Young Mrs. Savage, page 19
Dan nudged Dinah and whispered; “There are the two Miss Stevens, d’you remember them? They won’t know us, of course.”
“Goodness! They haven’t changed a bit!” exclaimed Dinah.
The two old ladies had been patients of Dr. Bell and had always been extremely kind to the Dees, and the Dees had been fond of them and had often dropped in to see them. Dinah, looking back, remembered that the Misses Stevens had invariably produced a large tin of sugar biscuits and a jug of homemade lemonade; but she was almost certain that she and Dan would have called upon the old ladies just as frequently if no refreshment had been offered them.
Once the film had begun she had no time to think about the Misses Steven. She was enthralled—the humour was exactly the type of humour she appreciated. The two old ladies were admirable; they were so gentle and kind, so sympathetic that they could not bear the idea of any one being lonely and unhappy. A few grains of arsenic in their famous elderberry wine was an unfailing cure for loneliness.
The Dees were still laughing delightedly when they came out of the picture house and Dan was assuring his fellow-Dee that he had enjoyed the film more than the first time he had seen it. Malcolm and Miss Grover were standing in the porch waiting for Clarke to bring the car; the two Miss Stevens were there, but the Monk contingent had vanished.
“Hallo!” exclaimed Malcolm, smiling at Dan and Dinah. “I didn’t see you before. How did you like it?”
“I loved it,” said Dinah.
“Good fun, wasn’t it?” said Malcolm, chuckling.
“I could see nothing funny in it,” declared Miss Grover. “They were murderers. It’s a disgusting film and quite pointless. It was dreadfully stuffy in the picture house, wasn’t it?”
Malcolm seemed unmoved by these disagreeable remarks—perhaps he was used to them by this time. He seized the elder Miss Steven by the arm and said, “You know the Dees, don’t you? Dr. Bell’s horrible little children. Don’t you remember them?”
“Of course!” cried Miss Steven. “Dear me, I was wondering why I seemed to know your faces! Clara—look! It’s Dan and Dinah!”
“You haven’t changed a bit,” declared Dan and Dinah with one accord.
There was a babble of talk after that; the Misses Steven exclaiming that it seemed only yesterday, and how glad they were, and Dan and Dinah must come to tea with them—or supper if they could manage it—and Malcolm teasing them and saying they had never asked him to supper and he supposed they would sup off veal.
Eventually the party broke up. The Misses Steven were whirled away in Malcolm’s car and the Dees walked home. Dinah had enjoyed her evening enormously—every moment of it.
“You should get in touch with people,” said Dan. “If you’re going to be here all winter it would be nice for you to know some of the old gang—the Cunninghams and the Craddocks, for instance—everybody remembers Father, so it wouldn’t be difficult; and it’s good for you to go about a bit.”
Dinah agreed. She had been thinking the same thing herself.
25
Nigel had been asked to go for a lunch-picnic with the Barringtons and although Dinah would rather have kept him at home she had no excuse to refuse the invitation. She would rather have kept him at home because she had a feeling that Mr. Barrington and Philip were not the right friends for Nigel. Mr. Barrington was a widower and evidently very well-off. Mrs. Monk had said he was an atheist. Dinah did not think for a moment that Mr. Barrington would endeavour to disturb the faith of her son but all the same she was reluctant to let Nigel go.
Mr. Barrington called for Nigel shortly after ten and Dinah went out to speak to them. It was a very large car and Mr. Barrington was seated at the wheel with Philip in the seat beside him. Nigel was tucked in between them very comfortably.
“Good of you to let him come,” said Mr. Barrington. “We’ll take great care of him. We’ll probably be back about four.”
“It’s very kind of you to take him,” Dinah said. There was no need to tell Nigel to be good and to behave nicely because Nigel always behaved nicely with strangers.
They drove off and Dinah watched them. She distrusted Mr. Barrington even more now that she had seen him. He had light blue eyes, very cold and expressionless. If Dinah had seen him before she would have been even more reluctant to accept the invitation for Nigel.
