Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky (69 page)

‘But Bob, there’ll be trouble, won’t there?’ said Ella, ‘we’ll have to explain.’

‘Who cares?’ said Bob, and a few minutes later the house opened, and they had perforce to put the matter on one side.

But an assault of any kind upsets the nervous system, and she took alarm later in the morning, as she saw nothing of Master Eric, whom she was now desperately anxious to Forgive (she couldn’t stand the thought of head-smackings and being on terms like that with anybody), and who had possibly told all sorts of fairy tales to his seniors.

‘The Governor wants a word with you,’ said the Governor’s Wife’s Sister (the tyrant of ‘The Midnight Bell’ whom Bob and Ella both detested), during the morning. This she said forebodingly in passing, while Ella was hard at work, and Ella’s heart sank.

‘Does he? Where is he?’

‘He’s out now. He won’t be back till this evening. You hurt the kid bad you know.’

‘
I
didn’t hit him,’ said Ella, but the hateful woman had gone.

Here was a nice thing to have happened on Christmas Eve! Had a crime more dreadful than she had imagined been committed? After all, the kid’s head had been sharply struck, and it would be a fine thing if she ended up with getting the sack or something! Oh, why should
this
be inflicted on her, on top of all her troubles!

Ella was so tired with the Christmas rush that she lay down in her bedroom that afternoon. At four o’clock she thought she heard the Governor come in, and went out on to the landing to try and get a word with him at once. But, after tense listening to footsteps, and doors opening and shutting, on the landing below, she found it was not, after all, the man who so ominously wanted a Word with her, and she went back to do some sewing in her bleak room, in even more agonized suspense as to what sort of Word it was to be.

Nor had the Governor returned, or had she seen anything
more of Master Eric by the time the house opened in the evening – an opening which was rendered even more desolate by the fact that Bob had the evening off and so was not there to support her. Moreover she had the knowledge that in two days’ time Bob was going away for a week’s holiday, which had been long due to him, but which she could not help grudging him, as she would be so lonely at so unpleasant a time of year.

It was about ten minutes after opening, and with only a few customers in the house, that Ella looked along the bar and could hardly believe her eyes. Was that not the Takings-Place Above rather self-consciously standing there? At the moment Ella was busy uncorking a bottle for a rather involved order from three gentlemen, and before going along in that direction, she had time in which to ponder the significance of this visitation. Had something happened, had there been a turn for the Worse, to bring the Takings-Place Above all the way from Pimlico with the news? What else? Ella had a vision of being compelled to leave her work and rushing over to her mother to attend a death-bed – in which case it would not be such an unexciting Christmas after all.

In getting another bottle she had to pass the Takings-Place Above, and she smiled and said ‘Good evening.’

‘Good evening,’ said the Takings-Place Above, smiling back in a strange, awkward way. Yes, Ella decided as she went on with her work, if she was not mistaken that was a death-bed smile, and she could hardly contain herself in her impatience to get to the woman. But two other men entered and brusquely ordered drinks and cigarettes, and it was three or four minutes before she faced her with a ‘Fancy seeing you.’

The Takings-Place Above said ‘M’m’ and again smiled queerly. ‘Can I have a small Johnny Walker?’ she added.

‘Small Johnny Walker?’ said Ella, and went to get it for her. This did not seem exactly in the death-bed spirit. Unless, of course, she wanted to fortify herself before proclaiming the evil news – that was to say the perfectly glorious news, for Ella had by now given up telling lies to herself in this matter.

‘Soda?’ said Ella, holding the glass under the syphon.

‘Yes, please,’ said the Takings-Place Above, still reticent.

There was a throaty hiss from the syphon, and Ella proffered the glass. Then, the Takings-Place Above, who had a feeling for dramatic effect, spoke.

‘He’s Better,’ said the Takings-Place Above, her face alight with the gleaming joy of the messenger.

