Growing Up

by Angela Thirkell

  “Noel,” she said in the dark, “would you say I was grown-up?”

  “What?” said Noel, who was nearly asleep.

  Lydia repeated her question.

  “The answer to that is yes and no,” said Noel. “And for goodness’ sake go to sleep, my precious love.”

  With this further food for philosophical consideration, Lydia was soon asleep.

  As for Leslie, she was a prey to so many feelings that she almost felt her bed reeling. A longing to see Philip, a fear of seeing him, anxiety for Cecil, then a fear of not seeing Philip, then a certainty that Cecil was well and letters only delayed, then a remembrance of her unkindness to Philip, her awkward stupidity, then Lydia’s words about the ring, then a sickening anxiety for Cecil again; all these so tossed and turned in her head that sleep did not come, and when it did she woke often, sure that she had overslept herself and would never get to Winter Overcotes in time, or that if she did she would find that Philip had gone the previous evening, or by car. Her last waking was at half-past six, so she got up and dressed and worked at Noel’s papers till it was time for breakfast.

  If Lady Waring had been there Leslie would have forced herself to eat, but her uncle was buried in his paper and did not appear to take any notice of her beyond a greeting, so she was able to drink some coffee and eye with disgust the scrambled eggs which many households had not seen for months. As they went down the drive they met the postman, who obligingly sorted their letters from his pile and handed them over. The short delay so irritated Leslie’s feverish impatience that she walked hurriedly on and her uncle, who had pushed all the letters into his overcoat pocket, only caught her up as they neared the station. When they were in the train he took the letters out and handed Leslie her share. Much to her annoyance her hands were shaking and her fingers very clumsy at unripping the envelopes. Her mind was racing ahead to her meeting with Philip, to the chance of his not being at the station, to what she should say if he were, again to the certainty of Cecil being dead or missing, so that she opened and began to read her first letter without understanding a word. When she did, she became so pale that even her uncle would have noticed; but he was going through his own post.

  “It’s Cecil!” Leslie gasped.

  Sir Harry looked up.

  “Cecil? Eh, where?” he said, looking over his spectacles.

  “He’s quite well, Uncle Harry, he’s at Washington. He says he couldn’t tell me till he was there and he hopes I got his letters but he knows a lot were lost.”

  When this news had sunk into Sir Harry’s mind he was almost as pleased as Leslie.

  “Well, young woman, now you can stop worrying and eat some breakfast,” said Sir Harry, eyeing his niece.

  “Oh, Uncle Harry, I am so sorry,” said Leslie. “I didn’t think you noticed. I was so unhappy I simply couldn’t. Not even scrambled eggs.”

  “You women are all alike,” said Sir Harry. “Except your aunt. And Mrs. Merton. She wouldn’t go without her breakfast because she hadn’t heard from her brother. Nice fellow he was. I hope she’ll get news soon.”

  On hearing these words Leslie fell into an abyss of self-blame and remorse for having been such a general nuisance, but decided not to say she was sorry, because she knew Uncle Harry hated scenes. As far as Winter Underclose she sat in a golden haze of relief and joy, her letters unregarded on her lap. Then, as the train started again, the familiar feeling of sick anxiety came over her with redoubled force; would Philip be there, what could she say? So that by the time they drew into the low level station at Winter Overcotes, she could not see or hear and was almost incapable of walking.

  On the platform Mr. Beedle was anxiously scanning the windows of the train as it moved past. Seeing Sir Harry he came to the door and opened it.

  “Good morning, Sir Harry; good morning, Miss Waring,” he said with a subdued excitement very unlike his usual calm and stately manner. “Could you be kind enough to come up to my office for a moment? There’s something I want to show you.”

  “Certainly, Beedle,” said Sir Harry. “Come along, Leslie. We’ve just had news of Commander Waring, Beedle. He’s in America.”

  Mr. Beedle expressed pleasure, though not with the deep interest that he usually showed in the Waring family. Leslie was nearly sick with misery. She had just seen Philip come onto the platform and Uncle Harry and Mr. Beedle wouldn’t stop talking.

