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War Workers

<h3>XIX</h3> Grace Jones went back to the Hostel soon after the New Year in order to pack up and to make her farewells before going for a month's holiday to her home in Wales. "And then Plessing!" said Miss Marsh in an awed voice. "And then Plessing," Grace assented. "Lady Vivian hopes that it will be properly started by that time as a convalescent home." She looked across the sitting-room to where Mrs. Bullivant was sitting, with a smile that held inquiry and congratulation. "Fancy!" ejaculated Mrs. Bullivant, with a sort of timorous pleasure, "Lady Vivian actually thought of me, and suggested my taking over the work of quarter-mistress there. You know, looking after the stores and all that sort of thing. I must say, it's very good of her, and I shall like working there—and Gracie as secretary and all, too. It'll be quite like old times." "I hate changes," observed Miss Henderson gloomily. "This place will be extraordinary, with you gone, Mrs. Bullivant, and Gracie, and probably Tony and Plumtree as well." "Tony isn't leaving, is she?" cried Grace. "Yes, she is. Sent in her resignation two days ago. The fact is, she was altogether upset by that fuss we had about Miss Vivian the other day, and so she's decided that she wants a change. And Greengage says she won't stay without her. They always did hang together, you know." "I don't altogether wonder at poor old Plumtree," Mrs. Potter observed thoughtfully. "Miss Vivian has always had a down on her, hasn't she? But she and Tony will be a loss to the Hostel, and so will you, dear." "I don't like leaving a bit," Grace declared; "you've all been so nice to me, and I've been very happy here." It was undeniable, however, that happiness was not destined to be the prevailing characteristic of Miss Jones's last day in the office. Miss Vivian, seated at her paper-strewn table with all the old arrogance, if not actually with an additional touch of it to counteract the humanizing effect of the crêpe mourning band on her left arm, ignored her junior secretary as far as possible, but inspected her work with a closeness of attention that almost argued a desire to find it defective. "You can hand over your work to Miss Delmege, Miss—er—Jones. She will take it over on Monday next." "Yes, Miss Vivian." "And bring me your files." Char ran over the papers in the old way, with the murmured running commentary that denoted her utter unconsciousness of all but the task in hand, and at the same time made the extensive area covered by her official correspondence fully evident to the perceptions of whoever might be in the room with her. "Papers relating to that man Farmer's pension—those must go up today. That contract for the milk—send it up to the Commissariat Department, and I should like to know why they haven't sent me down the balance-sheets for the month. Nothing is ever properly checked, it seems to me, unless I do it myself, though Heaven only knows when I'm to find time for it. I've got to go through the accounts today, some time or other.... What's this? One of the nurses from the Town Hospital wants to see me, and calmly writes to say so! I never heard such unofficial nonsense in my life, as though I had time to give personal interviews to every wretched little V.A.D. who chooses to ask for them! Miss Delmege!" "Yes, Miss Vivian?" "Take this letter and answer it in the third person. Make it quite clear that any application of that sort is entirely out of order. If she wants to speak to any one, she can go to Matron; and if it's necessary, Matron can write to me about it." Miss Delmege took the letter, and mentally framed to herself the sentences in which she would later on make it clear to Gracie Jones that Miss Vivian's manner never really meant anything, and that her summary dismissal of any such appeal was only the necessary concomitant to official authority. It had become increasingly clear to Miss Delmege that Gracie was somehow, by the very reticence of her unspoken judgments, at the bottom of the extraordinary prejudice with which so many members of the staff now viewed the arbitrary ways of Miss Vivian. The clear, rapid undertones continued: "Boiler at the Hospital burst; they should have reported it sooner, but I'll send an order to the shop people. Another list for transfer! Dr. Prince transfers his men without rhyme or reason—all cases of myalgia and trench feet, too. I shall have to write and tell him to reconsider half of them, before I should dream of letting them leave. "What's all that?—case for massage, case for Shepherd's Bush, five transfers for convalescent homes.... Send me up the Transport Officer. Miss Delmege, what are my appointments for today?" "The new Superintendent for the Hostel is coming for an interview at two o'clock, and Dr. Prince rang up to say that he would come in for a moment at three." Char raised her eyebrows. "If I happen to be engaged or busy, he will have to wait. Is that all?" "Yes, Miss Vivian." "Thank Heaven!" piously ejaculated Char, entirely pour la forme, since the interviews which cut into her day's work afforded her the only relief she obtained from its monotonous strain. "Then I'll get through these letters at once. Send those to Mrs. Potter; and, Miss Delmege, you can take these—the rest are for the Clothing Department. Miss Jones, kindly deal with these files.... Send for Miss Coll—Mrs. Baker-Bridges, to take down some letters at once." Miss Delmege looked rather disturbed, and remained standing at Char's elbow without speaking. Miss Vivian, as was customary with her when wishing to display absorption in her work, continued to turn over the papers on the table without raising her eyes. At last she looked up and said sharply: "What is it, Miss Delmege? You fidget me very much by standing there in that unmeaning way. Do you want anything?" Miss Delmege cleared her throat nervously. Too well did she know the peculiar note of crisp asperity now sounding in her chief's voice. "I'm afraid the stenographer isn't here today." "And why on earth not?" "She isn't well." "I've had no application for sick leave." "She only telephoned this morning to say that she didn't feel able to come today." Char, with the calculated show of temper with which she greeted any departures from discipline, struck the table with her hand, and made the unfortunate Miss Delmege jump. "I think you've all lost your heads completely while I've been away. Is this office under military discipline or is it not?" The question being purely rhetorical, Miss Delmege attempted no reply to it, and merely drooped the more dejectedly over her sheaf of letters. "You can tell Miss Collins that unless she can apply for sick leave in the proper manner, and with a medical certificate to say that she is unfit for duty, she may consider herself dismissed." Miss Delmege, only too thankful to feel that the Director's wrath was not aimed at herself, hastened to the telephone to deliver the ultimatum. She returned scarlet, and with an air of outraged modesty that made Grace look at her in mild astonishment. Miss Jones's curiosity, however, only received satisfaction that afternoon, at the close of Dr. Prince's interview with Miss Vivian, when he casually remarked: "By the way, that pretty little red-haired typist of yours, the one who got married the other day, paid me a call yesterday." "Then, perhaps, you can inform me why she thought proper to remain away from duty without leave today." "Oh, you'll have her back tomorrow—for a time, anyway." Grace saw Miss Delmege make a hurried plunge into a small stationery cupboard, where she appeared to be searching for something elaborately concealed. "I can't have that sort of playing fast and loose with the work," Char said icily. "If Miss Collins—" "Mrs. Baker-Bridges," the doctor corrected her cheerfully. "If my stenographer can't attend to her work regularly, she is of very little use to me." "She's probably going to be of more use to the nation, let me tell you, than all the rest of you put together," said Dr. Prince. Miss Delmege's agony of mind reached its culmination, and she let drop an armful of heavy ledgers with a clatter which effectually covered any further indelicate precision of utterance of which the doctor might have been guilty. By the time that Grace had extinguished her own laughter in the cupboard, and had assisted Miss Delmege to pick up her books, the Doctor had slammed the door behind him, with a disregard for Miss Vivian's presence which might perhaps be accounted for by the searching cross-examination to which she had just subjected his proposed Medical Board cases. "A doctor's profession, I suppose," Miss Delmege said to Grace in tones of outraged delicacy as they left the office together, "destroys the finer feelings altogether. I'm not prudish, so far as I know, but really, after what passed in the office today—" "I wish you'd tell me what Mrs. Baker-Bridges said to you over the telephone." Miss Delmege coloured and tossed her head. "Some people don't seem to mind what they say. I never did like her, but I certainly didn't think she had a coarse mind." "And has she?" "Well, I wouldn't say it to any one but you, dear, and I know you won't repeat any of it, but she was actually so pleased and proud at the mere idea that she said she couldn't keep it to herself, though she isn't even in the least