tallboy since Christmas.
"Last year's income one hundred and eighteen pounds," said Miss Marcy and wrote it down. But we hastened to tell her that it bore no
relation to this year's income, for we have no more good furniture to sell, Topaz has run out of rich borrowees, and we think it unlikely
that Father's royalties will be so large, as they have dwindled every year.
"Should I leave school?" said Thomas. But of course we told him that would be absurd as his schooling costs us nothing owing to his
scholarship, and the Vicar has just given him a year's ticket for the train.
Miss Marcy fiddled with her pencil a bit and then said:
"If I'm to be a help, I must be frank.
Couldn't you make a saving on Stephen's wages?"
I felt myself go red. Of course we have never paid Stephen
anything--never even thought of it. And I suddenly realized that we
ought to have done so. (not that we've had any money to pay him with
since he's been old enough to earn.) "I don't want wages," said Stephen, quietly.
"I wouldn't take them. Everything I've ever had has been given to me here."
"You see, Stephen's like a son of the house," I said. Miss Marcy looked as if she wasn't sure that was a very good thing to be, but
Stephen's face quite lit up for a second. Then he got embarrassed and said he must see if the hens were all in. After he had gone, Miss
Marcy said:
"No- no wages at all? Just his keep?"
"We don't pay ourselves any wages," said Rose --which is true enough; but then we don't work so hard as Stephen or sleep in a dark little
room off the kitchen.
"And I think it's humiliating discussing our poverty in front of Miss Marcy," Rose went on, angrily.
"I thought we were just going to ask her advice about earning."
After that, a lot of time was wasted soothing Rose's pride and Miss
Marcy's feelings. Then we got down to our earning capacities.
Topaz said she couldn't earn more than four pounds a week in London and possibly not that, and she would need three pounds to live on, and some clothes, and the fare to come down here at least every other weekend.
"And I don't want to go to London," she added, rather pathetically.
"I'm tired of being a model. And I miss Mortmain dreadfully. And he needs me here--I'm the only one who can cook."
"That's hardly very important when we've nothing to cook," said Rose.
"Could I earn money as a model?"
"I'm afraid not," said Topaz.
"Your figure's too pretty-there isn't enough drawing in your bones. And you'd never have the patience to sit still.
I suppose if nothing turns up I'll have to go to London. I could send about ten shillings a week home."
"Well, that's splendid," said Miss Marcy and wrote down: "Mrs. James Mortmain: a potential ten shillings weekly."
"Not all the year round," said Topaz, firmly.
"I couldn't stand it and it would leave me no time for my own painting.
I might sell some of that, of course."
Miss Marcy said "Of course you might," very politely; then turned to me. I said my speed-writing was getting quite fast, but of course it
wasn't quite like real shorthand (or quite like real speed-writing, for that matter); and I couldn't type and the chance of getting anywhere
near a typewriter was remote.
"Then I'm afraid, just until you get going with your literary work, we'll have to count you as nil," said Miss Marcy.
"Thomas, of course, is bound to be nil for a few years yet. Rose, dear?"
Now if anyone in this family is nil as an earner, it is Rose; for
though she plays the piano a bit and sings rather sweetly and is, of
course, a lovely person, she has no real talents at all.
"Perhaps I could look after little children," she suggested.
"Oh, no," said Miss Marcy, hurriedly, "I mean, dear--well, I don't think it would suit you at all."
"I'll go to Scoatney Hall as a maid," said Rose, looking as if she were already ascending the scaffold.
"Well, they do have to be trained, dear," said Miss Marcy, "and I can't feel your Father would like it.
Couldn't you do some pretty sewing?"
"What on?" said Rose.
"Sacking?"
Anyway, Rose is hopeless at sewing.
Miss Marcy was looking at her list rather depressedly.
"I fear we must call dear Rose nil just for the moment," she said.
"That only leaves Mr. Mortmain."
Rose said: "If I rank as nil, Father ought to be double nil" Miss Marcy leaned forward and said in a hushed voice: "My dears, you know I'm trying to help you all. What's the real trouble with Mr. Mortmain?
Is it- is it drink?"
We laughed so much that Stephen came in to see what the joke was.
