The Hireling (25 page)

‘I wonder who sent that letter?’

Like one coming out of a deep reverie, Constance answered:

‘Does it matter?’

‘Well yes, I think it does. It must have been someone who didn’t want me to marry Ernestine,’

‘Well, that’s self-evident,’ A touch of the old sharpness, which concern for Hughie had blunted, returned to Constance’s voice.

‘Yes, it’s self-evident,’ repeated Hughie. ‘And it must have been someone who knew about you and me,’

‘A lot of people do, dear Hughie,’ She was still hurt with him.

I dare say, but they don’t know one thing,’

‘What is that?’

‘Can’t you think?’

‘You haven’t encouraged my thoughts very much, you know. You’ve been a bit short with me,’

‘Perhaps I have. What I meant was, they couldn’t know’ - he spoke carefully - ‘that our relationship - yours and mine - was to go on after the marriage,’

‘Unless you told them, Hughie dear,’

‘Now, Constance,’ Hughie said, sitting up suddenly. ‘Should I have been such a goddam fool?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘No, I shouldn’t. And that narrows the field, doesn’t it?’

‘I don’t see what you’re driving at.’

‘Well, it counts out everybody else, and leaves us two. Constance, I didn’t write that letter,’

Leadbitter felt the tension tightening as if it was being wound up on a wheel.

‘And so you think that I did?’ Constance said quietly.

‘Well, who else is there?’

Constance gave a despairing cry.

‘Hughie, I swear to you -‘

‘But who else is there?’

‘Hughie, I’ll take every oath. You can’t believe -‘

‘But who else is there?’ Hughie repeated. ‘And you said just now you didn’t want me to marry her,’

Constance almost screamed:

‘Oh, Hughie, Hughie, please don’t say that! You’ll kill me, if you say that. Surely you know me well enough, after all these years? Oh, Hughie, take it back, say that you didn’t mean it, say -‘

‘Shut up, for God’s sake,’ Hughie said, ‘or the man will hear you. Your voice is a bit loud, you know, it always was.’

They did not see Leadbitter slide the panel to. He had had his fill of listening. Now all that he could hear was a confused sound of sobs, reproaches, appeals, recriminations: a little world dissolving in inarticulate cries and torn-off shreds of speech. ‘Well, that’s that,’ he thought. ‘They’ve had it, both of them,’

Leadbitter drove on. They were getting near to Richmond. They would have been there already, but for running-in. To him it was a place like any other place; he did not think of it as pretty except on the rare occasions when he had taken Clarice there for an outing.

Darkness was falling; he couldn’t see what was going on behind him, and the glass partition blocked the reflection, it was almost like a blind. They might be murdering each other, for all he knew. On Sunday at this hour it would still be daylight. Summer time came in on Sunday morning: he must remember to put his clock forward. He would remember all right; but would his customers? The change in the clock nearly always caught some of them napping; literally napping. The customer who sometimes went to early church had been in bed and asleep when Leadbitter came round at seven forty-five. Six forty-five she thought it was, and so she missed saving her soul, that Sunday anyway, and he had had the journey for nothing.

Still, it was all in the day’s work, and so was this, this crying jag between Constance and her Hughie. Goodness knew how it would end. His mind recorded the fact that the whole situation had changed; but how the change was affecting him, he could not tell. Oh, for a little daylight! Put the clock on, put it on now, he thought: it was almost a grievance to his tired mind that the clock could not be put on until Sunday. Put it on now and everything would be different, new scenes, new faces, new thoughts - a new life beginning, if he could jump an hour. But he was tied to the present, and the past.

He tried to see his situation as a shape, or feel it as a weight, to have some idea of its extent and gravity. Was it growing larger or smaller, heavier or lighter? How important was it? Where did he come in? Physically, the partition cut him off from it; it was all going on behind the glass.

But was it going on? The sounds seemed to have died away.

Then all at once they flared up again, and there was a sharp

tap on the glass. Leadbitter pulled it back.

‘I’m sorry, Leadbitter,’ said Hughie, ‘but my friend isn’t feeling very well, so would you drive us back to Campden Hill?’

‘Very good, sir,’ Leadbitter said and thought, That’s the second time it’s happened but this time they won’t change their minds. And they won’t come out with me again, either.

‘Would madam like some brandy?’ he asked. ‘I keep some here, just in case a customer doesn’t feel well. I don’t drink myself,’ he added. ‘Would you like some, Constance?’ Hughie asked. ‘Yes, no, yes. How thoughtful of you, Mr Leadbitter,’ Constance murmured. ‘And have you a glass, too?’ Leadbitter produced it.

‘How wonderful,’ she said, ‘the car’s like a bar,’ and laughed hysterically. The brandy caught her throat and made her cough. Thank you,’ she spluttered. ‘I feel much better now. Would you like some, Hughie, if Mr Leadbitter can spare it?’

‘No, thank you,’ Hughie said. ‘You were quite right: it’s not a celebration,’ There they are, thought Leadbitter, off again. ‘It is a celebration, isn’t it?’ said Constance, almost giggling. ‘Our last? Come on, Hughie; you don’t like me, I know, you think I’ve double-crossed you, but just this once!’ ‘I don’t suppose the driver has another glass,’ said Hughie. ‘I’m afraid not, sir,’

‘Drink out of mine then,’ Constance said, ‘it wouldn’t be the first time,’

‘Thanks, but I’d rather not,’ ‘Why not?’

‘I don’t fancy it, somehow,’

‘Oh, Mr Leadbitter,’ Constance said, ‘please give me some more brandy. If it isn’t too much to ask, please fill my glass again,’

Leadbitter leaned through the opening and filled up the glass. It was a small-sized tumbler, but it held quite a lot.

‘Oh, I’m spilling it,’ she said, ‘please stop, and turn the light on,’

Leadbitter did so. The light revealed with cruel distinctness his two customers crouched in their respective corners, having put all the space between them that they could. Anger had hardened Hughie’s face, misery had aged Constance’s: they were like caricatures of a couple who had quarrelled.

Constance gulped down half a glassful, choking over it, and then burst out:

‘Dear Mr Leadbitter, you seem a kind man, at any rate you have a kind face’ (no one had ever said this to him before), ‘please tell me how I can convince this cruel, obstinate man that I haven’t done something that he says I did. He says that no one else but me could have done it, but how does he know? I’m not a saint, I’ve never pretended that I was, and I suppose I’m not over-truthful: which of us is? But I shouldn’t lie about a thing like that, should I? I’m not that kind of woman, and he knows it. When a person is very much in love with another person, Mr Leadbitter, they do all sorts of things, and I’ve done many things that I’m ashamed of; but I shouldn’t send anyone an anonymous letter, it simply isn’t me, and I should have thought he would have known it, being quite an intelligent man, although not really a good painter. Dear Mr Leadbitter, won’t you drink some of your own brandy?’

With a hand shaking from alcohol-released hysteria she held the glass out to him, but Leadbitter shook his head.

‘I’m afraid I don’t drink, madam,’

‘Oh, but you should,’ said Constance. ‘It makes life much more pleasant. It isn’t very pleasant now, is it? He says I’ve wrecked his life because I wrote this letter, and now he can’t marry a rich woman who would have kept him in luxury and idleness. And he’s wrecked mine by thinking I could do it - no, not by that. Let me be quite honest. If I had done it I should only have done it out of love for him and because I didn’t want to lose him. He might have forgiven me for that, mightn’t he? - and then I wouldn’t have minded that he thought me capable of a mean action. But he doesn’t love me - he won’t even drink out of the same glass with me - that’s what I really mind! It won’t do him any good, will it, to be so hard, and it won’t do his art any good, either. You can’t get any paint out of a dry heart. Art and heart, you could make a joke out of that, couldn’t you? Who will care, when all this is over, that someone sent an anonymous letter? Why, it may not even get into the papers. But I shall care, all my life. Dear Mr Leadbitter, I’m sure you know all about people, you must have known so many. Please tell him I didn’t do it!’

Leadbitter didn’t answer, but pressed the self-starter with his thumb. When the car was under way he said:

‘No, you didn’t do it,’

A silence followed which was broken by Constance saying with a nervous giggle:

‘You heard, Hughie? He says I didn’t do it,’

‘How does he know?’ asked Hughie with a sneer.

‘Because I know who did,’ said Leadbitter.

The silence was much longer this time and of a different quality.

‘You know: who was it?’ Hughie demanded.

Leadbitter didn’t answer.

‘Oh, Hughie,’ broke in Constance, ‘please don’t bother him. He says I didn’t do it. Isn’t that enough?’ She might have been another person speaking, there was so much happiness in her voice.

‘No, it isn’t enough,’ said Hughie truculently. ‘I want to know who -‘

‘But darling, does it matter who sent it? What matters is that I didn’t. Does anything else matter? Now we can be like we were before. Oh darling, I am so happy. Please kiss me, Hughie,’

Hughie kissed her. It was a long embrace. When it was over, Constance said:

‘Darling, I feel so sleepy. I think I shall go to sleep,’

‘Oh, do you?’ Hughie said. His voice sounded smoother, but there were angry glints in it, like foam on a sea that is still rough after the wind has dropped. ‘I feel rather hungry,’

‘Well, couldn’t we go and eat somewhere?’ said Constance.

‘Yes, but where?’

‘Why not Richmond?’

‘It’s not a bad idea,’ said Hughie.

‘Then we can have a real celebration,’

‘Darling, I don’t think you ought to celebrate any more. You’re drunk already,’

‘Well, perhaps I am a little. Wouldn’t you like to be? You are so very sober, darling,’

‘It might be an improvement,’ Hughie said.

‘I’ll ask Mr Leadbitter if he can spare us some more brandy,’ Constance said.

Without answering, Leadbitter handed her the brandy and the glass.

‘You don’t mind drinking from the same glass with me now, do you?’ said Constance, pouring out the brandy with a shaking hand.

‘Thy drinks be forgiven thee,’ hiccupped Hughie, ‘no levity intended. But you mustn’t have any more,’

‘Well, just a mouthful, so that we can drink to each other.’

Their eyes met across the single glass.

‘Hughie,’ said Constance, ‘Constance,’ said Hughie in the same breath. ‘Restored to each other,’ Constance added. Tor keeps,’ said Hughie. In two gulps he drained the glass.

‘Oh, you brute,’ said Constance. ‘I wanted to drink to someone else. Perhaps Mr Leadbitter could spare us some more brandy,’

‘Certainly, madam,’ said Leadbitter, ‘if there is any,’

‘Oh, surely there must be. It wouldn’t give out, would it? It’s like the widow’s cruse,’ She poured out another glassful.

‘Whom did you want to drink to?’ Hughie asked.

‘Can’t you think of anyone?’

‘Well, perhaps I could,’ said Hughie.

‘So could I, and I think it would be nice. What do you think?’

‘I’d rather not,’ said Hughie decisively. ‘It wouldn’t go down very easily. She has all she wants, hasn’t she? What good would our good wishes do her? I think I’ll drink it myself,’ He suited the action to the word. ‘Now there’s no more brandy,’

‘You greedy hog,’ said Constance. ‘Let’s think of her and then turn down an empty glass,’

She did so, and then looked up. The sliding panel was shut.

‘I don’t think he can have heard what we said, do you, Hughie?’ she asked.

‘No, but he’s an eavesdropper all right,’ said Hughie. ‘I mean to tax him with it later on,’

‘Oh no, don’t bother him. We needn’t see him again,’

‘Yes, but I want to know…,’ He opened the partition. ‘Leadbitter, we’ve changed our minds. We’re going back to Richmond,’

‘Very good, sir,’ said Leadbitter and drove straight ahead. This time he didn’t close the panel.

Constance and Hughie sat in silence for a little while, a vague doubt creeping mist-like through their minds,

‘I suppose he is going to Richmond?’ Constance said. ‘He didn’t turn round, did he?’

‘I can’t remember,’ Hughie said. ‘Anything may have happened, while you were creating,’

He spoke affectionately.

Presently Constance said, ‘Perhaps you’d better ask him if we’re on the right road,’

Hughie cleared his throat and said:

‘I say, is this the road for Richmond?’

‘It’s the Richmond road,’

‘But are we going the right way?’

‘I shouldn’t know if you’re going the right way,’ Leadbitter said, ‘you’re the best judge of that,’

‘Now look here -‘

‘I’m looking, sir,’ said Leadbitter. ‘I have to look, to drive the car,’

Hughie leaned back against the cushions, to consider the next step.

‘Is everything all right?’ whispered Constance.

‘I think so. His manner’s a bit queer,’

‘Well, I suppose he might have said the same of ours, not long ago,’ giggled Constance, happily.

All at once the car turned left up an incline. They were crossing a bridge over the Thames; on both sides they could see the lights reflected in the water.

‘I don’t think this is right,’ said Hughie.

‘Oh darling, does it matter? Right or wrong, it’s all such fun,’

‘Yes, but… Leadbitter, where are we now?’

‘Just crossing the river, sir,’

‘But do we have to cross the river to go to Richmond?’

‘We have to cross it some time,’

The road was clear ahead and Leadbitter accelerated.

‘Aren’t we going a bit fast?’ asked Constance. ‘Not that I mind,’