“MELTON GREEN”
“She’s so keen on your coming,” urged Jack. “She’s taken a tremendous
fancy to you. And, you know, she’s such a kid. She’s no end proud of her
turn. You _must_ come and see her.”
“You are aware that my august husband will be very displeased should he
hear of it,” returned Claudia dryly.
“Oh! blow Gilbert and his airs! I can’t think how you came to marry such
a sack of sawdust. I met him yesterday and he was as frigid as a frozen
leg of mutton.... What’s it got to do with him whom I marry?”
A good constitution will stand a great deal, and, contrary to
expectations, Gilbert had not had to return ignominiously to bed after
his rash defiance of the doctor’s orders. But he had never recovered, and
Claudia saw that he was not half the man he had been. But he would not
admit that he felt ill, and his secret feelings only showed themselves in
great irritability and an almost total ignoring of her presence.
“If people minded their own business,” said Claudia lightly, “this world
would be a dull place! It’s family friction that keeps us all alive!”
“Rot! But Gilbert is too priggish for words. I always did hate the
Curreys, anyway, and Gilbert was ever a cold-blooded fish.” He cast a
curious glance at his sister, which she ignored. Sometimes in a dull,
unimaginative way he wondered how far emotion now played its part in her
marriage. But he never asked questions, for he was a little afraid of
Claudia. “I say, come along to-night. It’s Saturday, and that’s a good
night. You’ve never seen anything like the Empire at Melton Green on a
Saturday, I bet.”
“I half promised to make a four at the club,” said Claudia indifferently,
stroking Billie’s ears. “But Melton Green sounds amusing.”
Gilbert had gone down for the week-end to his parents, always a tiresome
function to her, and this time he had not urged her to accompany him.
“That’s nothing. I insist on your coming. We’ll dash back to the West End
between the shows and get something to eat. Do, Claud, old girl; I want
you to see how popular she is. Why, the gallery boys fairly eat her.”
“How much is the gallery?”
“Oh! threepence admission.” Jack grinned. “They are a crew, too. They’ll
amuse you. You look a bit down in the mouth. Fay’ll cheer you up. You
can’t be blue with her.”
“I’m not down in the mouth,” contradicted his sister untruthfully. “One
can’t always be howling with laughter. Life isn’t as funny as all that.”
“Oh! I don’t know. That’s the worst of you brainy people. You take life
too seriously. What on earth is the good of rootling about and trying
to find a deep meaning in everything? There isn’t any meaning in life.
You’re just put here to enjoy yourself. A cabbage doesn’t think. Why
should we?”
“Yes, I know your theory of life, or rather, your lack of one.” Frank had
been insinuating the same philosophy at their various meetings. She was
aware that the insinuating process had an ulterior motive, for she was
unable to deceive herself or walk blindly into the arms he held out to
her. But so far she had kept him off very delicate ground. She knew she
could not do so much longer, and she wondered at herself that she did
not capitulate. For more and more her thoughts dwelt on those pleasures
of which she had been deprived. The spring air tantalized her and made
the blood run hotter in her veins. Nature craved its proper food; youth
seconded its demands.
“Chuck this analytical business and take life lightly,” urged her
brother. “I take life lightly and so does Fay. She’s a perfect skylark.
Doesn’t look a day ahead or a day backwards.”
“And you counsel me to do likewise—to emulate her mode of living?”
He was lounging in the library of her flat, content with himself and all
the world. He had borne a lot of “chipping” on his marriage, which was
now dying down. But in spite of his lethargic egotism, he caught a look
now in Claudia’s eyes that made his dull brain work a little. What had
some woman been saying about Claudia and some painter chap? He tried to
recall the gossip, but it had been late at night and his recollection was
vague.
“In moderation, old girl,” he counselled warily. “Of course there are
some things you can’t do. But flutter a bit if you like.”
“What sort of things can’t I do?” asked Claudia, with abrupt directness.
“Oh, don’t peg me down! Well, things I can do, you can’t. A girl’s
different from a man—at least, you are.”
“The old shibboleth!” she jeered. “We’re not different, my dear brother.
We’re exactly the same, only—only I suppose we’re more fastidious.”
He was a little alarmed. In the old days Claudia had always taken what
he called “a high moral tone” in discussing his little peccadilloes.
