Ginnie was chewing the ends of lettuce
THE SUMMER AFTER Paul got his scholarship was the summer that Angus was eight.
On a streaming wet day three weeks before the birthday Cathy was getting tea and listening for her family’s return from school when the telephone bell rang. She stopped spreading jam on bread and waited to see if Alex would answer it. It was sure to be for him, but sometimes when he was writing a sermon or a difficult letter he was such miles away he did not hear it. This time he did hear so Cathy went back to her jam spreading, but since the telephone was in the hall, half-listening to what Alex said.
‘Hallo. Oh, it’s you, Alfred.’ Then there was a long pause in which his brother Alfred’s voice could be heard growling like a far-off thunderstorm. Then Alex said: ‘How nice of you, old man. Of course we will all come. It will be a red-letter day for us, and the best birthday Angus ever had.’
Before Alex had put down the receiver Cathy was standing beside him with a piece of bread in one hand and a jammy knife in the other.
‘What did Alfred say? What’ll be a red-letter day? What’s happening on Angus’s birthday?’
Alex came back to the kitchen with Cathy.
‘My father and mother are coming to stay with Alfred and Rose in three weeks’ time. As it coincides with Angus’s birthday they thought they would have a birthday party for him, and a family party for all of us.’
‘What sort of a party? Tea?’
‘No, a theatre party. They’re taking us to Covent Garden to see the ballet. Veronica’s never seen one, and they think she should. There’s to be a birthday supper party afterwards.’
‘Ballet! Won’t Jane be excited!’ Then Cathy’s face changed and wore the anxious look mothers’ faces have when their children are invited to something and have not the right clothes to wear. ‘Oh, dear! Must it be an evening party? Why couldn’t it be a matinée?’
Alex thought Cathy was worrying about bedtime.
‘One late night won’t hurt Angus.’
‘You are the nicest man in the world, Alex, dear, but you are too unworldly to live. Can’t you see that party? Everybody in evening dress. Your mother upholstered in good silk. Rose in her latest model. Veronica wearing a new fluffy frock for the occasion. And us looking like very, very poor relations.’
Alex put an arm round Cathy.
‘No matter what they wear they won’t look a patch on you, they never do.’
Cathy made a face at him.
‘In my old black day dress, which years ago was a castoff of Rose’s!’
‘It isn’t evening dress. Rose sent you a special message she was wearing an afternoon dress.’ Alex stopped, for Esau had run barking to the front door. ‘That’ll be Miss Bloggs. I met her delivering parish magazines, and I want to see her so I asked her to tea.’
Most parishes have ladies attached to them who are sort of unpaid curates. Miss Bloggs was that sort of lady at St Mark’s. She had wishy-washy hair, which had been reddish, but was now mostly grey, a scraggy body, and an eager expression, like a dog who hopes everybody is glad to see him, but is not sure. She was, as Ginnie often said, ‘So good she couldn’t be good-er.’ All day she slaved for Alex. Much of her time she spent on her bicycle, which she called her steed, peddling round the parish, leaving messages, begging for subscriptions, asking for clothes for jumble sales, or delivering parish magazines. Alex often said he did not think he could have got through all the work that he did if it were not for Miss Bloggs. Cathy liked Miss Bloggs because she was so useful to Alex, but she was not really her favourite person. Hearing Alex open the front door and let Miss Bloggs in she called from the kitchen:
‘What a day to deliver magazines, you must be soaked. Hang up Miss Bloggs’s mackintosh to dry, Alex, and take her into the dining-room and light the gas fire. Tea won’t be long.’
Miss Bloggs had the sort of voice which sounded as if she had taken elocution lessons.
‘Don’t bother about silly me, Mrs Bell, dear. We never catch cold my steed and I, never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you.’ Cathy knew by the way the front door opened and shut which of her family was coming in. Angus slammed it, Jane shut it by leaning against it, Paul, who was usually carrying books, used his knee to hold it open. Ginnie and Alex never shut doors after them. So as Esau excitedly skidded down the passage, and the house shook as the door slammed, she did not need to hear him speak to know it was Angus.
‘Down, Esau. My goodness, you are a wet boy! Have you been out?’
Cathy came to the kitchen door.
‘Don’t let Esau climb all over you, darling, he’s very wet. Take off your wellingtons before you come into the hall, and hang up that mackintosh.’
Angus’s mind was not on wellingtons and mackintoshes.
‘Mummy, have you got a match box?’
Cathy waited until she heard the boots removed.
‘Have I got what? Hang up your mackintosh before you come to the kitchen. I don’t know what Mrs Gage will say if you drip all down her hall.’
Angus had a passion for long words, though he did not always get them quite right.
‘It’s per-pos-terious for Mrs Gage to mind my drips. Anyway, Esau has made so many footmarks it’s like the hall had a mud floor. Can I have a match box?’
With thrilled yaps and barks Esau again skidded towards the front door; this time it was Jane and Ginnie. Cathy, who, because of Miss Bloggs, had opened a pot of paste and was making some thin paste and lettuce sandwiches, laid down her knife and went again to the kitchen door.
‘Take off your wellingtons, darlings, before you come into the hall, and hang up your mackintoshes.’
Jane was kneeling beside Esau.
‘You blessed lamb, you’re sopping. I’ll get a towel and dry you. Poor angel, I can’t think why you don’t get pneumonia!’
Ginnie grunted as she pulled off a wellington.
‘To hear you talk people would think you were the only person in this house who cared for Esau, wouldn’t they, Esau, my most exquisite darling?’
Cathy waited to hear the wellingtons removed, then she went back to her sandwich spreading. Esau, Jane and Ginnie came running down the passage. She looked up smiling, pleased they were home.
‘Had a good day, darlings?’
Jane sat on the table.
‘Something simply marvellous is going to happen. I’m going to dance a solo in the school play.’
Cathy’s eyes shone. Always she felt miserable about Jane’s dancing, and any chance Jane got for an extra lesson, or, as now, a chance to show what she could do, was as if somebody had given her a present.
‘I am glad, darling. What sort of a dance?’
Jane had taken a towel and was drying Esau.
‘A nymph. Stand still, angel boy, how can I dry you if you wriggle like that?’
Cathy looked doubtfully at the towel.
‘Is that his you’re using?’
‘I ought really to wear only a tiny bit of something, but being St Winifred’s I should think it would be long and thick for decency.’
Ginnie was chewing the ends of lettuce Cathy cut off the sandwiches.
‘Who’s coming to tea, Mummy?’
‘Miss Bloggs, she’s here already. You must go and wash, darlings.’
The children looked reproachfully at her. Angus said:
‘That Miss Bloggs comes to tea abs’lutely every day. Mummy, will you listen? Can I have a match box?’
Cathy laid another sandwich on the plate.
‘I don’t like the way you children speak of Miss Bloggs. She’s a wonderful help to Daddy.’
Jane raised one of Esau’s ears and whispered into it:
‘Esau, angel boy, according to Daddy Miss Bloggs is the cream of his parish workers.’
Ginnie picked up another bit of lettuce.
‘If Miss Bloggs is cream, I hope I’m skim.’
Cathy meant to speak severely.
‘Ginnie …’ Then she saw Ginnie’s leg, which was sprawled out behind her. Above her sock was a large strip of pink plaster. ‘What have you done to your leg?’
Ginnie glanced at her leg as if the news there was plaster on it surprised her.
‘It’s that old cut, the top came off so Matron put a new plaster on.’
Cathy looked at the plaster with a professional eye.
‘What did Matron say?’
Ginnie sighed.
‘You know what a fuss she is, she said, “Keep that plaster on until I see that leg again.” Do you know, Mummy, I bled and bled so much I thought I’d bleed to death.’
Cathy finished the last sandwich.
‘These sandwiches are visitors only. Now, do go and wash, darlings, poor Miss Bloggs and Daddy have been waiting ages for their tea.’
Angus in desperation pulled at Cathy’s arm.
‘It’s un-possible for me to wash until I’ve got a match box.’
Cathy, arranging the sandwiches on a plate, suddenly realised that Angus had been talking about match boxes ever since he came in.
‘What do you want a match box for, pet? You haven’t got a new caterpillar, have you?’
‘Yes. It’s a woolly bear one, I got it for Paul. I swopped it for that book of songs that Grandmother gave me for Christmas.’
Cathy was used to her children’s swopping habits, but Grandmother’s Christmas present had been a lovely book of old English songs.
‘Oh, darling, you didn’t!’
Angus was pleased with himself.
‘A woolly bear caterpillar will be much nicer to have. All those solos, and I ab-nor singing solos.’
Ginnie finished the last piece of lettuce.
‘You can’t hate singing solos as much as we hate hearing them, my boy. At that concert for the parish mothers I thought I’d be sick in the middle of “Cherry Ripe.”’
Ginnie was chewing the ends of lettuce
Angus thought that most unjust.
‘I didn’t ask to sing, and I don’t ask to go to a choir school. Mummy, could I have a match box now?’
Jane, who had finished drying Esau, hung up his towel, as she turned she saw what was in Angus’s hand.
‘What a dear little caterpillar.’
Angus was not tall, but now he drew himself up to all the height he had.
‘A woolly bear caterpillar isn’t a dear little anything, it’s a me-ter-lodg-ical experiment.’
‘Who says so?’ asked Ginnie.
‘Paul.’ Cathy took a full match box off the shelf and tipped the matches out. Angus carefully put his caterpillar into it. ‘It’s only till Paul comes home, I’ll move him into a proper box with muslin on top after tea.’
Cathy looked at the caterpillar.
‘Couldn’t it go in with the silk worm? Or that green caterpillar with the red tail? You keep such a lot of boxes in the bedroom, and I don’t think it’s healthy.’
‘You’d better be careful, I’m sure I’ve heard somewhere that sort of caterpillar’s hairs are poisonous,’ said Jane.
Ginnie pretended to look knowledgeable about caterpillars.
