Short Stories

  Three months later Mrs Griffith came to her husband, trembling with excitement, and handed him a cutting from a paper:

  We hear that Miss Daisy Griffith, who earned golden opinions in the provinces last winter with her Dick Whittington, is about to be married to Sir Herbert Ously-Farrow-ham. Her friends, and their name is legion, will join with us in the heartiest congratulations.

  He returned the paper without answering.

  'Well?' asked his wife.

  'It is nothing to me. I don't know either of the parties mentioned.'

  At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Mrs Gray and Miss Reed entered, having met on the doorstep. Mrs Griffith at once regained her self-possession.

  'Have you heard the news, Mrs Griffith?' said Miss Reed.

  'D'you mean about the marriage of Sir Herbert Ously-Farrowham?' She mouthed the long name.

  'Yes,' replied the two ladies together.

  'It is nothing to me ... I have no daughter, Mrs Gray.'

  'I'm sorry to hear you say that, Mrs Griffith,' said Mrs Gray very stiffly. 'I think you show a most unforgiving spirit.'

  'Yes,' said Miss Reed; 'I can't help thinking that if you'd treated poor Daisy in a – well, in a more Christian way, you might have saved her from a great deal.'

  'Yes,' added Mrs Gray. 'I must say that all through I don't think you've shown a nice spirit at all. I remember poor, dear Daisy quite well, and she had a very sweet character. And I'm sure that if she'd been treated a little more gently, nothing of all this would have happened.'

  Mrs Gray and Miss Reed looked at Mrs Griffith sternly and reproachfully; they felt themselves like God Almighty judging a miserable sinner. Mrs Griffith was extremely angry; she felt that she was being blamed most unjustly, and, moreover, she was not used to being blamed.

  'I'm sure you're very kind, Mrs Gray and Miss Reed, but I must take the liberty of saying that I know best what my daughter was.'

  'Mrs Griffith, all I say is this – you are not a good mother.'

  'Excuse me, madam ...' said Mrs Griffith, having grown red with anger; but Mrs Gray interrupted.

  'I am truly sorry to have to say it to one of my parishioners, but you are not a good Christian. And we all know that your husband's business isn't going at all well, and I think it's a judgement of Providence.'

  'Very well, ma'am,' said Mrs Griffith getting up. 'You're at liberty to think what you please, but I shall not come to church again. Mr Friend, the Baptist minister, has asked me to go to his chapel, and I'm sure he won't treat me like that.'

  'I'm sure we don't want you to come to church in that spirit, Mrs Griffith. That's not the spirit with which you can please God, Mrs Griffith. I can quite imagine now why dear Daisy ran away. You're no Christian.'

  'I'm sure I don't care what you think, Mrs Gray, but I'm as good as you are.'

  'Will you open the door for me, Mrs Griffith?' said Mrs Gray, with outraged dignity.

  'Oh, you can open it yourself, Mrs Gray!' replied Mrs Griffith.

  11

  Mrs Griffith went to see her daughter-in-law.

  'I've never been spoken to in that way before,' she said. 'Fancy me not being a Christian! I'm a better Christian than Mrs Gray, any day. I like Mrs Gray, with the airs she gives herself – as if she'd got anything to boast about ...! No, Edith, I've said it, and I'm not the woman to go back on what I've said – I'll not go to church again. From this day I go to chapel.'

  But George came to see his mother a few days later.

  'Look here, Mother, Edith says you'd better forgive Daisy now.'

  'George,' cried his mother, 'I've only done my duty all through, and if you think it's my duty to forgive my daughter now she's going to enter the bonds of holy matrimony, I will do so. No one can say that I'm not a Christian, and I haven't said the Lord's Prayer night and morning ever since I remember for nothing.'

  Mrs Griffith sat down to write, looking up to her son for inspiration.

  'Dearest Daisy!' he said.

  'No, George,' she replied, 'I'm not going to cringe to my daughter, although she is going to be a lady; I shall simply say, "Daisy."'

