The Old Wives' Tale
Book I
MRS. BAINES
Chapter II
THE TOOTH
I
The two girls came up the unlighted stone
staircase which led from Maggie's cave to the door of the parlour. Sophia,
foremost, was carrying a large tray, and Constance a small one. Constance, who
had nothing on her tray but a teapot, a bowl of steaming and balmy-scented
mussels and cockles, and a plate of hot buttered toast, went directly into the
parlour on the left. Sophia had in her arms the entire material and apparatus of
a high tea for two, including eggs, jam, and toast (covered with the slop-basin
turned upside down), but not including mussels and cockles. She turned to the
right, passed along the corridor by the cutting-out room, up two steps into the
sheeted and shuttered gloom of the closed shop, up the showroom stairs, through
the showroom, and so into the bedroom corridor. Experience had proved it easier
to make this long detour than to round the difficult corner of the parlour
stairs with a large loaded tray. Sophia knocked with the edge of the tray at the
door of the principal bedroom. The muffled oratorical sound from within suddenly
ceased, and the door was opened by a very tall, very thin, black-bearded man,
who looked down at Sophia as if to demand what she meant by such an
interruption.
"I've brought the tea, Mr. Critchlow," said Sophia.
And Mr. Critchlow carefully accepted the tray.
"Is that my little Sophia?" asked a faint voice from the depths of
the bedroom.
"Yes, father," said Sophia.
But she did not attempt to enter the room. Mr. Critchlow put the
tray on a white-clad chest of drawers near the door, and then he shut the door,
with no ceremony. Mr. Critchlow was John Baines's oldest and closest friend,
though decidedly younger than the draper. He frequently "popped in" to have a
word with the invalid; but Thursday afternoon was his special afternoon,
consecrated by him to the service of the sick. From two o'clock precisely till
eight o'clock precisely he took charge of John Baines, reigning autocratically
over the bedroom. It was known that he would not tolerate invasions, nor even
ambassadorial visits. No! He gave up his weekly holiday to this business of
friendship, and he must be allowed to conduct the business in his own way. Mrs.
Baines herself avoided disturbing Mr. Critchlow's ministrations on her husband.
She was glad to do so; for Mr. Baines was never to be left alone under any
circumstances, and the convenience of being able to rely upon the presence of a
staid member of the Pharmaceutical Society for six hours of a given day every
week outweighed the slight affront to her prerogatives as wife and
house-mistress. Mr. Critchlow was an extremely peculiar man, but when he was in
the bedroom she could leave the house with an easy mind. Moreover, John Baines
enjoyed these Thursday afternoons. For him, there was 'none like Charles
Critchlow.' The two old friends experienced a sort of grim, desiccated
happiness, cooped up together in the bedroom, secure from women and fools
generally. How they spent the time did not seem to be certainly known, but the
impression was that politics occupied them. Undoubtedly Mr. Critchlow was an
extremely peculiar man. He was a man of habits. He must always have the same
things for his tea. Black-currant jam, for instance. (He called it "preserve.")
The idea of offering Mr. Critchlow a tea which did not comprise black-currant
jam was inconceivable by the intelligence of St. Luke's Square. Thus for years
past, in the fruit-preserving season, when all the house and all the shop smelt
richly of fruit boiling in sugar, Mrs. Baines had filled an extra number of jars
with black-currant jam, 'because Mr. Critchlow wouldn't TOUCH any other
sort.'
So Sophia, faced with the shut door of the bedroom, went down to
the parlour by the shorter route. She knew that on going up again, after tea,
she would find the devastated tray on the doormat.
Constance was helping Mr. Povey to mussels and cockles. And Mr.
