Cold Pastoral (41 page)

Mary gathered in a bus map, a Ward Lock Guide Book which she is
studying most diligently. I find she has a vicarious knowledge of London, and
it is interesting to be told that Marble Arch was once intended to be the portal
of Buckingham Palace, but was too narrow to admit the State Coach. We
live and learn! We had dinner and sat and watched the people. She wore her
graduation dress, which made me decide instantly to equip her suitably for the
evening. It is ridiculous not to put her in long dresses. With her height and
figure she could be dressed off the rack, but I am tempted to take her to my
woman, and give her a free hand. It might compensate for having dressed me
for years, without distinction. If Mary shows a disposition for a few good
things, I shall do that. In the meantime she has decided to spend tomorrow in
the National Gallery, and for the evening we are going to hear a concert which
includes a Brahms and Haydn Symphony. With London wide-open, I
thought the choice rather pathetic, but I suppose it is her own idea of loyalty.

This afternoon, while she was out, I rang up a few people. I also long-distanced
the family, who wanted me to come down to the country, but I
won't do that at present. I am like Mary, in thrall to Town. Kitty is at
Regent's Park, and has had Ann's girl up from Devon since April. After her
surprise was over, she launched into a tirade against youth in general, and
declared herself at her wits' end with Maxine, and was thinking of sending
her home. Said she was as wild as a goat, and has a young man with a car
that she knows is not paid for, and they go motoring all day Sunday, so
far and so wide that she is sure they go round the county twice. Kitty was
amusing when I told her I was also
in loco
to youth, and implored me to
bring Mary along at once, as she was sure
a good, steady girl
would tone
Maxine down. I made no promises, as a little detecting might be wise first.
I will feel safer thinking of her in the galleries and crypts, rather than night
clubs. She is further planning a daily French lesson at a Berlitz school.
Withal, my dear, I find her a vivid companion and full of such interest that
I feel young again.

Very anxious to hear from you. Mails seem to take so long. Thank you,
darling, for the cables and the flowers. Love to Phil and all to yourself.
     
FELICE

Interval of three weeks.

Mary Immaculate to David :

David,

I am nearly crazy with London. There doesn't seem enough of me to go
round. It is the most marvellous place in the whole world, because it seems to
have everything. Right out of the heart of it you can go into the parks,
and it is another world. The birds by the Round Pond and in St. James'
Park make me think of the groves at home, only England is so smooth.
How funny it would be if it rained granite boulders, and they made gouges
in the grass. English gardens are so mannerly. We are now staying
in Northumberland Avenue, and will move soon to another hotel in
Kensington, near the Albert Memorial, which seems a lot of memorial for
one man. I like moving around and going back to the same places from
different points. Then the little churches are something by themselves. I started
at those way down in the City, beginning with St. Bartholomew's and
St. Sepulchre's. When I go into one and sit long enough I get exactly the
same kind of feeling I had in the forests. It's funny to feel suddenly like that
when I've just eaten a gorgeous pastry with sleek brown icing and cream that
makes a rich squirt.

Then there's a place in Jermyn Street with little flames under silver dishes,
and expensive-looking people. There are so many strange-looking people in
London, and I can't imagine why some of them look as they do. Women
dress like men, and men look like girls, but Felice explains everything I ask.
One morning I got up at five and went to Westminster to see the sky-line,
and a very nice policeman thought I was out too early and wanted to look
after me. When I told him why I came out, he said he'd never noticed the
sky-line before, but now that I pointed it out it looked very pretty. Sometimes
I feel quite bad form when I am ready to burst with excitement, but I try and
look too wilted for words.

Last week Felice took me to a beautiful house in Regent's Park, where I met
her niece, Maxine. After a while I liked her awfully, but I didn't think
I would at first, because she finds everything lousy, or too devastating,
and what isn't like that is completely shattering. I can't find anything lousy,
nor am I shattered. After she had asked if I didn't find it too backwatering
to come from Newfoundland, she said she must do something about it, as
I looked all right on the outside. I've been going places with her ever since.
She took me to a cocktail party in Queensborough Terrace. An awfully
nice man saw I wasn't drinking and he taught me how to refuse cocktails
gracefully. There are several ways—I can be studying voice—or I can be in
training and need my wind. It was great fun, and he was soothing and
fatherly, and asked me to lunch. Another man asked me to dine at the
Berkeley, but when he told me I had the most beautiful legs in London I
refused at once. I know Mater would think it most peculiar if I dined with
a man who spoke of my legs. But he said it in such a beautiful voice that I
concluded an Englishman's insults sounded like compliments.

Then something delightful happened. I saw a man staring at me, until
Maxine brought him up and said he couldn't drink a mouthful unless I'd
close my eyes. I might have been shattered myself, except that he was very
good-looking in that rather basted way the Navy has. When he asked me to
close my eyes I did, because he seemed so much in earnest, and he said
at once, ‘You were a tall white child on a beach one Sunday afternoon, who
got drowned and did not have the manners to open her eyes and thank her
rescuer.'
And
, dear David, it was the Lieutenant-Commander who saved
me, only he wasn't a Commander then, and you know him yourself. I was
so excited, and when he asked me to go dancing I accepted at once. I've seen
him several times as he's on leave and does not have to join his ship for quite
a while. He is delightful to me, and says he must take me places if only to
compensate for hitting me six years ago.

