WOMEN’S VOICES
He never looked round once; though I stood where he had left me,
looking after him till he was lost among the crowd. What people
thought of me I cannot say. And I didn’t care. They must have supposed
that I was a sort of Lot’s wife, turned into a pillar, or something.
But, at that moment, what other people thought of me did not matter in
the least. What I thought of myself was a nightmare. I marched off
home, feeling as if I would have liked to have pinched everyone I met.
I passed Lena Portch, who was still with Mr Champneys,--a most
objectionable person, who _will_ wear shepherd’s-plaid trousers, which
I abominate. Lena was to blame for everything. She stood at the gate
as I was coming out of the Gardens. Directly afterwards I saw that she
was crossing the road. I am sure, if a motor car, which almost made an
end of me, had knocked her down, and run right over her, I would not
have turned a hair. If Mr Champneys does marry her I hope he’ll beat
her. I have a moral conviction that he is just that kind of creature.
What can a man be like who lives in shepherd’s-plaid trousers?
When I reached home I was hot, and dishevelled, and all anyhow. I knew
I should get it directly I set foot inside the door,--that is, unless
I could manage to slip upstairs before anyone caught sight of me. And
I got it--mamma opened the door for me herself. We had had a
difficulty with our servants. It is my belief that when five women
live alone in a house together they always are having difficulties
with their servants. I know we were. The cook and the parlour-maid had
left at a moment’s notice--or, rather, without a moment’s notice.
Lilian and Audrey had complained about the state their things were in,
as if they had been worn. Inquiries had been made, and there was quite
a scene: I should not be surprised if the cook had worn some of
Lilian’s frocks--they had just about the same figure. Anyhow, only the
housemaid remained, and she was in two minds. And as, as yet, we had
been able to get no one in to help her, we were at her mercy.
“Why, mamma,” I exclaimed, when I saw that it was she who had opened
the door, “where is Jane?”
“It’s Jane’s afternoon out; and, of course, I should not dream of
asking her to inconvenience herself to oblige me. It’s the mistresses
who are the servants nowadays. What a state you’re in.”
She spoke in her most acid tones. Mamma is not very tall, and rather
dumpy, and though she always dresses in black silk she never appears
imposing, though she tries her best to think she does.
“Why, what’s the matter with me? I’ve been walking fast, and am rather
hot,--that’s all.”
“All! Haven’t I forbidden you to walk fast? Are you not aware that
nothing accentuates the unfortunate vulgarity of your appearance so
much as heat? Your hat is on one side, your hair is out of curl, your
necktie is under your chin. You look positively blowsy. I am ashamed
to see such a figure entering my house. And where are the things?”
“Things?” I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten all about them. I
had intended to get them as I returned from my stroll in Kensington
Gardens; but what had taken place there had driven them right out of
my head. “I meant to get them as I came back, but--I didn’t.”
“Meant to get them as you came back! What do you mean? Did I not send
you out for them, and for them only?”
“Surely, Norah, you have not come back without my stockings? You know
perfectly well that I can’t wear those shoes without them; nothing I
have will do at all.--And where’s my matching?”
Lilian had appeared out of the dining-room. She had bought a new pair
of brown shoes, which she wanted to wear that evening, and it seemed
that nothing she had in the way of hose was of quite the proper shade.
She had given me a scrap of material which was the shade. It seemed
that I had not only forgotten her stockings, but lost the matching.
She let me have it when she became aware of the fact. Lilian is tall;
and--sometimes--stately; and is considered smart; but she can be
disagreeable, and most abusive. In fact, they can all of them be that.
“Really, Norah, you are the most stupid person I ever met. Some people
might suppose that you could not be so stupid as you look; but, I will
do you the justice to admit that you appear to try your very best to
be.”
That was a pleasant thing to say! While I was searching about for
something nice and stinging to reply, Doris came out of the
morning-room on to the top of the stairs, and she began:
“I suppose, Norah, that you have brought my fringe-nets, because I
simply can’t do my hair until I have them. I’ve just torn my very
last.”
