Chapter V: I Walk Abroad at Night

HAPPILY for me, the spirit of work did not claim Mrs. McNab very violently during my first week at The Towers. There were occasional periods during which she remained in seclusion, and from the window of my room, which commanded a view of her eyrie, I sometimes saw her light burning far into the night; certainly she used to look pale and heavy-eyed in the morning. But for the greater part of each day she mingled with her family, and showed less vagueness in letting me know what were my duties. I was kept pretty busy, but there was nothing especially difficult. Already the seabathing and the country air were telling upon me: I lost my headaches, and began to sleep better, and it was glorious to feel energy coming back to me. I had visions of returning to Colin and Madge fattened out of all recognition.

Julia had evidently paved the way for me with Mrs. Winter, the cook. I found her a somewhat dour person, but by no means terrifying; she unbent considerably when she found that I did not leave the kitchen in a mess when I cut sandwiches. The last holder of my office, she told me, had always made her domain into “a dirty uproar.” We exchanged notes on cookery; she taught me much about making soup, and was graciously pleased to approve of a recipe for salad that was new to her.

Bella was a harder nut to crack. She was a thoroughly up-to-date young person with an excellent opinion of herself and a firm belief that I was her natural enemy. Also, she was “work-shy,” and did just as little as was possible, with a fixed determination to do nothing whatever that did not fall within the prescribed duties of a parlourmaid. We clashed occasionally: that was inevitable, though I tried hard to let the clashing be all on her side. I recalled Mrs. McNab’s advice as to tact, and struggled to cultivate that excellent commodity. But I don’t believe that anyone of eighteen has much tact in dealing with a bad-tempered parlourmaid of five-and-twenty. I did my best, but there were moments when I ached to throw aside tact and use more direct measures.

The house-party increased rapidly, friends of Beryl and Harry McNab arriving almost every day, until there was not a room to spare. They were a cheery, good-hearted crowd, making their own amusements, for the most part: they bathed, fished, yachted, played tennis and picnicked, and there was dancing every night, interspersed by much singing. Madge was the musical genius of our family, but I could play accompaniments rather decently, and for that reason I was constantly in request. I refused, at first, to dance, for it was quite evident that Beryl McNab preferred me to remain in the background; but there were more men than girls, and occasionally they made it impossible for me to refuse. I protested to Harry McNab, who was one of the chief offenders, but my remarks had not the slightest weight with him.

“Oh, rubbish!” he said. “Why on earth shouldn’t you dance? No one expects you to work all day and all night, too—and you dance better than nearly any girl here! Don’t tell me you don’t like it!”

“Of course I like it,” I said, with some irritation. “But I’m not here to dance, Mr. McNab, and you know that very well. Ask your sister, if you have any doubt on the matter.”

“Oh—Beryl!” he said with a shrug. “Who cares what she thinks? She’s not your boss, Miss Earle.”

“She’s the daughter of the house,” I answered firmly. “And I think you would find that your mother thinks as she does.”

“We’ll ask her,” he said. He dragged me up the long room to where his mother was sitting. Mrs. McNab never stayed downstairs for long in the evening; soon after the music was at its height she would slip away quietly to the Tower rooms and be seen no more until the morning. She greeted him with a smile that lit her rather grim face curiously. Affection was not a leading characteristic among the McNabs, but Harry was certainly first in his mother’s favour.

“Miss Earle says she won’t dance, Mother! Tell her it’s ridiculous—three of us are standing out because we haven’t got partners.”

“Possibly Miss Earle does not care for dancing?”

“Yes, she does, though. Only she’s got a stupid idea that you don’t want her to.”

“I have no objection,” said his mother. “Still I do not think it would be wise for you to tire yourself, Miss Earle.”

“Oh, we won’t let her do that. But I’m hanged if you’re going to act Cinderella all the time, Miss Earle,” said Harry. “Come along—we’ve wasted too much of this already.” He swept me out into the crowd, and I gave in more or less meekly: it wasn’t difficult when every nerve in me was already beating time to the music. And Harry danced so very much better than he sang!

All the same, I never remained downstairs long after Mrs. McNab had disappeared. I had next day to consider, and my days began pretty early: besides which, I couldn’t help feeling an ugly duckling amongst the other girls. My two dinner dresses were by no means up to date; I was fully aware of their deficiencies beside the dainty, exquisite frocks of which Beryl McNab and her friends seemed to have an unlimited supply. I used to breathe a sigh of relief when I escaped from the drawing-room, racing up the stairs until I gained the shelter of my own little room.