certain." The virtuous horror expressed in Miss Delmege's whole person at such deplorable outspokenness was so excessive that Grace dared not make any reply for fear of producing an anti-climax. That evening, Grace's last at Questerham Hostel, her room-mate became disconsolate. "I don't know what I shall do without you, Gracie, and this room will be simply awful. You've always been such a dear about my being so untidy and everything, and put up with all of it, and done such heaps of little things. I shall never forget how you washed up the cups and tea-things after our morning tea, dear, never." "But I was only too pleased," protested Grace. "You've done a lot for me, if it comes to that. Look how often you've boiled your kettle for me, and had everything ready on nights when I came back late. I shall miss you very much, but don't forget that if ever you're in Wales you're coming to stay with us." "I say, do you really mean that?" "Of course I do." "You are a brick, Gracie. The thing I like about you," said Miss Marsh instructively, "is that you don't put on any frills." "Well, why should I?" "Oh, I don't know—staying at Plessing, and knowing Miss Vivian's people, and so on. There are others I could name," Miss Marsh said viciously, "who take airs for a good deal less—in fact, for nothing at all, that any one but themselves can see." Miss Jones knew from much previous experience the subject denoted by that particular edge in her room-mate's voice. "Are you worried?" she asked sympathetically, selecting a euphemism at random. "My dear, I've got an awful fear that Delmege means to move into this room when you're gone. You'll see if she doesn't get round the new Superintendent. She's always resented being put in with two others, and that room of theirs will always be a three-bedded one." "But Tony and Miss Plumtree are both leaving." "Not yet, and, anyway, two others will be put in instead. Mark my words," said Miss Marsh tragically, "that'll be the next thing. Delmege and me stuck in here tête-à-tête, as they say." "I do hope not." "I shall resign, that's all. Simply resign. And give my reasons. I shall say to Miss Vivian right out, when she asks me why I want to leave—" "But she never does ask why any one wants to leave. Besides, you know you wouldn't leave for such a ridiculous reason as that." "Well, perhaps I wouldn't! After all, I should be sorry to think I couldn't get the better of Delmege, when all's said and done. I've a very good mind to tell her quite plainly that if she's got her eye on that corner bed she'll have to come to an understanding with me first, both as to the use of the screen and who's to make tea in the morning and turn the gas out at night. I've heard tales about Delmege's trick of getting into bed in a hurry and leaving everybody else to do the work. And she and I have had words before now." "I know you have," said Grace. "Perhaps that may prevent her from wanting to come here." Miss Marsh looked gloomy, and then bounded up as a tap sounded on the door. "What did I tell you? I'll take any bet you like that's Delmege nosing round now. I know the way she swishes her petticoat—such swank, wearing a silk one under uniform! Well, I'm not going to interfere with her." Miss Marsh bounced behind her screen. "Come in," Grace called. "Say I'm undressing," Miss Marsh issued a whispered command. Miss Delmege stepped elegantly into the room, her favourite "fawn" peignoir chastely gathered round her. "You alone, dear?" "No, she isn't. I'm undressing," said a sharp voice behind the screen. Miss Delmege ignored the voice, and laid a patronizingly affectionate hand upon Grace's shoulder. "What thick hair you have, dear! Quite a work brushing it, I should think. Now, mine is so long that it's never had time to get really thick, though I know you wouldn't guess it to look at it, but that's the way it grows. As a child I used to have a perfect mass. Mother always used to say about me, 'That child Vera's strength has all gone into her hair, every bit of it.' It used to make her quite anxious, to see me without a bit of colour in my face and this great mass of hair." "What made it all fall out, Delmege?" came incisively from behind the screen. Miss Delmege tossed the long attenuated plait of straight fair hair which hung artlessly over one shoulder, and simulated deafness. "I just looked in as it's your last night here," she told Grace. "We shall miss you, I'm sure. Tell me, dear, have you any idea who is coming into this room in your place?" "Not any," hastily said Grace, as Miss Marsh's boot was dropped on the floor with a clatter that argued a certain degree of energy in removing it. "I suppose it will be arranged by the new