The Lion's Share. Arnold Bennett

Society for eleven years. Despite the promise of its name, this wealthy association of idealists had no care for reforms in a sadly imperfect England. Its aim was anti-Romanist. The Reformation which it had in mind was Luther’s, and it wished, by fighting an alleged insidious revival of Roman Catholicism, to make sure that so far as England was concerned Luther had not preached in vain.

      Mr. Moze’s connection with the Society had originated in a quarrel between himself and a Catholic priest from Ipswich who had instituted a boys’ summer camp on the banks of Mozewater near the village of Moze. Until that quarrel, the exceeding noxiousness of the Papal doctrine had not clearly presented itself to Mr. Moze. In such strange ways may an ideal come to birth. As Mr. Moze, preoccupied and gloomy once more, steered himself rapidly out of Moze towards the episcopal presence, the image of the imperturbable and Jesuitical priest took shape in his mind, refreshing his determination to be even with Rome at any cost.

CHAPTER II

       Table of Contents

THE THIEF’S PLAN WRECKED

       Table of Contents

      “The fact is,” said Audrey, “father has another woman in the house now.”

      Mr. Moze had left Miss Ingate in the study and Audrey had cautiously rejoined her there.

      “Another woman in the house!” repeated Miss Ingate, sitting down in happy expectation. “What on earth do you mean? Who on earth do you mean?”

      “I mean me.”

      “You aren’t a woman, Audrey.”

      “I’m just as much of a woman as you are. All father’s behaviour proves it.”

      “But your father treats you as a child.”

      “No, he doesn’t. He treats me as a woman. If he thought I was a child he wouldn’t have anything to worry about. I’m over nineteen.”

      “You don’t look it.”

      “Of course I don’t. But I could if I liked. I simply won’t look it because I don’t care to be made ridiculous. I should start to look my age at once if father stopped treating me like a child.”

      “But you’ve just said he treats you as a woman!”

      “You don’t understand, Winnie,” said the girl sharply. “Unless you’re pretending. Now you’ve never told me anything about yourself, and I’ve always told you lots about myself. You belong to an old-fashioned family. How were you treated when you were my age?”

      “In what way?”

      “You know what way,” said Audrey, gazing at her.

      “Well, my dear. Things seemed to come very naturally, somehow.”

      “Were you ever engaged?”

      “Me? Oh, no!” answered Miss Ingate with tranquillity. “I’m vehy interested in them. Oh, vehy! Oh, vehy! And I like talking to them. But anything more than that gets on my nerves. My eldest sister was the one. Oh! She was the one. She refused eleven men, and when she was going to be married she made me embroider the monograms of all of them on the skirt of her wedding-dress. She made me, and I had to do it. I sat up all night the night before the wedding to finish them.”

      “And what did the bridegroom say about it?”

      “The bridegroom didn’t say anything about it because he didn’t know. Nobody knew except Arabella and me. She just wanted to feel that the monograms were on her dress, that was all.”

      “How strange!”

      “Yes, it was. But this is a vehy strange part of the world.”

      “And what happened afterwards?”

      “Bella died when she had her first baby, and the baby died as well. And the father’s dead now, too.”

      “What a horrid story, Winnie!” Audrey murmured. And after a pause: “I like your sister.”

      “She was vehy uncommon. But I liked her too. I don’t know why, but I did. She could make the best marmalade I ever tasted in my born days.”

      “I could make the best marmalade you ever tasted in your born days,” said Audrey, sinking neatly to the floor and crossing her legs, “but they won’t let me.”

      “Won’t let you! But I thought you did all sorts of things in the house.”

      “No, Winnie. I only do one thing. I do as I’m told—and not always even that. Now, if I wanted to make the best marmalade you ever tasted in your born days, first of all there would be a fearful row about the oranges. Secondly, father would tell mother she must tell me exactly what I was to do. He would also tell cook. Thirdly and lastly, dear friends, he would come into the kitchen himself. It wouldn’t be my marmalade at all. I should only be a marmalade-making machine. They never let me have any responsibility—no, not even when mother’s operation was on—and I’m never officially free. The kitchen-maid has far more responsibility than I have. And she has an evening off and an afternoon off. She can write a letter without everybody asking her who she’s writing to. She’s only seventeen. She has the morning postman for a young man now, and probably one or two others that I don’t know of. And she has money and she buys her own clothes. She’s a very naughty, wicked girl, and I wish I was in her place. She scorns me, naturally. Who wouldn’t?”

      Miss Ingate said not a word. She merely sat with her hands in the lap of her spotted pale-blue dress, faintly and sadly smiling.

      Audrey burst out:

      “Miss Ingate, what can I do? I must do something. What can I do?”

      Miss Ingate shook her head, and put her lips tightly together, while mechanically smoothing the sides of her grey coat.

      “I don’t know,” she said. “It beats me.”

      “Then I’ll tell you what I can do!” answered Audrey firmly, wriggling somewhat nearer to her along the floor. “And what I shall do.”

      “What?”

      “Will you promise to keep it a secret?”

      Miss Ingate nodded, smiling and showing her teeth. Her broad polished forehead positively shone with kindly eagerness.

      “Will you swear?”

      Miss Ingate hesitated, and then nodded again.

      “Then put your hand on my head and say, ‘I swear.’ ”

      Miss Ingate obeyed.

      “I shall leave this house,” said Audrey in a low voice.

      “You won’t, Audrey!”

      “I’ll eat my hand off if I’ve not left this house by to-morrow, anyway.”

      “To-morrow!” Miss Ingate nearly screamed. “Now, Audrey, do reflect. Think what you are!”

      Audrey bounded to her feet.

      “That’s what father’s always saying,” she exploded angrily. “He’s always telling me to examine myself. The fact is, I know too much about myself. I know exactly the kind of girl it is who’s going to leave this house. Exactly!”

      “Audrey, you frighten me. Where are you going to?”

      “London.”

      “Oh! That’s all right then. I am relieved. I thought perhaps you waited to come to my house. You won’t get to London, because you haven’t any money.”