Latter End (3 page)

Antony blew another cloud of smoke.

“A very nice womanly occupation, darling.”

His glance travelled to the hands which lay in the lap of Julia’s old red smock. An ink-smudge not quite washed out made a blue shadow on the right forefinger. The nails, most beautifully shaped, were innocent of stain or varnish. The hands were innocent of rings. They were as nature had made them, and nature had made them well. They were not small, and they were not white, but they were very beautiful hands.

Antony said “No!” with great suddenness and explosive force.

“No what?”

“I forgot about your hands. Let all the women with hideous magenta nails go and be scullions—it would do ’em good! You’ve got the second—no, the third—most beautiful hands in Europe. The other two are on statues. And if you don’t take care of them, you’ll find yourself in the special hell reserved for people who destroy works of art.”

Julia said what she had never thought of saying.

“What a pity my face doesn’t match.” The words just came out of her mouth and left her feeling as if she had opened a door and let something escape.

Antony shook his head.

“You’d find it very inconvenient, darling—you’d probably get mobbed in the streets. Leave classic perfection to the museums. You wouldn’t be comfortable on a cold white pedestal. Let’s get back to business. When did you say you were going down to Latter End?”

“I didn’t say. I haven’t made up my mind.”

“What about going down with me on Friday?”

She was silent for a moment. Her cigarette ash dropped. She brushed it away with an impatient gesture and said,

“I suppose I could. I haven’t broken it to Lois yet.”

“Will it need breaking?”

She nodded.

“Yes, it will. I don’t generally stay there.” She was saying more than she meant to. “As a matter of fact I haven’t stayed there since Jimmy married her. We don’t—” she paused— “love each other very much.”

“You surprise me.”

He got a smouldering glance. She leaned forward and flung what was left of her cigarette into the fireplace, holding it like a dart and putting an extraordinary energy into the action.

“Do I? Very well then, you can have it straight! I hate her like poison!”

Ellie Street was laying the table for dinner. Because Antony and Julia were coming down she had taken extra pains with everything. The flowers were lovely in that old glass épergne—much prettier than silver—and everything had been polished until it shone. The bother was that she couldn’t polish herself. The Dutch mirror between Jimmy’s great-grandfather in a stock and his great-grandmother in a primrose satin Empire dress with a turquoise fillet in her hair showed her a very unsparing reflection of Ellie Street— washed-out cotton frock; washed-out, pinched little face without a scrap of bloom or colour; fair hair gone flat and mousy; poking shoulders; a step without spring. No wonder Ronnie watched his pretty nurse.

She must hurry up and get finished here, change into something decent, and do things to her face before Julia came. The bother was that she was too tired to care. The ten miles into Crampton and back just about finished her, but the buses didn’t fit, and she had to see Ronnie. Well, she had finished here, now, and there would be time to sit quite still for twenty minutes before she need dress. She stood back for a last look at the table.

There was a step in the passage and Lois came in.

“Oh—have you finished? I hope you polished the silver. It hasn’t been looking as it should.”

“Yes, I’ve polished it.” Ellie’s voice dragged.

Two years ago she had been a pretty, fragile girl with the prettiness, the porcelain tints, and the fragility of a Dresden figure. It is not a type of looks to resist fatigue and strain indefinitely. If the Dutch mirror had not flattered her, neither had it borne false witness. She was just the ghost of Ellie Vane as she fixed her tired blue eyes on Lois’ face and said,

“Yes, I’ve polished it.”

“Well, those spoons could do with another rub. And—oh, didn’t I tell you to use the big silver bowl for the flowers? Jimmy likes it.”

Ellie went on looking at her. At last she said,

“Lois, do you mind very much about the bowl? I don’t think I’ve got time to do the flowers again.” Her voice was like herself, gentle and very tired.

Lois’ delicate dark eyebrows rose.

“I should have thought you would be glad to do something for Jimmy. After all”—the pretty laugh rippled out—“he’s done a good deal for you and Julia. But of course if it’s too much trouble—” She walked over to the table and stood there pulling Ellie’s flowers about, spoiling them, scattering drops of water on the polished table.

Julia would have given battle. Ellie only looked, and said in an extinguished voice,

“I’ll do them again. Please, Lois—you’re splashing the table.”

When she went through into the pantry to get the silver bowl Mrs. Maniple was there.

“What is it, dearie? Aren’t you through? What you want is a good lay-down for half an hour before they come. You’ve just about got time.”

