Collected Works of E M Delafield

by E M Delafield

  Freddie: They very nearly went off without signing their names in the book after all. Come on, Jill, write your name. Here’s the blotting-paper.

  [Caroline starts up.

  Jill (signing): There!

  Freddie: Lucky thing I remembered. Now, Owen ——

  [Owen signs.

  Jill (to Caroline): You see — life again! Always the anti-climax — I will not say good-bye all over again.

  [Blows her a kiss and exit by window, followed by Freddie.

  Owen lingers behind, with Caroline.

  Owen: Has she told you?

  Caroline: She said it was — going to be all right.

  Owen: I feel that too. You know, Caroline, it’s all thanks to you.

  Caroline: Nonsense.

  Owen: But it isn’t — and, besides, something you said to her this morning helped her to make up her mind.

  Caroline: Yes, Jill and I agreed this morning how wonderfully easy it is to throw light on the problems of other people.

  Owen: Did she also throw light on yours?

  Caroline: I think so. At least, she made me realise that if one hasn’t the courage to rebel, it’s wiser to face life as it is, and accept it, than to try and reconcile it with — day-dreams.

  Owen (impulsively): Caroline — forgive me — you said, “If one hasn’t the courage to rebel.” Are you sure you haven’t the courage?

  Caroline: Quite, quite sure. Years ago, perhaps — but things accumulate — responsibilities — obligations that one undertakes —— (She shakes her head.) It’s life, isn’t it? But it will be different for you and Jill. You’re starting differently.

  [The engine of the car is started outside.

  You must go. (She gives him her hand.) Good-bye, Owen. The best of luck!

  Owen: Good-bye, Caroline.

  [He looks at her for a moment, then lifts her hand to his lips and exits.

  Caroline stands looking after him. Her eyes are dazed, as though some thought eluded her. She relinquishes it, rouses herself and goes to her old place on the sofa, taking up her knitting on the way.

  Freddie returns and starts the gramophone with “When we are married.” After a few bars, Caroline says with a smile:

  Caroline: I still have a little headache, Freddie.

  Freddie: I’m sorry, dear. (Stops gramophone.)

  [Emma enters with the newspaper on a tray, which she silently hands to Freddie. He takes it with a sound of satisfaction, and tears off the wrapper. Then he, too, subsides into the chair opposite to Caroline’s. He unfolds the paper and begins to read.

  Exit Emma.

  A pauses then Caroline speaks:

  Caroline: Anything in the paper, Freddie?

  Freddie: Nothing, as far as I can see. This dam’ Government ——

  [Another pause, then Freddie lowers the paper and looks across at Caroline.

  (Slowly) I’ve been thinking — if you’d care about it, dear, we might perhaps take a trip abroad in the spring. I daresay a change would do you good.

  Caroline (starting into life): Freddie!

  Freddie (with an obvious effort): Yes. What about that place you and Jill are so keen about? We might take a look at that. Wasn’t it the Eiffel Tower by moonlight . . . ?

  CURTAIN

  The Non-Fiction

  Croyle, an old house in Kentisbeare, Devon — Delafield’s last home, where she wrote ‘Diary of a Provincial Lady’

  GENERAL IMPRESSIONS

  CONTENTS

  GENERAL IMPRESSION OF A COUNTRY-TOWN HOUSE-AGENT’S OFFICE

  MEN, WOMEN, AND CHILDREN IN FICTION

  HOME LIFE RELAYED

  STUDIES IN EVERYDAY LIFE

  LOOKING AT THE CLASSICS

  THE SINCEREST FORM...

  WHEN I’M ALLOWED TO BE...

  GENERAL IMPRESSION OF A COUNTRY-TOWN HOUSE-AGENT’S OFFICE

  General Impression, derived from photographs and bills plastering every wall and window within sight, that most of the houses in the neighbourhood are to be Sold, and the remainder to be Let, giving rise to intelligent speculations as to the consequent whereabouts of the previous tenants.

  AN EARNEST LADY. You see, what we’re looking for is a Home. Something not too large, and yet not too small, and with a good garden, but not too much for one man to manage, and of course a garage, and my husband would like an orchard.

  THE CLERK. Quite so, madam. Have you inspected “Lauderdale” or “Fleet Mount”?