  “Just one minute, Uncle Harry,” she said. “You and Mr. Beedle go up and I’ll come in a moment.”

  Sir Harry nodded, and he and Mr. Beedle went up the stairs to the high level.

  Leslie saw Philip get into a carriage and shut the door. She ran dowm the platform and knocked at the window. Philip saw her, jumped up and opened it.

  “Leslie! Anything wrong?” he asked.

  “Oh no,” said Leslie, seeing with heartfelt gratitude that the guard was still talking to Doris and Lily-Annie just beside her. “I’ve heard from Cecil. He’s in America.”

  “How kind of you to come and tell me,” said Philip, afraid of somehow again offending her. “I can’t tell you how glad I am.”

  Leslie tore off her glove and laid her hand on Philip’s.

  “Lydia gave it to me. May I wear it?” she said.

  Philip looked at Rose Birkett’s engagement ring, once spurned and thrown into the pool at Northbridge Manor, now on the hand of the only woman he loved.

  “Do I understand?” he said, holding her hand as if he would never let it go.

  “Well, will you marry me?” said Leslie, desperate as the moments passed and Mr. Crackman began to unfurl his green flag.

  “The very minute I come back,” said Philip. “Oh, Leslie!”

  “Oh, Philip!” said his love.

  Neither looked at the other, but their hands clung.

  The guard blew his whistle and waved the flag. The London train began to pull out on the loop to the main line. Leslie laid her cheek on Philip’s hand, let it go and stood back. Philip remained at the window, but made no sign, frozen by his incredulous joy and the heavy weight of parting. In a few seconds she could see him no longer, so she went up the stairs to find her uncle, followed by Lily-Annie and Doris whose duties now called them to the high level.

  “Seeing the colonel off to the front, she was,” said Doris Phipps to Lily-Annie Pollett.

  “Are they engaged?” asked Lily-Annie.

  “Of course they are,” said Doris Phipps. “He’s been after her ever since he came to the Dower House. Mum says Cook told her Selina said he couldn’t take his eyes off her at dinner. Didn’t you see her showing him the ring? It’s time Bert got me a ring. I fancy forget-me-nots myself, in terkwoises.”

  “Bit old-fashioned,” said Lily-Annie. “Now’ I’d like a diamond cluster.”

  “Better ask Bill Morple for one,” said Doris Phipps, which made both the girls laugh so much that the new under-porter, who was a Lambton girl, was terrified.

  “All right, young Rene,” said Lily-Annie kindly. “We’re a bit bats, you know. Come on and we’ll show you where the brooms and things are.”

  Meanwhile, Leslie had gone into Mr. Beedle’s office, where she found Sir Harry. On Mr. Beedle’s desk was a large untidy parcel loosely wrapped in dirty newspaper.

  “Most extraordinary thing, Leslie,” said Sir Harry. “I don’t know that I was ever more surprised, or pleased, in my life. But you tell her, Beedle.”

  Without a word Mr. Beedle pulled aside the torn paper. Under it was a large silver cup, iridescent with tarnish.

  “THE CUP, miss,” said Mr. Beedle.

  There was a silence so full of awe and general overcomeness that Mr. Beedle could almost be heard sweiling with joy.

  “But how?” said Leslie.

  “That’s just the question,” said Sir Harry. “But Beedle will tell you.”

  “It was on my desk this morning, miss,” said Mr. Beedle. “And what’s more the key of the office door was lying beside it and the window was unlatched. Whoever brought
it must have had another key, for I have only the two, one on me and the other at home, and then gone out by the window.”

  “But who?” said Leslie.

  “That’s exactly what we are not going to ask,” said Sir Harry. “The inspector was in a moment ago. He has known where the cup was ever since those London people stole it, but he hadn’t any evidence. One of them, or someone who was in with them, must have stolen it back and brought it here.”

  Mr. Beedle gave Sir Harry a grateful look.

  “Yes; that’s all we shall ever know, miss,” he said, “unless you know this writing.”

  On a dirty piece of paper inside the cup were printed the words, “From a friend.”

  Leslie shook her head and laughed.

  “What are you going to do with it now?” she said.

