The Four Graces (3 page)

The Graces had evolved an elaborate technique for dealing with visitors, and especially with their father's “finds.” His swans were often geese, of course, but even geese have their feelings and the Graces were kindhearted young women. To a stranger visiting the Vicarage for the first time and entering the drawing room in the wake of his host, the sight of four young women all at once was overpowering (the Graces knew this from experience, for they had beheld many a poor goose lose his composure and his power of speech and blush to the roots of his hair at the unexpected sight); to a stranger, sitting in the study and chatting quietly to his host, the entrance of four young women was even more alarming. They had talked it over seriously. “It's because we're all rather big,” said Liz. “And rather beautiful,” said Addie. “‘A bevy of beautiful maidens,'” said Sal, obviously quoting.

“It wouldn't be so bad if we weren't so alike,” said Tilly thoughtfully. This raised a storm of protest from the other three and a good many remarks of a “personal” nature, but Tilly stuck to her guns. “We
are
alike to strangers,” she declared. “Not to ourselves or each other, but to strangers who see us for the first time.” “I don't agree,” said Liz, “but that doesn't matter, really. Something has got to be done.” So, after several unfortunate experiences, the Graces had formulated a plan to meet the case…one at a time was the rule.

“But we needn't bother today,” said Liz. “Addie isn't here, so there are only three.”

“Too many,” said Tilly firmly. “Besides, I shall be busy with Pedro. I
do
want Pedro to be a success.”

Liz took the point. In life Pedro had been a failure; he was a cock without a crow.

“I can't leave him to Joan,” continued Tilly. “She's apt to lose her head when anyone is here for lunch, and the rhubarb tart—no, I
must
be in the kitchen. You and Sal can entertain father's young man.”

“I'm going to cook Pedro,” said Sal firmly.

“Oh, well…” said Tilly, giving in, for after all, nobody had a better right. Sal was the hen-woman. She had brought up Pedro from egg-hood.

Tilly opened the front door to Roderick Herd. She saw at once that it was the young man who had stared so hard in church. (Rose windows, indeed! said Tilly to herself.) Aloud she said, “How do you do? I'm Tilly Grace. My father said I was to take you over to church to meet him.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Roderick Herd, smiling at her and disclosing very white teeth, which looked all the whiter in contrast with his very brown face.

Three pips on his shoulder proclaimed him a captain to Tilly's experienced eye, and she was able to address him as Captain Herd when necessary. They walked across the churchyard together chatting of this and that, of the weather, and the state of the roads, and whether Captain Herd had taken the shortest route from Ganthorne to Chevis Green, but Tilly's thoughts were a good deal more interesting than her conversation. Definitely not a goose, thought Tilly, as she described the crossroads before you got to Wandlebury where Captain Herd should have turned to the left, but not a swan, either…more like an eagle…and I don't believe he knows the first thing about glass. Will he be able to get away with it or will Father find out?

She put a blue silk handkerchief over her head and tied it beneath her chin. It matched her eyes exactly.

“St. Paul?” asked Captain Herd, looking at her. “But I thought they had washed that out?”

“We've always done it,” said Tilly. “It would feel rather funny not to—custom dies hard, as Father would say.”

They stepped out of the bright sunshine into the dim and shadowy church.

“It's beautiful,” said Captain Herd impulsively. “It's much more beautiful than it was yesterday…”

Tilly thought so, too. She liked the old church best when it was empty, shadowy, and peaceful. You could see it better when your eyes were not distracted by people, nor your ears by sounds.

Captain Herd was now admiring the font. “For christening babies,” he said in a thoughtful voice, not really proffering this unnecessary piece of information, but trying to show an intelligent interest in all he saw.

“Yes,” agreed Tilly.

“That reading desk isn't very pretty,” said Captain Herd.

“The lectern,” said Tilly. “No, we don't like it much, either. We hope to get a new one some day—after the war, perhaps.” She hesitated and then added, “And that's the rose window, of course,” pointing to it as she spoke, for by this time she felt doubtful whether Captain Herd would know, and it seemed better for everyone's sake that Captain Herd should not put his foot in it too badly, at the very start.

“Yes,” said Captain Herd. “It's shaped like a rose, of course…I like
that
window, too.”

“Oh, you mustn't,” said Tilly quickly. “You must be absolutely horrified at Joseph and his Brethren. Old Lady Chevis gave it in memory of her husband so they can't take it down, but it's terribly, terribly bad.”

“Thank you,” said Captain Herd, with a little smile (he certainly wasn't a goose).

“You may admire the south window, of course,” she continued. “Lots of people do. The glass is modern but good—look at the shafts of sunlight streaming through the panes.”

“One might say one admired the richness of coloring,” suggested Captain Herd.

“Oh, definitely,” said Tilly. “But as a matter of fact one would be better not to say too much—”

“Oh, definitely,” agreed Captain Herd quickly.

Mr. Grace was in the vestry. He came out when he heard their voices and welcomed his visitor cordially, so Tilly abandoned the eagle to his fate and went home to peel the vegetables.

***

“Pedro was very tender,” announced Tilly, as she entered the kitchen with a trayload of china.

“I'm glad,” said Sal. “I thought it was safer to do him in a casserole. I had him in soon after eleven and did him slowly. Put those in the scullery—Joan's there.”

Tilly carried the tray through the kitchen, noticing as she went that everything was tidy. Sal was that sort of person, she cleared as she went along. If Liz had cooked the lunch, the whole place would have been piled up with bowls and dishes of every description.

Joan was clattering about in the scullery and singing tunefully, but she stopped to smile at Tilly. “Did I do all right?” she inquired. “I didn't 'and the plates the wrong side or anything, did I?”

“I thought you did splendidly,” replied Tilly.

“Miss Sal said I can go early,” continued Joan, seizing this favorable moment for her announcement. “It's because m' uncle's 'ere. 'E's 'aving 'is 'olidays now. So m' mother said, come 'ome early, she said, if ther's nothing special on. I don't need to, if you want me special.”

“Of course you must go,” said Tilly. (She was aware that a visit from Joan's uncle was an important event.)

“M' uncle's still at Brighton,” said Joan, plunging about at the sink. “'E still runs that garage. Of course there ain't much doing in the gas line, but 'e does munitions now—does them in 'is own workshop, like. Little bits of shells and things. People come in an 'elp. It's a pity we ain't got munitions at Chevis Green. There's plenty of people could spare 'alf a day to make them…don't you bother drying those dishes, Miss Tilly, you'll muss up your nice frock. I'll do them in 'alf a jiff.”

“What about tea?” inquired Sal, looking in. “It's disgusting to think of tea when we've just finished lunch, but if that young man is staying I'll have to make a cake or something—”

“He isn't,” said Tilly. “In fact he's just going—he seemed sort of restless, I thought.”

“Restless?”

“It may have been the rose window. He knew nothing about it, of course.”

“Nothing at all?” asked Sal in alarm. “Then Father—”

“Oh, he got through,” declared Tilly. “Father was calling him ‘Roderick' so it must have been all right. He asked for Addie's address.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“Why not?” said Tilly. “Addie's quite capable of dealing out raspberries if she feels that way.”

***

The old house settled down to a peaceful afternoon. Tilly was weeding in the garden, Liz had gone back to the farm, and Joan had finished her work in record time and vanished. Sal fetched a book and sat down in the rocking chair near the kitchen window. She had done a good job of work and earned her leisure, and she intended to enjoy it to the full. She was rereading
Emma
: it was one of her favorite books, partly because she felt that Chevis Green was a modern version of Highbury. There was a “Miss Bates” in Chevis Green—or at least a lady who resembled her closely—and a “Mr. Woodhouse” too: perhaps these characters are to be found in most English villages. It was very quiet, and Sal was sure that this was the sort of afternoon the old house enjoyed. Old gentlemen enjoy being at rest during the hottest time of the day, and the old house was very like an old gentleman. The clock ticked stolidly and the fire crackled and Sal “read in her book.”

Suddenly Sal heard a sound—it was the creak of the back door opening—and a moment later there were footsteps in the passage; footsteps that sounded furtive and hesitating. Sal raised her head and listened. She was alarmed. There were dozens of people who had right of access to the back premises of the Vicarage, but any of these would have walked in confidently, sure of a welcome, sure of sympathy or of help in any trouble that had brought them here. Who could this be? Sal half rose—and then hesitated and sat down again; it was too late for flight.

The kitchen door was opening now, and the intruder looked in…he was an officer in battle dress.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “I didn't know anyone was here,” and then he stopped and looked at Sal. “But—they said you were in London!” he cried.

Sal had never seen the man before. “They said I was in London?” she repeated.

“Yes,” he declared, coming nearer and gazing at her. “Yes, that's what they said. Why did they?”

“I don't know what you mean,” said Sal in alarm, for it seemed to her that the young man was behaving in a very odd manner.

“It doesn't matter,” he declared. “I've found you, that's the main thing.”

“But I don't know you.”

“You're Addie, aren't you?”

“No, I'm not,” replied Sal firmly. “And I'm not the least
like
Addie.”

“You aren't the least like anybody,” he agreed, smiling at her and perching himself on the edge of the table.

Sal did not return the smile. She assumed a dignified air. “I don't know you,” said Sal. “If you want something you had better say so—”

“It's all right,” he interrupted. “Honestly it is. I ought to have explained before, but it gave me a sort of shock meeting you like this. They said you were in London, so I managed to get your address and I was going to call on you at your flat. I thought you were Addie, of course.”

“I've told you I'm not Addie.”

“I know,” said the young man. “I'd forgotten there were four.”

Sal heaved an elaborate sigh.

“I'm muddling it all frightfully,” said the young man in self-reproach. “It's all so clear to me that I keep on forgetting to explain. I'll tell you exactly what happened. I've been having lunch here, and then I said good-bye and Mr. Grace saw me off. Well, when I was about halfway to Wandlebury I remembered about the umbrella. Miss Marks left it here yesterday, didn't she?”

“Yes,” said Sal, who was beginning to see light.

“She said she left on the dresser in the kitchen…yes, there it is!”

“Yes,” said Sal.

“I didn't know what to do, really,” declared Captain Herd, frowning. “I'd said good-bye and all that. I didn't want to barge in and disturb Mr. Grace…so I thought I'd just nip in by the back door and see if I could find the gamp myself. It was lucky, really.”

They were silent for a few minutes. Captain Herd took the umbrella and put it beside him on the table. Then his eyes came back to Sal. “You aren't angry with me, are you?” he inquired.

“Not now,” said Sal, smiling.

“Why do you ask me what I meant? Most people would have said, ‘Why was it lucky?' or something.”

Sal laughed. “Because you'll tell me if you want to. People do. If they want to tell you a thing, they tell you, and if not…”

“I do,” he said earnestly. “I saw you in church yesterday at the wedding and I wanted to meet you properly.”

“This isn't properly,” Sal pointed out.

“Markie's umbrella has introduced us,” declared Roderick Herd. “If it hadn't been for Markie's umbrella, I shouldn't have met you. Odd, isn't it?”

Sal looked thoughtful. She might have looked even more thoughtful if she realized that the umbrella was only a link in the chain—the chain stretching back to Tilly's duster and Cleopatra's nose.

“Markie is rather a wonderful person,” continued Roderick Herd. “We see quite a lot of her, of course, because Ganthorne Lodge is so near the camp and the men are allowed the use of the kitchen premises—it's like a club, really. Miss Marks is always about, cooking or washing or something, and the men simply adore her. She helps them to write their letters and shows them how to mend their socks.” He laughed softly and added, “When word went forth that Miss Marks had lost her umbrella, the whole battalion volunteered to come over to Chevis Green and fetch it—but of course I was coming, anyhow.”

“To see the rose window,” put in Sal.

“Yes,” agreed Captain Herd, looking at her doubtfully. “Yes—it's—as a matter of fact, I've learned a good deal about ecclesiastical architecture today. And you needn't think—”