Read The Inn at the Edge of the World for Free Online

shade which Eric would not have chosen himself, but beggars, he said, could not be choosers. Anyway in the end it made no odds because one guest rang to say she couldn’t make it after all, and another simply didn’t turn up. Eric vowed that in future he would demand a deposit, but he was rather relieved.
    There were only five guests for Christmas.
     
    Jessica and Harry sat opposite each other across a white-topped table in a first-class compartment on the London-to-Glasgow Express. Harry, having been an officer, had always travelled first class, and now that Jessica was quite rich and famous she too had grown accustomed to this habit. Anita was travelling second class, further down the train in a non-smoking area. Ronald was also travelling in second-class accommodation because his wife’s desertion had left him unconfident and fearful that he might, at any moment, find himself penniless. He rationalized his decision by telling himself that, these days, there was very little difference between first and second class. He was right, but he was, nevertheless, slipping unawares into an unfortunate trend towards self-deception.
    Jessica had bought a Penguin copy of
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
, thinking she might as well improve her mind on this long journey. She had read very little except for Shakespeare, Shaw, Ibsen, Ayckbourn, etc. and hence, while in some ways she could appear erudite, in others she was in danger of seeming a perfect fool.
    She had been reading for some time with increasing incredulity. As the train neared the Lake District she flung the book from her on to the table with a cry of ‘Oh
no
!’
    Harry smiled inquiringly as to the reason behind her histrionic gesture. While as yet they were unaware that they shared a destination, each had been covertly observing the other with quiet approval, assuming that they were the same sort of human being. They looked alike. Harry was handsome with clear eyes and white hair, and Jessica had a large pleasant face, which she could, when called upon, make beautiful. This is the most useful sort of face for an actress.
    ‘Have you read this?’ she demanded, indicating her book.
    Harry picked it up and looked at it. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid I haven’t.’
    ‘Don’t be afraid,’ said Jessica. ‘It’s terrible. The heroine is terrible.’ The train sped through as she spoke. ‘Listen,’ she said, opening the book at random. ‘Now, she’s been playing the piano. This is her: “I was exerting myself to sing and play for the amusement, and at the request, of my aunt and Millicent, before the gentlemen came into the drawing-room (Miss Wilmot never likes to waste her musical efforts on ladies’ ears alone): Millicent had asked for a little Scotch song, and I was just in the middle of it when they entered.” Now, Mr Huntingdon, who she’s got her eye on, asks Miss Wilmot to play, so Helen hops up from the piano in a huff. Listen. “I had quitted it immediately upon hearing his petition. Had I been endowed with a proper degree of self-possession, I should have turned to the lady myself, and cheerfully joined my entreaties to his; whereby I should have disappointed his expectations, if the affront had been purposely given, or made him sensible of the wrong, if it had only arisen from thoughtlessness; but I felt it too deeply to do anything but rise from the music stool, and throw myself back on the sofa, suppressing with difficulty the audible expression of the bitterness I felt within. I knew Anabella’s musical talents were superior to mine, but that was no reason why I should be treated as a perfect nonentity. The time and the manner of his asking her appeared like a gratuitous insult to me; and I could have wept with vexation.” She reminds me of somebody,’ added Jessica thoughtfully. ‘Who does she remind me of?’
    ‘Mr Pooter,’ said Harry.
    ‘Yes, of
course
,’ said Jessica. ‘You are clever.’ She had listened to one of her friends