§ 1
In spite of the professed readiness of the parties to meet each other it
was not till a fortnight later that the meeting took place. First it had
been obstructed by Ernley’s wish to bring his new girl, who was not
available during the first week, and then by an unexpected reluctance on
the part of Belle.
“But, sweetheart Belle, you said you didn’t mind meeting him.”
“And no more I do. Only I don’t want to just yet.”
“But you’ll have to do it some day--may as well do it now.”
She held out her arms to him suddenly.
“Oh, Daniel, I’m so happy--don’t let me go.”
“Let you go, lovey? That I won’t!”
He took her in his arms, and she felt his warm, gentle embrace drawing
her close, till the throbbing of his heart was under hers.
“Daniel--I want to stay where I am--not go further, I mean. I’m so happy
here.”
Her words were nothing to him but the echo of his own happiness in their
embrace.
“Sweetheart ... I’d like to hold you always. Belle, my arms are round
you always, even though you don’t see ’em.”
She gave way about meeting Ernley. After all, she must do so some time,
and to feel herself, in spite of all, unready, made her afraid--made her
deny her own unwillingness by acceptance. As for the added sharpness of
his bringing his new girl, that might make the dose more
efficacious--and she must get used to that too, as much as to the other
... every day--all her life ... only the road between them.
When the evening came and Daniel fetched her over from Batchelors’ Hall,
he was disappointed to find that she was not looking her best. He too
was inclined to resent the inclusion of Ernley’s girl, and his aim was
to show her the woman she had supplanted as in every way a finer woman
than herself. But for the last two or three days Belle had looked tired
and off colour--her brightness seemed to have faded, her bigness seemed
to have sagged, and Daniel, who admired brightness and bigness, was
sorry, not for his own sake, but for hers.
Possibly, to a taste less naïve than his, Belle was improved by her
paler looks. The ebbing of her brave colour seemed to have left her
features more delicately graven, and the dimming of her eyes had given
them a provoking shadowed look. She wore a yellow frock the colour of
her hair.
“Your body’s undone at the back,” was Kitty Sheather’s greeting to her
future daughter-in-law.
Dan--who had reluctantly contemplated Belle’s blue silk camisole on
every occasion of precedence due to a lady--but had been too shy to
admit it--felt relieved at his mother’s remark, though he could have
wished it made more graciously.
Belle grabbed at her back, pulling her bodice, which straightway burst
on the shoulder. Kitty giggled, and it seemed to Dan as if his darling’s
blue eyes swam a little. His mother didn’t offer to help her, and moved
by tenderness, he was no longer shy.
“Let me help you fasten up.”
He was just going to embark for the first time on the pathetic masculine
struggle with hook and eye when Kitty indignantly pushed him aside.
“How dare you! I always think you a modest boy. I won’t have such things
in my house. No!”
She had Belle tidy only just as the others arrived. They came in
looking, perhaps by contrast, the picture of orderliness and ease.
Ernley wore a blue lounge suit that made Daniel, also in a blue lounge
suit, lose faith in the gent’s outfitters who had provided it. Ernley’s
girl, Miss Jenner, was hall-marked Eastbourne, and evidently made Belle
feel the same as Ernley had made Dan--though personally he didn’t think
much of her plain black frock and little black hat in comparison with
Belle’s yellow finery.
Supper was laid in the parlour at the back of the bar. It was a very
superior supper, almost dinner in fact, with a couple of fowls and a
treacle sponge. The drinks had been surreptitiously bought at the Crown,
Tom having decided at the last moment that his bondmaster’s ale was not
good enough for his guests. Dan, who had made the purchase under a vow
of secrecy from Maudie Harman, suspected that Ernley guessed what had
happened. He knew that the George was tied to Messrs. Hobday and Hitch,
and that Messrs. Bass’s Number One was not to be found locally except in
the cellars of the Crown. In vain Dan laboured to keep the bottles out
of sight.... Not that he minded old Ernley knowing, any more than he
minded him having a blue lounge suit that really fitted him--but he did
not want Miss Jenner to think that Belle had fallen socially ... though,
of course, she had ... marrying the George after being engaged to the
Crown....
