Miss Mary Martha Crawford (39 page)

"Well, it won't help the stiffness if I go on lying here, will it?"

She looked at him for a moment in silence before she said, "After supper then, get up for a little while and see how you feel."

When he lay back and stared at her unblinking, her colour rose hot

about her face and, somewhat flustered, she turned away, saying.

"The sun has disappeared, it is overcast again. I do hope it isn't a sign of more rain because Mildred will be on her way."

"Oh yes, Mildred. I'd forgotten about Mildred, I've forgotten so many things over the past two days. She's another one who's going to get a shock; but then, I think Mildred is the kind of girl who can withstand shocks.... Martha!" He had said her name sharply following a short silence.

"How is

Fred? You've never mentioned him for some time. And I'd forgotten to ask. Fancy me forgetting Fred. "

She had turned towards him now and she jerked her head to the side as she mumbled, "Oh ... oh, he's all right."

'. Martha? "

"Yes?" She glanced at him over her shoulder.

"Look ... come here." He had pulled himself upwards again and was now leaning over the side of the couch.

"What's happened to him? Look, I'll know tomorrow or whenever I get outside, what is it?" His voice was rising.

"Please. Please." She was standing by his side now.

"Don't excite yourself. All right... all right I'll tell you. He ...

he died before we got him home."

She watched him slump back on to the pillows, turn his head aside and gnaw at his lower lip with his teeth until she thought the blood would spurt from it. A full three minutes passed in silence before he asked thickly, "How ... how did he die?"

It was an impossibility for her to describe the animal's injuries;

even now when she thought of them it made her stomach heave. The horse had been lucky to get off with one jab of a knife. She murmured, "A blow, on the head I think, such as was aimed at you. I'm... I'm sure he died quickly."

He was looking straight up at her now.

"Where did you find him?"

"He... he was lying across your chest."

Again his head went to the side, and she turned quietly away and went out of the room in order that he could give way to his distress without embarrassment. But as she went she admitted to surprise in herself at his almost feminine reaction to the death of his dog. Such emotion did not match up with his rough, brusque exterior. His whipping of Nick

Bailey was, she thought, in character, but not the tears he had almost shed in front of her. Yet this very facet of tenderness would, she

knew, have delighted her if it had been shown to a . a human being.

But no, he reserved it for his dog, whilst to her he had said, "I want a housekeeper."

Mildred arrived home at half past five. She talked nonstop from the

moment she entered the door. She was very- hungry. The Armstrongs'

food was appalling; and what was all the fuss about the doctor being attacked? Was he still here? And anyway there wasn't much sympathy

for him in the town because he wasn't well liked, he was without style or manners. She herself could never understand how he became a

doctor;

she was sure he would never get into the Brockdean household, they

always sent for Doctor Pippin.

Martha was cutting a shive out of a bacon and egg pie on the kitchen table and she didn't raise her eyes as she said, "I thought you rather liked him."

Tou thought wrong. I'm civil, to him. And anyway, who could like

him?

Just think of the way he treated you when he first came to the house.

He's churlish. By the way, what's for supper? Not just that! " She pointed to the pie.

"I'm afraid so; I haven't done much cooking these last two days." She stopped now, rested her hands on the kitchen table and looked across at Mildred, saying, "I've got some news for you, in fact two kinds of news. One leads to the other. First, Roland is going to be

married...."

"Our Roland!" Mildred had sprung to her feet from the kitchen chair.

"You're joking."

"I'm not joking. His future wife and he are at this moment parading the grounds with a view to what purpose they can be put. I should

imagine she is measuring out the squares for a playground or playing fields."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just what I said, Mildred. I sent for Roland in haste to come home in order to prevent Nancy marrying."

"Our Nancy?"

"Don't keep saying our Nancy and our Roland in that fashion." She could not help herself from adding now, "You yourself would be the first to check anyone for using such colloquial terms. You knew that she was contemplating marrying Mr. Robson."

"But you were going to stop it."

"It wasn't in my power to stop it. If anyone's it was

Roland's, so I telegraphed him. When he arrived he gave me his news

and I responded with mine, I told him that under the circumstances I wouldn't stay here. "

"Why not?"

"Why not!" Martha put her hand up to her mouth, realizing that she had yelled; then leaning across the table, she said grimly, "Because I don't intend to be a non-paid servant to a school mann, because she

intends to turn this house into a private school. And I'm sure she had been given to under stand that I would do all the dirty work, assisted no doubt by yourself and Nancy."

"Roland would never have said that about me! I've got my position in the bookshop now."

"Yes, yes, of course, you have." She nodded slowly at her sister, then ended, "Well, he would have had Nancy and me in mind for the unpleasant dirty work, but I'm afraid he's made a mistake about us both."

"But you can't leave, what about Aunt Sophie?"

"Aunt Sophie is not my responsibility, she is Roland's."

"You would leave Aunt Sophie?" Mildred's tone was full of

indignation.

"Yes, yes, I would leave Aunt Sophie, but with less worry now because I can see that you'd be quite willing to stay on and no doubt you will help with the night nursing which, as you know. Aunt Sophie has been requiring more and more of late."

"You are being nasty now."

"Yes, yes, I'm being nasty now, Mildred; and, as I see it, it's not before time. Oh she cocked her ear to one side 'if I'm not mistaken, they have just come into the hall. You'd better go and meet them and offer your congratulations Mildred, her mouth grim, stood wagging her head for a moment at Martha before swinging about and going out of the kitchen.

As the door banged after her, Peg came out of the pan room and her

presence startled Martha; she had thought her to be in the yard, and when Peg grinned at her and said, "That was telling her, miss. By!

you've given them all shocks s-mmmc-p aSi one after another, an' not afore time," she looked down at the table where her hands were splayed tight against its whitewood surface, and she thought. Yes, one after the other, and she couldn't believe that it was herself that was doing it.

She had changed, everything about her had changed, since the day she had met her father's mistress there had come alive in her a new being, which had grown rapidly, and during the last few days it had thrust

itself out through her skin, her innocent skin, her gullible girlish skin, and it was the kind of being she should take pride in, but she didn't, for in this moment she mourned for the girl she had once been, the girl who had loved her father, and this house, and whose only need was a husband. She now closed her eyes on the thought that even the

girl she once had been had needed a husband.

it had rained heavily all night, and now in the early morning it was still raining heavily.

Mildred was in a very bad temper. She had informed Martha late last

night that she didn't like her prospective sister-in-law; in fact, she went as far as to say if she could hate anyone it would be Miss Eva

Harkness. And she had asked what she herself was going to do. Where

would she live if she couldn't live here? Everybody had gone mad,

marriage mad.

Martha had refrained from making any comment even when Mildred had

ended, "I'm not putting up with it; I'll do something about it."

And now dressed against the storm, she stood in the hall dragging on her gloves and looking towards the window against which the rain was beating and said, "And if this keeps on I won't be able to get back tonight; arid I hate staying at the Armstrongs'."

"They're very nice people; he is a very intelligent man."

"You know nothing about him. I'm with him all day, he's an old

dotard."

"Really! Well, I don't see him like that. And I shall shortly be very pleased to accept the hospitality of the old dotard and his wife."

"You wouldn't... you wouldn't go and stay there!"

"Why not? You lodge there."

"That's different; I merely take advantage of them when the weather is bad."

"Take advantage of them? If that is how you view their kindness I would, if I were you, look out for more suitable

lodgings. But for myself, I shall be pleased to stay with them. "

"Oh!" Mildred tossed her head with annoyance.

"You're so ... so' she stopped, lost for words.

"Go on, say it."

"I can't ... I can't find words to fit you at this moment, but one thing I will say, and I agree with Roland about it, you'll never have a clear conscience as long as you live if you leave Aunt Sophie with no one to look after her. I think you should be ashamed of yourself."

They were glaring at each other now through the dim light of the

hall;

then Martha said thickly, "I think you'd better go, Mildred, before I say something I will regret. But this I will say, if you're so

concerned about Aunt Sophie you stay at home and look after her. As I see it now, it's your turn to take on some of the odious duties of this household, duties that I've shouldered for years, so don't imagine that either you or Roland will work on my conscience to make me stay. You and Roland between you, and, of course, his lady wife, should be able to manage Aunt Sophie."

Mildred now pulled open the door but before she stepped over the

threshold she turned once again and, thrusting her face out towards

Martha, she hissed through tight lips, "And him in there!" She actually jerked her thumb in the direction of the study. 'you want to mind what you're about; he's dangerous, he's a philanderer; I know.

"

She now gave one definite bounce of her head before turning and running down the steps.

Martha did not stay to watch her progress but closed the door quickly against the driving rain; then she went hastily towards the stairs.

She didn't ascend them right away, but stood gripping the knob of the balustrade as she wished, for a moment, that she was Dilly or Peg and could cry out aloud, "Damn them!" for they were both using one telling weapon against her: her conscience with regard to Aunt Sophie.

And there was no doubt about it, no matter how she protested that she wouldn't be troubled about leaving Aunt

Sophie, she knew she was merely putting up a thin defence, and that

once away from the house, her conscience would beat that defence down, so much so that when Aunt Sophie finally died her sorrow would be

nothing compared to her feeling of guilt Heavily now, she walked up the stairs and made her way towards Sophie's room.

It was strange but it seemed at times that Aunt Sophie had second sight for only last night she had said, "The house is uneasy, Martha Mary; everybody is at sixes and sevens, all except you. You'll never be at sixes and sevens." And first thing this morning when she had taken her her early cup of tea she had found her sitting on the side of the bed half dressed in her shift, corsets, and drawers, and no amount of

persuading would make her take them off, and like that she had got back into bed again.

When she had left the room she had thought this was one of the

occasions when it would be prudent to lock the door on the outside, yet at the same time she imagined the scene should Aunt Sophie appear in the dining-room as she had done recently on the stairs. How would Miss Eva Harkness view the apparition?

Apparently Roland had taken her for a brief visit to Aunt Sophie last night. She did not see Miss Harkness after the visit but she had seen Roland, and he had looked at her as if he would take pleasure in

killing her.

Aunt Sophie was lying very much as she had left her an hour earlier.

She appeared very quiet and in one of her near rational periods.

"It's raining again, Martha Mary," she said.

"Yes, and it looks set in for the day."

"I think it will be set in for a long time, Martha Mary. The river's rising rapidly."

"Is it?" She went to the window. The river always rose with heavy rains, but now she could see the dull leaden grey of its waters were covering the bank, and it was running fast. Here and there dark

objects were whirling on its surface, likely branches of trees washed down from the hills, but the very fact that they were still flowing

straight down meant that there was no blockage up at the bridge.

The footbridge further up the river wasn't very high and when the

river was really in flood the debris mounted there until the water

spread it out over the fields. She turned to the bed, saying, "It hasn't risen very much; it's nothing to worry about."

"Oh, I'm not worrying, Martha Mary; the river never worries me; I like the river. Do you know something? I've always imagined myself

floating down on it, floating away, away, down on it. I sometimes long to get up and walk down to the river and do just that, float away and away...."

Martha went quickly to the wash hand stand in order to shut out the

pathetic face with the faded blue eyes that held that strange depth of appeal; always they had held that look of appeal. She stood pouring