Such rage and despair had swept over her as she had never before known. She cried to Christopher, dark, beside her, that the woman lied. She had not got cancer….
She must not think about these things.
The woman on the path — in grey riding-clothes — approached slowly. The head still bent down. Undoubtedly she had silk under-things beneath all that grey cloth…. Well,
It was queer how calm she was. That of course was Sylvia Tietjens. Let it be. She had fought for her man before and so she could again; the Russians should not have… The old jingle ran in her calm head….
But she was also desperately perturbed: trembling at the thought of that dreadful night! Christopher had wanted to go with Sylvia after she had fallen downstairs. A good theatre fall, but not good enough. But she, Valentine, had shouted: No! He was never going with Sylvia again.
Well, she was calm. The sight of that figure was not going to hurt the tiny brain that worked deep within her womb. Nor the tiny limbs! She was going to slub the warm, soap-transfused flannel onto those little legs in the warm of the great hearth…. Nine hams up that chimney! Chrissie looking up and laughing…. That woman would never again do that! Not to a child of Christopher’s. Not to any man’s child, belike!
That had been Sylvia Tietjens’ son! With a girl in white breeches!… Well, who was. she to prevent a son’s seeing his father? She felt on her arm the weight of her own son. With that there she could confront the world!
It was queer! That woman’s face was all blurred…. Blubberingly! The features swollen, the eyes red!… Ah, she had been thinking, looking at the garden and the stillness: “If I had given Christopher that I should have kept him!” But she would never have kept him. Had she been the one woman in all the world he would never have looked at her. Not after he had seen her. Valentine Wannop!
Sylvia had looked up, contemplatively — as if into the very window. But she could not see into the window. She must have seen Mrs. de Bray Pape and the girl for it became apparent why she had taken off her glove. She now had a gold vanity box in her hand: looking in at the mirror and moving her right hand swiftly before her face… Remember: it was
Sudden anger came over her. That woman must never come into their house-place before whose hearth she was to bathe the little Chrissie! Never! Never! The place would be polluted. She knew, only by that, now she loathed and recoiled from that woman.
She was at the lock. The key turned…. See what emotion at the thought of harm to your unborn child can do for you! Subconsciously her right hand had remembered how you pressed the key upwards when you made it turn…. She must not run down the narrow stairs. The telephone was in a niche on the inner side of the great ingle. The room was dim: very long, very low. The Barker cabinet looked very rich with its green, yellow, and scarlet inlays. She was leaning sideways in the nook between the immense fireplace and the room wall, the telephone receiver at her ear. She looked down her long room — it opened into the dining-room, a great beam between. It was dark, gleaming, rich with old bees-waxed woods…. Elle ne demandait pas mieux… the phrase of Marie Leonie occurred constantly to her mind…. She did not ask better — if only the things were to be regarded as theirs! She looked into the distant future when things would spread out tranquilly before them. They would have a little money, a little peace. Things would spread out… like a plain seen from a hill. In the meantime they had to keep all on going…. She did not in effect grumble at that… as long as strength and health held out.
The doctor — she pictured him, long, sandy and very pleasant, suffering too from an incurable disease and debts, life being like that! — the doctor asked cheerfully on the telephone how Mark was. She said she did not know. He was said to have been profusely sweating…. Yes, it was possible that he might have been having a disagreeable interview. The doctor said:
“Tut! Tut! And yourself?” He had a Scotch accent, the sandy man…. She suggested that he might bring along a bromide. He said: “They’ve been bothering you. Don’t let them!” She said she had been asleep — but they probably would. She added: “Perhaps you would come quickly!”… Sister Anne! Sister Anne! For God’s sake Sister Anne! If she could get a bromide into her it would pass like a dream.
It was passing like a dream. Perhaps the Virgin Mary exists…. If she does not, we must invent her to look after mothers who can not… But she could! She, Valentine Wannop!
The light from the doorway that was open onto the garden was obscured. A highwayman in skirts with panniers stood in the room against the light. It said:
“You’re the saleswoman, I guess. This is a most insanitary place and I hear you have no bath. Show me some things. In the Louie Kaators style.” It guessed that it was going to re-furnish Groby in Louie Kaators style. Did she, Valentine, as saleswoman suppose that They — her employers — would meet her in the expense. Mr. Pape had had serious losses in Miami. They must not suppose that the Papes could be bled white. This place ought to be pulled down as unfit for human habitation and a model workman’s cottage built in its place. People who sold things to rich Americans in this country were sharks. She herself was descended spiritually from Madame de Maintenon. It would be all different if Marie Antoinette had treated the Maintenon better, She, Mrs. de Bray Pape, would have the authority in the country that she ought to have. She had been told that she would be made to pay an immense sum for having cut down Groby Great Tree. Of course the side wall of the house had fallen in. These old houses could not stand up to modern inventions. She, Mrs. de Bray Pape, had employed the latest Australian form of tree-stump extractor — the Wee Whizz Bang…. But did she, as saleswoman, doubtless more intimate with her employers than was necessary, considering the reputation of that establishment… did she consider…
Valentine’s heart started. The light from the doorway was again obscured. Marie Leonie ran panting in. Sister Anne, in effect! She said: “Le telephone! Vite!”
Valentine said:
“J’ai deja telephone…. Le docteur sera ici dans quelques minutes…. Je te prie de rester a cote de moi!”… “I beg you to remain beside me!” Selfish! Selfish! But there was a child to be born…. Anyhow Marie Leonie could not have got out of that door. It was blocked…. Ah!…
Sylvia was looking down on Valentine. You could hardly see her face against the light…. Well, it did not amount to more than that…. She was looking down because she was so tall; you could not see her face against the light. Mrs. de Bray Pape was explaining what spiritual descent from
Sylvia was bending her eyes on Valentine. That was the phrase. She said to Mrs. de Bray Pape:
“For God’s sake hold your
Mrs. de Bray Pape had not understood. For the matter of that neither did Valentine take it in. A thin voice from a distance thrilled:
“Mother!… Mo… ther!”
She — IT — for it was more like a statue than a human being…. Marvellous how she had made her face up…. Three minutes before it had been all… be-blubbered! It was flawless now — Dark-shadowed under the eyes. And sorrowful. And tremendously dignified. And
It occurred to Valentine that this was only the second time that she had seen that face.
Its stillness now was terrible!
What was she waiting for before she began upon the Billingsgate they would both have to use before they parted? For she, Valentine, had her back against the wall. She heard herself begin to say:
“You have spoilt…”
She could not continue. You cannot very well tell a person that their loathsomeness is so infectious as to spoil your baby’s bathing place. It is not done!
Marie Leonie said in French to Mrs. de Bray Pape that Madame Tietjens did not require her presence. Mrs. de Bray Pape did not understand. It is difficult for a Maintenon to understand that her presence is not required.
The first time that she, Valentine, had seen that face — in Edith Ethel’s drawing room, she had thought how kind — how blindingly kind it was. Those lips had approached her mother’s cheeks and the tears had been in Valentine’s eyes. It had said — that face of a statue — that it must kiss Mrs. Wannop for her kindness to Christopher. Damn it all, she might as well kiss her, Valentine now. But for her there would have been no Christopher.
It said — that woman’s voice was so perfectly expressionless that you could continue appropriately to call it
