The Brontes Went to Woolworths (24 page)

But I
do
love Mildred.

Katrine, her arm in mine, drank it all in. Then she suddenly looked round and said, ‘Here, hi! I’ve seen this Square before.’ We had been round it goodness knows how many times; had passed the Toddingtons’ door, talking.

Mildred called out from the drawing-room, ‘Is that my girl?’ and, ‘My dear, I was just going to ring you about those place cards from Barker.’

She accepted Katrine at once. (‘Can’t have too many of you nice things.’) ‘Well, Deirdre, how’s the passion for Herbert?’

‘Oh, immense, thanks, Lady Mildred.’

‘And Katrine? (I’m going to call you that sooner or later, so let’s make it sooner.)’

‘You must give her time – like Sir Horatio,’ I answered, and she giggled, took a cigarette and tilted the head of invitation at the box. ‘And Baby? I haven’t seen her for a week. Any news of the Brontës?’

‘Rather. Emily’s writing a new book called
Swithering
Depths
.’

‘Oh my lord! that woman!’

‘
And
it’s coming out in the spring. Entwhistle, Lassiter and Morhead.’

For a second, Lady Toddington wavered.

‘Are they a new firm? Oh, I see what you mean!’

Katrine gave a little howl and said, ‘Oh, you
are
a dear!’

‘Just say it again. I
must
memorise it.’

We chanted, ‘Entwhistle – Lassiter – and Morhead.’

‘I like Lassiter,’ decided Lady Toddington, ‘
he
’
s
the brains of that firm. We’ll have him to dinner. Tell Baby. And now, tell me. The new governess
’

‘Miss Ainslie.’

‘How’s she shaping?’ Mildred looked at me keenly.

‘Well,’ I began, ‘I think she has a good heart.’

‘That means she’s a bit of an ass,’ said Katrine. ‘Is she an ass, Deirdre? When people say one’s got a good heart it usually means that, just as when professionals tell you your voice is a mezzo-soprano it’s only a polite way of saying you can’t sing at all.’

I had the usual mental struggle I experience in trying to define the governesses. ‘She’s younger than Miss Martin and has “up-to-date” methods. She’s got the sort of face that used to go with being called Gladys, mother says. A kind of
blonde manquée
. She’s Bright. She calls the verandah the “revandah” . . . you see, we’ve had such a lot of them, Lady Mildred. At Hampton Wick there was Miss Baines-King and Miss Easton, then Miss Chisholm, Miss Martin
’

‘There was Lukin, Mogley, Tipslark, Cabbery, Smifser,’ murmured Katrine. And then Toddy looked in, and I really did have to introduce him to Katrine at last. I could tell by the tiny, cocked glance of inquiry he threw at me that he wished to be cued as to how he and she stood in our scheme, and I said, ‘Toddy dear, this is my sister, Katrine. You quarrel, rather,’ and we all giggled. He adjusted his glasses.

‘A pity. I seem to be on such unhappy terms with so many of your circle.’

‘It’s only temporary breezes,’ Katrine explained, ‘I think
au fond
we are quite fond of each other. But I chaff you, and then you have to be introduced to me all over again.’

‘Ah . . . present me to this lady, Deirdre.’

‘Sir Herbert Toddington, Miss Carne. Sir Herbert is the famous judge, Katrine.’

Katrine inclined her head. ‘Indeed? A very interesting profession, I believe. You must quite find it takes up your time.’

‘Oh, not at all,’ responded Toddy acidly, ‘one must have a hobby.’

‘Perhaps you and Katrine will bury the hatchet now, Herbert,’ suggested Mildred.

He turned to her. ‘I should indeed be willing. But – would Sheil approve?’

We all considered this. Katrine said, ‘Perhaps we might have a very
slight
disagreement now and again, Sir Herbert.’

‘These sudden, suburban reconciliations,’ I murmured. And soon, we had to go, because Katrine’s company is playing at the Hammersmith Palace, and she has to have a terrible, sexless meal that’s too old to be tea and too young to be dinner at about five-thirty.

27

Helen Ainslie set out the last of her photographs, stood her golf-clubs in a corner, and sat down at the table by the window.

‘DEAREST MUM,

‘I am writing to you in my bedroom, which is quite a nice cheerful one, and the mattress is a spring one, because I’ve just
poked
it! I look out on the garden – what there is of it.

‘ “Sheil”
is
her name, not Sheila. It seems it’s a place in Skye where Papa (dead) was born; same with Katrine. My predecessor seems to have omitted any sort of exercises from the time-table, so Sheil and I do our “daily dozen” together. The child is perfectly killing, and I draw her out to get a good laugh. When I first came, I thought the whole family was
quite
mad, but I’ve sifted the whole business, now, and it’s all their fun. Joking apart, they quite made me believe in a Mr Baffin – or some such name, but when Mrs Carne saw I thought he was a real live person, she told me the facts, and I had a hearty laugh over that, too.

‘I think I am making a hit! Whenever I make a joke at table, they all simply roar.

