Lucy Carmichael

by Margaret Kennedy

  His expostulations grew more and more half-hearted until he allowed himself to be convinced. If only he could always manage to remember her like this, he would not suffer extremely over his rejection. He departed without attempting any more technique, for which Lucy was thankful. And on the doorstep he made a solemn little speech about hoping that she would let him know if there was ever anything that he could do for her.

  When she had shown him out she made herself another cup of tea, sat down to write an account of all this to Melissa, and realised that she must say nothing of it. It was a thousand pities to be obliged to suppress so entertaining a story, but it was not fair to laugh at Charles. He loved her as much, probably, as he was able to love anybody, and he had treated her very honourably, considering what his opportunities had been.

  Nor was she perfectly sure that Melissa would applaud her decision. From the very first, in their earliest letters, there had been a suspicious interest in Terrific Charles. Melissa had laughed at him and called him the Eel, but it was not impossible that she might wish to see her friend established in affluence at Cyre Abbey. Yet she had married for love herself; had forsaken several noble matches for the sake of honest John. She would never have accepted Charles, though she might think that he would do very well for Lucy.

  Our friends, thought Lucy, make compromises for us which they would not tolerate for themselves. They love us, but we are not quite real to them.

  4

  IANTHE’S baby, though enthusiastically sponsored by Miss Plummer, was dismissed at once, and impatiently, by most people in the upper town. Some astonishment was felt at the matron for swallowing such a fable. But, upheld by confidence in her own intuition, she stuck to her theory for some weeks, until silenced by some mysterious compulsion. Report had it that she took the tale to Lady Frances and received such a flea in her ear for mischievous gossip that she was obliged to take aspirin on reaching home. Nothing more was ever heard from her on the subject, and Ianthe left Ravonsbridge soon afterwards for a visit to some cousins in South Africa.

  The story, however, smouldered in the town, passing listlessly from ear to ear as Miss Tanner massaged the citizens through bouts of spring rheumatism. Scandal in a clergyman’s family is always attractive. But so very few people believed a word of it that the legend might have flickered out had not Angera displayed Ianthe’s portrait at an Art School exhibition, towards the end of the term.

  The picture attracted a good deal of attention; within a matter of hours his paternity would have been a settled thing, could anybody have quite believed in the baby. To Miss Tanner the dates were a deciding factor. The portrait had been painted in April and May; the affair, if there had been any affair, must have been going on then, for it was in late June that Ianthe had been obliged, so suddenly, so mysteriously, to leave Ravonsbridge. A good deal of discussion sprang up among people who liked scandal in a parsonage, people who liked scandal about artists, and people who did not like Jews. The tale crept to the lower town, collecting a good deal of material on the way, until patrons of Adamson’s Café Bar were telling one another that Mr. Angora, up at the Institute, a Jew mind you, had seduced fifteen of his pupils.

  These rumblings from the nether pit were not immediately audible up the hill, and did not check the extreme hilarity with which the Institute greeted so fantastic a suggestion. Had anybody believed in Ianthe’s baby, had anybody supposed that anybody else could believe in it, the matter might have been treated more soberly. Had Mr. Thornley been among them, his strong sense of decorum might have restrained them a little. Had such a slander, incredible though it was, fallen upon anybody else, some sympathetic indignation might have been felt. But Angera was universally disliked; he had frequently boasted of his own sexual prowess, had poured contempt upon British lack of technique, had scolded them for British prudery. Nobody could help laughing. His fury, when the tale reached him, was too ludicrous. The gale which was to blow down so much about so many people’s ears began with a guffaw.

  Mr. Garstang chuckled over it as he trod his lonely path to the first Council meeting of the Summer Term. For Angera was in a resigning mood again. He had flown into a tantrum about the gallery commission which his contract obliged him to pay on the pictures he had sold during the spring exhibition, among which was included the famous portrait. All the solemn farce of persuading him to change his mind would have to be gone through once more, and Mr. Garstang did not know how he was to keep a straight face when the subject came up. He trusted that most of the Council might not be aware of the joke. Hayter would certainly have heard of it, but Colonel Harding lived out at Slane Bredy and the Millwood ladies never listened to gossip.

