The Devotee

From the diary of Ida Plank:

Sunday 9 July 1905

I ave lost everythin

I am so sad

So bloody sad

[Note: nine leaves, i.e. 18 pages, have been torn out of the diary at this point.]

Sunday 30 July 1905

Enough of that bloody rubish

Whine whine mizzery mizzery me

stupid

Aint nobody goin to fuck me about ever agen.

*

From the diary of Edith Fawcett:

Monday 31 July 1905

The work on the pool is coming to an end. The basic restructuring work is complete. The men are now doing the tiling, which shall be followed by the grouting.

I am glad for Mr Squire's sake that the pool will at last be functional. But I confess that this damnable thing has

No.

I haveallowedthis damnable thing to ruin my life.

No, not 'ruin' my life--despoilmy life. I have no regrets with respect to Mr Page himself; he and I are, I think, friends. And I am proud to have delivered Mr. Squire's pool, in good time and within the budget.

But I let my self-satisfaction run away with me, and I have, I think, permanently alienated Ida.

Who Icannotget out of my mind.

I find it impossible to believe that she could have sold the book Mr Squire gave her.

Yet the book has been recovered, and we have the shop's word that it was sold to them by a Miss Ida Plank. There can scarcely be two housemaids in London with such an unfortunate name, and it beggars belief that someone would have pretended to be a semi-lettered housemaid, in order to blacken the name of someone so low on the social scale.

Unless that was not their purpose.

But that involves too many assumptions. I do not know what to think. But I just cannot believe it. It does not seem like her.

But I also know that I am forlorn and guilty, and I despise myself for forgetting to think of her, and for forgetting to put myself in her place. So Icouldbe trying to think her more innocent than she is.

Mr Squire is very gentle around me, as if he guesses that I was more fond of her than I showed. But I would not be a burden to him.

We press on with the memoir.

Wed 2 August 1905

Work on the memoir proceeds slowly.

I sense that bringing up the memories of the past is, for Mr Squire, not a joyful process. When we were writing about his childhood, the words came more easily, but now he is reconstructing, or rather forming, a narrative of his adolescence, he takes far longer pauses. I do not know why this should be, but I faithfully take it all down.

It is the least I can do, given how I have failed so utterly in other things.

Thu 3 August 1905

It is most frustrating that, now that I take active steps to avoid having any more intercourse with Mr Page, my sexual desire has not obligingly ebbed.

If anything, I am more susceptible to arousal than ever; a piano leg, a balustrade, even a sentence fragment can have me aching for relief. I fight it off by thinking about Thomas Carlyle, the contemplation of whom I have always found to be wonderfully anaphrodisiac.

When even thoughts of Carlyle do not work, haply I think on Herbert Spencer, and then the effect is like a bucket of stagnant ditch water hurled upon my exposed nethers.

Fri 4 August 1905

Mr Scope is coming down from London tomorrow, to stay for two weeks. While I still have reservations about his talent, I look forward to his company.

He contrives to be malicious, without being evil; it is comic, like a gnat trying to sting an elephant. One can't take it seriously for, although well-aimed, it can do no harm.

*

Gilbert Scope to William Casaubon

Fri 4 August 1905

Well! This time I mean to assail the magnificent fortress, and see if it cannot be made to yield--or, rather, to sally forth and penetrate the defences of the besieger.

You and I both love the maître, and wish him no harm, and I mean no harm by this, but to bring him to an awareness of his deepest inclinations. I have worshipped him long enough, lord knows, that this can scarcely strike him as asurprise.

I know you think me foolish. But wish me luck, dear boy; I aim to conquer the as-yet-unconquered...

*

From the diary of Ida Plank:

Sat 5 August 1905

I was in our room doin my exersizes and kate sez, wots the matter ida you been in the dumps for weeks.

I sez, it dont matter.

Kate sez, why are you sad.

I sez, im not sad an it dont matter.

Kate sez, oh come off it ida think im duff, we used to ave a larf goin to bed an now youv a face like a spankd arse and your always exersizin an we dont ardly talk, wots goin on.

Well i like kate an i cant lie to er.

I sez, all right, there was this person i was a lot in love with, an she was writin letters to me an i didnt get em, cos mrs F threw em away. An she came up to see me an we met and we talked, an it was goin so well, an then she told me she ad been seein this bloke and doin all sorts. An i got angry an i called her a bloody whore an i walked away.

Kate sez nothin for a bit.

Then she sez, well did she know you loved er.

I sez, yes well i think she did maybe she did.

Kate sez, well was she just bein orrible.

I sez, no i dont think so. I think she is just a bit stupid an she forgot that you just dont say everythin to people. Shes very clevver but she is still a bit stupid.

Kate sez, well sounds to me like you ad good reason to be a bit put out. But dyou miss er.

An then I did feel sad.

Yes i sez, yes i miss er so much an now i gone and blown it. But i am still so angry. But yes i miss er. I dont know ow to explain it. I shud ate er. But i cant.

An then i think o no i just sed too much. cos kate is very quiet.

But then, kate sez, gentle like, but she was writin letters to you so you know she likes you.

Yes i sez.

Kate sez, she a bit of a toff is she.

I sez, not a toff so much no, she is very bright tho. Went to collidge.

Oh right, kate sez.

She sez nothin, then she sez, well look ida, she said the rong thing and you said the rong thing and now your both sad about each other probly.

I sez, yes probly.

Kate sez, well nothin much you can do xcept if you write to er or she writes to you.

I sez, she cant write to me, mrs F gets all the letters and throws away all the letters for me.

Kate sez, well if you want to sort it out, you better write to er then, an bloomin find a way to send it.

I sez, i cant write to er now, she ates me.

Kate sez, ow dyou know, ida, you asked er.

Then i shut up for a bit becos i ad no anser.

I finishd exersizin and washed and put on my nightdress and got into bed.

Kate got out of bed and came over to my bed.

Listen ida, she sez, i know your sad, but do you want a ug or somethin. Just sort of sit for a bit.

I sez, O kate, that is ever so kind but honest no.

Kate sez, i just dont like seein you sad.

I sez, kate, thank you you are lovly but i will be all right.

She sez, all right then ida. Good night.

She goes back to er bed.

Bless kate, she is so lovly.

*

From the diary of Edith Fawcett:

Sat 5 August 1905

Mr Scope arrived on the noon train.

He is as ebullient as ever, and carries with him the draft of his next novel; somewhat appalling industry, considering how recently his last one was published.

I am in a very peculiar mood.

I am susceptible to simple, selfish pleasures, such as food and drink, and I feel as sensual as ever, and I am intellectually stimulated by my work with Mr Squire, but as far as my higher faculties are concerned, I feel as elevated as a desert lizard.

I am estranged from myself; I have lost some innocence, and have no idea how to retrieve it.

I realise that this is something to do with my youth. Never before have I really failed someone. Yet I cannot simply brush it past me, because then I would fail to learn from it.

I feel like I am on a path to some degradation, or defilement. I feel like I set out on that path, not so much when I indulged my infatuation with Mr Page, but when I boasted to Ida about it.

And therefore, on the advice of William Blake, I feel compelled to continue on that path, hoping that, at the end of it, I will have arrived at the palace of wisdom, and not simply become more excessive.

Oh my. If my poor mamma and papa had known how I have conducted myself this summer...

... But then, only two people do know.

Mr Page, who is loyal, kind and discreet, and Ida.

Whose heart I broke.

Well, there is all of August. Let us see what the days shall bring.

Carpe, as they say,diem.

Sun 6 August 1905

The day of rest.

Mr Scope has brought me one of his earlier novels to read. It is kind of him, but I am still reading all of Mr Squire's work, in order to be completely familiar with it, and therefore I have little time left to acquaint myself with Mr Scope's garrulous footling.

As a person, in conversation, he has great wit and style. It is only when he sits down to write, that these qualities desert him. Nevertheless, I must be polite and at least be able to say something about his book, if asked.

Mr Squire, Mr Scope and I went walking on the downs. It was very hot. We lay on the grass to get some rest, and Mr Scope, who had already removed his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt down to his navel.

He is quite a handsome man, if no Jack Page. I wonder if he seems to to other men. I expect he does, given his numerous male friends. He is slender rather than rugged.

If he has a physical flaw, it is his rather large chin.

Later:

After dinner (roast lamb, in keeping with Mr Squire's fondness for English traditions), Mr Squire, Mr Scope and I retired to the study for port. Being the only woman, and neither married nor in search of a husband, I seem to be regarded by them as an honorary man.

The hot day and the long walk had tired me out, and at a quarter to ten I made my excuses and bade them goodnight.

I went to my room, undressed, had a refreshing sponge bath, dried myself and slid between the sheets, aiming to put at least twenty pages of Mr Scope's book behind me before sleep. Only then did I realise that I had left the book in the hallway.

I got up, put on a nightdress (for I have carried on the habit of sleeping naked, which I feel sure is healthier than sweltering under the sheet and blanket in a heavy nightdress) and a gown and slippers, and went quickly and quietly down the stairs, so as not to disturb the men.

I retrieved the book, and was about to go upstairs when, the foot of the stairs being close to the open door to Mr Squire's study, I heard a snatch of their conversation.

It was difficult to hear exactly what Mr Scope was saying, but he was saying it in a pleading tone. Not begging, exactly, but as if he were trying to persuade Mr Squire of something.

He said something aboutmy long devotion to youandpromise that I would consider this an honour.

Mr Squire's reply, which was clearer, was in a tone of heartbreaking regret.

'My dear boy,' he said, 'I can't. I can't, I can't, I can't.'

'But, don't you see,' Mr Scope said, his voice clearer, 'you can. I would welcome it.'

'It is not for me,' Mr Squire said. 'I must keep my distance.'

I listened, intensely puzzled as to what they could possibly be talking about.

'But it is no more than the Greeks practised,' Mr Scope said, 'when a younger man submitted to an older, wiser one.'

Ah, I thought,thatis what they are talking about.

'I can't,' Mr Squire said. 'Please, dear Gilbert, stop asking me. I cannot do this.'

There was a pause.

'Well,' Mr Scope said, 'I have made my plea.'

'And I love you for it,' Mr Squire said, 'but please, in the name of our friendship, let us stop there. It cannot happen.'

'Very well,' Mr Scope said. 'I am going to my bed. Sleep well, my dear Lionel.'

I quickly went up the stairs before Mr Scope came out of the study.

Back in my room, I cast off my clothes and got into bed.

So, Mr Scope evidently offered himself to Mr Squire, who turned him down.

I felt sympathy for Mr Scope, who must now be feeling more than a little embarrassed, but perhaps greater sympathy for Mr Squire, who was almost tempted to break his apparently life-long vow of chastity by a younger man, of whom I know he is intensely fond. But not, it seems, in the way Mr Scope would like him to be fond.

On thinking about it, I could not help feeling that Mr Scope was rather naïve to think that he could, at this point, seduce Mr Squire, who is past sixty, and must presumably be less troubled by sensual desire than younger folk are.

But then, I reflected that I really have no idea what, if any, sexual desire Mr Squire experiences, for he certainly does not discuss that sort of thing with me.

I lay there, troubled, for some time.

I hoped that this conversation was not going to make the rest of Mr Scope's stay enormously awkward.

Then, dutifully, I read the first twenty pages of his book.

It has a certain puppyish vitality, but it is rather pointless: one knows exactly what to expect from any character at all times.

Mon 7 August 1905

I had a dream last night which, in spite of my earlier promise to be quite candid in this journal, was of such shocking depravity that I cannot possibly set it down here.

I am presently lying in bed; it is six forty-three; I am still stunned at the things my imagination makes me do in my sleep, when my waking sense of propriety and decency are not able to restrain it.

I must wash, dress and go down for breakfast.

Later:

It is a tribute to Mr Scope's native good cheer, and also a sign of his deep superficiality, that in spite of being rejected by Mr Squire only the previous night, he came down to breakfast in high good humour, and greeted us both warmly.

I detected a difference in his manner. All yesterday he had been subtly charming, slightly insinuating, even flirtatious.

I realise, now, that this had all been preparation for his proposal to Mr Squire.

Having been decisively rejected, he now acts more like a son to Mr Squire, and like a brother, or perhaps first cousin, to me. Mr Squire was a little distant at first, but I saw him soon warm to this, and presently he was smiling and appreciative, as if he had forgiven his disciple for a minor lapse in decorum.

Well, this is certainly a relief. I had been dreading that Mr Scope would spend the rest of his time here lolling about like a dejected lover, but he is far too well-mannered for that, thank goodness.

Today is an auspicious day! For the tiling and grouting of the swimming pool are now complete, and we are to finally fill it! Mr Doughty is coming down from London to test the water and ensure that it is properly (i.e. safely) chlorinated. In spite of my generally foul humour, I cannot help feeling a certain satisfaction that this project has been completed fairly swiftly. At least I have done something.

After breakfast, Mr Squire took me aside for a moment and did something which cheered me up greatly.

'Regarding the pool,' he said, 'I am so grateful for all your efforts. I know it is hardly what you expected to be doing.'

'It was very rewarding,' I said. 'Thank you for letting me be of service.'

'Assuming that it all functions properly, and is safe,' he said, 'someone will need to be the first one to try it out.'

I nodded.

'I don't wish you to do anything you shouldn't want to do,' he said, 'but... would you like to christen it? Be the first to swim in it.'

'Oh,' I said, rather surprised. 'Well. I should be honoured, and I do love to swim, but at present, I own no bathing costume.'

'That's quite all right,' Mr Squire said. 'I got one for you.'

And he handed me a package, from Marshall and Snelgrove. I opened it; inside was a beautiful dark blue bathing costume: a one-piece suit with short sleeves, and a button-on skirt.

'Actually,' he said, 'I got you two.'

He turned to a side-table, picked up a slim, dark grey box with silver trim, and handed it to me. I put the first package on the table and opened the second.

At first it did not appear to be a swimming costume at all.

It had no sleeves, only straps, and no skirt, and no buttons, and its legs were shockingly abbreviated.

I realised that it was designed not, like a conventional bathing costume, to look like a modified ordinary dress that one wears while bathing, but to follow the shape of one's body, and not drag in the water.

'This is the very latest model,' Mr Squire said. 'I made some enquiries, and it seems that ladies who like to swim fast have been adopting this style, so that they are not held back.'

He raised his deep grey eyes and looked me in the face.

'And, it seems to me that you, Miss Fawcett, would be a young woman that likes to swim fast. I found a lady in California who makes these, and...'

He smiled, rather apologetically.

'Please don't consider it a bribe,' he said earnestly. 'Even if you prefer not to be the first to try out the pool, these are a gift. I am sure Gilbert would leap at the chance of being its first user. But I thought to ask you.'

It would be wrong to say that I was amazed by his generosity, for I have seen it before, but I was much moved by his thoughtfulness.

'Thank you, sir,' I said, with some emotion. 'I should love to.'

Mr Squire and I did a good morning's work, and resumed in the afternoon.

At four, Mr Doughty arrived with a briefcase. He is a stout, red-faced gentleman, nearing sixty. He seemed rather disconcerted by me, until I realised that he kept glancing at me surreptitiously, which explained much.

The pool looked most impressive, a shimmering rectangle of water held by the pale blue tiles. The lights on the walls were also shaded blue, although they had little effect since the sunlight was streaming in through the high windows. The chemical smell was very faint.

Mr Doughty led us into the machine room, where I very sturdily fought off my memories of my only previous visit. He examined the humming machinery, checked the dials and, seemingly satisfied, he returned with us to the pool room.

Here he dipped various pieces of card into the water and observed them closely. Then he put his fingertip in, then his whole hand, kneeling there for several minutes.

Finally he took his hand out and stood up. It was warm in the room, from the heated water and the sunlight, and he was perspiring in his frock coat.

'Gentlemen, miss,' he said to Mr Squire, Mr Scope and I, 'you appear to have a functioning swimming pool. Chlorine is present at a suitable concentration, and the pumps and filters seem to be working.'

'That is excellent news, Mr Doughty,' Mr Squire said. 'My warmest thanks. Would you care to stay for some tea?'

'I thank you, but no,' he said. 'I have a dinner appointment and I must return to London. I shall leave you to enjoy your new amenity.'

'At least wait for it to be christened,' Mr Scope said. 'Miss Fawcett is to be the first to use it.'

Mr Doughty eyed me.

'Well,' he said, 'perhaps I could be persuaded to stay for the celebration.'

I do not mean to sound conceited about my looks, but I was not utterly astonished at his change of heart.

'We shall have a little champagne,' Mr Squire said.

'Oh! Well, in that case, thank you,' he said. Mr Squire gave me the nod, and I left the pool room and went upstairs to my room.

I had been putting off the choice of which costume to wear, but on looking at the proper costume with its white trim, and the almost-black, sleek, single garment, I found that the choice was made for me.