Sleep in Peace (5 page)

Breakfast was another danger-point because of Ludo. Poor Ludo was for some reason often late. No one knew why; no one could
imagine
why, as Gwen often said, for he was woken at the same time as Gwen and Laura, but poor Ludo was very often late. It grew worse and worse; at first only Mildred was cross about it, then Gwen began to take a hand. “Ludo is late
again
, Papa,” she said. (How much nicer Ludo was than Gwen, sighed Laura.) After a few mornings of this Papa himself began to grow angry. One day he even threatened to whip Ludo if he were late again: “I shall have,” he said, “to fetch my stick!” At this Laura trembled, for nobody at Blackshaw House had ever been whipped before. After a long time she stole a glance at Ludo, who sat looking pale and sullen, his long black lashes cast down, his eyes fixed on his plate. That night Laura evolved a plan, which she faithfully put into practice next morning; for the moment she awoke she bounced out of bed, began to sing and chatter in her loudest tones, banged on Ludo's door as she was swept past it to the bathroom by Mildred, and altogether made so much noise that surely nobody could sleep through it. Mildred was about to be cross, but Papa came out of his bedroom smiling; and crying “That's my merry little girl!” he picked Laura up and gave her a resounding kiss. (He smelled deliciously of shaving soap.) That morning Ludo was punctual, but the plan could not be carried
out every day, and there were many breakfasts when Ludo's place stayed empty long after the bell had rung, and Laura's heart thumped with apprehension. He was never whipped, however; Laura perceived that Papa would never really whip anybody. And then suddenly it was all right, for Ludo began to go to school, and was always in a hurry to leave the house so as to be punctual there. He scolded Ada if she were late with the porridge; and once positively grumbled at Papa, who came in late to serve the bacon because while shaving he had cut himself.

After breakfast, then, Ludo rushed off to school, and Mildred and Laura escorted Gwen to her select private school, and then went for a walk before returning to Blackshaw House. This walk was rather dreary, because Mildred liked streets and the town, and expected Laura to walk very properly by her side and keep her gloves on all the time, and strongly disapproved of balls, skipping-ropes and hoops. These articles were all very well in the garden at home, she said, but should not be taken in the street. The tiresome part of it was that, although in one's soul one was convinced that Mildred, and Gwen who supported her, were wrong, yet if one disobeyed their exasperating rules, disaster always followed. For example. After the morning walk Laura always had a glass of milk, which Mildred fetched from the cellar kitchen, at the top of whose stone steps Laura was forbidden to stand. One day, in a mood of reckless daring, she went and stood there—and suddenly found herself lying at the bottom of the steps in a pool of milk. It appeared she had fallen down the whole flight, and Mildred, rushing to the rescue, had flung the milk in horror to the floor. (This incident was also notable for the fury which it aroused in Gwen. When she came home from school and heard of it, she exploded into a passion of rage, stamped her foot and screamed at Mildred for not taking better care of Laura. She also seized Laura, hugged her passionately, then made her undress—in the middle of the day!—held up her thin little arms and made her bend them to show whether they were broken, and
finally compelled Papa, who thought little of the matter, yes, by sheer importunity compelled him to send for the doctor! Laura was amazed, and even a little ashamed; she had no idea Gwen could be so kind and nice. For a day or two she loved Gwen dearly, and everything was splendid. Then the holidays came, Ludo was late for breakfast and Gwen was cross again and the world darkened, for Laura could not love anyone who was cross with Ludo.) But there it was; defy these oppressing powers, and disaster inevitably occurred. There was that other day, for instance, when Mildred had gone home to see her mother who was ill, and Laura took her walk with Ada. Joyously she bowled her forbidden hoop along beside her in the street. It was a wooden hoop, with a wooden stick; Ludo, who had an iron hoop and an iron stick with a hook, rather scorned it, but Laura was deeply attached to her hoop, and Ludo had taught her how to make it perform skilful evolutions. (Laura was deeply attached to all her inanimate properties; they were not lifeless, but simply rather differently constructed portions of the same universe, to her.) Well! She and Ada went out joyously with the hoop, and Laura made the hoop curve and go fast and slow, and Ada admired her —when suddenly the hoop ran off the pavement into the road. Laura dashed after it, but the hoop began to sway and fall, and somehow became inextricably entangled with the huge hairy hoofs of a carthorse with feathered ankles. It was an awful moment; the carter shouted, Ada screamed, a huge hoof seemed to tower above Laura's face. Next minute everything was all right again; the carter reined back the horse so fiercely that its mouth opened, showing its big yellow teeth, and Laura flew through the air to the pavement, jerked by the full power of Ada's arm. Even the hoop was not harmed. It was an alarming experience, however; Laura felt quite shaky as she walked home, and clung tightly to Ada, who carried the hoop awkwardly in her other hand. What would Gwen say? Laura sighed.

