briefly, nothing morethan touching her glove and bobbing a little curtsey, after the opening in Manchester. Mrs. Dickens had registered only as a vague maternal figure in the midst of the large retinue of servants and children that accompanied Mr. Dickens. It was her sister Miss Hogarth who seemed to take charge of all practical arrangements while Mrs. Dickens presided benignly if a bit blankly over the proceedings. Used to her mother’s organizational skills and lifelong work, Nelly was unaccustomed to anyone permitted the luxury of inactivity and paid Mrs. Dickens little heed.
When she showed up on their very small doorstep the following Tuesday, however, Nelly mainly felt sorry for her. It was a wet and windy day and she was a large woman clothed in a voluminous rain cape, struggling to manage an umbrella and her wraps as she alighted from the brougham. She looked flustered and uncomfortable, and if she had wished to appear as their social superior condescending in paying this call, she rather ruined the effect by knocking over the umbrella stand with her cape on her way into the cottage’s tight little vestibule. This seemed to upset her equilibrium yet further, and as Mrs. Ternan righted the stand with a few sorrowful comments about the size of the premises, Mrs. Dickens kept saying, “Yes, how awkward. How very awkward it all is.” It was an annoying reaction that made the situation worse rather than better and yet Nelly could not think ill of her. It was clear she dearly wished herself anywhere else and yet it wasalso clear, during the social call that followed, that she was a kind-enough soul that she did not want to give offence.
“I don’t believe you have met my eldest,” Mrs. Ternan began when they were finally standing in the cramped parlour. “Mrs. Dickens, may I present my daughter Fanny.”
Fanny bopped nicely; Maria brought tea and they all sat down, with Nelly positioning herself as far into a dark corner as the small space would permit.
“Two sugars, thank you.”
“It was such a pleasure to meet you in Manchester last summer,” Mrs. Ternan said. “I hope your return journey went smoothly.”
“It was uneventful as I recall,” Mrs. Dickens replied.
“So often the trains are late.”
“Our train arrived right on time, and the journey was without incident, I am glad to say.”
“I am relieved to hear that. Did you spend Christmas in the city?”
“No. We have recently bought a house in Kent.”
“How pleasant. It is always so invigorating to breathe country air.”
“Our house is cold and I find that country air exacerbates my catarrh.”
“I am most sorry to hear that. The cold can be very trying. May I offer you a biscuit?”
“Oh no, thank you. I make a rule of never eating between meals. I am afraid it does not agree with me. I am a martyr to my digestion.”
And so the delicate biscuits Mrs. Ternan had purchased specially from Fortnum and Mason sat uneaten while the conversation continued.
“What a cozy parlour this is and how prettily you have decorated it.”
“Thank you. It is small but it suits our needs. I am afraid, however, I cannot take much credit for the decorations. They mainly belong to the landlady.”
“Oh. I find it so comforting to be surrounded by one’s own things.”
“Of course, but in the theatre we travel so much. One gets used to keeping a few mementoes in a suitcase.”
“How brave of you. I can’t imagine living without my own furnishings, and the piano, of course.”
“Yes. A piano is such a joy. Do you like music?”
And so they continued in this vein for ten minutes, at which point Mrs. Dickens declined a second cup of tea and indicated she had several more calls to pay that afternoon.
“Tuesdays are such a popular day, don’t you find?”
“Very much so,” Mrs. Ternan lied, eager to let Mrs. Dickens extract herself as soon as possible without further incident. “My compliments to your husband,” she added as she
When she showed up on their very small doorstep the following Tuesday, however, Nelly mainly felt sorry for her. It was a wet and windy day and she was a large woman clothed in a voluminous rain cape, struggling to manage an umbrella and her wraps as she alighted from the brougham. She looked flustered and uncomfortable, and if she had wished to appear as their social superior condescending in paying this call, she rather ruined the effect by knocking over the umbrella stand with her cape on her way into the cottage’s tight little vestibule. This seemed to upset her equilibrium yet further, and as Mrs. Ternan righted the stand with a few sorrowful comments about the size of the premises, Mrs. Dickens kept saying, “Yes, how awkward. How very awkward it all is.” It was an annoying reaction that made the situation worse rather than better and yet Nelly could not think ill of her. It was clear she dearly wished herself anywhere else and yet it wasalso clear, during the social call that followed, that she was a kind-enough soul that she did not want to give offence.
“I don’t believe you have met my eldest,” Mrs. Ternan began when they were finally standing in the cramped parlour. “Mrs. Dickens, may I present my daughter Fanny.”
Fanny bopped nicely; Maria brought tea and they all sat down, with Nelly positioning herself as far into a dark corner as the small space would permit.
“Two sugars, thank you.”
“It was such a pleasure to meet you in Manchester last summer,” Mrs. Ternan said. “I hope your return journey went smoothly.”
“It was uneventful as I recall,” Mrs. Dickens replied.
“So often the trains are late.”
“Our train arrived right on time, and the journey was without incident, I am glad to say.”
“I am relieved to hear that. Did you spend Christmas in the city?”
“No. We have recently bought a house in Kent.”
“How pleasant. It is always so invigorating to breathe country air.”
“Our house is cold and I find that country air exacerbates my catarrh.”
“I am most sorry to hear that. The cold can be very trying. May I offer you a biscuit?”
“Oh no, thank you. I make a rule of never eating between meals. I am afraid it does not agree with me. I am a martyr to my digestion.”
And so the delicate biscuits Mrs. Ternan had purchased specially from Fortnum and Mason sat uneaten while the conversation continued.
“What a cozy parlour this is and how prettily you have decorated it.”
“Thank you. It is small but it suits our needs. I am afraid, however, I cannot take much credit for the decorations. They mainly belong to the landlady.”
“Oh. I find it so comforting to be surrounded by one’s own things.”
“Of course, but in the theatre we travel so much. One gets used to keeping a few mementoes in a suitcase.”
“How brave of you. I can’t imagine living without my own furnishings, and the piano, of course.”
“Yes. A piano is such a joy. Do you like music?”
And so they continued in this vein for ten minutes, at which point Mrs. Dickens declined a second cup of tea and indicated she had several more calls to pay that afternoon.
“Tuesdays are such a popular day, don’t you find?”
“Very much so,” Mrs. Ternan lied, eager to let Mrs. Dickens extract herself as soon as possible without further incident. “My compliments to your husband,” she added as she