‘There is to be a party on Xmas night, and would you believe it? Mr Justice Toddington and his wife are coming. Well, I wasn’t going to be had, so I said, laughingly, “Is
he
a game, too?” but he is coming, also possibly a Mr Mathewson and a Mr Nicholls, and a couple of girl friends of the Carnes – Charlotte and Emily Bell. When I remarked on this, and reminded Katrine that that was the name of the
Brontës
, she was highly amused, and agreed that it was a perfect coincidence. The Carnes are always full of them. They (the Bells) are friends of the Toddingtons, and I rather gather they met them through them (what a sentence!).

‘I suppose I must give each of the Carnes some giftlet at Xmas. It’s rather a tax as one has been here so very little time, but they seem to make a tremendous business of Xmas, and the schoolroom is already festooned with paper chains and the tree has come, and we were hard at it with holly and mistletoe yesterday, and had a perfectly killing time, with valiant me on a ladder! I’ve put up a big bunch of m’toe in the hall, and told the girls (in fun)
I mean to kiss
Sir Herbert
, and Deirdre said he’d have me up for indecent assault – for which I shut her up. Joking aside, she goes too far sometimes, but is quite a ripping type of girl, for all that, though I could wish they all read less and played some game. Still, the study of new types has always fascinated me, as you know.

‘I think I shall give Sheil
Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens
– I saw some reduced presentation copies in Boots the other day, and perhaps a shingle brush for Katy, and a box of chokkies for Deirdre. Flowers for Mrs Carne.

‘Yesterday, I came into the schoolroom and found Sheil wrapping up presents, and I saw she had actually addressed one “To dearest Mrs Carne from Saffy, Gabriel and Michael,” and when I burst out laughing she got perfectly crimson, so I made some little joke – I forget what, and said no more about it. It is, of course, a case for tact and a knowledge of child psychology, and I already have a planlet to win her confidence. “Always work with, not against” I found such a rippingly sensible rule at Pridhoe. I took it for granted the child believed in Santa, but, when I offered to be him on Xmas Day, Mrs Carne said they none of them ever had . . . ’

28

The penetrating voices of Katrine and Deirdre came from the floor below to Miss Ainslie’s ears as she hovered between bedroom, schoolroom and night nursery: marking time until the guests should arrive and the gong summon the family to dinner, and indulgently controlling her pupil as she rushed, star-eyed, from room to room, and hung over the banisters. It was a high-pressure job, calling for one’s full stock of intuition.

‘Who will come first?’ (That was Katrine). ‘Toddy and Lady Mildred or Charlotte and Emily?’

‘The Toddys, I think. You know what Emily is. Doesn’t care a toot what she looks like, and Charlotte wants her to make a good impresh’, and will be working on her till the last minute.’

‘But I expect Lady Mildred gave her a new fringed silk for parties,’ shouted Sheil, suddenly. Deirdre hung over the banisters above. ‘Yes, but you know what they are about presents. Emily’s quite capable of returning it.’

(‘
My dear, we’re not all
QUITE
deaf !
’)

‘Oh
no
! Lady Mildred would be so hurt!’

(‘
Not so loud, dear!

’) ‘Well,
I
think Emily’s a runnion!’

(‘
A what? Look, your fillet is right down over your eyebrows
.’)

‘Shakespeare, Miss Ainslie,’ answered Katrine and Deirdre simultaneously, from above.

‘Yes,’ chimed in Sheil, ‘ “
Anoint
the witch! the rump-fed runnion cried.” Isn’t runnion a lovely word, Miss Ainslie? It almost makes one wish one was one oneself.’

‘Dear me! What a lot of “ones”! Suppose you keep off the draughty landing, old lady.’ But the bell rang, and Sheil was off in a flash of leaf-green satin, her coppery hair rising round its golden band.

‘Oh, Toddy, my true love! Is it really you and Lady Mildred?’ ‘Yes, darling, it’s really us.’

‘Then let’s kiss each other at once, before anybody else gets a chance at you.’

(‘
Really
’ )

‘Now, that will be delightful. But – is there going to be much competition?’

‘No. Only games, unless they worry you, and snapdragon if the brandy stays lit.’

‘You pet!’ Sounds of kissing.

‘Oh Toddy, I
do
think on Christmas Eve your house ought to be hung with little silvery nuts! You’d look so sweet coming out of the door. Isn’t he looking pretty, Lady Mildred?’

‘My dear child, spare my blushes. Ridiculous! Come, come.’

‘Oh, you aren’t in your wig!

It would have looked so lovely with a tinsel star stuck on in front.’

They were ushered into the drawing-room, and Mrs Carne was heard by Helen Ainslie to hope that ‘the little insect’ hadn’t been teasing them. Miss Ainslie, her occupation gone, prepared to descend in her gala taffeta with its shoulder-knot of velvet pansies.

Sir Herbert: a small, white-haired old man with a grim face, very like his photos. Lady Toddington: very smart in silver
lamé
with a large, good-natured face.

Deirdre and Katrine on the stairs. The introduction of herself.