IV
Once more we discover Mrs.¬ÝJoe in her sitting-room, surrounded by the brown cotton-woolly moors and glens that haunted the imagination of Mrs.¬ÝPennyfeather‚Äôs uncle. Mrs.¬ÝJoe is still knitting that mysterious garment, which is now more complicated and untidier than ever. She had knitted steadily through these dark idle days, and it looks as if there is a danger of her knitting herself inside this pink monster and having to be rescued with a pair of shears. We have never pretended that she was young but now, as she sits there, working away, she looks older than she did. In that mask of mingled dignity and simple foolishness, there has been a recent invasion of fine lines; her face begins to droop and sag. This past week she has suffered as an artiste, a wife, and a mother‚ÅÝ‚Äîfor though George is safe on Denmark Hill, he has to be paid for, for his passion for playing football in side-streets with a little india-rubber ball is creating a terrible boot problem. No doubt she is thinking about these things, the bewildering mechanics of life, as she stares into the microscopic fire, itself evidence enough of the Brundit new economic policy. For a few minutes, during which we shall do well to look upon her with kindness, for very soon, this very night in fact, she is going her way and we are going ours and the acquaintance is at an end, she sits and stares and weaves the monstrous mesh. Then she starts up. Somebody has burst into the room. It is Susie.
Susie takes a deep breath, plucks off her hat, and flings it anywhere, takes another deep breath, and falls into a chair.
‚ÄúYou did give me a Start, my dear,‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe tells her, reproachfully. ‚ÄúI wondered what on earth it could be.‚Äù
And now Susie begins: ‚ÄúTalk about news! My dear, I‚Äôm simply bursting with ‚Äôem. Jerry‚Äôs married Lady Partlit, the woman I told you about, who sent the bouquet, and I‚Äôve seen them both, had lunch with them, and Mr.¬ÝMemsworth, the Emperor, you know, the musical-comedy man, he was there too, and we‚Äôre all going to London and Jerry and I are going to have parts, really fat parts, in a new show he‚Äôs doing, and Inigo‚Äôs going to write the music, and Mr.¬ÝMemsworth‚Äôs wired to a man who‚Äôs getting up a resident C.P. somewhere‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
‚ÄúStop it, child, stop it,‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe shrieks. ‚ÄúYou‚Äôre putting me in a Maze, with your Lady Partridges and Emperors. I don‚Äôt know whether I‚Äôm sitting in this room or where I am. Now just calm yourself down and get your breath and begin at the beginning and let me take it all in.‚Äù
‚ÄúWell, you see‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
‚ÄúBut, Susie, my dear, you‚Äôre not teasing me, are you? I mean, you‚Äôre not just making it all up. I couldn‚Äôt bear that just now. Some other time, perhaps, it would be just a little fun and frolic between ourselves‚ÅÝ‚Äînobody can say I don‚Äôt like a little joking in a friendly way‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut just now, what with all things being at Sixes and Sevens, no, worse than that, if you count in the injuries and loss of salaries, to say nothing of future engagements, that is, whether there‚Äôll be any at all and if so, where‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI really couldn‚Äôt bear it. So don‚Äôt tell me anything you‚Äôre making up, will you?‚Äù
‚ÄúMaking it up! I couldn‚Äôt make it up. Nobody could. Just you listen and don‚Äôt say a word.‚Äù After which, Mrs.¬ÝJoe does listen, entranced, to a very full account of the lunch.
‚ÄúDid you ever!‚Äù cried Mrs.¬ÝJoe. ‚ÄúI never did. There‚Äôs your Chance, come at last, you might say, when hope had fled. Doesn‚Äôt it show you? My words, it does.‚Äù She is almost aghast at this revelation of her prophetic powers. ‚ÄúThere was I, on Saturday, saying to you when you told me that Mortimer man was there, ‚ÄòWhat did I tell you? Here‚Äôs your Chance, come to you, without asking, in Gatford.‚Äô And then when nothing came of it and the things I‚Äôve said to Joe about what he did that night really won‚Äôt bear thinking of, not in cold blood‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhen nothing came of it, I could have slapped myself for Leading You On. ‚ÄòYou‚Äôve only gone and made it worse, you silly creature,‚Äô I said to myself. And yet something told me. Try as I might, it still told me. And now here you are, with a Bigger Chance. And it had to come, even if it took a marriage no more expected than the Man in the Moon to do it, you might say. It‚ÅÝ‚Äîit‚ÅÝ‚Äîa thing like this‚ÅÝ‚Äîmakes you ask yourself, Where Are We?‚ÅÝ‚ÄîWhat Are We?‚ÅÝ‚Äîif you see what I mean.‚Äù She loses herself in these profundities for a moment or two. Then she throws aside all her knitting and needles and balls of wool. ‚ÄúI‚Äôm glad. I‚Äôm very very glad, my dear. I know it means breaking up and starting afresh some‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhere else for us, with the season so near too, but I‚Äôm still glad, just for your own sake, my dear.‚Äù And she leans forward and kisses her young friend‚Äôs flushed face.
“But, you stupid, I’ve news for you, too,” Susie points out.
‚ÄúAnything I‚Äôm sure will be welcome,‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe replies. Then she adds, a trifle wistfully: ‚ÄúThere hasn‚Äôt been anything said about us, has there?‚Äù
‚ÄúOf course there has. That‚Äôs what I‚Äôm trying to tell you.‚Äù And out it comes, to delight Mrs.¬ÝJoe.
‚ÄúThough,‚Äù she is careful to say, ‚Äúas things go in the ordinary way‚ÅÝ‚Äîand unless Luckiness has set in all round‚ÅÝ‚Äîit‚Äôs only a Shot in the Dark so far. A manager says he wants artistes for a resident season at one of our best resorts. He says it once. Well and good! He may say it twice. Twice is quite possible. But after that, he‚Äôs not going to say it any more‚ÅÝ‚Äîand why? Because he‚Äôs got the artistes. They flocked in, my dear, flocked. They don‚Äôt need to be told twice. You do see what I mean, don‚Äôt you? He told Mr.¬ÝMemsworth about this some days ago‚ÅÝ‚Äîperhaps a week ago, perhaps longer‚ÅÝ‚Äîand if he‚Äôs told other people, he‚Äôs already had the choice of a hundred. To ask for artistes for a good resident season,‚Äù she adds solemnly, ‚Äúis like‚ÅÝ‚Äîwell, you might as well ask for haystacks for a needle.‚Äù
“Oh, he may not have booked anybody,” Susie remarks, rather carelessly. “Anyhow, we’ll soon see. He was told to wire a reply to Jimmy.”
“Joe’s over there now. Went to discuss the situation, and so I told him, ‘Very well, but if it’s to be a discussion, stay in the rooms and have something in. Send Out for a bottle or two of beer and leave it at that, and don’t go discussing on licensed premises, because that’s how the money goes.’ That’s a thing to watch when you’re married, my dear. Always get him to Send Out for something and do his discussing at home.”
Susie laughs. “I’ll remember that, though it doesn’t matter because I don’t intend ever to get married.”
‚ÄúDon‚Äôt tell me, because I know how you feel. I was just the same at your age. But then‚ÅÝ‚Äîall of a sudden, before you can say Jack Robinson‚ÅÝ‚Äîit comes over you.‚Äù
“I think I know somebody it’s coming over now,” Susie tells her confidentially. “And that’s Miss Trant.”
“No!”
‚ÄúYes. I‚Äôve just seen her. And I found him there, the great him. Didn‚Äôt I ever tell you about that Scotch doctor she‚Äôs been quietly in love with for ages?‚Äù To make sure of the matter, she tells her now. ‚ÄúAnd there he was the day,‚Äù she concludes, employing what passes in theatrical circles for a good Scots accent, ‚Äúlooking into herrr eyes and callin‚Äô herrr Eleezabeth. He‚Äôs verra tall an‚Äô verra bony an‚Äô verra seerious, but wi‚Äô a nice kind face. An‚Äô if he‚Äôs not proposin‚Äô marritch the morn‚Äôs morn an‚Äô if she‚Äôs no gladly acceptin‚Äô him, ah‚Äôll go an‚Äô eat ma best bonnet. Hoots, woman, its a‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh, I can‚Äôt do any more, but anyhow there they are, falling in love all over again like billy-oh, and blushing away every time they look at one another. And Miss Trant pretends to be very worried about what we‚Äôre all going to do, and about the show busting up, and about all this money she may have to pay out, but she doesn‚Äôt care a damn, really. I could see it in her eye. What she‚Äôs thinking about now is her Doctorr McFarlane, ye ken. And good luck to her, the darling, I say.‚Äù
‚ÄúSo do I, indeed I do,‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe reflects for a moment. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs a noble profession, though I must say I could never fancy one of them. Don‚Äôt you feel that too, my dear? I mean, as soon as you said anything to keep them in their place a bit, they‚Äôd say, ‚ÄòLet me look at your tongue,‚Äô and then where would you be? Besides, think of being married to a man who knew everything that was going on inside you, all about your liver and everything! You‚Äôd never be able to look him in the face. I remember a doctor‚ÅÝ‚Äîwell, he wasn‚Äôt quite a doctor but he was going to be one‚ÅÝ‚Äîa medical student, you know‚ÅÝ‚Äîand he was very attached to me, I couldn‚Äôt keep him away‚ÅÝ‚Äîthis was before I met Joe, long before, when I first went on the stage‚ÅÝ‚Äîand he was very good-looking and most amusing company, but one Sunday night, when he‚Äôd had a little too much‚ÅÝ‚Äîwe‚Äôd been out to Richmond, I remember, and it was a very hot day‚ÅÝ‚Äîand he told me what he‚Äôd been doing to a rabbit‚ÅÝ‚Äîit was a dead rabbit, but still‚ÅÝ‚Äîwell, I never fancied him after that. I didn‚Äôt like the look in his eye. But Miss Trant, I dare say, is different. You feel‚ÅÝ‚Äîdon‚Äôt you, my dear?‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe wouldn‚Äôt care about a thing like that. It‚Äôs all Temperament.‚Äù
But now there are noises off. Enter three gentlemen, carrying bottled ale.
“Has Susie told you?” Joe roars at his wife. “Well, Jimmy’s just had a wire. We’ve just left him.” He rubs his hands and shows her a long slow delighted grin.
‚ÄúWhat does he say then?‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe demands, impatiently. ‚ÄúDon‚Äôt stand there, without a word. Of all the aggravating men, Joe‚ÅÝ‚Äî!‚Äù
‚ÄúWants to see us on Monday,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝMorton Mitcham tells her. ‚ÄúTerms are good. Open middle of April, clean run through until end of September. Rehearse beginning of April, on full pay. And if it‚Äôs the same Bellerby I played with in Nought Six, he‚Äôs a gentleman.‚Äù
“Bit of your doing, this, Susie,” Joe roars again. “I’ve heard all about you. After this, up among the stars so high, eh? Shan’t be allowed to talk to you after this week.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Joe. But honestly, isn’t it marvellous?”
“Splendiferous! And what do you say to me for giving that other fellow a tap on the jaw? Don’t forget us, will you?”
“As if I should!”
He gives her a gigantic hug. Mrs.¬ÝJoe and Mr.¬ÝMitcham explain to one another, with the ease and rapidity of veterans, the advantages of a resident season on the South coast. Inigo discovers some tumblers on the sideboard and opens the beer. The gentlemen immediately fall to drinking healths and Mrs.¬ÝJoe admits that at this moment she could do with ‚Äúsomething sharp.‚Äù Susie, perched on the edge of the table, exchanges smiles with Inigo, because the others seem so happy. Somebody wants to know where Mr.¬ÝOakroyd is, and nobody is able to supply the information. Everybody, however, has so much to say and is so eager to say it that Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, who after all has not disappeared into the blue, is soon forgotten. Susie has accepted a cigarette, Joe and Inigo have their pipes, Mr.¬ÝMitcham has brought out one of his famous cheroots, so that now the room is full of smoke. Thus we see them through a blue haze: Mr.¬ÝMorton Mitcham, towering, fantastic, less like a broken-down senator than he was when we first met him at Dullingham Junction, but still the same conglomeration of creaking bone, bending brow, and retreating hair, the same traveller from unimaginable places; Mrs.¬ÝJoe, flushed, almost sparkling now, ten years younger than she was an hour ago, talking away and sipping her bottled beer but still ready at any moment to play the Duchess of Dorking; the great shoulders and honest beaming face of Joe himself, as he nods and grins and agrees with everybody; Inigo of the wandering nose and wandering lock of hair, at once clean and untidy in the pleasant undergraduate fashion that remains with some men; and Susie, swinging her legs at the table‚Äôs edge, turning eagerly from one to another of her companions, talking, laughing, teasing, fooling, as if those dark eyes of hers would see ten thousand years of life undimmed. In another moment they will be nothing but names and news. We see them through this haze, which thickens, deepens, shredding away colour, blurring shape, like Time itself flowing mistily away, and then the curtain comes rustling down, and now we cannot see them at all and perhaps will never see them again.