Quinneys’

Chapter XIX Things and Persons

I

That night, as usual, the Quinneys retired to bed at half-past ten. At eleven, the door of Joe’s bedroom opened noiselessly, and the little man’s head, crowned with a ridiculous smoking-cap appeared. His body followed arrayed in a flowered silk dressing-gown. Posy’s room was upstairs.

Susan joined her husband. She was wearing what may be described as a compromise kit. Her pretty hair, still long and abundant, hung down her back in two braids. She had put on a peignoir of wadded silk, a garment not likely to rustle as she walked. Upon her small feet were thick felt slippers. In this costume she looked ten years younger, and she was pleasurably aware of this for reasons that will appear presently.

Quinney closed his bedroom door. They listened for a moment, but no sound came from above. Probably Posy was in bed, counting the minutes till the big clock on the stairs summoned her to meet her lover.

Quinney and Susan tip-toed down to the first floor. In the sanctuary a fire was burning in the dog-grate. Quinney smiled grimly, as he realized that Posy had replenished it with logs which burned brightly enough to illuminate the room with a soft amber glow.

“Sit down, mother.”

Susan sat down in an armchair just opposite the fire. As a rule, this chair occupied its own particular corner. Posy, therefore, must have placed it in front of the hearth. Evidently Posy considered that one chair would suffice for two persons.

Meanwhile, Quinney made his dispositions behind the screen. Presently he appeared, rubbing his hands and chuckling quietly. The walls in these fine old houses were so comfortably sound-proof, that he had no hesitation in speaking in his usual voice.

“There! Couched in the ambush, as Shakespeare says. Do you remember, old dear, when me and you took a course o’ the Bard to improve our powers o’ speech?”

Susan sighed. In the tender light she looked almost the Susan whom he had courted long ago.

“Yes; we were young then, Joe.”

“We’re young still, dearie. Young and spry! Full o’ beans.”

He stood on the hearth, facing her, with his back to the glowing logs, looking down upon her delicate features. She raised her eyes to his, speaking in a soft voice, with a faint smile flickering about her mouth. Quinney had fallen in love with her dimples. He thought he could see the ghost of one in the cheek slightly turned from the fire. His attitude, erect and sturdy, her attitude, the firelight, the lateness of the hour—these recalled insistently the sweet past, when Mrs. Biddlecombe used to leave the lovers to talk over the present and the future. Susan remembered, with an odd little pang at her heart, how satisfied she had been with that present, although Joe insisted upon forecasting their future. And his predictions, those ambitions which she had regarded as vaulting high above human probability, had come to pass. He was famous and rich!

“Joe dear!”

“What is it?”

“You became engaged to me, didn’t you, against your father’s wish, and unbeknown to mother? Yes, you did.”

“And what of it?”

“I never told mother that day you kissed me for the first time behind our parlour door.”

“Now, Susie, what are you gettin’ at? Circumstances alter cases. My father made a white nigger o’ me. But, by Gum! I wasn’t disobedient.”

“You were, and you know it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You took up with me against his wish.”

“Ho! I honoured him by marrying the best girl in Melchester.”

Susan said solemnly:

“You did deceive him, Joe.”

“Serve him right, too.”

“I say you deceived him.”

“Well, for the Lord’s sake, don’t go on sayin’ it, repeatin’ yourself like an old poll parrot. Father never did do you justice. He never did know quality. Quantity was what he’d go for. Lordy! how he used to waller in cheap job lots!”

Susan ignored this. With slow pertinacity, working steadily to her point, she continued:

“And I deceived my pore mother. Used to wear my engagement ring at night.”

She lifted her hand and looked at it. What a wonderful present it had been reckoned. Three turquoises with small brilliants, paid for out of the savings of a “white nigger”!

Joe stared at the ring. It seemed to shine out of the past. He remembered everything. For instance, he had not haggled about the price demanded—six pounds! He had felt that haggling would be indecent. He said pensively:

“I used to envy that ring, Susie. I used to think of you asleep, and wonder what you looked like.” He sighed. “Great times them was, to be sure!”

Susan met his glance.

“Because of those times,” she whispered, “go a bit easy, Joe, with these young people.”

But his face hardened immediately.

“You leave that to me, my dear. I’ll fix ’em to rights. I’ll sweep the cobwebs out o’ their silly noddles.”

