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Step Four B2.1

Katherine Mansfield Short StoriesAbout the Author

Katherine Mansfield was the pen name of Kathleen Mansfield Beauchamp, who was bom inWellington, New Zealand, on 14 October 1888. Her father was a wealthy banker and her motherwas Australian. Katherine had a brother and three sisters and grew up in an atmosphere of wealth andprivilege. Her parents wanted their daughters to grow up to be 'perfect ladies'.

Young Katherine enjoyed reading and started writing short stories while she was still at school. Herfirst short stories were published in the school magazine.

The London period

When Katherine was fourteen years old she was sent to London to complete her education at Queen'sCollege, a fashionable girls' school. She attended the school for three years, where she studied thecello. In the meanwhile she continued her writing. She enjoyed living in London and when shecompleted her studies she was determined to become a writer. She spent her life among writers, poetsand artists and her friends included some famous Modernist authors of the time, such as D.H.Lawrence and Virginia Woolf. She was well liked because of her lively personality and intelligence.

Women on stage in Katherine Mansfield’s short stories

Although Katherine married twice, she never had an ordinary family life. From the age of twenty shebegan suffering from tuberculosis,1 which was then a fatal disease. She began travelling to Franceand Switzerland in search of a warmer climate for her health problems.

In spite of her illness, Katherine wrote a large number of fine short stories which established herreputation as a great writer and a celebrity in Great Britain. Fler first book, In a German Pension,was published in 1911, followed by Prelude in 1916, Bliss and Other Stories in 1920 and TheGarden Party and Other Stories in 1922. Her short stories reflect her great sensitivity tothe problems women faced in society during the early 1900s. They take the reader straight intothe lives of her characters, who are often struggling in an unfriendly world. Katherine diedof tuberculosis on 9 January 1923, in Fontainebleau, France, when she was only 35 years old. Twomore books of stories, her letters and her journal were published after her death. She has often beencompared to the Russian writer Anton Chekhov, and today she is considered one of the bestModernist writers.

The Garden Party

1

The weather was ideal — warm and without a cloud in the blue sky. It was the perfect day for agarden party. The gardener had been working since dawn, cutting the lawn, until the green grass wasbright in the sunshine. And the roses were wonderful! Roses are the only flowers that people reallynotice at garden parties. Hundreds of them had opened up during the night. It seemed that the rosesknew about the garden party! While the Sheridan girls were having breakfast, the men came to put upthe marquee. ‘Where shall we put the marquee, mother?’ asked Meg.

‘My dear child, please don’t ask me. I’m determined to make you children organize everything thisyear. Forget that I’m your mother. Pretend that I’m one of the guests.’

But Meg could not possibly talk to the men since she had just washed her hair before breakfast; andJose wasn’t even dressed yet. ‘Laura, you’ll have to go. You’re the artistic one in this family.’

Laura ran out of the house, still holding a piece of bread and butter in her hand. Food always tastedbetter out of doors and Laura loved arranging things. She always felt that she could do it better thananyone else.

Four serious looking men were standing on the garden path, carrying big bags of tools. “Why didn’t Ileave my bread and butter in the house?” thought Laura, but there was nowhere to put it and shecouldn’t throw it away. She blushed 1 and tried to look businesslike.2 3

‘Good morning,’ she said, copying her mother’s voice. But it sounded so silly that she was ashamed,and asked, just like a little girl, ‘Oh... er... have you come — is it about the marquee?’

‘That’s right, miss,’ said the tallest of the men. He pushed back his straw hat and smiled down at her.His smile was so friendly that Laura felt much better. What nice eyes he had — small, but a lovelydark blue! And now she looked at the others, and they were smiling too. “Cheer up! We won’t bite!”their smile seemed to say. How very nice workmen were! And what a beautiful morning! She mustn’tmention the morning; she must be businesslike. The marquee.

‘Well, shall we put it on the lawn over there?’

She pointed with the hand that was not holding the bread and butter. They all turned and stared. Thetall man shook his head.

‘1 don’t like it,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t notice it there. You see, with a thing like a marquee, you wantit where it hits you — bang in the eye.’4

‘A corner of the tennis court, then?’ she suggested. ‘But the band’s going to be in one corner.’

‘Are you having a band?’ asked another workman, who was pale and had a tired look in his dark

eyes.

‘Only a very small band,’ Laura said gently.

The tall man said, ‘Look here, miss, that’s the place. By those trees. Over there.’

By the karaka trees. Then the karaka trees would be hidden, and they were so lovely with their bigshiny leaves and yellow fruit. They were like trees that grew on a desert island, proud and splendid.Must they be hidden by a marquee?

They must. The men were already carrying their bags of tools across the lawn. Only the tall man wasleft. He bent down and picked a sprig of lavender and smelled it. When Laura saw this she forgotabout the karakas.

He cared about the smell of lavender. How many of the men she knew cared about things like that?Oh, how nice workmen are, she thought. Why couldn’t she have workmen for friends rather than thesilly boys she danced with and who came to dinner on Sunday night? She liked these men better.

Laura decided that it was all the fault of stupid differences in social class. Well, for her there were nodifferences. Absolutely none, not a single one. And now there came the sound of the woodenhammers. Someone whistled, someone called out, ‘Are you all right, mate?’ ‘Mate!’4 How friendlythey were! How she liked being among them! She felt just like a working girl.

‘Laura, Laura, where are you? Telephone, Laura!’ a voice shouted from the house.

‘Coming!’ She ran across the lawn, up the path and into the house. In the hall, her father and Lauriewere brushing their hats, getting ready to go to the office.

‘Laura,’ said Laurie, ‘can you take a look at my coat before this afternoon? I think it needs ironing.’

'All right,’ she said. Suddenly she couldn’t stop herself. She ran up to Laurie and threw her armsaround him. ‘Oh, I do love parties, don’t you!’ she cried.

