The Middle Age of Mrs Eliot

by Angus Wilson

  Superstitiously Meg told herself that this was some practical joke list of posts with which Miss Corrigan amused herself at the expense of her more ridiculous pupils. She said, ‘I think I should prefer to wait until I am sure of the certificate. In any case I need to put all my time and effort into working for the test.’

  Miss Corrigan, diminutive, looked up at Meg, towering, as at the first camelopard in Europe. Meg realized that never before had anyone refused her prescribed routine. Perhaps she decided that reassurance was all that freaks lacked, for she said, ‘I think, Mrs Eliot, that your unusual character will stand you in very good stead in the right post.’

  Meg felt amused and pleased. Only afterwards she giggled, thinking that perhaps there was a threat in these words – no doubt in mental hospitals patients with secretarial qualifications were given some office work on their better days. It was her last happy glimpse of the ridiculous before the test day.

  She arrived in the morning, overtired, with a headache, shivering in the bright spring sunshine that lit up the barrows of daffodils and mauve tulips at Gloucester Road station. At half past five in the evening she was told that she had passed.

  Despite the throbbing in her head and a difficulty in swallowing that presaged a feverish cold, she strode the Kensington pavements feeling that modesty alone prevented her from demanding a public triumph. She knew the elation of a first victory and with it came a clearer, because a more realizable picture of the whole campaign she was fighting. She saw now Poll, Viola, Tom as battles she had both lost and won. No doubt there would be others to follow before she had lost the old world in order to find her place in the new. Only then could she hope to look back to her life with Bill, freed from the guilt that now hung around memory. The vision was absurd, illogical, superstitious; yet she knew that it was her symbol of truth.

  Nevertheless, buying improbable foods and wines at Fortnum’s for the celebration of her private triumph that evening, her legs wobbled under her and her throat stung so that she gulped as she gave her orders. The ageing matinée-idol faces of the assistants swam before her feverish gaze in a sea of sagging-faced, made-up women with monstrous flowered hats, of tins of Kangaroo Tail soup and packets of Poppadums and Bombay Duck. She told herself it was the central heating. All the same she knew that she was in for, at least, a bad cold; yet the triumph seemed even more real for this, recalling the inevitable toothache at the birthday party or the measles rash on Christmas Eve, She returned to Victoria in a cab, laden with parcels and light in the head.

  She called to Jill and, receiving no answer, presumed that she was not yet home. Then, going into the kitchen to prepare the surprise, exotic and triumphant meal, she came upon her, standing, grimmest of grenadiers, at the sink. Undaunted she cried, ‘Jill, I’ve passed the test!’ Jill went on peeling the potatoes, her fingers trembling a little. ‘The test, darling, I’ve passed it. I’m qualified.’ Then, ‘Jill, whatever’s the matter?’

  Jill said, ‘I think you know perfectly well, Meg. Do you mind if we don’t talk about it?’

  Meg thought, it’s too bad, I don’t have so many happinesses now. … She said, ‘I do think, Jill, you might show a little pleasure …’

  ‘Pleasure!’ Jill cried. Then she stopped and stared at Meg. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I suppose I’ve no right to be angry. I should have known that you were not to be trusted with any confidence, that you would act like a child. You’re utterly spoilt, Meg, you always have been and, God help you, tragedy seems to have made you more irresponsible instead of less. But if you think that you can push your way into my life and treat me without the slightest consideration and then expect me to start clapping my hands with pleasure because you’ve passed some potty little shorthand test, you’re very much mistaken. it’s time people treated you as though you could at least be expected to act as a grown woman. Not that it makes any difference now as far as I’m concerned. I don’t think I shall ever forgive you, Meg. Ever.’

  Meg said, ‘I don’t think I know what you’re talking about,’ but as she said it she felt that she knew exactly what had happened.

  ‘Don’t you,’ Jill said. ‘If you really don’t know, Meg, if you’re really capable of doing something so utterly irresponsible and cruel without knowing, then I think you should be shut up.’

  Meg felt that in one moment all the accumulated misery of Jill’s life was being loosed upon her. There seemed no time to consider justice or injustice, to weigh up her own guilt or to reckon the sanity of Jill’s universe; only important was to stem this flow before they were committed to an irrevocable and intolerable revelation.

