Marling Hall

by Angela Thirkell

  Miss Harvey said, ‘Really, Geoffrey,’ in a sisterly way.

  ‘Really, yourself,’ said Mr Harvey rudely and without much point, so his sister got up and left the room, shutting the door with ostentatious gentleness. It at once swung ajar, so Mr Harvey was able to comfort himself a little by slamming it again with great violence. Hilda in the kitchen remarked to Mr Govern, who had called in to pass the compliments of the season and have a cup of tea on his way to chapel, that they were having a fine old Christmas dust-up in the dining-room and she wouldn’t be surprised if they all went back to London as Mr Geoffrey and Miss Frances didn’t seem settled like.

  ‘You won’t be going, Miss Plane, I hope,’ said Mr Govern.

  ‘Depends who asks me to stay,’ said Hilda.

  ‘I’ll tell you who will,’ said Mr Govern, and drawing a small sprig of mistletoe from his pocket, he waved it above his head and saluted Hilda with great gallantry. Millie, coming down from the bedrooms with a dustpan, was so overcome by this sight that she dropped the dustpan and the dirt went all over the floor. Mr Govern in a Scroogian Christmas spirit saluted Millie too, and putting the mistletoe in his buttonhole went off to chapel, leaving the two ladies to get on with the turkey and the vegetables.

  Mr Harvey, left alone in the dining-room, wished he were one of the people in history who broke china to relieve their feelings. Willingly would he have smashed a whole gallery of Sèvres, and even more willingly, because closer to hand, the green glass animals with twisted legs that inhabited Mrs Smith’s dining-room mantelpiece. The thought of dilapidations made him refrain, so he lit his pipe with a hand shaking with rage, dropped it quite by accident, broke the stem, swore, lit a cigarette and angrily paced the room.

  It was high time, he felt, that someone took Frances down a bit. There was that most delightful offer of returning to the Board of Tape and Sealing Wax, that other enchanting offer of sharing Peter’s flat. The Red House could, he was sure, be sub-let with the greatest ease and they could all go back to London where people appreciated one. But just because Frances felt she was Somebody at the Regional Commissioner’s Office and because she fancied Oliver Marling, she was being, not to put too fine a point upon it, devilishly obstinate. She might think she could marry Oliver and perhaps she was right, but Mr Harvey had his doubts. Also he did not fancy the connection. Taken singly the Marlings were pleasant enough, though Mrs Marling and Lucy did bully him dreadfully and Mr Marling would call him Carver, but their ways were not his. Lettice, whom he had at first found rather disturbing, turned out to be rather a dull woman with no allure. And not one of them, unless it were Oliver, would fit into his scheme of London life. Better far to leave these barbarians to their own society and return to the shades of Whitehall, if only Frances would see reason. Last night when they got home she had been extremely disagreeable, so that what with her temper and the unwanted glasses of port, he had spent a wretched and wakeful night, thinking of crushing repartees. Some of these he had tried at breakfast, but somehow by the light of day they had lost their brilliance and cogency and he and Frances had had a very unpleasant quarrel, Frances chilling his blood by saying that she distinctly remembered a clause in the lease by which they could not sub-let without Mrs Smith’s approval and adding that he could ask her about it himself, because she wouldn’t. In the middle of the quarrel young Lady Norton had rung up to wish them Happy Christmas and suggest that they should come back to Norton Park as she could not get really nice PGs who liked roughing it. Frances had said if he wanted to go to Eleanor and George he could do so, but she wouldn’t, and at this moment Hilda had come to clear breakfast away.

  If by wishing Mr Harvey could have transported himself to Peter’s flat he would have done so, but he realised that before he could get away from the Red House he would be obliged to go through several more scenes with Frances as well as giving notice at the Regional Commissioner’s. It was Christmas Day, there was no newspaper, Mlle Duchaux’s nephew, blast him, was coming at an hour unnamed, and then he and Frances would have to drive in sulky silence or unamiable bickering to Norton Park. In black despair he got out his paper and began to work upon Jehan le Capet’s sonnet.

