‘Yes, John, I am a little tired. But, in a strange way, I am happy that we’ve come to an understanding. At least, I hope we have.’ He stared at John now, but when there was no reply immediately forthcoming from John, he said quietly, ‘Have I asked too much?’
‘No. No. Not at all.’ But now he held up his hand, ‘Don’t start again. I’m going to ring for Johnson. I think you’d be wise to have an early night, because the theatre-goers will certainly not be back before eleven.’
‘Oh, I had no intention of waiting up for them.’
Leonard watched John rise and ring the bell; then he held out his hand, and as John took it he said simply, ‘Thank you.’ But when his man entered the room, he said, ‘I’m being ordered about in my own house, Johnson, and I’m not standing any more of it, so, would you like to see the doctor to the door.’
The two men smiled at each other, then went out. But there was no exchange of words: not even in the hall after he had helped John into his coat, then opened the front door, did Johnson say a word. Nor did he answer John’s ‘Good night’; which caused John to remark to himself, ‘He’s a stiff-necked fellow, that. And he has no use for me. That’s plain. Well, I can return the compliment there.’
Two
Beatrice was paying her weekly Friday visit to the town. It was a bright day, the sun was shining and the main thoroughfare was full of shoppers.
She made sure she did not always visit the same sweet shop to buy her chocolates. People talked. Oh yes, people talked. She knew they talked about her both inside and outside the house. So, sometimes she would walk as far as the outskirts of the town to a little sweet shop she knew, there to purchase the only comfort she had in life, she told herself; and they were good for her anyway; they must be, because they weren’t putting weight on her.
In her tapestry-trimmed felt bag she was now carrying two pound boxes and one half-pound box of chocolates. At one time she had always put a pound box on the household order, but not since she had cut down on the kitchen requirements. Four of them there, eating their heads off, and his meagre allowance to her hardly paid their wages. She was going to do something about that, too. Two doing the gardening and Needler pottering in the yard. What did they do most of their time? Sit in the greenhouse drinking tea. Oh, she knew what went on; she had nothing to do but watch them from the windows.
Today, she had walked as far as Brampton Hill, which was almost on the outskirts. But, from the sweet shop there she had been able to buy only a half-pound box of chocolates. As the shopkeeper had said, they were only asked for pounds at Christmas time.
Seeing a post office reminded her that she hadn’t any stamps, and she needed to write to that solicitor again. Oh, yes, she should indeed.
She hadn’t entered this post office before and was annoyed that there were a number of people waiting to be served. When she joined those waiting for stamps, there were three people before her, and she moved from one foot to the other with impatience. She wasn’t accustomed to having to wait to be served.
Her fidgeting moved the bag that she was carrying and it came in contact with the woman in front of her, so causing her to turn and stare at her, and the recognition was instant, especially on Beatrice’s part. Aiming to step back from the woman, she pointedly pulled her skirt back as if from contact with her, only immediately to be admonished by the woman behind saying, ‘Look what you’re doing! I’ve got a child here.’
When, added to this, the woman in front of her also muttered something as she moved away after picking up her two penny stamps, Beatrice paused for a second before taking her place. And there, in a high and superior tone she asked for six penny stamps, which she then placed very carefully in her bag, together with her change, before turning away.
When she walked into the street and saw the woman standing as if waiting for her, she made to pass her, but the hand that came out and grabbed her arm made her turn furiously and say, ‘How dare you! Let go of my arm this minute!’
‘I will,’ growled Mollie Wallace, ‘when I’ve had me say, and it’s this. Who the hell d’you think you are? Trying to show me up in there, pulling your skirt away as if I had the mange. You above all people, daughter of a dirty old bastard who couldn’t pay for his pleasure. And I’ll tell you something else when I’m on. That man of yours, he was the means of getting me put out, I’m sure of that, ’cos it was him who brought Jackie home. But I’ll get me own back on him, just you wait. I’ll get me own back on the lot of you. Poverty-stricken buggers that you are.’ And at this she released her hold on Beatrice’s arm with a push that caused Beatrice to stagger back against the post office wall.