‘Well, yes, I quite like them,’ said Laurie's warm, boyish voice. He gave his sister a hug and a gentlepush. ‘Run off to the phone!’ The telephone. ‘Yes, yes. Kitty? Good morning, dear. Come to lunch, mydear! It won’t be anything special — just what’s left over. Yes, isn’t it a perfect morning? Yes, wearyour white dress. One moment — mother is saying something.’

Mrs Sheridan’s voice floated down the stairs. ‘Tell her to wear that sweet hat she wore last Sunday.’

'Mother says you must wear that sweet hat you wore last Sunday. Good. One o’clock. Bye-bye!’

Laura put down the phone, took a deep breath and stretched out her arms. Then she stood still andlistened. The house was alive with sounds of soft, quick footsteps and distant voices.Somewhere down in the kitchen, a door opened and closed. Sunlight and gentle warm winds playedin and out of the windows. The door bell rang and she heard a man’s voice, and then Sadie saying, ‘Idon’t know. Wait. I’ll ask Mrs Sheridan.’

‘What is it, Sadie?’ Laura came into the hall.

‘The flowers have just come from the shop, Miss Laura.’

And there they were, near the door. Boxes and boxes, full of pots of pink lilies. No other kind.Nothing but lilies — big pink flowers, wide open and almost frighteningly alive on bright red stems.5

‘Oh, Sadie!’ said Laura. She bent down to touch them and they warmed her heart.

‘It must be a mistake,’ she said softly. ‘Nobody ever ordered so many. Sadie, go and find mother.’ Butat that moment Mrs Sheridan joined them.

‘It’s quite right,’ she said calmly. ‘I ordered them. Aren’t they lovely?’ She touched Laura’s arm. ‘Iwas passing in front of the shop yesterday and I saw them in the window. And I suddenly thought thatfor once in my life I’ll have enough lilies! The garden party will be a good excuse.’

'But I thought you said that we children had to organize everything this year,’ said Laura. Sadie hadgone and the man from the flower shop was standing outside. She put her arm around her mother’sneck and very gently bit her mother’s ear.

‘My dear child, you wouldn’t like me to be a sensible6 mother, would you? Don’t do that. Here’s theman.’

He was carrying in another box of lilies.

‘Put them here, please, on either side of the door,’ said Mrs Sheridan. ‘Don’t you agree that they’lllook better here, Laura?’

‘Oh, I do, mother.’

2

In the sitting room Meg, Jose and little Hans had managed B to move the piano.

‘Now, we should move this sofa against the wall and move everything out of the room except thechairs, don’t you think?’

'Yes, exactly.’

'Hans, move these tables into the smoking room, and then brush the carpet, and — one moment, Hans—’

Jose loved giving orders to the servants, and they loved obeying her. She always made them feel thatthey were all acting together in some exciting play.

‘Tell mother and Miss Laura to come here at once.’

‘Very good, Miss Jose.’

She turned to Meg. ‘l want to hear what the piano sounds like, in case I have to play this afternoon.Let’s try This Life is Weary.’

At the sound of the piano, Jose’s face changed. She looked sadly at her mother and Laura as they camein. ‘This life is weary,’ she sang.

'A tear — a sign.

A love that changes,

And then — goodbye!’

But at the word “goodbye”, although the piano sounded terribly sad, a big, bright smile appeared onJose’s face.

‘Aren’t I singing well today, Mummy?’ she said happily, and started to sing again.

‘This life is weary,

Hope comes to die.

A dream...’

But Sadie came in.

‘What is it, Sadie?’

‘Please, Miss Jose, the cook says she needs the flags for the sandwiches.’

‘The flags for the sandwiches, Sadie?’ said Mrs Sheridan in a dreamy voice. And the children knewby her face that she hadn’t got them. ‘Let me see. Tell the cook that I’ll get them to her in ten minutes.’

Sadie went.

‘Now, Laura,’ said her mother quickly, ‘come with me into the smoking room. I’ve got the names onthe back of an envelope. You’ll have to write them on the flags for me. Meg, go upstairs and brushyour hair. Jose, go and dress immediately. Do you hear me? Quickly, or I’ll have to talk to your fatherabout you when he comes home. And Jose, if you go into the kitchen, try and calm the cook down,please. I’m rather frightened of her this morning.’

Mrs Sheridan found the envelope behind the dining-room clock, but didn’t have any idea of how ithad got there. She then told Laura what to write on the flags for the sandwiches.

‘Cream cheese and tomato. Have you done that one?’

‘Yes.’

‘Egg and...’ Mrs Sheridan held the envelope away from her. ‘Olive. Is it olive?’

‘Yes, mother,’ said Laura, looking at the envelope.

‘It sounds absolutely terrible — egg and olive.’

The flags were finished at last, and Laura took them to the kitchen. Jose was there talking to the cook,who looked calm and cheerful.

‘I’ve never seen such beautiful sandwiches,’ Jose said excitedly. ‘How many different kinds arethere?’

‘Fifteen, Miss Jose.’

‘Well, cook, congratulations!’

The cook was satisfied and smiled.

‘The man from Godber’s has come,’ said Sadie. She had seen the man pass in front of the window.The man from Godber’s shop had brought the cream puffs. Godber’s cream puffs werefamous. Nobody ever made their own if they could buy Godber’s.

‘Bring them in and put them on the table,’ ordered the cook.

Sadie brought them in and went back to the door. Laura and Jose were far too grown up to care aboutcream puffs, but they agreed that the puffs looked attractive. Very attractive. The cook began arrangingthem on plates.

‘Don’t they remind you of all the parties we had when we were children?’ asked Laura.

'I suppose they do,’ said Jose, who never liked thinking about the past. ‘They look delicious, I mustsay.’ '

‘Have one, my dears,’ said the cook in her comfortable voice. ‘Your mother won’t know.’

