Introduction to Sally

by Elizabeth Von Arnim

§

Mrs. Luke, however, was brought back by Jocelyn’s words to a vivid sense of Mr. Thorpe. He had sunk aside in her mind during the emotions of the last half hour. He now became distinct; extremely distinct, and frightfully near. That very evening he would be coming round after supper—he had agreed that the meal itself should be given over to reunion—in order to collect his young guests.

Jocelyn, she knew, had no idea of his existence. Mr. Thorpe, though living in South Winch, had not till then been of it. His world had been different. His wealth had separated him, and his obvious disharmony—South Winch had only to look at him to perceive it—with the things of the spirit. Also, there had been his wife. So that if mentioned, which was rarely, it had merely been with vague uninterest as the rich man in the big house in Acacia Avenue.

Now he had to be mentioned, and Jocelyn’s words made it difficult.

Mrs. Luke stood silent, her hand still on Sally’s head, encircled by Jocelyn’s arm, while he told her of the plans he had been making for the last two days, ever since it suddenly dawned on him that that was to be their future. How could she interrupt him with Mr. Thorpe? Yet Mr. Thorpe was, she was sure, the real solution. Salvatia was going to be expensive, very, if the gutter was to be properly scraped off her, and no further stretching could possibly be got out of her own income, while Jocelyn’s, of course, would be all needed for Cambridge. Yes—Mr. Thorpe, who had begun by being a refuge, had now become a godsend. Jocelyn would see it himself, when he had had him properly explained.

But how difficult to explain him—now, with the sweet balm of her boy’s dependence on her and his love being poured into her ears, her boy, who in his whole life hadn’t shown so much of either as he had in the half hour since he came home. Yet it wasn’t her fault, it was Jocelyn’s. It was his marriage that had precipitated Mr. Thorpe into their lives. Still, she didn’t blame Jocelyn, for no young man, let alone her imaginative, beauty-appreciating son, could have resisted Salvatia.

She stood silent, smiling nervously. To have to quench this happy hopefulness with Mr. Thorpe was most painful. She smiled more and more nervously. Apart from everything else, it embarrassed her, her coming marriage, it embarrassed her dreadfully, somehow, faced by her grown-up son. The memory of that almost snapped tendon last night ... suppose Jocelyn were to think she was marrying Mr. Thorpe for anything but convenience, with anything but reluctance ... suppose he were to take up a Hamlet-like attitude to her, and think—he would never, she knew, say—rude things....

‘How delightful it all sounds,’ she said at last, removing her hand from Sally’s head, who at once felt better. ‘Quite, quite delightful. But——’

‘Now, Mother, there mustn’t be any buts,’ interrupted Jocelyn. ‘It’s all settled.’ And rashly—but then he felt so happy and safe—he appealed to Sally. ‘Isn’t it, Sally,’ he said. ‘We want Mother, don’t we. And we’re going to have her, aren’t we.’

‘Yes—and Father,’ said Sally, whose ideas were simple but tenacious.

‘Father?’ repeated Mrs. Luke, touched. ‘Dear child, your poor Jocelyn has no——’

‘Mother, you and I must really have a good talk together,’ hastily interposed Jocelyn, who saw Sally’s mouth opening again. She shouldn’t say anything; she really shouldn’t say anything; the less she said the better for everybody. ‘You and I. By ourselves. This evening, when Sally——’

‘Salvatia, Jocelyn. Please, please.’

‘—— has gone up to bed.’

‘But you know, Jocelyn dear,’ said Mrs. Luke, loosening herself from his clasp and withdrawing a little, ‘that’s just what the dear child can’t go up to. Not here. Not in this tiny house. You didn’t think, of course, but there isn’t an inch of room really—not for three people. So I wanted to tell you—’ she began putting his tie straight, her eyes on it, not looking at him—‘what I’ve arranged. You’re both going to be taken in next door.’

‘Next door, Mother?’ said Jocelyn, much surprised, for he couldn’t at all recollect the next door people.

‘Well, nearly next door,’ said Mrs. Luke, diligent over his tie, and excessively annoyed to feel she was turning red. ‘At Abergeldie.’

‘Abergeldie?’ echoed Jocelyn, to whom the name was completely unfamiliar.

‘I tell you what we’ll do,’ said Mrs. Luke, as though she had suddenly had a brilliant idea, on the little maid’s appearing in the door bearing a tray that seemed twice as big as she was, and all but dropping it when she caught sight of the young lady on the chair. ‘After tea Salvatia shall go and lie down in my bedroom and rest—won’t you, Salvatia,—and you and I will have a quiet talk, dear Jocelyn—no, no, Hammond, not there; here, where I’ve put the table ready—and I’ll tell you all about—we want three cups, Hammond, not two—I’ll tell you all about——’

But she still couldn’t bring herself to mention Mr. Thorpe, and again said Abergeldie.

‘Is that lodgings?’ asked Jocelyn, who didn’t at all like the sound of it.

‘Oh, no—it isn’t lodgings,’ said Mrs. Luke brightly, giving his tie a final pat.