The Romantic Adventures of Mr. Darby and of Sarah His Wife (25 page)

‘Dear Madam, First let me congratulate you heartily on your great good fortune which I am sure is richly deserved. Though I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, I do not hesitate to write to you, for I know that you have been appointed by God to answer my prayer. I ask you, as sister to sister, for the loan of £200 of which I have urgent need. The Lord will repay.'

Sarah stared at the letter for some moments; re-read the final phrase and snorted. ‘Hm! She flatters herself,' she remarked grimly; and slapped the letter down on the table beside her. Then, taking up another she glanced at it critically and tore it open.

‘Dear Madam, May I solicit your interest in our Home for Strayed Cats …' Without reading further, she slapped it down on the other one. Then, rising to her feet, she took up the whole twenty-seven, pushed them into the empty grate, reached to the mantelpiece for a matchbox and put a match to them. When they were well alight, she returned to the hall and stood for a moment considering the much larger heap for Jim. There must be over two hundred of them. What should she do with them? After a moment's hesitation she took up one and opened it.

‘Dear Mr. Darby. A highly favourable opportunity presents itself of investing in a new invention which, after many years experiment, I have at length brought to perfection. The old fashioned penny-in-the-slot machine for chocolates, matches, cigarettes, etc. has long been out of date, and a vast public is crying out …'

Sarah returned to the sitting-room and dropped the letter into the blazing grate. Her mouth wore its scornful smile. Jim, she knew, would take every one of those letters with absolute seriousness. Should she make them into a brown-paper parcel and bundle them off to him? At least they would give him something to do. And if they could help him to get rid of his money, that too would be a blessing. But no, she wasn't going to give him the chance of making a fool of himself. She had always looked after him well, and, though it might do him good in the end, she wasn't going to put the wretched little man at the mercy of all these cranks and sharpers. He would let himself in for enough, sooner or later, without this lot. Without further hesitation she went out into the hall again, opened a cupboard under the stairs, went to the kitchen for a broom, and then swept the whole heap
along the oilcloth into the empty cupboard. There! They could stay there, out of harm's way. It would have been better to burn them, but there might, after all, be an important letter among them. She slammed the cupboard door and sailed to the kitchen to put away the broom, feeling as refreshed and invigorated as if she had executed a complete spring-cleaning.

Next morning she fell upon her housework with zest, and the house echoed with the beating of pillows and bolsters, the roar of running taps, the rasping hiss of the scrubbing-brush. When this was over and she had had lunch, she changed her dress, put on her hat and went out. The domestic machine had to be re-started, the rhythmic arrival of the milk, the bread, and the butcher's boy; things had to be ordered at the grocer's; and she had to go to the bank to see about drawing money and getting a cheque book in accordance with the new arrangement. She looked in, in passing, at Stedman's, the ironmonger's, to let them know of her return.

George Stedman came in answer to her footsteps. ‘Why bless me, Mrs. D. I didn't know you were back. Very glad to see you, I'm sure.' He held out his huge hand.

‘And glad I am to be back,' said Sarah.

‘And how's our young spark?'

‘Jim? Oh, he's still in London.'

‘Doing the grand gentleman, I suppose?'

‘Yes,' said Sarah with a sigh, ‘as happy as a king. He's playing with London like a child playing with a box of bricks.'

A customer came in and Sarah turned to go. ‘I just looked in to let you know I was back,' she said.

‘Come round this evening,' said Stedman. ‘Come round and have a bit of supper.'

Sarah accepted and went out.

•    •    •    •    •    •    •    •

Two days later she was interrupted in her housework by a ring at the frontdoor. She opened it and found a business-like
young man on the doorstep. He must, she thought, have come about the rates.

‘Good morning, Mrs. Darby,' he said with an affability which at once put Sarah on her guard. ‘I come from the
Daily Chronicle.
Hearing you were back, I just looked round to see if you had any news for us.'

‘Any news? News about what?' said Sarah. Facing him foursquare in her apron, her head austerely swathed in a duster, she had a formidable appearance.

‘About yourself and Mr. Darby,' said the business-like young man. ‘Just a few words about your plans and movements.' He took a notebook and pencil out of his pocket.

