Another world, p.9
Another World, page 9
‘Sorry to hear that,’ he said, and then felt a sudden tug at his coat sleeve.
‘My brother is following that woman about, Mr Blair, people are watching, talking about it, and the rumours .…’
‘Rumours?’
She was astonished at the sharpness in his voice, ‘What rumours? What is it you are talking about, Miss Thomas? I hear no rumours. What is all this?’
Her voice seemed to come from a distance as she said very quietly, ‘He follows her about everywhere,’ and paused, as though awaiting a fresh wave of her own confidence. ‘He’s a changed man, and he’s hardly ever at home now.’
With some irritation Mr Blair pushed away his plate. ‘Who is this person, Miss Thomas?’
‘A Miss Vaughan, Rhiannon Vaughan, I understand.’
‘What about her?’
And tentatively Miss Thomas whispered close to his ear, ‘I wondered if you could tell me anything about her. If only you knew how sad this is for me, Mr Blair.’
He sat back in his chair, and she was startled by his sudden change of expression, and lowered her head.
‘A Miss Vaughan came to see me from a small village in Dynbych,’ he said, ‘I had advertised in a paper there. She is a typist in my office. She works well, and is very reliable, and that is all that I require from any employee of mine, Miss Thomas.’
‘Is she .…’
‘I never discuss the private life of my employees with anybody.’
‘They say she has no friends at all, and hides herself in her room all the time, and sometimes is seen walking by herself along the shore.’
‘Miss Vaughan’s life is Miss Vaughan’s business,’ Mr Blair said. ‘I cannot discuss her with you. What your brother does is your brother’s business, Miss Thomas, and what Miss Vaughan does is hers. I hope I have made myself clear?’ He paused for a moment, then leaned very close, and said abruptly, ‘And that is an end of the matter.’
And now she clutched at both coat sleeves, and said in a fierce whisper, ‘Mr Blair, my brother is a Minister of God.’ The silence was sudden, Mr Blair seemed relaxed, nibbled at his biscuits, sipped his Horlicks. He disliked this quite unexpected confrontation.
‘I’m ashamed,’ she said, and he felt her tone fierce, and close.
‘There is no morality today, Miss Thomas, it has ceased to exist. Didn’t you know that?’
‘I didn’t know that,’ she flung back at him, surprised by her own sudden anger, afraid of it. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
And had she glanced up at that moment she would have seen him smile. ‘Poor Miss Thomas,’ he thought, ‘she is upset.’
‘Miss Thomas?’
She looked up, uncomfortably, shyly, ‘Yes, Mr Blair?’
‘Have you actually seen your brother following her about? Has he spoken to her, have they met on occasions?’
‘He was once a good man, Mr Blair,’ she said.
‘He may not be the only one.’
She suddenly bowed her head; she felt as though she had been felled by an axe.
‘Please,’ she said, and again he felt his sleeve gripped, ‘Please. You don’t understand? It’s not right. His chapel will empty.’ Mr Blair sat bolt upright, fixed her with what might be the final stare, and said in the most casual way that she must really not upset herself like this.
‘The Archbishop of Canterbury voted for private buggery, Miss Thomas, but his church has not yet fallen.’
She covered her face with both hands, bowed low, ‘My God!’
The doorbell rang again, the door opened and closed, the curtains moved, and then the assistant was bending over Miss Thomas.
‘Are you all right, Madam?’
She saw that the woman had changed tables, noticed the spilt coffee.
‘Are you all right? Would you like me to …’ just as Miss Thomas’s head came slowly up, she seemed not to see the assistant there, her eyes wandering about the room, and then she saw her. ‘Er - - I - - what was - - -’
The assistant suddenly sat down by her, gave her a smile.
‘I didn’t know you knew Mr Blair,’ she said. ‘A very nice gentleman. He’s regular here.’ And after a pause, ‘He’s gone now, Madam,’ but the words were gibberish in Miss Thomas’s ears. She made to get up, but slipped back again.
‘Come along…’ and she felt an arm beneath her own. ‘Come …’
But Miss Thomas didn’t, and rose, and sat down again.