I've worn my new dresses every evening, and Felice says I must have
another. My clothes are exciting! I have a town suit, two lovely prints with
hats to match and a dinner and evening dress. I feel rather naked, but the
woman said I must not be dressed lamb-fashion, only, dear David, she said
jeune fille
. It appears I am a sophisticated type, and I could mannequin
tall slender models at any time, which is comforting to know, in case I have
to work for my living. Maxine likes my clothes, and it takes a lot to satisfy
her. Privately, I like going out alone with the Lieutenant-Commander
better than with Maxine and her crowd. I think they must be what the
Americans call hotcha, but everything is fun, and I am glad to have the
opportunity of going out in the evenings. Felice is an angel, and lets me do
what I like as long as I tell her. Often she comes with me to see pictures,
porcelains and bronzes. I like selected exhibitions best. They are choice and
few, and do not confuse me.

There is tons more to say, but not enough time to write it. Thank you for
your lovely letters, and the hint to write to Philip on my own. Perhaps you
had better not let him read this, as you know, dear David, he might be mad
about the man who spoke of my legs.

Your own,
     
MARY

Mary Immaculate to Philip :

Dear Philip,

I have started many letters to you, but when they got on paper they looked
strange and stilted, so I tore them up. Felice says to be myself and not try and
write for effect. I expect she means you know my worst, so it's all right to say
anything. That should be a help, but it isn't. I can't help thinking that
I should not be indulged with this lovely time, and that it would be more
suitable if I were praying on cold stones. I have tried to be penitential, and
deny myself things, and one day I went into the Brompton Oratory and knelt
down in one of the darkest side-chapels, but I found my mind very distracted
with the mosaics and decided it was foolish to pretend, so I went out and had
tea and three French pastries. The best I can do is give some pennies to
the beggars. I prefer the ones with dogs, though Felice says a lot of them are
bogus. I am not very proud of myself for not breaking my heart or making
a brine-pit of my tears. It is not that I could ever forget and lose Mater
and Tim. Mater is marvellous about telling me what is good and bad, and
Tim goes with me. I hope I don't misbehave much, but London is exciting,
marvellous and bursting with things to do. I would like to go on and on, and
see the world. I have met a lot of Mater's family, and they seem like her, only
older and yellower.

We are wondering when you will arrive, and hope you will not have to wait
until November. Felice is busy house-hunting and can get one in Chelsea for
six months, beginning October. It is nice, with a roomful of window and
grand piano. I think Felice will take it.

I hate to explain myself over here. People seem so sure of what should be.
Their opinions are polite, but seem to be set in cast-iron. How awful if I had
to explain the skiff to the Lieutenant-Commander. Maxine occasionally
drops out a word about me, but, if it suits her, she says I was born on an
iceberg when my mother was being driven to the hospital by a reindeer.
Nobody listens, but they accept the iceberg. People can be trying, and
English people are ignorant about the Colonies.
Philip, thank you for everything, and all the money. I'm afraid I've bought
expensive things. I have definitely decided not to go to University. I am sad
and glad together, and I send my love.
     
MARY

Cable from Philip to Mary Immaculate :

Thank you for letter stop do not bother about the Brompton Oratory stop
I want you to be happy stop London in November stop love to Felice and
yourself write again. Love.—
PHILIP

Cable from Mary Immaculate to Philip

I will, Philip.—
MARY

“…A GREAT STREAM OF PEOPLE THERE WAS
HURRYING TO AND FRO.”

I
n London five months, she was awakened one morning by the plop announcing a gas-fire. English fires were little, she thought, visualising the gigantic fires at the Place. Hearing the snap of curtains, she came closer to her surroundings. Would this be another portentous day? Felice had hired three servants and a house in Chelsea, and the scene was set for Philip and David.

Philip! His name kept making two terse syllables in her mind. What now? she wondered. Felice was in Liverpool meeting the boat, and before another day had passed they would be together again. The Place was resting, waiting for the tread of a new generation, with a gardener living in the basement to temper its desertion. Hannah was in a home, muttering through the last lap of her life, and Rufus had disloyally capitulated to the gardener.

Her nose vibrated, feeling peevish with London air. November staged a dingy substitute for the high winters she knew, but it was not daunting. London was in her bones, and she could sop up its murk as well as its sun. Five months of intensive living had been like a various finishing-school. The levelling and impersonal education of a great city had steadied her. Liberty had been an intoxication, but it had stayed mainly in her feet. She could pillage the faceted heart of england and chatter about it to Felice. Her record was good, and she
had not lost her way in town vagabondage.

Stretching luxuriously, she approved the quilted-chintz look of the
room. Other people's things! David and Felice found them satisfying.
That they could be foot-loose and content with various mansions
would confound philip. He would be the man of property, liking his
forefather's clutter.

She hoped Maxine would go before the family reunion. Definitely
she did not want an outsider when Philip and David arrived. To
determine the possibilities of Maxine's departure she turned over to
study her in the other bed. Her eyes fastened on a closed olive face
fumbling towards consciousness with pucker and strain. Maxine
looked tormented, on the threshold of a morning ushering in her
devils. Maxine had devils, and she housed them in a big way. Particularly
of late she had indulged the rough edge of her tongue. Why
did she like Maxine? Because of her brittle no-nonsense attitudes or
because she could reveal a world Felice did not inhabit ? In her casual
way she had been kind. Having been gathered up as an initiate, Mary
Immaculate had set out to find her feet in Maxine's world. Often they
contended like two strong personalities refusing to concede an inch.
Then their differences were punished by Maxine's insolent departure,
while Mary Immaculate did something else, sure of Maxine's return.
The latter used few words to condemn, but when she did, American,
Colonial, Provincial, came forth as biting accusations.