The Devotee

(At last: the alabaster-knuckle, thrill-every-half-hour finale, taking place over a single weekend in a country house, and divided into twobigchapters, instead of the previously announced three.

This is now the longest chapter in the novel, by a long way. I mean, it's over 12,000 words, but think of it like the first act of a play, with the second act being the next chapter, which happens on the day after the day which takes most of this one. Intermissions have been inserted, at points where I think it's a good time to stop reading, go to the bathroom, take a walk, have a cup of tea/get a cold one from the fridge, etc.)

*

Edith Fawcett to William Casaubon

Wed 22 November 1905

Dear Mr Casaubon,

I have had an interesting conversation with the Freeholds, who have been here for several days, and who finally left two days ago.

Imay or may nothave persuaded them to release some account of their finances. It remains to be seen if whatever they release is accurate, but I have enlisted the services of Miss Plank, who you will remember has a talent for arithmetic, to give it a brief initial analysis. Miss Plank is not a trained accountant, but she has a penetrating understanding of numbers.

Will you be free to come down to Curl House and look at what the Freeholds release? I have tried to persuade them to release something as soon as they can. We should enjoy your company, and you may be able to provide important background.

One thing: if youdocome down, please do not let Mr Squire know that I gave you those addresses.

*

William Casaubon to Edith Fawcett:

Fri 24 November 1905

Thank you for your letter. I should be very keen to look at the figures, with the assistance of Miss Plank and yourself.

Regarding the firms. I have called at as many addresses as I could, and some seem to be definitely legitimate, others more dubious. I share your suspicions about the Freeholds' motives for wanting Mr Squire to invest in them.

*

From the diary of Edith Fawcett

Fri 24 November 1905

I awoke this morning at half past five after awful dreams, and am lying in bed waiting for my heart to calm down.

There is so much going on.

The Freeholds are taking over the drafting of Mr Squire's will.

They are planning a scheme to gift him money solicited from admirers, so that they can look good. When he hears about it, and finds out that I did not immediately advise them not to do it, he will be incensed, and will probably fire me.

They are about to release what I am sure, but am not able to prove, will be a doctored version of their finances.

They, or rather their lawyers, want Mr Squire to re-invest his money, for reasons that are far from clear.

Meanwhile, the Labour movement is putting pressure on sympathisers to release anything that will make Mr. Freehold look bad.

My own opinion is that he is a selfish, useless, inert, mentally vapid party hack, who nevertheless serves his party, insofar as he can be always relied upon to automatically vote for whatever the government tells him to vote for. But none of this means anything, as long as his party still trusts him.

Despite all my efforts, there is stillbaseless doubt about the unimpeachable honesty and integrityof the young woman who I love, which if it were ever to get out and be believed, could ruin her.

Imyselfcould be ruined, if it were ever to get out about the incredibly irresponsible things I have spent the last several months doing. I have consorted several times with a still-married man. I have voluntarily consented to gross indecency on multiple occasions. I have offered myself, sexually, to my own employer. Although he was not especially bothered about that.

To think that, at one point, I was captain of the Cheltenham Ladies College hockey team.

... And, when I was captain of that team, I had some ability to bring that team together.

When we were 4-0 down against St. George's, I recall the talk I gave to the others at half-time, reminding them of previous difficult situations. We rallied, and came back at 6-5.

I need to think about my players, and their strengths.

But this game is not hockey. This is more like chess.

Mr Squire is the King, obviously. If he is ruined, all is lost.

Mr Casaubon is a Knight. He can make certain moves, but only if he is in the right place.

IP is, I think, either or both of my Bishop and my Rooks: very powerful, but only in one way.

Isabella is now, I think, my only Pawn.

HaveI a Queen?

AmIthe Queen?

Am I even aplayer? Is Mrs Webb the player, and I am one ofherpieces?

... On second thoughts, this chess analogy is not very useful.

I am going for a swim.

Later:

I went straight down to the pool in a gown and slippers, removed my clothes and swam just as I was, having not brought my costume. I reasoned, on rock-solid experience, that nobody in the house would be be up at six in the morning.

O diary. Imagine my delighted surprise, when Mr. Squire entered the pool room in his dressing gown.

'Ah, Edith,' he said cordially. 'Having a morning swim?'

