quinneys 13

quinneys 13

He fetched the nurse, who lived not far away in a row of small

jerry-built houses. She was a tall, thin woman, with a nice complexion,

and hair prematurely white. Her invincible optimism much fortified our

hero. And she possessed an immense reserve of small talk, and intimate

knowledge of simple, elemental details connected with her profession.

She captured Quinney’s affection by saying, after the first glance at

his face:

 

"Now, don’t you worry, Mr. Quinney, because there’s nothing to worry

about with Dr. Ransome and me in charge of the case. We never have any

trouble with our patients. You’ll be the proud father of a big fat

baby-boy before you know where you are."

 

She talked on very agreeably, but she managed to convey to her listener

that, temporarily, he was an outsider, at the beck and call of women,

and regarded by them as negligible. This impression became so strong

that he knocked the ashes and half-consumed tobacco out of a second pipe

before he entered the Dream Cottage. The nurse was greeted by Mrs.

Biddlecombe with majestic courtesy and taken upstairs.

 

Once more Quinney found himself alone.

 

Feeling much more hopeful, he beguiled another hour in examining his

furniture and china. It is worth mentioning that already he was able to

discern flaws in these precious possessions, indicating an eye becoming

more trained in its quest after perfection. None of these household gods

were regarded as permanent. They would be sold to make room for finer

specimens of craftsmanship. Amongst his china, he discovered a bogus

bit. Hitherto he had believed it to be a fine specimen. He was

half-distressed, half-pleased at the amazing discovery. He had paid

five pounds for it. The paste was all right, but the decoration was

unquestionably of a later period. Half of its value, actual and

prospective, had vanished. Nevertheless, the gain was enormous.

Unaided, he had detected the false decoration, the not quite pure

quality of the gilding.

 

"I’m climbin’!" he muttered to himself.

 

As he replaced the "fake" in the cabinet, consoling himself with the

reflection that he could easily resell it at the price he had paid, he

smelt fried fish. Extremely annoyed, he rushed into the kitchen, where

Maria was caught, red-handed, in the astounding act of frying mackerel

at six o’clock.

 

"What’s the meaning o’ this?"

 

Maria answered tartly:

 

"Meat tea for you and Mrs. Biddlecombe."

 

She too, ordinarily the respectful menial, dared to glare at him, as if

resenting his appearance in his own kitchen as an unpardonable

intrusion. Quinney said violently, not sorry to let off steam:

 

"What the hell d’ye mean? Meat tea? I eat my supper at seven, and you

know it!"

 

Maria tossed her head.

 

"You’ll eat it at six to-night. Mrs. Biddlecombe’s orders. I shall

give notice if you swear at me."

 

He fled—vanquished by another woman. At the door he fired a parting

shot:

 

"Smells all over Melchester. I believe that fish is bad."

 

"I didn’t buy it," replied Maria calmly.

 

 

*II*

 

The meat tea was served, and Mrs. Biddlecombe joined Quinney at table.

He made no protests, but refused to touch the mackerel. When

interrogated he said that he disliked stale fish.

 

"Stale fish, Joseph!"

 

"Did you buy it?"

 

"I did."

 

"Did you choose it?"

 

Mrs. Biddlecombe’s ample cheeks turned a deeper damask.

 

"I did not. I instructed the fishmonger to send round some fresh fish."

 

"Thought so!" said Quinney, as he attacked the cold beef.

 

Unhappily, Mrs. Biddlecombe was beguiled into eating heartily of the

mackerel, desiring to assert her faith in its freshness and her

confidence in the fishmonger. Conversation languished. Presently,

Quinney jumped to his feet and raced upstairs. He tapped at his wife’s

door. The nurse opened it, and as she did so the husband heard a faint

moan.

 

"You can’t come in now," said the nurse.

 

"I’m not coming in. You tell my wife, with my love, not to eat any

mackerel, and don’t you touch it yourself, if you want to be fit and

well to-night."

 

He returned to the dining-room feeling, for the first time, that he had

been of practical service to omnipotent woman! But the faint moan had

destroyed his appetite. He told Mrs. Biddlecombe that he intended to

walk up and down the garden.

 

"You’ll be within call?"

 

"Of course. Any notion when the doctor will be wanted?"

 

"He may be wanted at any minute."

 

"You may want him before Susan does!"

 

He shut the door before the astonished lady could reply.

 

 

*III*

 

Alone in the garden so dear to Susan, so carefully tended by her, his

torment began. The evening was warm, and the windows of Susan’s room

were thrown wide open. All sounds floated out into the gathering

twilight. Quinney sat down on a bench, and listened, palsied with

misery.

 

The time passed. He would walk about, and then sit down again, lighting

his pipe and letting it go out half a dozen times before it was smoked.

Once he ventured into the kitchen, where the sight of his face softened

Maria. She was a spinster, but at least twenty-five years old. So

Quinney blurted out:

 

"Is it always like this?"

 

"First time—yes," replied Maria.

 

Finally, Mrs. Biddlecombe descended, and bade him fetch the doctor. She

was not an observant woman, but even she, with her prejudices against

all males, could not fail to mark the ravages of suffering.

 

"My God!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "I didn’t know it was like this. I’ve

heard her!"

 

"I do not regret that!" replied Mrs. Biddlecombe, not unkindly, but with

emphasis. "If I had my way all men and all big boys, too, should know

what their mothers have suffered. They might be kinder to them."

 

Dr. Ransome was fetched. He lived near the Close, in a comfortable

red-brick house. It seemed to Quinney perfectly extraordinary that this

man of vast experience in suffering should be so leisurely in his

movements and speech. However, he managed to instil some of his

confidence into the unhappy husband, assuring him that the case

presented no untoward symptoms, and was likely to end happily in a few

hours.

 

A few hours!

 

As they passed the wicket gate Dr. Ransome paused.

 

"Mr. Quinney," he said gravely, "I advise you to go for a brisk walk.

You can do nothing more."

 

"But if my wife should want me?"

 

"She is not likely to want you. It might make it easier for her, if she

knew you were out of the way."

 

"I’ll sit in the dining-room," said Quinney.

 

He did so, casting longing eyes at the decanter of port, sorely tempted

to drink and drink till he became drunk. He was learning much upon this

terrible night. Ever afterwards, when he encountered drunkards, he

forebore to condemn them, wondering what had first driven them to seek

oblivion, and thankful that the temptation to do so had never mastered

him.

 

Presently the nurse joined him, and he was struck by the change in her

pleasant, capable face. Upon being pressed, she admitted cautiously

that there were slight complications.

 

Worse followed!

 

At midnight, Quinney was dispatched for another doctor. And then what

he had predicted, half in jest, came to pass. Mrs. Biddlecombe was

seized with violent pains. Quinney had been right about the mackerel;

and the nurse was called upon to give undivided attention to the elder

woman. Quinney took refuge in the kitchen, where Maria was busy

preparing hot poultices and predicting two deaths in the house, if not

three, before morning. Never in his short life, not even in the throes

of nightmare, had Quinney imagined any concatenation of misery which

could compare with the realities of this night.

 

At three in the morning, once more alone in the dining-room, he went

down on his knees. In a wild, unreasoning fashion, dazed by what he had

experienced, he proposed to bargain with Omnipotence. Solemnly, he swore

that he would sell no more new oak as old, if his precious Susan was

spared. He renounced fervently all claim to Joseph Quinney, junior. If

choice had to be made, let the child be taken and the mother left!