Sarah surveyed him without indulgence. ‘You can put that notebook back in your pocket,' she said grimly. ‘Our plans and movements concern nobody but us.'

The young man smilingly persisted. ‘No offence, Mrs. Darby. Quite the contrary. We're interested and the public is interested, that's all. If you could oblige with some little announcement that could be worked up into a par in the Social Column …'

Sarah took a step forward. ‘Now listen to me, young man,' she said. ‘As it happens, I
have
got a little announcement to make, and it's this, that if I see any remarks at all about me or my husband in the
Daily Chronicle
, I'll stop my subscription at once. Now you run back to the
Chronicle
office and tell them that from me.' With that she shut the door in the young man's face; then opened it again. ‘I mean it, mind!' she shouted to his retreating back. Then she shut the door again and went on with her dusting.

After her solitary midday meal, Sarah, her work finished, settled herself in the armchair in the sitting-room with
The Tale of Two Cities.
It was raining, a steady effortless rain that fell so straight that not a drop touched the window-panes. She could not go out, and in any case, she did not feel inclined to go out. A feeling of listlessness and depression had come over her, perhaps because the house was now restored
to its old spotlessness, after its fortnight of neglect, and she found herself for the first time since her return with nothing to do. After reading for a while, she laid the book on her lap with a sigh and fell into a reverie. The thought that she had kept at bay with hard work ever since her return home, finding her now defenceless, attacked her again. What was the use of it all,—all this work, work, work from morning to night? It was true that if somebody didn't work the house would go to wrack and ruin and she herself would starve. That was undeniable but it was also unsatisfying as a justification. Work for its own sake had satisfied her at first, as an antidote to that fortnight of idleness in London, but now she knew that to work for herself alone was little better than a drudgery. Home and work without her husband were cold comfort. She realized that in coming home she must unconsciously have been acting on the assumption that in the end Jim would come back. But now she asked herself, would he, in fact, come back? And, even if at last he did, how long would she have to wait for him? The truth was that she and Jim were engaged in a tug-of-war, she trying, by planting herself firmly at home, to pull him back; he standing resolutely in his newly-won liberty, hoping that she would give-in and follow him. The struggle might last a year, many years perhaps. For Uncle Tom Darby's detestable legacy had brought into action in both of them hopelessly irreconcilable instincts hitherto deep-hidden; Jim's instinct for what seemed to her little better than a love of idleness and vagrancy, and her own instinct for hard work and the fixity of a home. That vagrant idleness in which Jim delighted was, to her, so utterly unbearable that, rather than face it, she had abandoned him; and he, it seemed, was so fixed on his liberty that, as he had told her in St. James's Park with tears in his eyes, he couldn't bring himself to turn his back on it. Yet, in spite of the strong feeling he had shown when he spoke of it, Sarah could not make herself believe that his attitude was much more than a childish whim. When she contemplated it she always, in the end, came back to what seemed the only possible belief. Give him time to work it out
of his system and he would come home and settle down again. But how long would that take? And was it so certain that he would come back? Her mind swayed from doubt to certainty, and from certainty back again to doubt. And in the meantime how long would she be able to endure living alone and working only for herself? Besides, there was no longer any necessity for her to work. She was rich, and, as Lady Savershill had said with such terrible truth in the train, wealth, by making work no longer a vital necessity, took all the zest out of it. For the first time it struck her that, by her determination to provide herself with work, she was depriving Mrs. Bricketts of work and wages of which she was very much in need. Well, she could avoid that by giving Mrs. Bricketts money and doing the work herself: Mrs. Bricketts had all the work she wanted in looking after her own home. But even that would not give her back her old zest; for her work was no longer a necessity, it was simply a hobby, and even as a hobby no longer satisfying to her. What then was she to do with her life? The question sent a chill to her heart. There was nothing, it seemed, that she could do with it. By the disaster of Uncle Tom Darby's legacy she had been turned suddenly, through no fault of her own, into a lonely and useless creature whose life was utterly meaningless. She sat there, with
The Tale of Two Cities
on her lap, face to face with the ruin of her old happiness, too absorbed in her distress to notice that tears were running slowly down her cheeks.

