Minty Alley

by C. L. R. James

  But Haynes was not listening to what she was saying. Maisie, he noted, was looking exceptionally well. And Benoit’s words had come back to him. Just hold her and kiss her and all would be well. He decided he would choose his opportunity and do the job soon. He had fumbled long enough. He knew Maisie liked him, was always giving him openings.

  ‘Come on, Maisie,’ he said, heartily. ‘You are impeding my progress.’ Boldly he held her shoulders ostensibly to move her aside. She twisted her head to give him a brilliant and encouraging smile. They stood like that for a few seconds. Haynes squeezed her shoulders. She remained passive. Then, ‘Take care,’ she said, ‘someone is coming.’ And this time Haynes was disappointed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Christmas came and was not nearly as gloomy as had been anticipated. A fortnight before, Mrs. Rouse went to Gomes and made a desperate personal appeal to be allowed to draw all her money for at least ten days. She succeeded. Then there were some private orders for cakes. And altogether life looked brighter.

  Early one morning of Christmas week Aucher came in. He had been serving His Majesty for another short period. He was warmly welcomed and came to tell Haynes good morning, no doubt sent by Mrs. Rouse, for in his case such an act of politeness unprompted by authority was impossible. He greeted Haynes gravely, as innocent-looking and as quiet as ever. He came into the yard at about nine o’clock and ten minutes after he was attending to the stove. This unexpected assistance gave Mrs. Rouse more freedom and also relieved Miss Atwell, for after all it was Christmas week. Though the nurse was not there, yet there was scrubbing of floors, cleaning up of furniture, etc., to be done. Miss Atwell, who had been helping in the kitchen, was switched off to cleaning as soon as Aucher came. Work, work, work, everybody was harder at work than ever before. But there was a cheerfulness and happy anticipation about No. 2 which was in strong contrast to the hard, tense atmosphere in which the everyday work had been done during the past few months.

  After tea Miss Atwell came fussing to Haynes about the condition of his room. But Haynes begged for a respite.

  ‘I am going to the country tomorrow for three days.’

  ‘For Christmas Day and Boxing, Mr. Haynes!’

  ‘Yes, Miss Atwell, I have a holiday and shall spend the time getting a little ozone.’

  ‘Of course, Mr. Haynes.’ Her agreement was apologetic. ‘But, anyway you was saying?’

  ‘When I go you can take charge. I know you’ll be busy on Christmas Eve. The room is small, though, and it wouldn’t take you half an hour. But for the time being give me a chance.’

  ‘Of course, Mr. Haynes, of course. That is a very excellent arrangement.’

  But she looked crest-fallen and Haynes surmised that they had counted on having him with them over Christmas. Nor did he want to go away. But he was somewhat tired and for his health’s sake thought it would be good to go to a quiet country village by the sea. He wasn’t particularly anxious to go, but he had made all arrangements already. In the evening Miss Atwell laid his table and gave him his supper herself. (He couldn’t see Philomen, she was so busy up and down, and Maisie, having put her mind to work, was working unremittingly.) When supper was over and she was taking away the things, Miss Atwell remarked to Haynes how much she regretted that he was going. Mrs. Rouse and she had planned to invite him to lunch with them on Christmas Day, as Mrs. Rouse’s guest, in her part of the house.

  ‘You is one of the family, you know, Mr. Haynes, and Mrs. Rouse is very, very, sorry.’

  When she went Haynes thought it over for a few minutes and then called Miss Atwell.

  ‘Yes, Mr. Haynes?’

  Her eager face was at the door.

  ‘I am sorry to call you so often, Miss Atwell,’ Haynes began in quite unconscious imitation of her usual manner to him.

  ‘That’s quite all right, Mr. Haynes, quite all right,’ she answered in her high-pitched voice, still looking expectantly up at him.

  ‘I have to be in town on Boxing night. I can come down on Boxing morning, spend the day here and at least take lunch, and go out in the evening. Ask Mrs. Rouse if that will do.’

  ‘That’s too, too, too excellent, Mr. Haynes. That will do most perfect. It’s very nice of you, Mr. Haynes. We appreciates it very much. Thank you very much, Mr. Haynes.’

  Later in the day Mrs. Rouse saw Haynes.

