III
Mrs.¬ÝJoe put down her cup, then cocked her head in order, it seemed, to give her full attention to the wind. ‚ÄúJust listen to that, my dear,‚Äù she remarked complacently, rather as if she had shares in some company that manufactured March weather. ‚ÄúWild, I call it. March came in like a lion and it seems to be going on like one. That makes it all the nicer to be in here, doesn‚Äôt it?‚Äù
Susie, who was sitting in an enormous chair, specially introduced into that room for the benefit of Joe, curled her legs underneath her and snuggled down. “Couldn’t be nicer,” she said lazily. “I love it when it’s rotten outside and I’m not there and haven’t to be there for an hour or two. It makes railway carriages cosier, even.” And she rubbed her cheek against the side of the chair.
‚ÄúWhen Joe went out to see if there was any news,‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe continued, ‚ÄúI was saying to myself I could just do with a nice little chat. I must get my work.‚Äù Having found a complicated and very untidy piece of knitting, bright pink in hue, she beamed across the hearth at her visitor, then settled herself in her chair, and looked cosy and confidential yet still majestic, like a queen off duty.
‚ÄúNow this is really nice,‚Äù she exclaimed. ‚ÄúYou know, if only George was here and in rather better health than he was at Christmas‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou remember he was not at all well then, though Clara says he is all right now‚ÅÝ‚Äîdo you know what I should call myself?‚Äù
Susie from the depths of her chair replied that she didn’t.
‚ÄúStop!‚Äù cried Mrs.¬ÝJoe in a startling and dramatic fashion, at the same time sitting bolt upright. ‚ÄúStop! I‚Äôve no right to ask for Everything. I don‚Äôt say‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI won‚Äôt say‚ÅÝ‚Äîif only George was here. I‚Äôll say this. Do you know what I call myself now? I call myself‚ÅÝ‚Äîfor once‚ÅÝ‚Äîa Happy Woman.‚Äù She looked triumphantly at Susie and then looked severely at her knitting and shook it a little, just as if it was about to interrupt with some impudent remark.
“You like it here, don’t you?” said Susie.
‚ÄúTo be quite honest with you, my dear, I do. It suits me,‚Äù replied Mrs.¬ÝJoe with decision, ‚Äúdown to the ground. I dare say I can do my share of grumbling. If Things aren‚Äôt going well, I face the fact and ask others to do the same. When they do go well, I say so. Just now it would be a sin to grumble, it really would.‚Äù
“But I’m not grumbling,” Susie protested.
‚ÄúQuite so. Here we are, nice and cosy together, having our little chat in front of a fire, a good fire, a most liberal fire I call it‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“They’re jolly good about fires round here, aren’t they?”
‚ÄúI can say that for mine, Mrs.¬ÝPennyfeather,‚Äù cried Mrs.¬ÝJoe with judicial enthusiasm. ‚ÄúShe‚Äôd never stoop so low as to send in about four pieces and a shovelful of dust and call that a shilling scuttle. Most liberal in the matter of coal. Well, here we are, listening to the wind blowing outside and not caring about it at all, and knowing that tonight we‚Äôll have a good audience, an appreciative audience, out at Stundley or Gort or wherever it is we‚Äôre playing this week. Yes, Mundley, of course. That‚Äôs the one, isn‚Äôt it‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe one where the trams go all round the funny dirty statue in the middle‚ÅÝ‚ÄîMundley? I find these three towns terribly confusing, don‚Äôt you? Though of course as Dates they couldn‚Äôt be better. And then such unusually good rooms these are too, aren‚Äôt they? Look at this one. Have you noticed the oil paintings?‚Äù
As nearly every bit of wall space was covered with brownish canvases, framed lavishly in gilt but mysterious and curiously cotton-woolly in their subjects, Susie could reply with truth that she had noticed the oil paintings. “I’ve been wondering for some time,” she said, peeping out of her chair to have another glance round at them, “what they’re about. They don’t seem to be about anything much, do they?”
‚ÄúThe work of Mrs.¬ÝPennyfeather‚Äôs uncle, I understand,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe, whose tones now took on a certain new dignity, befitting the tenant of such a room and art gallery. ‚ÄúAn amateur‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe was a seedsman or ironmonger, I forget which‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut very gifted and quite up to professional standard. Above it in some ways, I think.‚Äù
‚ÄúI must say, Mrs.¬ÝJoe, they all look alike to me,‚Äù said Susie. ‚ÄúYet they don‚Äôt seem to have any sort of subject‚ÅÝ‚Äîunless it‚Äôs the inside of a mattress‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou know, one of those brown woolly ones‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe‚Äôs been trying to paint.‚Äù
‚ÄúMoors and Glens, I believe, were his favourite subjects,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe. ‚ÄúHe seems to have been fond of Highland scenery, though Mrs.¬ÝPennyfeather tells me he was never up there. We once played Aberdeen and Inverness and saw just the same kind of scenery through the carriage window, in the train, you know, not quite so brown perhaps and not so many deers and stags about, but very like. You must admit, my dear, they give the room a Tone. It‚Äôs a relief to me after so many calendars and photographs of Oddfellows and that class of thing. A woman who‚Äôs gone to so much expense and trouble with a Home so rarely lets. Now where would you find a nicer room to sit in than this? As a matter of fact‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe dropped her voice‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚ÄúI know they‚Äôre still paying off on that chair you‚Äôre sitting in and the oak table there and the bookcase behind you, she practically told me so, the other day. And you know how Joe is set on having a Home of Our Own‚ÅÝ‚Äîwell, put him in that chair, let him take a look round this room, and you can‚Äôt drag him away from the subject. ‚ÄòOh, for a Home of Our Own!‚Äô You should hear him go on about it. Though I must say, things being as they are and our work what it is, how we should get a Home of Our Own and what we should do with it when we have got it, I don‚Äôt know, and if he does, then he doesn‚Äôt tell me. Men never really think at all, as you‚Äôll find out for yourself one of these days, my dear.‚Äù
“I’ve done all the finding out about them I’m going to do,” Susie announced very promptly.
‚ÄúThat I cannot believe,‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe retorted, ‚Äúor I should be sorry for you. But you must agree with me that if you‚Äôre lucky with rooms, the next best thing to having a Home is playing a resident season. Now we‚Äôve been lucky with the rooms here, and this is practically a resident season, isn‚Äôt it?‚Äù
‚ÄúResident‚ÅÝ‚Äîwith tram rides,‚Äù replied Susie. ‚ÄúThough I usually go out to Mundley by bus.‚Äù
‚ÄúWith Tram Rides or Bus, certainly,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe quite solemnly. ‚ÄúBut staying on in the same rooms makes it resident, I think, dear. Though of course compared with a whole summer season at Bournemouth, this is nothing. When I heard of that offer,‚Äù she continued, more animated now, ‚Äúthe moment I heard of it, Susie, I said to Joe ‚ÄòThe Luck has completely changed. We‚Äôre made.‚Äô And he agreed, though he says Bournemouth‚Äôs not quite his style. Which is ridiculous of course but you know how Joe will pretend to be so rough and ready. ‚ÄòA big town,‚Äô I told him. ‚ÄòA town with Tone and Taste‚ÅÝ‚Äîand Money of course. Five months at least guaranteed. It‚Äôs a Miracle.‚Äô If you‚Äôd gone round the coast and told me you were trying to find a place for a resident season, I should have told you without the slightest hesitation‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚ÄòBournemouth, by all means,‚Äô I should have said at once. And Bournemouth now it is. But nothing so far seems to have been done about it, nothing. I hope there‚Äôs no haggling about terms. Now that we are getting on, we mustn‚Äôt be greedy. Surely the Bournemouth people wouldn‚Äôt haggle?‚Äù
“The terms are quite good,” said Susie indifferently.
‚ÄúThen they should be wired‚ÅÝ‚Äîat once.‚Äù
“Yes, I suppose so,” Susie continued, staring into the fire. “I suppose we ought to think ourselves lucky.”
‚ÄúUndoubtedly. Remember Rawsley, where Miss Trant found us,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe earnestly. ‚ÄúBear that horrible place in mind, my dear.‚Äù
‚ÄúI know. Only six months ago too. Oh, I‚Äôve thought about all that.‚Äù Susie shook herself out of the chair, leaned her elbows on the mantelpiece, and tapped the fender with one foot. ‚ÄúYes, it‚Äôs a marvellous offer‚ÅÝ‚Äîa plum‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe sort that C.P. people are always telling you they‚Äôre getting and somehow weren‚Äôt able to accept‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe liars? But‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI feel a bit of a pig about this‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe wheeled round swiftly, facing her companion‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚ÄúOh, Mrs.¬ÝJoe, I don‚Äôt‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI really, honestly don‚Äôt‚ÅÝ‚Äîwant to spend the whole summer in C.P. work at Bournemouth‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Just what I said to Joe about you,” the other cried in mournful triumph. “ ‘Susie doesn’t want to,’ I told him. I saw it at once. He didn’t of course, but then he never notices anything, never. Now why don’t you? Tell me.”
Susie moved her shoulders impatiently and pouted down at the fire. ‚ÄúEverybody‚Äôs beginning to tell me I‚Äôm restless, and it‚Äôs true, I am. The weather, I suppose‚ÅÝ‚Äîbit of nerves‚ÅÝ‚Äîswelled head, if you like. I‚Äôve had too many good audiences this year, all of a sudden‚ÅÝ‚Äînot good for the little girl. Now she doesn‚Äôt know when she‚Äôs well off.‚Äù She laughed, rather bitterly.
