I WALK ABROAD AT NIGHT
HAPPILY for me, the spirit of work did not claim Mrs. McNab very
violently during my first week at The Towers. There were occasional
periods during which she remained in seclusion, and from the window of
my room, which commanded a view of her eyrie, I sometimes saw her light
burning far into the night; certainly she used to look pale and
heavy-eyed in the morning. But for the greater part of each day she
mingled with her family, and showed less vagueness in letting me know
what were my duties. I was kept pretty busy, but there was nothing
especially difficult. Already the seabathing and the country air were
telling upon me: I lost my headaches, and began to sleep better, and it
was glorious to feel energy coming back to me. I had visions of
returning to Colin and Madge fattened out of all recognition.
Julia had evidently paved the way for me with Mrs. Winter, the cook. I
found her a somewhat dour person, but by no means terrifying; she unbent
considerably when she found that I did not leave the kitchen in a mess
when I cut sandwiches. The last holder of my office, she told me, had
always made her domain into “a dirty uproar.” We exchanged notes on
cookery; she taught me much about making soup, and was graciously
pleased to approve of a recipe for salad that was new to her.
Bella was a harder nut to crack. She was a thoroughly up-to-date young
person with an excellent opinion of herself and a firm belief that I was
her natural enemy. Also, she was “work-shy,” and did just as little as
was possible, with a fixed determination to do nothing whatever that did
not fall within the prescribed duties of a parlourmaid. We clashed
occasionally: that was inevitable, though I tried hard to let the
clashing be all on her side. I recalled Mrs. McNab’s advice as to tact,
and struggled to cultivate that excellent commodity. But I don’t believe
that anyone of eighteen has much tact in dealing with a bad-tempered
parlourmaid of five-and-twenty. I did my best, but there were moments
when I ached to throw aside tact and use more direct measures.
The house-party increased rapidly, friends of Beryl and Harry McNab
arriving almost every day, until there was not a room to spare. They
were a cheery, good-hearted crowd, making their own amusements, for the
most part: they bathed, fished, yachted, played tennis and picnicked,
and there was dancing every night, interspersed by much singing. Madge
was the musical genius of our family, but I could play accompaniments
rather decently, and for that reason I was constantly in request. I
refused, at first, to dance, for it was quite evident that Beryl McNab
preferred me to remain in the background; but there were more men than
girls, and occasionally they made it impossible for me to refuse. I
protested to Harry McNab, who was one of the chief offenders, but my
remarks had not the slightest weight with him.
“Oh, rubbish!” he said. “Why on earth shouldn’t you dance? No one
expects you to work all day and all night, too—and you dance better
than nearly any girl here! Don’t tell me you don’t like it!”
“Of course I like it,” I said, with some irritation. “But I’m not here
to dance, Mr. McNab, and you know that very well. Ask your sister, if
you have any doubt on the matter.”
“Oh—Beryl!” he said with a shrug. “Who cares what she thinks? She’s not
your boss, Miss Earle.”
“She’s the daughter of the house,” I answered firmly. “And I think you
would find that your mother thinks as she does.”
“We’ll ask her,” he said. He dragged me up the long room to where his
mother was sitting. Mrs. McNab never stayed downstairs for long in the
evening; soon after the music was at its height she would slip away
quietly to the Tower rooms and be seen no more until the morning. She
greeted him with a smile that lit her rather grim face curiously.
Affection was not a leading characteristic among the McNabs, but Harry
was certainly first in his mother’s favour.
“Miss Earle says she won’t dance, Mother! Tell her it’s
ridiculous—three of us are standing out because we haven’t got
partners.”
“Possibly Miss Earle does not care for dancing?”
“Yes, she does, though. Only she’s got a stupid idea that you don’t want
her to.”
“I have no objection,” said his mother. “Still I do not think it would
be wise for you to tire yourself, Miss Earle.”
“Oh, we won’t let her do that. But I’m hanged if you’re going to act
Cinderella all the time, Miss Earle,” said Harry. “Come along—we’ve
wasted too much of this already.” He swept me out into the crowd, and I
gave in more or less meekly: it wasn’t difficult when every nerve in me
was already beating time to the music. And Harry danced so very much
better than he sang!
All the same, I never remained downstairs long after Mrs. McNab had
disappeared. I had next day to consider, and my days began pretty early:
besides which, I couldn’t help feeling an ugly duckling amongst the
other girls. My two dinner dresses were by no means up to date; I was
fully aware of their deficiencies beside the dainty, exquisite frocks of
which Beryl McNab and her friends seemed to have an unlimited supply. I
used to breathe a sigh of relief when I escaped from the drawing-room,
racing up the stairs until I gained the shelter of my own little room.
