Jane was nearly in tears
THE WEATHER CHANGED. It became wet and muggy. Then a boisterous, gritty wind blew the wet away.
Then, of all unkind things, just about the time the family would have been leaving for Berkshire, it turned hot and sunny again.
When people need a change of air, and do not get it, they are inclined to become cross. As the days grew hotter, the Bells got crosser, even Cathy was short-tempered. Alex never got really cross. He thought it wrong to be cross, and so struggled to keep that he was feeling cross to himself. Jane said Alex’s keeping feeling cross to himself was worse than snapping out as ordinary people did, who were not parsons. She thought trying hard gave him a martyred face, which made other people lose their tempers looking at it. Cathy was in despair about her family. Luckily for her she had Mrs Gage to talk to, for Mrs Gage, on hearing the family could not go away, said she would not go away either.
‘I would ’ave gone if you was all goin’, but seein’ you’re not, I’d just as soon take a day ’ere and there.’
‘But what about Mr Gage?’
‘Oh, ’im! I said to ’im, you can take an ’oliday when you like, so you’ll take it when the vicar goes away. Like it or lump it.’
Cathy sighed.
‘When the vicar goes! Poor Mr Gage, I’m afraid that’s not going to be this summer.’
Mrs Gage thought of the piles of addressed envelopes leaving the house, and the money they were earning.
‘Never say die. You never know your luck.’
‘Hope you’re right,’ said Cathy; ‘but I can’t think how it’s going to be managed, for we can’t clean ourselves out of savings. But, oh dear, the children look pale, Jane’s a perfect disgrace, she’s a greenish colour, and nothing but skin and bone.’
Mrs Gage tried to cheer Cathy up, but she, too, was shocked how wretched Jane looked.
‘Jane’s one ’oo’s looks pity ’er. My Margaret Rose was the same, always ’avin’ me along to the school they were, askin’ what she ate. Malnutrition, that’s what they call it. I said to the doctor, “I’ll malnutrition you! I’ll ’ave you know my Margaret Rose eats enough to keep your ’ole ’ospital goin’. Don’t ask me where it gets to, all I know is it goes down. I can’t ’elp it, if what goes in don’t show when it gets inside.”’
Cathy was cooking lunch. She gave some fish she was preparing an angry slap.
‘I wish Paul and Jane would give up this secret they’re working on. I think it’s something for their father’s birthday, but it isn’t good for them, shut up in their bedrooms hour after hour. If only they would go out we could do some nice things. I’ve offered them days at Hampton Court, Kew Gardens, Hampstead—anywhere they like. If only they would take a day out the vicar would probably come too, he promised he would take a holiday even if he was at home, but he isn’t. It’s always something, one of his pet parishioners is ill, or in trouble, and off he goes.’
Jane was nearly in tears
Upstairs Paul had gone into Jane’s room.
‘I’ve just finished. I shan’t start another hundred before lunch.’
Jane raised her head wearily.
‘My people have such awful names, yours are much easier, just plain Mr or Mrs. I do think I ought to get more than one and three a hundred for writing names like Brigadier Wildensea-Prothero, C.V.O., O.B.E., D.S.O. Oh, Paul, shall we ever earn ten pounds? I’m so stupid this morning, I keep getting the names wrong, and have to scratch them out, and then the envelopes look awful ….’
Paul thought the envelope Jane showed him looked so awful the agency would not accept it.
‘You’ve got some spares, I should use those.’
‘I’ve used them.’
‘Well, I’ve got some you can have. It’s no good sending this one as it is.’
Jane was nearly in tears.
‘I couldn’t have believed there was such an awful, awful thing to do as addressing envelopes. If only I could do something with my feet, instead of with my hands. I wouldn’t mind dancing the same exercise over and over again, but addressing envelopes….’ She broke off as a sob choked her.
Paul looked at her in a worried way.
‘You better give up. It’s no good getting in a state.’
