor family but the first floor was about to get level in numbers three rooms and some minute appurtenances on this floor the French polisher worked only 44 hours a week his fingers were always the colour of rosewood and he omitted an odour which often competed not unsuccessfully with the characteristic householder of stale soap suds out of ill-will for mankind he had an everlasting cough on the second floor lived a dressmaker alone three rooms and some minute appurtenances on this floor nobody but an occasional customer was ever allowed access to the second floor Elsie was a friend of the French polisher's wife and she slept in the infinitesimal back room of the first floor with the elder child of the family she paid three shillings a week for this accommodation and also helped with the charring and the laundry work of the floor in her spare time except Elsie the adult inhabitants of the house were always unhappy save when drinking alcohol or making love although they had studied holy scripture in youth and there were at least three Bibles in the house they had failed to cultivate the virtue of Christian resignation they permitted trifles to annoy them on the previous day the wife of the meat salesman had been upset because her copper leaked and because she could never for a moment be free of her own children and because it was rather difficult to turn her perambulator through the kitchen doorway into an entrance hall three feet wide and because she had to take all three children with her to market and because the eldest child cleanly clad had fallen into a puddle and done as much damaged her clothes as would take a whole day to put right and because another child teething would persistently cry and because the landlord of the house was too poor to do necessary repairs and because she could not buy a shlings worth of goods with sixpence and because her payments to the provident club were in a rear and because the sunshine made her hat look shabby and for many other equally inadequate reasons as for the French polisher's wife she moped and grew neurotic because only three years ago she had been a pretty girl earning an independent income and because she was now about to bear another pledge of the French polisher's affection and because she felt sick and frequently was sick and because she had no money for approaching needs and because she hated cooking and washing and because her husband spent his evenings and the purchase money of his children and his wife's food at a political club whose aim was to overthrow the structure of society and because she hated her husband's cough and his affection and because she could see no end to her misery and because she had prophetic visions of herself as a hag with five hundred insatiable children everlastingly in tears for something impossible to obtain for them the spinster on the second floor was profoundly and bitterly dissatisfied for the mere reason that she was a spinster whereas the other two women would have sold their souls to be spinsters the centre of irritation in the house was the entrance hall or lobby which the first floor and ground floor had to keep clean in alternate weekly spells on the previous day one of the first floor children had dragged quickly fingers along the dark yellowish brown wall further the first floor the perambulator had been brought in with muddy wheels and the marks had dried on the linoleum which was already a palimpsest of various unclean deposits this perambulator was the origin of most of the lobby trouble the ground floor resented its presence there and the second floor purposely knocked it about at every passage through the lobby but the mistress of the first floor absolutely objected to carrying it up and down stairs once or twice a day a great three corner quarrel had arisen on the Saturday morning around the first floor perambulator in the entrance hall and when the French polisher arrived home for his dinner shortly after one o'clock he had found no dinner but a wife helped meet Cook housekeeper maid servant in hysterics very foolishly he had immediately gone forth again with all his wages at 11.30 p.m. he had returned intoxicated and acutely dispeptic at a quarter to twelve he had tried to fight Elsie at 12.30 the meat salesman had come home to sleep and had had to listen to a loud sermon on the manners of the first floor and his own wife's manners delivered from the top of the second floor stairs subsequently he had had to listen to moans from the mistress of the first floor the eternal coughing of the master of the first floor and all about nothing yet every one of the adults was well acquainted with the admirable text which exhorted Christians to bear one another's burdens a strange household but there were some scores of such households in Reisemann Square and a 4,500-pound church in the midst Sunday morning always saw the adults of Elsie's household in a paradisical coma Elsie alone was afoot on this particular Sunday morning she kept an eye on the two elder children who were playing quietly in the murky or tunnel darkness of the walled backyard Elsie had herself