Povey still wore one of the antimacassars. It must have stuck to his shoulders
when he sprang up from the sofa, woollen antimacassars being notoriously
parasitic things. Sophia sat down, somewhat self-consciously. The serious
Constance was also perturbed. Mr. Povey did not usually take tea in the house on
Thursday afternoons; his practice was to go out into the great, mysterious
world. Never before had he shared a meal with the girls alone. The situation was
indubitably unexpected, unforeseen; it was, too, piquant, and what added to its
piquancy was the fact that Constance and Sophia were, somehow, responsible for
Mr. Povey. They felt that they were responsible for him. They had offered the
practical sympathy of two intelligent and well-trained young women, born nurses
by reason of their sex, and Mr. Povey had accepted; he was now on their hands.
Sophia's monstrous, sly operation in Mr. Povey's mouth did not cause either of
them much alarm, Constance having apparently recovered from the first shock of
it. They had discussed it in the kitchen while preparing the teas; Constance's
extraordinarily severe and dictatorial tone in condemning it had led to a
certain heat. But the success of the impudent wrench justified it despite any
irrefutable argument to the contrary. Mr. Povey was better already, and he
evidently remained in ignorance of his loss.
"Have some?" Constance asked of Sophia, with a large spoon
hovering over the bowl of shells.
"Yes, PLEASE," said Sophia, positively.
Constance well knew that she would have some, and had only asked
from sheer nervousness.
"Pass your plate, then."
Now when everybody was served with mussels, cockles, tea, and
toast, and Mr. Povey had been persuaded to cut the crust off his toast, and
Constance had, quite unnecessarily, warned Sophia against the deadly green stuff
in the mussels, and Constance had further pointed out that the evenings were
getting longer, and Mr. Povey had agreed that they were, there remained nothing
to say. An irksome silence fell on them all, and no one could lift it off. Tiny
clashes of shell and crockery sounded with the terrible clearness of noises
heard in the night. Each person avoided the eyes of the others. And both
Constance and Sophia kept straightening their bodies at intervals, and expanding
their chests, and then looking at their plates; occasionally a prim cough was
discharged. It was a sad example of the difference between young women's dreams
of social brilliance and the reality of life. These girls got more and more
girlish, until, from being women at the administering of laudanum, they sank
back to about eight years of age—perfect children—at the tea-table.
The tension was snapped by Mr. Povey. "My God!" he muttered, moved
by a startling discovery to this impious and disgraceful oath (he, the pattern
and exemplar—and in the presence of innocent girlhood too!). "I've swallowed
it!"
"Swallowed what, Mr. Povey?" Constance inquired.
The tip of Mr. Povey's tongue made a careful voyage of inspection
all round the right side of his mouth.
"Oh yes!" he said, as if solemnly accepting the inevitable. "I've
swallowed it!"
Sophia's face was now scarlet; she seemed to be looking for some
place to hide it. Constance could not think of anything to say.
"That tooth has been loose for two years," said Mr. Povey, "and
now
I've swallowed it with a mussel."
"Oh, Mr. Povey!" Constance cried in confusion, and added, "There's
one good thing, it can't hurt you any more now."
"Oh!" said Mr. Povey. "It wasn't THAT tooth that was hurting me.
It's an old stump at the back that's upset me so this last day or two. I wish it
had been."
Sophia had her teacup close to her red face. At these words of Mr.
Povey her cheeks seemed to fill out like plump apples. She dashed the cup into
its saucer, spilling tea recklessly, and then ran from the room with stifled
snorts.
"Sophia!" Constance protested.
"I must just—" Sophia incoherently spluttered in the doorway. "I
shall be all right. Don't——"
Constance, who had risen, sat down again.
II
Sophia fled along the passage leading to the shop and took refuge
in the cutting-out room, a room which the astonishing architect had devised upon
what must have been a backyard of one of the three constituent houses. It was
lighted from its roof, and only a wooden partition, eight feet high, separated
it from the passage. Here Sophia gave rein to her feelings; she laughed and
cried together, weeping generously into her handkerchief and wildly giggling, in
a hysteria which she could not control. The spectacle of Mr. Povey mourning for
a tooth which he thought he had swallowed, but which in fact lay all the time in
her pocket, seemed to her to be by far the most ridiculous, side-splitting thing
that had ever happened or could happen on earth. It utterly overcame her. And
when she fancied that she had exhausted and conquered its surpassing
ridiculousness, this ridiculousness seized her again and rolled her anew in
depths of mad, trembling laughter.