‘I wouldn’t mind if we had nearly finished, but it takes such thousands of envelopes to earn ten pounds, and when they’re all Right Honourables, or The Dowager Lady Something-or-other, nobody could write fast.’
‘Tell you what. You take an afternoon off, and I’ll put in a bit of extra time after tea, and do some of yours.’
Jane cried worse than ever at that.
‘That’ll mean you’ll have addressed envelopes every single minute of the day. Of course I can do mine, it’s only I feel so stupid today.’
Paul sat down on Jane’s bed.
‘I’ve been thinking. If we get rooms for Mum and Dad for a week somewhere, we might manage to camp.’
‘What in? We haven’t any tents.’
‘No. But Dad was going to spend something on our holiday, so he might manage to hire two for a week. I say, you do look awful. Do leave the beastly things for now, anyway.’
Jane had the stubbornness people get when they are overtired.
‘I won’t till the gong goes. I’m going to finish this hundred. Here’s another beast—Sir Alexander and Lady Corfu.’
Paul did not know what to do. He hated to see Jane crying, and looking so ill.
‘Pack it up, do. I tell you, I’ll do them for you.’
Jane blew her nose, and tried to choke back a sob.
‘I won’t. It’s just as bad for you as it is for me.’
‘If you could see yourself.’
That made Jane even more stubborn.
‘Oh, shut up, and don’t natter.’
Paul decided to use force. He put an arm round Jane and with his free hand held her pen.
‘Now will you stop? I shan’t let you go until you do.’
Jane struggled, and threw Paul off his balance. Before he came in she had refilled her fountain pen, and forgotten to screw the cap back on the ink. There was a splash, and the ink bottle fell into the box in which were her finished envelopes.
With a howl Jane freed herself from Paul, seized some blotting-paper and knelt on the floor mopping furiously.
‘Oh, look what you’ve done! You’ve put ink all over my finished envelopes, they won’t pay me for them now, and I’ll have to pay for new envelopes to make up, and the carpet’s sopping….’
Paul knelt beside her, scrubbing at the ink patches on the carpet. Then, as he worked, he came to a decision. It was nonsense going on like this. The ten pounds, even if they earned it, would go nowhere, they all needed more than a week’s change.
‘I say, Jane. Pack up the beastly envelopes. Put away your pen. I’m going to send a telegram. When I get the answer to it there’ll be enough money for a holiday for all of us.’
Jane was crying so badly she could hardly speak.
‘Don’t be silly! A telegram where? Oh, goodness, I shouldn’t think it would be possible to be unhappier than I am now. It’s so hot, and everybody’s cross. Do you suppose anything nice will ever happen again?’
Paul paused in his mopping.
‘Listen. I really can send a telegram. I’m not supposed to tell anybody, but I know I can trust you….’
As they cleared the floor, Paul told Jane of the conversation he had with Grandfather in the theatre a year ago. He told her how he had decided to accept his offer on the very day she had won her scholarship. Of how he had written to Grandfather, and the offer was still open. When he had finished Jane was no longer crying, instead she was angry.
‘Paul Bell! Don’t you dare to send that telegram, or ever, ever think of Grandfather’s business again. Just now, because of no holiday, being poor seems to matter, but it doesn’t really, and you know it doesn’t. Just imagine what you’ll feel like when you’re old, thirty or something like that, and because of upsetting some ink now, you’re working in the wool business for ever and ever, instead of being a doctor.’
Paul gave a last dab at the carpet.
‘I think that’s the best we can do with the floor. Being poor doesn’t matter to me, but it’s all of you.’
Jane got up and faced him.
‘I suppose you see yourself as a Christian martyr, being thrown to the lions. Well, I don’t see you like that at all. I think you’re being a coward.’
‘I like that!’
‘It is cowardly, just for a holiday, to give up doing what you know you can do, for something you’d hate and be terrible at. And another thing, you’ve no right to throw yourself to the lions, for your family, without asking your family if they want you to be eaten for them. The least you can do is to ask them first, and I know what we’ll say.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Well, think now. How would you like it if secretly I gave up being a dancer to give you a holiday? Just imagine, whenever you looked at me, thinking: “If I hadn’t had that holiday Jane might have been dancing at Covent Garden.” Well, that’s how we’d be about you. We’d think if we hadn’t had that holiday you might have been Sir Paul Bell, surgeon to The Queen.’
