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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/33538-8.txt b/33538-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..653bdd9 --- /dev/null +++ b/33538-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13433 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Bed of Roses, by W. L. George + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Bed of Roses + +Author: W. L. George + +Release Date: August 26, 2010 [EBook #33538] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BED OF ROSES *** + + + + +Produced by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.fadedpage.net + + + + + + + + A BED OF ROSES ˇ ˇ BY + + W. L. GEORGE + + + AUTHOR OF 'ENGINES OF SOCIAL + + PROGRESS,' ˇ ˇ 'FRANCE IN THE + + TWENTIETH CENTURY,' &c. + + It's not work that any woman would do for pleasure, + goodness knows; though to hear the pious people talk + you would suppose it was a bed of roses. Mrs Warren's + Profession ˇ By G. Bernard Shaw. + + AUTHORISED EDITION + + + BRENTANO'S ˇ NEW YORK + + MCMXI + + THIRD EDITION + + + + +PART I + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +'WE go.' The lascar meditatively pressed his face, brown and begrimed +with coal dust, streaked here and there with sweat, against the rope +which formed the rough bulwark. His dark eyes were fixed on the shore +near by, between which and the ship's side the water quivered quicker +and quicker in little ripples, each ripple carrying an iridescent film +of grey ooze. Without joy or sadness he was bidding goodbye to Bombay, +his city. Those goodbyes are often farewells for lascars who must face +the Bay and the Channel. But the stoker did not care. + +His companion lay by his side, lazily propped up on his elbow, not +deigning even to take a last look at the market place, seething still +with its crowded reds and blues and golds. 'Dekko!' cried the first +stoker pointing to the wharf where a white man in a dirty smock had just +cast off the last rope, which came away swishing through the air. + +His companion did not raise his eyes. Slowly he tilted up his pannikin +and let the water flow in a thin stream into his mouth, keeping the +metal away from his lips. Then, careless of the land of Akbar, he let +himself sink on the deck and composed himself to sleep. India was no +concern of his. + +A few yards away a woman watched them absently from the upper deck. She +was conscious of them, conscious too of the slow insistent buzzing of a +gadfly. Her eyes slowly shifted to the shore, passed over the market +place, stopped at the Fort. There, in the open space, a troop was +drilling, white and speckless, alertly wheeling at the word of command. +Her eyes were still fixed on the group as the ship imperceptibly receded +from the shore, throbbing steadily as the boilers got up steam. A +half-naked brown boy was racing along the wharf to gain a start and beat +the vessel before she reached the military crane. + +The woman turned away. She was neither tall nor short: she did not +attract attention overmuch but she was one of those who retain such +attention as they draw. She was clad entirely in black; her face seemed +to start forward intensified. Her features were regular; her mouth +small. Her skin, darkened by the shadow of a broad brimmed hat, blushed +still darker at the cheeks. The attraction was all in the eyes, large +and grey, suggestive of energy without emotion. Her chin was square, +perhaps too thick in the jaw. + +She turned once more and leant against the bulwark. A yard away another +woman was also standing, her eyes fixed on the shore, on a figure who +waited motionless on the fast receding wharf. As the steamer kept on her +course the woman craned forward, saw once more and then lost sight of +the lonely figure. She was small, fair, a little insignificant, and +dressed all in white drill. + +The steamer had by now attained half speed. The shore was streaming by. +The second woman turned her back on the bulwark, looked about aimlessly, +then, perceiving her neighbour, impulsively went up to her and stood +close beside her. + +The two women did not speak, but remained watching the shoals fly past. +Far away a train in Kolaba puffed up sharp bursts of smoke into the blue +air. There was nothing to draw the attention of the beholder in that +interminable shore, low-lying and muddy, splashed here and there with +ragged trees. It was a desert almost, save for a village built between +two swamps. Here and then smoke arose, brown and peaty from a bonfire. +In the evening light the sun's declining rays lit up with radiance the +red speck of a heavy shawl on the tiny figure of a brown girl. + +Little by little, as the ship entered the fairway, the shore receded +almost into nothingness. The two women still watched, while India merged +into shadow. It was the second hour and, as the ship slowly turned +towards the west, the women watched the great cocoanut trees turn into +black specks upon Marla point. Then, slowly, the shore sank into the +dark sea until it was gone and nothing was left of India save the +vaguely paler night that tells of land and the even fainter white spears +of the distant light. + +For a moment they stood still, side by side. Then the fair woman +suddenly put her hand on her companion's arm. 'I'm cold,' she said, +'let's go below.' + +The dark girl looked at her sympathetically. 'Yes,' she said, 'let's, +who'd have thought we wanted to see more of the beastly country than we +could help. . . . I say, what's the matter, Molly?' + +Molly was still looking towards the light; one of her feet tapped the +deck nervously; she fumbled for her handkerchief. 'Nothing, nothing,' +she said indistinctly, 'come and unpack.' She turned away from her +companion and quickly walked towards the gangway. + +The dark girl looked once more into the distance where even the +searchlight had waned. 'Vic!' cried the fair girl querulously, half way +up the deck. 'All right, I'm coming,' replied the woman in black. She +looked again at the pale horizon into which India had faded, at the deck +before her where a little black cluster of people had formed to look +their last upon the light. Then she turned and followed her companion. + +The cabin was on the lower deck, small, stuffy in the extreme. Its two +grave-like bunks, its drop table, even its exiguous armchair promised +no comfort. On the worn carpet the pattern had almost vanished; alone +the official numerals on the edge stared forth. For half an hour the two +women unpacked in silence; Molly knelt by the side of her trunk delving +into it, dragging out garments which she tried to find room for on the +scanty pegs. Her companion merely raised the lid of her trunk to ease +the pressure on her clothes, and placed a small dressing-case on the +drop table. Once she would have spoken but, at that moment, a faint sob +came from Molly's kneeling form. She went up to her, put her arm about +her neck and kissed her cheek. She undressed wearily, climbed into the +upper berth. Soon Molly did likewise, after turning down the light. For +a while she sighed and turned uneasily; then she became quieter, her +breathing more measured, and she slept. + +Victoria Fulton lay in her berth, her eyes wide open, glued to the roof +a foot or so above her face. It was very like a coffin, she thought, +perhaps a suitable enough habitation for her, but at present, not in the +least tempting. A salutary capacity for optimism was enabling her to +review the past three years and to speculate about the future. Not that +either was very rosy, especially the future. + +The steady throb of the screw pulsated through the stuffy cabin, and +blended with the silence broken only by Molly's regular breathing in the +lower berth. Victoria could not help remembering other nights passed +also in a stuffy little cabin, where the screw was throbbing as +steadily, and when the silence was broken by breathing as regular, but a +little heavier. Three years only, and she was going home. But now she +was leaving behind her the high hopes she had brought with her. + +She was no exception to the common rule, and memories, whether bitter or +sweet, had always bridged for her the gulf between wakefulness and +sleep. And what could be more natural than to recall those nights, three +years ago, when every beat of that steady screw was bringing her nearer +to the country where her young husband was, according to his mood, going +to win the V.C., trace the treasure stolen from a Begum, or become +military member on the Viceroy's Council? Poor old Dicky, she thought, +perhaps it was as well he did not live to see himself a major, old and +embittered, with all those hopes behind him. + +There were no tears in her eyes when she thought of Fulton. The good old +days, the officers' ball at Lympton when she danced with him half the +night, the rutty lane where they met to sit on a bank of damp moss +smelling of earth and crushed leaves, and the crumbling little church +where she became Fulton's wife, all that was far away. How dulled it all +was too by those three years during which, in the hot moist air of the +plains, she had seen him degenerate, his skin lose it's freshness, his +eyelids pucker and gather pouches, his tongue grow ever more bitter as +he attempted to still with whisky the drunkard's chronic thirst. She +could not even shudder at the thought of all it had meant for her, at +the horror of seeing him become every day more stupefied, at the savage +outbursts of the later days, at the last scenes, crude and physically +foul. Three years had taught her brain dullness to such scenes as those. + +The tragedy of Fulton was a common enough thing. Heat, idleness, +temporary affluence, all those things that do not let a man see that +life is blessed only by the works that enable him to forget it, had +played havoc with him. He had followed up his initial error of coming +into the world at all by marrying a woman who neither cajoled or coerced +him. With the best of intentions she had bored him to extinction. His +interest in things became slender; he drank himself to death, and not +even the ghost of his self lived to grieve by his bedside. + +In spite of everything it had not been a bad life in its way. Victoria +had been the belle, in spite of Mrs Major Dartle and her peroxidised +tresses. And there had been polo (Dicky always would have three ponies +and refused three hundred guineas for Tagrag), and regimental dances and +gymkhanas and what not. Under the sleepy sun these three years had +passed, not like a flash of lightning, but slowly, dreamily, in the +unending routine of marches, inspections, migrations to and from the +hills. The end had come quickly. One day they carried Dick Fulton all +the way from the mess and laid him under his own verandah. The fourth +day he died of cirrhosis of the liver. Even Mrs Major Dartle who +formally called and lit up the darkened room with the meretricious glow +of her curls hinted that it was a happy release. The station in general +had no doubt as to the person for whom release had come. + +As Victoria lay in the coffin-like berth she vainly tried to analyse her +feeling for Fulton. The three years had drawn over her past something +like a veil behind which she could see the dim shapes of her impressions +dancing like ghostly marionettes. She knew that she had loved him with +the discreet passion of an Englishwoman. He had burst in upon her +ravished soul like the materialised dream of a schoolgirl; he had been +adorably careless, adorably rakish. For a whole year all his foibles had +been charms in so far as they made the god more human, nearer to her. +Then, one night, he had returned home so drunk as to fall prostrate on +the tiles of the verandah and sleep there until next morning. She had +not dared to call the ayah or the butler and, as she could not rouse or +lift him, she had left him lying there under some rugs and mosquito +netting. + +During the rest of that revolutionary night she had not slept, nor had +she found the relief of tears that is given most women. Hot waves of +indignation flowed over her. She wanted to get up, to stamp with rage, +to kick the disgraceful thing on the tiles. She held herself down, +however, or perhaps the tradition of the English counties whispered to +her that anything was preferable to scandal, that crises must be +noiseless. When dawn came and she at last managed to arouse Fulton by +flooding his head with the contents of the water jug, the hot fit was +gone. She felt cold, too aloof, too far away from him to hate him, too +petrified to reproach him. + +Fulton took no notice of the incident. He was still young and vigorous +enough to shake off within a few hours the effects of the drink. Besides +he seldom mentioned things that affected their relations; in the keep of +his heart he hid the resentment of a culprit against the one who has +caught him in the act. He confined his conversation to daily happenings; +in moments of expansion he talked of the future. They did not, however, +draw nearer one another; thus the evolution of their marriage tended +inevitably to draw them apart. Victoria was no longer angry, but she was +frightened because she had been frightened and she hated the source of +her fear. Fulton, thick skinned as he was, felt their estrangement +keenly. He grew to hate his wife; it almost made him wish to hurt her +again. So he absented himself more often, drank more, then died. His +wife was free. So this was freedom. Freedom, a word to conjure with, +thought Victoria, when one is enslaved and meaning very little when one +is free. She was able to do what she liked and wished to do nothing. Of +course things would smooth themselves out: they always did, even though +the smoothing process might be lengthy. They must do so, but how? There +were friends of course, and Ted, and thirty pounds of Consols unless +they'd gone down again, as safe investments are wont to do. She would +have to do some work. Rather funny, but how jolly to draw your first +month's or week's salary; everybody said it was a proud moment. Of +course it would have to be earned, but that did not matter: everybody +had to earn what they got, she supposed, and they ought to enjoy doing +it. Old Flynn, the D.C., used to say that work was a remunerative +occupation you didn't like, but then he had been twenty years in India. + +Molly turned uneasily in her bunk and settled down again. Victoria's +train of thought was broken and she could not detach her attention from +the very gentle snore that came from the lower berth, a snore gentle but +so insidious that it seemed to dominate the steady beat of the screw. +Through the porthole, over which now there raced some flecks of spray, +she could see nothing but the blackness of the sky, a blackness which at +times turned to grey whenever the still inkier sea appeared. The cabin +seemed black and empty, lit up faintly by a white skirt flung on a +chair. Slowly Victoria sank into sleep, conscious of a half dream of +England where so many unknowable things must happen. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +'No, Molly, I don't think it's very nice of you,' said Victoria, 'we've +been out four days and I've done nothing but mope and mope; it's all +very well my being a widow and all that: I'm not suggesting you and I +should play hop scotch on deck with the master gunner, but for four days +I've been reading a three months old _Harper's_ and the memoirs of +Mademoiselle de I don't know what, and . . .' + +'But what have I done?' cried Molly. + +'I'm bored,' replied Victoria, with admirable detachment, 'and what's +more, I don't intend to go on being bored for another fortnight; I'm +going on deck to find somebody to amuse me.' + +'You can't do that,' said Molly, 'they're washing it.' + +'Very well, then, I'll go and watch and sing songs to the men.' Victoria +glared at her unoffending companion, her lips tightening and her jaw +growing ominously squarer. + +'But my dear girl,' said Molly, 'I'm awfully sorry. I didn't know you +cared; come and have a game of quoits with me and old Cairns. There's a +place behind the companion which I should say nobody ever does wash.' + +Victoria was on the point of answering that she hated quoits as she +never scored and they were generally dirty, but the prospect of +returning to the ancient _Harper's_ was not alluring, so she followed +Molly to the hatchway and climbed up to the upper deck still shining +moist and white. Apparently they would not have to play behind the +companion. Four men were leaning against the bulwarks, looking out at +nothing as people do on board ship. Victoria just had time to notice a +very broad flannel-clad back surmounted by a thick neck, while Molly +went up to the last man and unceremoniously prodded him in the ribs. + +'Wake up, Bobby,' she said, 'I'm waiting.' + +The men all wheeled round suddenly. The broad man stepped forward +quickly and shook hands with Molly. Then he took a critical look at +Victoria. The three young men struggled for an absurd little bag which +Molly always dropped at the right moment. + +'How do you do, Mrs Fulton,' said the broad man stretching out his hand. +Victoria took it hesitatingly. + +'Don't you remember me?' he said. 'My name's Cairns. Major Cairns. You +know. Travancores. Met you at His Excellency's hop.' + +Of course she remembered him. He was so typical. Anybody could have told +his profession and his rank at sight. He had a broad humorous face, +tanned over freckled pink. Since he left Wellington he had grown a +little in every direction and had become a large middle aged boy. +Victoria took him in at one look. A square face such as that of Cairns, +distinctly chubby, framing grey blue eyes, was as easily recalled as +forgotten. She took in his forehead, high and likely to become higher as +his hair receded; his straight aggressive nose; his little rough +moustache looking like nothing so much as a ragged strip off an Irish +terrier's back. + +While Victoria was wondering what to say, Molly, determined to show her +that she was not going to leave her out, had thrust her three henchmen +forward. + +'This is Bobby,' she remarked. Bobby was a tall young man with a round +head, bright brown eyes full of cheerfulness and hot temper. 'And +Captain Alastair . . . and Mr Parker.' Alastair smiled. Smiles were his +method of expression. Mr Parker bowed rather low and said nothing. He +had at once conceived for Victoria the mixture of admiration and dislike +that a man feels towards a woman who would not marry him if she knew +where he had been to school. + +'I hope,' said Mr Parker slowly, 'that your. . . .' But he broke off +suddenly, realising the mourning and feeling the ground to be unsafe. + +'Mr Parker, I've been looking for you all the morning,' interjected +Molly, with intuition. 'You've promised to teach me to judge my +distance,' and she cleverly pushed Bobby between Mr Parker and Victoria. +'Come along, and you Bobby, you can pick the rings up.' + +'Right O,' said Bobby readily. She turned towards the stern followed by +the obedient Bobby and Mr Parker. + +Captain Alastair smiled vacuously, made as if to follow the trio, +realising that it was a false start, swerved back and finally covering +his confusion by sliding a few yards onwards to tell Mrs Colonel Lanning +that it was blowing up for a squall. + +Victoria had watched the little incident with amused detachment. + +'Who is Mr Parker?' she enquired. + +'Met him yesterday for the first time,' said Cairns, 'and really I can't +say I want to know. Might be awkward. Must be in the stores or +something. Looks to me like a cross between a mute and a parson. Bit of +a worm, anyhow.' + +'Oh, he didn't hurt my feelings,' remarked Victoria; 'but some men never +know what women have got on.' Cairns looked her over approvingly. +Shoddy-looking mourning. Durzee made of course. But, Lord, what hands +and eyes. + +'I daresay not,' he said drily. 'I wish he'd keep away though. Let's +walk up.' + +He took a stride or two away from Alastair. Victoria followed him. She +was rather taken with his rough simplicity, the comfort of his apparent +obtuseness. So like an uncle, she thought. + +'Well, Mrs Fulton,' said Cairns, 'I suppose you're glad to be here, as +usual.' + +'As usual?' + +'Yes, as usual; people are always glad to be on board. If they're going +home, they're going home and if they're going out they're thinking that +it's going to be full pay instead of half.' + +'It hadn't struck me like that,' said Victoria with a smile, 'though I +suppose I am glad to go home.' + +'Funny,' said the Major, 'I never found a country like India to make +people want to come to it and to make them want to get out of it when +they were there. We had a sub once. You should have heard him on the +dead cities. Somewhere south east of Hyderabad, he said. And native +jewellery, and fakirism, and all that. He's got a liver now and the last +I heard of him was that he put his shoulder out at polo.' + +Victoria looked out over the immense oily greenness of the water. Far +away on the skyline a twirling wreath of smoke showed that some tramp +steamer was passing them unseen. The world was between them; they were +crawling on one side of the ball and the tramp on the other, like flies +on an orange. Was that tramp, Bombay bound, carrying more than a cargo +of rolling stock? Perhaps the mate had forgotten his B.S.A. fittings and +was brooding, he too, over the dead cities, somewhere south-east of +Hyderabad. + +'No,' repeated Victoria slowly, 'it hadn't struck me like that.' + +Cairns looked at her curiously. He had heard of Fulton and knew of the +manner of his death. He could not help thinking that she did not seem +to show many signs of a recent bereavement, but then she was well rid +of Fulton. Of course there were other things too. Going back as the +widow of an Indian officer was all very well if you could afford the +luxury, but if you couldn't, well it couldn't be much catch. So, being +thirty eight or so, he prudently directed the conversation towards the +customary subjects discussed on board a trooper: the abominable +accommodation and the appalling incompetency of the government with +regard to the catering. + +Victoria listened to him placidly. His ancient tittle-tattle had been +made familiar to her by three years' association with his fellows, and +she had learned that she need not say much, as his one wish was +naturally to revile the authorities and all their work. But one item +interested her. + +'After all,' he said, 'I don't see why I should talk. I've had enough of +it. I'm sending in my papers as soon as I've settled a small job at +Perim. I'll get back to Aden and shake all that beastly Asiatic dust off +my shoes.' + +'Surely,' said Victoria, 'you're not going to leave the Service?' Her +intonation implied that she was urging him not to commit suicide. Some +women must pass twice under the yoke. + +'Fed up. Simply fed up with it. Suppose I do waste another twenty years +in India or Singapore or Hong Kong, how much forrarder am I? They'll +retire me as a colonel or courtesy general and dump me into an England +which doesn't care a hang about me with the remains of malaria, no +digestion and no temper. I'll then while away my time watching the +busses pass by from one of the windows of the Rag and give my daily +opinion of the doings of Simla and the National Congress to men who will +only listen to me so long as I stand them a whisky and soda.' + +'It isn't alluring,' said Victoria, 'but it may not be as bad as that. +You can do marvels in India. My husband used to say that a man could +hope for anything there.' + +Cairns suppressed the obvious retort that Fulton's ideals did not seem +to have materialised. + +'No,' he said, 'I'm not ambitious. India's steam rollered all that. When +I've done with my job at Perim, which won't be much more than a couple +of months, I'm going home. Don't know that I'll do anything in +particular. Farm a bit, perhaps, or have some chambers somewhere near St +James' and dabble in balloons or motors. Some shooting too. All that +sort of thing.' + +'Perhaps you are right,' said Victoria after a pause. 'I suppose it's as +well to do what one likes. Shall we join the others?' + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +LIFE on a trooper is not eventful. Victoria was not so deeply absorbed +in her mourning or in the pallid literature borrowed from Molly as not +to notice it. Though she was not what is termed serious, the perpetual +quoits on the upper deck in company with Alastair and his conversation +limited by smiles, and with Mr Parker and his conversation limited by +uneasiness palled about the second game. Bobby too was a cypher. It was +his fate to be known as 'Bobby,' a quantity of no importance. He +belonged to the modern school of squires of dames, ever ready to fetch a +handkerchief, to fish when he inwardly wanted to sleep in a deck chair +or to talk when he had a headache. Such men have their value as tame +cats and Victoria did not avoid his cheery neighbourhood. But he was +summed up in the small fact which she recalled with gentle amusement a +long time after: she had never known his name. For her, as for the +ship's company, he was 'Bobby,' merely Bobby. + +The female section too could detain none but cats and hens, as Victoria +put it. She had moved too long like a tiny satellite in the orbit of Mrs +Colonel So-and-So to return to the little group which slumbered all day +by the funnel dreaming aloud the petty happenings of Bombay. The heavy +rains at Chandraga, the simply awful things that had been said about an +A.D.C. and Mrs Bryan, and the scandalous way in which a Babu had been +made a judge, all this filled her with an extraordinary weariness. She +felt, in the presence of these remains of her daily life, as she would +when confronted for the third time with the cold leg of mutton. + +True there was Cairns, a man right enough and jovial in spite of his +cynical assumption that nothing was worth anything. He could produce +passing fair aphorisms, throw doubts on the value of success and +happiness. There was nothing, however, to hold on to. Victoria had not +found in him a teacher or a helper. He was merely destructive of thought +and epicurean in taste. Convinced that wine, woman and song were quite +valueless things, he nevertheless knew the best Rüdesheimer and had an +eye for the droop of Victoria's shoulders. + +Cairns obviously liked Victoria. He did not shun his fellow passengers, +for he considered that the dullest people are the most interesting, yet +she could not help noticing from time to time that his eyes followed her +round. He was a good big man and she knew that his thick hand, a little +swollen and sunburnt, would be a good thing to touch. But there was in +him none of that subtle magnetism that grasps and holds. He was coarse, +perhaps a little vulgar at heart. + +Thus Victoria had roamed aimlessly over the ship, visiting even the bows +where, everlastingly, a lascar seemed to brood in fixed attitudes as a +Budh dreaming of Nirvana. She often wandered in the troop-deck filled +with the womankind and children of the non-coms. Without disliking +children she could find no attraction in these poor little faded things +born to be scorched by the Indian sun. The women too, mostly yellow and +faded, always recalled to her, so languid and tired were they, +commonplace flowers, marigolds, drooping on their stems. Besides, the +society of the upper deck found a replica on the troop deck, where it +was occasionally a little shriller. There too, she could catch snatches +which told of the heavy rains of Chandraga, the goings on of Lance +Corporal Maccaskie's wife and the disgrace of giving Babu clerks more +than fifty rupees a month. + +Perpetually the Indian ocean shimmered by, calm as the opaque eye of a +shark, breaking at times into immense rollers that swelled hardly more +than a woman's breast. And the days passed on. + +They were nearing Aden, though nothing on the mauve horizon told of the +outpost where the filth of the East begins to overwhelm the ugliness of +the West. Victoria and Cairns were leaning on the starboard bulwark. She +was looking vacuously into the greying sky, conscious that Cairns was +watching her. She felt with extraordinary clearness that he was gazing +as if spell-bound at the soft and regular rise and fall of her skin +towards the coarse black openwork of her bodice. Far away in the +twilight was something long and black, hardly more than a line vanishing +towards the north. + +'Araby,' said Cairns. + +Victoria looked more intently. Far away, half veiled by the mists of +night, unlit by the evening star, lay the coast. Araby, the land of +manna and milk--of black-eyed women--of horses that champ strange bits. +Here and there a blackened rock sprang up from the waste of sand and +scrub. Its utter desolation awakened a sympathetic chord. It was lonely, +as she was lonely. As the night swiftly rushed into the heavens, she let +her arm rest against that of Cairns. Then his hand closed over hers. It +was warm and hard; something like a pale light of companionship +struggled through the solitude of her soul. + +They stood cold and silent while the night swallowed up the coast and +all save here and there the foam tip of a wave. The man had put his arm +round her and pressed her to him. She did not resist. The soft wind +playing in her hair carried a straying lock into his eyes, half blinding +him and making him catch his breath, so redolent was it, not with the +scent of flowers, but of life, vigorous and rich in its thousand saps. +He drew her closer to him and pressed his lips on her neck. Victoria did +not resist. + +From the forepeak swathed in darkness, came the faint unearthly echoes +of the stokers' song. There were no fourths; the dominant and the +subdominant were absent. Strangely attuned to the western ear, the +sounds sometimes boomed, sometimes fell to a whisper. The chant rose +like incense into the heavens, celebrating Durga, protector of the +Motherland, Lakshmi, bowered in the flower that in the water grows. +Cairns had drawn Victoria close against him. He was stirred and shaken +as never before. All conspired against him, the night, the fancied +scents of Araby, the unresisting woman in his arms who yielded him her +lips with the passivity of weariness. They did not think as they kissed, +whether laying the foundation of regret or snatching from the fleeting +hour a moment of thoughtless joy. Again a brass drum boomed out beyond +them, softly as if touched by velvet hands. It carried the buzzing of +bees, the calls of corncrakes, in every tone the rich scents of the +jungle, where undergrowth rots in black water--of perfumes that burn +before the gods. Then the night wind arose and swept away the crooning +voices. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +VICTORIA stepped out on to the platform with a heart that bounded and +yet shrank. Not even the first faint coming of the coastline had given +her the almost physical shock that she experienced on this bare +platform. Waterloo station lay around her in a pall of faint yellow mist +that gripped and wrenched at her throat. Through the fog a thousand +ungainly shapes of stairs and signals thrust themselves, some crude in +their near blackness, others fainter in the distance. It might have been +a dream scene but for the uproar that rose around her from the rumble of +London, the voices of a great crowd. Yet all this violence of life, the +darkness, the surge of men and women, all this told her that she was +once more in the midst of things. + +She found her belongings mechanically, fumblingly. She did not realise +until then the bitterness that drove its iron into her soul. Already, +when the troopship had entered the Channel she had felt a cruel pang +when she realised that she must expect nothing and that nobody would +greet her. She had fled from the circle near the funnel when the talk +began to turn round London and waiting sisters and fathers, round the +Lord Mayor's show, the play, the old fashioned Christmas. Now, as she +struggled through the crowd that cried out and laughed excitedly and +kissed, she knew her isolation was complete. There was nobody to meet +her. The fog made her eyes smart, so they filled readily with tears. + +As she sat in the cab, however, and there flashed by her like beacons +the lights of the stalls in the Waterloo Road, the black and greasy +pavement sown with orange peel, she felt her heart beating furiously +with the excitement of home coming. She passed the Thames flowing +silently, swathed in its shroud of mist. Then the blackness of St +James's Park through which her cab crawled timidly as if it feared +things that might lurk unknown in the fogbound thickets. + +It was still in a state of feverish dreaming that Victoria entered her +room at Curran's Private Hotel, otherwise known by a humble number in +Seymour Street. 'Curran's' is much in favour among Anglo-Indians, as it +is both central and cheap. It has everything that distinguishes the +English hotel which has grown from a boarding-house into a superior +establishment where you may stay at so much a day. The successful owner +had bought up one after the other three contiguous houses and had +connected them by means of a conservatory where there lived, among much +pampas grass, small ferns in pots shrouded in pea-green paper and sickly +plants to which no name could be attached as they mostly suggested +stewed lettuce. It was impossible to walk in a straight line from one +end of the coalition of buildings to the other without climbing and +descending steps every one of which proclaimed the fact that the leases +of the houses would soon fall in. From the three kitchens ascended three +smells of mutton. The three halls were strewn with bicycles, gun cases +in their last phase, sticks decrepit or dandified. The three hat racks, +all early Victorian in their lines, bore a motley cargo. Dusty bowlers +hustled it with heather coloured caps and top hats; one even bore a pith +helmet and a clerical atrocity. + +Queer as Curran's is, it is comfortable enough. Victoria looked round +her room, tiny in length and breadth, high however with all the dignity +that befits an odd corner left over by the Victorian builder. It was +distinguished by its simplicity, for the walls bore nothing whatever +beyond a restrained papering of brownish roses. A small black and gold +bed, a wardrobe with a white handle, a washing stand with a marble top +took up all the space left by the large tin trunk which contained most +of Victoria's worldly goods. So this, thought Victoria, is the +beginning. She pulled aside the curtain. Before her lay Seymour Street, +where alone an eye of light shone faintly from the nearest lamp post. +Through the fog came the warning noise of a lorry picking its way. It +was cold, cold, all this, and lonely like an island. + +Her meditations were disturbed by the maid who brought her hot water. + +'My name is Carlotta,' said the girl complacently depositing the can +upon the marble topped washstand. + +'Yes?' said Victoria. 'You are a foreigner?' + +'Yes. I am Italian. It is foggy,' replied the girl. + +Victoria sighed. It was kind of the girl to make her feel at home, to +smile at her with those flashing teeth so well set in her ugly little +brown face. She went to the washstand and cried out in horror at her +dirt and fog begrimed face, rimmed at the eyes, furrowed on the left by +the course of that tear shed at Waterloo. + +'Tell them downstairs I shan't be ready for half an hour,' she said; +'it'll take me about a week to get quite clean, I should say.' + +Carlotta bared her white teeth again and withdrew gently as a cat, while +Victoria courageously drenched her face and neck. The scents of England, +already conjured up by the fog and the mutton, rose at her still more +vividly from the warm water which inevitably exhales the traditional +perfume of hot painted can. + +Her dinner was a small affair but delightful. It was good to eat and +drink once more things to which she had been accustomed for the first +twenty years of her life. Her depression had vanished; she was merely +hungry, and, like the healthy young animal she was, longing for a rare +cut of roast beef, accompanied by the good old English potatoes boiled +down to the consistency of flour and the flavour of nothing. Her +companions were so normal that she could not help wondering, when her +first hunger was sated and she was confronted with the apple tart of her +fathers, whether she was not in the unchanging old board residence in +Fulham where her mother had stayed with her whenever she came up to +town, excited and conscious of being on the spree. + +Two spinsters of no age discussed the fog. Both were immaculate and sat +rigidly in correct attitudes facing their plates. Both talked quickly +and continuously in soft but high tones. They passed one another the +salt with the courtesy of abbés taking pinches of snuff. A young man +from the Midlands explained to the owner of the clerical hat that under +certain circumstances his food would cost him more. Near by a heavy man +solemnly and steadily ate, wiping at times from his beard drops of gravy +and of sauce, whilst his faded wife nibbled disconsolately tiny scraps +of crust. These she daintily buttered, while her four lanky girls nudged +and whispered. + +Victoria did not stay in the conservatory after the important meal. As +she passed through it, a mist of weariness gathering before her eyes, +she had a vision of half a dozen men sleeping in cane chairs, or +studying pink or white evening papers. The young man from the Midlands +had captured another victim and was once more explaining that under +certain circumstances his food would cost him more. + +Victoria seemed to have reached the limits of physical endurance. She +fumbled as she divested herself of her clothes; she could not even +collect enough energy to wash. All the room seemed filled with haze. +Her tongue clove to her palate. Little tingles in her eyelids crushed +them together over her pupils. She stumbled into her bed, mechanically +switching off the light by her bedside. In the very act her arm lost its +energy and she sank into a dreamless sleep. + +Next morning she breakfasted with good appetite. The fog had almost +entirely lifted and sunshine soft as silver was filtering through the +windows into the little dining-room. Its mahoganous ugliness was almost +warmed into charm. The sideboard shone dully through its covering of +coarse net. Even the stacked cruets remembered the days when they +cunningly blazed in a shop window. A pleasurable feeling of excitement +ran through Victoria's body, for she was going to discover London, to +have adventures. As she closed the door behind her with a definite +little slam she felt like a buccaneer. + +Buccaneering in the Edgware Road, even when it is bathed in the morning +sun, soon falls flat in November. It came upon Victoria rather as a +shock that her Indian clothing was rather thin. As her flying visits to +town had only left in her mind a very hazy picture of Regent Street it +was quite unconsciously that she entered the emporium opposite. A frigid +young lady sacrificed for her benefit an abominable vicuna coat which, +she said, fitted Victoria like a glove. Victoria paid the twenty seven +and six with an admirable feeling of recklessness and left the shop +reflecting that she looked the complete charwoman. + +She turned into Hyde Park, where the gentle wind was sorrowfully driving +the brown and broken leaves along the rough gravel. The thin tracery of +the trees imaged itself on the road like a giant cobweb. Victoria looked +for a moment towards the south where the massive buildings rise, towards +the east where a cathedral thrusts into the sky a tower that +suspiciously recalls waterworks. She drank in the cold air with a gusto +that can be understood by none save those who have learned to live in +the floating moisture of the plains. She felt young and, in the +sunshine, with her cheeks gaining colour as the wind whipped them, she +looked in her long black coat and broad brimmed straw hat, like a +quakeress in love. + +As she walked down towards the Achilles statue the early morning +panorama of London unfolded itself before her un-understanding eyes. +Girls hurried by with their satchels towards the typewriting rooms of +the west; they stole a look at Victoria's face but quickly turned away +from her clothes. Now and then spruce young clerks walking to the Tube +slackened their pace to look twice into her grey eyes; one or two looked +back, not so much in the hope of an adventure, for time could not be +snatched for Venus herself on the way to the office, as to see whether +they could carry away with them the flattery of having been noticed. + +In a sense that first day in London was for Victoria a day of +revelations. Having despatched a telegram to her brother to announce her +arrival she felt that the day was hers. Ted had not troubled to meet her +either at Southampton or Waterloo: it was not likely that he had +followed the sightings of her ship. The next day being a Saturday, +however, he would probably come up from the Bedfordshire school where he +proffered Latin to an ungrateful generation. + +Victoria's excursions to London had been so few that she had but the +faintest idea of where she was to go. Knowing, however, that one cannot +lose oneself in London, she walked aimlessly towards the east. It was a +voyage of discovery. Piccadilly, bathed in the pale sun, revealed itself +as a land where luxury flows like rivers of milk. Victoria, being a true +woman, could not pass a shop. Thus her progress was slow, so slow that +when she found herself between the lions of Trafalgar Square she began +to realise that she wanted her lunch. + +The problem of food is cruel for all women who desire more than a bun. +They risk either inattention or over attention, and if they follow other +women, they almost invariably discover the cheap and bad. Victoria +hesitated for a moment on the steps of an oyster shop, as nervous in the +presence of her first plunge into freedom as a novice at the side door +of a pawnbroker. A man passed by her into the oyster shop, smoking a +pipe. She felt she would never dare to sit in a room where strange men +smoked pipes. Thus she stood for a moment forlorn on the pavement, until +a memory of the only decent grill in town, according to Bobby, passed +through her mind. + +A policeman sent her by bus to the New Gaiety, patronised by Bobby and +his cronies. As Victoria went down the interminable underground +staircase, and especially as she entered the enormous room where paper, +carpets, and plate always seem new, her courage almost failed her. +Indeed she looked round anxiously, half hoping that the anonymous Bobby +might be revisiting his old haunts. But she was quite alone, and it was +only by reminding herself that she must always be alone at meals now +that she coerced herself into sitting down. She got through her meal +with expedition. She felt frightfully small; the waiters were painfully +courteous; a man laid aside his orange coloured newspaper, and +embarrassed her with frequent side glances. She braced herself up +however. 'I am training,' was her uppermost thought. She then wondered +whether she ought to have come to the New Gaiety at all. Fortunately it +was only at the very end of her lunch that Victoria realised she was the +only woman sitting alone. After this discovery her nerve failed her. She +got up hurriedly, and, in her confusion, omitted to tip the waiter. At +the desk the last stone was heaped on the cairn of her discomfiture when +the cashier politely returned to her a quarter rupee which she had given +her thinking it was a sixpence. + +With a sigh of satisfaction Victoria resumed her walk through London. +She was a little tired already but she could think of nothing to do, +nowhere to go to. She did not want to return to Curran's to sit in her +box-like room, or to look at the two spinsters availing themselves of +their holiday in town to play patience in the conservatory. + +All the afternoon, therefore, Victoria saw the sights. Covent Garden +repelled her by the massiveness of its food suggestion, and especially +by the choking dirt of its lanes. After Covent Garden, Savoy court yard +and its announcements of intellectual plays by unknown women. Then once +more, drawn by its spaciousness guessed at through Spring Gardens, +Victoria walked into Saint James's Park. She rested awhile upon a seat, +watching the waterfowl strut and plume themselves, the pelicans flounder +heavily in the mud. She was tired. The sun was setting early. The magic +slowly faded from London; Buckingham Palace lost the fictitious grace +that it has when set in a blue sky. Victoria shivered a little. She felt +tired. She did not know where to go. She was alone. On the seat nearest +to hers two lovers sat together, hand in hand. The man's face was almost +hidden by his cap and by the blue puffs of his pipe; the girl's was +averted towards the ground where, with the ferule of her umbrella, she +lazily drew signs. There was no bitterness in this sight for Victoria. +Her romance had come and gone so long ago that she looked quite casually +at these wanderers in Arcadia. She only knew that she was alone and +cold. + +Victoria got up and walked out of the park. It was darkening, and little +by little the lights of London were springing into life. By dint of many +questionings she managed to regain Oxford Street, that spinal column of +London without which the stranger would be lost. Then her course was +easy, and it was with a peculiar feeling of luxuriousness that she +resigned herself to the motor bus that jolted and shook her tired body +until she reached the Arch. More slowly, and with diminished optimism, +she found her way up Edgware Road, where night was now falling. The +emporium was dazzling with lights. Alone the public house rivalled it +and thrust its glare through the settling mist. Victoria closed the door +of Curran's. At once she re-entered its atmosphere; into the warm air +rose the three smells of three legs of mutton. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +'Mr Wren, ma'am.' + +Victoria turned quickly to Carlotta. The girl's face was obtrusively +demure. Some years at Curran's had not dulled in her the interest that +any woman subtly feels in the meeting of the sexes. + +'Ask him to come in here, Carlotta,' said Victoria. 'We shan't be +disturbed, shall we?' + +'Oh no! ma'am,' said Carlotta, with increasing demureness. 'There is +nobody, nobody. I will show the young gentleman in.' + +Victoria walked to the looking-glass which shyly peeped out from the +back of the monumental sideboard. She re-arranged her hair and hurriedly +flicked some dust from the corners of her eyes. All this for Edward, but +she had not seen him for three years. As she turned round she was +confronted by her brother who had gently stolen into the dining-room. +Edward's every movement was unobtrusive. He put one arm round her and +kissed her cheek. + +'How are you, Victoria?' he said, looking her in the eyes. + +'Oh, I'm alright, Ted. I'm so glad to see you.' She was genuinely glad; +it was so good to have belongings once again. + +'Did you have a good passage?' asked Edward. + +'Pretty good until we got to Ushant and then it did blow. I was glad to +get home.' + +'I'm very glad to see you,' said Edward, 'very glad.' His eyes fixed on +the sideboard as if he were mesmerised by the cruets. Victoria looked +at him critically. Three years had not made on him the smallest +impression. He was at twenty-eight what he had been at twenty-five or +for the matter of that at eighteen. He was a tall slim figure with +narrow pointed shoulders and a slightly bowed back. His face was pale +without being unhealthy. There was nothing in his countenance to arouse +any particular interest, for he had those average features that commit +no man either to coarseness or to intellectuality. He showed no trace of +the massiveness of his sister's chin; his mouth too was looser and hung +a little open. Alone his eyes, richly grey, recalled his relationship. +Straggly fair hair fell across the left side of his forehead. He peered +through silver rimmed spectacles as he nervously worried his watch chain +with both hands. Every movement exposed the sharpness of his knees +through his worn trousers. + +'Ted,' said Victoria, breaking in upon the silence, 'it was kind of you +to come up at once.' + +'Of course I'd come up at once. I couldn't leave you here alone. It must +be a big change after the sunshine.' + +'Yes,' said Victoria slowly, 'it is a big change. Not only the sunshine. +Other things, you know.' + +Edward's hands played still more nervously with his watch chain. He had +not heard much of the manner of Fulton's death. Victoria's serious face +encouraged him to believe that she might harrow him with details, weep +even. He feared any expression of feeling, not because he was hard but +because it was so difficult to know what to say. He was neither hard nor +soft; he was a schoolmaster and could deal readily enough with the pangs +of Andromeda but what should he say to a live woman, his sister too? + +'I understand--I--you see, it's quite awful about Dick--' he stopped, +lost, groping for the proper sentiment. + +'Ted,' said Victoria, 'don't condole with me. I don't want to be +unkind--if you knew everything--But there, I'd rather not tell you; poor +Dicky 's dead and I suppose it's wrong, but I can't be sorry.' + +Edward looked at her with some disapproval. The marriage had not been a +success, he knew that much, but she ought not to speak like that. He +felt he ought to reprove her, but the difficulty of finding words +stopped him. + +'Have you made any plans?' he asked in his embarrassment, thus +blundering into the subject he had intended to lead up to with infinite +tact. + +'Plans?' said Victoria. 'Well, not exactly. Of course I shall have to +work; I thought you might help me perhaps.' + +Edward looked at her again uneasily. She had sat down in an armchair by +the side of the fire with her back to the light. In the penumbra her +eyes came out like dark pools. A curl rippled over one of her ears. She +looked so self-possessed that his embarrassment increased. + +'Will you have to work?' he asked. The idea of his sister working filled +him with vague annoyance. + +'I don't quite see how I can help it,' said Victoria smiling. 'You see, +I've got nothing, absolutely nothing. When I've spent the thirty pounds +or so I've got, I must either earn my own living or go into the +workhouse.' She spoke lightly, but she was conscious of a peculiar +sinking. + +'I thought you might come back with me,' said Edward, '. . . and stay +with me a little . . . and look round.' + +'Ted, it's awfully kind of you, but I'm not going to let you saddle +yourself with me. I can't be your housekeeper; oh! it would never do. +And don't you think I am more likely to get something to do here than +down in Bedfordshire?' + +'I do want you to come back with me,' said Edward hesitatingly. 'I don't +think you ought to be alone here. And perhaps I could find you something +in a family at Cray or thereabouts. I could ask the vicar.' + +Victoria shuddered. It had never struck her that employment might be +difficult to find or uncongenial when one found it. The words 'vicar' +and 'Cray' suggested something like domestic service without its rights, +gentility without its privileges. + +'Ted,' she said gravely, 'you're awfully good to me, but I'd rather stay +here. I'm sure I could find something to do.' Edward's thoughts +naturally came back to his own profession. + +'I'll ask the Head,' he said with the first flash of animation he had +shown since he entered the room. To ask the Head was to go to the source +of all knowledge. 'Perhaps he knows a school. Of course your French is +pretty good, isn't it?' + +'Ted, Ted, you do forget things,' said Victoria, laughing. 'Don't you +remember the mater insisting on my taking German because so few girls +did? Why, it was the only original thing she ever did in her life, poor +dear!' + +'But nobody wants German, for girls that is,' replied Edward miserably. + +'Very well then,' said Victoria, 'I won't teach; that's all. I must do +something else.' + +Edward walked up and down nervously, pushing back his thin fair hair +with one hand, and with the other nervously tugging at his watch chain. + +'Don't worry yourself, Ted,' said Victoria. 'Something will turn up. +Besides there's no hurry. Why, I can live two or three months on my +money, can't I?' + +'I suppose you can,' said Edward gloomily, 'but what will you do +afterwards?' + +'Earn some more,' said Victoria. 'Now Ted, you haven't seen me for three +years. Don't let us worry. Think things over when you get back to Cray +and write to me. You won't go back until to-morrow, will you?' + +'I'm sorry,' said Edward, 'but I didn't think you'd be back this week. I +shall be in charge to-morrow. Why don't you come down?' + +'Ted, Ted, how can you suggest that I should spend my poor little +fortune in railway fares! Well, if you can't stay, you can't. But I'll +tell you what you can do. I can't go on paying two and a half guineas a +week here; I must get some rooms. You lived here when you taught at that +school in the city, didn't you? Well then, you must know all about it: +we'll go house-hunting.' + +Edward looked at her dubiously. He disliked the idea of Victoria in +rooms almost as much as Victoria at Curran's. It offended some vague +notions of propriety. However her suggestion would give him time to +think. Perhaps she was right. + +'Of course, I'll be glad to help,' he said, 'I don't know much about it; +I used to live in Gower Street.' A faint flush of reminiscent excitement +rose to his cheeks. Gower Street, by the side of Cray and Lympton, had +been almost adventurous. + +'Very well then,' said Victoria, 'we shall go to Gower Street first. +Just wait till I put on my hat.' + +She ran upstairs, not exactly light of heart, but pleased with the idea +of house-hunting. There's romance in all seeking, even if the treasure +is to be found in a Bloomsbury lodging-house. + +The ride on the top of the motor bus was exhilarating. The pale sun of +November was lighting up the streets with the almost mystic whiteness of +the footlights. Edward said nothing, for his memories of London were +stale and he did not feel secure enough to point out the Church of the +Deaf and Dumb, nor had he ever known his London well enough to be able +to pronounce judgment on the shops. Besides, Victoria was too much +absorbed in gazing at London rolling and swirling beneath her, belching +out its crowds of workers and pleasure seekers from every tube and main +street. At every shop the omnibus seemed surrounded by a swarm of angry +bees. Victoria watched them struggle with spirit still unspoiled, +wondering at the determination on the faces of the men, at the +bitterness painted on the sharp features of the women as they savagely +thrust one another aside and, dishevelled and dusty, successively +conquered their seats. All this, the constant surge of horse and +mechanical conveyances, the shrill cries of the newsboys flashing pink +papers like _chulos_ at an angry bull, the roar of the town, made +Victoria understand the city. Something like fear of this strong +restless people crept into her as she began to have a dim perception +that she too would have to fight. She was young, however, and the +feeling was not unpleasant. Her nerves tingled a little as she thought +of the struggle to come and the inevitable victory at the end. + +Victoria's spirits had not subsided even when she entered Gower Street. +Its immensity, its interminable length frightened her a little. The +contrast between it, so quiet, dignified and dull, and the inferno she +had just left behind her impressed her with a sense of security. Its +houses, however, seemed so high and dirty that she wondered, looking at +its thousand windows, whether human beings could be cooped up thus and +yet retain their humanity. + +Here Edward was a little more in his element. With a degree of animation +he pointed to the staid beauty of Bedford Square. He demanded admiration +like a native guiding a stranger in his own town. Victoria watched him +curiously. He was a good fellow but it was odd to hear him raise his +voice and to see him point with his stick. He had always been quiet, so +she had not expected him to show as much interest as he did in his old +surroundings. + +'I suppose you had a good time when you were here?' she said. + +'Nothing special. I was too busy at the school,' he replied. 'But, of +course, you know, one does things in London. It's not very lively at +Cray.' + +'Wouldn't you like to leave Cray,' she said, 'and come back?' + +Edward paused nervously. London frightened him a little and the idea of +leaving Cray suddenly thrust upon him froze him to the bone. It was not +Cray he loved, but Cray meant a life passing gently away by the side of +a few beloved books. Though he had never realised that hedgerows flower +in the spring and that trees redden to gold and copper in the autumn, +the country had taken upon him so great a hold that even the thought of +leaving it was pain. + +'Oh! no,' he said hurriedly. 'I couldn't leave Cray. I couldn't live +here, it's too noisy. There are my old rooms, there, the house with the +torch extinguishers.' + +Victoria looked at him again. What curious tricks does nature play and +how strangely she pleases to distort her own work! Then she looked at +the house with the extinguishers. Clearly it would be impossible, but +for those aristocratic remains, to distinguish it from among half a +dozen of its fellows. It was a house, that was all. It was faced in +dirty brick, parted at every floor by stone work. A portico, rising over +six stone steps, protected a door painted brown and bearing a brass +knocker. It had windows, an area, bells. It was impossible to find in it +an individual detail to remember. + +But Edward was talking almost excitedly for him. 'See there,' he said, +'those are my old rooms,' pointing indefinitely at the frontage. 'They +were quite decent, you know. Wonder whether they're let. You could have +them.' He looked almost sentimentally at the home of the Wrens. + +'Why not ring and ask?' said Victoria, whose resourcefulness equalled +that of Mr Dick. + +Edward took another loving look at the familiar window, strode up the +steps, followed by Victoria. + +There were several bells. 'Curious,' he said, 'she must have let it out +in floors; Wakefield and Grindlay, don't know them. Seymour? It's Mrs +Brumfit's house: Oh! here it is.' He pressed a bell marked 'House.' +Victoria heard with a curious sensation of unexpectedness the sudden +shrill sound of the electric bell. + +After an interminable interval, during which Edward's hands nervously +played, the door opened. A young girl stood on the threshold. She wore a +red cloth blouse, a black skirt, and an unspeakably dirty apron half +loose round her waist. Her hair was tightly done up in curlers in +expectation of Sunday. + +'Mrs Brumfit,' said Edward, 'is she in?' + +''oo?' said the girl. + +'Mrs Brumfit, the landlady,' said Edward. + +'Don't know 'er, try next 'ouse.' The girl tried to shut the door. + +'You don't understand,' cried Edward, stopping the door with his hand. +'I used to live here.' + +'Well, wot do yer want?' replied the girl. 'Can't 'elp that, can I? +There ain't no Mrs Brumfit 'ere. Only them there.' She pointed at the +bells. 'Nobody but them and mother. She's the 'ousekeeper. If yer mean +the old woman as was 'ere when they turned the 'ouse into flats, she's +dead.' + +Edward stepped back. The girl shut the door with a slam. He stood as if +petrified. Victoria looked at him with amusement in her eyes, listening +to the echoes of the girl's voice singing more and more faintly some +catchy tune as she descended into the basement. + +'Dead,' said Edward, 'can it be possible--?' He looked like a plant torn +up by the roots. He had jumped on the old ground and it had given way. + +'My dear Ted,' said Victoria gently, 'things change, you see.' Slowly +they went down the steps of the house. Victoria did not speak, for a +strange mixture of pity and disdain was in her. She quite understood +that a tie had been severed and that the death of his old landlady meant +for Edward that the past which he had vaguely loved had died with her. +He was one of those amorphous creatures whose life is so interwoven with +that of their fellows that any death throws it into disarray. She let +him brood over his lost memories until they reached Bedford Square. + +'But Ted,' she broke in, 'where am I to go?' + +Edward looked at her as if dazed. Clearly he had not foreseen that Mrs +Brumfit was not an institution. + +'Go?' he said, 'I don't know.' + +'Don't you know any other lodgings?' asked Victoria. 'Gower Street seems +full of them.' + +'Oh! no,' said Edward quickly, 'we don't know what sort of places they +are. You couldn't go there.' + +'But where am I to go then?' Victoria persisted. Edward was silent. 'It +seems to me,' his sister went on, 'that I shall have to risk it. After +all, they won't murder me and they can't rob me of much.' + +'Please don't talk like that,' said Edward stiffly. He did not like this +association of ideas. + +'Well I must find some lodgings,' said Victoria, a little irritably. 'In +that case I may as well look round near Curran's. I don't like this +street much.' + +In default of an alternative, Edward looked sulky. Victoria felt +remorseful; she knew that Gower Street must have become for her brother +the traveller's Mecca and that he was vaguely afraid of the West End. + +'Never mind, dear,' she went on more gently, 'don't worry about lodgings +any more. Do you know what you're going to do? you're going to take me +to tea in some nice place and then I'll go with you to St Pancras; +that's the station you said you were going back by, isn't it? and you'll +put me in a bus and I'll go home. Now, come along, it's past five and +I'm dying for some tea.' + +As Victoria stood, an hour later, just outside the station in which +expires the spirit of Constantine the Great, she could not help feeling +relieved. As she stood there, so self-possessed, seeing so clearly the +busy world, she wondered why she had been given a broken reed to lean +upon. Where had her brother left his virility? Had it been sapped by +years of self-restraint? Had the formidable code of pretence, the daily +affectation of dignity, the perpetual giving of good examples, reduced +him to this shred of humanity, so timid, so resourceless? As she sped +home in the tube into which she had been directed by a policeman, she +vainly turned over the problem. + +Fortunately Victoria was young. As she laid her head on the pillow, +conscious of the coming of Sunday, when nothing could be done, visions +of things she could do obsessed her. There were lodgings to find, nice, +clean, cheap lodgings, with a dear old landlady and trees outside the +window, in a pretty old-fashioned house, very very quiet and quite near +all the tubes. She nursed the ideal for a time. Then she thought of +careers. She would read all the advertisements and pick out the nicest +work. Perhaps she could be a housekeeper. Or a secretary. On reflection, +a secretary would be better. It might be so interesting. Fancy being +secretary to a member of Parliament. Or to a famous author. + +She too might write. + +Her dreams were pleasant. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +A WEEK had elapsed and Victoria was beginning to feel the strain. She +looked out from the window into the little street where fine rain fell +gently as if it had decided to do so for ever. It was deserted, save by +a cat who shivered and crouched under the archway of the mews. Sometimes +a horse stirred. Through the open window the hot alcaline smell of the +animals filtered slowly. + +Victoria had found her lodgings. They were not quite the ideal, but she +had not seen the ideal and this little den in Portsea Place was not +without its charms. Her room, for the 'rooms' had turned from the plural +into the singular, was comfortable enough. It occupied the front of the +second floor in a small house. It had two windows, from which, by +craning out a little, the trees of Connaught Square could be seen +standing out like black skeletons against a white house. Opposite was +the archway of the mews out of which came most of the traffic of the +street. Under it too was the mart where the landladies who have invaded +the little street exchange notes on their lodgers and boast of their +ailments. + +Victoria inspected her domain. She had a very big bed, a little inclined +to creak; she had a table on a pedestal split so cunningly at the base +that she was always table-conscious when she sat by it; she had a +mahogany wash-stand, also on the triangular pedestal loved by the +pre-Morrisites, enriched by a white marble top and splasher. A large +armchair, smooth and rather treacherous, a small mahogany chest of +drawers, every drawer of which took a minute to pull out, some chairs of +no importance, completed her furniture. The carpet had been of all +colours and was now of none. The tablecloth was blue serge and would +have been serviceable if it had not contracted the habit of sliding off +the mahogany table whenever it was touched. Ugly as it was in every +detail, Victoria could not help thinking the room comfortable; its light +paper saved it and it was not over-loaded with pictures. It had escaped +with one text and the 'Sailor's Homecoming.' Besides it was restrained +in colour and solid: it was comfortable like roast beef and boiled +potatoes. + +Victoria looked at all these things, at her few scattered books, the +picture of Dick and of a group of school friends, at some of her boots +piled in a corner. Then she listened and heard nothing. Once more she +was struck by the emptiness, the darkness around her. She was alone. She +had been alone a whole week, hardly knowing what to do. The excitement +of choosing lodgings over, she had found time hang heavy on her hands. +She had interminably walked in London, gazed at shop windows, read +hundreds of imbecile picture postcards on bookstalls, gone continually +to many places in omnibuses. She had stumbled upon South Kensington and +wandered in its catacombs of stone and brick. She had discovered +Hampstead, lost herself horribly near Albany Street; she had even +unexpectedly landed in the City where rushing mobs had hustled and +battered her. + +Faithful to her resolve she had sedulously read the morning papers and +applied for several posts as housekeeper without receiving any answers. +She had realised that answering advertisements must be an art and had +become quite conscious that employment was not so easy to find as she +thought. Nobody seemed to want secretaries, except the limited +companies, about which she was not quite clear. As these mostly required +the investment of a hundred pounds or more she had not followed them up. + +She paced up and down in her room. The afternoon was wearing. Soon the +man downstairs would come back and slam the door. A little later the +young lady in the City would gently enter the room behind hers and, +after washing in an unobtrusive manner, would discreetly leave for an +hour. Meanwhile nothing broke the silence, except the postman's knock +coming nearer and nearer along Portsea Place. It fell unheeded even on +her own front door, for Victoria's ears were already attuned to the +sound. It meant nothing. + +She walked up and down nervously. She looked at herself in the glass. +She was pretty she thought, with her creamy skin and thick hair; her +eyes too were good; what a pity her chin was so thick. That's why Dicky +used to call her 'Towzer.' Poor old Dicky! + +Shuffling footsteps rose up the stairs. Then a knock. At Victoria's +invitation, a woman entered. It was Mrs Bell, the landlady. + +'Why, ma'am, you're sitting in the dark! Let me light the lamp,' cried +Mrs Bell, producing a large wooden box from a capacious front pocket. +She lit the lamp and a yellow glow filled the room, except the corners +which remained in darkness. + +'Here's a letter for you, ma'am,' said Mrs Bell holding it out. As +Victoria took it, Mrs Bell beamed on her approvingly. She liked her new +lodger. She had already informed the gathering under the archway that +she was a real lady. She had a leaning for real ladies, having been a +parlourmaid previous to marrying a butler and eking out his income by +letting rooms. + +'Thank you, Mrs Bell,' said Victoria, 'it was kind of you to come up.' + +'Oh! ma'am, no trouble I can assure you,' said Mrs Bell, with a mixture +of respect and patronage. She wanted to be kind to her lodger, but she +found a difficulty in being kind to so real a lady. + +Victoria saw the letter was from Edward and opened it hurriedly. Mrs +Bell hesitated, looking with her black dress, clean face and grey hair, +the picture of the respectable maid. Then she turned and struggled out +on her worn shoes, the one blot on her neatness. Victoria read the +letter, bending perilously over the lamp which smoked like a funnel. The +letter was quite short; it ran: + + 'My dear Victoria,--I am sorry I could not write before now, but I + wanted to have some news to give you. I am glad to say that I have + been able to interest the vicar on your behalf. He informs me that + if you will call at once on Lady Rockham, 7a Queen's Gate, South + Kensington, S.W., she may be in a position to find you a post in a + family of standing. He tells me she is most capable and kind. He is + writing to her. I shall come to London and see you soon.--Yours + affectionately, + + EDWARD.' + +Victoria fingered the letter lovingly. Perhaps she was going to have a +chance after all. It was good to have something to do. Indeed it seemed +almost too good to be true; she had vaguely resigned herself to +unemployment. Of course something would ultimately turn up, but the what +and when and how thereof were dangerously dim. She hardly cared to face +these ideas; indeed she dismissed them when they occurred to her with a +mixture of depression and optimism. Now, however, she was buoyant again. +The family of standing would probably pay well and demand little. It +would mean the theatres, the shops, flowers, the latest novels, no end +of nice things. A little work too, of course, driving in the Park with a +dear dowager with the most lovely white hair. + +She ate an excellent and comparatively expensive dinner in an Oxford +Street restaurant and went to bed early for the express purpose of +making plans until she fell asleep. She was still buoyant in the +morning. Connaught Square looked its best and even South Kensington's +stony face melted into smiles when it caught sight of her. Lady +Rockham's was a mighty house, the very house for a family of standing. + +Victoria walked up the four steep steps of the house where something of +her fate was to be decided. She hesitated for an instant and then, being +healthily inclined to take plunges, pulled the bell with a little more +vigour than was in her heart. It echoed tremendously. The quietude of +Queen's Gate stretching apparently for miles towards the south, +increased the terrifying noise. Victoria's anticipations were half +pleasureable, half fearsome; she felt on the brink of an adventure and +recalled the tremor with which she had entered the New Gaiety for the +first time. Measured steps came nearer and nearer from the inside of the +house; a shape silhouetted itself vaguely on the stained glass of the +door. + +She mustered sufficient coolness to tell the butler that she wished to +see Lady Rockham, who was probably expecting her. As the large and solid +man preceded her along an interminable hall, she felt rather than saw +the thick Persian rug stretching along the crude mosaic of the floor, +the red paper on the walls almost entirely hidden by exceedingly large +and new pictures. Over her head a ponderous iron chandelier carrying +many electric lamps blotted out most of the staircase. + +For some minutes she waited in the dining-room into which she had been +shown; for the butler was not at all certain, from a look at the +visitor's mourning, that she was quite entitled to the boudoir. +Victoria's square chin and steady eyes saved her, however, from having +to accommodate her spine to the exceeding perpendicularity of the +high-backed chairs in the hall. The dining-room, ridiculous thought, +reminded her of Curran's. In every particular it seemed the same. There +was the large table with the thick cloth of indefinite design and +colour. The sideboard too was there, larger and richer perhaps, of +Spanish mahogany not an inch of which was left bare of garlands of +flowers or archangelic faces. It carried Curran's looking-glass; +Curran's cruets were replaced by a number of cups which proclaimed that +Charles Rockham had once won the Junior Sculls, and more recently, the +spring handicap of the Kidderwick Golf Club. The walls were red as in +the hall and profusely decorated with large pictures representing +various generations having tea in old English gardens, decorously garbed +Roman ladies basking by the side of marble basins, and such like +subjects. Twelve chairs, all high backed and heavily groined, were +ranged round the walls, with the exception of a large carving chair, +standing at the head of the table, awaiting one who was clearly the head +of a household. Victoria was looking pensively at the large black marble +clock representing the temple in which the Lares and Penates of South +Kensington usually dwell, when the door opened and a vigorous rustle +entered the room. + +'I am very glad to see you, Mrs Fulton,' remarked the owner of the +rustle. 'I have just received a letter from Mr Meaker, the vicar of +Cray. A most excellent man. I am sure we can do something for you. +Something quite nice.' + +Victoria looked at Lady Rockham with shyness and surprise. Never had she +seen anything so majestic. Lady Rockham had but lately attained her +ladyhood by marrying a knight bachelor whose name was a household word +in the wood-paving world. She felt at peace with the universe. Her large +silk clad person was redolent with content. She did not vulgarly beam. +She merely was. On her capacious bosom large brooches rose and fell +rhythmically. Her face was round and smooth as her voice. Her eyes were +almost severely healthy. + +'I am sure it is very kind of you,' said Victoria. 'I don't know anybody +in London, you see.' + +'That will not matter; that will not matter at all,' said Lady Rockham. +'Some people prefer those whose connections live in the country, yes, +absolutely prefer them. Why, friends come to me every day, and they are +clamouring for country girls, absolutely clamouring. I do hope you are +not too particular. For things are difficult in London. So very +difficult.' + +'Yes, I know,' murmured Victoria, thinking of her unanswered +applications. 'But I'm not particular at all. If you can find me +anything to do, Lady Rockham, I should be so grateful.' + +'Of course, of course. Now let me see. A young friend of mine has just +started a poultry farm in Dorset. She is doing very well. Oh! very well. +Of course you want a little capital. But such a very nice occupation for +a young woman. The capital is often the difficulty. Perhaps you would +not be prepared to invest much?' + +'No, I'm afraid I couldn't,' faltered Victoria, wondering at what figure +capital began. + +'No, no, quite right,' purred Lady Rockham, 'I can see you are quite +sensible. It is a little risky too. Yet my young friend is doing well, +very well, indeed. Her sister is in Johannesburg. She went out as a +governess and now she is married to a mine manager. There are so few +girls in the country. Oh! he is quite a nice man, a little rough, I +should say, but quite suitable.' + +Victoria wondered for a moment whether her Ladyship was going to suggest +sending her out to Johannesburg to marry a mine manager, but the +Presence resumed. + +'No doubt you would rather stay in London. Things are a little difficult +here, but very pleasant, very pleasant indeed.' + +'I don't mind things being difficult,' Victoria broke in, mustering a +little courage. 'I must earn my own living and I don't mind what I do; +I'd be a nursery governess, or a housekeeper, or companion. I haven't +got any degrees, I couldn't quite be a governess, but I'd try anything.' + +'Certainly, certainly, I'm sure we will find something very nice for +you. I can't think of anybody just now but leave me your address. I'll +let you know as soon as I hear of anything.' Lady Rockham gently crossed +her hands over her waistband and benevolently smiled at her protégée. + +Victoria wrote down her address and listened patiently to Lady Rockham +who discoursed at length on the imperfections of the weather, the +noisiness of London streets and the prowess of Charles Rockham on the +Kidderwick links. She felt conscious of having to return thanks for what +she was about to receive. + +Lady Rockham's kindness persisted up to the door to which she showed +Victoria. She dismissed her with the Parthian shot that 'they would find +something for her, something quite nice.' + +Victoria walked away; cold gusts of wind struck her, chilling her to the +bone, catching and furling her skirts about her. She felt at the same +time cheered and depressed. The interview had been inconclusive. +However, as she walked over the Serpentine bridge, under which the wind +was angrily ruffling the black water, a great wave of optimism came over +her; for it was late, and she remembered that in the Edgware Road, there +was a small Italian restaurant where she was about to lunch. + +It was well for Victoria that she was an optimist and a good sleeper, +for November had waned into December before anything happened to disturb +the tenor of her life. For a whole fortnight she had heard nothing from +Lady Rockham or from Edward. She had written to Molly but had received +no answer. All day long the knocker fell with brutal emphasis upon the +doors of Portsea Place and brought her nothing. She did not think much +or hope much. She did nothing and spent little. Her only companion was +Mrs Bell, who still hovered round her mysterious lodger, so ladylike and +so quiet. + +She passed hours sometimes at the window watching the stream of life in +Portsea Place. The stream did not flow very swiftly; its principal +eddies vanished by midday with the milkman and the butcher. The postman +recurred more often but he did not count. Now and then the policeman +passed and spied suspiciously into the archway where the landladies no +longer met. Cabs trotted into it now and then to change horses. + +Victoria watched alone. Beyond Mrs Bell, she seemed to know nobody. The +young man downstairs continued to be invisible, and contented himself +with slamming the door. The young lady in the back room continued to +wash discreetly and to snore gently at night. Sometimes Victoria +ventured abroad to be bitten by the blast. Sometimes she strayed over +the town in the intervals of food. She had to exercise caution in this, +for an aspect of the lodging house fire had only lately dawned upon her. +If she did not order it at all she was met on the threshold by darkness +and cold; if she ordered it for a given time she was so often late that +she returned to find it dead or kept up wastefully at the rate of +sixpence a scuttle. This trouble was chronic; on bitter days it seemed +to dog her footsteps. + +She had almost grown accustomed to loneliness. Alone she watched at her +window or paced the streets. She had established a quasi-right to a +certain seat at the Italian restaurant where the waiters had ceased to +speculate as to who she was. The demoralisation of unemployment was upon +her. She did not cast up her accounts; she rose late, made no plans. She +slept and ate, careless of the morrow. + +It was in the midst of this slow settling into despond that a short note +from Lady Rockham arrived like a bombshell. It asked her to call on a Mrs +Holt who lived in Finchley Road. It appeared that Mrs Holt was in need +of a companion as her husband was often away. Victoria was shaken out of +her torpor. In a trice her optimism crushed out of sight the flat +thoughts of aimless days. She feverishly dressed for the occasion. She +debated whether she would have time to insert a new white frill into the +neck of a black blouse. Heedless of expenditure she spent two and eleven +pence on new black gloves, and twopence on the services of a shoeblack +who whistled cheerful tunes, and smiled on the coppers. Victoria sallied +out to certain victory. The wind was blowing balmier. A fitful gleam of +sunshine lit up and reddened the pile of tangerines in a shop window. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +'I'M very sorry you can't come,' said Mrs Holt. + +'Last Sunday, Mr Baker was so nice. I never heard anything so +interesting as his sermon on the personal devil. I was quite frightened. +At least I would have been if he had said all that at Bethlehem. You +know, when we were at Rawsley we had such nice lantern lectures. I do +miss them.' + +Victoria looked up with a smile at the kindly red face. 'I'm so sorry,' +she said, 'I've got such a headache. Perhaps it'll pass over if I go for +a little walk while you are at Church.' She was not unconscious, as she +said this, of the subtle flattery that the use of the word 'church' +implies when used to people who dare not leave their chapel. + +'Do, Victoria, I'm sure it will do you good,' said Mrs Holt, kindly. 'If +the sun keeps on, we'll go to the Zoo this afternoon. I do like to see +the children in the monkey house.' + +'I'm sure I shall be glad to go,' said Victoria quietly. 'It's very kind +of you to take me.' + +'Nonsense, my dear,' replied Mrs Holt, gently beaming. 'You are like the +sunshine, you know. Dear me! I don't know what I should have done if I +hadn't found you. You can't imagine the woman who was here before you. +She was the daughter of a clergyman, and I did get so tired of hearing +how they lost their money. But, there, I'm worrying you when you've got +a headache. I do wish you'd try Dr Eberman's pills. All the papers are +simply full of advertisements about them. And these German doctors are +so clever. Oh, I shall be so late.' + +Victoria assured her that she was sure her head would be better by +dinner time. Mrs Holt fussed about the room for a moment, anxiously +tested the possible dustiness of a bracket, pulled the curtains and +picked up the Sunday papers from the floor. She then collected a small +canvas bag decorated with a rainbow parrot, a hymn and service book, her +spectacle case, several unnecessary articles which happened to be about +and left the room with the characteristic rustle which pervades the +black silk dresses of well-to-do Rawsley dames. + +Victoria sat back in the large leather armchair. Her head was not very +bad but she felt just enough in her temples a tiny passing twinge to +shirk chapel without qualms. She toyed with a broken backed copy of +_Charlton on Book-Keeping_ which lay in her lap. It was a curious fate +that had landed her into Charlton's epoch making work. Mrs Holt, that +prince of good fellows, had a genius for saving pennies and had been +trained in the school of a Midland household, but the fortunes of her +husband had left her feebly struggling in a backwash of pounds. So much +had this been the case that Mr Holt had discovered joyfully that he had +at last in his house a woman who could bring herself to passing an +account for twenty pounds for stabling. Little by little Victoria had +established her position. She was Mrs Holt's necessary companion and +factotum. She could apparently do anything and do it well; she could +even tackle such intricate tasks as checking washing or understanding +Bradshaw. She was always ready and always bright. She had an unerring +eye for a good quality of velvet; she could time the carriage to a +nicety for the Albert Hall concert. Mrs Holt felt that without this +pleasant and competent young woman she would be quite lost. + +Mr Holt, too, after inspecting Victoria grimly every day for an entire +month, had decided that she would do and had lent her the work on +book-keeping, hoping that she would be able to keep the house accounts. +In three months he had not addressed her twenty times beyond wishing her +good morning and good night. He had but reluctantly left Rawsley and his +beloved cement works to superintend his ever growing London business. He +was a little suspicious of Victoria's easy manners; suspicious of her +intentions, too, as the northerner is wont to be. Yet he grudgingly +admitted that she was level headed, which was 'more than Maria or his +fool of a son would ever be.' + +Victoria thought for a moment of Holt, the book-keeping, the falling due +of insurance premiums; then of Mrs Holt who had just stepped into her +carriage which was slowly proceeding down the drive, crunching into the +hard gravel. A gleam of sunshine fitfully lit up the polished panels of +the clumsy barouche as it vanished through the gate. + +This then was her life. It might well have been worse. Mr Holt sometimes +let a rough kindness appear through an exterior as hard as his own +cement. Mrs Holt, stout, comfortable and good-tempered, quite +incompetent when it came to controlling a house in the Finchley Road, +was not of the termagant type that Victoria had expected when she became +a companion. Her nature, peaceful as that of a mollusc, was kind and had +but one outstanding feature; her passionate devotion to her son Jack. + +Victoria thought that she might well be content to pass the remainder of +her days among these good folk. From the bottom of her heart mild +discontent rose every now and then. It was a little dull. Tuesday was +like Monday and probably like the Tuesday after next. The glories of the +town, which she had caught sight of during her wanderings, before she +floated into the still waters of the Finchley Road, haunted her at +times. The motor buses too, which perpetually carried couples to the +theatre, the crowds in Regent Street making for the tea-shops, while the +barouche trotted sedately up the hill, all this life and adventure were +closed off. + +Victoria was not unhappy. She drifted in that singular psychological +region where the greatest possible pain is not suffering and where the +acme of possible pleasure is not joy. She did not realise that this +negative condition was almost happiness, and yet did not precisely +repine. The romance of her life, born at Lympton, now slept under the +tamarinds. The stupefaction of the search for work, the hopes and fears +of December, all that lay far away in those dark chambers of the brain +into which memory cannot force a way but swoons on the threshold. + +Yes, she was happy enough. Her eyes, casting through the bay window over +the evergreens, trimly stationed and dusty, strayed over the low wall. +On the other side of the road stood another house, low and solid as this +one, beautiful though ugly in its strength and worth. It is not the +house you live in that matters, thought Victoria, unconsciously +committing plagiarism, but the house opposite. The house she lived in +was well enough. Its inhabitants were kind, the servants respectful, +even the mongrel Manchester terrier with the melancholy eyes of some +collie ancestor did not gnaw her boots. + +She let her hands fall into her lap and, for a minute, sat staring into +space, seeing with extraordinary lucidity those things to come which a +movement dispels and swathes with the dense fog of forgetfulness. With +terrible clarity she saw the life of the last three months and the life +to come, as it was in the beginning ever to be. + +The door opened softly. Before she had time to turn round two hands were +clapped over her eyes. She struggled to free herself, but the hands grew +more insistent and two thumbs softly touched her cheeks. + +'Dimple, dimple,' said a voice, while one of the thumbs gently dwelled +near the corner of her mouth. + +Victoria struggled to her feet, a little flushed, a strand of hair +flying over her left ear. + +'Mr Jack,' she said rather curtly, 'I don't like that. You know you +mustn't do that. It's not fair. I really don't like it.' She was angry; +her nostrils opened and shut quickly; she glared at the good looking boy +before her. + +'Naughty temper,' he remarked, quite unruffled. 'You'll take a fit one +of these days, Vicky, if you don't look out.' + +'Very likely if you give me starts like that. Not that I mind that so +much, but really it's not nice of you. You know you wouldn't do that if +your mother was looking.' + +'Course I wouldn't,' said Jack, 'the old mater's such a back number, you +know.' + +'Then,' replied Victoria with much dignity, 'you ought not to do things +when we're alone which you wouldn't do before her.' + +'Oh Lord! morals again,' groaned the youth. 'You are rough on me, +Vicky.' + +'And you mustn't call me Vicky,' said Victoria. 'I don't say I mind, but +it isn't the thing. If anybody heard you I don't know what they'd +think.' + +'Who cares!' said Jack in his most dare devil style, putting his hand on +the back of hers and stroking it softly. Victoria snatched her hand away +and went to the window, where she seemed absorbed in the contemplation +of the evergreens. Jack looked a little nonplussed. He was an attractive +youth and looked about twenty. He had the fresh complexion and blue +eyes of his father but differed from him by a measure of delicacy. His +tall body was a little bent; his face was all pinks and whites set off +by the blackness of his straight hair. He well deserved his school +nickname of Kathleen Mavourneen. His long thin hands, which would have +been aristocratic but for the slight thickness of the joints, branded +him a poet. He was not happy in the cement business. + +Jack stepped up to the window. 'Sorry,' he said, as humbly as possible. +Victoria did not move. + +'Won't never do it again,' he said, pouting like a scolded child. + +'It's no good,' answered Victoria, 'I'm not going to make it up.' + +'I shall go and drown myself in the Regent Canal,' said Jack dolefully. + +'I'd rather you went for a walk along the banks,' said Victoria. + +'I will if you'll come too,' answered Jack. + +'No, I'm not going out. I've got a headache. Look here, I'll forgive you +on condition that you go out now and if you'll do that perhaps you can +come with your mother and me to the Zoo this afternoon.' + +'All right then,' grumbled the culprit, 'you're rather hard on me. +Always knew you didn't like me. Sorry.' + +Victoria looked out again. A minute later Jack came out of the house +and, pausing before the window, signed to her to lift up the sash. + +'What do you want now?' asked Victoria, thrusting her head out. + +'It's a bargain about the Zoo, isn't it?' + +'Yes, of course it is, silly boy. I've got several children's tickets.' + +Jack made a wry face, but walked away with a queer little feeling of +exultation. 'Silly boy.' She had called him 'silly boy.' Victoria +watched him go with some perplexity. The young man was rather a +problem. Not only did his pretty face and gentle ways appeal to her in +themselves, but he had told her something of his thoughts and they did +not run on cement. His father had thrust him into his business as men of +his type naturally force their sons into their own avocation whatever it +be. Victoria knew that he was not happy and was sorry for him; how could +she help feeling sorry for this lonely youth who had once printed a +rondeau in the _Westminster Gazette_. + +Jack had taken to her at once. All that was delicate and feminine in him +called out to her square chin and steady eyes. Often she had seen him +look hungrily at her strong hands where bone and muscle plainly showed. +But, in his wistful way, Jack had begun to embarrass her. He was making +love to her in a sense, sometimes sportively, sometimes plaintively, and +he was difficult to resist. + +Victoria saw quite well that trouble must ensue. She would not allow the +boy to fall in love with her when all she could offer was an almost +motherly affection. Besides, they could not marry; it would be absurd. +She was puzzled as to what to do. Everything tended to complicate the +situation for her. She had once been to the theatre with Jack and +remembered with anxiety how his arm had rested against hers in the cab +and how, when he leaned over towards her to speak, she had felt him +slowly inhaling the scents of her hair. + +She had promised herself that Jack should be snubbed. And now he played +pranks on her. It must end in their being caught in an ambiguous +attitude and then she would be blamed. She might tell Mrs Holt, but then +what would be her position in the household? Jack would sulk and Mrs +Holt would watch them suspiciously until the situation became +intolerable and she had to leave. Leave! no, no, she couldn't do that. +With sudden vividness Victoria pictured the search for work, the silence +of Portsea Place, the Rialto-like archway, Mrs Bell, and the cold, the +loneliness. Events must take their course. + +Like the rasp of a corncrake she heard the wheels of the barouche on the +gravel. Mrs Holt had returned from the discourse on the personal devil. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +'THOMAS,' said Mrs Holt with some hesitation. + +'Yes,' said Mr Holt. 'What is it?' + +'Oh! nothing,' said Mrs Holt. 'Just a queer idea. Nothing worth talking +about.' + +'Well, come again when it is worth talking about,' growled Mr Holt, +relapsing into his newspaper. + +'Of course there's nothing in it,' remarked Mrs Holt pertinaciously. + +'Nothing in what?' her husband burst forth. 'What do you mean, Maria? +Have you got anything to say or not? If you have, let's have it out.' + +'I was only going to say that Jack . . . of course I don't think that +Victoria sees it, but you understand he's a very young man, but I don't +blame her, he's such a funny boy,' said Mrs Holt lucidly. + +'Good heavens, Maria,' cried her husband, 'do you want me to smash +something?' + +'How you do go on,' remarked Maria placidly. 'What I meant to say is +that don't you think Jack's rather too attentive to Victoria?' + +Mr Holt dropped his paper suddenly. 'Attentive?' he growled, 'haven't +noticed it.' + +'Oh! you men never notice things,' replied Mrs Holt with conscious +superiority. 'Don't say I didn't warn you, that's all.' + +'Now look here, Maria,' said Mr Holt, his blue eyes darkening visibly, +'I don't want any more of this tittle tattle. You can keep it for the +next P.S.A. I can tell you that if the young cub is "attentive" to Mrs +Fulton, well, so much the better: it'll teach him something worth +knowing if he finds out that there's somebody else in the world who's +worth doing something for beyond _his_ precious self.' + +'Very well, very well,' purred Mrs Holt. 'If you take it like that, I +don't mind, Thomas. Don't say I didn't warn you if anything happens. +That's all.' + +Mr Holt got up from the leather chair and left the room. There were +moments when his wife roused in him the fury that filled him when once, +in his young days, he had dropped steel bolts into the cement grinders +to gratify a grudge against an employer. The temper that had made him +rejoice over the sharp cracks speaking of smashed axles was in him +still. He had got above the social stratum where husbands beat their +wives, but innuendoes and semi-secrets goaded him almost to paroxysm. + +Mrs Holt heard the door slam and coolly took up her work. She was +engaged in the congenial task of disfiguring a piece of Morris chintz. +She had decided that the little bag given her by an ćsthetic friend was +too flat and she was busily employed in embroidering the 'eyebright' +pattern, with coloured wool in the most approved early Victorian manner. +'At any rate,' she thought, 'Thomas has got the idea in his head.' + +Mrs Holt had not arrived at her determination to awaken her husband's +suspicions without much thought. She had begun to realise that +'something was wrong' one Sunday afternoon at the Zoo. She had taken +Jack and Victoria in the barouche, putting down to a fit of filial +affection the readiness of Jack to join them. She had availed herself of +the opportunity to drive round the Circle; so as to show off her adored +son to the Bramleys, who were there in their electric, to the Wilsons, +who were worth quite fifty thousand a year, to the Wellensteins too, who +seemed to do so wonderfully well on the Stock Exchange. Jack had taken +it very nicely indeed. + +All the afternoon Jack had remained with them; he had bought animal +food, found a fellow to take them into the pavilion, and even driven +home with them. It was when he helped his charges into the carriage that +Mrs Holt had noticed something. He first handed his mother in and then +Victoria. Mrs Holt had seen him put his hand under Victoria's forearm, +which was quite ordinary, but she had also seen him hold her in so doing +by the joint of her short sleeve and long glove where a strip of white +skin showed and slip two fingers under the glove. This was not so +ordinary and Mrs Holt began to think. + +When a Rawsley dame begins to think of things such as these, her +conscience invariably demands of her that she should know more. Mrs Holt +therefore said nothing, but kept a watchful eye on the couple. She could +urge nothing against Victoria. Her companion remained the cheerful and +competent friend of the early days; she was no more amiable to Jack than +to his father: she talked no more to him than to the rest of the +household; she did not even look at him much. But Jack was always about +her; his eyes followed her round the room, playing with every one of her +movements. Whenever she smiled his lips fluttered in response. + +Mrs Holt passed slowly through the tragic stages that a mother goes +through when her son loves. She was not very anxious as to the results +of the affair, for she knew Jack, though she loved him. She knew that +his purpose was never strong. Also she trusted Victoria. But, every day +and inevitably, the terrible jealousy that invades a mother's soul crept +further into hers. He was her son and he was wavering from an allegiance +the pangs of childbirth had entitled her to. + +Mrs Holt loved her son, and, like most of those who love, would torture +the being that was all in all for her. She would have crushed his +thoughts if she had felt able to do so, so as to make him more +malleable; she rejoiced to see him safely anchored to the cement +business, where nothing could distract him; she even rejoiced over his +weakness, for she enjoyed the privilege of giving him strength. She +would have ground to powder his ambitions, so that he might be more +fully her son, hers, hers only. + +The stepping in of the other woman, remote and subtle as it was, was a +terrible thing. She felt it from afar as the Arabian steed hears the +coming simoon moaning beyond the desert. With terrible lucidity she had +seen everything that passed for a month after that fatal day at the Zoo, +when Jack touched Victoria's arm. She saw his looks, stolen from his +mother's face, heard the softness of his voice which was often sharp for +her. Like gall, his little attentions, the quick turn of his face, a +flush sometimes, entered into and poisoned her soul. He was her son; +and, with all the ruthless, entirely animal cruelty of the mother, she +had begun to swear to herself that he should be hers and hers only, and +that she would hug him in her arms, aye, hug him to death if need be, if +only in her arms he died. + +Savagely selfish as a good mother, however, Mrs Holt remembered that she +must go slowly, collect her evidence, allow the fruit to ripen before +she plucked it. Thus she retained her outward kindnesses for Victoria, +spoke her fair, threw her even into frequent contact with her son. And +every day she tortured herself with all the tiny signs that radiate from +a lover's face like aerolites from the blazing tail of a comet. Now her +case was complete. She had seen Jack lean over Victoria while she was on +her knees dusting some books, and let his hand dwell on hers. She had +seen his face all alight, his mouth a little open, breathing in the +fragrance of this woman, the intruder. And the iron had entered into the +mother's heart so sharply that she had to hurry away unseen for fear she +should cry out. + +Mrs Holt dropped her little work bag. She wondered whether her husband +would see. Would she have to worry him placidly for months as she +usually had to when she wanted her own way? Or would he understand and +side with her? She did not know that women are intuitive, for she knew +nothing either of women or men, but she felt perfectly certain that she +was cleverer than Thomas Holt. If he would not see, then she would have +to show him, even if she had to plot for her son's sake. + +The door opened suddenly. Thomas Holt entered. His face was perturbed, +his jaw setting grimly between the two deep folds in his cheeks. That +was the face of his bad days. + +'Well, Thomas?' ventured his wife hesitatingly. + +'You were right, Maria,' answered Holt after a pause. 'Jack's a bigger +fool than I thought him.' + +'Ah!' said Mrs Holt with meaning, her heart beating a sharp tatoo. + +'I was standing on the first landing,' Holt went on. 'I saw them at the +door of the smoke-room. He asked her for a flower from her dress; she +wouldn't give it him; he reached over and pulled one away.' + +'Yes?' said Mrs Holt, everything in her quivering. + +'Put his arm round her, though she pushed him off, and kissed her.' + +Mrs Holt clasped her hands together. A sharp pang had shot through her. +'What are you going to do?' she asked. + +'Do?' said Holt. 'Sack her of course. Send him up to Rawsley. Damn the +young fool.' + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +Breakfast is so proverbially dismal, that dismalness becomes good form; +humanity feels silent and liverish, so it grudges Providence its due, +for it cannot return thanks for the precocious blessings of the day. +Such was breakfast at Finchley Road, and Victoria would not have noticed +it on that particular morning had the silence not somehow been eloquent. +She could feel, if not see storm clouds on the horizon. + +Mr Holt sat over his eggs and bacon, eating quickly with both hands, +every now and then soiling the napkin tightly tucked into the front of +his low collar. There was nothing abnormal in this, except perhaps that +he kept his eyes more closely glued than usual to the table cloth; +moreover, he had not unfolded the paper. Therefore he had not looked up +the prices of Industrials. This was singular. Mrs Holt never said much +at breakfast, in deference to her husband, but this morning her silence +was somewhat ostentatious. She handed Victoria her tea. Victoria passed +her the toast and hardly heard her 'thank you.' + +Jack sat more abstracted than ever. He was feeling very uncomfortable. +He wavered between the severe talking to he had received from Victoria +the previous afternoon and the sulkiness of his parents. Of course he +was feeling depressed, but he could not tell why. Victoria's mere nod of +acceptance when he offered her the salt, and his mother's curt refusal +of the pepper did not contribute to make him easier in his mind. Mrs +Holt cleared her throat: 'Blowing up for rain, Thomas,' she said. Mr +Holt did not move a muscle. He helped himself to marmalade. Stolid +silence once more reigned over the breakfast table. Jack stole a +sidelong glance at Victoria. Her eyes were fixed upon her hands crossed +before her. Jack's eyes dwelled for a moment on their shapely strength, +then upon the firm white nape of her bent neck. An insane desire +possessed him to jump up, seize her in his arms, crush his lips into +that spot where the dark tendrils of her hair began. He repressed it, +and considered the grandfather's clock which had once ticked in a +peasant Holt's kitchen. To-day it ticked with almost horrible +deliberation. + +Jack found that he had no appetite. Forebodings were at work with him. +Perhaps Vic had told. Of course not, she couldn't be such a fool. What a +beastly room it was! Sideboard must weigh a ton. And those red curtains! +awful, simply awful. Good God, why couldn't he get out of the damned +place and take Vic with him. Couldn't do that yet of course, but +couldn't stick it much longer. He'd be off to the City now. Simply awful +here. Jack rose to his feet suddenly, so suddenly that his chair tilted +and fell over. + +Mrs Holt looked up. 'I wish you wouldn't be so noisy, Jack,' she said. + +'Sorry, mater,' said Jack, going round to her and bending down to kiss +her. 'I'm off.' + +'You're in a fine hurry,' remarked Mr Holt grimly, looking up and +speaking for the first time. + +'Left some work over,' said Jack, in a curt manner, making for the door. + +'Hem! you've got work on the brain,' retorted his father in his most +sardonic tone. + +Jack opened the door without a word. + +'One minute, Jack,' said Mrs Holt placidly, 'you needn't go yet, your +father and I have something to say to you.' + +Jack stood rooted to the ground. His knees almost gave way beneath him. +It, it, it was it. They knew. Victoria's face, the profile of which he +could see outlined like a plaster cast against the red wall paper did +not help him. Her face had set, rigid like a mask. Now she knew why the +previous evening had gone by in silence. She rose to her feet, a strange +numb feeling creeping all over her. + +'Don't go, Mrs Fulton,' said Mr Holt sharply, 'this concerns you.' + +For some seconds the party remained silent. Mr and Mrs Holt had not +moved from the table. Jack and Victoria stood right and left, like +prisoners at the bar. + +'Victoria,' said Mrs Holt, 'I'm very sorry to have to say it, but I'm +afraid you know what I'm going to tell you. Of course I don't say I +blame you. It's quite natural at your age and all that.' She stopped, +for a flush was rising in Victoria's face, the cheekbones showing two +little red patches. Mr Holt had clasped his hands together and kept his +eyes fixed on Victoria's with unnatural intensity. + +'You see, Victoria,' resumed Mrs Holt, 'it's always difficult when +there's a young man in the house; of course I make allowances, but, +really, you see it's so complicated and things get so annoying. You know +what people are . . .' + +'That'll do, Maria,' snarled Mr Holt, jumping to his feet. 'If you don't +know what you have to say, I do. Look here, Mrs Fulton. Last night I saw +Jack kissing you. I know perfectly well you didn't encourage him. You'd +know better. However, there it is. I don't pretend I like what I've got +to do, but this must be stopped. I can't have philandering going on +here. You, Jack, you're going back to the works at Rawsley and don't let +me see anything of you this side of the next three months. As for you, +Mrs Fulton, I'm sorry, but Mrs Holt will have to find another companion. +I know it's hard on you to ask you to leave without notice, but I +propose to give you an indemnity of twenty pounds. I should like to keep +you here, but you see that after what has happened it's impossible. I +suppose you agree to that?' + +Victoria stood silent for a moment, her hands tightly clenched. She knew +Holt's short ways, but the manner of the dismissal was brutal. +Everything seemed to revolve round her, she recovered herself with +difficulty. + +'Yes,' she said at length, 'you're quite right.' + +Jack had not moved. His hands were nervously playing with his watch +chain. Victoria, in the midst of her trouble, remembered Edward's +familiar gesture. They were alike in a way, these two tall weedy men, +both irresolute and undeveloped. + +'Very well then,' continued Holt; 'perhaps you'll make your arrangements +at once. Here is the cheque.' He held out a slip of blue paper. + +Victoria looked at him for a moment dully. Then revolt surged inside +her. 'I don't want your indemnity,' she said coldly, 'you merely owe me +a month's wages in lieu of notice.' + +The shadow of a smile crept into Holt's face. The semi-legal, +semi-commercial phrase pleased him. + +Mrs Holt rose from the table and went to Victoria. 'I'm so sorry,' she +said, speaking more gently than she had ever done. 'You must take it. +Things are so hard.' + +'Oh, but I say, dad . . .' broke in Jack. + +'That will do, do you hear me, sir?' thundered the father violently, +bringing down his fist on the table. 'I'm not asking you for your +opinion! You can stay and look at your work but you just keep a silent +tongue in your head. D'you hear?' + +Jack stood cowed and dumb. + +'There's nothing more to say, is there?' growled Mr Holt, placing the +cheque on the table before Victoria. + +'Not much,' said Victoria. 'I've done no wrong. Oh! I'm not complaining. +But I begin to understand things. Your son has persecuted me. I didn't +want his attentions. You turn me out. Of course it's my fault, I know.' + +'My dear Victoria,' interposed Mrs Holt, 'nobody says it's your fault. +We all think . . .' + +'Indeed? it's not my fault, but you turn me out.' + +Mrs Holt dropped her hands helplessly. + +'I see it all now,' continued Victoria. 'You don't blame me, but you're +afraid to have me here. So long as I was a servant all was well. Now I'm +a woman and you're afraid of me.' She walked up and down nervously. 'Now +understand, I've never encouraged your son. If he had asked me to marry +him I wouldn't have done it.' A look of pain passed over Jack's face but +aroused no pity in Victoria. She felt frozen. + +'Oh! but there was no question of that,' cried Mrs Holt, plaintively. + +'No doubt,' said Victoria ruthlessly. 'You couldn't think of it. Nobody +could think of an officer's widow marrying into the Rawsley Works. From +more than one point of view it would be impossible. Very good. I'll +leave in the course of the morning. As for the cheque, I'll take it. As +you say, Mrs Holt, things are hard. I've learned that and I'm still +learning.' + +Victoria took up the blue slip. The flush on her face subsided somewhat. +She picked up her handkerchief, a letter from Molly and a small +anthology lying on the dumb waiter. She made for the door, avoiding +Jack's eyes. She felt through her downcast lids the misery of his looks. +A softer feeling went through her, and she regretted her outburst. As +she placed her hand on the handle she turned round and faced Mrs Holt, a +gentler look in her eyes. + +'I'm sorry I was hasty,' she stammered. 'I was taken by surprise. It was +. . . vulgar.' + +The door closed softly behind her. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +VICTORIA went up to her room and locked the door behind her. She sat +down on her small basket trunk and stared out of the dormer window. She +was still all of a tingle; her hands, grasping the rough edges of the +trunk, trembled a little. Yet she felt, amid all her perturbation, the +strange gladness that overcomes one who has had a shock; the contest was +still upon her. + +'Yes,' she said aloud, 'I'm free. I'm out of it.' She hated the dullness +and ugliness which the Holts had brought with them from the Midlands. +The feeling came over her almost like a spasm. Through the dormer window +she could see the white frontage of the house opposite. It was repellent +like Mrs Holt's personal devil. + +The feeling of exultation suddenly subsided in Victoria's breast. She +realised all of a sudden that she was once more adrift, that she must +find something to do. It might not be easy. She would have to find +lodgings. The archway in Portsea Place materialised crudely. She could +hear the landlady from 84 detailing the last phase of rheumatics to the +slatternly maid who did for the grocer. Awful, awful. Perhaps she'd +never find another berth. What should she do? + +Victoria pulled herself together with a start. 'This will never do,' she +said, 'there's lots of time to worry in. Now I must pack.' She got up, +drew the trunk into the middle of the room, opened it and took out the +tray. Then, methodically, as she had been taught to do by her mother, +she piled her belongings on the bed. In a few minutes it was filled with +the nondescript possessions of the nomad. Skirts, books, boots, +underclothing, an inkpot even, jostled one another in dangerous +proximity. Victoria surveyed the heap with some dismay; all her troubles +had vanished in the horror that comes over every packer: she would never +get it all in. She struggled for half an hour, putting the heavy things +at the bottom, piling blouses on the tray, cunningly secreting scent +bottles in shoes, stuffing handkerchiefs into odd corners. Then she +dropped the tray in, closed the lid and sat down upon it. The box +creaked a little and gave way. Victoria locked it and got up with a +little sigh of satisfaction. But she suddenly saw that the cupboard door +was ajar and that in it hung her best dress and a feather boa; on the +floor stood the packer's plague, shoes. It was quite hopeless to try and +get them in. + +Victoria surveyed the difficulty for a moment; then she regretfully +decided that she must ask Mrs Holt for a cardboard box, for her hat-box +was already mortgaged. A nuisance. But rather no, she would ask the +parlourmaid. She went to the door and was surprised to find it locked. +She turned the key slowly, looking round at the cheerful little room, +every article of which was stupid without being offensive. It was hard, +after all, to leave all this, without knowing where to go. + +Victoria opened the door and jumped back with a little cry. Before her +stood Jack. He had stolen up silently and waited. His face had flushed +as he saw her; in his eyes was the misery of a sorrowful dog. His mouth, +always a little open, trembled with excitement. + +'Jack,' cried Victoria, 'oh! what do you want?' + +'I've come to say . . . oh! Victoria . . .' Jack broke down in the +middle of his carefully prepared sentence. + +'Oh! go away,' said Victoria faintly, putting her hand on her breast. +'Do go away. Can't you see I've had trouble enough this morning?' + +'I'm sorry,' muttered Jack miserably. 'I've been a fool. Vic, I've come +to ask you if you'll forgive me. It's all my fault. I can't bear it.' + +'Don't talk about it,' said Victoria becoming rigid. 'That's all over. +Besides you'll have forgotten all about it to-morrow,' she added +cruelly. + +Jack did not answer directly, though he was stung. 'Vic,' he said with +hesitation, 'I can't bear to see you go, all through me. Listen, there's +something you said this morning. Did you mean it?' + +'Mean what?' asked Victoria uneasily. + +'You said, if I'd asked you to marry me you . . . I know I didn't, but +you know, Vic, I wanted you the first time I saw you. Oh! Vic, won't you +marry me now?' + +Victoria looked at him incredulously. His hands were still trembling +with excitement. His light eyes stared a little. His long thin frame was +swaying. 'I'd do anything for you. You don't know what I could do. I'd +work for you. I'd love you more than you've ever been loved.' Jack +stopped short; there was a hardness that frightened him in the set of +Victoria's jaw. + +'You didn't say that yesterday,' she answered. + +'No, I was mad. But I wanted to all along, Vic. You're the only woman I +ever loved. I don't ask more of you than to let me love you.' + +Victoria looked at him more gently. His likeness to her brother grew +plainer than ever. Kind but hopelessly inefficient. Poor boy, he meant +no harm. + +'I'm sorry, Jack,' she said after a pause, 'I can't do it. You know you +couldn't make a living . . .' + +'Oh, I could, I could!' cried Jack clinging at the straw, 'if I had you +to work for. You can't tell what it means for me.' + +'Perhaps you could work,' said Victoria with a wan little smile, 'but I +can't marry you, Jack, you see. I like you very much, but I'm not in +love with you. It wouldn't be fair.' + +Jack looked at her dully. He had not dared to expect anything but +defeat, yet defeat crushed him. + +'There, you must go away now,' said Victoria, 'I must go downstairs. Let +me pass please.' She squeezed between him and the wall and made for the +stairs. + +'No, I can't let you go,' said Jack hoarsely. He seized her by the waist +and bent over her. Victoria looked the space of a second into his eyes +where the tiny veins were becoming bloodshot. She pushed him back +sharply and, wrenching herself away, ran down the stairs. He did not +follow her. + +Victoria looked up from the landing. Jack was standing with bent head, +one hand on the banister. 'The only thing you can do for me is to go +away,' she said coldly. 'I shall come up again in five minutes with +Effie. I suppose you will not want us to find you outside my bedroom +door.' + +She went downstairs. When she came up again with the maid, who carried a +large brown cardboard box, Jack was nowhere to be seen. + +A quarter of an hour later she followed the butcher's boy who was +dragging her box down the stairs, dropping it with successive thuds from +step to step. As she reached the hall, while she was hesitating as to +whether she should go into the dining-room to say good-bye to Mrs Holt, +the door opened and Mrs Holt came out. The two women looked at one +another for the space of a second, like duellists about to cross swords. +Then Mrs Holt held out her hand. + +'Good-bye, Victoria,' she said, 'I'm sorry you're going. I know you're +not to blame.' + +'Thank you,' said Victoria icily. 'I'm sorry also, but it couldn't be +helped.' + +Mrs Holt heaved a large sigh. 'I suppose not,' she said. + +Victoria withdrew her hand and went towards the door. The butcher's boy +had already taken her box down, marking the whitened steps with two +black lines. + +'Shall I call a cab, mum?' he asked. + +'Yes please,' said Victoria dreamily. + +The youth went down the drive, his heels crunching into the gravel. +Victoria stood at the top of the steps, looking out at the shrubs, one +or two of which showed pale buds, standing sharp like jewels on the +black stems. Mrs Holt came up behind her softly. + +'I hope we don't part in anger, Victoria,' she said guiltily. + +Victoria looked at her with faint amusement. True, anger is a cardinal +sin. + +'Oh! no, not at all,' she answered. 'I quite understand.' + +'Don't be afraid to give me as a reference,' said Mrs Holt. + +'Thank you,' said Victoria. 'I shan't forget.' + +'And if ever you're in trouble, come to me.' + +'You're very kind,' said Victoria. Mrs Holt was kind, she felt. She +understood her better now. Much of her sternness oozed out of her. A +mother defending her son knows no pity, thought Victoria; perhaps it's +wrong to resent it. It's nature's way of keeping the young alive. + +The cab came trotting up the drive and stopped. The butcher's boy was +loading the trunk upon the roof. Victoria turned to Mrs Holt and took +her hand. + +'Good-bye,' she said, 'you've been very good to me. Don't think I'm so +bad as you thought me this morning. Your son has just asked me to marry +him.' + +Mrs Holt dropped Victoria's hand; her face was distorted by a spasm. + +'I refused him,' said Victoria. + +She stepped into the cab and directed the cabman to Portsea Place. As +they turned into the road she looked back. At the head of the steps Mrs +Holt stood frozen and amazed. Victoria almost smiled but, her eyes +wandering upwards, she saw, at her dormer window, Jack's head and +shoulders. His blue eyes were fixed upon her with unutterable longing. A +few strands of hair had blown down upon his forehead. For the space of a +second they gazed into each other's eyes. Then the wall blotted him out +suddenly. Victoria sighed softly and sank back upon the seat of the cab. + +At the moment she had no thought. She was at such a point as one may be +who has turned the last page of the first volume of a lengthy book: the +next page is blank. Nothing remained even of that last look in which +Jack's blue eyes had pitifully retold his sorry tale. She was like a +rope which has parted with many groans and wrenchings; broken and its +strands scattering, its ends float lazily at the mercy of the waves, +preparing to sink. She was going more certainly into the unknown than if +she had walked blindfold into the darkest night. + +The horse trotted gently, the brakes gritting on the wheels as it picked +its way down the steep. The fresh air of April drove into the cab, +stinging a little and yet balmy with the freshness of latent spring. +Victoria sat up, clasped her hands on the doors and craned out to see. +There was a little fever in her blood again; the spirit of adventure was +raising its head. As fitful gleams of sunshine lit up and irradiated the +puddles a passionate interest in the life around seemed to overpower +her. She looked almost greedily at the spire, far down the Wellington +Road, shining white like molten metal with almost Italian brilliancy +against a sky pale as shallow water. The light, the young wind, the +scents of earth and buds, the men and women who walked with springy +step intent on no business, all this, and even the horse who seemed to +toss his head and swish his tail in sheer glee, told her that the world +was singing its alleluia, for, behold, spring was born unto it in +gladness, with all its trappings and its sumptuous promise. + +Everything was beautiful; not even the dreary waste of wall which +conceals Lords from the vulgar, nor the thousand tombs of the churchyard +where the dead jostle and grab land from one another were without their +peculiar charm. It was not until the cab crossed the Edgware Road that +Victoria realised with a start that, though the world was born again, +she did not share its good fortune. Edgware Road had dragged her down to +the old level; a horrible familiarity, half pleasurable, half fearful, +overwhelmed her. This street, which she had so often paced carrying a +heart that grew heavier with every step, had never led her to anything +but loneliness, to the cold emptiness of her room. Her mood had changed. +She saw nothing now but tawdry stationer's shops, meretricious jewellery +and, worse still, the sickening plenty of its monster stores of clothing +and food. The road had seized her and was carrying her away towards its +summit, where the hill melts into the skies between the houses that grow +lower as far as the eye can see. + +Victoria closed her eyes. She was in the grip once more; the wheels of +the machine were not moving yet but she could feel the vibration as it +got up steam. In a little the flywheel would slowly revolve and then she +would be caught and ground up. Yes, ground up, cried the Edgware Road, +like thousands of others as good as you, ground into little bits to make +roadmetal of, yes, ground, ground fine. + +The cab stopped suddenly. Victoria opened her eyes. Yes, this was +Portsea Place. She got out. It had not changed. The curtains of the +house opposite were as dirty as ever. The landlady from the corner was +standing just under the archway, dressed as usual in an expansive pink +blouse in which her flowing contours rose and fell. She interrupted the +voluble comments on the weather which she was addressing to the little +faded colleague, dressed in equally faded black, to stare at the +newcomer. + +'There ain't no more room at Bell's,' she remarked. + +'She is very fortunate,' said the faded little woman. 'Dear me, dear me. +It's a cruel world.' + +'Them lidies' maids allus ketches on,' said the large woman savagely. +'Tell yer wot, though, p'raps they wouldn't if they was to see Bell's +kitching. Oh, Lor'! There ain't no black-beetles. I don't think.' + +The little faded woman looked longingly at Victoria standing on the +steps. A loafer sprung from thin air as is the way of his kind and leant +against the area railings, touching his cap whenever he caught +Victoria's eye, indicating at times the box on the roof of the cab. From +the silent house came a noise that grew louder and louder as the +footsteps drew nearer the door. Victoria recognised the familiar +shuffle. Mrs Bell opened the door. + +'Lor, mum,' she cried, 'I'm glad to see you again.' She caught sight of +the trunk. 'Oh, are you moving, mum?' + +'Yes, Mrs Bell,' said Victoria. 'I'm moving and I want some rooms. Of +course I thought of you.' + +Mrs Bell's face fell. 'Oh, I'm so sorry, mum. The house is full. If +you'd come last week I had the first floor back.' She seemed genuinely +distressed. She liked her quiet lodger and to turn away business of any +kind was always depressing. + +Victoria felt dashed. She remembered Edward's consternation on +discovering the change in Gower Street and, for the first time, +sympathised. + +'Oh, I'm so sorry too, Mrs Bell. I should like to have come back to +you.' + +'Couldn't you wait until next month, mum!' said Mrs Bell, reluctant to +turn her away. 'The gentleman in the second floor front, he's going +away to Rhodesia. It's your old room, mum.' + +'I'm afraid not,' said Victoria with a smile. 'In fact I must find +lodgings at once. Never mind, if I don't like them I'll come back here. +But can't you recommend somebody?' + +Mrs Bell looked right and left, then into the archway. The little faded +woman had disappeared. The landlady in the billowy blouse was still +surveying the scene. Mrs Bell froze her with a single look. + +'No, mum, can't say I know of anybody, leastways not here,' she said +slowly. 'It's a nice neighbourhood of course, but the houses here, they +look all right, but oh, mum, you should see their kitchens! Dirty ain't +the word, mum. But wait a bit, mum, if you wouldn't mind that, I've got +a sister who's got a very nice room. She lives in Castle Street, mum, +near Oxford Circus. It's a nice neighbourhood, of course not so near the +Park,' added Mrs Bell with conscious superiority. + +'I don't mind, Mrs Bell,' said Victoria. 'I'm not fashionable.' + +'Oh, mum,' cried Mrs Bell, endeavouring to imply together the +superiority of Portsea Place and the respectability of any street +patronised by her family, 'I'm sure you'll like it. I'll give you the +address.' + +In a few minutes Victoria was speeding eastwards. Now she was rooted up +for good. She was leaving behind her Curran's and Mrs Bell, slender +links between her and home life, links still, however. The pageant of +London rolled by her, heaving, bursting with rich life. The sunshine +around her bade her be of good cheer. Then the cab turned a corner and, +with the suddenness of a stage effect, it carried its burden into the +haunts of darkness and malodour. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +'_Telegraph_, mum,' said a voice. + +Victoria started up from the big armchair with a suddenness that almost +shot her out of it. It was the brother of the one in Portsea Place and +shared its constitutional objection to being sat upon. It was part of +the 'sweet' which Miss Briggs had divided with Mrs Bell when their +grandmother died. + +'Thanks, Miss Briggs,' said Victoria. 'By the way, I don't think that +egg is quite fresh. And why does Hetty put the armchair in front of the +cupboard every day so that I can't open it?' + +'The slut, I don't see there's anything the matter with it,' remarked +Miss Briggs, simultaneously endorsing the complaint against Hetty and +defending her own marketing. + +'Oh, yes there is, Miss Briggs,' snapped Victoria with a sharpness which +would have been foreign to her some months before. 'Don't let it happen +again or I'll do my own catering.' + +Miss Briggs collapsed on the spot. The profits on the three and sixpence +a week for 'tea, bread and butter and anything that's going,' formed +quite a substantial portion of her budget. + +'Oh, I'm sorry, mum,' she said, 'it's Hetty bought 'em this week. The +slut, I'll talk to her.' + +Victoria took no notice of the penitent landlady and opened the +_Telegraph_. She absorbed the fact that Consols had gone up an eighth +and that contangoes were in process of arrangement, without interest or +understanding. She was thinking of something else. Miss Briggs coughed +apologetically. Victoria looked up. Miss Briggs reflectively tied knots +in her apron string. She was a tall, lantern-jawed woman of no +particular age; old looking for thirty-five perhaps or young looking for +fifty. Her brown hair, plentifully sprinkled with grey, broke out in +wisps over each ear and at the back of the neck. Her perfectly flat +chest allowed big bags of coarse black serge to hang over her dirty +white apron. Her hands played mechanically with the strings, while her +water-coloured eye fixed upon the _Telegraph_. + +'You shouldn't read that paper, mum,' she remarked. + +'Why not?' asked Victoria, with a smile, 'isn't it a good one?' + +'Oh, yes, mum, I don't say that,' said Miss Briggs with the respect that +she felt for the buyers of penny papers. 'There's none better. Mine's +the _Daily Mail_ of course and just a peep into _Reynolds_ before the +young gent on the first floor front. But you shouldn't have it. +_Tizer's_ your paper.' + +'_Tizer_?' said Victoria interrogatively. + +'_Morning Advertiser_, mum; that's the one for advertisements.' + +'But how do you know I read the advertisements, Miss Briggs?' asked +Victoria still smiling. + +'Oh, mum, excuse the liberty,' said Miss Briggs in great trepidation. +'It's the only sheet I don't find when I comes up to do the bed. +_Tizer's_ the one for you, mum; I had a young lady 'ere, once. Got a job +at the Inverness Lounge, she did. Married a clergyman, they say. He's +divorced her now.' + +'That's an encouraging story, Miss Briggs,' said Victoria with a twinkle +in her eye. 'How do you know I want to be a barmaid, though?' + +'Oh, one has to be what one can, mum,' said Miss Briggs sorrowfully. +'Sure enough, it ain't all honey and it ain't all jam keeping this +house. The bells, they rings all day and it's the breakfast that's bad +and their ain't blankets enough, and I never 'ad a scuttle big enough to +please 'em for sixpence. But you ain't doing that, mum,' she added after +a pause devoted to the consideration of her wrongs. 'A young lady like +you, she ought to be behind the bar.' + +Victoria laughed aloud. 'Thanks for the hint, Miss Briggs,' she said, +'I'll think it over. To-day however, I'm going to try my luck on the +stage. What do you think of that?' + +'Going on tour?' cried Miss Briggs in a tone of tense anxiety. + +'Well, not yet,' said Victoria soothingly. 'I'm going to see an agent.' + +'Oh, that's all right,' said Miss Briggs with ghoulish relief. 'Hope +yer'll get a job,' she added as confidently as a man offering a drink to +a teetotaller. At that moment a fearful clattering on the stairs +announced that Hetty and the pail had suddenly descended to the lower +landing. Liquid noises followed. Miss Briggs rushed out. Victoria jumped +up and slammed her door on the chaotic scene. She returned to the +_Telegraph_. The last six weeks in the Castle Street lodging house had +taught her that these were happenings quite devoid of importance. + +Victoria spread out the _Telegraph_, ignored the foreign news, the +leaders and the shocking revelations as to the Government's Saharan +policy; she dallied for a moment over 'gowns for débutantes,' for she +was a true woman, and passed on to the advertisements. She was getting +quite experienced as a reader and could sift the wheat from the chaff +with some accuracy. She knew that she could safely ignore applications +for lady helps in 'small families,' at least unless she was willing to +clean boots and blacklead grates for five shillings a week and meals +when an opportunity occurred; her last revelation as to the nature of a +post of housekeeper to an elderly gentleman who had retired from +business into the quietude of Surbiton had not been edifying. The +'Financial and Businesses' column left her colder than she had been when +she left Mrs Holt with nearly thirty-seven pounds. Then she was a +capitalist and pondered longingly over the proposals of tobacconists, +fancy goods firms, and stationers, who were prepared to guarantee a +fortune to any person who could muster thirty pounds. Fortunately Miss +Briggs had undeceived her. In her variegated experience, she herself had +surrendered some sixty golden sovereigns to the persuasive owner of a +flourishing newsagent's business. After a few weeks of vain attempts to +induce the neighbourhood to indulge in the news of the day, she had been +glad to sell her stock of sweets for eighteen shillings, and to take +half a crown for a hundred penny novelettes. + +Victoria turned to the 'Situations Vacant.' Their numbers were +deceptive. She had never realised before how many people live by fitting +other people for work they cannot get. Two thirds of the advertisements +offered wonderful opportunities for sons of gentlemen in the offices of +architects and engineers on payment of a premium; she also found she +could become a lady gardener if she would only follow the courses in +some dukery and meanwhile live on air; others would teach her shorthand, +typewriting or the art of the secretary. All these she now calmly +skipped. She was obviously unfitted to be the matron of an asylum for +the feeble-minded. Such experience had not been hers, nor had she the +redoubtable record which would open the gates of an emporium. An +illegible hand would exclude her from the City. + +'No,' thought Victoria, 'I'm an unskilled labourer; that's what I am.' +She wearily skimmed the agencies; as a matter of habit noted the demand +for two companions and one nursery governess and put the paper aside. +There was not much hope in any of these, for one was for Tiverton, the +other for Cardiff, which would make a personal interview a costly +business; the third, discreetly cloaked by an initial, suggested by its +terseness a companionship probably undue in its intimacy. The last six +weeks had opened Victoria's eyes to the unpleasant aspects of life, so +much so that she wondered whether there were any other. She felt now +that London was waiting for her outside, waiting for her to have spent +her last copper, when she would come out to be eaten so that she might +eat. + +Whatever her conceit might have been six months before, Victoria had +lost it all. She could do nothing that was wanted and desired everything +she could not get. She had tried all sources and found them dry. +Commercialism, philanthropy, and five per cent. philanthropy had failed +her. What can you do? was their cry. And, the answer being 'nothing,' +their retort had been 'No more can we.' + +Victoria turned over in her mind her interview with the Honorary +Secretary of the British Women's Imperial Self Help Association. 'Of +course,' said the Secretary, 'we will be glad to register you. We need +some references and, as our principle is to foster the independence and +self-respect of those whom we endeavour to place in positions such as +may befit their social status, we are compelled to demand a fee of five +shillings.' + +'Oh, self help, I see,' said Victoria sardonically, for she was +beginning to understand the world. + +'Yes,' replied the Honorary Secretary, oblivious of the sneer, for his +mind was cast in the parliamentary mould, 'by adhering to our principle +and by this means only can we hope to stem the tide of pauperism to +which modern socialistic tendencies are--are--spurring the masses.' +Victoria had paid five shillings for this immortal metaphor and within a +week had received an invitation to attend a meeting presided over by +several countesses. + +The B. W. I. S. H. A., (as it was called by its intimates) had induced +in Victoria suspicions of societies in general. She had, however, +applied also to the Ladies' Provider. Its name left one in doubt whether +it provided ladies with persons or whether it provided ladies to persons +who might not be ladies. The Secretary in this case, was not Honorary. +The inwardness of this did not appear to Victoria; for she did not then +know that plain secretaries are generally paid, and try to earn their +salary. Their interview had, however, not been such as to convert her to +the value of corporate effort. + +The Secretary in this case was a woman of forty, with a pink face, trim +grey hair, spectacles, amorphous clothing, capable hands. She exhaled an +atmosphere of respectability, and the faint odour of almonds which +emanates from those women who eschew scent in favour of soap. She had +quietly listened to Victoria's history, making every now and then a +shorthand note. Then she had coughed gently once or twice. Victoria felt +as in the presence of an examiner. Was she going to get a pass? + +'I do not say that we cannot do anything for you, Mrs Fulton,' she said, +'but we have so many cases similar to yours.' + +Victoria had bridled a little at this. 'Cases' was a nasty word. + +'I'm not particular,' she had answered, 'I'd be a companion any day.' + +'I'm sure you'd make a pleasant one,' said the Secretary graciously, +'but before we go any further, tell me how it was you left your last +place. You were in the . . . in the Finchley Road, was it not?' The +Secretary's eyes travelled to a map of London where Marylebone, South +Paddington, Kensington, Belgravia, and Mayfair, were blocked out in +blue. + +Victoria had hesitated, then fenced. 'Mrs Holt will give me a good +character,' she faltered. + +'No doubt, no doubt,' replied the Secretary, her eyes growing just a +little darker behind the glasses. 'Yet, you see, we are compelled by the +nature of our business to make enquiries. A good reference is a very +good thing, yet people are a little careless sometimes; the hearts of +employers are often rather soft.' + +This was a little too much for Victoria. 'If you want to know the +truth,' she said bluntly, 'the son of the house persecuted me with his +attentions, and I couldn't bear it.' + +The Secretary made a shorthand note. Then she looked at Victoria's +flashing eyes, heightened colour, thick piled hair. + +'I am very sorry,' she began lamely. . . . + +What dreadful things women are, thought Victoria, folding up the +_Telegraph_. If Christ had said: Let _her_ who hath never sinned. . . +the woman would have been stoned. Victoria got up, went to the +looking-glass and inspected herself. Yes, she was very pretty. She was +prettier than she had ever been before. Her skin was paler, her eyes +larger; her thick eyebrows almost met in an exquisite gradation of short +dark hairs over the bridge of the nose. She watched her breast rise and +fall gently, flashing white through the black lacework of her blouse, +then falling away from it, tantalising the faint sunshine that would +kiss it. As she turned, another looking-glass set in the lower panels of +a small cupboard told her that her feet were small and high arched. Her +openwork stockings were drawn so tight that the skin there also gleamed +white. + +Victoria took from the table a dirty visiting card. It bore the words +'Louis Carrel, Musical and Theatrical Agent, 5 Soho Place.' She had come +by it in singular manner. Two days before, as she left the offices of +the 'Compleat Governess Agency' after having realised that she could +not qualify in either French, German, Music, Poker work or Swedish +drill, she had paused for a moment on the doorstep, surveying the dingy +court where they were concealed, the dirty panes of an unlet shop +opposite, the strange literature flaunting in the showcase of some +publisher of esoterics. A woman had come up to her, rising like the +loafers from the flagstones. She had realised her as between ages and +between colours. Then the woman had disappeared as suddenly as she came +without having spoken, leaving in Victoria's hand the little square of +pasteboard. + +Victoria looked at it meditatively. She would have shrunk from the idea +of the stage a year before, when the tradition of Lympton was still upon +her. But times had changed; a simple philosophy was growing in her; what +did anything matter? would it not be all the same in a hundred years? +The discovery of this philosophy did not strike her as commonplace. +There are but few who know that this is the philosophy of the world. + +Victoria put down the card and began to dress. She removed the old black +skirt and ragged lace blouse and, as she stood before the glass in her +short petticoat, patting her hair and setting a comb, she reflected with +satisfaction that her arms were shapely and white. She looked almost +lovingly at the long thin dark hairs, fine as silk, that streaked her +forearms; she kissed them gently, moved to self-adoration by the sweet +scent of femininity that rose from her. + +She tore herself away from her self-worship and quickly began to dress. +She put on a light skirt in serge, striped black and white, threading +her head through it with great care for fear she should damage her +fringe net. She drew on a white blouse, simple enough though cheap. As +it fastened along the side she did not have to call in Miss Briggs; +which was fortunate, as this was the time when Miss Briggs carried +coals. Victoria wriggled for a moment to settle the uncomfortable boning +of the neck and, having buckled and belted the skirt over the blouse, +completed her toilet with her little black and white jacket to match the +skirt. A tiny black silk cravat from her neck was discarded, as she +found that the fashionable ruffle, emerging from the closed coat, +produced an _effet mousquetaire_. Lastly she put on her hat; a lapse +from the fashions perhaps, but a lovable, flat, almost crownless, dead +black, save a vertical group of feathers. + +Victoria drew her veil down, regretting the thickness of the spots, +pushed it up to repair with a dab of powder the ravage of a pod on the +tip of her nose. She took up her parasol and white gloves, a glow of +excitement already creeping over her as she realised how cleverly she +must have caught the spirit of the profession to look the actress to the +life and yet remain in the note of the demure widow. + +Soho Place is neither one of the 'good' streets nor one of the 'bad.' +The police do not pace it in twos and threes in broad daylight, yet they +hardly like to venture into it singly by night. On one side it ends in a +square; on the other it turns off into an unobtrusive side street, the +reputation of which varies yard by yard according to the distance from +the main roads. It is dirty, dingy; yet not without dignity, for its +good Georgian and Victorian houses preserve some solidity and are not +yet of the tenement class. They are still in the grade of office and +shop which is immediately below their one-time status of dwellings for +well-to-do merchants. + +Victoria entered Soho Place from the square, so that she was not too ill +impressed. She walked in the middle of the pavement, unconsciously +influenced the foreign flavour of Soho. There men and women stand all +day in the street, talking, bargaining, quarrelling and making love; +when a cab rattles by they move aside lazily, as a Neapolitan stevedore +rolls away on the wharf from the wheels of a passing cart. + +Victoria paused for a second on the steps. No 5 Soho Place was a good +house enough. The ground floor was occupied by a firm of auctioneers; a +gentleman describing himself as A.R.I.B.A. exercised his profession on +the third floor; below his plate was nailed a visiting-card similar to +the one Victoria took from her reticule. She went up the staircase +feeling a little braced by the respectability of the house, though she +had caught sight through the area railings of an unspeakably dirty +kitchen where unwashed pots flaunted greasy remains on a liquor stained +deal table. The staircase itself, with its neutral and stained green +distemper, was not over encouraging. Victoria stopped at the first +landing. She had no need to enquire as to the whereabouts of the +impresario for, on a door which stood ajar, was nailed another dirty +card. Just as she was about to push it, it opened further to allow a +girl to come out. She was very fair; her cheeks were a little flushed; a +golden lock or two fell like keepsake ringlets on her low lace collar. +Victoria just had time to see that the blue eyes sparkled and to receive +a cheerful smile. The girl muttered an apology and, smiling still, +brushed past her and lightly ran down the stairs. 'A successful +candidate,' thought Victoria, her heart rising once more. + +She entered the room and found it empty. It was almost entirely bare of +furniture, for little save an island of chairs in the middle and faded +red cloth curtains relieved the uniform dirtiness of the wall paper +which once was flowered. One wall was entirely covered by a large poster +where half a dozen impossibly charming girls of the biscuit box type +were executing a cancan so symmetrically as to recall an Egyptian +frieze. The mantlepiece was bare save for the signed photograph of some +magnificent foreign-looking athlete, nude to the waist. Victoria waited +for a moment, watching a door which led into an inner room, then went +towards it. At once the sound of a chair being pushed back and the fall +of some small article on the floor told her that the occupant had heard +her footsteps. The door opened suddenly. + +Victoria looked at the apparition with some surprise. In a single glance +she took in the details of his face and clothes, all of which were +pleasing. The man was obviously a foreigner. His face was pale, clean +shaven save for a small black moustache closely cropped at the ends; his +eyes were brown; his eyebrows, as beautifully pencilled as those of a +girl, emphasized the whiteness of his high forehead from which the hair +receded in thick waves. His lips, red and full, were parted over his +white teeth in a pleasant smile. Victoria saw too that he was dressed in +perfect taste, in soft grey tweed, fitting well over the collar and +loose everywhere else; his linen was immaculate; in fact nothing about +him would have disgraced the Chandraga mess, except perhaps a gold ring +with a large diamond which he wore on the little finger of his right +hand. + +'Mr Carrel?' said Victoria in some trepidation. + +'Yes, Mademoiselle,' said the man pleasantly. 'Will you have the +kindness to enter?' He held the door open and Victoria, hesitating a +little, preceded him. + +The inner room was almost a replica of the outer. It too was scantily +furnished. On a large table heaps of dusty papers were stacked. An +ash-tray overflowed over one end. In a corner stood a rickety-looking +piano. The walls were profusely decorated with posters and photographs, +presumably of actors and actresses, some highly renowned. Victoria felt +respect creeping into her soul. + +Carrel placed a chair for her before the table and resumed his own. For +the space of a second or two he looked Victoria over. She was a little +too conscious of his scrutiny to be quite at ease, but she was not +afraid of the verdict. + +'So, Mademoiselle,' said the man gently, 'you wish for an engagement on +the stage?' + +Victoria had not expected such directness. 'Yes, I do,' she said. 'That +is, I was thinking of it since I got your card.' + +'My card?' said Carrel, raising his eyebrows a little. 'How did you get +my card?' + +Victoria told him briefly how the card had been thrust into her hand, +how curious it was and how surprised she had been as she did not know +the woman and had never seen her again. Then she frankly confessed that +she had no experience of the stage but wanted to earn her living and +that . . . She stopped aghast at the tactical error. But Carrel was +looking at her fixedly, a smile playing on his lips as he pulled his +tiny moustache with his jewelled hand. + +'Yes, certainly, I understand,' he said. 'Experience is very useful, +naturally. But you must begin and you know: _il n'y a que le premier pas +qui coűte_. Now perhaps you can sing? It would be very useful.' + +'Yes, I can sing,' said Victoria doubtfully, suppressing 'a little,' +remembering her first mistake. + +'Ah, that is good,' said Carrel smiling. 'Will you sit down to the +piano? I have no music; ladies always bring it but do you not know +something by heart?' + +Victoria got up, her heart beating a little and went to the piano. 'I +don't know anything French,' she said. + +'It does not matter,' said Carrel, 'you will learn easily.' He lowered +the piano stool for her. As she sat down the side of his head brushed +her shoulder lightly. A faint scent of heliotrope rose from his hair. + +Victoria dragged off her gloves nervously, felt for the pedals and with +a voice that trembled a little sang two ballads which had always pleased +Lympton. The piano was frightfully out of tune. Everything conspired to +make her nervous. It was only when she struck the last note that she +looked at the impresario. + +'Very good, very good,' cried Carrel. '_Magnifique._ Mademoiselle, you +have a beautiful voice. You will be a great success at Vichy.' + +'Vichy?' echoed Victoria, a little overwhelmed by his approval of a +voice which she knew to be quite ordinary. + +'Yes, I have a troupe to sing and dance at Vichy and in the towns, +Clermont Ferrand, Lyon, everywhere. I will engage you to sing and +dance,' said Carrel, his dark eyes sparkling. + +'Oh, I can't dance,' cried Victoria despairingly. + +'But I assure you, it is not difficult,' said Carrel. 'We will teach +you. There, I will show you the contract. As you have not had much +experience my syndicate can only pay you one hundred and fifty francs a +month. But we will pay the expenses and the costumes.' + +Victoria looked doubtful for a moment. To sing, to dance, to go to +France where she had never been, all this was sudden and momentous. + +'_Voyons_,' said Carrel, 'it will be quite easy. I am taking four +English ladies with you and two do not understand the theatre. You will +make more money if the audience like you. Here is the contract.' He drew +a printed sheet out of the drawer and handed it to her. + +It was an impressive document with a heavy headline; _Troupe de Théâtre +Anglaise_. It bore a French revenue stamp and contained half-a-dozen +clauses in French which she struggled through painfully; she could only +guess at their meaning. So far as she could see she was bound to sing +and dance according to the programme which was to be fixed by the +_Directeur_, twice every day including Sundays. The _syndicat_ undertook +to pay the railway fares and to provide costumes. She hesitated, then +crossed the Rubicon. + +'Fill in the blanks, please,' she said unsteadily. 'I accept.' + +Carrel took up a pen and wrote in the date and _cent cinquante francs_. +'What name will you adopt?' he asked, 'and what is your own name?' + +Victoria hesitated. 'My name is Victoria Fulton,' she said. 'You may +call me . . . Aminta Ormond.' + +Carrel smiled once more. 'Aminta Ormond? I do not think you will like +that. It is not English. It is like Amanda. No! I have it, Gladys +Oxford, it is excellent.' + +Before she could protest he had begun writing. After all, what did it +matter? She signed the document without a word. + +'_Voilŕ_,' said Carrel smoothly, locking the drawer on the contract. 'We +leave from Charing Cross on Wednesday evening. So you have two days to +prepare yourself. _Monsieur le Directeur_ will meet you under the clock +at a quarter past eight. The train leaves at nine. We will take your +ticket when you arrive. Please come here at four on Wednesday and I will +introduce you to the _Directeur_.' + +Victoria got up and mechanically shook hands. Carrel opened the door for +her and ceremoniously bowed her out. She walked into Soho place as in a +dream, every pulse in her body thrilling with unwonted adventure. She +stared at a dirty window pane and wondered at the brilliance it threw +back from her eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +VICTORIA had forgotten her latchkey. Miss Briggs opened the door for +her. Her sallow face brightened up. + +'There's a gentleman waiting, mum,' she said, 'and 'ere's a telegram.' +Came jest five minutes after you left. I've put him in the front room +what's empty, mum. Thought you'd rather see him there. Been 'ere 'arf an +'our, mum.' + +Victoria did not attempt to disentangle the hours of arrival of the +gentleman and the telegram; she tore open the brown envelope excitedly. +It only heralded the coming of Edward who was doubtless the gentleman. + +'Thanks, Miss Briggs,' she said, 'it's my brother.' + +'Yes, mum, nice young gentleman. He's all right; been reading the _New +Age_, mum, this 'arf hour, what belongs to the lady on the third.' + +Victoria smiled and went into the dining-room, where none dine in +lodging houses save ghosts. Edward was standing near the mantlepiece +immersed in the paper. + +'Why, Ted, this is nice of you,' cried Victoria going up to him and +taking his hand. + +'I had to come up to town suddenly,' said Edward, 'to get books for the +Head. I'm going back this afternoon but I thought I'd look you up. Did +you get the telegram.' + +'Just got it now,' said Victoria, showing it, 'so you might have saved +the sixpence.' + +'I'm sorry,' said Edward. 'I didn't know until this morning.' + +'It doesn't matter. I'm so glad to see you.' + +There was an awkward pause. Edward brushed away the hair from his +forehead. His hands flew back to his watch-chain. Victoria had briefly +written to him to tell him why she left the Holts. Fearful of all that +touches women, he was acutely conscious that he blamed her and yet knew +her to be blameless. + +'It's a beautiful day,' he said suddenly. + +'Isn't it?' agreed Victoria, looking at him with surprise. There was +another pause. + +'What are you doing just now, Vic?' Edward breathed more freely, having +taken the plunge. + +'I've just got some work,' said Victoria. 'I begin on Wednesday.' + +'Oh, indeed?' said Edward with increasing interest. 'Have you got a post +as companion?' + +'Well, not exactly,' said Victoria. She realised that her story was not +very easy to tell a man like Edward. He looked at her sharply. His face +flushed. His brow puckered. With both hands he grasped his watch-chain. + +'I hope, Victoria,' he said severely, 'that you are not adopting an +occupation unworthy of a lady. I mean I know you couldn't,' he added, +his severity melting into nervousness. + +'I suppose nothing's unworthy,' said Victoria; 'the fact is, Ted, I'm +afraid you won't like it much, but I'm going on the stage.' + +Edward started and flushed like an angry boy. 'On the . . . the stage?' +he gasped. + +'Yes,' said Victoria quietly. 'I've got an engagement for six months to +play at Vichy and other places in France. I only get six pounds a month +but they pay all the expenses. I'll have quite thirty pounds clear when +I come back. What do you think of that?' + +'It's . . . it's awful,' cried Edward, losing all self-consciousness. +'How can you do such a thing, Vic? If it were in London, it would be +different. You simply can't do it.' + +'Can't?' asked Victoria, raising her eyebrows. 'Why?' + +'It's not done. No really Vic, you can't do it.' Edward was evidently +disturbed. Fancy a sister of his . . . It was preposterous. + +'I'm sorry, Ted,' said Victoria, 'but I'm going on Wednesday. I've +signed the agreement.' + +Edward looked at her almost horror-struck. His spectacles had slid down +to the sharp tip of his nose. + +'You are doing very wrong, Victoria,' he said, resuming his pedagogic +gravity. 'You could have done nothing that I should have disapproved of +as much. You should have looked out for something else.' + +'Looked out for something else?' said Victoria with the suspicion of a +sneer. 'Look here, Ted. I know you mean well, but I know what I'm doing; +I haven't been in London for six months without finding out that life is +hard on women like me. I'm no good because I'm too good for a poor job +and not suitable for a superior one. So I've just got to do what I can.' + +'Why didn't you try for a post as companion?' asked Edward with a half +snarl. + +'Try indeed! Anybody can see you haven't had to try, Ted. I've tried +everything I could think of, agencies, societies, papers, everything. I +can't get a post. I must do something. I've got to take what I can get. +I know it now; we women are just raw material. The world uses as much of +us as it needs and throws the rest on the scrap heap. Do you think I +don't keep my eyes open? Do you think I don't see that when you want +somebody to do double work at half rates you get a woman? And she thanks +God and struggles for the work that's too dirty or too hard for a man +to touch.' + +Victoria paced up and down the small room, carried away by her +vehemence. Edward said nothing. He was much upset and did not know what +to say; he had never seen Victoria like this and he was constitutionally +afraid of vigour. + +'I'm sorry, Ted,' said Victoria stopping suddenly. She laid her hand on +his sleeve. 'There, don't sulk with me. Let's go out to lunch and I'll +go and choose your books with you after. Is it a bargain?' + +'I don't want to discuss the matter again,' replied Edward with as much +composure as he could muster. 'Yes, let's go out to lunch.' + +The rest of the day passed without another word on the subject of +Victoria's downfall. She saw Edward off at St Pancras. After he had said +good-bye to her, he suddenly leaned out of the window of the railway +carriage as if to speak, then changed his mind and sank back on the +seat. Victoria smiled at her victory. + +Next morning she broke the news to Miss Briggs. The landlady seemed +amazed as well as concerned. + +'You seem rather taken aback,' said Victoria. + +'Well, mum, you see it's a funny thing the stage; young ladies all seems +to think it's easy to get on. And then they don't get on. And there you +are.' + +'Well I _am_ on,' said Victoria, 'so I shall have to leave on +Wednesday.' + +'Sorry to lose you, mum,' said Miss Briggs, ''ope yer'll 'ave a success. +In course, as you 'aven't given me notice, mum, it'll 'ave to be a +week's money more.' + +'Oh, come Miss Briggs, this is too bad,' cried Victoria, 'why, you've +got a whole floor vacant! What would it have mattered if I had given you +notice?' + +'Might have let it, mum. Besides it's the law,' said Miss Briggs, +placing her arms akimbo, ready for the fray. + +'Very well then,' said Victoria coldly, 'don't let's say anything more +about it.' + +Miss Briggs looked at her critically. 'No offence meant, mum,' she said +timidly, 'it's a 'ard life, lodgers.' + +'Indeed?' said Victoria without any show of interest. + +'You wouldn't believe it, mum, all I've got to put up with. There's +Hetty now . . .' + +'Yes, yes, Miss Briggs,' said Victoria impatiently, 'you've told me +about Hetty.' + +'To be sure, mum,' replied Miss Briggs, humbly. 'It ain't easy to make +ends meet. What with the rent and them Borough Council rates. There +ain't no end to it, mum. I lives in the basement, mum, and that means +gas all the afternoon, mum.' + +Victoria looked at her again. This was a curious outlook. The poor +troglodyte had translated the glory of the sun into cubic feet of gas. + +'Yes, I suppose it is hard,' she said reflectively. + +'To be sure, mum,' mused Miss Briggs. 'Sometimes you can't let at all. +I've watched through the area railings, mum, many a long day in August, +wondering if the legs I can see was coming 'ere. They don't mostly, +mum.' + +'Then why do you go on?' asked Victoria hardening suddenly. + +'What am I to do, mum? I just gets my board and lodging out of it, mum. +Keeps one respectable; always been respectable, mum. That ain't so easy +in London, mum. Ah, when I was a young girl, might have been different, +mum; you should have seen me 'air. Curls like anything, mum, when I puts +it in papers. 'Ad a bit of a figure too, mum.' + +'Deary me!' + +Victoria looked with sympathy at the hard thin face, the ragged hair. +Yes, she was respectable enough, poor Miss Briggs! Women have a hard +life. No wonder they too are hard. You cannot afford to be earthenware +among the brass pots. + +'What will you do when you can't run the house any more?' she asked more +gently. + +'Do, mum? I dunno.' + +Yet another philosophy. + +'Miss Briggs,' came a man's voice from the stairs. + +'Coming, sir,' yelled Miss Briggs in the penetrating tone that calling +from cellar to attic teaches. + +'Where are my boots?' said the voice on the stairs. + +'I'll get 'em for you, sir,' cried Miss Briggs shuffling to the door on +her worn slippers. + +Life is a hard thing, thought Victoria again. Another woman for the +scrap heap. Fourteen hours work a day, nightmares of unlet rooms, boots +to black and coals to carry, dirt, loneliness, harsh words and at the +end 'I dunno.' Is that to be my fate? she wondered. + +However her blood soon raced again; she was an actress, she was going +abroad, she was going to see the world, to enslave it, to have +adventures, live. It was good. All that day Victoria trod on air. She no +longer felt her loneliness. The sun was out and aglow, bringing in its +premature exuberance joyful moisture to her temples. She, with the +world, was young. In a fit of extravagance she lunched at a half crown +table d'hôte in Oxford Street, where pink shades softly diffuse the +light on shining glass and silver. The coffee was almost regal, so +strong, so full of sap. The light of triumph was in her eyes, making men +turn back, sometimes follow and look into her face, half appealing, half +insolent. But Victoria was unconscious of them, for the world was at her +feet. She was the axis of the earth. It was in such a frame of mind +that, the next day, she climbed the steps of Soho Place, careless of the +view into the underground kitchen, of the two dogs who under the archway +fought, growling, fouling the air with the scents of their hides, over +a piece of offal. She ran up the stairs lightly. The door was still +ajar. + +Two men were sitting in the anteroom, both smoking briar pipes. The +taller of the two got up. + +'Yes?' he said interrogatively. + +'I . . . you . . . is Mr Carrel here?' asked Victoria nervously. + +'No Miss,' said the man calmly, 'he's just gone to Marlborough Street.' + +'Oh,' said Victoria, still nervous, 'will he be long?' + +'I should say so, miss,' replied the man, 'perhaps twelve months, +perhaps more.' + +Victoria gasped. 'I don't understand,' she said, but her heart began to +beat. + +'Don't s'pose you would, miss,' said the short man, getting up. 'Fact +is, miss, we're the police and we've had to take him; just about time we +did, too. Leaving for France to-night with a batch of girls. S'pose +you're one of them?' + +'I was going to-night,' said Victoria faintly. + +'May I have your name?' asked the tall man politely, taking out a pocket +book. + +'Fulton,' she faltered. 'Victoria Fulton.' + +'M'yes, that's it. 'Gladys Oxford,'' said the tall man turning back a +page. 'Well Miss, you can thank your stars you're out of it.' + +'But what has he done?' asked Victoria with an effort. + +'Lord, Miss, you're from the country, I can see,' said the short man +amiably. 'I thought everybody knew that little game. Take you over to +Vichy, you know. Make you dance and sing. Provide costumes.' He winked +at his companion. + +'Costumes,' said Victoria, 'what do you mean?' + +'Costumes don't mean much, Miss, over there,' said the tall man. 'Fact +is you'd have to wear what they like and sing what they like when you +pass the plate round among the customers.' + +Something seemed to freeze in Victoria. + +'He said it was a theatre of varieties,' she gasped. + +'Quite true,' said the tall man with returning cynicism. 'A theatre +right enough, but you'd have supplied the variety to the customers.' + +Victoria clenched her hands on the handle of her parasol. Then she +turned to fly. + +The short man stopped her and demanded her address, informing her that +she was to attend at Marlborough Street next day at eleven thirty. + +'Case mayn't be called before twelve,' he added. 'Sorry to trouble you, +Miss. You won't hear any more about it unless it's a case for the +Sessions.' + +Victoria ran down the steps, through the alley and into Charing Cross +Road as if something was tracking her, tracking her down. So this was +the end of the dream. She had stretched her hand out to the roses, and +the gods, less merciful to her than to Tantalus, had filled her palm +with thorns. It was horrible, horrible. She had imagination, and a +memory of old prints after Rowlandson which her father had treasured +came back to her with almost nauseating force. She pictured the French +_café chantant_ like the Cave of Harmony; rough boards on trestles, +laden with tankards of foaming beer, muddy lights, a foulness of tobacco +smoke, a raised stage with an enormous woman singing on it, her eye +frightfully dilated by belladonna, her massive arms and legs gleaming +behind the dirty footlights and everywhere around men smoking, with +noses like snouts, bodies like swines, hairy hands--hands, ye gods! + +She walked quickly away from the place of revelation. She hurried +through the five o'clock inferno of Trafalgar Square, careless of the +traffic, escaping death ten times. She hurried down the spaces of +Whitehall, and only slackened her pace at Westminster Bridge. There she +stopped for a moment; the sun was setting and gilded and empurpled the +foreshores. The horror of the past half hour seemed to fade away as she +watched the roses and mauves bloom and blend, the deep shadows of the +embankments rise and fall. Near by, a vagrant, every inch of him clothed +in rags, the dirt of his face mimicking their colour, smoked a short +clay pipe, puffing at long intervals small wreaths of smoke into the +blue air. And as Victoria watched them form, rise and vanish into +nothingness, the sun kiss gently but pitilessly the old vagrant hunched +up against the parapet, the horror seemed to melt away. The peace of the +evening was expelling it, but another dread visitor was heralded in. +Victoria felt like lead in her heart, the return of uncertainty. Once +more she was an outcast. No work. Once more she must ask herself what to +do and find no answer. + +The river glittered and rose and fell, as if inviting her. Victoria +shuddered. It was not yet time for that. She turned back and, with +downcast eyes, made for St James's Park. There she sat for a moment +watching a pelican flop on his island, the waterfowl race and dive. The +problem of life was upon her now and where was the solution? Must I +tread the mill once more? thought Victoria. The vision of agencies +again, of secretaries courteous or rude, of waits and hopes and +despairs, all rushed at her and convinced her of the uselessness of it +all. She was alone, always alone, because she wanted to be free, to be +happy, to live. Perhaps she had been wrong after all to resist the call +of the river. She shuddered once more. A couple passed her with hands +interlocked, eyes gazing into eyes. No, life must hold forth to her +something to make it worth while. She was cold. She got up and, with +nervous determination, walked quickly towards the gate. + +The first thing to be done was to get quit of all the horrors of the +day, to cut away the wreckage. She dared not stay at Castle Street. She +would be tracked. She would have to give evidence. She couldn't do it. +She couldn't. Victoria having regained her coolness was in no wise +uncertain as to her course of action. The first thing to do was for her +to lose herself in London, and that so deep that none could drag her out +and force her to tell her story. She must change her lodgings then. +Nothing could be easier, as she had already given Miss Briggs notice. In +fact the best thing to do would be to keep up the fiction of her +departure for France. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +VICTORIA entered her room. It was in the condition that speaks of +departure. Her trunks were packed and corded, all save a small suitcase +which still gaped, showing spaces among the sundries that the skilled +packer collects in the same bundle. Every drawer was open; the bed was +unmade; the room was littered with newspapers and nondescript articles +discarded at the last moment. Victoria rang her bell and quickly +finished packing the suitcase with soap, washing gloves, powder-puffs +and such like. As she turned the key Miss Briggs opened the door. + +'Oh, Miss Briggs,' said Victoria quietly, 'I find that I must go down by +an earlier train; I must be at Charing Cross in an hour; I'm going now.' + +'Yes, mum,' said Miss Briggs without interest. 'Shall I tell the +greengrocer to come now, mum?' + +'Yes please, Miss Briggs; here are the seven shillings.' + +Miss Briggs accepted the money without a word. It had formed the basis +of a hot argument between her and her tenant; she considered herself +entitled to one week's rent in lieu of notice but Victoria's new born +sense of business had urged the fact that she had had two days notice; +this had saved her three shillings. Miss Briggs laboured under a sense +of injury, so she did not see Victoria to the door. + +This was well, for Victoria was able to pay the greengrocer and to get +rid of him in an artistic manner by sending him to post an empty +envelope addressed to an imaginary person, while she directed the +cabman to Paddington; this saved her awkward questions and would leave +Miss Briggs under the impression that she had gone to Charing Cross. + +At Paddington station she left her luggage in the cloak-room and went +out to find lodgings. Her quest was short, for she had ceased to be +particular, so that within an hour she was installed in an imposing +ground floor front in the most respectable house in Star Street. The +district was not so refined as Portsea Place, but the house seemed clean +and the quarters were certainly cheaper; eleven and six covered both +them and the usual breakfast. + +Victoria surveyed the room in a friendly manner; there was nothing +attractive or repulsive in it; it was clean; the furniture was almost +exactly similar to that which graced her lodgings in Portsea Place and +in Castle Street. The landlady seemed a friendly body, and had already +saved Victoria a drain on her small store by sending her son, an +out-of-work furrier's hand, to fetch the luggage in a handcart. +Remembering that she was a fugitive from justice she gave her name as +Miss Ferris. + +Victoria returned from a hurried tea, unpacked with content the trunk +that should have followed her to France. She was almost exhilarated by +the feeling of safety which enveloped her like comforting warmth. The +day was blithe in unison. She felt quite safe, every movement of her +flight having been so skilfully calculated; she was revelling therefore +in her escape from danger, the deepest and truest of all joys. + +The next morning, however, found her in the familiar mood of wondering +what was to become of her. After an extremely inferior breakfast which +brought down upon the already awed Mrs Smith well deserved reproaches, +Victoria investigated the _Telegraph_ columns with the usual negative +results and, in the resultant acid frame of mind, went through her +accounts and discovered that her possessions amounted to twelve pounds, +eight shillings and four pence. This was a terrible blow; the outfit for +the interview with Carrel and the trip to France had dug an enormous +hole in Victoria's resources. + +'I must hurry up and find something,' said Victoria to herself. 'Twelve +pounds eight and fourpence--say twelve weeks--and then?' + +The next morning reconciled her a little to her fate. True, the paper +yielded no help, but a lengthy account of Carrel's preliminary +examination occupied three quarters of a column in the police court +report. It was apparently a complicated case, for Carrel had been +remanded and bail refused. The report did not yield her much +information. Apparently Carrel was indicted for other counts than the +exporting of the dancing girls to Vichy, for nine women had appeared. +Victoria had quite a thrill of horror when she read the line in which +the well schooled reporter dismissed the evidence of Miss 'S,' by saying +that Miss 'S----' here gave an account of her experience in the green +room of the Folichon-Palace in 1902.' The baldness of the statement was +appalling in its suggestiveness. She had been called, apparently, but no +comment was made on her non-appearance. + +'That's all over,' said Victoria with decision, throwing the newspaper +down. She rose from the armchair, shook herself and opened the window to +let out the smell of breakfast. Then she put on her hat and gloves and +decided to have a walk to cheer herself up. Mindful that she was in a +sense a fugitive, she avoided the Marble Arch and made for the Park +through the desolate respectability of Lancaster Gate. + +She made for the South East, unconsciously guided by the hieratic shot +tower of Westminster. It was early; the freshness of May still +bejewelled with dew drops the crisp new grass; the gravel, stained dark +by moisture, hardly crunched under her feet, but gave like springy turf. +Forgetting her depleted exchequer Victoria stepped briskly as if on +business bent, looking at nothing but absorbing as through her skin the +kisses of the western wind. At Hyde Park Corner she turned into St +James's Park, and, passing the barracks, received with an old familiar +thrill a covert smile from the handsome sentry. After all she was young, +and it was good somehow to be once more smiled at by a soldier. +Soldiers, soldiers--stupid perhaps, but could one help liking them? +Victoria let her thoughts run back to Dicky--poor old wasted Dicky--and +the Colonel and his liver, and Bobby, who would never be anything but +Bobby, and Major Cairns too. Victoria felt a tiny pang as she thought of +the Major. He was hardly young or handsome but strong, reassuring. She +suddenly felt his lips on her neck again as she gazed rapidly at the +dark lift on the horizon of the coast of Araby. He was a good fellow, +the Major. She would like to meet him again. + +She had reached Westminster Bridge. Her thoughts fell away from the +comfortable presence of Major Cairns. Hunched up against the parapet sat +the old vagrant she had seen there before, motionless, his rags lifting +in the breeze, puffs of smoke coming at long intervals from his short +clay pipe. Victoria shuddered; it seemed as if her life were bound to a +wheel which brought her back inexorably to the same spot until the time +came for her to lose there energy and life itself. She turned quickly +towards the Embankment, and, as she rounded the curve, caught a glimpse +of the old vagrant. The symbol of time had not moved. + +Another twenty minutes of quick walking had brought her to the City. She +was no longer fearful of it; indeed she almost enjoyed its surge and +roar. Log that she was, tossed on a stormy sea, she could not help +feeling the joy of life in its buffeting. Not even the dullness and +eternal length of Queen Victoria Street, which seems in the City, like +Gower Street, indefinite and interminable, robbed her of the curious +exultation which she felt whenever she entered the precincts. Here at +least was life and doing; ugly doing perhaps, but things worthy of the +name of action. At Mansion House she stopped for a moment to look at the +turmoil: drays, motorbuses, cabs, cycles, entangled and threatening +everywhere the little running black mites of humanity. + +As Victoria passed the Bank and walked up Princes Street she felt +hungry, for it was nearly one o'clock. She turned up a lane and stopped +before a small shop which arrested her attention by its name above the +door. It was called 'The Rosebud Café,' every letter of its name being +made up of tiny roses; all the woodwork was painted white; the door was +glazed and faced with pink curtains; pink half blinds lined the two +small windows, nothing appearing through them except, right and left, +two tall palms. 'The Rosebud' had a freshness and newness that pleased +her; and, as it boldly announced luncheons and teas, she pushed the +white door open and entered. The room was larger than the outside gave +reason to think, for it was all in depth. It was pretty in a style +suggesting a combination of Watteau, Dresden China, and the top of a +biscuit tin. All the woodwork was white, relieved here and there by pink +drapery and cunningly selected water colours of more or less the same +tint. From the roof, at close intervals, hung little baskets of paper +roses. The back part of the room was glazed over, which showed that it +lay below the well of a tall building. Symmetrically ranged were little +tables, some large enough for four persons, mostly however meant for +two, but Victoria noticed that they were all untenanted; in fact the +room was empty, save for a woman who on her hands and knees was loudly +washing the upper steps of a staircase leading into a cellar, and for a +tall girl who stood on a ladder at the far end of the room critically +surveying a picture she had just put up. + +Victoria hesitated for a moment. The girl on the ladder looked round and +jumped down. She was dressed in severe black out of which her long white +face, mantling pink at the cheeks, emerged like a flower; indeed +Victoria wondered whether she had been selected as an attendant because +she was in harmony with the colour scheme of the shop. The girl was +quite charming out of sheer insignificance; her fair hair untidily +crowned her with a halo marred by flying wisps. Her little pink mouth, +perpetually open and pouting querulous over three white upper teeth, +showed annoyance at being disturbed. + +'We aren't open,' she said with much decision. It was clearly quite bad +enough to have to look forward to work on the morrow without +anticipating the evil. + +'Oh,' said Victoria, 'I'm sorry, I didn't know.' + +'We open on Monday,' said the fair girl. 'Sharp.' + +'Yes?' answered Victoria vaguely interested as one is in things newly +born. 'This is a pretty place, isn't it?' + +A flicker of animation. The fair girl's blue eyes opened wider. +'Rather,' she said. 'I did the water colours,' she explained with pride. + +'How clever of you!' exclaimed Victoria. 'I couldn't draw to save my +life.' + +'Coloured them up, I mean,' the girl apologised grudgingly. 'It was a +long job, I can tell you.' + +Victoria smiled. 'Well,' she said, 'I must come back on Monday and see +it finished if I'm in the City.' + +'Oh, aren't you in the City?' asked the girl. 'West End?' + +'No, not exactly West End,' said Victoria. 'I'm not doing anything just +now.' + +The fair girl gave her a glance of faint suspicion. + +'Oh, aye, I see,' she said slowly, thoughtfully considering the rather +full lines of Victoria's figure. + +Victoria had not the slightest idea of what she saw. 'I'm looking out +for a berth,' she remarked casually. + +'Oh, are you?' said the girl with renewed animation. 'What's your line?' + +'Anything,' said Victoria. She looked round the pink and white shop. A +feeling of weariness had suddenly come over her. The woman at the top of +the steps had backed away a little, and was rhythmically swishing a wet +rag on the linoleum. Under her untidy hair her neck gleamed red and +fleshy, touched here and there with beads of perspiration. Victoria took +her in as unconsciously as she would an ox patiently straining at the +yoke. To and fro the woman's body rocked, like a machine wound up to +work until its parts drop out worn and useless. + +'Ever done any waiting?' The voice of the girl almost made Victoria +jump. She saw herself being critically inspected. + +'No, never,' she faltered. 'That's to say, I would, if I got a billet.' + +'Mm,' said the girl, eyeing her over. 'Mm.' + +Victoria's heart beat unreasonably. 'Do you know where I can get a job?' +she asked. + +'Well,' said the girl very deliberately, 'the fact of the matter is, +that we're short here. We had a letter this morning. One of our girls +left home yesterday. Says she can't come. They don't know where she is.' + +'Yes,' said Victoria, too excited to speculate as to the implied +tragedy. + +'If you like, you can see the manager,' said the girl. 'He's down +there.' She pointed to the cellar. + +'Thank you so much,' said Victoria, 'it's awfully kind of you.' The fair +girl walked to the banisters. 'Mr Stein,' she cried shrilly into the +darkness. + +There was a rumble, a sound like the upsetting of a chair, footsteps on +the stairs. A head appeared on a level with the floor. + +'Vat is it?' growled a voice. + +'New girl; wants to be taken on.' + +'Vell, take her on,' growled the voice. 'You are ze 'ead vaitress, gn, +you are responsible.' + +Victoria had just time to see the head, perfectly round, short-haired, +white faced, cloven by a turned up black moustache, when it vanished +once more. The Germanic 'gn' at the end of the first sentence puzzled +her. + +'Sulky beast,' murmured the girl. 'Anyhow, that's settled. You know the +wages, don't you? Eight bob a week and your lunch and tea.' + +'Eight . . .' gasped Victoria. 'But I can't live on that.' + +'My, you are a green 'un,' smiled the girl. 'With a face like that +you'll make twenty-five bob in tips by the time we've been on for a +month.' She looked again at Victoria not unkindly. + +'Tips,' said Victoria reflectively. Awful. But after all, what did it +matter. + +'All right,' she said, 'put me down.' + +The girl took her name and address. 'Half-past eight sharp on Monday,' +she said. ''cos it's opening day. Usual time half-past nine, off at four +two days a week. Other days seven. Nine o'clock mid and end.' + +Victoria stared a little. This was a business woman. + +'Sorry,' said the girl, 'must leave you. Got a lot more to do to-day. My +name's Laura. It'll have to be Lottie though. Nothing like Lottie to +make fellows remember you.' + +'Remember you?' asked Victoria puzzled. + +'Lord, yes, how you going to make your station if they don't remember +you?' said Lottie snappishly. 'You'll learn right enough. You let 'em +call you Vic. Tell 'em to. You'll be all right. And get yourself a black +business dress. We supply pink caps and aprons; charge you sixpence a +week for washing. You get a black openwork blouse, mind you, with short +sleeves. Nothing like it to make your station.' + +'What's a station?' asked Victoria, more bewildered than ever. + +'My, you _are_ a green 'un! A station's your tables. Five you get. We'll +cut 'em down when they begin to come in. What you've got to do is to pal +up with the fellows; then they'll stick to you, see? Regulars is what +you want. The sort that give no trouble 'cos you know their orders right +off and leave their twopence like clockwork, see? But never you mind: +you'll learn.' Thereupon Lottie tactfully pushed Victoria towards the +door. + +Victoria stepped past the cleaner, who was now washing the entrance. +Nothing could be seen of her save her back heaving a little in a filthy +blue bodice and her hands, large, red, ribbed with flowing rivulets of +black dirt and water. As her left hand swung to and fro, Victoria saw +upon the middle finger the golden strangle of a wedding ring deep in the +red cavity of the swollen flesh. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +'YOU come back with me, Vic, don't you?' + +'You silly,' said Victoria, witheringly, 'I don't go off to-day, Gertie, +worse luck.' + +'Worse luck! I don't think,' cried Gertie. 'I'll swap with you, if you +like. As if yer didn't know it's settling day. Why there's two and a +kick in it!' + +'Shut it,' remarked a fat, dark girl, placidly helping herself to +potatoes, 'some people make a sight too much out of settling day.' + +'Perhaps yer'll tell me wot yer mean, Miss Prodgitt,' snarled Gertie, +her brown eyes flashing, her cockney accent attaining a heroic pitch. + +'What I say,' remarked Miss Prodgitt, with the patronising air that +usually accompanies this enlightening answer. + +'Ho, indeed,' snapped Gertie, 'then p'raps yer'll keep wot yer've got +ter sye to yersel, _Miss_ Prodgitt.' + +The fat girl opened her mouth, then, changing her mind, turned to +Victoria and informed her that the weather was very cold for the time of +the year. + +'That'll do, Gertie,' remarked Lottie, 'you leave Bella alone and hook +it.' + +Gertie glowered for a moment, wasted another look of scorn on her +opponent and flounced out of the room into a cupboard-like dark place, +whence issued sounds like the growl of an angry cat. Something had +obviously happened to her hat. + +Victoria looked round aimlessly. She had no appetite; for half-past +three, the barbarous lunch hour of the Rosebud girls, seemed calculated +to limit the food bill. By her side Bella was conscientiously absorbing +the potatoes that her daintier companions had left over from the Irish +stew. Lottie was deeply engrossed in a copy of _London Opinion_, left +behind by a customer. Victoria surveyed the room, almost absolutely bare +save in the essentials of chairs and tables. It was not unsightly, +excepting the fact that it was probably swept now and then but never +cleaned out. Upon the wall opposite was stuck a penny souvenir which +proclaimed the fact that the Emperor of Patagonia had lunched at the +Guildhall. By its side hung a large looking glass co-operatively +purchased by the staff. Another wall was occupied by pegs on which hung +sundry dust coats and feather boas, mostly smart. Gertie, in the corner, +was still fumbling in the place known as 'Heath's' because it +represented the 'Hatterie.' It was a silent party enough, this; even the +two other girls on duty downstairs would not have increased the +animation much. Victoria sat back in her chair, and, glancing at the +little watch she carried on her wrist in a leather strap, saw she still +had ten minutes to think. + +Victoria watched Gertie, who had come out of 'Heath's' and was poising +her hat before the glass. She was a neat little thing, round everywhere, +trim in the figure, standing well on her toes; her brown hair and eyes, +pursed up little mouth, small, sharp nose, all spoke of briskness and +self-confidence. + +'Quarter to four, doin' a bunk,' she remarked generally over her +shoulder. + +'Mind Butty doesn't catch you,' said Victoria. + +'Oh, he's all right,' said Gertie, 'we're pals.' + +Fat Bella, chewing the cud at the table, shot a malevolent glance at +her. Gertie took no notice of her, tied on her veil with a snap, and +collected her steel purse, parasol, and long white cotton gloves. + +'Bye, everybody,' she said, 'be good. Bye, Miss Prodgitt; wish yer luck +with yer perliceman, but you take my tip; all what glitters isn't +coppers.' + +Before Miss Prodgitt could find a retort to this ruthless exposure of +her idyll, Gertie had vanished down the stairs. Lottie dreamily turned +to the last page of _London Opinion_ and vainly attempted to sound the +middle of her back; she was clearly disturbed by the advertisement of a +patent medicine. Victoria watched her amusedly. + +They were not bad sorts, any of them. Lottie, in her sharp way, had been +a kindly guide in the early days, explained the meaning of 'checks,' +shown her how to distinguish the inflexion on the word 'bill,' that +tells whether a customer wants the bill of fare or the bill of costs, +imparted too the wonderful mnemonics which enable a waitress to sort +four simultaneous orders. Gertie, the only frankly common member of the +staff, barked ever but bit never. As for Bella, poor soul, she +represented neutrality. The thread of her life was woven; she would +marry her policeman when he got his stripe, and bear him dull company to +the grave. Gertie would no doubt look after herself. Not being likely to +marry, she might keep straight and end as a manageress, probably save +nothing and end in the workhouse, or go wrong and live somehow, and then +die as quickly as a robin passing from the sunshine to the darkness. +Lottie was a greater problem; in her intelligence lay danger; she had +imagination, which in girls of her class is a perilous possession. Her +enthusiasm might take her anywhere, but very much more likely to misery +than to happiness. However, as she was visibly weak-chested, Victoria +took comfort in the thought that the air of the underground smoking-room +would some day settle her troubles. + +Victoria did not follow up her own line of life because as for all young +things, there was no end for her--nothing but mist ahead, with a rosy +tinge in it. Sufficient was it that she was in receipt of a fairly +regular income, not exactly overworked, neither happy nor miserable. +Apart from the two hours rush in the middle of the day, there was +nothing to worry her. After two months she had worked up a fair +connection; she could not rival the experienced Lottie, nor even Gertie +whose forward little ways always 'caught on,' but she kept up an average +of some fourteen shillings a week in tips. Thus she scored over Gladys +and Cora, whose looks and manners were unimpressive, lymphatic Bella +being of course outclassed by everybody. Twenty-one and six a week was +none too much for Victoria, whose ideas of clothes were fatally upper +middle class; good, and not too cheap. Still, she was enough of her +class to live within her income, and even add a shilling now and then to +her little hoard. + +A door opened downstairs. 'Four o'clock! Come down! Vic! Bella! Lottie! +Vat are you doing? gn?' + +Bella jumped up in terror, her fat cheeks quivering like jelly. 'Coming, +Mr Stein, coming,' she cried, making for the stairs. Victoria followed +more slowly. Lottie, secure in her privileges as head waitress, did not +move until she heard the door below slam behind them. + +Victoria lazily made for her tables. They were unoccupied save by a +youth of the junior clerk type. + +'Small tea toasted scone, Miss,' said the monarch with an approving look +at Victoria's eyes. As she turned to execute his order he threw himself +back in the bamboo arm chair. He joined his ten finger tips, and, +crossing his legs, negligently displayed a purple sock. He retained this +attitude until the return of Victoria. + +'Kyou,' she said, depositing his cup before him. She had unconsciously +acquired this incomprehensible habit of waitresses. + +The young man availed himself of the wait for the scone to inform +Victoria that it was a cold day. + +'We don't notice it here,' she said graciously enough. + +'Hot place, eh,' said the customer with a wink. + +Victoria smiled. In the early days she would have snubbed him, but she +had heard the remark before and had a stereotyped answer ready which, +with a new customer, invariably earned her a reputation for wit. + +'Oh, the hotter the fewer.' She smiled negligently, moving away towards +the counter. When she returned with the scone, the youth held out his +hand for the plate, and, taking it, touched the side of hers with his +finger tips. She gave him a faint smile and sat down a couple of yards +away on a chair marked 'Attendant.' + +The youth congratulated her upon the prettiness of the place. Victoria +helped him through his scone by agreeing with him generally. She +completed her conquest by lightly touching his shoulder as she gave him +his check. + +'Penny?' asked Bella, as the youth gone, Victoria slipped her fingers +under the cup. + +'Gent,' replied Victoria, displaying three coppers. + +Bella sighed. 'You've got all the luck, don't often get a twopenny; +never had a gent in my life.' + +'I don't wonder you don't,' said Cora from the other side of the room, +'looking as pleasant as if you were being photographed. You got to give +the boys some sport.' + +Bella sighed. 'It's all very well, Cora, I'm an ugly one, that's what it +is.' + +'Get out; I'm not a blooming daisy. Try washing your hair . . .' + +'It's wrong,' interposed Bella ponderously. + +'Oh, shut it, _Miss_ Prodgitt, I've no patience with you.' + +Cora walked away to the counter where Gladys was brewing tea. There was +a singular similarity between these two; both were short and plump; both +used henna to bring their hair up to a certain hue of redness; both had +complexions obviously too dark for the copper of their locks, belied as +it was already by their brown eyes. Indeed their resemblance frequently +created trouble, for each maintained that the other ruined her trade by +making her face cheap. + +'Can't help it if you've got a cheap face,' was the invariable answer +from either. 'You go home and come back when the rhubarb's out,' usually +served as a retort. + +The July afternoon oozed away. It was cool; now and then an effluvium of +tea came to Victoria, mingled with the scent of toast. Now and then too +the rumble of a dray or the clatter of a hansom filtered into the +dullness. Victoria almost slept. + +The inner door opened. A tall, stout, elderly man entered, throwing a +savage glance round the shop. There was a little stir among the girls. +Bella's rigidity increased tenfold. Cora and Gladys suddenly stopped +talking. Alone Victoria and Lottie seemed unconcerned at the entrance of +Butty, for 'Butty' it was. + +'Butty,' otherwise Mr Burton, the chairman of 'Rosebud, Ltd.,' continued +to glare theatrically. He wore a blue suit of a crude tint, a check +black and white waistcoat, a soft fronted brown shirt and, set in a +shilling poplin tie, a large black pearl. Under a grey bowler set far +back on his head his forehead sloped away to his wispy greying hair. His +nose was large and veined, his cheeks pendulous and touched with +rosacia; his hanging underlip revealed yellow teeth. The heavy dullness +of his face was somewhat relieved by his little blue eyes, piercing and +sparkling like those of a snake. His face was that of a man who is +looking for faults to correct. + +Mr Burton strode through the shop to the counter where Cora and Gladys +at once assumed an air of rectitude while he examined the cash register. +Then, without a word, he returned towards the doorway, sweeping Lottie's +tables with a discontented glance, and came to a stop before one of +Bella's tables. + +'What's this? what the devil do you mean by this?' thundered Butty, +pointing to a soiled plate and cup. + +'Oh, sir, I'm sorry, I . . .' gasped Bella, 'I . . .' + +'Now look here, my girl,' hissed Butty, savagely, 'don't you give me any +of your lip. If I ever find anything on a table of yours thirty seconds +after a customer's gone, it's the sack. Take it from me.' + +He walked to the steps and descended into the smoking-room. Cora and +Gladys went into fits of silent mirth, pointing at poor Bella. Lottie, +unconcerned as ever, vainly tried to extract interest from the shop copy +of 'What's On.' + +'Victoria,' came Butty's voice from below. 'Where's Mr Stein? Come +down.' + +'He's washing, sir,' said Victoria, bending over the banisters. + +'Oh, washing is he? first time I've caught him at it,' came the answer +with vicious jocularity. 'Here's a nice state of things; come down.' + +Victoria went down the steps. + +'Now then, why aren't these salt cellars put away? It's your job before +you come up.' + +'If you please, sir, it's settling day,' said Victoria quietly, 'we open +this room again at six.' + +'Oh, yes, s'pose you're right. I don't blame you. Never have to,' said +Butty grudgingly, then ingratiatingly. + +'No, sir,' said Victoria. + +'No, you're not like the others,' said Butty negligently coming closer +to her. + +Victoria smiled respectfully, but edged a little away. Butty eyed her +narrowly, his lips smiling and a little moist. Then his hand suddenly +shot out and seized her by the arm, high up, just under the short +sleeve. + +'You're a nice girl,' he said, looking into her eyes. + +Victoria said nothing, but tried to free herself. She tried harder as +she felt on her forearm the moist warmth of the ball of Butty's thumb +softly caressing it. + +'Let me go, sir,' she whispered, 'they can see you through the +banisters.' + +'Never you mind, Vic,' said Butty drawing her towards him. + +Victoria slipped from his grasp, ran to the stairs, but remembered to +climb them in a natural and leisurely manner. + +'Cool, very cool,' said Butty, approvingly, 'fine girl, fine girl.' He +passed his tongue over his lips, which had suddenly gone dry. + +When Victoria returned to her seat Lottie had not moved; Bella sat deep +in her own despair, but, behind the counter, Cora and Gladys were fixing +two stern pairs of eyes upon the favourite. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +'YES, sir, yes sir; I've got your order,' cried Victoria to a middle +aged man, whose face reddened with every minute of waiting. 'Steak, sir? +Yes, sir, that'll be eight minutes. And sautées, yes sir. Gladys, send +Dicky up to four. What was yours, sir? Wing twopence extra. No bread? +Oh, sorry, sir, thought you said Worcester.' + +Victoria dashed away to the counter. This was the busy hour. In her +brain a hurtle of food stuffs and condiments automatically sorted itself +out. + +'Now then, hurry up with that chop,' she snapped, thrusting her head +almost through the kitchen window. + +''Oo are you,' growled the cook over her shoulder. 'Empress of Germany? +I don't think.' + +'Oh, shut it, Maria, hand it over; now then Cora, where you pushing to?' +Victoria edged Cora back from the window, seized the chop and rushed +back to her tables. + +The bustle increased; it was close on one o'clock, an hour when the +slaves drop their oars, and for a while leave the thwarts of many +groans. The Rosebud had nearly filled up. Almost every table was +occupied by young men, most of them reading a paper propped up against a +cruet, some a Temple Classic, its pages kept open by the weight of the +plate edge. A steady hum of talk came from those who did not read, and, +mingled with the clatter of knives and forks, produced that atmosphere +of mongrel sound that floats into the ears like a restless wave. + +Victoria stepped briskly between the tables, collecting orders, deftly +making out bill after bill, smoothing tempers ruffled here and there by +a wrongful attribution of food. + +'Yes sir, cutlets. No veg? Cauli? Yes sir.' + +She almost ran up and down as half-past one struck and the young men +asked for coffees, small coffees, small blacks, china teas. From time to +time she could breathe and linger for some seconds by a youth who +audaciously played with the pencil and foil suspended from her waist. Or +she exchanged a pleasantry. + +'Now then, Nevy, none of your larks.' Victoria turned round sharply and +caught a hand engaged in forcing a piece of sugar into her belt. + +Nevy, otherwise Neville Brown, laughed and held her hand the space of a +second. 'I love my love with a V . . .' he began, looking up at her, his +blue eyes shining. + +'Chuck it or I'll tell your mother,' said Victoria, smiling too. She +withdrew her hand and turned away. + +'Oh, I say, Vic, don't go, wait a bit,' cried Neville, 'I want, now what +did I want?' + +'Sure I don't know,' said Victoria, 'you never said what you wanted. +Want me to make up your mind for you?' + +'Do, Vic, let our minds be one,' said Neville. + +Victoria looked at him approvingly. Neville Brown deserved the nickname +of 'Beauty,' which had clung to him since he left school. Brown wavy +hair, features so clean cut as to appear almost effeminate, a broad +pointed jaw, all combined to make him the schoolgirl's dream. Set off by +his fair and slightly sunburnt face, his blue eyes sparkled with +mischief. + +'Well, then, special and cream. Sixpence and serve you right.' + +She laughed and stepped briskly away to the counter. + +'You're in luck, Beauty,' said his neighbour with a sardonic air. + +'Oh, it's no go, James,' replied Brown, 'straight as they make them.' + +'Don't say she's not. But if I weren't a married man, I'd go for her +baldheaded.' + +'Guess you would, Jimmy,' said Beauty, laughing, 'but you'd be wasting +your time. You wouldn't get anything out of her.' + +'Don't you be too sure,' said Jimmy meaningly. He passed his hand +reflectively over his shaven lips. + +'Well, well,' said Brown, 'p'raps I'm not an Apollo like you, Jimmy.' + +Jimmy smiled complacently. He was a tall slim youth, well groomed about +the head, doggy about the collar and tie, neatly dressed in Scotch +tweed. His steady grey eyes and firm mouth, a little set and rigid, the +impeccability of all about him, had stamped business upon his face as +upon his clothes. + +'Oh, I can't queer your pitch, Beauty,' he said a little grimly. 'I know +you, you low dog.' + +Beauty laughed at the epithet. 'You've got no poetry about you, you +North Country chaps, when a girl's as lovely as Victoria--' + +'As lovely as Victoria,' he repeated a little louder as Victoria laid +the cup of coffee before him. + +'I know all about that,' said Victoria coolly, 'you don't come it over +me like that, Nevy.' + +'Cruel, cruel girl,' sighed Neville. 'Ah, if you only knew what I +feel----' + +Victoria put her hand on the tablecloth and, for a moment, looked down +into Neville's blue eyes. + +'You oughtn't to be allowed out,' she pronounced, 'you aren't safe.' + +Jimmy got up as if he had been sitting on a suddenly released spring. + +'Spoon away both of you,' he said smoothly, 'I'm going over to Parsons' +to buy a racquet. Coming, Beauty? No, thought as much. Ta-ta, Vic. +Excuse me. Steak and kidney pie is tenpence, not a shilling. Cheer oh! +Beauty.' + +'He's a rum one,' said Victoria, reflectively, as Jimmy passed the cash +desk. + +'Jimmy? oh, he's all right,' said Neville, 'but look here Vic, I want to +speak to you. Let's go on the bust to-night. Dinner at the New Gaiety +and the theatre. What d'you think?' + +Victoria looked at him for a second. + +'You are a cure, Nevy,' she said. + +'Then that's a bargain?' said Brown, eagerly snapping up her +non-refusal. 'Meet me at Strand Tube Station half-past seven. You're off +to-night, I know.' + +'Oh you know, do you,' said Victoria smiling. 'Been pumping Bella I +suppose, like the rest. She's a green one, that girl.' + +Neville looked up at her appealingly. 'Never mind how I know,' he said, +'say you'll come, we'll have a ripping time.' + +'Well, p'raps I will and p'raps I won't,' said Victoria. 'Your bill, +Sir? Yessir.' + +Victoria went to the next table. While she wrote she exchanged chaff +with the customers. One had not raised his eyes from his book; one stood +waiting for his bill; the other two, creatures about to be men, raised +languid eyes from their coffee cups. One negligently puffed a jet of +tobacco smoke upwards towards Victoria. + +'Rotten,' she said briefly, 'I see you didn't buy those up West.' + +'That's what _you_ think, Vic,' said the youth, 'fact is I got them in +the Burlington. Have one?' + +'No thanks. Don't want to be run in.' + +'Have a match then.' The young man held up a two inch vesta. 'What +price that, eh? pinched 'em from the Troc' last night.' + +'You are a toff, Bertie,' said Victoria with unction. 'I'll have it as a +keepsake.' She took it and stuck it in her belt. + +Bertie leaned over to his neighbour. 'It's a mash,' he said confidently. + +'Take her to Kew,' said his friend, 'next stop Brighton.' + +'Can't run to it, old cock,' said the youth. 'However we shall see.' + +'Vic, Vic,' whispered Neville. But Victoria had passed him quickly and +was answering Mr Stein. + +'Vat you mean by it,' he growled, 'making de gentleman vait for his +ticket, gn?' + +'Beg your pardon, Mr Stein, I did nothing of the kind. The gentleman was +making _me_ wait while he talked to his friend.' + +Victoria could now lie coolly and well. Stein looked at her savagely and +slowly walked away along the gangway between the tables, glowering from +right to left, looking managerially for possible complaints. + +Victoria turned back from the counter. There, behind the coffee urn +where Cora presided, stood Burton, in his blue suit, tiny beads of +perspiration appearing on his forehead. His little blue eyes fixed +themselves upon her like drills seeking in her being the line of least +resistance where he could deliver his attack. She almost fled, as if she +had seen a snake, every facet of her memory causing the touch of his hot +warm hand to materialise. + +'Vic,' said Neville's voice softly as she passed, 'is it yes?' + +She looked down at the handsome face. + +'Yes, Beauty Boy,' she whispered, and walked away. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +'SILLY ass,' remarked Victoria angrily. She threw Edward's letter on the +table. Unconsciously she spoke the 'Rosebud' language, for contact had +had its effect upon her; she no longer awoke with a start to the fact +that she was speaking an alien tongue, a tongue she would once have +despised. + +Edward had expressed his interest in her welfare in a letter of four +pages covered with his thin writing, every letter of which was legible +and sloped at the proper angle. He 'considered it exceedingly +undesirable for her to adopt a profession such as that of waitress.' It +was comforting to know that 'he was relieved to see that she had the +common decency to change her name, and he trusted. . . .' Here Victoria +had stopped. + +'I can't bear it,' she said. 'I can't, can't, can't. Twopenny little +schoolmaster lecturing me, me who've got to earn every penny I get by +fighting for it in the dirt, so to say.' Every one of Edward's features +came up before her eyes, his straggling fair hair, his bloodless face, +his fumbling ineffective hands. This pedagogue who had stepped from +scholardom to teacherdom dared to blame or eulogise the steps she took +to earn her living, to be free to live or die as she chose. It was +preposterous. What did he know of life? + +Victoria seized a pen and feverishly scribbled on a crumpled sheet of +paper. + + 'My dear Edward,--What I do's my business. I've got to live and I + can't choose. And you can be sure that so long as I can keep myself + I shan't come to you for help or advice. Perhaps you don't know what + freedom is, never having had any. But I do and I'm going to keep it + even if it costs me the approval of you people who sit at home + comfortably and judge people like me who want to be strong and free. + But what's the good of talking about freedom to you.-- + + Your affectionate sister, + + VICTORIA'. + +She addressed the envelope and ran out hatless to post it at the pillar +box in Edgware Road. As she crossed the road homewards a horse bus +rumbled by. It carried an enormous advertisement of the new musical +comedy _The Teapot Girl_. 'A fine comedy indeed,' she thought, suddenly +a little weary. + +As she entered her room, where a small oil lamp diffused a sphere of +graduated light, she was seized as by the throat by the oppression of +the silent summer night. The wind had fallen; not even a whirl of dust +stirred in the air. Alone and far away a piano organ in a square droned +and clanked Italian melody. She thought of Edward and of her letter. +Perhaps she had been too sharp. Once upon a time she would not have +written like that: she was getting common. + +Victoria sat down on a little chair, her hands clasped together in her +lap, her eyes looking out at the blank wall opposite. This, nine +o'clock, was the fatal hour when the ghosts of her dead past paced like +caged beasts up and down in her small room, and the wraith of the day's +work rattled its chains. There had been earlier times when, in the first +flush of independence, she had sat down to gloat over what was almost +success, her liberty, her living earned by her own efforts. The rosiness +of freedom then wrapped around the dinge with wreaths of fancy, wreaths +that curled incessantly into harmonious shapes. But Victoria had soon +plumbed the depths of speculation and found that the fire of imagination +needs shadowy fuel for its shadowy combustion. Day by day her brain had +become less lissome. Then, instead of thinking for the joy of thought, +she had read some fourpenny-halfpenny novel, a paper even, picked up in +the Tube. Her mind was waking up, visualising, realising, and in its +troublous surgings made for something to cling to to steady itself. But +months rolled on and on, inharmonious in their sameness, unrelieved by +anything from the monotony of work and sleep. Certain facts meant +certain things and recurred eternally with their unchanging meaning; the +knock that awoke her, a knock so individual and habitual that her sleepy +brain was conscious on Sundays that she need not respond; the smell of +food which began to assail her faintly as she entered the 'Rosebud,' +then grew to pungency and reek at midday, blended with tobacco, then +slowly ebbed almost into nothingness: the dying day that was grateful to +her eyes when she left to go home, when things looked kindly round her. + +When Victoria realised all of a sudden her loneliness in her island in +Star Street, something like the fear of the hunted had driven her out +into the streets. She was afraid to be alone, for not even books could +save her from her thoughts, those hounds in full cry. In such moods she +had walked the streets quickly, looking at nothing, maintaining her pace +over hills. Now and then she had suddenly landed on a slum, caught sight +of, all beery and bloody, through the chink of a black lane. But she +shunned the flares, the wet pavement, the orange peel that squelched +beneath her boots, afraid of the sight of too vigorous life. +Unconsciously she had sought the drug of weariness, and the cunning bred +of her dipsomania told her that the living were poor companions for her +soul. And, when at times a man had followed her, his eye arrested by +the lines of her face lit up by a gas lamp, he had soon tired of her +quick walk and turned away towards weaker vessels. + +But even weariness, when abused, loses its power as a sedative. The +body, at once hardened and satiated, demands more every day as it craves +for increasing doses of morphia, for more food, more drink, more kisses, +more, ever more. Thus Victoria had reached her last stage when, sitting +alone in her room, she once more faced the emptiness where the ghosts of +her dead past paced like caged beasts and the wraith of the day's work +rattled its chains. + +From this, now a state of mental instead of physical exhaustion, she was +seldom roused; and it needed an Edward come to judgment to stir her +sleepy brain into quick passion. Again and again the events of the day +would chase round and round maddeningly with every one of their little +details sharp as crystals. Victoria could almost mechanically repeat +some conversations, all trifling, similar, confined to half a dozen +topics; she could feel, too, but casually as an odalisque, the hot wave +of desire which surrounded her all day, evidenced by eyes that +glittered, fastened on her hands as she served, on her face, the curve +of her neck, her breast, her hips; eyes that devoured and divested her +of her meretricious livery. And, worse perhaps than that big primitive +surge which left her cold but unangered, the futility of others who +bandied with her the daily threadbare joke, who wearied her mind with +questions as to food, compelled her to sympathise with the vagaries of +the weather or were arch, flirtatious and dragged out of her tired mind +the necessary response. Even Butty and the moist warmth of him, even +Stein with his flaccid surly face, were better in their grossness than +these vapid youths, thoughtless, incapable of thought, incapable of +imagining thought, who set her down as an inferior, as a toy for games +that were not even those of men. + +'Beauty' had been a disappointment. She had met him two or three times +since their first evening out. That night Neville, who was a young man +of the world, had pressed his suit so delicately, preserving in so +cat-like a manner his lines of retreat, that she had not been able to +snub him when inclined to. He had a small private income and knew how to +make the best of his good looks by means of gentle manners and smart +clothes. In the insurance office where he was one of those clerks who +have lately evolved from the junior stage, he was nothing in particular +and earned ten pounds a month. He had furnished two rooms on the Chelsea +edge of Kensington, belonged to an inexpensive club in St James's, had +been twice to Brussels and once to Paris; he smoked Turkish cigarettes, +deeming Virginia common; he subscribed to a library in connection with +Mudie's, and knew enough of the middle classes to exaggerate his +impression of them into the smart set. Perhaps he tried a little too +much to be a gentleman. + +Neville Brown was strongly attracted to Victoria. He had vainly tried to +draw her out, and scented the lie in her carefully concocted story. He +knew enough to feel that she was at heart one of those women he met 'in +society,' perhaps a little better. Thus she puzzled him extremely, for +she was not even facile; he could hold her hand; she had not refused him +kisses, but he was afraid to secure his grip on her as a man carrying a +butterfly stirs not a finger for fear it should escape. + +Victoria turned all this over lazily. Her instinct told her what manner +of man was Neville, for he hardly concealed his desires. Indeed their +relations had something of the charm of a masqued ball. She saw well +enough that Neville was not likely to remain content with kisses, and +viewed the inevitable battle with mixed feelings. She liked him; +indeed, in certain moods and when his blue eyes were at their bluest, he +attracted her magnetically. The reminiscent scent of Turkish tobacco on +her lips always drew her back towards him; and yet she was of her class, +shy of love, of all that is illicit because unacknowledged. She knew +very well that Neville would hardly ask her to marry him and that she +would refuse if he did; she knew less well what she would do if he asked +her to love him. When she analysed their relation she always found that +all lay on the lap of the gods. + +In the loneliness of night her thoughts would fasten on him more +intently. He was youth and warmth and friendliness, words for the +silent, a hand to touch; better still he was a figment of Love itself, +with all its tenderness and crudity, its heat, all the quivers of its +body; he was soft scented as the mysterious giver of passionate gifts. +So, when Victoria lay down to try and sleep she rocked in the trough of +the waves of doubt. She could not tell into what hands she would give, +if she gave, her freedom, her independence of thought and deed, all that +security which is dear to the sheltered class from which she came. So, +far into the night she would struggle for sight, tossing from right to +left and left to right, thrusting away and then recalling the brown +face, the blue eyes and their promise. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +THE days rolled on, and on every one, as their scroll revealed itself, +Victoria inscribed doings which never varied. The routine grew heavier +as she found that the events of a Monday were so similar to those of +another Monday that after a month she could not locate happenings. She +no longer read newspapers. There was nothing in them for her; not even +the mock tragedy of the death of an heir presumptive or the truer +grimness of a shipwreck could rouse in her an emotion. She did not care +for adventure: not because she thought that adventure was beneath her +notice, but because it could not affect her. A revolution could have +happened, but she would have served boiled cod and coffees to the +groundlings, wings of chicken to the luxurious, without a thought for +the upheaval, provided it did not flutter the pink curtains beyond which +hummed the world. + +At times, for the holiday season was not over and work was rather slack, +Victoria had time to sit on her 'attendant' chair and to think awhile. +Reading nothing and seeing no one save Beauty and Mrs Smith, she was +thinking once more and thinking dangerously much. Often she would watch +Lottie, negligently serving, returning the ball of futility with a +carelessness that was almost grace, or Cora talking smart slang in young +lady-like tones. + +'To what end?' thought Victoria. 'What are we doing here, wasting our +lives, I suppose, to feed these boys. For what's the good of feeding +them so that they may scrawl figures in books and catch trains and +perhaps one day, unless they've got too old, marry some dull girl and +have more children than they can keep? We girls, we're wasted too.' So +strongly did she feel this that, one day, she prospected the unexplored +ground of Cora's mind. + +'What are you worrying about?' remarked Cora, after Victoria had tried +to inflame her with noble discontent. 'I don't say it's all honey, this +job of ours, but you can have a good time pretty well every night, can't +you, let alone Sundays?' + +'But I don't want a good time,' said Victoria, suddenly inspired. 'I +want to feel I'm alive, do something.' + +'Do what?' said Cora. + +'Live, see things, travel.' + +'Oh, we don't get a chance, of course,' said Cora. 'I'll tell you how it +is, Vic, you want too much. If you want anything in life you've got to +want nothing, then whatever you get good seems jolly good.' + +'You're a pessimist, Cora,' said Victoria smiling. + +'Meaning I see the sad side? Don't you believe it. Every cloud has a +silver lining, you know.' + +'And every silver lining has a cloud,' said Victoria, sadly. + +'Now, Vic,' answered Cora crossly, 'don't you go on like that. You'll +only mope and mope. And what's the good of that, I'd like to know.' + +'Oh, I don't know,' said Victoria, 'I like thinking of things. Sometimes +I wish I could make an end of it. Don't you?' + +'Lord, no,' said Cora, 'I make the best of it. You take my tip and don't +think too much.' + +Victoria bent down in her chair, her chin upon her open palm. Cora +slapped her on the back. + +'Cheer up,' she said, 'we'll soon be dead.' + +Victoria had also attempted Gladys, but had discovered without surprise +that her association with Cora had equalised their minds as well as the +copper of their hair. Lottie never said much when attacked on a general +subject, while Bella never said anything at all. Since the day when +Victoria had attempted to draw her out on the fateful question 'What's +the good of anything?' Bella Prodgitt had looked upon Victoria as a +dangerous revolutionary. At times she would follow the firebrand round +the shop with frightened and admiring eyes. For her Victoria was +something like the brilliant relation of whom the family is proud +without daring to acknowledge him. + +It fell to Gertie's lot to enlighten Victoria further on the current +outlook of life. It came about in this way. One Saturday afternoon +Victoria and Bella were alone on duty upstairs, for the serving of lunch +is then at a low ebb; the City makes a desperate effort to reach the +edge of the world to lunch peacefully and cheaply in its homes and +lodgings. Lottie and Gertie were taking the smoking room below. + +It was nearly three o'clock. At one of the larger tables sat two men, +both almost through with their lunch. The elder of the two, a stout, +cheery-looking man, pushed away his cup, slipped two pennies under the +saucer and, taking up his bill, which Victoria had made out when she +gave him his coffee, went up to the cash desk. The other man, a +pale-faced youth in a blue suit, sat before his half emptied cup. His +hand passed nervously round his chin as he surveyed the room; his was +rather the face of a ferret, with a long upper lip, watery blue eyes, +and a weak chin. His forehead sloped a little and was decorated with +many pimples. + +Victoria passed him quickly, caught up the stout man, entered the cash +desk and took his bill. He turned in the doorway. + +'Well, Vic,' he said, 'when are we going to be married?' + +'29th of February, if it's not a leap year,' she laughed. + +'Too bad, too bad,' said the stout man, looking back from the open door +out of which he had already passed, 'you're the third girl who's said +that to me in a fortnight.' + +'Serve you right,' said Victoria, looking into the mirror opposite, +'you're as bad as Henry the . . . .' + +The door closed. Victoria did not finish her sentence. Her eyes were +glued to the mirror. In it she could only see a young man with a thin +face, decorated with many pimples, hurriedly gulping down the remains of +his cup of coffee. But a second before then she had seen something which +made her fetch a quick breath. The young man had looked round, marked +that her head was turned away; he had thrown a quick glance to the right +and the left, to the counter which Bella had left for a moment to go +into the kitchen; then his hand had shot out and, with a quick movement, +he had seized the stout man's pennies and slipped them under his own +saucer. + +The young man got up. Victoria came up to him and made out his bill. He +took it without a word and paid it at the desk, Victoria taking his +money. + +'Well, he didn't steal it, did he?' said Gertie, when Victoria told her +of the incident. + +'No, not exactly. Unless he stole it from the first man.' + +''Ow could he steal it if he didn't take it?' snapped Gertie. + +'Well, he made believe to tip me when he didn't, and he made believe +that the first man was mean when it was he who was,' said Victoria. 'So +he stole it from the first man to give it me.' + +'Lord, I don't see what yer after,' said Gertie. 'You ain't lost +nothing. And the first fellow he ain't lost nothing either. He'd _left_ +his money.' + +Victoria struggled for a few sentences. The little Cockney brain could +not take in her view. Gertie could only see that Victoria had had +twopence from somebody instead of from somebody else, so what was her +trouble? + +'Tell yer wot,' said Gertie summing up the case, 'seems ter me the +fellow knew wot he was after. Dodgy sort of thing to do. Oughter 'ave +thought of the looking-glass though.' + +Victoria turned away from Gertie's crafty little smile. There was +something in the girl that she could not understand; nor could Gertie +understand her scruple. Gertie helped her a little though to solve the +problem of waste; this girl could hardly be wasted, thought Victoria, +for of what use could she be? She had neither the fine physique that +enables a woman to bear big stupid sons, nor the intelligence which +breeds a cleverer generation; she was sunk in the worship of easy +pleasure, and ever bade the fleeting joy to tarry yet awhile. + +'She isn't alive at all,' said Victoria to Lottie. 'She merely grows +older.' + +'Well, so do we,' replied Lottie in matter of fact tones. + +Victoria was compelled to admit the truth of this, but she did not see +her point clearly enough to state it. Lottie, besides, did nothing to +draw her out. In some ways she was Victoria's oasis in the desert, for +she was simple and gentle, but her status lymphaticus was permanent. She +did not even dream. + +Victoria's psychological enquiries did not tend to make her popular. The +verdict of the 'Rosebud' was that she was a 'rum one,' perhaps a 'deep +one.' The staff were confirmed in their suspicions that she was a 'deep +one' by the obvious attentions that Mr Burton paid her. They were not +prudish, except Bella, who objected to 'goings on'; to be distinguished +by Butty was rather disgusting, but it was flattering too. + +'He could have anybody he liked, the dirty old tyke,' remarked Cora. 'Of +course I'm not taking any,' she added in response to a black look from +Bella Prodgitt. + +Victoria was not 'taking any' either, but she every day found greater +difficulty in repelling him. Burton would stand behind the counter near +the kitchen door during the lunch hour, and whenever Victoria had to +come up to it, he would draw closer, so close that she could see over +the whites of his little eyes a fine web of blood vessels. Every time +she came and went her skirts brushed against his legs; on her neck +sometimes she felt the rush of his bitter scented breath. + +One afternoon, in the change room, as she was dressing alone to leave at +four, the door opened. She had taken off her blouse and turned with a +little cry. Burton had come in suddenly. He walked straight up to her, +his eyes not fixed on hers but on her bare arms. A faintness came over +her. She hardly had the strength to repel him, as without a word he +threw one arm round her waist, seizing her above the elbow with his +other hand. As he tried to draw her towards him she saw a few inches +from her face, just the man's mouth, red and wet, like the sucker of a +leech, the lips parted over the yellow teeth. + +'Let me go!' she hissed, throwing her head back. + +Burton ground her against him, craning his neck to touch her lips with +his. + +'Don't be silly,' he whispered, 'I love you. You be my little girl.' + +'Let me go.' Victoria shook him savagely. + +'None of that.' Burton's eyes were glittering. The corners had pulled +upwards with rage. + +'Let me go, I say.' + +Burton did not answer. For a minute they wrestled. Victoria thrust him +back against the wall. She almost turned sick as his hand, slipping +round her, flattened itself on her bare shoulder. In that moment of +weakness Burton won, and, bending her over, kissed her on the mouth. She +struggled, but Burton had gripped her behind the neck. Three times he +kissed her on the lips. A convulsion of disgust and she lay motionless +in his embrace. There was a step on the stairs. A few seconds later +Burton had slipped out by the side door. + +'What's up?' said Gladys suspiciously. + +Victoria had sunk upon a chair, breathless, dishevelled, her face in her +hands. + +'Nothing . . . I . . . I feel sick,' she faltered. Then she savagely +wiped her mouth with her feather boa. + +Victoria was getting a grip of things. The brute, the currish brute. The +words rang in her head like a chorus. For days, the memory of the affray +did not leave her. She guarded, too, against any recurrence of the +scene. + +Her hatred for Burton seemed to increase the fascination of Neville. She +did not think of them together, but it always seemed to happen that, +immediately after thrusting away the toad-like picture of the chairman, +she thought of the blue-eyed boy. Yet her relations with Neville were +ill-fated. Some days after the foul incident in the change room, Neville +took her for one of his little 'busts.' As it was one of her late nights +he called for her at a quarter past nine. They walked towards the west +and, on the stroke of ten, Neville escorted her into one of the enormous +restaurants that the Refreshment Rendezvous, known to London as the +Ah-Ah, runs as anonymously as it may. + +Victoria was amused. The R. R. was the owner of a palace, built, if not +for the classes, certainly not for the masses. Its facing was of +tortured Portland stone, where Greek columns, Italian, Louis XIV and +Tudor mouldings blended with rich Byzantine gildings and pre-Raphaelite +frescoes. Inside too, it was all plush, mainly red; gold again; palms, +fountains, with goldfish and tin ducks. The restaurant was quite a fair +imitation of the Carlton, but a table d'hôte supper was provided for +eighteen pence, including finger bowls in which floated a rose petal. + +Neville and Victoria sat at a small table made for two. She surrendered +her feet to the clasp of his. Around her were about two hundred couples +and a hundred family parties. Most of the young men were elaborately +casual; they wore blue or tweed suits, a few, frock coats marred by +double collars; they had a tendency to loll and to puff the insolent +tobacco smoke of virginias towards the distant roof. Their young ladies +talked a great deal and looked about. There was much wriggling of +chairs, much giggling, much pulling up of long gloves over bare arms. In +a corner, all alone, a young man in well-fitting evening clothes was +consuming in melancholy some chocolate and a sandwich. + +Neville plied Victoria with the major part of a half bottle of claret. + +'Burgundy's the thing,' he said. 'More body in it.' + +'Yes, it is good, isn't it? I mustn't have any more, though.' + +'Oh, you're all right,' said Neville indulgently. 'Let's have some +coffee and a liqueur.' + +'No, no liqueur for me.' + +'Well, coffee then. Here, waiter.' + +Neville struggled for some minutes. He utterly failed to gain the ear of +the waiters. + +'Let's go, Beauty,' said Victoria. 'I don't want any coffee. No, really, +I'd rather not. I can't sleep if I take it.' + +The couple walked up Regent Street, then along Piccadilly. Neville held +Victoria's arm. He had slipped his fingers under the long glove. She did +not withdraw her arm. His touch tickled her senses to quiescence if not +to satisfaction. They turned into the Park. Just behind the statue of +Achilles they stepped upon the grass and at once Neville threw his arm +round Victoria. It was a little chilly; mist was rising from the grass. +The trees stood blackly out of it, as if sawn off a few feet from the +ground. Neville stopped. A little smile was on his lips. + +'Beauty boy,' said Victoria. + +He drew her towards him and kissed her. He kissed her on the forehead, +then on the cheek, for he was a sybarite, in matters of love something +of an artist, just behind the ear, then passionately on the lips. +Victoria closed her eyes and threw one arm round his neck. She felt +exhilarated, as if gently warmed. They walked further westwards, and +with every step the fog thickened. + +'Let's stop, Beauty,' said Victoria, after they had rather suddenly +walked up to a thicket. 'We'll get lost in the wilderness.' + +'And wilderness were paradise enow,' murmured Neville in her ear. + +Victoria did not know the hackneyed line. It sounded beautiful to her. +She laughed nervously and let Neville draw her down by his side on the +grass. + +'Oh, let me go, Beauty,' she whispered. 'Suppose someone should come.' + +Neville did not answer. He had clasped her to him. His lips were more +insistent on hers. She felt his hand on her breast. + +'Oh, no, no, Beauty, don't, please don't,' she said weakly. + +For some minutes she lay passive in his grasp. He had undone the back of +her blouse. His hand, cold and dry, had slipped along her shoulder, +seeking warmth. + +Slowly his clasp grew harder; he used his weight. Victoria bent under +it. Something like faintness came over her. + +'Victoria, Victoria, my darling.' The voice seemed far away. She was +giving way more and more. Not a blade of grass shuddered under its +shroud of mist. From the road came the roar of a motorbus, like a +muffled drum. Then she felt the damp of the grass on her back through +the opening of her blouse. + +A second later she was sitting up. She had thrust Neville away with a +savage push under the chin. He seized her once more. She fought him, +seeing nothing to struggle with but a silent dark shadow. + +'No, Beauty, no, you mustn't,' she panted. + +They were standing then, both of them. + +'Vic, darling, why not?' pleaded Neville gently, still holding her hand. + +'I don't know. Oh, no, really I can't, Beauty.' + +She did not know it, but generations of clean living were fighting +behind her, driving back and crushing out the forces of nature. She did +not know that, like most women, she was not a free being but the +great-granddaughter of a woman whose forbears had taught her that +illegal surrender is evil. + +'I'm sorry, Beauty, . . . it's my fault,' she said. + +'Oh, don't mention it,' said Neville icily, dropping her hand. 'You're +playing with me, that's all.' + +'I'm not,' said Victoria, tears of excitement in her eyes. 'Oh, Beauty, +don't you understand. We women, we can't do what we like. It's so hard. +We're poor, and life is so dull and we wish we were dead. And then a man +comes like you and the only thing he can offer, we mustn't take it.' + +'But why, why?' asked Beauty. + +'I don't know,' said Victoria. 'We mustn't. At any rate I mustn't. My +freedom is all I've got and I can't give it up to you like that. I like +you, you know that, don't you, Beauty?' + +Neville did not answer. + +'I do, Beauty. But I can't, don't you see. If I were a rich woman it +would be different. I'd owe nobody anything. But I'm poor; it'd pull me +down and . . . when a woman's down, men either kick or kiss her.' + +Neville shrugged his shoulders. + +'Let's go,' he said. + +Silently, side by side, they walked out of the park. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +OCTOBER was dying, its russet tints slowly merging into grey. Thin +mists, laden with fine specks of soot, had penetrated into the +'Rosebud.' Victoria, in her black business dress, under which she now +had to wear a vest which rather killed the tip-drawing power of her +openwork blouse, was setting her tables, quickly crossing red cloths +over white, polishing the glasses, arranging knives and forks in +artistic if inconvenient positions. It was ten o'clock, but business had +not begun, neither Mr Stein nor Butty having arrived. + +'Cold, ain't it?' remarked Gertie. + +'Might be colder,' said Bella Prodgitt. + +Victoria came towards them, carrying a trayful of cruets. + +''Ow's Beauty?' asked Gertie. + +Victoria passed by without a word. This romance had not added to the +popularity of the chairman's favourite. Cora and Gladys were busy +dusting the counter and polishing the urns. Lottie, in front of a wall +glass, was putting the finishing touches to the set of her cap. The door +opened to let in Mr Stein, strapped tight in his frock coat, his top hat +set far back on his bullet head. He glared for a moment at the staff in +general, then without a word took a letter addressed to him from a rack +bearing several addressed to customers, and passed into the cash desk. +The girls resumed their polishing more busily. Quickly the night +wrappings fell from the chandeliers; the rosebud baskets were teased +into shape; the tables, loaded swiftly with their sets, grew more +becoming. Victoria, passing from table to table set on each a small vase +full of chrysanthemums. + +'I say, Gladys, look at Stein,' whispered Cora to her neighbour. Gladys +straightened herself from under the counter and followed the direction +of Cora's finger. + +'Lord,' she said, 'what's up?' + +Bella's attention was attracted. She too was interested in her bovine +way. Mr Stein's attitude was certainly unusual. He held a sheet of paper +in one hand, his other hand clutching at his cheek so hard as to make +one of his eyes protrude. Both his eyes were fixed on the sheet of +paper, incredulous and horror-stricken. + +'I say, Vic, what's the matter with the little swine?' suddenly said +Lottie, who had at length noticed him. + +Victoria looked. Stein had not moved. For some seconds all the girls +gazed spellbound at the frozen figure in the cashbox. The silence of +tragedy was on them, a silence which arrests gesture and causes hearts +to beat. + +'Lord, I can't stick this,' whispered Cora, 'there's something wrong.' +Quickly diving under the counter flap she ran towards the pay box where +Stein still sat unmoving, as if petrified. The little group of girls +watched her. Bella's stertorous breathing was plainly heard. + +Cora opened the glass door and seized Stein by the arm. + +'What's the matter, Mr Stein?' she said excitedly, 'are you feeling +queer?' + +Stein started like a somnambulist suddenly awakened and looked at her +stupidly, then at the motionless girls in the shop. + +'Nein, nein, lassen sie doch,' he muttered. + +'Mr Stein, Mr Stein,' half-screamed Cora. + +'Oh, get out, I'm all right, but the game's up. He's gone. The game's up +I tell up. The game's up.' + +Cora looked at him round-eyed. Mr Stein's idioms frightened her almost +more than his German. + +Stein was babbling, speaking louder and louder. + +'Gone away, Burton. Bankrupt and got all the cash. . . . See? You get +the sack. Starve. So do I and my vife. . . . Ach, ach, ach, ach. Mein +Gott, Mein Gott, was solls. . . .' + +Gertie watched from the counter with a heightened colour. Lottie and +Victoria, side by side, had not moved. A curious chill had seized +Victoria, stiffening her wrists and knees. Stein was talking quicker and +quicker, with a voice that was not his. + +'Ach, the damned scoundrel . . . the schweinehund . . . he knew the +business was going to the dogs, ach, schweinehund, schweinehund. . . .' +He paused. Less savage his thoughts turned to his losses. 'Two hundred +shares he sold me. . . . I paid a premium . . . they vas to go to four +. . . ach, ach, ach. . . . I'm in the cart.' + +Gertie sniggered gently. The idiom had swamped the tragedy. Stein looked +round at the sound. His face had gone leaden; his greasy plastered hair +was all awry. + +'Vat you laughing at, gn?' he asked savagely, suddenly resuming his +managerial tone. + +'Take it we're bust, ain't we?' said Gertie, stepping forward jauntily. + +Stein lifted, then dropped one hand. + +'Yes,' he said, 'bust.' + +'Thank you for a week's wages, Mr Stein,' said Gertie, 'and I'll push +off, if yer don't mind.' + +Stein laughed harshly. With a theatrical movement he seized the cash +drawer by the handle, drew it out and flung it on the floor. It was +empty. + +'Oh, that's 'ow it is,' said Gertie. 'You're a fine gentleman, I don't +think. Bloomin' lot of skunks. What price that, mate?' she screamed +addressing Bella, who still sat in her chair, her cheeks rising and +falling like the sides of a cuttlefish. ''Ere's a fine go. Fellers comes +along and tikes in poor girls like me and you and steals the bread outer +their mouths. I'll 'ave yer run in, yer bloody foreigner.' She waved her +fist in the man's face. 'For two pins,' she screamed, 'I'd smash yer +fice, I'd. . . .' + +'Chuck it, Gertie,' said Lottie, suddenly taking her by the arm, 'don't +you see he's got nothing to do with it?' + +'Oh, indeed, Miss Mealymouth,' sneered Gertie, 'what I want is my money +. . . .' + +'Leave him alone, Gertie,' said Victoria, 'you can't kick a man when +he's down.' + +Gertie looked as if she were about to explode. Then the problem became +too big for her. In her little Cockney brain the question was insolubly +revolving: 'Can you kick a man when he's down. . .? Can you kick. . .?' + +Mr Stein passed his hand over his forehead. He was pulling himself +together. + +'Close de door, Cora,' he commanded. 'Now then, the company's bankrupt, +there's nothing in the cashbox. You get the push. . . . I get the push.' +His voice broke slightly. His face twitched. 'You can go. Get another +job.' He looked at Gertie. + +'Put down your address. I give it to the police. You get something for +wages.' He slowly turned away and sat down on a chair, his eyes fixed on +the wall. + +There was a repressed hubbub of talking. Then Gertie made the first move +and went up to the change room. She came back a minute or two later in +her long coat and large hat, carrying a parcel which none noticed as +being rather large for a comb. It contained the company's cap and apron +which, thought she, she might as well save from the wreck. + +Gertie shook hands with Cora. 'See yer ter-night,' she said airily, +'same old place; 'bye Miss Prodgitt, 'ope "Force" 'll lift you out of +this.' She shook hands with Victoria, a trifle coldly, kissed Lottie, +threw one last malevolent look at Stein's back. The door closed behind +her. She had passed out of the backwater into the main stream. + +Lottie, a little self consciously, pulled down the pink blinds, in token +of mourning. The 'Rosebud' hung broken on its stalk. Then, silently, she +went up into the change room, followed by Cora; a pace behind came +Victoria, all heavy with gloom. They dressed silently. Cora, without a +word, kissed them both, collected her small possessions into a reticule, +then shook hands with both and kissed them again. The door closed behind +her. When Lottie and Victoria went down into the shop, Cora also had +passed into the main stream. Gladys had gone with her. + +The two girls hesitated for a moment as to whether they should speak to +Stein. It was almost dark, for the October light was too weak to filter +through the thick pink blinds. Lottie went up to the dark figure. + +'Cheer up,' she said kindly, 'it's a long lane that has no turning.' + +Stein looked up uncomprehendingly, then sank his head into his hands. + +As Lottie and Victoria turned once more, the front door open behind +them, all they saw was Bella Prodgitt, lymphatic as ever, motionless on +her chair, like a watcher over the figure of the man silently mourning +his last hopes. + +As they passed into the street the fresh air quickened by the coming +cold of winter, stung their blood to action. The autumn sunlight, pale +like the faded gold of hair that age has silvered, threw faint shadows +on the dry white pavements where little whirlwinds of dust chased and +figured like swallows on the wing. + +Lottie and Victoria walked quickly down the city streets. It was +half-past eleven, a time when, the rush of the morning over, comparative +emptiness awaits the coming of the midday crowds; every minute they were +stopped by the blocks of drays and carriages which come in greater +numbers in the road as men grow fewer on the pavements. The unaccustomed +liberty of the hour did not strike them; for depression, a sense of +impotence before fatality, was upon them. Indeed, they did not pause +until they reached on the Embankment the spot where the two beautiful +youths prepare to fasten on one another their grip of bronze. They sat +down upon a seat and for a while remained silent. + +'What are you going to do? Lottie?' asked Victoria. + +'Look out for another job, of course,' said Lottie. + +'In the same line?' said Victoria. + +'I'll try that first,' replied Lottie, 'but you know I'm not particular. +There's all sorts of shops. Nice soft little jobs at photographers, and +manicuring showrooms, I don't mind.' + +Victoria, with the leaden weight of former days pressing on her, envied +Lottie's calm optimism. She seemed so capable. But so far as she herself +was concerned, she did not feel sure that the 'other job' would so +easily be found. Indeed the memory of her desperate hunt for work +wrapped itself round her, cold as a shroud. + +'But what if you can't get one,' she faltered. + +'Oh, that'll be all right,' said Lottie, airily. 'I can live with my +married sister for a bit, but I'll find a job somehow. That doesn't +worry me. What are you thinking of?' + +'I don't know,' said Victoria slowly, 'I must look out I suppose.' + +'Hard up?' asked Lottie. + +'No, not exactly,' said Victoria. 'I'm not rolling in wealth, you know, +but I can manage.' + +'Well, don't you go and get stranded or anything,' said Lottie. 'It +doesn't do to be proud. It's not much I can do, but anyhow you let me +know if--' She paused. Victoria put her hand on hers. + +'You're a bit of all right, Lottie,' she said softly, her feelings +forming naturally into the language of her adopted class. For a few +minutes the girls sat hand in hand. + +'Well, I'd better be going,' said Lottie. 'I'm going to my married +sister at Highgate first. Time enough to look about this afternoon.' + +The two girls exchanged addresses. Victoria watched her friend's slim +figure grow smaller and slimmer under her crown of pale hair, then +almost fade away, merge into men and women and suddenly vanish at a +turn, swallowed up. With a little shiver she got up and walked away +quickly towards the west. She was lonely suddenly, horribly so. One by +one, all the links of her worldly chain had snapped. Burton, the sensual +brute, was gone; Stein was perhaps sitting still numb and silent in the +darkened shop; Gertie, flippant and sharp, had sailed forth on life's +ocean, there to be tossed like a cork and like a cork to swim; now +Lottie was gone, cool and confident, to dangers underrated and unknown. +She stood alone. + +As she reached Westminster Bridge a strange sense of familiarity +overwhelmed her. A well-known figure was there and it was horribly +symbolical. It was the old vagrant of bygone days, sitting propped up +against the parapet, clad in his filthy rags. From his short clay pipe, +at long intervals, he puffed wreaths of smoke into the blue air. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +THE russet of October had turned into the bleak darkness of December. +The threat of winter was in the air; it hissed and sizzled in the bare +branches as they bent in the cold wind, shaking quivering drops of water +broadcast as if sowing the seeds of pain. Victoria stopped for a moment +on the threshold of the house in Star Street, looked up and down the +road. It was black and sodden with wet; the pavement was greasy and +glistening, flecked with cabbage stalks and orange peel. Then she looked +across at the small shop where, though it was Sunday, a tailor sat +cross-legged almost on a level with the street, painfully collecting +with weary eyes the avaricious light. His back was bowed with habit; +that and his bandy legs told of his life and revealed his being. In the +street, when he had time to walk there, boys mocked his shuffling gate, +thus paying popular tribute to the marks of honest toil. + +Victoria stepped down to the pavement. A dragging sensation made her +look at her right boot. The sole was parting from the upper, stitch by +stitch. With something that was hardly a sigh Victoria put her foot down +again and slowly walked away. She turned into Edgware Road, followed it +northwards for a while, then doubled sharply back into Praed Street +where she lingered awhile before an old curiosity shop. She looked +between two prints into the shop where, in the darkness, she could see +nothing. Yet she looked at nothingness for quite a long while. Then, +listlessly, she followed the street, turned back through a square and +stopped before a tiny chapel almost at the end of Star Street. The deity +that follows with passionless eyes the wanderer in mean streets knew +from her course that this woman had no errand; without emotion the Being +snipped a few minutes from her earthly span. + +By the side of the chapel sat an aged woman smothered in rags so many +and so thick that she was passing well clad. She was hunched up on a +camp stool, all string and bits of firewood. A small stove carrying an +iron tray told that her trade was selling roasted chestnuts; nothing +moved in the group; the old woman's face was brown and cracked as her +own chestnuts and there was less life in her than in the warm scent of +the roasting fruits which gratefully filled Victoria's nostrils. + +The eight weeks which now separated Victoria from the old days at the +'Rosebud' had driven deeper yet into her soul her unimportance. She was +powerless before the world; indeed, when she thought of it at all, she +no longer likened herself to a cork tossed in the storm, but to a pebble +sunken and motionless in the bed of a flowing river. + +Upon the day which followed her sudden uprooting Victoria had bent her +back to the task of finding work. She had known once more the despairing +search through the advertisement columns of the _Daily Telegraph_, the +skilful winnowing of chaff from wheat, sudden and then baffled hopes. +Her new professional sense had taken her to the shops where young women +are wanted to enhance the attraction of coffee and cigarettes. But the +bankruptcy of the 'Rosebud' was not an isolated case. The dishonesty of +Burton was not its cause but its consequence; the ship was sinking under +his feet when he deserted it after loading himself with such booty as he +could carry. Victoria had discovered grimly that the first result of a +commercial crisis is the submerging of those whose labours create a +commercial boom. Within a week of the 'Rosebud' disaster the eleven City +cafés of the 'Lethe, Ltd.' had closed their doors. Two small failures in +the West End were followed by a greater crash. The 'People's +Restaurants, Ltd.', eaten out by the thousand depots of the 'Refreshment +Rendezvous, Ltd.,' had filed a voluntary petition for liquidation; the +official liquidator had at once inaugurated a policy of 'retrenchment +and sound business management,' and, as a beginning, closed two hundred +shops in the City and West End. He proposed to exploit the suburbs, and, +after a triumphant amalgamation with the victorious 'Refreshment +Rendezvous,' to retire from law into peaceful directorships and there +collect innumerable guineas. + +Victoria had followed the convulsion with passionate interest. For a +week the restaurant slump had been the fashion. The manager of every +surviving café in London had given it as his deliberate opinion that +trade would be all the better for it. The financial papers published +grave warnings as to the dangers of the restaurant business, to which +the Stock Exchange promptly responded by marking up the prices of the +survivors' shares. The Socialist papers had eloquently pleaded for +government assistance for the two thousand odd displaced girls; a +Cabinet Minister had marred his parliamentary reputation by endeavouring +to satisfy one wing of his party that the tearoom at South Kensington +Museum was not a Socialistic venture and the other wing that it was an +institution leading up to State ownership of the trade. A girl +discharged from the 'Lethe' had earned five guineas by writing a +thousand words in a hated but largely read daily paper. The interest had +been kept up by the rescue of a P.R. girl who had jumped off Waterloo +Bridge. Another P.R. girl, fired by example, had been more successful +in the Lea. This valuable advertisement enabled the Relief Fund to +distribute five shillings a head to many young persons who had been +waitresses at some time or another; there were rumours of a knighthood +for its energetic promoter. + +It was in the midst of this welter that Victoria had found herself cast, +with her newly acquired experience a drug in the market, and all the +world inclined to look upon her as a kind of adventuress. Her employer's +failure was in a sense her failure, and she was handy to blame. For +three weeks she had doggedly continued her search for work, applying +first of all in the smart tea-rooms of the West, and every day she +became more accustomed to being turned away. Her soul hardened to +rebuffs as that of a beggar who learns to bear stoically the denial of +alms. After vainly trying the best Victoria had tried the worst, but +everywhere the story was the same. Every small restaurant keeper was +drawing his horns in, feverishly casting up trial balances; some of them +in their panic had damaged their credit by trying to arrange with their +banks for overdrafts they would never need. The slump was such that they +did not believe that the public would continue to eat and drink; they +retrenched employees instead of trying to carve success out of other +men's disasters. + +Victoria, her teeth set, had faced the storm. She now explored districts +and streets systematically, almost house by house. And when her spirit +broke at the end of the week, as her perpetual walks, the buffeting of +rain and wind soiled her clothing, broke breaches into her boots, +chapped her hands as glove seams gave way, the only thing that could +brace her up was the shrinkage of her hoard by a sovereign. She placed +the coin on the mantlepiece after counting the remainder. Monday morning +saw it reduced to eleven shillings and sixpence. When the crisis came +she had taken in sail by exchanging into the second floor back, then +fortunately vacant, thus saving three shillings in rent. + +The sight of her melting capital was a horror which she faced only once +a week, for at other times she thrust the thought away, but it intruded +every time with greater insistence. Untrained still in economy she found +it impossible to reduce her expenditure below a pound. After paying off +the mortgage of eight and sixpence for her room and breakfast, she had +to set aside three shillings for fares, for she dared not wade overmuch +in the December mud. The manageress of a cafe lost in Marylebone had +heard her kindly, but had looked at her boots plastered with mud, then +at the dirty fringes of her petticoats and said, regretfully almost, +that she would not do. That day had cost Victoria a pound almost +wrenched out of the money drawer. But this wardrobe though an asset, was +an incubus, and Victoria at times often hated it, for it cost so much in +omnibus fares that she paid for it every day in food stolen from her +body. + +By the end of the seventh week Victoria had reduced her hoard to four +pounds. She now applied for work like an automaton, often going twice to +the same shop without realising it, at other times sitting for hours on +a park seat until the drizzle oozed from her hair into her neck. At the +end of the seventh week she had so lost consciousness of the world that +she walked all through the Sunday gloom without food. Then, at eight +o'clock, awakening suddenly to her need, she gorged herself with suet +pudding at an eating house in the Edgware Road, came back to Star Street +and fell into a heavy sleep. + +About four she was aroused by horrible sickness which left her weak, +every muscle relaxed and every nerve strained to breaking point. Shapes +blacker than the night floated before her eyes; every passing milk +cart rattled savagely through her beating temples; twitchings at her +ankles and wrists, and the hurried beat of her heart shook the whole of +her body. She almost writhed on her bed, up and down, as if forcibly +thrown or goaded. + +As the December dawn struggled through her window, diffusing over the +white wall the light of the condemned cell, she could bear it no more. +She got up, washed horrible bitterness from her mouth, clots from her +eyes. Then, swaying with weariness and all her pulses beating, she +strayed into the street, unseeing, her boots unbuttoned, into the daily +struggle. + +As the blind man unguided, or the poor on the march, she went into the +East, now palely glowing over the chimney pots. She did not feel her +weariness. Her feet did not belong to her; she felt as if her whole body +were one gigantic wound vaguely aching under the chloroform. She walked +without intention, and as towards no goal. At Oxford Circus she stopped. +Her eye had unconsciously been arrested by the posters which the +newsvendor was deftly glueing down on the pavement. The crude colours of +the posters, red, green, yellow, shocked her sluggish mind into action. +One spoke of a great reverse in Nubia; another repeated the information +and added a football cup draw. A third poster, blazing red, struck such +a blow at Victoria that, for a wild moment, her heart seemed to stop. It +merely bore the words: + + P. R. + REOPENS + +Victoria read the two lines five or six times, first dully, then in a +whirl of emotion. Her blood seemed to go hot and tingle; the twitchings +of her wrists and ankles grew insistent. With her heart pounding with +excitement she asked for the paper in a choked voice, refusing the +halfpenny change. Backing a step or two she opened the paper. A sheet +dropped into the mud. + +The newsvendor, grizzled and sunburnt right into the wrinkles, picked up +the sheet and looked at her wonderingly. From the other side a corpulent +policeman watched her with faint interest, reading her like a book. He +did not need to be told that Victoria was out of work; her face showed +that hope had come into her life. + +Victoria read every detail greedily. The enterprising liquidator had +carried through the amalgamation of the People's Restaurants and the +Refreshment Rendezvous, and created the People's Refreshment Rendezvous. +He had done this so quietly and suddenly that the effect was a +thunderbolt. He had forestalled the decision of the Court, so that +agreements had been ready and signed on the Saturday evening, while +leave had obscurely been granted on the Friday. Being master of the +situation the liquidator was re-opening fifty-five of the two hundred +closed shops. The paper announced his boast that 'by ten o'clock on +Monday morning fifty-five P. R. R.'s would be flying the flag of the +scone and cross buns.' The paper also hailed this pronouncement as +Napoleonic. + +Victoria feverishly read the list of the rescued depots. They were +mainly in Oxford Street and Bloomsbury. Indeed, one of them was in +Princes Street. A flood of clarity seemed to come over Victoria's brain. +It was impossible for the P. R. or P. R. R. or whatever it had become, +to have secured a staff on the Sunday. No doubt they proposed to engage +it on the spot and to rush the organisation into working order so as to +capture at the outset the _succčs de curiosité_ which every London daily +was beating up in the breast of a million idle men and women. Clutching +the paper in her hand she ran across Oxford Street almost under the +wheels of a motor lorry. She turned into Princes Street, and hurled +herself against the familiar door, clutching at the handle. + +There was another girl leaning against the door. She was tall and slim. +Her fair hair went to sandiness. Her black coat was dusty and stained. +Her large blue eyes started from her colourless face, pale lipped, +hollow under the cheekbones. Victoria recovered her breath and put her +hair straight feverishly. A short dark girl joined the group, pressing +her body close against them. Then two more. Then, one by one, half a +dozen. Victoria discovered that her boots were undone, and bent down to +do them up with a hairpin. As she struggled with numb fingers her rivals +pressed upon her with silent hostility. As she straightened herself, the +throng suddenly thrust her away from the door. Victoria recovered +herself and drove against them gritting her teeth. The fair girl was +ground against her; but Victoria, full of her pain and bread lust, +thrust her elbow twice into the girl's breast. She felt something like +the rage of battle upon her and its joy as the bone entered the soft +flesh like a weapon. + +'Now then, steady girls,' said the voice of the policeman, faint like a +dream voice. + +'Blime, ain't they a 'ot lot!' said another dream voice, a loafer's. + +The crowd once more became orderly. Though quite a hundred girls had now +collected hardly any spoke. In every face there was tenseness, though +the front ranks showed most ferocity in their eyes and the late-comers +most weariness. + +'Where you shovin'?' asked a sulky voice. + +There was a mutter that might have been a curse. Then silence once more; +and the girls fiercely watched for their bread, looking right and left +like suspicious dogs. A spruce young warehouseman slowly reviewed the +girls and allowed his eyes to linger approvingly on one or two. He +winked approvingly at the fair girl but she did not respond. She stood +flat against the door, every inch of her body spread so as to occupy as +much space as she could. + +Then, half-past seven, a young man and a middle-aged woman shouldering +through the wedged mass, the fierce rush into the shop and there the +gasp behind closed doors among the other winners, hatless, their clothes +torn, their bodices ripped open to the stays, one with her hair down and +her neck marked here and there by bleeding scratches. Then, after the +turmoil of the day among the strangeness, without rest or food, to make +holiday for the Londoners, a night heavy as lead and a week every day +more mechanical, Victoria had returned to the treadmill and, within a +week, knew it. + +. . . . The clock struck five. Victoria awoke from her dream epic. She +had won her battle and sailed into harbour. Its waters were already as +horribly still as those of a stagnant pool. The old chestnut vendor sat +motionless on her seat of firewood and string. Not a thought chased over +her gnarled brown face. From the stove came the faint pungent smell of +the charring peel. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +A FORTNIGHT later Victoria had returned to the City. Most of the old +P.R's had reopened, after passing under the yoke. A coat of paint had +transformed them into P.R.R's. In fact their extinction was complete; +nothing was left of them but the P. and the chairmanship of the +amalgamated company, for their chairman was an earl and part of the +goodwill. The P.R. had apparently been bought up at a fair rate. Its +shares having fallen to sixpence, most of the shareholders had lost +large sums; whereas the directors and their friends, displaying the +acumen that is sometimes found among directors, had quietly bought the +shares up by the thousand and by putting them into the new company had +realised large profits. As the failure had happened during the old year +and most of the shops had been reopened in the new, it was quite clear +that the catering trade was expanding. It was a startling instance of +commercial progress. + +Within a week the P.R.R. decided to start once more in the City. +Victoria, by her own request, was transferred to Moorgate Street. She +did not like the neighbourhood of Oxford Circus; it was unfamiliar +without being stimulating. She objected too to serving women. If she +must serve at all she preferred serving men. She did not worship men; +indeed the impression they had left on her was rather unpleasant. The +subalterns at the mess were dull, Mr Parker a stick, Bobby was Bobby, +Burton a cur, Stein a lout, Beauty, well perhaps Beauty was a little +better and Cairns worthy of a kind thought; but all the others, boys and +half men with their futile talk, their slang cribbed from the music +halls, their affectations, their loud ties, were nothing but the ballast +on which the world has founded its permanent way. Yet a mysterious sex +instinct made Victoria prefer even them to the young ladies who +frequented Princes Street. It is better to be made love to insolently +than to be ordered about. + +The Moorgate P.R.R. was one of the curious crosses between the ice cream +shop and the chop house where thirty bob a week snatches a sixpenny +lunch. It was full of magnificent indifference. You could bang your +twopence for a small coffee, or luxuriate in steak and kidney pie, +boiled (_i.e._ potatoes), stewed prunes and cream, and be served with +the difference of interest that the recording angel may make between No. +1,000,000 and 1,000,001. You were seldom looked at, and, if looked at, +forgotten. It was as blatant as the 'Rosebud' had been discreet. Painted +pale blue, it flaunted a plate glass window full of cakes, packets of +tea, pounds of chocolate, jars of sweets; some imitation chops garnished +with imitation parsley, and a chafing dish full of stage eggs and bacon +held out the promise of strong meats. Enormous urns, polished like +silver, could be seen from the outside emitting clouds of steam; under +the chafing dish too came up vaporous jets. + +Inside, the P.R.R. recalled the wilderness and the animation of a bank. +To the blue and red tesselated floor were fastened many marble-topped +tables squeezed so close together that when a customer rose to leave he +created an eddy among his disturbed fellows. The floor was swamped with +chairs which, during the lunch hour, dismally grated on the tiled floor. +It was clean; for, after every burst of feeding, the appointed scavenger +swept the fallen crusts, fragments of pudding, cigarette ends and +banana skins into a large bin. This bin was periodically emptied and +the contents sent to the East End, whether to be destroyed or to be used +for philanthropic purposes is not known. + +The girls were trained to quick service here. Victoria found no +difficulty in acquiring the P.R.R. swing, for she had not to memorise +the variety of dishes which the more fastidious Rosebudders demanded. +Her mental load seldom went beyond small teas, a coffee or two, half a +veal and ham pie, sandwiches and porridge. There was no considering the +bill of fare. It stood on every table, immutable as a constitution and +as dull. At the P.R.R., a man absorbed a maximum of stodgy food, paid +his minimum of cash and vanished into an office to pour out the +resultant energy for thirty bob a week. As there were no tips Victoria +soon learned that courtesy was wasted, so wasted none. + +The P.R.R. did not treat its girls badly--in this sense, that it treated +them no worse than its rivals did theirs; it practised commercial +morality. Victoria received eight shillings a week, to which good +Samaritans added an average of fourteen pence, dropped anonymously into +the unobtrusive box near the cash desk. At the 'Rosebud' tips averaged +fourteen shillings a week, but then they were given publicly. + +Besides her wages she was given all her meals, on a scale suited to +girls who waited on Mr Thirty Bob a Week. Her breakfast was tea, bread +and margarine; her dinner, cold pudding or pie, according to the +unpopularity of the dishes among the customers, washed down once more +with tea and sometimes followed by stewed fruit if the quantity that +remained made it clear that some would be left over. The day ended with +supper, tea, bread and cheese--a variety of Cheddar which the company +bought by the ton on account of its peculiar capacity for swelling and +producing a very tolerable substitute for repletion. + +As Victoria was now paid less than half her former wages she was +expected to work longer hours. The P. R. R. demanded faithful service +from half-past eight in the morning to nine in the evening, except on +one day when freedom was earned at six. Victoria was driven to +generalise a little about this; it struck her as peculiar that an +increase of work should synchronise with a decrease of pay, but the +early steps in any education always fill the pupil with wonderment. + +Yet she did not repine, for she remembered too well the black days of +the old year when the wolf slunk round the house, coming every day +nearer to her door. She had beaten him off and there still was joy in +the thought of that victory. Her frame of mind was quiescent, tempered +still with a feeling of relief. This she shared with her companions, for +every one of them had known such straits as hers and worse. They had +come back to the P. R. R. filled with exceeding joy; craving bread they +had been given buns. + +The Moorgate P. R. R. was a big depot. It boasted, in addition to the +ground floor, two smoking rooms, one on the first floor and one +underground, as well as a ladies' dining-room on the second floor. It +had a staff of twenty waitresses, six of whom were stationed in the +underground smoking-room; Victoria was one of these. A virile manageress +dominated them and drove with splendid efficiency a concealed kitchen +team of four who sweated in the midst of steam in an underground +stokehole. + +Victoria's companions were all old P. R's except Betty. They all had +anything between two and five years' service behind them. Nelly, a big +raw boned country girl, was still assertive and loud; she had good looks +of the kind that last up to thirty, made up of fine coarse healthy +flesh lines, tending to redden at the nostrils and at the ears; her +hands were shapely still, though reddened and thickened by swabbing +floors and tables. Maud was a poor little thing, small boned with a +flaccid covering of white flesh, inclined to quiver a little when she +felt unhappy; her eyes were undecidedly green, her hair carroty in the +extreme. She had a trick of drawing down the corners of her mouth which +made her look pathetic. Amy and Jenny were both short and darkish, +inclined to be thin, always a little tired, always willing, always in a +state neither happy nor unhappy. Both had nearly five years' experience +and could look forward to another fifteen or so. They had no +assertiveness, so could not aspire to a managerial position, such as +might eventually fall to the share of Nelly. + +Betty was an exception. She had not acquired the P. R. R. manner and +probably never would. The daughter of a small draper at Horley, she had +lived through a happy childhood, played in the fields, been to a little +private school. Her father had strained every nerve to face on the one +hand the competition of the London stores extending octopus-like into +the far suburbs, on the other that of the pedlars. Caught between the +aristocracy and the democracy of commerce he had slowly been ground +down. When Betty was seventeen he collapsed through worry and overwork. +His wife attempted to carry on the business after his death, bravely +facing the enemy, discharging assistants, keeping the books, impressing +Betty to dress the window, then to clean the shop. But the pressure had +become too great, and on the day when the mortgagees foreclosed she +died. Nothing was left for Betty except the clothes she stood in. Some +poor relatives in London induced her to join the 'Lethe.' That was three +years ago and now she was twenty. + +Betty was the tall slim girl into whose breast Victoria had thrust her +elbow when they were fighting for bread among the crowd which surged +round the door of the Princes Street depot. She was pretty, perhaps a +little too delicately so. Her sandy hair and wide open china blue eyes +made one think of a doll; but the impression disappeared when one looked +at her long limbs, her slightly sunken cheeks. She had a sweet +disposition, so gentle that, though she was a favourite, her fellows +despised her a little and were inclined to call her 'poor Betty.' She +was nearly always tired; when she was well she was full of simple and +honest merriment. She would laugh then if a motor bus skidded or if she +saw a Highlander in a kilt. She had just been shifted to the Moorgate +Street P.R.R. From the first the two girls had made friends and Victoria +was deeply glad to meet her again. The depth of that gladness is only +known to those who have lived alone in a hostile world. + +'Betty,' said Victoria the first morning, 'there's something I want to +say. I've had it on my mind. Do you remember the first time we met +outside the old P.R. in Princes Street?' + +'Don't I?' said Betty. 'We had a rough time, didn't we?' + +'We had. And, Betty, perhaps you remember . . . I hit you in the chest. +I've thought of it so often . . . and you don't know how sorry I am when +I think of it.' + +'Oh, I didn't mind,' said Betty, a blush rising to her forehead, 'I +understand. I was about starving, you know, I thought you were the +same.' + +'No, not starving exactly,' said Victoria, 'mad rather, terrified, like +a sheep which the dog's driving. But I beg your pardon, Betty, I +oughtn't to have done it.' + +Betty put her hand gently on her companion's. + +'I understand, Vic,' she said, 'it's all over now; we're friends, aren't +we?' + +Victoria returned the pressure. That day established a tender link +between these two. Sometimes, in the slack of three o'clock, they would +sit side by side for a moment, their shoulders touching. When they met +between the tables, running, their foreheads beaded with sweat, they +exchanged a smile. + +The customers at the P.R.R. were so many that Victoria could hardly +retain an impression of them. A few were curious though, in the sense +that they were typical. One corner of the room was occupied during the +lunch hour by a small group of chess players; five of the six boards +were regularly captured by them. They sat there in couples, their eyes +glued to the board, allowing the grease to cake slowly on their food; +from time to time one would swallow a mouthful, sometimes dropping +morsels on the table. These he would brush away dreamily, his thoughts +far away, two or three moves ahead. Round each table sat a little group +of spectators who now and then shifted their plates and cups from table +to table and watched the games. At times, when a game ended, a table was +involved in a fierce discussion: gambits, Morphy's classical games, were +thrown about. On the other side of the room the young domino-players +noisily played matador, fives and threes, or plain matching, would look +round and mutter a gibe at the enthusiasts. + +Others were more personal. One, a repulsive individual, Greek or +Levantine, patronised one of Betty's tables every day. He was fat, +yellow and loud; over his invariably dirty hands drooped invariably +dirty cuffs; on one finger he wore a large diamond ring. + +'It makes me sick sometimes,' said Betty to Victoria, 'you know he eats +with both hands and drops his food; he snuffles too, as he eats, like a +pig.' + +Another was an old man with a beautiful thin brown face and white hair. +He sat at a very small table, so small that he was usually alone. Every +day he ordered dry toast, a glass of milk and some stewed fruit. He +never read or smoked, nor did he raise his eyes from the table. An +ancient bookkeeper perhaps, he lived on some principle. + +Most of the P. R. R. types were scheduled however. They were mainly +young men or boys between fifteen and twenty. All were clad in blue or +dark suits, wore flannel shirts, dickeys and no cuffs. They would +congregate in noisy groups, talk with furious energy, and smoke Virginia +cigarettes with an air of daredevilry. Now and then one of these would +be sitting alone, reading unexpected papers such as the _Times_, +borrowed from the office. Spasmodically, too, one would be seen +improving his mind. Victoria, within six months, noticed three starts on +the part of one of the boys; French, book-keeping and electrical +engineering. + +Many were older than these. There were little groups of young men rather +rakishly but shabbily dressed; often they wore a flower in their +buttonhole. The old men were more pathetic; their faces were +expressionless; they came to eat, not to feast. + +Victoria and Betty had many conversations about the customers. Every day +Victoria felt her faculty of wonder increase; she was vaguely conscious +already that men had a tendency to revert to types, but she did not +realise the influence the conditions of their lives had upon them. + +'It's curious,' she once said to Betty, as they left the depot together, +'they're so much alike.' + +'I suppose they are,' said Betty. 'I wonder why?' + +'I'm not sure,' said Victoria, 'but it seems to me somehow that they +must be born different but that they become alike because they do the +same kind of work.' + +'It's rather awful, isn't it,' said Betty. + +'Awful? Well, I suppose it is. Think of it, Betty. There's old Dry +Toast, for instance. I'm sure he's been doing whatever he does do for +thirty or forty years.' + +'And'll go on doing it till he dies,' murmured Betty. + +'Or goes into the workhouse,' added Victoria. A sudden and horrible +lucidity had come over her. 'Yes, Betty, that's what it means. The boys +are going to be like the old man; we see them every day becoming like +him. First they're in the twenties and are smart and read the sporting +news; then they seem to get fat and don't shave every day, because they +feel it's getting late and it doesn't matter what they look like; their +hair grows grey, they take up chess or German, or something equally +ridiculous. They don't get a chance. They're born and as soon as they +can kick they're thrust in an office to do the same thing every day. +Nobody cares; all their employers want them to do is to be punctual and +do what they're paid thirty bob a week for. Soon they don't try; they +die, and the employers fill the billet.' + +'How do you know all this, Vic?' said Betty, eyeing her fearfully. 'It +seems so true.' + +'Oh, I just felt it suddenly, besides . . .' Victoria hesitated. + +'But is it right that they should get thirty bob a week all their lives +while their employers are getting thousands?' asked Betty, full of +excitement. + +'I don't know,' said Victoria slowly. Betty's voice had broken the +charm. She could no longer see the vision. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +THE days passed away horribly long. Victoria was now an automaton; she +no longer felt much of sorrow or of joy. Her home life had been reduced +to a minimum, for she could no longer afford the luxury of 'chambers in +the West End' as Betty put it. She had moved to Finsbury; where she had +found a large attic for three shillings a week, in a house which had +fallen from the state of mansion for a City merchant to that of tenement +dwelling. For the first time since she returned to London she had +furnished her own room. She had bought out the former tenant for one +pound. For this sum she had entered into possession of an iron bedstead +with a straw mattress, a thick horse cloth, an iron washstand supplied +with a blue basin and a white mug, an old armchair and red curtains. She +had no sheets, which meant discomfort but saved washing. A chair had +cost her two shillings; she needed no cupboard as there was one in the +wall; in lieu of a chest of drawers she had her trunk; her few books +were stacked on a shelf made out of the side of a packing case and +erected by herself. She got water from the landing every morning except +when the taps were frozen. There was no fireplace in the attic, but in +the present state of Victoria's income this did not matter much. + +Every morning she rose at seven, washed, dressed. As time went on she +ceased to dust and sweep every morning. First she postponed the work to +the evening, then to the week end. On Sundays she breakfasted off a +stale loaf bought among the roar of Farrington Street the previous +evening. A little later she introduced a spirit lamp for tea; it was a +revolution, even though she could never muster enough energy to bring in +milk. + +After the first flush of possession, the horrible gloom of winter had +engulfed her. Sometimes she sat and froze in the attic, and, in despair, +went to bed after vainly trying to read Shakespeare by the light of a +candle: he did not interest her much. At other times the roaring +streets, the flares in the brown fog, the trams hurtling through the +air, their headlights blazing, had frightened her back to her home. On +Sundays, after luxuriating in bed until ten, she usually went to meet +Betty who lived in a club in Soho. Together they would walk in the +parks, or the squares, wherever grass grew. At one o'clock Betty would +introduce her as a guest at her club and feast her for eightpence on +roast beef and pudding, tea, and bread and butter. Then they would start +out once more towards the fields, sometimes towards Hampstead Heath, or +if it rained seek refuge in a museum or a picture gallery. When they +parted in the evening, Victoria kissed her affectionately. Betty would +then hold the elder woman in her arms, hungrily almost, and softly kiss +her again. + +The only thing that parted these two at all was the mystery which Betty +guessed at. She knew that Victoria was not like the other girls; she +felt that there was behind her friend's present condition a past of +another kind, but when she tried to question Victoria, she found that +her friend froze up. And as she loved her this was a daily grief; she +looked at Victoria with a question in her eyes. But Victoria would not +yield to the temptation of confiding in her; she had adopted a new class +and was not going back on it. + +Besides Betty there was no one in her life. None of the other girls +were able to meet her on congenial ground; Beauty had not got her +address; and, though she had his, she was too afraid of complicating her +life to write to him. She had sent her address to Edward as a matter of +form, but he had not written; apparently her desire for freedom had +convinced him that his sister was mad. None of the men at the P.R.R. had +made any decided advances to her. She could still catch every day a +glitter in the eye of some youth, but her maturity discouraged the boys, +and the older men were mostly too deeply sunk in their feeding and +smoking to attempt gallantry. Besides: Victoria was no longer the +cream-coloured flower of olden days; she was thinner; her hands too were +becoming coarse owing to her having to swab tables and floors; much +standing and the fetid air of the smoking-room were making her sallow. + +Soon after Victoria entered into possession of her 'station' she knew +most of her customers, knew them, that is, as much as continual rushes +from table to counter, from floor to floor, permits. The casuals, mostly +young, left no impression; lacking money but craving variety these +youths would patronise every day a different P.R.R., for they hoped to +find in a novel arrangement of the counter, a new waitress, larger or +smaller quarters, the element of variety which the bill of fare +relentlessly denied them. The older men were more faithful if no more +grateful. One of them was a short thin man, looking about forty, who for +some hidden reason had aroused Victoria's faded interest. His appearance +was somewhat peculiar. His shortness, combined with his thinness and +breadth, was enough to attract attention. Standing hardly any more than +five foot five, he had disproportionately broad shoulders, and yet they +were so thin that the bones showed bowed at the back. Better fed, he +would have been a bulky man. His hair was dark, streaked with grey; and, +as it was getting very thin and beginning to recede, he gave the +impression of having a very high forehead. His eyes were grey, set +rather deep under thick eyebrows drawn close together into a permanent +frown. Under his rather coarse and irregular nose his mouth showed +closely compressed, almost lipless; a curious muscular distortion had +tortured into it a faint sneer. His hands were broad, a little coarse +and very hairy. + +Victoria could not say why she was interested in this man. He had no +outward graces, dressed poorly and obviously brushed his coat but +seldom; his linen, too, was not often quite clean. Immediately on +sitting down at his usual table he would open a book, prop it up against +the sugar bowl, and begin to read. His books did not tell Victoria much; +in two months she noted a few books she did not know, _News from +Nowhere_, _Fabian Essays_, _The Odyssey_, and a book with a long title +the biggest printed word of which was _Niestze_ or _Niesche._ Victoria +could never remember this word, even though her customer read the book +every day for over a month. _The Odyssey_ she had heard of, but that did +not tell her anything. + +She had found out his name accidentally. One day he had brought down +three books and had put two under his seat while he read the third. Soon +after he had left, reading still while he went up the stairs. Victoria +found the books under the chair. One was a _Life of William Morris_, the +other the _Vindication of the Rights of Women_. On the flyleaf of each +was written in bold letter. 'Thomas Farwell.' + +Victoria could not resist glancing at the books during her half hour for +lunch. The _Life of William Morris_ she did not attempt, remembering her +experiences at school with 'Lives' of any kind: they were all dull. +Marie Wollstonecraft's book seemed more interesting, but she seemed to +have to wade through so much that she had never heard of and to have to +face a style so crabbed and congested that she hardly understood it. +Yet, something in the book interested her, and it was regretfully that +she handed the volumes back to Farwell when he called for them at +half-past six. He thanked her in half a dozen words and left. + +Farwell continued regular in his attendance. He came in on the stroke of +one, left at half-past one exactly, lighting his pipe as he got up. He +never spoke to anyone; when Victoria stood before his table he looked at +her for a moment, gave his order and cast his eyes down to his book. + +It was about three weeks after the incident of the books that he spoke +to Victoria. As he took up the bill of fare he said suddenly: + +'Did you read the _Vindication_?' + +'I did glance through it,' said Victoria, feeling, she did not know why, +acutely uncomfortable. + +'Ah? interesting, isn't it? Pity it's so badly written. What do you +think of it?' + +'Well, I hardly know,' said Victoria reflectively; 'I didn't have time +to read much; what I read seemed true.' + +'You think that a recommendation, eh?' said Farwell, his lips parting +slightly. 'I'd have thought you saw enough truth about life here to like +lies.' + +'No,' said Victoria, 'I don't care for lies. The nastier a thing is, the +better everybody should know it; then one day people will be ashamed.' + +'Oh, an optimist!' sniggered Farwell. 'Bless you, my child. Give me +fillets of plaice, small white and cut.' + +For several days after this Farwell took no notice of Victoria. He gave +his order and opened his book as before. Victoria made no advances. She +had talked him over with Betty, who had advised her to await events. + +'You never know,' she had remarked, as a clinching argument. + +A day or two later Victoria was startled by Farwell's arrival at +half-past six. This had never happened before. The smoking-room was +almost empty, as it was too late for teas and a little too early for +suppers. Farwell sat down at his usual table and ordered a small tea. As +Victoria returned with the cup he took out a book from under two others +and held it out. + +'Look here,' he said a little nervously. 'I don't know whether you're +busy after hours, but perhaps you might like to read this.' The wrinkles +in his forehead expanded and dilated a little. + +'Oh, thank you so much. I would like to read it,' said Victoria with the +ring of earnestness in her voice. She took the book; it was a battered +copy of _No. 5 John Street_. + +'No. 5? What a queer title,' she said. + +'Queer? not at all,' said Farwell. 'It only seems queer to you because +it is natural and you're not used to that. You're a number in the P.R.R. +aren't you? Just like the house you live in. And you're just number so +and so; so am I. When we die fate shoves up the next number and it all +begins over again.' + +'That doesn't sound very cheerful, does it?' said Victoria. + +'It isn't cheerful. It's merely a fact.' + +'I suppose it is,' said Victoria. 'Nobody is ever missed.' + +Farwell looked at her critically. The platitude worried him a little; it +was unexpected. + +'Yes, exactly,' he stammered. 'Anyhow, you read it and let me know what +you think of it.' Thereupon he took up another book and began to read. + +When he had gone Victoria showed her prize to Betty. + +'You're getting on,' said Betty with a smile. 'You'll be Mrs Farwell one +of these days, I suppose.' + +'Don't be ridiculous, Betty,' snapped Victoria, 'why, I'd have to wash +him.' + +'You might as well wash a husband as a dish,' said Betty smoothly. +'Anyhow, the other girls are talking.' + +'Let them talk,' said Victoria rather savagely, 'so long as they don't +talk to me.' + +Betty took her hand gently. + +'Sorry, Vic dear,' she said. 'You're not angry with me, are you?' + +'No, of course not, you silly,' said Victoria laughing. 'There run away, +or that old gent at the end'll take a fit.' + +Farwell did not engage her in conversation for a few days, nor did she +make any advances to him. She read through _No. 5 John Street_ within +three evenings; it held her with a horrible fascination. Her first +plunge into realistic literature left her shocked as by a cold bath. In +the early days, at Lympton, she had subsisted mainly on Charlotte Young +and Rhoda Broughton. In India, the mess having a subscription at +Mudie's, she had had good opportunities of reading; but, for no +particular reason, except perhaps that she was newly married and busy +with regimental nothings, she had ceased to read anything beyond the +_Sketch_ and the _Sporting and Dramatic_. Thus she had never heard of +the 'common people' except as persons born to minister to the needs of +the rich. She had never felt any interest in them, for they spoke a +language that was not hers. _No. 5 John Street_, coming to her a long +time after the old happy days, when she herself was struggling in the +mire, was a horrible revelation; it showed her herself, and herself not +as 'Tilda towering over fate but as Nancy withering in the indiarubber +works for the benefit of the Ridler system. + +She read feverishly by the light of a candle. At times she was repelled +by the vulgarity of Low Covey, by the grossness which seemed to revel +in poverty and dirt. But when she cast her eyes round her own bare +walls, looked at her sheetless bed, a shiver ran over her. + +'These are my people,' she said aloud. The candle, clamouring for the +snuffers, guttered, sank low, nearly went out. + +Shivering again before the omen, she trimmed the wick. She returned the +book to Farwell by slipping it on the table next day. He took it without +a word but returned at half past six as before. + +'Well?' he asked with a faint smile. + +'Thank you so much,' said Victoria. 'It's wonderful.' + +'Wonderful indeed? Most commonplace, don't you think?' + +'Oh, no,' said Victoria. 'It's extraordinary, it's like . . . like +light.' + +Farwell's eyes suddenly glittered. + +'Ah,' he said dreamily, 'light! light in this, the outer darkness.' + +Victoria looked at him, a question in her eyes. + +'If only we could all see,' he went on. 'Then, as by a touch of a +magician's wand, flowers would crowd out the thistles, the thistles that +the asses eat and thank their God for. It is in our hands to make this +the Happy Valley and we make it the Valley of the Shadow of Death.' + +He paused for a moment. Victoria felt her pulse quicken. + +'Yes,' she said, 'I think I understand. It's because we don't understand +that we suffer. We're not cruel, are we? we're stupid.' + +'Stupid?' A ferocious intonation had come into Farwell's voice. 'I +should say so! Forty million men, women and children sweat their lives +out day by day so that four million may live idly and become too heavy +even to think. I could forgive them if they thought, but the world +contains only two types: Lazarus with poor man's gout and Dives with +fatty degeneration of the brain.' + +Victoria felt nervous. Passion shook the man's hands as he clutched the +marble top of the table. + +'Mr Farwell,' she faltered, 'I don't want to be stupid. I want to +understand things. I want to know why we slave twelve hours a day when +others do nothing and, oh, can it be altered?' + +Farwell had started at the mention of his name. His passion had suddenly +fallen. + +'Altered? oh, yes,' he stammered, 'that's if the race lasts long enough. +'Sometimes I think, as I see men struggling to get on top of one +another, like crabs in a bucket . . . Like crabs in a bucket,' he +repeated dreamily, visualising the simile. 'But I cannot draw men from +stones,' he said smiling; 'it is not yet time for Deucalion. I'll bring +you another book to-morrow.' + +Farwell rose abruptly and left Victoria singularly stirred. He was a +personality, she felt; something quite unusual. He was less a man than a +figment, for he seemed top heavy almost. He concentrated the hearer's +attention so much on his spoken thought that his body passed +unperceived, receded into the distance. + +While Victoria was changing to go, the staff room somehow seemed darker +and dirtier than ever. It was seldom swept and never cleaned out. The +management had thoughtfully provided nothing but pegs and wooden +benches, so as to discourage lounging. Victoria was rather late, so that +she found herself alone with Lizzie, the cashier. Lizzie was red-haired, +very curly, plump, pink and white. A regular little spark. She was very +popular; her green eyes and full curved figure often caused a small +block at the desk. + +'You look tired,' she said good-naturedly. + +'I suppose I am,' said Victoria. 'Aren't you?' + +'So so. Don't mind my job.' + +'Mm, I suppose it isn't so bad sitting at the desk.' + +'No,' said Lizzie, 'pays too.' + +'Pays?' + +Lizzie flushed and hesitated. Then the desire to boast burst its bonds. +She must tell, she must. It didn't matter after all. A craving for +admiration was on her. + +'Tell you what,' she whispered. 'I get quite two and a kick a week out +of that job.' + +Victoria's eyebrows went up. + +'You know,' went on Lizzie, 'the boys look at me a bit.' She simpered +slightly. 'Well, once one of them gave me half a bar with a bob check. +He was looking at me in the eye, well! that mashed, I can tell you he +looked like a boiled fish. Sort of inspiration came over me.' She +stopped. + +'Well?' asked Victoria, feeling a little nervous. + +'Well . . . I . . . I gave him one half crown and three two bob pieces. +Smiled at him. He boned the money quick enough, wanted to touch my hand +you see. Never saw it.' + +Victoria thought for a moment. 'Then you gave him eight and six instead +of nine shillings?' + +'You've hit it. Bless you, _he_ never knew. Mashed, I can tell _you_.' + +'Then you did him out of sixpence?' + +'Right. Comes off once in three. Say "sorry" when I'm caught and smile +and it's all right. Never try it twice on the same man.' + +'I call that stealing,' said Victoria coldly. + +'You can call it what you like,' snarled Lizzie. 'Everything's stealing. +What's business? getting a quid for what costs you a tanner. I'm putting +a bit extra on my wages.' + +Victoria shrugged her shoulders. She might have argued with Lizzie as +she had once argued with Gertie, but the vague truth that lurked in +Lizzie's economics had deprived her of argument. Could theft sometimes +be something else than theft? Were all things theft? And above all, did +the acceptance of a woman's hand as bait justify the hooking of a +sixpence? + +As Victoria left for home that night she felt restless. She could not go +to bed so soon. She walked through the silent city lanes; meeting +nothing, save now and then a cat on the prowl, or a policeman trying +doors and flashing his bull's eye through the gratings of banks. The +crossing at Mansion House was still busy with the procession of +omnibuses converging at the feet of the Duke of Wellington. Drays, too +heavily loaded, rumbled slowly past towards Liverpool Street. She turned +northwards, walked quickly through the desert. At Liverpool Street +station she stopped in the blaze of light. A few doors away stood a +shouting butcher praying the passers-by to buy his pretty meat. Further: +a fishmonger's stall, an array of glistening black shapes on white +marble, a tobacconist, a jeweller--all aglow with coruscating light. And +over all, the blazing light of arc lamps, under which an unending stream +of motor cabs, lorries, omnibuses passed in kaleidoscopic colours. In +the full glare of a lamp post stood a woman, her feet in the gutter. She +was short, stunted, dirty and thin of face and body. Round her wretched +frame a filthy black coat was tightly buttoned; her muddy skirt seemed +almost falling from her shrunken hips. Crushed on her sallow face, +hiding all but a few wisps of hair, was a battered black straw hat. With +one arm she carried a child, thin of face too, and golden-haired. On its +upper lip a crusted sore gleamed red and brown. In her other hand she +held out a tin lid, in which were five boxes of matches. + +Victoria looked at the silent watcher and passed on. A few minutes later +she remembered her and a fearful flood of insight rushed upon her. The +child? Then this, this creature had known love? A man had kissed those +shrivelled lips. Something like a thrill of disgust ran through her. +That such things as these could love and mate and bear children was +unspeakable; the very touch of them was loathsome, their love akin to +unnatural vice. + +As she walked further into Shoreditch the impression of horror grew on +her. It was not that the lanes and little streets abutting into the High +Street were full of terrors when pitch dark, or more sinister still in +the pale yellow light of a single gas lamp; the High Street itself, +filled with men and women, most of them shabby, some loudly dressed in +crude colours, shouting, laughing, jostling one another off the footpath +was more terrible, for its joy of life was brutal as the joy of the +pugilist who feels his opponent's teeth crunch under his fist. + +At a corner, near a public house blazing with lights, a small crowd +watched two women who were about to fight. They had not come to blows +yet; their duel was purely Homeric. Victoria listened with greedy horror +to the terrible recurrence of half a dozen words. + +A child squirmed through the crowd, crying, and caught one of the +fighters by her skirt. + +'Leave go . . . I'll rive the guts out 'o yer.' + +With a swing of the body the woman sent the child flying into the +gutter. Victoria hurried from the spot. She made towards the West now, +between the gin shops, the barrows under their blazing naphtha lamps. +She was afraid, horribly afraid. + +Sitting alone in her attic, her hands crossed before her, questions +intruded upon her. Why all this pain, this violence, by the side of +life's graces? Could it be that one went with the other, indissolubly? +And could it be altered before it was too late, before the earth was +flooded, overwhelmed with pain? + +She slipped into bed and drew the horsecloth over her ears. The world +was best shut out. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +THOMAS FARWELL collected three volumes from his desk, two pamphlets and +a banana. It was six o'clock and, the partners having left, he was his +own master half an hour earlier than usual. + +'You off?' said the junior from the other end of the desk. + +'Yes. Half an hour to the good.' + +'What's the good of half an hour,' said the youth superciliously. + +'No good unless you think it is, like everything else,' said Farwell. +'Besides, I may be run over by half past six.' + +'Cheerful as ever,' remarked the junior, bending his head down to the +petty cash balance. + +Farwell took no notice of him. Ten times a day he cursed himself for +wasting words upon this troglodyte. He was a youth long as a day's +starvation, with a bulbous forehead, stooping narrow shoulders and +narrow lips; his shape resembled that of an old potato. He peered +through his glasses with watery eyes hardly darker than his grey face. + +'Good night,' said Farwell curtly. + +'Cheer, oh!' said the junior. + +Farwell slammed the door behind him. He felt inclined to skip down the +stairs, not that anything particularly pleasant had happened but because +the bells of St Botolph's were pealing out a chime of freedom. It was +six. He had nothing to do. The best thing was to go to Moorgate Street +and take the books to Victoria. On second thoughts, no, he would wait. +Six o'clock might still be a busy time. + +Farwell walked down the narrow lane from Bishopsgate into St. Botolph's +churchyard. It was a dank and dreary evening, dark already. The wind +swept over the paths in little whirlwinds. Dejected sparrows sought +scraps of food among the ancient graves where office boys munch buns and +read of woodcarving and desperate adventure. He sat down on a seat by +the side of a shape that slept, and opened one of the books, though it +was too dark to read. The shape lifted an eyelid and looked at him. + +Farwell turned over the pages listlessly. It was a history of +revolutionists. For some reason he hated them to-day, all of them. Jack +Cade was a boor, Cromwell a tartuffe, Bolivar a politician, Mazzini a +theorist. It would bore Victoria. + +Farwell brought himself up with a jerk. He was thinking of Victoria too +often. As he was a man who faced facts he told himself quite plainly +that he did not intend to fall in love with her. He did not feel capable +of love; he hated most people, but did not believe that a good hater was +a good lover. + +'Clever, of course,' he muttered, 'but no woman is everlastingly clever. +I won't risk finding her out.' + +The shape at his side moved. It was an old man, filthy, clad in +blackened rags, with a matted beard. Farwell glanced at him and turned +away. + +'I'd have you poisoned if I could,' he thought. Then he returned to +Victoria. Was she worth educating? And supposing she was educated, what +then? She would become discontented, instead of brutalised. The latter +was the happier state. Or she would fall in love with him, when he would +give her short shrift. What a pity. A tiny wave of sentiment flowed into +Farwell's soul. + +'Clever, clever,' he thought, 'a little house, babies, roses, a fox +terrier.' + +'Gov'nor,' croaked a hoarse voice beside him. + +Farwell turned quickly. The shape was alive, then, curse it. + +'Well, what d'you want?' + +'Give us a copper, gov'nor, I'm an old man, can't work. S'elp me, Gawd, +gov'nor, 'aven't 'ad a bite. . . .' + +'That'll do, you fool,' snarled Farwell, 'why the hell don't you go and +get it in gaol?' + +'Yer don't mean that, gov'nor, do yer?' whined the old man, 'I always +kep my self respectable; 'ere, look at these 'ere testimonials, gov'nor, +. . .' He drew from his coat a disgusting object, a bundle of papers +tied together with string. + +'I don't want to see them,' said Farwell. 'I wouldn't employ you if I +could. Why don't you go to the workhouse?' + +The old man almost bridled. + +'Why? Because you're a stuck up. D'you hear? You're proud of being poor. +That's about as vulgar as bragging because you're rich. If you and all +the likes of you went into the House, you'd reform the system in a week. +Understand?' + +The old man's eyes were fixed on the speaker, uncomprehending. + +'Better still, go and throw any bit of dirt you pick up at a policeman,' +continued Farwell. 'See he gets it in the mouth. You get locked up. +Suppose a million of the likes of you do the same, what d'you think +happens?' + +'I dunno,' said the old man. + +'Well, your penal system is bust. If you offend the law you're a +criminal. But what's the law? the opinion of the majority. If the +majority goes against the law, then the minority becomes criminal. The +world's upside down.' Farwell smiled. 'The world's upside down,' he said +softly, licking his lips. + +'Give us a copper for a bed, guv'nor,' said the old man dully. + +'What's the good of a bed to you?' exploded Farwell. 'Why don't you have +a drink?' + +'I'm a teetotaller, guv'nor; always kep' myself respectable.' + +'Respectable! You're earning the wages of respectability, that is +death,' said Farwell with a wolfish laugh. 'Why, man, can't you see +you've been on the wrong tack? We don't want any more of you +respectables. We want pirates, vampires. We want all this society of +yours rotted by internal canker, so that we can build a new one. But we +must rot it first. We aren't going to work on a sow's ear.' + +'Give us a copper, guv'nor,' moaned the old man. + +Farwell took out sixpence and laid it on the seat. 'Now then,' he said, +'you can have this if you'll swear to blow it in drink.' + +'I will, s'elp me Gawd,' said the old man eagerly. + +Farwell pushed the coin towards him. + +'Take it, teetotaller,' he sneered, 'your respectable system of bribery +has bought you for sixpence. Now let me see you go into that pub.' + +The old man clutched the sixpence and staggered to his feet. Farwell +watched the swing doors of the public bar at the end of the passage +close behind him. Then he got up and walked away; it was about time to +go to Moorgate Street. + +As he entered the smoking-room, Victoria blushed. The man moved her, +stimulated her. When she saw him she felt like a body meeting a soul. He +sat down at his usual place. Victoria brought him his tea, and laid it +before him without a word. Nelly, lolling in another corner, kicked the +ground, looking away insolently from the elaborate wink of one of the +scullions. + +'Here, read these,' said Farwell, pushing two of the books across the +table. Victoria picked them up. + +'_Looking Backwards?_' she said. 'Oh, I don't want to do that. It's +forward I want to go.' + +'A laudable sentiment,' sneered Farwell, 'the theory of every Sunday +School in the country, and the practice of none. However, you'll find it +fairly soul-filling as an unintelligent anticipation. Personally I +prefer the other. _Demos_ is good stuff, for Gissing went through the +fire.' + +Victoria quickly walked away. Farwell looked surprised for a second, +then saw the manageress on the stairs. + +'Faugh,' he muttered, 'if the world's a stage I'm playing the part of a +low intriguer.' + +He sipped his tea meditatively. In a few minutes Victoria returned. + +'Thank you,' she whispered. 'It's good of you. You're teaching me to +live.' + +Farwell looked at her critically. + +'I don't see much good in that,' he said, 'unless you've got something +to live for. One of our philosophers says you live either for experience +or the race. I recommend the former to myself, and to you nothing.' + +'Why shouldn't I live for anything?' she asked. + +'Because life's too dear. And its pleasures are not white but piebald.' + +'I understand,' said Victoria, 'but I must live.' + +'_Je n'en vois pas la nécessité_,' quoted Farwell smiling. 'Never mind +what that means,' he added, 'I'm only a pessimist.' + +The next few weeks seemed to create in Victoria a new personality. Her +reading was so carefully selected that every line told. Farwell knew the +hundred best books for a working girl; he had a large library composed +mostly of battered copies squeezed out of his daily bread. Victoria's +was the appetite of a gorgon. In another month she had absorbed _Odd +Women_, _An Enemy of the People_, _The_ _Doll's House_, _Alton Locke_, +and a translation of _Germinal_. Every night she read with an intensity +which made her forget that March chilled her to the bone; poring over +the book, her eyes a few inches from the candle, she soaked in +rebellion. When the cold nipped too close into her she would get up and +wrap herself in the horsecloth and read with savage application, rushing +to the core of the thought. She was no student, so she would skip a hard +word. Besides, in those moods, when the spirit bounds in the body like a +caged bird, words are felt, not understood. + +Betty was still hovering round her, a gentle presence. She knew what was +going on and was frightened. A new Victoria was rising before her, a +woman very charming still, but extraordinary, incomprehensible. Often +Victoria would snub her savagely, then take her hand as they stood +together at the counter bawling for food and drink. And as Victoria grew +hard and strong, Betty worshipped her more as she would have worshipped +a strong man. + +Yet Betty was not happy. Victoria lived now in a state of excitement and +hunger for solitude. She took no interest in things that Betty could +understand. Their Sunday walks had been ruthlessly cut now and then, for +the fury was upon Victoria when eating the fruits of the tree. When they +were together now Victoria was preoccupied; she no longer listened to +the club gossip, nor did she ask to be told once more the story of +Betty's early days. + +'Do you know you're sweated?' she said suddenly one day. + +Betty's eyes opened round and blue. + +'Sweated,' she said. 'I thought only people in the East End were +sweated.' + +'The world's one big East End,' snapped Victoria. + +Betty shivered. Farwell might have said that. + +'You're sweated if you get two pounds a week,' continued Victoria. +'You're sweated when you buy a loaf, sweated when you ride in a bus, +sweated when they cremate you.' + +'I don't understand,' said Betty. + +'All profits are sweated,' quoted Victoria from a pamphlet. + +'But people must make profits,' protested Betty. + +'What for?' asked Victoria. + +'How are people to live unless they make profits?' said Betty. 'Aren't +our wages profits?' + +Victoria was nonplussed for a moment and became involved. 'No, our wages +are only wages; profit is the excess over our wages.' + +'I don't understand,' said Betty. + +'Never mind,' said Victoria, 'I'll ask Mr Farwell; he'll make it clear.' + +Betty shot a dark blue glance at her. + +'Vic,' she said softly, 'I think Mr Farwell. . . .' Then she changed her +mind. 'I can't, I can't,' she thought. She crushed the jealous words +down and plunged. + +'Vic, darling,' she faltered, 'I'm afraid you're not well. No, and not +happy. I've been thinking of something; why shouldn't I leave the Club +and come and live with you.' + +Victoria looked at her critically for a moment. She thought of her +independence, of this affection hovering round her, sweet, dangerously +clinging. But Betty's blue eyes were wet. + +'You're too good a pal for me, Betty,' she said in a low voice. 'I'd +make you miserable.' + +'No, no,' cried Betty impulsively. 'I'd love it, Vic dear, and you would +go on reading and do what you like. Only let me be with you.' + +Victoria's hand tightened on her friend's arm. + +'Let me think, Betty dear,' she said. + +Ten days later, Betty having won her point, the great move was to take +place at seven o'clock. It certainly lacked solemnity. For three days +preceding the great change Betty had hurried away from the P.R.R. on the +stroke of nine, quickly kissing Victoria and saying she couldn't wait as +she must pack. Clearly her wardrobe could not be disposed of in a +twinkling. Yet, on moving day, at seven o'clock sharp (the carrier +having been thoughtfully commanded to deliver at five) a tin trunk kept +together by a rope, a tiny bath muzzled with a curtain, and a hat box +loudly advertising somebody's tea, were dumped on the doorstep. The cart +drove off leaving the two girls to make terms with a loafer. The latter +compromised for fourpence, slammed their door behind him and lurched +down the creaking stairs. Betty threw herself into Victoria's arms. + +Those first days were sweet. Betty rejoiced like a lover in possession +of a long-desired mistress; stripping off her blouse and looking very +pretty, showing her white neck and slim arms, she strutted about the +attic with a hammer in her hand and her mouth full of nails. It took an +evening to hang the curtain which had muzzled the bath; Betty's art +treasures, an oleograph of 'Bubbles' and another of 'I'se Biggest,' were +cunningly hung by Victoria so that she could not see them on waking up. + +Betty was active now as a will o' the wisp. She invented little feasts, +expensive Sunday suppers of fried fish and chips, produced a basket of +oranges at three a penny; thanks to her there was now milk with the tea. +In a moment of enthusiasm Victoria heard her murmur something about +keeping a cat. In fact the only thing that marred her life at all was +Victoria's absorption in her reading. Often Betty would go to bed and +stay awake, watching Victoria at the table, her fingers ravelling her +hair, reading with an intentness that frightened her. She would watch +Victoria and see her face grow paler, except at the cheeks where a flush +would rise. A wild look would come into her eyes. Sometimes she would +get up suddenly and, thrusting her hair out of her eyes, walk up and +down muttering things Betty could not understand. + +One night Betty woke up suddenly, and saw Victoria standing in the +moonlight clad only in her nightgown. Words were surging from her lips. + +'It's no good. . . . I can't go on. . . . I can't go on until I die or +somebody marries me. . . . I won't marry: I won't do it. . . . Why +should I sell myself? . . . at any rate why should I sell myself +cheaply?' + +There was a pause. Betty sat up and looked at her friend's wild face. + +'What's it all mean after all? I'm only being used. Sucked dry like an +orange. By and by they'll throw the peel away. Talk of brotherhood! . . +. It's war, war . . . It's climbing and fighting to get on top . . . +like crabs in a bucket, like crabs. . .' + +'Vic,' screamed Betty. + +Victoria started like a somnambulist aroused and looked at her vaguely. + +'Come back to bed at once,' cried Betty with inspired firmness. Victoria +obeyed. Betty drew her down beside her under the horsecloth and threw +her arms round her; Victoria's body was cold as ice. Suddenly she burst +into tears; and Betty, torn as if she saw a strong man weep, wept too. +Closely locked in one another's arms they sobbed themselves to sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +EVERY day now Victoria's brain grew clearer and her body weaker. A +sullen spirit of revolt blended with horrible depression was upon her, +but she was getting thinner, paler; dark rings were forming round her +eyes. She knew pain now; perpetual weariness, twitchings in the ankles, +stabs just above the knee. In horrible listlessness she dragged her +weary feet over the tiled floor, responding to commands like the old cab +horse which can hardly feel the whip. In this mood, growing churlish, +she repulsed Betty, avoided Farwell and tried to seclude herself. She no +longer walked Holborn or the Strand where life went by, but sought the +mean and silent streets, where none could see her shamble or where none +would care. + +One night, when she had left at six, she painfully crawled home and up +into the attic. At half-past nine the door opened and Betty came in; the +room was in darkness, but something oppressed her; she went to the +mantlepiece to look for the matches, her fingers trembling. For an +eternity she seemed to fumble, the oppression growing; she felt that +Victoria was in the room, and could only hope that she was asleep. With +a great effort of her will she lit the candle before turning round. Then +she gave a short sharp scream. + +Victoria was lying across the bed dressed in her bodice and petticoat. +She had tucked this up to her knees and taken off her stockings; her +legs hung dead white over the edge. At her feet was the tin bath full +of water. Betty ran to the bed, choking almost, and clasped her friend +round the neck. It was some seconds before she thought of wetting her +face. After some minutes Victoria returned to consciousness and opened +her eyes; she groaned slightly as Betty lifted up her legs and +straightened her on the bed. + +It was then that Betty noticed the singular appearance of Victoria's +legs. They were covered with a network of veins, some narrow and pale +blue in colour, others darker, protruding and swollen; on the left calf +one of the veins stood out like a rope. The unaccustomed sight filled +her with the horror bred of a mysterious disease. She was delicate, but +had never been seriously ill; this sight filled her with physical +repulsion. For her the ugliness of it meant foulness. For a moment she +almost hated Victoria, but the sight of the tin bath full of water cut +her to the heart; it told her that Victoria, maddened by mysterious +pain, had tried to assuage it by bathing her legs in the cold water. + +Little by little Victoria came round; she smiled at Betty. + +'Did I faint, Betty dear?' she asked. + +'Yes, dear. Are you better now?' + +'Yes, I'm better; it doesn't hurt now.' + +Betty could not repress a question. + +'Vic,' she said, 'what is it?' + +'I don't know,' said Victoria fearfully, then more cheerfully, + +'I'm tired I suppose. I shall be all right to-morrow.' + +Then Betty refused to let her talk any more, and soon Victoria slept by +her side the sleep of exhaustion. + +The next morning Victoria insisted upon going to the P. R. R. in spite +of Betty suggesting a doctor. + +'Can't risk losing my job,' she said laughing. 'Besides it doesn't hurt +at all now. Look.' + +Victoria lifted up her nightshirt. Her calves were again perfectly white +and smooth; the thin network of veins had sunk in again and showed blue +under the skin. Alone one vein on the left leg seemed dark and angry. +Victoria felt so well, however, that she agreed to meet Farwell at a +quarter-past nine. This was their second expedition, and the idea of it +was a stimulant. He went with her up to Finsbury Pavement and stopped at +a small Italian restaurant. + +'Come in here and have some coffee,' he said, 'they have waiters here; +that'll be a change.' + +Victoria followed him in. They sat at a marble topped table, flooded +with light by incandescent gas. In the glare the waiters seemed blacker, +smaller and more stunted than by the light of day. Their faces were +pallid, with a touch of green: their hair and moustaches were almost +blue black. Their energy was that of automata. Victoria looked at them, +melting with pity. + +'There's a life for you,' said Farwell interpreting her look. 'Sixteen +hours' work a day in an atmosphere of stale food. For meals, plate +scourings. For sleep and time to get to it, eight hours. For living, the +rest of the day.' + +'It's awful, awful,' said Victoria. 'They might as well be dead.' + +'They will be soon,' said Farwell, 'but what does that matter? There are +plenty of waiters. In the shadow of the olive groves to-night in far off +Calabria, at the base of the vine-clad hills, couples are walking hand +in hand, with passion flashing in their eyes. Brown peasant boys are +clasping to their breast young girls with dark hair, white teeth, red +lips, hearts that beat and quiver with ecstasy. They tell a tale of love +and hope. So we shall not be short of waiters.' + +'Why do you sneer at everything, Mr Farwell?' said Victoria. 'Can't you +see anything in life to make it worth while?' + +'No, I cannot say I do. The pursuit of a living debars me from the +enjoyments that make living worth while. But never mind me: I am over +without having bloomed. I brought you here to talk of you, not of me.' + +'Of me, Mr Farwell?' asked Victoria. 'What do you want to know?' + +Farwell leant over the table, toyed with the sugar and helped himself to +a piece. Then without looking at her: + +'What's the matter with you, Victoria?' he asked. + +'Matter with me? What do you mean?' said Victoria, too disturbed to +notice the use of her Christian name. + +The man scrutinised her carefully. 'You're ill,' he said. 'Don't +protest. You're thin; there are purple pockets under your eyes; your +underlip is twisted with pain, and you limp.' + +Victoria felt a spasm of anger. There was still in her the ghost of +vanity. But she looked at Farwell before answering; there was gentleness +in his eyes. + +'Well,' she said slowly, 'if you must know, perhaps there is something +wrong. Pains.' + +'Where?' he asked. + +'In the legs,' she said after a pause. + +'Ah, swellings?' + +Victoria bridled a little. This man was laying bare something, tearing +at a secret. + +'Are you a doctor, Mr Farwell?' she asked coldly. + +'That's all right,' he said roughly, 'it doesn't need much learning to +know what's the matter with a girl who stands for eleven hours a day. +Are the veins of your legs swollen?' + +'Yes,' said Victoria with an effort. She was frightened; she forgot to +resent this wrenching at the privacy of her body. + +'Ah; when do they hurt?' + +'At night. They're all right in the morning.' + +'You've got varicose veins, Victoria. You must give up your job.' + +'I can't,' whispered the girl hoarsely. 'I've got nothing else.' + +'Exactly. Either you go on and are a cripple for life or you stop and +starve. Yours is a disease of occupation, purely a natural consequence +of your work. Perfectly normal, perfectly. It is undesirable to +encourage laziness; there are girls starving to-day for lack of work, +but it would never do to reduce your hours to eight. It would interfere +with the P. R. R. dividends.' + +Victoria looked at him without feeling. + +'What am I to do?' she asked at length. + +'Go to a hospital,' said Farwell. 'These institutions are run by the +wealthy who pay two guineas a year ransom for a thousand pounds of +profits and get in the bargain a fine sense of civic duty done. No doubt +the directors of the P.R.R. contribute most generously.' + +'I can't give up my job,' said Victoria dully. + +'Perhaps they'll give you a stocking,' said Farwell, 'or sell it you, +letting you pay in instalments so that you be not pauperised. This is +called training in responsibility, also self-help.' + +Victoria got up. She could bear it no longer. Farwell saw her home and +made her promise to apply for leave to see the doctor. As the door +closed behind her he stood still for some minutes on the doorstep, +filling his pipe. + +'Well, well,' he said at length, 'the Government might think of that +lethal chamber--but no, that would never do, it would deplete the labour +market and hamper the commercial development of the Empire.' + +He walked away, a crackling little laugh floating behind him. The faint +light of a lamp fell on his bowed head and shoulders, making him look +like a Titan born a dwarf. + +Two days later Victoria went to the Carew. She had never before set +foot in a hospital. Such intercourse as she had had with doctors was +figured by discreet interviews in dark studies filled with unspeakably +ugly and reassuringly solid furniture. Those doctors had patted her +hand, said she needed a little change or may be a tonic. At the Carew, +fed as it is by the misery of two square miles of North East London, the +revelation of pain was dazzling, apocalyptic. The sight of the benches +crowded with women and children--some pale as corpses, others flushed +with fever, some with faces bandaged or disfigured by sores--almost made +her sick. They were packed in serried rows; the children almost all +cried persistently, except here and there a baby, who looked with +frightful fixity at the glazed roof. From all this chattering crowd of +the condemned rose a stench of iodoform, perspiration, unwashed bodies, +the acrid smell of poverty. + +The little red-haired Scotch doctor dismissed Victoria's case in less +than one minute. + +'Varicose veins. Always wear a stocking. Here's your form. Settle terms +at the truss office. Don't stand on your feet. Oh, what's your +occupation?' + +'Waitress at the P.R.R., Sir.' + +'Ah, hum. You must give it up.' + +'I can't, Sir.' + +'It's your risk. Come again in a month.' + +Victoria pulled up her stockings. Walking in a dream she went to the +truss office where a man measured her calves. She felt numb and +indifferent as to the exposure of her body. The man looked enquiringly +at the left calf. + +'V.H. for the left,' he called over his shoulder to the clerk. + +At twelve o'clock she was in the P.R.R., revived by the familiar +atmosphere. She even rallied one of the old chess players on a stroke of +ill-luck. Towards four o'clock her ankles began to twitch. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +THROUGH all these anxious times, Betty watched over Victoria with the +devotion that is born of love. There was in the girl a reserve of +maternal sweetness equalled only by the courage she showed every day. +Slim and delicate as she seemed, there was in Betty's thin body a +strength all nervous but enduring. She did not complain, though driven +eleven or twelve hours a day by the eyes of the manageress; those eyes +were sharp as a goad, but she went cheerfully. + +In a sense Betty was happy. The work did not weigh too heavily upon her; +there was so much humility in her that she did not resent the roughness +of her companions. Nelly could snub her, trample at times on her like +the cart horse she was; the manageress too could freeze her with a look, +the kitchen staff disregard her humble requests for teas and procure for +her the savage bullying of the customers, yet she remained placid +enough. + +'It's a hard life,' she once said to Victoria, 'but I suppose it's got +to be.' This was her philosophy. + +'But don't you want to get out of it?' cried Victoria the militant. + +'I don't know,' said Betty. 'I might marry.' + +'Marry,' sniffed Victoria. 'You seem to think marriage is the only way +out for women.' + +'Well, isn't it?' asked Betty. 'What else is there?' + +And for the life of her Victoria could not find another occupation for +an unskilled girl. Milliners, dressmakers, clerks, typists, were all +frightfully underpaid and overworked; true there were women doctors, but +who cared to employ them? And teachers, but they earned the wages of +virtue: neglect. Besides it was too late; both Victoria and Betty were +unskilled, condemned by their sex to low pay and hard work. + +'It's frightful, frightful,' cried Victoria. 'The only use we are is to +do the dirty work. Men don't char. Of course we may marry, if we can, to +any of those gods if they'll share with us their thirty bob a week. Talk +of slaves! They're better off than we.' + +Betty looked upon all this as rather wild, as a consequence of +Victoria's illness. Her view was that it didn't do to complain, and that +the only thing to do was to make the best of it. But she loved Victoria, +and it was almost a voluptous joy for her to help her friend to undress +every night, to tempt her with little offerings of fruit and flowers. +When they woke up, Betty would draw her friend into her arms and cover +her face with gentle kisses. + +But as Victoria grew worse, stiffer, and slower, responding ever more +reluctantly to the demands made upon her all day at the P. R. R., Betty +was conscious of horrible anxiety. Sometimes her imagination would +conjure up a Victoria helpless, wasted, bedridden, and her heart seemed +to stop. But her devotion was proof against egoism. Whatever happened, +Victoria should not starve if she had to pay the rent and feed herself +on nine shillings or so a week until she was well again and beautiful as +she had been. Her anxiety increasing, she mustered up courage to +interview Farwell, whom she hated jealously. He had ruined Victoria, she +thought--made her wild, discontented, rebellious against the incurable. +Yet he knew her, and at any rate she must talk about it to somebody. So +she mustered up courage to ask him to meet at nine. + +'Well?' said Farwell. He did not like Betty much. He included her among +the poor creatures, the rubble. + +'Oh, Mr Farwell, what's going to happen to Victoria,' cried Betty, with +tears in her voice. Then she put her hand against the railings of +Finsbury Circus. She had prepared a dignified little speech, and her +suffering had burst from her. The indignity of it. + +'Happen? The usual thing in these cases. She'll get worse; the veins +will burst and she'll be crippled for life.' + +Betty looked at him, her eyes blazing with rage. + +'How dare you, how dare you?' she growled. + +Farwell laughed. + +'My dear young lady,' he said smoothly, 'it needs no doctor to tell you +what is wanted. Victoria must stop work, lie up, be well fed, live in +the country perhaps and her spirits must be raised. To this effect I +would suggest a pretty house, flowers, books, some music, say a +hundred-guinea grand piano, some pretty pictures. So that she may +improve in health it is desirable that she should have servants. These +may gain varicose veins by waiting on her, but that is by the way.' + +Betty was weeping now. Tear after tear rolled down her cheeks. + +'But all this costs money,' continued Farwell, 'and, as you are aware, +bread is very dear and flesh and blood very cheap. Humanity finds the +extraction of gold a toilsome process, whilst the production of children +is a normal recreation which eclipses even the charms of alcohol. There, +my child, you have the problem; and there is only one radical solution +to it.' + +Betty looked at him, intuitively guessing the horrible suggestion. + +'The solution,' said Farwell, 'is to complain to the doctor of insomnia, +get him to prescribe laudanum and sink your capital in the purchase of +half a pint. One's last investment is generally one's best.' + +'Oh, I can't bear it, I can't bear it,' wailed Betty. 'She's so +beautiful, so clever.' + +'Ah, yes,' said Farwell in his dreamy manner, 'but then you see when a +woman doesn't marry. . . .' He broke off, his eyes fixed on the grey +pavement. 'The time will come, Betty, when the earth will be not only +our eternal bed, but the fairy land where joyful flowers will grow. Ah! +it will be joyful, joyful, this crop of flowers born from seas of +blood.' + +'But, now, now, what can we do with her?' cried Betty. + +'I have no other suggestion if she will not fight,' growled Farwell in +his old manner. 'She must sink or swim. If she sinks she's to blame, I +suppose. In a world of pirates and cut-throats she will have elected to +be a saint, and the martyr's crown will be hers. If suicide is not to +her taste, I would recommend her to resort to what is called criminal +practices. Being ill, she has magnificent advantages if she wishes to +start business as a begging-letter writer; burglary is not suitable for +women, but there are splendid openings for confidence tricksters and +shoplifting would be a fine profession if it were not overcrowded by the +upper middle classes.' + +Betty dabbed her eyes vigorously. Her mouth tightened. She looked +despairingly at the desolate half circle of London Wall Buildings and +Salisbury House. Then she gave Farwell her hand for a moment and +hurriedly walked away. As she entered the attic the candle was still +burning. Victoria was in bed and had forgotten it; she had already +fallen into stertorous sleep. + +Next morning Victoria got up and dressed silently. She did not seem any +worse; and with this Betty was content, though she only got short +answers to her questions. All that day Victoria seemed well enough. She +walked springily; at times she exchanged a quick joke with a customer. +She laughed even when a young man, carried away for a moment beyond the +spirit of food which reigned supreme in the P.R.R., touched her hand and +looked into her eyes. + +As the afternoon wore Victoria felt creeping over her the desperate +weariness of the hour. + +At a quarter to six she made up her checks. There was a shortfall of one +and a penny. + +'How do you account for it?' asked the manageress. + +'Sure I don't know, Miss,' said Victoria helplessly. 'I always give +checks. Somebody must have slipped out without paying.' + +'Possibly.' The manageress grew more tense faced than ever. Her bust +expanded. 'I don't care. Of course you know the rule. You pay half and +the desk pays half.' + +'I couldn't help it, Miss,' said Victoria miserably. Sixpence halfpenny +was a serious loss. + +'No more could I. I think I can tell you how it happened, though,' said +the manageress with a vague smile. 'I'm an old hand. A customer of yours +had a tuck out for one and a penny. You gave him a check. Look at the +foil and you'll see.' + +'Yes, Miss, here it is,' said Victoria anxiously. + +'Very well. Then he went upstairs on the Q.T. and had a cup of coffee. +Follow!' + +'Yes, Miss.' + +'One of the girls gave him a twopenny check. Then he went out and handed +in the twopenny check. He kept the other one in his pocket.' + +'Oh, Miss. . . . it's stealing,' Victoria gasped. + +'It is. But there it is, you see.' + +'But it's not my fault, Miss; if you had a pay box at the top of the +stairs, I don't say. . . .' + +'Oh, we can't do that,' said the manageress icily, 'they would cost a +lot to build and extra staff and we must keep down expenses, you know. +Competition is very keen in this trade.' + +Victoria felt stunned. The incident was as full of revelations as +Lizzie's practices at the desk. The girls cheated the customers, the +customers the girls. And the P.R.R. sitting olympian on its pillar of +cloud, exacted from all its dividends. The P.R.R. suddenly loomed up +before Victoria's eyes as a big swollen monster in whose veins ran China +tea. And from its nostrils poured forth torrents of coffee-scented +steam. It grew and grew, and fed men and women, every now and then +extending a talon and seizing a few young girls with sore legs, a rival +café or two. Then it vanished. Victoria was looking at one of the large +plated urns. + +'All right,' she said sullenly, 'I'll pay.' + +As it was her day off, at six o'clock Victoria went up to the change +room, saying good-night to Betty, telling her she was going out to get +some fresh air. She thought it would do her good, so rode on a bus to +the Green Park. Round her, in Piccadilly, a tide of rich life seemed to +rise redolent with scent, soft tobacco, moist furs, all those odours +that herald and follow wealth. A savagery was upon her as she passed +along the club windows, now full of young men telling tales that made +their teeth shine in the night, of old men, red, pink, brown, healthy in +colour and in security, reading, sleeping, eking out life. + +The picture was familiar; for it was the picture she had so often seen +when, as a girl, she came up to town from Lympton for a week to shop in +Oxford Street and see, from the upper boxes, the three or four plays +recommended by _Hearth and Home_. Piccadilly had been her Mecca. It had +represented mysterious delights, restaurants, little teashops, +jewellers, makers of cunning cases for everything. She had never been +well-off enough to shop there, but had gazed into its windows and bought +the nearest imitations in Oxford Street. Then the clubs had been, if +not familiar, at any rate friendly. She had once with her mother called +at the In and Out to ask for a general. He was dead now, and so was +Piccadilly. + +Victoria remembered without joy: a sign of total flatness, for the mind +that does not glow at the thought of the glamorous past is dulled +indeed. Piccadilly struck her now rather as a show and a poor one, a +show of the inefficients basking, of the wretched shuffling by. And the +savagery that was upon her waxed fat. Without ideals of ultimate +brotherhood or love she could not help thinking, half amused, of the +dismay that would come over London if a bomb were suddenly to raze to +the ground one of these shrines of men. + +The bus stopped in a block just opposite one of the clubs; and Victoria, +from the off-side seat, could see across the road into one of the rooms. +There were in it a dozen men of all ages, most of them standing in small +groups, some already in evening-dress; some lolled on enormous padded +chairs reading, and, against the mantlepiece where a fire burned +brightly, a youth was telling an obviously successful story to a group +of oldsters. Their ease, their conviviality and facile friendship stung +Victoria; she felt an outcast. What had she now to do with these men? +They would not know her. Their sphere was their father's sphere, by +right of birth and wealth, not hers who had not the right of wealth. +Besides, perhaps some were shareholders in the P.R.R. Painfully +shambling down the steps, Victoria got off the bus and entered the Green +Park. She sat down on a seat under a tree just bursting into bud. + +For many minutes she looked at the young grass, at the windows where +lights were appearing, at a man seated near by and puffing rich blue +smoke from his cigar. A loafer lay face down on the grass, like a +bundle. Her moods altered between rage, as she looked at the two men, +and misery as she realised that her lot was cast with the wretch +grovelling on the cold earth. + +She noticed that the man with the cigar was watching her, but hardly +looked at him. He was fat, that was all she knew. Her eyes once more +fastened on the loafer. He had not fought the world; would she? and how? +Now and then he turned a little in his sleep, dreaming perhaps of feasts +in Cockayne, perhaps of the skilly he had tasted in gaol, of love +perhaps, bright-eyed, master of the gates. It was cold, for the snap of +winter was in the spring air; in the pale western sky the roofs loomed +black. Already the dull glow of London light rose like a halo over the +town. Victoria did not seem to feel the wind; she was a little numb, her +legs felt heavy as lead. A gust of wind carried into her face a few +drops of rain. + +The man with the cigar got up, slowly passed her; there was something +familiar in his walk. He turned so as to see her face in the light of a +gas-lamp. Then he took three quick steps towards her. Her heart was +already throbbing; she felt and yet did not know. + +'Victoria,' said the man in a faint, far away voice. + +Victoria gasped, put her hand on her heart, swaying on the seat. The man +sat down by her side and took her hand. + +'Victoria,' he said again. There was in his voice a rich quality. + +'Oh, Major Cairns, Major Cairns,' she burst out. And clasping his hand +between hers, she laid her face upon it. He felt all her body throb; +there were tears on his hands. A man of the world, he very gently lifted +up her chin and raised her to a sitting posture. + +'There,' he said softly, still retaining her hands, 'don't cry, dear, +all is well. Don't speak. I have found you.' + +With all the gentleness of a heavy man he softly stroked her hands. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +TWO days later Victoria was floating in the curious ether of the +unusual. It was Sunday night. She was before a little table at one of +those concealed restaurants in Soho where blows fragrant the wind of +France. She was sitting in a softly cushioned arm chair, grateful to +arms and back, her feet propped up on a footstool. Before her lay the +little table, with its rough cloth, imperfectly clean and shining dully +with brittania ware. There were flowers in a small mug of Bruges +pottery; there was little light save from candles discreetly veiled by +pink shades. The bill of fare, rigid on its metal stem, bore the two +shilling table d'hôte and the more pretentious ŕ la carte. An immense +feeling of restfulness, so complete as to be positive was upon her. She +felt luxurious and at large, at one with the other couples who sat near +by, smiling, with possessive hands. + +On the other side of the table sat Major Cairns. He had not altered very +much except that he was stouter. His grey eyes still shone kindly from +his rather gross face. Victoria could not make up her mind whether she +liked him or not. When she met him in the park he had seemed beautiful +as an archangel; he had been gentle too as big men mostly are to women, +but now she could feel him examining her critically, noting her points, +speculating on the change in her, wondering whether her ravaged beauty +was greater and her neck softer than when he last held her in his arms +off the coast of Araby. + +Victoria had compacted for a quiet place. She could not, she felt, face +the Pall Mall or Jermyn Street restaurants, their lights, wealth of +silver and glass, their soft carpets, their silent waiters. The Major +had agreed, for he knew women well and was not over-anxious to expose to +the eyes of the town Victoria's paltry clothes. Now he had her before +him he began to regret that he had not risked it. For Victoria had +gained as much as she had lost in looks. Her figure had shrunk, but her +neck was still beautifully moulded, broad as a pillar; her colour had +gone down almost to dead white; the superfluous flesh had wasted away +and had left bare the splendid line of the strong chin and jaw. Her +eyes, however, were the magnet that held Cairns fast. They were as grey +as ever, but dilated and thrown into contrast with the pale skin by the +purple zone which surrounded them. They stared before them with a novel +boldness, a strange lucidity. + +'Victoria,' whispered Cairns leaning forward, 'you are very beautiful.' + +Victoria laughed and a faint flush rose into her cheeks. There was still +something grateful in the admiration of this man, gross and limited as +he might be, centred round his pleasures, sceptical of good and evil +alike. Without a word she took up a spoon and began to eat her ice. +Cairns watched every movement of her hand and wrist. + +'Don't,' said Victoria after a pause. She dropped her spoon and put her +hands under the table. + +'Don't what?' said Cairns. + +'Look at my hands. They're . . . Oh, they're not what they were. It +makes me feel ashamed.' + +'Nonsense,' said Cairns with a laugh. 'Your hands are still as fine as +ever and, when we've had them manicured. . . .' + +He stopped abruptly as if he had said too much. + +'Manicured?' said Victoria warily, though the 'we' had given her a +little shock. 'Oh, they're not worth manicuring now for the sort of work +I've got to do.' + +'Look here, Victoria,' said Cairns rather roughly. 'This can't go on. +You're not made to be one of the drabs. You say your work is telling on +you: well, you must give it up.' + +'Oh, I can't do that,' said Victoria, 'I've got to earn my living and +I'm no good for anything else.' + +Cairns looked at her for a moment and meditatively sipped his port. + +'Drink the port,' he commanded, 'it'll do you good.' + +Victoria obeyed willingly enough. There was already in her blood the +glow of Burgundy; but the port, mellow, exquisite, and curling round the +tongue, coloured like burnt almonds, fragrant too, concealed a deeper +joy. The smoke from Cairns' cigar, half hiding his face, floating in +wreaths between them, entered her nostrils, aromatic, narcotic. + +'What are you thinking of doing now?' she asked. + +'I don't know quite,' said Cairns. 'You see I broke my good resolution. +After my job at Perim, they offered me some surveying work near Ormuz; +they call it surveying, but it's spying really or it would be if there +were anything to spy. I took it and rather enjoyed it.' + +'Did you have any adventures?' asked Victoria. + +'Nothing to speak of except expeditions into the hinterland trying to +get fresh meat. The East is overrated, I assure you. A butr landed off +our station once, probably intending to turn us into able-bodied slaves. +There were only seven of us to their thirty but we killed ten with two +volleys and they made off, parting with their anchor in their hurry.' + +Cairns looked at Victoria. The flush had not died from her cheeks. She +was good to look upon. + +'No,' he went on more slowly, 'I don't quite know what I shall do. I +meant to retire anyhow, you know, and the sudden death of my uncle, old +Marmaduke Cairns, settled it. I never expected to get a look in, but +there was hardly anybody else to leave anything to, except his sisters +whom he hated like poison, so I'm the heir. I don't yet know what I'm +worth quite, but the old man always seemed to do himself pretty well.' + +'I'm glad,' said Victoria. She was not. The monstrous stupidity of a +system which suddenly places a man in a position enabling him to live on +the labour of a thousand was obvious to her. + +'I'm rather at a loose end,' said Cairns musing, 'you see I've had +enough knocking about. But it's rather dull here, you know. I'm not a +marrying man either.' + +Victoria was disturbed. She looked at Cairns and met his eyes. There was +forming in them a question. As she looked at him the expression faded +and he signed to the waiter to bring the coffee. + +As they sipped it they spoke little but inspected one another narrowly. +Victoria told herself that if Cairns offered her marriage she would +accept him. She was not sure that ideal happiness would be hers if she +did; his limitations were more apparent to her than they had been when +she first knew him. Yet the alternative was the P.R.R. and all that must +follow. + +Cairns was turning over in his mind the question Victoria had surprised. +Though he was by no means cautious or shy, being a bold and good liver, +he felt that Victoria's present position made it difficult to be +sentimental. So they talked of indifferent things. But when they left +the restaurant and drove towards Finsbury Victoria came closer to him; +and, unconsciously almost, Cairns took her hand, which she did not +withdraw. He leant towards her. His hand grew more insistent on her arm. +She was passive, though her heart beat and fear was upon her. + +'Victoria,' said Cairns, his voice strained and metallic. + +She turned her face towards him. There was in it complete acquiescence. +He passed one arm round her waist and drew her towards him. She could +feel his chest crush her as he bent her back. His lips fastened on her +neck greedily. + +'Victoria,' said Cairns again, 'I want you. Come away from all this +labour and pain; let me make you happy.' + +She looked at him, a question in her eyes. + +'As free man and woman,' he stammered. Then more firmly: + +'I'll make you happy. You'll want nothing. Perhaps you'll even learn to +like me.' + +Victoria said nothing for a minute. The proposal did not offend her; she +was too broken, too stupefied for her inherent prejudices to assert +themselves. Morals, belief, reputation, what figments all these things. +What was this freedom of hers that she should set so high a price on it? +And here was comfort, wealth, peace--oh, peace. Yet she hesitated to +plunge into the cold stream; she stood shivering on the edge. + +'Let me think,' she said. + +Cairns pressed her closer to him. A little of the flame that warmed his +body passed into hers. + +'Don't hurry me. Please. I don't know what to say. . . .' + +He bent over with hungry lips. + +'Yes, you may kiss me.' + +Submissive, if frightened and repelled, yet with a heart where hope +fluttered, she surrendered him her lips. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +'I DON'T approve and I don't disapprove,' snarled Farwell. 'I'm not my +sister's keeper. I don't pretend to think it noble of you to live with a +man you don't care for, but I don't say you're wrong to do it.' + +'But really,' said Victoria, 'if you don't think it right to do a thing, +you must think it wrong.' + +'Not at all. I am neutral, or rather my reason supports what my +principles reject. Thus my principles may seem unreasonable and my +reasoning devoid of principle, but I cannot help that.' + +Victoria thought for a moment. She was about to take a great step and +she longed for approval. + +'Mr Farwell,' she said deliberately, 'I've come to the conclusion that +you are right. We are crabs in a bucket and those at the bottom are no +nobler than those on the top, for they would gladly be on the top. I'm +going on the top.' + +'Sophist,' said Farwell smiling. + +'I don't know what that means,' Victoria went on; 'I suppose you think +that I'm trying to cheat myself as to what is right. Possibly, but I +don't profess to know what is right.' + +'Oh, no more do I,' interrupted Farwell, 'please don't set me up as a +judge. I haven't got any ethical standards for you. I don't believe +there are any; the ethics of the Renaissance are not those of the +twentieth century, nor are those of London the same as those of +Constantinople. Time and space work moral revolutions; and, even on +stereotyped lines, nobody can say present ethics are the best. From a +conventional point of view the hundred and fifty years that separate us +from Fielding mark an improvement, but I have still to learn that the +morals of to-day compare favourably with those of Sparta. You must +decide that for yourself.' + +'I am doing so,' said Victoria quietly, 'but I don't think you quite +understand a woman's position and I want you to. I find a world where +the harder a woman works, the worse she is paid, where her mind is +despised and her body courted. Oh, I know, you haven't done that, but +you don't employ women. Nobody but you has ever cared a scrap about such +brains as I may have; the subs courted me in my husband's regiment. . . .' +She stopped abruptly, having spoken too freely. + +'Go on,' said Farwell tactfully. + +'And in London what have I found? Nothing but men bent on one pursuit. +They have followed me in the streets and tubes, tried to sit by me in +the parks. They have tried to touch me--yes me! the dependent who could +not resent it, when I served them with their food. Their talk is the +inane, under which they cloak desire. Their words are covert appeals. I +hear round me the everlasting cry: yield, yield, for that is all we want +from young women.' + +'True,' said Farwell, 'I have never denied this.' + +'And yet,' answered Victoria angrily, 'you almost blame me. I tell you +that I have never seen the world as I do now. Men have no use for us +save as mistresses, whether legal or not. Perhaps they will have us as +breeders or housekeepers, but the mistress is the root of it all. And if +they can gain us without pledges, without risks, by promises, by force +or by deceit, they will.' + +Farwell said nothing. His eyes were full of sorrow. + +'My husband drank himself to death,' pursued Victoria in low tones. +'The proprietor of the Rosebud tried to force me to become his toy . . . +perhaps he would have thrown me on the streets if he had had time to +pursue me longer and if I refused myself still . . . because he was my +employer and all is fair in what they call love . . . The customers +bought every day for twopence the right to stare through my openwork +blouse, to touch my hand, to brush my knees with theirs. One, who seemed +above them, tried to break my body into obedience by force . . . Here, +at the P.R.R. I am a toy still, though more of a servant . . . Soon I +shall be a cripple and good neither for servant nor mistress, what will +you do with me?' + +Farwell made a despairing gesture with his hand. + +'I tell you,' said Victoria with ferocious intensity. 'You're right, +life's a fight and I'm going to win, for my eyes are clear. I have done +with sentiment and sympathy. A man may command respect as a wage earner; +a woman commands nothing but what she can cheat out of men's senses. She +must be rich, she must be economically independent. Then men will crawl +where they hectored, worship that which they burned. And if I must be +dependent to become independent, that is a stage I am ready for.' + +'What are you going to do?' asked Farwell. + +'I'm going to live with this man,' said Victoria in a frozen voice. 'I +neither love nor hate him. I am going to exploit him, to extort from him +as much of the joy of life as I can, but above all I am going to draw +from him, from others too if I can, as much wealth as I can. I will +store it, hive it bee-like, and when my treasure is great enough I will +consume it. And the world will stand by and shout: hallelujah, a rich +woman cometh into her kingdom.' + +Farwell remained silent for a minute. + +'You are right,' he said, 'if you must choose, then be strong and carve +your way into freedom. I have not done this, and the world has sucked me +dry. You can still be free, so do not shrink from the means. You are a +woman, your body is your fortune, your only fortune, so transmute it +into gold. You will succeed, you will be rich; and the swine, instead of +trampling on you, will herd round the trough where you scatter pearls.' + +He stopped for a moment, slowly puffing at his pipe. + +'Women's profession,' he muttered. 'The time will come . . . +but to-day. . . .' + +Victoria looked at him, a faint figure in the night. He was the spectral +prophet, a David in fear of Goliath. + +'Yes,' she said, 'woman's profession.' + +Together they walked away. Farwell was almost soliloquising. 'If she is +brave, life is easier for a woman than a man. She can play on him; but +her head must be cool, her heart silent. Hear this, Victoria. Remember +yours is a trade and needs your application. To win this fight you must +be well equipped. Let your touch be soft as velvet, your grip as hard as +steel. Shrink from nothing, rise to treachery, let the worldly nadir be +your zenith.' + +He stopped before a public house and opened the door of the bar a +little. + +'Look in here,' he said. + +Victoria looked. There were five men, half hidden in smoke; among them +sat one woman clad in vivid colours, her face painted, her hands dirty +and covered with rings. Her yellow hair made a vivid patch against the +brown wall. A yard away, alone at a small table, sat another woman, +covered too with cheap finery, with weary eyes and a smiling mouth, her +figure abandoned on a sofa, lost to the scene, her look fixed on the +side door through which men slink in. + +'Remember,' said Farwell, 'give no quarter in the struggle, for you will +get none.' + +Victoria shuddered. But the fury was upon her. + +'Don't be afraid,' she hissed, 'I'll spare nobody. They've already given +me a taste of the whip. I know, I understand; those girls don't. I see +the goal before me and therefore I will reach it.' + +Farwell looked at her again, his eyes full of melancholy. + +'Go then, Victoria,' he said, 'and work out your fate.' + + + + +PART II + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +VICTORIA turned uneasily on the sofa and stretched her arms. She yawned, +then sat up abruptly. Sudermann's _Katzensteg_ fell to the ground off +her lap. She was in a tiny back room, so overcrowded by the sofa and +easy-chair that she could almost touch a small rosewood bureau opposite. +She looked round the room lazily, then relapsed on the sofa, hugging a +cushion. She snuggled her face into it, voluptuously breathing in its +compactness laden with scent and tobacco smoke. Then, looking up, she +reflected that she was very comfortable. + +Victoria's boudoir was the back extension of the dining-room. Shut off +by the folding doors, it contained within its tiny space the comfort +which is only found in small rooms. It was papered red with a flowered +pattern, which she thought ugly, but which had just been imported from +France and was quite the thing. The sofa and easy-chair were covered +with obtrusively new red and white chintz; a little pile of cushions had +fallen on the indeterminate Persian pattern of the carpet. Long +coffee-coloured curtains, banded with chintz, shut out part of the high +window, through which a little of the garden and the bare branches of a +tree could be seen. Victoria took all this in for the hundredth time. +She had been sleeping for an hour; she felt smooth, stroked; she could +have hugged all these pretty things, the little brass fender, the books, +the Delft inkpot on the little bureau. Everything in the room was +already intimate. Her eyes dwelt on the clean chintzes, on the half +blinds surmounted by insertion, the brass ashtrays, the massive silver +cigarette box. + +Victoria stood up, the movement changing the direction of her +contemplative mood. The Gothic rosewood clock told her it was a little +after three. She went to the cigarette box and lit a cigarette. While +slowly inhaling the smoke, she rang the bell. On her right forefinger +there was a faint yellow tinge of nicotine which had reached the nail. + +'I shall have to be manicured again,' she soliloquised. 'What a +nuisance. Better have it done to-day while I get my hair done too.' + +'Yes, mum.' A neat dark maid stood at the door. Victoria did not answer +for a second. The girl's black dress was perfectly brushed, her cap, +collar, cuffs, apron, immaculate white. + +'I'm going out now, Mary,' said Victoria. 'You'd better get my brown +velvet out.' + +'Yes, mum,' said the maid. 'Will you be back for dinner, mum?' + +'No, I'm dining with the Major. Oh, don't get the velvet out. It's muddy +out, isn't it?' + +'Yes, mum. It's been raining in the morning, mum.' + +'Ah, well, perhaps I'd better wear the grey coat and skirt. And my furs +and toque.' + +'The beaver, mum?' + +'No, of course not, the white fox. And, oh, Mary, I've lost my little +bag somewhere. And tell Charlotte to send me up a cup of tea at +half-past three.' + +Mary left the room silently. She seldom asked questions, and never +expressed pleasure, displeasure or surprise. + +Victoria walked up to her bedroom; the staircase was papered with a +pretty blue and white pattern over a dado of white lincrusta. A few +French engravings stood out in their old gold frames. Victoria stopped +at the first landing to look at her favourite, after Lancret; it +represented lovers surprised in a barn by an irate husband. + +The bedroom occupied the entire first floor. On taking possession of the +little house she had realised that, as she would have no callers, a +drawing-room would be absurd, so had suppressed the folding doors and +made the two rooms into one large one. In the front, between the two +windows, stood her dressing-table, now covered with small bottles, some +in cut glass and full of scent, others more workmanlike, marked +vaseline, glycerine, skin food, bay rum. Scattered about them on the +lace toilet cover, were boxes of powder, white, sepia, bluish, puffs, +little sticks of cosmetics, some silver-backed brushes, some squat and +short-bristled, others with long handles, with long soft bristles, one +studded with short wires, another with whalebone, some clothes brushes +too, buttonhooks, silver trays, a handglass with a massive silver +handle. Right and left, two little electric lamps and above the swinging +mirror, a shaded bulb shedding a candid glow. + +One wall was blotted out by two inlaid mahogany wardrobes; through the +open doors of one could be seen a pile of frilled linen, lace +petticoats, chemises threaded with coloured ribbons. On the large +arm-chair, covered with blue and white chintz, was a crumpled heap of +white linen, a pair of _café au lait_ silk stockings. A light mahogany +chair or two stood about the room. Each had a blue and white cushion. A +large wash-stand stood near the mantlepiece, laden with blue and white +ware. The walls were covered with blue silky paper, dotted here and +there with some colour prints. These were mostly English; their nude +beauties sprawled and languished slyly among bushes, listening to the +pipes of Pan. + +Victoria went into the back of the room, and, unhooking her cream silk +dressing jacket, threw it on the bed. This was a vast low edifice of +glittering brown wood, covered now by a blue and white silk bedspread +with edges smothered in lace; from the head of the bed peeped out the +tips of two lace pillows. By the side of the bed, on the little night +table, stood two or three books, a reading lamp and a small silver +basket full of sweets. An ivory bell-pull hung by the side of a swinging +switch just between the pillows. + +Victoria walked past the bed and looked at herself in the high +looking-glass set into the wall which rose from the floor to well above +her head. The mirror threw back a pleasing reflection. It showed her a +woman of twenty-six, neither short nor tall, dressed in a white +petticoat and mauve silk corsets. The corsets fitted well into the +figure which was round and inclined to be full. Her arms and neck, +framed with white frillings, were uniformly cream coloured, shadowed a +little darker at the elbows, near the rounded shoulders and under the +jaw; all her skin had a glow, half vigorous, half delicate. But the +woman's face interested Victoria more. Her hair was piled high and black +over a broad low white forehead; the cream of the skin turned faintly +into colour at the cheeks, into crimson at the lips; her eyes were +large, steel grey, long lashed and thrown into relief by a faintly mauve +aura. There was strength in the jaw, square, hard, fine cut; there was +strength too in the steadiness of the eyes, in the slightly compressed +red lips. + +'Yes,' said Victoria to the picture, 'you mean business.' She reflected +that she was fatter than she had ever been. Two months of rest had +worked a revolution in her. The sudden change from toil to idleness had +caused a reaction. There was something almost matronly about the soft +curves of her breast. But the change was to the good. She was less +interesting than the day when the Major sat face to face with her in +Soho, his pulse beating quicker and quicker as her ravished beauty +stimulated him by its novelty; but she was a finer animal. Indeed she +realised to the full that she had never been so beautiful, that she had +never been beautiful before, as men understand beauty. + +The past two months had been busy as well as idle, busy that is as an +idle woman's time. She had felt weary now and then, like those +unfortunates who are bound to the wheel of pleasure and are compelled to +'do too much.' Major Cairns had launched out into his first experiment +in pseudo-married life with an almost boyish zest. It was he who had +practically compelled her to take the little house in Elm Tree Place. + +'Think of it, Vic,' he had said, 'your own little den. With no prying +neighbours. And your own little garden. And dogs.' + +He had waxed quite sentimental over it and Victoria, full of the +gratitude that makes a woman cling to the fireman when he has rescued +her, had helped him to build a home for the idyll. Within a feverish +month he had produced the house as it stood. He had hardly allowed +Victoria any choice in the matter, for he would not let her do anything. +He practically compelled her to keep to her suite at the hotel, so that +she might get well. He struggled alone with the decoration, plumbing, +furniture and linoleum, linen and garden. Now and then he would ring up +to know whether she preferred salmon pink to _fraise écrasée_ cushions, +or he would come up to the hotel rent in twain by conflicting rugs. At +last he had pronounced the house ready, and, after supplying it with +Mary and Charlotte, had triumphantly installed his new queen in her +palace. + +Victoria's first revelation was one of immense joy; unquestioning, and +for one moment quite disinterested. It was not until a few hours had +elapsed that she regained mastery over herself. She went from room to +room punching cushions, pressing her hands over the polished wood, at +times feeling voluptuously on hands and knees the pile of the carpets. +She almost loved Cairns at the moment. It was quite honestly that she +drew him down by her side on the red and white sofa and softly kissed +his cheek and drove his ragged moustache into rebellion. It was quite +willingly too that she felt his grasp tighten on her and that she +yielded to him. Her lips did not abhor his kisses. + +Some hours later she became herself again. Cairns was good to her, but +good as the grazier is to the heifer from whom he hopes to breed; she +was his creature, and must be well housed, well fed, well clothed, so +that his eyes might feast on her, scented so that his desire for her +might be whipped into action. In her moments of cold horror in the past +she had realised herself as a commodity, as a beast of burden; now she +realised herself as a beast of pleasure. The only thing to remember then +was to coin into gold her condescension. + +Victoria looked at herself again in the glass. Yes, it was +condescension. As a free woman, that is, a woman of means, she would +never have surrendered to Cairns the tips of her fingers. Off the coast +of Araby she had yielded to him a little, so badly did she need human +sympathy, a little warmth in the cold of the lonely night. When he +appeared again as the rescuer she had flung herself into his arms with +an appalling fetterless joy. She had plunged her life into his as into +Nirvana. + +Now her head was cooler. Indeed it had been cool for a month. She saw +Cairns as an average man, neither good nor evil, a son of his father and +the seed thereof, bound by a strict code of honour and a lax code of +morals. She saw him as a dull man with the superficial polish that even +the roughest pebble acquires in the stream of life. He had found her at +low water mark, stranded and gasping on the sands; he had picked her up +and imprisoned her in this vivarium to which he alone had access, where +he could enjoy his capture to the full. + +'And the capture's business is to get as much out of the captor as +possible, so as to buy its freedom back.' This was Victoria's new +philosophy. She had dexterously induced Cairns to give her a thousand a +year. She knew perfectly well that she could live on seven hundred, +perhaps on six. Besides, she played on his pride. Cairns was after all +only a big middle-aged boy; it made him swell to accompany Victoria to +Sloane Street to buy a hat, to the Leicester Gallery to see the latest +one-man show. She was a credit to a fellow. Thus she found no difficulty +in making him buy her sables, gold purses, Whistler etchings. They would +come in handy, she reflected, 'when the big bust-up came.' For Victoria +was not rocking herself in the transitory, but from the very first +making ready for the storm which follows on the longest stretch of fair +weather. + +'Yes,' said Victoria again to the mirror, 'you mean business.' The door +opened and almost noiselessly closed. Mary brought in a tray covered +with a clean set of silver-backed brushes, and piled up the other ready +to take away. She put a water can on the washstand and parsimoniously +measured into it some attar of roses. Victoria stepped out into the +middle of the room and stood there braced and stiff as the maid unlaced +and then tightened her stays. + +'What will you wear this evening, mum?' asked Mary, as Victoria sat down +in the low dressing chair opposite the swinging glass. + +'This evening,' mused Victoria. 'Let me see, there's the _gris perle_.' + +'No, mum, I've sent it to the cleaner's,' said Mary. Her fingers were +deftly removing the sham curls from Victoria's back hair. + +'You've worn it four times, mum,' she added reproachfully. + +'Oh, have I? I don't think. . . . oh, that's all right, Mary.' + +Victoria reflected that she would never have a well-trained maid if she +finished sentences such as this. Four times! Well, she must give the +Major his money's worth. + +'You might wear your red Directoire, mum,' suggested Mary in the +unemotional tones of one who is paid not to hear slips. + +'I might. Yes. Perhaps it's a little loud for the Carlton.' + +'Yes, mum,' said Mary without committing herself. + +'After all, I don't think it is so loud.' + +'No, mum,' said Mary in even tones. She deftly rolled her mistress' +plaits round the crown. + +Victoria felt vaguely annoyed. The woman's words were anonymous. + +'But what _do_ you think, Mary,' she asked. + +'Oh, I think you're quite right, mum,' said Mary. + +Victoria watched her face in the glass. Not a wave of opinion rippled +over it. + +Victoria got up. She stretched out her arms for Mary to slip the skirt +over her head. The maid closed the lace blouse, quickly clipped the +fasteners together, then closed the placket hole completely. Without a +word she fetched the light grey coat, slipped it on Victoria's +shoulders. She found the grey skin bag, while Victoria put on her white +fox toque. She then encased Victoria's head in a grey silk veil and +sprayed her with scent. Victoria looked at herself in the glass. She was +very lovely, she thought. + +'Anything else, mum,' said Mary's quiet voice. + +'No, Mary, nothing else.' + +'Thank you, mum.' + +As Victoria turned, she found the maid had disappeared, but her +watchful presence was by the front door to open it for her. Victoria saw +her from the stairs, a short erect figure, with a pale face framed in +dark hair. She stood with one hand on the latch, the other holding a cab +whistle; her eyes were fixed upon the ground. As Victoria passed out she +looked at Mary. The girl's eyes were averted still, her face without a +question. Upon her left hand she wore a thin gold ring with a single red +stone. The ring fastened on Victoria's imagination as she stepped into a +hansom which was loafing near the door. It was not the custom, she knew, +for a maid to wear a ring; and this alone was enough to amaze her. Was +it possible that Mary's armour was not perfect in every point of +servility? No doubt she had just put it on as it was her evening out and +she would be leaving the house in another half hour. And then? Would +another and a stronger hand take hers, hold it, twine its fingers among +her fingers. Victoria wondered, for the vision of love and Mary were +incongruous ideas. It was almost inconceivable that with her cap and +apron she doffed the mantle of her reserve; she surely could not +vibrate; her heart could not beat in unison with another. Yet, there was +the ring, the promise of passion. Victoria nursed for a moment the +vision of the two spectral figures, walking in a dusky park, arms round +waists, then of shapes blended on a seat, faces hidden, lip to lip. + +Victoria threw herself back in the cab. What did it all matter after +all? Mary was the beast of burden which she had captured by piracy. She +had been her equal once when abiding by the law; she had shared her toil +and her slender meed of thanks. Now she was a buccaneer, outside the +social code, and as such earned the right to command. So much did +Victoria dominate that she thought she would refrain from the exercise +of a bourgeois prerogative: the girl should wear her ring, even though +custom forbade it, load herself with trinkets if she chose, for as a +worker and a respecter of social laws surely she might well be treated +as the sacrificial ox. + +The horse trotted down Baker Street, then through Wigmore Street. +Daylight was already waning; here and there houses were breaking into +light between the shops, some of which had remembered it was Christmas +eve and decked themselves out in holly. At the corner near the Bechstein +Hall the cab came to a stop behind the long line of carriages waiting +for the end of a concert. Victoria had time to see the old crossing +sweeper, with a smile on his face and mistletoe in his battered +billy-cock. The festivities would no doubt yield him his annual kind +word from the world. She passed the carriages, all empty still. The +cushions were rich, she could see. Here and there she could see a fur +coat or a book on the seat; in one of them sat an elderly maid, watching +the carriage clock under the electric light, meanwhile nursing a +chocolate pom who growled as Victoria passed. + +'Slaves all of them,' thought Victoria. 'A slave the good elderly maid, +thankful for the crumbs that fall from the pom's table. Slaves too, the +fat coachman, the slim footman despite their handsome English faces, lit +up by a gas lamp. The raw material of fashion.' + +The cab turned into the greater blaze of Oxford Circus, past the Princes +Street P.R.R. There was a great show of Christmas cakes there. From the +cab Victoria, craning out, could see a young and pretty girl behind the +counter busily packing frosted biscuits. Victoria felt warmed by the +sight; she was not malicious, but the contrast told her of her +emancipation from the thrall of eight bob a week. Through Regent Street, +all congested with traffic, little figures laden with parcels darting +like frightened ants under the horse's nose, then into the immensity of +Whitehall, the cab stopped at the Stores in Victoria Street. + +Victoria had but recently joined. A store ticket and a telephone are the +next best thing to respectability and the same thing as regards comfort. +They go far to establish one's social position. Victoria struggled +through the wedged crowd. Here and there boys and girls with flushed +faces, who enjoyed being squashed. She could see crowds of jolly women +picking from the counters things useful and things pretty; upon signal +discoveries loudly proclaimed followed continual exclamations that they +would not do. Family parties, excited and talkative, left her unmoved. +That world, that of the rich and the free, would ultimately be hers; her +past, that of the worn men and women ministering behind the counter to +the whims of her future world, was dead. + +She only had to buy a few Christmas presents. There was one for Betty, +one for Cairns, and two for the servants. In the clothing department she +selected a pretty blue merino dressing-gown and a long purple sweater +for Betty. The measurements were much the same as hers, if a little +slighter; besides such garments need not fit. She went downstairs and +disposed of the Major by means of a small gold cigarette case with a +leather cover. No doubt he had a dozen, but what could she give a man? + +The Stores buzzed round her like a parliament of bees. Now and then +people shouldered past her, a woman trod on her foot and neglected to +apologise; parcels too, inconveniently carried, struck her as she +passed. She felt the joy of the lost; for none looked at her, save now +and then a man drowned in the sea of women. The atmosphere was stuffy, +however, and time was precious as she had put off buying presents until +so late. Followed by a porter with her parcels she left the Stores, +experiencing the pleasure of credit on an overdrawn deposit order +account. The man piled the goods in a cab, and in a few minutes she had +transferred Betty's presents to a carrier's office, with instructions +to send them off at eight o'clock by a messenger who was to wait at the +door until the addressee returned. This was not unnecessary foresight, +for Betty would not be back until nine. With the Major's cigarette case +in her white muff, Victoria then drove to Bond Street, there to snatch a +cup of tea. On the way she stopped the cab to buy a lace blouse for Mary +and an umbrella for Charlotte, having forgotten them in her hurry. She +decided to have tea at Miss Fortesque's, for Miss Fortesque's is one of +those tearooms where ladies serve ladies, and the newest fashions come. +It is the right place to be seen in at five o'clock. At the door a small +boy in an Eton jacket and collar solemnly salutes with a shiny topper. +Inside, the English character of the room is emphasized. There are no +bamboo tables, no skimpy French chairs or Japanese umbrellas; everything +is severely plain and impeccably clean. The wood shines, the table linen +is hard and glossy, the glass is hand cut and heavy, the plate quite +plain and obviously dear. On the white distempered walls are colour +prints after Reynolds, Romney, Gainsborough. All conspires with the +thick carpet to promote silence, even the china and glass, which seem no +more to dare to rattle than if they were used in a men's club. + +Victoria settled down in a large chintz-covered arm chair and ordered +tea from a good-looking girl in a dark grey blouse and dress. Visibly a +hockey skirt had not long ago been more natural to her. As she returned +Victoria observed the slim straight lines of her undeveloped figure. She +was half graceful, half gawky, like most young English girls. + +'It's been very cold to-day, hasn't it?' said the girl as she set down +bread and butter, then cake and jam sandwiches. + +'Very,' Victoria looked at her narrowly. 'I suppose it doesn't matter +much in here, though.' + +'Oh, no, we don't notice it.' The girl looked weary for a second. Then +she smiled at Victoria and walked away to a corner where she stood +listlessly. + +'Slave, slave.' The words rang through Victoria's head. 'You talk to me +when you're sick of the sight of me. You talk of things you don't care +about. You smile if you feel your face shows you are tired, in the hope +I'll tip you silver instead of copper.' + +Victoria looked round the room. It was fairly full, and as Fortesquean +as it was British. The Fortesque tradition is less fluid than the +constitution of the Empire. Its tables shout 'we are old wood'; its cups +say 'we are real porcelain'; and its customers look at one another and +say 'who the devil are you?' Nobody thinks of having tea there unless +they have between one and three thousand a year. It is too quiet for ten +thousand a year or for three pounds a week; it caters for ladies and +gentlemen and freezes out everybody else, regardless of turnover. Thus +its congregation (for its afternoon rite is almost hieratical) +invariably includes a retired colonel, a dowager with a daughter about +to come out, several squiresses who came to Miss Fortesque's as little +girls and are handing on the torch to their own. There is a sprinkling +of women who have been shopping in Bond Street, buying things good but +not showy. As the customers, or rather clients, lapse with a sigh into +the comfortable armchairs they look round with the covert elegance that +says, 'And who the devil are you?' + +Victoria was in her element. She had had tea at Miss Fortesque's some +dozen years before when up for the week from Lympton; thus she felt she +had the freedom of the house. She sipped her tea and dropped crumbs with +unconcern. She looked at the dowager without curiosity. The dowager +speculated as to the maker of her coat and skirt. Victoria's eyes fixed +again on the girl who was passing her with a laden tray. The effort was +bringing out the beautiful lines of the slender arms, drooping +shoulders, round bust. Her fair hair clustered low over the creamy nape. + +'Slave, slave,' thought Victoria again. 'What are you doing, you fool? +Roughening your hands, losing flesh, growing old. And there's nothing +for a girl to do but serve on, serve, always serve. Until you get too +old. And then, scrapped. Or you marry . . . anything that comes along. +Good luck to you, paragon, on your eight bob a week.' + +Victoria went downstairs and got into the cab which had been waiting for +her with the servants' presents. It was no longer cold, but foggy and +warm. She undid her white fox stole, dropping on the seat her crocodile +skin bag, whence escaped a swollen purse of gold mesh. + +Upstairs the girl cleared away. Under the butter-smeared plate which +slipped through her fingers she found half-a-crown. Her heart bounded +with joy. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +'TOM, you know how I hate _tournedos_,' said Victoria petulantly. + +'Sorry, old girl.' Cairns turned and motioned to the waiter. While he +was exchanging murmurs with the man Victoria observed him. Cairns was +not bad looking, redder and stouter than ever. He was turning into the +'jolly old Major' type, short, broad, strangled in cross barred cravats +and tight frock-coats. In evening dress, his face and hands emerging +from his shirt and collar, he looked like an enormous dish of +strawberries and cream. + +'I've ordered quails for you? Will that do, Miss Dainty?' + +'Yes, that's better.' + +She smiled at him and he smiled back. + +'By jove, Vic,' he whispered, 'you look fine. Nothing like pink shades +for the complexion.' + +'I think you're very rude,' said Victoria smiling. + +'Honest,' said Cairns. 'And why not? No harm in looking your best is +there? Now my light's yellow. Brings me down from tomato to carrot.' + +'Fishing again. No good, Tommy old chap.' + +'Never mind me,' said Cairns with a laugh. He paused and looked intently +at Victoria, then cautiously round him. They were almost in the middle +of the restaurant, but it was still only half full. Cairns had fixed +dinner for seven, though they were only due for a music hall; he hated +to hurry over his coffee. Thus they were in a little island of pink +light surrounded by penumbra. Softly attuned, Mimi's song before the +gates of Paris floated in from the balcony. + +'Vic,' said Cairns gravely, 'you're lovely. I've never seen you like +this before.' + +'Do you like my gown?' she asked coquettishly. + +'Your gown!' Cairns said 'Your gown's like a stalk, Vic, and you're a +big white flower bursting from it . . . a big white flower, pink +flecked, scented. . . .' + +'Sh . . . Tom, don't talk like that in here.' Victoria slid her foot +forward, slipped off her shoe and gently put her foot on the Major's +instep. His eyes blinked quickly twice. He reached out for his glass and +gulped down the champagne. + +The waiter returned, velvet footed. Every one of his gestures +consecrated the quails resting on the flowered white plates, surrounded +by a succulent lake of aromatic sauce. + +They ate silently. There was already between them the good understanding +which makes speech unnecessary. Victoria looked about her from time to +time. The couples interested her, for they were nearly all couples. Most +of them comprised a man between thirty and forty, and a woman some years +his junior. Their behaviour was severely decorous, in fact a little +languid. From a table near by a woman's voice floated lazily, + +'I rather like this pub, Robbie.' + +Indeed the acceptance of the pubbishness of the place was characteristic +of its frequenters. Most of the men looked vaguely weary; some keenly +interested bent over the silver laden tables, their eyes fixed on their +women's arms. Here and there a foreigner with coal black hair, a soft +shirt front and a fancy white waistcoat, spiced with originality the +sedateness of English gaiety. An American woman was giving herself away +by a semitone, but her gown was exquisite and its _décolletage_ +challenged gravitation. + +Cairns' attitude was exasperatingly that of Gallio, save as concerned +Victoria. His eyes did not leave her. She knew perfectly well that he +was inspecting her, watching the rise and fall on her white breast of +his Christmas gift, a diamond cross. They both refused the mousse and +Victoria mischievously leant forward, her hands crossed under her chin, +her arms so near Cairns' face that he could see on them the fine black +shading of the down. + +'Well, Tom?' she asked. 'Quite happy?' + +'No,' growled Cairns, 'you know what I want.' + +'Patience and shuffle the cards,' said Victoria, 'and be thankful I'm +here at all. But I musn't rot you Tommy dear, after a present like +that.' + +She slipped her fingers under the diamond cross. Cairns watched the +picture made by the rosy manicured finger nails, the sparkling stones, +the white skin. + +'A pity it doesn't match my rings,' she remarked. + +Cairns looked at her hand. + +'Oh, no more it does. I thought you had a half hoop. Never mind, dear. +Give me that sapphire ring.' + +'What do you want it for?' asked Victoria with a conscious smile. + +'That's my business.' + +She slipped it off. He took it, pressing her fingers. + +'I think you ought to have a half hoop,' he said conclusively. + +Victoria leant back in her chair. Her smile was triumphant. Truly, men +are hard masters but docile slaves. + +'You'll spoil me, Tom,' she said weakly. 'I don't want you to think that +I'm fishing for things. I'm quite happy, you know. I'd rather you didn't +give me another ring.' + +'Nonsense,' said Cairns, 'I wouldn't give it you if I didn't like to see +it on your hand.' + +'I don't believe you,' she said smoothly, but the phrase rang true. + +Some minutes later, as they passed down the stairs into the palm room, +she was conscious of the eyes that followed her. Those of the men were +mostly a little dilated; the women seemed more cynically interested, as +suits those who appraise not bodies but garments. Major Cairns, walking +a step behind her, was still looking well, with his close cut hair and +moustache, stiff white linen and erect bearing. Victoria realised +herself as a queen in a worthy kingdom. But the kingdom was not the one +she wished to hold with all the force of her beauty. That beauty was +transitory, or at least its subtler quality was. As Victoria lay in the +brougham with Cairns's arm holding her close to him, she still +remembered that the fading of her beauty might synchronise with the +growth of her wealth. A memory from some book on political economy +flashed through her mind: beauty was a wasting asset. + +Cairns kissed her on the lips. An atmosphere of champagne, coffee, +tobacco, enveloped her as her breath mixed with his. She coiled one arm +round his neck and returned his kisses. + +'Vic, Vic,' he murmured, 'can't you love me a little?' + +She put her hand behind his neck and once more kissed his lips. He must +be lulled, but not into security. + +Victoria had never realised her strength and her freedom so well as that +night, as she leant back in her box. Her face and breast, the Major's +shirt front, were the only spots of light which emerged from the +darkness of the box as if pictured by a German impressionist; down +below, under the mist, the damned souls revelled in the cheap seats; +they swayed, a black mass speckled with hundreds of white collars, +dotted with points of fire in the bowls of pipes. By the side of the +men, girls in white blouses or crude colours, shrouded in the mist of +tobacco smoke. Now and then a ring coiled up from a cigar in the stalls, +swirled in the air for a moment and then broke. + +Just behind the footlights blazing over the blackness, a little fat man, +with preposterous breeches, a coat of many colours, a yellow wisp of +hair clashing with his vinous nose, sang of the Bank and his manifold +accounts. A faint salvo of applause ushered him out, then swelled into a +tempest as the next number went up. + +'Tommy Bung, you're in luck,' said the Major, taking off Victoria's +wrap. + +She craned forward to see. A woman with masses of fair hair, bowered in +blue velvet, took a long look at her from the stage box through an opera +glass. + +The curtain went up. There was a roar of applause. Tommy Bung was ready +for the audience and had already fallen into a tub of whitewash. The +sorry object extricated itself. His red nose shone, star like. He rolled +ferocious eyes at a girl. The crowd rocked with joy. Without a word the +great Tommy Bang began to dance. At once the hall followed the splendid +metre. Up and down, up and down, twisting, curvetting, Tommy Bung held +his audience spellbound with rhythm. They swayed sharply with the +alternations. + +Victoria watched the Major. His hands were beating time. Tommy Bung +brought his effort to a conclusion by beating the floor, the soles of +his feet, the scenery, and punctuated the final thwack with a well timed +leap on the prompter's box. + +Victoria was losing touch with things. Waves of heat seemed to overwhelm +her; little figures of jugglers, gymnasts, performing dogs, passed +before her eyes like arabesques. Then again raucous voices. The crowd +was applauding hysterically. It was Number Fourteen, whose great name +she was fated never to know. Unsteadily poised on legs wide apart, +Number Fourteen sang. Uncontrollable glee radiated from him-- + + Now kids is orl right + When yer ain't got none; + Yer can sit at 'ome + An' eat 'cher dam bun. + I've just 'ad some twins; + Nurse says don't be coy, + For they're just the picture + Of the lodger's boy. + Tinka, Tinka, Tinka; Tinka, Tinka, Tink + 'It 'im in the eye and made the lodger blink. + Tinga, Tinga, Tinga; Tinga, Tinga, Teg + Never larfed so much since farver broke 'is leg. + +A roar of applause encouraged him. Victoria saw Cairns carried away, +clapping, laughing. In the bar below she could hear continuously the +thud of the levers belching beer. Number Fourteen was still singing, his +smile wide-slit through his face-- + + Now me paw-in-law + 'E's a rum ole bloke; + Got a 'and as light + As a ton o' coke. + Came 'ome late one night + An' what oh did 'e see? + Saw me ma-in-law + On the lodger's knee. + Tinka, Tinka, Tinka; Tinka, Tinka, Tink + 'It 'im in the eye an' made the lodger blink. + Tinga, Tinga, Tinga; Tinga, Tinga, Teg, + Never larfed so much since farver broke 'is leg. + +Enthusiasm was rising high. Number Fourteen braced himself for his great +effort on the effects of beer. Then, gracious and master of the crowd, +he beat time with his hands while the chorus sounded from a thousand +throats. Victoria happened to look at Cairns. His head was beating time +and, from his lips issued gleefully: + + Tinka, Tinka, Tinka; Tinka, Tinka, Tink + 'It 'im in the eye-- + +Victoria scrutinised him narrowly. Cairns was a phenomenon. + +'Never larfed so much since farver broke 'is leg,' roared Cairns. 'I +say, Vic, he really _is_ good.' He noticed her puzzled expression. 'I +say, Vic, what's up? Don't you like him?' + +Victoria did not answer for a second. + +'Oh, yes, I--he's very funny--you see I've never been in a music hall +before.' + +'Oh, is that it?' Cairns's brow cleared. 'It's a little coarse, but so +natural.' + +'Is that the same thing?' asked Victoria. + +'S'pose it is. With some of us anyhow. But what's the next?' + +Cairns had already relapsed into the programme. He hated the abstract; a +public school, Sandhurst and the army had armoured him magnificently +against intrusive thought. They watched the next turn silently. A couple +of cross-talk comedians, one a shocking creature in pegtop trousers, a +shock yellow head and a battered opera hat, the other young, handsome +and smart as a superior barber's assistant, gibbered incomprehensibly of +songs they couldn't sing and lies they could tell. + +The splendid irresponsibility of the music hall was wasted on Victoria. +She had the mind of a schoolmistress grafted on a social sense. She saw +nothing before her but the gross riot of the drunken. She saw no humour +in that cockney cruelty, capable though it be of absurd generosity. She +resented too Cairns's boyish pleasure in it all; he revelled, she felt, +as a buffalo wallows in a mud bath. He was gross, stupid, dull. It was +degrading to be his instrument of pleasure. But, after all, what did it +matter? He was the narrow way which would lead her to the august. + +Though Cairns was not thin-skinned he perceived a little of this. +Without a word he watched the cross-talk comedians, then the 'Dandy Girl +of Cornucopia,' a rainbow of stiff frills with a voice like a fretsaw. +As the lights went down for the bioscope, the idea of reconciliation +that springs from fat cheery hearts overwhelmed him. He put his hand out +and closed it over hers. With a tremendous effort she repressed her +repulsion, and in so doing won her victory. In the darkness Cairns threw +his arms round her. He drew her towards him, moved, the least bit +hysterical. As if fearful of losing her he crushed her against his shirt +front. + +Victoria did not resist him. Her eyes fixed on the blackness of the roof +she submitted to the growing brutality of his kisses on her neck, her +shoulders, her cheeks. Pressed close against him she did not withdraw +her knees from the grasp of his. + +'Kiss me,' whispered Cairns imperiously. + +She cast down her eyes; she could hardly see his face in the darkness, +nothing but the glitter of his eyeballs. Then, unhurried and purposeful, +she pressed her lips to his. The lights went up again. Many of the crowd +were stirring; Victoria stretched out her arms in a gesture of +weariness. + +'Let's go home, Vic,' said Cairns, 'you're tired.' + +'Oh, no, I'm not tired,' she said. 'I don't mind staying.' + +'Well, you're bored.' + +'No, not at all, it's quite interesting,' said Victoria judicially. + +'Come along, Vic,' said Cairns sharply. He got up. + +She looked up at him. His face was redder, more swollen than it had been +half-an-hour before. His eyes followed every movement of her arms and +shoulders. With a faint smile of understanding and the patience of those +who play lone hands, she got up and let him put on her wrap. As she put +it on she made him feel against his fingers the sweep of her arm; she +rested for a moment her shoulder against his. + +In the cab they did not exchange a word. Victoria's eyes were fixed on +the leaden sky; she was this man's prey. But, after all, one man's prey +or another? The prey of those who demand bitter toil from the charwoman, +the female miner, the P.R.R. girl; or of those who want kisses, soft +flesh, pungent scents, what did it all amount to? And, in Oxford Street, +a sky sign in the shape of a horse-shoe advertising whisky suddenly +reminded her of the half hoop, a step towards that capital which meant +freedom. No, she was not the prey--at least not in the sense of the bait +which finally captures the salmon. + +Cairns had not spoken a word. Victoria looked at him furtively. His +hands were clenched before him; in his eyes shone an indomitable +purpose. He was going to the feast and he would foot the bill. On +arriving at Elm Tree Place he walked at once into his dressing room, +while Victoria went into her bedroom. She knew his mood well and knew +too that he would not be long. She did not fancy overmuch the scene she +could conjure up. In another minute or two he would come in with the +culture of a thousand years ground down, smothered beneath the lava-like +flow of animalism. He would come with his hands shaking, ready to be +cruel in the exaction of his rights. She hovered between repulsion and +an anxiety which was almost anticipation; Cairns was the known and the +unknown at once. But whatever his demands they should be met and +satisfied, for business is business and its justification is profits. So +Victoria braced herself and, with feverish activity, twisted up her +hair, sprayed herself with scent, jumped into bed and turned out the +light. + +As she did so the door opened. She was conscious for a fraction of a +second of the bright quadrilateral of the open door where Cairns stood +framed, a broad black silhouette. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +'YES, I'm a lucky beggar,' soliloquised Cairns. He gave a tug to the +leads at which two Pekingese spaniels were straining. 'Come along, you +little brutes,' he growled. The spaniels, intent upon a piece of soiled +brown paper in the gutter, refused to move. + +'Obstinate, sir,' said a policeman respectfully. + +'Devilish. Simply devilish. Fine day, isn't it?' + +'Blowing up for rain, sir.' + +'Maybe. Come along, Snoo; that'll do.' + +Cairns dragged the dogs up the road. Snoo and Poo, husband and wife, had +suddenly fascinated him in Villiers Street that morning. He was on his +way to offer them at Victoria's shrine. Instinctively he liked the smart +dog, as he liked the smart woman and the American novel. Snoo and Poo, +tiny, fat, curly, khaki-coloured, with their flat Kalmuck faces, +unwillingly trundled behind him. They would, thought Cairns, be in +keeping with the establishment. A pleasant establishment. A nice little +house, in its quiet street where nothing ever seemed to pass, except +every hour or so a cab. It was better than a home, for it offered all +that a home offers, soft carpets, discreet servants, nice little lunches +among flowers and well-cleaned plate, and beyond, something that no home +contains. It was adventurous. Cairns had knocked about the world a good +deal and had collected sensations as finer natures collect thoughts. The +women of the past met and caressed on steam-boats, in hotels at Cairo, +Singapore and Cape Town, the tea gardens of Kobe and the stranger +mysteries of Zanzibar, all this had left him weary and sighing for +something like the English home. Indeed he grew more sentimental as he +thought of Dover cliffs every time his tailor called the measurement of +his girth. An extra quarter of an inch invariably coincided with a +sentimental pang. Cairns, however, would not yet have been capable of +settling down in a hunting county with a well-connected wife, a costly +farming experiment and the shilling weeklies. A transition was required; +he had no gift of introspection, but his relations with Victoria were +expressions of this mood. Thus he was happy. + +He never entered the little house in Elm Tree Place without a thrill of +pleasure. Under the placid mask of its respectability and all that went +with it, clean white steps, half curtains, bulbs in the window boxes, +there flowed for him a swift hot stream. And in that stream flourished a +beautiful white lily whose petals opened and smiled at will. + +'I wonder whether I'm in love with her?' This was a frequent subject for +Cairns's meditations. Victoria was so much more for him than any other +woman had been that he always hesitated to answer. She charmed him +sensually, but other women had done likewise; she was beautiful, but he +could conceive of greater beauty. Her intellect he did not consider, for +he was almost unaware of it. For him she was clever, in the sense that +women are clever in men's eyes when they can give a smart answer, +understand Bradshaw and order a possible combination at a restaurant. +What impressed him was Victoria's coolness, the balance of her unhurried +mind. Now and then he caught her reading curious books, such as +_Smiles's Self-Help_, _Letters of a Self-Made Merchant to his Son_ and +_Thus Spake Zara . . . Something_, by a man with a funny name; but this +was all part of her character and of its novelty. He did not worry to +scratch the surface of this brain; virgin soils did not interest him in +the mental sense. Sometimes, when he enounced a political opinion or +generalised on the problems of the day as stated in the morning paper, +he would find, a little uneasily, her eyes fixed on him with a strangely +interested look. But her eyelids would at once be lowered and her lips +would part, showing a little redder and moister, causing his heart to +beat quicker, and he would forget his perplexity as he took her hand and +stroked her arm with gentle insistence. + +Cairns dragged Snoo and Poo up the steps of the little house still +grumbling, panting and protesting that, as drawing-room dogs, they +objected to exercise in any form. He had a latchkey, but always +refrained from using it. He liked to ring the bell, to feel like a +guest. It would have been commonplace to enter _his_ hall and hang up +_his_ hat on _his_ peg. That would have been home and home only. To ask +whether Mrs Ferris was in was more adventurous, for she might be out. +And if she expected him, then it was an assignation; adventure again. + +The unimposing Mary let him in. For a fraction of a second she looked at +the Major, then at the floor. + +'Mrs Ferris in?' + +'Yes, sir, Mrs Ferris is in the boudoir.' Mary's voice fell on the last +necessary word like a dropgate. She had been asked a question and +answered it. That was the end of it. Cairns was the master of her +mistress. What respect she owed was paid. + +Cairns deposited his hat and coat in Mary's hands. Then, lifting Snoo +under one arm and Poo under the other, both grumbling vigorously and +kicking with their hind legs, he walked to the boudoir and pushed it +open with his shoulder. Victoria was sitting at the little bureau +writing a letter. Cairns watched her for two seconds, rejoicing in the +firm white moulding of her neck, in the dark tendrils of hair clustering +low, dwindling into the central line of down which tells of breeding and +health. Then Victoria turned round sharply. + +'Oh,' she said, with a little gasp. 'Oh, Tom, the ducks!' + +Cairns laughed and, walking up to her, dropped Snoo on her lap and Poo, +snuffling ferociously, on the floor. Victoria buried her hands in Snoo's +thick coat; the dog gurgled joyfully and rolled over on its side. +Victoria laughed, muzzling Snoo with her hand. + +Cairns watched the picture for, a moment. He was absurdly reminded of a +girl in Java who nursed a black marmoset against her yellow breast. And +as Victoria looked up at him, her chin now resting on Snoo's brown head, +a soft wave of scent rose towards him. He knelt down, throwing his arms +round her and the dog, gathering them both into his embrace. As his lips +met hers and clung to them, her perfume and the ranker scent of the dog +filled his nostrils, burning aphrodisiac into his brain. + +Victoria freed herself gently and rose to her feet, still nursing Snoo, +and laughingly pushed him into Cairns's face. + +'Kiss him,' she said, 'no favours here.' + +Cairns obeyed, then picked up Poo and sat down on the couch. + +'This is sweet of you, Tom,' said Victoria. 'They _are_ lovebirds.' + +'I'm glad you like them; this is Poo I'm holding, yours is Snoo.' + +'Odd names,' said Victoria. + +'Chinese according to the dealer,' said Cairns, 'but I don't pretend to +know what they mean.' + +'Never mind,' said Victoria, 'they're lovebirds, and so are you, Tom.' + +Cairns looked at her silently, at her full erect figure and smiling +eyes. He was a lucky beggar, a damned lucky beggar. + +'And what is this bribe for?' she asked. + +'Oh, nothing. Knew you'd like them, beastly tempers and as game as mice. +Women's dogs, you know.' + +'Generalising again, Tom. Besides I hate mice.' + +Cairns drew her down by his side on the couch. Everything in this woman +interested and stimulated him. She was always fresh, always young. The +touch of her hand, the smell of her hair, the feel of her skirts winding +round his ankles, all that was magic; every little act of hers was a +taking of possession. Every time he mirrored his face in her eyes and +saw the eyelids slowly veil and unveil them, something like love crept +into his soul. But every passionate embrace left him weak and almost +repelled. She was his property; he had paid for her; and, insistent +thought, what would she have done if he had not been rich? + +Half an hour passed away. Victoria lay passive in his arms. Snoo and +Poo, piled in a heap, were snuffling drowsily. There was a ring at the +front door, then a slam. They could hear voices. They started up. + +'Who the deuce . . . .?' said Cairns. + +Then they heard someone in the dining-room beyond the door. There was a +knock at the door of the boudoir. + +'Come in,' said Victoria. + +Mary entered. Her placid eyes passed over the Major's tie which had +burst out of his waistcoat, Victoria's tumbled hair. + +'Mr Wren, mum,' she said. + +Victoria staggered. Her hands knotted themselves together convulsively. + +'Good God,' she whispered. + +'Who is it? What does he want? What name did you say?' asked Cairns. +Victoria's excitement was infecting him. + +Victoria did not answer. Mary stood before them, her eyes downcast +before the drama. She was waiting for orders. + +'Can't you speak?' growled Cairns. 'Who is it?' + +Victoria found her voice at last. + +'My brother,' she said hoarsely. + +Cairns did not say a word. He walked once up and once down the room, +stopped before the mirror to settle his tie. Then turned to Mary. + +'Tell the gentleman Mrs Ferris can't see him!' + +Mary turned to go. There was a sound of footsteps in the dining-room. +The button of the door turned twice as if somebody was trying to open +it. The door was locked but Cairns almost leaped towards it. Victoria +stopped him. + +'No,' she said, 'let me have it out. Tell Mr Wren I'm coming, Mary.' + +Mary turned away. The incident was fading from her mind as a stone fades +away as it falls into an abyss. Victoria clung to Cairns and whispered +in his ear. + +'Tom, go away, go away. Come back in an hour. I beg you.' + +'No, old girl, I'm going to see you through,' said Cairns doggedly. + +'No, no, don't.' There was fear in her voice. 'I must have it out. Go +away, for my sake, Tom.' + +She pushed him gently into the hall, forced him to pick up his hat and +stick and closed the door behind him. She braced herself for the effort; +for a second the staircase shivered before her eyes like a road in the +heat. + +'Now for it,' she said, 'I'm in for a row.' + +A pleasant little tingle was in her veins. She opened the dining-room +door. It was not very light. There was a slight singing in her ears. +She saw nothing before her except a man's legs clad in worn grey +trousers where the knees jutted forward sharply. With an effort she +raised her eyes and looked Edward in the face. + +He was pale and thin as ever. A ragged wisp of yellow hair hung over the +left side of his forehead. He peered at her through his silver-mounted +glasses. His hands were twisting at his watch chain, quickly, nervously, +like a mouse in a wheel. As she looked at his weak mouth his +insignificance was revealed to her. Was this, this creature with the +vague idealistic face, the high shoulders, something to be afraid of? +Pooh! + +'Well, Edward?' she said, involuntarily aggressive. + +Wren did not answer. His hands suddenly stopped revolving. + +'Well, Edward?' she repeated. 'So you've found me?' + +'Yes,' he said at length. 'I . . . . Yes, I've found you.' The movement +of his hands began again. + +'Well?' + +'I know. I've found out. . . . I went to Finsbury.' + +'Oh? I suppose you mean you tracked me from my old rooms. I suppose +Betty told you I . . . my new occupation.' + +Wren jumped. + +'Damn,' he growled. 'Damn you.' + +Victoria smiled. Edward swearing. It was too funny. What an awful thing +it was to have a sense of humour. + +'You seem to know all about it,' she said smoothly. 'But what do you +want?' + +'How dare you,' growled Edward. 'A woman like you. . . . .' + +A hard look came into Victoria's eyes. + +'That will do Edward, I know my own business.' + +'Yes, a dirty business.' A hot flush spread over the man's thin cheeks. + +'You little cur.' Victoria smiled; she could feel her lips baring her +eye teeth. 'Fool.' + +Edward stared at her. Passion was stifling his words. + +'It's a lot you know about life, schoolmaster,' she sneered. 'Who are +you to preach at me? Is it your business if I choose to sell my body +instead of selling my labour?' + +'You're disgraced.' His voice went down to a hoarse whisper. +'Disgraced.' + +Victoria felt a wave of heat pass over her body. + +'Disgraced, you fool? Will anybody ever teach you what disgrace is? +There's no such thing as disgrace for a woman. All women are disgraced +when they're born. We're parasites, toys. That's all we are. You've got +two kinds of uses for us, lords and masters! One kind is honourable +labour, as you say, namely the work undertaken by what you call the +lower classes; the other's a share in the nuptial couch, whether illegal +or legal. Yes, your holy matrimony is only another name for my +profession.' + +'You've no right to say that,' cried Edward. 'You're trying to drag down +marriage to your level. When a woman marries she gives herself because +she loves; then her sacrifice is sublime.' He stopped for a second. +Idealism, sentimentalism, other names for ignorance of life, clashed in +his self-conscious brain without producing light. 'Oh, Victoria,' he +said, 'you don't know how awful it is for me to find you like this, my +little sister . . . of course you can't love him . . . if you'd married +him it would have been different.' + +'Ah, Edward, so that's your philosophy. You say that though I don't love +him, if I'd married him it would have been different. So you won't let +me surrender to a man unless I can trick him or goad him into binding +himself to me for life. If I don't love him I may marry him and make +his life a hell and I shall be a good woman; but I mustn't live with him +illegally so that he may stick to me only so long as he cares for me.' + +'I didn't say that,' stammered Edward. 'Of course, it's wrong to marry a +man you don't care for . . . but marriage is different, it sanctifies.' + +'Sanctifies! Nothing sanctifies anything. Our deeds are holy or unholy +in themselves. Oh, understand me well, I claim no ethical revelation; I +don't care whether my deeds are holy or not. I judge nothing, not even +myself. All I say is that your holy bond is a farce; if women were +free--that is, trained, able and allowed to earn fair wages for fair +labour--then marriage might be holy. But marriage for a woman is a +monetary contract. It means that she is kept, clothed, amused; she is +petted like a favourite dog, indulged like a spoiled child. In exchange +she gives her body.' + +'No, no.' + +'Yes, yes. And the difference between a married woman and me is her +superior craft, her ability to secure a grip upon a man. You respect her +because she is permanent, as you respect a vested interest.' + +The flush rose again in Edward's cheeks. As he lost ground he fortified +his obstinacy. + +'You've sold yourself,' he said quickly, 'gone down into the gutter +. . . . Oh!' + +'The gutter.' Victoria was so full of contempt that it almost hurt her. +'Of course I'm in the gutter. I always was in the gutter. I was in the +gutter when I married and my husband boarded and lodged me to be his +favourite. I was in the gutter when I had to kow-tow to underbred +people; to be a companion is to prostitute friendship. You don't mind +that, do you? I was in the gutter in the tea shops, when I decoyed men +into coming to the place because they could touch me, breathe me. I'm in +the gutter now, but I'm in the right one. I've found the one that's +going to make me free.' + +Edward was shaken by her passion. + +'You'll never be free,' he faltered, 'you're an outcast.' + +'An outcast from what?' sneered Victoria. 'From society? What has +society done for me? It's kicked me, it's bled me. It's made me work ten +hours a day for eight bob a week. It'd have sucked me dry and offered me +the workhouse, or the Thames at the end. It made me almost a cripple.' + +Edward stared. + +'Yes,' said Victoria savagely. 'That makes you squirm, sentimentalist. +Look at that!' + +She put her foot on a chair, tucked up her skirt, tore down the +stocking. Purplish still, the veins stood out on the firm white flesh. + +Edward clenched both his hands and looked away. A look of pain was in +his eyes. + +'Yes, look at that,' raged Victoria. 'That's what your society's done +for me. It's chucked me into the water to teach me to swim, and it's +gloated over every choke. It's fine talking about chivalry, isn't it, +when you see what honest labour's done for me, isn't it? It's fine +talking about purity when you see the price your society pays me for +being what I am, isn't it? Look at me. Look at my lace, look at my +diamonds, look at my house . . . and think of the other side: eight bob +a week, ten hours work a day, a room with no fire, and a bed with no +sheets. But I know your society now, and as I can't kill it I'll cheat +it. I've served it and it's got two years of my life; but I'm going to +get enough out of it to make it crawl.' + +She strode towards Edward. + +'So don't you come preaching to me,' she hissed. + +Edward's head bent down. Slowly he walked towards the door. + +'Yes,' she said, 'go. I've no use for you. I'm out for stronger meat.' + +He opened the door, then, without looking up, + +'Good-bye,' he said. + +The door closed behind him. Victoria looked about her for some seconds, +then sat down in the carving chair, her arms outstretched on the table. +Her teeth were clenched now, her jaw set; with indomitable purpose she +looked out into the darkening room where she saw the battle and victory +of life. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +VICTORIA had never loved adventure for its own sake. The change from +drudgery to leisure was grateful as was all it brought in the shape of +pretty clothes, jewels and savoury dishes; but she realised every day +better that, taking it as a profession, her career was no great success. +It afforded her a fair livelihood, but the wasting asset of her beauty +could not be replaced; thus it behoved her to amortize its value at a +rapid rate. She felt much better in health; her varicose veins had gone +down a good deal, but she still preserved a dark mystery about them; +after six months of intimate association, Cairns did not yet know why he +had never seen Victoria without her stockings. Being man of the world +enough to know that discretion is happiness, he had never pressed the +point; a younger or more sensitive man would have torn away the veil, so +as to achieve total intimacy at the risk of wrecking it. He was not of +these, and vaguely Victoria did not thank him for a sentiment half +discreet, half indifferent; such an attitude for a lover suggested +disregard for essentials. As she grew stronger and healthier her brain +worked more clearly, and she began to realise that even ten years of +association with this man would yield no more than a pittance. And it +would be difficult to hold him for ten years. + +Victoria certainly went ably to work to preserve for Cairns the feeling +of novelty and adventure. It was practically in deference to her +suggestions that he retained his chambers; he soon realised her wisdom +and entered into the spirit of their life. He still understood very well +the pleasure of being her guest. Victoria found no decline in his +desire; perhaps it was less fiery, but it was as coarse and as constant. +Certainly she was woman for him rather than merely a woman; moreover she +was a habit. Victoria saw this clearly enough and resolved to make the +most of it. + +In accordance with her principles she kept her expenses down. She would +not even allow herself the luxury of a maid; she found it cheaper to pay +Mary higher wages. When Cairns was not expected her lunch was of the +simplest, and Charlotte discovered with amazement that her rakish +mistress could check a grocer's book. Victoria was not even above +cheating the Water Board by omitting to register her garden tap. All +these, however, were petty economies; they would result in a saving of +perhaps three hundred a year, a beggarly sum when pitted against the +uncertainties of her profession. + +She realised all this within three or four months of her new departure, +and promptly decided that Cairns must be made to yield a higher revenue. +She felt that she could not very well tell him that a thousand a year +was not enough; on the face of it it was ample. It was necessary +therefore to launch out a little. The first step was to increase her +visible supply of clothes, and this was easily done by buying the cheap +and effective instead of the expensive and good. Cairns knew enough +about women's clothes to detect this now and then, but the changes +bewildered him a little and he had some difficulty in seeing the +difference between the latest thing and the cheapest. Whenever she was +with him she affected the manners of a spendthrift; she would call cabs +to carry her a hundred yards, give a beggar a shilling, or throw a pair +of gloves out of the window because they had been worn once. + +Cairns smiled tolerantly. She might as well have her fling, he thought, +and a lack of discipline was as charming in a mistress as it was +deplorable in a wife. He was therefore not surprised when, one morning, +he found Victoria apparently nervous and worried. She owned that she was +short of cash. In fact the manager of her bank had written to point out +that her account was overdrawn. + +'Dear me,' said Cairns with mock gravity, 'you've been going it, old +girl! What's all this? "Self," "Self," why all these cheques are to +"Self." You'll go broke.' + +'I suppose I shall,' said Victoria wearily. 'I don't know how I do it, +Tom. I'm no good at accounts. And I hate asking you for more money . . . +but what am I to do?' + +She crossed her hands over her knees and looked up at him with a pretty +expression of appeal. Cairns laughed. + +'Don't worry,' he said, curling a lock of her hair round a fat +forefinger. 'I'll see you through.' + +Victoria received that afternoon a cheque for two hundred and fifty +pounds which she paid into her account. She did not, however, inform +Cairns that the proceeds of the "Self" cheques had been paid into a +separate account which she had opened with another bank. By this means, +she was always able to exhibit a gloomy pass book whenever it was +required. + +Having discovered that Cairns was squeezable Victoria felt more hopeful +as to the future. She was his only luxury and made the most of his +liking for jewellery and furs. She even hit upon the more ingenious +experiment of interesting Barbezan Soeurs in her little speculations. +The device was not novel: for a consideration of ten per cent these +bustling dressmakers were ready to provide fictitious bills and even +solicitor's letters couched in frigidly menacing terms. Cairns laughed +and paid solidly. He had apparently far more money than he needed. +Victoria was almost an economy; without her he would have lost a fortune +at bridge, kept a yacht perhaps and certainly a motor. As it was he was +quite content with his poky chambers in St James', a couple of clubs +which he never thought of entering, the house in Elm Tree Place and a +stock of good cigars. + +Cairns was happy, and Victoria labouring lightly for large profits, was +contented too. Theirs were lazy lives, for Cairns was a man who could +loaf. He loafed so successfully that he did not even think of +interfering with Victoria's reading. She now read steadily and +voraciously; she eschewed novels, fearing the influence of sentiment. +'It will be time for sentiment by and by,' she sometimes told herself. +Meanwhile she armoured her heart and sharpened her wits. The earlier +political opinions which had formed in her mind under the pressure of +toil remained unchanged but did not develop. She recognised herself as a +parasite and almost gloried in it. She evolved as a system of philosophy +that one's conduct in life is a matter of alternatives. Nothing was good +and nothing was evil; things were better than others or worse and there +was an end of her morality. Victoria had no patience with theories. One +day, much to Cairns surprise, she violently flung Ingersoll's essays +into the fender. + +'Steady on,' said Cairns, 'steady on, old girl.' + +'Such rot,' she snarled. + +'Hear, hear,' said Cairns, picking up the book and looking at its title. +'Serve you right for reading that sort of stuff. I can't make you out, +Vic.' + +Victoria looked at him with a faint smile, but refused to assign a cause +for her anger. In fact she had suddenly been irritated by Ingersoll's +definition of morality. 'Perceived obligation,' she thought. 'And I +don't perceive any obligation!' She consoled herself suddenly with the +thought that her amorality was a characteristic of the superman. + +The superman preoccupied her now and then. He was a good subject for +speculation because imponderable and inexistent. The nearest approach +she could think of was a cross between an efficient colonial governor +and a latter-day prophet. She believed quite sincerely that the day must +come when children of the light must be born, capable of ruling and of +keeping the law. She saw very well too that their production did not lie +with an effete aristocracy any more than with a dirty and drunken +democracy; probably they would be neo-plutocrats, men full of ambition, +lusting for power and yet imbued with a spirit of icy justice. Her +earliest tendency had been towards an idealistic socialism. Burning with +her own wrongs and touched by the angelic wing of sympathy, she had seen +in the communisation of wealth the only means of curbing the evils it +had hitherto wrought. Further observation showed her however that an +idealism of this kind would not lead the world speedily into a peaceful +haven. She saw too well that covetousness was still lurking snakelike in +the bosom of man, ready to rear its ugly head and strike at any hand. +Thus she was not surprised to see the chaos which reigned among +socialists, their intriguing, their jealousies, their unending +dissensions, their apostacies. This did not throw her back into the +stereotyped philosophy of individualism; for she could not help seeing +that the system of modern life was absurd, stupidly wasteful above all +of time, labour and wealth. To apply Nietzscheism to socialism was, +however, beyond her; to reconcile the two doctrines which apparently +conflict and really only overlap was a task too difficult for a brain +which had lain fallow for twenty-five years. But she dimly felt that +Nietzscheism did not mean a glorified imperialism, but a worship of +intellectual efficiency and the stringent morality of _noblesse oblige_. + +Where Victoria began to part issue with her own thoughts was when she +considered the position of women. Their outlook was one of unrelieved +gloom; and it one day came upon her as a revelation that Nietzsche and +Schopenhauer, following in a degree on Rousseau, had forgotten women in +the scheme of life. There might be supermen but there would be no +superwomen: if the supermen were true to their type they would have to +crush and to dominate the women. As the latter fared so hard at the +hands of the pigmies of to-day, what would they do if they could not +develop in time to resist the sons of Anak? Victoria saw that the world +was entering upon a sex war. Hitherto a shameful state of peace had left +women in the hands of men, turning over the other cheek to the smiter. +The sex war, however, held forth no hopes to her; in the dim future, sex +equality might perhaps prevail; but she saw nothing to indicate that +women had sown the seeds of their victory. She had no wish to enrol +herself in the ranks of those who were waging an almost hopeless battle, +armed with untrained intellects and unathletic bodies. She could not get +away from the fact that the best woman athletes cannot compete with +ordinary men, that even women with high intellectual qualifications had +not ousted from commanding positions men of inferior ability. + +All this, she thought, was unjust; but why hope for a change? There was +nothing to show that men grew much better as a sex; then why pin faith +to the coming of better times? Women were parasites, working only under +constraint, badly and at uncongenial tasks; their right to live was +based on their capacity to please. This brought her to her own +situation. The future lay before her in the shape of two roads. One was +the road which led to the struggle for life; ending, she felt it too +well, in a crawl to death on crippled limbs. The other was the road +along which grew roses, roses which she could pluck and sell to men; at +the end of that was the heaven of independence. It had golden gates; it +was guarded by an angel in white garments with a palm leaf in his hands +and beyond lay the pleasant places where she had a right of way. And as +she looked again the heaven with the golden gates turned into a bank +with a commissionaire at the door. + +Her choice being made, she did not regret it. For the time being her +life was pleasant enough, and if it could be made a little more +profitable it would soon be well worth living, and her freedom would be +earned. Meanwhile she took pleasure in small things. The little house +was almost a show place, so delicate and refined were its inner and +outer details. Victoria saw to it that frequently changed flowers +decorated the beds in the front garden; Japanese trees, dwarfed and +gnarled, stood right and left of the steps, scowling like tiny Titans; +all the blinds in the house were a mass of insertion. These blinds were +a feature for her; they implied secrecy. Behind the half blinds were +thick curtains of decorated muslin; behind these again, heavy curtains +which could be drawn at will. They were the impenetrable veil which +closed off from the world and its brutalities this oasis of forbidden +joys. + +In the house also she was ever elaborating, sybaritising her life. She +had a branch telephone fixed at the head of her bed; the first time that +Cairns used it to tell his man to bring up his morning coat she had the +peculiar sensation that her bed was in touch with the world. She could +call up anybody, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Governor of the Bank +of England or the headquarters of the Salvation Army. Her bed was the +centre of the world. She fitted the doors of her bedroom and her boudoir +with curious little locks which acted on the pressure of a finger for +her mind was turned on delicacies and the sharp click of a bolt, the +grating of a key savoured of the definite, therefore of the coarse. A +twist of the knob between two fingers and the world was silently shut +out. + +Now too that she was beautiful once more she revelled in mirrors. The +existing ones in her bedroom and in the boudoir were not enough; they +were public, unintimate. She had a high mirror fixed in the bathroom, so +that she could see herself in her freshness, covered with pearly beads +like a naiad. She rejoiced in her beauty, in her renewed strength; she +often stood for many minutes in the dim steamy light of the room, +analysing her body, its grace and youth, with a growing consciousness of +latent power. Then, suddenly, the faint violet streaks of the varicose +veins would intrude upon the rite and she would wrap herself up +jealously in her bath robe so that not even the mirror should be a +confidant of the past. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +WEEK after week passed on, and now monotony drew her stifling cloak over +Victoria. Cairns was still in a state of beatitude which made him an +unexciting companion; satisfied in his egoism, it never came into his +mind that Victoria could tire of her life. He spent many afternoons in +the back garden under a rose-covered pergola. By his side was a little +table with a syphon, a decanter of whisky, and a box of cigars; he read +desultorily, sometimes the latest motor novel, at other times the +improving memoirs of eighteenth century noblewomen. Now and then he +would look approvingly at Victoria in plain white drill, delightfully +mischievous under a sun-bonnet, and relapse into his book. Once he +quoted 'A flask of wine, a book of verse. . . .' and Victoria went into +sudden fits of laughter when she remembered Neville Brown. The single +hackneyed line seemed to link malekind together. + +Cairns was already talking of going away. June was oppressively hot and +he was hankering after some quiet place where he might do some +sea-fishing and get some golf. He was becoming dangerously fat; and +Victoria, foreseeing a long and very cheap holiday, favoured the idea in +every way. They could go up to Scotland later too; but Cairns rather +hesitated about this, for he neither cared to show off Victoria before +the people he knew on the moors, nor to leave her for a fortnight. He +was paying the penalty of Capua. His plans were set back, however, by +serious trouble which had taken place on his Irish estate, his though +still in the hands of Marmaduke Cairns's executors. There had been +nightriding, cattle driving, some boycotting. The situation grew so +tense that the executors advised Cairns to sell the estate to the +tenants but the latter declined the terms; matters came to a deadlock +and it was quite on the cards that an application might be made under +the Irish Land Act. It was clear that in this case the terms would be +bad, and Cairns was called to Limerick by telegram as a last chance. He +left Victoria, grumbling and cursing Ireland and all things Irish. + +Left to herself, Victoria felt rather at a loose end. The cheerful if +uninteresting personality of Major Cairns had a way of filling the +house. He had an expansive mind; it was almost chubby. For two days she +rather enjoyed her freedom. The summer was gorgeous; St John's Wood was +bursting everywhere into flower; the trees were growing opaque in the +parks. At every street corner little whirlwinds of dry grit swayed in +the hot air. One afternoon Victoria indulged in the luxury of a hired +private carriage, and flaunted it with the best in the long line on the +south side of the Park. Wedged for a quarter of an hour in the mass she +felt a glow come over her. The horses all round her shone like polished +wood, the carriage panels were lustrous, the harness was glittering, the +brass burnished; all the world seemed to radiate warmth and light. Gaily +enough, because not jaded by repetition, she caused the carriage to do +the Ring, twice. She felt for a moment that she was free, that she could +vie with those women whose lazy detachment she stirred for a moment into +curiosity by her deep eyes, dark piled hair and the audacity of her +diaphanous _crčpe de chine_. + +Cairns was still in Ireland, struggling conscientiously to pile up +unearned increment; and Victoria, thoroughly aimless, suddenly bethought +herself of Farwell. She had been remiss in what was almost a duty. +Surely she ought to report progress to the man who had helped to open +her eyes to the realities of life. She had misapplied his teaching +perhaps, or rather remoulded it, but still it was his teaching. Or +rather it was what a woman should know, as opposed to what Thomas +Farwell preached; if men were to practise that, then she should revise +her philosophy. + +At ten minutes to one she entered the Moorgate Street P.R.R. with a +little thrill. Everything breathed familiarity; it was like coming home, +but better, for it is sweeter to revisit the place where one has +suffered, when one has emerged, than to brood with gentle sorrow on the +spot, where there once was joy. She knew every landmark, the +tobacconist, the picture shop, still full of 'Mother's Helps' and of +'artistic' studies in the nude; there was the red-coated bootblack too, +as dirty and as keenly solicitous as ever. The P.R.R. itself did not +chill her. In the crude June sunlight its nickel shone gaily enough. +Everything was as before; the cakes had been moulded in the old moulds, +and here was the old bill of fare, unchanged no doubt; even the +marble-topped tables and the half cleaned cruets looked kindly upon her; +but the tesselated red and blue floor aroused the hateful memory of +another Victoria on her hands and knees, an old sack round her waist, +painfully swaying from right to left, swabbing the tiles. Little +rivulets of water and dirt flowed slowly across the spectre's hand. + +As she went down the steps into the smoking-room she crossed with the +manageress, still buxom and erect; but she passed unnoticed, for this +was the busy hour when the chief tried to be simultaneously on three +floors. The room was not so full as it had once been. She sat down at a +little table and watched the familiar scene for some minutes. She told +the girl she would wait a minute, for she did not want to miss Farwell. +The world had gone round, but apparently the P.R.R. was the axis. There +in the corner were the chess players; to-day they only ran four boards, +but at one of them a fierce discussion was going on as to a variation of +the queen's pawn opening. On the other side of the room were the young +domino players, laughing and smoking cigarettes. The fat and yellow +Levantine was missing. Victoria regretted him, for the apocalyptic +figure was an essential part of the ugly past. But there was 'old dry +toast' all alone at his little table. He had not changed; his white hair +still framed thickly his beautiful old brown face. There he sat, still +silent and desolate, waiting for the end. Victoria felt a pang of +sorrow. She was not quite hardened yet and she realised it angrily. +There must be no sympathy and no quarter in her game of life. It was too +late or too soon for that. Victoria let her eyes stray round the room. +There were the young men and boys or some of the same breed, in their +dark suits, brilliant ties, talking noisily, chaffing one another, +gulping down their small teas and toasted scones. A conversation between +two older men was wafted in to her ears. + +'Awful. Have you tried annelicide?' + +At that moment a short broad figure walked smartly down the steps. It +was Thomas Farwell, a thin red book under his arm. He went straight +through to the old table, propped his book against the cruet and began +to read. Victoria surveyed him critically. He was thinner than ever; his +hair was more plentifully sprinkled with grey but had receded no +further. He was quite near her, so she could see his unbrushed collar +and his frayed cuffs. After a moment the girl came and stood before him; +it was Nelly, big and raw-boned as ever, handsome still like the fine +beast of burden she was. She wore no apron now in proud token of her +new position as head waitress. Now the voices by her side were talking +holidays. + +'No, Ramsgit's good enough for me. Broadstairs and all these little +places, they're so tony--' + +Maud passed quickly before Victoria. The poor little girl was as white +as ever; her flaccid cheeks danced up and down as she ran. The other +voice was relating at length how its owner had taken his good lady to +Deal. Nelly had left Farwell, walking more slowly than the other girls, +as befitted her station. Victoria felt herself pluck up a little +courage, crossed the room followed by many admiring glances, and quickly +sat down at Farwell's table. He looked up quickly. The book dropped +suddenly from the cruet. + +'Victoria,' he gasped. + +'Yes,' she said smiling. + +'Well . . .' His eyes ran over her close fitting tussore dress, her +white kid gloves. + +'Is that all you've got to say to me?' she asked. 'Won't you shake +hands?' + +Farwell put out his hand and held hers for a second. He was smiling now, +with just a touch of wistfulness in his eyes. + +'I'm very glad to see you,' he said at length. + +'So am I,' said Victoria. 'I hope you don't mind my coming here, but I +only thought of it this morning.' + +'Mind,' snapped Farwell. 'People who understand everything never mind +anything.' + +Victoria smiled again. The bumptious aphorism was a sign that Farwell +was still himself. For a minute or so they looked at one another. +Victoria wondered at this man; so powerful intellectually and +physically; and yet content to live in his ideals on a pittance, to do +dull work, to be a subordinate. Truly a caged lion. Farwell, on the +other hand, was looking in vain for some physical ravishes to justify +Victoria's profession, for some gross development at least. He looked in +vain. Instead of the pale dark girl with large grey eyes whom he had +known, he now saw a healthy and beautiful woman with a clear white skin, +thick hair, red lips. + +'Well,' he said with a laugh, 'can I invite you to lunch with me?' + +'You may,' she said. 'I'll have a small coffee and . . . a sunny side +up.' + +Farwell laughed and signed to Nelly. After a minute he attracted her +attention and gave the order without Nelly taking any interest in +Farwell's guest. It might be rather extraordinary, but her supervisory +duties were all-absorbent. When she returned, however, she stole a +curious look at Victoria while placing before her the poached egg on +toast. She looked at her again, and her eyes dilated. + +'Law,' she said. 'Vic!' + +'Yes, Nelly, how are you?' Victoria put out her gloved hand. Nelly took +it wonderingly. + +'I'm all right,' she answered slowly. 'Just been made head waitress,' +she added with some unction. Her eyes were roving over Victoria's +clothes, valuing them like an expert. + +'Congratulations,' said Victoria. 'Glad you're getting on.' + +'I see _you're_ getting on,' said Nelly, with a touch of sarcasm. + +'So, so, things aren't too bad.' Victoria looked up. The women's eyes +crossed like rapiers; Nelly's were full of suspicion. The conversation +stopped then, for Nelly was already in request in half a dozen quarters. + +'She knows,' said Victoria smoothly. + +'Of course,' said Farwell. 'Trust a woman to know the worst about +another and to show it up. Every little helps in a contest such as +life.' + +Farwell then questioned her as to her situation, but she refused him all +details. + +'No,' she said, 'not here. There's Nelly watching us, and Maud has just +been told. Betty's been shifted, I know, and I suppose Mary and Jennie +are gone, but there's the manageress and some of the girls upstairs. +I've nearly done. Let me return the invitation. Dine with me +to-night. . .' She was going to say 'at home,' but changed her mind to +the prudent course. . . . 'at, well, anywhere you like. Whereabouts do +you live, Mr Farwell?' + +'I live in the Waterloo Road,' said Farwell, 'an artery named after the +playing fields of Eton.' + +'I don't know it well,' said Victoria, 'but I seem to remember an +Italian place near Waterloo Station. Suppose you meet me at the south +end of Waterloo Bridge at seven?' + +'It will do admirably,' said the man. 'I suppose you want to go now? +Well, you've put out my habits, but I'll come too.' + +They went out; the last Victoria saw of the P.R.R. was the face of the +cook through the hole in the partition, red, sweating, wrinkled by the +heat and hurry of the day. They parted in the churchyard. Victoria +watched him walk away with his firm swing, his head erect. + +'A man,' she thought, 'too clever to succeed.' + +Being now again at a loose end and still feeling fairly hungry, she +drove down to Frascati's to lunch. She was a healthy young animal, and +scanty fare was now a novelty. At three o'clock she decided to look up +Betty at her depôt in Holborn; and by great good luck found that Betty +was free at half past five, as the Holborn depôt for unknown reasons +kept shorter hours than Moorgate Street. She whiled away the intervening +time easily enough by shop-gazing and writing a long letter to Cairns on +the hospitable paper of the Grand Hotel. At half-past five she picked +up Betty at the door of the P. R. R. + +'Thank you again so very, very much for the sweater and the dressing +gown,' said Betty as she slipped her arm through that of her friend. + +'Don't be silly, Betty, I like giving you things.' Victoria smiled and +pressed the girl's arm. 'You're not looking well, Betty.' + +'Oh, I'm all right,' said Betty wearily. + +Victoria looked at her again. Under the pretty waved sandy hair Betty's +forehead looked waxen; her cheeks were too red. Her arm felt thinner +than ever. What was one to do? Betty was a weakling and must go to the +wall. But there was a sweetness in her which no one could resist. + +'Look here, Betty,' said Victoria, 'I've got very little time; I've got +to meet Mr Farwell at Waterloo Bridge at seven. It's beautifully fine, +let's drive down to Embankment Gardens and talk.' + +Betty's face clouded for a moment at the mention of Farwell's name. She +hated him with the ferocity of the weak; he had ruined her friend. But +it was good to have her back. The cab drove down Chancery Lane at a +spanking rate, then across the Strand and through a lane. The +unaccustomed pleasure and the rush of air brought all her face into pink +unison with her cheeks. + +The two women sat side by side for a moment. This was the second time +they had met since Victoria had entered her new life. There had been a +few letters, the last to thank Victoria for her Christmas present, but +Betty did not say much in them. Her tradition of virtue had erected a +barrier between them. + +'Well, Betty,' said Victoria suddenly, 'do you still think me very bad?' + +'Oh, Vic, how can you? I never, never said that.' + +'No, you thought it,' answered Victoria a little cruelly. 'But never +mind, perhaps you're right.' + +'I never said so, never thought so,' persisted Betty. 'You can't go +wrong, Vic, you're . . . you're different.' + +'Perhaps I am,' said Victoria. 'Perhaps there are different laws for +different people. At any rate I've made my choice and must abide by it.' + +'And are you happy, Vic?' Anxiety was in the girl's face. + +'Happy? Oh, happy enough. He's a good sort.' + +'I'm so glad. And . . . Vic . . . do you think he'll marry you?' + +'Marry me?' said Victoria laughing. 'You little goose, of course not. +Why should he marry me now he's got me?' + +This was a new idea for Betty. + +'But doesn't he love you very, very much?' she asked, her blue eyes +growing rounder and rounder. + +'I suppose he does in a way,' said Victoria. 'But it doesn't matter. +He's very kind to me but he won't marry me; and, honestly, I wouldn't +marry him.' + +Betty looked at her amazed and a little shocked. + +'But, dear,' she faltered, 'think of what it would mean; you . . . he +and you, you see . . . you're living like that . . . if he married +you. . . .' + +'Yes, I see,' said Victoria with a slight sneer, 'you mean that I should +be an honest woman and all that? My dear child, you don't understand. +Whether he marries me or not it's all the same. So long as a woman is +economically dependent on a man she's a slave, a plaything. Legally or +illegally joined it's exactly the same thing; the legal bond has its +advantages and its disadvantages and there's an end of the matter.' + +Betty looked away over the Thames; she did not understand. The +tradition was too strong. Time went quickly. Betty had no tale to +unfold; the months had passed leaving her doing the same work for the +same wage, living in the same room. Before her was the horizon on which +were outlined two ships; 'ten hours a day' and 'eight bob a week.' And +the skyline? + +As they parted, Victoria made Betty promise to come and see her. Then +they kissed twice, gently and silently, and Victoria watched her +friend's slim figure fade out of sight as she walked away. She had the +same impression as when she parted with Lottie, who had gone so bravely +into the dark. A wave of melancholy was upon her. Poor girls, they were +without hope; she at least was viewing life with her eyes open. She +would wrench something out of it yet. She shook herself; it was a +quarter to seven. + +An hour later she was sitting opposite Farwell. They were getting to the +end of dinner. Conversation had flagged while they disposed of the +earlier courses. Now they were at the ice and coffee stage. The waiters +grew less attentive; indeed there was nobody to observe them save the +olive-skinned boy with the mournful eyes who looked at the harbour of +Palermo through the Waterloo Road door. Farwell lit the cigar which +Victoria forced upon him, and leant back, puffing contentedly. + +'Well,' he said at length, 'how do you like the life?' + +'It is better than the old one,' she said. + +'Oh, so you've come to that. You have given up the absolutes.' + +'Yes, I've given them up. A woman like me has to.' + +'Yes, I suppose you've got to,' pondered Farwell. 'But apart from that, +is it a success? Are you attaining your end? That's the only thing that +matters, you know.' + +'I am, in a sense; I'm saving money. You see, he's generous.' + +'Excellent, excellent,' sneered Farwell. 'I like to see you making out +of what the bourgeois call vice that which will enable you to command +bourgeois respect. By-and-by I suppose you'll have made a fortune.' + +'Well, no; a competency perhaps, with luck.' + +'With luck, as you say. Do you know, Victoria, this luck business is +grand! My firm goes in for mines: they went prospecting in America +twenty years ago and they happened to strike copper. That was good. +Other men struck granite only. That was bad. But my boss is a City +Sheriff now. Frightfully rich. There used to be four of them, but one +died of copper poisoning, and another was found shot in a gulch. Nobody +knows how it happened, but the other two got the mines.' + +Victoria smiled. She liked this piratical tit bit. + +'Yes,' she said, 'luck's the thing. And merit . . . well I suppose the +surviving partners had merit.' + +'Anyhow, I wish you luck,' said Farwell. 'But tell me more. Do you find +you've paid too high a price for what you've got?' + +'Too high a price?' + +'Yes. Do you have any of that remorse we read about; would you like to +be what you were? Unattached, you know . . . eligible for Young Women's +Christian Associations?' + +'Oh, no,' Victoria laughed. 'I can't pay too high a price for what I +think I'll get. I don't mean these jewels or these clothes, that's only +my professional uniform. When I've served my time I shall get that for +which no woman can pay too much: I shall be economically independent, +free.' + +'Free.' Farwell looked towards the ceiling through a cloudlet of smoke. +'Yes, you're right. With the world as it is it's the only way. To be +independent you must acquire the right to be dependent on the world's +labour, to be a drone . . . and the biggest drone is queen of the hive. +Yet I wish it had been otherwise with you.' He looked at her +regretfully. + +Victoria toyed with a dessert knife. + +'Why?' she asked. + +'Oh, you had possibilities . . . but after all, we all have. And most of +them turn out to be impossibilities. At any rate, you're not disgusted +with your life, with any detail?' + +'No, I don't think so. I don't say I'll go on any longer than I need, +but it's bearable. But even if it were repulsive in every way I'd go on +if I saw freedom ahead. If I fight at all I fight to a finish.' + +'You're strong,' said Farwell looking at her. 'I wish I had your +strength. You've got that force which makes explorers, founders of new +faiths, prophets, company promoters.' He sighed. + +'Let's go,' he added, 'we can talk in the warm night.' + +For an hour they talked, agreeing always in the end. Farwell was cruelly +conscious of two wasted lives: his, because his principles and his +capacity for thought had no counterweight in a capacity for action; +Victoria's, because of her splendid gifts ignobly wasted and misused by +a world which had asked her for the least of them. + +Victoria felt a peculiar pleasure in this man's society. He was elderly, +ugly, ill-clad; sometimes he was boorish, but a halo of thought +surrounded him, and the least of his words seemed precious. All this +devirilised him, deprived him of physical attractiveness. She could not +imagine herself receiving and returning his caresses. They parted on +Waterloo Bridge. + +'Good-bye,' said Farwell, 'you're on the right track. The time hasn't +come for us to keep the law, for we don't know what the law is. All we +have is the edict of the powerful, the prejudice of the fool; the last +especially, for these goaled souls have their traditions, and their +convictions are prisons all.' + +Victoria pressed his hand and turned away. She did not look back. If she +had she would have seen Farwell looking into the Thames, his face lit up +by a gas lamp, curiously speculative in expression. His emotions were +not warring, but the chaos in his brain was such that he was fighting +the logical case for and against an attempt to find enlightenment on the +other slope of the valley. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +VICTORIA stretched herself lazily in bed. Her eyes took in a picture of +Cairns on the mantelpiece framed between a bottle of eau-de-cologne and +the carriage clock; then, little by little, she analysed details, small +objects, powderpuffs, a Chelsea candlestick, an open letter, the wall +paper. She closed her eyes again and buried her face in the pillow. The +lace edge tickled her ear pleasantly. She snuggled like a stroked cat. +Then she awoke again, for Mary had just placed her early cup of tea on +the night table. The tray seemed to come down with a crash, a spoon fell +on the carpet. Victoria felt daylight rolling back sleep from her brain +while Mary pulled up the blinds. As light flooded the room and her +senses became keener she heard the blinds clash. + +'You're very noisy, Mary,' she said, lifting herself on one elbow. + +The girl came back to the bed her hands folded together. + +'I'm sorry, mum . . . I . . . I've . . .' + +'Yes? what's the matter?' + +Mary did not answer, but Victoria could see she was disturbed. Her cap +was disarranged; it inclined perhaps five degrees from the vertical. +There was a faint flush on her cheeks. + +'What's the matter,' said Victoria sharply. 'Is there anything wrong?' + +'No, mum. . . . Yes mum. . . . They say in the paper . . . . There's +been trouble in Ireland, mum. . . .' + +'In Ireland?' Victoria sat bolt upright. Her heart gave a great bang and +then began to go with a whirr. + +'At Rossbantry, mum . . . last night . . . he's shot. . . .' + +'Shot? Who? can't you speak?' + +'The Major, mum.' + +Mary unfolded her hands suddenly and drew them up and down her apron as +if trying to dry them. Victoria sat as if frozen, looking at her +wide-eyed. Then she relapsed on the pillow. Everything swam for a +second, then she felt Mary raising her head. + +'Go away,' whispered Victoria. 'Leave me for a minute. I'm all right.' + +Mary hesitated for a moment, then obeyed, softly closing the door. +Victoria lay staring at the ceiling. Cairns was dead, shot. Awful. A +week ago his heavy frame was outlined under these very blankets. She +shuddered. But why, how? It wasn't true, it couldn't be true. She sat up +as if impelled by a spring, and rang the bell violently. The broken rope +fell on her face in a coil. With both hands she seized her chin as if to +stop a scream. + +'The paper! get me the paper!' she gasped as Mary came in. The girl +hesitated. Victoria's face frightened her. Victoria looked at her +straight, and she ran out of the room. In another minute she had laid +the open paper before her mistress. + +Victoria clutched at it with both hands. It was true. True. It was true. +The headlines were all she could see. She tried to read the text, but +the letters danced. She returned to the headlines. + + SHOCKING OUTRAGE IN IRELAND + + * * * * + + LANDLORD SHOT + +In the next column:-- + + M. C. C.'s HARD TASK + +Her heart's action was less violent now. She understood; every second +increased her lucidity. Shot. Cairns was shot. Oh, she knew, he had +carried strife with him and some tenant had had his revenge. She took up +the paper and could read it now. Cairns had refused to make terms, and +on the morning of his death had served notices of eviction on eighteen +cottagers. The same night he was sitting at a window of his bailiff's +house. Then two shots from the other side of the road, another from +lower down. Cairns was wounded twice, in the lung and throat, and died +within twenty minutes. A man was under arrest. + +Victoria put down the paper. Her mind was quite clear again. Poor old +Tom! She felt sorry but above all disturbed; every nerve in her body +seemed raw. Poor old Tom, a good fellow! He had been kind to her; and +now, there he was. Dead when he was thinking of coming back to her. He +would never see her again, the little house and things he loved. Yes, he +had been kind; he had saved her from that awful life . . . . Victoria's +thoughts turned into another channel. What was going to become of her. + +'Old girl,' she said aloud, 'you're in the cart.' + +She realised that she was again adrift, alone, face to face with the +terrible world. Cairns was gone; there was nobody to protect her against +the buffeting waves. A milkman's cart rattled by; she could hear the +distant rumble of the Underground, a snatch carried by the wind from a +German band. Well, the time had come; it had to come. She could not have +held Cairns for ever; and now she had to prove her mettle, to show +whether she had learned enough of the world, whether she had grit. The +thought struck cold at her, but an intimate counsellor in her brain was +already awake and crying out: + +'Yes, yes, go on! you can do it yet.' + +Victoria threw down the paper and jumped out of bed. She dressed +feverishly in the clothes and linen she had thrown in a heap on a chair +the night before, twisting her hair up into a rough coil. Just before +leaving the room she remembered she had not even washed her hands. She +did so hurriedly; then, seeing the cold cup of tea, drank it off at a +gulp; her throat felt parched. + +She pushed back the untasted dish on the breakfast table. Her head +between her hands, she tried to think. At intervals she poured out cups +of tea and drank them off quickly. + +Snoo and Poo, after vainly trying to induce her to play with them, lay +in a heap in an armchair snuffling as they slept. + +The better she realised her position the greater grew her fears. Once +more she was the cork tossed in the storm; and yet, rudderless, she must +navigate into the harbour of liberty. If Cairns had lived and she had +seen her power over him wane, she would have taken steps; she did not +know what steps, but felt she surely would have done something. But +Cairns was dead; in twenty minutes she had passed from comparative +security into the region where thorns are many and roses few. + +Poor old Tom! She felt a tiny pang; surely this concern with herself +when his body still lay unburied was selfish, ugly. But, pooh! why make +any bones about it? As Cairns had said himself, he liked to see her +beautiful, happy, well clad. His gifts to her were gifts to himself: she +was merely his vicar. + +Victoria drank some more cold tea. Good or bad, Cairns belonged to the +past and the past has no virtues. None, at any rate, for those whose +present is a wind-swept table-land. Men must come and go, drink to the +full of the cup and pay richly for every sip, so that she might be free, +hold it no longer to their lips. There was no time to waste, for already +she was some hours older; some of those hours which might have been +transmuted into gold, that saving gold. She must take steps. + +The 'steps to be taken,' a comforting sentence, were not easy to evolve. +But another comforting catch ward, 'reviewing the situation,' saved her +from perplexity. She went into the little boudoir and took out her two +pass books. The balance seemed agreeably fat, but she did not allow +herself to be deluded; she checked off the debit side with the foils of +her cheque book and found that two of the cheques had not been +presented. These she deducted, but the result was not unsatisfactory; +she had exactly three hundred pounds in one bank and a few shillings +over fifty pounds in the other. Three hundred and fifty pounds. Not so +bad. She had done pretty well in these nine months. Of course that +banker's order of Cairns would be stopped. She could hardly expect the +executors to allow it to stand. Thus her capital was three hundred and +fifty pounds. And there was jewellery too, worth a couple of hundred +pounds, perhaps, and lace, and furs. The jewellery might come in handy; +it could be 'gopherised.' The furniture wasn't bad either. + +Of course she must go on with the house. It was no great responsibility, +being held on a yearly agreement. Victoria then looked through her +accounts; they did not amount to much, for Barbezan Soeurs, though +willing to assist in extracting money by means of bogus invoices, made +it a rule to demand cash for genuine purchases. Twenty pounds would +cover all the small accounts. The rent was all right, as it would not be +due until the end of September. The rates were all right too, being +payable every half year; they could be ignored until the blue notice +came, just before Christmas. + +Victoria felt considerably strengthened by this investigation. At a +pinch she could live a year on the present footing, during which +something must turn up. She tried to consider for a moment the various +things that might turn up. None occurred to her. She settled the +difficulty by going upstairs again to dress. When she rang for Mary to +do her hair, the girl was surprised to find her mistress perfectly cool. +Without a word, however, Mary restored her hair to order. It was a +beautiful and elegant woman, perhaps a trifle pale and open mouthed, +who, some minutes later, set out to walk to Regent's Park. + +Victoria sat back in her chair. Peace was upon her soul. Perhaps she had +just passed through a crisis, perhaps she was entering upon one, but +what did it matter? The warmth of July was in the clear air, the canal +slowly carried past her its film of dust. No sound broke through the +morning save the cries of little boys fishing for invisible fishes, and, +occasionally, a raucous roar from some prisoner in the Zoo. Now that she +had received the blow and was recovering she was conscious of a curious +feeling of lightness; she felt freer than the day before. Then she was a +man's property, tied to him by the bond of interest; now she was able to +do what she chose, know whom she chose, so long as that money lasted. +Ah, it would be good one day when she had enough money to be able to +look the future in the face and flaunt in its forbidding countenance the +fact that she was free, for ever free. + +Victoria was no longer a dreamer; she was a woman of action. The natural +sequence of her thoughts brought her up at once against the means to the +triumphant end. Three hundred and fifty pounds, say six hundred if she +realised everything, would not yield enough to feed a superannuated +governess. She would need quite eight or ten thousand pounds before she +could call herself free and live her dreams. + +'I'll earn it,' she said aloud, 'yes, sure enough.' + +A little Aberdeen terrier came bounding up to her, licked her hand and +ran away after his master. A friendly omen. Six hundred pounds was a +large sum in a way. She could aspire to a partnership in some business +now. A vision arose before her; Victoria Ferris, milliner. The vision +grew; Victoria Ferris and Co., Limited, wholesalers; then Ferris' +Stores, for clothes and boots and cheese and phonographs, with a branch +of Cook's agency, a Keith Prowse ticket office; Ferris' Stores as an +octopus, with its body in Knightsbridge and a tentacle hovering over +every draper from Richmond to Highgate. + +Yes, that was all very well, but what if Victoria Ferris failed? 'No +good,' she thought, 'I can't afford to take risks.' Of course the idea +of seeking employment was absurd. No more ten hours a day for eight bob +a week for her. Besides, no continuous references and a game leg . . . +The situations crowded into and out of Victoria's brain like dissolving +views. She could see herself in the little house, with another man, with +other men, young men, old men; and every one of them was rocked in the +lap of Delilah, who laughingly shore off their golden locks. + +'By Jove,' she said aloud, bringing her gloved fist down on her knee, +'I'll do it.' + +Of course the old life could not begin again just now. She did not know +a man in London who was worth capturing. She must go down into the +market, stand against the wall as a courtesan of Alexandria and nail a +wreath of roses against the highest bid. The vision she saw was now no +longer the octopus. She saw a street with its pavements wet and +slithering, flares, barrows laden with greens; she could smell frying +fish, rotting vegetables, burning naptha; a hand opened the door of a +bar and, in the glare, she could see two women with vivid hair, tired +eyes, smiling mouths, each one patiently waiting before a little table +and an empty glass. Then she saw once more the courtesan of Alexandria, +dim in the night, not lit up by the sun of sweet Egypt, but clad in +mercerised cotton and rabbit's fur, standing, watching like a shadow +against a shop door in Regent Street. + +No, she had not come to that. She belonged to the upper stratum of the +profession, and, knowing it, could not sink. Consciousness was the +thing. She was not going into this fight soft-handed or softhearted. She +knew. There was high adventure in store for her yet. If she must fish it +should be for trout not chub. Like a wise woman, she would not love +lightly, but where money is. There should be no waiting, no hesitating. +That very night she would sup at the Hotel Vesuvius . . . all in black +. . . like an ivory Madonna set in ebony . . . with a tea rose in her hair +as a foil to her shoulders . . . and sweeping jade earrings which would +swim like butterflies in the heavy hair. Ah, it would be high adventure +when Demetrious knelt at the feet of Aphrodite with jewels in his +sunburnt palm, when Croesus bargained away for a smile a half of his +Lydian wealth. + +She got up, a glow in her veins as if the lust of battle was upon her. +Quickly she walked out of the park to conquer the town. A few yards +beyond the gates newspaper placards shouted the sensation of the day; +placards pink, brown, green, all telling the tale of murder, advertising +for a penny the transitory joy of the fact. Victoria smiled and walked +on. She let herself into the house. It was on the stroke of one. She sat +down at the table, pressing the bell down with her foot. + +'Hurry up, Mary,' she said, 'I'm as hungry as a hunter.' + +A voice floated through the window like an echo: 'Irish murder; latest +details.' + +'Shut the window, Mary,' she said sharply. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +THE Hotel Vesuvius is a singular place. It stands on the north side of +Piccadilly, and for the general its stuccoed front and severe sash +windows breathe an air of early Victorian respectability. Probably it +was once a ducal mansion, for it has all the necessary ugliness, +solidity and size; now it is the most remarkable instance of what can be +done by a proprietor who remembers that an address in Piccadilly exempts +him from the rules which govern Bloomsbury. One enters it through a +small hall all alight with white and gold paint. Right and left are the +saloon bar and the buffet; this enables the customer to select either +without altering the character of his accommodation, while assuming +superiority for a judicious choice. A broad straight staircase leads up +to the big supper room on the first floor. Above are a score of private +dining-rooms. + +Victoria jumped out of the cab and walked up the steps, handing the +liveried commissionaire two shillings to pay the cabman. This was an +inspiration calculated to set her down at once with the staff as one who +knew the ropes. In the white and gold hall she halted for a moment, +puzzled and rather nervous. She had never set foot in the Vesuvius; she +had never heard it mentioned without a smile or a wink. Now, a little +flushed and her heart beating, she realised that she did not know her +way about. + +Victoria need have had no fears. Before she had time to take in the +scene, a tall man with a perfectly groomed head and a well fitting +evening dress bowed low before her. + +'Madame wishes no doubt to deposit her wrap,' he said in gentle tones. +His teeth flashed white for a moment. + +'Yes,' said Victoria, . . . 'Yes, where is the cloak room?' + +'This way, madame. If madame will permit me. . . .' He pointed towards +the end of the hall and preceded her steps. An elderly woman behind the +counter received Victoria's wrap and handed her a brass token without +looking at her. While she pulled up her gloves she looked round +curiously. The cloak room was small; behind the counter the walls were +covered by a mahogany rack with some hundred pigeon-holes. The fiercer +light of an unshaded chandelier beat down upon the centre of the room. +Victoria was conscious of an extraordinary atmosphere, a blend of many +scents, tobacco smoke, leather; most of the pigeon-holes were bursting +with coloured wraps, many of them vivid blue or red; here and there long +veils, soiled white gloves hung out of them; a purple ostrich feather +hung from an immense black hat over a white and silver Cingalese shawl. +Victoria turned sharply. The man was inspecting her coolly with an air +of intentness that showed approval. + +'Where does madame wish to go?' he asked as they entered the hall. 'In +the buffet perhaps?' + +He opened the door. Victoria saw for a second a long counter laden with +bottles, at which stood a group of men, some in evening dress, some in +tweed suits; she saw a few women among them, all with smiles upon their +faces. Behind the counter she had time to see the barmaid, a beautiful +girl with dark eyes and vivid yellow hair. + +'No, not there,' she said quickly. It reminded her of the terrible +little bar of which Farwell had given her a glimpse. 'You are the +manager, I believe . . . I want to go up into the supper room.' + +'Certainly, madame; will madame come this way?' + +The manager preceded her up to the first floor. On the landing, two men +in tweeds suddenly stopped talking as she passed. A porter flung the +glazed door open. A short man in evening dress looked at her, then at +the manager. After a second's hesitation the two men in tweeds followed +her in. + +The manager put his hands in his pockets, walked up to the other man and +nodded towards the door. + +'_Pas mal, hein?_' + +'_Epatante,_' said the short man. '_Du chic. Et une peau!_' + +The manager smiled and turned to go downstairs. '_Surveillez moi ça +Anatole,_' he said. + +Victoria, meanwhile, had stopped for a moment on the threshold, a little +dazed by the scene. Though it was only half-past ten, the eighty tables +of the Vesuvius were almost every one occupied; the crowd looked at +first like a patchwork quilt. The room was all white and gold like the +hall; a soft radiance fell from the lights hidden in the cornice; two +heavy chandeliers with faintly pink electric bulbs and a few pink shaded +lights on the table diffused a roseate glow over the scene. Victoria +felt like an intruder, and her discomfiture was heightened by the +gripping hot perfume. But already a waiter was by her side; she let him +be her pilot. In a few seconds she found herself sitting at a small +table alone, near the middle of the room. The waiter reappeared almost +at once carrying on a tray a liqueur glass containing some colourless +fluid. She had ordered nothing, but his adroitness relieved her. Clearly +the expert had divined her inexperience and had resolved to smooth her +way. + +She lifted the glass to her lips and sipped at it. It was good stuff, +rather strong. The burn on her palate seemed to brace her; she looked +round the room. It was a peculiar scene; for the Vesuvius is a luxurious +place, and a provincial might well be excused for thinking it was the +Carlton or the Savoy; indeed there was something more outwardly opulent +about it. It suggested a place where men not only spent what they had +but spent more. But for a few men in frock-coats and tweeds it would +have been almost undistinguishable from the recognised resorts of +fashion. Victoria took stock of her surroundings; of the shining plate +and glass, the heavy red carpet, the red and gold curtains, drawn but +fluttering at the open windows. The guests, however, interested her +more. At half the tables sat a woman and a man, at others a woman alone +before a little glass. What struck her above all was the beauty of the +women, the wealth they carried on their bodies. Hardly one of them +seemed over thirty; most of them had golden or vivid red hair, though a +few tables off Victoria could see a tall woman of colour with black hair +stiffened by wax and pierced with massive ivory combs. They mostly wore +low-necked dresses, many of them white or faintly tinted with blue or +pink. She could see a dark Italian-looking girl in scarlet from whose +ears long coral earrings drooped to her slim cream-coloured shoulders. +There was an enormously stout woman with puffy pink cheeks, strapped +slightly into a white silk costume, looking like a rose at the height of +its bloom. There were others too! short dark women with tight hair; +minxish French faces and little shrewd dark eyes; florid Dutch and +Belgian women with massive busts and splendid shoulders, dazzlingly +white; English girls too, most of them slim with long arms and rosy +elbows and faintly outlined collar bones. Many of these had the +aristocratic nonchalance of 'art' photographs. Opposite Victoria, under +the other chandelier, a splendid creature, white as a lily, with +flashing green eyes, copper coloured hair, had thrown herself back in +her armchair and was laughing at a man's joke. Her head was bent back, +and as she laughed her splendid bust rose and fell and her throat filled +out. An elderly man with a close clipped grey moustache, immaculate in +his well-cut dress clothes, leaned towards her with a smile on his brown +face. + +Victoria turned her eyes away from the man, (a soldier, of course), and +looked at the others. They, too, were a mixed collection. There were a +good many youths, all clean shaven and mostly well-groomed; these talked +loudly to their partners and seemed to fill the latter with merriment; +now and then they stared at other women with the boldness of the shy. +There were elderly men too; a few in frock coats in spite of the heat, +some very stout and red, some bald and others half concealing their +scalps under cunning hair arrangements. The elderly men sat mostly with +two women, some with three, and lay back smiling like courted pachas. By +far the greater number of the guests, however, were anything between +thirty and forty; and seemed to cover every type from the smart young +captain with the tanned face, bold blue eyes and a bristly moustache, to +ponderous men in tweeds or blue reefer jackets who looked about them +with a mixture of nervousness and bovine stolidity. + +From every corner came a steady stream of loud talk; continually little +shrieks of laughter pierced the din and then were smothered by the +rattling of the plates. The waiters flitted ghostly through the room +with incredible speed, balancing high their silver trays. Then Victoria +became conscious that most of the women round her were looking at her; +for a moment she felt her personality shrivel up under their gaze. They +were analysing her, speculating as to the potentialities of a new rival, +stripping off her clothes too and her jewels. It was horrible, because +their look was more incisive than the merely brutal glance by which a +man takes stock of a woman's charms. + +She pulled herself together however, and forced herself to return the +stares. 'After all,' she thought, 'this is the baptism of fire.' She +felt strengthened, too, as she observed her rivals more closely. +Beautiful as most of them seemed at first sight, many of them showed +signs of wear. With joyful cruelty Victoria noted here and there faint +wrinkles near their eyes, relaxed mouths, cheekbones on which rosacia +had already set its mark. She could not see more than half a dozen whose +beauty equalled hers; she threw her head up and drew back her shoulders. +In the full light of the chandelier she looked down at the firm white +shapeliness of her arms. + +'Well, how goes it?' + +Victoria started and looked up from her contemplation. A man had sat +down at her table. He seemed about thirty, fairish, with a rather ragged +moustache. He wore a black morning coat and a grey tie. His hands and +wrists were well kept and emerged from pale blue cuffs. There was a not +unkindly smile upon his face. His tip tilted nose gave him a cheerful, +rather impertinent expression. + +'Oh, I'm all right,' said Victoria vaguely. Then with an affectation of +ease. 'Hot, isn't it?' + +'Ra-_ther_,' said the man. 'Had your supper?' + +'No,' said Victoria, 'I don't want any.' + +'Now, come, really that's too bad of you. Thought we were going to have +a nice little family party and you're off your feed.' + +'I'm sorry,' said Victoria smiling. 'I had dinner only two hours ago.' +This man was not very attractive; there was something forced in his +ease. + +'Well, have a drink with me,' he said. + +'What's yours?' asked Victoria. That was an inspiration. The plunge +braced her like a cold bath. The man laughed. + +'Pop, of course. Unless you prefer a Pernot. You know "absinthe makes +the . . ."' He stopped and laughed again. Victoria did likewise without +understanding him. She saw that the other women laughed when men did. + +They filled their glasses. Victoria liked champagne. She watched the +little bubbles rise, and drank the glass down. It was soft and warm. How +strong she felt suddenly. The conversation did not flag. The man was +leaning towards her across the table, talking quickly. He punctuated +every joke with a high laugh. + +'Oh, I say, give us a chance,' floated from the next table. Victoria +looked. It was one of the English girls. She was propped up on one elbow +on the table; her legs were crossed showing a long slim limb and slender +ankle in a white open work stocking. A man in evening dress with a +foreign looking dark face was caressing her bare arm. + +'Penny for your thoughts,' said Victoria's man. + +'Wasn't thinking,' she said. 'I was looking.' + +'Looking? are you new here?' + +'Yes, it's the first time I've come.' + +'By Jove! It _must_ be an eye-opener.' He laughed. + +'It is rather. It doesn't seem half bad.' + +'You're right there. I'm an old stager.' A slightly complacent +expression came over his face. He filled up the glasses. 'You don't +spoil the collection, you know,' he added. 'You're a bit of all right.' +He looked at her approvingly. + +'Am I?' She looked at him demurely. Then, plunging once more, 'I hope +you'll still think so by and by.' The man's eyes dwelled for a moment on +her face and neck, his breath became audible suddenly. She felt his +foot softly stroke hers. He drew his napkin across his lips. + +'Well,' he said with an assumption of ease, 'shall we go?' + +'I don't mind,' said Victoria getting up. + +It was with a beating heart that Victoria climbed into the cab. As soon +as he got in the man put his arm round her waist and drew her to him. +She resisted gently but gave way as his arm grew more insistent. + +'Coy little puss.' His face was very near her upturned eyes. She felt it +come nearer. Then, suddenly, he kissed her on the lips. She wanted to +struggle; she was a little frightened. The lights of Piccadilly filled +her with shame. They spoke very little. The man held her close to him. +As the cab rattled through Portland Place, he seized her once more. She +fought down the repulsion with which his breath inspired: it was scented +with strong cigars and champagne. Victoriously she coiled one arm round +his neck and kissed him on the mouth. In her disgust there was a blend +of triumph; not even her own feelings could resist her will. + +As she waited on the doorstep while he paid the cabman a great fear came +upon her. She did not know this man. Who was he? Perhaps a thief. She +suddenly remembered that women of her kind were sometimes murdered for +the sake of their jewellery. As the man turned to come up the steps she +pulled herself together. 'After all,' she thought, 'it's only +professional risk.' + +They stood for a moment in the hall of the silent house. She felt +awkward. The man looked at her and mistook her hesitation. + +'It's all right,' he faltered. He looked about him, then, quickly +whipping out a sovereign purse, he drew out two sovereigns with a click +and laid them on the hall table. + +'You see,' he said '. . . a girl like you. . . . three more to-morrow +morning. . . . I'm square you know.' + +Victoria smiled and, after a second's hesitation, picked up the money. + +'So'm I,' she said. Then she switched on the light and pointed +upstairs. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +VICTORIA'S new career did not develop on unkindly lines. Every night she +went to the Vesuvius, where she soon had her appointed place full under +one of the big chandeliers. She secured this spot without difficulty, +for most of her rivals were too wise to affront the glare; as soon as +she realised this she rather revelled in her sense of power, for she now +lived in a world where the only form of power was beauty. She felt sure +of her beauty now she had compared it minutely with the charms of the +preferred women. She was finer, she had more breed. Almost every one of +those women showed a trace of coarseness: a square jaw, not moulded in +big bone like hers but swathed in heavy flesh; a thick ankle or wrist; +spatulate fingertips; red ears. Her pride was in the courage with which +she welcomed the flow of the light on her neck and shoulders; round her +chandelier the tables formed practically into circles, the nearest being +occupied by the very young and venturesome, a few by the oldest who +desperately clung to their illusion of immortal youth; then came the +undecided, those who are between ages, who wear thick veils and sit with +their backs to the light; the outer fringe was made up of those who +remembered. Their smiles were hard and fixed. + +She was fortunate enough too. She never had to sit long in front of the +little glass which she discovered to be kummel; the waiter always +brought it unasked. Sometimes they would chat for a moment, for +Victoria was assimilating the lazy familiarity of her surroundings. He +talked about the weather, the latest tips for Goodwood, the misfortune +of Camille de Valenciennes who had gone off to Carlsbad with a barber +who said he was a Russian prince and had left her there stranded. + +Her experiences piled up, and, after a few weeks she found she had +exhausted most of the types who frequented the Vesuvius. Most of them +were of the gawky kind, being very young men out for the night and +desperately anxious to get off on the quiet by three o'clock in the +morning; of the gawky kind too were the Manchester merchants paying a +brief visit to town on business and who wanted a peep into the inferno; +these were easily dealt with and, if properly primed with champagne, +exceedingly generous. Now and then Victoria was confronted with a racier +type which tended to become rather brutal. It was recruited largely from +obviously married men whose desires, dammed and sterilised by monotonous +relations, seemed suddenly to burst their bonds. + +In a few weeks her resources developed exceedingly. She learned the +scientific look that awakes a man's interest: a droop of the eyelid +followed by a slow raising of it, a dilation of the pupil, then again a +demure droop and the suspicion of a smile. She learned to prime herself +from the papers with the proper conversation; racing, the latest divorce +news, ragging scandals, marriages of the peerage into the chorus. She +learned to laugh at chestnuts and to memorise such stories as sounded +fresh; a few judicious matinées put her up to date as to the latest +musical comedies. On the whole it was an easy life enough. Six hours in +the twenty-four seemed sufficient to afford her a good livelihood, and +she did not doubt that by degrees she would make herself a connection +which might be turned to greater advantage; as it was she had two +faithful admirers whom she could count on once a week. + +The life itself often struck her as horrible, foul; still she was +getting inured to the inane and could listen to it with a tolerant +smile; sometimes she looked dispassionately into men's fevered eyes with +a little wonder and an immense satisfaction in her power and the value +of her beauty. Sometimes a thrill of hatred went through her and she +loathed those whose toy she was; then she felt tempted to drink, to +drugs, to anything that would deaden the nausea; but she would rally: +the first night, when she had drunk deep of champagne after the kummel, +had given her a racking headache and suggested that beauty does not +thrive on mixed drinks. + +Another painful moment had been the third day after her new departure. +It seemed to force realisation upon her. Tacitly the early cup of tea +had been stopped. Mary now never came to the door, but breakfast was +laid for two in the dining-room at half past nine; the hot course stood +on a chafing dish over a tiny flame; the teapot was stocked and a kettle +boiled on its own stand. Neither of the servants ever appeared. On the +third day, however, as Victoria lay in her boudoir, reading, preparatory +to ringing the cook to give her orders for the day, there was a knock at +the door. + +'Come in,' said Victoria a little nervously. She was still in the mood +of feeling awkward before her servants. + +Mary came in. For a moment she tugged at her belt. There was a slight +flush on her sallow face. + +'Well Mary?' asked Victoria, still nervous. + +'If you please, mum, may I speak to you? I've been talking to cook, mum, +and--' + +'And?' + +'Oh, mum, I hope you won't think it's because we're giving ourselves +airs but it isn't the same as it was here before, mum--' + +'Well?' + +'Well, mum, we think we'd rather go mum. There's my young man, mum, +and--and--' + +'And he doesn't like your being associated with a woman of my kind? Very +right and proper.' + +'Oh, mum, I don't mean that. You've always been kind to me. Cook too, +she says she feels it very much, mum. When the major was alive, mum, it +was different. It didn't seem to matter then, mum, but now--' + +Mary stopped. For a moment the eyes behind the glasses looked as if they +were going to cry. + +'Don't trouble to explain, Mary,' said her mistress with some asperity. +'I understand. You and cook can't afford to jeopardise your characters. +From the dizzy heights of trained domesticity, experts in your own line, +you are justified in looking down upon an unskilled labourer. I have no +doubt that you have considered the social problem in all its aspects, +that you fully realise the possibilities of a woman wage-earner and her +future. By all means go where your moral sense calls you: I shall give +you an excellent character and demand none in exchange. There! I don't +want to hurt your feelings, Mary, I spoke hastily,' she added as the +maid's features contracted, 'you only do this to please your young man; +that is woman's profession, and I of all people must approve of what you +do. If you don't mind, both of you, you will leave on Saturday. You +shall have your full month and a month's board allowance. Now send up +cook, I want to order lunch.' + +She could almost have wept as she lay with her face in the cushion. Her +servants had delivered an ultimatum from womankind, and lack of supplies +compelled her to pick up the guage of battle. Mary and cook were links +between her and all those women who shelter behind one man only, and +from that vantage ground hurl stones at their sisters beyond the gates. +The significance of it was not that their services were lost to her, but +that she must now be content to associate with another class. Soon, +however, her will was again supreme. 'After all,' she thought, 'I have +done with Society. I'm a pirate; Society 'll be keen enough when I've +won.' + +Within three days she had readjusted her household. She had decided to +make matters easy by engaging two German girls. Laura, the cook, said at +once that it was all one to her who came to the house and who didn't, so +long as they left her alone in the kitchen, and provided she might bring +her large tabby cat. Augusta the maid, a long lanky girl with strong +peasant hands and carroty hair, declared herself willing to oblige the +_herrschaft_ in any way; she thereupon demanded an increase on the wages +scheduled for her at the registry office. She also confided to her new +mistress that she had a _kerl_ in Germany, and that she would do +anything to earn her dowry. + +Thus the establishment settled down again. Laura cooked excellently. +Augusta never flinched when bringing in the tea tray. Her big blue Saxon +eyes seemed to allow everything to pass through them leaving her mind +unsoiled, so armoured was her heart by the thought of that dowry. As for +Snoo and Poo: they chased the tabby cat all over the house most of the +day, which very soon improved their figures. + +Thus the even tenour of Victoria's life continued. She was quite a +popular favourite. As soon as she sat down under the chandelier +half-a-dozen men were looking at her. Sometimes men followed her into +the Vesuvius; but these she seldom encouraged, for her instinct told her +that so beautiful a woman as she was should set a high price on herself, +and high prices were not to be found in Piccadilly. Among her faithful +was a bachelor of forty, whom she only knew as Charlie. This, by the +way, was a characteristic of her acquaintances. She never discovered +their names; some in fact were so guarded that they had apparently +discarded their watches before coming out, so as to conceal even their +initials. None ever showed a pocketbook. Charlie was dark and burned by +the sun of the tropics; there was something bluff and good-natured about +him, great strength too. He had sharp grey eyes and a dark moustache. He +spoke extraordinarily fast, talked loosely of places he had been to: +China, Mozambique, South America. Victoria rather liked him; he was +totally dull, inclined to be coarse; but as he invariably drank far too +much before and when he came to the Vesuvius, he made no demands on her +patience, slept like a log and went early, leaving handsome recognition +behind him. + +There was Jim too, a precise top-hatted city clerk who had forced +himself on her one Saturday afternoon as she crossed Piccadilly Circus. +He seemed such a pattern of rectitude, was so perfectly trim and brushed +that she allowed herself to be inveigled into a cab and driven to a +small flat in Bayswater. He was too prudent to visit anybody else's +rooms, he said; he had his flat on a weekly tenancy. Jim kept rather a +hold on her. He was neither rich nor generous; in fact Victoria's social +sense often stabbed her for what she considered undercutting, but Jim +used to hover about the Vesuvius five minutes before closing time, and +once or twice when Victoria had had no luck he succeeded like the +vulture on the stricken field. + +Most of the others were dream figures; she lost count of them. After a +month she could not remember a face. She even forgot a big fellow whom +she had called Black Beauty, who came down from somewhere in Devonshire +for a monthly bust; he was so much offended that she had the +mortification of seeing him captured by one of the outer circle who sit +beyond the lights. + +In the middle of August the streets she called London were deserted. +Steamy air, dust laden, floated over the pavements. The Vesuvius was +half empty, and she had to cut down her standards. Just as she was +contemplating moving to Folkestone for a month, however, she received a +letter from solicitors in the Strand, Bastable, Bastable & Sons, +informing her that 're Major Cairns deceased,' they were realising the +estate on behalf of the administrators, and that they would be obliged +if she would say when it would be convenient for her to convey the +furniture of Elm Tree Place into their hands. This perturbed Victoria +seriously. The furniture had a value, and besides it was the plant of a +flourishing business. + +'Pity he died suddenly,' she thought, 'he'd have done something for me. +He was a good sort, poor old Tom.' + +She dressed herself as becomingly and quietly as she could, and, after +looking up the law of intestacy in Whitaker, concluded that Marmaduke +Cairns's old sisters must be the heirs. Then she sallied forth to beard +the solicitor in his den. The den was a magnificent suite of offices +just off the Strand. She was ushered into a waiting-room partitioned off +from the general office by glass. It was all very frowsy and hot. There +was nothing to read except the _Times_ and she was uncomfortably +conscious of three clerks and an office boy who frequently turned round +and looked through the partition. At last she was ushered in. The +solicitor was a dry-looking man of forty or so; his parchment face, +deeply wrinkled right and left, his keen blue eyes and high forehead +impressed her as dangerous. He motioned her to an armchair on the other +side of his desk. + +'Well, Mrs Ferris,' he said, 'to what do I owe the honour of this +visit?' He sat back in his armchair and bit his penholder. A smile +elongated his thin lips. This was his undoing, for he looked less +formidable and Victoria decided on a line of action. She had come +disturbed, now she was on her mettle. + +'Mr Bastable,' she said, plunging at once into the subject, 'you ask me +to surrender my furniture. I'm not going to.' + +'Oh?' The solicitor raised his eyebrows. 'But, my dear madame, surely +you must see . . .' + +'I do. But I'm not going to.' + +'Well,' he said, 'I hardly see . . . My duty will compel me to take +steps . . .' + +'Of course,' said Victoria smiling, 'but if you refuse to let me alone I +shall go out of this office, have the furniture moved to-day and put up +at auction to-morrow.' + +A smile came over the solicitor's face. By Jove, she was a fine woman, +and she had some spirit. + +'Besides,' she added, 'all this would cause me a great deal of +annoyance. Major Cairns's affairs are still very interesting to the +public. I shall be compelled, if you make me sell, to write a serial, +say _My Life with an Irish Martyr_ for a Sunday paper.' + +Mr Bastable laughed frankly. + +'You want to be nasty, I see. But you know, we can stop your sale by an +application to a judge in chambers this afternoon. And as for your +serial, well, Major Cairns is dead, he won't mind.' + +'No, but his aunts will. Their name is Cairns. As regards the sale, +perhaps you and the other lawyers can stop it. Very well, either you +promise or I go home and . . . perhaps there'll be a fire to-night and +perhaps there won't. I'm fully insured.' + +'By Jove!' Bastable looked at her critically. Cairns had been a lucky +man. 'Well, Mrs Ferris,' he added, 'we're not used to troublesome +customers like you. I don't suppose the furniture is valuable, is it?' + +'Oh, a couple of hundred,' said Victoria dishonestly. + +'M'm. Do you absolutely want me to pledge myself?' + +'Absolutely.' + +'Well, Mrs Ferris, I can honestly promise you that you won't hear +anything more about it. I . . . I don't think it would pay us.' + +Victoria laughed. A great joy of triumph was upon her. She liked +Bastable rather, now she had brought him to heel. + +'All right,' she said, 'it's a bargain.' Then she saw that his mouth was +smiling still and his eyes fixed on her face. + +'There's no quarrel between us, is there?' + +'No, of course not. All in the way of business, you know.' + +He bent across the table; she heard him breathe in her perfume. + +'Then,' she said slowly, getting up and pulling on her gloves, 'I'm not +doing anything to-night. You know my address. Seven o'clock. You may +take me out to dinner.' + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +WITHIN a few days of her victory over Mr Bastable, Victoria found +herself in an introspective mood. The solicitor was the origin of it, +though unimportant in himself as the grain of sand which falls into a +machine, and for a fraction of a second causes a wheel to rasp before +the grain is crunched up. She reflected, as she looked out over her +garden, that she was getting very hard. She had brought this man to his +knees by threats; she had vulgarly bullied him by holding exposure over +his head; she had behaved like a tragedy queen. Finally, with sardonic +intention, she had turned the contest to good account by entangling him +while he was still under the influence of her personality. + +All this was not what disturbed her; for after all she had only lied to +Bastable, bullied him, threatened him, bluffed as to her intentions: she +had been perfectly businesslike. Thoughtfully she opened the little door +at the end of the hall and stepped out on the outer landing where the +garden steps ended. Snoo and Poo, asleep in a heap in the August blaze, +raised heavy eyelids, and, yawning and stretching, followed her down the +steps. + +This was a joyful little garden. The greater part of it was a lawn, +close cut, but disfigured in many places by Snoo and Poo's digging. +Flower beds ran along both sides and the top of the lawn, while the +bottom was occupied by the pergola, now covered with massive red blooms; +an acacia tree, and an elder tree, both leafy but refusing to flower, +shaded the bottom of the garden, which was effectively cut off by a +hedge of golden privet. It was a tidy garden, but it showed no traces of +originality. Victoria had ordered it to be potted with geraniums, +carnations, pinks, marguerites; and was quite content to observe that +somebody had put in sweet peas, clematis and larkspur. Hers was not the +temperament which expresses itself in a garden; there was no sense of +peace in her idea of the beautiful. If she liked the garden to look +pretty at all, it was doubtless owing to her heredity. + +Victoria picked up a couple of stones and threw them towards the end of +the garden. Snoo and Poo rushed into the privet, snuffling excitedly, +while their mistress drew down a heavy rose-laden branch from the +pergola and breathed the blossoms. Yes, she was hard, and it was +beginning to make her nervous. In the early days she had sedulously +cultivated the spirit which was making a new woman out of the quiet, +refined, rather shy girl she had been. There had been a time when she +would have shuddered at the idea of a quarrel with a cabman about an +overcharge; now, if it were possible, she felt coldly certain that she +would cheat him of his rightful fare. This process she likened to the +tempering of steel, and called a development of the mental muscles. She +rather revelled in this development in the earlier days, because it gave +her a sense of power; she benefited by it too, for she found that by +cultivating this hardness she could extort more money by stooping to +wheedle, by accepting snubs, by flattery and lies too. The consciousness +of this power redeemed the exercise of it; she often felt herself lifted +above this atmosphere of deceit by looking coldly at the deed she was +about to do, recognising its nature and doing it with her eyes open. + +A realization of another kind, however, was upon Victoria that rich +August day. In a sense she was doing well. Her capital had not been +touched; in fact it had probably increased, and this in spite of town +being empty. She had not yet found the man who would make her fortune; +but she had no doubt that he would appear if she continued on her even +road, selecting without passion, judging values and possibilities. For +the moment she brushed aside the question of success; it was assured. +But, after success, what then? Say she had four or five hundred a year +at thirty and retired into the country or went to America. What use +would she be to herself or to anybody if she had learned exclusively to +bide her time and to strike for her own advantage? Life was a contest +for the poor and for the rich alike; but the first had to fight to win +and to use any means, fair or foul, while the latter could accept +knightly rules, be magnanimous when victorious, graceful when defeated. + +'Yes,' said Victoria, 'I must keep myself in trim. It's all very well to +win and I've got to be as hard as nails to men, but . . .' + +She stopped abruptly. The problem had solved itself. 'Hard as nails to +men,' did not include women, for 'men' seldom means mankind when the +talk is of rights. She did not know what her mission might be. Perhaps, +after she had succeeded, she would travel all over Europe, perhaps +settle on the English downs where the west winds blow, perhaps even be +the pioneer of a great sex revolt; but whatever she did, if her triumph +was not to be sterile, she would need sympathy, the capacity to love. +Thus she amended her articles of war: 'Woman shall be spared, and I +shall remember that, as a member of a sex fighting another sex, I must +understand and love my sister warrior.' + +It was in pursuance of her new policy that, on her way to the Vesuvius, +Victoria dawdled for a moment at the entrance of Swallow Street, under +its portico. A few yards beyond her stood a woman whom she knew by sight +as having established practically a proprietary right to her beat. She +was a dark girl, good-looking enough, well set up in her close fitting +white linen blouse, drawn tight to set off her swelling bust. In the dim +light Victoria could see that her face was rather worn, and that the +ravages of time had been clumsily repaired. The girl looked at her +curiously at first; then angrily, evidently disliking the appearance of +what might be a dangerous rival in her own preserves. Victoria walked up +and down on the pavement. The girl watched her every footstep. Once she +made as if to speak to her. It was ghostly, for passers-by in Regent +Street came to and fro beyond the portico like arabesques. A passing +policeman gave the girl a meaning look. She tossed her head and walked +away down Regent Street, while Victoria nervously continued down Swallow +Street to Piccadilly. + +These two women were to meet, however. About a week later, Victoria, +happening to pass by at the same hour, saw the girl and stopped under +the arch. In another second the girl was by her side. + +'What are you following me about for?' she snarled. 'If you're a grote +it's no go. You won't teach the copper anything he doesn't know.' + +'Oh, I'm not following you,' said Victoria. 'Only I saw you about and +thought I'd like to talk to you.' + +The girl shot a dark glance at her. + +'What's your game?' she asked. 'You're not one of those blasted sisters. +Too toffish. Seen you come out of the Vez', besides.' + +'I'm in the profession,' said Victoria coolly. 'But that doesn't mean +I've got to be against the others.' + +'Doesn't it!' The girl's eyes glowed. 'You don't know your job. Of +course you've got to be against the others. We were born like that. Or +got like that. What's it matter?' + +'Matter? oh, a lot,' said Victoria. 'We want friends, all of us.' + +'Friends. Oh, Lord! The likes of you and me don't have friends. Women, +they won't know us . . . too good. Except our sort. We can't talk; we +got nothing to talk of, except money and the boys. And the boys, what's +the good of them? There's the sort you pick up and all you've got to +do's to get what you can out of them. Haven't fallen in love with one, +have you?' The girl's voice broke a little, then she went on. 'Then, +there's the other sort, like my Hugo, p'raps you've heard of him?' + +'No,' she said, 'I haven't. What is he like?' + +'Bless you, he's a beauty.' The girl smiled; her face was full of pride. + +'Does he treat you well?' + +'So so. Sometimes.' The shadow had returned. 'Not like my first. Oh, +it's hard you know, beginning. He left me with a baby after three +months. I was in service in Pembridge Gardens--such a swell house! I had +to keep baby. It died then, jolly good thing too! Couldn't go back to +service. Everybody knew.' + +The girl burst into tears and Victoria putting an arm round her drew her +against her breast. + +'Everybody knew, everybody knew!' wailed the girl. + +Victoria had the vision of a thousand spectral eyes, all full of +knowledge, gazing at the housemaid caught by them sinning. The girl +rested her head against Victoria's shoulder for a moment, holding one of +her hands. Suddenly she raised her head again and cleared her throat. + +'There,' she said, 'let me go. Hugo's waiting for me at the Carcassonne. +Never mind me. We've all got to live, he-he!' + +She turned into Regent Street and another 'he-he' floated back. Victoria +felt a heavy weight at her heart; poor girl, weak, the sport of one man, +deceived, then a pirate made to disgorge her gains by another man; +handsome, subtle, playing upon her affections and her fears. What did it +matter? Was she not in the same position, but freer because conscious; +poor slave soul. But the time had come for Victoria to make for the +Vesuvius. 