Short Stories (70 page)

'Thank God for that!' said Mrs Griffith, piously.

'Well, what d'you think I did? I went straight up to her and looked her full in the face. But d'you think she moved a muscle? She simply looked at me as if she'd never set eyes on me before. Well, I was taken aback, I can tell you. I thought she'd faint. Not a bit of it.'

'No, I know Daisy,' said Mrs Griffith; 'you think she's this
and that, because she looks at you with those blue eyes of hers, as if she
couldn't say boo to a goose, but she's got the very devil inside her ... Well,
I shall tell her father that, just so as to let him see what she has come
to ...'

The existence of the Griffith household went on calmly. Husband and wife and son led their life in the dull little fishing town, the seasons passed insensibly into one another, one year slid gradually into the next; and the five years that went by seemed like one long, long day. Mrs Griffith did not alter an atom; she performed her housework, went to church regularly, and behaved like a Christian woman in that state of life in which a merciful Providence had been pleased to put her. George got married, and on Sunday afternoons could be seen wheeling an infant in a perambulator along the street. He was a good husband and an excellent father. He never drank too much, he worked well, he was careful of his earnings, and he also went to church regularly; his ambition was to become churchwarden after his father. And even in Mr Griffith there was not so very much change. He was more bowed, his hair and beard were greyer. His face was set in an expression of passive misery, and he was extremely silent. But as Mrs Griffith said:

'Of course, he's getting old. One can't expect to remain young for ever' – she was a woman who frequently said profound things – 'and I've known all along he wasn't the sort of man to make old bones. He's never had the go in him that I have. Why, I'd make two of him.'

The Griffiths were not so well-to-do as before. As Black-stable became a more important health resort, a regular undertaker opened a shop there; and his window, with two little model coffins and an arrangement of black Prince of Wales's feathers surrounded by a white wreath, took the fancy of the natives, so that Mr Griffith almost completely lost the most remunerative part of his business. Other carpenters sprang into existence and took away much of the trade.

'I've no patience with him,' said Mrs Griffith of her husband. 'He's let these newcomers come along and just take the bread out of his hands. Oh, if I was a man, I'd make things different, I can tell you! He doesn't seem to care ...'

At last, one day George came to his mother in a state of tremendous excitement.

'I say, Mother, you know the pantomime they've got at Tercanbury this week?'

'Yes.'

'Well, the principal boy's Daisy.'

Mrs Griffith sank into a chair, gasping.

'Harry Ferne's been, and he recognized her at once. It's all over the town.'

Mrs Griffith, for the first time in her life, was completely at a loss for words.

'Tomorrow's the last night,' added her son, after a little while, 'and all the Blackstable people are going.'

'To think that this should happen to me!' said Mrs Griffith, distractedly. 'What have I done to deserve it? Why couldn't it happen to Mrs Garman or Mrs Jay? If the Lord had seen fit to bring it upon them – well, I shouldn't have wondered.'

'Edith wants us to go,' said George – Edith was his wife.

'You don't mean to say you're going, with all the Black-stable people there?'

'Well, Edith says we ought to go, just to show them we don't care.'

'Well, I shall come too!' cried Mrs Griffith.

Next evening half Blackstable took the special train to Tercanbury, which had
been put on for the pantomime, and there was such a crowd at the doors that
the impresario half thought of extending his stay. The Rev. Charles Gray and
Mrs Gray were there, also James, their nephew. Mr Gray had some scruples about
going to a theatre, but his wife said a pantomime was quite different; besides,
curiosity may gently enter even a clerical bosom. Miss Reed was there in black
satin, with her friend Mrs Howlett; Mrs Griffith sat in the middle of the
stalls, flanked by her dutiful son and her daughter-in-law; and George searched
for female beauty with his opera-glass, which is quite the proper thing to
do on such occasions ...

The curtain went up, and the villagers of Dick Whtittington's
native place sang a chorus.

'Now she's coming,' whispered George.

All those Blackstable hearts stood still. And Daisy, as Dick Whittington, bounded on the stage – in flesh-coloured tights, with particularly scanty trunks, and her bodice – rather low. The vicar's nephew sniggered, and Mrs Gray gave him a reproachful glance; all the other Blackstable people looked pained; Miss Reed blushed. But as Daisy waved her hand and gave a kick, the audience broke out into prolonged applause; Tercanbury people have no moral sense, although Tercanbury is a cathedral city.

