The Middle Age of Mrs Eliot (51 page)

Meg, then, was a welcome companion. He suspected that he
estimated
her appreciation. and her knowledge more highly than was justified because she always seemed to ask the questions that he found worth answering and to minimize the faults that he thought
inconsiderable
. Her enthusiasm was unashamed and he decided that it was not sentimental to find this refreshing. Also she took the social aspect of Glyndebourne for granted with an entirely neutral acceptance, and made him, perhaps for the first time, entirely at ease with it.

June, then, when it brought them together, did so entirely and satisfactorily. July kept them largely apart. As the end of term
approached
she began to return later in the evenings, often staying for dinner with the Rogersons. She even went to Fred Rogerson’s house on two Sundays to cope with arrears of work. When David
did
see
her, she was full of talk of the school and of Fred and Joan. Fred, she told him, was a different person as soon as he got down to school affairs.

‘Different from what?’ he asked.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’m afraid I can’t take all his political and “local culture” activities very seriously. It’s fascinating to me because, never having met that sort of professional progressive, it was that aspect that made me interested in him. But he’s largely a fool in such things, David, or perhaps I should say very conventional – only I’m not used to the convention. He’s what I imagine Tory people mean by a typical
New
Statesman
reader. But the truth is he’s not really
interested
; he does it all out of habit. Don’t tell Else I said so. Joan’s quite different. Her emotions dominate her intelligence, but she cares about it all, and in so much of it, I think, she’s right. But he
doesn’t
. And as a result, he’s unbearably pompous in things outside the school and, of course, Joan’s admiration for him doesn’t help. In fact, he’s like that a bit with all adults because he feels at a disadvantage. But as soon as there’s anything to do with the girls or the boys, he becomes a very impressive person indeed, I think …’

David thought that this view of Fred Rogerson’s virtues, if
somewhat
a stereotype of those of a good schoolmaster, was probably true, but as he had no interest whatever in the school, it did not alter his view that the Rogersons were slightly tiresome bores. He was
interested
and a little moved to see the ardour with which Meg came to what were, after all, somewhat trite conclusions. She’s like a child in her ardours, he thought, and realized that it was the mixture of
simplicity
and sophistication in her that he liked. He was pleased to know that she was there, talking with enthusiasm about her new life; he heard her with amusement once or twice trying to fuse her
admiration
for Fred Rogerson with Else’s, although their reasons for liking him were entirely opposed; but, on the whole, he ceased to do more than pretend to listen. Indeed, once or twice the pretence was not well maintained, for Meg said, ‘Oh dear, David, I didn’t think
secondary-modern
schools were going to bore you so much,’ and again. ‘It’s not fair. I should listen if you told me all about that old electrical mistmaker, but you’re so unselfish, you never do.’

It seemed to him, however, that the value of Meg’s presence there was made surer by the fact that he still welcomed it when their
interests
diverged.

When term ended, Else gave him to understand that Meg would
go on with Fred Rogerson in the autumn; and Eileen told him that Fred had secured the agreement of the Education Committee to the establishment of a second secretary. Meg said nothing that
suggested
she would not continue; indeed she talked of the events of the winter term – the school play, for instance – as matters of interest to her. She made the suggestion that she should take a holiday in
London
for the last two weeks of August, but the plan came to nothing: because on August 10th Else received a telephone call from
Birmingham
to say that Gordon’s mother had had a stroke. There were nurses, there was recovery of movement and of speech to be expected; but still there was need of Else. She left an hour later. She was in tears. ‘I have always taken Ada for granted,’ she said, ‘and I know what being taken for granted means.’

Meg agreed to give up her London plan and take over Else’s work in her absence. Else left a careful list of what had to be done. David, going over it with Meg, was appalled at how much there was and how much he and Gordon had come to accept it. Else kept house for them, shopped, did much of the cooking, and yet two days a week managed to act as secretary and wages clerk for the nursery. Every job she did was carefully ordered by the most exact system of timetables and cash books. He thought of the irony of her parting words: she
supposed
that he and Gordon took her personality for granted, when in fact, they had lavished much care and thought on understanding her and accommodating their lives to her edged character; yet this mass of work which they had so selfishly disregarded, she did without considering that anyone need be grateful to her.

After the first week of doing Else’s jobs, Meg said, ‘I really don’t know how she fills in her time, David. Of course, all these little books she keeps spin things out. But even so …’

He said, ‘But Meg, I was appalled at what she does. And the little books are surely models of neatness and exactitude.’

