The Unsettled Dust (25 page)

Within twenty-four hours I perceived clearly enough that there could have been no dog, no little animal squatted on the lantern, no picture over the bed, and probably no adopted daughter. That hardly needed saying. The trouble was, and is, that this obvious truth only makes things worse. Indeed, it is precisely where the real trouble begins. What is to become of me? What will happen to me next? What can I do? What am I?

No one seemed able to fathom Clarinda Hartley. She had a small but fastidious flat near Church Street, Kensington; and a responsible job in a large non-committal commercial
organisation
. No one who knew her now had ever known her in any other residence or any other job. She entertained a little, never more or less over the years; went out not infrequently with men; and for her holidays simply disappeared, returning with brief referees to foreign parts. No one seemed to know her really well; and in the course of time there came to be wide differences of opinion about her age, and recurrent
speculation
about her emotional life. The latter topic was not made less urgent by a certain distinction in her appearance, and also in her manner. She was very tall (a great handicap, of course, in the opinion of many) and well-shaped; she had very fair, very fine, very abundant hair, to which plainly she gave much attention; her face had interesting planes (for those who could appreciate them), but also soft curves, which went with her hair. She had a memorable voice: high-pitched, but gentle. She was in fact, thirty-two. Everyone was greatly
surprised
when she announced her engagement to Dudley
Carstairs
.

Or rather it was Carstairs who announced it. He could not keep it to himself as long as there was anyone within earshot who was ignorant of it; and well might be elated, because his capture followed a campaign of several years’ continuance, and supported by few sweeping advantages. He worked in the same office as Clarinda, and in a not unsatisfactory
position
for his thirty years; and was in every way a thoroughly presentable person: but even in the office there were a number of others like him, and it would have seemed possible that Clarinda could have further extended her range of choice by going outside.

The week-end after the engagement Dudley arranged for her to spend with him and his parents in Northamptonshire. Mr. Carstairs Senior had held an important position on the administrative side of the Northampton boot and shoe
industry
; and when he retired upon a fair pension had settled in a small but comfortable house in one of the remote parts of a county where the remote parts are surprisingly many and extensive. Mr. Carstairs had been a pioneer in this particular, because others similarly placed had tended upon retirement to emigrate to the Sussex coast or the New Forest; but his initiative, as often happens in such cases, had been imitated, until the little village in which he had settled was now largely populated by retired industrial executives and portions of their families.

Clarinda would have been grateful for more time in which to adjust herself to Dudley in the capacity of accepted lover; but Dudley somehow did not seem to see himself in that capacity, and to be reluctant in any way to defer Clarinda’s full involvement with her new family position. Clarinda having said yes to what was believed to be the major question, smiled slightly and said yes to the minor.

Mr. Carstairs Senior met them at Roade station.

‘Hullo, Dad.’ The two men gazed at one another’s shoes, not wanting to embrace and hesitating to shake hands. Mr. Carstairs was smiling, benignly expectant. Plainly he was one who considered that life had treated him well. Almost, one believed, he was ready to accept his son’s choice of a bride as, for him, joy’s crown of joy.

‘Dad. This is Clarinda.’

‘I
say
, my boy…’

Outside the station was a grey Standard, in which Mr. Carstairs drove them many miles to the west. Already the sun was sinking. Soon after they arrived they had settled down, with Mrs. Carstairs and Dudley’s sister Elizabeth, to crumpets in the long winter dusk. Elizabeth had a secretarial position in Leamington, and bicycled there and back every day. All of them were charmed with Clarinda. She exceeded their
highest
, and perhaps not very confident, hopes.

Clarinda responded to their happy approval of her, and smiled at Dudley’s extreme pleasure at being home. An iced cake had been baked for her specially, and she wondered whether these particular gilt-edged cups were in daily use. They neither asked her questions, nor talked mainly about themselves: they all made a warm-hearted, not unskilful effort to make her feel completely one with them from the outset. She and Elizabeth discovered a common interest in the theatre (shared only in a lesser degree by Dudley).

‘But Leamington’s so stuffy that no one’s ever made a theatre pay there.’

‘Not since the war,’ said Mr. Carstairs in affectionate
qualification
.

‘Not since the
first
war,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Is Leamington the nearest town?’ asked Clarinda.

‘It’s the nearest as the crow flies, or as Elizabeth cycles,’ said Dudley, ‘but it’s not the quickest when you’re coming from London. Narrow lanes all the way.’

‘Fortunately we’ve got our own friends by now in the village,’ said Mrs. Carstairs. ‘I’ve asked some of them in for drinks, so that you can meet them at once.’

And indeed almost immediately the bell rang, and the first of the visitors was upon them. Mr. Carstairs went round the room putting on lights and drawing the curtains. Every now and then he gave some jocular direction to Dudley, who was complementarily engaged. A domestic servant of some kind, referred to by Mrs. Carstairs as ‘Our local woman,’ had removed the remains of tea; and by the time Elizabeth had borne in a tray of drinks, three more visitors had added
themselves
to the first two.

‘Can I help?’ Clarinda had said.

‘No,’ the Carstairs family had replied. ‘Certainly not. Not
yet
.’

Altogether there were eleven visitors, only two of whom were under forty. All eleven of them Clarinda liked very much less than she liked the Carstairs family. Then just as several of them were showing signs of departure, a twelfth arrived; who made a considerable change. A woman of medium height and in early middle age, she had a lined and sallow face, but an alert expression and large, deeply set black eyes. She had untidy, shoulder-length, black hair which tended to separate itself into distinct compact strands. Her only make-up appeared to be an exceptionally vivid lipstick, abundantly applied to her large square mouth. She entered in a luxuriant fur coat, but at once cast if off, so that it lay on the floor, and appeared in a black corduroy skirt and a black silk blouse, cut low, and with long tight sleeves. On her feet were heelless golden slippers.

‘I’ve been so
busy
.’ She seized both of Mrs. Carstair’s hands. Her voice was very deep and melodious, but marred by a certain hoarseness, or uncertainty of timbre. ‘Where is she?’

Mrs. Carstairs was smiling amiably as ever; but all
conversation
in the room had stopped.

‘Do go on talking.’ The newcomer addressed the party at random. She had now observed Clarinda. ‘Introduce me,’ she said to Mrs. Carstairs, as if her hostess were being a little slow with her duties. ‘Or am I too late?’ Her sudden quick smile was possibly artificial but certainly bewitching. For a second, various men in the room missed the thread of their resumed conversations.

‘Of course you’re not too late,’ said Mrs. Carstairs. Then she made the introduction. ‘Clarinda Hartley. Mrs. Pagani.’

‘Nothing whatever to do with the restaurant,’ said Mrs. Pagani.

‘How do you do?’ said Clarinda.

Mrs. Pagani had a firm and even but somewhat bony
handshake
. She was wearing several large rings, with heavy stones in them, and round her neck a big fat locket on a thick golden chain.

By now Mrs. Carstairs had brought Mrs. Pagani a drink. ‘Here’s to the future,’ said Mrs. Pagani, looking into Clarinda’s eyes. As soon as Mrs. Carstairs had turned away, she drained the glass.

‘Thank you,’ said Clarinda, falling in with the illusion.

Mrs. Pagani stretched out an arm (Clarinda noticed that her arms, in their tight black sleeves, were uncommonly long) and pulled up a chair, upon which she sat. Clarinda noticed also that when she was seated, her hips too looked bony and obtrusive. Altogether Mrs. Pagani gave an impression of unusual physical power, only partly concealed by her
conventional
clothes. It was as if suddenly she might arise and tear down the house.

‘You cannot imagine,’ said Mrs. Pagani, ‘how much it means to me to have someone new in the village, especially someone more or less my own age. Or perhaps you can?’

‘But I’m not going to
live
here,’ said Clarinda, clutching hold of the main point.

‘Well, of course not. But there’ll be frequent week-ends. Whatever else may be said for or against Dudley, he’s devoted to his home.’

Clarinda nodded thoughtfully. She was aware that
everyone’s
eyes were upon them, and realised that Mrs. Pagani had so far acknowledged the presence of none of the other guests, well though she must presumably know them.

‘Who would want to know any of these people?’ enquired Mrs. Pagani in a husky, telepathic, undertone.

One trouble was that Clarinda rather agreed with her.

‘Why do
you
live here?’

‘I can’t live in towns. And in the country people are the same wherever you go. Most people, I mean. You don’t live in the country for the local society.’

Clarinda failed to ask why you did live in the country.

Elizabeth came up with more drinks.

‘Hullo, Elizabeth,’ said Mrs. Pagani.

For some reason Elizabeth went very red.

‘Hullo, Mrs. Pagani.’ She left two drinks with them, and hurried away on her errand of hospitality. Mrs. Pagani’s eyes followed her for a few seconds. Then she turned back to Clarinda, and said, ‘We two will be seeing a lot of one another.’

Again Clarinda could only nod.

‘I needn’t tell you that you’re not what I expected. Do you know where I live?’

Clarinda, still silent, shook her head.

‘Have you been round the village yet?’

‘No.’

‘Not seen the church?’

‘It was getting dark when I arrived.’

‘I live in the churchyard.’ Mrs. Pagani suddenly shouted with laughter. ‘It always surprises people.’ She placed her long bony left hand on Clarinda’s knee. ‘There used to be a chapel in the churchyard, with a room over it. This is a thinly populated district, and they brought the corpses from the farmhouses and cottages, often a long slow journey, and left the coffin in the chapel waiting for the funeral the next day. And the mourners passed the night upstairs, watching and, of course, drinking. When all this became unnecessary, the chapel fell into ruin. The Parish Council was glad to sell it to me. The vicar’s a hundred and one anyway. I restored it and I live in it. The ground had to be specially deconsecrated for me.’ Mrs. Pagani removed her hand and picked up her glass. ‘Come and see me.’ For the second time she toasted Clarinda. ‘I call it the Charnel House. Not quite correct, of course: a charnel house is where the dead lie
after
the funeral. But I thought the name rather suited me.’ Suddenly her attention was distracted. Without moving her eyes, she inclined her head slightly sideways. ‘Just look at Mr. Appleby. Used to be Managing Director of an important company. Appleby’s Arterial Bootlaces.’

Clarinda could not see that Mr. Appleby, with whom she had been talking before Mrs. Pagani’s arrival, was doing
anything
much out of the ordinary. He seemed simply to be telling stories to two or three other guests, who admittedly seemed less interested than he was. But Clarinda was
unaccustomed
to making twelve or fifteen intimate acquaintances for life
en
bloc
;
and all coming within the, at best, uncertain category of friends’ friends.

Again Mrs. Pagani had drained her glass. ‘I must be going. I only looked in for a minute. I have a lot to do tonight.’ She rose and held out her hand. Tomorrow then?’

‘Thank you very much, but I’m not quite sure. I expect Mr. and Mrs. Carstairs have some plans for me.’

Mrs. Pagani looked her in the eyes, then nodded. ‘Yes. You mustn’t quarrel with them. That’s very important. Well: come if you can.’

‘Thank you, I’d like to.’

Mrs. Pagani was resuming her expensive sable coat, and saying goodbye to Mrs. Carstairs.

‘You’ve nothing to worry about,’ Clarinda heard her say, ‘Dudley’s chosen well.’

‘Darling.’ It was Dudley standing behind Clarinda’s chair. He kissed the top of her head. ‘Don’t mind her. She’s far round the bend, of course, but good-hearted at bottom. Anyway she’s the only one of her kind in the village. Pots of money too.’

‘What makes you think that, Dudley?’ asked the marzipan voice of Mr. Appleby. Conversation about Mrs. Pagani was now general.

‘Couldn’t behave as she does if she hadn’t, Mr. Appleby,’ replied Dudley.

That seemed to be the consensus of opinion.

*

When everyone had gone, they listened to the radio. Then they had supper, and Clarinda was permitted, after strenuous application, to participate in the washing up. As they retired in a warm mist of gently affectionate demonstrativeness, the thought crossed Clarinda’s mind that she might like to sleep with Dudley. It was still not an urgent wish, only a thought; but in Dudley there was no evidence that it was even a thought. For him the fateful outer wall of the fortress had been successfully battered down after a long siege; the course of time would bring the later degrees of capitulation.

The next morning Clarinda had to admit to herself that she was very depressed. As she lay in bed watching wisps of
late-autumn
fog drift and swirl past her window, she felt that inside the house was a warm and cosy emptiness in which she was about to be lost. She saw herself, her real self, for ever suspended in blackness, howling in the lonely dark, miserable and unheard; while her other, outer self went
smiling
through an endless purposeless routine of love for and compliance with a family and a community of friends which, however excellent, were exceedingly unlike her, in some way that she did not fully understand. Elizabeth might bill and coo about the theatre, but it could hardly be said that any one of them had a sense of drama. They lived in the depths of the country, but had no idea of the wilderness. They were constantly together, but knew one another too well to be able to converse. Individuality had been eroded from all of them by the tides of common sentiment. Love me, said Dudley in effect, his eyes softly glowing; love mine. His London personality seemed merely a bait with which to entice her into the capacious family lobster pot. Mrs. Pagani was certainly different from the rest of them; but Clarinda was far from sure that Mrs. Pagani was her idea of an ally.