  “Give it a good polish, miss, and lock it in the safe,” said Mr. Beedle. “It’ll be a nice surprise for any of our directors that come here.”

  Sir Harry and Leslie again congratulated Mr. Beedle and shook his hand warmly.

  “Oh! Mr. Beedle,” said Leslie, “have I time to get the train back to Lambton?”

  Mr. Beedle looked at his watch and went to the door.

  “Doris!” he called.

  Doris Phipps appeared.

  “Run down, Doris, and see if the local’s in, and tell Sid Pollett I said to hold her. Miss Waring’s going back on her.”

  “O.K., Mr. Beedle,” said Doris.

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Beedle,” said Leslie, shaking his hand again. “Please remember me to Mrs. Beedle. And have you good news of Henry?”

  “Thank you very much, miss,” said Mr. Beedle, “he’s fine. He’s got a harmonica now the Red Cross sent him and one of his mates tried to pinch it, so the officer’s writing for another so they can play duets.”

  Then Leslie hurried away while Sir Harry lingered to tell Mr. Beedle about Cecil and rejoice with him again over the cup. On the low-level she found Doris Phipps engaged in badinage with the engine-driver.

  “Get in, miss,” said Doris, opening a carriage door. “And me and Lily-Annie’d like to wish you all the best, miss, you and the colonel. Mum says Mrs. Hamp’s sister that cleans up at the Dower House says he’s a lovely man. All right, Sid!”

  She slammed the door and Leslie sank back on the hard dirty seat to reflect upon the publicity attaching to her position. And then she thought of Philip, and so absorbed in these thoughts did she become that she only got out of the train at Lambton just as it was moving and walked towards the Priory in a waking dream.

  Leslie’s joy was so great that she could not bear to part with it at first, resolving to wait till she could get her uncle and aunt together before dinner. But meeting Selina in the drive she stopped to ask her if Mrs. Allen had enjoyed the tea-party.

  “Oh, yes, Miss Leslie, mother did enjoy it,” said Selina. “And Sergeant Hopkins said would you be so very kind as to tell the officer he took his advice and he’s very glad he did.”

  “What officer?” asked Leslie, to whom there was only one in the world at the moment and he a colonel.

  “The young gentleman that came with Mrs. Morland, Miss Leslie,” said Selina.

  “Oh, Mr. Morland,” said Leslie. “Yes, I’ll ring his mother up and tell her. When are you going to be married?”

  “Mother says after Easter,” said Selina. “But of course I shan’t leave her ladyship unless she wishes. Sergeant Hopkins wanted to give me a ring, but Mother said it wasn’t proper as I’m a widow, so he’s going to give me some silk stockings off his own coupons as soon as he’s out of the Army.”

  Leslie could bear it no longer.

  “Would you like to see my ring, Selina?” she said, and took off her glove.

  “It is pretty,” said Selina. “Is it Colonel Winter, Miss Leslie?”

  “Yes,” said Leslie. “But we can’t get married till he comes back. He’s going abroad.”

  “Oh, Miss Leslie, how dreadful. Oh, I am upset,” said Selina, wiping her lovely eyes. “Can I tell mother?”

  “Yes, do,” said Leslie, realizing that her joy was now exceedingly public property. “And tell her I’ll come down and tell her all about it myself soon.”

  “She will be pleased, Miss Leslie,” said Selina, “and so will Mr. Needham.”

  Leslie had forgotten Mr. Needham. She went into the back yard and stood thinking. As the whole countryside appeared to know already, it would be better to tell her aunt at once, for it would be very wrong to let her hear it from an outsider. Mrs. Phipps came out with a bucket of dirty water which she emptied down the outside drain.

  “Good morning, miss,” she said. “You might tell her ladyship I shan’t be staying with my Monday, Wednesday and Thursday lady after Easter. She’s got a foreign girl and I don’t hold with them. So I can oblige if her ladyship likes and I might come the Saturday morning too. Phipps can manage for himself.”

