The Whicharts

by Noel Streatfeild

  “Hate! Hate of whom?”

  “Our Phoebe.”

  Laughter greeted this. “Rubbish!”

  “He dotes on the entire Long family.”

  “Oh no, he doesn’t. You should hear him when he’s full of white port. I’ve a pretty healthy flow of language myself, but my little flow is as the bath-tap to the Victoria Falls when it comes up against Brown’s.”

  “But what’s she done to him?” asked Barbara. “If a drunk Brown is to be believed, it’s a case of what hasn’t she done? Apart from ruining Ian’s life, and treating Brown as scum, it seems she’s a kind of Lady Macbeth-cum-Vampire-cum-Gorgon. The kind of woman you read about in thrillers, ‘a sinister influence dominating hundreds of people.’ She ‘fair gives Brown the ’orrors.’ If he’d lived a hundred and fifty years ago, he’d have crossed his fingers every time he saw her. He said, ‘Oh, Mr. Brine—hiccup—she’s an ’orror, that woman—a perfec’ ’orror—hiccup—fair gives me the sick­ thank Gawd she’s takin’ of ’erself off for a few days next week—hiccup.’”

  Maimie had not seen Ian since her arrival. She had been in the theatre one night to see “A Mid­ summer Night’s Dream,” but had been hideously bored, and taken herself to a cinema the next evening. But the conversation entertained her­ gave her an idea. What fun to lead Ian up the garden path, and make that cow furiously jealous. The party had broken up, there were only the four girls and Tony left.

  “I think I’ll come behind with you to-night, girls,” she said casually.

  Tania looked anxious.

  “Why? There are heaps more cinemas in the town; you’ll be awfully bored.”

  “Oh no, I won’t, I’d like to come.” Barbara looked at her.

  “If all this chat about Phoebe going away has encouraged you to think you’ll have a dash at Ian, you’re wasting your time; no one has ever succeeded yet.”

  “What do you bet me I get a couple of hours alone with him, before I leave?”

  Tony jumped to his feet.

  “Oh splendid! Let’s take her on. Just the five of us, half-a-crown each. We’ll bet you twelve-and-six­pence, Maimie, you never see the man alone at all.”

  Tania opened her mouth to protest, but Barbara whispered:

  “Don’t worry. It’s a hopeless task. We’re bound to win.”

  But Tania was worried. She knew her Maimie.

  Chapter 18

  MAIMIE set about winning her bet in her usual direct manner. Every evening she came to the theatre, and hung about until she met Ian. On her first meeting she contented herself with planting in his mind the fact that she was in the town.

  On the second and third nights she tried to make him talk, but for all her charm only succeeded in dragging a few reluctant words from him. Discouraged, she almost faced the possibility of losing the bet. Then Tony’s story of the white port came back to her. She bought a bottle, took it to the theatre, and while all the Company were on the stage, offered Brown a drink. One drink led to two, two to a third; mellowed, Brown grew talkative. Maimie, who knew all she wanted to know about Phoebe, kept him off that topic, and encouraged him to talk of his master. By the time the curtain rang down on the act, there was a twinkle in her eye, and she looked even more assured than usual; she had a card, the only question was how best to play it.

  Tania’s attention was diverted from Maimie. She didn’t care if she succeeded in vamping Ian, and quarrelling with Phoebe. For Tania, whose life had been all work, whose nursery-days had been non-existent,discovered that fairy-tales could come true. Her vague dreams had materialised, the unformed hopes in her mind had taken shape. Somebody was really doing those things she had dreamed of, but believed in her heart of hearts impossible. Somebody with very little more money, and as unimportant as she was herself. Her cheeks flushed with excitement, and her eyes shining, she followed Amy Johnson’s flight. No­thing that had happened in her life before, except Rose’s death, had moved her as much, not even winning her car. She spent a small fortune on papers. What she liked best after reading the actual details of the flight were the chatty bits which proved that Amy Johnson was neither rich nor grand. Tania was forced to admit to herself that the other girl was better off than she was, for one thing she had a father who bought her a secondhand aeroplane. Still, in time, and by hard work, a secondhand aeroplane might be got with­ out a father. She felt that if only Amy reached Australia, the day was not far off when she might do such a thing herself. Amy would have shown the world what could be done, and have given people like Nannie and “Young Mr. Bray” confidence in other women flyers, herself for instance. All day a prayer rang in her head—“Let her get there, let her get there, let her get there.”

