"Do you?"
"Yes."
"Papa and Mama have separate bedrooms."
"Don't they adjoin?"
"Yes."
"That's so that they can get into the same bed."
"Why?"
"Because, to start a baby, the husband has to put his pego into that place--where the babies come out."
"What's a pego?"
"Hush! It's a thing men have between their legs--haven't you ever seen a picture of Michelangelo's David?"
"No."
"Well, it's a thing they make water with. Looks like a finger."
"And you have to do that to start babies?"
"Yes."
"And all married people have to do it?"
"Yes."
"How dreadful. Who told you all this?"
"Viola Pontadarvy. She swore it was true."
And somehow Charlotte knew it was true. Hearing it was like being reminded of something she had forgotten. It seemed, unaccountably, to make sense. Yet she felt physically shocked. It was the slightly queasy feeling she sometimes got in dreams, when a terrible suspicion turned out to be correct, or when she was afraid of falling and suddenly found she was falling.
"I'm jolly glad you found out," she said. "If one got married without knowing . . . how embarrassing it would be!"
"Your mother is supposed to explain it all to you the night before your wedding, but if your mother is too shy you just . . . find out when it happens."
"Thank Heaven for Viola Pontadarvy." Charlotte was struck by a thought. "Has all this got something to do with . . . bleeding, you know, every month?"
"I don't know."
"I expect it has. It's all connected--all the things people don't talk about. Well, now we know why they don't talk about it--it's so disgusting."
"The thing you have to do in bed is called sexual intercourse, but Viola says the common people call it swiving."
"She knows a lot."
"She's got brothers. They told her years ago."
"How did they find out?"
"From older boys at school. Boys are ever so interested in that sort of thing."
"Well," Charlotte said, "it does have a sort of horrid fascination."
Suddenly she saw in the mirror the reflection of Aunt Clarissa. "What are you two doing huddled in a corner?" she said. Charlotte flushed, but apparently Aunt Clarissa did not want an answer, for she went on: "Do please move around and talk to people, Belinda--it is your party."
She went away, and the two girls moved on through the reception rooms. The rooms were arranged on a circular plan so that you could walk through them all and end up where you had started, at the top of the staircase. Charlotte said: "I don't think I could ever bring myself to do it."
"Couldn't you?" Belinda said with a funny look.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. I've been thinking about it. It might be quite nice."
Charlotte stared at her.
Belinda looked embarrassed. "I must go and dance," she said. "See you later on!"
She went down the stairs. Charlotte watched her go, and wondered how many more shocking secrets life had to reveal.
She went back into the supper room and got another glass of champagne-cup. What a peculiar way for the human race to perpetuate itself, she thought. She supposed animals did something similar. What about birds? No, birds had eggs. And such words! Pego and swiving. All these hundreds of elegant and refined people around her knew those words, but never mentioned them. Because they were never mentioned, they were embarrassing. Because they were embarrassing, they were never mentioned. There was something very silly about the whole thing. If the Creator had ordained that people should swive, why pretend that they did not?
She finished her drink and went outside to the dance floor. Papa and Mama were dancing a polka, and doing it rather well. Mama had got over the incident in the park, but it still preyed on Papa's mind. He looked very fine in white tie and tails. When his leg was bad he would not dance, but obviously it was giving him no trouble tonight. He was surprisingly light on his feet for a big man. Mama seemed to be having a wonderful time. She was able to let herself go a bit when she danced. Her usual studied reserve fell away, and she smiled radiantly and let her ankles show.
When the polka was over Papa caught Charlotte's eye and came over. "May I have this dance, Lady Charlotte?"
"Certainly, my lord."
It was a waltz. Papa seemed distracted, but he whirled her around the floor expertly. She wondered whether she looked radiant, like Mama. Probably not. Suddenly she thought of Papa and Mama swiving, and found the idea terribly embarrassing.
Papa said: "Are you enjoying your first big ball?"
