(William--although he has a great regard for Pepys--does not himself
keep a diary. From time to time, however, he 'chronicles the
outstanding events in his career,' as he puts it. The following is one
of William's 'chronicles,' which shows more knowledge than I have of
the happenings in this chapter.)
_William's Story_: The more I think of it the more terrible the thing
becomes from every aspect. Who could have thought that I, only a few
days ago placidly drifting down the stream of life, should be jerked
into such a maelstrom of difficulties? I must, however, try to think
calmly. As Dr. Johnson has said, 'One of the principal themes of moral
instruction is the art of bearing calamities.'
Let me try to narrate the events in their order--to trace, as far as
possible, how this particular calamity occurred.
It began with Elizabeth. Or, I should say, she was the bearer of those
disastrous tidings which have robbed me of my peace of mind and given
me nights of sleepless horror.
Elizabeth, I ought to explain, is employed at the house of my friends,
the Warringtons, as domestic worker. Up to the time of which I write I
had barely observed the girl, beyond remarking that she was exceedingly
lank as to form, and had a distressing habit of breathing very heavily
when serving at table, due, I thought, to asthmatic tendencies.
I learned later that it only betokened anxiety lest she should drop the
various vessels she was handing round.
The circumstances which brought her particularly under my notice were
singular. I had called at the Warringtons' one evening to have a smoke
and chat with Henry, as is my wont. Elizabeth, after showing me into
the study, told me that her master had gone out, but asked me to wait
as he was expected to return every minute. I settled myself down,
therefore, reached out for the tobacco jar, while my feet sought the
familiar ledge below the mantelpiece, when I observed that Elizabeth
was hovering in my vicinity.
'Excuse me, sir,' she said, speaking with apparent hesitation,
'but--but--do you mind if I speak to you?'
'Why shouldn't you speak to me if you want to?' I said, surprised and
rather puzzled.
'Well, you see, sir, it's a bit 'ard to tell you. I dunno how to begin
exactly--makes me feel like a cat treadin' on 'ot plates.' I quote
exactly the rough vernacular of the lower classes in which she
habitually expresses herself.
'There is no necessity for you to feel like a cat--or any other
animal--treading on plates hot or otherwise when unburdening yourself
to me,' I said kindly and benevolently, to put her at her ease. As a
matter of fact, I half surmised the cause of her embarrassment. No
doubt she had broken some object of value and wished me to act as
intermediary with her mistress in the matter. I have frequently heard
Mrs. Warrington complain of her ever-recurring breakages.
'If I can assist you in any way,' I continued, 'and intervene----'
'Inter-wot?' said Elizabeth.
'Er--perhaps you desire me to put in a good word for you with your
mistress----'
'Do I _not_,' she broke in. 'I can put in all the good words _I_ want
meself--yes, an' a few more, too.'
I was pondering on the remarkable formation of this sentence which lent
itself neither to analysis nor parsing, when her next words arrested my
instant attention.
'It's about Miss Marryun I wanted to speak to you,' she said.
I stared. Why on earth should she speak to me about Miss Warrington,
Henry's sister? I have not noticed her closely, but she is a quiet
enough female, I believe, though possessed of an irritating habit of
constantly pressing quite unnecessary ash-trays on a man.
To my surprise Elizabeth closed the door at this point and, coming up
to me, whispered in a strange husky voice: 'That's just where all the
trouble begins. It's what I overheerd 'er sayin' about you.'
I must confess to feeling rather startled. Then I remembered Mrs.
Warrington had often commented on Elizabeth's curious proclivities for
'overhearing.' I looked at her coldly. I had not the slightest
intention of becoming her confidant.
'Well, well, my good girl,' I retorted briskly, 'listeners never hear
any good of themselves--or of other people either, I suppose. So, if
you please, we will drop the subject.' I then picked up a book and
held it before me to signify that the parley was at an end.
Elizabeth snorted. The term is vulgar, I know, but no other expression
is adequate. 'Oo was listenin', I'd like to know?' she asked. 'I sed
_overheerd_. The door was well on the jar and I was dustin' the 'all
when I 'ears Miss Marryun a-moanin' and a-sobbin' like. Missus was
talkin' to 'er and soothin' 'er. "Don't carry on so," she ses, "for I
tells you, it's no use."
'"No use," ses Miss Marryun in a choked sort o' voice, "why is it no
use? I love 'im, I adore 'im. Oh, Willyum, Willyum, you'll break my
'art if you go on with this yeer cold indifference----"'
'Stop,' I interposed sternly. At any other time I might have smiled at
the girl's quaint phraseology. But I did not smile just then. _Dulce
est desipere in loco_. Wild as the story sounded, it was making me
feel decidedly uncomfortable. A slight perspiration had broken out on
my forehead. But I threw a strong note of assurance into my voice as I
went on: 'Girl, this is a monstrous action on your part to
listen--er--overhear at doors and repeat conversations of a most
delicate nature to a third party.'
'What-ho,' put in Elizabeth.
