The Two Mrs. Abbotts (15 page)

“Is Miss Besserton quite well?” asked Barbara.

“Oh yes,” said Lancreste. “She's very well indeed. We had a good time when she was here. There was a dance at the town hall. Of course it wasn't like the dances she goes to in London but she enjoyed it. She likes dancing. There was a fellow there she danced with a lot—I'm not very good, you see. He was very good, so of course she liked dancing with him.”

“Can she dance the hornpipe?” asked Fay.

“Er—no,” said Lancreste, looking at Fay in astonishment.

“Simon can,” said Fay with a complacent air.

“I'll show you after tea,” said Simon.

“How much longer leave have you got?” asked Barbara, passing the buns to Lancreste.

“That's just it,” said Lancreste miserably. “I mean I don't know. I've been passed fit but I haven't got my orders. It's so upsetting not to know how long you've got. I might hear any day and that's one of the reasons why I want to see Pearl. I mean if I get my orders I shall have to go, and how can I go without having all this cleared up? I mean the mess. If I just knew what I had done to offend Pearl—”

“Why don't you ask her?” inquired Barbara.

“Oh, I did,” replied Lancreste. “She just said I knew, and I was being stupid on purpose. It made it worse, really. I hope I shall get my orders tomorrow. I can't stand it. There's nothing to do except think about her all the time. If only I could get my orders. Why haven't they sent me my orders? D'you think the War Office has forgotten all about me, Mrs. Abbott?”

Barbara had no idea whether or not this was possible and was about to make a noncommittal reply, but Simon got in before her.

“Perhaps they don't need you,” he suggested.

“Perhaps they think they can win the war without you,” added Fay.

The wretched Lancreste looked at Simon and then at Fay—and, being met by the stare of two pairs of large innocent eyes, he looked away again.

“Oh no, it can't be
that
,” said Barbara hastily—far too hastily, for of course she had merely made it worse. She was really at her wits' end by now and entertained wild thoughts of putting the children to bed, and getting rid of them. But I couldn't
make
them go to bed, thought Barbara, looking at her offspring in despair. They haven't been naughty—and they wouldn't understand—and Simon argues so! (Simon argued—as Barbara knew to her cost—but Fay was really the more devastating of the two. Her voice was so clear, her enunciation so concise, her remarks so very much to the point.)

“I shouldn't worry, Lancreste,” said Barbara, trying to find something that would put things right and soothe Lancreste's injured feelings. “I expect the War Office is looking for a suitable job for you.”

“Perhaps they will give you four tanks, like Sam,” said Fay, imitating her mother's comforting tones with ludicrous effect.

“I'm an observer,” said Lancreste rather crossly.

“He flies in an airplane,” Barbara explained.

“Like this!” cried Simon, seizing his mug and making wide swooping movements with it through the air.

“And he drops bombs on the Germans like this!” cried Fay, taking her bun and dropping it onto her plate with a thud.

“Simon! Fay!” cried Barbara. “That's naughty. You must behave properly. I don't know what Lancreste will think of you.”

“He doesn't like us already,” said Simon, stating the fact without rancor.

“And we don't like him,” added Fay.

***

Barbara felt a little depressed that evening; she had had a difficult time getting the children to bed. Having been baulked of their fun at the proper time they seemed determined to get their money's worth before settling down to sleep. They had both been naughty—really naughty—but Simon had been very naughty indeed and Barbara had discovered to her dismay that she had practically no control over him. She had tucked him into bed twice, and each time he had leapt up again the moment her back was turned, and, pursuing her down the nursery passage, had “booed” at her in the dark and startled her considerably. The first time, Barbara had taken it as a joke—though not a very good joke—but the second time she had been really angry. She was tired and hot and disheveled and she could not manage Simon.

“It isn't kind,” said Barbara, as she tucked Simon into bed for the third time. “It isn't any fun at all to frighten people.”

“I like it,” said Simon frankly.

“You wouldn't like someone to frighten you.”

“No, but that's different,” said Simon.

“It isn't, really,” said Barbara. “We ought to do to others what we should like them to do to us. That's the golden rule, Simon.”

“You don't,” said Simon.

Barbara was a little taken aback at this counterattack.

“I try to, Simon—” she began.

“But, Mummy,” said Simon, raising himself on his elbow and looking at her with wide eyes. “But Mummy, you wouldn't like to go to bed
now,
would you?”

“Yes, I should,” replied Barbara with conviction. “It's exactly what I should like to do. I'm very tired indeed.”

“I'm not tired at all,” declared Simon. “I'd like to get up and dance about and come down to supper with you and Daddy.”

“You know quite well—”

“Yes, but why?” asked Simon. “Why must children go to bed when they aren't tired?”

