The Fortunes of Springfield (6 page)

“And does it make any difference?” asked Caroline.

“Good heavens, no. Except that I can’t quite believe it. How did you gather up so much education and good sense in a children’s home?”

“The education came chiefly from Mrs. Webster. If there is any good sense, perhaps it was inherited.”

“Did you know your parents?”

“No. My mother was left a widow before I was
born
,
and died soon after. But the home had quite a lot of details, and I believe myself to be perfectly normal and respectable.”

She was laughing as she said this, and David smiled politely at her joke, but he was still thinking over what she had told him.

“Some people don’t get many chances in life, do they?” he ruminated.

“Meaning me?” asked Caroline.

“No, not you, you are exceptional. But some of the poor little blighters in the homes.”

“Some of them,” said Caroline, “are better off there than in their own homes. It is a big subject. Nowadays, the people who run most of the homes are so enlightened; and many parents are not enlightened. Yet I suppose the thing that every child should have is a home of its own.”

“A thing you never had,” said David.

“A thing I never had. Perhaps that is why I feel for children. For these children here, too. They have a home, true; but without its guiding spirit.”

“I told you,” he said. “You can have your own way with them.”

“I know. I’m very grateful. You must think me very bossy and domineering, Mr. Springfield, but I’m not really.” She smiled at him, and perhaps her grey eyes held something of pleading in them.

“No,” he said shortly. “I never thought you were.”

“I’ll
go and bring in your coffee,” she said.

When she returned with the coffee tray, there was no more personal conversation between them, but he talked to her of the house and what he wanted to do with it. David realized that Caroline knew a good deal about the period in which the house was built, and began to describe it to her as it had been in his youth, when his mother had cherished it and looked after it; and as he intended it should be again. Caroline asked him if the
chandeliers could be taken down for cleaning. They were elegant, with very few pieces chipped or missing, and she knew that they would sparkle and shine with points of brilliant colour if she could clean them; but they were too heavy to be tackled casually. They talked in easy companionship for the first time, until Caroline went away to wash the dishes. After supper, she did not usually see him again. He was left to his own devices, and she sat by the kitchen fire reading, or
attending
to one of the many small tasks that could be left for this more leisurely-time of the day: darning the children’s socks, mending their clothes, doing some ironing or preparing things for the morning.

On this particular evening, she took up a pullover of Terence’s that needed mending. He had caught it on a branch when climbing trees and had made an ugly jagged rent in it. It needed careful and skilful mending, and while she gave her fingers to this task, she gave her
min
d
to thoughts of David Springfield.

She had always been a great one for dreaming. In her childhood, she had dreamed of many different kinds of parentage; and had been (perhaps in common with almost every other little girl in the children’s home) sometimes a princess, mysteriously abducted when a baby, sometimes the heroines of her favourite books. She had never dreamed of real people, but even in her late teens dreamed she was among the people she read about; and later still invented companions for herself.

This was the first time that she had day-dreamed about a man she actually knew. It was all very well to have a reputation for c
ommo
n sense and efficiency; it was even pleasurable to know that she had these attributes, but what were they by themselves? Cold virtues, as she had thought in connection with the children. She might treat them with justice and common sense, but the warm glow of love was needed too. In her own case, common sense and efficiency must be fortified and
humanized by charm and love. Charm she could not know about. Could one ever know it about oneself? But love she had always needed; both to love and to be loved. She could love the children and win their love in return; but even that was not enough. She wanted to be loved in a very different fashion; with a strong, intensely personal, compelling love that had certainly never yet been offered her. So, allowing herself a little indulgence, she mended a pullover and dreamed of David.

So that when a light tap on the door was immediately followed by his entrance into the kitchen, she was so much put out of countenance (almost as if he could see for himself what she was dreaming) that she flushed in confusion. David was surprised.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I startle you?”

“No. Not really—I didn’t hear you coming.”

“I forgot to tell you that I would be leaving early for market tomorrow, so that I’d like my breakfast when the children have thei
r
s. And I will be out for lunch— I shall lunch with Wescott and another man at the Crown—so you can make your arrangements accordingly.”

