Dorothy Eden (59 page)

‘That would be telling secrets. And it’s silly to do that, isn’t it?’

‘That would depend whether they are guilty ones or not.’

‘Most people’s are guilty, aren’t they? You ask anyone in this house what their secret is. I’ll bet you’ll find they’ve all got one.’ Again there was that disconcerting shrewdness in Prissie’s eyes. Then excitement seemed to bubble over inside her. ‘Life’s so
interesting,
isn’t it?’ she said.

At least wondering about Prissie’s own secret, real or imaginary, innocent or guilty, took Brigit’s mind off herself. So the funny little creature was performing an indirect service. A psychologist would explain that, after her difficult and lonely childhood, Prissie’s stories of past grandeur were simply a defence. She had probably come to actually believe in them because they boosted her morale. On the other hand there was the fact that she possessed natural grace and self-confidence, two attributes that were more likely to come from heredity than from her makeshift upbringing.

No doubt she would one day decide she liked and trusted Brigit enough to tell her the truth. In the meantime, let her enjoy the now somewhat shabby luxury of the Montpelier Square house, and pretend, if she liked, that it all belonged to her. Because that, obviously, was what she was doing. The loss of the little gold angel, particularly, had become to Prissie a personal loss. What a complex little person she was. And would other things, if she were threatened with their loss, grieve her as much? The children, for instance? Was she growing to think of them as hers? And yesterday when she had come in happy and bright-cheeked after meeting Fergus. Was her nature too possessive? Did she unconsciously imagine that everything she cared for or admired should become hers?

But it was foolish to think that way. She must think how lucky she was to have Prissie to care for the children so competently and lovingly. They might have been at the mercy of some thin-lipped dragon. And it wasn’t going to be for long. Everyone said so. Soon she would walk again.

Fergus echoed that thought when he came in to say goodbye. He held her closely and reiterated, ‘You’ll be all right while I’m away? You’ve got Nurse Ellen. She tells me that burglars will have to get in here across her dead body.’

Brigit laughed. ‘I’m not frightened of burglars.’

If only that were all there were of which to be afraid! They could have the entire contents of the house if they wished. They could even take away this bed in which she lay like a princess, if only in return she would regain the use of her legs.

The doctor had said she must relax. Relax and don’t worry. That was so essential.

Fergus kissed her again. ‘Darling—don’t hate being here too much.’

So he knew she hated it. Of course he would know. He hated it, too, hated taking favours from her family. If it came to that it was her family who was to blame for the whole thing. If Uncle Saunders hadn’t made that intolerable remark about Prissie and Fergus she would not have left the house in a temper and ridden Polly. She would not have had that fall and lost the baby. But Fergus didn’t care about the baby. He had said so. Perhaps he really was glad. Perhaps it had been a shock to him to hear her news that day he had brought Prissie home.

Now his fingers were smoothing the frown from her forehead.

‘Biddy—relax. Nothing will happen while I’m away.’

Then he was gone, and it seemed as if a brightness and optimism had gone out of the room.

Nurse Ellen came in and glanced at her.

‘Now, none of that down-in-the-mouth business. Sure, I know your husband’s a dream, and every pretty girl would try to grab him as soon as look at him. But we haven’t time to worry about that now. We’ve got a busy time while he’s away.’

‘Me busy!’ Brigit said bitterly.

‘Indeed you are going to be. I have a Routine, and it’s going to keep you fully occupied. First, massage.’ She whipped back the blankets expertly. ‘I won’t say you’ve got Dietrich’s legs, ducky, but they don’t miss by much.’

‘Are they—starting to waste?’

‘Waste, my foot! They’re merely the laziest pair of legs I’ve ever been privileged to see. We’ve got to get them working so they can chase off all the pretty girls. My, fancy that being a real burglar last night. I’d have passed out if I’d known. Mrs Hatchett won’t believe it yet, you know. She’s going round like Macbeth muttering “Doomed for a thousand years to walk this earth”.’

‘That was Hamlet’s father,’ Brigit corrected.

‘Was it, ducky? Well, it’s all one now, isn’t it?’

Nurse Ellen’s face was rather like a sun, a pale London sun shining through mist, as a reminder that there was still warmth and brightness in the world. Brigit tried to respond to her determined cheerfulness.

‘Where are the children?’ she asked.

‘Prissie has taken them over to Harrods to shop. Nicky has to have a new coat, and I think Mrs Templer said something about dresses and shoes for Sarah.’