  In any case, Angera’s resignation came last on an agenda paper of inordinate length. Poor old Thornley used to complain that the agenda lists were too short and that all sorts of things were settled out of hand, by Lady Frances and Hayter, which should have been discussed by the Council. He could not have said that now. There were nineteen items. By the time they reached Angera they would all be too much exhausted to laugh.

  A surprise awaited everybody in the Council room. Dr. Pidgeon was there. It was the first meeting he had attended since his election, two years ago. He explained that he had come over to Ravonsbridge for a concert rehearsal and had thought that he might as well look in.

  We shall be seeing Coppard one of these days, thought Garstang, and asked what had happened to Spedding, whose resignation from the Council was listed as one of the nineteen items which they were to discuss. Hayter said that Spedding’s partner was ill and that he was, for a time, so much over-worked that he had been obliged to resign from several committees. He had written a letter to the Council saying so. It was a temporary crisis. Later in the year he would not be so busy.

  Garstang grunted. He did not like Spedding and was not sorry to see him go.

  “But that leaves us two short,” he said, “for we haven’t replaced Thornley yet.”

  “The new Drama Director will have Thornley’s place, I suppose,” said Colonel Harding, “when we get him.”

  “I dunno. He wouldn’t be resident. I think we should have more members who live on the spot.”

  The Millwood ladies here arrived with Miss Foss and the meeting began. Mr. Spedding’s letter was read and regretted. In the bun-shop it had been decided that he should not be replaced. He might be able to serve on the Council again after Christmas, and he had been such a good treasurer that it would be a pity to lose him. As for Thornley’s successor, this place on the Council was certainly to be kept for the Visiting Drama Director. Garstang raised a plea for more local members, and was reminded by Hayter that, at the General Meeting in the autumn, several new members might be elected by the town. Once in every five years the whole Council retired and was re-elected again at a special general meeting of the electors of Ravonsbridge. So few people ever came to this meeting, and the re-election of the retiring Council was so much a matter of form, that Hayter’s remark caused a little surprise.

  “Bless my soul, yes, there’s a meeting this autumn!” agreed Garstang. “Five years go in no time nowadays.”

  “Yes, I’d almost forgotten,” said Lady Frances. “But I don’t see why the town should elect anybody new. They never have. Whom did you have in mind, Mr. Hayter?”

  “Oh, nobody in particular,” said Hayter. “But Mr. Garstang spoke of getting more local residents on the Council. I don’t know if he had anyone in particular on his mind….”

  He paused and looked enquiringly at Garstang, who shook his head.

  “And it occurred to me,” continued Hayter, “that some local names might be put forward, when the nominations come in, if there are any suitable people who are willing to join us.”

  “No, I don’t know of any,” said Garstang. “I merely think that, on principle, absentee members are a pity.”

  Everyone looked at Dr. Pidgeon, whose withers were unwrung because he had not heard a word and had been thinking of something else. But
it was felt that Mr. Garstang had been tactless and the subject was dropped. The afternoon was hot and they had nineteen topics to discuss.

  Colonel Harding and Dr. Pidgeon fell asleep. From time to time a poke from Mr. Poole roused the Chairman to read out a new agenda heading. Most of the points raised seemed hardly worth discussion. They were genuinely things which Mr. Hayter might have settled without consulting the Council; but he seemed to have made up his mind that they should hear every letter that anyone had written to him for the past six weeks, and after each of them there was an endless, desultory chatter. Nobody felt much impulse to prolong this tedium by asking questions or volunteering opinions. Most of the discussion was a duologue between Hayter and Lady Frances, in which she told him what to do and he begged her to consider alternative possibilities until the thing strung out beyond any human power to listen. Even a pension for a retiring furnace man took them twenty minutes though it was merely a routine matter. Hayter had to ask a great deal about it, because he thought he could get them another furnace man and wished to be perfectly informed about the terms of employment.

