Cluny Brown Read Online Free Page B

out of the studio, both furious, both spoiling for a row, taking no more notice of Mr. Ames than if he had been—a tiddly wink.
    V
    The row broke as soon as they got outside, raged all down Carlyle Walk, and reached its height on the Embankment. What chiefly infuriated Cluny was that she was six-and-six-pence down, the change from the pound note; and this attitude in turn exacerbated the fury of Mr. Porritt. He was more deeply shaken than Cluny realized; and her obtuseness driving him from his natural decorum of speech, he proclaimed in so many words his belief that Cluny had narrowly escaped being seduced, and the further belief that she had been asking for it. At that Cluny stood stockstill on the Embankment and turned first scarlet and then so white that her uncle thought she was about to faint. She did indeed feel qualmish, but that was because the cocktails, on nothing but orange juice, were at last taking effect. What she chiefly felt was an overpowering, hopeless sense of rage at the stupidity of the universe as represented by Mr. Porritt. It was so great as to be almost impersonal: it was the generous rage of ignorant youth; and Cluny had to steady herself against the parapet as it swept over her.
    â€œAll right, you didn’t,” retracted Mr. Porritt. “I believe you. But as for him—”
    â€œHe isn’t!” cried Cluny. “You only just saw him, and I was there hours!”
    â€œAnd it don’t take hours to fix a sink!” shouted Mr. Porritt.
    â€œI had to have a wash, didn’t I? I nearly had a bath, too—”
    â€œYou nearly what? ”
    â€œHad a bath. He said I could. It was lovely.”
    â€œIf I’d known that—” roared Mr. Porritt; and paused, because people were beginning to look at them. But his blood boiled. He had by this time entirely forgotten what Mr. Ames really looked like; he saw instead a huge bloated figure of wicked luxury. Cluny saw a kind little elderly gent; the midway truth eluded them both. But on the balance Mr. Porritt had acted on the safer hypothesis. “If I hadn’t come!” he muttered continually, as they got into motion again; and the thought appalled him. It was by mere chance that he had left the Trumpers hours before his usual time; by mere chance that he had glanced at the order-book and seen the entry in Cluny’s fist. After that of course he was bound to go after, to see that she didn’t make a mess of things; but if he hadn’t—
    â€œCan’t we take a ’bus?” asked Cluny suddenly.
    She looked awful, all eyes and nose; once again in Mr. Porritt’s breast every other emotion gave place to sheer astonishment. What did they see in her? What could any one see in her? Floss, he recollected, used to stand up for the lass, saying she wasn’t as plain as people made out; but that was Floss all over. Kind. And Cluny had been fond of her; it was only since Floss went that Cluny had got so out of hand. “She’s beyond me,” thought Mr. Porritt unhappily. He’d stood up for Cluny against the Trumpers, but in his heart he knew they were right: the girl had to be taught her place.
    As they reached the ’bus stop, Mr. Porritt came to a decision. He turned to Cluny and bent on her a long, solemn look.
    â€œOne thing this has settled,” said Mr. Porritt. “Into service you go.”

Chapter 3
    I
    Nothing could be easier, in that year 1938, than for a girl to go into good service. The stately homes of England gaped for her. Cluny Brown, moreover, possessed special advantages: height, plainness (but combined with a clear skin) and a perfectly blank expression. This last attribute was not permanent, but the lady at the registry office did not know, and she saw in Cluny the very type of that prized, that fast-disappearing genus, the Tall Parlour-maid. Addie Trumper too knew what was what; she had been in good service herself, and with footmen