“Very well, Mr. Springfield.”

“You’re still working, I see.”

“Mending Terence’s pullover. He is terribly careless with clothes.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him to do it on purpose. A more surly, bad-tempered child I never came across.”

“I can’t get
at
him
. He shuts
hims
elf
away, and nobody can get past that surly barrier. I think a lot of misunderstanding must have made him like that.”

“It’s a good thing you have charge of him, and not somebody more impatient
...
But I wouldn’t put a lot of work into that. You’ll probably be
mending
it again before long.”

She
smile
d
and did not answer. David went to the
door.

“Are you comfortable in here in the evenings?” he asked.

“Yes, quite, thank you.”

“And is there anything I can bring you back from town?”

She smiled up at him suddenly.

“Yes, I wish you’d bring me an electric polisher.” She meant it as a joke, but he chose to take it seriously.

“You really need a polisher?”

“We really do. There’s acres of polishing to do in this house. But I was joking. We can cope with it.”

“Why should you cope with it, if an electric gadget will do it for you?”

“Well, I thought that finance had to be carefully studied.”

David laughed then.

“Finance always has to be carefully studied; but you mustn’t do without essential things—that’s bad economics. As a matter of fact, I want to pull my brother’s farm round without using
my own capital, but you mustn’t imagine that we’re in desperate straits here. You shall have
your polisher, and anything else you badly need in the house. Just let me have a list—or better
s
till, get the things yourself, and send me the bills.”

“Thank you. I won’t be too extravagant.”

“I’m sure you won’t. Well, good night, Miss Hearst.”

“
Good night, Mr. Springfield.”

The door closed behind him, and Caroline sat with her
h
ands
idle in her lap for a few minutes, thinking about
him.
Dark, vital good looks, powerful shoulders and strong hands, beautiful white teeth showing whenever he laughed or a smile lit up his face; and a wealth of concentration and determination to set upon the job in hand, which was, at the moment, the setting to rights of his brother’s farm and his brother’s
financial
affairs.

He had, however, thought Caroline, going further, little personal interest in people. He left the children to her and gave them little time himself—perhaps because he had so much else to occupy
him.
He
h
a
d
, so far, had little contact with the people of the neighbourhood. He seemed to be self-sufficient.

David, leaving the kitchen, decided to smoke a last cigarette out of doors. There was a deceptive spring mildness about the air tonight, pleasant but probably transient. As he walked along what had been a well
-
kept terrace, but was now lamentably overgrown, he could smell violets. There had once been a violet bed somewhere here—just below the terrace; perhaps they continued to grow through the rotting grass. He had noticed that Miss Hearst had kept a small bowl of violets on the little table in the kitchen where she had her sewing things—part of Duncan Wescott’s offering, no doubt. He wondered if any special si
gnific
ant, was to be attached to the offering of flowers, and the fact that Miss Hearst kept them by her as she worked: but it was a fleeting wonder, and his mind soon turned towards other, more practical and more pressing things.

CHAPTER FOUR

MRS. Close’s drawing-room was warm, well-lit, beautifully furnished and humming with the conversations of twenty people
who had gathered to help their hostess celebrate her sixtieth birthday. Evening dresses were being flaunted for this occasion, and the room was gay with the colours of the women’s dresses, the flowers sent as birthday tributes, and the light voices that mingled with the deeper tones of the men, David had not for a long time been present at such a colourful party, and felt himself expanding under the influence of the men’s conversation and the sparkling eyes and bright smiles of the women. Mrs. Close was in pale grey with a cluster of pink rosebuds on one shoulder, which suited her pink-and-white delicacy to perfection. Patricia was in warm red velvet. Other girls, in frothing white, blue or yellow, contrasted with the black and white of the men. The light struck sparks of red and green from a jewel here or cut-glass decanter there, while the glowing fire attracted a circle of people who stood round it chatting amicably.