Gradually she grew calmer. She heard the parlour door open, and
Constance descend the kitchen steps with a rattling tray of tea-things. Tea,
then, was finished, without her! Constance did not remain in the kitchen,
because the cups and saucers were left for Maggie to wash up as a fitting coda
to Maggie's monthly holiday. The parlour door closed. And the vision of Mr.
Povey in his antimacassar swept Sophia off into another convulsion of laughter
and tears. Upon this the parlour door opened again, and Sophia choked herself
into silence while Constance hastened along the passage. In a minute Constance
returned with her woolwork, which she had got from the showroom, and the parlour
received her. Not the least curiosity on the part of Constance as to what had
become of Sophia!
At length Sophia, a faint meditative smile being all that was left
of the storm in her, ascended slowly to the showroom, through the shop. Nothing
there of interest! Thence she wandered towards the drawing-room, and encountered
Mr. Critchlow's tray on the mat. She picked it up and carried it by way of the
showroom and shop down to the kitchen, where she dreamily munched two pieces of
toast that had cooled to the consistency of leather. She mounted the stone steps
and listened at the door of the parlour. No sound! This seclusion of Mr. Povey
and Constance was really very strange. She roved right round the house, and
descended creepingly by the twisted house-stairs, and listened intently at the
other door of the parlour. She now detected a faint regular snore. Mr. Povey, a
prey to laudanum and mussels, was sleeping while Constance worked at her
fire-screen! It was now in the highest degree odd, this seclusion of Mr. Povey
and Constance; unlike anything in Sophia's experience! She wanted to go into the
parlour, but she could not bring herself to do so. She crept away again, forlorn
and puzzled, and next discovered herself in the bedroom which she shared with
Constance at the top of the house; she lay down in the dusk on the bed and began
to read "The Days of Bruce;" but she read only with her eyes.
Later, she heard movements on the house-stairs, and the familiar
whining creak of the door at the foot thereof. She skipped lightly to the door
of the bedroom.
"Good-night, Mr. Povey. I hope you'll be able to sleep."
Constance's voice!
"It will probably come on again."
Mr. Povey's voice, pessimistic!
Then the shutting of doors. It was almost dark. She went back to
the bed, expecting a visit from Constance. But a clock struck eight, and all the
various phenomena connected with the departure of Mr. Critchlow occurred one
after another. At the same time Maggie came home from the land of romance. Then
long silences! Constance was now immured with her father, it being her "turn" to
nurse; Maggie was washing up in her cave, and Mr. Povey was lost to sight in his
bedroom. Then Sophia heard her mother's lively, commanding knock on the King
Street door. Dusk had definitely yielded to black night in the bedroom. Sophia
dozed and dreamed. When she awoke, her ear caught the sound of knocking. She
jumped up, tiptoed to the landing, and looked over the balustrade, whence she
had a view of all the first-floor corridor. The gas had been lighted; through
the round aperture at the top of the porcelain globe she could see the wavering
flame. It was her mother, still bonneted, who was knocking at the door of Mr.
Povey's room. Constance stood in the doorway of her parents' room. Mrs. Baines
knocked twice with an interval, and then said to Constance, in a resonant
whisper that vibrated up the corridor——
"He seems to be fast asleep. I'd better not disturb him."
"But suppose he wants something in the night?"
"Well, child, I should hear him moving. Sleep's the best thing for
him."
Mrs. Baines left Mr. Povey to the effects of laudanum, and came
along the corridor. She was a stout woman, all black stuff and gold chain, and
her skirt more than filled the width of the corridor. Sophia watched her
habitual heavy mounting gesture as she climbed the two steps that gave variety
to the corridor. At the gas-jet she paused, and, putting her hand to the tap,
gazed up into the globe.
"Where's Sophia?" she demanded, her eyes fixed on the gas as she
lowered the flame.
