The golden straw, p.7
The Golden Straw, page 7
‘Don’t talk silly, girl. You know as well as he does that it’s just a matter of time. Look, pull up a chair and sit down; there’s something I want to say to you. I know I haven’t said it to you before, it’s something new.’
‘Well, that’ll be a change.’
Emily drew the chair to the bedside; and now Mrs Arkwright said, ‘And I don’t want to be interrupted or any tut-tuts, or such. Now I’ll begin. It’s like this. I know that when I’m gone you’ll miss me’—the pressure on Emily’s hand tightened for a moment—‘and your whole way of life will change. Oh, you’ll still run the business, but there’ll be a gap in it, the gap left by me. Now, as you seem determined that you’re not going to think along the lines I’ve suggested with regard to a certain person, you’ll be very much on your own and wide open to sharp suitors. The world being what it is, they’ll consider your looks and your position as just a bit of interest on the main deal. Well, it’s like this. I’ve been asking myself for the last three days why I should dream every night about Nice: I can always see us arriving there, then driving in the carriage for some miles along that beach road until we reached the hotel. It was just a large country house. I recall they didn’t like the name of the hotel. Apparently it had belonged to the one family for years right up to the revolution, when, as the story goes, it was stripped. But later, one of the younger sons returned and restored it. And it has passed through the hands of his family ever since. But there I am again in this dream, and I’m recalling the feeling that I had on my first sight of the place: the broad white steps leading up to the long verandah; the white-painted shutters, some partly covered with a tangle of green from branches of a huge creeper; then the gardens sloping away down to a beach with white-filled waves running up it. Everything seemed to be white or green and the sea was green.
‘Well’—she turned to look at Emily—‘it was as real as on that first day when I glimpsed it. But what is strange is that although they were the happiest four weeks of my life, and I’ve thought about it again and again over the years, I have never before dreamt about it. The first night I dreamt about it and I woke up excited, but wondered why I hadn’t seen Oscar there, or Miss May, or the Major. No, it was just the house and the garden and the sea. But then in the second dream I saw people moving about, always in twos. Then, last night, the dream was very vivid. At first the sun was blazing down and I couldn’t see anything; I knew only that the house was there, and the garden, and the sea. Then the sun went in and I saw the place. It looked the same, yet it was different: the shutters were no longer white, they were painted green, as was the verandah; only the steps leading up to it were white. And for the first time I went inside and I felt a chill on me. And then’—she smiled now—‘I saw Oscar. He was just as he had been all those years ago, and he came hurrying towards me and took me in his arms, and then immediately looked about him and said, “Where’s Emily?” Her head was moving slowly now. ‘Yes, that’s what he said to me, “Where’s Emily?” And you know what I said? I said, “She’s coming on the next boat. She should be here tomorrow.” Then I woke up.’
They sat staring at each other for quite some time until Mrs Arkwright said, ‘Now, what d’you make of that?’
‘I don’t know what to say, only that it’s strange that after all this long time you should dream of that place.’
‘Yes, that’s what I thought, too. And it’s as if it were telling me something. After I woke up this morning I lay thinking for a long time, and now I’m going to ask you something, and it’s something you can do for me, and which is not going to hurt you or stir you up. Now, when the time comes, when you’re alone, would you think about taking a little holiday there? I’ve got this feeling strong on me that I want you to see it. Ah. Ah.’ She held up a warning finger. ‘Don’t say that you couldn’t travel alone. Women are doing it all the time now: they’re visiting Africa, India, even Timbuktu.’
‘I wasn’t going to say any such thing. Don’t I travel alone now, all over London?’
‘Oh, that’s different, dear; you see, once you cross the Channel it’s a different prospect. And anyway, as you know, a real young lady must always have a chaperone, whether male or female.’
‘Well, I’m not a real young lady, am I?’
‘You know what I mean, and don’t you start twisting my words. But will you do as I ask?’
