Two for Three Farthings

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Well, no,’ said Jim, ‘I live upstairs with my two wards, a boy and a girl. But you’re very welcome to wait in our living-room.’

  ‘How kind, thank you so much.’ Mrs Lockheart began to ascend the stairs, the post-war length of her coat allowing her to show sleek calves and faultless stocking seams. Jim followed her up and took her into his living-room, where the table was spread with papers covered with book-keeping scribbles. ‘Well, this is cosy, isn’t it?’

  ‘Please sit down,’ said Jim, and she unbuttoned her light coat, hitched the skirt of her grey costume and seated herself, her movements fluent, her manner that of a woman able to communicate easily with people. ‘I’m not sure how long Miss Pilgrim will be,’ he said. ‘Not too long, probably. She’s only gone to the shops.’

  ‘I’m in no hurry,’ said Mrs Lockheart. ‘It’s many years since I last saw her, so half an hour, or even an hour, won’t test my patience. It’s really very kind of you to let me wait in your living-room. I’m sure I’ve interrupted you in some work or other.’

  ‘It’s no bother,’ said Jim.

  Mrs Lockheart eyed his disability with visible sympathy.

  ‘Is it too personal to ask if you’ve suffered an unfortunate accident, Mr Cooper?’

  ‘It’s not a bit personal,’ said Jim, ‘and I wouldn’t say it was an accident. It was more to do with the fortunes of war. Fortunes sometimes favour you, and sometimes they don’t.’

  ‘Ah, the war.’ Mrs Lockheart’s reaction evinced itself in the wry smile of a woman unable to understand how men could engage in such murderous conflict. ‘I don’t know you, Mr Cooper, I really don’t know you at all,’ she said. ‘Meeting you isn’t knowing you, but I’m still able to say I’m glad you escaped the slaughter, even if it was at the expense of your left arm. One can make judgements from first impressions, don’t you think so?’

  ‘Yes, sometimes,’ said Jim. ‘At other times, first impressions can be very deceptive. I had a platoon officer, a junior officer, whom I thought a first-class snob and a first-class swine, but on the day I took bullets and then a bayonet in my arm, and a bullet in my thigh as well, he was the one who hauled me out of the German trench and got me back to our lines, under fire the whole time. When I thanked him he said, “You’re a bit of old England, Cooper, and I hope old England can make good use of what’s left of you.” I’ve been careful about first impressions since then.’

  ‘That is one of the better stories of the war,’ said Mrs Lockheart. ‘Has old England made good use of what the war left of you?’

  ‘It’s given me a job,’ said Jim, reserving what he thought of the Government’s apparent indifference to unemployed ex-servicemen.

  ‘This is really much more pleasant than waiting on my own,’ said Mrs Lockheart. ‘I’m addicted to conversation, you know.’

  Jim thought from her stylish clothes and mode of speech that she was upper-class. An upper-class woman was new to him.

  ‘Good conversation, of course,’ he smiled. ‘I don’t know just how pleasant your wait will be, I can get very boring.’

  ‘Men who are very boring never mention the possibility that they might be.’ A light little laugh escaped her. ‘It’s something that never occurs to them. May I take my coat off, it’s really warmly cosy in here, isn’t it?’ She stood up. Jim, as dexterous as ever with his one hand, helped her off with her coat. She turned, smiled her thanks, hitched her tailored grey skirt again, and sat down again. Her slim, silken-sheathed legs shone, the light rippling over the silk. Jim blinked. Mrs Lockheart smiled softly. He suddenly thought, watch this one. ‘Mr Cooper, may I ask what your relationship with Rebecca is?’

  ‘Relationship?’ Jim regarded her in curiosity. ‘There’s no relationship, Mrs Lockheart. Miss Pilgrim is my landlady, and I might say a very kind one.’

  ‘Dear me,’ murmured Mrs Lockheart. She crossed her legs. The silk flashed in the light from the window. A delicate, lace-hemmed underskirt was visible for a brief moment. ‘Am I to understnd Rebecca Pilgrim has a lodger, Mr Cooper?’

  ‘Three,’ said Jim. ‘Myself and my two wards.’ He smiled. ‘Orrice and Effel.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Horace and Ethel.’ Jim, knowing that book-keeping was out until Miss Pilgrim returned and took Mrs Lockheart off his hands, made innocuous conversation. ‘They’re orphans, brother and sister, and a great help to me. Well, it is a help to a man like me, since they’ll stop me turning into an old stick-in-the-mud. Do you have children, Mrs Lockheart?’

  ‘Regretfully, no,’ said Mrs Lockheart. Stylish, attractive, and with an air of affluence, she seemed effortlessly at ease in what Jim supposed were relatively humdrum surroundings. Oddly, she seemed to be regarding him with distinct interest. ‘Did you know Rebecca Pilgrim before you became her lodger, Mr Cooper?’

  ‘No. Why d’you ask?’

  ‘Oh, I merely wondered. She was an extraordinarily attractive young woman when I first came to know her.’

  ‘I can believe that,’ said Jim, ‘she’s now a very handsome woman. Did you meet her in China? I understand her father ran a mission there.’

  ‘Indeed, yes, he did.’ Mrs Lockheart looked gently reminiscent. ‘The Reverend James Pilgrim. Dear me, such a godly gentleman, and Rebecca such a help to him, a girl of sweetness and laughter. Well, that was the impression one had.’

  ‘Pardon?’ said Jim.

  ‘Oh, have I said anything amiss? We mentioned impressions before, didn’t we?’ Mrs Lockheart smiled.

  ‘First impressions,’ said Jim.

  ‘Oh, one’s first and second impressions of Rebecca were of a young lady quite delightful,’ said Mrs Lockheart, ‘and sweetly dedicated to the welfare of the Chinese orphans housed at the mission station. There, we’ve touched on orphans again. Your two wards are orphans, you said. How admirable of you to have become their guardian. I’m in favour of guardians, I’m sure they’re less demanding than parents. But what a responsibility for a bachelor.’

  ‘It’s more of a challenge than merely living for oneself,’ said Jim, wondering what on earth had made her mention Miss Pilgrim in a way that implied her nature and character were suspect.

  ‘One could say it’s a privilege merely to be alive, Mr Cooper. Nature has surrounded us with beauty and colour, and we only need to close our minds to the failings and wickedness of some people to appreciate we live in a world of natural wonders.’

  ‘Not everything’s perfect,’ said Jim. ‘We’ve all got weaknesses, and nature blotted its copybook when it plagued us with rats, mice and mosquitoes. And seasickness.’

  ‘And untimely death,’ said Mrs Lockheart. ‘But no, one can’t blame every untimely death on nature. I must blame the war for the loss of my husband, Major George Lockheart.’ She sighed, shook her head, and smiled wryly. ‘He was killed during the German offensive in 1918. I haven’t enjoyed being a widow. George was such an entertaining man, and so generous. It was like him to leave me well provided for. And earlier, you know, I lost my brother, my only brother. Life can deal hard blows.’

  ‘It was that kind of war,’ said Jim, ‘it wrecked some families.’

  ‘Oh, my brother Clarence wasn’t a war casualty. No, no, not at all. That is another story.’ Mrs Lockheart came gracefully to her feet and moved to the window. She regarded the view. It was of the backs of terraced houses. ‘Goodness me, who would have imagined Rebecca living in Walworth?’ she murmured. ‘But is that a little garden below? Rebecca’s little garden?’

  ‘She fashioned it, I believe, and tends it,’ said Jim, beginning to find his visitor somewhat cryptic.

  ‘A remarkable woman,’ said Mrs Lockheart.

  ‘Yes, she is, and very kind.’

  Mrs Lockheart turned, and Jim thought her smile had a slightly sharp edge to it. She moved back to her chair in an abstracted way. Automatically, her hands plucked at her trim skirt as she reseated herself.

  ‘Rebecca isn’t back yet?’ she said.

  ‘She went out only
five minutes before you arrived,’ said Jim.

  ‘And here I am, still waiting, still taking advantage of your kind hospitality and offering you very dull conversation. I’m sure you’d be doing something interesting if I weren’t here. I suppose, Mr Cooper, you’ve never been to China?’

  ‘I’ve seen France and Flanders,’ said Jim, ‘and the Isle of Wight. Most people here set their sights on Southend. It’s the cockneys’ own seaside. No, I’ve never been to China.’

  ‘It holds an abundance of Chinese.’ Again a light laugh escaped her. ‘My husband was never enamoured of it, but my brother Clarence found it very invigorating in terms of business.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’ Jim could not summon up a great deal of interest in a man he had never known. However. ‘He ran a business in China?’