Judy and Jack were supposed to be in bed by nine o’clock. It was one of
the few rules that they did not scorn, since their days were strenuous
enough to make them feel sleepy early, and they had few evening
occupations. They loathed dancing, and neither was ever known to read a
book if it could possibly be avoided. The crowded state of the house had
made it necessary for them to give up their rooms to guests: they slept
on the balcony, and Judy used my room to dress, while Jack made his
toilet in a bathroom. Judy was a restless sleeper, and I had formed the
habit of going out to tuck her in before I went to bed.
I slipped away from the drawing-room one hot night when the dancing was
fast and furious. A little breeze from the sea was beginning to blow in
at my window, and I leaned out, enjoying its freshness and wondering if
Colin and Madge were grilling very unpleasantly in the stuffy Prahran
flat. Above my head a faint glimmer from the Tower rooms showed that
Mrs. McNab was at work—one never imagined her as doing anything but
writing steadily, once she had vanished to her sanctum. Sometimes she
wrote on her little balcony, which was fitted with electric light: the
scent of the cigarettes she continually smoked would drift down to my
window on still nights.
The lower balcony that ran partly round the house ended before it
reached my room, so that I had a clear view of part of the garden as
well as of the track across the paddock to the sea. As I leaned out a
faint sound came to me from below. Then two slight figures crossed the
strip of moonlit garden, running quietly and quickly, and disappeared in
the direction of the back of the house. I had been dreaming, but I came
to attention with a jerk. Unquestionably, they were Judy and Jack.
I looked at my watch. Ten o’clock: and the precious pair should have
been in bed an hour ago. I went down the passage and out upon the
balcony to where their beds stood peacefully side by side. At first
glance they appeared to be occupied by slumbrous forms; but a moment’s
investigation showed that a skilful arrangement of coats and pillows,
humped beneath the sheets, took the places of the rightful occupants.
Clearly, my charges were out upon the warpath.
I felt horribly responsible. Lawless as the two were, they were supposed
to be in my care, and it seemed to my town-bred mind an unthinkable
thing that two such urchins should be careering about in the dead of
night. Their elaborate precautions against discovery showed that it was
no excursion of a few moments. The direction of their flight was towards
the sea. Possibly the McNab urge for bathing had seized them; or they
would be quite equal to taking out a boat for a moonlight row. Whatever
their fell designs might be, it seemed to me that I should follow them.
I could not calmly go to bed, knowing that they were out of the house.
I was in anything but a gentle frame of mind while I hurriedly changed
my evening frock for something more serviceable and donned a pair of
tennis-shoes. Bed seemed to me a very pleasant place as I switched off
my light and stole quietly down the kitchen stairs, hearing the
gramophone grinding out a fox-trot in the drawing-room. I could only
hope that I would find the truants soon; and that, when found, they
would allow themselves to be gathered in peaceably. But I knew already
that it was no easy matter to turn Judy and Jack from any set purpose.
I am a good deal of a coward in the dark; the night seemed full of
ghostly sounds as I hunted up and down the dim shrubbery, hoping to find
my quarry near the house. But there was no sign of them: nothing living
could be seen except an old owl that flew out of a bush with a whir of
wings that sent my heart into my mouth. So I set off across the paddock
towards the shore.
The hummocks were fringed with low scrub, through which a dozen paths
wandered. I chose one at random, following its windings until it ended
in a deep, stony cleft, down which it would not be easy to scramble in
the moonlight. I was about to retrace my steps, to look for an easier
path to the beach, when a low giggle fell upon my ears, and looking
closely, I saw Judy and Jack crouched behind a boulder below me. They
had not heard me; that was clear: all their attention was focused on
something beyond them. As I watched, a tall figure came from the shadow
of the boat-house. I heard the scratch of a match being struck, and saw
the glow as the new-comer lit a cigarette. Then the figure strolled
slowly across the moonlit sand by the water, and I saw, with a start of
astonishment, that it was Mrs. McNab.
She paced backwards and forwards, with her head bent, her face shadowed
by one of the soft hats she always wore. She had changed her evening
dress for a dark gown in which she moved like a shadow, the dull glow of
her cigarette-tip the most living thing about her. There was something
eerie and ghost-like in the dim form, drifting with silent steps by the
gently heaving sea. I had an uneasy feeling that I was spying: that I
had no right to be there. Clearly, too, it was unnecessary for me to
shepherd Judy and Jack when their own mother was about. I was turning to
go quietly home when another giggle came from the pair just below me,
and I heard Judy’s voice, discreetly lowered.
“Rotten luck!” she whispered. “No earthly chance of getting a boat out,
with Mother there. Why on earth can’t she stay in the Tower, without
spoiling sport!”
