4 A Cup of Tea, English, SHORT STORY

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Katherine Mansfield
A Cup of Tea
A Cup of Tea
Katherine Mansfield
Rosemary Fell was not exactly beautiful. No, you couldn't have called her
beautiful. Pretty? Well, if you took her to pieces... But why be so cruel as to take
anyone to pieces? She was young, brilliant, extremely modem, exquisitely well
dressed, amazingly well read in the newest of the new books, and her parties were the
most delicious mixture of the really important people and... artists - quaint creatures,
discoveries of hers, some of them too terrifying for words, but others quite
presentable and amusing.
Rosemary had been married two years. She had a duck of a boy. No, not Peter -
Michael. And her husband absolutely adored her. They were rich, really rich, not just
comfortably well off, which is odious and stuffy and sounds like one's grandparents.
But if Rosemary wanted to shop she would go to Paris as you and I would go to Bond
Street . If she wanted to buy flowers, the car pulled up at that perfect shop in Regent
Street, and Rosemary inside the shop just gazed in her dazzled, rather exotic way, and
said: "I want those and those and those. Give me four bunches of those. And that jar
of roses. Yes, I'll have all the roses in the jar. No, no lilac. I hate lilac. It's got no
shape." The attendant bowed and put the lilac out of sight, as though this was only
too true; lilac was dreadfully shapeless. "Give me those stumpy little tulips. Those red
and white ones." And she was followed to the car by a thin shop-girl staggering under
an immense white paper armful that looked like a baby in long clothes....
One winter afternoon she had been buying something in a little antique shop in
Curzon Street . It was a shop she liked. For one thing, one usually had it to oneself.
And then the man who kept it was ridiculously fond of serving her. He beamed
whenever she came in. He clasped his hands; he was so gratified he could scarcely
speak. Flattery, of course. All the same, there was something...
"You see, madam," he would explain in his low respectful tones, "I love my things. I
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Katherine Mansfield
A Cup of Tea
would rather not part with them than sell them to someone who does not appreciate
them, who has not that fine feeling which is so rare..." And, breathing deeply, he
unrolled a tiny square of blue velvet and pressed it on the glass counter with his pale
finger-tips.
To-day it was a little box. He had been keeping it for her. He had shown it to nobody
as yet. An exquisite little enamel box with a glaze so fine it looked as though it had
been baked in cream. On the lid a minute creature stood under a flowery tree, and a
more minute creature still had her arms round his neck. Her hat, really no bigger
than a geranium petal, hung from a branch; it had green ribbons. And there was a
pink cloud like a watchful cherub floating above their heads. Rosemary took her
hands out of her long gloves. She always took off her gloves to examine such things.
Yes, she liked it very much. She loved it; it was a great duck. She must have it. And,
turning the creamy box, opening and shutting it, she couldn't help noticing how
charming her hands were against the blue velvet. The shopman, in some dim cavern
of his mind, may have dared to think so too. For he took a pencil, leant over the
counter, and his pale, bloodless fingers crept timidly towards those rosy, flashing
ones, as he murmured gently: "If I may venture to point out to madam, the flowers on
the little lady's bodice."
"Charming!" Rosemary admired the flowers. But what was the price? For a moment
the shopman did not seem to hear. Then a murmur reached her. "Twenty-eight
guineas, madam."
"Twenty-eight guineas." Rosemary gave no sign. She laid the little box down; she
buttoned her gloves again. Twenty-eight guineas. Even if one is rich... She looked
vague. She stared at a plump tea-kettle like a plump hen above the shopman's head,
and her voice was dreamy as she answered: "Well, keep it for me - will you? I'll..."
But the shopman had already bowed as though keeping it for her was all any human
being could ask. He would be willing, of course, to keep it for her for ever.
The discreet door shut with a click. She was outside on the step, gazing at the winter
afternoon. Rain was falling, and with the rain it seemed the dark came too, spinning
down like ashes. There was a cold bitter taste in the air, and the new-lighted lamps
looked sad. Sad were the lights in the houses opposite. Dimly they burned as if
regretting something. And people hurried by, hidden under their hateful umbrellas.
Rosemary felt a strange pang. She pressed her muff against her breast; she wished
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Katherine Mansfield
A Cup of Tea
she had the little box, too, to cling to. Of course the car was there. She'd only to cross
the pavement. But still she waited. There are moments, horrible moments in life,
when one emerges from shelter and looks out, and it's awful. One oughtn't to give way
to them. One ought to go home and have an extra-special tea. But at the very instant
of thinking that, a young girl, thin, dark, shadowy - where had she come from? - was
standing at Rosemary's elbow and a voice like a sigh, almost like a sob, breathed:
"Madam, may I speak to you a moment?"
"Speak to me?" Rosemary turned. She saw a little battered creature with enormous
eyes, someone quite young, no older than herself, who clutched at her coat-collar with
reddened hands, and shivered as though she had just come out of the water.
"M-madam, stammered the voice. Would you let me have the price of a cup of tea?"
"A cup of tea?" There was something simple, sincere in that voice; it wasn't in the
least the voice of a beggar. "Then have you no money at all?" asked Rosemary.
