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Updated: June 26, 2025
Sophia knocked with the edge of the tray at the door of the principal bedroom. The muffled oratorical sound from within suddenly ceased, and the door was opened by a very tall, very thin, black-bearded man, who looked down at Sophia as if to demand what she meant by such an interruption. "I've brought the tea, Mr. Critchlow," said Sophia. And Mr. Critchlow carefully accepted the tray.
Not that Aunt Maria had been informed of the precise circumstances of the death; she was not clearly aware that Mr. Baines had died through a piece of neglect. But, like Mr. Critchlow, she was convinced that there had been only one person in the world truly capable of nursing Mr. Baines. Beyond the family, no one save Mr. Critchlow and Dr. Harrop knew just how the martyr had finished his career.
She had never earned more than thirty shillings a week, and yet her situation was considered to be exceptionally good. In the eternal fusty dusk of the shop she had gradually lost such sexual characteristics and charms as she had once possessed. She was as thin and flat as Charles Critchlow himself.
Critchlow was very agitated, from sheer nervousness. She curvetted; she almost pranced; and she made noises with her mouth as though she saw some one eating a sour apple. She wanted to show Sophia how greatly she had changed from the young, timid apprentice. Certainly since her marriage she had changed.
When he had silently sipped some hot milk, he drew a thick bunch of papers, white and blue, from his bulging breast-pocket. "Now, Maria Critchlow," he called, edging round his chair slightly. "Ye'd best go back home." Maria Critchlow was biting at a bit of walnut cake, while in her right hand, all seamed with black lines, she held a cup of coffee. "But, Mr. Critchlow !" Constance protested.
She had had several outrageous quarrels with the redoubtable Charles, to the stupefaction of all who heard or saw them. ... Mrs. Critchlow standing up to her husband! Another strange thing was that she thought the bills of several of the big Manchester firms were unpaid, when as a fact they had been paid.
She was still fat; the destroyer of her figure sat at the head of the table. Samuel kept close to her; he was the only male, until Mr. Critchlow astonishingly arrived; among the company Mr. Critchlow had a grand-niece. Samuel, if not in his best, was certainly not in his everyday suit.
He went himself, that afternoon, and returned with the news that an aunt of Scales had recently died, leaving him twelve thousand pounds, and that he had, after quarrelling with his uncle Boldero, abandoned Birkinshaws at an hour's notice and vanished with his inheritance. "It's as plain as a pikestaff," said Mr. Critchlow.
"I could ha' warned ye o' all this years ago, even since she killed her father!" Mr. Critchlow left nothing unsaid. During the night Mrs. Baines lived through all Sophia's life, lived through it more intensely than ever Sophia had done. The next day people began to know. A whisper almost inaudible went across the Square, and into the town: and in the stillness every one heard it.
King remained at the telescope all day, and sent in a number of interesting reports about the enemy's movements. At this point I have to break off the narrative, as my leave warrant arrived that night and I left the observers till August 31 in charge of 2nd-Lieut. J.H. Edmunds. One word about the admirable services of my batman, Pte. W. Critchlow.
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