This Was the Old Chief's Country (21 page)

The Copes arrived late. As they climbed out of the car and moved to the door, they looked for the familiar groups on the veranda, but there was no one there, although laughter came from inside. Soon they saw that the veranda had been cleared of furniture, and the floor had been highly polished. There was no light, save for what fell through the windows; but this gave an appearance, not so much of darkness, but of hushed preparedness. There were tubs of plants set round the walls, forming wells of shadow, and chairs had been set in couples, discreetly, behind pillars and in corners.

Inside the room that opened from the veranda, there were men, but no women. Kate left her parents to assimilate themselves into the group (Mrs Cope protesting playfully that she was the only woman, and felt shy) and passed through the house to the nurseries. The women were putting the children to bed, under the direction of Mrs Lacey. The three rooms were arranged with camp-beds and stretchers, so that they looked like improvised dormitories, and the children were subdued and impressed, for they were not used to such organization. What Mrs Lacey represented, too, subdued them, as it was temporarily subduing their mothers.

Mrs Lacey was in white lace, and very pretty; but not only was she in evening dress and clearly put out because the other women were in their usual best dresses of an indeterminate floral crepiness that was positively a uniform for such occasions, there was that contrast, stronger now than ever, between what she seemed to want to appear, and what everyone felt of her. Those heavy down-looping, demure coils of hair, the discreet eyelids, the light white dress with childish puffed sleeves, were a challenge, but a challenge that was being held in reserve, for it was not directed at the women.

They were talking with the hurried forced laughter of nervousness. ‘You have got yourself up, Rosalind,' said one of them; and this released a chorus of admiring remarks. What was behind the admiration showed itself when Mrs Lacey left the nurseries for a moment to call the native nanny. The same sycophantic lady said tentatively, as if throwing a bird into the air to be shot at: ‘It is a sort of madonna look, isn't it? That oval face and smooth hair, I mean …' After a short silence
someone said pointedly: ‘Some madonna,' and then there was laughter, of a kind that sickened Kate, torn as she was between passionate partisanship and the knowledge that here was a lost cause.

Mrs Lacey returned with the native girl; and her brief glance at the women was brave; Kate could have sworn she had heard the laughter and the remark that prompted it. It was with an air of womanly dignity that fitted perfectly with her dress and appearance that she said: ‘Now we have got the children into bed, we'll leave the girl to watch them and feel safe.' But this was not how she had said previously: ‘Let's get them out of the way, and then we can enjoy ourselves.' The women, however, filed obediently out, ignoring the small protests of the children, who were not at all sleepy, since it was before their proper bedtime.

In the big room Mrs Lacey arranged her guests in what was clearly a planned compromise between the family pattern and the thing she intended should grow out of it. Husbands and wives were put together, yes; but in such a way that they had only to turn their heads to find other partners. Kate was astonished that Mrs Lacey could have learned so much about these people in such a short time. The slightest suggestion of an attraction, which had merited no more than a smile or a glance, was acknowledged frankly by Mrs Lacey in the way she placed her guests. For instance, while the Wheatleys were sitting together, Nan Fowler was beside Andrew Wheatley, and an elderly farmer, who had flirted mildly with Mrs Wheatley on a former occasion, was beside her. Mrs Lacey sat herself by Mr Fowler, and cried gaily: ‘Now I shall console you, my dear – no, I shall be jealous if you take any notice of your wife tonight.' For a moment there was a laughing, but uneasy pause, and then Mr Lacey came forward with bottles, and Kate saw that everything was working as Mrs Lacey had intended. In half an hour she saw she must leave, if she wanted to avoid that uncomfortable conviction of being a nuisance. By now Mrs Lacey was beside Mr Lacey at the sideboard, helping him with the drinks; there was no help here – she had been forgotten by her hostess.

Kate slipped away to the kitchens. Here were tables laden
with chickens and trifles, certainly; but everything was a little dressed up; this was the district's party food elaborated to a stage where it could be admired and envied without causing suspicion.

