A Bed of Roses. Walter Lionel George

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СКАЧАТЬ gall, his little attentions, the quick turn of his face, a flush sometimes, entered into and poisoned her soul. He was her son; and, with all the ruthless, entirely animal cruelty of the mother, she had begun to swear to herself that he should be hers and hers only, and that she would hug him in her arms, aye, hug him to death if need be, if only in her arms he died.

      Savagely selfish as a good mother, however, Mrs. Holt remembered that she must go slowly, collect her evidence, allow the fruit to ripen before she plucked it. Thus she retained her outward kindnesses for Victoria, spoke her fair, threw her even into frequent contact with her son. And every day she tortured herself with all the tiny signs that radiate from a lover's face like aerolites from the blazing tail of a comet. Now her case was complete. She had seen Jack lean over Victoria while she was on her knees dusting some books, and let his hand dwell on hers. She had seen his face all alight, his mouth a little open, breathing in the fragrance of this woman, the intruder. And the iron had entered into the mother's heart so sharply that she had to hurry away unseen for fear she should cry out.

      Mrs. Holt dropped her little work bag. She wondered whether her husband would see. Would she have to worry him placidly for months as she usually had to when she wanted her own way? Or would he understand and side with her? She did not know that women are intuitive, for she knew nothing either of women or men, but she felt perfectly certain that she was cleverer than Thomas Holt. If he would not see, then she would have to show him, even if she had to plot for her son's sake.

      The door opened suddenly. Thomas Holt entered. His face was perturbed, his jaw setting grimly between the two deep folds in his cheeks. That was the face of his bad days.

      'Well, Thomas?' ventured his wife hesitatingly.

      'You were right, Maria,' answered Holt after a pause. 'Jack's a bigger fool than I thought him.'

      'Ah!' said Mrs. Holt with meaning, her heart beating a sharp tatoo.

      'I was standing on the first landing,' Holt went on. 'I saw them at the door of the smoke-room. He asked her for a flower from her dress; she wouldn't give it him; he reached over and pulled one away.'

      'Yes?' said Mrs. Holt, everything in her quivering.

      'Put his arm round her, though she pushed him off, and kissed her.'

      Mrs. Holt clasped her hands together. A sharp pang had shot through her. 'What are you going to do?' she asked.

      'Do?' said Holt. 'Sack her of course. Send him up to Rawsley. Damn the young fool.'

CHAPTER IX

       Table of Contents

      Breakfast is so proverbially dismal, that dismalness becomes good form; humanity feels silent and liverish, so it grudges Providence its due, for it cannot return thanks for the precocious blessings of the day. Such was breakfast at Finchley Road, and Victoria would not have noticed it on that particular morning had the silence not somehow been eloquent. She could feel, if not see storm clouds on the horizon.

      Mr. Holt sat over his eggs and bacon, eating quickly with both hands, every now and then soiling the napkin tightly tucked into the front of his low collar. There was nothing abnormal in this, except perhaps that he kept his eyes more closely glued than usual to the table cloth; moreover, he had not unfolded the paper. Therefore he had not looked up the prices of Industrials. This was singular. Mrs. Holt never said much at breakfast, in deference to her husband, but this morning her silence was somewhat ostentatious. She handed Victoria her tea. Victoria passed her the toast and hardly heard her 'thank you.'

      Jack sat more abstracted than ever. He was feeling very uncomfortable. He wavered between the severe talking to he had received from Victoria the previous afternoon and the sulkiness of his parents. Of course he was feeling depressed, but he could not tell why. Victoria's mere nod of acceptance when he offered her the salt, and his mother's curt refusal of the pepper did not contribute to make him easier in his mind. Mrs. Holt cleared her throat: 'Blowing up for rain, Thomas,' she said. Mr. Holt did not move a muscle. He helped himself to marmalade. Stolid silence once more reigned over the breakfast table. Jack stole a sidelong glance at Victoria. Her eyes were fixed upon her hands crossed before her. Jack's eyes dwelled for a moment on their shapely strength, then upon the firm white nape of her bent neck. An insane desire possessed him to jump up, seize her in his arms, crush his lips into that spot where the dark tendrils of her hair began. He repressed it, and considered the grandfather's clock which had once ticked in a peasant Holt's kitchen. To-day it ticked with almost horrible deliberation.

      Jack found that he had no appetite. Forebodings were at work with him. Perhaps Vic had told. Of course not, she couldn't be such a fool. What a beastly room it was! Sideboard must weigh a ton. And those red curtains! awful, simply awful. Good God, why couldn't he get out of the damned place and take Vic with him. Couldn't do that yet of course, but couldn't stick it much longer. He'd be off to the City now. Simply awful here. Jack rose to his feet suddenly, so suddenly that his chair tilted and fell over.

      Mrs. Holt looked up. 'I wish you wouldn't be so noisy, Jack,' she said.

      'Sorry, mater,' said Jack, going round to her and bending down to kiss her. 'I'm off.'

      'You're in a fine hurry,' remarked Mr. Holt grimly, looking up and speaking for the first time.

      'Left some work over,' said Jack, in a curt manner, making for the door.

      'Hem! you've got work on the brain,' retorted his father in his most sardonic tone.

      Jack opened the door without a word.

      'One minute, Jack,' said Mrs. Holt placidly, 'you needn't go yet, your father and I have something to say to you.'

      Jack stood rooted to the ground. His knees almost gave way beneath him. It, it, it was it. They knew. Victoria's face, the profile of which he could see outlined like a plaster cast against the red wall paper did not help him. Her face had set, rigid like a mask. Now she knew why the previous evening had gone by in silence. She rose to her feet, a strange numb feeling creeping all over her.

      'Don't go, Mrs. Fulton,' said Mr. Holt sharply, 'this concerns you.'

      For some seconds the party remained silent. Mr. and Mrs. Holt had not moved from the table. Jack and Victoria stood right and left, like prisoners at the bar.

      'Victoria,' said Mrs. Holt, 'I'm very sorry to have to say it, but I'm afraid you know what I'm going to tell you. Of course I don't say I blame you. It's quite natural at your age and all that.' She stopped, for a flush was rising in Victoria's face, the cheekbones showing two little red patches. Mr. Holt had clasped his hands together and kept his eyes fixed on Victoria's with unnatural intensity.

      'You see, Victoria,' resumed Mrs. Holt, 'it's always difficult when there's a young man in the house; of course I make allowances, but, really, you see it's so complicated and things get so annoying. You know what people are … '

      'That'll do, Maria,' snarled Mr. Holt, jumping to his feet. 'If you don't know what you have to say, I do. Look here, Mrs. Fulton. Last night I saw Jack kissing you. I know perfectly well you didn't encourage him. You'd know better. However, there it is. I don't pretend I like what I've got to do, but this must be stopped. I can't have philandering going on here. You, Jack, you're going back to the works at Rawsley and don't let me see anything of you this side of the next three months. As for you, Mrs. Fulton, I'm sorry, but Mrs. Holt will have to find another companion. I know it's СКАЧАТЬ