And this must be imagined as said so loud that only capital letters would properly represent the noise Mr. Twist made.
Mrs. Bilton did sit down, her face flushed by the knowledge of how good her intentions had been when she took the post, and how deceitful — she was forced to think it — Mr. Twist’s were when he offered it. She was prepared, however, to give him a hearing. It was only fair. But Mr. Twist had to burst into capitals several times before he had done, so difficult was it for Mrs. Bilton, even when she had agreed, even when she herself wished, not to say anything.
It wasn’t five minutes but twenty before Mrs. Bilton came out of the office again. She went straight into the garden, where the Annas, aware of the interview going on with Mr. Twist, had been lingering anxiously, unable at so crucial a moment to settle to anything, and with solemnity kissed them. Her eyes were very bright. Her face, ordinarily colourless as parchment, was red. Positively she kissed them without saying a single word; and they kissed her back with such enthusiasm, with a relief that made them hug her so tight and cling to her so close, that the brightness in her eyes brimmed over and she had to get out her handkerchief and wipe it away.
“Gurls,” said Mrs. Bilton, “I had a shock yesterday, but I’m through with it. You’re motherless. I’m daughterless. We’ll weld.”
And with this unusual brevity did Mrs. Bilton sum up the situation.
She was much moved. Her heart was touched; and once that happened nothing could exceed her capacity for sticking through what she called thick and thin to her guns. For years Mr. Bilton had occupied the position of the guns; now it would be these poor orphans. No Germans could frighten her away, once she knew their story; no harsh judgments and misconceptions of her patriotic friends. Mr. Twist had told her everything, from the beginning on the St. Luke, harking back to Uncle Arthur and the attitude of England, describing what he knew of their mother and her death, not even concealing the part his own mother had played or that he wasn’t their guardian at all. He made the most of Mrs. Bilton’s silence; and as she listened her heart melted within her, and the immense store of grit which was her peculiar pride came to the top and once and for all overwhelmed her prejudices. But she couldn’t think, and at last she burst out and told Mr. Twist she couldn’t think, why he hadn’t imparted all this to her long ago.
“Ah,” murmured Mr. Twist, bowing his head as a reed in the wind before the outburst of her released volubility.
Hope once more filled The Open Arms, and the Twist party looked forward to the afternoon with renewed cheerfulness. It had just happened so the first day, that only Germans came. It was just accident. Mr. Twist, with the very large part of him that wasn’t his head, found himself feeling like this too and declining to take any notice of his intelligence, which continued to try to worry him.
Yet the hope they all felt was not realized, and the second afternoon was almost exactly like the first. Germans came and clustered round the Annas, and made friendly though cautious advances to Mr. Twist. The ones who had been there the first day came again and brought others with them worse than themselves, and they seemed more at home than ever, and the air was full of rolling r’s — among them, Mr. Twist was unable to deny, being the r’s of his blessed Annas. But theirs were such little r’s, he told himself. They rolled, it is true, but with how sweet a rolling. While as for these other people — confound it all, the place might really have been, from the sounds that were filling it, a Conditorei Unter den Linden.
All his doubts and anxieties flocked back on him as time passed and no Americans appeared. Americans. How precious. How clean, and straight, and admirable. Actually he had sometimes, he remembered, thought they weren’t. What an aberration. Actually he had been, he remembered, impatient with them when first he came back from France. What folly. Americans. The very word was refreshing, was like clear water on a thirsty day. One American, even one, coming in that afternoon would have seemed to Mr. Twist a godsend, a purifier, an emollient — like some blessed unction dropped from above.
But none appeared; not even Mr. Ridding.
At six o’clock it was quite dark, and obviously too late to go on hoping. The days in California end abruptly. The sun goes down, and close on its heels comes night. In the tea-room the charmingly shaded lights had been turned on some time, and Mr. Twist, watching from the partly open door of his office, waited impatiently for the guests to begin to thin out. But they didn’t. They took no notice of the signals of lateness, the lights turned on, the stars outside growing bright in the surrounding blackness.
