Anyone entering the Prices’ house on any Wednesday afternoon between
3.30 and 6 would hear from the staircase and even from the front door a
chatter and clatter of cups and conversation and shrill laughter. In a
short time the drawing-room bell would ring, a door would open upstairs
and louder sounds of talking would burst out; then one of the Price
girls would be heard to say, “Well, good-bye, then. Tuesday week,” or
something like that, and a female form, expensively dressed, the remains
of a farewell smile still on the face, would pass down the stairs and
probably meet the maidservant on her way up with another batch from the
front door. On some Wednesdays as many as thirty women called on Mrs.
Price. Susie, who “believed in keeping up with people,” as she said, was
there one day soon after Evangeline had left her. The Prices made much
of her because of her triple connection with Millport, London and the
county, and the girls described Cyril as “perfectly killing!” They had a
great respect for him as soon as they saw that he had none whatever for
them.
Perhaps it was some survival of the days when slavery was upheld from
the pulpit by a man of God in their city that gave one or two of the
older Millport families their exaggerated esteem for an impressive
manner. They knew by ancestral experience that the top dog is the thing
to be. They sat as near the top as they could and gazed with admiration
at those who pressed on them from above. No one who understood Cyril
could suspect him of being impressive, but he took no interest in the
Prices, so their natural inference from his behaviour was that he must
be used to something better than themselves, and that would be something
very good indeed. The train of thought runs easily to the conclusion
that Cyril was worth cultivating. Half the things he said would have
convicted him of “giving himself airs” had he been a poor man and polite
to the Prices, but, “Have you heard what the General said?” they
repeated to one another after every occasion when they met him. Even
such trifles as “what he said when Father offered him a cigar at the
Club,” were reported, and the answer, “No, thanks; have you seen the
paper?” produced an avalanche of delight.
“But what did he mean, dear?” asked poor Mrs. Price. “I don’t see
anything particular in that.”
“Oh, mother! Of course he wanted to get rid of Dad; can’t you see? ‘Have
you seen the paper!’ I think it is delicious. You can just imagine him
handing it over and sloping off.”
On this afternoon Mrs. Price sat down beside Susie and began to make
herself agreeable. “Your daughter has left you now, hasn’t she, Mrs.
—er?” she began. “I hope Drage suits her. My son was there for a time
and didn’t care for it.”
“It is not a beautiful place, of course,” Susie replied, “but to see
those boys back from the war enjoying themselves so much is as good as
any scenery. Your son told Evangeline of the unfortunate accident that
prevented him from going out. She was so sorry for him.”
“Well, I wasn’t sorry,” said Mrs. Price. “I think the whole arrangement
of conscription was scandalous. They took people who were absolutely
necessary for carrying on what business there was, and sent them out.
Joseph has a very weak throat and would have been absolutely useless, as
I told him; though he had made up his mind to go. However, it is all
over now and I hope to goodness they will get all the labour troubles
settled soon. The price of everything is dreadful. I don’t know how we
are to go on living.”
“By-the-bye,” asked Susie, “has anything been settled about your taking
Aldwych?”
An unpleasant recollection rose in Mrs. Price’s mind. Higgins had
reported to one of the maids after the party “how disrespectful that
military gentleman that came had spoke” about wealth in general and the
Prices in particular. He had retailed Cyril’s remarks about getting the
smell of money out of the house and the likelihood of the Prices
demoralising the Aldwych tenants like the plague. Higgins had told the
infamous tale three times at supper, and Hopkins, Mrs. Price’s maid, had
repeated it to her mistress. The young Prices had heard of it, but paid
little attention. It only stung them to further admiration of Cyril, for
since the Profiteering Act had been passed and half the jokes in _Punch_
were about people who looked rather like Dad and Mother they had begun
to feel that the gilt on their gingerbread had better be covered a
little to prevent rubbing. The parents, however, did not like it.
“I don’t know whether we can afford to take it at all,” Mrs. Price
continued. “It is only people who have made money in the war that can do
that sort of thing now. Of course Mr. Price actually lost more than he
made, and with the income tax and everything his idea was really to give
up and go into the country. Aldwych would need a great deal of keeping
up.”