Kind old Manny. Ellie smiled at her gratefully. She must be quite old, because she remembered Jimmy being born, but she never looked any different or seemed any older than when Ellie and Julia used to slip into the kitchen for raisins and new hot jam, currant babies, and sugar mice. Manny made the most enchanting sugar mice, pink and green, with chocolate eyes. At five years old, a sugar mouse is heaven.

Mrs. Maniple put a fat arm round her shoulders.

“You run along up, my dear, and get yourself off your feet.”

“I can’t, Manny. Mrs. Latter wants the flowers in the silver bowl, and it will have to be cleaned. It hasn’t been used for months.”

The arm stiffened. Ellie stepped away.

“It’s no good, Manny.”

Mrs. Maniple held her tongue. If she couldn’t do anything else for Miss Ellie she could do that. The red-apple colour in her large, firm cheeks deepened to plum. She jerked her head over a billowing shoulder and called sharply,

“Polly! You come here!”

Then she took the bowl out of Ellie’s hands.

“Go on up with you, my dear. Polly’ll see to this, and I’ll see she does it proper. I’ll put the flowers in myself, and if they’re not right, you can coax ’em when you come down. And you take and put some colour in your cheeks, or Miss Julia’ll have my life.” Her jolly laugh followed Ellie along the passage.

She went up the back stairs because it was quicker. Manny was an angel. Something like a laugh came and went. Because she had said that to Antony once, and he had drawn a wicked picture of Manny in a stained-glass window with a voluminous nightgown bulging over her curves, and enormously strong wings just failing to hold her up.

She was going into her room, when Minnie called her. Minnie had the room which had been Miss Smithers’, and Ellie the one she had shared with Julia for as long as she could remember.

She pushed open the door and went in. Minnie Mercer was standing by the dressing-table doing up the brooch which had been her twenty-first birthday present from her parents, nearly thirty years ago. It had a monogram of two M’s intertwined in seed pearls, and the pearls were not quite so white as they used to be. It was her best brooch, and she was wearing her best dress in honour of Julia and Antony. It wasn’t quite so old as the brooch, and it had been very carefully preserved, but it had seen the war come in, and it had seen it go out. It could never have been what Minnie herself called “stylish,” and the rather bright blue colour was no kinder to the little thin face than was the skimpy make to the little thin body. But it was her best dress, and she took an innocent pride in it.

As she turned round, a thought like a long sharp pin ran into Ellie’s mind—“That’s what I’m going to look like. I’m getting to look like it now. Oh, Ronnie!” Because thirty years ago Minnie Mercer had been “pretty Minnie Mercer,” or, “That pretty daughter of Dr. Mercer’s.” The features were still there, only so pinched and lined. The fair hair was still there, quite a lot of it. It would have been pretty, still, if it had been properly set and done. It wasn’t grey even now, just limp and colourless. What neither the years nor anything else had taken or could take away was the sweetness of Minnie’s smile and the kindness in her eyes. They had once been forget-me-not blue, and that was gone. But the kindness would never go. It was there, very quick and sweet, as she said,

“Ellie darling, how tired you look. Sit down and tell me about Ronnie. How did you find him?”

Ellie let herself down into the easy chair.

“He’s about the same. He won’t get any better there—Matron says so. I’m going to speak to Jimmy tomorrow.”

“He is so kind,” said Minnie, but she looked away. “I wonder whether—you don’t mind my saying this, do you, dear—I just wonder whether it wouldn’t be better to speak to Mrs. Latter first.”

Lois was “Mrs. Latter” to Minnie Mercer, but Lois called her “Minnie”—a small matter but significant, setting them in their places as Jimmy’s wife and Jimmy’s humble dependent. It was one of those things for which Julia hated Lois. It left Minnie untouched on her own secure ground of humility.

Ellie wrinkled her brow. She was getting into the way of it. She was only twenty-four, but already a faint line marked the fair skin. She said,

“What’s the use?”

“It might be better.”

There was a brief silence. Minnie turned back to the dressing-table and began to put things straight—the comb, the brush, the mirror, which had been presents from Mrs. Vane.

From behind her, Ellie’s voice dragged wearily.

“She’d only say no. But if I got at Jimmy first, he might— he might—” The words petered out. No one who knew Jimmy Latter could really believe that he would hold out against Lois. He would say yes and mean it—it was always much easier for Jimmy to say yes than no. But that cut both ways, and he would find it quite impossible not to say yes to Lois, who would certainly produce a dozen excellent reasons for not giving houseroom to Ronnie Street.

Minnie turned back.

