Restless Earth/Chapter 17

Round 2 of the Langham v. Weybourn fight took place on the morning of the third day after the earthquake.

Mrs. Langham, dismayed to find the crust of her social world so thin that it was necessary for her to tread lightly if she were to continue to live in it, strove diligently to pass over the distressing scene at the theatre with an airy lightness which ill-became her mental and physical heaviness. She professed to “see the funny side of it”—in which profession she was very much alone. She admitted to an unpardonable hastiness, and said that the least she could do ​was to insist that the poor girl became a member of No. 2 Committee, which, surely, would prove that she had been sincere in her apology. Did not everyone think so?

Before breakfast on the morning following the scene, Mrs. Langham telephoned her invitation to Patricia at her flat, protesting that she really could not wait a moment longer before “putting things right, between us, my dear.”

Patricia, tired and listless after her night of sleepless thought, listened in silence, her tongue in her cheek.

“Very well,” she replied curtly, and replaced the receiver.

Mrs. Langham judged, by the hostility in the acceptance, that the insolent hussy would prove an obstacle to the smooth working of her committee. She said as much to her hushand at breakfast. Mr. Langham replied that he sincerely hoped not. He did not mean what he said, and was thankful that the morning paper screened his features at the moment.

Mrs. Langham’s forebodings were fulfilled.

From the very moment of her entry into the work of No. 2 Committee Patricia Weybourn proved a disturbing influence. After the brief formal greetings of Mrs. Langham and her old friends in the bare room which had been allotted to them as a receiving depot for donations of goods, she removed her hat and turned back her silken cuffs.

“Where is a telephone ?” she asked briefly.

Mrs. Langham and her old friends, who were grouped in the centre of the room eyeing the dusty walls and floor with disapproval, were offended by the girl’s authoritative tone.

“A broom seems to be the first consideration,” observed Mrs. Langham, pointedly.

“It’s an easy matter to borrow a broom,” replied Patricia. “Trestles, benches and packing cases may not prove so easy. I know where I can get a sign ​for nothing to put over the door outside to let people know where we are. And there are carters to arrange for. One of you borrow a broom while I get something started.”

After which curt order she left the room in search of a telephone.

She returned within a few minutes. Mrs. Langham and her old friends were still grouped in the centre of the unswept floor. They fell silent as the girl re-entered.

Patricia spoke directly to Mrs. Langham.

“I’ve arranged for trestles and tables. We need them for sorting and packing. The carter will be here with them in half-an-hour. Two wholesale firms are sending packing cases by their own trucks. Two signs, one for the outer door and one for this, will be in place before lunch-time. I have ’phoned advertisements to the News and the Herald, who are inserting them free of charge. The next thing to be done———”

Mrs. Langham, despite her good resolutions, interrupted angrily.

“This is not the way to proceed, Miss Weybourn. If you had had any experience in public affairs you would know that it is for the committee as a whole to make whatever arrangements may be deemed necessary. I very much resent your usurpation of my position, as also do my old friends, who———”

“If you had had any experience of real necessity, Mrs. Langham, you would know that this is a time for actions rather than foolish discussion,” interrupted Patricia in her turn. “Please continue your dissection of my character, ladies and gentlemen, while I go and hunt for a broom.”

She flashed a contemptuous glance over the astonished and embarrassed group and again left the room.

That first day was a memorable one for No. 2 Committee. Mrs. Langham and her old friends did more real work for charity than they had done in all their long careers of voluntary public service. ​They actually suffered the indignity of perspiration, and one pious lady once so far forgot her piety as to use a profane expression.

Mr. Percival Langham and Patricia alone put all their energies into the work willingly. An unspoken alliance existed between them. They understood each other.

“Aren’t you rather neglecting your business?” Patricia asked him, as she held up an end of a shelf while he nailed it in position.

“Oh, no,” he answered lightly. “My business is to assure fair play for my clients—and my friends.”

He glanced at her as he said the last words. Patricia smiled in reply.

Mrs. Langham observed the glance and the smile, and grew more sulky than ever. She could not bring herself to speak at all, merely endorsing Patricia’s curt orders with an affirmative nod. She would have liked to tear the impertinent creature limb from limb in these laborious hours, and was convinced that her old friends held the same idea behind their outraged and sweating brows. As for Langham———! She would have a few words to say to him, later.