  In the middle of the week Maimie told the girls and Tony that she intended winning her bet on the Friday. Although Phoebe had left on the previous Monday, leaving her husband in her children’s charge, and in spite of the fact that they had seen Maimie talking to Ian, none of them believed she had a hope of winning.

  “You haven’t as much chance as a butter cat has in hell,” said Tony, “but we’ll all come to your rooms on Friday, and I’ll bring along some booze to celebrate your defeat. What time do you hope to do the ghastly deed?”

  “In the afternoon.”

  “‘Off to my work,’ said the little man to his big wife as he slipped down the bed.” Tony turned with a grin to the others. “Excuse me being so common, but it slipped out all sudden like.”

  Friday afternoon found the five waiting for Maimie. They were expecting her by four, but at five o’clock she still hadn’t appeared.

  “She’s a tryer and no mistake,” said Beatrice. “I suppose she’s still hanging round the hotel on the chance of bringing it off.”

  “I doubt it.” Tony looked wise. “I don’t believe Maimie would hang about for anybody, not even for a bet, would she, Tania?”

  Tania, her mind in the clouds somewhere between Rangoon and Bangkok, looked vaguely at him. She hadn’t heard the question, but was dimly aware she was being addressed. “Oh, stop hopping off with Amy,” said Tony, who together with the rest of the Company had discovered her furious interest in the flight. “I was asking about Maimie.”

  Tania was spared the effort of a reply, for Maimie strolled in. She held out her hand.

  “Twelve-and-sixpence, chaps, and then I’m off.”

  “Good God!”

  “You didn’t really do it?”

  “Tell us all about it.”

  Maimie took a tumbler of the promised drink.

  “It was the white port again, Tony. I gaveBrown three glasses. He said, ‘Oh, Miss, ’e don’t ’alf worry about ’is ’ealth. There isn’t a remedy ’e don’t try, from pillows of ’ops for not sleepin’, to rollin’ an iron ball up an’ down ’is stummick for constipation. It don’t matter to ’im if ’e’s ill or not, ’ear of a cure an’ ’e’ s bound to try it.’” She finished her imitation with the sniff that was a feature of the man. “Well,” she went on, “that set the grey matter moving, and suddenly I had the bright idea. Chills! The next time I saw Ian I told him I had one. He was frightfully interested and recommended every foul cure under the sun. Then yesterday I said I was better, and did a bit of acting that left all you Shakespeareans at the post. I suddenly looked no end worried, turned on the sympathetic stuff, told him he wasn’t looking too good, and asked him if he didn’t feel chillish himself. Of course directly I asked him that he began to wonder if he did, so I laid on the anxious­woman business good and thick, and then told him I’d cured my chill with some marvellous dope that I had, and that if he’d stay in to-day covered with rugs and hot-water bottles, I’d send some of the stuff round to his hotel, and if he kept warm, drank the medicine, and trusted in the Lord, there was still hope. So this afternoon round I went to his hotel. They said they’d send up and see if he would see me, but they reckoned without little Maimie. ‘Oh, he’ll s
ee me,’ I said, ‘he’s expecting me,’ and stepped into the lift.”

  Screams of “Go on” greeted this.

  “I stayed the two hours, and then Phoebe blew in.”

  “Heavens!”

  “What were you doing when she arrived?”

  “What brought Phoebe back to-day?”

  “I did,” said Maimie calmly. “You don’t sup­pose that I’m so hard-up for men that I spend a whole week scheming, and waste three-and­ninepence on white port, just to get two hours alone with one. Not this baby! I went to all that thought and expense to teach that plain cow of a wife of his not to look as though she’d bought the man with her spare cash, and to show her that it was still possible for him to look at someone else.”

  “But how did you get hold of her?” asked Beatrice.

  “Those dear little children of hers; they don’t know it, but they sent mummie a wire—‘Please come, we are worried about daddy. Love, Viola and Sebastian.’”