It would appear that she had been struck speechless by the attack. But it had been only her fear of a scene, a street scene, that had prevented her from raising her hand and slapping this filthy individual, as she thought of her, across the face. But she was determined to have the last word as she said, ‘Scum!’ before turning away; yet even in this she was forestalled by Mollie Wallace saying, ‘And if I was you, missis, I’d look out for your own man. Aye, I would that. By God, yes! I would that.’ And at this she swung round and marched away, leaving Beatrice with one hand to her throat now, the other clutching the handle of her bag to her waist.
She had felt angry before, but that creature mentioning her husband in such a suggestive way made her initial anger pale against the rage that was consuming her now. Those people! That woman! How did she know what went on in the house? Oh! Oh! Why was she so stupid? Of course, servants talked. They just had to hint. She would dismiss them, the lot, the lot! She swung about now, intending to stalk away, but found that her legs appeared weak and, as was the rest of her body, were trembling. Her mind still on her staff, she cried inwardly that she didn’t need them all: two in the kitchen and two in the house, and only her to look after! And three outside. She’d get rid of William Connor. But no, he was the only one who could see to the topiary; the hedge must be kept clipped, or the garden would look so unkempt, and you couldn’t keep up prestige with an unkempt garden . . . or house.
Oh, dear me! Her head was beginning to buzz again. She was in for that awful feeling which obliged her to lie down. She, who until recently had never taken to reclining in the middle of the day. And when she did lie down, her thoughts would jump all over the place, and all about him. Legal separation, the solicitor had said. Well, he wouldn’t get past that. Never! He was her husband and he would remain her husband until he died. But then, what did that woman mean? There was no smoke without fire. But he could do nothing there, for Helen was married. Yes, but to a sick man. And you never got rid of TB, did you? Was her dear John waiting for the man to die? Oh, yes, she could see him doing that. And then there were the carriage trips; she had watched his mother getting into Helen’s carriage. There was never smoke without fire. No; that woman knew something. And if that woman knew something, others did, too.
Oh, she wished she was at home; she must lie down. She would get a cab; yes; she must get a cab.
She took a cab, and when she reached the house she went straight up the stairs, taking her bag with her. Then, having removed her coat and hat and shoes, she lay down on the bed, but not before she had gobbled half a dozen chocolates, hardly giving herself time to swallow one before stuffing another into her mouth until her body stiffened and she was unable to move hand or foot for quite some time. Yet, all the while, her brain was active, raging around the circumstances of her life, until at last the spasm in her body relaxed, and with it came the tears, and presently sleep.
It was some time later when Frances, knocking gently on the bedroom door, opened it to enquire if her mistress would like a cup of tea, and seeing her as she had done a number of times lately, lying fast asleep, her mouth partly open and her lips patterned with her indulgence from the chocolate box, she closed the door gently, shaking her head as she thought: It would be more satisfying, I should
imagine, if she were to take to the bottle.
Three
‘You off tonight again to play bridge?’
John turned to his partner and paused for some seconds before he said, ‘What d’you mean, again?’
‘Well, you go over there often, don’t you, and play bridge?’
‘If once a week is often, then yes, I go often.’
‘Oh! Once a week.’
‘Yes, once a week. May I ask what you’re getting at, Doctor?’
‘Oh! Oh, now, laddie, don’t take that tone with me. But you see I happen to know Doctor Peters. He’s looking after Sir Leonard Spears.’
‘Yes. Yes, he is. And I too happen to know Doctor Peters, and he is conversant with my visits and he knows I’m a friend of the family. Lady Helen is my sister-in-law.’
‘Yes. Yes, Lady Helen is your sister-in-law. But I was just enquiring if you were going over tonight.’
‘Why? Is your leg troubling you again?’
Doctor Cornwallis turned a flushed and angry face up to his partner as he replied tersely, ‘No, my leg isn’t hurting me. Nor has my tongue got a sting in it.’