Then she supposed wrong, because I had not; and so I told her. The
bathroom door was opened, and Audrey’s voice was heard. I never knew
anyone for baths like Audrey. She likes to have three or four a day,
with the water about up to boiling-point, and oatmeal in it; and there
she lies and stews. What good she thinks it does her is beyond me. I
am sure it doesn’t make her skin any whiter. It couldn’t. It’s
perfectly white and as smooth as satin already. I only wish mine was
like it.
“Is that Norah? Has she brought that ribbon for my bodice? Because if
she has, I’ll put it in at once.”
There was no ribbon to be got out of me, neither for her bodice, nor
for anything else, as Eveleen, who had followed Lilian out of the
dining-room, proceeded to explain.
“Oh dear no! she’s brought nothing, except herself;--and a pretty self
she looks. Upon my word, Norah, I wonder that you can’t manage to keep
yourself a trifle tidy--say about as tidy as the average charwoman.
Especially as you can’t afford to look as if you had got your clothes
on inside out. Some girls can; but, I assure you, you’re not one of
them.”
Eveleen is one of your dainty bandbox sort of girls. She never wears a
pin. All her clothes seem to be part of her. You might live with her
for years and never know that she even used hairpins. How she prevents
their ever peeping out is beyond my understanding. And as for nets,
they are put on so knowingly, and match her hair so exactly, that you
would never guess that anything of that kind could have anything to do
with the exquisite neatness of her hair.
“We can’t all appear like barbers’ blocks, and look as if our hair
were sent home, ready dressed, with the fish every day.”
That was what I observed. We adjourned to the dining-room, and the
discussion began. How many of them we have had of which I have been
the subject! No one ever seems to grow tired of them--except me.
“Norah,” mamma began, “I must ask you not to be rude. Your natural
vulgarity, I suppose, you cannot help; but I will have you keep a
guard upon your tongue when you are speaking to your sisters. I cannot
understand why Providence ever afflicted me with such a child.”
“I thought, mamma, that that was a problem which you had given up some
time ago.”
“Unfortunately, the affliction continues. My other daughters do me
credit”--they were all of them beauties;--that was what made it so
maddening for me. “I myself am not ill-looking.” (Mamma had been very
pretty; and still looked nice, especially at night. Only I wish she
would not wear a transformation--which seems to me to be just the same
thing as a wig. Considering that Lilian is twenty-nine, and everybody
knows it, it is so obvious.) “I therefore cannot understand how it is
that I should have a child who is not only unprepossessing, but who
cannot be induced to pay any attention to even the most elementary
rules of toilet which every gentlewoman observes. A servant would be
ashamed to appear in public in the condition in which you at present
are.”
Eveleen struck in:
“I should think so! No decent servant looks as if she had covered
herself with the contents of the rag-bag. Are you aware, Norah, that
your belt has worked up behind, and that the hooks on your skirt are
showing?”
“And your shoe-lace is untied; and, unless I am mistaken, your
stocking is concertinaed about your ankle;--but she doesn’t mind.”
This was Lilian. Mamma followed:
“But _I_ mind. In spite of every obstacle I have treated you exactly
as I have done your sisters. But the problem becomes more serious
every day. How do you suppose that I am ever going to get you properly
settled in life if you persist in making of yourself a scarecrow?--an
absolute figure of fun?--I am compelled to use such language.”
“Oh, you needn’t trouble about a trifle of that sort. She’s settled
all that for herself. She has her eye on Crooked Ben;--which is only
as it should be, because, then, they’ll be a pair of figures of fun.”
This, again, was Lilian. The things she allows herself to say when she
is in the mood, if they heard them, would startle some of the people
who call her stately. She may consider herself ultra-refined, and I do
not deny that she looks it, but I am persuaded that at heart she is
almost as vulgar as I am. When she said that, it made me mad. I flew
at her like a wild-cat. I was just in the mood for it.
