Lilian Part 5

PART II

I

The Suicide

The next morning Lilian left her lodging at the customary hour of 8.15, to join one of the hundreds of hastening, struggling, preoccupied processions of workers that converged upon central London. She had slept for ten hours without a break on the previous day, risen hungry to a confused and far too farinaceous tea, done some dressmaking by the warmth of an oil-stove, and gone to bed again for another enormous period of heavy slumber. She was well refreshed; her complexion was restored to its marvellous perfectness; and life seemed simpler, more promising, and more agreeably exciting than usual.

She had convinced herself that the Irish lord would call at the office in person to pay his bill; the mysterious and yet thoroughly understood code that governs certain human relations would forbid him either to post a cheque or to send his man with the money. Her only fear was that he might already have called. But even if he had already called, he would call and call again, on one good pretext or another, until ...

Anyhow they would meet.... And so on, according to the inconsequent logic of day-dreams in the everlasting night of the Tube.

The dreamer had a seat in the train--one of the advantages of living near the terminus--but strap-hangers of both s.e.xes swayed in cl.u.s.ters over her, and along the whole length of the car, and both the platforms were too densely populated. She could not read; n.o.body could read. As the train roared and shook through Down Street station, she jumped up to fight her way through straphangers towards the platform, in readiness to descend at Dover Street. On these early trains carrying serious people, if you sat quiet until the train came to your station you would a.s.suredly be swept on to the next station. These trains taught you to meet the future half-way.

As it happened the train stopped about a hundred yards short of Dover Street, and would not move on. Seconds and minutes pa.s.sed, and the stoppage became undeniably a breakdown. The tunnels under the earth from Dover Street back to Hammersmith were full of stopped trains a few hundred yards apart, and every train was full of serious people who positively had to be at a certain place at a certain time. Lilian's mood changed; the mood of the car changed, and of the train and of all the trains. No one knew anything; no one could do anything; the trains were each a prison. The railway company by its officials maintained a masterly silence as to the origin of the vast inconvenience and calamity. Rumours were born by spontaneous generation. A man within Lilian's hearing, hitherto one of G.o.d's quite minor achievements, was suddenly gifted with divination and announced that the electricians at the power station in Lots Road had gone on strike without notice and every electric train in London had been paralysed. Half an hour elapsed. The prisoners, made desperate by the prospect of the fate which attended them, spoke of revolution and homicide, well aware that they were just as capable of these things as a flock of sheep. Then, as inexplicably as it had stopped, the train started.

Two minutes later Lilian, with some scores of other girls, was running madly through Dover Street in vain pursuit of time lost and vanished.

Not a soul had guessed the cause of the disaster, which, according to the evening papers, was due to an old, unhappy man who had wandered un.o.bserved into the tunnel from Dover Street station with the ambition to discover for himself what the next world was like. This ambition had been gratified.

As Lilian, in a state of nervous exhaustion, flew on tired wings up the office stairs she of course had to compose herself into a semblance of bright, virginal freshness for the day's work, conformably with the employer's theory that until he reaches the office the employee has done and suffered nothing whatever. And Miss Grig was crossing the ante-room at the moment of Lilian's entry.

"You're twenty-five minutes late, Miss Share," said Miss Grig coldly.

She looked very ill.

"So sorry, Miss Grig," Lilian answered with unprotesting humility, and offered no explanation.

Useless to explain! Useless to a.s.sert innocence and victimization!

Excuses founded on the vagaries of trains were unacceptable in that office, as in thousands of offices. Employers refused to take the least interest in trains or other means of conveyance. One of the girls in the room called "the large room" had once told Lilian that, living at Ilford, she would leave home on foggy mornings at six o'clock in order to be sure of a prompt arrival in Clifford Street at nine o'clock, thus allowing three hours for little more than a dozen miles. But only in the book of doomsday was this detail entered to her credit. Miss Grig, even if she had heard of it--which she had not--would have dismissed it as of no importance. Yet Miss Grig was a just woman.

"Come into my room, Miss Share, will you, please?" said Miss Grig.