It was Sunday and Dinah would have liked to go to church and take the children, but the Andersons were going and she could not leave Margy alone with Flo, so they went out on to the sands as usual; Margy had her lesson and the other two played together, near by. They dug a little house for Polly and the dolls. Mark was the doctor, coming to visit the children and prescribing nauseous medicines for their complaints.
“This is Rose,” explained Polly. “She’s got mumps, I’m afraid. It’s a dreadful nuisance because we’re all going away to the sea-side to-morrow, Doctor Mark.”
“That isn’t mumps,” declared Doctor Mark. “That’s a tooth coming through. Here’s a bottle of medicine for her. You must shake it well, because the sand—I mean the powder—sinks to the bottom. I’ll help you give her a dose of it if you like.”
There was a good deal of fun over the dose of medicine, for Rose’s lips were tightly clenched and the medicine ran down her chin.
“Isn’t she naughty!” said her mother with an elaborate sigh. “I can’t think why she’s so naughty. I’ve tried my best to bring her up properly—shall I spank her, Doctor Mark?”
“No,” replied Doctor Mark. “Spanking wouldn’t be any good. We’ll put it on her chest as a poultice. That’s the best thing.”
Doctor Mark was an expert at poultices—he had had quite a number of them himself—so he folded his handkerchief and the mixture of sand and water was made into a very creditable poultice and placed upon Rose’s chest.
“Will she be better to-morrow?” inquired her mother.
“No,” said the doctor firmly. “I shouldn’t think she’d be better for at least a week. I’ll come back to-morrow and make another poultice for her. Perhaps the other children should have poultices too, just in case . . .”
They would not have played like this if Nigel had been here, thought Dinah as she smiled and listened to their prattle. Nigel was the stormy petrel of the family. She had known it before, of course, but today the fact was brought home to her more plainly than ever. She had tried all sorts of different ways of managing Nigel but none of them worked; Nigel needed a man to manage him. Perhaps Dan would be able to do something with him—or perhaps not. Dan had not been very helpful over that business with the shilling.
Presently Mark got tired of playing with Polly and went off to paddle with some other boys and Polly abandoned her little house and came and sat on the rug.
“When will Margy be old enough to play dolls?” she inquired.
Dinah did not know.
“She’s too fat,” said Polly, looking at Margy critically. “She’s like a pudding, isn’t she?”
“A very nice pudding,” agreed Dinah smiling.
“But not very interesting,” objected Polly.
“She is to me,” declared Dinah. “You’re all interesting to me.”
Polly nodded thoughtfully. “I love you best,” she said. “I love you frightfully. Mark is going to be a doctor when he grows up and Nigel is going to be a sailor, but I shall stay with you always, Mummy.”
Dinah was touched at this sign of devotion on the part of her daughter. She knew it was nonsense of course because Polly was the sort of person who would marry early—Dinah was certain she would—but all the same it was very sweet of her to feel like that.
“I mean it—honestly,” said Polly gravely. “I’ve thought about it a lot. I shall never leave you, Mummy, so you don’t need to worry.”
“But Polly, you’ll get married someday and have children of your own. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” suggested Dinah.
“Oh, yes,” agreed Polly. “Oh yes, of course I would, but I’ll wait until you’re dead.”
It was rather a shock, really. So much of a shock that it was a moment or two before Dinah saw the funny side of it.
“Why are you laughing?” Polly inquired.
“It was an idea I had,” replied Dinah. “As a matter of fact I think it would be nice to have grandchildren so if you feel like marrying before I’m dead I shan’t object.”
“Grandchildren! Oh yes, you’d be their grandmother, wouldn’t you? Why haven’t we got a grandmother?”
Dinah did not reply to that. Polly was far too young to be told of the breach between Gilbert and his parents. For the first time Dinah began to feel a little regretful about that breach and to wonder whether Gilbert’s parents had really behaved so very badly, whether the fault was entirely on their side. She had believed Gilbert’s version of the quarrel implicitly (his version of it had been fixed in her mind) for it was not until years after the quarrel that she had discovered how unreliable Gilbert was. Now that she thought of it, and could think of it dispassionately, she saw that Gilbert might have been partly to blame . . . but it was no use worrying about it now; the breach was too wide and of too old standing to be mended. Dinah did not even know if Gilbert’s parents were still alive. He had always spoken of them as being old.
“Mummy, you aren’t listening!” exclaimed Polly.
“No, I’m afraid I wasn’t,” admitted Dinah. “You’ll have to tell me again.”
It was a quiet, restful sort of day. Polly and Mark bathed in the afternoon and came in to tea with wet hair and glowing cheeks and enormous appetites. They had just sat down to tea in the dining-room when the Barrington’s car drove up to the gate and Nigel got out.
“It’s been lovely!” Dinah heard him say. “Thank you so much, Mr. Barrington.”
“Swank!” exclaimed Mark, biting savagely into a slice of cake.
“But Mark, what nonsense!” exclaimed Dinah. “It’s the right thing to say. I’ve told you so over and over again.”
“I know,” said Mark uncomfortably.
“We know but we can’t do it,” explained Polly. “Nigel likes doing it, but Mark and I just can’t—I don’t know why.”
“It sort of sticks and won’t come out,” added Mark.
Dinah could not blame them—not really—for she remembered suddenly and quite distinctly that she and Dan had been afflicted with the same Curious inhibition. They had known quite well that the correct procedure on leaving a party was to thank your hostess for a pleasant time, but the words stuck in their throats and wouldn’t come out, just as Mark had said. She remembered that she and Dan used to toss before they went out to tea to determine which of them should have the task . . . and on more than one occasion they had shirked it altogether and crept away like thieves in the night to avoid thanking their hostess for her entertainment. It wasn’t ingratitude, thought Dinah, revolving the matter in her mind. It wasn’t because we hadn’t enjoyed ourselves . . . what was it, then?
By this time Nigel had run up the path and was standing in the doorway smiling at them.
“You had a lovely time?” asked Dinah.
“Grand!” declared Nigel. “Mr. Barrington’s car goes like smoke. He let me hold the steering-wheel. We went for miles along the Great North Road and then we came back and had our lunch at Tantallon Castle. We had ham sandwiches with real ham inside them and hard-boiled eggs and little jellies in paper cups. Don’t you wish you had been there, Mark?”
“No,” said Mark, frowning.
“You do,” declared Nigel. “Polly wishes she had been there, too. You both wish you had been there.”
“Come and have tea and tell us all about it,” said Dinah. Nigel sat down and helped himself to bread and butter. He said, “Mr. Barrington couldn’t believe I was only six. He’s awfully nice. He makes funny jokes and watches you laughing and doesn’t even smile. He gives Philip half-a-crown every week for pocket-money . . . and Philip goes to a boarding-school and plays cricket. Could I go to boarding-school, Mummy?”
“Four children can’t go to boarding-school,” said Polly hastily. “There isn’t enough money.”
“But perhaps I could go,” said Nigel hopefully. “I mean Mr. Barrington said I ought to go. It’s different for Polly and Mark, isn’t it?”
“Why is it different?” asked Dinah.
“Because,” said Nigel. “Well, because . . .”
“Because you’re you,” suggested Dinah. “That isn’t a reason, Nigel. That’s just selfish.”
“I don’t want to go to boarding-school,” said Mark. “I’d rather stay at home and so would Polly.”
“Well, we’ll see,” said Dinah doubtfully. Her idea had been that it was unfair to send one of the boys to boarding-school and not the other, but perhaps it would be the best thing for every one if she could manage to send Nigel away from home. Nigel would benefit from the discipline and the others would be left in peace. Was she being selfish to consider it? Was she trying to shirk her job?
“I’d like to go to Philip’s school,” continued Nigel, who seemed to think the thing was settled. “It’s near his home and Mr. Barrington comes over on Sundays and takes him out. Philip is going to Eton when he’s old enough, he’s going to be a scientist like his father—”
“You can’t go until you’re eight,” said Dinah, “And perhaps by that time you’ll have changed your mind. Eton is absolutely out of the question, I’m afraid.”
