Introduction to Sally

by Elizabeth Von Arnim

§

She hadn’t understood more than a word here and there of all the words Laura had rattled off at her, and in her heart, while she steadily ate sandwiches, she had slowly come to the conclusion that the pick of the basket was a queer fish. An affectionate and friendly fish, but queer all right, thought Sally; and in spite of the good tea—the best she had ever had, outdoing the one at Truro, and infinitely better than any at Mrs. Luke’s,—in spite of the calming and balancing effect of nourishment after not having had a bite to eat since five o’clock that morning, in spite of Laura’s kindness and cheerfulness, Sally felt uneasy.

She oughtn’t to be there. She oughtn’t to have come with Laura. It was only for two days, but two days were enough to do wrong in. What would her father say, who thought she was at that moment in a taxi, paid for by his pound, if he could see her? What would Mrs. Luke say? What was Mrs. Luke saying, anyhow? As for Mr. Luke, what he would say didn’t so much matter, because almost before he had finished saying it she would have joined him in Cambridge, and started acting as a wife should. Of course he on his side must act as a husband should, and not try and send her away from him to his mother,—that was only fair, wasn’t it? Sally anxiously asked herself.

And her uneasiness became acute when Laura, having taken her up a whole lot of stairs, every one of which looked like pure marble, and into a room she could only guess was a bedroom because there was a bed in it, but which was otherwise unidentifiable to Sally as such, sat down at a table and began telephoning to people to send round somebody at once with dresses and shoes to be tried on a young lady, who had to wear them that very evening.

Sally listened in alarm. Impossible not to guess that she was the young lady; impossible not to gather that there was to be a party, and she was to be at it. Had she after all only escaped Mrs. Luke’s party to find herself caught in another? Was Laura, who had so much sympathised with her earnest wish not to be present at the one, going to plunge her into the other?

Standing afraid and conscience-stricken in front of the blazing wood fire, while Laura telephoned—this all came of not obeying her father—Sally wondered whether anything could save her. Laura had saved her from Mrs. Luke, but who was going to save her from Laura? Laura lived in the middle of marble. She had servants at her beck and call, and could make the gentleman in black do anything she chose. And the smart young lady, who had sat on the small seat of the car and looked out of the window, presently, on Laura’s telling her to, crawled round the floor at Sally’s feet with her mouth full of pins, doing something to a petticoat of Laura’s that Sally, it seemed, was going to have to wear that evening.

‘All you’ve got to do, Sally,’ said Laura, having finished telephoning, and coming briskly over to where her newest discovery was standing meekly without her frock and hat, while the petticoat was pinned narrower, ’is to enjoy yourself. Oh, you lovely, lovely thing!’ she burst out, beating her hands together with delight; for the more one took off Sally the more exquisite she became.

Enjoy herself? She, a married woman? ‘Wonder ’ow,’ thought Sally.

‘Say what you like, do what you like,’ said Laura, her eyes bulging with admiration, ‘and don’t care about anybody or anything. Don’t you bother about h’s, or silly things like that. Just say whatever comes into your darling, delicious head, and enjoy yourself.’

In the presence of the young lady crawling on the floor, Sally was dumb. Laura, on the other hand, talked just as if she weren’t there; but when for a moment Sally found herself alone with Laura, she did make a mild protest.

‘Might ’ave gone back to that there other party after all,’ she said, ’an’ done what Father tell me, if I got to be at one any’ow.’

‘Oh, but this isn’t a party,’ Laura hastily assured her, for Sally was distinctly drooping. ‘This is a theatre. You like going to a play, don’t you, Sally? Of course you do. I simply don’t believe the girl exists who doesn’t.’

Yes; Sally liked going to a play. She hadn’t ever been to one, and the idea of a theatre did cheer her up. And Laura said nothing about the supper afterwards, because why say everything?