"I never permit a woman to be a worry," Mr Rock said, with decision.
"I don't suppose," Mrs Blain replied, sparing a glance inside her at the picture she imagined of the late Mrs Rock. "And then your granddaughter will wed and the place'll seem empty," she said, without malice.
"She's not there more often than not," he objected, in the sense that she was always off somewhere to meet Sebastian.
"But then she's not been so well," Maggie Blain agreed to defend Miss Rock, having misunderstood him.
"They overdo things at their age," Mr Rock explained, as though Liz were still a child, with all the time in the world before her for work, love, and marriage.
"Ah, there you are," the cook said.
"I wouldn't have your family, nevertheless," the old man put in. He usually plied the one jest until he won his meal.
"They're good girls," Mrs Blain answered. She was in great ignorance. "Have you got the staff breakfasts up?" she called after the orderlies. At this half promise of food he felt his stomach gush
digestive juices.
"We've taken them, Mrs Blain, and there's one over," Marion insinuated. "Mr Birt's had a night off." Mr Rock waited for the spare to be offered. He waited. Then, to his vague, wondering surprise, beyond the cone of light in which he sat and warmed his cold hollow bones, he gradually felt a tide of female curiosity flow up over him, so strong it was like the smell of a fox that has just slunk by, back of some bushes. He could not understand. If he had only known, this bit of news had been put forward, and some of the girls hung on the answer, to discover whether it was official and above board, the absence of Sebastian Birt under the particular circumstances.
"That's right," Mrs Blain said. "His name's struck off my list," and there was a sort of sigh came from outside the sunlight. The whispering began again. But it had given Mr Rock an uneasiness. Because he was certain Sebastian had been round to the cottage after dark. And now the snake was not even in next morning. Drat Mrs Blain, why couldn't she hurry his breakfast. How right, earlier on, not to carry the tea up to Liz, Mr Rock told himself, the fellow could only have been there all night, and somehow or other these girls knew, which must be one reason they did not propose to give him a bite of anything. He could go hungry now.
"But there's some don't trouble," Mrs Blain said, with so much suggested in her voice that Mr Rock, instantly apprehensive, decided in his own best interests that he would do better to ignore what was on the way, until he knew how grave it was.
"But there's some don't give themselves the trouble," she repeated, directly at him. He realised he would have to respond. He turned to her like a blind man.
"Going off up to London as usual this day of all days," she explained herself.
"Oh, Mrs Blain, it's the date the Commissions sit," said one of the embryo State Servants.
"I tell you I'm right sorry this minute for Miss Marchbanks," the cook continued. "All that goes awry will be laid to her door, and no argument," she ended, in a sort of hush about.
Most of the children were hanging on her words. She was aware, but in ignorance. She sought to improve on this. "God help her, poor woman, if she hasn't the decorations just so in quick time," she said.
The whispers began again.
"Is that the last of breakfast?" she called out, and the old man's heart beat wet in his mouth.
"I should be getting on," he said, to force matters.
"Don't disturb yourself, Mr Rock," the cook told him. "You're one who's never in the light, is he, girls? You'd better get your own now," she gave them leave. And with a sort of chorus of welcome and pleasure because they were hungry too, nine came with their spoons and plates of porridge, and their lovely, sleepy, but rather pimply skins, to sit alongside the famished, sweet old sage. None dared remind Mrs Blain of him. She was a terror for her rights.
"But you are coming tonight, Mrs Blain?" one asked.
"Me?" the cook demanded. "After I've finished the knick knacks for the buffet, which'll take me all day on my stoves?"
"You know you've got the best lot of orderlies on the whole rota to help you," they said.
"I'd never have agreed without," Mrs Blain retorted. "I told Miss Marchbanks. Give me Mary and the girls on her rota, I said, or you'll have a dead woman on your hands."
This statement had a greater effect than she could have expected. There was a sort of gasp round the kitchen, and at least three children, while Mr Rock blindly watched, pushed their porridge plates away. One or two even put what they felt into words.
"I don't think I'll come either, tonight I mean," the youngest said.
"How's that Maisy?" the cook asked. "Are you shy even of a bit of fun at your time of life?"
The girl would not admit it was Mary and Merode she had on her mind, that she feared the worst. But she blushed.
"To cook when the weather's hot turns my stomach," she explained, because Mr Rock's unseeing spectacles were on her. The old man still did not know if he was altogether forsaken, whether, upon this, the dawn of their great day, he was just to get the bare cup of tea.
"Now don't give me that, not at your age," the cook coarsely insinuated.
"Oh Mrs Blain," they all cried out, while Maisy went red.
"Because that's when you can say so," Mrs Blain elaborated with gusto. "Getting your man his Sunday dinner, oh dear, openin' the oven door when you're in that condition, and the hot smell of the roast comes."
"I can smell it now," Mr Rock suggested in great ignorance, and smacked his lips. They all laughed.
"There's expectant fathers' kitchens now," Marion announced, while the old man tried to reconcile himself to the idea that he must go hungry. But the girls tittered, for this that Marion had just put forward was one of Miss Inglefield's more modern jokes in class.
"And I know how my fellow would have said, when he was still alive, if I'd told him that, while my little Enid was on the way," Mrs Blain announced, delighted. "Yet what are you girls thinkin'?" she demanded. "Where's Mr Rock's bit of breakfast, may I ask?"
"Oh Mr Rock," several cried out, got up, and at long last hurried this over.
"It was just. ." Maisy began to excuse herself, with intent to explain how upset she was about Mary and Merode, but the cook would not allow her.
"It was simply you forgot," Mrs Blain interrupted. Mr Rock, who deeply felt his position, begging, as it seemed he had to, for this one meal per diem, next tried not to have it.
"No thank you," he said. "This day I don't fancy. ." and began to get out of his chair.
"Sit you down, don't be awkward," the cook cried. "I can't have my place treated cavalier fashion," she said. "You either eat a good breakfast or you mayn't move out of here in daylight. Then what would your Daisy say without her swill? There's a bit of bran as well, for Ted. You won't have that either if you can't do justice."
"And yourself, Mrs Blain?" he asked, then subsided in his place, mouth watering, glad.
"Me? I mentioned to my girls before you came. I'd rather not refer to that once more," she said with finality. Her stomach was upset. He nodded, old and solemn over the plate, with no idea of what she meant.
He ate.
He was greedy.
They watched in approving silence.
"I can't imagine what you'll think, Mr Rock, to forget you like we did," a girl lied, to cover her tracks.
"I don't," he replied, rather abrupt, but his feelings, at the moment, were directed to his stomach. Some of them feared he had been offended.
So they began to make up to him. They uttered little comforting remarks. He sat silent. With an old man's gluttony he had eaten too fast and he was, one might say, listening to the food settle in a cavernous, wrinkled belly.