  ‘Clarence was a broker in Shanghai. Shanghai, you know, is full of Europeans addicted to the excitement of making their fortunes. Missionaries, of course, deplore men’s devotion to Mammon, and the Chinese call the Europeans foreign devils.’

  ‘Is that because Europeans in China make their fortunes at the expense of the Chinese?’ asked Jim.

  ‘I wonder? Perhaps it is.’ Mrs Lockheart murmured to herself. ‘But there are Chinese opium millionaires by the dozen, Mr Cooper. Such a shame about Clarence, when he was doing so well. I can never think of his death merely as water under the bridge. Some things, yes, like old quarrels or one’s youthful mistakes. Clarence had so much to live for and was remarkably popular. Such a shame to have died at his age. But, of course, there are hidden characteristics in many people, aren’t there?’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Jim. ‘That your brother wasn’t what he seemed? That he didn’t deserve his popularity or that he committed suicide?’

  Mrs Lockheart, looking shocked, said, ‘Mr Cooper, how can you say such a thing?’

  ‘Wasn’t it a fair comment? I thought it was.’ Jim felt there were slightly odd undertones to the conversation. ‘You said your brother had much to live for and was very popular, but that there were hidden characteristics in many people. So I assumed you had your brother in mind.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Mrs Lockheart reproachfully, ‘that’s very unkind on poor Clarence.’

  Well, ruddy hard luck on poor old Clarence, thought Jim.

  ‘Sorry if I jumped to the wrong conclusion,’ he said. ‘What did happen to him, then?’

  ‘Yes, I must ask Rebecca exactly what did happen. Clarence was staying at the mission house at the time. But no, it’s nothing that would interest you.’ Mrs Lockheart mused on her reflections, and Jim thought yes, it may not interest me, but she’s making a strange attempt to whip up my curiosity. ‘Do you know Rebecca well, Mr Cooper?’

  ‘Miss Pilgrim? Hardly at all.’

  ‘Really? I’m to believe that when you’re living in her house?’

  ‘I’ve only been living here a week,’ said Jim, who had no intention of gossiping about his remarkable landlady.

  ‘But you’re an interesting man, I think, with a very nice way of making a stranger feel at home. I like informal men.’ Mrs Lockheart smiled. Jim had his bottom informally perched on the edge of the dwarf bookcase. ‘Well, after a week of living in Rebecca’s house, what does an interesting man think of her?’

  ‘That she’s kind,’ said Jim, who had a feeling now that Mrs Lockheart was trying to point a finger at Miss Pilgrim. It put him instinctively on his landlady’s side. She might be stiff and starchy, the kind of woman to make a man conscious of his shortcomings before she even opened her mouth, but the fact was she had thrown a lifeline to him and the kids, and had done so with generosity. And if Mrs Lockheart, by contrast, was appealingly feminine, the fact was that she had only just met him and accordingly had to be a little out of order in trying to point a finger, if that indeed was what she had in mind. ‘I’m still wondering, Mrs Lockheart, what made you mention there were hidden characteristics in many people.’

  ‘Oh, but it’s true, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Some of us are much deeper than our friends and acquaintances would ever suspect, and are capable of surprising things. Why, when one considers it was a serpent that shattered the tranquillity of the Garden of Eden, isn’t it the most surprising thing that such a godly man as the Reverend James Pilgrim should become so attached to them?’

  ‘Them?’ said Jim.

  ‘Serpents,’ said Mrs Lockheart with a gentle shake of her head. ‘Clarence thought it most odd. So did I. Rebecca said her father found snakes extremely interesting, and laughed about it. She was very captivating, you know, when she was laughing or smiling, and she had beautiful blue eyes. Everyone thought her a sweet angel.’

  ‘I know very little about Miss Pilgrim,’ said Jim a trifle brusquely, ‘and nothing at all about her father, except that he was a missionary who spent some years in China. And I’m totally ignorant about snakes. Miss Pilgrim, I hope, will be back any moment—’

  ‘Oh, China isn’t known for its snakes,’ said Mrs Lockheart, ‘it isn’t a tropical country, Mr Cooper. It does get very hot in the summer but can be bitterly cold in the winter. Most species of snakes are indigenous to the tropics. They like constant warmth, you know. Of course, there are probably Chinese adders just as there are English adders, but I’ve never heard of an English adder being found in someone’s bed, have you? Dear me, we’re managing to pass the time very equably, aren’t we? Interesting conversation can make a passing hour very pleasant. Did I mention Rebecca’s father had a snakehouse constructed at the mission, so that he could study his specimens at leisure?’