Kate had had no time to do more than look for signs of the fatal aspics, sauces and creams when Mrs Lacey entered. Kate had to peer twice to make sure it was Mr Hackett and not Mr Lacey who came with her: the two men seemed to her so very alike. Mrs Lacey asked gaily: ‘Having a good tuck-in?' and then the two passed through into the pantries. Here there was a good deal of laughter. Once Kate heard: ‘Oh, do be careful …' and then Mrs Lacey looked cautiously into the kitchen. Seeing Kate she assumed a good-natured smile and said, ‘You'll burst,' and then withdrew her head. Kate had eaten nothing; but she did what seemed to be expected of her, and left the kitchen, wondering just what this thing was that sprang up suddenly between men and women – no, not
what
it was, but what prompted it. The word love, which had already stretched itself to include so many feelings, atmospheres and occasions, had become elastic enough for Kate not to astonish her. It included, for instance, Mr Lacey and Mrs Lacey helping each other to pour drinks, with an unmistakable good feeling; and Mrs Lacey flirting with Mr Hackett in the pantry while they pretended to be looking for something. To look at Mrs Lacey this evening – that was no problem, for the bright expectancy of love was around her like sunlight. But why Mr Hackett, or Mr Lacey; or why either of them? And then Nan Fowler, that fat, foolish, capable dame who flushed scarlet at a word: what drew Andrew Wheatley to her, of all women, through years of parties, and kept him there?

Kate drifted across the intervening rooms to the door of the big living-room, feeling as if someone had said to her: ‘Yes, this house is yours, go in,' but had forgotten to give her the key, or even to tell her where the door was. And when she reached the room she stopped again; through the hazing cigarette smoke, the hubbub, the leaning, laughing faces, the hands lying along chair-arms, grasping glasses, she could see her parents sitting side by side, and knew at once, from their faces, that they wanted only to go home, and that if she entered
now, putting her to bed would be made an excuse for going. She went back to the nurseries; as she passed the kitchen door she saw Mr Hackett, Mr Lacey and Mrs Lacey, arms linked from waist to waist, dancing along between the heaped tables and singing: All I want is a
little
bit of love, a
little
bit of love, a little bit of love. Both men were still in their riding things, and their boots thumped and clattered on the floor. Mrs Lacey looked like a species of fairy who had condescended to appear to cowhands – cowhands who, however, were cynical about fairies, for at the end of the dance Mr Lacey smacked her casually across her behind and said, ‘Go and do your stuff, my girl,' and Mrs Lacey went laughing to her guests, leaving the men raiding the chickens in what appeared to be perfect good fellowship.

In the nurseries Kate was struck by the easy manner in which some twenty infants had been so easily disposed of: they were all asleep. The silence here was deepened by the soft, regular sounds of breathing, and the faint sound of music from beyond the heavy baize doors. Even now, with the extra beds, and the little piles of clothing at the foot of each, everything was so extraordinarily tidy. A great cupboard, with its subdued gleaming paint, presented to Kate an image of Mrs Lacey herself; and she went to open it. Inside it was orderly, and on the door was a list of its contents, neady typed; but if a profusion of rich materials, like satin and velvet, had tumbled out as the door opened, she would not have been in the least surprised. On the contrary, her feeling of richness restrained and bundled out of the way would have been confirmed, but there was nothing of the kind, not an article out of place anywhere, and on the floor sat the smiling native nanny, apologizing by her manner for her enforced uselessness, for the baby was whimpering and she was forbidden to touch it.

‘Have you told Mrs Lacey?' asked Kate, looking doubtfully at the fat pink and white creature, which was exposed in a brief vest and napkin, for it was too hot an evening for anything more. The nanny indicated that she had told Mrs Lacey, who had said she would come when she could.

Kate sat beside the cot to wait, surrendering herself to self-pity: the grown-ups were rid of her, and she was shut into the
nursery with the tiny children. Her tears gathered behind her eyes as the baby's cries increased. After some moments she sent the nanny again for Mrs Lacey, and when neither of them returned, she rather fearfully fetched a napkin from the cupboard and made the baby comfortable. Then she held it on her knee, for consolation. She did not much like small babies, but the confiding warmth of this one soothed her. When the nursery door swung open soundlessly, so that Mrs Lacey was standing over her before she knew it, she could not help wriggling guiltily up and exclaiming: ‘I changed him. He was crying.' Mrs Lacey said firmly: ‘You should never take a child out of bed once it is in. You should never alter a time-table.' She removed the baby and put it back into the cot. She was afloat with happiness, and could not be really angry, but went on: ‘If you don't keep them strictly to a routine, they take advantage of you.' This was so like what Kate's own mother always said about her servants, that she could not help laughing; and Mrs Lacey said good-humouredly, turning round from the business of arranging the baby's limbs in an orderly fashion: ‘It is all very well, but he is perfectly trained, isn't he? He never gives me any trouble. I am quite certain you have never seen such a well-trained baby around here before.' Kate admitted this was so, and felt appeased: Mrs Lacey had spoken as if there was at least a possibility of her one day reaching the status of being able to profit by the advice: she was speaking as if to an equal.