Mr. Twist watched angrily. He had been driven into his office by the disconcerting and incomprehensible overtures of Mr. Wangelbecker, and had sat there watching in growing exasperation ever since. When six struck and nobody showed the least sign of going away he could bear it no longer, and touched the little muffled electric bell that connected him to Mrs. Bilton in what Anna-Felicitas called a mystical union — Anna II. was really excessively tactless; she had said this to Mrs. Bilton in his presence, and then enlarged on unions, mystical and otherwise, with an embarrassing abundance of imagery — by buzzing gently against her knee from the leg of the desk.
She laid down her pen, as though she had just finished adding up a column, and went to him.
“Now don’t talk,” said Mr. Twist, putting up an irritable hand directly she came in.
Mrs. Bilton looked at him in much surprise. “Talk, Mr. Twist?” she repeated. “Why now, as though—”
“Don’t talk I say, Mrs. Bilton, but listen. Listen now. I can’t stand seeing those children in there. It sheer makes my gorge rise. I want you to fetch them in here — now don’t talk — you and me’ll do the confounded waiting — no, no, don’t talk — they’re to stay quiet in here till the last of those Germans have gone. Just go and fetch them, please Mrs. Bilton. No, no, we’ll talk afterwards. I’ll stay here till they come.” And he urged her out into the tea-room again.
The guests had finished their tea long ago, but still sat on, for they were very comfortable. Obviously they were thoroughly enjoying themselves, and all were growing, as time passed, more manifestly at home. They were now having a kind of supper of ices and fruit-salads. Five dollars, thought the sensible Germans, was after all a great deal to pay for afternoon tea, however good the cause might be and however important one’s own ulterior motives; and since one had in any case to pay, one should eat what one could. So they kept the Annas very busy. There seemed to be no end, thought the Annas as they ran hither and thither, to what a German will hold.
Mrs. Bilton waylaid the heated and harried Anna-Rose as she was carrying a tray of ices to a party she felt she had been carrying ices to innumerable times already. The little curls beneath her cap clung damply to her forehead. Her face was flushed and distressed. What with having to carry so many trays, and remember so many orders, and try at the same time to escape from the orderers and their questions and admiration, she was in a condition not very far from tears.
Mrs. Bilton took the tray out of her hands, and told her Mr. Twist wanted to speak to her; and Anna-Rose was in such a general bewilderment that she felt quite scared, and thought he must be going to scold her. She went towards the office reluctantly. If Mr. Twist were to be severe, she was sure she wouldn’t be able not to cry. She made her way very slowly to the office, and Mrs. Bilton looked round the room for the other one. There was no sign of her. Perhaps, thought Mrs. Bilton, she was fetching something in the kitchen, and would appear in a minute; and seeing a group over by the entrance door, for whom the tray she held was evidently destined, gesticulating to her, she felt she had better keep them quiet first and then go and look for Anna-Felicitas.
Mrs. Bilton set her teeth and plunged into her strange new duties. Never would she have dreamed it possible that she should have to carry trays to Germans. If Mr. Bilton could see her now he would certainly turn in his grave. Well, she was a woman of grit, of adhesiveness to her guns; if Mr. Bilton did see her and did turn in his grave, let
him; he would, she dared say, be more comfortable on his other side after all these years.
For the next few minutes she hurried hither and thither, and waited single-handed. She seemed to be swallowed up in activity. No wonder that child had looked so hot and bewildered. Mr. Twist didn’t come and help, as he had promised, and nowhere was there any sign of Anna-Felicitas; and the guests not only wanted things to eat, they wanted to talk, — talk and ask questions. Well, she would wait on them, but she wouldn’t talk. She turned a dry, parchment-like face to their conversational blandishments, and responded only by adding up their bills. Wonderful are the workings of patriotism. For the first time in her life, Mrs. Bilton was grumbled at for not talking.
CHAPTER XXXIII
In the office Anna-Rose found Mr. Twist walking up and down.
“See here,” he said, turning on her when she came in, “I’m about tired of looking on at all this twittering round that lot in there. You’re through with that for to-day, and maybe for to-morrow and the day after as well.”
He waved his arm at the deep chair that had been provided for his business meditations. “You’ll sit down in that chair now,” he said severely, “and stay put.”