  She said, ‘If you resent my trying to ease things between you and Leonard, I’m sorry. Obviously I went about it the wrong way or you would never have been upset like this. I intended only to improve what seemed to me a very stupid and unkind situation.’

  She had thought that the bull could still be held in check, she soon realized that she was wrong – the horns broke off in her hands.

  Jill said, ‘You really are a child, aren’t you? You think that if you admit to what you’ve done, everything will be all right. Well, it isn’t. For five years now I’ve kept my feelings from that creature; even from Evelyn so that she should never guess how much she’d hurt me. And in a half hour or so while you exercise your understanding charm you’ve made it impossible for me to face them again …’

  Meg felt Jill’s bitterness filling the small kitchen so that it had become stifling. She had a moment’s vision of them both righting one another to get out of a gas chamber. She deliberately put down the parcels, one by one, on the kitchen table. Jill’s words ran on but she tried not to listen to them, she concentrated on the purchases she had made – spring chicken, real bortsch, clotted cream, Wensleydale, Niersteiner, Courvoisier, chocolate Bruxellois, and – special extravagance – an early lettuce. She told herself, I shall have my feast when this nonsense has petered out; she tried to harden herself against Jill’s misery. But the words broke through – ‘Have I tried to patronize you? Have I got at your unhappiness and made a public exhibition of it? You, of all people, who know what it means to lose the one person who cares, who would defend you. Or perhaps Bill had become rather tired of being clever, charming Mrs Eliot’s husband …’

  Meg walked out of the kitchen and sat on the divan. In a moment Jill appeared, Meg’s purchases ridiculously and precariously piled in her arms. She dumped them loudly on the floor. The pettish dignity she assumed suddenly made all her normal dignity appear ridiculous to Meg. She said, ‘Will you kindly get rid of these things?’

  Meg said, ‘Oh, Jill, come off it.’ And immediately expected a torrent of abuse; but Jill sat down with her hands cupped between her knees – she looked like a gawky schoolgirl. When she spoke, the hysteria had gone from her voice, but she was no less angry.

  She said, ‘Meg, what makes you think you can run other people’s lives as though they were children? Are you so sure that everything you have done in your life has been so triumphantly for the best?’

  The blood beat in Meg’s head now like a trapped animal. She said, ‘My dear Jill, nobody’s failed more than I have. And this time especially it seems. It appeared to me wrong and cruel that you and Evelyn should be cut off from each other by what was probably a sort of misunderstanding …’

  ‘There’s no misunderstanding between me and my worthy son-in-law, I assure you. We understand each other very well. We fought a battle and he won. And he doesn’t intend to let me forget it. “How about you coming down for a few days, Mrs S.”’ she mimicked Leonard’s voice with an exaggeratedly cocky whine. ‘“We could bury the hatchet for the space of a weekend.” Vulgar little beast! It’s like talking to a commercial traveller.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so snobbish, Jill. How can you be when it’s so important to you? You talk about Evelyn’s happiness and yet you won’t shed a lot of prejudice for her sake. In any case Leonard’s a rather interesting man.’

  ‘So I understand. “Brin
g your friend along so that I can have someone to talk to while you and Evelyn are nattering.” And then the little idiot’s surprised because I know that you have put him up to asking me.’

  ‘Well, what does it matter? He’s a bit obtuse, but he means to do the right thing. All right, he has behaved badly, he has tried to keep you away. But after all you tried to keep him from marrying Evelyn.’

  ‘And what would you have done? A man who despises everything that her own father did or believed in. He has decreed that the Navy is out of date. He and his scientific friends are to defend us now, God help us! Conceited little ass! I’d rather she’d married a conscientious objector like your brother David. At least they believe that they’re acting on principles. The little beast and his friends are just concerned with grab and lining their own nests.’

  Meg wanted to laugh, but she said, in an exaggeratedly serious voice to counter her desire, ‘But, Jill, you must have met hundreds of people who think that naval warfare is out of date. I know you have strong feelings yourself, but you’ve always been so tolerant about other people’s views. You’ve never seemed to care what they thought. I’ve always admired you for it.’

