Really and truly I’m getting quite enough to eat. You never worried about this before. I eat far more than I did in R.; the East Coast air makes me hungry. But it’s cold. If you have a spare eiderdown, I could do with it.
You know Melissa’s fabulous brother Hump? Well, he sent her what she thought was Bossuet, and she was perfectly furious till she found it was only a box like an old book with scent inside. And what scent! I had hever appreciated ‘perfume’ before and I thought it was all advertisers’ artfulness. But this really is elusive. You don’t think: Melissa is wearing scent. You find yourself dreaming of the Spice Islands when she is about, and wonder why. John was John-like. She put on some at once, and when he came home he said: I smell a nice smell. Do you smell it, Melissa? What is it, do you suppose?
It must have cost the earth and Hump has not got any money, according to Melissa, but it never seems to bother him. John, on the other hand, is much bothered because he thinks it was smuggled, since it was marked Books.
I am writing the Club pantomime, very primitive and topical, the All Low in rustic imbecility but ‘they’ will like it. It’s about what we women think happens behind the barbed wire. Joe Cobb is to be the Fairy Queen. That gives you the tone. It’s a rest not to have to be intellectual for a bit. We had a property horse once, didn’t we? What has become of it? It would be useful for the pantomime. If it’s still extant you might send it with the breeches and the eiderdown.
Melissa dotes on Collins, but always speaks of him disparagingly for fear we shall think she is sentimental. But I think it was just a little tactless of John. I mean when a husband decides that his wife isn’t going to have a baby he always seems to give her a puppy, and I’m almost sure that Melissa has worked herself up into one of her panics that she is probably barren. She is not quite as happy as she was; I know that by her mannerisms. She has become very fastidious and Jane Austenish again — more like what she was when I first met her in Oxford. It is her façade against secret anxiety.
In her family everything is always expected to go wrong. And in Drumby every bride has a baby within a year; you can see them all speculating over poor Melissa and deciding it’s intentional, which I’m sure isn’t the case. And I expect that reacts on her nerves and pushes her back into the state of doubt and insecurity which she has only just learnt to shake off. People think her so happy and placid, but she is really a mass of nerves, superbly controlled.
Mother, you know all about such things — need she worry? I mean, if a couple who want a baby don’t start one in 15 months is that anything to worry about? Not that I’d ever have a chance to discuss it with her. She never speaks of anything that really worries her to anyone; I shouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t even discussed this with John. The only person she’s quite at her ease with is Hump, I imagine, and he’d be no use over a thing like that. I’m sure he’s very nice, but he sounds the sort of insensitive extrovert who would never guess anything unless it was shouted at him through a megaphone.
I have a slight prejudice against Hump, partly because they are all so boring about him here, especially the women, who say: Oh, my dear! Hump! Oh! … and languish. And I must say he sounds rather bossy. I said so to John one day and he seemed to think it very funny. He got the fou rire rather solemn people get when once they start laughing. He went hooting into the kitchen and told Melissa and then she started! I could hear them cackling and cackling so I put my head round the door and said: My wife and I roared! Which is what Mrs. Callow’s husband says when retailing the dreariest joke. I don’t know why they thought it so funny.
Well, I must stop. Breeches. Eiderdown. Pantomime horse.
No, I’m going on because a letter from you has just arrived, which I must answer.
Darling, darling, darling Mother, please don’t worry and fuss so much! Last week it was food and now it’s my future. I know it’s a poor job, and doesn’t lead anywhere, and I ought to be getting on with my career. But I don’t want to leave Drumby just yet. I’m having a lot of fun and I want to pick myself up and pull myself together a little bit, before launching myself on life again. The tornado at R. in the summer was so shattering; I still can’t think of Nancy and Emil without crying, and can’t free my thoughts from it all, somehow. But I promise I won’t stay in Drumby for ever, though I can see M. and J. hope I will; they want me to marry behind the barbed wire and settle down here. But the chemists leave me cold. If I could fancy anybody it would be Larry Quinn from the Breenho camp, but he is violently Irish and one Irishman in a girl’s life is enough, don’t you think? Besides, I’m sure his intentions are strictly dishonourable. But he’s more fun than a chemist.