“If you’ll try not to forget that we was just as silly once.”

“Silly? Us? That won’t wash, Susie. Like mated like.”

Susan remained silent.

II

When Posy entered the room, her parents were sitting snug behind the incised lacquer screen. The girl added a fresh log to the fire, and smiled as she looked at the big empty chair. She was wearing a very becoming pale blue dressing-gown. Her hair, like Susan’s, hung down her back in two thick pigtails tied with pale blue ribbon. Her bare feet were thrust into pale blue slippers. She might have been sixteen instead of eighteen, and about her there breathed a virginal air, deliriously fresh and fragrant. She smelled of lavender.

She went to the speaking-tube, and whistled down it. When her signal was answered, she said joyously:

“It’s all right, Jim. Father fast asleep and snoring! Come up! Take your shoes off! The fourth stair from the top creaks horribly. Skip that!”

She hung up the tube, and spread her hands before the fire, warming them. Upon the third finger of her right hand sparkled a ring. Upon her charming face a smile sparkled also, as she listened for the step of her lover.

James came in, carrying his slippers in his hand. He was dressed as usual in a well-cut blue serge suit. He closed the door noiselessly, and held out his arms. Posy flew into them, with a sigh of satisfaction, but when he hugged her too masterfully, she protested, blushing, slipping from his embrace with a low laugh.

“You must promise to behave reasonably.”

“Reasonably? Don’t you like being kissed by me?”

“Of course I—er—like it.”

“Awfully?”

“If you sit in that chair, I’ll sit on the arm of it. Please! Be good!”

He obeyed. She fussed over him, arranging the cushion behind his back, touching him almost furtively, but laughingly, evading his touches, obviously the elusive nymph, captivated but not yet captured. James turned to look at her, slipping his arm round her waist.

“You are a sweet!” he said fervently.

“Am I much prettier than Mabel Dredge?”

“Rather! What made you mention her?”

“Oh, nothing. But mother was saying only this morning that six months ago, when I was at school, she thought that Mabel Dredge and you might make a match of it.”

“What rubbish!”

He spoke irritably, too irritably a finer ear might have decided.

“I expect you flirted with her a teeny-weeny bit?”

“As if any man with eyes in his head would look at Miss Dredge when you were about.”

“But I wasn’t about then.”

It was so evident that she was merely teasing him in the most innocent, girlish way, that he smiled and pressed her closer to him, whispering:

“Don’t let’s jaw about Miss Dredge. I say, isn’t this cosy?”

“Isn’t it? Fancy if father could see us now. Jim, dear, I simply adore the excitement of this—our meeting here in the sanctuary. By the way, are you as mad as daddy about things?”

“Things?”

“Things as opposed to persons. Could you fall down and worship figures?”

“I could worship your figure.”

“You know what I mean, I’m simply wondering what effect this particular business has had upon your character. Don’t frown! We must admit that his business hasn’t improved poor father. And as for Mr. Tomlin——”

Jim said slowly:

“What do you mean exactly by business affecting character?”

She paused to consider. Jim kissed her. Perhaps it was significant that she did not return his kiss, being absorbed in her quest for the right word. She continued slowly:

“I hoped you would guess what I meant. Of course, poor father is honest. I have always been so proud of that. It would break my heart if he were like that horrid Mr. Tomlin, but he does care too much for what mother calls sticks and stones. They have come between him and her; and they have come between him and me. I have never really known how much he loved me. And now this is going to be a test, because if he does love me really and truly he will put my happiness before his ambition, won’t he?”

He kissed her again, and once more she let him do it, passively, gazing, so to speak, into his mind rather than his heart.

Jim spoke curtly.

“Make up your mind to this, Posy. There will be a big row. It’s inevitable.”

Posy laughed.

“How like a man! Big rows are never inevitable. And daddy is an awful old fuss-pot, but his bark is much worse than his bite. When he barks at me I laugh inside. Now, Jim, are you necessary to father?”

“Necessary? Perhaps I am more necessary than he thinks, because I know too much to be treated badly. He would hardly dare to sack me.”

“Not dare!”

“I mean that I have a sort of ‘pull’ with him. And I’m a hard worker, and a first-class cabinet-maker. When the time comes for him to take a partner he couldn’t find a better man than I am.”

Posy laughed.

“Jim, I declare you have caught father’s habit of swanking.”