“Would it?” said Susie. “I daresay. But you would find the life so
delightful, wouldn’t you? I think the unrest in a big town is so trying,
and the unemployment makes it so much worse.” Mrs. Gainsborough was
sitting on a sofa at her left hand, talking to a clergyman’s wife, and
there was a sudden silence as Susie spoke. The young Prices had gone
into the little room beyond to discuss some theatricals they were
getting up for a charity.
“Why does the Principal allow Mr. Cranston to go on as he does?” Mrs.
Price asked, turning to Mrs. Gainsborough.
“He doesn’t,” she replied distractedly. “It drives him nearly wild, but
he can’t do anything.”
“He is making it much harder for everybody,” said Mrs. Abel, the
clergyman’s wife. “My husband says he is doing incalculable harm in our
neighbourhood. They are not the very poorest people there and they all
have time to read and they are great orators—”
“Mrs. Carpenter and Mrs. Vachell,” the maid announced.
“Ah, this is delightful!” Mrs. Carpenter exclaimed, advancing first and
shaking hands with everybody. “You are so wise to go on keeping to one
day,” she said to Mrs. Price. “It is almost the only way of seeing one’s
friends. I should love it if I had nothing to do, but if I tried to keep
an afternoon to myself someone would be sure to call a special meeting
somewhere and I should have to go off. And how is your dear girl? (To
Susie.) Wrapped up in hubby and the baby, I suppose. I hope he is not
getting his teeth too soon; it is such a pity when they do; they only
decay earlier. And how is Emma? (To Mrs. Gainsborough.) I meet her here,
there and everywhere. I think she does too much. She has not been
accustomed to so much drudgery as an old soldier’s daughter like me.
Papa used to hear us our Greek Testament every morning at half-past six.
You know those were the good old days at Universities! He never gave it
up even when he went to India. Then we had our classes and our
riding-master and the old drill-sergeant, and my mother used to take us
round among the wives and tell them what to do with their babies. Girls
haven’t the same strength now. I make Baba lie down for an hour every
day after lunch while I write letters, and I am sure Emma ought to do
the same. And how is your parish, Mrs. Abel?” She settled down at last
to one victim and let the others go.
Presently they heard men’s voices in the hall, some heavy stumbling
upstairs and a door shut. Mrs. Price listened, hesitated and rang the
bell. “Has anything happened, Gregory?” she asked the maid.
“Mr. Joseph, ma’am, brought home a young man who got knocked down by the
car. He wished you not to be troubled as there is nothing serious and he
is expected to be all right in a few minutes. Mr. Varens is with him in
Mr. Price’s study.”
“I had better go and see what is the matter,” said Mrs. Price. “Don’t
disturb yourselves; I shall be back in a minute.” She was gone nearly a
quarter-of-an-hour, but her guests waited on. Mrs. Carpenter and Mrs.
Vachell had begun an animated conversation on strikes and Susie was
listening. When Mrs. Price came back she looked quite scared.
“It is a young man called Fisk,” she said. “David Varens says he is one
of the students and you would know him,” she turned to Mrs.
Gainsborough. “He is quite himself again, but he was stunned for the
moment and I don’t think he knew where he was. He was talking a great
deal in a very noisy way about blood, and there wasn’t a scratch on him!
I have telephoned for the doctor to make quite sure he is all right,
though he says he can go home. Do you know anything of him?”
“Yes, I do,” said Mrs. Gainsborough, “and if he is talking about blood
you may be sure he is quite well. He thinks of very little else; it is
almost a pity in some ways if he hasn’t lost any. We all know about him
and he is the greatest nuisance and trouble to my husband. How did it
happen?”
“Joseph was driving Mr. Varens back to tea here and the young man came
out from behind some cart when they were crossing the road. He was not
thinking where he was going and walked right into the car; but
fortunately it was hardly moving.”
“Dear me, what a shock it must have given him!” said Susie.
“Have you got brandy in the house?” asked Mrs. Abel.
“Of course we have, thank you,” Mrs. Price was greatly offended at the
suggestion of such incompleteness in a perfect establishment. As bad as
asking King George whether he kept a hair brush. “That is not the point.