Superintendent." "It might be kinder," said Miss Delmege thoughtfully, "to have all that sort of thing in order before she arrives. She'll have plenty to do without changes of bedroom. But of course this is a room for two, there's no doubt about it. I've sometimes thought of a move myself, and this might be a good opportunity—" The second boot was violently sent to rejoin its fellow. "Strange, the noise that goes on in here, isn't it, with only the pair of you, too. I wonder it doesn't disturb you; but perhaps you're used to it?" "If you don't like noise, Delmege, don't come in here," exclaimed the still invisible Miss Marsh. "I never could bear creeping about without a sound, like a cat, myself." "I dare say not," Miss Delmege returned, with a certain spurious assumption of extreme gentleness in her little refined enunciation. "But I hope we all know what give and take is in sharing a room—especially in war-time." "There's more take than give about some of us, by all accounts, especially in the matter of kettles and early tea," was the retort of Miss Marsh, spoken with asperity. Miss Delmege turned to Grace. "Well, dear, as I don't propose to have words either now or at any other hour, I shall say good-night. Do you mean to say you manage with only one screen?" "Quite well. Besides, there are two round the other bed." "I dare say that's very necessary," said Miss Delmege pointedly, as she moved to the door. "Good-night, dear." "Good-night," said Grace, not without thankfulness. "Good-night," repeated Miss Delmege to the screen. "When I'm in here, I shall certainly insist upon having an extra screen. I can't imagine how anybody can manage with one only. And each will keep to her own side of the room, too, instead of leaving her things all over the other's. What I call untidy, some of these arrangements are. But, of course, it's all what one's been used to, isn't it?" Leaving no time for a reply to this favourite inquiry, Miss Delmege shut the door gently behind her. Grace, proceeding to bed under the flow of eloquence directed at her from behind Miss Marsh's screen, conjectured that the bedroom would know no lack of spirited conversation between its inmates in the future. The next morning Miss Marsh asked her at breakfast: "Shall you go and say good-bye to Miss Vivian?" "I don't think it's necessary, is it?" Grace said hesitatingly. "I can easily find out for you, dear, if she can see you for a moment," Miss Delmege kindly volunteered. The opinion of the Hostel instantly veered round to an irrevocable certainty that a farewell to Miss Vivian was not necessary. "After all, she'd only say she was too busy to see you." "Or say she couldn't conscientiously recommend you for clerical work, as she did to poor Plumtree when she gave in her resignation the other day." "After Plumtree has toiled over those beastly averages for the best part of two years!" It was evident that the temper of the staff, for one reason or another, was undergoing a very thorough reaction indeed. Only Miss Delmege remarked firmly: "I know nothing about Plumtree's work, I'm sure, but if there's one thing Miss Vivian is, it's just. Quite impartially speaking, one can't help seeing that, and especially being, as I am, in the position of her secretary. As I always say, I get at the human side of her." "Inhuman, I call it," muttered Tony, Miss Plumtree's chief ally. "Wherever a recommendation is possible, Miss Vivian always gives it," inflexibly replied Miss Delmege. "I can answer for that." Few things received less consideration in the Hostel than Miss Delmege in process of answering for the Director of the Midland Supply Depôt, and Miss Marsh, Tony, and Miss Henderson dashed simultaneously into discussion of a project for seeing Grace off at the station. "We can get off at lunch-time, and your train goes at 1.30, doesn't it, Gracie?" "Yes, and I'd love you to come; only what about your lunch?" But every one said that didn't matter at all, and that, of course, dear old Gracie must have a proper send-off. "How nice they all are to me!" thought Grace, and recklessly purchased a supply of cigarettes, which she left with Mrs. Bullivant, for the consolation of the Hostel during many Sunday afternoons to come. "We shall meet at Plessing," the little Superintendent said, kissing her affectionately, "and it will be a great pleasure to work with you, Miss Jones dear, and you must tell me all Lady Vivian likes, you know, and how we can help her most." "You'll like working for her very much," Grace prophesied confidently. "Good-bye, dear Mrs. Bullivant, and thank you for all your kindness to me." She ran down the steps and would not look back, conscious of emotion. At the station the members