“You talk, with a sneer, of Crooked Ben! You may have had bushels of
proposals”--she has had heaps and heaps,--“but there wasn’t one among
the lot worthy to black his boots. As for Mr Rumford, that
bald-headed, bloated object, with quack written large all over him,
you may like to have him muddling about you, but I wouldn’t touch him
with a pair of tongs.”
Lilian went white. The truth is, she was nearly twenty-nine, and I
suppose thought it about time to have someone for a husband, and as Mr
Rumford was showing a strong inclination to apply for the position, I
rather fancy she was considering whether he would not do. He had made
piles of money out of a patent medicine called “Aunt Jane’s Jalap,”
and was really not such a bad sort in his way: though just then I was
anything but disposed to let her know I thought so. Eveleen took up
the cudgels for Lilian;--they always stand up for each other against
me.
“What a delicate way you have of putting a thing, Norah. You and your
language are so in keeping. If you could only induce someone to
transfer you from the family of which you so entirely disapprove how
much happier you would be--and we also. Couldn’t you put the screw on
Mr Morgan? He seems to be the only chance you are ever likely to have.
Do make the most of him. Let mamma ask him what he means.”
“Look here, Eveleen! You think yourself vastly superior to me----”
“Not at all. Not while your complexion is quite so brilliant--I
couldn’t.”
“Oh yes, you do. But you’re wrong for all that. You’ve spent your
whole life in chasing men----”
“I rather fancied that some of them had chased me. But I daresay it’s
the same thing to you.”
“Is there anything to be proud of in that? You’ve devoted your whole
life to men, anyhow, and I don’t think that’s very womanly.”
“I think it probable that you wouldn’t--for reasons.--My dear Norah,
do use your handkerchief. There’s a drop of perspiration trickling
down your nose. Or is it a tear? It doesn’t seem to combine with
freckles.”
Doris struck in.
“When you people have quite finished, might I ask if I am ever going
to have any fringe-nets? I can’t remain the whole day with my hair in
curlers.”
She had it in curlers then, and very queer she looked. No one would
have known her for the radiant Doris of her admirers. Nothing takes
the gilt off a girl’s appearance so much as curlers. Unless mamma
makes me I never use them. Thank goodness, my hair has got a curl of
its own, if it is not quite in the style of the barbers’
fashion-plates. Mamma--who never thinks of being down on them for
anything which they may say to me--was quick at seconding Doris’
suggestion.
“Norah, be so good as to let me hear no more from you. Both your
language and your appearance smack of the servants’ hall. You will
fetch the things I requested you to bring before. Then I will ask you
for an explanation of how it is that you have failed to bring them
now. Go up to your room, and make yourself look as decent as you
conveniently can, and be quick about it;--and not another word!”
Lilian stood up.
“I suppose I had better find you another matching. You are sure to
bring something impossible if I don’t.”
Eveleen put in her word.
“I should say that she’s sure to bring something impossible in any
case. I would rather be excused from trusting her to get anything of
the least importance for me. I admire your courage.”
“She had better not make any mess about those nets of mine,” cried
Doris; “or things will become exhilarating. Norah, if you tell them at
Morrel’s that they’re for me there will be no mess. I suppose you have
some sense.”
“Doris, what an inexhaustible fund of confidence you have in Norah. It
may be sisterly; but is it wise?”
Just as I was going to snap off Eveleen’s nose, of course mamma must
interfere:
“Now, Norah, not another word. Do as I tell you. Go upstairs, and
endeavour to make yourself look more like a daughter of mine should
do, and then go and fetch those things--and mind there are no
mistakes.”
I went upstairs. As I went I heard Eveleen laugh. I knew she was
laughing at me. She may have a musical laugh--I have been told
hundreds of times she has, so I suppose she must have--but it did not
sound musical to me just then. It put all my nerves on edge.