Judy and Jack were supposed to be in bed by nine o’clock. It was one of the few rules that they did not scorn, since their days were strenuous enough to make them feel sleepy early, and they had few evening occupations. They loathed dancing, and neither was ever known to read a book if it could possibly be avoided. The crowded state of the house had made it necessary for them to give up their rooms to guests: they slept on the balcony, and Judy used my room to dress, while Jack made his toilet in a bathroom. Judy was a restless sleeper, and I had formed the habit of going out to tuck her in before I went to bed.

I slipped away from the drawing-room one hot night when the dancing was fast and furious. A little breeze from the sea was beginning to blow in at my window, and I leaned out, enjoying its freshness and wondering if Colin and Madge were grilling very unpleasantly in the stuffy Prahran flat. Above my head a faint glimmer from the Tower rooms showed that Mrs. McNab was at work—one never imagined her as doing anything but writing steadily, once she had vanished to her sanctum. Sometimes she wrote on her little balcony, which was fitted with electric light: the scent of the cigarettes she continually smoked would drift down to my window on still nights.

The lower balcony that ran partly round the house ended before it reached my room, so that I had a clear view of part of the garden as well as of the track across the paddock to the sea. As I leaned out a faint sound came to me from below. Then two slight figures crossed the strip of moonlit garden, running quietly and quickly, and disappeared in the direction of the back of the house. I had been dreaming, but I came to attention with a jerk. Unquestionably, they were Judy and Jack.

I looked at my watch. Ten o’clock: and the precious pair should have been in bed an hour ago. I went down the passage and out upon the balcony to where their beds stood peacefully side by side. At first glance they appeared to be occupied by slumbrous forms; but a moment’s investigation showed that a skilful arrangement of coats and pillows, humped beneath the sheets, took the places of the rightful occupants. Clearly, my charges were out upon the warpath.

I felt horribly responsible. Lawless as the two were, they were supposed to be in my care, and it seemed to my town-bred mind an unthinkable thing that two such urchins should be careering about in the dead of night. Their elaborate precautions against discovery showed that it was no excursion of a few moments. The direction of their flight was towards the sea. Possibly the McNab urge for bathing had seized them; or they would be quite equal to taking out a boat for a moonlight row. Whatever their fell designs might be, it seemed to me that I should follow them. I could not calmly go to bed, knowing that they were out of the house.

I was in anything but a gentle frame of mind while I hurriedly changed my evening frock for something more serviceable and donned a pair of tennis-shoes. Bed seemed to me a very pleasant place as I switched off my light and stole quietly down the kitchen stairs, hearing the gramophone grinding out a fox-trot in the drawing-room. I could only hope that I would find the truants soon; and that, when found, they would allow themselves to be gathered in peaceably. But I knew already that it was no easy matter to turn Judy and Jack from any set purpose.

I am a good deal of a coward in the dark; the night seemed full of ghostly sounds as I hunted up and down the dim shrubbery, hoping to find my quarry near the house. But there was no sign of them: nothing living could be seen except an old owl that flew out of a bush with a whir of wings that sent my heart into my mouth. So I set off across the paddock towards the shore.

The hummocks were fringed with low scrub, through which a dozen paths wandered. I chose one at random, following its windings until it ended in a deep, stony cleft, down which it would not be easy to scramble in the moonlight. I was about to retrace my steps, to look for an easier path to the beach, when a low giggle fell upon my ears, and looking closely, I saw Judy and Jack crouched behind a boulder below me. They had not heard me; that was clear: all their attention was focused on something beyond them. As I watched, a tall figure came from the shadow of the boat-house. I heard the scratch of a match being struck, and saw the glow as the new-comer lit a cigarette. Then the figure strolled slowly across the moonlit sand by the water, and I saw, with a start of astonishment, that it was Mrs. McNab.

She paced backwards and forwards, with her head bent, her face shadowed by one of the soft hats she always wore. She had changed her evening dress for a dark gown in which she moved like a shadow, the dull glow of her cigarette-tip the most living thing about her. There was something eerie and ghost-like in the dim form, drifting with silent steps by the gently heaving sea. I had an uneasy feeling that I was spying: that I had no right to be there. Clearly, too, it was unnecessary for me to shepherd Judy and Jack when their own mother was about. I was turning to go quietly home when another giggle came from the pair just below me, and I heard Judy’s voice, discreetly lowered.

“Rotten luck!” she whispered. “No earthly chance of getting a boat out, with Mother there. Why on earth can’t she stay in the Tower, without spoiling sport!”

