Authors: Winifred Holtby
London hummed with the activities of Propaganda and Reform. Wherever Eleanor turned she found societies for
the ultimate perfection of Society. She was invited to Youth Rallies for Peace, Feminist Teas, and protest meetings about
China. She was asked to address envelopes, buy calendars,
act as steward at meetings, sell papers at the street corner,
and drive enthusiasts from one revival to another. And
whatever society she encountered, she found always that it was short of money, living on the margin of subsistence, bluffing with magnificent effrontery about the size of its
membership, the influence of its resolutions, and the condi
tion of its bank balance. The relationship between cause
and effect was more remote than her scientific education had
led her to believe. Institutions which she had thought con
crete and stable enough, such as newspapers, political con
ferences, and business companies, rested upon a large mea
sure of unsubstantial fantasy. 'Far be it from me to judge Reality,' thought Eleanor, 'when the world is so very much
more odd than I had thought it, and when, according to
Professor Ipswain's lectures on the Operation of Credit, the most powerful source of wealth and the dominating eco
nomic influence is nothing more concrete than a supposition.'
But if Eleanor was prepared to recognize an element of
mysticism in the hidden dynamic which controls society,
she was prepared to tolerate nothing but the most brisk and orderly realism in an office. She took to her lessons on business method like a duck to water. Files and book-keeping,
card indexes and records were the instruments of a regular
and beautiful orchestration. It jarred on her methodical
mind to hear a single instrument out of tune. She had no
experience of the crises and confusions of an active office, staggering blindly but gallantly from one emergency to an
other. She had yet to learn how little the life of reform and
moral welfare lends itself to the niceties of precise routine.
The office of the Christian Cinema Company in Victoria Street shocked her profoundly.
Too shy and too kind to tell poor Caroline how terrible
she thought her unchecked lists and unsorted letters, she
contrived to suggest during her second visit that she might
come along one evening, after the classes were over, and bring two or three girls who would help to put the office
straight. 'It will be such good practice for us. Do let us do
it.'
Caroline's eyes glowed with gratitude and anticipation.
She envisaged Youth and Efficiency taking charge of her office and reducing its chaos to order. She saw young girls,
fresh as daisies, filing her letters and laughing at her difficul
ties, and picnicking round her gas fire when the work was
done, drinking tea out of the bright orange cups from Wool
worth's and sprinkling crumbs of walnut cake joyfully on
the floor. Her eager imagination leapt to this vision of gaiety
and hope.
'My dear, my dear. You are too kind to me. Life is
too
wonderful. You know, I knew from the very moment I first
saw you that you were bringing luck to me. I've felt quite differently about life ever since.'
'Any word about the three thousand?' asked practical
Eleanor. It was almost the end of January. Mr. Macafee's
ultimatum was due to expire within a week.
A shadow crossed Caroline's face.
'No. No. Not yet. But we've got six days more, and I've had sixteen inquiries about the company circulars, and an
application from a lady in Brighton for two shares this after
noon, and that brings us up to £542
io
s
. 0
d.
up to date.
Any
day now we may find our millionaire.'
'But if not?'
'If not? If not? My dear child, when you've lived as long
as I have, fighting and striving for what
seems
impossible, you'll know that there are some questions best left unasked.
It
will
be. It
must
be. Faith. I will have faith although the
heavens fall. Don't you see, dear, that for people like us,
who step off the beaten track and dare to scale the heights,
there is no retreat, no turning back? There is no
If not.
It
must be.'
'Yes. But - surely one has to face the worst, Cousin Caroline.'
The little lady turned fiercely upon Eleanor, all her beads
and pendants clashing together like a soldier's armour. 'The
worst, child? What do you know about the worst? Wait
until the iron has entered into your soul. Wait until you
have gone down to the depths in utter loneliness and risked everything,
everything,
even your own self-respect, in the
Cause of Right. Who are you to tell me about the worst,
when you have always led a sheltered life, with capital be
hind you, and a university education? When have you
accepted the conditions that lead to utter nakedness of spirit, when people say, "There can't be much in it or she wouldn't
look so shabby?" Yes, and when people say, "She still keeps
on at it, poor thing, she must be a bit cracked." When have
your relations wondered if it wouldn't be safer and more
economical to get you certified and put away quietly in a
nice mental home? When have they
told you
to give up the
struggle and live on an old-age pension in a club for decayed
gentlewomen? When has there been nothing, nothing left
except success? If you could
strip yourself naked of all privi
lege, my dear child, you still couldn't understand the nakedness, the loneliness, the - the unshelteredness of my genera
tion. Even then you'd have youth and health and a good
education, and people's approval of you to help you on. But I and women like me, we started from nothing -
nothing,
I
tell you. You've been sheltered all your life. You can't
escape from the immunity of your generation. And then you
come and talk to me about "facing the worst!" '
She confronted Eleanor, her breast heaving, her eyes
blazing, her face white with emotion. Then suddenly she
collapsed, crumpling up into the office chair, her head on
her desk, sobbing with an abandon both childish and terrible,
with the stormy anger of a child and the difficult, painful
weeping of the old.
