Summer Pudding, page 8
“I don’t want to start new ways too soon, but I believe that no conversation leads to eating too fast, and that means indigestion later on.”
“Do you?” Gladys’ voice was quiet. “How interesting, but I think we won’t change my methods with Iris.”
Janet’s chin shot up, and a biting retort was on the tip of her tongue when she felt a kick on her ankle. She looked up, and Donald gave her a slight frown and a gentle shake of the head. If ever gestures said “For goodness’ sake be a pal and don’t stir up trouble,” his did. Once more Janet felt utterly at sea. How could a man be so rude and truculent with you one minute, and in the next take you so into his confidence! His look won her; it was a hard struggle, but she let Gladys’ statement pass in silence.
The rest of the meal there was spasmodic conversation, mostly about farm and local matters, each topic started by Gladys and chosen to make Janet feel a stranger. When the suet and fruit pudding arrived there was a further small argument, but Janet had no share in it. Donald, having helped Iris, picked up the sugar-bowl and shook a heaped spoon on to her plate.
“Do be careful, Donald,” Gladys said. “ Iris doesn’t need all that; sugar in this house should be kept for you. You’re the heavy worker.”
“Oh!” thought Janet. “So that’s what the sugar’s saved for!”
Donald was annoyed, but he almost hid it.
“Nonsense, children come first, don’t they, Iris?”
Iris looked anxiously out of the corners of her eyes at Gladys. “It’s on my plate now, I can’t scrape it off.”
Donald was back at the pudding; he pushed the spoon into it savagely.
“Once and for all I will not eat more than my share of anything. If there is anything extra in this house, it’s for Iris, and if we’ve anything to spare it’s to be given away to children. What are we fighting for except the children; it’s their future which is the stake.”
“You are the man who grows the food, your strength needs keeping up.”
Donald’s voice showed the edge of anger.
“My dear Gladys, must we go through all this in front of Janet! She can see I’m not wasting away; you’ll embarrass the poor girl so that she’ll eat her pudding unsweetened.”
Gladys set her mouth and said no more. Janet thought of her wonderingly. She did not know much about men, but she would have thought that Donald was the last sort of man to like being fussed over, or did all men? Perhaps he was only, pretending he didn’t because she was there. Well, Gladys was in love with him, she ought to know.
The telephone rang just as they finished eating. Donald answered it; he came back and grinned at Iris.
“It’s Barbara, she’s asked you to tea.” He glanced over to Janet. “She met Sheila this morning and heard you were here; the invitation is for you too. I said I thought you could go. Is that all right? We look on Barbara as almost a relation, and Iris likes being with her; she hasn’t been able to go there much for we’ve had no one to send, for, of course, Gladys is usually busy.”
“I’ll be delighted.” Janet remembered the kick and turned to Gladys with what she hoped was the perfect manner. “If it’s all right with you, Miss Batten.”
Evidently what took Janet and Iris away from the house was more than all right with Gladys; her tone was graciousness itself.
“I don’t mind at all, it’s good for Iris to see more people.”
While Iris was resting, Janet, who had no wish for a tête-à-tête with Gladys, walked through the yard and out through the back gate to a lane. Across the lane was another gate, and inside it Donald was discussing something with one of his men. The last thing Janet wanted was to be seen loitering about the farm, so she made a pretence of glancing round to get her bearings, then turned and hurried back the way she had come. She had not taken many steps when she heard Donald call her.
“Janet! Janet!” She stopped. His manner was awkward and abrupt. “I say, you were a sport to shut up when I kicked you. Gladys is simply splendid, but she’s not very good with a child. I want you to change things and all that, but for goodness’ sake avoid a rumpus; if you think that something different has got to be done give me warning and I’ll back you, but easy does it. Got it?”
She nodded. Then, as embarrassed as he, for to reopen the subject of money was horrifying to her, she blurted out:
“I’ll need some money, Iris has no books or anything.”
“Right, leave a chit on my desk saying how much and I’ll have it ready for you in the morning.”