"I think she must be in bed, mother," said Constance,
nonchalantly.
The returned mistress was point by point resuming knowledge and
control of that complicated machine—her household.
Then Constance and her mother disappeared into the bedroom, and
the door was shut with a gentle, decisive bang that to the silent watcher on the
floor above seemed to create a special excluding intimacy round about the
figures of Constance and her father and mother. The watcher wondered, with a
little prick of jealousy, what they would be discussing in the large bedroom,
her father's beard wagging feebly and his long arms on the counterpane,
Constance perched at the foot of the bed, and her mother walking to and fro,
putting her cameo brooch on the dressing-table or stretching creases out of her
gloves. Certainly, in some subtle way, Constance had a standing with her parents
which was more confidential than Sophia's.
III
When Constance came to bed, half an hour later, Sophia was already
in bed. The room was fairly spacious. It had been the girls' retreat and
fortress since their earliest years. Its features seemed to them as natural and
unalterable as the features of a cave to a cave-dweller. It had been repapered
twice in their lives, and each papering stood out in their memories like an
epoch; a third epoch was due to the replacing of a drugget by a resplendent old
carpet degraded from the drawing-room. There was only one bed, the bedstead
being of painted iron; they never interfered with each other in that bed,
sleeping with a detachment as perfect as if they had slept on opposite sides of
St. Luke's Square; yet if Constance had one night lain down on the half near the
window instead of on the half near the door, the secret nature of the universe
would have seemed to be altered. The small fire-grate was filled with a mass of
shavings of silver paper; now the rare illnesses which they had suffered were
recalled chiefly as periods when that silver paper was crammed into a large
slipper-case which hung by the mantelpiece, and a fire of coals unnaturally
reigned in its place—the silver paper was part of the order of the world. The
sash of the window would not work quite properly, owing to a slight subsidence
in the wall, and even when the window was fastened there was always a narrow
slit to the left hand between the window and its frame; through this slit came
draughts, and thus very keen frosts were remembered by the nights when Mrs.
Baines caused the sash to be forced and kept at its full height by means of
wedges—the slit of exposure was part of the order of the world.
They possessed only one bed, one washstand, and one
dressing-table; but in some other respects they were rather fortunate girls, for
they had two mahogany wardrobes; this mutual independence as regards wardrobes
was due partly to Mrs. Baines's strong commonsense, and partly to their father's
tendency to spoil them a little. They had, moreover, a chest of drawers with a
curved front, of which structure Constance occupied two short drawers and one
long one, and Sophia two long drawers. On it stood two fancy work-boxes, in
which each sister kept jewellery, a savings-bank book, and other treasures, and
these boxes were absolutely sacred to their respective owners. They were
different, but one was not more magnificent than the other. Indeed, a rigid
equality was the rule in the chamber, the single exception being that behind the
door were three hooks, of which Constance commanded two.
"Well," Sophia began, when Constance appeared. "How's darling Mr.
Povey?" She was lying on her back, and smiling at her two hands, which she held
up in front of her.
"Asleep," said Constance. "At least mother thinks so. She says
sleep is the best thing for him."
"'It will probably come on again,'" said Sophia.
"What's that you say?" Constance asked, undressing.
"'It will probably come on again.'"
These words were a quotation from the utterances of darling Mr.
Povey on the stairs, and Sophia delivered them with an exact imitation of Mr.
Povey's vocal mannerism.
"Sophia," said Constance, firmly, approaching the bed, "I wish you
wouldn't be so silly!" She had benevolently ignored the satirical note in
Sophia's first remark, but a strong instinct in her rose up and objected to
further derision. "Surely you've done enough for one day!" she added.
For answer Sophia exploded into violent laughter, which she made
no attempt to control. She laughed too long and too freely while Constance
stared at her.
"I don't know what's come over you!" said Constance.
"It's only because I can't look at it without simply going off
into fits!" Sophia gasped out. And she held up a tiny object in her left
hand.
