Blue Murder (14 page)

“Ay an' she's right!” said a loud voice from the door.

Hardstaffe jumped from his chair to confront the man who had entered through the door which Leda had left ajar.

He was a big, black-haired man, with unruly eyebrows which hung over his deep-set eyes, like black rocks over half-hidden ferns. His big-boned body towered over Hardstaffe, and his enormous, hairy hands were clenched impatiently at his sides.

A nasty customer, thought Arnold, watching him carefully. He means business.

“Ay, I'm a man o' my word,” he said. “Five minutes I said I'd wait and five minutes I've waited. I've no time to waste on thee.”

“How dare you walk into here like this?” blustered Hardstaffe, very conscious of his own lack of stature. “What do you mean by this intrusion? I've no time to deal with school matters in the evenings. You'll have to come again tomorrow. Are you going now, or shall I have you turned out?”

“Who's going to turn me out?” asked the man, looking from Hardstaffe to Smith, and back again. “Nay, it's no use coming across me wi' all that high-class talk, Mr. 'Ardstaffe. I've come all the way from Westcastle after my day's work to see thee, and see thee I will an' all. Name of Ramsbottom. I want to know what tha means by half murdering our little lad!”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” retorted the schoolmaster, striving to gather about him some shreds of dignity. “Will you go or—”

“Nay I'll not go,” returned Ramsbottom. “I'm talking about you half-murdering our little lad. Aye, and it's not the only bit of murder what's been going on round here seemingly. Nor it won't be the last if I don't get some satisfaction out of thee!”

“You must be mad to come here and talk to me like this,” said Hardstaffe.

“Nay, I'm not. And I'm only talking like this because there's ladies present. If they weren't here, I shouldn't be talking, I'd be acting. Like this!” He thrust a huge fist forward a few inches away from Hardstaffe's chin. “Half- murdered our Alfie, you did—he's got bruises all over his body—and he's a good little lad, he never deserved that. I'd have you know, Mr. 'Ardstaffe, as I didn't send him away from the murdering Nazzies to have him killed by a murdering schoolmaster. There'd better be satisfaction, see, or else—”

Hardstaffe stepped away from the threatening fist.

Serve the rotten little coward right, thought Arnold. I'd just enjoy seeing that hefty docker's fist put our little Hardstaffe to sleep. Nevertheless he rose from his chair and came forward to assist his host.

“Look here, my man,” he began.

But Hardstaffe seemed to gain courage from his support, and lifting his hand for silence, he assumed his most suave smile.

“There's no need for all this, you know,” he said soothingly. “If you'd only waited in the study for a few minutes longer, we could have had the whole thing cleared up by now. You've had a long journey and you naturally feel a bit upset. And, of course, you don't know the facts of the case. Boys will be boys, and sometimes they have to be thrashed to maintain discipline. I daresay you've belted Alfie yourself before now. The discipline in our school may be a bit stricter than in most villages, but I can truthfully say that I've never been known to punish a boy unjustly. Now just come along to the study with me—we mustn't intrude on the ladies any longer—and I'll put the matter right in a few minutes.”

“I hope so,” returned Ramsbottom. “And I warn you that if I don't get some satisfaction, I'll take my own way of settling with you.”

“I think we all deserve a little drink after that,” said Leda, putting all the plates on the dining-room floor for the dogs. “Bring the decanters into the drawing-room, Arnold. I'll take the glasses.”

The three of them sat round the fire, each with a cigarette and a drink. Leda and Arnold did most of the talking, while Charity sat back silently in her chair watching them, and the dogs cracked the bones they had brought in from the dining-room.

At length, Arnold glanced at his watch.

“He's taking more than a few minutes to convince that fellow,” he remarked. “Shall I go and see that he's all right? Those dock-workers are nasty customers to handle, and he was spoiling for a fight.”

Leda laughed.

“Oh no, don't worry about Daddy,” she said. “He's a regular Houdini for getting out of tight corners. He hasn't been a schoolmaster all his life for nothing. He'll talk him out of it all right.” As if to prove her words, Mr. Hardstaffe opened the door and joined them.