‘That surprises me.’
This swift reply, one which was definitely devoid of the respect due to him, caused the older man’s bushy eyebrows to strain towards his receding hairline. But apparently he could find no words to combat this statement for, after blowing his nose violently, he turned in his revolving chair and applied himself to some papers on his desk, and John gave a wry smile as he said, ‘Goodnight, Doctor.’ Then, walking into the adjacent room where the young Doctor Rees was awaiting the first patient of the evening surgery, he bent towards him, saying quietly, ‘Look out for squalls.’
The younger man grinned at John and said, ‘Like that, is it?’
‘Yes, like that.’
‘Well, that’s nothing new.’
‘No, but it might be a bit rougher tonight.’
‘Should I put my oilskins on?’
At this, John went out on a low laugh, but it disappeared as he gained the street, for inwardly he was annoyed: the old man’s words had suggested much more than they had said. Perhaps Doctor Peters had made an innocent remark, because he couldn’t imagine him being a gossip. He was a very nice fellow, rather reserved. But the old devil back there always put two and one together and made four. He loved titbits of scandal and would concoct his own version of them. Unfortunately, in many cases, he was right. Which naturally would have made him surmise he was onto something here. Well, wasn’t he? No! No! The words came in loud denial. If Helen hadn’t been Leonard’s wife, he would still have liked the man’s company, would have sought it, in fact, not only for the patient’s comfort but for his own. There was something very calming about Leonard Spears’s personality, which came out in his broad views and his understanding of human nature and tolerance. Bust old Cornwallis! One of his assets was his ability to put a damper on things. A little stir here and there and you had a topic for spicy conversation . . .
His mother said, ‘Aren’t you going to stay and have a bite to eat? Mrs Atkinson has cooked a nice meal.’
‘Look, dear’ – he bent over her – ‘if I stay for dinner it’ll be another hour or more before I can leave. And Leonard must get to bed early. But he does enjoy that game. I won’t be late. I’ll be back about nine.’
‘Oh, don’t you hurry back; Mrs Atkinson’s here until ten, and as I’ve told you before, she doesn’t mind staying on.’
‘She won’t need to, I’ll be back.’ Then, straightening up, he looked hard at her before he said, ‘Are you lonely? I mean . . .’
‘I know what you mean. No, I’m not lonely any more. You’re here at nights, you’re here at dinner time, you’re here at teatime, so how could I be lonely? No; get yourself away. I want you to have a little relaxation.’
He nodded at her; then, his voice low, he said, ‘We’ll have a talk when I come back. I’m wondering if we should stay on here; perhaps I should look out for some place else, because . . .?’
‘No, you won’t look for some place else: I’ve paid up for five years; and I like it here; it suits me. And if you don’t mind staying . . . and anyway—’ her hands came out towards him and she said softly, ‘It would only hurt her more if we moved. Here, your being in the house, or at least in a part of it, she can still put a face on things; but if we move she’ll feel entirely deserted. You know what I mean?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded at her. ‘Suits me. But I just thought . . .’
‘Well, don’t think for me, just think for yourself and you’ll have plenty to do, laddie.’ And she went to push him away but he bent and kissed her, before leaving . . .
When Hannah Worth opened the door to him and said, ‘Good evening, Doctor,’ he answered, ‘Good evening, Hannah,’ then instantly turned to look towards the drawing room door, and in a mournful tone Hannah said, ‘He’s been coughing a lot the day, Doctor. And the mistress can’t get him to stay in bed.’
Immediately he entered the drawing room John knew there could be no bridge this night, for the deterioration in Leonard was evident.
‘Hello, Leonard!’ he said. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘Fighting off women.’ The voice was hoarse and low, and Leonard directed his gaze towards where Helen and Daisy were standing together. ‘The only thing those two can think about is bed . . . I thought you were going’ – he was speaking directly to Daisy, and she answered in much the same tone, ‘I’m going, and I’ll think twice about coming back.’
‘Well, before you go, tell John here about your do at the Oswalds.’
