Young Mrs. Savage, page 22
“And you’re staying on here?”
“Yes, Clarke and I are staying on. He has managed to get a woman who will come in every day so we shall be very comfortable—we shall be as happy as kings. All this has taken some arranging and was not accomplished without unpleasantness. I’m being terribly indiscreet but I’ve told you so much about it that you may as well know all.”
“But if she wanted to go—”
“She wanted me to go too,” explained Malcolm. “That was the rock upon which the whole scheme was very nearly wrecked. When she found I intended to stay on here alone with Clarke she was very angry. We had words over it,” said Malcolm smiling. “Quite a lot of words. When she discovered that no persuasions would avail she decided to cancel the flat and remain at Abbot’s End, a martyr to duty; but fortunately she has changed her mind and the flat has been taken. People like my stepmother are difficult to deal with because they will not say straight out what they think. I’ve been groping about in the dark—that’s what it feels like—and even now I’m still in the dark as to why she wants me to go to Edinburgh with her. Why on earth does she want me? We have nothing in common at all—absolutely nothing.”
Dinah had known this before.
“She doesn’t approve of me,” continued Malcolm. “She doesn’t understand my jokes; we don’t meet—I mean our minds don’t meet—anywhere. You would have thought she would be delighted to get away from me and lead her own life.”
“Are you sure it isn’t Miss Grover who wants you to go to Edinburgh?” asked Dinah impulsively.
He was silent for a few moments and Dinah wished her words unsaid, but when she glanced at him to see if he were annoyed she found he was smiling at her.
“Well!” he exclaimed. “What a clever girl you are! Why didn’t I think of that myself?”
Nothing more was said on the subject. Malcolm spoke of Dan, praising his keenness and saying that he was looking forward to having Dan in his business; and Dinah, delighted to hear nice things of her fellow-Dee, told Malcolm how interested Dan was in the art of paper-making.
“You know, Dinah, you’re rather a mysterious person,” said Malcolm suddenly. “I mean you talk so little about yourself and your own affairs. I’ve talked endlessly about my affairs and bored you with this foolish business of whether or not I shall go to Edinburgh, and we’ve talked about Dan and his affairs—it’s about time we talked about you. What do you do with yourself all day? I suppose you play golf?”
“No,” said Dinah, smiling. “No, I’m far too busy to play golf.”
“You’ve got a job?”
“Yes, a very important job. I’m trying to bring up my children properly. I’ve got four, you know.”
“Four children!” exclaimed Malcolm in amazement. “You mean—you mean children of your own!”
Dinah chuckled. “Of course, why shouldn’t I have children, Malcolm?”
“Four,” he repeated incredulously. “Four children! How did you find time? You’re only a child yourself . . . and why have I never seen them?”
“Because you only see me at night when they’re in bed.”
“It’s astonishing! I simply can’t believe it!”
Dinah was laughing heartily now; she couldn’t help it, for his amazement was comical in the extreme.
“I don’t believe it,” declared Malcolm looking at her and smiling. “You’re pulling my leg. Come on, now, Dinah—own up. It’s a joke, isn’t it?”
“It’s true—honestly—cross my heart, Malcolm.”
“But you never mention them!”
“No,” agreed Dinah mopping her eyes. “No, I try not to talk about them because people who talk about their children are such awful bores. Of course if you want to hear about them I can talk about them until the cows come home.”
But there was no time to talk about them now, for the boat was nearing the shore and Ben, tiller in hand, was edging his way carefully among the rocks to land Dinah in the usual place.
“You must tell me about them next time,” Malcolm said. “You will come out with me again, won’t you? Or perhaps you’re tired of sailing. Don’t come if you’d rather not.”
Dinah hesitated. She had decided not to go with him again, but he was so eager—and so diffident—that she had not the heart to refuse.
“If you really want me—” she began.
“Of course!” cried Malcolm. “When could you come? Just say what evening would suit you.”
“What about Friday?”
“Friday?” said Malcolm. “That’s a long way off, isn’t it? This is only Tuesday.”