Janet walked across the yard in a daze. “What a man!” she thought. “So mean one minute and so nice the next. Will I ever understand him?”
Janet and Iris walked to the Haines’. Gladys had laid out on Iris’ bed the clothes into which the child was to change, and Janet, with Donald’s words in her ears, had put them on her without protest. Not that she did not protest internally, she did; she thought it an insufferable position, to be only partly in charge, and for the rest under Gladys’ orders. The clothes, in her opinion, were unsuitable for going out to tea in the country, and she marvelled that Gladys, who looked so soignée herself, could have selected them. There was a fussy organdie frock over a silk slip, silk socks, white shoes and a hat trimmed with ribbons. Iris was delighted to dress up. She pirouetted round the room, and then held out her skirt and danced a few steps.
“I feel like Cinderella when I put this on. I should think she wore something very like this to go to the ball, wouldn’t you?”
Janet’s mind was on the dancing steps and pirouettes.
“Have you been to a dancing class?”
Iris pirouetted again.
“Not since Mummy died; she taught me. Every day we practised since I was three. ’Course when I was very little I just did a polka, but at my last lessons I was doing real exercises.”
It was lovely out. Janet was almost dazzled by the intense green of the fields, and fascinated as the wind ruffled the surface, and shadow and sunlight made an ever-changing picture. To her town eye Donald’s fields were just grass, but Iris put her wise.
“Daddy’s got strong wheat, hasn’t he?”
“Has he?” Janet studied the young green on her left. Then she looked to the right and, not wishing to seem ignorant, said admiringly, “Magnificent wheat.”
Iris pealed with laughter.
“That isn’t wheat, that’s oats.”
Janet could see no difference whatsoever, stare as she would. There were fields of corn on each side of the path. When they came level with the second fields, Iris, enchanted to show off, called out:
“What’s that, Janet? What’s that?”
Janet stared blankly at two more fields of incredibly brilliant green. The obvious answer was grass, but that plainly was wrong.
“Corn?”
“’Course. What sort?”
Janet gave in.
“I haven’t the faintest idea, I’m a silly Londoner, you’ll have to teach me.”
Iris flung herself at her.
“You’re not, you couldn’t be silly. I’ll teach you what everything is.” She lowered her voice. “Should you think, as we’re out of sight of the house, I could take off my hat?” It was on the tip of Janet’s tongue to say, “Of course, take the wretched thing off,” but she stopped herself just in time. She was for a moment outside herself, and saw, not the Janet Brain that had so far existed, but the new Janet Brain, governess to a child. A person whose least word and action were important because they could influence the moulding of a character. If she said, “Yes, take the wretched thing off,” it was established in Iris’ mind that she approved of the principle of doing things behind a person’s back that you would not do to their face. The moment when she saw herself objectively passed in a flash, but her temporary clearness of vision left a thought on which she brooded for the rest of the walk. She took off the hat, merely saying, “You need never have worn it if you’d asked me when I was dressing you.”
“My goodness me, you don’t know how fussy Gladys is about going out to tea.” Janet said nothing. After a moment Iris shook her arm. “Did you hear what I was saying?”
Janet blinked.
“Not a word. Hop along, darling, I’m thinking something important.”
Iris entirely understood.
“I won’t say another word, I’ll sing instead.”
The Haines’ house would always be beautiful, but it was essentially a house to enchant on a summer day. The high wall and iron gates, which Janet had seen on her drive through the village, hid much of the charm of the place. Now, as she and Iris passed inside, she found it was like moving into another generation. The garden wall was old, and had wallflowers and stone-crops in its crevasses. There was a small lawn of the velvet quality, which can only come with age and loving care. There were old-fashioned flowers in the long beds under the windows. Pinks, stocks, forget-me-nots, and more wallflowers.
Barbara had seen them coming; she threw the front door open and Iris tore to meet her.
“Hullo, darling!” Barbara hugged her. “Your overall’s on my bed; for goodness’ sake hang that frock up carefully!” She turned apologetically to Janet. “How do you do! I’m so sorry, you must think me awfully interfering, but Gladys always makes Iris so grand to come here, I make her take her clothes straight off and put on an overall, or else we can’t play at anything for fear of getting her messed up.”