‘I’ll be all right in a moment, Miss,’ she said. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘You don’t look well, Madam, I’ll get you the station cab.’
Miss Thomas cried quietly at the table.
‘Poor thing.’
She got up abruptly. ‘I’ll get Mr Jenkins, the station,’ she said. ‘You really ought to go home.’
‘I’m quite all right, thank you,’ Miss Thomas said, struggled to her feet, clung to the table. She heard the girl on the telephone, who then returned, and said quietly, ‘Sit down, Madam. He’ll be here in a moment or two.’
They looked at each other, but said nothing, and there was much in the silence. She helped Miss Thomas into the cab, and she, so aware of the broad daylight and the main street of the town, bowed her head again, and thought of those that passed by, wholly unaware that the street at this moment was empty. Mr Jenkins looked at her. Mr Jenkins knew. He understood.
‘Had a little faint the girl said. Not like you it isn’t, Miss Thomas. You’ll be all right tomorrow, course you will,’ and he turned and smiled at the unsmiling passenger. A regular member of the Penuel chapel, Miss Thomas did not recognise him. She huddled in the back of the cab, longed to be home, alone in her room. Suddenly he stopped.
‘Sure you’re all right, Miss?’
She nodded, and it was enough for Jenkins, and they drove on quickly to Ty Newdd. He helped her out, linked arms up the path.
‘There now,’ he said, giving her a sympathetic pat, ‘that’s it.’
And at last she smiled and said ‘Thank you.’
‘Home you are, always best in the end, Miss.’
He waited until she had got the key in the lock, opened the door and entered.
‘Thank you.’
‘Welcome,’ he said, and drove back to the station, smiling all the way there, Miss Thomas being his first customer of the day. Margiad kicked back the door, and sighed with relief, made for the nearest chair, sat down.
‘Terrible,’ she thought, ‘terrible,’ remembering, with a kind of indefinable horror, the sight of the solicitor sitting at the table, so cool, so casual, almost indifferent to what she told him. ‘And the things he said, the things.’
The words were new, she did not even understand the language that he spoke, in the strange climate of that empty cafe, the nightmare morning. She sat, still numbed, frozen into her experience, and was still sat, stiff and motionless, when, at twelve o’clock she heard the footsteps on the gravel and the key in the lock. She had not removed her outdoor things, and was sat with her back to him as he entered the room.
‘Ah! There you are, Margiad,’ he exclaimed in a cheery voice, but it only had chill for her, and she made no reply, but sat with her hands in her lap, and he saw the restless, twisting fingers. The fire that had gone down badly needed rousing, but she made no effort with it. He went into the hall, hung up his coat and hat, came back, and sat opposite her in the armchair.
‘Well!’ he said, ‘here we are,’ and settled back, and began feeling for his pipe.
‘Margiad!’
She did not answer, and did not move.
‘Are you going out?’
‘I am not going out.’
He gave the fire a vigorous poke, and the flames came up. Almost jovially, he said, ‘Well then, at least you can remove your hat, Margiad.’
She stared into the fire and remained silent.
He half rose, ‘Why of course, what on earth am I thinking about, you’ve been out,’ and he gave a curious little laugh.
He lit his pipe, spread legs, was suddenly comfortable.
‘Margiad!’
He got up, leaned over her, ‘Are you all right?’
‘I am all right.’
‘I saw old Miss Pugh,’ he said, not seeing her, not wanting to, seeing only Miss Vaughan, thinking of Miss Vaughan, seeing her totally all the way from the hotel to her office door, and seeing no other, and wishing and hoping that for a single moment she might answer his good morning, turn, even smile, and he thought of another letter he had written her, he thought of tomorrow. If for a single moment she became real.
‘Margiad!’
It seemed an age before she said in a hollow voice, ‘Well?’
‘The days have changed,’ she thought, ‘it’s like becoming lost. My brother is a stranger to me, I do not know him.’
‘Aren’t you going to take off your things, sister?’ he asked.
Slowly she began removing the pins from her hat.
He could not hide the sudden anxiety in his voice when he asked quietly, ‘Are you not well, Margiad?’
She was miles from the room, from the sight of him, remembering only the waiting-room, a consulting room, the bespectacled Dr Hughes.
‘Dr Hughes will not call,’ she thought.
He extended a hand, ‘Margiad?’
‘How is Miss Pugh?’ she asked, and so suddenly that it startled him.
‘I told you, sister. I said she is well, and she is well. Live for years,’ and more slowly, incisively, ‘Didn’t you hear me say that I had?’
‘I don’t know what you said,’ Margiad replied, and went off into the hall and removed her coat and scarf and gloves. She stood there for a moment or two, undecided. Should she go up to her room, go straight into the kitchen, prepare the meal, as if nothing had happened. ‘Did you give Miss Pugh my message?’ she asked.
‘Message?’ and Mervyn came violently down from the clouds, and stuttered nervously, saying, ‘Yes, of course, you don’t suppose I’d forget, did you?’
‘I don’t know what you forget, and I don’t know what you remember.’
She stood at the foot of the stairs.
‘It’s past noon, sister,’ he said, feeling hungry.
‘I did not notice the time,’ she replied, and went slowly upstairs.
He got up, stood at the foot of the stairs, called, ‘Margiad! Margiad!’
The bedroom door slammed in his face.
‘Margiad,’ he shouted. ‘What on earth is the matter with you, sister?’
The door opened suddenly, she faced him.
‘You won’t starve,’ she said. ‘I shall be down in a minute.’
She did not sit down, she could not sit down, but stared out of the window.
‘I shall not stay here.’
She closed the window, and opened it again. And then the salvo.
‘He goes out at night. Where does he go? What is going on? What am I to do? Soon I will not be able to go to chapel myself.’
She heard him go into his study, slam the door.
‘Let him wait,’ she thought, and began idly wandering about the room, picking up first one object, and then another, thinking of other days, of acceptance and contentment, wishing herself back at Hengoed, wishing herself happy at Glan Ceirw, and one after another the pictures came, and she knew then that they should never have come to Garthmeilo, a miserable little town, a mean town. She heard him pacing his room, the door open and close again. ‘Perhaps I’d better.’ She gave a final glance through the window and went downstairs. Hearing her, he left his study, joining her in the kitchen.
‘It’s nearly one o’clock,’ he said.
She was bent over the pans. ‘Is it?’
‘You can call me when it’s ready,’ he said roughly, and rushed back to his room.
‘Ready now.’
They ate in silence, avoided each other’s glances, wondering which would be the first to speak.
‘Did you arrange with Price to collect Mr Richards’s pension?’
‘I did,’ he said, and seemed to bend even lower over his plate.
‘You were out very early this morning, Margiad.’
‘I had things to do.’
What things?’
She looked him squarely in the face. ‘You make it sound like a criminal offence.’
‘I’m sorry, Margiad.’
‘And you have the right to be.’
‘Will you stop interfering with my life.’
‘I am only thinking of my own, Mervyn,’ she replied, and helped herself to tea, and then quietly added, ‘I thought of your life yesterday. Following this woman round like some little dog. You ought to be ashamed, at your age. Perfectly ridiculous.’
‘Has the machinery of misery started up again?’ he asked, and she thought he would get up and rush out of the room, but instead he went on eating, asked for more tea, and received it.
‘Thank you, Margiad,’ and later he said in a low voice, ‘cannot one be even sorry for a creature?’
‘Which creature?’
‘There you go again,’ he shouted.
‘Don’t shout at me, Mervyn,’ and he saw the colour high in her cheeks.
‘I am not shouting,’ he cried, and shouted. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘I will leave the house.’
‘Leave it then.’
He pushed his plate away, got up, and went to the fire and sat.
‘You have changed Mervyn,’ she said, and when he looked at her, he realised the deep hurt he had occasioned, and got up and went to her. ‘Margiad, forgive me, I am sorry. Look at me, now, I say look at me,’ and she looked, long and steadily, and then he said, ‘What harm do I do?’