  ‘No, you didn’t mention it,’ said Jim. He felt the undertones were uneasy now, and he didn’t like that. ‘But you did mention water under a bridge, and I think that’s what all this is now.’

  ‘But there are still waters too, aren’t there, still waters that run deep?’ Mrs Lockheart’s smile did nothing to change Jim’s dislike of the undercurrents.

  ‘There aren’t any around here, Mrs Lockheart, just people trying to keep their heads above the usual kind of waters.’

  ‘Yes, Walworth is an area of poverty, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I imagine Rebecca regards it as a place where she can still do good work, she was always very much her father’s daughter. Perhaps good work makes up for other things. I’m sure she was in love with Clarence, although at his death you would not have thought so. I don’t believe she shed a single tear. Isn’t that surprising?’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ said Jim. The woman did not look like a pedlar of mischief or unpleasant insinuations, but he knew he’d be a fool not to recognize there was something definitely unpleasant behind her oblique references to snakes, still waters, hidden characteristics and the death of her brother. ‘And it doesn’t really concern me.’

  ‘No, of course not, but it’s interesting, isn’t it? Does Rebecca do good work here?’

  ‘I believe she’s an interest in a mission in Bermondsey, which isn’t far away.’

  ‘She helps out at a Bermondsey mission?’ Mrs Lockheart’s smile was all of cryptic. ‘Perhaps she sees that as a form of penance.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’d rather you didn’t continue with remarks that—’ Jim stopped as his keen ears picked up the sound of the front door being opened. ‘I think Miss Pilgrim’s back.’

  ‘Miss Pilgrim? Rebecca?’ Mrs Lockheart looked slightly surprised, as if the expected had become the unexpected. ‘Oh, yes. Good. I haven’t seen her for years, it will be quite a reunion. I’ve been looking forward to it very much, although I’m not sure how she will feel.’ She came to her feet, picked up her coat and placed it over her arm. ‘Thank you so much for your company, Mr Cooper, it’s been so interesting talking to you. I do hope we’ll meet again.’ Her smile seemed that of a woman in pleasurable anticipation of a reunion. ‘Goodbye for now.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ said Jim, his feelings mixed. One should like a woman whose looks and femininity were as appealing as hers, and whose manner was so civilized, but he was not s
ure that he did. There had been too many veiled remarks, too much wandering from one thing to another. He opened the door for her and she smiled as she left. He heard her descending the stairs, and he closed the door. He had an odd suspicion that Miss Pilgrim was not going to enjoy the reunion. He sat down and resumed his book-keeping studies, but found it difficult to concentrate. He was listening. But the solidly built house did not communicate its sounds at all clearly when doors were closed. He shook his head at himself and applied himself to his studies with determination.

  A sound did reach his ears after ten minutes, and with jolting clarity. It came from the neat little hall below.

  ‘Wretched woman!’ It was Miss Pilgrim’s voice. ‘Leave my house, take yourself off, and at once!’

  A laugh came, a laugh that Jim thought was mocking.

  ‘How dramatic.’ Mrs Lockheart’s voice, neither so sharp nor so biting as Miss Pilgrim’s, was quite clear all the same. ‘False anger will do you no good, Rebecca. I know, you see, I have always known. But what I still don’t know is why you did it. Poison of that kind is a venomous thing. Poor Clarence did not deserve that. But now that I’ve found you, you are done for.’

  ‘Rubbish. I can face my God.’ The front door was pulled open. Jim was on his feet now, his own door open a little, his listening compulsive. ‘Go!’

  ‘I shall be back, Rebecca Pilgrim.’

  The front door was sharply closed. Jim ventured out on to the landing.

  ‘Hello there,’ he called lightly. Miss Pilgrim looked up at him from the hall.

  ‘Kindly don’t let unwanted visitors into my house again, Mr Cooper,’ she said.

  ‘So sorry,’ said Jim. ‘She said she was an acquaintance of yours, and asked if she could come in and wait until you were back.’

  ‘An impositon.’

  ‘The lady wasn’t an old acquaintance?’ Jim, out of disturbed curiosity, was probing.

  ‘That is not the point. I’m not a saintly Christian, as I’ve told you, and my door is closed to certain people. Whenever there’s a visitor and I am out, please be so good as to ask them to call again.’