Miles and Flora

by Hilary Bailey

  He entertained us yesterday in his small garden room, a room which consists almost entirely of glass and overlooks a portion of his garden. One could not call this erection by so commonplace a name as a conservatory, for it is semi-circular, well furnished and full of plants, overlooking an old garden to the side of the house. This, with its muted colours, old flower beds and paths, with its harmony of leaf and branch against old walls, entranced me. It seemed to my eyes, so long unused to such sights, to be so perfectly English. And in that garden one anticipated Spring, not so far off, is it, Mrs Grose? In a mere month or so we shall see the early signs. And Elaine is so well now!

  But to more pleasant subjects. Mr Reeve, in an old but well-cut tweed suit, admitted us to the house himself. We went through the porch to the front door, entered a broad square hall and, turning sharply to the left, went down a short stretch of passageway, through a door and straight through to the garden room, where tea awaited us. It was our first visit to any house outside our own walls. We were entranced! Mr Reeve, who already knew from Mrs Constantine the circumstances which led to our stay in Strand, was tact personified. He spoke of the pleasures the warmer weather would bring, volunteering to go with us on a boat trip along the coast, to examine this remarkable coastline from the sea. He remarked with great satisfaction, ‘Tea at Deal – that, I believe, will be the final treat.’ He is a curious man. From his manner and conversation one deduces he has many friends and has been in many places more exciting than this quiet country town. Yet he seems to love it, and speaks of it, in all its moods, with enthusiasm. He did not expand on the subject, but gave us to understand he was engaged on a work describing the pre-Roman occupation of this part of the world. He promised us a visit to a village of the Bronze Age, which he has discovered in a field above the town and where a party of diggers and amateur archaeologists will re-commence work when the weather becomes warmer and the days longer.

  In short, Mr Reeve was kindness itself, drew us out on the subject of our old home, about which we both still think with fond regret, almost as for a lost Paradise. I believe he guessed what it must have meant for us when Father died, and we were so prematurely thrown upon the world – a world which was not kind to Elaine. Yet, sympathetically seeing the subject was in some ways upsetting to us, Mr Reeve did not persist. I think he is a man who learns much from small clues (rather as women do!) and therefore had the kindness and good sense not to press us by blunt questionings or statements. Then he cheerfully showed us the other rooms of the house, which are tastefully arranged, though perhaps a little bare, as a bachelor’s rooms, lacking a woman’s touch, will always be.

  It was a most delightful encounter. We came back to Mrs Constantine’s house in very good spirits, I can tell you. For my own part, with Elaine’s health improving so much, it might be possible for me, I believe, to take some pupils. I am so much more optimistic than I was when I first came here. How much we both have to be thankful for.

  I am as ever, your affectionate,

  Marguerite

  PS (Later) But, alas, perhaps our outing was too much, or the weather too grim, for poor Elaine’s temperature is raised, she coughs and seems a little agitated. She speaks of asking Mr Reeve to come for tea tomorrow! Too soon, I say. But I am sure all this is only a temporary setback.

  Affectionately,

  M

  Strand

  Evening, Jan 5th, 1914

  Oh, my dear Mrs Grose – what a muddle we have been in since yesterday. I do not know what to do. A grey day, frosty to begin with, with a cold wind from the North, and Elaine’s fever grew overnight. This morning I called Dr Prothero, who said he had no fears, asked had Elaine overtaxed her strength perhaps on the previous day and prescribed the doctor’s usual remedy: rest, a light diet, the absence of any anxiety. But after the doctor’s visit at ten, Elaine became worse and began to speak of Mr Reeve’s arrival next day as if the invitation had been extended and accepted by the gentleman. She even began to talk about which dresses we should wear – as if, Mrs Grose, we had very much choice – and however much I reasoned with her she would not be calmed, or convinced Mr Reeve’s visit was not imminent. Much alarmed, I recalled Dr Prothero, who pronounced her temperature to be no higher than it had been earlier, made up a draught, and soon she fell asleep.