Oh, impossible. Cream puffs so soon after breakfast? Not a good idea. But two minutes later Jose andLaura were licking the cream off their fingers.

‘Let’s go into the garden,’ suggested Laura. '1 want to see how the men are getting on with themarquee. They’re such nice men.’

But the door was blocked by the cook, Sadie, Godber’s man and Hans.

Something had happened.

The cook was making worried little sounds. Sadie had her hand over her mouth. Hans was trying sohard to understand what was happening that his eyes were closed. Only Godber’s man seemed to beenjoying himself. It was his story.

‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?’

‘There’s been a horrible accident,’ said the cook. ‘A man’s been killed.’

‘A man killed! Where? How?’

But Godber’s man wanted to tell the story.

‘You know those little cottages just down the road from here, miss?’ Of course she knew them. ‘Well,there’s a young fellow living there. Scott’s his name and he drives a horse and cart.Something frightened the horse in town this morning and he was thrown out of the cart at the corner ofHawke Street. He fell on the back of his head and was killed.’

‘Dead!’ Laura stared at Godber’s man.

‘He was dead when they picked him up,’ Godber’s man said with enjoyment. ‘They were taking thebody home as I was coming here.’ Then he said to the cook. ‘He’s left a wife and five little ones.’

‘Jose, come here!’ Laura took her sister’s hand and pulled her across the kitchen and through thedoor. m

‘Jose,’ she said, ‘how can we stop everything?’

‘Stop everything, Laura!’ cried Jose. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Stop the garden party, of course!’ Why did Jose pretend not to understand?

But Jose was even more surprised. ‘Stop the garden party? My dear Laura, don’t be unreasonable. Ofcourse we can’t stop the party. Nobody expects us to. Don’t be so silly.’

‘But we can’t possibly have a garden party with a man dead just outside the front gate.’

That really was silly because the Sheridans’ home was on a hill, and the cottages were right down atthe bottom of the hill. There was a wide road between them. True, they were still much too near, inthe Sheridans’ opinion. They were not the right kind of neighbours for people like the Sheridans.

The cottages were ugly little things, painted a chocolate brown and there was nothing but rubbish intheir gardens. Even the little smoke that came out of their chimneys looked poor. The smoke that cameout of the Sheridans’ chimney was big and silvery. The people who lived in those cottages werewasherwomen, cobblers or chimney sweepers. And, in the Sheridans’ opinion, they had far too manychildren.

When the Sheridan children were little, they were not allowed to go near those cottages, because they

could have heard bad language or caught some terrible disease. But now that they were older,Laura and Laurie sometimes walked past. It was dirty and very unpleasant but Laura and Lauriebelieved that they should experience all sides of life. They wanted to go everywhere and seeeverything.

‘Just think how that poor woman will feel if she hears a band playing,’ said Laura.

‘Oh, Laura!’ said Jose, who was beginning to be very annoyed. ‘If you want to stop a band every timesomeone has an accident, you’re going to have a very difficult life. You must get used to things likethis. I’m just as sorry as you are.’

‘I’m not used to things like this,’ said Laura nervously.

A hard look came into Jose’s eyes and she said, ‘You won’t bring a drunk workman back to life bystopping a party.’

‘Drunk! Who said he was drunk?’ said Laura, her cheeks red with anger. ‘I’m going to tell mother!’

‘Please do, my dear,’ said Jose sweetly.

‘Mother, can I come into your room?’ asked Laura, standing with one hand on her mother’s door.

‘Yes, of course. Why, what’s the matter? You look quite red in the face.’ Mrs Sheridan turned from hermirror. She was trying on a new hat.

‘Mother, a man’s been killed,’ Laura began.

‘Not in our garden?’ said her mother.

‘No, no!’

‘Oh, how you frightened me!’ Mrs Sheridan took off the big hat and smiled at her daughter.

‘But listen, mother,’ said Laura. Breathlessly, she told her mother the whole story. ‘Of course, wecan’t have our party, can we?’ she said. ‘There’s the band and everyone arriving. They’d hear us,mother. They’re nearly neighbours!’

To Laura’s great surprise, her mother behaved just like Jose. It was worse, because she seemed to beamused. She refused to take Laura seriously. '

‘But my dear child, be sensible. We only heard of the accident by chance. If someone had died therenormally — and I really don’t know how they keep alive in those dirty little holes — we’d stillbe having our party, wouldn’t we?’

Laura had to agree but she felt it was all wrong. She sat down on her mother’s sofa and said, ‘Mother,isn’t it really terribly heartless of us?’

‘Darling!’ Mrs Sheridan got up, holding the hat, and before Laura could stop her, she put it on Laura’shead. ‘My child,’ she said, 'this hat is yours. It’s much too young for me. You look lovely in it. Look atyourself!’ And she held up a mirror.

‘But, mother,’ Laura began again. She couldn’t look at herself and she turned away from the mirror.

Then Mrs Sheridan became angry, just as Jose had done.

‘You are being very stupid, Laura,’ she said coldly. ‘People like that don’t expect us to cancel ourparty. And it’s not very thoughtful6 of you to ruin the day for everyone else.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Laura, and she walked quickly out of the room and into her own bedroom.There, quite by chance, the first thing she saw was a lovely girl in the mirror, wearing a beautifulblack hat with gold daisies. She had never imagined that she could look like that.

“Is mother right?” she thought. And now she hoped that mother was right. Am 1 being stupid? Perhapsit was stupid. For a moment she imagined that poor woman again, and the little children and the bodybeing carried into the house. But now it seemed blurred and unreal, like the picture in a newspaper,‘i’ll remember it again after the party’s over,’ she decided. And somehow it seemed the best plan.

3

Lunch was over by half past one. By half past two they were all ready to begin the party. Theband, wearing green jackets, had arrived and were sitting in a corner of the tennis court.