‘Yes, my dear. Some time in the future, I’ll do as you ask, because, you know, quite candidly I’ve been intrigued by that place since you first told me about it.’
‘Yes, but you’ll travel as a missis, won’t you?’
‘Oh! Oh! You want me to do that as well?’ Emily pulled a face at her. ‘You think, then, I wouldn’t get as many hawks after me as if I went as a pure young thing?’
‘Very likely. But in that case they’d be looking not only for money and looks, but also for virginity.’
When Emily rose quickly from her chair, saying, ‘Oh, you are a terrible woman, you know,’ Mrs Arkwright said, ‘Oh, don’t act so shocked.’
‘I’m not acting, I am shocked.’
‘Yes, of course you are, about as shocked as Steve Montane would be if I came out with something like that.’
‘How do you know his Christian name?’
‘He told me it, and I think it suits him. And I’ll tell you something else, madam: lately, I’ve wished I was young again because he’s the only man I’d put in Oscar’s place. Now there, put that in your pipe and take long draws on it. It’ll give you something to think about.’
‘Yes, indeed, indeed.’
‘And by the way, if I’m not going to have a drop of what I know will do me good, then do you think I could have a cup of tea, because I’m not going to sleep or doze?’
On her way out of the room now, Emily said curtly, ‘I’ll see about it; that’s if I have time.’
Esther was coming down the hall stairs and, seeing Emily crossing the hall, she took the last four at a run. ‘D’you think you can spare a minute, miss?’ she quietly called to her; ‘we’ve got a new customer up above. She’s the one Mrs Darcy recommended, you know. And Mrs Darcy mustn’t have explained the rules to her. The price is stated, and that’s that. She wouldn’t get that costume for that amount anywhere else. She’s complaining that there’s only one overskirt and the fashion now is at least two, if not three.’
‘I’ll be up in a minute. I’m just going to see about a cup of tea for Madam,’ Emily said, and her tone prompted Esther to put her hand on her arm, saying, ‘You all right? You look so tired. You’ll crack up next and then where will we be? You’ve never had a break for weeks. Why don’t you get a nurse in? And it’s not helping you, is it, lying on that couch next to her at nights?’
‘I’m all right, Esther.’
‘Well, my eyes must be deceiving me, because you don’t look all right. What you want is a holiday, and a good one at that. I’ve got to say it: when this is all over you must get yourself away. You know me, I can see to things, except ones like that.’ She jerked her head backwards. ‘I could have managed her, but she demanded to see somebody in charge…the young woman, as she said, not “the young lady”. That’s the type she is.’
‘I’ll be with you in a minute,’ Emily said and made for the kitchen but then turned again as Esther was about to mount the stairs and said, ‘Look, Esther, just you go up there and tell her that the young woman is unable to see her, and that she has authorised you to tell her that this particular costume has been withdrawn from sale. Then finish up by saying, “Good day, madam.” See how that works.’
‘I’ll do that. I’ll do that, those very words.’
Emily now made her way to the door leading down to the basement kitchen. It was at the end of a short passage and sheltered by the overhead staircase; however, she didn’t open the door, but put her forearm against the stanchion of the door and leant her head on it.
A holiday. Yes, a holiday. But she’d be thankful now for just some quiet place, with not a soul in sight, where she could sleep unbroken sleep for eight, ten, twelve hours. She could not remember ever having felt so tired and exhausted as she did now, and if another person were to tell her that she looked pale and tired and that she needed a holiday, she would cry on their shoulder …
She did not exactly cry on his shoulder when, on the following day, Steve Montane stood in the hall with her and said, ‘I’m going to say this, and to you it might sound callous and in character with me, but the sooner she goes, the better it will be for you. This is the fourth attack she’s had in six months. I’m surprised she’s still here. But the next one will surely take her, and then we’ll have to see to you, if we haven’t already. You should have put your foot down about having a nurse in, even two. She’s got the money, so there’s no excuse, only selfishness. Oh yes, like all the old, she’s got her share of that, and she’s sucked you dry. Oh yes, she has. Yes, she has, so don’t you argue with me about that!’ And she had to admonish herself: Don’t cry. For God’s sake, don’t cry. That would be the last straw, in front of him. And don’t go for him, because he’s right. In this he’s right.
