I should think so, said Flo. Dear me, oh, dear me, life is so hard these days.
Rose gave me a wink as she went out, and whispered, Now you settle yourself, and dont you let Flo take any of this stuff back tomorrow. Im telling you for your own good, Ill be in after supper for a nice chat.
Now I was in the heart of the house. Immediately above me, in two large rooms, were the Skeffingtons. I had not yet seen them. He was away most of the time. She left for work before I did, and once she was in her rooms, seldom came out. I knew about them from Flo, through a succession of nods, winks, and hoarse whispers. Her: Shes ever such a sweet woman made, as these remarks always were, as if a sweet tenant were something I was getting extra, thrown in, for the rent, was sometimes: Poor thing, shes brave, and she pays her rent so regular. And sometimes: What she has to put up with, no one would believe. Men are all the same, beasts, every one. On the other hand, she often observed with lip-licking smile that Mr Skeffington was just like a film star, and Mrs Skeffington didnt appreciate him. These two states of mind were determined by whether we got a good nights sleep or not. Usually not. There were few nights I was not woken by the persistent frightened crying of a child in nightmare. The words Im not naughty, Im not naughty, were wailed over and over again. I heard the sharp release of bedsprings, bare feet sliding on the floor, then several loud slaps. Youre naughty. Youre a naughty girl. The voice was high and hysterical. This duet might keep up for an hour or more. At last the child would fall asleep; soon afterwards an alarm clock vibrated; and I would hear Mrs Skeffingtons voice: Oh, my God, my God, and the tired release of a weighted bed. The kettle shrieked, cups clattered, and her voice: Crying half the night and now I cant wake you. Oh, goodness, gracious me, what shall I do with you, Rosemary?
I knew all the tones of her voice before I ever saw her; but I found it impossible to form a picture of her. As soon as she had the child inside the door, the tussle began: the high, exasperated weary voice, and the child nagging back. Or sometimes there was exhausted sobbing first the woman, and then the child. I would hear: Oh, darling, Im sorry. Im sorry, Rosemary. I cant help it.
Once I heard her on the stairs, coming home from work in conversation with Flo. Her voice was now formal and bright: Really I dont know what I shall do with Rosemary, shes so naughty. She gave a fond, light laugh.
From the child, sullenly: Im not naughty.
Yes, you are naughty, Rosemary. How dare you answer me back. Although the voice was still social, sharpness had come into it.
From Flo, a histrionically resigned: Yes. I know, dear. Mines the death of me, she drives me mad all day.
From Aurora: I dont drive you mad.
Yes, you do. Dont answer your mother like that. There was the sound of a sharp slap.
Flos exchange with Aurora was an echo of Mrs Skeffingtons with her child, because Flo could not help copying the behaviour of whoever she was with. But the burst of wild sobs from Aurora was quite unconvincing; her tears were displays of drama adapted to the occasion. From one second to the next she would stop crying and her face beamed with smiles. Her crying was never the miserable frightened wailing of the other little girl.
One morning I met a woman on the landing who I thought must be new to the house. She said brightly: Gracious me, Im in your way. Im so sorry, and skipped sideways. It was Mrs Skeffington that gracious me could be no one else. Under her arm she balanced a tiny child. She was a tall slight creature, with carefully fluffed out fair hair arranged in girlish wisps on her forehead and neck. Her large clear brown eyes were anxiously friendly; and her smile was tired. There were dark shadows around her eyes and at the corners of her nose. The baby who sounded so forlorn and defiant at night was about fifteen months old. She was a fragile child, with her mothers wispy pretty hair and enormous brown eyes.
Get out of the ladys way, said Mrs Skeffington to the baby, which she had set down apparently for the purpose of being able to scold her. Get out of the ladys way, you naughty, naughty girl.
But shes not in my way.
I do so hope Rosemary doesnt keep you awake at nights, she said politely, just as if I did not hear every movement of her life, and she of mine.
Not at all, I said.
Im so glad, shes a real pickle, said Mrs Skeffington, injecting the teasing fondness into her voice that went with the words. She tripped upstairs, and as her door shut her voice rose into hysteria: Dont dawdle so, Rosemary, how many times must! tell you.
Im not doddling, said the baby, whose vocabulary was sharpened by need into terrifying precocity.
Mr Skeffington was an engineer and he went on business trips for his firm. He was nearly always away during the week. According to Rose: Hes just as bad as she is, and thats saying something. Their tempers fit each other, hand and glove. You wait till he comes back and youll hear something. He reminds me of my stepfather pots and kettles flying and both of them screaming and the kid yelling its head off. Its good as the pictures, if you dont want to get some sleep.
Roses stepfather haunted her conversations. She would sit moodily on my bed, listening to Mrs Skeffington nagging at the child overhead, saying from time to time: You wait till he comes, you havent heard nothing yet And, inevitably, the next phrase would be My stepfather.