'Yes, sir,' I said, swimming to the side of the pool, resigned to what was about to happen. He glanced down at me.

'I see you have, once again, neglected to bring a costume.'

I sighed.

'I do apologise, sir. I did not think that anyone would be up yet. This time, it is simple laziness.'

'It's quite all right,' he said, 'and anyway, it's nothing I have not seen before.'

At this point, Mr Squire has seen me naked more often than the woman I love has.

'This matter of the Freeholds' finances,' he said. 'What exactly is going on? I am hearing all sorts of rumours.'

'It is an exceptionally delicate matter, sir,' I said. 'I know that Mr and Mrs Webb are looking for anything that can spoil Mr Freehold's prospects.'

'Ah,' he said. 'Beatrice.'

'You know them?'

'Who does not,' he said. 'Beatrice has met more people in her life than most of us, and worked harder than most at building the larger picture of what is going on in the country. She is brilliant, but she craves power. Which I suppose, in a politician, is a good thing.'

'Do you like her?'

'I admire her energy, and her sense of purpose,' he said. 'I am less sure about her grand schemes for changing society. I know Johnny is hardly an eminent statesman, but the Freeholds are my friends. They represent something that I believe is valuable. A certain sense of... something that ought to be conserved.'

I thought of Mrs Freehold's prize scheme, and I realised that I had to sacrifice something. In this case, my transparency.

If Mr Squire were ever to think I had concealed something from him, he would not forgive me. But I could not be seen to be breaking a confidence. But neither could I keep completely silent.

So I had to risk his disapproval.

'Sir,' I said, 'there are things going on which I wish I could tell you about, but I may not.'

'Why not?'

'Because to do so would break a confidence.'

'You are keeping things from me?'

'In the normal run of things, there are plenty of matters I keep from you, such as the payment of household bills.'

'This does not sound like it is a matter of paying the greengrocer.'

'It is not. But, I cannot tell you what exactly it is.'

'Why not, Edith,' he said, staring at me patiently.

'Because I promised a friend of yours that I would not.'

'I suppose you cannot tell me the friend, either?'

'I cannot.'

'Is it something that would ruin me?'

I thought.

'May I outline a hypothesis?' I said.

'If you must.'

'Suppose that a friend wanted to do you a great favour. Suppose this friend to have the best intentions. Now, suppose that this friend requested my help with the favour, but also requested that I keep the matter from you, so that it can be a pleasant surprise, when you finally discover it.'

'All right,' he said.

'Suppose, further,' I said, 'thatIsuspected, very strongly, that you would find it anunpleasantsurprise.'

I looked up at him from where I clung to the edge of the pool, naked and vulnerable in the water, to him, magnificently robed, on the pool deck.

'You can see how I would be in anextremelyawkward position,' I said, pleading with my eyes for him to understand.

'Yes,' he said, thoughtfully.

'Hypothetically,' I added.

'Hypothetically,' he said, and smiled. 'Thank you, Edith. I shall see you at breakfast. Enjoy your swim.'

He padded out of the room and I swam out to the centre and broke into a front crawl, burying my face in the water.

I felt great relief. Nothing was fixed; but I had at least raised a small warning flag.

*

Lionel Squire to Gilbert Scope

Fri 24 November 1905

Dear boy,

I trust you are well, and no doubt hard at work.

I am writing about a rather vague matter, about which I have only hints.

Are you aware of any of my friends and acquaintances being approached to do me some sort of 'favour'? I have no sense of what the favour might be, only that wheels are in motion, and that Miss F. knows something about it, but candidly tells me that she is sworn to secrecy.

I should be most grateful if you were to give me any information you can provide about this, at the earliest possible opportunity. Don't be offended, but I trust you to be less good at keeping secrets than my actual secretary.

Wire me, if you can.

Yours

Lionel

*

From the diary of Edith Fawcett:

Saturday 25 November 1905

Today should be a memorable day.

Hilda Cotton returns this morning, to stay for the next week; Mr Casaubon is bringing the finance documents; and IP comes down on the 2pm train, to look at them and see if she can detect any irregularities.

I do not know if IP will be able to make much sense of them, as she has no formal training as an accountant, only her native talent, her reading, and a couple of months' immersion in practical computing, but it will at at least be a brief sojourn for her in pleasant surroundings, and I hope that she and I can really begin to establish where we stand with regard to one another.