'Now let me show you the mistake under which you are labouring. It is
true my name is William, but William is a common name. I have
remarked, indeed, that the world is pretty full of Williams. Miss
Warrington was in no way referring to me.'
'I don't think,' commented Elizabeth.
'Evidently you don't,' I said severely, 'or you would not make such
absurd statements.'
'I ain't done yet,' went on this diabolical creature. 'You say it
wasn't meant fer you? Listen. When Miss Marryun goes on wringin' 'er
'ands an' sobbin', "I love my Willyum," missus ses, "But 'ow can you
love such a big ugly brute of a man wot's allus throwin' 'is tobacco
ash about the place, and scrapin' the fendy with 'is feet and never
wears a fancy westcoat even at evernin' parties. 'Ow can you love
him?" she arsks.
'"I don't know myself," ses Miss Marryun, "but there it is. I'd rather
die than live without my Willyum."'
'Silence,' I burst out fiercely, 'do you think I don't know that all
this is pure invention on your part--for what reason I, as yet, cannot
tell. How dare you concoct such tales?'
'Wait till I've finished, please, sir. The missus, she ses, "But
Marryun, my pore dear, it's no use lovin' 'im. 'E ses to me 'is very
self the other day, 'e ses, 'Sooner than get married I'd go and dwell
in the wilderness, I'd go to Tibbet, be an 'ermit in a cave, give up
baccy, and give away every farthin' I 'ad in the world.'"'
A feeling of acute horror swept over me. With a crash my favourite
pipe fell from my nerveless fingers and was smashed to atoms on the
fender. There was truth in the girl's fantastic story after all. I
recalled using such expressions as those when, a little time before, I
was discussing conjugal difficulties in a talk with Mrs. Warrington.
Obviously the girl could not have made the thing up. I passed my hand
wildly across my brow. 'But what have I done that she should fall in
love with me? What is there about me to attract any woman?'
'Nothink, as I can see,' she retorted, 'but with a woman's heart
there's no knowin' an' there's no tellin'. P'raps you've managed to
throw dust in her eyes.'
'I have thrown nothing--I mean, Miss Warrington and I are only slightly
acquainted with each other. I have, indeed, barely noticed her. And
now you tell me this horrible thing.'
She bridled. 'Wot's 'orrible about it? You ought to be glad. Most
men would be proud to marry a young lady 'oo's got such a light 'and
for pastry, and can mend up an old pair o' pants to make 'em look like
new. She's just the sort of wife----'
[Illustration: 'Wot's 'orrible about it?']
'"Wife,"' I interrupted, '"marry"? What do you mean by those words,
girl? Do you think for one instant if all the females in Christendom
were to fall in love with me I would _marry_ any one of them! No, a
thousand times, no. I repeat I will never, _never_ marry.'
'I 'eard yer,' said Elizabeth, 'and do you sit there and mean to tell
me that you're going to break a gentle woman's 'eart deliberate?'
The imputation caused me to shudder from head to foot. 'No, no,
Elizabeth. If I have unwittingly caused the lady pain I am deeply
remorseful. But she must, as soon as possible, be disillusioned.'
'Dish-who?' said Elizabeth. In this peculiar and baffling way does
she express herself. It makes a sustained conversation extremely
difficult and, at times, almost impossible.
'She must be brought to dislike me, I mean. In this matter I must ask
you to help me.' I took a ten-shilling note from my pocket. 'If, from
time to time, you will talk to Miss Warrington of my many faults--you
can invent what you like----'
'Shan't need to invent much in the way o' faults,' put in the monstrous
girl. 'But it's my belief she likes you for 'em. Some women are made
like that. Anyway,' she handed me back the note which I had
endeavoured to press into her warm, moist palm. 'I'm not wantin' this.
I'm not goin' to take blood money to 'elp to break any woman's 'eart.'
It sounded really terrible viewed in that light. 'There is no need for
you to put it in that coarse way,' I said, my temper rising. 'I only
ask you to help me to regain my peace of mind and secure Miss
Warrington's happiness.'
'Well, if you put it like that o' course,' she said, her fingers
closing over the note, 'I'm not the one to refuse good money. I'm
willin' to do all I can to make you an' Miss Marryun happy.' With a
broad grin she sidled out of the room.
As for me, I gathered up the fragments of my pipe and departed. I no
longer wished to talk to Henry just then. I wanted to be alone to
think, to consider my strategic position. I must go away to some
remote place, perhaps not Tibet, but at any rate a quiet spot in the
country fully twenty miles out of London. Before going, however, I
must in some way show Miss Warrington the utter folly of her illusions
regarding my unfortunate self. Nothing must be left undone to achieve
that object.
Alas, what troubles, what unending anxiety a woman can cause a man!
After getting over this difficulty, I swear I will not even converse
with any one of them again. In the meantime I must invoke the aid of
this wretched girl Elizabeth. _Necessitas non habet legem_. Elizabeth
is that most irritating necessity.