Brigit started up, her face full of distress.

‘Oh, how dare she! I clothe my own children. Sarah’s dresses are perfectly all right.’

‘Well, I expect you’ll get the bill, ducky.’

‘No, I won’t. That’s just the trouble. It will be one more obligation I have to this horrible family of mine.’

‘I think your Aunt Annabel is rather a pet,’ Nurse Ellen said mildly. ‘Just like a nice pussy cat. No claws.’

‘Oh, yes, she’s all right, but it isn’t her money. It’s Templar money she’s spending. You can’t say Uncle Saunders is a pet.’

‘He likes to make himself heard, certainly. It’s like living on top of the underground the moment he comes in the house. A constant noise and vibration. And he’s a bit free with—’

‘Yes?’ said Brigit, as Nurse Ellen hesitated.

‘Well, I guess I can cope with silly old men who like to pinch. My, I wouldn’t have qualms about taking his money. Anyway, Nicky has to have a coat, doesn’t he, since his own is missing. Do you know, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard of burglars having children. Makes them quite human, doesn’t it? One rather hopes he won’t be caught, the poor little blighter.’

It did seem a pity to grudge the children their pleasure, even if it were Uncle Saunders’s money they were spending. And Prissie’s pleasure, too, for the three of them came in later laden with parcels and full of excitement. More accurately, Prissie and small Sarah, who was being a horse, radiated excitement. Nicky, as usual lately, was too silent, and had that pinched look in his face.

‘We’ve had such fun!’ said Prissie, with her way of speaking in italics when she was excited. ‘Come, children, show your mother your new things. Sarah, I might say, would have given her eyes for a ballet dress, the sweetest thing in pale-pink tulle. She ought to have dancing lessons, you know, she’s crazy about dancing.’

‘I don’t know where she gets it from,’ Brigit said matter-of-factly. ‘You didn’t buy her the dress, I imagine?’

‘Oh no, of course not. I was quite sensible. Although I had hard work not to be. The lovely things in that shop.’

Sarah galloped round the bed, shaking her fair head until she almost lost her balance, then rubbing it affectionately against Brigit’s hand.

‘Nice horsey, nice horsey,’ she said winningly.

‘Oh, she saw the horse-guards go past,’ Prissie explained. ‘Really, we’ve had the most exciting time. Haven’t we, Nicky? Come and show mummy your new coat, darling.’

Nicky, being spoken to, came forward slowly. He was wearing the new coat, a well-cut tweed that gave his little figure a poignantly mature look.

‘Oh, that’s very nice,’ Brigit said with genuine pleasure. ‘Just what I would have chosen for him. Don’t you like it, Nicky?’

Nicky nodded. Then suddenly, as if he were driven to, he burst out, ‘Clementine had a new dress, too.’

‘Clementine! You mean—’

Prissie frowned a little and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, he will persist with this make-believe of his. And after us burning that cute little doll, too.’

‘You mean he’s still turning her into a little girl that goes around with you?’

‘All the time.’ Prissie shrugged good-naturedly. ‘I suppose children do that sort of thing. Look at Sarah, she’s a different animal every day. Yesterday she was carrying sticks in her mouth because she saw a spaniel doing it, today it’s a horse. I’ll have her galloping about until bedtime.’

Brigit took Nicky’s hand and drew him near. ‘Nicky, darling. This Clementine. Where does she live?’

Nicky hesitated. He gave Prissie a quick glance. ‘In the cupboard in the nursery,’ he said. ‘At least I think so.’

‘But, darling, no little girl could live in a cupboard. She would have to eat and have a bed to sleep in. There was that doll who lived in the cupboard, but we burnt her yesterday, don’t you remember?’

Nicky’s eyes were too big, their pupils enlarged in a strained and worrying way.

‘She’s still there, mummy. She cackles in the night.’

All at once for no reason at all, a swift feeling of premonition, of apprehension, of fear—what was it, this cold airy feeling that came from nowhere—stabbed Brigit. The cackling voice—she had heard it, too. From the fireplace, where the pedlar doll had been burnt, in the dark and quiet of the night.
‘You’ll never walk again!’
What was it? Were she and Nicky under some spell?

‘Oh, darling, you only dream that,’ she said swiftly. ‘I have funny dreams, too, but they’re only dreams.’

‘She pinches me,’ said Nicky, rubbing his arm reminiscently.