“Don’t worry about it now, dear. There’s a little thing I wondered whether you would do for me—”

“Of course. What is it?”

Minnie was looking troubled.

“Well, dear—it was so stupid of me—but I came over a little faint when I was at the Vicarage work-party this afternoon… Oh, it was nothing—nothing at all, but Mrs. Lethbridge—you know how kind she is—well, she did say something about ringing Mrs. Latter up, and of course, dear, it wouldn’t do at all. I did my very best, but you know how she is—so kind but not very tactful—and I’m really afraid— I wondered, dear, if you would ring her up and beg her not to. She was going over to see Miss Green, but she will be back by now. You could say I was quite myself again.”

“Yes, I’ll do it at once. She mustn’t ring up—it would make the worst sort of fuss.”

Ellie felt quite appalled at the prospect. She ran down the stairs, but as she approached the half-open study door she discovered with a sinking heart that she was already too late. Lois’ sweet, high voice was plainly audible.

“She fainted right away? My dear Mrs. Lethbridge—how trying for you! I’m so sorry… Yes, I know—she will do too much, and then she gets these nervous turns. Nothing to worry about of course, but—it’s most kind of you to let me know… I’ll do what I can—she’s a very obstinate person, you know.” A light laugh to soften this. “I’m afraid you’ll have to let her off these work-parties. I shall have to be strict about that. As you say, good people are scarce—we must take care of her. Thank you so much for letting me know.”

Ellie heard the click of the receiver. She gave a little start, turned round, and ran upstairs again. She was panting when she came into Minnie’s room.

“Ellie, darling!”

“Min, I was too late. Lois was there—talking—”

“To Mrs. Lethbridge?”

Ellie nodded.

Minnie gave a very small sigh.

“Well, it can’t be helped. My dear, you shouldn’t have run—you are quite out of breath.”

“It’s nothing—it doesn’t matter. Min, you should have heard her! ‘Good people are scarce—we must take care of her!’ What Julia calls her honey-snake voice. And—oh, Min, she said Mrs. Lethbridge mustn’t count on you for the work-parties any more. But you’ll fight that, won’t you? It’s just the one pleasure you’ve got.”

Minnie stood quite still. After a moment she said,

“I’m not very good at fighting, my dear. And it upsets the house, and I wouldn’t want to do that.”

Jimmy’s name wasn’t mentioned, but it was there in both their thoughts. It was Jimmy who mustn’t be upset. Minnie would do anything and bear anything to prevent that. They both knew it, but today for the first time Ellie stopped finding it a matter of course. “She feels like I do about Ronnie.” The idea just went through her mind and was gone. She didn’t stop to think about it then, but it had changed something. She wouldn’t ever quite take Minnie for granted again. She had been there for so long, they were all so used to her being devoted to them, that the quality of that devotion had never been questioned. Ellie had begun to question it.

She saw Minnie smile in her patient way.

“You must dress, my dear. I’ll come and help you. We won’t think of anything unpleasant tonight, with Antony and Julia coming. Such a pleasure! Why, we ought to be quite gay—”

As they crossed into Ellie’s room, she went on talking.

“You can’t think how pleased I am that Julia is coming here at last. It has been very, very kind of Mrs. Lethbridge to put her up when she came down to see you, but it has made a good deal of talk—her not staying here, I mean. And I am sure it has distressed your brother and—and Mrs. Latter. You’ll wear your blue—won’t you?”

Ellie said, “Yes.”

She hung up the cotton frock and slipped into the blue crepe-de-chine. It went on only too easily.

“Fluff up your hair and put on a little colour, my dear. You don’t want Julia to see you looking pale.”

Ellie was rubbing cream into her face, with a towel round her shoulders. She ought to have done it first before she put on her dress. She couldn’t bother to take it off now. That was the way it went—you scrambled into your clothes and scrambled out of them again. There was no time to do anything properly. This was the last of her face-cream. She took up the powder puff and said,

“If Julia has a row with Lois—Min, I’m just terrified she will.”

“Oh, my dear, she wouldn’t do that!”

Ellie said in a despairing voice, “She might.”

“Oh, no!”

“She might want to have one.”

Minnie gave a little gasp.

“No one could want to have a quarrel!”

“Julia could.”

“Oh, my dear, why?”

“To blow things up. Julia’s like that—you know she is. And she hates Lois like poison.”

In the mirror she could see Minnie standing there just behind her. She looked almost as if she might be going to faint again. She said in a low, shaken voice,

“Hating is poison.”