“Have a drink, Daddy,” said Leda. “I expect you need one.”

“My God, yes!” he agreed, ignoring the port and sherry, and pouring out a generous double whiskey sprayed with soda water. “The nerve of that fellow, pushing his way into my house! But I got rid of him. All parents are queer creatures, you know, but one gets used to handling them. Oh, we've had worse than that one, haven't we, Leda?”

“Um,” agreed Leda. “As bad, anyhow, though I don't remember having one in the dining-room before.”

“You both talk as if they were wild animals,” laughed Arnold.

“So they are, in a way,” said Hardstaffe, perching himself on the arm of Charity's chair, and rubbing his hand along her bare arm. “They all think that their child is different from everyone else's—that is to say, superior, of course—and can't understand why he shouldn't have special treatment.”

“Did Ramsbottom go quietly?” asked Leda.

“No, I can't say that he did,” Hardstaffe admitted. “I believe that he threatened to murder me again, but I didn't listen very carefully, I'm afraid. He'll feel better tomorrow; they always do.”

The conversation became more general until Charity rose to go. Hardstaffe went into the hall to put on his own hat and coat, obviously taking it for granted that she expected him to see her home.

“Really, there's no need for you to come,” she said, as they walked down the drive together. “It's not far across the village, and I could easily go alone.”

“Why, Charity, you used...” he began, then laughed, squeezing her arm. “You're teasing me, my sweet darling,” he said, and began to sing softly in a highly unmusical voice the song of a past decade.

‘Teasin', teasin', I was only teasin' you;

‘Teasin', teasin', just to see what you would do.'

“To think,” he went on, “that I used to listen to that song long before you were born. It makes me feel so proud, my love, to know that you chose me in spite of my age. Not that I
feel
any older than I did in the ‘nineties',” he said hastily. “But when I look at your lovely young body, I feel that it must be a sacrifice for you to be seen out with a plain-looking old fellow like me.”

“Oh no, I don't feel like that at all,” said Charity. “But there's something I must say to you. I...”

“Have you laddered your new stockings?” he mocked. “I've still some coupons left. You shall have another pair, don't worry.”

“No. Oh no! Nothing like that,” protested Charity. “It's just that....”

Again her courage failed.

They were some distance from the house now. Hardstaffe stopped, and drew her towards him.

“Kiss me,” he commanded, and this time she could not withdraw from him in spite of her greater height.

She felt herself crushed downwards by his incredibly strong arms, felt his kisses on her mouth, throat, and shoulders, while his fingers fumbled, desirous, at her breasts.

At last he moved away, breathing heavily, while she pulled her coat closely around her again, and shuddered.

“To think that you'll soon be mine, dearest,” he said. “You can't realise how much I've longed to fondle you all the evening. You're so tantalising and lovely in evening dress, and you look so cold and distant when other people are there. There'll soon be no need for that. Soon everyone will know that we love each other. I think Leda guessed tonight, but don't worry. She knows what a hell my life has been, and she will rejoice in my new happiness. To think that I've waited all these years for love to come to me. Some men never know it like this. For this, my dearest one, is love!”

“No, it isn't,” gasped Charity unexpectedly. “That's what I've been trying to tell you. It's all a ghastly mistake. I can't go on with it.”

“Charity! What do you mean, my love? Oh, you're upset this evening, and I don't wonder. I meant to make it such a happy time for you, but it all went wrong. First that wretched maid, and then that ridiculous parent. But I'll see that it won't happen again.”

“Oh, it won't happen again!” exclaimed Charity. “It won't happen again because I shall never come again. I'm going away where you'll never be able to find me. Can't you see that it's all been a mistake? I don't love you, and you don't love me. You only want my body. That isn't love!”

Hardstaffe put his arms around her.

“My darling, you're overwrought. You don't know what you're saying.”

“Don't I?” Charity's laugh was hysterical. “Oh yes, I do. I've just come to my senses and realised what kind of creatures we are, you and I, and I know that I don't love you and I never have. It's the truth. Why won't you believe me?”