  “All right, Mrs. Phipps,” said Leslie. “Oh, I expect Doris will have some news for you when she gets back, so I might as well tell you now. I’m engaged to Colonel Winter.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Mrs. Phipps. “Well, I’m sure I wish you joy, Miss Leslie. I little thought when I married Phipps that I’d have a daughter in the railways, but you never know.”

  Feeling certain that Cook and Baker would take offence if they heard from Mrs. Phipps, Leslie looked into the kitchen and announced her news. Cook said she saw a marriage in her cup last night, but she had thought it was Selina’s.

  “So it was, Cook,” said Baker, “but you remember there was those tea-leaves on the other side. I told you it meant a double marriage.”

  Filled with terror lest Selina, Mrs. Phipps, Cook, Baker, or even Doris should somehow bring the news to her aunt before she got there, Leslie hurried through the green baize door and found Lady Waring in the sitting-room.

  “What has your uncle been telephoning about?” said Lady Waring to her niece. “He rang up from the station and it was a bad connection. Something about Cecil and Doris Phipps and an engagement. Have you any idea?”

  “Yes, Aunt Harriet,” said Leslie sitting down. “I had a letter from Cecil this morning and he is at Washington, and I got engaged to Philip Winter at Winter Overcotes and Doris Phipps saw us getting engaged. I didn’t have time to tell Uncle Harry.”

  Lady Waring bore the news very well. Her relief at hearing of her nephew’s safety was great, so great that it overshadowed her pleasure in her niece’s engagement at first, but as things settled themselves she showed as much quiet satisfaction as even Leslie could have wished.

  “Oh, and Mrs. Phipps asked me to tell you that she will be free for the whole week after Easter if you want her, Aunt Harriet,” said Leslie.

  Lady Waring said if Selina married and went to North-bridge, it might be very convenient, and was Leslie going to put her engagement in The Times.

  “Yes, I suppose so, Aunt Harriet,” said Leslie. “But I’ll have to do it on my own because I don’t even know where Philip is till he writes to me. I didn’t even have time to kiss him, because the train went,” she added, looking out of the window.

  Lydia came in to lunch after a morning’s gardening and was overjoyed by Leslie’s news. The talk, unchecked by Selina who took the liveliest interest in it, was all of Philip and Cecil, Cecil and Philip, to which Lydia listened with the greatest interest and sympathy. Not till they were having their coffee did Leslie think of Lydia’s anxiety.

  “I wish you had heard from Colin,” she said, “then everything would be perfect.”

  “I did,” said Lydia. “This morning. He says he has had a bath and the water was very dirty and he has found lots of friends and the oranges are heavenly and the red wine. I’m so glad.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me before?” said Lady Waring and Leslie, almost in one breath.

  “I thought it might be rather dull for you,” said Lydia with perfect simplicity.

  The day passed peacefully. Leslie sl
ept all afternoon, making up for her bad night and her past anxiety; refusing to think for the moment of the anxiety to come. Lydia gardened till dusk, not coming in for tea as Lady Waring was out and would not need her company. Then she came in, had her bath and sat before the looking-glass steadily brushing her thick, shining, dark hair. Noel, returning from the Dower House, came into the room and found her so engaged.

  “Any news?” he said, taking off his belt and sitting down by the fire.

  “Leslie is engaged to Philip, which is very nice and not a bit surprising,” said Lydia. “And I had a letter from Colin. I’ll show it you.”

  “I’m glad, glad, glad,” said Noel with unusual vehemence. “I mean about Colin. But I’m very glad about Leslie and Philip too. I wonder if they’ll keep a school or what. Perhaps there won’t be any little boys for them to teach by then. It’s a rum world.”

  “Noel,” said Lydia, brushing her hair till it crackled. “Do you think people who have babies are traitors?”

  “Good lord, no,” said Noel. “Whatever put that into your head, my love?”

  “I mean,” said Lydia, brushing away all the time, “the Government does want a high birth-rate, but if people are having babies they can’t very well go on the land or into hospitals or anything.”

  “I should think the babies came first,” said Noel. “Oh, decidedly first.”

  “Because I couldn’t bear to be a traitor,” said Lydia and went on brushing her shining dark hair in pensive contentment.