His next words, however, almost sent her into a paroxysm of laughter that would surely have ended up in hysteria had she given way to it. ‘What you want to do now,’ he was saying, ‘is to go into your room, throw yourself on the bed and have a damn good cry, wallow in it.’
When her hand went to her mouth he smiled and said, ‘Well, you’re laughing, and that’s something. Keep it up as long as you can, but don’t let it run into hysteria.’ And with this he turned and went out, leaving her gaping after him.
He would have been surprised if he had witnessed what she did next, for she went to her room, not to throw herself onto her bed, but to sit near its head and lay her face on the pillow. And she asked herself how it was that he managed to see through her. Was that why she disliked him so much? But then, the feeling wasn’t really out of dislike, because he had proved himself to be a kind and thoughtful man, where his profession was concerned. But it was that tongue of his that seemed to be bent on putting her in the wrong. He never seemed to make an effort to get on the right side of her, always the reverse. Oh, what did it matter? But again she must admit he was right about the nursing: she should have stood out at the beginning. But then, would she have wanted anyone to look after her friend? No, no, because she owed her so much, and she was needed; and it wasn’t to be dismissed lightly, to be needed.
She brought herself up from the pillow and sat looking across the room, her thoughts ranging from one thing to another, then culminating in a statement that seemed to encompass her life. She had always wanted to be needed. It seemed to be the most important thing in life, greater even than wanting to be loved. When you were needed you were giving of yourself, whereas wanting to be loved, you were taking. Could there be a combination of the two? Her mind told her that would be too much to ask; such partnerships rarely came about. There couldn’t be many Mrs Disraelis, or Queen Victorias…and yet…and yet.
Oh dear! Oh dear! She must get up, and out, and see to the business, or else she would really do what he had prophesied. She almost sprang away from the bed now and made for the door, muttering, ‘That man!’
Five
Mabel Arkwright lingered on until the end of November, 1879. She died at six o’clock on a Sunday morning during a severe attack of pain that morphia could not abate.
Emily was alone with her: she held her in her arms until the body went limp, when she laid her back on the pillows and, taking the lifeless hand in hers, brought it to her cheek as she whispered, ‘Oh, my dear, dear friend, rest easy, no more pain, and wherever you are, wherever you’re going, you know you take with you my love and deep thanks for all you have done for me.’
She crossed the hands on the breast, but did not cover the face: and saw no reason for this, for it looked more peaceful and relaxed than she had ever before seen it.
As she turned to leave the room, she wondered why she wasn’t crying. But she felt no need to cry at this moment. There was no feeling of emotion in her that warranted tears. She did not know why, she knew only that she just did not want to cry.
She went through the doorway leading into the business house, and so came into the hall. From there she went up the stairs to the attics and the staff quarters and, tapping on a door, called, ‘Esther! Esther!’
‘Yes? Yes, I’m up. Come in.’
Esther was just putting on her dressing gown, and Emily said quietly, ‘I’d get into your clothes, Esther, and take a cab and fetch Doctor Montane.’
‘She’s worse?’
‘She’s gone.’
‘Ah. Ah, no…But what am I saying? We’ve been expecting it for days. And now, poor soul, she’ll be out of her misery…You all right?’
‘Yes, Esther, I’m all right.’
‘I won’t be a couple of shakes getting dressed…Was it easy? I mean, her going.’
‘No, I wouldn’t say it was easy.’
‘Poor soul. Now…now, don’t you do anything more.’ And Esther carried on talking as she pulled on a pair of fleecy-lined bloomers that fell well below her knees. ‘Cook and me will see to what has to be done,’ she was saying. ‘I know all about it. I helped me mum lay out me dad. Then shortly after I laid her out meself. So just leave that end of it to me, will you?’