Prissie said softly, ‘You see? Something’s got into him. I don’t know whether he’s being deliberately contrary, or whether he really believes there is this peculiar person. It was my fault in the beginning for my habit of going round singing. “Darling Clementine” has always been a favourite song of mine.’ She sang it lightly and gaily, looking at Nicky for approval. ‘But I shouldn’t have called that nasty doll Clementine on the spur of the moment. The name seems to have become associated in his mind with bad dreams and horrid things.’

‘He’s always had too much imagination,’ Brigit said. ‘Has he been having nightmares?’

Prissie put her hand protectingly on Nicky’s shoulder.

‘Only little ones. Haven’t you, sweet?’

Brigit was worried. This thing of Nicky’s seemed to be becoming an obsession.

‘Tell me, darling, if Clementine was getting new clothes, too, this morning, what did she get?’

Nicky frowned with thought.

‘A blue dress with a velvet collar. Red shoes.’

Prissie whipped open one of the packages, and spread a miniature blue dress with a velvet collar and buttons on the bed.

‘You see, he does have imagination, but not enough to make Clementine’s dress even a different colour. This is Sarah’s new dress. And her red shoes, too. She longed for them to be red. I hope you don’t mind, Mrs Gaye.’

‘Not a bit. Red shoes are pretty. Sarah will adore them. But, Prissie, before you shop for the children again please tell me.’

Prissie’s eyes flew wide open.

‘Of course, Mrs Gaye. But I thought you knew. Mrs Templar said.’

‘Oh, I know Aunt Annabel thought they were shabby, and I know Nicky’s coat disappeared. No doubt Aunt Annabel meant it as a wonderful surprise.’ Brigit closed her eyes a moment. Her head had begun to ache and she felt exhausted. ‘But they’re still my children, Prissie. I like to be told what is happening. I even have pride about buying and paying for their clothes myself.’

‘Of course, Mrs Gaye.’ Prissie’s voice was warm and understanding. ‘I should have thought. I just get carried away with enthusiasm.’

She really was only a child herself, full of her vivacity and thoughtlessness. Brigit said wearily, ‘And, Prissie. You still call me Mrs Gaye. You don’t call my husband Mr Gaye or Squadron Leader.’

The colour mounted charmingly in Prissie’s imp-like face.

‘I suppose it’s because I’ve known him longer, working with him and so on. But somehow it hasn’t seemed right to call you anything but Mrs Gaye.’

‘We’re friends, aren’t we?’

‘Oh, of course!’ Again came her warm rejoinder. ‘It’s just terribly sweet of you. I can’t tell you how grateful to you I am for being here, in this lovely house’

‘My accident was lucky for you.’

‘Oh, no, Mrs Gaye! I didn’t mean that at all. I just mean your making me a friend and letting me have the children, just as if I were their mother. People in the street look at me and say, “Isn’t she young to have two such beautiful children!”’ Prissie laughed in pleased reminiscence. ‘It’s not fair being happy while you lie there helpless, but I can’t help it. I just can’t.’

Brigit could not help being carried away by her youthful enthusiasm. ‘Go on being happy. It’s nice.’

It was only later that she thought of Prissie’s innocent remarks about her pleasure in being mistaken for the children’s mother, about the friendly way in which she called Fergus by his name, while she kept Brigit at arm’s length, and about the way she danced confidently about the house as if she belonged there. Was possessiveness Prissie’s one failing? Or was her own sick mind placing undue emphasis on these things?

The one thing that did emerge from that visit to her room was her uneasiness about Nicky. Why did he have this strange obsession about a child called Clementine?

It was Prissie’s afternoon off that day, and she seemed particularly eager to get away to visit her aunt in Putney. She came flying in to say good-bye to Brigit.

‘Mrs Templer is taking the children in the park,’ she said. ‘They might track down that starved cat, she says. So if Nicky has his face scratched again you’ll know what’s done it this time. I’ll be back in time to put them to bed. Aunt Maud does enjoy my visits, and what she’ll say when she hears about the burglar last night, I can’t think. I was so terrified I was shaking. Fergus had to tell me not to be silly. Good-bye, Mrs Gaye.’

Fergus… Mrs Gaye… Was the distinction deliberate? But Prissie was such an alive pretty little figure in her cherry hat and coat that one couldn’t really accuse her of these subtleties.

After Aunt Annabel, wrapped in her grey furs, had taken the children off, chattering all the way about ‘that sweet little pussy striped just like your Uncle Saunders’s new tie’, Brigit looked at Nurse Ellen, and Nurse Ellen nodded and said: