‘Me, Mrs. Rouse! O God! Since I workin’ with you, you ever—?’
‘I don’t want you to tell me all that. You touch it or you didn’t touch it?’
‘But see my cross here today!’
‘Answer yes or no. You touch it or you didn’t touch it?’
‘I didn’t touch it, Mrs. Rouse. You know I didn’t touch it.’
‘That’s all I wanted to hear from you.’
She turned to Maisie.
‘Then it’s you, you wretch! You eating me out. You don’t do anything in this place, and the little piece of beef I have for people to eat you steal it.’
‘But I tell you I didn’t steal it. I know nothing about it. She say she didn’t take it. I say I didn’t take it. She is the servant and you believe her.’
Haynes knew how this would end. It meant Mrs. Rouse abusing Maisie, Maisie giving her back and a quarrel which one day might end in violence. Miss Atwell was not there. Mrs. Hart, one of the boarders, observed the scene contemplatively from the dining-room doorstep. Quite instinctively he felt it his duty to make peace, as Miss Atwell would have done if she had been there. He had a short but sharp battle with himself. Hitherto whatever part he had taken in the upheavals at No. 2 had been inadvertent and, in fact, against his will. Should he go out or not? His old timidity was still strong upon him, but he knew the respect with which they listened to anything he said. After all, why shouldn’t he? He went to the door.
‘Mrs. Rouse, don’t worry about it. I know it is vexing. But you’ll only get into a temper with Maisie and you’ll be unable to do your work.’
Before Mrs. Rouse could answer Maisie broke out:
‘Yes, everybody is against me. Hear what Mr. Haynes is saying now! Everybody prefer to believe the servant instead of me. I ain’t take any beef.’ Her voice was shrill and tearful. ‘I ain’t take any beef, I say. Give me my clothes, let me go from this house. Better I die than to go on living here.’
She leant her head against the mango tree and sobbed from deep down in her chest. The whole yard stood still and listened to her. Haynes overcame the temptation to retire into his room. He could not leave things like that.
‘Well, you see, Mrs. Rouse,’ he said, ‘not to say I think Philomen has taken it; but perhaps Maisie hasn’t taken it either. Of course,’ he continued hurrying on, ‘it’s very mysterious, but you must give Maisie a chance. I don’t like to hear those quarrels between you and her.’
‘I am sorry I disturb you, Mr. Haynes.’
‘No, no, Mrs. Rouse, it isn’t that. But Maisie is your only relation and I am sorry that you and she don’t get on better. Give her a chance this time.’
‘I don’t want any chance,’ said Maisie, wiping her eyes. ‘Chance what! I say I didn’t take the beef. What! I am any cat to go snatching stale beef out of a pot?’
‘Treat the gentleman with more respect,’ said Mrs. Rouse sharply to Maisie.
‘All right, Mr. Haynes,’ she continued in a calmer tone. ‘Perhaps she didn’t take it and I am judging her wrongfully.’
Maisie came into Haynes’s room and sat down with her hands before her face.
‘Now take care,’ said Haynes. ‘When you go out don’t start that quarrel again.’
‘No, I wouldn’t. But,’ she whispered to him, ‘I took the beef, you know.’
‘You took the beef?’
‘Yes, I was hungry and I took it … But I say I didn’t take it. The coolie girl say she didn’t take it. Why she must believe the coolie girl instead of me?’
She would not listen to Haynes’s remonstrances.
‘I am Mrs. Rouse’s niece. Why she always taking up for the coolie? Everything is only Philomen, Philomen, Philomen. If I and the girl have a little disagreement, Philomen always right, I always in the wrong. Philomen is a servant. She shouldn’t have more privilege than me.’
‘Don’t speak so loudly, Maisie. You see, Mrs. Rouse says that Philomen helps her. And you don’t give her much assistance.’
‘But, Mr. Haynes, Philomen working. She must work. What I must help Mrs. Rouse for? For the scraps of food and clothes she give me?’
‘Philomen works very hard. She is a good girl.’
‘Good girl, she! Mr. Haynes, what you saying?’ Maisie laughed shortly. ‘All those clothes you see her putting on on a Sunday, I could get it if I want to get it as she get them. She is the worst little prostitute in Victoria.’
