It was when the butler was announcing yet another polka that Flo Yarrow, the second housemaid, who had been out of the room, came in and hesitated a moment before walking across the open floor towards them. Bending down to Jane, she said, 'The mistress wants to see you in the study, and you've got to take her with you.' She nodded towards Millie.
'The mistress wants to see me? What for?'
'How should I know? That's all she said, she wanted to see you, an'...' She nodded again towards Millie.
'But ... but, Miss Yarrow, I ... I don't know where the study is.'
'Come on out.'
Jane rose immediately, but Millie hesitated, and she, too, now said, 'Why does she want to see me?'
'You had better ask her, miss, when you see her.'
There was sarcasm in the voice; but then her tone changed and she said, 'Oh, come along.'
Outside the room, she pointed to a wide corridor:
'It's the last door on the right side,' she said, 'and wait till you're told to enter.'
Flo Yarrow stood watching the two young girls walking away from her, and she bit on her lip and turned her head to the side as if pondering over something. Then she swung about and went back into the room where once again she saw Mr Winters, the master's valet; but he was dancing with Miss McNeil again, so she stood aside and waited.
In the meantime, the two girls had reached the end of the corridor, and before Jane tapped on the door she whispered to Millie, 'What d'you think she wants us for? She was watchin' you dance. Very likely it was because you showed your legs and your white stockin's.'
'Don't be silly,' Millie whispered back. 'Anyway, in that case, why should she want you an' all?'
Jane's hand was wavering in front of the door when they heard a gust of laughter coming from the room. They exchanged glances; and when Jane's hand dropped away from the door Millie impulsively knocked twice, and then they waited. And in the waiting the laughter turned to giggling, then ceased, before the mistress's voice called, 'Come in.'
When Millie stepped into the room the first thing she noticed was that it was a kind of library. There were bookshelves round the walls, and where there weren't books there were silver cups and shields. In the fireplace a log fire was burning brightly. The chairs were all of brown leather.
The mistress was sitting in one to the side of the fireplace, her elder son in one to the other, with Randolph leaning against the back of it. Two decanters and three glasses were on a table to their hand; and it was obvious to Millie that the two young men were silly drunk.
'Come over here!'
The voice was imperious; and in answer to it Jane scurried forward, but Millie remained where she was within a few feet of the door.
And strangely, in this
moment, she wasn't seeing the mistress of the house, nor her drunken sons, but Sister Cecilia, who was saying to her, 'Beware the evil that men do.'
She heard her own voice, thin-sounding now, saying, 'What do you want with me, madam?'
'Come here, girl! and you'll find out.' The woman had pulled herself to her feet and, when Millie still did not move, she almost sprang across the distance to confront her.
Grabbing a handful of Millie's dress at the shoulder, she dragged her forward and thrust her towards her son, the while still holding her, and saying, 'You're made to tempt men and I'm going to see you're not disappointed.'
With a twist of her body, Millie freed herself and jumped backwards, and the woman only saved herself from toppling by falling against the long oak table in the middle of the room. And from there she now cried at her elder son, 'Go on! Davey boy. Make a start, and show your elders how it's done. Aye, by God! show 'em. And you, Randy, take that clot there.'
'What! Her, Mama?' The boy threw his head back now and laughed. 'She's a midden mucker; she empties the mess pails. Not her, Mama.'
'Anything to start on, boy. Anything to start on.'
When there was a cry from the top of the room the woman turned and looked to where her son was warding off the girl's hands, and she cried at him,
'Strip her! boy. Strip her!'
Millie had her back against a row of books, and, putting her hand behind her head, she grabbed one.
It was a thick leather-bound volume and, swinging it, she levelled it at the boy, and immediately the laughing, drunken timidity he had previously shown vanished: for now he yelled, 'You bitch! you,' and the next moment he had his fingers in the front of the collar of her dress, and the ripping of the brocade and the under petticoat filled her ears.
