They felt uncomfortably sure that if they were in prison they would write a diary very much on these lines. For three evenings they had to listen to it, their eyes on Mr. Twist’s door. Why didn’t he come out and save them? What happy, what glorious evenings they used to have at the Cosmopolitan, spent in intelligent conversation, in a decent give and take — not this button-holing business, this being got into a corner and held down; and alas, how little they had appreciated them! They used to get sleepy and break them off and go to bed. If only he would come out now and talk to them they would sit up all night. They wriggled with impatience in their seats beneath the épanchements of the young girl, the strangely and distressingly familiar épanchements. The diary was published in a magazine, and after the second evening, when Mrs. Bilton on laying it down announced she would go on with it while they were dressing next morning, they got up very early before Mrs. Bilton was awake and crept out and hid it.
But Li Koo found it and restored it.
Li Koo found everything. He found Mrs. Bilton’s outdoor shoes the third morning, although the twins had hidden them most carefully. Their idea was that while she, rendered immobile, waited indoors, they would zealously look for them in all the places where they well knew that they weren’t, and perhaps get some conversation with Mr. Twist.
But Li Koo found everything. He found the twins themselves the fourth morning, when, unable any longer to bear Mrs. Bilton’s voice, they ran into the woods instead of coming in to breakfast. He seemed to find them at once, to walk unswervingly to their remote and bramble-filled ditch.
In order to save their dignity they said as they scrambled out that they were picking flowers for Mrs. Bilton’s breakfast, though the ditch had nothing in it but stones and thorns. Li Koo made no comment. He never did make comments; and his silence and his ubiquitous efficiency made the twins as fidgety with him as they were with Mrs. Bilton for the opposite reason. They had an uncomfortable feeling that he was rather like the liebe Gott, — he saw everything, knew everything, and said nothing. In vain they tried, on that walk back as at other times, to pierce his impassivity with genialities. Li Koo — again, they silently reflected, like the liebe Gott — had a different sense of geniality from theirs; he couldn’t apparently smile; they doubted if he even ever wanted to. Their genialities faltered and froze on their lips.
Besides, they were deeply humiliated by having been found hiding, and were ashamed to find themselves trying anxiously in this manner to conciliate Li Koo. Their dignity on the walk back to the shanty seemed painfully shrunk. They ought never to have condescended to do the childish things they had been doing during the last three days. If they hadn’t been found out it would, of course, have remained a private matter between them and their Maker, and then one doesn’t mind so much; but they had been found out, and by Li Koo, their own servant. It was intolerable. All the blood of all the Twinklers, Junkers from time immemorial and properly sensitive to humiliation, surged within them. They hadn’t felt so naughty and so young for years. They were sure Li Koo didn’t believe them about the ditch. They had a dreadful sensation of being led back to Mrs. Bilton by the ear.
If only they could sack Mrs. Bilton!
This thought, immense and startling, came to Anna-Rose, who far more than Anna-Felicitas resented being cut off from Mr. Twist, besides being more naturally impetuous; and as they walked in silence side by side, with Li Koo a little ahead of them, she turned her head and looked at Anna-Felicitas. “Let’s give her notice,” she murmured, under her breath.
Anna-Felicitas was so much taken aback that she stopped in her walk and stared at Anna-Rose’s flushed face.
She too hardly breathed it. The suggestion seemed fantastic in its monstrousness. How could they give anybody so old, so sure of herself, so determined as Mrs. Bilton, notice?
“Give her notice?” she repeated.
A chill ran down Anna-Felicitas’s spine. Give Mrs. Bilton notice! It was a great, a breath-taking idea, magnificent in its assertion of independence, of rights; but it needed, she felt, to be approached with caution. They had never given anybody notice in their lives, and they had always thought it must be a most painful thing to do — far, far worse than tipping. Uncle Arthur usedn’t to mind it a bit; did it, indeed, with gusto. But Aunt Alice hadn’t liked it at all, and came out in a cold perspiration and bewailed her lot to them and wished that people would behave and not place her in such a painful position.
