‘Isn’t Maisie going too?’ said Haynes.
‘No, I am tired. I don’t feel to go for any walk tonight,’ said Maisie. ‘I going to bed early.’
Something in her voice, and in the way she stretched herself as she spoke, touched chords in Haynes. He realized that his moment had come.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was a very simple affair after all. When Haynes thought of all his longings and doubts and hesitations, he was amazed that possessing Maisie was so easy a business. ‘Hold her and kiss her,’ Benoit had said. So he held her and kissed her, and then to his astonishment did what he liked with her. He could not look her in the eye the next morning, but gradually that awkwardness wore off. Maisie was the soul of discretion. ‘Mrs. Rouse must never, never know,’ she said, and as Haynes would also have been ashamed for Mrs. Rouse to know, they kept their secret. Maisie’s manner scarcely changed. She told him risqué jokes which formerly she had declined to do. They never made love except when they were about to go to bed together. The affair was not altogether what he had expected it would be, but as he wanted no more than Maisie gave, he missed nothing.
But day by day they became better friends. Intimate conversations they had only when lying in bed together, all passion spent. And then they scarcely talked about their relationship, but about No. 2 and the people who lived in it. How Mrs. Rouse hated Maisie because she had seen Benoit looking at Maisie and knew that Maisie could have taken him away with one wink. Of what a dirty dog that Benoit was and how Mrs. Rouse had slept for years with her lawful husband and thought that sleeping with a man was a duty as a wife and that was all; and then Benoit had taught her differently and made her his slave for eighteen years. Of what a liar Miss Atwell was (when caught fairly she would beg to be excused and called it her ’magination), but that at heart she was a good soul; of all the shifts of the household to live; all sorts of details, general and personal, about the whole past history of No. 2. She told him how they all liked him from the first day he came because he was so polite, and how Mrs. Rouse had sneered at Maisie and told her that she thought so much of herself, but that a young gentleman like Mr. Haynes would never look at her! There was a smile in her voice.
‘Why did you take so long, Mr. Haynes?’
‘Well, you see, Maisie, I didn’t know.’
‘The nurse was after you, you know, Mr. Haynes.’
‘What!’
Haynes nearly jumped out of the bed.
‘Yes, you didn’t know? She told Mrs. Rouse one day that you were still a baby, that she had never seen such an innocent as you and that she would like to take you away to the seaside for a month, and when you came back you would be a man.’
‘And what did Mrs. Rouse say?’
‘She said. You wouldn’t get angry, Mr. Haynes?’
‘Not at all.’
‘She said: “Leave the poor darling alone, nurse. You don’t see them often like that today. If I had a son like that I would work my fingers to the bone to see him somebody in the land.”’
‘And what happened?’
‘Nothing.’
‘And did you think I would have anything to do with the nurse?’
‘Not at all, Mr. Haynes. I knew you liked me.’
‘Oh you did, did you? How did you know?’
‘I knew.’
One night she told him that Mrs. Rouse had pawned her last piece of jewellery that day.
‘Heavens! I wish I could help her,’ said Haynes, ‘but I have no money, Maisie. I am always hard-up.’
‘But why, Mr. Haynes? You have a good job. People come here and tell us that you are a very bright young man and have a future.’
‘Maybe. Do you know what my salary is?’
‘Ten dollars a week at least.’
‘Five. And I do more work than the boss, who draws forty. He leaves everything to me.’
‘Tell me about it, Mr. Haynes.’ And Haynes told her to her rising indignation. She sat up in bed.
‘But what are you going to do, Mr. Haynes? We all thought you were getting ten dollars a week at least. Miss Atwell said fifteen. Ella knew?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Because she said she didn’t. The nurse tried to pump her. Mr. Haynes, why don’t you go and ask for a raise.’
‘I asked him and he said later he would consider it and let me know.’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘When I first came here.’
‘And you haven’t asked since?’
‘No.’
‘If was me I would ask him and threaten him with a week’s notice.’
Maisie said no more, but a few days after, when they were in bed together again and talking, she said:
‘Mr. Haynes, listen to me. I have friends in the offices in town, and was speaking to one of them. Go and tell Mr. Carritt that you feel your salary is too small, that you think you have waited long enough and want to hear something from him.’
