by Clara Benson
Freddy considered a moment.
‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘One ought to do one’s duty, I suppose. You can rely on me to do everything I can to find out this threat, whatever it is, and report back.’
‘Splendid,’ said Henry with a smile. ‘I hoped you’d say yes. Now, the East London Communist Alliance meets on Tuesday evenings at Clerkenwell Central Hall. I suggest you trot along there quite openly as a reporter from the Clarion, and tell them you’re writing a story. If I know anything of these small, radical groups, they’ll be only too happy to be given the chance to pontificate for the benefit of the public, and will welcome you with open arms. Schuster in particular is rather fond of himself, and tends to gather acolytes around him wherever he goes. I should like you to talk to him and his wife. Pretend to be a little awe-struck, if you must. They won’t tell the press anything important, naturally, but it can’t do any harm to get yourself admitted to his inner circle of admirers.’
‘What about Ivor Trevett?’ said Freddy. ‘He looked like something of a trouble-maker when I saw him the other day.’
‘Yes, we have our eye on him too,’ said Henry. ‘He’s their leader, so one would suppose that he knows well enough what’s afoot, but we haven’t been able to pin anything on him yet—or on anyone, in fact.’ He looked at his watch and rose to his feet. ‘I have a meeting with the Prime Minister shortly, and I see we’ve already been talking longer than I expected. Now, don’t forget: keep your eyes and ears peeled for anything that might suggest there’s something nasty in the offing, and report it to me if you do.’
‘I will, sir,’ promised Freddy, standing up likewise.
‘You mustn’t come here—at least, not without an invitation—but you may telephone or send a telegram if needs be.’
‘Wouldn’t it be simpler to speak to your man on the spot?’ said Freddy. ‘Who is he, by the way?’
‘I’d rather not tell you just yet,’ said Henry. ‘We find it’s safer that way. You might be seen together, and we don’t want them to suspect they have moles in their midst. But if our agent does need to communicate with you, then listen for the phrase “purple mittens.”’
‘Purple mittens?’ said Freddy staring.
‘And you must reply with the phrase “green mittens,”’ went on Henry. He saw Freddy’s expression and looked slightly embarrassed. ‘It wasn’t my idea. I don’t think these things up,’ he said.
‘I should hope not,’ said Freddy.
They walked along to the lift. It arrived and Freddy stepped in, then as it began to descend, had a sudden thought.
‘I say,’ he said. ‘Is this likely to be dangerous?’
‘Oh, no more than you’d expect,’ said Henry vaguely, as the lift compartment sank out of sight.
‘Do we have enough tea, Miss Hodges?’ came the strident tones of Miss Stapleton, Vice-President of the Young Women’s Abstinence Association, through the door of the small kitchen of Clerkenwell Central Hall.
Miss Phyllis Hodges, wispy-haired, agitated and breathless as she attempted for the fourth time to match the items on her list with the items required for the meeting, whirled around in a moment of panic, dropping her pencil as she did so. Where was the tea? Had she forgotten it?
‘Mrs. Starkweather is meant to be bringing it,’ she said in relief, after a moment’s thought. ‘I expect she’ll be here soon.’
Miss Olive Stapleton entered the room, a formidable presence in dark brown tweed, and regarded Miss Hodges with impatience.
‘What on earth are you doing down there?’ she said. ‘This is hardly the moment to be grubbing about on the floor.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Stapleton, I dropped my pencil,’ said Miss Hodges.
‘Well, get up, then! The meeting will be starting in less than an hour and there’s no time to waste. Now, sugar. We were running low last time, I seem to remember.’
‘Yes, I’ve brought that,’ said Miss Hodges, on firmer ground now. ‘Two pounds ought to be enough, don’t you think?’
‘Three might have been better. We had rather a large turnout last time, and we don’t want to run out. And only the white? There are a number of ladies who prefer Demerara.’
‘Oh, but I thought—’
‘Never mind,’ said Miss Stapleton impatiently. ‘Perhaps I had better see to the provisions myself next time. A pity, as I’m rather busy and I’d hoped that you might be able to take some of the burden off my shoulders. But there’s no use in asking people to do things for one if they can’t or won’t do them properly.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Stapleton,’ said Miss Hodges meekly.