David had been cornered by a young and pretty girl who was, no doubt, the local siren. She was using her wiles on him quite shamelessly and it amused him to parry her thrusts for a while. He remembered her family well, and Oriel, although she could hardly have been more than six or seven when he left England, was trying to convince him that she remembered him too. She had already persuaded him to come to her mother’s next sherry party before Patricia arrived on the scene to rescue him. Patricia was well acquainted with the indulgence with which all men treated Oriel, but, in David’s case, she did not wish his indulgence to turn to interest, so she carried him off to speak to other guests. That, at least, was her excuse for carrying him off at all, but Oriel noticed that she was in no hurry to part with him, but stood near the group round the fire, talking vivaciously to him herself. Patricia knew she was looking her best in her red velvet dress, and the knowledge gave her extra sparkle and confidence. The fact that David seemed quite content t
o
settle in a small sofa beside her, and to devote his attention to her, added to that confidence. She was disappointed when Duncan Wescott leaned over them, resting his hand on David’s shoulder, and said:

“Will you forgive me, Pat, if I steal David for a few minutes? Roger Demister wants a word with him now, as he has to leave almost at once.”

“I believe you’re going to be quite unforgivable, and talk shop,” said Patricia.

“Only for a few minutes. You shall have him back.”

David excused himself and went away with Duncan. He knew what was coming. Roger Demister wanted a piece of land which adjoined his own, at present belonging to Springfield; and as it was extremely inaccessible for David’s farm machinery, David was tempted to let him have it. He could not understand why Gerald had refused to sell it, but had hung on, in the face of reason, to a piece of land of doubtful value. So he went to talk to Roger Demister, with Duncan Wescott, and in the delight of a general farming discussion, David forgot Patricia, Roger forgot to go home, and the young women of the party were annoyed that three presentable men should neglect them.

Patricia, however, managed to get a few words alone with him before he went home.

“I was so glad you could come, David. I hope you will come again soon.”

“It seems to be everybody’s intention to lure me out. I’ve had so many invitations this evening (and accepted several of them too), that Springfield will be neglected.”

“Oh dear, have people been worrying you?” asked
Patricia
, annoyed that others should have the audacity to want him too.

“Not exactly worrying.”

“Do tell me which ones you accepted, so that I shall know if I shall be there too.”

“Well, Oriel’s mother’s sherry party...”

“Good, I always go to those,” said Patri
ci
a, who had been making up her mind before not to go.

“Wescott’s to supper on Sunday
ev
ening
.
”

“Good again, we shall be there.”

“And Demister’s to lunch to meet his wife and tal
k
business
.”

“Well, I won’t be there, of course. But I shall see you at the sherry party.” Oriel, she was thinking, would have to be there, but it was most unlikely that she would be at Duncan’s on Sunday. Patricia went off to bed fairly contented, knowing that she would see David again soon, and only faintly worried by the thought of all the other young women who would want to see
him
again, as soon as he was in general circulation in the neighbourhood.

David drove his car through the silent night, with the window down to get fresh air, after the warmth of the party room. He had enjoyed himself. The warmth, li
ght
and colour; the sparkle and gaiety; the contact with old and new friends had revitalized him. He turned the car in at the wide gates, and on to the neglected, pot-holed drive. He must get this drive repaired and re-surfaced soon. He put the car away in the garage and walked round to the front of the house, and let himself into the hall.

He was immediately aware of a child crying. Lights were on in the upper hall, and he could hear the low tones of Caroline’s voice. This, at something past midnight, was unusual, and he wait upstairs to see if there was anything he could do. In the upstairs hall, emerging from a passage, he encountered Caroline, in a camel-hair dressing-gown and slippers, carrying a bundle of linen.

“Is something wrong?” he asked her.

She stopped, looking a little harassed, clasping the bundle of creased linen before her.

“Wendy and Babs are having thoroughgoing bilious attacks,” she said.

“Is there something I can do to help?” he asked. She hesitated. Then, seeing him immaculate in his evening clothes, she shook her head.

“No, I can manage, thank you.”

“They aren’t sickening for something, I hope.”

“No,” said Caroline somewhat grimly. “They are sickening
after
something. It’s a case of their sins finding them out. Unfortunately, the chief sinner, who I gather is Terence, hasn’t been affected. He must have a stronger stomach
...
I must dump this in the bathroom, and go and make up their beds again, and get them tucked up before they get chilled.”

“I’ll help you,” he said, and went along to the little girl’s bedroom. There, two very wan little creatures, pale of cheek and contrite of spirit, were
hang
in
g
over the washbasin. They looked guiltier at sight of David, and turned their backs to him. Caroline came into the room with clean linen.

“Better now?” she asked the little girls. “Keep your dressing-gowns tight round you or you’ll catch cold. As soon, as your beds are made, you can go to sleep again.”

David was standing by Wendy’s bed, ready to help. Caroline smiled at him, suddenly conscious of her own slippered and dressing-gowned state. Her hair was awry, and she thought she must look a dreadful
sight
.
She assured him she could manage alone, but he
simply
held out a hand for the sheet, so she unfurled it and together they made up the two beds. To conceal her slight embarrassment, she began to talk.

“To-morrow is Wendy’s birthday. She will be seven. And Mrs. Ryder is sending her three children along for tea, and Mrs. Davis’s little boy is coming; so I’ve been most of today making cakes and icing them, and meringues and trifles; all of which were put on the pantry shelves.”

“Ah,” said David.

Wendy began to cry, knowing that the tale of her misdeeds was about to come out. Babs, who had only just ceased wailing, joined in. Caroline went to them.

“
Crying isn’t a bit of use,” she said. “Come along, Wendy, let’s forget all about it. You don’t feel sick any more, do you? Good. Would you like a drink of water? Now come along and get into bed and let me tuck you up; and you mustn’t listen to Terence when he tells you to do things which you know are naughty. Now, don’t cry any more. Be a good girl and go off to sleep again. Now, Babs, you too.” She tucked them both up, hung their dressing-gowns on their hooks, and set their slippers beside their beds. Then she leaned over Babs, kissed her cheek, smoothed back her hair, and straightened the sheet. She did the same for Wendy.

“I’m going to leave a nightlight, Wendy; and if you or Babs want me, you must call out to me at once, in a nice loud voice. I think you’ll both feel better now. Good night, my dears.”

“Good night, Miss Hearst. Good night, Uncle David,” they said, in subdued little voices. Caroline gave them a gentle smile, opened the door for David and followed him from the room.

“I’d better just see that Terence is all right,” she said, and David followed her into the boy’s room. She did not put on the light. She could see Terence dimly in the light from the passage, and he was lying in a deep, contented sleep, one arm flung outside the covers, his hair over his forehead, his face serene. No surliness or sullenness in it now. That was something he would resume with his waking. She said softly:

“Mr. Springfield.”

“Yes
,
” asked David equally softly, from the door.

“Come and see what a nice little boy he really is.” David entered quietly and stood by her side. In the dim room, looking down at the sleeping boy, he was aware that a strange and unfamiliar feeling was gripping
him.
Why, he must be, at bottom, fond of the boy! Why, otherwise, this inexplicable feeling, this unknown emotion, this strangeness in the middle of the night?

They tip-toed from the room, and Caroline closed the door.

“You see what I mean?” she asked.

“Yes.” They went to the upper hall. There Caroline paused.

“Don’t let me keep you any longer, Mr. Springfield. Good night.”

“What are
you
going to do?”

“I just want to put the linen to soak—it will be easier to deal with later. And then I really
think
I must go down and make a cup of tea. After all the hullabaloo.”

“I wish I had come earlier to help you. I’ll go down and put on the kettle while you cope with the wash.”

“No, don’t bother...”

“I could do with a cup of tea myself,” he said, from halfway down the stairs.

Caroline put the sheets and pillowcases into the bath and turned on the water. She looked into the mirror and tidied her hair. Before she went downstairs, she would put her spotted scarf inside her dressing-gown, and spruce up a little. She wished she had not mentioned the tea, since the thought of having it with Mr. Springfield in the middle of the night brought on an attack of shyness; but now there was no help for it, so, a few minutes later, she went down into the kitchen.