‘It looks queer, as if it might turn at any minute. It wouldn’t surprise Miss Virginia Bell if it was a cocoon before Paul got in. What sort of an experiment did Paul say it was?’
Angus frowned, trying to remember exactly what Paul had said.
‘He’ll be able to tell by that caterpillar exactly what the weather will be like next Christmas.’
Ginnie gave the caterpillar a gentle nudge.
‘How? Does it sing “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas”?’
Cathy put the plate of sandwiches on a tray.
‘Will you children go and wash, those that don’t wash don’t want any tea.’
With a clatter and a rush the children ran upstairs, Jane and Ginnie to the bathroom, Angus to introduce his caterpillar to the rest of his pets. Over hand washing Ginnie whispered:
‘You know, Jane, I told Mummy the top came off that cut, and that’s why Matron put a plaster on it. Well the top didn’t come off, I pulled it off on purpose.’
‘Whatever for?’
Ginnie lowered her voice still further.
‘You know that new girl Alison in my form. Well, she only just sat down this morning when Matron came in and began mutter-mutter with Mam-zelle, who was teaching us French. Then Mam-zelle nodded and said “Vraiment” and pushed her hands and eyebrows into the air the way she does, and then Matron took Alison away. And she never came back.’
Jane was using some pumice stone on an inky finger.
‘I expect she was wanted at home.’
‘That’s what I thought at first, but I asked everybody and nobody saw her leave. So I had an idea. I thought perhaps she’d done something awful, and was being kept in Matron’s room till the police came. That’s why I pulled the top off my cut to find out.’
Jane laid down the pumice stone and went to the towel.
‘What was she doing?’
‘At first I thought she wasn’t there, because she wasn’t in Matron’s ordinary room, but when Matron went to get some plaster I looked in that other special room where the bed is, and there was Alison asleep. She was properly asleep, because I leant right over her to find out.’
Jane finished drying her hands.
‘You’re a terribly nosey girl, Ginnie.’
‘I’m glad I was nosey, for I’m positive there’s a mystery, and I’m going to discover it.’
Jane raised her voice.
‘Angus, do come and wash, you know I have to wait and see you’re clean.’ Ginnie took advantage of Jane’s back being turned to let the water run away, and to hide her hands in the towel, but Jane was too quick for her. ‘Hold them out, let’s see them.’ Unwillingly Ginnie held out her hands. ‘Look at your wrists!’
Ginnie scowled.
‘Mummy said “Wash your hands,” she said nothing about wrists.’
Jane put the plug back in the basin and turned on the water again.
‘Get a move on.’
Ginnie and Angus bent over the basin. Ginnie nudged Angus with her elbow.
‘I don’t know about you, Angus, but seeing I never like washing my hands, giving them an extra special wash for Miss Bloggs offends me all over.’
Jane leant against the bathroom wall, waiting for the other two to finish.
‘I wish I could like Miss Bloggs more. Sometimes I feel awfully mean about her. Look at the way she gives us presents for Christmas and birthdays, and I’m sure she hasn’t much money. I bet she’s giving you something nice for your birthday, Angus. What a miserable thing it is that you can’t like people just because you know you ought to.’ She went back to the basin. ‘That’s better, Ginnie, let’s look at yours, Angus. Yes, they’ll do. Now do get a move on, both of you. I’m hungry.’
Cathy, Alex and Miss Bloggs had started tea when the children came down. One thing both Alex and Cathy were very strict about, and that was manners. All the children shook hands with Miss Bloggs, and Jane apologised for their being late. Miss Bloggs was always delighted to be in the vicarage. She smiled in a pleased way at the children.
‘Well, little people, what’s the news?’
Jane helped herself to a jam sandwich.
‘I’m going to dance the nymph in the school play.’
Ginnie, hoping no one was looking, stretched out her hand towards the potted meat and lettuce sandwiches. Cathy was on the look out.
‘Bread and jam. They’re more substantial.’
Ginnie knew she was beaten, but she had to have the last word.
‘Potted meat is more nourishing.’
Miss Bloggs tried to say something helpful.
‘What won’t fatten will fill.’
Angus paused with his sandwich half-way to his mouth.
‘Will it? I gave my green caterpillar cabbage to fill it, because I hadn’t lettuce to fatten it, and it didn’t fill, instead it burst and turned abs’lutely inside out.’
Alex knew only too well how descriptive Angus could become when describing misfortunes that happened to his caterpillars.
‘Get on with your tea, old man.’
Cathy was only half-listening to what everyone said, for her mind was still on clothes for Angus’s birthday party. If Jane had nothing fit to wear then somehow a new frock must be found for her, and Ginnie must wear Jane’s old frock. It really was very unfair that when anything new was bought Jane always had it. Poor Ginnie had scarcely had a new frock since she was born. If Jane could still be squeezed into the yellow, could Ginnie wear the green velvet, or that cast-off spotted blue of Veronica’s? Cathy’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door, and Esau barking.
Paul’s rain-splashed face came grinning round the door.