  The church clock struck four. Dr. Pidgeon woke up and looked at his watch. His rehearsal was at four-thirty. Tish began to think of her train. If she missed the four-fifty she would be obliged to wait until seven and she had a child at home with a temperature. Lady Frances wished to go to church at five in order to see her kitchen-maid confirmed, and she would have been glad of a cup of tea first. Lady Anne thought longingly of the ladies’ cloakroom.

  “Resignation of Mr. Angera,” read out Colonel Harding, in obedience to a poke from Poole. “We’d better have his letter.”

  All those who were awake ticked off No. 19 on their agenda papers with a sigh of relief.

  Angera’s letter had been written early in the Easter vacation. He stated that he wished to resign his post and to leave Ravonsbridge at the end of the Summer Term because he considered that the gallery commission on the sale of his pictures was a fraudulent imposture.

  As Poole read it the ladies began to collect their gloves and handbags, and Lady Frances gave judgement as soon as he had finished:

  “Well, I think we agreed, last time, on the line we should take, if this sort of thing should happen again. We will accept Mr. Angera’s resignation. It will give him a good fright. He’ll have to apologise and stop behaving in this silly, childish way.”

  “But hasn’t he written another letter, taking it all back?” asked Garstang. “He usually does.”

  “No,” said Poole. “There is no other letter.”

  “He probably means to,” said Hayter. “He wrote to me about an autumn exhibition. That looks as if he means to stay.”

  “Then he’d better hurry up and say so, with apologies,” said Lady Frances.

  “Perhaps,” put in Garstang, “he thinks a letter to Hayter is good enough.”

  “He has no business to think that. He knows very well that he must address the Council through Mr. Poole. We can’t take into account any private correspondence he may have had with other members on the staff.”

  “He’s so unbusinesslike,” persisted Garstang. “He may not, even now, have grasped that. Have you got the letter, Hayter?”

  Hayter shook his head and explained that he had not looked upon it as official, and had merely mentioned it as evidence that Angera really did mean to take back his resignation.

  “Then let him do so,” said Lady Frances, rising from her chair. “And I personally should like him to wait until the very end of the term before we let him know that we accept his withdrawal. I’m getting very tired of this sort of thing.”

  “Yes,” said Tish, also getting up. “He needs a lesson.”

  “Then that’s agreed?” said the Colonel, looking round the table. “We simply accept his resignation without comment?”

  An extraordinary thing happened. Miss Foss spoke. Her colleagues, who had never heard her voice before, shared some of the shock which must have been sustained by Balaam.

  “No-I-don’t-agree!”

  Having uttered these words in a single, panic-stricken breath, she seemed to be about to hide under the table.

  Everybody stared at her in silence. Dr. Pidgeon, who had already got as far as the door, turned impatiently.

  “You don’t agree?” said Lady Frances at last.

  Miss Foss remained sitting at the table, and Colonel Harding, who had begun to get up, sat down again. Mr. Garstang also kept his seat. But the others, having risen, stood about the room as if protesting at this further detention.

  “No,” whispered Miss Foss. “No. I don’t agree.”

  “But why not?”

  Faint but valiant, the answer came:

  “I … I don’t think there should be any question of Mr. Angera going just now.”

  “But Miss Foss, we must draw the line somewhere. He has behaved so badly, with these continual, meaningless threats of resignation. We all agreed, last year, that we shouldn’t let him off too easily next time he did it.”

  “I know, Lady Frances. But not just now.”

  “I think we’ve been very patient.”

  “Oh, yes, Lady Anne. We have. But just now … I … I don’t think this is a very good moment.”

  What larks! thought Mr. Garstang. We’re going to have it after all, and from Miss Foss, of all people!

  “And why isn’t it a good moment?” demanded Tish, with Ravonsclere determination.

  Miss Foss was trembling and blushing but she managed to whisper the words:

  “There should be no question … just now … of … of want of confidence…. We should stand behind Mr. Angera….”