Although he had written to Grandfather, the idea that he might have to go into his business was always at the back of Paul’s mind. Also, he now knew, at the back of his mind, he had seen a grateful family saying thank you. Now what Jane said was like a window opening and letting sunshine into a dark room. She was right. He could never accept Grandfather’s offer, because the family would hate it if he did. It was a lovely releasing feeling to think that never again would the possibility of writing that letter crop up.
‘You’re an old ass,’ he told Jane; ‘but you’re perfectly right. You’d all loathe it if I said yes.’
While Paul and Jane were talking, Ginnie had been sent up to wash before lunch. She had been going into her bedroom, but outside the door she heard Jane crying. Then she heard her say: ‘I wouldn’t mind if we had nearly finished, but it takes such thousands of envelopes to earn ten pounds.’ Looking thoughtful Ginnie tiptoed into the bathroom. Presently, as she washed, she spoke a thought out loud. ‘And me and Angus earning nothing! But somehow we’ll earn something this afternoon.’
Although Paul accepted he could not write to Grandfather, he did not agree that Jane could do any more envelopes that afternoon. In this he was supported by Mrs Gage. Jane called her to ask her advice about the ink on the carpet, and at once she took charge.
‘On the carpet! As far as I can see, there’s ink everywhere. Look at your frock, Jane, lucky it’s your blue. Take it off, dear, and I’ll get the worst out with a drop of milk. What ’appened?’
‘I was trying to stop Jane working,’ Paul explained. ‘I said she looked awful, and ought to have an afternoon off.’
Mrs Gage looked at Jane.
‘Awful’s not the word, she looks like somethin’ the cat’s sicked up. If you ask me, you’re both actin’ silly, earnin’ a bit is all right but never goin’ out is foolishness, and you’re worryin’ your poor Mum to death. Now you both go for a walk after your dinner, and then when you come back you’ll feel ever so much fresher. Sittin’ cramped over the table write, write, write, it’s carryin’ thin’s too far, that is.’
Jane gave Mrs Gage her frock.
‘But the envelopes …’
Mrs Gage gave Jane a friendly push.
‘Go on, give your face a wash. You don’t want your Mum to see you’ve been cryin’. And drat the envelopes, you’ll do ’em twice as fast when you’ve ’ad a breath of fresh air.’
Paul and Jane wanted to take Esau out with them, but Ginnie begged so hard for him to go out with her and Angus that they gave in. Angus was puzzled.
‘Why do we want Esau? As a matter of fact, I wasn’t going out this afternoon.’
They were on the upstairs landing. Ginnie beckoned him into his bedroom, and shut the door.
‘Angus, my boy, Miss Virginia Bell has had a simply gorgeous idea. She and Mr Angus Bell are going to earn holiday money.’
‘How?’
Ginnie lay across Paul’s bed.
‘How would you like to go to Paul and Jane, and throw down simply pounds and pounds, and say we earned that for our holiday?’
Angus knew Ginnie’s ideas. He felt cautious.
‘How could we earn pounds and pounds?’
Ginnie lowered her voice.
‘It’s not perhaps a way everybody might think the best way, but it’s a way, and really, Angus, it’s time we earned. There’s Paul and Jane slaving and slaving, and us doing nothing.’
Angus was looking at his caterpillars.
‘What would we do?’
‘Well, first we make Esau wet, and don’t dry him.’
Angus thought that mean.
‘Poor Esau! I think the miserablest thing is a wet dog.’
‘It’s very hot, so it won’t hurt him, and being wet will make him look thin, and that’s part of my plan. Then we’re going by bus, to where there are rich people. I think near St Winifred’s will do. There are lots of grand houses there, where rich people live, and they won’t know us nor that I go there to school, as I’m not in my uniform.’