Wasnt he good to you?
Good? A word as direct as that always made her uncomfortable. I wouldnt like to say anything against him, see. Then, after a moment: He was a bad-tempered, lying, cheating swine of a bully Cod rest his soul, I wouldnt say bad things of the dead, she would conclude, apologetically.
She had no pity for Mrs Skeffington at all. I could never understand why Rose, who was so tender-hearted, shut her sympathy off from the threesome upstairs. Once I suggested we should tell the NSPCC, and she was so shocked that she could scarcely bring herself to speak to me for days. At last I went to her room and asked her why she was so angry. I didnt know you was one of them nosey-parkers, she said.
But, Rose, whats going to happen to that poor baby?
Theyll take it away from her, most like, and send her to prison. Not that its not a good place for her.
Perhaps they might help her.
How? Tell me? What she needs help for, is against her husband and what are they going to do about him? Not that she doesnt deserve what she gets.
All thats wrong with her is shes overworked and tired.
Yes? Well, let me tell you, my mother brought up six of us, and she had no sense for men, real sods they were, but she never carried on like my lady upstairs.
Meanwhile Miss Powell had moved into the two small rooms above the Skeffingtons. She came down to see me about the child. She wore a red silk gown, trimmed with dark fur, and looked like a film star strayed on to the wrong set. She was very sensible. She suggested we should talk to Mr Skeffington when he came home and tell him his wife needed a holiday.
As soon as she had gone, Rose came in to demand what I though I was doing, talking to that whore.
I said we had agreed to tax Mr Skeffington, and Rose said: You make me laugh, you do. At least the Skeffingtons are decently married, they arent a whore and Mr Bobby Brent.
Flo said to me, her eyes dancing. Mr Skeffingtons coming back tomorrow. You wait till you see him, she urged for it was one of the days she did not like Mrs Skeffington. You just lean over the banisters and have a look. Like a film star, he is. Hes got eyes that make me feel funny, just like Bobby Brent. For some days Mrs Skeffington was saying to the child: Your daddy will beat you if you arent a good girl.
I am a good girl.
Youll see, hell beat you. For Gods sake, keep quiet now, Rosemary.
When he did come, I heard the following dialogue through the floor: Its always the same. As soon as I come home, you start complaining.
But I cant keep a home going on what I earn.
I told you before I married you, Ive got to pay alimony. Sometimes Im sorry I ever did. Cant you keep that kid quiet?
I cant help it if Rosemarys a naughty girl.
Im not a naughty girl, wailed Rosemary.
Dont start, he said aggressively. Now dont start, thats all.
The child wept. Mrs Skeffington wept, and Mr Skeffington went out, slamming the door, five minutes after hed come home.
Rose came in. You heard? she asked.
Yes.
You still think youre going to talk them into sense?
No, not really.
I told you. Youve got a lot to learn
All the same, what about the baby?
What you dont know yet is, theres some people you cant do nothing about. She offered me a cigarette, as a sign she was forgiving me. Ive been thinking about you, dear. Your trouble is this. You think, all youve got to do is say something, and then thingsll be right. Well, they wont be. You leave that pair of love-birds upstairs alone. Because I tell you whats going to happen. Hes left one wife with kids already. Hes not one to stick. And hell leave her, too. And then shell be better off and her temperll improve. Youll see.
Later Mr Skeffington came in. Soon we heard her plead: Oh not tonight, not tonight, Ron. Im so tired. I was up with Rosemary all last night. Rose grinned at me, nodding, as if to say: There. I told you. He said: Ive been away two weeks and thats what I get when I come home. Oh, Ron, darling. A comparative silence. We heard his voice, adjusted to tenderness. Complete silence. Then the child started to cry. Mrs Skeffington wailed: Oh, Rosemary. Rosemary, cant you ever stop? She must have been up most of the night. At seven the alarm shrilled so long that most of the house was aroused. Finally there came a shock and a crash as the clock was flung across the room. Oh. Ronnie, said Mrs Skeffington, now youve woken Rosemary.
Later Mr Skeffington came in. Soon we heard her plead: Oh not tonight, not tonight, Ron. Im so tired. I was up with Rosemary all last night. Rose grinned at me, nodding, as if to say: There. I told you. He said: Ive been away two weeks and thats what I get when I come home. Oh, Ron, darling. A comparative silence. We heard his voice, adjusted to tenderness. Complete silence. Then the child started to cry. Mrs Skeffington wailed: Oh, Rosemary. Rosemary, cant you ever stop? She must have been up most of the night. At seven the alarm shrilled so long that most of the house was aroused. Finally there came a shock and a crash as the clock was flung across the room. Oh. Ronnie, said Mrs Skeffington, now youve woken Rosemary.