‘I’ll do no such thing; I’m off. Don’t bother seeing me out, Helen. I’ll see you in the morning . . . Hello, Doctor! and good night.’
‘The same to you, Daisy,’ he answered, and on this she gave a giggle of a laugh and went out.
‘Sit down, John,’ said Helen, drawing a chair nearer to Leonard.
John sat down and asked Leonard quietly, ‘What have you been up to? Trying to trot about?’
‘Of course. What do you expect?’ Then turning to Helen, he said, ‘Tell John about Daisy’s soup business . . . She does me good, that woman.’
‘Oh dear me!’ said Helen; ‘I couldn’t tell it as she does. Anyway, to cut a very long and funny story as told by Daisy . . . short: an elderly couple, called Pratt, from the Midlands, had moved into old Swift’s house on the river – it’s a lovely place – and, of course, Gladys Oswald immediately grabbed at them and invited them to dinner. But, to her horror, the old gentleman slurped his soup – he was apparently holding his spoon the wrong way. Added to this, he told a risqué story about one of his mill girls and so caused Ralph Bannister to splutter out his food. It was a disastrous occasion, apparently. But she made the mistake of warning Daisy about them and telling her she meant to pass round this news to her friends.
‘It should happen that Daisy had already met the couple and liked them, and she told Gladys so, but she finally put her foot in it by bringing up the dreaded word and asking her how she imagined a leper would eat his soup.’
Helen held out her hands expressively, saying, ‘It doesn’t sound a bit funny, does it, Leonard? but when Daisy told it, it was uproarious.’
John’s reaction was to say, ‘You can’t imagine such snobbery up this end of the country; the people seem so open and free,’ only for Helen to put in quickly, ‘Oh, John! You know nothing about it. For instance, apart from everything else, my father was an utter snob.’
John could have put in here, ‘And his eldest daughter takes after him.’
There was silence for a moment; then Leonard said, ‘We keep talking about the awful people when we should be telling you of the lovely ones. Tell him, Helen, about the wedding present.’
‘Oh, yes; yes,’ said Helen, now going to
the head of the chair-bed and taking Leonard’s hand which she held close to her chest as she said, ‘Rosie and Robbie must have thought it strange that we didn’t give them a wedding present. Well, you see, the trap wasn’t finished. Leonard had arranged for them to have a pony and trap as a wedding present, but Mr Wilson, who was making the trap, and is a wonderful craftsman and wheelwright, as his people have been for generations, had been confined to bed with a bad bout of bronchitis, and wouldn’t allow even his son, or his two workmen, to finish it. Anyway, there it was this morning, pulled by a beautiful piebald pony and driven by an absolute radiant couple. You should have seen their faces. Rosie was in tears, and her rough and charming Scot was showing equally warm emotion.’
‘Oh, I must go round first thing tomorrow,’ John said, ‘But what I am going to do now is to follow Daisy, because the place for you, Sir Leonard Spears, is bed.’
Strangely, Leonard made no objection, but he did say, ‘Would you drop in tomorrow?’
John was on his feet now and answering, ‘Yes; but I don’t know what time I’ll be over.’
‘Thanks.’
The two men looked hard at each other for a moment; then John, putting his hand out towards Helen, said, ‘Don’t move. I can see my way out . . . Goodnight.’
He was glad to get out of the house, because his throat was full.
At the open barn Henry said, ‘I’ll harness him up again, sir;’ and when John said, ‘Thanks, Henry,’ the man said, ‘How is the master, Doctor? You never get the truth out of Doctor Peters; only the words “as well as can be expected”, and not a word out of Johnson.’
‘Well, the truth is, Henry, he’s in a bad way.’
‘Yes. Yes, I thought that. He’ll be a miss. Oh, he’ll be a miss. I worked for his cousin, you know, Sir Frederick, for years; and he was a good boss, but he didn’t come up to this one. He treats all the staff like family, he does. Oh, he will be missed.’
The Obsession Page 22