‘Yes. Yes, Esther, and gladly.’
On the landing again, she turned up the gas mantle that was covered by a filled-bottom pink-glass globe; and when she reached the hall she repeated the operation on the two bracket gas lamps that were affixed to the wall on each side of the main door. Then she went downstairs to arouse Cook, whose room was in the basement and whose duties did not begin until half past six on a Sunday. But she found her up already and the kettle boiling, and when informed of what had happened to her mistress she said frankly, ‘Well, I’m glad for your sake, miss, for you’d be the next one that would need the doctor. It would kill a horse what’s been expected of you these past months.’
When she returned to the hall, there to see Esther turning down the gas lamps, she said, ‘Why are you doing that, Esther? I’ve just turned them up.’
‘Oh. Oh, miss, it isn’t respectful to have them full blazing with a death in the house.’
‘Esther, turn them up again. That’s how she would have liked them. And once she leaves here the blinds will be pulled right up. It was her wish.’
‘Well…well, I’ll say this: she was good in many ways, but she had her oddities about her. And mind, it’ll cause some talk in the street, because some folk keep the blinds at half-mast for a month.’
‘As she herself would say, Esther, we are not some people, but indeed a bunch of oddities, as you say.’
With a slight shrug of her shoulders, Esther said, ‘As I’ll have to walk to the main road to pick up a cab, I might as well walk the whole distance to his house. Anyway, I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘Thanks, Esther.’
She had her ‘oddities’ about her. Yes, indeed, Esther was right: Mrs Mabel Arkwright had had a lot of oddities about her, but they were always kind oddities. You could even say advanced oddities, because only last week she had said to her, ‘Mind, when I go, don’t you put the house in mourning. I know I’m on about them all wasting gas, but it’s got to be done in some quarters, else they would ruin you. As for myself, as you know, I always like brightness both in hats and houses, and so do me the favour of letting me lie in light. And I don’t want any black drapes on the doors or windows, nor plumes on the horses. And as soon as I’m out of the front door, pull up the blinds.’
She had replied to her, ‘Oh, be quiet, woman! You’re getting morbid.’ And to this Mabel had answered, ‘Morbid? I would say I was just the opposite. And there’ll come a time when many will say the same. There’s changes coming, you mark my words. But they won’t be given their sway until the old girl at the top takes the same road as I’m going on shortly.’ The words, in this instance, were not lightly said, but with enough apparent lightness to cause Emily to chuckle and cap with, ‘A few years back, you know, you would have ended up in the Tower; and the Queen’s no age yet.’
‘No, but some of her ideas are. Of course I understand her: she’s never got over Albert, for the simple reason she hasn’t had to work for her living. I got over Oscar because I had to.’
Emily now went into the drawing room, and there she put a match to the three gas mantles in the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Then she took the bellows and blew on the dying embers of the fire. Following this, she sat down in an easy chair to the side of the fireplace and looked across to the one opposite, where, of an evening, her friend and benefactress would sit, relating some story of a client, and here and there dropping a private secret about a covered-up scandal in a well-known family, at times shuffling to the edge of her seat when she herself was insisting on pressing home some point about which she felt strongly.
It would seem that sitting on the edge of her seat helped her to bring more force to an argument, more often than not one centred around something in the day’s newspaper concerning ‘that lot up there’. Whether they were Tories or Liberals, it was the stupidity so evident in both political parties that annoyed her. But such stupidity did not make her welcome with favour the third force raising its head. It was named the Labour Representation Committee, and its object was the return of working-class MPs to Parliament. She could hear her now saying, ‘Working-class MPs! You need education to rule.’ Oh yes, she was all for the working man having a decent wage, but as for ruling the country: ‘Well!’ she had ended that particular discussion, ‘We needn’t worry about that because it will never happen.’
