Part 21 (1/2)
”Actually it's not. What is bad is the morning after. Such an anticlimax. A lot of you ladies are rather depressed the day after a dance.”
”I shall have to be on my guard.”
”Oh, I don't think I'm worried about you. In fact you don't have to go if you'd rather not. I'd understand perfectly if you didn't.”
”I wouldn't hear of it,” she said. ”Not go to the dance? How very antisocial.”
”You'll be much looked at and commented on. You know that, don't you?”
”Yes I do,” she said.
As she was being escorted back along the terrace to the ward she must have realized that her worries were needless after all. But having decided for diplomatic reasons to attend the dance, she had begun in an odd way to look forward to it. For she had decided, I believe, to let what happened there determine her fate.
The female patients were all in their places in the Central Hall before the men were brought in. For the last few hours the atmosphere on the ward had grown steadily more feverish till it reached a pitch of antic.i.p.ation that could only end in disappointment. Frantic women in all states of undress roamed the corridor in search of hairpins, perfume, underwear, makeup. A squabble over a cheap brooch would have come to scratches but for the intervention of an attendant. There were screams, there were tears, there was much silly chatter from the younger women about boyfriends and love affairs. The more mature women tried to stay calm but it was difficult to ignore the mood sweeping the ward and growing steadily more frenzied as seven o'clock approached.
Stella stayed in her room and dressed carefully. The smart clothes she had brought with her from Wales were too tight on her now; not precisely woman-of-sorrows, they suggested sin, rather, but then how was a woman to come by her sorrows if she knew nothing of sin? She again counted her pills. She was calm now. She had, she thought, enough.
When she left her room and joined the other women on the ward her appearance had a dramatic effect. They realized immediately that she was by far the loveliest among them. They were proud of her, and intended to enjoy a reflected glory when they entered the Hall, or rather, when the men came in. They left the ward rather quietly, given the cacophony of a few minutes ago. The awful majesty of the evening was brought home to every woman there.
Escorted by their attendants they made their way across the courtyard and along the pa.s.sage to the gate that gave onto the terrace. The evening was warm and the light was just beginning to thicken in the scented air. Women whispered to one another, the last anxieties were voiced, as a slowly swelling pride in their collective womanhood and their one true flower of beauty grew in all hearts. Stella was their flower of beauty, as she moved calmly among them with a loose black shawl thrown over her bare arms and shoulders against the evening air. The woman of sorrows, among her handmaidens, was making her farewell appearance.
The Central Hall was as she remembered it. Chairs were placed around the walls, the big bay windows were thrown open to the evening, and the band was tuning up on the stage. A few attendants were waiting for the women, and as they entered I came in from the terrace with the chaplain. I acknowledged her immediately with a bow, and then I saw what she was wearing. I stood there, as did the chaplain, and we gazed at her with astonishment. Then, as it dawned on me what she'd done, and what it must have cost her, I slowly nodded. For under the shawl it was the same dress, the same black evening dress of coa.r.s.e ribbed silk, cut low at the front to reveal the curve of her breast, that she'd worn to the dance a year ago. The effect of it was more dramatic than it had been even then: not only did the dress complement her extraordinary physical beauty, but the very wearing of it, here, tonight, was the gesture of a spirit unbroken by shame. I felt proud of her.
She settled down and watched the bustle around her, the attendants moving back and forth, conferring with one another, and the more restless of the young women already over at the table for their soft drinks; and the senior staff talking and laughing with exaggerated ease like the aristocracy they were. It was all a sham. Not one of them could think of anything but that she had been one of their number just a year ago, and the covert glances cast her way were numerous. That she should choose to wear that dress-! I had no recourse to covert glances. I made it clear that I was watching over her with affection and solicitude. My calm eye oversaw everything and missed nothing, and Stella was not disturbed. The propriety and order of the event were a direct effect of my presence, my quiet authority and the deference I enjoyed from patients and staff alike.
Time pa.s.sed, and beneath her composure she grew tense. She saw the men coming in and felt the atmosphere change, felt it grow charged and slightly dangerous. The aristocrats were less languid now, the attendants more attentive. As for the women of the female wing, they grew very alert indeed. The band had already gone into its first number as the last of the men's wards were escorted into the Hall. They filed in and took their places, and Edgar was not among them.
No, Edgar was not among them, he was in no condition to attend a dance.
She danced several times over the course of the evening and although the eyes of the entire Hall were upon her not once did the mask slip. She didn't dance with me; I danced with no one; but she caught my eye each time she did dance, and I understood that her demure, inscrutable smile was directed at me, that in a way it was with me that she danced. The chaplain alone of all the senior staff asked her out onto the floor. He danced well and allowed her to move with ease and grace in his arms. The glimpses she had of my face, the fleeting instants when our eyes met, all rea.s.sured her that she was carrying it off beautifully, that she appeared exactly as I wished her to appear. Poor Peter, she must have thought.
Toward the end of the evening I went onto the stage and stood at the microphone and said a few benign words and made a joke or two, as was customary. I am a popular medical superintendent, and the blessing I bestowed was warmly received. Stella watched me, not listening to my words, just absorbing the presence I conveyed that night, my patrician ease, my warm, wise humor. I believe she genuinely hated the prospect of causing me pain.
She sat out the last dance and joined the other women when it was time to go back. They made their way in the moonlight along the terrace to the female wing. There was some excited chatter but mostly they were quiet, and a sort of tired satisfaction seemed to be the mood. All agreed it had been a good dance, perhaps the best for years, and while some romances had been cruelly crushed out others had sprung to life. On the ward they fondly said good night to one another and went to their rooms.