some merrily dressed them the other three children had been doped or as the advertisements phrased it soothed so that while remaining in their beds they should not disturb the adults the adults slept they embraced sleep passionately voraciously voluptuously their sole desire in those hours was to find perfect unconsciousness and rest if they turned over they snatched again with terrible greed at sleep they wanted it more than love and more than beer they would have committed crimes for it but their collective mother slept in a confusion of strange dreams there was a loud heavy knocking on the warped and shabby door of the house of repose it shook the house the children in the yard thunder struck by the outrage stopped playing Elsie ran in alarm through the back passage and the lobby and opened the front door Joe stood there the worried mad look she knew so well on his homely face she was frightened but held herself together and shook her head sadly and decisively as a result of the episode of the carving knife she had banished him from her presence for one week which had yet by no means expired it seemed odd that Elsie everybody's slave should exercise an autocratic dominion over Joe but she did have the power and divine that she must use it if Joe was ever to get well of his mysterious mental malady and now though she wished that she had sentenced him to only three days banishment instead of seven she would not yield and correct her error for she felt that to do so would impair her authority moreover Joe had no right to molest her at home she had her reputation and her reputation in her loyal and ingenuous mind was his reputation also therefore with woe in her heart she began to close the door on Joe Joe rendered savage by a misery which he could not define put his foot in the aperture and then forced the door backwards and lunged his desecrating body inside the sacred Sunday morning temple of sleep the repetition of his procedure of the previous Thursday night the two stood close together he could not meet her fixed gaze his eyes glanced restlessly and wildly round at the foul walls the gritty and soiled floor get out of this my boy let me kiss you he demanded harshly get out of it losing what little remained of his self-control he hit Elsie a strong blow on the shoulder she was not ready for it in the idiom of the ring her footwork was bad and she lost her balance falling against the French polish's perambulator which crashed violently into the stairs like an engine into a stationary buffer Elsie's head caught the wheel of the perambulator a great shrill scream arose the children had followed Elsie to the yard and witnessed the fall of their beloved slave Joe appalled at the consequences of his passion ran off banging the door behind him with a concussion which shook the house afresh and still more awakeningly two mothers recognised the house of their children the spinster on the second floor saw a magnificent opportunity for preaching from a point of vantage to the state of modern society two fathers desperate with exasperation but drawn by the mighty attraction of a good row jumped murderous from their warm and fetid beds two half-clad figures appeared in the doorways of the ground floor rooms and three on the stairs Elsie sat up dazed and then stood up then sank limply down again one mother smacked her child and a child which was not hers the other mother protested furiously from the stairs the paradise of Sunday morning lay shattered the meat salesman had sense heart and initiative he took charge of Elsie the hellish din died down a few minutes later Elsie was seated in the rocking chair by the window in his front room she wept apologetically little was said but all understood that Elsie's fantastic sweetheart had behaved disgracefully and all indicated their settled opinion that if she kept on with him he would murder her one of these days three-quarters of an hour later Dr. Raster calmly arrived Joe had run to the surgery and shouted at him I've killed her sir the meat salesman having himself lighted a bit of a fire left the room while the doctor examined the victim the doctor could find nothing but one bruise on the front of Elsie's left shoulder with a splendid gesture of devotion the meat salesman's wife gave her second child's warm milk to the reluctant Elsie there happened to be no other stimulant in the house peace was re-established and even slumber resumed end of chapter 11 chapter 12 of Reisserman's Steps by Arnold Bennett this LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by Anthony Ogis the benefactress the front door was open to Mrs. Arb's quiet knock by the oldest child in the house an obstreperous boy of five who was suddenly struck sheepish and mute by the impressive lady on the doorstep he said nothing at all in reply to Mrs. Arb's request to see Elsie but sidled backwards along the lobby and opened a door looking up at her with the most crude curiosity as soon as she had gone into the room and the inhibition was lifted he ran off to the yard raising his heels high and laughing boisterously the room in which Elsie had