Читать книгу The House That Is Our Own - Anna Masterton Buchan - Страница 12
ОглавлениеA blessed thing it is for any man or woman to have a
friend, one whom we can trust utterly, who knows
the best and the worst of us, and who loves us just
the same.—Charles Kingsley
A new interest is a tonic, not only to the mind but the body, and it amazed Isobel Logan to see how the flat and its concerns made a new woman of her friend. Time, doubtless, had been at its healing work, she had been ready to emerge from the dark cloud, and it only needed the stimulating thought of a home of her own to give her back something of the joy of life that had once been hers.
She was now full of plans, and Isobel was there to encourage her in all her projects. With truth Isobel declared that she enjoyed it all immensely. Her life was not so full but that she was glad of a fresh interest, nor were her friends so numerous that she could afford to undervalue one who needed her.
While the plumbers and the painters were in the flat, the two friends worked busily, making curtains and new slips for cushions, and looking over household linen.
“You must remember,” Kitty said, “that I was married sixteen years, and though I always renewed my stock at the spring sales, the life of linen in a laundry is not a long one. I’d clean forgotten what I possessed. Look at that tea-cloth with the deep crochet border. It was given me by a woman I was able to help, at least, Rob got things put right about her pension—her husband was killed in the War—and whose family we took an interest in. I must try to find out what has become of her. I’ve lost trace completely of so many people. My own fault too, for our friends did their very best, writing, and even offering to come out, but we didn’t want them, and after a time I didn’t even answer their letters. There was nothing to say, no progress to report, and gradually, they got discouraged and dropped off.”
“Wasn’t that a pity?” Isobel asked. “Good friends aren’t lying about for the picking up. But I don’t wonder you gave up writing—the world to you was narrowed down to one sick man. You were living for him, and had no thought or interest to spare for outsiders. But you’ll have to try now to remake your world. You’re naturally sociable; you really like people.”
Kitty admitted she did. “Both Rob and I liked our fellow-men and we entertained a good deal in a very modest way. I would like to try to pick up some of the threads again. A lot of kind letters were sent to the old Hampstead address when Mr. Johnson put the notice of the death in the papers, but I hardly looked at them, and only a formal note of thanks was sent. I ought to have replied to each one myself. It would have given me something to do. I can see now how feeble it was to give way as I did. Other women lose their husbands and have to go out into the world to earn their living. It’s good to have to make an effort, and bad to have time to nurse one’s grief.”
“Remember,” said Isobel, “how tired you were, and over-strained. Two years of nursing and constant anxiety would wear out anyone. I think you were very brave, coming to an hotel among strangers and making no fuss.”
Kitty looked at her tall friend, and said:
“You sit there and sew placidly at my cushions, saying kind things to me that I don’t in the least deserve. How you could have been so patient with me I don’t know, but, anyway, it was you who helped me to my feet, and every day now I am getting more able to walk alone.”
“Well, don’t walk away too far; I don’t want to lose you.... Have you thought over the question of Mrs. Auchinvole?”
Kitty took the scissors from Isobel’s lap, snipped a thread and said:
“I should think I have thought. There’s a lot in her favour. She’s decent, I’m sure of that, it’s written on her face. And in a way it would be an advantage to have a relative of the Gordons (though that might work two ways), but——”
“It seems to me,” said Isobel, “that the thing that matters most is whether you like her personally. I don’t think you could live in a house with another woman without a certain degree of friendship. A servant to you would always be more than just a person who did your cooking and cleaning, she’d be a human being in whom you were interested.”
“Yes, but that’s just the point. I quite like Mrs. Auchinvole, but I’m afraid she hardly understands that I don’t want so much a sympathetic friend as one who will keep the flat clean, cook and wait a decent meal. There is too much of the we-are-widows-together touch about her for me.”
Isobel laughed, and presently asked, “Did you manage to broach the subject of uniform?”
“No,” Kitty confessed, “I did not. But broach it I must. Prints in the morning, and a decent dark dress in the afternoon, I insist on, but I’m a little afraid that the widow of Andrew Auchinvole may feel herself insulted by the suggestion. I don’t know, though Gordon tells me she was a housemaid before she married, so she may have a cap and apron in her disposition.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Isobel; “I like her face, and her Aberdeen voice. She would give a sort of tone to the flat, go well with the family portraits, and the Georgian silver, and the wild geese.”
“Would she, d’you think? I’d certainly be very thankful to have one whose antecedents I knew something of. I don’t really think she can cook much, but an intelligent person (and all Aberdonians are intelligent) can do a lot with a cookery-book. She might even have some lessons. You know I’ve to see her to-day? I gave her a fortnight to think it over.”
“She’ll be wise to come to you,” Isobel said. “Couldn’t you call her a housekeeper? It’s a down-come in a way, for a woman who’s had a house of her own, to come back to domestic service, and I’d always address her as ‘Mrs. Auchinvole.’ ”
“I shouldn’t think of addressing her as anything else! The truth is, I’m an arrant coward with servants. My instinct is always to cringe. I can’t have had any slave-owners among my ancestors—slaves, more likely. Oh, Isobel! do you realise that we’ll probably see the drawing-room finished to-day?” Kitty gave a jump of excitement. “And that in another fortnight everything’ll be ready? I must say the painters have hustled to some purpose. I suppose it’s because they’ve got so many jobs this spring. And the plumbers have been most expeditious. I hope it doesn’t mean scamped work.”