But I have a sort of instinct to stay here for a bit and not try to rush my life. Haven’t you ever had the same feeling? As if you were at a loose end, but something was telling you to keep quiet because something important was soon going to turn up which would change everything? I keep feeling that, I don’t know why. I can’t think what it would be. Perhaps I’ll get a call to be a missionary.
Melissa to Hump
Drumby, Oct. 12
Oh, heavenly Hump, how could you shock poor John like this? What if the Customs had opened the parcel? And was Books a true label? What an inveterate law-breaker you are!
I never had such a lovely surprise in my life. When I wear it everybody sniffs ecstatically, like Collins when I take him past the sewage farm. The Bossuet box I’ve donated to the Club. Do you mind? It served its purpose and deceived me for thirty seconds during which I called you hellish Hump. And I don’t like cigarette-boxes which don’t look like cigarette-boxes.
I have put myself down for a gymkhana in the spring. Jumping. I’m sure Pattison’s whiskers are a mistake. They wouldn’t inspire confidence.
I don’t exactly know what happened over l’affaire Angera, for Lucy won’t talk of it. But I gather it ended in some tragedy so dire that her own resignation was a minor evil. Angera came to awful grief, I imagine. Perhaps the poor man went mad. I don’t know.
Racing News: Stop Press. Birkett scratched. He fell off his horse and made such an unconscionable fuss about it that Lucy was quite disgusted. McIntyre scratched. He emerged from Scots dourness to Scots sentimentality at the Club and sang a dreadful song called: “Oh Lay Thy Loof in Mine, Lass!” As Lucy says: We don’t know what a loof is and we never want to. Cobb and Brett still on the course but they don’t count. A dark horse called Quinn is moving up, a dashing captain from Breenho who rides like the devil. I can’t bear him.
Bess to Lucy
12 Shotter Street, Ravonsbridge, Severnshire, Nov. 12
This is to tell you a most surprising bit of news. You’ll never guess. Lady Frances has been turned off the Council! What do you know about that? I still can’t believe it somehow. But they all are, all the Millwoods, Mrs. Massingham and Lady Anne I mean, and Colonel Harding and Mr. Garstang too. Miss Foss died. Did you know? About a month ago she caught a cold and had bronchitis.
I must tell you how it all happened. It was quite dramatic and a shame you weren’t there. Well, it was the general meeting and the first shock was when we got in the hall. It was packed! But packed! Because generally hardly anyone comes. So I sat next to Mrs. Carstairs and she said, have you seen the list of nominations? Some very strange names! Mr. Finch, my dear. Not a joke. And he was elected. But I’m going on too fast. I said who’d elect him? Who are all these people? So then Mr. Orson — you know — the chemist in Market Square — he was sitting just behind — and he said they’ve caught the Millwoods napping. Most of these names were only sent in on the last day.
So then the Council trooped up onto the platform and King Charles took the President’s chair and I could see his face getting longer and longer when he took in what the hall was like. He got so green before the end I thought he was going to be sick on the platform. But we all said it was awful for him to have to sit there and see his mother humiliated, all the family really. So then he made an opening speech and they hardly c
lapped at all, and then the Council climbed down and sat in the body of the hall while the voting went on. Well, there was some business to be transacted first — before they went — but very little — we were all surprised because there had been rumours there was going to be a row about Emil. But no! Nothing. So the ballot boxes went round and everybody voted and Mr. Poole and the counters went away and counted. By the way, they are saying Mr. Poole is a snake — he knew all these masses of people had applied for voting cards, quite different from other years — but he never let on, so it was a surprise for the Millwoods.
So while we waited, Mr. Hayter gave his report on the Festival, and he is popular. They cheered him. But he was a bit tactless because he finished by saying that he must now make way for the other directors, and of course there are none, my dear — Emil gone, Thornley gone, you gone, and Pidgeon had cut the meeting so there was nobody but Rickie! You’d have screamed. He went on and on about intimate opera and nobody listened and after 20 minutes, about, he turned to King Charles and said sorry have I had 10 minutes? And Charles, green as grass, said no carry on.
So then Poole came in with a poker face and handed the list of the new Council to Charles who had to read it out. And all the time, of course, we were expecting to hear Lady Frances Millwood’s name, and when he’d finished I thought he must have and I hadn’t heard it. Till Mrs. Carstairs gave a sort of gasp and said there must be some mistake. You could hear people saying that all round, while all this stamping and cheering was going on. But Mr. Orson said oh no there’s not and got up and went to where Lady Frances was — a lot of people did that — old Ravonsbridge people — they just went and stood round her while the new Council was getting up onto the platform. You should have seen Mrs. Meeker’s hat! Did I tell you she was on? Oh they went prancing up, ever so pleased with themselves, except the Frog — she was put on at the beginning of this term you know, and was one of the ones who were re-elected, and she stood in the hall just staring and staring at Lady Frances till they called to her to come up, and then she crawled up after them as if she didn’t like it a bit, and never expected to find herself with such a crew.
So then Charles made a speech — he was supposed to welcome them but he didn’t, he just said that the town was evidently in favour of changes so he thought it was time he resigned his presidency and rushed off the platform and took Lady F. by the arm as if he meant to drag her out of the hall. But she wouldn’t go! She hobbled up the hall and started climbing up on the platform. Oh you could have heard a pin drop! Miss Payne said afterwards she thought she was going to hit Ma Meeker! But when she’d got up 2 steps she turned and made a speech — quite short and very nice really, not sore at all — saying how her husband had always believed in changes or something like that and how she looked forward to the future work of the Institute and how we ought always to be proud of it. And thanked everybody for their help and co-operation all the years she’s been on the Council. She was so sort of gentle and friendly that I began to wonder if it was really all right after all — not something nasty I mean. And then she went down and went out with all her family, but everybody rose as she went out and cheered her and cheered her, and Mrs. Carstairs began to cry — I hadn’t realised she was so popular.
So then we had a lot of hot air about how wonderful the Institute is going to be now! — 20 minutes from Ma Meeker and Mr. Finch just as bad. Mr. Mildmay is terribly upset, but I can’t see that it’s going to make much difference. Our jobs will be the same.
A funny thing — Mrs. Carstairs says you said it would happen. Did you? I don’t remember you did. Emil said so but we all thought he was cuckoo. Send me a line if you’re above ground, but if you’re dead don’t bother.
Lucy to Mr. Mildmay
Drumby, Nov. 14
I have heard from Miss Turner of the changes on the Institute Council and her letter has grieved me very much. She doesn’t tell me several things I’d like to know, so I venture to ask if you’ll be so very kind as to tell me what you can about it. What really happened? Who is on the new Council?
I am so distressed for Lady Frances; her whole life was devoted to the Institute. I can’t think what she will do without it, or it without her.
When I got Miss Turner’s letter I felt quite like Mr. Thornley when I met him once, after he left us, and he said: “I loved dear Ravonsbridge”. I suddenly saw it all so clearly, and Slane forest and all my friends there. I shall never forget it. I would so much appreciate a letter from you if you could spare the time.
Mr. Mildmay to Lucy
7 Church Lane, Ravonsbridge, Severnshire, Nov. 16
You have been much in my mind of late. I will try to tell you what I can, though I think it will be some time before one realises all that has happened, and there are certain details which we may never know.
The new Council is as follows:
Re-elected. Mr. Hayter, Dr. Pidgeon, Mr. Coppard, Miss Frogmore. Also, one might say, Mr. Spedding, who was up for election again after a temporary absence, which, luckily for him, took him off the Council at the critical time.
Newcomers. Mrs. Meeker, Mr. Finch, Mr. Basil Wright, Major Harris, Mrs. Strong, Mr. Carruthers and Mr. Davis.
Of the names which may be new to you, I can only say that I know nothing whatever of Major Harris. Mr. Carruthers is on a great many committees, I believe he’s on the County Education Staff. Mr. Davis is from the Works and is said to be going into politics. Mrs. Strong is the wife of a Nonconformist minister in the new town and is interested in Child Welfare. They may be very good sort of people but I’m afraid I have a prejudice against them, for I feel that they must all have been aware that their election was due to a certain amount of double dealing.
I have had a chat with Colonel Harding since the meeting. He says that it was all engineered — that all these new names were added to the nomination list at the very last moment. If the Millwoods had, in the ensuing week, launched a regular campaign, and whipped up all their supporters, there might still have been hope, though I fear the unfortunate events of last term had done much to shake their popularity. But they were quite unaware of the strength of the attack. Hayter and Poole never breathed a word of this unusual application for voting cards. Not until the meeting did anyone realise what had happened. The hall was packed with people, bona fide voters, who have never been near the Institute before or taken the least interest in it. I have an idea that they were recruited by four or five anti-Millwood cliques, each working to put in a nominee but that these groups had not much in common, and that the integrating element was Hayter. I imagine that the new Council has cause to be grateful to him, but it may be possible that not all of them expected such a complete coup d’état.
I am really very sorry for Miss Frogmore. I think she was dissuaded from resignation in the summer by an offer of a place on the Council and that she sincerely believed she could do better service to her colleagues by accepting it. But of course she envisaged the old Council, and hoped to be in closer touch with Lady Frances and Colonel Harding. I think the poor lady is appalled by her present position and I doubt if she will be with us much longer.
In this connection, my dear Miss Carmichael, I should like you to know that my own position is much more satisfactory than it was. I can retire when I please, as the old Council, at their July meeting, voted me a small but sufficient pension; I believe Mr. Garstang urged it. It is a great standby to me to know that this has been done, for I do not know how long I shall continue here. My own department is not likely to suffer from much interference, but I don’t think I can remain upon the Staff with Hayter. Not that I don’t blame myself a little for what has happened. For some years now I have been half aware how things were going; but I shrank from interference and buried myself in my own work, telling myself that in this way I was serving my old friend, Matthew Millwood, and that it was not my business to take part in ‘politics’. Now that his ‘Athens’ is delivered up to this Cleon I feel that I have, to some extent, betrayed him.
Peace be within thy walls, and plenteousness within thy palaces; For my brethren and companions’ sake I will wish thee prosperity.
We heard it again, not a month later, in such stunned grief, when we buried him. And we had the same lesson: Ephesians iv, vv. 11-15. It was not any abstract philanthropy which inspired him in this undertaking; it was his warm, heartfelt affection for the people in this town, his brethren and companions.
But did Miss Turner tell you of the beautiful little speech that Lady Frances made? I don’t know how she was able, immediately after such a shock. It is proof of how much more the Institute, and his memory, mean to her than any personal consideration. She completely ignored, rose above, the insult to herself. It took everybody by surprise. Till that moment the atmosphere had been revolting; a kind of jeering, triumphant undercurrent in all the applause. But she was so dignified. When she began: “I want to say goodbye …” one could feel the change. I think she never, in a lifetime of devoted work, did more for Ravonsbridge than she did then, in that two minutes. She turned a brutal occasion into a civilised proceeding and made it possible for everyone to behave decently.
I suppose the majority of people in that hall had scarcely ever seen her before and had not the least idea what she is really like. I felt that they were startled, uncomfortable, and a little ashamed. When she had finished, Hayter got up nodding at Spedding to do likewise, and giving the signal to the whole hall to rise and cheer her to the echo. I don’t think that man ever makes a mistake. He had lost a lot of ground during those two minutes, and the rest of the people on the platform would probably have sat looking foolish while she went out. But the cheering relieved the discomfort and, I expect, gave many present an impression that they were doing her some belated kind of justice.
Lucy Carmichael Page 34