"Poor, poor Mortmain," gasped Topaz, "as if he ever laid his hands on enough to buy a bottle of beer. Drink costs money, Miss Marcy."
Miss Marcy said it couldn't be drugs either --and it certainly
couldn't; he doesn't even smoke, once his Christmas cigars from the
Vicar are gone.
"It's just sheer laziness," said Rose, "laziness and softness. And I don't believe he was ever very good, really. I expect Jacob Wrestling was overestimated."
Topaz looked so angry that I thought for a second she was going to hit Rose. Stephen came to the table and stood between them.
"Oh, no, Miss Rose," he said quietly, "it's a great book- everyone knows that. But things have happened to him so that he can't write any more. You can't write just for the wanting."
I expected Rose to snub him, but before she could say a word he turned to me and went on quickly:
"I've been thinking, Miss Cassandra, that I should get work--they'd have me at Four Stones Farm."
"But the garden, Stephen!" I almost wailed--for we just about live on our vegetables.
He said the days would soon draw out and that he'd work for us in the evenings.
"And I'm useful in the garden, aren't I, Stephen ?" said Topaz.
"Yes, ma'am, very useful. I couldn't get a job if you went to London, of course -there'd be too much work for Miss Cassandra."
Rose isn't good at things like gardening and housework.
"So you could put me down for twenty-five shillings a week, Miss Marcy," Stephen went on, "because Mr. Stebbins said he'd start me at that. And I'd get my dinner at Four Stones." I was glad to think that would mean he'd get one square meal a day.
Miss Marcy said it was a splendid idea, though it was a pity it meant striking out Topaz's ten shillings.
"Though, of course, it was only potential." While she was putting Stephen's twenty-five shillings on her list, Rose suddenly said:
"Thank you, Stephen."
And because she doesn't bother with him much as a rule, it somehow
sounded important. And she smiled so very sweetly. Poor Rose has been so miserable lately that a smile from her is like late afternoon
sunshine after a long, wet day. I don't see how anyone could see Rose smile without feeling fond of her. I thought Stephen would be
tremendously pleased, but he only nodded and swallowed several
times.
Just then, Father came out on the staircase and looked down on us
all.
"What, a round game?" he said--and I suppose it must have looked like one, with us grouped round the table in the lamplight. Then he came
downstairs saying:
"This book's first-rate. I'm having a little break, trying to guess the murderer. I should like a biscuit, please."
Whenever Father is hungry between meals--and he eats very little at
them, less than any of us--he asks for a biscuit. I believe he thinks it is the smallest and cheapest thing he can ask for. Of course, we
haven't had any real shop biscuits for ages but Topaz makes oatcake,
which is very filling.
She put some margarine on a piece for him. I saw a fraction of
distaste in his eyes and he asked her if she could sprinkle it with a little sugar.
"It makes a change," he said, apologetically.
"Can't we offer Miss Marcy something his Some tea or cocoa, Miss Marcy
?"
She thanked him but said she mustn't spoil her appetite for supper.
"Well, don't let me interrupt the game," said Father.
"What is it ?"
And before I could think of any way of distracting him, he had leaned over her shoulder to look at the list in front of her. As it then
stood, it read:
Earning Capacity for Present Year Mrs. Mortmain nil.
Cassandra Mortmain nil.
Thomas Mortmain nil.
Rose Mortmain nil.
Mr. Mortmain nil.
Stephen Colly 25/- a week.
Father's expression didn't change as he read, he went on smiling; but I could feel something happening to him. Rose says I am always crediting people with emotions I should experience myself in their situation, but I am sure I had a real flash of intuition then.
And I suddenly saw his face very clearly, not just in the way one
usually sees the faces of people one is very used to. I saw how he had changed since I was little and I thought of Ralph Hodgson's line about
"tamed and shabby tigers." How long it takes to write the thoughts of a minute! I thought of many more things, complicated, pathetic and
very puzzling, just while Father read the list.
When he had finished, he said quite lightly: "And is Stephen giving us his wages?"
"I ought to pay for my board and lodging, Mr.
Mortmain, sir," said Stephen, "and for--for past favors; all the books you've lent me-was "I'm sure you'll make a very good head of the family," said Father. He took the oatcake with sugar on it from Topaz and moved towards the stairs.