The Case of William Smith

Chapter Twenty-eight

On the Saturday afternoon whilst William and Katharine were driving down to Ledstow Abigail Salt was having tea with Mr. Tattlecombe. He was half expecting that she would not come, and quite prepared to be in a huff about it. Influenza or no influenza, he didn’t see why she should dance attendance on Emily when her own flesh and blood with his leg only just out of a splint was expecting her. Human nature being what it is, he was almost disappointed when she turned up punctually to the moment and, taking off her coat and gloves, went into the little upstairs kitchen to make the tea – Mrs. Bastable having gone down to Ealing to see her husband’s eldest sister, who was a retired elementary schoolmistress.

Sipping his first cup, Abel reflected that it was extraordinary how much better the tea tasted, with the same water, the same tea-leaves, the same gas stove, and the same pot. Tea made by Abby was and probably always would be, superior to tea made by Mrs. Bastable. The same thing with coffee, with soup, with everything. He felt mollified and forgave her the sin of omission which, after all, she hadn’t committed. Emily had not been preferred, he himself had not been neglected. Abigail had made buttered toast of a very superlative kind. He remembered with a shudder that Mrs. Bastable had offered to make it before she went and leave it ‘keeping hot’. He had been rather firm with her about that, and she had departed sniffing.

He ate Abigail’s toast with a good deal of satisfaction whilst she explained how kind it was of Miss Simpson to come in and keep an eye on Emily. ‘She was round to enquire last night, and when I mentioned that you were expecting me today and I didn’t know quite what to do about it, she offered at once. Ellen Simpson’s a good friend, though I don’t say she hasn’t got trying ways sometimes, but I suppose we’re all like that. It isn’t everybody I could leave with Emily, even if she’s pretty much herself again – up yesterday and most of today, though she hasn’t been out. But I told her she’d better be lying down in her own room whilst I was out, and I gave her the wireless. If she wanted anything, I told her, Ellen would be just across the passage in the parlour and she’d bring her her tea, but better not try and talk too much – they might get disagreeing about something.’

This was such a long speech for Abigail that Abel Tattlecombe began to feel very faintly disturbed. He was no more interested in Ellen Simpson than he was in Emily Salt. He didn’t mind which of them had been left to look after the other, and Abby knew it. He wouldn’t have cared if they had been on desert islands or at the North Pole. Ellen Simpson had eyebrows that met in the middle, and she always contradicted everybody flat. When after his wife died she had started agreeing with him, and Abby had begun asking her to meet him at tea, he had been very much alarmed, and he had spoken out. Abby couldn’t possibly think that he wanted to talk about Ellen Simpson.

He took another piece of buttered toast and said,

‘You’ve got something on your mind.’

Mrs. Salt’s fair, fresh-complexioned face remained impassive. The blue eyes which were so much like Abel’s maintained their quiet gaze. She lifted her cup, drank from it, and set it down before she answered him.

‘Well, I won’t say I’m not glad to find you alone.’

Abel wagged his head. He could do it quite comfortably now that the stiffness was gone.

‘You knew very well I was going to be alone. Mrs. Bastable has gone to see her sister-in-law at Ealing. She will come home in very low spirits because Miss Bastable always treats her as if she ought to be in the infants’ class. What have you got on your mind?’ Then, without waiting for a reply, ‘I suppose it’s Emily.’

‘Well, yes, it is.’

Abel grunted.

‘What’s she been doing?’

‘She has been having influenza. On Tuesday night she was very feverish. She wandered in her mind and talked a lot of nonsense. I was glad there wasn’t anyone there to hear her.’

‘What did she say?’

Abigail hesitated.

‘She was out of her head. You can’t take notice of what anyone says when they are in a fever.’

Abel’s bushy eyebrows twitched. Women – look at them! Look at Abby! Had she come here on purpose to tell him what Emily had said, or hadn’t she? Could she get it out without a lot of sticking and fussing? Not a bit of it! He said crossly,

‘Are you going to tell me what she said?’

There was an answering spark in the eyes that were so much like his own.

‘Yes, I am, but I won’t be bustled. I came here on purpose, but it isn’t an easy thing to say, and you’ve never liked poor Emily. I’ve had a duty to her and I’ve done my best. It hasn’t always been easy, and now I’ve come to the place where I’ve got to think about my duty to others, and that isn’t easy either – not after all these years of thinking about Emily first. I’ve come to where I’ve got to speak to someone, and you’re my brother and you’re mixed up with it.’

Abel Tattlecombe finished his piece of toast and reached for another. He wasn’t going to let Emily Salt put him off his tea. If the toast wasn’t eaten hot it would be spoiled, and it was much too good to spoil.

‘What did Emily say?’

Abby wasn’t eating at all. She folded her hands in her lap and looked at him.

‘I’m going to tell you. But you’ve got to make up your mind to look at it the way you would if it wasn’t Emily. You’ve got to judge righteous judgment, Abel, and not just think the way you want to. You’ve never liked Emily, but you’re a just man, and you’ve not got to let it weigh with you. You’ve got to judge the way you would if I was telling you this about somebody else.’

Abel wagged his head.

‘That’s not possible, Abby. You’ve got to judge people according to what you know about them. There’s things I know about Emily. If I’ve got to use my judgment about her, it’s no use telling me I’ve got to put those things out of my head, because I don’t believe the Lord means us to do that, and anyhow it can’t be done. But I’ll do my best to be fair.’

Abigail gave a quiet sigh. Abel always had been set in his ways. She said,

‘Well, I’ll tell you. And you mustn’t make too much of it, for she was clean out of her head. She woke up crying out, and when I went to her she didn’t know me – only stared and said, “I did it – I did it.” So I said, “I’ll get you a drink, my dear.” But when I came back with it she was talking nineteen to the dozen. All a lot of rubbish it sounded like.’

The picture came up in her mind as she spoke – Emily wild enough to frighten you, with her eyes fixed and burning, and a hot, shaking hand. She hadn’t been frightened at the time – she had known too many sick people for that – but when she looked back it frightened her a little more each time.

‘What did she say, Abby?’

She could give the words, but she could never give the horrid way they had come – sometimes in a cold whisper that chilled your blood, sometimes, and quite suddenly, in a scream which made you feel thankful there wasn’t anyone else in the house. Under that habitual look of calm Abigail Salt was deeply perturbed. She said in her quiet voice,

‘She was angry about your will.’

‘She had no call to know anything about it.’

Abigail nodded.

‘She heard you telling me. I couldn’t get her to see, that it was all right for me, and nothing to do with her. She’s got the kind of mind that takes hold of things and can’t let go. She got worked up to feel that William Smith was doing me an injury – and her.’

Abel continued to eat buttered toast. He said with angry contempt,

‘She’s crazy! You’re not telling me what she said.’

Abigail sighed again.

‘I’m trying to make you understand.’

He pushed over his cup, and she filled it. Even with the trouble she was in, she took care that it should be just to his liking. If it came to that, she wasn’t in any hurry to tell him what Emily had said. She wouldn’t be telling him at all if it wasn’t that her conscience wouldn’t let her hold it back.

He sipped from his newly filled cup, fixed his eyes upon her severely, and said,

‘Now, Abby.’