Free Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal and Other Stories by H.E. Bates Page B

who, trapped, lost, and unable to find their way, were fighting madly to be free.
    Out of it all leapt a sudden collective gasp, as if gates had been burst open and the trapped, lost ones could now mercifully find their way. In reality it was a gasp of surprise as Lafarge switched on the outside lights, and she heard it presently followed by a rush of feet as people shuffled outwards into the rainless garden air.
    Not moving, she sat alone at the kitchen table, clutching the rose in the paper bag. From the garden she heard laughter bursting in excited taunting waves. A wag shouted in a loud voice, ‘Forward the grave-diggers! On with the spade-work!’ and there were fresh claps of caterwauling laughter.
    From it all sprang the sudden petulant voice of Lafarge, like a child crying for a toy, ‘The rose! Oh, my dear, the rose! Where
is
the rose? We can’t do it without the rose.’
    Automatically she got up from the table. Even before she heard Lafarge’s voice, nearer now, calling her name, she was already walking across the emptied drawing-room, towards the open french windows, with the paper bag.
    â€˜Mrs Corbett! Mrs Corbett! Oh, there you are, dear. Where did you get to? What a relief—and oh, you poppet, you’ve got the rose.’
    She was hardly aware that he was taking her by the hand. She was hardly aware, as she stepped into the blinding whitelight of electric lamps placed about the bright pink walls, that he was saying, ‘Oh, but Mrs Corbett, you must. After all, it’s your rose, dear. I insist. It’s all part of the thing. It’s the nicest part of the thing——’
    Vaguely she became aware that the rose tree, spreading five fanlike branches, was already in its place by the wall.
    â€˜Just tie it on, dear. Here’s the ribbon. I managed to get exactly the right-coloured ribbon.’
    From behind her, as she stood under the naked light, tying the rose to the tree, she was assailed by voices in chattering boisterous acclamation. A few people actually clapped their hands and there were sudden trumpeted bursts of laughter as the wag who had shouted of grave-diggers suddenly shouted again, ‘Damn it all, Henry, give her a kiss. Kiss the lady! Be fair.’
    â€˜Kiss her!’ everyone started shouting. ‘Kiss her. Kiss! Kiss, Henry! Kiss, kiss!’
    â€˜Pour encourager les autres!’
the wag shouted. ‘Free demonstration.’
    After a sudden burst of harsh, jovial catcalls she turned her face away, again feeling utterly naked and transfixed under the stark white lights. A second later she felt Lafarge’s lips brush clumsily, plummily across her own.
    Everyone responded to this with loud bursts of cheers.
    â€˜Ceremony over!’ Lafarge called out. He staggered uncertainly, beckoning his guests housewards. ‘Everybody back to the flesh-pots. Back to the grain and grape.’
    â€˜Henry’s tight,’ somebody said. ‘What fun. Great, the kissing. Going to be a good party.’
    She stood for some time alone in the garden, holding the empty paper bag. In an unexpected moment the lights on the pink walls were extinguished, leaving only the light fromwindows shining across the grass outside. She stood for a few moments longer and then groped to the wall, untied the rose and put it back in the paper bag.
    Driving away down the hillside, she stopped the van at last and drew it into a gateway simply because she could think of no other way of calming the trembling in her hands. She stood for a long time clutching the side of the van. In confusion she thought of the rose on the wall, of hearts that were like gooseflesh, and of how, as Clem said, the gentry would come back. Then she took her cape and the paper bag with its rose out of the van.
    When she had dropped the paper bag and the rose into the ditch she slowly pulled on the old cape and started to cry. As she cried she drew the cape over her head, as if afraid