Daisy began to sing:

I'm a jolly sort of boy, tol,
lol, And I don't care a damn who knows it.

I'm fond of every joy, tol, lol,
As you may very well suppose it.

Tol, lol, lol,
Tol, lol, lol.

Then the audience, the audience of a cathedral city, as Mr Gray said, took up the refrain:

Tol, lol, lol,
Tol, lol, lol.

However, the piece went on to the bitter end, and Dick Whittington appeared in many different costumes and sang many songs, and kicked many kicks, till he was finally made Lord Mayor – in tights.

Ah, it was an evening of bitter humiliation for Blackstable people. Some of them, as Miss Reed said, behaved scandalously; they really appeared to enjoy it. And even George laughed at some of the jokes the cat made, though his wife and his mother sternly reproved him.

'I'm ashamed of you, George, laughing at such a time!' they said.

Afterwards the Grays and Miss Reed got into the same railway carriage with the Griffiths.

'Well, Mrs Griffith,' said the vicar's wife, 'what do you think of your daughter now?'

'Mrs Gray,' replied Mrs Griffith, solemnly, 'I haven't got a daughter.'

'That's a very proper spirit in which to look at it,' answered the lady ... 'She was simply covered with diamonds.'

'They must be worth a fortune,' said Miss Reed.

'Oh, I dare say they're not real,' said Mrs Gray; 'at that distance and with the limelight, you know, it's very difficult to tell.'

'I'm sorry to say,' said Mrs Griffith, with some asperity, feeling the doubt almost an affront to her, 'I'm sorry to say that I
know
they're real.'

The ladies coughed discreetly, scenting a little scandalous mystery which they must get out of Mrs Griffith at another opportunity.

'My nephew James says she earns at least thirty to forty pounds a week.'

Miss Reed sighed at the thought of such depravity.

'It's very sad,' she remarked, 'to think of such things happening
to a fellow creature ...'

'But what I can't understand,' said Mrs Gray, next morning, at the breakfast-table, 'is how she got into such a position. We all know that at one time she was to be seen in – well, in a very questionable place, at an hour which left no doubt about her – her means of livelihood. I must say I thought she was quite lost ...'

'Oh well, I can tell you that easily enough,' replied her nephew. 'She's being kept by Sir Somebody Something, and he's running the show for her.'

'James, I wish you would be more careful about your language. It's not necessary to call a spade a spade, and you can surely find a less objectionable expression to explain the relationship between the persons ... Don't you remember his name?'

'No; I heard it, but I've really forgotten.'

'I see in this week's
Tercanbury Times
that there's a Sir Herbert Ously-Farrowham staying at the George just now.'

'That's it. Sir Herbert Ously-Farrowham.'

'How sad! I'll look him out in Burke.'

She took down the reference book, which was kept beside the clergy list.

'Dear me, he's only twenty-nine ... And he's got a house in Cavendish Square and a house in the country. He must be very well-to-do; and he belongs to the Junior Carlton and two other clubs ... And he's got a sister who's married to Lord Edward Lake.' Mrs Gray closed the book and held it with a finger to mark the place, like a Bible. 'It's very sad to think of the dissipation of so many members of the aristocracy. It sets such a bad example to the lower classes.'

They showed old Griffith a portrait of Daisy in her theatrical costume.

'Has she come to that?' he said.

He looked at it a moment, then savagely tore it in pieces and flung it in the fire.

'Oh, my God!' he groaned; he could not get out of his head
the picture, the shamelessness of the costume, the smile, the evident prosperity
and content. He felt now that he had lost his daughter indeed. All these years
he had kept his heart open to her, and his heart had bled when he thought
of her starving, ragged, perhaps dead. He had thought of her begging her bread
and working her beautiful hands to the bone in some factory. He had always
hoped that some day she could return to him, purified by the fire of suffering
... But she was prosperous and happy and rich. She was applauded, worshipped;
the papers were full of her praise. Old Griffith was filled with a feeling
of horror, of immense repulsion. She was flourishing in her sin, and he loathed
her. He had been so ready to forgive her when he thought her despairing and
unhappy; but now he was implacable.

Three months later Mrs Griffith came to her husband, trembling with excitement, and handed him a cutting from a paper:

We hear that Miss Daisy Griffith, who earned golden opinions in the provinces
last winter with her Dick Whittington, is about to be married to Sir Herbert
Ously-Farrow-ham. Her friends, and their name is legion, will join with us
in the heartiest congratulations.

He returned the paper without answering.

'Well?' asked his wife.

'It is nothing to me. I don't know either of the parties mentioned.'

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Mrs Gray and Miss Reed entered, having met on the doorstep. Mrs Griffith at once regained her self-possession.

'Have you heard the news, Mrs Griffith?' said Miss Reed.

'D'you mean about the marriage of Sir Herbert Ously-Farrowham?' She mouthed the long name.

'Yes,' replied the two ladies together.

'It is nothing to me ... I have no daughter, Mrs Gray.'

'I'm sorry to hear you say that, Mrs Griffith,' said Mrs Gray very stiffly. 'I think you show a most unforgiving spirit.'

'Yes,' said Miss Reed; 'I can't help thinking that if you'd treated poor Daisy in a – well, in a more
Christian
way, you might have saved her from a great deal.'

'Yes,' added Mrs Gray. 'I must say that all through I don't think you've shown a nice spirit at all. I remember poor, dear Daisy quite well, and she had a very sweet character. And I'm sure that if she'd been treated a little more gently, nothing of all this would have happened.'

Mrs Gray and Miss Reed looked at Mrs Griffith sternly and reproachfully; they felt themselves like God Almighty judging a miserable sinner. Mrs Griffith was extremely angry; she felt that she was being blamed most unjustly, and, moreover, she was not used to being blamed.

'I'm sure you're very kind, Mrs Gray and Miss Reed, but I must take the liberty of saying that I know best what my daughter was.'

'Mrs Griffith, all I say is this – you are not a good mother.'

'Excuse me, madam ...' said Mrs Griffith, having grown red with anger; but Mrs Gray interrupted.

'I am truly sorry to have to say it to one of my parishioners, but you are not a good Christian. And we all know that your husband's business isn't going at all well, and I think it's a judgement of Providence.'

'Very well, ma'am,' said Mrs Griffith getting up. 'You're at liberty to think what you please, but I shall not come to church again. Mr Friend, the Baptist minister, has asked me to go to his chapel, and I'm sure he won't treat me like that.'

'I'm sure we don't want you to come to church in that spirit, Mrs Griffith. That's not the spirit with which you can please God, Mrs Griffith. I can quite imagine now why dear Daisy ran away. You're no Christian.'

'I'm sure I don't care what you think, Mrs Gray, but I'm as good as you are.'

'Will you open the door for me, Mrs Griffith?' said Mrs Gray, with outraged dignity.

'Oh, you can open it yourself, Mrs Gray!' replied Mrs Griffith.

Mrs Griffith went to see her daughter-in-law.

'I've never been spoken to in that way before,' she said. 'Fancy me not being a Christian! I'm a better Christian than Mrs Gray, any day. I like Mrs Gray, with the airs she gives herself – as if she'd got anything to boast about ...! No, Edith, I've said it, and I'm not the woman to go back on what I've said – I'll not go to church again. From this day I go to chapel.'

But George came to see his mother a few days later.

'Look here, Mother, Edith says you'd better forgive Daisy now.'

'George,' cried his mother, 'I've only done my duty all through, and if you think it's my duty to forgive my daughter now she's going to enter the bonds of holy matrimony, I will do so. No one can say that I'm not a Christian, and I haven't said the Lord's Prayer night and morning ever since I remember for nothing.'

Mrs Griffith sat down to write, looking up to her son for inspiration.

'Dearest Daisy!' he said.

'No, George,' she replied, 'I'm not going to cringe to my daughter, although she is going to be a lady; I shall simply say, "Daisy."'

The letter was very dignified, gently reproachful, for Daisy had undoubtedly committed certain peccadilloes, although she was going to be a baronet's wife; but still it was completely forgiving, and Mrs Griffith signed herself, 'Your loving and forgiving mother, whose heart you nearly broke.'