  Hardly had he got into the swing of things when Frances, looking very neat, opened the door and said she could see he was not coming to church, so would he, if it was not too much trouble, look at the drawing-room fire from time to time, though she knew it was no use expecting him to remember. Mr Harvey pretended to have been so busy that he had not properly heard what she said, which did not in the least take his sister in, but she repeated her words, wavered between slamming the door and leaving it ajar, decided on the latter course and slammed the front door instead. With black hatred in his heart Mr Harvey got up, shut the dining-room door, and settled again as well as he could to his work.

  An hour or so passed. Mr Harvey by a great effort had worked himself into the requisite state of translator’s frenzy and had almost finished the sonnet when a slight sound drew his attention. Looking up, he saw Mrs Smith.

  ‘I have just slipped over,’ said Mrs Smith, ‘to wish you and Miss Harvey the compliments of the season. I did not go to church. Last year I had Mr Smith. Not that he was able to attend Divine service on Christmas Day, for he had one of his bad turns and was sleeping it off, but it makes such a difference to have a man in the house. I felt that if I went this year everyone would be gazing upon my widow’s weeds and passing the remark that things were quite different this Christmas. But you must not let me disturb your work.’

  Mr Harvey looked at her with the mad expression peculiar to those who have been deeply sunk in literary composition and are too rudely roused.

  ‘Mr Smith was just like that after doing the year’s accounts,’ said Mrs Smith, sitting down. ‘He used to like me to sit by him. Of course I couldn’t really help, but he said my sweet presence was all in all to him. Don’t take any notice of me, just go on as if I wasn’t here.’

  Mr Harvey wished that he had not quarrelled with Frances. Had they been on better terms he would have been safely at church, or she would have been in the dining-room to protect him. He thought of ringing for Hilda, but feared her scorn.

  ‘I’m afraid you find me rather distrait,’ he said. ‘I have to work even on Christmas Day.’

  ‘So did Mr Smith,’ said his relict. ‘I shall just sit here and think it is Mr Smith writing to his Uncle Joe. He always wrote to him at Christmas. You know, Mr Harvey, you have quite a look of Mr Smith as they say.’

  Mr Harvey was so frightened that he nearly got under the table. His sister’s gloomy prophecy came to his mind, and he thought that if he found himself forced to offer his hand to Mrs Smith Frances would say, I told you so. Had it not been for this strengthening thought he might have done it. As it was he went into a kind of swoon or syncope. Through it he heard Mrs Smith continue, ‘But of course not with Mr Smith’s eyes. You do not know, Mr Harvey, what it is to Love Once. That Chapter in my Life is closed.’

  On hearing this good news Mr Harvey revived, which was just as well, for Mrs Smith’s next words were worth attention.

  ‘It seems,’ said Mrs Smith, ‘quite a shame to trouble a gentleman like you, but I have no one to speak for me since Mr Smith passed on. The fact is, Mr Harvey, that my mother wishes to leave Torquay and settle here. With our two little incomes we could make quite a home for ourselves here. So I thought I would have a little talk to you about it and seeing Miss Harvey on her way to church I said to myself, I will just slip over and speak to Mr Harvey.’

  Mr Harvey thought, very quickly. Here was a heaven-sent excuse for leaving the Red House. If he could sufficiently implicate himself with Mrs Smith he might have the whole thing arranged, except for the legal part, before Frances came back. True, she would be even more disagreeable than she had yet been, but with the prospect of freedom in sight he could stand it. The whole thing would be difficult, but worth doing. In a few weeks he might be in Peter’s flat, with intelligent or literary friends
coming in and out and all the gossip of the coulisses of Whitehall.

  ‘What exactly do you propose, Mrs Smith?’ he said in his best Civil Service manner.

  ‘I will just,’ said Mrs Smith, grabbling about among her necklaces and fishing out a long piece of black cord, ‘put my poncks-nay on and read you my little suggestions.’

  She put on her pince-nez and after further grabbling in her bag produced a half-sheet of paper.

