There was no one in the house ; and after shutting the door, the two women who did the cleaning went away together, talking quickly.
Esmée Earnshaw, watching them from the window of her long, gray Hispano, was angry that they seemed so pleased to go away form her house. In her opinion, the chance to go into it at all was, even to her friends, a sort of special reward. For this reason it would have been natural if the brushing and cleaning of the home had been a special event, valued in the memory of such women, but there they were -- shutting the door and smiling, without even looking back while they went down the street.
It seemed to Esmée that they had been a long time getting ready to go. They were dressed with so much attention to detail and with so little harmony. The high boots done up, the buttons on their coats and the pins in their hats, and the old-time Edwardian feathers now only seen on such persons. They were talking quickly and smiling to one another. Esmée was not clear what they were saying . . .
They went by her.
"Lady Hearnshaw . . ."
"She's nothing but the last-word."
'The last word !'-- How was it possible for a cleaner to have such an idea?
But, after all, Esmée was quite pleased, because if she was not the last word now she would not ever be. Esmée Earnshaw was one of those women who are frequently to be seen here, there, and everywhere with this that and the other person -- running round dance clubs, getting into the news. She had no other existence outside this, but her days were full. Though she saw t it that so much was said about her, there was in fact nothing at all to he said for her.
Esmée was quite good-looking, foolish, but not foolish enough to let it be seen ; she was married to a man who was well-off and not very old ; she was quietly unkind, and the very last word. And now . . . even the two old cleaners were conscious of it.
Esmée Earnshaw was at all times interested in other. That female quality, which is happily less marked in a number of women of the present day, had most unhappily become strong again in Esmée. She was for ever being interested in some small, unimportant detail of another person's existence. Her interest, in fact, was like a disease, troubling her all the time.
Esmée had no feeling against the man to whom she was married. Her knowledge of him was certainly limited, but sometimes she had doubts about him. Friends were from time to time foolish enough to put the question : "How is Sir Arthur ?" or "Where is Sir Arthur ?" Every time Esmée would give an answer smilingly, stiffly, but all the same a little angrily ;because when Esmée herself was before them, warm, bright and beautiful, with a dancing light in her eyes and all the attraction of a tall, delicate flower, why was anyone interested in Arthur ? Arthur, who was the same all the year round -- working in the City in the day-time, and sleeping in the library at night, with From Kreuger to Stavisky on his knee.
Esmée had doubts about her lovers till her doubts sent them away, and sometimes she had doubts about Arthur, till her fears were put at rest by seeing him, still there, as uninterested and unquestioning as ever. Arthur was away now -- with the guns ; and it was said publicly that Esmée had gone on one of those journeys to the South from which she still got amusement. Secretly she had been in the country before starting, or reasons equally important.
She took a long look at her home -- their house. She gave a smile at the thought of Arthur going on being so English, having arguments with other men on the Exchange, firing at birds, and quite unconscious of her. For three weeks this house would be shut up ; then the cleaners would come back and take off the dust covers ; all the servants would come back ; Arthur and Esmée would be together again in this very house, and go through a somewhat uninteresting married talk ; and Arthur would see about the payment of some more accounts.
This quite payment was one of the things which made Esmée interested in Arthur. Other women had to take trouble about their behavior to get one or two pounds out of a man -- Esmée had been shocked and troubled at women's behaviour to their men when they had to get money. but if Arthur had been unready to give her money she would have gone through the same business, forcing herself into the belief that it was doing the right thing in the very best way. But with Arthur all this was not necessary ; a little overconsciously kind, possibly, but quite quietly he went on making payments.
Very unready to be parted from money herself, Esmée was unable to see why Arthur did this. She was unable to see why everyone did not take great care of their money in small ways. Would the two cleaners, with no one looking after them and small payment, have done their work well ? Arthur gave her separate money for the housekeeping, and she had made the point of getting the best work possible from her servants. It was this great desire for cheap living which had given Esmée the idea of having two cleaners for two or three hours in place of a caretaker for three weeks. For three weeks the house would have as little in it as Esmée's heart.
She had two or three hours before the Dover train went. Acting wisely at all times, she had come to London with no servant and only a small bag ; as with a number of other small and uninteresting secrets, no one had any knowledge of her designs but herself.
The Hispano had been sent away. There was no one about ; she took out her door-key, and secretly, with the feeling that she had no right to be there, went into her house.
The house was quiet and dark. There was nothing in it but the dead shades of things with dust covers over them and the living shades of sad owners. But Esmée was not much troubled by this and made a start on her well ordered way through the house. She had quite a system for the discovery of bad work and dust, frequently saying to herself that she did not give out housekeeping money for nothing. Though unconscious of the fact, she was hated by all her servants. She did not see how she put persons against her by her uncontrolled desire to come upon them doing something wrong -- her unkind heart and her small secret designs.
Walking slowly on purpose, she went up four floors to the door of Arthur's library. Here she saw the first sign of bad work. When they went away the door was at all times to be kept locked. Arthur gave the key to his servant, and was very angry if his letters and papers were torched by anyone. Now the key was in the door.