Vaguely he felt that this change in her was not right.
“Is Fay conservative in her opinions on this subject?” went on Claudia,
with a touch of cruelty. “Does she think there are things she can do and
you can’t?”
He winced and uncrossed his legs. “She’s different from you,” he said
decidedly. “You’re sort of—well, superior. I’d hate to think——” He
stopped and tweaked Billie’s ear.
“Well, go on. What would you hate?”
Billie looked at him sadly as he twisted his lips about. “Well, er—oh!
you know the things I wouldn’t like you to do. For some women it’s all
right, not for you.... You see, well, with some women it doesn’t seem
to matter, it’s natural for them to do a bit of straying, but it’s not
natural for you, and”—with unexpected acuteness—“it would make you
miserable. You’d hate the game, because you’d see through the whole bally
business, and you’d criticize yourself and him.”
“You’re talking of a mere flirtation,” returned Claudia quickly. “A
liaison between a man and a woman may be something more than that. What,
after all, is a gold band on the finger and a mumbling clergyman?”
“Course, if you put it that way, I can’t answer you. But I don’t say it’s
different, only—well, they nearly all are flirtations of varying degrees
of warmth. You don’t mean much to her, and she doesn’t mean much to you,
but you pretend all the time. Of course”—vaguely—“there are _grandes
passions_, like Shakespeare’s people, but they don’t grow on every
gooseberry-bush. And I ought to know, you know.” He made the last remark
quite simply, just as he might have complimented himself on his taste in
ties.
“You haven’t looked for love,” she said sharply. “Love may come at any
moment in your life, and I think you deny it—at your own risk.”
“Besides, Gilbert would make a hell of a row,” observed her brother. “A
hell of a row.”
“I wasn’t talking of myself. We were merely arguing in—in a general way.”
He looked at her in silence, and she turned away, biting her lip. Then
she rose with a little dry laugh. The one man of all those she knew whose
tolerance she would have taken for granted had failed to back her up.
Why should she be different from other neglected wives? Why should she
go through life hungry and miserable? Suddenly she turned in surprise at
Jack’s next remark.
“Why doesn’t Colin Paton get married? He’s a nice chap. Everyone speaks
well of him.”
“Colin? Oh! I don’t think he cares for women that way.”
Jack gave a lazy chuckle. “All men care for women that way—when they can
get ’em. Why didn’t you marry him Claud? Why did you give him the go-by?”
“The go-by?” she said incredulously. “Why, he never wanted to marry me.
We were only—friends, the best of friends.”
“I read somewhere in something that friendship is a good foundation for
marriage. What was the beastly quotation? ‘Love is friendship set on
fire.’ It impressed me, because Fay and I were awful good chums for a
long time and we never—never till we were married.”
He said it in a shamefaced way, like a schoolboy convicted of saying
his prayers. His face had gone a curious pink, and he avoided meeting
Claudia’s eyes.
But she was not thinking of his confession, she was thinking of Colin
Paton. Why had he not married? Was her easy explanation the right one?
Why, no, he had never wanted to marry her.
“You don’t imagine Colin Paton wanted to marry me, do you?” she asked.
“Well, I shouldn’t have been surprised if you and he had fixed it up. You
used to go about a lot together, and you’re not a woman a man would feel
platonically about. I thought he went away so hurriedly because of your
engagement. But, of course, you know him much better than I.”
She found the thought curiously interesting and a little exciting, even
while she tried to dismiss it. He had never said a word that could be
construed into love-making. Surely there would have been some word or
look that would have betrayed him if it were as Jack suggested.
Jack looked at his watch. “By Jove, we must go if we’re going. Come
along, old girl, she’s on in the first house at eight, and it’s a long
drive down there. It’s the wilds of beyond, over the river. Go and put on
something quiet and oldish. There’s a good deal of dust knocking about
behind the scenes.”
The drive was, as he had said, a long one, through narrow streets and
past huge lumbering tramcars that were new to Claudia. The streets
during the latter part of the journey were lined with roadside stalls
illuminated by flaring naptha lamps that cast weird shadows over faces
that reminded her of those in Dickens’ novels. There were barrows with
all kinds of china, stalls brilliantly red with joints of meat, others
piled high with greenstuff and with trays of toffee and sweets. It seemed
to Claudia that she had never heard so many hoarse, raucous voices
before, punctuated every now and then by the pipe of some child trying
to make itself heard among the tumult. Between the activities of the
stalls they passed rows of grey, grimy little houses, timber-yards and
factories, brightly-lit public houses, and always the trams, still more
brilliant, gliding along full of passengers, like great ships in full
sail.
