O. Douglas - The House That is Our Own

“Bless you for that,” said Kitty, rising with alacrity. “I’ll go now, this very minute. Where shall we meet?”

“Would Marshall’s be all right for you? And when we are out, what about getting some clothes? You said yourself you needed them, and to my mind there’s no tonic like a new hat.”

“If I get my flat,” said Kitty, “I shan’t ever again be able to afford any personal adornment. It’ll be old clothes indefinitely for me.”

Isobel folded up the garments she had mended, and said, “Shall we say one o’clock at Marshall’s luncheon-room? I’ll try to get a table at a window. Come right up, will you?”

It was nearly half-past one when Isobel, at her table in the window saw a small figure come in, glance round, and, on catching sight of her, come quickly forward.

“She’s got it,” said Isobel to herself.

“So sorry to have kept you,” Kitty began breathlessly, “but I couldn’t help it. Isobel, it’s all right . Mr. Johnson thinks I can just manage it, and he’s sending to see about it this afternoon. I’m not pretending that he was very keen about it, and he says they must find out exactly what state it’s in before anything’s settled, but . . . yes, anything you like. I’m too excited to eat. You know, although Mr. Johnson’s rather like a tortoise to look at, he’s really quite decent. I was surprised that a dry-as-dust old lawyer could be so human. He actually seemed to understand how much it meant to me, and I’m pretty sure he’ll manage to arrange it. It’s a blessing I spent almost nothing all winter, for I’ve a good deal lying. Perhaps I’d better get some clothes as long as I have any money. How good these sweetbreads are! I didn’t know I was so hungry.”

While they ate, the conversation circled constantly round the flat.

“I thought,” said Kitty, “that I’d examined every bit of it, but when Mr. Johnson asked me questions I found I knew practically nothing. I could tell him about the size and shape of the rooms, and their outlook, but I’d entirely neglected to notice the plumbing, what sort of kitchen stove there was, and so on. It was very shaming to be found so unpractical! Of course, I’ll need fresh paint everywhere, whether I pay for it myself or not, and I would like running water in the bedrooms—but I fear that’s beyond me. At least, Mr. Johnson says it is.”

“And I suppose he ought to know,” said Isobel. “Well, before you start squandering all you possess, let’s go and look for clothes. I want some myself, and it’s the perfect day for shopping, with a hopeful blue sky and a brisk feeling in the air.”

As they got up to go, Kitty said, “I believe you love clothes, Isobel?”

“Well, hardly that; but I confess clothes are a great interest to me. I don’t spend a great deal of money, but I spend quite a lot of time planning my wardrobe, and getting everything in keeping. And you know how fond I am of knitting, so I can copy jumpers that are too expensive to buy; and I can make blouses and underclothes. It’s lucky for me that I’ve fairly clever hands, for work fills hours that might otherwise be very dull.”

Kitty surveyed her friend. “Yes, you always look expensive—or is exclusive the word I want? I only wish I had your gift. I like good clothes, but I’m not clever about them. There is one thing, though, about being small and rather plain, one is inconspicuous. No one notices what one wears. You are rather like a city set on a hill.”

“What an awful thought! But you are very far from being either plain or dowdy, Kitty. All you need is to be more clothes-conscious. No, not self-conscious, quite the opposite. When you’re sure your clothes are right you can forget all about them. When you’re wrongly dressed you’re miserably aware of it all the time. Clothes psychology is rather an interesting thing. Let’s see what ‘Christine’ has to-day—round here in Hollis Street. She generally has something amusing.”

“Christine,” Isobel explained, “was run by a young woman, a friend of her own, whose husband had lost his health. She had to make a living for them both, and having a flair for clothes, had joined with another woman in taking a shop.

“Joyce Peyton supplied the capital, and Patty does all the work,” Isobel finished.

“Joyce? Patty? Then who is Christine?” Kitty asked.

“Nobody. Only a name to trade under. I’ve known Patty Tisdal for years. She and her husband are such a devoted couple, and they’ve had awful luck. It’s hard for him, poor chap, to lie on his back and see his wife work. He helps, though, in every way he can, keeps the books, and that’s really a big help, for neither Patty nor Joyce has any head for figures.”

When they reached the shop Mrs. Tisdal was just finishing with a customer, and in a few minutes joined them, greeting Isobel with pleasure.

“My dear, it’s ages. Have you been away?”

“No, only leading my usual blameless life in Queen’s Court. Patty, this is my friend Mrs. Baillie, also at present in Queen’s Court. Have you time to show us some things, which we may, or may not, buy? How’s business?”

“Brisking up,” said Patty, smiling at Kitty, “at the thought of the Coronation. Not that it’s been at all bad all winter; we can’t complain. Come and see what I’ve got, Mrs. Baillie. Isobel, I never really thanked you for helping me out with that order for jumpers at Christmas-time. It was good of you insisting on the money going to the girl. It would have meant a big loss to the poor thing.”

“It was nothing,” Isobel said. “Is the girl stronger now?”

“She never looks well, but she’s never failed me except that once when she went down with influenza at Christmas.”

“Well!” said Isobel, “be sure and let me know if ever I can help you out. I love knitting jumpers, and sometimes I get a brain-wave and devise something new. If the girl—what’s her name, by the way? Alice Parsons—well, if she cared to come and see me any time, I might be able to pass on to her some ideas. That’s to say, if she’s not above taking a hint.”

“I’m sure she’d be only too glad, she admired what you made immensely. I’ll give her your message”; then, turning to Kitty, Mrs. Tisdal remarked, “Isobel’s a great helper.”

Before Kitty could reply, Isobel broke in, “And now what about clothes? Wouldn’t a frock and light coat be most useful to you, Kitty?”

Patty Tisdal considered. “Must it be all black, or could you wear this?”

She brought a soft black frock, the top lightly embroidered in white silk, saying, “The little frills give the fullness you need, and the coat is rather pretty.”

Kitty hesitated. “It looks expensive, and I can’t afford——”

Mrs. Tisdal whisked round the price ticket. “It’s just in,” she said. “Twelve guineas. Is that too much?”

“I thought it would have been more,” said Kitty. “May I try it on? And I’d need a coat and skirt of sorts, wouldn’t I, Isobel? I’ve only got this coat, and it’s too heavy for summer.”

Isobel agreed. “Yes, a well-cut coat and skirt is a great standby. And you can step into it, lucky woman.”

Mrs. Tisdal told an assistant what to bring, and led the way to a fitting-room.

The frock was found to need very little altering, the coat nothing.

“It’s very pretty,” said Isobel. “Are these birds embroidered on the top? Rather a nice idea. Now, what sort of hat, I wonder?”

Hats were forthcoming, and one carefully chosen, smart, without being dressed-up: a hat for almost any occasion.

Kitty turned herself round before the mirror until she had seen herself from every angle, and then gave a satisfied sigh.

“I look nicer than I thought possible,” she said.