  ‘Why should I care? We can’t stop the rot now. But they aren’t trying to marry Evelyn.’

  It was the present tense now, Meg noticed. Jill was back fighting her battle, still unbeaten. Meg thought, I have blundered enough. I must disengage from this; I don’t understand the insane borderland I’ve strayed into. She said, ‘Jill, I did pass my test today. Please think what that means to me.’ She was deliberately absurd and childish.

  ‘Why should I? You didn’t think of me. You were quite happy to play the sentimental fairy godmother and humiliate me with that little man. He’s done everything he can to destroy Evelyn’s admiration for Andrew. Do you understand what that means for me, Meg? It was the one thing I could do for Andrew’s memory – to see that she gave him the love he wanted so much when he was alive. I was jealous, Meg, I kept her away from him. She could have been with us in Valetta or Gib or Singapore. She need never have been away at boarding school once the war was over. She could have been with him those last years. But I did teach her to respect him and to know what a fine man he was. I’ve taken the chance that she would turn against me by telling her that it was my fault she never saw more of her father. I should have been willing if I’d lost her for that, but not for this little creature. He’s taught her to laugh at Andrew’s memory.’

  ‘Now, Jill …’

  ‘He has, Meg. You don’t know. I remember the Christmas after they were engaged. I’d given up fighting, though I couldn’t pretend to like him. But I didn’t want to drive her away. It started over some stupid little squabble. We were always having them; he was so cocksure. This time it was some German word in one of those general knowledge tests the Sunday papers have at Christmastime. I said what a pity Andrew wasn’t there, he would have known it. I was trying to take an interest in the wretched little creature’s doings. He was so conceited about the thing too. Then the little beast said, “Oh, I don’t think we need bring the old boy back from his watery grave just for that.” I was used to him being unfeeling and vulgar, so I simply ignored it and said, “Evelyn’s father was brilliant at languages. He could have been Naval Attaché at any time if he’d cared to crawl to the right people.” I couldn’t help it, Meg, I had to say something. Of course he knew what I was getting at. He said, in his most pompous voice, “I’m afraid, Mrs S., I don’t believe in these brilliant men that get passed over.” So I laughed and said, “Well, I hope you’ll always be able to keep to that.” “I shall, Mrs S., trust me.” You’ve no idea how smug he can sound. But Evelyn, Meg, Evelyn laughed and said, “Leonard’s not going to be in the Silent Service, Mother.” She took his hand. “We’ll see that this gem’s pure rays shine where they’re noticed.” Then they both laughed. Meg, it was the quotation from Gray’s Elegy that I’d used when I talked to her the day I went down to her school to tell her that Andrew had been drowned. They’d obviously made a joke of it. And there were a hundred other instances,’ she said.

  She would have gone on to them, but Meg said sharply, ‘Jill, this does no good. I’m sure there were hundreds of things said on both sides that were hurtful.’ She thought, I don’t really believe that they actually said those things. It sounds so unreal, but she must have a score of such dialogues that she’s worked up over and over again to keep her bitterness alive. ‘He is smug. And Evelyn surely behaved badly. But you can’t live on memories.’

  Jill gave a withdrawn, contemptuous smile that made Meg think, she really is rather dotty.

  ‘Can’t I, Meg?’ she said, ‘I can’t imagine what else we have to live on in the little beast’s world. If you think they’ve any use for us you’ve got a lot to learn.’ She stood for a moment, smiling vaguely; then she added dramatically, ‘One thing we can do is not to whine. That’s one of the things I shan’t forget, Meg, that you’ve made me whine to you this evening. It won’t happen again, I assure you. But you must go, Meg. As soon as you can manage. If you stay on after this we shall learn to hate one another.’