A
ND HE WAS
Better – more than Better – in fact, so far as Ella could see, the unpleasant man was in bouncing health, apart from being in bed. The Takings-Place Above at once launched out into lavish and luxuriously dramatic descriptions of the Turn, which had miraculously taken place last night in fulfilment of the Takings-Place Above’s premonitions, prophecies, Strange Feelings, and Always Having Said so, etc., – and now his temperature had fallen practically to normal, he was sitting up and taking nourishment, and the Doctor had pronounced him out of all danger only that afternoon. In fact, the patient was comparatively in such boisterous health that among other things he had actually spoken quite sharply to Ella’s mother over a question of a pillow which wasn’t to his liking! And the Takings-Place Above had remarked humorously to her mother (who was Solid Gold, if ever anyone was) that it would be nice to hear him Ticking her Off Again, and she would have to Spoil him now! It was all a Miracle really. So delighted had the Takings-Place Above been that she had been unable to resist coming over here to tell Ella. She had thought of her here, poor girl, worrying herself sick at Christmas Time, and not knowing What might have Happened. And so she thought she would bring her over a little Christmas present in the form of this heartening news. Freedom from this terrible worry would do her more good than all the Christmas presents in the world, and this should
be the jolliest Christmas she had ever had. The Takings-Place Above Knew what it Meant, and Understood what it Was.

In fact the Takings-Place Above plainly felt justified in indulging in a sort of vicarious celebration of Ella’s emancipation from weeks of stark terror, ordered another whiskey (a large one), and began to get rather drunk. The strain of listening to this emotional and dubious woman, combined with the necessity of pumping up courteous and seemingly enthusiastic answers, of having, in order to save her face, to play up to the farcical rôle of hysterical relief thrust upon her, was nearly more than Ella could stand. The news itself was heartbreaking enough, but this blithe, self-indulgent hypocrisy into the bargain was really the last straw.

About twenty minutes later, and while she was still talking to the woman (for in politeness and seemliness she had to return to her at the conclusion of each order), Master Eric, apparently urged on by the Governor from the door within, stepped up to her, and with a grave yet fiery glance, delivered himself of an apology in which he had evidently been instructed.

‘I’ve come to say,’ he said, meeting a rather frightened Ella’s eyes, ‘that I apologize for Kicking you this morning.’ And he immediately walked away again.

‘Why – what a lovely kid!’ exclaimed the Takings-Place Above, at once alive to the opportunity for sentimental participation in a reconciliation. ‘Has ’e been Naughty?’

‘Yes. He was rather,’ said Ella, who was not displeased. (It was better than getting the sack, anyway.)

‘Did ’e Kick you?’ asked the Takings-Place Above, enchanted by the idea.

‘Yes. He did.’

‘Oo – the naughty boy! And now ’e came to Apologize! Ain’t that lovely? I love kids, don’t you?’

‘Yes. I do.’

‘I mean I’d love to have a child, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes. Of course they’re a trouble at times.’

‘Yes, but it’d be worth it,’ said the Takings-Place Above,
and added warmly, ‘just to see that he didn’t make the mistakes you’d made yourself.’

‘Yes,’ said Ella, secretly thinking that if one actually was crusading only against Mistakes, a more simple, effective, and certain method would be for the Takings-Place Above not to have a child at all. But of this she showed nothing.

As the house filled up with people, Ella had an excuse to absent herself more and more from this corner of the bar. But the Takings-Place Above lingered on and on, eventually establishing a connection with a stout middle-aged gentleman, who paid for her drinks and sat down with her.

At a late hour she left the place with him, doubtless, Ella reflected, to return with him to where she had come from – the room above her mother in Pimlico – and to add yet another scandal to those already existing there. A shady ending to the somewhat fulsome benevolence of the impulse which originally brought her over to ‘The Midnight Bell.’ Thus did this murky bee of London go round dispensing and gathering her over-sweet honey from place to place over the town.

Ella lay awake hour upon hour that night. Before going to bed she had slipped into Bob’s room and put his Christmas present from her upon his pillow. This was a silk handkerchief, wrapped around a box of twenty cigarettes. This had been planned months ago, when she had bought the handkerchief at a sale. She had thrown in the cigarettes in case his ‘lordship’ (she could still with amused and loving deprecation think of him as his ‘lordship’ – it somehow summed up his transparent charm for her) did not like the handkerchief, and because cigarettes were always safe.

He was in very late that night. She never dared to think where he was or what he was up to out late at night. But tonight he was so late that she got frightened, and did think, and of course decided miserably that it was Girls. But at last he came in, and she listened breathlessly in the darkness for his pause in undressing when he saw the present, and thought or imagined that she heard it. But in a few minutes, she heard him opening his window, as he always did last thing, and she
knew that his light was out and that he was as good as asleep. So much for Christmas presents. And, alas, it was beyond reasonable expectation to imagine that a silk handkerchief wrapped around a box of twenty Players could make a man love you.

Two hours later she was still awake and it was raining in the dark of Christmas Day. It poured down gently with a steady level of dripping murmur on the roof – like something wishing to instil in her, in the quiet blackness of the night, a sense of the hidden but ever present realities of her lonely and meaningless struggle in the world of London – of the endless procession of solitary nights after senseless working days – of the endless procession of meagre triumphs and frustrations in connection with the disinterested agents of her fate – Mr. Eccles, her stepfather, Master Eric, India, Christmas, Bob, the Governor. And though months had passed, with all these playing their stimulating or wearying parts, where was she now? In her cave, at night, with the rain coming down on the roof. And on Christmas Day – like the last Christmas Day, and the next. And still she could not sleep and still the rain came down. She heard Bob get up and close his window.

T
HEY HAD A
splendid Christmas Day at ‘The Midnight Bell.’ A terrific midday dinner for all of them in the Governor’s room, and in the evening they were allowed to wear the caps from their crackers in the bar!

And, just as Ella had foreseen, by the Christmas Day Post a letter from Mr. Eccles! In the interval between dinner and tea, which on this astounding day was also taken in the Governor’s room, by invitation, she took the opportunity to study this in her bed-room.

‘178 Mervyn Avenue,

Chiswick, W.4. 

‘Dear “Ella”,

(
Still inverted commas, she noted, but perhaps that was because be was angry with her, and she would not become truly Ella until she had been forgiven
.)

‘It will be Christmas Day to-morrow, and I am not the man to harbour anything – least of all a grudge. I never was – funny, but there you are.’ (
A little subsidiary exercise in the Short Elementary Course in Mr. Eccles, this, in spite of the tenderness of the situation
.) ‘Besides, I now see that I was as fully as much in the wrong as you over that little “flare-up” we had that day – you look
so
pretty when you are in a “pet” by the way! – in fact, I was more in the wrong, as I know I have a most provoking way with me sometimes when I am angry – friends have told me so.’ (
More of the Short Course!
) ‘I am truly and sincerely sorry if I said anything “unforgivable” and am sure you will realize that it was not meant.

‘The truth is, my dear, that I get attacks of “the blues” at times, and then I am very crotchety. My doctor would tell you it is liver! – such a commonplace complaint!! But if I am ever to be your “hubby” (and we must really weigh up the “pros” and “cons” of the situation when we next meet) you will have to know my moods when they come along and just tease me out of them like the sly little puss you are! A clever woman can do so much if she makes a study of her “man,” and thank Heavens whatever else you can say about me, I have a great sense of humour, and am always the first to laugh at myself.

‘What wretched weather we are having. Hardly “seasonable,” is it? I always feel that at Christmas time the house-tops should be covered with snow as we see in the Christmas cards. But the good, old-fashioned Christmas seems gone forever in this mechanical age!

‘Well, I feel sure that you will take this in the spirit in which it is written and accept my apology if I hurt you. When shall we meet? Remember that I still want to bring you over here to introduce you to my sister-in-law (I am sure, you will like each other) and then the die will be cast!
You must not be frightened at the “ordeal” as we will have a talk about it first.

‘Shall it be next Wednesday? We have your Christmas present to think about. I saw some nice fur coats in a window the other day. Expensive – but they looked so cosy for this weather! I can hardly wait to see you again – as you are always in my thoughts – perhaps more than you know or I would care to tell you! Just at the moment, I could hug you and squeeze you till you cried for mercy! So write your toodlums a nice loving letter with a great big kiss, and let us forget the past and look to the future.