I
Having taken the plunge, Miss Trant found herself at once in another world. It was, so far, chiefly a world of tea and chops and telegrams. The tea and chops came from her Rawsley landlady, who was very interested, very sympathetic, but unpunctual with meals. It was her habit to offer Miss Trant odd cups of tea the moment she saw her coming in, whatever the hour; and the meals, when they did arrive, seemed to be always a chop‚ÅÝ‚Äîa ‚Äúnice chop,‚Äù which apparently meant one that was burnt on the outside and quite raw in the interior. ‚ÄúSit you down and ‚Äôave a cup o‚Äô tea, Miss Trant, and I‚Äôll do you a nice chop,‚Äù this was the good lady‚Äôs formula. Fortunately, Miss Trant was hardly ever hungry that first week. Perhaps it was the telegrams that took away her appetite. Although the Trants had for generations made a trade, as it were, out of alarms and excursions, a telegram had still been something of an event at Hitherton, and even at the Old Hall the sight of a little brown envelope called up visions of catastrophe. But now the little brown envelopes fell in showers. The telegram was apparently the common method of communication in this extraordinary world, where everybody seemed to be ‚Äúwiring‚Äù everybody else. Prompted by Jimmy Nunn, armed with the current number of The Stage, she ‚Äúwired‚Äù the proprietors of Winter Gardens, Alfresco Pavilions, Kursaals, Chalets, and Playhouses, mostly in places she had never heard of before, and even such people as printers and costumiers had to be ‚Äúwired‚Äù too; and all these wires promptly produced other wires, some of them so compressed that they might as well have been in cipher, and others of a staggering length and fluency, like strange heads coming round the door and screaming at the top of their voices at her. Of all the others, only Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, who frequently trotted round to the Post Office for her, shared her amazement at all this wiring. ‚ÄúEh!‚ÅÝ‚Äîwe‚Äôre keeping all t‚Äôtelegraph lads i‚Äô t‚Äô country on t‚Äôrun,‚Äù he would cry. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs war ner workin‚Äô for a bookie.‚Äù The waste of money appalled him, but he could not help being delighted by the dash and importance of it all. At the Post Office he soon became a familiar figure. ‚ÄúIf I bring yer onny more,‚Äù he would tell them, ‚Äúhappen you‚Äôll be declaring a divvy this year‚Äù; and the three young women behind the counter would nod and say, brightly, if vaguely: ‚ÄúThat‚Äôs right‚Äù; and they were all very friendly.
Living in such a world of telegraphy, Miss Trant felt she had no right to sit down and enjoy a meal at her leisure. She did sit down‚ÅÝ‚Äîthough she always felt she ought to be standing up‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut she ate her chops as hastily and perfunctorily as her landlady had cooked them. The latter, we may say, proffered a brief sketch of a dinner, and Miss Trant, in her turn, replied with a brief sketch of a diner. It was only late in the evening, when there were no more ‚Äúdates‚Äù to be considered and no more problems to be instantly solved, that she achieved any real sustenance. This she did by drinking a large cup of cocoa (a weakness of hers) and munching her way through innumerable buttered Digestive biscuits while staring at a book. The book was Barlasch of the Guard, borrowed on the payment of twopence and a deposit of half a crown from the little stationer‚Äôs in the marketplace, and very slow the story seemed too, after all the telegrams. She was beginning to read these things with the air of an old soldier listening to a fellow veteran only a year or two older than herself.