Esmée got it open and went in. Hard as she was, she was unable to keep herself from feeling and fearing this room. She had not been conscious that it was possible for a room with no one in it to be full of such dark, unhappy suggestions. She put her finger up and down the top of Arthur's writing-table ; there was a long, thin line. Her lips became an equally hard, thin line. The writing-table had not been dusted.
She went over to the window and got the shutters open. The room was over a quiet little side-street ;there was no one to be seen. On the window-shelf Esmée saw a key. She put it in the lock of Arthur's writing-table and it came open. It was getting cold, and she was feeling it a little so she put her coat more tightly round her. There was a great number of letters in the writing-table. Esmée was uncertain what they were about. She took them up, with a feeling of fear and of doing something secretly -- violently interested.
The first letter, at which she tool a quick look, was a receipt for the coat she had on. The second letter was from a bookmaker. The third was a loving letter from a woman -- so loving, in fact, that to a woman of good sense it would have given the suggestion of nothing but the kind thoughts of some old friend. But Esmée had a limited outlook -- to her the letter only seemed loving. She went on looking, and came across a number of other letters in the same handwriting, all to Arthur.
In a second, he was no longer in Esmée's mind 'poor old Arthur' but the man to whom she was married, and very possibly at the same time another's lover. She suddenly became interested in this man of millions to whom she had given so little thought for so long, and was overcome with the fear that he might be using his money for other women. The thought came into her mind that possibly he said so little about her accounts only because he was making other payments for women of greater attraction.
She had no sons or daughters of Arthur's and no money which was hers. Then her position might not be so safe ?
Esmée had been comforted by the thought that Arthur probably had no women friends at all. He had such a number of friends on the Exchange ; and though she was not interested in them, she did not let him see it. Her love-making was not ever unwise, she was not responsible for any shame to his name, she was good-looking and well-dressed, a very pleasing woman to be married to ; there was every reason for him to have, and no doubt he did have a high opinion of her.
But those letters from a woman which he kept in his writing-table, were to Esmée a sign that he had been untrue to her -- and while she gave thought to it, the quiet of the house was broken by the sound of blows. She went down on her knees in the greatest fear. It was the sound of the clock on the shelf over the fire-place getting ready to give the hours, the disgusting-looking clock which had been given to Arthur by some of his office workers. Esmée had no love for the face of this clock, and the way it had of coughing before it made any sound at all ; even then it had sometimes gone thirteen and fourteen times It did not keep good time, and was far from beautiful -- so why have it ? But Arthur, with a fixed idea in which there was no reason, would not give it away
Esmée was conscious now that she was in fear of Arthur. She saw how false and foolish her position in this house was when she was said to be away in Europe. She was in fear of the house itself, Arthur's room, the dust covers, the uncertain clock. For the first time in her existence Esmée became conscious of dead things with their shocking suggestion ; dead things hammering into her brain -- a sense of death hanging over her. Pushing the letters into her handbag, she went out of the room, locking the door after her. It was not possible to go through the letters there. but, when she was outside this room, which in all their married existence she had only been in two or three times, she seemed safe again, more her natural, interesting, doubting self -- with a desire to get away from the house, but with an equal desire to go through these strange letters.
She had had a lift put in for the servants. It was some time before it was complete, because she had taken weeks making her selection of the business house which would give her the cheapest price. But at last it had been put in -- an apparatus for getting more work done in less time. She made a decision to be go down by this lift and go quietly out of the house by the back door. When she was by herself, she would go straight through the letters and come to a decision about what she would do -- how to make the best use of them. She had a good opinion of herself ; she "kept her head when in a serious position", she "took everything into account" gave "attention to detail."
Esmée put her finger on the electric button and the lift made a start to go down. The last two or three ours in London had been more than enough for her, and she would be pleased to be gone.
Half-way between two floors the lift came to a stop. She was unable to make it go on. She gave jumps, loud cries. It was dark, so dark that she was unable to see the handwriting on the letters. She was in fear of the dark. She took a cigarette out of her box , and from her handbag a little lighter which she had tot that day. It had had an attraction for her because it was so cheap. She was unable to get a light. The dark made her unhappy, gave her a feeling of fear.
Two or three minutes went by before she became conscious that she was shut up in a small, dark death-prison. There was not hope. No one had any idea she was in London. Arthur was away --firing at birds, exchanging view with bankers. The house was shut up for three weeks.
* * *
Three weeks later, the two cleaners came back to get the house open again. They went in by the front door, took the pins out of their hats, undid their boots and but on house-shoes, took off their coats and put on overalls ;one them put the old feathers from round her neck on a seat.
"Well, here we are again, dear. Where is she now, eh ?"
"Keep your noise out of other cats' milk," said the second, while with slow, stiff feet she made her way in the direction of the lift.
* * *
Sir Arthur Earnshaw was a man who said little ; and he was not ready to go into the discussion of the shocking details of Esmée's prison in the shut-up house ; the slow death from need of food, the giving up of hope, and at last, the loss of reason.
"It is to be hoped," he said in a self-important way, "that before the end she was at peace, and conscious of nothing."