Stricken by remorse and embarrassment, Eleanor stood
behind her, repeating stupidly, 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I
didn't understand.'
For a minute or two, Caroline sobbed uncontrollably.
Then she sat up as quickly as she had sunk down, pushing
her fringe back from her red-rimmed eyes, endeavouring to
compose her distorted face. The strength of prophecy had gone from her and the sudden dignity of revolt. She was as
incoherent and garrulous as ever. 'No, no,' she cried. 'It's
all right. You couldn't possibly understand. I had no right
to expect it. I expect it's because I'm tired — not quite my
self to-day — a little difficulty with Mrs. Hales, of course I
should
have paid the rent. I quite see her position, but going
to the same church I thought would make a difference, and always such a nice woman, more like a friend than a land
lady even though a woman of that class, and of course rather
painful for me in my position to be in debt to the lower
classes. I can't help thinking about it at night and then if
you don't get your proper sleep they say that it is much
harder to bear the responsibilities of big business. I've al
ways understood—' she was pulling herself together, dabbing
her eyes, and stifling from time to time a half-suppressed sob—'I've always understood that Mr. Lloyd George was able to bear the great burden of winning the War for us so
splendidly, because he always got his sleep at nights.'
'Oh, Cousin Caroline. I didn't know. Is Mrs. Hales be
ing beastly to you? Can't I - I mean - I'm not offering
money or anything - I'm not presuming - but as a loan -
just until your director's salary comes in?' Eleanor stam
mered and blushed, torn by pity and discomfort. Caroline's tears were too painful to be borne. She must take action
immediately, and escape.
'Well, just as loan - I wouldn't ask you. I wouldn't have
dreamed of asking you if you hadn't offered. But it makes
such a difference to me, when I come in at night tired out,
to be able to go down to the basement, always so clean and nicely kept to have a word with her and perhaps a cup of tea
in front of the fire. Not so lonely as going up to that room alone, night after night. It's only seven pounds, eight and
sixpence. But I
can't
speak to her when I'm in debt like this.'
'Seven pounds, eight and sixpence - let me write you a
cheque. I have my cheque-book here in my bag.'
Caroline was tidying her dishevelled hair in the little office
mirror, but her face remained stained and crumpled as
though someone had taken a cardboard mask and crushed
it into a ball and thrown it away, and then tried to straighten
it out again for use. She was, however, her own mistress
again.
'You might make it out for the eight pounds,' she said.
'It won't make much difference to you and it'll mean I can
give the dairyman something on account.'
'Why of course - I mean — of course. Why didn't you ask
me before? It's dreadful of me. I should have asked.'
'Not at all. It's very natural. You've not seen much of
life really yet, I mean to say, I always think that one half of the world doesn't know how the other half lives. It's a
loan,
of course, and I shall pay you back with interest.'
Eleanor handed her a cheque for twenty pounds.
'Well, thank you, dear. I'll make a note of it. Now take
no notice of what I said to-night. It's lovely to see youth, I always feel, and you're going to come with me on Sunday night to hear dear Father Lasseter preach, and then coming with me round to the vestry afterwards, aren't you? Because
you know at the last Board meeting we decided that we must
have a representative of the churches with us. A bishop if
possible, and I want to get Father Lasseter to speak to the Bishop of Kensington-Gore about it. You will come, won't
you?'
Eleanor had meant to
evade the invitation. She had
promised to attend a Young Socialists' Social at the 1918
Club. But she could not refuse now.
'Why yes,' she said. 'Of course I'll come. And you must
come round to supper afterwards at the club.'
She could not escape. As she walked behind Caroline
down the two flights of stairs to the lift, she felt
that her
fortunes were bound up inextricably with those of the Chris
tian Cinema Company. She could not let her cousin starve.
She could not let her be snubbed by the unmerciful rectitude of Mrs. Hales. Life would not be tolerable if the three thou
sand pounds did not materialize before the end of January.
Yet she did not want to be bound to Cousin Caroline. She
did not want to spend much time at Victoria Street when
she might be driving propagandists to I.L.P. meetings, or
attending lectures on Company law and scientific manage
ment. She had not come to London to act as office girl to the
Christian Cinema Company. Or had she? What had she
come to London for? What did one do anything for? Why
was she alive? What did life mean? Why had her father died and she been left alive? Was there any discernible intention
behind it all? Immune? Of course she was immune - from poverty, from ignorance, from death itself at present. This
was what had been troubling her all the time, ever since she
saw Jan du Plessis walk up the path to the stoep, with that
queer white face, and heard his strained voice, 'I say,
Eleanor. I've got bad news for you.' One could not shake off this intolerable burden of immunity.