“Oh, well——” he said. (“Oh well——” was a favourite expression. Mr. James used it frequently and in all sorts of different ways but usually to show regretful resignation to the inevitable).
“Oh well,” repeated Mr. James more cheerfully. “If this suit really makes me look older I’d better wear it every day.”
“Yes,” said Bel firmly.
By this time they had walked miles—or so it seemed to Bel. She suggested they should have tea.
Mr. James agreed enthusiastically. “But not here,” he said. “I know an awfully good place for tea. We don’t want to go to a posh place where they give you a few silly little cakes. We want a place where we can get proper food. The Zoo always seems to make me hungry.”
Chapter Twelve
It was Monday morning, the day after the expedition to the Zoological Gardens. Bel was expecting a message from Mr. Nelson at Copping Wharf so when the telephone-bell rang and she took up the receiver she was surprised to hear a feminine voice on the line.
“Is that Miss Lamington?” the feminine voice enquired. “Oh, this is Frances Brownlee. You remember me, don’t you? You came to lunch one day when Ellis was laid up with a cold.”
“Oh, yes. Of course I remember.”
“I wonder if you could possibly come this afternoon?”
Bel’s instinct was to say no, for of course her job precluded social engagements, but there had been a trace of anxiety in the voice which made her hesitate.
“I do hope you can,” continued Mrs. Brownlee. “I’m in rather a mess. Of course Ellis explained it to me before he went away—about claiming back Income Tax and all that—but there’s a thing called Schedule A and I don’t understand it at all. Ellis said if I got in a mess I was to ring you up and you’d come and sort things out.”
“Oh—yes——” said Bel doubtfully. She was wondering what she ought to do. On the one hand there was her work in the office; on the other hand there was Mr. Brownlee’s mother.
“Ellis said you would,” said Mr. Brownlee’s mother beseechingly.
“Yes, of course I’ll come,” declared Bel, taking a sudden decision—for was she not Mr. Brownlee’s secretary? Was she not bound to obey his commands? Fortunately she knew a good deal about Schedule A having been instructed in this somewhat puzzling matter by Mr. Brownlee himself when various repairs had been carried out upon the office-building. This made it all the more her duty to sort out his mother’s troubles. “Yes, I’ll come this afternoon,” added Bel. “I don’t know what time exactly, but I’ll come.”
Having decided this and listened to Mrs. Brownlee’s protestations of gratitude and delight Bel made up her mind that she must see Mr. Wills and explain the matter to him; but Mr. Wills was taking the morning off (probably for golf which was his passion). The only thing to be done was to leave a message with Miss Goudge.
There should have been no difficulty about this, Miss Goudge was the right person with whom to leave a message, but since the departure of Mr. Brownlee the atmosphere in the office had become more and more unpleasant, and Miss Goudge, never very agreeable, had become very disagreeable indeed. She was especially disagreeable to Bel Lamington for she was easy game.
Like all bullies Miss Goudge enjoyed easy game; she took pleasure in being rude to people who did not answer back. Bel knew perfectly well that she ought to stand up to Miss Goudge and insist upon being treated in the proper way but this she could not do. She was much too sensitive, much too easily hurt to be able to hold her own.
Miss Goudge listened to Bel’s story with a disdainful air—she was extraordinarily like the camel which Bel had seen yesterday at the Zoo——
“Mrs. Brownlee?” asked Miss Goudge. “I didn’t know he was married.”
“He isn’t married. It’s his mother.”
“Why should she want to see you.”
Bel had explained the reason already but she explained it again. “To help her with some business matters, that’s all. You’ll tell Mr. Wills when he comes in, won’t you?”
“I wish you would do your own dirty work!” declared Miss Goudge.
There were various replies which Bel might have made to this piece of insolence but her desire was for peace—peace at any price—so she said nothing.
Bel was just turning away when another idea came into her mind, so she paused.
“Well, what’s the matter now?” asked Miss Goudge impatiently.
“I just wondered if there were any letters for me.”
“You asked me that before.”
“I know. I just wondered——”
“I suppose the boy-friend has forgotten to write?”
This was a bit much—even for Bel. She said, “Really, Miss Goudge; I think you might answer politely.”
“Oh, is that what you think? Well, I may tell you that I’m tired of answering silly questions. You know perfectly well that I distribute all the letters that come to this office. I distribute them every morning when the post comes in. I don’t sit on them or lose them or throw them into the fire.” And with that Miss Goudge began to rattle the keys of her typewriter and jerk the carriage with resounding clangs—treatment which certainly could not have done the instrument much good.
*
2
Mrs. Brownlee was in her garden when Bel arrived; she greeted her visitor with enthusiasm.
“This is kind of you,” she declared. “I’m really very stupid about business matters. Of course Ellis does all that sort of thing when he’s here, so when he’s away I’m quite helpless. Would you have time to walk round the garden? Then we’ll have tea together and I’ll show you those horrid papers.”
Bel could never resist a garden so they walked round together admiring the roses, which were coming into bloom. There was another bed full of Sweet William and, against the holly hedge, was a splendid array of Russell’s Lupins. It was a very pretty garden, not quite so beautiful as the garden at Coombe House but for all that exceedingly pleasant.
“Ellis likes the roses best,” said Ellis’s mother. “It’s such a pity he isn’t here to see them coming out but he’ll be home in time for the second flowering. I do miss him terribly,” she added with a sigh.
“He’s badly missed at the office.”
“In what way?”
“In every way,” replied Bel ruefully. “It isn’t only the work—though that’s bad enough—but the whole atmosphere is different. Mr. Wills is . . .” She hesitated.
“Let’s sit down,” suggested Mrs. Brownlee. “I’m perfectly safe, you know, so you can tell me all about it.”
It was a great relief to be able to talk about the unsatisfactory state of affairs to someone who was “perfectly safe”. Mrs. Brownlee listened and nodded and encouraged her visitor with exactly the right sort of questions. If she were “stupid about business matters” she certainly was not stupid about human beings and their peculiarities.
Bel told Mrs. Brownlee about the appointment of the new agent at Leith and the way in which Mr. Wills had behaved to her, blaming her for what was not her fault and distrusting her word when she had explained the matter to him.
“Most unjust,” declared Mrs. Brownlee. “It’s dreadful for a man in his position to be unjust. Ellis always says you can be as strict as you like but you must never be unjust.”
Bel hid a smile. She could not help the smile for she had noticed that no matter what the subject happened to be—roses or business affairs or the delinquencies of Mr. Wills—Mrs. Brownlee never failed to mention her son. Ellis said this or Ellis did that and Ellis was invariably right. As a matter of fact Bel was inclined to agree with her but it was amusing all the same.
“Of course that explains the unhappy atmosphere in the office,” continued Mrs. Brownlee. “If Mr. Wills finds fault unjustly it’s bound to make people cross. They can’t be cross to him so they take it out on each other. That’s human nature.”
“I suppose it is,” said Bel thoughtfully.
Mrs. Brownlee
was so interested and so sympathetic that Bel found herself telling her listener much more than she had intended; indeed by the time she had finished talking there was very little that Mrs. Brownlee did not know. She had heard about Mr. James and his gift of tongues and all about yesterday’s expedition to the Zoo. This part of Bel’s story was amusing; they were glad of a little “light relief” from the gloomy tale of woe.
“He must be a pet,” declared Mrs. Brownlee. “Of course I know his parents—they’re charming—but I haven’t seen Jim since he was a little boy.”
“He’s a big boy now,” said Bel, laughing. “You’d be surprised! He’s just like a great big awkward child . . .” and she told Mrs. Brownlee about her lunch with Mr. James at Smart’s Restaurant and how he had handed her the menu and said, “Have anything you like; I’m paying, remember.”