  Mrs Constantine kindly made me a cup of tea at four, and while Elaine slept she and I drank it in her parlour. I confess I find this room, with its heavy net curtains, green plush curtains looped at the windows and the good, though heavy furniture left by her parents, a little gloomy and crowded. On a grey day, and at that hour, the room certainly seemed very dark. But with the gas jets above the mantelpiece lit and the fire stirred up in the grate, the gloom lifted. Mrs Constantine was most kind, consoling me and assuring me that when Elaine woke she would be better. Then came a knock at the front door. She raised her eyebrows – she was expecting no one – and we agreed it must be the postman and settled to our tea again. And then, to our amazement, in came the maid, Jenny, and announced the arrival of a Mr Brett. He asked to see Miss Selsden. Brett, as you will recall all too clearly, is the name of Elaine’s previous employers, near Edinburgh. I was apprehensive for Elaine. You know how badly she suffered there. I was amazed – why, after all their ill-treatment of Elaine, was this Mr Brett calling on her? Mrs Constantine observed my confusion, much as I tried to mask it. She withdrew, then, to the dining room, asking Jenny to show the caller in.

  I had expected a mature gentleman, lawyer and father of a family. I was disconcerted when, into Mrs Constantine’s parlour, stepped a young man in his late twenties, tall, well-made, and of a fair complexion. He wore a good dark suit and entered the room eagerly, almost at a bound. Then he stopped short, uncertain, seeing me before him.

  ‘You are Mr Brett?’ I asked. ‘I am Marguerite Selsden, Elaine’s sister. Unfortunately she is unwell. She is resting. Will you sit down?’

  And he did, rather uneasily, taking the chair opposite me by the fire, then leaning forward and gazing at me, earnestly, his clenched hands between his knees. ‘I think I see something of Miss Selsden’s face in yours,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry Miss Selsden is ill. I hope it’s nothing serious.’ He spoke in a pleasant voice with a slight Scottish accent.

  I was not sure how to reply. Some bitter words sprang to mind. I was ready to reproach him, as a representative of the family, for the neglect of my sister. But he was open-faced and transparently honest. It was difficult to imagine his having been implicated in what had taken place in Scotland. Elaine had told me of Mr and Mrs Brett and their girls Caroline and Hortense, to whom she had been governess for approaching ten years, but I could not recall her having mentioned this young man. Searching my memory, though, I thought she had once referred in a letter to the girls having an older brother. Conceivably, this was the young man. However, he seemed to think I would know of him; at any rate, he did not explain himself, so in answer to his enquiry about Elaine’s health, which seemed quite earnest and wholehearted, I merely said, ‘She has not been well for some time. She has been improving. This is a setback, but the doctor thinks it is temporary, due to over-exertion.’

  He leaned forward further. ‘Forgive me, Miss Selsden. I did not know your sister had been ill. I have been away, you see, in Norway. I have a position with a firm in Trondheim, which deals in the export of wood.’ He began to speak more quickly, ‘I have been there for two years. I am just back and having discovered from my parents Elaine was here I came as quickly as I could.’

  His words were tumbling out, he gazed at me intently. To my astonishment I saw a young man in love. Elaine had told me nothing of him or of his feelings, but perhaps she had not known of them.

  Disconcerted, I remarked, ‘You have come a long way, Mr Brett. Yet I dare not disturb my sister just now. I will tell her you have called when she wakes.’

  He sighed, stared at me as if hoping I would relent and give him a better answer, then, seeing no alternative, stood up to go. ‘I shall
stay overnight at the King’s Head. But tomorrow afternoon I must go back to London. The ship taking me back to Trondheim sails the day after on the evening tide. Will you send word about Elaine as early as you can? To the inn? I very much wish to see her. Tell me, what is the matter with her?’

  ‘Well, she is tubercular. The illness came on her while she was in Mr and Mrs Brett’s employ.’

  ‘They dismissed her?’ He seemed quite amazed.

  ‘I suppose they had no choice,’ I told him. ‘There was a danger to her pupils.’

  He closed his eyes in shock. ‘Consumption,’ he said. ‘Poor Elaine. Oh, poor Elaine.’ He added, as if to himself, ‘They told me nothing.’

