Some Do Not . . ._ A Novel - Ford Madox Ford [149]
She went with a quart jug to the jug and bottle department of the nearest public-house--a thing she had never done before. Even at Ealing the mistress hadn't allowed her to be sent to a public-house; the cook had had to fetch her dinner beer herself or have it sent in. Perhaps the Ealing mistress had exercised more surveillance than Valentine had believed; a kind woman, but an invalid. Nearly all day in bed. Blind passion overcame Valentine at the thought of Edith Ethel in Tietjens' arms. Hadn't she got her own eunuch? Mrs Tietjens had said: 'Mrs Duchemin is his mistress!' Is! Then she might be there now!
In the contemplation of that image, she missed the thrills of buying beer in a bottle and jug department. Apparently it was like buying anything else, except for the smell of beer on the sawdust. You said: 'A quart of the best bitter!' and a fat, quite polite man, with an oily head and a white apron, took your money and filled your jug...But Edith Ethel had abused Tietjens so foully! The more foully the more certain it made it!...Draught beer in a jug had little marblings of burst foam on its brown surface. It mustn't be spilt at the kerbs of crossings!--the more certain it made it! Some women did so abuse their lovers after sleeping with them, and the more violent the transports the more frantic the abuse. It was the 'post-dash-triste' of the Rev. Mr Duchemin! Poor devil! Triste! Triste!
Terra tribus scopulis vastum...Not longum!
Brother Edward began communing with himself, long and unintelligibly, as to where he should meet his sister at 19.30 and give her a blow-out! The names of restaurants fell from his lips into her panic. He decided hilariously and not quite steadily--a quart is a lot to a fellow from a mine-sweeper carrying no booze at all!--on meeting her at 7.20 at High Street and going to a pub, he knew; they would go on to the dance afterwards. In a studio. 'Oh, God!' her heart said, 'if Tietjens should want her then!' To be his; on his last night. He might! Everybody was coarsened then; on the surface. Her brother rolled out of the house, slamming the door so that every tile on the jerry-built dog-kennel rose and sat down again.
She went upstairs and began to look over her frocks. She couldn't tell what frocks she looked over; they lay like aligned rags on the bed, the telephone bell ringing madly. She heard her mother's voice, suddenly assuaged: 'Oh! oh!...It's you!' She shut her door and began to pull open and to close drawer after drawer. As soon as she ceased that exercise her mother's voice became half audible; quite audible when she raised it to ask a question. She heard her say: 'Not get her into trouble...Of course!' then it died away into mere high sounds.
She heard her mother calling:
'Valentine! Valentine! Come down...Don't you want to speak to Christopher?...Valentine! Valentine!...' And then another burst: 'Valentine...Valentine...Valentine...' As if she had been a puppy dog! Mrs Wannop, thank God, was on the lowest step of the creaky stairs. She had left the telephone. She called up:
'Come down. I want to tell you! The dear boy has saved me! He always saves me! What shall I do now he's gone?'
'He saved others: himself he could not save!' Valentine quoted bitterly. She caught up her wideawake. She wasn't going to prink herself for him. He must take her as she was...Himself he could not save! But he did himself proud! With women!...Coarsened! But perhaps only on the surface! She herself!...She was running downstairs!
Her mother had retreated into the little parlour: nine feet by nine; in consequence, at ten feet it was too tall for its size. But there was in it a sofa with cushions...With her head upon those cushions, perhaps...If he came home with her! Late!...
Her mother was saying: He's a splendid fellow...A root idea for a war baby article...If a Tommy was a decent fellow he abstained because he didn't want to leave his girl in trouble...If he wasn't he chanced