THE COMPLETE CLAYHANGER SERIES: Clayhanger, Hilda Lessways, These Twain & The Roll Call. Arnold Bennett
in the nature of a bold advance would be accomplished clumsily. He knew that it would be unpleasant. He knew that inaction suited much better his instinct for tranquillity. No matter! All that was naught. She had challenged, and he had to respond. Besides, she allured... And, after her scene with him in the porch of the new house, had he not the right? ... A girl who had behaved as she did that night cannot effectively contradict herself!
“I was just reading about this strike,” she said, rustling the newspaper.
“You’ve soon got into local politics.”
“Well,” she said, “I saw a lot of the men as we were driving from the station. I should think I saw two thousand of them. So of course I was interested. I made Mr Orgreave tell me all about it. Will they win?”
“It depends on the weather.” He smiled.
She remained silent, and grave. “I see!” she said, leaning her chin on her hand. At her tone he ceased smiling. She said “I see,” and she actually had seen.
“You see,” he repeated. “If it was June instead of November! But then it isn’t June. Wages are settled every year in November. So if there is to be a strike it can only begin in November.”
“But didn’t the men ask for the time of year to be changed?”
“Yes,” he said. “But you don’t suppose the masters were going to agree to that, do you?” He sneered masculinely.
“Why not?”
“Because it gives them such a pull.”
“What a shame!” Hilda exclaimed passionately. “And what a shame it is that the masters want to make the wages depend on selling prices! Can’t they see that selling prices ought to depend on wages?”
Edwin said nothing. She had knocked suddenly out of his head all ideas of flirting, and he was trying to reassemble them.
“I suppose you’re like all the rest?” she questioned gloomily.
“How like all the rest?”
“Against the men. Mr Orgreave is, and he says your father is very strongly against them.”
“Look here,” said Edwin, with an air of resentment as to which he himself could not have decided whether it was assumed or genuine, “what earthly right have you to suppose that I’m like all the rest?”
“I’m very sorry,” she surrendered. “I knew all the time you weren’t.” With her face still bent downwards, she looked up at him, smiling sadly, smiling roguishly.
“Father’s against them,” he proceeded, somewhat deflated. And he thought of all his father’s violent invective, and of Maggie’s bland acceptance of the assumption that workmen on strike were rascals—how different the excellent simple Maggie from this feverish creature on the sofa! “Father’s against them, and most people are, because they broke the last arbitration award. But I’m not my father. If you ask me, I’ll tell you what I think—workmen on strike are always in the right; at bottom I mean. You’ve only got to look at them in a crowd together. They don’t starve themselves for fun.”
He was not sure if he was convinced of the truth of these statements; but she drew them out of him by her strange power. And when he had uttered them, they appeared fine to him.
“What does your father say to that?”
“Oh!” said Edwin uneasily. “Him—and me—we don’t argue about these things.”
“Why not?”
“Well, we don’t.”
“You aren’t ashamed of your own opinions, are you?” she demanded, with a hint in her voice that she was ready to be scornful.
“You know all the time I’m not.” He repeated the phrase of her previous confession with a certain acrimonious emphasis. “Don’t you?” he added curtly.
She remained silent.
“Don’t you?” he said more loudly. And as she offered no reply, he went on, marvelling at what was coming out of his mouth. “I’ll tell you what I am ashamed of. I’m ashamed of seeing my father lose his temper. So you know!”
She said—
“I never met anybody like you before. No, never!”
At this he really was astounded, and most exquisitely flattered.
“I might say the same of you,” he replied, sticking his chin out.
“Oh no!” she said. “I’m nothing.”
The fact was that he could not foretell their conversation even ten seconds in advance. It was full of the completely unexpected. He thought to himself, “You never know what a girl like that will say next.” But what would he say next?
Five.
They were interrupted by Osmond Orgreave, with his, “Well, Edwin,” jolly, welcoming, and yet slightly quizzical. Edwin could not look him in the face without feeling self-conscious. Nor dared he glance at Hilda to see what her demeanour was like under the good-natured scrutiny of her friend’s father.
“We thought you’d forgotten us,” said Mr Orgreave. “But that’s always the way with neighbours.” He turned to Hilda. “It’s true,” he continued, jerking his head at Edwin. “He scarcely ever comes to see us, except when you’re here.”
“Steady on!” Edwin murmured. “Steady on, Mr Orgreave!” And hastily he asked a question about Mrs Orgreave’s asthma; and from that the conversation passed to the doings of the various absent members of the family.
“You’ve been working, as usual, I suppose,” said Edwin.
“Working!” laughed Mr Orgreave. “I’ve done what I could, with Hilda there! Instead of going up to Hillport with Janet, she would stop here and chatter about strikes.”
Hilda smiled at him benevolently as at one to whom she permitted everything.
“Mr Clayhanger agrees with me,” she said.
“Oh! You needn’t tell me!” protested Mr Orgreave. “I could see you were as thick as thieves over it.” He looked at Edwin. “Has she told you she wants to go over a printing works?”
“No,” said Edwin. “But I shall be very pleased to show her over ours, any time.”
She made no observation.
“Look here,” said Edwin suddenly, “I must be off. I only slipped in for a minute, really.” He did not know why he said this, for his greatest wish was to probe more deeply into the tantalising psychology of Hilda Lessways. His tongue, however, had said it, and his tongue reiterated it when Mr Orgreave urged that Janet and Alicia would be back soon and that food would then be partaken of. He would not stay. Desiring to stay, he would not. He wished to be alone, to think. Clearly Hilda had been talking about him to Mr Orgreave, and to Janet. Did she discuss him and his affairs with everybody?
Nor would he, in response to Mr Orgreave’s suggestion, promise definitely to call again on the next evening. He said he would try. Hilda took leave of him nonchalantly. He departed.
And as he made the half-circuit of the misty lawn, on his way to the gates, he muttered in his heart, where even he himself could scarcely hear: “I swore I’d do something, and I haven’t. Well, of course, when she talked seriously like that, what could I do?” But he was disgusted with himself and ashamed of his namby-pambiness.
He strolled thoughtfully up Oak Street, and down Trafalgar Road; and when he was near home, another wayfarer saw him face right about and go up Trafalgar Road and disappear at the corner of Oak Street.
The Orgreave servant was surprised to see him at the front door again when she