  At this point Mrs Constantine entered. She offered young Mr Brett some refreshment, but he refused, and left with the air of a man with much to think about. Mrs Constantine was curious about the visitor. I told her that he was a relative of Elaine’s previous employers and then left her, saying I wished to see if Elaine was awake. Which she was not. I write this as she sleeps, Mrs Grose. I wonder – Elaine has not really mentioned this young man to me. Yet it seems some relationship must have existed between them, if he is indeed the older brother of her pupils. And I must be interested in all that affects her, for her health is at stake. So, if you do not think me too intrusive – and you may – would you have the goodness to tell me anything you know of the young man?

  Your affectionate,

  Marguerite

  Twelve

  12 Mermaid Street

  Strand

  January 7th, 1914

  Mrs Grose! What you tell me is most distressing. How my heart bleeds for poor Elaine – for all of us. We ‘superior’ persons turn our backs, do we not, on the truth of our position? A governess, a housekeeper, the manager of an estate is in reality as subject to the will of an employer as any servant, maid, cook, gardener. The illusion that we are different is maintained only by complicity between ourselves and our employers. How sad this can be. But let me first tell you what occurred today. I know you are very concerned, so I write late at night, for the day has been a long one.

  Not long after Mr Brett departed Elaine awoke. Her fever had abated. She took a little broth and some tea, then, seeing her calm and apparently rested, I told her of Mr Brett’s visit. Immediately she became agitated. Those familiar patches of red, mockery of health, at once appeared on her cheeks. Why had I dismissed him? she appealed. Why had I not woken her? Of course I said she had been, in my view, too ill to be disturbed by a visitor. Nor, I said, had I realised the visit would mean so much to her. I was puzzled, I confess, at her agitation, but took it to be a further manifestation of her illness. Then she declared I must instantly send for Mr Brett. I told her I thought it was too late – it was by then after eight – and that it might be better for her to rest tonight and see Mr Brett in the morning. She agreed, reluctantly, though in order to persuade her I had to consent to take a note to Mr Brett’s hotel myself immediately. Nothing else would content her. After I returned, the knowledge that this had been done quieted her a little, though she persistently enquired, ‘Why am I ill? Why have I so little strength?’ I told her she would be better soon. I tried to obtain some impression of her relationship with Mr Brett, but plainly she was too tired to answer questions. I gave her the draught Dr Prothero had left for that night and I believe she slept.

  She was up and dressing early next morning, in anticipation of Mr Brett’s visit. I arranged her hair, several times. We decided in the end on a chignon with little tendrils of hair falling round her face, alas, a little flushed. I lent her my blue beads. When she was done, she looked charming.

  Now, Mrs Grose, I cannot conceal anything from you, for I rely on your candour and you must be able to rely on mine – so I must tell you, as soon as Elaine had dressed, and it was by then still only nine o’clock, she suggested an errand to me. Would I, she asked, go to the next town in search of some wool for the jacket she wished to knit for Mrs Constantine? We had already searched Strand for the particular colour she had settled on. It was true we had planned to extend our search but I did not relish taking an unexpected trip on so grim and overcast a day. I was forced to conclude she had conceived the idea I should go overnight, and suspected she did not wish me to be present at her interview with Mr Brett, as I would naturally have been, had I been in the house.

  I confronted this directly, telling her I had no desire to make a bus journey to and from Strand, on such a bad day, but, should she wish to see Mr Brett alone, I would happily absent myself. She denied any such purpose, but got into a great state about the wool for Mrs Constantine’s jacket, saying in quite an excitable way she must have it now, as there would be no point in completing the garment once summer had begun. If I had any thought for her, she said, I would do for her this one small thing, which she so much desired. And so on and so forth. In the end I complied, thinking I must not upset Elaine in her state of health, and seeing no harm in her being alone when Mr Brett came.

  Consequently, well-wrapped, I left the house at a quarter to ten that morning and, since the omnibus was mercifully punctual that day, only an hour later I had purchased the wool, had a cup of tea in a teashop, visited the church and returned to Strand on the early afternoon bus, to find Elaine back in bed again. Mrs Constantine met me in the hall crying, ‘Oh my! We did not know where you were. Miss Selsden has been taken ill again. She fainted. I have sent for Dr Prothero.’ I felt there was some implied reproach behind her words, which she did not voice.