Constance started, flushing. "You don't mean to say you've kept
it!" she protested earnestly. "How horrid you are, Sophia! Give it me at once
and let me throw it away. I never heard of such doings. Now give it me!"
"No," Sophia objected, still laughing. "I wouldn't part with it
for worlds. It's too lovely."
She had laughed away all her secret resentment against Constance
for having ignored her during the whole evening and for being on such intimate
terms with their parents. And she was ready to be candidly jolly with
Constance.
"Give it me," said Constance, doggedly.
Sophia hid her hand under the clothes. "You can have his old
stump, when it comes out, if you like. But not this. What a pity it's the wrong
one!"
"Sophia, I'm ashamed of you! Give it me."
Then it was that Sophia first perceived Constance's extreme
seriousness. She was surprised and a little intimidated by it. For the
expression of Constance's face, usually so benign and calm, was harsh, almost
fierce. However, Sophia had a great deal of what is called "spirit," and not
even ferocity on the face of mild Constance could intimidate her for more than a
few seconds. Her gaiety expired and her teeth were hidden.
"I've said nothing to mother——" Constance proceeded.
"I should hope you haven't," Sophia put in tersely.
"But I certainly shall if you don't throw that away," Constance
finished.
"You can say what you like," Sophia retorted, adding
contemptuously a term of opprobrium which has long since passed out of use:
"Cant!"
"Will you give it me or won't you?"
"No!"
It was a battle suddenly engaged in the bedroom. The atmosphere
had altered completely with the swiftness of magic. The beauty of Sophia, the
angelic tenderness of Constance, and the youthful, naive, innocent charm of both
of them, were transformed into something sinister and cruel. Sophia lay back on
the pillow amid her dark-brown hair, and gazed with relentless defiance into the
angry eyes of Constance, who stood threatening by the bed. They could hear the
gas singing over the dressing-table, and their hearts beating the blood wildly
in their veins. They ceased to be young without growing old; the eternal had
leapt up in them from its sleep.
Constance walked away from the bed to the dressing-table and began
to loose her hair and brush it, holding back her head, shaking it, and bending
forward, in the changeless gesture of that rite. She was so disturbed that she
had unconsciously reversed the customary order of the toilette. After a moment
Sophia slipped out of bed and, stepping with her bare feet to the chest of
drawers, opened her work-box and deposited the fragment of Mr. Povey therein;
she dropped the lid with an uncompromising bang, as if to say, "We shall see if
I am to be trod upon, miss!" Their eyes met again in the looking-glass. Then
Sophia got back into bed.
Five minutes later, when her hair was quite finished, Constance
knelt down and said her prayers. Having said her prayers, she went straight to
Sophia's work-box, opened it, seized the fragment of Mr. Povey, ran to the
window, and frantically pushed the fragment through the slit into the
Square.
"There!" she exclaimed nervously.
She had accomplished this inconceivable transgression of the code
of honour, beyond all undoing, before Sophia could recover from the stupefaction
of seeing her sacred work-box impudently violated. In a single moment one of
Sophia's chief ideals had been smashed utterly, and that by the sweetest,
gentlest creature she had ever known. It was a revealing experience for
Sophia—and also for Constance. And it frightened them equally. Sophia, staring
at the text, "Thou God seest me," framed in straw over the chest of drawers, did
not stir. She was defeated, and so profoundly moved in her defeat that she did
not even reflect upon the obvious inefficacy of illuminated texts as a deterrent
from evil-doing. Not that she eared a fig for the fragment of Mr. Povey! It was
the moral aspect of the affair, and the astounding, inexplicable development in
Constance's character, that staggered her into silent acceptance of the
inevitable.
Constance, trembling, took pains to finish undressing with
dignified deliberation. Sophia's behaviour under the blow seemed too good to be
true; but it gave her courage. At length she turned out the gas and lay down by
Sophia. And there was a little shuffling, and then stillness for a while.
"And if you want to know," said Constance in a tone that mingled
amicableness with righteousness, "mother's decided with Aunt Harriet that we are
BOTH to leave school next term."