Mary Westmacott - Giant's Bread

‘Yours ever,

‘Vernon.’

She read it again and again, put it under her pillow when she slept, read it again the next morning. She was so happy, so dreadfully happy. It was not till the day after that she wrote to him. When the pen was in her hand she felt stiff and awkward. She didn’t know what to say.

Dear Vernon –

Was that silly? Ought she to say Dearest Vernon? Oh, no, she couldn’t – she couldn’t.

‘Dear Vernon, – Thank you for your letter.’

A long pause. She bit the stem of her penholder and gazed in an agonized way at the wall in front of her.

‘A party of us are going to the Howards’ dance on Friday. Will you dine here first and come with us? Eight o’clock.’

A longer pause. She’d got to say something – she wanted to say something. She bent over, and wrote hastily.

‘I want to see you too – very much. Yours, Nell.’

He wrote back:

‘Dear Nell, – I’d love to come on Friday. Thanks ever so much. Yours, – Vernon.’

A little panic swept over her when she read it. Had she offended him? Did he think she ought to have said more in her letter? Happiness fled. She lay awake, miserable, uncertain, hating herself in case it had been her fault.

Then had come Friday night. The moment she saw him she knew it was all right. Their eyes met across the room. The world changed back to radiant happiness again.

They did not sit near each other at dinner. It was not till the third dance at the Howards’ that they were able really to speak to each other. They moved round the crowded room, gyrating in a deep-toned, sentimental waltz. He whispered:

‘I haven’t asked for too many dances, have I?’

‘No.’

Queer how absolutely tongue-tied it made her feel being with Vernon. He held her just a minute longer when the music stopped. His fingers tightened over hers. She looked at him and smiled. They were both deliriously happy. In a few minutes he was dancing with another girl, talking airily in her ear, Nell was dancing with George Chetwynd. Once or twice her eyes met Vernon’s and they both smiled very faintly. Their secret was so wonderful.

At his next dance with her, his mood had changed.

‘Nell, darling, isn’t there anywhere where I can talk to you? I’ve got such heaps of things I want to say. What a ridiculous house this is – nowhere to go.’

They tried the stairs, mounting higher and higher as you do in London houses. Still, it seemed impossible to get away from people. Then they saw a tiny iron ladder that led to the roof.

‘Nell, let’s get up there? Could you? Would it ruin your dress?’

‘I don’t care about my dress.’

Vernon went up first, unbolted the trap-door, climbed out and knelt down to help Nell. She climbed through safely.

They were alone, looking down on London. Insensibly they drew nearer to each other. Her hand found its way into his.

‘Nell – darling …’

‘Vernon …’

Her voice could only whisper.

‘It is true? You do love me?’

‘I do love you.’

‘It’s too wonderful to be true. Oh, Nell, I do so want to kiss you.’

She turned her face to his. They kissed, rather shakily and timidly.

‘Your face is so soft and lovely,’ murmured Vernon.

Oblivious of dirt and smuts they sat down on a little ledge. His arms went round her, held her. She turned her face to his kisses.

‘I do love you so, Nell – I love you so much that I’m almost afraid to touch you.’

She didn’t understand that – it seemed queer. She drew a little closer to him. The magic of the night was made complete by their kisses.

They woke from a happy dream. ‘Oh, Vernon, I believe we’ve been here ages !’

Conscience-stricken they hurried to the trap-door. On the landing below, Vernon surveyed Nell anxiously.

‘I’m afraid you’ve been sitting on an awful lot of smuts, Nell.’

‘Oh, have I? How awful.’

‘It’s my fault, darling. But, oh, Nell! it was worth it, wasn’t it?’

She smiled up at him, gently, happily.

‘It was worth it,’ she said softly.

As they went down the stairs she said with a little laugh:

‘What about all the things you wanted to say? Lots and lots of them.’

They both laughed in perfect understanding. They re-entered the dancing room rather sheepishly. They had missed six dances.

A lovely evening. Nell had gone to sleep and dreamed of more kisses.

And then, this morning, Saturday, Vernon had rung up.

‘I want to talk to you. Can I come round?’

‘Oh, Vernon, dear, you can’t. I’m going out now to meet people. I can’t get out of it.’

‘Why not?’

‘I mean I wouldn’t know what to say to Mother.’

‘You haven’t told her anything?’

‘Oh, no !’

The vehemence of that ‘Oh, no !’ had checked Vernon. He thought: ‘Poor little darling. Of course she hasn’t.’ He said: ‘Hadn’t I better do that? I’ll come round now.’

‘Oh, no, Vernon, not until we’ve talked.’

‘Well, when can we talk?’

‘I don’t know. I’m lunching with people and going to a matinée, and theatreing again tonight. If you’d only told me you were going to be up this week-end I’d have arranged something.’

‘What about tomorrow?’

‘Well, there’s church –’

‘That’ll do! Don’t go to church. Say you’ve got a headache or something. I’ll come round. We can talk then, and when your mother comes back from church I can have it out with her.’

‘Oh, Vernon, I don’t think I can –’

‘Yes, you can. I’m going to ring off now before you can make any more excuses. At eleven tomorrow.’

He rang off. He hadn’t even told Nell where he was staying. She admired him for this masculine decision even while it caused her anxiety. She was afraid he was going to spoil everything.

And now, here they were, in the middle of a heated discussion. Nell had begged him to say nothing to her mother.

‘It will spoil everything. We shan’t be allowed to.’

‘Shan’t be allowed to what?’

‘See each other or anything.’

‘But, Nell, darling, I want to marry you. And you want to marry me, don’t you? I want to marry you awfully soon.’

She had her first feeling of exasperation then. Couldn’t he see things as they were? He was talking like a mere boy.

‘But, Vernon, we haven’t any money.’

‘I know. But I’m going to work awfully hard. You won’t mind being poor, will you, Nell?’

She said no since it was expected of her, but she was conscious that she did not say it whole-heartedly. It was dreadful being poor. Vernon didn’t know how dreadful it was. She suddenly felt years and years older and more experienced than he. He was talking like a romantic boy – he didn’t know what things were really like.

‘Oh, Vernon, can’t we just go on as we are? We’re so happy now.’

‘Of course we’re happy; but we could be happier still. I want to be really engaged to you – I want everyone to know that you belong to me.’

‘I don’t see that that makes any difference.’

‘I suppose it doesn’t. But I want to have a right to see you, instead of being miserable about you going round with chaps like that ass, Dacre.’

‘Oh, Vernon, you’re not jealous?’

‘I know I oughtn’t to be. But you don’t really know how lovely you are, Nell! Everyone must be in love with you. I believe even that solemn old American fellow is.’

Nell changed colour slightly.

‘Well, I think you’ll spoil everything,’ she murmured.

‘You think your mother will be horrid to you about it? I’m awfully sorry. I’ll tell her it’s all my fault. And after all, she’s got to know. I expect she’ll be disappointed because she probably wanted you to marry someone rich. That’s quite natural. But it doesn’t really make you happy being rich, does it?’