‘Such a pity the Communist Alliance got the main hall before us,’ went on Miss Stapleton. ‘Our membership has swelled considerably in the past few months, and we’re becoming very cramped now in the smaller room. I dread to think what would happen if a fire broke out. And as for serving the tea—why, it’s becoming almost impossible. I think we shall have to begin stacking a few of the chairs away at the back of the room near the table at refreshments time. You can see to that, can’t you?’
Since Miss Hodges had timidly put forward this idea herself only a few weeks earlier, and had been roundly pooh-poohed by Miss Stapleton for her pains, she made no objection.
‘And on the subject of the chairs, do try and make sure they are put away properly this week. The caretaker is complaining that somebody has not been stacking them in the correct manner.’
‘Really? But I thought—’
‘Back to back, not front to back, or they take up too much space. Remember that. Oh, I forgot to mention that I received a telephone-call from Mrs. Belcher earlier. She sends her excuses, but she is quite prostrate with a terrible migraine, and will not be able to come this evening. However, she sent her girl with a list of things that ought to be attended to, since she is unable to do them. There are all this month’s subscriptions to be counted and recorded, for example. They really need to be done by Thursday so we can deposit the money at the bank by the end of the month, but Mr. Bottle is still unwell, and I can’t possibly do it, since I am busy all day tomorrow and have a most pressing evening engagement that simply cannot be deferred. You won’t mind doing it, will you?’
Miss Hodges was also busy all the next day, and had planned to spend the evening with a friend whom she had not seen for some time. She began to make her excuses, but Miss Stapleton interrupted her with an impatient click of the tongue.
‘Really, Miss Hodges,’ she said. ‘I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you do something for the cause once in a while. Why, I work my fingers to the bone for this association, but sometimes it seems to me that I am the only one, and that others are not taking their due share of the responsibility.’
Miss Hodges flushed but said nothing. It was clear that her Wednesday evening engagement would have to be postponed, for she knew not how to resist Miss Stapleton’s force of personality.
‘Those Communists next door are so rowdy,’ said Miss Stapleton, whose mind had now wandered on to another of her many sources of vexation. ‘I think I shall have to have another word with them. Why, they quite drowned out Rise O Rise This Glorious Morning last week with their cheering and whistling—and just at the most rousing part about rallying around the Temperance banner. And that song of theirs they sing sounds most angry and war-like. Not at all suitable for a public meeting, in my opinion—oh, who is that coming in? Is it Mr. Hussey? He is not usually this early.’
She went out, and Miss Hodges heard her calling in a loud, cheerful voice:
‘Good evening, Mr. Peacock, Mr. Dyer! Never miss a meeting, I see. And how is your aunt, Mr. Dyer? Has she quite recovered from her cough? So troublesome, especially at this time of year. Oh, I am glad to hear it. What? Oh, yes, do go on, I shan’t keep you.’
There came the sound of young male voices, then the slam of a door, and Miss Staple
ton returned to the kitchen.
‘Such well brought-up young men,’ she said. ‘Oxford, I believe. I can’t think what they’re doing mixing with those horrid radicals. Perhaps it’s the fashion nowadays.’
‘I spoke to Mr. Peacock just before Christmas, when he was good enough to help me carry a tray of cups,’ said Miss Hodges. ‘He confided to me that he did it mainly for the fun of it, although he did say he believed it was a jolly good cause.’
‘Well, they ought to give it up,’ said Miss Stapleton. ‘I’m dreadfully afraid that they’ll get into trouble when it all blows up.’
‘When it all blows up?’ said Miss Hodges in alarm. ‘Goodness! What is going to blow up?’
‘I don’t know, but they’re plotting something, I’m certain of it,’ said Miss Stapleton.
‘Oh dear! But they are always so polite and well-spoken. Mr. Dyer said they read a lot of poetry at their meetings.’