  THE E. L. (consulting an exhausted-looking piece of paper covered with pencil notes). Let me see, “Lauderdale” was the one with the gas laid on, and we wanted electric light, and anyway the bathroom was downstairs. I’m afraid that’s no good. And isn’t “Fleet Mount” a house that faces the wrong way?

  THE CLERK (with an air of astonishment). The wrong way, madam? Hardly that, I think. Perhaps it doesn’t face exactly the way your present residence faces, and that may have confused you, if I may say so?

  General Impression that he has accurately gauged the extent to which his client is the victim of a not uncommon feminine inability to Understand the Points of the Compass, as she murmurs something vague about her Husband Liking the Windows to Look South or Something, and then changes the subject.

  AN ASTUTE PERSON (who has insisted upon seeing the Head of the Business). Now those houses in Cleveland Road, for instance — I suppose I should have to pay a pretty high rent for one of them?

  H. OF THE B. Well, sir, of course they’re extremely difficult to get hold of. I assure you that I could let every one of them that passes through my hands a dozen times over. You see they’re new houses, with every labour-saving device and modern convenience, standing high on gravel soil, facing south, adjoining the golf-course, and in an excellent residential neighbourhood.

  THE A. P. Ah. Not much hope then.

  H. OF THE B. I wouldn’t say that, sir. Of course, there’s a waiting list for them — especially for rent, unfurnished — but I should be pleased to see what we can do for you, if I may have the particulars. I can’t promise anything, the demand for unfurnished houses being what it is, but we could bear your requirements in mind.

  THE A. P. Well, I’m very glad to hear what you tell me because, as a matter of fact, I’m the owner of a house in Cleveland Road — No. 20 — and from what you say, I imagine that you’ll have no difficulty whatever in getting me a really good let.

  General Impression that the A. P. has scored heavily, which is, however, dispersed after a few tense moments during which the H. of the B. recovers from the shock of his client’s duplicity.

  H. OF THE B. Of course, you must bear in mind, sir, that I’m talking of six months ago. Things were very different, then. You don’t need me to tell you that, sir, I feel sure. Very different, they were, six months ago. We shall be delighted to take down your particulars, and do what we can for you, of course. But now let me see — No. 20 — that’s the wrong side of the road, isn’t it, sir?

  General Impression that the H. of the B. has rallied gamely, and may now be confidently backed to win.

  A DEAR OLD LADY (in the Outer Office). Thank you so much for sending that young man to show me over Babberley Castle. Most interesting, I’m sure, especially the dungeons. And I should like an order to view The Court, please.

  THE CLERK. The Court is a good deal smaller than Babberley, madam, if that’s any objection?

  D. OLD L. Oh, not the least, thank you. I don’t really want to buy a house, you know, but my daughter in India may be coming home next spring, and I thought in case she wanted to settle anywhere in the country, with the children, you know, it would be so nice — though really, I think she likes London best....

  General Impression that the Clerk is doomed to hear the whole of her family history sooner or later, and may just as well make up his mind to it at once.

  GENERAL IMPRESSION OF A HOUSE REMOVAL

  Unspeakably depressing General Impression of innumerable sheets of newspaper spread, apparently at random, over carpet
less floors and naked-looking staircases, and pallid walls on which appear sudden irregular squares and oblongs of un-faded colour hitherto concealed by pictures and furniture.

  Every floor and ceiling liable to shake suddenly and violently beneath the tread of what appears to be a herd of wild buffaloes, but is in reality The Men. These, in altogether phenomenal Boots, and green baize aprons, finally resolve themselves into three: the Foreman, Bill, and Old Baker, none of whom ever utters a syllable in anything below a shout.

  THE FOREMAN. Ease her up, Bill — ease her up.

  BILL (with frightful abruptness). Hi! look out!

  THE F. Careful, there! Now then — Up she goes!

  General Impression that the Grand Piano must somehow have become wedged on the back stairs.

  Subsequent anti-climax when Bill appears, carrying a towel-horse and two tin candlesticks.

  BILL. Now we shan’t be long! What about that Blue Ware in Bedroom No. Five?

  The less reputable articles of the Blue Ware from Bedroom No. Five are thereupon escorted down the front stairs, and through the front hall, by Old Baker, progress being broken not infrequently whilst he exchanges mysterious and fragmentary shouts with the Foreman upstairs, during which intervals the Blue Ware reposes conspicuously at his feet.

