Miss Vaughan picked up her things, and got up, and as she moved away, said quietly, ‘Do you believe in what you have, Mrs Gandell?’ She moved towards the stairs, a bewildered Mrs Gandell at her side.
‘Believe in what I have?’
‘I never question anything that I have, Mrs Gandell, and I cling to it.’
‘Yes, yes, of course, I do understand,’ and Mrs Gandell again dived into her pocket for the cigarette that wasn’t there.
‘Once, I really thought I wanted certain things myself, Mrs Gandell, but I thought hard about it, and after a while I knew I didn’t want them, and I forgot them at once.’
‘I see,’ not seeing.
‘And now I’m going to my room.’
‘I hope you’ll be yourself by lunchtime, Miss Vaughan,’ but Miss Vaughan made no comment, and went on up. Mrs Gandell remained rooted where she stood, still staring up after the departed guest. ‘How odd,’ she thought, but the practical side of her spoke with a greater resolution. ‘She pays regularly, is little inconvenience here, and interferes with nobody.’
She longed for a cigarette, for a straight gin; if Miss Vaughan was odd, so too, had been the morning, and she went and sat at her table in the dining-room, and patiently waited for the return of Jones.
2
Miss Vaughan often talked to Miss Vaughan, and did so now, as slowly, very slowly, she mounted the stairs to her spartan room. ‘It was kind of Mr Blair to let me come home. Such a nice man, so understanding,’ and in a flash she was back in the office listening to the orders from him, and from his junior partner, Mr Wilkins, and to the occasional giggling amongst the girls in the outer office. It was the world being attended to, no waiting allowed.
‘Bring me those papers at once, Miss Vaughan.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And type this, that, and the other,’ cried Mr Wilkins, glaring at her over his spectacles.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And please remove this.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘And now run along. I will ring when I want you.’
But Miss Vaughan never ran anywhere, but proceeded slowly to her desk, and waited, and listened to the whispers in the outer office. She waited patiently for the spur of the moment, the call to duty.
‘Are you there, Miss Vaughan?’
A rare occasion when she is not, for she seems to be ceaselessly coming and going, and is always calm, and controlled, and dedicated. She rises and falls upon the turbulent waves of the world, and is unharmed, because one Miss Vaughan hides within the other. On Vaughan ground there were no trespassers, and no road, no bridge, no secret passage and no key to that inner Miss Vaughan that lived so warm and comfortable and sustained by that Miss Vaughan of the office, who was always there, the moment she was wanted.
She reached the top stair, touched the doorknob of her room, and gave a little sigh, for this was her moment, coming home, closing the door behind her, shutting out the world. She removed her hat, coat, gloves, and spectacles, and then sat down on her polar bed. ‘Ah!’ She crossed to the dressing-table, and sat in front of the looking-glass. When she looked in, another Miss Vaughan looked out.
‘People never stop talking.’
She leaned in closer, her fingertips making a slow voyage over the anatomy of her face.
‘I’m glad I’m back.’
She always was. She got up and went and lay on her bed, and switched off the light. Hands behind her head, she stared up at the ceiling. Darkness is kind, and kindest to Miss Vaughan. The silence was so calm, so warm, it hushed her down to a peace. She thought of an October afternoon, an entrance.
She had arrived at Garthmeilo as quietly as a mouse. Only the single porter at the station had witnessed it. She stood motionless on the platform, looking up and down, very aware of his presence, and of the knife-like wind that blew in their faces. And after a while it had seemed to occur to him that somebody had actually arrived. He jumped down on the line, and crossed over.
‘Can I help you, Miss?’ and bent down for her suitcase.
‘This is Garthmeilo?’
‘That’s it. Where were you for?’
‘The Decent Hotel.’
‘That place!’
‘That place.’
‘Then right-ho, and allow me,’ and again he reached for her suitcase.
‘I will not allow you,’ she said, and picked it up, and moved off down the platform.
‘You know where it is then?’ he called after her.
She stopped, turned, and waited till he came up. ‘I shall find it.’
‘As you wish,’ and the wintry platform echoed with the porter’s outright laugh, as he hurried back to the tiny grate in his room to wait for the next train. And Miss Vaughan had stalked out of the station with a firm resolve, the porter’s raucous laugh still echoing in her ears. She battled against the wind through every street and alley, and it was black dark when she finally arrived at the hotel. She had walked into the hall, rung the bell, and waited. Mrs Gandell had come bouncing forward, feeling a great relief at the arrival of a new guest. It seemed so splendid that a miracle like this should happen in the middle of a harsh winter. She had carried an extra chair into the tiny office, on which Miss Vaughan sat down, clasped hands, and studied her landlady. Mrs Gandell had never quite forgotten the interview, and not least its brevity, but Miss Vaughan had long forgotten it.
‘Miss Vaughan?’
‘I am Miss Vaughan.’
