by Sara Seale
“I think,” she said when Charity brought up her breakfast tray, “you and I had best have a little talk.”
“Now?” asked Charity with a sinking heart. She did not care at all for the look in Roma’s eye.
“No, honey. I like my breakfast in peace and quiet. Come back mid-morning and help me move my things to my own room.”
“Do you mean my room?”
“That’s what I said, only you see it was never yours. Paid companions don’t expect the best bedroom in the house, do they?”
“I only went where I was told,” said Charity stiffly.
“Sure you did. But Astrea couldn’t know then that the original spiritual daughter was returning to her bosom, could she?”
“I suppose not. I did offer to change, if you remember.”
“So you’ve reminded me. Well, I’m going to take you up on that right now, so go and get the drawers and cupboards emptied.”
“Very well,” Charity said, “but—does Astrea know about this?”
“We’ll tell her afterwards,” Roma replied cosily. “No need to disturb the poor old girl before she’s got her face on, is there?”
“No, but—she doesn’t like her plans altered without being consulted.”
“I ought to know that better than you, honey. I lived here before. Now, hop along and make a start, and don’t go running to Madam with tales before we get going.”
“I shouldn’t dream of it,” said Charity gravely, and left the room.
It did not take her long to put her few possessions together, but Roma’s wardrobe would be another matter. There was certainly more space here, but even so, one of the cabin trunks would have to remain, spoiling the elegance of the room. Charity moved all her belongings on to the landing when the time came and went to tell Roma she was ready.
A few garments had been flung carelessly on the bed, but otherwise Roma had not troubled to sort out her things. She sat at the dressing table in a long jade-green housecoat, making up her face, and waved a hand carelessly towards the bed
“Make a start, will you? I’ll be along in a little while.”
Charity made several journeys between the two rooms before Roma was ready to help. Even then she did not trouble to dress but went vaguely backwards and forwards with odd pieces of clothing, the housecoat trailing behind her with a small whispering sound, and soon she gave up carrying anything, but sat in an easy chair watching Charity dispose of her clothes in cupboards and drawers, and smoking incessantly.
“You know,” she said suddenly, “you should keep to your proper place in this house if you want to stay.” Charity kept her back turned and resolved not to lose her temper.
“I think my proper place is Astrea’s concern. She hasn’t complained,” she said.
“Oh, Astrea’s a silly old hay-bag who can be flattered into anything. It amuses her at the moment to play you off against me.”
Charity turned, really shocked to hear Astrea described in such terms, but Roma was smiling and flicking ash unconcernedly on to the carpet.
“Don’t look so disapproving, honey,” she said. “I’m very fond of the old girl, but she’s still a foolish, eccentric old woman who should be protected from her own folly.”
“If,” said Charity patiently, “you are still harping on the will, you might just as well forget it. I don’t want her money and I don’t suppose for a moment she’s done anything about it.”
“No? Well, we’ll see—but I warn you, Charity, I’m up to all the tricks of little girls like you. Oh, don’t think I blame you for trying, honey. It isn’t nice to be poor and a girl must root for herself these days.”
“Is that meant to be conciliatory?”
“Conciliatory? Well, you might put it that way, I suppose. In our different fashions we’re after the same thing, which creates a fellow feeling in a way, but I told you very early on if your ambitions clashed with mine it would be just too bad.”
Charity went on placing clothes on hangers, feeling the fine materials slip through her fingers with caressing luxury. It did not seem to her that, living in such different worlds, her ambitions could ever clash with Roma’s. She turned round slowly, trying to find words which might end this needless antagonism.
“Roma—” she began hesitantly. “I wish I could make you understand that all this is—is so unnecessary. I’m paid to do a job here, as you’ve pointed out. I don’t expect to—to make something out of it. You say I should keep to my proper place in the house, but I can only do what’s required of me by my employer.”
“Including running after your employer’s nephew?” The color crept under Charity’s pale skin.
“What do you mean?” she asked quietly, and Roma gave her soft little laugh.
“Oh, it wouldn’t surprise me if Astrea had put you up to that, too,” she said. “The new spiritual daughter scoring off the old.”
“That’s quite absurd!”
“Yes, isn’t it? As if Marc would look twice at you!” The temper was rising in Charity. She wanted to strike that insolent face, so arrogant in its own beauty, so sure of power over others.
“Have you finished?” she asked.
“No, I haven’t,” Roma answered, and her indolence suddenly left her. “You should know for your own good what men say about girls who chase them. Oh, I daresay our learned friend made a mild pass or two up there on the Beacon, but you invited it, didn’t you? Marc’s a man of the world, and doesn’t expect his polite attentions to be taken seriously, but you embarrassed him by running after him and making your poor little hopes so plain. He told me so, himself.”
“Marc said that?” Charity had gone very white, and Roma lit another cigarette and inhaled the smoke luxuriously.
“Sure he did—last night when you’d gone to bed. I doubt if he’ll be coming down next weekend in consequence.”