“Ada,” she suggested as they approached Blackshaw House:
“I don't think we need tell anybody about the horse, need we?”

“Very well, Miss Laura,” agreed Ada faintly.

“Except Ludo,” concluded Laura.

On some afternoons of the week Ludo and Gwen were at home, and on others they were at school; Laura at first had difficulty in understanding which was which, until Ludo taught her the names of the days of the week, when she rapidly learned that his half-holidays were Wednesday and Saturday. These days were joyous days, except when Ludo went out to tea or to play with other schoolboys, and this did not happen very often, it seemed. If the day was fine, all three children went out for a walk together, with or without Mildred according to the degree of her occupation. But these walks were different from the tedious morning parade. Gwen and Mildred dropped behind, discussing frocks and hairdressing; Ludo and Laura ranged ahead, and thus to some extent led the way. Now Ludo and Laura had the same taste in walks; they liked to climb hills and feel the wind, and if the road proved rocky, they were by so much the happier. There were a great many hills all round Hudley, indeed Ludo said Hudley was famous for its hills; they curved in and out of each other, making long winding valleys. They were green on their slopes, with a great many black stone walls; towards the top they looked darker, and that, said Ludo, was the heather. Roads and railways ran along the valleys; it was fun to look down on them from a height, and count the horses, or the clanging trucks as they rolled along. Often the children's way led past Blackshaw Mills, and then Ludo hurried Laura suddenly into the yard, and held her hand firmly so that she should not fall over on to the coal, and showed her the red winking eyes of the boiler furnace, and the firers wielding their great shovels. The children watched, entranced, until Mildred and Gwen caught them up and called them shrilly through the archway.

But if the day was too wet to go out, the afternoons were jollier still. If Ludo and Gwen were at school, Laura was able to
play with her dolls, of which she had somehow acquired a large collection. Some were clad in velvet and brocade, some in silk, some in cotton; Laura loved them all except one, a very large doll which could stand alone. Somehow this was offensive to Laura's maternal feelings, and only on the compulsion of her ever-ready compassion did she allow this independent doll to share the others' treats. It was on wet days when Ludo was at home that life was jolliest of all, for Ludo had the most wonderful ideas for games. Gwen having given him as a birthday present a pack of cards with crimson backs, he bought a pack for Laura, emerald green and very glossy; and taught her to play
Snap
and
Beggar-my-Neighbour
almost before she could count the pips or recognise the pictures. They sometimes played games with boards, too, such as
Snakes and Ladders, Halma
and
Ludo;
but Laura did not care for
Snakes and Ladders
because it seemed to her too disappointing, and
Halma
was rather spiteful, while Ludo was sensitive about the game which bore his name, owing to Gwen's teasings on the subject. The games the two children liked best were not competitive, and were entirely of Ludo's own invention. One day when Ludo had been up to the mill with Papa, he came back with his velvet eyes beaming, and a dozen sheets of strong but flexible cardboard under one arm. These sheets of cardboard, he explained importantly to Laura, were pattern sheets; when in use they had neat little oblongs of cloth gummed to them, patterns to tempt the fancy of customers. Laura could see that this was true, for even now the sheets were rough in places to the fingers, and retained traces of glue and wool. The sheets Ludo cut up into thin strips and the strips he then bent into neat long troughs, open at each end. A series of these, arranged on piles of books in a descending row, made a perfectly wonderful open pipeline, so to speak, down which Ludo hurtled marbles. Laura loved this game; especially as Ludo constantly designed improvements and complications. There were trap doors, tunnels, archways, alternative routes on different levels; the marbles finished
their headlong course in diversely-decorated sheds. Ludo discharged the marbles at the summit; it was Laura's duty to collect them at the base, and report missing units, and all damage to the line. Occasionally, as a great treat for Laura, these roles were scrupulously reversed. On really pouring afternoons when a walk was from the very first impossible, these
Marble Shows
as Ludo called them extended right round the nursery table, and ended perhaps beneath it in the shadow of Papa's chair. Then, just when the system was at its height and working most efficiently, Gwen would finish her book or grow tired of her sewing, and want to join in and alter everything; or Mildred would come in, trampling and shaking with her heavy foot, and say it was time for nursery tea. Another game invented by Ludo was called
Flag Shows
. For this the pattern sheets were cut up and bent to represent stalls at a bazaar, and tiny flags, accurately and carefully chalked from the “flags of the nations” picture at the beginning of Ludo's
Boys' Own Paper
, were arranged on the stalls as if for sale. Laura's small fingers, still babyishly plump, could not well control the chalks within such small compass, so she had a cheaper stall of her own; only the very best of her flags could be admitted to the more expensive stalls. This game was “quieter” and “tidier”, in the grown-up sense, than the
Marble Shows
, and so found favour in the eyes of Mildred; Gwen, too, unfortunately, took an interest in it, and often wished to pretend to buy the flags and take them away. But this was intolerable to both Laura and Ludo.