  Meg lay on the divan that night, trying desperately to sleep. She felt that she had strayed into a fantasy world where she had no place. If any stranger were to explore there, it should be a trained psychiatrist. No one else, at any rate, could help Jill, certainly she could not. She sweated and ached, every crevice of the divan bed seemed to be made of the roughest straw that chafed her body; her head was bursting, and to swallow was becoming an agony. She had taken a sleeping pill but it only added to her misery, for drowsiness pulled her down to sleep and as regularly pain and confused scraps of Jill’s talk pulled her back into wakefulness. She tried once to get up to fetch herself a glass of water, but as soon as she stood upright on the floor, she became giddy and fell back on to the divan. A terror that she was going to be ill in Jill’s flat seized her, that with illness she would find herself imprisoned in Jill’s fantasy. And how could she say that it was fantasy? She rejected Jill’s view of the world, she saw it as a surrender to death, but her affirmation had no ground of knowledge. Perhaps in a year she too would have locked tight within her some pitiful proclamation of defiance to the world, would smile to herself little knowing smiles.

  She forced herself to remember her elation of the afternoon. I can’t go back on my campaign now anyway, she thought, whether Jill’s right about the world or not. And even if she is right, I want to know. She’s never had any curiosity. Better to be the cat that’s killed than be like her. And then shame blotted out every other emotion; she could feel its physical suffusion, its blush above the discomfort and the burning of the fever. She saw a picture of herself, smiling and nodding and laughing and questioning, her face contorted into every grimace of charm. Lively, interested, helpful, thoughtful, loving Meg – out to do good for everyone, with no bother at all, least of all to herself. So quick at summing up, so quick with a touch of understanding here and there, so quick that there was no need to give a thought to what would happen really, so quick that she could keep the centre of her mind cosily and completely on herself and her own problems, and the centre of her heart too. Just rushing to the centre of people’s lives and setting things right here and there and then off again as quick as she had come. The magic touch of a wand, no more was needed. And if Jill got hurt, well, really – she’d done her best and after all she had her own life and the test had been coming on so really she’s had no time. … She saw herself gesturing and smiling and loving and worming confidences, and the face got older, wrinkles and lines came round the eyes and the mouth, but the smiling vivacity remained. Such a sweet, understanding, humorous, impulsive old woman. Seeing herself helping others, and seeing herself seeing herself helping others, and seeing herself seeing herself on and on. But always right at the centre herself, and at the end death. She could not tell, when the large tears began to pour down her cheeks, whether it was fright or self-disgust or self-pity or the constricti
ng pain in her throat that had made her cry; but crying, she fell asleep.

  She woke in the morning to a throat so painful that had she wanted to call to Jill she could hardly have done so. But she wanted above all to get up, go out and start life. When she moved in the bed, her limbs ached; when she pushed her legs out from the bed, they would not hold her. She sat on the edge of the bed and the tears flowed down once more. She must have sat so, shivering, for a quarter of an hour, before Jill came in.

  ‘I think,’ she said, and she wondered if her words were intelligible, it cost her so much to say them, ‘that I’ve got a high temperature.’

  Jill said, ‘Get back into bed then. I suppose I’d better send for Dr Martin. Or do you have a doctor of your own?’ She shook her head. So Dr Martin came.

  Acute tonsillitis, he said, and, after hearing Jill’s account of Meg’s circumstances, delayed shock Not in the technical sense, of course, but a nervous shock. He said to Meg, ‘You mustn’t feel worried by all this. There’s nothing to be ashamed of about it. You’ve had a dreadful experience. The remarkable thing is that your will’s kept you going for so long. I read the whole thing, of course, in the paper at the time. No one would have been surprised if you’d collapsed there and then. Rest is all you need. I’ll give you a strong sedative. The interaction of will and body depends on a very intricate mechanism.’ If shame had shown in her face, Meg thought, it was because she knew what Jill must be thinking. He also said, ‘Now there’s no need to worry about jobs at the moment. Time enough for that when you’re well again.’ She did not dare to look at Jill. She would have liked to speak to the doctor on his own, but since this seemed impossible, she said, not looking at Jill, ‘I can’t be ill here. If necessary I must go to hospital.’

  He smiled. ‘Mrs Stokes will look after you all right. We’ll see how you go along.’

  She went along in much the same way. The tonsillitis diminished; with sedatives and sleeping pills she slept a good deal; but when she was awake she wept involuntarily until her whole body seemed enfeebled from the convulsions of sobbing.