Poor Caroline

by Winifred Holtby

  'Do you remember coming with me to hear Father Mortimer preach, Eleanor?' chirruped Miss Denton-Smyth.

  'I'm not likely to forget,' said Eleanor. 'And I don't know yet,' she twinkled, 'whether I'm likely to forgive!'

  'Forgive?' asked the priest.

  'It's a long and possibly absurd story, and in any case you couldn't help it, so I suppose I must forgive you.' She smiled at him, but he remained looking at her with a queer disturbed attention.

  'I was telling Miss de la Roux about the Tona Perfecta,' Hugh broke in abruptly. 'I was saying I want her to come to my laboratory one day and see it. Will you, Miss de la Roux?'

  'Thank you. I should like it very much.'

  'You've seen it, Cousin Caroline, of course?' the girl asked.

  'No, I haven't, dear. Well, not exactly. Only the plans and so on. It was Mr. Johnson and Mr. St. Denis who really saw it.'

  'Can't we come down together, Mr. Macafee? I've got a car.'

  'And Father Mortimer,' cried Miss Denton-Smyth. 'He's going to help us. He ought to see the justification of our faith!'

  'Well - perhaps. Is this a secret process, Macafee?' smiled the priest.

  Hugh was lost. Before he knew where he was he had committed himself to show a car-load of the Christian Cinema Company round his workshops and laboratory on the following Friday evening.

  He meant to qualify his offer; he meant to encircle it with such conditions that he would secure either Miss de la Roux alone, or nobody. But at that moment, the buzzing conversation round him faded; Miss Denton-Smyth with a clink and a jingle sprang away and made off up the room, while a small procession filed on to the platform. There was Mrs. St. Denis, now holding a large bouquet of red carnations, and a plump parson, and Johnson, and a tall emaciated actress with scrupulously unreddened lips and emphatically unparisian clothes, the sort of actress, though Hugh was unaware of it, who compensates for lack of professional ability by assiduous devotion to good works. Miss Denton-Smyth brought up the rear, tripping up to her seat, bowing and smiling from it, and beaming upon the company as though she had achieved her heart's desire.

  'Speeches,' murmured Eleanor de la Roux. 'And I'm stewarding. Good-bye!'

  She stole silently to her stand beside a pamphlet-laden stall and left Hugh with Father Mortimer to watch Johnson rise from his chair, spread his vast fingers on the green baize table-cloth, and begin:

  'My friends, ladies and gentlemen.'

  The chairs screeched as their occupants turned to face the speaker. A scattered fusillade of clapping drowned the screeches. Hugh looked to see whether escape were possible, but the way to the door was now completely blocked. He stood with his arms folded, his eyes closed, leaning back against the wall and hearing Johnson explain to the assembled company that among ail ways of saving this wicked world, the quickest, cheapest, most spiritual and most artistic was the creation of a Christian Cinema Company. When he turned to scrutinize Father Mortimer at his side, that young man was again looking across the room to where Miss de la Roux stood, a thin, childish, quiet sentinel upright behind her laden stall.

  §5

  Very early in the morning after the Christian Cinema Company's At Home, Hugh Macafee woke up to the sound of a cat's serenade on a neighbouring wall. He had tried to train himself to constructive action, even when suddenly aroused from sleep, so that no waking hour of the night or day might be lost to him. That morning his Puritanism was rewarded by two excellent ideas flashing almost unsought into his mind. The first concerned a new arrangement of chemical sensitizers to facilitate the colour reproduction for which he was striving; the second concerned his own domestic arrangements. Why, he wondered, should he pay two rents, when he could perfectly well make himself some sort of a bed at the laboratory? There he would be close beside his work. He could economize in time and money. It was absurd that he had never thought of this before.

  Directly he had breakfasted he gave notice to his landlady and hurried off to the chemical works. Now everything went splendidly. He had been working along all the wrong lines in his colour film. What he wanted was a medium which would reproduce not only tone but opacity and depth. He began to study the crude elementary colour photography of Joly, Ives and Lumiere, seeking for the right foundation for his own projected work. He became completely happy and absorbed, moving about the laboratory among his newly acquired apparatus, delighted with his new financial liberty. His only grievance lay against Campbell. Campbell did not care for colour photography. The definite and practical purpose of the Tona Perfecta he could understand, but he could not see the importance of this colour business. Hugh's desire to photograph more perfectly the subtle variations of light and tone, to catch the sense of solidity or transparency in colour, appeared to Campbell as highfalutin' nonsense. He became surly and obstructive until Hugh, in a frenzy of impatience, paid him a week's wage in lieu of notice, and told him to clear off.

  He was working alone on Friday night when he was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. Startled, he put down his pen and sat listening. His first thought was that this must be Johnson, but then he remembered that Johnson was out of town. Who could it be? A policeman new to the beat, unused to seeing his light in that strange place? A tramp?

  Again came the knock, persistent, not peremptory.

  Hugh rose and shambled slowly towards the door. For a moment he hesitated, then quickly turned his Yale lock and pushed the door, which opened outwards into the main building. The light from the laboratory fell on to the figure of Eleanor de la Roux, who stood with Miss Denton-Smyth and the young priest whom Hugh had met at the At Home.

  'Gaw!' gasped Hugh.

  He had completely forgotten his reluctant invitation.

  'Good evening!' smiled Miss de la Roux. 'You did mean us to come, didn't you?'

  Hugh stared and stared.

  'Didn't you get my post card? I said we should come unless you told us not to, you know.'

  'Where did you send it?'

  'To an address in Penge that Cousin Caroline gave me.'

  'I've moved,' said Hugh, and suddenly remembered that he had made no arrangement for the forwarding of letters.

  'I'm so sorry. Then we are interrupting you? And had we better go away?'

  He remembered now that this de la Roux girl was an heiress. She put down three thousand as easily as some people put three pence into the collection-plate on Sunday. She was interested in the Tona Perfecta. She might be interested in his other work. She was intelligent - for a woman. She might even be useful to him in other ways.

  He continued to stare awkwardly, until Miss Denton-Smyth took up her tale.

  'Oh, Mr. Macafee, it's so exciting! I declare it's quite like a scene out of a spy story or something - we made for the broken door just as Mr. Johnson said, and Eleanor left the car outside, and then we looked in and saw your light shining from the ruin and knew it must be you because it's such a very strange thing to see a light shining out of a ruin, and I always say that castles and abbeys never look really themselves until their roofs have fallen in, but a factory when it's gone to pieces looks really ruinous!'

  'Well, as you are here, you'd better come in,' said Hugh ungraciously. 'Though I don't think there's much here that can interest you.'

  They entered the lighted laboratory. Hugh's provisions for his own comfort might be inadequate, but he knew exactly what he wanted in the way of equipment. The laboratory was a large room, already provided with gas-pipes, bunsen-burners, electric lights and sinks. There were lamps and stoves and cameras. There were delicate instruments for testing acoustical properties. There was a draughtsman's desk and revolving lamps. When Hugh switched on more lights all these were illuminated in a white dazzling blaze. The room was an oasis of complex and civilized activity in the middle of dark ruin.

  Hugh looked on his work with justifiable pride.

  'You can look round. But you must not touch.'

  Miss de la Roux at least might appreciate something of all that he had done.
She knew nothing about the possibilities of sound and colour reproduction, but she had received an elementary grounding in scientific values. She was not quite a fool. Hugh liked her appearance as she trod with her quick light step along the room, pausing here and there to question him about an instrument, bending forward, her ungloved hands clasped behind her, holding her leather gauntlets. She looked as though she were at home here, as though she would move nimbly and effectively in this place. Her quick quiet questions were intelligent. Devil take the girl! What was she doing with that snivelling young parson and that half-witted old woman?

  Hugh had no use for parsons. Miss Denton-Smyth, on the other hand, could hardly hide her enthusiasm for Father Mortimer. When the girl and the priest had moved across the room, Caroline turned to Hugh, bubbling over with confidences.

  'Oh, Mr. Macafee, I can't tell you what it means to me to be here to-day, and to be able to bring Father Mortimer with us. You know I always felt that we needed the blessing of the Church on this enterprise, and though at Saint Augustine's dear Father Lasseter has always been such a great help and comfort, it's not the same as securing the interest of a. really distinguished young priest and scholar - Oxford, you know - New College and very brilliant. Greats - I think they call it, or is it Smalls? I always think it's so confusing, the difference between smalls and shorts, not having had the advantage of a university education myself, though I've often regretted it, but in my day opportunities were so much more limited, and I'm always telling Eleanor that I really wonder whether she was quite wise to stop short in the middle of her college course, but the poor child was so terribly upset losing her father like that, they being all in all to one another, that she could not bear to remain in South Africa, and though I always say that we must not let our affections be our sole guide, I do think that a father is different, and then having no mother too. . . .'

  'Umph,' grunted Hugh, but he was thinking rapidly.

  There across the room stood the South African heiress talking to the parson. She had neither father nor mother to advise her. Sorrow had driven her to England, and sorrow or loneliness had forced her into the arms of Caroline Den-ton-Smyth. She had given up her university work, but she was obviously fitted by nature to be an inventor's assistant. Had she herself not said that she preferred the honest work of a laboratory? It was all wrong that she should waste her youth and intelligence among the confusions and falsities of propaganda and uplift. She was too good for it. It must be stopped. Was not this the solution to the problem caused by his dismissal of Campbell?

  Missionary zeal consumed Hugh. He had to save Miss de la Roux's soul, and to enrol her as a worker in his own service. He left Miss Denton-Smyth without an explanation and strode across the room. Eleanor bent over the diagram on which he had been working when she interrupted him. Now he interrupted her. 'I want to talk to you!'

  'Well?'

  'Why don't you come back to laboratory work!'

