“That is a purely official matter, and it’s disgraceful that there should have been gossip about it already.”
“But why have you dismissed her?”
“Because she is quite inadequate to fill the post of Hostel Superintendent. I was there myself, and I never was in a worse-managed or more uncomfortable establishment in my life.”
“I can quite believe it, my dear, but I’m inclined to think — and Grace, who knows more about it than I do, agrees with me — that she’s never had a fair chance of running it properly.”
“I don’t propose to discuss the matter with my secretary, mother.”
“But why not talk it over like ordinary human beings, Char?” said Lady Vivian, reverting to all her old half-impatient, half-humorous outspokenness. “I’ve no patience with you. What in the name of fortune is the sense of vexing and distressing everybody, when by a little decent management the whole thing could be put on to a proper basis? Grace, you’ve lived in that Hostel. If the Superintendent had a freer hand, couldn’t it be made more comfortable?”
“Yes, especially with any one as hard-working and anxious to make things nice as Mrs. Bullivant. She may not be a very good manager, but, indeed,” said Grace pleadingly, “things have been very much against her. If she could engage the sort of servants that she needs, and if there were fewer people in the Hostel, so as to give more room, and better arrangements made about the hot water and the food, it could be very nice.”
“You are all in that Hostel for the purpose of war-work, Miss Jones, and I should have thought that with that end in view a few minor discomforts could have been overlooked. When one thinks of our men in the trenches—”
“However much you may have thought of them, Char, it didn’t prevent your going into rooms before you’d been at the Hostel a fortnight,” Joanna interrupted briskly. “Those girls are just as much flesh and blood as you are yourself, whether you own to it or not. But I can tell you one thing, and that is that they’re beginning to find it out for themselves.”
“To find out what?” said the Director of the Midland Supply Depôt, vexed to the extent of for once speaking shortly and in monosyllables.
Joanna shrugged her shoulders, and Grace said emphatically:
“Mrs. Bullivant is very popular, you know, and the staff can’t understand her getting such a summary dismissal. After all, it’s very serious for her, apart from everything else, because she’s got to live.”
“To which, I suppose, Char would like to reply, ‘Je n’en vois pas la nécessité,’” quoted Lady Vivian, with her irrepressible laugh. “But it really won’t do, Char. You’re dealing with human beings, and you’ll have to make up your mind to it.”
“I am dealing,” said Char magnificently, “with an organization.”
“Even so, my dear, it’s made up of human beings. But as it’s tea-time and I’m extremely hungry,” said Lady Vivian, with a side-glance at Miss Bruce, “we’d better postpone discussion until this evening. I don’t know whether you feel human enough to leave your papers and eat bread and jam with the rest of us, but I dare say that Grace and Miss Bruce won’t give you away to the staff if you do.”
The outraged Miss Vivian left the last word to the ribald spirit apparently animating her parent.
XVIII
Captain Trevellyan’s Medical Board had passed him fit for active service again, and he made matter-of-fact announcement of his approaching return to France in the course of that evening.
“Do you know when, Johnnie?”
“Next draft that goes, I suppose. I rejoin the battalion the day after tomorrow, and it might be any day after that.”
Exclamations were left to Miss Bruce. Grace and Joanna received the news almost in silence, and Char remained monosyllabic.
“Will you smoke in the library, John?” said Joanna as she rose from the dining-table. “We’ll have coffee there. We can also talk business, Char, if you want to.”
“Then, shall I — ?” said Miss Bruce, looking at Grace and feeling strongly inclined to say “Shall we — ?”
Joanna laid her hand on the little secretary’s shoulder. “Of course not, Miss Bruce. You know we count you as one of the family.”
In the library a certain tenseness of atmosphere prevailed, until Joanna had finally dismissed the coffee equipage, and leant back in a great leather arm-chair under the lamp.
John, next her, had taken up his favourite position on the hearthrug, and was smoking in meditative silence, his eyes now and then seeking Grace, whose head was bent over a piece of needlework.
