The confessions of a well-meaning woman

by Stephen McKenna

I tell you now, as I told you then: I had heard and suspected nothing until you put me on my guard. I truly believe that the person most affected is commonly the last to hear... And Arthur's way of life made it almost impossible for me even to guess: for years he has spent as much time away from me as with me—his board-meetings in London and Birmingham, his shooting ... and, with Will at home, there was so much unhappy friction that I was not sorry when one or other went off and left me in peace for a few days. I did not enquire; so was it surprising that, if the board-meetings and so on were simply a blind, I should be the last person to hear? So with money. My father-in-law's will was so iniquitous... Cheniston and the house in Grosvenor Square went naturally to Spenworth; but every penny, with the exception of a wretched thousand a year for Arthur,—that was sheer wickedness. My dear father would have done more for me if he could; but he had impoverished himself when he was ambassador at Vienna, and, until Brackenbury sold himself to Ruth, we were all very, very poor. The result has been that throughout my married life we have been forced to pinch and scrape. You may say that the house in Mount Street was an extravagance, but one had to live somewhere. It was for one's friends rather than oneself; I could not ask the princess to dine with me in Bayswater... Pinch and scrape, scrape and pinch. Arthur made a fair income by his director's fees, but I had dreadful moments when I thought of the future. Spenworth will do no more than he has already done—that we know—; when I lay at death's door and begged him with what might have been my last breath to make a settlement on Will—his own nephew... And at Brackenbury it is canny, north-country little Ruth who holds the purse-strings ... and dispenses her charity, offering to pay for my operation and reminding me that, when Will was at Eton, the bills came to them... I have felt for more years than I like to count that pinching and scraping are my appointed lot...

Of recent months the task became almost too much for my powers. Not only the cost of living... Will had lost this Morecambe appointment without finding another. Arthur complained that figure-head directors were not in so great request as formerly; he was shame-faced about it, as though his pride were hurt; I did not then imagine that he had to give me less money because he was giving more in another quarter...

And you will remember that, when you told me, I refused to believe it. Goodness me, I am not so vain as to think that the man who once loved me must always love me, but there is such a thing as loyalty—and gratitude. I had trusted him ... and that was enough; I did not need to tell him—or you—or even myself that he had enjoyed the best years of my life, that I was an old woman while he was still—thanks to me—a young man, that I had borne him a son and worn myself out before my time in scheming and contriving for the comfort and well-being of them both...

It was brave of you to tell me, to insist on my knowing... and believing. I was dazed. That Arthur should be giving her dresses and jewellery, when he could not afford to redecorate his wife's house... And apparently it was the common talk of the clubs; and no doubt kind friends were secretly pitying me... The last infatuation of the middle-aged man—they were telling one another that I was six years Arthur's senior—and what could you expect? As if I had made any secret of my age! It is in the books. And they were, perhaps, wondering how soon he would outgrow it and how much I knew and whether I minded... There was the rub—this savage, impertinent curiosity. What business of theirs if my husband humiliated me? And, strangely enough, one has so often seen it with other women and somehow always fancied that it would never happen to oneself. The swan-song... As a man feels that his youth is slipping out of his grasp, he makes this one last despairing effort. And love at that age is like a blow from a sledge-hammer; Arthur was prepared to run away with the woman. Indeed I know what I am talking about. Then, I felt, it was time for me to intervene...

You had been clever enough to find out the address—the house, by the way, Arthur did not give her. She told me so, but without that I knew enough of his finances to realize that it was physically impossible—; and all the way there I tried to understand this strange streak which apparently runs through all men. The old phrase: "Sowing one's wild oats." ... When I married Arthur, he had never had an affaire of any kind with any one; and so for thirty years. Am I very cynical in thinking that perhaps it would have been better if he had? ... Spenworth, on the other hand, had been tossed from one woman's arms to another's ever since he was a lad at Eton. You entered his house and never knew whom you would find at the head of his table—except that it would not be the one you had seen there a month before; the only difference that marriage made to him was that, while Kathleen sat at the head of his table, he dined elsewhere. Now that he has married again in middle life, one has no sort of guarantee. It seems impossible to frame any rules for a man of that age...

I had not spoken to Arthur beforehand, of course. He would have spoiled everything. What I wanted was a cold, passionless talk with this Mrs. Templedown. Two women, even in our position, could understand each other: neither of us wanted a scandal, I was prepared to admit even that she might be genuinely fond of Arthur and would try—according to her lights—to do the best for him. I need hardly say that I did not dream of intimidating—Arthur was her property—nor of bribing—goodness me, what had I to offer? Nor did I feel constrained to beg for mercy or to ask what manner of life she proposed to leave for me. I hardly think that pride held me in check, but—somehow—to go on one's knees to a young woman who started life on the stage was hardly... Well, as my boy would say, "It is not done." I knew she was clever, I hoped to find her sensible; and then the only thing was to decide what to do...

Of course I did not send up my name...

"Say that a lady wishes to see her," I told the maid.

And I was shewn upstairs readily enough. Not into the drawing-room; I think that class of person lives entirely in her bedroom. She was lying on the sofa in a kimono and—so far as I could judge from the generous opportunities which she insisted on giving me—nothing else; a lovely animal, as she was at pains that I should see, with perfect skin, a great mane of copper hair and golden-brown eyes. Very red lips, very white teeth; I was reminded of a soft, beautiful lion-cub. She moved and stretched herself like an animal, speaking as though she were only half-awake. I don't think she could have been more than twenty. She left the stage to marry a man in the Air Force, I understand, and he was killed at the end of the war, leaving her very ill-provided-for... "Seductive" was the word I was trying to think of...

"It's easy to see why men should fall down and worship you," I said.