‘But suppose he gets angry and sacks me.’
‘He wouldn’t do that. People don’t get sacked like that. I ask all my friends. “How much you think Haynes is getting?” And the least they say is ten dollars. Everyone says that you are valuable to the firm. And they say you are conceited and stuck-up because you are getting on so well and Carritt can’t do without you. But I know that isn’t true about your being stuck-up.’
Haynes said he would think it over.
Day after day Maisie stuck at him. She abused Carritt with a personal animus that astonished Haynes, who could not understand why Maisie should so hate someone she had never even seen.
‘He is an old advantage-taker. And if i’s one thing I hate i’s people taking advantage.’
At last one Sunday night (on Sunday evenings Mrs. Rouse and Miss Atwell usually went out together) with her arms around him and her lips on his, Maisie dug a promise out of him.
‘Mr. Haynes, you were afraid to ask me. And I was only waiting. Go and tell him.’ She held him tight and shook him, and Haynes promised. He would ask the next day. Next morning she saw him to the road. ‘And mind you, Mr. Haynes, be serious with the man. Don’t tell him if he don’t give you will leave, but let him see that you mean business. Talk to him like the day you made the speech. He wouldn’t say no. God, I wish it was me.’
That afternoon as soon as he turned the corner he could see Maisie standing by the front of No. 2. She came running to meet him.
‘Don’t tell me you didn’t ask him, Mr. Haynes.’
‘I asked him,’ said Haynes, gravely.
‘And what happened?’ asked Maisie, apprehensively.
‘He asked me what I thought I required,’ said Haynes, still gravely.
‘And what you said? Five, I hope, Mr. Haynes.’
‘I said five.’
‘And what he said, Mr. Haynes?’ Haynes put aside his gravity and held her by the arm.
‘Said that was exactly what he was thinking. And he intended to let me have it at the end of the financial year. The liar. I should have asked him before. I saw the old sinner go pale when I looked at him. I am going to manage him in future. I’ll never forget you, Maisie.’
‘Me, Mr. Haynes. You’ll never forget me? You mustn’t say such things.’ She was smiling, but she was serious.
‘Why mustn’t I say such things?’ said Haynes, but he spoke mechanically.
‘Because they aren’t true. Come, let us go in. Give me the bicycle.’ And giving herself a vigorous kick-off with one foot, she rode on the pedal along the side of the house and turned in between the kitchen and the cistern with a grace and dexterity which were the wonder and admiration of the yard.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Haynes lent Mrs. Rouse twenty dollars to be paid by six monthly deductions from his board and lodging. He and Maisie planned it. Somewhat to his surprise Maisie raised no objections to his helping Mrs. Rouse. She said she didn’t hate Mrs. Rouse that way. She wasn’t going to stand any damned nonsense from her and that was as f
ar as it went. She didn’t want to pull the old bitch down. Haynes wanted to write a letter. Maisie said: ‘No, go and tell her, Mr. Haynes. No need to write any letter. You are not begging for anything.’
So Haynes went up and spoke his piece and felt so happy after that he was glad he had taken Maisie’s advice. And after that he was the master of the house. Nothing was ever done without consulting him. He made up Mrs. Rouse’s accounts, told her what to pay, and wrote letters to the more difficult creditors, endorsed a note for her (the business simply would not go well), and as Mrs. Rouse told him one day was of far more help to her than Benoit had ever been in his life. About Maisie’s intimacy with Haynes she appeared not to know. And even if she did know! As Maisie was always saying, it was his own business. But he made arrangements and met Maisie elsewhere.
One morning Mrs. Rouse brought Haynes a letter she had received from her admirer – a formal proposal, asking her to live with him. This admirer, who had materialized at last, was a retired police-sergeant and a man of some reputation. The wife of the Inspector-General, the Colonial Secretary, the Governor’s aide-de-camp and some others formed a very fast set and used to rush away for one-day parties to a little island off the main coast. There had been very nearly some drowning once, and ever afterwards the Inspector had sent Parkes on the launch with a personal request ‘to keep an eye on them.’ Parkes was discreet until he left the service; only then did he speak, and being no man of letters but a good Christian, his references were to Sodom and Gomorrah instead of Boccaccio and Rabelais. There was no doubt that Parkes was a proper man. He wrote that he had always loved Mrs. Rouse, but couldn’t address her as she had somebody already. But now the way was clear he sent to assure her of his love and to say that he would always cherish her. Then came a most convincing piece. He had heard the house was mortgaged. He had some money saved and would pay off the mortgage if Mrs. Rouse would put the house on his name and hers. His pension was forty-five dollars a month, and together they would be able to live like Isaac and Rebecca to a green old age. He promised to treat her kindly, and she could be sure he would never do her what the venomous reptile had done her. It was an honest and sincere letter. It had come by first post, and Mrs. Rouse being busy and not knowing the handwriting, had asked one of the boarders, a Miss Hart, who happened to be in the kitchen, to read it for her, so that everybody heard and laughed at it before Mrs. Rouse brought it to Haynes. When she came to Haynes’s step work was suspended and they all stood round in the yard while he read.
‘And what are you going to do, Mrs. Rouse? Accept him?’
For some reason or other, to judge by its effect, this question was thought extremely funny. And Philomen’s ‘But hear, Mr. Haynes,’ contained not only amusement but surprise.
‘Mr. Haynes,’ said Mrs. Rouse, ‘he don’t want to cherish me as he put there. He have six children and i’s them he want me to mind. That is what he want.’
The group became aware of Maisie almost in hysterics on the little bench.
‘But what’s wrong with you, Maisie?’ asked Miss Hart.
The laughter which Maisie had been trying in vain to suppress overflowed and she wandered across the yard, her head thrown back, her hands on her hips, laughing so that she could be heard at the end of the alley.
‘But what’s wrong with her?’
Mrs. Rouse’s face hardened.
‘She is laughing at me because somebody write me a love letter,’ and Maisie’s extra loud cackle proved that Mrs. Rouse was right. ‘She think that an old woman like me i’s a joke for me to get a letter. I tell you I wouldn’t want any letter from those nasty little good-for-nothings I see you talking to by the gate every night.’
Mrs. Rouse went back into the kitchen, swearing that she wasn’t going to stand Maisie much longer.
For the next day or two there was a lot of talk about the offer. Miss Atwell said if it was she he did ask she ‘wasn’t goin’ to let ’im pass.’ She had seen him in the street and he looked a steady, respectable man, and with a person like Mrs. Rouse and with Mrs. Rouse’s nice and takin’ ways, they was sure to get on well. Another thing was that he wouldn’t prove the ‘venimous reptile’ that the other had done. She asked Haynes what he thought of it. Haynes said that he could not express an opinion.
Mr. Parkes was coming for his answer on Friday morning, and what Mrs. Rouse intended Haynes did not know. She said nothing to anybody. Once or twice in the yard her eyes and his happened to meet and she gave him a self-conscious smile and a blush. That was all, but she was brighter than usual that week, her temper was better, and the general opinion, doubtful at first, veered round to the view that she would take Parkes. On the Friday morning she was up early and dressed herself better than she had done for a long time. Haynes thought she was preparing for Parkes, for whom things seemed to be moving well. She looked quite fresh and there was a brightness in her face. Parkes was serious, as his offer to pay off the mortgage showed, and Haynes could not believe that barefaced as Benoit was he would have the courage to fight a case in court, especially as by some lucky chance, for the eight years that they had owned the house, the duty of paying the taxes and the rates had always fallen to Mrs. Rouse, and all receipts were made in her name. Late one night she had slipped into Haynes’s room and they had talked the matter over. She couldn’t decide. Haynes asked her if she still cared for Benoit. She repudiated the idea. ‘Well, I don’t see why you shouldn’t take him, Mrs. Rouse,’ said Haynes. ‘I am glad to hear you say that, Mr. Haynes,’ said Mrs. Rouse. ‘I felt that I should, but I wanted to hear what you had to say first.’ He was rather dubious now that his opinion had turned the scale.
‘But suppose it doesn’t turn out well, Mrs. Rouse.’
‘I wouldn’t blame you, Mr. Haynes,’ said Mrs. Rouse. ‘I know that whatever you advise me you are thinking of my interest.’
Mrs. Rouse had a surprise in store for No. 2. For even before Haynes left for work she said she had business to do and went off to town.
When Haynes came back to lunch she had not yet returned. He surmised that she was evading the issue and was pondering on the eternal coquette that sleeps in all women when Maisie startled him by jumping into the room in a state of high excitement.
‘Mr. Haynes! He came, you know.’
‘Who? Sergeant Parkes?’
‘Yes, and I fix him up. When I see Mrs. Rouse leave here this morning I was only hoping she wouldn’t come back in time.’
‘What have you done now, Maisie?’ Haynes asked in some alarm, for Maisie was as reckless as a runaway horse, and had made it known that she was against Mrs. Rouse having anything to do with Parkes. She said she didn’t want any old man in the place and having made it her business to see Parkes, animadverted on his whiskers, which she said would turn her stomach every morning she got up and saw them.
‘What have you done, Maisie?’ Haynes asked her again. ‘Come, speak up.’ He was frightened.
Maisie was laughing, but she was frightened too.
‘I chase him away.’
‘Who? Mr. Parkes?’
‘Who? Mr. Parkes? Of course, Mr. Parkes. If he have the face to come back again—’
‘Well, this is the end for you.’
Haynes was in a state of absolute consternation, for he realized what would be the probable consequences of Maisie’s escapade. But the elation of action was still with Maisie.
‘Let me tell you, Mr. Haynes,’ she said. ‘About nine o’clock the bourgeois come. He dress up in a tweed suit and waistcoat. So I carry him inside and ask him to sit down. Mrs. Rouse tell me if anybody come to say she gone to town and she will be busy the whole day, but will be here after supper. But I ain’t tell him so. I say: “You are Mr. Parkes? Come in.” I knew Mrs. Rouse wasn’t coming back early. So I tell him, “Come and sit down, sir.” I give him a nice sir, you know, to fool him off. “Mrs. Rouse will be here just now. She is having a bath.” Mister sit down, you know, and I go in the bedroom peeping at him. He only fixing
his tie and smoothing down the whiskers. I say to myself: “Boy, if you ever come to sleep in this house and I don’t clip off those tiger-cat things you have there, I don’t know.” So, mister there, sir. Quarter-past nine. I tell him: “Mrs. Rouse coming just now. She taking a little time to dress herself nice, you know, sir.” I tell him so and he laugh. He must be say to himself: “Ah! Things good!” The old fool! As if a lady will dress herself in a bathroom and anybody would bother to dress for an old ape like him. Half-past nine he begin to fidget. He call me. He say: “Young lady, Mrs. Rouse is staying long.” I tell him: “Sir, a neighbour down the lane send to call her urgent. She coming now.” But he get suspicious. I only praying to God now that Mrs. Rouse don’t come by accident, for I have some more waiting for him. Then mister get up, vex’ now. He say: “But this is all nonsense. That is not the way to treat—” I tell him: “Excuse me, sir, but you seem dull of comprehension.” He say: “What!” I tell him: “Can’t you see your presence here is not requested?” He jump up. He say again: “What!” and he went out to Aucher. Aucher in the kitchen. But Aucher will do anything I tell him, you know, and I have Aucher ready for him. So he say: “Boy, where is Mrs. Rouse?” Aucher tell him in his big voice: “Who you calling boy?” He say: “Excuse me, but where is Mrs. Rouse?” Aucher say: “Don’t ask me anything.” And mister take up his hat and he stamp off.’
‘My God, Maisie,’ cried Haynes. ‘Mrs. Rouse is going to murder you.’
‘I don’t care a damn,’ she said. ‘I don’t want any old man with whiskers in this house.’
‘Where is Mrs. Rouse?’
‘I don’t know, I suppose she coming just now.’
Haynes pondered for a second. ‘You must leave this room, Maisie. I don’t want Mrs. Rouse to come here and catch us talking. This is the end of you, you know.’
‘I don’t care,’ she said.
Her wilful blindness to the consequences of her madness infuriated him.
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