Before long however she roused herself, snorted indignantly on discovering the tears, wiped them peremptorily away with her handkerchief, and taking up her book, read it with determination and understanding for over an hour. Then she was disturbed by another ring at the front door. Could that young man from the
Chronicle
have dared to return? She rose aggressively from her chair, her face sternly set, her tongue ready for short and sharp retaliation. With an abruptness that promised the worst, she opened the door and found herself face to face with the beak-like nose, piercing blue eyes, and authoritative presence of Lady Savershill.

‘Ah, I've got you at last, Mrs. Darby,' said Lady Savershill. ‘May I come in?'

‘Please do, my lady,' said Sarah standing aside.

‘I want to talk to you.' Lady Savershill entered as she spoke and by the very act seemed to take possession of the house. ‘You're not busy?'

‘Second door on the right,' said Sarah and followed her visitor into the sitting-room. ‘No, I'm not busy, my lady. I only wish I was.'

‘You wish you were? Well, I can keep you busy enough, if you want to be busy. I've called to see you twice already, and written once. Didn't you get my letter?'

‘No, my lady. I got no letter.'

‘That's very extraordinary. I wrote a week ago.'

‘Ah,' said Sarah, ‘I know what must have happened to it,' and she told Lady Savershill of how she had dealt with her correspondence on the night of her return home.

Lady Savershill listened, her blue eyes, bright with amusement, fixed on Sarah's face. ‘Well,' she said, ‘there's this to be said for it, it's a cheaper way than keeping a secretary.'

Facing one another, they laughed, enjoying each other's amusement. These two large, impressive, downright women, both so distinguished in their different ways, liked and understood each other. Each was the kind of woman that the other respected.

‘Won't your ladyship sit down?' said Sarah pointing to the chair in which she had been sitting.

‘I will, and gladly,' said Lady Savershill. ‘I've been on my legs almost all day. And if you're going to have some tea I'll have some with you.'

‘I'll get it at once, if your ladyship will excuse me for ten minutes.'

Lady Savershill took up Sarah's book which lay open and face downwards on the table. ‘What's this? Dickens. I'll amuse myself with it while you're away.'

Sarah went out.

‘Just a little bread and butter for
me
, Mrs. Darby,' shouted Lady Savershill after her. ‘I never eat cakes.'

In ten minutes Sarah returned with everything ready on a tray. Lady Savershill shut the book and rose from the armchair. ‘I'll come to the table,' she said.

Sarah poured out the tea and handed the bread and butter. Lady Savershill took a piece and folded it. ‘I've got a job for you, Mrs. Darby,' she said point blank. ‘That's what I've come about. It's a job that badly wants doing and one that you're particularly qualified to do. I've been hunting high and low for a year, but not a soul could I find who combines necessary experience with the necessary personality. Now you're just the woman for it, because you've got both. I realized that, after our talk in the train. I ear-marked you at once. Now listen to me.' Between sips of tea and bites of bread and butter Lady Savershill gave a short, vigorous account of the H.C.S. ‘Now your job, Mrs. Darby,' she said, ‘is the Domestic Staff. You know all about the organizing and feeding of the servants of a large house, don't you?'

‘I know
something
about it, my lady,' said Sarah.

Lady Savershill shook a finger at her. ‘Fiddle-de-dee! There's no good your trying modesty on me, Mrs. Darby.'

Sarah smiled. ‘It's not modesty, my lady. But it stands to reason that I must have forgotten a good deal in twenty years.'

‘Yes, no doubt you're a little rusty,' said Lady Savershill, ‘but we can soon put that right. Our Infirmary here is admirably run: we'll use it to refresh your memory. They're very good to me there: they let me poke and pry to my heart's content. Now you and I will go and have a thorough look round. We'll inspect the quarters of the domestic staff, the kitchens, the feeding, the general running of the whole household department. That and a book or two which I can give you, added to your own knowledge, will turn you into a first-rate inspector. Your job would be to visit all the hospitals in this division and report on the running of the domestic side. You would be of immense use to us, I'm sure, and I'm sure, too, that you would find the work extremely interesting. Now, tell me, do you like the idea of it?'