Complete Short Stories (VMC) (10 page)

Robert walked on as if he had not heard; but by the time he reached his study, his agitation was so great, he was so sure of what Muriel would inflict on the girl, that he went out into the hall again and stood guiltily at the table pretending to read
The Times
.

The voices on the other side of the door were separated by long silences; the blurred murmurings seemed without consequence or meaning. Then he heard Hester crying. The sobs came in a rush towards the door and in a panic he hurried back to his study and sat down at his desk. He heard footsteps in the hall, and was so sure that they were coming to him and felt so anxious to be ready to deal with disaster – fidgeting busily with papers, continually clearing his throat – that he did not listen, and when at last he realised that the house was silent, he could not tell in which direction Hester had gone.

At three o’clock, he gave a Latin lesson. Afterwards, he returned to his study. She was not there, and the typewriter was still covered. He put down his books and went to look for Muriel; but Muriel, he was told, had gone to a meeting in the village. He spent an idle, worried afternoon, and Hester did not appear. ‘Another man,’ he thought, ‘could get away from this, could leave the women and go to work!’ He was forced to remain, always morbidly aware of the atmosphere in the house.

Muriel returned in the early evening, said, ‘Hello, Robert!’ very casually, as she took her afternoon’s post from the hall-table and walked into the drawing-room.

‘Where is Hester?’

She read her letters attentively. ‘I can’t tell you. I went out soon after lunch.’

‘Not soon enough.’

She had to raise her head then.

‘What have you done to her? You made her cry.’

‘From no sense of shame, either, I’m afraid. Only from chagrin at being found out.’

‘I suppose she
did
break that damned thing.’

‘Exactly.’

‘She was afraid to tell you. You shouldn’t frighten her so.’

‘She stood there and listened to me saying that I should question Lucy and Sylvia.’

‘Did you know then that she had done it?’

‘I wasn’t sure, although she is so clumsy that one’s thoughts naturally fly to her.’

‘You make her clumsy, you know.’

‘Yes, I dare say it is my fault.’

‘I know she doesn’t always speak the truth and I worry sometimes that she should be driven to deceit.’

‘Driven? You choose melodramatic words, Robert. And I can’t imagine anyone driving anyone into such fantastic lunatic deceptions as your Hester’s.’

‘You must have upset her very much.’

‘Yes, as you say, I made her cry. I am glad I did not make Lucy cry. I am glad I took their word at once.’

‘But where is Hester now?’

Muriel put aside her letters with a sigh of weariness. ‘I do not know, Robert. I do not know. You have seen her since I.’

‘But I haven’t. I left her here with you.’

‘The last I saw of her, she was coming to you for the key.’

‘What key?’

‘The key to the Shell House. Where she had hidden the piece of china. I sent her to fetch it and to get the key from you.’

‘That was her punishment, was it? To have to face me, as she was, and make that pathetic little confession, then go out, humiliated, to pick up the bits? And you can do that to someone just because they have broken some china.’

‘She has broken more than china for me.’

‘The deepest destruction is done with finesse, not clumsiness. She couldn’t hold a candle to you. I must go to look for her.’

‘He will find her weeping in her room and console her, take sides against
me,’ Muriel thought. She said: ‘I am at the end of this marriage, Robert. I cannot bear any more of it.’

‘I will ask Hugh,’ he said. ‘Perhaps he will have seen her.’

‘Why Hugh?’

‘Because I think he is in love with her.’

‘Is that so? I wouldn’t have thought it of him. You need not speak so angrily. Poor young man, I don’t suppose he has any idea of how he is trespassing. Anyone else would know; but he’s a little extra stupid.’ Once again, she desired to strike him, did so with words instead. ‘I expect she is just sulking in her bedroom, so I shouldn’t fuss.’

But Hester was not in her room, and those who were discreetly questioned had not seen her.

Fortune struck blindingly at Miss Despenser. All fell into place and she saw that, given the right ingredients and patience, heart’s desire at last will come, like risen bread, to proving point. She had despaired in loneliness, then conquered her despair, up to that stage of no-feeling, where the mind goes joggety-jog on little errands of the will, each minute measured out in a tiny sip. ‘For time heals all,’ she told herself. ‘At the end of life, we should be quite healed, and so go whole to dissolution.’

