Since she had got her fat, high-heeled foot inside my door, Miss Levey's
devotion to Evie had been as unremitting as if, lacking her attentions,
my little son would never have got himself born at all. Not a week had
passed but she had dropped in once or twice, mostly alone, but not
infrequently with the ringleted Aschael. It annoyed me that Evie should
like her as much as apparently she did, and my annoyance was the greater
that I could give no reason for it. One night I had given way rather
petulantly to this annoyance. It had been just before we had left
Verandah Cottage. Billy Izzard had come in and had made some remark
about our Arab horsemen, and, more that I might relish its artistic
vulgarity than for any other reason, I had taken one of these objects
down from the mantelpiece. I had not known that I had held the thing in
a rather vindictive grip until suddenly the plaster had broken in my
hand. My other hand had made an instinctive movement by no means
prompted by presence of mind. I had saved the body of the ornament from
total smash, but the heads both of tamer and steed were in fragments. I
had been on the point of throwing the ridiculous thing away, but had
changed my mind, and put it back on the mantelpiece. Later I had
expressed bland sorrow to Miss Levey, and had assured her that I was
going to have it mended; but I had not done so during the remainder of
our stay at Verandah Cottage. I did not know what had become either of
it or of its companion statue.
During the last anxious days before the birth of our child, Miss Levey
had triumphed over me completely. There had been no withstanding her.
She had bidden me fetch hot-water bottles, had informed me when it was
time for Evie to go to bed, and, conspiring with Aunt Angela, had, in a
word, taken things out of my hands entirely. Once or twice she had
overdone this even in Evie's eyes, but I had been dull enough not to see
at first that her ascendancy over Evie was not direct, but mediate. Only
lately had I discovered that Evie's real interest was, not in Miriam
Levey, but in Kitty Windus.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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