  “I think,” said Garstang, coming to her rescue, “that Miss Foss is referring to a stupid story, a ridiculous story, that has been going about. Isn’t that it, Miss Foss?”

  “Oh, yes … yes …” she breathed gratefully. “Most unpleasant.”

  “What story?” asked Lady Anne.

  “Never heard of it,” said Lady Frances.

  “Oh … I know what you mean,” said Tish.

  “A fantastic story,” said Mr. Garstang, “and perfectly groundless, I believe, coupling Mr. Angera and Miss Meadows.”

  “The greatest nonsense I ever heard,” said Tish.

  “Not the sort of thing that ought even to be mentioned here,” said Lady Frances severely. “I always make it a rule never to listen to gossip anywhere, least of all here. It has nothing whatever to do with Mr. Angera’s resignation and … I beg your pardon, Miss Foss?”

  For Miss Foss had actually interrupted. She had muttered something. With an effort she repeated it.

  “People will think that it has.”

  “Oh, no,” said Lady Frances. “Why should people think anything? Why should anybody know that Mr. Angera has resigned? We shall say nothing, and if he’s sensible he will say nothing. He’ll write us a proper apology.”

  “But he’s not sensible‚” said Garstang, who was regretting the departure of Thornley more than he had ever done.

  “Then he must suffer for it.”

  Thornley would never have allowed this to happen! He would have got a written apology from Angera in time for the meeting. He would have protested against all this hanky-panky with the agenda. He would have demanded that Angera’s case should be heard earlier.

  “Things get out …” Miss Foss was whispering.

  “Yes,” said Garstang. “I agree with Miss Foss. Things do get out. This isn’t a moment for the Council to quarrel with Angera. I don’t know of anyone who believes that ridiculous story, but some people will believe anything. It might be thought we’d been influenced by this yarn.”

  “But we are not dismissing him,” argued Lady Frances. “It is he who has resigned.”

  “Then let’s have him up here now, and ask him if he means what he says. Let’s settle it now.”

  “Oh, no,” cried Tish, who was getting very anxious about her train. “That would give him an even worse idea of his own impo
rtance than he’s got already.”

  “I quite agree,” said Lady Anne. “It’s not for us to implore him to reconsider.”

  “He’ll be very lucky,” said Lady Frances, “if we accept his apology when we get it.”

  Colonel Harding looked at Dr. Pidgeon, who was still hovering impatiently in the doorway.

  “I can’t see what all the fuss is about. Fellow has resigned. Surely he knows his own mind!” said Dr. Pidgeon.

  “Hayter?”

  Hayter murmured that he would prefer to take no part in any discussion which concerned the conduct of a colleague. He thought it would really be more correct if he were not present at all.

  “Then Poole had better write …” began the Colonel.

  He was interrupted once more by the heroic Miss Foss, who quavered a demand for a vote. So he asked them to vote on an immediate acceptance of Mr. Angera’s resignation. Lady Frances, Lady Anne, Tish Massingham and Dr. Pidgeon raised their hands, as they stood poised for escape. Mr. Garstang and Miss Foss kept their seats as they voted against the motion. Mr. Poole was instructed to write to Angera accepting his resignation at the end of the current term. The Council dispersed at high speed, barely pausing to bid one another goodbye.

  “I expect it will be all right,” said Garstang reassuringly, as he escorted Miss Foss down the stairs. “It doesn’t really matter what idiots think, even if some garbled version does get out.”

  He was fascinated at hearing her speak and hoped that she would go on. But the unaccustomed effort seemed to have exhausted her and she could only shake her head. Then he thought he heard a murmur about “dear Mr. Thornley”.

  “Ah, yes,” he agreed. “Thornley! We certainly miss him. I don’t quite know why. But things don’t go so well without him.”

  Miss Foss muttered again.

  “… A very kind man …” he heard. “Always very kind to everybody … very sincere … a very good man … my dear father used to say … good people sometimes make mistakes but … clever people much more dangerous.”