Janet watched Iris disappear into the house.
“I’m thankful. It’s an idiotic way to dress a child, I think.”
“Oh, well, it pleases Gladys, and Iris adores it, and nobody’s any the worse. She doesn’t really like children, so she tries much harder with Iris than she needs to.” Barbara linked her arm through Janet’s. “Come and meet Daddy.”
The colonel was in the garden on the other side of the house. Barbara led the way through the hall and drawing-room, and out through the french windows. Janet had a fleeting impression of oak and what appeared to be family portraits, and a long, low, white drawing-room with leaf-green curtains and chair covers, and great bowls of flowers everywhere.
The colonel was bent over a border. He had a thin, intelligent face, iron-grey hair, and an air of distinction. He did not look up as the girls came towards him, but he evidently heard footsteps.
“Come here, Barbara. Look at that lupin, some damn thing’s been at it.”
“Well, leave it a minute, this is Janet Brain.”
The colonel straightened himself and Janet found he was over six foot. He held out his hand, and gave her a searching glance accompanied by a most charming smile.
“I beg your pardon, my dear, I thought Barbara was alone. So, you’re the friend she made on the train!”
Janet was not used to meeting colonels, in fact she could not remember meeting one before, but she felt entirely at ease with him.
“Wasn’t it queer we found we were going to the same place!”
“Very glad of it. Hope you two girls will be friends. Bit lonely for Barbara trading round after her old father. I’ve been laid up, you know, Miss Brain, can’t get used to bein’ an invalid. Never had a day’s illness in my life.”
“He’s worse than a child,” said Barbara. She pointed to a deck chair. “And where are you supposed to be now? Kennel, sir!”
The colonel smiled at Janet.
“You see, treats me like a dog!” He walked slowly towards his chair. “Do I hear you’re bear-leadin’ young Iris?”
“Unless she bear-leads me.”
“Shouldn’t wonder at that either. Her mother was a looker, with a will of her own, the child takes after her. We don’t see much of Sheldon these days; these farmers are busy, you know. Young Dick was our pal, and gave us all the news, didn’t he, Barbara? You haven’t met him, of course, he’s overseas.”
“No, I’ve heard of him.”
Barbara pushed her father into his chair, and put a cushion behind his back. She looked in a puzzled way at Janet.
“Funny, I thought you knew him, I can’t think why.”
The colonel glared at his daughter.
“Take that damn cushion away. How often am I to tell you that I’ll rest if I must, but I won’t be poodled about. Talkin’ of dogs, where’s Hoover? You better go and have a look, Barbara; if that blasted dog is diggin’ up my seeds I’ll have the hide off him.”
Iris, dressed in a striped linen overall, came bounding out of the house. The colonel held out a hand. “Hullo, twopence!”
Iris hugged him.
“How’s your poor ulcer?”
“Tiresome; you don’t know how much milk I’m made to drink. Shockin’ stuff!”
Iris leant affectionately against him.
“When you’ve had your rest would you like me to help you move the flags on your maps? Last time we did that you drank a whole glass and never noticed.”
Barbara touched Janet. She spoke in a whisper.
“Come and help me find Hoover. Those two will be perfectly happy together.”
Almost the entire garden, and it was far larger than it looked, was given up to vegetables. Barbara led the way and talked to Janet over her shoulder.
“Daddy simply adores Iris, he thinks she’s so intelligent.”
“So she is. What was her mother like, not in face, I mean, but as a person?”
“Oh, she was lovely! She had been a dancer . . .”
“A dancer! Then that explains Iris. She danced when I put her frock on this afternoon, and I thought she put more to it than you’d expect from an ordinary child.”
“Anna, that was her mother’s name, was more than a dancer, she had trained for the ballet since she was a child, and she danced for some seasons with the Russians, and had travelled everywhere, but what she wanted to do was design, scenery and everything.”