  The letter was very dignified, gently reproachful, for Daisy had undoubtedly committed certain peccadilloes, although she was going to be a baronet's wife; but still it was completely forgiving, and Mrs Griffith signed herself, 'Your loving and forgiving mother, whose heart you nearly broke.'

  But the letter was not answered, and a couple of weeks later the same Sunday paper contained an announcement of the date of the marriage and the name of the church. Mrs Griffith wrote a second time.

  'My Darling Daughter, I am much surprised at receiving no answer to my long letter. All is forgiven. I should so much like to see you again before I die, and to have you married from your father's house. All is forgiven. Your loving mother.

  Mary Ann Griffith

  This time the letter was returned unopened.

  'George,' cried Mrs Griffith, 'she's got her back up.'

  'And the wedding's tomorrow,' he replied.

  'It's most awkward, George. I've told all the Blackstable people that I've forgiven her and that Sir Herbert has written to say he wants to make my acquaintance. And I've got a new dress on purpose to go to the wedding. Oh! she's a cruel and exasperating thing, George; I never liked her. You were always my favourite.'

  'Well, I do think she's not acting as she should,' replied George. 'And I'm sure I don't know what's to be done.'

  But Mrs Griffith was a woman who made up her mind quickly.

  'I shall go up to town and see her myself, George; and you must come too.'

  'I'll come up with you, Mother, but you'd better go to her alone, because I expect she's not forgotten the last time I saw her.'

  They caught a train immediately, and, having arrived at Daisy's house, Mrs Griffith went up the steps while George waited in a neighbouring public-house. The door was opened by a smart maid – much smarter than the Vicarage maid at Blackstable, as Mrs Griffith remarked with satisfaction. On finding that Daisy was at home, she sent up a message to ask if a lady could see her.

  The maid returned.

  'Would you give your name, madam? Miss Griffith cannot see you without.'

  Mrs Griffith had foreseen the eventuality, and, unwilling to give her card, had written another little letter, using Edith as amanuensis, so that Daisy should at least open it. She sent it up. In a few minutes the maid came down again.

  'There's no answer,' and she opened the door for Mrs Griffith to go out.

  That lady turned very red. Her first impulse was to make a scene and call the housemaid to witness how Daisy treated her own mother; but immediately she thought how undignified she would appear in the maid's eyes. So she went out like a lamb ...

  She told George all about it as they sat in the private bar of the public-house, drinking a little scotch whisky.

  'All I can say,' she remarked, 'is that I hope she'll never live to repent it. Fancy treating her own mother like that! But I shall go to the wedding; I don't care. I will see my own daughter married.'

  That had been her great ambition, and she would have crawled before Daisy to be asked to the ceremony... But George dissuaded her from going uninvited. There were sure to be one or two Blackstable people present, and they would see that she was there as a stranger; the humiliation would be too great.

  'I think she's an ungrateful girl,' said Mrs Griffith, as she gave way and allowed George to take her back to Black-stable.

  12

  But the prestige of the Griffiths diminished. Everyone in Blackstable came to the conclusion that the new Lady Ously-Farrowham had been very badly treated by her relatives, and many young ladies said they would have done just the same in her place. Also Mrs Cray induced her husband to ask Griffith to resign his churchwardenship.

  'You know, Mr Griffith,' said the vicar deprecatingly, 'now that your wife goes to chapel I don't think we can have you as churchwarden any longer; and besides, I don't think you've be
haved to your daughter in a Christian way.'

  It was in the carpenter's shop; the business had dwindled till Griffith only kept one man and a boy; he put aside the saw he was using.

  'What I've done to my daughter, I'm willing to take the responsibility for; I ask no one's advice and I want no one's opinion; and if you think I'm not fit to be churchwarden you can find someone else better.'

  'Why don't you make it up with your daughter, Griffith?'

  'Mind your own business!'