Angus left his caterpillars and came over to the bed.
‘When we get there what do we do to get pounds and pounds?’
Ginnie turned over on her back, and spoke in a don’t be-a-silly-little-boy voice.
‘You sing, Esau shivers because he’s wet, and I go round with a collecting box, and people fill it with money because we’re poor and hungry.’
‘But we aren’t poor and hungry.’
‘Don’t argue, my boy. People who can’t go for holidays are poor, and by the time we get there we’ll be hungry because it will be a long time since lunch.’
Angus could feel that Ginnie was in a determined mood.
‘I shan’t like singing in a road.’
Ginnie rolled over on her chest, and frowned.
‘Miss Virginia Bell hasn’t noticed that you mind dancing in the road.’
‘That’s because my legs feel like dancing, and not because people are going to give me pounds and pounds.’
Ginnie was disgusted.
‘You’re a poor weak creature, Angus. Here’s me with a simply gorgeous way for us to earn money, for a holiday, so that Paul and Jane stop looking scorn at us, and all you do is to say you wouldn’t like singing in a road.’
Angus was weakening.
‘But I won’t like it, and Esau won’t like sitting in the road while he’s wet.’
Ginnie got up. With a wave of her hand she dismissed Angus.
‘Very well, if you and Esau don’t mind poor Mummy looking so dreadfully tired everybody’s talking about it, and poor Daddy looking so thin that, as Mrs Gage says, you can see through him when he’s in the pulpit, I suppose I can’t make you. But me, I’d be proud to put in my Dedication book for today’s Service “Collected money for needy family to have holiday.”’
‘I want Daddy and Mummy to have a holiday as much as you do, it’s only I don’t want to sing. Still, if it’s only one afternoon, and I didn’t have to sing for very long …’
‘You’ll have to sing just as long as people give us money. Now, we’ll go downstairs very quietly into the kitchen. There’s no one there. Then you take Esau outside the back door, and for goodness’ sake hold him tight, because I’m going to pour jugs and jugs of water over him.’
Though Ginnie and Angus did not know it, as they went out of the back door Miss Bloggs was coming in at the front door. She knocked on Alex’s study door.
‘Can I come in, Vicar?’
Because it was supposed to be holiday time Alex had been reading a thriller. Rather sadly he put it down and opened the door.
‘Of course.’
Miss Bloggs came in, talking as she came.
‘It’s that holiday camp for French students at St Winifred’s. I went up there, as I promised you, but I cannot make the director of the party understand about the special service for them on Sunday. I spoke very distinctly, but I fear my French is a little rusty.’
Alex pulled a chair forward for Miss Bloggs.
‘I expect mine is too.’
Miss Bloggs sat down.
‘I said église several times, and Dimanche, but the director spoke so fast that I’m afraid I did not quite follow what he said. I wonder, could you spare the time to come up with me this afternoon?’
If Cathy had known what Miss Bloggs was saying, she would have been very cross with her. But Cathy was in the dining-room ironing, so Alex, looking as if going to the holiday camp at St Winifred’s was the one thing he wanted to do, went out with Miss Bloggs.
Miss Bloggs and Alex walked part of the way to St Winifred’s, because, as Miss Bloggs said, there was nothing like a lungful of God’s good air. Alex privately thought God’s air was not smelling good in south-east London that afternoon, but he was quite glad of a walk.
In the garden at St Winifred’s Alex met the very charming director in charge of the holiday camp, and in no time fixed up with him for the service on Sunday.
‘Now you know my telephone number,’ Alex said as he turned to go, ‘if you want me, don’t hesitate to ring me up.’
‘It is a pleasure,’ said Miss Bloggs in English, ‘to do anything we can, we are all brothers under the skin.’
The director was puzzled and he turned to Alex.
‘’ow is that, m’sieur?’
Alex wished Miss Bloggs would not say things that were so difficult to translate. He fumbled for words.
‘M’zelle Bloggs dit nous sommes frères audessous de peau.’
