Sister of the Housemaster (4 page)

“
I was so sorry not to be here yesterday,
”
she said to Patrick.
“
I was week-ending in Hampshire and came back this morning. I would have been so cross if I had missed you.
”

Ingrid went into the kitchen to make the tea and butter the scones. The brief introduction had told her that this was Pamela Orindean, but she knew no more about her. She thought that Sylvia did not seem to lack visitors, or friends.

She went back to pour out tea for everybody. Laurence appointed himself her assistant, and Arnold came in a few minutes later, pleased to find his wife enjoying herself in such a pleasant tea party. He knew, as Ingrid did not, that these tea parties were infrequent. It was true that Pamela often came to see Sylvia, and Arnold realized that there were deeper implications in the visit than simple friendship. Pamela was a leader of County society. She came of an old family, which still retained part of its fortune, and whose country house was practically a castle. Certainly, with each passing year, the family kept a little less state, but Arnold, who realized just how much of a social climber his Sylvia was, knew that she was impressed and was flattered by that friendship. He also had a shrewd suspicion that Pamela came for Patrick
’
s sake. On the occasion of their few meetings, Pamela had obviously been a little dazzled, and Arnold thought that his wife was conniving at a match between the two. He could see that, from Sylvia
’
s point of view, it would be perfect. So few women would be good enough for Patrick, but Pamela, with her name and her money, an
d
her home only a few miles away, would be admirable, Sylvia would automatically be accepted everywhere. Arnold cared nothing for the social round, but he was prepared to accept Sylvia
’
s interest
.
These things were important to her
—
then let her have them.

Between tea and supper, when the visitors had gone and Patrick was upstairs with Arnold in the study, and the curtains were drawn against the winter cold, Ingrid and Sylvia sat together in the
living room
. Ingrid was turning over the pages of a magazine, while Sylvia talked to her of Pamela. Most of it was not very interesting to Ingrid. She too knew, that Sylvia was a soc
i
al climber, and the illustrious names connected with Pamela
’
s were merely dull to her. She listened politely, however, and gathered that Patrick, too, was very fond of Pamela. Almost as fond as Pamela was of him. Indeed, said Sylvia contentedly, nothing in the world would give her greater pleasure than to hear that they were going to make a match of it.

“
And the advantage is by no means on one side,
”
added Sylvia.
“
I know her family is one of the best, but Patrick has a fame and renown of his own. They want him in Canada, and in Australia, but he prefers to stay in England, and of course this Government doesn
’
t want to let him
go. Oh no, Pamela would get just as much as she gave.
”

Ingrid thought it was a strange way to think of marriage, all this getting and giving. And she wondered if Patrick thought of it in the same way: if he, too, thought that his brains and brilliance allied to Pamela
’
s fortune and family name would make them unassailable. He and Sylvia were brother and sister after all. They looked
alike, except that S
ylvia was a
colourless
and plainer version of Patrick, and it was possible that they thought alike too. Then let them have their material marriage, thought Ingrid. She would demand a very different kind.

Sylvia sank into silence. She had issued a warning and she hoped that Ingrid had recognized it. It said, as plainly as she could say without putting it into actual words: Keep off the grass. She did not like Ingrid. She never had, although she had never realized that the cause of her dislike was an obscure form of jealousy. She did not think, either, that Ingrid was abnormally interested in Patrick, but she had considered the warning necessary and now she had given it. And would give it again whenever it seemed desirable. By way of finding another string to her bow, she

“
Laurence Pinder is a very agreeable young man. Don
’
t you think so?
”

“
Very,
”
said Ingrid.
“
I like him very much.
”

“
Anyway, he will make a pleasant distraction for you while you have to wait on a poor old invalid like me.
”

Well, thought Sylvia, we will see how that works.

Ingrid did not think of Laurence as a distraction. She did not need distraction, and if she had, there was plenty to be found in the school itself, and the boys it contained. She felt that between herself and Laurence was the germ of a real friendship, a warm liking, and she did not choose to belittle this by regarding him as a possible distraction. This was more likely to be found in such mischievous scamps as young Roberts-Mills, a boy in Arnold
’
s House who had already attracted Ingrid
’
s attention by his rosy cheeks, his audacious laughing brown eyes, and the impression
he always gave her of being bottled up and likely to explode at any moment. He was, in fact, overflowing with life, and it was inevitable that he should often be in trouble.

Ingrid came upon him next morning, loitering in the Black Alley, as she was taking a note to the Dean
’
s wife for Sylvia. That he had a guilty conscience was obvious the moment she looked at him.