She and Jack did not talk intimately any more. She listened to his
account of a big golfing competition. Only once did he revert to their
previous conversation. It came up apropos of Jack saying that Colin Paton
had been in up to the last round.
“He plays such a good, steady game. Upon my word, I like to watch him.
I say, Claudia, if it were he, instead of this painter chap, I wouldn’t
mind. But, then, he’s Gilbert’s friend, isn’t he?”
Claudia was spared any reply by the stoppage of their car outside a
brightly-lit theatre with placards galore. She noticed at once several of
The Girlie Girl in various costumes and various smiles. It was not one of
the new suburban halls, but there was plenty of light on the frontage.
“Got to find the stage-door,” said Jack. “Here, perhaps this is it, up
this alley.”
The alley was dark and very dirty and Claudia held up her skirts
fastidiously. A boy, with a jug in his hand, came running down while they
were half-way, and a man with a clay pipe came out of a grimy, narrow
door at the end.
It was the stage-door. Claudia almost shrank back when she saw the narrow
passage way with its blackened walls and filthy staircase, which she
found she was expected to descend. The atmosphere was indescribable,
frowsy, hot and stale. The strains of the orchestra reached them
intermittently as the doors below were opened and shut.
“You’ll find her down there,” called out the door-keeper encouragingly.
“She ain’t on yet.”
The boy had returned with the beer-jug, and the beer was being slopped on
the stairs as he shoved his way past them. A curious roaring sound was in
progress now, and it took Claudia a little time to realize that it was
applause from the front of the house.
She followed Jack down the stairs, and she saw that the dirtiness of his
surroundings did not embarrass him. Evidently he was used to them. The
steps were of stone and the railings were iron, and it seemed to Claudia
like some curious sort of dirty prison, rather than a hall of gaiety.
They arrived at the bottom of the stairs, and looking up from the stone
steps on which she was afraid her feet might slip, she got rather a
shock. Standing talking excitedly were three acrobats with the minimum
of clothing, the perspiration pouring down over their make-up. It was
certainly Nature in the raw, and hardly a pleasant sight at close
quarters. The muscles were standing out on their arms and chests, and for
the first time Claudia realized the work involved in such performances,
which she usually sat through indifferently. One of them hailed Jack
enthusiastically.
“Hallo! old man! Fay was asking if we’d seen you.” They cast a curious
but not very interested glance at Claudia. “Come into our room and have a
drink later on.”
Jack nodded, and Claudia followed him along another few yards of the
passage. It struck her that most of the dirt had been made by human
fingers and bodies, for above the height of five feet or so the walls
were comparatively clean. They passed an open door where a stout woman
in chemise and petticoat was making-up in a public manner before a
looking-glass, and then she found herself in Fay’s dressing-room.
It was a small slip of a room, with flaring gas-jets protected by wire
shades and two washing-basins inset in the table-shelf which went across
one side of it. The heat in the room took Claudia’s breath away; it was
even worse than the passages. The light was almost cruelly bright. There
were three huge dress-baskets, which almost filled the apartment, and a
lumpy, perspiring and heavily-breathing dresser was sitting on one of
them, sewing on something spangled.
A man was just finishing speaking in a heavy, oily voice as Fay’s husband
pushed open the door, and Claudia was in time to hear Fay say, in accents
of excitement and pleasure: “Jim, you’re a perfect duck. I love diamonds
and rubies. Come here and let me give you another kiss for it.”
So it happened that Claudia’s second view of Fay was one with her arms
flung round something masculine, standing on the tips of her toes to
do so. Two brawny arms were returning her hug. She felt Jack stiffen a
little as Fay broke loose with a laugh.
“It’s almost like old times. Oh! but I mustn’t remember them now. I
promised.... Here he is. Jack, come in. I want to introduce you to Jim
Clerry—my husband.”