been installed was crowded and overcrowded with the possessions of the meat salesman and his wife the walls were covered from cornice to near the floor with coloured supplements from Christmas numbers either in maple wood frames or unframed a wonderful exhibition of kindly sentiment the innocence of children the purity of lovers the cohesion of families the benevolence of old age immense meals served in interiors of old oak landscapes where snow lay in eternal whiteness on church steeples angels, monks blacksmiths, coach drivers souls awakening indeed a vast and successful effort to convince the inhabitants of Ryseman Square that Ryseman Square was not the only place on earth the display undoubtedly unbent diverted and cheered the mind in between the chromatic prints were grey realistic photographs of people who really existed or had existed the mantelpiece was laden with ornaments miscalled china standing on bits of embroidery the floor was covered with oddments of carpet there were many chairs unassorted there was a sofa there was a cradle there was a clothes horse on which a man's blue apron with horizontal white stripes was spread out there were several tables including a small walnut octagonal table once a ladies work table which stood in the window and upon which a number of cloth bound volumes of once a week were piled carefully corkscrew wise and there was a wardrobe also a number of kitchen utensils the place was encumbered with goods all grimy as the walls and ceilings many of them cracked and worn like the woodwork and paints but proving triumphantly that the meat salesman had no commerce with pawnbrokers I thought I should like to come round and see how you are Elsie said Mrs Arb kindly and forgivingly no don't get up I can see you aren't well I'll sit here quickly I've had a bit of trouble, ma'am she apologetically murmured Elsie's trouble was entirely due to Mrs Arb's demand for overtime from her on Thursday night Mrs Arb had not considered the convenience nor the private life of this young woman whose services made daily existence tolerable for her and for Mr Earl forward the young woman had consequently herself in a situation of the gravest difficulty and of some danger hence the young woman was apologetic and Mrs Arb forgiving Elsie admitted to herself a clear failure of duty with its sequel of domestic embarrassment for her employers and she dismissed as negligible the excuses which she might have offered nor did she dream of criticising Mrs Arb she never consciously criticised anyone but Elsie and yet somewhere in the unexplored arcana of her mind lay hidden a very just estimate of Mrs Arb strange? no, not strange a quite common phenomenon in the minds of the humble and conscientious was the trouble over that young man asked Mrs Arb not that I want to be inquisitive Elsie began to cry she nodded unable for the moment to speak the sound of a snore came through the wall from the next room there were muffled noises overhead Mrs Arb grew aware that a child had peeped in upon her and Elsie the church bells after a few single notes ceased to ring I suppose you couldn't have sent somebody across to tell me you weren't coming Mrs Arb suggested Elsie shook her head shall you come tomorrow oh yes ma'am I shall come tomorrow and puncture well Elsie don't think I'm interfering but don't you think you better give him up two upsets in three days you know four days Mrs Arb ought to have said but in these details she took the license of an artist I haven't said a word to you about Thursday night have I didn't want to worry you I knew you'd had worry enough but I don't mind telling you now that I was very much upset and frightened as who wouldn't be what do you want with men there'll never be any good to you that is if you value a quiet life and a good name I'm telling you for your own sake I like you and I'd like you to be happy and respectable Mrs Arb seemed to have forgotten that she was addressing a widow who was a young girl oh ma'am I'm giving him up I'll never have anything to do with him again never Elsie burst out with intense tragedy in her soul that's right I'm glad to hear it said Mrs Arb with placidity and if you really mean it the people that employ you will be able to trust and rely on you again it's the only way oh I'm so ashamed ma'am said Elsie with the puckered brow of conscientiousness especially seeing I couldn't let you know nor Mr Earl Fortwood either but it won't occur again ma'am and I hope you'll forgive me please, please Mrs Arb exclaimed magnanimously protesting against this excess of remorse and penitence I only thought I'd call to inquire after Mrs Arb had gone out to dally with a man to reassure him with the news that everything would be all right and they had nothing to fear the boy crept into the front room with a piece of bread and jam in his sticky hand he silently offered the morsel to Elsie who leaned forward as he held it up to her and bit off a corner to please him she smiled at him then broke into a sob and choked and clutched him violently bread and jam and all and there was a dreadful mess End of Chapter 12