“
Good morning,
”
she said with a smile.

“
Good morning, Miss Southbrook.
”

“
Are you playing truant? Surely you ought to be in school?
”

“
I
’
ve been sent out,
”
he said.

“
Oh dear. In hot water?
”

He nodded ruefully. Then a bright idea seemed to strike him.

“
Oh, Miss Southbrook,
”
he said,
“
would you do me a favor?
”

“
That depends,
”
said Ingrid.
“
Can I do it with a clear conscience
?
”

“
Oh yes. You see, it
’
s this.
”
He pulled a battered box out of his pocket.
“
It
’
s Theodore. I was just sort of fiddling with him in form, and he got out and I had to chase him. And old Willimott told me to get out and dispose of Theodore. Would you look after him for me until dinner-break
?
”

“
What is Theodore?
”
asked Ingrid.

“
A mouse.
”
Her jump did not escape him.
“
Oh, he
’
s quite harmless. And quite safe in the box.
”

“
It doesn
’
t look to me at all safe,
”
protested Ingrid.
“
It
’
s very battered. Whatever would I do with it?
”

Robert
s
-Mills had removed Theodore from the
box and was caressing him lovingly. Ingrid watched him warily. Neither of them noticed Patrick approaching along the dark stone corridor with Pamela. Patrick saw the slender girl
bent over something that the small boy was holding, and smiled at their absorption. A
s
they came nearer, Ingrid heard the footsteps and looked up. Robert-Mills popped Theodore hastily back into the bo
x
. They both looked very much caught-in
-
the-act.

“
Good morning,
”
said Pamela.
“
You both look very guilty. Are you planning a dastardly crime?
”
Ingrid flushed. It sounded so patronizing, bracketing her with this small boy in some foolish juvenile escapade.

“
Good morning,
”
she replied.
“
No, it
’
s no crime. It is, on the other hand, a rescue.
”

“
I can imagine,
”
said Patrick, eyeing the battered box. He was remembering similar battered boxes of
his
own youth, and he smiled again. Ingrid, seeing the smile, hearing
his
words, flushed anew. Pamela had been undoubtedly patronising, and it seemed to Ingrid that Patrick was being patronizing too. They were laughing at her, amused that an adult person should be plotting with a small boy over a cricket, or toad, or some other object of a boy
’
s devotion. And because they were obviously causing embarrassment to the boy, and to herself, they went on again, still smiling.

“
You could put it in your handbag,
”
suggested
Roberts-Mills, who had thoughts only for
his
pet
.
Ingrid agreed to look after
his
Theodore until the dinner break. She allowed him to put the box into her handbag, and went on to deliver the note to the Dean
’
s wife, the superior attitude of Patrick and Pamela still rankling in her mind. She walked back round the quadrangle again towards Arnold
’
s House, to make morning coffee for Sylvia, and, when she reached it, went straight to her own room to take off her hat and coat. She still felt ruffled, and although she told herself that she was being foolish, could still not
quite succeed in smoothing herself down. As she took up a comb to tidy her hair, a brisk tap sounded at her door.

“
Come in,
”
she called, expecting it to be Miss Everton or one of the school maids.

Nobody came in. Instead, a voice called quickly:
“
Sylvia says, will you bring coffee for four into the living-room
?
”

It was Patrick
’
s voice, and, as soon as he had spoken, he hurried away again. He and Pamela must have come in to see Sylvia, and seen her returning. Anger rose in her as she stood at the window and listened to his retreating footsteps. The peremptoriness and terseness of the message infuriated her. Not even a
“
please.
”
She did not know that a messenger had been sent to fetch him to Arnold
’
s study where a long-distance telephone call awaited him. She only knew that he had been commanding and arrogant.

“
What does he think I am?
”
she demanded of the cold and windswept garden beyond her window.

She flung down her comb with unnecessary force, and went into the kitchen to make coffee.

CHAPTER THREE

PATRICK stayed with his sister for two days, and left early on Wednesday morning. During that time Ingrid saw little of him, for he was, as his sister had said, very much in demand, and if she had been like Miss Everton and thought herself lucky to have him staying in the house, she would soon have realized her mistake. One evening he went to the house of Pamela Orindean and dined with her family. The next evening he dined
w
ith the Headmaster, who gave a small party for him. He liked to have lunch in Hall with the school,
so
that it was only when Ingrid served him with breakfast that she was alone with him, and he still found it impossible to thaw her.