Anna-Rose looked at him with a quivering lip. She went rather unsteadily to the chair and tumbled into it. “I don’t know if you’re angry or being kind,” she said tremulously, “but whichever it is I — I wish you wouldn’t. I — I wish you’d manage to be something that isn’t either.” And, as she had feared, she began to cry.
“Anna-Rose,” said Mr. Twist, staring down at her in concern mixed with irritation — out there all those Germans, in here the weeping child; what a day he was having— “for heaven’s sake don’t do that.”
“I know,” sobbed Anna-Rose. “I don’t want to. It’s awful being so natu — natu — naturally liquid.”
“But what’s the matter?” asked Mr. Twist helplessly.
“Nothing,” sobbed Anna-Rose.
He stood over her in silence for a minute, his hands in his pockets. If he took them out he was afraid he might start stroking her, and she seemed to him to be exactly between the ages when such a form of comfort would be legitimate. If she were younger ... but she was a great girl now; if she were older ... ah, if she were older, Mr. Twist could imagine....
“You’re overtired,” he said aloofly. “That’s what you are.”
“No,” sobbed Anna-Rose.
“And the Germans have been too much for you.”
“They haven’t,” sobbed Anna-Rose, her pride up at the suggestion that anybody could ever be that.
“But they’re not going to get the chance again,” said Mr. Twist, setting his teeth as much as they would set, which wasn’t, owing to his natural kindliness, anything particular. “Mrs. Bilton and me—” Then he remembered Anna-Felicitas. “Why doesn’t she come?” he asked.
“Who?” choked Anna-Rose.
“The other one. Anna II. Columbus.”
“I haven’t seen her for ages,” sobbed Anna-Rose, who had been much upset by Anna-Felicitas’s prolonged disappearance and had suspected her, though she couldn’t understand it after last night’s finishings up, of secret unworthy conduct in a corner with ice-cream.
Mr. Twist went to the door quickly and looked through. “I can’t see her either,” he said. “Confound them — what have they done to her? Worn her out too, I daresay. I shouldn’t wonder if she’d crawled off somewhere and were crying too.”
“Anna-F. — doesn’t crawl,” sobbed Anna-Rose, “and she — doesn’t cry but — I wish you’d find — her.”
“Well, will you stay where you are while I’m away, then?” he said, looking at her from the door uncertainly.
And she seemed so extra small over there in the enormous chair, and somehow so extra motherless as she obediently gurgled and choked a promise not to move, that he found himself unable to resist going back to her for a minute in order to pat her head. “There, there,” said Mr. Twist, very gently patting her head, his heart yearning over her; and it yearned the more that, the minute he patted, her sobs got worse; and also the more because of the feel of her dear little head.
“You little bit of blessedness,” murmured Mr. Twist before he knew what he was saying; at which her sobs grew louder than ever, — grew, indeed, almost into small howls, so long was it since anybody had said things like that to her. It was her mother who used to say things like that; things almost exactly like that.
“Hush,” said Mr. Twist in much distress, and with one anxious eye on the half-open door, for Anna-Rose’s sobs were threatening to outdo the noise of teacups and ice-cream plates, “hush, hush — here’s a clean handkerchief — you just wipe up your eyes while I fetch Anna II. She’ll worry, you know, if she sees you like this, — hush now, hush — there, there — and I expect she’s being miserable enough already, hiding away in some corner. You wouldn’t like to make her more miserable, would you—”
And he pressed the handkerchief into Anna-Rose’s hands, and feeling much flurried went away to search for the other one who was somewhere, he was sure, in a state of equal distress.