“We'll talk about it tomorrow,” said Barbara, who was far too exhausted to enter into an argument with her son. “Shut your eyes and go to sleep like a good boy.”

“I can't go to sleep like a good boy.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm naughty—you said I was naughty.”

“You're good now,” said Barbara firmly and she turned out the light. There was a chuckle in the darkness from the direction of Simon's bed. “I don't think I'm very good yet,” said an impish voice.

Barbara pretended not to hear. She was aware that if Simon lay still in the dark for two minutes he would be fast asleep and she would have no further trouble with him. She waited outside the door and listened but there was absolute silence—Simon had dropped off to sleep before he had time to plan further wickedness.

It was very worrying, of course, for Simon was getting out of hand. Barbara could not manage him at all and Dorcas was only a very little better at the job. Arthur could manage him, but Arthur was away all day and when he returned from his office in the evening Barbara liked him to enjoy the children—not to have to play the part of policeman. Something will have to be done, thought Barbara, as she tidied herself and washed her hands for supper. I shall have to talk to Dorcas. We shall have to be very strict with Simon…

Worrying about Simon made Barbara feel depressed so it was natural that her thoughts should turn to Jerry, for the cheering-up process worked both ways—there was nothing one-sided about it.

But I shan't say a word about Simon, thought Barbara as she picked up the telephone receiver.

The two Mrs. Abbotts chatted of one thing and another and agreed that they had not seen each other for ages—not since Monday morning.

“Far too long,” said Barbara. “You had better come over to tea.”

“It's your turn to come to Ganthorne,” said Jerry's voice eagerly. “Come tomorrow and bring the children. I promised to have them one day.”

“I don't think so,” said Barbara doubtfully. “I've had the children all day long. Dorcas went over to Camberley, and—”

“Come yourself, then,” said Jerry's voice. “That will be lovely. I'll ask Melanie Melton to come too. I told you about Melanie, didn't I?”

“You said she was charming.”

“She's a perfect dear, very young and pretty. You'll love her, Barbara.”

“Would you mind if I brought Lancreste?” Barbara inquired.

“Lancreste!” exclaimed Jerry's voice in amazement.

“Lancreste Marvell. He's in the Air Force, you know. It's very dull for him at home. I've been trying to—to cheer him up a little.”

“Why?” asked Jerry's voice. “I mean why…”

“Perhaps you'd rather not have him…”

“Of course you can bring him if you want to,” said Jerry's voice unenthusiastically.

It was now Jerry's turn to experience the growing powers of a tea party. She saw it as a snowball rolling down a hill, gathering size with every yard, and she said as much to Markie at the breakfast table next morning.

“Hardly a snowball, dear,” said Markie in doubtful tones. “I think one might find a better metaphor.”

“Well, anyhow, it's a nuisance,” declared Jerry. “I meant to have Barbara. I wanted to talk to Barbara and now we shan't be able to talk properly. I meant to have Barbara and then I thought of Melanie, and then Barbara suggested Lancreste—goodness knows why—and now Bobby wants to come. It
is
like a snowball, Markie.”

“Archie will be here, too,” said Markie. “You remember he said he would finish the trees today.”

“Eight!” exclaimed Jerry in dismay.

“Never mind,” said Markie. “I'll bake some scones. I think we had better have tea in the dining room, and if any of the other officers happens to be there he can have a cup of tea with us. It is a pity that I used all the sugar we had saved to make damson jam—I cannot make a cake, I am afraid.”

“Oh, isn't that
lucky
!” Jerry exclaimed. “There was a recipe for a sugarless cake on the Kitchen Front this morning and I scribbled it down just in case.” She produced a torn envelope covered with hieroglyphics and presented it to Markie with pride.

“Yes dear, how nice!” said Markie, assuming her reading spectacles. “Let me see now…where are we? ‘
Turn
the
mixture
into
a
greased
tin—
'”

“No, Markie, it begins on the other side. It begins
there
,” said Jerry, leaning over Markie's shoulder and pointing with her finger. “You see, Markie—
four
ounces
of
scraped
carrots, three ounces of margarine
—and it goes on
here
and it ends on the other side of the envelope in the corner. I'm afraid it isn't terribly clear.”

“I shall manage,” said Markie, turning the paper this way and that, and peering at it anxiously. “I think I can follow it…”

“They go so fast,” said Jerry apologetically.

“I know, dear. You've done splendidly. What's this word, I wonder.”

“Rice, perhaps,” suggested Jerry, in doubtful tones.

“I scarcely think so.”

“Beans, then—it's quite a short word, isn't it?”

“Not beans,” said Markie firmly. “Beans are exceedingly useful but I feel they would be out of place in a cake.”

