Eustace and Hilda (7 page)

“I believe you've broken the record, Eustace,” said Nancy.

“Oh no, he's not done that, because you see at the last moment he put his elbow on the ground, and that's two feet, at least it's two of my feet” (explained Gerald, measuring) “short of the Record Stone. You were just coming off, really, weren't you, Eustace?”

“Well, perhaps I was.” Being a hero Eustace felt he could afford to be generous.

“What do you think of your brother now, Miss Hilda?” asked Major Steptoe playfully.

Hilda, who had resumed her seat on the rug, let her glance rest on the feet of her interlocutor.

“I'm glad in a way,” she admitted.

“You ought to be very proud of him.”

“I should certainly have been ashamed of him if he hadn't.”

“Hadn't what?”

“Broken the record, or whatever Nancy said he did.”

An astonished pause greeted this remark. It was broken by Mrs. Steptoe's light, ironical voice.

“Your sister expects a lot of you, doesn't she, Eustace?”

“Doesn't Nancy expect a lot of Gerald?” Eustace asked.

“Oh, I've given Gerald up, he's hopeless,” said Nancy. “I won't trust myself on the toboggan with him. You're so good, Eustace, may I come with you?”

Eustace, in the seventh heaven of delight, got up and looked round awkwardly at the company.

“You've got a great responsibility now, Eustace!”

“I feel quite safe,” said Nancy airily.

“Will you have a turn with Gerald, Hilda?” asked Major Steptoe, “or will you watch?”

“I might as well watch.”

“Then, Cherrington, what about you and me and Gerald trying our luck together?”

“Rather.”

The five of them trooped up the hill, leaving Mrs. Steptoe and Miss Cherrington and Hilda to rather desultory conversation.

“You sit in front, Nancy!”

“Oh, Eustace, I should feel much safer if you did.”

“Should we take turns?”

“They may separate us.”

“Oh, would they do that?”

“Well, you know how they do at dances.”

“I've never been to a dance,” said Eustace.

“But you go to the dancing class.”

“Sometimes, if I'm well enough.”

“You've never danced with me.”

“No, because you're too good, you're in A set.”

“We must dance together, some time.”

“Oh, that would be lovely!”

“Well, I'll go in front this time.... Ooo, Eustace, how brave you are not to scream.”

“That's the third time Nancy and Eustace have come down together,” observed Miss Cherrington.

“Yes. Don't they look charming? And not one spill. Eustace is an expert, I must say. Here they all come. Don't you feel tempted, Hilda?”

No reply.

“We think you ought to try a new formation now, don't we, Miss Cherrington?” Mrs. Steptoe persisted. “What about a boy's double, Gerald and Eustace? And perhaps Mr. Cherrington would take Nancy, and Hilda would go with Jack.”

Major Steptoe looked interrogatively at Hilda.

Hilda said nothing, and Eustace, who knew the signs, saw that she was on the brink of tears.

“Won't you come with me, Hilda?” he asked reluctantly.

“Go on as you are, I don't care,” Hilda replied, her words coming with difficulty and between irregular pauses. Mrs. Steptoe raised her eyebrows.

“Well, I think you'd better break up a bit. Decide among yourselves. Toss for it. I beg you pardon, Miss Cherrington?”

“I'd rather they didn't do that, if you don't mind.”

Nancy took advantage of this debate between the elders to whisper to Eustace, “Come on, let's have one more together.” Laughing and excited they trudged up the hill again.

“You know,” Nancy said as confidentially as her loud panting permitted, “I arranged all this, really.”

“You arranged it?”

“Yes, the picnic.”

“Why?” asked Eustace breathlessly.

“Can't you guess?”

“So that you and I might——?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, Nancy!”

Once more the glorious rush through the darkening air. This time Nancy was riding in front. The wind of the descent caught her long golden hair and it streamed out so that when Eustace bent forward it touched his face. When they came to the bump his customary skill deserted him; the toboggan turned sideways and they rolled and slithered to the bottom. Eustace was first on his feet. He gave his hand to Nancy and spluttered, gasping:

“Your hair got in my eyes.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I didn't mind.”