The next morning, the third after the earthquake, Mrs. Langham’s attitude had changd. She was her old, bright, commanding self when she entered the depot shortly after nine o’clock. She was accompanied by her husband, who wore his customary deferential air and trailed meekly behind her.

She was surprised to see the whole committee already assembled. Her old friends were not early-risers as a rule, but, of course, her own position demanded the sacrifice of her “beauty sleep” at this time.

Only Patricia worked. The others seemed to await orders.

Patricia was in no mood to give orders this morning. Grace and Joan Harley had been listed with the dead in the Herald of the previous evening and, ​now that the barrier of death stood definitely between herself and James Harley, the last faint hope of happiness with him had died—the hope of which she had not been conscious until she read the news. She had thought herself hopeless when Harley had left her; now she felt herself to be hopeless indeed.

This morning nothing interested her, neither the committee nor Mrs. Langham, the earthquake nor the work she was engaged upon. Her brain seemed dead. She seemed to have lost all capacity for further suffering or emotion.

Mrs. Langham revived her.

The large lady, pleasantly surprised to find that Patricia had abdicated the leadership of her own accord, smiled genially upon her old friends and pointedly ignored the girl, who was packing foodstuffs into a large case in a corner of the room.

“Now, let me see,” she began happily, divesting herself of her gloves and handbag. “Where shall we start this morning? Ah, yes. We had better undo all these parcels and classify the contents. Have you the scissors, Percival?”

For some time Mrs. Langham and her old friends fussily undid parcels and classified their contents, discussing meanwhile the aches and pains resulting from their labours of yesterday, and expressing the opinion that No. 2 Committee was an example to every other committee in the country.

Patricia worked in silence and alone. The old friends avoided her, and Mrs. Langham continued to ignore her.

At last came the lead for which Mrs. Langham had waited. One of the old friends mentioned the Harleys.

“Such a nice little thing, she was,” said the old friend, referring to Grace. “So quiet and unassuming.”

“Clever, too,” said another old friend. “I have heard that she furnished the plots for her husband’s stories.”

​Mrs. Langham noted that Patricia had ceased her work, although she still stooped over the packing-case.

“I regard Mrs. Harley as one of the most charming young women I have ever been privileged to meet,” said Mrs. Langham, raising her voice somewhat. “The Harleys are neighbours of ours, you know. It is very sad.”

“My husband tells me that he rushed off to Napier on Tuesday night,” said the first old friend. “What a terrible shock it must have been to find them both—like that. A sensitive man, such as he must be———”

“Of course, it must have been an awful blow, my dear,” agreed Mrs. Langham, “especially under the circumstances.”

The significance of the latter words did not go unnoticed, and although Mrs. Langham had her back turned, she knew that Patricia had raised her head.

The old friends drew closer together.

“There have been rumours that the Harleys were not altogether happy,” said one insinuatingly.

Mrs. Langham shrugged her shoulders non-committally and was silent.

“Wasn’t there some talk of another woman?” asked another.

“S-sh!”

Mrs. Langham’s sibilant caution could have been heard in the next room, and her cautious nod directed the gaze of her old friends over her shoulder.

The old friends shot startled glances in the direction of Patricia as comprehension came to them. Then they became excessively busy as they saw that the girl had straightened and was approaching with a curious expression upon her white and drawn face.

Mrs. Langham, happy but somewhat apprehensive, continued her task of folding clothes in pretended ignorance of the girl’s approach. She was ​remarking on the beauty of the weather when Patricia spoke.

“Mrs. Langham?”

The lady turned, raising her eyebrows and smiling obligingly.

“Yes?”

“Would you care to explain, Mrs. Langham?” asked Patricia quietly.

“Explain what?”

“The ‘Ssh!’”

Mrs. Langham’s smile faded. She became stern.

“Are you in the habit of eavesdropping, Miss Weybourn?” she asked severely.

“Yes, when you and your kind are whispering,” was the uncompromising answer.

“Then you will have heard and understood, Miss Weybourn,” said Mrs. Langham, with a curl of her lip.

Patricia’s right hand came into contact with Mrs. Langham’s cheek so sharply that it raised a tiny cloud of pink dust and revealed a network of tiny wrinkles.

The sound of the blow echoed in the long room, and the old friends gasped in horror as they backed away. To his everlasting shame Mr. Langham thrust his hands into his pockets, strolled to the window and examined the sky while he strove to whistle a half-forgotten tune.