Do you mean to say that he is dangerous, Mrs. Gainsborough?”
“Not more than a flying soda-water bottle,” she answered nervously. The
little contretemps about the brandy had flurried her and probably
suggested the comparison.
“I think Teresa mentioned him once,” said Susie, who always came to the
rescue at any hint of dispute. “A Communist, isn’t he?”
“A very determined one,” said Mrs. Vachell.
“What nonsense!” Mrs. Price exclaimed. “A great many of my relations are
Communists and I am quite sure this young man doesn’t look like one. He
must be pretending.” Joseph came in just then.
“The doctor has come,” he remarked, “and says he’d better go t’ bed.
There’s nothing the matter, but David says he’ll leave a note on the
chap’s people on th’ way back. They live close by th’ station. Kerious
sort of f’ller, he is. Called me ‘Moloch’ when he w’s coming round. Who
was Moloch, d’you remember?” he asked Mrs. Vachell. “I can’t just get it
for th’ moment.”
“Something to do with blood, wasn’t he?” Mrs. Vachell suggested.
“Ah, thaat’s it,” Joseph replied contentedly. “Script’ral allusion ’f
some sort I w’s sure. He’s talking about blood all th’ time and not a
scratch on him anywhere. ’t’s most kerious.”
“Some people have such a prejudice against cars, particularly if they
are not in them,” said Susie. “And if he is a Communist he is quite sure
to think he ought to have one. And so ought everybody, I do think, if
they can. When cheap ones are made in large quantities I am sure people
will be happier and more contented.”
“Except those who make them,” said Mrs. Vachell. She was standing up by
the mantelpiece, fingering a matchbox on the corner. “Or shall we
contrive that Mr. Fisk gets inside one as soon as possible and you and I
take a turn at the workshops, Mrs. Fulton?”
“No, I think we are all much better where we are,” Susie replied
smiling. “Every man to his last. But I do certainly think that
conditions ought to be made better. I believe if all that sort of thing
were arranged everyone would settle down much more comfortably. Beauty
is such a happy thing. I find, myself, that I don’t mind how simply I
live so long as I have music and books and so on and if I can get out
into the country sometimes. These ugly streets are so depressing.”
“You must meet Mr. Cranston and see what you can do with him,” said Mrs.
Vachell.
“I don’t think Mrs. Fulton would get on with him at all,” put in Mrs.
Gainsborough in a great flurry. Her imagination flew to a possible scene
of inextricable confusion and she turned quite red with embarrassment.
“No, do, Mrs. Fulton,” said Mrs. Abel anxiously. “I wish you would speak
to him and see if you can’t influence him. What you say is perfectly
true. My husband would be so grateful to you.”
“Well, I hope you will ask me to come too,” said Mrs. Carpenter. “I can
support you with all the facts if you want them. Mr. Cranston talks the
greatest nonsense. He should come down to our place and talk to the
women I have to deal with and get at the practical side of what they
want. He would find that if he stopped the men drinking and made them
bring home their wages there would be plenty—abundance even—to live on;
and if it were made a criminal offence for a man to run after a young
girl——”
“Or for a girl to run after a young man,” Mrs. Gainsborough interrupted
nervously. “They so often do, you know.”
“Not unless they are taught to do it,” Susie objected, her eyes wide
with reproach.
Joseph Price sat on the back of a sofa looking from one lady to the
other and jingling the money in his pockets. His mother was waiting to
ring the bell and have them all shown out. The girls had come from the
other room and were standing at the back wondering what it was all
about.
“I am afraid we must be going,” said Mrs. Gainsborough, feeling that she
had not said the right thing and wishing Emma were there.
“You m’st have a talk to Fisk,” said Joseph to Susie. “You’d like him;
he’s really a very int’resting f’ller. I wonder if he’s still talking
about blood; p’raps I’d better go and see.”
“Well, you will come and meet Mr. Cranston, won’t you, Mrs. Fulton?”
Mrs. Vachell said. She held out her hand to say good-bye to Mrs. Price
and they all went downstairs.