Mrs. Steptoe received them with a little smile. “Well, children, it's getting late. I think the next ought to be the last. What do you say, Miss Cherrington?”

“I think Eustace has had quite enough.”

“Cherrington and I have broken every bone in our bodies,” remarked Major Steptoe amiably.

Both the fathers had withdrawn from the fray some time ago and were smoking their pipes. The sun was hanging over the hill behind them, a large red ball which had lost its fierceness. The grass on the opposite slope was flecked with gold; the shadows lengthened; the air turned faintly blue.

“Last round,” called Major Steptoe. “Seconds out of the ring. We're nearly all seconds now, what, Cherrington? How is it to be this time?”

Eustace and Nancy gave each other a covert glance.

Suddenly Hilda said in a strident, croaking voice:

“I should like to go with Eustace.”

This announcement was followed by a general murmur of surprise, which soon turned into a chorus of approval.

“That's right, Hilda! Don't let Nancy monopolise him! Let's have a race between the two families—the Cherringtons versus the Steptoes.”

So it was arranged that Gerald and Nancy should have one of the double toboggans, Hilda and Eustace the other. Mr. Cherrington was to act as starter, Major Steptoe as judge. Hilda waited till her father and the two Steptoes were half-way up the slope and then said:

“You've been very unkind to me, Eustace.”

Eustace was feeling tired: he wished Hilda had offered to help him pull up the toboggan. Her accusation, acting on his nerves, seemed to redouble his weariness.

“Oh why, Hilda? I asked you to come and you wouldn't.”

“Because I saw you wanted to be with Nancy,” said Hilda sombrely. “You never left her alone for a moment. You don't know how silly you looked—both of you,” she added as an afterthought.

“You didn't see us,” Eustace argued feebly, “you were always looking the other way.”

“I did try not to see you,” said Hilda, remorselessly striding up the slope, her superior stature, unimpaired freshness and natural vigour giving her a great advantage over Eustace. “But when I couldn't see you I could hear you. I was ashamed of you and so was Aunt Sarah and so was Daddy.”

“Daddy said he was proud of me.”

“Oh, he said that to please Major Steptoe.”

Eustace felt profoundly depressed and, as the tide of reaction rolled over him, a little sick. But the excitement of the start, of getting into line, of holding the toboggan with Hilda on it and then jumping into his place at the word “Go!” banished his malaise. Off shot the two toboggans. When they reached the dreaded rise they were abreast of each other; then Gerald's exaggerated technique (learned, as he had explained, from a tobogganist of world-wide renown) involved him, as so often, in disaster. The Cherringtons won, though their finish was not spectacular: the grass, now growing damp, held them back. Hilda and Eustace stumbled to their feet. They looked at each other without speaking but there was a gleam in Hilda's eye. Major Steptoe joined the group.

“A decisive victory for your side, I'm afraid, Cherrington,” he said. “Now what about packing up?”

Gerald was heard muttering something about “our revenge.”

“What does he say?” asked Hilda.

“He wants to challenge us again,” said Eustace importantly.

“Now, children, it's too late for any more. Look, the moon's rising!” But Mrs. Steptoe's clear, decided tones had no effect whatever on Hilda.

“The sun's still there,” she said. “Come on, Eustace. I want to beat them again.”

“But we mightn't win another time,” said Eustace cautiously.

However, Hilda had her way. The second race resulted in a win for the Steptoes. Again the parents and Miss Cherrington decreed the revels should end. But Hilda would not hear of it. They must have a third race to decide who were the real winners.

“I feel a little sick, Hilda,” whispered Eustace as he toiled after her up the slope.

“What nonsense! You didn't feel sick with Nancy.”

“I do now.”

“You don't—you only think you do.”

“Perhaps you know best.”

The third race was a near thing because both parties finished without mishap. The Cherringtons, however, were definitely in front. But apart from Major Steptoe, the judge, there was no one to hail their triumph; the others had gone on towards the carriages which could be seen a couple of hundred yards away drawn up on the turf, facing each other.