  The carpenter had brooded and brooded over his sorrow till now his daughter's name roused him to fury. He had even asserted a little authority over his wife, and she dared not mention her daughter before him. Daisy's marriage had seemed like the consummation of her shame; it was vice riding triumphant in a golden chariot ...

  But the name of Lady Ously-Farrowham was hardly ever out of her mother's lips; and she spent a good deal more money on her dress to keep up her dignity.

  'Why, that's another new dress you've got on!' said a neighbour.

  'Yes,' said Mrs Griffith, complacently, 'you see we're in quite a different position now. I have to think of my daughter, Lady Ously-Farrowham, I don't want her to be ashamed of her mother. I had such a nice long letter from her the other day. She's so happy with Sir Herbert. And Sir Herbert's so good to her ...'

  'Oh, I didn't know you were ...'

  'Oh yes! Of course she was a little – well, a little wild when she was a girl, but I've forgiven that. It's her father won't forgive her. He always was a hard man, and he never loved her as I did. She wants to come and stay with me, but he won't let her. Isn't it cruel of him? I should so like to have Lady Ously-Farrowham down here ...'

  13

  But at last the crash came. To pay for the new things which Mrs Griffith felt needful to preserve her dignity, she had drawn on her husband's savings in the bank; and he had been drawing on them himself for the last four years without his wife's knowledge. For, as his business declined, he had been afraid to give her less money than usual, and every week had made up the sum by taking something out of the bank. George only earned a pound a week – he had been made clerk to a coal merchant by his mother, who thought that more genteel than carpentering – and after his marriage he had constantly borrowed from his parents. At last Mrs Griffith learnt to her dismay that their savings had come to an end completely. She had a talk with her husband, and found out that he was earning almost nothing. He talked of sending his only remaining workman away and moving into a smaller place. If he kept his one or two old customers, they might just manage to make both ends meet.

  Mrs Griffith was burning with anger. She looked at her husband, sitting in front of her with his helpless look.

  'You fool!' she said.

  She thought of herself coming down in the world, living in a poky little house away from the High Street, unable to buy new dresses, unnoticed by the chief people of Black-stable – she who had always held up her head with the best of them!

  George and Edith came in, and she told them, hurling contemptuous sarcasms at her husband. He sat looking at them with his pained, unhappy eyes, while they stared back at him as if he were some despicable, noxious beast.

  'But why didn't you say how things were going before, Father?' George asked him.

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  'I didn't like to,' he said hoarsely; those cold, angry eyes crushed him; he felt the stupid, useless fool he saw they thought him.

  'I don't know what's to be done,' said George.

  His wife looked at old Griffith with her hard grey eyes; the sharpness of her features, the firm, clear complexion, with all softness blown out of it by the east winds, expressed the coldest resolution.

  'Father must get Daisy to help; she's got lots of money. She may do it for him.'

  Old Griffith broke suddenly out of his apathy.

  'I'd sooner go to the workhouse; I'll never touch a penny of hers!'

  'Now then, Father,' said Mrs Griffith, quickly understanding, 'you drop that, you'll have to.'

  George at the same time got pen and paper and put them before the old man. They stood round him angrily. He stared at the paper; a look of horror came over his face.

  'Go on! don't be a fool!' said his wife. She dipped the pen in the ink and handed it to him.

  Edith's steel-grey eyes were fixed on him, coldly compelling.

  'Dear Daisy,' she began.

  'Father always used to call her Daisy darling,' said George; 'he'd better put that so as to bring back old times.'

  They talked of him strangely, as if he were absent or had not ears to hear.

  'Very well,' replied Edith, and she began again; the old man wrote bewilderedly, as if he were asleep. 'DAISY DARLING:... Forgive me!... I have been hard and cruel towards you ... On my knees I beg your forgiveness ... The business has gone wrong ... and I am ruined ... If you don't help me ... we shall have the brokers in ... and have to go to the workhouse ... For God's sake ... have mercy on me! You can't let me starve ... I know I have sinned towards you. Your broken-hearted ... FATHER.'

