‘You want information as to the running of hospital domestic departments?’
‘No,’ said Sarah, infected by the woman’s ill-humour, ‘the Society knows all about that. I am simply asking as one of the Society’s inspectors to be allowed to see the running of yours. The Society’s business is to collect information from hospitals all over the country and to provide expert advice if asked to.’
‘This hospital is quite able to look after itself, Mrs.… er …’
‘Darby,’ said Sarah.
‘Mrs. Darby, and is not in need of any advice.’
‘If that is so,’ said Sarah, ‘you will not ask for any, of course. But information about your methods might be very useful to other less fortunate hospitals.’ When she received no reply, Sarah turned to go. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I am sorry to have wasted your time.’ At the door she paused, turned, and added: ‘I will report to our Secretary, Lady Savershill, that this hospital does not welcome inspection. All others in this area have treated our inspectors with the greatest politeness. No doubt this one will be mentioned as a special case at the General Meeting of the Society.’ Whether this would be so or not Sarah had no idea, but she was too angry to mince matters. Realizing her position as an official of the H.C.S. she had put such restraint on herself that now she was almost bursting. How she longed to speak her mind, to go for this insolent, repellent woman tooth and nail. But her concluding remark, it appeared, had taken effect. Her adversary flinched. ‘You may see the domestic arrangements if you wish,’ she said. ‘I merely wanted to point out that we do not need advice.’
‘As I explained to you before,’ said Sarah, ‘we never give advice unless asked to do so.’
Fortunately for Sarah’s temper, the sister who was detailed to accompany her on her inspection was pleasanter than her superior. When Sarah had finished and was on her way to the main entrance where her car awaited her, she was waylaid by her adversary. ‘I hope we have given you some useful hints,’ she said with an icy smile.
Sarah’s smile was icier than hers. ‘Very useful, thank you,’ she replied. ‘Bad reports are quite as useful as good ones.’ And with that she had walked out.
And now, for the third time, she was trying to work up her copious notes into a report. She was full of information and ideas, but when she tried to put them on paper everything went wrong. She had torn up sheet after sheet and now she was in despair. It was only too clear to her now that she was no use at the job: it had beaten her. Until she had tried to write the report she had been in a high state of satisfaction. She had found herself quick to notice details and to grasp the general conditions of the departments that she was concerned with, she had found it easy to take notes, and she had been keenly interested in the work. This discovery of new powers in herself, the conviction that she was efficient and useful, the sense of being, as she loved to be, extremely busy, had filled her with happiness. She felt as everyone feels who is hard at work at the job for which he is perfectly fitted. And now had come this crash which, all along, she had feared. She glanced at the clock. It was already past her usual bedtime and she had had a tiring day. She was at the end of her tether. She pushed the writing materials away from her and laying her arms on the table and her head on her arms burst into a paroxysm of tears. It was a relief to give way and she let herself go until the weight at her heart was eased. At last she raised her head, drew the writing materials towards her and wrote. She wrote three pages and then read them through. There was no room for doubt, they were quite worthless.
• • • • • • • •
Next day she went with a heavy heart to lunch with Lady Savershill, taking her report with her. As soon as she arrived she poured out her woes. ‘I’m no good, Lady Savershill. I’ve tried over and over again, but it’s hopeless.’
Lady Savershill stopped her. ‘Not a word till after luncheon, Mrs. Darby. One can’t talk business on an empty stomach.’ And they sat down to table and talked of other things.
But throughout the meal Sarah was absent-minded and out of spirits, and though Lady Savershill did her best to cheer her, telling her she was exaggerating her failure, she remained disconsolate.
After luncheon they moved to what Lady Savershill called her workroom. It was a pleasant room with windows looking east and south over a stretch of lawn shaded by clumps of limes and beeches and a section of the broad terraced walk that ran along the front of the house. A large table in the centre of the room was covered with books, pamphlets, papers and box-files, all in faultless order. In a corner between the windows was a large writing-desk also covered with papers.
‘Now, Mrs. Darby,’ said Lady Savershill settling herself in a sofa near the windows and signing to Sarah to sit beside her, ‘let us see this terrible report.’
Sarah unfolded it and handed it to her companion. ‘It’s no good at all, and that’s the truth,’ she said gloomily.
Lady Savershill took it and began to read. The beak-like nose, the lean, finely modelled face, the straight, challenging eyes faced Sarah’s unfortunate report, as a judge, accurate, just, but uncompromising, might face a criminal. Sarah watched the face, noted the knitted brows, the pursed lips, the obvious look of growing disappointment.
‘Don’t read any more, Lady Savershill,’ she said. ‘It only wastes your time.’
Lady Savershill laid the report down on her knee. ‘Would you let me see your Inspector’s Notebook?’ she asked.
Sarah took it from her handbag and for some minutes Lady Savershill examined the contents. Then she looked up. ‘But your notes are excellent, Mrs. Darby,’ she said. ‘They’re just the very thing that’s wanted.’
‘Oh, the notes are all right,’ said Sarah, ‘and the inspections were all right. It’s the reports that I can’t manage.’
‘Then could you give me your reports by word of mouth?’
‘Oh, certainly I could,’ said Sarah. ‘I could talk till you begged and implored me to stop.’
‘Then off you go! But no!’ Lady Savershill rose from the sofa. ‘One moment. I have an idea. I’ll send for Miss Harter. She shall take down what you say in shorthand.’
When the shorthand-typist was ready Sarah began. She talked uninterruptedly for half an hour while Lady Savershill leaned with one hand over her eyes in a corner of the sofa. She did not move till Sarah had finished. Then she raised her head. ‘Thank you, Miss Harter,’ she said. ‘Now will you please go and type that for us as soon as you can.’
The typist rose and went out.
‘So, you see, Lady Savershill,’ said Sarah, still full of her theme, ‘the two cases are quite different; in fact, what’s wrong at Monkswell is what’s right at Doleford, and vice versa. It only goes to show that when one thing’s wrong everything goes wrong. Monkswell and the feeding at Monkswell was as good as it could be, good stuff well cooked, and plenty of variety, and yet, with those other things all badly organized, you see how little that counted for.’
Lady Savershill turned to her, smiling, her keen blue eyes bright with enthusiasm. ‘My dear woman,’ she said, ‘I congratulate you. I can candidly say that this report of yours is one of the best I’ve ever heard or read. It is just what a report ought to be. No I thinks and perhapses and it may be that’s, but a clearly arranged set of definite statements leading up to a definite conclusion. How strange that you couldn’t write it as you speak it. The way you compared the two hospitals was illuminating. The truth is, Mrs. Darby, you’re a born speaker.’
Sarah smiled. ‘And yet,’ she said, ‘when I tried to write it down …’ She pointed with grim humour at the report that lay on the sofa between them. ‘I can talk till doomsday, but when it comes to putting it on paper … well, you see what happens.’
‘Well, you don’t have to bother about that now, after my bright idea of calling in Miss Harter,’ said Lady Savershill. ‘I’ll run through her typescript, touch it up here and there, and the thing will be done.’
‘All the same, Lady Savershill, it wi
ll throw a lot of extra work on you, turning my chatter into …’
‘Into literature! Indeed it won’t; and even if it did, don’t bother your head about that, my dear woman. I tell you frankly, you’re well worth the trouble. Yes, I knew you were the one for the job, but I never suspected that you were going to turn out such a marvel.’
Sarah laughed. ‘Neither did I,’ she said.
‘No, you certainly didn’t. A few days ago you were humming and ha-ing and telling me you doubted this and were afraid of the other.’
‘Five days ago to-day,’ said Sarah, taking up her Inspector’s Notebook and rising from the sofa. ‘It seems more like a month.’
Lady Savershill laughed. ‘As bad as that?’
‘As good as that,’ replied Sarah. ‘It has been the salvation of me. Nothing less! ‘She went to one of the windows and looked out. ‘Yes, my car’s here,’ she said and shook hands. ‘Please don’t ring, my lady, I’ll let myself out.’ She sailed to the door, crossed the hall, and next moment was gliding down the drive in the comfortable Daimler which, reminding herself of her ten thousand pounds, she had recently hired to take her about in the wide area covered by her new work. She chuckled to herself. How surprised Jim would be if he knew she hired a great big luxurious car, chauffeur and all, by the month. Surprised, and pleased of course. But she hadn’t told him a word about her job yet. She was never one for letter-writing, and she had been so busy during the last fortnight that nowadays she was still less in a mood for it. It would take such a lot of describing and explaining that she would never have the patience to do it. Besides, what was the good? It wasn’t the sort of thing that would interest him, with all his new fancy ideas about pictures and architecture and foreign travel. There was no use them bothering each other about each other’s occupations. So long as she knew he was well and happy in his own childish way, that was enough.
The thought of Jim always gave her pain, a pain almost physical, like the dull smart of an internal wound. How long was she going to have to wait? What would be the end of it? Whenever she was at home, at breakfast, at supper, at night, she felt lonely. Now indeed, for the first time since her wedding-day, she felt herself childless—no child with clothes to look after, hunger to be appeased, innocent gluttonies to be catered for, no child to snub affectionately, to laugh at secretly. But she was not much at home. The greater part of her days was spent in inspecting the hospitals in her area, in the journeys there and back—some of the hospitals were fifty miles away—and in periodic visits to Lady Savershill to report. Her work brought her in contact with large numbers of people, matrons and other hospital officials; and her directness, her energy, her uncompromising honesty, endeared her to everyone she met. The Society was already well-known; its status and efficiency were recognized, and it seldom had difficulty in obtaining admission for its Inspectors. Sarah on her first arrival at a hospital made a habit of informing the official who showed her round, of her qualifications and her recent experiences and of pointing out that, if so desired, she would be very glad to offer hints and suggestions after she had made her inspection, in fact to give to the official the report that she would subsequently give to Lady Savershill. ‘You mustn’t mind what I say,’ she would remark, when offering to do this. ‘I have no right to interfere, but if you would like to know what I think, I shall be very glad to tell you. You might find it helpful and you might not. If you don’t, well, you can just take no notice of it.’
And it always happened, when she had finished her inspection, that she was invited to a private room and asked to give her impressions. She gave them vigorously and humorously, without mincing matters, and yet without offending. Her irresistible blend of austerity, formidableness, and surprising charm captivated them all and gained her, in addition to her official inspectorship, an unofficial post of adviser and helper. Her personality and the popularity it won for her were, in fact, as valuable to the H.C.S. as her efficiency as an inspector. For the Society had no official authority over the hospitals it inspected: it could influence only by persuasion, by offering expert assistance to those who cared to use it.
So Sarah’s time was employed and nearly all her energy,—nearly all, but not quite all. She still felt the need of more violent physical exercise and reserved to herself the right of making her own bed and sweeping and dusting her bedroom and sitting-room. Her feelings towards Uncle Tom Darby had by now changed considerably. It was true that he had contrived, temporarily at any rate, to drive Jim from home and wreck the old orderly routine of their life; but, no less, he had, with the help of Lady Savershill, pitchforked her, in spite of herself, into a new and very thrilling life in which she daily discovered new powers in herself, new and absorbing interests. It was as if a new youth had come to her: she felt herself growing, unfolding, meeting and overcoming new problems. Life had become an exhilarating adventure.
Adventure. Sarah an adventurer. How mysterious, how paradoxical, how richly humorous are the ways of Providence. She who had never asked for, never desired adventure, was already in the thick of it and revelling in it; while Mr. Darby, that poetical and romantic soul, who had sighed after adventure all his life, who in dreams had plumbed the Jungle, stalked strange and terrible forms of life, heard the screeches of green parrots, fought through impenetrable thickets of scarlet orchids, had got no further in pursuit of his dreams than a temporary bivouac in Bedford Square, W.C.I and the unpromising exploration of fifth-rate curiosity shops in the suburbs.
Chapter XVIII
A Public Meeting
It was the sudden illness of the Inspector of Out Patients’ Departments, who had been going to speak at the General Meeting of the H.C.S. two days later in London, that put it into Lady Savershill’s head at the last minute to make Sarah take his place. Sarah’s verbal reports were so practical, so clear, and at the same time so exciting, that if she could be worked up into addressing the General Meeting she would almost certainly make a success of it. At the first suggestion, which Lady Savershill made during luncheon at Savershill Hall, Sarah shied and it was only by slow degrees that Lady Savershill brought her to the point of agreeing that the idea was possible.
‘But I can’t see myself getting up on a platform and haranguing a crowd,’ said Sarah.
‘Well, you manage to harangue me twice a week,’ said Lady Savershill.
‘That’s different,’ said Sarah. ‘You make allowances.’
‘Indeed I don’t,’ said Lady Savershill. ‘If I thought you were muddling things or talking nonsense, I should tell you so at once. The only difference between talking to me and talking to the General Meeting is that you must talk a little louder.’
Sarah laughed. ‘That sounds simple,’ she said. ‘But there’s more to it than that. When I talk to you I know it’s a matter of plain business in which we are both concerned. When I see you are interested, I feel pleased and somehow excited, and off I go.’
‘My dear woman, if you get excited because you see I’m interested, you’ll get much more excited talking to a crowd. To feel that a crowd of people is listening to you, that you are catching its attention, interesting it, taking it along with you, is amazingly stimulating. I’m sure you could do it: indeed, I wouldn’t ask you to do it, if I weren’t. And, another thing to bear in mind is that you are speaking with authority. Only one or two people in the hall, if any, will know as much about your subject as you do. You will be telling them something new, something highly interesting, something very necessary for them to know. And, if you talk to them as you talk to me, you will be exciting them, thrilling them. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. When you give me your report now after luncheon, you shall give it in the ball-room. You shall stand at one end and I’ll sit at the other. It’s sixty feet long and resounds horribly, so if you want me to follow you at all, you’ll have to speak loudly and slowly, and I shall be so far away from you that you won’t know whether I’m being interested or not. It will be much more difficult than speaking in a crowded hall.’
Sarah cleared her throat: her face became very pink.
‘I feel horribly nervous,’ she said.
‘Can’t hear,’ Lady Savershill shouted back.
‘I feel very shy,’ said Sarah loudly.
The Romantic Adventures of Mr. Darby and of Sarah His Wife Page 21