Mrs.¬ÝJoe was maternal. ‚ÄúNow don‚Äôt be foolish, Susie. Nobody is saying anything about you.‚Äù
‚ÄúI wouldn‚Äôt care if they were,‚Äù cried Susie wildly. ‚ÄúIt isn‚Äôt that. I suppose I‚Äôm always thinking something absolutely marvellous is going to turn up, and then when you all come along and say ‚ÄòHooray! Six months in Bournemouth! Susie will continue to sing Number Twenty-seven on the programme! Twice daily! Outside in the afternoon, but if wet in the shelter! Bring the children!‚Äô then I see the same old stick-in-the-mud business going on and on, and I think‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh hell!‚Äù
‚ÄúNot hell!‚Äù cried Mrs.¬ÝJoe reproachfully.
‚ÄúYes‚ÅÝ‚ÄîHell!‚Äù Susie repeated, ready now either to laugh or to cry. ‚ÄúI just see myself stuck there. With those three numbers of Inigo‚Äôs, I could go anywhere, anywhere. They‚Äôre too good for concert-party audiences.‚Äù
‚ÄúNot too good,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe, ‚Äúbut in a different style perhaps.‚Äù
‚ÄúI‚Äôm sorry. I didn‚Äôt mean too good really, but not what they want. Anyhow‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù She stopped suddenly. ‚ÄúOh, I am a fool. I‚Äôd forgotten what I slipped in to tell you. About Coral Crawford. Now this is what gets my goat, and you can‚Äôt blame me. I brought the paper and put it down somewhere. Here we are. Now,‚Äù she went on sternly, ‚Äúyou remember Coral Crawford, don‚Äôt you? She was with the Larks and Owls Company with you, and left just after I joined, didn‚Äôt she?‚Äù
“I should think I do remember her. Coral Crawford. One of the most outrageous Borrowers I ever shared a dressing-room with.”
“Well, then,” cried Susie, “what did you think of her, honestly?”
Mrs.¬ÝJoe replied as if she were giving a reference: ‚ÄúAs a turn, hopeless. As a companion, a fellow-performer, a lady, no better, being deceitful, untrustworthy, given to lying, to say nothing of borrowing everything that could possibly be borrowed and some things that a self-respecting girl would never dream of wanting from anybody else, and never returning anything without being asked times without number.‚Äù She leaned back and added: ‚ÄúWhat about her?‚Äù
‚ÄúYou remember she said she was fed up with C.P. work and left us to try and get into the chorus?‚Äù said Susie breathlessly. ‚ÄúShe got in. I‚Äôve never heard of her since‚ÅÝ‚Äîuntil this morning. Now read this.‚Äù And she stuck the folded newspaper under her companion‚Äôs nose. ‚ÄúStarring‚ÅÝ‚Äîstarring, mind you‚ÅÝ‚Äîin a new show at the Pall Mall! Doesn‚Äôt it make you want to scream? Coral Crawford! Read it. Playing with Tommy Mawson and Leslie Wate and Virginia Washington! Great success! Should run forever! Look what they say about the show! Coral Crawford! Bang at the top! I‚Äôm not jealous, honestly I‚Äôm not‚ÅÝ‚Äîit‚Äôs nice seeing people you know getting there‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut that girl‚ÅÝ‚Äîa star at the Pall Mall already! Help! When I read that this morning in bed I could feel myself going hot and cold and pink and yellow all at once. I wanted to gnaw the sheets and blankets, I really did.‚Äù
‚ÄúWell, well!‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe still stared at the paper. ‚ÄúOf course the girl may have improved a lot since we knew her. I‚Äôve known it happen in the most surprising way,‚Äù she said dubiously.
‚ÄúOch‚ÅÝ‚Äîtripe! Not possible. Improved! She‚Äôd nothing to improve. There wasn‚Äôt anything there. Anyhow, there she is‚ÅÝ‚ÄîCoral Crawford‚ÅÝ‚ÄîCrawly‚ÅÝ‚Äîat the Pall Mall, and here I am, taking the tram out to Mundley every night to sing Number Thirty-three on the programme! Isn‚Äôt it enough to make you sick? And then you talk to me about six months in Bournemouth, jogging on through the same old show! I know‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI know‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI oughtn‚Äôt to grumble‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI‚Äôm not grumbling. Miss Trant‚Äôs an angel‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou‚Äôre all angels‚ÅÝ‚Äîand I suppose I ought to shut up. But there you are. And now do you understand?‚Äù
‚ÄúYou think this isn‚Äôt good enough for you?‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe softly, staring at the fire.