“Swank, or no swank, I think I can make terms with your father, and the time has come to do it.”

“I’d sooner things went on as they are for the present.”

“Why?”

“Well, we haven’t seen very much of each other as yet. Why, we hardly know each other.”

“I have reasons, dearest, for wishing to tackle your father as soon as possible.”

“What reasons?”

She spoke coaxingly, laying her cheek close to his.

“I must keep them to myself for the present. You trust me?”

“Oh, yes, but I’m horribly curious! Are you cross?”

“No, darling, I’m impatient. I want you to be wholly mine.”

He laid his lips upon hers, and felt a slight pressure in return. When he pressed her to him, she thrilled. He kissed her ear, as he whispered:

“Do you ever think of what it will be like when you are mine?”

“Ye-es.”

“Sit on my lap, you darling!”

He half-pushed her off the arm of the chair. She stood up, hesitating, the colour ebbing and flowing in her cheeks.

“I have never done that.”

He held out both hands.

“Isn’t it time to begin? Is your dear little heart beating?”

“Yes, it is. Almost loud enough for father to hear. But I feel—I feel——” Her voice died away in an attenuated whisper.

“What do you feel?”

“As if—as if we were playing hide-and-seek in the dark. I’m rather frightened. I suppose it’s stupid. I——”

James stood up, facing her. Passion quivered in his voice as he exclaimed:

“I’m going to kiss the fear of me out of you—now!”

“No, you ain’t!” said Quinney.

III

The lovers sprang apart as Quinney emerged from behind the screen. He addressed the trembling Posy first.

“Thought it likely you might make a fool of yourself, and I’ve not been disappointed. Come on, mother!”

Susan appeared, looking very confused and miserable.

“Look at her,” continued Quinney. “She’s blushin’ to the roots of her hair for you.”

At this Posy pulled herself together, and remarked defiantly:

“I’m not the least little bit ashamed of myself!”

“Sorry to hear that, my girl; it fair furs my tongue to find you here. Now then, like to take it sittin’ or standin’?”

“Take what?”

“The dose I’m goin’ to deal out to a deceitful, disobedient, ungrateful daughter. Sharper than a serpent’s tooth, you are!”

So far, he had ignored James, who was standing back, not far from the door.

“I’ll take it standing,” replied Posy, “beside Jim.”

Then, to Quinney’s rage, she tripped across the room, and flung her arms round the young man’s neck. Susan, ever mindful, like a true Biddlecombe, of the proprieties, murmured gaspingly:

“Posy! Please remember what you’ve not got on!”

“This beats the band,” said Quinney. “I call this rank mutiny.”

“It’s—it’s Nature,” faltered Susan.

“You hold your tongue, mother! A nice couple, I do declare! Can you cook, Miss Independence?”

Posy removed her arms from James’s neck, but she remained standing beside him.

“Cook? Not me. You know I can’t cook. Why?”

“Thought not. Anything of a hand with your needle?

“No.”

Quinney turned to Susan, who had sunk into a chair. The youth had faded out of her comely face. Every time that Quinney spoke she winced. A couple of tears were trickling down her cheeks.

“Why didn’t you teach this young lady to use a broom, mother? Can she wash anything more useful than her own hands?”

Susan shook her head helplessly. The situation was far beyond her. She faltered out:

“Your orders, Joe. The child, you said, was to be brought up like a little princess.”

He stared at her, dimly perceiving that his Susan could not be described truthfully as standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

“They tell me,” he observed derisively, “that our royal Princesses have to learn such things as cookin’ and washin’, because revolutions do happen sometimes.”

Susan shrugged her shoulders.

For the first time Quinney turned directly to James. The young man confronted his employer with a certain dignity not wasted upon Posy. He seemed to be quite ready to vindicate himself, when the opportunity came.

“Intentions honourable?” demanded the infuriated father.

“They are, sir.”

“Arranged the weddin’-day yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Waitin’, maybe, for father’s blessing and a snug settlement?”

James only smiled deprecatingly, but Posy exclaimed:

“And why not? Isn’t it your duty to provide for me? It’s your fault, not mine, that I can’t cook, or wash, or sew.”

“What a sauce!” said Quinney, lifting his congested eyes to heaven. “Mother, you go and stand between ’em.”