Laurie arrived from the office. When she saw him, Laura remembered the accident again. She wantedto tell him about it. If Laurie agreed with the others, it meant that they were right. She followed himinto the hall.

‘Laurie!’

‘Hello!’ He was half-way upstairs, but when he turned around and saw Laura he stopped and lookedat her. ‘Goodness, Laura! You look wonderful,’ said Laurie. ‘What an absolutely beautiful hat!’

Laura said quietly, ‘Is it?’ and smiled at Laurie. She didn’t tell him about the accident. Soon after thatpeople started arriving. Wherever you looked there were couples walking, looking at the flowers,greeting friends, moving about the lawn. They were like bright birds that had come to visit theSheridans’ garden for this one afternoon. How happy Laura felt to be with people who were allhappy, to shake hands, kiss, smile!

‘Darling Laura, how nice you look!’

‘What a beautiful hat, child!’

And Laura, who was happy, answered softly, ‘Have you had tea? Won’t you have an ice-cream? Thecoffee and fruit ice-creams are rather special.’ She ran to her father and asked him, ‘Daddy darling,

can the band have something to drink?’

It was a perfect afternoon that slowly opened, slowly turned to the sun and slowly closed like aflower.

‘What an enjoyable garden party...’

‘Absolutely the most delicious...’

Laura helped her mother with the goodbyes. They stood side by side until all the guests had gone.

‘All over, all over,’ said Mrs Sheridan. ‘Go and find all the others,

Laura. Let’s go and have some fresh coffee. I’m exhausted. Yes, it’s (SB been very successful. But oh,these parties, these parties! Why do you children insist on giving parties!’ And they all sat down inthe empty marquee.

‘Have a sandwich, Daddy dear. I wrote the flag.’

‘Thanks.’ Mr Sheridan ate the sandwich in one bite. He took another. ‘Did you hear about the badaccident that happened today?’ he said.

‘My dear,’ said Mrs Sheridan, holding up her hand, ‘we did. It almost ruined the party. Laura wantedus to cancel everything.’

'Oh, mother!’ Laura did not want them to laugh at her.

‘It was a terrible thing, though,’ said Mrs Sheridan. ‘The fellow was married and lived in one ofthose cottages down there. They say that he had a wife and lots of small children.’

There was a long silence. Mrs Sheridan played with her cup. Really, it was quite unfortunate thatfather had mentioned...

Suddenly she looked up. On the table there were all those sandwiches, cakes, cream puffs, which hadnot been eaten at the party. She had one of her bright ideas.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘Let’s send that poor creature some of this food. We’ll prepare a basket and thosechildren will love it. And I’m sure all the neighbours are calling in. It’ll be helpful for her to havesome extra food ready. Laura! Get me the big basket from the kitchen cupboard.’

‘But mother, do you think it’s a good idea?’ asked Laura.

Again, how strange! She seemed to be different from them all. To take the left over food from theirparty. Would the poor woman really like that?

‘Of course! What’s the matter with you today? An hour or so ago you were insisting on us beingsympathetic.’

Oh well! Laura ran to get the basket. Her mother filled it with all the food that was left.

‘You take it, darling,’ she said. ‘Run down just as you are. No, wait, take some lilies too. Lilies seemto really impress people of that kind.’ ‘She’ll get her dress dirty with those flowers,’ said Jose.

Jose was right. ‘Only the basket, then. And Laura!’ — her mother followed her out of the marquee —‘whatever happens, don’t...’ ‘What, mother?’ No, it was better not to put ideas into the child’s head.‘Nothing! Run long.’

It was beginning to get dark as Laura shut the garden gate. A big dog ran by like a shadow. The littlecottages were in a deep shade. How quiet it seemed after the excitement of the day. She was goingdown to a cottage where a man lay dead, and she couldn’t believe it. Why couldn’t she? She stoppedfor a moment. And it seemed that kisses, voices, laughter, the fresh smell of the grass were somehowinside her. She had no room for anything else. How strange! She looked up at the pale sky, and all shethought was, ‘Yes, it was the most successful party.’

She crossed the wide road and she was among the cottages. Men and women hurried past. Childrenplayed in the narrow streets. Noises came from inside the little cottages. In some there was lamp lightand shadows moved across the windows.

Laura bent her head and hurried on. People were staring at her dress and her black and gold hat. ‘If Ihad put on a coat, or if I was wearing different clothes, people wouldn’t stare at me,’ she thought. Itwas a mistake to come here; she had known all the time that it would be a mistake. Should she goback, even now?

No, it was too late. There was the house. It must be the one. There were people standing outside.Beside the gate a very old woman sat in a chair, watching. She had her feet on a newspaper. Thevoices stopped as Laura came near. They moved to one side to let her walk past. She felt that theywere expecting her.

Laura felt very shy and a bit frightened. ‘Is this Mrs Scott’s house?’ she asked a woman, whoanswered with a strange little smile, ‘It is, my girl.’

Oh, how she wanted to escape from this! But she walked up the tiny path and knocked at the door. I’lljust leave the basket and go, she decided. I won’t even wait for them to empty it.

Then the door opened. A short woman in black appeared.

Laura said, ‘Are you Mrs Scott?’ Laura was hoping that she could just leave the basket, but thewoman answered, ‘Come in, please, miss,’ and she could not leave.

‘No,’ said Laura, ‘I don’t want to come in. I only want to leave this basket. Mother sent —’

The short woman in the dark passage seemed not to hear her. 'This way, please, miss,’ she said in adeferential voice, and Laura followed her.

She found herself in a little low kitchen, lit by a smoky lamp. There was a woman sitting by the fire.

‘Emma,’ said the little creature who had let her in. ‘Emma! It’s a young lady.’ She turned to Laura.‘I’m her sister, miss,’ she said. ‘You’ll excuse her, won’t you?’

‘Oh, but of course!’ said Laura. ‘Please, please don’t disturb her. I only want to leave —’

But at that moment the woman by the fire turned around. Her face — red-eyed and wet — lookedterrible. She didn’t seem to understand why Laura was there. Why was a stranger standing inthe kitchen with a basket? And more tears fell from those poor red eyes.

‘Alright, my dear,’ said the sister. ‘I’ll thank the young lady.’ And she gave Laura a deferential smile.

Laura only wanted to get out, to get away. She went out into the dark passage and a door opened. Shewalked straight into the bedroom, where the dead man was lying.

‘You’d like to see him, wouldn’t you?’ said Emma’s sister. ‘Don’t be afraid, my girl. He looks like apicture. Not a mark on him. Come along, my dear.’

Laura went to the bed.

A young man lay there, asleep — sleeping so deeply that he was far, far away from them both. Sodistant, so peaceful. He was dreaming. His eyes were closed, deep in his dream. What did gardenparties and baskets and dresses mean to him? He was far away from all those things. He waswonderful, beautiful. While they were all laughing and the band was playing, this beautiful thing hadcome to the cottages. Happy... happy. All is well, said that sleeping face. This is what should happen.I am at rest.

But at the same time, it made you want to cry, and Laura couldn’t go out of the room without sayingsomething to him. She burst into tears, like a little girl.

‘Forgive my hat,’ she said.

And this time she didn’t wait for Emma’s sister. She found her way out of the house, past all thepeople. At the corner of the street she met Laurie.

He came out of the shadows, ‘is that you, Laura?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mother was getting worried. Was everything alright?’

‘Yes. Oh, Laurie!’ She ran to him and took his arm.

‘You’re not crying, are you?’ asked her brother.

Laura shook her head. She was.

Laurie put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Don’t cry,’ he said, in his warm, loving voice. ‘Was it

awful?’

‘No,’ said Laura. ‘It was absolutely wonderful. But Laurie — ’ She stopped and looked at her brother.

‘Isn’t life,’ she began, ‘isn’t life...’ But what life was, she couldn’t explain. It didn’t matter. She knewhe understood.

‘Isn’t it, darling?’ said Laurie.

The Singing Lesson

1

Miss Meadows walked down the cold corridors im that led to the music hall carrying a little baton 1and feeling as if there was a sharp knife buried deep in her heart. Girls of all ages, with pink cheeksand happy faces, were running to school on a beautiful autumn morning. From the classrooms camethe cheerful sound of young voices. Then a bell rang and a voice called, ‘Muriel!’.

The science teacher stopped Miss Meadows.

‘Good morning,’ she cried in her sweet, false voice. ‘Isn’t it cold?

It seems like winter.’

Miss Meadows, still feeling the knife in her heart, stared in hatred at the science teacher. Everythingabout her was sweet and pale — like honey. You almost expected to see a bee caught in her yellowhair.

‘It is quite cold,’ said Miss Meadows, with no friendliness in her voice.

The science teacher smiled her sweet smile.

'You look frozen,’ she said. Her blue eyes opened wide and there was an insulting light in them. “Hasshe noticed anything about me?” thought Miss Meadows.

‘Oh, it’s not that bad,’ said Miss Meadows, moving on down the corridor.

Classes four, five and six were sitting in the music hall and the noise was deafening. Mary Beazley,who played the piano and was Miss Meadows’ favourite pupil, was standing near it. When shesaw Miss Meadows arriving, she gave a loud warning, ‘Shush! Girls!’ Miss Meadows walked to themusic stand13 and put it in front of her. Then she tapped her baton twice on the music stand forsilence.

‘Silence, please!’ She looked at no one in particular; she could see the sea of coloured blouses, pinkfaces and open music books. She knew perfectly well what they were thinking. ‘Miss Meadows hasgot a problem.’ Well, let them think it! What could the thoughts of those girls possibly matter to

someone whose heart was broken by such a letter as she had received!

... ‘I feel more and more strongly that our marriage would be a mistake. It's not that I don'tlove you.

I Iove you as much as it is possible for me to love any woman. But I have come to theeoneJusion that I am not a man who can get marned, and the idea of doing so fills me withnothing but disgust'

and the word “disgust” was rubbed out, but not completely, and “regret” was written over the top.

Basil!

Miss Meadows walked to the piano. Mary Beazley, who was waiting for this moment, bent forwardas she whispered, ‘Good morning, Miss Meadows,’ and gave her teacher a beautiful yellow flower.She had given her music teacher a flower for over a term and a half. It was as much a part of themusic lesson as opening the piano. But this morning, instead of taking the flower and putting it in herbelt and saying, ‘Thank you, Mary. How very nice! Turn to page thirty-two,’ Miss Meadows ignoredthe flower, and with an icy voice she said, ‘Page fourteen, please.’

What a terrible moment! Mary blushed until there were tears in her eyes, but Miss Meadows had goneback to the music stand. Her voice could be heard through the music hall.

‘Page fourteen. We’ll begin with page fourteen. ‘A Lament.’ Girls, you ought to know it by now. We’lltake it all together; not in parts. And without expression. Sing it, quite simply.’

She raised the baton and tapped the music stand twice. Mary started playing the piano and the youngvoices sang:

Fast, too fast fade the roses of pleasure;

Soon autumn gives way to winter drear.14 Quickly, too quickly music's sweet measure Passes awayfrom the listening ear.

What could be more tragic than that lament! Every note was a sound of awful sadness. Miss Meadowsraised her arms and began to conduct with both hands. “I feel more and more strongly that ourmarriage would be a mistake...” she continued to think. What could have made him write such aletter? His previous letter was all about an old wooden bookcase that he had bought for “our” booksand an elegant little hat stand. That letter had made her smile. The girls continued singing.

‘Once again,’ said Miss Meadows. ‘But this time in parts. Still without expression.’ Fast, too fastfade the roses of pleasure. The last time he had come to see her, Basil wore a rose in hisbuttonhole. He looked very handsome in his blue suit, and he knew it too.

‘The headmaster’s wife always asks me to dinner, and I never have a free evening.’

'But can’t you refuse?’

‘Well, a man in my position mustn’t be unpopular.’

‘Music’s sweet measure,’ sang the voices. The trees outside the windows moved in the wind. Theyhad already lost half their leaves. “...I am not a man who can get married...” The girls’ voices weresilent: Mary, at the piano, waited.

‘Quite good,’ said Miss Meadows, in such a strange tone that the younger girls began to feelfrightened. ‘But now that we know it, we’ll sing it with expression; a lot of expression. Think of thewords, girls. Use your imagination. Fast too fast,' cried Miss Meadows. ‘That ought to be a loud,strong lament. And then in the second line. Winter drear, make that drear sound as if a coldwind were blowing through it. Dre-ear'. She said it so coldly that Mary, on the music stool, trembled.

‘The third line should be a crescendo. Quickly, too quickly music’s sweet measure. Remember tobreak on the first word of the last line, passes. And then on the word, away, you must begin todie... until the listening ear, which is nothing more than a whisper... you can slow down as much asyou like, almost on the last line. Now, please!’

2

Miss Meadows tapped the baton twice on the music stand and raised her arms again. Fast too fast. "...and the idea of doing so fills me with nothing but disgust —” “Disgust” was what he wrote, whichwas like saying that their engagement was definitely cancelled. Cancelled! Their engagement! Peoplewere quite surprised that she was engaged. The science teacher could not believe it at first. But noone was as surprised as she was. She was thirty. Basil was twenty-five. It was simply incredible tohear him say, ‘You know, somehow or other, I’m fond of you.’ The girls continued singing: Passesaway from the listening ear.

‘Repeat! Repeat!’ said Miss Meadows. ‘More expression, girls! Once more!’

Fast too fast. The older girls had red faces and some of the younger ones began to cry. Rain startedblowing against the windows, and the trees seemed to whisper, “...it’s not that I don’t love you...”

“But, my darling, if you love me,” thought Miss Meadows, “I don’t care how much it is. Love me aslittle as you like.” But she knew that he didn’t love her. He didn’t even care enough to rub out thatword “disgust” so that she couldn’t read it!

Soon Autumn gives way to winter drear. She would have to leave the school, too. She could neverface the science teacher, or the girls, after the news got around. She would have todisappear somewhere. Passes away. The voices began to die, to fade, to whisper... to disappear...

Suddenly the door opened. A little girl dressed in blue walked up the aisle,1 looking at the floor,biting her lips and playing with the silver bracelet on her little wrist. She came up the steps andstood before Miss Meadows.

‘Well, Monica, what is it?’

‘Oh, please, Miss Meadows,’ said the little girl breathing heavily, 'Miss Wyatt wants to see you in heroffice.’

‘Very well,’ said Miss Meadows. She looked at the girls and said, 'Please, just talk quietly while I’maway.’ But the girls were too sad to do anything else. Most of them were blowing their noses.

The corridors were silent and cold as she walked towards the office. The headmistress sat at her deskand did not look up immediately. ‘Sit down, Miss Meadows,’ she said very kindly. And then shepicked up a pink envelope from her desk. ‘I sent for you because this telegram has just arrived.’

‘A telegram for me, Miss Wyatt?’

Basil! He has committed suicide,2 Miss Meadows thought. She put out her hand to take it, but MissWyatt held the telegram back for a moment. ‘I hope it’s not bad news,’ she said. Miss Meadows tore itopen.

‘Pay no attention to letter! Must have been mad! Bought hat stand today! Basil,’ she read. She couldn’ttake her eyes off the telegram.

‘I do hope it’s nothing very serious,’ said Miss Wyatt, leaning forward.

‘Oh no, thank you, Miss Wyatt,’ blushed Miss Meadows. ‘It’s nothing bad at all. It’s’ — it’s from myfiance, saying that... saying that —’ There was a pause. ‘I see,’ said Miss Wyatt. There was anotherpause. ‘You’ve got fifteen more minutes in your class, Miss Meadows, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, Miss Wyatt.’ She got up and almost ran towards the door.

'Oh, just one minute, Miss Meadows,’ said Miss Wyatt. ‘I must say I don’t approve of my teachershaving telegrams sent to them during school hours, unless it’s an emergency, such as adeath,’ explained Miss Wyatt, ‘or a very bad accident. Good news, Miss Meadows, will have towait.’

Miss Meadows quickly went back to the music hall with hope, love and joy in her heart.

‘Page thirty-two, Mary,’ she said, ‘page thirty-two.’ She picked up the yellow flower and held it toher lips to hide her smile.

‘We come here today with beautiful flowers,

With baskets of fruit and ribbons as well,

To congratulate...’

‘Stop! Stop!’ cried Miss Meadows. ‘This is awful, this is dreadful.’ And she looked at the girlsexcitedly. ‘What’s the matter with you all? Think, girls, think of what you’re singing. Use your

imagination. With beautiful flowers. Baskets of fruit and ribbons as well. And congratulate.’ MissMeadows stopped. ‘Don’t look so gloomy,16 girls. This song ought to sound warm and happy. Alltogether!’

And this time Miss Meadows’ voice could be heard over all the other voices —full, and glowingwith expression.

A Cup of Tea

1

Rosemary Fell was not exactly beautiful. You OR couldn’t call her beautiful. Pretty? Well,perhaps... She was young, clever, very modern and exquisitely dressed in the latest fashion. She readthe latest books, and her parties were the most interesting mix of very important people, artists andunusual individuals.

Rosemary had been married for two years to a man who absolutely adored her. They were rich —extremely rich, not just well-off.18 When Rosemary wanted to go shopping she went to Paris, as if shewere going to Bond Street. If she wanted to buy flowers, her car stopped at the best shop in RegentStreet. She entered the shop and stared at all the flowers in amazement and then said, ‘I want thoseand those and those. Give me four bunches of those. And that jar of roses. No, no lilac... I hate lilac. Itdoesn’t have any shape.’

The shop assistants treated her with great respect and put the lilac away, where she could not see it.‘Give me those short little tulips. Those red and white ones.’ She left the shop and walked to her car,followed by a thin shop assistant, who struggled under the weight of an immense white paperpackage.

One winter afternoon she was buying something in a little antique shop in Curzon Street which sheparticularly iiked. The shop was usually empty and the shopkeeper was very fond of serving her.Whenever she came in he had a big smile on his face and was so pleased to see her that he couldhardly speak. This was flattery, of course.

'You see, madam,’ he explained in a low respectful tone of voice, ‘i love my things. I would rather notsell them to someone who does not appreciate beautiful things — good taste is so rare...’ He tooka tiny piece of blue velvet, placed it on the glass counter and unfolded it. An exquisite little enamelbox of great beauty appeared. He had kept it for her and had never shown it to anyone else. On thelid of the little box there was a tiny decoration with lovely colours. Rosemary took off her longgloves, like she always did when she was examining such things. Yes, she liked it very much; sheloved it. She decided that she must have it. As she was examining the little box she noticed howlovely her hands were against the blue velvet.

The shopkeeper gently said, ‘Permit me to point out the delicate flowers on the lid.’2

‘Lovely!’ said Rosemary, admiring the flowers. ‘But what is the price?’

‘Twenty-eight guineas,19 madam.’

‘Twenty-eight guineas,’ repeated Rosemary calmly. She put the little box down and put on her glovesagain. Twenty-eight guineas. Even if one is rich...

‘Well, keep it for me — will you? I’ll...’

The shopkeeper insisted that it would be a great pleasure for him to keep it for her.

Rosemary left the antique shop and stepped outside. She looked at the dark, rainy winter afternoon.The air was cold and bitter and the street lights looked sad. Rosemary felt uneasy and thought aboutthe little enamel box. Her car was there, across the street, but she waited. She felt like going homeand having a special tea. But just as she was thinking about the special tea, she noticed a thin younggirl standing by her elbow. Where did she come from? When the girl spoke, her voice was almost likea sob, ‘Madam, may I speak to you a moment?’

'Speak to me?’ Rosemary turned around. She saw a little tattered individual, with enormous eyes, whowas holding on to her coat collar with red hands and shaking because she was cold. She wasprobably no older than Rosemary.

‘M-madam,’ she said with a shaky voice, ‘can you give me some money for a cup of tea?’

‘A cup of tea?’ Her voice was simple and sincere: it wasn’t like the voice of a beggar.

‘Then you haven’t got any money,’ asked Rosemary.

‘None, madam,’ replied the girl.

'How extraordinary!’ said Rosemary, as the girl stared at her. How very extraordinary! SuddenlyRosemary thought that this was an adventure. It was like something out of a novel by Dostoevsky, 20

whose stories often contained unlikely, romantic events. Suppose she took the girl home and did oneof those things she always read about? What would happen? It would be exciting. She could tell herfriends about it. ‘Come home to tea with me.’

The girl stepped back, surprised. Rosemary put out a hand and touched her arm. ‘Please come withme now in my car and have tea!’ she said, smiling.

‘You — you don’t mean it,21 madam,’ said the girl, in a low, sad voice.

‘But I do,’ cried Rosemary. ‘I want you to come with me. Come along.’

The girl, who was confused, put her fingers to her lips and her eyes studied Rosemary. ‘You’re —you’re not taking me to the police station?’ she asked.

‘The police station!’ Rosemary laughed. ‘Why should I be so cruel? No, I only want to make you feelbetter in a warm home and listen to anything you want to tell me.’

It was easy to convince a hungry person. The driver held the door of the car open and a moment laterthey were riding through the dark, rainy evening.

‘There!’ said Rosemary. She felt successful as she looked at the girl she had met, and very kind. Shewas going to show this girl that wonderful things happened in life — that rich people had hearts andthat all women were sisters. Rosemary looked at her and said, ‘Don’t be frightened. After all, whyshouldn’t you come home with me? We’re both women. If I’m luckier than you, you ought to expect...’

But luckily at that moment the car stopped, because she didn’t know how her sentence was going toend.

2

Rosemary rang the bell and a servant opened the HE front door. Rosemary showed the girl inwarmly. It was fascinating to watch the girl’s reaction to the warmth, light and sweet scent that shewas used to and didn’t even notice anymore.

‘Come, come upstairs,’ said Rosemary, who wanted to begin to show her generosity, 'Come up to myroom.’ And, besides, she didn’t want the servants to stare at the poor little thing. As she climbedthe stairs, she decided to take her coat and hat off by herself, without calling Jeanne, her maid. It wasimportant to be natural.

‘There!’ cried Rosemary again, as they reached her beautiful big bedroom. The fire in the fireplacethrew a golden light on her expensive furniture, her cushions and her blue and pale yellow carpets.

The girl stood just inside the door and seemed amazed, but Rosemary didn’t mind that.

‘Come and sit down in this comfortable chair,’ she cried, pulling her big chair up to the fire. ‘Comeand get warm. You look terribly cold.’

‘I — I really can’t,’ said the girl, and she moved backwards.

'Oh, please,’ said Rosemary, going towards her, ‘you mustn’t be frightened, really. Sit down, andwhen I’ve taken off my things we’ll go into the next room and have tea. Why are you afraid?’. And shegently pushed the thin girl into the comfortable chair.

But there was no answer. The girl stayed just where Rosemary had put her, with her hands by hersides and her mouth half way open. Actually, she looked rather stupid, but Rosemary didn’t want toadmit it to herself. She looked at her head and said, ‘Why don’t you take off your hat? Your pretty hairis all wet. It’s much more comfortable without a hat, don’t you agree?’

There was a whisper that sounded like, ‘Very well, 1 will’ and the old hat was taken off.

‘And let me help you take off your coat, too,’ said Rosemary.

The girl stood up. But she held on to the chair with one hand and let Rosemary pull off the coat. It was

quite an effort, since the girl hardly helped her. She seemed to hesitate, like a child. Rosemary thoughtthat if people wanted help they must respond a little, otherwise it became very difficult. Then the girlsaid quickly, but strangely, ‘I’m very sorry madam, but I’m going to faint, if I don’t have something toeat.’

‘Goodness! How thoughtless 1 am!’ Rosemary rushed to the bell.

‘Tea! Tea at once! And some brandy30 immediately!’

But the girl almost cried out, ‘No, 1 don’t want brandy. I never drink brandy. I just want a cup of tea,madam.’ And she started crying.

‘Don’t cry, poor little thing,’ she said. ‘Don’t cry.’ And she gave the girl her silk handkerchief. Shewas too moved to speak. She put her arms around those thin, bird-like shoulders.

Now, at least, the girl forgot to be shy; she forgot everything except that they were both women. Shecried out, ‘I can’t go on like this. I simply can’t! 1 don’t know what to do with myself.’

‘I’ll look after you. Don’t cry any more. It was such a good thing that you met me. We’ll have sometea and you’ll tell me everything. And I’ll arrange something; I promise. Please stop crying. It’sso tiring. Please!’

The girl stopped in time, just before the tea came. Rosemary placed the tea table between them andmade sure that the poor girl had plenty of sandwiches and bread and butter. Every time her cup wasempty she filled it with tea, cream and sugar. Rosemary didn’t eat; she looked away so that the girlwould not feel shy.

The effect of that small meal was wonderful. When the tea table was carried away, the thin little girlwith tangled31 hair, dark lips and deep eyes lay back in the chair with a pleasant, relaxed look.Rosemary then lit a cigarette; it was time to begin.

‘When did you have your last meal?’ she asked softly.

But at that moment the door opened.

‘Rosemary, may I come in?’ It was Philip, her husband.

‘Of course.’

He came in. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said, and stopped and stared.

‘It’s alright,’ said Rosemary, smiling. 'This is my friend, Miss —’

‘Smith, madam,’ said the visitor, who was strangely still and not afraid.

‘Smith,’ said Rosemary. ‘We’re going to have a little talk.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Philip, looking at the coat and hat on the floor. He stood with his back to the fire.

‘It’s an awful afternoon,’ he said, still looking at the hands and boots of the young girl, and then atRosemary again.

‘Yes, it is,’ Rosemary said enthusiastically. ‘Terrible.’

Philip smiled and said, ‘As a matter of fact, I wanted you to come into the library for a moment.Would you? Will Miss Smith excuse us?’

The girl raised her big eyes to him, but Rosemary answered for her, ‘Of course she will.’ And theywent out of the room together.

When Philip and Rosemary were alone, he said, ‘Can you explain what’s going on? Who is she?’

Rosemary laughed and said, ‘I met her in Curzon Street. Really, I did. She’s a very interestingdiscovery. She asked me for some money for a cup of tea, and I brought her home with me.’

‘But what are you going to do with her?’ cried Philip.

‘I’m going to be nice to her,’ Rosemary said quickly. ‘Be terribly nice to her. Look after her. I don’tknow how. We haven’t talked yet. But I want to show her — treat her — make her feel —’

‘My darling girl,’ said Philip, ‘you’re quite mad, you know. It simply can’t be done.’

‘I knew you’d say that,’ replied Rosemary angrily. ‘Why not? I want to. Isn’t that a reason? Andbesides, I’m always reading about these things, so I decided —’

‘But,’ said Philip slowly, ‘she’s very pretty.’

‘Pretty?’ Rosemary was so surprised that she blushed. ‘Do you think so? I — I hadn’t thought aboutit.’

‘Goodness! She’s absolutely lovely. Look at her again. I was strongly attracted to her when I cameinto your room. However... I think you’re making a big mistake. Sorry, darling, if I’m unkind to you.’Then he added, ‘But let me know if Miss Smith is going to dine with us so that I can dress properlyfor the occasion.’

‘You’re silly!’ said Rosemary, and she went out of the library, but she did not go back to her bedroomand Miss Smith. She went to her study and sat down at her desk. Very pretty! Absolutely lovely! I wasstrongly attracted to her when I came into your room. Her heart beat like a heavy bell. Pretty!Lovely! She took her cheque book, but realized that a cheque would be of no use to the girl. Sheopened a drawer and took out five pound notes, looked at them, put two back and holding three notesin her hand, she went back to her bedroom.

Half an hour later Philip was still in the library when Rosemary came in.

‘I only wanted to tell you,’ she said, standing by the door, ‘Miss Smith won’t dine with us tonight.’

Philip put down the paper. ‘Oh, what happened? Does Miss Smith have another dinner date?’

Rosemary came over and sat down on his knee. ‘She insisted on going,’ Rosemary said, ‘so I gave thepoor little thing a present of money. I certainly couldn’t keep her here, could 1?’

Rosemary had just done her hair, put on eye makeup and was wearing her pearls. She touched Philip’scheeks.

‘Do you like me?’ she asked, and her sweet, low tone annoyed him. ‘I like you terribly,’ he said andhe held her tighter. ‘Kiss me.’ There was a pause.

Then Rosemary said dreamily, ‘1 saw a fascinating little box today. It cost twenty-eight guineas. MayI have it?’

Philip smiled and said, ‘You may, my spoilt little girl.’

But that was not really what Rosemary wanted to say.

‘Philip,’ she whispered, and she pressed his head against her chest, ‘am 1 pretty?’