Lilian, apprehending she knew not what, thought to herself bitterly that lateness for a delicious shopping appointment or a heavenly appointment to lunch at the Savoy or to motor up the river--affairs of true importance--would have been laughed off as negligible, whereas lateness at this filthy office was equivalent to embezzlement. And she resolved anew, and with the most terrible determination, to escape at no matter what risks from the servitude and the famine of sentiment in which she existed.

II

The Malady

Miss Grig's Christian name was Isabel; it was somehow secret, and never heard in the office; and Felix, if he ever employed it, could only have done so in the sacred privacy of the princ.i.p.als' room. Like her brother, Miss Grig might have been almost any age, but only the malice of a prisonful of women could have seriously a.s.serted her to be older than Felix. Although by general consent an authentic virgin, she had not the air of one. Rather full in figure, she was neither desiccated nor stiff, and when she moved her soft body took on flowing curves, so that clever and experienced observers could not resist the inference, almost certainly wrong, that in the historic past of Isabel lay hidden some Sabine episode or sublime folly of self-surrender. She had black hair, streaked with grey, and marvellous troubled, smouldering black eyes that seemed to yearn and appeal. And yet in an occasional gesture and tone she would become masculine.

She went wrong in the matter of clothes, aspiring after elegance and missing it through a fundamental lack of distinction, and also through inability to concentrate her effects. Her dresses consisted of ten thousand details held together by no unity of conception. Thin gold chains wandered, apparently purposeless, over her rich form; they would disappear like a railway in a cutting and then pop out unexpectedly in another part of the lush rolling countryside. The contours of her visible garments gave the impression that the concealed system of underskirts, cache-corsets, corsets, lingerie, hose and suspenders was of the most complicated, innumerable and unprecedented variety. And indeed she was one of those women who, for the performance of the morning and the evening rites, trebly secure themselves by locks and bolts and blinds from the slightest chance of a chance of the peril of the world's gaze.

The purchase of the typewriting business by Felix had changed Miss Grig's life from top to bottom. It had transformed her from a relic festering in sloth and frustration into the eager devotee of a sane and una.s.sailable cult. The business was her perversity, her pa.s.sion. It was her mystic husband, fecundating her with vital juices, the spouse to whom she joyously gave long nights of love. Apart from the business, and possibly her brother, she had no real thoughts. The concern as it existed in Lilian's time was her creation. She would sacrifice anything to it, her own health and life, even the lives and health of tender girls. Yes, and she would sacrifice her conscience to it. She would cheat for it. The charges for typewriting were high--for she had established a tradition of the highest-cla.s.s work and rates to match--but this did not prevent her from seizing any excuse to inflate the bills. The staff said that her malpractices sufficed every year to pay the rent. And she was never more priestess-like, more lofty and grandiose, than when falsifying an account.

Lilian found her seated alone in fluent dignity at the great desk.

"Yes, Miss Grig?"

"May I enquire," asked Miss Grig in grave accents not of reproach but of pain, "why you did not put in an appearance yesterday, Miss Share?"

"Well, madam," Lilian answered with surprise and gentle reb.u.t.tal, "I stayed here all the night before and I was so tired I slept all day. I didn't wake up until it would have been too late to come."

"But you knew I was unwell, and that I should count on you upper girls to fill my place. Or you should have known. What if you _were_ tired?

You are young and strong; you could have stood it easily enough, and there was much work to be done. In a crisis we don't think about being tired. We just keep on. And even if you did sleep all day, I suppose it never occurred to you in the evening that someone would be needed to take charge during last night. The least you could have done would have been to run up and see how things were. But no! You didn't even do that! Shall I tell you who did take charge last night? Miss Jackson.

She'd been on duty the whole day yesterday. She stayed all night till six o'clock. And she was back again at nine o'clock this morning--twenty-five minutes before you. And when I told her to go back home, she positively refused. She defied me. That's what I call the true spirit, my dear Lilian."

Miss Grig ceased; only her l.u.s.trous reproachful eyes continued the harangue. She had shown no anger. She had appealed to Miss Share's best instincts.