‘Now, Maisie—’
‘But I have to speak about it, Mr. Haynes. If I don’t tell you you wouldn’t know. All of you only holding up Philomen as if she is a model. I’m speaking the truth. That same Philomen you praising up so much she used to live with Mr. Mill, the druggist, and Bennett, the assistant. And when old Mills find out he sack Bennett. Two of them the same time. All these lawyers and solicitors and clerks, she pass from one to the other. A little before you come here whenever you see a motor-car draw up in the night was Philomen they come for. Everybody know her. Ask Mrs. Rouse. I’s only that stupid Sugdeo who see her and his eye catch fire, and he as if he want to get married. I tell you. The nurse was the first one and she will be the next. Marriage! Jesus wept! Look what marriage coming to, my God!’
Chapter Sixteen
It was only on the very morning of the wedding that Haynes had any direct talk with Mrs. Rouse about it. First Maisie and then Miss Atwell left for the church, Maisie heartlessly excited and eager. Haynes had no work to do and stayed at home. He would have been glad to go himself, but he decided that his dignity did not allow it. Mrs. Rouse was waiting for him. As soon as he showed himself, she came to the kitchen door.
‘Today is the great day, Mr. Haynes, Mr. Benoit’s wedding morn. Ah, Mr. Haynes, that man is making a fool of himself. He does not know what he is doing. He is going to rue the day, the hour, the minute. And he nearly kill me too. My heart is like lead. He leave me to marry that woman. She is no better than a prostitute, Mr. Haynes. One of these days I will tell you some of my history, Mr. Haynes, and you will see how Mr. Benoit and the nurse have treated me … I went to Mother Superior and told her everything. And she console me. I will be able to go back to my Church now and live a straight life. Mother Superior told me everything is for the best, but it’s hard, Mr. Haynes, it’s hard.’
‘You must keep courage,’ Haynes said.
It was a wonder how any work was done that morning. It was Sunday, but nowadays No. 2 worked almost as hard on Sunday as on other days. Benoit’s absence made a heavy gap. Philomen went up and down on her usual errands, leaving Mrs. Rouse at home. At every footstep she came to the kitchen door, looking anxiously. What desperate hopes of motor accidents, sudden illness, or even miraculous intervention must have flitted through her brain during the last hours. Some of her hair had escaped from its controlling pins and a stray lock waved about her forehead. Whenever she appeared at the kitchen door she was putting it back in its place. Once when Philomen came in she could restrain herself no longer.
‘They ought to finish by now, Philomen. They ought to finish long time, now. Why Miss Atwell hasn’t come yet? Something happen!’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps something prevent the wedding.’
‘But nothing could happen, Philomen. What could happen? But why Miss Atwell haven’t come yet? She say as soon as they finish she was coming back. Go and see the time.’
It was a quarter past ten. The wedding had been fixed for nine.
A few tense minutes passed. Not a word in the kitchen from either of them, only the sounds of pots and pans, and the swish of water and squelching of clothes from Wilhelmina washing at the sink. Haynes tried to read but could not. He had a feeling that something was going to happen to prevent the wedding. The idea was absurd, but he could not rid himself of it.
The clock had just struck eleven when there was a cry in the yard.
‘Ma Rouse!’ It was Miss Atwell.
Mrs. Rouse came out into the yard followed by Philomen and Bruce, the latest yard boy, a little good-fo
r-nothing who had started to work on the Sunday previous, and was sure to be dismissed that very night.
‘What happen, Miss A.?’ said Philomen.
Miss Atwell, slightly out of breath, for she had been walking fast and fanning herself from the heat, was nevertheless happy, for she held the centre of the stage.
‘Well, it’s all over, Ma Rouse,’ she announced. ‘Nurse Jackson is now Mrs. Benoit. The happy couple was made man and wife at nine this morning at the Church of the Rosary, Father O’Donoghue officiatin’.’
‘Mr. Haynes!’ This was Miss Atwell. Haynes showed his head at the door. ‘You doesn’t want to hear about the wedding?’
They all were looking up at him.
‘Come and hear, Mr. Haynes,’ said Mrs. Rouse in a thin voice.
‘I can hear from here,’ Haynes replied, coming down to the second step.
Miss Atwell began. ‘The church was full o’ people. A lot of idlers. I suppose they had come to see the Jezebel married at last – ’cause everybody know what she is, you know, Mr. Haynes. And people was only whisperin’ about the way the snake come into you’ house and take the man away. There was a strange woman next to me and we was talkin’ about it all the time. Then everybody begin to say “She is comin’,” and she walk up the church with Dr. Price – I don’t know how ’e find hisself in that.’ Miss Atwell fanned herself a little.