“I see.” Charity turned back again to the cupboard to hide the bitter tears which sprang to her eyes. She felt physically sick, remembering them whispering in the hall, and all the magic of that rainy afternoon had turned to shame. Behind her, she heard Roma’s voice talking on and on.
“Well, honey, I’ve had my say. I don’t suppose you liked it, but the truth is seldom pleasant. I don’t advise you to run to Astrea for sympathy, because she can be so very unpredictable, and however tiresomely she’s behaving now she always wanted me to marry Marc, as I expect you know. I don’t say he may not have turned to you for solace for a sore heart, for I’ll admit I treated him badly, but now—well, things didn’t pan out for me, so I’m willing to settle for the old love. Be well and truly warned, my dear Charity, I mean to get the money, and Marc, too. I can’t say fairer than that.”
Charity whirled round, her hands covering her ears. “Oh, stop, stop!” she cried. “You don’t have to go on any more. You’re welcome to Marc and the money and anything else you can get, only—don’t hurt him, will you?”
Roma looked at her curiously and, for the first time, saw what a man might find to attract him. There was a defencelessness in Charity which begged for protection, a passionate simplicity which cried out for love and the privilege to give with both hands. She was not plain, this thin, ardent child, and she possessed the priceless gift of being virgin soil.
“You really are fond of Marc, aren’t you?” Roma said slowly. She had never been made aware of a selfless spirit before.
“Yes—no—I don’t know,” said Charity distractedly. “Whatever it is, it was delicate and scarcely born, and you’ve killed it, and for that I won’t forgive you.”
“Oh, heck, who cares!” snapped Roma impatiently. “You don’t need to put on an act with me, you tiresome brat—Astrea’s histrionics are enough for one household.”
As if on cue, Astrea herself swept into the room. Like Roma, she was still in the process of getting dressed and the old negligee she affected in the morning trailed its torn lace over the carpet.
“What is the meaning of all this clutter on the landing, Charity
, dear child?” she boomed. “Are you spring-cleaning your room, by any chance?”
Charity was beyond speech at that moment, and Roma got out of her chair in one graceful movement and put an arm round Astrea’s shoulders.
“Now, darling, don’t be annoyed,” she said coaxingly. “We decided to change, that’s all. My lovely room that you furnished specially for me—Astrea, honey, I couldn’t bear not to have it any longer, and Charity, very sweetly, said she didn’t mind, so you won’t, will you?”
Charity watched them through her tears. Roma’s lightning change of mood filled her with grudging admiration, and she waited, almost with indifference, for Astrea’s reaction.
“I was not consulted,” Astrea replied, but the familiar note of outrage was muted today. She looked very old and not too well, and her wrinkled, painted face showed up in the morning light in cruel contrast to Roma’s flawless beauty.
“You had no right—” she began again. “This is my house and I give the orders. You, dear child, are only visiting here.”
“Visiting?” Roma’s husky voice was rich with a simulation of love and warmth, “Astrea, I’ve come home! Whatever the past I’ve come home to Cleat—and to you, darling.”
Astrea’s eyes grew moist and she swayed a little for an instant.
“Ah, Roma ...” she said “... my dear, dear child ... my true spiritual daughter ... But Charity must not feel hurt by this,” she finished in her usual strong tones, and became beware then of Charity’s tear-stained face. “You have minded, my child? Then it shall not be! You will change back again at once, Roma—at once, do you hear me? You have not cared for my broken heart for seven years—why should I now care for yours?”
“Oh, really, Astrea, you’re impossible!” snapped Roma, her patience suddenly breaking, and all at once they were shouting at one another. It was, Charity supposed, what they had been accustomed to do in the past, but coming on top of that other scene, it was too much.
“Oh, please, both of you” she implored, trying to come between them, and one of Astrea’s gesticulating hands caught her inadvertently on the side of the head.
“Oh, my child, my poor, poor child, I struck you!” Astrea wailed, halted in full flood, then she clutched at her breast with a little cry and her face contorted in a spasm of pain.
“Astrea, what is it?” cried Charity, alarmed, but the reply she got was incoherent and unintelligible, and with a small sigh, the old diva fell heavily at her feet.
It was Minnie, hastily summoned, who procured order out of chaos. Charity was frightened by Astrea’s bad color and heavy breathing, and even Roma had gone a little pale. It was immensely comforting to be rated by Minnie and watch her unperturbed measures for reviving her mistress.
“Ought to be ashamed of yourselves, shouting and bawling for all the house to hear!” she snapped. “I’ve been expecting this for a long time with all her carryings on. Drop dead one of these days, she will, getting herself all worked up as she does. Miss Roma, you’re the strong one—lend me a hand to prop her up.”
“But what is it? What’s wrong with her?” asked Charity, watching anxiously while Minnie and Roma between them heaved Astrea into a more comfortable position.
“Just a little collapse—she’s had ‘em before. Her heart’s none too good and she isn’t as young as she was.”
“You mean she’s had a heart attack? I didn’t know there was anything wrong with her,” Roma said thoughtfully, and old Minnie looked up for a brief moment and sniffed.