From the way the French director looked at Miss Bloggs, Alex could see he had not made a success of that translation, so he changed the subject.
‘What are your young people looking at over the gate there?’
The director looked across the tennis courts.
‘Ah, c’est drôle.’ He beckoned to Alex and Miss Bloggs to follow him. ‘M’sieur regardez, c’est comique ça.’
Alex and Miss Bloggs followed the director across the tennis courts to the side gate. At first they could not see what was happening, for half the students were hanging over it. Murmurs came from them. ‘Ah, les pauvres petites!’ ‘Regardez le chien.’ Then an English voice in the road said: ‘I’d like to give that dog a decent meal, doesn’t look as though he’d eaten for a week.’ Then Alex saw Ginnie. Her back was to him, but what she was doing was perfectly clear. She had a money box and into it people were dropping coins. What she said was perfectly clear too.
‘Thank you so much. Actually, Esau isn’t really hungry, but every penny helps.’
The voices round rose.
‘It’s a shame, that’s what it is.’ ‘Nicely spoken too.’ ‘Ah, le pauvre petit chien.’ ‘Poor little scrap.’ ‘Terrible to see kids reduced to this sort of thing.’ ‘C’est malheureux, n’est ce pas?’
Then Alex heard Angus’s voice.
‘I’ve sung everything I know, Ginnie.’
‘Sing a hymn, you haven’t done that yet.’
The crowd moved a little, and Alex could see Angus. Ginnie had done her best to dress him for the part, his face was dirty, his hair hung over his eyes and he was wearing a torn shirt. His voice rose clear and true, and silenced the talkers.
‘All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small.
All things wise and wonderful….’
On the word ‘wonderful’ Alex had pushed through the students and was standing beside Angus.
‘Every penny helps’
Ginnie was furious.
‘Oh, Daddy, what are you doing here spoiling everything?’
‘I think it’s more a question of what are you doing here, Ginnie?’
Alex went back to the director and asked him in French to move his students away. He explained that Ginnie and Angus were his children. This caused a sensation. Eyebrows and hands flew into the air. Everybody round told each other the news.
‘Ce sont les enfants de M’sieur le Curé.’ ‘Ah, ce n’est pas possible!’ ‘Mais c’est tout à fait extraordinaire.’
The director spoke in a loud voice.
‘Depêchez-vous, tout le monde.’
Everybody drifted away, except Alex and Miss Bloggs. Alex was really angry, but he tried hard not to show it.
‘Have you taken money from all those people, Ginnie?’
Ginnie shook her box.
‘Everybody who would give me anything. One person gave me half a crown.’
Alex thought perhaps Angus would explain better.
‘Why were you singing?’
Quite suddenly, from being part of a splendid enterprise, Ginnie saw that she was in disgrace.
‘It was nothing to do with Angus, it was me who thought of it. You see, we had to earn money.’
‘What for?’
‘I’m sorry, Daddy, we can’t tell you that. It’s a secret, isn’t it, Angus?’
Alex’s voice was stern.
‘I’m afraid this can’t be a secret. You’ve taken money under false pretences.’
Ginnie thought Alex was being unfair.
‘There was nothing false about it. We are poor, and anyway, Esau did most of it really, he looks so miserable when he’s wet.’
Miss Bloggs was sorry for everybody.
‘Oh, dear! Most distressing!’
Alex took Ginnie by one arm and Angus by the other.
‘We’re doing no good standing here. The best thing we can do is to catch a bus home. Perhaps on the way you will explain to me what has been happening.’
But, on the bus, Alex got no nearer understanding, for Ginnie and Angus would only say they needed money, and would not say what it was for. After Miss Bloggs had got off the bus Alex remembered Ginnie’s Dedication book.
‘Was it anything to do with service for that book of yours?
‘Well, I was putting it in my book, but that wasn’t the reason we were doing it.’
Alex tried to be patient.
‘What exactly were you entering in your book?’
Ginnie, too, was losing patience.