Fortunately Nigel did not seem to mind, he was eating ravenously and talking at the same time. “Philip and I climbed right up to the very top of the castle,” he was saying. “It was a bit difficult because the huge walls were all crumbly, but it was tremendous fun. You could see for miles and miles over the sea. There was an enormous battleship coming up the firth and we looked at it through Mr. Barrington’s field-glasses.”
“We saw it,” said Mark. “Polly and I saw it.”
“But I saw it much better,” declared Nigel. “I saw it through field-glasses. You haven’t ever seen a battleship through field-glasses, Mark.”
“I don’t want to,” replied Mark. “I saw it all right with ray eyes.”
“It came quite close in,” continued Nigel, helping himself to a slice of cake. “We saw the sailors with their blue collars—some of the sailors waved to us. They didn’t wave to you, did they?”
“We bathed,” said Polly.
“Oh, bathing!” said Nigel scornfully. “You can bathe any day. You can’t go for a drive in a lovely car every day.”
“We’ll go upstairs and play a game, shall we?” said Dinah, who saw that the other two were becoming very cross . . . to tell the truth she was feeling cross herself and had a sudden and almost uncontrollable desire to shake Nigel. She would have liked to hire a car and go for a picnic to the castle, it was a favourite haunt of the Dees, but to hire a car for a whole afternoon would be far too expensive so she had abandoned the idea. Another matter which was worrying her was Nigel’s assertion that the battleship had come “close in” and the sailors had waved. It made a good story but she was almost certain it was untrue. Why should it have approached that wild and rocky coast without any object except, presumably, to greet Philip and Nigel on the castle battlements?
“Mr. Barrington has asked me to go again,” continued Nigel as they all trooped upstairs. “Mr. Barrington liked me. He asked what my name was and when I told him he said I was a sophisticated young Savage.”
“Goodness, what does that mean?” asked Polly in surprise.
“I asked Philip,” admitted Nigel, “and Philip said it meant I knew a lot and had nice manners—not like a savage at all. It was a joke of course,” explained Nigel smugly. “That’s the sort of joke Mr. Barrington makes.”
“I think he’s a horrid man,” said Polly firmly. “Patrick thinks he’s horrid, too . . . and I’m very glad I didn’t go with you to that horrid old castle, so there.”
“Get out the Ludo, Mark,” said Dinah hastily. Ludo was the game of the moment and the little Savages played it with enthrallment on every possible occasion.
“Philip plays chess,” remarked Nigel as he drew his chair up to the table. “He’s eleven, of course, but I expect I could learn. It’s my turn to have red . . .”
26
Dinah had finished her supper and was about to go upstairs when the front-door bell rang. She opened the door and found Clarke standing on the doorstep with a basket in one hand and a large bouquet of sweet peas in the other.
“Mr. Malcolm’s compliments,” said Clarke, “and he thought you might like some flowers and vegetables.”
“How lovely!” exclaimed Dinah. “Will you thank him—or wait a moment while I write a note.”
“He’s in the car,” said Clarke.
Dinah ran down the path to thank him, remembering as she did so that this was the night she had refused to go for a sail. Would he think it odd to find her here—obviously free from any engagement? But if Malcolm remembered and thought it odd he showed no signs of it. He seemed just as usual.
“We’re going over to Whittington,” Malcolm said. “I was wondering if you’d like to come. It will be a nice run and the country is looking so beautiful—we shan’t be more than an hour.”
Dinah was tempted. Here was her chance to see the country. It seemed a queer coincidence that her chance had come to-night.
“Do come,” added Malcolm.
“I’d love to come,” said Dinah.
She put on her coat and got in beside Malcolm, who was sitting in the back seat, and soon they were climbing the steep hill and bowling along the road to Whittington. It was beautiful country and Dinah had not seen it for years. She feasted her eyes upon each well-remembered landmark. There were fine trees, and hedges gay with dog roses, there were huge fields with long-stalked, heavy-eared corn. Here and there were big farms, tidy and prosperous, with barns and cattle byres . . . and always in the distance was the silvery-blue gleam of the sea.