The problems she had to solve were numerous and for the most part fantastic. One of the most reasonable was that of costumes. Like many other concert parties, the late Dinky Doos had made a practice of giving the first part of their entertainment in fancy pierrot costume and the second half in evening dress. The Good Companions had decided to continue this practice, though two members of the party had protested against it. Mr.¬ÝJerningham had objected because he delighted himself in evening dress, which he would have worn in the morning if he could have done so. Mr.¬ÝJoe Brundit objected because he always had trouble with his dress collars‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚ÄúThey fairly saw my head off some nights,‚Äù he grumbled‚ÅÝ‚Äîand was very gloomy about laundries. These gentlemen were allowed to argue with one another, but otherwise no notice was taken of them. Miss Trant discovered, however, that she disliked the pierrot costumes worn by the three women. They were cheap, faded, cottony things, and must be replaced at once. There popped up in Miss Trant, who had always dressed herself very quietly, partly because she had been timid and partly because she really thought a quiet style suited her, a long-hidden lover of the gaudy and fantastic in clothes, and this dashing creature hurried off in the car to the nearest large town and showed her shimmering cascades of silk, plunged her into orgies of apple-green and scarlet and lilac and jade, called down a rain of multicoloured frills and tassels and pompoms. And she found two allies. Mrs.¬ÝJoe was useless, simply a born knitter and nothing more. Nor was Susie much better, for though her taste was reasonably good (Mrs.¬ÝJoe‚Äôs was vile), she was much too impatient and not at all clever with her fingers, as she readily admitted herself. This was a disappointment to Miss Trant, with whom Susie was already a favourite. It was the fluffy Elsie, the one she liked least so far, who proved herself to be a treasure in this matter of costumes. Elsie had a passion for clothes; she had good taste; she could design, cut out, and sew like a professional tailor and needlewoman. She also had‚ÅÝ‚Äîas Susie said‚ÅÝ‚Äîa nose for clever, cheap dressmakers, and it was she who brought in the second ally, Miss Thong. There can be no doubt that Miss Thong really was a clever, cheap dressmaker and that she worked miracles for them those few days, but that is not the reason why she deserves a little space to herself. We must glance at Miss Thong because the image of her haunted Miss Trant at odd moments throughout that winter. Miss Thong has a part in the homely epic; it is a very tiny part‚ÅÝ‚Äîno more than that of a whispering ghost‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut we cannot say it has no significance. Miss Trant remembers her to this very day.
She went with Elsie, who knew the way. They walked the length of an unusually monotonous street of little brick houses, which ended in some waste ground, a melancholy muddle of worn turf, clayey holes, wire-netting, and ramshackle fowl-houses made out of orange boxes, and a few dirty and listless hens. The last house on the left was detached from the row, but was yet so close to it, so obviously still a part of it, that Miss Trant felt that this house had just been sawn off, as if it were the crust of a long loaf. It looked like a slice too, for it was severely rectangular and only one room in breadth, being indeed the very narrowest house she had ever seen. It was not old; it was not dingy; it was newish, had a bright glazed look, and was immediately depressing. There were two little brass plates on the door; one said Midland Guardian and Widows Fire and Life Assurance and the other whispered Miss Thong‚ÅÝ‚ÄîDressmaker. The door was opened to them by the Midland Guardian, who had watery eyes, a drooping grey moustache, carpet slippers, and a coat and waistcoat that had seen far too much gravy and egg. Yes, yes, his daughter was in, and they could see her; but she was busy; she was always busy these days, always in great demand; and she wasn‚Äôt too strong, not really strong enough for all the work that came. One of these days, he told them as they went into the tiny sitting-room, he would have to put his foot down, the girl was doing too much. And he shuffled out, to tell her they were there. ‚ÄúI know the sort of foot he‚Äôll put down,‚Äù Elsie whispered. ‚ÄúI‚Äôll bet she keeps him going all right. If he makes enough out of his insurance to keep him in whisky, I‚Äôd be surprised. Silly old blighter! But she isn‚Äôt strong, either. She‚Äôs a queer little thing.‚Äù
She was a queer little thing; no older than Miss Trant herself, perhaps, but very small and crooked, with thin hair pathetically bobbed, hollow cheeks, and a long nose that seemed to flush in a most unhappy manner. Her eyes were bright enough but she had hardly any eyelashes and the lids were slightly reddened. Perhaps she was consumptive. She looked as if she might have anything and everything wrong with that frail body of hers. It seemed as if one winter’s night would extinguish her forever. Nevertheless, as soon as she saw Elsie, her face lit up and she plunged at once into a gasping prattle that never stopped all the way up to the front room upstairs that was her workroom. When she learned that the troupe was to be reformed under the direction of Miss Trant, she was genuinely delighted, almost in an ecstasy. She insisted upon telling Miss Trant all about the two performances of the Dinky Doos she had seen when they had been giving the show the first week.
‚ÄúIt was such a treat to me, you can‚Äôt imagine,‚Äù she gasped. ‚ÄúAnd then when Miss Longstaff came here‚ÅÝ‚Äîand I‚Äôd seen her only two nights before, singing and dancing there and looking prettier than a picture‚ÅÝ‚Äîwell, well, it was a surprise! I stared at her, couldn‚Äôt believe my own eyes! I must have looked a sketch.‚Äù Here Miss Thong laughed heartily at herself. ‚ÄúDidn‚Äôt you think I did, Miss Longstaff? Never mind, so did you, when you came on as that little girl in the choir. That was a skit, that was. Laugh!‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou ought to have heard me. And that Mr.¬ÝNunn‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe‚Äôs a comic, if you like. The way he went on telling everybody they was late! And then betting five pounds with that other one who was it?‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat fine sing‚Äëger‚ÅÝ‚Äîyes, that‚Äôs him‚ÅÝ‚ÄîMr.¬ÝBrundit‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh, that was good! And that Miss Susie Dean! Isn‚Äôt she a card? The way she took people off! Really enjoying herself, she was, you could tell just by looking at her. So pretty too! And what high spirits! Now don‚Äôt you go and be jealous, Miss Longstaff, because I‚Äôll say the same for you. I‚Äôm not going to quarrel with the prettiest customer I‚Äôve got, and a real famous actress too‚ÅÝ‚Äîno, no, no!‚Äù And Miss Thong cocked her head on one side, looked very arch and very cunning at one and the same time, and then laughed at herself so heartily that she burst into a fit of coughing and hastily put a handkerchief to her mouth.
Miss Trant stared out of the window a minute, then said: “I’m glad you enjoyed the show so much, Miss Thong. At least, I imagine you did,” she added, with a smile.
‚ÄúI haven‚Äôt enjoyed anything so much, I don‚Äôt know when,‚Äù cried Miss Thong. ‚ÄúI went twice‚ÅÝ‚Äîdid I tell you? It‚Äôs not usual for me to go even once, but twice‚ÅÝ‚Äîthen it‚Äôs got to be extra special. I said to Pa‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe doesn‚Äôt like me going out much, you know‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut I said to him ‚ÄòI know I‚Äôm very busy,‚Äô I said, ‚Äòand I know it costs money. But I must go again,‚Äô I said, ‚Äòbecause they‚Äôre so good they‚Äôve taken me right out of myself, what with their sing‚Äëging and lovely dancing and their comics and all,‚Äô I said. And when I heard they‚Äôd gone and broken up‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh, the news soon gets round in Rawsley!‚ÅÝ‚Äîwell, I could have sat down and cried. And then Miss Longstaff told me how they‚Äôd been treated, Miss What‚Äôs it‚ÅÝ‚ÄîMiss Trant, I beg your pardon. ‚ÄòWhat a shame!‚Äô I said. There I‚Äôd been sitting here, thinking how lovely they looked and trying to hum some of the songs and telling myself they hadn‚Äôt a care in the world, and there they were all feeling as miserable as anything, not knowing where to look, you might say, and me here with my nice little business. And that only made me feel more miserable. You know how you can get sometimes?‚Äù And Miss Thong laughed again. ‚ÄúBut to think that you‚Äôre beginning all over again!‚Äù
“And going to be better,” said Elsie. “We’ve got two good new men.”
“Just fancy!” cried Miss Thong delightedly. “It just shows you, doesn’t it? You never know what’s waiting round the corner, as I tell Pa. He’ll never believe in anything. Oh, these business men, I say! He never would believe we’d get this house. But here we are. And isn’t it nice here, Miss Trant?” She almost pushed them both over to the window with her. They looked out at the bald turf, the half-bricks and tin cans, the huddle of box lids and wire netting and hens.
“Very nice,” said Miss Trant. Then, with an effort: “Very nice indeed.”
‚ÄúIsn‚Äôt it?‚Äù cried Miss Thong. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs so open. You‚Äôre in the town and yet not in it, I say. Especially up here, looking right out. That‚Äôs where all the boys down the street play‚ÅÝ‚Äîcricket and football‚ÅÝ‚Äîand though they‚Äôre a bit noisy, I don‚Äôt mind it‚ÅÝ‚Äîquite cheers you up to see them running about and hear them shouting. It‚Äôs a bit of life, isn‚Äôt it? I‚Äôm glad you think it‚Äôs nice here. It‚Äôs made such a difference to me having such a lookout. What with this house and the dressmaking doing so well, they‚Äôll be telling me soon I‚Äôm getting above myself. Perhaps I am, what with actresses coming too, eh, Miss Longstaff? Somebody said to me, the other day, when I told them, they said ‚ÄòYou‚Äôll be going on the stage yourself next, Miss Thong.‚Äô ‚ÄòAnd a fine sketch I‚Äôd look!‚Äô I said.‚Äù Here Miss Thong laughed and coughed again, and Elsie laughed a little too, and Miss Trant tried to laugh, but found it easier to turn away and undo the parcels they had brought with them.
They told her what they wanted, and she frowned and gasped out questions and nodded excitedly and busied herself clearing the worktable. ‚ÄúThere, you can go away,‚Äù she cried to the vanishing pieces of material, ‚Äúand so can you, and you, and you. Coat and skirt‚ÅÝ‚Äîblue serge and braid‚ÅÝ‚Äîfor Mrs.¬ÝMoxon‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat‚Äôs the last of you for a bit and I don‚Äôt care if you are promised. Semi-evening for Miss Abbey‚ÅÝ‚Äîwants it for whist-drives‚ÅÝ‚Äîand you‚Äôll have to wait. Yes, I‚Äôll do it for you, Miss Trant, Miss Longstaff, but don‚Äôt‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh, don‚Äôt‚ÅÝ‚Äîbreathe a word to anyone in Rawsley I‚Äôm doing it, or my custom‚Äôs gone! You see, I‚Äôve promised and promised and better promised‚ÅÝ‚Äîand they come round and ask and ask‚ÅÝ‚Äîjust as if a girl had twelve pairs of hands. But I‚Äôll do it for you. I don‚Äôt care. They can all wait, that‚Äôs what I say.‚Äù The little crooked creature grasped the edge of her table, stood as erect as she could, and, with cheeks paler than ever but with her great nose flushing triumphantly, she seemed to defy a host of clamouring Moxons and Abbeys, coats and skirts and semi-evenings. ‚ÄúSo there you are,‚Äù she cried. ‚ÄúIf I‚Äôve to lock myself in this room, give out I‚Äôm ill again, I‚Äôll do it. Let‚Äôs have a bit of life, I say. Now tell me what you want and show me what you‚Äôve got.‚Äù
“We want a harlequin effect in some of the dresses,” said Elsie. “We’ve got all sorts of remnants and lovely odd bits. Look here. Sateens and light silks and crêpe de Chine and velvet.” And the next minute, the worktable had disappeared, and in its place was a crazy garden of fabrics, a rainbow carnival.
‚ÄúOh, I say! O‚Äëo‚Äëoh!‚Äù After this first rapturous cry, Miss Thong breathed hard, quivered with delight, pressed her hands together, and stared and stared, as if her eyes had long been thirsty and could at last drink their fill. Then she fell upon the glowing heap. ‚ÄúOh, look at this‚ÅÝ‚Äîand this‚ÅÝ‚Äîand these two together,‚Äù she babbled ecstatically. ‚ÄúHere‚Äôs some apricot velvet‚ÅÝ‚Äîlovely cap it would make, wouldn‚Äôt it? And that old rose‚ÅÝ‚Äîlet me smooth it out‚ÅÝ‚Äîlook!‚ÅÝ‚Äîput that with it‚ÅÝ‚Äîwait till I get some pins‚ÅÝ‚Äîhundreds of pins‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh, aren‚Äôt I silly?‚Äù
“I was like that the other day,” said Miss Trant, laughing.
“I’m always like that,” said Elsie, who was indeed nearly as excited as Miss Thong. “They go to my head, I can tell you, Look at that, Miss Thong. Isn’t it lovely?”
“Isn’t it! Oh, deary dear! It’s all lovely, and I don’t know where to start or whether I’m on my head or my heels or laughing or crying, I don’t really. Now aren’t I silly?” And it certainly looked as if something dreadful would happen to Miss Thong, who was trying to laugh and cough and blow her nose and pick up some of the silks and fill her mouth with pins all at the same time. At last, however, she quietened down, the professional dressmaker taking the place of the enraptured woman, and they discussed the dresses they wanted. It was arranged that Elsie should help her when she was not wanted for rehearsal, during the remaining two days at Rawsley.
It was Wednesday evening when Miss Trant called there again. The thin little house, now besieged by the curiously melancholy dusk of autumn, that smoky blue into which the green and gold of summer has vanished, it seems, forever, looked forlorn enough, but its glazed brightness had gone and there was something cheerful and brave, a hint of the indomitable, about that lighted upstairs window. Elsie was there, looking very pink and rounded and robust by the side of Miss Thong, who in the searching gaslight seemed frailer and uglier than before, like a worn-out witch, with that great nose and her dimmed eyes peering between their reddened lids. She was obviously tired out, yet greeted Miss Trant triumphantly. Two dresses were completed.
“And Miss Longstaff’s is one of them,” she began.
“Elsie, I told you,” said that young lady.
“There now!” she cried to Miss Trant, nodding her head. “She wants me to call her Elsie. Aren’t I getting on? And it seems only a minute since I saw her on the stage. Well, then, Elsie’s is finished and it’s the loveliest thing you ever saw, Miss Trant, it really is. Do put it on, Elsie. Slip into my bedroom and put it on. Just to please me.”
After an interrogative glance at Miss Trant, Elsie nodded, went out, and returned in an incredibly short space of time an entirely different person. In that soft shimmer of blues and greens she looked almost beautiful.
“But what a lovely dress you’ve made!” cried Miss Trant with genuine enthusiasm. “It’s like a wood full of bluebells.” She turned to Miss Thong to congratulate her.
But Miss Thong‚Äôs gaze was still fastened mistily upon Elsie. Her lips were quivering a little, and her long clever hands were clutching and twisting. ‚ÄúOh‚ÅÝ‚ÄîMiss‚ÅÝ‚ÄîMiss‚ÅÝ‚ÄîElsie,‚Äù she faltered, moving a step or so towards her. ‚ÄúYou do look beautiful in it. And I made it, didn‚Äôt I? And to think of you‚ÅÝ‚Äîwearing it‚ÅÝ‚Äîsing‚Äëging and dancing in it‚ÅÝ‚Äîgoing all over‚ÅÝ‚Äîthousands of people. Oh, I am silly‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut‚ÅÝ‚Äîjust to think‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
Elsie put an arm about her, held her for a moment, then stooped and lightly kissed her on the cheek. “You’re not silly, you’re very clever,” she said softly. “There. Isn’t she clever, Miss Trant? We shall have to put her name on the programmes, won’t we? Dresses by Madame Thong of Rawsley.”
‚ÄúOh, go on with you,‚Äù gasped Miss Thong, dabbing at her eyes and laughing and crying. ‚ÄúI really must be tired. I don‚Äôt know when I‚Äôve taken on so. You must be thinking ‚ÄòShe‚Äôs a ridiculous little thing.‚Äô Now aren‚Äôt you? Never mind, we‚Äôre all a bit silly sometimes. Best thing I can do is to put in a bit at Mrs.¬ÝMoxon‚Äôs coat and skirt, that‚Äôll bring me to my senses. Two yards of braid to put on, plenty of machining, that what I want. There now, let‚Äôs talk about the other things.‚Äù
So they settled down to talk about the other dresses and were very businesslike. It was when Miss Thong began to discuss sending them on and to ask about addresses that Miss Trant, who was moved by the thought of their leaving this little woman and never seeing her again, had an inspiration.
‚ÄúTomorrow morning, you know,‚Äù she began, ‚Äúwe leave for a place called Dotworth‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“That’s the three-night stand I told you about,” Elsie put in, nodding at Miss Thong.
‚ÄúAnd then next week we go to a seaside place on the East Coast called Sandybay,‚Äù Miss Trant continued. ‚ÄúNow if all the dresses will be finished by about next Monday or Tuesday, why don‚Äôt you bring them yourself‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou needn‚Äôt carry them, you know; we can arrange about that‚ÅÝ‚Äîand then you can try them on.‚Äù
“And I could see you all on the stage too, couldn’t I?” cried Miss Thong eagerly, her face lighting up.
“Of course you could. And it would be a nice little holiday for you too, after all your hard work. You could stay a day or two.”
‚ÄúOh, wouldn‚Äôt that be lovely! Going to the seaside and trying on the dresses and seeing them on the stage perhaps and hearing it all again and better than last time and‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh‚ÅÝ‚Äîeverything!‚Äù For a moment she saw it all, fastened on it in pure rapture. Then the light died out of her face. ‚ÄúBut I couldn‚Äôt do it, Miss Trant. Oh, I wish I could, but I really couldn‚Äôt.‚Äù
“Why not?”
‚ÄúOh!‚ÅÝ‚Äîso many things. There‚Äôs‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI don‚Äôt know‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI couldn‚Äôt begin to think of it.‚Äù
“Of course we should pay your expenses,” said Miss Trant casually. “Naturally, when you’re working for us. It’s the usual thing, isn’t it, Elsie?”
“Done every time,” replied Elsie promptly and with a grateful glance at Miss Trant. Then she looked severely at Miss Thong. “Now you’re being really silly. I don’t believe you want to see me in my dress. You come along. I’ll get you in my digs.”
‚ÄúYes, of course, Elsie, Miss Trant, I know‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh, don‚Äôt ask me! There‚Äôs Pa. He‚Äôd never let me go, I know he wouldn‚Äôt.‚Äù
“Where is he? Is he in now? Downstairs? All right, you leave him to me,” said Elsie grimly. “If it’s only Pa that’s bothering you, I’ll soon settle Pa.”
And off she went, there and then, leaving Miss Thong‚ÅÝ‚Äîas she admitted‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúdownright flabbergasted.‚Äù It took Elsie exactly five minutes to settle Pa, and there could be no doubt‚ÅÝ‚Äîas a glance at her face promptly informed them‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat on this question the Midland Guardian was settled once and for all.
“And didn’t he mind then?” cried Miss Thong in wonder and delight.
“Not a bit,” said Elsie, still grimly. “He liked it. And he’ll keep on liking it.”
‚ÄúWell, I‚Äôll come then. Yes, I will. I‚Äôll work and work and get them all finished and I‚Äôll bring them. I know there‚Äôs an excursion from here to Sandybay‚ÅÝ‚Äîfour days or something‚ÅÝ‚Äîand that‚Äôll make it cheaper. I don‚Äôt know how I‚Äôll get all the dresses to the station.‚Äù
“I do,” said Elsie. “Pa will take them.”
“And I shall be able to come in and see you all for nothing, won’t I?” cried Miss Thong. “And perhaps go behind the scenes.”
“Of course! Madame Thong, dressmaker to the Good Companions,” said Elsie. “Can’t we put it in the programmes, Miss Trant?”
“We can and we will,” she replied, rising. “We must finish making the arrangements now. I’ve still got heaps and heaps of things to do. I wondered at first how I should find anything to do, but now I seem to be busy from the crack of dawn.”
“I’m sure you like it, don’t you, Miss Trant?” said Miss Thong. “It’s a bit of life, isn’t it? That’s what I feel about doing these dresses. Give me a bit of life, I say.”
And that was one of the things Miss Trant did not forget.