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Page 34
"And perhaps we had better not have chickens," said Lady
Caroline.
Costanza's face fell more, for her brother at the restaurant kept
chickens in his back-yard, and many of them were ready for killing.
"Also do not order strawberries till I have consulted with the
other ladies," said Lady Caroline, remembering that it was only the
first of April, and that perhaps people who lived in Hampstead might be
poor; indeed, must be poor, or why live in Hampstead? "It is not I who
am mistress here."
"Is it the old one?" asked Costanza, her face very long.
"No," said Lady Caroline.
"Which of the other two ladies is it?"
"Neither," said Lady Caroline.
Then Costanza's smiles returned, for the young lady was having
fun with her and making jokes. She told her so, in her friendly
Italian way, and was genuinely delighted.
"I never make jokes," said Lady Caroline briefly. "You had
better go, or lunch will certainly not be ready by half-past twelve."
And these curt words came out sounding so sweet that Costanza
felt as if kind compliments were being paid her, and forgot her
disappointment about the cream and the chickens, and went away all
gratitude and smiles.
"This," thought Lady Caroline, "will never do. I haven't come
here to housekeep, and I won't."
She called Costanza back. Costanza came running. The sound of
her name in that voice enchanted her.
"I have ordered the lunch for to-day," said Lady Caroline, with
the serious angel face that was hers when she was annoyed, "and I have
also ordered the dinner, but from now on you will go to one of the
other ladies for orders. I give no more."
The idea that she would go on giving orders was too absurd. She
never gave orders at home. Nobody there dreamed of asking her to do
anything. That such a very tiresome activity should be thrust upon her
here, simply because she happened to be able to talk Italian, was
ridiculous. Let the originals give orders if Mrs. Fisher refused to.
Mrs. Fisher, of course, was the one Nature intended for such a purpose.
She had the very air of a competent housekeeper. Her clothes were the
clothes of a housekeeper, and so was the way she did her hair.
Having delivered herself of her ultimatum with an acerbity that
turned sweet on the way, and accompanied it by a peremptory gesture of
dismissal that had the grace and loving-kindness of a benediction, it
was annoying that Costanza should only stand still with her head on one
side gazing at her in obvious delight.
"Oh, go away!" exclaimed Lady Caroline in English, suddenly
exasperated.
There had been a fly in her bedroom that morning which had stuck
just as Costanza was sticking; only one, but it might have been a
myriad it was so tiresome from daylight on. It was determined to
settle on her face, and she was determined it should not. Its
persistence was uncanny. It woke her, and would not let her go to
sleep again. She hit at it, and it eluded her without fuss or effort
and with an almost visible blandness, and she had only hit herself. It
came back again instantly, and with a loud buzz alighted on her cheek.
She hit at it again and hurt herself, while it skimmed gracefully away.
She lost her temper, and sat up in bed and waited, watching to hit at
it and kill it. She kept on hitting at it at last with fury and with
all her strength, as if it were a real enemy deliberately trying to
madden her; and it elegantly skimmed in and out of her blows, not even
angry, to be back again the next instant. It succeeded every time in
getting on to her face, and was quite indifferent how often it was
driven away. That was why she had dressed and come out so early.
Francesca had already been told to put a net over her bed, for she was
not going to allow herself to be annoyed twice like that. People were
exactly like flies. She wished there were nets for keeping them off
too. She hit at them with words and frowns, and like the fly they
slipped between her blows and were untouched. Worse than the fly, they
seemed unaware that she had even tried to hit them. The fly at least
did for a moment go away. With human beings the only way to get rid of
them was to go away herself. That was what, so tired, she had done
this April; and having got here, having got close up to the details of
life at San Salvatore, it appeared that here, too, she was not to be
let alone.
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