‘How are you, Mrs. Rouse?’ Haynes greeted her, trying his best to sound cheerful. He was stirred more than he had expected at the sight of his landlady on the bed, so ill and ugly and forlorn she looked.
‘I am so-so, Mr. Haynes,’ she said weakly. She held out a hand, a hot, clammy hand. The touch of it on his brought vividly to his mind that Sunday night when she had lain on the sofa complaining of how she was deprived.
‘I must thank you for last night, Mr. Haynes.’
‘I did very little, Mrs. Rouse. No more than anybody else would have done.’
‘Indeed!’ butted in Miss Atwell. ‘Was a blessed thing you was there. If you wasn’t there I don’t know what would have happened.’
‘It’s Miss Atwell who brought you round and took charge,’ he said to Mrs. Rouse.
‘No, Mr. Haynes,’ quavered Mrs. Rouse, ‘it was good of you to get up out of your sleep and come out and help to lift me in. You are a stranger to me. And you took pity on me in my great sorrow. God will bless you.
‘Anyway, it’s all over, Mr. Haynes,’ she continued. ‘He’s gone and all this noise and quarrelling will stop. It’s better so.’
‘That’s exactly what I say,’ said Miss Atwell. ‘What you thinks, Mr. Haynes?’
‘Well, it is not for me to say,’ Haynes replied. ‘Perhaps he will get tired of the nurse and come back. Men are like that. Of course he will be – well, a bit scared for a while, but—’
‘I’s my fault, Mr. Haynes. I am not making excuses for him, but i’s my fault. That woman been sticking at him to leave here and he wouldn’t go. I can’t tell you everything, but his mind wasn’t to go. One or two nights he lie down here on this bed and he say that he hope he wouldn’t get up in the morning. She was after him to leave me, and he didn’t want to go. If you see how he was worried, Mr. Haynes! But after I nearly kill him, he not going to come back again.’
‘You didn’t nearly kill him, not by a long way. He was unharmed.’
‘Yes, but he wouldn’t come back now … Mr. Haynes, I don’t know what was wrong with me. I believe I must have been mad. I can’t even kill a fowl. Ask Miss Atwell. Maisie kills every fowl we cook. She hold them and wring them by the neck. And I can’t understand myself, waiting there with that long kitchen knife to kill the man. How you expect him to come back after that?’
‘I hear Ella is sick,’ she said later. ‘Mr. Haynes, you mustn’t let that trouble you. All the disturbance and worry is over now. I feel that you are one of us now, Mr. Haynes. You have been so kind. Anything you want call one of the servants. They will see after you till Ella come back. Maisie!’
‘Yes, Tante.’
‘Help Mr. Haynes if he want anything. And I’ll tell Philomen myself, Mr. Haynes.’
‘All right, Tante,’ said Maisie and gave Haynes a ravishing look.
Miss Atwell escorted him out and engaged him in conversation in Mrs. Rouse’s dining-room where Maisie joined them.
‘She is passing through a great trial,’ said Miss Atwell.
‘Great trial what!’ barked Maisie. ‘I tell you if I was living with a man and he wanted to go he could go … I would have sent that Benoit packing long ago.’
‘You is young, child,’ said Miss Atwell, ‘and love, a woman’s true love, have not touch your heart yet. You will know in time … What is hurting her so, Mr. Haynes, is that she drive him.’
‘Who tell you that she drive him?’ said Maisie, with greater heat. ‘The man was going all the time. Since Monday, every time he went out he was wearing two merinoes, two shirts, two drawers and carrying clothes and socks and things in his pocket. I see him. It ain’t she who drive him. She made him go last night. But he was carrying his clothes, and when he had them I know he was going to leave her.’
‘That is true, Maisie?’ said Miss Atwell. ‘I never heard that.’
‘What I going to lie for? And Mrs. Rouse know, too. I don’t like to hear people talk too much darned nonsense.’ She sucked her teeth in her annoyance.
Miss Atwell had been momentarily checked, but she was not a woman to be silent for long.
‘You is young, Maisie, you is still young. Mr. Haynes, you can tell her what it is to lose the loved one.’
Haynes said he was sorry, but he couldn’t.