Kate watched her move to the window, adjust the angle of a pane so that the starlight no longer gleamed in it, and use it as a mirror: there was no looking-glass in the nurseries. The smooth folds of hair were unruffled, but the usually guarded, observant eyes were bright and reckless. There was a vivid glow about Mrs Lacey that made her an exotic in the nursery; even her presence there was a danger to the sleeping children. Perhaps she felt it herself, for she smoothed her forefinger along an eyebrow and said: ‘Are you going to stay here?' Kate hesitated. Mrs Lacey said swiftly: ‘I don't see why you shouldn't come in. It's your father, though. He's such an old …' She stopped herself, and smiled sourly. ‘He doesn't approve of me. However, I can't help that.' She was studying Kate. ‘Your
mother has no idea, no idea at all,' she remarked impatiently, turning Kate about between her hands. Kate understood that had Mrs Lacey been her mother, her clothes would have been graded to suit her age. As it was, she wore a short pink cotton frock, reaching half-way down her thighs, that a child of six might have worn. That frock caused her anguished embarrassment. but loyalty made her say: ‘I like pink,' very defiantly. Her eyes, though, raised in appeal to Mrs Lacey's, gained the dry reply: ‘Yes, so I see.'

On her way out, Mrs Lacey remarked briskly: ‘I've got a lot of old dresses that could be cut down for you. I'll help you with them.' Kate felt that this offer was made because Mrs Lacey truly loved clothes and materials; for a moment her manner to Kate had not been adjusted with an eye to the ridiculous, but powerful Mr Cope. She said gratefully: ‘Oh, Mrs Lacey …'

‘And that hair of yours …' she heard, as the door swung, and went on swinging, soundlessly. There was the crisp sound of a dress moving along the passage, and the sweet homely smell of the nursery had given way to a perfume as unsettling as the music that poured strongly through the house. The Laceys had a radiogram and the newest records. Feet were swishing and sliding, the voices were softer now, with a reckless note. The laughter, on the other hand, swept by in great gusts. Peering through the doors, Kate tried to determine what ‘stage' the party had reached; she saw there had been no stages; Mrs Lacey had fused these people together from the beginning, by the force of wanting to do it, and because her manner seemed to take the responsibility for whatever might happen. Now her light gay voice sounded above the others; she was flirting with everyone, dancing with everyone. Now there was no criticism; they were all in love with her.

Kate could see that while normally at this hour the rooms would be half empty, tonight they were all there. Couples were moving slowly in the subdued light of the veranda, very close together, or sitting at the tables, looking on. Then she suddenly saw someone walking towards her, by herself, in a violent staggering way; and peering close, saw it was Mrs Wheatley. She was crying. ‘I want to go home, I want to go home,' she was saying, her tongue loose in her mouth. She did not see Kate, who ran quickly back to the baby, who was now asleep, lying quite still in its white cot, hands flexed at a level with its head, its fingers curled loosely over. Darling baby, whispered Kate, the tears stinging her cheeks. Darling, darling baby. The painful wandering emotion that had filled her for weeks, even since before the Laceys came, when she had felt held safe in Mrs Sinclair's gruff kindliness, spilled now into the child. With a fearful, clutching pounce, she lifted the sleeping child, and cuddled it. Darling, darling baby … Later, very much later, she woke to find Mr Lacey, looking puzzled, taking the baby from her; they had been lying asleep on the floor together. ‘Your father wants you,' stated Mr Lacey carefully, the sickly smell of whisky coming strong from his mouth. Kate staggered up and gained the door on his arm; but it was not as strong a support as she needed, for he was holding on to tables and chairs as he passed them.