Patricia Wentworth - Beggar’s Choice

From Carthew Fairfaxs diary:

September 14th 1929-I suppose Ive touched bottom to-day. Im going to write about it because its something to do, and because of the odd thing that happened. The more I think about it, the odder it seems, so I think Ill just write everything down whilst I can be sure Im remembering and not imagining. They say you get to imagine things when youre alone a lot. Extraordinary to think that one used to come up to town to have a good time and see ones pals. Now its not town any more; its London -a grimy, gritty loneliness-and if I saw a pal, Id make tracks in the opposite direction. I thrashed that out with myself when I dropped past the middle of the ladder and began going down, rung by rung, to the bottom. I suppose I havent quite got there yet, but I must be pretty near it.

And now Im going to write down what happened to-day.

I started out bright and early to answer an advertisement for a secretary. The extraordinary thing was that I really felt most awfully bucked. I suppose Im hopeful by nature, because when Im job-hunting I generally feel exhilarated and sure Im going to get something this time. I remember feeling particularly hopeful just before I took on with that beast Craddock, and I only stayed a week, and left in a hurry because I was afraid Id murder him if I didnt get out-and whatever the lucks like, Id rather keep clear of the gallows, if it was only for Fays sake.

Well, I started out and stayed hopeful until the bloke who interviewed me turned me down. He was a smug brute, with black bottle-brush eyebrows and indecently new clothes. He turned me down. I saw him look at my boots, and I went out boiling with rage. I suppose three years of losing cheap jobs and hunting cheaper ones ought to have broken me in-but I boiled. I wanted to round on him and say, I dont write with my boots, fathead, and anyhow Id eat them raw before Id take your damned job!

I was still boiling ten minutes later, though Id begun to call myself a fool. I took a good look at my boots in the open daylight. It was a muggy day, with the sun struggling to get through the clouds and not quite bringing it off; but even without the sun to show them up, Im bound to say those boots gave me a sick, discouraged sort of feeling; because when your boots go, its all up with you as far as job-huntings concerned. I knew the soles were pretty far gone. Soles dont matter so long as the uppers hold. Well, mine werent going to hold much longer. Ive always been hard on a left shoe, and I could feel the brute giving as I walked. It will be through by to-morrow.

I thought about that pretty soberly. To-morrow began to look like being a small private edition of the end of the world as far as I was concerned. I owe three weeks rent, and three is Mrs. Bells limit. It would be pay or go; and I certainly couldnt pay.

I turned the corner, and came face to face with Isobel Tarrant.

I dont think Ive ever had such a shock. Id got pretty far down amongst cheery visions of what was likely to happen if I didnt get a job in the next few hours. And then to see Isobel like that! I dont think I can explain how I felt, but Isobel hadnt any business to be within a thousand miles of the things I was thinking about. I felt as if Id met her in some beastly slum, and as if it was my fault that she was there; and I felt as if I didnt care whether it was a slum or not, or how much she oughtnt to be there, so long as I was seeing her again. Its three years since Ive seen Isobel- and I saw her this morning. Whats the good of pretending? Im not writing all this down because something rather odd happened afterwards; Im writing because I want to write about Isobel-because Ive been starving for her, and pretending to myself that Ive forgotten.

Well, I saw her. Ive forgotten her just as much as a man whos dying of thirst has forgotten water-hes forgotten what it tastes like, and he cant get it, and hes dying without it, and then some one shows it to him-shows him a pool with the sun on it and the water coming up in a clear spring. There was a pool like that at Linwood, and it always reminded me of Isobel. The trees stood round it so close that the water had the look of being extraordinarily deep. And first of all youd think it was as still as glass, but if you watched, youd see the spring of the water moving in it a long way down, and if you knew the right place, you could stand and see the sky in the water; and, once in a way when the sun was just right, you could look down, and down, and down. I used to think there was something hidden in the pool, and make up stories about it. And afterwards, when I met Isobel, I thought about the pool at once. I suppose at first it was her eyes-because they have the same look that very deep water has. And then I loved her so much that she reminded me of all the beautiful things I had ever seen. The Linwood pool is very beautiful.

Ive got a long way from meeting Isobel. I came round the corner, and she was only about half a yard away. If there had been any earthly way of avoiding her, Id have taken it-but there wasnt any way, so I took my hat off. And she said Car! and stopped dead and said Car! again. And before I knew what I was doing we were shaking hands. I dont see that I could have helped it-I couldnt have cut her dead. And when I wanted to take my hand away, she held on to it, and she said, Oh, Car!

I dont know what I said-I dare say I didnt say anything-I didnt want to say anything-I wanted to look at her. She had on a blue dress, and at first I thought she was pale- frightfully pale-and my heart gave a sort of jerk of pure funk because I was afraid she was ill. And then when she said Oh, Car! the color came into her face and she looked so beautiful that I could have gone down on my knees and kissed the ground she was walking on-I didnt, of course; I stood like a stockfish and looked at her. And then she said, Oh, Car, where have you been? and I came to my senses and got my hand away.

Oh, all over the place, I said.

And what are you doing?

A job of work-when I can get one.

She said, Have you got one now? She has such a soft voice. She was sorry for me. I dont mind as long as it doesnt hurt her. She didnt look at my boots, and at all the rest of my shabbiness, but of course she could see exactly where Id come to, and her voice wasnt quite steady. Shes got a soft heart as well as a soft voice.

I told myself just what sort of a cad I should be if I traded on it, and I laughed a little and said,

Im on the trail. Wish me good hunting!

She ought to have taken my cue, wished me good luck, and let me go. Instead, she looked at me with a sort of heavenly hurt look in her eyes.

Why did you disappear? Her voice was so soft I could hardly hear what she said.

My dear, I said, disappear sounds like a detective story. Ive merely been dull and respectable-a little work, a little play, and so on.

And no friends? she asked. Then, before I could answer, You did disappear. You didnt give your friends a chance. It wasnt fair.

Id more or less got hold of myself by this time, and this was something Id got an answer for.

Look here, Isobel, what do you mean by not fair?

You didnt give your friends a chance at all.

How could they have helped me? Lent me fivers until they began to say to each other, I say, heres Car-Im off!?

She made a little sharp sound as if Id hurt her.

No, of course I didnt mean that.

Perhaps you meant that I might have asked them to go round touting for a job for me-I say, you know, theres poor old Car-absolutely down and out-had to send in his papers because his father didnt leave him a sou-took on with Lymington and got let in for the great Lymington smash-