  Elaine was in bed, the doctor leaning over her. He said to me what Mrs Constantine had not: ‘You were unwise to leave her alone. She may have seemed better, but her strength is fragile.’ Elaine’s flushed face was turned towards me as I stood in the doorway. Her eyes were very bright. She coughed, then, that cough I so dread.

  ‘Is her temperature very high?’ I asked, full of horror.

  ‘High enough,’ he told me grimly.

  And that was that. I now had Mrs Constantine and Dr Prothero against me. But I asked myself what had occurred between Mr Brett and Elaine, and had the interview played some part in her collapse? I could not ask her, ill as she was. I could not ask Mrs Constantine, for that would have been to betray my ignorance about the relationship between my sister and Mr Brett, which I did not wish to do. Nor could I go to Mr Brett whom I barely knew.

  All became plain when your letter arrived that very afternoon, though it brought me no comfort, as I’m sure you can imagine. Nevertheless, I am grateful for the information it contained. Alas, one can so easily see the passions of the boy, partially unoccupied as young men of that class are at that age, being aroused by the constant proximity of his sisters’ governess, still young and pretty, older than he though she might have been. It is an old, sad story. As he grows older he pursues her. She attempts to avoid him, her employer’s son, civilly as she can. Then comes the hideous dénouement. All is discovered. He is sent away, she is accused of encouraging the lad. It is not uncommon, alas – only when crisis comes do those in a superior position in an employer’s household fully realise that, for all practical purposes, they are hired men and women, servants in all but name, not guests of the household, as the illusion fostered on both sides would have them believe.

  It seems to me Elaine was quite fortunate not to have been dismissed on the spot, although the result of staying on, half-accused and mistrusted, as the daughters’ governess seems to have resulted in a permanent failure of confidence between Elaine and the Bretts. Perhaps she might have been better elsewhere. This explains their neglect of her, and her reluctance to appeal to them for help. What a sad, what a shoddy, what a heart-breaking affair.

  What she must have endured – I am filled with sorrow and indignation. I shall seek out young Brett tomorrow and if he is still in Strand will tell him what I think of him.

  Thank you for your letter, upsetting as it was to me.

  Your affectionate,

  Marguerite

  Strand
/>   January 9th

  My dear Mrs Grose,

  It distresses me that any comments in my last letter upset you. As you rightly say, I have come from a savage place, where social distinctions are extreme, repression is ferocious and those in power retain it savagely while those without submit helplessly or rush to suicidal acts of revenge. England is not Russia of course. Nevertheless, there, as here, all too often those with power over others will exert it to protect themselves. I know all employers do not behave like this, that complete respect and confidence can exist between them. I am sure you are right when you say your own employer could not behave badly to you. All I would claim is that what happened to Elaine at the Bretts’ is not wholly unusual. The presence of a young woman in a household of which she is not a member of will often have some effect. She is on confidential terms with the family, but is not one of them. She is often far from home and without protection.

  As to my ‘attack’ on Mr Brett, as you describe it, you will no doubt be relieved to hear it never took place, for the simple reason that when I went to his hotel after breakfast that morning the bird had flown. I was told he had gone back to London early that day. I was leaving the hotel, a little upset, having nerved myself for his encounter, when I ran into Mr Reeve. Guests had invited themselves at short notice from London, he said, and he had come out to order fish, to enjoy a stroll and spare his cook trouble. He drew me off to a nearby café to have a cup of tea. As we talked, I cooled off, as one might put it. Mr Reeve is very pleasant, and gives one the impression of a man who has achieved calm good nature and a kindly, rational approach to life through contact with the world, not by evading it. One cannot help being affected by this. He persuaded me, by his very presence (for, of course, I told him nothing of our troubles) that I must be calm, put the Bretts and all their works behind me, and make Elaine’s health and well-being my chief and only concern. Thus we can go on and make sensible lives for ourselves. Mr Reeve had the kindness to invite me to the dinner he was giving that night, but I explained I could not come as Elaine was unwell. I think she improves slowly.