‘All old women stupid when it comes to a man, I notice that,’ said Maisie. ‘Perhaps if she did handle the man differently from early all this wouldn’t have happened. Catch me crying after any man. I tell you!’
She walked off swaggering.
‘Go on, young woman,’ said Miss Atwell, watching her. ‘Run your run. Your time will come. You understand patois, Mr. Haynes?’
‘A little.’
‘Well, Mr. Haynes. Petit cochon dit: “Gros cochon pur chee bouche ou si long?” Gros cochon dit: “Tantot, tantot.” Which being translated is: Little pig, asked big pig: “Big pig, why is your mouth so long?” Said big pig: “Wait a little, my friend, wait a little.”’
Haynes laughed and went into his room, where Maisie was waiting for him.
‘Now I am in charge, Mr. Haynes, until Ella come back and I am going to start to fix away the place at once. Glad I am in charge, Mr. Haynes?’
‘Yes,’ said Haynes.
‘I am glad, too.’
Haynes sat and watched her moving about the room. With Ella away and Maisie constantly and in official charge of him, he felt that his affair was approaching a crisis.
Chapter Fourteen
Benoit and the nurse; the nurse and Benoit; Benoit and the nurse and Sonny; No. 2 could find little else to talk about.
‘The nurse pass her exam., you know, Mr. Haynes,’ said Maisie, one Saturday at lunch. Haynes came home at twelve on Saturdays and did not go back. She had been sweeping the room and now sat in the easy-chair, with the broom in her hand.
‘Mrs. Rouse is sorry, I suppose,’ said Haynes.
‘She is bitter; she only saying i’s her own fault for letting Benoit help the nurse to pass.’
‘But Benoit couldn’t help the nurse to pass,’ said Haynes, feigning innocence.
‘Perhaps. But Benoit and Mrs. Rouse believe that, though.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Mr. Haynes, you don’t know. Benoit say he know science. He tell the nurse what to do to pass. And they write the doctor’s name on a piece of paper and they put it in the nurse’s boots. So whenever she walk she mash him down. And when he was talking to her, that’s when she used to fail, in the talking part, she press hard on him. And they make a little image of the doctor, and all through the day of the exam. Mrs. Rouse was bathing it. That was to keep him cool. Now you can imagine how that is hurting Mrs. Rouse. To think that all day she home here bathing the image to keep the doctor cool for the nurse and now for the nurse to take away the man from her.’
‘But do you believe all that about keeping the doctor cool?’
‘Me, Mr. Haynes! How you expect that? Mr. Benoit call me one day to give me a bath so that I could go and get a job somewhere. I wouldn’t tell you what I tell him. If Mrs. Rouse knew what she was about she would have been bathing Benoit to keep him cool, not Dr. Golding. That Benoit—!’
‘You think he will come back to Mrs. Rouse?’
‘I don’t know. He likes two things, women and his belly. And as you see the nurse pass the exam. and things moving good with her, if she feed him up high he wouldn’t leave her. He might come up here, but only to fool Mrs. Rouse and get what he could from her and go again. Now what does this one want?’ She went to the door. ‘Philomen, I have told you before. I am in charge here. Mrs. Rouse told me to take charge. And Miss Atwell is doing the cooking. You have a lot of work to do. Leave Mr. Haynes to me.’
Philomen took no offence.
‘Anything I can do for you, Mr. Haynes? I see the room is tidy. Maisie keeping everything up to mark.’ She turned to Maisie. ‘You happy, eh? You in full charge. Mr. Haynes, you are a lucky man. Maisie never work for anybody in this house as she is working for you.’
‘All righ
t. That’s enough. Go on.’
At this even the good-tempered Philomen felt hurt. But she said nothing to Maisie. She smiled at Haynes and went away.
‘But why do you speak to her like that, Maisie? I thought you and she got on very well.’
‘Long ago. But not again. I don’t know her any more. She is a servant. And she should know her place. What right she has bringing letters for you to read?’
‘But she says you used to read them for her and you suddenly refused.’
‘I don’t want to talk about her, Mr. Haynes. Let’s talk about something else.’
‘When will Mrs. Rouse be out?’
‘Tomorrow. But don’t talk about Mrs. Rouse.’
‘What shall we talk about?’ Haynes said mechanically. There was a new note in Maisie’s voice and an inviting tenderness in her manner. His heart beat violently.
‘Anything. You know your friend, Mr. Boyce, Mr. Haynes. He is a bold man.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘He met me last night by the gate. He pretended he was passing, but I had seen him walk up and down once or twice before. Well, the man don’t know me. I only bring some water for him the other day. But he ask me to walk down the lane with him. I didn’t want to go. But I said that he is your friend, so I went. The man hold me and try to kiss me.’
‘What!’ said Haynes. ‘Straight away like that.’
‘Straight away. He was fast. So I pull away from him. And you know what he told me, Mr. Haynes?’
‘No.’
‘He say, “Oh, I am sure Haynes making steady love to you and that is why you don’t want me.”’
‘But how the devil could he tell you that?’ said Haynes. ‘That is not true.’
‘That is what I tell him, Mr. Haynes. So he say he coming here tonight again.’
‘Coming here tonight! What for? I don’t want to see him.’
‘Not in here! By the gate. To see me.’
‘You like Boyce?’ asked Haynes.
‘I don’t exactly like Boyce, but he is a nice young man. Only he so fresh. But he wouldn’t get anything from me, Mr. Haynes. I know these young men well. They very fast, you know, but I can see after myself. You make love with them for a week. Then they start: “Maisie, you love me true?” I tell them, “Yes.” I know what they coming with and I waiting for them. “True, true, true?” they say. “True, true, true,” I say. Then they will ask you: “I want you to prove your love for me.” As soon as they come with that: “To hell with you and your proving love.” I tell them and I finish with them. I am not particular about Mr. Boyce, you know, Mr. Haynes, but I talk to him as he is your friend …
‘God! What’s this?’
She sprang to the door and Haynes followed her. As he stood over her the intimate scent of her hair was in his nostrils. He had never been so near a woman before. But he had no time to savour this new and exciting sensation. Philomen had come running into the yard as if someone was chasing her. She sat, almost in pieces, breathless, on the little bench.
‘Mrs. Rouse,’ she called, ‘Mrs. Rouse, Mrs. Rouse.’
‘What is it?’ said Miss Atwell.
‘Ma Rouse,’ said Philomen. ‘Call the madam.’
‘Go into her if you want her,’ said Maisie.
‘What is it, Philomen?’
Mrs. Rouse in an old dressing-gown, her head tied with a big handkerchief, and leaning on a stick, stood by the dining-room door, for the first time in many days. She looked dreadfully ill and weak.
‘Good afternoon, Mr. Haynes. Come, Philomen. What is wrong? You sick?’
‘No, madam, I not sick, but Mr. Benoit and the nurse put up their name in the Registry to get married.’
Mrs. Rouse’s stick which had been standing straight swung suddenly to one side and she collapsed where she stood.
Chapter Fifteen
Though there was not a single person in No. 2 or out of it who believed such a thing possible, yet true it was. The nurse had made up her mind to tie Benoit as tightly as possible. And once the fact was irrefutably established, the mind of everyone in the house was almost incessantly occupied with one topic – the approaching wedding. It pervaded the atmosphere. Scarcely a conversation began in which it did not crop up. They would sit in the kitchen after supper whispering low, and the subject of the evening was the wedding, as it was the subject of the morning and the afternoon, and of every hour of the day. Maisie talked to Haynes about it at mealtimes, Miss Atwell whenever she could catch him, and Philomen when she had a few minutes of leisure. Haynes avoided Mrs. Rouse and thought it best when they did speak to keep as far from the subject as possible. But none of the others thought so, at least they showed no reticence that he could notice; and Haynes soon learnt that Mrs. Rouse, far from resenting, welcomed discussions of this, the culminating indignity and injustice to which Benoit intended to subject her. Philomen would bring news which in her free style she broadcast as soon as she reached the yard.
‘All you ain’t hear this. Mr. Benoit was talkin’ to Mr. Fung yesterday. ’E say that ’e leave because Mrs. Rouse wanted to cut ’im with a knife and ’e afraid for ’is life. ’E told Mr. Thompson’s clerk so, too.’
On another occasion.