'It must be getting late,' she thought, putting up her hand to +her little gold watch-brooch. + +It was gone. She had it on when she left, but it could not have dropped +out, for the lace showed two long rips; it had just been torn out. +Victoria stood frozen for a moment. So this was the result of a first +attempt at love. She recovered, however. She was not going to generalise +from one woman. 'Besides,' she thought bitterly, 'the girl's theories +are the same as mine. She merely has no reservations or hesitations. The +bolder pirate, she is perhaps the better brain.' + +Then she walked down Swallow Street into Piccadilly, and at once a young +man in loud checks was at her side. She looked up into his face, her +smile full of covert promise as they went into the Vesuvius together. +Victoria was now at home in the market place, and could exchange a quip +with the frequenters. Languidly she dropped her cloak into the hands of +the porter and preceded the young man into the supper-room. As they sat +at the little table before the liqueur, her eyes saw the garish room +through a film. How deadening it all was, and how lethal the draughts +sold here. An immense weariness was upon her, an immense disgust, as she +smiled full-toothed on the young man in checks. He was a cheerful +rattle, suggested the man who has got beyond the retail trade without +reaching the professions, a house agent's clerk perhaps. + +'Oh, yes, I'm a merry devil, ha! ha!' He winked a pleasant grey eye. +Victoria noticed that his clothes were too new, his boots too new, his +manners too a recent acquisition. + +'Don't worry. That's how you keep young, ha! ha! Besides, don't have +much time to mope in my trade!' + +'What's that?' asked Victoria vacuously. Men generally lied as to their +occupation, but she had noticed that when their imagination was +stimulated their temper improved. + +'Inspector of bun-punchers, ha! ha!' + +'Bun-punchers?' + +'Yes, bun-punchers. South Eastern Railway, you know. Got to have them +dated now. New Act of Parliament, ha! ha!' + +Victoria laughed, for his cockney joviality was infectious. Then again +the room faded and rematerialised as his voice rose and fell. + +'The wife don't know I'm out on the tiles, ha! ha! She's in Streatham, +looking after the smalls. . . . Oh, no, none of your common or garden +brass fenders. . . .' + +Victoria pulled herself together. This was what she could not bear. +Brutality, the obscene even, were preferable to this dreary trickling of +the inane masquerading as wit. Yet she smiled at him. + +'You're saucy,' she said. 'You're my fancy to-night.' + +A shadow passed over the man's face. Then again he was rattling along. + +'Talk of inventions? What'd you think of mine: indiarubber books to read +in your bath? ha! ha! . . .' + +But these are only the moths that flutter round the lamp, too far off to +burn their wings. They love to breathe perfume, to touch soft hands, +gaze at bright eyes and golden hair; then they flutter away, and the +hand that would stay their flight cannot rob them even of a few specks +of golden dust. In a few minutes Victoria sat philosophically before +her empty glass while Fascination Fledgeby was by the side of a rival, +being 'an awful dog,' for the benefit of his fellow clerks on the +morrow. She was in the mood when it did not matter whether she was +unlucky or not. There were quite two women present for every man this +hot August night. At the next table sat a woman known as 'Duckie,' fair, +very fat and rosy; she was the vision bursting from a white dress which +Victoria had seen the first night. On the first night she had embodied +for Victoria--so large, so fat, so coarsely animal was she--the very +essence of her trade; now she knew her better she found that Duckie was +a good sort, careless, generous, perfectly incapable of doing anybody an +ill turn. She was _bonne fille_ even, so unmercenary as sometimes to +accede good humouredly to the pleadings of an impecunious youth. Her one +failing was a fondness for 'a wet.' She was drinking her third whisky +and soda; if she was invited to supper she would add to that at least +half a bottle of champagne, follow that up by a couple of liqueurs and a +peg just before going to bed. She carried her liquor well; she merely +grew a little vague. + +'Hot,' remarked Duckie. + +'Rather,' said Victoria. 'I'm going soon, can't stick it.' + +'Good for you. I've got to stay. Always harder for grandmas like me when +the fifth form boy's at the seaside.' Duckie laughed, without cynicism +though; she had the reasoning powers of a cow. + +Victoria laughed too. A foreign-looking girl in scarlet bent over from +the next table, her long coral earrings sliding down over her +collar-bones. + +'Tight again,' said the girl. + +'As a drum, Lissa, old girl!' said Duckie good temperedly. + +'Nothing to what you'll be by and by,' added Lissa with the air of a +comforter. + +'Nothing like, old dear! Have one with me, Lissa? No? No offence. You, +Zoé, have a _tord boyaux_?' + +'No thanks.' Zoé was a good-looking short girl; her French nationality +written in every line of her round face, plump figure, and hands. Her +hair was pulled away from the fat nape of her neck. She looked competent +and wide awake. A housewife gone astray. Lissa, dark and Italian looking +in her red dress and coral earrings, was more languid than the others. +She was really a Greek, and all the grace of the East was in every +movement of her slim figure. In a moment the four women had clustered +together, forgetting strife. + +Lissa had had a 'Bank of Engraving' note palmed off on her by a +pseudo-South American planter, and was rightly indignant. They were +still talking of Camille de Valenciennes and of her misfortunes with the +barber. Boys, the latest tip for Gatwick, 'what I said to him,' the +furriers' sales, boys again . . . Victoria listened to the conversation. +It still seemed like another world and yet her world. Here they were, +she and the other atoms, hostile every one, and a blind centripetal +force was kneading them together into a class. Yet any class was better +than the isolation in which she lived. Why not go further, hear more? + +'I say, you girls,' she said suddenly, 'you've never been to my place. +Come and . . . no, not dine, it won't work . . . come and lunch with me +next week.' + +Duckie smiled heavily. + +'I don' min',' she said thickly. + +Zoé looked suspicious for a moment. + +'Can I bring Fritz?' asked Lissa. + +'No, we can't have Fritz,' said Victoria smiling. 'Ladies only.' + +'I'm on,' said Zoé suddenly. 'I was afraid you were going to have a lot +of swells in. Hate those shows. Never do you any good and you get so +crumpled.' + +'You might let me bring Fritz,' said Lissa querulously. + +'No men,' said Victoria firmly. 'Wednesday at one o'clock. All square?' + +'Thatawright,' remarked Duckie. 'Shut it Lissa. Fritzawright. Tellm its +biz . . . bizness.' + +With some difficulty they hoisted Duckie into a cab and sent her off to +Bloomsbury. As it drove off she popped her head out. + +'Carriage paid,' she spluttered, 'or C. O. D.?' + +Zoé and Lissa walked away to the circus. On her little hall table, as +Victoria went into her house, she found a note scrawled in pencil on +some of her own notepaper. It was from Betty. It said that Farwell had +been stricken down by a sudden illness and was sinking fast. His address +followed. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +IN a bed sitting-room at the top of an old house off the Waterloo Road +three women were watching by the bedside of a man. One was dressed in +rusty black; she was pale faced, crowned with light hair; the other, +shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, was middle-aged and very +stout; her breast rolled like a billow in her half buttoned bodice. The +third was beautiful, all in black, her sumptuous neck and shoulders +bare. None of them moved for a moment. Then the beautiful woman threw +back her cloak and her long jade earrings tinkled. The face on the +pillow turned and opened its eyes. + +'Victoria,' said a faint voice. + +'Yes . . . are you better?' Victoria bent over the bed. The face was +copper coloured; every bone seemed to start out. She could hardly +recognise Farwell's rough hewn features. + +'Not yet . . . soon,' said Farwell. He closed his eyes once more. + +'What is it, Betty?' whispered Victoria. + +'I don't know . . . hemorrhage they say.' + +'It's all up mum,' whispered the landlady in Victoria's ear. 'Been ill +two days only. Doctor said he wouldn't come again.' + +Victoria bent over the bed once more. She could feel the eyes of the +landlady probing her personality. + +'Can't you do something?' she asked savagely. + +'Nothing.' Farwell opened his eyes again and faintly smiled. 'And what's +the good, Victoria?' + +Victoria threw herself on her knees by the side of the bed. 'Oh, you +musn't!' she whispered. 'You . . . the world can't spare you!' + +'Oh, yes . . . it can . . . you know . . . the world is like men . . . +it spends everything on luxuries . . . it can't afford necessaries.' + +Victoria smiled and felt as if she were going to choke. The last +paradox. + +'Are you in pain?' she asked. + +'No, not just now. . . . I shall be, soon. Let me speak while I can.' +His voice grew firmer suddenly. + +'I have asked you to come so that you may be the last thing I see; you, +the fairest. I love you.' + +Not one of the three women moved. + +'I have not spoken before, because when I could speak we were slaves. +Now you are free and I a slave. It is too late, so it is time for me to +speak. For I cannot influence you.' + +Farwell shut his eyes. But soon his voice rose again. + +'You must never influence anybody. That is my legacy to you. You cannot +teach men to stand by giving them a staff. Let the halt and the lame +alone. The strong will win. You must be free. There is nothing worth +while. . . .' A shiver passed over him, his voice became muffled. + +'No, nothing at all . . . freedom only. . . .' + +He spoke quicker. The words could not be distinguished. Now and then he +groaned. + +'Wait,' whispered Betty, 'it will be over in a minute.' For two minutes +they waited. + +Victoria's eyes fastened on a basin by the bedside, full of reddish +water. Then Farwell's face grew lighter in tone. His voice came faint as +the sound of a spinet. + +'There will be better times. But before then fighting . . . the coming +to the top of the leaders . . . gold will be taken from the rich . . . +given to the vile . . . pictures burnt . . . chaos . . . woman rise as +a tyrant . . . there will be fighting . . . the coming to the top. . ..' +His voice thinned down to nothing as his wandering mind repeated his +prediction. Then he spoke again. + +'You are a rebel . . . you will lead . . . you have understood . . . +only by understanding are you saved. I asked you to come here to tell +you to go on . . . earn your freedom . . . at the expense of others.' + +'Why at the expense of others?' asked Betty, leaning over the bed. +Farwell was hypnotising her. His eyes wandered to her face. + +'Too late . . .' he said, 'you do not see . . . you are a slave . . . a +woman has only one weapon . . . otherwise, a slave . . . ask . . . ask +Victoria.' He closed his eyes but went on speaking. + +'There is not freedom for everybody . . . capitalism means freedom for a +few . . . you must have freedom, like food . . . food for the soul . . . +you must capture the right to respect . . . a woman may not toil . . . +make money . . .' + +Then again. 'I am going into the blackness . . . before Death . . . the +Judge . . . Death will judge me. . . .' + +''E's thinking of his Maker, poor genelman,' said the landlady hoarsely. + +Victoria and Betty looked at one another. Agnostic or indifferent in +their cooler moments, the superstition of their ancestors worked in +their blood, powerfully assisted by the spectacle of this being passing +step by step into an unknown. There must be life there, feeling, loving. +There must be Something. + +The voice stopped. Betty had seized Victoria's arm and now clutched it +violently. Victoria could feel through her own body the shudders that +shook the girl's frame. Then Farwell's voice rose again, louder and +louder, like the upward flicker of a dying candle. + +'Yes, freedom's my message, the right to live. This world into which we +are evolved by a selfish act of joy, into which we are dragged unwilling +with pain for our usher, it is a world which has no justification save +the freedom to enjoy it as we may. I have lived a stoic, but it is a +hedonist I die. Unshepherded I go into a perhaps. But I regret nothing +. . . all the certainties of the past are not worth the possible of the +future. Behind me others tread the road that leads up the hill.' + +He paused for breath. Then again his voice arose as a cry, proclaiming +his creed. + +'On the top of the hill. There I see the unknown land, running with milk +and honey. I see a new people; beautiful young, beautiful old. Its +fathers have ground the faces of the helots; they have fought and +lusted, they have suffered contumely and stripes. Now they know the Law, +the Law that all may keep because they are beyond the Law. They do not +desire, for they have, they do not weigh, for they know. They have not +feared, they have dared; they have spared no man, nor themselves. Ah! +now they have opened the Golden Gates. . . .' + +The man's voice broke, he coughed, a thin stream of blood trickled from +the side of his mouth. Victoria felt a film come over her eyes. She +leant over him to staunch the flow. They saw one another then. Farwell's +voice went down to a whisper. + +'Victoria . . . victorious . . . my love . . . never more. . . .' + +She looked into his glazing eyes. + +'Beyond . . .' he whispered; then his head fell to one side and his jaw +dropped. + +Betty turned away. She was crying. The landlady wiped her hands on her +apron. Victoria hesitatingly took hold of Farwell's wrist. He was dead. +She looked at him stupidly for a moment, then drew her cloak round her +shivering shoulders. The landlady too was crying now. + +'Oh, mum, sich a nice genelman,' she moaned. 'But 'e did go on so!' + +Victoria smiled pitifully. What an epitaph for a sunset! She drove away +with Betty and, as the horse trotted through the deserted streets, +hugged the girl in her arms. Betty was shuddering violently, and nestled +close up to her. They did not speak. Everything seemed to have become +loose in Victoria's mind and to be floating on a black sea. The pillar +of her individualism was down. Her codes were in the melting pot; a man, +the finest she had known, had confessed his love in his extremity, and +before she could respond passed into the shadow. But Farwell had left +her as a legacy the love of freedom for which he died, for which she was +going to live. + +When they arrived at Elm Tree Place, Victoria forced Betty to drink some +brandy, to tell her how Farwell had sent her a message, asking her to +send him Victoria, how she had waited for her. + +'Oh, it was awful,' whispered Betty, 'the maid said you'd be late . . . +she said I mustn't wait because you might not . . .' + +'Not come home alone?' said Victoria in a frozen voice. + +'Oh, I can't bear it, I can't bear it.' Betty flung herself into her +friend's arms, wildly weeping. + +Victoria soothed her, made her undress. As Betty grew more collected she +let drop a few words. + +'Oh, so then you too are happy?' said Victoria smiling faintly. + +'You love?' A burning blush rose over Betty's face. + +That night, as in the old Finsbury days, they lay in one another's arms +and Victoria grappled with her sorrow. Gentle, almost motherly, she +watched over this young life; blushing, full of promise, preparing +already to replace the dead. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +THE death of Farwell seemed to leave Victoria struggling and gasping for +breath, like a shipwrecked mariner who tries to secure his footing on +shifting sand while waves knock him down every time he rises to his +knees. Though she hardly ever saw him and though she had no precise idea +that he cared for her more than does the scientist for the bacteria he +observes, he had been her tower of strength. He was there, like the +institutions which make up civilisation, the British Constitution, the +Bank and the Established Church. Now he was gone and she saw that the +temple of life was empty. He was the last link. Cairns's death had +turned her out among the howling wolves; now Farwell seemed to have +carried away with him her theory of life. Above all, she now knew +nobody; save Betty, who counted as a charming child. It was then she +began to taste more cruelly the isolation of her class. + +In the early days, when she paced up and down fiercely in the room at +Portsea Place, she had already realised that she was alone, but then she +was not an outcast; the doors of society were, if not open, at any rate +not locked against her. Then the busy hum of the Rosebud and the P.R.R., +the back-breaking work, the hustle, the facile friendships with City +beaus--all this had drawn a veil over her solitude. Now she was really +alone because none knew and none would know her. Her beauty, her fine +clothes, contributed to clear round her a circle as if she were a +leper. At times she would talk to a woman in a park, but before a few +sentences had passed her lips the woman would take in every detail of +her, her clean gloves, her neat shoes, her lace handkerchief, her costly +veil; then the woman's face would grow rigid, and with a curt 'good +morning' she would rise from her seat and go. + +Victoria found herself thrust back, like the trapper in the hands of Red +Indians; like him she ran in a circle, clubbed back towards the centre +every time she tried to escape. She was of her class, and none but her +class would associate with her. Women such as herself gladly talked to +her, but their ideas sickened her, for life had taught them nothing but +the ethics of the sex-trade. Their followers too--barbers, billiard +markers, shady bookmakers, unemployed potmen; who sometimes dared to +foist themselves on her--filled her with yet greater fear and disgust, +for they were the only class of man alternative to those on whose bounty +she lived. Thus she withdrew herself away from all; sometimes a craving +for society would throw her into equivocal converse with Augusta, whose +one idea was the dowry she must take back to Germany. Then, tiring of +her, she would snatch up Snoo and Poo and pace round and round her tiny +lawn like a squirrel in its wheel. + +A chance meeting with Molly emphasised her isolation, like the flash of +lightning which leaves the night darker. She was standing on the steps +of the Sandringham Tea House in Bond Street, looking into the side +window of the photographer who runs a print shop on the ground floor. +Some sprawling Boucher beauties in delicate gold frames fascinated her. +She delighted in the semi-crude, semi-sophisticated atmosphere, the +rotundity of the well-fed bodies, their ribald rosy flesh. As she was +wondering whether they would not do for the stairs the door opened +suddenly and a plump little woman almost rushed into her arms. The +little woman apologised, giving her a quick look. Then the two looked at +one another again. + +'Victoria!' cried Molly, for it was she, with her wide open blue eyes, +small nose, fair frizzy hair. + +A thrill of joy and fear ran through Victoria. She felt her personality +criddle up like a scorched moth, then expand like a flower under gentle +dew. She was found out; the terrible female instinct was going to detect +her, then to proclaim her guilt. However, bravely enough, she braced +herself up and held out her hand. + +'Oh, Vic, why haven't you written to me for, let me see, three years, +isn't it?' + +'I've been away, abroad,' said Victoria slowly. She seemed to float in +another world. Molly was talking vigorously; Victoria's brain, +feverishly active, was making up the story which would have to be told +when Molly's cheerful egotism had had its way. + +'Don't let's stay here on the doorstep,' she interrupted, 'let's go +upstairs and have tea. You haven't had tea yet?' + +'I should love to,' said Molly, squeezing her arm. 'Then you can tell me +about yourself.' + +Seated at a little table Molly finished her simple story. She had +married an army chaplain, but he had given up his work in India and was +now rector of Pontyberis in Wales. They had two children. Molly was up +in town merely to break the journey, as she was going down to stay with +her aunt in Kent. Oh, yes, she was very happy, her husband was very +well. + +'They're talking of making him Dean of Ffwr,' she added with unction. +'But that's enough about me. How have you been getting on, Vic? I +needn't ask how you are; one only has to look at you.' Molly's eyes +roved over her friend's beautiful young face, her clothes which she +appraised with the skill of those poor who are learned in the fashions. + +'I? Oh, I'm very well,' said Victoria hysterically. + +'Yes, but how have you been getting on? Weren't you talking about having +to work when you came over?' + +'Yes, but I've been lucky . . . a week after I got here an aunt of my +mother's died of whom I never even heard before. They told me at Dick's +lawyers a month later, and you wouldn't believe it, there was no will +and I came in for . . . well something quite comfortable.' + +Molly put out her hand and stroked Victoria's. + +'I'm so glad,' she said. . . . 'Oh, you don't know how hard it is to +have to work for your living. I see something of it in Wales. Oh, if you +only knew. . . .' + +Victoria pressed her lips together, as if about to cry or laugh. + +'But what did you do then? You only wrote once. You didn't tell me?' + +'No, I only heard a month after, you know. Oh, I had a lot to do. I +travelled a lot. I've been in America a good deal. In fact my home is in +. . . Alabama.' She plunged for Alabama, feeling sure that New York was +unsafe. + +'Oh, how nice,' said Molly ingenuously. 'You might have sent me picture +postcards, you know.' + +Skilfully enough Victoria explained that she had lost Molly's address. +Her friend blissfully accepted all she said, but a few other women less +ingenuous than the clergyman's wife were casting sharp glances at her. +When they parted, Victoria audaciously giving her address as 'care of +Mrs Ferris, Elm Tree Place,' she threw herself back on the cushions of +the cab and told herself that she could not again go through with the +ordeal of facing her own class. She almost hungered for the morrow, when +she was to entertain the class she had adopted. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +THE Fulton household had always been short of money, for Dick spent too +much himself to leave anything for entertaining; thus Victoria had very +little experience of lunch parties. Since she had left the Holts she +hardly remembered a bourgeois meal. The little affair on the Wednesday +was therefore provocative of much thought. Mutton was dismissed as +common, beef in any form as coarse; Laura's suggestion (for Laura and +Augusta had been called in) of a savoury sauerkraut ('mit Blutwurst, +Frankfurter, Leberwurst, etc.'), was also dismissed. Both servants took +a keen interest in the occasion. + +'But why no gentleman come?' asked Laura, who was clearly ill-disposed +to do her best for her own sex. + +'In the house I was . . .' began Augusta . . . then she froze up under +Victoria's eye. Her mistress still had a strain of the prig in her. + +Then Augusta suggested hors d'oeuvres, smoked salmon, anchovies, +olives, radishes; Laura forced forward fowl _ŕ la Milanaise_ to be +preceded by baked John Dory cayenne. Then Augusta in a moment of +inspiration thought of French beans and vegetable marrow . . . stuffed +with chestnuts. The three women laughed, Laura clapped her hands with +the sheer joy of the creative artist. + +When Victoria came into the dining-room at half-past twelve she was +almost dazzled by her own magnificence. Neither the Carlton nor the +Savoy could equal the blaze of her plate, the brilliant polish of her +tablecloths. The dahlias blazed dark red in cut glass by the side of +pale belated roses from the garden. On the sideboard fat peaches were +heaped in a modern Lowestoft bowl, and amber-coloured plums lay like +portly dowagers in velvet. + +A few minutes before the hour Zoé and Lissa arrived together. They were +nervous; not on account of Victoria's spread, for they were of the upper +stratum, but because they were in a house. Accustomed to their small +flats off Shaftesbury Avenue, where tiny kitchens jostled with bedroom +and boudoir, they were frightened by the suggestion of a vast basement +out of which floated the savoury aroma of the John Dory baking. Victoria +tried to put them at their ease, took their parasols away and showed +them into the boudoir. There they sat in a triangle, the hot sun blazing +in upon them, stiff and starched with the formality of those who are +seldom formal. + +'Have a Manhattan cocktail?' asked the hostess. + +'No thanks; very hot, isn't it?' said Lissa in her most refined manner. +She was looking very pretty, dark, slim and snaky in her close-fitting +lemon coloured frock. + +'Very hot,' chimed in Zoé. She was sitting unnecessarily erect. Her flat +French back seemed to abhor the easy chair. Her tight hair, her trim +hands, her well boned collar, everything breathed neatness, well laced +stays, a full complement of hooks and eyes. She might have been the +sedate wife of a prosperous French tradesman. + +'Yes, it is hot,' said Victoria. + +Then the conversation flagged. The hostess tried to draw out her guests. +They were obviously anxious to behave. Lissa posed for 'The Sketch,' Zoé +remained _trčs correcte_. + +'Do you like my pictures?' asked Victoria pointing to the French +engravings. + +'They are very pretty,' said Lissa. + +'I am very interested in engravings,' said Zoé, looking at the rosewood +clock. There was a longish pause. + +'I must show you my little dogs,' cried Victoria. She must do something. +She went out to the landing and opened the garden door. There she met +Augusta carrying a trayful of finger bowls. She felt inspired to +overturn it if only to break the ice. Snoo and Poo rushed in, but in the +boudoir they also instinctively became very well-bred. + +'I am very fond of dogs,' said Lissa. Snoo lay down on her back. + +'She is very pretty,' remarked Zoé. + +Victoria punched the dogs in the ribs, rolled them over. It was no good. +They would do nothing but gently wag their tails. She felt she would +like to swear, when suddenly the front door was slammed, a cheerful +voice rang in the hall. + +'Hulloa, here's Duckie,' said Lissa. + +The door opened loudly and Duckie seemed to rush in as if seated on a +high wind. + +'Here we are again!' cried the buxom presence in white. Every one of her +frills rattled like metal. 'Late as usual. Oh, Vic, what angel pups!' + +Duckie was on her knees. In a moment she had stirred up the Pekingese. +They forgot their manners. They barked vociferously; and Zoé's starch +was taken out of her by Poo, who rushed under her skirts. Lissa laughed +and jumped up. + +'Here Vic,' said Duckie ponderously, 'give us a hand, old girl. Never +can jump about after gin and bitters,' she added confidentially as they +helped her up. + +The ice was effectually broken. They filed into the dining-room in +pairs, Victoria and Lissa being slim playing the part of men. How they +gobbled up the hors d'oeuvres and how golden the John Dory was; the +flanks of the fish shone like an old violin. Augusta flitted about +quick but noisy. There was a smile on her face. + +'Steady on, old love,' said Duckie to her as the maid inadvertently +poured her claret into a tumbler. + +'Never you mind, Gussie,' cried Zoé, bursting with familiarity, 'she'll +be having it in a bucket by and by.' + +Augusta laughed. What easy going _herrschaft_! + +The talk was getting racier now. By the time they got to the dessert the +merriment was rather supper than lunch-like. + +'Victoria plums,' said Lissa, 'let us name them _Bonne Hotesse_.' + +The idea was triumphant. Duckie insisted on drinking a toast in hock, +for she never hesitated to mix her wines. Victoria smiled at them +indulgently. The youth of all this and the jollity, the ease of it; all +that was not of her old class. + +'Confusion to the puritans,' she cried, and drained her glass. Snoo and +Poo were fighting for scraps, for Duckie was already getting uncertain +in her aim. Lissa and Zoé, like nymphs teasing Bacchus, were pelting her +with plum stones, but she seemed quite unconscious of their pranks. They +had some difficulty in getting her into the boudoir for coffee and +liqueurs; once on the sofa she tried to go to sleep. Her companions +roused her, however; the scent of coffee, acrid and stimulating, stung +their nostrils; the liqueurs shone wickedly, green and golden in their +glass bottles; talk became more individual, more reminiscent. Here and +there a joke shot up like a rocket or stuck quivering in Duckie's placid +flanks. + +'Well Vic,' said Zoé, 'you are very well _installée_.' She slowly +emptied of cigarette smoke her expanded cheeks and surveyed the +comfortable little room. + +'Did you do it yourself?' asked Lissa. 'It must have cost you a lot of +money.' + +'Oh, I didn't pay.' Victoria was either getting less reticent or the +liqueur was playing her tricks. 'I began with a man who set me up +here,' she added; 'he was . . . he died suddenly' she went on more +cautiously. + +'Oh!' Zoé's eyebrows shot up. 'That's what I call luck. But why do you +not have a flat? It is cheaper.' + +'Yes, but more inconvenient,' said Lissa. 'Ah, Vic. I do envy you. You +don't know. We're always in trouble. We are moving every month.' + +'But why?' asked Victoria. 'Why must you move?' + +'Turn you out. Neighbours talk and then the landlord's conscience begins +to prick him,' grumbled Duckie from the sofa. + +'Oh, I see,' said Victoria. 'But when they turn you out what do you do?' + +'Go somewhere else, softy,' said Duckie. + +'But then what good does it do?' + +All the women laughed. + +'Law, who cares?' said Duckie. 'I dunno.' + +'It is perfectly simple,' began Zoé in her precise foreign English. 'You +see the landlord he will not let flats to ladies. When the police began +to watch it would cause him _des ennuis_. So he lets to a gentleman who +sublets the flats, you see? When the trouble begins, he doesn't know.' + +'But what about the man who sublets?' asked the novice. + +'Him? Oh, he's gone when it begins,' said Lissa. 'But they arrest the +hall porter.' + +'Justice must have its way, I see,' said Victoria. + +'What you call justice,' grumbled Duckie, 'I call it damned hard lines.' + +For some minutes Victoria discussed the housing problem with the fat +jolly woman. Duckie was in a cheerful mood. One could hardly believe, +when one looked at her puffy pink face, that she had seen fifteen years +of trouble. + +'Landladies,' she soliloquised, 'it's worse. You take my tip Vic, you +steer clear of them. You pay as much for a pigsty as a man pays for a +palace. If you do badly they chuck you out and stick to your traps and +what can you do? You don't call a policeman. If you do well, they raise +the rent, steal your clothes, charge you key money, and don't give 'em +any lip if you don't want a man set at you. Oh, Lor!' + +Duckie went on, and as she spoke her bluntness caused Victoria to +visualise scene after scene, one more horrible than another: a tall +dingy house in Bloomsbury with unlit staircases leading up to black +landings suggestive of robbery and murder; bedrooms with blinded +windows, reeking with patchouli, with carpets soiled by a myriad ignoble +stains. The house Duckie pictured was like a warren in every corner of +which soft-handed, rosy-lipped harpies sucked men's life-blood; there +was drinking in it, and a piano played light airs; below in the ground +floor, through the half open door, she could see two or three +foreigners, unshaven, dirty-cuffed, playing cards in silence like +hunters in ambush. She shuddered. + +'Yes, but Fritz isn't so bad,' broke in Lissa. She had all this time +been wrangling with Zoé. + +'No good,' snapped Zoé, 'he's a . . . a _bouche inutile_.' Her pursed-up +lips tightened. Fritz was swept away to limbo by her practical French +philosophy. + +'I like him because he is not useful' said Lissa dreamily. Zoé shrugged +her shoulders. Poor fool, this Lissa. + +'Who is this Fritz you're always talking about?' asked Victoria. + +'He's a . . . you know what they call them,' said Duckie brutally. + +'You're a liar,' screamed Lissa jumping up. 'He's . . . oh, Vic, you do +not understand. He's the man I care for; he is so handsome, so clever, +so gentle . . .' + +'Very gentle,' sneered Zoé, 'why did you not take off your long gloves +last week, _hein_? Perhaps you had blue marks?' + +Lissa looked about to cry. Victoria put her hand on her arm. + +'Never mind them,' she said, 'tell me.' + +'Oh, Vic, you are so good.' Lissa's face twitched, then she smiled like +a child bribed with a sweet. 'They do not know; they are hard. It is +true, Fritz does not work, but if we were married he would work and I +would do nothing. What does it matter?' They all smiled at the theory, +but Lissa went on with heightened colour. + +'Oh, it is so good to forget all the others; they are so ugly, so +stupid. It is infernal. And then, Fritz, the man that I love for himself +. . .' + +'And who loves you for . . .' began Zoé. + +'Shut up, Zoé,' said Duckie, her kindly heart expanding before this +idealism, 'leave the kid alone. Not in my line of course. You take my +tip, all of you, you go on your own. Don't you get let in with a +landlady and don't you get let in with a man. It's _them_ you've got to +let in.' + +'That's what I say,' remarked Zoé. 'We are successful because we take +care. One must be economical. For instance, every month I can. . . .' +She stopped and looked round suspiciously; with economy goes distrust, +and Zoé was very French. 'Well, I can manage,' she concluded vaguely. + +'And you need not talk, Duckie,' said Lissa savagely. 'You drink two +quid's worth every week.' + +'Well, s'pose I do,' grumbled the cherub. 'Think I do it for pleasure? +Tell you what, if I hadn't got squiffy at the beginning I'd have gone +off me bloomin' chump. I was in Buenos Ayres, went off with a waiter to +get married. He was in a restaurant, Highgate way, where I was in +service. I found out all about it when I got there. O Lor! Why, we +jolly well _had_ to drink, what with those Argentines who're half +monkeys and the good of the house! Oh, Lor!' She smiled. 'Those were +high old times,' she said inconsequently, overwhelmed by the glamour of +the past. There was silence. + +'I see,' said Victoria suddenly. 'I've never seen it before. If you want +to get on, you've got to run on business lines. No ties, no men to bleed +you. Save your money. Don't drink; save your looks. Why, those are good +rules for a bank cashier! If you trip, down you go in the mud and +nobody'll pick you up. So you've got to walk warily, not look at +anybody, play fair and play hard. Then you can get some cash together +and then you're free.' + +There was silence. Victoria had faced the problem too squarely for two +of her guests. Lissa looked dreamily towards the garden, wondering where +Fritz was, whether she was wise in loving; Duckie, conscious of her +heavy legs and incipient dropsy, blushed, then paled. Alone, Zoé, stiff +and energetic like the determined business woman she was, wore on her +lips the enigmatic smile born of a nice little sum in French three per +cents. + +'I must be going,' said Duckie hoarsely. She levered herself off the +sofa. Then, almost silently, the party broke up. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +LIFE pursued its even tenour; and Victoria, watching it go by, was +reminded of the endless belt of a machine. The world machine went on +grinding, and every breath she took was grist thrown for ever into the +intolerable mill. It was October again, and already the trees in the +garden were shedding fitful rains of glowing leaves. Alone the elder +tree stood almost unchanged, a symbol of the everlasting. Now and then +Victoria walked round the little lawn with Snoo and Poo, who were too +shivery to chase the fat spiders. Often she stayed there for an hour, +one hand against a tree trunk, looking at nothing, bathed in the mauve +light of the dying year. Already the scents of decay, of wetness, filled +the little garden and struck cold when the sun went down. + +Every day now Victoria felt her isolation more cruelly. Solitude was no +longer negative; it had materialised and had become a solid inimical +presence. When the sun shone and she could walk the milky way of the +streets, alone but feeling with every sense the joy of living time, +there was not much to fear from solitude; there were things to look at, +to touch, to smell. Now solitude no longer lurked round corners; at +times a gust of wind carried its icy breath into her bones. + +She was suffering, too, a little. She felt heavy in the legs, and a vein +in her left calf hurt a little in the evening if she had walked or stood +much. Soon, though it did not increase, the pain became her daily +companion, for even when absent it haunted her. She would await a twinge +for a whole day, ready and fearful, bracing herself up against a shock +which often found her unprepared. At all times too the obsession seemed +to follow her now. Perhaps she was walking through Regent's Park, +buoyant and feeling capable of lifting a mountain, but the thought would +rush upon her, perhaps it was going to hurt. She would lie awake too, +oblivious of the heavy breathing by her side, rested, all her senses +asleep, and then though she felt no pain the fear of it would come upon +her and she would wrestle with the thought that the blow was about to +fall. + +Sometimes she would go out into the streets, seeking variety even in a +wrangle between her Pekingese and some other dog. This meant that she +must separate them, apologise to the owner, exchange perhaps a few +words. Once she achieved a conversation with an old lady, a kindly soul, +the mistress of a poodle. They walked together along the Canal, and the +futile conversation fell like balm on Victoria's ears. The freshness of +a voice ignorant of double meanings was soft as dew. They were to meet +again, but the old lady was a near neighbour and she must have heard +something of Victoria's reputation, for when they met again opposite +Lord's, the old lady crossed over and the poodle followed her haughtily, +leaving Snoo and Poo disconsolate and wondering on the edge of the +pavement. + +One morning Augusta came into the boudoir about twelve, carrying a +visiting card on a little tray. + +'Miss Emma Welkin,' read Victoria. 'League of the Rights of Women. What +does she want, Augusta?' + +'She says she wants to see Mrs Ferris, Mum.' + +'League of the Rights of Women? Why, she must be a suffragist.' + +'Yes, Mum. She wear a straw hat, Mum,' explained Augusta with a slight +sniff. + +'And a tweed coat and skirt, I suppose,' said Victoria smiling. + +'Oh, yes, Mum. Shall I say go away?' + +'M'm. No, tell her to come in.' + +While Augusta was away Victoria settled herself in the cushions. Perhaps +it might be interesting. The visitor was shown in. + +'How do you do?' said Victoria holding out her hand. 'Please sit down. +Excuse my getting up, I'm not very well.' + +Miss Welkin looked about her, mildly surprised. It was a pretty room, +but somehow she felt uncomfortable. Victoria was looking at her. A +capable type of femininity this; curious, though, in its thick man-like +clothes, its strong boots. She was not bad looking, thirty perhaps, very +erect and rather flat. Her face was fresh, clean, innocent of powder; +her eyes were steady behind glasses; her hair was mostly invisible, +being tightly pulled back. There were firm lines about her mouth. A +fighting animal. + +'I hope you'll excuse this intrusion,' said the suffragist, 'but I got +your name from the directory and I have come to . . . to ascertain your +views about the all-important question of the vote.' There was a queer +stiltedness about the little speech. Miss Welkin was addressing the +meeting. + +'Oh? I'm very much interested,' said Victoria. 'Of course I don't know +anything about it except what I read in the papers.' + +The grey eyes glittered. Evangelic fervour radiated from them. 'That's +what we want,' said the suffragist. 'It's just the people who are ready +to be our friends who haven't heard our side and who get biassed. Mrs +Ferris, I'm sure you'll come in with us and join the Marylebone branch?' + +'But how can I?' asked Victoria. 'You see I know nothing about it all.' + +'Let me give you these pamphlets,' said the suffragist. Victoria +obediently took a leaflet on the marriage law, a pamphlet on 'The Rights +of Women,' a few more papers too, some of which slipped to the floor. + +'Thank you,' she said, 'but first of all tell me, why do you want the +vote?' + +The suffragist looked at her for a second. This might be a keen recruit +when she was converted. Then a flood of words burst from her. + +'Oh, how can any woman ask, when she sees the misery, the subjection in +which we live. We say that we want the vote because it is the only means +we have to attain economic freedom . . . we say to man: "Put your weapon +in our hands and we will show you what we can do." We want to have a +voice in the affairs of the country. We want to say how the taxes we pay +shall be spent, how our children shall be educated, whether our sons +shall go to war. We say it's wrong that we should be disfranchised +because we are women . . . it is illogical . . . we must have it.' + +The suffragist stopped for a second to regain breath. + +'I see,' said Victoria, 'but how is the vote going to help?' + +'Help,' echoed Miss Welkin. 'It will help because it will enable women +to have a voice in national affairs.' + +'You must think me awfully stupid,' said Victoria sweetly, 'but what use +will it be to us if we do get a voice in national affairs?' + +Miss Welkin ignored the interruption. + +'It is wrong that we should not have a vote if we are reasonable beings; +we can be teachers, doctors, chemists, factory inspectors, business +managers, writers; we can sit on local authorities, and we can't cast a +vote for a member of Parliament. It's preposterous, it's . . .' + +'Yes, I understand, but what will the vote do for us? Will it raise +wages?' + +'It must raise wages. Men's wages have risen a lot since they got the +vote.' + +'Do you think that's because they got the vote?' + +'Yes. Well, partly. At any rate there are things above wages,' said the +suffragist excitedly. 'And you know, we know that the vote is wanted +especially because it is an education; by inducing women to take an +interest in politics we will broaden their minds, teach them to combine +and then automatically their wages will rise.' + +'Oh, yes.' Victoria was rather struck by the argument. 'Then,' she said, +'you admit men are superior to women?' + +'Well, yes, at any rate at present,' said the suffragist rather sulkily. +'But you must remember that men have had nearly eighty years training in +political affairs. That's why we want the vote; to wake women up. Oh, +you have no idea what it will mean when we get it. We shall have fresh +minds bearing on political problems, we shall have more adequate +protection for women and children, compulsory feeding, endowment of +mothers, more education, shorter hours, more sanitary inspection. We +shall not be enslaved by parties; a nobler influence, the influence of +pure women will breathe an atmosphere of virtue into this terrible +world.' + +The woman's eyes were rapt now, her hands tightly clenched, her lips +parted, her cheeks a little flushed. But Victoria's face had hardened +suddenly. + +'Miss Welkin,' she said quietly, 'has anything struck you about this +house, about me?' + +The suffragist looked at her uneasily. + +'You ought to know whom you are talking to,' Victoria went on, 'I am a +. . . I am a what you would probably call . . . well, not respectable.' + +A dull red flush spread over Miss Welkin's face, from the line of her +tightly pulled hair to her stiff white collar; even her ears went red. +She looked away into a corner. + +'You see,' said Victoria, 'it's a shock, isn't it? I ought not to have +let you in. It wasn't quite fair, was it?' + +'Oh, it isn't that, Mrs Ferris,' burst out the suffragist, 'I'm not +thinking of myself. . . .' + +'Excuse me, you must. You can't help it. If you could construct a scale +with the maximum of egotism at one end, and the maximum of altruism at +the other and divide it, say into one hundred degrees, you would not, I +think, place your noblest thinkers more than a degree or two beyond the +egotistic zero. Now you, a pure girl, have been entrapped into the house +of a woman of no reputation, whom you would not have in your +drawing-room. Now, would you?' + +Miss Welkin was silent for a moment; the flush was dying away as she +gazed round eyed at this beautiful woman lying in her piled cushions, +talking like a mathematician. + +'I haven't come here to ask you into my drawing-room,' she answered. 'I +have come to ask you to throw in your labour, your time, your money, +with ours in the service of our cause.' She held her head higher as the +thought rose in her like wine. 'Our cause,' she continued, 'is not the +cause of rich women or poor women, of good women or bad; it's the cause +of woman. Thus, it doesn't matter who she is, so long as there is a +woman who stands aloof from us there is still work to do.' + +Victoria looked at her interestedly. Her eyes were shining, her lips +parted in ecstasy. + +'Oh, I know what you think,' the suffragist went on; 'as you say, you +think I despise you because you . . . you. . . .' The flush returned +slightly. . . . 'But I know that yours is not a happy life and we are +bringing the light.' + +'The light!' echoed Victoria bitterly. 'You have no idea, I see, of how +many people there are who are bringing the light to women like me. There +are various religious organisations who wish to rescue us and to house +us comfortably under the patronage of the police, to keep us nicely and +feed us on what is suitable for the fallen; they expect us to sew ten +hours a day for these privileges, but that is by the way. There are also +many kindly souls who offer little jobs as charwomen to those of us who +are too worn out to pursue our calling; we are offered emigration as +servants in exchange for the power of commanding a household; we are +offered poverty for luxury, service for domination, slavery to women +instead of slavery to men. How tempting it is! And now here is the light +in another form: the right to drop a bit of paper into a box every four +years or so and settle thereby whether the Home Secretary who +administers the law of my trade shall live in fear of buff prejudice or +blue.' + +The suffragist said nothing for a second. She felt shaken by Victoria's +bitterness. + +'Women will have no party,' she said lamely, 'they will vote as women.' + +'Oh? I have heard somewhere that the danger of giving women the vote is +that they will vote solid "as women," as you say and swamp the men. Is +that so?' + +'No, I'm afraid not,' said the suffragist unguardedly, 'of course women +will split up into political parties.' + +'Indeed? Then where is this woman vote which is going to remould the +world? It is swamped in the ordinary parties.' + +The suffragist was in a dilemma. + +'You forget,' she answered, wriggling on the horns, 'that women can +always be aroused for a noble cause. . . .' + +'Am I a noble cause?' asked Victoria, smiling. 'So far as I can see +women, even the highest of them, despise us because we do illegally +what they do legally, hate us because we attract, envy us because we +shine. I have often thought that if Christ had said, "Let her who hath +never sinned . . ." the woman would have been stoned. What do you +think?' + +The suffragist hesitated, cleared her throat. + +'That will all go when we have the vote, women will be a force, a nobler +force; they will realise . . . they will sympathise more . . . then they +will cast their vote for women.' + +Victoria shook her head. + +'Miss Welkin,' she said, 'you are an idealist. Now, will you ask me to +your next meeting if you are satisfied as to my views, announce me for +what I am and introduce me to your committee?' + +'I don't see . . . I don't think,' stammered the suffragist, 'you see +some of our committee. . . .' + +Victoria laughed. + +'You see. Never mind. I assure you I wouldn't go. But, tell me, +supposing women get the vote, most of my class will be disfranchised on +the present registration law. What will you women do for us?' + +The suffragist thought for a minute. + +'We shall raise the condition of women,' she said. 'We shall give them a +new status, increase the respect of men for them, increase their respect +for themselves; besides, it will raise wages and that will help. We +shall . . . we shall have better means of reform too.' + +'What means?' + +'When women have more sympathy.' + +'Votes don't mean sympathy.' + +'Well, intelligence then. Oh, Mrs Ferris, it's not that that matters; +we're going to the root of it. We're going to make women equal to men, +give them the same opportunities, the same rights. . . .' + +'Yes, but will the vote increase their muscles? will it make them more +logical, fitter to earn their living?' + +'Of course it will,' said Miss Welkin acidly. + +'Then how do you explain that several millions of men earn less than +thirty shillings a week, and that at times hundreds of thousands are +unemployed?' + +'The vote does not mean everything,' said the suffragist reluctantly. +'It will merely ensure that we rise like the men when we are fit.' + +'Well, Miss Welkin, I won't press that, but now, tell me, if women got +the vote to-morrow, what would it do for my class?' + +'It would raise. . . .' + +'No, no, we can't wait to be raised. We've got to live, and if you +"raise" us we lose our means of livelihood. How are you going to get to +the root cause and lift us, not the next generation, at once out of the +lower depths?' + +The suffragist's face contracted. + +'Everything takes time,' she faltered. 'Just as I couldn't promise a +charwoman that her hours would go down and her wages go up next day, I +can't say that . . . of course your case is more difficult than any +other, because . . . because. . . .' + +'Because,' said Victoria coldly, 'I represent a social necessity. So +long as your economic system is such that there is not work for the +asking for every human being--work, mark you, fitted to strength and +ability--so long on the other hand as there is such uncertainty as +prevents men from marrying, so long as there is a leisured class who +draw luxury from the labour of other men; so long will my class endure +as it endured in Athens, in Rome, in Alexandria, as it does now from St +John's Wood to Pekin.' + +There was a pause. Then Miss Welkin got up awkwardly. Victoria followed +suit. + +'There,' she said, 'you don't mind my being frank, do you? May I +subscribe this sovereign to the funds of the branch? I do believe you +are right, you know, even though I'm not sure the millennium is +coming.' + +Miss Welkin looked doubtfully at the coin in her palm. + +'Don't refuse it,' said Victoria, smiling, 'after all, you know, in +politics there is no tainted money.' + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +VICTORIA lay back in bed, gazing at the blue silk wall. It was ten +o'clock, but still dark; not a sound disturbed dominical peace, except +the rain dripping from the trees, falling finally like the strokes of +time. Her eyes dwelt for a moment on the colour prints where the nude +beauties languished. She felt desperately tired, though she had not left +the house for thirty-six hours; her weariness was as much a consequence +as a cause of her consciousness of defeat. October was wearing; and soon +the cruel winter would come and fix its fangs into the sole remaining +joy of her life, the spectacle of life itself. She was desperately +tired, full of hatred and disgust. If the face of a man rose before her +she thrust it back savagely into limbo; her legs hurt. The time had come +when she must realise her failure. She was not, as once in the P. R. R., +in the last stage of exhaustion, hunted, tortured; she was rather the +wounded bird crawling away to die in a thicket than the brute at bay. + +As she lay, she realised that her failure had two aspects. It was +together a monetary and a physical failure. The last three months had in +themselves been easy. Her working hours did not begin before seven +o'clock in the evening; and it was open to her, being young and +beautiful, to put them off for two or three hours more; she was always +free by twelve o'clock in the morning at the very latest, and then the +day was hers to rest, to read and think. But she was still too much of +a novice to escape the excitement inherent in the chase, the strain of +making conversation, of facing the inane; nor was she able without a +mental effort to bring herself to the response of the simulator. As she +sat in the Vesuvius or stared into the showcase of a Regent Street +jeweller, a faint smile upon her face, her brain was awake, her +faculties at high pressure. Her eyes roved right and left and every +nerve seemed to dance with expectation or disappointment. When she got +up now, she found her body heavy, her legs sore and all her being dull +like a worn stone. A little more, she felt, and the degradation of her +body would spread to her sweet lucidity of mind; she would no longer see +ultimate ends but would be engulfed in the present, become a bird of +prey seeking hungrily pleasure or excitement. + +Besides, and this seemed more serious still, she was not doing well. It +seemed more serious because this could not be fought as could be +intellectual brutalisation. An examination of her pass books showed that +she was a little better off than at the time of Cairns's death. She was +worth, all debts paid, about three hundred and ninety pounds. Her net +savings were therefore at the rate of about a hundred and fifty a year; +but she had been wonderfully lucky, and nothing said that age, illness +or such misadventures as she classed under professional risk, might not +nullify her efforts in a week. There was wear and tear of clothes too: +the trousseau presented her by Cairns had been good throughout but some +of the linen was beginning to show signs of wear; boots and shoes wanted +renewing; there were winter garments to buy and new furs. + +'I shall have stone martin,' she reflected. Then her mind ran +complacently for a while on a picture of herself in stone martin; a pity +she couldn't run to sables. She brought herself back with a jerk to her +consideration of ways and means. The situation was really not brilliant. +Of course she was extravagant in a way. Eighty-five pounds rent; thirty +pounds in rates and taxes, without counting income tax which might be +anything, for she dared not protest; two servants--all that was too +much. It was quite impossible to run the house under five hundred a +year, and clothes must run into an extra hundred. + +'I could give it up,' she thought. But the idea disappeared at once. A +flat would be cheaper, but it meant unending difficulties; it was not +for nothing that Zoé, Lissa and Duckie envied her. And the rose-covered +pergola! Besides it would mean saving a hundred a year or so; and, from +her point of view, even two hundred and fifty a year was not worth +saving. She was nearly twenty-eight, and could count on no more than +between eight and twelve years of great attractiveness. This meant that, +with the best of luck, she could not hope to amass much more than three +thousand pounds. And then? Weston-super-Mare and thirty years in a +boarding-house? + +She was still full of hesitation and doubt as she greeted Betty at +lunch. This was a great Sunday treat for the gentle P. R. R. girl. When +she had taken off her coat and hat, she used to settle in an arm-chair +with an intimate feeling of peace and protection. This particular day +Betty did not settle down as usual, though the cushions looked soft and +tempting and a clear fire burned in the grate. Victoria watched her for +a moment. How exquisite and delicate this girl looked; tall, very slim +and rounded. Betty had placed one hand on the mantelpiece, a small long +hand rather coarsened at the finger tips, one foot on the fender. It was +a little foot, arched and neat in the cheap boot. She had bought new +boots for the occasion; the middle of the raised sole was still white. +Her face was a little flushed, her eyes darkened by the glow. + +'Well, Betty,' said her hostess suddenly, 'when's the wedding?' + +'Oh, Vic, I didn't say . . . how can you . . .' Her face had blushed a +tell-tale red. + +'You didn't say,' laughed Victoria, 'of course you didn't say, shy bird! +But surely you don't think I don't know. You've met somebody in the City +and you're frightfully in love with him. Now, honest, is there anybody?' + +'Yes . . . there is, but . . .' + +'Of course there is. Now, Betty, tell me all about it.' + +'Oh, I couldn't,' said Betty, gazing into the fire. 'You see it isn't +quite settled yet.' + +'Then tell me what you're going to settle. First of all, who is it?' + +'Nobody you know. I met him at . . . well he followed me in Finsbury +Circus one evening. . . .' + +'Oh, naughty, naughty! You're getting on, Betty.' + +'You mustn't think I encouraged him,' said Betty with a tinge of +asperity. 'I'm not that sort.' She stopped, remembering Victoria's +profession, then, inconsequently: 'You see, he wouldn't go away and +. . . now. . . .' + +'And he was rather nice, wasn't he?' + +'Well, rather.' A faint and very sweet smile came over Betty's face. +Victoria felt a little strangle in her throat. She too had thought her +bold partner at the regimental dance at Lympton rather nice. Poor old +Dick. + +'Then he got out of me about the P. R. R.,' Betty went on more +confidently. 'And then, would you believe it, he came to lunch every +day! Not that he was accustomed to lunch at places like that,' she added +complacently. + +'Oh, a swell?' said Victoria. + +'No, I don't say that. He used to go to the Lethes, before they shut up. +He lives in the West End too, in Notting Hill, you know.' + +'Dear, dear, you're flying high, Betty. But tell me, what is he like? +and what does he do? and is he very handsome?' + +'Oh, he's awfully handsome, Vic. Tall you know and very, very dark; he's +so gentlemanly too, looks like the young man in _First Words of Love_. +It's a lovely picture, isn't it?' + +'Yes, lovely,' said Victoria summarily. 'But tell me more about him.' + +'He's twenty-eight. He works in the City. He's a ledger clerk at +Anderson and Dromo's. If he gets a rise this Christmas, he . . . well, +he says . . .' + +'He says he'll marry you.' + +'Yes.' Betty hung her head, then raised it quickly. 'Oh, Vic, I can't +believe it. It's too good to be true. I love him so dreadfully . . . I +just can't wait for one o'clock. He didn't come on Wednesday. I thought +he'd forgotten me and I was going off my head. But it was all right, +they'd kept him in over something.' + +'Poor little girl,' said Victoria gently. 'It's hard isn't it, but good +too.' + +'Good! Vic, when he kisses me I feel as if I were going to faint. He's +strong, you see. And when he puts his arms round me I feel like a mouse +in a trap . . . but I don't want to get away: I want it to go on for +ever, just like that.' + +She paused for a moment as if listening to the first words of love. Then +her mind took a practical turn. + +'Of course we shan't be able to live in Notting Hill,' she added. 'We'll +have to go further out, Shepherd's Bush way, so as to be on the Tube. +And he says I shan't go to the P. R. R. any more.' + +'Happy girl,' said Victoria. 'I'm so glad, Betty; I hope . . .' + +She restrained a doubt. 'And as you say you can't stay to tea I think I +know where you're going.' + +'Well, yes, I am going to meet him,' said Betty laughing. + +'Yes . . . and you're going to look at little houses at Shepherd's +Bush.' + +Betty looked up dreamily. She could see a two-storeyed house in a row, +with a bay window, and a front garden where, winter or summer, marigolds +grew. + +After lunch, as the two women sat once more in the boudoir, they said +very little. Victoria, from time to time, flicked the ash from her +cigarette. Betty did not smoke, but, her hands clasped together in her +lap, watched a handsome dark face in the coals. + +'And how are you getting on, Vic?' she asked suddenly. Swamped by the +impetuous tide of her own romance she had not as yet shown any interest +in her friend's affairs. + +'I? Oh, nothing special. Pretty fair.' + +'But, I mean . . . you said you wanted to make a lot of money and . . .' + +'Yes, I'm not badly off, but I can't go on, Betty. I shall never do any +good like this.' + +Betty was silent for some minutes. Her ingrained modesty made any +discussion of her friend's profession intolerable. Vanquished in +argument, grudgingly accepting the logic of Victoria's actions, she +could not free her mind from the thought that these actions were +repulsive, that there must have been some other way. + +'Oh? You want to get out of it all . . . you know . . . I have never +said you weren't quite right, but . . .' + +'But I'm quite wrong?' + +'No . . . I don't mean that . . . I don't like to say that . . . I'm not +clever like you, Vic, but . . .' + +'We've done with all that,' said Victoria coldly. 'I do want to get out +of it because it's getting me no nearer to what I want. I don't quite +know how to do it. I'm not very well, you know.' + +Betty looked up quickly with concern in her face. + +'Have those veins been troubling you again?' + +'Yes, a little. I can't risk much more.' + +'Then what are you going to do?' + +Victoria was silent for a moment. + +'I don't know,' she said. 'I never thought of all this when the Major +was alive.' + +'Ah, there never was anybody like him,' said Betty after a pause. + +Victoria sat up suddenly. + +'Betty,' she cried, 'you're giving me an idea.' + +'I? an idea?' + +'There must be somebody like him. Why shouldn't I find him?' + +Betty said nothing. She looked her stiffest, relishing but little the +fathering upon her of this expedient. + +'But who?' soliloquised Victoria. 'I don't know anybody. You see Betty, +I want lots and lots of money. Otherwise it's no good. If I don't make a +lot soon it will be too late.' + +Betty still said nothing. Really she couldn't be expected. . . . Then +her conscience smote her; she ought to show a little interest in dear, +kind Vic. + +'Yes,' she said. 'But you must know lots of people. You never told me, +but you're a swell and all that. You must have known lots of rich men +when you came to London.' + +She stopped abruptly, shocked by her own audacity. But Victoria was no +longer noticing her; she was following with lightning speed a new train +of thought. + +'Betty,' she cried, 'you've done it. I've found the man.' + +'Have you? Who is it,' exclaimed Betty. She was excited, unable in her +disapproval of the irregular to feel uninterested in the coming together +of women and men. + +'Never mind. You don't know him. I'll tell you later.' + +An extraordinary buoyancy seemed to pervade Victoria. The way out! she +had found the way out! And the two little words echoed in her brain as +if some mighty wave of sound was rebounding from side to side in her +skull. She was excited, so excited that, as she said goodbye to Betty, +she forgot to fix their next meeting. She had work to do and would do it +that very night. + +As soon as Betty was gone she dressed quickly. Then she changed her hat +to make sure she was looking her best. She went out and, with hurried +steps, made for the Finchley Road. There was the house with the +evergreens, as well clipped as ever, and the drive with its clean +gravel. She ran up the steps of the porch, then hesitated for a moment. +Her heart was beating now. Then she rang. There was a very long pause +during which she heard nothing but the pumping of her heart. Then +distant shuffling footsteps coming nearer. The door opened. She saw a +slatternly woman . . . behind her the void of an empty house. She could +not speak for emotion. + +'Did you want to see the house, mum,' asked the woman. She looked sour. +Sunday afternoon was hardly a time to view. + +'The house?' + +'Oh . . . I thought you come from Belfrey's, mum. It's to let.' + +The caretaker nodded towards the right and Victoria, following the +direction, saw the house agents' board. Her excitement fell as under a +cold douche. + +'Oh! I came to see . . . Do you know where Mr Holt is?' + +'Mr Holt's dead, mum. Died in August, mum.' + +'Dead.' Things seemed to go round. Jack was the only son . . . then?' + +'Yes, mum. That's why they're letting. A fine big 'ouse, mum. Died in +August, mum. Ah, you should have seen the funeral. They say he left half +a million, mum, and there wasn't no will.' + +'Where is Mrs Holt and . . . and Mr Holt's son.' + +The caretaker eyed the visitor suspiciously. There was something rakish +about this young lady which frightened her respectability. + +'I can't say, mum,' she answered slowly. 'I could forward a letter, +mum,' she added. + +'Let me come in. I want to write a note.' + +The caretaker hesitated for a moment, then stood aside to let her pass. + +'You'll 'ave to come downstairs mum,' she said, 'sorry I'm all mixed up. +I was doing a bit of washing. Git away Maria,' to a small child who +stood at the top of the stairs. + +In the gaslit kitchen, surrounded by steaming linen, Victoria wrote a +little feverish note in pencil. The caretaker watched her every +movement. She liked her better somehow. + +'I'll forward it all right, mum,' she said. 'Thank you mum. . . . Oh, +mum, I don't want you to think--' She was looking amazedly at the half +sovereign in her palm. + +'That's all right,' said Victoria, laughing loudly. She felt she must +laugh, dance, let herself go. 'Just post it before twelve.' + +The woman saw her to the door. Then she looked at the letter doubtfully. +It was freshly sealed and could easily be opened. Then she had a burst +of loyalty, put on a battered bonnet, completed the address, stamped the +envelope and, walking to the pillar box round the corner, played +Victoria's trump card. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +'AND so, Jack, you haven't forgotten me?' + +For a minute Holt did not answer. He seemed spellbound by the woman on +the sofa. There she lay at full length, lazy grace in every curve of her +figure, in the lines of her limbs revealed by the thin sea-green stuff +which moulded them. This new woman was a very wonderful thing. + +'No,' he said at length, 'but you have changed.' + +'Yes?' + +'You're different. You used to be simple, almost shy. I used to think +you very like a big white lily. Now you're like--like a big white +orchid--an orchid in a vase of jade.' + +'Poet! artist!' laughed Victoria. 'Ah, Jack, you'll always be the same. +Always thinking me good and the world beautiful.' + +'I'll always think you good and beautiful too.' + +Victoria looked at him. He had hardly changed at all. His tall thin +frame had not expanded, his hands were still beautifully white and +seemed as aristocratic as ever. Perhaps his mouth appeared weaker, his +eyes bluer, his face fairer owing to his black clothes. + +'I'm glad to see you again, Kathleen Mavourneen,' she said at length. + +'Why did you wait so long?' asked Holt. 'It was cruel, cruel. You know +what I said--I would--' + +'No, no,' interrupted Victoria fearing an avowal. 'I couldn't. I've been +through the mill. Oh, Jack, it was awful. I've been cold, hungry, ill; +I've worked ten hours a day--I've swabbed floors.' + +A hot flush rose in Holt's fair cheeks. + +'Horrible,' he whispered, 'but why didn't you tell me? I'd have helped, +you know I would.' + +'Yes, I know, but it wouldn't have done. No, Jack, it's no good helping +women. You can help men a bit; but women, no. You only make them more +dependent, weaker. If women are the poor, frivolous, ignorant things +they are, it's because they've been protected or told they ought to want +to be protected. Besides, I'm proud. I wasn't coming back to you until I +was--well I'm not exactly rich, but--' + +She indicated the room with a nod and Holt, following it, sank deeper +into wonder at the room where everything spoke of culture and comfort. + +'But how--?' he stammered at last, 'how did you--? what happened then?' + +Victoria hesitated for a moment. + +'Don't ask me just now, Jack,' she said, 'I'll tell you later. Tell me +about yourself. What are you doing? and where is your mother?' + +Holt looked at her doubtfully. He would have liked to cross-question +her, but he was the second generation of a rising family and had learned +that questions must not be pressed. + +'Mother?' he said vaguely. 'Oh, she's gone back to Rawsley. She never +was happy here. She went back as soon as pater died; she missed the tea +fights, you know, and Bethlehem and all that.' + +'It must have been a shock to you when your father died.' + +'Yes, I suppose it was. The old man and I didn't exactly hit it off but, +somehow--those things make you realise--' + +'Yes, yes,' said Victoria sympathetically. The similarity of deaths +among the middle classes! Every woman in the regiment had told her that +'these things make you realise' when Dicky died. 'But what about you? +Are you still in--in cement?' + +'In cement!' Jack's lip curled. 'The day my father died I was out of +cement. It's rather awful, you know, to think that my freedom depended +on his death.' + +'Oh, no, life depends on death,' said Victoria smoothly. 'Besides, we +are members of one another; and when, like you, Jack, we are a minority, +we suffer.' + +Holt looked at her doubtfully. He did not quite understand her; she had +hardened, he thought. + +'No,' he went on, 'I've done with the business. They turned it into a +limited liability company a month ago. I'm a director because the others +say they must have a Holt in it; but directors never do anything, you +know.' + +'And you are going to do like the charwoman, going to do nothing, +nothing for ever?' + +'No, I don't say that. I've been writing--verses you know, and some +sketches.' + +'Writing? You must be happy now, Jack. Of course you'll let me see them? +Are they published?' + +'Yes. At least Amershams will bring out some sonnets of mine next +month.' + +'And are you going to pass the rest of your life writing sonnets?' + +'No, of course not. I want to travel. I'll go South this winter and get +some local colour. I might write a novel.' + +His head was thrown back on the cushion, looking out upon the blue +southern sky, the bluer waters speckled as with foam by remote white +sails. + +'You might give me a cigarette, Jack,' said Victoria. 'They're in that +silver box, there.' + +He handed her the box and struck a match. As he held it for her his eyes +fastened upon the shapely whiteness of her hands, her pink polished +finger nails, the roundness of her forearm. Soft feminine scents rose +from her hair; he saw the dark tendrils over the nape of her neck. Oh, +to bury his lips in that warm white neck! His hand trembled as he lit +his own cigarette and Victoria marked his heightened colour. + +'You'll come and see me often, Jack, won't you?' + +'May I? It's so good of you. I'm not going South for a couple of +months.' + +'Yes, you can always telephone. You'll find me there under Mrs Ferris.' + +Holt looked at her once more. + +'I don't want you to think I'm prying. But, you wrote me saying I was to +ask for Mrs Ferris. I did, of course, but, you . . . you're not. . . .?' + +'Married? No, Jack. Don't ask me anything else. You shall know +everything soon.' + +She got up and stood for a moment beside his chair. His eyes were fixed +on her hands. + +'There,' she said, 'come along and let me shew you the house, and my +pictures, and my pack of hounds.' + +He followed her obediently, giving its meed of praise to all her +possessions. He did not care for animals; he lacked the generation of +culture which leads from cement-making to a taste for dogs. The French +engravings on the stairs surprised him a little. He had a strain of +puritanism in him running straight from Bethlehem, which even the +reading of Swinburne and Baudelaire had not quite eradicated. A vague +sense of the fitness of things made him think that somehow these were +not the pictures a lady should hang; she might keep them in a portfolio. +Otherwise, there were the servants. . . . + +'And what do you think of my bedroom?' asked Victoria opening the door +suddenly. + +Holt stood nervously on the threshold. He took in its details one by +one, the blue paper, the polished mahogany, the flowered chintzes, the +long glass, the lace curtains; it all looked so comfortable, so +luxurious as to eclipse easily the rigidly good but ugly things he had +been used to from birth onwards. He looked at the dressing table too, +covered with its many bottles and brushes; then he started slightly and +again a hot flush rose over his cheeks. With an effort he detached his +eyes from the horrid thing he saw. + +'Very pretty, very pretty,' he gasped. Without waiting for Victoria he +turned and went downstairs. + +Within the next week they met again. Jack took no notice of her for four +days, and then suddenly telephoned asking her to dine and to come to the +theatre. She was still in bed and she felt low-spirited, full of fear +that her trump would not make. She accepted with an alacrity that she +regretted a minute later, but she was drowning and could not dally with +the lifebelt. Her preparation for the dinner was as elaborate as that +which had heralded her capture of Cairns, far more elaborate than any +she made for the Vesuvius where insolent beauty is a greater asset than +beauty as such. This time she put on her mauve frock with the heavily +embroidered silver shoulder straps; she wore little jewellery, merely a +necklet of chased old silver and amethysts, and a ring figuring a silver +chimera with tiny diamond eyes. As she surveyed herself in the long +glass, the holy calm which comes over the perfectly-dressed flowed into +her soul like a river of honey. She was immaculate, and from her unlined +white forehead to her jewel-buckled shoes she was beautiful in every +detail. Subtle scent followed her like a trainbearer. + +The entire evening was a tribute. From the moment when Holt set eyes +upon her and reluctantly withdrew them to direct the cabman, until they +drove back through the night, she was conscious of the wave of adulation +that broke at her feet. Men's eyes followed her every movement, drank +in every rise and fall of her breast, strove to catch sight of her +teeth, flashing white, ruby cased. Her progress through the dining hall +and the stalls was imperial in its command. As she saw men turn to look +at her again, women even grudgingly analyse her, as homage rose round +her like incense, she felt frightened; for this seemed to be her +triumphant night, the zenith of her beauty and power, and perhaps its +very intensity showed that it was her swan song. She felt a pain in her +left leg. + +Jack Holt passed that evening at her feet. A fearful exultation was upon +him. The neighbourhood of Victoria was magnetic; his heart, his senses, +his ćsthetic sense were equally enslaved. She realised everything he had +dreamed, beauty, culture, grace, gentle wit. It hurt him physically not +to tell that he loved her still, that he wanted her, that she was +everything. He revelled in the thought that he had found her again, that +she liked him, that he would see her whenever he wanted to, perhaps join +his life with hers; then fear gripped his uneven soul, fear that he was +only her toy, that now she was rich she would tire of him and cast him +into a world swept by the icy blasts of regret. And all through ran the +horribly suggestive memory of that which he had seen on the dressing +table. + +Victoria was conscious of all this storm, though unable to interpret its +squalls and its lulls. Without effort she played upon him; alternately +encouraging the pretty youth, bending towards him to read his programme +so that he could feel her breath on his cheek, and drawing up and +becoming absorbed in the play. In the darkness she felt his hand close +over hers; gently but firmly she freed herself. As they drove back to St +John's Wood they hardly exchanged a word. Victoria felt tired; for in +the dark, away from the crowds, the music, the admiration of her +fellows, reaction had full play. Holt found he could say nothing, for +every nerve in his body was tense with excitement. A hundred words were +on his lips but he dared not breathe them for fear of breaking the +spell. + +'Come in and have a whisky and soda before you go,' said Victoria in a +matter of fact tone as he opened the garden gate. + +He could not resist. A wonderful feeling of intimacy overwhelmed him as +he watched her switch on the lights and bring out a decanter, a syphon +and glasses. She put them on the table and motioned him towards it, +placing one foot on the fender to warm herself before the glowing +embers. His eyes did not leave hers. There was a surge of blood in his +head. One of his hands fixed on her bare arm; with the other he drew her +towards him, crushed her against his breast; she lay unresisting in his +arms while he covered her lips, her neck, her shoulders, with hot +kisses, some quick and passionate, others lingering, full of tenderness. +Then she gently repulsed him and freed herself. + +Jack,' she said softly, 'you shouldn't have done that. You don't know +. . . you don't know . . .' + +He drew his hand over his forehead. His brain seemed to clear a little. +The maddening mystery of it all formed into a question. + +'Victoria, why are those two razors on your dressing table?' + +She looked at him a brief space. Then, very quietly, with the +deliberation of a surgeon, + +'Need you ask? Do you not understand what I am?' + +His eyes went up towards the ceiling; his hands clenched; a queer choked +sound escaped from his throat. Victoria saw him suffer, wounded as an +ćsthete, wounded in his traditional conception of purity, prejudiced, +un-understanding. For a second she hated him as one hates a howling dog +on whose paw one has trodden. + +'Oh,' he gasped, 'oh.' + +Victoria watched him through her downcast eyelashes. Poor boy, it had to +come. Pandora had opened the chest. Then he looked at her again with +returning sanity. + +'Why didn't you tell me before? I can't bear it. You, whom I thought. . +. . I can't bear it.' + +'Poor boy.' She took his hand. It was hot and dry. + +'I can't bear it,' he repeated dully. + +'I had to. It was the only way.' + +'There is always a way. It's awful.' His voice broke. + +'Jack,' she said softly, 'the world's a hard place for women. It takes +from them either hard labour or gratification. I've done my best. For a +whole year I worked. I worked ten hours a day, I've starved almost, I've +swabbed floors. . . .' + +He withdrew his hand with a jerk. He could bear that even less than her +confession. + +'Then a man came,' she went on relentlessly, 'a good man who offered me +ease, peace, happiness. I was poor, I was ill. What could I do? Then he +died and I was alone. What could I do? Ah, don't believe mine is a bed +of roses, Jack!' + +He had turned away, and was looking into the dying fire. His ideals, his +prejudices, all were in the melting pot. Here was the woman who had been +his earliest dream, degraded, irretrievably soiled. Whatever happened he +could not forget; not even love could break down the terrific barrier +which generations of hard and honest men of Rawsley had erected in his +soul between straight women and the others. But she was the dream still: +beautiful, all that his heart desired; such that (and he felt it like an +awful taunt) he could not give her up. + +He looked at her, at her sorrowful face. No, he could not let her pass +out of his life. He thought of disjointed things. He could see his +mother's face, the black streets of Rawsley; he thought of the pastor at +Bethlehem denouncing sin. All his standards were jarred. He had nothing +to hold on to while everything seemed to slip: ideals, resolutions, +dreams; nothing remained save the horrible sweetness of the mermaid's +face. + +'Let me think,' he said hoarsely, 'let me think.' + +Victoria said nothing. He was in hands stronger than hers. He was +fighting his tradition, the blood of the Covenanters, for her sake. +Nothing that she could say would help him; it might impede him. He had +turned away; she could see nothing of his face. Then he looked into her +eyes. + +'What was can never be again,' he said, 'what I dreamed can never be. +You were my beacon and my hope. I have only found you to lose you. If I +were to marry you there would always be that between us, the past.' + +'Then do not marry me. I do not ask you to.' Her voice went down to a +whisper and she put her hands on his shoulders. 'Let me be another, a +new dream, less golden, but sweet.' + +She put her face almost against his, gazing into his eyes. 'Do not leave +this house and I will be everything for you.' + +She felt a shudder run through him as if he would repel her, but she did +not relax her hold or her gaze. She drew nearer to him, and inch by inch +his arms went round her. For a second they swayed close locked together. +As they fell into the deep arm chair her loose black hair uncoiled, and, +falling, buried their faces in its shadow. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +THE months which followed emerged but slowly from blankness for these +two who had joined their lives together. Both had a difficulty in +realising, the woman that she had laid the coping stone of her career, +the man that he was happy as may be an opium eater. The first days were +electric, hectic. Victoria felt limp, for her nerves had been worn down +by the excitement and the anxiety of making sure of her conquest. The +reaction left her rather depressed than glowing with success. Jack was +beyond scruples; he felt that he had passed the Rubicon. He was false to +his theories and his ideals, in revolt against his upbringing. At the +outset he revelled in the thought that he was cutting himself adrift +from the ugly past. It was joyful to think that the pastor in his +whitewashed barn would covertly select him as a text. For the first time +in his fettered life he saw that the outlaw alone is free; both he and +Victoria were outlaws, but she had tasted the bitterness of ostracism +while he was still at the stage of welcoming it. + +As the weeks wore, however, Victoria realised her position better and +splendid peace flowed in upon her. She did not love Holt; she began even +to doubt whether she could love any man if she could not love him, this +handsome youth with the delicate soul, grace, generosity. It was not his +mental weakness that repelled her, for he was virile enough; nor was it +the touch of provincialism against which his intelligence struggled. It +was rather that he did not attract her. He was clever enough, well read, +kind, but he lacked magnetism; he had nothing of the slumberous fire +which distinguished Farwell. His passion was personal, his outlook +theoretical and limited; there was nothing purposeful in his ideas. He +had no message for her. In no wise did he repel her, though. Sometimes +she would take his face between her hands, look awhile into the blue +eyes where there always lurked some wistfulness, and then kiss him just +once and quickly, without knowing why. + +'Why do you do that, Vicky,' he asked once. + +She had not answered but had merely kissed his cheek again. She hardly +knew how to tell him that she sighed because she could only consent to +love him instead of offering to do so. While he was sunk in his daily +growing ease she was again thinking of ultimate ends and despised +herself a little for it. She had to be alone for a while before she +could regain self-control, remember the terrible tyranny of man and her +resolve to be free. Gentle Jack was a man, one of the oppressors, and as +such he must be used as an instrument against his sex. The very ease +with which she swayed him, with which she could foresee her victory, +unnerved her a little. When she answered his hesitating question as to +how much she needed to live, she had to force herself to lie, to trade +on his enslavement by asking him for two thousand a year. She dared to +name the figure, for Whitaker told her that the only son of an intestate +takes two-thirds of the estate; the book had also put her on the track +of the registration of joint-stock companies. A visit to Somerset House +enabled her to discover that some three hundred thousand shares of +Holt's Cement Works, Ltd., stood in the name of John Holt; as they were +quoted in the paper something above par he could hardly be worth less +than fifteen thousand a year. + +She had expected to have to explain her needs, to have to exaggerate her +rent, the cost of her clothes, but Holt did not say a word beyond 'all +right.' She had told him it hurt her to take money from him; and that, +so as to avoid the subject, she would like him to tell his bankers to +pay the monthly instalments into her account. He had agreed and then +talked of their trip to the South. Clearly the whole matter was +repugnant to him. As neither wanted to talk about it the subject was +soon almost forgotten. + +They left England early in December after shutting up the house. +Victoria did not care to leave it in charge of Laura, so decided to give +her a three months' holiday on full pay; Augusta accompanied them. The +sandy-haired German was delighted with the change in the fortunes of her +mistress. She felt that Holt must be very rich, and doubted not that her +dowry would derive some benefit from him. Snoo and Poo were left in +Laura's charge. Victoria paid a quarter's rent in advance, also the +rates; insured against burglary, and left England as it settled into the +winter night. + +The next three months were probably the most steadily happy she had ever +known. They had taken a small house known as the Villa Mehari just +outside Algiers. A French cook and a taciturn Kabyl completed their +establishment. The villa was a curious compromise between East and West. +Its architect had turned out similar ones in scores at Argenteuil and +Saint Cloud, saving the minaret and the deep verandah which faced the +balmy west. From the precipitous little garden where orange and lime +trees bent beneath their fruit among the underbrush of aloes and cactus, +they could see, far away, the estranging sea. + +The Kabyl had slung a hammock for Victoria between a gate-post and a +gigantic clump of palm trees. There she passed most of her days, lazily +swinging in the breeze which tumbled her black hair; while Jack, lying +at her feet in the crisp rough grass, looked long at her sun-warmed +beauty. The days seemed to fly, for they were hardly conscious of the +recurrence of life. It was sunrise, when it was good to go into the +garden and see the blue green night blush softly into salmon pink, then +burst suddenly into tropical radiance: then, vague occupations, a short +walk over stony paths to a café where the East and West met; unexpected +food; sleep in the heat of the day under the nets beyond which the +crowding flies buzzed; then the waning of the day, the heat settling +more leaden; sunset, the cold snapping suddenly, the night wind carrying +little puffs of dust, and the muezzin, hands aloft, droning, his face +towards the East, praises of his God. + +Holt was totally happy. He felt he had reached Capua, and not even a +thought of his past life could disturb him. He asked for nothing now but +to live without a thought, eating juicy fruit, smoking for an hour the +subtle narghilé; he loved to bask in the radiance of the African sun of +Victoria's beauty, which seemed to expand, to enwrap him in perfume like +a heavy narcotic rose. In the early days he tried to work, to attune +himself to the pageant of sunlit life. His will refused to act, and he +found he could not write a line; even rhymes refused to come to him. +Without an effort almost he resigned himself into the soft hands of the +East. He even exaggerated his acceptance by clothing himself in a +burnous and turban, by trying to introduce Algerian food, couscous, +roast kid, date jam, pomegranate jelly. At times they would go into +Algiers, shop in the Rue Bab-Azoum, or search for the true East in what +the French called the high town. But Algiers is not the East; and they +quickly returned to the Villa Mehari, stupefied by the roar of the +trams, the cries of the water and chestnut vendors, all their senses +offended by the cafés on the wharf where sailors from every land drank +vodka, arrack, pale ale, among zouaves and chasseurs d'Afrique. + +Sometimes Holt would go into Algiers by himself and remain away all day. +Victoria stayed at the villa careless of flying time, desultorily +reading Heine or sitting in the garden where she could play with the +golden and green beetles. Her solitude was complete, for Holt had +avoided the British consul and of course knew none of the Frenchmen. She +watched the current of her life flow away, content to know that all the +while her little fortune was increasing. England was so far as to seem +in another world. Christmas was gone; and the link of a ten pound note +to Betty, to help to furnish the house at Shepherd's Bush, had faded +away. When she was alone, those days, she could not throw her mind back +to the ugly, brutish past, so potently was the influence of the East +growing upon her being. Then in the cool of the evening Jack would +return, gay, and anxious to see her, to throw his arms round her and +hold her to him again. Those were the days when he brought her some +precious offering, aqua-marines set in hand-wrought gold, or chaplets of +strung pearls. + +'Jack,' she said to him one day as he lay in the grass at her feet, 'do +you then love me very much?' + +'Very much.' He took her hand and, raising himself upon his elbow, +gravely kissed it. + +'Why?' + +'Because you're all the poetry of the world. Because you make me dream +dreams, my Aspasia.' + +She gently stroked his dark hair. + +'And to think that you are one of the enemy, Jack!' + +'One of the enemy? what do you mean?' + +'Man is woman's enemy, Jack. Our relation is a war of sex.' + +'It's not true.' Jack flushed; the idea was repulsive. + +'It is true. Man dominates woman by force, by man-made law; he +restricts her occupations; he limits her chances; he judges of her +attire; he denies her the right to be ugly, to be old, to be coarse, to +be vicious.' + +'But you wouldn't--' + +'I'd have everything the same, Jack.' + +Holt thought for a moment. + +'Yes, I suppose we do keep them down. But they're different. You see, +men are men and--' + +'I know the rest. But never mind, Jack dear, you're not like the others. +You'll never be a conqueror.' + +Then she muzzled him with her hand, and, kissing its scented palm, he +thought no more of the stern game in which they were the shuttlecocks. + +The spring was touching Europe with its wings; and here already the +summer was bursting the seed pods, the sap breaking impatiently through +the branches. All the wet warmth of the brief African blooming ran riot +in thickening leaf. The objective of Jack's life, influenced as he was +by the air, was Victoria and the ever more consuming love he bore her; +the minutes only counted when he was by her side, watching her every +movement, inhaling, touching her. All his energies seem to have been +driven into this narrow channel. He was ready to move or to remain as +Victoria might direct; he spoke little, he basked. Thus he agreed to +extending their stay for a month; he agreed to shorten it by a fortnight +when Victoria, suddenly realising that her life force was wasting away +in this enervating atmosphere, decided to go home. + +Victoria's progress to London was like the march of a conqueror. She +stopped in Paris to renew her clothes. There Jack knew hours of waiting +in the hired victoria while his queen was trying on frocks. He showed +such a childish joy in it all that she indulged her fancy, her every +whim; dresses, wraps, lace veils, furs, hats massive with ostrich +feathers, aigrettes, delicate kid boots, gilt shoes, amassed in their +suite. Jack egged her on; he rioted too. Often he would stop the +victoria and rush into a shop if he saw something he liked in the +window, and in a few minutes return with it, excitedly demanding praise. +He did not seem to understand or care for money, to have any wants +except cigarettes. He followed, and in his beautiful dog-like eyes +devotion daily grew. + +They entered London on a bustling April day. A biting east wind carried +rain drops and sunshine. As it stung her face and whipped her blood, +Victoria found the old fierce soul reincarnating itself in her. She +opened her mouth to take in the cold English air, to bend herself for +the finishing of her task. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +IT was in London that the real battle began. In Algiers the scented +winds made hideous and unnatural all thoughts of gain. On arriving in +London Victoria ascertained with a thrill of pleasure that her bank had +received a thousand pounds since October. After disposing of a few small +debts and renewing some trifles in the house, she found herself a +capitalist: she had about fifteen hundred pounds of her own. The money +was lying at the bank and it only struck her then that the time had come +to invest it. Her interview with the manager of her branch was a +delightful experience; she was almost bursting with importance, and his +courteous appreciation of his increasingly wealthy client was something +more than balm. It was a foretaste of the power of money. She had known +poor men respected, but not poor women; now the bank manager was giving +her respectful attention because she had fifteen hundred pounds. + +'You might buy some industrials,' he said. + +'Industrials? What are they?' + +'Oh, all sorts of things. Cotton mills, iron works, trading companies, +anything.' + +'Cement works?' she asked with a spark of devilry. + +'Yes, cement works too,' said the manager without moving a muscle. + +'But do you call them safe?' she asked, returning to business. + +'Oh, fairly. Of course there are bad years and good. But the debentures +are mostly all right and some of the prefs.' + +Victoria thought for a moment. Reminiscences of political economy told +her that there were booms and slumps. + +'Has trade been good lately?' she asked suddenly. + +'No, not for the last two years or so. It's picking up though. . . .' + +'Ah, then we're in for a cycle of good trade. I think I'll have some +industrials. You might pick me out the best.' + +The manager seemed a little surprised at this knowledge of commercial +crises but said nothing more, and made out a list of securities +averaging six per cent net. + +'And please buy me a hundred P. R. R. shares,' added Victoria. + +She could have laughed at the manager's stony face because he did not +see the humour of this. He merely said that he would forward the orders +to a stockbroker. + +Victoria felt that she had put her hand to the plough. She was scoring +so heavily that she never now wished to turn back. Holt was every day +growing more dreamy, more absorbed in his thoughts. He never seemed to +quicken into action except when his companion touched him. He grew more +silent too; the hobbledehoy was gone. He was at his worst when he had +received a letter bearing the Rawsley postmark. Victoria knew of these, +for Holt's need of her grew greater every day; he was now living at Elm +Tree Place. He hardly left the house. He got up late and passed the +morning in the boudoir, smoking cigarettes, desultorily reading and +nursing the Pekingese which he now liked better. But on the days when he +got letters from Rawsley, letters so bulky that they were sometimes +insufficiently stamped, he would go out early and only return at night. +Then, however, he returned as if he had been running, full of some +nameless fear; he would strain Victoria to him and hold her very close, +burying his face below the bedclothes as if he were afraid. On one of +those days Victoria accidentally saw him come out of a small dissenting +chapel near by. He did not see her, for he was walking away like a man +possessed; she said nothing of this but understood him better, having an +inkling that the fight against the Rawsley tradition was still going on. + +She did not, however, allow herself to be moved by his struggle. It +behoved her to hold him, for he was her last chance and the world looked +rosy round her. As the spring turned into summer he became more utterly +hers. + +'You distil poison for me,' he said one day as they sat by the rose hung +pergola. + +'No, Jack, don't say that, it's the elixir of life.' + +'The elixir of life. Perhaps, but poison too. To make me live is to make +me die, Victoria; we are both sickening for death and to hasten the +current of life is to hasten our doom.' + +'Live quickly,' she whispered, bending towards him, 'did you live at all +a year ago?' + +'No, no.' His arms were round her and his lips insistent on hers. He +frightened her a little, though. She would have to take him away. She +had already confided this new trouble to Betty when the latter came to +see her in April, but Betty, beyond suggesting cricket, had been too +full of her own affairs. Apparently these were not going very well. +Anderson & Dromo's had not granted the rise, and the marriage had been +postponed. Meanwhile she was still at the P. R. R., and very, very +happy. Betty too, her baby, her other baby, frightened Victoria a +little. She was so rosy, so pretty now, and there was something defiant +and excited about her that might presage disease. But Betty had not +come near her for the last two months. + +About the middle of June she took Jack away to Broadstairs. He was +willing to go or stay, just as she liked. He seemed so neutral that +Victoria experimented upon him by presenting him with a sheaf of unpaid +bills. He looked at them languidly and said he supposed they must be +paid, asked her to add them up and wrote a cheque for the full amount. +Apparently he had forgotten all about the allowance, or did not care. + +Broadstairs seemed to do him good. Except at the week end the Hotel +Sylvester was almost empty. The sea breeze blew stiffly from the north +or the east. His colour increased and once more he began to talk. +Victoria encouraged him to take long walks alone along the front. She +had some occupation, for two little girls who were there in charge of a +Swiss governess had adopted the lovely lady as their aunt. A new +sweetness had come into her life, shrill voices, the clinging of little +hands. Sometimes these four would walk together, and Holt would run with +the children, tumbling in the sand in sheer merriment. + +'You seem all right again, Jack,' said Victoria on the tenth morning. + +'Right! Rather, by jove, it's good to live, Vicky.' + +'You were a bit off colour, you know.' + +'I suppose I was. But now, I feel nothing can hold me. I wrote a rondeau +this morning on the pier. Want to see it?' + +'Of course, silly boy. Aren't you going to be the next great poet?' + +She read the rondeau, scrawled in pencil on the back of a bill. It was +delicate, a little colourless. + +'Lovely,' she said, 'of course you'll send it to the _Westminster_.' + +'Perhaps . . . hulloa, there are the kiddies.' He ran off down the +steps from the front. A minute after Victoria saw him helping the elder +girl to bury her little sister in the sand. + +Victoria felt much reassured. He was normal again, the half wistful, +half irresponsible boy she had once known. He slept well, laughed, and +his crying need for her seemed to have abated. At the end of the +fortnight Victoria was debating whether she should take him home. She +was in the hotel garden talking to the smaller girl, telling her a +wonderful story about the fairy who lived in the telephone and said +ping-pong when the line was engaged. The little girl sat upon her knee; +when she laughed Victoria's heart bounded. The elder girl came through +the gate leading a good-looking young woman in white by the hand. + +'Oh, mummie, here's auntie,' cried the child, dragging her mother up to +Victoria. The two women looked at one another. + +'They tell me you have been very kind . . .' said the woman. Then she +stopped abruptly. + +'Of course, mummie, she's not _really_ our auntie,' said the child +confidentially. + +Victoria put the small girl down. The mother looked at her again. She +seemed so nice and refined . . . yet her husband said that the initials +on the trunks were different . . . one had to be careful. + +'Come here, Celia,' she said sharply. 'Thank you,' she added to +Victoria. Then taking her little girls by the hand she took them away. + +Jack willingly left Broadstairs that afternoon when Victoria explained +that she was tired and that something had made her low-spirited. + +'Right oh,' he said. 'Let's go back to town. I want to see Amershams and +find out how those sonnets have sold.' + +He then left her to wire to Augusta. + +Their life in town resumed its former course, interrupted only by a +month in North Devon. Jack's cure was complete; he was sunburnt, fatter; +the joy of life shone in his blue eyes. Sometimes Victoria found herself +growing younger by contagion, sloughing the horrible miry coat of the +past. If her heart had not been atrophied she would have loved the boy +whom she always treated with motherly gentleness. His need of her was so +crying, so total, that he lost all his self-consciousness. He would sit +unblushing by her side in the bow of a fishing smack, holding her hand +and looking raptly into her grey eyes; he was indifferent to the red +brown fisherman with the Spanish eyes and curly black hair who smiled as +the turtle doves clustered. His need of her was as mental as it was +physical; his body was whipped by the salt air to seek in her arms +oblivion, but his mind had become equally dependent. She was his need. + +Thus when they came back to town the riot continued; and Victoria, +breasting the London tide, dragged him unresisting in her rear. She +hated excitement in every form, excitement that is of the puerile kind. +Restaurant dining, horse shows, flower shows, the Academy, tea in Bond +Street, even the theatre and its most inane successes, were for her a +weariness to the flesh. + +'I've had enough,' she said to Jack one day. 'I'm sick of it all. I've +got congestion of the appreciative sense. One day I shall chuck it all +up, go and live in the country, have big dogs and a saddle horse, dress +in tweeds and read the local agricultural rag.' + +'Give up smoking, go to church, and play tennis with the curate, the +doctor and the squire's flapper,' added Holt. 'But Vicky, why not go +now?' + +'No, oh, no, I can't do that.' She was frightened by her own suggestion. +'I must drain the cup of pleasure so as to be sure that it's all pain; +then I'll retire and drain the cup of resignation . . . unless, as I +sometimes think, it's empty.' + +Jack had said nothing to this. Her wildness surprised and shocked him. +She was so savage and yet so sweet. + +Victoria realised that she must hold fast to the town, for there alone +could she succeed. In the peace of the country she would not have the +opportunities she had now. Jack was in her hands. She never hesitated to +ask for money, and Jack responded without a word. Her account grew by +leaps and bounds. The cashier began to ask whether she wanted to see the +manager when she called at the bank. She could see, some way off but +clearly, the beacons on the coast of hope. + +All through Jack's moods she had suffered from the defection of Betty. +On her return from Broadstairs she had written to her to come to Elm +Tree Place, but had received no answer. This happened again in +September; and fear took hold of her, for Betty had, ivy-like, twined +herself very closely round Victoria's heart of oak. She went to +Finsbury; but Betty had gone, leaving no address. She went to the P.R.R. +also. The place had become ghostly, for the familiar faces had gone. The +manageress was nowhere to be seen; nor was Nelly, probably by now a +manageress herself. Betty was not there, and the girl who wonderingly +served the beautiful lady with a tea-cake said that no girl of that name +was employed at the depot. Then Victoria saw herself sitting in the +churchyard of her past, between the two dear ghosts of Farwell and +Betty. The customers had changed, or their faces had receded so that she +knew them no more: they still played matador and fives and threes, chess +too. Alone the chains remained which the ghosts had rattled. Silently +she went away, turning over that leaf of her life for ever. Farwell was +dead, and Betty gone--married probably--and in Shepherd's Bush, not +daring to allow Victoria's foot to sully the threshold of 'First Words +of Love.' + +Her conviction that Betty was false had a kind of tonic effect upon her. +She was alone and herself again; she realised that the lonely being is +the strong being. Now, at last, she could include the last woman she had +known in the category of those who threw stories. And her determination +to be free grew apace. + +She invented a reason every day to extract money from Holt. He, blindly +desirous, careless of money, acceded to every fresh demand. Now it was a +faked bill from Barbezan Soeurs for two hundred pounds, now the rent in +arrear, a blue rates notice, an offhand request for a fiver to pay the +servants, the vet's bill or the price of a cab. Holt drew and overdrew. +If a suspicion ever entered his mind that he was being exploited, he +dismissed it at once, telling himself that Victoria was rather +extravagant. For a time letters from Rawsley synchronised with her fresh +demands, but repetition had dulled their effects: now Holt postponed +reading them; after a time she saw him throw one into the fire unread. +Little by little they grew rarer. Then they ceased. Holt was eaten up by +his passion, and Victoria's star rose high. + +All conspired to favour her fortune. Perhaps her acumen had helped her +too, for she had seen correctly the coming boom. Trade rose by leaps and +bounds; every day new shops seemed to open; the stalks of the Central +London Railway could be seen belching clouds of smoke as they ground out +electric power; the letter-box at Elm Tree Place was clogged with +circulars denoting by the fury of their competition that trade was +flying as on a great wind. Other signs too were not wanting: the main +streets of London were blocked by lorries groaning under machinery, +vegetables, stone; immense queues formed at the railway stations waiting +for the excursion trains; above all, rose the sound of gold as it hissed +and sizzled as if molten on the pavements, flowing into the pockets of +merchants, bankers and shareholders. All the women at the Vesuvius +indulged in new clothes. + +Victoria's investments were seized by the current. She had not entirely +followed the bank manager's advice. Seeing, feeling the movement, she +had realised most of her debentures and turned them into shares. One of +her ventures collapsed, but the remainder appreciated to an +extraordinary extent. At last, in the waning days of the year her +middle-class prudence reasserted itself. She knew enough of political +economy to be ready for the crash, she realised. One cold morning in +November she counted up her spoils. She had nearly five thousand pounds. + +Meanwhile, while her blood was aglow, Holt sank further into the +dullness of his senses. A mania was upon him. Waking, his thought was +Victoria; and the cry for her rose everlasting from his racked body. She +was all, she was everywhere; and the desire for her, for her beauty, her +red lips, soaked into him like a philtre, narcotic and then fiery but +ever present, intimate and exacting. He was her thing, her toy, the +paltry instrument which responded to her every touch. He rejoiced in his +subjection; he swam in his passion like a pilgrim in the Ganges to find +brief oblivion; but again the thirst was on him, ravaging, ever +demanding more. More, more, ever more, in the watches of the night, when +ice seizes the world to throttle it--among all, in turmoil and in +peace--he tossed upon the passionate sea; with one thought, one hope. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +'I'M glad we're going away, Jack,' said Victoria leaning back in the cab +and looking at him critically. 'You look as if you wanted a change.' + +'Perhaps I do,' said Jack. + +Victoria looked at him again. He had not smiled as he spoke to her, +which was unusual. He seemed thinner and more delicate than ever, with +his pale face and pink cheekbones. His black hair shone as if moist; and +his eyes were bigger than they had ever been, blue like silent pools and +surrounded by a mauve zone. His mouth hung a little open. Yet, in spite +of his weariness, he held her wrist in both his hands, and she could +feel his fingers searching for the opening in her glove. + +'You are becoming a responsibility,' she said smiling. 'I shall have to +be a mother to you.' + +A faint smile came over his lips. + +'A mother? After all, why not? Phedra. . . .' His eyes fixed on the grey +morning sky as he followed his thought. + +The horse was trotting sharply. The winter air seemed to rush into their +bodies. Jack, well wrapped up as he was in a fur coat, shrank back +against the warm roundness of her shoulder. In an excess of gentleness +she put her free hand in his. + +'Dear boy,' she said softly bending over him. + +But there was no tenderness in Jack's blue eyes, rather lambent fire. At +once his grasp on her hand tightened and his lips mutely formed into a +request. Casting a glance right and left she kissed him quickly on the +mouth. + +Up on the roof their bags jolted and bumped one another; milk carts were +rattling their empty cans as they returned from their round; far away a +drum and fife band played an acid air. They were going to Ventnor in +pursuit of the blanketed sun; and Victoria rejoiced, as they passed +through Piccadilly Circus where moisture settled black on the fountain, +to think that for three days she would see the sun radiate, not loom as +a red guinea. They passed over Waterloo Bridge at a foot pace; the +enormous morning traffic was struggling in the neck of the bottle. The +pressure was increased because the road was up between it and Waterloo +Station. On her left, over the parapet, Victoria could see the immense +desert of the Thames swathed in thin mist, whence emerged in places +masts and where massive barges loomed passive like derelicts. She +wondered for a moment whether her familiar symbol, the old vagrant, +still sat crouching against the parapet at Westminster, watching rare +puffs of smoke curling from his pipe into the cold air. The cab emerged +from the crush, and to avoid it the cabman turned into the little black +streets which line the wharf on the east side of the bridge, then +doubled back towards Waterloo through Cornwall Road. There they met +again the stream of drays and carts; the horse went at a foot pace, and +Victoria gazed at the black rows of houses with the fear of a lost one. +So uniformly ugly these apartment houses, with their dirty curtains, +their unspeakable flowerpots in the parlour windows. Here and there +cards announcing that they did pinking within; further, the board of a +sweep; then a good corner house, the doctor's probably, with four steps +and a brass knocker and a tall slim girl on her hands and knees washing +the steps. + +The cab came to an abrupt stop. Some distance ahead a horse was down on +the slippery road; shouts came from the crowd around it. Victoria idly +watched the girl, swinging the wet rag from right to left. Poor thing. +Everything in her seemed to cry out against the torture of womanhood. +She was a picture of dumb resignation as she knelt with her back to the +road. Victoria could see her long thin arms, her hands red and rigid +with cold, her broken-down shoes with the punctured soles emerging from +the ragged black petticoat. + +There was a little surge in the crowd. The girl got up, and with an air +of infinite weariness stretched her arms. Then she picked up the pail +and bucket and turned towards the street. For the space of a second the +two women looked into one another's faces. Then Victoria gave a muffled +cry and jumped out of the cab. She seized with both hands the girl's +bare arms. + +'Betty! Betty!' she faltered. + +A burning blush covered the girl's face and her features twitched. She +made as if to turn away from the detaining hands. + +'Vicky, what are you doing . . . what does this mean?' came Jack's voice +from the cab. + +'Wait a minute, Jack. Betty, my poor little Betty. Why are you here? Why +haven't you written to me?' + +'Leave me alone,' said Betty hoarsely. + +'I won't leave you alone. Betty, tell me, what's this? Are you married?' + +A look of pain came over the girl's face, but she said nothing. + +'Look here, Betty, we can't talk here. Leave the bucket, come with me. +I'll see it's all right.' + +'Oh, I can't do that. Oh, let me alone; it's too late.' + +'I don't understand you. It's never too late. Now just get into the cab +and come with me.' + +'I can't. I must give notice . . .' She looked about to weep. + +'Come along.' Victoria increased the pressure on the girl's arms. Jack +stood up in the cab. He seemed as frightened as he was surprised. + +'I say, Vicky . . .' he began. + +'Sit down, Jack, she's coming with us. You don't mind if we don't go to +Ventnor?' + +Jack's eyes opened in astonishment but he made no reply. Victoria pulled +Betty sharply down the steps. + +'Oh, let me get my things,' she said weakly. + +'No. They'd stop you. There, get in. Drive back to Elm Tree Place, +cabman.' + +Half an hour later, lying at full length on the boudoir sofa, Betty was +slowly sipping some hot cocoa. There was a smile on her tear-stained +face. Victoria was analysing with horror the ravages that sorrow had +wrought on her. She was pretty still, with her china blue eyes and her +hair like pale filigree gold; but the bones seemed to start from her red +wrists, so thin had she become. Even the smile of exhausted content on +her lips did not redeem her emaciated cheeks. + +'Betty, my poor Betty,' said Victoria, taking her hand. 'What have they +done to you?' + +The girl looked up at the ceiling as if in a dream. + +'Tell me all about it,' her friend went on, 'what has happened to you +since April?' + +'Oh, lots of things, lots of things. I've had a hard time.' + +'Yes, I see. But what happened actually? Why did you leave the P.R.R.?' + +'I had to. You see, Edward . . .' The flush returned. + +'Yes?' + +'Oh, Vic, I've been a bad girl and I'm so, so unhappy.' Betty seized her +friend's hand to raise herself and buried her face on her breast. There +Victoria let her sob, gently stroking the golden hair. She understood +already, but Betty must not be questioned yet. Little by little, Betty's +weeping grew less violent and confidence burst from her pent up soul. + +'He didn't get a rise at Christmas, so he said we'd have to wait . . . I +couldn't bear it . . . it wasn't his fault. I couldn't let him come down +in the world, a gentleman . . . he had only thirty shillings a week.' + +'Yes, yes, poor little girl.' + +'We never meant to do wrong . . . when baby was coming he said he'd +marry me . . . I couldn't drag him down . . . I ran away.' + +'Betty, Betty, why didn't you write to me?' + +The girl looked at her. She was beautiful in her reminiscence of +sacrifice. + +'I was ashamed . . . I didn't dare . . . I only wanted to go where they +didn't know what I was. . . . I was mad. The baby came too early and it +died almost at once.' + +'My poor little girl.' Victoria softly stroked the rough back of her +hand. + +'Oh, I wasn't sorry . . . it was a little girl . . . they don't want any +more in the world. Besides I didn't care for anything; I'd lost him +. . . and my job. I couldn't go back. My landlady wrote me a character +to go to Cornwall Road.' + +'And there I found you.' + +'I wonder what we are going to do for you,' she went on. 'Where is +Edward now?' + +'Oh, I couldn't go back; I'm ashamed. . . .' + +'Nonsense, you haven't done anything wrong. He shall marry you.' + +'He would have,' said Betty a little coldly, 'he's square.' + +'Yes, I know. He didn't beg you very hard, did he? However, never mind. +I'm not going to let you go until I've made you happy. Now I'll tuck you +up with a rug, and you're going to sleep before the fire.' + +Betty lay limp and unresisting in the ministering hands. The unwonted +sensations of comfort, warmth and peace soothed her to sleepiness. +Besides, she felt as if she had wept every tear in her racked body. Soon +her features relaxed, and she sank into profound, almost deathlike +slumber. + +Victoria meanwhile told her story to Jack, who sat in the dining room +reading a novel and smoking cigarettes. He came out of his coma as +Victoria unfolded the tale of Betty's upbringing, her struggle to live, +then love the meteor flashing through her horizon. His cheeks flushed +and his mouth quivered as Victoria painted for him the picture of the +girl half distraught, bearing the burden of her shame, unable to reason +or to forsee, to think of anything except the saving of a gentleman from +life on thirty bob a week. + +'Something ought to be done,' he said at length, closing his book with +novel vivacity. + +'Yes, but what?' + +'I don't know.' His eyes questioned the wall; they grew vaguer and +vaguer as his excitement decreased, as a ship in docks sinks further and +further on her side while the water ebbs away. + +'You think of something,' he said at length, picking up his book again. +'I don't care what it costs.' + +Victoria left him and went for a walk through the misty streets seeking +a solution. There were not many. She could not keep Betty with her, for +she was pure though betrayed; contact with the irregular would degrade +her because habit would induce her to condone that which she morally +condemned. It would spoil her and would ultimately throw her into a life +for which she was not fitted because gentle and unspoiled. + +'No,' mused Victoria as she walked, 'like most women, she cannot rule: a +man must rule her. She is a reed, not an oak. All must come from man, +both good and evil. What man has done man must undo.' + +By the time she returned to Elm Tree Place she had made up her mind. +There was no hope for Betty except in marriage. She must have her own +fireside; and, from what she had said, her lover was no villain. He was +weak, probably; and, while he strove to determine his line of conduct, +events had slipped beyond his control. Perhaps, though, it was not fair +to deliver Betty into his hands bound and defenceless, bearing the +burden of their common imprudence. She was not fit to be free, but she +should not be a slave. It might be well to be the slave of the strong, +but not of the weak. + +Therefore Victoria arrived at a definite solution. She would see the +young man; and, if it was not altogether out of the question, he should +marry Betty. They should have the little house at Shepherd's Bush, and +Betty should be made a free woman with a fortune of five hundred pounds +in her own right, enough to place her for ever beyond sheer want. It +only struck Victoria later that she need not, out of quixotic +generosity, deplete her own store, for Holt would gladly give whatever +sum she named. + +'Now, Betty,' she said as the girl drained the glass of claret which +accompanied the piece of fowl, that composed her lunch, 'tell me your +young man's name and Anderson & Dromo's address. I'm going to see him.' + +'Oh, no, no, don't do that.' The look of fear returned to the blue eyes. + +'No use, Betty, I've decided you're going to be happy. I shall see him +to-day at six, bring him here to-morrow at half past two, as it happens +to be Saturday. You will be married about the thirtieth of this month.' + +'Oh, Vic, don't make me think of it. I can't do it . . . it's no good +now. Perhaps he's forgotten me, and it's better for him.' + +'I don't think he's forgotten you,' said Victoria. 'He'll marry you this +month, and you'll eat your Christmas dinner at Shepherd's Bush. Don't be +shy, dear--you're not going empty handed; you're going to have a dowry +of five hundred pounds.' + +'Vic! I can't take it; it isn't right . . . you need all you've got +. . . you're so good, but I don't want him to marry me if . . . if. . . .' + +'Oh, don't worry, I shan't tell him about the money until he says yes. +Now, no thanks; you're my baby, besides it's going to be a present from +Mr Holt. Silence,' she repeated as Betty opened her mouth, 'or rather +give me his name and address and not another word.' + +'Edward Smith, Salisbury House, but. . . .' + +'Enough. Now, dear, don't get up.' + +The events of that Friday and Saturday formed in later days one of the +sunbathed memories in Victoria's dreary life. It was all so gentle, so +full of sweetness and irresolute generosity. She remembered everything, +the wait in the little dark room into which she was ushered by an amazed +commissionaire who professed himself willing to break regulations for +her sake and hand Mr Smith a note, the banging of her heart as she +realised her responsibility and resolved to break her word if necessary +and to buy a husband for Betty rather than lose him, then the quick +interview, the light upon the young man's face. + +'Where is she,' he asked excitedly. 'Oh, why did she run away? You can't +think what I've been going through.' + +'You should have married her,' said Victoria coldly, though she was +moved by his sincerity. He was handsome, this young man, with his +bronzed face, dark eyes, regular features and long dark hair. + +'Oh, I would have at once if I'd known. But I couldn't make up my mind; +only thirty bob a week. . . .' + +'Yes, I know,' said Victoria softly, 'I used to be at the P. R. R.' + +'You?' The young man looked at her incredulously. + +'Yes, but never mind me. It's Betty I've come for. The baby is dead. I +found her cleaning the steps of a house near Waterloo.' + +'My God,' said the young man in low tones. He clenched his hands +together; one of his paper cuff protectors fell to the floor. + +'Will you marry her now?' + +'Yes . . . at once.' + +'Good. She's had a hard time, Mr Smith, and I don't say it's entirely +your fault. Now it's all going to be put square. I'm going to see she +has some money of her own, five hundred pounds. That will help won't +it?' + +'Oh, it's too good to be true. Why are you doing all this for us? +You're. . . .' + +'Please, please, no thanks. I'm Betty's friend. Let that be enough. Will +you come and see her to-morrow at my house? Here's my card.' + +On the last day of November these two were married at a registry office +in the presence of Victoria and the registrar's clerk. A new joy had +settled upon Betty, whose shy prettiness was turning into beauty. +Victoria's heart was heavy as she looked at the couple, both so young +and rapt, setting out upon the sea with a cargo of glowing dreams. It +was heavy still as the cab drove off carrying them away for a brief +week-end, which was all Anderson and Dromo would allow. She tasted a new +delight in this making of happiness. + +Holt had not attended the ceremony, for he felt too weak. His interest +in the affair had been dim, for he looked upon it as one of Victoria's +whims. He was ceasing to judge as he ceased to appreciate, so much was +his physical weakness gaining upon him; all his faculty of action was +concentrated in the desire which gnawed at his very being. Victoria +reminded him of his promise, and, finding his cheque book for him, laid +it on the table. + +'Five hundred pounds,' she said. 'Better make it out to me. It's very +good of you, Jack.' + +'Yes, yes,' he said dully, writing the date and the words 'Mrs Ferris.' +Then he stopped. Concentrating with an effort he wrote the word 'five.' + +'Five . . . five . . .' he murmured. Then he looked up at Victoria with +something like vacuousness. + +A wild idea flashed through her brain. She must act. Oh, no, dreadful. +Yet freedom, freedom. . . . He could not understand . . . she must do +it. + +'Thousand,' she prompted in a low voice. + +'Thousand pounds,' went Jack's voice as he wrote obediently. Then, +mechanically, reciting the formula his father had taught him. 'Five, +comma, 0, 0, 0, dash, 0, dash, 0. John Holt.' + +Victoria put her hands down on the table to take the cheque he had just +torn out. All her fingers were trembling with the terrible excitement of +a slave watching his fetters being struck off. As she took it up and +looked at it, while the figures danced, Holt's eyes grew more insistent +on her other hand. Slowly his fingers closed over it, raised it to his +lips. With his eyes closed, breathing a little deeper, he covered her +palm with lingering kisses. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +THE endowment of Betty was soon completed. Advised by the bank manager +to whom she confided something of the young couple's improvident +tendencies, Victoria vested the money in a trust administered by an +insurance company. The deed was so drafted that it could not be charged; +the capital could not be touched, excepting the case of male offspring +who, after their mother's death, would divide it on their respective +twenty-fifth birthdays; as she distrusted her own sex and perhaps still +more the stock from which the girls might spring, she bound their +proportion in perpetuity; failing offspring she provided that, following +on his wife's decease, Mr Edward Smith should receive one fifth of the +capital, four fifths reverting to herself. + +Victoria revelled somewhat in the technicalities of the deed; every +clause she framed was a pleasure in itself; she turned the +'hereinbefores' and the 'predecease as aforesaids' round in her mouth as +if they were luscious sweets. The pleasure of it was not that of Lady +Bountiful showering blessings and feeling the holy glow of charity +penetrate her being. Victoria's satisfaction was more vixenish; she, the +outlaw, the outcast, had wrested from Society enough money to indulge in +the luxury of promoting a marriage, converting the illegal into the +legal, creating respectability. The gains that Society term infamous +were being turned towards the support of that Society; still more, +failing her infamous help, Betty and Edward Smith would not have +achieved their coming together with the approval of the Law, their +spiritual regeneration and a house at Shepherd's Bush. + +She was now the mistress of a fortune of over ten thousand pounds, a +good half of which was due to her final stratagem. The time had now come +for her to retire to the house in the country when she could resume her +own name, piece together for the sake of the county her career since she +left India for Alabama, and read the local agricultural rag. Her plans +were postponed, however, owing to Holt's state of health, which +compelled her, out of sheer humanity, to take him to a sunnier clime. +She dismissed Algiers as being too far; she asked Holt where he would +like to go to, but he merely replied 'East Coast,' which in December +struck her as being absurd. Finally she decided to take him to +Folkestone, as it was very near and he would doubtless like to sit with +the dogs on the Leas. + +Folkestone was bright and sunny. The sting in the glowing air brought +fresh colour to Victoria's cheeks, a deeper brilliancy to her grey eyes; +she felt well; her back was straighter; when a lock of dark hair strayed +into her mouth driven by the high wind it tasted salt on her lips. +Sometimes she could have leaped, shouted, for life was rushing in upon +her like a tide. Most days, however, she was quiet, for Holt was not +affected by the sea. His listlessness was now such that he hardly spoke. +He would walk by her side vacuously, looking at his surroundings as if +he did not see them. At times he stopped, concentrated with an effort +and bought a bun from a hawker to break up for the dogs. + +Victoria noticed that he was slipping, with ununderstanding fear. The +phenomenon was beyond her. Though the guests at the hotel surrounded her +with an atmosphere of admiration, Holt's condition began to occupy all +her thoughts. He was thin now to the point of showing bone under his +coat, pale and hectic, generally listless, sometimes wild-eyed. He never +read, played no games, talked to nobody. Indeed nothing remained of him +save the half physical, half emotional power of his passion. Victoria +called in a doctor, but found him vague and shy; beyond cutting down +Holt's cigarettes he prescribed nothing. + +Victoria resigned herself to the role of a nurse. At the beginning of +January she noticed that Holt was using a stick to walk. The sight +filled her with dread. She watched him on the Leas, walking slowly, +resting the weight of his body on the staff, stopping now and then to +look at the sea, or worse, at a blank wall. A terrible impression of +weakness emanated from him. He was going down the hill. One morning in +the middle of January, Holt did not get up. When questioned he hardly +answered. She dressed feverishly without his moving, and went out to +find the doctor herself, for she was unconsciously afraid of the +servants' eyes. When she returned with the doctor Holt had not moved; +his head was thrown back, his mouth a little open, his face more waxen +than usual. + +'Oh, oh. . . .' Victoria nearly screamed, when Holt opened his eyes. The +doctor threw back the bedclothes and examined his patient. As Victoria +watched him inspecting Holt's mouth, the inside of his eyelids, then his +finger nails, a terror came upon her at these strange rites. She went to +the window and looked out over the sea; it was choppy, grey and foamy +like a river in spate. She strove to concentrate on her freedom, but she +could feel the figure on the bed. + +'Got any sal volatile?' said the doctor's voice. + +'No, shall I. . . .?' + +'No, no time for that, he's fainting; get me some salts, ammonia, +anything.' + +Victoria watched him forcing Holt to breathe the ammonia she used to +clean ribbons. Holt opened his eyes, coughed, struggled; tears ran down +his face as he inhaled the acrid fumes. Still he did not speak. The +doctor pulled him out of bed, crossed his legs, and then struck him +sharply across the shin, just under the knee, with the side of his hand. +Holt's leg hardly moved. The doctor hesitated for a moment, then pushed +him back into the bed. + +'I . . . Mrs. . . .?' + +'Holt.' + +'Well, Mrs Holt, I'm afraid your husband is in a serious condition. Of +course I don't say that with careful feeding, tonics, we can't get him +round, but it'll be a long business, and . . . and . . . you see . . . +How long have you been married?' + +'Over a year,' said Victoria with an effort. + +'Ah. Well Mrs Holt, it will be part of the cure that you leave him for +six months.' + +Victoria gasped. Why? Why? Could it be . . .? The thought appalled her. +Dimly she could hear the doctor talking. + +'His mother . . . if he has one . . . to-day . . . phosphate of . . .' + +Then the doctor was gone. A telegram had somehow been sent to Rawsley +Cement Works. Then the long day, food produced on the initiative of the +hotel servants, the room growing darker, night. + +It was ten o'clock, and two women stood face to face by the bed. One was +Victoria, beautiful like a marble statue, with raven black hair, pale +lips. The other a short stout figure with tight hair, a black bonnet, a +red face stained with tears. + +'You've killed him,' said the harsh voice. + +Victoria looked up at Mrs Holt. + +'No, no.' + +'My boy, my poor boy!' Mrs Holt was on her knees by the side of the +motionless figure. + +Victoria began to weep, silently at first, then noisily. Mrs Holt +started at the sound, then jumped to her feet with a cry of rage. + +'Stop that crying,' she commanded. 'How dare you? How dare you?' + +Victoria went on crying, the sobs choking her. + +'A murderess,' Mrs Holt went on. 'You took my boy away; you corrupted +him, ruined him, killed him. You're a vile thing; nobody should touch +you, you. . . .' + +Victoria pulled herself together. + +'It's not my fault,' she stumbled. 'I didn't know.' + +'Didn't know,' sneered Mrs Holt, 'as if a woman of your class didn't +know.' + +'That's enough,' snarled Victoria. 'I've had enough. Understand? I +didn't want your son. He wanted me. That's all over. He bought me, and +now you think the price too heavy. I've been heaven to him who only knew +misery. He's not to be pitied, unless it be because his mistress hands +him over to his mother.' + +'How dare you?' cried Mrs Holt again, a break in her voice as she pitied +her outraged motherhood. + +'It's you who've killed him; you, the family, Rawsley, Bethlehem, your +moral laws, your religion. It's you who starved him, ground him down +until he lost all sense of measure, desired nothing but love and life.' + +'You killed him, though,' said the mother. + +'Perhaps. I didn't want to. I was . . . fond of him. But how can I help +it? And supposing I did? What of it? Yes, what of it? Who was your son +but a man?' + +'My son?' + +'Your son. A distinction, not a title. Your son bears part of the +responsibility of making me what I am. He came last but he might have +come first, and I tell you that the worker of the eleventh hour is +guilty equally with the worker of the first. Your son was nothing and I +nothing but pawns in the game, little figures which the Society you're +so proud of shifts and breaks. He bought my womanhood; he contributed to +my degradation. What else but degradation did you offer me?' + +Mrs Holt was weeping now. + +'I am a woman, and the world has no use for me. Your Society taught me +nothing. Or rather it taught me to dance, to speak a foreign language +badly, to make myself an ornament, a pleasure to man. Then it threw me +down from my pedestal, knowing nothing, without a profession, a trade, a +friend, or a penny. And then your Society waved before my eyes the +lily-white banner of purity, while it fed me and treated me like a dog. +When I gave it what it wanted, for there's only one thing it wants from +a woman whom nothing has been taught but that which every woman knows, +then it covered me with gifts. A curse on your Society. A Society of +men, crushing, grinding down women, sweating their labour, starving +their brains, urging them on to the surrender of what makes a woman +worth while. Ah . . . ah. . . .' + +Breath failed her. Mrs Holt was weeping silently in her hands in utter +abandonment. + +'I'm going,' said Victoria hoarsely. She picked up a handkerchief and +dabbed her eyes. + +As she opened the door the figure moved on the bed, opened its eyes. +Their last lingering look was for the woman at the door. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +THE squire of Cumberleigh was not sorry that 'The Retreat' had found a +tenant at last. The house belonged to him, and he might have let it many +times over; but so conservative and aristocratic was his disposition +that he preferred to sacrifice his rent rather than have anyone who was +undesirable in the neighbourhood. Yet, in the case of the lady who had +now occupied the house for some three weeks, though the strictest +enquiries had been made concerning her, both in Cumberleigh and the +surrounding district, nothing could be ascertained beyond the scanty +facts that she was a widow, well-to-do and had been abroad a good deal. +The squire had seen her on two separate occasions himself and could not +but admit that she was far from unprepossessing; she was obviously a +lady, well-bred and educated, and, if her frock and hat had been a +trifle smarter than those usually seen in a country village, she had +owned up to having recently been to Paris to replenish her wardrobe. It +was curious, when he came to reflect upon it, how little she had told +him about herself, and yet, what was more curious, she had no sooner +left him after the second visit than he had betaken himself to his +solicitor to get him to make out the lease. She had received and signed +it the following day, showing herself remarkably business-like, but not +ungenerous when it came to the buying of the fixtures and to the vexed +question of outdoor and indoor repairs. + +As the squire climbed the hill that gave upon the village from the +marshes, one cold March evening, he did not regret his decision; for, +standing in front of 'The Retreat,' he felt bound to admit that there +was something cheering and enlivening in the fact that the four front +windows now flaunted red curtains and holland blinds, where they had +been so dark and forbidding. In the lower one on the left, where the +lamps had not yet been lighted or the blinds drawn down, in the light of +the dancing fire, he could see distinctly a woman's workbox on a small +inlaid table, a volume of songs on the cottage piano, and, at the back +of the room, a hint of china tea cups, glistening silver and white +napery. Presently a trim maid came out to bolt the front door, followed +by two snuffling yellow dogs who took the air for a few moments in +tempestuous spirits, biting each other about the neck and ears and +rushing round in giddy circles on the tiny grass plot until, in response +to a call from the maid, they returned with her to the house. They were +foreigners evidently, these dogs! The squire could not remember the name +of the breed, but he thought he had seen one of the kind before in +London. He was not quite sure he approved of foreign dogs; they were not +so sporting or reliable as those of the English breeds; still, these +were handsome fellows, well kept and (from the green ribbons that +adorned their fluffy necks) evidently made much of. He was still looking +after the dogs when he was joined by the curate coming out of the +blacksmith's cottage opposite and stopping to light a match in the +shelter of the high wall of 'The Retreat.' + +'First pipe I have had to-day,' said the newcomer as he puffed at it +luxuriously. 'It's more than you can say, squire, I'll be bound.' + +'Twenty-first, that's more like it,' said the squire with a laugh. 'How +is Mrs Johnson?' This in allusion to the curate's call at the smithy. + +'Dying. Won't last the night out, I think. She is quite unconscious. +Still I am glad I went. Johnson and his daughters seemed to like to have +me there, though of course there was nothing for me to do.' + +'Quite so, quite so,' said the squire approvingly, for the village was +so small that he took a paternal interest in all its inhabitants. 'Any +more news?' + +'Mrs Golightly has had twins, and young Shaw has enlisted. That's about +all, I think. Oh, by the by, I paid a call here to-day.' And he +indicate. 'The Retreat.' 'It seemed about time you know, and one mustn't +neglect the new-comers.' + +'Of course not,' the squire assented with conviction. 'Was she . . . did +she in any way indicate that she was pleased to see you?' + +'She was very gracious, but she seemed to take my call quite as a matter +of course. A nice woman I should think, though a little reserved. +However she is going to rent one seat in church if not more, and she +said I might put her name down for one or two little things I am +interested in at present.' + +'In fact you made hay while the sun shone. Well, after all, why not? She +didn't tell you anything about herself I suppose, or her connections?' + +'No, she never mentioned them. I understood or she implied she had been +abroad a good deal and that her husband had died some years ago. Still I +really don't think we need worry about her; the whole thing, if I may +say so, was so obviously all right, the house I mean and all its +appointments. She is a quiet woman, a little shy and retiring perhaps, +belongs to the old-fashioned school.' + +'Well she is none the worse for that,' said the squire with a grunt. 'We +don't meet many of that kind nowadays. Even the farmers' daughters are +quite ready to set you right whenever they get a chance. This modern +education is a curse, I have said so from the very beginning. Still they +haven't robbed us of our Church schools yet, if that is any +consolation. Coming back to dine with me to-night, Seaton?' + +The young man shook his head. 'Very sorry, squire, it's quite impossible +to-night. It is Friday night, choir practice you know, and there is a +lantern lecture in the mission hall. I ought to be there already, +helping Griffin with the slides.' + +'All right, Sunday evening then, at the usual time,' said the squire +cordially as the curate left him, and, as he looked after him, he +criticised him as a busy fellow, not likely to set the Thames on fire +perhaps, but essentially the right man in the right place. + +His own progress was a good deal slower; not that he found the hill too +steep, for, in spite of his fifty years, he was still perfectly sound of +wind and limb, as was shown by his athletic movements, the fresh healthy +colour on his cheeks, and the clear blue of his eyes, but rather because +he seemed loth to tear himself away from 'The Retreat' and his new +tenant. Even when he had reached the little post office that crowned the +summit, he did not turn off towards his own place till he had spent +another five minutes contemplating the stack of chimney-pots sending out +thick puffs of white smoke into the quiet evening sky, and listening +attentively to the cheerful sound of a tinkling piano blended with the +gentle lowing of the cattle on the marsh below. After all, he told +himself, he was very glad Seaton had called, for apart from his duty as +a clergyman it was only a kind and neighbourly thing to do. + +It was a pity that there were not more of his kind in the neighbourhood, +for in spite of his own preference for the country, he could imagine +that a woman coming to it fresh from London at such a season might find +it dull and a little depressing. He wondered if Mrs Menzies, of Hither +Hall, would call if he asked her to do so. Of course she would in a +moment if he put it on personal grounds, but that was not the point. All +he wished was to be kind and hospitable to a stranger; and Mrs Menzies, +much as he respected and admired her, had never been known to err on the +side of tolerance, nor did one meet in her drawing-room anyone whose +pedigree would not bear a thorough investigation. Yes, there was no +doubt about it, though the laws that governed social intercourse were on +the whole excellent and had to be kept, there were here, as everywhere +else in life, exceptions to the rule, occasions when anyone of a kindly +disposition must feel tempted to break them. And Mrs Menzies was +certainly a little stiff: witness her behaviour in the case of Captain +Clinton's widow and the fuss she had made because the unfortunate lady +had forgotten to tell her of her relationship to the Eglinton Clintons +and had only vouchsafed the fact that her father's people had been in +trade. Why, it had taken weeks if not months to clear the matter up; and +it had been very awkward for everybody, the Eglinton Clintons included +when the truth had transpired. No, on second thoughts he would not ask +Mrs Menzies to call; he would far rather make the first venture himself +than risk a snub for this lonely defenceless stranger. + +He turned into the gates of Redland Hall with a half-formed intention of +doing so immediately. He dined alone as usual; it was very rare that the +dining-room of Redland Hall extended its hospitality to anybody +nowadays; for the squire, like most men over forty, had lost the habit +of entertaining and did not know how to recover it. A bachelor friend +spent a night with him from time to time; the curate supped with him +every Sunday; and his sister came for a week or two during the summer, +when she invariably told him that the house was too uncomfortable to +live in, and he ought to have it thoroughly done up and modernised. He +invariably promised to set about it immediately, with the full +intention of doing so; but his resolution began to weaken the day on +which he saw her off at the station, and degenerated steadily for the +remainder of the year. That night, however, for the first time for many +months he made a voyage of discovery into his own drawing-room. Yes, +there was no doubt about it, Selina was quite right in calling it +draughty and uncomfortable; the gilt French furniture was shabby and +tarnished, the Aubusson carpet worn, the wall paper faded, the whole +room desolate in its suggestion of past glory. He crossed over to the +enormous grand piano, opened it and struck a yellow key gently with one +finger. Was he wrong, he wondered, in thinking its tone was lamentably +thin and poor? A rat scampered and squeaked in the wainscoting, the +windows rattled in their loose sashes; he shut the piano abruptly and +left the room. It would cost a good deal to have it thoroughly done up, +of course; but that was not the point. Who would superintend the +decorations? He did not trust his own taste and had no faith in that of +any upholsterer. Selina would come and help him if he asked her, though +she would think it strange, for she had paid her annual visit in August, +and it was now only March; besides, if she brought her delicate little +girls with her at such a time the whole house would be upset in +arranging for their comfort. Still, Selina or no, he had quite made up +his mind to have the room done up and to buy a new piano immediately; it +was ridiculous to harbour an instrument which was merely a nesting place +for mice. He returned to the dining-room, poured himself out a stiff +whiskey and soda, and dozed over his _Spectator_ for the rest of the +evening. Yet, next morning, even in the unromantic light of day, he was +surprised to find that his plan of doing up the drawing-room still held +good. + +He had intended to ride into Wetherton that day to try his new mare +across country, for the gates were high in that direction and good +enough to test her powers as a jumper. A glance at the glistening frost +on the grass soon sufficed, however, to tell him that his scheme could +not be carried out; nor was he sorry until, having spent the morning on +his farms and inspected everything and everybody at his leisure, it +occurred to him with a desperate sense of conviction that there was +still the afternoon to be filled in somehow. About three he set off in +the direction of the village, looked in at the church and had a brief +colloquy with Seaton regarding the new pews which were being put up, +interviewed the postmaster, condoled with the blacksmith upon the death +of his wife, and even ventured down as far as the marsh to see if the +new carrier who had taken the place of old Dick Tomlinson was likely to +fulfil his duties properly. About four o'clock he found himself once +more opposite 'The Retreat.' It was on the main road certainly, but it +was only recently that he had become aware of its importance in the +landscape. One could not get to the marsh or come back from it without +passing it. The windows looked as trim as ever--trimmer perhaps, for +short muslin curtains interspaced with embroidery seemed to have sprung +up in the night. They were very decorative in their way; at the same +time they quite shut out all prospect of the interior, and there was no +workbox, piano, or suggestion of tea things to be seen to-day. The +foreign dogs were snuffling in the garden as he passed the second time, +and one of them nosed its way through the iron gate and ventured a few +yards down the road, but just as the squire had made up his mind it was +his duty to take it back, it returned of its own accord. He watched the +trim maid come out and call them as she had done the day before, and saw +them rush after her frolicking round her skirt. + +Suddenly he crossed the road, looked up and down to make sure there was +no acquaintance within sight, opened the iron gate of 'The Retreat,' and +passed up the gravel pathway into the porch. + +'Mrs Fulton is at home,' said the trim maid demurely, in answer to his +question. + +MERCAT PRESS, EDINBURGH + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Bed of Roses, by W. L. George + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BED OF ROSES *** + +***** This file should be named 33538-8.txt or 33538-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/5/3/33538/ + +Produced by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.fadedpage.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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George. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +div.centered {text-align: center;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 1 */ +div.centered table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 2 */ + + + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + color: #A9A9A9; +} + + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: #A9A9A9; + font-weight: normal; font-variant: normal; + font-style: normal; letter-spacing: normal; + +} /* page numbers */ + + + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + + + +.author {text-align: right; margin-right: 5%;} + + + +.centerbox { width: 40%; /* heading box */ + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center; + padding: 1em; + } + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Bed of Roses, by W. L. George + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Bed of Roses + +Author: W. L. George + +Release Date: August 26, 2010 [EBook #33538] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BED OF ROSES *** + + + + +Produced by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.fadedpage.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1><br /><br />A BED OF ROSES ˇ ˇ BY</h1> + +<h2>W. L. GEORGE</h2> + + +<p class="center">AUTHOR OF 'ENGINES OF SOCIAL<br /> + +PROGRESS,' ˇ ˇ 'FRANCE IN THE<br /> + +TWENTIETH CENTURY,' &c.</p> + +<div class="centerbox"><p>It's not work that any woman would do for pleasure, +goodness knows; though to hear the pious people talk +you would suppose it was a bed of roses.</p><p>Mrs Warren's +Profession ˇ By G. Bernard Shaw.</p></div> + +<p class="center">AUTHORISED EDITION<br /> + + +BRENTANO'S ˇ NEW YORK<br /> + +MCMXI<br /> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p><p class="center">THIRD EDITION</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="CONTENTS added by transcriber"> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#PART_I">PART I</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#PART_II">PART II</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_Ib">CHAPTER I</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IIb">CHAPTER II</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IIIb">CHAPTER III</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IVb">CHAPTER IV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_Vb">CHAPTER V</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIb">CHAPTER VI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIIb">CHAPTER VII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIIIb">CHAPTER VIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IXb">CHAPTER IX</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_Xb">CHAPTER X</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIb">CHAPTER XI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIIb">CHAPTER XII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIIIb">CHAPTER XIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIVb">CHAPTER XIV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVb">CHAPTER XV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIb">CHAPTER XVI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIIb">CHAPTER XVII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIIIb">CHAPTER XVIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIXb">CHAPTER XIX</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXb">CHAPTER XX</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + + + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="PART_I" id="PART_I"></a>PART I</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h4><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h4> + + +<p>'<span class="smcap">We</span> go.' The lascar meditatively pressed his face, brown and begrimed +with coal dust, streaked here and there with sweat, against the rope +which formed the rough bulwark. His dark eyes were fixed on the shore +near by, between which and the ship's side the water quivered quicker +and quicker in little ripples, each ripple carrying an iridescent film +of grey ooze. Without joy or sadness he was bidding goodbye to Bombay, +his city. Those goodbyes are often farewells for lascars who must face +the Bay and the Channel. But the stoker did not care.</p> + +<p>His companion lay by his side, lazily propped up on his elbow, not +deigning even to take a last look at the market place, seething still +with its crowded reds and blues and golds. 'Dekko!' cried the first +stoker pointing to the wharf where a white man in a dirty smock had just +cast off the last rope, which came away swishing through the air.</p> + +<p>His companion did not raise his eyes. Slowly he tilted up his pannikin +and let the water flow in a thin stream into his mouth, keeping the +metal away from his lips. Then, careless of the land of Akbar, he let +himself sink on the deck and composed himself to sleep. India was no +concern of his.</p> + +<p>A few yards away a woman watched them absently from the upper deck. She +was conscious of them, conscious too of the slow insistent buzzing of a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>gadfly. Her eyes slowly shifted to the shore, passed over the market +place, stopped at the Fort. There, in the open space, a troop was +drilling, white and speckless, alertly wheeling at the word of command. +Her eyes were still fixed on the group as the ship imperceptibly receded +from the shore, throbbing steadily as the boilers got up steam. A +half-naked brown boy was racing along the wharf to gain a start and beat +the vessel before she reached the military crane.</p> + +<p>The woman turned away. She was neither tall nor short: she did not +attract attention overmuch but she was one of those who retain such +attention as they draw. She was clad entirely in black; her face seemed +to start forward intensified. Her features were regular; her mouth +small. Her skin, darkened by the shadow of a broad brimmed hat, blushed +still darker at the cheeks. The attraction was all in the eyes, large +and grey, suggestive of energy without emotion. Her chin was square, +perhaps too thick in the jaw.</p> + +<p>She turned once more and leant against the bulwark. A yard away another +woman was also standing, her eyes fixed on the shore, on a figure who +waited motionless on the fast receding wharf. As the steamer kept on her +course the woman craned forward, saw once more and then lost sight of +the lonely figure. She was small, fair, a little insignificant, and +dressed all in white drill.</p> + +<p>The steamer had by now attained half speed. The shore was streaming by. +The second woman turned her back on the bulwark, looked about aimlessly, +then, perceiving her neighbour, impulsively went up to her and stood +close beside her.</p> + +<p>The two women did not speak, but remained watching the shoals fly past. +Far away a train in Kolaba puffed up sharp bursts of smoke into the blue +air. There was nothing to draw the attention of the beholder in that +interminable shore, low-lying and muddy, splashed here and there with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>ragged trees. It was a desert almost, save for a village built between +two swamps. Here and then smoke arose, brown and peaty from a bonfire. +In the evening light the sun's declining rays lit up with radiance the +red speck of a heavy shawl on the tiny figure of a brown girl.</p> + +<p>Little by little, as the ship entered the fairway, the shore receded +almost into nothingness. The two women still watched, while India merged +into shadow. It was the second hour and, as the ship slowly turned +towards the west, the women watched the great cocoanut trees turn into +black specks upon Marla point. Then, slowly, the shore sank into the +dark sea until it was gone and nothing was left of India save the +vaguely paler night that tells of land and the even fainter white spears +of the distant light.</p> + +<p>For a moment they stood still, side by side. Then the fair woman +suddenly put her hand on her companion's arm. 'I'm cold,' she said, +'let's go below.'</p> + +<p>The dark girl looked at her sympathetically. 'Yes,' she said, 'let's, +who'd have thought we wanted to see more of the beastly country than we +could help. . . . I say, what's the matter, Molly?'</p> + +<p>Molly was still looking towards the light; one of her feet tapped the +deck nervously; she fumbled for her handkerchief. 'Nothing, nothing,' +she said indistinctly, 'come and unpack.' She turned away from her +companion and quickly walked towards the gangway.</p> + +<p>The dark girl looked once more into the distance where even the +searchlight had waned. 'Vic!' cried the fair girl querulously, half way +up the deck. 'All right, I'm coming,' replied the woman in black. She +looked again at the pale horizon into which India had faded, at the deck +before her where a little black cluster of people had formed to look +their last upon the light. Then she turned and followed her companion.</p> + +<p>The cabin was on the lower deck, small, stuffy in the extreme. Its two +grave-like bunks, its drop table,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> even its exiguous armchair promised +no comfort. On the worn carpet the pattern had almost vanished; alone +the official numerals on the edge stared forth. For half an hour the two +women unpacked in silence; Molly knelt by the side of her trunk delving +into it, dragging out garments which she tried to find room for on the +scanty pegs. Her companion merely raised the lid of her trunk to ease +the pressure on her clothes, and placed a small dressing-case on the +drop table. Once she would have spoken but, at that moment, a faint sob +came from Molly's kneeling form. She went up to her, put her arm about +her neck and kissed her cheek. She undressed wearily, climbed into the +upper berth. Soon Molly did likewise, after turning down the light. For +a while she sighed and turned uneasily; then she became quieter, her +breathing more measured, and she slept.</p> + +<p>Victoria Fulton lay in her berth, her eyes wide open, glued to the roof +a foot or so above her face. It was very like a coffin, she thought, +perhaps a suitable enough habitation for her, but at present, not in the +least tempting. A salutary capacity for optimism was enabling her to +review the past three years and to speculate about the future. Not that +either was very rosy, especially the future.</p> + +<p>The steady throb of the screw pulsated through the stuffy cabin, and +blended with the silence broken only by Molly's regular breathing in the +lower berth. Victoria could not help remembering other nights passed +also in a stuffy little cabin, where the screw was throbbing as +steadily, and when the silence was broken by breathing as regular, but a +little heavier. Three years only, and she was going home. But now she +was leaving behind her the high hopes she had brought with her.</p> + +<p>She was no exception to the common rule, and memories, whether bitter or +sweet, had always bridged for her the gulf between wakefulness and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +sleep. And what could be more natural than to recall those nights, three +years ago, when every beat of that steady screw was bringing her nearer +to the country where her young husband was, according to his mood, going +to win the V.C., trace the treasure stolen from a Begum, or become +military member on the Viceroy's Council? Poor old Dicky, she thought, +perhaps it was as well he did not live to see himself a major, old and +embittered, with all those hopes behind him.</p> + +<p>There were no tears in her eyes when she thought of Fulton. The good old +days, the officers' ball at Lympton when she danced with him half the +night, the rutty lane where they met to sit on a bank of damp moss +smelling of earth and crushed leaves, and the crumbling little church +where she became Fulton's wife, all that was far away. How dulled it all +was too by those three years during which, in the hot moist air of the +plains, she had seen him degenerate, his skin lose it's freshness, his +eyelids pucker and gather pouches, his tongue grow ever more bitter as +he attempted to still with whisky the drunkard's chronic thirst. She +could not even shudder at the thought of all it had meant for her, at +the horror of seeing him become every day more stupefied, at the savage +outbursts of the later days, at the last scenes, crude and physically +foul. Three years had taught her brain dullness to such scenes as those.</p> + +<p>The tragedy of Fulton was a common enough thing. Heat, idleness, +temporary affluence, all those things that do not let a man see that +life is blessed only by the works that enable him to forget it, had +played havoc with him. He had followed up his initial error of coming +into the world at all by marrying a woman who neither cajoled or coerced +him. With the best of intentions she had bored him to extinction. His +interest in things became slender; he drank himself to death, and not +even the ghost of his self lived to grieve by his bedside.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> + +<p>In spite of everything it had not been a bad life in its way. Victoria +had been the belle, in spite of Mrs Major Dartle and her peroxidised +tresses. And there had been polo (Dicky always would have three ponies +and refused three hundred guineas for Tagrag), and regimental dances and +gymkhanas and what not. Under the sleepy sun these three years had +passed, not like a flash of lightning, but slowly, dreamily, in the +unending routine of marches, inspections, migrations to and from the +hills. The end had come quickly. One day they carried Dick Fulton all +the way from the mess and laid him under his own verandah. The fourth +day he died of cirrhosis of the liver. Even Mrs Major Dartle who +formally called and lit up the darkened room with the meretricious glow +of her curls hinted that it was a happy release. The station in general +had no doubt as to the person for whom release had come.</p> + +<p>As Victoria lay in the coffin-like berth she vainly tried to analyse her +feeling for Fulton. The three years had drawn over her past something +like a veil behind which she could see the dim shapes of her impressions +dancing like ghostly marionettes. She knew that she had loved him with +the discreet passion of an Englishwoman. He had burst in upon her +ravished soul like the materialised dream of a schoolgirl; he had been +adorably careless, adorably rakish. For a whole year all his foibles had +been charms in so far as they made the god more human, nearer to her. +Then, one night, he had returned home so drunk as to fall prostrate on +the tiles of the verandah and sleep there until next morning. She had +not dared to call the ayah or the butler and, as she could not rouse or +lift him, she had left him lying there under some rugs and mosquito +netting.</p> + +<p>During the rest of that revolutionary night she had not slept, nor had +she found the relief of tears that is given most women. Hot waves of +indignation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> flowed over her. She wanted to get up, to stamp with rage, +to kick the disgraceful thing on the tiles. She held herself down, +however, or perhaps the tradition of the English counties whispered to +her that anything was preferable to scandal, that crises must be +noiseless. When dawn came and she at last managed to arouse Fulton by +flooding his head with the contents of the water jug, the hot fit was +gone. She felt cold, too aloof, too far away from him to hate him, too +petrified to reproach him.</p> + +<p>Fulton took no notice of the incident. He was still young and vigorous +enough to shake off within a few hours the effects of the drink. Besides +he seldom mentioned things that affected their relations; in the keep of +his heart he hid the resentment of a culprit against the one who has +caught him in the act. He confined his conversation to daily happenings; +in moments of expansion he talked of the future. They did not, however, +draw nearer one another; thus the evolution of their marriage tended +inevitably to draw them apart. Victoria was no longer angry, but she was +frightened because she had been frightened and she hated the source of +her fear. Fulton, thick skinned as he was, felt their estrangement +keenly. He grew to hate his wife; it almost made him wish to hurt her +again. So he absented himself more often, drank more, then died. His +wife was free. So this was freedom. Freedom, a word to conjure with, +thought Victoria, when one is enslaved and meaning very little when one +is free. She was able to do what she liked and wished to do nothing. Of +course things would smooth themselves out: they always did, even though +the smoothing process might be lengthy. They must do so, but how? There +were friends of course, and Ted, and thirty pounds of Consols unless +they'd gone down again, as safe investments are wont to do. She would +have to do some work. Rather funny, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> how jolly to draw your first +month's or week's salary; everybody said it was a proud moment. Of +course it would have to be earned, but that did not matter: everybody +had to earn what they got, she supposed, and they ought to enjoy doing +it. Old Flynn, the D.C., used to say that work was a remunerative +occupation you didn't like, but then he had been twenty years in India.</p> + +<p>Molly turned uneasily in her bunk and settled down again. Victoria's +train of thought was broken and she could not detach her attention from +the very gentle snore that came from the lower berth, a snore gentle but +so insidious that it seemed to dominate the steady beat of the screw. +Through the porthole, over which now there raced some flecks of spray, +she could see nothing but the blackness of the sky, a blackness which at +times turned to grey whenever the still inkier sea appeared. The cabin +seemed black and empty, lit up faintly by a white skirt flung on a +chair. Slowly Victoria sank into sleep, conscious of a half dream of +England where so many unknowable things must happen.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">'No</span>, Molly, I don't think it's very nice of you,' said Victoria, 'we've +been out four days and I've done nothing but mope and mope; it's all +very well my being a widow and all that: I'm not suggesting you and I +should play hop scotch on deck with the master gunner, but for four days +I've been reading a three months old <i>Harper's</i> and the memoirs of +Mademoiselle de I don't know what, and . . .'</p> + +<p>'But what have I done?' cried Molly.</p> + +<p>'I'm bored,' replied Victoria, with admirable detachment, 'and what's +more, I don't intend to go on being bored for another fortnight; I'm +going on deck to find somebody to amuse me.'</p> + +<p>'You can't do that,' said Molly, 'they're washing it.'</p> + +<p>'Very well, then, I'll go and watch and sing songs to the men.' Victoria +glared at her unoffending companion, her lips tightening and her jaw +growing ominously squarer.</p> + +<p>'But my dear girl,' said Molly, 'I'm awfully sorry. I didn't know you +cared; come and have a game of quoits with me and old Cairns. There's a +place behind the companion which I should say nobody ever does wash.'</p> + +<p>Victoria was on the point of answering that she hated quoits as she +never scored and they were generally dirty, but the prospect of +returning to the ancient <i>Harper's</i> was not alluring, so she followed +Molly to the hatchway and climbed up to the upper deck still shining +moist and white. Apparently they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> would not have to play behind the +companion. Four men were leaning against the bulwarks, looking out at +nothing as people do on board ship. Victoria just had time to notice a +very broad flannel-clad back surmounted by a thick neck, while Molly +went up to the last man and unceremoniously prodded him in the ribs.</p> + +<p>'Wake up, Bobby,' she said, 'I'm waiting.'</p> + +<p>The men all wheeled round suddenly. The broad man stepped forward +quickly and shook hands with Molly. Then he took a critical look at +Victoria. The three young men struggled for an absurd little bag which +Molly always dropped at the right moment.</p> + +<p>'How do you do, Mrs Fulton,' said the broad man stretching out his hand. +Victoria took it hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>'Don't you remember me?' he said. 'My name's Cairns. Major Cairns. You +know. Travancores. Met you at His Excellency's hop.'</p> + +<p>Of course she remembered him. He was so typical. Anybody could have told +his profession and his rank at sight. He had a broad humorous face, +tanned over freckled pink. Since he left Wellington he had grown a +little in every direction and had become a large middle aged boy. +Victoria took him in at one look. A square face such as that of Cairns, +distinctly chubby, framing grey blue eyes, was as easily recalled as +forgotten. She took in his forehead, high and likely to become higher as +his hair receded; his straight aggressive nose; his little rough +moustache looking like nothing so much as a ragged strip off an Irish +terrier's back.</p> + +<p>While Victoria was wondering what to say, Molly, determined to show her +that she was not going to leave her out, had thrust her three henchmen +forward.</p> + +<p>'This is Bobby,' she remarked. Bobby was a tall young man with a round +head, bright brown eyes full of cheerfulness and hot temper. 'And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +Captain Alastair . . . and Mr Parker.' Alastair smiled. Smiles were his +method of expression. Mr Parker bowed rather low and said nothing. He +had at once conceived for Victoria the mixture of admiration and dislike +that a man feels towards a woman who would not marry him if she knew +where he had been to school.</p> + +<p>'I hope,' said Mr Parker slowly, 'that your. . . .' But he broke off +suddenly, realising the mourning and feeling the ground to be unsafe.</p> + +<p>'Mr Parker, I've been looking for you all the morning,' interjected +Molly, with intuition. 'You've promised to teach me to judge my +distance,' and she cleverly pushed Bobby between Mr Parker and Victoria. +'Come along, and you Bobby, you can pick the rings up.'</p> + +<p>'Right O,' said Bobby readily. She turned towards the stern followed by +the obedient Bobby and Mr Parker.</p> + +<p>Captain Alastair smiled vacuously, made as if to follow the trio, +realising that it was a false start, swerved back and finally covering +his confusion by sliding a few yards onwards to tell Mrs Colonel Lanning +that it was blowing up for a squall.</p> + +<p>Victoria had watched the little incident with amused detachment.</p> + +<p>'Who is Mr Parker?' she enquired.</p> + +<p>'Met him yesterday for the first time,' said Cairns, 'and really I can't +say I want to know. Might be awkward. Must be in the stores or +something. Looks to me like a cross between a mute and a parson. Bit of +a worm, anyhow.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, he didn't hurt my feelings,' remarked Victoria; 'but some men never +know what women have got on.' Cairns looked her over approvingly. +Shoddy-looking mourning. Durzee made of course. But, Lord, what hands +and eyes.</p> + +<p>'I daresay not,' he said drily. 'I wish he'd keep away though. Let's +walk up.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<p>He took a stride or two away from Alastair. Victoria followed him. She +was rather taken with his rough simplicity, the comfort of his apparent +obtuseness. So like an uncle, she thought.</p> + +<p>'Well, Mrs Fulton,' said Cairns, 'I suppose you're glad to be here, as +usual.'</p> + +<p>'As usual?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, as usual; people are always glad to be on board. If they're going +home, they're going home and if they're going out they're thinking that +it's going to be full pay instead of half.'</p> + +<p>'It hadn't struck me like that,' said Victoria with a smile, 'though I +suppose I am glad to go home.'</p> + +<p>'Funny,' said the Major, 'I never found a country like India to make +people want to come to it and to make them want to get out of it when +they were there. We had a sub once. You should have heard him on the +dead cities. Somewhere south east of Hyderabad, he said. And native +jewellery, and fakirism, and all that. He's got a liver now and the last +I heard of him was that he put his shoulder out at polo.'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked out over the immense oily greenness of the water. Far +away on the skyline a twirling wreath of smoke showed that some tramp +steamer was passing them unseen. The world was between them; they were +crawling on one side of the ball and the tramp on the other, like flies +on an orange. Was that tramp, Bombay bound, carrying more than a cargo +of rolling stock? Perhaps the mate had forgotten his B.S.A. fittings and +was brooding, he too, over the dead cities, somewhere south-east of +Hyderabad.</p> + +<p>'No,' repeated Victoria slowly, 'it hadn't struck me like that.'</p> + +<p>Cairns looked at her curiously. He had heard of Fulton and knew of the +manner of his death. He could not help thinking that she did not seem +to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> show many signs of a recent bereavement, but then she was well rid +of Fulton. Of course there were other things too. Going back as the +widow of an Indian officer was all very well if you could afford the +luxury, but if you couldn't, well it couldn't be much catch. So, being +thirty eight or so, he prudently directed the conversation towards the +customary subjects discussed on board a trooper: the abominable +accommodation and the appalling incompetency of the government with +regard to the catering.</p> + +<p>Victoria listened to him placidly. His ancient tittle-tattle had been +made familiar to her by three years' association with his fellows, and +she had learned that she need not say much, as his one wish was +naturally to revile the authorities and all their work. But one item +interested her.</p> + +<p>'After all,' he said, 'I don't see why I should talk. I've had enough of +it. I'm sending in my papers as soon as I've settled a small job at +Perim. I'll get back to Aden and shake all that beastly Asiatic dust off +my shoes.'</p> + +<p>'Surely,' said Victoria, 'you're not going to leave the Service?' Her +intonation implied that she was urging him not to commit suicide. Some +women must pass twice under the yoke.</p> + +<p>'Fed up. Simply fed up with it. Suppose I do waste another twenty years +in India or Singapore or Hong Kong, how much forrarder am I? They'll +retire me as a colonel or courtesy general and dump me into an England +which doesn't care a hang about me with the remains of malaria, no +digestion and no temper. I'll then while away my time watching the +busses pass by from one of the windows of the Rag and give my daily +opinion of the doings of Simla and the National Congress to men who will +only listen to me so long as I stand them a whisky and soda.'</p> + +<p>'It isn't alluring,' said Victoria, 'but it may not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> be as bad as that. +You can do marvels in India. My husband used to say that a man could +hope for anything there.'</p> + +<p>Cairns suppressed the obvious retort that Fulton's ideals did not seem +to have materialised.</p> + +<p>'No,' he said, 'I'm not ambitious. India's steam rollered all that. When +I've done with my job at Perim, which won't be much more than a couple +of months, I'm going home. Don't know that I'll do anything in +particular. Farm a bit, perhaps, or have some chambers somewhere near St +James' and dabble in balloons or motors. Some shooting too. All that +sort of thing.'</p> + +<p>'Perhaps you are right,' said Victoria after a pause. 'I suppose it's as +well to do what one likes. Shall we join the others?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Life</span> on a trooper is not eventful. Victoria was not so deeply absorbed +in her mourning or in the pallid literature borrowed from Molly as not +to notice it. Though she was not what is termed serious, the perpetual +quoits on the upper deck in company with Alastair and his conversation +limited by smiles, and with Mr Parker and his conversation limited by +uneasiness palled about the second game. Bobby too was a cypher. It was +his fate to be known as 'Bobby,' a quantity of no importance. He +belonged to the modern school of squires of dames, ever ready to fetch a +handkerchief, to fish when he inwardly wanted to sleep in a deck chair +or to talk when he had a headache. Such men have their value as tame +cats and Victoria did not avoid his cheery neighbourhood. But he was +summed up in the small fact which she recalled with gentle amusement a +long time after: she had never known his name. For her, as for the +ship's company, he was 'Bobby,' merely Bobby.</p> + +<p>The female section too could detain none but cats and hens, as Victoria +put it. She had moved too long like a tiny satellite in the orbit of Mrs +Colonel So-and-So to return to the little group which slumbered all day +by the funnel dreaming aloud the petty happenings of Bombay. The heavy +rains at Chandraga, the simply awful things that had been said about an +A.D.C. and Mrs Bryan, and the scandalous way in which a Babu had been +made a judge,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> all this filled her with an extraordinary weariness. She +felt, in the presence of these remains of her daily life, as she would +when confronted for the third time with the cold leg of mutton.</p> + +<p>True there was Cairns, a man right enough and jovial in spite of his +cynical assumption that nothing was worth anything. He could produce +passing fair aphorisms, throw doubts on the value of success and +happiness. There was nothing, however, to hold on to. Victoria had not +found in him a teacher or a helper. He was merely destructive of thought +and epicurean in taste. Convinced that wine, woman and song were quite +valueless things, he nevertheless knew the best Rüdesheimer and had an +eye for the droop of Victoria's shoulders.</p> + +<p>Cairns obviously liked Victoria. He did not shun his fellow passengers, +for he considered that the dullest people are the most interesting, yet +she could not help noticing from time to time that his eyes followed her +round. He was a good big man and she knew that his thick hand, a little +swollen and sunburnt, would be a good thing to touch. But there was in +him none of that subtle magnetism that grasps and holds. He was coarse, +perhaps a little vulgar at heart.</p> + +<p>Thus Victoria had roamed aimlessly over the ship, visiting even the bows +where, everlastingly, a lascar seemed to brood in fixed attitudes as a +Budh dreaming of Nirvana. She often wandered in the troop-deck filled +with the womankind and children of the non-coms. Without disliking +children she could find no attraction in these poor little faded things +born to be scorched by the Indian sun. The women too, mostly yellow and +faded, always recalled to her, so languid and tired were they, +commonplace flowers, marigolds, drooping on their stems. Besides, the +society of the upper deck found a replica on the troop deck, where it +was occasionally a little shriller.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> There too, she could catch snatches +which told of the heavy rains of Chandraga, the goings on of Lance +Corporal Maccaskie's wife and the disgrace of giving Babu clerks more +than fifty rupees a month.</p> + +<p>Perpetually the Indian ocean shimmered by, calm as the opaque eye of a +shark, breaking at times into immense rollers that swelled hardly more +than a woman's breast. And the days passed on.</p> + +<p>They were nearing Aden, though nothing on the mauve horizon told of the +outpost where the filth of the East begins to overwhelm the ugliness of +the West. Victoria and Cairns were leaning on the starboard bulwark. She +was looking vacuously into the greying sky, conscious that Cairns was +watching her. She felt with extraordinary clearness that he was gazing +as if spell-bound at the soft and regular rise and fall of her skin +towards the coarse black openwork of her bodice. Far away in the +twilight was something long and black, hardly more than a line vanishing +towards the north.</p> + +<p>'Araby,' said Cairns.</p> + +<p>Victoria looked more intently. Far away, half veiled by the mists of +night, unlit by the evening star, lay the coast. Araby, the land of +manna and milk—of black-eyed women—of horses that champ strange bits. +Here and there a blackened rock sprang up from the waste of sand and +scrub. Its utter desolation awakened a sympathetic chord. It was lonely, +as she was lonely. As the night swiftly rushed into the heavens, she let +her arm rest against that of Cairns. Then his hand closed over hers. It +was warm and hard; something like a pale light of companionship +struggled through the solitude of her soul.</p> + +<p>They stood cold and silent while the night swallowed up the coast and +all save here and there the foam tip of a wave. The man had put his arm +round her and pressed her to him. She did not resist. The soft<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> wind +playing in her hair carried a straying lock into his eyes, half blinding +him and making him catch his breath, so redolent was it, not with the +scent of flowers, but of life, vigorous and rich in its thousand saps. +He drew her closer to him and pressed his lips on her neck. Victoria did +not resist.</p> + +<p>From the forepeak swathed in darkness, came the faint unearthly echoes +of the stokers' song. There were no fourths; the dominant and the +subdominant were absent. Strangely attuned to the western ear, the +sounds sometimes boomed, sometimes fell to a whisper. The chant rose +like incense into the heavens, celebrating Durga, protector of the +Motherland, Lakshmi, bowered in the flower that in the water grows. +Cairns had drawn Victoria close against him. He was stirred and shaken +as never before. All conspired against him, the night, the fancied +scents of Araby, the unresisting woman in his arms who yielded him her +lips with the passivity of weariness. They did not think as they kissed, +whether laying the foundation of regret or snatching from the fleeting +hour a moment of thoughtless joy. Again a brass drum boomed out beyond +them, softly as if touched by velvet hands. It carried the buzzing of +bees, the calls of corncrakes, in every tone the rich scents of the +jungle, where undergrowth rots in black water—of perfumes that burn +before the gods. Then the night wind arose and swept away the crooning +voices.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Victoria</span> stepped out on to the platform with a heart that bounded and +yet shrank. Not even the first faint coming of the coastline had given +her the almost physical shock that she experienced on this bare +platform. Waterloo station lay around her in a pall of faint yellow mist +that gripped and wrenched at her throat. Through the fog a thousand +ungainly shapes of stairs and signals thrust themselves, some crude in +their near blackness, others fainter in the distance. It might have been +a dream scene but for the uproar that rose around her from the rumble of +London, the voices of a great crowd. Yet all this violence of life, the +darkness, the surge of men and women, all this told her that she was +once more in the midst of things.</p> + +<p>She found her belongings mechanically, fumblingly. She did not realise +until then the bitterness that drove its iron into her soul. Already, +when the troopship had entered the Channel she had felt a cruel pang +when she realised that she must expect nothing and that nobody would +greet her. She had fled from the circle near the funnel when the talk +began to turn round London and waiting sisters and fathers, round the +Lord Mayor's show, the play, the old fashioned Christmas. Now, as she +struggled through the crowd that cried out and laughed excitedly and +kissed, she knew her isolation was complete. There was nobody to meet +her. The fog made her eyes smart, so they filled readily with tears.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> + +<p>As she sat in the cab, however, and there flashed by her like beacons +the lights of the stalls in the Waterloo Road, the black and greasy +pavement sown with orange peel, she felt her heart beating furiously +with the excitement of home coming. She passed the Thames flowing +silently, swathed in its shroud of mist. Then the blackness of St +James's Park through which her cab crawled timidly as if it feared +things that might lurk unknown in the fogbound thickets.</p> + +<p>It was still in a state of feverish dreaming that Victoria entered her +room at Curran's Private Hotel, otherwise known by a humble number in +Seymour Street. 'Curran's' is much in favour among Anglo-Indians, as it +is both central and cheap. It has everything that distinguishes the +English hotel which has grown from a boarding-house into a superior +establishment where you may stay at so much a day. The successful owner +had bought up one after the other three contiguous houses and had +connected them by means of a conservatory where there lived, among much +pampas grass, small ferns in pots shrouded in pea-green paper and sickly +plants to which no name could be attached as they mostly suggested +stewed lettuce. It was impossible to walk in a straight line from one +end of the coalition of buildings to the other without climbing and +descending steps every one of which proclaimed the fact that the leases +of the houses would soon fall in. From the three kitchens ascended three +smells of mutton. The three halls were strewn with bicycles, gun cases +in their last phase, sticks decrepit or dandified. The three hat racks, +all early Victorian in their lines, bore a motley cargo. Dusty bowlers +hustled it with heather coloured caps and top hats; one even bore a pith +helmet and a clerical atrocity.</p> + +<p>Queer as Curran's is, it is comfortable enough. Victoria looked round +her room, tiny in length and breadth, high however with all the dignity +that befits<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> an odd corner left over by the Victorian builder. It was +distinguished by its simplicity, for the walls bore nothing whatever +beyond a restrained papering of brownish roses. A small black and gold +bed, a wardrobe with a white handle, a washing stand with a marble top +took up all the space left by the large tin trunk which contained most +of Victoria's worldly goods. So this, thought Victoria, is the +beginning. She pulled aside the curtain. Before her lay Seymour Street, +where alone an eye of light shone faintly from the nearest lamp post. +Through the fog came the warning noise of a lorry picking its way. It +was cold, cold, all this, and lonely like an island.</p> + +<p>Her meditations were disturbed by the maid who brought her hot water.</p> + +<p>'My name is Carlotta,' said the girl complacently depositing the can +upon the marble topped washstand.</p> + +<p>'Yes?' said Victoria. 'You are a foreigner?'</p> + +<p>'Yes. I am Italian. It is foggy,' replied the girl.</p> + +<p>Victoria sighed. It was kind of the girl to make her feel at home, to +smile at her with those flashing teeth so well set in her ugly little +brown face. She went to the washstand and cried out in horror at her +dirt and fog begrimed face, rimmed at the eyes, furrowed on the left by +the course of that tear shed at Waterloo.</p> + +<p>'Tell them downstairs I shan't be ready for half an hour,' she said; +'it'll take me about a week to get quite clean, I should say.'</p> + +<p>Carlotta bared her white teeth again and withdrew gently as a cat, while +Victoria courageously drenched her face and neck. The scents of England, +already conjured up by the fog and the mutton, rose at her still more +vividly from the warm water which inevitably exhales the traditional +perfume of hot painted can.</p> + +<p>Her dinner was a small affair but delightful. It was good to eat and +drink once more things to which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> she had been accustomed for the first +twenty years of her life. Her depression had vanished; she was merely +hungry, and, like the healthy young animal she was, longing for a rare +cut of roast beef, accompanied by the good old English potatoes boiled +down to the consistency of flour and the flavour of nothing. Her +companions were so normal that she could not help wondering, when her +first hunger was sated and she was confronted with the apple tart of her +fathers, whether she was not in the unchanging old board residence in +Fulham where her mother had stayed with her whenever she came up to +town, excited and conscious of being on the spree.</p> + +<p>Two spinsters of no age discussed the fog. Both were immaculate and sat +rigidly in correct attitudes facing their plates. Both talked quickly +and continuously in soft but high tones. They passed one another the +salt with the courtesy of abbés taking pinches of snuff. A young man +from the Midlands explained to the owner of the clerical hat that under +certain circumstances his food would cost him more. Near by a heavy man +solemnly and steadily ate, wiping at times from his beard drops of gravy +and of sauce, whilst his faded wife nibbled disconsolately tiny scraps +of crust. These she daintily buttered, while her four lanky girls nudged +and whispered.</p> + +<p>Victoria did not stay in the conservatory after the important meal. As +she passed through it, a mist of weariness gathering before her eyes, +she had a vision of half a dozen men sleeping in cane chairs, or +studying pink or white evening papers. The young man from the Midlands +had captured another victim and was once more explaining that under +certain circumstances his food would cost him more.</p> + +<p>Victoria seemed to have reached the limits of physical endurance. She +fumbled as she divested herself of her clothes; she could not even +collect enough energy to wash. All the room seemed filled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> with haze. +Her tongue clove to her palate. Little tingles in her eyelids crushed +them together over her pupils. She stumbled into her bed, mechanically +switching off the light by her bedside. In the very act her arm lost its +energy and she sank into a dreamless sleep.</p> + +<p>Next morning she breakfasted with good appetite. The fog had almost +entirely lifted and sunshine soft as silver was filtering through the +windows into the little dining-room. Its mahoganous ugliness was almost +warmed into charm. The sideboard shone dully through its covering of +coarse net. Even the stacked cruets remembered the days when they +cunningly blazed in a shop window. A pleasurable feeling of excitement +ran through Victoria's body, for she was going to discover London, to +have adventures. As she closed the door behind her with a definite +little slam she felt like a buccaneer.</p> + +<p>Buccaneering in the Edgware Road, even when it is bathed in the morning +sun, soon falls flat in November. It came upon Victoria rather as a +shock that her Indian clothing was rather thin. As her flying visits to +town had only left in her mind a very hazy picture of Regent Street it +was quite unconsciously that she entered the emporium opposite. A frigid +young lady sacrificed for her benefit an abominable vicuna coat which, +she said, fitted Victoria like a glove. Victoria paid the twenty seven +and six with an admirable feeling of recklessness and left the shop +reflecting that she looked the complete charwoman.</p> + +<p>She turned into Hyde Park, where the gentle wind was sorrowfully driving +the brown and broken leaves along the rough gravel. The thin tracery of +the trees imaged itself on the road like a giant cobweb. Victoria looked +for a moment towards the south where the massive buildings rise, towards +the east where a cathedral thrusts into the sky a tower that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +suspiciously recalls waterworks. She drank in the cold air with a gusto +that can be understood by none save those who have learned to live in +the floating moisture of the plains. She felt young and, in the +sunshine, with her cheeks gaining colour as the wind whipped them, she +looked in her long black coat and broad brimmed straw hat, like a +quakeress in love.</p> + +<p>As she walked down towards the Achilles statue the early morning +panorama of London unfolded itself before her un-understanding eyes. +Girls hurried by with their satchels towards the typewriting rooms of +the west; they stole a look at Victoria's face but quickly turned away +from her clothes. Now and then spruce young clerks walking to the Tube +slackened their pace to look twice into her grey eyes; one or two looked +back, not so much in the hope of an adventure, for time could not be +snatched for Venus herself on the way to the office, as to see whether +they could carry away with them the flattery of having been noticed.</p> + +<p>In a sense that first day in London was for Victoria a day of +revelations. Having despatched a telegram to her brother to announce her +arrival she felt that the day was hers. Ted had not troubled to meet her +either at Southampton or Waterloo: it was not likely that he had +followed the sightings of her ship. The next day being a Saturday, +however, he would probably come up from the Bedfordshire school where he +proffered Latin to an ungrateful generation.</p> + +<p>Victoria's excursions to London had been so few that she had but the +faintest idea of where she was to go. Knowing, however, that one cannot +lose oneself in London, she walked aimlessly towards the east. It was a +voyage of discovery. Piccadilly, bathed in the pale sun, revealed itself +as a land where luxury flows like rivers of milk. Victoria, being a true +woman, could not pass a shop. Thus her progress was slow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> so slow that +when she found herself between the lions of Trafalgar Square she began +to realise that she wanted her lunch.</p> + +<p>The problem of food is cruel for all women who desire more than a bun. +They risk either inattention or over attention, and if they follow other +women, they almost invariably discover the cheap and bad. Victoria +hesitated for a moment on the steps of an oyster shop, as nervous in the +presence of her first plunge into freedom as a novice at the side door +of a pawnbroker. A man passed by her into the oyster shop, smoking a +pipe. She felt she would never dare to sit in a room where strange men +smoked pipes. Thus she stood for a moment forlorn on the pavement, until +a memory of the only decent grill in town, according to Bobby, passed +through her mind.</p> + +<p>A policeman sent her by bus to the New Gaiety, patronised by Bobby and +his cronies. As Victoria went down the interminable underground +staircase, and especially as she entered the enormous room where paper, +carpets, and plate always seem new, her courage almost failed her. +Indeed she looked round anxiously, half hoping that the anonymous Bobby +might be revisiting his old haunts. But she was quite alone, and it was +only by reminding herself that she must always be alone at meals now +that she coerced herself into sitting down. She got through her meal +with expedition. She felt frightfully small; the waiters were painfully +courteous; a man laid aside his orange coloured newspaper, and +embarrassed her with frequent side glances. She braced herself up +however. 'I am training,' was her uppermost thought. She then wondered +whether she ought to have come to the New Gaiety at all. Fortunately it +was only at the very end of her lunch that Victoria realised she was the +only woman sitting alone. After this discovery her nerve failed her. She +got up hurriedly, and, in her confusion, omitted to tip the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> waiter. At +the desk the last stone was heaped on the cairn of her discomfiture when +the cashier politely returned to her a quarter rupee which she had given +her thinking it was a sixpence.</p> + +<p>With a sigh of satisfaction Victoria resumed her walk through London. +She was a little tired already but she could think of nothing to do, +nowhere to go to. She did not want to return to Curran's to sit in her +box-like room, or to look at the two spinsters availing themselves of +their holiday in town to play patience in the conservatory.</p> + +<p>All the afternoon, therefore, Victoria saw the sights. Covent Garden +repelled her by the massiveness of its food suggestion, and especially +by the choking dirt of its lanes. After Covent Garden, Savoy court yard +and its announcements of intellectual plays by unknown women. Then once +more, drawn by its spaciousness guessed at through Spring Gardens, +Victoria walked into Saint James's Park. She rested awhile upon a seat, +watching the waterfowl strut and plume themselves, the pelicans flounder +heavily in the mud. She was tired. The sun was setting early. The magic +slowly faded from London; Buckingham Palace lost the fictitious grace +that it has when set in a blue sky. Victoria shivered a little. She felt +tired. She did not know where to go. She was alone. On the seat nearest +to hers two lovers sat together, hand in hand. The man's face was almost +hidden by his cap and by the blue puffs of his pipe; the girl's was +averted towards the ground where, with the ferule of her umbrella, she +lazily drew signs. There was no bitterness in this sight for Victoria. +Her romance had come and gone so long ago that she looked quite casually +at these wanderers in Arcadia. She only knew that she was alone and +cold.</p> + +<p>Victoria got up and walked out of the park. It was darkening, and little +by little the lights of London were springing into life. By dint of many +questionings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> she managed to regain Oxford Street, that spinal column of +London without which the stranger would be lost. Then her course was +easy, and it was with a peculiar feeling of luxuriousness that she +resigned herself to the motor bus that jolted and shook her tired body +until she reached the Arch. More slowly, and with diminished optimism, +she found her way up Edgware Road, where night was now falling. The +emporium was dazzling with lights. Alone the public house rivalled it +and thrust its glare through the settling mist. Victoria closed the door +of Curran's. At once she re-entered its atmosphere; into the warm air +rose the three smells of three legs of mutton.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">'Mr Wren</span>, ma'am.'</p> + +<p>Victoria turned quickly to Carlotta. The girl's face was obtrusively +demure. Some years at Curran's had not dulled in her the interest that +any woman subtly feels in the meeting of the sexes.</p> + +<p>'Ask him to come in here, Carlotta,' said Victoria. 'We shan't be +disturbed, shall we?'</p> + +<p>'Oh no! ma'am,' said Carlotta, with increasing demureness. 'There is +nobody, nobody. I will show the young gentleman in.'</p> + +<p>Victoria walked to the looking-glass which shyly peeped out from the +back of the monumental sideboard. She re-arranged her hair and hurriedly +flicked some dust from the corners of her eyes. All this for Edward, but +she had not seen him for three years. As she turned round she was +confronted by her brother who had gently stolen into the dining-room. +Edward's every movement was unobtrusive. He put one arm round her and +kissed her cheek.</p> + +<p>'How are you, Victoria?' he said, looking her in the eyes.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I'm alright, Ted. I'm so glad to see you.' She was genuinely glad; +it was so good to have belongings once again.</p> + +<p>'Did you have a good passage?' asked Edward.</p> + +<p>'Pretty good until we got to Ushant and then it did blow. I was glad to +get home.'</p> + +<p>'I'm very glad to see you,' said Edward, 'very glad.' His eyes fixed on +the sideboard as if he were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> mesmerised by the cruets. Victoria looked +at him critically. Three years had not made on him the smallest +impression. He was at twenty-eight what he had been at twenty-five or +for the matter of that at eighteen. He was a tall slim figure with +narrow pointed shoulders and a slightly bowed back. His face was pale +without being unhealthy. There was nothing in his countenance to arouse +any particular interest, for he had those average features that commit +no man either to coarseness or to intellectuality. He showed no trace of +the massiveness of his sister's chin; his mouth too was looser and hung +a little open. Alone his eyes, richly grey, recalled his relationship. +Straggly fair hair fell across the left side of his forehead. He peered +through silver rimmed spectacles as he nervously worried his watch chain +with both hands. Every movement exposed the sharpness of his knees +through his worn trousers.</p> + +<p>'Ted,' said Victoria, breaking in upon the silence, 'it was kind of you +to come up at once.'</p> + +<p>'Of course I'd come up at once. I couldn't leave you here alone. It must +be a big change after the sunshine.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Victoria slowly, 'it is a big change. Not only the sunshine. +Other things, you know.'</p> + +<p>Edward's hands played still more nervously with his watch chain. He had +not heard much of the manner of Fulton's death. Victoria's serious face +encouraged him to believe that she might harrow him with details, weep +even. He feared any expression of feeling, not because he was hard but +because it was so difficult to know what to say. He was neither hard nor +soft; he was a schoolmaster and could deal readily enough with the pangs +of Andromeda but what should he say to a live woman, his sister too?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I understand—I—you see, it's quite awful about Dick—' he stopped, +lost, groping for the proper sentiment.</p> + +<p>'Ted,' said Victoria, 'don't condole with me. I don't want to be +unkind—if you knew everything—But there, I'd rather not tell you; poor +Dicky 's dead and I suppose it's wrong, but I can't be sorry.'</p> + +<p>Edward looked at her with some disapproval. The marriage had not been a +success, he knew that much, but she ought not to speak like that. He +felt he ought to reprove her, but the difficulty of finding words +stopped him.</p> + +<p>'Have you made any plans?' he asked in his embarrassment, thus +blundering into the subject he had intended to lead up to with infinite +tact.</p> + +<p>'Plans?' said Victoria. 'Well, not exactly. Of course I shall have to +work; I thought you might help me perhaps.'</p> + +<p>Edward looked at her again uneasily. She had sat down in an armchair by +the side of the fire with her back to the light. In the penumbra her +eyes came out like dark pools. A curl rippled over one of her ears. She +looked so self-possessed that his embarrassment increased.</p> + +<p>'Will you have to work?' he asked. The idea of his sister working filled +him with vague annoyance.</p> + +<p>'I don't quite see how I can help it,' said Victoria smiling. 'You see, +I've got nothing, absolutely nothing. When I've spent the thirty pounds +or so I've got, I must either earn my own living or go into the +workhouse.' She spoke lightly, but she was conscious of a peculiar +sinking.</p> + +<p>'I thought you might come back with me,' said Edward, '. . . and stay +with me a little . . . and look round.'</p> + +<p>'Ted, it's awfully kind of you, but I'm not going to let you saddle +yourself with me. I can't be your housekeeper; oh! it would never do. +And don't you think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> I am more likely to get something to do here than +down in Bedfordshire?'</p> + +<p>'I do want you to come back with me,' said Edward hesitatingly. 'I don't +think you ought to be alone here. And perhaps I could find you something +in a family at Cray or thereabouts. I could ask the vicar.'</p> + +<p>Victoria shuddered. It had never struck her that employment might be +difficult to find or uncongenial when one found it. The words 'vicar' +and 'Cray' suggested something like domestic service without its rights, +gentility without its privileges.</p> + +<p>'Ted,' she said gravely, 'you're awfully good to me, but I'd rather stay +here. I'm sure I could find something to do.' Edward's thoughts +naturally came back to his own profession.</p> + +<p>'I'll ask the Head,' he said with the first flash of animation he had +shown since he entered the room. To ask the Head was to go to the source +of all knowledge. 'Perhaps he knows a school. Of course your French is +pretty good, isn't it?'</p> + +<p>'Ted, Ted, you do forget things,' said Victoria, laughing. 'Don't you +remember the mater insisting on my taking German because so few girls +did? Why, it was the only original thing she ever did in her life, poor +dear!'</p> + +<p>'But nobody wants German, for girls that is,' replied Edward miserably.</p> + +<p>'Very well then,' said Victoria, 'I won't teach; that's all. I must do +something else.'</p> + +<p>Edward walked up and down nervously, pushing back his thin fair hair +with one hand, and with the other nervously tugging at his watch chain.</p> + +<p>'Don't worry yourself, Ted,' said Victoria. 'Something will turn up. +Besides there's no hurry. Why, I can live two or three months on my +money, can't I?'</p> + +<p>'I suppose you can,' said Edward gloomily, 'but what will you do +afterwards?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Earn some more,' said Victoria. 'Now Ted, you haven't seen me for three +years. Don't let us worry. Think things over when you get back to Cray +and write to me. You won't go back until to-morrow, will you?'</p> + +<p>'I'm sorry,' said Edward, 'but I didn't think you'd be back this week. I +shall be in charge to-morrow. Why don't you come down?'</p> + +<p>'Ted, Ted, how can you suggest that I should spend my poor little +fortune in railway fares! Well, if you can't stay, you can't. But I'll +tell you what you can do. I can't go on paying two and a half guineas a +week here; I must get some rooms. You lived here when you taught at that +school in the city, didn't you? Well then, you must know all about it: +we'll go house-hunting.'</p> + +<p>Edward looked at her dubiously. He disliked the idea of Victoria in +rooms almost as much as Victoria at Curran's. It offended some vague +notions of propriety. However her suggestion would give him time to +think. Perhaps she was right.</p> + +<p>'Of course, I'll be glad to help,' he said, 'I don't know much about it; +I used to live in Gower Street.' A faint flush of reminiscent excitement +rose to his cheeks. Gower Street, by the side of Cray and Lympton, had +been almost adventurous.</p> + +<p>'Very well then,' said Victoria, 'we shall go to Gower Street first. +Just wait till I put on my hat.'</p> + +<p>She ran upstairs, not exactly light of heart, but pleased with the idea +of house-hunting. There's romance in all seeking, even if the treasure +is to be found in a Bloomsbury lodging-house.</p> + +<p>The ride on the top of the motor bus was exhilarating. The pale sun of +November was lighting up the streets with the almost mystic whiteness of +the footlights. Edward said nothing, for his memories of London were +stale and he did not feel secure enough to point out the Church of the +Deaf and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> Dumb, nor had he ever known his London well enough to be able +to pronounce judgment on the shops. Besides, Victoria was too much +absorbed in gazing at London rolling and swirling beneath her, belching +out its crowds of workers and pleasure seekers from every tube and main +street. At every shop the omnibus seemed surrounded by a swarm of angry +bees. Victoria watched them struggle with spirit still unspoiled, +wondering at the determination on the faces of the men, at the +bitterness painted on the sharp features of the women as they savagely +thrust one another aside and, dishevelled and dusty, successively +conquered their seats. All this, the constant surge of horse and +mechanical conveyances, the shrill cries of the newsboys flashing pink +papers like <i>chulos</i> at an angry bull, the roar of the town, made +Victoria understand the city. Something like fear of this strong +restless people crept into her as she began to have a dim perception +that she too would have to fight. She was young, however, and the +feeling was not unpleasant. Her nerves tingled a little as she thought +of the struggle to come and the inevitable victory at the end.</p> + +<p>Victoria's spirits had not subsided even when she entered Gower Street. +Its immensity, its interminable length frightened her a little. The +contrast between it, so quiet, dignified and dull, and the inferno she +had just left behind her impressed her with a sense of security. Its +houses, however, seemed so high and dirty that she wondered, looking at +its thousand windows, whether human beings could be cooped up thus and +yet retain their humanity.</p> + +<p>Here Edward was a little more in his element. With a degree of animation +he pointed to the staid beauty of Bedford Square. He demanded admiration +like a native guiding a stranger in his own town. Victoria watched him +curiously. He was a good fellow but it was odd to hear him raise his +voice and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> to see him point with his stick. He had always been quiet, so +she had not expected him to show as much interest as he did in his old +surroundings.</p> + +<p>'I suppose you had a good time when you were here?' she said.</p> + +<p>'Nothing special. I was too busy at the school,' he replied. 'But, of +course, you know, one does things in London. It's not very lively at +Cray.'</p> + +<p>'Wouldn't you like to leave Cray,' she said, 'and come back?'</p> + +<p>Edward paused nervously. London frightened him a little and the idea of +leaving Cray suddenly thrust upon him froze him to the bone. It was not +Cray he loved, but Cray meant a life passing gently away by the side of +a few beloved books. Though he had never realised that hedgerows flower +in the spring and that trees redden to gold and copper in the autumn, +the country had taken upon him so great a hold that even the thought of +leaving it was pain.</p> + +<p>'Oh! no,' he said hurriedly. 'I couldn't leave Cray. I couldn't live +here, it's too noisy. There are my old rooms, there, the house with the +torch extinguishers.'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at him again. What curious tricks does nature play and +how strangely she pleases to distort her own work! Then she looked at +the house with the extinguishers. Clearly it would be impossible, but +for those aristocratic remains, to distinguish it from among half a +dozen of its fellows. It was a house, that was all. It was faced in +dirty brick, parted at every floor by stone work. A portico, rising over +six stone steps, protected a door painted brown and bearing a brass +knocker. It had windows, an area, bells. It was impossible to find in it +an individual detail to remember.</p> + +<p>But Edward was talking almost excitedly for him. 'See there,' he said, +'those are my old rooms,' pointing indefinitely at the frontage. 'They +were quite decent,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> you know. Wonder whether they're let. You could have +them.' He looked almost sentimentally at the home of the Wrens.</p> + +<p>'Why not ring and ask?' said Victoria, whose resourcefulness equalled +that of Mr Dick.</p> + +<p>Edward took another loving look at the familiar window, strode up the +steps, followed by Victoria.</p> + +<p>There were several bells. 'Curious,' he said, 'she must have let it out +in floors; Wakefield and Grindlay, don't know them. Seymour? It's Mrs +Brumfit's house: Oh! here it is.' He pressed a bell marked 'House.' +Victoria heard with a curious sensation of unexpectedness the sudden +shrill sound of the electric bell.</p> + +<p>After an interminable interval, during which Edward's hands nervously +played, the door opened. A young girl stood on the threshold. She wore a +red cloth blouse, a black skirt, and an unspeakably dirty apron half +loose round her waist. Her hair was tightly done up in curlers in +expectation of Sunday.</p> + +<p>'Mrs Brumfit,' said Edward, 'is she in?'</p> + +<p>''oo?' said the girl.</p> + +<p>'Mrs Brumfit, the landlady,' said Edward.</p> + +<p>'Don't know 'er, try next 'ouse.' The girl tried to shut the door.</p> + +<p>'You don't understand,' cried Edward, stopping the door with his hand. +'I used to live here.'</p> + +<p>'Well, wot do yer want?' replied the girl. 'Can't 'elp that, can I? +There ain't no Mrs Brumfit 'ere. Only them there.' She pointed at the +bells. 'Nobody but them and mother. She's the 'ousekeeper. If yer mean +the old woman as was 'ere when they turned the 'ouse into flats, she's +dead.'</p> + +<p>Edward stepped back. The girl shut the door with a slam. He stood as if +petrified. Victoria looked at him with amusement in her eyes, listening +to the echoes of the girl's voice singing more and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> more faintly some +catchy tune as she descended into the basement.</p> + +<p>'Dead,' said Edward, 'can it be possible—?' He looked like a plant torn +up by the roots. He had jumped on the old ground and it had given way.</p> + +<p>'My dear Ted,' said Victoria gently, 'things change, you see.' Slowly +they went down the steps of the house. Victoria did not speak, for a +strange mixture of pity and disdain was in her. She quite understood +that a tie had been severed and that the death of his old landlady meant +for Edward that the past which he had vaguely loved had died with her. +He was one of those amorphous creatures whose life is so interwoven with +that of their fellows that any death throws it into disarray. She let +him brood over his lost memories until they reached Bedford Square.</p> + +<p>'But Ted,' she broke in, 'where am I to go?'</p> + +<p>Edward looked at her as if dazed. Clearly he had not foreseen that Mrs +Brumfit was not an institution.</p> + +<p>'Go?' he said, 'I don't know.'</p> + +<p>'Don't you know any other lodgings?' asked Victoria. 'Gower Street seems +full of them.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! no,' said Edward quickly, 'we don't know what sort of places they +are. You couldn't go there.'</p> + +<p>'But where am I to go then?' Victoria persisted. Edward was silent. 'It +seems to me,' his sister went on, 'that I shall have to risk it. After +all, they won't murder me and they can't rob me of much.'</p> + +<p>'Please don't talk like that,' said Edward stiffly. He did not like this +association of ideas.</p> + +<p>'Well I must find some lodgings,' said Victoria, a little irritably. 'In +that case I may as well look round near Curran's. I don't like this +street much.'</p> + +<p>In default of an alternative, Edward looked sulky. Victoria felt +remorseful; she knew that Gower Street must have become for her brother +the traveller's Mecca and that he was vaguely afraid of the West End.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Never mind, dear,' she went on more gently, 'don't worry about lodgings +any more. Do you know what you're going to do? you're going to take me +to tea in some nice place and then I'll go with you to St Pancras; +that's the station you said you were going back by, isn't it? and you'll +put me in a bus and I'll go home. Now, come along, it's past five and +I'm dying for some tea.'</p> + +<p>As Victoria stood, an hour later, just outside the station in which +expires the spirit of Constantine the Great, she could not help feeling +relieved. As she stood there, so self-possessed, seeing so clearly the +busy world, she wondered why she had been given a broken reed to lean +upon. Where had her brother left his virility? Had it been sapped by +years of self-restraint? Had the formidable code of pretence, the daily +affectation of dignity, the perpetual giving of good examples, reduced +him to this shred of humanity, so timid, so resourceless? As she sped +home in the tube into which she had been directed by a policeman, she +vainly turned over the problem.</p> + +<p>Fortunately Victoria was young. As she laid her head on the pillow, +conscious of the coming of Sunday, when nothing could be done, visions +of things she could do obsessed her. There were lodgings to find, nice, +clean, cheap lodgings, with a dear old landlady and trees outside the +window, in a pretty old-fashioned house, very very quiet and quite near +all the tubes. She nursed the ideal for a time. Then she thought of +careers. She would read all the advertisements and pick out the nicest +work. Perhaps she could be a housekeeper. Or a secretary. On reflection, +a secretary would be better. It might be so interesting. Fancy being +secretary to a member of Parliament. Or to a famous author.</p> + +<p>She too might write.</p> + +<p>Her dreams were pleasant.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">A week</span> had elapsed and Victoria was beginning to feel the strain. She +looked out from the window into the little street where fine rain fell +gently as if it had decided to do so for ever. It was deserted, save by +a cat who shivered and crouched under the archway of the mews. Sometimes +a horse stirred. Through the open window the hot alcaline smell of the +animals filtered slowly.</p> + +<p>Victoria had found her lodgings. They were not quite the ideal, but she +had not seen the ideal and this little den in Portsea Place was not +without its charms. Her room, for the 'rooms' had turned from the plural +into the singular, was comfortable enough. It occupied the front of the +second floor in a small house. It had two windows, from which, by +craning out a little, the trees of Connaught Square could be seen +standing out like black skeletons against a white house. Opposite was +the archway of the mews out of which came most of the traffic of the +street. Under it too was the mart where the landladies who have invaded +the little street exchange notes on their lodgers and boast of their +ailments.</p> + +<p>Victoria inspected her domain. She had a very big bed, a little inclined +to creak; she had a table on a pedestal split so cunningly at the base +that she was always table-conscious when she sat by it; she had a +mahogany wash-stand, also on the triangular pedestal loved by the +pre-Morrisites, enriched by a white marble top and splasher. A large +armchair,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> smooth and rather treacherous, a small mahogany chest of +drawers, every drawer of which took a minute to pull out, some chairs of +no importance, completed her furniture. The carpet had been of all +colours and was now of none. The tablecloth was blue serge and would +have been serviceable if it had not contracted the habit of sliding off +the mahogany table whenever it was touched. Ugly as it was in every +detail, Victoria could not help thinking the room comfortable; its light +paper saved it and it was not over-loaded with pictures. It had escaped +with one text and the 'Sailor's Homecoming.' Besides it was restrained +in colour and solid: it was comfortable like roast beef and boiled +potatoes.</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at all these things, at her few scattered books, the +picture of Dick and of a group of school friends, at some of her boots +piled in a corner. Then she listened and heard nothing. Once more she +was struck by the emptiness, the darkness around her. She was alone. She +had been alone a whole week, hardly knowing what to do. The excitement +of choosing lodgings over, she had found time hang heavy on her hands. +She had interminably walked in London, gazed at shop windows, read +hundreds of imbecile picture postcards on bookstalls, gone continually +to many places in omnibuses. She had stumbled upon South Kensington and +wandered in its catacombs of stone and brick. She had discovered +Hampstead, lost herself horribly near Albany Street; she had even +unexpectedly landed in the City where rushing mobs had hustled and +battered her.</p> + +<p>Faithful to her resolve she had sedulously read the morning papers and +applied for several posts as housekeeper without receiving any answers. +She had realised that answering advertisements must be an art and had +become quite conscious that employment was not so easy to find as she +thought. Nobody seemed to want secretaries, except the limited<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +companies, about which she was not quite clear. As these mostly required +the investment of a hundred pounds or more she had not followed them up.</p> + +<p>She paced up and down in her room. The afternoon was wearing. Soon the +man downstairs would come back and slam the door. A little later the +young lady in the City would gently enter the room behind hers and, +after washing in an unobtrusive manner, would discreetly leave for an +hour. Meanwhile nothing broke the silence, except the postman's knock +coming nearer and nearer along Portsea Place. It fell unheeded even on +her own front door, for Victoria's ears were already attuned to the +sound. It meant nothing.</p> + +<p>She walked up and down nervously. She looked at herself in the glass. +She was pretty she thought, with her creamy skin and thick hair; her +eyes too were good; what a pity her chin was so thick. That's why Dicky +used to call her 'Towzer.' Poor old Dicky!</p> + +<p>Shuffling footsteps rose up the stairs. Then a knock. At Victoria's +invitation, a woman entered. It was Mrs Bell, the landlady.</p> + +<p>'Why, ma'am, you're sitting in the dark! Let me light the lamp,' cried +Mrs Bell, producing a large wooden box from a capacious front pocket. +She lit the lamp and a yellow glow filled the room, except the corners +which remained in darkness.</p> + +<p>'Here's a letter for you, ma'am,' said Mrs Bell holding it out. As +Victoria took it, Mrs Bell beamed on her approvingly. She liked her new +lodger. She had already informed the gathering under the archway that +she was a real lady. She had a leaning for real ladies, having been a +parlourmaid previous to marrying a butler and eking out his income by +letting rooms.</p> + +<p>'Thank you, Mrs Bell,' said Victoria, 'it was kind of you to come up.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Oh! ma'am, no trouble I can assure you,' said Mrs Bell, with a mixture +of respect and patronage. She wanted to be kind to her lodger, but she +found a difficulty in being kind to so real a lady.</p> + +<p>Victoria saw the letter was from Edward and opened it hurriedly. Mrs +Bell hesitated, looking with her black dress, clean face and grey hair, +the picture of the respectable maid. Then she turned and struggled out +on her worn shoes, the one blot on her neatness. Victoria read the +letter, bending perilously over the lamp which smoked like a funnel. The +letter was quite short; it ran:</p> + +<blockquote><p>'My dear Victoria,—I am sorry I could not write before now, but I +wanted to have some news to give you. I am glad to say that I have been +able to interest the vicar on your behalf. He informs me that if you +will call at once on Lady Rockham, 7a Queen's Gate, South Kensington, +S.W., she may be in a position to find you a post in a family of +standing. He tells me she is most capable and kind. He is writing to +her. I shall come to London and see you soon.—Yours affectionately,</p> + +<p class="author"> +<span class="smcap">Edward</span>.'<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Victoria fingered the letter lovingly. Perhaps she was going to have a +chance after all. It was good to have something to do. Indeed it seemed +almost too good to be true; she had vaguely resigned herself to +unemployment. Of course something would ultimately turn up, but the what +and when and how thereof were dangerously dim. She hardly cared to face +these ideas; indeed she dismissed them when they occurred to her with a +mixture of depression and optimism. Now, however, she was buoyant again. +The family of standing would probably pay well and demand little. It +would mean the theatres, the shops, flowers, the latest novels, no end +of nice things. A little work too, of course, driving in the Park with a +dear dowager with the most lovely white hair.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<p>She ate an excellent and comparatively expensive dinner in an Oxford +Street restaurant and went to bed early for the express purpose of +making plans until she fell asleep. She was still buoyant in the +morning. Connaught Square looked its best and even South Kensington's +stony face melted into smiles when it caught sight of her. Lady +Rockham's was a mighty house, the very house for a family of standing.</p> + +<p>Victoria walked up the four steep steps of the house where something of +her fate was to be decided. She hesitated for an instant and then, being +healthily inclined to take plunges, pulled the bell with a little more +vigour than was in her heart. It echoed tremendously. The quietude of +Queen's Gate stretching apparently for miles towards the south, +increased the terrifying noise. Victoria's anticipations were half +pleasureable, half fearsome; she felt on the brink of an adventure and +recalled the tremor with which she had entered the New Gaiety for the +first time. Measured steps came nearer and nearer from the inside of the +house; a shape silhouetted itself vaguely on the stained glass of the +door.</p> + +<p>She mustered sufficient coolness to tell the butler that she wished to +see Lady Rockham, who was probably expecting her. As the large and solid +man preceded her along an interminable hall, she felt rather than saw +the thick Persian rug stretching along the crude mosaic of the floor, +the red paper on the walls almost entirely hidden by exceedingly large +and new pictures. Over her head a ponderous iron chandelier carrying +many electric lamps blotted out most of the staircase.</p> + +<p>For some minutes she waited in the dining-room into which she had been +shown; for the butler was not at all certain, from a look at the +visitor's mourning, that she was quite entitled to the boudoir. +Victoria's square chin and steady eyes saved her, however, from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> having +to accommodate her spine to the exceeding perpendicularity of the +high-backed chairs in the hall. The dining-room, ridiculous thought, +reminded her of Curran's. In every particular it seemed the same. There +was the large table with the thick cloth of indefinite design and +colour. The sideboard too was there, larger and richer perhaps, of +Spanish mahogany not an inch of which was left bare of garlands of +flowers or archangelic faces. It carried Curran's looking-glass; +Curran's cruets were replaced by a number of cups which proclaimed that +Charles Rockham had once won the Junior Sculls, and more recently, the +spring handicap of the Kidderwick Golf Club. The walls were red as in +the hall and profusely decorated with large pictures representing +various generations having tea in old English gardens, decorously garbed +Roman ladies basking by the side of marble basins, and such like +subjects. Twelve chairs, all high backed and heavily groined, were +ranged round the walls, with the exception of a large carving chair, +standing at the head of the table, awaiting one who was clearly the head +of a household. Victoria was looking pensively at the large black marble +clock representing the temple in which the Lares and Penates of South +Kensington usually dwell, when the door opened and a vigorous rustle +entered the room.</p> + +<p>'I am very glad to see you, Mrs Fulton,' remarked the owner of the +rustle. 'I have just received a letter from Mr Meaker, the vicar of +Cray. A most excellent man. I am sure we can do something for you. +Something quite nice.'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at Lady Rockham with shyness and surprise. Never had she +seen anything so majestic. Lady Rockham had but lately attained her +ladyhood by marrying a knight bachelor whose name was a household word +in the wood-paving world. She felt at peace with the universe. Her large +silk clad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> person was redolent with content. She did not vulgarly beam. +She merely was. On her capacious bosom large brooches rose and fell +rhythmically. Her face was round and smooth as her voice. Her eyes were +almost severely healthy.</p> + +<p>'I am sure it is very kind of you,' said Victoria. 'I don't know anybody +in London, you see.'</p> + +<p>'That will not matter; that will not matter at all,' said Lady Rockham. +'Some people prefer those whose connections live in the country, yes, +absolutely prefer them. Why, friends come to me every day, and they are +clamouring for country girls, absolutely clamouring. I do hope you are +not too particular. For things are difficult in London. So very +difficult.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I know,' murmured Victoria, thinking of her unanswered +applications. 'But I'm not particular at all. If you can find me +anything to do, Lady Rockham, I should be so grateful.'</p> + +<p>'Of course, of course. Now let me see. A young friend of mine has just +started a poultry farm in Dorset. She is doing very well. Oh! very well. +Of course you want a little capital. But such a very nice occupation for +a young woman. The capital is often the difficulty. Perhaps you would +not be prepared to invest much?'</p> + +<p>'No, I'm afraid I couldn't,' faltered Victoria, wondering at what figure +capital began.</p> + +<p>'No, no, quite right,' purred Lady Rockham, 'I can see you are quite +sensible. It is a little risky too. Yet my young friend is doing well, +very well, indeed. Her sister is in Johannesburg. She went out as a +governess and now she is married to a mine manager. There are so few +girls in the country. Oh! he is quite a nice man, a little rough, I +should say, but quite suitable.'</p> + +<p>Victoria wondered for a moment whether her Ladyship was going to suggest +sending her out to Johannesburg<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> to marry a mine manager, but the +Presence resumed.</p> + +<p>'No doubt you would rather stay in London. Things are a little difficult +here, but very pleasant, very pleasant indeed.'</p> + +<p>'I don't mind things being difficult,' Victoria broke in, mustering a +little courage. 'I must earn my own living and I don't mind what I do; +I'd be a nursery governess, or a housekeeper, or companion. I haven't +got any degrees, I couldn't quite be a governess, but I'd try anything.'</p> + +<p>'Certainly, certainly, I'm sure we will find something very nice for +you. I can't think of anybody just now but leave me your address. I'll +let you know as soon as I hear of anything.' Lady Rockham gently crossed +her hands over her waistband and benevolently smiled at her protégée.</p> + +<p>Victoria wrote down her address and listened patiently to Lady Rockham +who discoursed at length on the imperfections of the weather, the +noisiness of London streets and the prowess of Charles Rockham on the +Kidderwick links. She felt conscious of having to return thanks for what +she was about to receive.</p> + +<p>Lady Rockham's kindness persisted up to the door to which she showed +Victoria. She dismissed her with the Parthian shot that 'they would find +something for her, something quite nice.'</p> + +<p>Victoria walked away; cold gusts of wind struck her, chilling her to the +bone, catching and furling her skirts about her. She felt at the same +time cheered and depressed. The interview had been inconclusive. +However, as she walked over the Serpentine bridge, under which the wind +was angrily ruffling the black water, a great wave of optimism came over +her; for it was late, and she remembered that in the Edgware Road, there +was a small Italian restaurant where she was about to lunch.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was well for Victoria that she was an optimist and a good sleeper, +for November had waned into December before anything happened to disturb +the tenor of her life. For a whole fortnight she had heard nothing from +Lady Rockham or from Edward. She had written to Molly but had received +no answer. All day long the knocker fell with brutal emphasis upon the +doors of Portsea Place and brought her nothing. She did not think much +or hope much. She did nothing and spent little. Her only companion was +Mrs Bell, who still hovered round her mysterious lodger, so ladylike and +so quiet.</p> + +<p>She passed hours sometimes at the window watching the stream of life in +Portsea Place. The stream did not flow very swiftly; its principal +eddies vanished by midday with the milkman and the butcher. The postman +recurred more often but he did not count. Now and then the policeman +passed and spied suspiciously into the archway where the landladies no +longer met. Cabs trotted into it now and then to change horses.</p> + +<p>Victoria watched alone. Beyond Mrs Bell, she seemed to know nobody. The +young man downstairs continued to be invisible, and contented himself +with slamming the door. The young lady in the back room continued to +wash discreetly and to snore gently at night. Sometimes Victoria +ventured abroad to be bitten by the blast. Sometimes she strayed over +the town in the intervals of food. She had to exercise caution in this, +for an aspect of the lodging house fire had only lately dawned upon her. +If she did not order it at all she was met on the threshold by darkness +and cold; if she ordered it for a given time she was so often late that +she returned to find it dead or kept up wastefully at the rate of +sixpence a scuttle. This trouble was chronic; on bitter days it seemed +to dog her footsteps.</p> + +<p>She had almost grown accustomed to loneliness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> Alone she watched at her +window or paced the streets. She had established a quasi-right to a +certain seat at the Italian restaurant where the waiters had ceased to +speculate as to who she was. The demoralisation of unemployment was upon +her. She did not cast up her accounts; she rose late, made no plans. She +slept and ate, careless of the morrow.</p> + +<p>It was in the midst of this slow settling into despond that a short note +from Lady Rockham arrived like a bombshell. It asked her to call on a Mrs +Holt who lived in Finchley Road. It appeared that Mrs Holt was in need +of a companion as her husband was often away. Victoria was shaken out of +her torpor. In a trice her optimism crushed out of sight the flat +thoughts of aimless days. She feverishly dressed for the occasion. She +debated whether she would have time to insert a new white frill into the +neck of a black blouse. Heedless of expenditure she spent two and eleven +pence on new black gloves, and twopence on the services of a shoeblack +who whistled cheerful tunes, and smiled on the coppers. Victoria sallied +out to certain victory. The wind was blowing balmier. A fitful gleam of +sunshine lit up and reddened the pile of tangerines in a shop window.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h3> + + +<p>'<span class="smcap">I'm</span> very sorry you can't come,' said Mrs Holt.</p> + +<p>'Last Sunday, Mr Baker was so nice. I never heard anything so +interesting as his sermon on the personal devil. I was quite frightened. +At least I would have been if he had said all that at Bethlehem. You +know, when we were at Rawsley we had such nice lantern lectures. I do +miss them.'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked up with a smile at the kindly red face. 'I'm so sorry,' +she said, 'I've got such a headache. Perhaps it'll pass over if I go for +a little walk while you are at Church.' She was not unconscious, as she +said this, of the subtle flattery that the use of the word 'church' +implies when used to people who dare not leave their chapel.</p> + +<p>'Do, Victoria, I'm sure it will do you good,' said Mrs Holt, kindly. 'If +the sun keeps on, we'll go to the Zoo this afternoon. I do like to see +the children in the monkey house.'</p> + +<p>'I'm sure I shall be glad to go,' said Victoria quietly. 'It's very kind +of you to take me.'</p> + +<p>'Nonsense, my dear,' replied Mrs Holt, gently beaming. 'You are like the +sunshine, you know. Dear me! I don't know what I should have done if I +hadn't found you. You can't imagine the woman who was here before you. +She was the daughter of a clergyman, and I did get so tired of hearing +how they lost their money. But, there, I'm worrying you when you've got +a headache. I do wish you'd try Dr Eberman's pills. All the papers are +simply full<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> of advertisements about them. And these German doctors are +so clever. Oh, I shall be so late.'</p> + +<p>Victoria assured her that she was sure her head would be better by +dinner time. Mrs Holt fussed about the room for a moment, anxiously +tested the possible dustiness of a bracket, pulled the curtains and +picked up the Sunday papers from the floor. She then collected a small +canvas bag decorated with a rainbow parrot, a hymn and service book, her +spectacle case, several unnecessary articles which happened to be about +and left the room with the characteristic rustle which pervades the +black silk dresses of well-to-do Rawsley dames.</p> + +<p>Victoria sat back in the large leather armchair. Her head was not very +bad but she felt just enough in her temples a tiny passing twinge to +shirk chapel without qualms. She toyed with a broken backed copy of +<i>Charlton on Book-Keeping</i> which lay in her lap. It was a curious fate +that had landed her into Charlton's epoch making work. Mrs Holt, that +prince of good fellows, had a genius for saving pennies and had been +trained in the school of a Midland household, but the fortunes of her +husband had left her feebly struggling in a backwash of pounds. So much +had this been the case that Mr Holt had discovered joyfully that he had +at last in his house a woman who could bring herself to passing an +account for twenty pounds for stabling. Little by little Victoria had +established her position. She was Mrs Holt's necessary companion and +factotum. She could apparently do anything and do it well; she could +even tackle such intricate tasks as checking washing or understanding +Bradshaw. She was always ready and always bright. She had an unerring +eye for a good quality of velvet; she could time the carriage to a +nicety for the Albert Hall concert. Mrs Holt felt that without this +pleasant and competent young woman she would be quite lost.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr Holt, too, after inspecting Victoria grimly every day for an entire +month, had decided that she would do and had lent her the work on +book-keeping, hoping that she would be able to keep the house accounts. +In three months he had not addressed her twenty times beyond wishing her +good morning and good night. He had but reluctantly left Rawsley and his +beloved cement works to superintend his ever growing London business. He +was a little suspicious of Victoria's easy manners; suspicious of her +intentions, too, as the northerner is wont to be. Yet he grudgingly +admitted that she was level headed, which was 'more than Maria or his +fool of a son would ever be.'</p> + +<p>Victoria thought for a moment of Holt, the book-keeping, the falling due +of insurance premiums; then of Mrs Holt who had just stepped into her +carriage which was slowly proceeding down the drive, crunching into the +hard gravel. A gleam of sunshine fitfully lit up the polished panels of +the clumsy barouche as it vanished through the gate.</p> + +<p>This then was her life. It might well have been worse. Mr Holt sometimes +let a rough kindness appear through an exterior as hard as his own +cement. Mrs Holt, stout, comfortable and good-tempered, quite +incompetent when it came to controlling a house in the Finchley Road, +was not of the termagant type that Victoria had expected when she became +a companion. Her nature, peaceful as that of a mollusc, was kind and had +but one outstanding feature; her passionate devotion to her son Jack.</p> + +<p>Victoria thought that she might well be content to pass the remainder of +her days among these good folk. From the bottom of her heart mild +discontent rose every now and then. It was a little dull. Tuesday was +like Monday and probably like the Tuesday after next. The glories of the +town, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> she had caught sight of during her wanderings, before she +floated into the still waters of the Finchley Road, haunted her at +times. The motor buses too, which perpetually carried couples to the +theatre, the crowds in Regent Street making for the tea-shops, while the +barouche trotted sedately up the hill, all this life and adventure were +closed off.</p> + +<p>Victoria was not unhappy. She drifted in that singular psychological +region where the greatest possible pain is not suffering and where the +acme of possible pleasure is not joy. She did not realise that this +negative condition was almost happiness, and yet did not precisely +repine. The romance of her life, born at Lympton, now slept under the +tamarinds. The stupefaction of the search for work, the hopes and fears +of December, all that lay far away in those dark chambers of the brain +into which memory cannot force a way but swoons on the threshold.</p> + +<p>Yes, she was happy enough. Her eyes, casting through the bay window over +the evergreens, trimly stationed and dusty, strayed over the low wall. +On the other side of the road stood another house, low and solid as this +one, beautiful though ugly in its strength and worth. It is not the +house you live in that matters, thought Victoria, unconsciously +committing plagiarism, but the house opposite. The house she lived in +was well enough. Its inhabitants were kind, the servants respectful, +even the mongrel Manchester terrier with the melancholy eyes of some +collie ancestor did not gnaw her boots.</p> + +<p>She let her hands fall into her lap and, for a minute, sat staring into +space, seeing with extraordinary lucidity those things to come which a +movement dispels and swathes with the dense fog of forgetfulness. With +terrible clarity she saw the life of the last three months and the life +to come, as it was in the beginning ever to be.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + +<p>The door opened softly. Before she had time to turn round two hands were +clapped over her eyes. She struggled to free herself, but the hands grew +more insistent and two thumbs softly touched her cheeks.</p> + +<p>'Dimple, dimple,' said a voice, while one of the thumbs gently dwelled +near the corner of her mouth.</p> + +<p>Victoria struggled to her feet, a little flushed, a strand of hair +flying over her left ear.</p> + +<p>'Mr Jack,' she said rather curtly, 'I don't like that. You know you +mustn't do that. It's not fair. I really don't like it.' She was angry; +her nostrils opened and shut quickly; she glared at the good looking boy +before her.</p> + +<p>'Naughty temper,' he remarked, quite unruffled. 'You'll take a fit one +of these days, Vicky, if you don't look out.'</p> + +<p>'Very likely if you give me starts like that. Not that I mind that so +much, but really it's not nice of you. You know you wouldn't do that if +your mother was looking.'</p> + +<p>'Course I wouldn't,' said Jack, 'the old mater's such a back number, you +know.'</p> + +<p>'Then,' replied Victoria with much dignity, 'you ought not to do things +when we're alone which you wouldn't do before her.'</p> + +<p>'Oh Lord! morals again,' groaned the youth. 'You are rough on me, +Vicky.'</p> + +<p>'And you mustn't call me Vicky,' said Victoria. 'I don't say I mind, but +it isn't the thing. If anybody heard you I don't know what they'd +think.'</p> + +<p>'Who cares!' said Jack in his most dare devil style, putting his hand on +the back of hers and stroking it softly. Victoria snatched her hand away +and went to the window, where she seemed absorbed in the contemplation +of the evergreens. Jack looked a little nonplussed. He was an attractive +youth and looked about twenty. He had the fresh complexion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> and blue +eyes of his father but differed from him by a measure of delicacy. His +tall body was a little bent; his face was all pinks and whites set off +by the blackness of his straight hair. He well deserved his school +nickname of Kathleen Mavourneen. His long thin hands, which would have +been aristocratic but for the slight thickness of the joints, branded +him a poet. He was not happy in the cement business.</p> + +<p>Jack stepped up to the window. 'Sorry,' he said, as humbly as possible. +Victoria did not move.</p> + +<p>'Won't never do it again,' he said, pouting like a scolded child.</p> + +<p>'It's no good,' answered Victoria, 'I'm not going to make it up.'</p> + +<p>'I shall go and drown myself in the Regent Canal,' said Jack dolefully.</p> + +<p>'I'd rather you went for a walk along the banks,' said Victoria.</p> + +<p>'I will if you'll come too,' answered Jack.</p> + +<p>'No, I'm not going out. I've got a headache. Look here, I'll forgive you +on condition that you go out now and if you'll do that perhaps you can +come with your mother and me to the Zoo this afternoon.'</p> + +<p>'All right then,' grumbled the culprit, 'you're rather hard on me. +Always knew you didn't like me. Sorry.'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked out again. A minute later Jack came out of the house +and, pausing before the window, signed to her to lift up the sash.</p> + +<p>'What do you want now?' asked Victoria, thrusting her head out.</p> + +<p>'It's a bargain about the Zoo, isn't it?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, of course it is, silly boy. I've got several children's tickets.'