  She read through the letter. 'I think that'll do; now the envelope', and she dictated the address.

  When it was finished, Griffith looked at them with loathing, absolute loathing – but they paid no more attention to him. They arranged to send a telegram first, in case she should not open the letter:

  Letter coming; for God's sake open! In great distress. FATHER.

  George went out immediately to send the wire and post the letter.

  14

  The letter was sent on a Tuesday, and on Thursday morning a telegram came from Daisy to say she was coming down. Mrs Griffith was highly agitated.

  'I'll go and put on my silk dress,' she said.

  'No, Mother, that is a silly thing; be as shabby as you can.'

  'How'll Father be?' asked George. 'You'd better speak to him, Edith.'

  He was called, the stranger in his own house.

  'Look here, Father, Daisy's coming this morning. Now, you'll be civil, won't you?'

  'I'm afraid he'll go and spoil everything,' said Mrs Griffith, anxiously.

  At that moment there was a knock at the door. 'It's her!'

  Griffith was pushed into the back room; Mrs Griffith hurriedly put on a ragged apron and went to the door.

  'Daisy!' she cried, opening her arms. She embraced her daughter and pressed her to her voluminous bosom. 'Oh, Daisy!'

  Daisy accepted passively the tokens of affection, with a little sad smile. She tried not to be unsympathetic. Mrs Griffith led her daughter into the sitting-room, where George and Edith were sitting. George was very white.

  'You don't mean to say you walked here!' said Mrs Griffith, as she shut the front door. 'Fancy that, when you could have all the carriages in Blackstable to drive you about!'

  'Welcome to your home again,' said George, with somewhat the air of a dissenting minister.

  'Oh, George!' she said with the same sad, half-ironical smile, allowing herself to be kissed.

  'Don't you remember me?' said Edith, coming forward. 'I'm George's wife; I used to be Edith Pollett.'

  'Oh yes!' Daisy put out her hand.

  They all three looked at her, and the women noticed the elegance of her simple dress. She was no longer the merry girl they had known, but a tall, dignified woman, and her great blue eyes were very grave. They were rather afraid of her; but Mrs Griffith made an effort to be cordial and at the same time familiar.

  'Fancy you being a real lady!' she said.

  Daisy smiled again.

  'Where's Father?' she asked.

  'In the next room.' They moved towards the door and entered. Old Griffith rose as he saw his daughter, but he did not come towards her. She looked at him a moment, then turned to the others.

  'Please leave me alone with Father for a few minutes.'

  They did not want to, knowing that their presence would restrain him; but Daisy looked at them so firmly that they were obliged to obey. She close
d the door behind them.

  'Father!' she said, turning towards him.

  'They made me write the letter,' he said hoarsely.

  'I thought so,' she said. 'Won't you kiss me?'

  He stepped back as if in repulsion. She looked at him with her beautiful eyes full of tears.

  'I'm so sorry I've made you unhappy. But I've been unhappy too – oh, you don't know what I've gone through ...! Won't you forgive me?'

  'I didn't write the letter,' he repeated hoarsely; 'they stood over me and made me.'

  Her lips trembled, but with an effort she commanded herself. They looked at one another steadily, it seemed for a very long time; in his eyes was the look of a hunted beast ... At last she turned away without saying anything more, and left him.

  In the next room the three were anxiously waiting. She contemplated them a moment, and then, sitting down, asked about the affairs. They explained how things were.

  'I talked to my husband about it,' she said; 'he's proposed to make you an allowance so that you can retire from business.'

  'Oh, that's Sir Herbert all over,' said Mrs Griffith, greasily – she knew nothing about him but his name!

  'How much do you think you could live on?' asked Daisy.

  Mrs Griffith looked at George and then at Edith. What should they ask? Edith and George exchanged a glance; they were in agonies lest Mrs Griffith should demand too little.