_Chapter 28_
Siegmund's lying late in bed made Beatrice very angry. The later itbecame, the more wrathful she grew. At half past nine she had taken uphis shaving-water. Then she proceeded to tidy the dining-room, leavingthe breakfast spread in the kitchen.
Vera and Frank were gone up to town; they would both be home for dinnerat two o'clock. Marjory was despatched on an errand, taking Gwen withher. The children had no need to return home immediately, therefore itwas highly probable they would play in the field or in the lane for anhour or two. Beatrice was alone downstairs. It was a hot, still morning,when everything outdoors shone brightly, and all indoors was dusked withcoolness and colour. But Beatrice was angry. She moved rapidly anddeterminedly about the dining-room, thrusting old newspapers andmagazines between the cupboard and the wall, throwing the litter in thegrate, which was clear, Friday having been charwoman's day, passingswiftly, lightly over the front of the furniture with the duster. It wasSaturday, when she did not spend much time over the work. In theafternoon she was going out with Vera. That was not, however, whatoccupied her mind as she brushed aside her work. She had determined tohave a settlement with Siegmund, as to how matters should continue. Shewas going to have no more of the past three years' life; things had cometo a crisis, and there must be an alteration. Beatrice was going to dobattle, therefore she flew at her work, thus stirring herself up to aproper heat of blood. All the time, as she thrust things out of sight,or straightened a cover, she listened for Siegmund to come downstairs.
He did not come, so her anger waxed.
'He can lie skulking in bed!' she said to herself. 'Here I've been upsince seven, broiling at it. I should think he's pitying himself. Heought to have something else to do. He ought to have to go out to workevery morning, like another man, as his son has to do. He has had toolittle work. He has had too much his own way. But it's come to a stopnow. I'll servant-housekeeper him no longer.'
Beatrice went to clean the step of the front door. She clanged thebucket loudly, every minute becoming more and more angry. That piece ofwork finished, she went into the kitchen. It was twenty past ten. Herwrath was at ignition point. She cleared all the things from the tableand washed them up. As she was so doing, her anger, having reached fullintensity without bursting into flame, began to dissipate in uneasiness.She tried to imagine what Siegmund would do and say to her. As she waswiping a cup, she dropped it, and the smash so unnerved her that herhands trembled almost too much to finish drying the things and puttingthem away. At last it was done. Her next piece of work was to make thebeds. She took her pail and went upstairs. Her heart was beating soheavily in her throat that she had to stop on the landing to recoverbreath. She dreaded the combat with him. Suddenly controlling herself,she said loudly at Siegmund's door, her voice coldly hostile:
'Aren't you going to get up?'
There was not the faintest sound in the house. Beatrice stood in thegloom of the landing, her heart thudding in her ears.
'It's after half past ten--aren't you going to get up?' she called.
She waited again. Two letters lay unopened on a small table. Suddenlyshe put down her pail and went into the bathroom. The pot ofshaving-water stood untouched on the shelf, just as she had left it. Shereturned and knocked swiftly at her husband's door, not speaking. Shewaited, then she knocked again, loudly, a long time. Something in thesound of her knocking made her afraid to try again. The noise was dulland thudding: it did not resound through the house with a natural ring,so she thought. She ran downstairs in terror, fled out into the frontgarden, and there looked up at his room. The window-door wasopen--everything seemed quiet.
Beatrice stood vacillating. She picked up a few tiny pebbles and flungthem in a handful at his door. Some spattered on the panes sharply; somedropped dully in the room. One clinked on the wash-hand bowl. There wasno response. Beatrice was terribly excited. She ran, with her black eyesblazing, and wisps of her black hair flying about her thin temples, outon to the road. By a mercy she saw the window-cleaner just pushing hisladder out of the passage of a house a little farther down the road. Shehurried to him.
'Will you come and see if there's anything wrong with my husband?' sheasked wildly.
'Why, mum?' answered the window-cleaner, who knew her, and was humblyfamiliar. 'Is he taken bad or something? Yes, I'll come.'
He was a tall thin man with a brown beard. His clothes were all soloose, his trousers so baggy, that he gave one the impression his limbsmust be bone, and his body a skeleton. He pushed at his ladders witha will.
'Where is he, Mum?' he asked officiously, as they slowed down at theside passage.
'He's in his bedroom, and I can't get an answer from him.'
'Then I s'll want a ladder,' said the window-cleaner, proceeding to liftone off his trolley. He was in a very great bustle. He knew which wasSiegmund's room: he had often seen Siegmund rise from some music he wasstudying and leave the drawing-room when the window-cleaning began, andafterwards he had found him in the small front bedroom. He also knewthere were matrimonial troubles: Beatrice was not reserved.
'Is it the least of the front rooms he's in?' asked the window-cleaner.
'Yes, over the porch,' replied Beatrice.
The man bustled with his ladder.
'It's easy enough,' he said. 'The door's open, and we're soon on thebalcony.'
He set the ladder securely. Beatrice cursed him for a slow, officiousfool. He tested the ladder, to see it was safe, then he cautiouslyclambered up. At the top he stood leaning sideways, bending over theladder to peer into the room. He could see all sorts of things, for hewas frightened.
'I say there!' he called loudly.
Beatrice stood below in horrible suspense.
'Go in!' she cried. 'Go in! Is he there?'
The man stepped very cautiously with one foot on to the balcony, andpeered forward. But the glass door reflected into his eyes. He followedslowly with the other foot, and crept forward, ready at any moment totake flight.
'Hie, hie!' he suddenly cried in terror, and he drew back.
Beatrice was opening her mouth to scream, when the window-cleanerexclaimed weakly, as if dubious:
'I believe 'e's 'anged 'imself from the door-'ooks!'
'No!' cried Beatrice. 'No, no, no!'
'I believe 'e 'as!' repeated the man.
'Go in and see if he's dead!' cried Beatrice.
The man remained in the doorway, peering fixedly.
'I believe he is,' he said doubtfully.
'No--go and see!' screamed Beatrice.
The man went into the room, trembling, hesitating. He approached thebody as if fascinated. Shivering, he took it round the loins and triedto lift it down. It was too heavy.
'I know!' he said to himself, once more bustling now he had something todo. He took his clasp-knife from his pocket, jammed the body betweenhimself and the door so that it should not drop, and began to saw hisway through the leathern strap. It gave. He started, and clutched thebody, dropping his knife. Beatrice, below in the garden, hearing thescuffle and the clatter, began to scream in hysteria. The man hauled thebody of Siegmund, with much difficulty, on to the bed, and withtrembling fingers tried to unloose the buckle in which the strap ran. Itwas bedded in Siegmund's neck. The window-cleaner tugged at itfrantically, till he got it loose. Then he looked at Siegmund. The deadman lay on the bed with swollen, discoloured face, with hissleeping-jacket pushed up in a bunch under his armpits, leaving his sidenaked. Beatrice was screaming below. The window-cleaner, quite unnerved,ran from the room and scrambled down the ladder. Siegmund lay heaped onthe bed, his sleeping-suit twisted and bunched up about him, his facehardly recognizable.