In the silence of the night, she thought she could hear the beating of her heart.

“I—see.” Hardstaffe's voice was hard. “And since when have you learned this—this truth?” he asked.

“Oh dear!” said Charity. “I don't mean to be unkind. I hate to feel that I'm hurting you. I did think I loved you. I wasn't pretending then, and I'm not pretending now.”

“Would you mind answering my question?”

“It's—well, I don't know exactly, but it was after
she
was—after
she
died.”

“I see,” said the same cold voice again. “But I seem to remember that you used to say you couldn't belong to me as long as she was alive.”

“Yes, but I didn't know—I didn't realise—”

“You didn't realise!” mimicked Hardstaffe. “You're not a baby. What didn't you realise? First you won't have me because my wife's alive, and then you won't have me because she's dead! What do you expect me to do? Walk gracefully out of your life with bowed head and tears in my eyes, saying ‘It's a far, far better thing I do now'? Oh no, my girl. You might get away with this sort of thing with a younger man, but you won't get rid of me so easily. I've built everything on you. Every bit of life and happiness I have left, however short it may be, is wrapped up in you. I'm not going to give it up. Ever since I first kissed you, I made up my mind to possess you, and possess you I will, or die in the attempt! I'm not going to have my schemes mined just because you're wanton enough to change your mind. I've dreamed of you by night, and planned for you by day. Now that you're within reach at last, I'm not going to leave you for some other man to pick up and wear. No, by God! You're going to belong to me. You don't suppose I've planned all this for nothing, do you? You said you wouldn't be mine as long as
she
was alive. Now she's dead, and you've got to keep your bargain.”

“Oh! Then you did—”

“Did what?”

“You did kill her!” she cried, and ran from him into the darkness.

Frieda placed the last fork on the breakfast table, the following morning, and surveyed it with a scowl.

No, there's nothing wrong with it, she told herself in her own language. It is perfect. That won't do at all. She must have something to grumble at.

And she removed the spoon used for serving the porridge, from Mr. Hardstaffe's place.

There, that's good! she thought as she dropped it carelessly into the sideboard drawer. Now they will both have a good reason for being angry with this silly, mad Jewess!

She shivered as she walked out of the breakfast room.

It was cold to be out of your bed so early in the mornings, doing dirty housework for people such as, in the better days of her own country, she would have scorned to know. Their house was like them, too, always cold and unfriendly—not like the centrally-heated home she had known and loved, with its welcoming warmth and its lovely fuss of decoration.

She sighed.

I must learn not to think of these things, she admonished herself. They belong to a life which has passed away from Germany, perhaps for ever. I shouldn't find them if I went back.

If she went back!

If she went back now on a magic carpet, seeing, but herself unseen, would she find anything in her beloved Nürnberg unaltered? Was the flat where she had lived for so many years with her dear kind parents, still there? Was it occupied by some Storm Trooper and his wife? Were her parents—? No, no, not even in her thoughts dare she ask herself that question.

Did the swallows still go to Nürnberg in the Springtime, and fly through the open windows of the flat to build their nests high up in the cosy sitting room? Did old, fat Frau Bauer at the little confectioner's opposite still sell Lebküchen—those round, flat, rich cakes made from honey, ginger, and almonds, with a dozen different delicious coatings? Was the lovely old house of Hans Sachs still standing? Did friends still meet in the cafes to drink lager and listen to Chamber Music? Or had all those things which the word “Gemütlichkeit” implied, vanished from Germany for ever? Could she and the hundreds of thousands like her in exile ever again thrust the torn and bleeding roots of their lives into the soil whence they had sprung?

For Jewess as she was, she was also German, as her ancestors had been for hundreds of years.

But what did these English pigs understand of all this?

Nothing! They thought her dull, almost half-witted. And there were times when she did indeed feel crazed, when something within her made her feel that she must vent all her pent-up rage and suffering on these cold-blooded people to whom she was nothing but a slave. There were times when she came downstairs in the morning expecting to find that these two who made her life so unhappy were dead, coldly and horribly dead.