There was not the faintest touch of confusion in Fay’s manner or face,
any more than with a child who has been caught bestowing embraces. She
was evidently very pleased over something. She was radiant with good
humour.
The man, who thrust out his hand and said, “Glad to know you sir,” was,
in spite of his name, an obvious Jew, with heavy, coarse features and
almost negroid lips. The face was only redeemed by the brightness of the
dark eyes. To Claudia’s artistic sense it was almost revolting that any
pretty woman should kiss him, especially anything so dainty as Fay. She
wondered, indeed, that any woman could wish to do so.
In an artificial way, for she was heavily made-up, Fay was looking her
prettiest. Her great blue eyes sparkled under the bunch of pale blue
ostrich feathers on her head which, with some kind of a gold-lace cap,
constituted her head-dress.
“Now, boys, I want you to be friends,” called out Fay, picking up a
hare’s foot and giving another rub to her red cheeks. “I say, what’s the
time? Have the performing dogs finished? Oh! Jack, why didn’t you tell
me?” She rushed over impetuously to the doorway and pulled Claudia in.
“My dear, this _is_ nice of you. I _am_ glad to see you. Sit on this
basket. But I wish you hadn’t come to this hall. I generally do much more
classy halls than this, but I have to do this on an old contract. I’m
working ’em all off now. I wish I were doing ‘The Monkey and the Moth’
to-night. Have you heard it? No? Oh! it’s a ripping song. Perhaps I’ll do
it at the second house. Oh! I’m forgetting my manners—never shall be a
real lady—Mr. Clerry, Mrs. Currey, my sister-in-law. Isn’t she lovely?”
A knotted, hairy and none too clean hand came towards her and shook hers
like a pump-handle.
“Good looks run in the family, I should say,” with what, to Claudia, was
an offensive chuckle. “Well, I’ll ’op it, Fay. No room for an old mash
now. Congrats on your marriage. I daresay you were wise to chuck me.
Anyway, I bear no grudge. So long. Ta-ta, everyone.”
“Jim, don’t be a fool!” cried Fay, standing on one foot like a stork
while the dresser laced some ribbons round her leg. “You must wait and
see my turn.”
“Got to see a man at the Kilburn Empire. Only came along to give you that
toy. Ta-ta. Be good, and you’ll be happy.”
With a comprehensive nod he went out, with a curious swaggering, swaying
movement of the shoulders and hips.
“Come and see us at the flat,” shouted Fay, standing on the other leg.
Then to Claudia: “He’s the best clog dancer on the Moss and Stoll tour.
He’s out this week because of the fire last week.”
A jeweller’s morocco case lay at her elbow, and Jack looked at it
suspiciously.
“What’s that, Fay?”
She opened it with great glee. “The duckiest pendant you ever saw.” It
was a showy but rather expensive affair. “It’s jolly nice of Jim under
the circs. I’ll wear it to-night for luck.”
Jack took the case away from her. “Fay, you can’t accept this. You’re my
wife now. Don’t you see it isn’t—isn’t the thing. I’ll give you all the
pendants you want.”
The blue eyes opened at first in surprise and then grew dark and stormy.
Her mouth took a curve that spoilt its prettiness.
“Give it back to me at once or you and me’ll have a row. Why, they’re
real diamonds and rubies. He told me he paid twenty-five quid for it
wholesale. Think you’re going to chuck it in the dust-bin?” Her voice had
grown a little shrill. Claudia wished she were anywhere rather than in
the same room, but the dresser looked on with frank interest, “a bit of a
row” evidently enlivening her profession for her.
“I shan’t chuck it in the dust-bin,” said Jack a little sulkily. “You’ve
got to send it back to him. She must, mustn’t she, Claudia?”
“Not much, my dear. And have him give it to some other girl? After all,
I’ve a right to it. We were great pals. I hear he’s taken up with Molly
Billington, and I won’t see it hung round her fat neck. She’s a beast!
Why shouldn’t he give me a wedding-present?”
She made a sudden snatch that reminded Claudia of a velvet-pawed cat, and
regained possession of it. With a laugh of triumph she put it round her
neck.
“I’ll wear it to-night for luck.” Her good temper had come back. She
danced up to her husband, who was standing moodily regarding the mess of
make-up materials spread on a towel, and held up her lips to him.
