Collected Works of E M Delafield

by E M Delafield

“Why should he attribute it to her behaviour any more than to his own?” Sir Julian reasonably enquired. “It usually requires the behaviour of two people to start this sort of idiotic gossiping.”

  “Mark has been foolish, I daresay,” coldly said Lady Rossiter. “All men are alike in these matters, and when a woman hurls herself at a man’s head you can’t expect him not to take a certain amount of advantage.”

  “Of what, exactly, has this hurling consisted?” demanded Sir Julian, with an air of judicial impartiality.

  ‘You have seen quite as much as I have,” Lady Rossiter mistakenly informed him; “she never has a civil word for anyone else, and she is perfectly brazen in boasting of the amount of extra work she does for him. She haunted the estate office when that other girl was ill, and took over her typewriting work in the calmest way. Of course, it was practically impossible for Mark to refuse, when she insisted. And, of course, there’s her fashion of getting him to walk home with her after dark every night.”

  “And all this would be perfectly legitimate and desirable if only Mark’s dipsomaniac was in a better world instead of in this one,” was the thoughtful resume of Sir Julian a resume of which the wording, if not the substance, found so little favour in his wife’s hearing that she had instant resort to the inevitable Roland with which it was her custom to counter his time-honoured Oliver.

  “If you remember anything at all of that miserable affair that went so near to wrecking poor Clarence Isbister’s life, you can hardly say that.”

  Sir Julian wished for no recapitulation of the ofttold tragedy alluded to.

  “I remember perfectly. He battered his head against the walls of his nursing-home, and I think any girl was well rid of him on that account alone.”

  Lady Rossiter rose with great quiet.

  “I am going to bed. It has been a strain, altogether. But, after all, I shall feel it’s been worth anything whatever it may cost me if only one can stave off any sort of disastrous crisis. It seems to me that, at the moment, the one thing to be avoided is definitely putting things into words.”

  “Plain speaking?” enquired Sir Julian. “It is, on the contrary, the one thing that I should really like. But don’t be afraid, Edna. We shan’t get it unless it’s from Fuller.”

  XVIII

  SIR JULIAN’S desire for plain speaking was more amply gratified on the following day even than he had anticipated. He had purposely made an early appointment at the College, in order to discuss with Mark and the Supervisor the question of the journey to Gloucester, bit he was aware that a curiously strong sensation of anxiety constituted an underlying motive for his presence there.

  There flashed across his mind the dim recollection of a conversation in which he had taken part, with Mark Easter and Miss Marchrose, one afternoon on the way from Salt Marsh to Culmhayes.

  They had agreed in their estimate of the potency of an atmosphere. He thought it was Miss Marchrose herself who had said that “the worst times are when nothing at all has happened, and yet everything is happening.”

  Prophetic, reflected Julian, half amused. He made his way slowly to Mark Easter’s room.

  A feminine voice, lowered to that penetrating sibilance which most infallibly attracts the attention which it is designed to escape, reached his ears.

  “And she knew I was looking at her, too. I could tell she did, by the way she coloured. You know. And I never said a word. Simply looked at her, you know. ‘Don’t let me disturb you,’ I said. Like that, quite quietly.”

  Sir Julian pushed the half-open door. Miss Farmer and Miss Sandiloe stood in close confabulation just inside the room.

  “Oh, good morning, Sir Julian.” They both looked much confused.

  “Good morning,” he said gravely. “Mr. Easter has not arrived yet?”

  “No,” said Miss Sandiloe, ever ready of speech, in spite of her manifest discomfiture.

  “No, he hasn’t. He very often gets in rather later these mornings.”

  “I can wait,” said Sir Julian. “It’s not ten o’clock yet.”

  Miss Farmer began to sidle towards the door. Her companion followed her, but was inspired to turn round and add an unnecessary rider to her last observation.

  “Mr. Easter is always here so late in the evenings now, too,” she remarked artlessly, as she went out of the room.

  Sir Julian heard a nervous giggle as the door closed behind them both, and he thought that Miss Farmer ejaculated something that sounded like, “However you could, Sandiloe!”

  “If Miss Marchrose has been up against that sort of thing for the last week...” was his unformulated thought.

  A further example of “that sort of thing “confronted him in the entrance hall, where he presently betook himself restlessly.

  Three girls, all of them pupil-teachers of the College, with young Cooper, the Financial Secretary, stood near the notice-board. Their necks were craned forward, and their eyes, expressive of curiosity, suspicion and a certain excitement, were unanimously following the tall, slight figure of Miss Marchrose as she disappeared towards a distant classroom.

  “Good morning,” said Sir Julian, with extreme abruptness, and in tones not usually associated with a morning greeting.

  Everyone jumped violently.

  The three pupil-teachers disappeared with celerity, and Mr. Cooper turned a brick-red countenance upon his chief.

  “Just looking at the notice-board,” he said, in an affable manner.

  “There appears to be nothing on it,” Sir Julian made rejoinder, with equal obviousness, but in a voice that was not without point.

  “Nothing at all,” agreed Mr. Cooper, rather feverishly, and running a hand across the green baize square as though further to demonstrate its bareness.

  “I see you’re in early, Sir Julian.”

  “I have an appointment with Mr. Easter, but I’m rather too soon. Fuller is in class, I suppose?”

  “Yes, Sir Julian. Let me see,” Cooper produced his wrist-watch. “I’ll look at the time. Yes. He’ll be in class for the next three-quarters of an hour. Shall I send for him, Sir Julian?”

  “No, thanks. I’m in no hurry. There’s just the question of the place to be opened at Gloucester. You’ve heard about it, haven’t you, Cooper?”

  “Oh, yes, Sir Julian. The whole staff has been much interested, and very proud too, if I may say so. I’d even thought I don’t know if I may venture.”

  “Are you a candidate for the job of going down there next week? “Sir Julian asked, smiling.

  “Not myself,” said Mr. Cooper. “I may even say, Sir Julian, that I doubt if I could be spared at the moment. We have one or two French scholars, and the accountancy is particularly heavy just now. Of course, it’s what you wish, Sir Julian, but I hardly think I could leave at present, even for a day or two. But I was wondering whether I might venture a suggestion.”

  “Certainly,” said Sir Julian, rather astonished.

  “It has occurred to me,” remarked Mr. Cooper, with a certain pompousness, “that Miss Marchrose would not be at all unfitted to do what’s required. And a little change might be rather a good thing for her, in its way, Sir Julian.”

  “Indeed?”

  “There’s been a certain amount of feeling, I’m afraid, just lately.”

  “I should like details, if you please.”

  “One hardly likes to say anything,” Mr. Cooper began, with great and evident satisfaction. “She’s a splendid worker, as you know, Sir Julian, and the other young ladies took to her quite wonderfully from the start. Quite foolish, one or two of them were about her. But the fact is, if you’ll excuse my mentioning it, she’s been rather indiscreet of late.”

  “Go on,” said Julian in level tones, as Cooper waited, apparently for some sign of encouragement.

  “The fact is, to put the whole matter in a nutshell, some of them have got talking. You know what that means, especially with one or two rather excitable young ladies.”

  There was a pause, during w
hich Julian recollected Mr. Coopers old-time predilection for the society of Miss Sandiloe.

  “She hasn’t made any secret of liking Mr. Mark Easter’s society very much, and she’s given him a good deal of hers. That’s all it amounts to,” said Mr. Cooper, with a great effect of frankness.

  “He has found her useful for some of the extra work.”

  “No doubt, Sir Julian. That’s all it is. But she’s in that office of his nearly as often as she’s in her own, and then they’ve been late a good many evenings and stayed on here working after the College was supposed to be closed. It was also known, Sir Julian, that the present Mrs. Douglas Garrett Miss Easter that was used to ask Miss Marchrose to her brother’s house a good deal while she was home.”

  “We are not in the least responsible for what the staff may do out of hours.”

  “Certainly not, Sir Julian. And of course we all know and like Mr. Mark Easter, and I’ve no doubt that he’s never said a word to her that we mightn’t all have heard. But somehow,” said Mr. Cooper, with a fatalistic expression, “somehow, the staff have got talking.”

  “It doesn’t concern them in any way whatever.”

  “Those were my very words,” Mr. Cooper replied impressively, “my very words, when one of the young ladies approached me on the subject. This is an affair which concerns no one but Mr. Mark Easter, I said, and you may be sure that he will deal with it in the best manner possible. In fact, I said, if this unfortunate young lady has forgotten the circumstances of the case, we may be quite sure that Mr. Easter will himself take an early opportunity of reminding her.”

  Mr. Cooper’s tone implied that no more triumphantly satisfactory denouement could be hoped for.

  “And do you suppose that he has done so?” enquired Sir Julian, from sheer curiosity to hear Mr. Cooper’s reply.

  Cooper shook his head from side to side.

  “I couldn’t say at all, Sir Julian. There’s been a very uncomfortable state of things prevailing for the last few days, altogether. I couldn’t put a finger on any one thing not to give a name to it, but there’s constraint, Sir Julian, and we all feel it. This has always been such a friendly little party, that one can’t help noticing, like.”

  “I shall be greatly obliged, Cooper,” said Sir Julian with deliberation, “if you would check this tittletattling, as far as possible. It is extraordinarily objectionable.”

  Cooper looked far from hopeful.

  “She’ll have to pull herself up, as it were, or else leave altogether, Sir Julian. Otherwise I don’t see what’s to prevent the staff from getting talking.”

  Sir Julian perceived that no amount of words would remove from Mr. Cooper his conviction of the inevitability of the calamity which he described as the “getting talking “of his fellow-workers.

  “I shall think the matter over. Certainly we can’t have this sort of atmosphere in the place. It’s upsetting everyone.”

  “That is so, Sir Julian. It’s the talk that’s doing the harm,” said Mr. Cooper solemnly.

  “Certainly it is. I hope there will be no more of it.”

  Sir Julian’s hope was uttered for rhetorical purposes merely. His never very sanguine outlook had been in no way illuminated by the eloquence of Mr. Cooper.

  “Don’t let me keep you any longer, Cooper; I know you’re busy.”

  “Thank you, Sir Julian. If you’ll excuse me. My watch ten minutes past then I’ll go straight to Classroom III up the stairs.”

  Mr. Cooper hurried away, taking two steps at a time.

  Sir Julian’s discussion with Mark was completed rapidly enough.

  “I’m quite ready to see this Gloucester affair through,” said Mark, looking out of the window” Fuller doesn’t seem anxious to take it on.”

  “Can you spare the time?”

  “Easily.”

  “To-day is Friday. What about Monday?”

  “Right.”

  Mark said nothing more. The tiny furrow between his eyes had deepened a very little, They spoke of business for a little while and then Sir Julian left Mark in solitary possession of the small office.

  As he came away he encountered Miss Marchrose.

  Her observation was worthy of Mr. Cooper.

  “I’m going to the High Speed room,” she said, with evident nervousness.

  “Are you giving another test there?”

  “Oh, no. We’re very slack at present. The last lot have gone out, and we mostly have beginners. But I want to put some things away.”

  She was quite evidently defending herself against some unspoken accusation.

  As she turned away, she looked back at Sir Julian, again with that suggestion of wishing to say something further.

  “What is it?” he asked, almost involuntarily.

  “Nothing,” said Miss Marchrose, her voice catching in her throat.

  Sir Julian walked away slowly.

  “Sir Julian!” she said, rather breathlessly.

  He turned at once.

  “Are you are you just going?”

  “I am in no hurry.”

  He reflected for an instant and then decided to take her wishes for granted.

  “You will find me in the annexe. There’s no hurry, so take your time about putting the papers away. I’ll wait for you there,” said Sir Julian calmly.

  He waited barely five minutes.

  She came into the room, very erect, with tension in every line of her face and figure, and a little dent coming and going at the corner of either nostril.

  She shut the door quietly behind her.

  “Sit down,” said Sir Julian, placing a chair for her, so that she could lean both arms on the table, and steady a certain tremulousness of which he suspected the existence.

  In order to give her time, he slowly and carefully took out and lit a cigarette. He was conscious of a sensation of surprise in the midst of his mingled annoyance and compassion. He had not expected her to acknowledge defeat so quickly, and he wondered whether some element of which he knew nothing had been introduced into the invisible contest against her.

  “I think I shall have to ask you to accept my resignation,” she said at last, in a sort of rush.

  “I’m sorry,” said Sir Julian carefully.

  “I’ve spoken to Mr. Fuller about it, but he — he was a little bit difficult.”

  “I can quite believe it.”

  “I couldn’t get him to accept my resignation at all,” she said, smiling rather forlornly.

  “Fuller is not easily defeated.”

  She interpreted his thought rather more accurately than he desired, in her quick rejoinder.

  “And I am. I haven’t been able to cope with the last few days at all. Do you remember how we talked about atmosphere one afternoon before Christmas?”

  “On the way back from Salt Marsh? I was thinking about it not so very long ago.”

  “Then,” said Miss Marchrose slowly, “You knew about this place?”

  Sir Julian made no pretence at not having understood her.

  “I know that it has afforded a rather poignant example of the very thing we discussed that afternoon,” he replied.

  “I thought you knew,” she said, pushing her hair away from her forehead with a rapid, nervous movement. “But you see I’m in the dark. No one has said a single word to me. I’d so much rather they did.”

  “Yes, I can understand that. But you see no one is in a position to say a word to you, except officially Mr. Fuller as Supervisor.”

  “Then why hasn’t he?” Miss Marchrose demanded, a sudden colour flooding her pale face.

  Sir Julian said nothing, for the conclusive reason that he could think of absolutely nothing to say.

  “He told me to-day that my services had been perfectly satisfactory, and that he didn’t want me to leave.”

  “I know he doesn’t.”

  “In that case,” said Miss Marchrose, “I must place my resignation with you direct, Sir Julian.”

  “Have you definitel
y decided to resign?”

  “I’m afraid so,” she said, again colouring suddenly.

  Sir Julian once more kept silence from a helpless sense of the impossibility of any discussion, although intuition told him that she was more or less blindly in search of a safety-valve for her perplexities.

  She remained in her chair for a minute or two, looking down at the table, and only a very slight, involuntary movement of her fingers betrayed the tension of waiting.

  Sir Julian paid the penalty sooner or later exacted of all those whose perceptions are acute, in realising with vividness her sense of bafflement as he remained mute.

  With a sort of remnant of the pluck that he had always credited her with, she rose at last and said, ‘Thank you very much, Sir Julian,” quite steadily.

  He rose also and opened the door, and she went out.

  Sir Julian remained more than ever convinced that some very forcible factor, of which he was still unaware, had entered the lists against her, and definitely defeated her.

  “It’s no business of mine,” he reflected to himself, almost violently.

  Nevertheless, he had more to hear upon the subject that same afternoon.

  He met Alderman Bellew, whose discursive comments were not to be stayed.

  “Easter’s a very nice chap, you know,” said the Alderman sapiently. “I don’t like the idea of this young woman making a fool of him. He’s not been looking himself for the last day or two. Didn’t you think him a bit off colour at the General Meeting yesterday, now? I can assure you that he didn’t look himself, to me. He looked “- the Alderman lowered his voice in a very impressive and mysterious manner “he looked worried.”

  Sir Julian felt inclined to ejaculate, “You don’t say so!” at this bit of penetration, but the Alderman went on:

  “It’s not to be wondered at, either. I don’t know whether you’ve noticed a sort of disturbance lately in the College something in the air?”

  “I know what you mean,” Sir Julian said truthfully, but noncommittally.

  “Exactly. Just what Lady Rossiter was speaking of the other day. Well, now that sort of thing won’t do, will it? It upsets the staff upsets the work upsets that chap Fuller, badly. Took it very much to heart, didn’t he? I suppose he thinks it reflects upon his credit as Supervisor, when things go wrong with the staff. However, it’s all quite easily put right, when all’s said and done.”