After the first shock of surprise, Mrs. Langham looked around for her natural protector. The sight of his back and the sound of his whistle roused her to fury.

“You—you hussy!” she barked. “How dare you! How dare you!”

“I’ll dare anything where you are concerned, Mrs. Langham,” replied Patricia evenly, advancing her open hand again. “Will you explain the ‘Ssh!’ or must I strike you again?”

​“You dare! You dare!” challenged Mrs, Langham, drawing back a little nevertheless. “I’ll have you given in charge! Percival!”

Mr. Langham continued to gaze at the sky, deaf to the appeal.

“I’ll take the risk,” said Patricia, feinting with her right hand and striking with her left. “Now!”

“Percival! Percival!” screamed the injured lady, her eyes filling with tears of rage and pain.

Mr. Langham turned slowly.

“What is it?” he asked mildly, frowning over the top of his pince-nez.

“Call a policeman, and have this woman given in charge!”

There was a moment of silence.

Mr. Langham looked at his wife and at the girl who faced her.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Queenie!” he said, and returned to his study of the sky.

Mrs. Langham and her old friends ceased to breathe for a moment, so amazing was the spectacle of a worm attempting to turn.

Patricia smiled maliciously.

“What did you say, Percival?” demanded his wife imperiously, when she had recovered her breath. “What did you say?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Queenie!”

Percival Langham turned and approached the two women. His wife stared at him, fascinated, almost forgetful of her enmity in her amazement.

“You asked for it, my dear,” he told his wife. “I have told you often that your tongue would get you into trouble some day. As for calling a constable, I fancy you spoke without consideration, I do not care to have my wife appear as defendant in an assault case, any more than my wife would care to argue this matter in court. Personally, I think you owe Miss Weybourn another apology.”

Mrs. Langham’s eyes rolled upwards until the whites beneath the pupils were visible. She gasped ​twice and sank upon a convenient bench. Her heels drummed upon the floor and she moaned pitiously.

“The bottle of smelling-salts is broken, my dear,” Mr. Langham reminded her as he returned to the window.

The old friends gathered around their fallen leader and obscured her from the mocking gaze of the brazen creature who stood regarding them.

In a moment they were thrown aside with violence as Mrs. Langham fairly bounced to her feet and confronted her tormentor.

“I suppose,” she shrieked, forgetting her culture and aspirations in this moment of supreme anger, “you didn’t move into the Harley house, bag and baggage, last Tuesday? I suppose you didn’t clean up the house, make all the beds, do the washing-up and have tea with Harley? I suppose you didn’t intend to stay there—knowing you had driven his wife and child away?”

“And I suppose you don’t know that I am capable of putting you in the dock on a charge of criminal slander, Mrs. Langham?” returned Patricia icily.

“You would never dare!” breathed Mrs. Langham aghast, the colour leaving her cheeks, her eyes starting in affright.

“You dared me to strike you a moment since,” Patricia reminded her quietly. “I have no social standing that I should be afraid of any dare, Mrs. Langham. As sure as God made you, I’ll have you in the criminal court if I hear another whisper on this matter from you! My life is my own to live as it pleases me. I will not be subject to a tuppeny-ha’penny social climber such as you!”

There was a dead stillness in the room for a second, then Patricia turned away and moved towards her packing-case.

“That is the end of Round Two,” she said. “Now, is there anything else you wished packed with this stuff?”

​Mrs. Langham collapsed in earnest. She sat upon a benzine case and wept in bitter humiliation.

“I don’t know what I have done to deserve such treatment,” she complained. “I have always done my best for everybody, and this is my reward. Embroiled in a vulgar brawl—deserted by my husand———”

The old friends stood about her in a state of indecision. The mention of the criminal court had frightened them and shaken their allegiance. It was very awkward. There were faults on both sides no doubt, but———

With the last of his courage Percival Langham crossed to the door and spoke over his shoulder as he left hurriedly.

“Serves you damn well right, Queenie!” he said, and fled.

It was a narrow shave, he told himself. Another minute and he would never have been able to muster the courage to get out.

“Great girl!” he muttered admiringly, as he took a “bracer” in the Criterion Bar. ‘“A real Briton! Here’s her health.”

“Drinking alone?” a friend called to him from the other end of the room.

“No. I’m drinking with a fellow I had given up as dead.”

As he left the bar his friend made a significant gesture, and the bar-tender laughed.