Dear lovely thing! As he watched her he thrilled with pride and
tenderness. She was beautiful--her dress was beautiful--even though the
bunch of silk flowers at her waist was a little crushed and she was
always pulling them up and flouncing them out a bit. She had more scent
than Miss Jenner too--it came to him in generous waves right across the
table--whereas Miss Jenner’s only rose faintly from beside him. He
didn’t really like scent much, still if girls used it he’d like Belle’s
to be stronger than anyone else’s ... and she’d made her nails shine
too, like the others--they were even brighter--though her hands were
very different, being large and work-worn instead of small and white.
Miss Jenner did not have to work at all--nor did her father, she told
them--he was private, having retired some years ago from the building
trade.
The conversation on the whole lacked spirit. No one knew whether Ernley
and his girl were engaged, therefore how far it was permissible to go in
raillery, and neither said anything by way of enlightenment. They talked
a little about the rates, about the need of remaking the road on the
east side of the valley, about a recent meet of the Southdown Hunt at
Beddingham, about the new motor-’buses on the roads. Miss Jenner was
very polite to Belle, admired her dress, told her about a very good shop
for hats in Eastbourne and asked her if she ever went to dance at the
Grand Hotel. Belle, except in answer to such questions, scarcely spoke,
nor did she eat much. She sat, heavy and lovely and silent, the lamp
drenching her in gold.
After supper they had a table for whist, that is to say Kitty and Ernley
played Christopher and Miss Jenner, while Tom Sheather served in the
bar. Dan and Belle sat and watched the whist-players, side by side on
the sofa, he with his arm round her waist, as he was privileged to sit
in public now they were engaged.
§ 2
“That’s a fine girl Munk has got,” said Chris, when the guests had
departed and Belle had gone to help Kitty wash up in the scullery.
“Not so bad,” said Tom Sheather.
Dan swelled in silence.
“A lot of style,” commented Chris.
“Oh, yes--a lot of style. But I don’t think she comes up to our Belle.”
Chris said nothing--insultingly.
“You’ve got the best girl, Daniel,” continued his father--“and I bet
young Munk sees it. I could see him staring at her all through supper. I
expect he’s sorry he changed--but I reckon Belle isn’t. Hey, Daniel?”
He smote his son between the shoulders, and Dan felt loving and grateful
towards him, though he still wished the family differently grouped in
its alliances.
Kitty also had something to say on the subject of Munk’s girl.
“She’s quite a lady--you can see that. Never done any work.”
“Ladies’ work,” said Dan sullenly. “Look at Mrs. Penny. I’ve seen her
washing her own curtains.”
Kitty sniffed.
“I dare say. I know Mrs. Penny’s sort of lady. A real lady never put her
hand to anything. Dr. le Hellé’s wife in Guernsey she sit in her
drawing-room all day, and ring the bell if she drop her handkerchief.
Give me that sort of lady.”
“Well, don’t give her to me, that’s all.”
“Oh, indeed, Mister Impertinence! That is the way you speak to your
mother when she is going to sit in the kitchen so that you and your
young woman can sit in the parlour. I have half a mind to go to bed,
and then you two cannot stay alone downstairs--no!”
“I’m sorry, mum. But I can’t bear to hear everybody except dad getting
at Belle.”
“Who’s been getting at her? Not I. I have nothing to say against Belle
if she will be a good girl. When I spoke of a lady I did not speak of
her for you. No lady would marry a common boy.”
Holding his tongue with difficulty on the subject of common boys, Dan
walked out of the kitchen and into the parlour, where he found Belle
sitting under the lamp.
“Are you tired, sweetheart?”
“A little--only a little.”
“You shouldn’t ought to have washed up. Why didn’t you tell mother you
were tired?”