‘I keep telling you and telling you I can’t tell you, Daddy. If I did, you’d know our secret.’
‘It isn’t only Ginnie’s and my secret, it’s Jane’s and Paul’s too,’ Angus explained.
Alex gave up.
‘All right, I’ll wait for my answer until I get in and can have a talk with Paul and Jane. Whatever this secret may be, if it means that you and Angus do what you know to be wrong it’s got to finish.’
But when Alex, Ginnie and Angus reached the vicarage there was no talking to Paul and Jane. Jane, after her walk with Paul, had meant to go back to her envelope addressing, but climbing the stairs she felt peculiar. Mrs Gage heard her fall, and came running to her, calling for Cathy.
Cathy knelt beside Jane.
‘Jane! Jane, darling!’
Mrs Gage lifted Jane’s shoulders on to Cathy’s knees.
‘There we are, dear. Ups-a-daisy.’
‘Whatever happened to her?’ Cathy asked. ‘Did she hurt herself?’
‘No, dear. Just come all over like.’
Jane opened her eyes. Mrs Gage smiled at her.
‘You lean against your Mum, while I fetch a drop of water.’
Cathy stroked Jane’s hair.
‘My poor pet. You’ve been doing too much.’
Jane was still feeling peculiar
‘Everything’s going round and round.’
Mrs Gage came back with the water.
‘Drink this, dear, but from the look of you you could do with a nip of something stronger.’
Paul came running down the stairs.
‘What’s up?’
Cathy answered.
‘Jane’s turned a little faint. There, darling, I’ll just dab some of this water on your forehead.’
Paul leant over the banisters.
‘She ought to have her head between her knees.’
Mrs Gage made clicking sounds with her tongue.
‘You do look rough, Jane, and no mistake. If you were in a greengrocer’s I shouldn’t know you from a lettuce.’
Cathy felt the right place for Jane was bed.
‘Do you think if Paul and I helped you, darling, you could get up to your room? You ought to lie down.’
Jane tried to move, then lay back again.
‘In a minute. Everything’s still a bit come-ish and go-ish.’
It was at that moment that Alex, Ginnie and Angus came in. Alex was across the hall in three strides.
‘What’s happening?’
Cathy was glad to see him.
‘It’s Jane, she’s a little faint. I think she ought to be in bed. I was just saying Paul and I could help her upstairs.’
Alex stooped down and picked Jane up.
‘I’ll carry her.’
Jane wriggled.
‘Put me down, Daddy. I’m much too heavy.’
Alex marched up the stairs.
‘You weigh nothing at all. It’s many years since I’ve carried you, but it doesn’t seem to me you’ve grown much heavier.’
Jane rubbed her cheek against his sleeve.
‘It’s a good thing for a dancer to be light.’
‘But not so light we can almost see through her.’
At the top of the stairs Jane struggled to get out of Alex’s arms.
‘Please put me down here, Daddy, there’s things in my bedroom I don’t want you to see.’
Cathy saw Alex was going to argue, she laid her hand on his arm.
‘It’s this awful secret they’re working at. Put her in our room.’
Alex laid Jane on the bed and stroked the hair off her forehead.
‘There you are, darling. Would you like some brandy?’
Jane managed a half-laugh.
‘Of course not. I’m quite all right now. It was only that everything was a little bit fuzzy.’
Alex was terribly worried and looked it.
‘Very fuzzy I should think. The best thing for you is to stay quiet. Perhaps a cup of tea when you feel like it.’
The meeting that should have taken place in the study took place in Alex and Cathy’s bedroom after tea.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Alex, ‘to have a family council when you’re not well, Jane, darling, but a little clearing of the air is needed.’
‘You sound very solemn, Alex,’ said Cathy.
Alex sighed.
‘I feel solemn. Ginnie, put that money box on the dressing-table.’
Alex told Cathy, Paul and Jane what had happened that afternoon. Cathy, though she was shocked, could not help finding the story funny.
‘Begging! Oh, dear!’
Paul looked despairingly at Ginnie.
‘Of all the blithering idiots.’
Jane raised herself up on her elbow.
‘We told you not to bother.’
Alex turned to Paul.
‘Ginnie and Angus won’t tell me what they were collecting this money for, they say it’s a secret. Is that true?’
Paul nodded.
‘I’m afraid it is, Dad. But we never thought of anything so idiotic as begging.’ Then he turned to Ginnie. ‘You’re absolutely hopeless.’
Cathy thought of the hours Jane and Paul had spent shut up in their bedrooms.
‘Must it go on being a secret, Paul?’
Paul hesitated. He looked at Jane.
‘Seems silly to tell them now. After all, we don’t know it’ll come off.’ Then he turned to his father. ‘It isn’t anything you’d disapprove of, Dad. I mean, what Jane and I are doing isn’t. It’s only that idiot Ginnie ….’
Ginnie put her chin into the air.
‘Everybody always says “Oh, Ginnie!” Miss Virginia Bell thought it a very good idea.’
Alex’s face was grave.
‘That isn’t true, Ginnie. What happened was, you wanted something, and snatched at the first idea that came into your head, which would give you what you wanted. You knew it wasn’t right to beg, didn’t you?’
Ginnie was not admitting anything.
‘I said to Angus that it wasn’t perhaps the way everybody would think the best way.’
Alex turned to Angus.
‘And what did you say?’
‘I said I didn’t want to sing in the road, but it wasn’t because of begging.’
Jane leant over the bed to pat Esau.
‘The worst thing was making Esau wet. Poor blessed boy, he must have hated it.’
‘If you want to know,’ said Ginnie, ‘he got more money by looking miserable than Angus did by singing.’
Alex sounded sad.
‘I’m afraid Ginnie and Angus, you did something you knew was wrong, and so you will have to be punished.’
Paul tried to make Alex understand.
‘Begging was absolutely idiotic, but the idea behind the begging was all right.’
‘I dare say,’ said Alex, ‘though the end may have been right, the means was disgraceful, and both Ginnie and Angus are old enough to know it. The money that has been collected will go into the General Purpose Fund box in the church. But as it was collected under false pretences …’
Ginnie could have stamped, she thought Alex was being so stupid.
‘It wasn’t false pretences. We are poor, and it was quite a long time since lunch, so we might have been hungry….’
Alex went on as if Ginnie had not spoken.
‘As it was collected under false pretences, Ginnie and Angus will spend tomorrow earning money honestly. There are several hundred old hymn books in the parish hall, which need sorting, to see if any pages are missing. When they have been sorted you will each be given a shilling to go into the poor box, and as well you must put in this week’s pocket money.’ Glad talk of punishments was over Alex came across to Jane. ‘As for you, you bad girl, you ought to be punished too for giving us all a fright by fainting this afternoon. Mummy and I have been talking things over, and we’ve decided the trouble is that you need a holiday. We are sending you away.’
Jane sat up.
‘What! Just me? I won’t go by myself, I simply won’t.’
Cathy sat on the bed beside her.
‘You will. Daddy and I have decided that we’ll ask Uncle Jim and Aunt Ann if you can share Liza’s room in the inn they’re staying in.’
Jane was appalled.
‘Silly Mummy, it’ll cost an awful lot of money, and I don’t want to be the only one having a holiday.’
Cathy kissed her.
‘You won’t be. We’re going to try and get Paul into one of those fruit picking camps, and when they get back from France, we’re going to ask Grandfather and Grandmother if Daddy and I, Ginnie and Angus can stay with them for a bit.’
Jane knew how much Cathy disliked staying at Bradford. She almost got off the bed.
‘Mummy, if you think …’
Cathy put a hand on her.
‘Lie down, darling.’
‘I can’t lie down when you say things like that. You know I’d simply hate going to Berkshire all alone.’ She gazed imploringly at Paul. ‘Say something. You know I won’t go.’
‘It looks as if we’ll have to tell them,’ said Paul.
Jane nodded.