“Don’t be a loony, Jackie boy. It’s all over and done with if you’re
feeling jealous. I’m good now. I won’t take anything more from him. Kiss
me.” Yelps and howls suddenly assailed their ears. “There! the dogs have
finished. Kiss me like a good boy and I’ll forgive you.” She looked up
into his face with a delicious _moue_ and wink. “I never said any of your
girls were not to give you presents, though I’d fire them out of the flat
quick enough. I say ‘Live and let live.’ Come on.”
The tempting mouth and laughing eyes were too much for Jack, and he did
as she requested, though with a rueful look at Claudia that she thought
it better to pretend not to see.
“Hope my voice is all right to-night. I ate a lot of bloater-paste
for tea, and that dries up the voice. Don’t you find that? Only it’s
a weakness of mine. Mar used to say I was weaned on bloater-paste.”
She looked in the glass anxiously. “Perkins, a wee drop of stout.
La—la—la—la!” She took the scale with terrific force in the small space.
“Come in.” This in answer to a knock at the door. The fat woman whom
they had seen next door came hurtling in. Her toilette was a little more
advanced, but not much.
“I say, dearie, have you heard about Gertie Lockhart? She’s got the
rheumatic fever, and they say she won’t be able to work for months. We’re
getting up a little sub. for her. Give me a few bob, my dear.”
“I should think so,” said Fay emphatically. “Perkins, find my purse. I
heard she was pretty bad. Rotten luck! Here’s half a quid with my love.
Oh! Miss Belle de Laney—Mrs. Currey. You’ve met my husband, haven’t you?”
“Charmed to meet you, I’m sure. Fay, where did you get them feathers?
I’ve been looking out for some like that for weeks. I’ve got such a cold
I can hardly speak. Old Moser’s a bit screwed to-night, ain’t he? Thanks
muchly, old girl. My! I wish I could keep my fat down like you. Once
upon a time—yes, it sounds like a fairy-tale, don’t it?—I had legs like
hers. Couldn’t fill my stockings out properly. Now it’s out-sizes, and
the holes I wear in ’em!” She nodded confidentially to Claudia. “Do you
know, I used to play Columbine once; then I got to principal boy, and
now—well, look at me!”
“Don’t you worry,” said Fay kindly. “You’ve got a fine figure, and no
one’ll overlook you. And your song’s a treat, a fair treat. Got three
curtains last night, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Glad you like it. There’s a rattling good ’ouse to-night. See you
later, Fay.”
“Used to be one of the prettiest girls on the halls,” explained Fay, as
Miss Belle de Laney vanished; “used to know my mother. She’s a good sort,
too. Husband’s a swine, and won’t do no work, and she keeps him and four
kids, and makes no growl about it either. Now, Jack, I’m on in a few
minutes. Take your sister round to the front. Old Moser’ll put you in a
box ... la, la, la, la.... H’m!... How do I look? Knock ’em in the Old
Kent Roadish? Emerald green and orange, my own idea. Got it from seeing
some oranges lying with the spinach in the kitchen. Bit of shick, ain’t
it? See the saucy garters?” She suddenly bestowed a hug upon Claudia.
“I like you no end. I watched you just now, and you didn’t turn up your
nose at Belle. Of course, she’s as common as dirt, I know that. Still, I
believe in good hearts. We’re going to be real sisters, aren’t we? You
can teach me the ways of high society, because I don’t want the boy to
be ashamed of me. I’ll catch on quick enough if you’ll only give me a
few tips, and I can keep my mouth shut if I want to.” She turned with
a characteristically quick gesture—she reminded Claudia of an active
robin—and caught Jack by the lapels of his coat.
“You’re not angry with me, Jumbo, are you? What does it matter?”
“I’m not exactly angry,” said Jack, looking into her face, “only, don’t
you see, things are different now, and a—a man—can’t give jewellery—to a
lady who is—is the wife of another man.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Moses in the bulrushes! why not? Most women
would like to get the chance of having pendants. It’s a souvenny, Jack,
for luck. And it’s so pretty. I’m straight now all right, so it don’t
mean nothing. Crikey! that’s his second song. I must go down. Perkins,
give me my coat. Here”—she rushed back again to the table and thrust a
bunch of carnations into Claudia’s hand—“throw these down to me. It looks
well. See you afterwards.”