John Thomas & Lady Jane

it’s written Tewson.’
    ‘Now, where shall you sit?’ said Mrs
Tewson. ‘Oliver — ’ she turned to the scullery — ‘are you goin’ to wash
yourself first?’
    Mrs Tewson had all the tea cups, and
one side of the table, to herself.
    ‘How do you like it?’ she said to Constance, as she began to pour the tea.
    ‘Rather weak, please,’ said
Constance, dreading the strong death-black Ceylon tea.
    ‘Weak did you say? Shall I put a drop
of water in then? — Bill, bring th’ kettle, there’s a good lad.’
    Bill went to the scullery for the
kettle like a good lad, and murmured something to Soames:
    ‘Hurry up for fuck’s sake.’
    Constance looked at the table. There were tinned peaches
and tinned pears, little cakes, plates of brown and white bread-and-butter, and
a plate of tartlets. What Constance did not know was with this layout the family
had starved themselves for a month.
    ‘What a spread,’ said Constance. ‘It takes one’s breath away.’
    ‘Well ’ow do you think Mr Seivers is
lookin’?’ asked Mrs Tewson.
    Seivers was his new name, he had
finished with Soames. They were foster parents.
    ‘Oh! — Not well, not very well,’ said
Constance hastily to get it over with. ‘Can’t he do anything else — something
lighter, like taking round the tea trolley?’ said Constance.
    ‘I’m goin’ t’ave another go at Mr
Fellows to get im in th’ tool shed. That’s the place for ’im. It’s not heavy
work, stamping EPNS on the cutlery,’ said Bill. ‘But he’ll have to wear a
truss.’
    ‘Wouldn’t they if you paid them? If
you said: Here’s five pounds, or ten, if you’ll get Soames into the tool shed!’
said Constance.
    A slow smile spread over Bill’s face.
‘Well, I’ve never ’ad five or ten pounds to try ’im with.’
    ‘Then can’t you hand him five pounds,
or what he wants, from a friend of Soames?’ said Constance.
    ‘Wait while I feel my way, an’ I’ll
let you know,’ said Bill. ‘I wouldn’t do it for anybody but Oliver, especially
as he was in France with me. He stood in front of me and stopped a shell from
hitting me, it hit his cigarette case.’
    Soames came in with his face washed
and pinched. Why oh why had he been in the scullery pinching his face?
    Soames used his knife and fork
clumsily with swollen hands and was silent.
    ‘Bill,’ said Mrs Tewson. ‘Can’t you
see to that child! Marjory-love, not on mother’s clean table-cloth! No!’
    Marjory-love was reaching over and
spooning a mixture of tea and fruit juice on to the table-cloth.
    ‘Draw her back a bit from th’ table!’
said her mother.
    Marjory-love, drawn back from the
table, made pools of tea on her tray, and splashed them with her chubby fists,
so that the drops flew among the guest, especially the guest Lady Chatterley.
    Bill removed the tea and slopped food
from the child’s tray. Marjory-love, without a sound, sent her spoon flying
across the table where it hit Soames on the back of his head.
    ‘Ere! Ta’e that, an’ be good!’ said
Bill, giving the child a lemon-curd tart. She immediately squashed it up into a
mess, and demanded water-cress. He gave Marjory-love the water-cress.
    ‘She’s a bonny child!’ said Constance.
    Marjory-love threw a jam tart which
hit Constance in the eye. ‘So this was the working class,’ thought Constance.
    Mrs Tewson took Marjory-love by the
throat and shook her like a rag doll.
    ‘You must eat, my lady, or we s’ll
think it’s not good enough for yer,’ said Mrs Tewson.
    She could feel Soames inwardly
squirming, at her elbow. He was eating tinned peaches and thickened cream like
a pig.
    ‘How are yer gettin’ on at
Tevershall, like?’ said Bill. ‘I’ve been over there. I stopped a night in th’
cottage wi’ Oliver — didn’t I lad?’
    ‘Really! I didn’t see you,’ said Constance.
    ‘No! But I seed you an’ Sir Clifford
in th’ park. — You didn’t know Oliver so well at that time, like.’
    ‘It was raisin’ the young pheasants
this spring as started you talkin’ to me a bit,’ said Oliver, cold and quiet,
turning to her. She looked at him, and saw he resented their knowing much of
his relationship with her, least of all as he was screwing her.
    ‘Do you mind,’ said Bill, ‘if I asked
you a question, a plain question?’ He went on eating peaches and cream, the
cream settling on his moustache like frost.
    ‘Not at all,’ said Constance.
    ‘Well, what I want to know — Do you
think it is