  OLD BAKER. All through, up there?

  THE F. The Gent’s Mahog. isn’t down yet.

  OLD B. (thoughtfully). Ar.

  THE LADY OF THE HOUSE (who deals with the situation by keeping her hat on, and drinking a Hot Cup of Tea in the Hall instead of having lunch in the ordinary way). Directly the Last Van is full, I think we’d better leave. We can lock up the Back, and perhaps you’ll see to the Front, and leave the keys at the lodge.

  OLD B. We haven’t come to Keys yet, mum — not by a very long way.

  THE L. OF THE H. I thought this was the last load?

  OLD B. (at the top of his voice). Bill, I say, is this the Last Load?

  BILL (also at the top of his voice). Eh?

  OLD B. (surpassing himself in vocal effort). This the LAST LOAD, the lady wants to know.

  BILL. Ar, I couldn’t hardly say, as to that. That’s as it may be. Rain’s coming down, too.

  General Impression that this last catastrophe has probably thrown out the whole thing, and that although The Beds have Gone, we may have to Stay On Another Night after all.

  THE COOK (suddenly appearing out of chaos). I’m sorry to say I can’t find Pussy, madam. I’m afraid the Men’s Boots may have frightened him.

  MORE OR LESS EVERYBODY. Puss ... Puss ... Pussy. Where are you, puss?

  Answer comes there none. General Impression that Pussy is going to take his revenge on the Men’s Boots by hanging up proceedings as long as possible.

  *

  At the Other End.

  General Impression that the unloading of the Vans is being done on a curious system that leads to the immediate appearance of a rocking-horse, a quantity of flower-vases, hundreds of Drawers divorced from their Tables, one broken chair, five Bedside Tables, and the total inaccessibility of everything else.

  THE FOREMAN. The Ash is coming out now, sir. Where would you like it put?

  THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE. Is that the Large Wardrobe?

  THE F. The ash suite, sir — that has the crack in the panel, and the leg of one chair broke.

  General Impression that he is wisely introducing the mention of these calamities at a moment when they will pass comparatively unperceived.

  THE LADY OF THE HOUSE. I don’t see the China Cabinet, anywhere. If we could get at the China Cabinet, I do believe we should have all the Drawing-room things in the Drawing-room.

  OLD BAKER (encouragingly). That’s right, mum. All the heavy stuff is in the drawing-room. There’s only the carpet to come now.

  THE COOK. If you please, madam, me and Sarah are very sorry, but we think we’d better tell you at once as we don’t intend to stay. We don’t feel the house is likely to suit us, either of us....

  THE CAT (unexpectedly appearing between the Foreman’s feet just as he is lifting up a roll of carpet that apparently weighs five ton and measures sixty feet long, and which will be disposed of on the top of the drawing-room furniture, instead of underneath it). MIAOW!

  GENERAL IMPRESSION OF THE ZOO

  General Impression that Whatever we want to look at is a very long way from where we are now, and if only we could see a keeper, he might direct us — but when we do, and he does, it’s all rather vague and complicated, and there are so many things on the way to distract our attention, that we can’t remember if he said Past the Monkey-house and right round to the left of the Smaller Mammals, or Through the Tunnel, and just behind the Kangaroos.

  AN UNCLE. And now, Peter, here are the lions at last.

  PETER. They’re not so large as I thought they’d be.

  THE U. (raising his voice for the benefit of adjacent strangers). You’d think them large enough, my boy, if you’d been with me in Africa, never knowing whether one was going to spring up from behind a rock and make a rush for you. I remember once, when I was out ——

  PETER. But I know that story, Uncle. I wish you’d tell me one about pirates, instead.

  In the Monkey-house.

  A PERSON WITH A SMATTERING OF SCIENCE. Well, I must say, it does make you see what Darwin meant, doesn’t it?

  HIS COMPANION (austerely). I can’t say I care about Darwin, myself.

  Unescapable General Impression, as the Blue-bottomed Ape dawns upon the view, that this is a not altogether unreasonable prejudice.

  THE PERSON WITH THE S. OF S. You may not care about it, ole man, but what I say is, you can’t get away from the Proven Facts. You and me may act like civilized beings now, but there was a time when we looked exactly like these little fellows here, and behaved like them too.