‘Of course, they are,’ she answered, laughing. ‘They’re the sort of things a little girl would invent when playing at “keeping houses”. I’m sure it’s something Freudian, only I don’t know the name for it.’

He asked her earnestly, ‘Well, do keep them up to date, please, Meg. It’s Else’s job and she mustn’t be made to feel you don’t regard it seriously.’

She looked for a moment as though she would object, then she said, ‘Of course, if you say so, David. The dear little books shall be my only concern. After all, as you say, it’s her affair if she likes to
spend all day on this sort of thing. I never thought, David, I’d be a locum tenens. Do you remember how Mother loved that
expression
? She must have had a series of absentee doctors, she was forever calling in locum tenenses or whatever the plural is. It was one of my mystery words as a child. And now I’m locum tenens for Else Bode. Well, well! Secondary modern schools, locum tenenses, wages clerk, there’s no end to what life holds in store.’

He saw all the same that she was enjoying herself. And he, too, enjoyed her housekeeping. It was not only that the food was better, he had expected that; it was also that she was more obtrusive than Else; she frequently discussed household affairs with him and he thoroughly enjoyed the discussions. Poor Else! She prided herself on her unobtrusive management of the house. Mrs Boniface was
enthusiastic
about the new regime. ‘I must say it’s nice to have things done with a bit of life. And someone who tells you what they like and what they don’t like before it’s done and not after.’

David said with that sort of mock solemnity which is meant to be taken seriously, ‘Mrs Boniface, Miss Bode will be coming back in a few weeks, you know.’

She winked at him. ‘Oh, don’t you worry, Miss Bode and me get on all right. I just said it was nice to have a change.’

As to Meg’s efficiency with the Nursery correspondence, both Climbers and Tom said that inevitably Meg’s being professional made an enormous difference.

David had been more moved than he expected when he had heard that Mrs Paget’s twisted old oak tree had been struck down. He was anxious, in any case, to hear that, since death was not yet to release her, she should be mistress once more of her eccentric, purposeful movements. But now her quick recovery seemed to him even more urgent, so that Else could return before opposition to her rule had hardened into partisan lines. Perhaps what he feared most was his own defection. He mistrusted the strength of his loyalty against the
presure
of his wishes. Knowing that his very recognition of this
self-mistrust
was a step towards its realization, he hoped that Else would return very soon.

Mrs Paget recovered enough to ‘get about’ by the first week in September and Else returned. Her loneliness assuaged by having been of use, she was at her best; and faced by this best the consciences of all at Andredaswood were roused to make her welcome. Meg had kept faithfully to her promise over the little books. Else, reassured by this
attention of her totems, felt her suspicions of Meg fading. Everything, David thought, was well: loyalty had been saved.

Meg went to London for the last week of the holidays. The
Rogersons
too were away at a summer school until two days before term. It was exactly then that Meg, returning to Andredaswood, announced that she would not be returning to the school. Fred Rogerson, she said, did not want her.

The outcry against the Rogersons was loud and immediate. David said little, wishing only that he had exerted his influence to prevent Meg from taking a job before she was ready, to have saved her a humiliation that might well retard the recovery of her self-confidence. For all the honeyed words that had been spoken, he had no doubt that she had proved unequal to the job. The vacillation and evasion with which Fred Rogerson had dismissed her was all that he could truly blame, and these did not surprise him. Else was strongest in her
condemnation
. All the idealism she had found in the Rogersons was
forgotten
, she saw once more only their shallow materialism. She remembered above all a picnic on a summer afternoon of especial beauty when Fred had discoursed to them on the paramount
importance
of the teachers’ new wage claim. Eileen was almost as
distressed
. ‘The truth is,’ she said, ‘that Fred’s got more and more tied up with these political summer schools and things and he’s letting the school go to pot.’ She remembered suddenly a number of complaints that various parents had been making in the last months. All this they said to David. No one liked to speak to Meg about it, because behind her calm acceptance of the rebuff and her refusal to say more than that Fred Rogerson presumably knew what he needed, they sensed that her self-esteem had been badly wounded. Silence seemed best.

In the second week in September Eileen telephoned to David and asked him to come over that afternoon. He entered the toy– and nappy-strewn contemporary sitting room to find Eileen looking like a schoolboy unfairly punished, Tim trying to look grave, and Else, the more severe for the mannish felt hat she wore when visiting, looking like a schoolmistress who’s been ‘let down’.

Tim offered a drink as one who feels that, despite a death in the house, the duties of host must be observed; but Eileen brushed such concessions aside.

‘We don’t want to make a mountain out of a molehill, David,’ she said, ‘but Mrs Eliot’s behaved pretty badly.’

Tim said, ‘But look here, darling, she’s been very ill, you know.’

Else said,’ ‘All this is for David to decide. It is a matter only for him.’

Then what are you doing here? David thought. He felt disgusted and very angry at their interference in Meg’s affairs, whatever might be the cause.

He said, ‘Look, Eileen, all of you. This sort of thing has got to stop. Meg’s affairs are entirely her own concern. If you’ve got some objection to something she’s done, you must speak to her.’

‘I’m sorry, David,’ Eileen said with an off hand, no nonsense laugh, ‘I’m afraid this is very much our concern. Certainly mine. I won’t speak for anybody else. Else and I got her the job with Fred
Rogerson
, and she’s let us down very badly.’

Tim’s attempt at gravity had broken down into plain embarrassed gloom.

Else said in an artificially soft voice, ‘David, surely you must see that it would be a very bad thing if I or Eileen were to talk to your sister about this business. I think maybe she is ill. There is certainly
something
not open in her conduct over this that seems not quite healthy.’

He said, ‘I think you’re both talking a lot of nonsense. But now that I’m here, you’d better tell me what it’s all about.’

Eileen made it as a public announcement. ‘Mrs Eliot has let us think that Fred Rogerson promised to keep her on next term and then
withdrew
his promise at a moment’s notice. She made us think very badly of old friends and to say so to a number of people. In fact, we now learn that he was only too glad to keep her on and that she refused.’

Tim intervened. ‘I think you must take into account, darling, that Mrs E, didn’t want to work late in the evenings and …’

David said angrily, ‘I don’t want to hear any more about this, taking into account or no taking into account. It has nothing to do with any of you. Nothing to do with anybody but Meg.’

Else said, ‘Oh, David!’ as though reproving an excited child.

‘You seem to have no consideration for us whatever,’ Eileen cried, ‘I’m sorry, Else may be right and one of us speaking to Mrs Eliot may well upset her. But I’m afraid I can’t help that. If you won’t say
anything
to her, I shall demand some explanation from her.’

David banged his fist on the formica-topped table in front of him so that its little contemporary steel-tube legs rattled. ‘You will not say a word to her about this. It’s your own fault if you’ve gossiped about the Rogersons. Do you understand?’ he shouted. ‘You’ll leave my sister alone.’

He got up and walked from the room. As he left, he could see
astonishment at his show of anger in all their faces, but happily it was an astonished alarm that would keep them silent. And well they might be amazed, he thought. He had not lost his temper in this way for ten or fifteen years. That he had done so now depressed him more than any other aspect of the affair.

To address Meg in almost monosyllabic speech was Else’s only
protest
after David’s show of anger. To David’s distress, Meg showed no surprise; it was clear that she was fully aware of the cause. David tried to avoid any moral judgement on her behaviour. Such blame as had attached to the Rogersons had been largely contributed by their friends, Else and Eileen; Meg had said that it was Fred’s own affair. If the blame had been bruited abroad, that was entirely the fault of gossiping, with which he had no sympathy. Meg had been reticent with all of them, even with him; there was no reason why she should not be. Only one thing struck him painfully: he was certain that she was aware of his increased sympathy for her as a result of the
supposed
snub, and she had welcomed, almost encouraged it. It was
behaviour
so contrary to all she had said. Their relationship must be one hundred per cent, guaranteed all mutual honesty, she had said so
herself
; that was its justification. Yet, the word formed in his mind, he thought, that may be the
justification
for my purchasing it, but its value is something quite different. I don’t even know what, but nothing to do with mutual honesty. The suggestion that the
metaphor
aroused of his comparative wealth and her indigence, the realization that he had left his apartness for a relationship that held him by motives he couldn’t define, that did not stand on the sureties of complete openness that had been his familiar ground with Gordon, all combined to alarm him. At least, he thought, if I can’t retreat, I mustn’t commit myself further; yet his hurt feelings would not allow him to leave her disingenuous treatment of him unexplored.