“Don’t be counting your chickens yet, Miss Roma,” she said caustically. “Madam will be all right. As to not knowing, what should you know of her health, gadding in America all these years and barely a letter home?”
“Oughtn’t we to get a doctor?” Charity asked, not caring for the swift calculation she saw written in Roma’s face, but Astrea was coming round.
“No doctor ... Minnie knows what to do ...” she murmured weakly.
“But, Astrea—”
“Save your breath,” Minnie snapped. “She won’t have ‘em, and there’s no need this time, anyway. Noakes is working somewhere in the garden. Run and fetch him, Miss Charity, and we’ll get her to bed.”
Astrea was still confused. Charity, as she ran out of the room, heard her say: “I struck you, Roma, my poor child ...” and Roma replied softly: “You didn’t mean it, darling ... I understand ...”
When Charity visited her much later, she seemed to be almost normal, propped up in bed in her own room, grumbling at the old dresser’s ministrations, fresh makeup disguising the drawnness of her face.
“Does Marc know about these attacks?” Charity asked.
“No, and he’s not to,” returned Astrea sharply. “I can trust you, I hope, dear child. Roma has already given me her promise.”
“Very well,” replied Charity a little dubiously. It was, she supposed, no concern of hers to meddle in the affairs of a family in which she had no place, but her personal concern for Astrea was very real.
“I wish,” she said earnestly, “you’d see a doctor. I— we are all so anxious for you.”
“I’ll see a doctor when I have to and no sooner. Find Roma for me, dear child. I struck her; I must make amends.”
It did not seem worthwhile to undeceive her, and Roma obviously, was taking advantage of the mistake. During the two days when Astrea kept to her bed, it was Roma who was repeatedly sent for and who spent long hours in the sick-room with a gentle patience quite foreign to her nature. She was, Charity supposed, cashing in, to use her own expression, on Astrea’s sudden change of heart. She did not grudge the girl her rightful place in the house; she could only hope that Astrea would not see through her and be hurt all over again.
How much pain for so little reward, she reflected, going dully about her own affairs, and her thoughts would return to Marc and she would wonder if, perhaps, she fretted too much. She knew so little about him when all was said and done, and the tenderness she had discovered beneath that hard exterior could have been imagined. In the end Roma would have no power to hurt him because they were, perhaps, two of a kind.
“You look peaky,” Minnie declared, giving Charity a shrewd look. “Been worrying about m’lady?”
“Yes, I have.”
“And other things too, I shouldn’t wonder. Well, I’ll say this for you, young miss. I didn’t take to you at first on account of them others, but you’ve proved me wrong. You’ve got heart.”
“Heart ...” Charity’s voice lingered sadly as she echoed the word, and Minnie gave her customary sniff.
“Too much, I shouldn’t wonder,” she observed. “Lost it to Mr. Marc, have you, ducks?”
“No!” said Charity with vehement distaste, before she realized that to be addressed as “ducks” by Minnie was a mark of her approval.
The old woman just smiled and said, “Ah, well ...” and pattered back to the kitchen.
When Astrea was up and about again, Roma spent several days in London, returning with new clothes which Astrea had presumably paid for. She seemed in great humor and was looking radiant.
“Did you see Marc?” Astrea asked. She had been fretful during Roma’s absence and seemed to have lost much of her old zest for life.
“Of course, darling. He sent his love and said he would be down next weekend. He was sorry about last time.”
“Press of work—he told me.” Astrea sounded indifferent.
“A useful excuse and possibly true,” Roma replied with a sidelong glance at Charity, and later, when the two girls were alone, she said with kindly assurance: “No need to be shy of him when he comes, honey. He perfectly understands.”
“Understands what?” asked Charity, feeling suddenly cold.
“Why, that you’d allowed yourself to get a little foolish over him. He’s very sorry if he gave you any cause to get wrong ideas.”
Charity had been living in an unnatural kind of vacuum for too long and her healthy emotions now came bubbling through.
“How dare you discuss me with Marc!” she exclaimed, her eyes bright with anger. “How dare you—or Marc, either—stick me on a pin like an insect and—and examine my emotions?”
“Well, really, my dear, I was only trying to be helpful,” said Roma, rather taken aback. “Anyone would think, to hear you talk, that you’d really fallen for the guy.”
“And if I have, then it’s you who’s made me see it,” said Charity, the true state of her heart revealing itself clearly for the first time. “But don’t worry, Roma; I may not know my proper place, but I’ve no intention of throwing myself at a man who doesn’t want me.’
“I’m glad to hear it,” was all the other girl could find to say, but her eyes were suddenly wary, and when she was alone with Astrea she tentatively suggested that Charity should be found another job.
“No, no,” protested Astrea at once. “She’s a good child, a kind child. Where would she go?”
“But she can’t have expected to stop here forever, and now I’ve come home where’s the point of a companion?”
“You will marry and leave me again—oh, yes, I know you mean to get Marc.”
“That’s another reason,” Roma said, evading the issue for the moment. “Poor little Charity’s rather lost her heart to Marc. It would only be kind to let her go.”