Mrs Brimmer, towards two o’clock, had mysteriously run out of both Guinness and Madeira; could only suggest a mild-and-bitter, and then the bitter had given out. The men sniggered. ‘You know I don’t like cold drinks,’ Miss Despenser complained. ‘You should write to the brewers!’

‘I will,’ Mrs Brimmer said, and they laughed again.

‘Mother would be shocked,’ Miss Despenser thought, as she wandered home. ‘The way they speak nowadays.’

It seemed siesta-time in the lanes. Only the bees moved. But the house was buzzing with activity. Green and dark-blue flies were delirious over the plates of cat’s food in the kitchen. In sudden disgust with her life, Miss Despenser took them all up and threw them – dishes, too – into the dustbin, and started a furious zigzagging as she lifted the lid.

At that moment, Hester rang the bell.

‘What luck!’ said Miss Despenser when she opened the door. ‘You came just at the right time. I was doing a bit of spring-cleaning and I shall be glad to knock off and have a chat. You will cheer me up, I know you.’

Hester, trembling, swollen-eyed, entered the house. She bore her nausea for the sake of Muriel’s punishment, knowing she could not hope to hurt her without sacrificing herself; had even contemplated, in a brief moment of rage, the supreme sacrifice; for no greater hatred could she show than that.

‘I knew it would be a red-letter day,’ Miss Despenser said and handed
Hester a postcard, ‘when this came this morning. I don’t often have anything in the post,’ she explained simply. It was a printed invitation from a girls’ school. ‘Tennis Match,’ Hester read. ‘Past
v
. Present. 2.15 sharp.’ ‘What is Asboga?’ she asked dully, and pressed her fingers to her burning eyes.

‘Abbey School, Brighton, Old Girls’ Association,’ Miss Despenser said. ‘Linda and I were both Asbogs. Though she could only stand a term there. It was the happiest time I ever had, although at times we pined for one another. The food was so good. I don’t think you could better that food anywhere. On Fridays, we had a red jelly with bananas sliced up in it. Every Friday. We looked forward to it, I can tell you. What is the food like where you are? What did you have for luncheon today, for instance?’

Hester thought, then said: ‘A sort of shepherd’s pie.’

‘My favourite! And after?’

‘Oh, dear, I don’t know.’

‘But it can only have been half an hour ago.’

‘I think it was apple … something with apple …’ She began to cry again.

‘Now, chin up! Surely you don’t grizzle over your food, like poor Linda? She once cried over an apple-charlotte. She cried all afternoon without stopping. My father made her sit there till tea-time. She ate it in the end. He had a will of iron. I advise you to eat up in the beginning …’

‘I don’t want to answer questions, that’s all,’ Hester said.

‘You look peaky. Come along, hop on to the sofa, legs up! I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

Hester lay down, the dusty plush against her cheek. Misery obliterated her. ‘Someone take over, take charge, take care!’ She wept for a little while, then fell asleep.

Miss Despenser was a long time getting the tea ready. She worked happily, but slowly, in her usual state of afternoon muzziness.

After dinner, Robert found Hugh walking about the grounds and asked if he had seen Hester.

‘No, I was looking for her.’

‘She didn’t come to dinner, and I am rather anxious.’

‘Has there been some upset?’ Hugh asked at once.

‘Yes. Why do you ask?’

‘She seemed fairly miserable last night. We went for a walk, you know. Is she in her room?’

‘No. Of course, we looked there first. I’ll stroll about and keep my eyes open.’

When he had shaken off Hugh, Robert went quickly up the path to the Shell House and unlocked the door. It swung open with a grating sound.
The piece of china lay on the dusty floor, proving nothing but what Muriel had said, that Hester had delivered herself into her hands.