“I don’t mean exactly that,” Susie was penitent. “I don’t, really.”
“Yes, you do,” the other replied, quite gently. Her hands were still now, resting idly on her knitting, that knitting which might go on and on, from town to town, and be taken into dressing-rooms and railway carriages and all manner of strange lodgings, and grow more and more complicated and shapeless and useless until at last it would disappear and never be heard of again. “And you’re right,” she added, in quite a different tone of voice. “You are too good, Susie. I used to think I was.” This was slipped in wistfully.
“And so you are,” said Susie stoutly. “Miles and miles.”
‚ÄúDo you think so, really?‚Äù cried Mrs.¬ÝJoe, brightening at once. ‚ÄúWell of course when I‚Äôm in voice, there‚Äôs no doubt I am. It‚Äôs the delicacy of my voice that kept me out of big work. And after all good training and long experience, Taste and Interpretation‚ÅÝ‚Äîthey must count for something, mustn‚Äôt they?‚Äù
“Course they must, you absurd thing!”
“What you want, what you’re pining for, Susie, is a big Chance. That’s why you’re restless. I know, my dear. Well keep on quietly, doing your best, and it’ll come, that’s what I say. I don’t say how or where it’ll come because I don’t know, but come it will. I feel it. And still very young, aren’t you?”
“I suppose so,” said Susie gloomily, “though at times I feel a thousand, I can tell you. And telling yourself how young you are doesn’t seem to make much difference if you’re not satisfied. Every time I hear about anybody in the profession suddenly doing so marvellously, like Crawly, I always try and find out their ages. So does Jerry, I discovered the other day. He’s pretty poisonous, of course, but he does understand about things like that. Jerry’ll get there soon, if it kills him.”
‚ÄúYour Chance might arrive,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe, ‚Äúat Bournemouth. That wouldn‚Äôt surprise me.‚Äù
“It would me. Unless you mean six nights at the local Picture Palace. Bournemouth! Pooh!”
‚ÄúAgain, it might arrive here,‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe went on impressively, ‚Äúin Gatford‚ÅÝ‚Äîor even Gort‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI mean Stort, or Mundley. Yes, you can laugh, my dear, but I say it might. I‚Äôve known it happen before and in far worse places, far, far worse‚ÅÝ‚Äîin Sheer Holes.‚Äù
“All right then, it might,” said Susie in tones that suggested the maximum of possible unbelief. “Let’s talk about something a bit more cheerful or I shall weep. Would you like the latest about Elsie and her Pink Egg?”
‚ÄúHer what?‚Äù Mrs.¬ÝJoe was startled.
‚ÄúWell, he looks exactly like one. You‚Äôve seen him, haven‚Äôt you?‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe great gentleman friend. She thinks about nothing else now. Sees him every day, nearly. D‚Äôyou know what she‚Äôs gone and done?‚ÅÝ‚Äîbought a new winter coat‚ÅÝ‚Äînow! When he first popped up with his little car, she rushed off and bought a new jumper suit. You‚Äôve seen it? Well, she tried going out with him in that and of course she was frozen stiff every time, leaving her old coat at home. So the other day she rushed round the shops and bought a new coat. And now she‚Äôs so broke, broke to the world, she‚Äôll never have a thing for summer. And all for Mr.¬ÝHerbert‚ÅÝ‚Äîotherwise Bert‚ÅÝ‚ÄîDulver, otherwise Pink Egg.‚Äù
‚ÄúI wondered,‚Äù mused Mrs.¬ÝJoe. ‚ÄúThat‚Äôs why she‚Äôs not bothering about future dates.‚Äù
“Can’t think of anything but Egg or Pink Un.”
“It sounds to me like Touch-and-Go. She never had her heart in the Profession. Do you think she’ll manage it this time?”
“She hasn’t said much,” replied Susie, “but it looks to me as if she’s hoping to bring him to the boil.”
‚ÄúHe‚Äôs no Egg, my dear, if she can‚Äôt,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe, majestically coy.
‚ÄúBut what a life if she does!‚Äù cried Susie. ‚ÄúI ask you! Mrs.¬ÝPink Egg! Just imagine‚ÅÝ‚Äîall your hopes on that! Horrors! I‚Äôd rather keep on, going to fifty Rawsleys, or having a resident season at Tewborough‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
Mrs.¬ÝJoe shuddered. ‚ÄúDon‚Äôt mention that Hole, please, my dear. Even to joke about it.‚Äù
“Yes, at Tewborough with a sniffy cold that never stops than be like poor Elsie. When I think of her Pink Egging it for all she’s worth, I swear I won’t ever grumble or feel so restless again.”
‚ÄúVery nice,‚Äù said Mrs.¬ÝJoe, ‚Äúbut you will.‚Äù
And of course she did.