Susan obeyed, muttering to herself and shaking her head. She placed a trembling hand upon Posy’s sleeve. Posy saw the tears and kissed her. Quinney continued more fluently, speaking with deliberation, for he had rehearsed carefully this part of the scene.

“Now, Miss Impudence, ain’t I been a good father to you? No quibblin’! Ain’t I been a tip-top parent to you?”

“I don’t quite know.”

“What you say?”

“I said I didn’t quite know.”

“Well, I’m fairly jiggered! Ain’t I given’ you everything a girl wants?”

Posy remained silent. Can we describe Quinney’s astonishment and dismay, when Susan said curtly and clearly:

“Indeed you haven’t.”

Posy added, hesitatingly:

“I have wanted things you didn’t give me.”

“Of all the shameless hussies! Now, you answer straight. It’d take a month o’ Sundays to tell you what I have given you, but you tell me what I’ve not given.”

Susan answered with a promptitude indicating previous consideration of the question.

“Be fair, Joe! You’ve not given the child your confidence or your sympathy. You don’t know what books she reads; you don’t know anything about her except what’s on the surface.”

“Hark to this!”

“You heard her say just now, when we was behind the screen, that she didn’t know whether you loved her. That’s something a girl ought to know, isn’t it?”

“Go it! Love her? Love my daughter? You know that I love her.”

“As she said, this is going to be a test of that.”

“See here, Susan! Are you on my side or on hers?”

“I’m trying to stand between you, Joe—trying hard to keep the peace, and—and to be just.”

“Just? You dare to hint that I don’t love my child?”

Very slowly, Susan answered him. What it cost the faithful soul to speak the truth, as she conceived it to be, no male scribe can set forth. To her his question embodied the hopes and fears of all her married life, what she had suppressed so valiantly, so successfully, that he had never been vouchsafed a glimpse of her tormented sensibilities. To her this was the supreme moment when she must speak plainly, or for ever hold her peace.

“You love old furniture, Joe, old china, tapestries, and lacquer cabinets. You love them too well, dear. They have crept between you and Posy, between you—and me.”

The dreariness of her voice smote her husband. Had they been alone, he would have melted; but James was present—James, whom he despised, James, whom he knew to be unworthy. Unable to deal adequately with Susan’s pathetic indictment, he turned savagely on the young man.

“And you—don’t you love old furniture, old china?” He made a passionate gesture, including within a sweep of his arm all the treasures about him. He continued: “Answer me! Don’t you love things worth their weight in gold?”

“They interest me, of course. I don’t love them.”

“Never entered your overcrowded mind, did it, that when closing-time came for me these things would belong to my only child—hey?”

“It may have entered my mind, sir, but I didn’t fall in love with Posy because she was your daughter.”

“Ho! Tell me, how do you propose to support this young lady after I’ve given you the sack?”

“For that matter, Mr. Tomlin wants me. You pay me four pounds a week. I’m worth ten to any big dealer.”

“‘Ark to Mister Pride-before-the-Fall!”

Rage now possessed him. He had promised himself that he would keep his temper, and deal drastically but calmly with a clever knave and a pretty noodle. But Susan’s attitude had blown to the wind such excellent resolutions. Perhaps the dominant idea in his mind was to get Susan alone, to vindicate himself in her eyes. He believed honestly that this abominable affair had distracted her poor wits. Obviously, the first step towards an understanding with Susan was the settlement of this preposterous James Miggott. He nerved himself for a knock-out blow. In James’s eyes, set a thought too close together, he fancied that he read derision and defiance. He heard James’s quiet voice:

“I am quite able to support a wife.”

“Are you? Does that mean, my lad, that you’re ready to marry her against my wish, without my consent?”

“I counted on your consent, sir.”

“You answer my question. You’re in love with Posy for herself—hey? You’d take her as she stands?”

James answered firmly but respectfully:

“Yes.”

Poor Quinney! He had expected hesitation, a craven retreat from a false position, glib expostulation—any reply except this stark “Yes.” The blow stunned him. He heard Posy’s joyful voice:

“Oh, Jim, you are a darling! I was never quite—quite sure till this blessed minute!”

The little man boiled over. He was almost ripe for personal violence. Fortunately, the sense that a man must not fight with his fists in the presence of ladies made him thrust his hands into his pockets. The other convention concerning the use of strong language was honoured in the breach!

“Damn you!” he spluttered. “If you want her, take her—now.”