Authors: Juliet Armstrong
CHAPTER
TWO
Luckily Roland h
ad the tact not to hang about for an introduction. He swung Catherine
’
s suitcase over the side of the car without stopping the engine, and with a crisp
“
Good evening
”
to both women drove off again.
“
You are Miss Emberley, I take it. I am Mrs. Hosbank.
”
Matron
’
s voice was cool.
“
Did you never get my letter, explaining the arrangements we were making to have you met at Great Garsford? Mr. Barbin arrived at the station barely two minutes after the train came in, and finding you were not there, telephoned to say so. He has just been up to ask if we would like him to meet the next
train. I said I should be most grateful, but I shall have to get hold of him now, somehow or other, and tell him not to bother.
”
“
I
’
m extremely sorry to have caused all this trouble.
”
There was no mistaking the sincerity of Catherine
’
s expression, as she looked at Matron with those frank grey eyes of hers.
“
There has been a real muddle. I left the station with the wrong man.
”
“
There! I thought afterwards that I ought to have given you Mr. Barbin
’
s name.
”
Matron sounded slightly mollified.
“
Still I can
’
t understand how you could have mistaken that sleek young man for a market-gardener, or that smart little racing car as a receptacle for vegetables—nor, indeed, why you have been so long on the road.
”
“
It
’
s much more complicated than that,
”
Catherine began, in a worried sort of way; but her explanations were cut short by Matron who said suddenly, with a smile which lit up her plain face:
“
We
’
ll hear all that later, when you are less tired. Unless I
’
m very much at fault, you
’
re just longing for a cup of tea.
”
Relieved at this kindliness, Catherine smiled back at the older woman.
“
I certainly am. But it
’
s too much to expect, after all the commotion I
’
ve caused.
”
“
Nonsense. The tray
’
s waiting for you in my little office.
”
And she led Catherine into the house. It had the same air of plain comfort within as without, and there were many sighs that it was occupied by children. On the chest inside the hall, a skipping
-
rope and a battered doll had been flung down by some small, impatient person,
w
hile near by a wooden horse waited for its owner. Farther on, round a corner, were a number of, pegs of various heights on which raincoats hung, and beneath them, in neat rows, stood Wellingtons of every size. But not a sound was to be heard save, in the distance, the labored strains of
The Merry Peasant
on a slightly out-of-tune piano, and farther away still, the faint clatter of pots and pans.
Where were the children, she wondered. And, as if in answer to that question, Matron brought her to the end of a passage, and opened a door which led on to a large garden.
No silence now, but children
’
s cries and laughter. About a dozen of them were playing out here, the bigger ones chasing each other over the lawn, dodging behind the fine old trees, the babies playing happily in a sand pit.
“
They
’
re not all here. Some of the middle-sized ones have gone to their Brownies
’
meeting, in the village,
”
Matron told her. Then, opening a door at right angles to the other, she took her into a small, homely room, with windows overlooking the garden, where a dainty tea-tray was set out, and switching on an electric kettle brewed a pot of tea.
“
I
’
m glad the children join in outside things like Guides and Brownies,
”
Catherine said impulsively, as she watched her hostess move deftly about the tiny room.
“
I—I knew they weren
’
t put into uniform these days, or dragooned and disciplined the way they used to be; but I didn
’
t realize they would mix up freely with the other village children.
”
“
It wo
u
ld be most unfair if
they didn
’
t,
”
Matron returned stoutly.
“
They go to the village school, like all the others; dress, as you can see from here, just in the same way. They accept invitations to go out to tea, and ask their friends back, exactly as other children do. And why shouldn
’
t they?
”
She paused.
“
The only difference between them and the children outside is that each one has come here with a burden of sorrow—a burden which, little by little, we try to shift from their shoulders.
”
Then, filling the teapot and putting it in front of Catherine, she asked abruptly:
“
What made you think of taking up this work?
”
“
A friend of a friend of mine was doing it, and it struck me as splendidly worth while—mothering children who need love and affection so badly.
”
Catherine
’
s pale cheeks flushed as she spoke, and her grey eyes were eager.
“
I realize that lots of girls can
’
t expect to marry, and that I
’
m not likely to do so myself. And it seems so much more sensible to give one
’
s affection where it
’
s urgently needed, than to let oneself shrivel into a dried-up spinster.
”
“
I don
’
t know why you, imagine you
’
ll never marry,
”
Matron was eyeing her, not with sympathy, but with slight incredulity.
Catherine shrugged her shoulders.
“
I
’
ve never been much of a success with men,
”
she said shortly.
“
I get on far better with children.
”
“
M
’
m.
”
Matron
’
s expression bordered now on the skeptical.
“
My own comment on that is that our embryo foster-mothers don
’
t usually make such a dramatic arrival—in such dashing company. Nor should we like it very much if they did.
”
“
I assure you that was purely accidental.
”
Catherine was a trifle flustered by Matron
’
s irony.
“
Well, never mind.
”
Matron
’
s smile was kindly again.
“
We
’
ll hear about all that later on, when there
’
s more time. Finish your tea, and then, if you
’
re not too weary, find your way to the bathroom. It
will be time by then to get the tinies to bed.
”
Catherine finished her tea with mixed feelings. She had been accused of many failings in her twenty
-
seven years, but of flightiness, never. She ought, she supposed, to be up in arms at the faint hint of censure in Matron
’
s tone. So she was, in a way. Yet there was something queerly reassuring in this older woman
’
s attitude. Here was someone, at least, who did not regard her as a
“
born spinster,
”
completely deficient in ordinary feminine attraction, but as a perfectly ordinary girl, who might occasionally need a slight reminder as to the necessity of the strictest discretion in the work she was undertaking. Her implied rebuke was far more bearable than the half
-
contemptuous pity which she had invariably received at Marion
’
s hands.
Nothing, of course, could be more fantastic than the supposition that she had the faintest interest in Roland Alldyke. He had been a raft to cling to, in an awkward situation, but she had not the least desire ever to set eyes on him again, Nor, indeed, she told herself firmly, did she wish to
have anything more to do with Andrew Playdle. She had thought him attractive at first, certainly, in spite of his slightly sardonic manner; but his sudden expression of distaste when he learned of her connection with the Children
’
s Home—that was something she would never be able to forget. People who had no room in their hearts for children, especially children whose lives had been darkened by sorrow and suffering, were not worth bothering about. No other quality could make up for that fundamental lack of sympathy, that cold selfishness.
Try as she might she could not conquer completely the sense of resentment and hurt, which came to her as she recalled that sharp drop in the atmosphere as she made clear her true destination.
It had not only aroused her keen indignation, but had wounded her to the quick. However
,
a few minutes later when, dressed in a workmanlike
overall, she made her way to the bathroom she forgot all about Andrew Playdle and his sudden unfriendliness.
It was a big room, with two large baths in it, and amid squeals of joy and excitement half a dozen toddlers were being well and truly tubbed. Matron was presiding at one bath, and a big, high-complexioned girl with light, gingery hair at the other, and as soon as Catherine entered Matron got up from her low stool and performed the necessary introductions.
“
Miss Emberley, this is Miss Dewney, whom you will be helping. Those shrimps over there are Jackie, Georgie and Bob, and my three are Jennifer, Rose and Susan. If you
’
ll take over this lot, I
’
ll collect some of the others.
”
Feeling very much at home, for bathing Pat and Pamela had been her daily task for many years, Catherine took Matron
’
s place on the low stool. And as she set to work with sponge and face flannel—making a game of it, as she had always done with her small niece and nephew—she knew that she had been right to take up work which brought her in contact with children.
She had hated leaving Pam and Pat, when it came to the point; she had grown so fond of them, and they of her. Had she taken on a job where there were no children, she would have missed them intolerably. They had been so sweet and affectionate, so full of fun and high spirits,
that life at the Vicarage, which might have been so dull, had been rendered singularly pleasant by their presence. It had been impossible, in their company, to feel discontented with her lot, or aggrieved at Marion
’
s
utter lack of appreciation of all she was doing for her offspring.
“
You
’
d better hurry those children up a bit, or you
’
ll never get through.
”
Miss Dewney
’
s somewhat peremptory voice broke into her thoughts.
“
They
’
re all three clean now. Who
’
s coming out first? Susan, is it?
”
With deft hands Catherine swung the nearest child on to her lap and began to towel her expertly. In a few moments the little one was dry and in her sleeping-suit, and five minutes later the other two were also ready for bed—somewhat in advance, it turned out, of Miss Dewney
’
s trio who, over-hustled by that lady
’
s constant adjurations to hurry had, after the way of small children, become slower and slower in their movements.
“
I hope you
’
ve got them properly dry.
”
Miss Dewney sounded faintly suspicious.
“
They
’
re grand,
”
Catherine assured her.
“
I suppose I
’
d better pop them into bed now. Where do they sleep?
”
“
First door on the right down the corridor.
”
It was Matron, entering with another batch of slightly larger children, who spoke.
“
When you
’
ve tucked them up and
settled them off, you might like to go out into the garden and call the bigger children in.
The eldest have an hour yet before bedtime, but it
’
s getting chilly out there. They
’
re better in the playroom, and they
’
ll love showing you their various treasures.
”
It wasn
’
t quite so easy to establish friendly terms with these older children—girls, all of them— as wit
h
their tinies; their smiles were shy, and they had little to say. But when, having escorted her to the play-room, they discovered that she was ready to be genuinely interested in their games and hobbies, their tongues were loosened: it was a question of who could claim her attention.
Th
e
y were an attractive, nicely mannered set, but one c
h
ild in particular— a ten-year-old called
Maureen—made the keenest impression on her. Black-haired, white-skinned, with high cheekbones and dark blue eyes, there was something in her expression which Catherine found unbearably touching. She smiled; but behind her smile there was gravity, and a resigned sadness painful to see in so young a child. And Matron
’
s words flashed back into Catherine
’
s mind:
“
Every child who comes here bears a burden or sorrow—of which, little by little, we try to set her free.
”
Certainly there was a burden here.
The children, she found, had extremely varied hobbies. Fair-haired Winnie, the oldest child in the Home, was an excellent needlewoman; she would be fifteen soon, she told Catherine importantly, and was going to Great Garsford in a few months
’
time to learn dressmaking as an apprentice. Several girls from the Home had gone to a big shop there to train, and all of them had done well.
Music, on the other hand, was dark-eyed Nicola
’
s chief interest. A graceful, vivid child, she had been learning the piano for some time, and was to start the violin next term. She possessed quite a good library of piano music, which she showed Catherine with pride, explaining that
i
t had belonged to her grandfather, who had been a professional musician.
Ruth, solid and rosy-cheeked, did not care much for indoor activities, she confessed. Birds and animals were what she liked, and she was keeping a list of all the wild creatures she saw. She had lately been put in charge of the chickens and rabbits, she said, her eyes lighting up as she spoke, and was actually learning to milk a goat which had been presented to Matron.