"None, madam," came the answer.
"How extraordinary!" Rosemary peered through the dusk and the girl gazed back at
her. How more than extraordinary! And suddenly it seemed to Rosemary such an
adventure. It was like something out of a novel by Dostoevsky, this meeting in the
dusk. Supposing she took the girl home? Supposing she did do one of those things she
was always reading about or seeing on the stage, what would happen? It would be
thrilling. And she heard herself saying afterwards to the amazement of her friends: "I
simply took her home with me," as she stepped forward and said to that dim person
beside her: "Come home to tea with me."
The girl drew back startled. She even stopped shivering for a moment. Rosemary put
out a hand and touched her arm. "I mean it," she said, smiling. And she felt how
simple and kind her smile was. "Why won't you? Do. Come home with me now in my
car and have tea."
"You - you don't mean it, madam," said the girl, and there was pain in her voice.
"But I do," cried Rosemary. "I want you to. To please me. Come along."
The girl put her fingers to her lips and her eyes devoured Rosemary. "You're - you're
not taking me to the police station?" she stammered.
"The police station!" Rosemary laughed out. "Why should I be so cruel? No, I only
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Katherine Mansfield
A Cup of Tea
want to make you warm and to hear - anything you care to tell me." Hungry people
are easily led. The footman held the door of the car open, and a moment later they
were skimming through the dusk.
"There!" said Rosemary. She had a feeling of triumph as she slipped her hand
through the velvet strap. She could have said, "Now I've got you," as she gazed at the
little captive she had netted. But of course she meant it kindly. Oh, more than kindly.
She was going to prove to this girl that - wonderful things did happen in life, that -
fairy godmothers were real, that - rich people had hearts, and that women were
sisters. She turned impulsively, saying'. "Don't be frightened. After all, why shouldn't
you come back with me? We're both women. If I'm the more fortunate, you ought to
expect..."
But happily at that moment, for she didn't know how the sentence was going to end,
the car stopped. The bell was rung, the door opened, and with a charming, protecting,
almost embracing movement, Rosemary drew the other into the hall. Warmth,
softness, light, a sweet scent, all those things so familiar to her she never even
thought about them, she watched that other receive. It was fascinating. She was like
the rich little girl in her nursery with all the cupboards to open, all the boxes to
unpack.
"Come, come upstairs," said Rosemary, longing to begin to be generous. "Come up to
my room." And, besides, she wanted to spare this poor little thing from being stared
at by the servants; she decided as they mounted the stairs she would not even ring to
Jeanne, but take off her things by herself. The great things were to be natural!
And "There!" cried Rosemary again, as they reached her beautiful big bedroom with
the curtains drawn, the fire leaping on her wonderful lacquer furniture, her gold
cushions and the primrose and blue rugs.
The girl stood just inside the door; she seemed dazed. But Rosemary didn't mind that.
"Come and sit down," she cried, dragging her big chair up to the fire, "m this comfy
chair. Come and get warm. You look so dreadfully cold." "I daren't, madam," said the
girl, and she edged backwards.
"Oh, please," - Rosemary ran forward - "you mustn't be frightened, you mustn't,
really. Sit down, when I've taken off my things we shall go into the next room and
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Katherine Mansfield
A Cup of Tea
have tea and be cozy. Why are you afraid?" And gently she half pushed the thin figure
into its deep cradle.
But there was no answer. The girl stayed just as she had been put, with her hands by
her sides and her mouth slightly open. To be quite sincere, she looked rather stupid.
But Rosemary wouldn't acknowledge it. She leant over her, saying:
"Won't you take off your hat? Your pretty hair is all wet. And one is so much more
comfortable without a hat, isn't one?"
There was a whisper that sounded like "Very good, madam," and the crushed hat was
taken off.
"And let me help you off with your coat, too," said Rosemary.
The girl stood up. But she held on to the chair with one hand and let Rosemary pull.
It was quite an effort. The other scarcely helped her at all. She seemed to stagger like
a child, and the thought came and went through Rosemary's mind, that if people
wanted helping they must respond a little, just a little, otherwise it became very
difficult indeed. And what was she to do with the coat now? She left it on the floor,
and the hat too. She was just going to take a cigarette off the mantelpiece when the
girl said quickly, but so lightly and strangely: "I'm very sorry, madam, but I'm going
to faint. I shall go off, madam, if I don't have something."
"Good heavens, how thoughtless I am!" Rosemary rushed to the bell.
"Tea! Tea at once! And some brandy immediately!"
The maid was gone again, but the girl almost cried out: "No, I don't want no brandy.*
I never drink brandy. It's a cup of tea I want, madam." And she burst into tears.
It was a terrible and fascinating moment. Rosemary knelt beside her chair.
"Don't cry, poor little thing," she said. "Don't cry." And she gave the other her lace
handkerchief. She really was touched beyond words. She put her arm round those
thin, bird-like shoulders.
Now at last the other forgot to be shy, forgot everything except that they were both
women, and gasped out: "I can't go on no longer like this. I can't bear it. I can't bear
it. I shall do away with myself. I can't bear no more."
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