“They aren't meant to be taken away,” objected Ludo uneasily, as a beautiful Japanese Rising Sun was swept off in Gwen's nipping fingers.

“Why do you call it a bazaar, then, if they're not for sale?” objected Gwen, picking up a gaudy green Brazilian. “How silly!”

Ludo, disconcerted, sat back on his heels, his brown eyes wretched. Laura, feeling as if Gwen's fingers were squeezing her heart, rapidly began to pack the flags away in piles.

“What are you doing, Laura?” objected Ludo mildly.

“I don't want to play this any more,” growled Laura, holding down her head.

“All right,” agreed Ludo with relief.

“Teach her to tell the time instead, Ludo,” agreed Gwen amiably. “Where is your clock?”

This was a very handsome cardboard affair with movable metal hands, which Papa had bought for Laura; owing to Gwen's enthusiasm, however, it had become a resented task and was very rarely used.

Gwen indeed was sometimes maddened by the perversity and stupidity of her darlings, her treasures, her beloved little brother and sister, her dearest Laura and Ludo. She loved them passionately, second only to Papa; she desired their well-being with all her heart and soul. But they were so silly, so backward, so simple; they didn't know anything and they never would know anything; Ludo's school reports were atrocious, here was Laura nearly six years old and not able yet to tell the time! Her heart bled for them as she watched them playing their idiotic games all over the floor. (Look at Laura's hair! Look at Ludo's knees!) Why couldn't they play something sensible, something which would be useful to them in after life, the sort of thing which other children played? What would become of them when they grew up and had to face the world? “You aren't pretty like Mamma, you know, Laura,” urged Gwen seriously, tugging a comb through Laura's rough dark hair, “so you must always try to be very clean and neat.” “You aren't handsome and clever like Papa, you know, Ludo,” urged Gwen, piercing into one of Ludo's ears with a screwed-up towel, “so you must always try to be very good and well-behaved.”

Thus suitably subdued, Laura in a clean pinafore and Ludo with his face scrubbed until it shone, the children went downstairs to greet Papa on his return from the mill to tea. They threw themselves upon him in the hall and kissed him tumultuously;
Laura pulled off his gloves and fetched his slippers, which had been warming by the dining-room fire, Ludo carefully and proudly unlaced his boots. (Gwen stood beaming in the background, asking questions about Mr. Hinchliffe, the foreman and the gas-engines.) Papa often looked very tired and harassed when he came in; there was something troubling him, it seemed, some Tariffs from America. Laura did not understand what Tariffs were, but she knew the word well from hearing it so often, and knew that it meant trouble about business and money. Consequently one day when Mr. Hinchliffe had come in to have dinner with Papa and Laura overheard the two gentlemen talking about the bankruptcy and ruin of a fellow manufacturer, the child struck in: