Free Faster! Faster! by E. M. Delafield Page A

department doing it then?”
    â€œIt is. At least it’s going to. I
am
the special department. We’ve nobody else to whom we could trust it. Anyway, the office is shut till Tuesday. This must have been delivered by special messenger last night, and Ingatestone sent it straight on.”
    â€œWhy didn’t the fool of a woman keep it till after the week-end?” growled Copper.
    â€œBecause it’s wanted by return of post. It always is. And we’ve never let down the job yet,”said Claudia very decidedly.
    â€œIs there much?”
    â€œNot so very much. Not more than I can manage in the morning. Frances dear, you’ll look after yourself in the garden—or anything you like, won’t you?”
    Frances said that she would.
    â€œIt’s always the same thing,” said Copper, when his wife had left the room. “She can’t let well alone. Fancy telling Ingatestone to send things on! I’ll take any bet it could have waited till Tuesday.”
    The Airedale Betsy came up to him and laid her head against his knee, anxious to restore him to good-humour. Claudia hastened in again, caught up some notes from her desk, and went out quickly.
    â€œWhat would you like to do this morning, Frances?” enquired Sylvia.
    â€œI think it would be very nice to sit in the garden with a book. Please don’t bother about me, because I shall be quite happy.”
    â€œI’ll keep you company, presently. In silence,” said Sal. “I shall probably sleep.”
    â€œThe only sensible way of spending a holiday in weather like this,” muttered Copper, stroking his dog.
    â€œOh dear! If only Claudia would do the same. I can’t bear to see her working herself to death as she does.”
    At this well-worn plaint of his mother-in-law’s, Copper Winsloe went out, followed by the prancing Betsy in hopes of a walk.
    Mrs Peel, in a pale frenzy of anxiety, turned her eyes rapidly from Frances Ladislaw to Sal,Sylvia and Andrew Quarrendon, as though defying any of them to leave the room before she had said her say.
    â€œShe simply can’t go on like this. She’ll have a breakdown sooner or later. Mark my words. Claudia is living on her nerves. She’s at it morning, noon, and night. Dashing up to her wretched office practically every day of the week—and the driving, alone, is a most fearful strain—the traffic nowadays —the car not always reliable—and when it’s the train she has to get to the station after all—and back at the end of the day——”
    At this point Mrs Peel broke off, as the only way of extricating herself from a difficult sentence, and began again. Quick as she was, her granddaughter was quicker.
    Sylvia fled through the window.
    The others, more considerate or less agile, were obliged to remain where they were.
    â€œWhen it isn’t one thing it’s another, except when it’s all of them at once—which it only too often is. This house, and the children—and after all, there’s always endless correspondence over schools and dentists and clothes and things—
and
her office work as well. Claudia,” cried Mrs Peel frantically, “is doing three full-time jobs at once. If not more. Of course, I know she says it’s absolutely necessary. But what’s going to happen when she’s killed herself with overwork?”
    Nobody attempted to reply.
    â€œWell, I know it’s of no use to say a word,” said Mrs Peel with some inconsistency. “She’ll go on and on until she’s destroyed herself, and thenHeaven knows what’ll happen to them all. They depend on Claudia for every single thing, from their daily bread downwards. It’s she who keeps the whole thing going.”
    Taffy, to everybody’s relief, appeared at the window.
    â€œIs it settled about the bathing?” she demanded.
    â€œAfter lunch. We’ll go to the sea somewhere.