“Already made,” said David
,
indicating the tray. “I’m sorry you should have had all this trouble, Miss Hearst.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Caroline. “Where there a
r
e children, there are bound to be occasional upsets.”

“And Terence was the
c
ause of this one?”

“So Wendy says—and I have found so far that Wendy is very truthful. Terence discovered the goodies and took the two girls in to see them; and the next step was obvious—to him, at least. They must have gorged themselves on meringues and iced cakes.”

“The boy has no feeling of responsibility at all— not even of the most elementary kind.”

“That isn’t his fault,” said Caroline gently. “We must see that he gets them, that’s all.”

“It amounts to stealing,” said David.

“That’s a harsh word for it.”

“Well, you’re too gentle.”

“No. I can’t be too gentle—not with these children. The other way—of harshness—has failed. I don’t think my way will.”

“And in the meantime you have to put up with scenes like this of tonight.”

She smiled at him.

“If you had come back half an hour later, you wouldn’t have known anything about it. Why should you worry?”

“Because it makes the job harder for you; and you’ll get tired of us, and decide to leave and take that job abroad after all.”

“And you wouldn’t like that?”

“Well, where would I get anybody else to do what you are doing?”

“Don’t worry,” said Caroline reassuringly, “I don’t throw my hand in as easily as that. And now I am going to bed. I feel desperately tired, because I was just in my first sleep when Babs’ crying woke me. Pity I’d gone to bed; I might have saved a lot of washing. However
...
”
She rose to her feet and put the used cups on the tray. ‘They can wait until morning,” she said. “Good night, Mr. Springfield.”

David went to the door and opened it for her. “Good night, Miss Hearst,” he said, and smiled at her as she passed him and went, to the stairs.

“Will you put the lights out?” she asked.

“Yes, I will.”

When she had gone, he turned back into the kitchen. He had been strongly aware of the contrast between this scene and the one he had so lately left. The kitchen, with its curtains drawn and the fire almost out in the range, was very quiet: pleasant enough now that Caroline had taken it over, but still shabby. And the girl who had sat on the hard chair by the table, sipping at the welcome, hot tea, had some things in common with it. She was extremely useful, and had nothing in her life of glamour; she was pleasant and quiet too; but he would not also apply the word shabby. For there was something in the steady shine of her eyes that was beautiful and new and quite unsullied by the world; something in the quality of her smile, besides gentleness, that was comforting and reassuring. How lucky the children had been, thought David, to get her.

He thought of the drawing-room in the Close house, with its warmth and sparkle, the flower-like colourings of the dresses and the flash of the jewels, the animated talk that went on all the time, the perfume that came to him as the flower-like dresses brushed by. This house was a more beautiful house than that. It could be as gracious, as inviting, as satisfying in its atmosphere. There had been parties here, in his youth, when his mother had presided over them, beautiful and gay, and he, as a child, had remembered the swish of silk dresses as women came down the wide staircase. As he carried the tray over to the sink, and turned off the kitchen light, and went out into the lower hall and towards the stairs, David thought that this house had a long history, and that many women had come down that same staircase, swishing in their silks, in high-waisted Josephine-type dresses, in crinolines, in funny little bonnets, and shawls and capes. It had always been a property of substance, and now it was little more than a farmhouse. He would bring it back to its former status. He would once more have its elegant rooms filled with light and life and gaiety. And he supposed that, if he were going to stay here and make this his home, he would marry and give the house a—what was it Miss Hearst had called it—a “guiding spirit”. He was not in love, but as the thought of marriage in the future passed through his mind, it was accompanied by pictures that he had seen this evening: Patricia in warm red velvet; Oriel in her dress of foaming yellow; other girls in their lovely clothes wearing their most gracious
manne
rs.
The utilitarian aspect of such a guiding spirit did not occur to him. He did not see her in camelhair dressing-gown, tending the children and soaking the linen.