  ‘We are very glad you have accepted our invitation, Mr. Haynes,’ she said, smiling almost shyly, like some poor young woman thanking a rich lover for some splendid gift.

  The Boxing Day lunch was a quiet but successful affair. Four of them sat to table, Mrs. Rouse, Miss Atwell, Maisie and Haynes; everybody officially dressed. Philomen served, but joined freely in the conversation. She helped things to go with a swing at the start, for Maisie, so glib in Haynes’s room, was silent, and Mrs. Rouse’s thoughts were elsewhere, though for once never a word about Benoit crossed her lips. Also she was tired. But fatigue and Miss Atwell’s wiry body never seemed to have made acquaintance and the early constraint disappeared before her briskness and bustle.

  It was a very good meal. When it had been eaten, Miss Atwell produced, as if by magic, a quart of champagne which had been in a bucket of ice all the morning. Philomen opened it with a dexterity which made Haynes envious and it was poured into four glasses, Philomen refusing to have any.

  ‘Not me, Miss A., I have to go out with Sugdeo. No cakes today. And if this thing don’t agree with me look what a pickle I’ll find myself in!’

  When the glasses were filled Miss Atwell rose and Haynes realized she was going to make a speech. Maisie started to laugh and only a sharp, ‘Maisie, I’ll make you get up,’ from Mrs. Rouse recalled her to order; Philomen stood with her fat face wearing a fine grin, full of interest and importance. Mrs. Rouse smiled and looked brighter, but she maintained her air of abstraction. Miss Atwell waited and when perfect silence was established, she began. She spoke with fluency and without the slightest nervousness.

  ‘Mr. Haynes, we is all highly gratified that you has honoured us with your presence here today. We has all liked you from the day you come here. You sits in your room, you doesn’t go out, you reads your book, you writes your paper, you plays your gramophone, you troubles nobody. And we wish you long life and prosperity.’

  After applause (chiefly a great burst of laughter from Philomen and loud ‘Hear, hear’s’ from Maisie) Haynes rose to reply. On the few occasions in his past life that he had been called upon to speak he, having prepared carefully, had made rather a mess of things. (There was that never-to-be-forgotten occasion on which he had begun with, ‘I – personally – myself—’ and then could go no further.) Now he rose to his feet, and confident of his intellectual superiority got going from the first sentence. The champagne also helped enormously. He spoke of Mrs. Rouse’s hard work and patience in her troubles, of Miss Atwell’s staunch friendship, of Philomen’s devotion. Then he again thanked them all for their kindness, making individual references, and ended by wishing them all a happy and prosperous New Year. It was up to that time the speech of his life.

  There was a sustained burst of applause, and a chorus of ‘excellent’ from Miss Atwell. Ever afterwards one of her favourite remarks was that Haynes should stand for the Legislative Council. She then got up, rummaged in a drawer and produced a cigar.

  ‘We knows that you ask Philomen to buy one sometimes, so we got her to buy one of the same kind, Mr. Haynes.’

  Haynes lit up at once, Philomen removed some of the dishes, a pint of whisky and some well-iced soda were placed for Haynes, and vermouth for the ladies, and they were all very much at home.

  ‘It’s very hot, Mr. Haynes. I see you is perspirin’. You can take off your jacket, Mr. Haynes. Push that curtain away, Maisie. Philomen, take Mr. Haynes’s jacket. You is no stranger, Mr. Haynes. Whisky for me, Mr. Haynes? Thank you, I likes a little whisky.’

  After a general conversation and two whiskies and sodas, Haynes said goodbye and went over to his room, full of
food and drink and vaguely conscious that of all the Christmas eating and drinking, this had been the best. Maisie, who had followed him, somewhat damped his satisfaction by saying that he had spoken too long, but he knew Maisie too well to let her think he was affected by her criticism.

  ‘Jealous, Maisie. That’s what you are.’

  ‘If you say so, Mr. Haynes.’ She lay back in an armchair, her hands behind her head.

  ‘Mr. Haynes,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I want a cigarette.’

  ‘What will Mrs. Rouse say?’

  ‘I wouldn’t let her see. All those white ladies smoke. I don’t see why I shouldn’t smoke.’

  ‘Look in my pocket. But mind, I didn’t give them to you.’