Char, presumably from force of habit, had seated herself at the writing-table, and Miss Bruce took a low chair beside her, gazing dumbly from her to Lady Vivian and back again, as though a divided loyalty harassed her thoughts.
Char broke the silence.
“Mother, you spoke about letting this place this afternoon. Is that what you mean to do?”
“No. I only said that it was in my power to let it, but as a matter of fact, since your Uncle Charles has no wish to make any change until the war is over, he and I have agreed that it had better be made use of. He is quite willing that I should do whatever seems best and most necessary.”
Miss Bruce uttered an exclamation.
“Red Cross work, do you mean?”
Char made a movement to check her, as though unwilling to let any display of surprise greet Joanna’s announcement.
“Of course,” she said slowly, “I could find a hundred uses for a place like Plessing, from turning it into a hospital onwards. The idea had naturally occurred to me before, but as, I must say, mother, you’ve always discouraged any form of patriotic sacrifice by every means in your power, and done everything possible to ignore the very fact of there being a war, it never struck me that you would consent to such a plan.”
John looked up.
“It isn’t a question of consent, Char. The scheme is Cousin Joanna’s, not any one else’s.”
“As I am — as I have been placed — in the position of Director of the Midland Supply Depôt, John,” Char said quietly, “the voluntary organizations here, of whatever kind, come under my jurisdiction, and I must say—”
“Char,” interrupted her mother, “you may say anything you please, but you’ll never persuade any of us that you and I could work together comfortably, and I haven’t any intention of trying the experiment. I shall offer this place as a convalescent home to be attached to the Military Hospital at Staffield. That will put it altogether outside the jurisdiction of your office.”
“It’s too far from the station.”
“Not with a couple of cars and Government petrol,” said John.
“The doctors here are overworked as it is.”
“A convalescent home does not need the same amount of medical attendance as a hospital, and Dr. Prince is perfectly willing to undertake whatever is necessary.”
“But you’ll want a staff, and at least two trained nurses in the house.”
“I have no doubt that they can be obtained. Char, I don’t want to vex you and make you feel that I’m acting in opposition to all your own schemes,” spoke Joanna impetuously, “but really and truly it wouldn’t answer if I tried to run things on your lines. I must do something, and it seems a shame not to use Plessing. But I had thought of another plan, though I know Johnnie doesn’t approve of it.”
“No, I don’t,” said John stoutly.
Char had coloured deeply and her mouth was set. She spoke as though with difficulty.
“What is it?”
“Tell her, Grace. You thought of it,” said Lady Vivian.
“To make Plessing the Hostel for your staff. Lady Vivian would give them their board and lodging, and superintend herself. You see, it would make an enormous difference if the present Hostel, which is much too small, were free. You could make it into an extension of the office, which is badly needed. The chief drawback, of course, is the distance, but we should have to come in by the 9 o’clock train ev
ery morning, and either bicycle back or come out by the 6.30 train. They’re putting it on again next month. You see, the days will be getting longer very soon, and we’ve all the spring and summer in front of us.”
“I don’t think it’s practicable,” Trevellyan said.
“Nor I,” echoed Miss Bruce, watching the thunder-cloud on Char’s forehead.
“I thought Char might prefer it,” said Joanna simply. “You would keep your own rooms, my dear, of course, and it would be very much more comfortable for all of you than the present arrangement. As to the difficulty of getting in and out, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t see what could be done about driving one way. I don’t know if the petrol ought to be used, but there are plenty of farm-horses, and we could hire a wagonette, or something of that sort.”
“And what about the nights when we’re all kept late, or a troop-train comes in, and the Canteen work, which is never over before eleven or half-past?”
