The Bell Family

by Noel Streatfeild

  ‘They’re desperately poor, I’m afraid, and not being a Government school we can’t get special scholarships for our girls, but I’ll tell Mrs Bell the next time I see her.’

  Cathy, when she heard what Miss Bronson had said, looked miserable.

  ‘I know she has talent, bless her, but I’m afraid a dancing school is out of the question. It wouldn’t be only the fees, it would be special clothes, and fares, and goodness knows what all. My children do grow so, and clothes are so expensive, and something always seems needing doing at the vicarage, it absolutely eats money, that house. I do hate saying no, but it really is impossible at present.’

  Jane was the sort of girl who always worked hard at anything that she did. It worried her to be behind in her class, it even worried her that she was no good at games, and she tried very hard to make up for not being good at them by sounding extra keen about them, which she was not. St Winifred’s was the sort of school where hardworking girls like Jane got on very well, so she was as happy there as she could be in any school which was not a dancing school.

  Ginnie was the exact opposite to Jane. Jane was thin, small for her age and unusually pretty, with dark blue eyes and brown hair curling to her shoulders. Ginnie was almost as wide as she was long, so wide that sometimes when her family were feeling mean they called her Queen Victoria, because she looked the same sort of shape as Queen Victoria looked when she was an old lady. Nobody could call Ginnie pretty, she had greenish coloured eyes, and very straight mouse-coloured hair which stuck away from her head in two stiff plaits. The nicest thing about her appearance was her smile, she had the kind of smile that nobody could see without feeling they had to smile too. Ginnie was the opposite to Jane about work too. She never cared how badly she did.

  ‘It’s simply idiotic for Miss Virginia Bell to slave and slave to be at the top of the class. All that would happen would be that she’d be so dead from exhaustion by the end of the week she couldn’t work any more so she’d be bottom the next week.’

  Ginnie thought dancing the most disgusting waste of time. She had to go to the dancing classes, but she never learnt much, for she spent most of her time in the back row, making her friends laugh by imitating the girls in the front row. Ginnie adored games, sometimes she dreamt of being games’ captain, but it was only a dream, for she was not really outstanding, and in St Winifred’s you had to be outstanding to be a champion at anything, for it was a big school with over seven hundred girls.

  Angus was at a choir school; he had a really lovely voice and had recently been promoted to sing solos. Angus despised his voice, he thought nothing of being able to sing. His ambition was to own a private zoo. In the bedroom which he shared with Paul, as the thin edge of the wedge, there were always at least six boxes of caterpillars.

  ‘Once Mummy’s got used to seeing these caterpillars, Paul, I bet she won’t notice if larger things come. I could start with a mouse or two, work through to rats, and then quite soon something perhaps as large as a monkey.’

  Paul was not enthusiastic about Angus’s daydream.

  ‘You don’t keep to your end of the window ledge as it is, and if you think I want a monkey scratching for fleas all night you’ve got another think coming.’

  2

  Curiosity

  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.’

  Cathy sighed.

  ‘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 mi
nd 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?’

  Jane nodded.

  ‘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!’