On the day of
his
departure, she breathed relief. It had been pleasant for Sylvia to have him here, but his presence seemed to restrict her own pleasure. She sat with Sylvia in the living-room, making a list of telephone messages which she
was
to make. The little school maid brought in their lunch, and Ingrid helped her to arrange it on the small table.

Even as she wheeled the little table into place beside Sylvia
’
s couch, and removed the covers from the plates, she knew that this meal would meet with no more approval than most of the others. She was
q
uite prepared for Sylvia
’
s shudder, for Sylvia
’
s p
u
shing away of the plate.

“
Really!
”
said Sylvia.
“
It might do for schoolboys, but it won
’
t do for me. No. No, Ingrid, I really can
’
t eat it.
”

Ingrid, who could eat almost anything, and who found in hospital that the fare was not unlike this of school, could sympathize a little with Sylvia. Sylvia was very fond of the good thing
s
in life, and food was one of the good things in her somewhat selfish life. Ingrid said quickly:

“
Why don
’
t you let me make you an omelette, Sylvia
?
It would be much nicer for you than this. Shall I do that?
”

“
Oh, you don
’
t want to bother,
”
said Sylvia, half-heartedly.

“
It
’
s no bother. Omelettes are quick and easy; and after all, light food is much better for you when you have to be inactive.
”
She rose and removed the offending plates,
“
Look, I
’
ll bring you a glass of sherry, and make you an omelette. I won
’
t be long.
”

She took Sylvia the sherry, and set about making the omelette. In a short time, she was back in the living-room with a tastefully arranged tray. There was the ham omelette, light, fluffy and hot. It was followed by fruit salad. A light, attractive meal. Sylvia breathed thankfulness.

“
Ingrid, that was lovely. I haven
’
t enjoyed lunches or suppers for weeks.
”

“
Well, after all, school food isn
’
t exactly invalid fare.
”

“
And you were so quick, too. I had no idea you were a good cook, Ingrid.
”

“
Hospital food isn
’
t so very different from school food, you know. We were always cooking odd snacks for ourselves and I developed quite an interest in cooking. I think you
’
d better let me cook all your lunches for you.
”

“
My dear, what a lovely suggestion. Would you really do that?
”

Ingrid smiled.

“
I
’
m here to look after you,
”
she said.

Sylvia smiled too. She was pleased with life. She had intended for some time that Ingrid should do the cooking, but she had wanted Ingrid to offer to do it, and to this end she had complained regularly about the school food, and daily shown her reluctance to eat it. It would be so much nicer, if people were surprised that Ingrid should do so much, to be able to say:
“
But Ingrid insisted on cooking for me: she insisted that light and dainty fare would be better for me.
”

Later that same afternoon, she asked Ingrid to telephone a message to Pamela Orindean.

“
I am sorry to keep you running about. It
’
s so annoying being tied by the heels like this.
”

“
I
’
ll do it before I bring tea in,
”
said Ingrid,
and made her way to Arnold
’
s study. Arnold was not there, but young Robert-Mills was, and he looked up with a hastily-assumed expression of concern as the door opened. When he saw Ingrid instead of his Housemaster, his face cleared, although she thought there was still a faint anxiety remaining in his eyes.

“
You again?
”
she asked, crossing to the telephone.

He nodded.

“
Not more hot water?
”
she asked sympathetically.

“
Yes,
”
he said, the anxiety deepening. Then he could not resist the joke.
“
Or hot coffee,
”
he added.

“
What happened?
”
she asked.

“
Matron sent me to report to Mr. Southbrook.
”

“
But why?
”

“
Well
...”
He decided she was an ally, in spite of being the Housemaster
’
s sister.
“
You know, it
’
s perishing cold in the dorm. And so me and Smith Three made a flask of coffee to drink when we were in bed. I hid it in my bed until after the monitor had been, and when I went to get it, it had leaked all over the bed. Right through the mattress. It was Smith
’
s fault
—
he didn
’
t stopper it up properly; only you see, it was my bed.
”

“
Too bad,
”
said Ingrid.

“
Miss Everton was angry. She said she had had enough of me, and sent me to Mr. Southbrook. I expect he
’
ll be angry too.
”

“
I think he
’
ll forgive you,
”
said Ingrid smiling.
“
Shall I put in a good word for you?
”

“
Oh yes, please, Miss Southbrook
.”
His face cleared magically. All the irrepressible fun was back in his brown eyes. He put his hand in his pocket to communicate to his mouse Theodore that everything was going to be all right.

