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Updated: May 7, 2025
"I thought that was just what you were wanting to do," she answered. The egg went into the saucepan and was followed by another. "We can't," Mildred Caniper said with the admonishing air which sat like an imposition on her; "we cannot always do as we wish." "Oh, I know that," Helen said. She put on a pair of gloves, armed herself with brooms and dusters, and left the room.
Not deterred by such squeamishness, Miriam watched the luncheon-party with an almost indecent eagerness. Her curiosity about Mildred Caniper was blurred by pleasure in her departure, and each mouthful unwillingly taken by that lady seemed to minister to Miriam's freedom.
He's so used to her in the drawing-room, and perhaps she doesn't mind about the children." "I'm sure she doesn't," said John, for he thought she had a silly face. This was when John and Rupert went to the Grammar School in the town, while the girls did their lessons with Mildred Caniper in the schoolroom of Pinderwell House.
Yet she noticed that the shadows which had hung so thickly in the house became thinner as soon as Mildred Caniper entered it. No doubt they had slipped into the body which was their home. "Daniel is here," Helen said, "because it's Saturday and we didn't know you were coming." "Well?" "I thought you might be sorry. And we have asked him to stay the night."
"No," Mildred Caniper was saying, and by her tone she shifted the blame from her husband to his children. The word acted as a full stop to her confidences, and there was an uneasy pause. "But tell us, please," Helen said, leaning forward. "Oh, please," Rupert added. Mildred Caniper smiled waveringly, between pride and pain.
Mildred Caniper enquired in the pleasantly cold tones which left Miriam powerless. Uncle Alfred's tuneless humming began again. "Yes, fond of horses," he said vaguely, his eyes quick on woman and girl. "And can you ride?" Miriam asked politely, implying that it was not necessary for the whole family to be ill-mannered. "I've had to yes, but I don't care about it. No, I like to look at them."
It was some human creature who had failed, and though it seemed like Miriam, might it not be herself? Or Mildred Caniper, or some cause beyond Mildred Caniper, going back and back, like the waves of the sea? It was impossible to fix the blame, foolish to try, unnecessary to know it.
Nevertheless, it was only in his presence that she lost her red sense of shame, and though she still walked nobly, looked with clear eyes, and carried a high head, she fancied herself bent by broken pride, blinded and dusty-haired. Zebedee's books helped her to blot out that vision of herself and the other of Mildred Caniper still sitting by the fire and refusing the fulness of the sun.
Mildred Caniper died two days afterwards, without opening her eyes. Day and night, Helen watched and wondered whether, behind that mask, the mind was moving to acquaintance with the truth. Between life and death, she imagined a grey land where things were naked, neither clothed in disguising garments nor in glory.
It was dark in the shop, and the smell of fustian absorbed the air. The owner, who wore an intricately-patterned tie, stood on the pavement and talked to a friend, while a youth, pale through living in obscurity, lured Helen in. She gave her order: two pairs of corduroy trousers to be made for Mr. Caniper of Brent Farm, to the same measurements as before: she wished to see the stuff.
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