Seeing those two at breakfast, the next morning, no one would have
guessed that their relationships had changed. Ruth was too shy, Hannah
was too wily, and they were both too cautious, to behave differently.
Hannah did not want to press her victory home. The enemy would
surrender unconditionally before long, and there was no need to augment
Ethel's jealousy. In Ethel's view, Wilfrid, of course, had been talking
nonsense when he implied that Miss Mole was the most fascinating woman
in the world, but his nonsense usually had enough truth in it to make
it sting or soothe, and poor Ethel, who could not hide her feelings,
was hurt and puzzled. What made a woman fascinating to Wilfrid? she
seemed to ask, as she looked from one to the other. To Ethel, at
twenty-three, Miss Mole was almost old and had certainly passed the
age when she could hope to be attractive. She was not good-looking,
yet when she was in the room Wilfrid always watched her. Ethel liked
Miss Mole and would have liked her better if Wilfrid had not liked her
at all: she gave the house a feeling of safety: if it caught fire, if
anybody was ill, Miss Mole would know what to do, and things had been
more comfortable since she came. Ethel was grateful for her freedom
from the harassing business of planning meals and trying to make Doris
do her duty without disturbing their common bond in the Mission, and
being reported as a stern mistress to other members of the Girls'
Club. There was every reason why Ethel should have been an inefficient
housekeeper, and every reason why Miss Mole should be a good one. At
forty, all distracting desires, ambitions, hopes and disappointments
must have passed away, leaving the mind calm and satisfied with the
affairs of every day, a state for which Ethel sometimes envied Miss
Mole, more often pitied her, while always she tried to believe that
Wilfrid's flattery was a new way of winning Ethel's attention to
himself.
Naturally, no one saw Miss Mole when she was alone in her dove-cot
and no one was privy to her sleeping or her waking dreams. They were
all too young or too self-absorbed to understand that her life was as
important to her as theirs to them and had the same possibilities of
adventure and romance; that, with her, to accept the present as the
pattern of the future would have been to die. This was the attitude of
hope and not of discontent and what Ethel saw as the resignation of
middle-age was the capacity to make drama out of humdrum things. Here
was a little society, in itself commonplace enough, but a miniature of
all societies, with the same intrigues within and the same threatenings
of danger from outside. It had its acknowledged head in Robert Corder
who, sure of himself and his position, had no suspicion that his rule
was criticised by his second-in-command, or that his subjects might
rebel. In one of his public speeches, or in a sermon, he would have
described the home just as Hannah saw it, as a small community in which
personalities were stronger than theories of conduct, resilience more
enduring than rigidity; he would have said there was no life without
change and struggle, and, becoming metaphorical--Hannah enjoyed
composing sermons for him--he would have likened young people to
plants which must be given space and air, and their elders to the wise
gardeners who would not confine or clip until the growth had attained
a certain sturdiness, and he would have meant everything he said, and
believed he followed his own counsels, but in his home he had planted
his seedlings within a narrow compass and assumed that all was well
with them. It was enough that he had given them good ground and it was
their privilege and duty to prosper. He cast an eye on them, now and
then, saw they were still where he had put them, took submission for
content and closeness for companionship. Doubtless, he wanted them
to grow--Hannah gave him credit for that--but he would have resented
any divergence from the shape he liked himself and though he did not
flourish his shears openly, everyone knew they were in his pocket.
There was a general conspiracy to keep them there; and the struggles
took place underground. He was a busy man and he was not likely to look
for what was hidden.
Other people, as usual, knew more about his family than he did, and he
took his place at the supper-table one evening, wearing an expression
that boded trouble. He always tried to translate his anger into grief
and this produced a look which demanded recognition, or threatened to
turn sour and, as it was better to meet him half-way than to sit in an
awed silence, Ethel asked anxiously if he felt unwell.
'If I did,' he said, 'I hope I should be able to hide it. I have had a
distressing experience. Two, in fact.'
'But it was the Education Committee Meeting this evening, wasn't it?'
Ethel asked.
'Exactly,' he said. He looked coldly at Wilfrid. 'I want to talk to
you after supper. And as though one misfortune were not enough, I met
Samuel Blenkinsop on my way home. I had not seen him since he gave his
very dull paper on Charles Lamb, and I must own that he had the decency
to seem embarrassed.' He looked round the table, waiting for his cue,
but no one risked a question or a comment. To ask why Mr. Blenkinsop
looked embarrassed would be to admit stupidity: a comment made at this
dangerous moment when some disaster was hanging over Wilfrid's handsome
head, would certainly be the wrong one, to be silent was almost an
affront, and if the younger people heard, in Hannah's voice, a gallant
attempt to save the situation, she knew it herself as the result of an
irresistible curiosity.
'You mean,' she suggested, 'he was ashamed of his paper. He'd been
trying to forget it and when he saw you the horror swooped on him. I
know the feeling.'
'I mean nothing of the sort, Miss Mole.' He paused to look a little
inquisitively, but more repressingly, at the maker of this rather
surprising speech. 'He would be fortunate if he had nothing else to be
ashamed of.'
Swiftly she had to readjust her view of that stolid young man, working
out chess problems in his quiet room, and, before she knew it, she had
said incredulously, not unhopefully, 'Has he robbed the bank?'
She was conscious, at once, of consternation in the room, like a thin
fog through which the familiar appeared slightly distorted. With a
stealthy movement, Wilfrid had taken his handkerchief from his sleeve
and was wiping his nose very thoroughly and Ethel was looking from
her father to Miss Mole, uncertain and frightened of his reaction,
half-suspicious of her intention; the quick little frown of Ruth's
anxieties had come and gone. Evidently, this was considered a frivolous
question to ask of a man who was in earnest; it had a levity unsuitable
in Miss Mole and to the occasion and all she could do now was to look
enquiringly stupid.