"Yes, thank you," she said dutifully.
"You seem thoughtful."
"I'm on my best behavior." The lights and the bright colors blurred slightly, and suddenly she had to concentrate on staying upright. She was afraid she might fall over and look foolish. Papa sensed her unsteadiness and held her a little more firmly. A moment later the dance ended.
Papa took her off the floor. He said: "Are you feeling quite well?"
"Fine, but I was dizzy for a moment."
"Have you been smoking?"
Charlotte laughed. "Certainly not."
"That's the usual reason young ladies feel dizzy at balls. Take my advice: when you want to try tobacco, do it in private."
"I don't think I want to try it."
She sat out the next dance, and then Freddie turned up again. As she danced with him, it occurred to her that all the young men and girls, including Freddie and herself, were supposed to be looking for husbands or wives during the season, especially at balls like this. For the first time she considered Freddie as a possible husband for herself. It was unthinkable.
Then what kind of husband do I want? she wondered. She really had no idea.
Freddie said: "Jonathan just said 'Freddie, meet Charlotte,' but I gather you're called Lady Charlotte Walden."
"Yes. Who are you?"
"Marquis of Chalfont, actually."
So, Charlotte thought, we're socially compatible.
A little later she and Freddie got into conversation with Belinda and Freddie's friends. They talked about a new play, called Pygmalion, which was said to be absolutely hilarious but quite vulgar. The boys spoke of going to a boxing match, and Belinda said she wanted to go too, but they all said it was out of the question. They discussed jazz music. One of the boys was something of a connoisseur, having lived for a while in the United States; but Freddie disliked it, and talked rather pompously about "the negrification of society." They all drank coffee and Belinda smoked another cigarette. Charlotte began to enjoy herself.
It was Charlotte's mama who came along and broke up the party. "Your father and I are leaving," she said. "Shall we send the coach back for you?"
Charlotte realized she was tired. "No, I'll come," she said. "What time is it?"
"Four o'clock."
They went to get their wraps. Mama said: "Did you have a lovely evening?"
"Yes, thank you, Mama."
"So did I. Who were those young men?"
"They know Jonathan."
"Were they nice?"
"The conversation got quite interesting, in the end."
Papa had called the carriage already. As they drove away from the bright lights of the party, Charlotte remembered what had happened last time they rode in a carriage, and she felt scared.
Papa held Mama's hand. They seemed happy. Charlotte felt excluded. She looked out of the window. In the dawn light she could see four men in silk hats walking up Park Lane, going home from some nightclub perhaps. As the carriage rounded Hyde Park Corner Charlotte saw something odd. "What's that?" she said.
Mama looked out. "What's what, dear?"
"On the pavement. Looks like people."
"That's right."
"What are they doing?"
"Sleeping."
Charlotte was
horrified. There were eight or ten of them, up against a wall, bundled in coats, blankets and newspapers. She could not tell whether they were men or women, but some of the bundles were small enough to be children.
She said: "Why do they sleep there?"
"I don't know, dear," Mama said.
Papa said: "Because they've nowhere else to sleep, of course."
"They have no homes?"
"No."
"I didn't know there was anyone that poor," Charlotte said. "How dreadful." She thought of all the rooms in Uncle George's house, the food that had been laid out to be picked at by eight hundred people, all of whom had had dinner, and the elaborate gowns they wore new each season while people slept under newspapers. She said: "We should do something for them."
"We?" Papa said. "What should we do?"
"Build houses for them."
"All of them?"
"How many are there?"
Papa shrugged. "Thousands."
"Thousands! I thought it was just those few." Charlotte was devastated. "Couldn't you build small houses?"
"There's no profit in house property, especially at that end of the market."
"Perhaps you should do it anyway."
"Why?"
"Because the strong should take care of the weak. I've heard you say that to Mr. Samson." Samson was the bailiff at Walden Hall, and he was always trying to save money on repairs to tenanted cottages.
"We already take care of rather a lot of people," Papa said. "All the servants whose wages we pay, all the tenants who farm our land and live in our cottages, all the workers in the companies we invest in, all the government employees who are paid out of our taxes--"
"I don't think that's much of an excuse," Charlotte interrupted. "Those poor people are sleeping on the street. What will they do in winter?"
Mama said sharply: "Your papa doesn't need excuses. He was born an aristocrat and he has managed his estate carefully. He is entitled to his wealth. Those people on the pavement are idlers, criminals, drunkards and ne'er-do-wells."
"Even the children?"
"Don't be impertinent. Remember you still have a great deal to learn."
"I'm just beginning to realize how much," Charlotte said.
As the carriage turned into the courtyard of their house, Charlotte glimpsed one of the street sleepers beside the gate. She decided she would take a closer look.
The coach stopped beside the front door. Charles handed Mama down, then Charlotte. Charlotte ran across the courtyard. William was closing the gates. "Just a minute," Charlotte called.
She heard Papa say: "What the devil . . . ?"
She ran out into the street.
The sleeper was a woman. She lay slumped on the pavement with her shoulders against the courtyard wall. She wore a man's boots, woolen stockings, a dirty blue coat and a very large, once-fashionable hat with a bunch of grubby artificial flowers in its brim. Her head was slumped sideways and her face was turned toward Charlotte.
There was something familiar about the round face and the wide mouth. The woman was young . . .
Charlotte cried: "Annie!"
The sleeper opened her eyes.
Charlotte stared at her in horror. Two months ago Annie had been a housemaid at Walden Hall in a crisp clean uniform with a little white hat on her head, a pretty girl with a large bosom and an irrepressible laugh. "Annie, what happened to you?"
Annie scrambled to her feet and bobbed a pathetic curtsy. "Oh, Lady Charlotte, I was hoping I would see you, you was always good to me. I've nowhere to turn--"
"But how did you get like this?"
"I was let go, m'lady, without a character, when they found out I was expecting the baby; I know I done wrong--"
"But you're not married!"
"But I was courting Jimmy, the undergardener . . ."
Charlotte recalled Belinda's revelations, and realized that if all that was true it would indeed be possible for girls to have babies without being married. "Where is the baby?"
"I lost it."
"You lost it?"
"I mean, it came too early, m'lady, it was born dead."
"How horrible," Charlotte whispered. That was something else she had not known to be possible. "And why isn't Jimmy with you?"
"He run away to sea. He did love me, I know, but he was frightened to wed--he was only seventeen . . ." Annie began to cry.
Charlotte heard Papa's voice. "Charlotte, come in this instant."
She turned to him. He stood at the gate in his evening clothes, with his silk hat in his hand, and suddenly she saw him as a big, smug, cruel old man. She said: "This is one of the servants you care for so well."
Papa looked at the girl. "Annie! What is the meaning of this?"
Annie said: "Jimmy run away, m'lord, so I couldn't wed, and I couldn't get another position because you never gave me a character, and I was ashamed to go home, so I come to London . . ."
"You came to London to beg," Papa said harshly.
"Papa!" Charlotte cried.
"You don't understand, Charlotte--"
"I understand perfectly well--"
Mama appeared and said: "Charlotte, get away from that creature!"
"She's not a creature, she's Annie."
"Annie!" Mama shrilled. "She's a fallen woman!"
"That's enough," Papa said. "This family does not hold discussions in the street. Let us go in immediately."
Charlotte put her arm around Annie. "She needs a bath, new clothes and a hot breakfast."
"Don't be ridiculous!" Mama said. The sight of Annie seemed to have made her almost hysterical.
"All right," Papa said. "Take her into the kitchen. The parlormaids will be up by now. Tell them to take care of her. Then come and see me in the drawing room."
Mama said: "Stephen, this is insane--"
"Let us go in," said Papa.
They went in.
Charlotte took Annie downstairs to the kitchen. A skivvy was cleaning the range and a kitchenmaid was slicing bacon for breakfast. It was just past five o'clock: Charlotte had not realized they started work so early. They both looked at her in astonishment when she walked in, in her ball gown, with Annie at her side.
Charlotte said: "This is Annie. She used to work at Walden Hall. She's had some bad luck but she's a good girl. She must have a bath. Find new clothes for her and burn her old ones. Then give her breakfast."
For a moment they were both dumbstruck; then the kitchenmaid said: "Very good, m'lady."
"I'll see you later, Annie," Charlotte said.
Annie seized Charlotte's arm. "Oh, thank you, m'lady."
Charlotte went out.
Now there will be trouble, she thought as she went upstairs. She did not care as much as she might have. She almost felt that her parents had betrayed her. What had her years of education been for, when in one night she could find out that the most important things had never been taught her? No doubt they talked of protecting young girls, but Charlotte thought deceit might be the appropriate term. When she thought of how ignorant she had been until tonight, she felt so foolish, and that made her angry.
She marched into the drawing room.
Papa stood beside the fireplace holding a glass. Mama sat at the piano, playing double-minor chords with a pained expression on her face. They had drawn back the curtains. The room looked odd in the morning, with yesterday's cigar butts in the ashtrays and the cold early light on the edges of things. It was an evening room, and wanted lamps and warmth, drinks and footmen, and a crowd of people in formal clothes.
Everything looked different today.
"Now, then, Charlotte," Papa began. "You don't understand what kind of woman Annie is. We let her go for a reason, you know. She did something very wrong which I cannot explain to you--"
"I know what she did," Charlotte said, sitting down. "And I know who she did it with. A gardener called Jimmy."
Mama gasped.
Papa said: "I don't believe you have any idea what you're talking
about."
"And if I haven't, whose fault is it?" Charlotte burst out. "How did I manage to reach the age of eighteen without learning that some people are so poor they sleep in the street, that maids who are expecting babies get dismissed, and that--that--men are not made the same as women? Don't stand there telling me I don't understand these things and I have a lot to learn! I've spent all my life learning and now I discover most of it was lies! How dare you! How dare you!" She burst into tears, and hated herself for losing control.
She heard Mama say: "Oh, this is too foolish."
Papa sat beside her and took her hand. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said. "All young girls are kept in ignorance of certain things. It is done for their own good. We have never lied to you. If we did not tell you just how cruel and coarse the world is, that was only because we wanted you to enjoy your childhood for as long as possible. Perhaps we made a mistake."
Mama snapped: "We wanted to keep you out of the trouble that Annie got into!"
"I wouldn't put it quite like that," Papa said mildly.
Charlotte's rage evaporated. She felt like a child again. She wanted to put her head on Papa's shoulder, but her pride would not let her.
"Shall we forgive each other, and be pals again?" Papa said.
An idea which had been quietly budding in Charlotte's mind now blossomed, and she spoke without thinking. "Would you let me take Annie as my personal maid?"
Papa said: "Well . . ."
"We won't even think of it!" Mama said hysterically. "It is quite out of the question! That an eighteen-year-old girl who is the daughter of an earl should have a scarlet woman as a maid! No, absolutely and finally no!"
"Then what will she do?" Charlotte asked calmly.
"She should have thought of that when--She should have thought of that before."
Papa said: "Charlotte, we cannot possibly have a woman of bad character live in this house. Even if I would allow it, the servants would be scandalized. Half of them would give notice. We shall hear mutterings even now, just because the girl has been allowed into the kitchen. You see, it is not just Mama and I who shun such people--it is the whole of society."
"Then I shall buy her a house," Charlotte said, "and give her an allowance and be her friend."
"You've no money," Mama said.
"My Russian grandfather left me something."
Papa said: "But the money is in my care until you reach the age of twenty-one, and I will not allow it to be used for that purpose."
"Then what is to be done with her?" Charlotte said desperately.