He began an aimless search of the grounds, for he could not think where Hester might go, or what she did in her spare time. Some of the boys watched him with excitement, for they were sure he was out on some mysterious investigation and they wondered if school monotony might be enlivened after prayers next day by the announcement of some appalling scandal – some of the lordly ones found smoking in the shrubbery, or the copy of
Lady Chatterley’s Lover
unearthed. When he was seen to be walking more quickly towards the churchyard, as if struck by a sudden idea, he was watched intently by one boy, Terence Mooney, who always made his beer in the little shed by the church. His father was a brewer – Mooney’s Sunshine Ales – and Terry’s school-life was an everlasting misery in consequence. ‘You must know how to make it,’ the boys said. ‘Surely your old man told you. Well, write and ask him, then.’ He had pretended to write to ask, and the boys gathered round and watched him open his next letter from home – ‘Darling, I hope you are happy and your earache better. Don’t talk after lights out, but get all the rest you can.’ … ‘Did he say anything?’ ‘Yes, of course.’ ‘Well, what?’ ‘Well, he says I mustn’t say. It’s a family secret.’ ‘Well, you’re his family, aren’t you? Can’t he tell you?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, get on, then. We don’t want to know how you do it. We just want to drink it.’ ‘It takes time. It has to ferment, you see.’ ‘All right, we’ll give you time.’ They arranged to give him a week. He studied encyclopaedias. He did not sleep. He stole potatoes and brewed concoctions. These never tasted right to him, or to most of the boys, who made it clear that they would never touch Mooney’s beer when they left school and could choose. Terry lived in wretched unpopularity, busy, furtive; he segregated his parents on Speech Day, and now, watching Robert, wondered if he would be expelled.

‘Mr Baseden’s prowling about, too,’ a boy said. ‘He went through the churchyard a few minutes ago.’

‘They might be going for walks,’ poor Mooney said.

‘Not them. They keep looking round.’

It did not occur to them that masters could have anything but boys in their minds.

Hugh went to the Hand and Flowers, but neither Miss Despenser nor Hester was there. ‘I’m not breaking my heart, either,’ Mrs Brimmer said as she drew his beer. He drank it quickly and hurried back up the lane to the stucco villa.

‘No, there’s no one there,’ Miss Despenser told Hester, who had heard the knocking on the door. ‘I often fancy the same thing; but nobody calls here. Perhaps Pussy jumped down off my bed. It wouldn’t be anyone.’

But at the second knock, Hester went to the window. Hugh, stepping back from the porch, saw her behind the dusty pane. She had a fan of old photographs in her hand and her face was stained with tears.

‘Yes. It is Hugh Baseden,’ she said, and he could see her lips moving as she still stared at him.

‘Then draw the curtains. How dare he trespass here! Peering and prying!’

Hester – dreamy with weakness – moved towards the hall and opened the door. She was at a stage of recovery from grief – the air was vacant, silence enfolded her, and when she put out her hand to the wall to steady herself after the effort of opening the door, the wall seemed to bend, to slope away from her; and it was as if Hugh’s hand as she touched it dissolved, vanished.

He lifted her and carried her to a chair in the hall. ‘Put your head down,’ he told her. She obeyed. Her hand with the photographs swung against the floor. Pussy came up and walked in a figure-of-eight round her feet. Hugh pushed him aside. ‘And now, Paul Pry, you can leave my house at once,’ Miss Despenser said. ‘I was just coming into the hall when I saw what you did to Pussy. You peer through my windows, force your way in, are cruel to my cat and goodness knows what you have done to this poor girl. Sit up, Hester! The blood will run to your head.’

Hester sat up and Hugh pushed her head down again.

‘You blockhead!’ Miss Despenser shouted. ‘She will faint, you great dunce, if you are not careful.’

He knelt down before Hester and held her head against him.

‘She was all right until you came,’ Miss Despenser said. ‘I wish you would go away again.’

‘What are these?’ Hugh asked, gently taking the photographs from Hester.

‘They are mine. I am showing them to her,’ Miss Despenser said. ‘We haven’t nearly finished yet.’ She sprang forward and snatched up one of the photographs he had dropped. ‘How dare you throw my things on the floor, you blundering oaf! That is my sister.’ She looked, with a change to tenderness, at the yellowed card, the girl with the vapid smile, the hand resting on a carved pedestal behind which a backcloth of roses and pillars met the carpet unevenly.

‘Are you well enough to come home?’ Hugh asked Hester. ‘Shall I get a car?’

‘I can’t go home.’

‘No, she can’t go home.’

‘What is wrong?’ Hugh asked softly, kneeling by her, rocking her gently in his arms.

‘It is out of the question,’ Miss Despenser said. ‘Now you must run along. I am sorry I cannot invite you to dinner.’ She fought bravely, but by now she knew that she was going to lose. He had forgotten her, as an adversary, while he listened to Hester’s story.

‘Get up off your knees!’ Miss Despenser tried to interrupt them. ‘You exhibitionist.’

‘I don’t know why I did,’ Hester was moaning. ‘I lost my nerve. She makes me behave badly. I hate her. Oh, I hate her.’ Her mouth squared like a howling child’s, then she began to beat her forehead with her hands.