Ingrid made her telephone call, and went back to the
li
ving-room. Arnold came in just as she wa
s
carrying the tea tray in, and he was accompanied by Laurence Pinder.

“
You have somebody waiting for you in your study
,”
said Ingrid to Arnold.

“
Somebody I must see right away?
”
he asked, looking ruefully at the tea things.

“
No, but I should, darling. And put the poor dear out of his misery
.”

“
Oh, a miscreant?
”

“
Yes.
”

“
Then let him wait
.
Who
i
s it?
”

“
Roberts-Mills.
”

“
Not again? I wonder what it can be this time.
”

“
Hot co
f
fee all over his bed. The poor dear freezes in his dormitory
—
he ha
s
my sympathy.
”
Arnold laughed,

“
The things that boy gets up to!
”

“
He
’
s a perfect nuisance,
”
declared Sylvia.
“
Half the trouble in this House is due to that boy. If he doesn
’
t do it himself, he instigates others to do it. In the end, he will be expelled.
”

“
I don
’
t think so,
”
said Arnold gently.
“
Always in mischief, but its harmless enough. High spirits. The kind we like to have, although they
’
re troublesome at times. Well,
I’
ll go and dispense judgment and then come back to enjoy my tea.
”

When he came back, Miss Everton was with him.

“
I didn
’
t want to intrude,
”
she said,
“b
ut Mr. Southbrook insisted.
”

It was another pleasant little party. So much pleasanter, thought Ingrid, than when Patrick and his Pamela had been there. Miss Everton, as well as Arnold, laughed about the
misdemeanours
of young Robert-Mills. It seemed that she, too, had a soft spot for
hi
m

“
He said you were very angry with, him,
”
said Ingrid.

“
I was, momentarily. None of us like to have work piled on to us, because somebody else is careless. But it didn
’
t last long
—
just long enough to impress him a bit.
”

“
Miss Everton is always so good-natured and sweet-tempered that we impose on her shockingly,
”
said Arnold. Ingrid happened to glance up at that moment at Nora Everton, and saw that Arnold
’
s words had brought a blush to her cheeks.

“
A nice compliment,
”
she said,
“
but quite undeserved.
”

“
We have worked together for a long time now,
”
said Arnold to Ingrid.
“
I have quite the nicest Matron in the school
—
and I hope to keep her.
”

“
I don
’
t think you
’
re going to lose me
,
”
said Miss Everton.

“
I wish ours were half as nice,
”
said Laurence casually.

Sylvia listened to the exchange and did not like it. She did not like other women to receive compliments, or to be liked and appreciated. Yet she did not wish to put herself out to the extent of being worthy to receive them herself. She felt that she did not get her due in this circle. Arnold, Laurence and Miss Everton were vitally interested in the affairs of the school. She herself had to suffer them, but was not really interested, and they knew it. Whenever she listened to them talking of school matters together, she felt an odd resentment, a quickening of irritation.

“
Don
’
t we ever talk of anything but school affairs?
”
she asked.
“
Isn
’
t there anything else interesting in the world?
”

They all looked at her quickly. It was on the tip of Arnolds tongue to apologize, since apology was the only way of placating his wife, but Mi
ss
Everton was before him
.

“
Oh, poor Mrs. Southbrook,
”
she said.
“
You must get frightfully bored listening to our shop-
t
alk. I don
’
t know how you endure it, anyway, having to lie here all day, and then we all come along and bore you, when we ought to be thinking up thing
s
to amuse you.
”

Well, thought Arnold, that was placating Sylvia most handsomely. Ingrid thought: What a dear she is, this Matron of Arnold
’
s. Sylvia thought that Miss Everton had taken quite the right line, and one the others might follow. It was true that she received more visitors now that Ingrid was here, but they were no good to her if they were not prepared to pay her homage and flatter her
.

When Pamela Orindean called in to see her, Sylvia spent a good deal of time complaining of her lot.

“
You
’
ve no idea how tedious it gets, Pamela,
”
she said, her eyes admiring the soft suede golfing jacket and matching suede hat her visitor was wearing.
“
Nothing but school, school, school. The Head
’
s wife seems to be always too busy to come in and see me
—
though she does fly in and fly out again once in a while. The Dean
’
s wife is my only consolation, and to tell you the truth (but don
’
t let it go any farther), she is about as bored with the set here as I am. Only, of course, she gets away from it pretty often, but I
’
m here for three terms in the year. Do come in and see me as much as you can.
”