The Clock Strikes Twelve

Chapter 41

Polly opened the door of Miss Paradine’s sitting-room and saw her at the writing-table. Without turning her head Grace Paradine said,

“Is that you, Louisa?”

“No, ma’am, it’s me.”

“Where is Louisa?”

“She’s not very well, ma’am.”

Miss Paradine sat with a pen in her hand, but she had not been writing. The nib was dry, and the sheet in front of her blank. She said in an abstracted voice,

“Yes-I forgot-” And then, “Go down and ask Mrs. Wray to come up here to me. If she is in the drawing-room, just go to the door and ask if you can speak to her for a moment. Then when she has come out of the room you can give her my message. Can you remember that?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.”

“Very well.”

She had not turned her head or looked at Polly.

She sat there with the pen in her hand, and did not write. Her body was stiff and motionless. Her mind had never been clearer, or her will more resolute. Behind it there was an anger like ice. Never in all her life had anyone spoken to her as Elliot Wray had just spoken. Never had she felt such determination, such inward power.

When the door opened again and Phyllida came in she was ready to turn to her with a welcoming smile.

“My darling-did I disturb you?”

Phyllida’s “No, Aunt Grace” was soft and fluttered. She looked distressed.

Grace Paradine said quickly,

“What is it, Phyl? Has he been upsetting you?”

“Oh, no.”

“I think he has. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, my darling. This situation can’t go on. It is most distressing for you-for all of us. God knows we have enough without that.” She took a handkerchief from her loose sleeve and touched her eyes with it. The hand which held it shook a little.

Phyllida said, “Please, Aunt Grace-”

The hand came down and lay upon the other one, still clasping the handkerchief.

“Forgive me, my darling-this has all been such a shock. I did not think that even Elliot Wray would choose this moment to make things worse for me.”

Phyllida said nothing. What was there to say? She didn’t know. She stood looking at Grace Paradine as you look at something in a dream-something which isn’t real.

Grace Paradine got up and came to her.

“I could bear his insulting behaviour if it only affected me, but I can’t and won’t have you exposed to it. I asked him to go-for your sake, my darling- and he told me that he was Mark’s guest, not mine. So I must speak to Mark, but I wanted to tell you first. I don’t want you to think that I would do anything behind your back.”

A shiver went over Phyllida. If it is a dream, you can wake up. If it isn’t a dream, you have to bear it. She said,

“Please, Aunt Grace-it isn’t any good-”

“What do you mean, Phyl?”

Phyllida looked away.

“It isn’t any good. I know. Why did you do it?”

If she had been watching Grace Paradine she would have seen her eyes brighten and a little colour come up in her cheeks. She meant to fight, and she meant to win. She felt the glow which the fighter feels. She made her voice very gentle.

“Phyl, darling, what do you mean? Won’t you tell me? Is it something that he has been saying? If it is, I think you will have to tell me.”

Phyllida looked, and looked away. She could not meet what she saw in Grace Paradine’s face. It had meant love and shelter as long as she could remember. It had meant sympathy, kindness, protection. She couldn’t face it. She said almost in a whisper,

“Please, Aunt Grace-”

And then suddenly courage came to her. When you have to face something, you can. She said,

“Yes, I’ll tell you-I must. Elliot and I have talked. I know he wrote to me-twice. I know what was in the letters. I didn’t get them. I know why. I know all about Maisie.”

“You know what he has told you.”

“Yes.”

“My darling, do you suppose that he has told you the truth? Do you suppose that any man tells the truth about that sort of thing? He is tired of this girl now-I believe she has been ill-and he wants you back. Why shouldn’t he? You are young and pretty, and you come in for a comfortable sum of money under James’s will. Naturally he wants you back.”

Phyllida said steadily,

“You say Maisie has been ill. Don’t you know that she has been paralysed for months?”

“Is that what he told you? Did you believe him? Oh, my darling, do you want him to break your heart all over again? He wants you now-how long would he want you if you were ill like this poor girl? He throws her over-he isn’t ashamed to come and tell you about it. What have you got to trust to? I suppose she thought she had something. What will you have?”

Phyllida lifted her eyes. They had a look of immeasurable sadness. She said,

“It’s no good. It wasn’t like that-I think you know that it wasn’t. We love each other. You mustn’t try to separate us any more.”

There was a silence. Then Grace Paradine said in her deep, tragic voice,

“Is that how it is?”

Another silence.

Grace Paradine turned away. After a moment she said,

“I want to make you understand. Will you listen to me, Phyl?” The words were gently, even tenderly spoken.

Phyllida’s breath caught in her throat with pity.

“Of course.”

Grace Paradine was not looking at her. She stood half turned away, and she looked down at the papers on her table.

“It is so hard to make anyone else understand. That is the tragedy of the older people-they have suffered themselves-sometimes they have suffered horribly. Very often it has been their own fault. They have expected too much, trusted too much, made mistakes because they were ignorant, because they thought they knew everything. The one thing they want in all the world is to save the children they love from making the same mistakes and suffering in the same way. What do you think it feels like when the children won’t listen, won’t believe-when they have to stand aside and see them walking towards a precipice?”

“You can’t live someone else’s life, Aunt Grace, however much you love them-you have to let them live their own.”

Grace Paradine turned her head. She was shockingly pale, but she smiled.

“Your voice, but not your words, Phyl. Come here a moment, my darling.” Then when Phyllida had come to her she put a hand on her shoulder. “Look, Phyl-here is the first photograph I had taken of you after you came to me. You were eighteen months old. I did everything for you myself. You were the dearest little baby. Later on I got a nurse for you, but I nearly always washed and dressed you myself. Here’s the miniature I had done when you were five. It’s very like you still. Here’s your first school photograph- in that hideous gym tunic, but you were so proud of it. Here’s one in the dress you had for your coming-out dance. It was a pretty dress, wasn’t it? There are dozens and dozens more. I’ve kept them all. Most of them are somewhere in this room. Everyone laughs at me about them-Dicky calls it my Phyllida gallery. But I’ve never minded their laughing. Every bit of you has been too precious to part with-I’ve wanted to keep it all. You see, you’ve been my life.”

Phyllida made some movement, some sound as if she would speak, but the words wouldn’t come. With a new vibration in her voice Grace Paradine went on.

“It’s the only life I’ve had. You can’t understand that, can you? I’m telling you, my darling, because I want you to understand. You have always been loved and wanted, but I haven’t.”

“Aunt Grace!”

Grace Paradine said low and steadily,

“Whatever place I have now I have made for myself.” She looked into Phyllida’s face. “Has anyone ever told you that I was an adopted child?”

Phyllida was most unfeignedly startled.

“Oh, no.”

“I suppose most people have forgotten it-it’s so long ago. James’s mother lost a baby girl, and they adopted me. I believe she was very fond of me, but she died before I was five. The others were quite kind, but I was nobody’s child. I set my heart on having a place of my own. When I got engaged I thought I was going to have one. I suppose you know that I was engaged to Robert Moffat?”

“Yes.”

“A month before my wedding day I found out that there was a girl over at Birstead-somebody told me. He didn’t deny it-he just said it was all over. James and his father wanted me to marry him-they didn’t seem to think it mattered. Phyl my darling, I’m not telling you this to distress you, but to show you why I felt as I did about Elliot Wray.”

Phyllida said in a low voice,

“Yes, I see that. But it’s different-”

“Is it? I don’t think so. My life was broken, and there wasn’t anyone to make it easier for me as I have tried to make it for you, there wasn’t anyone to surround me with love and tenderness. There were ten dreadful, empty years. And then there was you. Everything began again. It was like a new life. You can’t let go of any part of your life without dying a little. That is why I kept all your clothes, all your photographs. I couldn’t bear to part with any of them-it would have been like parting with some of my life. And then Elliot came.”

It was when she said Elliot’s name that Phyllida began to feel as if she couldn’t bear it. She was gentle, but she wasn’t stupid. All this emotion, this pain, was being used as a weapon against Elliot. Emotion which you do not share can become intolerable. To be so near to Grace Paradine, to be actually and physically under the weight of her hand, had become intolerable. But to draw away now-she couldn’t do it.

Grace Paradine had paused as if Elliot’s name had halted her. Now she went on.

“He came-James invited him. If I hadn’t been away, he would never have had the chance of hurting you-I should have taken good care of that. But when I came back it was too late-you were engaged. And James backed him up-I’ve never forgiven him for that. I didn’t like him, and I didn’t trust him, but there was nothing that I could lay hold of. I wanted a longer engagement. James took his side again. Then when it was too late and you were married, I got Agnes Cranston’s letter. I can’t tell you how terrible it was to get it like that-too late.”

The hand on Phyllida’s shoulder was cold. She could feel it through the stuff of her dress, heavy and cold. For all her pity she couldn’t bear it any longer. She stepped back. The hand fell. A slow, dull colour came into Grace Paradine’s face.

Phyllida said in a voice which she tried to keep from shaking,

“Please, Aunt Grace-I came here to say something. Won’t you let me say it? It’s no good going over what has happened. We started wrong-we’ve got to begin all over again. Elliot and I are going to. Won’t you? People can begin again. It isn’t wrong to get married and have a home of your own. My real mother would have been glad-”

She could have said nothing more disastrous. An old smouldering jealousy caught and flamed. Phyllida saw a face she had never seen before-control breaking into fury, lips moving over words which came to her in a low, dreadful mutter. She hardly knew what they were. She was aghast and shaken.

When Grace Paradine said “Go!” she ran out of the room with only one thought in her mind, to get out of sight and sound of the storm which she had raised.