'You! You beasts! Leave me alone,' she screamed at him, and, flailing her arms, she brought her knee up, and when it caught him in the groin he yelled out in pain before actually screaming, 'You bloody she-cat!' Then he was on her, his fists thumping her, between tearing at her clothes.
When she fell with a thud to the floor, he on top of her, perhaps it was her screaming and the woman's laughter that covered the sound of the door bursting open.
Raymond Crane-Boulder, followed by Bernard Thompson, came to a momentary halt at the sight before them. It was as if they couldn't believe their eyes. And then with a bound and a sweep of his arm Raymond knocked his wife flying against the further wall, for her again only to be saved from falling to the floor by her younger son.
In a fury stronger than that which his elder son must have felt, the father whipped him off the prostrate figure of the girl and, holding him by his ruffled cravat, he took his doubled fist and levelled it against his face. His son's crying out seemed to enrage him further, for from the wall above a shelf of trophies
he snatched a riding crop. He'd had to tug it from its hook, but once in his hand he brought it round his son's head, 'You young swine! You scum!'
After the third blow his arm was caught by Bernard who yelled at him, 'Enough! Enough!'
and pulled him aside; and as he did so Berenice Boulder's voice screamed, 'Hypocrite! Hypocrite!
Can't stand them being natural, eh? Hypocrite!
Bloody hypocrite.'
The younger boy was crying and appealing to his mother: 'Be quiet! Be quiet! Please, please, Mama, be quiet!' which seemed to activate his father again: pulling himself away from Bernard's hold, he strode down the room and, grabbing the cringing boy, thrust him towards his brother, commanding them:
'Get out of here! And you, too.' He was now stabbing his finger at the petrified Jane. The door had no sooner closed on them than he advanced swiftly on his wife and, looking into her glaring, hate-filled face, he brought the crop across the side of it, crying, 'You filthy, evil, drunken slut! You're not fit to live. Do you hear me? Not fit to live.
You would watch your son--' He now closed his eyes tightly for a moment; then his arm dropped to his side as he stared at his wife who, after flinching from the blow, was standing straight, glaring back at him. She hadn't even put her hand up to her face.
And what she said now was, as if she were solid and sober, 'I'll see the end of you yet, Raymond. And it'll be a slow end. I prophesy it will be a slow end, you unnatural swine.' And on this she turned from him as if she were feeling no pain and walked out of the room. And, as if defeated, he stood with his head bowed, before swinging round to where Bernard was kneeling on the floor holding Millie in his arms.
He hurried to him, saying, 'Is ... is she all right?'
'I don't know.' The words were brief and curt sounding.
Bernard now rose from his knees; and bending, he lifted Millie and laid her in one of the leather armchairs, then pulled her torn garment over her bare chest before straightening and facing the man he thought of as his brother-in-law. 'But what I do know,' he said, 'is I no longer recognise Berenice as the half-sister I once knew. Nor can you be congratulated on your sons, Raymond, if you cannot control their drinking at their age.'
'You know nothing about it.' The words were ground out through Raymond's clenched teeth. 'Anyway, I don't need any criticism from you; this is my house.'
'It isn't your house y
et, Raymond, it's your father's.
And I wonder if, from his fastness up above, he knows what goes on down here. What would he say to this poor child being...?' He paused: 'Well, I don't know if she's been raped or not, but your son had a damned good try at it, by the look of things.'
'Yes; but who drove him to it? Ask yourself that.
Anyway, get out of my road. I'll take her down to the Quintons.'
'No. No, Raymond; you've caused enough speculative gossip already tonight back in that room, when you almost exposed the girl's limbs in your form of dancing when there was no need for it. You didn't act the same way with the other maids. And please'
- he held up his hand - 'say nothing more, else more will be said, and we'll both be sorry for it. Just one thing: I won't avail myself of your hospitality any longer than tomorrow morning.'
Raymond Crane-Boulder stepped back from him, saying, 'That'll suit me.' Then he looked down at the dishevelled girl lying in the chair: her hair had become loose and part of it was hanging over one shoulder and lying across the bare nape of her neck; her small breasts were heaving, and in so doing were pushing aside her torn garment. And as he gazed at her his lower lip covered his upper one before being drawn in between his teeth. Abruptly he swung about and went from the room; and Bernard, bending over the chair, said softly, 'You're all right.
You're all right.'
Slowly, Millie opened her eyes. She had been aware of the men for some time, though at first their presence had been hazy. But the one thing she felt glad about now was that the master had gone. This one she didn't mind; he was different somehow. She looked at him, and as he said again,
'You're all right,' the tears slowly spilled over on to her flushed cheeks.
'Oh, my dear, my dear,' Bernard said. 'It's all right.
You're going home. Here! let me dry your eyes.' He took out a handkerchief, and with it he wiped her face; and then he said, 'Sit quiet now. By the way, have you got a coat?'
Her mind said, 'A cloak,' but her lips refused to voice the words, and he said, 'Don't worry. Don't worry. I'll find someone. Just stay quiet.'
She was left alone. She did not move her head but her eyes took in the rows of books. And as they
rested on them, she said to herself, 'Ben. Ben, I want to go home.' But that wasn't what she had meant, or meant to think; it was something to do with Ben and the books. He would love to be in this room with all the books. Why was she lying here? Her head was hurting. It was sore at the back. She had fallen, she had a bump. Had she danced too much? No. No, she hadn't danced too much. Why was she lying here?
As if a door had been wrenched open in her mind she suddenly knew why she was lying there, and she began to gasp, muttering now aloud, 'Oh, no! No!
Please don't. Please don't.' But she was alone now; they had gone. He had torn her frock, her beautiful, beautiful frock; and Mrs Aggie had paid all that money to have it unpicked, re-made and pressed.
She would never wear it again. Oh, no, no, no! She could never wear it again. Not even if it was sewn up. She wanted to go home. If only somebody would come and take her home.
'It's all right. You're going home.'
She opened her eyes and there he was again, the nicer one of the two; in fact, the nicest one among them. There was another man with him and he was holding her cloak; and the nice man said to him, 'I'll
have to carry her, Winters. I don't know if I can carry her all the way, so you'll have to give me a hand.'
'She wouldn't be able to walk, sir?'
'You heard: she was rambling. I think she's been slightly concussed. I'll lift her up, you put the cloak around her.'
She knew she was being lifted and that her head was lying against his shoulder. He was carrying her home. She was so glad. And tomorrow morning she would wake up and go down to the kitchen and set the breakfast for Mrs Aggie and Ben. Oh, that would be nice...
Bernard Thompson managed to carry her through the house and down the drive to the Quintons' with the help of George Winters, who walked by his side, holding her dangling legs. And when at last he placed her on the couch in the Quintons' sitting-room before two amazed and anxious people, he said to them, 'I think if she hasn't fully recovered by tomorrow morning you should call in the doctor.'
When William Quinton asked, 'What on earth happened? Look at her clothes!' Bernard said, 'Come outside for a moment.'
In the hall William was given the. details as far as Bernard knew them, but they were enough for him to say, 'God Almighty! That woman will cause murder one of these days.' Then apologising, he said, 'I'm sorry: I forget she's a relative of yours, Bernard.'
'Well, I can tell you this much, William, I'm sorry that she can claim that distinction, even if it's only as half-brother. Anyway, I'm leaving in the morning.'
'I thought you were here for the rest of the holidays?'
'No. The. atmosphere's too strong for me.'
'The old gentleman'll miss you.'
'Oh, I don't think he cares very much one way or the other whom he sees these days.'
'Will you go home?'
Bernard laughed gently.
'No, William. My father's third wife is expecting the first addition. What relation that will make me to it, I don't know. Still a half something or other.
No, I think I'll return to Oxford. I have a number of friends there and I'll get down to work again.' He paused for a moment, then said, 'Are you happy in this job, William?'