‘That’s what I thought.’
Cathy was pleased.
‘It’s the secret? Oh, darlings, do tell me. Like the Elephant’s child I’ve been dying of “satiable curiosity.”’
Together, one telling one bit, and the other another, with small interruptions from Ginnie and Angus, explaining how they too had tried to help only they could not find a way, Jane and Paul told the whole story of the envelope addressing.
‘Oh, Mummy,’ said Jane, ‘you get paid one and threepence a hundred, and honestly it is the most dreadful way of earning that you ever, ever thought of. And you don’t get any more money for one tiny little name with four letters in it, than you do for dowager marchionesses, and people like those.’
Alex held out a hand to Ginnie.
‘So that’s what you and Angus were up to.’
Jane said:
‘Only Ginnie would ever think of begging by the side of the road, while Angus sang.’
‘But you do see it was partly our fault why they did it?’ said Paul.
Jane turned to Ginnie.
‘Had we been looking proud and despising because we were earning, and you weren’t?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Ginnie, ‘more miserable. Angus and me felt mean dogs not to be doing anything.’
Jane lolled against Cathy.
‘It’s been a failure though, the best I ever earned on any one day was six and threepence, once Paul earned seven and sixpence. But mostly it’s just shillings because we wasted such a lot of envelopes. We were certain we couldn’t get you a room anywhere for a week for less than ten pounds, and we’ve only got seven pounds something.’
‘It’s going on doing it for hour after hour that makes you slow,’ Paul explained, ‘after five hundred you make the most awful mistakes.’
Cathy gasped.
‘Five hundred envelopes! I should think you would make mistakes. It was lovely of you, darlings, but the money won’t be wasted, you’ll both have some to spend while you’re away.’
Jane was so disgusted she nearly bounced off the bed.
‘Do you think we slaved our fingers to the bone, worse than that, slaved them nearly off, to spend the money on ourselves? We earned that money for you and Daddy, and it’s going to be spent on you and Daddy, isn’t it, Paul?’
Mrs Gage opened the bedroom door.
‘Sorry, all, but I was just ’ome, an’ sittin’ down to me tea when it come over me that as young Jane was doin’ ’er faintin’ act a letter come for young Ginnie. I put it in me pocket.’
‘Dear Mrs Gage,’ said Cathy, ‘you shouldn’t have come back.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t ’ave, only there was some for you, Vicar, which might be important, I put them in the study.’ She nodded at Jane. ‘Good night, dear, try and look a bit less like a tired cucumber in the mornin’.’
The children were looking admiringly at Ginnie’s letter. It was typed, and had a French stamp. It was not often that Ginnie had a letter, she took her time opening it.
Cathy let Ginnie enjoy the grandeur of being the only one to have a letter, until it was properly out of its envelope. Then she said pleadingly:
‘Would you read it out loud, Ginnie? We’re all dying of curiosity.’
Ginnie, from complete gloom, because of the punishment tomorrow, and not being allowed to keep the money in her money box, was now bursting with happiness. She looked in the proudest way round the family.
‘Very well, as you’ve asked me, Mummy, I will.’ Then she smoothed out the letter. Because it was typed it was easy to read.
DEAR GRANDDAUGHTER,
You will, I think, be leaving shortly for that posh hotel by the sea, of which you told me. I shall enjoy thinking of you going round endlessly on the free giant racer, every now and again pausing to help yourself to the free ice cream, standing in the lounge. I feel, in spite of all the luxury that is to be yours, there may still be a few pleasures which you could enjoy more fully with money in your purse. If you will look in this envelope, you will find something which may be of use to you. With every best wish for a most enjoyable holiday, from your affectionate
GRANDFATHER
Everybody was so startled by the letter that nobody spoke. Ginnie, who was almost too excited to know what she was doing, picked up the envelope off the floor where it had dropped. At first there did not seem to be anything inside it, then she drew out a piece of pink paper. Ginnie did not know what it was, so Paul took it from her. It was a cheque for fifty pounds.