“Could it be bread?” asked Jerry. “Yes, I believe it's bread crumbs. The crumbs are on the other side because there wasn't any room for them there. Bread crumbs, Markie, that's what it is,” said Jerry triumphantly and she gathered up her letters and swung out of the room whistling in a cheerful manner.

The tea party was a great success. It was held in the dining room and, as the latest joined subaltern happened to drop in at the right moment, nine people sat down to the table. Markie's scones were excellent, of course—they always were—and the cake looked very nice indeed, though unfortunately it did not taste as nice as it looked.

“It is a trifle wersh,” declared Markie, anxiously. “I was afraid it might be.”

“It's my fault, of course,” said Jerry hastily. “You see I heard the recipe on the wireless and I probably left something out—nobody need eat it, of course.”

“I think it's excellent,” declared Bobby Appleyard, helping himself to another slice.

He really
is
in love with Jerry, thought Barbara in alarm.

Lancreste did not shine at the tea party. He was awkward and
distrait
but Barbara saw him looking at Miss Melton and her hopes rose high. Barbara was a believer in “the expulsive power of a new affection” and she had brought Lancreste here today with the idea that the charms of Miss Melton might help to cure Lancreste of his complaint. If anything could cure Lancreste Miss Melton should, thought Barbara. Miss Melton was all and more than she had been led to expect. Nobody who took the trouble to look at Miss Melton could find any pleasure in Miss Besserton—so Barbara decided.

“Have you caught your suspicious character?” asked Archie suddenly. His words fell in the middle of a silence and everybody looked around.

“You heard about that, did you!” said Bobby.

“Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything.”

“Oh, there's nothing hush-hush about it.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Jerry. “If there's nothing hush-hush I suppose we may know the mystery.”

“Of course, but it isn't anything much,” replied Bobby. “Several people have seen a strange man hanging about the place and we've been warned by the police to look out for him.”

“A spy!” exclaimed Jerry, opening her eyes very wide.

“Might be,” agreed Bobby.

“What harm could he do here?” Barbara inquired.

“Well, there's us,” said Bobby smiling. “I mean a camp is just the sort of target the Bosche likes.”

“I suppose the fellow might signal to bombers with lights,” suggested Archie.

“That's the idea,” agreed Bobbie. “It has been done in other places, you know. There was a camp in Essex; they had camouflaged it pretty neatly, but the Bosche came over and dropped some bombs in the very middle of it. Afterwards they found the fellow who had given it away. He had a wireless outfit and signaling lights…but I shouldn't worry,” added Bobby, who had suddenly become aware that he was spreading alarm and despondency and was anxious to make amends. “Our fellow is probably just a tramp. They get these scares every now and then; they get the wind up and warn everybody.”

“The girls shouldn't go out by themselves,” said Archie, anxiously.

“No, perhaps not.”

“You don't really mean that, do you?” asked Melanie.

“Just for a day or two,” said Bobby. “Just until we've caught the fellow.”

“It would be all right if you had someone with you,” added Archie.

Melanie said no more but she looked somewhat downcast, for she enjoyed walking on the moor by herself.

As tea went on the conversation became more animated, there were only three people who made no contribution to the noise. Jane Watt never talked much, but she was a good listener, she looked happy and interested. Lancreste was completely silent and looked miserable. Markie was the third. She was debarred from taking part in the conversation because she could not hear what was being said—all that Markie heard was a confused noise punctuated with bursts of laughter. She could not hear, but she could see and she used her eyes to good effect, she watched her companions and was happy to see that they were enjoying themselves. Jerry had been rather silent for a bit (Markie noticed) but now she suddenly came out of her shell and began to talk hard…and the others were all listening and smiling so she must be telling them something funny, or at least telling them something in a funny way. The new subaltern was playing up to Jerry. He was leaning forward in his chair and talking back at her, and his eyes, which were extremely blue, were sparkling with mischief—he really was a very nice boy, Markie thought. But Bobby would not like it…no, Bobby was not liking it at all. Poor Bobby, what a pity it was! Could one say anything to Bobby? Would it be any use?

Once or twice the whole party laughed heartily—and even Lancreste smiled—and Jane, who was sitting next to Markie, turned to her and repeated the joke; but jokes are never very funny when repeated without their context and Markie found it difficult to laugh.

“Don't trouble, dear,” said Markie in a low voice. “I'm quite used to it and it does not worry me. Just see if Mrs. Abbott will have a little more tea and pass the scones to Miss Melton.”

There was no reason why Markie should not have done this herself, for if she was deaf she was certainly not dumb, but Jane was only too delighted to help Markie to look after the guests so she did as requested.

After tea Jerry suggested a walk. She did not intend to go, herself, of course, but it would be nice for the others…and the sitting room was not large enough for such a large party.

“Melanie likes walking,” said Jerry in her usual forthright way.

“I don't mind at all,” declared Melanie hastily.

“But it's a lovely evening for a walk, isn't it? You go with her, Archie. Take her up through the wood and show her the view.”

“I expect she's seen it,” said Archie.

“Lancreste would like to go,” said Barbara. “You'd like to go, wouldn't you, Lancreste?”

“I don't mind, really,” said Lancreste without enthusiasm.

“You go with them, dear,” said Markie to Jane.

“I was going to help you to wash up,” replied Jane.

After some little delay the four of them started off—they could not avoid their fate without being positively rude—and, as the officers were obliged to return to the camp and Markie was helping Wilhelmina to clear the table, the two Mrs. Abbotts were left alone in the sitting room.

“Lovely!” exclaimed Jerry. “Just what I wanted. We haven't had a proper chat for ages—and it's all the nicer because I didn't expect it. I mean I didn't see how we were going to get rid of them.”

“I don't think they wanted to go,” said Barbara doubtfully.

“They'll enjoy it,” declared Jerry with conviction.

“Do you think so, Jerry?”

“Yes, of course. You have to take a firm line with people. If I hadn't made them go they would just have sat here in a bunch and there aren't enough chairs for them.”

The four victims walked up the hill abreast, with the girls in the middle. They had been sent out for a walk and they had come. None of them had wanted to come and each of them was aware that his or her companions would have got out of it if they could. For this reason the conversation was somewhat strained—Melanie and Archie bore the brunt of it. But the evening was so lovely and the sunshine so mellow that gradually they began to thaw…Archie was struck by a brilliant idea.

“I was telling you about trees,” said Archie to Miss Watt. “You were interested, weren't you?”

“Very interested,” replied Miss Watt—what else could she say?

“Perhaps you would like to see an oak that was blown down last winter?” suggested Archie. “It's a very fine specimen—must be about three hundred years old.”

Miss Watt signified her desire to see it.

“You two can walk on,” said Archie firmly. “We'll catch you up in half no time.”

The party split up. Archie and Jane Watt found the oak and examined it, and sat down upon a convenient branch.

“I thought I did that rather neatly,” said Archie.

“Did what?” asked Jane.

“Got rid of the children, of course. You didn't want them tagging along, did you?”

“I'm very fond of Melanie.”

“Oh yes, she's a dear,” agreed Archie. “But I hate going about in droves. Jerry is a nuisance sometimes.”

These few sentences put the matter in a nutshell, and having cleared up any misunderstanding that might be lurking in his companion's mind Archie proceeded to light a cigarette.

“We mustn't sit here long,” said Jane in alarm.

“They won't mind,” replied Archie. “They can talk to each other. As a matter of fact they'll get on much better without us. Two's company, don't you agree?”

“Yes, I think I do,” said Jane smiling.

Archie was emboldened by the smile. He said, “Have I known you long enough to call you Jane?”

“You've known me for a week,” replied Jane in some surprise.

“Much longer than that,” declared Archie. “I knew you long before you came to live at Ganthorne.”

Jane looked at him, her eyes wide with dismay.

“Yes,” said Archie nodding. “Yes, I know all about you…but don't worry, Jane. I can keep a secret, you know.”

“You won't tell anyone?”

“Not a soul,” declared Archie, smiling at her.

“How did you know—”

“I recognized you, of course. Oh yes, you look different but I knew you at once. I was interested, you see.”

“I don't want you to think—”

“But I don't!”

“I want you to understand.”

“That's nice of you.”

They were silent for a moment. The woods were very quiet. The sun was going down through a haze; it looked like a big round orange ball caught amongst the trees.

“I ran away,” said Jane at last. “I suppose it was cowardly but I couldn't think of anything else to do. I had got caught up in a sort of wheel that kept on turning—it was like one of those wheels you see in a mouse cage. I wanted to get out of the cage—to get right away from everything and try to find out what I was and what I could do. I wasn't myself,” declared Jane earnestly. “I had been made into something else—and I'm not myself now. Myself is something between the two.”

“That's what I think,” said Archie.

“Do you mean you understand?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Because I've read your books.”

“But they aren't me!” she cried in alarm. “It was because I hated my books that I ran away—because I suddenly realized they were no good at all.”

“I like them,” said Archie. “Yes, honestly I do. There's something very charming about your books. I don't mean that you couldn't do better, of course. I believe you could…if you knew more about life.”

“I'm trying to learn,” said Jane.

“And more about love,” said Archie boldly and with that he put his arms around her and kissed her in a most satisfactory way.