And I shall be very interested to introduce her to H.

Later:

H arrived just before lunch. She has been in France, and brought back splendid wine and charcuterie.

She greeted me with her usual beaming good cheer. After she and Mr Squire had had a chat, she went to the main guest room to unpack. I visited her.

'Miss Fawcett,' she said, smiling rather like a lioness that has spotted a solitary antelope browsing unconcernedly on the plain. 'How delightful.'

'Miss Cotton,' I said, 'may I have a moment of your time?'

'Of course. Please talk while I sort out my things.'

She strolled over to her open suitcase and began to extract items of clothing.

'I do not wish to make assumptions about how you plan to, um, occupy your time here,' I said.

'I'm sure I shall find something to do,' she said, looking me up and down. I ignored the flush that came to my face.

'The fact of the matter is,' I said, 'that a friend of mine will be joining us later today. A dear friend.'

'Oh?'

'Her name is Ida Plank,' I said. 'She and I have a rather complex relationship. We were once intimate, and we may be again, but at present, our intimacy is confined mostly to letters, as she works in London, and I work here. We tell each other, I think, everything about our relations with others, as it makes us feel closer together.'

'About your relations with others,' she said, raising an eyebrow.

'Yes,' I said. 'I have told her, in great detail, what you and I have done, and I think the reading about it gave her much pleasure. She expressed the wish to find someone who would treat her the way you, ah, treated me.'

She was unfolding various items of underclothing, and glanced at me sideways.

'Are you normally in the habit of telling your friends about your sexual adventures in great detail, Miss Fawcett?' she said, smiling, but with a slight edge to her voice.

'Not at all,' I said hastily. 'It is simply that I told her, once, about someone else, and it was a terrible mistake, but now, it has... become, sort of, a thing that we do, with each other.'

H widened her eyes briefly, and I experienced the unexpected sensation of having startled Hilda Cotton withmyrecklessness.

'I of course tell my good friends a lot about myself,' she said, 'but I'm not used to strangers passing that sort of thing along. Do you trust her?'

'I would trust her with my life,' I said. 'She is a rather reserved person, but she has great inner passion, even if it is not immediately evident. And I assure you that she is not a gossip.'

'Why are you telling me about her,' she said coolly, taking dresses out of her case and hanging them in the wardrobe.

'Because I think you might like her.'

She paused, and turned to face me.

'Are you trying to get me to seduce her, Miss Fawcett?'

'I am not trying to get you to do anything you would not want to do. But if you were to take a liking to her, and were interested in seducing her, I think she might enjoy it, although she is rather inexperienced. And, for my part, it would please me to think that you were able to, um...'

'Give her a good time,' she said.

'In a manner of speaking,' I said, feeling both relieved and wretched that I had resumed my proper role in this conversation, as the ignorant naĩf to her suave adventurer.

'What a very strange relationship you two have,' she said. 'You aren't worried that she shall fall in love with me?'

'I am sure that, if you do not want her to fall in love with you, you will be able to ensure that she does not.'

'Mm. I think I shall wash,' she said, and began to unbutton her dress.

'Oh. I shall leave.'

'No need,' she said. 'You and I have no secrets. Come into the bathroom.'

I followed her into the bathroom and leaned against the door frame as she ran the taps into the bathtub, shrugged off her dress and began to sidle out of her underclothing.

'Do pass me my bath salts, Miss Fawcett. They are on the dresser.'

I went to the dresser and came back with them, and by the time I had returned, H was bending over the tub, in all her Rubensesque splendour. She turned as I entered and held out her hand. I gave her the bath salts and she shook some into the swirling water.

'The train from Dover was terribly airless,' she said. 'Even in this weather, one gets so sweaty. So, what sort of person is this Miss Plank?'

'She works as a computer for the London School of Economics. She was formerly a housemaid, but she has a real gift for arithmetic. She is from the East End of London, and is very conscious of the fact that her formal education is inadequate. But she is highly intelligent, I think, and I value her friendship a great deal.'

'Do you love her,' she said, looking at me keenly.

'Yes. Very much,' I said, feeling helpless.