‘The bride was in white with a lot of beads,’ she continued, ‘but although the cloth was expensive she didn’t look well.’ Miss Atwell shut her eyes, shook her head and repeated, giving emphasis to each word: ‘She didn’t look well. And one foolish little hat on ’er head, and as for he, in the old grey suit. I look to see what kind o’ shoes ’e had on, if was new ones in truth, but where I was sittin’ I couldn’t see. Then they ring the bell little bit when they was goin’ away, but the whole thing was tame, tame, tame. You could see was a pick-up wedding. The man did look too shame. Well, Mrs. Rouse, to tell you the truth, it did look to me as if ’e just wakin’ up out of a dream. I sorry for ’im, Mr. Haynes. When ’e realize, when ’e realize ’is mistake, it will be too late. Man ties the marriage rope, but only God can unloose it. Truly when I look at ’im I could see they fix ’im up.’
‘How do you mean fix him up?’
‘What? You a Creole and don’t know these things? Mr. Haynes, you are a young man and should take my words to heart. You has to be careful what you eats and where you eats it. If you is visitin’ a house and makes you’self very familiar in the place, and then doesn’t show marriage intentions, they puts a little thing in you’ food, and I tell you, you never gets away. Whatever was you’ previous intentions you finds you’self married. And is so the nurse catch Mr. Benoit, I’ll bet my bottom dollar.’
‘Tell Mr. Haynes you’ dream, Ma Rouse,’ said Philomen.
‘I didn’t tell you, Mr. Haynes?’ said Mrs. Rouse. ‘One night a few days after he leave I dream, and he appear to me in the dream and he say, “Alice, don’t vex with me. I’s not my fault. She catch me in fish.”’
There was a long pause. None of them had anything to say, only looked at Mrs. Rouse. Then Miss Atwell spoke:
‘Don’t mind, Ma Rouse. In God we trus’.’
‘“In God we trus’, but in man we bus’”. All you still talking about that worthless Benoit,’ said Maisie, coming round the other side of the house. ‘Miss A., how you reach so quick?’ She sat down on the little bench.
‘Lord, the sun is hot! Mr. Haynes, if I had seen you this morning I must have asked you for a tram-ticket. But I don’t like to wake you on a Sunday morning. Oh, but, Mr. Haynes, the nurse had a sweet little wedding. She wait long time for it, but I tell you it was worth the waiting.’
There was an indescribable ejaculation from Miss Atwell. Maisie continued:
‘The dress, gosh! The fugi fit like if it grow on her. Mrs. Robinson is a class sempstress. You know how the nurse thin. Well, she make it a little full; silver shoes, white silk stockings and a little georgette hat. Everybody agree they never see the nurse looking so well. She came in with the doctor, stepping high, and you know how she stylish already, and she had the glasses fix on her bosom, so aristo, and when the priest start she unfix it and put it on her nose, and she hold up her head in style.’
The look of strained attention was gone from Mrs. Rouse’s face. She stood erect, her head thrown back, disbelief in every line of her attitude. But Maisie continued to direct her remarks to Haynes.
‘Mr. Benoit look good, too, Mr. Haynes. He didn’t have a new suit. But the grey suit press, you know – razor crease – and he had a silver-grey shirt and collar to match, and the nurse brooch below the tie and the patent shoes. And one stylish trim. And the moustache trim, too. And when he was coming down, after the wedding, his face was serious. But I was waiting for him, you know. I was at the end of a seat and when they pass the people began to follow behind them. So I walk down quick and I pull him and I say, “Pappy!” and he look round. I tell him: “I’s so you do it, then?” He laugh and he was going to say something and the nurse look round and see me and pull him. And then they went in the car. And that is the way my story end.’
‘Your story in truth, you little devil,’ snarled Mrs. Rouse. ‘I don’t believe you, you confounded liar!’
‘Don’t believe me,’ said Maisie, jumping up and taking off her hat. ‘Miss Atwell was there. Ask her.’
But Miss Atwell declined.
‘Ask me nothing. I wishes to get into no contention with you, young woman.’
‘To besides, I went to see the wedding for myself,’ said Maisie. ‘And what I see, I see. I ain’t no newspaper.’
However much the point of view might cause the commentators to disagree, the wedding was an accomplished fact. Mrs. Rouse and the servants went quietly back to work, while Miss Atwell went into her room. But after ten minutes Mrs. Rouse said: ‘Philomen, my child, carry on for me. Here is my purse. You know all what to do.’
Philomen came to the kitchen door and watched her as, eyes on the ground, she walked slowly up the steps and into the house. She went into her bedroom and the yard did not see her again that day.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Mr. Haynes, is that you?’
‘Yes, Mrs. Rouse.’
‘I have been waiting for you, Mr. Haynes. I want to see you for a few minutes. I suppose you must be hungry. It’s that girl Maisie. She is going to come to you with a long story about Philomen. But don’t believe her. She is a terrible liar.’
It must be something serious, for Mrs. Rouse always waited until after supper before coming to talk to him.
‘Some quarrel about your comb,’ Mrs. Rouse explained. ‘Maisie says that Philomen was using your comb and brush and she had no right to. Philomen say she wasn’t using it, she was moving it from the table to the shelf. I don’t know the right of it. But if even Philomen was using the comb that was no reason why Maisie should go on as she go on. She called Philomen so much coolie dog, so much lousy head, ask her what she know about comb and brush in the village where she come from. Maisie have no right to behave like that, Mr. Haynes. She tell her, too, that she is a servant, that if she want to use the comb and brush she could use it because you and she are friends, but Philomen should know her place. And a lot of things. Well, Philomen answer her and they had a big row in the yard. And Philomen cry. Now Maisie say as soon as you come she is coming to tell you about it, and she speak in a way as if what she tell you, you will believe before anybody else. That is why I stop you.’
‘I am very sorry to hear all this, Mrs. Rouse.’
‘Mr. Haynes, Maisie is too aggravating. The girl is a burden to me. When I spoke to her this afternoon she answer me in a way I had to chase her out of the yard. She is going to bring me in trouble. One day I am going to lose my temper with her and the police going to have to come for me. I send and tell her uncle to come for her. I don’t want Maisie in my house any more. She is the root of all my trouble.’ Lately Mrs. Rouse had said mo
re than once that Maisie was the root of all her trouble and the sentence had no meaning that Haynes could see.
‘I know it grieve you to hear this because I see you and Maisie are good friends, but I can’t have her worrying Philomen like that. Philomen loves me, Mr. Haynes. Mr. Benoit desert me and leave me to perish, but Philomen wouldn’t do me that. Look at the work Philomen does here up and down the whole day. Sometimes my temper bad and I quarrel, but she don’t answer me back like Maisie. Gomes at the parlour, who see how Philomen work for me, offer her four dollars a month and a room in the yard to work for him and his mother, two of them alone, very easy work. Another lady, a Mrs. Clarke, is after her, but Philomen wouldn’t leave me. She see me struggling with my troubles, and she remain by my side. And Maisie, who do me so much already, she don’t help, and now she wants to make my life a burden by driving Philomen. All your soap and tooth paste, Maisie use it regular. I tired speaking to her. She will go and play your gramophone when you not there. I warn her, I haven’t forgot the day she break the bike. When you miss anything or anything break is Maisie, Mr. Haynes, not Philomen. All right, Mr. Haynes, I wouldn’t keep you back from your supper any more. Everything is on the table.’
Mrs. Rouse was hardly out before Maisie came boisterously in. She was eating ice cream from a cone and she was in high spirits.
‘If you know what happen, Mr. Haynes.’
She sat on the bed and sucked at her ice cream and laughed.
‘What happened?’
‘Mrs. Rouse didn’t give me no dinner, but I had six cents so I went up to the parlour, the one the Chinee man keeping by the drug store. So I tell him, “Hey, Chinee, give me three ice cream cone.” That is six cents. He look at me and he say something to his friend in Chinee and then he ask me where I come from. “No damn business of yours,” I tell him. “Give me the cones quick.” He give me them and I see him go to the drawer and stop as if to give me change. So I stand up, although I know no change for me. He give me three cents. I say, “Ah-ha, let me get out of this, quick.” “You nice gal,” he say when I was going. I ain’t watch him. I go down the road. I eat the cone (my head hurt me, I eat them so fast), and then I go back to the parlour. As soon as he see me, the ugly Chinee dog, he say, “Ah, you nice gal, you come back, you like me? Me like you, too.” I was mad to spit in his face, the man so ugly, but I tell him, “Yes. You nice Chinee man. I want three more cone.” I eat two of them on the spot and I walk off. I ain’t pay him a cent.’
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