“We've won! We've won!” cried Hilda, her voice echoing down the valley. Her eyes were sparkling, her face, glowing against her dark hair, was amazingly animated. Eustace, who had seldom seen her like this, was excited and afraid. “We've won, we've won!” she repeated.

“All right then, come along!” Aunt Sarah's voice, with a note of impatience in it, reached them thinly across the grassy expanse.

“Wait a minute!” screamed Hilda, “I'm going to make Eustace take me again.”

Major Steptoe's deep, conversational tones sounded strangely composed after her wild accents.

“What about giving up now? The horses'll be getting restive.”

“I don't care about the horses. Come on, Eustace.”

For the first time she took the toboggan herself, and began running up the hill. It was so wet now that she slipped and stumbled with every step, and Eustace, quite tired out, could hardly get along at all.

“Oh, do hurry, Eustace: you're so slow.”

“I'm trying to keep up with you, Hilda!”

Suddenly she took his hand. “Here, hang on to me.”

“Won't they be angry if I'm sick?”

“Not if you're with me. There, you sit at the back. Isn't it glorious us being together like this?”

“It's getting so dark, Hilda.”

From the wood where the valley curved an owl called.

“What was that, Hilda?”

“Only an owl, you silly!”

The toboggan rushed down the slope. It was too dark to see the irregularities in the ground. They felt a bump; Hilda stuck out her foot; the toboggan pitched right over and brother and sister rolled pell-mell to the bottom.

Hilda pulled Eustace to his feet. “Wasn't it lovely, Eustace?”

“Yes, but oh, Hilda, I do feel sick!”

Suddenly he was sick.

“I'm all right now, Hilda.”

“That's a good thing. Let me take the toboggan.—Coming, Major Steptoe.”

“He looks a bit white,” said Aunt Sarah, as they settled themselves into the landau. “Whatever made you take him up again, Hilda?”

“I knew he really wanted to,” said Hilda. “Didn't you, Eustace?”

“Yes,” said Eustace faintly. “But I think I won't go on the box to-night.”

“I won't either,” announced Hilda.

“Can we go back by Anchorstone Hall?” asked Eustace. “Then Mr. Craddock needn't turn round.”

They waved farewells to the Steptoes, who were going the other way. The road led through woods and open clearings.

“I keep feeling better,” Eustace whispered to Hilda. “Wasn't it lovely, our last ride?”

“Better than the ones you had with Nancy?” muttered Hilda, affectionate menace in her tone.

“Oh, much, much better,” whispered Eustace.

“And do you love me more than her?”

“Oh, much, much more.”

So they conversed, with mutual protestations of endearment, until suddenly a great sheet of water opened out before them, and beyond it rose the chimneys and turrets and battlements of Anchorstone Hall. The moon made a faint pathway on the water, but the house was still gilded by the setting sun. Eustace was enchanted. “Oh, isn't it lovely? If I ever make enough money to buy it, will you come and live there with me, Hilda?”

“Cambo's good enough for me.”

“Oh, but this is so grand!”

“Silly Eustace, you always like things grand.”

“That's why I like you.”

“I'm not grand.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Oh, children, shut up!” said Mr. Cherrington, turning round from the box.

“Yes, for goodness' sake be quiet,” said Aunt Sarah.

There was silence for a space. Then Eustace whispered: “I think I feel quite well now, Hilda.”

N
EXT MORNING
Eustace was not allowed to get up to breakfast: he was considered to be too tired. So he spent the first part of the morning, not unwillingly, in bed. Cambo boasted few bedrooms, and the one he shared with Hilda did not contain and could not have contained more furniture than their two narrow beds, set side by side, a washing-stand, a combined chest-of-drawers and dressing-table, two chairs with seats made of stout fibre, and some rings behind a curtain in lieu of wardrobe. The furniture and the woodwork were stained brown, the wallpaper was dark blue with a design of conventional flowers, and the curtains of the window, which looked out on the brown flank of the house next door, were of dark blue linen. Eustace greatly admired the curtain rings of oxidised copper, and also the door handle which was made of the same metal and oval in shape instead of round. It was set rather high in the door, recalling the way that some people, Eustace had noticed, shook hands.