'I have to ask,' she said, puzzled and smiling, 'she will be here with you, so why don't you simply tell her how you feel, and act on your feelings? I am not some crazed animal who simply must bed everyone who takes my fancy, you know. I might find your Miss Plank absolutely delectable, but it doesn't mean I must perforce seduce her. Certainly not if I knew you loved her.'

'Oh, I didn't mean to imply...'

'It's quite all right,' she chuckled. 'I know what I am like.'

'She and I have made a pact,' I said. 'We cannot be fully together until we have sorted out a lot of unfinished business between us. I was... cruel to her, once, although I had not meant to be, and she still has hurt feelings about that. I think she is waiting until she feels she can absolutely trust me. But in the meantime, we have agreed that we need not deny ourselves to other people, as long as we are honest with each other about it. So, if one of us is with another, we must give the other a full account of it.'

'Ooooo,' she said, amused. 'How very French of you both.'

'I would say one thing,' I said. 'If, when you meet her, you do like her, I would not advise you to, as it were, run at her the way you ran at me.'

'"Ran at you",' she said, grinning broadly.

'Well, you did, rather,' I said, feeling the sweat breaking out on my forehead, 'and it worked on me, but Ida is suspicious of people, and I think she would withdraw rather than open up.'

'Ah,' she said, stepping into the bath. 'So, a more stealthy approach would be called for.'

'I think so.'

'Well,' she said, settling into the water, 'we shall see. Perhaps I will not find her attractive at all.'

'Perhaps.'

'Because you haven't exactly sold me on her,' she added, splashing the warm water over her breasts and shoulders.

'Oh god,' I said, 'I feel that I have made an utter hash of this conversation.'

'Oh, youabsolutelyhave, Miss Fawcett,' she said, smiling. 'but it is not the least charming thing about you.'

'I am sorry.'

'It's quite all right. Thank you for the information. I shall be interested to meet your sort-of almost-lover, Miss What's-her-name. You are as delectable as ever, by the way.'

'Thank you,' I said, and hurried out, cringing at my own lack of savoir faire.

H came down an hour later, fragrant and glowing, and we had a pleasant lunch, then I wrapped up well (for it is cold and rainy) and went out to meet Ida's train.

It arrived at the station after I had been standing there for twelve minutes, by which time I was thoroughly chilled. Only a few passengers disembarked, and I quickly saw IP's unmistakable silhouette through the rain. I hurried over.

'Hello,' I said. She turned. It is never difficult to tell when Ida is in a bad mood. She seems to become somehow morecondensed.

''Ello,' she said, and her downturned mouth straightened itself out briefly.

'Good trip?'

'No. It was 'orrible.'

'I'm sorry. It's good to see you.'

'You too.'

We stood there rather awkwardly, then I led her out through the turnstile into Station Road.

'We have no carriage or car,' I said, 'so we shall have to walk. I can take your case.'

'No need,' she said. We set off through the driving rain, in silence. (She can exude silence, if she wants to.)

'The journalist is coming later with the financial papers,' I said. 'Do you think you'll be able to find anything in them?'

'Won't know till I see 'em.'

'Something else,' I said. 'Someone is here.'

She looked at me.

'Not YKW,' she said.

'Oh lord, no,' I said. 'If she were here, I would have wired you to come at another time. H is here.'

She pulled a face, and continued to walk forward, leaning slightly into the wind, the rain battering her glasses.

'Why's she 'ere.'

'She's sort of staying with us,' I said. 'But, I told her about you.'

She frowned.

'What'd you say about me.'

'That you are my dear friend. And that you hoped to find someone who would do with you what she did with me.'

'So she knows I know about you an 'er.'

'Yes.'

'Well,' she said, 'this is goin' to be flamin' awkward, ennit.'

'Do you know,' I said, 'I really don't think it will be.'

'Why not?'

'It's hard to explain. You have to meet her before you realise why. If anyone can make this seem natural, it is her.'

'She some sort of wizard, or what?'

'Something like that,' I said.

'Well,' she said as we left the main street and started to trudge up the country roads, 'she'd bloody want to be.'

By the time we reached Curl House, IP and I had a definite aspect of drowned rats. We hung up our coats and I fetched us towels from the cloakroom, and we stood in the hall, drying our faces and hair. She removed her glasses and started to methodically wipe them.