When two outgoing customers squeezed themselves between Elsie and a pile of cheeses, and her turn came to be served, Elsie suddenly discovered that she could not straight away execute Mr. Earlforward’s command. She had a feeling that shops did not exist in order to supply telephone accommodation gratis to non-customers, and she was simply unable to articulate the request; nor did the extreme seriousness of the case inspire her to boldness. She asked for a quarter of a pound of cheese, and was immediately requested to name any cheese that she might fancy, the implication being that no matter what her fancy it could and would be satisfied on the most advantageous terms.
Now Elsie did not want any cheese; she wanted nothing at all. Mrs. Earlforward, before vanishing into the hospital, had bought for the master a generous supply of invalid foods, which, for the most part refused by the obstinate master, would suffice Joe for several days, and of all such eatables as Belrose’s sold Elsie had in hand enough also for several days.
She said “Cheddar,” reacting quite mechanically to the question put; and then she was confronted with another problem. She had no money, not a penny. It would be necessary for her to say, “I must run back for some money,” and having said that to return and somehow manoeuvre Mr. Earlforward’s keys off the chest of drawers and rifle the safe once more. And already he was suspicious! How could she do it? She could not do it. But she must do it. She saw the cheese weighed and slipped into a piece of paper. The moment of trial was upon her.
Then the back door of the shop opened—she recognized the old peculiar, familiar sound of the latch—and a third enormous, white-clad, golden-haired, jolly, youngish woman appeared in the doorway. This was Mrs. Belrose herself, and you at once saw, and even felt, that her authority exceeded the authority of her sister and her sister-in-law. Mrs. Belrose was a ruler. As soon as she saw Elsie her gigantic face softened into a very gentle smile of compassion, a smile that conveyed nothing but compassion, excluding all jollity. She raised a stout finger and without a word beckoned Elsie into the back room and shut the door. The ancient kitchen-parlour was greatly changed. It was less clean than Elsie had left it, but it glittered with light. More cheeses! And in the corner by the mantelpiece was the telephone. And through the window Elsie saw an oldish, thin little man moving about in the yard with a lantern against a newly erected shed. Still more cheeses—seemingly as many cheeses as Mr. Earlforward possessed books! The oldish man was Mr. Belrose, guardian and overlord of the three women, and original instigator of this singular wholesale trade in cheeses which he had caused to prosper despite the perfect unsuitability of his premises and other difficulties. Individuality and initiative had triumphed. People asked one another how the Belroses had contrived to build up such a strange success, but they had only to look at the mien and gestures of the Belroses to find the answer to the question.
“How are you getting on, my dear?” demanded Mrs. Belrose, who had scarcely spoken to Elsie in her life before.
“Master wished me to ask you if you’d mind telephoning to the hospital, ’m,” said Elsie, after she had given some details.
“Of course I will. With the greatest pleasure.”
Mrs. Belrose grabbed at the tattered telephone-book, and whetting her greasy thumb whipped over the pages rapidly.
“Where’s them Saints now? Oh! ‘Saintsbury’s.’ ‘Saint.’ ‘St. Bartholomew’s Football and Cricket Ground.’ I expect that’s for the doctors and students. ‘St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.’ This is it. Here we are. City 510. … Oh, dear! oh, dear! ‘No telephone information given respecting patients.’ Oh, dear, oh, dear!” She looked at Elsie. “Never mind,” she went on brightly. “We can get over that, I should think.”
She obtained the number and got into communication with the reception office of the hospital.
“I want you to be kind enough to give a message to Mrs. Violet Earlforward from her husband. She’s in your hospital for an operation. … Oh, but you must, please. He’s very ill. But he’s a bit better, and it will do Mrs. Earlforward ever so much good to know. … Oh, please! Yes, I know, but they can’t send anyone down. Oh, you don’t count rules when it’s urgent. It might be life and death. But you can telephone up to the ward. You’re starred, so you must have a private exchange. Oh, yes. To oblige. Yes, Earlforward, Violet. And you might just ask how she is while you’re about it. You are good.”
She held the line and waited, sitting down on a chair to rest herself. And to Elsie:
“They’re very nice, really, at those hospitals, once you get on the right side of them. I suppose you’ve got about all you can do?”
“Well, there isn’t much nursing, and the shop’s closed.”
“Oh, yes, and the Steps do look so queer with it closed. Somehow it makes it look like Sunday. Doctor has been today, I suppose?”
“Yes, ’m. This morning,” said Elsie, and stopped there, not caring to divulge the secret of Mr. Earlforward’s insane obstinacy.
“Yes. I’m here. I’m listening. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! She’s—Oh, dear! Owing to what? ‘Under—nourishment’? … He’s rung off.”
Mrs. Belrose sniffed as she hung up the receiver.
“Oh, Elsie! Your poor mistress has died under it. She died about half an hour ago. According to what they say, she might have pulled through, but she hadn’t strength to rally owing to—undernourishment. … Well, I’m that cut up!”