“Let’s go and give her a fright,” Jack suggested. “P’raps she’ll think
it’s one of the ghosts Julia’s always talking about, and clear out!”
“Don’t be an ass,” counselled his sister. “She’d be awfully wild.” But
her words were wasted. Jack was already making his way softly down the
gully.
He went more quietly than I should have imagined was possible in that
cleft of shifting stones. Bending low, so that his head should not show
above the edge, in case his mother glanced upwards, he crept down, and
gained the beach unseen.
Mrs. McNab heard nothing. She had turned away, and was standing still,
looking out to sea—doubtless seeking inspiration from the softly
rippling water. I wondered would she come back presently, back to the
Tower room, to write through the night; or would dawn find her still
pacing by the sea. Nothing, I thought, would surprise me about my
eccentric employer.
And yet, she was to surprise me—and not me alone—very much indeed.
Jack came out of the protecting gloom and stole noiselessly across the
sand until he was only a dozen yards from the still figure. Then he
suddenly gave a long eldritch shriek—it made even Judy jump—danced
impishly for a moment, flinging about his arms and legs, and fled
towards the hummocks.
Quick as he was, his mother was quicker. At his wild cry she swung
round, her cigarette dropping from her fingers. She stood as if
petrified for a moment. Then she gave chase. Her long legs carried her
across the sand with amazing swiftness. Just as the boy gained the edge
of the gully her hand fell on his shoulder and held him fast.
“You would dare to spy on me!” I heard her say, in a choked voice.
She reversed Jack with a swift movement, and then, as if he were a tiny
child, she spanked him thoroughly. Jack was a strong boy and a sturdy
one, and he did not take the proceeding meekly. He kicked and fought and
struggled; but the grip in which he was held never slackened, and the
avenging hand rose and fell with a regularity astonishing to behold.
Never had I beheld a more competent spanker than Mrs. McNab. I had no
special sympathy in general with Jack, but I almost ached for him.
Her arm must have been tired when the resounding blows ceased and she
pitched him contemptuously on the sand. Then, without waiting to read
the lecture that usually accompanies a punishment, she plunged swiftly
up the gully. It is possible that she thought so thorough a spanking
spoke for itself: possible, also, that she had no breath left. In any
case, she did not speak. She went swiftly past me, her face lowering and
angry, and her swift steps died away across the grass.
Judy had crouched low under a bush while her mother passed her. Once the
avenging figure was out of sight, she sped downwards to her brother.
“My word, you caught it! I’ll bet it hurt!”
“Hurt!” said Jack. He had picked himself up, and was rubbing his
injuries with a comical air of bewilderment. “I’ll tell the world it
hurt! I’m all on fire! Great Scott! she did lay it on!” His voice took
on an unwonted note of reverence. “Judy, would you have thought she had
it in her?”
“I would not,” said Judy. “And goodness knows, you kicked like a steer!”
“Well, I bet I don’t run up against Mother again, if I can help it,”
Jack uttered. “I don’t want another licking like that. I don’t believe
I’ll be able to ride for a week! Judy, I tell you she held me as if I
was a bit of a kitten! I’m sore, but I tell you, I’m jolly proud of
Mother!”
“Well, it’s a good thing that’s the way it makes you feel,” said Judy,
regarding him with some amazement. “How about getting out that boat now?
She won’t come back again. She’s up in the Tower room now, I bet,
writing an article for the Americans on ‘How I Brought Up My Sons.’ Say
we get the boat?”
“You don’t catch me sitting in any boat to-night,” returned her brother,
still rubbing. “It’s light walking exercise for me for a bit, and just
now I think I’ll take it to bed. Come along home: it must be awfully
late, and there’s always the chance that she might come back. I say,
Judy, wasn’t my yell a beauty!”
“It was,” agreed his sister. “But it was a mistaken yell.”
Jack nodded agreement.
“Well, you don’t catch me trying to attract Mother’s attention again,”
he said. “She leaves her mark when you do attract it. Come along, Ju:
I’m off to bed.”
There seemed no reason for me to show myself, when Mrs. McNab had dealt
with the situation so thoroughly: I remained in my hiding-place while
they clambered up the gully, a proceeding clearly fraught with pain in
the case of Jack. Quite near me he paused.
“I say,” he said, “we’ve been pretty average annoying, a good many
times. I wonder why she never did that before?”
“Don’t know,” said Judy. “If I had a gift like that I guess I’d use it!”
“Well, I hope she won’t get the habit, that’s all,” said Jack. They went
slowly across the paddock, and I followed at a discreet distance. The
light burned brightly in the Tower room as I crossed the yard. Up there
Mrs. McNab would write and smoke throughout the night. For once I wanted
to read the result of that particular evening’s inspiration.