The address "my dear Lilian" caused misgivings in the employee's bosom.

Lilian knew that it was Felix and not Miss Grig who had admitted her to employment, and that Miss Grig had been somewhat opposed to the engagement. She also guessed that Miss Grig objected to her good looks, and was always watchful for an occasion to ill.u.s.trate her theory that a girl might be too good-looking. And the tone of the words "my dear Lilian" had menace in its appealing, sad sweetness. Miss Grig had been known to deviate without warning into frightful inclemency, and she always implacably got the last ounce out of her girls.

The culprit offered no defence. There was no defence. a.s.suredly she ought to have run up on the previous evening. Miss Grig had spoken truth--the notion of running up had simply not occurred to the preoccupied Lilian. Nevertheless, while saying naught, she kept thinking resentfully: "Here I worked over twenty hours on end and this is my reward--a slating! This is my reward--a nice old slating!" With fallen face and drooping lower lip she moved to leave. She was ready to cry.

"And there's something else, Miss Share. Now please don't cry. When Mr. Grig came up the night before last to tell you that I was unwell, you ought not to have allowed him to stay. You know that he can't stand night-work. Men are not like us women----"

"But how could I possibly----" Lilian interrupted, quite forgetting the impulse to cry.

"You should have seen that he left again at once. It would have been quite easy--especially for a girl like you. The result is that he's been a wreck ever since. It seems he stayed till four o'clock and after. I tried my best to stop him from coming at all; but he would come.... Please, please, think over what I've said. Thank you."

Lilian felt all the soft, cruel, unopposable force of Miss Grig's individuality. She vaguely and with inimical deference comprehended the secret of Miss Grig's success in business. Youth and beauty and charm, qualities so well appreciated by Felix, so rich in promise for Lilian, were absolutely powerless against the armour of Miss Grig. To Miss Grig Lilian was no better than a cross-eyed, flat-bosomed spinster of thirty-nine. Not a bit better! Perhaps worse! Miss Grig actually had the a.s.surance to preach to Lilian the nauseous and unnatural doctrine that men are by right ent.i.tled to the protection and self-sacrifice of women.

Moreover, Miss Grig, without knowing it, had convinced Lilian that her ideas concerning Lord Mackworth were the hallucinations of an excessively silly and despicable kind of brain. And even if Lord Mackworth did playfully attempt to continue the divertiss.e.m.e.nt begun in the romantic night, Miss Grig by the sureness of her perceptions and the bland pitilessness of her tactics would undoubtedly counter him once and for all. The two women, so acutely contrasted in age, form and temperament, had this in common--that they secretly and unwillingly respected each other. But the younger was at present no match at all for the elder.

And yet Lilian was not cast down--neither by the realization of her awful silliness and of her lack of the sense of responsibility, nor by her powerlessness, nor by the awaking from the dream of Lord Mackworth.

On the contrary, she was quite uplifted and agreeably excited, and her brain was working on lines of which Miss Grig had absolutely no notion whatever. Miss Grig, obviously truthful, had said that she had tried to prevent her brother from coming to the office on the last night but one.

Miss Grig had been ready enough to let Lilian stay till morning without a word. But Felix had told Lilian that he had come to the office to warn her at his sister's urgent request. Why had Felix lied?

The answer clearly was that he had had a fancy to chat with Lilian alone, without Lilian suspecting his fancy. And in fact he had chatted with Lilian alone, and to some purpose.... The answer was that Felix was genuinely interested in Lilian. Further, Miss Grig suspected this interest. If Gertie Jackson had happened to be on duty that evening, would Miss Grig have opposed her brother's coming? She would not.

Finally, Miss Grig herself had confessed, perhaps unthinkingly, that Lilian was not without influential attributes. The phrase "especially for a girl like you" shone in the girl's mind.

She went into the small room, which was at the moment empty. The cover had not been removed from her own machine, but the other two machines were open, and Millicent's was ammunitioned with paper. Lilian could hear Milly, who shared the small room with herself and Gertie Jackson, dividing work and giving instructions in an important, curt voice to the mere rabble of girls in the large room. To Lilian's practised sense there was throughout the office an atmosphere of nervous disturbance and unease. Mr. Grig being absent, she felt sure that before the end of the day--probably just about tea-time--the electrical fluid would concentrate itself in one spot and then explode in a tense, violent, bitter and yet only murmured scene between two of the girls in the large room--unless, of course, she herself and Millicent happened to get across one another.

She took off her things and put them in the clothes cupboard. Gertie's hat and jacket were absent, which meant that Gertie was already out somewhere on the firm's business. Millicent's precious boa was present instead of her thick scarf, which meant that Millicent was to meet at night the insufferably pert young man from the new branch of Lloyds Bank in Bond Street. The pert young man would dine Millicent at the Popular Cafe in Piccadilly, where for as little as five shillings two persons might have a small table to themselves, the aphrodisiac of music, and the ingenuous illusion of seeing Life with a capital. Now Lilian never connected Life with anything less than the Savoy, the Carlton, and the Ritz. Lilian had been born with a sure instinct in these high matters.

She looked at the contents of the clothes-cupboard and despised them, furiously--and in particular Millicent's boa; anybody could see what that was; it would not deceive even a bank clerk. Not that Lilian possessed any article of attire to surpa.s.s the boa in intrinsic worth!

She did not. But she felt no envy in regard to the boa, and indeed never envied any girl the tenth-rate--no, nor the second-rate! Her desire was for the best or nothing; she could not compromise. The neighbouring shop-windows had effectively educated her because she was capable of self-education. Millicent and Gertie actually preferred the inferior displays of Oxford Street. She gazed in froward insolence at the workroom full of st.i.tching girls on the opposite side of the street.

They were toiling as though they had been toiling for hours. Customers had not yet begun to be shown into the elegant apartment on the floor below the workrooms. Customers were probably still sipping tea in bed with a maid to help them, and some of them had certainly never been in a Tube in their lives. Yet the workgirls, seen broadly across the street, were on the average younger, prettier, daintier and more graceful than the customers. Why then...? Etc.

The upper floors of all the surrounding streets were studded with such nests of heads bent over needles. There were scores and scores of those crowded rooms, excruciatingly feminine. "Modes et Robes"--a charming vocation! You were always seeing and touching lovely stuff, laces, feathers and confections of stuffs. A far more attractive occupation than typewriting, Lilian thought. Sometimes she had dreamt of a change, but not seriously. To work on other women's attire, knowing that she could never rise to it herself, would have broken her heart.

Quickly she turned away from the window, still uplifted--pa.s.sionately determined that one day she would enter the most renowned and exclusive arcana in Hanover Square, and not as an employee either! Then, on that day, would she please with the virtuosity of a great pianist playing the piano, then would she exert charm, then would she be angelic and divine; and when she departed there should be a murmur of conversation. She smiled her best in antic.i.p.ation; her fingers ran smoothingly over her blouse.

Gertie Jackson came in and transformed the rehea.r.s.ed smile into an expression of dissatisfaction and hostility far from divine; the fingers dropped as it were guiltily; and Lilian remembered all her grievances and her tragedy. Gertie Jackson's bright, pleasant, clear, drawn face showed some traces of fatigue, but no sign at all of being a martyr to the industrial system or to the despotism of individual employers. She was a tall, well-made girl of twenty-eight, and she held herself rather nicely. She was kindly, cheerful and of an agreeable temper--as placid as a bowl of milk. She loved her work, regarding it as of real importance, and she seemed to be entirely without ambition. Apparently she would be quite happy to go on altruistically typing for ever and ever, and to be cast into a typist's grave.

Lilian's att.i.tude towards her senior colleague was in various respects critical. In the first place, the poor thing did not realize that she was growing old--already approaching the precipice of thirty! In the second place, though possessed of a good figure and face, she did nothing with these great gifts. She had no desire to be agreeable; she was agreeable unconsciously, as a bird sings; there was no merit in it.