Joanna Godden | Page 2

she stopped at once.
Her sister had wiped the grit and the little smear of blood off her chin,
and stood in the doorway holding her hand while one by one the other
carriages drew up and the occupants alighted. Not a word was spoken

till they had all assembled, then the young woman said: "Please come
in and have a cup of tea," and turning on her heel led the way to the
dining-room.
"Joanna," said little Ellen in a loud whisper, "may I take off my hat?"
"No, that you mayn't."
"But the elastic's so tight--it's cutting my chin. Why mayn't I?"
"You can't till the funeral's over."
"It is over. They've put father in the ground."
"It isn't over till we've had tea, and you keep your hat on till it's over."
For answer Ellen tore off her pork-pie hat and threw it on the floor.
Immediately Joanna had boxed her unprotected ears, and the head of
the procession was involved in an ignominious scuffle. "You pick up
that hat and put it on," said Joanna, "or you shan't have any nice tea."
"You're a beast! You're a brute," cried Ellen, weeping loudly. Behind
them stood two rows of respectable marsh-dwellers, gazing solemnly
ahead as if the funeral service were still in progress. In their hearts they
were thinking that it was just like Joanna Godden to have a terrification
like this when folk were expected to be serious. In the end Joanna
picked up Ellen's hat, crammed it down ruthlessly on her head, hind
part before, and heaving her up under her arm carried her into the
dining-room. The rest of the company followed, and were ushered into
their places to the accompaniment of Ellen's shrieks, which they
pretended not to hear.
"Mr. Pratt, will you take the end of the table?" said Joanna to the scared
little clergyman, who would almost have preferred to sit under it rather
than receive the honour which Miss Godden's respect for his cloth
dictated. "Mr. Huxtable, will you sit by me?" Having thus settled her
aristocracy she turned to her equals and allotted places to Vine of
Birdskitchen, Furnese of Misleham, Southland of Yokes Court, and
their wives. "Arthur Alce, you take my left," and a tall young man with

red hair, red whiskers, and a face covered with freckles and tan, came
sidling to her elbow.
In front of Joanna a servant-girl had just set down a huge black teapot,
which had been stewing on the hob ever since the funeral party had
been sighted crossing the railway line half a mile off. Round it were
two concentric rings of teacups--good old Worcester china, except for a
common three which had been added for number's sake, and which
Joanna carefully bestowed upon herself, Ellen, and Arthur Alce. Ellen
had stopped crying at the sight of the cakes and jam and pots of "relish"
which stretched down the table in orderly lines, so the meal proceeded
according to the decent conventions of silence. Nobody spoke, except
to offer some eatable to somebody else. Joanna saw that no cup or plate
was empty. She ought really to have delegated this duty to another,
being presumably too closely wrapped in grief to think of anybody's
appetite but her own, but Joanna never delegated anything, and her "A
little more tea, Mrs. Vine?"--"Another of these cakes, Mr.
Huxtable?"--"Just a little dash of relish, Mr. Pratt?" were constantly
breaking the stillness, and calling attention to her as she sat behind the
teapot, with her plumed hat still a little on one side.
She was emphatically what men call a "fine woman," with her firm,
white neck, her broad shoulders, her deep bosom and strong waist; she
was tall, too, with large, useful hands and feet. Her face was brown and
slightly freckled, with a warm colour on the cheeks; the features were
strong, but any impression of heaviness was at once dispelled by a pair
of eager, living blue eyes. Big jet earrings dangled from her ears, being
matched by the double chain of beads that hung over her crape-frilled
bodice. Indeed, with her plumes, her earrings, her necklace, her frills,
though all were of the decent and respectable black, she faintly shocked
the opinion of Walland Marsh, otherwise disposed in pity to be lenient
to Joanna Godden and her ways.
Owing to the absence of conversation, tea was not as long drawn-out as
might have been expected from the appetites. Besides, everyone was in
a hurry to be finished and hear the reading of old Thomas Godden's
will. Already several interesting rumours were afloat, notably one that

he had left Ansdore to Joanna only on condition that she married
Arthur Alce within the year. "She's a mare that's never been präaperly
broken in, and she