  THE C. (with finality). Not in my case, there wasn’t.

  *

  In the Parrot-house.

  THE PARROTS (in dissonant chorus). Squawk — wauk — wauk!

  A SIGHT-SEER WITH A GRASP OF THE OBVIOUS. Noisy in here, isn’t it?

  *

  On the Mappin Terraces.

  AUNTIE (who is giving a treat to a collection of small nephews and nieces). Those are the Bears. Stand well back, dear, there’s nothing to prevent their jumping right over the ditch, as far as I can see, to the very spot we’re standing on.... Better take Auntie’s hand, Willie, in case you’re frightened. Joan, I wouldn’t go up there, dear, or you may fall over and break your neck. Keep together, chicks, and don’t lose sight of Auntie whatever you do. There’s many a poor child got lost in the Zoo through lagging behind, and never been heard of again.

  WILLIE (green with alarm). And what happened to them, Auntie? Did the lions get them?

  AUNTIE (absentmindedly, but anxious to please the child). I expect so, dear.

  *

  Outside the Pigmy Hippo’s Cage.

  AN ENTHUSIASTIC LADY. Oh, what a little darling! Isn’t he too sweet? But where’s his mother? Surely he’s too young to be taken away from his mother?

  A KEEPER (sardonically). She’ll be brought in to say good-night to him, madam, a little later on.

  *

  In the Aquarium.

  AN EXACTING SIGHT-SEER. Fancy! they haven’t got a whale. You’d think they’d have a whale, wouldn’t you? I always thought they had every animal at the Zoo.

  ANOTHER SPECTATOR (in front of the Electric Eel). Did you ever see anything like that? It doesn’t seem like an animal, does it? I mean the way it’s made, and that. How they ever think up the things, is what beats me.

  HER FRIEND (slightly dazed by staring through glass and water at a succession of utterly improbable creatures). I wouldn’t like to have the job of sorting them all out, I know that.

  *

  Recrudescence of Auntie and her troop, most of whom are now in tears; and all of them in an advanced state of exhaustion.

  AUNTIE (more in sorrow than in anger). And all I can say, Joan, is t
hat if this is the way you behave when you’re taken for such a lovely treat, you’d better stay outside while the rest of us go and look at the snakes. There’s one of them sixteen feet long, and one touch of its fang is poison — and deadly poison, too....

  General Impression that the thought of missing this fascinating sight will prove only less agonizing than the prospect of beholding it.

  AUNTIE. And what about the buns for the elephants, now?

  Answer comes there none.

  Painful General Impression gradually gains ground, that the Buns have been eaten by Willie and Co.

  Scene closes in as this distressing discovery dawns upon Auntie, who is by this time far too worn out by two hours of solid walking to endure it with equanimity.

  GENERAL IMPRESSION OF A TENNIS PARTY

  First, practically invariable, General Impression that with any Luck the Rain will Keep off till Later. Second General Impression that It’s only Spitting, third General Impression that This isn’t going to be Anything Much, or, alternatively, that The Harder it comes down at first, the sooner it’ll be over.

  Dramatic appearance of a young player in a sleeveless frock, with a green shade over her eyes.

  AN ONLOOKER. My dear, look at Helen Wills!

  A WIT ON THE COURT. Hallo, is this Helen Wills?

  A FRIEND OF THE Y. P.’S. My dear, you look exactly like Helen Wills!

  A NEW ONLOOKER (aside). Do tell me who that is. Does she think she’s Helen Wills, or what?

  General Impression that this highly original comparison will continue to be made, throughout the afternoon, by more or less everybody present.

  As, indeed, happens; varied only by an occasional murmur about Suzanne, alternatively referred to as Longlong, Lenglenn, and Langlan.

  Just Before a Sett.

  A YOUNG GENTLEMAN IN FLANNELS THAT APPARENTLY REQUIRE PERPETUAL HITCHING, TO A YOUNG LADY IN MAUVE STRIPES. I’m afraid I’m fearfully rotten.

  THE MAUVE STRIPES. Oh, I’m putrid.

  On the Other Side of the Net, a BANDANNA HANDKERCHIEF is remarking to a WHITE WASHING SILK that he is Absolutely the World’s Rabbit. To which the W. W. S. returns: