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Updated: May 25, 2025
His arrival had been unnoticed amid the tremendous resounding of the duet. "Oh, Osmond," said his wife. "Wherever have you been so late? Hilda wants to go Edwin Clayhanger has invited her to go over the works." Hilda, trembling at the door, more than half expected Mr. Orgreave to say: "You mean, she's invited herself."
They have a natural place in the Five Towns; their ambition does not stretch out beyond the finite limits of Bursley unless it be to the mild ecstasies of conventional religion or the generous aspiration which accompanies song. But the hero, Edwin Clayhanger, is something different. In the head of Edwin the boy "a flame burnt that was like an altar-fire."
But just as she was about to take her prim leave, the scarce-discerned figure of her companion stepped out into the garden. "By Jove!" said Edwin Clayhanger. "It's beginning to rain, I do believe." The wind blew, and she felt rain on her cheek. Clayhanger advised her to stand against the other wall of the porch for better protection. She obeyed.
He was dressed in black, with an ample shirt-front and a narrow black cravat tied in an angular bow; the wristbands were almost tight on the wrists, and, owing to the shortness of the alpaca coat-sleeves, they were very visible even as Darius Clayhanger stood, with his two hands deep in the horizontal pockets of his `full-fall' trousers.
A thin, grey-haired, dreamy-eyed woman hurried into the room, bearing a noisy tray and followed by Clara with a white cloth. This was Mrs Nixon, the domestic staff of the Clayhanger household for years.
All of a sudden. Thought you might be leaving." "Well, I am," said George. "I have to report at Headquarters at Wimbledon by twelve o'clock. It's rather a good thing you've come. Lois is ill. Oh! Here's my taxi." The parlourmaid had driven up. "Ill!" exclaimed Mrs. Clayhanger. "Yes. I've sent for the doctor, and he's sent for the nurse. I'm expecting the nurse every minute."
Darius Clayhanger had a habit, when reflective or fierce, of biting with his upper teeth as far down as he could on the lower lip; this trick added emphasis to the moustache.
But old Mr. Clayhanger wouldn't have it. And so he's a printer, and one day he'll be one of the principal men in the town." "Oh! So you know him?" "Well, we do and we don't. I go into the shop sometimes; and then I've seen him once or twice up at the new house. We've asked him to come in and see us. But he's never come, and I don't think he ever will.
With imagination on fire, she was anticipating the rendezvous at three o'clock. She reached forward to it in ecstasy; but she might not enjoy it, save at the price which her conscience exacted. She had to say to Edwin Clayhanger that she had been the victim of a bigamist. Could she say it to him? She had not been able to say it even to Janet Orgreave.... She would say it first to Janet.
Standing up at the desk, she wrote this letter: "DARLING JANET, I am now married to George Cannon. The marriage is not quite public, but I tell you before anybody, and you might tell Edwin Clayhanger. Your loving H. L." Least said soonest mended! And the conciseness would discourage questioning.
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