‘’E say that Mrs. Rouse cake business was goin’ bad. She owes so much money and the nurse makin’ money and a new woman always nicer than a’ old one. And Mrs. Rouse been with him eighteen years, and that is enough for her. And that if she didn’t bother ’im so ’e would have stayed here, but she take ’im for a little boy and want to keep control over ’im like a little boy. An’ ’e going to marry the nurse because ’e help ’er to pass ’er exam. and she is goin’ to work and ’e won’t have to get up in the mornin’ to make no cake.’
Day after day the items of news came to No. 2. How Benoit and the nurse were strolling on the seawall one evening arm-in-arm, how they had been seen driving in the car to St. Philip’s and another night to Orange Vale. How the nurse had got a two days’ job and how Benoit used to accompany her to the gate of the house where she worked and how they waved hands when they parted. All this and more that Haynes did not hear, though there was not much of which he was left ignorant.
Once, after Philomen (who picked up most of the news in town) had brought up and retailed some particularly interesting item to the family assembled in the kitchen, Mrs. Rouse some time after said, ‘But, Philomen, you have not told Mr. Haynes? Go in and tell him.’
Details of the preparation for the wedding began to come through.
Sunday, the 6th, at the Church of the Rosary, Father O’Donoghue was to marry them, and Dr. Price, with whom the nurse usually worked, was to give her away. A Mrs. Robinson, a sempstress of some repute, was making the dress – white fugi trimmed with beads.
‘But how do you know all this, Maisie?’ Haynes asked.
‘I know, Mr. Haynes. The girl she buy the dress from in the store tell people. And we know plenty who Mrs. Robinson does sew for. And when they go there she tell them about it.’
Benoit was not getting a new suit. At least, a new suit was not being got for him, for he had not one cent of his own to spend. He was getting married in his grey suit, but he had ordered a pair of patent leather shoes from a shop. They still lived in the nurse’s single room in Lenegan Street. The nurse had sent her son to a friend’s in Orange Vale. After the wedding they were going to spend a week at the seaside.
‘For the honeymoon!’ commented Miss Atwell in a tone like a note of exclamation, whereat Maisie laughed noisily. Only Mrs. Rouse did not smile. When they came back they would continue to live in Lenegan Street, but at the end of the month they would move into an apartment of two rooms elsewhere.
Of Mrs. Rouse Haynes saw little. She had submitted to her fate with outward resignation. Once she suddenly screamed out that she was going to collar him and ask him if he meant to leave her for that whore, but Philomen and Miss Atwell easily quieted her. (Maisie took no part in the pacification and confided to Haynes th
at she would like nothing better than to see Mrs. Rouse go to the nurse’s room and the three of them have a grand fight.) But Mrs. Rouse was not giving him up without effort. Three times a day the scent of incense and asafœtida burning in her bedroom poisoned the atmosphere. She was using all the science she knew to win back Benoit. But Benoit was a man of science too.
‘Science versus science,’ said Maisie, and derided Mrs. Rouse and Benoit and their traffic with the occult.
‘Be careful, Maisie,’ said Haynes. ‘Mrs. Rouse may hear you.’
‘And if she hear! Mr. Haynes, I am ready for her. She can’t do anything to me.’
In addition to her own troubles Mrs. Rouse now had to deal with a Maisie fast becoming uncontrollable. As Miss Atwell put it, ‘From the day the man leave the house, she take womanhood on her account.’
When it was not one thing it was another. Very often Maisie was wrong. But not always. Like most persons who are on the look out for offence, Mrs. Rouse frequently saw misdemeanour or provocation where there was none. The trouble for any arbitrator was to be able to distinguish. There was the episode of the beef.
One Monday afternoon there was a hue and cry about some beef which had been left over from Sunday. It had disappeared.
‘This is not the first time,’ said the exasperated Mrs. Rouse; ‘somebody always meddling with it, but this time they take nearly all.’
‘It isn’t me,’ said Maisie, emphatically. ‘I ain’t touch any.’
‘All right. I’ll wait till Philomen come and then I’ll ask her. I am going to find out who it is today.’
Half an hour after Philomen came up. Mrs. Rouse met her at the kitchen door.
‘Philomen!’
Philomen was scared at once. She almost dropped the basket.
‘Yes, Mrs. Rouse.’
‘You touch the beef I leave in the dish last night?’
Minty Alley Page 8