Mr. Corder's grief had been re-translated into an astonished anger.
'If that was meant to be humorous, Miss Mole, I'm afraid it is not
successful.'
'No, no, it wasn't!' Hannah protested. 'But--' now that she was
attacked, she was at liberty to strike back and there was a gurgle of
laughter under her voice, 'it would have been funny if he'd really done
it!'
'Oh, Miss Mole!' Ethel gasped.
'Out of character,' Miss Mole explained neatly, holding up her small
head.
'So you are acquainted with Mr. Blenkinsop?' Robert Corder asked
slowly, as though he were on the track of a crime.
'I've seen him--' Hannah began, and Robert Corder interrupted her with
a betraying sharpness.
'Not in the chapel!' he said, and she knew it was only pride that
prevented him from asking the questions she did not mean to answer.
She had had her little fling and it had done her good, though she
feared Wilfrid would suffer for it, and while the interview in the
study was taking place Ethel was looking at her resentfully.
'You shouldn't make Father angry!' she exclaimed.
'Did I?' said Hannah. She was holding out a spoonful of a treacly
concoction of malt she had persuaded Ruth to take and, under her little
air of command, she was afraid Ruth would refuse it, in token of
loyalty to her father. She was wonderfully relieved when Ruth docilely
put her lips to the spoon. 'Good girl!' she said. 'I always used to
spit it out. Dozens of bottles were bought for me and not a speck of it
did I swallow. Kept it in my mouth--and ran.'
'If Wilfrid gets into trouble with Father, he'll be sent home,' Ethel
mourned, 'and he isn't happy there. His mother doesn't understand him.'
'I shouldn't think she understands anything--except prayer meetings.'
'Ruth! How can you be so naughty?'
'I don't care. She's a horrible old woman and she smells of camphor.
All Father's relations are horrible, and Uncle Jim's the only decent
one we've got.'
This diverted Ethel. 'Wouldn't it be lovely if he came for Christmas!'
she cried, but Ruth would never share her raptures, and Ethel began
pacing the room again in her suspense.
Wilfrid, however, returned cheerfully. 'It's all right!' he said,
'nothing worse than idleness. No lies necessary. But it's confoundedly
awkward to have the uncle on all these committees. He'd met the
Dean--as well as Mr. Blenkinsop. What's old Blenkinsop done? You
weren't tactful, Mona Lisa, but you were funny.'
'Was I?' Hannah said. 'It was Mr. Blenkinsop who seemed funny to
me--picking the locks, running off with the bags of money--'
'But he hasn't!' Ethel exclaimed. 'I don't think you ought to say such
things.'
'If he had,' said Hannah, solemnly, 'I should be the last person to
breathe a word of it.'
'Then you'd be quite wrong!'
'Poor Ethel!' Wilfrid said tenderly. 'It's no good crossing swords with
Mona Lisa.'
'You're all very unkind!' Ethel cried. 'Making fun of everything, when
Father's so upset. You don't know how he feels when anyone leaves the
chapel. It's like--like a personal insult.'
'Ah, yes,' Wilfrid said sympathetically, 'he'd take it like that, of
course,' and he looked at Hannah who was cautiously unresponsive. 'But
is that all poor old Blenkinsop's done? Lucky fellar! Still it's a poor
heart that never rejoices and a dull one that doesn't take the chance,
and I find the chapel distinctly entertaining. I love hearing Mrs.
Spencer-Smith telling everybody she's got a silk petticoat when she
swishes down the aisle, and seeing poor old Ernest's agonies when the
widows drop their mites into the plate, and many a time I've seen him
slip past them before they could do it. I like old Ernest.'
'I like them both,' Ethel said, and, forgetting her grievances, she
added eagerly, 'I wonder if they'll have a party this Christmas.'
'If they do,' said Ruth, 'I'm going to have a bad cold in the head. I
hate their parties.'
'And my duty to my mother will keep me at her side during the festive
season. Honestly, I'd rather see her crying over the Christmas pudding
and hear her telling fibs about my father and wishing I were like
him--and we all know he was a bit of a scamp, and that's why I hold his
memory dear--than go to one of those,--you know the word I want to use,
Mona Lisa--well, one of those parties.'
'Miss Mole won't believe you. She knows Mrs. Spenser-Smith.'
'But I've never been to one of her parties,' Hannah said.
'I wonder if she'll ask you!'
'I should hardly think so, and I should have to stay at home and look
after Ruth.'
'Which is far better,' Wilfrid murmured. 'Well, I've promised to
turn over a new leaf and I'm going to do it, beside my cheery little
gas-fire, so farewell! But I'm always forgetting to ask you something.
Who makes my bed?'
'I do,' said Hannah.
'Then, what's happened to my mattress?'
'It was there this morning.'
'I know it's there, but it's different. It's lumpy.'
'They get lumpy in time,' Hannah said.
'It's done it in jolly quick time, then.'
'But it's a new one!' Ethel said. 'It's got a red and fawn ticking,
hasn't it, Miss Mole?'
'Green,' said Hannah. 'Mine's red and fawn.'
'Then you've got the wrong one. We'll have to change them.'
'And give Mona Lisa the lumps! What are you talking about?'
'I'll go and look at them now,' Ethel said.
'Miss Mole's the housekeeper!' Ruth cried hastily.
'But I bought that mattress,' Ethel said, going off with a jingle.
'She'll pull the bed-clothes off and forget to put them on again!'
Wilfrid exclaimed, going after her.
'Did you change them?' Ruth asked softly, and Hannah nodded. 'I thought
so!' Ruth said with a chuckle.