Читать книгу Exile - Warwick Deeping - Страница 11

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Billy’s first morning in the library added considerably to her respect for Miss Lord. For the best part of two hours the narrow room was full of very large women who appeared to take literature so very seriously that nothing would move them while in search of a particular book. They occupied the library. They stood and conversed, and blocked the gangways on either side of the narrow table. An occasional man ventured in, and became less than a shadow among these large and substantial creatures.

One old fellow appealed to Billy. He was very polite.

“Excuse me, are you the new librarian?”

“I’m helping here.”

“I wonder if you could find me Tansley’s ‘New Psychology.’ You have it here. And I have left my glasses at home, and those three ladies are rather set——”

Billy smiled upon him, and saw his trouble, and going to the particular case had to say “Excuse me” twice to the three gossips before she could get to the books. One of the three put up a lorgnette and examined Billy with that staring insolence which is peculiar to women.

Five minutes later Billy was the witness of a combat between Miss Lord and the lady.

“I’m sorry, two days late, Mrs. Sudbury Smith. The book is on the six-months list.”

The lady looked at Miss Lord as she had looked at Billy.

“I don’t think so.”

“The entry is here. You owe us five lire.”

“Really, it is perfectly ridiculous——”

“O, well—I’ll take it out of your deposit.”

And Billy realized that Miss Lord feared none of these large ladies, and remained in her chair like an enthroned Britannia, calmly dominating oceans of Bournemouth, Bradford and Manchester. As she said to Billy afterwards while she was locking the cashbox away in the safe: “Never argue. Have your details correctly entered. It is extraordinary how many of these women will try to cheat. And the richer they are—the more careful you have to be.”

“Like the lady with the lorgnette?”

“Yes, the Sudbury Smiths are supposed to be worth half a million. Soap—I think.”

“But they all seem so very large.”

“Just coincidence. It has occurred to me that too much talking makes some women run to fat.”

Miss Lord had an air of being pleased with the morning, perhaps because she had used her trident successfully on Mrs. Sudbury Smith. She locked the library door.

“I’ll take you across to see the Haycrofts. You’ll like the girl. She wants a little knowing.”

Billy and Miss Lord crossed the Corso and entered Miss Haycroft’s lace-shop. Miss Haycroft had lived in Tindaro almost as long as Miss Lord, and had dried up in it until she had the appearance of a skein of grey silk. Fragile and faded, with one of those narrow and delicate faces, she wore her grey hair all fluffed up so that the thinness of her face was exaggerated, and her tired grey eyes looked like two half-extinguished lamps. Miss Haycroft had gone to her lunch, and her niece was in charge. She was recording a length of torchon lace. Her hands were very thin and febrile.

Miss Lord was always direct.

“Winnie, this is Miss Brown. You two ought to know each other.”

Billy’s smile came quickly, but Winnie Haycroft’s answering smile was vague and hesitant. She had frightened eyes of a pale, sensitive blueness. Her hair and skin had a dusty look. She stared at Billy, and blinked rather like a shy and self-conscious child.

“So you’ve come. I heard you were coming.”

She went on carding the lace, glancing from Billy to Miss Lord, and from Miss Lord to Billy. Her glances were moth-like in their flutterings. Before speaking there would be a faint trembling of her lips, for to be articulate seemed to cost her an effort. And yet there was something charming and inconsequential and naïve about her. She had a grave, timid gentleness. Coifed, she would have looked like a nun.

Billy’s eyes were friendly.

“Yes, I arrived last night. It’s all rather exciting.”

Miss Lord observed them both, but especially Billy. She wanted Billy to have friends, especially the friends who were necessary in Tindaro.

She said, “I have to look in at Pietro’s. I’ll leave you two to talk for three minutes.”

She went out, and Winnie Haycroft stood behind the counter, looking at Billy as though there was magic in this other girl who—four days ago—had been in England.

“Did you come straight out?”

“Yes. London was all fog.”

The other girl’s lips quivered.

“How lovely—! Fog—and London. Do come and see me. We close at six.”

“I’d love to.”

“To-night?”

“All right.”