</p> + +<p>Jack made a wry face, but walked away with a queer little feeling of +exultation. 'Silly boy.' She had called him 'silly boy.' Victoria +watched him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> go with some perplexity. The young man was rather a +problem. Not only did his pretty face and gentle ways appeal to her in +themselves, but he had told her something of his thoughts and they did +not run on cement. His father had thrust him into his business as men of +his type naturally force their sons into their own avocation whatever it +be. Victoria knew that he was not happy and was sorry for him; how could +she help feeling sorry for this lonely youth who had once printed a +rondeau in the <i>Westminster Gazette</i>.</p> + +<p>Jack had taken to her at once. All that was delicate and feminine in him +called out to her square chin and steady eyes. Often she had seen him +look hungrily at her strong hands where bone and muscle plainly showed. +But, in his wistful way, Jack had begun to embarrass her. He was making +love to her in a sense, sometimes sportively, sometimes plaintively, and +he was difficult to resist.</p> + +<p>Victoria saw quite well that trouble must ensue. She would not allow the +boy to fall in love with her when all she could offer was an almost +motherly affection. Besides, they could not marry; it would be absurd. +She was puzzled as to what to do. Everything tended to complicate the +situation for her. She had once been to the theatre with Jack and +remembered with anxiety how his arm had rested against hers in the cab +and how, when he leaned over towards her to speak, she had felt him +slowly inhaling the scents of her hair.</p> + +<p>She had promised herself that Jack should be snubbed. And now he played +pranks on her. It must end in their being caught in an ambiguous +attitude and then she would be blamed. She might tell Mrs Holt, but then +what would be her position in the household? Jack would sulk and Mrs +Holt would watch them suspiciously until the situation became +intolerable and she had to leave. Leave!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> no, no, she couldn't do that. +With sudden vividness Victoria pictured the search for work, the silence +of Portsea Place, the Rialto-like archway, Mrs Bell, and the cold, the +loneliness. Events must take their course.</p> + +<p>Like the rasp of a corncrake she heard the wheels of the barouche on the +gravel. Mrs Holt had returned from the discourse on the personal devil.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h3> + + +<p>'<span class="smcap">Thomas</span>,' said Mrs Holt with some hesitation.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Mr Holt. 'What is it?'</p> + +<p>'Oh! nothing,' said Mrs Holt. 'Just a queer idea. Nothing worth talking +about.'</p> + +<p>'Well, come again when it is worth talking about,' growled Mr Holt, +relapsing into his newspaper.</p> + +<p>'Of course there's nothing in it,' remarked Mrs Holt pertinaciously.</p> + +<p>'Nothing in what?' her husband burst forth. 'What do you mean, Maria? +Have you got anything to say or not? If you have, let's have it out.'</p> + +<p>'I was only going to say that Jack . . . of course I don't think that +Victoria sees it, but you understand he's a very young man, but I don't +blame her, he's such a funny boy,' said Mrs Holt lucidly.</p> + +<p>'Good heavens, Maria,' cried her husband, 'do you want me to smash +something?'</p> + +<p>'How you do go on,' remarked Maria placidly. 'What I meant to say is +that don't you think Jack's rather too attentive to Victoria?'</p> + +<p>Mr Holt dropped his paper suddenly. 'Attentive?' he growled, 'haven't +noticed it.'</p> + +<p>'Oh! you men never notice things,' replied Mrs Holt with conscious +superiority. 'Don't say I didn't warn you, that's all.'</p> + +<p>'Now look here, Maria,' said Mr Holt, his blue eyes darkening visibly, +'I don't want any more of this tittle tattle. You can keep it for the +next P.S.A. I can tell you that if the young cub is "attentive" to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> Mrs +Fulton, well, so much the better: it'll teach him something worth +knowing if he finds out that there's somebody else in the world who's +worth doing something for beyond <i>his</i> precious self.'</p> + +<p>'Very well, very well,' purred Mrs Holt. 'If you take it like that, I +don't mind, Thomas. Don't say I didn't warn you if anything happens. +That's all.'</p> + +<p>Mr Holt got up from the leather chair and left the room. There were +moments when his wife roused in him the fury that filled him when once, +in his young days, he had dropped steel bolts into the cement grinders +to gratify a grudge against an employer. The temper that had made him +rejoice over the sharp cracks speaking of smashed axles was in him +still. He had got above the social stratum where husbands beat their +wives, but innuendoes and semi-secrets goaded him almost to paroxysm.</p> + +<p>Mrs Holt heard the door slam and coolly took up her work. She was +engaged in the congenial task of disfiguring a piece of Morris chintz. +She had decided that the little bag given her by an ćsthetic friend was +too flat and she was busily employed in embroidering the 'eyebright' +pattern, with coloured wool in the most approved early Victorian manner. +'At any rate,' she thought, 'Thomas has got the idea in his head.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Holt had not arrived at her determination to awaken her husband's +suspicions without much thought. She had begun to realise that +'something was wrong' one Sunday afternoon at the Zoo. She had taken +Jack and Victoria in the barouche, putting down to a fit of filial +affection the readiness of Jack to join them. She had availed herself of +the opportunity to drive round the Circle; so as to show off her adored +son to the Bramleys, who were there in their electric, to the Wilsons, +who were worth quite fifty thousand a year, to the Wellensteins too, who +seemed to do so wonderfully well on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> Stock Exchange. Jack had taken +it very nicely indeed.</p> + +<p>All the afternoon Jack had remained with them; he had bought animal +food, found a fellow to take them into the pavilion, and even driven +home with them. It was when he helped his charges into the carriage that +Mrs Holt had noticed something. He first handed his mother in and then +Victoria. Mrs Holt had seen him put his hand under Victoria's forearm, +which was quite ordinary, but she had also seen him hold her in so doing +by the joint of her short sleeve and long glove where a strip of white +skin showed and slip two fingers under the glove. This was not so +ordinary and Mrs Holt began to think.</p> + +<p>When a Rawsley dame begins to think of things such as these, her +conscience invariably demands of her that she should know more. Mrs Holt +therefore said nothing, but kept a watchful eye on the couple. She could +urge nothing against Victoria. Her companion remained the cheerful and +competent friend of the early days; she was no more amiable to Jack than +to his father: she talked no more to him than to the rest of the +household; she did not even look at him much. But Jack was always about +her; his eyes followed her round the room, playing with every one of her +movements. Whenever she smiled his lips fluttered in response.</p> + +<p>Mrs Holt passed slowly through the tragic stages that a mother goes +through when her son loves. She was not very anxious as to the results +of the affair, for she knew Jack, though she loved him. She knew that +his purpose was never strong. Also she trusted Victoria. But, every day +and inevitably, the terrible jealousy that invades a mother's soul crept +further into hers. He was her son and he was wavering from an allegiance +the pangs of childbirth had entitled her to.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs Holt loved her son, and, like most of those who love, would torture +the being that was all in all for her. She would have crushed his +thoughts if she had felt able to do so, so as to make him more +malleable; she rejoiced to see him safely anchored to the cement +business, where nothing could distract him; she even rejoiced over his +weakness, for she enjoyed the privilege of giving him strength. She +would have ground to powder his ambitions, so that he might be more +fully her son, hers, hers only.</p> + +<p>The stepping in of the other woman, remote and subtle as it was, was a +terrible thing. She felt it from afar as the Arabian steed hears the +coming simoon moaning beyond the desert. With terrible lucidity she had +seen everything that passed for a month after that fatal day at the Zoo, +when Jack touched Victoria's arm. She saw his looks, stolen from his +mother's face, heard the softness of his voice which was often sharp for +her. Like gall, his little attentions, the quick turn of his face, a +flush sometimes, entered into and poisoned her soul. He was her son; +and, with all the ruthless, entirely animal cruelty of the mother, she +had begun to swear to herself that he should be hers and hers only, and +that she would hug him in her arms, aye, hug him to death if need be, if +only in her arms he died.</p> + +<p>Savagely selfish as a good mother, however, Mrs Holt remembered that she +must go slowly, collect her evidence, allow the fruit to ripen before +she plucked it. Thus she retained her outward kindnesses for Victoria, +spoke her fair, threw her even into frequent contact with her son. And +every day she tortured herself with all the tiny signs that radiate from +a lover's face like aerolites from the blazing tail of a comet. Now her +case was complete. She had seen Jack lean over Victoria while she was on +her knees dusting some books, and let his hand dwell on hers. She had +seen his face all alight, his mouth a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> open, breathing in the +fragrance of this woman, the intruder. And the iron had entered into the +mother's heart so sharply that she had to hurry away unseen for fear she +should cry out.</p> + +<p>Mrs Holt dropped her little work bag. She wondered whether her husband +would see. Would she have to worry him placidly for months as she +usually had to when she wanted her own way? Or would he understand and +side with her? She did not know that women are intuitive, for she knew +nothing either of women or men, but she felt perfectly certain that she +was cleverer than Thomas Holt. If he would not see, then she would have +to show him, even if she had to plot for her son's sake.</p> + +<p>The door opened suddenly. Thomas Holt entered. His face was perturbed, +his jaw setting grimly between the two deep folds in his cheeks. That +was the face of his bad days.</p> + +<p>'Well, Thomas?' ventured his wife hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>'You were right, Maria,' answered Holt after a pause. 'Jack's a bigger +fool than I thought him.'</p> + +<p>'Ah!' said Mrs Holt with meaning, her heart beating a sharp tatoo.</p> + +<p>'I was standing on the first landing,' Holt went on. 'I saw them at the +door of the smoke-room. He asked her for a flower from her dress; she +wouldn't give it him; he reached over and pulled one away.'</p> + +<p>'Yes?' said Mrs Holt, everything in her quivering.</p> + +<p>'Put his arm round her, though she pushed him off, and kissed her.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Holt clasped her hands together. A sharp pang had shot through her. +'What are you going to do?' she asked.</p> + +<p>'Do?' said Holt. 'Sack her of course. Send him up to Rawsley. Damn the +young fool.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Breakfast</span> is so proverbially dismal, that dismalness becomes good form; +humanity feels silent and liverish, so it grudges Providence its due, +for it cannot return thanks for the precocious blessings of the day. +Such was breakfast at Finchley Road, and Victoria would not have noticed +it on that particular morning had the silence not somehow been eloquent. +She could feel, if not see storm clouds on the horizon.</p> + +<p>Mr Holt sat over his eggs and bacon, eating quickly with both hands, +every now and then soiling the napkin tightly tucked into the front of +his low collar. There was nothing abnormal in this, except perhaps that +he kept his eyes more closely glued than usual to the table cloth; +moreover, he had not unfolded the paper. Therefore he had not looked up +the prices of Industrials. This was singular. Mrs Holt never said much +at breakfast, in deference to her husband, but this morning her silence +was somewhat ostentatious. She handed Victoria her tea. Victoria passed +her the toast and hardly heard her 'thank you.'</p> + +<p>Jack sat more abstracted than ever. He was feeling very uncomfortable. +He wavered between the severe talking to he had received from Victoria +the previous afternoon and the sulkiness of his parents. Of course he +was feeling depressed, but he could not tell why. Victoria's mere nod of +acceptance when he offered her the salt, and his mother's curt refusal +of the pepper did not contribute to make him easier in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> his mind. Mrs +Holt cleared her throat: 'Blowing up for rain, Thomas,' she said. Mr +Holt did not move a muscle. He helped himself to marmalade. Stolid +silence once more reigned over the breakfast table. Jack stole a +sidelong glance at Victoria. Her eyes were fixed upon her hands crossed +before her. Jack's eyes dwelled for a moment on their shapely strength, +then upon the firm white nape of her bent neck. An insane desire +possessed him to jump up, seize her in his arms, crush his lips into +that spot where the dark tendrils of her hair began. He repressed it, +and considered the grandfather's clock which had once ticked in a +peasant Holt's kitchen. To-day it ticked with almost horrible +deliberation.</p> + +<p>Jack found that he had no appetite. Forebodings were at work with him. +Perhaps Vic had told. Of course not, she couldn't be such a fool. What a +beastly room it was! Sideboard must weigh a ton. And those red curtains! +awful, simply awful. Good God, why couldn't he get out of the damned +place and take Vic with him. Couldn't do that yet of course, but +couldn't stick it much longer. He'd be off to the City now. Simply awful +here. Jack rose to his feet suddenly, so suddenly that his chair tilted +and fell over.</p> + +<p>Mrs Holt looked up. 'I wish you wouldn't be so noisy, Jack,' she said.</p> + +<p>'Sorry, mater,' said Jack, going round to her and bending down to kiss +her. 'I'm off.'</p> + +<p>'You're in a fine hurry,' remarked Mr Holt grimly, looking up and +speaking for the first time.</p> + +<p>'Left some work over,' said Jack, in a curt manner, making for the door.</p> + +<p>'Hem! you've got work on the brain,' retorted his father in his most +sardonic tone.</p> + +<p>Jack opened the door without a word.</p> + +<p>'One minute, Jack,' said Mrs Holt placidly, 'you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> needn't go yet, your +father and I have something to say to you.'</p> + +<p>Jack stood rooted to the ground. His knees almost gave way beneath him. +It, it, it was it. They knew. Victoria's face, the profile of which he +could see outlined like a plaster cast against the red wall paper did +not help him. Her face had set, rigid like a mask. Now she knew why the +previous evening had gone by in silence. She rose to her feet, a strange +numb feeling creeping all over her.</p> + +<p>'Don't go, Mrs Fulton,' said Mr Holt sharply, 'this concerns you.'</p> + +<p>For some seconds the party remained silent. Mr and Mrs Holt had not +moved from the table. Jack and Victoria stood right and left, like +prisoners at the bar.</p> + +<p>'Victoria,' said Mrs Holt, 'I'm very sorry to have to say it, but I'm +afraid you know what I'm going to tell you. Of course I don't say I +blame you. It's quite natural at your age and all that.' She stopped, +for a flush was rising in Victoria's face, the cheekbones showing two +little red patches. Mr Holt had clasped his hands together and kept his +eyes fixed on Victoria's with unnatural intensity.</p> + +<p>'You see, Victoria,' resumed Mrs Holt, 'it's always difficult when +there's a young man in the house; of course I make allowances, but, +really, you see it's so complicated and things get so annoying. You know +what people are . . .'</p> + +<p>'That'll do, Maria,' snarled Mr Holt, jumping to his feet. 'If you don't +know what you have to say, I do. Look here, Mrs Fulton. Last night I saw +Jack kissing you. I know perfectly well you didn't encourage him. You'd +know better. However, there it is. I don't pretend I like what I've got +to do, but this must be stopped. I can't have philandering going on +here. You, Jack, you're going back to the works at Rawsley and don't let +me see anything of you this side of the next three months. As for you,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +Mrs Fulton, I'm sorry, but Mrs Holt will have to find another companion. +I know it's hard on you to ask you to leave without notice, but I +propose to give you an indemnity of twenty pounds. I should like to keep +you here, but you see that after what has happened it's impossible. I +suppose you agree to that?'</p> + +<p>Victoria stood silent for a moment, her hands tightly clenched. She knew +Holt's short ways, but the manner of the dismissal was brutal. +Everything seemed to revolve round her, she recovered herself with +difficulty.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' she said at length, 'you're quite right.'</p> + +<p>Jack had not moved. His hands were nervously playing with his watch +chain. Victoria, in the midst of her trouble, remembered Edward's +familiar gesture. They were alike in a way, these two tall weedy men, +both irresolute and undeveloped.</p> + +<p>'Very well then,' continued Holt; 'perhaps you'll make your arrangements +at once. Here is the cheque.' He held out a slip of blue paper.</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at him for a moment dully. Then revolt surged inside +her. 'I don't want your indemnity,' she said coldly, 'you merely owe me +a month's wages in lieu of notice.'</p> + +<p>The shadow of a smile crept into Holt's face. The semi-legal, +semi-commercial phrase pleased him.</p> + +<p>Mrs Holt rose from the table and went to Victoria. 'I'm so sorry,' she +said, speaking more gently than she had ever done. 'You must take it. +Things are so hard.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, but I say, dad . . .' broke in Jack.</p> + +<p>'That will do, do you hear me, sir?' thundered the father violently, +bringing down his fist on the table. 'I'm not asking you for your +opinion! You can stay and look at your work but you just keep a silent +tongue in your head. D'you hear?'</p> + +<p>Jack stood cowed and dumb.</p> + +<p>'There's nothing more to say, is there?' growled Mr Holt, placing the +cheque on the table before Victoria.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Not much,' said Victoria. 'I've done no wrong. Oh! I'm not complaining. +But I begin to understand things. Your son has persecuted me. I didn't +want his attentions. You turn me out. Of course it's my fault, I know.'</p> + +<p>'My dear Victoria,' interposed Mrs Holt, 'nobody says it's your fault. +We all think . . .'</p> + +<p>'Indeed? it's not my fault, but you turn me out.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Holt dropped her hands helplessly.</p> + +<p>'I see it all now,' continued Victoria. 'You don't blame me, but you're +afraid to have me here. So long as I was a servant all was well. Now I'm +a woman and you're afraid of me.' She walked up and down nervously. 'Now +understand, I've never encouraged your son. If he had asked me to marry +him I wouldn't have done it.' A look of pain passed over Jack's face but +aroused no pity in Victoria. She felt frozen.</p> + +<p>'Oh! but there was no question of that,' cried Mrs Holt, plaintively.</p> + +<p>'No doubt,' said Victoria ruthlessly. 'You couldn't think of it. Nobody +could think of an officer's widow marrying into the Rawsley Works. From +more than one point of view it would be impossible. Very good. I'll +leave in the course of the morning. As for the cheque, I'll take it. As +you say, Mrs Holt, things are hard. I've learned that and I'm still +learning.'</p> + +<p>Victoria took up the blue slip. The flush on her face subsided somewhat. +She picked up her handkerchief, a letter from Molly and a small +anthology lying on the dumb waiter. She made for the door, avoiding +Jack's eyes. She felt through her downcast lids the misery of his looks. +A softer feeling went through her, and she regretted her outburst. As +she placed her hand on the handle she turned round and faced Mrs Holt, a +gentler look in her eyes.</p> + +<p>'I'm sorry I was hasty,' she stammered. 'I was taken by surprise. It was +. . . vulgar.'</p> + +<p>The door closed softly behind her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Victoria</span> went up to her room and locked the door behind her. She sat +down on her small basket trunk and stared out of the dormer window. She +was still all of a tingle; her hands, grasping the rough edges of the +trunk, trembled a little. Yet she felt, amid all her perturbation, the +strange gladness that overcomes one who has had a shock; the contest was +still upon her.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' she said aloud, 'I'm free. I'm out of it.' She hated the dullness +and ugliness which the Holts had brought with them from the Midlands. +The feeling came over her almost like a spasm. Through the dormer window +she could see the white frontage of the house opposite. It was repellent +like Mrs Holt's personal devil.</p> + +<p>The feeling of exultation suddenly subsided in Victoria's breast. She +realised all of a sudden that she was once more adrift, that she must +find something to do. It might not be easy. She would have to find +lodgings. The archway in Portsea Place materialised crudely. She could +hear the landlady from 84 detailing the last phase of rheumatics to the +slatternly maid who did for the grocer. Awful, awful. Perhaps she'd +never find another berth. What should she do?</p> + +<p>Victoria pulled herself together with a start. 'This will never do,' she +said, 'there's lots of time to worry in. Now I must pack.' She got up, +drew the trunk into the middle of the room, opened it and took out the +tray. Then, methodically, as she had been taught<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> to do by her mother, +she piled her belongings on the bed. In a few minutes it was filled with +the nondescript possessions of the nomad. Skirts, books, boots, +underclothing, an inkpot even, jostled one another in dangerous +proximity. Victoria surveyed the heap with some dismay; all her troubles +had vanished in the horror that comes over every packer: she would never +get it all in. She struggled for half an hour, putting the heavy things +at the bottom, piling blouses on the tray, cunningly secreting scent +bottles in shoes, stuffing handkerchiefs into odd corners. Then she +dropped the tray in, closed the lid and sat down upon it. The box +creaked a little and gave way. Victoria locked it and got up with a +little sigh of satisfaction. But she suddenly saw that the cupboard door +was ajar and that in it hung her best dress and a feather boa; on the +floor stood the packer's plague, shoes. It was quite hopeless to try and +get them in.</p> + +<p>Victoria surveyed the difficulty for a moment; then she regretfully +decided that she must ask Mrs Holt for a cardboard box, for her hat-box +was already mortgaged. A nuisance. But rather no, she would ask the +parlourmaid. She went to the door and was surprised to find it locked. +She turned the key slowly, looking round at the cheerful little room, +every article of which was stupid without being offensive. It was hard, +after all, to leave all this, without knowing where to go.</p> + +<p>Victoria opened the door and jumped back with a little cry. Before her +stood Jack. He had stolen up silently and waited. His face had flushed +as he saw her; in his eyes was the misery of a sorrowful dog. His mouth, +always a little open, trembled with excitement.</p> + +<p>'Jack,' cried Victoria, 'oh! what do you want?'</p> + +<p>'I've come to say . . . oh! Victoria . . .' Jack broke down in the +middle of his carefully prepared sentence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Oh! go away,' said Victoria faintly, putting her hand on her breast. +'Do go away. Can't you see I've had trouble enough this morning?'</p> + +<p>'I'm sorry,' muttered Jack miserably. 'I've been a fool. Vic, I've come +to ask you if you'll forgive me. It's all my fault. I can't bear it.'</p> + +<p>'Don't talk about it,' said Victoria becoming rigid. 'That's all over. +Besides you'll have forgotten all about it to-morrow,' she added +cruelly.</p> + +<p>Jack did not answer directly, though he was stung. 'Vic,' he said with +hesitation, 'I can't bear to see you go, all through me. Listen, there's +something you said this morning. Did you mean it?'</p> + +<p>'Mean what?' asked Victoria uneasily.</p> + +<p>'You said, if I'd asked you to marry me you . . . I know I didn't, but +you know, Vic, I wanted you the first time I saw you. Oh! Vic, won't you +marry me now?'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at him incredulously. His hands were still trembling +with excitement. His light eyes stared a little. His long thin frame was +swaying. 'I'd do anything for you. You don't know what I could do. I'd +work for you. I'd love you more than you've ever been loved.' Jack +stopped short; there was a hardness that frightened him in the set of +Victoria's jaw.</p> + +<p>'You didn't say that yesterday,' she answered.</p> + +<p>'No, I was mad. But I wanted to all along, Vic. You're the only woman I +ever loved. I don't ask more of you than to let me love you.'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at him more gently. His likeness to her brother grew +plainer than ever. Kind but hopelessly inefficient. Poor boy, he meant +no harm.</p> + +<p>'I'm sorry, Jack,' she said after a pause, 'I can't do it. You know you +couldn't make a living . . .'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I could, I could!' cried Jack clinging at the straw, 'if I had you +to work for. You can't tell what it means for me.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Perhaps you could work,' said Victoria with a wan little smile, 'but I +can't marry you, Jack, you see. I like you very much, but I'm not in +love with you. It wouldn't be fair.'</p> + +<p>Jack looked at her dully. He had not dared to expect anything but +defeat, yet defeat crushed him.</p> + +<p>'There, you must go away now,' said Victoria, 'I must go downstairs. Let +me pass please.' She squeezed between him and the wall and made for the +stairs.</p> + +<p>'No, I can't let you go,' said Jack hoarsely. He seized her by the waist +and bent over her. Victoria looked the space of a second into his eyes +where the tiny veins were becoming bloodshot. She pushed him back +sharply and, wrenching herself away, ran down the stairs. He did not +follow her.</p> + +<p>Victoria looked up from the landing. Jack was standing with bent head, +one hand on the banister. 'The only thing you can do for me is to go +away,' she said coldly. 'I shall come up again in five minutes with +Effie. I suppose you will not want us to find you outside my bedroom +door.'</p> + +<p>She went downstairs. When she came up again with the maid, who carried a +large brown cardboard box, Jack was nowhere to be seen.</p> + +<p>A quarter of an hour later she followed the butcher's boy who was +dragging her box down the stairs, dropping it with successive thuds from +step to step. As she reached the hall, while she was hesitating as to +whether she should go into the dining-room to say good-bye to Mrs Holt, +the door opened and Mrs Holt came out. The two women looked at one +another for the space of a second, like duellists about to cross swords. +Then Mrs Holt held out her hand.</p> + +<p>'Good-bye, Victoria,' she said, 'I'm sorry you're going. I know you're +not to blame.'</p> + +<p>'Thank you,' said Victoria icily. 'I'm sorry also, but it couldn't be +helped.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs Holt heaved a large sigh. 'I suppose not,' she said.</p> + +<p>Victoria withdrew her hand and went towards the door. The butcher's boy +had already taken her box down, marking the whitened steps with two +black lines.</p> + +<p>'Shall I call a cab, mum?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'Yes please,' said Victoria dreamily.</p> + +<p>The youth went down the drive, his heels crunching into the gravel. +Victoria stood at the top of the steps, looking out at the shrubs, one +or two of which showed pale buds, standing sharp like jewels on the +black stems. Mrs Holt came up behind her softly.</p> + +<p>'I hope we don't part in anger, Victoria,' she said guiltily.</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at her with faint amusement. True, anger is a cardinal +sin.</p> + +<p>'Oh! no, not at all,' she answered. 'I quite understand.'</p> + +<p>'Don't be afraid to give me as a reference,' said Mrs Holt.</p> + +<p>'Thank you,' said Victoria. 'I shan't forget.'</p> + +<p>'And if ever you're in trouble, come to me.'</p> + +<p>'You're very kind,' said Victoria. Mrs Holt was kind, she felt. She +understood her better now. Much of her sternness oozed out of her. A +mother defending her son knows no pity, thought Victoria; perhaps it's +wrong to resent it. It's nature's way of keeping the young alive.</p> + +<p>The cab came trotting up the drive and stopped. The butcher's boy was +loading the trunk upon the roof. Victoria turned to Mrs Holt and took +her hand.</p> + +<p>'Good-bye,' she said, 'you've been very good to me. Don't think I'm so +bad as you thought me this morning. Your son has just asked me to marry +him.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Holt dropped Victoria's hand; her face was distorted by a spasm.</p> + +<p>'I refused him,' said Victoria.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + +<p>She stepped into the cab and directed the cabman to Portsea Place. As +they turned into the road she looked back. At the head of the steps Mrs +Holt stood frozen and amazed. Victoria almost smiled but, her eyes +wandering upwards, she saw, at her dormer window, Jack's head and +shoulders. His blue eyes were fixed upon her with unutterable longing. A +few strands of hair had blown down upon his forehead. For the space of a +second they gazed into each other's eyes. Then the wall blotted him out +suddenly. Victoria sighed softly and sank back upon the seat of the cab.</p> + +<p>At the moment she had no thought. She was at such a point as one may be +who has turned the last page of the first volume of a lengthy book: the +next page is blank. Nothing remained even of that last look in which +Jack's blue eyes had pitifully retold his sorry tale. She was like a +rope which has parted with many groans and wrenchings; broken and its +strands scattering, its ends float lazily at the mercy of the waves, +preparing to sink. She was going more certainly into the unknown than if +she had walked blindfold into the darkest night.</p> + +<p>The horse trotted gently, the brakes gritting on the wheels as it picked +its way down the steep. The fresh air of April drove into the cab, +stinging a little and yet balmy with the freshness of latent spring. +Victoria sat up, clasped her hands on the doors and craned out to see. +There was a little fever in her blood again; the spirit of adventure was +raising its head. As fitful gleams of sunshine lit up and irradiated the +puddles a passionate interest in the life around seemed to overpower +her. She looked almost greedily at the spire, far down the Wellington +Road, shining white like molten metal with almost Italian brilliancy +against a sky pale as shallow water. The light, the young wind, the +scents of earth and buds, the men and women who walked with springy +step<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> intent on no business, all this, and even the horse who seemed to +toss his head and swish his tail in sheer glee, told her that the world +was singing its alleluia, for, behold, spring was born unto it in +gladness, with all its trappings and its sumptuous promise.</p> + +<p>Everything was beautiful; not even the dreary waste of wall which +conceals Lords from the vulgar, nor the thousand tombs of the churchyard +where the dead jostle and grab land from one another were without their +peculiar charm. It was not until the cab crossed the Edgware Road that +Victoria realised with a start that, though the world was born again, +she did not share its good fortune. Edgware Road had dragged her down to +the old level; a horrible familiarity, half pleasurable, half fearful, +overwhelmed her. This street, which she had so often paced carrying a +heart that grew heavier with every step, had never led her to anything +but loneliness, to the cold emptiness of her room. Her mood had changed. +She saw nothing now but tawdry stationer's shops, meretricious jewellery +and, worse still, the sickening plenty of its monster stores of clothing +and food. The road had seized her and was carrying her away towards its +summit, where the hill melts into the skies between the houses that grow +lower as far as the eye can see.</p> + +<p>Victoria closed her eyes. She was in the grip once more; the wheels of +the machine were not moving yet but she could feel the vibration as it +got up steam. In a little the flywheel would slowly revolve and then she +would be caught and ground up. Yes, ground up, cried the Edgware Road, +like thousands of others as good as you, ground into little bits to make +roadmetal of, yes, ground, ground fine.</p> + +<p>The cab stopped suddenly. Victoria opened her eyes. Yes, this was +Portsea Place. She got out. It had not changed. The curtains of the +house opposite were as dirty as ever. The landlady from the corner was +standing just under the archway, dressed as usual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> in an expansive pink +blouse in which her flowing contours rose and fell. She interrupted the +voluble comments on the weather which she was addressing to the little +faded colleague, dressed in equally faded black, to stare at the +newcomer.</p> + +<p>'There ain't no more room at Bell's,' she remarked.</p> + +<p>'She is very fortunate,' said the faded little woman. 'Dear me, dear me. +It's a cruel world.'</p> + +<p>'Them lidies' maids allus ketches on,' said the large woman savagely. +'Tell yer wot, though, p'raps they wouldn't if they was to see Bell's +kitching. Oh, Lor'! There ain't no black-beetles. I don't think.'</p> + +<p>The little faded woman looked longingly at Victoria standing on the +steps. A loafer sprung from thin air as is the way of his kind and leant +against the area railings, touching his cap whenever he caught +Victoria's eye, indicating at times the box on the roof of the cab. From +the silent house came a noise that grew louder and louder as the +footsteps drew nearer the door. Victoria recognised the familiar +shuffle. Mrs Bell opened the door.</p> + +<p>'Lor, mum,' she cried, 'I'm glad to see you again.' She caught sight of +the trunk. 'Oh, are you moving, mum?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, Mrs Bell,' said Victoria. 'I'm moving and I want some rooms. Of +course I thought of you.'</p> + +<p>Mrs Bell's face fell. 'Oh, I'm so sorry, mum. The house is full. If +you'd come last week I had the first floor back.' She seemed genuinely +distressed. She liked her quiet lodger and to turn away business of any +kind was always depressing.</p> + +<p>Victoria felt dashed. She remembered Edward's consternation on +discovering the change in Gower Street and, for the first time, +sympathised.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I'm so sorry too, Mrs Bell. I should like to have come back to +you.'</p> + +<p>'Couldn't you wait until next month, mum!' said Mrs Bell, reluctant to +turn her away. 'The gentleman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> in the second floor front, he's going +away to Rhodesia. It's your old room, mum.'</p> + +<p>'I'm afraid not,' said Victoria with a smile. 'In fact I must find +lodgings at once. Never mind, if I don't like them I'll come back here. +But can't you recommend somebody?'</p> + +<p>Mrs Bell looked right and left, then into the archway. The little faded +woman had disappeared. The landlady in the billowy blouse was still +surveying the scene. Mrs Bell froze her with a single look.</p> + +<p>'No, mum, can't say I know of anybody, leastways not here,' she said +slowly. 'It's a nice neighbourhood of course, but the houses here, they +look all right, but oh, mum, you should see their kitchens! Dirty ain't +the word, mum. But wait a bit, mum, if you wouldn't mind that, I've got +a sister who's got a very nice room. She lives in Castle Street, mum, +near Oxford Circus. It's a nice neighbourhood, of course not so near the +Park,' added Mrs Bell with conscious superiority.</p> + +<p>'I don't mind, Mrs Bell,' said Victoria. 'I'm not fashionable.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, mum,' cried Mrs Bell, endeavouring to imply together the +superiority of Portsea Place and the respectability of any street +patronised by her family, 'I'm sure you'll like it. I'll give you the +address.'</p> + +<p>In a few minutes Victoria was speeding eastwards. Now she was rooted up +for good. She was leaving behind her Curran's and Mrs Bell, slender +links between her and home life, links still, however. The pageant of +London rolled by her, heaving, bursting with rich life. The sunshine +around her bade her be of good cheer. Then the cab turned a corner and, +with the suddenness of a stage effect, it carried its burden into the +haunts of darkness and malodour.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h3> + + +<p>'<i>Telegraph</i>, mum,' said a voice.</p> + +<p>Victoria started up from the big armchair with a suddenness that almost +shot her out of it. It was the brother of the one in Portsea Place and +shared its constitutional objection to being sat upon. It was part of +the 'sweet' which Miss Briggs had divided with Mrs Bell when their +grandmother died.</p> + +<p>'Thanks, Miss Briggs,' said Victoria. 'By the way, I don't think that +egg is quite fresh. And why does Hetty put the armchair in front of the +cupboard every day so that I can't open it?'</p> + +<p>'The slut, I don't see there's anything the matter with it,' remarked +Miss Briggs, simultaneously endorsing the complaint against Hetty and +defending her own marketing.</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes there is, Miss Briggs,' snapped Victoria with a sharpness which +would have been foreign to her some months before. 'Don't let it happen +again or I'll do my own catering.'</p> + +<p>Miss Briggs collapsed on the spot. The profits on the three and sixpence +a week for 'tea, bread and butter and anything that's going,' formed +quite a substantial portion of her budget.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I'm sorry, mum,' she said, 'it's Hetty bought 'em this week. The +slut, I'll talk to her.'</p> + +<p>Victoria took no notice of the penitent landlady and opened the +<i>Telegraph</i>. She absorbed the fact that Consols had gone up an eighth +and that contangoes were in process of arrangement, without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> interest or +understanding. She was thinking of something else. Miss Briggs coughed +apologetically. Victoria looked up. Miss Briggs reflectively tied knots +in her apron string. She was a tall, lantern-jawed woman of no +particular age; old looking for thirty-five perhaps or young looking for +fifty. Her brown hair, plentifully sprinkled with grey, broke out in +wisps over each ear and at the back of the neck. Her perfectly flat +chest allowed big bags of coarse black serge to hang over her dirty +white apron. Her hands played mechanically with the strings, while her +water-coloured eye fixed upon the <i>Telegraph</i>.</p> + +<p>'You shouldn't read that paper, mum,' she remarked.</p> + +<p>'Why not?' asked Victoria, with a smile, 'isn't it a good one?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes, mum, I don't say that,' said Miss Briggs with the respect that +she felt for the buyers of penny papers. 'There's none better. Mine's +the <i>Daily Mail</i> of course and just a peep into <i>Reynolds</i> before the +young gent on the first floor front. But you shouldn't have it. +<i>Tizer's</i> your paper.'</p> + +<p>'<i>Tizer</i>?' said Victoria interrogatively.</p> + +<p>'<i>Morning Advertiser</i>, mum; that's the one for advertisements.'</p> + +<p>'But how do you know I read the advertisements, Miss Briggs?' asked +Victoria still smiling.</p> + +<p>'Oh, mum, excuse the liberty,' said Miss Briggs in great trepidation. +'It's the only sheet I don't find when I comes up to do the bed. +<i>Tizer's</i> the one for you, mum; I had a young lady 'ere, once. Got a job +at the Inverness Lounge, she did. Married a clergyman, they say. He's +divorced her now.'</p> + +<p>'That's an encouraging story, Miss Briggs,' said Victoria with a twinkle +in her eye. 'How do you know I want to be a barmaid, though?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, one has to be what one can, mum,' said Miss Briggs sorrowfully. +'Sure enough, it ain't all honey<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> and it ain't all jam keeping this +house. The bells, they rings all day and it's the breakfast that's bad +and their ain't blankets enough, and I never 'ad a scuttle big enough to +please 'em for sixpence. But you ain't doing that, mum,' she added after +a pause devoted to the consideration of her wrongs. 'A young lady like +you, she ought to be behind the bar.'</p> + +<p>Victoria laughed aloud. 'Thanks for the hint, Miss Briggs,' she said, +'I'll think it over. To-day however, I'm going to try my luck on the +stage. What do you think of that?'</p> + +<p>'Going on tour?' cried Miss Briggs in a tone of tense anxiety.</p> + +<p>'Well, not yet,' said Victoria soothingly. 'I'm going to see an agent.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, that's all right,' said Miss Briggs with ghoulish relief. 'Hope +yer'll get a job,' she added as confidently as a man offering a drink to +a teetotaller. At that moment a fearful clattering on the stairs +announced that Hetty and the pail had suddenly descended to the lower +landing. Liquid noises followed. Miss Briggs rushed out. Victoria jumped +up and slammed her door on the chaotic scene. She returned to the +<i>Telegraph</i>. The last six weeks in the Castle Street lodging house had +taught her that these were happenings quite devoid of importance.</p> + +<p>Victoria spread out the <i>Telegraph</i>, ignored the foreign news, the +leaders and the shocking revelations as to the Government's Saharan +policy; she dallied for a moment over 'gowns for débutantes,' for she +was a true woman, and passed on to the advertisements. She was getting +quite experienced as a reader and could sift the wheat from the chaff +with some accuracy. She knew that she could safely ignore applications +for lady helps in 'small families,' at least unless she was willing to +clean boots and blacklead grates for five shillings a week and meals +when an opportunity occurred; her last revelation as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> to the nature of a +post of housekeeper to an elderly gentleman who had retired from +business into the quietude of Surbiton had not been edifying. The +'Financial and Businesses' column left her colder than she had been when +she left Mrs Holt with nearly thirty-seven pounds. Then she was a +capitalist and pondered longingly over the proposals of tobacconists, +fancy goods firms, and stationers, who were prepared to guarantee a +fortune to any person who could muster thirty pounds. Fortunately Miss +Briggs had undeceived her. In her variegated experience, she herself had +surrendered some sixty golden sovereigns to the persuasive owner of a +flourishing newsagent's business. After a few weeks of vain attempts to +induce the neighbourhood to indulge in the news of the day, she had been +glad to sell her stock of sweets for eighteen shillings, and to take +half a crown for a hundred penny novelettes.</p> + +<p>Victoria turned to the 'Situations Vacant.' Their numbers were +deceptive. She had never realised before how many people live by fitting +other people for work they cannot get. Two thirds of the advertisements +offered wonderful opportunities for sons of gentlemen in the offices of +architects and engineers on payment of a premium; she also found she +could become a lady gardener if she would only follow the courses in +some dukery and meanwhile live on air; others would teach her shorthand, +typewriting or the art of the secretary. All these she now calmly +skipped. She was obviously unfitted to be the matron of an asylum for +the feeble-minded. Such experience had not been hers, nor had she the +redoubtable record which would open the gates of an emporium. An +illegible hand would exclude her from the City.</p> + +<p>'No,' thought Victoria, 'I'm an unskilled labourer; that's what I am.' +She wearily skimmed the agencies; as a matter of habit noted the demand +for two companions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> and one nursery governess and put the paper aside. +There was not much hope in any of these, for one was for Tiverton, the +other for Cardiff, which would make a personal interview a costly +business; the third, discreetly cloaked by an initial, suggested by its +terseness a companionship probably undue in its intimacy. The last six +weeks had opened Victoria's eyes to the unpleasant aspects of life, so +much so that she wondered whether there were any other. She felt now +that London was waiting for her outside, waiting for her to have spent +her last copper, when she would come out to be eaten so that she might +eat.</p> + +<p>Whatever her conceit might have been six months before, Victoria had +lost it all. She could do nothing that was wanted and desired everything +she could not get. She had tried all sources and found them dry. +Commercialism, philanthropy, and five per cent. philanthropy had failed +her. What can you do? was their cry. And, the answer being 'nothing,' +their retort had been 'No more can we.'</p> + +<p>Victoria turned over in her mind her interview with the Honorary +Secretary of the British Women's Imperial Self Help Association. 'Of +course,' said the Secretary, 'we will be glad to register you. We need +some references and, as our principle is to foster the independence and +self-respect of those whom we endeavour to place in positions such as +may befit their social status, we are compelled to demand a fee of five +shillings.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, self help, I see,' said Victoria sardonically, for she was +beginning to understand the world.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' replied the Honorary Secretary, oblivious of the sneer, for his +mind was cast in the parliamentary mould, 'by adhering to our principle +and by this means only can we hope to stem the tide of pauperism to +which modern socialistic tendencies are—are—spurring the masses.' +Victoria had paid five shillings for this immortal metaphor and within a +week had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> received an invitation to attend a meeting presided over by +several countesses.</p> + +<p>The B. W. I. S. H. A., (as it was called by its intimates) had induced +in Victoria suspicions of societies in general. She had, however, +applied also to the Ladies' Provider. Its name left one in doubt whether +it provided ladies with persons or whether it provided ladies to persons +who might not be ladies. The Secretary in this case, was not Honorary. +The inwardness of this did not appear to Victoria; for she did not then +know that plain secretaries are generally paid, and try to earn their +salary. Their interview had, however, not been such as to convert her to +the value of corporate effort.</p> + +<p>The Secretary in this case was a woman of forty, with a pink face, trim +grey hair, spectacles, amorphous clothing, capable hands. She exhaled an +atmosphere of respectability, and the faint odour of almonds which +emanates from those women who eschew scent in favour of soap. She had +quietly listened to Victoria's history, making every now and then a +shorthand note. Then she had coughed gently once or twice. Victoria felt +as in the presence of an examiner. Was she going to get a pass?</p> + +<p>'I do not say that we cannot do anything for you, Mrs Fulton,' she said, +'but we have so many cases similar to yours.'</p> + +<p>Victoria had bridled a little at this. 'Cases' was a nasty word.</p> + +<p>'I'm not particular,' she had answered, 'I'd be a companion any day.'</p> + +<p>'I'm sure you'd make a pleasant one,' said the Secretary graciously, +'but before we go any further, tell me how it was you left your last +place. You were in the . . . in the Finchley Road, was it not?' The +Secretary's eyes travelled to a map of London where Marylebone, South +Paddington, Kensington, Belgravia, and Mayfair, were blocked out in +blue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<p>Victoria had hesitated, then fenced. 'Mrs Holt will give me a good +character,' she faltered.</p> + +<p>'No doubt, no doubt,' replied the Secretary, her eyes growing just a +little darker behind the glasses. 'Yet, you see, we are compelled by the +nature of our business to make enquiries. A good reference is a very +good thing, yet people are a little careless sometimes; the hearts of +employers are often rather soft.'</p> + +<p>This was a little too much for Victoria. 'If you want to know the +truth,' she said bluntly, 'the son of the house persecuted me with his +attentions, and I couldn't bear it.'</p> + +<p>The Secretary made a shorthand note. Then she looked at Victoria's +flashing eyes, heightened colour, thick piled hair.</p> + +<p>'I am very sorry,' she began lamely. . . .</p> + +<p>What dreadful things women are, thought Victoria, folding up the +<i>Telegraph</i>. If Christ had said: Let <i>her</i> who hath never sinned. . . +the woman would have been stoned. Victoria got up, went to the +looking-glass and inspected herself. Yes, she was very pretty. She was +prettier than she had ever been before. Her skin was paler, her eyes +larger; her thick eyebrows almost met in an exquisite gradation of short +dark hairs over the bridge of the nose. She watched her breast rise and +fall gently, flashing white through the black lacework of her blouse, +then falling away from it, tantalising the faint sunshine that would +kiss it. As she turned, another looking-glass set in the lower panels of +a small cupboard told her that her feet were small and high arched. Her +openwork stockings were drawn so tight that the skin there also gleamed +white.</p> + +<p>Victoria took from the table a dirty visiting card. It bore the words +'Louis Carrel, Musical and Theatrical Agent, 5 Soho Place.' She had come +by it in singular manner. Two days before, as she left the offices of +the 'Compleat Governess Agency' after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> having realised that she could +not qualify in either French, German, Music, Poker work or Swedish +drill, she had paused for a moment on the doorstep, surveying the dingy +court where they were concealed, the dirty panes of an unlet shop +opposite, the strange literature flaunting in the showcase of some +publisher of esoterics. A woman had come up to her, rising like the +loafers from the flagstones. She had realised her as between ages and +between colours. Then the woman had disappeared as suddenly as she came +without having spoken, leaving in Victoria's hand the little square of +pasteboard.</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at it meditatively. She would have shrunk from the idea +of the stage a year before, when the tradition of Lympton was still upon +her. But times had changed; a simple philosophy was growing in her; what +did anything matter? would it not be all the same in a hundred years? +The discovery of this philosophy did not strike her as commonplace. +There are but few who know that this is the philosophy of the world.</p> + +<p>Victoria put down the card and began to dress. She removed the old black +skirt and ragged lace blouse and, as she stood before the glass in her +short petticoat, patting her hair and setting a comb, she reflected with +satisfaction that her arms were shapely and white. She looked almost +lovingly at the long thin dark hairs, fine as silk, that streaked her +forearms; she kissed them gently, moved to self-adoration by the sweet +scent of femininity that rose from her.</p> + +<p>She tore herself away from her self-worship and quickly began to dress. +She put on a light skirt in serge, striped black and white, threading +her head through it with great care for fear she should damage her +fringe net. She drew on a white blouse, simple enough though cheap. As +it fastened along the side she did not have to call in Miss Briggs; +which was fortunate, as this was the time when Miss Briggs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> carried +coals. Victoria wriggled for a moment to settle the uncomfortable boning +of the neck and, having buckled and belted the skirt over the blouse, +completed her toilet with her little black and white jacket to match the +skirt. A tiny black silk cravat from her neck was discarded, as she +found that the fashionable ruffle, emerging from the closed coat, +produced an <i>effet mousquetaire</i>. Lastly she put on her hat; a lapse +from the fashions perhaps, but a lovable, flat, almost crownless, dead +black, save a vertical group of feathers.</p> + +<p>Victoria drew her veil down, regretting the thickness of the spots, +pushed it up to repair with a dab of powder the ravage of a pod on the +tip of her nose. She took up her parasol and white gloves, a glow of +excitement already creeping over her as she realised how cleverly she +must have caught the spirit of the profession to look the actress to the +life and yet remain in the note of the demure widow.</p> + +<p>Soho Place is neither one of the 'good' streets nor one of the 'bad.' +The police do not pace it in twos and threes in broad daylight, yet they +hardly like to venture into it singly by night. On one side it ends in a +square; on the other it turns off into an unobtrusive side street, the +reputation of which varies yard by yard according to the distance from +the main roads. It is dirty, dingy; yet not without dignity, for its +good Georgian and Victorian houses preserve some solidity and are not +yet of the tenement class. They are still in the grade of office and +shop which is immediately below their one-time status of dwellings for +well-to-do merchants.</p> + +<p>Victoria entered Soho Place from the square, so that she was not too ill +impressed. She walked in the middle of the pavement, unconsciously +influenced the foreign flavour of Soho. There men and women stand all +day in the street, talking, bargaining, quarrelling and making love; +when a cab rattles by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> they move aside lazily, as a Neapolitan stevedore +rolls away on the wharf from the wheels of a passing cart.</p> + +<p>Victoria paused for a second on the steps. No 5 Soho Place was a good +house enough. The ground floor was occupied by a firm of auctioneers; a +gentleman describing himself as A.R.I.B.A. exercised his profession on +the third floor; below his plate was nailed a visiting-card similar to +the one Victoria took from her reticule. She went up the staircase +feeling a little braced by the respectability of the house, though she +had caught sight through the area railings of an unspeakably dirty +kitchen where unwashed pots flaunted greasy remains on a liquor stained +deal table. The staircase itself, with its neutral and stained green +distemper, was not over encouraging. Victoria stopped at the first +landing. She had no need to enquire as to the whereabouts of the +impresario for, on a door which stood ajar, was nailed another dirty +card. Just as she was about to push it, it opened further to allow a +girl to come out. She was very fair; her cheeks were a little flushed; a +golden lock or two fell like keepsake ringlets on her low lace collar. +Victoria just had time to see that the blue eyes sparkled and to receive +a cheerful smile. The girl muttered an apology and, smiling still, +brushed past her and lightly ran down the stairs. 'A successful +candidate,' thought Victoria, her heart rising once more.</p> + +<p>She entered the room and found it empty. It was almost entirely bare of +furniture, for little save an island of chairs in the middle and faded +red cloth curtains relieved the uniform dirtiness of the wall paper +which once was flowered. One wall was entirely covered by a large poster +where half a dozen impossibly charming girls of the biscuit box type +were executing a cancan so symmetrically as to recall an Egyptian +frieze. The mantlepiece was bare save for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> the signed photograph of some +magnificent foreign-looking athlete, nude to the waist. Victoria waited +for a moment, watching a door which led into an inner room, then went +towards it. At once the sound of a chair being pushed back and the fall +of some small article on the floor told her that the occupant had heard +her footsteps. The door opened suddenly.</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at the apparition with some surprise. In a single glance +she took in the details of his face and clothes, all of which were +pleasing. The man was obviously a foreigner. His face was pale, clean +shaven save for a small black moustache closely cropped at the ends; his +eyes were brown; his eyebrows, as beautifully pencilled as those of a +girl, emphasized the whiteness of his high forehead from which the hair +receded in thick waves. His lips, red and full, were parted over his +white teeth in a pleasant smile. Victoria saw too that he was dressed in +perfect taste, in soft grey tweed, fitting well over the collar and +loose everywhere else; his linen was immaculate; in fact nothing about +him would have disgraced the Chandraga mess, except perhaps a gold ring +with a large diamond which he wore on the little finger of his right +hand.</p> + +<p>'Mr Carrel?' said Victoria in some trepidation.</p> + +<p>'Yes, Mademoiselle,' said the man pleasantly. 'Will you have the +kindness to enter?' He held the door open and Victoria, hesitating a +little, preceded him.</p> + +<p>The inner room was almost a replica of the outer. It too was scantily +furnished. On a large table heaps of dusty papers were stacked. An +ash-tray overflowed over one end. In a corner stood a rickety-looking +piano. The walls were profusely decorated with posters and photographs, +presumably of actors and actresses, some highly renowned. Victoria felt +respect creeping into her soul.</p> + +<p>Carrel placed a chair for her before the table and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> resumed his own. For +the space of a second or two he looked Victoria over. She was a little +too conscious of his scrutiny to be quite at ease, but she was not +afraid of the verdict.</p> + +<p>'So, Mademoiselle,' said the man gently, 'you wish for an engagement on +the stage?'</p> + +<p>Victoria had not expected such directness. 'Yes, I do,' she said. 'That +is, I was thinking of it since I got your card.'</p> + +<p>'My card?' said Carrel, raising his eyebrows a little. 'How did you get +my card?'</p> + +<p>Victoria told him briefly how the card had been thrust into her hand, +how curious it was and how surprised she had been as she did not know +the woman and had never seen her again. Then she frankly confessed that +she had no experience of the stage but wanted to earn her living and +that . . . She stopped aghast at the tactical error. But Carrel was +looking at her fixedly, a smile playing on his lips as he pulled his +tiny moustache with his jewelled hand.</p> + +<p>'Yes, certainly, I understand,' he said. 'Experience is very useful, +naturally. But you must begin and you know: <i>il n'y a que le premier pas +qui coűte</i>. Now perhaps you can sing? It would be very useful.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I can sing,' said Victoria doubtfully, suppressing 'a little,' +remembering her first mistake.</p> + +<p>'Ah, that is good,' said Carrel smiling. 'Will you sit down to the +piano? I have no music; ladies always bring it but do you not know +something by heart?'</p> + +<p>Victoria got up, her heart beating a little and went to the piano. 'I +don't know anything French,' she said.</p> + +<p>'It does not matter,' said Carrel, 'you will learn easily.' He lowered +the piano stool for her. As she sat down the side of his head brushed +her shoulder<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> lightly. A faint scent of heliotrope rose from his hair.</p> + +<p>Victoria dragged off her gloves nervously, felt for the pedals and with +a voice that trembled a little sang two ballads which had always pleased +Lympton. The piano was frightfully out of tune. Everything conspired to +make her nervous. It was only when she struck the last note that she +looked at the impresario.</p> + +<p>'Very good, very good,' cried Carrel. '<i>Magnifique.</i> Mademoiselle, you +have a beautiful voice. You will be a great success at Vichy.'</p> + +<p>'Vichy?' echoed Victoria, a little overwhelmed by his approval of a +voice which she knew to be quite ordinary.</p> + +<p>'Yes, I have a troupe to sing and dance at Vichy and in the towns, +Clermont Ferrand, Lyon, everywhere. I will engage you to sing and +dance,' said Carrel, his dark eyes sparkling.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I can't dance,' cried Victoria despairingly.</p> + +<p>'But I assure you, it is not difficult,' said Carrel. 'We will teach +you. There, I will show you the contract. As you have not had much +experience my syndicate can only pay you one hundred and fifty francs a +month. But we will pay the expenses and the costumes.'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked doubtful for a moment. To sing, to dance, to go to +France where she had never been, all this was sudden and momentous.</p> + +<p>'<i>Voyons</i>,' said Carrel, 'it will be quite easy. I am taking four +English ladies with you and two do not understand the theatre. You will +make more money if the audience like you. Here is the contract.' He drew +a printed sheet out of the drawer and handed it to her.</p> + +<p>It was an impressive document with a heavy headline; <i>Troupe de Théâtre +Anglaise</i>. It bore a French revenue stamp and contained half-a-dozen +clauses in French which she struggled through painfully;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> she could only +guess at their meaning. So far as she could see she was bound to sing +and dance according to the programme which was to be fixed by the +<i>Directeur</i>, twice every day including Sundays. The <i>syndicat</i> undertook +to pay the railway fares and to provide costumes. She hesitated, then +crossed the Rubicon.</p> + +<p>'Fill in the blanks, please,' she said unsteadily. 'I accept.'</p> + +<p>Carrel took up a pen and wrote in the date and <i>cent cinquante francs</i>. +'What name will you adopt?' he asked, 'and what is your own name?'</p> + +<p>Victoria hesitated. 'My name is Victoria Fulton,' she said. 'You may +call me . . . Aminta Ormond.'</p> + +<p>Carrel smiled once more. 'Aminta Ormond? I do not think you will like +that. It is not English. It is like Amanda. No! I have it, Gladys +Oxford, it is excellent.'</p> + +<p>Before she could protest he had begun writing. After all, what did it +matter? She signed the document without a word.</p> + +<p>'<i>Voilŕ</i>,' said Carrel smoothly, locking the drawer on the contract. 'We +leave from Charing Cross on Wednesday evening. So you have two days to +prepare yourself. <i>Monsieur le Directeur</i> will meet you under the clock +at a quarter past eight. The train leaves at nine. We will take your +ticket when you arrive. Please come here at four on Wednesday and I will +introduce you to the <i>Directeur</i>.'</p> + +<p>Victoria got up and mechanically shook hands. Carrel opened the door for +her and ceremoniously bowed her out. She walked into Soho place as in a +dream, every pulse in her body thrilling with unwonted adventure. She +stared at a dirty window pane and wondered at the brilliance it threw +back from her eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Victoria</span> had forgotten her latchkey. Miss Briggs opened the door for +her. Her sallow face brightened up.</p> + +<p>'There's a gentleman waiting, mum,' she said, 'and 'ere's a telegram.' +Came jest five minutes after you left. I've put him in the front room +what's empty, mum. Thought you'd rather see him there. Been 'ere 'arf an +'our, mum.'</p> + +<p>Victoria did not attempt to disentangle the hours of arrival of the +gentleman and the telegram; she tore open the brown envelope excitedly. +It only heralded the coming of Edward who was doubtless the gentleman.</p> + +<p>'Thanks, Miss Briggs,' she said, 'it's my brother.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, mum, nice young gentleman. He's all right; been reading the <i>New +Age</i>, mum, this 'arf hour, what belongs to the lady on the third.'</p> + +<p>Victoria smiled and went into the dining-room, where none dine in +lodging houses save ghosts. Edward was standing near the mantlepiece +immersed in the paper.</p> + +<p>'Why, Ted, this is nice of you,' cried Victoria going up to him and +taking his hand.</p> + +<p>'I had to come up to town suddenly,' said Edward, 'to get books for the +Head. I'm going back this afternoon but I thought I'd look you up. Did +you get the telegram.'</p> + +<p>'Just got it now,' said Victoria, showing it, 'so you might have saved +the sixpence.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I'm sorry,' said Edward. 'I didn't know until this morning.'</p> + +<p>'It doesn't matter. I'm so glad to see you.'</p> + +<p>There was an awkward pause. Edward brushed away the hair from his +forehead. His hands flew back to his watch-chain. Victoria had briefly +written to him to tell him why she left the Holts. Fearful of all that +touches women, he was acutely conscious that he blamed her and yet knew +her to be blameless.</p> + +<p>'It's a beautiful day,' he said suddenly.</p> + +<p>'Isn't it?' agreed Victoria, looking at him with surprise. There was +another pause.</p> + +<p>'What are you doing just now, Vic?' Edward breathed more freely, having +taken the plunge.</p> + +<p>'I've just got some work,' said Victoria. 'I begin on Wednesday.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, indeed?' said Edward with increasing interest. 'Have you got a post +as companion?'</p> + +<p>'Well, not exactly,' said Victoria. She realised that her story was not +very easy to tell a man like Edward. He looked at her sharply. His face +flushed. His brow puckered. With both hands he grasped his watch-chain.</p> + +<p>'I hope, Victoria,' he said severely, 'that you are not adopting an +occupation unworthy of a lady. I mean I know you couldn't,' he added, +his severity melting into nervousness.</p> + +<p>'I suppose nothing's unworthy,' said Victoria; 'the fact is, Ted, I'm +afraid you won't like it much, but I'm going on the stage.'</p> + +<p>Edward started and flushed like an angry boy. 'On the . . . the stage?' +he gasped.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Victoria quietly. 'I've got an engagement for six months to +play at Vichy and other places in France. I only get six pounds a month +but they pay all the expenses. I'll have quite thirty pounds clear when +I come back. What do you think of that?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<p>'It's . . . it's awful,' cried Edward, losing all self-consciousness. +'How can you do such a thing, Vic? If it were in London, it would be +different. You simply can't do it.'</p> + +<p>'Can't?' asked Victoria, raising her eyebrows. 'Why?'</p> + +<p>'It's not done. No really Vic, you can't do it.' Edward was evidently +disturbed. Fancy a sister of his . . . It was preposterous.</p> + +<p>'I'm sorry, Ted,' said Victoria, 'but I'm going on Wednesday. I've +signed the agreement.'</p> + +<p>Edward looked at her almost horror-struck. His spectacles had slid down +to the sharp tip of his nose.</p> + +<p>'You are doing very wrong, Victoria,' he said, resuming his pedagogic +gravity. 'You could have done nothing that I should have disapproved of +as much. You should have looked out for something else.'</p> + +<p>'Looked out for something else?' said Victoria with the suspicion of a +sneer. 'Look here, Ted. I know you mean well, but I know what I'm doing; +I haven't been in London for six months without finding out that life is +hard on women like me. I'm no good because I'm too good for a poor job +and not suitable for a superior one. So I've just got to do what I can.'</p> + +<p>'Why didn't you try for a post as companion?' asked Edward with a half +snarl.</p> + +<p>'Try indeed! Anybody can see you haven't had to try, Ted. I've tried +everything I could think of, agencies, societies, papers, everything. I +can't get a post. I must do something. I've got to take what I can get. +I know it now; we women are just raw material. The world uses as much of +us as it needs and throws the rest on the scrap heap. Do you think I +don't keep my eyes open? Do you think I don't see that when you want +somebody to do double work at half rates you get a woman? And she thanks +God<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> and struggles for the work that's too dirty or too hard for a man +to touch.'</p> + +<p>Victoria paced up and down the small room, carried away by her +vehemence. Edward said nothing. He was much upset and did not know what +to say; he had never seen Victoria like this and he was constitutionally +afraid of vigour.</p> + +<p>'I'm sorry, Ted,' said Victoria stopping suddenly. She laid her hand on +his sleeve. 'There, don't sulk with me. Let's go out to lunch and I'll +go and choose your books with you after. Is it a bargain?'</p> + +<p>'I don't want to discuss the matter again,' replied Edward with as much +composure as he could muster. 'Yes, let's go out to lunch.'</p> + +<p>The rest of the day passed without another word on the subject of +Victoria's downfall. She saw Edward off at St Pancras. After he had said +good-bye to her, he suddenly leaned out of the window of the railway +carriage as if to speak, then changed his mind and sank back on the +seat. Victoria smiled at her victory.</p> + +<p>Next morning she broke the news to Miss Briggs. The landlady seemed +amazed as well as concerned.</p> + +<p>'You seem rather taken aback,' said Victoria.</p> + +<p>'Well, mum, you see it's a funny thing the stage; young ladies all seems +to think it's easy to get on. And then they don't get on. And there you +are.'</p> + +<p>'Well I <i>am</i> on,' said Victoria, 'so I shall have to leave on +Wednesday.'</p> + +<p>'Sorry to lose you, mum,' said Miss Briggs, ''ope yer'll 'ave a success. +In course, as you 'aven't given me notice, mum, it'll 'ave to be a +week's money more.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, come Miss Briggs, this is too bad,' cried Victoria, 'why, you've +got a whole floor vacant! What would it have mattered if I had given you +notice?'</p> + +<p>'Might have let it, mum. Besides it's the law,' said Miss Briggs, +placing her arms akimbo, ready for the fray.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Very well then,' said Victoria coldly, 'don't let's say anything more +about it.'</p> + +<p>Miss Briggs looked at her critically. 'No offence meant, mum,' she said +timidly, 'it's a 'ard life, lodgers.'</p> + +<p>'Indeed?' said Victoria without any show of interest.</p> + +<p>'You wouldn't believe it, mum, all I've got to put up with. There's +Hetty now . . .'</p> + +<p>'Yes, yes, Miss Briggs,' said Victoria impatiently, 'you've told me +about Hetty.'</p> + +<p>'To be sure, mum,' replied Miss Briggs, humbly. 'It ain't easy to make +ends meet. What with the rent and them Borough Council rates. There +ain't no end to it, mum. I lives in the basement, mum, and that means +gas all the afternoon, mum.'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at her again. This was a curious outlook. The poor +troglodyte had translated the glory of the sun into cubic feet of gas.</p> + +<p>'Yes, I suppose it is hard,' she said reflectively.</p> + +<p>'To be sure, mum,' mused Miss Briggs. 'Sometimes you can't let at all. +I've watched through the area railings, mum, many a long day in August, +wondering if the legs I can see was coming 'ere. They don't mostly, +mum.'</p> + +<p>'Then why do you go on?' asked Victoria hardening suddenly.</p> + +<p>'What am I to do, mum? I just gets my board and lodging out of it, mum. +Keeps one respectable; always been respectable, mum. That ain't so easy +in London, mum. Ah, when I was a young girl, might have been different, +mum; you should have seen me 'air. Curls like anything, mum, when I puts +it in papers. 'Ad a bit of a figure too, mum.'</p> + +<p>'Deary me!'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked with sympathy at the hard thin face, the ragged hair. +Yes, she was respectable enough, poor Miss Briggs! Women have a hard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +life. No wonder they too are hard. You cannot afford to be earthenware +among the brass pots.</p> + +<p>'What will you do when you can't run the house any more?' she asked more +gently.</p> + +<p>'Do, mum? I dunno.'</p> + +<p>Yet another philosophy.</p> + +<p>'Miss Briggs,' came a man's voice from the stairs.</p> + +<p>'Coming, sir,' yelled Miss Briggs in the penetrating tone that calling +from cellar to attic teaches.</p> + +<p>'Where are my boots?' said the voice on the stairs.</p> + +<p>'I'll get 'em for you, sir,' cried Miss Briggs shuffling to the door on +her worn slippers.</p> + +<p>Life is a hard thing, thought Victoria again. Another woman for the +scrap heap. Fourteen hours work a day, nightmares of unlet rooms, boots +to black and coals to carry, dirt, loneliness, harsh words and at the +end 'I dunno.' Is that to be my fate? she wondered.</p> + +<p>However her blood soon raced again; she was an actress, she was going +abroad, she was going to see the world, to enslave it, to have +adventures, live. It was good. All that day Victoria trod on air. She no +longer felt her loneliness. The sun was out and aglow, bringing in its +premature exuberance joyful moisture to her temples. She, with the +world, was young. In a fit of extravagance she lunched at a half crown +table d'hôte in Oxford Street, where pink shades softly diffuse the +light on shining glass and silver. The coffee was almost regal, so +strong, so full of sap. The light of triumph was in her eyes, making men +turn back, sometimes follow and look into her face, half appealing, half +insolent. But Victoria was unconscious of them, for the world was at her +feet. She was the axis of the earth. It was in such a frame of mind +that, the next day, she climbed the steps of Soho Place, careless of the +view into the underground kitchen, of the two dogs who under the archway +fought, growling, fouling the air with the scents of their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> hides, over +a piece of offal. She ran up the stairs lightly. The door was still +ajar.</p> + +<p>Two men were sitting in the anteroom, both smoking briar pipes. The +taller of the two got up.</p> + +<p>'Yes?' he said interrogatively.</p> + +<p>'I . . . you . . . is Mr Carrel here?' asked Victoria nervously.</p> + +<p>'No Miss,' said the man calmly, 'he's just gone to Marlborough Street.'</p> + +<p>'Oh,' said Victoria, still nervous, 'will he be long?'</p> + +<p>'I should say so, miss,' replied the man, 'perhaps twelve months, +perhaps more.'</p> + +<p>Victoria gasped. 'I don't understand,' she said, but her heart began to +beat.</p> + +<p>'Don't s'pose you would, miss,' said the short man, getting up. 'Fact +is, miss, we're the police and we've had to take him; just about time we +did, too. Leaving for France to-night with a batch of girls. S'pose +you're one of them?'</p> + +<p>'I was going to-night,' said Victoria faintly.</p> + +<p>'May I have your name?' asked the tall man politely, taking out a pocket +book.</p> + +<p>'Fulton,' she faltered. 'Victoria Fulton.'</p> + +<p>'M'yes, that's it. 'Gladys Oxford,'' said the tall man turning back a +page. 'Well Miss, you can thank your stars you're out of it.'</p> + +<p>'But what has he done?' asked Victoria with an effort.</p> + +<p>'Lord, Miss, you're from the country, I can see,' said the short man +amiably. 'I thought everybody knew that little game. Take you over to +Vichy, you know. Make you dance and sing. Provide costumes.' He winked +at his companion.</p> + +<p>'Costumes,' said Victoria, 'what do you mean?'</p> + +<p>'Costumes don't mean much, Miss, over there,' said the tall man. 'Fact +is you'd have to wear what they like and sing what they like when you +pass the plate round among the customers.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>Something seemed to freeze in Victoria.</p> + +<p>'He said it was a theatre of varieties,' she gasped.</p> + +<p>'Quite true,' said the tall man with returning cynicism. 'A theatre +right enough, but you'd have supplied the variety to the customers.'</p> + +<p>Victoria clenched her hands on the handle of her parasol. Then she +turned to fly.</p> + +<p>The short man stopped her and demanded her address, informing her that +she was to attend at Marlborough Street next day at eleven thirty.</p> + +<p>'Case mayn't be called before twelve,' he added. 'Sorry to trouble you, +Miss. You won't hear any more about it unless it's a case for the +Sessions.'</p> + +<p>Victoria ran down the steps, through the alley and into Charing Cross +Road as if something was tracking her, tracking her down. So this was +the end of the dream. She had stretched her hand out to the roses, and +the gods, less merciful to her than to Tantalus, had filled her palm +with thorns. It was horrible, horrible. She had imagination, and a +memory of old prints after Rowlandson which her father had treasured +came back to her with almost nauseating force. She pictured the French +<i>café chantant</i> like the Cave of Harmony; rough boards on trestles, +laden with tankards of foaming beer, muddy lights, a foulness of tobacco +smoke, a raised stage with an enormous woman singing on it, her eye +frightfully dilated by belladonna, her massive arms and legs gleaming +behind the dirty footlights and everywhere around men smoking, with +noses like snouts, bodies like swines, hairy hands—hands, ye gods!</p> + +<p>She walked quickly away from the place of revelation. She hurried +through the five o'clock inferno of Trafalgar Square, careless of the +traffic, escaping death ten times. She hurried down the spaces of +Whitehall, and only slackened her pace at Westminster Bridge. There she +stopped for a moment; the sun was setting and gilded and empurpled the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +foreshores. The horror of the past half hour seemed to fade away as she +watched the roses and mauves bloom and blend, the deep shadows of the +embankments rise and fall. Near by, a vagrant, every inch of him clothed +in rags, the dirt of his face mimicking their colour, smoked a short +clay pipe, puffing at long intervals small wreaths of smoke into the +blue air. And as Victoria watched them form, rise and vanish into +nothingness, the sun kiss gently but pitilessly the old vagrant hunched +up against the parapet, the horror seemed to melt away. The peace of the +evening was expelling it, but another dread visitor was heralded in. +Victoria felt like lead in her heart, the return of uncertainty. Once +more she was an outcast. No work. Once more she must ask herself what to +do and find no answer.</p> + +<p>The river glittered and rose and fell, as if inviting her. Victoria +shuddered. It was not yet time for that. She turned back and, with +downcast eyes, made for St James's Park. There she sat for a moment +watching a pelican flop on his island, the waterfowl race and dive. The +problem of life was upon her now and where was the solution? Must I +tread the mill once more? thought Victoria. The vision of agencies +again, of secretaries courteous or rude, of waits and hopes and +despairs, all rushed at her and convinced her of the uselessness of it +all. She was alone, always alone, because she wanted to be free, to be +happy, to live. Perhaps she had been wrong after all to resist the call +of the river. She shuddered once more. A couple passed her with hands +interlocked, eyes gazing into eyes. No, life must hold forth to her +something to make it worth while. She was cold. She got up and, with +nervous determination, walked quickly towards the gate.</p> + +<p>The first thing to be done was to get quit of all the horrors of the +day, to cut away the wreckage. She dared not stay at Castle Street. She +would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> tracked. She would have to give evidence. She couldn't do it. +She couldn't. Victoria having regained her coolness was in no wise +uncertain as to her course of action. The first thing to do was for her +to lose herself in London, and that so deep that none could drag her out +and force her to tell her story. She must change her lodgings then. +Nothing could be easier, as she had already given Miss Briggs notice. In +fact the best thing to do would be to keep up the fiction of her +departure for France.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Victoria</span> entered her room. It was in the condition that speaks of +departure. Her trunks were packed and corded, all save a small suitcase +which still gaped, showing spaces among the sundries that the skilled +packer collects in the same bundle. Every drawer was open; the bed was +unmade; the room was littered with newspapers and nondescript articles +discarded at the last moment. Victoria rang her bell and quickly +finished packing the suitcase with soap, washing gloves, powder-puffs +and such like. As she turned the key Miss Briggs opened the door.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Miss Briggs,' said Victoria quietly, 'I find that I must go down by +an earlier train; I must be at Charing Cross in an hour; I'm going now.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, mum,' said Miss Briggs without interest. 'Shall I tell the +greengrocer to come now, mum?'</p> + +<p>'Yes please, Miss Briggs; here are the seven shillings.'</p> + +<p>Miss Briggs accepted the money without a word. It had formed the basis +of a hot argument between her and her tenant; she considered herself +entitled to one week's rent in lieu of notice but Victoria's new born +sense of business had urged the fact that she had had two days notice; +this had saved her three shillings. Miss Briggs laboured under a sense +of injury, so she did not see Victoria to the door.</p> + +<p>This was well, for Victoria was able to pay the greengrocer and to get +rid of him in an artistic manner by sending him to post an empty +envelope<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> addressed to an imaginary person, while she directed the +cabman to Paddington; this saved her awkward questions and would leave +Miss Briggs under the impression that she had gone to Charing Cross.</p> + +<p>At Paddington station she left her luggage in the cloak-room and went +out to find lodgings. Her quest was short, for she had ceased to be +particular, so that within an hour she was installed in an imposing +ground floor front in the most respectable house in Star Street. The +district was not so refined as Portsea Place, but the house seemed clean +and the quarters were certainly cheaper; eleven and six covered both +them and the usual breakfast.</p> + +<p>Victoria surveyed the room in a friendly manner; there was nothing +attractive or repulsive in it; it was clean; the furniture was almost +exactly similar to that which graced her lodgings in Portsea Place and +in Castle Street. The landlady seemed a friendly body, and had already +saved Victoria a drain on her small store by sending her son, an +out-of-work furrier's hand, to fetch the luggage in a handcart. +Remembering that she was a fugitive from justice she gave her name as +Miss Ferris.</p> + +<p>Victoria returned from a hurried tea, unpacked with content the trunk +that should have followed her to France. She was almost exhilarated by +the feeling of safety which enveloped her like comforting warmth. The +day was blithe in unison. She felt quite safe, every movement of her +flight having been so skilfully calculated; she was revelling therefore +in her escape from danger, the deepest and truest of all joys.</p> + +<p>The next morning, however, found her in the familiar mood of wondering +what was to become of her. After an extremely inferior breakfast which +brought down upon the already awed Mrs Smith well deserved reproaches, +Victoria investigated the <i>Telegraph</i> columns with the usual negative +results and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> in the resultant acid frame of mind, went through her +accounts and discovered that her possessions amounted to twelve pounds, +eight shillings and four pence. This was a terrible blow; the outfit for +the interview with Carrel and the trip to France had dug an enormous +hole in Victoria's resources.</p> + +<p>'I must hurry up and find something,' said Victoria to herself. 'Twelve +pounds eight and fourpence—say twelve weeks—and then?'</p> + +<p>The next morning reconciled her a little to her fate. True, the paper +yielded no help, but a lengthy account of Carrel's preliminary +examination occupied three quarters of a column in the police court +report. It was apparently a complicated case, for Carrel had been +remanded and bail refused. The report did not yield her much +information. Apparently Carrel was indicted for other counts than the +exporting of the dancing girls to Vichy, for nine women had appeared. +Victoria had quite a thrill of horror when she read the line in which +the well schooled reporter dismissed the evidence of Miss 'S,' by saying +that Miss 'S——' here gave an account of her experience in the green +room of the Folichon-Palace in 1902.' The baldness of the statement was +appalling in its suggestiveness. She had been called, apparently, but no +comment was made on her non-appearance.</p> + +<p>'That's all over,' said Victoria with decision, throwing the newspaper +down. She rose from the armchair, shook herself and opened the window to +let out the smell of breakfast. Then she put on her hat and gloves and +decided to have a walk to cheer herself up. Mindful that she was in a +sense a fugitive, she avoided the Marble Arch and made for the Park +through the desolate respectability of Lancaster Gate.</p> + +<p>She made for the South East, unconsciously guided by the hieratic shot +tower of Westminster. It was early; the freshness of May still +bejewelled with dew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> drops the crisp new grass; the gravel, stained dark +by moisture, hardly crunched under her feet, but gave like springy turf. +Forgetting her depleted exchequer Victoria stepped briskly as if on +business bent, looking at nothing but absorbing as through her skin the +kisses of the western wind. At Hyde Park Corner she turned into St +James's Park, and, passing the barracks, received with an old familiar +thrill a covert smile from the handsome sentry. After all she was young, +and it was good somehow to be once more smiled at by a soldier. +Soldiers, soldiers—stupid perhaps, but could one help liking them? +Victoria let her thoughts run back to Dicky—poor old wasted Dicky—and +the Colonel and his liver, and Bobby, who would never be anything but +Bobby, and Major Cairns too. Victoria felt a tiny pang as she thought of +the Major. He was hardly young or handsome but strong, reassuring. She +suddenly felt his lips on her neck again as she gazed rapidly at the +dark lift on the horizon of the coast of Araby. He was a good fellow, +the Major. She would like to meet him again.</p> + +<p>She had reached Westminster Bridge. Her thoughts fell away from the +comfortable presence of Major Cairns. Hunched up against the parapet sat +the old vagrant she had seen there before, motionless, his rags lifting +in the breeze, puffs of smoke coming at long intervals from his short +clay pipe. Victoria shuddered; it seemed as if her life were bound to a +wheel which brought her back inexorably to the same spot until the time +came for her to lose there energy and life itself. She turned quickly +towards the Embankment, and, as she rounded the curve, caught a glimpse +of the old vagrant. The symbol of time had not moved.</p> + +<p>Another twenty minutes of quick walking had brought her to the City. She +was no longer fearful of it; indeed she almost enjoyed its surge and +roar.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> Log that she was, tossed on a stormy sea, she could not help +feeling the joy of life in its buffeting. Not even the dullness and +eternal length of Queen Victoria Street, which seems in the City, like +Gower Street, indefinite and interminable, robbed her of the curious +exultation which she felt whenever she entered the precincts. Here at +least was life and doing; ugly doing perhaps, but things worthy of the +name of action. At Mansion House she stopped for a moment to look at the +turmoil: drays, motorbuses, cabs, cycles, entangled and threatening +everywhere the little running black mites of humanity.</p> + +<p>As Victoria passed the Bank and walked up Princes Street she felt +hungry, for it was nearly one o'clock. She turned up a lane and stopped +before a small shop which arrested her attention by its name above the +door. It was called 'The Rosebud Café,' every letter of its name being +made up of tiny roses; all the woodwork was painted white; the door was +glazed and faced with pink curtains; pink half blinds lined the two +small windows, nothing appearing through them except, right and left, +two tall palms. 'The Rosebud' had a freshness and newness that pleased +her; and, as it boldly announced luncheons and teas, she pushed the +white door open and entered. The room was larger than the outside gave +reason to think, for it was all in depth. It was pretty in a style +suggesting a combination of Watteau, Dresden China, and the top of a +biscuit tin. All the woodwork was white, relieved here and there by pink +drapery and cunningly selected water colours of more or less the same +tint. From the roof, at close intervals, hung little baskets of paper +roses. The back part of the room was glazed over, which showed that it +lay below the well of a tall building. Symmetrically ranged were little +tables, some large enough for four persons, mostly however meant for +two, but Victoria noticed that they were all untenanted; in fact the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +room was empty, save for a woman who on her hands and knees was loudly +washing the upper steps of a staircase leading into a cellar, and for a +tall girl who stood on a ladder at the far end of the room critically +surveying a picture she had just put up.</p> + +<p>Victoria hesitated for a moment. The girl on the ladder looked round and +jumped down. She was dressed in severe black out of which her long white +face, mantling pink at the cheeks, emerged like a flower; indeed +Victoria wondered whether she had been selected as an attendant because +she was in harmony with the colour scheme of the shop. The girl was +quite charming out of sheer insignificance; her fair hair untidily +crowned her with a halo marred by flying wisps. Her little pink mouth, +perpetually open and pouting querulous over three white upper teeth, +showed annoyance at being disturbed.</p> + +<p>'We aren't open,' she said with much decision. It was clearly quite bad +enough to have to look forward to work on the morrow without +anticipating the evil.</p> + +<p>'Oh,' said Victoria, 'I'm sorry, I didn't know.'</p> + +<p>'We open on Monday,' said the fair girl. 'Sharp.'</p> + +<p>'Yes?' answered Victoria vaguely interested as one is in things newly +born. 'This is a pretty place, isn't it?'</p> + +<p>A flicker of animation. The fair girl's blue eyes opened wider. +'Rather,' she said. 'I did the water colours,' she explained with pride.</p> + +<p>'How clever of you!' exclaimed Victoria. 'I couldn't draw to save my +life.'</p> + +<p>'Coloured them up, I mean,' the girl apologised grudgingly. 'It was a +long job, I can tell you.'</p> + +<p>Victoria smiled. 'Well,' she said, 'I must come back on Monday and see +it finished if I'm in the City.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, aren't you in the City?' asked the girl. 'West End?'</p> + +<p>'No, not exactly West End,' said Victoria. 'I'm not doing anything just +now.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> + +<p>The fair girl gave her a glance of faint suspicion.</p> + +<p>'Oh, aye, I see,' she said slowly, thoughtfully considering the rather +full lines of Victoria's figure.</p> + +<p>Victoria had not the slightest idea of what she saw. 'I'm looking out +for a berth,' she remarked casually.</p> + +<p>'Oh, are you?' said the girl with renewed animation. 'What's your line?'</p> + +<p>'Anything,' said Victoria. She looked round the pink and white shop. A +feeling of weariness had suddenly come over her. The woman at the top of +the steps had backed away a little, and was rhythmically swishing a wet +rag on the linoleum. Under her untidy hair her neck gleamed red and +fleshy, touched here and there with beads of perspiration. Victoria took +her in as unconsciously as she would an ox patiently straining at the +yoke. To and fro the woman's body rocked, like a machine wound up to +work until its parts drop out worn and useless.</p> + +<p>'Ever done any waiting?' The voice of the girl almost made Victoria +jump. She saw herself being critically inspected.</p> + +<p>'No, never,' she faltered. 'That's to say, I would, if I got a billet.'</p> + +<p>'Mm,' said the girl, eyeing her over. 'Mm.'</p> + +<p>Victoria's heart beat unreasonably. 'Do you know where I can get a job?' +she asked.</p> + +<p>'Well,' said the girl very deliberately, 'the fact of the matter is, +that we're short here. We had a letter this morning. One of our girls +left home yesterday. Says she can't come. They don't know where she is.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Victoria, too excited to speculate as to the implied +tragedy.</p> + +<p>'If you like, you can see the manager,' said the girl. 'He's down +there.' She pointed to the cellar.</p> + +<p>'Thank you so much,' said Victoria, 'it's awfully kind of you.' The fair +girl walked to the banisters. 'Mr Stein,' she cried shrilly into the +darkness.</p> + +<p>There was a rumble, a sound like the upsetting of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> a chair, footsteps on +the stairs. A head appeared on a level with the floor.</p> + +<p>'Vat is it?' growled a voice.</p> + +<p>'New girl; wants to be taken on.'</p> + +<p>'Vell, take her on,' growled the voice. 'You are ze 'ead vaitress, gn, +you are responsible.'</p> + +<p>Victoria had just time to see the head, perfectly round, short-haired, +white faced, cloven by a turned up black moustache, when it vanished +once more. The Germanic 'gn' at the end of the first sentence puzzled +her.</p> + +<p>'Sulky beast,' murmured the girl. 'Anyhow, that's settled. You know the +wages, don't you? Eight bob a week and your lunch and tea.'</p> + +<p>'Eight . . .' gasped Victoria. 'But I can't live on that.'</p> + +<p>'My, you are a green 'un,' smiled the girl. 'With a face like that +you'll make twenty-five bob in tips by the time we've been on for a +month.' She looked again at Victoria not unkindly.</p> + +<p>'Tips,' said Victoria reflectively. Awful. But after all, what did it +matter.</p> + +<p>'All right,' she said, 'put me down.'</p> + +<p>The girl took her name and address. 'Half-past eight sharp on Monday,' +she said. ''cos it's opening day. Usual time half-past nine, off at four +two days a week. Other days seven. Nine o'clock mid and end.'</p> + +<p>Victoria stared a little. This was a business woman.</p> + +<p>'Sorry,' said the girl, 'must leave you. Got a lot more to do to-day. My +name's Laura. It'll have to be Lottie though. Nothing like Lottie to +make fellows remember you.'</p> + +<p>'Remember you?' asked Victoria puzzled.</p> + +<p>'Lord, yes, how you going to make your station if they don't remember +you?' said Lottie snappishly. 'You'll learn right enough. You let<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> 'em +call you Vic. Tell 'em to. You'll be all right. And get yourself a black +business dress. We supply pink caps and aprons; charge you sixpence a +week for washing. You get a black openwork blouse, mind you, with short +sleeves. Nothing like it to make your station.'</p> + +<p>'What's a station?' asked Victoria, more bewildered than ever.</p> + +<p>'My, you <i>are</i> a green 'un! A station's your tables. Five you get. We'll +cut 'em down when they begin to come in. What you've got to do is to pal +up with the fellows; then they'll stick to you, see? Regulars is what +you want. The sort that give no trouble 'cos you know their orders right +off and leave their twopence like clockwork, see? But never you mind: +you'll learn.' Thereupon Lottie tactfully pushed Victoria towards the +door.</p> + +<p>Victoria stepped past the cleaner, who was now washing the entrance. +Nothing could be seen of her save her back heaving a little in a filthy +blue bodice and her hands, large, red, ribbed with flowing rivulets of +black dirt and water. As her left hand swung to and fro, Victoria saw +upon the middle finger the golden strangle of a wedding ring deep in the +red cavity of the swollen flesh.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h3> + + +<p>'<span class="smcap">You</span> come back with me, Vic, don't you?'</p> + +<p>'You silly,' said Victoria, witheringly, 'I don't go off to-day, Gertie, +worse luck.'</p> + +<p>'Worse luck! I don't think,' cried Gertie. 'I'll swap with you, if you +like. As if yer didn't know it's settling day. Why there's two and a +kick in it!'</p> + +<p>'Shut it,' remarked a fat, dark girl, placidly helping herself to +potatoes, 'some people make a sight too much out of settling day.'</p> + +<p>'Perhaps yer'll tell me wot yer mean, Miss Prodgitt,' snarled Gertie, +her brown eyes flashing, her cockney accent attaining a heroic pitch.</p> + +<p>'What I say,' remarked Miss Prodgitt, with the patronising air that +usually accompanies this enlightening answer.</p> + +<p>'Ho, indeed,' snapped Gertie, 'then p'raps yer'll keep wot yer've got +ter sye to yersel, <i>Miss</i> Prodgitt.'</p> + +<p>The fat girl opened her mouth, then, changing her mind, turned to +Victoria and informed her that the weather was very cold for the time of +the year.</p> + +<p>'That'll do, Gertie,' remarked Lottie, 'you leave Bella alone and hook +it.'</p> + +<p>Gertie glowered for a moment, wasted another look of scorn on her +opponent and flounced out of the room into a cupboard-like dark place, +whence issued sounds like the growl of an angry cat. Something had +obviously happened to her hat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> + +<p>Victoria looked round aimlessly. She had no appetite; for half-past +three, the barbarous lunch hour of the Rosebud girls, seemed calculated +to limit the food bill. By her side Bella was conscientiously absorbing +the potatoes that her daintier companions had left over from the Irish +stew. Lottie was deeply engrossed in a copy of <i>London Opinion</i>, left +behind by a customer. Victoria surveyed the room, almost absolutely bare +save in the essentials of chairs and tables. It was not unsightly, +excepting the fact that it was probably swept now and then but never +cleaned out. Upon the wall opposite was stuck a penny souvenir which +proclaimed the fact that the Emperor of Patagonia had lunched at the +Guildhall. By its side hung a large looking glass co-operatively +purchased by the staff. Another wall was occupied by pegs on which hung +sundry dust coats and feather boas, mostly smart. Gertie, in the corner, +was still fumbling in the place known as 'Heath's' because it +represented the 'Hatterie.' It was a silent party enough, this; even the +two other girls on duty downstairs would not have increased the +animation much. Victoria sat back in her chair, and, glancing at the +little watch she carried on her wrist in a leather strap, saw she still +had ten minutes to think.</p> + +<p>Victoria watched Gertie, who had come out of 'Heath's' and was poising +her hat before the glass. She was a neat little thing, round everywhere, +trim in the figure, standing well on her toes; her brown hair and eyes, +pursed up little mouth, small, sharp nose, all spoke of briskness and +self-confidence.</p> + +<p>'Quarter to four, doin' a bunk,' she remarked generally over her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>'Mind Butty doesn't catch you,' said Victoria.</p> + +<p>'Oh, he's all right,' said Gertie, 'we're pals.'</p> + +<p>Fat Bella, chewing the cud at the table, shot a malevolent glance at +her. Gertie took no notice of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> her, tied on her veil with a snap, and +collected her steel purse, parasol, and long white cotton gloves.</p> + +<p>'Bye, everybody,' she said, 'be good. Bye, Miss Prodgitt; wish yer luck +with yer perliceman, but you take my tip; all what glitters isn't +coppers.'</p> + +<p>Before Miss Prodgitt could find a retort to this ruthless exposure of +her idyll, Gertie had vanished down the stairs. Lottie dreamily turned +to the last page of <i>London Opinion</i> and vainly attempted to sound the +middle of her back; she was clearly disturbed by the advertisement of a +patent medicine. Victoria watched her amusedly.</p> + +<p>They were not bad sorts, any of them. Lottie, in her sharp way, had been +a kindly guide in the early days, explained the meaning of 'checks,' +shown her how to distinguish the inflexion on the word 'bill,' that +tells whether a customer wants the bill of fare or the bill of costs, +imparted too the wonderful mnemonics which enable a waitress to sort +four simultaneous orders. Gertie, the only frankly common member of the +staff, barked ever but bit never. As for Bella, poor soul, she +represented neutrality. The thread of her life was woven; she would +marry her policeman when he got his stripe, and bear him dull company to +the grave. Gertie would no doubt look after herself. Not being likely to +marry, she might keep straight and end as a manageress, probably save +nothing and end in the workhouse, or go wrong and live somehow, and then +die as quickly as a robin passing from the sunshine to the darkness. +Lottie was a greater problem; in her intelligence lay danger; she had +imagination, which in girls of her class is a perilous possession. Her +enthusiasm might take her anywhere, but very much more likely to misery +than to happiness. However, as she was visibly weak-chested, Victoria +took comfort in the thought that the air of the underground smoking-room +would some day settle her troubles.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + +<p>Victoria did not follow up her own line of life because as for all young +things, there was no end for her—nothing but mist ahead, with a rosy +tinge in it. Sufficient was it that she was in receipt of a fairly +regular income, not exactly overworked, neither happy nor miserable. +Apart from the two hours rush in the middle of the day, there was +nothing to worry her. After two months she had worked up a fair +connection; she could not rival the experienced Lottie, nor even Gertie +whose forward little ways always 'caught on,' but she kept up an average +of some fourteen shillings a week in tips. Thus she scored over Gladys +and Cora, whose looks and manners were unimpressive, lymphatic Bella +being of course outclassed by everybody. Twenty-one and six a week was +none too much for Victoria, whose ideas of clothes were fatally upper +middle class; good, and not too cheap. Still, she was enough of her +class to live within her income, and even add a shilling now and then to +her little hoard.</p> + +<p>A door opened downstairs. 'Four o'clock! Come down! Vic! Bella! Lottie! +Vat are you doing? gn?'</p> + +<p>Bella jumped up in terror, her fat cheeks quivering like jelly. 'Coming, +Mr Stein, coming,' she cried, making for the stairs. Victoria followed +more slowly. Lottie, secure in her privileges as head waitress, did not +move until she heard the door below slam behind them.</p> + +<p>Victoria lazily made for her tables. They were unoccupied save by a +youth of the junior clerk type.</p> + +<p>'Small tea toasted scone, Miss,' said the monarch with an approving look +at Victoria's eyes. As she turned to execute his order he threw himself +back in the bamboo arm chair. He joined his ten finger tips, and, +crossing his legs, negligently displayed a purple sock. He retained this +attitude until the return of Victoria.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Kyou,' she said, depositing his cup before him. She had unconsciously +acquired this incomprehensible habit of waitresses.</p> + +<p>The young man availed himself of the wait for the scone to inform +Victoria that it was a cold day.</p> + +<p>'We don't notice it here,' she said graciously enough.</p> + +<p>'Hot place, eh,' said the customer with a wink.</p> + +<p>Victoria smiled. In the early days she would have snubbed him, but she +had heard the remark before and had a stereotyped answer ready which, +with a new customer, invariably earned her a reputation for wit.</p> + +<p>'Oh, the hotter the fewer.' She smiled negligently, moving away towards +the counter. When she returned with the scone, the youth held out his +hand for the plate, and, taking it, touched the side of hers with his +finger tips. She gave him a faint smile and sat down a couple of yards +away on a chair marked 'Attendant.'</p> + +<p>The youth congratulated her upon the prettiness of the place. Victoria +helped him through his scone by agreeing with him generally. She +completed her conquest by lightly touching his shoulder as she gave him +his check.</p> + +<p>'Penny?' asked Bella, as the youth gone, Victoria slipped her fingers +under the cup.</p> + +<p>'Gent,' replied Victoria, displaying three coppers.</p> + +<p>Bella sighed. 'You've got all the luck, don't often get a twopenny; +never had a gent in my life.'</p> + +<p>'I don't wonder you don't,' said Cora from the other side of the room, +'looking as pleasant as if you were being photographed. You got to give +the boys some sport.'</p> + +<p>Bella sighed. 'It's all very well, Cora, I'm an ugly one, that's what it +is.'</p> + +<p>'Get out; I'm not a blooming daisy. Try washing your hair . . .'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> + +<p>'It's wrong,' interposed Bella ponderously.</p> + +<p>'Oh, shut it, <i>Miss</i> Prodgitt, I've no patience with you.'</p> + +<p>Cora walked away to the counter where Gladys was brewing tea. There was +a singular similarity between these two; both were short and plump; both +used henna to bring their hair up to a certain hue of redness; both had +complexions obviously too dark for the copper of their locks, belied as +it was already by their brown eyes. Indeed their resemblance frequently +created trouble, for each maintained that the other ruined her trade by +making her face cheap.</p> + +<p>'Can't help it if you've got a cheap face,' was the invariable answer +from either. 'You go home and come back when the rhubarb's out,' usually +served as a retort.</p> + +<p>The July afternoon oozed away. It was cool; now and then an effluvium of +tea came to Victoria, mingled with the scent of toast. Now and then too +the rumble of a dray or the clatter of a hansom filtered into the +dullness. Victoria almost slept.</p> + +<p>The inner door opened. A tall, stout, elderly man entered, throwing a +savage glance round the shop. There was a little stir among the girls. +Bella's rigidity increased tenfold. Cora and Gladys suddenly stopped +talking. Alone Victoria and Lottie seemed unconcerned at the entrance of +Butty, for 'Butty' it was.</p> + +<p>'Butty,' otherwise Mr Burton, the chairman of 'Rosebud, Ltd.,' continued +to glare theatrically. He wore a blue suit of a crude tint, a check +black and white waistcoat, a soft fronted brown shirt and, set in a +shilling poplin tie, a large black pearl. Under a grey bowler set far +back on his head his forehead sloped away to his wispy greying hair. His +nose was large and veined, his cheeks pendulous and touched with +rosacia; his hanging underlip revealed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> yellow teeth. The heavy dullness +of his face was somewhat relieved by his little blue eyes, piercing and +sparkling like those of a snake. His face was that of a man who is +looking for faults to correct.</p> + +<p>Mr Burton strode through the shop to the counter where Cora and Gladys +at once assumed an air of rectitude while he examined the cash register. +Then, without a word, he returned towards the doorway, sweeping Lottie's +tables with a discontented glance, and came to a stop before one of +Bella's tables.</p> + +<p>'What's this? what the devil do you mean by this?' thundered Butty, +pointing to a soiled plate and cup.</p> + +<p>'Oh, sir, I'm sorry, I . . .' gasped Bella, 'I . . .'</p> + +<p>'Now look here, my girl,' hissed Butty, savagely, 'don't you give me any +of your lip. If I ever find anything on a table of yours thirty seconds +after a customer's gone, it's the sack. Take it from me.'</p> + +<p>He walked to the steps and descended into the smoking-room. Cora and +Gladys went into fits of silent mirth, pointing at poor Bella. Lottie, +unconcerned as ever, vainly tried to extract interest from the shop copy +of 'What's On.'</p> + +<p>'Victoria,' came Butty's voice from below. 'Where's Mr Stein? Come +down.'</p> + +<p>'He's washing, sir,' said Victoria, bending over the banisters.</p> + +<p>'Oh, washing is he? first time I've caught him at it,' came the answer +with vicious jocularity. 'Here's a nice state of things; come down.'</p> + +<p>Victoria went down the steps.</p> + +<p>'Now then, why aren't these salt cellars put away? It's your job before +you come up.'</p> + +<p>'If you please, sir, it's settling day,' said Victoria quietly, 'we open +this room again at six.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes, s'pose you're right. I don't blame you. Never have to,' said +Butty grudgingly, then ingratiatingly.</p> + +<p>'No, sir,' said Victoria.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<p>'No, you're not like the others,' said Butty negligently coming closer +to her.</p> + +<p>Victoria smiled respectfully, but edged a little away. Butty eyed her +narrowly, his lips smiling and a little moist. Then his hand suddenly +shot out and seized her by the arm, high up, just under the short +sleeve.</p> + +<p>'You're a nice girl,' he said, looking into her eyes.</p> + +<p>Victoria said nothing, but tried to free herself. She tried harder as +she felt on her forearm the moist warmth of the ball of Butty's thumb +softly caressing it.</p> + +<p>'Let me go, sir,' she whispered, 'they can see you through the +banisters.'</p> + +<p>'Never you mind, Vic,' said Butty drawing her towards him.</p> + +<p>Victoria slipped from his grasp, ran to the stairs, but remembered to +climb them in a natural and leisurely manner.</p> + +<p>'Cool, very cool,' said Butty, approvingly, 'fine girl, fine girl.' He +passed his tongue over his lips, which had suddenly gone dry.</p> + +<p>When Victoria returned to her seat Lottie had not moved; Bella sat deep +in her own despair, but, behind the counter, Cora and Gladys were fixing +two stern pairs of eyes upon the favourite.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h3> + + +<p>'<span class="smcap">Yes</span>, sir, yes sir; I've got your order,' cried Victoria to a middle +aged man, whose face reddened with every minute of waiting. 'Steak, sir? +Yes, sir, that'll be eight minutes. And sautées, yes sir. Gladys, send +Dicky up to four. What was yours, sir? Wing twopence extra. No bread? +Oh, sorry, sir, thought you said Worcester.'</p> + +<p>Victoria dashed away to the counter. This was the busy hour. In her +brain a hurtle of food stuffs and condiments automatically sorted itself +out.</p> + +<p>'Now then, hurry up with that chop,' she snapped, thrusting her head +almost through the kitchen window.</p> + +<p>''Oo are you,' growled the cook over her shoulder. 'Empress of Germany? +I don't think.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, shut it, Maria, hand it over; now then Cora, where you pushing to?' +Victoria edged Cora back from the window, seized the chop and rushed +back to her tables.</p> + +<p>The bustle increased; it was close on one o'clock, an hour when the +slaves drop their oars, and for a while leave the thwarts of many +groans. The Rosebud had nearly filled up. Almost every table was +occupied by young men, most of them reading a paper propped up against a +cruet, some a Temple Classic, its pages kept open by the weight of the +plate edge. A steady hum of talk came from those who did not read, and, +mingled with the clatter of knives and forks, produced that atmosphere +of mongrel sound that floats into the ears like a restless wave.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<p>Victoria stepped briskly between the tables, collecting orders, deftly +making out bill after bill, smoothing tempers ruffled here and there by +a wrongful attribution of food.</p> + +<p>'Yes sir, cutlets. No veg? Cauli? Yes sir.'</p> + +<p>She almost ran up and down as half-past one struck and the young men +asked for coffees, small coffees, small blacks, china teas. From time to +time she could breathe and linger for some seconds by a youth who +audaciously played with the pencil and foil suspended from her waist. Or +she exchanged a pleasantry.</p> + +<p>'Now then, Nevy, none of your larks.' Victoria turned round sharply and +caught a hand engaged in forcing a piece of sugar into her belt.</p> + +<p>Nevy, otherwise Neville Brown, laughed and held her hand the space of a +second. 'I love my love with a V . . .' he began, looking up at her, his +blue eyes shining.</p> + +<p>'Chuck it or I'll tell your mother,' said Victoria, smiling too. She +withdrew her hand and turned away.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I say, Vic, don't go, wait a bit,' cried Neville, 'I want, now what +did I want?'</p> + +<p>'Sure I don't know,' said Victoria, 'you never said what you wanted. +Want me to make up your mind for you?'</p> + +<p>'Do, Vic, let our minds be one,' said Neville.</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at him approvingly. Neville Brown deserved the nickname +of 'Beauty,' which had clung to him since he left school. Brown wavy +hair, features so clean cut as to appear almost effeminate, a broad +pointed jaw, all combined to make him the schoolgirl's dream. Set off by +his fair and slightly sunburnt face, his blue eyes sparkled with +mischief.</p> + +<p>'Well, then, special and cream. Sixpence and serve you right.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + +<p>She laughed and stepped briskly away to the counter.</p> + +<p>'You're in luck, Beauty,' said his neighbour with a sardonic air.</p> + +<p>'Oh, it's no go, James,' replied Brown, 'straight as they make them.'</p> + +<p>'Don't say she's not. But if I weren't a married man, I'd go for her +baldheaded.'</p> + +<p>'Guess you would, Jimmy,' said Beauty, laughing, 'but you'd be wasting +your time. You wouldn't get anything out of her.'</p> + +<p>'Don't you be too sure,' said Jimmy meaningly. He passed his hand +reflectively over his shaven lips.</p> + +<p>'Well, well,' said Brown, 'p'raps I'm not an Apollo like you, Jimmy.'</p> + +<p>Jimmy smiled complacently. He was a tall slim youth, well groomed about +the head, doggy about the collar and tie, neatly dressed in Scotch +tweed. His steady grey eyes and firm mouth, a little set and rigid, the +impeccability of all about him, had stamped business upon his face as +upon his clothes.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I can't queer your pitch, Beauty,' he said a little grimly. 'I know +you, you low dog.'</p> + +<p>Beauty laughed at the epithet. 'You've got no poetry about you, you +North Country chaps, when a girl's as lovely as Victoria—'</p> + +<p>'As lovely as Victoria,' he repeated a little louder as Victoria laid +the cup of coffee before him.</p> + +<p>'I know all about that,' said Victoria coolly, 'you don't come it over +me like that, Nevy.'</p> + +<p>'Cruel, cruel girl,' sighed Neville. 'Ah, if you only knew what I +feel——'</p> + +<p>Victoria put her hand on the tablecloth and, for a moment, looked down +into Neville's blue eyes.</p> + +<p>'You oughtn't to be allowed out,' she pronounced, 'you aren't safe.'</p> + +<p>Jimmy got up as if he had been sitting on a suddenly released spring.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Spoon away both of you,' he said smoothly, 'I'm going over to Parsons' +to buy a racquet. Coming, Beauty? No, thought as much. Ta-ta, Vic. +Excuse me. Steak and kidney pie is tenpence, not a shilling. Cheer oh! +Beauty.'</p> + +<p>'He's a rum one,' said Victoria, reflectively, as Jimmy passed the cash +desk.</p> + +<p>'Jimmy? oh, he's all right,' said Neville, 'but look here Vic, I want to +speak to you. Let's go on the bust to-night. Dinner at the New Gaiety +and the theatre. What d'you think?'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at him for a second.</p> + +<p>'You are a cure, Nevy,' she said.</p> + +<p>'Then that's a bargain?' said Brown, eagerly snapping up her +non-refusal. 'Meet me at Strand Tube Station half-past seven. You're off +to-night, I know.'</p> + +<p>'Oh you know, do you,' said Victoria smiling. 'Been pumping Bella I +suppose, like the rest. She's a green one, that girl.'</p> + +<p>Neville looked up at her appealingly. 'Never mind how I know,' he said, +'say you'll come, we'll have a ripping time.'</p> + +<p>'Well, p'raps I will and p'raps I won't,' said Victoria. 'Your bill, +Sir? Yessir.'</p> + +<p>Victoria went to the next table. While she wrote she exchanged chaff +with the customers. One had not raised his eyes from his book; one stood +waiting for his bill; the other two, creatures about to be men, raised +languid eyes from their coffee cups. One negligently puffed a jet of +tobacco smoke upwards towards Victoria.</p> + +<p>'Rotten,' she said briefly, 'I see you didn't buy those up West.'</p> + +<p>'That's what <i>you</i> think, Vic,' said the youth, 'fact is I got them in +the Burlington. Have one?'</p> + +<p>'No thanks. Don't want to be run in.'</p> + +<p>'Have a match then.' The young man held up a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> two inch vesta. 'What +price that, eh? pinched 'em from the Troc' last night.'</p> + +<p>'You are a toff, Bertie,' said Victoria with unction. 'I'll have it as a +keepsake.' She took it and stuck it in her belt.</p> + +<p>Bertie leaned over to his neighbour. 'It's a mash,' he said confidently.</p> + +<p>'Take her to Kew,' said his friend, 'next stop Brighton.'</p> + +<p>'Can't run to it, old cock,' said the youth. 'However we shall see.'</p> + +<p>'Vic, Vic,' whispered Neville. But Victoria had passed him quickly and +was answering Mr Stein.</p> + +<p>'Vat you mean by it,' he growled, 'making de gentleman vait for his +ticket, gn?'</p> + +<p>'Beg your pardon, Mr Stein, I did nothing of the kind. The gentleman was +making <i>me</i> wait while he talked to his friend.'</p> + +<p>Victoria could now lie coolly and well. Stein looked at her savagely and +slowly walked away along the gangway between the tables, glowering from +right to left, looking managerially for possible complaints.</p> + +<p>Victoria turned back from the counter. There, behind the coffee urn +where Cora presided, stood Burton, in his blue suit, tiny beads of +perspiration appearing on his forehead. His little blue eyes fixed +themselves upon her like drills seeking in her being the line of least +resistance where he could deliver his attack. She almost fled, as if she +had seen a snake, every facet of her memory causing the touch of his hot +warm hand to materialise.</p> + +<p>'Vic,' said Neville's voice softly as she passed, 'is it yes?'</p> + +<p>She looked down at the handsome face.</p> + +<p>'Yes, Beauty Boy,' she whispered, and walked away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h3> + + +<p>'<span class="smcap">Silly</span> ass,' remarked Victoria angrily. She threw Edward's letter on the +table. Unconsciously she spoke the 'Rosebud' language, for contact had +had its effect upon her; she no longer awoke with a start to the fact +that she was speaking an alien tongue, a tongue she would once have +despised.</p> + +<p>Edward had expressed his interest in her welfare in a letter of four +pages covered with his thin writing, every letter of which was legible +and sloped at the proper angle. He 'considered it exceedingly +undesirable for her to adopt a profession such as that of waitress.' It +was comforting to know that 'he was relieved to see that she had the +common decency to change her name, and he trusted. . . .' Here Victoria +had stopped.</p> + +<p>'I can't bear it,' she said. 'I can't, can't, can't. Twopenny little +schoolmaster lecturing me, me who've got to earn every penny I get by +fighting for it in the dirt, so to say.' Every one of Edward's features +came up before her eyes, his straggling fair hair, his bloodless face, +his fumbling ineffective hands. This pedagogue who had stepped from +scholardom to teacherdom dared to blame or eulogise the steps she took +to earn her living, to be free to live or die as she chose. It was +preposterous. What did he know of life?</p> + +<p>Victoria seized a pen and feverishly scribbled on a crumpled sheet of +paper.</p> + +<blockquote><p>'My dear Edward,—What I do's my business. I've<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> got to live and I can't +choose. And you can be sure that so long as I can keep myself I shan't +come to you for help or advice. Perhaps you don't know what freedom is, +never having had any. But I do and I'm going to keep it even if it costs +me the approval of you people who sit at home comfortably and judge +people like me who want to be strong and free. But what's the good of +talking about freedom to you.—</p> + +<p class="center">Your affectionate sister,</p> + +<p class="author"> +<span class="smcap">Victoria'</span>. +</p></blockquote> + +<p>She addressed the envelope and ran out hatless to post it at the pillar +box in Edgware Road. As she crossed the road homewards a horse bus +rumbled by. It carried an enormous advertisement of the new musical +comedy <i>The Teapot Girl</i>. 'A fine comedy indeed,' she thought, suddenly +a little weary.</p> + +<p>As she entered her room, where a small oil lamp diffused a sphere of +graduated light, she was seized as by the throat by the oppression of +the silent summer night. The wind had fallen; not even a whirl of dust +stirred in the air. Alone and far away a piano organ in a square droned +and clanked Italian melody. She thought of Edward and of her letter. +Perhaps she had been too sharp. Once upon a time she would not have +written like that: she was getting common.</p> + +<p>Victoria sat down on a little chair, her hands clasped together in her +lap, her eyes looking out at the blank wall opposite. This, nine +o'clock, was the fatal hour when the ghosts of her dead past paced like +caged beasts up and down in her small room, and the wraith of the day's +work rattled its chains. There had been earlier times when, in the first +flush of independence, she had sat down to gloat over what was almost +success, her liberty, her living earned by her own efforts. The rosiness +of freedom then wrapped around the dinge with wreaths of fancy, wreaths +that curled incessantly into harmonious shapes. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> Victoria had soon +plumbed the depths of speculation and found that the fire of imagination +needs shadowy fuel for its shadowy combustion. Day by day her brain had +become less lissome. Then, instead of thinking for the joy of thought, +she had read some fourpenny-halfpenny novel, a paper even, picked up in +the Tube. Her mind was waking up, visualising, realising, and in its +troublous surgings made for something to cling to to steady itself. But +months rolled on and on, inharmonious in their sameness, unrelieved by +anything from the monotony of work and sleep. Certain facts meant +certain things and recurred eternally with their unchanging meaning; the +knock that awoke her, a knock so individual and habitual that her sleepy +brain was conscious on Sundays that she need not respond; the smell of +food which began to assail her faintly as she entered the 'Rosebud,' +then grew to pungency and reek at midday, blended with tobacco, then +slowly ebbed almost into nothingness: the dying day that was grateful to +her eyes when she left to go home, when things looked kindly round her.</p> + +<p>When Victoria realised all of a sudden her loneliness in her island in +Star Street, something like the fear of the hunted had driven her out +into the streets. She was afraid to be alone, for not even books could +save her from her thoughts, those hounds in full cry. In such moods she +had walked the streets quickly, looking at nothing, maintaining her pace +over hills. Now and then she had suddenly landed on a slum, caught sight +of, all beery and bloody, through the chink of a black lane. But she +shunned the flares, the wet pavement, the orange peel that squelched +beneath her boots, afraid of the sight of too vigorous life. +Unconsciously she had sought the drug of weariness, and the cunning bred +of her dipsomania told her that the living were poor companions for her +soul. And, when at times a man had followed her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> his eye arrested by +the lines of her face lit up by a gas lamp, he had soon tired of her +quick walk and turned away towards weaker vessels.</p> + +<p>But even weariness, when abused, loses its power as a sedative. The +body, at once hardened and satiated, demands more every day as it craves +for increasing doses of morphia, for more food, more drink, more kisses, +more, ever more. Thus Victoria had reached her last stage when, sitting +alone in her room, she once more faced the emptiness where the ghosts of +her dead past paced like caged beasts and the wraith of the day's work +rattled its chains.</p> + +<p>From this, now a state of mental instead of physical exhaustion, she was +seldom roused; and it needed an Edward come to judgment to stir her +sleepy brain into quick passion. Again and again the events of the day +would chase round and round maddeningly with every one of their little +details sharp as crystals. Victoria could almost mechanically repeat +some conversations, all trifling, similar, confined to half a dozen +topics; she could feel, too, but casually as an odalisque, the hot wave +of desire which surrounded her all day, evidenced by eyes that +glittered, fastened on her hands as she served, on her face, the curve +of her neck, her breast, her hips; eyes that devoured and divested her +of her meretricious livery. And, worse perhaps than that big primitive +surge which left her cold but unangered, the futility of others who +bandied with her the daily threadbare joke, who wearied her mind with +questions as to food, compelled her to sympathise with the vagaries of +the weather or were arch, flirtatious and dragged out of her tired mind +the necessary response. Even Butty and the moist warmth of him, even +Stein with his flaccid surly face, were better in their grossness than +these vapid youths, thoughtless, incapable of thought, incapable of +imagining thought, who set her down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> as an inferior, as a toy for games +that were not even those of men.</p> + +<p>'Beauty' had been a disappointment. She had met him two or three times +since their first evening out. That night Neville, who was a young man +of the world, had pressed his suit so delicately, preserving in so +cat-like a manner his lines of retreat, that she had not been able to +snub him when inclined to. He had a small private income and knew how to +make the best of his good looks by means of gentle manners and smart +clothes. In the insurance office where he was one of those clerks who +have lately evolved from the junior stage, he was nothing in particular +and earned ten pounds a month. He had furnished two rooms on the Chelsea +edge of Kensington, belonged to an inexpensive club in St James's, had +been twice to Brussels and once to Paris; he smoked Turkish cigarettes, +deeming Virginia common; he subscribed to a library in connection with +Mudie's, and knew enough of the middle classes to exaggerate his +impression of them into the smart set. Perhaps he tried a little too +much to be a gentleman.</p> + +<p>Neville Brown was strongly attracted to Victoria. He had vainly tried to +draw her out, and scented the lie in her carefully concocted story. He +knew enough to feel that she was at heart one of those women he met 'in +society,' perhaps a little better. Thus she puzzled him extremely, for +she was not even facile; he could hold her hand; she had not refused him +kisses, but he was afraid to secure his grip on her as a man carrying a +butterfly stirs not a finger for fear it should escape.</p> + +<p>Victoria turned all this over lazily. Her instinct told her what manner +of man was Neville, for he hardly concealed his desires. Indeed their +relations had something of the charm of a masqued ball. She saw well +enough that Neville was not likely to remain content with kisses, and +viewed the inevitable battle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> with mixed feelings. She liked him; +indeed, in certain moods and when his blue eyes were at their bluest, he +attracted her magnetically. The reminiscent scent of Turkish tobacco on +her lips always drew her back towards him; and yet she was of her class, +shy of love, of all that is illicit because unacknowledged. She knew +very well that Neville would hardly ask her to marry him and that she +would refuse if he did; she knew less well what she would do if he asked +her to love him. When she analysed their relation she always found that +all lay on the lap of the gods.</p> + +<p>In the loneliness of night her thoughts would fasten on him more +intently. He was youth and warmth and friendliness, words for the +silent, a hand to touch; better still he was a figment of Love itself, +with all its tenderness and crudity, its heat, all the quivers of its +body; he was soft scented as the mysterious giver of passionate gifts. +So, when Victoria lay down to try and sleep she rocked in the trough of +the waves of doubt. She could not tell into what hands she would give, +if she gave, her freedom, her independence of thought and deed, all that +security which is dear to the sheltered class from which she came. So, +far into the night she would struggle for sight, tossing from right to +left and left to right, thrusting away and then recalling the brown +face, the blue eyes and their promise.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> days rolled on, and on every one, as their scroll revealed itself, +Victoria inscribed doings which never varied. The routine grew heavier +as she found that the events of a Monday were so similar to those of +another Monday that after a month she could not locate happenings. She +no longer read newspapers. There was nothing in them for her; not even +the mock tragedy of the death of an heir presumptive or the truer +grimness of a shipwreck could rouse in her an emotion. She did not care +for adventure: not because she thought that adventure was beneath her +notice, but because it could not affect her. A revolution could have +happened, but she would have served boiled cod and coffees to the +groundlings, wings of chicken to the luxurious, without a thought for +the upheaval, provided it did not flutter the pink curtains beyond which +hummed the world.</p> + +<p>At times, for the holiday season was not over and work was rather slack, +Victoria had time to sit on her 'attendant' chair and to think awhile. +Reading nothing and seeing no one save Beauty and Mrs Smith, she was +thinking once more and thinking dangerously much. Often she would watch +Lottie, negligently serving, returning the ball of futility with a +carelessness that was almost grace, or Cora talking smart slang in young +lady-like tones.</p> + +<p>'To what end?' thought Victoria. 'What are we doing here, wasting our +lives, I suppose, to feed these boys. For what's the good of feeding +them so that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> they may scrawl figures in books and catch trains and +perhaps one day, unless they've got too old, marry some dull girl and +have more children than they can keep? We girls, we're wasted too.' So +strongly did she feel this that, one day, she prospected the unexplored +ground of Cora's mind.</p> + +<p>'What are you worrying about?' remarked Cora, after Victoria had tried +to inflame her with noble discontent. 'I don't say it's all honey, this +job of ours, but you can have a good time pretty well every night, can't +you, let alone Sundays?'</p> + +<p>'But I don't want a good time,' said Victoria, suddenly inspired. 'I +want to feel I'm alive, do something.'</p> + +<p>'Do what?' said Cora.</p> + +<p>'Live, see things, travel.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, we don't get a chance, of course,' said Cora. 'I'll tell you how it +is, Vic, you want too much. If you want anything in life you've got to +want nothing, then whatever you get good seems jolly good.'</p> + +<p>'You're a pessimist, Cora,' said Victoria smiling.</p> + +<p>'Meaning I see the sad side? Don't you believe it. Every cloud has a +silver lining, you know.'</p> + +<p>'And every silver lining has a cloud,' said Victoria, sadly.</p> + +<p>'Now, Vic,' answered Cora crossly, 'don't you go on like that. You'll +only mope and mope. And what's the good of that, I'd like to know.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I don't know,' said Victoria, 'I like thinking of things. Sometimes +I wish I could make an end of it. Don't you?'</p> + +<p>'Lord, no,' said Cora, 'I make the best of it. You take my tip and don't +think too much.'</p> + +<p>Victoria bent down in her chair, her chin upon her open palm. Cora +slapped her on the back.</p> + +<p>'Cheer up,' she said, 'we'll soon be dead.'</p> + +<p>Victoria had also attempted Gladys, but had discovered without surprise +that her association with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> Cora had equalised their minds as well as the +copper of their hair. Lottie never said much when attacked on a general +subject, while Bella never said anything at all. Since the day when +Victoria had attempted to draw her out on the fateful question 'What's +the good of anything?' Bella Prodgitt had looked upon Victoria as a +dangerous revolutionary. At times she would follow the firebrand round +the shop with frightened and admiring eyes. For her Victoria was +something like the brilliant relation of whom the family is proud +without daring to acknowledge him.</p> + +<p>It fell to Gertie's lot to enlighten Victoria further on the current +outlook of life. It came about in this way. One Saturday afternoon +Victoria and Bella were alone on duty upstairs, for the serving of lunch +is then at a low ebb; the City makes a desperate effort to reach the +edge of the world to lunch peacefully and cheaply in its homes and +lodgings. Lottie and Gertie were taking the smoking room below.</p> + +<p>It was nearly three o'clock. At one of the larger tables sat two men, +both almost through with their lunch. The elder of the two, a stout, +cheery-looking man, pushed away his cup, slipped two pennies under the +saucer and, taking up his bill, which Victoria had made out when she +gave him his coffee, went up to the cash desk. The other man, a +pale-faced youth in a blue suit, sat before his half emptied cup. His +hand passed nervously round his chin as he surveyed the room; his was +rather the face of a ferret, with a long upper lip, watery blue eyes, +and a weak chin. His forehead sloped a little and was decorated with +many pimples.</p> + +<p>Victoria passed him quickly, caught up the stout man, entered the cash +desk and took his bill. He turned in the doorway.</p> + +<p>'Well, Vic,' he said, 'when are we going to be married?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + +<p>'29th of February, if it's not a leap year,' she laughed.</p> + +<p>'Too bad, too bad,' said the stout man, looking back from the open door +out of which he had already passed, 'you're the third girl who's said +that to me in a fortnight.'</p> + +<p>'Serve you right,' said Victoria, looking into the mirror opposite, +'you're as bad as Henry the . . . .'</p> + +<p>The door closed. Victoria did not finish her sentence. Her eyes were +glued to the mirror. In it she could only see a young man with a thin +face, decorated with many pimples, hurriedly gulping down the remains of +his cup of coffee. But a second before then she had seen something which +made her fetch a quick breath. The young man had looked round, marked +that her head was turned away; he had thrown a quick glance to the right +and the left, to the counter which Bella had left for a moment to go +into the kitchen; then his hand had shot out and, with a quick movement, +he had seized the stout man's pennies and slipped them under his own +saucer.</p> + +<p>The young man got up. Victoria came up to him and made out his bill. He +took it without a word and paid it at the desk, Victoria taking his +money.</p> + +<p>'Well, he didn't steal it, did he?' said Gertie, when Victoria told her +of the incident.</p> + +<p>'No, not exactly. Unless he stole it from the first man.'</p> + +<p>''Ow could he steal it if he didn't take it?' snapped Gertie.</p> + +<p>'Well, he made believe to tip me when he didn't, and he made believe +that the first man was mean when it was he who was,' said Victoria. 'So +he stole it from the first man to give it me.'</p> + +<p>'Lord, I don't see what yer after,' said Gertie. 'You ain't lost +nothing. And the first fellow he ain't lost nothing either. He'd <i>left</i> +his money.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + +<p>Victoria struggled for a few sentences. The little Cockney brain could +not take in her view. Gertie could only see that Victoria had had +twopence from somebody instead of from somebody else, so what was her +trouble?</p> + +<p>'Tell yer wot,' said Gertie summing up the case, 'seems ter me the +fellow knew wot he was after. Dodgy sort of thing to do. Oughter 'ave +thought of the looking-glass though.'</p> + +<p>Victoria turned away from Gertie's crafty little smile. There was +something in the girl that she could not understand; nor could Gertie +understand her scruple. Gertie helped her a little though to solve the +problem of waste; this girl could hardly be wasted, thought Victoria, +for of what use could she be? She had neither the fine physique that +enables a woman to bear big stupid sons, nor the intelligence which +breeds a cleverer generation; she was sunk in the worship of easy +pleasure, and ever bade the fleeting joy to tarry yet awhile.</p> + +<p>'She isn't alive at all,' said Victoria to Lottie. 'She merely grows +older.'</p> + +<p>'Well, so do we,' replied Lottie in matter of fact tones.</p> + +<p>Victoria was compelled to admit the truth of this, but she did not see +her point clearly enough to state it. Lottie, besides, did nothing to +draw her out. In some ways she was Victoria's oasis in the desert, for +she was simple and gentle, but her status lymphaticus was permanent. She +did not even dream.</p> + +<p>Victoria's psychological enquiries did not tend to make her popular. The +verdict of the 'Rosebud' was that she was a 'rum one,' perhaps a 'deep +one.' The staff were confirmed in their suspicions that she was a 'deep +one' by the obvious attentions that Mr Burton paid her. They were not +prudish, except Bella, who objected to 'goings on'; to be distinguished<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +by Butty was rather disgusting, but it was flattering too.</p> + +<p>'He could have anybody he liked, the dirty old tyke,' remarked Cora. 'Of +course I'm not taking any,' she added in response to a black look from +Bella Prodgitt.</p> + +<p>Victoria was not 'taking any' either, but she every day found greater +difficulty in repelling him. Burton would stand behind the counter near +the kitchen door during the lunch hour, and whenever Victoria had to +come up to it, he would draw closer, so close that she could see over +the whites of his little eyes a fine web of blood vessels. Every time +she came and went her skirts brushed against his legs; on her neck +sometimes she felt the rush of his bitter scented breath.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, in the change room, as she was dressing alone to leave at +four, the door opened. She had taken off her blouse and turned with a +little cry. Burton had come in suddenly. He walked straight up to her, +his eyes not fixed on hers but on her bare arms. A faintness came over +her. She hardly had the strength to repel him, as without a word he +threw one arm round her waist, seizing her above the elbow with his +other hand. As he tried to draw her towards him she saw a few inches +from her face, just the man's mouth, red and wet, like the sucker of a +leech, the lips parted over the yellow teeth.</p> + +<p>'Let me go!' she hissed, throwing her head back.</p> + +<p>Burton ground her against him, craning his neck to touch her lips with +his.</p> + +<p>'Don't be silly,' he whispered, 'I love you. You be my little girl.'</p> + +<p>'Let me go.' Victoria shook him savagely.</p> + +<p>'None of that.' Burton's eyes were glittering. The corners had pulled +upwards with rage.</p> + +<p>'Let me go, I say.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<p>Burton did not answer. For a minute they wrestled. Victoria thrust him +back against the wall. She almost turned sick as his hand, slipping +round her, flattened itself on her bare shoulder. In that moment of +weakness Burton won, and, bending her over, kissed her on the mouth. She +struggled, but Burton had gripped her behind the neck. Three times he +kissed her on the lips. A convulsion of disgust and she lay motionless +in his embrace. There was a step on the stairs. A few seconds later +Burton had slipped out by the side door.</p> + +<p>'What's up?' said Gladys suspiciously.</p> + +<p>Victoria had sunk upon a chair, breathless, dishevelled, her face in her +hands.</p> + +<p>'Nothing . . . I . . . I feel sick,' she faltered. Then she savagely +wiped her mouth with her feather boa.</p> + +<p>Victoria was getting a grip of things. The brute, the currish brute. The +words rang in her head like a chorus. For days, the memory of the affray +did not leave her. She guarded, too, against any recurrence of the +scene.</p> + +<p>Her hatred for Burton seemed to increase the fascination of Neville. She +did not think of them together, but it always seemed to happen that, +immediately after thrusting away the toad-like picture of the chairman, +she thought of the blue-eyed boy. Yet her relations with Neville were +ill-fated. Some days after the foul incident in the change room, Neville +took her for one of his little 'busts.' As it was one of her late nights +he called for her at a quarter past nine. They walked towards the west +and, on the stroke of ten, Neville escorted her into one of the enormous +restaurants that the Refreshment Rendezvous, known to London as the +Ah-Ah, runs as anonymously as it may.</p> + +<p>Victoria was amused. The R. R. was the owner of a palace, built, if not +for the classes, certainly not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> for the masses. Its facing was of +tortured Portland stone, where Greek columns, Italian, Louis XIV and +Tudor mouldings blended with rich Byzantine gildings and pre-Raphaelite +frescoes. Inside too, it was all plush, mainly red; gold again; palms, +fountains, with goldfish and tin ducks. The restaurant was quite a fair +imitation of the Carlton, but a table d'hôte supper was provided for +eighteen pence, including finger bowls in which floated a rose petal.</p> + +<p>Neville and Victoria sat at a small table made for two. She surrendered +her feet to the clasp of his. Around her were about two hundred couples +and a hundred family parties. Most of the young men were elaborately +casual; they wore blue or tweed suits, a few, frock coats marred by +double collars; they had a tendency to loll and to puff the insolent +tobacco smoke of virginias towards the distant roof. Their young ladies +talked a great deal and looked about. There was much wriggling of +chairs, much giggling, much pulling up of long gloves over bare arms. In +a corner, all alone, a young man in well-fitting evening clothes was +consuming in melancholy some chocolate and a sandwich.</p> + +<p>Neville plied Victoria with the major part of a half bottle of claret.</p> + +<p>'Burgundy's the thing,' he said. 'More body in it.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, it is good, isn't it? I mustn't have any more, though.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, you're all right,' said Neville indulgently. 'Let's have some +coffee and a liqueur.'</p> + +<p>'No, no liqueur for me.'</p> + +<p>'Well, coffee then. Here, waiter.'</p> + +<p>Neville struggled for some minutes. He utterly failed to gain the ear of +the waiters.</p> + +<p>'Let's go, Beauty,' said Victoria. 'I don't want any coffee. No, really, +I'd rather not. I can't sleep if I take it.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>The couple walked up Regent Street, then along Piccadilly. Neville held +Victoria's arm. He had slipped his fingers under the long glove. She did +not withdraw her arm. His touch tickled her senses to quiescence if not +to satisfaction. They turned into the Park. Just behind the statue of +Achilles they stepped upon the grass and at once Neville threw his arm +round Victoria. It was a little chilly; mist was rising from the grass. +The trees stood blackly out of it, as if sawn off a few feet from the +ground. Neville stopped. A little smile was on his lips.</p> + +<p>'Beauty boy,' said Victoria.</p> + +<p>He drew her towards him and kissed her. He kissed her on the forehead, +then on the cheek, for he was a sybarite, in matters of love something +of an artist, just behind the ear, then passionately on the lips. +Victoria closed her eyes and threw one arm round his neck. She felt +exhilarated, as if gently warmed. They walked further westwards, and +with every step the fog thickened.</p> + +<p>'Let's stop, Beauty,' said Victoria, after they had rather suddenly +walked up to a thicket. 'We'll get lost in the wilderness.'</p> + +<p>'And wilderness were paradise enow,' murmured Neville in her ear.</p> + +<p>Victoria did not know the hackneyed line. It sounded beautiful to her. +She laughed nervously and let Neville draw her down by his side on the +grass.</p> + +<p>'Oh, let me go, Beauty,' she whispered. 'Suppose someone should come.'</p> + +<p>Neville did not answer. He had clasped her to him. His lips were more +insistent on hers. She felt his hand on her breast.</p> + +<p>'Oh, no, no, Beauty, don't, please don't,' she said weakly.</p> + +<p>For some minutes she lay passive in his grasp. He had undone the back of +her blouse. His hand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> cold and dry, had slipped along her shoulder, +seeking warmth.</p> + +<p>Slowly his clasp grew harder; he used his weight. Victoria bent under +it. Something like faintness came over her.</p> + +<p>'Victoria, Victoria, my darling.' The voice seemed far away. She was +giving way more and more. Not a blade of grass shuddered under its +shroud of mist. From the road came the roar of a motorbus, like a +muffled drum. Then she felt the damp of the grass on her back through +the opening of her blouse.</p> + +<p>A second later she was sitting up. She had thrust Neville away with a +savage push under the chin. He seized her once more. She fought him, +seeing nothing to struggle with but a silent dark shadow.</p> + +<p>'No, Beauty, no, you mustn't,' she panted.</p> + +<p>They were standing then, both of them.</p> + +<p>'Vic, darling, why not?' pleaded Neville gently, still holding her hand.</p> + +<p>'I don't know. Oh, no, really I can't, Beauty.'</p> + +<p>She did not know it, but generations of clean living were fighting +behind her, driving back and crushing out the forces of nature. She did +not know that, like most women, she was not a free being but the +great-granddaughter of a woman whose forbears had taught her that +illegal surrender is evil.</p> + +<p>'I'm sorry, Beauty, . . . it's my fault,' she said.</p> + +<p>'Oh, don't mention it,' said Neville icily, dropping her hand. 'You're +playing with me, that's all.'</p> + +<p>'I'm not,' said Victoria, tears of excitement in her eyes. 'Oh, Beauty, +don't you understand. We women, we can't do what we like. It's so hard. +We're poor, and life is so dull and we wish we were dead. And then a man +comes like you and the only thing he can offer, we mustn't take it.'</p> + +<p>'But why, why?' asked Beauty.</p> + +<p>'I don't know,' said Victoria. 'We mustn't. At<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> any rate I mustn't. My +freedom is all I've got and I can't give it up to you like that. I like +you, you know that, don't you, Beauty?'</p> + +<p>Neville did not answer.</p> + +<p>'I do, Beauty. But I can't, don't you see. If I were a rich woman it +would be different. I'd owe nobody anything. But I'm poor; it'd pull me +down and . . . when a woman's down, men either kick or kiss her.'</p> + +<p>Neville shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>'Let's go,' he said.</p> + +<p>Silently, side by side, they walked out of the park.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">October</span> was dying, its russet tints slowly merging into grey. Thin +mists, laden with fine specks of soot, had penetrated into the +'Rosebud.' Victoria, in her black business dress, under which she now +had to wear a vest which rather killed the tip-drawing power of her +openwork blouse, was setting her tables, quickly crossing red cloths +over white, polishing the glasses, arranging knives and forks in +artistic if inconvenient positions. It was ten o'clock, but business had +not begun, neither Mr Stein nor Butty having arrived.</p> + +<p>'Cold, ain't it?' remarked Gertie.</p> + +<p>'Might be colder,' said Bella Prodgitt.</p> + +<p>Victoria came towards them, carrying a trayful of cruets.</p> + +<p>''Ow's Beauty?' asked Gertie.</p> + +<p>Victoria passed by without a word. This romance had not added to the +popularity of the chairman's favourite. Cora and Gladys were busy +dusting the counter and polishing the urns. Lottie, in front of a wall +glass, was putting the finishing touches to the set of her cap. The door +opened to let in Mr Stein, strapped tight in his frock coat, his top hat +set far back on his bullet head. He glared for a moment at the staff in +general, then without a word took a letter addressed to him from a rack +bearing several addressed to customers, and passed into the cash desk. +The girls resumed their polishing more busily. Quickly the night +wrappings fell from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> chandeliers; the rosebud baskets were teased +into shape; the tables, loaded swiftly with their sets, grew more +becoming. Victoria, passing from table to table set on each a small vase +full of chrysanthemums.</p> + +<p>'I say, Gladys, look at Stein,' whispered Cora to her neighbour. Gladys +straightened herself from under the counter and followed the direction +of Cora's finger.</p> + +<p>'Lord,' she said, 'what's up?'</p> + +<p>Bella's attention was attracted. She too was interested in her bovine +way. Mr Stein's attitude was certainly unusual. He held a sheet of paper +in one hand, his other hand clutching at his cheek so hard as to make +one of his eyes protrude. Both his eyes were fixed on the sheet of +paper, incredulous and horror-stricken.</p> + +<p>'I say, Vic, what's the matter with the little swine?' suddenly said +Lottie, who had at length noticed him.</p> + +<p>Victoria looked. Stein had not moved. For some seconds all the girls +gazed spellbound at the frozen figure in the cashbox. The silence of +tragedy was on them, a silence which arrests gesture and causes hearts +to beat.</p> + +<p>'Lord, I can't stick this,' whispered Cora, 'there's something wrong.' +Quickly diving under the counter flap she ran towards the pay box where +Stein still sat unmoving, as if petrified. The little group of girls +watched her. Bella's stertorous breathing was plainly heard.</p> + +<p>Cora opened the glass door and seized Stein by the arm.</p> + +<p>'What's the matter, Mr Stein?' she said excitedly, 'are you feeling +queer?'</p> + +<p>Stein started like a somnambulist suddenly awakened and looked at her +stupidly, then at the motionless girls in the shop.</p> + +<p>'Nein, nein, lassen sie doch,' he muttered.</p> + +<p>'Mr Stein, Mr Stein,' half-screamed Cora.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Oh, get out, I'm all right, but the game's up. He's gone. The game's up +I tell up. The game's up.'</p> + +<p>Cora looked at him round-eyed. Mr Stein's idioms frightened her almost +more than his German.</p> + +<p>Stein was babbling, speaking louder and louder.</p> + +<p>'Gone away, Burton. Bankrupt and got all the cash. . . . See? You get +the sack. Starve. So do I and my vife. . . . Ach, ach, ach, ach. Mein +Gott, Mein Gott, was solls. . . .'</p> + +<p>Gertie watched from the counter with a heightened colour. Lottie and +Victoria, side by side, had not moved. A curious chill had seized +Victoria, stiffening her wrists and knees. Stein was talking quicker and +quicker, with a voice that was not his.</p> + +<p>'Ach, the damned scoundrel . . . the schweinehund . . . he knew the +business was going to the dogs, ach, schweinehund, schweinehund. . . .' +He paused. Less savage his thoughts turned to his losses. 'Two hundred +shares he sold me. . . . I paid a premium . . . they vas to go to four +. . . ach, ach, ach. . . . I'm in the cart.'</p> + +<p>Gertie sniggered gently. The idiom had swamped the tragedy. Stein looked +round at the sound. His face had gone leaden; his greasy plastered hair +was all awry.</p> + +<p>'Vat you laughing at, gn?' he asked savagely, suddenly resuming his +managerial tone.</p> + +<p>'Take it we're bust, ain't we?' said Gertie, stepping forward jauntily.</p> + +<p>Stein lifted, then dropped one hand.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' he said, 'bust.'</p> + +<p>'Thank you for a week's wages, Mr Stein,' said Gertie, 'and I'll push +off, if yer don't mind.'</p> + +<p>Stein laughed harshly. With a theatrical movement he seized the cash +drawer by the handle, drew it out and flung it on the floor. It was +empty.</p> + +<p>'Oh, that's 'ow it is,' said Gertie. 'You're a fine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> gentleman, I don't +think. Bloomin' lot of skunks. What price that, mate?' she screamed +addressing Bella, who still sat in her chair, her cheeks rising and +falling like the sides of a cuttlefish. ''Ere's a fine go. Fellers comes +along and tikes in poor girls like me and you and steals the bread outer +their mouths. I'll 'ave yer run in, yer bloody foreigner.' She waved her +fist in the man's face. 'For two pins,' she screamed, 'I'd smash yer +fice, I'd. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Chuck it, Gertie,' said Lottie, suddenly taking her by the arm, 'don't +you see he's got nothing to do with it?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, indeed, Miss Mealymouth,' sneered Gertie, 'what I want is my money +. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Leave him alone, Gertie,' said Victoria, 'you can't kick a man when +he's down.'</p> + +<p>Gertie looked as if she were about to explode. Then the problem became +too big for her. In her little Cockney brain the question was insolubly +revolving: 'Can you kick a man when he's down. . .? Can you kick. . .?'</p> + +<p>Mr Stein passed his hand over his forehead. He was pulling himself +together.</p> + +<p>'Close de door, Cora,' he commanded. 'Now then, the company's bankrupt, +there's nothing in the cashbox. You get the push. . . . I get the push.' +His voice broke slightly. His face twitched. 'You can go. Get another +job.' He looked at Gertie.</p> + +<p>'Put down your address. I give it to the police. You get something for +wages.' He slowly turned away and sat down on a chair, his eyes fixed on +the wall.</p> + +<p>There was a repressed hubbub of talking. Then Gertie made the first move +and went up to the change room. She came back a minute or two later in +her long coat and large hat, carrying a parcel which none noticed as +being rather large for a comb. It contained the company's cap and apron +which, thought she, she might as well save from the wreck.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gertie shook hands with Cora. 'See yer ter-night,' she said airily, +'same old place; 'bye Miss Prodgitt, 'ope "Force" 'll lift you out of +this.' She shook hands with Victoria, a trifle coldly, kissed Lottie, +threw one last malevolent look at Stein's back. The door closed behind +her. She had passed out of the backwater into the main stream.</p> + +<p>Lottie, a little self consciously, pulled down the pink blinds, in token +of mourning. The 'Rosebud' hung broken on its stalk. Then, silently, she +went up into the change room, followed by Cora; a pace behind came +Victoria, all heavy with gloom. They dressed silently. Cora, without a +word, kissed them both, collected her small possessions into a reticule, +then shook hands with both and kissed them again. The door closed behind +her. When Lottie and Victoria went down into the shop, Cora also had +passed into the main stream. Gladys had gone with her.</p> + +<p>The two girls hesitated for a moment as to whether they should speak to +Stein. It was almost dark, for the October light was too weak to filter +through the thick pink blinds. Lottie went up to the dark figure.</p> + +<p>'Cheer up,' she said kindly, 'it's a long lane that has no turning.'</p> + +<p>Stein looked up uncomprehendingly, then sank his head into his hands.</p> + +<p>As Lottie and Victoria turned once more, the front door open behind +them, all they saw was Bella Prodgitt, lymphatic as ever, motionless on +her chair, like a watcher over the figure of the man silently mourning +his last hopes.</p> + +<p>As they passed into the street the fresh air quickened by the coming +cold of winter, stung their blood to action. The autumn sunlight, pale +like the faded gold of hair that age has silvered, threw faint shadows +on the dry white pavements where little whirlwinds of dust chased and +figured like swallows on the wing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lottie and Victoria walked quickly down the city streets. It was +half-past eleven, a time when, the rush of the morning over, comparative +emptiness awaits the coming of the midday crowds; every minute they were +stopped by the blocks of drays and carriages which come in greater +numbers in the road as men grow fewer on the pavements. The unaccustomed +liberty of the hour did not strike them; for depression, a sense of +impotence before fatality, was upon them. Indeed, they did not pause +until they reached on the Embankment the spot where the two beautiful +youths prepare to fasten on one another their grip of bronze. They sat +down upon a seat and for a while remained silent.</p> + +<p>'What are you going to do? Lottie?' asked Victoria.</p> + +<p>'Look out for another job, of course,' said Lottie.</p> + +<p>'In the same line?' said Victoria.</p> + +<p>'I'll try that first,' replied Lottie, 'but you know I'm not particular. +There's all sorts of shops. Nice soft little jobs at photographers, and +manicuring showrooms, I don't mind.'</p> + +<p>Victoria, with the leaden weight of former days pressing on her, envied +Lottie's calm optimism. She seemed so capable. But so far as she herself +was concerned, she did not feel sure that the 'other job' would so +easily be found. Indeed the memory of her desperate hunt for work +wrapped itself round her, cold as a shroud.</p> + +<p>'But what if you can't get one,' she faltered.</p> + +<p>'Oh, that'll be all right,' said Lottie, airily. 'I can live with my +married sister for a bit, but I'll find a job somehow. That doesn't +worry me. What are you thinking of?'</p> + +<p>'I don't know,' said Victoria slowly, 'I must look out I suppose.'</p> + +<p>'Hard up?' asked Lottie.</p> + +<p>'No, not exactly,' said Victoria. 'I'm not rolling in wealth, you know, +but I can manage.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Well, don't you go and get stranded or anything,' said Lottie. 'It +doesn't do to be proud. It's not much I can do, but anyhow you let me +know if—' She paused. Victoria put her hand on hers.</p> + +<p>'You're a bit of all right, Lottie,' she said softly, her feelings +forming naturally into the language of her adopted class. For a few +minutes the girls sat hand in hand.</p> + +<p>'Well, I'd better be going,' said Lottie. 'I'm going to my married +sister at Highgate first. Time enough to look about this afternoon.'</p> + +<p>The two girls exchanged addresses. Victoria watched her friend's slim +figure grow smaller and slimmer under her crown of pale hair, then +almost fade away, merge into men and women and suddenly vanish at a +turn, swallowed up. With a little shiver she got up and walked away +quickly towards the west. She was lonely suddenly, horribly so. One by +one, all the links of her worldly chain had snapped. Burton, the sensual +brute, was gone; Stein was perhaps sitting still numb and silent in the +darkened shop; Gertie, flippant and sharp, had sailed forth on life's +ocean, there to be tossed like a cork and like a cork to swim; now +Lottie was gone, cool and confident, to dangers underrated and unknown. +She stood alone.</p> + +<p>As she reached Westminster Bridge a strange sense of familiarity +overwhelmed her. A well-known figure was there and it was horribly +symbolical. It was the old vagrant of bygone days, sitting propped up +against the parapet, clad in his filthy rags. From his short clay pipe, +at long intervals, he puffed wreaths of smoke into the blue air.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> russet of October had turned into the bleak darkness of December. +The threat of winter was in the air; it hissed and sizzled in the bare +branches as they bent in the cold wind, shaking quivering drops of water +broadcast as if sowing the seeds of pain. Victoria stopped for a moment +on the threshold of the house in Star Street, looked up and down the +road. It was black and sodden with wet; the pavement was greasy and +glistening, flecked with cabbage stalks and orange peel. Then she looked +across at the small shop where, though it was Sunday, a tailor sat +cross-legged almost on a level with the street, painfully collecting +with weary eyes the avaricious light. His back was bowed with habit; +that and his bandy legs told of his life and revealed his being. In the +street, when he had time to walk there, boys mocked his shuffling gate, +thus paying popular tribute to the marks of honest toil.</p> + +<p>Victoria stepped down to the pavement. A dragging sensation made her +look at her right boot. The sole was parting from the upper, stitch by +stitch. With something that was hardly a sigh Victoria put her foot down +again and slowly walked away. She turned into Edgware Road, followed it +northwards for a while, then doubled sharply back into Praed Street +where she lingered awhile before an old curiosity shop. She looked +between two prints into the shop where, in the darkness, she could see +nothing. Yet she looked at nothingness for quite a long while.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> Then, +listlessly, she followed the street, turned back through a square and +stopped before a tiny chapel almost at the end of Star Street. The deity +that follows with passionless eyes the wanderer in mean streets knew +from her course that this woman had no errand; without emotion the Being +snipped a few minutes from her earthly span.</p> + +<p>By the side of the chapel sat an aged woman smothered in rags so many +and so thick that she was passing well clad. She was hunched up on a +camp stool, all string and bits of firewood. A small stove carrying an +iron tray told that her trade was selling roasted chestnuts; nothing +moved in the group; the old woman's face was brown and cracked as her +own chestnuts and there was less life in her than in the warm scent of +the roasting fruits which gratefully filled Victoria's nostrils.</p> + +<p>The eight weeks which now separated Victoria from the old days at the +'Rosebud' had driven deeper yet into her soul her unimportance. She was +powerless before the world; indeed, when she thought of it at all, she +no longer likened herself to a cork tossed in the storm, but to a pebble +sunken and motionless in the bed of a flowing river.</p> + +<p>Upon the day which followed her sudden uprooting Victoria had bent her +back to the task of finding work. She had known once more the despairing +search through the advertisement columns of the <i>Daily Telegraph</i>, the +skilful winnowing of chaff from wheat, sudden and then baffled hopes. +Her new professional sense had taken her to the shops where young women +are wanted to enhance the attraction of coffee and cigarettes. But the +bankruptcy of the 'Rosebud' was not an isolated case. The dishonesty of +Burton was not its cause but its consequence; the ship was sinking under +his feet when he deserted it after loading himself with such booty as he +could carry. Victoria had discovered grimly that the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> result of a +commercial crisis is the submerging of those whose labours create a +commercial boom. Within a week of the 'Rosebud' disaster the eleven City +cafés of the 'Lethe, Ltd.' had closed their doors. Two small failures in +the West End were followed by a greater crash. The 'People's +Restaurants, Ltd.', eaten out by the thousand depots of the 'Refreshment +Rendezvous, Ltd.,' had filed a voluntary petition for liquidation; the +official liquidator had at once inaugurated a policy of 'retrenchment +and sound business management,' and, as a beginning, closed two hundred +shops in the City and West End. He proposed to exploit the suburbs, and, +after a triumphant amalgamation with the victorious 'Refreshment +Rendezvous,' to retire from law into peaceful directorships and there +collect innumerable guineas.</p> + +<p>Victoria had followed the convulsion with passionate interest. For a +week the restaurant slump had been the fashion. The manager of every +surviving café in London had given it as his deliberate opinion that +trade would be all the better for it. The financial papers published +grave warnings as to the dangers of the restaurant business, to which +the Stock Exchange promptly responded by marking up the prices of the +survivors' shares. The Socialist papers had eloquently pleaded for +government assistance for the two thousand odd displaced girls; a +Cabinet Minister had marred his parliamentary reputation by endeavouring +to satisfy one wing of his party that the tearoom at South Kensington +Museum was not a Socialistic venture and the other wing that it was an +institution leading up to State ownership of the trade. A girl +discharged from the 'Lethe' had earned five guineas by writing a +thousand words in a hated but largely read daily paper. The interest had +been kept up by the rescue of a P.R. girl who had jumped off Waterloo +Bridge. Another P.R. girl, fired by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> example, had been more successful +in the Lea. This valuable advertisement enabled the Relief Fund to +distribute five shillings a head to many young persons who had been +waitresses at some time or another; there were rumours of a knighthood +for its energetic promoter.</p> + +<p>It was in the midst of this welter that Victoria had found herself cast, +with her newly acquired experience a drug in the market, and all the +world inclined to look upon her as a kind of adventuress. Her employer's +failure was in a sense her failure, and she was handy to blame. For +three weeks she had doggedly continued her search for work, applying +first of all in the smart tea-rooms of the West, and every day she +became more accustomed to being turned away. Her soul hardened to +rebuffs as that of a beggar who learns to bear stoically the denial of +alms. After vainly trying the best Victoria had tried the worst, but +everywhere the story was the same. Every small restaurant keeper was +drawing his horns in, feverishly casting up trial balances; some of them +in their panic had damaged their credit by trying to arrange with their +banks for overdrafts they would never need. The slump was such that they +did not believe that the public would continue to eat and drink; they +retrenched employees instead of trying to carve success out of other +men's disasters.</p> + +<p>Victoria, her teeth set, had faced the storm. She now explored districts +and streets systematically, almost house by house. And when her spirit +broke at the end of the week, as her perpetual walks, the buffeting of +rain and wind soiled her clothing, broke breaches into her boots, +chapped her hands as glove seams gave way, the only thing that could +brace her up was the shrinkage of her hoard by a sovereign. She placed +the coin on the mantlepiece after counting the remainder. Monday morning +saw it reduced to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> eleven shillings and sixpence. When the crisis came +she had taken in sail by exchanging into the second floor back, then +fortunately vacant, thus saving three shillings in rent.</p> + +<p>The sight of her melting capital was a horror which she faced only once +a week, for at other times she thrust the thought away, but it intruded +every time with greater insistence. Untrained still in economy she found +it impossible to reduce her expenditure below a pound. After paying off +the mortgage of eight and sixpence for her room and breakfast, she had +to set aside three shillings for fares, for she dared not wade overmuch +in the December mud. The manageress of a cafe lost in Marylebone had +heard her kindly, but had looked at her boots plastered with mud, then +at the dirty fringes of her petticoats and said, regretfully almost, +that she would not do. That day had cost Victoria a pound almost +wrenched out of the money drawer. But this wardrobe though an asset, was +an incubus, and Victoria at times often hated it, for it cost so much in +omnibus fares that she paid for it every day in food stolen from her +body.</p> + +<p>By the end of the seventh week Victoria had reduced her hoard to four +pounds. She now applied for work like an automaton, often going twice to +the same shop without realising it, at other times sitting for hours on +a park seat until the drizzle oozed from her hair into her neck. At the +end of the seventh week she had so lost consciousness of the world that +she walked all through the Sunday gloom without food. Then, at eight +o'clock, awakening suddenly to her need, she gorged herself with suet +pudding at an eating house in the Edgware Road, came back to Star Street +and fell into a heavy sleep.</p> + +<p>About four she was aroused by horrible sickness which left her weak, +every muscle relaxed and every nerve strained to breaking point. Shapes +blacker than the night floated before her eyes; every passing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> milk +cart rattled savagely through her beating temples; twitchings at her +ankles and wrists, and the hurried beat of her heart shook the whole of +her body. She almost writhed on her bed, up and down, as if forcibly +thrown or goaded.</p> + +<p>As the December dawn struggled through her window, diffusing over the +white wall the light of the condemned cell, she could bear it no more. +She got up, washed horrible bitterness from her mouth, clots from her +eyes. Then, swaying with weariness and all her pulses beating, she +strayed into the street, unseeing, her boots unbuttoned, into the daily +struggle.</p> + +<p>As the blind man unguided, or the poor on the march, she went into the +East, now palely glowing over the chimney pots. She did not feel her +weariness. Her feet did not belong to her; she felt as if her whole body +were one gigantic wound vaguely aching under the chloroform. She walked +without intention, and as towards no goal. At Oxford Circus she stopped. +Her eye had unconsciously been arrested by the posters which the +newsvendor was deftly glueing down on the pavement. The crude colours of +the posters, red, green, yellow, shocked her sluggish mind into action. +One spoke of a great reverse in Nubia; another repeated the information +and added a football cup draw. A third poster, blazing red, struck such +a blow at Victoria that, for a wild moment, her heart seemed to stop. It +merely bore the words:</p> + +<p class="center"> +P. R.<br /> +REOPENS +</p> + +<p>Victoria read the two lines five or six times, first dully, then in a +whirl of emotion. Her blood seemed to go hot and tingle; the twitchings +of her wrists and ankles grew insistent. With her heart pounding with +excitement she asked for the paper in a choked voice, refusing the +halfpenny change. Backing a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> step or two she opened the paper. A sheet +dropped into the mud.</p> + +<p>The newsvendor, grizzled and sunburnt right into the wrinkles, picked up +the sheet and looked at her wonderingly. From the other side a corpulent +policeman watched her with faint interest, reading her like a book. He +did not need to be told that Victoria was out of work; her face showed +that hope had come into her life.</p> + +<p>Victoria read every detail greedily. The enterprising liquidator had +carried through the amalgamation of the People's Restaurants and the +Refreshment Rendezvous, and created the People's Refreshment Rendezvous. +He had done this so quietly and suddenly that the effect was a +thunderbolt. He had forestalled the decision of the Court, so that +agreements had been ready and signed on the Saturday evening, while +leave had obscurely been granted on the Friday. Being master of the +situation the liquidator was re-opening fifty-five of the two hundred +closed shops. The paper announced his boast that 'by ten o'clock on +Monday morning fifty-five P. R. R.'s would be flying the flag of the +scone and cross buns.' The paper also hailed this pronouncement as +Napoleonic.</p> + +<p>Victoria feverishly read the list of the rescued depots. They were +mainly in Oxford Street and Bloomsbury. Indeed, one of them was in +Princes Street. A flood of clarity seemed to come over Victoria's brain. +It was impossible for the P. R. or P. R. R. or whatever it had become, +to have secured a staff on the Sunday. No doubt they proposed to engage +it on the spot and to rush the organisation into working order so as to +capture at the outset the <i>succčs de curiosité</i> which every London daily +was beating up in the breast of a million idle men and women. Clutching +the paper in her hand she ran across Oxford Street almost under the +wheels of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> motor lorry. She turned into Princes Street, and hurled +herself against the familiar door, clutching at the handle.</p> + +<p>There was another girl leaning against the door. She was tall and slim. +Her fair hair went to sandiness. Her black coat was dusty and stained. +Her large blue eyes started from her colourless face, pale lipped, +hollow under the cheekbones. Victoria recovered her breath and put her +hair straight feverishly. A short dark girl joined the group, pressing +her body close against them. Then two more. Then, one by one, half a +dozen. Victoria discovered that her boots were undone, and bent down to +do them up with a hairpin. As she struggled with numb fingers her rivals +pressed upon her with silent hostility. As she straightened herself, the +throng suddenly thrust her away from the door. Victoria recovered +herself and drove against them gritting her teeth. The fair girl was +ground against her; but Victoria, full of her pain and bread lust, +thrust her elbow twice into the girl's breast. She felt something like +the rage of battle upon her and its joy as the bone entered the soft +flesh like a weapon.</p> + +<p>'Now then, steady girls,' said the voice of the policeman, faint like a +dream voice.</p> + +<p>'Blime, ain't they a 'ot lot!' said another dream voice, a loafer's.</p> + +<p>The crowd once more became orderly. Though quite a hundred girls had now +collected hardly any spoke. In every face there was tenseness, though +the front ranks showed most ferocity in their eyes and the late-comers +most weariness.</p> + +<p>'Where you shovin'?' asked a sulky voice.</p> + +<p>There was a mutter that might have been a curse. Then silence once more; +and the girls fiercely watched for their bread, looking right and left +like suspicious dogs. A spruce young warehouseman slowly reviewed the +girls and allowed his eyes to linger approvingly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> on one or two. He +winked approvingly at the fair girl but she did not respond. She stood +flat against the door, every inch of her body spread so as to occupy as +much space as she could.</p> + +<p>Then, half-past seven, a young man and a middle-aged woman shouldering +through the wedged mass, the fierce rush into the shop and there the +gasp behind closed doors among the other winners, hatless, their clothes +torn, their bodices ripped open to the stays, one with her hair down and +her neck marked here and there by bleeding scratches. Then, after the +turmoil of the day among the strangeness, without rest or food, to make +holiday for the Londoners, a night heavy as lead and a week every day +more mechanical, Victoria had returned to the treadmill and, within a +week, knew it.</p> + +<p>. . . . The clock struck five. Victoria awoke from her dream epic. She +had won her battle and sailed into harbour. Its waters were already as +horribly still as those of a stagnant pool. The old chestnut vendor sat +motionless on her seat of firewood and string. Not a thought chased over +her gnarled brown face. From the stove came the faint pungent smell of +the charring peel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">A fortnight</span> later Victoria had returned to the City. Most of the old +P.R's had reopened, after passing under the yoke. A coat of paint had +transformed them into P.R.R's. In fact their extinction was complete; +nothing was left of them but the P. and the chairmanship of the +amalgamated company, for their chairman was an earl and part of the +goodwill. The P.R. had apparently been bought up at a fair rate. Its +shares having fallen to sixpence, most of the shareholders had lost +large sums; whereas the directors and their friends, displaying the +acumen that is sometimes found among directors, had quietly bought the +shares up by the thousand and by putting them into the new company had +realised large profits. As the failure had happened during the old year +and most of the shops had been reopened in the new, it was quite clear +that the catering trade was expanding. It was a startling instance of +commercial progress.</p> + +<p>Within a week the P.R.R. decided to start once more in the City. +Victoria, by her own request, was transferred to Moorgate Street. She +did not like the neighbourhood of Oxford Circus; it was unfamiliar +without being stimulating. She objected too to serving women. If she +must serve at all she preferred serving men. She did not worship men; +indeed the impression they had left on her was rather unpleasant. The +subalterns at the mess were dull, Mr Parker a stick, Bobby was Bobby, +Burton a cur, Stein a lout, Beauty, well perhaps Beauty was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> a little +better and Cairns worthy of a kind thought; but all the others, boys and +half men with their futile talk, their slang cribbed from the music +halls, their affectations, their loud ties, were nothing but the ballast +on which the world has founded its permanent way. Yet a mysterious sex +instinct made Victoria prefer even them to the young ladies who +frequented Princes Street. It is better to be made love to insolently +than to be ordered about.</p> + +<p>The Moorgate P.R.R. was one of the curious crosses between the ice cream +shop and the chop house where thirty bob a week snatches a sixpenny +lunch. It was full of magnificent indifference. You could bang your +twopence for a small coffee, or luxuriate in steak and kidney pie, +boiled (<i>i.e.</i> potatoes), stewed prunes and cream, and be served with +the difference of interest that the recording angel may make between No. +1,000,000 and 1,000,001. You were seldom looked at, and, if looked at, +forgotten. It was as blatant as the 'Rosebud' had been discreet. Painted +pale blue, it flaunted a plate glass window full of cakes, packets of +tea, pounds of chocolate, jars of sweets; some imitation chops garnished +with imitation parsley, and a chafing dish full of stage eggs and bacon +held out the promise of strong meats. Enormous urns, polished like +silver, could be seen from the outside emitting clouds of steam; under +the chafing dish too came up vaporous jets.</p> + +<p>Inside, the P.R.R. recalled the wilderness and the animation of a bank. +To the blue and red tesselated floor were fastened many marble-topped +tables squeezed so close together that when a customer rose to leave he +created an eddy among his disturbed fellows. The floor was swamped with +chairs which, during the lunch hour, dismally grated on the tiled floor. +It was clean; for, after every burst of feeding, the appointed scavenger +swept the fallen crusts, fragments of pudding, cigarette ends and +banana<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> skins into a large bin. This bin was periodically emptied and +the contents sent to the East End, whether to be destroyed or to be used +for philanthropic purposes is not known.</p> + +<p>The girls were trained to quick service here. Victoria found no +difficulty in acquiring the P.R.R. swing, for she had not to memorise +the variety of dishes which the more fastidious Rosebudders demanded. +Her mental load seldom went beyond small teas, a coffee or two, half a +veal and ham pie, sandwiches and porridge. There was no considering the +bill of fare. It stood on every table, immutable as a constitution and +as dull. At the P.R.R., a man absorbed a maximum of stodgy food, paid +his minimum of cash and vanished into an office to pour out the +resultant energy for thirty bob a week. As there were no tips Victoria +soon learned that courtesy was wasted, so wasted none.</p> + +<p>The P.R.R. did not treat its girls badly—in this sense, that it treated +them no worse than its rivals did theirs; it practised commercial +morality. Victoria received eight shillings a week, to which good +Samaritans added an average of fourteen pence, dropped anonymously into +the unobtrusive box near the cash desk. At the 'Rosebud' tips averaged +fourteen shillings a week, but then they were given publicly.</p> + +<p>Besides her wages she was given all her meals, on a scale suited to +girls who waited on Mr Thirty Bob a Week. Her breakfast was tea, bread +and margarine; her dinner, cold pudding or pie, according to the +unpopularity of the dishes among the customers, washed down once more +with tea and sometimes followed by stewed fruit if the quantity that +remained made it clear that some would be left over. The day ended with +supper, tea, bread and cheese—a variety of Cheddar which the company +bought by the ton on account of its peculiar capacity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> for swelling and +producing a very tolerable substitute for repletion.</p> + +<p>As Victoria was now paid less than half her former wages she was +expected to work longer hours. The P. R. R. demanded faithful service +from half-past eight in the morning to nine in the evening, except on +one day when freedom was earned at six. Victoria was driven to +generalise a little about this; it struck her as peculiar that an +increase of work should synchronise with a decrease of pay, but the +early steps in any education always fill the pupil with wonderment.</p> + +<p>Yet she did not repine, for she remembered too well the black days of +the old year when the wolf slunk round the house, coming every day +nearer to her door. She had beaten him off and there still was joy in +the thought of that victory. Her frame of mind was quiescent, tempered +still with a feeling of relief. This she shared with her companions, for +every one of them had known such straits as hers and worse. They had +come back to the P. R. R. filled with exceeding joy; craving bread they +had been given buns.</p> + +<p>The Moorgate P. R. R. was a big depot. It boasted, in addition to the +ground floor, two smoking rooms, one on the first floor and one +underground, as well as a ladies' dining-room on the second floor. It +had a staff of twenty waitresses, six of whom were stationed in the +underground smoking-room; Victoria was one of these. A virile manageress +dominated them and drove with splendid efficiency a concealed kitchen +team of four who sweated in the midst of steam in an underground +stokehole.</p> + +<p>Victoria's companions were all old P. R's except Betty. They all had +anything between two and five years' service behind them. Nelly, a big +raw boned country girl, was still assertive and loud; she had good looks +of the kind that last up to thirty, made up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> of fine coarse healthy +flesh lines, tending to redden at the nostrils and at the ears; her +hands were shapely still, though reddened and thickened by swabbing +floors and tables. Maud was a poor little thing, small boned with a +flaccid covering of white flesh, inclined to quiver a little when she +felt unhappy; her eyes were undecidedly green, her hair carroty in the +extreme. She had a trick of drawing down the corners of her mouth which +made her look pathetic. Amy and Jenny were both short and darkish, +inclined to be thin, always a little tired, always willing, always in a +state neither happy nor unhappy. Both had nearly five years' experience +and could look forward to another fifteen or so. They had no +assertiveness, so could not aspire to a managerial position, such as +might eventually fall to the share of Nelly.</p> + +<p>Betty was an exception. She had not acquired the P. R. R. manner and +probably never would. The daughter of a small draper at Horley, she had +lived through a happy childhood, played in the fields, been to a little +private school. Her father had strained every nerve to face on the one +hand the competition of the London stores extending octopus-like into +the far suburbs, on the other that of the pedlars. Caught between the +aristocracy and the democracy of commerce he had slowly been ground +down. When Betty was seventeen he collapsed through worry and overwork. +His wife attempted to carry on the business after his death, bravely +facing the enemy, discharging assistants, keeping the books, impressing +Betty to dress the window, then to clean the shop. But the pressure had +become too great, and on the day when the mortgagees foreclosed she +died. Nothing was left for Betty except the clothes she stood in. Some +poor relatives in London induced her to join the 'Lethe.' That was three +years ago and now she was twenty.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>Betty was the tall slim girl into whose breast Victoria had thrust her +elbow when they were fighting for bread among the crowd which surged +round the door of the Princes Street depot. She was pretty, perhaps a +little too delicately so. Her sandy hair and wide open china blue eyes +made one think of a doll; but the impression disappeared when one looked +at her long limbs, her slightly sunken cheeks. She had a sweet +disposition, so gentle that, though she was a favourite, her fellows +despised her a little and were inclined to call her 'poor Betty.' She +was nearly always tired; when she was well she was full of simple and +honest merriment. She would laugh then if a motor bus skidded or if she +saw a Highlander in a kilt. She had just been shifted to the Moorgate +Street P.R.R. From the first the two girls had made friends and Victoria +was deeply glad to meet her again. The depth of that gladness is only +known to those who have lived alone in a hostile world.</p> + +<p>'Betty,' said Victoria the first morning, 'there's something I want to +say. I've had it on my mind. Do you remember the first time we met +outside the old P.R. in Princes Street?'</p> + +<p>'Don't I?' said Betty. 'We had a rough time, didn't we?'</p> + +<p>'We had. And, Betty, perhaps you remember . . . I hit you in the chest. +I've thought of it so often . . . and you don't know how sorry I am when +I think of it.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I didn't mind,' said Betty, a blush rising to her forehead, 'I +understand. I was about starving, you know, I thought you were the +same.'</p> + +<p>'No, not starving exactly,' said Victoria, 'mad rather, terrified, like +a sheep which the dog's driving. But I beg your pardon, Betty, I +oughtn't to have done it.'</p> + +<p>Betty put her hand gently on her companion's.</p> + +<p>'I understand, Vic,' she said, 'it's all over now; we're friends, aren't +we?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + +<p>Victoria returned the pressure. That day established a tender link +between these two. Sometimes, in the slack of three o'clock, they would +sit side by side for a moment, their shoulders touching. When they met +between the tables, running, their foreheads beaded with sweat, they +exchanged a smile.</p> + +<p>The customers at the P.R.R. were so many that Victoria could hardly +retain an impression of them. A few were curious though, in the sense +that they were typical. One corner of the room was occupied during the +lunch hour by a small group of chess players; five of the six boards +were regularly captured by them. They sat there in couples, their eyes +glued to the board, allowing the grease to cake slowly on their food; +from time to time one would swallow a mouthful, sometimes dropping +morsels on the table. These he would brush away dreamily, his thoughts +far away, two or three moves ahead. Round each table sat a little group +of spectators who now and then shifted their plates and cups from table +to table and watched the games. At times, when a game ended, a table was +involved in a fierce discussion: gambits, Morphy's classical games, were +thrown about. On the other side of the room the young domino-players +noisily played matador, fives and threes, or plain matching, would look +round and mutter a gibe at the enthusiasts.</p> + +<p>Others were more personal. One, a repulsive individual, Greek or +Levantine, patronised one of Betty's tables every day. He was fat, +yellow and loud; over his invariably dirty hands drooped invariably +dirty cuffs; on one finger he wore a large diamond ring.</p> + +<p>'It makes me sick sometimes,' said Betty to Victoria, 'you know he eats +with both hands and drops his food; he snuffles too, as he eats, like a +pig.'</p> + +<p>Another was an old man with a beautiful thin brown face and white hair. +He sat at a very small<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> table, so small that he was usually alone. Every +day he ordered dry toast, a glass of milk and some stewed fruit. He +never read or smoked, nor did he raise his eyes from the table. An +ancient bookkeeper perhaps, he lived on some principle.</p> + +<p>Most of the P. R. R. types were scheduled however. They were mainly +young men or boys between fifteen and twenty. All were clad in blue or +dark suits, wore flannel shirts, dickeys and no cuffs. They would +congregate in noisy groups, talk with furious energy, and smoke Virginia +cigarettes with an air of daredevilry. Now and then one of these would +be sitting alone, reading unexpected papers such as the <i>Times</i>, +borrowed from the office. Spasmodically, too, one would be seen +improving his mind. Victoria, within six months, noticed three starts on +the part of one of the boys; French, book-keeping and electrical +engineering.</p> + +<p>Many were older than these. There were little groups of young men rather +rakishly but shabbily dressed; often they wore a flower in their +buttonhole. The old men were more pathetic; their faces were +expressionless; they came to eat, not to feast.</p> + +<p>Victoria and Betty had many conversations about the customers. Every day +Victoria felt her faculty of wonder increase; she was vaguely conscious +already that men had a tendency to revert to types, but she did not +realise the influence the conditions of their lives had upon them.</p> + +<p>'It's curious,' she once said to Betty, as they left the depot together, +'they're so much alike.'</p> + +<p>'I suppose they are,' said Betty. 'I wonder why?'</p> + +<p>'I'm not sure,' said Victoria, 'but it seems to me somehow that they +must be born different but that they become alike because they do the +same kind of work.'</p> + +<p>'It's rather awful, isn't it,' said Betty.</p> + +<p>'Awful? Well, I suppose it is. Think of it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> Betty. There's old Dry +Toast, for instance. I'm sure he's been doing whatever he does do for +thirty or forty years.'</p> + +<p>'And'll go on doing it till he dies,' murmured Betty.</p> + +<p>'Or goes into the workhouse,' added Victoria. A sudden and horrible +lucidity had come over her. 'Yes, Betty, that's what it means. The boys +are going to be like the old man; we see them every day becoming like +him. First they're in the twenties and are smart and read the sporting +news; then they seem to get fat and don't shave every day, because they +feel it's getting late and it doesn't matter what they look like; their +hair grows grey, they take up chess or German, or something equally +ridiculous. They don't get a chance. They're born and as soon as they +can kick they're thrust in an office to do the same thing every day. +Nobody cares; all their employers want them to do is to be punctual and +do what they're paid thirty bob a week for. Soon they don't try; they +die, and the employers fill the billet.'</p> + +<p>'How do you know all this, Vic?' said Betty, eyeing her fearfully. 'It +seems so true.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I just felt it suddenly, besides . . .' Victoria hesitated.</p> + +<p>'But is it right that they should get thirty bob a week all their lives +while their employers are getting thousands?' asked Betty, full of +excitement.</p> + +<p>'I don't know,' said Victoria slowly. Betty's voice had broken the +charm. She could no longer see the vision.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> days passed away horribly long. Victoria was now an automaton; she +no longer felt much of sorrow or of joy. Her home life had been reduced +to a minimum, for she could no longer afford the luxury of 'chambers in +the West End' as Betty put it. She had moved to Finsbury; where she had +found a large attic for three shillings a week, in a house which had +fallen from the state of mansion for a City merchant to that of tenement +dwelling. For the first time since she returned to London she had +furnished her own room. She had bought out the former tenant for one +pound. For this sum she had entered into possession of an iron bedstead +with a straw mattress, a thick horse cloth, an iron washstand supplied +with a blue basin and a white mug, an old armchair and red curtains. She +had no sheets, which meant discomfort but saved washing. A chair had +cost her two shillings; she needed no cupboard as there was one in the +wall; in lieu of a chest of drawers she had her trunk; her few books +were stacked on a shelf made out of the side of a packing case and +erected by herself. She got water from the landing every morning except +when the taps were frozen. There was no fireplace in the attic, but in +the present state of Victoria's income this did not matter much.</p> + +<p>Every morning she rose at seven, washed, dressed. As time went on she +ceased to dust and sweep every morning. First she postponed the work to +the evening, then to the week end. On Sundays she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> breakfasted off a +stale loaf bought among the roar of Farrington Street the previous +evening. A little later she introduced a spirit lamp for tea; it was a +revolution, even though she could never muster enough energy to bring in +milk.</p> + +<p>After the first flush of possession, the horrible gloom of winter had +engulfed her. Sometimes she sat and froze in the attic, and, in despair, +went to bed after vainly trying to read Shakespeare by the light of a +candle: he did not interest her much. At other times the roaring +streets, the flares in the brown fog, the trams hurtling through the +air, their headlights blazing, had frightened her back to her home. On +Sundays, after luxuriating in bed until ten, she usually went to meet +Betty who lived in a club in Soho. Together they would walk in the +parks, or the squares, wherever grass grew. At one o'clock Betty would +introduce her as a guest at her club and feast her for eightpence on +roast beef and pudding, tea, and bread and butter. Then they would start +out once more towards the fields, sometimes towards Hampstead Heath, or +if it rained seek refuge in a museum or a picture gallery. When they +parted in the evening, Victoria kissed her affectionately. Betty would +then hold the elder woman in her arms, hungrily almost, and softly kiss +her again.</p> + +<p>The only thing that parted these two at all was the mystery which Betty +guessed at. She knew that Victoria was not like the other girls; she +felt that there was behind her friend's present condition a past of +another kind, but when she tried to question Victoria, she found that +her friend froze up. And as she loved her this was a daily grief; she +looked at Victoria with a question in her eyes. But Victoria would not +yield to the temptation of confiding in her; she had adopted a new class +and was not going back on it.</p> + +<p>Besides Betty there was no one in her life. None<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> of the other girls +were able to meet her on congenial ground; Beauty had not got her +address; and, though she had his, she was too afraid of complicating her +life to write to him. She had sent her address to Edward as a matter of +form, but he had not written; apparently her desire for freedom had +convinced him that his sister was mad. None of the men at the P.R.R. had +made any decided advances to her. She could still catch every day a +glitter in the eye of some youth, but her maturity discouraged the boys, +and the older men were mostly too deeply sunk in their feeding and +smoking to attempt gallantry. Besides: Victoria was no longer the +cream-coloured flower of olden days; she was thinner; her hands too were +becoming coarse owing to her having to swab tables and floors; much +standing and the fetid air of the smoking-room were making her sallow.</p> + +<p>Soon after Victoria entered into possession of her 'station' she knew +most of her customers, knew them, that is, as much as continual rushes +from table to counter, from floor to floor, permits. The casuals, mostly +young, left no impression; lacking money but craving variety these +youths would patronise every day a different P.R.R., for they hoped to +find in a novel arrangement of the counter, a new waitress, larger or +smaller quarters, the element of variety which the bill of fare +relentlessly denied them. The older men were more faithful if no more +grateful. One of them was a short thin man, looking about forty, who for +some hidden reason had aroused Victoria's faded interest. His appearance +was somewhat peculiar. His shortness, combined with his thinness and +breadth, was enough to attract attention. Standing hardly any more than +five foot five, he had disproportionately broad shoulders, and yet they +were so thin that the bones showed bowed at the back. Better fed, he +would have been a bulky man. His hair was dark, streaked with grey; and, +as it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> getting very thin and beginning to recede, he gave the +impression of having a very high forehead. His eyes were grey, set +rather deep under thick eyebrows drawn close together into a permanent +frown. Under his rather coarse and irregular nose his mouth showed +closely compressed, almost lipless; a curious muscular distortion had +tortured into it a faint sneer. His hands were broad, a little coarse +and very hairy.</p> + +<p>Victoria could not say why she was interested in this man. He had no +outward graces, dressed poorly and obviously brushed his coat but +seldom; his linen, too, was not often quite clean. Immediately on +sitting down at his usual table he would open a book, prop it up against +the sugar bowl, and begin to read. His books did not tell Victoria much; +in two months she noted a few books she did not know, <i>News from +Nowhere</i>, <i>Fabian Essays</i>, <i>The Odyssey</i>, and a book with a long title +the biggest printed word of which was <i>Niestze</i> or <i>Niesche.</i> Victoria +could never remember this word, even though her customer read the book +every day for over a month. <i>The Odyssey</i> she had heard of, but that did +not tell her anything.</p> + +<p>She had found out his name accidentally. One day he had brought down +three books and had put two under his seat while he read the third. Soon +after he had left, reading still while he went up the stairs. Victoria +found the books under the chair. One was a <i>Life of William Morris</i>, the +other the <i>Vindication of the Rights of Women</i>. On the flyleaf of each +was written in bold letter. 'Thomas Farwell.'</p> + +<p>Victoria could not resist glancing at the books during her half hour for +lunch. The <i>Life of William Morris</i> she did not attempt, remembering her +experiences at school with 'Lives' of any kind: they were all dull. +Marie Wollstonecraft's book seemed more interesting, but she seemed to +have to wade through so much that she had never heard of and to have to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +face a style so crabbed and congested that she hardly understood it. +Yet, something in the book interested her, and it was regretfully that +she handed the volumes back to Farwell when he called for them at +half-past six. He thanked her in half a dozen words and left.</p> + +<p>Farwell continued regular in his attendance. He came in on the stroke of +one, left at half-past one exactly, lighting his pipe as he got up. He +never spoke to anyone; when Victoria stood before his table he looked at +her for a moment, gave his order and cast his eyes down to his book.</p> + +<p>It was about three weeks after the incident of the books that he spoke +to Victoria. As he took up the bill of fare he said suddenly:</p> + +<p>'Did you read the <i>Vindication</i>?'</p> + +<p>'I did glance through it,' said Victoria, feeling, she did not know why, +acutely uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>'Ah? interesting, isn't it? Pity it's so badly written. What do you +think of it?'</p> + +<p>'Well, I hardly know,' said Victoria reflectively; 'I didn't have time +to read much; what I read seemed true.'</p> + +<p>'You think that a recommendation, eh?' said Farwell, his lips parting +slightly. 'I'd have thought you saw enough truth about life here to like +lies.'</p> + +<p>'No,' said Victoria, 'I don't care for lies. The nastier a thing is, the +better everybody should know it; then one day people will be ashamed.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, an optimist!' sniggered Farwell. 'Bless you, my child. Give me +fillets of plaice, small white and cut.'</p> + +<p>For several days after this Farwell took no notice of Victoria. He gave +his order and opened his book as before. Victoria made no advances. She +had talked him over with Betty, who had advised her to await events.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<p>'You never know,' she had remarked, as a clinching argument.</p> + +<p>A day or two later Victoria was startled by Farwell's arrival at +half-past six. This had never happened before. The smoking-room was +almost empty, as it was too late for teas and a little too early for +suppers. Farwell sat down at his usual table and ordered a small tea. As +Victoria returned with the cup he took out a book from under two others +and held it out.</p> + +<p>'Look here,' he said a little nervously. 'I don't know whether you're +busy after hours, but perhaps you might like to read this.' The wrinkles +in his forehead expanded and dilated a little.</p> + +<p>'Oh, thank you so much. I would like to read it,' said Victoria with the +ring of earnestness in her voice. She took the book; it was a battered +copy of <i>No. 5 John Street</i>.</p> + +<p>'No. 5? What a queer title,' she said.</p> + +<p>'Queer? not at all,' said Farwell. 'It only seems queer to you because +it is natural and you're not used to that. You're a number in the P.R.R. +aren't you? Just like the house you live in. And you're just number so +and so; so am I. When we die fate shoves up the next number and it all +begins over again.'</p> + +<p>'That doesn't sound very cheerful, does it?' said Victoria.</p> + +<p>'It isn't cheerful. It's merely a fact.'</p> + +<p>'I suppose it is,' said Victoria. 'Nobody is ever missed.'</p> + +<p>Farwell looked at her critically. The platitude worried him a little; it +was unexpected.</p> + +<p>'Yes, exactly,' he stammered. 'Anyhow, you read it and let me know what +you think of it.' Thereupon he took up another book and began to read.</p> + +<p>When he had gone Victoria showed her prize to Betty.</p> + +<p>'You're getting on,' said Betty with a smile. 'You'll be Mrs Farwell one +of these days, I suppose.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Don't be ridiculous, Betty,' snapped Victoria, 'why, I'd have to wash +him.'</p> + +<p>'You might as well wash a husband as a dish,' said Betty smoothly. +'Anyhow, the other girls are talking.'</p> + +<p>'Let them talk,' said Victoria rather savagely, 'so long as they don't +talk to me.'</p> + +<p>Betty took her hand gently.</p> + +<p>'Sorry, Vic dear,' she said. 'You're not angry with me, are you?'</p> + +<p>'No, of course not, you silly,' said Victoria laughing. 'There run away, +or that old gent at the end'll take a fit.'</p> + +<p>Farwell did not engage her in conversation for a few days, nor did she +make any advances to him. She read through <i>No. 5 John Street</i> within +three evenings; it held her with a horrible fascination. Her first +plunge into realistic literature left her shocked as by a cold bath. In +the early days, at Lympton, she had subsisted mainly on Charlotte Young +and Rhoda Broughton. In India, the mess having a subscription at +Mudie's, she had had good opportunities of reading; but, for no +particular reason, except perhaps that she was newly married and busy +with regimental nothings, she had ceased to read anything beyond the +<i>Sketch</i> and the <i>Sporting and Dramatic</i>. Thus she had never heard of +the 'common people' except as persons born to minister to the needs of +the rich. She had never felt any interest in them, for they spoke a +language that was not hers. <i>No. 5 John Street</i>, coming to her a long +time after the old happy days, when she herself was struggling in the +mire, was a horrible revelation; it showed her herself, and herself not +as 'Tilda towering over fate but as Nancy withering in the indiarubber +works for the benefit of the Ridler system.</p> + +<p>She read feverishly by the light of a candle. At times she was repelled +by the vulgarity of Low<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> Covey, by the grossness which seemed to revel +in poverty and dirt. But when she cast her eyes round her own bare +walls, looked at her sheetless bed, a shiver ran over her.</p> + +<p>'These are my people,' she said aloud. The candle, clamouring for the +snuffers, guttered, sank low, nearly went out.</p> + +<p>Shivering again before the omen, she trimmed the wick. She returned the +book to Farwell by slipping it on the table next day. He took it without +a word but returned at half past six as before.</p> + +<p>'Well?' he asked with a faint smile.</p> + +<p>'Thank you so much,' said Victoria. 'It's wonderful.'</p> + +<p>'Wonderful indeed? Most commonplace, don't you think?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, no,' said Victoria. 'It's extraordinary, it's like . . . like +light.'</p> + +<p>Farwell's eyes suddenly glittered.</p> + +<p>'Ah,' he said dreamily, 'light! light in this, the outer darkness.'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at him, a question in her eyes.</p> + +<p>'If only we could all see,' he went on. 'Then, as by a touch of a +magician's wand, flowers would crowd out the thistles, the thistles that +the asses eat and thank their God for. It is in our hands to make this +the Happy Valley and we make it the Valley of the Shadow of Death.'</p> + +<p>He paused for a moment. Victoria felt her pulse quicken.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' she said, 'I think I understand. It's because we don't understand +that we suffer. We're not cruel, are we? we're stupid.'</p> + +<p>'Stupid?' A ferocious intonation had come into Farwell's voice. 'I +should say so! Forty million men, women and children sweat their lives +out day by day so that four million may live idly and become too heavy +even to think. I could forgive them if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> they thought, but the world +contains only two types: Lazarus with poor man's gout and Dives with +fatty degeneration of the brain.'</p> + +<p>Victoria felt nervous. Passion shook the man's hands as he clutched the +marble top of the table.</p> + +<p>'Mr Farwell,' she faltered, 'I don't want to be stupid. I want to +understand things. I want to know why we slave twelve hours a day when +others do nothing and, oh, can it be altered?'</p> + +<p>Farwell had started at the mention of his name. His passion had suddenly +fallen.</p> + +<p>'Altered? oh, yes,' he stammered, 'that's if the race lasts long enough. +'Sometimes I think, as I see men struggling to get on top of one +another, like crabs in a bucket . . . Like crabs in a bucket,' he +repeated dreamily, visualising the simile. 'But I cannot draw men from +stones,' he said smiling; 'it is not yet time for Deucalion. I'll bring +you another book to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>Farwell rose abruptly and left Victoria singularly stirred. He was a +personality, she felt; something quite unusual. He was less a man than a +figment, for he seemed top heavy almost. He concentrated the hearer's +attention so much on his spoken thought that his body passed +unperceived, receded into the distance.</p> + +<p>While Victoria was changing to go, the staff room somehow seemed darker +and dirtier than ever. It was seldom swept and never cleaned out. The +management had thoughtfully provided nothing but pegs and wooden +benches, so as to discourage lounging. Victoria was rather late, so that +she found herself alone with Lizzie, the cashier. Lizzie was red-haired, +very curly, plump, pink and white. A regular little spark. She was very +popular; her green eyes and full curved figure often caused a small +block at the desk.</p> + +<p>'You look tired,' she said good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>'I suppose I am,' said Victoria. 'Aren't you?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> + +<p>'So so. Don't mind my job.'</p> + +<p>'Mm, I suppose it isn't so bad sitting at the desk.'</p> + +<p>'No,' said Lizzie, 'pays too.'</p> + +<p>'Pays?'</p> + +<p>Lizzie flushed and hesitated. Then the desire to boast burst its bonds. +She must tell, she must. It didn't matter after all. A craving for +admiration was on her.</p> + +<p>'Tell you what,' she whispered. 'I get quite two and a kick a week out +of that job.'</p> + +<p>Victoria's eyebrows went up.</p> + +<p>'You know,' went on Lizzie, 'the boys look at me a bit.' She simpered +slightly. 'Well, once one of them gave me half a bar with a bob check. +He was looking at me in the eye, well! that mashed, I can tell you he +looked like a boiled fish. Sort of inspiration came over me.' She +stopped.</p> + +<p>'Well?' asked Victoria, feeling a little nervous.</p> + +<p>'Well . . . I . . . I gave him one half crown and three two bob pieces. +Smiled at him. He boned the money quick enough, wanted to touch my hand +you see. Never saw it.'</p> + +<p>Victoria thought for a moment. 'Then you gave him eight and six instead +of nine shillings?'</p> + +<p>'You've hit it. Bless you, <i>he</i> never knew. Mashed, I can tell <i>you</i>.'</p> + +<p>'Then you did him out of sixpence?'</p> + +<p>'Right. Comes off once in three. Say "sorry" when I'm caught and smile +and it's all right. Never try it twice on the same man.'</p> + +<p>'I call that stealing,' said Victoria coldly.</p> + +<p>'You can call it what you like,' snarled Lizzie. 'Everything's stealing. +What's business? getting a quid for what costs you a tanner. I'm putting +a bit extra on my wages.'</p> + +<p>Victoria shrugged her shoulders. She might have argued with Lizzie as +she had once argued with Gertie, but the vague truth that lurked in +Lizzie's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> economics had deprived her of argument. Could theft sometimes +be something else than theft? Were all things theft? And above all, did +the acceptance of a woman's hand as bait justify the hooking of a +sixpence?</p> + +<p>As Victoria left for home that night she felt restless. She could not go +to bed so soon. She walked through the silent city lanes; meeting +nothing, save now and then a cat on the prowl, or a policeman trying +doors and flashing his bull's eye through the gratings of banks. The +crossing at Mansion House was still busy with the procession of +omnibuses converging at the feet of the Duke of Wellington. Drays, too +heavily loaded, rumbled slowly past towards Liverpool Street. She turned +northwards, walked quickly through the desert. At Liverpool Street +station she stopped in the blaze of light. A few doors away stood a +shouting butcher praying the passers-by to buy his pretty meat. Further: +a fishmonger's stall, an array of glistening black shapes on white +marble, a tobacconist, a jeweller—all aglow with coruscating light. And +over all, the blazing light of arc lamps, under which an unending stream +of motor cabs, lorries, omnibuses passed in kaleidoscopic colours. In +the full glare of a lamp post stood a woman, her feet in the gutter. She +was short, stunted, dirty and thin of face and body. Round her wretched +frame a filthy black coat was tightly buttoned; her muddy skirt seemed +almost falling from her shrunken hips. Crushed on her sallow face, +hiding all but a few wisps of hair, was a battered black straw hat. With +one arm she carried a child, thin of face too, and golden-haired. On its +upper lip a crusted sore gleamed red and brown. In her other hand she +held out a tin lid, in which were five boxes of matches.</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at the silent watcher and passed on. A few minutes later +she remembered her and a fearful flood of insight rushed upon her. The +child? Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> this, this creature had known love? A man had kissed those +shrivelled lips. Something like a thrill of disgust ran through her. +That such things as these could love and mate and bear children was +unspeakable; the very touch of them was loathsome, their love akin to +unnatural vice.</p> + +<p>As she walked further into Shoreditch the impression of horror grew on +her. It was not that the lanes and little streets abutting into the High +Street were full of terrors when pitch dark, or more sinister still in +the pale yellow light of a single gas lamp; the High Street itself, +filled with men and women, most of them shabby, some loudly dressed in +crude colours, shouting, laughing, jostling one another off the footpath +was more terrible, for its joy of life was brutal as the joy of the +pugilist who feels his opponent's teeth crunch under his fist.</p> + +<p>At a corner, near a public house blazing with lights, a small crowd +watched two women who were about to fight. They had not come to blows +yet; their duel was purely Homeric. Victoria listened with greedy horror +to the terrible recurrence of half a dozen words.</p> + +<p>A child squirmed through the crowd, crying, and caught one of the +fighters by her skirt.</p> + +<p>'Leave go . . . I'll rive the guts out 'o yer.'</p> + +<p>With a swing of the body the woman sent the child flying into the +gutter. Victoria hurried from the spot. She made towards the West now, +between the gin shops, the barrows under their blazing naphtha lamps. +She was afraid, horribly afraid.</p> + +<p>Sitting alone in her attic, her hands crossed before her, questions +intruded upon her. Why all this pain, this violence, by the side of +life's graces? Could it be that one went with the other, indissolubly? +And could it be altered before it was too late, before the earth was +flooded, overwhelmed with pain?</p> + +<p>She slipped into bed and drew the horsecloth over her ears. The world +was best shut out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Thomas Farwell</span> collected three volumes from his desk, two pamphlets and +a banana. It was six o'clock and, the partners having left, he was his +own master half an hour earlier than usual.</p> + +<p>'You off?' said the junior from the other end of the desk.</p> + +<p>'Yes. Half an hour to the good.'</p> + +<p>'What's the good of half an hour,' said the youth superciliously.</p> + +<p>'No good unless you think it is, like everything else,' said Farwell. +'Besides, I may be run over by half past six.'</p> + +<p>'Cheerful as ever,' remarked the junior, bending his head down to the +petty cash balance.</p> + +<p>Farwell took no notice of him. Ten times a day he cursed himself for +wasting words upon this troglodyte. He was a youth long as a day's +starvation, with a bulbous forehead, stooping narrow shoulders and +narrow lips; his shape resembled that of an old potato. He peered +through his glasses with watery eyes hardly darker than his grey face.</p> + +<p>'Good night,' said Farwell curtly.</p> + +<p>'Cheer, oh!' said the junior.</p> + +<p>Farwell slammed the door behind him. He felt inclined to skip down the +stairs, not that anything particularly pleasant had happened but because +the bells of St Botolph's were pealing out a chime of freedom. It was +six. He had nothing to do. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> best thing was to go to Moorgate Street +and take the books to Victoria. On second thoughts, no, he would wait. +Six o'clock might still be a busy time.</p> + +<p>Farwell walked down the narrow lane from Bishopsgate into St. Botolph's +churchyard. It was a dank and dreary evening, dark already. The wind +swept over the paths in little whirlwinds. Dejected sparrows sought +scraps of food among the ancient graves where office boys munch buns and +read of woodcarving and desperate adventure. He sat down on a seat by +the side of a shape that slept, and opened one of the books, though it +was too dark to read. The shape lifted an eyelid and looked at him.</p> + +<p>Farwell turned over the pages listlessly. It was a history of +revolutionists. For some reason he hated them to-day, all of them. Jack +Cade was a boor, Cromwell a tartuffe, Bolivar a politician, Mazzini a +theorist. It would bore Victoria.</p> + +<p>Farwell brought himself up with a jerk. He was thinking of Victoria too +often. As he was a man who faced facts he told himself quite plainly +that he did not intend to fall in love with her. He did not feel capable +of love; he hated most people, but did not believe that a good hater was +a good lover.</p> + +<p>'Clever, of course,' he muttered, 'but no woman is everlastingly clever. +I won't risk finding her out.'</p> + +<p>The shape at his side moved. It was an old man, filthy, clad in +blackened rags, with a matted beard. Farwell glanced at him and turned +away.</p> + +<p>'I'd have you poisoned if I could,' he thought. Then he returned to +Victoria. Was she worth educating? And supposing she was educated, what +then? She would become discontented, instead of brutalised. The latter +was the happier state. Or she would fall in love with him, when he would +give her short shrift. What a pity. A tiny wave of sentiment flowed into +Farwell's soul.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Clever, clever,' he thought, 'a little house, babies, roses, a fox +terrier.'</p> + +<p>'Gov'nor,' croaked a hoarse voice beside him.</p> + +<p>Farwell turned quickly. The shape was alive, then, curse it.</p> + +<p>'Well, what d'you want?'</p> + +<p>'Give us a copper, gov'nor, I'm an old man, can't work. S'elp me, Gawd, +gov'nor, 'aven't 'ad a bite. . . .'</p> + +<p>'That'll do, you fool,' snarled Farwell, 'why the hell don't you go and +get it in gaol?'</p> + +<p>'Yer don't mean that, gov'nor, do yer?' whined the old man, 'I always +kep my self respectable; 'ere, look at these 'ere testimonials, gov'nor, +. . .' He drew from his coat a disgusting object, a bundle of papers +tied together with string.</p> + +<p>'I don't want to see them,' said Farwell. 'I wouldn't employ you if I +could. Why don't you go to the workhouse?'</p> + +<p>The old man almost bridled.</p> + +<p>'Why? Because you're a stuck up. D'you hear? You're proud of being poor. +That's about as vulgar as bragging because you're rich. If you and all +the likes of you went into the House, you'd reform the system in a week. +Understand?'</p> + +<p>The old man's eyes were fixed on the speaker, uncomprehending.</p> + +<p>'Better still, go and throw any bit of dirt you pick up at a policeman,' +continued Farwell. 'See he gets it in the mouth. You get locked up. +Suppose a million of the likes of you do the same, what d'you think +happens?'</p> + +<p>'I dunno,' said the old man.</p> + +<p>'Well, your penal system is bust. If you offend the law you're a +criminal. But what's the law? the opinion of the majority. If the +majority goes against the law, then the minority becomes criminal. The +world's upside down.' Farwell smiled. 'The world's upside down,' he said +softly, licking his lips.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Give us a copper for a bed, guv'nor,' said the old man dully.</p> + +<p>'What's the good of a bed to you?' exploded Farwell. 'Why don't you have +a drink?'</p> + +<p>'I'm a teetotaller, guv'nor; always kep' myself respectable.'</p> + +<p>'Respectable! You're earning the wages of respectability, that is +death,' said Farwell with a wolfish laugh. 'Why, man, can't you see +you've been on the wrong tack? We don't want any more of you +respectables. We want pirates, vampires. We want all this society of +yours rotted by internal canker, so that we can build a new one. But we +must rot it first. We aren't going to work on a sow's ear.'</p> + +<p>'Give us a copper, guv'nor,' moaned the old man.</p> + +<p>Farwell took out sixpence and laid it on the seat. 'Now then,' he said, +'you can have this if you'll swear to blow it in drink.'</p> + +<p>'I will, s'elp me Gawd,' said the old man eagerly.</p> + +<p>Farwell pushed the coin towards him.</p> + +<p>'Take it, teetotaller,' he sneered, 'your respectable system of bribery +has bought you for sixpence. Now let me see you go into that pub.'</p> + +<p>The old man clutched the sixpence and staggered to his feet. Farwell +watched the swing doors of the public bar at the end of the passage +close behind him. Then he got up and walked away; it was about time to +go to Moorgate Street.</p> + +<p>As he entered the smoking-room, Victoria blushed. The man moved her, +stimulated her. When she saw him she felt like a body meeting a soul. He +sat down at his usual place. Victoria brought him his tea, and laid it +before him without a word. Nelly, lolling in another corner, kicked the +ground, looking away insolently from the elaborate wink of one of the +scullions.</p> + +<p>'Here, read these,' said Farwell, pushing two of the books across the +table. Victoria picked them up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> + +<p>'<i>Looking Backwards?</i>' she said. 'Oh, I don't want to do that. It's +forward I want to go.'</p> + +<p>'A laudable sentiment,' sneered Farwell, 'the theory of every Sunday +School in the country, and the practice of none. However, you'll find it +fairly soul-filling as an unintelligent anticipation. Personally I +prefer the other. <i>Demos</i> is good stuff, for Gissing went through the +fire.'</p> + +<p>Victoria quickly walked away. Farwell looked surprised for a second, +then saw the manageress on the stairs.</p> + +<p>'Faugh,' he muttered, 'if the world's a stage I'm playing the part of a +low intriguer.'</p> + +<p>He sipped his tea meditatively. In a few minutes Victoria returned.</p> + +<p>'Thank you,' she whispered. 'It's good of you. You're teaching me to +live.'</p> + +<p>Farwell looked at her critically.</p> + +<p>'I don't see much good in that,' he said, 'unless you've got something +to live for. One of our philosophers says you live either for experience +or the race. I recommend the former to myself, and to you nothing.'</p> + +<p>'Why shouldn't I live for anything?' she asked.</p> + +<p>'Because life's too dear. And its pleasures are not white but piebald.'</p> + +<p>'I understand,' said Victoria, 'but I must live.'</p> + +<p>'<i>Je n'en vois pas la nécessité</i>,' quoted Farwell smiling. 'Never mind +what that means,' he added, 'I'm only a pessimist.'</p> + +<p>The next few weeks seemed to create in Victoria a new personality. Her +reading was so carefully selected that every line told. Farwell knew the +hundred best books for a working girl; he had a large library composed +mostly of battered copies squeezed out of his daily bread. Victoria's +was the appetite of a gorgon. In another month she had absorbed <i>Odd +Women</i>, <i>An Enemy of the People</i>, <i>The</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> <i>Doll's House</i>, <i>Alton Locke</i>, +and a translation of <i>Germinal</i>. Every night she read with an intensity +which made her forget that March chilled her to the bone; poring over +the book, her eyes a few inches from the candle, she soaked in +rebellion. When the cold nipped too close into her she would get up and +wrap herself in the horsecloth and read with savage application, rushing +to the core of the thought. She was no student, so she would skip a hard +word. Besides, in those moods, when the spirit bounds in the body like a +caged bird, words are felt, not understood.</p> + +<p>Betty was still hovering round her, a gentle presence. She knew what was +going on and was frightened. A new Victoria was rising before her, a +woman very charming still, but extraordinary, incomprehensible. Often +Victoria would snub her savagely, then take her hand as they stood +together at the counter bawling for food and drink. And as Victoria grew +hard and strong, Betty worshipped her more as she would have worshipped +a strong man.</p> + +<p>Yet Betty was not happy. Victoria lived now in a state of excitement and +hunger for solitude. She took no interest in things that Betty could +understand. Their Sunday walks had been ruthlessly cut now and then, for +the fury was upon Victoria when eating the fruits of the tree. When they +were together now Victoria was preoccupied; she no longer listened to +the club gossip, nor did she ask to be told once more the story of +Betty's early days.</p> + +<p>'Do you know you're sweated?' she said suddenly one day.</p> + +<p>Betty's eyes opened round and blue.</p> + +<p>'Sweated,' she said. 'I thought only people in the East End were +sweated.'</p> + +<p>'The world's one big East End,' snapped Victoria.</p> + +<p>Betty shivered. Farwell might have said that.</p> + +<p>'You're sweated if you get two pounds a week,'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> continued Victoria. +'You're sweated when you buy a loaf, sweated when you ride in a bus, +sweated when they cremate you.'</p> + +<p>'I don't understand,' said Betty.</p> + +<p>'All profits are sweated,' quoted Victoria from a pamphlet.</p> + +<p>'But people must make profits,' protested Betty.</p> + +<p>'What for?' asked Victoria.</p> + +<p>'How are people to live unless they make profits?' said Betty. 'Aren't +our wages profits?'</p> + +<p>Victoria was nonplussed for a moment and became involved. 'No, our wages +are only wages; profit is the excess over our wages.'</p> + +<p>'I don't understand,' said Betty.</p> + +<p>'Never mind,' said Victoria, 'I'll ask Mr Farwell; he'll make it clear.'</p> + +<p>Betty shot a dark blue glance at her.</p> + +<p>'Vic,' she said softly, 'I think Mr Farwell. . . .' Then she changed her +mind. 'I can't, I can't,' she thought. She crushed the jealous words +down and plunged.</p> + +<p>'Vic, darling,' she faltered, 'I'm afraid you're not well. No, and not +happy. I've been thinking of something; why shouldn't I leave the Club +and come and live with you.'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at her critically for a moment. She thought of her +independence, of this affection hovering round her, sweet, dangerously +clinging. But Betty's blue eyes were wet.</p> + +<p>'You're too good a pal for me, Betty,' she said in a low voice. 'I'd +make you miserable.'</p> + +<p>'No, no,' cried Betty impulsively. 'I'd love it, Vic dear, and you would +go on reading and do what you like. Only let me be with you.'</p> + +<p>Victoria's hand tightened on her friend's arm.</p> + +<p>'Let me think, Betty dear,' she said.</p> + +<p>Ten days later, Betty having won her point, the great move was to take +place at seven o'clock. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> certainly lacked solemnity. For three days +preceding the great change Betty had hurried away from the P.R.R. on the +stroke of nine, quickly kissing Victoria and saying she couldn't wait as +she must pack. Clearly her wardrobe could not be disposed of in a +twinkling. Yet, on moving day, at seven o'clock sharp (the carrier +having been thoughtfully commanded to deliver at five) a tin trunk kept +together by a rope, a tiny bath muzzled with a curtain, and a hat box +loudly advertising somebody's tea, were dumped on the doorstep. The cart +drove off leaving the two girls to make terms with a loafer. The latter +compromised for fourpence, slammed their door behind him and lurched +down the creaking stairs. Betty threw herself into Victoria's arms.</p> + +<p>Those first days were sweet. Betty rejoiced like a lover in possession +of a long-desired mistress; stripping off her blouse and looking very +pretty, showing her white neck and slim arms, she strutted about the +attic with a hammer in her hand and her mouth full of nails. It took an +evening to hang the curtain which had muzzled the bath; Betty's art +treasures, an oleograph of 'Bubbles' and another of 'I'se Biggest,' were +cunningly hung by Victoria so that she could not see them on waking up.</p> + +<p>Betty was active now as a will o' the wisp. She invented little feasts, +expensive Sunday suppers of fried fish and chips, produced a basket of +oranges at three a penny; thanks to her there was now milk with the tea. +In a moment of enthusiasm Victoria heard her murmur something about +keeping a cat. In fact the only thing that marred her life at all was +Victoria's absorption in her reading. Often Betty would go to bed and +stay awake, watching Victoria at the table, her fingers ravelling her +hair, reading with an intentness that frightened her. She would watch +Victoria and see her face grow paler, except at the cheeks where a flush +would rise. A wild look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> would come into her eyes. Sometimes she would +get up suddenly and, thrusting her hair out of her eyes, walk up and +down muttering things Betty could not understand.</p> + +<p>One night Betty woke up suddenly, and saw Victoria standing in the +moonlight clad only in her nightgown. Words were surging from her lips.</p> + +<p>'It's no good. . . . I can't go on. . . . I can't go on until I die or +somebody marries me. . . . I won't marry: I won't do it. . . . Why +should I sell myself? . . . at any rate why should I sell myself +cheaply?'</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Betty sat up and looked at her friend's wild face.</p> + +<p>'What's it all mean after all? I'm only being used. Sucked dry like an +orange. By and by they'll throw the peel away. Talk of brotherhood! . . +. It's war, war . . . It's climbing and fighting to get on top . . . +like crabs in a bucket, like crabs. . .'</p> + +<p>'Vic,' screamed Betty.</p> + +<p>Victoria started like a somnambulist aroused and looked at her vaguely.</p> + +<p>'Come back to bed at once,' cried Betty with inspired firmness. Victoria +obeyed. Betty drew her down beside her under the horsecloth and threw +her arms round her; Victoria's body was cold as ice. Suddenly she burst +into tears; and Betty, torn as if she saw a strong man weep, wept too. +Closely locked in one another's arms they sobbed themselves to sleep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Every</span> day now Victoria's brain grew clearer and her body weaker. A +sullen spirit of revolt blended with horrible depression was upon her, +but she was getting thinner, paler; dark rings were forming round her +eyes. She knew pain now; perpetual weariness, twitchings in the ankles, +stabs just above the knee. In horrible listlessness she dragged her +weary feet over the tiled floor, responding to commands like the old cab +horse which can hardly feel the whip. In this mood, growing churlish, +she repulsed Betty, avoided Farwell and tried to seclude herself. She no +longer walked Holborn or the Strand where life went by, but sought the +mean and silent streets, where none could see her shamble or where none +would care.</p> + +<p>One night, when she had left at six, she painfully crawled home and up +into the attic. At half-past nine the door opened and Betty came in; the +room was in darkness, but something oppressed her; she went to the +mantlepiece to look for the matches, her fingers trembling. For an +eternity she seemed to fumble, the oppression growing; she felt that +Victoria was in the room, and could only hope that she was asleep. With +a great effort of her will she lit the candle before turning round. Then +she gave a short sharp scream.</p> + +<p>Victoria was lying across the bed dressed in her bodice and petticoat. +She had tucked this up to her knees and taken off her stockings; her +legs hung dead white over the edge. At her feet was the tin bath full<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +of water. Betty ran to the bed, choking almost, and clasped her friend +round the neck. It was some seconds before she thought of wetting her +face. After some minutes Victoria returned to consciousness and opened +her eyes; she groaned slightly as Betty lifted up her legs and +straightened her on the bed.</p> + +<p>It was then that Betty noticed the singular appearance of Victoria's +legs. They were covered with a network of veins, some narrow and pale +blue in colour, others darker, protruding and swollen; on the left calf +one of the veins stood out like a rope. The unaccustomed sight filled +her with the horror bred of a mysterious disease. She was delicate, but +had never been seriously ill; this sight filled her with physical +repulsion. For her the ugliness of it meant foulness. For a moment she +almost hated Victoria, but the sight of the tin bath full of water cut +her to the heart; it told her that Victoria, maddened by mysterious +pain, had tried to assuage it by bathing her legs in the cold water.</p> + +<p>Little by little Victoria came round; she smiled at Betty.</p> + +<p>'Did I faint, Betty dear?' she asked.</p> + +<p>'Yes, dear. Are you better now?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I'm better; it doesn't hurt now.'</p> + +<p>Betty could not repress a question.</p> + +<p>'Vic,' she said, 'what is it?'</p> + +<p>'I don't know,' said Victoria fearfully, then more cheerfully,</p> + +<p>'I'm tired I suppose. I shall be all right to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>Then Betty refused to let her talk any more, and soon Victoria slept by +her side the sleep of exhaustion.</p> + +<p>The next morning Victoria insisted upon going to the P. R. R. in spite +of Betty suggesting a doctor.</p> + +<p>'Can't risk losing my job,' she said laughing. 'Besides it doesn't hurt +at all now. Look.'</p> + +<p>Victoria lifted up her nightshirt. Her calves were again perfectly white +and smooth; the thin network<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> of veins had sunk in again and showed blue +under the skin. Alone one vein on the left leg seemed dark and angry. +Victoria felt so well, however, that she agreed to meet Farwell at a +quarter-past nine. This was their second expedition, and the idea of it +was a stimulant. He went with her up to Finsbury Pavement and stopped at +a small Italian restaurant.</p> + +<p>'Come in here and have some coffee,' he said, 'they have waiters here; +that'll be a change.'</p> + +<p>Victoria followed him in. They sat at a marble topped table, flooded +with light by incandescent gas. In the glare the waiters seemed blacker, +smaller and more stunted than by the light of day. Their faces were +pallid, with a touch of green: their hair and moustaches were almost +blue black. Their energy was that of automata. Victoria looked at them, +melting with pity.</p> + +<p>'There's a life for you,' said Farwell interpreting her look. 'Sixteen +hours' work a day in an atmosphere of stale food. For meals, plate +scourings. For sleep and time to get to it, eight hours. For living, the +rest of the day.'</p> + +<p>'It's awful, awful,' said Victoria. 'They might as well be dead.'</p> + +<p>'They will be soon,' said Farwell, 'but what does that matter? There are +plenty of waiters. In the shadow of the olive groves to-night in far off +Calabria, at the base of the vine-clad hills, couples are walking hand +in hand, with passion flashing in their eyes. Brown peasant boys are +clasping to their breast young girls with dark hair, white teeth, red +lips, hearts that beat and quiver with ecstasy. They tell a tale of love +and hope. So we shall not be short of waiters.'</p> + +<p>'Why do you sneer at everything, Mr Farwell?' said Victoria. 'Can't you +see anything in life to make it worth while?'</p> + +<p>'No, I cannot say I do. The pursuit of a living debars me from the +enjoyments that make living<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> worth while. But never mind me: I am over +without having bloomed. I brought you here to talk of you, not of me.'</p> + +<p>'Of me, Mr Farwell?' asked Victoria. 'What do you want to know?'</p> + +<p>Farwell leant over the table, toyed with the sugar and helped himself to +a piece. Then without looking at her:</p> + +<p>'What's the matter with you, Victoria?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'Matter with me? What do you mean?' said Victoria, too disturbed to +notice the use of her Christian name.</p> + +<p>The man scrutinised her carefully. 'You're ill,' he said. 'Don't +protest. You're thin; there are purple pockets under your eyes; your +underlip is twisted with pain, and you limp.'</p> + +<p>Victoria felt a spasm of anger. There was still in her the ghost of +vanity. But she looked at Farwell before answering; there was gentleness +in his eyes.</p> + +<p>'Well,' she said slowly, 'if you must know, perhaps there is something +wrong. Pains.'</p> + +<p>'Where?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'In the legs,' she said after a pause.</p> + +<p>'Ah, swellings?'</p> + +<p>Victoria bridled a little. This man was laying bare something, tearing +at a secret.</p> + +<p>'Are you a doctor, Mr Farwell?' she asked coldly.</p> + +<p>'That's all right,' he said roughly, 'it doesn't need much learning to +know what's the matter with a girl who stands for eleven hours a day. +Are the veins of your legs swollen?'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Victoria with an effort. She was frightened; she forgot to +resent this wrenching at the privacy of her body.</p> + +<p>'Ah; when do they hurt?'</p> + +<p>'At night. They're all right in the morning.'</p> + +<p>'You've got varicose veins, Victoria. You must give up your job.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I can't,' whispered the girl hoarsely. 'I've got nothing else.'</p> + +<p>'Exactly. Either you go on and are a cripple for life or you stop and +starve. Yours is a disease of occupation, purely a natural consequence +of your work. Perfectly normal, perfectly. It is undesirable to +encourage laziness; there are girls starving to-day for lack of work, +but it would never do to reduce your hours to eight. It would interfere +with the P. R. R. dividends.'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at him without feeling.</p> + +<p>'What am I to do?' she asked at length.</p> + +<p>'Go to a hospital,' said Farwell. 'These institutions are run by the +wealthy who pay two guineas a year ransom for a thousand pounds of +profits and get in the bargain a fine sense of civic duty done. No doubt +the directors of the P.R.R. contribute most generously.'</p> + +<p>'I can't give up my job,' said Victoria dully.</p> + +<p>'Perhaps they'll give you a stocking,' said Farwell, 'or sell it you, +letting you pay in instalments so that you be not pauperised. This is +called training in responsibility, also self-help.'</p> + +<p>Victoria got up. She could bear it no longer. Farwell saw her home and +made her promise to apply for leave to see the doctor. As the door +closed behind her he stood still for some minutes on the doorstep, +filling his pipe.</p> + +<p>'Well, well,' he said at length, 'the Government might think of that +lethal chamber—but no, that would never do, it would deplete the labour +market and hamper the commercial development of the Empire.'</p> + +<p>He walked away, a crackling little laugh floating behind him. The faint +light of a lamp fell on his bowed head and shoulders, making him look +like a Titan born a dwarf.</p> + +<p>Two days later Victoria went to the Carew. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> had never before set +foot in a hospital. Such intercourse as she had had with doctors was +figured by discreet interviews in dark studies filled with unspeakably +ugly and reassuringly solid furniture. Those doctors had patted her +hand, said she needed a little change or may be a tonic. At the Carew, +fed as it is by the misery of two square miles of North East London, the +revelation of pain was dazzling, apocalyptic. The sight of the benches +crowded with women and children—some pale as corpses, others flushed +with fever, some with faces bandaged or disfigured by sores—almost made +her sick. They were packed in serried rows; the children almost all +cried persistently, except here and there a baby, who looked with +frightful fixity at the glazed roof. From all this chattering crowd of +the condemned rose a stench of iodoform, perspiration, unwashed bodies, +the acrid smell of poverty.</p> + +<p>The little red-haired Scotch doctor dismissed Victoria's case in less +than one minute.</p> + +<p>'Varicose veins. Always wear a stocking. Here's your form. Settle terms +at the truss office. Don't stand on your feet. Oh, what's your +occupation?'</p> + +<p>'Waitress at the P.R.R., Sir.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, hum. You must give it up.'</p> + +<p>'I can't, Sir.'</p> + +<p>'It's your risk. Come again in a month.'</p> + +<p>Victoria pulled up her stockings. Walking in a dream she went to the +truss office where a man measured her calves. She felt numb and +indifferent as to the exposure of her body. The man looked enquiringly +at the left calf.</p> + +<p>'V.H. for the left,' he called over his shoulder to the clerk.</p> + +<p>At twelve o'clock she was in the P.R.R., revived by the familiar +atmosphere. She even rallied one of the old chess players on a stroke of +ill-luck. Towards four o'clock her ankles began to twitch.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Through</span> all these anxious times, Betty watched over Victoria with the +devotion that is born of love. There was in the girl a reserve of +maternal sweetness equalled only by the courage she showed every day. +Slim and delicate as she seemed, there was in Betty's thin body a +strength all nervous but enduring. She did not complain, though driven +eleven or twelve hours a day by the eyes of the manageress; those eyes +were sharp as a goad, but she went cheerfully.</p> + +<p>In a sense Betty was happy. The work did not weigh too heavily upon her; +there was so much humility in her that she did not resent the roughness +of her companions. Nelly could snub her, trample at times on her like +the cart horse she was; the manageress too could freeze her with a look, +the kitchen staff disregard her humble requests for teas and procure for +her the savage bullying of the customers, yet she remained placid +enough.</p> + +<p>'It's a hard life,' she once said to Victoria, 'but I suppose it's got +to be.' This was her philosophy.</p> + +<p>'But don't you want to get out of it?' cried Victoria the militant.</p> + +<p>'I don't know,' said Betty. 'I might marry.'</p> + +<p>'Marry,' sniffed Victoria. 'You seem to think marriage is the only way +out for women.'</p> + +<p>'Well, isn't it?' asked Betty. 'What else is there?'</p> + +<p>And for the life of her Victoria could not find another occupation for +an unskilled girl. Milliners,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> dressmakers, clerks, typists, were all +frightfully underpaid and overworked; true there were women doctors, but +who cared to employ them? And teachers, but they earned the wages of +virtue: neglect. Besides it was too late; both Victoria and Betty were +unskilled, condemned by their sex to low pay and hard work.</p> + +<p>'It's frightful, frightful,' cried Victoria. 'The only use we are is to +do the dirty work. Men don't char. Of course we may marry, if we can, to +any of those gods if they'll share with us their thirty bob a week. Talk +of slaves! They're better off than we.'</p> + +<p>Betty looked upon all this as rather wild, as a consequence of +Victoria's illness. Her view was that it didn't do to complain, and that +the only thing to do was to make the best of it. But she loved Victoria, +and it was almost a voluptous joy for her to help her friend to undress +every night, to tempt her with little offerings of fruit and flowers. +When they woke up, Betty would draw her friend into her arms and cover +her face with gentle kisses.</p> + +<p>But as Victoria grew worse, stiffer, and slower, responding ever more +reluctantly to the demands made upon her all day at the P. R. R., Betty +was conscious of horrible anxiety. Sometimes her imagination would +conjure up a Victoria helpless, wasted, bedridden, and her heart seemed +to stop. But her devotion was proof against egoism. Whatever happened, +Victoria should not starve if she had to pay the rent and feed herself +on nine shillings or so a week until she was well again and beautiful as +she had been. Her anxiety increasing, she mustered up courage to +interview Farwell, whom she hated jealously. He had ruined Victoria, she +thought—made her wild, discontented, rebellious against the incurable. +Yet he knew her, and at any rate she must talk about it to somebody. So +she mustered up courage to ask him to meet at nine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Well?' said Farwell. He did not like Betty much. He included her among +the poor creatures, the rubble.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Mr Farwell, what's going to happen to Victoria,' cried Betty, with +tears in her voice. Then she put her hand against the railings of +Finsbury Circus. She had prepared a dignified little speech, and her +suffering had burst from her. The indignity of it.</p> + +<p>'Happen? The usual thing in these cases. She'll get worse; the veins +will burst and she'll be crippled for life.'</p> + +<p>Betty looked at him, her eyes blazing with rage.</p> + +<p>'How dare you, how dare you?' she growled.</p> + +<p>Farwell laughed.</p> + +<p>'My dear young lady,' he said smoothly, 'it needs no doctor to tell you +what is wanted. Victoria must stop work, lie up, be well fed, live in +the country perhaps and her spirits must be raised. To this effect I +would suggest a pretty house, flowers, books, some music, say a +hundred-guinea grand piano, some pretty pictures. So that she may +improve in health it is desirable that she should have servants. These +may gain varicose veins by waiting on her, but that is by the way.'</p> + +<p>Betty was weeping now. Tear after tear rolled down her cheeks.</p> + +<p>'But all this costs money,' continued Farwell, 'and, as you are aware, +bread is very dear and flesh and blood very cheap. Humanity finds the +extraction of gold a toilsome process, whilst the production of children +is a normal recreation which eclipses even the charms of alcohol. There, +my child, you have the problem; and there is only one radical solution +to it.'</p> + +<p>Betty looked at him, intuitively guessing the horrible suggestion.</p> + +<p>'The solution,' said Farwell, 'is to complain to the doctor of insomnia, +get him to prescribe laudanum<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> and sink your capital in the purchase of +half a pint. One's last investment is generally one's best.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I can't bear it, I can't bear it,' wailed Betty. 'She's so +beautiful, so clever.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, yes,' said Farwell in his dreamy manner, 'but then you see when a +woman doesn't marry. . . .' He broke off, his eyes fixed on the grey +pavement. 'The time will come, Betty, when the earth will be not only +our eternal bed, but the fairy land where joyful flowers will grow. Ah! +it will be joyful, joyful, this crop of flowers born from seas of +blood.'</p> + +<p>'But, now, now, what can we do with her?' cried Betty.</p> + +<p>'I have no other suggestion if she will not fight,' growled Farwell in +his old manner. 'She must sink or swim. If she sinks she's to blame, I +suppose. In a world of pirates and cut-throats she will have elected to +be a saint, and the martyr's crown will be hers. If suicide is not to +her taste, I would recommend her to resort to what is called criminal +practices. Being ill, she has magnificent advantages if she wishes to +start business as a begging-letter writer; burglary is not suitable for +women, but there are splendid openings for confidence tricksters and +shoplifting would be a fine profession if it were not overcrowded by the +upper middle classes.'</p> + +<p>Betty dabbed her eyes vigorously. Her mouth tightened. She looked +despairingly at the desolate half circle of London Wall Buildings and +Salisbury House. Then she gave Farwell her hand for a moment and +hurriedly walked away. As she entered the attic the candle was still +burning. Victoria was in bed and had forgotten it; she had already +fallen into stertorous sleep.</p> + +<p>Next morning Victoria got up and dressed silently. She did not seem any +worse; and with this Betty was content, though she only got short +answers to her questions. All that day Victoria seemed well enough.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> She +walked springily; at times she exchanged a quick joke with a customer. +She laughed even when a young man, carried away for a moment beyond the +spirit of food which reigned supreme in the P.R.R., touched her hand and +looked into her eyes.</p> + +<p>As the afternoon wore Victoria felt creeping over her the desperate +weariness of the hour.</p> + +<p>At a quarter to six she made up her checks. There was a shortfall of one +and a penny.</p> + +<p>'How do you account for it?' asked the manageress.</p> + +<p>'Sure I don't know, Miss,' said Victoria helplessly. 'I always give +checks. Somebody must have slipped out without paying.'</p> + +<p>'Possibly.' The manageress grew more tense faced than ever. Her bust +expanded. 'I don't care. Of course you know the rule. You pay half and +the desk pays half.'</p> + +<p>'I couldn't help it, Miss,' said Victoria miserably. Sixpence halfpenny +was a serious loss.</p> + +<p>'No more could I. I think I can tell you how it happened, though,' said +the manageress with a vague smile. 'I'm an old hand. A customer of yours +had a tuck out for one and a penny. You gave him a check. Look at the +foil and you'll see.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, Miss, here it is,' said Victoria anxiously.</p> + +<p>'Very well. Then he went upstairs on the Q.T. and had a cup of coffee. +Follow!'</p> + +<p>'Yes, Miss.'</p> + +<p>'One of the girls gave him a twopenny check. Then he went out and handed +in the twopenny check. He kept the other one in his pocket.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Miss. . . . it's stealing,' Victoria gasped.</p> + +<p>'It is. But there it is, you see.'</p> + +<p>'But it's not my fault, Miss; if you had a pay box at the top of the +stairs, I don't say. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Oh, we can't do that,' said the manageress icily, 'they would cost a +lot to build and extra staff and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> we must keep down expenses, you know. +Competition is very keen in this trade.'</p> + +<p>Victoria felt stunned. The incident was as full of revelations as +Lizzie's practices at the desk. The girls cheated the customers, the +customers the girls. And the P.R.R. sitting olympian on its pillar of +cloud, exacted from all its dividends. The P.R.R. suddenly loomed up +before Victoria's eyes as a big swollen monster in whose veins ran China +tea. And from its nostrils poured forth torrents of coffee-scented +steam. It grew and grew, and fed men and women, every now and then +extending a talon and seizing a few young girls with sore legs, a rival +café or two. Then it vanished. Victoria was looking at one of the large +plated urns.</p> + +<p>'All right,' she said sullenly, 'I'll pay.'</p> + +<p>As it was her day off, at six o'clock Victoria went up to the change +room, saying good-night to Betty, telling her she was going out to get +some fresh air. She thought it would do her good, so rode on a bus to +the Green Park. Round her, in Piccadilly, a tide of rich life seemed to +rise redolent with scent, soft tobacco, moist furs, all those odours +that herald and follow wealth. A savagery was upon her as she passed +along the club windows, now full of young men telling tales that made +their teeth shine in the night, of old men, red, pink, brown, healthy in +colour and in security, reading, sleeping, eking out life.</p> + +<p>The picture was familiar; for it was the picture she had so often seen +when, as a girl, she came up to town from Lympton for a week to shop in +Oxford Street and see, from the upper boxes, the three or four plays +recommended by <i>Hearth and Home</i>. Piccadilly had been her Mecca. It had +represented mysterious delights, restaurants, little teashops, +jewellers, makers of cunning cases for everything. She had never been +well-off enough to shop there, but had gazed into its windows and bought +the nearest imitations in Oxford<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> Street. Then the clubs had been, if +not familiar, at any rate friendly. She had once with her mother called +at the In and Out to ask for a general. He was dead now, and so was +Piccadilly.</p> + +<p>Victoria remembered without joy: a sign of total flatness, for the mind +that does not glow at the thought of the glamorous past is dulled +indeed. Piccadilly struck her now rather as a show and a poor one, a +show of the inefficients basking, of the wretched shuffling by. And the +savagery that was upon her waxed fat. Without ideals of ultimate +brotherhood or love she could not help thinking, half amused, of the +dismay that would come over London if a bomb were suddenly to raze to +the ground one of these shrines of men.</p> + +<p>The bus stopped in a block just opposite one of the clubs; and Victoria, +from the off-side seat, could see across the road into one of the rooms. +There were in it a dozen men of all ages, most of them standing in small +groups, some already in evening-dress; some lolled on enormous padded +chairs reading, and, against the mantlepiece where a fire burned +brightly, a youth was telling an obviously successful story to a group +of oldsters. Their ease, their conviviality and facile friendship stung +Victoria; she felt an outcast. What had she now to do with these men? +They would not know her. Their sphere was their father's sphere, by +right of birth and wealth, not hers who had not the right of wealth. +Besides, perhaps some were shareholders in the P.R.R. Painfully +shambling down the steps, Victoria got off the bus and entered the Green +Park. She sat down on a seat under a tree just bursting into bud.</p> + +<p>For many minutes she looked at the young grass, at the windows where +lights were appearing, at a man seated near by and puffing rich blue +smoke from his cigar. A loafer lay face down on the grass, like a +bundle. Her moods altered between rage, as she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> looked at the two men, +and misery as she realised that her lot was cast with the wretch +grovelling on the cold earth.</p> + +<p>She noticed that the man with the cigar was watching her, but hardly +looked at him. He was fat, that was all she knew. Her eyes once more +fastened on the loafer. He had not fought the world; would she? and how? +Now and then he turned a little in his sleep, dreaming perhaps of feasts +in Cockayne, perhaps of the skilly he had tasted in gaol, of love +perhaps, bright-eyed, master of the gates. It was cold, for the snap of +winter was in the spring air; in the pale western sky the roofs loomed +black. Already the dull glow of London light rose like a halo over the +town. Victoria did not seem to feel the wind; she was a little numb, her +legs felt heavy as lead. A gust of wind carried into her face a few +drops of rain.</p> + +<p>The man with the cigar got up, slowly passed her; there was something +familiar in his walk. He turned so as to see her face in the light of a +gas-lamp. Then he took three quick steps towards her. Her heart was +already throbbing; she felt and yet did not know.</p> + +<p>'Victoria,' said the man in a faint, far away voice.</p> + +<p>Victoria gasped, put her hand on her heart, swaying on the seat. The man +sat down by her side and took her hand.</p> + +<p>'Victoria,' he said again. There was in his voice a rich quality.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Major Cairns, Major Cairns,' she burst out. And clasping his hand +between hers, she laid her face upon it. He felt all her body throb; +there were tears on his hands. A man of the world, he very gently lifted +up her chin and raised her to a sitting posture.</p> + +<p>'There,' he said softly, still retaining her hands, 'don't cry, dear, +all is well. Don't speak. I have found you.'</p> + +<p>With all the gentleness of a heavy man he softly stroked her hands.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Two</span> days later Victoria was floating in the curious ether of the +unusual. It was Sunday night. She was before a little table at one of +those concealed restaurants in Soho where blows fragrant the wind of +France. She was sitting in a softly cushioned arm chair, grateful to +arms and back, her feet propped up on a footstool. Before her lay the +little table, with its rough cloth, imperfectly clean and shining dully +with brittania ware. There were flowers in a small mug of Bruges +pottery; there was little light save from candles discreetly veiled by +pink shades. The bill of fare, rigid on its metal stem, bore the two +shilling table d'hôte and the more pretentious ŕ la carte. An immense +feeling of restfulness, so complete as to be positive was upon her. She +felt luxurious and at large, at one with the other couples who sat near +by, smiling, with possessive hands.</p> + +<p>On the other side of the table sat Major Cairns. He had not altered very +much except that he was stouter. His grey eyes still shone kindly from +his rather gross face. Victoria could not make up her mind whether she +liked him or not. When she met him in the park he had seemed beautiful +as an archangel; he had been gentle too as big men mostly are to women, +but now she could feel him examining her critically, noting her points, +speculating on the change in her, wondering whether her ravaged beauty +was greater and her neck softer than when he last held her in his arms +off the coast of Araby.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> + +<p>Victoria had compacted for a quiet place. She could not, she felt, face +the Pall Mall or Jermyn Street restaurants, their lights, wealth of +silver and glass, their soft carpets, their silent waiters. The Major +had agreed, for he knew women well and was not over-anxious to expose to +the eyes of the town Victoria's paltry clothes. Now he had her before +him he began to regret that he had not risked it. For Victoria had +gained as much as she had lost in looks. Her figure had shrunk, but her +neck was still beautifully moulded, broad as a pillar; her colour had +gone down almost to dead white; the superfluous flesh had wasted away +and had left bare the splendid line of the strong chin and jaw. Her +eyes, however, were the magnet that held Cairns fast. They were as grey +as ever, but dilated and thrown into contrast with the pale skin by the +purple zone which surrounded them. They stared before them with a novel +boldness, a strange lucidity.</p> + +<p>'Victoria,' whispered Cairns leaning forward, 'you are very beautiful.'</p> + +<p>Victoria laughed and a faint flush rose into her cheeks. There was still +something grateful in the admiration of this man, gross and limited as +he might be, centred round his pleasures, sceptical of good and evil +alike. Without a word she took up a spoon and began to eat her ice. +Cairns watched every movement of her hand and wrist.</p> + +<p>'Don't,' said Victoria after a pause. She dropped her spoon and put her +hands under the table.</p> + +<p>'Don't what?' said Cairns.</p> + +<p>'Look at my hands. They're . . . Oh, they're not what they were. It +makes me feel ashamed.'</p> + +<p>'Nonsense,' said Cairns with a laugh. 'Your hands are still as fine as +ever and, when we've had them manicured. . . .'</p> + +<p>He stopped abruptly as if he had said too much.</p> + +<p>'Manicured?' said Victoria warily, though the 'we'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> had given her a +little shock. 'Oh, they're not worth manicuring now for the sort of work +I've got to do.'</p> + +<p>'Look here, Victoria,' said Cairns rather roughly. 'This can't go on. +You're not made to be one of the drabs. You say your work is telling on +you: well, you must give it up.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I can't do that,' said Victoria, 'I've got to earn my living and +I'm no good for anything else.'</p> + +<p>Cairns looked at her for a moment and meditatively sipped his port.</p> + +<p>'Drink the port,' he commanded, 'it'll do you good.'</p> + +<p>Victoria obeyed willingly enough. There was already in her blood the +glow of Burgundy; but the port, mellow, exquisite, and curling round the +tongue, coloured like burnt almonds, fragrant too, concealed a deeper +joy. The smoke from Cairns' cigar, half hiding his face, floating in +wreaths between them, entered her nostrils, aromatic, narcotic.</p> + +<p>'What are you thinking of doing now?' she asked.</p> + +<p>'I don't know quite,' said Cairns. 'You see I broke my good resolution. +After my job at Perim, they offered me some surveying work near Ormuz; +they call it surveying, but it's spying really or it would be if there +were anything to spy. I took it and rather enjoyed it.'</p> + +<p>'Did you have any adventures?' asked Victoria.</p> + +<p>'Nothing to speak of except expeditions into the hinterland trying to +get fresh meat. The East is overrated, I assure you. A butr landed off +our station once, probably intending to turn us into able-bodied slaves. +There were only seven of us to their thirty but we killed ten with two +volleys and they made off, parting with their anchor in their hurry.'</p> + +<p>Cairns looked at Victoria. The flush had not died from her cheeks. She +was good to look upon.</p> + +<p>'No,' he went on more slowly, 'I don't quite know what I shall do. I +meant to retire anyhow, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> know, and the sudden death of my uncle, old +Marmaduke Cairns, settled it. I never expected to get a look in, but +there was hardly anybody else to leave anything to, except his sisters +whom he hated like poison, so I'm the heir. I don't yet know what I'm +worth quite, but the old man always seemed to do himself pretty well.'</p> + +<p>'I'm glad,' said Victoria. She was not. The monstrous stupidity of a +system which suddenly places a man in a position enabling him to live on +the labour of a thousand was obvious to her.</p> + +<p>'I'm rather at a loose end,' said Cairns musing, 'you see I've had +enough knocking about. But it's rather dull here, you know. I'm not a +marrying man either.'</p> + +<p>Victoria was disturbed. She looked at Cairns and met his eyes. There was +forming in them a question. As she looked at him the expression faded +and he signed to the waiter to bring the coffee.</p> + +<p>As they sipped it they spoke little but inspected one another narrowly. +Victoria told herself that if Cairns offered her marriage she would +accept him. She was not sure that ideal happiness would be hers if she +did; his limitations were more apparent to her than they had been when +she first knew him. Yet the alternative was the P.R.R. and all that must +follow.</p> + +<p>Cairns was turning over in his mind the question Victoria had surprised. +Though he was by no means cautious or shy, being a bold and good liver, +he felt that Victoria's present position made it difficult to be +sentimental. So they talked of indifferent things. But when they left +the restaurant and drove towards Finsbury Victoria came closer to him; +and, unconsciously almost, Cairns took her hand, which she did not +withdraw. He leant towards her. His hand grew more insistent on her arm. +She was passive, though her heart beat and fear was upon her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Victoria,' said Cairns, his voice strained and metallic.</p> + +<p>She turned her face towards him. There was in it complete acquiescence. +He passed one arm round her waist and drew her towards him. She could +feel his chest crush her as he bent her back. His lips fastened on her +neck greedily.</p> + +<p>'Victoria,' said Cairns again, 'I want you. Come away from all this +labour and pain; let me make you happy.'</p> + +<p>She looked at him, a question in her eyes.</p> + +<p>'As free man and woman,' he stammered. Then more firmly:</p> + +<p>'I'll make you happy. You'll want nothing. Perhaps you'll even learn to +like me.'</p> + +<p>Victoria said nothing for a minute. The proposal did not offend her; she +was too broken, too stupefied for her inherent prejudices to assert +themselves. Morals, belief, reputation, what figments all these things. +What was this freedom of hers that she should set so high a price on it? +And here was comfort, wealth, peace—oh, peace. Yet she hesitated to +plunge into the cold stream; she stood shivering on the edge.</p> + +<p>'Let me think,' she said.</p> + +<p>Cairns pressed her closer to him. A little of the flame that warmed his +body passed into hers.</p> + +<p>'Don't hurry me. Please. I don't know what to say. . . .'</p> + +<p>He bent over with hungry lips.</p> + +<p>'Yes, you may kiss me.'</p> + +<p>Submissive, if frightened and repelled, yet with a heart where hope +fluttered, she surrendered him her lips.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h3> + + +<p>'<span class="smcap">I don't</span> approve and I don't disapprove,' snarled Farwell. 'I'm not my +sister's keeper. I don't pretend to think it noble of you to live with a +man you don't care for, but I don't say you're wrong to do it.'</p> + +<p>'But really,' said Victoria, 'if you don't think it right to do a thing, +you must think it wrong.'</p> + +<p>'Not at all. I am neutral, or rather my reason supports what my +principles reject. Thus my principles may seem unreasonable and my +reasoning devoid of principle, but I cannot help that.'</p> + +<p>Victoria thought for a moment. She was about to take a great step and +she longed for approval.</p> + +<p>'Mr Farwell,' she said deliberately, 'I've come to the conclusion that +you are right. We are crabs in a bucket and those at the bottom are no +nobler than those on the top, for they would gladly be on the top. I'm +going on the top.'</p> + +<p>'Sophist,' said Farwell smiling.</p> + +<p>'I don't know what that means,' Victoria went on; 'I suppose you think +that I'm trying to cheat myself as to what is right. Possibly, but I +don't profess to know what is right.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, no more do I,' interrupted Farwell, 'please don't set me up as a +judge. I haven't got any ethical standards for you. I don't believe +there are any; the ethics of the Renaissance are not those of the +twentieth century, nor are those of London the same as those of +Constantinople. Time and space work<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> moral revolutions; and, even on +stereotyped lines, nobody can say present ethics are the best. From a +conventional point of view the hundred and fifty years that separate us +from Fielding mark an improvement, but I have still to learn that the +morals of to-day compare favourably with those of Sparta. You must +decide that for yourself.'</p> + +<p>'I am doing so,' said Victoria quietly, 'but I don't think you quite +understand a woman's position and I want you to. I find a world where +the harder a woman works, the worse she is paid, where her mind is +despised and her body courted. Oh, I know, you haven't done that, but +you don't employ women. Nobody but you has ever cared a scrap about such +brains as I may have; the subs courted me in my husband's regiment. . . .' +She stopped abruptly, having spoken too freely.</p> + +<p>'Go on,' said Farwell tactfully.</p> + +<p>'And in London what have I found? Nothing but men bent on one pursuit. +They have followed me in the streets and tubes, tried to sit by me in +the parks. They have tried to touch me—yes me! the dependent who could +not resent it, when I served them with their food. Their talk is the +inane, under which they cloak desire. Their words are covert appeals. I +hear round me the everlasting cry: yield, yield, for that is all we want +from young women.'</p> + +<p>'True,' said Farwell, 'I have never denied this.'</p> + +<p>'And yet,' answered Victoria angrily, 'you almost blame me. I tell you +that I have never seen the world as I do now. Men have no use for us +save as mistresses, whether legal or not. Perhaps they will have us as +breeders or housekeepers, but the mistress is the root of it all. And if +they can gain us without pledges, without risks, by promises, by force +or by deceit, they will.'</p> + +<p>Farwell said nothing. His eyes were full of sorrow.</p> + +<p>'My husband drank himself to death,' pursued<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> Victoria in low tones. +'The proprietor of the Rosebud tried to force me to become his toy . . . +perhaps he would have thrown me on the streets if he had had time to +pursue me longer and if I refused myself still . . . because he was my +employer and all is fair in what they call love . . . The customers +bought every day for twopence the right to stare through my openwork +blouse, to touch my hand, to brush my knees with theirs. One, who seemed +above them, tried to break my body into obedience by force . . . Here, +at the P.R.R. I am a toy still, though more of a servant . . . Soon I +shall be a cripple and good neither for servant nor mistress, what will +you do with me?'</p> + +<p>Farwell made a despairing gesture with his hand.</p> + +<p>'I tell you,' said Victoria with ferocious intensity. 'You're right, +life's a fight and I'm going to win, for my eyes are clear. I have done +with sentiment and sympathy. A man may command respect as a wage earner; +a woman commands nothing but what she can cheat out of men's senses. She +must be rich, she must be economically independent. Then men will crawl +where they hectored, worship that which they burned. And if I must be +dependent to become independent, that is a stage I am ready for.'</p> + +<p>'What are you going to do?' asked Farwell.</p> + +<p>'I'm going to live with this man,' said Victoria in a frozen voice. 'I +neither love nor hate him. I am going to exploit him, to extort from him +as much of the joy of life as I can, but above all I am going to draw +from him, from others too if I can, as much wealth as I can. I will +store it, hive it bee-like, and when my treasure is great enough I will +consume it. And the world will stand by and shout: hallelujah, a rich +woman cometh into her kingdom.'</p> + +<p>Farwell remained silent for a minute.</p> + +<p>'You are right,' he said, 'if you must choose, then be strong and carve +your way into freedom. I have not done this, and the world has sucked me +dry.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> You can still be free, so do not shrink from the means. You are a +woman, your body is your fortune, your only fortune, so transmute it +into gold. You will succeed, you will be rich; and the swine, instead of +trampling on you, will herd round the trough where you scatter pearls.'</p> + +<p>He stopped for a moment, slowly puffing at his pipe.</p> + +<p>'Women's profession,' he muttered. 'The time will come . . . +but to-day. . . .'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at him, a faint figure in the night. He was the spectral +prophet, a David in fear of Goliath.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' she said, 'woman's profession.'</p> + +<p>Together they walked away. Farwell was almost soliloquising. 'If she is +brave, life is easier for a woman than a man. She can play on him; but +her head must be cool, her heart silent. Hear this, Victoria. Remember +yours is a trade and needs your application. To win this fight you must +be well equipped. Let your touch be soft as velvet, your grip as hard as +steel. Shrink from nothing, rise to treachery, let the worldly nadir be +your zenith.'</p> + +<p>He stopped before a public house and opened the door of the bar a +little.</p> + +<p>'Look in here,' he said.</p> + +<p>Victoria looked. There were five men, half hidden in smoke; among them +sat one woman clad in vivid colours, her face painted, her hands dirty +and covered with rings. Her yellow hair made a vivid patch against the +brown wall. A yard away, alone at a small table, sat another woman, +covered too with cheap finery, with weary eyes and a smiling mouth, her +figure abandoned on a sofa, lost to the scene, her look fixed on the +side door through which men slink in.</p> + +<p>'Remember,' said Farwell, 'give no quarter in the struggle, for you will +get none.'</p> + +<p>Victoria shuddered. But the fury was upon her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Don't be afraid,' she hissed, 'I'll spare nobody. They've already given +me a taste of the whip. I know, I understand; those girls don't. I see +the goal before me and therefore I will reach it.'</p> + +<p>Farwell looked at her again, his eyes full of melancholy.</p> + +<p>'Go then, Victoria,' he said, 'and work out your fate.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="PART_II" id="PART_II"></a>PART II</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_Ib" id="CHAPTER_Ib"></a>CHAPTER I</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Victoria</span> turned uneasily on the sofa and stretched her arms. She yawned, +then sat up abruptly. Sudermann's <i>Katzensteg</i> fell to the ground off +her lap. She was in a tiny back room, so overcrowded by the sofa and +easy-chair that she could almost touch a small rosewood bureau opposite. +She looked round the room lazily, then relapsed on the sofa, hugging a +cushion. She snuggled her face into it, voluptuously breathing in its +compactness laden with scent and tobacco smoke. Then, looking up, she +reflected that she was very comfortable.</p> + +<p>Victoria's boudoir was the back extension of the dining-room. Shut off +by the folding doors, it contained within its tiny space the comfort +which is only found in small rooms. It was papered red with a flowered +pattern, which she thought ugly, but which had just been imported from +France and was quite the thing. The sofa and easy-chair were covered +with obtrusively new red and white chintz; a little pile of cushions had +fallen on the indeterminate Persian pattern of the carpet. Long +coffee-coloured curtains, banded with chintz, shut out part of the high +window, through which a little of the garden and the bare branches of a +tree could be seen. Victoria took all this in for the hundredth time. +She had been sleeping for an hour; she felt smooth, stroked; she could +have hugged all these pretty things, the little brass fender, the books, +the Delft inkpot on the little bureau. Everything in the room<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> was +already intimate. Her eyes dwelt on the clean chintzes, on the half +blinds surmounted by insertion, the brass ashtrays, the massive silver +cigarette box.</p> + +<p>Victoria stood up, the movement changing the direction of her +contemplative mood. The Gothic rosewood clock told her it was a little +after three. She went to the cigarette box and lit a cigarette. While +slowly inhaling the smoke, she rang the bell. On her right forefinger +there was a faint yellow tinge of nicotine which had reached the nail.</p> + +<p>'I shall have to be manicured again,' she soliloquised. 'What a +nuisance. Better have it done to-day while I get my hair done too.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, mum.' A neat dark maid stood at the door. Victoria did not answer +for a second. The girl's black dress was perfectly brushed, her cap, +collar, cuffs, apron, immaculate white.</p> + +<p>'I'm going out now, Mary,' said Victoria. 'You'd better get my brown +velvet out.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, mum,' said the maid. 'Will you be back for dinner, mum?'</p> + +<p>'No, I'm dining with the Major. Oh, don't get the velvet out. It's muddy +out, isn't it?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, mum. It's been raining in the morning, mum.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, well, perhaps I'd better wear the grey coat and skirt. And my furs +and toque.'</p> + +<p>'The beaver, mum?'</p> + +<p>'No, of course not, the white fox. And, oh, Mary, I've lost my little +bag somewhere. And tell Charlotte to send me up a cup of tea at +half-past three.'</p> + +<p>Mary left the room silently. She seldom asked questions, and never +expressed pleasure, displeasure or surprise.</p> + +<p>Victoria walked up to her bedroom; the staircase was papered with a +pretty blue and white pattern over a dado of white lincrusta. A few +French engravings stood out in their old gold frames. Victoria stopped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +at the first landing to look at her favourite, after Lancret; it +represented lovers surprised in a barn by an irate husband.</p> + +<p>The bedroom occupied the entire first floor. On taking possession of the +little house she had realised that, as she would have no callers, a +drawing-room would be absurd, so had suppressed the folding doors and +made the two rooms into one large one. In the front, between the two +windows, stood her dressing-table, now covered with small bottles, some +in cut glass and full of scent, others more workmanlike, marked +vaseline, glycerine, skin food, bay rum. Scattered about them on the +lace toilet cover, were boxes of powder, white, sepia, bluish, puffs, +little sticks of cosmetics, some silver-backed brushes, some squat and +short-bristled, others with long handles, with long soft bristles, one +studded with short wires, another with whalebone, some clothes brushes +too, buttonhooks, silver trays, a handglass with a massive silver +handle. Right and left, two little electric lamps and above the swinging +mirror, a shaded bulb shedding a candid glow.</p> + +<p>One wall was blotted out by two inlaid mahogany wardrobes; through the +open doors of one could be seen a pile of frilled linen, lace +petticoats, chemises threaded with coloured ribbons. On the large +arm-chair, covered with blue and white chintz, was a crumpled heap of +white linen, a pair of <i>café au lait</i> silk stockings. A light mahogany +chair or two stood about the room. Each had a blue and white cushion. A +large wash-stand stood near the mantlepiece, laden with blue and white +ware. The walls were covered with blue silky paper, dotted here and +there with some colour prints. These were mostly English; their nude +beauties sprawled and languished slyly among bushes, listening to the +pipes of Pan.</p> + +<p>Victoria went into the back of the room, and, unhooking her cream silk +dressing jacket, threw it on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> the bed. This was a vast low edifice of +glittering brown wood, covered now by a blue and white silk bedspread +with edges smothered in lace; from the head of the bed peeped out the +tips of two lace pillows. By the side of the bed, on the little night +table, stood two or three books, a reading lamp and a small silver +basket full of sweets. An ivory bell-pull hung by the side of a swinging +switch just between the pillows.</p> + +<p>Victoria walked past the bed and looked at herself in the high +looking-glass set into the wall which rose from the floor to well above +her head. The mirror threw back a pleasing reflection. It showed her a +woman of twenty-six, neither short nor tall, dressed in a white +petticoat and mauve silk corsets. The corsets fitted well into the +figure which was round and inclined to be full. Her arms and neck, +framed with white frillings, were uniformly cream coloured, shadowed a +little darker at the elbows, near the rounded shoulders and under the +jaw; all her skin had a glow, half vigorous, half delicate. But the +woman's face interested Victoria more. Her hair was piled high and black +over a broad low white forehead; the cream of the skin turned faintly +into colour at the cheeks, into crimson at the lips; her eyes were +large, steel grey, long lashed and thrown into relief by a faintly mauve +aura. There was strength in the jaw, square, hard, fine cut; there was +strength too in the steadiness of the eyes, in the slightly compressed +red lips.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Victoria to the picture, 'you mean business.' She reflected +that she was fatter than she had ever been. Two months of rest had +worked a revolution in her. The sudden change from toil to idleness had +caused a reaction. There was something almost matronly about the soft +curves of her breast. But the change was to the good. She was less +interesting than the day when the Major sat face to face with her in +Soho, his pulse beating quicker<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> and quicker as her ravished beauty +stimulated him by its novelty; but she was a finer animal. Indeed she +realised to the full that she had never been so beautiful, that she had +never been beautiful before, as men understand beauty.</p> + +<p>The past two months had been busy as well as idle, busy that is as an +idle woman's time. She had felt weary now and then, like those +unfortunates who are bound to the wheel of pleasure and are compelled to +'do too much.' Major Cairns had launched out into his first experiment +in pseudo-married life with an almost boyish zest. It was he who had +practically compelled her to take the little house in Elm Tree Place.</p> + +<p>'Think of it, Vic,' he had said, 'your own little den. With no prying +neighbours. And your own little garden. And dogs.'</p> + +<p>He had waxed quite sentimental over it and Victoria, full of the +gratitude that makes a woman cling to the fireman when he has rescued +her, had helped him to build a home for the idyll. Within a feverish +month he had produced the house as it stood. He had hardly allowed +Victoria any choice in the matter, for he would not let her do anything. +He practically compelled her to keep to her suite at the hotel, so that +she might get well. He struggled alone with the decoration, plumbing, +furniture and linoleum, linen and garden. Now and then he would ring up +to know whether she preferred salmon pink to <i>fraise écrasée</i> cushions, +or he would come up to the hotel rent in twain by conflicting rugs. At +last he had pronounced the house ready, and, after supplying it with +Mary and Charlotte, had triumphantly installed his new queen in her +palace.</p> + +<p>Victoria's first revelation was one of immense joy; unquestioning, and +for one moment quite disinterested. It was not until a few hours had +elapsed that she regained mastery over herself. She went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> from room to +room punching cushions, pressing her hands over the polished wood, at +times feeling voluptuously on hands and knees the pile of the carpets. +She almost loved Cairns at the moment. It was quite honestly that she +drew him down by her side on the red and white sofa and softly kissed +his cheek and drove his ragged moustache into rebellion. It was quite +willingly too that she felt his grasp tighten on her and that she +yielded to him. Her lips did not abhor his kisses.</p> + +<p>Some hours later she became herself again. Cairns was good to her, but +good as the grazier is to the heifer from whom he hopes to breed; she +was his creature, and must be well housed, well fed, well clothed, so +that his eyes might feast on her, scented so that his desire for her +might be whipped into action. In her moments of cold horror in the past +she had realised herself as a commodity, as a beast of burden; now she +realised herself as a beast of pleasure. The only thing to remember then +was to coin into gold her condescension.</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at herself again in the glass. Yes, it was +condescension. As a free woman, that is, a woman of means, she would +never have surrendered to Cairns the tips of her fingers. Off the coast +of Araby she had yielded to him a little, so badly did she need human +sympathy, a little warmth in the cold of the lonely night. When he +appeared again as the rescuer she had flung herself into his arms with +an appalling fetterless joy. She had plunged her life into his as into +Nirvana.</p> + +<p>Now her head was cooler. Indeed it had been cool for a month. She saw +Cairns as an average man, neither good nor evil, a son of his father and +the seed thereof, bound by a strict code of honour and a lax code of +morals. She saw him as a dull man with the superficial polish that even +the roughest pebble acquires in the stream of life. He had found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> her at +low water mark, stranded and gasping on the sands; he had picked her up +and imprisoned her in this vivarium to which he alone had access, where +he could enjoy his capture to the full.</p> + +<p>'And the capture's business is to get as much out of the captor as +possible, so as to buy its freedom back.' This was Victoria's new +philosophy. She had dexterously induced Cairns to give her a thousand a +year. She knew perfectly well that she could live on seven hundred, +perhaps on six. Besides, she played on his pride. Cairns was after all +only a big middle-aged boy; it made him swell to accompany Victoria to +Sloane Street to buy a hat, to the Leicester Gallery to see the latest +one-man show. She was a credit to a fellow. Thus she found no difficulty +in making him buy her sables, gold purses, Whistler etchings. They would +come in handy, she reflected, 'when the big bust-up came.' For Victoria +was not rocking herself in the transitory, but from the very first +making ready for the storm which follows on the longest stretch of fair +weather.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Victoria again to the mirror, 'you mean business.' The door +opened and almost noiselessly closed. Mary brought in a tray covered +with a clean set of silver-backed brushes, and piled up the other ready +to take away. She put a water can on the washstand and parsimoniously +measured into it some attar of roses. Victoria stepped out into the +middle of the room and stood there braced and stiff as the maid unlaced +and then tightened her stays.</p> + +<p>'What will you wear this evening, mum?' asked Mary, as Victoria sat down +in the low dressing chair opposite the swinging glass.</p> + +<p>'This evening,' mused Victoria. 'Let me see, there's the <i>gris perle</i>.'</p> + +<p>'No, mum, I've sent it to the cleaner's,' said Mary. Her fingers were +deftly removing the sham curls from Victoria's back hair.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + +<p>'You've worn it four times, mum,' she added reproachfully.</p> + +<p>'Oh, have I? I don't think. . . . oh, that's all right, Mary.'</p> + +<p>Victoria reflected that she would never have a well-trained maid if she +finished sentences such as this. Four times! Well, she must give the +Major his money's worth.</p> + +<p>'You might wear your red Directoire, mum,' suggested Mary in the +unemotional tones of one who is paid not to hear slips.</p> + +<p>'I might. Yes. Perhaps it's a little loud for the Carlton.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, mum,' said Mary without committing herself.</p> + +<p>'After all, I don't think it is so loud.'</p> + +<p>'No, mum,' said Mary in even tones. She deftly rolled her mistress' +plaits round the crown.</p> + +<p>Victoria felt vaguely annoyed. The woman's words were anonymous.</p> + +<p>'But what <i>do</i> you think, Mary,' she asked.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I think you're quite right, mum,' said Mary.</p> + +<p>Victoria watched her face in the glass. Not a wave of opinion rippled +over it.</p> + +<p>Victoria got up. She stretched out her arms for Mary to slip the skirt +over her head. The maid closed the lace blouse, quickly clipped the +fasteners together, then closed the placket hole completely. Without a +word she fetched the light grey coat, slipped it on Victoria's +shoulders. She found the grey skin bag, while Victoria put on her white +fox toque. She then encased Victoria's head in a grey silk veil and +sprayed her with scent. Victoria looked at herself in the glass. She was +very lovely, she thought.</p> + +<p>'Anything else, mum,' said Mary's quiet voice.</p> + +<p>'No, Mary, nothing else.'</p> + +<p>'Thank you, mum.'</p> + +<p>As Victoria turned, she found the maid had disappeared,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> but her +watchful presence was by the front door to open it for her. Victoria saw +her from the stairs, a short erect figure, with a pale face framed in +dark hair. She stood with one hand on the latch, the other holding a cab +whistle; her eyes were fixed upon the ground. As Victoria passed out she +looked at Mary. The girl's eyes were averted still, her face without a +question. Upon her left hand she wore a thin gold ring with a single red +stone. The ring fastened on Victoria's imagination as she stepped into a +hansom which was loafing near the door. It was not the custom, she knew, +for a maid to wear a ring; and this alone was enough to amaze her. Was +it possible that Mary's armour was not perfect in every point of +servility? No doubt she had just put it on as it was her evening out and +she would be leaving the house in another half hour. And then? Would +another and a stronger hand take hers, hold it, twine its fingers among +her fingers. Victoria wondered, for the vision of love and Mary were +incongruous ideas. It was almost inconceivable that with her cap and +apron she doffed the mantle of her reserve; she surely could not +vibrate; her heart could not beat in unison with another. Yet, there was +the ring, the promise of passion. Victoria nursed for a moment the +vision of the two spectral figures, walking in a dusky park, arms round +waists, then of shapes blended on a seat, faces hidden, lip to lip.</p> + +<p>Victoria threw herself back in the cab. What did it all matter after +all? Mary was the beast of burden which she had captured by piracy. She +had been her equal once when abiding by the law; she had shared her toil +and her slender meed of thanks. Now she was a buccaneer, outside the +social code, and as such earned the right to command. So much did +Victoria dominate that she thought she would refrain from the exercise +of a bourgeois prerogative: the girl should wear her ring, even though +custom forbade it, load<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> herself with trinkets if she chose, for as a +worker and a respecter of social laws surely she might well be treated +as the sacrificial ox.</p> + +<p>The horse trotted down Baker Street, then through Wigmore Street. +Daylight was already waning; here and there houses were breaking into +light between the shops, some of which had remembered it was Christmas +eve and decked themselves out in holly. At the corner near the Bechstein +Hall the cab came to a stop behind the long line of carriages waiting +for the end of a concert. Victoria had time to see the old crossing +sweeper, with a smile on his face and mistletoe in his battered +billy-cock. The festivities would no doubt yield him his annual kind +word from the world. She passed the carriages, all empty still. The +cushions were rich, she could see. Here and there she could see a fur +coat or a book on the seat; in one of them sat an elderly maid, watching +the carriage clock under the electric light, meanwhile nursing a +chocolate pom who growled as Victoria passed.</p> + +<p>'Slaves all of them,' thought Victoria. 'A slave the good elderly maid, +thankful for the crumbs that fall from the pom's table. Slaves too, the +fat coachman, the slim footman despite their handsome English faces, lit +up by a gas lamp. The raw material of fashion.'</p> + +<p>The cab turned into the greater blaze of Oxford Circus, past the Princes +Street P.R.R. There was a great show of Christmas cakes there. From the +cab Victoria, craning out, could see a young and pretty girl behind the +counter busily packing frosted biscuits. Victoria felt warmed by the +sight; she was not malicious, but the contrast told her of her +emancipation from the thrall of eight bob a week. Through Regent Street, +all congested with traffic, little figures laden with parcels darting +like frightened ants under the horse's nose, then into the immensity of +Whitehall, the cab stopped at the Stores in Victoria Street.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> + +<p>Victoria had but recently joined. A store ticket and a telephone are the +next best thing to respectability and the same thing as regards comfort. +They go far to establish one's social position. Victoria struggled +through the wedged crowd. Here and there boys and girls with flushed +faces, who enjoyed being squashed. She could see crowds of jolly women +picking from the counters things useful and things pretty; upon signal +discoveries loudly proclaimed followed continual exclamations that they +would not do. Family parties, excited and talkative, left her unmoved. +That world, that of the rich and the free, would ultimately be hers; her +past, that of the worn men and women ministering behind the counter to +the whims of her future world, was dead.</p> + +<p>She only had to buy a few Christmas presents. There was one for Betty, +one for Cairns, and two for the servants. In the clothing department she +selected a pretty blue merino dressing-gown and a long purple sweater +for Betty. The measurements were much the same as hers, if a little +slighter; besides such garments need not fit. She went downstairs and +disposed of the Major by means of a small gold cigarette case with a +leather cover. No doubt he had a dozen, but what could she give a man?</p> + +<p>The Stores buzzed round her like a parliament of bees. Now and then +people shouldered past her, a woman trod on her foot and neglected to +apologise; parcels too, inconveniently carried, struck her as she +passed. She felt the joy of the lost; for none looked at her, save now +and then a man drowned in the sea of women. The atmosphere was stuffy, +however, and time was precious as she had put off buying presents until +so late. Followed by a porter with her parcels she left the Stores, +experiencing the pleasure of credit on an overdrawn deposit order +account. The man piled the goods in a cab, and in a few minutes she had +transferred Betty's presents to a carrier's office,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> with instructions +to send them off at eight o'clock by a messenger who was to wait at the +door until the addressee returned. This was not unnecessary foresight, +for Betty would not be back until nine. With the Major's cigarette case +in her white muff, Victoria then drove to Bond Street, there to snatch a +cup of tea. On the way she stopped the cab to buy a lace blouse for Mary +and an umbrella for Charlotte, having forgotten them in her hurry. She +decided to have tea at Miss Fortesque's, for Miss Fortesque's is one of +those tearooms where ladies serve ladies, and the newest fashions come. +It is the right place to be seen in at five o'clock. At the door a small +boy in an Eton jacket and collar solemnly salutes with a shiny topper. +Inside, the English character of the room is emphasized. There are no +bamboo tables, no skimpy French chairs or Japanese umbrellas; everything +is severely plain and impeccably clean. The wood shines, the table linen +is hard and glossy, the glass is hand cut and heavy, the plate quite +plain and obviously dear. On the white distempered walls are colour +prints after Reynolds, Romney, Gainsborough. All conspires with the +thick carpet to promote silence, even the china and glass, which seem no +more to dare to rattle than if they were used in a men's club.</p> + +<p>Victoria settled down in a large chintz-covered arm chair and ordered +tea from a good-looking girl in a dark grey blouse and dress. Visibly a +hockey skirt had not long ago been more natural to her. As she returned +Victoria observed the slim straight lines of her undeveloped figure. She +was half graceful, half gawky, like most young English girls.</p> + +<p>'It's been very cold to-day, hasn't it?' said the girl as she set down +bread and butter, then cake and jam sandwiches.</p> + +<p>'Very,' Victoria looked at her narrowly. 'I suppose it doesn't matter +much in here, though.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, no, we don't notice it.' The girl looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> weary for a second. Then +she smiled at Victoria and walked away to a corner where she stood +listlessly.</p> + +<p>'Slave, slave.' The words rang through Victoria's head. 'You talk to me +when you're sick of the sight of me. You talk of things you don't care +about. You smile if you feel your face shows you are tired, in the hope +I'll tip you silver instead of copper.'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked round the room. It was fairly full, and as Fortesquean +as it was British. The Fortesque tradition is less fluid than the +constitution of the Empire. Its tables shout 'we are old wood'; its cups +say 'we are real porcelain'; and its customers look at one another and +say 'who the devil are you?' Nobody thinks of having tea there unless +they have between one and three thousand a year. It is too quiet for ten +thousand a year or for three pounds a week; it caters for ladies and +gentlemen and freezes out everybody else, regardless of turnover. Thus +its congregation (for its afternoon rite is almost hieratical) +invariably includes a retired colonel, a dowager with a daughter about +to come out, several squiresses who came to Miss Fortesque's as little +girls and are handing on the torch to their own. There is a sprinkling +of women who have been shopping in Bond Street, buying things good but +not showy. As the customers, or rather clients, lapse with a sigh into +the comfortable armchairs they look round with the covert elegance that +says, 'And who the devil are you?'</p> + +<p>Victoria was in her element. She had had tea at Miss Fortesque's some +dozen years before when up for the week from Lympton; thus she felt she +had the freedom of the house. She sipped her tea and dropped crumbs with +unconcern. She looked at the dowager without curiosity. The dowager +speculated as to the maker of her coat and skirt. Victoria's eyes fixed +again on the girl who was passing her with a laden tray. The effort was +bringing out the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> beautiful lines of the slender arms, drooping +shoulders, round bust. Her fair hair clustered low over the creamy nape.</p> + +<p>'Slave, slave,' thought Victoria again. 'What are you doing, you fool? +Roughening your hands, losing flesh, growing old. And there's nothing +for a girl to do but serve on, serve, always serve. Until you get too +old. And then, scrapped. Or you marry . . . anything that comes along. +Good luck to you, paragon, on your eight bob a week.'</p> + +<p>Victoria went downstairs and got into the cab which had been waiting for +her with the servants' presents. It was no longer cold, but foggy and +warm. She undid her white fox stole, dropping on the seat her crocodile +skin bag, whence escaped a swollen purse of gold mesh.</p> + +<p>Upstairs the girl cleared away. Under the butter-smeared plate which +slipped through her fingers she found half-a-crown. Her heart bounded +with joy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IIb" id="CHAPTER_IIb"></a>CHAPTER II</h3> + + +<p>'<span class="smcap">Tom</span>, you know how I hate <i>tournedos</i>,' said Victoria petulantly.</p> + +<p>'Sorry, old girl.' Cairns turned and motioned to the waiter. While he +was exchanging murmurs with the man Victoria observed him. Cairns was +not bad looking, redder and stouter than ever. He was turning into the +'jolly old Major' type, short, broad, strangled in cross barred cravats +and tight frock-coats. In evening dress, his face and hands emerging +from his shirt and collar, he looked like an enormous dish of +strawberries and cream.</p> + +<p>'I've ordered quails for you? Will that do, Miss Dainty?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, that's better.'</p> + +<p>She smiled at him and he smiled back.</p> + +<p>'By jove, Vic,' he whispered, 'you look fine. Nothing like pink shades +for the complexion.'</p> + +<p>'I think you're very rude,' said Victoria smiling.</p> + +<p>'Honest,' said Cairns. 'And why not? No harm in looking your best is +there? Now my light's yellow. Brings me down from tomato to carrot.'</p> + +<p>'Fishing again. No good, Tommy old chap.'</p> + +<p>'Never mind me,' said Cairns with a laugh. He paused and looked intently +at Victoria, then cautiously round him. They were almost in the middle +of the restaurant, but it was still only half full. Cairns had fixed +dinner for seven, though they were only due for a music hall; he hated +to hurry over his coffee. Thus they were in a little island of pink +light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> surrounded by penumbra. Softly attuned, Mimi's song before the +gates of Paris floated in from the balcony.</p> + +<p>'Vic,' said Cairns gravely, 'you're lovely. I've never seen you like +this before.'</p> + +<p>'Do you like my gown?' she asked coquettishly.</p> + +<p>'Your gown!' Cairns said 'Your gown's like a stalk, Vic, and you're a +big white flower bursting from it . . . a big white flower, pink +flecked, scented. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Sh . . . Tom, don't talk like that in here.' Victoria slid her foot +forward, slipped off her shoe and gently put her foot on the Major's +instep. His eyes blinked quickly twice. He reached out for his glass and +gulped down the champagne.</p> + +<p>The waiter returned, velvet footed. Every one of his gestures +consecrated the quails resting on the flowered white plates, surrounded +by a succulent lake of aromatic sauce.</p> + +<p>They ate silently. There was already between them the good understanding +which makes speech unnecessary. Victoria looked about her from time to +time. The couples interested her, for they were nearly all couples. Most +of them comprised a man between thirty and forty, and a woman some years +his junior. Their behaviour was severely decorous, in fact a little +languid. From a table near by a woman's voice floated lazily,</p> + +<p>'I rather like this pub, Robbie.'</p> + +<p>Indeed the acceptance of the pubbishness of the place was characteristic +of its frequenters. Most of the men looked vaguely weary; some keenly +interested bent over the silver laden tables, their eyes fixed on their +women's arms. Here and there a foreigner with coal black hair, a soft +shirt front and a fancy white waistcoat, spiced with originality the +sedateness of English gaiety. An American woman was giving herself away +by a semitone, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> her gown was exquisite and its <i>décolletage</i> +challenged gravitation.</p> + +<p>Cairns' attitude was exasperatingly that of Gallio, save as concerned +Victoria. His eyes did not leave her. She knew perfectly well that he +was inspecting her, watching the rise and fall on her white breast of +his Christmas gift, a diamond cross. They both refused the mousse and +Victoria mischievously leant forward, her hands crossed under her chin, +her arms so near Cairns' face that he could see on them the fine black +shading of the down.</p> + +<p>'Well, Tom?' she asked. 'Quite happy?'</p> + +<p>'No,' growled Cairns, 'you know what I want.'</p> + +<p>'Patience and shuffle the cards,' said Victoria, 'and be thankful I'm +here at all. But I musn't rot you Tommy dear, after a present like +that.'</p> + +<p>She slipped her fingers under the diamond cross. Cairns watched the +picture made by the rosy manicured finger nails, the sparkling stones, +the white skin.</p> + +<p>'A pity it doesn't match my rings,' she remarked.</p> + +<p>Cairns looked at her hand.</p> + +<p>'Oh, no more it does. I thought you had a half hoop. Never mind, dear. +Give me that sapphire ring.'</p> + +<p>'What do you want it for?' asked Victoria with a conscious smile.</p> + +<p>'That's my business.'</p> + +<p>She slipped it off. He took it, pressing her fingers.</p> + +<p>'I think you ought to have a half hoop,' he said conclusively.</p> + +<p>Victoria leant back in her chair. Her smile was triumphant. Truly, men +are hard masters but docile slaves.</p> + +<p>'You'll spoil me, Tom,' she said weakly. 'I don't want you to think that +I'm fishing for things. I'm quite happy, you know. I'd rather you didn't +give me another ring.'</p> + +<p>'Nonsense,' said Cairns, 'I wouldn't give it you if I didn't like to see +it on your hand.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I don't believe you,' she said smoothly, but the phrase rang true.</p> + +<p>Some minutes later, as they passed down the stairs into the palm room, +she was conscious of the eyes that followed her. Those of the men were +mostly a little dilated; the women seemed more cynically interested, as +suits those who appraise not bodies but garments. Major Cairns, walking +a step behind her, was still looking well, with his close cut hair and +moustache, stiff white linen and erect bearing. Victoria realised +herself as a queen in a worthy kingdom. But the kingdom was not the one +she wished to hold with all the force of her beauty. That beauty was +transitory, or at least its subtler quality was. As Victoria lay in the +brougham with Cairns's arm holding her close to him, she still +remembered that the fading of her beauty might synchronise with the +growth of her wealth. A memory from some book on political economy +flashed through her mind: beauty was a wasting asset.</p> + +<p>Cairns kissed her on the lips. An atmosphere of champagne, coffee, +tobacco, enveloped her as her breath mixed with his. She coiled one arm +round his neck and returned his kisses.</p> + +<p>'Vic, Vic,' he murmured, 'can't you love me a little?'</p> + +<p>She put her hand behind his neck and once more kissed his lips. He must +be lulled, but not into security.</p> + +<p>Victoria had never realised her strength and her freedom so well as that +night, as she leant back in her box. Her face and breast, the Major's +shirt front, were the only spots of light which emerged from the +darkness of the box as if pictured by a German impressionist; down +below, under the mist, the damned souls revelled in the cheap seats; +they swayed, a black mass speckled with hundreds of white collars, +dotted with points of fire in the bowls of pipes. By the side of the +men, girls in white<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> blouses or crude colours, shrouded in the mist of +tobacco smoke. Now and then a ring coiled up from a cigar in the stalls, +swirled in the air for a moment and then broke.</p> + +<p>Just behind the footlights blazing over the blackness, a little fat man, +with preposterous breeches, a coat of many colours, a yellow wisp of +hair clashing with his vinous nose, sang of the Bank and his manifold +accounts. A faint salvo of applause ushered him out, then swelled into a +tempest as the next number went up.</p> + +<p>'Tommy Bung, you're in luck,' said the Major, taking off Victoria's +wrap.</p> + +<p>She craned forward to see. A woman with masses of fair hair, bowered in +blue velvet, took a long look at her from the stage box through an opera +glass.</p> + +<p>The curtain went up. There was a roar of applause. Tommy Bung was ready +for the audience and had already fallen into a tub of whitewash. The +sorry object extricated itself. His red nose shone, star like. He rolled +ferocious eyes at a girl. The crowd rocked with joy. Without a word the +great Tommy Bang began to dance. At once the hall followed the splendid +metre. Up and down, up and down, twisting, curvetting, Tommy Bung held +his audience spellbound with rhythm. They swayed sharply with the +alternations.</p> + +<p>Victoria watched the Major. His hands were beating time. Tommy Bung +brought his effort to a conclusion by beating the floor, the soles of +his feet, the scenery, and punctuated the final thwack with a well timed +leap on the prompter's box.</p> + +<p>Victoria was losing touch with things. Waves of heat seemed to overwhelm +her; little figures of jugglers, gymnasts, performing dogs, passed +before her eyes like arabesques. Then again raucous voices. The crowd +was applauding hysterically. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> Number Fourteen, whose great name +she was fated never to know. Unsteadily poised on legs wide apart, +Number Fourteen sang. Uncontrollable glee radiated from him—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now kids is orl right</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When yer ain't got none;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yer can sit at 'ome</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">An' eat 'cher dam bun.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I've just 'ad some twins;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nurse says don't be coy,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For they're just the picture</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of the lodger's boy.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Tinka, Tinka, Tinka; Tinka, Tinka, Tink</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'It 'im in the eye and made the lodger blink.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Tinga, Tinga, Tinga; Tinga, Tinga, Teg</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Never larfed so much since farver broke 'is leg.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>A roar of applause encouraged him. Victoria saw Cairns carried away, +clapping, laughing. In the bar below she could hear continuously the +thud of the levers belching beer. Number Fourteen was still singing, his +smile wide-slit through his face—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now me paw-in-law</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'E's a rum ole bloke;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Got a 'and as light</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As a ton o' coke.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Came 'ome late one night</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">An' what oh did 'e see?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Saw me ma-in-law</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On the lodger's knee.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Tinka, Tinka, Tinka; Tinka, Tinka, Tink</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'It 'im in the eye an' made the lodger blink.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Tinga, Tinga, Tinga; Tinga, Tinga, Teg,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Never larfed so much since farver broke 'is leg.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Enthusiasm was rising high. Number Fourteen braced himself for his great +effort on the effects of beer. Then, gracious and master of the crowd, +he beat time with his hands while the chorus sounded from a thousand +throats. Victoria happened to look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> at Cairns. His head was beating time +and, from his lips issued gleefully:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tinka, Tinka, Tinka; Tinka, Tinka, Tink</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'It 'im in the eye—</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Victoria scrutinised him narrowly. Cairns was a phenomenon.</p> + +<p>'Never larfed so much since farver broke 'is leg,' roared Cairns. 'I +say, Vic, he really <i>is</i> good.' He noticed her puzzled expression. 'I +say, Vic, what's up? Don't you like him?'</p> + +<p>Victoria did not answer for a second.</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes, I—he's very funny—you see I've never been in a music hall +before.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, is that it?' Cairns's brow cleared. 'It's a little coarse, but so +natural.'</p> + +<p>'Is that the same thing?' asked Victoria.</p> + +<p>'S'pose it is. With some of us anyhow. But what's the next?'</p> + +<p>Cairns had already relapsed into the programme. He hated the abstract; a +public school, Sandhurst and the army had armoured him magnificently +against intrusive thought. They watched the next turn silently. A couple +of cross-talk comedians, one a shocking creature in pegtop trousers, a +shock yellow head and a battered opera hat, the other young, handsome +and smart as a superior barber's assistant, gibbered incomprehensibly of +songs they couldn't sing and lies they could tell.</p> + +<p>The splendid irresponsibility of the music hall was wasted on Victoria. +She had the mind of a schoolmistress grafted on a social sense. She saw +nothing before her but the gross riot of the drunken. She saw no humour +in that cockney cruelty, capable though it be of absurd generosity. She +resented too Cairns's boyish pleasure in it all; he revelled, she felt, +as a buffalo wallows in a mud bath. He was gross, stupid, dull. It was +degrading to be his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> instrument of pleasure. But, after all, what did it +matter? He was the narrow way which would lead her to the august.</p> + +<p>Though Cairns was not thin-skinned he perceived a little of this. +Without a word he watched the cross-talk comedians, then the 'Dandy Girl +of Cornucopia,' a rainbow of stiff frills with a voice like a fretsaw. +As the lights went down for the bioscope, the idea of reconciliation +that springs from fat cheery hearts overwhelmed him. He put his hand out +and closed it over hers. With a tremendous effort she repressed her +repulsion, and in so doing won her victory. In the darkness Cairns threw +his arms round her. He drew her towards him, moved, the least bit +hysterical. As if fearful of losing her he crushed her against his shirt +front.</p> + +<p>Victoria did not resist him. Her eyes fixed on the blackness of the roof +she submitted to the growing brutality of his kisses on her neck, her +shoulders, her cheeks. Pressed close against him she did not withdraw +her knees from the grasp of his.</p> + +<p>'Kiss me,' whispered Cairns imperiously.</p> + +<p>She cast down her eyes; she could hardly see his face in the darkness, +nothing but the glitter of his eyeballs. Then, unhurried and purposeful, +she pressed her lips to his. The lights went up again. Many of the crowd +were stirring; Victoria stretched out her arms in a gesture of +weariness.</p> + +<p>'Let's go home, Vic,' said Cairns, 'you're tired.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, no, I'm not tired,' she said. 'I don't mind staying.'</p> + +<p>'Well, you're bored.'</p> + +<p>'No, not at all, it's quite interesting,' said Victoria judicially.</p> + +<p>'Come along, Vic,' said Cairns sharply. He got up.</p> + +<p>She looked up at him. His face was redder, more swollen than it had been +half-an-hour before. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> eyes followed every movement of her arms and +shoulders. With a faint smile of understanding and the patience of those +who play lone hands, she got up and let him put on her wrap. As she put +it on she made him feel against his fingers the sweep of her arm; she +rested for a moment her shoulder against his.</p> + +<p>In the cab they did not exchange a word. Victoria's eyes were fixed on +the leaden sky; she was this man's prey. But, after all, one man's prey +or another? The prey of those who demand bitter toil from the charwoman, +the female miner, the P.R.R. girl; or of those who want kisses, soft +flesh, pungent scents, what did it all amount to? And, in Oxford Street, +a sky sign in the shape of a horse-shoe advertising whisky suddenly +reminded her of the half hoop, a step towards that capital which meant +freedom. No, she was not the prey—at least not in the sense of the bait +which finally captures the salmon.</p> + +<p>Cairns had not spoken a word. Victoria looked at him furtively. His +hands were clenched before him; in his eyes shone an indomitable +purpose. He was going to the feast and he would foot the bill. On +arriving at Elm Tree Place he walked at once into his dressing room, +while Victoria went into her bedroom. She knew his mood well and knew +too that he would not be long. She did not fancy overmuch the scene she +could conjure up. In another minute or two he would come in with the +culture of a thousand years ground down, smothered beneath the lava-like +flow of animalism. He would come with his hands shaking, ready to be +cruel in the exaction of his rights. She hovered between repulsion and +an anxiety which was almost anticipation; Cairns was the known and the +unknown at once. But whatever his demands they should be met and +satisfied, for business is business and its justification is profits. So +Victoria braced herself and, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> feverish activity, twisted up her +hair, sprayed herself with scent, jumped into bed and turned out the +light.</p> + +<p>As she did so the door opened. She was conscious for a fraction of a +second of the bright quadrilateral of the open door where Cairns stood +framed, a broad black silhouette.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IIIb" id="CHAPTER_IIIb"></a>CHAPTER III</h3> + + +<p>'<span class="smcap">Yes</span>, I'm a lucky beggar,' soliloquised Cairns. He gave a tug to the +leads at which two Pekingese spaniels were straining. 'Come along, you +little brutes,' he growled. The spaniels, intent upon a piece of soiled +brown paper in the gutter, refused to move.</p> + +<p>'Obstinate, sir,' said a policeman respectfully.</p> + +<p>'Devilish. Simply devilish. Fine day, isn't it?'</p> + +<p>'Blowing up for rain, sir.'</p> + +<p>'Maybe. Come along, Snoo; that'll do.'</p> + +<p>Cairns dragged the dogs up the road. Snoo and Poo, husband and wife, had +suddenly fascinated him in Villiers Street that morning. He was on his +way to offer them at Victoria's shrine. Instinctively he liked the smart +dog, as he liked the smart woman and the American novel. Snoo and Poo, +tiny, fat, curly, khaki-coloured, with their flat Kalmuck faces, +unwillingly trundled behind him. They would, thought Cairns, be in +keeping with the establishment. A pleasant establishment. A nice little +house, in its quiet street where nothing ever seemed to pass, except +every hour or so a cab. It was better than a home, for it offered all +that a home offers, soft carpets, discreet servants, nice little lunches +among flowers and well-cleaned plate, and beyond, something that no home +contains. It was adventurous. Cairns had knocked about the world a good +deal and had collected sensations as finer natures collect thoughts. The +women of the past<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> met and caressed on steam-boats, in hotels at Cairo, +Singapore and Cape Town, the tea gardens of Kobe and the stranger +mysteries of Zanzibar, all this had left him weary and sighing for +something like the English home. Indeed he grew more sentimental as he +thought of Dover cliffs every time his tailor called the measurement of +his girth. An extra quarter of an inch invariably coincided with a +sentimental pang. Cairns, however, would not yet have been capable of +settling down in a hunting county with a well-connected wife, a costly +farming experiment and the shilling weeklies. A transition was required; +he had no gift of introspection, but his relations with Victoria were +expressions of this mood. Thus he was happy.</p> + +<p>He never entered the little house in Elm Tree Place without a thrill of +pleasure. Under the placid mask of its respectability and all that went +with it, clean white steps, half curtains, bulbs in the window boxes, +there flowed for him a swift hot stream. And in that stream flourished a +beautiful white lily whose petals opened and smiled at will.</p> + +<p>'I wonder whether I'm in love with her?' This was a frequent subject for +Cairns's meditations. Victoria was so much more for him than any other +woman had been that he always hesitated to answer. She charmed him +sensually, but other women had done likewise; she was beautiful, but he +could conceive of greater beauty. Her intellect he did not consider, for +he was almost unaware of it. For him she was clever, in the sense that +women are clever in men's eyes when they can give a smart answer, +understand Bradshaw and order a possible combination at a restaurant. +What impressed him was Victoria's coolness, the balance of her unhurried +mind. Now and then he caught her reading curious books, such as +<i>Smiles's Self-Help</i>, <i>Letters of a Self-Made Merchant to his Son</i> and +<i>Thus Spake Zara . . .<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> Something</i>, by a man with a funny name; but this +was all part of her character and of its novelty. He did not worry to +scratch the surface of this brain; virgin soils did not interest him in +the mental sense. Sometimes, when he enounced a political opinion or +generalised on the problems of the day as stated in the morning paper, +he would find, a little uneasily, her eyes fixed on him with a strangely +interested look. But her eyelids would at once be lowered and her lips +would part, showing a little redder and moister, causing his heart to +beat quicker, and he would forget his perplexity as he took her hand and +stroked her arm with gentle insistence.</p> + +<p>Cairns dragged Snoo and Poo up the steps of the little house still +grumbling, panting and protesting that, as drawing-room dogs, they +objected to exercise in any form. He had a latchkey, but always +refrained from using it. He liked to ring the bell, to feel like a +guest. It would have been commonplace to enter <i>his</i> hall and hang up +<i>his</i> hat on <i>his</i> peg. That would have been home and home only. To ask +whether Mrs Ferris was in was more adventurous, for she might be out. +And if she expected him, then it was an assignation; adventure again.</p> + +<p>The unimposing Mary let him in. For a fraction of a second she looked at +the Major, then at the floor.</p> + +<p>'Mrs Ferris in?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, sir, Mrs Ferris is in the boudoir.' Mary's voice fell on the last +necessary word like a dropgate. She had been asked a question and +answered it. That was the end of it. Cairns was the master of her +mistress. What respect she owed was paid.</p> + +<p>Cairns deposited his hat and coat in Mary's hands. Then, lifting Snoo +under one arm and Poo under the other, both grumbling vigorously and +kicking with their hind legs, he walked to the boudoir and pushed it +open with his shoulder. Victoria was sitting at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> the little bureau +writing a letter. Cairns watched her for two seconds, rejoicing in the +firm white moulding of her neck, in the dark tendrils of hair clustering +low, dwindling into the central line of down which tells of breeding and +health. Then Victoria turned round sharply.</p> + +<p>'Oh,' she said, with a little gasp. 'Oh, Tom, the ducks!'</p> + +<p>Cairns laughed and, walking up to her, dropped Snoo on her lap and Poo, +snuffling ferociously, on the floor. Victoria buried her hands in Snoo's +thick coat; the dog gurgled joyfully and rolled over on its side. +Victoria laughed, muzzling Snoo with her hand.</p> + +<p>Cairns watched the picture for, a moment. He was absurdly reminded of a +girl in Java who nursed a black marmoset against her yellow breast. And +as Victoria looked up at him, her chin now resting on Snoo's brown head, +a soft wave of scent rose towards him. He knelt down, throwing his arms +round her and the dog, gathering them both into his embrace. As his lips +met hers and clung to them, her perfume and the ranker scent of the dog +filled his nostrils, burning aphrodisiac into his brain.</p> + +<p>Victoria freed herself gently and rose to her feet, still nursing Snoo, +and laughingly pushed him into Cairns's face.</p> + +<p>'Kiss him,' she said, 'no favours here.'</p> + +<p>Cairns obeyed, then picked up Poo and sat down on the couch.</p> + +<p>'This is sweet of you, Tom,' said Victoria. 'They <i>are</i> lovebirds.'</p> + +<p>'I'm glad you like them; this is Poo I'm holding, yours is Snoo.'</p> + +<p>'Odd names,' said Victoria.</p> + +<p>'Chinese according to the dealer,' said Cairns, 'but I don't pretend to +know what they mean.'</p> + +<p>'Never mind,' said Victoria, 'they're lovebirds, and so are you, Tom.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> + +<p>Cairns looked at her silently, at her full erect figure and smiling +eyes. He was a lucky beggar, a damned lucky beggar.</p> + +<p>'And what is this bribe for?' she asked.</p> + +<p>'Oh, nothing. Knew you'd like them, beastly tempers and as game as mice. +Women's dogs, you know.'</p> + +<p>'Generalising again, Tom. Besides I hate mice.'</p> + +<p>Cairns drew her down by his side on the couch. Everything in this woman +interested and stimulated him. She was always fresh, always young. The +touch of her hand, the smell of her hair, the feel of her skirts winding +round his ankles, all that was magic; every little act of hers was a +taking of possession. Every time he mirrored his face in her eyes and +saw the eyelids slowly veil and unveil them, something like love crept +into his soul. But every passionate embrace left him weak and almost +repelled. She was his property; he had paid for her; and, insistent +thought, what would she have done if he had not been rich?</p> + +<p>Half an hour passed away. Victoria lay passive in his arms. Snoo and +Poo, piled in a heap, were snuffling drowsily. There was a ring at the +front door, then a slam. They could hear voices. They started up.</p> + +<p>'Who the deuce . . . .?' said Cairns.</p> + +<p>Then they heard someone in the dining-room beyond the door. There was a +knock at the door of the boudoir.</p> + +<p>'Come in,' said Victoria.</p> + +<p>Mary entered. Her placid eyes passed over the Major's tie which had +burst out of his waistcoat, Victoria's tumbled hair.</p> + +<p>'Mr Wren, mum,' she said.</p> + +<p>Victoria staggered. Her hands knotted themselves together convulsively.</p> + +<p>'Good God,' she whispered.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Who is it? What does he want? What name did you say?' asked Cairns. +Victoria's excitement was infecting him.</p> + +<p>Victoria did not answer. Mary stood before them, her eyes downcast +before the drama. She was waiting for orders.</p> + +<p>'Can't you speak?' growled Cairns. 'Who is it?'</p> + +<p>Victoria found her voice at last.</p> + +<p>'My brother,' she said hoarsely.</p> + +<p>Cairns did not say a word. He walked once up and once down the room, +stopped before the mirror to settle his tie. Then turned to Mary.</p> + +<p>'Tell the gentleman Mrs Ferris can't see him!'</p> + +<p>Mary turned to go. There was a sound of footsteps in the dining-room. +The button of the door turned twice as if somebody was trying to open +it. The door was locked but Cairns almost leaped towards it. Victoria +stopped him.</p> + +<p>'No,' she said, 'let me have it out. Tell Mr Wren I'm coming, Mary.'</p> + +<p>Mary turned away. The incident was fading from her mind as a stone fades +away as it falls into an abyss. Victoria clung to Cairns and whispered +in his ear.</p> + +<p>'Tom, go away, go away. Come back in an hour. I beg you.'</p> + +<p>'No, old girl, I'm going to see you through,' said Cairns doggedly.</p> + +<p>'No, no, don't.' There was fear in her voice. 'I must have it out. Go +away, for my sake, Tom.'</p> + +<p>She pushed him gently into the hall, forced him to pick up his hat and +stick and closed the door behind him. She braced herself for the effort; +for a second the staircase shivered before her eyes like a road in the +heat.</p> + +<p>'Now for it,' she said, 'I'm in for a row.'</p> + +<p>A pleasant little tingle was in her veins. She opened the dining-room +door. It was not very light.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> There was a slight singing in her ears. +She saw nothing before her except a man's legs clad in worn grey +trousers where the knees jutted forward sharply. With an effort she +raised her eyes and looked Edward in the face.</p> + +<p>He was pale and thin as ever. A ragged wisp of yellow hair hung over the +left side of his forehead. He peered at her through his silver-mounted +glasses. His hands were twisting at his watch chain, quickly, nervously, +like a mouse in a wheel. As she looked at his weak mouth his +insignificance was revealed to her. Was this, this creature with the +vague idealistic face, the high shoulders, something to be afraid of? +Pooh!</p> + +<p>'Well, Edward?' she said, involuntarily aggressive.</p> + +<p>Wren did not answer. His hands suddenly stopped revolving.</p> + +<p>'Well, Edward?' she repeated. 'So you've found me?'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' he said at length. 'I . . . . Yes, I've found you.' The movement +of his hands began again.</p> + +<p>'Well?'</p> + +<p>'I know. I've found out. . . . I went to Finsbury.'</p> + +<p>'Oh? I suppose you mean you tracked me from my old rooms. I suppose +Betty told you I . . . my new occupation.'</p> + +<p>Wren jumped.</p> + +<p>'Damn,' he growled. 'Damn you.'</p> + +<p>Victoria smiled. Edward swearing. It was too funny. What an awful thing +it was to have a sense of humour.</p> + +<p>'You seem to know all about it,' she said smoothly. 'But what do you +want?'</p> + +<p>'How dare you,' growled Edward. 'A woman like you. . . . .'</p> + +<p>A hard look came into Victoria's eyes.</p> + +<p>'That will do Edward, I know my own business.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, a dirty business.' A hot flush spread over the man's thin cheeks.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + +<p>'You little cur.' Victoria smiled; she could feel her lips baring her +eye teeth. 'Fool.'</p> + +<p>Edward stared at her. Passion was stifling his words.</p> + +<p>'It's a lot you know about life, schoolmaster,' she sneered. 'Who are +you to preach at me? Is it your business if I choose to sell my body +instead of selling my labour?'</p> + +<p>'You're disgraced.' His voice went down to a hoarse whisper. +'Disgraced.'</p> + +<p>Victoria felt a wave of heat pass over her body.</p> + +<p>'Disgraced, you fool? Will anybody ever teach you what disgrace is? +There's no such thing as disgrace for a woman. All women are disgraced +when they're born. We're parasites, toys. That's all we are. You've got +two kinds of uses for us, lords and masters! One kind is honourable +labour, as you say, namely the work undertaken by what you call the +lower classes; the other's a share in the nuptial couch, whether illegal +or legal. Yes, your holy matrimony is only another name for my +profession.'</p> + +<p>'You've no right to say that,' cried Edward. 'You're trying to drag down +marriage to your level. When a woman marries she gives herself because +she loves; then her sacrifice is sublime.' He stopped for a second. +Idealism, sentimentalism, other names for ignorance of life, clashed in +his self-conscious brain without producing light. 'Oh, Victoria,' he +said, 'you don't know how awful it is for me to find you like this, my +little sister . . . of course you can't love him . . . if you'd married +him it would have been different.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, Edward, so that's your philosophy. You say that though I don't love +him, if I'd married him it would have been different. So you won't let +me surrender to a man unless I can trick him or goad him into binding +himself to me for life. If I don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> love him I may marry him and make +his life a hell and I shall be a good woman; but I mustn't live with him +illegally so that he may stick to me only so long as he cares for me.'</p> + +<p>'I didn't say that,' stammered Edward. 'Of course, it's wrong to marry a +man you don't care for . . . but marriage is different, it sanctifies.'</p> + +<p>'Sanctifies! Nothing sanctifies anything. Our deeds are holy or unholy +in themselves. Oh, understand me well, I claim no ethical revelation; I +don't care whether my deeds are holy or not. I judge nothing, not even +myself. All I say is that your holy bond is a farce; if women were +free—that is, trained, able and allowed to earn fair wages for fair +labour—then marriage might be holy. But marriage for a woman is a +monetary contract. It means that she is kept, clothed, amused; she is +petted like a favourite dog, indulged like a spoiled child. In exchange +she gives her body.'</p> + +<p>'No, no.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, yes. And the difference between a married woman and me is her +superior craft, her ability to secure a grip upon a man. You respect her +because she is permanent, as you respect a vested interest.'</p> + +<p>The flush rose again in Edward's cheeks. As he lost ground he fortified +his obstinacy.</p> + +<p>'You've sold yourself,' he said quickly, 'gone down into the gutter +. . . . Oh!'</p> + +<p>'The gutter.' Victoria was so full of contempt that it almost hurt her. +'Of course I'm in the gutter. I always was in the gutter. I was in the +gutter when I married and my husband boarded and lodged me to be his +favourite. I was in the gutter when I had to kow-tow to underbred +people; to be a companion is to prostitute friendship. You don't mind +that, do you? I was in the gutter in the tea shops, when I decoyed men +into coming to the place because they could touch me, breathe me. I'm in +the gutter now,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> but I'm in the right one. I've found the one that's +going to make me free.'</p> + +<p>Edward was shaken by her passion.</p> + +<p>'You'll never be free,' he faltered, 'you're an outcast.'</p> + +<p>'An outcast from what?' sneered Victoria. 'From society? What has +society done for me? It's kicked me, it's bled me. It's made me work ten +hours a day for eight bob a week. It'd have sucked me dry and offered me +the workhouse, or the Thames at the end. It made me almost a cripple.'</p> + +<p>Edward stared.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Victoria savagely. 'That makes you squirm, sentimentalist. +Look at that!'</p> + +<p>She put her foot on a chair, tucked up her skirt, tore down the +stocking. Purplish still, the veins stood out on the firm white flesh.</p> + +<p>Edward clenched both his hands and looked away. A look of pain was in +his eyes.</p> + +<p>'Yes, look at that,' raged Victoria. 'That's what your society's done +for me. It's chucked me into the water to teach me to swim, and it's +gloated over every choke. It's fine talking about chivalry, isn't it, +when you see what honest labour's done for me, isn't it? It's fine +talking about purity when you see the price your society pays me for +being what I am, isn't it? Look at me. Look at my lace, look at my +diamonds, look at my house . . . and think of the other side: eight bob +a week, ten hours work a day, a room with no fire, and a bed with no +sheets. But I know your society now, and as I can't kill it I'll cheat +it. I've served it and it's got two years of my life; but I'm going to +get enough out of it to make it crawl.'</p> + +<p>She strode towards Edward.</p> + +<p>'So don't you come preaching to me,' she hissed.</p> + +<p>Edward's head bent down. Slowly he walked towards the door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Yes,' she said, 'go. I've no use for you. I'm out for stronger meat.'</p> + +<p>He opened the door, then, without looking up,</p> + +<p>'Good-bye,' he said.</p> + +<p>The door closed behind him. Victoria looked about her for some seconds, +then sat down in the carving chair, her arms outstretched on the table. +Her teeth were clenched now, her jaw set; with indomitable purpose she +looked out into the darkening room where she saw the battle and victory +of life.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IVb" id="CHAPTER_IVb"></a>CHAPTER IV</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Victoria</span> had never loved adventure for its own sake. The change from +drudgery to leisure was grateful as was all it brought in the shape of +pretty clothes, jewels and savoury dishes; but she realised every day +better that, taking it as a profession, her career was no great success. +It afforded her a fair livelihood, but the wasting asset of her beauty +could not be replaced; thus it behoved her to amortize its value at a +rapid rate. She felt much better in health; her varicose veins had gone +down a good deal, but she still preserved a dark mystery about them; +after six months of intimate association, Cairns did not yet know why he +had never seen Victoria without her stockings. Being man of the world +enough to know that discretion is happiness, he had never pressed the +point; a younger or more sensitive man would have torn away the veil, so +as to achieve total intimacy at the risk of wrecking it. He was not of +these, and vaguely Victoria did not thank him for a sentiment half +discreet, half indifferent; such an attitude for a lover suggested +disregard for essentials. As she grew stronger and healthier her brain +worked more clearly, and she began to realise that even ten years of +association with this man would yield no more than a pittance. And it +would be difficult to hold him for ten years.</p> + +<p>Victoria certainly went ably to work to preserve for Cairns the feeling +of novelty and adventure. It was practically in deference to her +suggestions that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> retained his chambers; he soon realised her wisdom +and entered into the spirit of their life. He still understood very well +the pleasure of being her guest. Victoria found no decline in his +desire; perhaps it was less fiery, but it was as coarse and as constant. +Certainly she was woman for him rather than merely a woman; moreover she +was a habit. Victoria saw this clearly enough and resolved to make the +most of it.</p> + +<p>In accordance with her principles she kept her expenses down. She would +not even allow herself the luxury of a maid; she found it cheaper to pay +Mary higher wages. When Cairns was not expected her lunch was of the +simplest, and Charlotte discovered with amazement that her rakish +mistress could check a grocer's book. Victoria was not even above +cheating the Water Board by omitting to register her garden tap. All +these, however, were petty economies; they would result in a saving of +perhaps three hundred a year, a beggarly sum when pitted against the +uncertainties of her profession.</p> + +<p>She realised all this within three or four months of her new departure, +and promptly decided that Cairns must be made to yield a higher revenue. +She felt that she could not very well tell him that a thousand a year +was not enough; on the face of it it was ample. It was necessary +therefore to launch out a little. The first step was to increase her +visible supply of clothes, and this was easily done by buying the cheap +and effective instead of the expensive and good. Cairns knew enough +about women's clothes to detect this now and then, but the changes +bewildered him a little and he had some difficulty in seeing the +difference between the latest thing and the cheapest. Whenever she was +with him she affected the manners of a spendthrift; she would call cabs +to carry her a hundred yards, give a beggar a shilling, or throw a pair +of gloves out of the window because they had been worn once.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> + +<p>Cairns smiled tolerantly. She might as well have her fling, he thought, +and a lack of discipline was as charming in a mistress as it was +deplorable in a wife. He was therefore not surprised when, one morning, +he found Victoria apparently nervous and worried. She owned that she was +short of cash. In fact the manager of her bank had written to point out +that her account was overdrawn.</p> + +<p>'Dear me,' said Cairns with mock gravity, 'you've been going it, old +girl! What's all this? "Self," "Self," why all these cheques are to +"Self." You'll go broke.'</p> + +<p>'I suppose I shall,' said Victoria wearily. 'I don't know how I do it, +Tom. I'm no good at accounts. And I hate asking you for more money . . . +but what am I to do?'</p> + +<p>She crossed her hands over her knees and looked up at him with a pretty +expression of appeal. Cairns laughed.</p> + +<p>'Don't worry,' he said, curling a lock of her hair round a fat +forefinger. 'I'll see you through.'</p> + +<p>Victoria received that afternoon a cheque for two hundred and fifty +pounds which she paid into her account. She did not, however, inform +Cairns that the proceeds of the "Self" cheques had been paid into a +separate account which she had opened with another bank. By this means, +she was always able to exhibit a gloomy pass book whenever it was +required.</p> + +<p>Having discovered that Cairns was squeezable Victoria felt more hopeful +as to the future. She was his only luxury and made the most of his +liking for jewellery and furs. She even hit upon the more ingenious +experiment of interesting Barbezan Soeurs in her little speculations. +The device was not novel: for a consideration of ten per cent these +bustling dressmakers were ready to provide fictitious bills and even +solicitor's letters couched in frigidly menacing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> terms. Cairns laughed +and paid solidly. He had apparently far more money than he needed. +Victoria was almost an economy; without her he would have lost a fortune +at bridge, kept a yacht perhaps and certainly a motor. As it was he was +quite content with his poky chambers in St James', a couple of clubs +which he never thought of entering, the house in Elm Tree Place and a +stock of good cigars.</p> + +<p>Cairns was happy, and Victoria labouring lightly for large profits, was +contented too. Theirs were lazy lives, for Cairns was a man who could +loaf. He loafed so successfully that he did not even think of +interfering with Victoria's reading. She now read steadily and +voraciously; she eschewed novels, fearing the influence of sentiment. +'It will be time for sentiment by and by,' she sometimes told herself. +Meanwhile she armoured her heart and sharpened her wits. The earlier +political opinions which had formed in her mind under the pressure of +toil remained unchanged but did not develop. She recognised herself as a +parasite and almost gloried in it. She evolved as a system of philosophy +that one's conduct in life is a matter of alternatives. Nothing was good +and nothing was evil; things were better than others or worse and there +was an end of her morality. Victoria had no patience with theories. One +day, much to Cairns surprise, she violently flung Ingersoll's essays +into the fender.</p> + +<p>'Steady on,' said Cairns, 'steady on, old girl.'</p> + +<p>'Such rot,' she snarled.</p> + +<p>'Hear, hear,' said Cairns, picking up the book and looking at its title. +'Serve you right for reading that sort of stuff. I can't make you out, +Vic.'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at him with a faint smile, but refused to assign a cause +for her anger. In fact she had suddenly been irritated by Ingersoll's +definition of morality. 'Perceived obligation,' she thought.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> 'And I +don't perceive any obligation!' She consoled herself suddenly with the +thought that her amorality was a characteristic of the superman.</p> + +<p>The superman preoccupied her now and then. He was a good subject for +speculation because imponderable and inexistent. The nearest approach +she could think of was a cross between an efficient colonial governor +and a latter-day prophet. She believed quite sincerely that the day must +come when children of the light must be born, capable of ruling and of +keeping the law. She saw very well too that their production did not lie +with an effete aristocracy any more than with a dirty and drunken +democracy; probably they would be neo-plutocrats, men full of ambition, +lusting for power and yet imbued with a spirit of icy justice. Her +earliest tendency had been towards an idealistic socialism. Burning with +her own wrongs and touched by the angelic wing of sympathy, she had seen +in the communisation of wealth the only means of curbing the evils it +had hitherto wrought. Further observation showed her however that an +idealism of this kind would not lead the world speedily into a peaceful +haven. She saw too well that covetousness was still lurking snakelike in +the bosom of man, ready to rear its ugly head and strike at any hand. +Thus she was not surprised to see the chaos which reigned among +socialists, their intriguing, their jealousies, their unending +dissensions, their apostacies. This did not throw her back into the +stereotyped philosophy of individualism; for she could not help seeing +that the system of modern life was absurd, stupidly wasteful above all +of time, labour and wealth. To apply Nietzscheism to socialism was, +however, beyond her; to reconcile the two doctrines which apparently +conflict and really only overlap was a task too difficult for a brain +which had lain fallow for twenty-five years. But she dimly felt that +Nietzscheism did not mean a glorified imperialism,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> but a worship of +intellectual efficiency and the stringent morality of <i>noblesse oblige</i>.</p> + +<p>Where Victoria began to part issue with her own thoughts was when she +considered the position of women. Their outlook was one of unrelieved +gloom; and it one day came upon her as a revelation that Nietzsche and +Schopenhauer, following in a degree on Rousseau, had forgotten women in +the scheme of life. There might be supermen but there would be no +superwomen: if the supermen were true to their type they would have to +crush and to dominate the women. As the latter fared so hard at the +hands of the pigmies of to-day, what would they do if they could not +develop in time to resist the sons of Anak? Victoria saw that the world +was entering upon a sex war. Hitherto a shameful state of peace had left +women in the hands of men, turning over the other cheek to the smiter. +The sex war, however, held forth no hopes to her; in the dim future, sex +equality might perhaps prevail; but she saw nothing to indicate that +women had sown the seeds of their victory. She had no wish to enrol +herself in the ranks of those who were waging an almost hopeless battle, +armed with untrained intellects and unathletic bodies. She could not get +away from the fact that the best woman athletes cannot compete with +ordinary men, that even women with high intellectual qualifications had +not ousted from commanding positions men of inferior ability.</p> + +<p>All this, she thought, was unjust; but why hope for a change? There was +nothing to show that men grew much better as a sex; then why pin faith +to the coming of better times? Women were parasites, working only under +constraint, badly and at uncongenial tasks; their right to live was +based on their capacity to please. This brought her to her own +situation. The future lay before her in the shape of two roads. One was +the road which led to the struggle for life; ending, she felt it too +well, in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> crawl to death on crippled limbs. The other was the road +along which grew roses, roses which she could pluck and sell to men; at +the end of that was the heaven of independence. It had golden gates; it +was guarded by an angel in white garments with a palm leaf in his hands +and beyond lay the pleasant places where she had a right of way. And as +she looked again the heaven with the golden gates turned into a bank +with a commissionaire at the door.</p> + +<p>Her choice being made, she did not regret it. For the time being her +life was pleasant enough, and if it could be made a little more +profitable it would soon be well worth living, and her freedom would be +earned. Meanwhile she took pleasure in small things. The little house +was almost a show place, so delicate and refined were its inner and +outer details. Victoria saw to it that frequently changed flowers +decorated the beds in the front garden; Japanese trees, dwarfed and +gnarled, stood right and left of the steps, scowling like tiny Titans; +all the blinds in the house were a mass of insertion. These blinds were +a feature for her; they implied secrecy. Behind the half blinds were +thick curtains of decorated muslin; behind these again, heavy curtains +which could be drawn at will. They were the impenetrable veil which +closed off from the world and its brutalities this oasis of forbidden +joys.</p> + +<p>In the house also she was ever elaborating, sybaritising her life. She +had a branch telephone fixed at the head of her bed; the first time that +Cairns used it to tell his man to bring up his morning coat she had the +peculiar sensation that her bed was in touch with the world. She could +call up anybody, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Governor of the Bank +of England or the headquarters of the Salvation Army. Her bed was the +centre of the world. She fitted the doors of her bedroom and her boudoir +with curious little locks which acted on the pressure of a finger<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> for +her mind was turned on delicacies and the sharp click of a bolt, the +grating of a key savoured of the definite, therefore of the coarse. A +twist of the knob between two fingers and the world was silently shut +out.</p> + +<p>Now too that she was beautiful once more she revelled in mirrors. The +existing ones in her bedroom and in the boudoir were not enough; they +were public, unintimate. She had a high mirror fixed in the bathroom, so +that she could see herself in her freshness, covered with pearly beads +like a naiad. She rejoiced in her beauty, in her renewed strength; she +often stood for many minutes in the dim steamy light of the room, +analysing her body, its grace and youth, with a growing consciousness of +latent power. Then, suddenly, the faint violet streaks of the varicose +veins would intrude upon the rite and she would wrap herself up +jealously in her bath robe so that not even the mirror should be a +confidant of the past.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_Vb" id="CHAPTER_Vb"></a>CHAPTER V</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Week</span> after week passed on, and now monotony drew her stifling cloak over +Victoria. Cairns was still in a state of beatitude which made him an +unexciting companion; satisfied in his egoism, it never came into his +mind that Victoria could tire of her life. He spent many afternoons in +the back garden under a rose-covered pergola. By his side was a little +table with a syphon, a decanter of whisky, and a box of cigars; he read +desultorily, sometimes the latest motor novel, at other times the +improving memoirs of eighteenth century noblewomen. Now and then he +would look approvingly at Victoria in plain white drill, delightfully +mischievous under a sun-bonnet, and relapse into his book. Once he +quoted 'A flask of wine, a book of verse. . . .' and Victoria went into +sudden fits of laughter when she remembered Neville Brown. The single +hackneyed line seemed to link malekind together.</p> + +<p>Cairns was already talking of going away. June was oppressively hot and +he was hankering after some quiet place where he might do some +sea-fishing and get some golf. He was becoming dangerously fat; and +Victoria, foreseeing a long and very cheap holiday, favoured the idea in +every way. They could go up to Scotland later too; but Cairns rather +hesitated about this, for he neither cared to show off Victoria before +the people he knew on the moors, nor to leave her for a fortnight. He +was paying the penalty of Capua. His plans were set back, however, by +serious trouble<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> which had taken place on his Irish estate, his though +still in the hands of Marmaduke Cairns's executors. There had been +nightriding, cattle driving, some boycotting. The situation grew so +tense that the executors advised Cairns to sell the estate to the +tenants but the latter declined the terms; matters came to a deadlock +and it was quite on the cards that an application might be made under +the Irish Land Act. It was clear that in this case the terms would be +bad, and Cairns was called to Limerick by telegram as a last chance. He +left Victoria, grumbling and cursing Ireland and all things Irish.</p> + +<p>Left to herself, Victoria felt rather at a loose end. The cheerful if +uninteresting personality of Major Cairns had a way of filling the +house. He had an expansive mind; it was almost chubby. For two days she +rather enjoyed her freedom. The summer was gorgeous; St John's Wood was +bursting everywhere into flower; the trees were growing opaque in the +parks. At every street corner little whirlwinds of dry grit swayed in +the hot air. One afternoon Victoria indulged in the luxury of a hired +private carriage, and flaunted it with the best in the long line on the +south side of the Park. Wedged for a quarter of an hour in the mass she +felt a glow come over her. The horses all round her shone like polished +wood, the carriage panels were lustrous, the harness was glittering, the +brass burnished; all the world seemed to radiate warmth and light. Gaily +enough, because not jaded by repetition, she caused the carriage to do +the Ring, twice. She felt for a moment that she was free, that she could +vie with those women whose lazy detachment she stirred for a moment into +curiosity by her deep eyes, dark piled hair and the audacity of her +diaphanous <i>crčpe de chine</i>.</p> + +<p>Cairns was still in Ireland, struggling conscientiously to pile up +unearned increment; and Victoria, thoroughly aimless, suddenly bethought +herself of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> Farwell. She had been remiss in what was almost a duty. +Surely she ought to report progress to the man who had helped to open +her eyes to the realities of life. She had misapplied his teaching +perhaps, or rather remoulded it, but still it was his teaching. Or +rather it was what a woman should know, as opposed to what Thomas +Farwell preached; if men were to practise that, then she should revise +her philosophy.</p> + +<p>At ten minutes to one she entered the Moorgate Street P.R.R. with a +little thrill. Everything breathed familiarity; it was like coming home, +but better, for it is sweeter to revisit the place where one has +suffered, when one has emerged, than to brood with gentle sorrow on the +spot, where there once was joy. She knew every landmark, the +tobacconist, the picture shop, still full of 'Mother's Helps' and of +'artistic' studies in the nude; there was the red-coated bootblack too, +as dirty and as keenly solicitous as ever. The P.R.R. itself did not +chill her. In the crude June sunlight its nickel shone gaily enough. +Everything was as before; the cakes had been moulded in the old moulds, +and here was the old bill of fare, unchanged no doubt; even the +marble-topped tables and the half cleaned cruets looked kindly upon her; +but the tesselated red and blue floor aroused the hateful memory of +another Victoria on her hands and knees, an old sack round her waist, +painfully swaying from right to left, swabbing the tiles. Little +rivulets of water and dirt flowed slowly across the spectre's hand.</p> + +<p>As she went down the steps into the smoking-room she crossed with the +manageress, still buxom and erect; but she passed unnoticed, for this +was the busy hour when the chief tried to be simultaneously on three +floors. The room was not so full as it had once been. She sat down at a +little table and watched the familiar scene for some minutes. She told +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> girl she would wait a minute, for she did not want to miss Farwell. +The world had gone round, but apparently the P.R.R. was the axis. There +in the corner were the chess players; to-day they only ran four boards, +but at one of them a fierce discussion was going on as to a variation of +the queen's pawn opening. On the other side of the room were the young +domino players, laughing and smoking cigarettes. The fat and yellow +Levantine was missing. Victoria regretted him, for the apocalyptic +figure was an essential part of the ugly past. But there was 'old dry +toast' all alone at his little table. He had not changed; his white hair +still framed thickly his beautiful old brown face. There he sat, still +silent and desolate, waiting for the end. Victoria felt a pang of +sorrow. She was not quite hardened yet and she realised it angrily. +There must be no sympathy and no quarter in her game of life. It was too +late or too soon for that. Victoria let her eyes stray round the room. +There were the young men and boys or some of the same breed, in their +dark suits, brilliant ties, talking noisily, chaffing one another, +gulping down their small teas and toasted scones. A conversation between +two older men was wafted in to her ears.</p> + +<p>'Awful. Have you tried annelicide?'</p> + +<p>At that moment a short broad figure walked smartly down the steps. It +was Thomas Farwell, a thin red book under his arm. He went straight +through to the old table, propped his book against the cruet and began +to read. Victoria surveyed him critically. He was thinner than ever; his +hair was more plentifully sprinkled with grey but had receded no +further. He was quite near her, so she could see his unbrushed collar +and his frayed cuffs. After a moment the girl came and stood before him; +it was Nelly, big and raw-boned as ever, handsome still like the fine +beast of burden she was. She wore no apron<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> now in proud token of her +new position as head waitress. Now the voices by her side were talking +holidays.</p> + +<p>'No, Ramsgit's good enough for me. Broadstairs and all these little +places, they're so tony—'</p> + +<p>Maud passed quickly before Victoria. The poor little girl was as white +as ever; her flaccid cheeks danced up and down as she ran. The other +voice was relating at length how its owner had taken his good lady to +Deal. Nelly had left Farwell, walking more slowly than the other girls, +as befitted her station. Victoria felt herself pluck up a little +courage, crossed the room followed by many admiring glances, and quickly +sat down at Farwell's table. He looked up quickly. The book dropped +suddenly from the cruet.</p> + +<p>'Victoria,' he gasped.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' she said smiling.</p> + +<p>'Well . . .' His eyes ran over her close fitting tussore dress, her +white kid gloves.</p> + +<p>'Is that all you've got to say to me?' she asked. 'Won't you shake +hands?'</p> + +<p>Farwell put out his hand and held hers for a second. He was smiling now, +with just a touch of wistfulness in his eyes.</p> + +<p>'I'm very glad to see you,' he said at length.</p> + +<p>'So am I,' said Victoria. 'I hope you don't mind my coming here, but I +only thought of it this morning.'</p> + +<p>'Mind,' snapped Farwell. 'People who understand everything never mind +anything.'</p> + +<p>Victoria smiled again. The bumptious aphorism was a sign that Farwell +was still himself. For a minute or so they looked at one another. +Victoria wondered at this man; so powerful intellectually and +physically; and yet content to live in his ideals on a pittance, to do +dull work, to be a subordinate. Truly a caged lion. Farwell, on the +other hand, was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> looking in vain for some physical ravishes to justify +Victoria's profession, for some gross development at least. He looked in +vain. Instead of the pale dark girl with large grey eyes whom he had +known, he now saw a healthy and beautiful woman with a clear white skin, +thick hair, red lips.</p> + +<p>'Well,' he said with a laugh, 'can I invite you to lunch with me?'</p> + +<p>'You may,' she said. 'I'll have a small coffee and . . . a sunny side +up.'</p> + +<p>Farwell laughed and signed to Nelly. After a minute he attracted her +attention and gave the order without Nelly taking any interest in +Farwell's guest. It might be rather extraordinary, but her supervisory +duties were all-absorbent. When she returned, however, she stole a +curious look at Victoria while placing before her the poached egg on +toast. She looked at her again, and her eyes dilated.</p> + +<p>'Law,' she said. 'Vic!'</p> + +<p>'Yes, Nelly, how are you?' Victoria put out her gloved hand. Nelly took +it wonderingly.</p> + +<p>'I'm all right,' she answered slowly. 'Just been made head waitress,' +she added with some unction. Her eyes were roving over Victoria's +clothes, valuing them like an expert.</p> + +<p>'Congratulations,' said Victoria. 'Glad you're getting on.'</p> + +<p>'I see <i>you're</i> getting on,' said Nelly, with a touch of sarcasm.</p> + +<p>'So, so, things aren't too bad.' Victoria looked up. The women's eyes +crossed like rapiers; Nelly's were full of suspicion. The conversation +stopped then, for Nelly was already in request in half a dozen quarters.</p> + +<p>'She knows,' said Victoria smoothly.</p> + +<p>'Of course,' said Farwell. 'Trust a woman to know the worst about +another and to show it up. Every little helps in a contest such as +life.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> + +<p>Farwell then questioned her as to her situation, but she refused him all +details.</p> + +<p>'No,' she said, 'not here. There's Nelly watching us, and Maud has just +been told. Betty's been shifted, I know, and I suppose Mary and Jennie +are gone, but there's the manageress and some of the girls upstairs. +I've nearly done. Let me return the invitation. Dine with me +to-night. . .' She was going to say 'at home,' but changed her mind to +the prudent course. . . . 'at, well, anywhere you like. Whereabouts do +you live, Mr Farwell?'</p> + +<p>'I live in the Waterloo Road,' said Farwell, 'an artery named after the +playing fields of Eton.'</p> + +<p>'I don't know it well,' said Victoria, 'but I seem to remember an +Italian place near Waterloo Station. Suppose you meet me at the south +end of Waterloo Bridge at seven?'</p> + +<p>'It will do admirably,' said the man. 'I suppose you want to go now? +Well, you've put out my habits, but I'll come too.'</p> + +<p>They went out; the last Victoria saw of the P.R.R. was the face of the +cook through the hole in the partition, red, sweating, wrinkled by the +heat and hurry of the day. They parted in the churchyard. Victoria +watched him walk away with his firm swing, his head erect.</p> + +<p>'A man,' she thought, 'too clever to succeed.'</p> + +<p>Being now again at a loose end and still feeling fairly hungry, she +drove down to Frascati's to lunch. She was a healthy young animal, and +scanty fare was now a novelty. At three o'clock she decided to look up +Betty at her depôt in Holborn; and by great good luck found that Betty +was free at half past five, as the Holborn depôt for unknown reasons +kept shorter hours than Moorgate Street. She whiled away the intervening +time easily enough by shop-gazing and writing a long letter to Cairns on +the hospitable paper of the Grand Hotel. At<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> half-past five she picked +up Betty at the door of the P. R. R.</p> + +<p>'Thank you again so very, very much for the sweater and the dressing +gown,' said Betty as she slipped her arm through that of her friend.</p> + +<p>'Don't be silly, Betty, I like giving you things.' Victoria smiled and +pressed the girl's arm. 'You're not looking well, Betty.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I'm all right,' said Betty wearily.</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at her again. Under the pretty waved sandy hair Betty's +forehead looked waxen; her cheeks were too red. Her arm felt thinner +than ever. What was one to do? Betty was a weakling and must go to the +wall. But there was a sweetness in her which no one could resist.</p> + +<p>'Look here, Betty,' said Victoria, 'I've got very little time; I've got +to meet Mr Farwell at Waterloo Bridge at seven. It's beautifully fine, +let's drive down to Embankment Gardens and talk.'</p> + +<p>Betty's face clouded for a moment at the mention of Farwell's name. She +hated him with the ferocity of the weak; he had ruined her friend. But +it was good to have her back. The cab drove down Chancery Lane at a +spanking rate, then across the Strand and through a lane. The +unaccustomed pleasure and the rush of air brought all her face into pink +unison with her cheeks.</p> + +<p>The two women sat side by side for a moment. This was the second time +they had met since Victoria had entered her new life. There had been a +few letters, the last to thank Victoria for her Christmas present, but +Betty did not say much in them. Her tradition of virtue had erected a +barrier between them.</p> + +<p>'Well, Betty,' said Victoria suddenly, 'do you still think me very bad?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Vic, how can you? I never, never said that.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> + +<p>'No, you thought it,' answered Victoria a little cruelly. 'But never +mind, perhaps you're right.'</p> + +<p>'I never said so, never thought so,' persisted Betty. 'You can't go +wrong, Vic, you're . . . you're different.'</p> + +<p>'Perhaps I am,' said Victoria. 'Perhaps there are different laws for +different people. At any rate I've made my choice and must abide by it.'</p> + +<p>'And are you happy, Vic?' Anxiety was in the girl's face.</p> + +<p>'Happy? Oh, happy enough. He's a good sort.'</p> + +<p>'I'm so glad. And . . . Vic . . . do you think he'll marry you?'</p> + +<p>'Marry me?' said Victoria laughing. 'You little goose, of course not. +Why should he marry me now he's got me?'</p> + +<p>This was a new idea for Betty.</p> + +<p>'But doesn't he love you very, very much?' she asked, her blue eyes +growing rounder and rounder.</p> + +<p>'I suppose he does in a way,' said Victoria. 'But it doesn't matter. +He's very kind to me but he won't marry me; and, honestly, I wouldn't +marry him.'</p> + +<p>Betty looked at her amazed and a little shocked.</p> + +<p>'But, dear,' she faltered, 'think of what it would mean; you . . . he +and you, you see . . . you're living like that . . . if he married +you. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I see,' said Victoria with a slight sneer, 'you mean that I should +be an honest woman and all that? My dear child, you don't understand. +Whether he marries me or not it's all the same. So long as a woman is +economically dependent on a man she's a slave, a plaything. Legally or +illegally joined it's exactly the same thing; the legal bond has its +advantages and its disadvantages and there's an end of the matter.'</p> + +<p>Betty looked away over the Thames; she did not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> understand. The +tradition was too strong. Time went quickly. Betty had no tale to +unfold; the months had passed leaving her doing the same work for the +same wage, living in the same room. Before her was the horizon on which +were outlined two ships; 'ten hours a day' and 'eight bob a week.' And +the skyline?</p> + +<p>As they parted, Victoria made Betty promise to come and see her. Then +they kissed twice, gently and silently, and Victoria watched her +friend's slim figure fade out of sight as she walked away. She had the +same impression as when she parted with Lottie, who had gone so bravely +into the dark. A wave of melancholy was upon her. Poor girls, they were +without hope; she at least was viewing life with her eyes open. She +would wrench something out of it yet. She shook herself; it was a +quarter to seven.</p> + +<p>An hour later she was sitting opposite Farwell. They were getting to the +end of dinner. Conversation had flagged while they disposed of the +earlier courses. Now they were at the ice and coffee stage. The waiters +grew less attentive; indeed there was nobody to observe them save the +olive-skinned boy with the mournful eyes who looked at the harbour of +Palermo through the Waterloo Road door. Farwell lit the cigar which +Victoria forced upon him, and leant back, puffing contentedly.</p> + +<p>'Well,' he said at length, 'how do you like the life?'</p> + +<p>'It is better than the old one,' she said.</p> + +<p>'Oh, so you've come to that. You have given up the absolutes.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I've given them up. A woman like me has to.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I suppose you've got to,' pondered Farwell. 'But apart from that, +is it a success? Are you attaining your end? That's the only thing that +matters, you know.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I am, in a sense; I'm saving money. You see, he's generous.'</p> + +<p>'Excellent, excellent,' sneered Farwell. 'I like to see you making out +of what the bourgeois call vice that which will enable you to command +bourgeois respect. By-and-by I suppose you'll have made a fortune.'</p> + +<p>'Well, no; a competency perhaps, with luck.'</p> + +<p>'With luck, as you say. Do you know, Victoria, this luck business is +grand! My firm goes in for mines: they went prospecting in America +twenty years ago and they happened to strike copper. That was good. +Other men struck granite only. That was bad. But my boss is a City +Sheriff now. Frightfully rich. There used to be four of them, but one +died of copper poisoning, and another was found shot in a gulch. Nobody +knows how it happened, but the other two got the mines.'</p> + +<p>Victoria smiled. She liked this piratical tit bit.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' she said, 'luck's the thing. And merit . . . well I suppose the +surviving partners had merit.'</p> + +<p>'Anyhow, I wish you luck,' said Farwell. 'But tell me more. Do you find +you've paid too high a price for what you've got?'</p> + +<p>'Too high a price?'</p> + +<p>'Yes. Do you have any of that remorse we read about; would you like to +be what you were? Unattached, you know . . . eligible for Young Women's +Christian Associations?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, no,' Victoria laughed. 'I can't pay too high a price for what I +think I'll get. I don't mean these jewels or these clothes, that's only +my professional uniform. When I've served my time I shall get that for +which no woman can pay too much: I shall be economically independent, +free.'</p> + +<p>'Free.' Farwell looked towards the ceiling through a cloudlet of smoke. +'Yes, you're right. With the world as it is it's the only way. To be +independent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> you must acquire the right to be dependent on the world's +labour, to be a drone . . . and the biggest drone is queen of the hive. +Yet I wish it had been otherwise with you.' He looked at her +regretfully.</p> + +<p>Victoria toyed with a dessert knife.</p> + +<p>'Why?' she asked.</p> + +<p>'Oh, you had possibilities . . . but after all, we all have. And most of +them turn out to be impossibilities. At any rate, you're not disgusted +with your life, with any detail?'</p> + +<p>'No, I don't think so. I don't say I'll go on any longer than I need, +but it's bearable. But even if it were repulsive in every way I'd go on +if I saw freedom ahead. If I fight at all I fight to a finish.'</p> + +<p>'You're strong,' said Farwell looking at her. 'I wish I had your +strength. You've got that force which makes explorers, founders of new +faiths, prophets, company promoters.' He sighed.</p> + +<p>'Let's go,' he added, 'we can talk in the warm night.'</p> + +<p>For an hour they talked, agreeing always in the end. Farwell was cruelly +conscious of two wasted lives: his, because his principles and his +capacity for thought had no counterweight in a capacity for action; +Victoria's, because of her splendid gifts ignobly wasted and misused by +a world which had asked her for the least of them.</p> + +<p>Victoria felt a peculiar pleasure in this man's society. He was elderly, +ugly, ill-clad; sometimes he was boorish, but a halo of thought +surrounded him, and the least of his words seemed precious. All this +devirilised him, deprived him of physical attractiveness. She could not +imagine herself receiving and returning his caresses. They parted on +Waterloo Bridge.</p> + +<p>'Good-bye,' said Farwell, 'you're on the right track. The time hasn't +come for us to keep the law,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> for we don't know what the law is. All we +have is the edict of the powerful, the prejudice of the fool; the last +especially, for these goaled souls have their traditions, and their +convictions are prisons all.'</p> + +<p>Victoria pressed his hand and turned away. She did not look back. If she +had she would have seen Farwell looking into the Thames, his face lit up +by a gas lamp, curiously speculative in expression. His emotions were +not warring, but the chaos in his brain was such that he was fighting +the logical case for and against an attempt to find enlightenment on the +other slope of the valley.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIb" id="CHAPTER_VIb"></a>CHAPTER VI</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Victoria</span> stretched herself lazily in bed. Her eyes took in a picture of +Cairns on the mantelpiece framed between a bottle of eau-de-cologne and +the carriage clock; then, little by little, she analysed details, small +objects, powderpuffs, a Chelsea candlestick, an open letter, the wall +paper. She closed her eyes again and buried her face in the pillow. The +lace edge tickled her ear pleasantly. She snuggled like a stroked cat. +Then she awoke again, for Mary had just placed her early cup of tea on +the night table. The tray seemed to come down with a crash, a spoon fell +on the carpet. Victoria felt daylight rolling back sleep from her brain +while Mary pulled up the blinds. As light flooded the room and her +senses became keener she heard the blinds clash.</p> + +<p>'You're very noisy, Mary,' she said, lifting herself on one elbow.</p> + +<p>The girl came back to the bed her hands folded together.</p> + +<p>'I'm sorry, mum . . . I . . . I've . . .'</p> + +<p>'Yes? what's the matter?'</p> + +<p>Mary did not answer, but Victoria could see she was disturbed. Her cap +was disarranged; it inclined perhaps five degrees from the vertical. +There was a faint flush on her cheeks.</p> + +<p>'What's the matter,' said Victoria sharply. 'Is there anything wrong?'</p> + +<p>'No, mum. . . . Yes mum. . . . They say in the paper . . . . There's +been trouble in Ireland, mum. . . .'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p> + +<p>'In Ireland?' Victoria sat bolt upright. Her heart gave a great bang and +then began to go with a whirr.</p> + +<p>'At Rossbantry, mum . . . last night . . . he's shot. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Shot? Who? can't you speak?'</p> + +<p>'The Major, mum.'</p> + +<p>Mary unfolded her hands suddenly and drew them up and down her apron as +if trying to dry them. Victoria sat as if frozen, looking at her +wide-eyed. Then she relapsed on the pillow. Everything swam for a +second, then she felt Mary raising her head.</p> + +<p>'Go away,' whispered Victoria. 'Leave me for a minute. I'm all right.'</p> + +<p>Mary hesitated for a moment, then obeyed, softly closing the door. +Victoria lay staring at the ceiling. Cairns was dead, shot. Awful. A +week ago his heavy frame was outlined under these very blankets. She +shuddered. But why, how? It wasn't true, it couldn't be true. She sat up +as if impelled by a spring, and rang the bell violently. The broken rope +fell on her face in a coil. With both hands she seized her chin as if to +stop a scream.</p> + +<p>'The paper! get me the paper!' she gasped as Mary came in. The girl +hesitated. Victoria's face frightened her. Victoria looked at her +straight, and she ran out of the room. In another minute she had laid +the open paper before her mistress.</p> + +<p>Victoria clutched at it with both hands. It was true. True. It was true. +The headlines were all she could see. She tried to read the text, but +the letters danced. She returned to the headlines.</p> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">Shocking Outrage in Ireland</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 15%; Margin-top: 1.3em; margin-bottom: 1.3em;" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Landlord Shot</span> +</p> + +<p>In the next column:—</p> + +<p class="center"> +M. C. C.'s <span class="smcap">Hard Task</span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her heart's action was less violent now. She understood; every second +increased her lucidity. Shot. Cairns was shot. Oh, she knew, he had +carried strife with him and some tenant had had his revenge. She took up +the paper and could read it now. Cairns had refused to make terms, and +on the morning of his death had served notices of eviction on eighteen +cottagers. The same night he was sitting at a window of his bailiff's +house. Then two shots from the other side of the road, another from +lower down. Cairns was wounded twice, in the lung and throat, and died +within twenty minutes. A man was under arrest.</p> + +<p>Victoria put down the paper. Her mind was quite clear again. Poor old +Tom! She felt sorry but above all disturbed; every nerve in her body +seemed raw. Poor old Tom, a good fellow! He had been kind to her; and +now, there he was. Dead when he was thinking of coming back to her. He +would never see her again, the little house and things he loved. Yes, he +had been kind; he had saved her from that awful life . . . . Victoria's +thoughts turned into another channel. What was going to become of her.</p> + +<p>'Old girl,' she said aloud, 'you're in the cart.'</p> + +<p>She realised that she was again adrift, alone, face to face with the +terrible world. Cairns was gone; there was nobody to protect her against +the buffeting waves. A milkman's cart rattled by; she could hear the +distant rumble of the Underground, a snatch carried by the wind from a +German band. Well, the time had come; it had to come. She could not have +held Cairns for ever; and now she had to prove her mettle, to show +whether she had learned enough of the world, whether she had grit. The +thought struck cold at her, but an intimate counsellor in her brain was +already awake and crying out:</p> + +<p>'Yes, yes, go on! you can do it yet.'</p> + +<p>Victoria threw down the paper and jumped out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> of bed. She dressed +feverishly in the clothes and linen she had thrown in a heap on a chair +the night before, twisting her hair up into a rough coil. Just before +leaving the room she remembered she had not even washed her hands. She +did so hurriedly; then, seeing the cold cup of tea, drank it off at a +gulp; her throat felt parched.</p> + +<p>She pushed back the untasted dish on the breakfast table. Her head +between her hands, she tried to think. At intervals she poured out cups +of tea and drank them off quickly.</p> + +<p>Snoo and Poo, after vainly trying to induce her to play with them, lay +in a heap in an armchair snuffling as they slept.</p> + +<p>The better she realised her position the greater grew her fears. Once +more she was the cork tossed in the storm; and yet, rudderless, she must +navigate into the harbour of liberty. If Cairns had lived and she had +seen her power over him wane, she would have taken steps; she did not +know what steps, but felt she surely would have done something. But +Cairns was dead; in twenty minutes she had passed from comparative +security into the region where thorns are many and roses few.</p> + +<p>Poor old Tom! She felt a tiny pang; surely this concern with herself +when his body still lay unburied was selfish, ugly. But, pooh! why make +any bones about it? As Cairns had said himself, he liked to see her +beautiful, happy, well clad. His gifts to her were gifts to himself: she +was merely his vicar.</p> + +<p>Victoria drank some more cold tea. Good or bad, Cairns belonged to the +past and the past has no virtues. None, at any rate, for those whose +present is a wind-swept table-land. Men must come and go, drink to the +full of the cup and pay richly for every sip, so that she might be free, +hold it no longer to their lips. There was no time to waste, for already +she was some hours older; some of those hours which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> might have been +transmuted into gold, that saving gold. She must take steps.</p> + +<p>The 'steps to be taken,' a comforting sentence, were not easy to evolve. +But another comforting catch ward, 'reviewing the situation,' saved her +from perplexity. She went into the little boudoir and took out her two +pass books. The balance seemed agreeably fat, but she did not allow +herself to be deluded; she checked off the debit side with the foils of +her cheque book and found that two of the cheques had not been +presented. These she deducted, but the result was not unsatisfactory; +she had exactly three hundred pounds in one bank and a few shillings +over fifty pounds in the other. Three hundred and fifty pounds. Not so +bad. She had done pretty well in these nine months. Of course that +banker's order of Cairns would be stopped. She could hardly expect the +executors to allow it to stand. Thus her capital was three hundred and +fifty pounds. And there was jewellery too, worth a couple of hundred +pounds, perhaps, and lace, and furs. The jewellery might come in handy; +it could be 'gopherised.' The furniture wasn't bad either.</p> + +<p>Of course she must go on with the house. It was no great responsibility, +being held on a yearly agreement. Victoria then looked through her +accounts; they did not amount to much, for Barbezan Soeurs, though +willing to assist in extracting money by means of bogus invoices, made +it a rule to demand cash for genuine purchases. Twenty pounds would +cover all the small accounts. The rent was all right, as it would not be +due until the end of September. The rates were all right too, being +payable every half year; they could be ignored until the blue notice +came, just before Christmas.</p> + +<p>Victoria felt considerably strengthened by this investigation. At a +pinch she could live a year on the present footing, during which +something must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> turn up. She tried to consider for a moment the various +things that might turn up. None occurred to her. She settled the +difficulty by going upstairs again to dress. When she rang for Mary to +do her hair, the girl was surprised to find her mistress perfectly cool. +Without a word, however, Mary restored her hair to order. It was a +beautiful and elegant woman, perhaps a trifle pale and open mouthed, +who, some minutes later, set out to walk to Regent's Park.</p> + +<p>Victoria sat back in her chair. Peace was upon her soul. Perhaps she had +just passed through a crisis, perhaps she was entering upon one, but +what did it matter? The warmth of July was in the clear air, the canal +slowly carried past her its film of dust. No sound broke through the +morning save the cries of little boys fishing for invisible fishes, and, +occasionally, a raucous roar from some prisoner in the Zoo. Now that she +had received the blow and was recovering she was conscious of a curious +feeling of lightness; she felt freer than the day before. Then she was a +man's property, tied to him by the bond of interest; now she was able to +do what she chose, know whom she chose, so long as that money lasted. +Ah, it would be good one day when she had enough money to be able to +look the future in the face and flaunt in its forbidding countenance the +fact that she was free, for ever free.</p> + +<p>Victoria was no longer a dreamer; she was a woman of action. The natural +sequence of her thoughts brought her up at once against the means to the +triumphant end. Three hundred and fifty pounds, say six hundred if she +realised everything, would not yield enough to feed a superannuated +governess. She would need quite eight or ten thousand pounds before she +could call herself free and live her dreams.</p> + +<p>'I'll earn it,' she said aloud, 'yes, sure enough.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> + +<p>A little Aberdeen terrier came bounding up to her, licked her hand and +ran away after his master. A friendly omen. Six hundred pounds was a +large sum in a way. She could aspire to a partnership in some business +now. A vision arose before her; Victoria Ferris, milliner. The vision +grew; Victoria Ferris and Co., Limited, wholesalers; then Ferris' +Stores, for clothes and boots and cheese and phonographs, with a branch +of Cook's agency, a Keith Prowse ticket office; Ferris' Stores as an +octopus, with its body in Knightsbridge and a tentacle hovering over +every draper from Richmond to Highgate.</p> + +<p>Yes, that was all very well, but what if Victoria Ferris failed? 'No +good,' she thought, 'I can't afford to take risks.' Of course the idea +of seeking employment was absurd. No more ten hours a day for eight bob +a week for her. Besides, no continuous references and a game leg . . . +The situations crowded into and out of Victoria's brain like dissolving +views. She could see herself in the little house, with another man, with +other men, young men, old men; and every one of them was rocked in the +lap of Delilah, who laughingly shore off their golden locks.</p> + +<p>'By Jove,' she said aloud, bringing her gloved fist down on her knee, +'I'll do it.'</p> + +<p>Of course the old life could not begin again just now. She did not know +a man in London who was worth capturing. She must go down into the +market, stand against the wall as a courtesan of Alexandria and nail a +wreath of roses against the highest bid. The vision she saw was now no +longer the octopus. She saw a street with its pavements wet and +slithering, flares, barrows laden with greens; she could smell frying +fish, rotting vegetables, burning naptha; a hand opened the door of a +bar and, in the glare, she could see two women with vivid hair, tired +eyes, smiling mouths, each one patiently waiting before a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> little table +and an empty glass. Then she saw once more the courtesan of Alexandria, +dim in the night, not lit up by the sun of sweet Egypt, but clad in +mercerised cotton and rabbit's fur, standing, watching like a shadow +against a shop door in Regent Street.</p> + +<p>No, she had not come to that. She belonged to the upper stratum of the +profession, and, knowing it, could not sink. Consciousness was the +thing. She was not going into this fight soft-handed or softhearted. She +knew. There was high adventure in store for her yet. If she must fish it +should be for trout not chub. Like a wise woman, she would not love +lightly, but where money is. There should be no waiting, no hesitating. +That very night she would sup at the Hotel Vesuvius . . . all in black +. . . like an ivory Madonna set in ebony . . . with a tea rose in her hair +as a foil to her shoulders . . . and sweeping jade earrings which would +swim like butterflies in the heavy hair. Ah, it would be high adventure +when Demetrious knelt at the feet of Aphrodite with jewels in his +sunburnt palm, when Croesus bargained away for a smile a half of his +Lydian wealth.</p> + +<p>She got up, a glow in her veins as if the lust of battle was upon her. +Quickly she walked out of the park to conquer the town. A few yards +beyond the gates newspaper placards shouted the sensation of the day; +placards pink, brown, green, all telling the tale of murder, advertising +for a penny the transitory joy of the fact. Victoria smiled and walked +on. She let herself into the house. It was on the stroke of one. She sat +down at the table, pressing the bell down with her foot.</p> + +<p>'Hurry up, Mary,' she said, 'I'm as hungry as a hunter.'</p> + +<p>A voice floated through the window like an echo: 'Irish murder; latest +details.'</p> + +<p>'Shut the window, Mary,' she said sharply.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIIb" id="CHAPTER_VIIb"></a>CHAPTER VII</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Hotel Vesuvius is a singular place. It stands on the north side of +Piccadilly, and for the general its stuccoed front and severe sash +windows breathe an air of early Victorian respectability. Probably it +was once a ducal mansion, for it has all the necessary ugliness, +solidity and size; now it is the most remarkable instance of what can be +done by a proprietor who remembers that an address in Piccadilly exempts +him from the rules which govern Bloomsbury. One enters it through a +small hall all alight with white and gold paint. Right and left are the +saloon bar and the buffet; this enables the customer to select either +without altering the character of his accommodation, while assuming +superiority for a judicious choice. A broad straight staircase leads up +to the big supper room on the first floor. Above are a score of private +dining-rooms.</p> + +<p>Victoria jumped out of the cab and walked up the steps, handing the +liveried commissionaire two shillings to pay the cabman. This was an +inspiration calculated to set her down at once with the staff as one who +knew the ropes. In the white and gold hall she halted for a moment, +puzzled and rather nervous. She had never set foot in the Vesuvius; she +had never heard it mentioned without a smile or a wink. Now, a little +flushed and her heart beating, she realised that she did not know her +way about.</p> + +<p>Victoria need have had no fears. Before she had time to take in the +scene, a tall man with a perfectly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> groomed head and a well fitting +evening dress bowed low before her.</p> + +<p>'Madame wishes no doubt to deposit her wrap,' he said in gentle tones. +His teeth flashed white for a moment.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Victoria, . . . 'Yes, where is the cloak room?'</p> + +<p>'This way, madame. If madame will permit me. . . .' He pointed towards +the end of the hall and preceded her steps. An elderly woman behind the +counter received Victoria's wrap and handed her a brass token without +looking at her. While she pulled up her gloves she looked round +curiously. The cloak room was small; behind the counter the walls were +covered by a mahogany rack with some hundred pigeon-holes. The fiercer +light of an unshaded chandelier beat down upon the centre of the room. +Victoria was conscious of an extraordinary atmosphere, a blend of many +scents, tobacco smoke, leather; most of the pigeon-holes were bursting +with coloured wraps, many of them vivid blue or red; here and there long +veils, soiled white gloves hung out of them; a purple ostrich feather +hung from an immense black hat over a white and silver Cingalese shawl. +Victoria turned sharply. The man was inspecting her coolly with an air +of intentness that showed approval.</p> + +<p>'Where does madame wish to go?' he asked as they entered the hall. 'In +the buffet perhaps?'</p> + +<p>He opened the door. Victoria saw for a second a long counter laden with +bottles, at which stood a group of men, some in evening dress, some in +tweed suits; she saw a few women among them, all with smiles upon their +faces. Behind the counter she had time to see the barmaid, a beautiful +girl with dark eyes and vivid yellow hair.</p> + +<p>'No, not there,' she said quickly. It reminded her of the terrible +little bar of which Farwell had given<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> her a glimpse. 'You are the +manager, I believe . . . I want to go up into the supper room.'</p> + +<p>'Certainly, madame; will madame come this way?'</p> + +<p>The manager preceded her up to the first floor. On the landing, two men +in tweeds suddenly stopped talking as she passed. A porter flung the +glazed door open. A short man in evening dress looked at her, then at +the manager. After a second's hesitation the two men in tweeds followed +her in.</p> + +<p>The manager put his hands in his pockets, walked up to the other man and +nodded towards the door.</p> + +<p>'<i>Pas mal, hein?</i>'</p> + +<p>'<i>Epatante,</i>' said the short man. '<i>Du chic. Et une peau!</i>'</p> + +<p>The manager smiled and turned to go downstairs. '<i>Surveillez moi ça +Anatole,</i>' he said.</p> + +<p>Victoria, meanwhile, had stopped for a moment on the threshold, a little +dazed by the scene. Though it was only half-past ten, the eighty tables +of the Vesuvius were almost every one occupied; the crowd looked at +first like a patchwork quilt. The room was all white and gold like the +hall; a soft radiance fell from the lights hidden in the cornice; two +heavy chandeliers with faintly pink electric bulbs and a few pink shaded +lights on the table diffused a roseate glow over the scene. Victoria +felt like an intruder, and her discomfiture was heightened by the +gripping hot perfume. But already a waiter was by her side; she let him +be her pilot. In a few seconds she found herself sitting at a small +table alone, near the middle of the room. The waiter reappeared almost +at once carrying on a tray a liqueur glass containing some colourless +fluid. She had ordered nothing, but his adroitness relieved her. Clearly +the expert had divined her inexperience and had resolved to smooth her +way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> + +<p>She lifted the glass to her lips and sipped at it. It was good stuff, +rather strong. The burn on her palate seemed to brace her; she looked +round the room. It was a peculiar scene; for the Vesuvius is a luxurious +place, and a provincial might well be excused for thinking it was the +Carlton or the Savoy; indeed there was something more outwardly opulent +about it. It suggested a place where men not only spent what they had +but spent more. But for a few men in frock-coats and tweeds it would +have been almost undistinguishable from the recognised resorts of +fashion. Victoria took stock of her surroundings; of the shining plate +and glass, the heavy red carpet, the red and gold curtains, drawn but +fluttering at the open windows. The guests, however, interested her +more. At half the tables sat a woman and a man, at others a woman alone +before a little glass. What struck her above all was the beauty of the +women, the wealth they carried on their bodies. Hardly one of them +seemed over thirty; most of them had golden or vivid red hair, though a +few tables off Victoria could see a tall woman of colour with black hair +stiffened by wax and pierced with massive ivory combs. They mostly wore +low-necked dresses, many of them white or faintly tinted with blue or +pink. She could see a dark Italian-looking girl in scarlet from whose +ears long coral earrings drooped to her slim cream-coloured shoulders. +There was an enormously stout woman with puffy pink cheeks, strapped +slightly into a white silk costume, looking like a rose at the height of +its bloom. There were others too! short dark women with tight hair; +minxish French faces and little shrewd dark eyes; florid Dutch and +Belgian women with massive busts and splendid shoulders, dazzlingly +white; English girls too, most of them slim with long arms and rosy +elbows and faintly outlined collar bones. Many of these had the +aristocratic nonchalance of 'art' photographs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> Opposite Victoria, under +the other chandelier, a splendid creature, white as a lily, with +flashing green eyes, copper coloured hair, had thrown herself back in +her armchair and was laughing at a man's joke. Her head was bent back, +and as she laughed her splendid bust rose and fell and her throat filled +out. An elderly man with a close clipped grey moustache, immaculate in +his well-cut dress clothes, leaned towards her with a smile on his brown +face.</p> + +<p>Victoria turned her eyes away from the man, (a soldier, of course), and +looked at the others. They, too, were a mixed collection. There were a +good many youths, all clean shaven and mostly well-groomed; these talked +loudly to their partners and seemed to fill the latter with merriment; +now and then they stared at other women with the boldness of the shy. +There were elderly men too; a few in frock coats in spite of the heat, +some very stout and red, some bald and others half concealing their +scalps under cunning hair arrangements. The elderly men sat mostly with +two women, some with three, and lay back smiling like courted pachas. By +far the greater number of the guests, however, were anything between +thirty and forty; and seemed to cover every type from the smart young +captain with the tanned face, bold blue eyes and a bristly moustache, to +ponderous men in tweeds or blue reefer jackets who looked about them +with a mixture of nervousness and bovine stolidity.</p> + +<p>From every corner came a steady stream of loud talk; continually little +shrieks of laughter pierced the din and then were smothered by the +rattling of the plates. The waiters flitted ghostly through the room +with incredible speed, balancing high their silver trays. Then Victoria +became conscious that most of the women round her were looking at her; +for a moment she felt her personality shrivel up under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> their gaze. They +were analysing her, speculating as to the potentialities of a new rival, +stripping off her clothes too and her jewels. It was horrible, because +their look was more incisive than the merely brutal glance by which a +man takes stock of a woman's charms.</p> + +<p>She pulled herself together however, and forced herself to return the +stares. 'After all,' she thought, 'this is the baptism of fire.' She +felt strengthened, too, as she observed her rivals more closely. +Beautiful as most of them seemed at first sight, many of them showed +signs of wear. With joyful cruelty Victoria noted here and there faint +wrinkles near their eyes, relaxed mouths, cheekbones on which rosacia +had already set its mark. She could not see more than half a dozen whose +beauty equalled hers; she threw her head up and drew back her shoulders. +In the full light of the chandelier she looked down at the firm white +shapeliness of her arms.</p> + +<p>'Well, how goes it?'</p> + +<p>Victoria started and looked up from her contemplation. A man had sat +down at her table. He seemed about thirty, fairish, with a rather ragged +moustache. He wore a black morning coat and a grey tie. His hands and +wrists were well kept and emerged from pale blue cuffs. There was a not +unkindly smile upon his face. His tip tilted nose gave him a cheerful, +rather impertinent expression.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I'm all right,' said Victoria vaguely. Then with an affectation of +ease. 'Hot, isn't it?'</p> + +<p>'Ra-<i>ther</i>,' said the man. 'Had your supper?'</p> + +<p>'No,' said Victoria, 'I don't want any.'</p> + +<p>'Now, come, really that's too bad of you. Thought we were going to have +a nice little family party and you're off your feed.'</p> + +<p>'I'm sorry,' said Victoria smiling. 'I had dinner only two hours ago.' +This man was not very attractive; there was something forced in his +ease.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Well, have a drink with me,' he said.</p> + +<p>'What's yours?' asked Victoria. That was an inspiration. The plunge +braced her like a cold bath. The man laughed.</p> + +<p>'Pop, of course. Unless you prefer a Pernot. You know "absinthe makes +the . . ."' He stopped and laughed again. Victoria did likewise without +understanding him. She saw that the other women laughed when men did.</p> + +<p>They filled their glasses. Victoria liked champagne. She watched the +little bubbles rise, and drank the glass down. It was soft and warm. How +strong she felt suddenly. The conversation did not flag. The man was +leaning towards her across the table, talking quickly. He punctuated +every joke with a high laugh.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I say, give us a chance,' floated from the next table. Victoria +looked. It was one of the English girls. She was propped up on one elbow +on the table; her legs were crossed showing a long slim limb and slender +ankle in a white open work stocking. A man in evening dress with a +foreign looking dark face was caressing her bare arm.</p> + +<p>'Penny for your thoughts,' said Victoria's man.</p> + +<p>'Wasn't thinking,' she said. 'I was looking.'</p> + +<p>'Looking? are you new here?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, it's the first time I've come.'</p> + +<p>'By Jove! It <i>must</i> be an eye-opener.' He laughed.</p> + +<p>'It is rather. It doesn't seem half bad.'</p> + +<p>'You're right there. I'm an old stager.' A slightly complacent +expression came over his face. He filled up the glasses. 'You don't +spoil the collection, you know,' he added. 'You're a bit of all right.' +He looked at her approvingly.</p> + +<p>'Am I?' She looked at him demurely. Then, plunging once more, 'I hope +you'll still think so by and by.' The man's eyes dwelled for a moment on +her face and neck, his breath became audible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> suddenly. She felt his +foot softly stroke hers. He drew his napkin across his lips.</p> + +<p>'Well,' he said with an assumption of ease, 'shall we go?'</p> + +<p>'I don't mind,' said Victoria getting up.</p> + +<p>It was with a beating heart that Victoria climbed into the cab. As soon +as he got in the man put his arm round her waist and drew her to him. +She resisted gently but gave way as his arm grew more insistent.</p> + +<p>'Coy little puss.' His face was very near her upturned eyes. She felt it +come nearer. Then, suddenly, he kissed her on the lips. She wanted to +struggle; she was a little frightened. The lights of Piccadilly filled +her with shame. They spoke very little. The man held her close to him. +As the cab rattled through Portland Place, he seized her once more. She +fought down the repulsion with which his breath inspired: it was scented +with strong cigars and champagne. Victoriously she coiled one arm round +his neck and kissed him on the mouth. In her disgust there was a blend +of triumph; not even her own feelings could resist her will.</p> + +<p>As she waited on the doorstep while he paid the cabman a great fear came +upon her. She did not know this man. Who was he? Perhaps a thief. She +suddenly remembered that women of her kind were sometimes murdered for +the sake of their jewellery. As the man turned to come up the steps she +pulled herself together. 'After all,' she thought, 'it's only +professional risk.'</p> + +<p>They stood for a moment in the hall of the silent house. She felt +awkward. The man looked at her and mistook her hesitation.</p> + +<p>'It's all right,' he faltered. He looked about him, then, quickly +whipping out a sovereign purse, he drew out two sovereigns with a click +and laid them on the hall table.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> + +<p>'You see,' he said '. . . a girl like you. . . . three more to-morrow +morning. . . . I'm square you know.'</p> + +<p>Victoria smiled and, after a second's hesitation, picked up the money.</p> + +<p>'So'm I,' she said. Then she switched on the light and pointed +upstairs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIIIb" id="CHAPTER_VIIIb"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Victoria's</span> new career did not develop on unkindly lines. Every night she +went to the Vesuvius, where she soon had her appointed place full under +one of the big chandeliers. She secured this spot without difficulty, +for most of her rivals were too wise to affront the glare; as soon as +she realised this she rather revelled in her sense of power, for she now +lived in a world where the only form of power was beauty. She felt sure +of her beauty now she had compared it minutely with the charms of the +preferred women. She was finer, she had more breed. Almost every one of +those women showed a trace of coarseness: a square jaw, not moulded in +big bone like hers but swathed in heavy flesh; a thick ankle or wrist; +spatulate fingertips; red ears. Her pride was in the courage with which +she welcomed the flow of the light on her neck and shoulders; round her +chandelier the tables formed practically into circles, the nearest being +occupied by the very young and venturesome, a few by the oldest who +desperately clung to their illusion of immortal youth; then came the +undecided, those who are between ages, who wear thick veils and sit with +their backs to the light; the outer fringe was made up of those who +remembered. Their smiles were hard and fixed.</p> + +<p>She was fortunate enough too. She never had to sit long in front of the +little glass which she discovered to be kummel; the waiter always +brought it unasked. Sometimes they would chat for a moment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> for +Victoria was assimilating the lazy familiarity of her surroundings. He +talked about the weather, the latest tips for Goodwood, the misfortune +of Camille de Valenciennes who had gone off to Carlsbad with a barber +who said he was a Russian prince and had left her there stranded.</p> + +<p>Her experiences piled up, and, after a few weeks she found she had +exhausted most of the types who frequented the Vesuvius. Most of them +were of the gawky kind, being very young men out for the night and +desperately anxious to get off on the quiet by three o'clock in the +morning; of the gawky kind too were the Manchester merchants paying a +brief visit to town on business and who wanted a peep into the inferno; +these were easily dealt with and, if properly primed with champagne, +exceedingly generous. Now and then Victoria was confronted with a racier +type which tended to become rather brutal. It was recruited largely from +obviously married men whose desires, dammed and sterilised by monotonous +relations, seemed suddenly to burst their bonds.</p> + +<p>In a few weeks her resources developed exceedingly. She learned the +scientific look that awakes a man's interest: a droop of the eyelid +followed by a slow raising of it, a dilation of the pupil, then again a +demure droop and the suspicion of a smile. She learned to prime herself +from the papers with the proper conversation; racing, the latest divorce +news, ragging scandals, marriages of the peerage into the chorus. She +learned to laugh at chestnuts and to memorise such stories as sounded +fresh; a few judicious matinées put her up to date as to the latest +musical comedies. On the whole it was an easy life enough. Six hours in +the twenty-four seemed sufficient to afford her a good livelihood, and +she did not doubt that by degrees she would make herself a connection +which might be turned to greater advantage;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> as it was she had two +faithful admirers whom she could count on once a week.</p> + +<p>The life itself often struck her as horrible, foul; still she was +getting inured to the inane and could listen to it with a tolerant +smile; sometimes she looked dispassionately into men's fevered eyes with +a little wonder and an immense satisfaction in her power and the value +of her beauty. Sometimes a thrill of hatred went through her and she +loathed those whose toy she was; then she felt tempted to drink, to +drugs, to anything that would deaden the nausea; but she would rally: +the first night, when she had drunk deep of champagne after the kummel, +had given her a racking headache and suggested that beauty does not +thrive on mixed drinks.</p> + +<p>Another painful moment had been the third day after her new departure. +It seemed to force realisation upon her. Tacitly the early cup of tea +had been stopped. Mary now never came to the door, but breakfast was +laid for two in the dining-room at half past nine; the hot course stood +on a chafing dish over a tiny flame; the teapot was stocked and a kettle +boiled on its own stand. Neither of the servants ever appeared. On the +third day, however, as Victoria lay in her boudoir, reading, preparatory +to ringing the cook to give her orders for the day, there was a knock at +the door.</p> + +<p>'Come in,' said Victoria a little nervously. She was still in the mood +of feeling awkward before her servants.</p> + +<p>Mary came in. For a moment she tugged at her belt. There was a slight +flush on her sallow face.</p> + +<p>'Well Mary?' asked Victoria, still nervous.</p> + +<p>'If you please, mum, may I speak to you? I've been talking to cook, mum, +and—'</p> + +<p>'And?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, mum, I hope you won't think it's because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> we're giving ourselves +airs but it isn't the same as it was here before, mum—'</p> + +<p>'Well?'</p> + +<p>'Well, mum, we think we'd rather go mum. There's my young man, mum, +and—and—'</p> + +<p>'And he doesn't like your being associated with a woman of my kind? Very +right and proper.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, mum, I don't mean that. You've always been kind to me. Cook too, +she says she feels it very much, mum. When the major was alive, mum, it +was different. It didn't seem to matter then, mum, but now—'</p> + +<p>Mary stopped. For a moment the eyes behind the glasses looked as if they +were going to cry.</p> + +<p>'Don't trouble to explain, Mary,' said her mistress with some asperity. +'I understand. You and cook can't afford to jeopardise your characters. +From the dizzy heights of trained domesticity, experts in your own line, +you are justified in looking down upon an unskilled labourer. I have no +doubt that you have considered the social problem in all its aspects, +that you fully realise the possibilities of a woman wage-earner and her +future. By all means go where your moral sense calls you: I shall give +you an excellent character and demand none in exchange. There! I don't +want to hurt your feelings, Mary, I spoke hastily,' she added as the +maid's features contracted, 'you only do this to please your young man; +that is woman's profession, and I of all people must approve of what you +do. If you don't mind, both of you, you will leave on Saturday. You +shall have your full month and a month's board allowance. Now send up +cook, I want to order lunch.'</p> + +<p>She could almost have wept as she lay with her face in the cushion. Her +servants had delivered an ultimatum from womankind, and lack of supplies +compelled her to pick up the guage of battle. Mary and cook were links +between her and all those women<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> who shelter behind one man only, and +from that vantage ground hurl stones at their sisters beyond the gates. +The significance of it was not that their services were lost to her, but +that she must now be content to associate with another class. Soon, +however, her will was again supreme. 'After all,' she thought, 'I have +done with Society. I'm a pirate; Society 'll be keen enough when I've +won.'</p> + +<p>Within three days she had readjusted her household. She had decided to +make matters easy by engaging two German girls. Laura, the cook, said at +once that it was all one to her who came to the house and who didn't, so +long as they left her alone in the kitchen, and provided she might bring +her large tabby cat. Augusta the maid, a long lanky girl with strong +peasant hands and carroty hair, declared herself willing to oblige the +<i>herrschaft</i> in any way; she thereupon demanded an increase on the wages +scheduled for her at the registry office. She also confided to her new +mistress that she had a <i>kerl</i> in Germany, and that she would do +anything to earn her dowry.</p> + +<p>Thus the establishment settled down again. Laura cooked excellently. +Augusta never flinched when bringing in the tea tray. Her big blue Saxon +eyes seemed to allow everything to pass through them leaving her mind +unsoiled, so armoured was her heart by the thought of that dowry. As for +Snoo and Poo: they chased the tabby cat all over the house most of the +day, which very soon improved their figures.</p> + +<p>Thus the even tenour of Victoria's life continued. She was quite a +popular favourite. As soon as she sat down under the chandelier +half-a-dozen men were looking at her. Sometimes men followed her into +the Vesuvius; but these she seldom encouraged, for her instinct told her +that so beautiful a woman as she was should set a high price on herself, +and high prices were not to be found in Piccadilly. Among her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> faithful +was a bachelor of forty, whom she only knew as Charlie. This, by the +way, was a characteristic of her acquaintances. She never discovered +their names; some in fact were so guarded that they had apparently +discarded their watches before coming out, so as to conceal even their +initials. None ever showed a pocketbook. Charlie was dark and burned by +the sun of the tropics; there was something bluff and good-natured about +him, great strength too. He had sharp grey eyes and a dark moustache. He +spoke extraordinarily fast, talked loosely of places he had been to: +China, Mozambique, South America. Victoria rather liked him; he was +totally dull, inclined to be coarse; but as he invariably drank far too +much before and when he came to the Vesuvius, he made no demands on her +patience, slept like a log and went early, leaving handsome recognition +behind him.</p> + +<p>There was Jim too, a precise top-hatted city clerk who had forced +himself on her one Saturday afternoon as she crossed Piccadilly Circus. +He seemed such a pattern of rectitude, was so perfectly trim and brushed +that she allowed herself to be inveigled into a cab and driven to a +small flat in Bayswater. He was too prudent to visit anybody else's +rooms, he said; he had his flat on a weekly tenancy. Jim kept rather a +hold on her. He was neither rich nor generous; in fact Victoria's social +sense often stabbed her for what she considered undercutting, but Jim +used to hover about the Vesuvius five minutes before closing time, and +once or twice when Victoria had had no luck he succeeded like the +vulture on the stricken field.</p> + +<p>Most of the others were dream figures; she lost count of them. After a +month she could not remember a face. She even forgot a big fellow whom +she had called Black Beauty, who came down from somewhere in Devonshire +for a monthly bust; he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> so much offended that she had the +mortification of seeing him captured by one of the outer circle who sit +beyond the lights.</p> + +<p>In the middle of August the streets she called London were deserted. +Steamy air, dust laden, floated over the pavements. The Vesuvius was +half empty, and she had to cut down her standards. Just as she was +contemplating moving to Folkestone for a month, however, she received a +letter from solicitors in the Strand, Bastable, Bastable & Sons, +informing her that 're Major Cairns deceased,' they were realising the +estate on behalf of the administrators, and that they would be obliged +if she would say when it would be convenient for her to convey the +furniture of Elm Tree Place into their hands. This perturbed Victoria +seriously. The furniture had a value, and besides it was the plant of a +flourishing business.</p> + +<p>'Pity he died suddenly,' she thought, 'he'd have done something for me. +He was a good sort, poor old Tom.'</p> + +<p>She dressed herself as becomingly and quietly as she could, and, after +looking up the law of intestacy in Whitaker, concluded that Marmaduke +Cairns's old sisters must be the heirs. Then she sallied forth to beard +the solicitor in his den. The den was a magnificent suite of offices +just off the Strand. She was ushered into a waiting-room partitioned off +from the general office by glass. It was all very frowsy and hot. There +was nothing to read except the <i>Times</i> and she was uncomfortably +conscious of three clerks and an office boy who frequently turned round +and looked through the partition. At last she was ushered in. The +solicitor was a dry-looking man of forty or so; his parchment face, +deeply wrinkled right and left, his keen blue eyes and high forehead +impressed her as dangerous. He motioned her to an armchair on the other +side of his desk.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Well, Mrs Ferris,' he said, 'to what do I owe the honour of this +visit?' He sat back in his armchair and bit his penholder. A smile +elongated his thin lips. This was his undoing, for he looked less +formidable and Victoria decided on a line of action. She had come +disturbed, now she was on her mettle.</p> + +<p>'Mr Bastable,' she said, plunging at once into the subject, 'you ask me +to surrender my furniture. I'm not going to.'</p> + +<p>'Oh?' The solicitor raised his eyebrows. 'But, my dear madame, surely +you must see . . .'</p> + +<p>'I do. But I'm not going to.'</p> + +<p>'Well,' he said, 'I hardly see . . . My duty will compel me to take +steps . . .'</p> + +<p>'Of course,' said Victoria smiling, 'but if you refuse to let me alone I +shall go out of this office, have the furniture moved to-day and put up +at auction to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>A smile came over the solicitor's face. By Jove, she was a fine woman, +and she had some spirit.</p> + +<p>'Besides,' she added, 'all this would cause me a great deal of +annoyance. Major Cairns's affairs are still very interesting to the +public. I shall be compelled, if you make me sell, to write a serial, +say <i>My Life with an Irish Martyr</i> for a Sunday paper.'</p> + +<p>Mr Bastable laughed frankly.</p> + +<p>'You want to be nasty, I see. But you know, we can stop your sale by an +application to a judge in chambers this afternoon. And as for your +serial, well, Major Cairns is dead, he won't mind.'</p> + +<p>'No, but his aunts will. Their name is Cairns. As regards the sale, +perhaps you and the other lawyers can stop it. Very well, either you +promise or I go home and . . . perhaps there'll be a fire to-night and +perhaps there won't. I'm fully insured.'</p> + +<p>'By Jove!' Bastable looked at her critically. Cairns had been a lucky +man. 'Well, Mrs Ferris,' he added, 'we're not used to troublesome +customers like you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> I don't suppose the furniture is valuable, is it?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, a couple of hundred,' said Victoria dishonestly.</p> + +<p>'M'm. Do you absolutely want me to pledge myself?'</p> + +<p>'Absolutely.'</p> + +<p>'Well, Mrs Ferris, I can honestly promise you that you won't hear +anything more about it. I . . . I don't think it would pay us.'</p> + +<p>Victoria laughed. A great joy of triumph was upon her. She liked +Bastable rather, now she had brought him to heel.</p> + +<p>'All right,' she said, 'it's a bargain.' Then she saw that his mouth was +smiling still and his eyes fixed on her face.</p> + +<p>'There's no quarrel between us, is there?'</p> + +<p>'No, of course not. All in the way of business, you know.'</p> + +<p>He bent across the table; she heard him breathe in her perfume.</p> + +<p>'Then,' she said slowly, getting up and pulling on her gloves, 'I'm not +doing anything to-night. You know my address. Seven o'clock. You may +take me out to dinner.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IXb" id="CHAPTER_IXb"></a>CHAPTER IX</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Within</span> a few days of her victory over Mr Bastable, Victoria found +herself in an introspective mood. The solicitor was the origin of it, +though unimportant in himself as the grain of sand which falls into a +machine, and for a fraction of a second causes a wheel to rasp before +the grain is crunched up. She reflected, as she looked out over her +garden, that she was getting very hard. She had brought this man to his +knees by threats; she had vulgarly bullied him by holding exposure over +his head; she had behaved like a tragedy queen. Finally, with sardonic +intention, she had turned the contest to good account by entangling him +while he was still under the influence of her personality.</p> + +<p>All this was not what disturbed her; for after all she had only lied to +Bastable, bullied him, threatened him, bluffed as to her intentions: she +had been perfectly businesslike. Thoughtfully she opened the little door +at the end of the hall and stepped out on the outer landing where the +garden steps ended. Snoo and Poo, asleep in a heap in the August blaze, +raised heavy eyelids, and, yawning and stretching, followed her down the +steps.</p> + +<p>This was a joyful little garden. The greater part of it was a lawn, +close cut, but disfigured in many places by Snoo and Poo's digging. +Flower beds ran along both sides and the top of the lawn, while the +bottom was occupied by the pergola, now covered with massive red blooms; +an acacia tree, and an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> elder tree, both leafy but refusing to flower, +shaded the bottom of the garden, which was effectively cut off by a +hedge of golden privet. It was a tidy garden, but it showed no traces of +originality. Victoria had ordered it to be potted with geraniums, +carnations, pinks, marguerites; and was quite content to observe that +somebody had put in sweet peas, clematis and larkspur. Hers was not the +temperament which expresses itself in a garden; there was no sense of +peace in her idea of the beautiful. If she liked the garden to look +pretty at all, it was doubtless owing to her heredity.</p> + +<p>Victoria picked up a couple of stones and threw them towards the end of +the garden. Snoo and Poo rushed into the privet, snuffling excitedly, +while their mistress drew down a heavy rose-laden branch from the +pergola and breathed the blossoms. Yes, she was hard, and it was +beginning to make her nervous. In the early days she had sedulously +cultivated the spirit which was making a new woman out of the quiet, +refined, rather shy girl she had been. There had been a time when she +would have shuddered at the idea of a quarrel with a cabman about an +overcharge; now, if it were possible, she felt coldly certain that she +would cheat him of his rightful fare. This process she likened to the +tempering of steel, and called a development of the mental muscles. She +rather revelled in this development in the earlier days, because it gave +her a sense of power; she benefited by it too, for she found that by +cultivating this hardness she could extort more money by stooping to +wheedle, by accepting snubs, by flattery and lies too. The consciousness +of this power redeemed the exercise of it; she often felt herself lifted +above this atmosphere of deceit by looking coldly at the deed she was +about to do, recognising its nature and doing it with her eyes open.</p> + +<p>A realization of another kind, however, was upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> Victoria that rich +August day. In a sense she was doing well. Her capital had not been +touched; in fact it had probably increased, and this in spite of town +being empty. She had not yet found the man who would make her fortune; +but she had no doubt that he would appear if she continued on her even +road, selecting without passion, judging values and possibilities. For +the moment she brushed aside the question of success; it was assured. +But, after success, what then? Say she had four or five hundred a year +at thirty and retired into the country or went to America. What use +would she be to herself or to anybody if she had learned exclusively to +bide her time and to strike for her own advantage? Life was a contest +for the poor and for the rich alike; but the first had to fight to win +and to use any means, fair or foul, while the latter could accept +knightly rules, be magnanimous when victorious, graceful when defeated.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Victoria, 'I must keep myself in trim. It's all very well to +win and I've got to be as hard as nails to men, but . . .'</p> + +<p>She stopped abruptly. The problem had solved itself. 'Hard as nails to +men,' did not include women, for 'men' seldom means mankind when the +talk is of rights. She did not know what her mission might be. Perhaps, +after she had succeeded, she would travel all over Europe, perhaps +settle on the English downs where the west winds blow, perhaps even be +the pioneer of a great sex revolt; but whatever she did, if her triumph +was not to be sterile, she would need sympathy, the capacity to love. +Thus she amended her articles of war: 'Woman shall be spared, and I +shall remember that, as a member of a sex fighting another sex, I must +understand and love my sister warrior.'</p> + +<p>It was in pursuance of her new policy that, on her way to the Vesuvius, +Victoria dawdled for a moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> at the entrance of Swallow Street, under +its portico. A few yards beyond her stood a woman whom she knew by sight +as having established practically a proprietary right to her beat. She +was a dark girl, good-looking enough, well set up in her close fitting +white linen blouse, drawn tight to set off her swelling bust. In the dim +light Victoria could see that her face was rather worn, and that the +ravages of time had been clumsily repaired. The girl looked at her +curiously at first; then angrily, evidently disliking the appearance of +what might be a dangerous rival in her own preserves. Victoria walked up +and down on the pavement. The girl watched her every footstep. Once she +made as if to speak to her. It was ghostly, for passers-by in Regent +Street came to and fro beyond the portico like arabesques. A passing +policeman gave the girl a meaning look. She tossed her head and walked +away down Regent Street, while Victoria nervously continued down Swallow +Street to Piccadilly.</p> + +<p>These two women were to meet, however. About a week later, Victoria, +happening to pass by at the same hour, saw the girl and stopped under +the arch. In another second the girl was by her side.</p> + +<p>'What are you following me about for?' she snarled. 'If you're a grote +it's no go. You won't teach the copper anything he doesn't know.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I'm not following you,' said Victoria. 'Only I saw you about and +thought I'd like to talk to you.'</p> + +<p>The girl shot a dark glance at her.</p> + +<p>'What's your game?' she asked. 'You're not one of those blasted sisters. +Too toffish. Seen you come out of the Vez', besides.'</p> + +<p>'I'm in the profession,' said Victoria coolly. 'But that doesn't mean +I've got to be against the others.'</p> + +<p>'Doesn't it!' The girl's eyes glowed. 'You don't know your job. Of +course you've got to be against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> the others. We were born like that. Or +got like that. What's it matter?'</p> + +<p>'Matter? oh, a lot,' said Victoria. 'We want friends, all of us.'</p> + +<p>'Friends. Oh, Lord! The likes of you and me don't have friends. Women, +they won't know us . . . too good. Except our sort. We can't talk; we +got nothing to talk of, except money and the boys. And the boys, what's +the good of them? There's the sort you pick up and all you've got to +do's to get what you can out of them. Haven't fallen in love with one, +have you?' The girl's voice broke a little, then she went on. 'Then, +there's the other sort, like my Hugo, p'raps you've heard of him?'</p> + +<p>'No,' she said, 'I haven't. What is he like?'</p> + +<p>'Bless you, he's a beauty.' The girl smiled; her face was full of pride.</p> + +<p>'Does he treat you well?'</p> + +<p>'So so. Sometimes.' The shadow had returned. 'Not like my first. Oh, +it's hard you know, beginning. He left me with a baby after three +months. I was in service in Pembridge Gardens—such a swell house! I had +to keep baby. It died then, jolly good thing too! Couldn't go back to +service. Everybody knew.'</p> + +<p>The girl burst into tears and Victoria putting an arm round her drew her +against her breast.</p> + +<p>'Everybody knew, everybody knew!' wailed the girl.</p> + +<p>Victoria had the vision of a thousand spectral eyes, all full of +knowledge, gazing at the housemaid caught by them sinning. The girl +rested her head against Victoria's shoulder for a moment, holding one of +her hands. Suddenly she raised her head again and cleared her throat.</p> + +<p>'There,' she said, 'let me go. Hugo's waiting for me at the Carcassonne. +Never mind me. We've all got to live, he-he!'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p> + +<p>She turned into Regent Street and another 'he-he' floated back. Victoria +felt a heavy weight at her heart; poor girl, weak, the sport of one man, +deceived, then a pirate made to disgorge her gains by another man; +handsome, subtle, playing upon her affections and her fears. What did it +matter? Was she not in the same position, but freer because conscious; +poor slave soul. But the time had come for Victoria to make for the +Vesuvius. 'It must be getting late,' she thought, putting up her hand to +her little gold watch-brooch.</p> + +<p>It was gone. She had it on when she left, but it could not have dropped +out, for the lace showed two long rips; it had just been torn out. +Victoria stood frozen for a moment. So this was the result of a first +attempt at love. She recovered, however. She was not going to generalise +from one woman. 'Besides,' she thought bitterly, 'the girl's theories +are the same as mine. She merely has no reservations or hesitations. The +bolder pirate, she is perhaps the better brain.'</p> + +<p>Then she walked down Swallow Street into Piccadilly, and at once a young +man in loud checks was at her side. She looked up into his face, her +smile full of covert promise as they went into the Vesuvius together. +Victoria was now at home in the market place, and could exchange a quip +with the frequenters. Languidly she dropped her cloak into the hands of +the porter and preceded the young man into the supper-room. As they sat +at the little table before the liqueur, her eyes saw the garish room +through a film. How deadening it all was, and how lethal the draughts +sold here. An immense weariness was upon her, an immense disgust, as she +smiled full-toothed on the young man in checks. He was a cheerful +rattle, suggested the man who has got beyond the retail trade without +reaching the professions, a house agent's clerk perhaps.</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes, I'm a merry devil, ha! ha!' He winked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> a pleasant grey eye. +Victoria noticed that his clothes were too new, his boots too new, his +manners too a recent acquisition.</p> + +<p>'Don't worry. That's how you keep young, ha! ha! Besides, don't have +much time to mope in my trade!'</p> + +<p>'What's that?' asked Victoria vacuously. Men generally lied as to their +occupation, but she had noticed that when their imagination was +stimulated their temper improved.</p> + +<p>'Inspector of bun-punchers, ha! ha!'</p> + +<p>'Bun-punchers?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, bun-punchers. South Eastern Railway, you know. Got to have them +dated now. New Act of Parliament, ha! ha!'</p> + +<p>Victoria laughed, for his cockney joviality was infectious. Then again +the room faded and rematerialised as his voice rose and fell.</p> + +<p>'The wife don't know I'm out on the tiles, ha! ha! She's in Streatham, +looking after the smalls. . . . Oh, no, none of your common or garden +brass fenders. . . .'</p> + +<p>Victoria pulled herself together. This was what she could not bear. +Brutality, the obscene even, were preferable to this dreary trickling of +the inane masquerading as wit. Yet she smiled at him.</p> + +<p>'You're saucy,' she said. 'You're my fancy to-night.'</p> + +<p>A shadow passed over the man's face. Then again he was rattling along.</p> + +<p>'Talk of inventions? What'd you think of mine: indiarubber books to read +in your bath? ha! ha! . . .'</p> + +<p>But these are only the moths that flutter round the lamp, too far off to +burn their wings. They love to breathe perfume, to touch soft hands, +gaze at bright eyes and golden hair; then they flutter away, and the +hand that would stay their flight cannot rob them even of a few specks +of golden dust. In a few minutes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> Victoria sat philosophically before +her empty glass while Fascination Fledgeby was by the side of a rival, +being 'an awful dog,' for the benefit of his fellow clerks on the +morrow. She was in the mood when it did not matter whether she was +unlucky or not. There were quite two women present for every man this +hot August night. At the next table sat a woman known as 'Duckie,' fair, +very fat and rosy; she was the vision bursting from a white dress which +Victoria had seen the first night. On the first night she had embodied +for Victoria—so large, so fat, so coarsely animal was she—the very +essence of her trade; now she knew her better she found that Duckie was +a good sort, careless, generous, perfectly incapable of doing anybody an +ill turn. She was <i>bonne fille</i> even, so unmercenary as sometimes to +accede good humouredly to the pleadings of an impecunious youth. Her one +failing was a fondness for 'a wet.' She was drinking her third whisky +and soda; if she was invited to supper she would add to that at least +half a bottle of champagne, follow that up by a couple of liqueurs and a +peg just before going to bed. She carried her liquor well; she merely +grew a little vague.</p> + +<p>'Hot,' remarked Duckie.</p> + +<p>'Rather,' said Victoria. 'I'm going soon, can't stick it.'</p> + +<p>'Good for you. I've got to stay. Always harder for grandmas like me when +the fifth form boy's at the seaside.' Duckie laughed, without cynicism +though; she had the reasoning powers of a cow.</p> + +<p>Victoria laughed too. A foreign-looking girl in scarlet bent over from +the next table, her long coral earrings sliding down over her +collar-bones.</p> + +<p>'Tight again,' said the girl.</p> + +<p>'As a drum, Lissa, old girl!' said Duckie good temperedly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Nothing to what you'll be by and by,' added Lissa with the air of a +comforter.</p> + +<p>'Nothing like, old dear! Have one with me, Lissa? No? No offence. You, +Zoé, have a <i>tord boyaux</i>?'</p> + +<p>'No thanks.' Zoé was a good-looking short girl; her French nationality +written in every line of her round face, plump figure, and hands. Her +hair was pulled away from the fat nape of her neck. She looked competent +and wide awake. A housewife gone astray. Lissa, dark and Italian looking +in her red dress and coral earrings, was more languid than the others. +She was really a Greek, and all the grace of the East was in every +movement of her slim figure. In a moment the four women had clustered +together, forgetting strife.</p> + +<p>Lissa had had a 'Bank of Engraving' note palmed off on her by a +pseudo-South American planter, and was rightly indignant. They were +still talking of Camille de Valenciennes and of her misfortunes with the +barber. Boys, the latest tip for Gatwick, 'what I said to him,' the +furriers' sales, boys again . . . Victoria listened to the conversation. +It still seemed like another world and yet her world. Here they were, +she and the other atoms, hostile every one, and a blind centripetal +force was kneading them together into a class. Yet any class was better +than the isolation in which she lived. Why not go further, hear more?</p> + +<p>'I say, you girls,' she said suddenly, 'you've never been to my place. +Come and . . . no, not dine, it won't work . . . come and lunch with me +next week.'</p> + +<p>Duckie smiled heavily.</p> + +<p>'I don' min',' she said thickly.</p> + +<p>Zoé looked suspicious for a moment.</p> + +<p>'Can I bring Fritz?' asked Lissa.</p> + +<p>'No, we can't have Fritz,' said Victoria smiling. 'Ladies only.'</p> + +<p>'I'm on,' said Zoé suddenly. 'I was afraid you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> were going to have a lot +of swells in. Hate those shows. Never do you any good and you get so +crumpled.'</p> + +<p>'You might let me bring Fritz,' said Lissa querulously.</p> + +<p>'No men,' said Victoria firmly. 'Wednesday at one o'clock. All square?'</p> + +<p>'Thatawright,' remarked Duckie. 'Shut it Lissa. Fritzawright. Tellm its +biz . . . bizness.'</p> + +<p>With some difficulty they hoisted Duckie into a cab and sent her off to +Bloomsbury. As it drove off she popped her head out.</p> + +<p>'Carriage paid,' she spluttered, 'or C. O. D.?'</p> + +<p>Zoé and Lissa walked away to the circus. On her little hall table, as +Victoria went into her house, she found a note scrawled in pencil on +some of her own notepaper. It was from Betty. It said that Farwell had +been stricken down by a sudden illness and was sinking fast. His address +followed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_Xb" id="CHAPTER_Xb"></a>CHAPTER X</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> a bed sitting-room at the top of an old house off the Waterloo Road +three women were watching by the bedside of a man. One was dressed in +rusty black; she was pale faced, crowned with light hair; the other, +shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, was middle-aged and very +stout; her breast rolled like a billow in her half buttoned bodice. The +third was beautiful, all in black, her sumptuous neck and shoulders +bare. None of them moved for a moment. Then the beautiful woman threw +back her cloak and her long jade earrings tinkled. The face on the +pillow turned and opened its eyes.</p> + +<p>'Victoria,' said a faint voice.</p> + +<p>'Yes . . . are you better?' Victoria bent over the bed. The face was +copper coloured; every bone seemed to start out. She could hardly +recognise Farwell's rough hewn features.</p> + +<p>'Not yet . . . soon,' said Farwell. He closed his eyes once more.</p> + +<p>'What is it, Betty?' whispered Victoria.</p> + +<p>'I don't know . . . hemorrhage they say.'</p> + +<p>'It's all up mum,' whispered the landlady in Victoria's ear. 'Been ill +two days only. Doctor said he wouldn't come again.'</p> + +<p>Victoria bent over the bed once more. She could feel the eyes of the +landlady probing her personality.</p> + +<p>'Can't you do something?' she asked savagely.</p> + +<p>'Nothing.' Farwell opened his eyes again and faintly smiled. 'And what's +the good, Victoria?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> + +<p>Victoria threw herself on her knees by the side of the bed. 'Oh, you +musn't!' she whispered. 'You . . . the world can't spare you!'</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes . . . it can . . . you know . . . the world is like men . . . +it spends everything on luxuries . . . it can't afford necessaries.'</p> + +<p>Victoria smiled and felt as if she were going to choke. The last +paradox.</p> + +<p>'Are you in pain?' she asked.</p> + +<p>'No, not just now. . . . I shall be, soon. Let me speak while I can.' +His voice grew firmer suddenly.</p> + +<p>'I have asked you to come so that you may be the last thing I see; you, +the fairest. I love you.'</p> + +<p>Not one of the three women moved.</p> + +<p>'I have not spoken before, because when I could speak we were slaves. +Now you are free and I a slave. It is too late, so it is time for me to +speak. For I cannot influence you.'</p> + +<p>Farwell shut his eyes. But soon his voice rose again.</p> + +<p>'You must never influence anybody. That is my legacy to you. You cannot +teach men to stand by giving them a staff. Let the halt and the lame +alone. The strong will win. You must be free. There is nothing worth +while. . . .' A shiver passed over him, his voice became muffled.</p> + +<p>'No, nothing at all . . . freedom only. . . .'</p> + +<p>He spoke quicker. The words could not be distinguished. Now and then he +groaned.</p> + +<p>'Wait,' whispered Betty, 'it will be over in a minute.' For two minutes +they waited.</p> + +<p>Victoria's eyes fastened on a basin by the bedside, full of reddish +water. Then Farwell's face grew lighter in tone. His voice came faint as +the sound of a spinet.</p> + +<p>'There will be better times. But before then fighting . . . the coming +to the top of the leaders . . . gold will be taken from the rich . . . +given to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> vile . . . pictures burnt . . . chaos . . . woman rise as +a tyrant . . . there will be fighting . . . the coming to the top. . ..' +His voice thinned down to nothing as his wandering mind repeated his +prediction. Then he spoke again.</p> + +<p>'You are a rebel . . . you will lead . . . you have understood . . . +only by understanding are you saved. I asked you to come here to tell +you to go on . . . earn your freedom . . . at the expense of others.'</p> + +<p>'Why at the expense of others?' asked Betty, leaning over the bed. +Farwell was hypnotising her. His eyes wandered to her face.</p> + +<p>'Too late . . .' he said, 'you do not see . . . you are a slave . . . a +woman has only one weapon . . . otherwise, a slave . . . ask . . . ask +Victoria.' He closed his eyes but went on speaking.</p> + +<p>'There is not freedom for everybody . . . capitalism means freedom for a +few . . . you must have freedom, like food . . . food for the soul . . . +you must capture the right to respect . . . a woman may not toil . . . +make money . . .'</p> + +<p>Then again. 'I am going into the blackness . . . before Death . . . the +Judge . . . Death will judge me. . . .'</p> + +<p>''E's thinking of his Maker, poor genelman,' said the landlady hoarsely.</p> + +<p>Victoria and Betty looked at one another. Agnostic or indifferent in +their cooler moments, the superstition of their ancestors worked in +their blood, powerfully assisted by the spectacle of this being passing +step by step into an unknown. There must be life there, feeling, loving. +There must be Something.</p> + +<p>The voice stopped. Betty had seized Victoria's arm and now clutched it +violently. Victoria could feel through her own body the shudders that +shook the girl's frame. Then Farwell's voice rose again, louder and +louder, like the upward flicker of a dying candle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Yes, freedom's my message, the right to live. This world into which we +are evolved by a selfish act of joy, into which we are dragged unwilling +with pain for our usher, it is a world which has no justification save +the freedom to enjoy it as we may. I have lived a stoic, but it is a +hedonist I die. Unshepherded I go into a perhaps. But I regret nothing +. . . all the certainties of the past are not worth the possible of the +future. Behind me others tread the road that leads up the hill.'</p> + +<p>He paused for breath. Then again his voice arose as a cry, proclaiming +his creed.</p> + +<p>'On the top of the hill. There I see the unknown land, running with milk +and honey. I see a new people; beautiful young, beautiful old. Its +fathers have ground the faces of the helots; they have fought and +lusted, they have suffered contumely and stripes. Now they know the Law, +the Law that all may keep because they are beyond the Law. They do not +desire, for they have, they do not weigh, for they know. They have not +feared, they have dared; they have spared no man, nor themselves. Ah! +now they have opened the Golden Gates. . . .'</p> + +<p>The man's voice broke, he coughed, a thin stream of blood trickled from +the side of his mouth. Victoria felt a film come over her eyes. She +leant over him to staunch the flow. They saw one another then. Farwell's +voice went down to a whisper.</p> + +<p>'Victoria . . . victorious . . . my love . . . never more. . . .'</p> + +<p>She looked into his glazing eyes.</p> + +<p>'Beyond . . .' he whispered; then his head fell to one side and his jaw +dropped.</p> + +<p>Betty turned away. She was crying. The landlady wiped her hands on her +apron. Victoria hesitatingly took hold of Farwell's wrist. He was dead. +She looked at him stupidly for a moment, then drew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> her cloak round her +shivering shoulders. The landlady too was crying now.</p> + +<p>'Oh, mum, sich a nice genelman,' she moaned. 'But 'e did go on so!'</p> + +<p>Victoria smiled pitifully. What an epitaph for a sunset! She drove away +with Betty and, as the horse trotted through the deserted streets, +hugged the girl in her arms. Betty was shuddering violently, and nestled +close up to her. They did not speak. Everything seemed to have become +loose in Victoria's mind and to be floating on a black sea. The pillar +of her individualism was down. Her codes were in the melting pot; a man, +the finest she had known, had confessed his love in his extremity, and +before she could respond passed into the shadow. But Farwell had left +her as a legacy the love of freedom for which he died, for which she was +going to live.</p> + +<p>When they arrived at Elm Tree Place, Victoria forced Betty to drink some +brandy, to tell her how Farwell had sent her a message, asking her to +send him Victoria, how she had waited for her.</p> + +<p>'Oh, it was awful,' whispered Betty, 'the maid said you'd be late . . . +she said I mustn't wait because you might not . . .'</p> + +<p>'Not come home alone?' said Victoria in a frozen voice.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I can't bear it, I can't bear it.' Betty flung herself into her +friend's arms, wildly weeping.</p> + +<p>Victoria soothed her, made her undress. As Betty grew more collected she +let drop a few words.</p> + +<p>'Oh, so then you too are happy?' said Victoria smiling faintly.</p> + +<p>'You love?' A burning blush rose over Betty's face.</p> + +<p>That night, as in the old Finsbury days, they lay in one another's arms +and Victoria grappled with her sorrow. Gentle, almost motherly, she +watched over this young life; blushing, full of promise, preparing +already to replace the dead.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIb" id="CHAPTER_XIb"></a>CHAPTER XI</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> death of Farwell seemed to leave Victoria struggling and gasping for +breath, like a shipwrecked mariner who tries to secure his footing on +shifting sand while waves knock him down every time he rises to his +knees. Though she hardly ever saw him and though she had no precise idea +that he cared for her more than does the scientist for the bacteria he +observes, he had been her tower of strength. He was there, like the +institutions which make up civilisation, the British Constitution, the +Bank and the Established Church. Now he was gone and she saw that the +temple of life was empty. He was the last link. Cairns's death had +turned her out among the howling wolves; now Farwell seemed to have +carried away with him her theory of life. Above all, she now knew +nobody; save Betty, who counted as a charming child. It was then she +began to taste more cruelly the isolation of her class.</p> + +<p>In the early days, when she paced up and down fiercely in the room at +Portsea Place, she had already realised that she was alone, but then she +was not an outcast; the doors of society were, if not open, at any rate +not locked against her. Then the busy hum of the Rosebud and the P.R.R., +the back-breaking work, the hustle, the facile friendships with City +beaus—all this had drawn a veil over her solitude. Now she was really +alone because none knew and none would know her. Her beauty, her fine +clothes, contributed to clear round her a circle as if she were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> a +leper. At times she would talk to a woman in a park, but before a few +sentences had passed her lips the woman would take in every detail of +her, her clean gloves, her neat shoes, her lace handkerchief, her costly +veil; then the woman's face would grow rigid, and with a curt 'good +morning' she would rise from her seat and go.</p> + +<p>Victoria found herself thrust back, like the trapper in the hands of Red +Indians; like him she ran in a circle, clubbed back towards the centre +every time she tried to escape. She was of her class, and none but her +class would associate with her. Women such as herself gladly talked to +her, but their ideas sickened her, for life had taught them nothing but +the ethics of the sex-trade. Their followers too—barbers, billiard +markers, shady bookmakers, unemployed potmen; who sometimes dared to +foist themselves on her—filled her with yet greater fear and disgust, +for they were the only class of man alternative to those on whose bounty +she lived. Thus she withdrew herself away from all; sometimes a craving +for society would throw her into equivocal converse with Augusta, whose +one idea was the dowry she must take back to Germany. Then, tiring of +her, she would snatch up Snoo and Poo and pace round and round her tiny +lawn like a squirrel in its wheel.</p> + +<p>A chance meeting with Molly emphasised her isolation, like the flash of +lightning which leaves the night darker. She was standing on the steps +of the Sandringham Tea House in Bond Street, looking into the side +window of the photographer who runs a print shop on the ground floor. +Some sprawling Boucher beauties in delicate gold frames fascinated her. +She delighted in the semi-crude, semi-sophisticated atmosphere, the +rotundity of the well-fed bodies, their ribald rosy flesh. As she was +wondering whether they would not do for the stairs the door opened +suddenly and a plump little woman almost rushed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> into her arms. The +little woman apologised, giving her a quick look. Then the two looked at +one another again.</p> + +<p>'Victoria!' cried Molly, for it was she, with her wide open blue eyes, +small nose, fair frizzy hair.</p> + +<p>A thrill of joy and fear ran through Victoria. She felt her personality +criddle up like a scorched moth, then expand like a flower under gentle +dew. She was found out; the terrible female instinct was going to detect +her, then to proclaim her guilt. However, bravely enough, she braced +herself up and held out her hand.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Vic, why haven't you written to me for, let me see, three years, +isn't it?'</p> + +<p>'I've been away, abroad,' said Victoria slowly. She seemed to float in +another world. Molly was talking vigorously; Victoria's brain, +feverishly active, was making up the story which would have to be told +when Molly's cheerful egotism had had its way.</p> + +<p>'Don't let's stay here on the doorstep,' she interrupted, 'let's go +upstairs and have tea. You haven't had tea yet?'</p> + +<p>'I should love to,' said Molly, squeezing her arm. 'Then you can tell me +about yourself.'</p> + +<p>Seated at a little table Molly finished her simple story. She had +married an army chaplain, but he had given up his work in India and was +now rector of Pontyberis in Wales. They had two children. Molly was up +in town merely to break the journey, as she was going down to stay with +her aunt in Kent. Oh, yes, she was very happy, her husband was very +well.</p> + +<p>'They're talking of making him Dean of Ffwr,' she added with unction. +'But that's enough about me. How have you been getting on, Vic? I +needn't ask how you are; one only has to look at you.' Molly's eyes +roved over her friend's beautiful young face, her clothes which she +appraised with the skill of those poor who are learned in the fashions.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I? Oh, I'm very well,' said Victoria hysterically.</p> + +<p>'Yes, but how have you been getting on? Weren't you talking about having +to work when you came over?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, but I've been lucky . . . a week after I got here an aunt of my +mother's died of whom I never even heard before. They told me at Dick's +lawyers a month later, and you wouldn't believe it, there was no will +and I came in for . . . well something quite comfortable.'</p> + +<p>Molly put out her hand and stroked Victoria's.</p> + +<p>'I'm so glad,' she said. . . . 'Oh, you don't know how hard it is to +have to work for your living. I see something of it in Wales. Oh, if you +only knew. . . .'</p> + +<p>Victoria pressed her lips together, as if about to cry or laugh.</p> + +<p>'But what did you do then? You only wrote once. You didn't tell me?'</p> + +<p>'No, I only heard a month after, you know. Oh, I had a lot to do. I +travelled a lot. I've been in America a good deal. In fact my home is in +. . . Alabama.' She plunged for Alabama, feeling sure that New York was +unsafe.</p> + +<p>'Oh, how nice,' said Molly ingenuously. 'You might have sent me picture +postcards, you know.'</p> + +<p>Skilfully enough Victoria explained that she had lost Molly's address. +Her friend blissfully accepted all she said, but a few other women less +ingenuous than the clergyman's wife were casting sharp glances at her. +When they parted, Victoria audaciously giving her address as 'care of +Mrs Ferris, Elm Tree Place,' she threw herself back on the cushions of +the cab and told herself that she could not again go through with the +ordeal of facing her own class. She almost hungered for the morrow, when +she was to entertain the class she had adopted.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIIb" id="CHAPTER_XIIb"></a>CHAPTER XII</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Fulton household had always been short of money, for Dick spent too +much himself to leave anything for entertaining; thus Victoria had very +little experience of lunch parties. Since she had left the Holts she +hardly remembered a bourgeois meal. The little affair on the Wednesday +was therefore provocative of much thought. Mutton was dismissed as +common, beef in any form as coarse; Laura's suggestion (for Laura and +Augusta had been called in) of a savoury sauerkraut ('mit Blutwurst, +Frankfurter, Leberwurst, etc.'), was also dismissed. Both servants took +a keen interest in the occasion.</p> + +<p>'But why no gentleman come?' asked Laura, who was clearly ill-disposed +to do her best for her own sex.</p> + +<p>'In the house I was . . .' began Augusta . . . then she froze up under +Victoria's eye. Her mistress still had a strain of the prig in her.</p> + +<p>Then Augusta suggested hors d'œuvres, smoked salmon, anchovies, +olives, radishes; Laura forced forward fowl <i>ŕ la Milanaise</i> to be +preceded by baked John Dory cayenne. Then Augusta in a moment of +inspiration thought of French beans and vegetable marrow . . . stuffed +with chestnuts. The three women laughed, Laura clapped her hands with +the sheer joy of the creative artist.</p> + +<p>When Victoria came into the dining-room at half-past twelve she was +almost dazzled by her own magnificence. Neither the Carlton nor the +Savoy could equal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> the blaze of her plate, the brilliant polish of her +tablecloths. The dahlias blazed dark red in cut glass by the side of +pale belated roses from the garden. On the sideboard fat peaches were +heaped in a modern Lowestoft bowl, and amber-coloured plums lay like +portly dowagers in velvet.</p> + +<p>A few minutes before the hour Zoé and Lissa arrived together. They were +nervous; not on account of Victoria's spread, for they were of the upper +stratum, but because they were in a house. Accustomed to their small +flats off Shaftesbury Avenue, where tiny kitchens jostled with bedroom +and boudoir, they were frightened by the suggestion of a vast basement +out of which floated the savoury aroma of the John Dory baking. Victoria +tried to put them at their ease, took their parasols away and showed +them into the boudoir. There they sat in a triangle, the hot sun blazing +in upon them, stiff and starched with the formality of those who are +seldom formal.</p> + +<p>'Have a Manhattan cocktail?' asked the hostess.</p> + +<p>'No thanks; very hot, isn't it?' said Lissa in her most refined manner. +She was looking very pretty, dark, slim and snaky in her close-fitting +lemon coloured frock.</p> + +<p>'Very hot,' chimed in Zoé. She was sitting unnecessarily erect. Her flat +French back seemed to abhor the easy chair. Her tight hair, her trim +hands, her well boned collar, everything breathed neatness, well laced +stays, a full complement of hooks and eyes. She might have been the +sedate wife of a prosperous French tradesman.</p> + +<p>'Yes, it is hot,' said Victoria.</p> + +<p>Then the conversation flagged. The hostess tried to draw out her guests. +They were obviously anxious to behave. Lissa posed for 'The Sketch,' Zoé +remained <i>trčs correcte</i>.</p> + +<p>'Do you like my pictures?' asked Victoria pointing to the French +engravings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p> + +<p>'They are very pretty,' said Lissa.</p> + +<p>'I am very interested in engravings,' said Zoé, looking at the rosewood +clock. There was a longish pause.</p> + +<p>'I must show you my little dogs,' cried Victoria. She must do something. +She went out to the landing and opened the garden door. There she met +Augusta carrying a trayful of finger bowls. She felt inspired to +overturn it if only to break the ice. Snoo and Poo rushed in, but in the +boudoir they also instinctively became very well-bred.</p> + +<p>'I am very fond of dogs,' said Lissa. Snoo lay down on her back.</p> + +<p>'She is very pretty,' remarked Zoé.</p> + +<p>Victoria punched the dogs in the ribs, rolled them over. It was no good. +They would do nothing but gently wag their tails. She felt she would +like to swear, when suddenly the front door was slammed, a cheerful +voice rang in the hall.</p> + +<p>'Hulloa, here's Duckie,' said Lissa.</p> + +<p>The door opened loudly and Duckie seemed to rush in as if seated on a +high wind.</p> + +<p>'Here we are again!' cried the buxom presence in white. Every one of her +frills rattled like metal. 'Late as usual. Oh, Vic, what angel pups!'</p> + +<p>Duckie was on her knees. In a moment she had stirred up the Pekingese. +They forgot their manners. They barked vociferously; and Zoé's starch +was taken out of her by Poo, who rushed under her skirts. Lissa laughed +and jumped up.</p> + +<p>'Here Vic,' said Duckie ponderously, 'give us a hand, old girl. Never +can jump about after gin and bitters,' she added confidentially as they +helped her up.</p> + +<p>The ice was effectually broken. They filed into the dining-room in +pairs, Victoria and Lissa being slim playing the part of men. How they +gobbled up the hors d'œuvres and how golden the John Dory was; the +flanks of the fish shone like an old violin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> Augusta flitted about +quick but noisy. There was a smile on her face.</p> + +<p>'Steady on, old love,' said Duckie to her as the maid inadvertently +poured her claret into a tumbler.</p> + +<p>'Never you mind, Gussie,' cried Zoé, bursting with familiarity, 'she'll +be having it in a bucket by and by.'</p> + +<p>Augusta laughed. What easy going <i>herrschaft</i>!</p> + +<p>The talk was getting racier now. By the time they got to the dessert the +merriment was rather supper than lunch-like.</p> + +<p>'Victoria plums,' said Lissa, 'let us name them <i>Bonne Hotesse</i>.'</p> + +<p>The idea was triumphant. Duckie insisted on drinking a toast in hock, +for she never hesitated to mix her wines. Victoria smiled at them +indulgently. The youth of all this and the jollity, the ease of it; all +that was not of her old class.</p> + +<p>'Confusion to the puritans,' she cried, and drained her glass. Snoo and +Poo were fighting for scraps, for Duckie was already getting uncertain +in her aim. Lissa and Zoé, like nymphs teasing Bacchus, were pelting her +with plum stones, but she seemed quite unconscious of their pranks. They +had some difficulty in getting her into the boudoir for coffee and +liqueurs; once on the sofa she tried to go to sleep. Her companions +roused her, however; the scent of coffee, acrid and stimulating, stung +their nostrils; the liqueurs shone wickedly, green and golden in their +glass bottles; talk became more individual, more reminiscent. Here and +there a joke shot up like a rocket or stuck quivering in Duckie's placid +flanks.</p> + +<p>'Well Vic,' said Zoé, 'you are very well <i>installée</i>.' She slowly +emptied of cigarette smoke her expanded cheeks and surveyed the +comfortable little room.</p> + +<p>'Did you do it yourself?' asked Lissa. 'It must have cost you a lot of +money.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I didn't pay.' Victoria was either getting less reticent or the +liqueur was playing her tricks.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> 'I began with a man who set me up +here,' she added; 'he was . . . he died suddenly' she went on more +cautiously.</p> + +<p>'Oh!' Zoé's eyebrows shot up. 'That's what I call luck. But why do you +not have a flat? It is cheaper.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, but more inconvenient,' said Lissa. 'Ah, Vic. I do envy you. You +don't know. We're always in trouble. We are moving every month.'</p> + +<p>'But why?' asked Victoria. 'Why must you move?'</p> + +<p>'Turn you out. Neighbours talk and then the landlord's conscience begins +to prick him,' grumbled Duckie from the sofa.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I see,' said Victoria. 'But when they turn you out what do you do?'</p> + +<p>'Go somewhere else, softy,' said Duckie.</p> + +<p>'But then what good does it do?'</p> + +<p>All the women laughed.</p> + +<p>'Law, who cares?' said Duckie. 'I dunno.'</p> + +<p>'It is perfectly simple,' began Zoé in her precise foreign English. 'You +see the landlord he will not let flats to ladies. When the police began +to watch it would cause him <i>des ennuis</i>. So he lets to a gentleman who +sublets the flats, you see? When the trouble begins, he doesn't know.'</p> + +<p>'But what about the man who sublets?' asked the novice.</p> + +<p>'Him? Oh, he's gone when it begins,' said Lissa. 'But they arrest the +hall porter.'</p> + +<p>'Justice must have its way, I see,' said Victoria.</p> + +<p>'What you call justice,' grumbled Duckie, 'I call it damned hard lines.'</p> + +<p>For some minutes Victoria discussed the housing problem with the fat +jolly woman. Duckie was in a cheerful mood. One could hardly believe, +when one looked at her puffy pink face, that she had seen fifteen years +of trouble.</p> + +<p>'Landladies,' she soliloquised, 'it's worse. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> take my tip Vic, you +steer clear of them. You pay as much for a pigsty as a man pays for a +palace. If you do badly they chuck you out and stick to your traps and +what can you do? You don't call a policeman. If you do well, they raise +the rent, steal your clothes, charge you key money, and don't give 'em +any lip if you don't want a man set at you. Oh, Lor!'</p> + +<p>Duckie went on, and as she spoke her bluntness caused Victoria to +visualise scene after scene, one more horrible than another: a tall +dingy house in Bloomsbury with unlit staircases leading up to black +landings suggestive of robbery and murder; bedrooms with blinded +windows, reeking with patchouli, with carpets soiled by a myriad ignoble +stains. The house Duckie pictured was like a warren in every corner of +which soft-handed, rosy-lipped harpies sucked men's life-blood; there +was drinking in it, and a piano played light airs; below in the ground +floor, through the half open door, she could see two or three +foreigners, unshaven, dirty-cuffed, playing cards in silence like +hunters in ambush. She shuddered.</p> + +<p>'Yes, but Fritz isn't so bad,' broke in Lissa. She had all this time +been wrangling with Zoé.</p> + +<p>'No good,' snapped Zoé, 'he's a . . . a <i>bouche inutile</i>.' Her pursed-up +lips tightened. Fritz was swept away to limbo by her practical French +philosophy.</p> + +<p>'I like him because he is not useful' said Lissa dreamily. Zoé shrugged +her shoulders. Poor fool, this Lissa.</p> + +<p>'Who is this Fritz you're always talking about?' asked Victoria.</p> + +<p>'He's a . . . you know what they call them,' said Duckie brutally.</p> + +<p>'You're a liar,' screamed Lissa jumping up. 'He's . . . oh, Vic, you do +not understand. He's the man I care for; he is so handsome, so clever, +so gentle . . .'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Very gentle,' sneered Zoé, 'why did you not take off your long gloves +last week, <i>hein</i>? Perhaps you had blue marks?'</p> + +<p>Lissa looked about to cry. Victoria put her hand on her arm.</p> + +<p>'Never mind them,' she said, 'tell me.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Vic, you are so good.' Lissa's face twitched, then she smiled like +a child bribed with a sweet. 'They do not know; they are hard. It is +true, Fritz does not work, but if we were married he would work and I +would do nothing. What does it matter?' They all smiled at the theory, +but Lissa went on with heightened colour.</p> + +<p>'Oh, it is so good to forget all the others; they are so ugly, so +stupid. It is infernal. And then, Fritz, the man that I love for himself +. . .'</p> + +<p>'And who loves you for . . .' began Zoé.</p> + +<p>'Shut up, Zoé,' said Duckie, her kindly heart expanding before this +idealism, 'leave the kid alone. Not in my line of course. You take my +tip, all of you, you go on your own. Don't you get let in with a +landlady and don't you get let in with a man. It's <i>them</i> you've got to +let in.'</p> + +<p>'That's what I say,' remarked Zoé. 'We are successful because we take +care. One must be economical. For instance, every month I can. . . .' +She stopped and looked round suspiciously; with economy goes distrust, +and Zoé was very French. 'Well, I can manage,' she concluded vaguely.</p> + +<p>'And you need not talk, Duckie,' said Lissa savagely. 'You drink two +quid's worth every week.'</p> + +<p>'Well, s'pose I do,' grumbled the cherub. 'Think I do it for pleasure? +Tell you what, if I hadn't got squiffy at the beginning I'd have gone +off me bloomin' chump. I was in Buenos Ayres, went off with a waiter to +get married. He was in a restaurant, Highgate way, where I was in +service. I found out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> all about it when I got there. O Lor! Why, we +jolly well <i>had</i> to drink, what with those Argentines who're half +monkeys and the good of the house! Oh, Lor!' She smiled. 'Those were +high old times,' she said inconsequently, overwhelmed by the glamour of +the past. There was silence.</p> + +<p>'I see,' said Victoria suddenly. 'I've never seen it before. If you want +to get on, you've got to run on business lines. No ties, no men to bleed +you. Save your money. Don't drink; save your looks. Why, those are good +rules for a bank cashier! If you trip, down you go in the mud and +nobody'll pick you up. So you've got to walk warily, not look at +anybody, play fair and play hard. Then you can get some cash together +and then you're free.'</p> + +<p>There was silence. Victoria had faced the problem too squarely for two +of her guests. Lissa looked dreamily towards the garden, wondering where +Fritz was, whether she was wise in loving; Duckie, conscious of her +heavy legs and incipient dropsy, blushed, then paled. Alone, Zoé, stiff +and energetic like the determined business woman she was, wore on her +lips the enigmatic smile born of a nice little sum in French three per +cents.</p> + +<p>'I must be going,' said Duckie hoarsely. She levered herself off the +sofa. Then, almost silently, the party broke up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIIIb" id="CHAPTER_XIIIb"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Life</span> pursued its even tenour; and Victoria, watching it go by, was +reminded of the endless belt of a machine. The world machine went on +grinding, and every breath she took was grist thrown for ever into the +intolerable mill. It was October again, and already the trees in the +garden were shedding fitful rains of glowing leaves. Alone the elder +tree stood almost unchanged, a symbol of the everlasting. Now and then +Victoria walked round the little lawn with Snoo and Poo, who were too +shivery to chase the fat spiders. Often she stayed there for an hour, +one hand against a tree trunk, looking at nothing, bathed in the mauve +light of the dying year. Already the scents of decay, of wetness, filled +the little garden and struck cold when the sun went down.</p> + +<p>Every day now Victoria felt her isolation more cruelly. Solitude was no +longer negative; it had materialised and had become a solid inimical +presence. When the sun shone and she could walk the milky way of the +streets, alone but feeling with every sense the joy of living time, +there was not much to fear from solitude; there were things to look at, +to touch, to smell. Now solitude no longer lurked round corners; at +times a gust of wind carried its icy breath into her bones.</p> + +<p>She was suffering, too, a little. She felt heavy in the legs, and a vein +in her left calf hurt a little in the evening if she had walked or stood +much. Soon, though it did not increase, the pain became her daily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> +companion, for even when absent it haunted her. She would await a twinge +for a whole day, ready and fearful, bracing herself up against a shock +which often found her unprepared. At all times too the obsession seemed +to follow her now. Perhaps she was walking through Regent's Park, +buoyant and feeling capable of lifting a mountain, but the thought would +rush upon her, perhaps it was going to hurt. She would lie awake too, +oblivious of the heavy breathing by her side, rested, all her senses +asleep, and then though she felt no pain the fear of it would come upon +her and she would wrestle with the thought that the blow was about to +fall.</p> + +<p>Sometimes she would go out into the streets, seeking variety even in a +wrangle between her Pekingese and some other dog. This meant that she +must separate them, apologise to the owner, exchange perhaps a few +words. Once she achieved a conversation with an old lady, a kindly soul, +the mistress of a poodle. They walked together along the Canal, and the +futile conversation fell like balm on Victoria's ears. The freshness of +a voice ignorant of double meanings was soft as dew. They were to meet +again, but the old lady was a near neighbour and she must have heard +something of Victoria's reputation, for when they met again opposite +Lord's, the old lady crossed over and the poodle followed her haughtily, +leaving Snoo and Poo disconsolate and wondering on the edge of the +pavement.</p> + +<p>One morning Augusta came into the boudoir about twelve, carrying a +visiting card on a little tray.</p> + +<p>'Miss Emma Welkin,' read Victoria. 'League of the Rights of Women. What +does she want, Augusta?'</p> + +<p>'She says she wants to see Mrs Ferris, Mum.'</p> + +<p>'League of the Rights of Women? Why, she must be a suffragist.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, Mum. She wear a straw hat, Mum,' explained Augusta with a slight +sniff.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span></p> + +<p>'And a tweed coat and skirt, I suppose,' said Victoria smiling.</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes, Mum. Shall I say go away?'</p> + +<p>'M'm. No, tell her to come in.'</p> + +<p>While Augusta was away Victoria settled herself in the cushions. Perhaps +it might be interesting. The visitor was shown in.</p> + +<p>'How do you do?' said Victoria holding out her hand. 'Please sit down. +Excuse my getting up, I'm not very well.'</p> + +<p>Miss Welkin looked about her, mildly surprised. It was a pretty room, +but somehow she felt uncomfortable. Victoria was looking at her. A +capable type of femininity this; curious, though, in its thick man-like +clothes, its strong boots. She was not bad looking, thirty perhaps, very +erect and rather flat. Her face was fresh, clean, innocent of powder; +her eyes were steady behind glasses; her hair was mostly invisible, +being tightly pulled back. There were firm lines about her mouth. A +fighting animal.</p> + +<p>'I hope you'll excuse this intrusion,' said the suffragist, 'but I got +your name from the directory and I have come to . . . to ascertain your +views about the all-important question of the vote.' There was a queer +stiltedness about the little speech. Miss Welkin was addressing the +meeting.</p> + +<p>'Oh? I'm very much interested,' said Victoria. 'Of course I don't know +anything about it except what I read in the papers.'</p> + +<p>The grey eyes glittered. Evangelic fervour radiated from them. 'That's +what we want,' said the suffragist. 'It's just the people who are ready +to be our friends who haven't heard our side and who get biassed. Mrs +Ferris, I'm sure you'll come in with us and join the Marylebone branch?'</p> + +<p>'But how can I?' asked Victoria. 'You see I know nothing about it all.'</p> + +<p>'Let me give you these pamphlets,' said the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> suffragist. Victoria +obediently took a leaflet on the marriage law, a pamphlet on 'The Rights +of Women,' a few more papers too, some of which slipped to the floor.</p> + +<p>'Thank you,' she said, 'but first of all tell me, why do you want the +vote?'</p> + +<p>The suffragist looked at her for a second. This might be a keen recruit +when she was converted. Then a flood of words burst from her.</p> + +<p>'Oh, how can any woman ask, when she sees the misery, the subjection in +which we live. We say that we want the vote because it is the only means +we have to attain economic freedom . . . we say to man: "Put your weapon +in our hands and we will show you what we can do." We want to have a +voice in the affairs of the country. We want to say how the taxes we pay +shall be spent, how our children shall be educated, whether our sons +shall go to war. We say it's wrong that we should be disfranchised +because we are women . . . it is illogical . . . we must have it.'</p> + +<p>The suffragist stopped for a second to regain breath.</p> + +<p>'I see,' said Victoria, 'but how is the vote going to help?'</p> + +<p>'Help,' echoed Miss Welkin. 'It will help because it will enable women +to have a voice in national affairs.'</p> + +<p>'You must think me awfully stupid,' said Victoria sweetly, 'but what use +will it be to us if we do get a voice in national affairs?'</p> + +<p>Miss Welkin ignored the interruption.</p> + +<p>'It is wrong that we should not have a vote if we are reasonable beings; +we can be teachers, doctors, chemists, factory inspectors, business +managers, writers; we can sit on local authorities, and we can't cast a +vote for a member of Parliament. It's preposterous, it's . . .'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Yes, I understand, but what will the vote do for us? Will it raise +wages?'</p> + +<p>'It must raise wages. Men's wages have risen a lot since they got the +vote.'</p> + +<p>'Do you think that's because they got the vote?'</p> + +<p>'Yes. Well, partly. At any rate there are things above wages,' said the +suffragist excitedly. 'And you know, we know that the vote is wanted +especially because it is an education; by inducing women to take an +interest in politics we will broaden their minds, teach them to combine +and then automatically their wages will rise.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes.' Victoria was rather struck by the argument. 'Then,' she said, +'you admit men are superior to women?'</p> + +<p>'Well, yes, at any rate at present,' said the suffragist rather sulkily. +'But you must remember that men have had nearly eighty years training in +political affairs. That's why we want the vote; to wake women up. Oh, +you have no idea what it will mean when we get it. We shall have fresh +minds bearing on political problems, we shall have more adequate +protection for women and children, compulsory feeding, endowment of +mothers, more education, shorter hours, more sanitary inspection. We +shall not be enslaved by parties; a nobler influence, the influence of +pure women will breathe an atmosphere of virtue into this terrible +world.'</p> + +<p>The woman's eyes were rapt now, her hands tightly clenched, her lips +parted, her cheeks a little flushed. But Victoria's face had hardened +suddenly.</p> + +<p>'Miss Welkin,' she said quietly, 'has anything struck you about this +house, about me?'</p> + +<p>The suffragist looked at her uneasily.</p> + +<p>'You ought to know whom you are talking to,' Victoria went on, 'I am a +. . . I am a what you would probably call . . . well, not respectable.'</p> + +<p>A dull red flush spread over Miss Welkin's face,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> from the line of her +tightly pulled hair to her stiff white collar; even her ears went red. +She looked away into a corner.</p> + +<p>'You see,' said Victoria, 'it's a shock, isn't it? I ought not to have +let you in. It wasn't quite fair, was it?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, it isn't that, Mrs Ferris,' burst out the suffragist, 'I'm not +thinking of myself. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Excuse me, you must. You can't help it. If you could construct a scale +with the maximum of egotism at one end, and the maximum of altruism at +the other and divide it, say into one hundred degrees, you would not, I +think, place your noblest thinkers more than a degree or two beyond the +egotistic zero. Now you, a pure girl, have been entrapped into the house +of a woman of no reputation, whom you would not have in your +drawing-room. Now, would you?'</p> + +<p>Miss Welkin was silent for a moment; the flush was dying away as she +gazed round eyed at this beautiful woman lying in her piled cushions, +talking like a mathematician.</p> + +<p>'I haven't come here to ask you into my drawing-room,' she answered. 'I +have come to ask you to throw in your labour, your time, your money, +with ours in the service of our cause.' She held her head higher as the +thought rose in her like wine. 'Our cause,' she continued, 'is not the +cause of rich women or poor women, of good women or bad; it's the cause +of woman. Thus, it doesn't matter who she is, so long as there is a +woman who stands aloof from us there is still work to do.'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at her interestedly. Her eyes were shining, her lips +parted in ecstasy.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I know what you think,' the suffragist went on; 'as you say, you +think I despise you because you . . . you. . . .' The flush returned +slightly. . . . 'But I know that yours is not a happy life and we are +bringing the light.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p> + +<p>'The light!' echoed Victoria bitterly. 'You have no idea, I see, of how +many people there are who are bringing the light to women like me. There +are various religious organisations who wish to rescue us and to house +us comfortably under the patronage of the police, to keep us nicely and +feed us on what is suitable for the fallen; they expect us to sew ten +hours a day for these privileges, but that is by the way. There are also +many kindly souls who offer little jobs as charwomen to those of us who +are too worn out to pursue our calling; we are offered emigration as +servants in exchange for the power of commanding a household; we are +offered poverty for luxury, service for domination, slavery to women +instead of slavery to men. How tempting it is! And now here is the light +in another form: the right to drop a bit of paper into a box every four +years or so and settle thereby whether the Home Secretary who +administers the law of my trade shall live in fear of buff prejudice or +blue.'</p> + +<p>The suffragist said nothing for a second. She felt shaken by Victoria's +bitterness.</p> + +<p>'Women will have no party,' she said lamely, 'they will vote as women.'</p> + +<p>'Oh? I have heard somewhere that the danger of giving women the vote is +that they will vote solid "as women," as you say and swamp the men. Is +that so?'</p> + +<p>'No, I'm afraid not,' said the suffragist unguardedly, 'of course women +will split up into political parties.'</p> + +<p>'Indeed? Then where is this woman vote which is going to remould the +world? It is swamped in the ordinary parties.'</p> + +<p>The suffragist was in a dilemma.</p> + +<p>'You forget,' she answered, wriggling on the horns, 'that women can +always be aroused for a noble cause. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Am I a noble cause?' asked Victoria, smiling. 'So far as I can see +women, even the highest of them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> despise us because we do illegally +what they do legally, hate us because we attract, envy us because we +shine. I have often thought that if Christ had said, "Let her who hath +never sinned . . ." the woman would have been stoned. What do you +think?'</p> + +<p>The suffragist hesitated, cleared her throat.</p> + +<p>'That will all go when we have the vote, women will be a force, a nobler +force; they will realise . . . they will sympathise more . . . then they +will cast their vote for women.'</p> + +<p>Victoria shook her head.</p> + +<p>'Miss Welkin,' she said, 'you are an idealist. Now, will you ask me to +your next meeting if you are satisfied as to my views, announce me for +what I am and introduce me to your committee?'</p> + +<p>'I don't see . . . I don't think,' stammered the suffragist, 'you see +some of our committee. . . .'</p> + +<p>Victoria laughed.</p> + +<p>'You see. Never mind. I assure you I wouldn't go. But, tell me, +supposing women get the vote, most of my class will be disfranchised on +the present registration law. What will you women do for us?'</p> + +<p>The suffragist thought for a minute.</p> + +<p>'We shall raise the condition of women,' she said. 'We shall give them a +new status, increase the respect of men for them, increase their respect +for themselves; besides, it will raise wages and that will help. We +shall . . . we shall have better means of reform too.'</p> + +<p>'What means?'</p> + +<p>'When women have more sympathy.'</p> + +<p>'Votes don't mean sympathy.'</p> + +<p>'Well, intelligence then. Oh, Mrs Ferris, it's not that that matters; +we're going to the root of it. We're going to make women equal to men, +give them the same opportunities, the same rights. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Yes, but will the vote increase their muscles? will it make them more +logical, fitter to earn their living?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Of course it will,' said Miss Welkin acidly.</p> + +<p>'Then how do you explain that several millions of men earn less than +thirty shillings a week, and that at times hundreds of thousands are +unemployed?'</p> + +<p>'The vote does not mean everything,' said the suffragist reluctantly. +'It will merely ensure that we rise like the men when we are fit.'</p> + +<p>'Well, Miss Welkin, I won't press that, but now, tell me, if women got +the vote to-morrow, what would it do for my class?'</p> + +<p>'It would raise. . . .'</p> + +<p>'No, no, we can't wait to be raised. We've got to live, and if you +"raise" us we lose our means of livelihood. How are you going to get to +the root cause and lift us, not the next generation, at once out of the +lower depths?'</p> + +<p>The suffragist's face contracted.</p> + +<p>'Everything takes time,' she faltered. 'Just as I couldn't promise a +charwoman that her hours would go down and her wages go up next day, I +can't say that . . . of course your case is more difficult than any +other, because . . . because. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Because,' said Victoria coldly, 'I represent a social necessity. So +long as your economic system is such that there is not work for the +asking for every human being—work, mark you, fitted to strength and +ability—so long on the other hand as there is such uncertainty as +prevents men from marrying, so long as there is a leisured class who +draw luxury from the labour of other men; so long will my class endure +as it endured in Athens, in Rome, in Alexandria, as it does now from St +John's Wood to Pekin.'</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Then Miss Welkin got up awkwardly. Victoria followed +suit.</p> + +<p>'There,' she said, 'you don't mind my being frank, do you? May I +subscribe this sovereign to the funds of the branch? I do believe you +are right, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> know, even though I'm not sure the millennium is +coming.'</p> + +<p>Miss Welkin looked doubtfully at the coin in her palm.</p> + +<p>'Don't refuse it,' said Victoria, smiling, 'after all, you know, in +politics there is no tainted money.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIVb" id="CHAPTER_XIVb"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Victoria</span> lay back in bed, gazing at the blue silk wall. It was ten +o'clock, but still dark; not a sound disturbed dominical peace, except +the rain dripping from the trees, falling finally like the strokes of +time. Her eyes dwelt for a moment on the colour prints where the nude +beauties languished. She felt desperately tired, though she had not left +the house for thirty-six hours; her weariness was as much a consequence +as a cause of her consciousness of defeat. October was wearing; and soon +the cruel winter would come and fix its fangs into the sole remaining +joy of her life, the spectacle of life itself. She was desperately +tired, full of hatred and disgust. If the face of a man rose before her +she thrust it back savagely into limbo; her legs hurt. The time had come +when she must realise her failure. She was not, as once in the P. R. R., +in the last stage of exhaustion, hunted, tortured; she was rather the +wounded bird crawling away to die in a thicket than the brute at bay.</p> + +<p>As she lay, she realised that her failure had two aspects. It was +together a monetary and a physical failure. The last three months had in +themselves been easy. Her working hours did not begin before seven +o'clock in the evening; and it was open to her, being young and +beautiful, to put them off for two or three hours more; she was always +free by twelve o'clock in the morning at the very latest, and then the +day was hers to rest, to read and think. But she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> was still too much of +a novice to escape the excitement inherent in the chase, the strain of +making conversation, of facing the inane; nor was she able without a +mental effort to bring herself to the response of the simulator. As she +sat in the Vesuvius or stared into the showcase of a Regent Street +jeweller, a faint smile upon her face, her brain was awake, her +faculties at high pressure. Her eyes roved right and left and every +nerve seemed to dance with expectation or disappointment. When she got +up now, she found her body heavy, her legs sore and all her being dull +like a worn stone. A little more, she felt, and the degradation of her +body would spread to her sweet lucidity of mind; she would no longer see +ultimate ends but would be engulfed in the present, become a bird of +prey seeking hungrily pleasure or excitement.</p> + +<p>Besides, and this seemed more serious still, she was not doing well. It +seemed more serious because this could not be fought as could be +intellectual brutalisation. An examination of her pass books showed that +she was a little better off than at the time of Cairns's death. She was +worth, all debts paid, about three hundred and ninety pounds. Her net +savings were therefore at the rate of about a hundred and fifty a year; +but she had been wonderfully lucky, and nothing said that age, illness +or such misadventures as she classed under professional risk, might not +nullify her efforts in a week. There was wear and tear of clothes too: +the trousseau presented her by Cairns had been good throughout but some +of the linen was beginning to show signs of wear; boots and shoes wanted +renewing; there were winter garments to buy and new furs.</p> + +<p>'I shall have stone martin,' she reflected. Then her mind ran +complacently for a while on a picture of herself in stone martin; a pity +she couldn't run to sables. She brought herself back with a jerk to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> +consideration of ways and means. The situation was really not brilliant. +Of course she was extravagant in a way. Eighty-five pounds rent; thirty +pounds in rates and taxes, without counting income tax which might be +anything, for she dared not protest; two servants—all that was too +much. It was quite impossible to run the house under five hundred a +year, and clothes must run into an extra hundred.</p> + +<p>'I could give it up,' she thought. But the idea disappeared at once. A +flat would be cheaper, but it meant unending difficulties; it was not +for nothing that Zoé, Lissa and Duckie envied her. And the rose-covered +pergola! Besides it would mean saving a hundred a year or so; and, from +her point of view, even two hundred and fifty a year was not worth +saving. She was nearly twenty-eight, and could count on no more than +between eight and twelve years of great attractiveness. This meant that, +with the best of luck, she could not hope to amass much more than three +thousand pounds. And then? Weston-super-Mare and thirty years in a +boarding-house?</p> + +<p>She was still full of hesitation and doubt as she greeted Betty at +lunch. This was a great Sunday treat for the gentle P. R. R. girl. When +she had taken off her coat and hat, she used to settle in an arm-chair +with an intimate feeling of peace and protection. This particular day +Betty did not settle down as usual, though the cushions looked soft and +tempting and a clear fire burned in the grate. Victoria watched her for +a moment. How exquisite and delicate this girl looked; tall, very slim +and rounded. Betty had placed one hand on the mantelpiece, a small long +hand rather coarsened at the finger tips, one foot on the fender. It was +a little foot, arched and neat in the cheap boot. She had bought new +boots for the occasion; the middle of the raised sole was still white. +Her face was a little flushed, her eyes darkened by the glow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Well, Betty,' said her hostess suddenly, 'when's the wedding?