Edge had retired for the treat of the day, a cigarette. Because one of these made her feel she had both feet up on mantelpiece, she usually kept herself to the one, night and day. It was delicious, so bad for her heart she even had the sensation she was drunk, and this evening, in the Sanctum, as a special, exceptional indulgence, she had started on another immediately the first was finished. And had no sooner done so before she heard leather shuffled outside. Upon which, while she could hardly get so far for that heavenly lassitude she inhaled, she went over to the door, pushed it wide, and came face to face with the sage.
Light was dark in the passage. He must have had difficulty to get along it to collect the rubber boots. And, as she swayed at his unexpected appearance, she found, without surprise, she now had nothing but pity for the old man.
She leant, a lightweight against a doorjamb, he brittle and heavy against the wall over on the side away from her.
"I'm off home," he announced abruptly, curious, for his part, to find he no longer seemed to hate the woman, all the go gone out of him.
"Why so soon, Mr Rock?" she asked, the butterfly gently fluttering in a vein at one of her temples, from the cigarette.
"Passed my bedtime," he lied.
"Won't you come in for a minute?" she invited, by the entrance to the Sanctum, then took another long draw at the weed to exquisitely drain more blood from her thin limbs. He made no move however.
"Can't help but worry about my cat," he replied, at random. "If I don't get her in she'll be out all night."
"Ah yes," she said, "the splendid creature."
"She comes over here such a deal," he added, rather petulant.
"So sweet," the Principal agreed, still with no trace of irony, speaking as though from another existence. Mr Rock was amazed. He had never known the woman so amenable. And then he himself could hear so well, away from the music.
"And has your granddaughter enjoyed it?" Edge enquired. Ah well, he thought, day is done, this is a truce.
"Liz? Of course she is older than the others."
"I saw her take the floor with Sebastian," the Principal said, in an approving voice.
"Those two are great friends," Mr Rock agreed, cautiously.
"I'd much like to have a little chat with you one day about that young man," Edge suggested, gentle, undangerously soft. The sage was not yet to be drawn, however.
"Yes?" he asked, to gain time.
With a languorous gesture, Edge took one more anaesthetising puff.
"I would really appreciate your advice on Sebastian," she said, in the laziest voice he had heard her use.
"You would?" he countered. He almost surrendered then.
"My dear sir," she murmured. "Need we be too formal the one night of our Founder's Day Ball? I don't really fancy so, do you?"
There was a pause. The old man struggled with a lump in his throat. Then he let go, gave way.
"She's all I have," he said, given over to self pity.
"She loves you," Miss Edge dispassionately stated.
Mr Rock swallowed twice.
"But I can't care for him, ma'am," he admitted, still as if in spite of himself.
"Nor me," the lady answered readily. They looked at each other with great understanding.
"I can't stomach parlour tricks," the old man elaborated, stronger.
"So curiously unwise," Edge agreed. "A word which is out of fashion nowadays," she added. "The girls don't seem to know the meaning, but there, I bless them," she ended.
"Liz has been ill…" Mr Rock began, mistaking the object, prepared to take offence at once.
"Why I declare, after all," she soothed him. "I spoke of the man, the tutor, the untutored tutor, please. I trust you would not think. ."
"My deafness," he explained, to cover the slip.
"D'you ever have treatment?"
"What's the good. I am too old."
"Never that, good heavens no," she countered, through a film of weakness.
"Well, there you are. I have to lump it," he said, and smiled.
"You of all men," she murmured.
"I've been most fortunate in my life," he admitted, weak as water yet again. All this sympathy was so unexpected.
"Look, come in, please. I can't tell what we are standing here for, could you?" she invited. "As a matter of fact, if you will keep our little secret, we've some sherry in the cupboard, Hermione and I."
He suddenly wondered if she could be drunk. He was not to connect the cigarette with her mood, because he had never previously seen the lady smoke. Yet it seemed he should be on guard. Nevertheless this was now a remarkable opportunity, he had to admit. He made up his mind.
"And I, for my part," he said, for better or worse weakly entering the Sanctum, "would appreciate if I could have two words with you? A domestic matter."
"My dear Mr Rock I make it my rule never to interfere." This was on the assumption that he could only be referring to Elizabeth.
"To do with your students, ma'am," he announced.
"Ah yes."
"They talk so."
"They do indeed," she languidly assented.
"There must be limits, after all," Mr Rock argued. She slumped quickly down, in an elegant attitude, to hold her cigarette like a wand.
"Where would you draw them?" she asked, at ease.
"Where would I draw the line?" he echoed, but without conviction. Then he pulled himself together. "Yet there must be human decency," he said in a firmer voice. "The give and take of a civilized community," he said. "Justice," he ended.
"Of course," she admitted. "Naturally, of course." This time with her first trace of malice which, however, was lost on him.
"Yes," he said, in a muddled way of the girls below. "I mean, they can go too far, can't they?" He was desperate.
"Yes?" she enquired.
There was a pause. Came again the lump in his throat. Once more he surrendered.
"I love her. She's all I have," he said. He could have sobbed.
Edge was so distant, so absent that she had forgotten Mary and Merode. What she could do, and did without the slightest sense of shock, was to ask herself if he had meant Moira all along.
"My dear," she murmured. "As time goes on one clings to what one has."
"She's all I have," he repeated, still about his granddaughter, secure in self pity.
"But is it wise, or fair, to foul the nest you have built?" she archly enquired.
"In what way?" he demanded, at a loss.
"Weren't you complaining of the child's behaviour?"
"Never," he protested, of his granddaughter.
She remembered she had not brought out the sherry, but let this go. She was too tired.
"Believe me, I think sometimes you are inclined to misjudge us, Mr Rock," she said. "We have eyes in our grey heads. And we prize your friendship for the child," she lied, a white lie.
"I don't follow," he said.
"Why, Moira of course," she patiently explained.
"We are at cross purposes, ma'am," he concluded with pride, suddenly and finally disgusted. Then he noticed that she had finished the cigarette. He offered another from his case, as a matter of course. She knew it to be madness, but how was she to refuse? So she lit up, as though this were the last action she would have strength for in life.
"We are just two old women trying our best, but we do have eyes in our heads," she repeated, obstinately gentle, unaware of the effect she had produced.
"Well, I don't think this Birt is up to any good here, either," the old man said, angry and tart. He had gone back to the doorway, so as to make good his escape, if need be, at a moment's notice.
"Where are you? I can't tell," she demanded.
And only an hour since, she would insist she had no trouble at all with her eyes, joyfully he reminded himself.
"Are you sure you feel all right?" he asked, after he had narrowly regarded her. He almost hoped she would fall sideways, flat on an ear.