“You must give it up,” Lady Vivian informed her placidly. “People can’t work half the night as well as all day, and I’ve always thought that you had no business to ask it of your staff. That Canteen work is very heavy, and utterly unfit for girls who’ve been all day in an office. It isn’t as if there weren’t others to undertake it. Lesbia Willoughby says that the ladies of the regiment are quite ready to divide it amongst themselves — in fact, they’ve rather resented having it so completely taken out of their hands.”
“Mother, you had better understand me once and for all. Nothing will induce me to give up any single item of all that I’ve undertaken.”
“But, Char, why?” inquired Captain Trevellyan mildly. “Is it the work you care about, or just the fact of doing it yourself?”
Dead silence followed the inquiry.
At last Char said, without attempting to answer it: “The Hostel suggestion is quite impossible, mother. Even if it were not for the practical objections, such as the distance from the work, I could not accept. My staff has been put into perfectly suitable quarters, and I should not dream of moving them. But as it has become more and more evident that Miss Jones is dissatisfied there—” She paused, and looked at Grace.
Trevellyan made a sudden brusque gesture, but Grace said quickly: “I am afraid that I had better ask you to accept my resignation, Miss Vivian.”
Char made no pretence at surprise, and simply bent her head in acquiescence.
Grace folded up her work and stood up. Trevellyan opened the door for her, and, with one look at Joanna, passed out of the room after her.
Miss Bruce gasped, as at a sudden illumination. But it was Joanna who exclaimed roundly: “Well, Char, you’ve put your foot into it with a vengeance! Unless I’m very much mistaken, John will be in no hurry to forgive you.”
“Mother! why will you always obscure every issue of what is, after all, national work, by some wretched personal question?”
“Because, Char, I’m dealing with human beings, and not with machines.”
“Oh, Lady Vivian!” cried Miss Bruce irrepressibly. “Forgive me, but you speak as though she — she wasn’t adored by her staff. Look how they all admire her!”
“Yes, and she takes advantage of it to work them very much too hard, and also to use her personal influence to obtain a sort of blind loyalty and perfectly unreasoning admiration that is bad for the work, and bad for the staff, and bad for her! However, Char, I don’t mind telling you that I think a good deal of that nonsense is coming to an end. Your staff has not been at all impressed by your abominable treatment of that poor little Superintendent, and they’ve also found out that you insisted on going off to Questerham against your father’s express wishes, and then posed as a martyr to patriotism.”
“Oh, Lady Vivian!” groaned the secretary.
“Yes, I know I’m losing my temper, but I always did and always shall think that Char behaved in the most heartless and disgraceful fashion. It wasn’t I who told her staff about it, or Grace Jones either, but I’m heartily grateful to whoever did. The work that we hear so much about may get a chance of being attended to on its own merits now, in a reasonable manner, instead of being overdone to a senseless degree, simply because ‘Miss Vivian is so wonderful!’”
Joanna went to the door.
“Think it over, Char, and if you like to behave like a reasonable being, we’ll talk over the Hostel scheme. Otherwise, John thinks there’s no doubt of this place being accepted as a convalescent home. But you’ll have to make up your mind, in that case, to see it being mismanaged by mere military authorities.”
Joanna did not bang the door behind her, but she shut it with considerable briskness, and left the appalled Miss Bruce to assist Char’s decision.
The Director of the Midland Supply Depôt sat in an attitude of the most unwonted dejection, her elbows on the writing-table and her head in her hands. Miss Bruce hardly ventured to breathe in the heavy stillness that pervaded the room.
At last Char raised her head and looked at her. “Oh, Brucey,” she said piteously, “they’re all very difficult to deal with!”
The note of appeal, which Miss Bruce had not heard from Char since her earliest childhood, moved the little secretary to great emotion.
“Charmian, my poor dear child, it’s very hard on you, after all you’ve been through already. I know that dear Lady Vivian has never altogether understood; and then her feelings about the war — so different — only, of course, now she needn’t consider — circumstances altered — reaction—”
Miss Bruce floundered into a tangle of words, and ventured to put out her hand timidly, although aware of how much Char disliked demonstrations of affection.