of the staff were to appear when possible. But as Grace crossed Pollard Street, glancing involuntarily at the familiar office door, Miss Delmege, with a most unusual disregard for propriety, emerged hastily, hatless and with her neat coils of hair ruffled in the wind. "Good-bye, dear. It's sad to lose you, but I'm sure I hope you'll like your new job. I must say, it's been a pleasure to work with you." "Oh, I'm so glad! How kind of you!" "It's not every one I could say it to," Miss Delmege observed, with great truth. "But there's never been the least little difficulty, has there? We shall all miss you, and I must say I could wish that some others I could name were leaving in your place." Grace knew too well the nameless being alluded to, however feebly disguised by the use of the plural. "Couldn't you get away to the station?" she asked hastily. "Well, dear, I would, but really, with so many others there—to tell you the truth, that Miss Marsh is beginning to get on my nerves a bit. Besides, you see, if I went off early, Miss Vivian might think it rather strange." On this unanswerable reason, Grace took a cordial farewell of Miss Vivian's unalterably loyal remaining secretary. At the station Tony and Mrs. Potter hailed her eagerly. "We got down early, but the others are coming. There's an awful crowd, dear; better hurry." Grace, in obedience to their urgings, purchased her ticket, while Mrs. Potter looked after the luggage and Tony took possession for her of a corner seat facing the engine. "Here you are, and remember," said Mrs. Potter earnestly, "that you can get a cup of nice hot tea at the Junction. There'll be plenty of time; I found out on purpose." "Thank you very much," said Grace gratefully. She stood at the window, and presently Tony and Mrs. Potter were joined by several other members of the staff, all hurried, but eager to take an affectionate farewell of Gracie. "Marsh ought to be here—can't think why she isn't. She was tearing about like mad so as to get off in time," said Miss Plumtree. "That girl will come into heaven late," Miss Henderson prophesied, and looked gratified when her neighbour emitted a faint, shocked exclamation. "Give her my love if she's too late, and say I'm so very sorry," said Grace. "You'll be off in a minute now." "Mind you come back next month all right. We'll come down and meet you." "I should like that so much. I shall look out on this very platform for you all." "Oh, Gracie! shall we any of us ever see this awful platform without thinking of those troop-trains and the ghastly weight of the trays?" "Never!" said Grace with entire conviction. "There's the whistle—you're off now." "And here's Marsh—she'll just do it. Look at her!" Grace hung out of the window, and saw the ever tardy Miss Marsh hastening up the crowded platform, making free use of her elbows. "I started too late—that wretched Delmege pretended I was wanted—so sorry, Gracie dear. Mind you write." "Yes, yes. And please do all write to me when you have time, and tell me all your news. And we'll meet again next month, as soon as I get back." The train was moving now, and only the panting and energetic Miss Marsh hastened along beside it, her hand on the carriage window. "Good-bye, good-luck. I shall miss you dreadfully in our room. Don't be surprised if you hear that Delmege and I have had words together; that girl simply gets on my nerves." "Stand back there, please." "Good-bye, Gracie!" "Good-bye." Grace stood at the window and waved to the little group until the blue uniforms were lost to sight and only the flutter of Tony's handkerchief was still visible. The Hostel days were over, but she would remember them always with a smile for the small hardships that had been tempered by so much kindness and merriment, and with a faithful recollection of the good companionship that work and the comradeship of workers ever had brought her. To John Trevellyan in the trenches, Grace wrote something of her thoughts two days later, amid much else. "I'm so glad I went to Questerham, apart from everything else, for the experience. The Hostel life was sometimes uncomfortable, but it was always amusing; and when all was said and done, everybody was ready to do anything or everything for any one else. I can't believe I was only there such a little while, for more happened to me there, and I got into realer touch with more people, than ever before. "And now the New Year is only just beginning, and there have been so many changes and happenings already. I wonder so much what else it is going to bring to all of us who were together in Questerham." <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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