'Yes. Yes, most of the time; but I know I wouldn't"
have it if it wasn't for the old man and his association with my. grand-dad and my father. Anyway, being the runt of the litter of ten, I'm glad to have any post at all.'
'I've always thought you were worth something better than this. Yet still, if you're happy. But' - he looked towards the door - 'that poor child in there.
I doubt you won't be able to keep her.'
'No; I can see that.'
'She's very beautiful. I don't think I've seen anyone so beautiful. She certainly caused a stir up there tonight. My! you should have seen the faces: the resentment, the bitterness. Odd, isn't it, how people hate beauty. She stood out like a princess on a
dung heap.'
'Well, it's odd: she mightn't have come from a dung heap, but she lives pretty near it, for her guardian's an old rag woman.'
'Never!'
'Oh yes. An enormously fat old thing, a bundle of rags herself. She's got the famous taggerine place, such as they call it, on the outskirts of The Courts, beyond the market. She's well known in the town.
She's got a nickname, "Raggy Aggie". For years she .
used to push a barrow, and that child with her, I understand. Now they've risen to a horse and cart.
There's a warped fellow comes for her on her days off and brings her back. I say warped.., well, he's only about five feet tall, but if his legs had been longer he would have been a massive individual, and good-looking into the bargain.
But he, too, from
what I can gather, was picked up and looked after by the old rag woman.'
'Amazing. But she seems.., well, educated. Yes, that's the word; she doesn't talk like the rest of them.'
'Oh, she's been educated in bits and pieces; she was under the nuns for one period, and later attended a pay school; and believe it or not, she
asked to attend school, with my tribe. In fact, she did a little maneuvering. It was either she went to
school or she left, and the children are crazy about her. Oh' - he put his hand to his head now - 'I don't know what's going to happen there: they've never been so good in their lives before; she can handle them and they love her. Dear!
dear! Why had this
to happen? By the way' - his voice dropped - 'do you think she was...?' He shook his head, and Bernard answered, 'I don't know. I just don't know.
I heard her screaming. Apparently, Yarrow, one of the maids, was told off to tell the girls to go along to the study and she had sense enough to tell Winter
s, and he told Raymond. I happened to be there. There you have it. Well, I'll have one more look at her, then I'll go.'
And that's what Millie remembered for a long time afterwards: the kind face above her, saying again,
'You'll be all right.'
NINE
Three days later William Quinton drove Millie home in his trap. It was a Friday and the yard was quiet.
Ben was dealing with a man who had brought in some scrap iron, and Aggie was in the barn watching two women sort through a pile of oddments and making sure that they didn't stuff any up their coats.
She had lost a few good pieces of late and she felt she knew where they had gone, and one of the two customers was under suspicion. But when, glancing out of the door, she saw a well-dressed man helping Millie down from a trap she almost sprang across the yard, as did Ben. And they both called out together,
'What's up? What's the matter?'
'Oh! Mrs Aggie.' Millie put out one hand towards Aggie and the other towards Ben and muttered weakly, 'I'm home. I'm home for good.' Then turning to the well-dressed man, she said, 'This is Mr Quinton. He's been so kind, like Mrs Quinton. I...
I must sit down. I'm still a bit dizzy.'
In amazement, one on each side of her, they helped her into the house, and William Quinton followed, his eyes growing wider as he passed through a room filled with odd furniture and into another which, he observed straightaway, was used as a kitchen-cum-dining-room-cum-sitting-room.
And there the
enormous woman turned to him and said, 'What is this all about? Is she ill? What's been done to her?'
'She... she had a fall and slight concussion, but she is all right. I can assure you, she's all right.
And more so, I can assure you she is so glad to be home with you. But her return is my loss and that of my wife and children, because, I may say, she brought order and a cheerfulness and happiness into my home. The children loved her and my wife
found her a very great help.'
'Yes, I'll bet she would.' Aggie was nodding at him, not sure how to take him, when Ben turned from bending over Millie and, looking at Mr Quinton, he said, 'Will you be seated, sir? And could we get you a drink of something?'
The Rag Nymph Page 15