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Vic, I didn't say . . . how can you . . .' Her face had blushed a +tell-tale red.</p> + +<p>'You didn't say,' laughed Victoria, 'of course you didn't say, shy bird! +But surely you don't think I don't know. You've met somebody in the City +and you're frightfully in love with him. Now, honest, is there anybody?'</p> + +<p>'Yes . . . there is, but . . .'</p> + +<p>'Of course there is. Now, Betty, tell me all about it.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I couldn't,' said Betty, gazing into the fire. 'You see it isn't +quite settled yet.'</p> + +<p>'Then tell me what you're going to settle. First of all, who is it?'</p> + +<p>'Nobody you know. I met him at . . . well he followed me in Finsbury +Circus one evening. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Oh, naughty, naughty! You're getting on, Betty.'</p> + +<p>'You mustn't think I encouraged him,' said Betty with a tinge of +asperity. 'I'm not that sort.' She stopped, remembering Victoria's +profession, then, inconsequently: 'You see, he wouldn't go away and +. . . now. . . .'</p> + +<p>'And he was rather nice, wasn't he?'</p> + +<p>'Well, rather.' A faint and very sweet smile came over Betty's face. +Victoria felt a little strangle in her throat. She too had thought her +bold partner at the regimental dance at Lympton rather nice. Poor old +Dick.</p> + +<p>'Then he got out of me about the P. R. R.,' Betty went on more +confidently. 'And then, would you believe it, he came to lunch every +day! Not that he was accustomed to lunch at places like that,' she added +complacently.</p> + +<p>'Oh, a swell?' said Victoria.</p> + +<p>'No, I don't say that. He used to go to the Lethes, before they shut up. +He lives in the West End too, in Notting Hill, you know.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Dear, dear, you're flying high, Betty. But tell me, what is he like? +and what does he do? and is he very handsome?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, he's awfully handsome, Vic. Tall you know and very, very dark; he's +so gentlemanly too, looks like the young man in <i>First Words of Love</i>. +It's a lovely picture, isn't it?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, lovely,' said Victoria summarily. 'But tell me more about him.'</p> + +<p>'He's twenty-eight. He works in the City. He's a ledger clerk at +Anderson and Dromo's. If he gets a rise this Christmas, he . . . well, +he says . . .'</p> + +<p>'He says he'll marry you.'</p> + +<p>'Yes.' Betty hung her head, then raised it quickly. 'Oh, Vic, I can't +believe it. It's too good to be true. I love him so dreadfully . . . I +just can't wait for one o'clock. He didn't come on Wednesday. I thought +he'd forgotten me and I was going off my head. But it was all right, +they'd kept him in over something.'</p> + +<p>'Poor little girl,' said Victoria gently. 'It's hard isn't it, but good +too.'</p> + +<p>'Good! Vic, when he kisses me I feel as if I were going to faint. He's +strong, you see. And when he puts his arms round me I feel like a mouse +in a trap . . . but I don't want to get away: I want it to go on for +ever, just like that.'</p> + +<p>She paused for a moment as if listening to the first words of love. Then +her mind took a practical turn.</p> + +<p>'Of course we shan't be able to live in Notting Hill,' she added. 'We'll +have to go further out, Shepherd's Bush way, so as to be on the Tube. +And he says I shan't go to the P. R. R. any more.'</p> + +<p>'Happy girl,' said Victoria. 'I'm so glad, Betty; I hope . . .'</p> + +<p>She restrained a doubt. 'And as you say you can't stay to tea I think I +know where you're going.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Well, yes, I am going to meet him,' said Betty laughing.</p> + +<p>'Yes . . . and you're going to look at little houses at Shepherd's +Bush.'</p> + +<p>Betty looked up dreamily. She could see a two-storeyed house in a row, +with a bay window, and a front garden where, winter or summer, marigolds +grew.</p> + +<p>After lunch, as the two women sat once more in the boudoir, they said +very little. Victoria, from time to time, flicked the ash from her +cigarette. Betty did not smoke, but, her hands clasped together in her +lap, watched a handsome dark face in the coals.</p> + +<p>'And how are you getting on, Vic?' she asked suddenly. Swamped by the +impetuous tide of her own romance she had not as yet shown any interest +in her friend's affairs.</p> + +<p>'I? Oh, nothing special. Pretty fair.'</p> + +<p>'But, I mean . . . you said you wanted to make a lot of money and . . .'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I'm not badly off, but I can't go on, Betty. I shall never do any +good like this.'</p> + +<p>Betty was silent for some minutes. Her ingrained modesty made any +discussion of her friend's profession intolerable. Vanquished in +argument, grudgingly accepting the logic of Victoria's actions, she +could not free her mind from the thought that these actions were +repulsive, that there must have been some other way.</p> + +<p>'Oh? You want to get out of it all . . . you know . . . I have never +said you weren't quite right, but . . .'</p> + +<p>'But I'm quite wrong?'</p> + +<p>'No . . . I don't mean that . . . I don't like to say that . . . I'm not +clever like you, Vic, but . . .'</p> + +<p>'We've done with all that,' said Victoria coldly. 'I do want to get out +of it because it's getting me no nearer to what I want. I don't quite +know how to do it. I'm not very well, you know.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span></p> + +<p>Betty looked up quickly with concern in her face.</p> + +<p>'Have those veins been troubling you again?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, a little. I can't risk much more.'</p> + +<p>'Then what are you going to do?'</p> + +<p>Victoria was silent for a moment.</p> + +<p>'I don't know,' she said. 'I never thought of all this when the Major +was alive.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, there never was anybody like him,' said Betty after a pause.</p> + +<p>Victoria sat up suddenly.</p> + +<p>'Betty,' she cried, 'you're giving me an idea.'</p> + +<p>'I? an idea?'</p> + +<p>'There must be somebody like him. Why shouldn't I find him?'</p> + +<p>Betty said nothing. She looked her stiffest, relishing but little the +fathering upon her of this expedient.</p> + +<p>'But who?' soliloquised Victoria. 'I don't know anybody. You see Betty, +I want lots and lots of money. Otherwise it's no good. If I don't make a +lot soon it will be too late.'</p> + +<p>Betty still said nothing. Really she couldn't be expected. . . . Then +her conscience smote her; she ought to show a little interest in dear, +kind Vic.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' she said. 'But you must know lots of people. You never told me, +but you're a swell and all that. You must have known lots of rich men +when you came to London.'</p> + +<p>She stopped abruptly, shocked by her own audacity. But Victoria was no +longer noticing her; she was following with lightning speed a new train +of thought.</p> + +<p>'Betty,' she cried, 'you've done it. I've found the man.'</p> + +<p>'Have you? Who is it,' exclaimed Betty. She was excited, unable in her +disapproval of the irregular to feel uninterested in the coming together +of women and men.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Never mind. You don't know him. I'll tell you later.'</p> + +<p>An extraordinary buoyancy seemed to pervade Victoria. The way out! she +had found the way out! And the two little words echoed in her brain as +if some mighty wave of sound was rebounding from side to side in her +skull. She was excited, so excited that, as she said goodbye to Betty, +she forgot to fix their next meeting. She had work to do and would do it +that very night.</p> + +<p>As soon as Betty was gone she dressed quickly. Then she changed her hat +to make sure she was looking her best. She went out and, with hurried +steps, made for the Finchley Road. There was the house with the +evergreens, as well clipped as ever, and the drive with its clean +gravel. She ran up the steps of the porch, then hesitated for a moment. +Her heart was beating now. Then she rang. There was a very long pause +during which she heard nothing but the pumping of her heart. Then +distant shuffling footsteps coming nearer. The door opened. She saw a +slatternly woman . . . behind her the void of an empty house. She could +not speak for emotion.</p> + +<p>'Did you want to see the house, mum,' asked the woman. She looked sour. +Sunday afternoon was hardly a time to view.</p> + +<p>'The house?'</p> + +<p>'Oh . . . I thought you come from Belfrey's, mum. It's to let.'</p> + +<p>The caretaker nodded towards the right and Victoria, following the +direction, saw the house agents' board. Her excitement fell as under a +cold douche.</p> + +<p>'Oh! I came to see . . . Do you know where Mr Holt is?'</p> + +<p>'Mr Holt's dead, mum. Died in August, mum.'</p> + +<p>'Dead.' Things seemed to go round. Jack was the only son . . . then?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>'</p> + +<p>'Yes, mum. That's why they're letting. A fine big 'ouse, mum. Died in +August, mum. Ah, you should have seen the funeral. They say he left half +a million, mum, and there wasn't no will.'</p> + +<p>'Where is Mrs Holt and . . . and Mr Holt's son.'</p> + +<p>The caretaker eyed the visitor suspiciously. There was something rakish +about this young lady which frightened her respectability.</p> + +<p>'I can't say, mum,' she answered slowly. 'I could forward a letter, +mum,' she added.</p> + +<p>'Let me come in. I want to write a note.'</p> + +<p>The caretaker hesitated for a moment, then stood aside to let her pass.</p> + +<p>'You'll 'ave to come downstairs mum,' she said, 'sorry I'm all mixed up. +I was doing a bit of washing. Git away Maria,' to a small child who +stood at the top of the stairs.</p> + +<p>In the gaslit kitchen, surrounded by steaming linen, Victoria wrote a +little feverish note in pencil. The caretaker watched her every +movement. She liked her better somehow.</p> + +<p>'I'll forward it all right, mum,' she said. 'Thank you mum. . . . Oh, +mum, I don't want you to think—' She was looking amazedly at the half +sovereign in her palm.</p> + +<p>'That's all right,' said Victoria, laughing loudly. She felt she must +laugh, dance, let herself go. 'Just post it before twelve.'</p> + +<p>The woman saw her to the door. Then she looked at the letter doubtfully. +It was freshly sealed and could easily be opened. Then she had a burst +of loyalty, put on a battered bonnet, completed the address, stamped the +envelope and, walking to the pillar box round the corner, played +Victoria's trump card.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVb" id="CHAPTER_XVb"></a>CHAPTER XV</h3> + + +<p>'<span class="smcap">And</span> so, Jack, you haven't forgotten me?'</p> + +<p>For a minute Holt did not answer. He seemed spellbound by the woman on +the sofa. There she lay at full length, lazy grace in every curve of her +figure, in the lines of her limbs revealed by the thin sea-green stuff +which moulded them. This new woman was a very wonderful thing.</p> + +<p>'No,' he said at length, 'but you have changed.'</p> + +<p>'Yes?'</p> + +<p>'You're different. You used to be simple, almost shy. I used to think +you very like a big white lily. Now you're like—like a big white +orchid—an orchid in a vase of jade.'</p> + +<p>'Poet! artist!' laughed Victoria. 'Ah, Jack, you'll always be the same. +Always thinking me good and the world beautiful.'</p> + +<p>'I'll always think you good and beautiful too.'</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at him. He had hardly changed at all. His tall thin +frame had not expanded, his hands were still beautifully white and +seemed as aristocratic as ever. Perhaps his mouth appeared weaker, his +eyes bluer, his face fairer owing to his black clothes.</p> + +<p>'I'm glad to see you again, Kathleen Mavourneen,' she said at length.</p> + +<p>'Why did you wait so long?' asked Holt. 'It was cruel, cruel. You know +what I said—I would—'</p> + +<p>'No, no,' interrupted Victoria fearing an avowal. 'I couldn't. I've been +through the mill. Oh, Jack,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> it was awful. I've been cold, hungry, ill; +I've worked ten hours a day—I've swabbed floors.'</p> + +<p>A hot flush rose in Holt's fair cheeks.</p> + +<p>'Horrible,' he whispered, 'but why didn't you tell me? I'd have helped, +you know I would.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I know, but it wouldn't have done. No, Jack, it's no good helping +women. You can help men a bit; but women, no. You only make them more +dependent, weaker. If women are the poor, frivolous, ignorant things +they are, it's because they've been protected or told they ought to want +to be protected. Besides, I'm proud. I wasn't coming back to you until I +was—well I'm not exactly rich, but—'</p> + +<p>She indicated the room with a nod and Holt, following it, sank deeper +into wonder at the room where everything spoke of culture and comfort.</p> + +<p>'But how—?' he stammered at last, 'how did you—? what happened then?'</p> + +<p>Victoria hesitated for a moment.</p> + +<p>'Don't ask me just now, Jack,' she said, 'I'll tell you later. Tell me +about yourself. What are you doing? and where is your mother?'</p> + +<p>Holt looked at her doubtfully. He would have liked to cross-question +her, but he was the second generation of a rising family and had learned +that questions must not be pressed.</p> + +<p>'Mother?' he said vaguely. 'Oh, she's gone back to Rawsley. She never +was happy here. She went back as soon as pater died; she missed the tea +fights, you know, and Bethlehem and all that.'</p> + +<p>'It must have been a shock to you when your father died.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I suppose it was. The old man and I didn't exactly hit it off but, +somehow—those things make you realise—'</p> + +<p>'Yes, yes,' said Victoria sympathetically. The similarity of deaths +among the middle classes!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> Every woman in the regiment had told her that +'these things make you realise' when Dicky died. 'But what about you? +Are you still in—in cement?'</p> + +<p>'In cement!' Jack's lip curled. 'The day my father died I was out of +cement. It's rather awful, you know, to think that my freedom depended +on his death.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, no, life depends on death,' said Victoria smoothly. 'Besides, we +are members of one another; and when, like you, Jack, we are a minority, +we suffer.'</p> + +<p>Holt looked at her doubtfully. He did not quite understand her; she had +hardened, he thought.</p> + +<p>'No,' he went on, 'I've done with the business. They turned it into a +limited liability company a month ago. I'm a director because the others +say they must have a Holt in it; but directors never do anything, you +know.'</p> + +<p>'And you are going to do like the charwoman, going to do nothing, +nothing for ever?'</p> + +<p>'No, I don't say that. I've been writing—verses you know, and some +sketches.'</p> + +<p>'Writing? You must be happy now, Jack. Of course you'll let me see them? +Are they published?'</p> + +<p>'Yes. At least Amershams will bring out some sonnets of mine next +month.'</p> + +<p>'And are you going to pass the rest of your life writing sonnets?'</p> + +<p>'No, of course not. I want to travel. I'll go South this winter and get +some local colour. I might write a novel.'</p> + +<p>His head was thrown back on the cushion, looking out upon the blue +southern sky, the bluer waters speckled as with foam by remote white +sails.</p> + +<p>'You might give me a cigarette, Jack,' said Victoria. 'They're in that +silver box, there.'</p> + +<p>He handed her the box and struck a match. As he held it for her his eyes +fastened upon the shapely whiteness of her hands, her pink polished +finger<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> nails, the roundness of her forearm. Soft feminine scents rose +from her hair; he saw the dark tendrils over the nape of her neck. Oh, +to bury his lips in that warm white neck! His hand trembled as he lit +his own cigarette and Victoria marked his heightened colour.</p> + +<p>'You'll come and see me often, Jack, won't you?'</p> + +<p>'May I? It's so good of you. I'm not going South for a couple of +months.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, you can always telephone. You'll find me there under Mrs Ferris.'</p> + +<p>Holt looked at her once more.</p> + +<p>'I don't want you to think I'm prying. But, you wrote me saying I was to +ask for Mrs Ferris. I did, of course, but, you . . . you're not. . . .?'</p> + +<p>'Married? No, Jack. Don't ask me anything else. You shall know +everything soon.'</p> + +<p>She got up and stood for a moment beside his chair. His eyes were fixed +on her hands.</p> + +<p>'There,' she said, 'come along and let me shew you the house, and my +pictures, and my pack of hounds.'</p> + +<p>He followed her obediently, giving its meed of praise to all her +possessions. He did not care for animals; he lacked the generation of +culture which leads from cement-making to a taste for dogs. The French +engravings on the stairs surprised him a little. He had a strain of +puritanism in him running straight from Bethlehem, which even the +reading of Swinburne and Baudelaire had not quite eradicated. A vague +sense of the fitness of things made him think that somehow these were +not the pictures a lady should hang; she might keep them in a portfolio. +Otherwise, there were the servants. . . .</p> + +<p>'And what do you think of my bedroom?' asked Victoria opening the door +suddenly.</p> + +<p>Holt stood nervously on the threshold. He took in its details one by +one, the blue paper, the polished mahogany, the flowered chintzes, the +long glass, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> lace curtains; it all looked so comfortable, so +luxurious as to eclipse easily the rigidly good but ugly things he had +been used to from birth onwards. He looked at the dressing table too, +covered with its many bottles and brushes; then he started slightly and +again a hot flush rose over his cheeks. With an effort he detached his +eyes from the horrid thing he saw.</p> + +<p>'Very pretty, very pretty,' he gasped. Without waiting for Victoria he +turned and went downstairs.</p> + +<p>Within the next week they met again. Jack took no notice of her for four +days, and then suddenly telephoned asking her to dine and to come to the +theatre. She was still in bed and she felt low-spirited, full of fear +that her trump would not make. She accepted with an alacrity that she +regretted a minute later, but she was drowning and could not dally with +the lifebelt. Her preparation for the dinner was as elaborate as that +which had heralded her capture of Cairns, far more elaborate than any +she made for the Vesuvius where insolent beauty is a greater asset than +beauty as such. This time she put on her mauve frock with the heavily +embroidered silver shoulder straps; she wore little jewellery, merely a +necklet of chased old silver and amethysts, and a ring figuring a silver +chimera with tiny diamond eyes. As she surveyed herself in the long +glass, the holy calm which comes over the perfectly-dressed flowed into +her soul like a river of honey. She was immaculate, and from her unlined +white forehead to her jewel-buckled shoes she was beautiful in every +detail. Subtle scent followed her like a trainbearer.</p> + +<p>The entire evening was a tribute. From the moment when Holt set eyes +upon her and reluctantly withdrew them to direct the cabman, until they +drove back through the night, she was conscious of the wave of adulation +that broke at her feet. Men's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> eyes followed her every movement, drank +in every rise and fall of her breast, strove to catch sight of her +teeth, flashing white, ruby cased. Her progress through the dining hall +and the stalls was imperial in its command. As she saw men turn to look +at her again, women even grudgingly analyse her, as homage rose round +her like incense, she felt frightened; for this seemed to be her +triumphant night, the zenith of her beauty and power, and perhaps its +very intensity showed that it was her swan song. She felt a pain in her +left leg.</p> + +<p>Jack Holt passed that evening at her feet. A fearful exultation was upon +him. The neighbourhood of Victoria was magnetic; his heart, his senses, +his ćsthetic sense were equally enslaved. She realised everything he had +dreamed, beauty, culture, grace, gentle wit. It hurt him physically not +to tell that he loved her still, that he wanted her, that she was +everything. He revelled in the thought that he had found her again, that +she liked him, that he would see her whenever he wanted to, perhaps join +his life with hers; then fear gripped his uneven soul, fear that he was +only her toy, that now she was rich she would tire of him and cast him +into a world swept by the icy blasts of regret. And all through ran the +horribly suggestive memory of that which he had seen on the dressing +table.</p> + +<p>Victoria was conscious of all this storm, though unable to interpret its +squalls and its lulls. Without effort she played upon him; alternately +encouraging the pretty youth, bending towards him to read his programme +so that he could feel her breath on his cheek, and drawing up and +becoming absorbed in the play. In the darkness she felt his hand close +over hers; gently but firmly she freed herself. As they drove back to St +John's Wood they hardly exchanged a word. Victoria felt tired; for in +the dark, away from the crowds, the music, the admiration<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> of her +fellows, reaction had full play. Holt found he could say nothing, for +every nerve in his body was tense with excitement. A hundred words were +on his lips but he dared not breathe them for fear of breaking the +spell.</p> + +<p>'Come in and have a whisky and soda before you go,' said Victoria in a +matter of fact tone as he opened the garden gate.</p> + +<p>He could not resist. A wonderful feeling of intimacy overwhelmed him as +he watched her switch on the lights and bring out a decanter, a syphon +and glasses. She put them on the table and motioned him towards it, +placing one foot on the fender to warm herself before the glowing +embers. His eyes did not leave hers. There was a surge of blood in his +head. One of his hands fixed on her bare arm; with the other he drew her +towards him, crushed her against his breast; she lay unresisting in his +arms while he covered her lips, her neck, her shoulders, with hot +kisses, some quick and passionate, others lingering, full of tenderness. +Then she gently repulsed him and freed herself.</p> + +<p>Jack,' she said softly, 'you shouldn't have done that. You don't know +. . . you don't know . . .'</p> + +<p>He drew his hand over his forehead. His brain seemed to clear a little. +The maddening mystery of it all formed into a question.</p> + +<p>'Victoria, why are those two razors on your dressing table?'</p> + +<p>She looked at him a brief space. Then, very quietly, with the +deliberation of a surgeon,</p> + +<p>'Need you ask? Do you not understand what I am?'</p> + +<p>His eyes went up towards the ceiling; his hands clenched; a queer choked +sound escaped from his throat. Victoria saw him suffer, wounded as an +ćsthete, wounded in his traditional conception of purity, prejudiced, +un-understanding. For a second<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> she hated him as one hates a howling dog +on whose paw one has trodden.</p> + +<p>'Oh,' he gasped, 'oh.'</p> + +<p>Victoria watched him through her downcast eyelashes. Poor boy, it had to +come. Pandora had opened the chest. Then he looked at her again with +returning sanity.</p> + +<p>'Why didn't you tell me before? I can't bear it. You, whom I thought. . +. . I can't bear it.'</p> + +<p>'Poor boy.' She took his hand. It was hot and dry.</p> + +<p>'I can't bear it,' he repeated dully.</p> + +<p>'I had to. It was the only way.'</p> + +<p>'There is always a way. It's awful.' His voice broke.</p> + +<p>'Jack,' she said softly, 'the world's a hard place for women. It takes +from them either hard labour or gratification. I've done my best. For a +whole year I worked. I worked ten hours a day, I've starved almost, I've +swabbed floors. . . .'</p> + +<p>He withdrew his hand with a jerk. He could bear that even less than her +confession.</p> + +<p>'Then a man came,' she went on relentlessly, 'a good man who offered me +ease, peace, happiness. I was poor, I was ill. What could I do? Then he +died and I was alone. What could I do? Ah, don't believe mine is a bed +of roses, Jack!'</p> + +<p>He had turned away, and was looking into the dying fire. His ideals, his +prejudices, all were in the melting pot. Here was the woman who had been +his earliest dream, degraded, irretrievably soiled. Whatever happened he +could not forget; not even love could break down the terrific barrier +which generations of hard and honest men of Rawsley had erected in his +soul between straight women and the others. But she was the dream still: +beautiful, all that his heart desired; such that (and he felt it like an +awful taunt) he could not give her up.</p> + +<p>He looked at her, at her sorrowful face. No, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> could not let her pass +out of his life. He thought of disjointed things. He could see his +mother's face, the black streets of Rawsley; he thought of the pastor at +Bethlehem denouncing sin. All his standards were jarred. He had nothing +to hold on to while everything seemed to slip: ideals, resolutions, +dreams; nothing remained save the horrible sweetness of the mermaid's +face.</p> + +<p>'Let me think,' he said hoarsely, 'let me think.'</p> + +<p>Victoria said nothing. He was in hands stronger than hers. He was +fighting his tradition, the blood of the Covenanters, for her sake. +Nothing that she could say would help him; it might impede him. He had +turned away; she could see nothing of his face. Then he looked into her +eyes.</p> + +<p>'What was can never be again,' he said, 'what I dreamed can never be. +You were my beacon and my hope. I have only found you to lose you. If I +were to marry you there would always be that between us, the past.'</p> + +<p>'Then do not marry me. I do not ask you to.' Her voice went down to a +whisper and she put her hands on his shoulders. 'Let me be another, a +new dream, less golden, but sweet.'</p> + +<p>She put her face almost against his, gazing into his eyes. 'Do not leave +this house and I will be everything for you.'</p> + +<p>She felt a shudder run through him as if he would repel her, but she did +not relax her hold or her gaze. She drew nearer to him, and inch by inch +his arms went round her. For a second they swayed close locked together. +As they fell into the deep arm chair her loose black hair uncoiled, and, +falling, buried their faces in its shadow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVIb" id="CHAPTER_XVIb"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> months which followed emerged but slowly from blankness for these +two who had joined their lives together. Both had a difficulty in +realising, the woman that she had laid the coping stone of her career, +the man that he was happy as may be an opium eater. The first days were +electric, hectic. Victoria felt limp, for her nerves had been worn down +by the excitement and the anxiety of making sure of her conquest. The +reaction left her rather depressed than glowing with success. Jack was +beyond scruples; he felt that he had passed the Rubicon. He was false to +his theories and his ideals, in revolt against his upbringing. At the +outset he revelled in the thought that he was cutting himself adrift +from the ugly past. It was joyful to think that the pastor in his +whitewashed barn would covertly select him as a text. For the first time +in his fettered life he saw that the outlaw alone is free; both he and +Victoria were outlaws, but she had tasted the bitterness of ostracism +while he was still at the stage of welcoming it.</p> + +<p>As the weeks wore, however, Victoria realised her position better and +splendid peace flowed in upon her. She did not love Holt; she began even +to doubt whether she could love any man if she could not love him, this +handsome youth with the delicate soul, grace, generosity. It was not his +mental weakness that repelled her, for he was virile enough; nor was it +the touch of provincialism against which his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> intelligence struggled. It +was rather that he did not attract her. He was clever enough, well read, +kind, but he lacked magnetism; he had nothing of the slumberous fire +which distinguished Farwell. His passion was personal, his outlook +theoretical and limited; there was nothing purposeful in his ideas. He +had no message for her. In no wise did he repel her, though. Sometimes +she would take his face between her hands, look awhile into the blue +eyes where there always lurked some wistfulness, and then kiss him just +once and quickly, without knowing why.</p> + +<p>'Why do you do that, Vicky,' he asked once.</p> + +<p>She had not answered but had merely kissed his cheek again. She hardly +knew how to tell him that she sighed because she could only consent to +love him instead of offering to do so. While he was sunk in his daily +growing ease she was again thinking of ultimate ends and despised +herself a little for it. She had to be alone for a while before she +could regain self-control, remember the terrible tyranny of man and her +resolve to be free. Gentle Jack was a man, one of the oppressors, and as +such he must be used as an instrument against his sex. The very ease +with which she swayed him, with which she could foresee her victory, +unnerved her a little. When she answered his hesitating question as to +how much she needed to live, she had to force herself to lie, to trade +on his enslavement by asking him for two thousand a year. She dared to +name the figure, for Whitaker told her that the only son of an intestate +takes two-thirds of the estate; the book had also put her on the track +of the registration of joint-stock companies. A visit to Somerset House +enabled her to discover that some three hundred thousand shares of +Holt's Cement Works, Ltd., stood in the name of John Holt; as they were +quoted in the paper something above par he could hardly be worth less +than fifteen thousand a year.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p> + +<p>She had expected to have to explain her needs, to have to exaggerate her +rent, the cost of her clothes, but Holt did not say a word beyond 'all +right.' She had told him it hurt her to take money from him; and that, +so as to avoid the subject, she would like him to tell his bankers to +pay the monthly instalments into her account. He had agreed and then +talked of their trip to the South. Clearly the whole matter was +repugnant to him. As neither wanted to talk about it the subject was +soon almost forgotten.</p> + +<p>They left England early in December after shutting up the house. +Victoria did not care to leave it in charge of Laura, so decided to give +her a three months' holiday on full pay; Augusta accompanied them. The +sandy-haired German was delighted with the change in the fortunes of her +mistress. She felt that Holt must be very rich, and doubted not that her +dowry would derive some benefit from him. Snoo and Poo were left in +Laura's charge. Victoria paid a quarter's rent in advance, also the +rates; insured against burglary, and left England as it settled into the +winter night.</p> + +<p>The next three months were probably the most steadily happy she had ever +known. They had taken a small house known as the Villa Mehari just +outside Algiers. A French cook and a taciturn Kabyl completed their +establishment. The villa was a curious compromise between East and West. +Its architect had turned out similar ones in scores at Argenteuil and +Saint Cloud, saving the minaret and the deep verandah which faced the +balmy west. From the precipitous little garden where orange and lime +trees bent beneath their fruit among the underbrush of aloes and cactus, +they could see, far away, the estranging sea.</p> + +<p>The Kabyl had slung a hammock for Victoria between a gate-post and a +gigantic clump of palm trees. There she passed most of her days, lazily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> +swinging in the breeze which tumbled her black hair; while Jack, lying +at her feet in the crisp rough grass, looked long at her sun-warmed +beauty. The days seemed to fly, for they were hardly conscious of the +recurrence of life. It was sunrise, when it was good to go into the +garden and see the blue green night blush softly into salmon pink, then +burst suddenly into tropical radiance: then, vague occupations, a short +walk over stony paths to a café where the East and West met; unexpected +food; sleep in the heat of the day under the nets beyond which the +crowding flies buzzed; then the waning of the day, the heat settling +more leaden; sunset, the cold snapping suddenly, the night wind carrying +little puffs of dust, and the muezzin, hands aloft, droning, his face +towards the East, praises of his God.</p> + +<p>Holt was totally happy. He felt he had reached Capua, and not even a +thought of his past life could disturb him. He asked for nothing now but +to live without a thought, eating juicy fruit, smoking for an hour the +subtle narghilé; he loved to bask in the radiance of the African sun of +Victoria's beauty, which seemed to expand, to enwrap him in perfume like +a heavy narcotic rose. In the early days he tried to work, to attune +himself to the pageant of sunlit life. His will refused to act, and he +found he could not write a line; even rhymes refused to come to him. +Without an effort almost he resigned himself into the soft hands of the +East. He even exaggerated his acceptance by clothing himself in a +burnous and turban, by trying to introduce Algerian food, couscous, +roast kid, date jam, pomegranate jelly. At times they would go into +Algiers, shop in the Rue Bab-Azoum, or search for the true East in what +the French called the high town. But Algiers is not the East; and they +quickly returned to the Villa Mehari, stupefied by the roar of the +trams, the cries of the water and chestnut vendors, all their senses +offended by the cafés on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> wharf where sailors from every land drank +vodka, arrack, pale ale, among zouaves and chasseurs d'Afrique.</p> + +<p>Sometimes Holt would go into Algiers by himself and remain away all day. +Victoria stayed at the villa careless of flying time, desultorily +reading Heine or sitting in the garden where she could play with the +golden and green beetles. Her solitude was complete, for Holt had +avoided the British consul and of course knew none of the Frenchmen. She +watched the current of her life flow away, content to know that all the +while her little fortune was increasing. England was so far as to seem +in another world. Christmas was gone; and the link of a ten pound note +to Betty, to help to furnish the house at Shepherd's Bush, had faded +away. When she was alone, those days, she could not throw her mind back +to the ugly, brutish past, so potently was the influence of the East +growing upon her being. Then in the cool of the evening Jack would +return, gay, and anxious to see her, to throw his arms round her and +hold her to him again. Those were the days when he brought her some +precious offering, aqua-marines set in hand-wrought gold, or chaplets of +strung pearls.</p> + +<p>'Jack,' she said to him one day as he lay in the grass at her feet, 'do +you then love me very much?'</p> + +<p>'Very much.' He took her hand and, raising himself upon his elbow, +gravely kissed it.</p> + +<p>'Why?'</p> + +<p>'Because you're all the poetry of the world. Because you make me dream +dreams, my Aspasia.'</p> + +<p>She gently stroked his dark hair.</p> + +<p>'And to think that you are one of the enemy, Jack!'</p> + +<p>'One of the enemy? what do you mean?'</p> + +<p>'Man is woman's enemy, Jack. Our relation is a war of sex.'</p> + +<p>'It's not true.' Jack flushed; the idea was repulsive.</p> + +<p>'It is true. Man dominates woman by force, by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> man-made law; he +restricts her occupations; he limits her chances; he judges of her +attire; he denies her the right to be ugly, to be old, to be coarse, to +be vicious.'</p> + +<p>'But you wouldn't—'</p> + +<p>'I'd have everything the same, Jack.'</p> + +<p>Holt thought for a moment.</p> + +<p>'Yes, I suppose we do keep them down. But they're different. You see, +men are men and—'</p> + +<p>'I know the rest. But never mind, Jack dear, you're not like the others. +You'll never be a conqueror.'</p> + +<p>Then she muzzled him with her hand, and, kissing its scented palm, he +thought no more of the stern game in which they were the shuttlecocks.</p> + +<p>The spring was touching Europe with its wings; and here already the +summer was bursting the seed pods, the sap breaking impatiently through +the branches. All the wet warmth of the brief African blooming ran riot +in thickening leaf. The objective of Jack's life, influenced as he was +by the air, was Victoria and the ever more consuming love he bore her; +the minutes only counted when he was by her side, watching her every +movement, inhaling, touching her. All his energies seem to have been +driven into this narrow channel. He was ready to move or to remain as +Victoria might direct; he spoke little, he basked. Thus he agreed to +extending their stay for a month; he agreed to shorten it by a fortnight +when Victoria, suddenly realising that her life force was wasting away +in this enervating atmosphere, decided to go home.</p> + +<p>Victoria's progress to London was like the march of a conqueror. She +stopped in Paris to renew her clothes. There Jack knew hours of waiting +in the hired victoria while his queen was trying on frocks. He showed +such a childish joy in it all that she indulged her fancy, her every +whim; dresses, wraps, lace<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> veils, furs, hats massive with ostrich +feathers, aigrettes, delicate kid boots, gilt shoes, amassed in their +suite. Jack egged her on; he rioted too. Often he would stop the +victoria and rush into a shop if he saw something he liked in the +window, and in a few minutes return with it, excitedly demanding praise. +He did not seem to understand or care for money, to have any wants +except cigarettes. He followed, and in his beautiful dog-like eyes +devotion daily grew.</p> + +<p>They entered London on a bustling April day. A biting east wind carried +rain drops and sunshine. As it stung her face and whipped her blood, +Victoria found the old fierce soul reincarnating itself in her. She +opened her mouth to take in the cold English air, to bend herself for +the finishing of her task.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVIIb" id="CHAPTER_XVIIb"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was in London that the real battle began. In Algiers the scented +winds made hideous and unnatural all thoughts of gain. On arriving in +London Victoria ascertained with a thrill of pleasure that her bank had +received a thousand pounds since October. After disposing of a few small +debts and renewing some trifles in the house, she found herself a +capitalist: she had about fifteen hundred pounds of her own. The money +was lying at the bank and it only struck her then that the time had come +to invest it. Her interview with the manager of her branch was a +delightful experience; she was almost bursting with importance, and his +courteous appreciation of his increasingly wealthy client was something +more than balm. It was a foretaste of the power of money. She had known +poor men respected, but not poor women; now the bank manager was giving +her respectful attention because she had fifteen hundred pounds.</p> + +<p>'You might buy some industrials,' he said.</p> + +<p>'Industrials? What are they?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, all sorts of things. Cotton mills, iron works, trading companies, +anything.'</p> + +<p>'Cement works?' she asked with a spark of devilry.</p> + +<p>'Yes, cement works too,' said the manager without moving a muscle.</p> + +<p>'But do you call them safe?' she asked, returning to business.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Oh, fairly. Of course there are bad years and good. But the debentures +are mostly all right and some of the prefs.'</p> + +<p>Victoria thought for a moment. Reminiscences of political economy told +her that there were booms and slumps.</p> + +<p>'Has trade been good lately?' she asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>'No, not for the last two years or so. It's picking up though. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Ah, then we're in for a cycle of good trade. I think I'll have some +industrials. You might pick me out the best.'</p> + +<p>The manager seemed a little surprised at this knowledge of commercial +crises but said nothing more, and made out a list of securities +averaging six per cent net.</p> + +<p>'And please buy me a hundred P. R. R. shares,' added Victoria.</p> + +<p>She could have laughed at the manager's stony face because he did not +see the humour of this. He merely said that he would forward the orders +to a stockbroker.</p> + +<p>Victoria felt that she had put her hand to the plough. She was scoring +so heavily that she never now wished to turn back. Holt was every day +growing more dreamy, more absorbed in his thoughts. He never seemed to +quicken into action except when his companion touched him. He grew more +silent too; the hobbledehoy was gone. He was at his worst when he had +received a letter bearing the Rawsley postmark. Victoria knew of these, +for Holt's need of her grew greater every day; he was now living at Elm +Tree Place. He hardly left the house. He got up late and passed the +morning in the boudoir, smoking cigarettes, desultorily reading and +nursing the Pekingese which he now liked better. But on the days when he +got letters from Rawsley, letters so bulky that they were sometimes +insufficiently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> stamped, he would go out early and only return at night. +Then, however, he returned as if he had been running, full of some +nameless fear; he would strain Victoria to him and hold her very close, +burying his face below the bedclothes as if he were afraid. On one of +those days Victoria accidentally saw him come out of a small dissenting +chapel near by. He did not see her, for he was walking away like a man +possessed; she said nothing of this but understood him better, having an +inkling that the fight against the Rawsley tradition was still going on.</p> + +<p>She did not, however, allow herself to be moved by his struggle. It +behoved her to hold him, for he was her last chance and the world looked +rosy round her. As the spring turned into summer he became more utterly +hers.</p> + +<p>'You distil poison for me,' he said one day as they sat by the rose hung +pergola.</p> + +<p>'No, Jack, don't say that, it's the elixir of life.'</p> + +<p>'The elixir of life. Perhaps, but poison too. To make me live is to make +me die, Victoria; we are both sickening for death and to hasten the +current of life is to hasten our doom.'</p> + +<p>'Live quickly,' she whispered, bending towards him, 'did you live at all +a year ago?'</p> + +<p>'No, no.' His arms were round her and his lips insistent on hers. He +frightened her a little, though. She would have to take him away. She +had already confided this new trouble to Betty when the latter came to +see her in April, but Betty, beyond suggesting cricket, had been too +full of her own affairs. Apparently these were not going very well. +Anderson & Dromo's had not granted the rise, and the marriage had been +postponed. Meanwhile she was still at the P. R. R., and very, very +happy. Betty too, her baby, her other baby, frightened Victoria a +little. She was so rosy, so pretty now, and there was something defiant +and excited about her that might presage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> disease. But Betty had not +come near her for the last two months.</p> + +<p>About the middle of June she took Jack away to Broadstairs. He was +willing to go or stay, just as she liked. He seemed so neutral that +Victoria experimented upon him by presenting him with a sheaf of unpaid +bills. He looked at them languidly and said he supposed they must be +paid, asked her to add them up and wrote a cheque for the full amount. +Apparently he had forgotten all about the allowance, or did not care.</p> + +<p>Broadstairs seemed to do him good. Except at the week end the Hotel +Sylvester was almost empty. The sea breeze blew stiffly from the north +or the east. His colour increased and once more he began to talk. +Victoria encouraged him to take long walks alone along the front. She +had some occupation, for two little girls who were there in charge of a +Swiss governess had adopted the lovely lady as their aunt. A new +sweetness had come into her life, shrill voices, the clinging of little +hands. Sometimes these four would walk together, and Holt would run with +the children, tumbling in the sand in sheer merriment.</p> + +<p>'You seem all right again, Jack,' said Victoria on the tenth morning.</p> + +<p>'Right! Rather, by jove, it's good to live, Vicky.'</p> + +<p>'You were a bit off colour, you know.'</p> + +<p>'I suppose I was. But now, I feel nothing can hold me. I wrote a rondeau +this morning on the pier. Want to see it?'</p> + +<p>'Of course, silly boy. Aren't you going to be the next great poet?'</p> + +<p>She read the rondeau, scrawled in pencil on the back of a bill. It was +delicate, a little colourless.</p> + +<p>'Lovely,' she said, 'of course you'll send it to the <i>Westminster</i>.'</p> + +<p>'Perhaps . . . hulloa, there are the kiddies.' He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> ran off down the +steps from the front. A minute after Victoria saw him helping the elder +girl to bury her little sister in the sand.</p> + +<p>Victoria felt much reassured. He was normal again, the half wistful, +half irresponsible boy she had once known. He slept well, laughed, and +his crying need for her seemed to have abated. At the end of the +fortnight Victoria was debating whether she should take him home. She +was in the hotel garden talking to the smaller girl, telling her a +wonderful story about the fairy who lived in the telephone and said +ping-pong when the line was engaged. The little girl sat upon her knee; +when she laughed Victoria's heart bounded. The elder girl came through +the gate leading a good-looking young woman in white by the hand.</p> + +<p>'Oh, mummie, here's auntie,' cried the child, dragging her mother up to +Victoria. The two women looked at one another.</p> + +<p>'They tell me you have been very kind . . .' said the woman. Then she +stopped abruptly.</p> + +<p>'Of course, mummie, she's not <i>really</i> our auntie,' said the child +confidentially.</p> + +<p>Victoria put the small girl down. The mother looked at her again. She +seemed so nice and refined . . . yet her husband said that the initials +on the trunks were different . . . one had to be careful.</p> + +<p>'Come here, Celia,' she said sharply. 'Thank you,' she added to +Victoria. Then taking her little girls by the hand she took them away.</p> + +<p>Jack willingly left Broadstairs that afternoon when Victoria explained +that she was tired and that something had made her low-spirited.</p> + +<p>'Right oh,' he said. 'Let's go back to town. I want to see Amershams and +find out how those sonnets have sold.'</p> + +<p>He then left her to wire to Augusta.</p> + +<p>Their life in town resumed its former course,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> interrupted only by a +month in North Devon. Jack's cure was complete; he was sunburnt, fatter; +the joy of life shone in his blue eyes. Sometimes Victoria found herself +growing younger by contagion, sloughing the horrible miry coat of the +past. If her heart had not been atrophied she would have loved the boy +whom she always treated with motherly gentleness. His need of her was so +crying, so total, that he lost all his self-consciousness. He would sit +unblushing by her side in the bow of a fishing smack, holding her hand +and looking raptly into her grey eyes; he was indifferent to the red +brown fisherman with the Spanish eyes and curly black hair who smiled as +the turtle doves clustered. His need of her was as mental as it was +physical; his body was whipped by the salt air to seek in her arms +oblivion, but his mind had become equally dependent. She was his need.</p> + +<p>Thus when they came back to town the riot continued; and Victoria, +breasting the London tide, dragged him unresisting in her rear. She +hated excitement in every form, excitement that is of the puerile kind. +Restaurant dining, horse shows, flower shows, the Academy, tea in Bond +Street, even the theatre and its most inane successes, were for her a +weariness to the flesh.</p> + +<p>'I've had enough,' she said to Jack one day. 'I'm sick of it all. I've +got congestion of the appreciative sense. One day I shall chuck it all +up, go and live in the country, have big dogs and a saddle horse, dress +in tweeds and read the local agricultural rag.'</p> + +<p>'Give up smoking, go to church, and play tennis with the curate, the +doctor and the squire's flapper,' added Holt. 'But Vicky, why not go +now?'</p> + +<p>'No, oh, no, I can't do that.' She was frightened by her own suggestion. +'I must drain the cup of pleasure so as to be sure that it's all pain; +then I'll retire and drain the cup of resignation . . . unless, as I +sometimes think, it's empty.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span></p> + +<p>Jack had said nothing to this. Her wildness surprised and shocked him. +She was so savage and yet so sweet.</p> + +<p>Victoria realised that she must hold fast to the town, for there alone +could she succeed. In the peace of the country she would not have the +opportunities she had now. Jack was in her hands. She never hesitated to +ask for money, and Jack responded without a word. Her account grew by +leaps and bounds. The cashier began to ask whether she wanted to see the +manager when she called at the bank. She could see, some way off but +clearly, the beacons on the coast of hope.</p> + +<p>All through Jack's moods she had suffered from the defection of Betty. +On her return from Broadstairs she had written to her to come to Elm +Tree Place, but had received no answer. This happened again in +September; and fear took hold of her, for Betty had, ivy-like, twined +herself very closely round Victoria's heart of oak. She went to +Finsbury; but Betty had gone, leaving no address. She went to the P.R.R. +also. The place had become ghostly, for the familiar faces had gone. The +manageress was nowhere to be seen; nor was Nelly, probably by now a +manageress herself. Betty was not there, and the girl who wonderingly +served the beautiful lady with a tea-cake said that no girl of that name +was employed at the depot. Then Victoria saw herself sitting in the +churchyard of her past, between the two dear ghosts of Farwell and +Betty. The customers had changed, or their faces had receded so that she +knew them no more: they still played matador and fives and threes, chess +too. Alone the chains remained which the ghosts had rattled. Silently +she went away, turning over that leaf of her life for ever. Farwell was +dead, and Betty gone—married probably—and in Shepherd's Bush, not +daring to allow Victoria's foot to sully the threshold of 'First Words +of Love.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her conviction that Betty was false had a kind of tonic effect upon her. +She was alone and herself again; she realised that the lonely being is +the strong being. Now, at last, she could include the last woman she had +known in the category of those who threw stories. And her determination +to be free grew apace.</p> + +<p>She invented a reason every day to extract money from Holt. He, blindly +desirous, careless of money, acceded to every fresh demand. Now it was a +faked bill from Barbezan Soeurs for two hundred pounds, now the rent in +arrear, a blue rates notice, an offhand request for a fiver to pay the +servants, the vet's bill or the price of a cab. Holt drew and overdrew. +If a suspicion ever entered his mind that he was being exploited, he +dismissed it at once, telling himself that Victoria was rather +extravagant. For a time letters from Rawsley synchronised with her fresh +demands, but repetition had dulled their effects: now Holt postponed +reading them; after a time she saw him throw one into the fire unread. +Little by little they grew rarer. Then they ceased. Holt was eaten up by +his passion, and Victoria's star rose high.</p> + +<p>All conspired to favour her fortune. Perhaps her acumen had helped her +too, for she had seen correctly the coming boom. Trade rose by leaps and +bounds; every day new shops seemed to open; the stalks of the Central +London Railway could be seen belching clouds of smoke as they ground out +electric power; the letter-box at Elm Tree Place was clogged with +circulars denoting by the fury of their competition that trade was +flying as on a great wind. Other signs too were not wanting: the main +streets of London were blocked by lorries groaning under machinery, +vegetables, stone; immense queues formed at the railway stations waiting +for the excursion trains; above all, rose the sound of gold as it hissed +and sizzled as if molten on the pavements, flowing into the pockets of +merchants, bankers and shareholders.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> All the women at the Vesuvius +indulged in new clothes.</p> + +<p>Victoria's investments were seized by the current. She had not entirely +followed the bank manager's advice. Seeing, feeling the movement, she +had realised most of her debentures and turned them into shares. One of +her ventures collapsed, but the remainder appreciated to an +extraordinary extent. At last, in the waning days of the year her +middle-class prudence reasserted itself. She knew enough of political +economy to be ready for the crash, she realised. One cold morning in +November she counted up her spoils. She had nearly five thousand pounds.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, while her blood was aglow, Holt sank further into the +dullness of his senses. A mania was upon him. Waking, his thought was +Victoria; and the cry for her rose everlasting from his racked body. She +was all, she was everywhere; and the desire for her, for her beauty, her +red lips, soaked into him like a philtre, narcotic and then fiery but +ever present, intimate and exacting. He was her thing, her toy, the +paltry instrument which responded to her every touch. He rejoiced in his +subjection; he swam in his passion like a pilgrim in the Ganges to find +brief oblivion; but again the thirst was on him, ravaging, ever +demanding more. More, more, ever more, in the watches of the night, when +ice seizes the world to throttle it—among all, in turmoil and in +peace—he tossed upon the passionate sea; with one thought, one hope.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVIIIb" id="CHAPTER_XVIIIb"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h3> + + +<p>'<span class="smcap">I'm</span> glad we're going away, Jack,' said Victoria leaning back in the cab +and looking at him critically. 'You look as if you wanted a change.'</p> + +<p>'Perhaps I do,' said Jack.</p> + +<p>Victoria looked at him again. He had not smiled as he spoke to her, +which was unusual. He seemed thinner and more delicate than ever, with +his pale face and pink cheekbones. His black hair shone as if moist; and +his eyes were bigger than they had ever been, blue like silent pools and +surrounded by a mauve zone. His mouth hung a little open. Yet, in spite +of his weariness, he held her wrist in both his hands, and she could +feel his fingers searching for the opening in her glove.</p> + +<p>'You are becoming a responsibility,' she said smiling. 'I shall have to +be a mother to you.'</p> + +<p>A faint smile came over his lips.</p> + +<p>'A mother? After all, why not? Phedra. . . .' His eyes fixed on the grey +morning sky as he followed his thought.</p> + +<p>The horse was trotting sharply. The winter air seemed to rush into their +bodies. Jack, well wrapped up as he was in a fur coat, shrank back +against the warm roundness of her shoulder. In an excess of gentleness +she put her free hand in his.</p> + +<p>'Dear boy,' she said softly bending over him.</p> + +<p>But there was no tenderness in Jack's blue eyes, rather lambent fire. At +once his grasp on her hand tightened and his lips mutely formed into a +request.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> Casting a glance right and left she kissed him quickly on the +mouth.</p> + +<p>Up on the roof their bags jolted and bumped one another; milk carts were +rattling their empty cans as they returned from their round; far away a +drum and fife band played an acid air. They were going to Ventnor in +pursuit of the blanketed sun; and Victoria rejoiced, as they passed +through Piccadilly Circus where moisture settled black on the fountain, +to think that for three days she would see the sun radiate, not loom as +a red guinea. They passed over Waterloo Bridge at a foot pace; the +enormous morning traffic was struggling in the neck of the bottle. The +pressure was increased because the road was up between it and Waterloo +Station. On her left, over the parapet, Victoria could see the immense +desert of the Thames swathed in thin mist, whence emerged in places +masts and where massive barges loomed passive like derelicts. She +wondered for a moment whether her familiar symbol, the old vagrant, +still sat crouching against the parapet at Westminster, watching rare +puffs of smoke curling from his pipe into the cold air. The cab emerged +from the crush, and to avoid it the cabman turned into the little black +streets which line the wharf on the east side of the bridge, then +doubled back towards Waterloo through Cornwall Road. There they met +again the stream of drays and carts; the horse went at a foot pace, and +Victoria gazed at the black rows of houses with the fear of a lost one. +So uniformly ugly these apartment houses, with their dirty curtains, +their unspeakable flowerpots in the parlour windows. Here and there +cards announcing that they did pinking within; further, the board of a +sweep; then a good corner house, the doctor's probably, with four steps +and a brass knocker and a tall slim girl on her hands and knees washing +the steps.</p> + +<p>The cab came to an abrupt stop. Some distance ahead a horse was down on +the slippery road; shouts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> came from the crowd around it. Victoria idly +watched the girl, swinging the wet rag from right to left. Poor thing. +Everything in her seemed to cry out against the torture of womanhood. +She was a picture of dumb resignation as she knelt with her back to the +road. Victoria could see her long thin arms, her hands red and rigid +with cold, her broken-down shoes with the punctured soles emerging from +the ragged black petticoat.</p> + +<p>There was a little surge in the crowd. The girl got up, and with an air +of infinite weariness stretched her arms. Then she picked up the pail +and bucket and turned towards the street. For the space of a second the +two women looked into one another's faces. Then Victoria gave a muffled +cry and jumped out of the cab. She seized with both hands the girl's +bare arms.</p> + +<p>'Betty! Betty!' she faltered.</p> + +<p>A burning blush covered the girl's face and her features twitched. She +made as if to turn away from the detaining hands.</p> + +<p>'Vicky, what are you doing . . . what does this mean?' came Jack's voice +from the cab.</p> + +<p>'Wait a minute, Jack. Betty, my poor little Betty. Why are you here? Why +haven't you written to me?'</p> + +<p>'Leave me alone,' said Betty hoarsely.</p> + +<p>'I won't leave you alone. Betty, tell me, what's this? Are you married?'</p> + +<p>A look of pain came over the girl's face, but she said nothing.</p> + +<p>'Look here, Betty, we can't talk here. Leave the bucket, come with me. +I'll see it's all right.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I can't do that. Oh, let me alone; it's too late.'</p> + +<p>'I don't understand you. It's never too late. Now just get into the cab +and come with me.'</p> + +<p>'I can't. I must give notice . . .' She looked about to weep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Come along.' Victoria increased the pressure on the girl's arms. Jack +stood up in the cab. He seemed as frightened as he was surprised.</p> + +<p>'I say, Vicky . . .' he began.</p> + +<p>'Sit down, Jack, she's coming with us. You don't mind if we don't go to +Ventnor?'</p> + +<p>Jack's eyes opened in astonishment but he made no reply. Victoria pulled +Betty sharply down the steps.</p> + +<p>'Oh, let me get my things,' she said weakly.</p> + +<p>'No. They'd stop you. There, get in. Drive back to Elm Tree Place, +cabman.'</p> + +<p>Half an hour later, lying at full length on the boudoir sofa, Betty was +slowly sipping some hot cocoa. There was a smile on her tear-stained +face. Victoria was analysing with horror the ravages that sorrow had +wrought on her. She was pretty still, with her china blue eyes and her +hair like pale filigree gold; but the bones seemed to start from her red +wrists, so thin had she become. Even the smile of exhausted content on +her lips did not redeem her emaciated cheeks.</p> + +<p>'Betty, my poor Betty,' said Victoria, taking her hand. 'What have they +done to you?'</p> + +<p>The girl looked up at the ceiling as if in a dream.</p> + +<p>'Tell me all about it,' her friend went on, 'what has happened to you +since April?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, lots of things, lots of things. I've had a hard time.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I see. But what happened actually? Why did you leave the P.R.R.?'</p> + +<p>'I had to. You see, Edward . . .' The flush returned.</p> + +<p>'Yes?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Vic, I've been a bad girl and I'm so, so unhappy.' Betty seized her +friend's hand to raise herself and buried her face on her breast. There +Victoria let her sob, gently stroking the golden hair. She understood +already, but Betty must not be questioned yet. Little by little, Betty's +weeping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> grew less violent and confidence burst from her pent up soul.</p> + +<p>'He didn't get a rise at Christmas, so he said we'd have to wait . . . I +couldn't bear it . . . it wasn't his fault. I couldn't let him come down +in the world, a gentleman . . . he had only thirty shillings a week.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, yes, poor little girl.'</p> + +<p>'We never meant to do wrong . . . when baby was coming he said he'd +marry me . . . I couldn't drag him down . . . I ran away.'</p> + +<p>'Betty, Betty, why didn't you write to me?'</p> + +<p>The girl looked at her. She was beautiful in her reminiscence of +sacrifice.</p> + +<p>'I was ashamed . . . I didn't dare . . . I only wanted to go where they +didn't know what I was. . . . I was mad. The baby came too early and it +died almost at once.'</p> + +<p>'My poor little girl.' Victoria softly stroked the rough back of her +hand.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I wasn't sorry . . . it was a little girl . . . they don't want any +more in the world. Besides I didn't care for anything; I'd lost him +. . . and my job. I couldn't go back. My landlady wrote me a character +to go to Cornwall Road.'</p> + +<p>'And there I found you.'</p> + +<p>'I wonder what we are going to do for you,' she went on. 'Where is +Edward now?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I couldn't go back; I'm ashamed. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Nonsense, you haven't done anything wrong. He shall marry you.'</p> + +<p>'He would have,' said Betty a little coldly, 'he's square.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I know. He didn't beg you very hard, did he? However, never mind. +I'm not going to let you go until I've made you happy. Now I'll tuck you +up with a rug, and you're going to sleep before the fire.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span></p> + +<p>Betty lay limp and unresisting in the ministering hands. The unwonted +sensations of comfort, warmth and peace soothed her to sleepiness. +Besides, she felt as if she had wept every tear in her racked body. Soon +her features relaxed, and she sank into profound, almost deathlike +slumber.</p> + +<p>Victoria meanwhile told her story to Jack, who sat in the dining room +reading a novel and smoking cigarettes. He came out of his coma as +Victoria unfolded the tale of Betty's upbringing, her struggle to live, +then love the meteor flashing through her horizon. His cheeks flushed +and his mouth quivered as Victoria painted for him the picture of the +girl half distraught, bearing the burden of her shame, unable to reason +or to forsee, to think of anything except the saving of a gentleman from +life on thirty bob a week.</p> + +<p>'Something ought to be done,' he said at length, closing his book with +novel vivacity.</p> + +<p>'Yes, but what?'</p> + +<p>'I don't know.' His eyes questioned the wall; they grew vaguer and +vaguer as his excitement decreased, as a ship in docks sinks further and +further on her side while the water ebbs away.</p> + +<p>'You think of something,' he said at length, picking up his book again. +'I don't care what it costs.'</p> + +<p>Victoria left him and went for a walk through the misty streets seeking +a solution. There were not many. She could not keep Betty with her, for +she was pure though betrayed; contact with the irregular would degrade +her because habit would induce her to condone that which she morally +condemned. It would spoil her and would ultimately throw her into a life +for which she was not fitted because gentle and unspoiled.</p> + +<p>'No,' mused Victoria as she walked, 'like most women, she cannot rule: a +man must rule her. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> is a reed, not an oak. All must come from man, +both good and evil. What man has done man must undo.'</p> + +<p>By the time she returned to Elm Tree Place she had made up her mind. +There was no hope for Betty except in marriage. She must have her own +fireside; and, from what she had said, her lover was no villain. He was +weak, probably; and, while he strove to determine his line of conduct, +events had slipped beyond his control. Perhaps, though, it was not fair +to deliver Betty into his hands bound and defenceless, bearing the +burden of their common imprudence. She was not fit to be free, but she +should not be a slave. It might be well to be the slave of the strong, +but not of the weak.</p> + +<p>Therefore Victoria arrived at a definite solution. She would see the +young man; and, if it was not altogether out of the question, he should +marry Betty. They should have the little house at Shepherd's Bush, and +Betty should be made a free woman with a fortune of five hundred pounds +in her own right, enough to place her for ever beyond sheer want. It +only struck Victoria later that she need not, out of quixotic +generosity, deplete her own store, for Holt would gladly give whatever +sum she named.</p> + +<p>'Now, Betty,' she said as the girl drained the glass of claret which +accompanied the piece of fowl, that composed her lunch, 'tell me your +young man's name and Anderson & Dromo's address. I'm going to see him.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, no, no, don't do that.' The look of fear returned to the blue eyes.</p> + +<p>'No use, Betty, I've decided you're going to be happy. I shall see him +to-day at six, bring him here to-morrow at half past two, as it happens +to be Saturday. You will be married about the thirtieth of this month.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Vic, don't make me think of it. I can't do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> it . . . it's no good +now. Perhaps he's forgotten me, and it's better for him.'</p> + +<p>'I don't think he's forgotten you,' said Victoria. 'He'll marry you this +month, and you'll eat your Christmas dinner at Shepherd's Bush. Don't be +shy, dear—you're not going empty handed; you're going to have a dowry +of five hundred pounds.'</p> + +<p>'Vic! I can't take it; it isn't right . . . you need all you've got +. . . you're so good, but I don't want him to marry me if . . . if. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Oh, don't worry, I shan't tell him about the money until he says yes. +Now, no thanks; you're my baby, besides it's going to be a present from +Mr Holt. Silence,' she repeated as Betty opened her mouth, 'or rather +give me his name and address and not another word.'</p> + +<p>'Edward Smith, Salisbury House, but. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Enough. Now, dear, don't get up.'</p> + +<p>The events of that Friday and Saturday formed in later days one of the +sunbathed memories in Victoria's dreary life. It was all so gentle, so +full of sweetness and irresolute generosity. She remembered everything, +the wait in the little dark room into which she was ushered by an amazed +commissionaire who professed himself willing to break regulations for +her sake and hand Mr Smith a note, the banging of her heart as she +realised her responsibility and resolved to break her word if necessary +and to buy a husband for Betty rather than lose him, then the quick +interview, the light upon the young man's face.</p> + +<p>'Where is she,' he asked excitedly. 'Oh, why did she run away? You can't +think what I've been going through.'</p> + +<p>'You should have married her,' said Victoria coldly, though she was +moved by his sincerity. He was handsome, this young man, with his +bronzed face, dark eyes, regular features and long dark hair.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I would have at once if I'd known. But I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> couldn't make up my mind; +only thirty bob a week. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I know,' said Victoria softly, 'I used to be at the P. R. R.'</p> + +<p>'You?' The young man looked at her incredulously.</p> + +<p>'Yes, but never mind me. It's Betty I've come for. The baby is dead. I +found her cleaning the steps of a house near Waterloo.'</p> + +<p>'My God,' said the young man in low tones. He clenched his hands +together; one of his paper cuff protectors fell to the floor.</p> + +<p>'Will you marry her now?'</p> + +<p>'Yes . . . at once.'</p> + +<p>'Good. She's had a hard time, Mr Smith, and I don't say it's entirely +your fault. Now it's all going to be put square. I'm going to see she +has some money of her own, five hundred pounds. That will help won't +it?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, it's too good to be true. Why are you doing all this for us? +You're. . . .'</p> + +<p>'Please, please, no thanks. I'm Betty's friend. Let that be enough. Will +you come and see her to-morrow at my house? Here's my card.'</p> + +<p>On the last day of November these two were married at a registry office +in the presence of Victoria and the registrar's clerk. A new joy had +settled upon Betty, whose shy prettiness was turning into beauty. +Victoria's heart was heavy as she looked at the couple, both so young +and rapt, setting out upon the sea with a cargo of glowing dreams. It +was heavy still as the cab drove off carrying them away for a brief +week-end, which was all Anderson and Dromo would allow. She tasted a new +delight in this making of happiness.</p> + +<p>Holt had not attended the ceremony, for he felt too weak. His interest +in the affair had been dim, for he looked upon it as one of Victoria's +whims. He was ceasing to judge as he ceased to appreciate, so much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> was +his physical weakness gaining upon him; all his faculty of action was +concentrated in the desire which gnawed at his very being. Victoria +reminded him of his promise, and, finding his cheque book for him, laid +it on the table.</p> + +<p>'Five hundred pounds,' she said. 'Better make it out to me. It's very +good of you, Jack.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, yes,' he said dully, writing the date and the words 'Mrs Ferris.' +Then he stopped. Concentrating with an effort he wrote the word 'five.'</p> + +<p>'Five . . . five . . .' he murmured. Then he looked up at Victoria with +something like vacuousness.</p> + +<p>A wild idea flashed through her brain. She must act. Oh, no, dreadful. +Yet freedom, freedom. . . . He could not understand . . . she must do +it.</p> + +<p>'Thousand,' she prompted in a low voice.</p> + +<p>'Thousand pounds,' went Jack's voice as he wrote obediently. Then, +mechanically, reciting the formula his father had taught him. 'Five, +comma, 0, 0, 0, dash, 0, dash, 0. John Holt.'</p> + +<p>Victoria put her hands down on the table to take the cheque he had just +torn out. All her fingers were trembling with the terrible excitement of +a slave watching his fetters being struck off. As she took it up and +looked at it, while the figures danced, Holt's eyes grew more insistent +on her other hand. Slowly his fingers closed over it, raised it to his +lips. With his eyes closed, breathing a little deeper, he covered her +palm with lingering kisses.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIXb" id="CHAPTER_XIXb"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> endowment of Betty was soon completed. Advised by the bank manager +to whom she confided something of the young couple's improvident +tendencies, Victoria vested the money in a trust administered by an +insurance company. The deed was so drafted that it could not be charged; +the capital could not be touched, excepting the case of male offspring +who, after their mother's death, would divide it on their respective +twenty-fifth birthdays; as she distrusted her own sex and perhaps still +more the stock from which the girls might spring, she bound their +proportion in perpetuity; failing offspring she provided that, following +on his wife's decease, Mr Edward Smith should receive one fifth of the +capital, four fifths reverting to herself.</p> + +<p>Victoria revelled somewhat in the technicalities of the deed; every +clause she framed was a pleasure in itself; she turned the +'hereinbefores' and the 'predecease as aforesaids' round in her mouth as +if they were luscious sweets. The pleasure of it was not that of Lady +Bountiful showering blessings and feeling the holy glow of charity +penetrate her being. Victoria's satisfaction was more vixenish; she, the +outlaw, the outcast, had wrested from Society enough money to indulge in +the luxury of promoting a marriage, converting the illegal into the +legal, creating respectability. The gains that Society term infamous +were being turned towards the support of that Society; still more, +failing her infamous help, Betty and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> Edward Smith would not have +achieved their coming together with the approval of the Law, their +spiritual regeneration and a house at Shepherd's Bush.</p> + +<p>She was now the mistress of a fortune of over ten thousand pounds, a +good half of which was due to her final stratagem. The time had now come +for her to retire to the house in the country when she could resume her +own name, piece together for the sake of the county her career since she +left India for Alabama, and read the local agricultural rag. Her plans +were postponed, however, owing to Holt's state of health, which +compelled her, out of sheer humanity, to take him to a sunnier clime. +She dismissed Algiers as being too far; she asked Holt where he would +like to go to, but he merely replied 'East Coast,' which in December +struck her as being absurd. Finally she decided to take him to +Folkestone, as it was very near and he would doubtless like to sit with +the dogs on the Leas.</p> + +<p>Folkestone was bright and sunny. The sting in the glowing air brought +fresh colour to Victoria's cheeks, a deeper brilliancy to her grey eyes; +she felt well; her back was straighter; when a lock of dark hair strayed +into her mouth driven by the high wind it tasted salt on her lips. +Sometimes she could have leaped, shouted, for life was rushing in upon +her like a tide. Most days, however, she was quiet, for Holt was not +affected by the sea. His listlessness was now such that he hardly spoke. +He would walk by her side vacuously, looking at his surroundings as if +he did not see them. At times he stopped, concentrated with an effort +and bought a bun from a hawker to break up for the dogs.</p> + +<p>Victoria noticed that he was slipping, with ununderstanding fear. The +phenomenon was beyond her. Though the guests at the hotel surrounded her +with an atmosphere of admiration, Holt's condition began to occupy all +her thoughts. He was thin now to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> point of showing bone under his +coat, pale and hectic, generally listless, sometimes wild-eyed. He never +read, played no games, talked to nobody. Indeed nothing remained of him +save the half physical, half emotional power of his passion. Victoria +called in a doctor, but found him vague and shy; beyond cutting down +Holt's cigarettes he prescribed nothing.</p> + +<p>Victoria resigned herself to the role of a nurse. At the beginning of +January she noticed that Holt was using a stick to walk. The sight +filled her with dread. She watched him on the Leas, walking slowly, +resting the weight of his body on the staff, stopping now and then to +look at the sea, or worse, at a blank wall. A terrible impression of +weakness emanated from him. He was going down the hill. One morning in +the middle of January, Holt did not get up. When questioned he hardly +answered. She dressed feverishly without his moving, and went out to +find the doctor herself, for she was unconsciously afraid of the +servants' eyes. When she returned with the doctor Holt had not moved; +his head was thrown back, his mouth a little open, his face more waxen +than usual.</p> + +<p>'Oh, oh. . . .' Victoria nearly screamed, when Holt opened his eyes. The +doctor threw back the bedclothes and examined his patient. As Victoria +watched him inspecting Holt's mouth, the inside of his eyelids, then his +finger nails, a terror came upon her at these strange rites. She went to +the window and looked out over the sea; it was choppy, grey and foamy +like a river in spate. She strove to concentrate on her freedom, but she +could feel the figure on the bed.</p> + +<p>'Got any sal volatile?' said the doctor's voice.</p> + +<p>'No, shall I. . . .?'</p> + +<p>'No, no time for that, he's fainting; get me some salts, ammonia, +anything.'</p> + +<p>Victoria watched him forcing Holt to breathe the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> ammonia she used to +clean ribbons. Holt opened his eyes, coughed, struggled; tears ran down +his face as he inhaled the acrid fumes. Still he did not speak. The +doctor pulled him out of bed, crossed his legs, and then struck him +sharply across the shin, just under the knee, with the side of his hand. +Holt's leg hardly moved. The doctor hesitated for a moment, then pushed +him back into the bed.</p> + +<p>'I . . . Mrs. . . .?'</p> + +<p>'Holt.'</p> + +<p>'Well, Mrs Holt, I'm afraid your husband is in a serious condition. Of +course I don't say that with careful feeding, tonics, we can't get him +round, but it'll be a long business, and . . . and . . . you see . . . +How long have you been married?'</p> + +<p>'Over a year,' said Victoria with an effort.</p> + +<p>'Ah. Well Mrs Holt, it will be part of the cure that you leave him for +six months.'</p> + +<p>Victoria gasped. Why? Why? Could it be . . .? The thought appalled her. +Dimly she could hear the doctor talking.</p> + +<p>'His mother . . . if he has one . . . to-day . . . phosphate of . . .'</p> + +<p>Then the doctor was gone. A telegram had somehow been sent to Rawsley +Cement Works. Then the long day, food produced on the initiative of the +hotel servants, the room growing darker, night.</p> + +<p>It was ten o'clock, and two women stood face to face by the bed. One was +Victoria, beautiful like a marble statue, with raven black hair, pale +lips. The other a short stout figure with tight hair, a black bonnet, a +red face stained with tears.</p> + +<p>'You've killed him,' said the harsh voice.</p> + +<p>Victoria looked up at Mrs Holt.</p> + +<p>'No, no.'</p> + +<p>'My boy, my poor boy!' Mrs Holt was on her knees by the side of the +motionless figure.</p> + +<p>Victoria began to weep, silently at first, then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> noisily. Mrs Holt +started at the sound, then jumped to her feet with a cry of rage.</p> + +<p>'Stop that crying,' she commanded. 'How dare you? How dare you?'</p> + +<p>Victoria went on crying, the sobs choking her.</p> + +<p>'A murderess,' Mrs Holt went on. 'You took my boy away; you corrupted +him, ruined him, killed him. You're a vile thing; nobody should touch +you, you. . . .'</p> + +<p>Victoria pulled herself together.</p> + +<p>'It's not my fault,' she stumbled. 'I didn't know.'</p> + +<p>'Didn't know,' sneered Mrs Holt, 'as if a woman of your class didn't +know.'</p> + +<p>'That's enough,' snarled Victoria. 'I've had enough. Understand? I +didn't want your son. He wanted me. That's all over. He bought me, and +now you think the price too heavy. I've been heaven to him who only knew +misery. He's not to be pitied, unless it be because his mistress hands +him over to his mother.'</p> + +<p>'How dare you?' cried Mrs Holt again, a break in her voice as she pitied +her outraged motherhood.</p> + +<p>'It's you who've killed him; you, the family, Rawsley, Bethlehem, your +moral laws, your religion. It's you who starved him, ground him down +until he lost all sense of measure, desired nothing but love and life.'</p> + +<p>'You killed him, though,' said the mother.</p> + +<p>'Perhaps. I didn't want to. I was . . . fond of him. But how can I help +it? And supposing I did? What of it? Yes, what of it? Who was your son +but a man?'</p> + +<p>'My son?'</p> + +<p>'Your son. A distinction, not a title. Your son bears part of the +responsibility of making me what I am. He came last but he might have +come first, and I tell you that the worker of the eleventh hour is +guilty equally with the worker of the first. Your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> son was nothing and I +nothing but pawns in the game, little figures which the Society you're +so proud of shifts and breaks. He bought my womanhood; he contributed to +my degradation. What else but degradation did you offer me?'</p> + +<p>Mrs Holt was weeping now.</p> + +<p>'I am a woman, and the world has no use for me. Your Society taught me +nothing. Or rather it taught me to dance, to speak a foreign language +badly, to make myself an ornament, a pleasure to man. Then it threw me +down from my pedestal, knowing nothing, without a profession, a trade, a +friend, or a penny. And then your Society waved before my eyes the +lily-white banner of purity, while it fed me and treated me like a dog. +When I gave it what it wanted, for there's only one thing it wants from +a woman whom nothing has been taught but that which every woman knows, +then it covered me with gifts. A curse on your Society. A Society of +men, crushing, grinding down women, sweating their labour, starving +their brains, urging them on to the surrender of what makes a woman +worth while. Ah . . . ah. . . .'</p> + +<p>Breath failed her. Mrs Holt was weeping silently in her hands in utter +abandonment.</p> + +<p>'I'm going,' said Victoria hoarsely. She picked up a handkerchief and +dabbed her eyes.</p> + +<p>As she opened the door the figure moved on the bed, opened its eyes. +Their last lingering look was for the woman at the door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXb" id="CHAPTER_XXb"></a>CHAPTER XX</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> squire of Cumberleigh was not sorry that 'The Retreat' had found a +tenant at last. The house belonged to him, and he might have let it many +times over; but so conservative and aristocratic was his disposition +that he preferred to sacrifice his rent rather than have anyone who was +undesirable in the neighbourhood. Yet, in the case of the lady who had +now occupied the house for some three weeks, though the strictest +enquiries had been made concerning her, both in Cumberleigh and the +surrounding district, nothing could be ascertained beyond the scanty +facts that she was a widow, well-to-do and had been abroad a good deal. +The squire had seen her on two separate occasions himself and could not +but admit that she was far from unprepossessing; she was obviously a +lady, well-bred and educated, and, if her frock and hat had been a +trifle smarter than those usually seen in a country village, she had +owned up to having recently been to Paris to replenish her wardrobe. It +was curious, when he came to reflect upon it, how little she had told +him about herself, and yet, what was more curious, she had no sooner +left him after the second visit than he had betaken himself to his +solicitor to get him to make out the lease. She had received and signed +it the following day, showing herself remarkably business-like, but not +ungenerous when it came to the buying of the fixtures and to the vexed +question of outdoor and indoor repairs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span></p> + +<p>As the squire climbed the hill that gave upon the village from the +marshes, one cold March evening, he did not regret his decision; for, +standing in front of 'The Retreat,' he felt bound to admit that there +was something cheering and enlivening in the fact that the four front +windows now flaunted red curtains and holland blinds, where they had +been so dark and forbidding. In the lower one on the left, where the +lamps had not yet been lighted or the blinds drawn down, in the light of +the dancing fire, he could see distinctly a woman's workbox on a small +inlaid table, a volume of songs on the cottage piano, and, at the back +of the room, a hint of china tea cups, glistening silver and white +napery. Presently a trim maid came out to bolt the front door, followed +by two snuffling yellow dogs who took the air for a few moments in +tempestuous spirits, biting each other about the neck and ears and +rushing round in giddy circles on the tiny grass plot until, in response +to a call from the maid, they returned with her to the house. They were +foreigners evidently, these dogs! The squire could not remember the name +of the breed, but he thought he had seen one of the kind before in +London. He was not quite sure he approved of foreign dogs; they were not +so sporting or reliable as those of the English breeds; still, these +were handsome fellows, well kept and (from the green ribbons that +adorned their fluffy necks) evidently made much of. He was still looking +after the dogs when he was joined by the curate coming out of the +blacksmith's cottage opposite and stopping to light a match in the +shelter of the high wall of 'The Retreat.'</p> + +<p>'First pipe I have had to-day,' said the newcomer as he puffed at it +luxuriously. 'It's more than you can say, squire, I'll be bound.'</p> + +<p>'Twenty-first, that's more like it,' said the squire with a laugh. 'How +is Mrs Johnson?' This in allusion to the curate's call at the smithy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Dying. Won't last the night out, I think. She is quite unconscious. +Still I am glad I went. Johnson and his daughters seemed to like to have +me there, though of course there was nothing for me to do.'</p> + +<p>'Quite so, quite so,' said the squire approvingly, for the village was +so small that he took a paternal interest in all its inhabitants. 'Any +more news?'</p> + +<p>'Mrs Golightly has had twins, and young Shaw has enlisted. That's about +all, I think. Oh, by the by, I paid a call here to-day.' And he +indicate. 'The Retreat.' 'It seemed about time you know, and one mustn't +neglect the new-comers.'</p> + +<p>'Of course not,' the squire assented with conviction. 'Was she . . . did +she in any way indicate that she was pleased to see you?'</p> + +<p>'She was very gracious, but she seemed to take my call quite as a matter +of course. A nice woman I should think, though a little reserved. +However she is going to rent one seat in church if not more, and she +said I might put her name down for one or two little things I am +interested in at present.'</p> + +<p>'In fact you made hay while the sun shone. Well, after all, why not? She +didn't tell you anything about herself I suppose, or her connections?'</p> + +<p>'No, she never mentioned them. I understood or she implied she had been +abroad a good deal and that her husband had died some years ago. Still I +really don't think we need worry about her; the whole thing, if I may +say so, was so obviously all right, the house I mean and all its +appointments. She is a quiet woman, a little shy and retiring perhaps, +belongs to the old-fashioned school.'</p> + +<p>'Well she is none the worse for that,' said the squire with a grunt. 'We +don't meet many of that kind nowadays. Even the farmers' daughters are +quite ready to set you right whenever they get a chance. This modern +education is a curse, I have said so from the very beginning. Still they +haven't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> robbed us of our Church schools yet, if that is any +consolation. Coming back to dine with me to-night, Seaton?'</p> + +<p>The young man shook his head. 'Very sorry, squire, it's quite impossible +to-night. It is Friday night, choir practice you know, and there is a +lantern lecture in the mission hall. I ought to be there already, +helping Griffin with the slides.'</p> + +<p>'All right, Sunday evening then, at the usual time,' said the squire +cordially as the curate left him, and, as he looked after him, he +criticised him as a busy fellow, not likely to set the Thames on fire +perhaps, but essentially the right man in the right place.</p> + +<p>His own progress was a good deal slower; not that he found the hill too +steep, for, in spite of his fifty years, he was still perfectly sound of +wind and limb, as was shown by his athletic movements, the fresh healthy +colour on his cheeks, and the clear blue of his eyes, but rather because +he seemed loth to tear himself away from 'The Retreat' and his new +tenant. Even when he had reached the little post office that crowned the +summit, he did not turn off towards his own place till he had spent +another five minutes contemplating the stack of chimney-pots sending out +thick puffs of white smoke into the quiet evening sky, and listening +attentively to the cheerful sound of a tinkling piano blended with the +gentle lowing of the cattle on the marsh below. After all, he told +himself, he was very glad Seaton had called, for apart from his duty as +a clergyman it was only a kind and neighbourly thing to do.</p> + +<p>It was a pity that there were not more of his kind in the neighbourhood, +for in spite of his own preference for the country, he could imagine +that a woman coming to it fresh from London at such a season might find +it dull and a little depressing. He wondered if Mrs Menzies, of Hither +Hall, would call if he asked her to do so. Of course she would in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> a +moment if he put it on personal grounds, but that was not the point. All +he wished was to be kind and hospitable to a stranger; and Mrs Menzies, +much as he respected and admired her, had never been known to err on the +side of tolerance, nor did one meet in her drawing-room anyone whose +pedigree would not bear a thorough investigation. Yes, there was no +doubt about it, though the laws that governed social intercourse were on +the whole excellent and had to be kept, there were here, as everywhere +else in life, exceptions to the rule, occasions when anyone of a kindly +disposition must feel tempted to break them. And Mrs Menzies was +certainly a little stiff: witness her behaviour in the case of Captain +Clinton's widow and the fuss she had made because the unfortunate lady +had forgotten to tell her of her relationship to the Eglinton Clintons +and had only vouchsafed the fact that her father's people had been in +trade. Why, it had taken weeks if not months to clear the matter up; and +it had been very awkward for everybody, the Eglinton Clintons included +when the truth had transpired. No, on second thoughts he would not ask +Mrs Menzies to call; he would far rather make the first venture himself +than risk a snub for this lonely defenceless stranger.</p> + +<p>He turned into the gates of Redland Hall with a half-formed intention of +doing so immediately. He dined alone as usual; it was very rare that the +dining-room of Redland Hall extended its hospitality to anybody +nowadays; for the squire, like most men over forty, had lost the habit +of entertaining and did not know how to recover it. A bachelor friend +spent a night with him from time to time; the curate supped with him +every Sunday; and his sister came for a week or two during the summer, +when she invariably told him that the house was too uncomfortable to +live in, and he ought to have it thoroughly done up and modernised. He +invariably promised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> to set about it immediately, with the full +intention of doing so; but his resolution began to weaken the day on +which he saw her off at the station, and degenerated steadily for the +remainder of the year. That night, however, for the first time for many +months he made a voyage of discovery into his own drawing-room. Yes, +there was no doubt about it, Selina was quite right in calling it +draughty and uncomfortable; the gilt French furniture was shabby and +tarnished, the Aubusson carpet worn, the wall paper faded, the whole +room desolate in its suggestion of past glory. He crossed over to the +enormous grand piano, opened it and struck a yellow key gently with one +finger. Was he wrong, he wondered, in thinking its tone was lamentably +thin and poor? A rat scampered and squeaked in the wainscoting, the +windows rattled in their loose sashes; he shut the piano abruptly and +left the room. It would cost a good deal to have it thoroughly done up, +of course; but that was not the point. Who would superintend the +decorations? He did not trust his own taste and had no faith in that of +any upholsterer. Selina would come and help him if he asked her, though +she would think it strange, for she had paid her annual visit in August, +and it was now only March; besides, if she brought her delicate little +girls with her at such a time the whole house would be upset in +arranging for their comfort. Still, Selina or no, he had quite made up +his mind to have the room done up and to buy a new piano immediately; it +was ridiculous to harbour an instrument which was merely a nesting place +for mice. He returned to the dining-room, poured himself out a stiff +whiskey and soda, and dozed over his <i>Spectator</i> for the rest of the +evening. Yet, next morning, even in the unromantic light of day, he was +surprised to find that his plan of doing up the drawing-room still held +good.</p> + +<p>He had intended to ride into Wetherton that day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> to try his new mare +across country, for the gates were high in that direction and good +enough to test her powers as a jumper. A glance at the glistening frost +on the grass soon sufficed, however, to tell him that his scheme could +not be carried out; nor was he sorry until, having spent the morning on +his farms and inspected everything and everybody at his leisure, it +occurred to him with a desperate sense of conviction that there was +still the afternoon to be filled in somehow. About three he set off in +the direction of the village, looked in at the church and had a brief +colloquy with Seaton regarding the new pews which were being put up, +interviewed the postmaster, condoled with the blacksmith upon the death +of his wife, and even ventured down as far as the marsh to see if the +new carrier who had taken the place of old Dick Tomlinson was likely to +fulfil his duties properly. About four o'clock he found himself once +more opposite 'The Retreat.' It was on the main road certainly, but it +was only recently that he had become aware of its importance in the +landscape. One could not get to the marsh or come back from it without +passing it. The windows looked as trim as ever—trimmer perhaps, for +short muslin curtains interspaced with embroidery seemed to have sprung +up in the night. They were very decorative in their way; at the same +time they quite shut out all prospect of the interior, and there was no +workbox, piano, or suggestion of tea things to be seen to-day. The +foreign dogs were snuffling in the garden as he passed the second time, +and one of them nosed its way through the iron gate and ventured a few +yards down the road, but just as the squire had made up his mind it was +his duty to take it back, it returned of its own accord. He watched the +trim maid come out and call them as she had done the day before, and saw +them rush after her frolicking round her skirt.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suddenly he crossed the road, looked up and down to make sure there was +no acquaintance within sight, opened the iron gate of 'The Retreat,' and +passed up the gravel pathway into the porch.</p> + +<p>'Mrs Fulton is at home,' said the trim maid demurely, in answer to his +question.</p> + +<p class="center">MERCAT PRESS, EDINBURGH</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Bed of Roses, by W. L. 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George + +Release Date: August 26, 2010 [EBook #33538] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BED OF ROSES *** + + + + +Produced by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.fadedpage.net + + + + + + + + A BED OF ROSES . . BY + + W. L. GEORGE + + + AUTHOR OF 'ENGINES OF SOCIAL + + PROGRESS,' . . 'FRANCE IN THE + + TWENTIETH CENTURY,' &c. + + It's not work that any woman would do for pleasure, + goodness knows; though to hear the pious people talk + you would suppose it was a bed of roses. Mrs Warren's + Profession . By G. Bernard Shaw. + + AUTHORISED EDITION + + + BRENTANO'S . NEW YORK + + MCMXI + + THIRD EDITION + + + + +PART I + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +'WE go.' The lascar meditatively pressed his face, brown and begrimed +with coal dust, streaked here and there with sweat, against the rope +which formed the rough bulwark. His dark eyes were fixed on the shore +near by, between which and the ship's side the water quivered quicker +and quicker in little ripples, each ripple carrying an iridescent film +of grey ooze. Without joy or sadness he was bidding goodbye to Bombay, +his city. Those goodbyes are often farewells for lascars who must face +the Bay and the Channel. But the stoker did not care. + +His companion lay by his side, lazily propped up on his elbow, not +deigning even to take a last look at the market place, seething still +with its crowded reds and blues and golds. 'Dekko!' cried the first +stoker pointing to the wharf where a white man in a dirty smock had just +cast off the last rope, which came away swishing through the air. + +His companion did not raise his eyes. Slowly he tilted up his pannikin +and let the water flow in a thin stream into his mouth, keeping the +metal away from his lips. Then, careless of the land of Akbar, he let +himself sink on the deck and composed himself to sleep. India was no +concern of his. + +A few yards away a woman watched them absently from the upper deck. She +was conscious of them, conscious too of the slow insistent buzzing of a +gadfly. Her eyes slowly shifted to the shore, passed over the market +place, stopped at the Fort. There, in the open space, a troop was +drilling, white and speckless, alertly wheeling at the word of command. +Her eyes were still fixed on the group as the ship imperceptibly receded +from the shore, throbbing steadily as the boilers got up steam. A +half-naked brown boy was racing along the wharf to gain a start and beat +the vessel before she reached the military crane. + +The woman turned away. She was neither tall nor short: she did not +attract attention overmuch but she was one of those who retain such +attention as they draw. She was clad entirely in black; her face seemed +to start forward intensified. Her features were regular; her mouth +small. Her skin, darkened by the shadow of a broad brimmed hat, blushed +still darker at the cheeks. The attraction was all in the eyes, large +and grey, suggestive of energy without emotion. Her chin was square, +perhaps too thick in the jaw. + +She turned once more and leant against the bulwark. A yard away another +woman was also standing, her eyes fixed on the shore, on a figure who +waited motionless on the fast receding wharf. As the steamer kept on her +course the woman craned forward, saw once more and then lost sight of +the lonely figure. She was small, fair, a little insignificant, and +dressed all in white drill. + +The steamer had by now attained half speed. The shore was streaming by. +The second woman turned her back on the bulwark, looked about aimlessly, +then, perceiving her neighbour, impulsively went up to her and stood +close beside her. + +The two women did not speak, but remained watching the shoals fly past. +Far away a train in Kolaba puffed up sharp bursts of smoke into the blue +air. There was nothing to draw the attention of the beholder in that +interminable shore, low-lying and muddy, splashed here and there with +ragged trees. It was a desert almost, save for a village built between +two swamps. Here and then smoke arose, brown and peaty from a bonfire. +In the evening light the sun's declining rays lit up with radiance the +red speck of a heavy shawl on the tiny figure of a brown girl. + +Little by little, as the ship entered the fairway, the shore receded +almost into nothingness. The two women still watched, while India merged +into shadow. It was the second hour and, as the ship slowly turned +towards the west, the women watched the great cocoanut trees turn into +black specks upon Marla point. Then, slowly, the shore sank into the +dark sea until it was gone and nothing was left of India save the +vaguely paler night that tells of land and the even fainter white spears +of the distant light. + +For a moment they stood still, side by side. Then the fair woman +suddenly put her hand on her companion's arm. 'I'm cold,' she said, +'let's go below.' + +The dark girl looked at her sympathetically. 'Yes,' she said, 'let's, +who'd have thought we wanted to see more of the beastly country than we +could help. . . . I say, what's the matter, Molly?' + +Molly was still looking towards the light; one of her feet tapped the +deck nervously; she fumbled for her handkerchief. 'Nothing, nothing,' +she said indistinctly, 'come and unpack.' She turned away from her +companion and quickly walked towards the gangway. + +The dark girl looked once more into the distance where even the +searchlight had waned. 'Vic!' cried the fair girl querulously, half way +up the deck. 'All right, I'm coming,' replied the woman in black. She +looked again at the pale horizon into which India had faded, at the deck +before her where a little black cluster of people had formed to look +their last upon the light. Then she turned and followed her companion. + +The cabin was on the lower deck, small, stuffy in the extreme. Its two +grave-like bunks, its drop table, even its exiguous armchair promised +no comfort. On the worn carpet the pattern had almost vanished; alone +the official numerals on the edge stared forth. For half an hour the two +women unpacked in silence; Molly knelt by the side of her trunk delving +into it, dragging out garments which she tried to find room for on the +scanty pegs. Her companion merely raised the lid of her trunk to ease +the pressure on her clothes, and placed a small dressing-case on the +drop table. Once she would have spoken but, at that moment, a faint sob +came from Molly's kneeling form. She went up to her, put her arm about +her neck and kissed her cheek. She undressed wearily, climbed into the +upper berth. Soon Molly did likewise, after turning down the light. For +a while she sighed and turned uneasily; then she became quieter, her +breathing more measured, and she slept. + +Victoria Fulton lay in her berth, her eyes wide open, glued to the roof +a foot or so above her face. It was very like a coffin, she thought, +perhaps a suitable enough habitation for her, but at present, not in the +least tempting. A salutary capacity for optimism was enabling her to +review the past three years and to speculate about the future. Not that +either was very rosy, especially the future. + +The steady throb of the screw pulsated through the stuffy cabin, and +blended with the silence broken only by Molly's regular breathing in the +lower berth. Victoria could not help remembering other nights passed +also in a stuffy little cabin, where the screw was throbbing as +steadily, and when the silence was broken by breathing as regular, but a +little heavier. Three years only, and she was going home. But now she +was leaving behind her the high hopes she had brought with her. + +She was no exception to the common rule, and memories, whether bitter or +sweet, had always bridged for her the gulf between wakefulness and +sleep. And what could be more natural than to recall those nights, three +years ago, when every beat of that steady screw was bringing her nearer +to the country where her young husband was, according to his mood, going +to win the V.C., trace the treasure stolen from a Begum, or become +military member on the Viceroy's Council? Poor old Dicky, she thought, +perhaps it was as well he did not live to see himself a major, old and +embittered, with all those hopes behind him. + +There were no tears in her eyes when she thought of Fulton. The good old +days, the officers' ball at Lympton when she danced with him half the +night, the rutty lane where they met to sit on a bank of damp moss +smelling of earth and crushed leaves, and the crumbling little church +where she became Fulton's wife, all that was far away. How dulled it all +was too by those three years during which, in the hot moist air of the +plains, she had seen him degenerate, his skin lose it's freshness, his +eyelids pucker and gather pouches, his tongue grow ever more bitter as +he attempted to still with whisky the drunkard's chronic thirst. She +could not even shudder at the thought of all it had meant for her, at +the horror of seeing him become every day more stupefied, at the savage +outbursts of the later days, at the last scenes, crude and physically +foul. Three years had taught her brain dullness to such scenes as those. + +The tragedy of Fulton was a common enough thing. Heat, idleness, +temporary affluence, all those things that do not let a man see that +life is blessed only by the works that enable him to forget it, had +played havoc with him. He had followed up his initial error of coming +into the world at all by marrying a woman who neither cajoled or coerced +him. With the best of intentions she had bored him to extinction. His +interest in things became slender; he drank himself to death, and not +even the ghost of his self lived to grieve by his bedside. + +In spite of everything it had not been a bad life in its way. Victoria +had been the belle, in spite of Mrs Major Dartle and her peroxidised +tresses. And there had been polo (Dicky always would have three ponies +and refused three hundred guineas for Tagrag), and regimental dances and +gymkhanas and what not. Under the sleepy sun these three years had +passed, not like a flash of lightning, but slowly, dreamily, in the +unending routine of marches, inspections, migrations to and from the +hills. The end had come quickly. One day they carried Dick Fulton all +the way from the mess and laid him under his own verandah. The fourth +day he died of cirrhosis of the liver. Even Mrs Major Dartle who +formally called and lit up the darkened room with the meretricious glow +of her curls hinted that it was a happy release. The station in general +had no doubt as to the person for whom release had come. + +As Victoria lay in the coffin-like berth she vainly tried to analyse her +feeling for Fulton. The three years had drawn over her past something +like a veil behind which she could see the dim shapes of her impressions +dancing like ghostly marionettes. She knew that she had loved him with +the discreet passion of an Englishwoman. He had burst in upon her +ravished soul like the materialised dream of a schoolgirl; he had been +adorably careless, adorably rakish. For a whole year all his foibles had +been charms in so far as they made the god more human, nearer to her. +Then, one night, he had returned home so drunk as to fall prostrate on +the tiles of the verandah and sleep there until next morning. She had +not dared to call the ayah or the butler and, as she could not rouse or +lift him, she had left him lying there under some rugs and mosquito +netting. + +During the rest of that revolutionary night she had not slept, nor had +she found the relief of tears that is given most women. Hot waves of +indignation flowed over her. She wanted to get up, to stamp with rage, +to kick the disgraceful thing on the tiles. She held herself down, +however, or perhaps the tradition of the English counties whispered to +her that anything was preferable to scandal, that crises must be +noiseless. When dawn came and she at last managed to arouse Fulton by +flooding his head with the contents of the water jug, the hot fit was +gone. She felt cold, too aloof, too far away from him to hate him, too +petrified to reproach him. + +Fulton took no notice of the incident. He was still young and vigorous +enough to shake off within a few hours the effects of the drink. Besides +he seldom mentioned things that affected their relations; in the keep of +his heart he hid the resentment of a culprit against the one who has +caught him in the act. He confined his conversation to daily happenings; +in moments of expansion he talked of the future. They did not, however, +draw nearer one another; thus the evolution of their marriage tended +inevitably to draw them apart. Victoria was no longer angry, but she was +frightened because she had been frightened and she hated the source of +her fear. Fulton, thick skinned as he was, felt their estrangement +keenly. He grew to hate his wife; it almost made him wish to hurt her +again. So he absented himself more often, drank more, then died. His +wife was free. So this was freedom. Freedom, a word to conjure with, +thought Victoria, when one is enslaved and meaning very little when one +is free. She was able to do what she liked and wished to do nothing. Of +course things would smooth themselves out: they always did, even though +the smoothing process might be lengthy. They must do so, but how? There +were friends of course, and Ted, and thirty pounds of Consols unless +they'd gone down again, as safe investments are wont to do. She would +have to do some work. Rather funny, but how jolly to draw your first +month's or week's salary; everybody said it was a proud moment. Of +course it would have to be earned, but that did not matter: everybody +had to earn what they got, she supposed, and they ought to enjoy doing +it. Old Flynn, the D.C., used to say that work was a remunerative +occupation you didn't like, but then he had been twenty years in India. + +Molly turned uneasily in her bunk and settled down again. Victoria's +train of thought was broken and she could not detach her attention from +the very gentle snore that came from the lower berth, a snore gentle but +so insidious that it seemed to dominate the steady beat of the screw. +Through the porthole, over which now there raced some flecks of spray, +she could see nothing but the blackness of the sky, a blackness which at +times turned to grey whenever the still inkier sea appeared. The cabin +seemed black and empty, lit up faintly by a white skirt flung on a +chair. Slowly Victoria sank into sleep, conscious of a half dream of +England where so many unknowable things must happen. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +'No, Molly, I don't think it's very nice of you,' said Victoria, 'we've +been out four days and I've done nothing but mope and mope; it's all +very well my being a widow and all that: I'm not suggesting you and I +should play hop scotch on deck with the master gunner, but for four days +I've been reading a three months old _Harper's_ and the memoirs of +Mademoiselle de I don't know what, and . . .' + +'But what have I done?' cried Molly. + +'I'm bored,' replied Victoria, with admirable detachment, 'and what's +more, I don't intend to go on being bored for another fortnight; I'm +going on deck to find somebody to amuse me.' + +'You can't do that,' said Molly, 'they're washing it.' + +'Very well, then, I'll go and watch and sing songs to the men.' Victoria +glared at her unoffending companion, her lips tightening and her jaw +growing ominously squarer. + +'But my dear girl,' said Molly, 'I'm awfully sorry. I didn't know you +cared; come and have a game of quoits with me and old Cairns. There's a +place behind the companion which I should say nobody ever does wash.' + +Victoria was on the point of answering that she hated quoits as she +never scored and they were generally dirty, but the prospect of +returning to the ancient _Harper's_ was not alluring, so she followed +Molly to the hatchway and climbed up to the upper deck still shining +moist and white. Apparently they would not have to play behind the +companion. Four men were leaning against the bulwarks, looking out at +nothing as people do on board ship. Victoria just had time to notice a +very broad flannel-clad back surmounted by a thick neck, while Molly +went up to the last man and unceremoniously prodded him in the ribs. + +'Wake up, Bobby,' she said, 'I'm waiting.' + +The men all wheeled round suddenly. The broad man stepped forward +quickly and shook hands with Molly. Then he took a critical look at +Victoria. The three young men struggled for an absurd little bag which +Molly always dropped at the right moment. + +'How do you do, Mrs Fulton,' said the broad man stretching out his hand. +Victoria took it hesitatingly. + +'Don't you remember me?' he said. 'My name's Cairns. Major Cairns. You +know. Travancores. Met you at His Excellency's hop.' + +Of course she remembered him. He was so typical. Anybody could have told +his profession and his rank at sight. He had a broad humorous face, +tanned over freckled pink. Since he left Wellington he had grown a +little in every direction and had become a large middle aged boy. +Victoria took him in at one look. A square face such as that of Cairns, +distinctly chubby, framing grey blue eyes, was as easily recalled as +forgotten. She took in his forehead, high and likely to become higher as +his hair receded; his straight aggressive nose; his little rough +moustache looking like nothing so much as a ragged strip off an Irish +terrier's back. + +While Victoria was wondering what to say, Molly, determined to show her +that she was not going to leave her out, had thrust her three henchmen +forward. + +'This is Bobby,' she remarked. Bobby was a tall young man with a round +head, bright brown eyes full of cheerfulness and hot temper. 'And +Captain Alastair . . . and Mr Parker.' Alastair smiled. Smiles were his +method of expression. Mr Parker bowed rather low and said nothing. He +had at once conceived for Victoria the mixture of admiration and dislike +that a man feels towards a woman who would not marry him if she knew +where he had been to school. + +'I hope,' said Mr Parker slowly, 'that your. . . .' But he broke off +suddenly, realising the mourning and feeling the ground to be unsafe. + +'Mr Parker, I've been looking for you all the morning,' interjected +Molly, with intuition. 'You've promised to teach me to judge my +distance,' and she cleverly pushed Bobby between Mr Parker and Victoria. +'Come along, and you Bobby, you can pick the rings up.' + +'Right O,' said Bobby readily. She turned towards the stern followed by +the obedient Bobby and Mr Parker. + +Captain Alastair smiled vacuously, made as if to follow the trio, +realising that it was a false start, swerved back and finally covering +his confusion by sliding a few yards onwards to tell Mrs Colonel Lanning +that it was blowing up for a squall. + +Victoria had watched the little incident with amused detachment. + +'Who is Mr Parker?' she enquired. + +'Met him yesterday for the first time,' said Cairns, 'and really I can't +say I want to know. Might be awkward. Must be in the stores or +something. Looks to me like a cross between a mute and a parson. Bit of +a worm, anyhow.' + +'Oh, he didn't hurt my feelings,' remarked Victoria; 'but some men never +know what women have got on.' Cairns looked her over approvingly. +Shoddy-looking mourning. Durzee made of course. But, Lord, what hands +and eyes. + +'I daresay not,' he said drily. 'I wish he'd keep away though. Let's +walk up.' + +He took a stride or two away from Alastair. Victoria followed him. She +was rather taken with his rough simplicity, the comfort of his apparent +obtuseness. So like an uncle, she thought. + +'Well, Mrs Fulton,' said Cairns, 'I suppose you're glad to be here, as +usual.' + +'As usual?' + +'Yes, as usual; people are always glad to be on board. If they're going +home, they're going home and if they're going out they're thinking that +it's going to be full pay instead of half.' + +'It hadn't struck me like that,' said Victoria with a smile, 'though I +suppose I am glad to go home.' + +'Funny,' said the Major, 'I never found a country like India to make +people want to come to it and to make them want to get out of it when +they were there. We had a sub once. You should have heard him on the +dead cities. Somewhere south east of Hyderabad, he said. And native +jewellery, and fakirism, and all that. He's got a liver now and the last +I heard of him was that he put his shoulder out at polo.' + +Victoria looked out over the immense oily greenness of the water. Far +away on the skyline a twirling wreath of smoke showed that some tramp +steamer was passing them unseen. The world was between them; they were +crawling on one side of the ball and the tramp on the other, like flies +on an orange. Was that tramp, Bombay bound, carrying more than a cargo +of rolling stock? Perhaps the mate had forgotten his B.S.A. fittings and +was brooding, he too, over the dead cities, somewhere south-east of +Hyderabad. + +'No,' repeated Victoria slowly, 'it hadn't struck me like that.' + +Cairns looked at her curiously. He had heard of Fulton and knew of the +manner of his death. He could not help thinking that she did not seem +to show many signs of a recent bereavement, but then she was well rid +of Fulton. Of course there were other things too. Going back as the +widow of an Indian officer was all very well if you could afford the +luxury, but if you couldn't, well it couldn't be much catch. So, being +thirty eight or so, he prudently directed the conversation towards the +customary subjects discussed on board a trooper: the abominable +accommodation and the appalling incompetency of the government with +regard to the catering. + +Victoria listened to him placidly. His ancient tittle-tattle had been +made familiar to her by three years' association with his fellows, and +she had learned that she need not say much, as his one wish was +naturally to revile the authorities and all their work. But one item +interested her. + +'After all,' he said, 'I don't see why I should talk. I've had enough of +it. I'm sending in my papers as soon as I've settled a small job at +Perim. I'll get back to Aden and shake all that beastly Asiatic dust off +my shoes.' + +'Surely,' said Victoria, 'you're not going to leave the Service?' Her +intonation implied that she was urging him not to commit suicide. Some +women must pass twice under the yoke. + +'Fed up. Simply fed up with it. Suppose I do waste another twenty years +in India or Singapore or Hong Kong, how much forrarder am I? They'll +retire me as a colonel or courtesy general and dump me into an England +which doesn't care a hang about me with the remains of malaria, no +digestion and no temper. I'll then while away my time watching the +busses pass by from one of the windows of the Rag and give my daily +opinion of the doings of Simla and the National Congress to men who will +only listen to me so long as I stand them a whisky and soda.' + +'It isn't alluring,' said Victoria, 'but it may not be as bad as that. +You can do marvels in India. My husband used to say that a man could +hope for anything there.' + +Cairns suppressed the obvious retort that Fulton's ideals did not seem +to have materialised. + +'No,' he said, 'I'm not ambitious. India's steam rollered all that. When +I've done with my job at Perim, which won't be much more than a couple +of months, I'm going home. Don't know that I'll do anything in +particular. Farm a bit, perhaps, or have some chambers somewhere near St +James' and dabble in balloons or motors. Some shooting too. All that +sort of thing.' + +'Perhaps you are right,' said Victoria after a pause. 'I suppose it's as +well to do what one likes. Shall we join the others?' + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +LIFE on a trooper is not eventful. Victoria was not so deeply absorbed +in her mourning or in the pallid literature borrowed from Molly as not +to notice it. Though she was not what is termed serious, the perpetual +quoits on the upper deck in company with Alastair and his conversation +limited by smiles, and with Mr Parker and his conversation limited by +uneasiness palled about the second game. Bobby too was a cypher. It was +his fate to be known as 'Bobby,' a quantity of no importance. He +belonged to the modern school of squires of dames, ever ready to fetch a +handkerchief, to fish when he inwardly wanted to sleep in a deck chair +or to talk when he had a headache. Such men have their value as tame +cats and Victoria did not avoid his cheery neighbourhood. But he was +summed up in the small fact which she recalled with gentle amusement a +long time after: she had never known his name. For her, as for the +ship's company, he was 'Bobby,' merely Bobby. + +The female section too could detain none but cats and hens, as Victoria +put it. She had moved too long like a tiny satellite in the orbit of Mrs +Colonel So-and-So to return to the little group which slumbered all day +by the funnel dreaming aloud the petty happenings of Bombay. The heavy +rains at Chandraga, the simply awful things that had been said about an +A.D.C. and Mrs Bryan, and the scandalous way in which a Babu had been +made a judge, all this filled her with an extraordinary weariness. She +felt, in the presence of these remains of her daily life, as she would +when confronted for the third time with the cold leg of mutton. + +True there was Cairns, a man right enough and jovial in spite of his +cynical assumption that nothing was worth anything. He could produce +passing fair aphorisms, throw doubts on the value of success and +happiness. There was nothing, however, to hold on to. Victoria had not +found in him a teacher or a helper. He was merely destructive of thought +and epicurean in taste. Convinced that wine, woman and song were quite +valueless things, he nevertheless knew the best Ruedesheimer and had an +eye for the droop of Victoria's shoulders. + +Cairns obviously liked Victoria. He did not shun his fellow passengers, +for he considered that the dullest people are the most interesting, yet +she could not help noticing from time to time that his eyes followed her +round. He was a good big man and she knew that his thick hand, a little +swollen and sunburnt, would be a good thing to touch. But there was in +him none of that subtle magnetism that grasps and holds. He was coarse, +perhaps a little vulgar at heart. + +Thus Victoria had roamed aimlessly over the ship, visiting even the bows +where, everlastingly, a lascar seemed to brood in fixed attitudes as a +Budh dreaming of Nirvana. She often wandered in the troop-deck filled +with the womankind and children of the non-coms. Without disliking +children she could find no attraction in these poor little faded things +born to be scorched by the Indian sun. The women too, mostly yellow and +faded, always recalled to her, so languid and tired were they, +commonplace flowers, marigolds, drooping on their stems. Besides, the +society of the upper deck found a replica on the troop deck, where it +was occasionally a little shriller. There too, she could catch snatches +which told of the heavy rains of Chandraga, the goings on of Lance +Corporal Maccaskie's wife and the disgrace of giving Babu clerks more +than fifty rupees a month. + +Perpetually the Indian ocean shimmered by, calm as the opaque eye of a +shark, breaking at times into immense rollers that swelled hardly more +than a woman's breast. And the days passed on. + +They were nearing Aden, though nothing on the mauve horizon told of the +outpost where the filth of the East begins to overwhelm the ugliness of +the West. Victoria and Cairns were leaning on the starboard bulwark. She +was looking vacuously into the greying sky, conscious that Cairns was +watching her. She felt with extraordinary clearness that he was gazing +as if spell-bound at the soft and regular rise and fall of her skin +towards the coarse black openwork of her bodice. Far away in the +twilight was something long and black, hardly more than a line vanishing +towards the north. + +'Araby,' said Cairns. + +Victoria looked more intently. Far away, half veiled by the mists of +night, unlit by the evening star, lay the coast. Araby, the land of +manna and milk--of black-eyed women--of horses that champ strange bits. +Here and there a blackened rock sprang up from the waste of sand and +scrub. Its utter desolation awakened a sympathetic chord. It was lonely, +as she was lonely. As the night swiftly rushed into the heavens, she let +her arm rest against that of Cairns. Then his hand closed over hers. It +was warm and hard; something like a pale light of companionship +struggled through the solitude of her soul. + +They stood cold and silent while the night swallowed up the coast and +all save here and there the foam tip of a wave. The man had put his arm +round her and pressed her to him. She did not resist. The soft wind +playing in her hair carried a straying lock into his eyes, half blinding +him and making him catch his breath, so redolent was it, not with the +scent of flowers, but of life, vigorous and rich in its thousand saps. +He drew her closer to him and pressed his lips on her neck. Victoria did +not resist. + +From the forepeak swathed in darkness, came the faint unearthly echoes +of the stokers' song. There were no fourths; the dominant and the +subdominant were absent. Strangely attuned to the western ear, the +sounds sometimes boomed, sometimes fell to a whisper. The chant rose +like incense into the heavens, celebrating Durga, protector of the +Motherland, Lakshmi, bowered in the flower that in the water grows. +Cairns had drawn Victoria close against him. He was stirred and shaken +as never before. All conspired against him, the night, the fancied +scents of Araby, the unresisting woman in his arms who yielded him her +lips with the passivity of weariness. They did not think as they kissed, +whether laying the foundation of regret or snatching from the fleeting +hour a moment of thoughtless joy. Again a brass drum boomed out beyond +them, softly as if touched by velvet hands. It carried the buzzing of +bees, the calls of corncrakes, in every tone the rich scents of the +jungle, where undergrowth rots in black water--of perfumes that burn +before the gods. Then the night wind arose and swept away the crooning +voices. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +VICTORIA stepped out on to the platform with a heart that bounded and +yet shrank. Not even the first faint coming of the coastline had given +her the almost physical shock that she experienced on this bare +platform. Waterloo station lay around her in a pall of faint yellow mist +that gripped and wrenched at her throat. Through the fog a thousand +ungainly shapes of stairs and signals thrust themselves, some crude in +their near blackness, others fainter in the distance. It might have been +a dream scene but for the uproar that rose around her from the rumble of +London, the voices of a great crowd. Yet all this violence of life, the +darkness, the surge of men and women, all this told her that she was +once more in the midst of things. + +She found her belongings mechanically, fumblingly. She did not realise +until then the bitterness that drove its iron into her soul. Already, +when the troopship had entered the Channel she had felt a cruel pang +when she realised that she must expect nothing and that nobody would +greet her. She had fled from the circle near the funnel when the talk +began to turn round London and waiting sisters and fathers, round the +Lord Mayor's show, the play, the old fashioned Christmas. Now, as she +struggled through the crowd that cried out and laughed excitedly and +kissed, she knew her isolation was complete. There was nobody to meet +her. The fog made her eyes smart, so they filled readily with tears. + +As she sat in the cab, however, and there flashed by her like beacons +the lights of the stalls in the Waterloo Road, the black and greasy +pavement sown with orange peel, she felt her heart beating furiously +with the excitement of home coming. She passed the Thames flowing +silently, swathed in its shroud of mist. Then the blackness of St +James's Park through which her cab crawled timidly as if it feared +things that might lurk unknown in the fogbound thickets. + +It was still in a state of feverish dreaming that Victoria entered her +room at Curran's Private Hotel, otherwise known by a humble number in +Seymour Street. 'Curran's' is much in favour among Anglo-Indians, as it +is both central and cheap. It has everything that distinguishes the +English hotel which has grown from a boarding-house into a superior +establishment where you may stay at so much a day. The successful owner +had bought up one after the other three contiguous houses and had +connected them by means of a conservatory where there lived, among much +pampas grass, small ferns in pots shrouded in pea-green paper and sickly +plants to which no name could be attached as they mostly suggested +stewed lettuce. It was impossible to walk in a straight line from one +end of the coalition of buildings to the other without climbing and +descending steps every one of which proclaimed the fact that the leases +of the houses would soon fall in. From the three kitchens ascended three +smells of mutton. The three halls were strewn with bicycles, gun cases +in their last phase, sticks decrepit or dandified. The three hat racks, +all early Victorian in their lines, bore a motley cargo. Dusty bowlers +hustled it with heather coloured caps and top hats; one even bore a pith +helmet and a clerical atrocity. + +Queer as Curran's is, it is comfortable enough. Victoria looked round +her room, tiny in length and breadth, high however with all the dignity +that befits an odd corner left over by the Victorian builder. It was +distinguished by its simplicity, for the walls bore nothing whatever +beyond a restrained papering of brownish roses. A small black and gold +bed, a wardrobe with a white handle, a washing stand with a marble top +took up all the space left by the large tin trunk which contained most +of Victoria's worldly goods. So this, thought Victoria, is the +beginning. She pulled aside the curtain. Before her lay Seymour Street, +where alone an eye of light shone faintly from the nearest lamp post. +Through the fog came the warning noise of a lorry picking its way. It +was cold, cold, all this, and lonely like an island. + +Her meditations were disturbed by the maid who brought her hot water. + +'My name is Carlotta,' said the girl complacently depositing the can +upon the marble topped washstand. + +'Yes?' said Victoria. 'You are a foreigner?' + +'Yes. I am Italian. It is foggy,' replied the girl. + +Victoria sighed. It was kind of the girl to make her feel at home, to +smile at her with those flashing teeth so well set in her ugly little +brown face. She went to the washstand and cried out in horror at her +dirt and fog begrimed face, rimmed at the eyes, furrowed on the left by +the course of that tear shed at Waterloo. + +'Tell them downstairs I shan't be ready for half an hour,' she said; +'it'll take me about a week to get quite clean, I should say.' + +Carlotta bared her white teeth again and withdrew gently as a cat, while +Victoria courageously drenched her face and neck. The scents of England, +already conjured up by the fog and the mutton, rose at her still more +vividly from the warm water which inevitably exhales the traditional +perfume of hot painted can. + +Her dinner was a small affair but delightful. It was good to eat and +drink once more things to which she had been accustomed for the first +twenty years of her life. Her depression had vanished; she was merely +hungry, and, like the healthy young animal she was, longing for a rare +cut of roast beef, accompanied by the good old English potatoes boiled +down to the consistency of flour and the flavour of nothing. Her +companions were so normal that she could not help wondering, when her +first hunger was sated and she was confronted with the apple tart of her +fathers, whether she was not in the unchanging old board residence in +Fulham where her mother had stayed with her whenever she came up to +town, excited and conscious of being on the spree. + +Two spinsters of no age discussed the fog. Both were immaculate and sat +rigidly in correct attitudes facing their plates. Both talked quickly +and continuously in soft but high tones. They passed one another the +salt with the courtesy of abbes taking pinches of snuff. A young man +from the Midlands explained to the owner of the clerical hat that under +certain circumstances his food would cost him more. Near by a heavy man +solemnly and steadily ate, wiping at times from his beard drops of gravy +and of sauce, whilst his faded wife nibbled disconsolately tiny scraps +of crust. These she daintily buttered, while her four lanky girls nudged +and whispered. + +Victoria did not stay in the conservatory after the important meal. As +she passed through it, a mist of weariness gathering before her eyes, +she had a vision of half a dozen men sleeping in cane chairs, or +studying pink or white evening papers. The young man from the Midlands +had captured another victim and was once more explaining that under +certain circumstances his food would cost him more. + +Victoria seemed to have reached the limits of physical endurance. She +fumbled as she divested herself of her clothes; she could not even +collect enough energy to wash. All the room seemed filled with haze. +Her tongue clove to her palate. Little tingles in her eyelids crushed +them together over her pupils. She stumbled into her bed, mechanically +switching off the light by her bedside. In the very act her arm lost its +energy and she sank into a dreamless sleep. + +Next morning she breakfasted with good appetite. The fog had almost +entirely lifted and sunshine soft as silver was filtering through the +windows into the little dining-room. Its mahoganous ugliness was almost +warmed into charm. The sideboard shone dully through its covering of +coarse net. Even the stacked cruets remembered the days when they +cunningly blazed in a shop window. A pleasurable feeling of excitement +ran through Victoria's body, for she was going to discover London, to +have adventures. As she closed the door behind her with a definite +little slam she felt like a buccaneer. + +Buccaneering in the Edgware Road, even when it is bathed in the morning +sun, soon falls flat in November. It came upon Victoria rather as a +shock that her Indian clothing was rather thin. As her flying visits to +town had only left in her mind a very hazy picture of Regent Street it +was quite unconsciously that she entered the emporium opposite. A frigid +young lady sacrificed for her benefit an abominable vicuna coat which, +she said, fitted Victoria like a glove. Victoria paid the twenty seven +and six with an admirable feeling of recklessness and left the shop +reflecting that she looked the complete charwoman. + +She turned into Hyde Park, where the gentle wind was sorrowfully driving +the brown and broken leaves along the rough gravel. The thin tracery of +the trees imaged itself on the road like a giant cobweb. Victoria looked +for a moment towards the south where the massive buildings rise, towards +the east where a cathedral thrusts into the sky a tower that +suspiciously recalls waterworks. She drank in the cold air with a gusto +that can be understood by none save those who have learned to live in +the floating moisture of the plains. She felt young and, in the +sunshine, with her cheeks gaining colour as the wind whipped them, she +looked in her long black coat and broad brimmed straw hat, like a +quakeress in love. + +As she walked down towards the Achilles statue the early morning +panorama of London unfolded itself before her un-understanding eyes. +Girls hurried by with their satchels towards the typewriting rooms of +the west; they stole a look at Victoria's face but quickly turned away +from her clothes. Now and then spruce young clerks walking to the Tube +slackened their pace to look twice into her grey eyes; one or two looked +back, not so much in the hope of an adventure, for time could not be +snatched for Venus herself on the way to the office, as to see whether +they could carry away with them the flattery of having been noticed. + +In a sense that first day in London was for Victoria a day of +revelations. Having despatched a telegram to her brother to announce her +arrival she felt that the day was hers. Ted had not troubled to meet her +either at Southampton or Waterloo: it was not likely that he had +followed the sightings of her ship. The next day being a Saturday, +however, he would probably come up from the Bedfordshire school where he +proffered Latin to an ungrateful generation. + +Victoria's excursions to London had been so few that she had but the +faintest idea of where she was to go. Knowing, however, that one cannot +lose oneself in London, she walked aimlessly towards the east. It was a +voyage of discovery. Piccadilly, bathed in the pale sun, revealed itself +as a land where luxury flows like rivers of milk. Victoria, being a true +woman, could not pass a shop. Thus her progress was slow, so slow that +when she found herself between the lions of Trafalgar Square she began +to realise that she wanted her lunch. + +The problem of food is cruel for all women who desire more than a bun. +They risk either inattention or over attention, and if they follow other +women, they almost invariably discover the cheap and bad. Victoria +hesitated for a moment on the steps of an oyster shop, as nervous in the +presence of her first plunge into freedom as a novice at the side door +of a pawnbroker. A man passed by her into the oyster shop, smoking a +pipe. She felt she would never dare to sit in a room where strange men +smoked pipes. Thus she stood for a moment forlorn on the pavement, until +a memory of the only decent grill in town, according to Bobby, passed +through her mind. + +A policeman sent her by bus to the New Gaiety, patronised by Bobby and +his cronies. As Victoria went down the interminable underground +staircase, and especially as she entered the enormous room where paper, +carpets, and plate always seem new, her courage almost failed her. +Indeed she looked round anxiously, half hoping that the anonymous Bobby +might be revisiting his old haunts. But she was quite alone, and it was +only by reminding herself that she must always be alone at meals now +that she coerced herself into sitting down. She got through her meal +with expedition. She felt frightfully small; the waiters were painfully +courteous; a man laid aside his orange coloured newspaper, and +embarrassed her with frequent side glances. She braced herself up +however. 'I am training,' was her uppermost thought. She then wondered +whether she ought to have come to the New Gaiety at all. Fortunately it +was only at the very end of her lunch that Victoria realised she was the +only woman sitting alone. After this discovery her nerve failed her. She +got up hurriedly, and, in her confusion, omitted to tip the waiter. At +the desk the last stone was heaped on the cairn of her discomfiture when +the cashier politely returned to her a quarter rupee which she had given +her thinking it was a sixpence. + +With a sigh of satisfaction Victoria resumed her walk through London. +She was a little tired already but she could think of nothing to do, +nowhere to go to. She did not want to return to Curran's to sit in her +box-like room, or to look at the two spinsters availing themselves of +their holiday in town to play patience in the conservatory. + +All the afternoon, therefore, Victoria saw the sights. Covent Garden +repelled her by the massiveness of its food suggestion, and especially +by the choking dirt of its lanes. After Covent Garden, Savoy court yard +and its announcements of intellectual plays by unknown women. Then once +more, drawn by its spaciousness guessed at through Spring Gardens, +Victoria walked into Saint James's Park. She rested awhile upon a seat, +watching the waterfowl strut and plume themselves, the pelicans flounder +heavily in the mud. She was tired. The sun was setting early. The magic +slowly faded from London; Buckingham Palace lost the fictitious grace +that it has when set in a blue sky. Victoria shivered a little. She felt +tired. She did not know where to go. She was alone. On the seat nearest +to hers two lovers sat together, hand in hand. The man's face was almost +hidden by his cap and by the blue puffs of his pipe; the girl's was +averted towards the ground where, with the ferule of her umbrella, she +lazily drew signs. There was no bitterness in this sight for Victoria. +Her romance had come and gone so long ago that she looked quite casually +at these wanderers in Arcadia. She only knew that she was alone and +cold. + +Victoria got up and walked out of the park. It was darkening, and little +by little the lights of London were springing into life. By dint of many +questionings she managed to regain Oxford Street, that spinal column of +London without which the stranger would be lost. Then her course was +easy, and it was with a peculiar feeling of luxuriousness that she +resigned herself to the motor bus that jolted and shook her tired body +until she reached the Arch. More slowly, and with diminished optimism, +she found her way up Edgware Road, where night was now falling. The +emporium was dazzling with lights. Alone the public house rivalled it +and thrust its glare through the settling mist. Victoria closed the door +of Curran's. At once she re-entered its atmosphere; into the warm air +rose the three smells of three legs of mutton. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +'Mr Wren, ma'am.' + +Victoria turned quickly to Carlotta. The girl's face was obtrusively +demure. Some years at Curran's had not dulled in her the interest that +any woman subtly feels in the meeting of the sexes. + +'Ask him to come in here, Carlotta,' said Victoria. 'We shan't be +disturbed, shall we?' + +'Oh no! ma'am,' said Carlotta, with increasing demureness. 'There is +nobody, nobody. I will show the young gentleman in.' + +Victoria walked to the looking-glass which shyly peeped out from the +back of the monumental sideboard. She re-arranged her hair and hurriedly +flicked some dust from the corners of her eyes. All this for Edward, but +she had not seen him for three years. As she turned round she was +confronted by her brother who had gently stolen into the dining-room. +Edward's every movement was unobtrusive. He put one arm round her and +kissed her cheek. + +'How are you, Victoria?' he said, looking her in the eyes. + +'Oh, I'm alright, Ted. I'm so glad to see you.' She was genuinely glad; +it was so good to have belongings once again. + +'Did you have a good passage?' asked Edward. + +'Pretty good until we got to Ushant and then it did blow. I was glad to +get home.' + +'I'm very glad to see you,' said Edward, 'very glad.' His eyes fixed on +the sideboard as if he were mesmerised by the cruets. Victoria looked +at him critically. Three years had not made on him the smallest +impression. He was at twenty-eight what he had been at twenty-five or +for the matter of that at eighteen. He was a tall slim figure with +narrow pointed shoulders and a slightly bowed back. His face was pale +without being unhealthy. There was nothing in his countenance to arouse +any particular interest, for he had those average features that commit +no man either to coarseness or to intellectuality. He showed no trace of +the massiveness of his sister's chin; his mouth too was looser and hung +a little open. Alone his eyes, richly grey, recalled his relationship. +Straggly fair hair fell across the left side of his forehead. He peered +through silver rimmed spectacles as he nervously worried his watch chain +with both hands. Every movement exposed the sharpness of his knees +through his worn trousers. + +'Ted,' said Victoria, breaking in upon the silence, 'it was kind of you +to come up at once.' + +'Of course I'd come up at once. I couldn't leave you here alone. It must +be a big change after the sunshine.' + +'Yes,' said Victoria slowly, 'it is a big change. Not only the sunshine. +Other things, you know.' + +Edward's hands played still more nervously with his watch chain. He had +not heard much of the manner of Fulton's death. Victoria's serious face +encouraged him to believe that she might harrow him with details, weep +even. He feared any expression of feeling, not because he was hard but +because it was so difficult to know what to say. He was neither hard nor +soft; he was a schoolmaster and could deal readily enough with the pangs +of Andromeda but what should he say to a live woman, his sister too? + +'I understand--I--you see, it's quite awful about Dick--' he stopped, +lost, groping for the proper sentiment. + +'Ted,' said Victoria, 'don't condole with me. I don't want to be +unkind--if you knew everything--But there, I'd rather not tell you; poor +Dicky 's dead and I suppose it's wrong, but I can't be sorry.' + +Edward looked at her with some disapproval. The marriage had not been a +success, he knew that much, but she ought not to speak like that. He +felt he ought to reprove her, but the difficulty of finding words +stopped him. + +'Have you made any plans?' he asked in his embarrassment, thus +blundering into the subject he had intended to lead up to with infinite +tact. + +'Plans?' said Victoria. 'Well, not exactly. Of course I shall have to +work; I thought you might help me perhaps.' + +Edward looked at her again uneasily. She had sat down in an armchair by +the side of the fire with her back to the light. In the penumbra her +eyes came out like dark pools. A curl rippled over one of her ears. She +looked so self-possessed that his embarrassment increased. + +'Will you have to work?' he asked. The idea of his sister working filled +him with vague annoyance. + +'I don't quite see how I can help it,' said Victoria smiling. 'You see, +I've got nothing, absolutely nothing. When I've spent the thirty pounds +or so I've got, I must either earn my own living or go into the +workhouse.' She spoke lightly, but she was conscious of a peculiar +sinking. + +'I thought you might come back with me,' said Edward, '. . . and stay +with me a little . . . and look round.' + +'Ted, it's awfully kind of you, but I'm not going to let you saddle +yourself with me. I can't be your housekeeper; oh! it would never do. +And don't you think I am more likely to get something to do here than +down in Bedfordshire?' + +'I do want you to come back with me,' said Edward hesitatingly. 'I don't +think you ought to be alone here. And perhaps I could find you something +in a family at Cray or thereabouts. I could ask the vicar.' + +Victoria shuddered. It had never struck her that employment might be +difficult to find or uncongenial when one found it. The words 'vicar' +and 'Cray' suggested something like domestic service without its rights, +gentility without its privileges. + +'Ted,' she said gravely, 'you're awfully good to me, but I'd rather stay +here. I'm sure I could find something to do.' Edward's thoughts +naturally came back to his own profession. + +'I'll ask the Head,' he said with the first flash of animation he had +shown since he entered the room. To ask the Head was to go to the source +of all knowledge. 'Perhaps he knows a school. Of course your French is +pretty good, isn't it?' + +'Ted, Ted, you do forget things,' said Victoria, laughing. 'Don't you +remember the mater insisting on my taking German because so few girls +did? Why, it was the only original thing she ever did in her life, poor +dear!' + +'But nobody wants German, for girls that is,' replied Edward miserably. + +'Very well then,' said Victoria, 'I won't teach; that's all. I must do +something else.' + +Edward walked up and down nervously, pushing back his thin fair hair +with one hand, and with the other nervously tugging at his watch chain. + +'Don't worry yourself, Ted,' said Victoria. 'Something will turn up. +Besides there's no hurry. Why, I can live two or three months on my +money, can't I?' + +'I suppose you can,' said Edward gloomily, 'but what will you do +afterwards?' + +'Earn some more,' said Victoria. 'Now Ted, you haven't seen me for three +years. Don't let us worry. Think things over when you get back to Cray +and write to me. You won't go back until to-morrow, will you?' + +'I'm sorry,' said Edward, 'but I didn't think you'd be back this week. I +shall be in charge to-morrow. Why don't you come down?' + +'Ted, Ted, how can you suggest that I should spend my poor little +fortune in railway fares! Well, if you can't stay, you can't. But I'll +tell you what you can do. I can't go on paying two and a half guineas a +week here; I must get some rooms. You lived here when you taught at that +school in the city, didn't you? Well then, you must know all about it: +we'll go house-hunting.' + +Edward looked at her dubiously. He disliked the idea of Victoria in +rooms almost as much as Victoria at Curran's. It offended some vague +notions of propriety. However her suggestion would give him time to +think. Perhaps she was right. + +'Of course, I'll be glad to help,' he said, 'I don't know much about it; +I used to live in Gower Street.' A faint flush of reminiscent excitement +rose to his cheeks. Gower Street, by the side of Cray and Lympton, had +been almost adventurous. + +'Very well then,' said Victoria, 'we shall go to Gower Street first. +Just wait till I put on my hat.' + +She ran upstairs, not exactly light of heart, but pleased with the idea +of house-hunting. There's romance in all seeking, even if the treasure +is to be found in a Bloomsbury lodging-house. + +The ride on the top of the motor bus was exhilarating. The pale sun of +November was lighting up the streets with the almost mystic whiteness of +the footlights. Edward said nothing, for his memories of London were +stale and he did not feel secure enough to point out the Church of the +Deaf and Dumb, nor had he ever known his London well enough to be able +to pronounce judgment on the shops. Besides, Victoria was too much +absorbed in gazing at London rolling and swirling beneath her, belching +out its crowds of workers and pleasure seekers from every tube and main +street. At every shop the omnibus seemed surrounded by a swarm of angry +bees. Victoria watched them struggle with spirit still unspoiled, +wondering at the determination on the faces of the men, at the +bitterness painted on the sharp features of the women as they savagely +thrust one another aside and, dishevelled and dusty, successively +conquered their seats. All this, the constant surge of horse and +mechanical conveyances, the shrill cries of the newsboys flashing pink +papers like _chulos_ at an angry bull, the roar of the town, made +Victoria understand the city. Something like fear of this strong +restless people crept into her as she began to have a dim perception +that she too would have to fight. She was young, however, and the +feeling was not unpleasant. Her nerves tingled a little as she thought +of the struggle to come and the inevitable victory at the end. + +Victoria's spirits had not subsided even when she entered Gower Street. +Its immensity, its interminable length frightened her a little. The +contrast between it, so quiet, dignified and dull, and the inferno she +had just left behind her impressed her with a sense of security. Its +houses, however, seemed so high and dirty that she wondered, looking at +its thousand windows, whether human beings could be cooped up thus and +yet retain their humanity. + +Here Edward was a little more in his element. With a degree of animation +he pointed to the staid beauty of Bedford Square. He demanded admiration +like a native guiding a stranger in his own town. Victoria watched him +curiously. He was a good fellow but it was odd to hear him raise his +voice and to see him point with his stick. He had always been quiet, so +she had not expected him to show as much interest as he did in his old +surroundings. + +'I suppose you had a good time when you were here?' she said. + +'Nothing special. I was too busy at the school,' he replied. 'But, of +course, you know, one does things in London. It's not very lively at +Cray.' + +'Wouldn't you like to leave Cray,' she said, 'and come back?' + +Edward paused nervously. London frightened him a little and the idea of +leaving Cray suddenly thrust upon him froze him to the bone. It was not +Cray he loved, but Cray meant a life passing gently away by the side of +a few beloved books. Though he had never realised that hedgerows flower +in the spring and that trees redden to gold and copper in the autumn, +the country had taken upon him so great a hold that even the thought of +leaving it was pain. + +'Oh! no,' he said hurriedly. 'I couldn't leave Cray. I couldn't live +here, it's too noisy. There are my old rooms, there, the house with the +torch extinguishers.' + +Victoria looked at him again. What curious tricks does nature play and +how strangely she pleases to distort her own work! Then she looked at +the house with the extinguishers. Clearly it would be impossible, but +for those aristocratic remains, to distinguish it from among half a +dozen of its fellows. It was a house, that was all. It was faced in +dirty brick, parted at every floor by stone work. A portico, rising over +six stone steps, protected a door painted brown and bearing a brass +knocker. It had windows, an area, bells. It was impossible to find in it +an individual detail to remember. + +But Edward was talking almost excitedly for him. 'See there,' he said, +'those are my old rooms,' pointing indefinitely at the frontage. 'They +were quite decent, you know. Wonder whether they're let. You could have +them.' He looked almost sentimentally at the home of the Wrens. + +'Why not ring and ask?' said Victoria, whose resourcefulness equalled +that of Mr Dick. + +Edward took another loving look at the familiar window, strode up the +steps, followed by Victoria. + +There were several bells. 'Curious,' he said, 'she must have let it out +in floors; Wakefield and Grindlay, don't know them. Seymour? It's Mrs +Brumfit's house: Oh! here it is.' He pressed a bell marked 'House.' +Victoria heard with a curious sensation of unexpectedness the sudden +shrill sound of the electric bell. + +After an interminable interval, during which Edward's hands nervously +played, the door opened. A young girl stood on the threshold. She wore a +red cloth blouse, a black skirt, and an unspeakably dirty apron half +loose round her waist. Her hair was tightly done up in curlers in +expectation of Sunday. + +'Mrs Brumfit,' said Edward, 'is she in?' + +''oo?' said the girl. + +'Mrs Brumfit, the landlady,' said Edward. + +'Don't know 'er, try next 'ouse.' The girl tried to shut the door. + +'You don't understand,' cried Edward, stopping the door with his hand. +'I used to live here.' + +'Well, wot do yer want?' replied the girl. 'Can't 'elp that, can I? +There ain't no Mrs Brumfit 'ere. Only them there.' She pointed at the +bells. 'Nobody but them and mother. She's the 'ousekeeper. If yer mean +the old woman as was 'ere when they turned the 'ouse into flats, she's +dead.' + +Edward stepped back. The girl shut the door with a slam. He stood as if +petrified. Victoria looked at him with amusement in her eyes, listening +to the echoes of the girl's voice singing more and more faintly some +catchy tune as she descended into the basement. + +'Dead,' said Edward, 'can it be possible--?' He looked like a plant torn +up by the roots. He had jumped on the old ground and it had given way. + +'My dear Ted,' said Victoria gently, 'things change, you see.' Slowly +they went down the steps of the house. Victoria did not speak, for a +strange mixture of pity and disdain was in her. She quite understood +that a tie had been severed and that the death of his old landlady meant +for Edward that the past which he had vaguely loved had died with her. +He was one of those amorphous creatures whose life is so interwoven with +that of their fellows that any death throws it into disarray. She let +him brood over his lost memories until they reached Bedford Square. + +'But Ted,' she broke in, 'where am I to go?' + +Edward looked at her as if dazed. Clearly he had not foreseen that Mrs +Brumfit was not an institution. + +'Go?' he said, 'I don't know.' + +'Don't you know any other lodgings?' asked Victoria. 'Gower Street seems +full of them.' + +'Oh! no,' said Edward quickly, 'we don't know what sort of places they +are. You couldn't go there.' + +'But where am I to go then?' Victoria persisted. Edward was silent. 'It +seems to me,' his sister went on, 'that I shall have to risk it. After +all, they won't murder me and they can't rob me of much.' + +'Please don't talk like that,' said Edward stiffly. He did not like this +association of ideas. + +'Well I must find some lodgings,' said Victoria, a little irritably. 'In +that case I may as well look round near Curran's. I don't like this +street much.' + +In default of an alternative, Edward looked sulky. Victoria felt +remorseful; she knew that Gower Street must have become for her brother +the traveller's Mecca and that he was vaguely afraid of the West End. + +'Never mind, dear,' she went on more gently, 'don't worry about lodgings +any more. Do you know what you're going to do? you're going to take me +to tea in some nice place and then I'll go with you to St Pancras; +that's the station you said you were going back by, isn't it? and you'll +put me in a bus and I'll go home. Now, come along, it's past five and +I'm dying for some tea.' + +As Victoria stood, an hour later, just outside the station in which +expires the spirit of Constantine the Great, she could not help feeling +relieved. As she stood there, so self-possessed, seeing so clearly the +busy world, she wondered why she had been given a broken reed to lean +upon. Where had her brother left his virility? Had it been sapped by +years of self-restraint? Had the formidable code of pretence, the daily +affectation of dignity, the perpetual giving of good examples, reduced +him to this shred of humanity, so timid, so resourceless? As she sped +home in the tube into which she had been directed by a policeman, she +vainly turned over the problem. + +Fortunately Victoria was young. As she laid her head on the pillow, +conscious of the coming of Sunday, when nothing could be done, visions +of things she could do obsessed her. There were lodgings to find, nice, +clean, cheap lodgings, with a dear old landlady and trees outside the +window, in a pretty old-fashioned house, very very quiet and quite near +all the tubes. She nursed the ideal for a time. Then she thought of +careers. She would read all the advertisements and pick out the nicest +work. Perhaps she could be a housekeeper. Or a secretary. On reflection, +a secretary would be better. It might be so interesting. Fancy being +secretary to a member of Parliament. Or to a famous author. + +She too might write. + +Her dreams were pleasant. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +A WEEK had elapsed and Victoria was beginning to feel the strain. She +looked out from the window into the little street where fine rain fell +gently as if it had decided to do so for ever. It was deserted, save by +a cat who shivered and crouched under the archway of the mews. Sometimes +a horse stirred. Through the open window the hot alcaline smell of the +animals filtered slowly. + +Victoria had found her lodgings. They were not quite the ideal, but she +had not seen the ideal and this little den in Portsea Place was not +without its charms. Her room, for the 'rooms' had turned from the plural +into the singular, was comfortable enough. It occupied the front of the +second floor in a small house. It had two windows, from which, by +craning out a little, the trees of Connaught Square could be seen +standing out like black skeletons against a white house. Opposite was +the archway of the mews out of which came most of the traffic of the +street. Under it too was the mart where the landladies who have invaded +the little street exchange notes on their lodgers and boast of their +ailments. + +Victoria inspected her domain. She had a very big bed, a little inclined +to creak; she had a table on a pedestal split so cunningly at the base +that she was always table-conscious when she sat by it; she had a +mahogany wash-stand, also on the triangular pedestal loved by the +pre-Morrisites, enriched by a white marble top and splasher. A large +armchair, smooth and rather treacherous, a small mahogany chest of +drawers, every drawer of which took a minute to pull out, some chairs of +no importance, completed her furniture. The carpet had been of all +colours and was now of none. The tablecloth was blue serge and would +have been serviceable if it had not contracted the habit of sliding off +the mahogany table whenever it was touched. Ugly as it was in every +detail, Victoria could not help thinking the room comfortable; its light +paper saved it and it was not over-loaded with pictures. It had escaped +with one text and the 'Sailor's Homecoming.' Besides it was restrained +in colour and solid: it was comfortable like roast beef and boiled +potatoes. + +Victoria looked at all these things, at her few scattered books, the +picture of Dick and of a group of school friends, at some of her boots +piled in a corner. Then she listened and heard nothing. Once more she +was struck by the emptiness, the darkness around her. She was alone. She +had been alone a whole week, hardly knowing what to do. The excitement +of choosing lodgings over, she had found time hang heavy on her hands. +She had interminably walked in London, gazed at shop windows, read +hundreds of imbecile picture postcards on bookstalls, gone continually +to many places in omnibuses. She had stumbled upon South Kensington and +wandered in its catacombs of stone and brick. She had discovered +Hampstead, lost herself horribly near Albany Street; she had even +unexpectedly landed in the City where rushing mobs had hustled and +battered her. + +Faithful to her resolve she had sedulously read the morning papers and +applied for several posts as housekeeper without receiving any answers. +She had realised that answering advertisements must be an art and had +become quite conscious that employment was not so easy to find as she +thought. Nobody seemed to want secretaries, except the limited +companies, about which she was not quite clear. As these mostly required +the investment of a hundred pounds or more she had not followed them up. + +She paced up and down in her room. The afternoon was wearing. Soon the +man downstairs would come back and slam the door. A little later the +young lady in the City would gently enter the room behind hers and, +after washing in an unobtrusive manner, would discreetly leave for an +hour. Meanwhile nothing broke the silence, except the postman's knock +coming nearer and nearer along Portsea Place. It fell unheeded even on +her own front door, for Victoria's ears were already attuned to the +sound. It meant nothing. + +She walked up and down nervously. She looked at herself in the glass. +She was pretty she thought, with her creamy skin and thick hair; her +eyes too were good; what a pity her chin was so thick. That's why Dicky +used to call her 'Towzer.' Poor old Dicky! + +Shuffling footsteps rose up the stairs. Then a knock. At Victoria's +invitation, a woman entered. It was Mrs Bell, the landlady. + +'Why, ma'am, you're sitting in the dark! Let me light the lamp,' cried +Mrs Bell, producing a large wooden box from a capacious front pocket. +She lit the lamp and a yellow glow filled the room, except the corners +which remained in darkness. + +'Here's a letter for you, ma'am,' said Mrs Bell holding it out. As +Victoria took it, Mrs Bell beamed on her approvingly. She liked her new +lodger. She had already informed the gathering under the archway that +she was a real lady. She had a leaning for real ladies, having been a +parlourmaid previous to marrying a butler and eking out his income by +letting rooms. + +'Thank you, Mrs Bell,' said Victoria, 'it was kind of you to come up.' + +'Oh! ma'am, no trouble I can assure you,' said Mrs Bell, with a mixture +of respect and patronage. She wanted to be kind to her lodger, but she +found a difficulty in being kind to so real a lady. + +Victoria saw the letter was from Edward and opened it hurriedly. Mrs +Bell hesitated, looking with her black dress, clean face and grey hair, +the picture of the respectable maid. Then she turned and struggled out +on her worn shoes, the one blot on her neatness. Victoria read the +letter, bending perilously over the lamp which smoked like a funnel. The +letter was quite short; it ran: + + 'My dear Victoria,--I am sorry I could not write before now, but I + wanted to have some news to give you. I am glad to say that I have + been able to interest the vicar on your behalf. He informs me that + if you will call at once on Lady Rockham, 7a Queen's Gate, South + Kensington, S.W., she may be in a position to find you a post in a + family of standing. He tells me she is most capable and kind. He is + writing to her. I shall come to London and see you soon.--Yours + affectionately, + + EDWARD.' + +Victoria fingered the letter lovingly. Perhaps she was going to have a +chance after all. It was good to have something to do. Indeed it seemed +almost too good to be true; she had vaguely resigned herself to +unemployment. Of course something would ultimately turn up, but the what +and when and how thereof were dangerously dim. She hardly cared to face +these ideas; indeed she dismissed them when they occurred to her with a +mixture of depression and optimism. Now, however, she was buoyant again. +The family of standing would probably pay well and demand little. It +would mean the theatres, the shops, flowers, the latest novels, no end +of nice things. A little work too, of course, driving in the Park with a +dear dowager with the most lovely white hair. + +She ate an excellent and comparatively expensive dinner in an Oxford +Street restaurant and went to bed early for the express purpose of +making plans until she fell asleep. She was still buoyant in the +morning. Connaught Square looked its best and even South Kensington's +stony face melted into smiles when it caught sight of her. Lady +Rockham's was a mighty house, the very house for a family of standing. + +Victoria walked up the four steep steps of the house where something of +her fate was to be decided. She hesitated for an instant and then, being +healthily inclined to take plunges, pulled the bell with a little more +vigour than was in her heart. It echoed tremendously. The quietude of +Queen's Gate stretching apparently for miles towards the south, +increased the terrifying noise. Victoria's anticipations were half +pleasureable, half fearsome; she felt on the brink of an adventure and +recalled the tremor with which she had entered the New Gaiety for the +first time. Measured steps came nearer and nearer from the inside of the +house; a shape silhouetted itself vaguely on the stained glass of the +door. + +She mustered sufficient coolness to tell the butler that she wished to +see Lady Rockham, who was probably expecting her. As the large and solid +man preceded her along an interminable hall, she felt rather than saw +the thick Persian rug stretching along the crude mosaic of the floor, +the red paper on the walls almost entirely hidden by exceedingly large +and new pictures. Over her head a ponderous iron chandelier carrying +many electric lamps blotted out most of the staircase. + +For some minutes she waited in the dining-room into which she had been +shown; for the butler was not at all certain, from a look at the +visitor's mourning, that she was quite entitled to the boudoir. +Victoria's square chin and steady eyes saved her, however, from having +to accommodate her spine to the exceeding perpendicularity of the +high-backed chairs in the hall. The dining-room, ridiculous thought, +reminded her of Curran's. In every particular it seemed the same. There +was the large table with the thick cloth of indefinite design and +colour. The sideboard too was there, larger and richer perhaps, of +Spanish mahogany not an inch of which was left bare of garlands of +flowers or archangelic faces. It carried Curran's looking-glass; +Curran's cruets were replaced by a number of cups which proclaimed that +Charles Rockham had once won the Junior Sculls, and more recently, the +spring handicap of the Kidderwick Golf Club. The walls were red as in +the hall and profusely decorated with large pictures representing +various generations having tea in old English gardens, decorously garbed +Roman ladies basking by the side of marble basins, and such like +subjects. Twelve chairs, all high backed and heavily groined, were +ranged round the walls, with the exception of a large carving chair, +standing at the head of the table, awaiting one who was clearly the head +of a household. Victoria was looking pensively at the large black marble +clock representing the temple in which the Lares and Penates of South +Kensington usually dwell, when the door opened and a vigorous rustle +entered the room. + +'I am very glad to see you, Mrs Fulton,' remarked the owner of the +rustle. 'I have just received a letter from Mr Meaker, the vicar of +Cray. A most excellent man. I am sure we can do something for you. +Something quite nice.' + +Victoria looked at Lady Rockham with shyness and surprise. Never had she +seen anything so majestic. Lady Rockham had but lately attained her +ladyhood by marrying a knight bachelor whose name was a household word +in the wood-paving world. She felt at peace with the universe. Her large +silk clad person was redolent with content. She did not vulgarly beam. +She merely was. On her capacious bosom large brooches rose and fell +rhythmically. Her face was round and smooth as her voice. Her eyes were +almost severely healthy. + +'I am sure it is very kind of you,' said Victoria. 'I don't know anybody +in London, you see.' + +'That will not matter; that will not matter at all,' said Lady Rockham. +'Some people prefer those whose connections live in the country, yes, +absolutely prefer them. Why, friends come to me every day, and they are +clamouring for country girls, absolutely clamouring. I do hope you are +not too particular. For things are difficult in London. So very +difficult.' + +'Yes, I know,' murmured Victoria, thinking of her unanswered +applications. 'But I'm not particular at all. If you can find me +anything to do, Lady Rockham, I should be so grateful.' + +'Of course, of course. Now let me see. A young friend of mine has just +started a poultry farm in Dorset. She is doing very well. Oh! very well. +Of course you want a little capital. But such a very nice occupation for +a young woman. The capital is often the difficulty. Perhaps you would +not be prepared to invest much?' + +'No, I'm afraid I couldn't,' faltered Victoria, wondering at what figure +capital began. + +'No, no, quite right,' purred Lady Rockham, 'I can see you are quite +sensible. It is a little risky too. Yet my young friend is doing well, +very well, indeed. Her sister is in Johannesburg. She went out as a +governess and now she is married to a mine manager. There are so few +girls in the country. Oh! he is quite a nice man, a little rough, I +should say, but quite suitable.' + +Victoria wondered for a moment whether her Ladyship was going to suggest +sending her out to Johannesburg to marry a mine manager, but the +Presence resumed. + +'No doubt you would rather stay in London. Things are a little difficult +here, but very pleasant, very pleasant indeed.' + +'I don't mind things being difficult,' Victoria broke in, mustering a +little courage. 'I must earn my own living and I don't mind what I do; +I'd be a nursery governess, or a housekeeper, or companion. I haven't +got any degrees, I couldn't quite be a governess, but I'd try anything.' + +'Certainly, certainly, I'm sure we will find something very nice for +you. I can't think of anybody just now but leave me your address. I'll +let you know as soon as I hear of anything.' Lady Rockham gently crossed +her hands over her waistband and benevolently smiled at her protegee. + +Victoria wrote down her address and listened patiently to Lady Rockham +who discoursed at length on the imperfections of the weather, the +noisiness of London streets and the prowess of Charles Rockham on the +Kidderwick links. She felt conscious of having to return thanks for what +she was about to receive. + +Lady Rockham's kindness persisted up to the door to which she showed +Victoria. She dismissed her with the Parthian shot that 'they would find +something for her, something quite nice.' + +Victoria walked away; cold gusts of wind struck her, chilling her to the +bone, catching and furling her skirts about her. She felt at the same +time cheered and depressed. The interview had been inconclusive. +However, as she walked over the Serpentine bridge, under which the wind +was angrily ruffling the black water, a great wave of optimism came over +her; for it was late, and she remembered that in the Edgware Road, there +was a small Italian restaurant where she was about to lunch. + +It was well for Victoria that she was an optimist and a good sleeper, +for November had waned into December before anything happened to disturb +the tenor of her life. For a whole fortnight she had heard nothing from +Lady Rockham or from Edward. She had written to Molly but had received +no answer. All day long the knocker fell with brutal emphasis upon the +doors of Portsea Place and brought her nothing. She did not think much +or hope much. She did nothing and spent little. Her only companion was +Mrs Bell, who still hovered round her mysterious lodger, so ladylike and +so quiet. + +She passed hours sometimes at the window watching the stream of life in +Portsea Place. The stream did not flow very swiftly; its principal +eddies vanished by midday with the milkman and the butcher. The postman +recurred more often but he did not count. Now and then the policeman +passed and spied suspiciously into the archway where the landladies no +longer met. Cabs trotted into it now and then to change horses. + +Victoria watched alone. Beyond Mrs Bell, she seemed to know nobody. The +young man downstairs continued to be invisible, and contented himself +with slamming the door. The young lady in the back room continued to +wash discreetly and to snore gently at night. Sometimes Victoria +ventured abroad to be bitten by the blast. Sometimes she strayed over +the town in the intervals of food. She had to exercise caution in this, +for an aspect of the lodging house fire had only lately dawned upon her. +If she did not order it at all she was met on the threshold by darkness +and cold; if she ordered it for a given time she was so often late that +she returned to find it dead or kept up wastefully at the rate of +sixpence a scuttle. This trouble was chronic; on bitter days it seemed +to dog her footsteps. + +She had almost grown accustomed to loneliness. Alone she watched at her +window or paced the streets. She had established a quasi-right to a +certain seat at the Italian restaurant where the waiters had ceased to +speculate as to who she was. The demoralisation of unemployment was upon +her. She did not cast up her accounts; she rose late, made no plans. She +slept and ate, careless of the morrow. + +It was in the midst of this slow settling into despond that a short note +from Lady Rockham arrived like a bombshell. It asked her to call on a Mrs +Holt who lived in Finchley Road. It appeared that Mrs Holt was in need +of a companion as her husband was often away. Victoria was shaken out of +her torpor. In a trice her optimism crushed out of sight the flat +thoughts of aimless days. She feverishly dressed for the occasion. She +debated whether she would have time to insert a new white frill into the +neck of a black blouse. Heedless of expenditure she spent two and eleven +pence on new black gloves, and twopence on the services of a shoeblack +who whistled cheerful tunes, and smiled on the coppers. Victoria sallied +out to certain victory. The wind was blowing balmier. A fitful gleam of +sunshine lit up and reddened the pile of tangerines in a shop window. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +'I'M very sorry you can't come,' said Mrs Holt. + +'Last Sunday, Mr Baker was so nice. I never heard anything so +interesting as his sermon on the personal devil. I was quite frightened. +At least I would have been if he had said all that at Bethlehem. You +know, when we were at Rawsley we had such nice lantern lectures. I do +miss them.' + +Victoria looked up with a smile at the kindly red face. 'I'm so sorry,' +she said, 'I've got such a headache. Perhaps it'll pass over if I go for +a little walk while you are at Church.' She was not unconscious, as she +said this, of the subtle flattery that the use of the word 'church' +implies when used to people who dare not leave their chapel. + +'Do, Victoria, I'm sure it will do you good,' said Mrs Holt, kindly. 'If +the sun keeps on, we'll go to the Zoo this afternoon. I do like to see +the children in the monkey house.' + +'I'm sure I shall be glad to go,' said Victoria quietly. 'It's very kind +of you to take me.' + +'Nonsense, my dear,' replied Mrs Holt, gently beaming. 'You are like the +sunshine, you know. Dear me! I don't know what I should have done if I +hadn't found you. You can't imagine the woman who was here before you. +She was the daughter of a clergyman, and I did get so tired of hearing +how they lost their money. But, there, I'm worrying you when you've got +a headache. I do wish you'd try Dr Eberman's pills. All the papers are +simply full of advertisements about them. And these German doctors are +so clever. Oh, I shall be so late.' + +Victoria assured her that she was sure her head would be better by +dinner time. Mrs Holt fussed about the room for a moment, anxiously +tested the possible dustiness of a bracket, pulled the curtains and +picked up the Sunday papers from the floor. She then collected a small +canvas bag decorated with a rainbow parrot, a hymn and service book, her +spectacle case, several unnecessary articles which happened to be about +and left the room with the characteristic rustle which pervades the +black silk dresses of well-to-do Rawsley dames. + +Victoria sat back in the large leather armchair. Her head was not very +bad but she felt just enough in her temples a tiny passing twinge to +shirk chapel without qualms. She toyed with a broken backed copy of +_Charlton on Book-Keeping_ which lay in her lap. It was a curious fate +that had landed her into Charlton's epoch making work. Mrs Holt, that +prince of good fellows, had a genius for saving pennies and had been +trained in the school of a Midland household, but the fortunes of her +husband had left her feebly struggling in a backwash of pounds. So much +had this been the case that Mr Holt had discovered joyfully that he had +at last in his house a woman who could bring herself to passing an +account for twenty pounds for stabling. Little by little Victoria had +established her position. She was Mrs Holt's necessary companion and +factotum. She could apparently do anything and do it well; she could +even tackle such intricate tasks as checking washing or understanding +Bradshaw. She was always ready and always bright. She had an unerring +eye for a good quality of velvet; she could time the carriage to a +nicety for the Albert Hall concert. Mrs Holt felt that without this +pleasant and competent young woman she would be quite lost. + +Mr Holt, too, after inspecting Victoria grimly every day for an entire +month, had decided that she would do and had lent her the work on +book-keeping, hoping that she would be able to keep the house accounts. +In three months he had not addressed her twenty times beyond wishing her +good morning and good night. He had but reluctantly left Rawsley and his +beloved cement works to superintend his ever growing London business. He +was a little suspicious of Victoria's easy manners; suspicious of her +intentions, too, as the northerner is wont to be. Yet he grudgingly +admitted that she was level headed, which was 'more than Maria or his +fool of a son would ever be.' + +Victoria thought for a moment of Holt, the book-keeping, the falling due +of insurance premiums; then of Mrs Holt who had just stepped into her +carriage which was slowly proceeding down the drive, crunching into the +hard gravel. A gleam of sunshine fitfully lit up the polished panels of +the clumsy barouche as it vanished through the gate. + +This then was her life. It might well have been worse. Mr Holt sometimes +let a rough kindness appear through an exterior as hard as his own +cement. Mrs Holt, stout, comfortable and good-tempered, quite +incompetent when it came to controlling a house in the Finchley Road, +was not of the termagant type that Victoria had expected when she became +a companion. Her nature, peaceful as that of a mollusc, was kind and had +but one outstanding feature; her passionate devotion to her son Jack. + +Victoria thought that she might well be content to pass the remainder of +her days among these good folk. From the bottom of her heart mild +discontent rose every now and then. It was a little dull. Tuesday was +like Monday and probably like the Tuesday after next. The glories of the +town, which she had caught sight of during her wanderings, before she +floated into the still waters of the Finchley Road, haunted her at +times. The motor buses too, which perpetually carried couples to the +theatre, the crowds in Regent Street making for the tea-shops, while the +barouche trotted sedately up the hill, all this life and adventure were +closed off. + +Victoria was not unhappy. She drifted in that singular psychological +region where the greatest possible pain is not suffering and where the +acme of possible pleasure is not joy. She did not realise that this +negative condition was almost happiness, and yet did not precisely +repine. The romance of her life, born at Lympton, now slept under the +tamarinds. The stupefaction of the search for work, the hopes and fears +of December, all that lay far away in those dark chambers of the brain +into which memory cannot force a way but swoons on the threshold. + +Yes, she was happy enough. Her eyes, casting through the bay window over +the evergreens, trimly stationed and dusty, strayed over the low wall. +On the other side of the road stood another house, low and solid as this +one, beautiful though ugly in its strength and worth. It is not the +house you live in that matters, thought Victoria, unconsciously +committing plagiarism, but the house opposite. The house she lived in +was well enough. Its inhabitants were kind, the servants respectful, +even the mongrel Manchester terrier with the melancholy eyes of some +collie ancestor did not gnaw her boots. + +She let her hands fall into her lap and, for a minute, sat staring into +space, seeing with extraordinary lucidity those things to come which a +movement dispels and swathes with the dense fog of forgetfulness. With +terrible clarity she saw the life of the last three months and the life +to come, as it was in the beginning ever to be. + +The door opened softly. Before she had time to turn round two hands were +clapped over her eyes. She struggled to free herself, but the hands grew +more insistent and two thumbs softly touched her cheeks. + +'Dimple, dimple,' said a voice, while one of the thumbs gently dwelled +near the corner of her mouth. + +Victoria struggled to her feet, a little flushed, a strand of hair +flying over her left ear. + +'Mr Jack,' she said rather curtly, 'I don't like that. You know you +mustn't do that. It's not fair. I really don't like it.' She was angry; +her nostrils opened and shut quickly; she glared at the good looking boy +before her. + +'Naughty temper,' he remarked, quite unruffled. 'You'll take a fit one +of these days, Vicky, if you don't look out.' + +'Very likely if you give me starts like that. Not that I mind that so +much, but really it's not nice of you. You know you wouldn't do that if +your mother was looking.' + +'Course I wouldn't,' said Jack, 'the old mater's such a back number, you +know.' + +'Then,' replied Victoria with much dignity, 'you ought not to do things +when we're alone which you wouldn't do before her.' + +'Oh Lord! morals again,' groaned the youth. 'You are rough on me, +Vicky.' + +'And you mustn't call me Vicky,' said Victoria. 'I don't say I mind, but +it isn't the thing. If anybody heard you I don't know what they'd +think.' + +'Who cares!' said Jack in his most dare devil style, putting his hand on +the back of hers and stroking it softly. Victoria snatched her hand away +and went to the window, where she seemed absorbed in the contemplation +of the evergreens. Jack looked a little nonplussed. He was an attractive +youth and looked about twenty. He had the fresh complexion and blue +eyes of his father but differed from him by a measure of delicacy. His +tall body was a little bent; his face was all pinks and whites set off +by the blackness of his straight hair. He well deserved his school +nickname of Kathleen Mavourneen. His long thin hands, which would have +been aristocratic but for the slight thickness of the joints, branded +him a poet. He was not happy in the cement business. + +Jack stepped up to the window. 'Sorry,' he said, as humbly as possible. +Victoria did not move. + +'Won't never do it again,' he said, pouting like a scolded child. + +'It's no good,' answered Victoria, 'I'm not going to make it up.' + +'I shall go and drown myself in the Regent Canal,' said Jack dolefully. + +'I'd rather you went for a walk along the banks,' said Victoria. + +'I will if you'll come too,' answered Jack. + +'No, I'm not going out. I've got a headache. Look here, I'll forgive you +on condition that you go out now and if you'll do that perhaps you can +come with your mother and me to the Zoo this afternoon.' + +'All right then,' grumbled the culprit, 'you're rather hard on me. +Always knew you didn't like me. Sorry.' + +Victoria looked out again. A minute later Jack came out of the house +and, pausing before the window, signed to her to lift up the sash. + +'What do you want now?' asked Victoria, thrusting her head out. + +'It's a bargain about the Zoo, isn't it?' + +'Yes, of course it is, silly boy. I've got several children's tickets.' + +Jack made a wry face, but walked away with a queer little feeling of +exultation. 'Silly boy.' She had called him 'silly boy.' Victoria +watched him go with some perplexity. The young man was rather a +problem. Not only did his pretty face and gentle ways appeal to her in +themselves, but he had told her something of his thoughts and they did +not run on cement. His father had thrust him into his business as men of +his type naturally force their sons into their own avocation whatever it +be. Victoria knew that he was not happy and was sorry for him; how could +she help feeling sorry for this lonely youth who had once printed a +rondeau in the _Westminster Gazette_. + +Jack had taken to her at once. All that was delicate and feminine in him +called out to her square chin and steady eyes. Often she had seen him +look hungrily at her strong hands where bone and muscle plainly showed. +But, in his wistful way, Jack had begun to embarrass her. He was making +love to her in a sense, sometimes sportively, sometimes plaintively, and +he was difficult to resist. + +Victoria saw quite well that trouble must ensue. She would not allow the +boy to fall in love with her when all she could offer was an almost +motherly affection. Besides, they could not marry; it would be absurd. +She was puzzled as to what to do. Everything tended to complicate the +situation for her. She had once been to the theatre with Jack and +remembered with anxiety how his arm had rested against hers in the cab +and how, when he leaned over towards her to speak, she had felt him +slowly inhaling the scents of her hair. + +She had promised herself that Jack should be snubbed. And now he played +pranks on her. It must end in their being caught in an ambiguous +attitude and then she would be blamed. She might tell Mrs Holt, but then +what would be her position in the household? Jack would sulk and Mrs +Holt would watch them suspiciously until the situation became +intolerable and she had to leave. Leave! no, no, she couldn't do that. +With sudden vividness Victoria pictured the search for work, the silence +of Portsea Place, the Rialto-like archway, Mrs Bell, and the cold, the +loneliness. Events must take their course. + +Like the rasp of a corncrake she heard the wheels of the barouche on the +gravel. Mrs Holt had returned from the discourse on the personal devil. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +'THOMAS,' said Mrs Holt with some hesitation. + +'Yes,' said Mr Holt. 'What is it?' + +'Oh! nothing,' said Mrs Holt. 'Just a queer idea. Nothing worth talking +about.' + +'Well, come again when it is worth talking about,' growled Mr Holt, +relapsing into his newspaper. + +'Of course there's nothing in it,' remarked Mrs Holt pertinaciously. + +'Nothing in what?' her husband burst forth. 'What do you mean, Maria? +Have you got anything to say or not? If you have, let's have it out.' + +'I was only going to say that Jack . . . of course I don't think that +Victoria sees it, but you understand he's a very young man, but I don't +blame her, he's such a funny boy,' said Mrs Holt lucidly. + +'Good heavens, Maria,' cried her husband, 'do you want me to smash +something?' + +'How you do go on,' remarked Maria placidly. 'What I meant to say is +that don't you think Jack's rather too attentive to Victoria?' + +Mr Holt dropped his paper suddenly. 'Attentive?' he growled, 'haven't +noticed it.' + +'Oh! you men never notice things,' replied Mrs Holt with conscious +superiority. 'Don't say I didn't warn you, that's all.' + +'Now look here, Maria,' said Mr Holt, his blue eyes darkening visibly, +'I don't want any more of this tittle tattle. You can keep it for the +next P.S.A. I can tell you that if the young cub is "attentive" to Mrs +Fulton, well, so much the better: it'll teach him something worth +knowing if he finds out that there's somebody else in the world who's +worth doing something for beyond _his_ precious self.' + +'Very well, very well,' purred Mrs Holt. 'If you take it like that, I +don't mind, Thomas. Don't say I didn't warn you if anything happens. +That's all.' + +Mr Holt got up from the leather chair and left the room. There were +moments when his wife roused in him the fury that filled him when once, +in his young days, he had dropped steel bolts into the cement grinders +to gratify a grudge against an employer. The temper that had made him +rejoice over the sharp cracks speaking of smashed axles was in him +still. He had got above the social stratum where husbands beat their +wives, but innuendoes and semi-secrets goaded him almost to paroxysm. + +Mrs Holt heard the door slam and coolly took up her work. She was +engaged in the congenial task of disfiguring a piece of Morris chintz. +She had decided that the little bag given her by an aesthetic friend was +too flat and she was busily employed in embroidering the 'eyebright' +pattern, with coloured wool in the most approved early Victorian manner. +'At any rate,' she thought, 'Thomas has got the idea in his head.' + +Mrs Holt had not arrived at her determination to awaken her husband's +suspicions without much thought. She had begun to realise that +'something was wrong' one Sunday afternoon at the Zoo. She had taken +Jack and Victoria in the barouche, putting down to a fit of filial +affection the readiness of Jack to join them. She had availed herself of +the opportunity to drive round the Circle; so as to show off her adored +son to the Bramleys, who were there in their electric, to the Wilsons, +who were worth quite fifty thousand a year, to the Wellensteins too, who +seemed to do so wonderfully well on the Stock Exchange. Jack had taken +it very nicely indeed. + +All the afternoon Jack had remained with them; he had bought animal +food, found a fellow to take them into the pavilion, and even driven +home with them. It was when he helped his charges into the carriage that +Mrs Holt had noticed something. He first handed his mother in and then +Victoria. Mrs Holt had seen him put his hand under Victoria's forearm, +which was quite ordinary, but she had also seen him hold her in so doing +by the joint of her short sleeve and long glove where a strip of white +skin showed and slip two fingers under the glove. This was not so +ordinary and Mrs Holt began to think. + +When a Rawsley dame begins to think of things such as these, her +conscience invariably demands of her that she should know more. Mrs Holt +therefore said nothing, but kept a watchful eye on the couple. She could +urge nothing against Victoria. Her companion remained the cheerful and +competent friend of the early days; she was no more amiable to Jack than +to his father: she talked no more to him than to the rest of the +household; she did not even look at him much. But Jack was always about +her; his eyes followed her round the room, playing with every one of her +movements. Whenever she smiled his lips fluttered in response. + +Mrs Holt passed slowly through the tragic stages that a mother goes +through when her son loves. She was not very anxious as to the results +of the affair, for she knew Jack, though she loved him. She knew that +his purpose was never strong. Also she trusted Victoria. But, every day +and inevitably, the terrible jealousy that invades a mother's soul crept +further into hers. He was her son and he was wavering from an allegiance +the pangs of childbirth had entitled her to. + +Mrs Holt loved her son, and, like most of those who love, would torture +the being that was all in all for her. She would have crushed his +thoughts if she had felt able to do so, so as to make him more +malleable; she rejoiced to see him safely anchored to the cement +business, where nothing could distract him; she even rejoiced over his +weakness, for she enjoyed the privilege of giving him strength. She +would have ground to powder his ambitions, so that he might be more +fully her son, hers, hers only. + +The stepping in of the other woman, remote and subtle as it was, was a +terrible thing. She felt it from afar as the Arabian steed hears the +coming simoon moaning beyond the desert. With terrible lucidity she had +seen everything that passed for a month after that fatal day at the Zoo, +when Jack touched Victoria's arm. She saw his looks, stolen from his +mother's face, heard the softness of his voice which was often sharp for +her. Like gall, his little attentions, the quick turn of his face, a +flush sometimes, entered into and poisoned her soul. He was her son; +and, with all the ruthless, entirely animal cruelty of the mother, she +had begun to swear to herself that he should be hers and hers only, and +that she would hug him in her arms, aye, hug him to death if need be, if +only in her arms he died. + +Savagely selfish as a good mother, however, Mrs Holt remembered that she +must go slowly, collect her evidence, allow the fruit to ripen before +she plucked it. Thus she retained her outward kindnesses for Victoria, +spoke her fair, threw her even into frequent contact with her son. And +every day she tortured herself with all the tiny signs that radiate from +a lover's face like aerolites from the blazing tail of a comet. Now her +case was complete. She had seen Jack lean over Victoria while she was on +her knees dusting some books, and let his hand dwell on hers. She had +seen his face all alight, his mouth a little open, breathing in the +fragrance of this woman, the intruder. And the iron had entered into the +mother's heart so sharply that she had to hurry away unseen for fear she +should cry out. + +Mrs Holt dropped her little work bag. She wondered whether her husband +would see. Would she have to worry him placidly for months as she +usually had to when she wanted her own way? Or would he understand and +side with her? She did not know that women are intuitive, for she knew +nothing either of women or men, but she felt perfectly certain that she +was cleverer than Thomas Holt. If he would not see, then she would have +to show him, even if she had to plot for her son's sake. + +The door opened suddenly. Thomas Holt entered. His face was perturbed, +his jaw setting grimly between the two deep folds in his cheeks. That +was the face of his bad days. + +'Well, Thomas?' ventured his wife hesitatingly. + +'You were right, Maria,' answered Holt after a pause. 'Jack's a bigger +fool than I thought him.' + +'Ah!' said Mrs Holt with meaning, her heart beating a sharp tatoo. + +'I was standing on the first landing,' Holt went on. 'I saw them at the +door of the smoke-room. He asked her for a flower from her dress; she +wouldn't give it him; he reached over and pulled one away.' + +'Yes?' said Mrs Holt, everything in her quivering. + +'Put his arm round her, though she pushed him off, and kissed her.' + +Mrs Holt clasped her hands together. A sharp pang had shot through her. +'What are you going to do?' she asked. + +'Do?' said Holt. 'Sack her of course. Send him up to Rawsley. Damn the +young fool.' + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +Breakfast is so proverbially dismal, that dismalness becomes good form; +humanity feels silent and liverish, so it grudges Providence its due, +for it cannot return thanks for the precocious blessings of the day. +Such was breakfast at Finchley Road, and Victoria would not have noticed +it on that particular morning had the silence not somehow been eloquent. +She could feel, if not see storm clouds on the horizon. + +Mr Holt sat over his eggs and bacon, eating quickly with both hands, +every now and then soiling the napkin tightly tucked into the front of +his low collar. There was nothing abnormal in this, except perhaps that +he kept his eyes more closely glued than usual to the table cloth; +moreover, he had not unfolded the paper. Therefore he had not looked up +the prices of Industrials. This was singular. Mrs Holt never said much +at breakfast, in deference to her husband, but this morning her silence +was somewhat ostentatious. She handed Victoria her tea. Victoria passed +her the toast and hardly heard her 'thank you.' + +Jack sat more abstracted than ever. He was feeling very uncomfortable. +He wavered between the severe talking to he had received from Victoria +the previous afternoon and the sulkiness of his parents. Of course he +was feeling depressed, but he could not tell why. Victoria's mere nod of +acceptance when he offered her the salt, and his mother's curt refusal +of the pepper did not contribute to make him easier in his mind. Mrs +Holt cleared her throat: 'Blowing up for rain, Thomas,' she said. Mr +Holt did not move a muscle. He helped himself to marmalade. Stolid +silence once more reigned over the breakfast table. Jack stole a +sidelong glance at Victoria. Her eyes were fixed upon her hands crossed +before her. Jack's eyes dwelled for a moment on their shapely strength, +then upon the firm white nape of her bent neck. An insane desire +possessed him to jump up, seize her in his arms, crush his lips into +that spot where the dark tendrils of her hair began. He repressed it, +and considered the grandfather's clock which had once ticked in a +peasant Holt's kitchen. To-day it ticked with almost horrible +deliberation. + +Jack found that he had no appetite. Forebodings were at work with him. +Perhaps Vic had told. Of course not, she couldn't be such a fool. What a +beastly room it was! Sideboard must weigh a ton. And those red curtains! +awful, simply awful. Good God, why couldn't he get out of the damned +place and take Vic with him. Couldn't do that yet of course, but +couldn't stick it much longer. He'd be off to the City now. Simply awful +here. Jack rose to his feet suddenly, so suddenly that his chair tilted +and fell over. + +Mrs Holt looked up. 'I wish you wouldn't be so noisy, Jack,' she said. + +'Sorry, mater,' said Jack, going round to her and bending down to kiss +her. 'I'm off.' + +'You're in a fine hurry,' remarked Mr Holt grimly, looking up and +speaking for the first time. + +'Left some work over,' said Jack, in a curt manner, making for the door. + +'Hem! you've got work on the brain,' retorted his father in his most +sardonic tone. + +Jack opened the door without a word. + +'One minute, Jack,' said Mrs Holt placidly, 'you needn't go yet, your +father and I have something to say to you.' + +Jack stood rooted to the ground. His knees almost gave way beneath him. +It, it, it was it. They knew. Victoria's face, the profile of which he +could see outlined like a plaster cast against the red wall paper did +not help him. Her face had set, rigid like a mask. Now she knew why the +previous evening had gone by in silence. She rose to her feet, a strange +numb feeling creeping all over her. + +'Don't go, Mrs Fulton,' said Mr Holt sharply, 'this concerns you.' + +For some seconds the party remained silent. Mr and Mrs Holt had not +moved from the table. Jack and Victoria stood right and left, like +prisoners at the bar. + +'Victoria,' said Mrs Holt, 'I'm very sorry to have to say it, but I'm +afraid you know what I'm going to tell you. Of course I don't say I +blame you. It's quite natural at your age and all that.' She stopped, +for a flush was rising in Victoria's face, the cheekbones showing two +little red patches. Mr Holt had clasped his hands together and kept his +eyes fixed on Victoria's with unnatural intensity. + +'You see, Victoria,' resumed Mrs Holt, 'it's always difficult when +there's a young man in the house; of course I make allowances, but, +really, you see it's so complicated and things get so annoying. You know +what people are . . .' + +'That'll do, Maria,' snarled Mr Holt, jumping to his feet. 'If you don't +know what you have to say, I do. Look here, Mrs Fulton. Last night I saw +Jack kissing you. I know perfectly well you didn't encourage him. You'd +know better. However, there it is. I don't pretend I like what I've got +to do, but this must be stopped. I can't have philandering going on +here. You, Jack, you're going back to the works at Rawsley and don't let +me see anything of you this side of the next three months. As for you, +Mrs Fulton, I'm sorry, but Mrs Holt will have to find another companion. +I know it's hard on you to ask you to leave without notice, but I +propose to give you an indemnity of twenty pounds. I should like to keep +you here, but you see that after what has happened it's impossible. I +suppose you agree to that?' + +Victoria stood silent for a moment, her hands tightly clenched. She knew +Holt's short ways, but the manner of the dismissal was brutal. +Everything seemed to revolve round her, she recovered herself with +difficulty. + +'Yes,' she said at length, 'you're quite right.' + +Jack had not moved. His hands were nervously playing with his watch +chain. Victoria, in the midst of her trouble, remembered Edward's +familiar gesture. They were alike in a way, these two tall weedy men, +both irresolute and undeveloped. + +'Very well then,' continued Holt; 'perhaps you'll make your arrangements +at once. Here is the cheque.' He held out a slip of blue paper. + +Victoria looked at him for a moment dully. Then revolt surged inside +her. 'I don't want your indemnity,' she said coldly, 'you merely owe me +a month's wages in lieu of notice.' + +The shadow of a smile crept into Holt's face. The semi-legal, +semi-commercial phrase pleased him. + +Mrs Holt rose from the table and went to Victoria. 'I'm so sorry,' she +said, speaking more gently than she had ever done. 'You must take it. +Things are so hard.' + +'Oh, but I say, dad . . .' broke in Jack. + +'That will do, do you hear me, sir?' thundered the father violently, +bringing down his fist on the table. 'I'm not asking you for your +opinion! You can stay and look at your work but you just keep a silent +tongue in your head. D'you hear?' + +Jack stood cowed and dumb. + +'There's nothing more to say, is there?' growled Mr Holt, placing the +cheque on the table before Victoria. + +'Not much,' said Victoria. 'I've done no wrong. Oh! I'm not complaining. +But I begin to understand things. Your son has persecuted me. I didn't +want his attentions. You turn me out. Of course it's my fault, I know.' + +'My dear Victoria,' interposed Mrs Holt, 'nobody says it's your fault. +We all think . . .' + +'Indeed? it's not my fault, but you turn me out.' + +Mrs Holt dropped her hands helplessly. + +'I see it all now,' continued Victoria. 'You don't blame me, but you're +afraid to have me here. So long as I was a servant all was well. Now I'm +a woman and you're afraid of me.' She walked up and down nervously. 'Now +understand, I've never encouraged your son. If he had asked me to marry +him I wouldn't have done it.' A look of pain passed over Jack's face but +aroused no pity in Victoria. She felt frozen. + +'Oh! but there was no question of that,' cried Mrs Holt, plaintively. + +'No doubt,' said Victoria ruthlessly. 'You couldn't think of it. Nobody +could think of an officer's widow marrying into the Rawsley Works. From +more than one point of view it would be impossible. Very good. I'll +leave in the course of the morning. As for the cheque, I'll take it. As +you say, Mrs Holt, things are hard. I've learned that and I'm still +learning.' + +Victoria took up the blue slip. The flush on her face subsided somewhat. +She picked up her handkerchief, a letter from Molly and a small +anthology lying on the dumb waiter. She made for the door, avoiding +Jack's eyes. She felt through her downcast lids the misery of his looks. +A softer feeling went through her, and she regretted her outburst. As +she placed her hand on the handle she turned round and faced Mrs Holt, a +gentler look in her eyes. + +'I'm sorry I was hasty,' she stammered. 'I was taken by surprise. It was +. . . vulgar.' + +The door closed softly behind her. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +VICTORIA went up to her room and locked the door behind her. She sat +down on her small basket trunk and stared out of the dormer window. She +was still all of a tingle; her hands, grasping the rough edges of the +trunk, trembled a little. Yet she felt, amid all her perturbation, the +strange gladness that overcomes one who has had a shock; the contest was +still upon her. + +'Yes,' she said aloud, 'I'm free. I'm out of it.' She hated the dullness +and ugliness which the Holts had brought with them from the Midlands. +The feeling came over her almost like a spasm. Through the dormer window +she could see the white frontage of the house opposite. It was repellent +like Mrs Holt's personal devil. + +The feeling of exultation suddenly subsided in Victoria's breast. She +realised all of a sudden that she was once more adrift, that she must +find something to do. It might not be easy. She would have to find +lodgings. The archway in Portsea Place materialised crudely. She could +hear the landlady from 84 detailing the last phase of rheumatics to the +slatternly maid who did for the grocer. Awful, awful. Perhaps she'd +never find another berth. What should she do? + +Victoria pulled herself together with a start. 'This will never do,' she +said, 'there's lots of time to worry in. Now I must pack.' She got up, +drew the trunk into the middle of the room, opened it and took out the +tray. Then, methodically, as she had been taught to do by her mother, +she piled her belongings on the bed. In a few minutes it was filled with +the nondescript possessions of the nomad. Skirts, books, boots, +underclothing, an inkpot even, jostled one another in dangerous +proximity. Victoria surveyed the heap with some dismay; all her troubles +had vanished in the horror that comes over every packer: she would never +get it all in. She struggled for half an hour, putting the heavy things +at the bottom, piling blouses on the tray, cunningly secreting scent +bottles in shoes, stuffing handkerchiefs into odd corners. Then she +dropped the tray in, closed the lid and sat down upon it. The box +creaked a little and gave way. Victoria locked it and got up with a +little sigh of satisfaction. But she suddenly saw that the cupboard door +was ajar and that in it hung her best dress and a feather boa; on the +floor stood the packer's plague, shoes. It was quite hopeless to try and +get them in. + +Victoria surveyed the difficulty for a moment; then she regretfully +decided that she must ask Mrs Holt for a cardboard box, for her hat-box +was already mortgaged. A nuisance. But rather no, she would ask the +parlourmaid. She went to the door and was surprised to find it locked. +She turned the key slowly, looking round at the cheerful little room, +every article of which was stupid without being offensive. It was hard, +after all, to leave all this, without knowing where to go. + +Victoria opened the door and jumped back with a little cry. Before her +stood Jack. He had stolen up silently and waited. His face had flushed +as he saw her; in his eyes was the misery of a sorrowful dog. His mouth, +always a little open, trembled with excitement. + +'Jack,' cried Victoria, 'oh! what do you want?' + +'I've come to say . . . oh! Victoria . . .' Jack broke down in the +middle of his carefully prepared sentence. + +'Oh! go away,' said Victoria faintly, putting her hand on her breast. +'Do go away. Can't you see I've had trouble enough this morning?' + +'I'm sorry,' muttered Jack miserably. 'I've been a fool. Vic, I've come +to ask you if you'll forgive me. It's all my fault. I can't bear it.' + +'Don't talk about it,' said Victoria becoming rigid. 'That's all over. +Besides you'll have forgotten all about it to-morrow,' she added +cruelly. + +Jack did not answer directly, though he was stung. 'Vic,' he said with +hesitation, 'I can't bear to see you go, all through me. Listen, there's +something you said this morning. Did you mean it?' + +'Mean what?' asked Victoria uneasily. + +'You said, if I'd asked you to marry me you . . . I know I didn't, but +you know, Vic, I wanted you the first time I saw you. Oh! Vic, won't you +marry me now?' + +Victoria looked at him incredulously. His hands were still trembling +with excitement. His light eyes stared a little. His long thin frame was +swaying. 'I'd do anything for you. You don't know what I could do. I'd +work for you. I'd love you more than you've ever been loved.' Jack +stopped short; there was a hardness that frightened him in the set of +Victoria's jaw. + +'You didn't say that yesterday,' she answered. + +'No, I was mad. But I wanted to all along, Vic. You're the only woman I +ever loved. I don't ask more of you than to let me love you.' + +Victoria looked at him more gently. His likeness to her brother grew +plainer than ever. Kind but hopelessly inefficient. Poor boy, he meant +no harm. + +'I'm sorry, Jack,' she said after a pause, 'I can't do it. You know you +couldn't make a living . . .' + +'Oh, I could, I could!' cried Jack clinging at the straw, 'if I had you +to work for. You can't tell what it means for me.' + +'Perhaps you could work,' said Victoria with a wan little smile, 'but I +can't marry you, Jack, you see. I like you very much, but I'm not in +love with you. It wouldn't be fair.' + +Jack looked at her dully. He had not dared to expect anything but +defeat, yet defeat crushed him. + +'There, you must go away now,' said Victoria, 'I must go downstairs. Let +me pass please.' She squeezed between him and the wall and made for the +stairs. + +'No, I can't let you go,' said Jack hoarsely. He seized her by the waist +and bent over her. Victoria looked the space of a second into his eyes +where the tiny veins were becoming bloodshot. She pushed him back +sharply and, wrenching herself away, ran down the stairs. He did not +follow her. + +Victoria looked up from the landing. Jack was standing with bent head, +one hand on the banister. 'The only thing you can do for me is to go +away,' she said coldly. 'I shall come up again in five minutes with +Effie. I suppose you will not want us to find you outside my bedroom +door.' + +She went downstairs. When she came up again with the maid, who carried a +large brown cardboard box, Jack was nowhere to be seen. + +A quarter of an hour later she followed the butcher's boy who was +dragging her box down the stairs, dropping it with successive thuds from +step to step. As she reached the hall, while she was hesitating as to +whether she should go into the dining-room to say good-bye to Mrs Holt, +the door opened and Mrs Holt came out. The two women looked at one +another for the space of a second, like duellists about to cross swords. +Then Mrs Holt held out her hand. + +'Good-bye, Victoria,' she said, 'I'm sorry you're going. I know you're +not to blame.' + +'Thank you,' said Victoria icily. 'I'm sorry also, but it couldn't be +helped.' + +Mrs Holt heaved a large sigh. 'I suppose not,' she said. + +Victoria withdrew her hand and went towards the door. The butcher's boy +had already taken her box down, marking the whitened steps with two +black lines. + +'Shall I call a cab, mum?' he asked. + +'Yes please,' said Victoria dreamily. + +The youth went down the drive, his heels crunching into the gravel. +Victoria stood at the top of the steps, looking out at the shrubs, one +or two of which showed pale buds, standing sharp like jewels on the +black stems. Mrs Holt came up behind her softly. + +'I hope we don't part in anger, Victoria,' she said guiltily. + +Victoria looked at her with faint amusement. True, anger is a cardinal +sin. + +'Oh! no, not at all,' she answered. 'I quite understand.' + +'Don't be afraid to give me as a reference,' said Mrs Holt. + +'Thank you,' said Victoria. 'I shan't forget.' + +'And if ever you're in trouble, come to me.' + +'You're very kind,' said Victoria. Mrs Holt was kind, she felt. She +understood her better now. Much of her sternness oozed out of her. A +mother defending her son knows no pity, thought Victoria; perhaps it's +wrong to resent it. It's nature's way of keeping the young alive. + +The cab came trotting up the drive and stopped. The butcher's boy was +loading the trunk upon the roof. Victoria turned to Mrs Holt and took +her hand. + +'Good-bye,' she said, 'you've been very good to me. Don't think I'm so +bad as you thought me this morning. Your son has just asked me to marry +him.' + +Mrs Holt dropped Victoria's hand; her face was distorted by a spasm. + +'I refused him,' said Victoria. + +She stepped into the cab and directed the cabman to Portsea Place. As +they turned into the road she looked back. At the head of the steps Mrs +Holt stood frozen and amazed. Victoria almost smiled but, her eyes +wandering upwards, she saw, at her dormer window, Jack's head and +shoulders. His blue eyes were fixed upon her with unutterable longing. A +few strands of hair had blown down upon his forehead. For the space of a +second they gazed into each other's eyes. Then the wall blotted him out +suddenly. Victoria sighed softly and sank back upon the seat of the cab. + +At the moment she had no thought. She was at such a point as one may be +who has turned the last page of the first volume of a lengthy book: the +next page is blank. Nothing remained even of that last look in which +Jack's blue eyes had pitifully retold his sorry tale. She was like a +rope which has parted with many groans and wrenchings; broken and its +strands scattering, its ends float lazily at the mercy of the waves, +preparing to sink. She was going more certainly into the unknown than if +she had walked blindfold into the darkest night. + +The horse trotted gently, the brakes gritting on the wheels as it picked +its way down the steep. The fresh air of April drove into the cab, +stinging a little and yet balmy with the freshness of latent spring. +Victoria sat up, clasped her hands on the doors and craned out to see. +There was a little fever in her blood again; the spirit of adventure was +raising its head. As fitful gleams of sunshine lit up and irradiated the +puddles a passionate interest in the life around seemed to overpower +her. She looked almost greedily at the spire, far down the Wellington +Road, shining white like molten metal with almost Italian brilliancy +against a sky pale as shallow water. The light, the young wind, the +scents of earth and buds, the men and women who walked with springy +step intent on no business, all this, and even the horse who seemed to +toss his head and swish his tail in sheer glee, told her that the world +was singing its alleluia, for, behold, spring was born unto it in +gladness, with all its trappings and its sumptuous promise. + +Everything was beautiful; not even the dreary waste of wall which +conceals Lords from the vulgar, nor the thousand tombs of the churchyard +where the dead jostle and grab land from one another were without their +peculiar charm. It was not until the cab crossed the Edgware Road that +Victoria realised with a start that, though the world was born again, +she did not share its good fortune. Edgware Road had dragged her down to +the old level; a horrible familiarity, half pleasurable, half fearful, +overwhelmed her. This street, which she had so often paced carrying a +heart that grew heavier with every step, had never led her to anything +but loneliness, to the cold emptiness of her room. Her mood had changed. +She saw nothing now but tawdry stationer's shops, meretricious jewellery +and, worse still, the sickening plenty of its monster stores of clothing +and food. The road had seized her and was carrying her away towards its +summit, where the hill melts into the skies between the houses that grow +lower as far as the eye can see. + +Victoria closed her eyes. She was in the grip once more; the wheels of +the machine were not moving yet but she could feel the vibration as it +got up steam. In a little the flywheel would slowly revolve and then she +would be caught and ground up. Yes, ground up, cried the Edgware Road, +like thousands of others as good as you, ground into little bits to make +roadmetal of, yes, ground, ground fine. + +The cab stopped suddenly. Victoria opened her eyes. Yes, this was +Portsea Place. She got out. It had not changed. The curtains of the +house opposite were as dirty as ever. The landlady from the corner was +standing just under the archway, dressed as usual in an expansive pink +blouse in which her flowing contours rose and fell. She interrupted the +voluble comments on the weather which she was addressing to the little +faded colleague, dressed in equally faded black, to stare at the +newcomer. + +'There ain't no more room at Bell's,' she remarked. + +'She is very fortunate,' said the faded little woman. 'Dear me, dear me. +It's a cruel world.' + +'Them lidies' maids allus ketches on,' said the large woman savagely. +'Tell yer wot, though, p'raps they wouldn't if they was to see Bell's +kitching. Oh, Lor'! There ain't no black-beetles. I don't think.' + +The little faded woman looked longingly at Victoria standing on the +steps. A loafer sprung from thin air as is the way of his kind and leant +against the area railings, touching his cap whenever he caught +Victoria's eye, indicating at times the box on the roof of the cab. From +the silent house came a noise that grew louder and louder as the +footsteps drew nearer the door. Victoria recognised the familiar +shuffle. Mrs Bell opened the door. + +'Lor, mum,' she cried, 'I'm glad to see you again.' She caught sight of +the trunk. 'Oh, are you moving, mum?' + +'Yes, Mrs Bell,' said Victoria. 'I'm moving and I want some rooms. Of +course I thought of you.' + +Mrs Bell's face fell. 'Oh, I'm so sorry, mum. The house is full. If +you'd come last week I had the first floor back.' She seemed genuinely +distressed. She liked her quiet lodger and to turn away business of any +kind was always depressing. + +Victoria felt dashed. She remembered Edward's consternation on +discovering the change in Gower Street and, for the first time, +sympathised. + +'Oh, I'm so sorry too, Mrs Bell. I should like to have come back to +you.' + +'Couldn't you wait until next month, mum!' said Mrs Bell, reluctant to +turn her away. 'The gentleman in the second floor front, he's going +away to Rhodesia. It's your old room, mum.' + +'I'm afraid not,' said Victoria with a smile. 'In fact I must find +lodgings at once. Never mind, if I don't like them I'll come back here. +But can't you recommend somebody?' + +Mrs Bell looked right and left, then into the archway. The little faded +woman had disappeared. The landlady in the billowy blouse was still +surveying the scene. Mrs Bell froze her with a single look. + +'No, mum, can't say I know of anybody, leastways not here,' she said +slowly. 'It's a nice neighbourhood of course, but the houses here, they +look all right, but oh, mum, you should see their kitchens! Dirty ain't +the word, mum. But wait a bit, mum, if you wouldn't mind that, I've got +a sister who's got a very nice room. She lives in Castle Street, mum, +near Oxford Circus. It's a nice neighbourhood, of course not so near the +Park,' added Mrs Bell with conscious superiority. + +'I don't mind, Mrs Bell,' said Victoria. 'I'm not fashionable.' + +'Oh, mum,' cried Mrs Bell, endeavouring to imply together the +superiority of Portsea Place and the respectability of any street +patronised by her family, 'I'm sure you'll like it. I'll give you the +address.' + +In a few minutes Victoria was speeding eastwards. Now she was rooted up +for good. She was leaving behind her Curran's and Mrs Bell, slender +links between her and home life, links still, however. The pageant of +London rolled by her, heaving, bursting with rich life. The sunshine +around her bade her be of good cheer. Then the cab turned a corner and, +with the suddenness of a stage effect, it carried its burden into the +haunts of darkness and malodour. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +'_Telegraph_, mum,' said a voice. + +Victoria started up from the big armchair with a suddenness that almost +shot her out of it. It was the brother of the one in Portsea Place and +shared its constitutional objection to being sat upon. It was part of +the 'sweet' which Miss Briggs had divided with Mrs Bell when their +grandmother died. + +'Thanks, Miss Briggs,' said Victoria. 'By the way, I don't think that +egg is quite fresh. And why does Hetty put the armchair in front of the +cupboard every day so that I can't open it?' + +'The slut, I don't see there's anything the matter with it,' remarked +Miss Briggs, simultaneously endorsing the complaint against Hetty and +defending her own marketing. + +'Oh, yes there is, Miss Briggs,' snapped Victoria with a sharpness which +would have been foreign to her some months before. 'Don't let it happen +again or I'll do my own catering.' + +Miss Briggs collapsed on the spot. The profits on the three and sixpence +a week for 'tea, bread and butter and anything that's going,' formed +quite a substantial portion of her budget. + +'Oh, I'm sorry, mum,' she said, 'it's Hetty bought 'em this week. The +slut, I'll talk to her.' + +Victoria took no notice of the penitent landlady and opened the +_Telegraph_. She absorbed the fact that Consols had gone up an eighth +and that contangoes were in process of arrangement, without interest or +understanding. She was thinking of something else. Miss Briggs coughed +apologetically. Victoria looked up. Miss Briggs reflectively tied knots +in her apron string. She was a tall, lantern-jawed woman of no +particular age; old looking for thirty-five perhaps or young looking for +fifty. Her brown hair, plentifully sprinkled with grey, broke out in +wisps over each ear and at the back of the neck. Her perfectly flat +chest allowed big bags of coarse black serge to hang over her dirty +white apron. Her hands played mechanically with the strings, while her +water-coloured eye fixed upon the _Telegraph_. + +'You shouldn't read that paper, mum,' she remarked. + +'Why not?' asked Victoria, with a smile, 'isn't it a good one?' + +'Oh, yes, mum, I don't say that,' said Miss Briggs with the respect that +she felt for the buyers of penny papers. 'There's none better. Mine's +the _Daily Mail_ of course and just a peep into _Reynolds_ before the +young gent on the first floor front. But you shouldn't have it. +_Tizer's_ your paper.' + +'_Tizer_?' said Victoria interrogatively. + +'_Morning Advertiser_, mum; that's the one for advertisements.' + +'But how do you know I read the advertisements, Miss Briggs?' asked +Victoria still smiling. + +'Oh, mum, excuse the liberty,' said Miss Briggs in great trepidation. +'It's the only sheet I don't find when I comes up to do the bed. +_Tizer's_ the one for you, mum; I had a young lady 'ere, once. Got a job +at the Inverness Lounge, she did. Married a clergyman, they say. He's +divorced her now.' + +'That's an encouraging story, Miss Briggs,' said Victoria with a twinkle +in her eye. 'How do you know I want to be a barmaid, though?' + +'Oh, one has to be what one can, mum,' said Miss Briggs sorrowfully. +'Sure enough, it ain't all honey and it ain't all jam keeping this +house. The bells, they rings all day and it's the breakfast that's bad +and their ain't blankets enough, and I never 'ad a scuttle big enough to +please 'em for sixpence. But you ain't doing that, mum,' she added after +a pause devoted to the consideration of her wrongs. 'A young lady like +you, she ought to be behind the bar.' + +Victoria laughed aloud. 'Thanks for the hint, Miss Briggs,' she said, +'I'll think it over. To-day however, I'm going to try my luck on the +stage. What do you think of that?' + +'Going on tour?' cried Miss Briggs in a tone of tense anxiety. + +'Well, not yet,' said Victoria soothingly. 'I'm going to see an agent.' + +'Oh, that's all right,' said Miss Briggs with ghoulish relief. 'Hope +yer'll get a job,' she added as confidently as a man offering a drink to +a teetotaller. At that moment a fearful clattering on the stairs +announced that Hetty and the pail had suddenly descended to the lower +landing. Liquid noises followed. Miss Briggs rushed out. Victoria jumped +up and slammed her door on the chaotic scene. She returned to the +_Telegraph_. The last six weeks in the Castle Street lodging house had +taught her that these were happenings quite devoid of importance. + +Victoria spread out the _Telegraph_, ignored the foreign news, the +leaders and the shocking revelations as to the Government's Saharan +policy; she dallied for a moment over 'gowns for debutantes,' for she +was a true woman, and passed on to the advertisements. She was getting +quite experienced as a reader and could sift the wheat from the chaff +with some accuracy. She knew that she could safely ignore applications +for lady helps in 'small families,' at least unless she was willing to +clean boots and blacklead grates for five shillings a week and meals +when an opportunity occurred; her last revelation as to the nature of a +post of housekeeper to an elderly gentleman who had retired from +business into the quietude of Surbiton had not been edifying. The +'Financial and Businesses' column left her colder than she had been when +she left Mrs Holt with nearly thirty-seven pounds. Then she was a +capitalist and pondered longingly over the proposals of tobacconists, +fancy goods firms, and stationers, who were prepared to guarantee a +fortune to any person who could muster thirty pounds. Fortunately Miss +Briggs had undeceived her. In her variegated experience, she herself had +surrendered some sixty golden sovereigns to the persuasive owner of a +flourishing newsagent's business. After a few weeks of vain attempts to +induce the neighbourhood to indulge in the news of the day, she had been +glad to sell her stock of sweets for eighteen shillings, and to take +half a crown for a hundred penny novelettes. + +Victoria turned to the 'Situations Vacant.' Their numbers were +deceptive. She had never realised before how many people live by fitting +other people for work they cannot get. Two thirds of the advertisements +offered wonderful opportunities for sons of gentlemen in the offices of +architects and engineers on payment of a premium; she also found she +could become a lady gardener if she would only follow the courses in +some dukery and meanwhile live on air; others would teach her shorthand, +typewriting or the art of the secretary. All these she now calmly +skipped. She was obviously unfitted to be the matron of an asylum for +the feeble-minded. Such experience had not been hers, nor had she the +redoubtable record which would open the gates of an emporium. An +illegible hand would exclude her from the City. + +'No,' thought Victoria, 'I'm an unskilled labourer; that's what I am.' +She wearily skimmed the agencies; as a matter of habit noted the demand +for two companions and one nursery governess and put the paper aside. +There was not much hope in any of these, for one was for Tiverton, the +other for Cardiff, which would make a personal interview a costly +business; the third, discreetly cloaked by an initial, suggested by its +terseness a companionship probably undue in its intimacy. The last six +weeks had opened Victoria's eyes to the unpleasant aspects of life, so +much so that she wondered whether there were any other. She felt now +that London was waiting for her outside, waiting for her to have spent +her last copper, when she would come out to be eaten so that she might +eat. + +Whatever her conceit might have been six months before, Victoria had +lost it all. She could do nothing that was wanted and desired everything +she could not get. She had tried all sources and found them dry. +Commercialism, philanthropy, and five per cent. philanthropy had failed +her. What can you do? was their cry. And, the answer being 'nothing,' +their retort had been 'No more can we.' + +Victoria turned over in her mind her interview with the Honorary +Secretary of the British Women's Imperial Self Help Association. 'Of +course,' said the Secretary, 'we will be glad to register you. We need +some references and, as our principle is to foster the independence and +self-respect of those whom we endeavour to place in positions such as +may befit their social status, we are compelled to demand a fee of five +shillings.' + +'Oh, self help, I see,' said Victoria sardonically, for she was +beginning to understand the world. + +'Yes,' replied the Honorary Secretary, oblivious of the sneer, for his +mind was cast in the parliamentary mould, 'by adhering to our principle +and by this means only can we hope to stem the tide of pauperism to +which modern socialistic tendencies are--are--spurring the masses.' +Victoria had paid five shillings for this immortal metaphor and within a +week had received an invitation to attend a meeting presided over by +several countesses. + +The B. W. I. S. H. A., (as it was called by its intimates) had induced +in Victoria suspicions of societies in general. She had, however, +applied also to the Ladies' Provider. Its name left one in doubt whether +it provided ladies with persons or whether it provided ladies to persons +who might not be ladies. The Secretary in this case, was not Honorary. +The inwardness of this did not appear to Victoria; for she did not then +know that plain secretaries are generally paid, and try to earn their +salary. Their interview had, however, not been such as to convert her to +the value of corporate effort. + +The Secretary in this case was a woman of forty, with a pink face, trim +grey hair, spectacles, amorphous clothing, capable hands. She exhaled an +atmosphere of respectability, and the faint odour of almonds which +emanates from those women who eschew scent in favour of soap. She had +quietly listened to Victoria's history, making every now and then a +shorthand note. Then she had coughed gently once or twice. Victoria felt +as in the presence of an examiner. Was she going to get a pass? + +'I do not say that we cannot do anything for you, Mrs Fulton,' she said, +'but we have so many cases similar to yours.' + +Victoria had bridled a little at this. 'Cases' was a nasty word. + +'I'm not particular,' she had answered, 'I'd be a companion any day.' + +'I'm sure you'd make a pleasant one,' said the Secretary graciously, +'but before we go any further, tell me how it was you left your last +place. You were in the . . . in the Finchley Road, was it not?' The +Secretary's eyes travelled to a map of London where Marylebone, South +Paddington, Kensington, Belgravia, and Mayfair, were blocked out in +blue. + +Victoria had hesitated, then fenced. 'Mrs Holt will give me a good +character,' she faltered. + +'No doubt, no doubt,' replied the Secretary, her eyes growing just a +little darker behind the glasses. 'Yet, you see, we are compelled by the +nature of our business to make enquiries. A good reference is a very +good thing, yet people are a little careless sometimes; the hearts of +employers are often rather soft.' + +This was a little too much for Victoria. 'If you want to know the +truth,' she said bluntly, 'the son of the house persecuted me with his +attentions, and I couldn't bear it.' + +The Secretary made a shorthand note. Then she looked at Victoria's +flashing eyes, heightened colour, thick piled hair. + +'I am very sorry,' she began lamely. . . . + +What dreadful things women are, thought Victoria, folding up the +_Telegraph_. If Christ had said: Let _her_ who hath never sinned. . . +the woman would have been stoned. Victoria got up, went to the +looking-glass and inspected herself. Yes, she was very pretty. She was +prettier than she had ever been before. Her skin was paler, her eyes +larger; her thick eyebrows almost met in an exquisite gradation of short +dark hairs over the bridge of the nose. She watched her breast rise and +fall gently, flashing white through the black lacework of her blouse, +then falling away from it, tantalising the faint sunshine that would +kiss it. As she turned, another looking-glass set in the lower panels of +a small cupboard told her that her feet were small and high arched. Her +openwork stockings were drawn so tight that the skin there also gleamed +white. + +Victoria took from the table a dirty visiting card. It bore the words +'Louis Carrel, Musical and Theatrical Agent, 5 Soho Place.' She had come +by it in singular manner. Two days before, as she left the offices of +the 'Compleat Governess Agency' after having realised that she could +not qualify in either French, German, Music, Poker work or Swedish +drill, she had paused for a moment on the doorstep, surveying the dingy +court where they were concealed, the dirty panes of an unlet shop +opposite, the strange literature flaunting in the showcase of some +publisher of esoterics. A woman had come up to her, rising like the +loafers from the flagstones. She had realised her as between ages and +between colours. Then the woman had disappeared as suddenly as she came +without having spoken, leaving in Victoria's hand the little square of +pasteboard. + +Victoria looked at it meditatively. She would have shrunk from the idea +of the stage a year before, when the tradition of Lympton was still upon +her. But times had changed; a simple philosophy was growing in her; what +did anything matter? would it not be all the same in a hundred years? +The discovery of this philosophy did not strike her as commonplace. +There are but few who know that this is the philosophy of the world. + +Victoria put down the card and began to dress. She removed the old black +skirt and ragged lace blouse and, as she stood before the glass in her +short petticoat, patting her hair and setting a comb, she reflected with +satisfaction that her arms were shapely and white. She looked almost +lovingly at the long thin dark hairs, fine as silk, that streaked her +forearms; she kissed them gently, moved to self-adoration by the sweet +scent of femininity that rose from her. + +She tore herself away from her self-worship and quickly began to dress. +She put on a light skirt in serge, striped black and white, threading +her head through it with great care for fear she should damage her +fringe net. She drew on a white blouse, simple enough though cheap. As +it fastened along the side she did not have to call in Miss Briggs; +which was fortunate, as this was the time when Miss Briggs carried +coals. Victoria wriggled for a moment to settle the uncomfortable boning +of the neck and, having buckled and belted the skirt over the blouse, +completed her toilet with her little black and white jacket to match the +skirt. A tiny black silk cravat from her neck was discarded, as she +found that the fashionable ruffle, emerging from the closed coat, +produced an _effet mousquetaire_. Lastly she put on her hat; a lapse +from the fashions perhaps, but a lovable, flat, almost crownless, dead +black, save a vertical group of feathers. + +Victoria drew her veil down, regretting the thickness of the spots, +pushed it up to repair with a dab of powder the ravage of a pod on the +tip of her nose. She took up her parasol and white gloves, a glow of +excitement already creeping over her as she realised how cleverly she +must have caught the spirit of the profession to look the actress to the +life and yet remain in the note of the demure widow. + +Soho Place is neither one of the 'good' streets nor one of the 'bad.' +The police do not pace it in twos and threes in broad daylight, yet they +hardly like to venture into it singly by night. On one side it ends in a +square; on the other it turns off into an unobtrusive side street, the +reputation of which varies yard by yard according to the distance from +the main roads. It is dirty, dingy; yet not without dignity, for its +good Georgian and Victorian houses preserve some solidity and are not +yet of the tenement class. They are still in the grade of office and +shop which is immediately below their one-time status of dwellings for +well-to-do merchants. + +Victoria entered Soho Place from the square, so that she was not too ill +impressed. She walked in the middle of the pavement, unconsciously +influenced the foreign flavour of Soho. There men and women stand all +day in the street, talking, bargaining, quarrelling and making love; +when a cab rattles by they move aside lazily, as a Neapolitan stevedore +rolls away on the wharf from the wheels of a passing cart. + +Victoria paused for a second on the steps. No 5 Soho Place was a good +house enough. The ground floor was occupied by a firm of auctioneers; a +gentleman describing himself as A.R.I.B.A. exercised his profession on +the third floor; below his plate was nailed a visiting-card similar to +the one Victoria took from her reticule. She went up the staircase +feeling a little braced by the respectability of the house, though she +had caught sight through the area railings of an unspeakably dirty +kitchen where unwashed pots flaunted greasy remains on a liquor stained +deal table. The staircase itself, with its neutral and stained green +distemper, was not over encouraging. Victoria stopped at the first +landing. She had no need to enquire as to the whereabouts of the +impresario for, on a door which stood ajar, was nailed another dirty +card. Just as she was about to push it, it opened further to allow a +girl to come out. She was very fair; her cheeks were a little flushed; a +golden lock or two fell like keepsake ringlets on her low lace collar. +Victoria just had time to see that the blue eyes sparkled and to receive +a cheerful smile. The girl muttered an apology and, smiling still, +brushed past her and lightly ran down the stairs. 'A successful +candidate,' thought Victoria, her heart rising once more. + +She entered the room and found it empty. It was almost entirely bare of +furniture, for little save an island of chairs in the middle and faded +red cloth curtains relieved the uniform dirtiness of the wall paper +which once was flowered. One wall was entirely covered by a large poster +where half a dozen impossibly charming girls of the biscuit box type +were executing a cancan so symmetrically as to recall an Egyptian +frieze. The mantlepiece was bare save for the signed photograph of some +magnificent foreign-looking athlete, nude to the waist. Victoria waited +for a moment, watching a door which led into an inner room, then went +towards it. At once the sound of a chair being pushed back and the fall +of some small article on the floor told her that the occupant had heard +her footsteps. The door opened suddenly. + +Victoria looked at the apparition with some surprise. In a single glance +she took in the details of his face and clothes, all of which were +pleasing. The man was obviously a foreigner. His face was pale, clean +shaven save for a small black moustache closely cropped at the ends; his +eyes were brown; his eyebrows, as beautifully pencilled as those of a +girl, emphasized the whiteness of his high forehead from which the hair +receded in thick waves. His lips, red and full, were parted over his +white teeth in a pleasant smile. Victoria saw too that he was dressed in +perfect taste, in soft grey tweed, fitting well over the collar and +loose everywhere else; his linen was immaculate; in fact nothing about +him would have disgraced the Chandraga mess, except perhaps a gold ring +with a large diamond which he wore on the little finger of his right +hand. + +'Mr Carrel?' said Victoria in some trepidation. + +'Yes, Mademoiselle,' said the man pleasantly. 'Will you have the +kindness to enter?' He held the door open and Victoria, hesitating a +little, preceded him. + +The inner room was almost a replica of the outer. It too was scantily +furnished. On a large table heaps of dusty papers were stacked. An +ash-tray overflowed over one end. In a corner stood a rickety-looking +piano. The walls were profusely decorated with posters and photographs, +presumably of actors and actresses, some highly renowned. Victoria felt +respect creeping into her soul. + +Carrel placed a chair for her before the table and resumed his own. For +the space of a second or two he looked Victoria over. She was a little +too conscious of his scrutiny to be quite at ease, but she was not +afraid of the verdict. + +'So, Mademoiselle,' said the man gently, 'you wish for an engagement on +the stage?' + +Victoria had not expected such directness. 'Yes, I do,' she said. 'That +is, I was thinking of it since I got your card.' + +'My card?' said Carrel, raising his eyebrows a little. 'How did you get +my card?' + +Victoria told him briefly how the card had been thrust into her hand, +how curious it was and how surprised she had been as she did not know +the woman and had never seen her again. Then she frankly confessed that +she had no experience of the stage but wanted to earn her living and +that . . . She stopped aghast at the tactical error. But Carrel was +looking at her fixedly, a smile playing on his lips as he pulled his +tiny moustache with his jewelled hand. + +'Yes, certainly, I understand,' he said. 'Experience is very useful, +naturally. But you must begin and you know: _il n'y a que le premier pas +qui coute_. Now perhaps you can sing? It would be very useful.' + +'Yes, I can sing,' said Victoria doubtfully, suppressing 'a little,' +remembering her first mistake. + +'Ah, that is good,' said Carrel smiling. 'Will you sit down to the +piano? I have no music; ladies always bring it but do you not know +something by heart?' + +Victoria got up, her heart beating a little and went to the piano. 'I +don't know anything French,' she said. + +'It does not matter,' said Carrel, 'you will learn easily.' He lowered +the piano stool for her. As she sat down the side of his head brushed +her shoulder lightly. A faint scent of heliotrope rose from his hair. + +Victoria dragged off her gloves nervously, felt for the pedals and with +a voice that trembled a little sang two ballads which had always pleased +Lympton. The piano was frightfully out of tune. Everything conspired to +make her nervous. It was only when she struck the last note that she +looked at the impresario. + +'Very good, very good,' cried Carrel. '_Magnifique._ Mademoiselle, you +have a beautiful voice. You will be a great success at Vichy.' + +'Vichy?' echoed Victoria, a little overwhelmed by his approval of a +voice which she knew to be quite ordinary. + +'Yes, I have a troupe to sing and dance at Vichy and in the towns, +Clermont Ferrand, Lyon, everywhere. I will engage you to sing and +dance,' said Carrel, his dark eyes sparkling. + +'Oh, I can't dance,' cried Victoria despairingly. + +'But I assure you, it is not difficult,' said Carrel. 'We will teach +you. There, I will show you the contract. As you have not had much +experience my syndicate can only pay you one hundred and fifty francs a +month. But we will pay the expenses and the costumes.' + +Victoria looked doubtful for a moment. To sing, to dance, to go to +France where she had never been, all this was sudden and momentous. + +'_Voyons_,' said Carrel, 'it will be quite easy. I am taking four +English ladies with you and two do not understand the theatre. You will +make more money if the audience like you. Here is the contract.' He drew +a printed sheet out of the drawer and handed it to her. + +It was an impressive document with a heavy headline; _Troupe de Theatre +Anglaise_. It bore a French revenue stamp and contained half-a-dozen +clauses in French which she struggled through painfully; she could only +guess at their meaning. So far as she could see she was bound to sing +and dance according to the programme which was to be fixed by the +_Directeur_, twice every day including Sundays. The _syndicat_ undertook +to pay the railway fares and to provide costumes. She hesitated, then +crossed the Rubicon. + +'Fill in the blanks, please,' she said unsteadily. 'I accept.' + +Carrel took up a pen and wrote in the date and _cent cinquante francs_. +'What name will you adopt?' he asked, 'and what is your own name?' + +Victoria hesitated. 'My name is Victoria Fulton,' she said. 'You may +call me . . . Aminta Ormond.' + +Carrel smiled once more. 'Aminta Ormond? I do not think you will like +that. It is not English. It is like Amanda. No! I have it, Gladys +Oxford, it is excellent.' + +Before she could protest he had begun writing. After all, what did it +matter? She signed the document without a word. + +'_Voila_,' said Carrel smoothly, locking the drawer on the contract. 'We +leave from Charing Cross on Wednesday evening. So you have two days to +prepare yourself. _Monsieur le Directeur_ will meet you under the clock +at a quarter past eight. The train leaves at nine. We will take your +ticket when you arrive. Please come here at four on Wednesday and I will +introduce you to the _Directeur_.' + +Victoria got up and mechanically shook hands. Carrel opened the door for +her and ceremoniously bowed her out. She walked into Soho place as in a +dream, every pulse in her body thrilling with unwonted adventure. She +stared at a dirty window pane and wondered at the brilliance it threw +back from her eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +VICTORIA had forgotten her latchkey. Miss Briggs opened the door for +her. Her sallow face brightened up. + +'There's a gentleman waiting, mum,' she said, 'and 'ere's a telegram.' +Came jest five minutes after you left. I've put him in the front room +what's empty, mum. Thought you'd rather see him there. Been 'ere 'arf an +'our, mum.' + +Victoria did not attempt to disentangle the hours of arrival of the +gentleman and the telegram; she tore open the brown envelope excitedly. +It only heralded the coming of Edward who was doubtless the gentleman. + +'Thanks, Miss Briggs,' she said, 'it's my brother.' + +'Yes, mum, nice young gentleman. He's all right; been reading the _New +Age_, mum, this 'arf hour, what belongs to the lady on the third.' + +Victoria smiled and went into the dining-room, where none dine in +lodging houses save ghosts. Edward was standing near the mantlepiece +immersed in the paper. + +'Why, Ted, this is nice of you,' cried Victoria going up to him and +taking his hand. + +'I had to come up to town suddenly,' said Edward, 'to get books for the +Head. I'm going back this afternoon but I thought I'd look you up. Did +you get the telegram.' + +'Just got it now,' said Victoria, showing it, 'so you might have saved +the sixpence.' + +'I'm sorry,' said Edward. 'I didn't know until this morning.' + +'It doesn't matter. I'm so glad to see you.' + +There was an awkward pause. Edward brushed away the hair from his +forehead. His hands flew back to his watch-chain. Victoria had briefly +written to him to tell him why she left the Holts. Fearful of all that +touches women, he was acutely conscious that he blamed her and yet knew +her to be blameless. + +'It's a beautiful day,' he said suddenly. + +'Isn't it?' agreed Victoria, looking at him with surprise. There was +another pause. + +'What are you doing just now, Vic?' Edward breathed more freely, having +taken the plunge. + +'I've just got some work,' said Victoria. 'I begin on Wednesday.' + +'Oh, indeed?' said Edward with increasing interest. 'Have you got a post +as companion?' + +'Well, not exactly,' said Victoria. She realised that her story was not +very easy to tell a man like Edward. He looked at her sharply. His face +flushed. His brow puckered. With both hands he grasped his watch-chain. + +'I hope, Victoria,' he said severely, 'that you are not adopting an +occupation unworthy of a lady. I mean I know you couldn't,' he added, +his severity melting into nervousness. + +'I suppose nothing's unworthy,' said Victoria; 'the fact is, Ted, I'm +afraid you won't like it much, but I'm going on the stage.' + +Edward started and flushed like an angry boy. 'On the . . . the stage?' +he gasped. + +'Yes,' said Victoria quietly. 'I've got an engagement for six months to +play at Vichy and other places in France. I only get six pounds a month +but they pay all the expenses. I'll have quite thirty pounds clear when +I come back. What do you think of that?' + +'It's . . . it's awful,' cried Edward, losing all self-consciousness. +'How can you do such a thing, Vic? If it were in London, it would be +different. You simply can't do it.' + +'Can't?' asked Victoria, raising her eyebrows. 'Why?' + +'It's not done. No really Vic, you can't do it.' Edward was evidently +disturbed. Fancy a sister of his . . . It was preposterous. + +'I'm sorry, Ted,' said Victoria, 'but I'm going on Wednesday. I've +signed the agreement.' + +Edward looked at her almost horror-struck. His spectacles had slid down +to the sharp tip of his nose. + +'You are doing very wrong, Victoria,' he said, resuming his pedagogic +gravity. 'You could have done nothing that I should have disapproved of +as much. You should have looked out for something else.' + +'Looked out for something else?' said Victoria with the suspicion of a +sneer. 'Look here, Ted. I know you mean well, but I know what I'm doing; +I haven't been in London for six months without finding out that life is +hard on women like me. I'm no good because I'm too good for a poor job +and not suitable for a superior one. So I've just got to do what I can.' + +'Why didn't you try for a post as companion?' asked Edward with a half +snarl. + +'Try indeed! Anybody can see you haven't had to try, Ted. I've tried +everything I could think of, agencies, societies, papers, everything. I +can't get a post. I must do something. I've got to take what I can get. +I know it now; we women are just raw material. The world uses as much of +us as it needs and throws the rest on the scrap heap. Do you think I +don't keep my eyes open? Do you think I don't see that when you want +somebody to do double work at half rates you get a woman? And she thanks +God and struggles for the work that's too dirty or too hard for a man +to touch.' + +Victoria paced up and down the small room, carried away by her +vehemence. Edward said nothing. He was much upset and did not know what +to say; he had never seen Victoria like this and he was constitutionally +afraid of vigour. + +'I'm sorry, Ted,' said Victoria stopping suddenly. She laid her hand on +his sleeve. 'There, don't sulk with me. Let's go out to lunch and I'll +go and choose your books with you after. Is it a bargain?' + +'I don't want to discuss the matter again,' replied Edward with as much +composure as he could muster. 'Yes, let's go out to lunch.' + +The rest of the day passed without another word on the subject of +Victoria's downfall. She saw Edward off at St Pancras. After he had said +good-bye to her, he suddenly leaned out of the window of the railway +carriage as if to speak, then changed his mind and sank back on the +seat. Victoria smiled at her victory. + +Next morning she broke the news to Miss Briggs. The landlady seemed +amazed as well as concerned. + +'You seem rather taken aback,' said Victoria. + +'Well, mum, you see it's a funny thing the stage; young ladies all seems +to think it's easy to get on. And then they don't get on. And there you +are.' + +'Well I _am_ on,' said Victoria, 'so I shall have to leave on +Wednesday.' + +'Sorry to lose you, mum,' said Miss Briggs, ''ope yer'll 'ave a success. +In course, as you 'aven't given me notice, mum, it'll 'ave to be a +week's money more.' + +'Oh, come Miss Briggs, this is too bad,' cried Victoria, 'why, you've +got a whole floor vacant! What would it have mattered if I had given you +notice?' + +'Might have let it, mum. Besides it's the law,' said Miss Briggs, +placing her arms akimbo, ready for the fray. + +'Very well then,' said Victoria coldly, 'don't let's say anything more +about it.' + +Miss Briggs looked at her critically. 'No offence meant, mum,' she said +timidly, 'it's a 'ard life, lodgers.' + +'Indeed?' said Victoria without any show of interest. + +'You wouldn't believe it, mum, all I've got to put up with. There's +Hetty now . . .' + +'Yes, yes, Miss Briggs,' said Victoria impatiently, 'you've told me +about Hetty.' + +'To be sure, mum,' replied Miss Briggs, humbly. 'It ain't easy to make +ends meet. What with the rent and them Borough Council rates. There +ain't no end to it, mum. I lives in the basement, mum, and that means +gas all the afternoon, mum.' + +Victoria looked at her again. This was a curious outlook. The poor +troglodyte had translated the glory of the sun into cubic feet of gas. + +'Yes, I suppose it is hard,' she said reflectively. + +'To be sure, mum,' mused Miss Briggs. 'Sometimes you can't let at all. +I've watched through the area railings, mum, many a long day in August, +wondering if the legs I can see was coming 'ere. They don't mostly, +mum.' + +'Then why do you go on?' asked Victoria hardening suddenly. + +'What am I to do, mum? I just gets my board and lodging out of it, mum. +Keeps one respectable; always been respectable, mum. That ain't so easy +in London, mum. Ah, when I was a young girl, might have been different, +mum; you should have seen me 'air. Curls like anything, mum, when I puts +it in papers. 'Ad a bit of a figure too, mum.' + +'Deary me!' + +Victoria looked with sympathy at the hard thin face, the ragged hair. +Yes, she was respectable enough, poor Miss Briggs! Women have a hard +life. No wonder they too are hard. You cannot afford to be earthenware +among the brass pots. + +'What will you do when you can't run the house any more?' she asked more +gently. + +'Do, mum? I dunno.' + +Yet another philosophy. + +'Miss Briggs,' came a man's voice from the stairs. + +'Coming, sir,' yelled Miss Briggs in the penetrating tone that calling +from cellar to attic teaches. + +'Where are my boots?' said the voice on the stairs. + +'I'll get 'em for you, sir,' cried Miss Briggs shuffling to the door on +her worn slippers. + +Life is a hard thing, thought Victoria again. Another woman for the +scrap heap. Fourteen hours work a day, nightmares of unlet rooms, boots +to black and coals to carry, dirt, loneliness, harsh words and at the +end 'I dunno.' Is that to be my fate? she wondered. + +However her blood soon raced again; she was an actress, she was going +abroad, she was going to see the world, to enslave it, to have +adventures, live. It was good. All that day Victoria trod on air. She no +longer felt her loneliness. The sun was out and aglow, bringing in its +premature exuberance joyful moisture to her temples. She, with the +world, was young. In a fit of extravagance she lunched at a half crown +table d'hote in Oxford Street, where pink shades softly diffuse the +light on shining glass and silver. The coffee was almost regal, so +strong, so full of sap. The light of triumph was in her eyes, making men +turn back, sometimes follow and look into her face, half appealing, half +insolent. But Victoria was unconscious of them, for the world was at her +feet. She was the axis of the earth. It was in such a frame of mind +that, the next day, she climbed the steps of Soho Place, careless of the +view into the underground kitchen, of the two dogs who under the archway +fought, growling, fouling the air with the scents of their hides, over +a piece of offal. She ran up the stairs lightly. The door was still +ajar. + +Two men were sitting in the anteroom, both smoking briar pipes. The +taller of the two got up. + +'Yes?' he said interrogatively. + +'I . . . you . . . is Mr Carrel here?' asked Victoria nervously. + +'No Miss,' said the man calmly, 'he's just gone to Marlborough Street.' + +'Oh,' said Victoria, still nervous, 'will he be long?' + +'I should say so, miss,' replied the man, 'perhaps twelve months, +perhaps more.' + +Victoria gasped. 'I don't understand,' she said, but her heart began to +beat. + +'Don't s'pose you would, miss,' said the short man, getting up. 'Fact +is, miss, we're the police and we've had to take him; just about time we +did, too. Leaving for France to-night with a batch of girls. S'pose +you're one of them?' + +'I was going to-night,' said Victoria faintly. + +'May I have your name?' asked the tall man politely, taking out a pocket +book. + +'Fulton,' she faltered. 'Victoria Fulton.' + +'M'yes, that's it. 'Gladys Oxford,'' said the tall man turning back a +page. 'Well Miss, you can thank your stars you're out of it.' + +'But what has he done?' asked Victoria with an effort. + +'Lord, Miss, you're from the country, I can see,' said the short man +amiably. 'I thought everybody knew that little game. Take you over to +Vichy, you know. Make you dance and sing. Provide costumes.' He winked +at his companion. + +'Costumes,' said Victoria, 'what do you mean?' + +'Costumes don't mean much, Miss, over there,' said the tall man. 'Fact +is you'd have to wear what they like and sing what they like when you +pass the plate round among the customers.' + +Something seemed to freeze in Victoria. + +'He said it was a theatre of varieties,' she gasped. + +'Quite true,' said the tall man with returning cynicism. 'A theatre +right enough, but you'd have supplied the variety to the customers.' + +Victoria clenched her hands on the handle of her parasol. Then she +turned to fly. + +The short man stopped her and demanded her address, informing her that +she was to attend at Marlborough Street next day at eleven thirty. + +'Case mayn't be called before twelve,' he added. 'Sorry to trouble you, +Miss. You won't hear any more about it unless it's a case for the +Sessions.' + +Victoria ran down the steps, through the alley and into Charing Cross +Road as if something was tracking her, tracking her down. So this was +the end of the dream. She had stretched her hand out to the roses, and +the gods, less merciful to her than to Tantalus, had filled her palm +with thorns. It was horrible, horrible. She had imagination, and a +memory of old prints after Rowlandson which her father had treasured +came back to her with almost nauseating force. She pictured the French +_cafe chantant_ like the Cave of Harmony; rough boards on trestles, +laden with tankards of foaming beer, muddy lights, a foulness of tobacco +smoke, a raised stage with an enormous woman singing on it, her eye +frightfully dilated by belladonna, her massive arms and legs gleaming +behind the dirty footlights and everywhere around men smoking, with +noses like snouts, bodies like swines, hairy hands--hands, ye gods! + +She walked quickly away from the place of revelation. She hurried +through the five o'clock inferno of Trafalgar Square, careless of the +traffic, escaping death ten times. She hurried down the spaces of +Whitehall, and only slackened her pace at Westminster Bridge. There she +stopped for a moment; the sun was setting and gilded and empurpled the +foreshores. The horror of the past half hour seemed to fade away as she +watched the roses and mauves bloom and blend, the deep shadows of the +embankments rise and fall. Near by, a vagrant, every inch of him clothed +in rags, the dirt of his face mimicking their colour, smoked a short +clay pipe, puffing at long intervals small wreaths of smoke into the +blue air. And as Victoria watched them form, rise and vanish into +nothingness, the sun kiss gently but pitilessly the old vagrant hunched +up against the parapet, the horror seemed to melt away. The peace of the +evening was expelling it, but another dread visitor was heralded in. +Victoria felt like lead in her heart, the return of uncertainty. Once +more she was an outcast. No work. Once more she must ask herself what to +do and find no answer. + +The river glittered and rose and fell, as if inviting her. Victoria +shuddered. It was not yet time for that. She turned back and, with +downcast eyes, made for St James's Park. There she sat for a moment +watching a pelican flop on his island, the waterfowl race and dive. The +problem of life was upon her now and where was the solution? Must I +tread the mill once more? thought Victoria. The vision of agencies +again, of secretaries courteous or rude, of waits and hopes and +despairs, all rushed at her and convinced her of the uselessness of it +all. She was alone, always alone, because she wanted to be free, to be +happy, to live. Perhaps she had been wrong after all to resist the call +of the river. She shuddered once more. A couple passed her with hands +interlocked, eyes gazing into eyes. No, life must hold forth to her +something to make it worth while. She was cold. She got up and, with +nervous determination, walked quickly towards the gate. + +The first thing to be done was to get quit of all the horrors of the +day, to cut away the wreckage. She dared not stay at Castle Street. She +would be tracked. She would have to give evidence. She couldn't do it. +She couldn't. Victoria having regained her coolness was in no wise +uncertain as to her course of action. The first thing to do was for her +to lose herself in London, and that so deep that none could drag her out +and force her to tell her story. She must change her lodgings then. +Nothing could be easier, as she had already given Miss Briggs notice. In +fact the best thing to do would be to keep up the fiction of her +departure for France. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +VICTORIA entered her room. It was in the condition that speaks of +departure. Her trunks were packed and corded, all save a small suitcase +which still gaped, showing spaces among the sundries that the skilled +packer collects in the same bundle. Every drawer was open; the bed was +unmade; the room was littered with newspapers and nondescript articles +discarded at the last moment. Victoria rang her bell and quickly +finished packing the suitcase with soap, washing gloves, powder-puffs +and such like. As she turned the key Miss Briggs opened the door. + +'Oh, Miss Briggs,' said Victoria quietly, 'I find that I must go down by +an earlier train; I must be at Charing Cross in an hour; I'm going now.' + +'Yes, mum,' said Miss Briggs without interest. 'Shall I tell the +greengrocer to come now, mum?' + +'Yes please, Miss Briggs; here are the seven shillings.' + +Miss Briggs accepted the money without a word. It had formed the basis +of a hot argument between her and her tenant; she considered herself +entitled to one week's rent in lieu of notice but Victoria's new born +sense of business had urged the fact that she had had two days notice; +this had saved her three shillings. Miss Briggs laboured under a sense +of injury, so she did not see Victoria to the door. + +This was well, for Victoria was able to pay the greengrocer and to get +rid of him in an artistic manner by sending him to post an empty +envelope addressed to an imaginary person, while she directed the +cabman to Paddington; this saved her awkward questions and would leave +Miss Briggs under the impression that she had gone to Charing Cross. + +At Paddington station she left her luggage in the cloak-room and went +out to find lodgings. Her quest was short, for she had ceased to be +particular, so that within an hour she was installed in an imposing +ground floor front in the most respectable house in Star Street. The +district was not so refined as Portsea Place, but the house seemed clean +and the quarters were certainly cheaper; eleven and six covered both +them and the usual breakfast. + +Victoria surveyed the room in a friendly manner; there was nothing +attractive or repulsive in it; it was clean; the furniture was almost +exactly similar to that which graced her lodgings in Portsea Place and +in Castle Street. The landlady seemed a friendly body, and had already +saved Victoria a drain on her small store by sending her son, an +out-of-work furrier's hand, to fetch the luggage in a handcart. +Remembering that she was a fugitive from justice she gave her name as +Miss Ferris. + +Victoria returned from a hurried tea, unpacked with content the trunk +that should have followed her to France. She was almost exhilarated by +the feeling of safety which enveloped her like comforting warmth. The +day was blithe in unison. She felt quite safe, every movement of her +flight having been so skilfully calculated; she was revelling therefore +in her escape from danger, the deepest and truest of all joys. + +The next morning, however, found her in the familiar mood of wondering +what was to become of her. After an extremely inferior breakfast which +brought down upon the already awed Mrs Smith well deserved reproaches, +Victoria investigated the _Telegraph_ columns with the usual negative +results and, in the resultant acid frame of mind, went through her +accounts and discovered that her possessions amounted to twelve pounds, +eight shillings and four pence. This was a terrible blow; the outfit for +the interview with Carrel and the trip to France had dug an enormous +hole in Victoria's resources. + +'I must hurry up and find something,' said Victoria to herself. 'Twelve +pounds eight and fourpence--say twelve weeks--and then?' + +The next morning reconciled her a little to her fate. True, the paper +yielded no help, but a lengthy account of Carrel's preliminary +examination occupied three quarters of a column in the police court +report. It was apparently a complicated case, for Carrel had been +remanded and bail refused. The report did not yield her much +information. Apparently Carrel was indicted for other counts than the +exporting of the dancing girls to Vichy, for nine women had appeared. +Victoria had quite a thrill of horror when she read the line in which +the well schooled reporter dismissed the evidence of Miss 'S,' by saying +that Miss 'S----' here gave an account of her experience in the green +room of the Folichon-Palace in 1902.' The baldness of the statement was +appalling in its suggestiveness. She had been called, apparently, but no +comment was made on her non-appearance. + +'That's all over,' said Victoria with decision, throwing the newspaper +down. She rose from the armchair, shook herself and opened the window to +let out the smell of breakfast. Then she put on her hat and gloves and +decided to have a walk to cheer herself up. Mindful that she was in a +sense a fugitive, she avoided the Marble Arch and made for the Park +through the desolate respectability of Lancaster Gate. + +She made for the South East, unconsciously guided by the hieratic shot +tower of Westminster. It was early; the freshness of May still +bejewelled with dew drops the crisp new grass; the gravel, stained dark +by moisture, hardly crunched under her feet, but gave like springy turf. +Forgetting her depleted exchequer Victoria stepped briskly as if on +business bent, looking at nothing but absorbing as through her skin the +kisses of the western wind. At Hyde Park Corner she turned into St +James's Park, and, passing the barracks, received with an old familiar +thrill a covert smile from the handsome sentry. After all she was young, +and it was good somehow to be once more smiled at by a soldier. +Soldiers, soldiers--stupid perhaps, but could one help liking them? +Victoria let her thoughts run back to Dicky--poor old wasted Dicky--and +the Colonel and his liver, and Bobby, who would never be anything but +Bobby, and Major Cairns too. Victoria felt a tiny pang as she thought of +the Major. He was hardly young or handsome but strong, reassuring. She +suddenly felt his lips on her neck again as she gazed rapidly at the +dark lift on the horizon of the coast of Araby. He was a good fellow, +the Major. She would like to meet him again. + +She had reached Westminster Bridge. Her thoughts fell away from the +comfortable presence of Major Cairns. Hunched up against the parapet sat +the old vagrant she had seen there before, motionless, his rags lifting +in the breeze, puffs of smoke coming at long intervals from his short +clay pipe. Victoria shuddered; it seemed as if her life were bound to a +wheel which brought her back inexorably to the same spot until the time +came for her to lose there energy and life itself. She turned quickly +towards the Embankment, and, as she rounded the curve, caught a glimpse +of the old vagrant. The symbol of time had not moved. + +Another twenty minutes of quick walking had brought her to the City. She +was no longer fearful of it; indeed she almost enjoyed its surge and +roar. Log that she was, tossed on a stormy sea, she could not help +feeling the joy of life in its buffeting. Not even the dullness and +eternal length of Queen Victoria Street, which seems in the City, like +Gower Street, indefinite and interminable, robbed her of the curious +exultation which she felt whenever she entered the precincts. Here at +least was life and doing; ugly doing perhaps, but things worthy of the +name of action. At Mansion House she stopped for a moment to look at the +turmoil: drays, motorbuses, cabs, cycles, entangled and threatening +everywhere the little running black mites of humanity. + +As Victoria passed the Bank and walked up Princes Street she felt +hungry, for it was nearly one o'clock. She turned up a lane and stopped +before a small shop which arrested her attention by its name above the +door. It was called 'The Rosebud Cafe,' every letter of its name being +made up of tiny roses; all the woodwork was painted white; the door was +glazed and faced with pink curtains; pink half blinds lined the two +small windows, nothing appearing through them except, right and left, +two tall palms. 'The Rosebud' had a freshness and newness that pleased +her; and, as it boldly announced luncheons and teas, she pushed the +white door open and entered. The room was larger than the outside gave +reason to think, for it was all in depth. It was pretty in a style +suggesting a combination of Watteau, Dresden China, and the top of a +biscuit tin. All the woodwork was white, relieved here and there by pink +drapery and cunningly selected water colours of more or less the same +tint. From the roof, at close intervals, hung little baskets of paper +roses. The back part of the room was glazed over, which showed that it +lay below the well of a tall building. Symmetrically ranged were little +tables, some large enough for four persons, mostly however meant for +two, but Victoria noticed that they were all untenanted; in fact the +room was empty, save for a woman who on her hands and knees was loudly +washing the upper steps of a staircase leading into a cellar, and for a +tall girl who stood on a ladder at the far end of the room critically +surveying a picture she had just put up. + +Victoria hesitated for a moment. The girl on the ladder looked round and +jumped down. She was dressed in severe black out of which her long white +face, mantling pink at the cheeks, emerged like a flower; indeed +Victoria wondered whether she had been selected as an attendant because +she was in harmony with the colour scheme of the shop. The girl was +quite charming out of sheer insignificance; her fair hair untidily +crowned her with a halo marred by flying wisps. Her little pink mouth, +perpetually open and pouting querulous over three white upper teeth, +showed annoyance at being disturbed. + +'We aren't open,' she said with much decision. It was clearly quite bad +enough to have to look forward to work on the morrow without +anticipating the evil. + +'Oh,' said Victoria, 'I'm sorry, I didn't know.' + +'We open on Monday,' said the fair girl. 'Sharp.' + +'Yes?' answered Victoria vaguely interested as one is in things newly +born. 'This is a pretty place, isn't it?' + +A flicker of animation. The fair girl's blue eyes opened wider. +'Rather,' she said. 'I did the water colours,' she explained with pride. + +'How clever of you!' exclaimed Victoria. 'I couldn't draw to save my +life.' + +'Coloured them up, I mean,' the girl apologised grudgingly. 'It was a +long job, I can tell you.' + +Victoria smiled. 'Well,' she said, 'I must come back on Monday and see +it finished if I'm in the City.' + +'Oh, aren't you in the City?' asked the girl. 'West End?' + +'No, not exactly West End,' said Victoria. 'I'm not doing anything just +now.' + +The fair girl gave her a glance of faint suspicion. + +'Oh, aye, I see,' she said slowly, thoughtfully considering the rather +full lines of Victoria's figure. + +Victoria had not the slightest idea of what she saw. 'I'm looking out +for a berth,' she remarked casually. + +'Oh, are you?' said the girl with renewed animation. 'What's your line?' + +'Anything,' said Victoria. She looked round the pink and white shop. A +feeling of weariness had suddenly come over her. The woman at the top of +the steps had backed away a little, and was rhythmically swishing a wet +rag on the linoleum. Under her untidy hair her neck gleamed red and +fleshy, touched here and there with beads of perspiration. Victoria took +her in as unconsciously as she would an ox patiently straining at the +yoke. To and fro the woman's body rocked, like a machine wound up to +work until its parts drop out worn and useless. + +'Ever done any waiting?' The voice of the girl almost made Victoria +jump. She saw herself being critically inspected. + +'No, never,' she faltered. 'That's to say, I would, if I got a billet.' + +'Mm,' said the girl, eyeing her over. 'Mm.' + +Victoria's heart beat unreasonably. 'Do you know where I can get a job?' +she asked. + +'Well,' said the girl very deliberately, 'the fact of the matter is, +that we're short here. We had a letter this morning. One of our girls +left home yesterday. Says she can't come. They don't know where she is.' + +'Yes,' said Victoria, too excited to speculate as to the implied +tragedy. + +'If you like, you can see the manager,' said the girl. 'He's down +there.' She pointed to the cellar. + +'Thank you so much,' said Victoria, 'it's awfully kind of you.' The fair +girl walked to the banisters. 'Mr Stein,' she cried shrilly into the +darkness. + +There was a rumble, a sound like the upsetting of a chair, footsteps on +the stairs. A head appeared on a level with the floor. + +'Vat is it?' growled a voice. + +'New girl; wants to be taken on.' + +'Vell, take her on,' growled the voice. 'You are ze 'ead vaitress, gn, +you are responsible.' + +Victoria had just time to see the head, perfectly round, short-haired, +white faced, cloven by a turned up black moustache, when it vanished +once more. The Germanic 'gn' at the end of the first sentence puzzled +her. + +'Sulky beast,' murmured the girl. 'Anyhow, that's settled. You know the +wages, don't you? Eight bob a week and your lunch and tea.' + +'Eight . . .' gasped Victoria. 'But I can't live on that.' + +'My, you are a green 'un,' smiled the girl. 'With a face like that +you'll make twenty-five bob in tips by the time we've been on for a +month.' She looked again at Victoria not unkindly. + +'Tips,' said Victoria reflectively. Awful. But after all, what did it +matter. + +'All right,' she said, 'put me down.' + +The girl took her name and address. 'Half-past eight sharp on Monday,' +she said. ''cos it's opening day. Usual time half-past nine, off at four +two days a week. Other days seven. Nine o'clock mid and end.' + +Victoria stared a little. This was a business woman. + +'Sorry,' said the girl, 'must leave you. Got a lot more to do to-day. My +name's Laura. It'll have to be Lottie though. Nothing like Lottie to +make fellows remember you.' + +'Remember you?' asked Victoria puzzled. + +'Lord, yes, how you going to make your station if they don't remember +you?' said Lottie snappishly. 'You'll learn right enough. You let 'em +call you Vic. Tell 'em to. You'll be all right. And get yourself a black +business dress. We supply pink caps and aprons; charge you sixpence a +week for washing. You get a black openwork blouse, mind you, with short +sleeves. Nothing like it to make your station.' + +'What's a station?' asked Victoria, more bewildered than ever. + +'My, you _are_ a green 'un! A station's your tables. Five you get. We'll +cut 'em down when they begin to come in. What you've got to do is to pal +up with the fellows; then they'll stick to you, see? Regulars is what +you want. The sort that give no trouble 'cos you know their orders right +off and leave their twopence like clockwork, see? But never you mind: +you'll learn.' Thereupon Lottie tactfully pushed Victoria towards the +door. + +Victoria stepped past the cleaner, who was now washing the entrance. +Nothing could be seen of her save her back heaving a little in a filthy +blue bodice and her hands, large, red, ribbed with flowing rivulets of +black dirt and water. As her left hand swung to and fro, Victoria saw +upon the middle finger the golden strangle of a wedding ring deep in the +red cavity of the swollen flesh. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +'YOU come back with me, Vic, don't you?' + +'You silly,' said Victoria, witheringly, 'I don't go off to-day, Gertie, +worse luck.' + +'Worse luck! I don't think,' cried Gertie. 'I'll swap with you, if you +like. As if yer didn't know it's settling day. Why there's two and a +kick in it!' + +'Shut it,' remarked a fat, dark girl, placidly helping herself to +potatoes, 'some people make a sight too much out of settling day.' + +'Perhaps yer'll tell me wot yer mean, Miss Prodgitt,' snarled Gertie, +her brown eyes flashing, her cockney accent attaining a heroic pitch. + +'What I say,' remarked Miss Prodgitt, with the patronising air that +usually accompanies this enlightening answer. + +'Ho, indeed,' snapped Gertie, 'then p'raps yer'll keep wot yer've got +ter sye to yersel, _Miss_ Prodgitt.' + +The fat girl opened her mouth, then, changing her mind, turned to +Victoria and informed her that the weather was very cold for the time of +the year. + +'That'll do, Gertie,' remarked Lottie, 'you leave Bella alone and hook +it.' + +Gertie glowered for a moment, wasted another look of scorn on her +opponent and flounced out of the room into a cupboard-like dark place, +whence issued sounds like the growl of an angry cat. Something had +obviously happened to her hat. + +Victoria looked round aimlessly. She had no appetite; for half-past +three, the barbarous lunch hour of the Rosebud girls, seemed calculated +to limit the food bill. By her side Bella was conscientiously absorbing +the potatoes that her daintier companions had left over from the Irish +stew. Lottie was deeply engrossed in a copy of _London Opinion_, left +behind by a customer. Victoria surveyed the room, almost absolutely bare +save in the essentials of chairs and tables. It was not unsightly, +excepting the fact that it was probably swept now and then but never +cleaned out. Upon the wall opposite was stuck a penny souvenir which +proclaimed the fact that the Emperor of Patagonia had lunched at the +Guildhall. By its side hung a large looking glass co-operatively +purchased by the staff. Another wall was occupied by pegs on which hung +sundry dust coats and feather boas, mostly smart. Gertie, in the corner, +was still fumbling in the place known as 'Heath's' because it +represented the 'Hatterie.' It was a silent party enough, this; even the +two other girls on duty downstairs would not have increased the +animation much. Victoria sat back in her chair, and, glancing at the +little watch she carried on her wrist in a leather strap, saw she still +had ten minutes to think. + +Victoria watched Gertie, who had come out of 'Heath's' and was poising +her hat before the glass. She was a neat little thing, round everywhere, +trim in the figure, standing well on her toes; her brown hair and eyes, +pursed up little mouth, small, sharp nose, all spoke of briskness and +self-confidence. + +'Quarter to four, doin' a bunk,' she remarked generally over her +shoulder. + +'Mind Butty doesn't catch you,' said Victoria. + +'Oh, he's all right,' said Gertie, 'we're pals.' + +Fat Bella, chewing the cud at the table, shot a malevolent glance at +her. Gertie took no notice of her, tied on her veil with a snap, and +collected her steel purse, parasol, and long white cotton gloves. + +'Bye, everybody,' she said, 'be good. Bye, Miss Prodgitt; wish yer luck +with yer perliceman, but you take my tip; all what glitters isn't +coppers.' + +Before Miss Prodgitt could find a retort to this ruthless exposure of +her idyll, Gertie had vanished down the stairs. Lottie dreamily turned +to the last page of _London Opinion_ and vainly attempted to sound the +middle of her back; she was clearly disturbed by the advertisement of a +patent medicine. Victoria watched her amusedly. + +They were not bad sorts, any of them. Lottie, in her sharp way, had been +a kindly guide in the early days, explained the meaning of 'checks,' +shown her how to distinguish the inflexion on the word 'bill,' that +tells whether a customer wants the bill of fare or the bill of costs, +imparted too the wonderful mnemonics which enable a waitress to sort +four simultaneous orders. Gertie, the only frankly common member of the +staff, barked ever but bit never. As for Bella, poor soul, she +represented neutrality. The thread of her life was woven; she would +marry her policeman when he got his stripe, and bear him dull company to +the grave. Gertie would no doubt look after herself. Not being likely to +marry, she might keep straight and end as a manageress, probably save +nothing and end in the workhouse, or go wrong and live somehow, and then +die as quickly as a robin passing from the sunshine to the darkness. +Lottie was a greater problem; in her intelligence lay danger; she had +imagination, which in girls of her class is a perilous possession. Her +enthusiasm might take her anywhere, but very much more likely to misery +than to happiness. However, as she was visibly weak-chested, Victoria +took comfort in the thought that the air of the underground smoking-room +would some day settle her troubles. + +Victoria did not follow up her own line of life because as for all young +things, there was no end for her--nothing but mist ahead, with a rosy +tinge in it. Sufficient was it that she was in receipt of a fairly +regular income, not exactly overworked, neither happy nor miserable. +Apart from the two hours rush in the middle of the day, there was +nothing to worry her. After two months she had worked up a fair +connection; she could not rival the experienced Lottie, nor even Gertie +whose forward little ways always 'caught on,' but she kept up an average +of some fourteen shillings a week in tips. Thus she scored over Gladys +and Cora, whose looks and manners were unimpressive, lymphatic Bella +being of course outclassed by everybody. Twenty-one and six a week was +none too much for Victoria, whose ideas of clothes were fatally upper +middle class; good, and not too cheap. Still, she was enough of her +class to live within her income, and even add a shilling now and then to +her little hoard. + +A door opened downstairs. 'Four o'clock! Come down! Vic! Bella! Lottie! +Vat are you doing? gn?' + +Bella jumped up in terror, her fat cheeks quivering like jelly. 'Coming, +Mr Stein, coming,' she cried, making for the stairs. Victoria followed +more slowly. Lottie, secure in her privileges as head waitress, did not +move until she heard the door below slam behind them. + +Victoria lazily made for her tables. They were unoccupied save by a +youth of the junior clerk type. + +'Small tea toasted scone, Miss,' said the monarch with an approving look +at Victoria's eyes. As she turned to execute his order he threw himself +back in the bamboo arm chair. He joined his ten finger tips, and, +crossing his legs, negligently displayed a purple sock. He retained this +attitude until the return of Victoria. + +'Kyou,' she said, depositing his cup before him. She had unconsciously +acquired this incomprehensible habit of waitresses. + +The young man availed himself of the wait for the scone to inform +Victoria that it was a cold day. + +'We don't notice it here,' she said graciously enough. + +'Hot place, eh,' said the customer with a wink. + +Victoria smiled. In the early days she would have snubbed him, but she +had heard the remark before and had a stereotyped answer ready which, +with a new customer, invariably earned her a reputation for wit. + +'Oh, the hotter the fewer.' She smiled negligently, moving away towards +the counter. When she returned with the scone, the youth held out his +hand for the plate, and, taking it, touched the side of hers with his +finger tips. She gave him a faint smile and sat down a couple of yards +away on a chair marked 'Attendant.' + +The youth congratulated her upon the prettiness of the place. Victoria +helped him through his scone by agreeing with him generally. She +completed her conquest by lightly touching his shoulder as she gave him +his check. + +'Penny?' asked Bella, as the youth gone, Victoria slipped her fingers +under the cup. + +'Gent,' replied Victoria, displaying three coppers. + +Bella sighed. 'You've got all the luck, don't often get a twopenny; +never had a gent in my life.' + +'I don't wonder you don't,' said Cora from the other side of the room, +'looking as pleasant as if you were being photographed. You got to give +the boys some sport.' + +Bella sighed. 'It's all very well, Cora, I'm an ugly one, that's what it +is.' + +'Get out; I'm not a blooming daisy. Try washing your hair . . .' + +'It's wrong,' interposed Bella ponderously. + +'Oh, shut it, _Miss_ Prodgitt, I've no patience with you.' + +Cora walked away to the counter where Gladys was brewing tea. There was +a singular similarity between these two; both were short and plump; both +used henna to bring their hair up to a certain hue of redness; both had +complexions obviously too dark for the copper of their locks, belied as +it was already by their brown eyes. Indeed their resemblance frequently +created trouble, for each maintained that the other ruined her trade by +making her face cheap. + +'Can't help it if you've got a cheap face,' was the invariable answer +from either. 'You go home and come back when the rhubarb's out,' usually +served as a retort. + +The July afternoon oozed away. It was cool; now and then an effluvium of +tea came to Victoria, mingled with the scent of toast. Now and then too +the rumble of a dray or the clatter of a hansom filtered into the +dullness. Victoria almost slept. + +The inner door opened. A tall, stout, elderly man entered, throwing a +savage glance round the shop. There was a little stir among the girls. +Bella's rigidity increased tenfold. Cora and Gladys suddenly stopped +talking. Alone Victoria and Lottie seemed unconcerned at the entrance of +Butty, for 'Butty' it was. + +'Butty,' otherwise Mr Burton, the chairman of 'Rosebud, Ltd.,' continued +to glare theatrically. He wore a blue suit of a crude tint, a check +black and white waistcoat, a soft fronted brown shirt and, set in a +shilling poplin tie, a large black pearl. Under a grey bowler set far +back on his head his forehead sloped away to his wispy greying hair. His +nose was large and veined, his cheeks pendulous and touched with +rosacia; his hanging underlip revealed yellow teeth. The heavy dullness +of his face was somewhat relieved by his little blue eyes, piercing and +sparkling like those of a snake. His face was that of a man who is +looking for faults to correct. + +Mr Burton strode through the shop to the counter where Cora and Gladys +at once assumed an air of rectitude while he examined the cash register. +Then, without a word, he returned towards the doorway, sweeping Lottie's +tables with a discontented glance, and came to a stop before one of +Bella's tables. + +'What's this? what the devil do you mean by this?' thundered Butty, +pointing to a soiled plate and cup. + +'Oh, sir, I'm sorry, I . . .' gasped Bella, 'I . . .' + +'Now look here, my girl,' hissed Butty, savagely, 'don't you give me any +of your lip. If I ever find anything on a table of yours thirty seconds +after a customer's gone, it's the sack. Take it from me.' + +He walked to the steps and descended into the smoking-room. Cora and +Gladys went into fits of silent mirth, pointing at poor Bella. Lottie, +unconcerned as ever, vainly tried to extract interest from the shop copy +of 'What's On.' + +'Victoria,' came Butty's voice from below. 'Where's Mr Stein? Come +down.' + +'He's washing, sir,' said Victoria, bending over the banisters. + +'Oh, washing is he? first time I've caught him at it,' came the answer +with vicious jocularity. 'Here's a nice state of things; come down.' + +Victoria went down the steps. + +'Now then, why aren't these salt cellars put away? It's your job before +you come up.' + +'If you please, sir, it's settling day,' said Victoria quietly, 'we open +this room again at six.' + +'Oh, yes, s'pose you're right. I don't blame you. Never have to,' said +Butty grudgingly, then ingratiatingly. + +'No, sir,' said Victoria. + +'No, you're not like the others,' said Butty negligently coming closer +to her. + +Victoria smiled respectfully, but edged a little away. Butty eyed her +narrowly, his lips smiling and a little moist. Then his hand suddenly +shot out and seized her by the arm, high up, just under the short +sleeve. + +'You're a nice girl,' he said, looking into her eyes. + +Victoria said nothing, but tried to free herself. She tried harder as +she felt on her forearm the moist warmth of the ball of Butty's thumb +softly caressing it. + +'Let me go, sir,' she whispered, 'they can see you through the +banisters.' + +'Never you mind, Vic,' said Butty drawing her towards him. + +Victoria slipped from his grasp, ran to the stairs, but remembered to +climb them in a natural and leisurely manner. + +'Cool, very cool,' said Butty, approvingly, 'fine girl, fine girl.' He +passed his tongue over his lips, which had suddenly gone dry. + +When Victoria returned to her seat Lottie had not moved; Bella sat deep +in her own despair, but, behind the counter, Cora and Gladys were fixing +two stern pairs of eyes upon the favourite. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +'YES, sir, yes sir; I've got your order,' cried Victoria to a middle +aged man, whose face reddened with every minute of waiting. 'Steak, sir? +Yes, sir, that'll be eight minutes. And sautees, yes sir. Gladys, send +Dicky up to four. What was yours, sir? Wing twopence extra. No bread? +Oh, sorry, sir, thought you said Worcester.' + +Victoria dashed away to the counter. This was the busy hour. In her +brain a hurtle of food stuffs and condiments automatically sorted itself +out. + +'Now then, hurry up with that chop,' she snapped, thrusting her head +almost through the kitchen window. + +''Oo are you,' growled the cook over her shoulder. 'Empress of Germany? +I don't think.' + +'Oh, shut it, Maria, hand it over; now then Cora, where you pushing to?' +Victoria edged Cora back from the window, seized the chop and rushed +back to her tables. + +The bustle increased; it was close on one o'clock, an hour when the +slaves drop their oars, and for a while leave the thwarts of many +groans. The Rosebud had nearly filled up. Almost every table was +occupied by young men, most of them reading a paper propped up against a +cruet, some a Temple Classic, its pages kept open by the weight of the +plate edge. A steady hum of talk came from those who did not read, and, +mingled with the clatter of knives and forks, produced that atmosphere +of mongrel sound that floats into the ears like a restless wave. + +Victoria stepped briskly between the tables, collecting orders, deftly +making out bill after bill, smoothing tempers ruffled here and there by +a wrongful attribution of food. + +'Yes sir, cutlets. No veg? Cauli? Yes sir.' + +She almost ran up and down as half-past one struck and the young men +asked for coffees, small coffees, small blacks, china teas. From time to +time she could breathe and linger for some seconds by a youth who +audaciously played with the pencil and foil suspended from her waist. Or +she exchanged a pleasantry. + +'Now then, Nevy, none of your larks.' Victoria turned round sharply and +caught a hand engaged in forcing a piece of sugar into her belt. + +Nevy, otherwise Neville Brown, laughed and held her hand the space of a +second. 'I love my love with a V . . .' he began, looking up at her, his +blue eyes shining. + +'Chuck it or I'll tell your mother,' said Victoria, smiling too. She +withdrew her hand and turned away. + +'Oh, I say, Vic, don't go, wait a bit,' cried Neville, 'I want, now what +did I want?' + +'Sure I don't know,' said Victoria, 'you never said what you wanted. +Want me to make up your mind for you?' + +'Do, Vic, let our minds be one,' said Neville. + +Victoria looked at him approvingly. Neville Brown deserved the nickname +of 'Beauty,' which had clung to him since he left school. Brown wavy +hair, features so clean cut as to appear almost effeminate, a broad +pointed jaw, all combined to make him the schoolgirl's dream. Set off by +his fair and slightly sunburnt face, his blue eyes sparkled with +mischief. + +'Well, then, special and cream. Sixpence and serve you right.' + +She laughed and stepped briskly away to the counter. + +'You're in luck, Beauty,' said his neighbour with a sardonic air. + +'Oh, it's no go, James,' replied Brown, 'straight as they make them.' + +'Don't say she's not. But if I weren't a married man, I'd go for her +baldheaded.' + +'Guess you would, Jimmy,' said Beauty, laughing, 'but you'd be wasting +your time. You wouldn't get anything out of her.' + +'Don't you be too sure,' said Jimmy meaningly. He passed his hand +reflectively over his shaven lips. + +'Well, well,' said Brown, 'p'raps I'm not an Apollo like you, Jimmy.' + +Jimmy smiled complacently. He was a tall slim youth, well groomed about +the head, doggy about the collar and tie, neatly dressed in Scotch +tweed. His steady grey eyes and firm mouth, a little set and rigid, the +impeccability of all about him, had stamped business upon his face as +upon his clothes. + +'Oh, I can't queer your pitch, Beauty,' he said a little grimly. 'I know +you, you low dog.' + +Beauty laughed at the epithet. 'You've got no poetry about you, you +North Country chaps, when a girl's as lovely as Victoria--' + +'As lovely as Victoria,' he repeated a little louder as Victoria laid +the cup of coffee before him. + +'I know all about that,' said Victoria coolly, 'you don't come it over +me like that, Nevy.' + +'Cruel, cruel girl,' sighed Neville. 'Ah, if you only knew what I +feel----' + +Victoria put her hand on the tablecloth and, for a moment, looked down +into Neville's blue eyes. + +'You oughtn't to be allowed out,' she pronounced, 'you aren't safe.' + +Jimmy got up as if he had been sitting on a suddenly released spring. + +'Spoon away both of you,' he said smoothly, 'I'm going over to Parsons' +to buy a racquet. Coming, Beauty? No, thought as much. Ta-ta, Vic. +Excuse me. Steak and kidney pie is tenpence, not a shilling. Cheer oh! +Beauty.' + +'He's a rum one,' said Victoria, reflectively, as Jimmy passed the cash +desk. + +'Jimmy? oh, he's all right,' said Neville, 'but look here Vic, I want to +speak to you. Let's go on the bust to-night. Dinner at the New Gaiety +and the theatre. What d'you think?' + +Victoria looked at him for a second. + +'You are a cure, Nevy,' she said. + +'Then that's a bargain?' said Brown, eagerly snapping up her +non-refusal. 'Meet me at Strand Tube Station half-past seven. You're off +to-night, I know.' + +'Oh you know, do you,' said Victoria smiling. 'Been pumping Bella I +suppose, like the rest. She's a green one, that girl.' + +Neville looked up at her appealingly. 'Never mind how I know,' he said, +'say you'll come, we'll have a ripping time.' + +'Well, p'raps I will and p'raps I won't,' said Victoria. 'Your bill, +Sir? Yessir.' + +Victoria went to the next table. While she wrote she exchanged chaff +with the customers. One had not raised his eyes from his book; one stood +waiting for his bill; the other two, creatures about to be men, raised +languid eyes from their coffee cups. One negligently puffed a jet of +tobacco smoke upwards towards Victoria. + +'Rotten,' she said briefly, 'I see you didn't buy those up West.' + +'That's what _you_ think, Vic,' said the youth, 'fact is I got them in +the Burlington. Have one?' + +'No thanks. Don't want to be run in.' + +'Have a match then.' The young man held up a two inch vesta. 'What +price that, eh? pinched 'em from the Troc' last night.' + +'You are a toff, Bertie,' said Victoria with unction. 'I'll have it as a +keepsake.' She took it and stuck it in her belt. + +Bertie leaned over to his neighbour. 'It's a mash,' he said confidently. + +'Take her to Kew,' said his friend, 'next stop Brighton.' + +'Can't run to it, old cock,' said the youth. 'However we shall see.' + +'Vic, Vic,' whispered Neville. But Victoria had passed him quickly and +was answering Mr Stein. + +'Vat you mean by it,' he growled, 'making de gentleman vait for his +ticket, gn?' + +'Beg your pardon, Mr Stein, I did nothing of the kind. The gentleman was +making _me_ wait while he talked to his friend.' + +Victoria could now lie coolly and well. Stein looked at her savagely and +slowly walked away along the gangway between the tables, glowering from +right to left, looking managerially for possible complaints. + +Victoria turned back from the counter. There, behind the coffee urn +where Cora presided, stood Burton, in his blue suit, tiny beads of +perspiration appearing on his forehead. His little blue eyes fixed +themselves upon her like drills seeking in her being the line of least +resistance where he could deliver his attack. She almost fled, as if she +had seen a snake, every facet of her memory causing the touch of his hot +warm hand to materialise. + +'Vic,' said Neville's voice softly as she passed, 'is it yes?' + +She looked down at the handsome face. + +'Yes, Beauty Boy,' she whispered, and walked away. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +'SILLY ass,' remarked Victoria angrily. She threw Edward's letter on the +table. Unconsciously she spoke the 'Rosebud' language, for contact had +had its effect upon her; she no longer awoke with a start to the fact +that she was speaking an alien tongue, a tongue she would once have +despised. + +Edward had expressed his interest in her welfare in a letter of four +pages covered with his thin writing, every letter of which was legible +and sloped at the proper angle. He 'considered it exceedingly +undesirable for her to adopt a profession such as that of waitress.' It +was comforting to know that 'he was relieved to see that she had the +common decency to change her name, and he trusted. . . .' Here Victoria +had stopped. + +'I can't bear it,' she said. 'I can't, can't, can't. Twopenny little +schoolmaster lecturing me, me who've got to earn every penny I get by +fighting for it in the dirt, so to say.' Every one of Edward's features +came up before her eyes, his straggling fair hair, his bloodless face, +his fumbling ineffective hands. This pedagogue who had stepped from +scholardom to teacherdom dared to blame or eulogise the steps she took +to earn her living, to be free to live or die as she chose. It was +preposterous. What did he know of life? + +Victoria seized a pen and feverishly scribbled on a crumpled sheet of +paper. + + 'My dear Edward,--What I do's my business. I've got to live and I + can't choose. And you can be sure that so long as I can keep myself + I shan't come to you for help or advice. Perhaps you don't know what + freedom is, never having had any. But I do and I'm going to keep it + even if it costs me the approval of you people who sit at home + comfortably and judge people like me who want to be strong and free. + But what's the good of talking about freedom to you.-- + + Your affectionate sister, + + VICTORIA'. + +She addressed the envelope and ran out hatless to post it at the pillar +box in Edgware Road. As she crossed the road homewards a horse bus +rumbled by. It carried an enormous advertisement of the new musical +comedy _The Teapot Girl_. 'A fine comedy indeed,' she thought, suddenly +a little weary. + +As she entered her room, where a small oil lamp diffused a sphere of +graduated light, she was seized as by the throat by the oppression of +the silent summer night. The wind had fallen; not even a whirl of dust +stirred in the air. Alone and far away a piano organ in a square droned +and clanked Italian melody. She thought of Edward and of her letter. +Perhaps she had been too sharp. Once upon a time she would not have +written like that: she was getting common. + +Victoria sat down on a little chair, her hands clasped together in her +lap, her eyes looking out at the blank wall opposite. This, nine +o'clock, was the fatal hour when the ghosts of her dead past paced like +caged beasts up and down in her small room, and the wraith of the day's +work rattled its chains. There had been earlier times when, in the first +flush of independence, she had sat down to gloat over what was almost +success, her liberty, her living earned by her own efforts. The rosiness +of freedom then wrapped around the dinge with wreaths of fancy, wreaths +that curled incessantly into harmonious shapes. But Victoria had soon +plumbed the depths of speculation and found that the fire of imagination +needs shadowy fuel for its shadowy combustion. Day by day her brain had +become less lissome. Then, instead of thinking for the joy of thought, +she had read some fourpenny-halfpenny novel, a paper even, picked up in +the Tube. Her mind was waking up, visualising, realising, and in its +troublous surgings made for something to cling to to steady itself. But +months rolled on and on, inharmonious in their sameness, unrelieved by +anything from the monotony of work and sleep. Certain facts meant +certain things and recurred eternally with their unchanging meaning; the +knock that awoke her, a knock so individual and habitual that her sleepy +brain was conscious on Sundays that she need not respond; the smell of +food which began to assail her faintly as she entered the 'Rosebud,' +then grew to pungency and reek at midday, blended with tobacco, then +slowly ebbed almost into nothingness: the dying day that was grateful to +her eyes when she left to go home, when things looked kindly round her. + +When Victoria realised all of a sudden her loneliness in her island in +Star Street, something like the fear of the hunted had driven her out +into the streets. She was afraid to be alone, for not even books could +save her from her thoughts, those hounds in full cry. In such moods she +had walked the streets quickly, looking at nothing, maintaining her pace +over hills. Now and then she had suddenly landed on a slum, caught sight +of, all beery and bloody, through the chink of a black lane. But she +shunned the flares, the wet pavement, the orange peel that squelched +beneath her boots, afraid of the sight of too vigorous life. +Unconsciously she had sought the drug of weariness, and the cunning bred +of her dipsomania told her that the living were poor companions for her +soul. And, when at times a man had followed her, his eye arrested by +the lines of her face lit up by a gas lamp, he had soon tired of her +quick walk and turned away towards weaker vessels. + +But even weariness, when abused, loses its power as a sedative. The +body, at once hardened and satiated, demands more every day as it craves +for increasing doses of morphia, for more food, more drink, more kisses, +more, ever more. Thus Victoria had reached her last stage when, sitting +alone in her room, she once more faced the emptiness where the ghosts of +her dead past paced like caged beasts and the wraith of the day's work +rattled its chains. + +From this, now a state of mental instead of physical exhaustion, she was +seldom roused; and it needed an Edward come to judgment to stir her +sleepy brain into quick passion. Again and again the events of the day +would chase round and round maddeningly with every one of their little +details sharp as crystals. Victoria could almost mechanically repeat +some conversations, all trifling, similar, confined to half a dozen +topics; she could feel, too, but casually as an odalisque, the hot wave +of desire which surrounded her all day, evidenced by eyes that +glittered, fastened on her hands as she served, on her face, the curve +of her neck, her breast, her hips; eyes that devoured and divested her +of her meretricious livery. And, worse perhaps than that big primitive +surge which left her cold but unangered, the futility of others who +bandied with her the daily threadbare joke, who wearied her mind with +questions as to food, compelled her to sympathise with the vagaries of +the weather or were arch, flirtatious and dragged out of her tired mind +the necessary response. Even Butty and the moist warmth of him, even +Stein with his flaccid surly face, were better in their grossness than +these vapid youths, thoughtless, incapable of thought, incapable of +imagining thought, who set her down as an inferior, as a toy for games +that were not even those of men. + +'Beauty' had been a disappointment. She had met him two or three times +since their first evening out. That night Neville, who was a young man +of the world, had pressed his suit so delicately, preserving in so +cat-like a manner his lines of retreat, that she had not been able to +snub him when inclined to. He had a small private income and knew how to +make the best of his good looks by means of gentle manners and smart +clothes. In the insurance office where he was one of those clerks who +have lately evolved from the junior stage, he was nothing in particular +and earned ten pounds a month. He had furnished two rooms on the Chelsea +edge of Kensington, belonged to an inexpensive club in St James's, had +been twice to Brussels and once to Paris; he smoked Turkish cigarettes, +deeming Virginia common; he subscribed to a library in connection with +Mudie's, and knew enough of the middle classes to exaggerate his +impression of them into the smart set. Perhaps he tried a little too +much to be a gentleman. + +Neville Brown was strongly attracted to Victoria. He had vainly tried to +draw her out, and scented the lie in her carefully concocted story. He +knew enough to feel that she was at heart one of those women he met 'in +society,' perhaps a little better. Thus she puzzled him extremely, for +she was not even facile; he could hold her hand; she had not refused him +kisses, but he was afraid to secure his grip on her as a man carrying a +butterfly stirs not a finger for fear it should escape. + +Victoria turned all this over lazily. Her instinct told her what manner +of man was Neville, for he hardly concealed his desires. Indeed their +relations had something of the charm of a masqued ball. She saw well +enough that Neville was not likely to remain content with kisses, and +viewed the inevitable battle with mixed feelings. She liked him; +indeed, in certain moods and when his blue eyes were at their bluest, he +attracted her magnetically. The reminiscent scent of Turkish tobacco on +her lips always drew her back towards him; and yet she was of her class, +shy of love, of all that is illicit because unacknowledged. She knew +very well that Neville would hardly ask her to marry him and that she +would refuse if he did; she knew less well what she would do if he asked +her to love him. When she analysed their relation she always found that +all lay on the lap of the gods. + +In the loneliness of night her thoughts would fasten on him more +intently. He was youth and warmth and friendliness, words for the +silent, a hand to touch; better still he was a figment of Love itself, +with all its tenderness and crudity, its heat, all the quivers of its +body; he was soft scented as the mysterious giver of passionate gifts. +So, when Victoria lay down to try and sleep she rocked in the trough of +the waves of doubt. She could not tell into what hands she would give, +if she gave, her freedom, her independence of thought and deed, all that +security which is dear to the sheltered class from which she came. So, +far into the night she would struggle for sight, tossing from right to +left and left to right, thrusting away and then recalling the brown +face, the blue eyes and their promise. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +THE days rolled on, and on every one, as their scroll revealed itself, +Victoria inscribed doings which never varied. The routine grew heavier +as she found that the events of a Monday were so similar to those of +another Monday that after a month she could not locate happenings. She +no longer read newspapers. There was nothing in them for her; not even +the mock tragedy of the death of an heir presumptive or the truer +grimness of a shipwreck could rouse in her an emotion. She did not care +for adventure: not because she thought that adventure was beneath her +notice, but because it could not affect her. A revolution could have +happened, but she would have served boiled cod and coffees to the +groundlings, wings of chicken to the luxurious, without a thought for +the upheaval, provided it did not flutter the pink curtains beyond which +hummed the world. + +At times, for the holiday season was not over and work was rather slack, +Victoria had time to sit on her 'attendant' chair and to think awhile. +Reading nothing and seeing no one save Beauty and Mrs Smith, she was +thinking once more and thinking dangerously much. Often she would watch +Lottie, negligently serving, returning the ball of futility with a +carelessness that was almost grace, or Cora talking smart slang in young +lady-like tones. + +'To what end?' thought Victoria. 'What are we doing here, wasting our +lives, I suppose, to feed these boys. For what's the good of feeding +them so that they may scrawl figures in books and catch trains and +perhaps one day, unless they've got too old, marry some dull girl and +have more children than they can keep? We girls, we're wasted too.' So +strongly did she feel this that, one day, she prospected the unexplored +ground of Cora's mind. + +'What are you worrying about?' remarked Cora, after Victoria had tried +to inflame her with noble discontent. 'I don't say it's all honey, this +job of ours, but you can have a good time pretty well every night, can't +you, let alone Sundays?' + +'But I don't want a good time,' said Victoria, suddenly inspired. 'I +want to feel I'm alive, do something.' + +'Do what?' said Cora. + +'Live, see things, travel.' + +'Oh, we don't get a chance, of course,' said Cora. 'I'll tell you how it +is, Vic, you want too much. If you want anything in life you've got to +want nothing, then whatever you get good seems jolly good.' + +'You're a pessimist, Cora,' said Victoria smiling. + +'Meaning I see the sad side? Don't you believe it. Every cloud has a +silver lining, you know.' + +'And every silver lining has a cloud,' said Victoria, sadly. + +'Now, Vic,' answered Cora crossly, 'don't you go on like that. You'll +only mope and mope. And what's the good of that, I'd like to know.' + +'Oh, I don't know,' said Victoria, 'I like thinking of things. Sometimes +I wish I could make an end of it. Don't you?' + +'Lord, no,' said Cora, 'I make the best of it. You take my tip and don't +think too much.' + +Victoria bent down in her chair, her chin upon her open palm. Cora +slapped her on the back. + +'Cheer up,' she said, 'we'll soon be dead.' + +Victoria had also attempted Gladys, but had discovered without surprise +that her association with Cora had equalised their minds as well as the +copper of their hair. Lottie never said much when attacked on a general +subject, while Bella never said anything at all. Since the day when +Victoria had attempted to draw her out on the fateful question 'What's +the good of anything?' Bella Prodgitt had looked upon Victoria as a +dangerous revolutionary. At times she would follow the firebrand round +the shop with frightened and admiring eyes. For her Victoria was +something like the brilliant relation of whom the family is proud +without daring to acknowledge him. + +It fell to Gertie's lot to enlighten Victoria further on the current +outlook of life. It came about in this way. One Saturday afternoon +Victoria and Bella were alone on duty upstairs, for the serving of lunch +is then at a low ebb; the City makes a desperate effort to reach the +edge of the world to lunch peacefully and cheaply in its homes and +lodgings. Lottie and Gertie were taking the smoking room below. + +It was nearly three o'clock. At one of the larger tables sat two men, +both almost through with their lunch. The elder of the two, a stout, +cheery-looking man, pushed away his cup, slipped two pennies under the +saucer and, taking up his bill, which Victoria had made out when she +gave him his coffee, went up to the cash desk. The other man, a +pale-faced youth in a blue suit, sat before his half emptied cup. His +hand passed nervously round his chin as he surveyed the room; his was +rather the face of a ferret, with a long upper lip, watery blue eyes, +and a weak chin. His forehead sloped a little and was decorated with +many pimples. + +Victoria passed him quickly, caught up the stout man, entered the cash +desk and took his bill. He turned in the doorway. + +'Well, Vic,' he said, 'when are we going to be married?' + +'29th of February, if it's not a leap year,' she laughed. + +'Too bad, too bad,' said the stout man, looking back from the open door +out of which he had already passed, 'you're the third girl who's said +that to me in a fortnight.' + +'Serve you right,' said Victoria, looking into the mirror opposite, +'you're as bad as Henry the . . . .' + +The door closed. Victoria did not finish her sentence. Her eyes were +glued to the mirror. In it she could only see a young man with a thin +face, decorated with many pimples, hurriedly gulping down the remains of +his cup of coffee. But a second before then she had seen something which +made her fetch a quick breath. The young man had looked round, marked +that her head was turned away; he had thrown a quick glance to the right +and the left, to the counter which Bella had left for a moment to go +into the kitchen; then his hand had shot out and, with a quick movement, +he had seized the stout man's pennies and slipped them under his own +saucer. + +The young man got up. Victoria came up to him and made out his bill. He +took it without a word and paid it at the desk, Victoria taking his +money. + +'Well, he didn't steal it, did he?' said Gertie, when Victoria told her +of the incident. + +'No, not exactly. Unless he stole it from the first man.' + +''Ow could he steal it if he didn't take it?' snapped Gertie. + +'Well, he made believe to tip me when he didn't, and he made believe +that the first man was mean when it was he who was,' said Victoria. 'So +he stole it from the first man to give it me.' + +'Lord, I don't see what yer after,' said Gertie. 'You ain't lost +nothing. And the first fellow he ain't lost nothing either. He'd _left_ +his money.' + +Victoria struggled for a few sentences. The little Cockney brain could +not take in her view. Gertie could only see that Victoria had had +twopence from somebody instead of from somebody else, so what was her +trouble? + +'Tell yer wot,' said Gertie summing up the case, 'seems ter me the +fellow knew wot he was after. Dodgy sort of thing to do. Oughter 'ave +thought of the looking-glass though.' + +Victoria turned away from Gertie's crafty little smile. There was +something in the girl that she could not understand; nor could Gertie +understand her scruple. Gertie helped her a little though to solve the +problem of waste; this girl could hardly be wasted, thought Victoria, +for of what use could she be? She had neither the fine physique that +enables a woman to bear big stupid sons, nor the intelligence which +breeds a cleverer generation; she was sunk in the worship of easy +pleasure, and ever bade the fleeting joy to tarry yet awhile. + +'She isn't alive at all,' said Victoria to Lottie. 'She merely grows +older.' + +'Well, so do we,' replied Lottie in matter of fact tones. + +Victoria was compelled to admit the truth of this, but she did not see +her point clearly enough to state it. Lottie, besides, did nothing to +draw her out. In some ways she was Victoria's oasis in the desert, for +she was simple and gentle, but her status lymphaticus was permanent. She +did not even dream. + +Victoria's psychological enquiries did not tend to make her popular. The +verdict of the 'Rosebud' was that she was a 'rum one,' perhaps a 'deep +one.' The staff were confirmed in their suspicions that she was a 'deep +one' by the obvious attentions that Mr Burton paid her. They were not +prudish, except Bella, who objected to 'goings on'; to be distinguished +by Butty was rather disgusting, but it was flattering too. + +'He could have anybody he liked, the dirty old tyke,' remarked Cora. 'Of +course I'm not taking any,' she added in response to a black look from +Bella Prodgitt. + +Victoria was not 'taking any' either, but she every day found greater +difficulty in repelling him. Burton would stand behind the counter near +the kitchen door during the lunch hour, and whenever Victoria had to +come up to it, he would draw closer, so close that she could see over +the whites of his little eyes a fine web of blood vessels. Every time +she came and went her skirts brushed against his legs; on her neck +sometimes she felt the rush of his bitter scented breath. + +One afternoon, in the change room, as she was dressing alone to leave at +four, the door opened. She had taken off her blouse and turned with a +little cry. Burton had come in suddenly. He walked straight up to her, +his eyes not fixed on hers but on her bare arms. A faintness came over +her. She hardly had the strength to repel him, as without a word he +threw one arm round her waist, seizing her above the elbow with his +other hand. As he tried to draw her towards him she saw a few inches +from her face, just the man's mouth, red and wet, like the sucker of a +leech, the lips parted over the yellow teeth. + +'Let me go!' she hissed, throwing her head back. + +Burton ground her against him, craning his neck to touch her lips with +his. + +'Don't be silly,' he whispered, 'I love you. You be my little girl.' + +'Let me go.' Victoria shook him savagely. + +'None of that.' Burton's eyes were glittering. The corners had pulled +upwards with rage. + +'Let me go, I say.' + +Burton did not answer. For a minute they wrestled. Victoria thrust him +back against the wall. She almost turned sick as his hand, slipping +round her, flattened itself on her bare shoulder. In that moment of +weakness Burton won, and, bending her over, kissed her on the mouth. She +struggled, but Burton had gripped her behind the neck. Three times he +kissed her on the lips. A convulsion of disgust and she lay motionless +in his embrace. There was a step on the stairs. A few seconds later +Burton had slipped out by the side door. + +'What's up?' said Gladys suspiciously. + +Victoria had sunk upon a chair, breathless, dishevelled, her face in her +hands. + +'Nothing . . . I . . . I feel sick,' she faltered. Then she savagely +wiped her mouth with her feather boa. + +Victoria was getting a grip of things. The brute, the currish brute. The +words rang in her head like a chorus. For days, the memory of the affray +did not leave her. She guarded, too, against any recurrence of the +scene. + +Her hatred for Burton seemed to increase the fascination of Neville. She +did not think of them together, but it always seemed to happen that, +immediately after thrusting away the toad-like picture of the chairman, +she thought of the blue-eyed boy. Yet her relations with Neville were +ill-fated. Some days after the foul incident in the change room, Neville +took her for one of his little 'busts.' As it was one of her late nights +he called for her at a quarter past nine. They walked towards the west +and, on the stroke of ten, Neville escorted her into one of the enormous +restaurants that the Refreshment Rendezvous, known to London as the +Ah-Ah, runs as anonymously as it may. + +Victoria was amused. The R. R. was the owner of a palace, built, if not +for the classes, certainly not for the masses. Its facing was of +tortured Portland stone, where Greek columns, Italian, Louis XIV and +Tudor mouldings blended with rich Byzantine gildings and pre-Raphaelite +frescoes. Inside too, it was all plush, mainly red; gold again; palms, +fountains, with goldfish and tin ducks. The restaurant was quite a fair +imitation of the Carlton, but a table d'hote supper was provided for +eighteen pence, including finger bowls in which floated a rose petal. + +Neville and Victoria sat at a small table made for two. She surrendered +her feet to the clasp of his. Around her were about two hundred couples +and a hundred family parties. Most of the young men were elaborately +casual; they wore blue or tweed suits, a few, frock coats marred by +double collars; they had a tendency to loll and to puff the insolent +tobacco smoke of virginias towards the distant roof. Their young ladies +talked a great deal and looked about. There was much wriggling of +chairs, much giggling, much pulling up of long gloves over bare arms. In +a corner, all alone, a young man in well-fitting evening clothes was +consuming in melancholy some chocolate and a sandwich. + +Neville plied Victoria with the major part of a half bottle of claret. + +'Burgundy's the thing,' he said. 'More body in it.' + +'Yes, it is good, isn't it? I mustn't have any more, though.' + +'Oh, you're all right,' said Neville indulgently. 'Let's have some +coffee and a liqueur.' + +'No, no liqueur for me.' + +'Well, coffee then. Here, waiter.' + +Neville struggled for some minutes. He utterly failed to gain the ear of +the waiters. + +'Let's go, Beauty,' said Victoria. 'I don't want any coffee. No, really, +I'd rather not. I can't sleep if I take it.' + +The couple walked up Regent Street, then along Piccadilly. Neville held +Victoria's arm. He had slipped his fingers under the long glove. She did +not withdraw her arm. His touch tickled her senses to quiescence if not +to satisfaction. They turned into the Park. Just behind the statue of +Achilles they stepped upon the grass and at once Neville threw his arm +round Victoria. It was a little chilly; mist was rising from the grass. +The trees stood blackly out of it, as if sawn off a few feet from the +ground. Neville stopped. A little smile was on his lips. + +'Beauty boy,' said Victoria. + +He drew her towards him and kissed her. He kissed her on the forehead, +then on the cheek, for he was a sybarite, in matters of love something +of an artist, just behind the ear, then passionately on the lips. +Victoria closed her eyes and threw one arm round his neck. She felt +exhilarated, as if gently warmed. They walked further westwards, and +with every step the fog thickened. + +'Let's stop, Beauty,' said Victoria, after they had rather suddenly +walked up to a thicket. 'We'll get lost in the wilderness.' + +'And wilderness were paradise enow,' murmured Neville in her ear. + +Victoria did not know the hackneyed line. It sounded beautiful to her. +She laughed nervously and let Neville draw her down by his side on the +grass. + +'Oh, let me go, Beauty,' she whispered. 'Suppose someone should come.' + +Neville did not answer. He had clasped her to him. His lips were more +insistent on hers. She felt his hand on her breast. + +'Oh, no, no, Beauty, don't, please don't,' she said weakly. + +For some minutes she lay passive in his grasp. He had undone the back of +her blouse. His hand, cold and dry, had slipped along her shoulder, +seeking warmth. + +Slowly his clasp grew harder; he used his weight. Victoria bent under +it. Something like faintness came over her. + +'Victoria, Victoria, my darling.' The voice seemed far away. She was +giving way more and more. Not a blade of grass shuddered under its +shroud of mist. From the road came the roar of a motorbus, like a +muffled drum. Then she felt the damp of the grass on her back through +the opening of her blouse. + +A second later she was sitting up. She had thrust Neville away with a +savage push under the chin. He seized her once more. She fought him, +seeing nothing to struggle with but a silent dark shadow. + +'No, Beauty, no, you mustn't,' she panted. + +They were standing then, both of them. + +'Vic, darling, why not?' pleaded Neville gently, still holding her hand. + +'I don't know. Oh, no, really I can't, Beauty.' + +She did not know it, but generations of clean living were fighting +behind her, driving back and crushing out the forces of nature. She did +not know that, like most women, she was not a free being but the +great-granddaughter of a woman whose forbears had taught her that +illegal surrender is evil. + +'I'm sorry, Beauty, . . . it's my fault,' she said. + +'Oh, don't mention it,' said Neville icily, dropping her hand. 'You're +playing with me, that's all.' + +'I'm not,' said Victoria, tears of excitement in her eyes. 'Oh, Beauty, +don't you understand. We women, we can't do what we like. It's so hard. +We're poor, and life is so dull and we wish we were dead. And then a man +comes like you and the only thing he can offer, we mustn't take it.' + +'But why, why?' asked Beauty. + +'I don't know,' said Victoria. 'We mustn't. At any rate I mustn't. My +freedom is all I've got and I can't give it up to you like that. I like +you, you know that, don't you, Beauty?' + +Neville did not answer. + +'I do, Beauty. But I can't, don't you see. If I were a rich woman it +would be different. I'd owe nobody anything. But I'm poor; it'd pull me +down and . . . when a woman's down, men either kick or kiss her.' + +Neville shrugged his shoulders. + +'Let's go,' he said. + +Silently, side by side, they walked out of the park. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +OCTOBER was dying, its russet tints slowly merging into grey. Thin +mists, laden with fine specks of soot, had penetrated into the +'Rosebud.' Victoria, in her black business dress, under which she now +had to wear a vest which rather killed the tip-drawing power of her +openwork blouse, was setting her tables, quickly crossing red cloths +over white, polishing the glasses, arranging knives and forks in +artistic if inconvenient positions. It was ten o'clock, but business had +not begun, neither Mr Stein nor Butty having arrived. + +'Cold, ain't it?' remarked Gertie. + +'Might be colder,' said Bella Prodgitt. + +Victoria came towards them, carrying a trayful of cruets. + +''Ow's Beauty?' asked Gertie. + +Victoria passed by without a word. This romance had not added to the +popularity of the chairman's favourite. Cora and Gladys were busy +dusting the counter and polishing the urns. Lottie, in front of a wall +glass, was putting the finishing touches to the set of her cap. The door +opened to let in Mr Stein, strapped tight in his frock coat, his top hat +set far back on his bullet head. He glared for a moment at the staff in +general, then without a word took a letter addressed to him from a rack +bearing several addressed to customers, and passed into the cash desk. +The girls resumed their polishing more busily. Quickly the night +wrappings fell from the chandeliers; the rosebud baskets were teased +into shape; the tables, loaded swiftly with their sets, grew more +becoming. Victoria, passing from table to table set on each a small vase +full of chrysanthemums. + +'I say, Gladys, look at Stein,' whispered Cora to her neighbour. Gladys +straightened herself from under the counter and followed the direction +of Cora's finger. + +'Lord,' she said, 'what's up?' + +Bella's attention was attracted. She too was interested in her bovine +way. Mr Stein's attitude was certainly unusual. He held a sheet of paper +in one hand, his other hand clutching at his cheek so hard as to make +one of his eyes protrude. Both his eyes were fixed on the sheet of +paper, incredulous and horror-stricken. + +'I say, Vic, what's the matter with the little swine?' suddenly said +Lottie, who had at length noticed him. + +Victoria looked. Stein had not moved. For some seconds all the girls +gazed spellbound at the frozen figure in the cashbox. The silence of +tragedy was on them, a silence which arrests gesture and causes hearts +to beat. + +'Lord, I can't stick this,' whispered Cora, 'there's something wrong.' +Quickly diving under the counter flap she ran towards the pay box where +Stein still sat unmoving, as if petrified. The little group of girls +watched her. Bella's stertorous breathing was plainly heard. + +Cora opened the glass door and seized Stein by the arm. + +'What's the matter, Mr Stein?' she said excitedly, 'are you feeling +queer?' + +Stein started like a somnambulist suddenly awakened and looked at her +stupidly, then at the motionless girls in the shop. + +'Nein, nein, lassen sie doch,' he muttered. + +'Mr Stein, Mr Stein,' half-screamed Cora. + +'Oh, get out, I'm all right, but the game's up. He's gone. The game's up +I tell up. The game's up.' + +Cora looked at him round-eyed. Mr Stein's idioms frightened her almost +more than his German. + +Stein was babbling, speaking louder and louder. + +'Gone away, Burton. Bankrupt and got all the cash. . . . See? You get +the sack. Starve. So do I and my vife. . . . Ach, ach, ach, ach. Mein +Gott, Mein Gott, was solls. . . .' + +Gertie watched from the counter with a heightened colour. Lottie and +Victoria, side by side, had not moved. A curious chill had seized +Victoria, stiffening her wrists and knees. Stein was talking quicker and +quicker, with a voice that was not his. + +'Ach, the damned scoundrel . . . the schweinehund . . . he knew the +business was going to the dogs, ach, schweinehund, schweinehund. . . .' +He paused. Less savage his thoughts turned to his losses. 'Two hundred +shares he sold me. . . . I paid a premium . . . they vas to go to four +. . . ach, ach, ach. . . . I'm in the cart.' + +Gertie sniggered gently. The idiom had swamped the tragedy. Stein looked +round at the sound. His face had gone leaden; his greasy plastered hair +was all awry. + +'Vat you laughing at, gn?' he asked savagely, suddenly resuming his +managerial tone. + +'Take it we're bust, ain't we?' said Gertie, stepping forward jauntily. + +Stein lifted, then dropped one hand. + +'Yes,' he said, 'bust.' + +'Thank you for a week's wages, Mr Stein,' said Gertie, 'and I'll push +off, if yer don't mind.' + +Stein laughed harshly. With a theatrical movement he seized the cash +drawer by the handle, drew it out and flung it on the floor. It was +empty. + +'Oh, that's 'ow it is,' said Gertie. 'You're a fine gentleman, I don't +think. Bloomin' lot of skunks. What price that, mate?' she screamed +addressing Bella, who still sat in her chair, her cheeks rising and +falling like the sides of a cuttlefish. ''Ere's a fine go. Fellers comes +along and tikes in poor girls like me and you and steals the bread outer +their mouths. I'll 'ave yer run in, yer bloody foreigner.' She waved her +fist in the man's face. 'For two pins,' she screamed, 'I'd smash yer +fice, I'd. . . .' + +'Chuck it, Gertie,' said Lottie, suddenly taking her by the arm, 'don't +you see he's got nothing to do with it?' + +'Oh, indeed, Miss Mealymouth,' sneered Gertie, 'what I want is my money +. . . .' + +'Leave him alone, Gertie,' said Victoria, 'you can't kick a man when +he's down.' + +Gertie looked as if she were about to explode. Then the problem became +too big for her. In her little Cockney brain the question was insolubly +revolving: 'Can you kick a man when he's down. . .? Can you kick. . .?' + +Mr Stein passed his hand over his forehead. He was pulling himself +together. + +'Close de door, Cora,' he commanded. 'Now then, the company's bankrupt, +there's nothing in the cashbox. You get the push. . . . I get the push.' +His voice broke slightly. His face twitched. 'You can go. Get another +job.' He looked at Gertie. + +'Put down your address. I give it to the police. You get something for +wages.' He slowly turned away and sat down on a chair, his eyes fixed on +the wall. + +There was a repressed hubbub of talking. Then Gertie made the first move +and went up to the change room. She came back a minute or two later in +her long coat and large hat, carrying a parcel which none noticed as +being rather large for a comb. It contained the company's cap and apron +which, thought she, she might as well save from the wreck. + +Gertie shook hands with Cora. 'See yer ter-night,' she said airily, +'same old place; 'bye Miss Prodgitt, 'ope "Force" 'll lift you out of +this.' She shook hands with Victoria, a trifle coldly, kissed Lottie, +threw one last malevolent look at Stein's back. The door closed behind +her. She had passed out of the backwater into the main stream. + +Lottie, a little self consciously, pulled down the pink blinds, in token +of mourning. The 'Rosebud' hung broken on its stalk. Then, silently, she +went up into the change room, followed by Cora; a pace behind came +Victoria, all heavy with gloom. They dressed silently. Cora, without a +word, kissed them both, collected her small possessions into a reticule, +then shook hands with both and kissed them again. The door closed behind +her. When Lottie and Victoria went down into the shop, Cora also had +passed into the main stream. Gladys had gone with her. + +The two girls hesitated for a moment as to whether they should speak to +Stein. It was almost dark, for the October light was too weak to filter +through the thick pink blinds. Lottie went up to the dark figure. + +'Cheer up,' she said kindly, 'it's a long lane that has no turning.' + +Stein looked up uncomprehendingly, then sank his head into his hands. + +As Lottie and Victoria turned once more, the front door open behind +them, all they saw was Bella Prodgitt, lymphatic as ever, motionless on +her chair, like a watcher over the figure of the man silently mourning +his last hopes. + +As they passed into the street the fresh air quickened by the coming +cold of winter, stung their blood to action. The autumn sunlight, pale +like the faded gold of hair that age has silvered, threw faint shadows +on the dry white pavements where little whirlwinds of dust chased and +figured like swallows on the wing. + +Lottie and Victoria walked quickly down the city streets. It was +half-past eleven, a time when, the rush of the morning over, comparative +emptiness awaits the coming of the midday crowds; every minute they were +stopped by the blocks of drays and carriages which come in greater +numbers in the road as men grow fewer on the pavements. The unaccustomed +liberty of the hour did not strike them; for depression, a sense of +impotence before fatality, was upon them. Indeed, they did not pause +until they reached on the Embankment the spot where the two beautiful +youths prepare to fasten on one another their grip of bronze. They sat +down upon a seat and for a while remained silent. + +'What are you going to do? Lottie?' asked Victoria. + +'Look out for another job, of course,' said Lottie. + +'In the same line?' said Victoria. + +'I'll try that first,' replied Lottie, 'but you know I'm not particular. +There's all sorts of shops. Nice soft little jobs at photographers, and +manicuring showrooms, I don't mind.' + +Victoria, with the leaden weight of former days pressing on her, envied +Lottie's calm optimism. She seemed so capable. But so far as she herself +was concerned, she did not feel sure that the 'other job' would so +easily be found. Indeed the memory of her desperate hunt for work +wrapped itself round her, cold as a shroud. + +'But what if you can't get one,' she faltered. + +'Oh, that'll be all right,' said Lottie, airily. 'I can live with my +married sister for a bit, but I'll find a job somehow. That doesn't +worry me. What are you thinking of?' + +'I don't know,' said Victoria slowly, 'I must look out I suppose.' + +'Hard up?' asked Lottie. + +'No, not exactly,' said Victoria. 'I'm not rolling in wealth, you know, +but I can manage.' + +'Well, don't you go and get stranded or anything,' said Lottie. 'It +doesn't do to be proud. It's not much I can do, but anyhow you let me +know if--' She paused. Victoria put her hand on hers. + +'You're a bit of all right, Lottie,' she said softly, her feelings +forming naturally into the language of her adopted class. For a few +minutes the girls sat hand in hand. + +'Well, I'd better be going,' said Lottie. 'I'm going to my married +sister at Highgate first. Time enough to look about this afternoon.' + +The two girls exchanged addresses. Victoria watched her friend's slim +figure grow smaller and slimmer under her crown of pale hair, then +almost fade away, merge into men and women and suddenly vanish at a +turn, swallowed up. With a little shiver she got up and walked away +quickly towards the west. She was lonely suddenly, horribly so. One by +one, all the links of her worldly chain had snapped. Burton, the sensual +brute, was gone; Stein was perhaps sitting still numb and silent in the +darkened shop; Gertie, flippant and sharp, had sailed forth on life's +ocean, there to be tossed like a cork and like a cork to swim; now +Lottie was gone, cool and confident, to dangers underrated and unknown. +She stood alone. + +As she reached Westminster Bridge a strange sense of familiarity +overwhelmed her. A well-known figure was there and it was horribly +symbolical. It was the old vagrant of bygone days, sitting propped up +against the parapet, clad in his filthy rags. From his short clay pipe, +at long intervals, he puffed wreaths of smoke into the blue air. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +THE russet of October had turned into the bleak darkness of December. +The threat of winter was in the air; it hissed and sizzled in the bare +branches as they bent in the cold wind, shaking quivering drops of water +broadcast as if sowing the seeds of pain. Victoria stopped for a moment +on the threshold of the house in Star Street, looked up and down the +road. It was black and sodden with wet; the pavement was greasy and +glistening, flecked with cabbage stalks and orange peel. Then she looked +across at the small shop where, though it was Sunday, a tailor sat +cross-legged almost on a level with the street, painfully collecting +with weary eyes the avaricious light. His back was bowed with habit; +that and his bandy legs told of his life and revealed his being. In the +street, when he had time to walk there, boys mocked his shuffling gate, +thus paying popular tribute to the marks of honest toil. + +Victoria stepped down to the pavement. A dragging sensation made her +look at her right boot. The sole was parting from the upper, stitch by +stitch. With something that was hardly a sigh Victoria put her foot down +again and slowly walked away. She turned into Edgware Road, followed it +northwards for a while, then doubled sharply back into Praed Street +where she lingered awhile before an old curiosity shop. She looked +between two prints into the shop where, in the darkness, she could see +nothing. Yet she looked at nothingness for quite a long while. Then, +listlessly, she followed the street, turned back through a square and +stopped before a tiny chapel almost at the end of Star Street. The deity +that follows with passionless eyes the wanderer in mean streets knew +from her course that this woman had no errand; without emotion the Being +snipped a few minutes from her earthly span. + +By the side of the chapel sat an aged woman smothered in rags so many +and so thick that she was passing well clad. She was hunched up on a +camp stool, all string and bits of firewood. A small stove carrying an +iron tray told that her trade was selling roasted chestnuts; nothing +moved in the group; the old woman's face was brown and cracked as her +own chestnuts and there was less life in her than in the warm scent of +the roasting fruits which gratefully filled Victoria's nostrils. + +The eight weeks which now separated Victoria from the old days at the +'Rosebud' had driven deeper yet into her soul her unimportance. She was +powerless before the world; indeed, when she thought of it at all, she +no longer likened herself to a cork tossed in the storm, but to a pebble +sunken and motionless in the bed of a flowing river. + +Upon the day which followed her sudden uprooting Victoria had bent her +back to the task of finding work. She had known once more the despairing +search through the advertisement columns of the _Daily Telegraph_, the +skilful winnowing of chaff from wheat, sudden and then baffled hopes. +Her new professional sense had taken her to the shops where young women +are wanted to enhance the attraction of coffee and cigarettes. But the +bankruptcy of the 'Rosebud' was not an isolated case. The dishonesty of +Burton was not its cause but its consequence; the ship was sinking under +his feet when he deserted it after loading himself with such booty as he +could carry. Victoria had discovered grimly that the first result of a +commercial crisis is the submerging of those whose labours create a +commercial boom. Within a week of the 'Rosebud' disaster the eleven City +cafes of the 'Lethe, Ltd.' had closed their doors. Two small failures in +the West End were followed by a greater crash. The 'People's +Restaurants, Ltd.', eaten out by the thousand depots of the 'Refreshment +Rendezvous, Ltd.,' had filed a voluntary petition for liquidation; the +official liquidator had at once inaugurated a policy of 'retrenchment +and sound business management,' and, as a beginning, closed two hundred +shops in the City and West End. He proposed to exploit the suburbs, and, +after a triumphant amalgamation with the victorious 'Refreshment +Rendezvous,' to retire from law into peaceful directorships and there +collect innumerable guineas. + +Victoria had followed the convulsion with passionate interest. For a +week the restaurant slump had been the fashion. The manager of every +surviving cafe in London had given it as his deliberate opinion that +trade would be all the better for it. The financial papers published +grave warnings as to the dangers of the restaurant business, to which +the Stock Exchange promptly responded by marking up the prices of the +survivors' shares. The Socialist papers had eloquently pleaded for +government assistance for the two thousand odd displaced girls; a +Cabinet Minister had marred his parliamentary reputation by endeavouring +to satisfy one wing of his party that the tearoom at South Kensington +Museum was not a Socialistic venture and the other wing that it was an +institution leading up to State ownership of the trade. A girl +discharged from the 'Lethe' had earned five guineas by writing a +thousand words in a hated but largely read daily paper. The interest had +been kept up by the rescue of a P.R. girl who had jumped off Waterloo +Bridge. Another P.R. girl, fired by example, had been more successful +in the Lea. This valuable advertisement enabled the Relief Fund to +distribute five shillings a head to many young persons who had been +waitresses at some time or another; there were rumours of a knighthood +for its energetic promoter. + +It was in the midst of this welter that Victoria had found herself cast, +with her newly acquired experience a drug in the market, and all the +world inclined to look upon her as a kind of adventuress. Her employer's +failure was in a sense her failure, and she was handy to blame. For +three weeks she had doggedly continued her search for work, applying +first of all in the smart tea-rooms of the West, and every day she +became more accustomed to being turned away. Her soul hardened to +rebuffs as that of a beggar who learns to bear stoically the denial of +alms. After vainly trying the best Victoria had tried the worst, but +everywhere the story was the same. Every small restaurant keeper was +drawing his horns in, feverishly casting up trial balances; some of them +in their panic had damaged their credit by trying to arrange with their +banks for overdrafts they would never need. The slump was such that they +did not believe that the public would continue to eat and drink; they +retrenched employees instead of trying to carve success out of other +men's disasters. + +Victoria, her teeth set, had faced the storm. She now explored districts +and streets systematically, almost house by house. And when her spirit +broke at the end of the week, as her perpetual walks, the buffeting of +rain and wind soiled her clothing, broke breaches into her boots, +chapped her hands as glove seams gave way, the only thing that could +brace her up was the shrinkage of her hoard by a sovereign. She placed +the coin on the mantlepiece after counting the remainder. Monday morning +saw it reduced to eleven shillings and sixpence. When the crisis came +she had taken in sail by exchanging into the second floor back, then +fortunately vacant, thus saving three shillings in rent. + +The sight of her melting capital was a horror which she faced only once +a week, for at other times she thrust the thought away, but it intruded +every time with greater insistence. Untrained still in economy she found +it impossible to reduce her expenditure below a pound. After paying off +the mortgage of eight and sixpence for her room and breakfast, she had +to set aside three shillings for fares, for she dared not wade overmuch +in the December mud. The manageress of a cafe lost in Marylebone had +heard her kindly, but had looked at her boots plastered with mud, then +at the dirty fringes of her petticoats and said, regretfully almost, +that she would not do. That day had cost Victoria a pound almost +wrenched out of the money drawer. But this wardrobe though an asset, was +an incubus, and Victoria at times often hated it, for it cost so much in +omnibus fares that she paid for it every day in food stolen from her +body. + +By the end of the seventh week Victoria had reduced her hoard to four +pounds. She now applied for work like an automaton, often going twice to +the same shop without realising it, at other times sitting for hours on +a park seat until the drizzle oozed from her hair into her neck. At the +end of the seventh week she had so lost consciousness of the world that +she walked all through the Sunday gloom without food. Then, at eight +o'clock, awakening suddenly to her need, she gorged herself with suet +pudding at an eating house in the Edgware Road, came back to Star Street +and fell into a heavy sleep. + +About four she was aroused by horrible sickness which left her weak, +every muscle relaxed and every nerve strained to breaking point. Shapes +blacker than the night floated before her eyes; every passing milk +cart rattled savagely through her beating temples; twitchings at her +ankles and wrists, and the hurried beat of her heart shook the whole of +her body. She almost writhed on her bed, up and down, as if forcibly +thrown or goaded. + +As the December dawn struggled through her window, diffusing over the +white wall the light of the condemned cell, she could bear it no more. +She got up, washed horrible bitterness from her mouth, clots from her +eyes. Then, swaying with weariness and all her pulses beating, she +strayed into the street, unseeing, her boots unbuttoned, into the daily +struggle. + +As the blind man unguided, or the poor on the march, she went into the +East, now palely glowing over the chimney pots. She did not feel her +weariness. Her feet did not belong to her; she felt as if her whole body +were one gigantic wound vaguely aching under the chloroform. She walked +without intention, and as towards no goal. At Oxford Circus she stopped. +Her eye had unconsciously been arrested by the posters which the +newsvendor was deftly glueing down on the pavement. The crude colours of +the posters, red, green, yellow, shocked her sluggish mind into action. +One spoke of a great reverse in Nubia; another repeated the information +and added a football cup draw. A third poster, blazing red, struck such +a blow at Victoria that, for a wild moment, her heart seemed to stop. It +merely bore the words: + + P. R. + REOPENS + +Victoria read the two lines five or six times, first dully, then in a +whirl of emotion. Her blood seemed to go hot and tingle; the twitchings +of her wrists and ankles grew insistent. With her heart pounding with +excitement she asked for the paper in a choked voice, refusing the +halfpenny change. Backing a step or two she opened the paper. A sheet +dropped into the mud. + +The newsvendor, grizzled and sunburnt right into the wrinkles, picked up +the sheet and looked at her wonderingly. From the other side a corpulent +policeman watched her with faint interest, reading her like a book. He +did not need to be told that Victoria was out of work; her face showed +that hope had come into her life. + +Victoria read every detail greedily. The enterprising liquidator had +carried through the amalgamation of the People's Restaurants and the +Refreshment Rendezvous, and created the People's Refreshment Rendezvous. +He had done this so quietly and suddenly that the effect was a +thunderbolt. He had forestalled the decision of the Court, so that +agreements had been ready and signed on the Saturday evening, while +leave had obscurely been granted on the Friday. Being master of the +situation the liquidator was re-opening fifty-five of the two hundred +closed shops. The paper announced his boast that 'by ten o'clock on +Monday morning fifty-five P. R. R.'s would be flying the flag of the +scone and cross buns.' The paper also hailed this pronouncement as +Napoleonic. + +Victoria feverishly read the list of the rescued depots. They were +mainly in Oxford Street and Bloomsbury. Indeed, one of them was in +Princes Street. A flood of clarity seemed to come over Victoria's brain. +It was impossible for the P. R. or P. R. R. or whatever it had become, +to have secured a staff on the Sunday. No doubt they proposed to engage +it on the spot and to rush the organisation into working order so as to +capture at the outset the _succes de curiosite_ which every London daily +was beating up in the breast of a million idle men and women. Clutching +the paper in her hand she ran across Oxford Street almost under the +wheels of a motor lorry. She turned into Princes Street, and hurled +herself against the familiar door, clutching at the handle. + +There was another girl leaning against the door. She was tall and slim. +Her fair hair went to sandiness. Her black coat was dusty and stained. +Her large blue eyes started from her colourless face, pale lipped, +hollow under the cheekbones. Victoria recovered her breath and put her +hair straight feverishly. A short dark girl joined the group, pressing +her body close against them. Then two more. Then, one by one, half a +dozen. Victoria discovered that her boots were undone, and bent down to +do them up with a hairpin. As she struggled with numb fingers her rivals +pressed upon her with silent hostility. As she straightened herself, the +throng suddenly thrust her away from the door. Victoria recovered +herself and drove against them gritting her teeth. The fair girl was +ground against her; but Victoria, full of her pain and bread lust, +thrust her elbow twice into the girl's breast. She felt something like +the rage of battle upon her and its joy as the bone entered the soft +flesh like a weapon. + +'Now then, steady girls,' said the voice of the policeman, faint like a +dream voice. + +'Blime, ain't they a 'ot lot!' said another dream voice, a loafer's. + +The crowd once more became orderly. Though quite a hundred girls had now +collected hardly any spoke. In every face there was tenseness, though +the front ranks showed most ferocity in their eyes and the late-comers +most weariness. + +'Where you shovin'?' asked a sulky voice. + +There was a mutter that might have been a curse. Then silence once more; +and the girls fiercely watched for their bread, looking right and left +like suspicious dogs. A spruce young warehouseman slowly reviewed the +girls and allowed his eyes to linger approvingly on one or two. He +winked approvingly at the fair girl but she did not respond. She stood +flat against the door, every inch of her body spread so as to occupy as +much space as she could. + +Then, half-past seven, a young man and a middle-aged woman shouldering +through the wedged mass, the fierce rush into the shop and there the +gasp behind closed doors among the other winners, hatless, their clothes +torn, their bodices ripped open to the stays, one with her hair down and +her neck marked here and there by bleeding scratches. Then, after the +turmoil of the day among the strangeness, without rest or food, to make +holiday for the Londoners, a night heavy as lead and a week every day +more mechanical, Victoria had returned to the treadmill and, within a +week, knew it. + +. . . . The clock struck five. Victoria awoke from her dream epic. She +had won her battle and sailed into harbour. Its waters were already as +horribly still as those of a stagnant pool. The old chestnut vendor sat +motionless on her seat of firewood and string. Not a thought chased over +her gnarled brown face. From the stove came the faint pungent smell of +the charring peel. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +A FORTNIGHT later Victoria had returned to the City. Most of the old +P.R's had reopened, after passing under the yoke. A coat of paint had +transformed them into P.R.R's. In fact their extinction was complete; +nothing was left of them but the P. and the chairmanship of the +amalgamated company, for their chairman was an earl and part of the +goodwill. The P.R. had apparently been bought up at a fair rate. Its +shares having fallen to sixpence, most of the shareholders had lost +large sums; whereas the directors and their friends, displaying the +acumen that is sometimes found among directors, had quietly bought the +shares up by the thousand and by putting them into the new company had +realised large profits. As the failure had happened during the old year +and most of the shops had been reopened in the new, it was quite clear +that the catering trade was expanding. It was a startling instance of +commercial progress. + +Within a week the P.R.R. decided to start once more in the City. +Victoria, by her own request, was transferred to Moorgate Street. She +did not like the neighbourhood of Oxford Circus; it was unfamiliar +without being stimulating. She objected too to serving women. If she +must serve at all she preferred serving men. She did not worship men; +indeed the impression they had left on her was rather unpleasant. The +subalterns at the mess were dull, Mr Parker a stick, Bobby was Bobby, +Burton a cur, Stein a lout, Beauty, well perhaps Beauty was a little +better and Cairns worthy of a kind thought; but all the others, boys and +half men with their futile talk, their slang cribbed from the music +halls, their affectations, their loud ties, were nothing but the ballast +on which the world has founded its permanent way. Yet a mysterious sex +instinct made Victoria prefer even them to the young ladies who +frequented Princes Street. It is better to be made love to insolently +than to be ordered about. + +The Moorgate P.R.R. was one of the curious crosses between the ice cream +shop and the chop house where thirty bob a week snatches a sixpenny +lunch. It was full of magnificent indifference. You could bang your +twopence for a small coffee, or luxuriate in steak and kidney pie, +boiled (_i.e._ potatoes), stewed prunes and cream, and be served with +the difference of interest that the recording angel may make between No. +1,000,000 and 1,000,001. You were seldom looked at, and, if looked at, +forgotten. It was as blatant as the 'Rosebud' had been discreet. Painted +pale blue, it flaunted a plate glass window full of cakes, packets of +tea, pounds of chocolate, jars of sweets; some imitation chops garnished +with imitation parsley, and a chafing dish full of stage eggs and bacon +held out the promise of strong meats. Enormous urns, polished like +silver, could be seen from the outside emitting clouds of steam; under +the chafing dish too came up vaporous jets. + +Inside, the P.R.R. recalled the wilderness and the animation of a bank. +To the blue and red tesselated floor were fastened many marble-topped +tables squeezed so close together that when a customer rose to leave he +created an eddy among his disturbed fellows. The floor was swamped with +chairs which, during the lunch hour, dismally grated on the tiled floor. +It was clean; for, after every burst of feeding, the appointed scavenger +swept the fallen crusts, fragments of pudding, cigarette ends and +banana skins into a large bin. This bin was periodically emptied and +the contents sent to the East End, whether to be destroyed or to be used +for philanthropic purposes is not known. + +The girls were trained to quick service here. Victoria found no +difficulty in acquiring the P.R.R. swing, for she had not to memorise +the variety of dishes which the more fastidious Rosebudders demanded. +Her mental load seldom went beyond small teas, a coffee or two, half a +veal and ham pie, sandwiches and porridge. There was no considering the +bill of fare. It stood on every table, immutable as a constitution and +as dull. At the P.R.R., a man absorbed a maximum of stodgy food, paid +his minimum of cash and vanished into an office to pour out the +resultant energy for thirty bob a week. As there were no tips Victoria +soon learned that courtesy was wasted, so wasted none. + +The P.R.R. did not treat its girls badly--in this sense, that it treated +them no worse than its rivals did theirs; it practised commercial +morality. Victoria received eight shillings a week, to which good +Samaritans added an average of fourteen pence, dropped anonymously into +the unobtrusive box near the cash desk. At the 'Rosebud' tips averaged +fourteen shillings a week, but then they were given publicly. + +Besides her wages she was given all her meals, on a scale suited to +girls who waited on Mr Thirty Bob a Week. Her breakfast was tea, bread +and margarine; her dinner, cold pudding or pie, according to the +unpopularity of the dishes among the customers, washed down once more +with tea and sometimes followed by stewed fruit if the quantity that +remained made it clear that some would be left over. The day ended with +supper, tea, bread and cheese--a variety of Cheddar which the company +bought by the ton on account of its peculiar capacity for swelling and +producing a very tolerable substitute for repletion. + +As Victoria was now paid less than half her former wages she was +expected to work longer hours. The P. R. R. demanded faithful service +from half-past eight in the morning to nine in the evening, except on +one day when freedom was earned at six. Victoria was driven to +generalise a little about this; it struck her as peculiar that an +increase of work should synchronise with a decrease of pay, but the +early steps in any education always fill the pupil with wonderment. + +Yet she did not repine, for she remembered too well the black days of +the old year when the wolf slunk round the house, coming every day +nearer to her door. She had beaten him off and there still was joy in +the thought of that victory. Her frame of mind was quiescent, tempered +still with a feeling of relief. This she shared with her companions, for +every one of them had known such straits as hers and worse. They had +come back to the P. R. R. filled with exceeding joy; craving bread they +had been given buns. + +The Moorgate P. R. R. was a big depot. It boasted, in addition to the +ground floor, two smoking rooms, one on the first floor and one +underground, as well as a ladies' dining-room on the second floor. It +had a staff of twenty waitresses, six of whom were stationed in the +underground smoking-room; Victoria was one of these. A virile manageress +dominated them and drove with splendid efficiency a concealed kitchen +team of four who sweated in the midst of steam in an underground +stokehole. + +Victoria's companions were all old P. R's except Betty. They all had +anything between two and five years' service behind them. Nelly, a big +raw boned country girl, was still assertive and loud; she had good looks +of the kind that last up to thirty, made up of fine coarse healthy +flesh lines, tending to redden at the nostrils and at the ears; her +hands were shapely still, though reddened and thickened by swabbing +floors and tables. Maud was a poor little thing, small boned with a +flaccid covering of white flesh, inclined to quiver a little when she +felt unhappy; her eyes were undecidedly green, her hair carroty in the +extreme. She had a trick of drawing down the corners of her mouth which +made her look pathetic. Amy and Jenny were both short and darkish, +inclined to be thin, always a little tired, always willing, always in a +state neither happy nor unhappy. Both had nearly five years' experience +and could look forward to another fifteen or so. They had no +assertiveness, so could not aspire to a managerial position, such as +might eventually fall to the share of Nelly. + +Betty was an exception. She had not acquired the P. R. R. manner and +probably never would. The daughter of a small draper at Horley, she had +lived through a happy childhood, played in the fields, been to a little +private school. Her father had strained every nerve to face on the one +hand the competition of the London stores extending octopus-like into +the far suburbs, on the other that of the pedlars. Caught between the +aristocracy and the democracy of commerce he had slowly been ground +down. When Betty was seventeen he collapsed through worry and overwork. +His wife attempted to carry on the business after his death, bravely +facing the enemy, discharging assistants, keeping the books, impressing +Betty to dress the window, then to clean the shop. But the pressure had +become too great, and on the day when the mortgagees foreclosed she +died. Nothing was left for Betty except the clothes she stood in. Some +poor relatives in London induced her to join the 'Lethe.' That was three +years ago and now she was twenty. + +Betty was the tall slim girl into whose breast Victoria had thrust her +elbow when they were fighting for bread among the crowd which surged +round the door of the Princes Street depot. She was pretty, perhaps a +little too delicately so. Her sandy hair and wide open china blue eyes +made one think of a doll; but the impression disappeared when one looked +at her long limbs, her slightly sunken cheeks. She had a sweet +disposition, so gentle that, though she was a favourite, her fellows +despised her a little and were inclined to call her 'poor Betty.' She +was nearly always tired; when she was well she was full of simple and +honest merriment. She would laugh then if a motor bus skidded or if she +saw a Highlander in a kilt. She had just been shifted to the Moorgate +Street P.R.R. From the first the two girls had made friends and Victoria +was deeply glad to meet her again. The depth of that gladness is only +known to those who have lived alone in a hostile world. + +'Betty,' said Victoria the first morning, 'there's something I want to +say. I've had it on my mind. Do you remember the first time we met +outside the old P.R. in Princes Street?' + +'Don't I?' said Betty. 'We had a rough time, didn't we?' + +'We had. And, Betty, perhaps you remember . . . I hit you in the chest. +I've thought of it so often . . . and you don't know how sorry I am when +I think of it.' + +'Oh, I didn't mind,' said Betty, a blush rising to her forehead, 'I +understand. I was about starving, you know, I thought you were the +same.' + +'No, not starving exactly,' said Victoria, 'mad rather, terrified, like +a sheep which the dog's driving. But I beg your pardon, Betty, I +oughtn't to have done it.' + +Betty put her hand gently on her companion's. + +'I understand, Vic,' she said, 'it's all over now; we're friends, aren't +we?' + +Victoria returned the pressure. That day established a tender link +between these two. Sometimes, in the slack of three o'clock, they would +sit side by side for a moment, their shoulders touching. When they met +between the tables, running, their foreheads beaded with sweat, they +exchanged a smile. + +The customers at the P.R.R. were so many that Victoria could hardly +retain an impression of them. A few were curious though, in the sense +that they were typical. One corner of the room was occupied during the +lunch hour by a small group of chess players; five of the six boards +were regularly captured by them. They sat there in couples, their eyes +glued to the board, allowing the grease to cake slowly on their food; +from time to time one would swallow a mouthful, sometimes dropping +morsels on the table. These he would brush away dreamily, his thoughts +far away, two or three moves ahead. Round each table sat a little group +of spectators who now and then shifted their plates and cups from table +to table and watched the games. At times, when a game ended, a table was +involved in a fierce discussion: gambits, Morphy's classical games, were +thrown about. On the other side of the room the young domino-players +noisily played matador, fives and threes, or plain matching, would look +round and mutter a gibe at the enthusiasts. + +Others were more personal. One, a repulsive individual, Greek or +Levantine, patronised one of Betty's tables every day. He was fat, +yellow and loud; over his invariably dirty hands drooped invariably +dirty cuffs; on one finger he wore a large diamond ring. + +'It makes me sick sometimes,' said Betty to Victoria, 'you know he eats +with both hands and drops his food; he snuffles too, as he eats, like a +pig.' + +Another was an old man with a beautiful thin brown face and white hair. +He sat at a very small table, so small that he was usually alone. Every +day he ordered dry toast, a glass of milk and some stewed fruit. He +never read or smoked, nor did he raise his eyes from the table. An +ancient bookkeeper perhaps, he lived on some principle. + +Most of the P. R. R. types were scheduled however. They were mainly +young men or boys between fifteen and twenty. All were clad in blue or +dark suits, wore flannel shirts, dickeys and no cuffs. They would +congregate in noisy groups, talk with furious energy, and smoke Virginia +cigarettes with an air of daredevilry. Now and then one of these would +be sitting alone, reading unexpected papers such as the _Times_, +borrowed from the office. Spasmodically, too, one would be seen +improving his mind. Victoria, within six months, noticed three starts on +the part of one of the boys; French, book-keeping and electrical +engineering. + +Many were older than these. There were little groups of young men rather +rakishly but shabbily dressed; often they wore a flower in their +buttonhole. The old men were more pathetic; their faces were +expressionless; they came to eat, not to feast. + +Victoria and Betty had many conversations about the customers. Every day +Victoria felt her faculty of wonder increase; she was vaguely conscious +already that men had a tendency to revert to types, but she did not +realise the influence the conditions of their lives had upon them. + +'It's curious,' she once said to Betty, as they left the depot together, +'they're so much alike.' + +'I suppose they are,' said Betty. 'I wonder why?' + +'I'm not sure,' said Victoria, 'but it seems to me somehow that they +must be born different but that they become alike because they do the +same kind of work.' + +'It's rather awful, isn't it,' said Betty. + +'Awful? Well, I suppose it is. Think of it, Betty. There's old Dry +Toast, for instance. I'm sure he's been doing whatever he does do for +thirty or forty years.' + +'And'll go on doing it till he dies,' murmured Betty. + +'Or goes into the workhouse,' added Victoria. A sudden and horrible +lucidity had come over her. 'Yes, Betty, that's what it means. The boys +are going to be like the old man; we see them every day becoming like +him. First they're in the twenties and are smart and read the sporting +news; then they seem to get fat and don't shave every day, because they +feel it's getting late and it doesn't matter what they look like; their +hair grows grey, they take up chess or German, or something equally +ridiculous. They don't get a chance. They're born and as soon as they +can kick they're thrust in an office to do the same thing every day. +Nobody cares; all their employers want them to do is to be punctual and +do what they're paid thirty bob a week for. Soon they don't try; they +die, and the employers fill the billet.' + +'How do you know all this, Vic?' said Betty, eyeing her fearfully. 'It +seems so true.' + +'Oh, I just felt it suddenly, besides . . .' Victoria hesitated. + +'But is it right that they should get thirty bob a week all their lives +while their employers are getting thousands?' asked Betty, full of +excitement. + +'I don't know,' said Victoria slowly. Betty's voice had broken the +charm. She could no longer see the vision. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +THE days passed away horribly long. Victoria was now an automaton; she +no longer felt much of sorrow or of joy. Her home life had been reduced +to a minimum, for she could no longer afford the luxury of 'chambers in +the West End' as Betty put it. She had moved to Finsbury; where she had +found a large attic for three shillings a week, in a house which had +fallen from the state of mansion for a City merchant to that of tenement +dwelling. For the first time since she returned to London she had +furnished her own room. She had bought out the former tenant for one +pound. For this sum she had entered into possession of an iron bedstead +with a straw mattress, a thick horse cloth, an iron washstand supplied +with a blue basin and a white mug, an old armchair and red curtains. She +had no sheets, which meant discomfort but saved washing. A chair had +cost her two shillings; she needed no cupboard as there was one in the +wall; in lieu of a chest of drawers she had her trunk; her few books +were stacked on a shelf made out of the side of a packing case and +erected by herself. She got water from the landing every morning except +when the taps were frozen. There was no fireplace in the attic, but in +the present state of Victoria's income this did not matter much. + +Every morning she rose at seven, washed, dressed. As time went on she +ceased to dust and sweep every morning. First she postponed the work to +the evening, then to the week end. On Sundays she breakfasted off a +stale loaf bought among the roar of Farrington Street the previous +evening. A little later she introduced a spirit lamp for tea; it was a +revolution, even though she could never muster enough energy to bring in +milk. + +After the first flush of possession, the horrible gloom of winter had +engulfed her. Sometimes she sat and froze in the attic, and, in despair, +went to bed after vainly trying to read Shakespeare by the light of a +candle: he did not interest her much. At other times the roaring +streets, the flares in the brown fog, the trams hurtling through the +air, their headlights blazing, had frightened her back to her home. On +Sundays, after luxuriating in bed until ten, she usually went to meet +Betty who lived in a club in Soho. Together they would walk in the +parks, or the squares, wherever grass grew. At one o'clock Betty would +introduce her as a guest at her club and feast her for eightpence on +roast beef and pudding, tea, and bread and butter. Then they would start +out once more towards the fields, sometimes towards Hampstead Heath, or +if it rained seek refuge in a museum or a picture gallery. When they +parted in the evening, Victoria kissed her affectionately. Betty would +then hold the elder woman in her arms, hungrily almost, and softly kiss +her again. + +The only thing that parted these two at all was the mystery which Betty +guessed at. She knew that Victoria was not like the other girls; she +felt that there was behind her friend's present condition a past of +another kind, but when she tried to question Victoria, she found that +her friend froze up. And as she loved her this was a daily grief; she +looked at Victoria with a question in her eyes. But Victoria would not +yield to the temptation of confiding in her; she had adopted a new class +and was not going back on it. + +Besides Betty there was no one in her life. None of the other girls +were able to meet her on congenial ground; Beauty had not got her +address; and, though she had his, she was too afraid of complicating her +life to write to him. She had sent her address to Edward as a matter of +form, but he had not written; apparently her desire for freedom had +convinced him that his sister was mad. None of the men at the P.R.R. had +made any decided advances to her. She could still catch every day a +glitter in the eye of some youth, but her maturity discouraged the boys, +and the older men were mostly too deeply sunk in their feeding and +smoking to attempt gallantry. Besides: Victoria was no longer the +cream-coloured flower of olden days; she was thinner; her hands too were +becoming coarse owing to her having to swab tables and floors; much +standing and the fetid air of the smoking-room were making her sallow. + +Soon after Victoria entered into possession of her 'station' she knew +most of her customers, knew them, that is, as much as continual rushes +from table to counter, from floor to floor, permits. The casuals, mostly +young, left no impression; lacking money but craving variety these +youths would patronise every day a different P.R.R., for they hoped to +find in a novel arrangement of the counter, a new waitress, larger or +smaller quarters, the element of variety which the bill of fare +relentlessly denied them. The older men were more faithful if no more +grateful. One of them was a short thin man, looking about forty, who for +some hidden reason had aroused Victoria's faded interest. His appearance +was somewhat peculiar. His shortness, combined with his thinness and +breadth, was enough to attract attention. Standing hardly any more than +five foot five, he had disproportionately broad shoulders, and yet they +were so thin that the bones showed bowed at the back. Better fed, he +would have been a bulky man. His hair was dark, streaked with grey; and, +as it was getting very thin and beginning to recede, he gave the +impression of having a very high forehead. His eyes were grey, set +rather deep under thick eyebrows drawn close together into a permanent +frown. Under his rather coarse and irregular nose his mouth showed +closely compressed, almost lipless; a curious muscular distortion had +tortured into it a faint sneer. His hands were broad, a little coarse +and very hairy. + +Victoria could not say why she was interested in this man. He had no +outward graces, dressed poorly and obviously brushed his coat but +seldom; his linen, too, was not often quite clean. Immediately on +sitting down at his usual table he would open a book, prop it up against +the sugar bowl, and begin to read. His books did not tell Victoria much; +in two months she noted a few books she did not know, _News from +Nowhere_, _Fabian Essays_, _The Odyssey_, and a book with a long title +the biggest printed word of which was _Niestze_ or _Niesche._ Victoria +could never remember this word, even though her customer read the book +every day for over a month. _The Odyssey_ she had heard of, but that did +not tell her anything. + +She had found out his name accidentally. One day he had brought down +three books and had put two under his seat while he read the third. Soon +after he had left, reading still while he went up the stairs. Victoria +found the books under the chair. One was a _Life of William Morris_, the +other the _Vindication of the Rights of Women_. On the flyleaf of each +was written in bold letter. 'Thomas Farwell.' + +Victoria could not resist glancing at the books during her half hour for +lunch. The _Life of William Morris_ she did not attempt, remembering her +experiences at school with 'Lives' of any kind: they were all dull. +Marie Wollstonecraft's book seemed more interesting, but she seemed to +have to wade through so much that she had never heard of and to have to +face a style so crabbed and congested that she hardly understood it. +Yet, something in the book interested her, and it was regretfully that +she handed the volumes back to Farwell when he called for them at +half-past six. He thanked her in half a dozen words and left. + +Farwell continued regular in his attendance. He came in on the stroke of +one, left at half-past one exactly, lighting his pipe as he got up. He +never spoke to anyone; when Victoria stood before his table he looked at +her for a moment, gave his order and cast his eyes down to his book. + +It was about three weeks after the incident of the books that he spoke +to Victoria. As he took up the bill of fare he said suddenly: + +'Did you read the _Vindication_?' + +'I did glance through it,' said Victoria, feeling, she did not know why, +acutely uncomfortable. + +'Ah? interesting, isn't it? Pity it's so badly written. What do you +think of it?' + +'Well, I hardly know,' said Victoria reflectively; 'I didn't have time +to read much; what I read seemed true.' + +'You think that a recommendation, eh?' said Farwell, his lips parting +slightly. 'I'd have thought you saw enough truth about life here to like +lies.' + +'No,' said Victoria, 'I don't care for lies. The nastier a thing is, the +better everybody should know it; then one day people will be ashamed.' + +'Oh, an optimist!' sniggered Farwell. 'Bless you, my child. Give me +fillets of plaice, small white and cut.' + +For several days after this Farwell took no notice of Victoria. He gave +his order and opened his book as before. Victoria made no advances. She +had talked him over with Betty, who had advised her to await events. + +'You never know,' she had remarked, as a clinching argument. + +A day or two later Victoria was startled by Farwell's arrival at +half-past six. This had never happened before. The smoking-room was +almost empty, as it was too late for teas and a little too early for +suppers. Farwell sat down at his usual table and ordered a small tea. As +Victoria returned with the cup he took out a book from under two others +and held it out. + +'Look here,' he said a little nervously. 'I don't know whether you're +busy after hours, but perhaps you might like to read this.' The wrinkles +in his forehead expanded and dilated a little. + +'Oh, thank you so much. I would like to read it,' said Victoria with the +ring of earnestness in her voice. She took the book; it was a battered +copy of _No. 5 John Street_. + +'No. 5? What a queer title,' she said. + +'Queer? not at all,' said Farwell. 'It only seems queer to you because +it is natural and you're not used to that. You're a number in the P.R.R. +aren't you? Just like the house you live in. And you're just number so +and so; so am I. When we die fate shoves up the next number and it all +begins over again.' + +'That doesn't sound very cheerful, does it?' said Victoria. + +'It isn't cheerful. It's merely a fact.' + +'I suppose it is,' said Victoria. 'Nobody is ever missed.' + +Farwell looked at her critically. The platitude worried him a little; it +was unexpected. + +'Yes, exactly,' he stammered. 'Anyhow, you read it and let me know what +you think of it.' Thereupon he took up another book and began to read. + +When he had gone Victoria showed her prize to Betty. + +'You're getting on,' said Betty with a smile. 'You'll be Mrs Farwell one +of these days, I suppose.' + +'Don't be ridiculous, Betty,' snapped Victoria, 'why, I'd have to wash +him.' + +'You might as well wash a husband as a dish,' said Betty smoothly. +'Anyhow, the other girls are talking.' + +'Let them talk,' said Victoria rather savagely, 'so long as they don't +talk to me.' + +Betty took her hand gently. + +'Sorry, Vic dear,' she said. 'You're not angry with me, are you?' + +'No, of course not, you silly,' said Victoria laughing. 'There run away, +or that old gent at the end'll take a fit.' + +Farwell did not engage her in conversation for a few days, nor did she +make any advances to him. She read through _No. 5 John Street_ within +three evenings; it held her with a horrible fascination. Her first +plunge into realistic literature left her shocked as by a cold bath. In +the early days, at Lympton, she had subsisted mainly on Charlotte Young +and Rhoda Broughton. In India, the mess having a subscription at +Mudie's, she had had good opportunities of reading; but, for no +particular reason, except perhaps that she was newly married and busy +with regimental nothings, she had ceased to read anything beyond the +_Sketch_ and the _Sporting and Dramatic_. Thus she had never heard of +the 'common people' except as persons born to minister to the needs of +the rich. She had never felt any interest in them, for they spoke a +language that was not hers. _No. 5 John Street_, coming to her a long +time after the old happy days, when she herself was struggling in the +mire, was a horrible revelation; it showed her herself, and herself not +as 'Tilda towering over fate but as Nancy withering in the indiarubber +works for the benefit of the Ridler system. + +She read feverishly by the light of a candle. At times she was repelled +by the vulgarity of Low Covey, by the grossness which seemed to revel +in poverty and dirt. But when she cast her eyes round her own bare +walls, looked at her sheetless bed, a shiver ran over her. + +'These are my people,' she said aloud. The candle, clamouring for the +snuffers, guttered, sank low, nearly went out. + +Shivering again before the omen, she trimmed the wick. She returned the +book to Farwell by slipping it on the table next day. He took it without +a word but returned at half past six as before. + +'Well?' he asked with a faint smile. + +'Thank you so much,' said Victoria. 'It's wonderful.' + +'Wonderful indeed? Most commonplace, don't you think?' + +'Oh, no,' said Victoria. 'It's extraordinary, it's like . . . like +light.' + +Farwell's eyes suddenly glittered. + +'Ah,' he said dreamily, 'light! light in this, the outer darkness.' + +Victoria looked at him, a question in her eyes. + +'If only we could all see,' he went on. 'Then, as by a touch of a +magician's wand, flowers would crowd out the thistles, the thistles that +the asses eat and thank their God for. It is in our hands to make this +the Happy Valley and we make it the Valley of the Shadow of Death.' + +He paused for a moment. Victoria felt her pulse quicken. + +'Yes,' she said, 'I think I understand. It's because we don't understand +that we suffer. We're not cruel, are we? we're stupid.' + +'Stupid?' A ferocious intonation had come into Farwell's voice. 'I +should say so! Forty million men, women and children sweat their lives +out day by day so that four million may live idly and become too heavy +even to think. I could forgive them if they thought, but the world +contains only two types: Lazarus with poor man's gout and Dives with +fatty degeneration of the brain.' + +Victoria felt nervous. Passion shook the man's hands as he clutched the +marble top of the table. + +'Mr Farwell,' she faltered, 'I don't want to be stupid. I want to +understand things. I want to know why we slave twelve hours a day when +others do nothing and, oh, can it be altered?' + +Farwell had started at the mention of his name. His passion had suddenly +fallen. + +'Altered? oh, yes,' he stammered, 'that's if the race lasts long enough. +'Sometimes I think, as I see men struggling to get on top of one +another, like crabs in a bucket . . . Like crabs in a bucket,' he +repeated dreamily, visualising the simile. 'But I cannot draw men from +stones,' he said smiling; 'it is not yet time for Deucalion. I'll bring +you another book to-morrow.' + +Farwell rose abruptly and left Victoria singularly stirred. He was a +personality, she felt; something quite unusual. He was less a man than a +figment, for he seemed top heavy almost. He concentrated the hearer's +attention so much on his spoken thought that his body passed +unperceived, receded into the distance. + +While Victoria was changing to go, the staff room somehow seemed darker +and dirtier than ever. It was seldom swept and never cleaned out. The +management had thoughtfully provided nothing but pegs and wooden +benches, so as to discourage lounging. Victoria was rather late, so that +she found herself alone with Lizzie, the cashier. Lizzie was red-haired, +very curly, plump, pink and white. A regular little spark. She was very +popular; her green eyes and full curved figure often caused a small +block at the desk. + +'You look tired,' she said good-naturedly. + +'I suppose I am,' said Victoria. 'Aren't you?' + +'So so. Don't mind my job.' + +'Mm, I suppose it isn't so bad sitting at the desk.' + +'No,' said Lizzie, 'pays too.' + +'Pays?' + +Lizzie flushed and hesitated. Then the desire to boast burst its bonds. +She must tell, she must. It didn't matter after all. A craving for +admiration was on her. + +'Tell you what,' she whispered. 'I get quite two and a kick a week out +of that job.' + +Victoria's eyebrows went up. + +'You know,' went on Lizzie, 'the boys look at me a bit.' She simpered +slightly. 'Well, once one of them gave me half a bar with a bob check. +He was looking at me in the eye, well! that mashed, I can tell you he +looked like a boiled fish. Sort of inspiration came over me.' She +stopped. + +'Well?' asked Victoria, feeling a little nervous. + +'Well . . . I . . . I gave him one half crown and three two bob pieces. +Smiled at him. He boned the money quick enough, wanted to touch my hand +you see. Never saw it.' + +Victoria thought for a moment. 'Then you gave him eight and six instead +of nine shillings?' + +'You've hit it. Bless you, _he_ never knew. Mashed, I can tell _you_.' + +'Then you did him out of sixpence?' + +'Right. Comes off once in three. Say "sorry" when I'm caught and smile +and it's all right. Never try it twice on the same man.' + +'I call that stealing,' said Victoria coldly. + +'You can call it what you like,' snarled Lizzie. 'Everything's stealing. +What's business? getting a quid for what costs you a tanner. I'm putting +a bit extra on my wages.' + +Victoria shrugged her shoulders. She might have argued with Lizzie as +she had once argued with Gertie, but the vague truth that lurked in +Lizzie's economics had deprived her of argument. Could theft sometimes +be something else than theft? Were all things theft? And above all, did +the acceptance of a woman's hand as bait justify the hooking of a +sixpence? + +As Victoria left for home that night she felt restless. She could not go +to bed so soon. She walked through the silent city lanes; meeting +nothing, save now and then a cat on the prowl, or a policeman trying +doors and flashing his bull's eye through the gratings of banks. The +crossing at Mansion House was still busy with the procession of +omnibuses converging at the feet of the Duke of Wellington. Drays, too +heavily loaded, rumbled slowly past towards Liverpool Street. She turned +northwards, walked quickly through the desert. At Liverpool Street +station she stopped in the blaze of light. A few doors away stood a +shouting butcher praying the passers-by to buy his pretty meat. Further: +a fishmonger's stall, an array of glistening black shapes on white +marble, a tobacconist, a jeweller--all aglow with coruscating light. And +over all, the blazing light of arc lamps, under which an unending stream +of motor cabs, lorries, omnibuses passed in kaleidoscopic colours. In +the full glare of a lamp post stood a woman, her feet in the gutter. She +was short, stunted, dirty and thin of face and body. Round her wretched +frame a filthy black coat was tightly buttoned; her muddy skirt seemed +almost falling from her shrunken hips. Crushed on her sallow face, +hiding all but a few wisps of hair, was a battered black straw hat. With +one arm she carried a child, thin of face too, and golden-haired. On its +upper lip a crusted sore gleamed red and brown. In her other hand she +held out a tin lid, in which were five boxes of matches. + +Victoria looked at the silent watcher and passed on. A few minutes later +she remembered her and a fearful flood of insight rushed upon her. The +child? Then this, this creature had known love? A man had kissed those +shrivelled lips. Something like a thrill of disgust ran through her. +That such things as these could love and mate and bear children was +unspeakable; the very touch of them was loathsome, their love akin to +unnatural vice. + +As she walked further into Shoreditch the impression of horror grew on +her. It was not that the lanes and little streets abutting into the High +Street were full of terrors when pitch dark, or more sinister still in +the pale yellow light of a single gas lamp; the High Street itself, +filled with men and women, most of them shabby, some loudly dressed in +crude colours, shouting, laughing, jostling one another off the footpath +was more terrible, for its joy of life was brutal as the joy of the +pugilist who feels his opponent's teeth crunch under his fist. + +At a corner, near a public house blazing with lights, a small crowd +watched two women who were about to fight. They had not come to blows +yet; their duel was purely Homeric. Victoria listened with greedy horror +to the terrible recurrence of half a dozen words. + +A child squirmed through the crowd, crying, and caught one of the +fighters by her skirt. + +'Leave go . . . I'll rive the guts out 'o yer.' + +With a swing of the body the woman sent the child flying into the +gutter. Victoria hurried from the spot. She made towards the West now, +between the gin shops, the barrows under their blazing naphtha lamps. +She was afraid, horribly afraid. + +Sitting alone in her attic, her hands crossed before her, questions +intruded upon her. Why all this pain, this violence, by the side of +life's graces? Could it be that one went with the other, indissolubly? +And could it be altered before it was too late, before the earth was +flooded, overwhelmed with pain? + +She slipped into bed and drew the horsecloth over her ears. The world +was best shut out. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +THOMAS FARWELL collected three volumes from his desk, two pamphlets and +a banana. It was six o'clock and, the partners having left, he was his +own master half an hour earlier than usual. + +'You off?' said the junior from the other end of the desk. + +'Yes. Half an hour to the good.' + +'What's the good of half an hour,' said the youth superciliously. + +'No good unless you think it is, like everything else,' said Farwell. +'Besides, I may be run over by half past six.' + +'Cheerful as ever,' remarked the junior, bending his head down to the +petty cash balance. + +Farwell took no notice of him. Ten times a day he cursed himself for +wasting words upon this troglodyte. He was a youth long as a day's +starvation, with a bulbous forehead, stooping narrow shoulders and +narrow lips; his shape resembled that of an old potato. He peered +through his glasses with watery eyes hardly darker than his grey face. + +'Good night,' said Farwell curtly. + +'Cheer, oh!' said the junior. + +Farwell slammed the door behind him. He felt inclined to skip down the +stairs, not that anything particularly pleasant had happened but because +the bells of St Botolph's were pealing out a chime of freedom. It was +six. He had nothing to do. The best thing was to go to Moorgate Street +and take the books to Victoria. On second thoughts, no, he would wait. +Six o'clock might still be a busy time. + +Farwell walked down the narrow lane from Bishopsgate into St. Botolph's +churchyard. It was a dank and dreary evening, dark already. The wind +swept over the paths in little whirlwinds. Dejected sparrows sought +scraps of food among the ancient graves where office boys munch buns and +read of woodcarving and desperate adventure. He sat down on a seat by +the side of a shape that slept, and opened one of the books, though it +was too dark to read. The shape lifted an eyelid and looked at him. + +Farwell turned over the pages listlessly. It was a history of +revolutionists. For some reason he hated them to-day, all of them. Jack +Cade was a boor, Cromwell a tartuffe, Bolivar a politician, Mazzini a +theorist. It would bore Victoria. + +Farwell brought himself up with a jerk. He was thinking of Victoria too +often. As he was a man who faced facts he told himself quite plainly +that he did not intend to fall in love with her. He did not feel capable +of love; he hated most people, but did not believe that a good hater was +a good lover. + +'Clever, of course,' he muttered, 'but no woman is everlastingly clever. +I won't risk finding her out.' + +The shape at his side moved. It was an old man, filthy, clad in +blackened rags, with a matted beard. Farwell glanced at him and turned +away. + +'I'd have you poisoned if I could,' he thought. Then he returned to +Victoria. Was she worth educating? And supposing she was educated, what +then? She would become discontented, instead of brutalised. The latter +was the happier state. Or she would fall in love with him, when he would +give her short shrift. What a pity. A tiny wave of sentiment flowed into +Farwell's soul. + +'Clever, clever,' he thought, 'a little house, babies, roses, a fox +terrier.' + +'Gov'nor,' croaked a hoarse voice beside him. + +Farwell turned quickly. The shape was alive, then, curse it. + +'Well, what d'you want?' + +'Give us a copper, gov'nor, I'm an old man, can't work. S'elp me, Gawd, +gov'nor, 'aven't 'ad a bite. . . .' + +'That'll do, you fool,' snarled Farwell, 'why the hell don't you go and +get it in gaol?' + +'Yer don't mean that, gov'nor, do yer?' whined the old man, 'I always +kep my self respectable; 'ere, look at these 'ere testimonials, gov'nor, +. . .' He drew from his coat a disgusting object, a bundle of papers +tied together with string. + +'I don't want to see them,' said Farwell. 'I wouldn't employ you if I +could. Why don't you go to the workhouse?' + +The old man almost bridled. + +'Why? Because you're a stuck up. D'you hear? You're proud of being poor. +That's about as vulgar as bragging because you're rich. If you and all +the likes of you went into the House, you'd reform the system in a week. +Understand?' + +The old man's eyes were fixed on the speaker, uncomprehending. + +'Better still, go and throw any bit of dirt you pick up at a policeman,' +continued Farwell. 'See he gets it in the mouth. You get locked up. +Suppose a million of the likes of you do the same, what d'you think +happens?' + +'I dunno,' said the old man. + +'Well, your penal system is bust. If you offend the law you're a +criminal. But what's the law? the opinion of the majority. If the +majority goes against the law, then the minority becomes criminal. The +world's upside down.' Farwell smiled. 'The world's upside down,' he said +softly, licking his lips. + +'Give us a copper for a bed, guv'nor,' said the old man dully. + +'What's the good of a bed to you?' exploded Farwell. 'Why don't you have +a drink?' + +'I'm a teetotaller, guv'nor; always kep' myself respectable.' + +'Respectable! You're earning the wages of respectability, that is +death,' said Farwell with a wolfish laugh. 'Why, man, can't you see +you've been on the wrong tack? We don't want any more of you +respectables. We want pirates, vampires. We want all this society of +yours rotted by internal canker, so that we can build a new one. But we +must rot it first. We aren't going to work on a sow's ear.' + +'Give us a copper, guv'nor,' moaned the old man. + +Farwell took out sixpence and laid it on the seat. 'Now then,' he said, +'you can have this if you'll swear to blow it in drink.' + +'I will, s'elp me Gawd,' said the old man eagerly. + +Farwell pushed the coin towards him. + +'Take it, teetotaller,' he sneered, 'your respectable system of bribery +has bought you for sixpence. Now let me see you go into that pub.' + +The old man clutched the sixpence and staggered to his feet. Farwell +watched the swing doors of the public bar at the end of the passage +close behind him. Then he got up and walked away; it was about time to +go to Moorgate Street. + +As he entered the smoking-room, Victoria blushed. The man moved her, +stimulated her. When she saw him she felt like a body meeting a soul. He +sat down at his usual place. Victoria brought him his tea, and laid it +before him without a word. Nelly, lolling in another corner, kicked the +ground, looking away insolently from the elaborate wink of one of the +scullions. + +'Here, read these,' said Farwell, pushing two of the books across the +table. Victoria picked them up. + +'_Looking Backwards?_' she said. 'Oh, I don't want to do that. It's +forward I want to go.' + +'A laudable sentiment,' sneered Farwell, 'the theory of every Sunday +School in the country, and the practice of none. However, you'll find it +fairly soul-filling as an unintelligent anticipation. Personally I +prefer the other. _Demos_ is good stuff, for Gissing went through the +fire.' + +Victoria quickly walked away. Farwell looked surprised for a second, +then saw the manageress on the stairs. + +'Faugh,' he muttered, 'if the world's a stage I'm playing the part of a +low intriguer.' + +He sipped his tea meditatively. In a few minutes Victoria returned. + +'Thank you,' she whispered. 'It's good of you. You're teaching me to +live.' + +Farwell looked at her critically. + +'I don't see much good in that,' he said, 'unless you've got something +to live for. One of our philosophers says you live either for experience +or the race. I recommend the former to myself, and to you nothing.' + +'Why shouldn't I live for anything?' she asked. + +'Because life's too dear. And its pleasures are not white but piebald.' + +'I understand,' said Victoria, 'but I must live.' + +'_Je n'en vois pas la necessite_,' quoted Farwell smiling. 'Never mind +what that means,' he added, 'I'm only a pessimist.' + +The next few weeks seemed to create in Victoria a new personality. Her +reading was so carefully selected that every line told. Farwell knew the +hundred best books for a working girl; he had a large library composed +mostly of battered copies squeezed out of his daily bread. Victoria's +was the appetite of a gorgon. In another month she had absorbed _Odd +Women_, _An Enemy of the People_, _The_ _Doll's House_, _Alton Locke_, +and a translation of _Germinal_. Every night she read with an intensity +which made her forget that March chilled her to the bone; poring over +the book, her eyes a few inches from the candle, she soaked in +rebellion. When the cold nipped too close into her she would get up and +wrap herself in the horsecloth and read with savage application, rushing +to the core of the thought. She was no student, so she would skip a hard +word. Besides, in those moods, when the spirit bounds in the body like a +caged bird, words are felt, not understood. + +Betty was still hovering round her, a gentle presence. She knew what was +going on and was frightened. A new Victoria was rising before her, a +woman very charming still, but extraordinary, incomprehensible. Often +Victoria would snub her savagely, then take her hand as they stood +together at the counter bawling for food and drink. And as Victoria grew +hard and strong, Betty worshipped her more as she would have worshipped +a strong man. + +Yet Betty was not happy. Victoria lived now in a state of excitement and +hunger for solitude. She took no interest in things that Betty could +understand. Their Sunday walks had been ruthlessly cut now and then, for +the fury was upon Victoria when eating the fruits of the tree. When they +were together now Victoria was preoccupied; she no longer listened to +the club gossip, nor did she ask to be told once more the story of +Betty's early days. + +'Do you know you're sweated?' she said suddenly one day. + +Betty's eyes opened round and blue. + +'Sweated,' she said. 'I thought only people in the East End were +sweated.' + +'The world's one big East End,' snapped Victoria. + +Betty shivered. Farwell might have said that. + +'You're sweated if you get two pounds a week,' continued Victoria. +'You're sweated when you buy a loaf, sweated when you ride in a bus, +sweated when they cremate you.' + +'I don't understand,' said Betty. + +'All profits are sweated,' quoted Victoria from a pamphlet. + +'But people must make profits,' protested Betty. + +'What for?' asked Victoria. + +'How are people to live unless they make profits?' said Betty. 'Aren't +our wages profits?' + +Victoria was nonplussed for a moment and became involved. 'No, our wages +are only wages; profit is the excess over our wages.' + +'I don't understand,' said Betty. + +'Never mind,' said Victoria, 'I'll ask Mr Farwell; he'll make it clear.' + +Betty shot a dark blue glance at her. + +'Vic,' she said softly, 'I think Mr Farwell. . . .' Then she changed her +mind. 'I can't, I can't,' she thought. She crushed the jealous words +down and plunged. + +'Vic, darling,' she faltered, 'I'm afraid you're not well. No, and not +happy. I've been thinking of something; why shouldn't I leave the Club +and come and live with you.' + +Victoria looked at her critically for a moment. She thought of her +independence, of this affection hovering round her, sweet, dangerously +clinging. But Betty's blue eyes were wet. + +'You're too good a pal for me, Betty,' she said in a low voice. 'I'd +make you miserable.' + +'No, no,' cried Betty impulsively. 'I'd love it, Vic dear, and you would +go on reading and do what you like. Only let me be with you.' + +Victoria's hand tightened on her friend's arm. + +'Let me think, Betty dear,' she said. + +Ten days later, Betty having won her point, the great move was to take +place at seven o'clock. It certainly lacked solemnity. For three days +preceding the great change Betty had hurried away from the P.R.R. on the +stroke of nine, quickly kissing Victoria and saying she couldn't wait as +she must pack. Clearly her wardrobe could not be disposed of in a +twinkling. Yet, on moving day, at seven o'clock sharp (the carrier +having been thoughtfully commanded to deliver at five) a tin trunk kept +together by a rope, a tiny bath muzzled with a curtain, and a hat box +loudly advertising somebody's tea, were dumped on the doorstep. The cart +drove off leaving the two girls to make terms with a loafer. The latter +compromised for fourpence, slammed their door behind him and lurched +down the creaking stairs. Betty threw herself into Victoria's arms. + +Those first days were sweet. Betty rejoiced like a lover in possession +of a long-desired mistress; stripping off her blouse and looking very +pretty, showing her white neck and slim arms, she strutted about the +attic with a hammer in her hand and her mouth full of nails. It took an +evening to hang the curtain which had muzzled the bath; Betty's art +treasures, an oleograph of 'Bubbles' and another of 'I'se Biggest,' were +cunningly hung by Victoria so that she could not see them on waking up. + +Betty was active now as a will o' the wisp. She invented little feasts, +expensive Sunday suppers of fried fish and chips, produced a basket of +oranges at three a penny; thanks to her there was now milk with the tea. +In a moment of enthusiasm Victoria heard her murmur something about +keeping a cat. In fact the only thing that marred her life at all was +Victoria's absorption in her reading. Often Betty would go to bed and +stay awake, watching Victoria at the table, her fingers ravelling her +hair, reading with an intentness that frightened her. She would watch +Victoria and see her face grow paler, except at the cheeks where a flush +would rise. A wild look would come into her eyes. Sometimes she would +get up suddenly and, thrusting her hair out of her eyes, walk up and +down muttering things Betty could not understand. + +One night Betty woke up suddenly, and saw Victoria standing in the +moonlight clad only in her nightgown. Words were surging from her lips. + +'It's no good. . . . I can't go on. . . . I can't go on until I die or +somebody marries me. . . . I won't marry: I won't do it. . . . Why +should I sell myself? . . . at any rate why should I sell myself +cheaply?' + +There was a pause. Betty sat up and looked at her friend's wild face. + +'What's it all mean after all? I'm only being used. Sucked dry like an +orange. By and by they'll throw the peel away. Talk of brotherhood! . . +. It's war, war . . . It's climbing and fighting to get on top . . . +like crabs in a bucket, like crabs. . .' + +'Vic,' screamed Betty. + +Victoria started like a somnambulist aroused and looked at her vaguely. + +'Come back to bed at once,' cried Betty with inspired firmness. Victoria +obeyed. Betty drew her down beside her under the horsecloth and threw +her arms round her; Victoria's body was cold as ice. Suddenly she burst +into tears; and Betty, torn as if she saw a strong man weep, wept too. +Closely locked in one another's arms they sobbed themselves to sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +EVERY day now Victoria's brain grew clearer and her body weaker. A +sullen spirit of revolt blended with horrible depression was upon her, +but she was getting thinner, paler; dark rings were forming round her +eyes. She knew pain now; perpetual weariness, twitchings in the ankles, +stabs just above the knee. In horrible listlessness she dragged her +weary feet over the tiled floor, responding to commands like the old cab +horse which can hardly feel the whip. In this mood, growing churlish, +she repulsed Betty, avoided Farwell and tried to seclude herself. She no +longer walked Holborn or the Strand where life went by, but sought the +mean and silent streets, where none could see her shamble or where none +would care. + +One night, when she had left at six, she painfully crawled home and up +into the attic. At half-past nine the door opened and Betty came in; the +room was in darkness, but something oppressed her; she went to the +mantlepiece to look for the matches, her fingers trembling. For an +eternity she seemed to fumble, the oppression growing; she felt that +Victoria was in the room, and could only hope that she was asleep. With +a great effort of her will she lit the candle before turning round. Then +she gave a short sharp scream. + +Victoria was lying across the bed dressed in her bodice and petticoat. +She had tucked this up to her knees and taken off her stockings; her +legs hung dead white over the edge. At her feet was the tin bath full +of water. Betty ran to the bed, choking almost, and clasped her friend +round the neck. It was some seconds before she thought of wetting her +face. After some minutes Victoria returned to consciousness and opened +her eyes; she groaned slightly as Betty lifted up her legs and +straightened her on the bed. + +It was then that Betty noticed the singular appearance of Victoria's +legs. They were covered with a network of veins, some narrow and pale +blue in colour, others darker, protruding and swollen; on the left calf +one of the veins stood out like a rope. The unaccustomed sight filled +her with the horror bred of a mysterious disease. She was delicate, but +had never been seriously ill; this sight filled her with physical +repulsion. For her the ugliness of it meant foulness. For a moment she +almost hated Victoria, but the sight of the tin bath full of water cut +her to the heart; it told her that Victoria, maddened by mysterious +pain, had tried to assuage it by bathing her legs in the cold water. + +Little by little Victoria came round; she smiled at Betty. + +'Did I faint, Betty dear?' she asked. + +'Yes, dear. Are you better now?' + +'Yes, I'm better; it doesn't hurt now.' + +Betty could not repress a question. + +'Vic,' she said, 'what is it?' + +'I don't know,' said Victoria fearfully, then more cheerfully, + +'I'm tired I suppose. I shall be all right to-morrow.' + +Then Betty refused to let her talk any more, and soon Victoria slept by +her side the sleep of exhaustion. + +The next morning Victoria insisted upon going to the P. R. R. in spite +of Betty suggesting a doctor. + +'Can't risk losing my job,' she said laughing. 'Besides it doesn't hurt +at all now. Look.' + +Victoria lifted up her nightshirt. Her calves were again perfectly white +and smooth; the thin network of veins had sunk in again and showed blue +under the skin. Alone one vein on the left leg seemed dark and angry. +Victoria felt so well, however, that she agreed to meet Farwell at a +quarter-past nine. This was their second expedition, and the idea of it +was a stimulant. He went with her up to Finsbury Pavement and stopped at +a small Italian restaurant. + +'Come in here and have some coffee,' he said, 'they have waiters here; +that'll be a change.' + +Victoria followed him in. They sat at a marble topped table, flooded +with light by incandescent gas. In the glare the waiters seemed blacker, +smaller and more stunted than by the light of day. Their faces were +pallid, with a touch of green: their hair and moustaches were almost +blue black. Their energy was that of automata. Victoria looked at them, +melting with pity. + +'There's a life for you,' said Farwell interpreting her look. 'Sixteen +hours' work a day in an atmosphere of stale food. For meals, plate +scourings. For sleep and time to get to it, eight hours. For living, the +rest of the day.' + +'It's awful, awful,' said Victoria. 'They might as well be dead.' + +'They will be soon,' said Farwell, 'but what does that matter? There are +plenty of waiters. In the shadow of the olive groves to-night in far off +Calabria, at the base of the vine-clad hills, couples are walking hand +in hand, with passion flashing in their eyes. Brown peasant boys are +clasping to their breast young girls with dark hair, white teeth, red +lips, hearts that beat and quiver with ecstasy. They tell a tale of love +and hope. So we shall not be short of waiters.' + +'Why do you sneer at everything, Mr Farwell?' said Victoria. 'Can't you +see anything in life to make it worth while?' + +'No, I cannot say I do. The pursuit of a living debars me from the +enjoyments that make living worth while. But never mind me: I am over +without having bloomed. I brought you here to talk of you, not of me.' + +'Of me, Mr Farwell?' asked Victoria. 'What do you want to know?' + +Farwell leant over the table, toyed with the sugar and helped himself to +a piece. Then without looking at her: + +'What's the matter with you, Victoria?' he asked. + +'Matter with me? What do you mean?' said Victoria, too disturbed to +notice the use of her Christian name. + +The man scrutinised her carefully. 'You're ill,' he said. 'Don't +protest. You're thin; there are purple pockets under your eyes; your +underlip is twisted with pain, and you limp.' + +Victoria felt a spasm of anger. There was still in her the ghost of +vanity. But she looked at Farwell before answering; there was gentleness +in his eyes. + +'Well,' she said slowly, 'if you must know, perhaps there is something +wrong. Pains.' + +'Where?' he asked. + +'In the legs,' she said after a pause. + +'Ah, swellings?' + +Victoria bridled a little. This man was laying bare something, tearing +at a secret. + +'Are you a doctor, Mr Farwell?' she asked coldly. + +'That's all right,' he said roughly, 'it doesn't need much learning to +know what's the matter with a girl who stands for eleven hours a day. +Are the veins of your legs swollen?' + +'Yes,' said Victoria with an effort. She was frightened; she forgot to +resent this wrenching at the privacy of her body. + +'Ah; when do they hurt?' + +'At night. They're all right in the morning.' + +'You've got varicose veins, Victoria. You must give up your job.' + +'I can't,' whispered the girl hoarsely. 'I've got nothing else.' + +'Exactly. Either you go on and are a cripple for life or you stop and +starve. Yours is a disease of occupation, purely a natural consequence +of your work. Perfectly normal, perfectly. It is undesirable to +encourage laziness; there are girls starving to-day for lack of work, +but it would never do to reduce your hours to eight. It would interfere +with the P. R. R. dividends.' + +Victoria looked at him without feeling. + +'What am I to do?' she asked at length. + +'Go to a hospital,' said Farwell. 'These institutions are run by the +wealthy who pay two guineas a year ransom for a thousand pounds of +profits and get in the bargain a fine sense of civic duty done. No doubt +the directors of the P.R.R. contribute most generously.' + +'I can't give up my job,' said Victoria dully. + +'Perhaps they'll give you a stocking,' said Farwell, 'or sell it you, +letting you pay in instalments so that you be not pauperised. This is +called training in responsibility, also self-help.' + +Victoria got up. She could bear it no longer. Farwell saw her home and +made her promise to apply for leave to see the doctor. As the door +closed behind her he stood still for some minutes on the doorstep, +filling his pipe. + +'Well, well,' he said at length, 'the Government might think of that +lethal chamber--but no, that would never do, it would deplete the labour +market and hamper the commercial development of the Empire.' + +He walked away, a crackling little laugh floating behind him. The faint +light of a lamp fell on his bowed head and shoulders, making him look +like a Titan born a dwarf. + +Two days later Victoria went to the Carew. She had never before set +foot in a hospital. Such intercourse as she had had with doctors was +figured by discreet interviews in dark studies filled with unspeakably +ugly and reassuringly solid furniture. Those doctors had patted her +hand, said she needed a little change or may be a tonic. At the Carew, +fed as it is by the misery of two square miles of North East London, the +revelation of pain was dazzling, apocalyptic. The sight of the benches +crowded with women and children--some pale as corpses, others flushed +with fever, some with faces bandaged or disfigured by sores--almost made +her sick. They were packed in serried rows; the children almost all +cried persistently, except here and there a baby, who looked with +frightful fixity at the glazed roof. From all this chattering crowd of +the condemned rose a stench of iodoform, perspiration, unwashed bodies, +the acrid smell of poverty. + +The little red-haired Scotch doctor dismissed Victoria's case in less +than one minute. + +'Varicose veins. Always wear a stocking. Here's your form. Settle terms +at the truss office. Don't stand on your feet. Oh, what's your +occupation?' + +'Waitress at the P.R.R., Sir.' + +'Ah, hum. You must give it up.' + +'I can't, Sir.' + +'It's your risk. Come again in a month.' + +Victoria pulled up her stockings. Walking in a dream she went to the +truss office where a man measured her calves. She felt numb and +indifferent as to the exposure of her body. The man looked enquiringly +at the left calf. + +'V.H. for the left,' he called over his shoulder to the clerk. + +At twelve o'clock she was in the P.R.R., revived by the familiar +atmosphere. She even rallied one of the old chess players on a stroke of +ill-luck. Towards four o'clock her ankles began to twitch. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +THROUGH all these anxious times, Betty watched over Victoria with the +devotion that is born of love. There was in the girl a reserve of +maternal sweetness equalled only by the courage she showed every day. +Slim and delicate as she seemed, there was in Betty's thin body a +strength all nervous but enduring. She did not complain, though driven +eleven or twelve hours a day by the eyes of the manageress; those eyes +were sharp as a goad, but she went cheerfully. + +In a sense Betty was happy. The work did not weigh too heavily upon her; +there was so much humility in her that she did not resent the roughness +of her companions. Nelly could snub her, trample at times on her like +the cart horse she was; the manageress too could freeze her with a look, +the kitchen staff disregard her humble requests for teas and procure for +her the savage bullying of the customers, yet she remained placid +enough. + +'It's a hard life,' she once said to Victoria, 'but I suppose it's got +to be.' This was her philosophy. + +'But don't you want to get out of it?' cried Victoria the militant. + +'I don't know,' said Betty. 'I might marry.' + +'Marry,' sniffed Victoria. 'You seem to think marriage is the only way +out for women.' + +'Well, isn't it?' asked Betty. 'What else is there?' + +And for the life of her Victoria could not find another occupation for +an unskilled girl. Milliners, dressmakers, clerks, typists, were all +frightfully underpaid and overworked; true there were women doctors, but +who cared to employ them? And teachers, but they earned the wages of +virtue: neglect. Besides it was too late; both Victoria and Betty were +unskilled, condemned by their sex to low pay and hard work. + +'It's frightful, frightful,' cried Victoria. 'The only use we are is to +do the dirty work. Men don't char. Of course we may marry, if we can, to +any of those gods if they'll share with us their thirty bob a week. Talk +of slaves! They're better off than we.' + +Betty looked upon all this as rather wild, as a consequence of +Victoria's illness. Her view was that it didn't do to complain, and that +the only thing to do was to make the best of it. But she loved Victoria, +and it was almost a voluptous joy for her to help her friend to undress +every night, to tempt her with little offerings of fruit and flowers. +When they woke up, Betty would draw her friend into her arms and cover +her face with gentle kisses. + +But as Victoria grew worse, stiffer, and slower, responding ever more +reluctantly to the demands made upon her all day at the P. R. R., Betty +was conscious of horrible anxiety. Sometimes her imagination would +conjure up a Victoria helpless, wasted, bedridden, and her heart seemed +to stop. But her devotion was proof against egoism. Whatever happened, +Victoria should not starve if she had to pay the rent and feed herself +on nine shillings or so a week until she was well again and beautiful as +she had been. Her anxiety increasing, she mustered up courage to +interview Farwell, whom she hated jealously. He had ruined Victoria, she +thought--made her wild, discontented, rebellious against the incurable. +Yet he knew her, and at any rate she must talk about it to somebody. So +she mustered up courage to ask him to meet at nine. + +'Well?' said Farwell. He did not like Betty much. He included her among +the poor creatures, the rubble. + +'Oh, Mr Farwell, what's going to happen to Victoria,' cried Betty, with +tears in her voice. Then she put her hand against the railings of +Finsbury Circus. She had prepared a dignified little speech, and her +suffering had burst from her. The indignity of it. + +'Happen? The usual thing in these cases. She'll get worse; the veins +will burst and she'll be crippled for life.' + +Betty looked at him, her eyes blazing with rage. + +'How dare you, how dare you?' she growled. + +Farwell laughed. + +'My dear young lady,' he said smoothly, 'it needs no doctor to tell you +what is wanted. Victoria must stop work, lie up, be well fed, live in +the country perhaps and her spirits must be raised. To this effect I +would suggest a pretty house, flowers, books, some music, say a +hundred-guinea grand piano, some pretty pictures. So that she may +improve in health it is desirable that she should have servants. These +may gain varicose veins by waiting on her, but that is by the way.' + +Betty was weeping now. Tear after tear rolled down her cheeks. + +'But all this costs money,' continued Farwell, 'and, as you are aware, +bread is very dear and flesh and blood very cheap. Humanity finds the +extraction of gold a toilsome process, whilst the production of children +is a normal recreation which eclipses even the charms of alcohol. There, +my child, you have the problem; and there is only one radical solution +to it.' + +Betty looked at him, intuitively guessing the horrible suggestion. + +'The solution,' said Farwell, 'is to complain to the doctor of insomnia, +get him to prescribe laudanum and sink your capital in the purchase of +half a pint. One's last investment is generally one's best.' + +'Oh, I can't bear it, I can't bear it,' wailed Betty. 'She's so +beautiful, so clever.' + +'Ah, yes,' said Farwell in his dreamy manner, 'but then you see when a +woman doesn't marry. . . .' He broke off, his eyes fixed on the grey +pavement. 'The time will come, Betty, when the earth will be not only +our eternal bed, but the fairy land where joyful flowers will grow. Ah! +it will be joyful, joyful, this crop of flowers born from seas of +blood.' + +'But, now, now, what can we do with her?' cried Betty. + +'I have no other suggestion if she will not fight,' growled Farwell in +his old manner. 'She must sink or swim. If she sinks she's to blame, I +suppose. In a world of pirates and cut-throats she will have elected to +be a saint, and the martyr's crown will be hers. If suicide is not to +her taste, I would recommend her to resort to what is called criminal +practices. Being ill, she has magnificent advantages if she wishes to +start business as a begging-letter writer; burglary is not suitable for +women, but there are splendid openings for confidence tricksters and +shoplifting would be a fine profession if it were not overcrowded by the +upper middle classes.' + +Betty dabbed her eyes vigorously. Her mouth tightened. She looked +despairingly at the desolate half circle of London Wall Buildings and +Salisbury House. Then she gave Farwell her hand for a moment and +hurriedly walked away. As she entered the attic the candle was still +burning. Victoria was in bed and had forgotten it; she had already +fallen into stertorous sleep. + +Next morning Victoria got up and dressed silently. She did not seem any +worse; and with this Betty was content, though she only got short +answers to her questions. All that day Victoria seemed well enough. She +walked springily; at times she exchanged a quick joke with a customer. +She laughed even when a young man, carried away for a moment beyond the +spirit of food which reigned supreme in the P.R.R., touched her hand and +looked into her eyes. + +As the afternoon wore Victoria felt creeping over her the desperate +weariness of the hour. + +At a quarter to six she made up her checks. There was a shortfall of one +and a penny. + +'How do you account for it?' asked the manageress. + +'Sure I don't know, Miss,' said Victoria helplessly. 'I always give +checks. Somebody must have slipped out without paying.' + +'Possibly.' The manageress grew more tense faced than ever. Her bust +expanded. 'I don't care. Of course you know the rule. You pay half and +the desk pays half.' + +'I couldn't help it, Miss,' said Victoria miserably. Sixpence halfpenny +was a serious loss. + +'No more could I. I think I can tell you how it happened, though,' said +the manageress with a vague smile. 'I'm an old hand. A customer of yours +had a tuck out for one and a penny. You gave him a check. Look at the +foil and you'll see.' + +'Yes, Miss, here it is,' said Victoria anxiously. + +'Very well. Then he went upstairs on the Q.T. and had a cup of coffee. +Follow!' + +'Yes, Miss.' + +'One of the girls gave him a twopenny check. Then he went out and handed +in the twopenny check. He kept the other one in his pocket.' + +'Oh, Miss. . . . it's stealing,' Victoria gasped. + +'It is. But there it is, you see.' + +'But it's not my fault, Miss; if you had a pay box at the top of the +stairs, I don't say. . . .' + +'Oh, we can't do that,' said the manageress icily, 'they would cost a +lot to build and extra staff and we must keep down expenses, you know. +Competition is very keen in this trade.' + +Victoria felt stunned. The incident was as full of revelations as +Lizzie's practices at the desk. The girls cheated the customers, the +customers the girls. And the P.R.R. sitting olympian on its pillar of +cloud, exacted from all its dividends. The P.R.R. suddenly loomed up +before Victoria's eyes as a big swollen monster in whose veins ran China +tea. And from its nostrils poured forth torrents of coffee-scented +steam. It grew and grew, and fed men and women, every now and then +extending a talon and seizing a few young girls with sore legs, a rival +cafe or two. Then it vanished. Victoria was looking at one of the large +plated urns. + +'All right,' she said sullenly, 'I'll pay.' + +As it was her day off, at six o'clock Victoria went up to the change +room, saying good-night to Betty, telling her she was going out to get +some fresh air. She thought it would do her good, so rode on a bus to +the Green Park. Round her, in Piccadilly, a tide of rich life seemed to +rise redolent with scent, soft tobacco, moist furs, all those odours +that herald and follow wealth. A savagery was upon her as she passed +along the club windows, now full of young men telling tales that made +their teeth shine in the night, of old men, red, pink, brown, healthy in +colour and in security, reading, sleeping, eking out life. + +The picture was familiar; for it was the picture she had so often seen +when, as a girl, she came up to town from Lympton for a week to shop in +Oxford Street and see, from the upper boxes, the three or four plays +recommended by _Hearth and Home_. Piccadilly had been her Mecca. It had +represented mysterious delights, restaurants, little teashops, +jewellers, makers of cunning cases for everything. She had never been +well-off enough to shop there, but had gazed into its windows and bought +the nearest imitations in Oxford Street. Then the clubs had been, if +not familiar, at any rate friendly. She had once with her mother called +at the In and Out to ask for a general. He was dead now, and so was +Piccadilly. + +Victoria remembered without joy: a sign of total flatness, for the mind +that does not glow at the thought of the glamorous past is dulled +indeed. Piccadilly struck her now rather as a show and a poor one, a +show of the inefficients basking, of the wretched shuffling by. And the +savagery that was upon her waxed fat. Without ideals of ultimate +brotherhood or love she could not help thinking, half amused, of the +dismay that would come over London if a bomb were suddenly to raze to +the ground one of these shrines of men. + +The bus stopped in a block just opposite one of the clubs; and Victoria, +from the off-side seat, could see across the road into one of the rooms. +There were in it a dozen men of all ages, most of them standing in small +groups, some already in evening-dress; some lolled on enormous padded +chairs reading, and, against the mantlepiece where a fire burned +brightly, a youth was telling an obviously successful story to a group +of oldsters. Their ease, their conviviality and facile friendship stung +Victoria; she felt an outcast. What had she now to do with these men? +They would not know her. Their sphere was their father's sphere, by +right of birth and wealth, not hers who had not the right of wealth. +Besides, perhaps some were shareholders in the P.R.R. Painfully +shambling down the steps, Victoria got off the bus and entered the Green +Park. She sat down on a seat under a tree just bursting into bud. + +For many minutes she looked at the young grass, at the windows where +lights were appearing, at a man seated near by and puffing rich blue +smoke from his cigar. A loafer lay face down on the grass, like a +bundle. Her moods altered between rage, as she looked at the two men, +and misery as she realised that her lot was cast with the wretch +grovelling on the cold earth. + +She noticed that the man with the cigar was watching her, but hardly +looked at him. He was fat, that was all she knew. Her eyes once more +fastened on the loafer. He had not fought the world; would she? and how? +Now and then he turned a little in his sleep, dreaming perhaps of feasts +in Cockayne, perhaps of the skilly he had tasted in gaol, of love +perhaps, bright-eyed, master of the gates. It was cold, for the snap of +winter was in the spring air; in the pale western sky the roofs loomed +black. Already the dull glow of London light rose like a halo over the +town. Victoria did not seem to feel the wind; she was a little numb, her +legs felt heavy as lead. A gust of wind carried into her face a few +drops of rain. + +The man with the cigar got up, slowly passed her; there was something +familiar in his walk. He turned so as to see her face in the light of a +gas-lamp. Then he took three quick steps towards her. Her heart was +already throbbing; she felt and yet did not know. + +'Victoria,' said the man in a faint, far away voice. + +Victoria gasped, put her hand on her heart, swaying on the seat. The man +sat down by her side and took her hand. + +'Victoria,' he said again. There was in his voice a rich quality. + +'Oh, Major Cairns, Major Cairns,' she burst out. And clasping his hand +between hers, she laid her face upon it. He felt all her body throb; +there were tears on his hands. A man of the world, he very gently lifted +up her chin and raised her to a sitting posture. + +'There,' he said softly, still retaining her hands, 'don't cry, dear, +all is well. Don't speak. I have found you.' + +With all the gentleness of a heavy man he softly stroked her hands. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +TWO days later Victoria was floating in the curious ether of the +unusual. It was Sunday night. She was before a little table at one of +those concealed restaurants in Soho where blows fragrant the wind of +France. She was sitting in a softly cushioned arm chair, grateful to +arms and back, her feet propped up on a footstool. Before her lay the +little table, with its rough cloth, imperfectly clean and shining dully +with brittania ware. There were flowers in a small mug of Bruges +pottery; there was little light save from candles discreetly veiled by +pink shades. The bill of fare, rigid on its metal stem, bore the two +shilling table d'hote and the more pretentious a la carte. An immense +feeling of restfulness, so complete as to be positive was upon her. She +felt luxurious and at large, at one with the other couples who sat near +by, smiling, with possessive hands. + +On the other side of the table sat Major Cairns. He had not altered very +much except that he was stouter. His grey eyes still shone kindly from +his rather gross face. Victoria could not make up her mind whether she +liked him or not. When she met him in the park he had seemed beautiful +as an archangel; he had been gentle too as big men mostly are to women, +but now she could feel him examining her critically, noting her points, +speculating on the change in her, wondering whether her ravaged beauty +was greater and her neck softer than when he last held her in his arms +off the coast of Araby. + +Victoria had compacted for a quiet place. She could not, she felt, face +the Pall Mall or Jermyn Street restaurants, their lights, wealth of +silver and glass, their soft carpets, their silent waiters. The Major +had agreed, for he knew women well and was not over-anxious to expose to +the eyes of the town Victoria's paltry clothes. Now he had her before +him he began to regret that he had not risked it. For Victoria had +gained as much as she had lost in looks. Her figure had shrunk, but her +neck was still beautifully moulded, broad as a pillar; her colour had +gone down almost to dead white; the superfluous flesh had wasted away +and had left bare the splendid line of the strong chin and jaw. Her +eyes, however, were the magnet that held Cairns fast. They were as grey +as ever, but dilated and thrown into contrast with the pale skin by the +purple zone which surrounded them. They stared before them with a novel +boldness, a strange lucidity. + +'Victoria,' whispered Cairns leaning forward, 'you are very beautiful.' + +Victoria laughed and a faint flush rose into her cheeks. There was still +something grateful in the admiration of this man, gross and limited as +he might be, centred round his pleasures, sceptical of good and evil +alike. Without a word she took up a spoon and began to eat her ice. +Cairns watched every movement of her hand and wrist. + +'Don't,' said Victoria after a pause. She dropped her spoon and put her +hands under the table. + +'Don't what?' said Cairns. + +'Look at my hands. They're . . . Oh, they're not what they were. It +makes me feel ashamed.' + +'Nonsense,' said Cairns with a laugh. 'Your hands are still as fine as +ever and, when we've had them manicured. . . .' + +He stopped abruptly as if he had said too much. + +'Manicured?' said Victoria warily, though the 'we' had given her a +little shock. 'Oh, they're not worth manicuring now for the sort of work +I've got to do.' + +'Look here, Victoria,' said Cairns rather roughly. 'This can't go on. +You're not made to be one of the drabs. You say your work is telling on +you: well, you must give it up.' + +'Oh, I can't do that,' said Victoria, 'I've got to earn my living and +I'm no good for anything else.' + +Cairns looked at her for a moment and meditatively sipped his port. + +'Drink the port,' he commanded, 'it'll do you good.' + +Victoria obeyed willingly enough. There was already in her blood the +glow of Burgundy; but the port, mellow, exquisite, and curling round the +tongue, coloured like burnt almonds, fragrant too, concealed a deeper +joy. The smoke from Cairns' cigar, half hiding his face, floating in +wreaths between them, entered her nostrils, aromatic, narcotic. + +'What are you thinking of doing now?' she asked. + +'I don't know quite,' said Cairns. 'You see I broke my good resolution. +After my job at Perim, they offered me some surveying work near Ormuz; +they call it surveying, but it's spying really or it would be if there +were anything to spy. I took it and rather enjoyed it.' + +'Did you have any adventures?' asked Victoria. + +'Nothing to speak of except expeditions into the hinterland trying to +get fresh meat. The East is overrated, I assure you. A butr landed off +our station once, probably intending to turn us into able-bodied slaves. +There were only seven of us to their thirty but we killed ten with two +volleys and they made off, parting with their anchor in their hurry.' + +Cairns looked at Victoria. The flush had not died from her cheeks. She +was good to look upon. + +'No,' he went on more slowly, 'I don't quite know what I shall do. I +meant to retire anyhow, you know, and the sudden death of my uncle, old +Marmaduke Cairns, settled it. I never expected to get a look in, but +there was hardly anybody else to leave anything to, except his sisters +whom he hated like poison, so I'm the heir. I don't yet know what I'm +worth quite, but the old man always seemed to do himself pretty well.' + +'I'm glad,' said Victoria. She was not. The monstrous stupidity of a +system which suddenly places a man in a position enabling him to live on +the labour of a thousand was obvious to her. + +'I'm rather at a loose end,' said Cairns musing, 'you see I've had +enough knocking about. But it's rather dull here, you know. I'm not a +marrying man either.' + +Victoria was disturbed. She looked at Cairns and met his eyes. There was +forming in them a question. As she looked at him the expression faded +and he signed to the waiter to bring the coffee. + +As they sipped it they spoke little but inspected one another narrowly. +Victoria told herself that if Cairns offered her marriage she would +accept him. She was not sure that ideal happiness would be hers if she +did; his limitations were more apparent to her than they had been when +she first knew him. Yet the alternative was the P.R.R. and all that must +follow. + +Cairns was turning over in his mind the question Victoria had surprised. +Though he was by no means cautious or shy, being a bold and good liver, +he felt that Victoria's present position made it difficult to be +sentimental. So they talked of indifferent things. But when they left +the restaurant and drove towards Finsbury Victoria came closer to him; +and, unconsciously almost, Cairns took her hand, which she did not +withdraw. He leant towards her. His hand grew more insistent on her arm. +She was passive, though her heart beat and fear was upon her. + +'Victoria,' said Cairns, his voice strained and metallic. + +She turned her face towards him. There was in it complete acquiescence. +He passed one arm round her waist and drew her towards him. She could +feel his chest crush her as he bent her back. His lips fastened on her +neck greedily. + +'Victoria,' said Cairns again, 'I want you. Come away from all this +labour and pain; let me make you happy.' + +She looked at him, a question in her eyes. + +'As free man and woman,' he stammered. Then more firmly: + +'I'll make you happy. You'll want nothing. Perhaps you'll even learn to +like me.' + +Victoria said nothing for a minute. The proposal did not offend her; she +was too broken, too stupefied for her inherent prejudices to assert +themselves. Morals, belief, reputation, what figments all these things. +What was this freedom of hers that she should set so high a price on it? +And here was comfort, wealth, peace--oh, peace. Yet she hesitated to +plunge into the cold stream; she stood shivering on the edge. + +'Let me think,' she said. + +Cairns pressed her closer to him. A little of the flame that warmed his +body passed into hers. + +'Don't hurry me. Please. I don't know what to say. . . .' + +He bent over with hungry lips. + +'Yes, you may kiss me.' + +Submissive, if frightened and repelled, yet with a heart where hope +fluttered, she surrendered him her lips. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +'I DON'T approve and I don't disapprove,' snarled Farwell. 'I'm not my +sister's keeper. I don't pretend to think it noble of you to live with a +man you don't care for, but I don't say you're wrong to do it.' + +'But really,' said Victoria, 'if you don't think it right to do a thing, +you must think it wrong.' + +'Not at all. I am neutral, or rather my reason supports what my +principles reject. Thus my principles may seem unreasonable and my +reasoning devoid of principle, but I cannot help that.' + +Victoria thought for a moment. She was about to take a great step and +she longed for approval. + +'Mr Farwell,' she said deliberately, 'I've come to the conclusion that +you are right. We are crabs in a bucket and those at the bottom are no +nobler than those on the top, for they would gladly be on the top. I'm +going on the top.' + +'Sophist,' said Farwell smiling. + +'I don't know what that means,' Victoria went on; 'I suppose you think +that I'm trying to cheat myself as to what is right. Possibly, but I +don't profess to know what is right.' + +'Oh, no more do I,' interrupted Farwell, 'please don't set me up as a +judge. I haven't got any ethical standards for you. I don't believe +there are any; the ethics of the Renaissance are not those of the +twentieth century, nor are those of London the same as those of +Constantinople. Time and space work moral revolutions; and, even on +stereotyped lines, nobody can say present ethics are the best. From a +conventional point of view the hundred and fifty years that separate us +from Fielding mark an improvement, but I have still to learn that the +morals of to-day compare favourably with those of Sparta. You must +decide that for yourself.' + +'I am doing so,' said Victoria quietly, 'but I don't think you quite +understand a woman's position and I want you to. I find a world where +the harder a woman works, the worse she is paid, where her mind is +despised and her body courted. Oh, I know, you haven't done that, but +you don't employ women. Nobody but you has ever cared a scrap about such +brains as I may have; the subs courted me in my husband's regiment. . . .' +She stopped abruptly, having spoken too freely. + +'Go on,' said Farwell tactfully. + +'And in London what have I found? Nothing but men bent on one pursuit. +They have followed me in the streets and tubes, tried to sit by me in +the parks. They have tried to touch me--yes me! the dependent who could +not resent it, when I served them with their food. Their talk is the +inane, under which they cloak desire. Their words are covert appeals. I +hear round me the everlasting cry: yield, yield, for that is all we want +from young women.' + +'True,' said Farwell, 'I have never denied this.' + +'And yet,' answered Victoria angrily, 'you almost blame me. I tell you +that I have never seen the world as I do now. Men have no use for us +save as mistresses, whether legal or not. Perhaps they will have us as +breeders or housekeepers, but the mistress is the root of it all. And if +they can gain us without pledges, without risks, by promises, by force +or by deceit, they will.' + +Farwell said nothing. His eyes were full of sorrow. + +'My husband drank himself to death,' pursued Victoria in low tones. +'The proprietor of the Rosebud tried to force me to become his toy . . . +perhaps he would have thrown me on the streets if he had had time to +pursue me longer and if I refused myself still . . . because he was my +employer and all is fair in what they call love . . . The customers +bought every day for twopence the right to stare through my openwork +blouse, to touch my hand, to brush my knees with theirs. One, who seemed +above them, tried to break my body into obedience by force . . . Here, +at the P.R.R. I am a toy still, though more of a servant . . . Soon I +shall be a cripple and good neither for servant nor mistress, what will +you do with me?' + +Farwell made a despairing gesture with his hand. + +'I tell you,' said Victoria with ferocious intensity. 'You're right, +life's a fight and I'm going to win, for my eyes are clear. I have done +with sentiment and sympathy. A man may command respect as a wage earner; +a woman commands nothing but what she can cheat out of men's senses. She +must be rich, she must be economically independent. Then men will crawl +where they hectored, worship that which they burned. And if I must be +dependent to become independent, that is a stage I am ready for.' + +'What are you going to do?' asked Farwell. + +'I'm going to live with this man,' said Victoria in a frozen voice. 'I +neither love nor hate him. I am going to exploit him, to extort from him +as much of the joy of life as I can, but above all I am going to draw +from him, from others too if I can, as much wealth as I can. I will +store it, hive it bee-like, and when my treasure is great enough I will +consume it. And the world will stand by and shout: hallelujah, a rich +woman cometh into her kingdom.' + +Farwell remained silent for a minute. + +'You are right,' he said, 'if you must choose, then be strong and carve +your way into freedom. I have not done this, and the world has sucked me +dry. You can still be free, so do not shrink from the means. You are a +woman, your body is your fortune, your only fortune, so transmute it +into gold. You will succeed, you will be rich; and the swine, instead of +trampling on you, will herd round the trough where you scatter pearls.' + +He stopped for a moment, slowly puffing at his pipe. + +'Women's profession,' he muttered. 'The time will come . . . +but to-day. . . .' + +Victoria looked at him, a faint figure in the night. He was the spectral +prophet, a David in fear of Goliath. + +'Yes,' she said, 'woman's profession.' + +Together they walked away. Farwell was almost soliloquising. 'If she is +brave, life is easier for a woman than a man. She can play on him; but +her head must be cool, her heart silent. Hear this, Victoria. Remember +yours is a trade and needs your application. To win this fight you must +be well equipped. Let your touch be soft as velvet, your grip as hard as +steel. Shrink from nothing, rise to treachery, let the worldly nadir be +your zenith.' + +He stopped before a public house and opened the door of the bar a +little. + +'Look in here,' he said. + +Victoria looked. There were five men, half hidden in smoke; among them +sat one woman clad in vivid colours, her face painted, her hands dirty +and covered with rings. Her yellow hair made a vivid patch against the +brown wall. A yard away, alone at a small table, sat another woman, +covered too with cheap finery, with weary eyes and a smiling mouth, her +figure abandoned on a sofa, lost to the scene, her look fixed on the +side door through which men slink in. + +'Remember,' said Farwell, 'give no quarter in the struggle, for you will +get none.' + +Victoria shuddered. But the fury was upon her. + +'Don't be afraid,' she hissed, 'I'll spare nobody. They've already given +me a taste of the whip. I know, I understand; those girls don't. I see +the goal before me and therefore I will reach it.' + +Farwell looked at her again, his eyes full of melancholy. + +'Go then, Victoria,' he said, 'and work out your fate.' + + + + +PART II + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +VICTORIA turned uneasily on the sofa and stretched her arms. She yawned, +then sat up abruptly. Sudermann's _Katzensteg_ fell to the ground off +her lap. She was in a tiny back room, so overcrowded by the sofa and +easy-chair that she could almost touch a small rosewood bureau opposite. +She looked round the room lazily, then relapsed on the sofa, hugging a +cushion. She snuggled her face into it, voluptuously breathing in its +compactness laden with scent and tobacco smoke. Then, looking up, she +reflected that she was very comfortable. + +Victoria's boudoir was the back extension of the dining-room. Shut off +by the folding doors, it contained within its tiny space the comfort +which is only found in small rooms. It was papered red with a flowered +pattern, which she thought ugly, but which had just been imported from +France and was quite the thing. The sofa and easy-chair were covered +with obtrusively new red and white chintz; a little pile of cushions had +fallen on the indeterminate Persian pattern of the carpet. Long +coffee-coloured curtains, banded with chintz, shut out part of the high +window, through which a little of the garden and the bare branches of a +tree could be seen. Victoria took all this in for the hundredth time. +She had been sleeping for an hour; she felt smooth, stroked; she could +have hugged all these pretty things, the little brass fender, the books, +the Delft inkpot on the little bureau. Everything in the room was +already intimate. Her eyes dwelt on the clean chintzes, on the half +blinds surmounted by insertion, the brass ashtrays, the massive silver +cigarette box. + +Victoria stood up, the movement changing the direction of her +contemplative mood. The Gothic rosewood clock told her it was a little +after three. She went to the cigarette box and lit a cigarette. While +slowly inhaling the smoke, she rang the bell. On her right forefinger +there was a faint yellow tinge of nicotine which had reached the nail. + +'I shall have to be manicured again,' she soliloquised. 'What a +nuisance. Better have it done to-day while I get my hair done too.' + +'Yes, mum.' A neat dark maid stood at the door. Victoria did not answer +for a second. The girl's black dress was perfectly brushed, her cap, +collar, cuffs, apron, immaculate white. + +'I'm going out now, Mary,' said Victoria. 'You'd better get my brown +velvet out.' + +'Yes, mum,' said the maid. 'Will you be back for dinner, mum?' + +'No, I'm dining with the Major. Oh, don't get the velvet out. It's muddy +out, isn't it?' + +'Yes, mum. It's been raining in the morning, mum.' + +'Ah, well, perhaps I'd better wear the grey coat and skirt. And my furs +and toque.' + +'The beaver, mum?' + +'No, of course not, the white fox. And, oh, Mary, I've lost my little +bag somewhere. And tell Charlotte to send me up a cup of tea at +half-past three.' + +Mary left the room silently. She seldom asked questions, and never +expressed pleasure, displeasure or surprise. + +Victoria walked up to her bedroom; the staircase was papered with a +pretty blue and white pattern over a dado of white lincrusta. A few +French engravings stood out in their old gold frames. Victoria stopped +at the first landing to look at her favourite, after Lancret; it +represented lovers surprised in a barn by an irate husband. + +The bedroom occupied the entire first floor. On taking possession of the +little house she had realised that, as she would have no callers, a +drawing-room would be absurd, so had suppressed the folding doors and +made the two rooms into one large one. In the front, between the two +windows, stood her dressing-table, now covered with small bottles, some +in cut glass and full of scent, others more workmanlike, marked +vaseline, glycerine, skin food, bay rum. Scattered about them on the +lace toilet cover, were boxes of powder, white, sepia, bluish, puffs, +little sticks of cosmetics, some silver-backed brushes, some squat and +short-bristled, others with long handles, with long soft bristles, one +studded with short wires, another with whalebone, some clothes brushes +too, buttonhooks, silver trays, a handglass with a massive silver +handle. Right and left, two little electric lamps and above the swinging +mirror, a shaded bulb shedding a candid glow. + +One wall was blotted out by two inlaid mahogany wardrobes; through the +open doors of one could be seen a pile of frilled linen, lace +petticoats, chemises threaded with coloured ribbons. On the large +arm-chair, covered with blue and white chintz, was a crumpled heap of +white linen, a pair of _cafe au lait_ silk stockings. A light mahogany +chair or two stood about the room. Each had a blue and white cushion. A +large wash-stand stood near the mantlepiece, laden with blue and white +ware. The walls were covered with blue silky paper, dotted here and +there with some colour prints. These were mostly English; their nude +beauties sprawled and languished slyly among bushes, listening to the +pipes of Pan. + +Victoria went into the back of the room, and, unhooking her cream silk +dressing jacket, threw it on the bed. This was a vast low edifice of +glittering brown wood, covered now by a blue and white silk bedspread +with edges smothered in lace; from the head of the bed peeped out the +tips of two lace pillows. By the side of the bed, on the little night +table, stood two or three books, a reading lamp and a small silver +basket full of sweets. An ivory bell-pull hung by the side of a swinging +switch just between the pillows. + +Victoria walked past the bed and looked at herself in the high +looking-glass set into the wall which rose from the floor to well above +her head. The mirror threw back a pleasing reflection. It showed her a +woman of twenty-six, neither short nor tall, dressed in a white +petticoat and mauve silk corsets. The corsets fitted well into the +figure which was round and inclined to be full. Her arms and neck, +framed with white frillings, were uniformly cream coloured, shadowed a +little darker at the elbows, near the rounded shoulders and under the +jaw; all her skin had a glow, half vigorous, half delicate. But the +woman's face interested Victoria more. Her hair was piled high and black +over a broad low white forehead; the cream of the skin turned faintly +into colour at the cheeks, into crimson at the lips; her eyes were +large, steel grey, long lashed and thrown into relief by a faintly mauve +aura. There was strength in the jaw, square, hard, fine cut; there was +strength too in the steadiness of the eyes, in the slightly compressed +red lips. + +'Yes,' said Victoria to the picture, 'you mean business.' She reflected +that she was fatter than she had ever been. Two months of rest had +worked a revolution in her. The sudden change from toil to idleness had +caused a reaction. There was something almost matronly about the soft +curves of her breast. But the change was to the good. She was less +interesting than the day when the Major sat face to face with her in +Soho, his pulse beating quicker and quicker as her ravished beauty +stimulated him by its novelty; but she was a finer animal. Indeed she +realised to the full that she had never been so beautiful, that she had +never been beautiful before, as men understand beauty. + +The past two months had been busy as well as idle, busy that is as an +idle woman's time. She had felt weary now and then, like those +unfortunates who are bound to the wheel of pleasure and are compelled to +'do too much.' Major Cairns had launched out into his first experiment +in pseudo-married life with an almost boyish zest. It was he who had +practically compelled her to take the little house in Elm Tree Place. + +'Think of it, Vic,' he had said, 'your own little den. With no prying +neighbours. And your own little garden. And dogs.' + +He had waxed quite sentimental over it and Victoria, full of the +gratitude that makes a woman cling to the fireman when he has rescued +her, had helped him to build a home for the idyll. Within a feverish +month he had produced the house as it stood. He had hardly allowed +Victoria any choice in the matter, for he would not let her do anything. +He practically compelled her to keep to her suite at the hotel, so that +she might get well. He struggled alone with the decoration, plumbing, +furniture and linoleum, linen and garden. Now and then he would ring up +to know whether she preferred salmon pink to _fraise ecrasee_ cushions, +or he would come up to the hotel rent in twain by conflicting rugs. At +last he had pronounced the house ready, and, after supplying it with +Mary and Charlotte, had triumphantly installed his new queen in her +palace. + +Victoria's first revelation was one of immense joy; unquestioning, and +for one moment quite disinterested. It was not until a few hours had +elapsed that she regained mastery over herself. She went from room to +room punching cushions, pressing her hands over the polished wood, at +times feeling voluptuously on hands and knees the pile of the carpets. +She almost loved Cairns at the moment. It was quite honestly that she +drew him down by her side on the red and white sofa and softly kissed +his cheek and drove his ragged moustache into rebellion. It was quite +willingly too that she felt his grasp tighten on her and that she +yielded to him. Her lips did not abhor his kisses. + +Some hours later she became herself again. Cairns was good to her, but +good as the grazier is to the heifer from whom he hopes to breed; she +was his creature, and must be well housed, well fed, well clothed, so +that his eyes might feast on her, scented so that his desire for her +might be whipped into action. In her moments of cold horror in the past +she had realised herself as a commodity, as a beast of burden; now she +realised herself as a beast of pleasure. The only thing to remember then +was to coin into gold her condescension. + +Victoria looked at herself again in the glass. Yes, it was +condescension. As a free woman, that is, a woman of means, she would +never have surrendered to Cairns the tips of her fingers. Off the coast +of Araby she had yielded to him a little, so badly did she need human +sympathy, a little warmth in the cold of the lonely night. When he +appeared again as the rescuer she had flung herself into his arms with +an appalling fetterless joy. She had plunged her life into his as into +Nirvana. + +Now her head was cooler. Indeed it had been cool for a month. She saw +Cairns as an average man, neither good nor evil, a son of his father and +the seed thereof, bound by a strict code of honour and a lax code of +morals. She saw him as a dull man with the superficial polish that even +the roughest pebble acquires in the stream of life. He had found her at +low water mark, stranded and gasping on the sands; he had picked her up +and imprisoned her in this vivarium to which he alone had access, where +he could enjoy his capture to the full. + +'And the capture's business is to get as much out of the captor as +possible, so as to buy its freedom back.' This was Victoria's new +philosophy. She had dexterously induced Cairns to give her a thousand a +year. She knew perfectly well that she could live on seven hundred, +perhaps on six. Besides, she played on his pride. Cairns was after all +only a big middle-aged boy; it made him swell to accompany Victoria to +Sloane Street to buy a hat, to the Leicester Gallery to see the latest +one-man show. She was a credit to a fellow. Thus she found no difficulty +in making him buy her sables, gold purses, Whistler etchings. They would +come in handy, she reflected, 'when the big bust-up came.' For Victoria +was not rocking herself in the transitory, but from the very first +making ready for the storm which follows on the longest stretch of fair +weather. + +'Yes,' said Victoria again to the mirror, 'you mean business.' The door +opened and almost noiselessly closed. Mary brought in a tray covered +with a clean set of silver-backed brushes, and piled up the other ready +to take away. She put a water can on the washstand and parsimoniously +measured into it some attar of roses. Victoria stepped out into the +middle of the room and stood there braced and stiff as the maid unlaced +and then tightened her stays. + +'What will you wear this evening, mum?' asked Mary, as Victoria sat down +in the low dressing chair opposite the swinging glass. + +'This evening,' mused Victoria. 'Let me see, there's the _gris perle_.' + +'No, mum, I've sent it to the cleaner's,' said Mary. Her fingers were +deftly removing the sham curls from Victoria's back hair. + +'You've worn it four times, mum,' she added reproachfully. + +'Oh, have I? I don't think. . . . oh, that's all right, Mary.' + +Victoria reflected that she would never have a well-trained maid if she +finished sentences such as this. Four times! Well, she must give the +Major his money's worth. + +'You might wear your red Directoire, mum,' suggested Mary in the +unemotional tones of one who is paid not to hear slips. + +'I might. Yes. Perhaps it's a little loud for the Carlton.' + +'Yes, mum,' said Mary without committing herself. + +'After all, I don't think it is so loud.' + +'No, mum,' said Mary in even tones. She deftly rolled her mistress' +plaits round the crown. + +Victoria felt vaguely annoyed. The woman's words were anonymous. + +'But what _do_ you think, Mary,' she asked. + +'Oh, I think you're quite right, mum,' said Mary. + +Victoria watched her face in the glass. Not a wave of opinion rippled +over it. + +Victoria got up. She stretched out her arms for Mary to slip the skirt +over her head. The maid closed the lace blouse, quickly clipped the +fasteners together, then closed the placket hole completely. Without a +word she fetched the light grey coat, slipped it on Victoria's +shoulders. She found the grey skin bag, while Victoria put on her white +fox toque. She then encased Victoria's head in a grey silk veil and +sprayed her with scent. Victoria looked at herself in the glass. She was +very lovely, she thought. + +'Anything else, mum,' said Mary's quiet voice. + +'No, Mary, nothing else.' + +'Thank you, mum.' + +As Victoria turned, she found the maid had disappeared, but her +watchful presence was by the front door to open it for her. Victoria saw +her from the stairs, a short erect figure, with a pale face framed in +dark hair. She stood with one hand on the latch, the other holding a cab +whistle; her eyes were fixed upon the ground. As Victoria passed out she +looked at Mary. The girl's eyes were averted still, her face without a +question. Upon her left hand she wore a thin gold ring with a single red +stone. The ring fastened on Victoria's imagination as she stepped into a +hansom which was loafing near the door. It was not the custom, she knew, +for a maid to wear a ring; and this alone was enough to amaze her. Was +it possible that Mary's armour was not perfect in every point of +servility? No doubt she had just put it on as it was her evening out and +she would be leaving the house in another half hour. And then? Would +another and a stronger hand take hers, hold it, twine its fingers among +her fingers. Victoria wondered, for the vision of love and Mary were +incongruous ideas. It was almost inconceivable that with her cap and +apron she doffed the mantle of her reserve; she surely could not +vibrate; her heart could not beat in unison with another. Yet, there was +the ring, the promise of passion. Victoria nursed for a moment the +vision of the two spectral figures, walking in a dusky park, arms round +waists, then of shapes blended on a seat, faces hidden, lip to lip. + +Victoria threw herself back in the cab. What did it all matter after +all? Mary was the beast of burden which she had captured by piracy. She +had been her equal once when abiding by the law; she had shared her toil +and her slender meed of thanks. Now she was a buccaneer, outside the +social code, and as such earned the right to command. So much did +Victoria dominate that she thought she would refrain from the exercise +of a bourgeois prerogative: the girl should wear her ring, even though +custom forbade it, load herself with trinkets if she chose, for as a +worker and a respecter of social laws surely she might well be treated +as the sacrificial ox. + +The horse trotted down Baker Street, then through Wigmore Street. +Daylight was already waning; here and there houses were breaking into +light between the shops, some of which had remembered it was Christmas +eve and decked themselves out in holly. At the corner near the Bechstein +Hall the cab came to a stop behind the long line of carriages waiting +for the end of a concert. Victoria had time to see the old crossing +sweeper, with a smile on his face and mistletoe in his battered +billy-cock. The festivities would no doubt yield him his annual kind +word from the world. She passed the carriages, all empty still. The +cushions were rich, she could see. Here and there she could see a fur +coat or a book on the seat; in one of them sat an elderly maid, watching +the carriage clock under the electric light, meanwhile nursing a +chocolate pom who growled as Victoria passed. + +'Slaves all of them,' thought Victoria. 'A slave the good elderly maid, +thankful for the crumbs that fall from the pom's table. Slaves too, the +fat coachman, the slim footman despite their handsome English faces, lit +up by a gas lamp. The raw material of fashion.' + +The cab turned into the greater blaze of Oxford Circus, past the Princes +Street P.R.R. There was a great show of Christmas cakes there. From the +cab Victoria, craning out, could see a young and pretty girl behind the +counter busily packing frosted biscuits. Victoria felt warmed by the +sight; she was not malicious, but the contrast told her of her +emancipation from the thrall of eight bob a week. Through Regent Street, +all congested with traffic, little figures laden with parcels darting +like frightened ants under the horse's nose, then into the immensity of +Whitehall, the cab stopped at the Stores in Victoria Street. + +Victoria had but recently joined. A store ticket and a telephone are the +next best thing to respectability and the same thing as regards comfort. +They go far to establish one's social position. Victoria struggled +through the wedged crowd. Here and there boys and girls with flushed +faces, who enjoyed being squashed. She could see crowds of jolly women +picking from the counters things useful and things pretty; upon signal +discoveries loudly proclaimed followed continual exclamations that they +would not do. Family parties, excited and talkative, left her unmoved. +That world, that of the rich and the free, would ultimately be hers; her +past, that of the worn men and women ministering behind the counter to +the whims of her future world, was dead. + +She only had to buy a few Christmas presents. There was one for Betty, +one for Cairns, and two for the servants. In the clothing department she +selected a pretty blue merino dressing-gown and a long purple sweater +for Betty. The measurements were much the same as hers, if a little +slighter; besides such garments need not fit. She went downstairs and +disposed of the Major by means of a small gold cigarette case with a +leather cover. No doubt he had a dozen, but what could she give a man? + +The Stores buzzed round her like a parliament of bees. Now and then +people shouldered past her, a woman trod on her foot and neglected to +apologise; parcels too, inconveniently carried, struck her as she +passed. She felt the joy of the lost; for none looked at her, save now +and then a man drowned in the sea of women. The atmosphere was stuffy, +however, and time was precious as she had put off buying presents until +so late. Followed by a porter with her parcels she left the Stores, +experiencing the pleasure of credit on an overdrawn deposit order +account. The man piled the goods in a cab, and in a few minutes she had +transferred Betty's presents to a carrier's office, with instructions +to send them off at eight o'clock by a messenger who was to wait at the +door until the addressee returned. This was not unnecessary foresight, +for Betty would not be back until nine. With the Major's cigarette case +in her white muff, Victoria then drove to Bond Street, there to snatch a +cup of tea. On the way she stopped the cab to buy a lace blouse for Mary +and an umbrella for Charlotte, having forgotten them in her hurry. She +decided to have tea at Miss Fortesque's, for Miss Fortesque's is one of +those tearooms where ladies serve ladies, and the newest fashions come. +It is the right place to be seen in at five o'clock. At the door a small +boy in an Eton jacket and collar solemnly salutes with a shiny topper. +Inside, the English character of the room is emphasized. There are no +bamboo tables, no skimpy French chairs or Japanese umbrellas; everything +is severely plain and impeccably clean. The wood shines, the table linen +is hard and glossy, the glass is hand cut and heavy, the plate quite +plain and obviously dear. On the white distempered walls are colour +prints after Reynolds, Romney, Gainsborough. All conspires with the +thick carpet to promote silence, even the china and glass, which seem no +more to dare to rattle than if they were used in a men's club. + +Victoria settled down in a large chintz-covered arm chair and ordered +tea from a good-looking girl in a dark grey blouse and dress. Visibly a +hockey skirt had not long ago been more natural to her. As she returned +Victoria observed the slim straight lines of her undeveloped figure. She +was half graceful, half gawky, like most young English girls. + +'It's been very cold to-day, hasn't it?' said the girl as she set down +bread and butter, then cake and jam sandwiches. + +'Very,' Victoria looked at her narrowly. 'I suppose it doesn't matter +much in here, though.' + +'Oh, no, we don't notice it.' The girl looked weary for a second. Then +she smiled at Victoria and walked away to a corner where she stood +listlessly. + +'Slave, slave.' The words rang through Victoria's head. 'You talk to me +when you're sick of the sight of me. You talk of things you don't care +about. You smile if you feel your face shows you are tired, in the hope +I'll tip you silver instead of copper.' + +Victoria looked round the room. It was fairly full, and as Fortesquean +as it was British. The Fortesque tradition is less fluid than the +constitution of the Empire. Its tables shout 'we are old wood'; its cups +say 'we are real porcelain'; and its customers look at one another and +say 'who the devil are you?' Nobody thinks of having tea there unless +they have between one and three thousand a year. It is too quiet for ten +thousand a year or for three pounds a week; it caters for ladies and +gentlemen and freezes out everybody else, regardless of turnover. Thus +its congregation (for its afternoon rite is almost hieratical) +invariably includes a retired colonel, a dowager with a daughter about +to come out, several squiresses who came to Miss Fortesque's as little +girls and are handing on the torch to their own. There is a sprinkling +of women who have been shopping in Bond Street, buying things good but +not showy. As the customers, or rather clients, lapse with a sigh into +the comfortable armchairs they look round with the covert elegance that +says, 'And who the devil are you?' + +Victoria was in her element. She had had tea at Miss Fortesque's some +dozen years before when up for the week from Lympton; thus she felt she +had the freedom of the house. She sipped her tea and dropped crumbs with +unconcern. She looked at the dowager without curiosity. The dowager +speculated as to the maker of her coat and skirt. Victoria's eyes fixed +again on the girl who was passing her with a laden tray. The effort was +bringing out the beautiful lines of the slender arms, drooping +shoulders, round bust. Her fair hair clustered low over the creamy nape. + +'Slave, slave,' thought Victoria again. 'What are you doing, you fool? +Roughening your hands, losing flesh, growing old. And there's nothing +for a girl to do but serve on, serve, always serve. Until you get too +old. And then, scrapped. Or you marry . . . anything that comes along. +Good luck to you, paragon, on your eight bob a week.' + +Victoria went downstairs and got into the cab which had been waiting for +her with the servants' presents. It was no longer cold, but foggy and +warm. She undid her white fox stole, dropping on the seat her crocodile +skin bag, whence escaped a swollen purse of gold mesh. + +Upstairs the girl cleared away. Under the butter-smeared plate which +slipped through her fingers she found half-a-crown. Her heart bounded +with joy. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +'TOM, you know how I hate _tournedos_,' said Victoria petulantly. + +'Sorry, old girl.' Cairns turned and motioned to the waiter. While he +was exchanging murmurs with the man Victoria observed him. Cairns was +not bad looking, redder and stouter than ever. He was turning into the +'jolly old Major' type, short, broad, strangled in cross barred cravats +and tight frock-coats. In evening dress, his face and hands emerging +from his shirt and collar, he looked like an enormous dish of +strawberries and cream. + +'I've ordered quails for you? Will that do, Miss Dainty?' + +'Yes, that's better.' + +She smiled at him and he smiled back. + +'By jove, Vic,' he whispered, 'you look fine. Nothing like pink shades +for the complexion.' + +'I think you're very rude,' said Victoria smiling. + +'Honest,' said Cairns. 'And why not? No harm in looking your best is +there? Now my light's yellow. Brings me down from tomato to carrot.' + +'Fishing again. No good, Tommy old chap.' + +'Never mind me,' said Cairns with a laugh. He paused and looked intently +at Victoria, then cautiously round him. They were almost in the middle +of the restaurant, but it was still only half full. Cairns had fixed +dinner for seven, though they were only due for a music hall; he hated +to hurry over his coffee. Thus they were in a little island of pink +light surrounded by penumbra. Softly attuned, Mimi's song before the +gates of Paris floated in from the balcony. + +'Vic,' said Cairns gravely, 'you're lovely. I've never seen you like +this before.' + +'Do you like my gown?' she asked coquettishly. + +'Your gown!' Cairns said 'Your gown's like a stalk, Vic, and you're a +big white flower bursting from it . . . a big white flower, pink +flecked, scented. . . .' + +'Sh . . . Tom, don't talk like that in here.' Victoria slid her foot +forward, slipped off her shoe and gently put her foot on the Major's +instep. His eyes blinked quickly twice. He reached out for his glass and +gulped down the champagne. + +The waiter returned, velvet footed. Every one of his gestures +consecrated the quails resting on the flowered white plates, surrounded +by a succulent lake of aromatic sauce. + +They ate silently. There was already between them the good understanding +which makes speech unnecessary. Victoria looked about her from time to +time. The couples interested her, for they were nearly all couples. Most +of them comprised a man between thirty and forty, and a woman some years +his junior. Their behaviour was severely decorous, in fact a little +languid. From a table near by a woman's voice floated lazily, + +'I rather like this pub, Robbie.' + +Indeed the acceptance of the pubbishness of the place was characteristic +of its frequenters. Most of the men looked vaguely weary; some keenly +interested bent over the silver laden tables, their eyes fixed on their +women's arms. Here and there a foreigner with coal black hair, a soft +shirt front and a fancy white waistcoat, spiced with originality the +sedateness of English gaiety. An American woman was giving herself away +by a semitone, but her gown was exquisite and its _decolletage_ +challenged gravitation. + +Cairns' attitude was exasperatingly that of Gallio, save as concerned +Victoria. His eyes did not leave her. She knew perfectly well that he +was inspecting her, watching the rise and fall on her white breast of +his Christmas gift, a diamond cross. They both refused the mousse and +Victoria mischievously leant forward, her hands crossed under her chin, +her arms so near Cairns' face that he could see on them the fine black +shading of the down. + +'Well, Tom?' she asked. 'Quite happy?' + +'No,' growled Cairns, 'you know what I want.' + +'Patience and shuffle the cards,' said Victoria, 'and be thankful I'm +here at all. But I musn't rot you Tommy dear, after a present like +that.' + +She slipped her fingers under the diamond cross. Cairns watched the +picture made by the rosy manicured finger nails, the sparkling stones, +the white skin. + +'A pity it doesn't match my rings,' she remarked. + +Cairns looked at her hand. + +'Oh, no more it does. I thought you had a half hoop. Never mind, dear. +Give me that sapphire ring.' + +'What do you want it for?' asked Victoria with a conscious smile. + +'That's my business.' + +She slipped it off. He took it, pressing her fingers. + +'I think you ought to have a half hoop,' he said conclusively. + +Victoria leant back in her chair. Her smile was triumphant. Truly, men +are hard masters but docile slaves. + +'You'll spoil me, Tom,' she said weakly. 'I don't want you to think that +I'm fishing for things. I'm quite happy, you know. I'd rather you didn't +give me another ring.' + +'Nonsense,' said Cairns, 'I wouldn't give it you if I didn't like to see +it on your hand.' + +'I don't believe you,' she said smoothly, but the phrase rang true. + +Some minutes later, as they passed down the stairs into the palm room, +she was conscious of the eyes that followed her. Those of the men were +mostly a little dilated; the women seemed more cynically interested, as +suits those who appraise not bodies but garments. Major Cairns, walking +a step behind her, was still looking well, with his close cut hair and +moustache, stiff white linen and erect bearing. Victoria realised +herself as a queen in a worthy kingdom. But the kingdom was not the one +she wished to hold with all the force of her beauty. That beauty was +transitory, or at least its subtler quality was. As Victoria lay in the +brougham with Cairns's arm holding her close to him, she still +remembered that the fading of her beauty might synchronise with the +growth of her wealth. A memory from some book on political economy +flashed through her mind: beauty was a wasting asset. + +Cairns kissed her on the lips. An atmosphere of champagne, coffee, +tobacco, enveloped her as her breath mixed with his. She coiled one arm +round his neck and returned his kisses. + +'Vic, Vic,' he murmured, 'can't you love me a little?' + +She put her hand behind his neck and once more kissed his lips. He must +be lulled, but not into security. + +Victoria had never realised her strength and her freedom so well as that +night, as she leant back in her box. Her face and breast, the Major's +shirt front, were the only spots of light which emerged from the +darkness of the box as if pictured by a German impressionist; down +below, under the mist, the damned souls revelled in the cheap seats; +they swayed, a black mass speckled with hundreds of white collars, +dotted with points of fire in the bowls of pipes. By the side of the +men, girls in white blouses or crude colours, shrouded in the mist of +tobacco smoke. Now and then a ring coiled up from a cigar in the stalls, +swirled in the air for a moment and then broke. + +Just behind the footlights blazing over the blackness, a little fat man, +with preposterous breeches, a coat of many colours, a yellow wisp of +hair clashing with his vinous nose, sang of the Bank and his manifold +accounts. A faint salvo of applause ushered him out, then swelled into a +tempest as the next number went up. + +'Tommy Bung, you're in luck,' said the Major, taking off Victoria's +wrap. + +She craned forward to see. A woman with masses of fair hair, bowered in +blue velvet, took a long look at her from the stage box through an opera +glass. + +The curtain went up. There was a roar of applause. Tommy Bung was ready +for the audience and had already fallen into a tub of whitewash. The +sorry object extricated itself. His red nose shone, star like. He rolled +ferocious eyes at a girl. The crowd rocked with joy. Without a word the +great Tommy Bang began to dance. At once the hall followed the splendid +metre. Up and down, up and down, twisting, curvetting, Tommy Bung held +his audience spellbound with rhythm. They swayed sharply with the +alternations. + +Victoria watched the Major. His hands were beating time. Tommy Bung +brought his effort to a conclusion by beating the floor, the soles of +his feet, the scenery, and punctuated the final thwack with a well timed +leap on the prompter's box. + +Victoria was losing touch with things. Waves of heat seemed to overwhelm +her; little figures of jugglers, gymnasts, performing dogs, passed +before her eyes like arabesques. Then again raucous voices. The crowd +was applauding hysterically. It was Number Fourteen, whose great name +she was fated never to know. Unsteadily poised on legs wide apart, +Number Fourteen sang. Uncontrollable glee radiated from him-- + + Now kids is orl right + When yer ain't got none; + Yer can sit at 'ome + An' eat 'cher dam bun. + I've just 'ad some twins; + Nurse says don't be coy, + For they're just the picture + Of the lodger's boy. + Tinka, Tinka, Tinka; Tinka, Tinka, Tink + 'It 'im in the eye and made the lodger blink. + Tinga, Tinga, Tinga; Tinga, Tinga, Teg + Never larfed so much since farver broke 'is leg. + +A roar of applause encouraged him. Victoria saw Cairns carried away, +clapping, laughing. In the bar below she could hear continuously the +thud of the levers belching beer. Number Fourteen was still singing, his +smile wide-slit through his face-- + + Now me paw-in-law + 'E's a rum ole bloke; + Got a 'and as light + As a ton o' coke. + Came 'ome late one night + An' what oh did 'e see? + Saw me ma-in-law + On the lodger's knee. + Tinka, Tinka, Tinka; Tinka, Tinka, Tink + 'It 'im in the eye an' made the lodger blink. + Tinga, Tinga, Tinga; Tinga, Tinga, Teg, + Never larfed so much since farver broke 'is leg. + +Enthusiasm was rising high. Number Fourteen braced himself for his great +effort on the effects of beer. Then, gracious and master of the crowd, +he beat time with his hands while the chorus sounded from a thousand +throats. Victoria happened to look at Cairns. His head was beating time +and, from his lips issued gleefully: + + Tinka, Tinka, Tinka; Tinka, Tinka, Tink + 'It 'im in the eye-- + +Victoria scrutinised him narrowly. Cairns was a phenomenon. + +'Never larfed so much since farver broke 'is leg,' roared Cairns. 'I +say, Vic, he really _is_ good.' He noticed her puzzled expression. 'I +say, Vic, what's up? Don't you like him?' + +Victoria did not answer for a second. + +'Oh, yes, I--he's very funny--you see I've never been in a music hall +before.' + +'Oh, is that it?' Cairns's brow cleared. 'It's a little coarse, but so +natural.' + +'Is that the same thing?' asked Victoria. + +'S'pose it is. With some of us anyhow. But what's the next?' + +Cairns had already relapsed into the programme. He hated the abstract; a +public school, Sandhurst and the army had armoured him magnificently +against intrusive thought. They watched the next turn silently. A couple +of cross-talk comedians, one a shocking creature in pegtop trousers, a +shock yellow head and a battered opera hat, the other young, handsome +and smart as a superior barber's assistant, gibbered incomprehensibly of +songs they couldn't sing and lies they could tell. + +The splendid irresponsibility of the music hall was wasted on Victoria. +She had the mind of a schoolmistress grafted on a social sense. She saw +nothing before her but the gross riot of the drunken. She saw no humour +in that cockney cruelty, capable though it be of absurd generosity. She +resented too Cairns's boyish pleasure in it all; he revelled, she felt, +as a buffalo wallows in a mud bath. He was gross, stupid, dull. It was +degrading to be his instrument of pleasure. But, after all, what did it +matter? He was the narrow way which would lead her to the august. + +Though Cairns was not thin-skinned he perceived a little of this. +Without a word he watched the cross-talk comedians, then the 'Dandy Girl +of Cornucopia,' a rainbow of stiff frills with a voice like a fretsaw. +As the lights went down for the bioscope, the idea of reconciliation +that springs from fat cheery hearts overwhelmed him. He put his hand out +and closed it over hers. With a tremendous effort she repressed her +repulsion, and in so doing won her victory. In the darkness Cairns threw +his arms round her. He drew her towards him, moved, the least bit +hysterical. As if fearful of losing her he crushed her against his shirt +front. + +Victoria did not resist him. Her eyes fixed on the blackness of the roof +she submitted to the growing brutality of his kisses on her neck, her +shoulders, her cheeks. Pressed close against him she did not withdraw +her knees from the grasp of his. + +'Kiss me,' whispered Cairns imperiously. + +She cast down her eyes; she could hardly see his face in the darkness, +nothing but the glitter of his eyeballs. Then, unhurried and purposeful, +she pressed her lips to his. The lights went up again. Many of the crowd +were stirring; Victoria stretched out her arms in a gesture of +weariness. + +'Let's go home, Vic,' said Cairns, 'you're tired.' + +'Oh, no, I'm not tired,' she said. 'I don't mind staying.' + +'Well, you're bored.' + +'No, not at all, it's quite interesting,' said Victoria judicially. + +'Come along, Vic,' said Cairns sharply. He got up. + +She looked up at him. His face was redder, more swollen than it had been +half-an-hour before. His eyes followed every movement of her arms and +shoulders. With a faint smile of understanding and the patience of those +who play lone hands, she got up and let him put on her wrap. As she put +it on she made him feel against his fingers the sweep of her arm; she +rested for a moment her shoulder against his. + +In the cab they did not exchange a word. Victoria's eyes were fixed on +the leaden sky; she was this man's prey. But, after all, one man's prey +or another? The prey of those who demand bitter toil from the charwoman, +the female miner, the P.R.R. girl; or of those who want kisses, soft +flesh, pungent scents, what did it all amount to? And, in Oxford Street, +a sky sign in the shape of a horse-shoe advertising whisky suddenly +reminded her of the half hoop, a step towards that capital which meant +freedom. No, she was not the prey--at least not in the sense of the bait +which finally captures the salmon. + +Cairns had not spoken a word. Victoria looked at him furtively. His +hands were clenched before him; in his eyes shone an indomitable +purpose. He was going to the feast and he would foot the bill. On +arriving at Elm Tree Place he walked at once into his dressing room, +while Victoria went into her bedroom. She knew his mood well and knew +too that he would not be long. She did not fancy overmuch the scene she +could conjure up. In another minute or two he would come in with the +culture of a thousand years ground down, smothered beneath the lava-like +flow of animalism. He would come with his hands shaking, ready to be +cruel in the exaction of his rights. She hovered between repulsion and +an anxiety which was almost anticipation; Cairns was the known and the +unknown at once. But whatever his demands they should be met and +satisfied, for business is business and its justification is profits. So +Victoria braced herself and, with feverish activity, twisted up her +hair, sprayed herself with scent, jumped into bed and turned out the +light. + +As she did so the door opened. She was conscious for a fraction of a +second of the bright quadrilateral of the open door where Cairns stood +framed, a broad black silhouette. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +'YES, I'm a lucky beggar,' soliloquised Cairns. He gave a tug to the +leads at which two Pekingese spaniels were straining. 'Come along, you +little brutes,' he growled. The spaniels, intent upon a piece of soiled +brown paper in the gutter, refused to move. + +'Obstinate, sir,' said a policeman respectfully. + +'Devilish. Simply devilish. Fine day, isn't it?' + +'Blowing up for rain, sir.' + +'Maybe. Come along, Snoo; that'll do.' + +Cairns dragged the dogs up the road. Snoo and Poo, husband and wife, had +suddenly fascinated him in Villiers Street that morning. He was on his +way to offer them at Victoria's shrine. Instinctively he liked the smart +dog, as he liked the smart woman and the American novel. Snoo and Poo, +tiny, fat, curly, khaki-coloured, with their flat Kalmuck faces, +unwillingly trundled behind him. They would, thought Cairns, be in +keeping with the establishment. A pleasant establishment. A nice little +house, in its quiet street where nothing ever seemed to pass, except +every hour or so a cab. It was better than a home, for it offered all +that a home offers, soft carpets, discreet servants, nice little lunches +among flowers and well-cleaned plate, and beyond, something that no home +contains. It was adventurous. Cairns had knocked about the world a good +deal and had collected sensations as finer natures collect thoughts. The +women of the past met and caressed on steam-boats, in hotels at Cairo, +Singapore and Cape Town, the tea gardens of Kobe and the stranger +mysteries of Zanzibar, all this had left him weary and sighing for +something like the English home. Indeed he grew more sentimental as he +thought of Dover cliffs every time his tailor called the measurement of +his girth. An extra quarter of an inch invariably coincided with a +sentimental pang. Cairns, however, would not yet have been capable of +settling down in a hunting county with a well-connected wife, a costly +farming experiment and the shilling weeklies. A transition was required; +he had no gift of introspection, but his relations with Victoria were +expressions of this mood. Thus he was happy. + +He never entered the little house in Elm Tree Place without a thrill of +pleasure. Under the placid mask of its respectability and all that went +with it, clean white steps, half curtains, bulbs in the window boxes, +there flowed for him a swift hot stream. And in that stream flourished a +beautiful white lily whose petals opened and smiled at will. + +'I wonder whether I'm in love with her?' This was a frequent subject for +Cairns's meditations. Victoria was so much more for him than any other +woman had been that he always hesitated to answer. She charmed him +sensually, but other women had done likewise; she was beautiful, but he +could conceive of greater beauty. Her intellect he did not consider, for +he was almost unaware of it. For him she was clever, in the sense that +women are clever in men's eyes when they can give a smart answer, +understand Bradshaw and order a possible combination at a restaurant. +What impressed him was Victoria's coolness, the balance of her unhurried +mind. Now and then he caught her reading curious books, such as +_Smiles's Self-Help_, _Letters of a Self-Made Merchant to his Son_ and +_Thus Spake Zara . . . Something_, by a man with a funny name; but this +was all part of her character and of its novelty. He did not worry to +scratch the surface of this brain; virgin soils did not interest him in +the mental sense. Sometimes, when he enounced a political opinion or +generalised on the problems of the day as stated in the morning paper, +he would find, a little uneasily, her eyes fixed on him with a strangely +interested look. But her eyelids would at once be lowered and her lips +would part, showing a little redder and moister, causing his heart to +beat quicker, and he would forget his perplexity as he took her hand and +stroked her arm with gentle insistence. + +Cairns dragged Snoo and Poo up the steps of the little house still +grumbling, panting and protesting that, as drawing-room dogs, they +objected to exercise in any form. He had a latchkey, but always +refrained from using it. He liked to ring the bell, to feel like a +guest. It would have been commonplace to enter _his_ hall and hang up +_his_ hat on _his_ peg. That would have been home and home only. To ask +whether Mrs Ferris was in was more adventurous, for she might be out. +And if she expected him, then it was an assignation; adventure again. + +The unimposing Mary let him in. For a fraction of a second she looked at +the Major, then at the floor. + +'Mrs Ferris in?' + +'Yes, sir, Mrs Ferris is in the boudoir.' Mary's voice fell on the last +necessary word like a dropgate. She had been asked a question and +answered it. That was the end of it. Cairns was the master of her +mistress. What respect she owed was paid. + +Cairns deposited his hat and coat in Mary's hands. Then, lifting Snoo +under one arm and Poo under the other, both grumbling vigorously and +kicking with their hind legs, he walked to the boudoir and pushed it +open with his shoulder. Victoria was sitting at the little bureau +writing a letter. Cairns watched her for two seconds, rejoicing in the +firm white moulding of her neck, in the dark tendrils of hair clustering +low, dwindling into the central line of down which tells of breeding and +health. Then Victoria turned round sharply. + +'Oh,' she said, with a little gasp. 