“Friday would suit me best,” said Dinah firmly.
“Friday, then,” agreed Malcolm. “Friday suit you, Ben?”
“Friday’ll dae us fine. It’ll be the harbour, Mister Mawlcolm.”
Dinah landed as usual and, as usual, stood at the gate of Craigie Lodge and waved. It was darker to-night for the sky had clouded over and she could scarcely see the flicker of white which she knew to be Malcolm’s handkerchief. She went in and bolted the door and found the milk and biscuits which Nannie had left on the kitchen table.
It had been a memorable evening (the best of all, thought Dinah as she sipped her milk) and she was glad she was going again on Friday. Why shouldn’t she go? She enjoyed it and so did Malcolm. Malcolm was a lonely person. He wanted company, that was all. He was sensible and friendly—quite different from poor Tapioca. Malcolm could not spend his leisure playing golf or tennis as other men did, his only recreation was sailing . . . and surely it was right that she should give him what pleasure she could!
Nobody would think it odd if I played golf with him, said Dinah, arguing with an invisible critic. Everybody—even Nannie—would think it quite natural if we went out two or three times a week and had a round of golf, so what’s the difference? There’s no difference at all, added Dinah firmly, and so put the invisible critic in his place.
29
Dinah had promised to take the children to the Black Rocks, where the Dees had been stranded, and this seemed as good a day as any for the expedition. Margy was too young to go so she was left with Nannie, and the rest of the party set off in good order, the twins carrying the luncheon basket between them. Mr. Monk was sitting on the sands with his paper, he waved to them and they stopped to tell him where they were going.
It was on the tip of Dinah’s tongue to say, “Hallo, Mr. Monk!” but fortunately she remembered in time and changed her greeting in mid-air.
“Hallo, what a lovely morning!” Dinah said.
Mr. Monk agreed.
They dallied with him for a few moments and then walked on . . . but as Dinah followed the children across the bay she racked her brains in an effort to remember what his name really was. Had she heard it or not? Surely she must have heard it. Perhaps it was Yoker. If Pat were the son of Mr. Monk’s brother it would be Yoker, of course, but (equally of course) he might be the son of Mrs. Monk’s brother—or Mr. Monk’s sister—so one couldn’t be sure.
By this time the “Monks” were friends so it would be difficult to ask them straight out. One can say to an acquaintance, “By the way, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name,” but to say that to dear old Mr. Monk was unthinkable. He would be hurt. He would think her mad. She might say it to Mrs. Monk, of course, because Mrs. Monk got muddled about names herself (she often called Dinah Mrs. Bell and sometimes Mrs. Anderson) so she couldn’t really blame other people for having defective memories . . . but perhaps the best way would be to ask Nannie. Yes, Nannie would be sure to know.
“It’s a jelly-fish, don’t touch it!” exclaimed Dinah, who was so used to keeping a wary eye on the activities of her offspring that her eye did it instinctively even when her thoughts were otherwise engaged.
“Don’t touch it? Why not?” asked Nigel.
“Because it stings.”
Nigel drew back. “It doesn’t look as if it stung,” he objected.
“It doesn’t look as if it could do anything much,” added Mark.
“Why does it sting?” inquired Nigel. “I mean why did God give it a sting? Just to sting people with, or what?”
“Are there baby jelly-fishes?” asked Mark. “I mean how do they get born? How old do you think this jelly-fish would be?”
“Jelly-fish,” said Polly thoughtfully. “It’s like a jelly, but not like a fish. Isn’t it pretty with its purple middle? What does it eat, Mummy?”
Dinah tried to tell them about the peculiarities and the habits of jelly-fish, but once again she found her knowledge insufficient. She knew jelly-fish floated in the sea and could sting you very uncomfortably if you happened to meet them when you were bathing because experience had taught her that this was the case, but she had no idea why they had stings, nor what they ate, nor where they came from, nor how little jelly-fishes were born. Fortunately there were so many things to distract the children’s attention that they soon forgot about jelly-fish and the subject was dropped.
