Mamma was planting another row of asters in the garden in the place of
those that had died last September.
The outline of the map of South Africa had gone from the wall at the
bottom. Roddy's bit was indistinguishable from the rest.
And always you knew what would happen. Outside, on the Green, the
movements of the village repeated themselves like the play of a
clock-work toy. Always the same figures on the same painted stand, marked
with the same pattern of slanting roads and three-cornered grass-plots.
Half-way through prayers the Morfe bus would break loose from High Row
with a clatter, and the brakes would grind on the hill. An hour after
tea-time it would come back with a mournful tapping and scraping of
hoofs.
She had left off watching for the old red mail-cart to come round the
corner at the bottom. Sometimes, at long intervals, there would be a
letter for her from Aunt Lavvy or Dan or Mrs. Sutcliffe. She couldn't
tell when it would come, but she knew on what days the long trolleys
would stop by Mr. Horn's yard loaded with powdery sacks of flour, and on
what days the brewer's van would draw up to the King's Head and the
Farmers' Arms. When she looked out across the Green she caught the hard
stare of the Belks' house, the tall, lean, grey house blotched with iron
stains. It stood on the sheer edge where the platform dropped to the turn
of the road. Every morning at ten o'clock its little door would open and
Mr. Belk would come out and watch for his London paper. Every evening at
ten minutes past ten the shadow of Mr. Belk would move across the yellow
blind of the drawing-room window on the right; the light would go out,
and presently a blond blur would appear behind the blind of the bedroom
window on the left.
Every morning at twelve Mrs. Belk would hurry along, waddling and
shaking, to leave the paper with her aunt, old Mrs. Heron, in the dark
cottage that crouched at the top of the Green. Every afternoon at three
Dorsy would bring it back again.
When Mary came in from the village Mamma would look up and say "Well?" as
if she expected her to have something interesting to tell. She wished
that something would happen so that she might tell Mamma about it. She
tried to think of something, something to say that would interest Mamma.
"I met Mr. James on the Garthdale Road. Walking like anything."
"Did you?" Mamma was not interested in Mr. James.
She wondered, "Why can't I think of things like other people?" She had a
sense of defeat, of mournful incapacity.
One day Catty came bustling in with the tea-things, looking important.
She had brought news from the village.
Mrs. Heron had broken her thigh. She had slipped on the landing. Mrs.
Belk was with her and wouldn't go away.
Catty tried to look sorry, but you could see she was pleased because she
had something to tell you.
They talked about it all through tea-time. They were sorry for Mrs.
Heron. They wondered what poor Dorsy would do if anything should happen
to her. And through all their sorrow there ran a delicate, secret thrill
of satisfaction. Something had happened. Something that interested Mamma.
Two days later Dorsy came in with her tale; her nose was redder, her
hare's eyes were frightened.
"Mrs. Belk's there still," she said. "She wants to take Aunt to live with
her. She wants her to send me away. She says it wouldn't have happened if
I'd looked after her properly. And so it wouldn't, Mary, if I'd been
there. But I'd a bad headache, and I was lying down for a minute when she
fell.... She won't go. She's sitting there in Aunt's room all the time,
talking and tiring her. Trying to poison Aunt's mind against me. Working
on her to send me away."
Dorsy's voice dropped and her face reddened.
"She thinks I'm after Aunt's money. She's always been afraid of her
leaving it to me. I'm only her husband's nephew's daughter. Mrs. Belk's
her real niece....
"I'd go to-morrow, Mary, but Aunt wants me there. She doesn't like Mrs.
Belk; I think she's afraid of her. And she can't get away from her. She
just lies there with her poor leg in the splints; there's the four-pound
weight from the kitchen scales tied on to keep it on the stretch. If you
could see her eyes turning to me when I come....
"One thing--Mrs. Belk's afraid for her life of me. That's why she's
trying to poison Aunt's mind."
When they saw Mrs. Belk hurrying across the Green to Mrs. Heron's house
they knew what she was going for.
"Poor Dorsy!" they said.
"Poor Dorsy!"
They had something to talk to each other about now.