  ‘No, Mr. Haynes. You light it for me.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Haynes. ‘Here you are. I give you with a kiss.’ And if he did not seek to implement them, the words at least were bold.

  ‘Oh, Mr. Haynes! One glass of champagne and two glasses of whisky.’

  But it was more than that. Haynes was feeling exhilarated by the unexpected fluency he had found in his tongue. And that had given him a new confidence.

  ‘Hold her and kiss her,’ Benoit had said. And now he felt that he could do what he liked with Maisie when he pleased.

  She, too, seemed aware of a subtle change in Haynes’s manner. She did not seem dissatisfied and lay back puffing with an ease which bespoke practice. Maisie in the armchair, Haynes sitting across his bed, with his back on the wall. Their eyes met and Haynes did not withdraw his as often hitherto. A film seemed to draw over Maisie’s. ‘Why are you looking at me like that, Mr. Haynes?’ she whispered.

  ‘Because I want to. You are very nice to look at.’

  ‘You have suddenly become a great speech-maker, Mr. Haynes. I didn’t—’

  A sudden knock at the door startled them both. It was Miss Atwell come to borrow a book to read.

  ‘Mr. Haynes, the last one was good, a little high for me, but good. I is not a person of much education and I knows nothing about stories and so on. I used to be a great reader of novels in my day. That is a long time now. And novels isn’t serious books. Though some of them has good morals. But I pass through the Universal Spelling Book at school, Mr. Haynes, and when you pass through that you knows something, you can take it from me. And I can tell you, Mr. Haynes, it was a real good book. A1 and no mistake. High, high class. But how do men think of these things, Mr. Haynes? Education. That’s what it is. Education. If I had a child I would sacrifice anything to give him education. Thanks very much, Mr. Haynes. I’ll take every care of this one.’

  She had barely disappeared before Maisie’s lip curled in a rather bitter sneer.

  ‘But listen to the withered old monkey. If she had a child! Well, my God, if she make a child—’

  ‘Quiet, please, Maisie,’ warned Haynes.

  But Miss Atwell must have heard. Usually she did not carry news on Maisie, and if not on the side of quiet was always on the side of peace, but she was the only person who could have told Mrs. Rouse that Maisie was smoking a cigarette. And even if she mentioned it, she could hardly have foreseen the consequences. Mrs. Rouse suddenly appeared at the door and caught Maisie in the very act of emitting smoke from her lips, head thrown back, face to the ceiling and underlip extended.

  She walked quickly in.

  ‘Mr. Haynes, you must excuse me. I have to disrespect you today. So is that you coming too, eh, young lady? You smoking? Not in my house.’ And she boxed Maisie right and left about the face until to save herself Maisie ran from the room.

  Haynes had no time to say a word even if he had thought of something to say, Mrs. Rouse had been so expeditious. Then he heard Maisie’s voice outside raised.

  ‘You old advantage-taker! But I am not going to take this so, though. By Christ, I am not going to take it so.’

  The incident ruined the day. Maisie had undoubtedly been hardly treated. Although Mrs. Rouse had never actually caught her she knew that Maisie smoked. And Maisie was not smoking in her house. The room was Haynes’s room. As Maisie said, it was a piece of advantage-taking. Maisie complained to Haynes that he ought not to allow Mrs. Rouse to treat his room as if it were her own house. But when Mrs. Rouse later apologized profusely, Haynes brushed her apologies away. He was one of them now, sharer of joys and troubles. He knew it and not so much welcomed it as took it for granted. It was the quarrel between both his good friends that worried him. And what reason was there for it? Maisie answered at once.

  ‘Why she do that? Why? Because her heart hurting her that Mr. Benoit spending Christmas with the nurse instead of here. But that is no reason why she must beat me as if I am pudding. If she want to beat somebody let her go down to town and beat the nurse. I didn’t steal her man. Benoit, Benoit, Benoit. That man is an evil spirit haunting this house. But I am not going to take this so, I not going to take it so.’

  She spoke loudly so that Mrs. Rouse could not fail to hear.

  ‘You not going to take it? Do what you like. And to besides, don’t give me too much of your cheeks out there. What can you do?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ said Maisie.

  ‘Look here,’ said Mrs. Rouse and came to the door, but Miss Atwell told her not to bother.

  Haynes was troubled, not only by the incident, but by a certain open defiance in Maisie’s attitude of which he was now fully aware for the first time. He knew Mrs. Rouse’s temper and he now was beginning to be aware of Maisie’s. He felt that he had to be on the alert to prevent trouble. He realized that whatever he said would carry weight with them, and with this realization came a sense of responsibility and increasing confidence. Miss Atwell, too, was his abject slave and admired his appearance, his clothes, his speech and everything about him with a personal pleasure and a desire to please that overbore embarrassment.

  How these women centred round a man.

  ‘It’s good to be a man,’ said Haynes to himself, and girded himself for the task of showing both Maisie and himself what a man he was.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  On Old Year’s night Miss Atwell paid Haynes a visit. She wished him profuse compliments of the season and came straight to her point. She said that she hoped he wouldn’t be vexed but she had taken it upon herself to ask him about his boarding. Mrs. Rouse had not sent her, but Haynes could see how things were in the house, and if he could manage to let Mrs. Rouse board him at about twenty dollars a month it would be of ‘mateeral’ assistance to their kind landlady. She assured him a second time that Mrs. Rouse had nothing to do with her asking. Haynes told her cautiously that he had been thinking of ‘coming to some new, temporary arrangement with Mrs. Rouse’ for some time and at least would be glad to ‘discuss the matter’ with her. It would be easier for him and he was sure it would be easier for her also. But Ella had been his servant for so long that he would not do anything which hurt her feelings in any way. He might perhaps board with Mrs. Rouse until Ella came back, but yet—

  ‘Ella is the person I am considering, Miss Atwell,’ he concluded.

  ‘We knows that, Mr. Haynes. But Ella is sick and she is gone so long.’

  ‘But still you know, she may be better.’

  ‘I heard from a friend of hers whom she wrote that she was still pretty bad. I thought she had wrote to you to tell you, Mr. Haynes. She has not written?’

  ‘No, she hasn’t; but she wouldn’t write.’

  Ella would have died rather than expose her writing and spelling to her master.

  ‘Mrs. Rouse knows that you have come to ask me?’

  ‘Yes,’ admitted Miss Atwell. ‘We was talkin’ over the New Year and how bad things lookin’ and I tell her I am goin’ to speak to you.’

  Haynes had a bad two minutes. The old attempt by the nurse had made him wary on the question. But the way they all flew to do anything for him, Mrs. Rouse’s kindness to him, the kindness of all of them, his authority in the house. On the other hand,
Ella’s long and faithful attendance to his every wish, her trust and confidence in him.

  ‘Help the poor soul, Mr. Haynes. She need it.’

  Miss Atwell sat motionless, her hands crossed in her lap; her shining eyes met Haynes’s whenever he looked at her.

  ‘Very well, Miss Atwell,’ said Haynes, with decision. ‘Tell Mrs. Rouse I shall start with her tomorrow. In the morning we will make arrangements.’

  ‘You is doin’ her a good turn, Mr. Haynes. God will bless you. Good night, Mr. Haynes, and sleep well.’

  That was December 31st. Mrs. Rouse and Haynes concluded arrangements on New Year’s Day and inasmuch as he had the money and boarding meant her spending, he paid her twenty dollars in advance for January. That was January 1st. On January 4th (Maisie’s birthday) Haynes learnt that Ella was in town. She had come in on the morning of the second, but by some means or other had heard that he was boarding with Mrs. Rouse. How she and her set managed to be so well informed about anything in which they were interested was a marvel, but heard she had and, accepting the circumstances, had not even come to see him to discuss the question. Haynes would never have known that she was back in town at all if Maisie had not told him, and told him with relish that she heard Ella was looking well and had come back to work. Haynes waited a day or two wishing that Ella would come and get the interview over.

  On the second afternoon as soon as he reached home he asked again. Had she been? Maisie was quietly superior.

  ‘No, Mr. Haynes. You ought to know Ella well enough to realize that she will not come here again.’

  ‘Then I shall have to go to see her and explain,’ said Haynes.

  ‘Why bother?’

  Haynes knew the interview would be awkward, but knew, too, that it had to take place. ‘And I must stop putting off things. I’ll go immediately after supper.’