“Let’s go and give her a fright,” Jack suggested. “P’raps she’ll think it’s one of the ghosts Julia’s always talking about, and clear out!”

“Don’t be an ass,” counselled his sister. “She’d be awfully wild.” But her words were wasted. Jack was already making his way softly down the gully.

He went more quietly than I should have imagined was possible in that cleft of shifting stones. Bending low, so that his head should not show above the edge, in case his mother glanced upwards, he crept down, and gained the beach unseen.

Mrs. McNab heard nothing. She had turned away, and was standing still, looking out to sea—doubtless seeking inspiration from the softly rippling water. I wondered would she come back presently, back to the Tower room, to write through the night; or would dawn find her still pacing by the sea. Nothing, I thought, would surprise me about my eccentric employer.

And yet, she was to surprise me—and not me alone—very much indeed.

Jack came out of the protecting gloom and stole noiselessly across the sand until he was only a dozen yards from the still figure. Then he suddenly gave a long eldritch shriek—it made even Judy jump—danced impishly for a moment, flinging about his arms and legs, and fled towards the hummocks.

Quick as he was, his mother was quicker. At his wild cry she swung round, her cigarette dropping from her fingers. She stood as if petrified for a moment. Then she gave chase. Her long legs carried her across the sand with amazing swiftness. Just as the boy gained the edge of the gully her hand fell on his shoulder and held him fast.

“You would dare to spy on me!” I heard her say, in a choked voice.

She reversed Jack with a swift movement, and then, as if he were a tiny child, she spanked him thoroughly. Jack was a strong boy and a sturdy one, and he did not take the proceeding meekly. He kicked and fought and struggled; but the grip in which he was held never slackened, and the avenging hand rose and fell with a regularity astonishing to behold. Never had I beheld a more competent spanker than Mrs. McNab. I had no special sympathy in general with Jack, but I almost ached for him.

Her arm must have been tired when the resounding blows ceased and she pitched him contemptuously on the sand. Then, without waiting to read the lecture that usually accompanies a punishment, she plunged swiftly up the gully. It is possible that she thought so thorough a spanking spoke for itself: possible, also, that she had no breath left. In any case, she did not speak. She went swiftly past me, her face lowering and angry, and her swift steps died away across the grass.

Judy had crouched low under a bush while her mother passed her. Once the avenging figure was out of sight, she sped downwards to her brother.

“My word, you caught it! I’ll bet it hurt!”

“Hurt!” said Jack. He had picked himself up, and was rubbing his injuries with a comical air of bewilderment. “I’ll tell the world it hurt! I’m all on fire! Great Scott! she did lay it on!” His voice took on an unwonted note of reverence. “Judy, would you have thought she had it in her?”

“I would not,” said Judy. “And goodness knows, you kicked like a steer!”

“Well, I bet I don’t run up against Mother again, if I can help it,” Jack uttered. “I don’t want another licking like that. I don’t believe I’ll be able to ride for a week! Judy, I tell you she held me as if I was a bit of a kitten! I’m sore, but I tell you, I’m jolly proud of Mother!”

“Well, it’s a good thing that’s the way it makes you feel,” said Judy, regarding him with some amazement. “How about getting out that boat now? She won’t come back again. She’s up in the Tower room now, I bet, writing an article for the Americans on ‘How I Brought Up My Sons.’ Say we get the boat?”

“You don’t catch me sitting in any boat to-night,” returned her brother, still rubbing. “It’s light walking exercise for me for a bit, and just now I think I’ll take it to bed. Come along home: it must be awfully late, and there’s always the chance that she might come back. I say, Judy, wasn’t my yell a beauty!”

“It was,” agreed his sister. “But it was a mistaken yell.”

Jack nodded agreement.

“Well, you don’t catch me trying to attract Mother’s attention again,” he said. “She leaves her mark when you do attract it. Come along, Ju: I’m off to bed.”

There seemed no reason for me to show myself, when Mrs. McNab had dealt with the situation so thoroughly: I remained in my hiding-place while they clambered up the gully, a proceeding clearly fraught with pain in the case of Jack. Quite near me he paused.

“I say,” he said, “we’ve been pretty average annoying, a good many times. I wonder why she never did that before?”

“Don’t know,” said Judy. “If I had a gift like that I guess I’d use it!”

“Well, I hope she won’t get the habit, that’s all,” said Jack. They went slowly across the paddock, and I followed at a discreet distance. The light burned brightly in the Tower room as I crossed the yard. Up there Mrs. McNab would write and smoke throughout the night. For once I wanted to read the result of that particular evening’s inspiration.