‘That is a question I cannot answer.’
When the torrent came she drew away from him, but he gripped her arms, held her tight. ‘Yes. I am in love with Miss Vaughan, I am, I knew it that first night she came to the chapel, I know it now, yes,’ he continued through his teeth, ‘I knew it then, yes, I do follow her about like a dog, and she neither looks nor speaks, but I know, I say I know I can make her happy. Lonely she is, I know that, too. And you know nothing, I mean nothing.’
‘She is only in love with herself, Mervyn, I keep telling you that, and there’s something queer about her, she has no friends, I told you that, too, but you believe nothing I tell you. The days are being torn to shreds, you are never in this house, you are seen, you are laughed at, they think you’re mad, and that’s the truth of it. And from what I hear she hasn’t a penny, living in that awful room at Gandell’s place, and why. Because she couldn’t afford anything better.’
‘That, doesn’t matter to me.’
‘Perhaps she’s as mad as you are,’ she flung at him.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘She told that Mrs Gandell that her father went over a cliff at Tenby.’
His lips trembled, as he made to speak, but nothing came out.
‘Perhaps she threw him over,’ Margiad said. ‘How do we know? We know nothing about her.’
‘You went to Dr Hughes this morning, you went to talk about me, I expect you wagged your head off about your mad brother. Did you?’
She went into the hall, and searched about in her overcoat, came back with a small white box and handed it to him.
‘Take two each night, Mervyn. They’ll help you to sleep better. He said he might come and see you, though he seems to me such a very busy man that he might forget and not come at all.’
He looked at the box held out to him, and said, wildly, bewilderedly, ‘What on earth is this?’
‘Take it,’ she said, and pushed the box nearer to him.
He tore it from her, opened it, and flung its contents into the fire. ‘You’ve actually been spying on me, my own sister. It is I that am ashamed,’ and he grabbed her again, shook her, and shouted, ‘God Almighty. I am a grown man. I’ll leave this house, I’ll take lodgings in the town.’
‘Take them.’
‘I will stop preaching.’
‘Then stop.’
‘You know what you’re saying to me?’
And she said very slowly, carefully, ‘Yes … I do know.’
‘Then you’re no longer my sister,’ he said.
‘It will not stop you from becoming a fool,’ she said.
The sudden break in his voice, the trembling lips, quite shocked her.
‘Why are we doing this to each other, Margiad?’ he asked.
‘I wish I knew.’
‘It simply cannot go on.’
‘I know that, too,’ she said, and got up, and left him, and left the house.
6
Jones had been sitting alone in The Lion for an hour now, and though there were three other men sitting about, they had not spoken to him, and it did not worry him. The licensee stood behind his counter and slowly polished the glasses. In The Lion Jones was known as Mrs Gandell’s dog. And one after another the three men went out, but not without boisterous good nights to the man behind the counter.
‘Night Tegid.’
‘Night.’
And Jones, staring into the fire, heard the three separate slams of the door.
‘Drinking slow this evening,’ Tegid said, and put away the last of the glasses, but Jones appeared not to have heard, and sat quite still, the glass in his hand.
All the way to the pub the questions had nagged at Jones, circled round and round his brain. Was Miss Vaughan just imagining the whole thing? Had Mrs Gandell let him in? Would she do anything for money? The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that he had locked up that night. Tegid Hughes joined him, a glass of beer in his hand.
‘You look thoughtful tonight, Jones’ he said.
‘Do I?’
‘Yes,’ and he gave him a cigarette, then lit his own.
‘Thanks.’
‘Done your duty then?’ Tegid asked, and Jones grinned, and nodded. He had read her a whole chapter from The Three Musketeers, he had given her a cup of hot milk to help her sleep, told her he wouldn’t be late. Her whole manner during the day had made him very nervous. Was she lying to him, was she planning to sell out?
‘How are things?’
Jones at last looked up. ‘Same as yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that one.’
‘Think she’ll make a go of it?’ asked Tegid.