  ‘Perhaps, Mr Harvey, it would be simplest if we let matters remain as they are,’ said Mrs Smith, on hearing which words of ill cheer Mr Harvey thought of going down on his knees. But he was glad he hadn’t when she continued, ‘If you sub-let the house to me, you could go on paying me your present rent and I would pay you the same that Mrs Cox asks for her rooms without board or service, thirty shillings a week. Of course if Mr Smith were alive he would look after my interests, but I am quite alone.’

  ‘As far as I can see, Mrs Smith,’ said Mr Harvey, ‘I would then be losing three pounds fifteen a week on the transaction. We must consider this.’

  ‘After all it is my own wee house,’ said Mrs Smith, turning her mournful eyes on him.

  Anxious as Mr Harvey was to escape, he could not do it on such terms. After a good deal of talking, during which he was in mortal terror that Mrs Smith might take offence and cry off altogether, it was decided that their lawyers should go into the matter. Mrs Smith obviously wanted her house and he thought there would be no real difficulty. Luckily the lease was in his name and Frances could not, or at least would not, he hoped, kill him.

  ‘Just one more little thing, Mr Harvey,’ said Mrs Smith, ‘The chookies. Of course they have done a great deal of damage in my little garden with putting up the shed and all, but suppose I just take them over and we say no more about it. Of course they will cost me a great deal to feed and I have but my widow’s mite, but sooner than any unpleasantness that is what I will do.’

  The whole unfairness of this suggestion rose up at Mr Harvey, but Life was unfair, Frances was unfair and one might as well give in.

  ‘Very well, Mrs Smith,’ he said, basely betraying his absent sister, ‘I daresay that will be all right. Perhaps you will speak to my sister about it.’

  ‘Pardon me, Mr Harvey,’ said Mrs Smith, ‘but Mr Smith made it a rule never to do business with ladies. Of course he would never have let me do my own business like this, but he is not here, though I often feel he has an eye on me and knows how hard life has been for me since he passed over. And I hear your maid is going to be married?’

  ‘Hilda?’ said Mr Harvey. ‘You must be mistaken.’

  ‘Trust we women to know these little things,’ said Mrs Smith almost archly. ‘I got it from Mrs Cox’s Millie and she says it’s a settled thing, with the estate carpenter. And here, lo and behold! Miss Harvey coming back from church. Wonders will never cease. I shall be one too many.’

  There was nothing for it but to say of course she wouldn’t and get out the sherry. Miss Harvey came in with an air of gracious forgiveness highly exasperating to her brother. Either the service or some other agency had evidently much improved her temper.

  ‘A Happy Christmas, Mrs Smith,’ she said graciously. ‘Geoffrey, I met Oliver and Lettice after church and they are coming in to wish you a Happy Christmas. They just stopped at Dr March’s on the way.’

  ‘I have just been having a little business talk with your brother, Miss Harvey,’ said Mrs Smith. ‘We can break the lease at the six months, you know, and as your maid is getting married I daresay it will be quite agreeable to you.’

  Miss Harvey stared as if she were bereft of her senses.

  ‘It seems,’ said Mr Harvey nervously, ‘that Hilda is going to marry the Marlings’ estate carpenter, and as we were thinking of London, it seems quite a good moment to make a break.’

  ‘And I shall look after the chookies as if they were my own,’ said Mrs Smith, ‘and many a time shall I think of you when I collect a dear wee egg. Well, I must be wending my way so I will say au revaw and slip off.’

  With an inclination of her head she glided from the room and out of the house. At the gate she met Oliver and Lettice.

  ‘A very Happy Christmas,’ she said. ‘You know my tenants are leaving and I am going back to my little nest. As Hilda is going to be married it seems quite an appropriate moment.’

  Nothing could exceed her hearers’ surprise. They enquired who the lucky man was and on hearing thought it quite a suitable arrangement. But though they were pining to hear more about the Harveys’ sudden change of plan they did not wish to discuss it with Mrs Smith, so they only lingered for a moment and went on to the Red House.