‘How do you do, Miss Bloggs? Hallo, Dad. Shan’t be a second, Mum, I must get my shoes off, they’re sopping.’
Angus got out of his chair.
‘Paul, I’ve got you a woolly bear caterpillar.’
Alex said:
‘Sit down, Angus, you know there’s no jumping up at meal-times.’
Miss Bloggs leant across the table to Angus.
‘Is Paul collecting caterpillars too?’
Angus took another sandwich.
‘’Course not. This caterpillar is a met-er-lodg-ical experiment.’
Alex laughed.
‘Any interest Paul takes in caterpillars, Miss Bloggs, is supposed to be scientific, he says he has outgrown keeping them as a hobby. I am afraid before long he’ll have turned his bedroom into a dissecting room. That’s the worst of having a son who intends to be a doctor.’
Cathy, thinking of party dresses, spoke more fervently than she felt.
‘I wish he wouldn’t want to be a doctor, that’s my family’s fault. I wish he’d take after Alex’s family and make money in the wool trade.’
Jane looked reproachfully at her mother.
‘You don’t, Mummy. Look at that lovely, lovely house Mumsdad and Mumsmum brought you up in, and look how simply gorgeous it is for Uncle Jim and Aunt Ann, and Ricky and Liza to live in now.’
Cathy nodded.
‘I know. It’s a lovely house, and being a doctor is a fine job, even if you don’t earn much, but it’s such a terribly expensive training. From the time he starts, even if he’s lucky, it’ll take Paul five years before he’s through.’
Ginnie spoke with her mouth full.
‘’Course it’s worth it. Do you know, Miss Bloggs, they’ve got a pony and a car, and a gorgeous garden with simply masses of fruit. And all we’ve got is one scrubby-looking vicarage and one dog. Oh, Daddy, I do wish we could have a car.’
Alex laughed.
‘You’ll have to go on wishing, Ginnie. There are so many things we need that even if we had a windfall, and that’s not likely, a car’s the last thing we’d bother about.’
Ginnie began counting on her fingers.
‘If it was me, first I’d have a car, and then I’d have a television set, and then, because Mummy wants it and it can make ices, I’d have a refrigerator.’
Cathy held her hand for Alex’s cup which was being passed up the table.
‘If we had a windfall the first thing we’d have is new carpets, ours are a disgrace, and secondly, a refrigerator, and thirdly new clothes all round.’
Jane leant across to her mother, her eyes shining.
‘Oh, Mummy, couldn’t a little of the windfall pay for me to go to a dancing school?’
Alex turned to Miss Bloggs.
‘My poor family don’t know it, but if we had a windfall we’d have the house painted and the roof seen to.’ Then he looked at Jane. ‘But if there was any over I think Jane’s dancing school would come next. That’s something I do wish I could manage, Jane, darling.’
Jane took another sandwich.
‘Silly Daddy, you know it’s only wishful thinking. I’ve long ago got used to knowing it can’t be, but I think wishing it could does me good. After all, miracles can happen, you said so in a sermon once.’
Alex gave a pretending groan.
‘The way Jane harbours my sermons, Miss Bloggs, and quotes them against me is enough to break her father’s heart.’
Paul was hungry. He drew his chair up to the table and helped himself to a sandwich.
‘Nice specimen, Angus.’
Praise from Paul was praise indeed. Angus glowed with pride.
‘Did you have time to speri-ment to see if it will snow next winter?’
‘I told you some people say they can tell next winter’s weather by woolly bear caterpillars, but I never said I believed it. Have you fixed anything for your birthday, Angus?’ Paul turned to his father, trying to keep pride out of his voice. ‘Starting next Thursday I’m to stay late to have coaching at the nets.’
Alex too, was a cricket enthusiast.
‘I say! That’s fine!’
‘Shouldn’t think anything would come of it but they’re looking for bowlers.’
‘No good counting on it,’ Alex agreed; ‘but if you bowl as well as you did last summer, and your batting improves, there is a chance you know. If I could make time I might come along next Thursday and have a look at you.’
To Cathy it was always amazing how an otherwise sensible man like Alex could forget important things.
‘Alex, dear, next Thursday is the party.’
‘What party?’ asked Paul.
Alex looked ashamed of himself.
‘Of course, what an idiot I am.’
Jane glanced from her father to her mother.
‘Out with it, darlings, we don’t want any of the little-pitchers-have-long-ears stuff.’
Between them Alex and Cathy told the children the news. It had a mixed reception. Paul said gloomily:
‘Ballet’s not much in my line. It seems a bit off to miss coaching at the nets to see that.’
Jane felt so happy it almost hurt.
‘The ballet! Galosh galoosh, goody goody goody. The ballet! How scrumdatious!’
Ginnie leant across to her father.
‘I hope you won’t think Miss Virginia Bell rude, Daddy, dear, but she does wish it was Mumsdad and Mumsmum who were coming instead of Grandfather and Grandmother.’
Alex felt this needed some explaining.
‘My father is what is known as an outspoken man, Miss Bloggs; Ginnie prefers Cathy’s father’s softer approach.’
Miss Bloggs wagged a finger at Ginnie.
‘Hard words break no bones.’ She turned to Angus. ‘And what does the birthday boy think about it?’
‘I’ve never seen a ballet, so I don’t know what it is, but I hope the birthday supper’s good.’
Miss Bloggs got up to go.
‘I hope it is too.’ She leant over Angus. ‘An elf has whispered in my ear a little something that a birthday boy might want.’
Ginnie waited until Miss Bloggs, followed by her father and a barking Esau, had left the room. Then she leant across the table to Angus.
‘Clap, my boy, and Tinkerbell won’t die.’
Cathy said reprovingly, ‘Ginnie!’ but her mind was once more on clothes.
‘You haven’t grown much, Jane, I should think that yellow dress would still fit.’
Ginnie took advantage of her mother’s absorption in clothes and snatched the last potted-meat sandwich, scowling at the rest of the family to prevent them from giving her away. She spoke with her mouth full.
‘And what’s Miss Virginia Bell to wear?’
Cathy spoke carefully, knowing there might be a row.
‘There’s Jane’s green velvet.’
Ginnie was not fussy about clothes, but that was too much.
‘I won’t wear it, so it’s no good talking about it. It came in a second-hand bundle of clothes for needy clergy. All that fluffy stuff, that made it velvet once, is rubbed off. And whoever wears velvet in June?’
Jane spoke for the honour of the family.
‘It’s absolutely true, Mummy, nobody does. And it doesn’t meet across the back on her, and when she leans forward her knickers show. It’d be all our shame if she went to Covent Garden dressed in it.’
Cathy’s voice was full of doubt.
‘There’s that pretty blue spotted frock.’
Ginnie gasped.
‘Pretty! Mummy! D’you think I’m going to a party with Veronica, wearing a dress that was an everyday frock of hers last year? If that’s all you’ve got for Miss Virginia Bell she’ll wear her school uniform, thank you.’
Cathy shuddered.
‘That she certainly won’t. It’s hideous.’
‘Not half as hideous as green velvet with the fluff gone, or one of Veronica’s everydays worn as a party frock.’
A sudden glorious idea came to Jane.
‘If the yellow frock is too short for me, Ginnie could wear that, couldn’t she? Then I’d have to have something new, because there’s absolutely nothing else. Oh, Mummy, suppose it doesn’t fit! Suppose the gorgeousness of having something new!’
Alex was in the doorway. Cathy said:
‘Before you sit down get the money box. I think we may be going to need one new dress for this party.’
Alex hesitated.
‘Ought we to open it for that? There’s the summer holiday and …’
Cathy was firm.
‘I know. But it’s your family’s party, and you know what they are.’
The thought of the possibility of a new dress had brought colour to Jane’s usually pale face. She clasped her hands.
‘Oh, Mummy, could it be something really long and party-ish?’
Cathy hated to say no, and she sounded as if she did.
‘I’m afraid not, darling. You know it’s got to be suitable for all the parish things, as well as this party. Besides, it’s not going to be evening dress, Aunt Rose sent a special message to say it’s day dresses.’
Paul thought of his missed cricket practice.
‘Pity really, if it had been evening dress we couldn’t have gone, because none of us have got any.’
The money box lived in a corner of Alex’s big roll-topped desk. It had been started when Paul was a baby. The idea had been to open a Post Office account. No Post Office account had ever happened for something was always needed. One of the family got ill and had to have special food, shoes wore out, clothes wore out, windows got broken; it seemed as if no sooner was there a little money in the money box than an evil spirit with a big appetite came and ate it up. A space was cleared in the middle of the dining-room table and Alex took the top off the money box, which was made like a letter-box, and tipped the money on to the table. Angus pounced with surprise on a ten-shilling note.
‘Goodness, ten shillings! However did a ’normous sum like that get in?’
Ginnie was putting pennies in piles of twelve.
‘Mummy had it as a birthday present from Uncle Jim.’ She pushed a farthing into the middle of the table.
‘That was mine. I remember wondering if it was still good being rubbed so thin.’
As the family finished counting they pushed the money across to Alex, who jotted down the figures and announced the grand total.
‘Four pounds, thirteen shillings and tuppence three farthings. How much would you need, Cathy?’
‘Oh, about thirty shillings. Could you three men clear the tea and wash up if we three women went to my bedroom for a big try-on?’
Clearing the table Angus’s face wore a worried look. Alex noticed it.
‘What’s bothering you, old man?’
‘What is ballet, Daddy? I know Jane does it, but that’s just dancing class. Is that what we’re going to see on my birthday?’
Alex had seen very little ballet himself, so he was rather hazy as to what was in store for them, but he always liked to give the children a sensible answer if he could.
‘It’s a story told in dancing.’
Angus scowled more than ever.
‘A proper story like The Wind in the Willows?’
Paul was listening too.
‘It’s more sloppy stuff, about love and all that, isn’t it, Dad?’
Alex felt he was getting out of his depth.
‘No, they dance real stories, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, all sorts. I don’t know what Uncle Alfred’s taken tickets for, it depends what they’re dancing on that night. Sometimes I think they do three ballets in an evening.’
Angus put a plate on the top of his pile.
‘When I’m an uncle and I’m going to arrange something for my nephew’s birthday I shall say to him: “This is your party, what would you like to see?”’
Angus went out of the room with some plates. Paul nodded at his departing back.
‘I must say it is rather bad luck, Dad. I dare say he won’t like a ballet at all.’
‘I’m not sure. He’s a funny little boy. In spite of all this fuss he makes about singing in the choir school he’s an unusually musical child. I shouldn’t wonder if he enjoyed a ballet, for, after all, music’s a large part of it. It’ll be interesting to find out. It might give us a line on the way to use his talent, perhaps he ought to be learning the violin or the piano instead of singing.’
Paul was sweeping the crumbs off the table.
‘Sickening it’s a Thursday, the only ballet I ever saw I was bored stiff, a lot of girls prancing around, they did it in the middle of a pantomime.’
Alex laughed.
‘The Sadler’s Wells Ballet is in rather a different class, I think. I’m sorry I can’t let you off, old man, but your grandfather will want to see you.’
‘Trying to get at me again, I suppose.’
Though Alex had chosen a career of which his father did not approve, he was fond of the old man and could see his point of view.
‘You’re the eldest grandson, you can’t blame him for wanting you in the wool business.’
‘But he knows the answer so what’s the good of going on nattering?’
Alex was carrying a tray to the door but at that he stopped.
‘Be just, old man. Your grandfather is a great believer in commonsense winning in the end. He thinks he’s making you a good offer. He can’t believe that in the long run you’ll be such a fool as to turn it down. Although he’s failed with me he’s not lost faith in you. He’s a stubborn old man, your grandfather, but he knows what he wants and usually he gets it.’
‘You’ve done all right without him, I bet he hates that.’
‘I may seem doing all right to you, but I don’t look any great shakes to him. You look at your Uncle Alfred, he’s enormously rich, he’s been knighted, and here am I barely able to dress my own children.’
Alex had not meant this to be taken seriously, but Paul was far more practical than his father. He knew that though this was not literally true there was truth in it. He answered especially quickly.
‘Rats! We get along all right.’
Alex opened the door with his foot.
‘Not by your Uncle Alfred’s standards,’ then he gave Paul a proud smile; ‘but I’m lucky with you, old man, that scholarship’s made all the difference.’
Paul picked up another tray and followed his father.
‘I suppose if I wanted to go into the wool trade I could be rich, couldn’t I?’
‘You bet you could. Your grandfather would adopt you, I shouldn’t wonder, but we’re not worrying about that. You use the gifts God gave you. You wish to be a doctor, then be a doctor. It’s a fine career, and a worthwhile one, and if you don’t make much money it doesn’t matter, because you’ll be leading a worthwhile life.’
In her bedroom Cathy was crawling round Jane, giving little pulls to her yellow taffeta skirt.
‘Yes, it’s much too short, darling, it’s at least three inches above your knees.’
Jane leant over to examine her skirt.
‘I can’t think why, I haven’t grown much, I’m still the smallest girl in the school for twelve.’
‘Even not growing much it’s some months since you wore it, and girls of your age don’t wear skirts three inches above their knees.’
Ginnie, watching the trying on, was lying on her stomach across her mother’s bed.
‘It is too short, Jane. But Miss Virginia Bell’s going to look awful in yellow.’
Cathy got up and unbuttoned the dress.
‘I don’t believe it. Let’s try it on you. I think you’ll look a pet.’
‘It is too short’
Ginnie climbed off the bed, and pulled off her school tunic and blouse.
‘A pet now, but you won’t think me a pet when you see me beside my dear cousin Veronica. She has her hair permanently waved, and a special cut to suit the shape of her head. Not that I mind, I feel superior to Veronica. When I see her at the party I shall think, “You poor mimsy-pimsy stuck-up minx.”’
Cathy slipped the yellow frock over Ginnie’s head and buttoned it.
‘You shouldn’t think things like that, darling, though I do know what you mean. I do hope though, you’ll try and make Angus’s birthday party go, you know how sticky parties with Grandfather and Grandmother can be.’ She turned Ginnie round and stood her away from her. ‘There! Look at yourself in the glass. Anything wrong with that?’
Ginnie crossed to the glass. Nobody could say that yellow was her colour, but she did look nicer than usual. She was quite surprised.
‘It’s not so bad, but you wait, when you see me against Veronica, shame will eat at your vitals.’
Jane looked at Ginnie with her head on one side.
‘Don’t you think it ought to be shorter, she’s only ten?’
Ginnie unbuttoned the frock.
‘No, thank you, I’ll wear it the length it is. I haven’t got thin legs like you.’
Jane sat down on her father’s bed.
‘I wish you hadn’t got to wear your old black Mummy.’
Cathy laughed.
‘Why? I’m quite fond of it.’
Ginnie pulled her uniform over her head.
‘I’m not. It was Aunt Rose’s once, and it shames me you’re still wearing it.’
Cathy hung the yellow dress back in the cupboard.
‘So long ago, I expect she’s forgotten she ever gave it me.’
Jane hugged her knees.
‘Couldn’t the money box possibly manage some stuff for a dress for you?’
Cathy closed the cupboard door.
‘Goose, of course it can’t. I shall enjoy the ballet so much I shan’t remember what I’ve got on.’
Ginnie tied her tie.
‘We shall remember. You know how Aunt Rose is, she says things that sort of sound all right but are meant to be beastly.’ She minced towards her mother, imitating her aunt. ‘Do you mean to say you’ve got that old frock still, Cathy, dear?’
The imitation was so good Cathy and Jane laughed. Cathy said:
‘She doesn’t mean to be unkind, but she’s got what your father calls a difficult nature.’
Jane groaned.
‘Difficult nature! Daddy’s too good to live, he never says worse than that about anybody, but I could say a lot worse about Aunt Rose.’
Ginnie bounced on to Cathy’s bed.
‘And I could about my awful Uncle Alfred, and his whiney-piney mimsy-pimsy daughter Veronica.’
Jane was mentally redressing her mother.
‘If you had all the money you wanted, Mummy, what dress would you choose? I mean, suppose you could choose absolutely anything.’
Cathy sat down by Jane.
‘I suppose all women, except very rich ones, have got some special frock they’ve always wanted. I’ve always wanted just once to have a really silly frock. You know the sort I mean, soft and very garden party-ish. I’ve never worn anything like that in my life.’
Jane rubbed her cheek against Cathy’s arm.
‘Poor Mummy, what a shame!’
Ginnie wriggled over and patted Cathy’s knee.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Bell, if I was Miss Bloggs I’d tell you fine feathers don’t make fine birds.’
Cathy smiled.
‘And Miss Bloggs would be quite right.’ She turned to Jane. ‘Not poor Mummy at all, I dare say I wouldn’t like it if I had it, but it’s always fun imagining I would.’
Jane tried to picture her mother before she was grown up.
‘Did Mumsmum know you wanted a frock like that?’
Cathy put an arm round Jane.
‘Of course she did, bless her, just as I know the sort of frock you’d love to have; but what good would the silly sort of frock I wanted, have been to the daughter of a not-very-well-off country doctor, and what good would the sort of frocks Veronica wears at parties be to the daughter of a very badly-off London vicar?’
Jane looked up reproachfully at Cathy.
‘You’re getting at me, Mummy, you’re trying to make me behave like Queen Victoria and say, I will be good. You’re going to try and make me say: “I’ll be pleased with navy blue.”’
Ginnie gasped.
‘Mummy! You can’t be going to make poor Jane wear navy blue for Uncle Alfred’s party, when that awful Veronica will be all pink frills and bows.’
Cathy took Jane’s face in her hands.
‘Navy blue! Why on earth should I dress my daughter in navy blue for a party? Surely we get enough of that loathsome colour in your uniform.’
Jane smiled.
‘I thought from the way you talked about the clothes for badly-off London vicars’ daughters you meant something useful.’
‘I only meant something that would wear well and wouldn’t fade. What a daughter I’ve got thinking I’d make her wear navy blue! Isn’t she a goose, Ginnie?’
Jane flung her arms round her mother’s neck.
‘You’re the most gorgeous mother in the world.’
Ginnie got off Cathy’s bed.
‘Though she isn’t sloppy like Miss Jane Bell, Miss Virginia Bell wouldn’t change her mother for any other. It’s my day to take Esau out. Do you think, as it’s so wet, just round the parish hall and back would do, Mummy?’
‘Certainly it’ll do, and don’t forget to put on your mackintosh and your wellingtons.’
Ginnie moving made Jane remember the time.
‘I suppose we ought to go and see how the washing-up goes on.’
Cathy was thinking of other things.
‘I wish I could be really the most gorgeous mother in the world to you, Jane, darling, and send you to a dancing school. Daddy and I think of it a lot, you know, but we can never see how it can be done, unless of course you won a scholarship, and quite truthfully St Winifred’s doesn’t think you have had enough training for that.’
‘Quite truthfully I don’t either, Mummy. Daddy once said in a sermon “Too late” were the saddest words in the English language. I don’t always agree with what Daddy says in his sermons, but I feel it in my bones that those two are true.’
‘My poor daughter, too late when you’re only just twelve!’ Then Cathy spoke much more briskly. ‘As a matter of fact, if we could afford first-class lessons for you it wouldn’t be too late at all. You’re what’s known as a born dancer, and you’re just the right build. All that’s wrong with you is that you’ve not been properly trained …’ She broke off. ‘That’s the telephone. I wonder if Ginnie will answer it, I’m sure Daddy’s gone to evensong.’ She went into the passage and hung over the banisters and called to Ginnie who was struggling into her wellingtons. ‘Answer that, darling.’
Ginnie marched to the telephone and said grandly:
‘Hallo, hallo,’ then, in a very changed voice: ‘Oh, it’s you, Miss Newton. I’ll call Mummy.’
Cathy went to the telephone. Jane followed her downstairs and looked anxiously at Ginnie.
‘What have you done now?’
Ginnie, whose conscience for once was clear, looked proud.
‘Nothing. But a headmistress doesn’t ring up for nothing. It must be you this time, Jane.’
A sort of dim echo of Miss Newton’s voice came from the receiver. After listening for some time Cathy said: ‘Thank you so much for letting me know.’ Then, after another pause: ‘No, as you say, under the circumstances very unlikely.’ Another pause and then: ‘No, I think we need pay no attention to that. Good night, Miss Newton, and thank you for letting me know.’
Jane and Ginnie spoke at the same time.
Jane asked: ‘What’s unlikely?’ And Ginnie: ‘What aren’t we going to pay attention to?’
Cathy smiled at their anxious faces.
‘It’s nothing, fortunately. There’s a new girl in your form, Ginnie, Alison something-or-other. Her mother told her not to go to school this morning, as she wasn’t well, but she went just the same. Luckily she was fetched out of your class before any of you spoke to her, and spent the day in Matron’s room.’
Ginnie did not like the sound of that word ‘luckily,’ she felt as though she had swallowed a piece of ice.
‘Why luckily?’
Cathy was amused by Ginnie’s anxious expression.
‘Because she’s got mumps.’
In a flash Jane saw all the awful things which would happen if Ginnie got mumps. She said in a wail:
‘Oh, Ginnie, mumps!’
Cathy thought Jane was being silly, making a fuss about nothing.
‘There’s no need to sound so tragic. Ginnie never went near her, so there’s no quarantine.’
Ginnie, to stop her voice from wobbling, took a deep breath before she spoke.
‘If I had been near her, how soon would it be that I caught mumps?’
Cathy was moving towards the kitchen so she answered vaguely:
‘Somewhere inside three weeks, I think.’
Jane followed Cathy down the hall.
‘If Ginnie had seen that girl, would she have been in quarantine?’
‘Certainly. We don’t want mumps in the house, she’d have gone into isolation right away.’
Jane, in spite of urgent faces from Ginnie, persisted in her questioning.
‘No ballet party?’
Cathy stopped, and took Jane by the shoulders and gave her a little shake.
‘No, nothing. But she didn’t go near the girl, so there’s no quarantine. Now will you stop asking questions, and let me see how the boys have managed with the washing-up. When you’ve taken Esau out, Ginnie, give him a rub down, he makes such a horrible mess in the hall.’
Ginnie hardly heard what Cathy said.
‘How do you feel when you’re starting mumps?’
Cathy laughed.
‘This girl Alison’s mumps is an obsession with you two. I can’t remember how I felt, it’s years since I had it, but I do remember my face swelled up the size of a pudding.’
Jane waited until Cathy was safely in the kitchen. Then she whispered:
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Nothing. I don’t believe I smelt her breath, and that’s the way you catch things.’
‘You said you leant over her.’
Ginnie looked fierce.
‘You’ve got to forget every word I’ve said. I don’t want to have quarantine.’
Jane tried to think of something nice about quarantine.
‘You’d miss school, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
Ginnie shook her head furiously.
‘I missed school when there was scarlet fever, and all that happened was I had to sleep by myself in the drawing-room, and was sent to bed directly you came in from school, and the rest of the day I did housework with Mrs Gage and Mummy. It was simply awful.’
Jane tried one last effort.
‘But if you get mumps you’ll give it to all of us. There wouldn’t be any ballet party, most likely I wouldn’t be able to dance the nymph. Think how awful you would feel if that happened, Ginnie.’
Ginnie knew how awful she would feel, but she was not going to give in.
‘I won’t get mumps. I tell you I don’t think I breathed her breath, but as you’re fussy, I tell you what I will do. Every day I’ll measure my face, even if it gets a quarter of an inch bigger I’ll tell Mummy.’
Jane was not comforted.
‘But you’ll have got it by then.’
‘Only the beginning of it. Now you absolutely promise you won’t say anything, don’t you?’
The rules about tale-telling were very strong in the Bell family, it was one of the things it was impossible to do. But this mumps business was different. Jane knew there were times when tale-telling was right. Was this one of them?
‘Could I ask Paul what he thinks?’
‘No. You’re not to ask anybody. I’ll be very careful to sleep with my head the opposite way to your bed, and I’ll measure my face every day. Nobody could do more to be careful who isn’t even sure they smelt the mumps person’s breath.’
Jane was still worried.
‘I do wish you’d let me talk to Paul.’
Ginnie stamped her foot.
‘You’re a very selfish girl, Jane. Here’s me almost got mumps, and here’s you worrying me. As a matter of fact I don’t believe you’re thinking about me at all. I think you’re only thinking about not seeing the ballet and not dancing that silly nymph. Anyway, I don’t mean to have mumps, so stop fussing.’