She removed the tray, and replaced it by the portfolio which was to serve as a writing-desk on the bed. It was always marvellous to Elsie to see the ease with which her master wrote. She admired. And she was almost happy because she had resolved to smile cheerfully and give in to him and do the best she could for him on his own lines and be an angel.
“Shall I read you what I’ve written?” he suggested, with a sudden upward glance.
“Oh, sir!”
The astounding, the incredible flattery overthrew her completely. He would read to her what he had written to the mistress, doubtless for her approval. She blushed.
“ ‘My dear Wife—
As you may guess, I am torn with anxiety about you. It was a severe shock when Elsie told me the doctor had taken you off to the hospital without a moment’s delay. However, I know you are very brave and have an excellent constitution, and I feel sure that before a week is out you will be feeling better than you have done for months. And, of course, the hospital is a very good one, one of the best in London, if not the best. It has been established for nearly eight hundred years. If it was only to be under the same roof as you I should have come to the hospital myself today, but I feel so much better that really it is not necessary, and I feel sure that if you were here to see me you would agree with me. There is the business to be thought of. I am glad to say that Elsie is looking after me splendidly, but, of course, that does not surprise me. Now, my dear Violet, you must get better quickly for my sake as well as your own. Be of good courage and do not worry about me. My little illness is nothing. It is your illness that has made me realize that.
He read the letter in a calm and even but weak voice, addressed the envelope, and then lay back on the pillows. (He was now—since he had made the bed—using Violet’s pillow as well as his own.) He did not finish his food. He left Elsie to fold the letter, stick it in the envelope, and lick and fasten the envelope. She did these things with a sense of the honour bestowed upon her. It was a wonderful letter, and he had written it right off. No hesitation. And it was so nice and thoughtful; and how it explained everything. She had to believe for a moment that her master really was better. The expressions about herself touched her deeply, and yet somehow she would have preferred them not to be there. What touched her most, however, was the mere thought of the fact that once, and not so long ago either, her master had been a solitary single man, never troubling himself about women and no prospect of such; and here he was wrapped up in one, and everything so respectable and nice. … But he was very ill. His lips and cheeks were awful. Elsie recalled vividly the full rich red lips he once had.
She had moved away from the bed, taking the basin and putting it on the chest of drawers. The contents of her master’s pockets were on the chest of drawers, where he laid them every night, in order better to fold his carefully creased clothes.
“I do fancy I haven’t got any money,” she said diffidently, after a little while.
“Why, it isn’t your wages day—you don’t mean?”
“Oh, no, sir.”
She had deposited nearly all her cash in the Post Office Savings Bank during her afternoon out, and the bit kept in hand had gone to pay for the unused taxi.
“Why, Elsie! You must be a rich woman,” said Mr. Earlforward. “What with your wages and your pension!” He spoke without looking at her, in a rather dreamy tone, but certainly interested.
“Well, sir,” Elsie replied, “it’s like this. I give my pension to my mother. She’s a widow, same as me, and she can’t fend for herself.”
“All of it? Your mother?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How much is your pension?”
“Twenty-eight shillings and elevenpence a week, sir.”
“Well, well.” Mr. Earlforward said no more. He had often thought about her war pension, but never about any possible mother or other relative. He had never heard mention of her mother. He thought how odd it was that for years she had been giving away a whole pension and nobody knew about it in Riceyman Steps.
“Could you let me have sixpence, sir?” Elsie meekly asked, coming to the point of her remark concerning money.
“Sixpence? What do you want sixpence for? You surely aren’t thinking of buying food tonight!” Mr. Earlforward, who had been lying on his right side, turned with a nervous movement on to his back and frowned at Elsie.
“I wanted it to give to Mrs. Perkins’s boy in the Square to take your letter down to missis at the hospital.” In spite of herself she felt guilty of a betrayal of Mr. Earlforward’s financial interests.
“What next?” he said firmly. “You must run down with it yourself. Won’t take you long. I shall be all right.”
“I don’t like leaving you, sir. That’s all.”
“You get off with it at once, my girl.”
She was reduced to the servant again, she who had just been at the high level of a confidante. The invalid turned again to his right side and pushed his nose into the pillow, shutting his eyes to indicate that he had had enough of words and desired to sleep. His keys were on the chest of drawers and several other things, including three toothpicks, but not money. He seldom went to bed with money in his pockets.
Elsie, with a swift gesture, silently picked up the bunch of keys and left the room,