“Fancy her marrying a farmer!”
Barbara stopped to examine some tomato plants. “Donald met her in London and they fell in love with each other. I don’t think she ever thought about how it would be living on a farm. You wouldn’t, if you were in love, would you?”
“No, I suppose not, but it must have been difficult to throw everything up like that.”
“You’ve never been in love,” said Barbara decidedly. “If you’re in love you don’t care where you live, or what you have to live on, it’s just being with the one person that matters . . .” She broke off, conscious she was showing more of herself than she intended. “At least, that’s what I should think.”
“I’ve never been in love,” Janet admitted, “so I wouldn’t know. And she was quite happy on her farm?”
Barbara was a little reluctant to continue her story.
“To begin with she was, but at the end she missed things awfully, I think. It was partly her illness, perhaps, it was tuberculosis; it seems to make you awfully gay and alive in between bring very ill.”
“Did Mr. Sheldon know she was missing things?”
Barbara stood still, then turned impulsively.
“I’ll tell you something I’ve not talked about to anybody, not even to Dick, that’s Donald’s half-brother. I think he did. I think he knew that even if she hadn’t died she wasn’t going to be happy. Of course Iris was an interest, but . . .” Her voice trailed away, then she added vigorously: “That’s where Gladys came in. She came when Anna was ill, and she did everything for her and was supposed to be marvellous to her and all that, but I don’t believe she was more marvellous than anybody else would have been, anyway not so marvellous that Donald need feel he’s got to marry her.”
“She’s in love with him.”
“I suppose she is, but as I told you in the train, I don’t like her, and I’m mean about her.” Shrill, excited barks came from the end of the garden. “There’s Hoover, come on.”
Hoover was a dachshund, orange brown, thin and long as a walking-stick, and shiny as a seal. He had decided that something that would be better dead had taken refuge under a marrow bed, and he had set out on an excavation scheme on a vast scale. Only the back half of him was visible. Barbara clutched at it, and brought out the earthy, wriggling, barking front end. She held the dog in her arms and introduced him to Janet.
“Hoover, Janet. Janet, Hoover.” Hoover licked her face. “You dirty boy, look at the earth on your nose. Let Mother brush you!”
“Isn’t he heavenly!”
“You ought to talk about him to Donald. He doesn’t think a dog’s a dog at all unless it’s useful, looking after sheep, or for shooting or something. You are the most exquisite beast, aren’t you, my sweet, but I couldn’t pretend you are useful. Come on!” She put Hoover down. “Walk quietly back to the house and try and pretend you’ve been good.”
They had tea on the lawn. It was served by an elderly, old-fashioned-looking parlour-maid. She put a silver tray, with a silver tea-pot, kettle and jugs, and frail, lovely china, in front of Barbara. To Janet both the parlour-maid and the tea-service showed a new world. The colonel saw from her face that something had pleased her.
“Wonderin’ at our luck, my dear? They tell me servants are gettin’ scarce these days, but old Miller has been with me nearly thirty years, so’s the cook, and they were no chickens when they came.”
Barbara handed Janet a cup of tea.
“Miller and the cook came when Daddy was married, but Jennings, the housemaid, only came when I was little, that’s about eighteen years ago, but she’s still spoken of as ‘the new girl’ by the other two.”
The colonel offered Janet a sandwich.
“Mincin’, the cook, is quite a character; you must have a talk with her sometime.”
Barbara got up to put a mug of milk beside Iris’ plate.
“She and Daddy see spooks together.”
“Ladies and gentlemen in lovely clothes,” said Iris.
Janet turned to the colonel expecting to see a twinkle in his eye, but he answered perfectly seriously.
“Barbara laughs at us, but it’s true enough. I don’t see them like Mincing does, but I hear them, and I know when they’re about. They’re particularly fond of the back stairs and the servants’ rooms; I said to Mincing one day, ‘There’s a lot of these people about, aren’t there, Mincin’?’ and she said, ‘Yes indeed, sir, I had to undress last night with the light out because of the gentlemen in the room.’”