“Delightful!” exclaimed Mrs. Brownlee laughing heartily. “Absolutely delightful! I simply must meet your Mr. James. Perhaps you could bring him to see me one day. It wouldn’t be so amusing for him as the Zoo, but I could provide a good tea with ‘proper food’. When Ellis was that age he used to like bacon and eggs for tea—or fried fish—so I expect that sort of meal would appeal to Jim, wouldn’t it?—and that reminds me it’s more than time we had tea ourselves. I’ve kept you here talking for ages.”
It was true that they had had a long conversation—much longer than they had intended—and when they had finished tea and straightened out Mrs. Brownlee’s business troubles it was so late that Bel was persuaded to stay for supper.
There was more conversation at supper. Mrs. Brownlee had had several letters from Ellis and some snaps which had been taken on the boat; one was of Ellis standing on the deck with two very pretty young girls; another was of Ellis in a garden with a small boy and a dog.
“He knows I like to have photographs of him,” Mrs. Brownlee explained. “I suppose you’ve had letters from him, Miss Lamington.”
“No,” said Bel. “He said he would write but I expect he’s been too busy. Mr. Wills got a letter the other day but it was just about business of course.”
“Ellis is a nice name, isn’t it?” said Mrs. Brownlee. “It was my name before I was married: Frances Ellis. That’s why we called him Ellis.”
“It’s very unusual,” said Bel.
Bel did not get home until after ten o’clock but, far from being tired, she felt rejuvenated. She felt she had made a friend. She did not feel so alone. It was horrid to feel that you were alone and everyone was against you. It gave her confidence to know that Mrs. Brownlee was “on her side”. In fact it was so encouraging that she decided she really must take a firmer line with Miss Goudge and stand no more impertinence. Bel hated taking a firm line with anyone, but sometimes it was essential.
Bel had shared her worries with Mrs. Brownlee and the mere fact of sharing them and unburdening her mind had brought the worries into proper perspective and lightened her heart.
It will be all right when Mr. Brownlee comes back, thought Bel as she made ready for bed.
Mrs. Brownlee’s faith in her son was infectious.
Chapter Thirteen
When Bel awoke on Thursday morning she had a feeling that something unpleasant was about to happen. For a few moments, as she hovered on the borderland of sleep, she could not think what the unpleasant happening could be—and then she remembered that it was her birthday.
At one time birthdays had been delightful; there were parcels to open and her favourite pudding for lunch and, of course, a cake with candles. There was usually a special treat: a picnic or a visit to the picture house, possibly an expedition to the sea. Now there was nothing—nothing to mark the day from any other day in the year—no presents, no cake, not even a birthday card and, worst of all, no Aunt Beatrice to hug her fondly and wish her many happy returns of the day.
Bel was in the doldrums; there was not a ray of light in the sky. Today the Armstrongs were going to Drumburly. Bel had not been very disappointed when she found she would not be able to go with them, but now, quite unreasonably, she felt very disappointed indeed. She found herself thinking about it—how lovely it would have been! How lovely to get away from the office! Her work, which had been so interesting and rewarding, had now become a penance. Everybody was disagreeable; everybody was against her; the only way she had been able to endure it was the knowledge that sooner or later Mr. Brownlee would return and put things right. Now, alas, Mr. Brownlee’s return had been postponed again; he had found he must visit New York for an important conference. In addition to these major troubles various smaller annoyances conspired to depress Bel on this, her birthday morning. Her suspender broke; her refrigerator was out of order and had leaked all over the kitchen floor; her birthday-mail consisted of two bills which were a good deal higher than she had expected.
The weather was extremely unpleasant, and when Bel emerged into the street the skies above the roof tops were leaden; thunder growled in the distance and a few moments later rain began to pour down upon the crowds of miserable wretches on their way to business.
Happy birthday! thought Bel, with unwonted cynicism as she climbed onto the bus and pushed her way between dripping umbrellas and sodden mackintoshes to find a vacant seat.
Although Bel was late in arriving it appeared that Miss Goudge had also been delayed, at any rate she was not in her usual place, so Bel was spared the sight of her camel-like countenance glaring disdainfully through the grille. This was something to be thankful for, thought Bel, as she shed her dripping mackintosh and changed her soaking shoes and hastened to Mr. Brownlee’s room.
It was the day for accounts so Bel took out the large brown ledgers, piled them upon her table and started work.
Soon after eleven there was a knock on the door. It was a very gentle knock—the merest tap—but as Bel was not typing she heard it quite distinctly. She felt pretty certain it was Mr. James—and it was. He came in and shut the door and advanced towards her across the room.
“Happy birthday to you!” he chanted and, grinning somewhat sheepishly, produced from behind his back a large bouquet done up in white paper.
“Oh!” exclaimed Bel. There are various ways of uttering this exclamation. Bel’s “Oh!” expressed astonishment, gratitude and pleasure—but chiefly astonishment.
“D’you like flowers?” he asked, laying his offering upon the table.
“Oh, how kind!” cried Bel. “Of course I love flowers, but——”
“Most women do,” declared Mr. James with the air of a man-of-the-world.
“You shouldn’t have brought me flowers!”
“Why not? It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”
“How did you know?”
“You told me.”
“I told you! I’m sure I didn’t.”
“You did—really. How else could I have known?”
The logic of this was irrefutable. She must have told him, she supposed. But when had she told him? And why? Bel could not remember a thing about it.
“How very, very kind of you,” said Bel. Actually there was a lump in her throat and a pricking behind her eyes. It was silly to feel upset because somebody had remembered her birthday and taken the trouble to bring her flowers. What a dear he was, thought Bel. What a great big enormous lovable child!
“You had better open the parcel,” he suggested. “They’re sweetpeas. I thought they were rather pretty. The man said they were quite fresh from the country.”
They were indeed beautifully fresh—pink and white and lavender—like a flight of fairies in stiff silken dresses.
“How beautiful!” Bel exclaimed in delight.
“I’m glad you like them. They’ve got a nice smell, haven’t they?”
“Perfectly lovely!”
“I’m glad you like them,” repeated Mr. James with a self-satisfied air.
*
2
“Now for business,” said Mr. James. “The Guv’nor wants some papers out of his safe. I’ve got to get them for
him. Here are the keys. You’ll help me, won’t you?”
“Help you?”
He nodded. “To burgle the Guv’nor’s safe.”
Bel hesitated. “Perhaps you should ask Mr. Wills.”
“No,” said Mr. James firmly. He held up the bunch of keys and added, “Come on, Miss Lamington, you’ve got to help me.”
Mr. Copping’s room was sacred ground. Nobody used it except Mr. Copping himself and while he was away nobody ever entered it except the cleaners. Bel had not been in the room before so she looked round with a good deal of interest. It was a large room with a thick Turkey carpet; the furniture was large and solid, the enormous desk was mahogany and so was the big wooden chair with its carved back and arms. Two huge brown leather easy chairs stood before the fire. There was an air of permanence about the room. It had been exactly like this for a hundred years—or so Bel imagined—and would remain in exactly the same condition for another hundred years. It gave her the sort of feeling of being in church.
There were several oil paintings in heavy gilt frames hanging upon the panelled walls—portraits of dead-and-gone members of the firm. The portrait over the chimney-piece was obviously that of old Mr. James Copping, who had built the wharf and founded the firm—all the more obviously because it bore a very strong resemblance to his great grandson; the same bony features, the same straw-coloured hair! Someday his great grandson would use this room and sit in that carved wooden chair and write his letters at that enormous mahogany desk . . .
“I say, Miss Lamington,” said Mr. James in a low voice. “It makes you think, doesn’t it? I’ve been in here before of course, but I’m seeing it differently today. Seems queer to be here without the Guv’nor—not right, somehow.”
“It’s right for you, Mr. James.”
“Yes,” he said doubtfully. “Yes, I suppose so. I know what you mean. But I’ve got a long way to go.” He looked up at the portrait of the first James Copping and added, “I wonder what the old boy thinks of me.”
“He’s pleased.”
Bel Lamington Page 11