Mr. Timothy: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

was lulled, I confess, by the sound of a poet's name emerging from Iris's mouth.

    --Yes, I suppose he was.

    --And is it true he had a club foot?

    --I think so, yes.

    --Then there's hope for you, isn't there?
    No one else generally rises to the bait, and in fact, most of the girls are quite lovely to me. Pamela, for instance--the former governess--always has a kind word. And Sadie, too, sweet little thing, tiny of bosom, tiny of voice. Mrs. Sharpe tried to fatten her up in the beginning, then headed full steam in the other direction, with the result that Sadie is now known to patrons as Wee Lucy, a twelve-year-old milkmaid with extravagant ringlets and flimsy peasant bodices that rip very neatly down the middle.
    And then there's Minnie, a plump Christmas goose of a girl, with stately carriage and a heavenly coral complexion and two toffee drops for eyes. Quite the catch, is our Minnie. It's rumoured that the second son of the Bishop of Exeter has larger designs on her: he sees her three nights a week and has lately broached the possibility of introducing her to his mother. Minnie knows better than to believe a boy's promises, but everyone agrees that if ever a girl was marked for rapid social promotion, it is she.
    And lest I forget, there is Mary Catherine, boiler of beef and maid-of-all-work. Nurses a dream of someday becoming a top-of-the-bill attraction herself, although it must be acknowledged that her chances in this regard are slight. Tenterhook hands, pachyderm elbows, turnip nose, and potato chin...she is not built for love's work. She is, rather, one of those people who spread love as they go. Even the act of cleaning water closets becomes, through her good graces, a ritual of devotion. On her hands and knees, scrubbing deep veins of grime from the front staircase, she is yet able to lift her head and toss you a smile as you step over her.
    Yes, all things considered, they're a fine mess of humanity, my fellow employees. I can't say I fancy any of them in particular--excessive proximity has a way of ruining that--but I do hold them in the highest regard. I have seen them go out of their way to drop coins in a beggarwoman's apron. I have seen them squeeze spare shillings from a tightfisted customer to help a friend pay his rent. I have seen them comfort men in every degree of affliction. I have been one of those men.
    Sometimes just coming home to them is a comfort. I walk up the stairs of a December evening, and the sounds of Mrs. Sharpe's boardinghouse come floating up to me. The phantasmal whispers and elongated moans. The creaking of a floorboard, the thumping of bedpost against wall. A shriek, brief and genderless. I feel strangely welcomed in these moments. Embraced.
    And this feeling follows me all the way to my room. I give my face a quick scrub from the basin. I blow out the candle by my bed. I throw off my clothes and pull Father's comforter over me. I rub my bare limbs to get them warm.
    Some evenings, I even receive a parting benison. Tonight, for instance: the litany of Squidgy and Pamela, resounding from the adjoining room.

    --What is thy duty towards God?

    --My duty towards God is to...to believe in him...to fear him and...and...

    Thwack!

    -- Love him! Oww, love him with all my heart!

    And then I remember: it's ten days till Christmas.

    Chapter 3
    I SCARCELY NOTICE IT AT FIRST. The courtyard behind Mrs. Sharpe's boasts so many other late-night attractions, each making its own claim upon the eye. At this very moment, I can see, from the vantage of my bedroom window, a torn-off playbill from the St. James Theatre, a troop of rats gnawing on soup bones, crates and bins, an abandoned spittoon, and a long trail of cracked gin bottles ending in the crumpled heap of an old sot, sleeping off many yesterdays.
    Amidst such a rich tableau, why pay any special mind to a tarpaulin, bunched and creased and billowed, its corners tucked in? Flung, probably, from some neighbouring window. I wouldn't even look