  They roared with laughter.

  “But what were you doing when she came in?” asked Phyllis.

  “Don’t excite yourselves.” Maimie held up her hand. “Believe me, the whole afternoon was pure as the driven snow.”

  “That’s as may be,” said Tony. “What was the medicine?”

  “Kruschen salts and water. I expect he’ll be the better for it, he’ll need that Kruschen feeling when Phoebe’s done with him.”

  Barbara giggled; “What did she say?”

  “Ah!” Maimie paused expressively; “It’s rather what didn’t she say. She can say some foul things that woman when she’s roused, and what a mind! There were Ian and I sitting miles away from each other, discussing his inside as pretty as pretty, but I shouldn’t like to tell you what Phoebe suggested we’d been doing. Anyway, I’ve had enough of her and her tantrums; I’m going back to London to-night.”

  A chorus of surprised exclamations greeted this. Even Tania came back to earth. Maimie to be driven out of a town by another woman’s tongue! It was incredible. She followed her into their bedroom when she went to pack her things.

  “Why are you going? What did Phoebe say?”

  “She knows something. Not much, but enough to make a lot of mischief. About me and George,” she added casually.

  “What the Lord? Oh goodness, I hoped you’d finished with him. Does, Phoebe know him?”

  “No, his wife. She saw her yesterday.”

  “I wonder how they came to talk about you.”

  “I wonder too. Anyway, I’ve got to see him.”

  She packed feverishly.

  Barbara came with Tania to see Maimie off. On the way back she offered a word of warning:

  “Phoebe’s a rotten person to get on the wrong side of.”

  Tania didn’t hear her. She had bought an evening paper. “She’s still safe,” she remarked thankfully.

  Phoebe’s methods were subtle. It was no good quarrelling with the younger sister because of the sins of the elder. But she wanted her to suffer nevertheless. Scarcely a performance but Tania was sent for by the stage-manager, he had received a complaint, he said. She hadn’t been heard; the dancers were badly rehearsed, or her make-up was careless. Small complaints, but he hated to make them, for he knew her for a conscientious worker. The Company were indignant on her behalf. But complaints and sympathy alike were wasted on her, she lived in the air, only dragging herself back to earth while on the stage, every other waking minute she spent with Amy Johnson She was a nervous wreck on the Thursday, when no news of the flyer came through, and on the Saturday, when she heard of the safe arrival, she almost collapsed. She felt as tired as though she herself had gone through something; she could barely stand.

  “She’s done it,” she whispered. “She’s done it.” The next day being Sunday, there was the usual journey. Tania, a pile of papers beside her, settled down in her corner of the railway-carriage to enjoy article after article on the flight. She was so engrossed that she never noticed the other girls’ interest in quite a different portion of the paper. Never noticed them having hurried conclaves with the rest of the Company in the corridor. Noticed nothing, in fact, until at the first stop Phoebe appeared at the carriage window. This was so amazing an event, that it even caught her attention.

  “Well, Miss Whichart. Your sister seems to have done it thoroughly this time.” Phoebe’s cheeks were shiny, and bright red with emotion.

  For over a week she had been at boiling-point. She had hardly slept or eaten. She could not bring herself to believe that nothing more had occurred between her husband and Maimie than a couple of hours’ talk, sitting well apart in two armchairs. She had thought till her brain ached of some method of getting even with the girl. Chance had given her a bit of information, when Lady George Ronald had asked her if she happened to know a young actress called Maimie Whichart. Lady George had not explained why she asked, but when Phoebe had tried the name on Maimie, she had seen the girl start, and even in the midst of hysteria and temper had registered the fact, that here was a possible weapon. All the week she had twisted and turned her fragment of knowledge. Maimie knew Lord George Ronald. How well did she know him? How far had the affair gone? How much did Lady George know? Would it be possible to find out the whole business, and nip it in the bud by telling Lady George? She felt a fine woman when she reached this point, as she visualised herself disinterestedly saving a happy home. Meanwhile she could do nothing until she had another excuse to go to London. Doing nothing was foreign to her temperament, and kept her anger at white heat. Then this morning she had opened her paper, to find that fate had taken the whole business out of her hands. There it was in headlines. Lord George Ronald killed. Four o’clock in the morning, his car stationary, its lights out, a lorry had crashed into it, and Lord George killed instantly. The other occupant of the car, Miss Maimie Whichart the actress, had miraculously escaped. Phoebe gloated over the details to an unresponsive Ian. “What a scandal! Her name will stink. Serve her right.” Directly the train stopped, forgetful of her dignity, she hurried up the platform to see how hardly Tania had taken the news. She saw at a glance that the girl had no idea what had happened.