‘Poetry, indeed,’ said Miss Stapleton with a snort. ‘They might call it poetry, but I shouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that they’re really communicating revolutionary messages in code. No, Miss Hodges,’ she went on, ‘I am firm in my belief that there is something afoot. I see them talking in corners together, and passing notes to one another when they think nobody is watching. A few weeks ago I caught Mr. Trevett and Mr. Schuster coming out of the committee-room, looking very shifty indeed. They jumped when they saw me and gave me a most unfriendly glare. Naturally I went in and examined the room when they’d gone, but they hadn’t left any evidence, unfortunately.’
‘Perhaps they wanted to speak about something in private.’
‘Of course they wanted to speak about something in private. One doesn’t plot armed insurrection against the Government in front of everybody. No, they’re far too clever for that.’
‘Good gracious! Do you think that’s what they were doing?’ said Miss Hodges.
‘That, or worse,’ said Miss Stapleton darkly. ‘One day I shall catch them at it, you see if I don’t.’
‘Are we late?’ said a voice, which turned out to belong to a comfortable woman of middle age, who looked as though she had dressed as an afterthought. ‘Mildred, did I forget to wind my watch up again?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said the pink-faced and hearty young lady who accompanied her. ‘Hallo, Miss Stapleton, hallo, Miss Hodges. We’ve brought sugar. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, goodness,’ said Miss Hodges in dismay. ‘But I thought we’d agreed you would bring the tea.’
‘What? No, I don’t think so,’ said Mrs. Starkweather. ‘We didn’t agree to bring tea, did we, Mildred?’
‘Do you know, I’m not sure,’ said Mildred. ‘Perhaps we did. Although I thought it was sugar. Have we got it wrong again?’
‘Oh dear,’ said Miss Hodges, for she was certain that no matter whose fault it was, she would get the blame for it. ‘Shall I run out for some tea? I think there’s still time.’
‘Only if you can be quite sure that you’ll come back with tea and not butter,’ said Miss Stapleton sharply. ‘Perhaps you ought to write it down, in case you forget.’
‘I say, it was most probably our mistake,’ said Mildred Starkweather, seeing Miss Hodges’ face fall. ‘Should you like me to do it, Miss Hodges?’
‘No, no thank you,’ said that unfortunate person, who was only too glad of an opportunity to escape from Miss Stapleton’s oppressive presence. ‘I shall be back in five minutes.’
She hurried out of the kitchen, and Miss Stapleton sighed and shook her head.
‘It is impossible to rely on Phyllis Hodges to do anything quickly and efficiently,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I think she is more trouble than she is worth, although it’s hardly charitable to say so, of course.’
‘She’s a dear,’ said Mildred Starkweather. ‘Isn’t she, Mummy?’
‘What? Oh, yes, I suppose she is,’ said Mrs. Starkweather vaguely. ‘And who do we have speaking this evening, Miss Stapleton?’
‘I’m afraid Mrs. Belcher has a headache and has sent her excuses,’ said Miss Stapleton. ‘It is a great pity, because she was going to recount one of her inspirational histories about an American gentleman of her acquaintance, who was formerly very much addicted to the bottle, so much so that all his friends deserted him and his wife left him out of fear for herself and her children. Then he was introduced to the Temperance movement, became a champion of the cause himself, and was elected to the Senate. However, I believe that story will have to wait until next week now. Fortunately, Mr. Hussey has kindly volunteered to stand in. He is so personable and charming, and the ladies like him so much—especially the poor, saved girls. They sit quite silent and spell-bound during his little homilies. Oh, who is this?’
‘Hallo, hallo,’ said Freddy from the doorway, as Mrs. Starkweather and her daughter turned to see whom Miss Stapleton was addressing. ‘Is it the Temperance ladies’ night? I didn’t realize. Good evening, Mrs. S. You’re looking splendid as usual. Hallo, Mildred. How long has it been?’
‘Last August, I think,’ said Mildred. ‘There was a picnic and you fell in the river and frightened the ducks.’
‘Hallo, Freddy, what are you doing here?’ said Mrs. Starkweather. ‘Have you come with Cynthia?’
‘No, my mother’s off gallivanting in the South of France at the moment,’ he replied. ‘Never could stand the English weather in January. Good evening—Miss Stapleton, isn’t it? Freddy Pilkington-Soames at your service. I hope I’m not in the way.’