“Not a bit. It only means that the Coronation is putting a spirit of youth into everything. Black as things look in the world, we can’t help believing that a new beginning will make a difference—and a Coronation is, in a way, a new beginning. I hope there’ll be the same lovely feeling there was at the Silver Jubilee. The world saw Britain rejoicing as one great family. How thankful we ought to be that King George was spared to see it, to know how his people loved him, to realise that the whole world held him in affection and respect. After all, it’s a wonderful thing to be good, just simple good.”
Kitty nodded. “We were in Lausanne at the time,” she said, “and read about it proudly in The Times. It made us feel exiled, lonely, like children kept away from a party.”
“All the same,” said Isobel, “I’d as soon be out of London next month. The traffic’ll be a real problem. Of course, it doesn’t really matter to people like you and me. We can walk where we want to go. It seems rather feeble not to try to see everything one can, but I do so hate crowds, and, even if I had a seat, I doubt if I’d ever push my way to it.”
“And you so large!” scoffed Kitty. “A midge like me is better at home. I’d rather see it comfortably in a cinema, anyway, but you are much younger and brisker than I am, Isobel, you shouldn’t evade things. I think you’re apt to.”
“I know I am, and more serious things than Coronation crowds. I’m inclined to be afraid of what life may do to me, and yet I know in my heart that the people who look for the easy way are very little use.... Is that your address-book, Kitty? I’m glad you’ve found it.”
“Yes. I’ve been looking over it, and almost every name is a reproach. How could I have been so regardless of their kindness! But they seemed so far away, and their sympathy and concern so futile. Now I see how wonderful it was that they should remember, and trouble to write. Some I don’t want much to see again, they were merely pleasant people to dine with, there was no tie between us. But others—Bridget Ker and her husband, Tommy and Mary Hibbert, Jessica Irwin—I must write and make my apologies, and ask them to come and see me when I’m settled.”
“And I’m sure,” said Isobel, “that they won’t think any apology necessary, they’ll be only too glad to know that you’re back in London. It won’t be easy, just at first, to meet friends out of the past. Who was your most intimate friend among the people you mentioned just now?”
Kitty thought for a moment. “We were intimate with them all, in a way, but I think, perhaps, Jessica Irwin was the one I felt nearest. She was left a young widow in the War with two babies to bring up, and as she lived quite near, I saw a lot of her. Echo, her girl, was just leaving school when we left Hampstead. She’ll be twenty now, and Fred was two years younger. I wonder what has happened to them!”
“A lot can happen in two years—or very little. I’m ceaselessly interested in people’s lives, not only my friends’—anybody’s. Don’t you ever sit in a railway carriage or a bus and try to imagine what sort of homes the people opposite have come from and are going back to, try to read from the expression on their faces if they are happy and contented, or miserably jealous and frustrated? I don’t suppose one is right once in a hundred times, for most faces reveal nothing, or give a false impression. Don’t you agree? I know a woman who has a positively war-like expression, heavy dark brows, and a scowl, and she is the kindest, gentlest, shyest creature, the adored of her husband and children.”
“Oh, I know,” said Kitty. “And another, with a sweet, rather pathetic expression and a gentle voice, is a back-biting, malicious little devil, who makes life a burden to her family circle and her friends.”
Kitty’s voice was so emphatic that Isobel was amused, as well as amazed afresh at the change in her friend. This vigorous, alert little person, she thought, must be the Kitty of Hampstead days, the Kitty Rob knew.
“Talking of people,” she said, “Patty Tisdal’s coming to dine with me to-night. One of Jack’s friends is spending the evening with him, so she can get away. It does her good to get into a different atmosphere once in a while. I haven’t taken seats for anything, for if she’s tired, she’d rather sit by the fire and talk, but if she feels like it, we could all three go to a cinema. That new thing with Paul Robeson in it is said to be good.”
“Yes, I’d like to see that. Isobel, d’you like pelmets? Or d’you think a valance looks better?”
“Well”—Isobel seemed to realise the importance of the question—“to my mind a pelmet is more suitable for a living-room, but a valance is better for a bedroom, less stiff, you know, and formal.”
“I think so too,” said Kitty. “What a blessing we managed to get such a good match for the drawing-room curtains; the difference won’t be noticed in the pelmet. There—that’s all I can do just now. It’s nearly luncheon-time, anyway. How quickly the days go when you’ve got lots to do! Can you possibly come with me to the flat directly after luncheon? There are several things to mention while the men are there.”
“Yes, I’ve a note of them. In another week Mrs. Gordon will be able to begin washing floors. I hope that by that time you’ll have settled with Mrs. Auchinvole. I don’t think you could do better, and you might do infinitely worse.”
“Oh, I know; and if she agrees to come, I’ll be very thankful. I don’t see why she shouldn’t be happy and comfortable, and it would be a boon to know that she had the Gordons to go to if I happened to be out of an evening. It is dull for one person to sit alone in a kitchen; I wouldn’t like it myself, and we must arrange what are called in advertisements ‘generous outings.’ I know she loves a good film.”