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'You're still messing about with this Christian Cinema Company?'

  'Not as much as you are, I understand.'

  'What d'you mean?'

  'You're a director, aren't you?'

  'They say so.'

  'Well, I'm not. I'm only a shareholder - pretty well the only shareholder, I believe.'

  'Well, being a shareholder can't take all your time.'

  'No, it doesn't.'

  'What do you do with the rest of it?'

  'Work. Drive a car. Explore London. Listen to Labour speeches. Learn how to be a business woman.'

  'Business. Why business?'

  'I want to make money,'

  'Is that why you gave up your university work before you got your degree?'

  She paused. 'I suppose you could say that.'

  'You're throwing yours?:it' away!'

  'Thanks! I think I'm me best judge of that.'

  But she smiled as she said that, She was not rude or snubbing.

  'Give it up!'

  'For what?'

  'Come and give me a hand here. I need an assistant. I don't suppose you know much, but I dare say you can obey orders, and you look as quick as most/

  "Are you asking me to be your assistant?'

  'Oh, I know it's faking a lot tor granted. You may be as much of a nuisance in a laboratory as most girls. But I could start with you tor a week on trial.'

  'Well.' She stared at him, amused, surprised and quizzical. 'You are an amazing person' Is this a serious offer?'

  'I don't waste time making offers I don't mean.'

  'How much could you pay me?'

  'Do you mean a salary?'

  'Naturally.'

  'You wouldn't be worth a salary for a long time. I should have everything to teach you. It would be a great opportunity for you. You really ought to pay me a premium.'

  'Do you talk like this to the men who work here with you?'

  'What do you mean?

  'Aren't you a little precipitate?'

  'Well, if you want time to think it over, you can take it. But I warn you that you're running the risk of ruin while you hang about with Miss Demon-Smyth and her friends. How can anyone preserve their capacity for honest thought in that atmosphere? They all lie and compromise and prevaricate. They sell the truth if a lie can be of any use to their meetings and wretched causes. It's all-it's all dishonest - rotten. There's nothing in it."

  Hugh had not the eloquence of Johnson. He was unaccustomed to the missionary's task. He stumbled and fought for words, dominated by an unfamiliar emotion. He saw Eleanor de la Roux swept down into the whirlpool of Miss Denton-Smyth's activities. He saw her honest brain denied and muddled by sentiment, her clear vision darkened by confused emotions. It was not good enough. She would be destroyed. She would become just like all other women, feeble and sentimental, incapable of rational thought. She watched him with grave wonder, opening wide her hazel eyes, surprised, but neither embarrassed nor wholly displeased. When at the end of his tirade she said quietly, 'Don't you think I'm the best judge of my own interests?' he stammered:'No. No. Of course you're not. No woman is.'

  'What do you know about women?' she asked. 'And what do you know about me?'

  'I know you're - you're . . .' He had reached the end of his resources. He knew, indeed, nothing about her, except that she was intelligent and self-possessed, and that he wanted to have her working in his laboratory, concentrating her grave attention upon him, and not lounging about with that long slug of a priest.

  But he could not say that. He could only glower at her and snap: 'I hate any waste of time and of ability. Look here, Eleanor - what's the good of mucking round with those old women - of both sexes? Miss Denton-Smyth talks about purifying the cinema - making an honest film, and all that. She doesn't know the first thing about an honest film. I can show you honesty. The only sort of honesty you can get in a show of this kind is honest workmanship. Cut all that propaganda. I'll teach you how to do good work.'

  She smiled suddenly, a smile of quick friendliness and liking.

  'Well, well,' she said. 'You're very persuasive, though I don't like the way you talk about my friends. I'll see.' And she was off, leaving him in a fine flutter of uneasiness.

  Miss Denton-Smyth immediately approached him. 'Oh, Mr. Macafee - I hate to bother you,' she began, 'but there's just one thing I wanted to ask you.' She hesitated, then went on boldly. 'I suppose you couldn't let me have a little loan often shillings or a pound? I'm just a little short this week. Of course, I'll pay you back. My embarrassment's only temporary. We're all going to make our fortunes. I'm just a little short now.'

  'But, Miss Denton-Smyth.' Hugh stared at her in amazement. 'Johnson told me you had an independent income and a lot of rich relations.'

  'Well, naturally,' she said with a little toss of her head, 'I'm not going to confide all my domestic affairs in Mr. Johnson. Between you and me, I am having rather a struggle just now, though dear Eleanor has been very good during the past few months, but of course I don'
t like to take too much from her because I know that since she invested her capital in the company she's only got just enough to last till she finishes her training, and of course until the dividends come in, which they must do soon, I've got five and four-pence halfpenny at the moment, but I'll go to dear Father Mortimer to-morrow. That's what's so wonderful. I always say it doesn't matter about money if only you've got good friendsl' She smiled a little fluttering smile.

  'You mean you're living on that parson and Miss de la Roux?'

  The smile died, and she gazed at him.