  “Read that,” she said, and shoved the paper into her hands.

  Tania skimmed through the column. “Oh, poor Maimie!” she said.

  “Poor Maimie! Do you realise what you are saying? Do you know that man had a wife and children? Women like your sister are better dead.”

  Tania turned crimson. As usual words failed her. At last she stammered:

  “You hateful woman! You to speak like that of Maimie. She’s worth a million of you.”

  Never since her marriage had Phoebe been spoken to in such a manner. She completely lost control. She screamed, volumes of abuse and foul words showered from her. A frightened stage-manager ran for Ian. Knots of passengers and porters gathered round the carriage window.

  Tania got to her feet, and pulled her suitcase off the rack.

  “Where are you going?” Barbara whispered. “Leave her alone, she’ll go back to her carriage in a minute.”

  “I’m going home. I won’t hear her talk about Maimie like that.” She shook off Beatrice’s restraining hand. “I’d have to go anyway now, Maimie’ll be wanting me.”

  By this time the stage-manager had returned bringing a reluctant Ian, who tried vaguely to soothe his wife, who paid no vestige of attention to him, but went on shouting insults at Tania and the absent Maimie. Tania pushed her way out of the carriage. The .stage manager asked her where she was going, and she replied firmly, “London.” He tried to protest, but Phoebe drowned anything he had to say.

  “Don’t stop the little bitch. Let her go back to that precious sister of hers. We don’t want any whores in this Company.”

  Barbara stayed behind when the Company’s train left. She said she would follow later, somebody must see Tania safely off. She had
enjoyed the whole fuss enormously. She had found Phoebe’s descent from “The Grand Dame” very funny. As for Tania’s share in the business, nothing would ever be more ludicrous. Tania, to whom scenes of any sort were so foreign, to be embroiled in such an exceedingly noisy and vulgar affair. Her championship of Maimie was the last glorious touch. Maimie so hopelessly in the wrong that you would have thought the most her family could have done was to invent some excuse for her. Yet there was Tania, loyal in the face of hopeless odds, saying: “You hateful woman. You to speak like that of Maimie. She’s worth a million of you.”

  “Oh Tania,” she sighed, “I shall miss you. You and your family have kept me happy. Let me know how you get on, but don’t imagine you are going home to either a heartbroken or a crushed and repentant Maimie. If she’s upset she won’t show it, and she doesn’t know how to feel either crushed or repentant.”

  The train gave a whistle, and a preliminary jerk.

  “Good-bye,” Tania struggled feverishly for adequate words. “I—I hope I’ll see you some time.”

  “My goodness,” Barbara called after her as the train began to move. “Losing your temper has made you quite chatty.”

  As the train went southwards, Tania sat in a dream. Events had moved too quickly for her. The mental chasm between the exalted mood into which Amy Johnson’s flight had thrown her, and the sharp spasm of fury which had shaken her as she heard Maimie reviled, was too wide to be bridged in a few minutes. She felt rather as though she had been cut in half, one half still in the clouds, the other sitting in a third-class railway-carriage, London-bound, still angry, but a little proud at having achieved a really decisive action. As the train reached the suburbs, she began to picture her reception at home. Maimie would be glad to see her, of that she was certain. Maimie would be terribly unhappy, and having an awful time, for Nannie would be being horrid, ashamed at the scandal, and Herbert would of course be furious, and refuse to see her again, most likely. Maimie, all her life so independent, would be glad of some­ one to back her up, someone to comfort her. At the vision of an unhappy and bullied Maimie, she tapped her foot on the floor. Oh, how slow the train was being!