He hadn’t however to search. He found her immediately. As he came out of the door of his office into the tea-room he saw her come into the tea-room from the door of the verandah, and proceed across it towards the pantry. Why the verandah? wondered Mr. Twist. He hurried to intercept her. Anyhow she wasn’t either about to cry or getting over having done it. He saw that at once with relief. Nor was she, it would seem, in any sort of distress. On the contrary, Anna-Felicitas looked particularly smug. He saw that once too, with surprise, — why smug? wondered Mr. Twist. She had a pleased look of complete satisfaction on her face. She was oblivious, he noticed, as she passed between the tables, of the guests who tried in vain to attract her attention and detain her with orders. She wasn’t at all hot, as Anna-Rose had been, nor rattled, nor in any way discomposed; she was just smug. And also she was unusually, extraordinarily pretty. How dared they all stare up at her like that as she passed? And try to stop her. And want to talk to her. And Wangelbecker actually laying his hand — no, his paw; in his annoyance Mr. Twist wouldn’t admit that the object at the end of Mr. Wangelbecker’s arm was anything but a paw — on her wrist to get her to listen to some confounded order or other. She took no notice of that either, but walked on towards the pantry. Placidly. Steadily. Obvious. Smug.
“You’re to come into the office,” said Mr. Twist when he reached her.
She turned her head and considered him with abstracted eyes. Then she appeared to remember him. “Oh, it’s you,” she said amiably.
“Yes. It’s me all right. And you’re to come into the office.”
“I can’t. I’m busy.”
“Now Anna II.,” said Mr. Twist, walking beside her towards the pantry since she didn’t stop but continued steadily on her way, “that’s trifling with the facts. You’ve been in the garden. I saw you come in. Perhaps you’ll tell me the exact line of business you’ve been engaged in.”
“Waiting,” said Anna-Felicitas placidly.
“Waiting? In the garden? Where it’s pitch dark, and there’s nobody to wait on?”
They had reached the pantry, and Anna-Felicitas gave an order to Li Koo through the serving window before answering; the order was tea and hot cinnamon toast for one.
“He’s having his tea on the verandah,” she said, picking out the most delicious of the little cakes from the trays standing ready, and carefully arranging them on a dish. “It isn’t pitch dark at all there. There’s floods of light coming through the windows. He won’t come in.”
“And why pray won’t he come in?” asked Mr. Twist.
“Because he doesn’t like Germans.”
“And who pray is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well I do,” burst out Mr. Twist. “It’s old Ridding, of course. His name is Ridding. The old man who was here yesterday. Now listen: I won’t have—”
But Anna-Felic
itas was laughing, and her eyes had disappeared into two funny little screwed-up eyelashy slits.
Mr. Twist stopped abruptly and glared at her. These Twinklers. That one in there shaken with sobs, this one in here shaken with what she would no doubt call quite the contrary. His conviction became suddenly final that the office was the place for both the Annas. He and Mrs. Bilton would do the waiting.
“I’ll take this,” he said, laying hold of the dish of cakes. “I’ll send Mrs. Bilton for the tea. Go into the office, Anna-Felicitas. Your sister is there and wants you badly. I don’t know,” he added, as Li Koo pushed the tea-tray through the serving window, “how it strikes you about laughter, but it strikes me as sheer silly to laugh except at something.”
“Well, I was,” said Anna-Felicitas, unscrewing her eyes and with gentle firmness taking the plate of cakes from him and putting it on the tray. “I was laughing at your swift conviction that the man out there is Mr. Ridding. I don’t know who he is but I know heaps of people he isn’t, and one of the principal ones is Mr. Ridding.”
“I’m going to wait on him,” said Mr. Twist, taking the tray.
“It would be most unsuitable,” said Anna-Felicitas, taking it too.
“Let go,” said Mr. Twist, pulling.
“Is this to be an unseemly wrangle?” inquired Anna-Felicitas mildly; and her eyes began to screw up again.
“If you’ll oblige me by going into the office,” he said, having got the tray, for Anna-Felicitas was never one to struggle, “Mrs. Bilton and me will do the rest of the waiting for to-day.”
He went out grasping the tray, and made for the verandah. His appearance in this new rôle was greeted by the Germans with subdued applause — subdued, because they felt Mr. Twist wasn’t quite as cordial to them as they had supposed he would be, and they were accordingly being a little more cautious in their methods with him than they had been at the beginning of the afternoon. He took no notice of them, except that his ears turned red when he knocked against a chair and the tray nearly fell out of his hands and they all cried out Houp là. Damn them, thought Mr. Twist. Houp là indeed.
Delphi Collected Works of Elizabeth von Arnim (Illustrated) Page 220