They crossed the bay and made their way round the bold headland of crumbling grey rock, scrambling over the stones and boulders which were strewn about its base. The boulders were of all sizes and shapes and (most curiously) of all colours . . . and Dinah as she looked at them wondered what explanation a geologist would give of their presence. She was interested too in the bright yellow lichen which grew upon the rocks which were not covered by water except at high tide. Two oyster-catchers were sitting together upon a ledge of rock, their bright yellow bills and pink legs were most effective with their beautiful black-and-white plumage. Nigel ran towards them and they rose and flew off with graceful sweeping wings.
There was no hurry of course—Dinah and the children had all morning and afternoon before them—so they stopped often, to wade in a tempting pool, to catch a crab hiding beneath the brown ribbon-like seaweed or to watch an anemone folding and unfolding its little red feelers in the clear water (Mark wanted to know if it were a baby octopus but his mother thought not). Presently they came to another bay, carpeted with coarse golden sand, beyond which the Black Rocks jutted out into the sea.
The tide being out it was easy to visit the spot where the Dees had fished so assiduously and Dinah, leading the way, was able to point out the very ledge upon which they had sat. Dinah was flattered and rather touched at the interest shown by the children in the location.
“It makes it real,” explained Mark, as he squatted on the ledge. “It’s like seeing John Silver’s galley in the Hispaniola. It’s like seeing Nana’s kennel or Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.”
Dinah took the point. She was not particularly anxious to see Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard—especially as it was bare—but she would have liked to take a little stroll round Highbury with Emma Woodhouse and visit Mrs. Bates.
There was a swell to-day; the waves came racing in, one after another, gurgling round the base of the hard, black rocks and swooshing into the caves and crevices.
“The waves are stroking the rocks,” said Polly thoughtfully. “They’re kind, gentle waves, aren’t they?”
“They are kind to-day,” agreed Dinah. “But you should see them in winter. The wind blows and the waves are rough, they break over the rocks and the white spray flies high in the air.”
“I wish it was rough to-day,” said Mark regretfully.
“Let’s go now,” said Polly. “We’ve seen the ledge and everything. The sea might come in and then we couldn’t get back—”
“The sea’s going out,” objected Nigel.
“But you never know. It might suddenly change its mind,” said Polly anxiously.
“It couldn’t,” Mark assured her. “Dan said the tide was fixed, just like night and day.”
“Silly Polly!” jeered Nigel. “You might just as well say we had better go straight home now in case it gets dark all of a sudden.”
“But it couldn’t because of the sun.”
“No, and the sea couldn’t either because of the moon.”
The boys wanted to have lunch on the rocks and wait until the tide came in, so that they would have to wade across to the mainland. Dinah sympathised with this very natural desire but she saw Polly would be miserable until the whole party was safely ashore. Polly distrusted the tide. It was all very well to say that its comings and goings were unalterably fixed, but how did Dan know?
“It isn’t only Dan,” declared Nigel. “Everybody knows except silly girls like you . . .”
“There’s a little spring on the mainland,” said Dinah. “The Dees used to fill their kettle and boil the water for tea. I wonder if we could find it.”
“Let’s try!” cried Mark, beginning to scramble over the rocks.
“Let’s try and find it ourselves!” cried Nigel springing up and bounding after Mark like a chamois.
“Wait!” shrieked Polly. “Wait for me. I want to help to find it.”
Dinah, following more slowly, marvelled at the ease with which one could manage children if one took the trouble to understand their mentality. Was it wrong to smooth their path? Would it be better for their characters to allow disagreements to boil up and bubble over? The day would come when they would have to go out into the world and stand upon their own feet with nobody to direct and guide them. She and Dan had never been controlled in this way. They had been told to do this, or not to do that and had been expected to comply with orders. In their relationship to one another they had needed no guidance, Dinah could not remember a single quarrel. Her own children were quite different. Unless one watched carefully, directing and controlling, they would spend their days arguing with one another . . . the boys were forever at loggerheads. But perhaps it would be better to let them fight and find their own level, perhaps it was spoiling them to make everything easy and pleasant. Dinah sighed. She tried so hard to do what was best, to bring up the children to be whole and sensible.
By this time she had reached the mainland and the children were busily searching for the spring. Dinah knew exactly where it was; she had not thought of the spring for years but its location was as clear in her memory as if she and Dan had been here yesterday. How odd that was, thought Dinah, how amazing that her brain had held this little piece of knowledge, and held it in secret for over ten years! She sat down upon the warm dry sand and watched the children searching . . . and when they began to tire she helped them by calling out “hot” or “cold.”
It was Polly who eventually found it, welling out of a crevice in the overhanging cliff. “Oh, look!” she cried. “Oh, look at it bubbling out of the ground like when Moses hit the rock . . . look, Mark! Look, Nigel!”
They stood and admired the spring for several minutes and on being assured that the water was pure, they cupped their hands and drank.
It was time for lunch now, so they sat down and opened the basket and spread out the ample meal which Nannie had provided . . . and as they ate they subjected their mother to a thorough examination on the subject of springs. Where did springs come from and why did that particular spring come out of the cliff at that particular place? And how was it that if the earth was full of fire—as Mark’s geography book had informed him—it was also full of water, and cold water at that?
Here was yet another way in which Dinah’s children differed from the Dees. The Dees had never pestered their elders with questions, had never (as far as Dinah could remember) been particularly anxious to know how the tides worked nor where springs came from nor why jelly-fish had stings. Was this because the Dees had been incurious by nature or because they had nobody to ask? For of course we had nobody to ask, thought Dinah as she doled out the sandwiches. Father was much too busy and it would have been no use asking Nannie anything like that. Nannie would have said, “Ask me another,” or “That’s the way God made it,” or something equally unsatisfying to an inquiring mind.
It was four o’clock before Dinah and the children got home. They were all tired with their long day in the open air and nobody wanted to go out after tea. They had settled down quietly to a game of Ludo in the drawing-room when Nannie appeared at the door.
“That’s a Miss Grover,” said Nannie.
“Miss Grover!” exclaimed Dinah.
“I put her in the dining-room.” said Nannie in conspiratorial tones. “I thought, maybe, you’d get rid of her easier.”
Nannie seemed to have got the right idea about Miss Grover, thought Dinah as she rose reluctantly and went downstairs to see what her visitor wanted.
“How d’you do,” said Miss Grover. “You left your handkerchief the night you came to dinner at Abbot’s End, so I’ve brought it to you.” She took a little handkerchief out of her bag as she spoke and handed it to Dinah. It was a green chiffon handkerchief with white spots.
“It’s very kind of you, but it isn’t mine,” said Dinah.
“Not yours!”
“No, I haven’t got a handkerchief like that—and even if I had I wouldn’t have worn it the night I dined at Abbot’s End.”
“What do you mean!” exclaimed Miss Grover in surprise.
“I was wearing a blue frock,” said Dinah, smiling.
Miss Grover folded the handkerchief carefully. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t remember what you were wearing.”
“Why should you remember?” asked Dinah. She had been watching Miss Grover closely and she felt sure that Miss Grover’s surprise was assumed. Miss Grover had known that the handkerchief did not belong to Dinah . . . was it her own? Had she made this an excuse for calling? It was not a very good excuse for it was now ten days since the famous dinner party at Abbot’s End. Miss Grover could have posted it. What was the real reason for her call? Dinah was annoyed—she hated subterfuge—she felt inclined to voice her suspicions, but she managed to resist the temptation.
During the pause which followed Miss Grover’s eyes roved round the room; they took in the old-fashioned furniture, the worn carpet, the pictures on the walls and finally came to rest on the bowl of sweet peas in the middle of the shining mahogany table. They were Malcolm’s flowers, of course, but Miss Grover couldn’t know that—or could she? Was it possible for her to recognise Abbot’s End sweet peas? The silence was prolonging itself unduly but Dinah was determined not to break it. Miss Grover had come to call with a definite purpose: let her proclaim it.
