In the course of the morning Emma strung herself to the effort of letting her sister know the true state of affairs. It was only what Kate had for a long time suspected, and she freely said as much, expressing her sentiments with fluent indignation.
‘Of course I know you won’t hear of it,’ she said, ‘but if I was in your place I’d make him smart. I’d have him up and make him pay, see if I wouldn’t. Trust him, he knows you’re too soft-hearted, and he takes advantage of you. It’s girls like you as encourages men to think they can do as they like. You’ve no right, you haven’t, to let him off. I’d have him in the newspapers and show him up, see if I wouldn’t. And he shan’t have it quite so easy as he thinks neither; I’ll go about and tell everybody as I know. Only let him come a-lecturin’ hereabouts, that’s all!’
‘Kate,’ broke in the other, ‘if you do anything of the kind, I don’t know how I shall speak to you again. Its not you he’s harmed; you’ve no right to spread talk about me It’s my affair, and I must do as I think fit. It’s all over and there’s no occasion for neither you nor me to speak of him again I’m going out this afternoon to find a room for us, and we shall be no worse off than we was before. We’ve got to work, that’s all, and to earn our living like other women do.’
Her sister stared incredulously.
‘You mean to say he’s stopped sending money?’
‘I have refused to take it.’
‘You’ve done what? Well, of all the—!’ Comparisons failed her. ‘And I’ve got to take these children back again into a hole like the last? Not me! You do as you like; I suppose you know your own business. But if he doesn’t send the money as usual, I’ll find some way to make him, see if I don’t! You’re off your head, I think.’
Emma had anticipated this, and was prepared to bear the brunt of her sister’s anger. Kate was not originally blessed with much sweetness of disposition, and an unhappy marriage had made her into a sour, nagging woman. But, in spite of her wretched temper and the low moral tone induced during her years of matrimony, she was not evil-natured, and her chief safeguard was affection for her sister Emma. This seldom declared itself, for she was of those unhappily constituted people who find nothing so hard as to betray the tenderness of which they are capable, and, as often as not, are driven by a miserable perversity to words and actions which seem quite inconsistent with such feeling. For Jane she had cared far less than for Emma, yet her grief at Jane’s death was more than could be gathered from her demeanour. It had, in fact, resulted in a state of nervous irritableness; an outbreak of anger came to her as a relief, such as Emma had recently found in the shedding of tears. On her own account she felt strongly, but yet more on Emma’s; coarse methods of revenge naturally suggested themselves to her, and to be thwarted drove her to exasperation. When Emma persisted in steady opposition, exerting all the force of her character to subdue her sister’s ignoble purposes, Kate worked herself to frenzy. For more than an hour her voice was audible in the street, as she poured forth torrents of furious reproach and menace; all the time Emma stood patient and undaunted, her own anger often making terrible struggle for mastery, but ever finding itself subdued. For she, too, was of a passionate nature, but the treasures of sensibility which her heart enclosed consecrated all her being to noble ends. One invaluable aid she had in a contest such as this—her inability to grow sullen. Righteous anger might gleam in her eyes and quiver upon her lips, but the fire always burnt clear; it is smoulder that poisons the air.
She knew her sister, pitied her, always made for her the gentlest allowances. It would have been easy to stand aside, to disclaim responsibility, and let Kate do as she chose, but the easy course was never the one she chose when endurance promised better results. To resist to the uttermost, even to claim and exert the authority she derived from her suffering, was, she knew, the truest kindness to her sister. And in the end she prevailed. Kate tore her passion to tatters, then succumbed to exhaustion. But she did not fling out of the room, and this Emma knew to be a hopeful sign. The opportunity of strong, placid speech at length presented itself, and Emma used it well. She did not succeed in eliciting a promise, but when she declared her confidence in her sister’s better self, Kate made no retort, only sat in stubborn muteness.
In the afternoon Emma went forth to fulfil her intention of finding lodgings. She avoided the neighbourhood in which she had formerly lived, and after long search discovered what she wanted in a woful byway near Old Street. It was one room only, but larger than she had hoped to come upon; fortunately her own furniture had been preserved, and would now suffice.