They went out. Mrs. Forbes said, “Put out the light.” The door shut. Jenny heard their footsteps go away. The room was dark. She was alone.
Chapter IX
Jenny moved cautiously. She had to get out of the room before Carter came and the children. Where was she to go? Where could she hide? The answer came bleak and plain. She mustn’t hide. She must be just as usual. She must be where she would be expected to be. In her own room? No. Because Mrs. Forbes might have opened the door and looked in on her way to the schoolroom. Where, then? The bathroom. You could lock yourself in. She could wash her face and tidy her hair, and be ready for supper with the children.
She felt better with the bathroom door securely locked, but when she looked in the glass her reflection shocked her. There was no colour in it, no colour at all. And she looked older. She sponged vigorously, and didn’t let herself think, and when she looked again she looked more as she usually did. Then as she stood there looking into the glass the colour faded and she was pale again.
She came out of the bathroom, and met Carter and the children.
“Oh, do you know, Jenny, Nurse has got a new kitten!” said Joyce.
“It’s sweet!” said Meg. “It really is! Its name is Patrick! Its fur is as long as this!” She showed the length with her fingers. “And it purred at me! It didn’t purr at Joyce! She didn’t hold it comfortably, and she kissed it! Kittens don’t like being kissed!”
“They do!” said Joyce. “They like it awfully!”
“Then why didn’t Patrick purr for you? Oh, Jenny, I want a kitten so badly! Do you think Mother would let me have one?”
Carter broke in.
“Now Meg and Joyce, you come along and get your things off quick. The mistress isn’t best pleased with us being so late as it is. And it’s not the time to ask about cats and suchlike, I can tell you that.”
She swept them into their bedroom and went on talking.
“They won’t want anything. Such teas as they ate I never saw! Anyone would think they’d been starved all the week! I’ll take my own things off if you’ll see them to bed. And hurry, you two, or your mother will be coming up.”
She vanished, and Jenny was left with the children, who under pressure from the last threat whisked them out of their clothes and into the bathroom and out again like mice running away from a particularly active cat. They were ready for bed, washed pink and spotless, by the time Mrs. Forbes came up the stairs. Jenny thought she looked a little disappointed, and she thought she knew why. She had had to swallow a bitter pill, and it would have been a relief to find a legitimate reason for anger. There was no reason at all. There were two little girls, miraculously clean and neat, kneeling one on either side of Jenny as she sat on the bed to hear their prayers.
“Please God, bless Mother, and Mac, and Alan, and make me a good girl.”
Joyce on the other side of Jenny repeated the same words,
“And make me a good girl.”
“And bless Nanny and Carter and everybody. And bless Jenny and Joyce. Amen.”
And Joyce repeating it,
“And bless Nanny and Carter and everybody. And bless Jenny and Meg. Amen.”
Jenny felt as if her heart was breaking. She had her back to the door, and when it opened she did not see who came. She thought it must be Carter. It was a shock to hear Mrs. Forbes’ voice, and to turn round and see her standing in the doorway waiting for the prayers to be over. She spoke with her usual briskness.
“Into bed with you both! Good-night, Meg-good-night, Joyce. Now, Jenny, you had better dine with us tonight. It will be company for the boys.”
Jenny didn’t know what she felt like. She couldn’t do it-she couldn’t. That was her first thought as Mrs. Forbes kissed the two little girls and left the room, putting out the light as she went.
Jenny stood for a moment in the darkened room. Then she kissed Meg and kissed Joyce and went out into the lighted passage, her mind full of the one thought. She couldn’t do it.
Mrs. Forbes had not waited for her. She had gone into her own room across the passage and shut the door.
Jenny went to her room. She couldn’t do it. But she must. She had got to get away. If they knew, they would stop her. She had got to get away. She couldn’t stay here and meet Mac-she simply couldn’t do it.
She had got to do it-just this once more. And then she would get away from them all and never see them again. The thought of the little girls tugged at her heart. They would forget her. She thought of the people she had known when she was their age. Not Garsty, because Garsty went on. Garsty would never become a shadow in a distant place. Garsty was for now and for always. She thought about old Mrs. Pennystone who had died when Jenny was Meg’s age. She remembered her as a very kind old lady, very fat. She had pressed peppermints on her when they met, and she had given her a wonderful doll for Christmas the year before she died. What was the good of thinking about Mrs. Pennystone, or about any of the other people she had known in the village, and who had died or gone away? They weren’t her own people, and the Forbeses were. That was the plain truth that you couldn’t get away from. Your family was your family. Mac and Alan were her cousins, and the little girls, too. She didn’t know of any other relations. If she went away she would have no one at all. She stopped and looked at that. It was better to have no one than to have people you couldn’t trust.
She wanted to get right away, and she wanted to get away at once, and to do that she must go down and play a part. Something in her said, “I can’t. I can’t-I can’t do it.” And something else said, “I must.” She listened to that voice.
When she came into the drawing-room Mac was there. He was reading the paper, but he looked up, smiled his charming smile, and said,
“Well, what have you been doing with yourself, Jenny my love?”
The colour whipped into Jenny’s face. She came up the long room to the hearth and stood there. She had put on a black lace dress which she had made for Christmas last year. It was too old for her, but when you have only one evening dress it is better to have a black one, and if it is lace you can do all sorts of things with it, so that it will go on for a long time. You have to think of those things when you are young and poor.
Jenny didn’t know it, but the black dress did something to her. It made her look older, and it was very, very becoming. She stooped forward over the fire and turned her head away from Mac. She couldn’t look at him.
She said, “Oh nothing,” in as careless a tone as she could manage. To her horror, she felt the colour run up to her face. It burned there and then slowly, slowly retreated.
Mac put down his paper and got up and came over to her.
“Why, Jenny,” he said in a laughing, teasing tone, “what was all the colour about? It was very becoming. I’m not complaining about it, but I do want to know why the flags.”
Jenny stood her ground. She laughed a little and said,
“What an imagination you have!”
“Have I?”
He laughed, too, and came to stand by the fireplace on the opposite side. He was so near that he could have touched her if he had stretched out his hand.
The feeling that he was so close came upon Jenny with an intolerable force. She had been so near, so near to loving him, and it was gone-it was all gone away for ever. How was she to endure having him so near?
She must, she must endure it. Just for this once. Until she could get away. For this one evening she must play her part. And then-oh, then she would be done with them all.
He was speaking now, looking down at her with the smile she had thought a loving one.
“You’re very fine tonight.”
“Am I? I don’t often dine with you, do I? This is the only evening dress I’ve got.”
“And very nice, too. A little old for you perhaps, but you’re young enough to take that as a compliment. It’s quite a sincere one.” He bent nearer. “Jenny, will you come for a walk with me tomorrow afternoon?”