Mrs. Bilton couldn’t be said not to have behaved. Quite the contrary. She had behaved too persistently; and they had to endure it the whole twenty-four hours. For Mrs. Bilton had no turn, it appeared, in spite of what she had said at Los Angeles, for solitary contemplation, and after the confusion of the first night, when once she had had time to envisage the situation thoroughly, as she said, she had found that to sit alone downstairs in the uncertain light of the lanterns while the twins went to bed and Mr. Twist wouldn’t come out of his room, was not good for her psyche; so she had followed the twins upstairs, and continued to read the young girl’s diary to them during their undressing and till the noises coming from their beds convinced her that it was useless to go on any longer. And that morning, the morning they hid in the ditch, she had even done this while they were getting up.
“It isn’t to be borne,” said Anna-Rose under her breath, one eye on Li Koo’s ear which, a little in front of her, seemed slightly slanted backward and sideways in the direction of her voice. “And why should it be? We’re not in her power.”
“No,” said Anna-Felicitas, also under her breath and also watching Li Koo’s ear, “but it feels extraordinarily as if we were.”
“Yes. And that’s intolerable. And it forces us to do silly baby things, wholly unsuited either to our age or our position. Who would have thought we’d ever hide from somebody in a ditch again!” Anna-Rose’s voice was almost a sob at the humiliation.
“It all comes from sleeping in the same room,” said Anna-Felicitas. “Nobody can stand a thing that doesn’t end at night either.”
“Of course they can’t,” said Anna-Rose. “It isn’t fair. If you have to have a person all day you oughtn’t to have to have the same person all night. Some one else should step in and relieve you then. Just as they do in hospitals.”
“Yes,” said Anna-Felicitas. “Mr. Twist ought to. He ought to remove her forcibly from our room by marriage.
“No he oughtn’t,” said Anna-Rose hastily, “because we can remove her ourselves by the simple process of giving her notice.”
“I don’t believe it’s simple,” said Anna-Felicia again feeling a chill trickling down her spine.
“Of course it is. We just go to her very politely and inform her that the engagement is terminated on a basis of mutual esteem but inflexible determination.”
“And suppose she doesn’t stop talking enough to hear?”
“Then we’ll hand it to her in writing.”
The rest of the way they walked in silence, Anna-Rose with her chin thrust out in defiance, Anna-Felicitas dragging her feet along with a certain reluctance and doubt.
Mrs. Bilton had finished her breakfast when they got back, having seen no sense in letting good food get cold, and was ready to sit and chat to them while they had theirs. She was so busy telling them what she had supposed they were probably doing, that she was unable to listen to their attempted account of what they had done. Thus they were saved from telling humiliating and youthful fibs; but they were also prevented, as by a wall of rock, from getting the speech through to her ear that Anna-Rose, trembling in spite of her defiance, had ready to launch at her. It was impossible to shout at Mrs. Bilton in the way Mr. Twist, when in extremity of necessity, had done. Ladies didn’t shout; especially not when they were giving other ladies notice. Anna-Rose, who was quite cold and clammy at the prospect of her speech, couldn’t help feeling relieved when breakfast was over and no opportunity for it had been given.
“We’ll write it,” she whispered to Anna-Felicitas b
eneath the cover of a lively account Mrs. Bilton was giving them, à propos of their being late for breakfast, of the time it took her, after Mr. Bilton’s passing, to get used to his unpunctuality at meals.
That Mr. Bilton, who had breakfasted and dined with her steadily for years, should suddenly leave off being punctual freshly astonished her every day, she said. The clock struck, yet Mr. Bilton continued late. It was poignant, said Mrs. Bilton, this way of being reminded of her loss. Each day she would instinctively expect; each day would come the stab of recollection. The vacancy these non-appearances had made in her life was beyond any words of hers. In fact she didn’t possess such words, and doubted if the completest dictionary did either. Everything went just vacant, she said. No need any more to hurry down in the morning, so as to be behind the coffee pot half a minute before the gong went and Mr. Bilton simultaneously appeared. No need any more to think of him when ordering meals. No need any more to eat the dish he had been so fond of and she had found so difficult to digest, Boston baked beans and bacon; yet she found herself ordering it continually after his departure, and choking memorially over the mouthfuls— “And people in Europe,” cried Mrs Bilton, herself struck as she talked by this extreme devotion, “say that American women are incapable of passion!”
“We’ll write it,” whispered Anna-Rose to Anna-Felicitas.
“Write what?” asked Anna-Felicitas abstractedly, who as usual when Mrs. Bilton narrated her reminiscences was absorbed in listening to them and trying to get some clear image of Mr. Bilton.
But she remembered the next moment, and it was like waking up to the recollection that this is the day you have to have a tooth pulled out. The idea of not having the tooth any more, of being free from it charmed and thrilled her, but how painful, how alarming was the prospect of pulling it out!
There was one good thing to be said for Mrs. Bilton’s talk, and that was that under its voluminous cover they could themselves whisper occasionally to each other. Anna-Rose decided that if Mrs. Bilton didn’t notice that they whispered neither probably would she notice if she wrote. She therefore under Mrs. Bilton’s very nose got a pencil and a piece of paper, and with many pauses and an unsteady hand wrote the following:
DEAR MRS. BILTON — For some time past my sister and I have felt that we aren’t suited to you, and if you don’t mind would you mind regarding the engagement as terminated? We hope you won’t think this abrupt, because it isn’t really, for we seem to have lived ages since you came, and we’ve been thinking this over ripely ever since. And we hope you won’t take it as anything personal either, because it isn’t really. It’s only that we feel we’re unsuitable, and we’re sure we’ll go on getting more and more unsuitable. Nobody can help being unsuitable, and we’re fearfully sorry. But on the other hand we’re inflexible. — Yours affectionately,
ANNA-ROSE and ANNA-FELICITAS TWINKLER
With a beating heart she cautiously pushed the letter across the table under cover of the breakfast débris to Anna-Felicitas, who read it with a beating heart and cautiously pushed it back.
Anna-Felicitas felt sure Christopher was being terribly impetuous, and she felt sure she ought to stop her. But what a joy to be without Mrs. Bilton! The thought of going to bed in the placid sluggishness dear to her heart, without having to listen, to be attentive, to remember to be tidy because if she weren’t there would be no room for Mrs. Bilton’s things, was too much for her. Authority pursuing her into her bedroom was what she had found most difficult to bear. There must be respite. There must be intervals in every activity or endurance. Even the liebe Gott, otherwise so indefatigable, had felt this and arranged for the relaxation of Sundays.
She pushed the letter back with a beating heart, and told herself that she couldn’t and never had been able to stop Christopher when she was in this mood of her chin sticking out. What could she do in face of such a chin? And besides, Mrs. Bilton’s friends must be missing her very much and ought to have her back. One should always live only with one’s own sort of people. Every other way of living, Anna-Felicitas was sure even at this early stage of her existence, was bound to come to a bad end. One could be fond of almost anybody, she held, if they were somewhere else. Even of Uncle Arthur. Even he somehow seemed softened by distance. But for living-together purposes there was only one kind of people possible, and that was one’s own kind. Unexpected and various were the exteriors of one’s own kind and the places one found them in, but one always knew them. One felt comfortable with them at once; comfortable and placid. Whatever else Mrs. Bilton might be feeling she wasn’t feeling placid. That was evident; and it was because she too wasn’t with her own kind. With her eyes fixed nervously on Mrs. Bilton who was talking on happily, Anna-Felicitas reasoned with herself in the above manner as she pushed back the letter, instead of, as at the back of her mind she felt she ought to have done, tearing it up.
Anna-Rose folded it and addressed it to Mrs. Bilton. Then she got up and held it out to her.
Anna-Felicitas got up too, her inside feeling strangely unsteady and stirred round and round.
“Would you mind reading this?” said Anna-Rose faintly to Mrs. Bilton, who took the letter mechanically and held it in her hand without apparently noticing it, so much engaged was she by what she was saying.
“We’re going out a moment to speak to Mr. Twist,” Anna-Rose then said, making for the door and beckoning to Anna-Felicitas, who still stood hesitating.
She slipped out; and Anna-Felicitas, suddenly panic-stricken lest she should be buttonholed all by herself fled after her.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Mr. Twist, his mind at ease, was in the charming room that was to be the tea-room. It was full of scattered fittings and the noise of hammering, but even so anybody could see what a delightful place it would presently turn into.
The Open Arms was to make a specialty of wet days. Those were the days, those consecutive days of downpour that came in the winter and lasted without interruption for a fortnight at a time, when visitors in the hotels were bored beyond expression and ready to welcome anything that could distract them for an hour from the dripping of the rain on the windows. Bridge was their one solace, and they played it from after breakfast till bedtime; but on the fourth or fifth day of doing this, just the mere steady sitting became grievous to them. They ached with weariness. They wilted with boredom. All their natural kindness got damped out of them, and they were cross. Even when they won they were cross, and when they lost it was really distressing. They wouldn’t, of course, have been in California at all at such a time if it were possible to know beforehand when the rains would begin, but one never did know, and often it was glorious weather right up to and beyond Christmas. And then how glorious! What a golden place of light and warmth to be in, while in the East one’s friends were being battered by blizzards.
Mr. Twist intended to provide a break in the day each afternoon for these victims of the rain. He would come to their rescue. He made up his mind, clear and firm on such matters, that it should become the habit of these unhappy people during the bad weather to motor out to The Open Arms for tea; and, full of forethought, he had had a covered way made, by which one could get out of a car and into the house without being touched by a drop of rain, and he had had a huge open fireplace made across the end of the tea-room, which would crackle and blaze a welcome that would cheer the most dispirited arrival. The cakes, at all times wonderful were on wet days to be more than wonderful. Li Koo had a secret receipt, given him, he said, by his mother for cakes of a quite peculiar and original charm, and these were to be reserved for the rainy season only, and be made its specialty. They were to become known and endeared to the public under the brief designation of Wet Day Cakes. Mr. Twist felt there was something thoroughly American about this name — plain and business-like, and attractively in contrast to the subtle, the almost immoral exquisiteness of the article itself. This cake had been one of those produced by Li Koo from the folds of his garments the day in Los Angeles, and Mr. Twi
st had happened to be the one of his party who ate it. He therefore knew what he was doing when he decided to call it and its like simply Wet Day Cakes.
The twins found him experimenting with a fire in the fireplace so as to be sure it didn’t smoke, and the architect and he were in their shirt sleeves, deftly manipulating wood shavings and logs. There was such a hammering being made by the workmen fixing in the latticed windows, and such a crackling being made by the logs Mr. Twist and the architect kept on throwing on the fire, that only from the sudden broad smile on the architect’s face as he turned to pick up another log did Mr. Twist realize that something that hadn’t to do with work was happening behind his back.
He looked round and saw the Annas picking their way toward him. They seemed in a hurry.
“Hello,” he called out.
They made no reply to this, but continued hurriedly to pick their way among the obstacles in their path. They appeared to be much perturbed. What, he wondered, had they done with Mrs. Bilton? He soon knew.
“We’ve given Mrs. Bilton notice,” panted Anna-Rose as soon as she got near enough to his ear for him to hear her in the prevailing noise.
Her face, as usual when she was moved and excited, was scarlet, her eyes looking bluer and brighter than ever by contrast.
“We simply can’t stand it any longer,” she went on as Mr. Twist only stared at her.
“And you wouldn’t either if you were us,” she continued, the more passionately as he still didn’t say anything.
“Of course,” said Anna-Felicitas, taking a high line, though her heart was full of doubt, “it’s your fault really. We could have borne it if we hadn’t had to have her at night.”
“Come outside,” said Mr. Twist, walking toward the door that led on to the verandah.
They followed him, Anna-Rose shaking with excitement, Anna-Felicitas trying to persuade herself that they had acted in the only way consistent with real wisdom.
Delphi Collected Works of Elizabeth von Arnim (Illustrated) Page 215