  But in this moment Miss Harvey had been able to say quite a good deal of what she felt to her treacherous brother. Not since the day when he was six and she was seven and a half, and he had knocked down and danced on her sand castle at Littlehampton had he seen such a display of temper. Mr Harvey was frightened nearly out of his wits, but reflecting that the lease was in his name and that Frances had not a gun or a sword, he valiantly stood his ground.

  ‘Great weak fool!’ said his sister. ‘Do as you like. I hate this house, I always have. You can go to London if you want to and I shall go to Eleanor’s. I can go to the office just as well from there and I wish you joy of Peter and all his dear little friends.’

  Mr Harvey very wisely said nothing, which so annoyed his sister that she nearly screamed with rage and was telling him what she thought of him in unrestrained language when Oliver and Lettice came in. Naturally she stopped at once, but her voice, her face white with rage, could not be concealed. Happy Christmases were exchanged and sherry drunk.

  ‘You know,’ said Mr Harvey, greatly daring, ‘that we are breaking the lease in January. I have been asked to go back to my own work at the Board of Tape and Sealing Wax and shall share a flat with a friend. Frances is going to Eleanor Norton for a bit, so she will be able to go on with her work at the office.’

  Miss Harvey said nothing, but looked at her brother with a dislike that was very obvious. She saw in Oliver’s face, though he was behaving very well in an embarrassing situation, that if he had ever thought of her with affection, that thought had melted under her eyes. Lettice and Oliver expressed quite sincere regrets that their neighbours were going and said, quite truly, that they would miss them. It was all rather embarrassing and the guests were glad to say they must go back for lunch and take their leave. To put off the evil moment of facing his sister again, Mr Harvey accompanied them to the gate. He then walked rather aimlessly about the garden, but it was cold, he knew his sister would despise him if she saw him keeping away, so he settled his tie and went indoors. His sister was standing with a cigarette before the fire.

  ‘I daresay you are right, Geoffrey,’ she said. ‘I rang up Eleanor while you were seeing them off and arranged for us to go to Norton Park till you go to London. Eleanor wants me to take on her ARP work and I think I would find more scope in it than in the office, so I shall take some things over with me when we go this afternoon. Of course if you like to stay on with Hilda, you can.’

  This was all the revenge Miss Harvey took on her brother, who was so frightened by the choice offered him between Norton Park and solitude with Hilda that it was a pity his sister could not quite savour her triumph. But their misfortunes were not over, for Miss Bunting and Lucy now appeared.

  ‘Hullo, we’ve come to say Happy Christmas,’ said Lucy. ‘I say, there’s a car outside and some French people or something. I expect it’s your governess’s nephew.’

  Rather glad of a break in the home atmosphere the Harveys and their guests went out to the gate. A tall, well set-up young man in irreproachable uniform was standing by a car and introduced himself in excellent English as Jules Duval, the nephew of Mlle Duchaux.

  ‘My friends here,’ he said, beckoning the occupants of the car to get out, ‘are going to visit some compatriots at the Barchester Hospital and will fetch me when I shall have enjoyed m
y lunch with you, and your excellent English tea. Venez, vous autres.’

  A yellow-faced soldier and two black-faced sailors got out and smiled at the company.

  The Harveys said a general How do you do and looked enquiringly at M. Duval (for his rank they never dared to ask) for an introduction.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Lucy, tempering her voice in consideration of the newcomers’ feelings, ‘they’re not real French.’

  ‘Hush, Lucy dear,’ said Miss Bunting.

  ‘I wish we could give them lunch,’ said Miss Harvey, untruly.

  ‘Useless, mademoiselle; they go on to Barchester at once,’ said M. Duval.

  The yellow-faced soldier stepped forward a pace, remarking, “Môa Pléyère.’ His coloured friends, not to be outdone in courtesy, also stepped forward, saying ‘Môa Trécastel’, ‘Môa Abdulla’, respectively.

  ‘Would Monsieur Abdulla and the rest like some sherry?’ said Mr Harvey, feeling that the morning’s nightmare would never come to an end, especially as, to his great confusion, the three strangers laughed very heartily.