'Oh, Tom, the ducks!' + +Cairns laughed and, walking up to her, dropped Snoo on her lap and Poo, +snuffling ferociously, on the floor. Victoria buried her hands in Snoo's +thick coat; the dog gurgled joyfully and rolled over on its side. +Victoria laughed, muzzling Snoo with her hand. + +Cairns watched the picture for, a moment. He was absurdly reminded of a +girl in Java who nursed a black marmoset against her yellow breast. And +as Victoria looked up at him, her chin now resting on Snoo's brown head, +a soft wave of scent rose towards him. He knelt down, throwing his arms +round her and the dog, gathering them both into his embrace. As his lips +met hers and clung to them, her perfume and the ranker scent of the dog +filled his nostrils, burning aphrodisiac into his brain. + +Victoria freed herself gently and rose to her feet, still nursing Snoo, +and laughingly pushed him into Cairns's face. + +'Kiss him,' she said, 'no favours here.' + +Cairns obeyed, then picked up Poo and sat down on the couch. + +'This is sweet of you, Tom,' said Victoria. 'They _are_ lovebirds.' + +'I'm glad you like them; this is Poo I'm holding, yours is Snoo.' + +'Odd names,' said Victoria. + +'Chinese according to the dealer,' said Cairns, 'but I don't pretend to +know what they mean.' + +'Never mind,' said Victoria, 'they're lovebirds, and so are you, Tom.' + +Cairns looked at her silently, at her full erect figure and smiling +eyes. He was a lucky beggar, a damned lucky beggar. + +'And what is this bribe for?' she asked. + +'Oh, nothing. Knew you'd like them, beastly tempers and as game as mice. +Women's dogs, you know.' + +'Generalising again, Tom. Besides I hate mice.' + +Cairns drew her down by his side on the couch. Everything in this woman +interested and stimulated him. She was always fresh, always young. The +touch of her hand, the smell of her hair, the feel of her skirts winding +round his ankles, all that was magic; every little act of hers was a +taking of possession. Every time he mirrored his face in her eyes and +saw the eyelids slowly veil and unveil them, something like love crept +into his soul. But every passionate embrace left him weak and almost +repelled. She was his property; he had paid for her; and, insistent +thought, what would she have done if he had not been rich? + +Half an hour passed away. Victoria lay passive in his arms. Snoo and +Poo, piled in a heap, were snuffling drowsily. There was a ring at the +front door, then a slam. They could hear voices. They started up. + +'Who the deuce . . . .?' said Cairns. + +Then they heard someone in the dining-room beyond the door. There was a +knock at the door of the boudoir. + +'Come in,' said Victoria. + +Mary entered. Her placid eyes passed over the Major's tie which had +burst out of his waistcoat, Victoria's tumbled hair. + +'Mr Wren, mum,' she said. + +Victoria staggered. Her hands knotted themselves together convulsively. + +'Good God,' she whispered. + +'Who is it? What does he want? What name did you say?' asked Cairns. +Victoria's excitement was infecting him. + +Victoria did not answer. Mary stood before them, her eyes downcast +before the drama. She was waiting for orders. + +'Can't you speak?' growled Cairns. 'Who is it?' + +Victoria found her voice at last. + +'My brother,' she said hoarsely. + +Cairns did not say a word. He walked once up and once down the room, +stopped before the mirror to settle his tie. Then turned to Mary. + +'Tell the gentleman Mrs Ferris can't see him!' + +Mary turned to go. There was a sound of footsteps in the dining-room. +The button of the door turned twice as if somebody was trying to open +it. The door was locked but Cairns almost leaped towards it. Victoria +stopped him. + +'No,' she said, 'let me have it out. Tell Mr Wren I'm coming, Mary.' + +Mary turned away. The incident was fading from her mind as a stone fades +away as it falls into an abyss. Victoria clung to Cairns and whispered +in his ear. + +'Tom, go away, go away. Come back in an hour. I beg you.' + +'No, old girl, I'm going to see you through,' said Cairns doggedly. + +'No, no, don't.' There was fear in her voice. 'I must have it out. Go +away, for my sake, Tom.' + +She pushed him gently into the hall, forced him to pick up his hat and +stick and closed the door behind him. She braced herself for the effort; +for a second the staircase shivered before her eyes like a road in the +heat. + +'Now for it,' she said, 'I'm in for a row.' + +A pleasant little tingle was in her veins. She opened the dining-room +door. It was not very light. There was a slight singing in her ears. +She saw nothing before her except a man's legs clad in worn grey +trousers where the knees jutted forward sharply. With an effort she +raised her eyes and looked Edward in the face. + +He was pale and thin as ever. A ragged wisp of yellow hair hung over the +left side of his forehead. He peered at her through his silver-mounted +glasses. His hands were twisting at his watch chain, quickly, nervously, +like a mouse in a wheel. As she looked at his weak mouth his +insignificance was revealed to her. Was this, this creature with the +vague idealistic face, the high shoulders, something to be afraid of? +Pooh! + +'Well, Edward?' she said, involuntarily aggressive. + +Wren did not answer. His hands suddenly stopped revolving. + +'Well, Edward?' she repeated. 'So you've found me?' + +'Yes,' he said at length. 'I . . . . Yes, I've found you.' The movement +of his hands began again. + +'Well?' + +'I know. I've found out. . . . I went to Finsbury.' + +'Oh? I suppose you mean you tracked me from my old rooms. I suppose +Betty told you I . . . my new occupation.' + +Wren jumped. + +'Damn,' he growled. 'Damn you.' + +Victoria smiled. Edward swearing. It was too funny. What an awful thing +it was to have a sense of humour. + +'You seem to know all about it,' she said smoothly. 'But what do you +want?' + +'How dare you,' growled Edward. 'A woman like you. . . . .' + +A hard look came into Victoria's eyes. + +'That will do Edward, I know my own business.' + +'Yes, a dirty business.' A hot flush spread over the man's thin cheeks. + +'You little cur.' Victoria smiled; she could feel her lips baring her +eye teeth. 'Fool.' + +Edward stared at her. Passion was stifling his words. + +'It's a lot you know about life, schoolmaster,' she sneered. 'Who are +you to preach at me? Is it your business if I choose to sell my body +instead of selling my labour?' + +'You're disgraced.' His voice went down to a hoarse whisper. +'Disgraced.' + +Victoria felt a wave of heat pass over her body. + +'Disgraced, you fool? Will anybody ever teach you what disgrace is? +There's no such thing as disgrace for a woman. All women are disgraced +when they're born. We're parasites, toys. That's all we are. You've got +two kinds of uses for us, lords and masters! One kind is honourable +labour, as you say, namely the work undertaken by what you call the +lower classes; the other's a share in the nuptial couch, whether illegal +or legal. Yes, your holy matrimony is only another name for my +profession.' + +'You've no right to say that,' cried Edward. 'You're trying to drag down +marriage to your level. When a woman marries she gives herself because +she loves; then her sacrifice is sublime.' He stopped for a second. +Idealism, sentimentalism, other names for ignorance of life, clashed in +his self-conscious brain without producing light. 'Oh, Victoria,' he +said, 'you don't know how awful it is for me to find you like this, my +little sister . . . of course you can't love him . . . if you'd married +him it would have been different.' + +'Ah, Edward, so that's your philosophy. You say that though I don't love +him, if I'd married him it would have been different. So you won't let +me surrender to a man unless I can trick him or goad him into binding +himself to me for life. If I don't love him I may marry him and make +his life a hell and I shall be a good woman; but I mustn't live with him +illegally so that he may stick to me only so long as he cares for me.' + +'I didn't say that,' stammered Edward. 'Of course, it's wrong to marry a +man you don't care for . . . but marriage is different, it sanctifies.' + +'Sanctifies! Nothing sanctifies anything. Our deeds are holy or unholy +in themselves. Oh, understand me well, I claim no ethical revelation; I +don't care whether my deeds are holy or not. I judge nothing, not even +myself. All I say is that your holy bond is a farce; if women were +free--that is, trained, able and allowed to earn fair wages for fair +labour--then marriage might be holy. But marriage for a woman is a +monetary contract. It means that she is kept, clothed, amused; she is +petted like a favourite dog, indulged like a spoiled child. In exchange +she gives her body.' + +'No, no.' + +'Yes, yes. And the difference between a married woman and me is her +superior craft, her ability to secure a grip upon a man. You respect her +because she is permanent, as you respect a vested interest.' + +The flush rose again in Edward's cheeks. As he lost ground he fortified +his obstinacy. + +'You've sold yourself,' he said quickly, 'gone down into the gutter +. . . . Oh!' + +'The gutter.' Victoria was so full of contempt that it almost hurt her. +'Of course I'm in the gutter. I always was in the gutter. I was in the +gutter when I married and my husband boarded and lodged me to be his +favourite. I was in the gutter when I had to kow-tow to underbred +people; to be a companion is to prostitute friendship. You don't mind +that, do you? I was in the gutter in the tea shops, when I decoyed men +into coming to the place because they could touch me, breathe me. I'm in +the gutter now, but I'm in the right one. I've found the one that's +going to make me free.' + +Edward was shaken by her passion. + +'You'll never be free,' he faltered, 'you're an outcast.' + +'An outcast from what?' sneered Victoria. 'From society? What has +society done for me? It's kicked me, it's bled me. It's made me work ten +hours a day for eight bob a week. It'd have sucked me dry and offered me +the workhouse, or the Thames at the end. It made me almost a cripple.' + +Edward stared. + +'Yes,' said Victoria savagely. 'That makes you squirm, sentimentalist. +Look at that!' + +She put her foot on a chair, tucked up her skirt, tore down the +stocking. Purplish still, the veins stood out on the firm white flesh. + +Edward clenched both his hands and looked away. A look of pain was in +his eyes. + +'Yes, look at that,' raged Victoria. 'That's what your society's done +for me. It's chucked me into the water to teach me to swim, and it's +gloated over every choke. It's fine talking about chivalry, isn't it, +when you see what honest labour's done for me, isn't it? It's fine +talking about purity when you see the price your society pays me for +being what I am, isn't it? Look at me. Look at my lace, look at my +diamonds, look at my house . . . and think of the other side: eight bob +a week, ten hours work a day, a room with no fire, and a bed with no +sheets. But I know your society now, and as I can't kill it I'll cheat +it. I've served it and it's got two years of my life; but I'm going to +get enough out of it to make it crawl.' + +She strode towards Edward. + +'So don't you come preaching to me,' she hissed. + +Edward's head bent down. Slowly he walked towards the door. + +'Yes,' she said, 'go. I've no use for you. I'm out for stronger meat.' + +He opened the door, then, without looking up, + +'Good-bye,' he said. + +The door closed behind him. Victoria looked about her for some seconds, +then sat down in the carving chair, her arms outstretched on the table. +Her teeth were clenched now, her jaw set; with indomitable purpose she +looked out into the darkening room where she saw the battle and victory +of life. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +VICTORIA had never loved adventure for its own sake. The change from +drudgery to leisure was grateful as was all it brought in the shape of +pretty clothes, jewels and savoury dishes; but she realised every day +better that, taking it as a profession, her career was no great success. +It afforded her a fair livelihood, but the wasting asset of her beauty +could not be replaced; thus it behoved her to amortize its value at a +rapid rate. She felt much better in health; her varicose veins had gone +down a good deal, but she still preserved a dark mystery about them; +after six months of intimate association, Cairns did not yet know why he +had never seen Victoria without her stockings. Being man of the world +enough to know that discretion is happiness, he had never pressed the +point; a younger or more sensitive man would have torn away the veil, so +as to achieve total intimacy at the risk of wrecking it. He was not of +these, and vaguely Victoria did not thank him for a sentiment half +discreet, half indifferent; such an attitude for a lover suggested +disregard for essentials. As she grew stronger and healthier her brain +worked more clearly, and she began to realise that even ten years of +association with this man would yield no more than a pittance. And it +would be difficult to hold him for ten years. + +Victoria certainly went ably to work to preserve for Cairns the feeling +of novelty and adventure. It was practically in deference to her +suggestions that he retained his chambers; he soon realised her wisdom +and entered into the spirit of their life. He still understood very well +the pleasure of being her guest. Victoria found no decline in his +desire; perhaps it was less fiery, but it was as coarse and as constant. +Certainly she was woman for him rather than merely a woman; moreover she +was a habit. Victoria saw this clearly enough and resolved to make the +most of it. + +In accordance with her principles she kept her expenses down. She would +not even allow herself the luxury of a maid; she found it cheaper to pay +Mary higher wages. When Cairns was not expected her lunch was of the +simplest, and Charlotte discovered with amazement that her rakish +mistress could check a grocer's book. Victoria was not even above +cheating the Water Board by omitting to register her garden tap. All +these, however, were petty economies; they would result in a saving of +perhaps three hundred a year, a beggarly sum when pitted against the +uncertainties of her profession. + +She realised all this within three or four months of her new departure, +and promptly decided that Cairns must be made to yield a higher revenue. +She felt that she could not very well tell him that a thousand a year +was not enough; on the face of it it was ample. It was necessary +therefore to launch out a little. The first step was to increase her +visible supply of clothes, and this was easily done by buying the cheap +and effective instead of the expensive and good. Cairns knew enough +about women's clothes to detect this now and then, but the changes +bewildered him a little and he had some difficulty in seeing the +difference between the latest thing and the cheapest. Whenever she was +with him she affected the manners of a spendthrift; she would call cabs +to carry her a hundred yards, give a beggar a shilling, or throw a pair +of gloves out of the window because they had been worn once. + +Cairns smiled tolerantly. She might as well have her fling, he thought, +and a lack of discipline was as charming in a mistress as it was +deplorable in a wife. He was therefore not surprised when, one morning, +he found Victoria apparently nervous and worried. She owned that she was +short of cash. In fact the manager of her bank had written to point out +that her account was overdrawn. + +'Dear me,' said Cairns with mock gravity, 'you've been going it, old +girl! What's all this? "Self," "Self," why all these cheques are to +"Self." You'll go broke.' + +'I suppose I shall,' said Victoria wearily. 'I don't know how I do it, +Tom. I'm no good at accounts. And I hate asking you for more money . . . +but what am I to do?' + +She crossed her hands over her knees and looked up at him with a pretty +expression of appeal. Cairns laughed. + +'Don't worry,' he said, curling a lock of her hair round a fat +forefinger. 'I'll see you through.' + +Victoria received that afternoon a cheque for two hundred and fifty +pounds which she paid into her account. She did not, however, inform +Cairns that the proceeds of the "Self" cheques had been paid into a +separate account which she had opened with another bank. By this means, +she was always able to exhibit a gloomy pass book whenever it was +required. + +Having discovered that Cairns was squeezable Victoria felt more hopeful +as to the future. She was his only luxury and made the most of his +liking for jewellery and furs. She even hit upon the more ingenious +experiment of interesting Barbezan Soeurs in her little speculations. +The device was not novel: for a consideration of ten per cent these +bustling dressmakers were ready to provide fictitious bills and even +solicitor's letters couched in frigidly menacing terms. Cairns laughed +and paid solidly. He had apparently far more money than he needed. +Victoria was almost an economy; without her he would have lost a fortune +at bridge, kept a yacht perhaps and certainly a motor. As it was he was +quite content with his poky chambers in St James', a couple of clubs +which he never thought of entering, the house in Elm Tree Place and a +stock of good cigars. + +Cairns was happy, and Victoria labouring lightly for large profits, was +contented too. Theirs were lazy lives, for Cairns was a man who could +loaf. He loafed so successfully that he did not even think of +interfering with Victoria's reading. She now read steadily and +voraciously; she eschewed novels, fearing the influence of sentiment. +'It will be time for sentiment by and by,' she sometimes told herself. +Meanwhile she armoured her heart and sharpened her wits. The earlier +political opinions which had formed in her mind under the pressure of +toil remained unchanged but did not develop. She recognised herself as a +parasite and almost gloried in it. She evolved as a system of philosophy +that one's conduct in life is a matter of alternatives. Nothing was good +and nothing was evil; things were better than others or worse and there +was an end of her morality. Victoria had no patience with theories. One +day, much to Cairns surprise, she violently flung Ingersoll's essays +into the fender. + +'Steady on,' said Cairns, 'steady on, old girl.' + +'Such rot,' she snarled. + +'Hear, hear,' said Cairns, picking up the book and looking at its title. +'Serve you right for reading that sort of stuff. I can't make you out, +Vic.' + +Victoria looked at him with a faint smile, but refused to assign a cause +for her anger. In fact she had suddenly been irritated by Ingersoll's +definition of morality. 'Perceived obligation,' she thought. 'And I +don't perceive any obligation!' She consoled herself suddenly with the +thought that her amorality was a characteristic of the superman. + +The superman preoccupied her now and then. He was a good subject for +speculation because imponderable and inexistent. The nearest approach +she could think of was a cross between an efficient colonial governor +and a latter-day prophet. She believed quite sincerely that the day must +come when children of the light must be born, capable of ruling and of +keeping the law. She saw very well too that their production did not lie +with an effete aristocracy any more than with a dirty and drunken +democracy; probably they would be neo-plutocrats, men full of ambition, +lusting for power and yet imbued with a spirit of icy justice. Her +earliest tendency had been towards an idealistic socialism. Burning with +her own wrongs and touched by the angelic wing of sympathy, she had seen +in the communisation of wealth the only means of curbing the evils it +had hitherto wrought. Further observation showed her however that an +idealism of this kind would not lead the world speedily into a peaceful +haven. She saw too well that covetousness was still lurking snakelike in +the bosom of man, ready to rear its ugly head and strike at any hand. +Thus she was not surprised to see the chaos which reigned among +socialists, their intriguing, their jealousies, their unending +dissensions, their apostacies. This did not throw her back into the +stereotyped philosophy of individualism; for she could not help seeing +that the system of modern life was absurd, stupidly wasteful above all +of time, labour and wealth. To apply Nietzscheism to socialism was, +however, beyond her; to reconcile the two doctrines which apparently +conflict and really only overlap was a task too difficult for a brain +which had lain fallow for twenty-five years. But she dimly felt that +Nietzscheism did not mean a glorified imperialism, but a worship of +intellectual efficiency and the stringent morality of _noblesse oblige_. + +Where Victoria began to part issue with her own thoughts was when she +considered the position of women. Their outlook was one of unrelieved +gloom; and it one day came upon her as a revelation that Nietzsche and +Schopenhauer, following in a degree on Rousseau, had forgotten women in +the scheme of life. There might be supermen but there would be no +superwomen: if the supermen were true to their type they would have to +crush and to dominate the women. As the latter fared so hard at the +hands of the pigmies of to-day, what would they do if they could not +develop in time to resist the sons of Anak? Victoria saw that the world +was entering upon a sex war. Hitherto a shameful state of peace had left +women in the hands of men, turning over the other cheek to the smiter. +The sex war, however, held forth no hopes to her; in the dim future, sex +equality might perhaps prevail; but she saw nothing to indicate that +women had sown the seeds of their victory. She had no wish to enrol +herself in the ranks of those who were waging an almost hopeless battle, +armed with untrained intellects and unathletic bodies. She could not get +away from the fact that the best woman athletes cannot compete with +ordinary men, that even women with high intellectual qualifications had +not ousted from commanding positions men of inferior ability. + +All this, she thought, was unjust; but why hope for a change? There was +nothing to show that men grew much better as a sex; then why pin faith +to the coming of better times? Women were parasites, working only under +constraint, badly and at uncongenial tasks; their right to live was +based on their capacity to please. This brought her to her own +situation. The future lay before her in the shape of two roads. One was +the road which led to the struggle for life; ending, she felt it too +well, in a crawl to death on crippled limbs. The other was the road +along which grew roses, roses which she could pluck and sell to men; at +the end of that was the heaven of independence. It had golden gates; it +was guarded by an angel in white garments with a palm leaf in his hands +and beyond lay the pleasant places where she had a right of way. And as +she looked again the heaven with the golden gates turned into a bank +with a commissionaire at the door. + +Her choice being made, she did not regret it. For the time being her +life was pleasant enough, and if it could be made a little more +profitable it would soon be well worth living, and her freedom would be +earned. Meanwhile she took pleasure in small things. The little house +was almost a show place, so delicate and refined were its inner and +outer details. Victoria saw to it that frequently changed flowers +decorated the beds in the front garden; Japanese trees, dwarfed and +gnarled, stood right and left of the steps, scowling like tiny Titans; +all the blinds in the house were a mass of insertion. These blinds were +a feature for her; they implied secrecy. Behind the half blinds were +thick curtains of decorated muslin; behind these again, heavy curtains +which could be drawn at will. They were the impenetrable veil which +closed off from the world and its brutalities this oasis of forbidden +joys. + +In the house also she was ever elaborating, sybaritising her life. She +had a branch telephone fixed at the head of her bed; the first time that +Cairns used it to tell his man to bring up his morning coat she had the +peculiar sensation that her bed was in touch with the world. She could +call up anybody, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Governor of the Bank +of England or the headquarters of the Salvation Army. Her bed was the +centre of the world. She fitted the doors of her bedroom and her boudoir +with curious little locks which acted on the pressure of a finger for +her mind was turned on delicacies and the sharp click of a bolt, the +grating of a key savoured of the definite, therefore of the coarse. A +twist of the knob between two fingers and the world was silently shut +out. + +Now too that she was beautiful once more she revelled in mirrors. The +existing ones in her bedroom and in the boudoir were not enough; they +were public, unintimate. She had a high mirror fixed in the bathroom, so +that she could see herself in her freshness, covered with pearly beads +like a naiad. She rejoiced in her beauty, in her renewed strength; she +often stood for many minutes in the dim steamy light of the room, +analysing her body, its grace and youth, with a growing consciousness of +latent power. Then, suddenly, the faint violet streaks of the varicose +veins would intrude upon the rite and she would wrap herself up +jealously in her bath robe so that not even the mirror should be a +confidant of the past. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +WEEK after week passed on, and now monotony drew her stifling cloak over +Victoria. Cairns was still in a state of beatitude which made him an +unexciting companion; satisfied in his egoism, it never came into his +mind that Victoria could tire of her life. He spent many afternoons in +the back garden under a rose-covered pergola. By his side was a little +table with a syphon, a decanter of whisky, and a box of cigars; he read +desultorily, sometimes the latest motor novel, at other times the +improving memoirs of eighteenth century noblewomen. Now and then he +would look approvingly at Victoria in plain white drill, delightfully +mischievous under a sun-bonnet, and relapse into his book. Once he +quoted 'A flask of wine, a book of verse. . . .' and Victoria went into +sudden fits of laughter when she remembered Neville Brown. The single +hackneyed line seemed to link malekind together. + +Cairns was already talking of going away. June was oppressively hot and +he was hankering after some quiet place where he might do some +sea-fishing and get some golf. He was becoming dangerously fat; and +Victoria, foreseeing a long and very cheap holiday, favoured the idea in +every way. They could go up to Scotland later too; but Cairns rather +hesitated about this, for he neither cared to show off Victoria before +the people he knew on the moors, nor to leave her for a fortnight. He +was paying the penalty of Capua. His plans were set back, however, by +serious trouble which had taken place on his Irish estate, his though +still in the hands of Marmaduke Cairns's executors. There had been +nightriding, cattle driving, some boycotting. The situation grew so +tense that the executors advised Cairns to sell the estate to the +tenants but the latter declined the terms; matters came to a deadlock +and it was quite on the cards that an application might be made under +the Irish Land Act. It was clear that in this case the terms would be +bad, and Cairns was called to Limerick by telegram as a last chance. He +left Victoria, grumbling and cursing Ireland and all things Irish. + +Left to herself, Victoria felt rather at a loose end. The cheerful if +uninteresting personality of Major Cairns had a way of filling the +house. He had an expansive mind; it was almost chubby. For two days she +rather enjoyed her freedom. The summer was gorgeous; St John's Wood was +bursting everywhere into flower; the trees were growing opaque in the +parks. At every street corner little whirlwinds of dry grit swayed in +the hot air. One afternoon Victoria indulged in the luxury of a hired +private carriage, and flaunted it with the best in the long line on the +south side of the Park. Wedged for a quarter of an hour in the mass she +felt a glow come over her. The horses all round her shone like polished +wood, the carriage panels were lustrous, the harness was glittering, the +brass burnished; all the world seemed to radiate warmth and light. Gaily +enough, because not jaded by repetition, she caused the carriage to do +the Ring, twice. She felt for a moment that she was free, that she could +vie with those women whose lazy detachment she stirred for a moment into +curiosity by her deep eyes, dark piled hair and the audacity of her +diaphanous _crepe de chine_. + +Cairns was still in Ireland, struggling conscientiously to pile up +unearned increment; and Victoria, thoroughly aimless, suddenly bethought +herself of Farwell. She had been remiss in what was almost a duty. +Surely she ought to report progress to the man who had helped to open +her eyes to the realities of life. She had misapplied his teaching +perhaps, or rather remoulded it, but still it was his teaching. Or +rather it was what a woman should know, as opposed to what Thomas +Farwell preached; if men were to practise that, then she should revise +her philosophy. + +At ten minutes to one she entered the Moorgate Street P.R.R. with a +little thrill. Everything breathed familiarity; it was like coming home, +but better, for it is sweeter to revisit the place where one has +suffered, when one has emerged, than to brood with gentle sorrow on the +spot, where there once was joy. She knew every landmark, the +tobacconist, the picture shop, still full of 'Mother's Helps' and of +'artistic' studies in the nude; there was the red-coated bootblack too, +as dirty and as keenly solicitous as ever. The P.R.R. itself did not +chill her. In the crude June sunlight its nickel shone gaily enough. +Everything was as before; the cakes had been moulded in the old moulds, +and here was the old bill of fare, unchanged no doubt; even the +marble-topped tables and the half cleaned cruets looked kindly upon her; +but the tesselated red and blue floor aroused the hateful memory of +another Victoria on her hands and knees, an old sack round her waist, +painfully swaying from right to left, swabbing the tiles. Little +rivulets of water and dirt flowed slowly across the spectre's hand. + +As she went down the steps into the smoking-room she crossed with the +manageress, still buxom and erect; but she passed unnoticed, for this +was the busy hour when the chief tried to be simultaneously on three +floors. The room was not so full as it had once been. She sat down at a +little table and watched the familiar scene for some minutes. She told +the girl she would wait a minute, for she did not want to miss Farwell. +The world had gone round, but apparently the P.R.R. was the axis. There +in the corner were the chess players; to-day they only ran four boards, +but at one of them a fierce discussion was going on as to a variation of +the queen's pawn opening. On the other side of the room were the young +domino players, laughing and smoking cigarettes. The fat and yellow +Levantine was missing. Victoria regretted him, for the apocalyptic +figure was an essential part of the ugly past. But there was 'old dry +toast' all alone at his little table. He had not changed; his white hair +still framed thickly his beautiful old brown face. There he sat, still +silent and desolate, waiting for the end. Victoria felt a pang of +sorrow. She was not quite hardened yet and she realised it angrily. +There must be no sympathy and no quarter in her game of life. It was too +late or too soon for that. Victoria let her eyes stray round the room. +There were the young men and boys or some of the same breed, in their +dark suits, brilliant ties, talking noisily, chaffing one another, +gulping down their small teas and toasted scones. A conversation between +two older men was wafted in to her ears. + +'Awful. Have you tried annelicide?' + +At that moment a short broad figure walked smartly down the steps. It +was Thomas Farwell, a thin red book under his arm. He went straight +through to the old table, propped his book against the cruet and began +to read. Victoria surveyed him critically. He was thinner than ever; his +hair was more plentifully sprinkled with grey but had receded no +further. He was quite near her, so she could see his unbrushed collar +and his frayed cuffs. After a moment the girl came and stood before him; +it was Nelly, big and raw-boned as ever, handsome still like the fine +beast of burden she was. She wore no apron now in proud token of her +new position as head waitress. Now the voices by her side were talking +holidays. + +'No, Ramsgit's good enough for me. Broadstairs and all these little +places, they're so tony--' + +Maud passed quickly before Victoria. The poor little girl was as white +as ever; her flaccid cheeks danced up and down as she ran. The other +voice was relating at length how its owner had taken his good lady to +Deal. Nelly had left Farwell, walking more slowly than the other girls, +as befitted her station. Victoria felt herself pluck up a little +courage, crossed the room followed by many admiring glances, and quickly +sat down at Farwell's table. He looked up quickly. The book dropped +suddenly from the cruet. + +'Victoria,' he gasped. + +'Yes,' she said smiling. + +'Well . . .' His eyes ran over her close fitting tussore dress, her +white kid gloves. + +'Is that all you've got to say to me?' she asked. 'Won't you shake +hands?' + +Farwell put out his hand and held hers for a second. He was smiling now, +with just a touch of wistfulness in his eyes. + +'I'm very glad to see you,' he said at length. + +'So am I,' said Victoria. 'I hope you don't mind my coming here, but I +only thought of it this morning.' + +'Mind,' snapped Farwell. 'People who understand everything never mind +anything.' + +Victoria smiled again. The bumptious aphorism was a sign that Farwell +was still himself. For a minute or so they looked at one another. +Victoria wondered at this man; so powerful intellectually and +physically; and yet content to live in his ideals on a pittance, to do +dull work, to be a subordinate. Truly a caged lion. Farwell, on the +other hand, was looking in vain for some physical ravishes to justify +Victoria's profession, for some gross development at least. He looked in +vain. Instead of the pale dark girl with large grey eyes whom he had +known, he now saw a healthy and beautiful woman with a clear white skin, +thick hair, red lips. + +'Well,' he said with a laugh, 'can I invite you to lunch with me?' + +'You may,' she said. 'I'll have a small coffee and . . . a sunny side +up.' + +Farwell laughed and signed to Nelly. After a minute he attracted her +attention and gave the order without Nelly taking any interest in +Farwell's guest. It might be rather extraordinary, but her supervisory +duties were all-absorbent. When she returned, however, she stole a +curious look at Victoria while placing before her the poached egg on +toast. She looked at her again, and her eyes dilated. + +'Law,' she said. 'Vic!' + +'Yes, Nelly, how are you?' Victoria put out her gloved hand. Nelly took +it wonderingly. + +'I'm all right,' she answered slowly. 'Just been made head waitress,' +she added with some unction. Her eyes were roving over Victoria's +clothes, valuing them like an expert. + +'Congratulations,' said Victoria. 'Glad you're getting on.' + +'I see _you're_ getting on,' said Nelly, with a touch of sarcasm. + +'So, so, things aren't too bad.' Victoria looked up. The women's eyes +crossed like rapiers; Nelly's were full of suspicion. The conversation +stopped then, for Nelly was already in request in half a dozen quarters. + +'She knows,' said Victoria smoothly. + +'Of course,' said Farwell. 'Trust a woman to know the worst about +another and to show it up. Every little helps in a contest such as +life.' + +Farwell then questioned her as to her situation, but she refused him all +details. + +'No,' she said, 'not here. There's Nelly watching us, and Maud has just +been told. Betty's been shifted, I know, and I suppose Mary and Jennie +are gone, but there's the manageress and some of the girls upstairs. +I've nearly done. Let me return the invitation. Dine with me +to-night. . .' She was going to say 'at home,' but changed her mind to +the prudent course. . . . 'at, well, anywhere you like. Whereabouts do +you live, Mr Farwell?' + +'I live in the Waterloo Road,' said Farwell, 'an artery named after the +playing fields of Eton.' + +'I don't know it well,' said Victoria, 'but I seem to remember an +Italian place near Waterloo Station. Suppose you meet me at the south +end of Waterloo Bridge at seven?' + +'It will do admirably,' said the man. 'I suppose you want to go now? +Well, you've put out my habits, but I'll come too.' + +They went out; the last Victoria saw of the P.R.R. was the face of the +cook through the hole in the partition, red, sweating, wrinkled by the +heat and hurry of the day. They parted in the churchyard. Victoria +watched him walk away with his firm swing, his head erect. + +'A man,' she thought, 'too clever to succeed.' + +Being now again at a loose end and still feeling fairly hungry, she +drove down to Frascati's to lunch. She was a healthy young animal, and +scanty fare was now a novelty. At three o'clock she decided to look up +Betty at her depot in Holborn; and by great good luck found that Betty +was free at half past five, as the Holborn depot for unknown reasons +kept shorter hours than Moorgate Street. She whiled away the intervening +time easily enough by shop-gazing and writing a long letter to Cairns on +the hospitable paper of the Grand Hotel. At half-past five she picked +up Betty at the door of the P. R. R. + +'Thank you again so very, very much for the sweater and the dressing +gown,' said Betty as she slipped her arm through that of her friend. + +'Don't be silly, Betty, I like giving you things.' Victoria smiled and +pressed the girl's arm. 'You're not looking well, Betty.' + +'Oh, I'm all right,' said Betty wearily. + +Victoria looked at her again. Under the pretty waved sandy hair Betty's +forehead looked waxen; her cheeks were too red. Her arm felt thinner +than ever. What was one to do? Betty was a weakling and must go to the +wall. But there was a sweetness in her which no one could resist. + +'Look here, Betty,' said Victoria, 'I've got very little time; I've got +to meet Mr Farwell at Waterloo Bridge at seven. It's beautifully fine, +let's drive down to Embankment Gardens and talk.' + +Betty's face clouded for a moment at the mention of Farwell's name. She +hated him with the ferocity of the weak; he had ruined her friend. But +it was good to have her back. The cab drove down Chancery Lane at a +spanking rate, then across the Strand and through a lane. The +unaccustomed pleasure and the rush of air brought all her face into pink +unison with her cheeks. + +The two women sat side by side for a moment. This was the second time +they had met since Victoria had entered her new life. There had been a +few letters, the last to thank Victoria for her Christmas present, but +Betty did not say much in them. Her tradition of virtue had erected a +barrier between them. + +'Well, Betty,' said Victoria suddenly, 'do you still think me very bad?' + +'Oh, Vic, how can you? I never, never said that.' + +'No, you thought it,' answered Victoria a little cruelly. 'But never +mind, perhaps you're right.' + +'I never said so, never thought so,' persisted Betty. 'You can't go +wrong, Vic, you're . . . you're different.' + +'Perhaps I am,' said Victoria. 'Perhaps there are different laws for +different people. At any rate I've made my choice and must abide by it.' + +'And are you happy, Vic?' Anxiety was in the girl's face. + +'Happy? Oh, happy enough. He's a good sort.' + +'I'm so glad. And . . . Vic . . . do you think he'll marry you?' + +'Marry me?' said Victoria laughing. 'You little goose, of course not. +Why should he marry me now he's got me?' + +This was a new idea for Betty. + +'But doesn't he love you very, very much?' she asked, her blue eyes +growing rounder and rounder. + +'I suppose he does in a way,' said Victoria. 'But it doesn't matter. +He's very kind to me but he won't marry me; and, honestly, I wouldn't +marry him.' + +Betty looked at her amazed and a little shocked. + +'But, dear,' she faltered, 'think of what it would mean; you . . . he +and you, you see . . . you're living like that . . . if he married +you. . . .' + +'Yes, I see,' said Victoria with a slight sneer, 'you mean that I should +be an honest woman and all that? My dear child, you don't understand. +Whether he marries me or not it's all the same. So long as a woman is +economically dependent on a man she's a slave, a plaything. Legally or +illegally joined it's exactly the same thing; the legal bond has its +advantages and its disadvantages and there's an end of the matter.' + +Betty looked away over the Thames; she did not understand. The +tradition was too strong. Time went quickly. Betty had no tale to +unfold; the months had passed leaving her doing the same work for the +same wage, living in the same room. Before her was the horizon on which +were outlined two ships; 'ten hours a day' and 'eight bob a week.' And +the skyline? + +As they parted, Victoria made Betty promise to come and see her. Then +they kissed twice, gently and silently, and Victoria watched her +friend's slim figure fade out of sight as she walked away. She had the +same impression as when she parted with Lottie, who had gone so bravely +into the dark. A wave of melancholy was upon her. Poor girls, they were +without hope; she at least was viewing life with her eyes open. She +would wrench something out of it yet. She shook herself; it was a +quarter to seven. + +An hour later she was sitting opposite Farwell. They were getting to the +end of dinner. Conversation had flagged while they disposed of the +earlier courses. Now they were at the ice and coffee stage. The waiters +grew less attentive; indeed there was nobody to observe them save the +olive-skinned boy with the mournful eyes who looked at the harbour of +Palermo through the Waterloo Road door. Farwell lit the cigar which +Victoria forced upon him, and leant back, puffing contentedly. + +'Well,' he said at length, 'how do you like the life?' + +'It is better than the old one,' she said. + +'Oh, so you've come to that. You have given up the absolutes.' + +'Yes, I've given them up. A woman like me has to.' + +'Yes, I suppose you've got to,' pondered Farwell. 'But apart from that, +is it a success? Are you attaining your end? That's the only thing that +matters, you know.' + +'I am, in a sense; I'm saving money. You see, he's generous.' + +'Excellent, excellent,' sneered Farwell. 'I like to see you making out +of what the bourgeois call vice that which will enable you to command +bourgeois respect. By-and-by I suppose you'll have made a fortune.' + +'Well, no; a competency perhaps, with luck.' + +'With luck, as you say. Do you know, Victoria, this luck business is +grand! My firm goes in for mines: they went prospecting in America +twenty years ago and they happened to strike copper. That was good. +Other men struck granite only. That was bad. But my boss is a City +Sheriff now. Frightfully rich. There used to be four of them, but one +died of copper poisoning, and another was found shot in a gulch. Nobody +knows how it happened, but the other two got the mines.' + +Victoria smiled. She liked this piratical tit bit. + +'Yes,' she said, 'luck's the thing. And merit . . . well I suppose the +surviving partners had merit.' + +'Anyhow, I wish you luck,' said Farwell. 'But tell me more. Do you find +you've paid too high a price for what you've got?' + +'Too high a price?' + +'Yes. Do you have any of that remorse we read about; would you like to +be what you were? Unattached, you know . . . eligible for Young Women's +Christian Associations?' + +'Oh, no,' Victoria laughed. 'I can't pay too high a price for what I +think I'll get. I don't mean these jewels or these clothes, that's only +my professional uniform. When I've served my time I shall get that for +which no woman can pay too much: I shall be economically independent, +free.' + +'Free.' Farwell looked towards the ceiling through a cloudlet of smoke. +'Yes, you're right. With the world as it is it's the only way. To be +independent you must acquire the right to be dependent on the world's +labour, to be a drone . . . and the biggest drone is queen of the hive. +Yet I wish it had been otherwise with you.' He looked at her +regretfully. + +Victoria toyed with a dessert knife. + +'Why?' she asked. + +'Oh, you had possibilities . . . but after all, we all have. And most of +them turn out to be impossibilities. At any rate, you're not disgusted +with your life, with any detail?' + +'No, I don't think so. I don't say I'll go on any longer than I need, +but it's bearable. But even if it were repulsive in every way I'd go on +if I saw freedom ahead. If I fight at all I fight to a finish.' + +'You're strong,' said Farwell looking at her. 'I wish I had your +strength. You've got that force which makes explorers, founders of new +faiths, prophets, company promoters.' He sighed. + +'Let's go,' he added, 'we can talk in the warm night.' + +For an hour they talked, agreeing always in the end. Farwell was cruelly +conscious of two wasted lives: his, because his principles and his +capacity for thought had no counterweight in a capacity for action; +Victoria's, because of her splendid gifts ignobly wasted and misused by +a world which had asked her for the least of them. + +Victoria felt a peculiar pleasure in this man's society. He was elderly, +ugly, ill-clad; sometimes he was boorish, but a halo of thought +surrounded him, and the least of his words seemed precious. All this +devirilised him, deprived him of physical attractiveness. She could not +imagine herself receiving and returning his caresses. They parted on +Waterloo Bridge. + +'Good-bye,' said Farwell, 'you're on the right track. The time hasn't +come for us to keep the law, for we don't know what the law is. All we +have is the edict of the powerful, the prejudice of the fool; the last +especially, for these goaled souls have their traditions, and their +convictions are prisons all.' + +Victoria pressed his hand and turned away. She did not look back. If she +had she would have seen Farwell looking into the Thames, his face lit up +by a gas lamp, curiously speculative in expression. His emotions were +not warring, but the chaos in his brain was such that he was fighting +the logical case for and against an attempt to find enlightenment on the +other slope of the valley. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +VICTORIA stretched herself lazily in bed. Her eyes took in a picture of +Cairns on the mantelpiece framed between a bottle of eau-de-cologne and +the carriage clock; then, little by little, she analysed details, small +objects, powderpuffs, a Chelsea candlestick, an open letter, the wall +paper. She closed her eyes again and buried her face in the pillow. The +lace edge tickled her ear pleasantly. She snuggled like a stroked cat. +Then she awoke again, for Mary had just placed her early cup of tea on +the night table. The tray seemed to come down with a crash, a spoon fell +on the carpet. Victoria felt daylight rolling back sleep from her brain +while Mary pulled up the blinds. As light flooded the room and her +senses became keener she heard the blinds clash. + +'You're very noisy, Mary,' she said, lifting herself on one elbow. + +The girl came back to the bed her hands folded together. + +'I'm sorry, mum . . . I . . . I've . . .' + +'Yes? what's the matter?' + +Mary did not answer, but Victoria could see she was disturbed. Her cap +was disarranged; it inclined perhaps five degrees from the vertical. +There was a faint flush on her cheeks. + +'What's the matter,' said Victoria sharply. 'Is there anything wrong?' + +'No, mum. . . . Yes mum. . . . They say in the paper . . . . There's +been trouble in Ireland, mum. . . .' + +'In Ireland?' Victoria sat bolt upright. Her heart gave a great bang and +then began to go with a whirr. + +'At Rossbantry, mum . . . last night . . . he's shot. . . .' + +'Shot? Who? can't you speak?' + +'The Major, mum.' + +Mary unfolded her hands suddenly and drew them up and down her apron as +if trying to dry them. Victoria sat as if frozen, looking at her +wide-eyed. Then she relapsed on the pillow. Everything swam for a +second, then she felt Mary raising her head. + +'Go away,' whispered Victoria. 'Leave me for a minute. I'm all right.' + +Mary hesitated for a moment, then obeyed, softly closing the door. +Victoria lay staring at the ceiling. Cairns was dead, shot. Awful. A +week ago his heavy frame was outlined under these very blankets. She +shuddered. But why, how? It wasn't true, it couldn't be true. She sat up +as if impelled by a spring, and rang the bell violently. The broken rope +fell on her face in a coil. With both hands she seized her chin as if to +stop a scream. + +'The paper! get me the paper!' she gasped as Mary came in. The girl +hesitated. Victoria's face frightened her. Victoria looked at her +straight, and she ran out of the room. In another minute she had laid +the open paper before her mistress. + +Victoria clutched at it with both hands. It was true. True. It was true. +The headlines were all she could see. She tried to read the text, but +the letters danced. She returned to the headlines. + + SHOCKING OUTRAGE IN IRELAND + + * * * * + + LANDLORD SHOT + +In the next column:-- + + M. C. C.'s HARD TASK + +Her heart's action was less violent now. She understood; every second +increased her lucidity. Shot. Cairns was shot. Oh, she knew, he had +carried strife with him and some tenant had had his revenge. She took up +the paper and could read it now. Cairns had refused to make terms, and +on the morning of his death had served notices of eviction on eighteen +cottagers. The same night he was sitting at a window of his bailiff's +house. Then two shots from the other side of the road, another from +lower down. Cairns was wounded twice, in the lung and throat, and died +within twenty minutes. A man was under arrest. + +Victoria put down the paper. Her mind was quite clear again. Poor old +Tom! She felt sorry but above all disturbed; every nerve in her body +seemed raw. Poor old Tom, a good fellow! He had been kind to her; and +now, there he was. Dead when he was thinking of coming back to her. He +would never see her again, the little house and things he loved. Yes, he +had been kind; he had saved her from that awful life . . . . Victoria's +thoughts turned into another channel. What was going to become of her. + +'Old girl,' she said aloud, 'you're in the cart.' + +She realised that she was again adrift, alone, face to face with the +terrible world. Cairns was gone; there was nobody to protect her against +the buffeting waves. A milkman's cart rattled by; she could hear the +distant rumble of the Underground, a snatch carried by the wind from a +German band. Well, the time had come; it had to come. She could not have +held Cairns for ever; and now she had to prove her mettle, to show +whether she had learned enough of the world, whether she had grit. The +thought struck cold at her, but an intimate counsellor in her brain was +already awake and crying out: + +'Yes, yes, go on! you can do it yet.' + +Victoria threw down the paper and jumped out of bed. She dressed +feverishly in the clothes and linen she had thrown in a heap on a chair +the night before, twisting her hair up into a rough coil. Just before +leaving the room she remembered she had not even washed her hands. She +did so hurriedly; then, seeing the cold cup of tea, drank it off at a +gulp; her throat felt parched. + +She pushed back the untasted dish on the breakfast table. Her head +between her hands, she tried to think. At intervals she poured out cups +of tea and drank them off quickly. + +Snoo and Poo, after vainly trying to induce her to play with them, lay +in a heap in an armchair snuffling as they slept. + +The better she realised her position the greater grew her fears. Once +more she was the cork tossed in the storm; and yet, rudderless, she must +navigate into the harbour of liberty. If Cairns had lived and she had +seen her power over him wane, she would have taken steps; she did not +know what steps, but felt she surely would have done something. But +Cairns was dead; in twenty minutes she had passed from comparative +security into the region where thorns are many and roses few. + +Poor old Tom! She felt a tiny pang; surely this concern with herself +when his body still lay unburied was selfish, ugly. But, pooh! why make +any bones about it? As Cairns had said himself, he liked to see her +beautiful, happy, well clad. His gifts to her were gifts to himself: she +was merely his vicar. + +Victoria drank some more cold tea. Good or bad, Cairns belonged to the +past and the past has no virtues. None, at any rate, for those whose +present is a wind-swept table-land. Men must come and go, drink to the +full of the cup and pay richly for every sip, so that she might be free, +hold it no longer to their lips. There was no time to waste, for already +she was some hours older; some of those hours which might have been +transmuted into gold, that saving gold. She must take steps. + +The 'steps to be taken,' a comforting sentence, were not easy to evolve. +But another comforting catch ward, 'reviewing the situation,' saved her +from perplexity. She went into the little boudoir and took out her two +pass books. The balance seemed agreeably fat, but she did not allow +herself to be deluded; she checked off the debit side with the foils of +her cheque book and found that two of the cheques had not been +presented. These she deducted, but the result was not unsatisfactory; +she had exactly three hundred pounds in one bank and a few shillings +over fifty pounds in the other. Three hundred and fifty pounds. Not so +bad. She had done pretty well in these nine months. Of course that +banker's order of Cairns would be stopped. She could hardly expect the +executors to allow it to stand. Thus her capital was three hundred and +fifty pounds. And there was jewellery too, worth a couple of hundred +pounds, perhaps, and lace, and furs. The jewellery might come in handy; +it could be 'gopherised.' The furniture wasn't bad either. + +Of course she must go on with the house. It was no great responsibility, +being held on a yearly agreement. Victoria then looked through her +accounts; they did not amount to much, for Barbezan Soeurs, though +willing to assist in extracting money by means of bogus invoices, made +it a rule to demand cash for genuine purchases. Twenty pounds would +cover all the small accounts. The rent was all right, as it would not be +due until the end of September. The rates were all right too, being +payable every half year; they could be ignored until the blue notice +came, just before Christmas. + +Victoria felt considerably strengthened by this investigation. At a +pinch she could live a year on the present footing, during which +something must turn up. She tried to consider for a moment the various +things that might turn up. None occurred to her. She settled the +difficulty by going upstairs again to dress. When she rang for Mary to +do her hair, the girl was surprised to find her mistress perfectly cool. +Without a word, however, Mary restored her hair to order. It was a +beautiful and elegant woman, perhaps a trifle pale and open mouthed, +who, some minutes later, set out to walk to Regent's Park. + +Victoria sat back in her chair. Peace was upon her soul. Perhaps she had +just passed through a crisis, perhaps she was entering upon one, but +what did it matter? The warmth of July was in the clear air, the canal +slowly carried past her its film of dust. No sound broke through the +morning save the cries of little boys fishing for invisible fishes, and, +occasionally, a raucous roar from some prisoner in the Zoo. Now that she +had received the blow and was recovering she was conscious of a curious +feeling of lightness; she felt freer than the day before. Then she was a +man's property, tied to him by the bond of interest; now she was able to +do what she chose, know whom she chose, so long as that money lasted. +Ah, it would be good one day when she had enough money to be able to +look the future in the face and flaunt in its forbidding countenance the +fact that she was free, for ever free. + +Victoria was no longer a dreamer; she was a woman of action. The natural +sequence of her thoughts brought her up at once against the means to the +triumphant end. Three hundred and fifty pounds, say six hundred if she +realised everything, would not yield enough to feed a superannuated +governess. She would need quite eight or ten thousand pounds before she +could call herself free and live her dreams. + +'I'll earn it,' she said aloud, 'yes, sure enough.' + +A little Aberdeen terrier came bounding up to her, licked her hand and +ran away after his master. A friendly omen. Six hundred pounds was a +large sum in a way. She could aspire to a partnership in some business +now. A vision arose before her; Victoria Ferris, milliner. The vision +grew; Victoria Ferris and Co., Limited, wholesalers; then Ferris' +Stores, for clothes and boots and cheese and phonographs, with a branch +of Cook's agency, a Keith Prowse ticket office; Ferris' Stores as an +octopus, with its body in Knightsbridge and a tentacle hovering over +every draper from Richmond to Highgate. + +Yes, that was all very well, but what if Victoria Ferris failed? 'No +good,' she thought, 'I can't afford to take risks.' Of course the idea +of seeking employment was absurd. No more ten hours a day for eight bob +a week for her. Besides, no continuous references and a game leg . . . +The situations crowded into and out of Victoria's brain like dissolving +views. She could see herself in the little house, with another man, with +other men, young men, old men; and every one of them was rocked in the +lap of Delilah, who laughingly shore off their golden locks. + +'By Jove,' she said aloud, bringing her gloved fist down on her knee, +'I'll do it.' + +Of course the old life could not begin again just now. She did not know +a man in London who was worth capturing. She must go down into the +market, stand against the wall as a courtesan of Alexandria and nail a +wreath of roses against the highest bid. The vision she saw was now no +longer the octopus. She saw a street with its pavements wet and +slithering, flares, barrows laden with greens; she could smell frying +fish, rotting vegetables, burning naptha; a hand opened the door of a +bar and, in the glare, she could see two women with vivid hair, tired +eyes, smiling mouths, each one patiently waiting before a little table +and an empty glass. Then she saw once more the courtesan of Alexandria, +dim in the night, not lit up by the sun of sweet Egypt, but clad in +mercerised cotton and rabbit's fur, standing, watching like a shadow +against a shop door in Regent Street. + +No, she had not come to that. She belonged to the upper stratum of the +profession, and, knowing it, could not sink. Consciousness was the +thing. She was not going into this fight soft-handed or softhearted. She +knew. There was high adventure in store for her yet. If she must fish it +should be for trout not chub. Like a wise woman, she would not love +lightly, but where money is. There should be no waiting, no hesitating. +That very night she would sup at the Hotel Vesuvius . . . all in black +. . . like an ivory Madonna set in ebony . . . with a tea rose in her hair +as a foil to her shoulders . . . and sweeping jade earrings which would +swim like butterflies in the heavy hair. Ah, it would be high adventure +when Demetrious knelt at the feet of Aphrodite with jewels in his +sunburnt palm, when Croesus bargained away for a smile a half of his +Lydian wealth. + +She got up, a glow in her veins as if the lust of battle was upon her. +Quickly she walked out of the park to conquer the town. A few yards +beyond the gates newspaper placards shouted the sensation of the day; +placards pink, brown, green, all telling the tale of murder, advertising +for a penny the transitory joy of the fact. Victoria smiled and walked +on. She let herself into the house. It was on the stroke of one. She sat +down at the table, pressing the bell down with her foot. + +'Hurry up, Mary,' she said, 'I'm as hungry as a hunter.' + +A voice floated through the window like an echo: 'Irish murder; latest +details.' + +'Shut the window, Mary,' she said sharply. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +THE Hotel Vesuvius is a singular place. It stands on the north side of +Piccadilly, and for the general its stuccoed front and severe sash +windows breathe an air of early Victorian respectability. Probably it +was once a ducal mansion, for it has all the necessary ugliness, +solidity and size; now it is the most remarkable instance of what can be +done by a proprietor who remembers that an address in Piccadilly exempts +him from the rules which govern Bloomsbury. One enters it through a +small hall all alight with white and gold paint. Right and left are the +saloon bar and the buffet; this enables the customer to select either +without altering the character of his accommodation, while assuming +superiority for a judicious choice. A broad straight staircase leads up +to the big supper room on the first floor. Above are a score of private +dining-rooms. + +Victoria jumped out of the cab and walked up the steps, handing the +liveried commissionaire two shillings to pay the cabman. This was an +inspiration calculated to set her down at once with the staff as one who +knew the ropes. In the white and gold hall she halted for a moment, +puzzled and rather nervous. She had never set foot in the Vesuvius; she +had never heard it mentioned without a smile or a wink. Now, a little +flushed and her heart beating, she realised that she did not know her +way about. + +Victoria need have had no fears. Before she had time to take in the +scene, a tall man with a perfectly groomed head and a well fitting +evening dress bowed low before her. + +'Madame wishes no doubt to deposit her wrap,' he said in gentle tones. +His teeth flashed white for a moment. + +'Yes,' said Victoria, . . . 'Yes, where is the cloak room?' + +'This way, madame. If madame will permit me. . . .' He pointed towards +the end of the hall and preceded her steps. An elderly woman behind the +counter received Victoria's wrap and handed her a brass token without +looking at her. While she pulled up her gloves she looked round +curiously. The cloak room was small; behind the counter the walls were +covered by a mahogany rack with some hundred pigeon-holes. The fiercer +light of an unshaded chandelier beat down upon the centre of the room. +Victoria was conscious of an extraordinary atmosphere, a blend of many +scents, tobacco smoke, leather; most of the pigeon-holes were bursting +with coloured wraps, many of them vivid blue or red; here and there long +veils, soiled white gloves hung out of them; a purple ostrich feather +hung from an immense black hat over a white and silver Cingalese shawl. +Victoria turned sharply. The man was inspecting her coolly with an air +of intentness that showed approval. + +'Where does madame wish to go?' he asked as they entered the hall. 'In +the buffet perhaps?' + +He opened the door. Victoria saw for a second a long counter laden with +bottles, at which stood a group of men, some in evening dress, some in +tweed suits; she saw a few women among them, all with smiles upon their +faces. Behind the counter she had time to see the barmaid, a beautiful +girl with dark eyes and vivid yellow hair. + +'No, not there,' she said quickly. It reminded her of the terrible +little bar of which Farwell had given her a glimpse. 'You are the +manager, I believe . . . I want to go up into the supper room.' + +'Certainly, madame; will madame come this way?' + +The manager preceded her up to the first floor. On the landing, two men +in tweeds suddenly stopped talking as she passed. A porter flung the +glazed door open. A short man in evening dress looked at her, then at +the manager. After a second's hesitation the two men in tweeds followed +her in. + +The manager put his hands in his pockets, walked up to the other man and +nodded towards the door. + +'_Pas mal, hein?_' + +'_Epatante,_' said the short man. '_Du chic. Et une peau!_' + +The manager smiled and turned to go downstairs. '_Surveillez moi ca +Anatole,_' he said. + +Victoria, meanwhile, had stopped for a moment on the threshold, a little +dazed by the scene. Though it was only half-past ten, the eighty tables +of the Vesuvius were almost every one occupied; the crowd looked at +first like a patchwork quilt. The room was all white and gold like the +hall; a soft radiance fell from the lights hidden in the cornice; two +heavy chandeliers with faintly pink electric bulbs and a few pink shaded +lights on the table diffused a roseate glow over the scene. Victoria +felt like an intruder, and her discomfiture was heightened by the +gripping hot perfume. But already a waiter was by her side; she let him +be her pilot. In a few seconds she found herself sitting at a small +table alone, near the middle of the room. The waiter reappeared almost +at once carrying on a tray a liqueur glass containing some colourless +fluid. She had ordered nothing, but his adroitness relieved her. Clearly +the expert had divined her inexperience and had resolved to smooth her +way. + +She lifted the glass to her lips and sipped at it. It was good stuff, +rather strong. The burn on her palate seemed to brace her; she looked +round the room. It was a peculiar scene; for the Vesuvius is a luxurious +place, and a provincial might well be excused for thinking it was the +Carlton or the Savoy; indeed there was something more outwardly opulent +about it. It suggested a place where men not only spent what they had +but spent more. But for a few men in frock-coats and tweeds it would +have been almost undistinguishable from the recognised resorts of +fashion. Victoria took stock of her surroundings; of the shining plate +and glass, the heavy red carpet, the red and gold curtains, drawn but +fluttering at the open windows. The guests, however, interested her +more. At half the tables sat a woman and a man, at others a woman alone +before a little glass. What struck her above all was the beauty of the +women, the wealth they carried on their bodies. Hardly one of them +seemed over thirty; most of them had golden or vivid red hair, though a +few tables off Victoria could see a tall woman of colour with black hair +stiffened by wax and pierced with massive ivory combs. They mostly wore +low-necked dresses, many of them white or faintly tinted with blue or +pink. She could see a dark Italian-looking girl in scarlet from whose +ears long coral earrings drooped to her slim cream-coloured shoulders. +There was an enormously stout woman with puffy pink cheeks, strapped +slightly into a white silk costume, looking like a rose at the height of +its bloom. There were others too! short dark women with tight hair; +minxish French faces and little shrewd dark eyes; florid Dutch and +Belgian women with massive busts and splendid shoulders, dazzlingly +white; English girls too, most of them slim with long arms and rosy +elbows and faintly outlined collar bones. Many of these had the +aristocratic nonchalance of 'art' photographs. Opposite Victoria, under +the other chandelier, a splendid creature, white as a lily, with +flashing green eyes, copper coloured hair, had thrown herself back in +her armchair and was laughing at a man's joke. Her head was bent back, +and as she laughed her splendid bust rose and fell and her throat filled +out. An elderly man with a close clipped grey moustache, immaculate in +his well-cut dress clothes, leaned towards her with a smile on his brown +face. + +Victoria turned her eyes away from the man, (a soldier, of course), and +looked at the others. They, too, were a mixed collection. There were a +good many youths, all clean shaven and mostly well-groomed; these talked +loudly to their partners and seemed to fill the latter with merriment; +now and then they stared at other women with the boldness of the shy. +There were elderly men too; a few in frock coats in spite of the heat, +some very stout and red, some bald and others half concealing their +scalps under cunning hair arrangements. The elderly men sat mostly with +two women, some with three, and lay back smiling like courted pachas. By +far the greater number of the guests, however, were anything between +thirty and forty; and seemed to cover every type from the smart young +captain with the tanned face, bold blue eyes and a bristly moustache, to +ponderous men in tweeds or blue reefer jackets who looked about them +with a mixture of nervousness and bovine stolidity. + +From every corner came a steady stream of loud talk; continually little +shrieks of laughter pierced the din and then were smothered by the +rattling of the plates. The waiters flitted ghostly through the room +with incredible speed, balancing high their silver trays. Then Victoria +became conscious that most of the women round her were looking at her; +for a moment she felt her personality shrivel up under their gaze. They +were analysing her, speculating as to the potentialities of a new rival, +stripping off her clothes too and her jewels. It was horrible, because +their look was more incisive than the merely brutal glance by which a +man takes stock of a woman's charms. + +She pulled herself together however, and forced herself to return the +stares. 'After all,' she thought, 'this is the baptism of fire.' She +felt strengthened, too, as she observed her rivals more closely. +Beautiful as most of them seemed at first sight, many of them showed +signs of wear. With joyful cruelty Victoria noted here and there faint +wrinkles near their eyes, relaxed mouths, cheekbones on which rosacia +had already set its mark. She could not see more than half a dozen whose +beauty equalled hers; she threw her head up and drew back her shoulders. +In the full light of the chandelier she looked down at the firm white +shapeliness of her arms. + +'Well, how goes it?' + +Victoria started and looked up from her contemplation. A man had sat +down at her table. He seemed about thirty, fairish, with a rather ragged +moustache. He wore a black morning coat and a grey tie. His hands and +wrists were well kept and emerged from pale blue cuffs. There was a not +unkindly smile upon his face. His tip tilted nose gave him a cheerful, +rather impertinent expression. + +'Oh, I'm all right,' said Victoria vaguely. Then with an affectation of +ease. 'Hot, isn't it?' + +'Ra-_ther_,' said the man. 'Had your supper?' + +'No,' said Victoria, 'I don't want any.' + +'Now, come, really that's too bad of you. Thought we were going to have +a nice little family party and you're off your feed.' + +'I'm sorry,' said Victoria smiling. 'I had dinner only two hours ago.' +This man was not very attractive; there was something forced in his +ease. + +'Well, have a drink with me,' he said. + +'What's yours?' asked Victoria. That was an inspiration. The plunge +braced her like a cold bath. The man laughed. + +'Pop, of course. Unless you prefer a Pernot. You know "absinthe makes +the . . ."' He stopped and laughed again. Victoria did likewise without +understanding him. She saw that the other women laughed when men did. + +They filled their glasses. Victoria liked champagne. She watched the +little bubbles rise, and drank the glass down. It was soft and warm. How +strong she felt suddenly. The conversation did not flag. The man was +leaning towards her across the table, talking quickly. He punctuated +every joke with a high laugh. + +'Oh, I say, give us a chance,' floated from the next table. Victoria +looked. It was one of the English girls. She was propped up on one elbow +on the table; her legs were crossed showing a long slim limb and slender +ankle in a white open work stocking. A man in evening dress with a +foreign looking dark face was caressing her bare arm. + +'Penny for your thoughts,' said Victoria's man. + +'Wasn't thinking,' she said. 'I was looking.' + +'Looking? are you new here?' + +'Yes, it's the first time I've come.' + +'By Jove! It _must_ be an eye-opener.' He laughed. + +'It is rather. It doesn't seem half bad.' + +'You're right there. I'm an old stager.' A slightly complacent +expression came over his face. He filled up the glasses. 'You don't +spoil the collection, you know,' he added. 'You're a bit of all right.' +He looked at her approvingly. + +'Am I?' She looked at him demurely. Then, plunging once more, 'I hope +you'll still think so by and by.' The man's eyes dwelled for a moment on +her face and neck, his breath became audible suddenly. She felt his +foot softly stroke hers. He drew his napkin across his lips. + +'Well,' he said with an assumption of ease, 'shall we go?' + +'I don't mind,' said Victoria getting up. + +It was with a beating heart that Victoria climbed into the cab. As soon +as he got in the man put his arm round her waist and drew her to him. +She resisted gently but gave way as his arm grew more insistent. + +'Coy little puss.' His face was very near her upturned eyes. She felt it +come nearer. Then, suddenly, he kissed her on the lips. She wanted to +struggle; she was a little frightened. The lights of Piccadilly filled +her with shame. They spoke very little. The man held her close to him. +As the cab rattled through Portland Place, he seized her once more. She +fought down the repulsion with which his breath inspired: it was scented +with strong cigars and champagne. Victoriously she coiled one arm round +his neck and kissed him on the mouth. In her disgust there was a blend +of triumph; not even her own feelings could resist her will. + +As she waited on the doorstep while he paid the cabman a great fear came +upon her. She did not know this man. Who was he? Perhaps a thief. She +suddenly remembered that women of her kind were sometimes murdered for +the sake of their jewellery. As the man turned to come up the steps she +pulled herself together. 'After all,' she thought, 'it's only +professional risk.' + +They stood for a moment in the hall of the silent house. She felt +awkward. The man looked at her and mistook her hesitation. + +'It's all right,' he faltered. He looked about him, then, quickly +whipping out a sovereign purse, he drew out two sovereigns with a click +and laid them on the hall table. + +'You see,' he said '. . . a girl like you. . . . three more to-morrow +morning. . . . I'm square you know.' + +Victoria smiled and, after a second's hesitation, picked up the money. + +'So'm I,' she said. Then she switched on the light and pointed +upstairs. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +VICTORIA'S new career did not develop on unkindly lines. Every night she +went to the Vesuvius, where she soon had her appointed place full under +one of the big chandeliers. She secured this spot without difficulty, +for most of her rivals were too wise to affront the glare; as soon as +she realised this she rather revelled in her sense of power, for she now +lived in a world where the only form of power was beauty. She felt sure +of her beauty now she had compared it minutely with the charms of the +preferred women. She was finer, she had more breed. Almost every one of +those women showed a trace of coarseness: a square jaw, not moulded in +big bone like hers but swathed in heavy flesh; a thick ankle or wrist; +spatulate fingertips; red ears. Her pride was in the courage with which +she welcomed the flow of the light on her neck and shoulders; round her +chandelier the tables formed practically into circles, the nearest being +occupied by the very young and venturesome, a few by the oldest who +desperately clung to their illusion of immortal youth; then came the +undecided, those who are between ages, who wear thick veils and sit with +their backs to the light; the outer fringe was made up of those who +remembered. Their smiles were hard and fixed. + +She was fortunate enough too. She never had to sit long in front of the +little glass which she discovered to be kummel; the waiter always +brought it unasked. Sometimes they would chat for a moment, for +Victoria was assimilating the lazy familiarity of her surroundings. He +talked about the weather, the latest tips for Goodwood, the misfortune +of Camille de Valenciennes who had gone off to Carlsbad with a barber +who said he was a Russian prince and had left her there stranded. + +Her experiences piled up, and, after a few weeks she found she had +exhausted most of the types who frequented the Vesuvius. Most of them +were of the gawky kind, being very young men out for the night and +desperately anxious to get off on the quiet by three o'clock in the +morning; of the gawky kind too were the Manchester merchants paying a +brief visit to town on business and who wanted a peep into the inferno; +these were easily dealt with and, if properly primed with champagne, +exceedingly generous. Now and then Victoria was confronted with a racier +type which tended to become rather brutal. It was recruited largely from +obviously married men whose desires, dammed and sterilised by monotonous +relations, seemed suddenly to burst their bonds. + +In a few weeks her resources developed exceedingly. She learned the +scientific look that awakes a man's interest: a droop of the eyelid +followed by a slow raising of it, a dilation of the pupil, then again a +demure droop and the suspicion of a smile. She learned to prime herself +from the papers with the proper conversation; racing, the latest divorce +news, ragging scandals, marriages of the peerage into the chorus. She +learned to laugh at chestnuts and to memorise such stories as sounded +fresh; a few judicious matinees put her up to date as to the latest +musical comedies. On the whole it was an easy life enough. Six hours in +the twenty-four seemed sufficient to afford her a good livelihood, and +she did not doubt that by degrees she would make herself a connection +which might be turned to greater advantage; as it was she had two +faithful admirers whom she could count on once a week. + +The life itself often struck her as horrible, foul; still she was +getting inured to the inane and could listen to it with a tolerant +smile; sometimes she looked dispassionately into men's fevered eyes with +a little wonder and an immense satisfaction in her power and the value +of her beauty. Sometimes a thrill of hatred went through her and she +loathed those whose toy she was; then she felt tempted to drink, to +drugs, to anything that would deaden the nausea; but she would rally: +the first night, when she had drunk deep of champagne after the kummel, +had given her a racking headache and suggested that beauty does not +thrive on mixed drinks. + +Another painful moment had been the third day after her new departure. +It seemed to force realisation upon her. Tacitly the early cup of tea +had been stopped. Mary now never came to the door, but breakfast was +laid for two in the dining-room at half past nine; the hot course stood +on a chafing dish over a tiny flame; the teapot was stocked and a kettle +boiled on its own stand. Neither of the servants ever appeared. On the +third day, however, as Victoria lay in her boudoir, reading, preparatory +to ringing the cook to give her orders for the day, there was a knock at +the door. + +'Come in,' said Victoria a little nervously. She was still in the mood +of feeling awkward before her servants. + +Mary came in. For a moment she tugged at her belt. There was a slight +flush on her sallow face. + +'Well Mary?' asked Victoria, still nervous. + +'If you please, mum, may I speak to you? I've been talking to cook, mum, +and--' + +'And?' + +'Oh, mum, I hope you won't think it's because we're giving ourselves +airs but it isn't the same as it was here before, mum--' + +'Well?' + +'Well, mum, we think we'd rather go mum. There's my young man, mum, +and--and--' + +'And he doesn't like your being associated with a woman of my kind? Very +right and proper.' + +'Oh, mum, I don't mean that. You've always been kind to me. Cook too, +she says she feels it very much, mum. When the major was alive, mum, it +was different. It didn't seem to matter then, mum, but now--' + +Mary stopped. For a moment the eyes behind the glasses looked as if they +were going to cry. + +'Don't trouble to explain, Mary,' said her mistress with some asperity. +'I understand. You and cook can't afford to jeopardise your characters. +From the dizzy heights of trained domesticity, experts in your own line, +you are justified in looking down upon an unskilled labourer. I have no +doubt that you have considered the social problem in all its aspects, +that you fully realise the possibilities of a woman wage-earner and her +future. By all means go where your moral sense calls you: I shall give +you an excellent character and demand none in exchange. There! I don't +want to hurt your feelings, Mary, I spoke hastily,' she added as the +maid's features contracted, 'you only do this to please your young man; +that is woman's profession, and I of all people must approve of what you +do. If you don't mind, both of you, you will leave on Saturday. You +shall have your full month and a month's board allowance. Now send up +cook, I want to order lunch.' + +She could almost have wept as she lay with her face in the cushion. Her +servants had delivered an ultimatum from womankind, and lack of supplies +compelled her to pick up the guage of battle. Mary and cook were links +between her and all those women who shelter behind one man only, and +from that vantage ground hurl stones at their sisters beyond the gates. +The significance of it was not that their services were lost to her, but +that she must now be content to associate with another class. Soon, +however, her will was again supreme. 'After all,' she thought, 'I have +done with Society. I'm a pirate; Society 'll be keen enough when I've +won.' + +Within three days she had readjusted her household. She had decided to +make matters easy by engaging two German girls. Laura, the cook, said at +once that it was all one to her who came to the house and who didn't, so +long as they left her alone in the kitchen, and provided she might bring +her large tabby cat. Augusta the maid, a long lanky girl with strong +peasant hands and carroty hair, declared herself willing to oblige the +_herrschaft_ in any way; she thereupon demanded an increase on the wages +scheduled for her at the registry office. She also confided to her new +mistress that she had a _kerl_ in Germany, and that she would do +anything to earn her dowry. + +Thus the establishment settled down again. Laura cooked excellently. +Augusta never flinched when bringing in the tea tray. Her big blue Saxon +eyes seemed to allow everything to pass through them leaving her mind +unsoiled, so armoured was her heart by the thought of that dowry. As for +Snoo and Poo: they chased the tabby cat all over the house most of the +day, which very soon improved their figures. + +Thus the even tenour of Victoria's life continued. She was quite a +popular favourite. As soon as she sat down under the chandelier +half-a-dozen men were looking at her. Sometimes men followed her into +the Vesuvius; but these she seldom encouraged, for her instinct told her +that so beautiful a woman as she was should set a high price on herself, +and high prices were not to be found in Piccadilly. Among her faithful +was a bachelor of forty, whom she only knew as Charlie. This, by the +way, was a characteristic of her acquaintances. She never discovered +their names; some in fact were so guarded that they had apparently +discarded their watches before coming out, so as to conceal even their +initials. None ever showed a pocketbook. Charlie was dark and burned by +the sun of the tropics; there was something bluff and good-natured about +him, great strength too. He had sharp grey eyes and a dark moustache. He +spoke extraordinarily fast, talked loosely of places he had been to: +China, Mozambique, South America. Victoria rather liked him; he was +totally dull, inclined to be coarse; but as he invariably drank far too +much before and when he came to the Vesuvius, he made no demands on her +patience, slept like a log and went early, leaving handsome recognition +behind him. + +There was Jim too, a precise top-hatted city clerk who had forced +himself on her one Saturday afternoon as she crossed Piccadilly Circus. +He seemed such a pattern of rectitude, was so perfectly trim and brushed +that she allowed herself to be inveigled into a cab and driven to a +small flat in Bayswater. He was too prudent to visit anybody else's +rooms, he said; he had his flat on a weekly tenancy. Jim kept rather a +hold on her. He was neither rich nor generous; in fact Victoria's social +sense often stabbed her for what she considered undercutting, but Jim +used to hover about the Vesuvius five minutes before closing time, and +once or twice when Victoria had had no luck he succeeded like the +vulture on the stricken field. + +Most of the others were dream figures; she lost count of them. After a +month she could not remember a face. She even forgot a big fellow whom +she had called Black Beauty, who came down from somewhere in Devonshire +for a monthly bust; he was so much offended that she had the +mortification of seeing him captured by one of the outer circle who sit +beyond the lights. + +In the middle of August the streets she called London were deserted. +Steamy air, dust laden, floated over the pavements. The Vesuvius was +half empty, and she had to cut down her standards. Just as she was +contemplating moving to Folkestone for a month, however, she received a +letter from solicitors in the Strand, Bastable, Bastable & Sons, +informing her that 're Major Cairns deceased,' they were realising the +estate on behalf of the administrators, and that they would be obliged +if she would say when it would be convenient for her to convey the +furniture of Elm Tree Place into their hands. This perturbed Victoria +seriously. The furniture had a value, and besides it was the plant of a +flourishing business. + +'Pity he died suddenly,' she thought, 'he'd have done something for me. +He was a good sort, poor old Tom.' + +She dressed herself as becomingly and quietly as she could, and, after +looking up the law of intestacy in Whitaker, concluded that Marmaduke +Cairns's old sisters must be the heirs. Then she sallied forth to beard +the solicitor in his den. The den was a magnificent suite of offices +just off the Strand. She was ushered into a waiting-room partitioned off +from the general office by glass. It was all very frowsy and hot. There +was nothing to read except the _Times_ and she was uncomfortably +conscious of three clerks and an office boy who frequently turned round +and looked through the partition. At last she was ushered in. The +solicitor was a dry-looking man of forty or so; his parchment face, +deeply wrinkled right and left, his keen blue eyes and high forehead +impressed her as dangerous. He motioned her to an armchair on the other +side of his desk. + +'Well, Mrs Ferris,' he said, 'to what do I owe the honour of this +visit?' He sat back in his armchair and bit his penholder. A smile +elongated his thin lips. This was his undoing, for he looked less +formidable and Victoria decided on a line of action. She had come +disturbed, now she was on her mettle. + +'Mr Bastable,' she said, plunging at once into the subject, 'you ask me +to surrender my furniture. I'm not going to.' + +'Oh?' The solicitor raised his eyebrows. 'But, my dear madame, surely +you must see . . .' + +'I do. But I'm not going to.' + +'Well,' he said, 'I hardly see . . . My duty will compel me to take +steps . . .' + +'Of course,' said Victoria smiling, 'but if you refuse to let me alone I +shall go out of this office, have the furniture moved to-day and put up +at auction to-morrow.' + +A smile came over the solicitor's face. By Jove, she was a fine woman, +and she had some spirit. + +'Besides,' she added, 'all this would cause me a great deal of +annoyance. Major Cairns's affairs are still very interesting to the +public. I shall be compelled, if you make me sell, to write a serial, +say _My Life with an Irish Martyr_ for a Sunday paper.' + +Mr Bastable laughed frankly. + +'You want to be nasty, I see. But you know, we can stop your sale by an +application to a judge in chambers this afternoon. And as for your +serial, well, Major Cairns is dead, he won't mind.' + +'No, but his aunts will. Their name is Cairns. As regards the sale, +perhaps you and the other lawyers can stop it. Very well, either you +promise or I go home and . . . perhaps there'll be a fire to-night and +perhaps there won't. I'm fully insured.' + +'By Jove!' Bastable looked at her critically. Cairns had been a lucky +man. 'Well, Mrs Ferris,' he added, 'we're not used to troublesome +customers like you. I don't suppose the furniture is valuable, is it?' + +'Oh, a couple of hundred,' said Victoria dishonestly. + +'M'm. Do you absolutely want me to pledge myself?' + +'Absolutely.' + +'Well, Mrs Ferris, I can honestly promise you that you won't hear +anything more about it. I . . . I don't think it would pay us.' + +Victoria laughed. A great joy of triumph was upon her. She liked +Bastable rather, now she had brought him to heel. + +'All right,' she said, 'it's a bargain.' Then she saw that his mouth was +smiling still and his eyes fixed on her face. + +'There's no quarrel between us, is there?' + +'No, of course not. All in the way of business, you know.' + +He bent across the table; she heard him breathe in her perfume. + +'Then,' she said slowly, getting up and pulling on her gloves, 'I'm not +doing anything to-night. You know my address. Seven o'clock. You may +take me out to dinner.' + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +WITHIN a few days of her victory over Mr Bastable, Victoria found +herself in an introspective mood. The solicitor was the origin of it, +though unimportant in himself as the grain of sand which falls into a +machine, and for a fraction of a second causes a wheel to rasp before +the grain is crunched up. She reflected, as she looked out over her +garden, that she was getting very hard. She had brought this man to his +knees by threats; she had vulgarly bullied him by holding exposure over +his head; she had behaved like a tragedy queen. Finally, with sardonic +intention, she had turned the contest to good account by entangling him +while he was still under the influence of her personality. + +All this was not what disturbed her; for after all she had only lied to +Bastable, bullied him, threatened him, bluffed as to her intentions: she +had been perfectly businesslike. Thoughtfully she opened the little door +at the end of the hall and stepped out on the outer landing where the +garden steps ended. Snoo and Poo, asleep in a heap in the August blaze, +raised heavy eyelids, and, yawning and stretching, followed her down the +steps. + +This was a joyful little garden. The greater part of it was a lawn, +close cut, but disfigured in many places by Snoo and Poo's digging. +Flower beds ran along both sides and the top of the lawn, while the +bottom was occupied by the pergola, now covered with massive red blooms; +an acacia tree, and an elder tree, both leafy but refusing to flower, +shaded the bottom of the garden, which was effectively cut off by a +hedge of golden privet. It was a tidy garden, but it showed no traces of +originality. Victoria had ordered it to be potted with geraniums, +carnations, pinks, marguerites; and was quite content to observe that +somebody had put in sweet peas, clematis and larkspur. Hers was not the +temperament which expresses itself in a garden; there was no sense of +peace in her idea of the beautiful. If she liked the garden to look +pretty at all, it was doubtless owing to her heredity. + +Victoria picked up a couple of stones and threw them towards the end of +the garden. Snoo and Poo rushed into the privet, snuffling excitedly, +while their mistress drew down a heavy rose-laden branch from the +pergola and breathed the blossoms. Yes, she was hard, and it was +beginning to make her nervous. In the early days she had sedulously +cultivated the spirit which was making a new woman out of the quiet, +refined, rather shy girl she had been. There had been a time when she +would have shuddered at the idea of a quarrel with a cabman about an +overcharge; now, if it were possible, she felt coldly certain that she +would cheat him of his rightful fare. This process she likened to the +tempering of steel, and called a development of the mental muscles. She +rather revelled in this development in the earlier days, because it gave +her a sense of power; she benefited by it too, for she found that by +cultivating this hardness she could extort more money by stooping to +wheedle, by accepting snubs, by flattery and lies too. The consciousness +of this power redeemed the exercise of it; she often felt herself lifted +above this atmosphere of deceit by looking coldly at the deed she was +about to do, recognising its nature and doing it with her eyes open. + +A realization of another kind, however, was upon Victoria that rich +August day. In a sense she was doing well. Her capital had not been +touched; in fact it had probably increased, and this in spite of town +being empty. She had not yet found the man who would make her fortune; +but she had no doubt that he would appear if she continued on her even +road, selecting without passion, judging values and possibilities. For +the moment she brushed aside the question of success; it was assured. +But, after success, what then? Say she had four or five hundred a year +at thirty and retired into the country or went to America. What use +would she be to herself or to anybody if she had learned exclusively to +bide her time and to strike for her own advantage? Life was a contest +for the poor and for the rich alike; but the first had to fight to win +and to use any means, fair or foul, while the latter could accept +knightly rules, be magnanimous when victorious, graceful when defeated. + +'Yes,' said Victoria, 'I must keep myself in trim. It's all very well to +win and I've got to be as hard as nails to men, but . . .' + +She stopped abruptly. The problem had solved itself. 'Hard as nails to +men,' did not include women, for 'men' seldom means mankind when the +talk is of rights. She did not know what her mission might be. Perhaps, +after she had succeeded, she would travel all over Europe, perhaps +settle on the English downs where the west winds blow, perhaps even be +the pioneer of a great sex revolt; but whatever she did, if her triumph +was not to be sterile, she would need sympathy, the capacity to love. +Thus she amended her articles of war: 'Woman shall be spared, and I +shall remember that, as a member of a sex fighting another sex, I must +understand and love my sister warrior.' + +It was in pursuance of her new policy that, on her way to the Vesuvius, +Victoria dawdled for a moment at the entrance of Swallow Street, under +its portico. A few yards beyond her stood a woman whom she knew by sight +as having established practically a proprietary right to her beat. She +was a dark girl, good-looking enough, well set up in her close fitting +white linen blouse, drawn tight to set off her swelling bust. In the dim +light Victoria could see that her face was rather worn, and that the +ravages of time had been clumsily repaired. The girl looked at her +curiously at first; then angrily, evidently disliking the appearance of +what might be a dangerous rival in her own preserves. Victoria walked up +and down on the pavement. The girl watched her every footstep. Once she +made as if to speak to her. It was ghostly, for passers-by in Regent +Street came to and fro beyond the portico like arabesques. A passing +policeman gave the girl a meaning look. She tossed her head and walked +away down Regent Street, while Victoria nervously continued down Swallow +Street to Piccadilly. + +These two women were to meet, however. About a week later, Victoria, +happening to pass by at the same hour, saw the girl and stopped under +the arch. In another second the girl was by her side. + +'What are you following me about for?' she snarled. 'If you're a grote +it's no go. You won't teach the copper anything he doesn't know.' + +'Oh, I'm not following you,' said Victoria. 'Only I saw you about and +thought I'd like to talk to you.' + +The girl shot a dark glance at her. + +'What's your game?' she asked. 'You're not one of those blasted sisters. +Too toffish. Seen you come out of the Vez', besides.' + +'I'm in the profession,' said Victoria coolly. 'But that doesn't mean +I've got to be against the others.' + +'Doesn't it!' The girl's eyes glowed. 'You don't know your job. Of +course you've got to be against the others. We were born like that. Or +got like that. What's it matter?' + +'Matter? oh, a lot,' said Victoria. 'We want friends, all of us.' + +'Friends. Oh, Lord! The likes of you and me don't have friends. Women, +they won't know us . . . too good. Except our sort. We can't talk; we +got nothing to talk of, except money and the boys. And the boys, what's +the good of them? There's the sort you pick up and all you've got to +do's to get what you can out of them. Haven't fallen in love with one, +have you?' The girl's voice broke a little, then she went on. 'Then, +there's the other sort, like my Hugo, p'raps you've heard of him?' + +'No,' she said, 'I haven't. What is he like?' + +'Bless you, he's a beauty.' The girl smiled; her face was full of pride. + +'Does he treat you well?' + +'So so. Sometimes.' The shadow had returned. 'Not like my first. Oh, +it's hard you know, beginning. He left me with a baby after three +months. I was in service in Pembridge Gardens--such a swell house! I had +to keep baby. It died then, jolly good thing too! Couldn't go back to +service. Everybody knew.' + +The girl burst into tears and Victoria putting an arm round her drew her +against her breast. + +'Everybody knew, everybody knew!' wailed the girl. + +Victoria had the vision of a thousand spectral eyes, all full of +knowledge, gazing at the housemaid caught by them sinning. The girl +rested her head against Victoria's shoulder for a moment, holding one of +her hands. Suddenly she raised her head again and cleared her throat. + +'There,' she said, 'let me go. Hugo's waiting for me at the Carcassonne. +Never mind me. We've all got to live, he-he!' + +She turned into Regent Street and another 'he-he' floated back. Victoria +felt a heavy weight at her heart; poor girl, weak, the sport of one man, +deceived, then a pirate made to disgorge her gains by another man; +handsome, subtle, playing upon her affections and her fears. What did it +matter? Was she not in the same position, but freer because conscious; +poor slave soul. But the time had come for Victoria to make for the +Vesuvius. 'It must be getting late,' she thought, putting up her hand to +her little gold watch-brooch. + +It was gone. She had it on when she left, but it could not have dropped +out, for the lace showed two long rips; it had just been torn out. +Victoria stood frozen for a moment. So this was the result of a first +attempt at love. She recovered, however. She was not going to generalise +from one woman. 'Besides,' she thought bitterly, 'the girl's theories +are the same as mine. She merely has no reservations or hesitations. The +bolder pirate, she is perhaps the better brain.' + +Then she walked down Swallow Street into Piccadilly, and at once a young +man in loud checks was at her side. She looked up into his face, her +smile full of covert promise as they went into the Vesuvius together. +Victoria was now at home in the market place, and could exchange a quip +with the frequenters. Languidly she dropped her cloak into the hands of +the porter and preceded the young man into the supper-room. As they sat +at the little table before the liqueur, her eyes saw the garish room +through a film. How deadening it all was, and how lethal the draughts +sold here. An immense weariness was upon her, an immense disgust, as she +smiled full-toothed on the young man in checks. He was a cheerful +rattle, suggested the man who has got beyond the retail trade without +reaching the professions, a house agent's clerk perhaps. + +'Oh, yes, I'm a merry devil, ha! ha!' He winked a pleasant grey eye. +Victoria noticed that his clothes were too new, his boots too new, his +manners too a recent acquisition. + +'Don't worry. That's how you keep young, ha! ha! Besides, don't have +much time to mope in my trade!' + +'What's that?' asked Victoria vacuously. Men generally lied as to their +occupation, but she had noticed that when their imagination was +stimulated their temper improved. + +'Inspector of bun-punchers, ha! ha!' + +'Bun-punchers?' + +'Yes, bun-punchers. South Eastern Railway, you know. Got to have them +dated now. New Act of Parliament, ha! ha!' + +Victoria laughed, for his cockney joviality was infectious. Then again +the room faded and rematerialised as his voice rose and fell. + +'The wife don't know I'm out on the tiles, ha! ha! She's in Streatham, +looking after the smalls. . . . Oh, no, none of your common or garden +brass fenders. . . .' + +Victoria pulled herself together. This was what she could not bear. +Brutality, the obscene even, were preferable to this dreary trickling of +the inane masquerading as wit. Yet she smiled at him. + +'You're saucy,' she said. 'You're my fancy to-night.' + +A shadow passed over the man's face. Then again he was rattling along. + +'Talk of inventions? What'd you think of mine: indiarubber books to read +in your bath? ha! ha! . . .' + +But these are only the moths that flutter round the lamp, too far off to +burn their wings. They love to breathe perfume, to touch soft hands, +gaze at bright eyes and golden hair; then they flutter away, and the +hand that would stay their flight cannot rob them even of a few specks +of golden dust. In a few minutes Victoria sat philosophically before +her empty glass while Fascination Fledgeby was by the side of a rival, +being 'an awful dog,' for the benefit of his fellow clerks on the +morrow. She was in the mood when it did not matter whether she was +unlucky or not. There were quite two women present for every man this +hot August night. At the next table sat a woman known as 'Duckie,' fair, +very fat and rosy; she was the vision bursting from a white dress which +Victoria had seen the first night. On the first night she had embodied +for Victoria--so large, so fat, so coarsely animal was she--the very +essence of her trade; now she knew her better she found that Duckie was +a good sort, careless, generous, perfectly incapable of doing anybody an +ill turn. She was _bonne fille_ even, so unmercenary as sometimes to +accede good humouredly to the pleadings of an impecunious youth. Her one +failing was a fondness for 'a wet.' She was drinking her third whisky +and soda; if she was invited to supper she would add to that at least +half a bottle of champagne, follow that up by a couple of liqueurs and a +peg just before going to bed. She carried her liquor well; she merely +grew a little vague. + +'Hot,' remarked Duckie. + +'Rather,' said Victoria. 'I'm going soon, can't stick it.' + +'Good for you. I've got to stay. Always harder for grandmas like me when +the fifth form boy's at the seaside.' Duckie laughed, without cynicism +though; she had the reasoning powers of a cow. + +Victoria laughed too. A foreign-looking girl in scarlet bent over from +the next table, her long coral earrings sliding down over her +collar-bones. + +'Tight again,' said the girl. + +'As a drum, Lissa, old girl!' said Duckie good temperedly. + +'Nothing to what you'll be by and by,' added Lissa with the air of a +comforter. + +'Nothing like, old dear! Have one with me, Lissa? No? No offence. You, +Zoe, have a _tord boyaux_?' + +'No thanks.' Zoe was a good-looking short girl; her French nationality +written in every line of her round face, plump figure, and hands. Her +hair was pulled away from the fat nape of her neck. She looked competent +and wide awake. A housewife gone astray. Lissa, dark and Italian looking +in her red dress and coral earrings, was more languid than the others. +She was really a Greek, and all the grace of the East was in every +movement of her slim figure. In a moment the four women had clustered +together, forgetting strife. + +Lissa had had a 'Bank of Engraving' note palmed off on her by a +pseudo-South American planter, and was rightly indignant. They were +still talking of Camille de Valenciennes and of her misfortunes with the +barber. Boys, the latest tip for Gatwick, 'what I said to him,' the +furriers' sales, boys again . . . Victoria listened to the conversation. +It still seemed like another world and yet her world. Here they were, +she and the other atoms, hostile every one, and a blind centripetal +force was kneading them together into a class. Yet any class was better +than the isolation in which she lived. Why not go further, hear more? + +'I say, you girls,' she said suddenly, 'you've never been to my place. +Come and . . . no, not dine, it won't work . . . come and lunch with me +next week.' + +Duckie smiled heavily. + +'I don' min',' she said thickly. + +Zoe looked suspicious for a moment. + +'Can I bring Fritz?' asked Lissa. + +'No, we can't have Fritz,' said Victoria smiling. 'Ladies only.' + +'I'm on,' said Zoe suddenly. 'I was afraid you were going to have a lot +of swells in. Hate those shows. Never do you any good and you get so +crumpled.' + +'You might let me bring Fritz,' said Lissa querulously. + +'No men,' said Victoria firmly. 'Wednesday at one o'clock. All square?' + +'Thatawright,' remarked Duckie. 'Shut it Lissa. Fritzawright. Tellm its +biz . . . bizness.' + +With some difficulty they hoisted Duckie into a cab and sent her off to +Bloomsbury. As it drove off she popped her head out. + +'Carriage paid,' she spluttered, 'or C. O. D.?' + +Zoe and Lissa walked away to the circus. On her little hall table, as +Victoria went into her house, she found a note scrawled in pencil on +some of her own notepaper. It was from Betty. It said that Farwell had +been stricken down by a sudden illness and was sinking fast. His address +followed. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +IN a bed sitting-room at the top of an old house off the Waterloo Road +three women were watching by the bedside of a man. One was dressed in +rusty black; she was pale faced, crowned with light hair; the other, +shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, was middle-aged and very +stout; her breast rolled like a billow in her half buttoned bodice. The +third was beautiful, all in black, her sumptuous neck and shoulders +bare. None of them moved for a moment. Then the beautiful woman threw +back her cloak and her long jade earrings tinkled. The face on the +pillow turned and opened its eyes. + +'Victoria,' said a faint voice. + +'Yes . . . are you better?' Victoria bent over the bed. The face was +copper coloured; every bone seemed to start out. She could hardly +recognise Farwell's rough hewn features. + +'Not yet . . . soon,' said Farwell. He closed his eyes once more. + +'What is it, Betty?' whispered Victoria. + +'I don't know . . . hemorrhage they say.' + +'It's all up mum,' whispered the landlady in Victoria's ear. 'Been ill +two days only. Doctor said he wouldn't come again.' + +Victoria bent over the bed once more. She could feel the eyes of the +landlady probing her personality. + +'Can't you do something?' she asked savagely. + +'Nothing.' Farwell opened his eyes again and faintly smiled. 'And what's +the good, Victoria?' + +Victoria threw herself on her knees by the side of the bed. 'Oh, you +musn't!' she whispered. 'You . . . the world can't spare you!' + +'Oh, yes . . . it can . . . you know . . . the world is like men . . . +it spends everything on luxuries . . . it can't afford necessaries.' + +Victoria smiled and felt as if she were going to choke. The last +paradox. + +'Are you in pain?' she asked. + +'No, not just now. . . . I shall be, soon. Let me speak while I can.' +His voice grew firmer suddenly. + +'I have asked you to come so that you may be the last thing I see; you, +the fairest. I love you.' + +Not one of the three women moved. + +'I have not spoken before, because when I could speak we were slaves. +Now you are free and I a slave. It is too late, so it is time for me to +speak. For I cannot influence you.' + +Farwell shut his eyes. But soon his voice rose again. + +'You must never influence anybody. That is my legacy to you. You cannot +teach men to stand by giving them a staff. Let the halt and the lame +alone. The strong will win. You must be free. There is nothing worth +while. . . .' A shiver passed over him, his voice became muffled. + +'No, nothing at all . . . freedom only. . . .' + +He spoke quicker. The words could not be distinguished. Now and then he +groaned. + +'Wait,' whispered Betty, 'it will be over in a minute.' For two minutes +they waited. + +Victoria's eyes fastened on a basin by the bedside, full of reddish +water. Then Farwell's face grew lighter in tone. His voice came faint as +the sound of a spinet. + +'There will be better times. But before then fighting . . . the coming +to the top of the leaders . . . gold will be taken from the rich . . . +given to the vile . . . pictures burnt . . . chaos . . . woman rise as +a tyrant . . . there will be fighting . . . the coming to the top. . ..' +His voice thinned down to nothing as his wandering mind repeated his +prediction. Then he spoke again. + +'You are a rebel . . . you will lead . . . you have understood . . . +only by understanding are you saved. I asked you to come here to tell +you to go on . . . earn your freedom . . . at the expense of others.' + +'Why at the expense of others?' asked Betty, leaning over the bed. +Farwell was hypnotising her. His eyes wandered to her face. + +'Too late . . .' he said, 'you do not see . . . you are a slave . . . a +woman has only one weapon . . . otherwise, a slave . . . ask . . . ask +Victoria.' He closed his eyes but went on speaking. + +'There is not freedom for everybody . . . capitalism means freedom for a +few . . . you must have freedom, like food . . . food for the soul . . . +you must capture the right to respect . . . a woman may not toil . . . +make money . . .' + +Then again. 'I am going into the blackness . . . before Death . . . the +Judge . . . Death will judge me. . . .' + +''E's thinking of his Maker, poor genelman,' said the landlady hoarsely. + +Victoria and Betty looked at one another. Agnostic or indifferent in +their cooler moments, the superstition of their ancestors worked in +their blood, powerfully assisted by the spectacle of this being passing +step by step into an unknown. There must be life there, feeling, loving. +There must be Something. + +The voice stopped. Betty had seized Victoria's arm and now clutched it +violently. Victoria could feel through her own body the shudders that +shook the girl's frame. Then Farwell's voice rose again, louder and +louder, like the upward flicker of a dying candle. + +'Yes, freedom's my message, the right to live. This world into which we +are evolved by a selfish act of joy, into which we are dragged unwilling +with pain for our usher, it is a world which has no justification save +the freedom to enjoy it as we may. I have lived a stoic, but it is a +hedonist I die. Unshepherded I go into a perhaps. But I regret nothing +. . . all the certainties of the past are not worth the possible of the +future. Behind me others tread the road that leads up the hill.' + +He paused for breath. Then again his voice arose as a cry, proclaiming +his creed. + +'On the top of the hill. There I see the unknown land, running with milk +and honey. I see a new people; beautiful young, beautiful old. Its +fathers have ground the faces of the helots; they have fought and +lusted, they have suffered contumely and stripes. Now they know the Law, +the Law that all may keep because they are beyond the Law. They do not +desire, for they have, they do not weigh, for they know. They have not +feared, they have dared; they have spared no man, nor themselves. Ah! +now they have opened the Golden Gates. . . .' + +The man's voice broke, he coughed, a thin stream of blood trickled from +the side of his mouth. Victoria felt a film come over her eyes. She +leant over him to staunch the flow. They saw one another then. Farwell's +voice went down to a whisper. + +'Victoria . . . victorious . . . my love . . . never more. . . .' + +She looked into his glazing eyes. + +'Beyond . . .' he whispered; then his head fell to one side and his jaw +dropped. + +Betty turned away. She was crying. The landlady wiped her hands on her +apron. Victoria hesitatingly took hold of Farwell's wrist. He was dead. +She looked at him stupidly for a moment, then drew her cloak round her +shivering shoulders. The landlady too was crying now. + +'Oh, mum, sich a nice genelman,' she moaned. 'But 'e did go on so!' + +Victoria smiled pitifully. What an epitaph for a sunset! She drove away +with Betty and, as the horse trotted through the deserted streets, +hugged the girl in her arms. Betty was shuddering violently, and nestled +close up to her. They did not speak. Everything seemed to have become +loose in Victoria's mind and to be floating on a black sea. The pillar +of her individualism was down. Her codes were in the melting pot; a man, +the finest she had known, had confessed his love in his extremity, and +before she could respond passed into the shadow. But Farwell had left +her as a legacy the love of freedom for which he died, for which she was +going to live. + +When they arrived at Elm Tree Place, Victoria forced Betty to drink some +brandy, to tell her how Farwell had sent her a message, asking her to +send him Victoria, how she had waited for her. + +'Oh, it was awful,' whispered Betty, 'the maid said you'd be late . . . +she said I mustn't wait because you might not . . .' + +'Not come home alone?' said Victoria in a frozen voice. + +'Oh, I can't bear it, I can't bear it.' Betty flung herself into her +friend's arms, wildly weeping. + +Victoria soothed her, made her undress. As Betty grew more collected she +let drop a few words. + +'Oh, so then you too are happy?' said Victoria smiling faintly. + +'You love?' A burning blush rose over Betty's face. + +That night, as in the old Finsbury days, they lay in one another's arms +and Victoria grappled with her sorrow. Gentle, almost motherly, she +watched over this young life; blushing, full of promise, preparing +already to replace the dead. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +THE death of Farwell seemed to leave Victoria struggling and gasping for +breath, like a shipwrecked mariner who tries to secure his footing on +shifting sand while waves knock him down every time he rises to his +knees. Though she hardly ever saw him and though she had no precise idea +that he cared for her more than does the scientist for the bacteria he +observes, he had been her tower of strength. He was there, like the +institutions which make up civilisation, the British Constitution, the +Bank and the Established Church. Now he was gone and she saw that the +temple of life was empty. He was the last link. Cairns's death had +turned her out among the howling wolves; now Farwell seemed to have +carried away with him her theory of life. Above all, she now knew +nobody; save Betty, who counted as a charming child. It was then she +began to taste more cruelly the isolation of her class. + +In the early days, when she paced up and down fiercely in the room at +Portsea Place, she had already realised that she was alone, but then she +was not an outcast; the doors of society were, if not open, at any rate +not locked against her. Then the busy hum of the Rosebud and the P.R.R., +the back-breaking work, the hustle, the facile friendships with City +beaus--all this had drawn a veil over her solitude. Now she was really +alone because none knew and none would know her. Her beauty, her fine +clothes, contributed to clear round her a circle as if she were a +leper. At times she would talk to a woman in a park, but before a few +sentences had passed her lips the woman would take in every detail of +her, her clean gloves, her neat shoes, her lace handkerchief, her costly +veil; then the woman's face would grow rigid, and with a curt 'good +morning' she would rise from her seat and go. + +Victoria found herself thrust back, like the trapper in the hands of Red +Indians; like him she ran in a circle, clubbed back towards the centre +every time she tried to escape. She was of her class, and none but her +class would associate with her. Women such as herself gladly talked to +her, but their ideas sickened her, for life had taught them nothing but +the ethics of the sex-trade. Their followers too--barbers, billiard +markers, shady bookmakers, unemployed potmen; who sometimes dared to +foist themselves on her--filled her with yet greater fear and disgust, +for they were the only class of man alternative to those on whose bounty +she lived. Thus she withdrew herself away from all; sometimes a craving +for society would throw her into equivocal converse with Augusta, whose +one idea was the dowry she must take back to Germany. Then, tiring of +her, she would snatch up Snoo and Poo and pace round and round her tiny +lawn like a squirrel in its wheel. + +A chance meeting with Molly emphasised her isolation, like the flash of +lightning which leaves the night darker. She was standing on the steps +of the Sandringham Tea House in Bond Street, looking into the side +window of the photographer who runs a print shop on the ground floor. +Some sprawling Boucher beauties in delicate gold frames fascinated her. +She delighted in the semi-crude, semi-sophisticated atmosphere, the +rotundity of the well-fed bodies, their ribald rosy flesh. As she was +wondering whether they would not do for the stairs the door opened +suddenly and a plump little woman almost rushed into her arms. The +little woman apologised, giving her a quick look. Then the two looked at +one another again. + +'Victoria!' cried Molly, for it was she, with her wide open blue eyes, +small nose, fair frizzy hair. + +A thrill of joy and fear ran through Victoria. She felt her personality +criddle up like a scorched moth, then expand like a flower under gentle +dew. She was found out; the terrible female instinct was going to detect +her, then to proclaim her guilt. However, bravely enough, she braced +herself up and held out her hand. + +'Oh, Vic, why haven't you written to me for, let me see, three years, +isn't it?' + +'I've been away, abroad,' said Victoria slowly. She seemed to float in +another world. Molly was talking vigorously; Victoria's brain, +feverishly active, was making up the story which would have to be told +when Molly's cheerful egotism had had its way. + +'Don't let's stay here on the doorstep,' she interrupted, 'let's go +upstairs and have tea. You haven't had tea yet?' + +'I should love to,' said Molly, squeezing her arm. 'Then you can tell me +about yourself.' + +Seated at a little table Molly finished her simple story. She had +married an army chaplain, but he had given up his work in India and was +now rector of Pontyberis in Wales. They had two children. Molly was up +in town merely to break the journey, as she was going down to stay with +her aunt in Kent. Oh, yes, she was very happy, her husband was very +well. + +'They're talking of making him Dean of Ffwr,' she added with unction. +'But that's enough about me. How have you been getting on, Vic? I +needn't ask how you are; one only has to look at you.' Molly's eyes +roved over her friend's beautiful young face, her clothes which she +appraised with the skill of those poor who are learned in the fashions. + +'I? Oh, I'm very well,' said Victoria hysterically. + +'Yes, but how have you been getting on? Weren't you talking about having +to work when you came over?' + +'Yes, but I've been lucky . . . a week after I got here an aunt of my +mother's died of whom I never even heard before. They told me at Dick's +lawyers a month later, and you wouldn't believe it, there was no will +and I came in for . . . well something quite comfortable.' + +Molly put out her hand and stroked Victoria's. + +'I'm so glad,' she said. . . . 'Oh, you don't know how hard it is to +have to work for your living. I see something of it in Wales. Oh, if you +only knew. . . .' + +Victoria pressed her lips together, as if about to cry or laugh. + +'But what did you do then? You only wrote once. You didn't tell me?' + +'No, I only heard a month after, you know. Oh, I had a lot to do. I +travelled a lot. I've been in America a good deal. In fact my home is in +. . . Alabama.' She plunged for Alabama, feeling sure that New York was +unsafe. + +'Oh, how nice,' said Molly ingenuously. 'You might have sent me picture +postcards, you know.' + +Skilfully enough Victoria explained that she had lost Molly's address. +Her friend blissfully accepted all she said, but a few other women less +ingenuous than the clergyman's wife were casting sharp glances at her. +When they parted, Victoria audaciously giving her address as 'care of +Mrs Ferris, Elm Tree Place,' she threw herself back on the cushions of +the cab and told herself that she could not again go through with the +ordeal of facing her own class. She almost hungered for the morrow, when +she was to entertain the class she had adopted. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +THE Fulton household had always been short of money, for Dick spent too +much himself to leave anything for entertaining; thus Victoria had very +little experience of lunch parties. Since she had left the Holts she +hardly remembered a bourgeois meal. The little affair on the Wednesday +was therefore provocative of much thought. Mutton was dismissed as +common, beef in any form as coarse; Laura's suggestion (for Laura and +Augusta had been called in) of a savoury sauerkraut ('mit Blutwurst, +Frankfurter, Leberwurst, etc.'), was also dismissed. Both servants took +a keen interest in the occasion. + +'But why no gentleman come?' asked Laura, who was clearly ill-disposed +to do her best for her own sex. + +'In the house I was . . .' began Augusta . . . then she froze up under +Victoria's eye. Her mistress still had a strain of the prig in her. + +Then Augusta suggested hors d'oeuvres, smoked salmon, anchovies, +olives, radishes; Laura forced forward fowl _a la Milanaise_ to be +preceded by baked John Dory cayenne. Then Augusta in a moment of +inspiration thought of French beans and vegetable marrow . . . stuffed +with chestnuts. The three women laughed, Laura clapped her hands with +the sheer joy of the creative artist. + +When Victoria came into the dining-room at half-past twelve she was +almost dazzled by her own magnificence. Neither the Carlton nor the +Savoy could equal the blaze of her plate, the brilliant polish of her +tablecloths. The dahlias blazed dark red in cut glass by the side of +pale belated roses from the garden. On the sideboard fat peaches were +heaped in a modern Lowestoft bowl, and amber-coloured plums lay like +portly dowagers in velvet. + +A few minutes before the hour Zoe and Lissa arrived together. They were +nervous; not on account of Victoria's spread, for they were of the upper +stratum, but because they were in a house. Accustomed to their small +flats off Shaftesbury Avenue, where tiny kitchens jostled with bedroom +and boudoir, they were frightened by the suggestion of a vast basement +out of which floated the savoury aroma of the John Dory baking. Victoria +tried to put them at their ease, took their parasols away and showed +them into the boudoir. There they sat in a triangle, the hot sun blazing +in upon them, stiff and starched with the formality of those who are +seldom formal. + +'Have a Manhattan cocktail?' asked the hostess. + +'No thanks; very hot, isn't it?' said Lissa in her most refined manner. +She was looking very pretty, dark, slim and snaky in her close-fitting +lemon coloured frock. + +'Very hot,' chimed in Zoe. She was sitting unnecessarily erect. Her flat +French back seemed to abhor the easy chair. Her tight hair, her trim +hands, her well boned collar, everything breathed neatness, well laced +stays, a full complement of hooks and eyes. She might have been the +sedate wife of a prosperous French tradesman. + +'Yes, it is hot,' said Victoria. + +Then the conversation flagged. The hostess tried to draw out her guests. +They were obviously anxious to behave. Lissa posed for 'The Sketch,' Zoe +remained _tres correcte_. + +'Do you like my pictures?' asked Victoria pointing to the French +engravings. + +'They are very pretty,' said Lissa. + +'I am very interested in engravings,' said Zoe, looking at the rosewood +clock. There was a longish pause. + +'I must show you my little dogs,' cried Victoria. She must do something. +She went out to the landing and opened the garden door. There she met +Augusta carrying a trayful of finger bowls. She felt inspired to +overturn it if only to break the ice. Snoo and Poo rushed in, but in the +boudoir they also instinctively became very well-bred. + +'I am very fond of dogs,' said Lissa. Snoo lay down on her back. + +'She is very pretty,' remarked Zoe. + +Victoria punched the dogs in the ribs, rolled them over. It was no good. +They would do nothing but gently wag their tails. She felt she would +like to swear, when suddenly the front door was slammed, a cheerful +voice rang in the hall. + +'Hulloa, here's Duckie,' said Lissa. + +The door opened loudly and Duckie seemed to rush in as if seated on a +high wind. + +'Here we are again!' cried the buxom presence in white. Every one of her +frills rattled like metal. 'Late as usual. Oh, Vic, what angel pups!' + +Duckie was on her knees. In a moment she had stirred up the Pekingese. +They forgot their manners. They barked vociferously; and Zoe's starch +was taken out of her by Poo, who rushed under her skirts. Lissa laughed +and jumped up. + +'Here Vic,' said Duckie ponderously, 'give us a hand, old girl. Never +can jump about after gin and bitters,' she added confidentially as they +helped her up. + +The ice was effectually broken. They filed into the dining-room in +pairs, Victoria and Lissa being slim playing the part of men. How they +gobbled up the hors d'oeuvres and how golden the John Dory was; the +flanks of the fish shone like an old violin. Augusta flitted about +quick but noisy. There was a smile on her face. + +'Steady on, old love,' said Duckie to her as the maid inadvertently +poured her claret into a tumbler. + +'Never you mind, Gussie,' cried Zoe, bursting with familiarity, 'she'll +be having it in a bucket by and by.' + +Augusta laughed. What easy going _herrschaft_! + +The talk was getting racier now. By the time they got to the dessert the +merriment was rather supper than lunch-like. + +'Victoria plums,' said Lissa, 'let us name them _Bonne Hotesse_.' + +The idea was triumphant. Duckie insisted on drinking a toast in hock, +for she never hesitated to mix her wines. Victoria smiled at them +indulgently. The youth of all this and the jollity, the ease of it; all +that was not of her old class. + +'Confusion to the puritans,' she cried, and drained her glass. Snoo and +Poo were fighting for scraps, for Duckie was already getting uncertain +in her aim. Lissa and Zoe, like nymphs teasing Bacchus, were pelting her +with plum stones, but she seemed quite unconscious of their pranks. They +had some difficulty in getting her into the boudoir for coffee and +liqueurs; once on the sofa she tried to go to sleep. Her companions +roused her, however; the scent of coffee, acrid and stimulating, stung +their nostrils; the liqueurs shone wickedly, green and golden in their +glass bottles; talk became more individual, more reminiscent. Here and +there a joke shot up like a rocket or stuck quivering in Duckie's placid +flanks. + +'Well Vic,' said Zoe, 'you are very well _installee_.' She slowly +emptied of cigarette smoke her expanded cheeks and surveyed the +comfortable little room. + +'Did you do it yourself?' asked Lissa. 'It must have cost you a lot of +money.' + +'Oh, I didn't pay.' Victoria was either getting less reticent or the +liqueur was playing her tricks. 'I began with a man who set me up +here,' she added; 'he was . . . he died suddenly' she went on more +cautiously. + +'Oh!' Zoe's eyebrows shot up. 'That's what I call luck. But why do you +not have a flat? It is cheaper.' + +'Yes, but more inconvenient,' said Lissa. 'Ah, Vic. I do envy you. You +don't know. We're always in trouble. We are moving every month.' + +'But why?' asked Victoria. 'Why must you move?' + +'Turn you out. Neighbours talk and then the landlord's conscience begins +to prick him,' grumbled Duckie from the sofa. + +'Oh, I see,' said Victoria. 'But when they turn you out what do you do?' + +'Go somewhere else, softy,' said Duckie. + +'But then what good does it do?' + +All the women laughed. + +'Law, who cares?' said Duckie. 'I dunno.' + +'It is perfectly simple,' began Zoe in her precise foreign English. 'You +see the landlord he will not let flats to ladies. When the police began +to watch it would cause him _des ennuis_. So he lets to a gentleman who +sublets the flats, you see? When the trouble begins, he doesn't know.' + +'But what about the man who sublets?' asked the novice. + +'Him? Oh, he's gone when it begins,' said Lissa. 'But they arrest the +hall porter.' + +'Justice must have its way, I see,' said Victoria. + +'What you call justice,' grumbled Duckie, 'I call it damned hard lines.' + +For some minutes Victoria discussed the housing problem with the fat +jolly woman. Duckie was in a cheerful mood. One could hardly believe, +when one looked at her puffy pink face, that she had seen fifteen years +of trouble. + +'Landladies,' she soliloquised, 'it's worse. You take my tip Vic, you +steer clear of them. You pay as much for a pigsty as a man pays for a +palace. If you do badly they chuck you out and stick to your traps and +what can you do? You don't call a policeman. If you do well, they raise +the rent, steal your clothes, charge you key money, and don't give 'em +any lip if you don't want a man set at you. Oh, Lor!' + +Duckie went on, and as she spoke her bluntness caused Victoria to +visualise scene after scene, one more horrible than another: a tall +dingy house in Bloomsbury with unlit staircases leading up to black +landings suggestive of robbery and murder; bedrooms with blinded +windows, reeking with patchouli, with carpets soiled by a myriad ignoble +stains. The house Duckie pictured was like a warren in every corner of +which soft-handed, rosy-lipped harpies sucked men's life-blood; there +was drinking in it, and a piano played light airs; below in the ground +floor, through the half open door, she could see two or three +foreigners, unshaven, dirty-cuffed, playing cards in silence like +hunters in ambush. She shuddered. + +'Yes, but Fritz isn't so bad,' broke in Lissa. She had all this time +been wrangling with Zoe. + +'No good,' snapped Zoe, 'he's a . . . a _bouche inutile_.' Her pursed-up +lips tightened. Fritz was swept away to limbo by her practical French +philosophy. + +'I like him because he is not useful' said Lissa dreamily. Zoe shrugged +her shoulders. Poor fool, this Lissa. + +'Who is this Fritz you're always talking about?' asked Victoria. + +'He's a . . . you know what they call them,' said Duckie brutally. + +'You're a liar,' screamed Lissa jumping up. 'He's . . . oh, Vic, you do +not understand. He's the man I care for; he is so handsome, so clever, +so gentle . . .' + +'Very gentle,' sneered Zoe, 'why did you not take off your long gloves +last week, _hein_? Perhaps you had blue marks?' + +Lissa looked about to cry. Victoria put her hand on her arm. + +'Never mind them,' she said, 'tell me.' + +'Oh, Vic, you are so good.' Lissa's face twitched, then she smiled like +a child bribed with a sweet. 'They do not know; they are hard. It is +true, Fritz does not work, but if we were married he would work and I +would do nothing. What does it matter?' They all smiled at the theory, +but Lissa went on with heightened colour. + +'Oh, it is so good to forget all the others; they are so ugly, so +stupid. It is infernal. And then, Fritz, the man that I love for himself +. . .' + +'And who loves you for . . .' began Zoe. + +'Shut up, Zoe,' said Duckie, her kindly heart expanding before this +idealism, 'leave the kid alone. Not in my line of course. You take my +tip, all of you, you go on your own. Don't you get let in with a +landlady and don't you get let in with a man. It's _them_ you've got to +let in.' + +'That's what I say,' remarked Zoe. 'We are successful because we take +care. One must be economical. For instance, every month I can. . . .' +She stopped and looked round suspiciously; with economy goes distrust, +and Zoe was very French. 'Well, I can manage,' she concluded vaguely. + +'And you need not talk, Duckie,' said Lissa savagely. 'You drink two +quid's worth every week.' + +'Well, s'pose I do,' grumbled the cherub. 'Think I do it for pleasure? +Tell you what, if I hadn't got squiffy at the beginning I'd have gone +off me bloomin' chump. I was in Buenos Ayres, went off with a waiter to +get married. He was in a restaurant, Highgate way, where I was in +service. I found out all about it when I got there. O Lor! Why, we +jolly well _had_ to drink, what with those Argentines who're half +monkeys and the good of the house! Oh, Lor!' She smiled. 'Those were +high old times,' she said inconsequently, overwhelmed by the glamour of +the past. There was silence. + +'I see,' said Victoria suddenly. 'I've never seen it before. If you want +to get on, you've got to run on business lines. No ties, no men to bleed +you. Save your money. Don't drink; save your looks. Why, those are good +rules for a bank cashier! If you trip, down you go in the mud and +nobody'll pick you up. So you've got to walk warily, not look at +anybody, play fair and play hard. Then you can get some cash together +and then you're free.' + +There was silence. Victoria had faced the problem too squarely for two +of her guests. Lissa looked dreamily towards the garden, wondering where +Fritz was, whether she was wise in loving; Duckie, conscious of her +heavy legs and incipient dropsy, blushed, then paled. Alone, Zoe, stiff +and energetic like the determined business woman she was, wore on her +lips the enigmatic smile born of a nice little sum in French three per +cents. + +'I must be going,' said Duckie hoarsely. She levered herself off the +sofa. Then, almost silently, the party broke up. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +LIFE pursued its even tenour; and Victoria, watching it go by, was +reminded of the endless belt of a machine. The world machine went on +grinding, and every breath she took was grist thrown for ever into the +intolerable mill. It was October again, and already the trees in the +garden were shedding fitful rains of glowing leaves. Alone the elder +tree stood almost unchanged, a symbol of the everlasting. Now and then +Victoria walked round the little lawn with Snoo and Poo, who were too +shivery to chase the fat spiders. Often she stayed there for an hour, +one hand against a tree trunk, looking at nothing, bathed in the mauve +light of the dying year. Already the scents of decay, of wetness, filled +the little garden and struck cold when the sun went down. + +Every day now Victoria felt her isolation more cruelly. Solitude was no +longer negative; it had materialised and had become a solid inimical +presence. When the sun shone and she could walk the milky way of the +streets, alone but feeling with every sense the joy of living time, +there was not much to fear from solitude; there were things to look at, +to touch, to smell. Now solitude no longer lurked round corners; at +times a gust of wind carried its icy breath into her bones. + +She was suffering, too, a little. She felt heavy in the legs, and a vein +in her left calf hurt a little in the evening if she had walked or stood +much. Soon, though it did not increase, the pain became her daily +companion, for even when absent it haunted her. She would await a twinge +for a whole day, ready and fearful, bracing herself up against a shock +which often found her unprepared. At all times too the obsession seemed +to follow her now. Perhaps she was walking through Regent's Park, +buoyant and feeling capable of lifting a mountain, but the thought would +rush upon her, perhaps it was going to hurt. She would lie awake too, +oblivious of the heavy breathing by her side, rested, all her senses +asleep, and then though she felt no pain the fear of it would come upon +her and she would wrestle with the thought that the blow was about to +fall. + +Sometimes she would go out into the streets, seeking variety even in a +wrangle between her Pekingese and some other dog. This meant that she +must separate them, apologise to the owner, exchange perhaps a few +words. Once she achieved a conversation with an old lady, a kindly soul, +the mistress of a poodle. They walked together along the Canal, and the +futile conversation fell like balm on Victoria's ears. The freshness of +a voice ignorant of double meanings was soft as dew. They were to meet +again, but the old lady was a near neighbour and she must have heard +something of Victoria's reputation, for when they met again opposite +Lord's, the old lady crossed over and the poodle followed her haughtily, +leaving Snoo and Poo disconsolate and wondering on the edge of the +pavement. + +One morning Augusta came into the boudoir about twelve, carrying a +visiting card on a little tray. + +'Miss Emma Welkin,' read Victoria. 'League of the Rights of Women. What +does she want, Augusta?' + +'She says she wants to see Mrs Ferris, Mum.' + +'League of the Rights of Women? Why, she must be a suffragist.' + +'Yes, Mum. She wear a straw hat, Mum,' explained Augusta with a slight +sniff. + +'And a tweed coat and skirt, I suppose,' said Victoria smiling. + +'Oh, yes, Mum. Shall I say go away?' + +'M'm. No, tell her to come in.' + +While Augusta was away Victoria settled herself in the cushions. Perhaps +it might be interesting. The visitor was shown in. + +'How do you do?' said Victoria holding out her hand. 'Please sit down. +Excuse my getting up, I'm not very well.' + +Miss Welkin looked about her, mildly surprised. It was a pretty room, +but somehow she felt uncomfortable. Victoria was looking at her. A +capable type of femininity this; curious, though, in its thick man-like +clothes, its strong boots. She was not bad looking, thirty perhaps, very +erect and rather flat. Her face was fresh, clean, innocent of powder; +her eyes were steady behind glasses; her hair was mostly invisible, +being tightly pulled back. There were firm lines about her mouth. A +fighting animal. + +'I hope you'll excuse this intrusion,' said the suffragist, 'but I got +your name from the directory and I have come to . . . to ascertain your +views about the all-important question of the vote.' There was a queer +stiltedness about the little speech. Miss Welkin was addressing the +meeting. + +'Oh? I'm very much interested,' said Victoria. 'Of course I don't know +anything about it except what I read in the papers.' + +The grey eyes glittered. Evangelic fervour radiated from them. 'That's +what we want,' said the suffragist. 'It's just the people who are ready +to be our friends who haven't heard our side and who get biassed. Mrs +Ferris, I'm sure you'll come in with us and join the Marylebone branch?' + +'But how can I?' asked Victoria. 'You see I know nothing about it all.' + +'Let me give you these pamphlets,' said the suffragist. Victoria +obediently took a leaflet on the marriage law, a pamphlet on 'The Rights +of Women,' a few more papers too, some of which slipped to the floor. + +'Thank you,' she said, 'but first of all tell me, why do you want the +vote?' + +The suffragist looked at her for a second. This might be a keen recruit +when she was converted. Then a flood of words burst from her. + +'Oh, how can any woman ask, when she sees the misery, the subjection in +which we live. We say that we want the vote because it is the only means +we have to attain economic freedom . . . we say to man: "Put your weapon +in our hands and we will show you what we can do." We want to have a +voice in the affairs of the country. We want to say how the taxes we pay +shall be spent, how our children shall be educated, whether our sons +shall go to war. We say it's wrong that we should be disfranchised +because we are women . . . it is illogical . . . we must have it.' + +The suffragist stopped for a second to regain breath. + +'I see,' said Victoria, 'but how is the vote going to help?' + +'Help,' echoed Miss Welkin. 'It will help because it will enable women +to have a voice in national affairs.' + +'You must think me awfully stupid,' said Victoria sweetly, 'but what use +will it be to us if we do get a voice in national affairs?' + +Miss Welkin ignored the interruption. + +'It is wrong that we should not have a vote if we are reasonable beings; +we can be teachers, doctors, chemists, factory inspectors, business +managers, writers; we can sit on local authorities, and we can't cast a +vote for a member of Parliament. It's preposterous, it's . . .' + +'Yes, I understand, but what will the vote do for us? Will it raise +wages?' + +'It must raise wages. Men's wages have risen a lot since they got the +vote.' + +'Do you think that's because they got the vote?' + +'Yes. Well, partly. At any rate there are things above wages,' said the +suffragist excitedly. 'And you know, we know that the vote is wanted +especially because it is an education; by inducing women to take an +interest in politics we will broaden their minds, teach them to combine +and then automatically their wages will rise.' + +'Oh, yes.' Victoria was rather struck by the argument. 'Then,' she said, +'you admit men are superior to women?' + +'Well, yes, at any rate at present,' said the suffragist rather sulkily. +'But you must remember that men have had nearly eighty years training in +political affairs. That's why we want the vote; to wake women up. Oh, +you have no idea what it will mean when we get it. We shall have fresh +minds bearing on political problems, we shall have more adequate +protection for women and children, compulsory feeding, endowment of +mothers, more education, shorter hours, more sanitary inspection. We +shall not be enslaved by parties; a nobler influence, the influence of +pure women will breathe an atmosphere of virtue into this terrible +world.' + +The woman's eyes were rapt now, her hands tightly clenched, her lips +parted, her cheeks a little flushed. But Victoria's face had hardened +suddenly. + +'Miss Welkin,' she said quietly, 'has anything struck you about this +house, about me?' + +The suffragist looked at her uneasily. + +'You ought to know whom you are talking to,' Victoria went on, 'I am a +. . . I am a what you would probably call . . . well, not respectable.' + +A dull red flush spread over Miss Welkin's face, from the line of her +tightly pulled hair to her stiff white collar; even her ears went red. +She looked away into a corner. + +'You see,' said Victoria, 'it's a shock, isn't it? I ought not to have +let you in. It wasn't quite fair, was it?' + +'Oh, it isn't that, Mrs Ferris,' burst out the suffragist, 'I'm not +thinking of myself. . . .' + +'Excuse me, you must. You can't help it. If you could construct a scale +with the maximum of egotism at one end, and the maximum of altruism at +the other and divide it, say into one hundred degrees, you would not, I +think, place your noblest thinkers more than a degree or two beyond the +egotistic zero. Now you, a pure girl, have been entrapped into the house +of a woman of no reputation, whom you would not have in your +drawing-room. Now, would you?' + +Miss Welkin was silent for a moment; the flush was dying away as she +gazed round eyed at this beautiful woman lying in her piled cushions, +talking like a mathematician. + +'I haven't come here to ask you into my drawing-room,' she answered. 'I +have come to ask you to throw in your labour, your time, your money, +with ours in the service of our cause.' She held her head higher as the +thought rose in her like wine. 'Our cause,' she continued, 'is not the +cause of rich women or poor women, of good women or bad; it's the cause +of woman. Thus, it doesn't matter who she is, so long as there is a +woman who stands aloof from us there is still work to do.' + +Victoria looked at her interestedly. Her eyes were shining, her lips +parted in ecstasy. + +'Oh, I know what you think,' the suffragist went on; 'as you say, you +think I despise you because you . . . you. . . .' The flush returned +slightly. . . . 'But I know that yours is not a happy life and we are +bringing the light.' + +'The light!' echoed Victoria bitterly. 'You have no idea, I see, of how +many people there are who are bringing the light to women like me. There +are various religious organisations who wish to rescue us and to house +us comfortably under the patronage of the police, to keep us nicely and +feed us on what is suitable for the fallen; they expect us to sew ten +hours a day for these privileges, but that is by the way. There are also +many kindly souls who offer little jobs as charwomen to those of us who +are too worn out to pursue our calling; we are offered emigration as +servants in exchange for the power of commanding a household; we are +offered poverty for luxury, service for domination, slavery to women +instead of slavery to men. How tempting it is! And now here is the light +in another form: the right to drop a bit of paper into a box every four +years or so and settle thereby whether the Home Secretary who +administers the law of my trade shall live in fear of buff prejudice or +blue.' + +The suffragist said nothing for a second. She felt shaken by Victoria's +bitterness. + +'Women will have no party,' she said lamely, 'they will vote as women.' + +'Oh? I have heard somewhere that the danger of giving women the vote is +that they will vote solid "as women," as you say and swamp the men. Is +that so?' + +'No, I'm afraid not,' said the suffragist unguardedly, 'of course women +will split up into political parties.' + +'Indeed? Then where is this woman vote which is going to remould the +world? It is swamped in the ordinary parties.' + +The suffragist was in a dilemma. + +'You forget,' she answered, wriggling on the horns, 'that women can +always be aroused for a noble cause. . . .' + +'Am I a noble cause?' asked Victoria, smiling. 'So far as I can see +women, even the highest of them, despise us because we do illegally +what they do legally, hate us because we attract, envy us because we +shine. I have often thought that if Christ had said, "Let her who hath +never sinned . . ." the woman would have been stoned. What do you +think?' + +The suffragist hesitated, cleared her throat. + +'That will all go when we have the vote, women will be a force, a nobler +force; they will realise . . . they will sympathise more . . . then they +will cast their vote for women.' + +Victoria shook her head. + +'Miss Welkin,' she said, 'you are an idealist. Now, will you ask me to +your next meeting if you are satisfied as to my views, announce me for +what I am and introduce me to your committee?' + +'I don't see . . . I don't think,' stammered the suffragist, 'you see +some of our committee. . . .' + +Victoria laughed. + +'You see. Never mind. I assure you I wouldn't go. But, tell me, +supposing women get the vote, most of my class will be disfranchised on +the present registration law. What will you women do for us?' + +The suffragist thought for a minute. + +'We shall raise the condition of women,' she said. 'We shall give them a +new status, increase the respect of men for them, increase their respect +for themselves; besides, it will raise wages and that will help. We +shall . . . we shall have better means of reform too.' + +'What means?' + +'When women have more sympathy.' + +'Votes don't mean sympathy.' + +'Well, intelligence then. Oh, Mrs Ferris, it's not that that matters; +we're going to the root of it. We're going to make women equal to men, +give them the same opportunities, the same rights. . . .' + +'Yes, but will the vote increase their muscles? will it make them more +logical, fitter to earn their living?' + +'Of course it will,' said Miss Welkin acidly. + +'Then how do you explain that several millions of men earn less than +thirty shillings a week, and that at times hundreds of thousands are +unemployed?' + +'The vote does not mean everything,' said the suffragist reluctantly. +'It will merely ensure that we rise like the men when we are fit.' + +'Well, Miss Welkin, I won't press that, but now, tell me, if women got +the vote to-morrow, what would it do for my class?' + +'It would raise. . . .' + +'No, no, we can't wait to be raised. We've got to live, and if you +"raise" us we lose our means of livelihood. How are you going to get to +the root cause and lift us, not the next generation, at once out of the +lower depths?' + +The suffragist's face contracted. + +'Everything takes time,' she faltered. 'Just as I couldn't promise a +charwoman that her hours would go down and her wages go up next day, I +can't say that . . . of course your case is more difficult than any +other, because . . . because. . . .' + +'Because,' said Victoria coldly, 'I represent a social necessity. So +long as your economic system is such that there is not work for the +asking for every human being--work, mark you, fitted to strength and +ability--so long on the other hand as there is such uncertainty as +prevents men from marrying, so long as there is a leisured class who +draw luxury from the labour of other men; so long will my class endure +as it endured in Athens, in Rome, in Alexandria, as it does now from St +John's Wood to Pekin.' + +There was a pause. Then Miss Welkin got up awkwardly. Victoria followed +suit. + +'There,' she said, 'you don't mind my being frank, do you? May I +subscribe this sovereign to the funds of the branch? I do believe you +are right, you know, even though I'm not sure the millennium is +coming.' + +Miss Welkin looked doubtfully at the coin in her palm. + +'Don't refuse it,' said Victoria, smiling, 'after all, you know, in +politics there is no tainted money.' + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +VICTORIA lay back in bed, gazing at the blue silk wall. It was ten +o'clock, but still dark; not a sound disturbed dominical peace, except +the rain dripping from the trees, falling finally like the strokes of +time. Her eyes dwelt for a moment on the colour prints where the nude +beauties languished. She felt desperately tired, though she had not left +the house for thirty-six hours; her weariness was as much a consequence +as a cause of her consciousness of defeat. October was wearing; and soon +the cruel winter would come and fix its fangs into the sole remaining +joy of her life, the spectacle of life itself. She was desperately +tired, full of hatred and disgust. If the face of a man rose before her +she thrust it back savagely into limbo; her legs hurt. The time had come +when she must realise her failure. She was not, as once in the P. R. R., +in the last stage of exhaustion, hunted, tortured; she was rather the +wounded bird crawling away to die in a thicket than the brute at bay. + +As she lay, she realised that her failure had two aspects. It was +together a monetary and a physical failure. The last three months had in +themselves been easy. Her working hours did not begin before seven +o'clock in the evening; and it was open to her, being young and +beautiful, to put them off for two or three hours more; she was always +free by twelve o'clock in the morning at the very latest, and then the +day was hers to rest, to read and think. But she was still too much of +a novice to escape the excitement inherent in the chase, the strain of +making conversation, of facing the inane; nor was she able without a +mental effort to bring herself to the response of the simulator. As she +sat in the Vesuvius or stared into the showcase of a Regent Street +jeweller, a faint smile upon her face, her brain was awake, her +faculties at high pressure. Her eyes roved right and left and every +nerve seemed to dance with expectation or disappointment. When she got +up now, she found her body heavy, her legs sore and all her being dull +like a worn stone. A little more, she felt, and the degradation of her +body would spread to her sweet lucidity of mind; she would no longer see +ultimate ends but would be engulfed in the present, become a bird of +prey seeking hungrily pleasure or excitement. + +Besides, and this seemed more serious still, she was not doing well. It +seemed more serious because this could not be fought as could be +intellectual brutalisation. An examination of her pass books showed that +she was a little better off than at the time of Cairns's death. She was +worth, all debts paid, about three hundred and ninety pounds. Her net +savings were therefore at the rate of about a hundred and fifty a year; +but she had been wonderfully lucky, and nothing said that age, illness +or such misadventures as she classed under professional risk, might not +nullify her efforts in a week. There was wear and tear of clothes too: +the trousseau presented her by Cairns had been good throughout but some +of the linen was beginning to show signs of wear; boots and shoes wanted +renewing; there were winter garments to buy and new furs. + +'I shall have stone martin,' she reflected. Then her mind ran +complacently for a while on a picture of herself in stone martin; a pity +she couldn't run to sables. She brought herself back with a jerk to her +consideration of ways and means. The situation was really not brilliant. +Of course she was extravagant in a way. Eighty-five pounds rent; thirty +pounds in rates and taxes, without counting income tax which might be +anything, for she dared not protest; two servants--all that was too +much. It was quite impossible to run the house under five hundred a +year, and clothes must run into an extra hundred. + +'I could give it up,' she thought. But the idea disappeared at once. A +flat would be cheaper, but it meant unending difficulties; it was not +for nothing that Zoe, Lissa and Duckie envied her. And the rose-covered +pergola! Besides it would mean saving a hundred a year or so; and, from +her point of view, even two hundred and fifty a year was not worth +saving. She was nearly twenty-eight, and could count on no more than +between eight and twelve years of great attractiveness. This meant that, +with the best of luck, she could not hope to amass much more than three +thousand pounds. And then? Weston-super-Mare and thirty years in a +boarding-house? + +She was still full of hesitation and doubt as she greeted Betty at +lunch. This was a great Sunday treat for the gentle P. R. R. girl. When +she had taken off her coat and hat, she used to settle in an arm-chair +with an intimate feeling of peace and protection. This particular day +Betty did not settle down as usual, though the cushions looked soft and +tempting and a clear fire burned in the grate. Victoria watched her for +a moment. How exquisite and delicate this girl looked; tall, very slim +and rounded. Betty had placed one hand on the mantelpiece, a small long +hand rather coarsened at the finger tips, one foot on the fender. It was +a little foot, arched and neat in the cheap boot. She had bought new +boots for the occasion; the middle of the raised sole was still white. +Her face was a little flushed, her eyes darkened by the glow. + +'Well, Betty,' said her hostess suddenly, 'when's the wedding?' + +'Oh, Vic, I didn't say . . . how can you . . .' Her face had blushed a +tell-tale red. + +'You didn't say,' laughed Victoria, 'of course you didn't say, shy bird! +But surely you don't think I don't know. You've met somebody in the City +and you're frightfully in love with him. Now, honest, is there anybody?' + +'Yes . . . there is, but . . .' + +'Of course there is. Now, Betty, tell me all about it.' + +'Oh, I couldn't,' said Betty, gazing into the fire. 'You see it isn't +quite settled yet.' + +'Then tell me what you're going to settle. First of all, who is it?' + +'Nobody you know. I met him at . . . well he followed me in Finsbury +Circus one evening. . . .' + +'Oh, naughty, naughty! You're getting on, Betty.' + +'You mustn't think I encouraged him,' said Betty with a tinge of +asperity. 'I'm not that sort.' She stopped, remembering Victoria's +profession, then, inconsequently: 'You see, he wouldn't go away and +. . . now. . . .' + +'And he was rather nice, wasn't he?' + +'Well, rather.' A faint and very sweet smile came over Betty's face. +Victoria felt a little strangle in her throat. She too had thought her +bold partner at the regimental dance at Lympton rather nice. Poor old +Dick. + +'Then he got out of me about the P. R. R.,' Betty went on more +confidently. 'And then, would you believe it, he came to lunch every +day! Not that he was accustomed to lunch at places like that,' she added +complacently. + +'Oh, a swell?' said Victoria. + +'No, I don't say that. He used to go to the Lethes, before they shut up. +He lives in the West End too, in Notting Hill, you know.' + +'Dear, dear, you're flying high, Betty. But tell me, what is he like? +and what does he do? and is he very handsome?' + +'Oh, he's awfully handsome, Vic. Tall you know and very, very dark; he's +so gentlemanly too, looks like the young man in _First Words of Love_. +It's a lovely picture, isn't it?' + +'Yes, lovely,' said Victoria summarily. 'But tell me more about him.' + +'He's twenty-eight. He works in the City. He's a ledger clerk at +Anderson and Dromo's. If he gets a rise this Christmas, he . . . well, +he says . . .' + +'He says he'll marry you.' + +'Yes.' Betty hung her head, then raised it quickly. 'Oh, Vic, I can't +believe it. It's too good to be true. I love him so dreadfully . . . I +just can't wait for one o'clock. He didn't come on Wednesday. I thought +he'd forgotten me and I was going off my head. But it was all right, +they'd kept him in over something.' + +'Poor little girl,' said Victoria gently. 'It's hard isn't it, but good +too.' + +'Good! Vic, when he kisses me I feel as if I were going to faint. He's +strong, you see. And when he puts his arms round me I feel like a mouse +in a trap . . . but I don't want to get away: I want it to go on for +ever, just like that.' + +She paused for a moment as if listening to the first words of love. Then +her mind took a practical turn. + +'Of course we shan't be able to live in Notting Hill,' she added. 'We'll +have to go further out, Shepherd's Bush way, so as to be on the Tube. +And he says I shan't go to the P. R. R. any more.' + +'Happy girl,' said Victoria. 'I'm so glad, Betty; I hope . . .' + +She restrained a doubt. 'And as you say you can't stay to tea I think I +know where you're going.' + +'Well, yes, I am going to meet him,' said Betty laughing. + +'Yes . . . and you're going to look at little houses at Shepherd's +Bush.' + +Betty looked up dreamily. She could see a two-storeyed house in a row, +with a bay window, and a front garden where, winter or summer, marigolds +grew. + +After lunch, as the two women sat once more in the boudoir, they said +very little. Victoria, from time to time, flicked the ash from her +cigarette. Betty did not smoke, but, her hands clasped together in her +lap, watched a handsome dark face in the coals. + +'And how are you getting on, Vic?' she asked suddenly. Swamped by the +impetuous tide of her own romance she had not as yet shown any interest +in her friend's affairs. + +'I? Oh, nothing special. Pretty fair.' + +'But, I mean . . . you said you wanted to make a lot of money and . . .' + +'Yes, I'm not badly off, but I can't go on, Betty. I shall never do any +good like this.' + +Betty was silent for some minutes. Her ingrained modesty made any +discussion of her friend's profession intolerable. Vanquished in +argument, grudgingly accepting the logic of Victoria's actions, she +could not free her mind from the thought that these actions were +repulsive, that there must have been some other way. + +'Oh? You want to get out of it all . . . you know . . . I have never +said you weren't quite right, but . . .' + +'But I'm quite wrong?' + +'No . . . I don't mean that . . . I don't like to say that . . . I'm not +clever like you, Vic, but . . .' + +'We've done with all that,' said Victoria coldly. 'I do want to get out +of it because it's getting me no nearer to what I want. I don't quite +know how to do it. I'm not very well, you know.' + +Betty looked up quickly with concern in her face. + +'Have those veins been troubling you again?' + +'Yes, a little. I can't risk much more.' + +'Then what are you going to do?' + +Victoria was silent for a moment. + +'I don't know,' she said. 'I never thought of all this when the Major +was alive.' + +'Ah, there never was anybody like him,' said Betty after a pause. + +Victoria sat up suddenly. + +'Betty,' she cried, 'you're giving me an idea.' + +'I? an idea?' + +'There must be somebody like him. Why shouldn't I find him?' + +Betty said nothing. She looked her stiffest, relishing but little the +fathering upon her of this expedient. + +'But who?' soliloquised Victoria. 'I don't know anybody. You see Betty, +I want lots and lots of money. Otherwise it's no good. If I don't make a +lot soon it will be too late.' + +Betty still said nothing. Really she couldn't be expected. . . . Then +her conscience smote her; she ought to show a little interest in dear, +kind Vic. + +'Yes,' she said. 'But you must know lots of people. You never told me, +but you're a swell and all that. You must have known lots of rich men +when you came to London.' + +She stopped abruptly, shocked by her own audacity. But Victoria was no +longer noticing her; she was following with lightning speed a new train +of thought. + +'Betty,' she cried, 'you've done it. I've found the man.' + +'Have you? Who is it,' exclaimed Betty. She was excited, unable in her +disapproval of the irregular to feel uninterested in the coming together +of women and men. + +'Never mind. You don't know him. I'll tell you later.' + +An extraordinary buoyancy seemed to pervade Victoria. The way out! she +had found the way out! And the two little words echoed in her brain as +if some mighty wave of sound was rebounding from side to side in her +skull. She was excited, so excited that, as she said goodbye to Betty, +she forgot to fix their next meeting. She had work to do and would do it +that very night. + +As soon as Betty was gone she dressed quickly. Then she changed her hat +to make sure she was looking her best. She went out and, with hurried +steps, made for the Finchley Road. There was the house with the +evergreens, as well clipped as ever, and the drive with its clean +gravel. She ran up the steps of the porch, then hesitated for a moment. +Her heart was beating now. Then she rang. There was a very long pause +during which she heard nothing but the pumping of her heart. Then +distant shuffling footsteps coming nearer. The door opened. She saw a +slatternly woman . . . behind her the void of an empty house. She could +not speak for emotion. + +'Did you want to see the house, mum,' asked the woman. She looked sour. +Sunday afternoon was hardly a time to view. + +'The house?' + +'Oh . . . I thought you come from Belfrey's, mum. It's to let.' + +The caretaker nodded towards the right and Victoria, following the +direction, saw the house agents' board. Her excitement fell as under a +cold douche. + +'Oh! I came to see . . . Do you know where Mr Holt is?' + +'Mr Holt's dead, mum. Died in August, mum.' + +'Dead.' Things seemed to go round. Jack was the only son . . . then?' + +'Yes, mum. That's why they're letting. A fine big 'ouse, mum. Died in +August, mum. Ah, you should have seen the funeral. They say he left half +a million, mum, and there wasn't no will.' + +'Where is Mrs Holt and . . . and Mr Holt's son.' + +The caretaker eyed the visitor suspiciously. There was something rakish +about this young lady which frightened her respectability. + +'I can't say, mum,' she answered slowly. 'I could forward a letter, +mum,' she added. + +'Let me come in. I want to write a note.' + +The caretaker hesitated for a moment, then stood aside to let her pass. + +'You'll 'ave to come downstairs mum,' she said, 'sorry I'm all mixed up. +I was doing a bit of washing. Git away Maria,' to a small child who +stood at the top of the stairs. + +In the gaslit kitchen, surrounded by steaming linen, Victoria wrote a +little feverish note in pencil. The caretaker watched her every +movement. She liked her better somehow. + +'I'll forward it all right, mum,' she said. 'Thank you mum. . . . Oh, +mum, I don't want you to think--' She was looking amazedly at the half +sovereign in her palm. + +'That's all right,' said Victoria, laughing loudly. She felt she must +laugh, dance, let herself go. 'Just post it before twelve.' + +The woman saw her to the door. Then she looked at the letter doubtfully. +It was freshly sealed and could easily be opened. Then she had a burst +of loyalty, put on a battered bonnet, completed the address, stamped the +envelope and, walking to the pillar box round the corner, played +Victoria's trump card. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +'AND so, Jack, you haven't forgotten me?' + +For a minute Holt did not answer. He seemed spellbound by the woman on +the sofa. There she lay at full length, lazy grace in every curve of her +figure, in the lines of her limbs revealed by the thin sea-green stuff +which moulded them. This new woman was a very wonderful thing. + +'No,' he said at length, 'but you have changed.' + +'Yes?' + +'You're different. You used to be simple, almost shy. I used to think +you very like a big white lily. Now you're like--like a big white +orchid--an orchid in a vase of jade.' + +'Poet! artist!' laughed Victoria. 'Ah, Jack, you'll always be the same. +Always thinking me good and the world beautiful.' + +'I'll always think you good and beautiful too.' + +Victoria looked at him. He had hardly changed at all. His tall thin +frame had not expanded, his hands were still beautifully white and +seemed as aristocratic as ever. Perhaps his mouth appeared weaker, his +eyes bluer, his face fairer owing to his black clothes. + +'I'm glad to see you again, Kathleen Mavourneen,' she said at length. + +'Why did you wait so long?' asked Holt. 'It was cruel, cruel. You know +what I said--I would--' + +'No, no,' interrupted Victoria fearing an avowal. 'I couldn't. I've been +through the mill. Oh, Jack, it was awful. I've been cold, hungry, ill; +I've worked ten hours a day--I've swabbed floors.' + +A hot flush rose in Holt's fair cheeks. + +'Horrible,' he whispered, 'but why didn't you tell me? I'd have helped, +you know I would.' + +'Yes, I know, but it wouldn't have done. No, Jack, it's no good helping +women. You can help men a bit; but women, no. You only make them more +dependent, weaker. If women are the poor, frivolous, ignorant things +they are, it's because they've been protected or told they ought to want +to be protected. Besides, I'm proud. I wasn't coming back to you until I +was--well I'm not exactly rich, but--' + +She indicated the room with a nod and Holt, following it, sank deeper +into wonder at the room where everything spoke of culture and comfort. + +'But how--?' he stammered at last, 'how did you--? what happened then?' + +Victoria hesitated for a moment. + +'Don't ask me just now, Jack,' she said, 'I'll tell you later. Tell me +about yourself. What are you doing? and where is your mother?' + +Holt looked at her doubtfully. He would have liked to cross-question +her, but he was the second generation of a rising family and had learned +that questions must not be pressed. + +'Mother?' he said vaguely. 'Oh, she's gone back to Rawsley. She never +was happy here. She went back as soon as pater died; she missed the tea +fights, you know, and Bethlehem and all that.' + +'It must have been a shock to you when your father died.' + +'Yes, I suppose it was. The old man and I didn't exactly hit it off but, +somehow--those things make you realise--' + +'Yes, yes,' said Victoria sympathetically. The similarity of deaths +among the middle classes! Every woman in the regiment had told her that +'these things make you realise' when Dicky died. 'But what about you? +Are you still in--in cement?' + +'In cement!' Jack's lip curled. 'The day my father died I was out of +cement. It's rather awful, you know, to think that my freedom depended +on his death.' + +'Oh, no, life depends on death,' said Victoria smoothly. 'Besides, we +are members of one another; and when, like you, Jack, we are a minority, +we suffer.' + +Holt looked at her doubtfully. He did not quite understand her; she had +hardened, he thought. + +'No,' he went on, 'I've done with the business. They turned it into a +limited liability company a month ago. I'm a director because the others +say they must have a Holt in it; but directors never do anything, you +know.' + +'And you are going to do like the charwoman, going to do nothing, +nothing for ever?' + +'No, I don't say that. I've been writing--verses you know, and some +sketches.' + +'Writing? You must be happy now, Jack. Of course you'll let me see them? +Are they published?' + +'Yes. At least Amershams will bring out some sonnets of mine next +month.' + +'And are you going to pass the rest of your life writing sonnets?' + +'No, of course not. I want to travel. I'll go South this winter and get +some local colour. I might write a novel.' + +His head was thrown back on the cushion, looking out upon the blue +southern sky, the bluer waters speckled as with foam by remote white +sails. + +'You might give me a cigarette, Jack,' said Victoria. 'They're in that +silver box, there.' + +He handed her the box and struck a match. As he held it for her his eyes +fastened upon the shapely whiteness of her hands, her pink polished +finger nails, the roundness of her forearm. Soft feminine scents rose +from her hair; he saw the dark tendrils over the nape of her neck. Oh, +to bury his lips in that warm white neck! His hand trembled as he lit +his own cigarette and Victoria marked his heightened colour. + +'You'll come and see me often, Jack, won't you?' + +'May I? It's so good of you. I'm not going South for a couple of +months.' + +'Yes, you can always telephone. You'll find me there under Mrs Ferris.' + +Holt looked at her once more. + +'I don't want you to think I'm prying. But, you wrote me saying I was to +ask for Mrs Ferris. I did, of course, but, you . . . you're not. . . .?' + +'Married? No, Jack. Don't ask me anything else. You shall know +everything soon.' + +She got up and stood for a moment beside his chair. His eyes were fixed +on her hands. + +'There,' she said, 'come along and let me shew you the house, and my +pictures, and my pack of hounds.' + +He followed her obediently, giving its meed of praise to all her +possessions. He did not care for animals; he lacked the generation of +culture which leads from cement-making to a taste for dogs. The French +engravings on the stairs surprised him a little. He had a strain of +puritanism in him running straight from Bethlehem, which even the +reading of Swinburne and Baudelaire had not quite eradicated. A vague +sense of the fitness of things made him think that somehow these were +not the pictures a lady should hang; she might keep them in a portfolio. +Otherwise, there were the servants. . . . + +'And what do you think of my bedroom?' asked Victoria opening the door +suddenly. + +Holt stood nervously on the threshold. He took in its details one by +one, the blue paper, the polished mahogany, the flowered chintzes, the +long glass, the lace curtains; it all looked so comfortable, so +luxurious as to eclipse easily the rigidly good but ugly things he had +been used to from birth onwards. He looked at the dressing table too, +covered with its many bottles and brushes; then he started slightly and +again a hot flush rose over his cheeks. With an effort he detached his +eyes from the horrid thing he saw. + +'Very pretty, very pretty,' he gasped. Without waiting for Victoria he +turned and went downstairs. + +Within the next week they met again. Jack took no notice of her for four +days, and then suddenly telephoned asking her to dine and to come to the +theatre. She was still in bed and she felt low-spirited, full of fear +that her trump would not make. She accepted with an alacrity that she +regretted a minute later, but she was drowning and could not dally with +the lifebelt. Her preparation for the dinner was as elaborate as that +which had heralded her capture of Cairns, far more elaborate than any +she made for the Vesuvius where insolent beauty is a greater asset than +beauty as such. This time she put on her mauve frock with the heavily +embroidered silver shoulder straps; she wore little jewellery, merely a +necklet of chased old silver and amethysts, and a ring figuring a silver +chimera with tiny diamond eyes. As she surveyed herself in the long +glass, the holy calm which comes over the perfectly-dressed flowed into +her soul like a river of honey. She was immaculate, and from her unlined +white forehead to her jewel-buckled shoes she was beautiful in every +detail. Subtle scent followed her like a trainbearer. + +The entire evening was a tribute. From the moment when Holt set eyes +upon her and reluctantly withdrew them to direct the cabman, until they +drove back through the night, she was conscious of the wave of adulation +that broke at her feet. Men's eyes followed her every movement, drank +in every rise and fall of her breast, strove to catch sight of her +teeth, flashing white, ruby cased. Her progress through the dining hall +and the stalls was imperial in its command. As she saw men turn to look +at her again, women even grudgingly analyse her, as homage rose round +her like incense, she felt frightened; for this seemed to be her +triumphant night, the zenith of her beauty and power, and perhaps its +very intensity showed that it was her swan song. She felt a pain in her +left leg. + +Jack Holt passed that evening at her feet. A fearful exultation was upon +him. The neighbourhood of Victoria was magnetic; his heart, his senses, +his aesthetic sense were equally enslaved. She realised everything he had +dreamed, beauty, culture, grace, gentle wit. It hurt him physically not +to tell that he loved her still, that he wanted her, that she was +everything. He revelled in the thought that he had found her again, that +she liked him, that he would see her whenever he wanted to, perhaps join +his life with hers; then fear gripped his uneven soul, fear that he was +only her toy, that now she was rich she would tire of him and cast him +into a world swept by the icy blasts of regret. And all through ran the +horribly suggestive memory of that which he had seen on the dressing +table. + +Victoria was conscious of all this storm, though unable to interpret its +squalls and its lulls. Without effort she played upon him; alternately +encouraging the pretty youth, bending towards him to read his programme +so that he could feel her breath on his cheek, and drawing up and +becoming absorbed in the play. In the darkness she felt his hand close +over hers; gently but firmly she freed herself. As they drove back to St +John's Wood they hardly exchanged a word. Victoria felt tired; for in +the dark, away from the crowds, the music, the admiration of her +fellows, reaction had full play. Holt found he could say nothing, for +every nerve in his body was tense with excitement. A hundred words were +on his lips but he dared not breathe them for fear of breaking the +spell. + +'Come in and have a whisky and soda before you go,' said Victoria in a +matter of fact tone as he opened the garden gate. + +He could not resist. A wonderful feeling of intimacy overwhelmed him as +he watched her switch on the lights and bring out a decanter, a syphon +and glasses. She put them on the table and motioned him towards it, +placing one foot on the fender to warm herself before the glowing +embers. His eyes did not leave hers. There was a surge of blood in his +head. One of his hands fixed on her bare arm; with the other he drew her +towards him, crushed her against his breast; she lay unresisting in his +arms while he covered her lips, her neck, her shoulders, with hot +kisses, some quick and passionate, others lingering, full of tenderness. +Then she gently repulsed him and freed herself. + +Jack,' she said softly, 'you shouldn't have done that. You don't know +. . . you don't know . . .' + +He drew his hand over his forehead. His brain seemed to clear a little. +The maddening mystery of it all formed into a question. + +'Victoria, why are those two razors on your dressing table?' + +She looked at him a brief space. Then, very quietly, with the +deliberation of a surgeon, + +'Need you ask? Do you not understand what I am?' + +His eyes went up towards the ceiling; his hands clenched; a queer choked +sound escaped from his throat. Victoria saw him suffer, wounded as an +aesthete, wounded in his traditional conception of purity, prejudiced, +un-understanding. For a second she hated him as one hates a howling dog +on whose paw one has trodden. + +'Oh,' he gasped, 'oh.' + +Victoria watched him through her downcast eyelashes. Poor boy, it had to +come. Pandora had opened the chest. Then he looked at her again with +returning sanity. + +'Why didn't you tell me before? I can't bear it. You, whom I thought. . +. . I can't bear it.' + +'Poor boy.' She took his hand. It was hot and dry. + +'I can't bear it,' he repeated dully. + +'I had to. It was the only way.' + +'There is always a way. It's awful.' His voice broke. + +'Jack,' she said softly, 'the world's a hard place for women. It takes +from them either hard labour or gratification. I've done my best. For a +whole year I worked. I worked ten hours a day, I've starved almost, I've +swabbed floors. . . .' + +He withdrew his hand with a jerk. He could bear that even less than her +confession. + +'Then a man came,' she went on relentlessly, 'a good man who offered me +ease, peace, happiness. I was poor, I was ill. What could I do? Then he +died and I was alone. What could I do? Ah, don't believe mine is a bed +of roses, Jack!' + +He had turned away, and was looking into the dying fire. His ideals, his +prejudices, all were in the melting pot. Here was the woman who had been +his earliest dream, degraded, irretrievably soiled. Whatever happened he +could not forget; not even love could break down the terrific barrier +which generations of hard and honest men of Rawsley had erected in his +soul between straight women and the others. But she was the dream still: +beautiful, all that his heart desired; such that (and he felt it like an +awful taunt) he could not give her up. + +He looked at her, at her sorrowful face. No, he could not let her pass +out of his life. He thought of disjointed things. He could see his +mother's face, the black streets of Rawsley; he thought of the pastor at +Bethlehem denouncing sin. All his standards were jarred. He had nothing +to hold on to while everything seemed to slip: ideals, resolutions, +dreams; nothing remained save the horrible sweetness of the mermaid's +face. + +'Let me think,' he said hoarsely, 'let me think.' + +Victoria said nothing. He was in hands stronger than hers. He was +fighting his tradition, the blood of the Covenanters, for her sake. +Nothing that she could say would help him; it might impede him. He had +turned away; she could see nothing of his face. Then he looked into her +eyes. + +'What was can never be again,' he said, 'what I dreamed can never be. +You were my beacon and my hope. I have only found you to lose you. If I +were to marry you there would always be that between us, the past.' + +'Then do not marry me. I do not ask you to.' Her voice went down to a +whisper and she put her hands on his shoulders. 'Let me be another, a +new dream, less golden, but sweet.' + +She put her face almost against his, gazing into his eyes. 'Do not leave +this house and I will be everything for you.' + +She felt a shudder run through him as if he would repel her, but she did +not relax her hold or her gaze. She drew nearer to him, and inch by inch +his arms went round her. For a second they swayed close locked together. +As they fell into the deep arm chair her loose black hair uncoiled, and, +falling, buried their faces in its shadow. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +THE months which followed emerged but slowly from blankness for these +two who had joined their lives together. Both had a difficulty in +realising, the woman that she had laid the coping stone of her career, +the man that he was happy as may be an opium eater. The first days were +electric, hectic. Victoria felt limp, for her nerves had been worn down +by the excitement and the anxiety of making sure of her conquest. The +reaction left her rather depressed than glowing with success. Jack was +beyond scruples; he felt that he had passed the Rubicon. He was false to +his theories and his ideals, in revolt against his upbringing. At the +outset he revelled in the thought that he was cutting himself adrift +from the ugly past. It was joyful to think that the pastor in his +whitewashed barn would covertly select him as a text. For the first time +in his fettered life he saw that the outlaw alone is free; both he and +Victoria were outlaws, but she had tasted the bitterness of ostracism +while he was still at the stage of welcoming it. + +As the weeks wore, however, Victoria realised her position better and +splendid peace flowed in upon her. She did not love Holt; she began even +to doubt whether she could love any man if she could not love him, this +handsome youth with the delicate soul, grace, generosity. It was not his +mental weakness that repelled her, for he was virile enough; nor was it +the touch of provincialism against which his intelligence struggled. It +was rather that he did not attract her. He was clever enough, well read, +kind, but he lacked magnetism; he had nothing of the slumberous fire +which distinguished Farwell. His passion was personal, his outlook +theoretical and limited; there was nothing purposeful in his ideas. He +had no message for her. In no wise did he repel her, though. Sometimes +she would take his face between her hands, look awhile into the blue +eyes where there always lurked some wistfulness, and then kiss him just +once and quickly, without knowing why. + +'Why do you do that, Vicky,' he asked once. + +She had not answered but had merely kissed his cheek again. She hardly +knew how to tell him that she sighed because she could only consent to +love him instead of offering to do so. While he was sunk in his daily +growing ease she was again thinking of ultimate ends and despised +herself a little for it. She had to be alone for a while before she +could regain self-control, remember the terrible tyranny of man and her +resolve to be free. Gentle Jack was a man, one of the oppressors, and as +such he must be used as an instrument against his sex. The very ease +with which she swayed him, with which she could foresee her victory, +unnerved her a little. When she answered his hesitating question as to +how much she needed to live, she had to force herself to lie, to trade +on his enslavement by asking him for two thousand a year. She dared to +name the figure, for Whitaker told her that the only son of an intestate +takes two-thirds of the estate; the book had also put her on the track +of the registration of joint-stock companies. A visit to Somerset House +enabled her to discover that some three hundred thousand shares of +Holt's Cement Works, Ltd., stood in the name of John Holt; as they were +quoted in the paper something above par he could hardly be worth less +than fifteen thousand a year. + +She had expected to have to explain her needs, to have to exaggerate her +rent, the cost of her clothes, but Holt did not say a word beyond 'all +right.' She had told him it hurt her to take money from him; and that, +so as to avoid the subject, she would like him to tell his bankers to +pay the monthly instalments into her account. He had agreed and then +talked of their trip to the South. Clearly the whole matter was +repugnant to him. As neither wanted to talk about it the subject was +soon almost forgotten. + +They left England early in December after shutting up the house. +Victoria did not care to leave it in charge of Laura, so decided to give +her a three months' holiday on full pay; Augusta accompanied them. The +sandy-haired German was delighted with the change in the fortunes of her +mistress. She felt that Holt must be very rich, and doubted not that her +dowry would derive some benefit from him. Snoo and Poo were left in +Laura's charge. Victoria paid a quarter's rent in advance, also the +rates; insured against burglary, and left England as it settled into the +winter night. + +The next three months were probably the most steadily happy she had ever +known. They had taken a small house known as the Villa Mehari just +outside Algiers. A French cook and a taciturn Kabyl completed their +establishment. The villa was a curious compromise between East and West. +Its architect had turned out similar ones in scores at Argenteuil and +Saint Cloud, saving the minaret and the deep verandah which faced the +balmy west. From the precipitous little garden where orange and lime +trees bent beneath their fruit among the underbrush of aloes and cactus, +they could see, far away, the estranging sea. + +The Kabyl had slung a hammock for Victoria between a gate-post and a +gigantic clump of palm trees. There she passed most of her days, lazily +swinging in the breeze which tumbled her black hair; while Jack, lying +at her feet in the crisp rough grass, looked long at her sun-warmed +beauty. The days seemed to fly, for they were hardly conscious of the +recurrence of life. It was sunrise, when it was good to go into the +garden and see the blue green night blush softly into salmon pink, then +burst suddenly into tropical radiance: then, vague occupations, a short +walk over stony paths to a cafe where the East and West met; unexpected +food; sleep in the heat of the day under the nets beyond which the +crowding flies buzzed; then the waning of the day, the heat settling +more leaden; sunset, the cold snapping suddenly, the night wind carrying +little puffs of dust, and the muezzin, hands aloft, droning, his face +towards the East, praises of his God. + +Holt was totally happy. He felt he had reached Capua, and not even a +thought of his past life could disturb him. He asked for nothing now but +to live without a thought, eating juicy fruit, smoking for an hour the +subtle narghile; he loved to bask in the radiance of the African sun of +Victoria's beauty, which seemed to expand, to enwrap him in perfume like +a heavy narcotic rose. In the early days he tried to work, to attune +himself to the pageant of sunlit life. His will refused to act, and he +found he could not write a line; even rhymes refused to come to him. +Without an effort almost he resigned himself into the soft hands of the +East. He even exaggerated his acceptance by clothing himself in a +burnous and turban, by trying to introduce Algerian food, couscous, +roast kid, date jam, pomegranate jelly. At times they would go into +Algiers, shop in the Rue Bab-Azoum, or search for the true East in what +the French called the high town. But Algiers is not the East; and they +quickly returned to the Villa Mehari, stupefied by the roar of the +trams, the cries of the water and chestnut vendors, all their senses +offended by the cafes on the wharf where sailors from every land drank +vodka, arrack, pale ale, among zouaves and chasseurs d'Afrique. + +Sometimes Holt would go into Algiers by himself and remain away all day. +Victoria stayed at the villa careless of flying time, desultorily +reading Heine or sitting in the garden where she could play with the +golden and green beetles. Her solitude was complete, for Holt had +avoided the British consul and of course knew none of the Frenchmen. She +watched the current of her life flow away, content to know that all the +while her little fortune was increasing. England was so far as to seem +in another world. Christmas was gone; and the link of a ten pound note +to Betty, to help to furnish the house at Shepherd's Bush, had faded +away. When she was alone, those days, she could not throw her mind back +to the ugly, brutish past, so potently was the influence of the East +growing upon her being. Then in the cool of the evening Jack would +return, gay, and anxious to see her, to throw his arms round her and +hold her to him again. Those were the days when he brought her some +precious offering, aqua-marines set in hand-wrought gold, or chaplets of +strung pearls. + +'Jack,' she said to him one day as he lay in the grass at her feet, 'do +you then love me very much?' + +'Very much.' He took her hand and, raising himself upon his elbow, +gravely kissed it. + +'Why?' + +'Because you're all the poetry of the world. Because you make me dream +dreams, my Aspasia.' + +She gently stroked his dark hair. + +'And to think that you are one of the enemy, Jack!' + +'One of the enemy? what do you mean?' + +'Man is woman's enemy, Jack. Our relation is a war of sex.' + +'It's not true.' Jack flushed; the idea was repulsive. + +'It is true. Man dominates woman by force, by man-made law; he +restricts her occupations; he limits her chances; he judges of her +attire; he denies her the right to be ugly, to be old, to be coarse, to +be vicious.' + +'But you wouldn't--' + +'I'd have everything the same, Jack.' + +Holt thought for a moment. + +'Yes, I suppose we do keep them down. But they're different. You see, +men are men and--' + +'I know the rest. But never mind, Jack dear, you're not like the others. +You'll never be a conqueror.' + +Then she muzzled him with her hand, and, kissing its scented palm, he +thought no more of the stern game in which they were the shuttlecocks. + +The spring was touching Europe with its wings; and here already the +summer was bursting the seed pods, the sap breaking impatiently through +the branches. All the wet warmth of the brief African blooming ran riot +in thickening leaf. The objective of Jack's life, influenced as he was +by the air, was Victoria and the ever more consuming love he bore her; +the minutes only counted when he was by her side, watching her every +movement, inhaling, touching her. All his energies seem to have been +driven into this narrow channel. He was ready to move or to remain as +Victoria might direct; he spoke little, he basked. Thus he agreed to +extending their stay for a month; he agreed to shorten it by a fortnight +when Victoria, suddenly realising that her life force was wasting away +in this enervating atmosphere, decided to go home. + +Victoria's progress to London was like the march of a conqueror. She +stopped in Paris to renew her clothes. There Jack knew hours of waiting +in the hired victoria while his queen was trying on frocks. He showed +such a childish joy in it all that she indulged her fancy, her every +whim; dresses, wraps, lace veils, furs, hats massive with ostrich +feathers, aigrettes, delicate kid boots, gilt shoes, amassed in their +suite. Jack egged her on; he rioted too. Often he would stop the +victoria and rush into a shop if he saw something he liked in the +window, and in a few minutes return with it, excitedly demanding praise. +He did not seem to understand or care for money, to have any wants +except cigarettes. He followed, and in his beautiful dog-like eyes +devotion daily grew. + +They entered London on a bustling April day. A biting east wind carried +rain drops and sunshine. As it stung her face and whipped her blood, +Victoria found the old fierce soul reincarnating itself in her. She +opened her mouth to take in the cold English air, to bend herself for +the finishing of her task. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +IT was in London that the real battle began. In Algiers the scented +winds made hideous and unnatural all thoughts of gain. On arriving in +London Victoria ascertained with a thrill of pleasure that her bank had +received a thousand pounds since October. After disposing of a few small +debts and renewing some trifles in the house, she found herself a +capitalist: she had about fifteen hundred pounds of her own. The money +was lying at the bank and it only struck her then that the time had come +to invest it. Her interview with the manager of her branch was a +delightful experience; she was almost bursting with importance, and his +courteous appreciation of his increasingly wealthy client was something +more than balm. It was a foretaste of the power of money. She had known +poor men respected, but not poor women; now the bank manager was giving +her respectful attention because she had fifteen hundred pounds. + +'You might buy some industrials,' he said. + +'Industrials? What are they?' + +'Oh, all sorts of things. Cotton mills, iron works, trading companies, +anything.' + +'Cement works?' she asked with a spark of devilry. + +'Yes, cement works too,' said the manager without moving a muscle. + +'But do you call them safe?' she asked, returning to business. + +'Oh, fairly. Of course there are bad years and good. But the debentures +are mostly all right and some of the prefs.' + +Victoria thought for a moment. Reminiscences of political economy told +her that there were booms and slumps. + +'Has trade been good lately?' she asked suddenly. + +'No, not for the last two years or so. It's picking up though. . . .' + +'Ah, then we're in for a cycle of good trade. I think I'll have some +industrials. You might pick me out the best.' + +The manager seemed a little surprised at this knowledge of commercial +crises but said nothing more, and made out a list of securities +averaging six per cent net. + +'And please buy me a hundred P. R. R. shares,' added Victoria. + +She could have laughed at the manager's stony face because he did not +see the humour of this. He merely said that he would forward the orders +to a stockbroker. + +Victoria felt that she had put her hand to the plough. She was scoring +so heavily that she never now wished to turn back. Holt was every day +growing more dreamy, more absorbed in his thoughts. He never seemed to +quicken into action except when his companion touched him. He grew more +silent too; the hobbledehoy was gone. He was at his worst when he had +received a letter bearing the Rawsley postmark. Victoria knew of these, +for Holt's need of her grew greater every day; he was now living at Elm +Tree Place. He hardly left the house. He got up late and passed the +morning in the boudoir, smoking cigarettes, desultorily reading and +nursing the Pekingese which he now liked better. But on the days when he +got letters from Rawsley, letters so bulky that they were sometimes +insufficiently stamped, he would go out early and only return at night. +Then, however, he returned as if he had been running, full of some +nameless fear; he would strain Victoria to him and hold her very close, +burying his face below the bedclothes as if he were afraid. On one of +those days Victoria accidentally saw him come out of a small dissenting +chapel near by. He did not see her, for he was walking away like a man +possessed; she said nothing of this but understood him better, having an +inkling that the fight against the Rawsley tradition was still going on. + +She did not, however, allow herself to be moved by his struggle. It +behoved her to hold him, for he was her last chance and the world looked +rosy round her. As the spring turned into summer he became more utterly +hers. + +'You distil poison for me,' he said one day as they sat by the rose hung +pergola. + +'No, Jack, don't say that, it's the elixir of life.' + +'The elixir of life. Perhaps, but poison too. To make me live is to make +me die, Victoria; we are both sickening for death and to hasten the +current of life is to hasten our doom.' + +'Live quickly,' she whispered, bending towards him, 'did you live at all +a year ago?' + +'No, no.' His arms were round her and his lips insistent on hers. He +frightened her a little, though. She would have to take him away. She +had already confided this new trouble to Betty when the latter came to +see her in April, but Betty, beyond suggesting cricket, had been too +full of her own affairs. Apparently these were not going very well. +Anderson & Dromo's had not granted the rise, and the marriage had been +postponed. Meanwhile she was still at the P. R. R., and very, very +happy. Betty too, her baby, her other baby, frightened Victoria a +little. She was so rosy, so pretty now, and there was something defiant +and excited about her that might presage disease. But Betty had not +come near her for the last two months. + +About the middle of June she took Jack away to Broadstairs. He was +willing to go or stay, just as she liked. He seemed so neutral that +Victoria experimented upon him by presenting him with a sheaf of unpaid +bills. He looked at them languidly and said he supposed they must be +paid, asked her to add them up and wrote a cheque for the full amount. +Apparently he had forgotten all about the allowance, or did not care. + +Broadstairs seemed to do him good. Except at the week end the Hotel +Sylvester was almost empty. The sea breeze blew stiffly from the north +or the east. His colour increased and once more he began to talk. +Victoria encouraged him to take long walks alone along the front. She +had some occupation, for two little girls who were there in charge of a +Swiss governess had adopted the lovely lady as their aunt. A new +sweetness had come into her life, shrill voices, the clinging of little +hands. Sometimes these four would walk together, and Holt would run with +the children, tumbling in the sand in sheer merriment. + +'You seem all right again, Jack,' said Victoria on the tenth morning. + +'Right! Rather, by jove, it's good to live, Vicky.' + +'You were a bit off colour, you know.' + +'I suppose I was. But now, I feel nothing can hold me. I wrote a rondeau +this morning on the pier. Want to see it?' + +'Of course, silly boy. Aren't you going to be the next great poet?' + +She read the rondeau, scrawled in pencil on the back of a bill. It was +delicate, a little colourless. + +'Lovely,' she said, 'of course you'll send it to the _Westminster_.' + +'Perhaps . . . hulloa, there are the kiddies.' He ran off down the +steps from the front. A minute after Victoria saw him helping the elder +girl to bury her little sister in the sand. + +Victoria felt much reassured. He was normal again, the half wistful, +half irresponsible boy she had once known. He slept well, laughed, and +his crying need for her seemed to have abated. At the end of the +fortnight Victoria was debating whether she should take him home. She +was in the hotel garden talking to the smaller girl, telling her a +wonderful story about the fairy who lived in the telephone and said +ping-pong when the line was engaged. The little girl sat upon her knee; +when she laughed Victoria's heart bounded. The elder girl came through +the gate leading a good-looking young woman in white by the hand. + +'Oh, mummie, here's auntie,' cried the child, dragging her mother up to +Victoria. The two women looked at one another. + +'They tell me you have been very kind . . .' said the woman. Then she +stopped abruptly. + +'Of course, mummie, she's not _really_ our auntie,' said the child +confidentially. + +Victoria put the small girl down. The mother looked at her again. She +seemed so nice and refined . . . yet her husband said that the initials +on the trunks were different . . . one had to be careful. + +'Come here, Celia,' she said sharply. 'Thank you,' she added to +Victoria. Then taking her little girls by the hand she took them away. + +Jack willingly left Broadstairs that afternoon when Victoria explained +that she was tired and that something had made her low-spirited. + +'Right oh,' he said. 'Let's go back to town. I want to see Amershams and +find out how those sonnets have sold.' + +He then left her to wire to Augusta. + +Their life in town resumed its former course, interrupted only by a +month in North Devon. Jack's cure was complete; he was sunburnt, fatter; +the joy of life shone in his blue eyes. Sometimes Victoria found herself +growing younger by contagion, sloughing the horrible miry coat of the +past. If her heart had not been atrophied she would have loved the boy +whom she always treated with motherly gentleness. His need of her was so +crying, so total, that he lost all his self-consciousness. He would sit +unblushing by her side in the bow of a fishing smack, holding her hand +and looking raptly into her grey eyes; he was indifferent to the red +brown fisherman with the Spanish eyes and curly black hair who smiled as +the turtle doves clustered. His need of her was as mental as it was +physical; his body was whipped by the salt air to seek in her arms +oblivion, but his mind had become equally dependent. She was his need. + +Thus when they came back to town the riot continued; and Victoria, +breasting the London tide, dragged him unresisting in her rear. She +hated excitement in every form, excitement that is of the puerile kind. +Restaurant dining, horse shows, flower shows, the Academy, tea in Bond +Street, even the theatre and its most inane successes, were for her a +weariness to the flesh. + +'I've had enough,' she said to Jack one day. 'I'm sick of it all. I've +got congestion of the appreciative sense. One day I shall chuck it all +up, go and live in the country, have big dogs and a saddle horse, dress +in tweeds and read the local agricultural rag.' + +'Give up smoking, go to church, and play tennis with the curate, the +doctor and the squire's flapper,' added Holt. 'But Vicky, why not go +now?' + +'No, oh, no, I can't do that.' She was frightened by her own suggestion. +'I must drain the cup of pleasure so as to be sure that it's all pain; +then I'll retire and drain the cup of resignation . . . unless, as I +sometimes think, it's empty.' + +Jack had said nothing to this. Her wildness surprised and shocked him. +She was so savage and yet so sweet. + +Victoria realised that she must hold fast to the town, for there alone +could she succeed. In the peace of the country she would not have the +opportunities she had now. Jack was in her hands. She never hesitated to +ask for money, and Jack responded without a word. Her account grew by +leaps and bounds. The cashier began to ask whether she wanted to see the +manager when she called at the bank. She could see, some way off but +clearly, the beacons on the coast of hope. + +All through Jack's moods she had suffered from the defection of Betty. +On her return from Broadstairs she had written to her to come to Elm +Tree Place, but had received no answer. This happened again in +September; and fear took hold of her, for Betty had, ivy-like, twined +herself very closely round Victoria's heart of oak. She went to +Finsbury; but Betty had gone, leaving no address. She went to the P.R.R. +also. The place had become ghostly, for the familiar faces had gone. The +manageress was nowhere to be seen; nor was Nelly, probably by now a +manageress herself. Betty was not there, and the girl who wonderingly +served the beautiful lady with a tea-cake said that no girl of that name +was employed at the depot. Then Victoria saw herself sitting in the +churchyard of her past, between the two dear ghosts of Farwell and +Betty. The customers had changed, or their faces had receded so that she +knew them no more: they still played matador and fives and threes, chess +too. Alone the chains remained which the ghosts had rattled. Silently +she went away, turning over that leaf of her life for ever. Farwell was +dead, and Betty gone--married probably--and in Shepherd's Bush, not +daring to allow Victoria's foot to sully the threshold of 'First Words +of Love.' + +Her conviction that Betty was false had a kind of tonic effect upon her. +She was alone and herself again; she realised that the lonely being is +the strong being. Now, at last, she could include the last woman she had +known in the category of those who threw stories. And her determination +to be free grew apace. + +She invented a reason every day to extract money from Holt. He, blindly +desirous, careless of money, acceded to every fresh demand. Now it was a +faked bill from Barbezan Soeurs for two hundred pounds, now the rent in +arrear, a blue rates notice, an offhand request for a fiver to pay the +servants, the vet's bill or the price of a cab. Holt drew and overdrew. +If a suspicion ever entered his mind that he was being exploited, he +dismissed it at once, telling himself that Victoria was rather +extravagant. For a time letters from Rawsley synchronised with her fresh +demands, but repetition had dulled their effects: now Holt postponed +reading them; after a time she saw him throw one into the fire unread. +Little by little they grew rarer. Then they ceased. Holt was eaten up by +his passion, and Victoria's star rose high. + +All conspired to favour her fortune. Perhaps her acumen had helped her +too, for she had seen correctly the coming boom. Trade rose by leaps and +bounds; every day new shops seemed to open; the stalks of the Central +London Railway could be seen belching clouds of smoke as they ground out +electric power; the letter-box at Elm Tree Place was clogged with +circulars denoting by the fury of their competition that trade was +flying as on a great wind. Other signs too were not wanting: the main +streets of London were blocked by lorries groaning under machinery, +vegetables, stone; immense queues formed at the railway stations waiting +for the excursion trains; above all, rose the sound of gold as it hissed +and sizzled as if molten on the pavements, flowing into the pockets of +merchants, bankers and shareholders. All the women at the Vesuvius +indulged in new clothes. + +Victoria's investments were seized by the current. She had not entirely +followed the bank manager's advice. Seeing, feeling the movement, she +had realised most of her debentures and turned them into shares. One of +her ventures collapsed, but the remainder appreciated to an +extraordinary extent. At last, in the waning days of the year her +middle-class prudence reasserted itself. She knew enough of political +economy to be ready for the crash, she realised. One cold morning in +November she counted up her spoils. She had nearly five thousand pounds. + +Meanwhile, while her blood was aglow, Holt sank further into the +dullness of his senses. A mania was upon him. Waking, his thought was +Victoria; and the cry for her rose everlasting from his racked body. She +was all, she was everywhere; and the desire for her, for her beauty, her +red lips, soaked into him like a philtre, narcotic and then fiery but +ever present, intimate and exacting. He was her thing, her toy, the +paltry instrument which responded to her every touch. He rejoiced in his +subjection; he swam in his passion like a pilgrim in the Ganges to find +brief oblivion; but again the thirst was on him, ravaging, ever +demanding more. More, more, ever more, in the watches of the night, when +ice seizes the world to throttle it--among all, in turmoil and in +peace--he tossed upon the passionate sea; with one thought, one hope. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +'I'M glad we're going away, Jack,' said Victoria leaning back in the cab +and looking at him critically. 'You look as if you wanted a change.' + +'Perhaps I do,' said Jack. + +Victoria looked at him again. He had not smiled as he spoke to her, +which was unusual. He seemed thinner and more delicate than ever, with +his pale face and pink cheekbones. His black hair shone as if moist; and +his eyes were bigger than they had ever been, blue like silent pools and +surrounded by a mauve zone. His mouth hung a little open. Yet, in spite +of his weariness, he held her wrist in both his hands, and she could +feel his fingers searching for the opening in her glove. + +'You are becoming a responsibility,' she said smiling. 'I shall have to +be a mother to you.' + +A faint smile came over his lips. + +'A mother? After all, why not? Phedra. . . .' His eyes fixed on the grey +morning sky as he followed his thought. + +The horse was trotting sharply. The winter air seemed to rush into their +bodies. Jack, well wrapped up as he was in a fur coat, shrank back +against the warm roundness of her shoulder. In an excess of gentleness +she put her free hand in his. + +'Dear boy,' she said softly bending over him. + +But there was no tenderness in Jack's blue eyes, rather lambent fire. At +once his grasp on her hand tightened and his lips mutely formed into a +request. Casting a glance right and left she kissed him quickly on the +mouth. + +Up on the roof their bags jolted and bumped one another; milk carts were +rattling their empty cans as they returned from their round; far away a +drum and fife band played an acid air. They were going to Ventnor in +pursuit of the blanketed sun; and Victoria rejoiced, as they passed +through Piccadilly Circus where moisture settled black on the fountain, +to think that for three days she would see the sun radiate, not loom as +a red guinea. They passed over Waterloo Bridge at a foot pace; the +enormous morning traffic was struggling in the neck of the bottle. The +pressure was increased because the road was up between it and Waterloo +Station. On her left, over the parapet, Victoria could see the immense +desert of the Thames swathed in thin mist, whence emerged in places +masts and where massive barges loomed passive like derelicts. She +wondered for a moment whether her familiar symbol, the old vagrant, +still sat crouching against the parapet at Westminster, watching rare +puffs of smoke curling from his pipe into the cold air. The cab emerged +from the crush, and to avoid it the cabman turned into the little black +streets which line the wharf on the east side of the bridge, then +doubled back towards Waterloo through Cornwall Road. There they met +again the stream of drays and carts; the horse went at a foot pace, and +Victoria gazed at the black rows of houses with the fear of a lost one. +So uniformly ugly these apartment houses, with their dirty curtains, +their unspeakable flowerpots in the parlour windows. Here and there +cards announcing that they did pinking within; further, the board of a +sweep; then a good corner house, the doctor's probably, with four steps +and a brass knocker and a tall slim girl on her hands and knees washing +the steps. + +The cab came to an abrupt stop. Some distance ahead a horse was down on +the slippery road; shouts came from the crowd around it. Victoria idly +watched the girl, swinging the wet rag from right to left. Poor thing. +Everything in her seemed to cry out against the torture of womanhood. +She was a picture of dumb resignation as she knelt with her back to the +road. Victoria could see her long thin arms, her hands red and rigid +with cold, her broken-down shoes with the punctured soles emerging from +the ragged black petticoat. + +There was a little surge in the crowd. The girl got up, and with an air +of infinite weariness stretched her arms. Then she picked up the pail +and bucket and turned towards the street. For the space of a second the +two women looked into one another's faces. Then Victoria gave a muffled +cry and jumped out of the cab. She seized with both hands the girl's +bare arms. + +'Betty! Betty!' she faltered. + +A burning blush covered the girl's face and her features twitched. She +made as if to turn away from the detaining hands. + +'Vicky, what are you doing . . . what does this mean?' came Jack's voice +from the cab. + +'Wait a minute, Jack. Betty, my poor little Betty. Why are you here? Why +haven't you written to me?' + +'Leave me alone,' said Betty hoarsely. + +'I won't leave you alone. Betty, tell me, what's this? Are you married?' + +A look of pain came over the girl's face, but she said nothing. + +'Look here, Betty, we can't talk here. Leave the bucket, come with me. +I'll see it's all right.' + +'Oh, I can't do that. Oh, let me alone; it's too late.' + +'I don't understand you. It's never too late. Now just get into the cab +and come with me.' + +'I can't. I must give notice . . .' She looked about to weep. + +'Come along.' Victoria increased the pressure on the girl's arms. Jack +stood up in the cab. He seemed as frightened as he was surprised. + +'I say, Vicky . . .' he began. + +'Sit down, Jack, she's coming with us. You don't mind if we don't go to +Ventnor?' + +Jack's eyes opened in astonishment but he made no reply. Victoria pulled +Betty sharply down the steps. + +'Oh, let me get my things,' she said weakly. + +'No. They'd stop you. There, get in. Drive back to Elm Tree Place, +cabman.' + +Half an hour later, lying at full length on the boudoir sofa, Betty was +slowly sipping some hot cocoa. There was a smile on her tear-stained +face. Victoria was analysing with horror the ravages that sorrow had +wrought on her. She was pretty still, with her china blue eyes and her +hair like pale filigree gold; but the bones seemed to start from her red +wrists, so thin had she become. Even the smile of exhausted content on +her lips did not redeem her emaciated cheeks. + +'Betty, my poor Betty,' said Victoria, taking her hand. 'What have they +done to you?' + +The girl looked up at the ceiling as if in a dream. + +'Tell me all about it,' her friend went on, 'what has happened to you +since April?' + +'Oh, lots of things, lots of things. I've had a hard time.' + +'Yes, I see. But what happened actually? Why did you leave the P.R.R.?' + +'I had to. You see, Edward . . .' The flush returned. + +'Yes?' + +'Oh, Vic, I've been a bad girl and I'm so, so unhappy.' Betty seized her +friend's hand to raise herself and buried her face on her breast. There +Victoria let her sob, gently stroking the golden hair. She understood +already, but Betty must not be questioned yet. Little by little, Betty's +weeping grew less violent and confidence burst from her pent up soul. + +'He didn't get a rise at Christmas, so he said we'd have to wait . . . I +couldn't bear it . . . it wasn't his fault. I couldn't let him come down +in the world, a gentleman . . . he had only thirty shillings a week.' + +'Yes, yes, poor little girl.' + +'We never meant to do wrong . . . when baby was coming he said he'd +marry me . . . I couldn't drag him down . . . I ran away.' + +'Betty, Betty, why didn't you write to me?' + +The girl looked at her. She was beautiful in her reminiscence of +sacrifice. + +'I was ashamed . . . I didn't dare . . . I only wanted to go where they +didn't know what I was. . . . I was mad. The baby came too early and it +died almost at once.' + +'My poor little girl.' Victoria softly stroked the rough back of her +hand. + +'Oh, I wasn't sorry . . . it was a little girl . . . they don't want any +more in the world. Besides I didn't care for anything; I'd lost him +. . . and my job. I couldn't go back. My landlady wrote me a character +to go to Cornwall Road.' + +'And there I found you.' + +'I wonder what we are going to do for you,' she went on. 'Where is +Edward now?' + +'Oh, I couldn't go back; I'm ashamed. . . .' + +'Nonsense, you haven't done anything wrong. He shall marry you.' + +'He would have,' said Betty a little coldly, 'he's square.' + +'Yes, I know. He didn't beg you very hard, did he? However, never mind. +I'm not going to let you go until I've made you happy. Now I'll tuck you +up with a rug, and you're going to sleep before the fire.' + +Betty lay limp and unresisting in the ministering hands. The unwonted +sensations of comfort, warmth and peace soothed her to sleepiness. +Besides, she felt as if she had wept every tear in her racked body. Soon +her features relaxed, and she sank into profound, almost deathlike +slumber. + +Victoria meanwhile told her story to Jack, who sat in the dining room +reading a novel and smoking cigarettes. He came out of his coma as +Victoria unfolded the tale of Betty's upbringing, her struggle to live, +then love the meteor flashing through her horizon. His cheeks flushed +and his mouth quivered as Victoria painted for him the picture of the +girl half distraught, bearing the burden of her shame, unable to reason +or to forsee, to think of anything except the saving of a gentleman from +life on thirty bob a week. + +'Something ought to be done,' he said at length, closing his book with +novel vivacity. + +'Yes, but what?' + +'I don't know.' His eyes questioned the wall; they grew vaguer and +vaguer as his excitement decreased, as a ship in docks sinks further and +further on her side while the water ebbs away. + +'You think of something,' he said at length, picking up his book again. +'I don't care what it costs.' + +Victoria left him and went for a walk through the misty streets seeking +a solution. There were not many. She could not keep Betty with her, for +she was pure though betrayed; contact with the irregular would degrade +her because habit would induce her to condone that which she morally +condemned. It would spoil her and would ultimately throw her into a life +for which she was not fitted because gentle and unspoiled. + +'No,' mused Victoria as she walked, 'like most women, she cannot rule: a +man must rule her. She is a reed, not an oak. All must come from man, +both good and evil. What man has done man must undo.' + +By the time she returned to Elm Tree Place she had made up her mind. +There was no hope for Betty except in marriage. She must have her own +fireside; and, from what she had said, her lover was no villain. He was +weak, probably; and, while he strove to determine his line of conduct, +events had slipped beyond his control. Perhaps, though, it was not fair +to deliver Betty into his hands bound and defenceless, bearing the +burden of their common imprudence. She was not fit to be free, but she +should not be a slave. It might be well to be the slave of the strong, +but not of the weak. + +Therefore Victoria arrived at a definite solution. She would see the +young man; and, if it was not altogether out of the question, he should +marry Betty. They should have the little house at Shepherd's Bush, and +Betty should be made a free woman with a fortune of five hundred pounds +in her own right, enough to place her for ever beyond sheer want. It +only struck Victoria later that she need not, out of quixotic +generosity, deplete her own store, for Holt would gladly give whatever +sum she named. + +'Now, Betty,' she said as the girl drained the glass of claret which +accompanied the piece of fowl, that composed her lunch, 'tell me your +young man's name and Anderson & Dromo's address. I'm going to see him.' + +'Oh, no, no, don't do that.' The look of fear returned to the blue eyes. + +'No use, Betty, I've decided you're going to be happy. I shall see him +to-day at six, bring him here to-morrow at half past two, as it happens +to be Saturday. You will be married about the thirtieth of this month.' + +'Oh, Vic, don't make me think of it. I can't do it . . . it's no good +now. Perhaps he's forgotten me, and it's better for him.' + +'I don't think he's forgotten you,' said Victoria. 'He'll marry you this +month, and you'll eat your Christmas dinner at Shepherd's Bush. Don't be +shy, dear--you're not going empty handed; you're going to have a dowry +of five hundred pounds.' + +'Vic! I can't take it; it isn't right . . . you need all you've got +. . . you're so good, but I don't want him to marry me if . . . if. . . .' + +'Oh, don't worry, I shan't tell him about the money until he says yes. +Now, no thanks; you're my baby, besides it's going to be a present from +Mr Holt. Silence,' she repeated as Betty opened her mouth, 'or rather +give me his name and address and not another word.' + +'Edward Smith, Salisbury House, but. . . .' + +'Enough. Now, dear, don't get up.' + +The events of that Friday and Saturday formed in later days one of the +sunbathed memories in Victoria's dreary life. It was all so gentle, so +full of sweetness and irresolute generosity. She remembered everything, +the wait in the little dark room into which she was ushered by an amazed +commissionaire who professed himself willing to break regulations for +her sake and hand Mr Smith a note, the banging of her heart as she +realised her responsibility and resolved to break her word if necessary +and to buy a husband for Betty rather than lose him, then the quick +interview, the light upon the young man's face. + +'Where is she,' he asked excitedly. 'Oh, why did she run away? You can't +think what I've been going through.' + +'You should have married her,' said Victoria coldly, though she was +moved by his sincerity. He was handsome, this young man, with his +bronzed face, dark eyes, regular features and long dark hair. + +'Oh, I would have at once if I'd known. But I couldn't make up my mind; +only thirty bob a week. . . .' + +'Yes, I know,' said Victoria softly, 'I used to be at the P. R. R.' + +'You?' The young man looked at her incredulously. + +'Yes, but never mind me. It's Betty I've come for. The baby is dead. I +found her cleaning the steps of a house near Waterloo.' + +'My God,' said the young man in low tones. He clenched his hands +together; one of his paper cuff protectors fell to the floor. + +'Will you marry her now?' + +'Yes . . . at once.' + +'Good. She's had a hard time, Mr Smith, and I don't say it's entirely +your fault. Now it's all going to be put square. I'm going to see she +has some money of her own, five hundred pounds. That will help won't +it?' + +'Oh, it's too good to be true. Why are you doing all this for us? +You're. . . .' + +'Please, please, no thanks. I'm Betty's friend. Let that be enough. Will +you come and see her to-morrow at my house? Here's my card.' + +On the last day of November these two were married at a registry office +in the presence of Victoria and the registrar's clerk. A new joy had +settled upon Betty, whose shy prettiness was turning into beauty. +Victoria's heart was heavy as she looked at the couple, both so young +and rapt, setting out upon the sea with a cargo of glowing dreams. It +was heavy still as the cab drove off carrying them away for a brief +week-end, which was all Anderson and Dromo would allow. She tasted a new +delight in this making of happiness. + +Holt had not attended the ceremony, for he felt too weak. His interest +in the affair had been dim, for he looked upon it as one of Victoria's +whims. He was ceasing to judge as he ceased to appreciate, so much was +his physical weakness gaining upon him; all his faculty of action was +concentrated in the desire which gnawed at his very being. Victoria +reminded him of his promise, and, finding his cheque book for him, laid +it on the table. + +'Five hundred pounds,' she said. 'Better make it out to me. It's very +good of you, Jack.' + +'Yes, yes,' he said dully, writing the date and the words 'Mrs Ferris.' +Then he stopped. Concentrating with an effort he wrote the word 'five.' + +'Five . . . five . . .' he murmured. Then he looked up at Victoria with +something like vacuousness. + +A wild idea flashed through her brain. She must act. Oh, no, dreadful. +Yet freedom, freedom. . . . He could not understand . . . she must do +it. + +'Thousand,' she prompted in a low voice. + +'Thousand pounds,' went Jack's voice as he wrote obediently. Then, +mechanically, reciting the formula his father had taught him. 'Five, +comma, 0, 0, 0, dash, 0, dash, 0. John Holt.' + +Victoria put her hands down on the table to take the cheque he had just +torn out. All her fingers were trembling with the terrible excitement of +a slave watching his fetters being struck off. As she took it up and +looked at it, while the figures danced, Holt's eyes grew more insistent +on her other hand. Slowly his fingers closed over it, raised it to his +lips. With his eyes closed, breathing a little deeper, he covered her +palm with lingering kisses. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +THE endowment of Betty was soon completed. Advised by the bank manager +to whom she confided something of the young couple's improvident +tendencies, Victoria vested the money in a trust administered by an +insurance company. The deed was so drafted that it could not be charged; +the capital could not be touched, excepting the case of male offspring +who, after their mother's death, would divide it on their respective +twenty-fifth birthdays; as she distrusted her own sex and perhaps still +more the stock from which the girls might spring, she bound their +proportion in perpetuity; failing offspring she provided that, following +on his wife's decease, Mr Edward Smith should receive one fifth of the +capital, four fifths reverting to herself. + +Victoria revelled somewhat in the technicalities of the deed; every +clause she framed was a pleasure in itself; she turned the +'hereinbefores' and the 'predecease as aforesaids' round in her mouth as +if they were luscious sweets. The pleasure of it was not that of Lady +Bountiful showering blessings and feeling the holy glow of charity +penetrate her being. Victoria's satisfaction was more vixenish; she, the +outlaw, the outcast, had wrested from Society enough money to indulge in +the luxury of promoting a marriage, converting the illegal into the +legal, creating respectability. The gains that Society term infamous +were being turned towards the support of that Society; still more, +failing her infamous help, Betty and Edward Smith would not have +achieved their coming together with the approval of the Law, their +spiritual regeneration and a house at Shepherd's Bush. + +She was now the mistress of a fortune of over ten thousand pounds, a +good half of which was due to her final stratagem. The time had now come +for her to retire to the house in the country when she could resume her +own name, piece together for the sake of the county her career since she +left India for Alabama, and read the local agricultural rag. Her plans +were postponed, however, owing to Holt's state of health, which +compelled her, out of sheer humanity, to take him to a sunnier clime. +She dismissed Algiers as being too far; she asked Holt where he would +like to go to, but he merely replied 'East Coast,' which in December +struck her as being absurd. Finally she decided to take him to +Folkestone, as it was very near and he would doubtless like to sit with +the dogs on the Leas. + +Folkestone was bright and sunny. The sting in the glowing air brought +fresh colour to Victoria's cheeks, a deeper brilliancy to her grey eyes; +she felt well; her back was straighter; when a lock of dark hair strayed +into her mouth driven by the high wind it tasted salt on her lips. +Sometimes she could have leaped, shouted, for life was rushing in upon +her like a tide. Most days, however, she was quiet, for Holt was not +affected by the sea. His listlessness was now such that he hardly spoke. +He would walk by her side vacuously, looking at his surroundings as if +he did not see them. At times he stopped, concentrated with an effort +and bought a bun from a hawker to break up for the dogs. + +Victoria noticed that he was slipping, with ununderstanding fear. The +phenomenon was beyond her. Though the guests at the hotel surrounded her +with an atmosphere of admiration, Holt's condition began to occupy all +her thoughts. He was thin now to the point of showing bone under his +coat, pale and hectic, generally listless, sometimes wild-eyed. He never +read, played no games, talked to nobody. Indeed nothing remained of him +save the half physical, half emotional power of his passion. Victoria +called in a doctor, but found him vague and shy; beyond cutting down +Holt's cigarettes he prescribed nothing. + +Victoria resigned herself to the role of a nurse. At the beginning of +January she noticed that Holt was using a stick to walk. The sight +filled her with dread. She watched him on the Leas, walking slowly, +resting the weight of his body on the staff, stopping now and then to +look at the sea, or worse, at a blank wall. A terrible impression of +weakness emanated from him. He was going down the hill. One morning in +the middle of January, Holt did not get up. When questioned he hardly +answered. She dressed feverishly without his moving, and went out to +find the doctor herself, for she was unconsciously afraid of the +servants' eyes. When she returned with the doctor Holt had not moved; +his head was thrown back, his mouth a little open, his face more waxen +than usual. + +'Oh, oh. . . .' Victoria nearly screamed, when Holt opened his eyes. The +doctor threw back the bedclothes and examined his patient. As Victoria +watched him inspecting Holt's mouth, the inside of his eyelids, then his +finger nails, a terror came upon her at these strange rites. She went to +the window and looked out over the sea; it was choppy, grey and foamy +like a river in spate. She strove to concentrate on her freedom, but she +could feel the figure on the bed. + +'Got any sal volatile?' said the doctor's voice. + +'No, shall I. . . .?' + +'No, no time for that, he's fainting; get me some salts, ammonia, +anything.' + +Victoria watched him forcing Holt to breathe the ammonia she used to +clean ribbons. Holt opened his eyes, coughed, struggled; tears ran down +his face as he inhaled the acrid fumes. Still he did not speak. The +doctor pulled him out of bed, crossed his legs, and then struck him +sharply across the shin, just under the knee, with the side of his hand. +Holt's leg hardly moved. The doctor hesitated for a moment, then pushed +him back into the bed. + +'I . . . Mrs. . . .?' + +'Holt.' + +'Well, Mrs Holt, I'm afraid your husband is in a serious condition. Of +course I don't say that with careful feeding, tonics, we can't get him +round, but it'll be a long business, and . . . and . . . you see . . . +How long have you been married?' + +'Over a year,' said Victoria with an effort. + +'Ah. Well Mrs Holt, it will be part of the cure that you leave him for +six months.' + +Victoria gasped. Why? Why? Could it be . . .? The thought appalled her. +Dimly she could hear the doctor talking. + +'His mother . . . if he has one . . . to-day . . . phosphate of . . .' + +Then the doctor was gone. A telegram had somehow been sent to Rawsley +Cement Works. Then the long day, food produced on the initiative of the +hotel servants, the room growing darker, night. + +It was ten o'clock, and two women stood face to face by the bed. One was +Victoria, beautiful like a marble statue, with raven black hair, pale +lips. The other a short stout figure with tight hair, a black bonnet, a +red face stained with tears. + +'You've killed him,' said the harsh voice. + +Victoria looked up at Mrs Holt. + +'No, no.' + +'My boy, my poor boy!' Mrs Holt was on her knees by the side of the +motionless figure. + +Victoria began to weep, silently at first, then noisily. Mrs Holt +started at the sound, then jumped to her feet with a cry of rage. + +'Stop that crying,' she commanded. 'How dare you? How dare you?' + +Victoria went on crying, the sobs choking her. + +'A murderess,' Mrs Holt went on. 'You took my boy away; you corrupted +him, ruined him, killed him. You're a vile thing; nobody should touch +you, you. . . .' + +Victoria pulled herself together. + +'It's not my fault,' she stumbled. 'I didn't know.' + +'Didn't know,' sneered Mrs Holt, 'as if a woman of your class didn't +know.' + +'That's enough,' snarled Victoria. 'I've had enough. Understand? I +didn't want your son. He wanted me. That's all over. He bought me, and +now you think the price too heavy. I've been heaven to him who only knew +misery. He's not to be pitied, unless it be because his mistress hands +him over to his mother.' + +'How dare you?' cried Mrs Holt again, a break in her voice as she pitied +her outraged motherhood. + +'It's you who've killed him; you, the family, Rawsley, Bethlehem, your +moral laws, your religion. It's you who starved him, ground him down +until he lost all sense of measure, desired nothing but love and life.' + +'You killed him, though,' said the mother. + +'Perhaps. I didn't want to. I was . . . fond of him. But how can I help +it? And supposing I did? What of it? Yes, what of it? Who was your son +but a man?' + +'My son?' + +'Your son. A distinction, not a title. Your son bears part of the +responsibility of making me what I am. He came last but he might have +come first, and I tell you that the worker of the eleventh hour is +guilty equally with the worker of the first. Your son was nothing and I +nothing but pawns in the game, little figures which the Society you're +so proud of shifts and breaks. He bought my womanhood; he contributed to +my degradation. What else but degradation did you offer me?' + +Mrs Holt was weeping now. + +'I am a woman, and the world has no use for me. Your Society taught me +nothing. Or rather it taught me to dance, to speak a foreign language +badly, to make myself an ornament, a pleasure to man. Then it threw me +down from my pedestal, knowing nothing, without a profession, a trade, a +friend, or a penny. And then your Society waved before my eyes the +lily-white banner of purity, while it fed me and treated me like a dog. +When I gave it what it wanted, for there's only one thing it wants from +a woman whom nothing has been taught but that which every woman knows, +then it covered me with gifts. A curse on your Society. A Society of +men, crushing, grinding down women, sweating their labour, starving +their brains, urging them on to the surrender of what makes a woman +worth while. Ah . . . ah. . . .' + +Breath failed her. Mrs Holt was weeping silently in her hands in utter +abandonment. + +'I'm going,' said Victoria hoarsely. She picked up a handkerchief and +dabbed her eyes. + +As she opened the door the figure moved on the bed, opened its eyes. +Their last lingering look was for the woman at the door. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +THE squire of Cumberleigh was not sorry that 'The Retreat' had found a +tenant at last. The house belonged to him, and he might have let it many +times over; but so conservative and aristocratic was his disposition +that he preferred to sacrifice his rent rather than have anyone who was +undesirable in the neighbourhood. Yet, in the case of the lady who had +now occupied the house for some three weeks, though the strictest +enquiries had been made concerning her, both in Cumberleigh and the +surrounding district, nothing could be ascertained beyond the scanty +facts that she was a widow, well-to-do and had been abroad a good deal. +The squire had seen her on two separate occasions himself and could not +but admit that she was far from unprepossessing; she was obviously a +lady, well-bred and educated, and, if her frock and hat had been a +trifle smarter than those usually seen in a country village, she had +owned up to having recently been to Paris to replenish her wardrobe. It +was curious, when he came to reflect upon it, how little she had told +him about herself, and yet, what was more curious, she had no sooner +left him after the second visit than he had betaken himself to his +solicitor to get him to make out the lease. She had received and signed +it the following day, showing herself remarkably business-like, but not +ungenerous when it came to the buying of the fixtures and to the vexed +question of outdoor and indoor repairs. + +As the squire climbed the hill that gave upon the village from the +marshes, one cold March evening, he did not regret his decision; for, +standing in front of 'The Retreat,' he felt bound to admit that there +was something cheering and enlivening in the fact that the four front +windows now flaunted red curtains and holland blinds, where they had +been so dark and forbidding. In the lower one on the left, where the +lamps had not yet been lighted or the blinds drawn down, in the light of +the dancing fire, he could see distinctly a woman's workbox on a small +inlaid table, a volume of songs on the cottage piano, and, at the back +of the room, a hint of china tea cups, glistening silver and white +napery. Presently a trim maid came out to bolt the front door, followed +by two snuffling yellow dogs who took the air for a few moments in +tempestuous spirits, biting each other about the neck and ears and +rushing round in giddy circles on the tiny grass plot until, in response +to a call from the maid, they returned with her to the house. They were +foreigners evidently, these dogs! The squire could not remember the name +of the breed, but he thought he had seen one of the kind before in +London. He was not quite sure he approved of foreign dogs; they were not +so sporting or reliable as those of the English breeds; still, these +were handsome fellows, well kept and (from the green ribbons that +adorned their fluffy necks) evidently made much of. He was still looking +after the dogs when he was joined by the curate coming out of the +blacksmith's cottage opposite and stopping to light a match in the +shelter of the high wall of 'The Retreat.' + +'First pipe I have had to-day,' said the newcomer as he puffed at it +luxuriously. 'It's more than you can say, squire, I'll be bound.' + +'Twenty-first, that's more like it,' said the squire with a laugh. 'How +is Mrs Johnson?' This in allusion to the curate's call at the smithy. + +'Dying. Won't last the night out, I think. She is quite unconscious. +Still I am glad I went. Johnson and his daughters seemed to like to have +me there, though of course there was nothing for me to do.' + +'Quite so, quite so,' said the squire approvingly, for the village was +so small that he took a paternal interest in all its inhabitants. 'Any +more news?' + +'Mrs Golightly has had twins, and young Shaw has enlisted. That's about +all, I think. Oh, by the by, I paid a call here to-day.' And he +indicate. 'The Retreat.' 'It seemed about time you know, and one mustn't +neglect the new-comers.' + +'Of course not,' the squire assented with conviction. 'Was she . . . did +she in any way indicate that she was pleased to see you?' + +'She was very gracious, but she seemed to take my call quite as a matter +of course. A nice woman I should think, though a little reserved. +However she is going to rent one seat in church if not more, and she +said I might put her name down for one or two little things I am +interested in at present.' + +'In fact you made hay while the sun shone. Well, after all, why not? She +didn't tell you anything about herself I suppose, or her connections?' + +'No, she never mentioned them. I understood or she implied she had been +abroad a good deal and that her husband had died some years ago. Still I +really don't think we need worry about her; the whole thing, if I may +say so, was so obviously all right, the house I mean and all its +appointments. She is a quiet woman, a little shy and retiring perhaps, +belongs to the old-fashioned school.' + +'Well she is none the worse for that,' said the squire with a grunt. 'We +don't meet many of that kind nowadays. Even the farmers' daughters are +quite ready to set you right whenever they get a chance. This modern +education is a curse, I have said so from the very beginning. Still they +haven't robbed us of our Church schools yet, if that is any +consolation. Coming back to dine with me to-night, Seaton?' + +The young man shook his head. 'Very sorry, squire, it's quite impossible +to-night. It is Friday night, choir practice you know, and there is a +lantern lecture in the mission hall. I ought to be there already, +helping Griffin with the slides.' + +'All right, Sunday evening then, at the usual time,' said the squire +cordially as the curate left him, and, as he looked after him, he +criticised him as a busy fellow, not likely to set the Thames on fire +perhaps, but essentially the right man in the right place. + +His own progress was a good deal slower; not that he found the hill too +steep, for, in spite of his fifty years, he was still perfectly sound of +wind and limb, as was shown by his athletic movements, the fresh healthy +colour on his cheeks, and the clear blue of his eyes, but rather because +he seemed loth to tear himself away from 'The Retreat' and his new +tenant. Even when he had reached the little post office that crowned the +summit, he did not turn off towards his own place till he had spent +another five minutes contemplating the stack of chimney-pots sending out +thick puffs of white smoke into the quiet evening sky, and listening +attentively to the cheerful sound of a tinkling piano blended with the +gentle lowing of the cattle on the marsh below. After all, he told +himself, he was very glad Seaton had called, for apart from his duty as +a clergyman it was only a kind and neighbourly thing to do. + +It was a pity that there were not more of his kind in the neighbourhood, +for in spite of his own preference for the country, he could imagine +that a woman coming to it fresh from London at such a season might find +it dull and a little depressing. He wondered if Mrs Menzies, of Hither +Hall, would call if he asked her to do so. Of course she would in a +moment if he put it on personal grounds, but that was not the point. All +he wished was to be kind and hospitable to a stranger; and Mrs Menzies, +much as he respected and admired her, had never been known to err on the +side of tolerance, nor did one meet in her drawing-room anyone whose +pedigree would not bear a thorough investigation. Yes, there was no +doubt about it, though the laws that governed social intercourse were on +the whole excellent and had to be kept, there were here, as everywhere +else in life, exceptions to the rule, occasions when anyone of a kindly +disposition must feel tempted to break them. And Mrs Menzies was +certainly a little stiff: witness her behaviour in the case of Captain +Clinton's widow and the fuss she had made because the unfortunate lady +had forgotten to tell her of her relationship to the Eglinton Clintons +and had only vouchsafed the fact that her father's people had been in +trade. Why, it had taken weeks if not months to clear the matter up; and +it had been very awkward for everybody, the Eglinton Clintons included +when the truth had transpired. No, on second thoughts he would not ask +Mrs Menzies to call; he would far rather make the first venture himself +than risk a snub for this lonely defenceless stranger. + +He turned into the gates of Redland Hall with a half-formed intention of +doing so immediately. He dined alone as usual; it was very rare that the +dining-room of Redland Hall extended its hospitality to anybody +nowadays; for the squire, like most men over forty, had lost the habit +of entertaining and did not know how to recover it. A bachelor friend +spent a night with him from time to time; the curate supped with him +every Sunday; and his sister came for a week or two during the summer, +when she invariably told him that the house was too uncomfortable to +live in, and he ought to have it thoroughly done up and modernised. He +invariably promised to set about it immediately, with the full +intention of doing so; but his resolution began to weaken the day on +which he saw her off at the station, and degenerated steadily for the +remainder of the year. That night, however, for the first time for many +months he made a voyage of discovery into his own drawing-room. Yes, +there was no doubt about it, Selina was quite right in calling it +draughty and uncomfortable; the gilt French furniture was shabby and +tarnished, the Aubusson carpet worn, the wall paper faded, the whole +room desolate in its suggestion of past glory. He crossed over to the +enormous grand piano, opened it and struck a yellow key gently with one +finger. Was he wrong, he wondered, in thinking its tone was lamentably +thin and poor? A rat scampered and squeaked in the wainscoting, the +windows rattled in their loose sashes; he shut the piano abruptly and +left the room. It would cost a good deal to have it thoroughly done up, +of course; but that was not the point. Who would superintend the +decorations? He did not trust his own taste and had no faith in that of +any upholsterer. Selina would come and help him if he asked her, though +she would think it strange, for she had paid her annual visit in August, +and it was now only March; besides, if she brought her delicate little +girls with her at such a time the whole house would be upset in +arranging for their comfort. Still, Selina or no, he had quite made up +his mind to have the room done up and to buy a new piano immediately; it +was ridiculous to harbour an instrument which was merely a nesting place +for mice. He returned to the dining-room, poured himself out a stiff +whiskey and soda, and dozed over his _Spectator_ for the rest of the +evening. Yet, next morning, even in the unromantic light of day, he was +surprised to find that his plan of doing up the drawing-room still held +good. + +He had intended to ride into Wetherton that day to try his new mare +across country, for the gates were high in that direction and good +enough to test her powers as a jumper. A glance at the glistening frost +on the grass soon sufficed, however, to tell him that his scheme could +not be carried out; nor was he sorry until, having spent the morning on +his farms and inspected everything and everybody at his leisure, it +occurred to him with a desperate sense of conviction that there was +still the afternoon to be filled in somehow. About three he set off in +the direction of the village, looked in at the church and had a brief +colloquy with Seaton regarding the new pews which were being put up, +interviewed the postmaster, condoled with the blacksmith upon the death +of his wife, and even ventured down as far as the marsh to see if the +new carrier who had taken the place of old Dick Tomlinson was likely to +fulfil his duties properly. About four o'clock he found himself once +more opposite 'The Retreat.' It was on the main road certainly, but it +was only recently that he had become aware of its importance in the +landscape. One could not get to the marsh or come back from it without +passing it. The windows looked as trim as ever--trimmer perhaps, for +short muslin curtains interspaced with embroidery seemed to have sprung +up in the night. They were very decorative in their way; at the same +time they quite shut out all prospect of the interior, and there was no +workbox, piano, or suggestion of tea things to be seen to-day. The +foreign dogs were snuffling in the garden as he passed the second time, +and one of them nosed its way through the iron gate and ventured a few +yards down the road, but just as the squire had made up his mind it was +his duty to take it back, it returned of its own accord. He watched the +trim maid come out and call them as she had done the day before, and saw +them rush after her frolicking round her skirt. + +Suddenly he crossed the road, looked up and down to make sure there was +no acquaintance within sight, opened the iron gate of 'The Retreat,' and +passed up the gravel pathway into the porch. + +'Mrs Fulton is at home,' said the trim maid demurely, in answer to his +question. + +MERCAT PRESS, EDINBURGH + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Bed of Roses, by W. L. 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