A SOUND WHICH REMINDS ME OF MY PAST
The table was laid for luncheon in the dining-room, and as I took my
seat at a place he pointed out, he went to a speaking tube and whistled
down it. Then I heard him ordering the carriage to be ready in an hour.
"Will that suit you?" he asked, looking at me.
"Yes," I replied. I was laughing now. Oh, life had turned so in a
moment from awfulness to loveliness. I never pinched myself to feel
if I were in a dream or not. I have read about that in stories, and
I think it's stupid, besides, I did not want to wake up if it was a
dream. I did not want to talk either, I was too happy.
I thought of the dinner I had yesterday. I could not remember what it
was, then I remembered I had not dined yesterday at all; I had lent
my last shilling to Jessie, who lives in the room below mine; she had
sworn to pay me back in the evening if she was lucky, and then she came
back drunk at twelve o'clock, swearing like a soldier, poor Jessie----
Wilder ate very little and spoke scarcely at all, I think the
only thing he said in the way of conversation was "I never have
servants in the room when I am eating;" and I said to myself, "Thank
goodness." Just imagine how I would have felt if one of those dreadful
men-servants had been gliding about the room,--my wristbands all
frayed, my hands not very clean, for those cheap gloves dye one's
hands, and my collar crumpled.
Wilder wanted to open me some champagne, but I said no. I thought he
looked pleased. He had a decanter before him, and he poured himself out
a glass from it.
"I don't ask you to take this," he said in an apologetic sort of
manner; "because it would--well a glass of it would kill you, it's
opium, I am used to it--all the worry I have had----" His head sunk on
his breast, and I felt sorry for him, though he was so rich and lived
in such a beautiful house. After a moment he looked up--we had finished
eating.
"Gerald," he said, "I want you to be happy; poor soul, you have
suffered too, but perhaps it is for the best."
"Why do you call me Gerald?" I asked, staring at him. A dreamy look had
come over his strange face, perhaps it was the opium.
"Did I call you Gerald?" he said, "well, you will know why soon, I want
you to be happy."
He rose from the table. "Come," he said, "I will show you to your room."
I followed him into the hall, then up a great broad staircase carpeted
with soft fleecy carpet; on the first landing he opened a door.
"This is your room," he said, "you will find everything you require;
when you are ready come downstairs and you will find the carriage
waiting."
He shut the door on me, and I found myself alone.
It was a small, but beautifully furnished bedroom. A fire was burning
in the grate; on the bed lay a great sealskin cloak, perfectly new.
It was evidently intended for me, I tried it on before the glass,
it reached to my feet, hiding all my shabby clothes. Then I took it
off and laid it on the bed again. I looked at the floor beside the
fireplace. There, in a row, stood a number of ladies' boots and shoes,
different sizes; a wardrobe stood open, I looked in, dresses of dark
silk and satin, bonnets, hats; on the dressing-table great ivory hair
brushes, gloves, handkerchiefs, scent bottles of cut glass, a curling
tongs and spirit lamp which was lit, a little strip of paper on which
was written, "Help yourself to whatever you require."
I could have cried again, but somehow I didn't. I looked all round, and
then I remember lifting up my arms to stretch myself, why I did so I
don't know.
Then, as I began undressing, I laughed, I spoke to the things in the
room just like a child, I asked questions of the little silver clock on
the mantelpiece--oh, those hideous old boots I had worn so long, they
seemed to make faces at me as I took them off. I flung them in a corner.
In an alcove stood a great bath; I turned the tap, shaped like a
dragon's head, and the water roared and foamed into the bath through
the dragon's mouth; I smelt the water, I tasted it, it was sea water;
in a minute the bath was full.
The luxury of it! the warm briny water that let one's limbs float loose
like seaweed. I pretended to drown myself for fun, then I turned over
on my face, floating, and seized the dragon's head in both hands.
Then, as I lay floating, I listened to the far away sound I knew so
well--the distant roar of carts and cabs in the streets.
I sprang out of the bath in a fury. I had never thought of it before
like this, now I saw all the wretchedness that I had gone through, saw
it all a million times more clearly than I had ever done when I was in
it. Oh, the vile world, I could have eaten it, eaten it.
Then I caught a glimpse of my naked figure in the long glass. I was
beautiful as ever, my limbs were white as snow. I whirled round, and
my long black hair flew out in a mist, scattering drops of water
everywhere.
Yes, I was even more beautiful than before, my troubles had given
my face more expression; my teeth were perfect--Jessie's teeth were
broken--_Jessie_. I would be revenged yet. I leaned on my side before
the great glass, gazing at myself as gloomily as a thunder-cloud. I
would be revenged on this world. Why had God created such a place, and
the clergymen whining about heaven, and the doctors who took a poor
girl's rings, and--I smelt a subtle perfume, and turning, I saw a great
bunch of violets standing in a little bowl in the corner.
I don't know why, but they made me feel choky, and I remember taking
them to me and kissing them, and putting them back.
Then I dried myself in a huge towel, and dressed. I laughed at the
curling tongs, and blew the little lamp out--my hair did not want
curling tongs. I laughed to think of the frights of women going about
with their noses in the air, who had to curl their heads.
One of the bonnets in the wardrobe fitted me perfectly. I could have
chosen a hat, but I preferred this bonnet. I put on the sealskin cloak.
Then, taking the bunch of violets with the stalks all dripping, I put
it in my breast.
Wilder was standing in the hall as I came down the great staircase. He
smiled at the violets as if he were pleased. "You look very well," he
said, passing, as he spoke, into the library, where I followed him.
"Now, here are three letters I have written--one to the jewellers, this
one to the portmanteau people, and this to Coutts' bank. Drive first
to Coutts', give them this letter and my cheque on the British Linen
Company. They will open an account with you, small as the sum is,
because they know me very well; they will give you a cheque book, and
you can give cheques to your milliners and people--poor Beatrice, I
want you to be happy." I felt horrible for a moment as he said this. It
was said in such a supplicatory tone, as if he wanted to propitiate me,
as if I were some evil thing he feared, and he had said it before just
in the same voice, "Poor Beatrice, I want you to be happy."
How this story is lengthening out. I thought I could have told it all
in three or four pages, and now look, thirty pages--and yet I want
to make it as long as possible. Can you guess what I say to the old
doctor who comes to see me every day? I ask him, does he know how long
I will live? and he shakes his head and says something about "the hands
of Providence." No, I answer, not the hands of Providence, but these
hands--when they have finished writing what they have to write I shall
die. I know it.