It affected her with a profound sense of how far Miss Vivian must be reduced when she found her tentative hand received with a long, nervous pressure.
“Oh, what can I do? What can I say? Couldn’t you make up your mind to this Hostel scheme, which would at least keep you at home?”
“I’m not thinking of myself — though, of course, it’s quite true that if Plessing becomes a convalescent home, under military ruling, I can’t go on living here. Nothing would induce me to remain in a place where I had no official standing. My mother doesn’t seem to consider that she’s practically forcing me to go on living, under most uncomfortable conditions, in Questerham. Not,” added Char hastily, recollecting herself, “that I should dream of putting any personal consideration before the work, or of letting my own comfort interfere with it in any way.”
“I know, I know! It’s wonderful, the way you’ve never thought of yourself for a moment,” cried Miss Bruce in all sincerity. “Even to your meals, for I know too well that half the time you never have any proper lunch at all, and your dinner at all hours. But I’m so dreadfully afraid of your breaking down.”
“Not while there’s work to be done, Brucey. But this winter has been appalling, with one thing and another — father, and then all the difficulties here, and half the staff getting laid up with influenza before Christmas. They’re few enough, as it is, for all they have to do, and now I suppose half of them will resign.”
“Impossible!”
“Not at all impossible, with Miss Jones making mischief and talking all over the place about my private affairs, and then resigning in that absurd way. No doubt that will be made into a grievance, too.”
“I thought,” began Miss Bruce, and then hesitated, but Char looked so impatient that she went on rather desperately— “I thought that you meant to send her away in any case?”
“Certainly I did. You must see, Brucey, how utterly out of the question it would be to have one member of the staff a sort of privileged person, who’d been out here to stay, when none of the others have so much as set foot in the place, and talking about my relations as though they were intimate friends of hers. It would be quite impossible.”
If Miss Bruce saw the impossibility in question less clearly than did Char, she said nothing.
“No, Brucey, it’s no good. I’ve set my hand to t
he plough, and there must be no looking back. I shall have to make up my mind to Questerham.”
“But the discomfort!” wailed Miss Bruce.
“It may convince my mother that there is more than mere self-will and love of notoriety in my work. To me, Brucey, it seems almost laughable that any one should attribute my work to that sort of motive, but, you see, she has never understood me.”
“Never!” said Miss Bruce with entire conviction.
“The wrench will be leaving you, dear old Brucey,” Char said affectionately.
“Charmian,” said the little secretary solemnly, “I can’t do it. I can’t face letting you go alone to those horrible lodgings, and only Preston to see to your comfort. I don’t wish to say a word against Preston, and I know how devoted she is to you, but there are things that she can’t be expected to think of. If you leave Plessing, you must take me with you.”
An emotion such as had never shaken Miss Vivian out of her self-possession before, moved her suddenly now.
“Do you really mean that, Brucey? Would you leave my mother, and the work which she would certainly find for you here, and come and look after me in Questerham? I do know that I’m difficult sometimes, and — and I can’t promise you always to come in punctually to dinner, but it would make all the difference in the world to have you there.”
Miss Bruce’s allegiance to Char dated from many years back, and needed no strengthening — was, indeed, beyond it; but henceforward, come what might, she would never forget that Miss Vivian had said that it made all the difference in the world to have her there.
“I will come whenever you like, and wherever you go, and I will look after you as much as you’ll let me,” she said tearfully.
There was a silence before Char remarked practically: “You’ll have to arrange it with my mother, Brucey. I don’t want her to think that you’re deserting her for me.”
It was difficult to see how Lady Vivian could possibly think anything else, but the uplifted Miss Bruce knew no qualms of spirit.
“I’ll tell her myself, my dear, and I know she’ll understand. She’ll be only too glad that you should have somebody with you. Indeed, she does care, very, very much, if you’ll let me say so; but all that’s passed has—”
Collected Works of E M Delafield Page 54