Belle said nothing. She rose slowly and came towards Daniel as he sat on
the sofa. She put her arms about him and hid her face in his shoulder.
“My lovely, my dear!” He strained her to his heart.
She did not want him to speak; she wanted just to lie heavy against him,
at rest in the homely comfort of his arms; but his tongue, oiled by more
generous liquor than he was accustomed to, ran on.
“Oh, darling, it’s so lovely to think that I’ve got you here with me at
home to-night. That you’re not going away. It’s almost like the time
when I’ll have you here always. Oh, say that time ull come soon.”
She did not speak, but he did not seem to want her assurance in words
but in kisses. He stooped his head to hers as it lay on his breast, the
bright rough gold all teased over his shoulder. She found herself giving
her usual response, or, rather, her response coming from her ungiven,
feeling apart from will.
“If you can only put up with this place for a bit,” he ran on, “I reckon
it won’t be long before we get one of our own. With you to help, I’m
sure mother ud give teas--and maybe let rooms, even. Then she wouldn’t
want any of the money that I earn, and we could put it by. And I know
dad ud help us if ever he got the chance. It’s not much I’m offering
you, Belle, but I do feel as I could make you happy if you let me try.”
“I know you could, Danny--but----”
“Oh, say you’ll let me try. If you won’t come here, reckon we can’t get
married for months and years. And, oh, lovely Belle, I want you so. I
want you terrible--here, as I have you now. I want you and me alone
together. Oh, Belle, say you’ll let me try.”
“And suppose you fail.”
She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked him suddenly in the
eyes.
“And suppose you fail.”
“Fail!”--he seemed startled by the new thought--“I shan’t fail. I can’t
fail. I love you too much. And, Belle, you do love me--you’ve said you
love me. Oh, you still love me? Say it again.”
“I do love you, Danny dear. You know it, but----”
“Then why won’t you let me try? Why won’t you marry me at Easter and
come and live here? I know it’s not what I should ought to be offering
you, but it really won’t be so bad. We’ll have a couple of rooms of our
own--and I’ll see as you don’t do anything but what a lady ud be willing
to put her hand to in her house. We’ll keep quite private to ourselves a
lot of the time. Oh, Belle, you don’t have such an easy life at
Batchelors’ that you need worry about coming here. This ull be a rest to
you after Batchelors’, and mother ull be good to you, I swear she will.
Her tongue’s sharp like that to everyone--and dad he thinks no end of
you and ull treat you kinder than your own. And I--oh, lovely Belle,
I’ll be so good to you. I’ll stand between you and everything that’s
rough--I’ll take care of you as if you was my child. Belle, you shall be
my child and my queen if only you’ll be my wife.”
The Crown’s ale had given him a new and surprising eloquence. Belle was
moved by it. She had never before had him so fluent, so shaken. As she
looked into his pleading face it was almost as if its Saxon bluntness of
feature was lost in the brilliance of his brown, French eyes. This was a
Daniel of another, more fiery race, stirred into life by the emotion of
his love.
After all, he had only said what was true when he had argued that she
would, other considerations apart, be happier at the George than at
Batchelors’ Hall. Her mother-in-law’s tongue would not be much sharper
than her sister Lucy’s--she liked kind Tom Sheather--she need not see
much of Ernley.... And she would have Dan always with her--dear
Dan!--who was so strong and sturdy and comfortable, and so surprisingly,
amazingly sweet ... always with her ... never alone with her fears ...
too late for her doubts ... the future had come upon her. She must meet
it--surrender to it. She could not turn and flee--she could not
disappoint him, who had already saved her from so much.
“Belle--let me try.”
She turned her face once more to his shoulder, and gave her consent in
silence, while his incoherent words of gratitude stormed at her ears.
§ 3
For the first half of the night Belle slept heavily, according to her
nature. But towards morning she began to dream--queer confused dreams of
the supper-table and Ernley’s face.... She heard Ernley saying again and
again, “Let me try”--and awoke to remember it was Daniel who had said
it. She awoke in this way several times, and at last could not fall
asleep again. She lay on her back staring at the ceiling, which seemed
so near after the ceiling of her room at Batchelors’ Hall. A queer light
hung over it--the starlight reflected in her mirror and then cast
upwards to the beams.
She must think now--she could not help it. She must think of Daniel and
Ernley--Daniel to whom she had promised herself, and Ernley to whom she
belonged. It was dreadful; it was humbling to realize that in spite of
all that had happened, all that she had done to break her chains, she
still belonged to Ernley; yet such was the situation as she saw it in
the clearness of the wakeful small hours. She saw, too, that her
complete surrender to Daniel, her promise to marry him at Easter, was
almost entirely due to her growing realization that her heart was still
Ernley’s. Twice she had known the full vitality of her surviving love
for Ernley--when she had heard he loved another woman, and this last
night; and each time the knowledge had driven her a definite step
towards Daniel. But for the first she would never have become engaged to
him; but for the second she would not have promised to marry him next
month.
Was this fair to him? Of course it wasn’t; but she really could not help
it. The more she realized what she had lost in Ernley the more
imperative it became that she must take what she could get in Daniel.
The more she realized the superiority of the Crown, the more her only
chance of happiness seemed to lie in her finding a home at the George.
If she had not got Daniel, she would be down and out. She was not the
sort of woman who can say “the best or nothing”--she was not so
fortunate as that. She must have something, somebody to fill a little of
the emptiness which had come into her life when she lost her only chance
of the best.
Of course it wasn’t fair to Daniel. Poor Danny.... He loved her. She was
quite sure of his devotion, and tragically he was quite sure of hers. He
had sometimes been doubtful and deprecating before their engagement, but
ever since he had taken her surprisingly for granted. Well, then, he had
only himself to thank if he was made the victim of her desperate need.
After all, it was rather cool of him to imagine that she would look at
him after Ernley--so soon after Ernley. He had changed his part of
vicarious wooer to that of actual wooer without apparently one qualm of
diffidence. It served him right to be taken at his word instead of being
sent packing, as would have happened with most women. He had offered her
comfort and oblivion--she would take them and let him face the
consequences of his own offering.
Probably the consequences would not be so very serious. He was thick
enough not to guess much that would be passing in her mind; she could no
doubt make him happy enough--anyhow far happier than he would be without
her.... If only she could get rid of this queer sense of kinship she had
with Ernley ... a kinship quite apart from breeding, education and
manners--which would still have existed if Ernley had been the son of
the George and Daniel the son of the Crown. It was part of a feeling
that Ernley’s life, opinions, happiness, surroundings, mattered to her
intensely, whereas Dan’s did not. All that mattered to her about Dan was
his love, his kisses, his protection, all, in fact, of herself that was
in him.
These thoughts carried her through into the morning. The window-square
became a chilly, sullen blue--the outlines of the furniture began to
appear among clouds of shadow. A photograph of Daniel, which he had
given her in the first week of their engagement, stood on the little
table by her bed, beside her candlestick. She had brought it with her
from Batchelors’ Hall, knowing that he would be pleased at such a token
of attachment. It was not a good photograph--it was a portrait he had
had taken soon after he joined up in ’16. There he sat, looking very
stiff and upright, with his swagger-stick across his knees, his eyes
black and bolting under his service cap, which was set at the
conventionally rakish angle. He seemed to stare at her through the
gathering light.... What a typical little soldier he looked--just a
little ordinary swaddy--such as she had seen in thousands marching
through Lewes, singing “It’s a long, long trail,” or “Sussex by the
sea.” ... But she was a beast to think of him like that--he was not an
ordinary little soldier; he was a kind, devoted, patient young lover
whose only crime lay in giving her more than she could receive. Even if
he knew what was passing in her mind he would not reproach her--he would
be humble enough to take the crumbs of Ernley’s feast. All he wanted
was, indeed, to be of service--to be her dog. In taking from him so much
and giving him so little, she was not, all things considered, using him
so ill.