‘Ah, yes, Mr. Pilkington-Soames, I remember you,’ said Miss Stapleton, looking him up and down. ‘I’m sorry your mother couldn’t come this evening. She was quite a regular at one time, thanks to the efforts of Mrs. Belcher, who was most assiduous in persuading the ladies of her acquaintance to take up the cause. It is a pity she was not so successful in inducing them to persevere with it, but I suppose some people are not cut out for the rigours of a devotedly moral life. Now, I must go and see to the chairs. Mrs. Starkweather, would you be good enough to give me a hand?’
The two ladies went out. Freddy gave a whistle.
‘I say, she’s a tartar, isn’t she?’ he said.
‘Oh, don’t mind her,’ said Mildred. ‘Now, why are you here? Don’t tell me you’ve decided to embrace sobriety, because I shan’t believe you.’
‘Naturally I shouldn’t dream of showing disrespect by turning up to a Temperance meeting in anything worse than my usual state of incapacity, but as it happens I haven’t touched a drop since Sunday,’ said Freddy.
‘That’s only two days ago,’ Mildred pointed out.
‘Really? It seems longer. No, much as I’d like to join you this evening, I’m afraid I’m here for the other lot. I’ve a fancy to raise the red flag and stand shoulder to shoulder with the masses, as we join together in song and bellow lusty verses that tell how effete horrors such as myself will one day be put against a wall and summarily dispatched. Jolly good fun, what?’
‘You, a Communist?’ said Mildred. ‘I shall as soon believe that as I shall your giving up drinking.’
‘Well, no, as a matter of fact I’m here for the paper.’
‘Oh, a story, is it?’
‘Yes, the Clarion sent me along. It’s not all society weddings and Lord Mayor’s parades, you know. As a matter of fact, it was St. John’s idea originally. He’s always trying to get me to write flattering pieces about his unsightly herd, so I thought I’d take pity on him for once. But now I hear he’s started his own newspaper, so I don’t know why he needs me.’
‘Oh, St. John,’ said Mildred. ‘Yes, I’ve read that rag of his. Miss Stapleton had a copy of it. Someone really ought to donate a dictionary to them, as the spelling’s atrocious.’
‘Why did Miss Stapleton have a copy of the newspaper? I can’t imagine it being her sort of thing.’
‘Because she thinks
they’re up to something,’ said Mildred. ‘She has a bee in her bonnet about it. Rather cracked, in fact. She’s convinced they’re plotting a revolution, or something of that sort.’
‘Is she, now?’ said Freddy. ‘And are they?’
Mildred snorted.
‘Go and look at them yourself and tell me,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen a more ineffectual lot. Standing and ranting poetry for hours at a time, to no good purpose. Then half of them go home to a nice, warm, cosy house, and have their servants bring them whisky or cocoa, and the other half go home and beat their wives because as working men they’re the head of the house and must needs prove it at all costs, then they all go to bed and congratulate themselves on the prospect of changing society for the better, and ignore the real poverty that’s everywhere around them. As for a revolution, our ladies here would do a better job of it if they had a mind to.’
‘A trenchant analysis,’ said Freddy. ‘Perhaps I shall quote you. They love that sort of thing at the Clarion. “Views of a Young Lady on the Communist Movement.” How does that sound?’
‘Will they pay me?’
‘Unlikely.’
‘Perhaps not, then. I don’t think Mummy would be especially pleased,’ said Mildred.
Just then two more people entered the kitchen: a young clergyman who was exceedingly fair of face, and an elderly woman who resembled nothing more than a curious and friendly goat. The reverend gentleman was introduced as Mr. Theodore Hussey, and it appeared that he was there to conduct the Temperance meeting.
‘I am sorry to hear Mrs. Belcher is indisposed,’ he said. ‘However, I must confess I was very happy to be asked to fill her place this evening, as I have a little sermon I have been working on. “The lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—” you know the verse, of course. I believe it to be most applicable to some of our young women, without being too difficult for them to understand, since the parallels are quite clear—yes, quite clear.’
