Chapter VIII
SUDDENLY, Mama, Nurse and Louisa were back. For days James had said: “Soon have your mother home.” Prudence had talked of showing that copy-book to Mama. She will be proud. On the day of arrival, Hannah dressed her in one of her best frocks. “Want to look pretty for Mama, don’t you, pet?” Yet somehow Caroline failed to grasp the fact that the trio who drove away in the landau were coming back.
She stood beside her father on the steps. Up the drive the landau spanked. It was followed by the wagonette. In the landau was Mama. Nurse was beside her with Louisa in her arms. In the wagonette was Mary, holding the jewel-case. Caroline fixed scared, startled eyes on the cavalcade. She did not want them back.
Selina could hardly wait for the landau to stop before she was out and in James’s arms. Then she looked down at her daughter. Caroline was scowling. “Go ’way,” she muttered. “Go ’way.” Selina sank down to the child’s level. Her skirts billowed round her.
“How are you, my darling?” She kissed her. “I’ve got such a lot of presents for you in my boxes.”
Caroline drew back and stared. Her mother looked quite different to when she went away. She had pink cheeks and she was smiling. She looked pleased. Caroline felt quite different about her. She put her arms round her neck.
“Pretty Mama.”
Nurse, standing respectfully in the background, saw at a glance the change in Caroline. “They’ve spoilt her between them I’ll be bound,” she said to herself. However, this was not the moment for putting the child in her place. She forced a smile.
“Now, Miss Caroline, dear, you mustn’t tire dear Mama. She isn’t quite strong yet, and we’ve had a long journey. Come and kiss me. And I expect you’d like to kiss little sister.”
Nurse never got her grip back on Caroline. Outwardly, things were as before. The child struggled to be good and obedient. In self-defence she was scarcely likely to be anything else. God might be kind-hearted. She might have an attendant guardian angel, but neither one nor the other seemed able to prevent the earthly chastisements of Nurse. She was as conscientious over her prayers as before. She behaved angelically in church. There was little really to punish, though Nurse, thoroughly exasperated, found more than enough.
Even had Nurse been an imaginative woman she would have found it hard to place the change in Caroline. Outwardly she seemed as quiet and repressed as ever. Yet she knew her hold had gone.
Actually even at five you can adjust your world. Smacks and beatings were terrifying, but they were not everything. In Naomi’s day there had been nothing but the world behind the nursery gate and she had wanted nothing more. After Naomi’s disappearance it was still all her world. The fact that it had become a place of terror did not mean that she looked outside for help. But alone with Hannah, Prudence and her father, she had found that there was a world outside. A world where Nurse could not hurt her. God and Nurse were not friends. God was a kind gentleman whom Mr. Sykes said sent angels to look after children.
In the nursery, and under Nurse’s eye, Caroline did her best to be good. If she kept very quiet. Tried to remember not to sit on the floor. Tried not to hum. Nurse might not be angry. Of course, the more free you are, and the more gay in the world downstairs, the more likely to forget all things to be remembered in the nursery. But she was not there a great deal. There was Prudence at lesson time. There was her mother. She began to enjoy the after-tea hour. They made a scrap book together. Both happy snipping and pasting. This Caroline sensed. The hour therefore became, not one in which her mother played with her, but one in which they played together.
There were the lessons with Mr. Sykes. She nearly lost those. Nurse, although approving of the clergy in general, could not but suspect that Frederick had taken his share in remoulding her charge. She made difficulties about the class upsetting the nursery hours. Frederick, who had no intention of losing the child’s friendship, at once arranged that she come weekly to the Rectory. The Bible classes thereafter were a treat. Caroline was not only in a different house, but she stayed for tea. Her father often fetched her home. He enjoyed a gossip with Frederick over tea. Together they could discuss the news and slang the government. There was a cut home through the grounds. It led them past the row of oaks planted by Torrys to celebrate coronations. Actually it was extremely unlikely that all the oaks had been planted for that purpose at all. But James believed they had been, and handed on the belief to Caroline. She became nearly as knowledgeable as he was in time.
“This tree was planted by Grandfather when the Queen was crowned.”
“And why did Grandfather have to plant it?”
“Because he hadn’t no little boy then.”
James would look sadly at the space where the next tree would go. When the dear Queen went, would he have to do the planting because there was no heir?
“And this one, Caroline?”
Caroline never could be sure of the next four.
“That one was planted by Grandfather too, because there still wasn’t you.”
“And who was the King?”
She would hesitate. Then she would look up and see her father’s lips: “Will—”
“King William the Fourth.”
Together they would examine the place where the planting for future kings should be.
“All right for the next one,” Caroline would murmur, imitating her father’s oft-repeated statement. “But after that it’s bad. The wind might blow it down.”
James would examine the rise where those future trees must go, with pursed lips.
“Yes, it’s bad, Caroline. Don’t want a coronation tree to blow down. Looks unlucky. Start a lot of talk.”
In after-years those early Bible classes and the coronation oaks were always mixed in Caroline’s mind.
Selina was no sooner home than Thomas Felton came up to have a look at her. When he had finished his examination he asked several questions. She answered them truthfully, but there was that in her voice which made him certain she had decided on her own course in regard to her health. He got up to go.
“It’s lovely weather.”
Selina pointed to the chair he had just left. “How am I?”
He sat unwillingly.
“My dear, I’m going to speak to your husband. There must be no more children.”
She nodded. It was exactly the answer she expected. “My heart?”
“That and many things. Bless me, Ma’am, there isn’t a part of you fit to bear again.”
“I know.” Selina smiled at him. “Don’t be cross. It’s not my fault. I thought of all this when I was at Brighton. I knew you would say just what you have done. All the same you’re not going to tell James. You have told me. That is enough.”
“You’ll tell him?”
“No. He’s not to be told.” She raised her head and there was tremendous faith in her eyes. “I shall have another child. It will be a boy.”
Thomas was entirely in sympathy with James’s wish for a boy. He would have been the last to deny any man his right to try and try again. But he was certain that, for all her faith, Selina could not do it. Yet he doubted his right to interfere against her expressed wish. Her life was her own. With all that long Torrys’ history, although God knows they’d damn little to show for it in the way of achievement, it was natural they should want a boy to go into the stud book. He’d done his duty in warning the woman. By God, she was game though. He’d give a lot to see her win.
“Well, my dear.” He got up and patted her shoulder. “You’ve had your warning. Mind you, I don’t say it’s impossible. You’ve jibbed at the fence twice. Maybe you’ll take it some day, but—” He broke off.
“I shall. You’ll see. And mind you, not a word to James. You promise?”
He shook his head despairingly.
“Very well. I promise. Though mind you, I don’t like it.”
/> Selina while at Brighton had taken very considerable stock of herself She was not, she considered, making sufficient effort. No wonder she could only produce girls, when she lay about on sofas all day. She was being a poor mother and a wretched companion to James. She would mend her ways.
That summer she visited regularly at the cottages on the estate. She gave dinners. She paid calls. She went about with James. She disguised with rouge, bought in Brighton, just how ill she often felt. She moved about the house, and in and out of the cottages, smiling, gracious, and very much mistress of the place. The cottagers might whisper. They might dust a chair for her the moment she arrived, feeling she should not stand, but no word was said to James. The women of the houses inside the thirty-mile radius within which they visited might say amongst themselves that poor Mrs. Torrys was looking wretched, but none of them dared say it to her face. She acquired a certain aloofness of manner which precluded personalities.
Before Christmas, Selina was pregnant again. She kept the news to herself until New Year’s Day, thinking to start the year cheerfully for James. As it happened, the New Year began cheerfully for him in any case.
“Listen to this Selina, my dear! Our Queen is to be Empress of India.” He stood up and read from The Times, in a voice shaken with emotion:
“Often to-day will England turn her eyes towards that far East with which her destinies have been so mysteriously associated. At the length of one continent we see an Empire writhing in what may be its last agony; near the length of another she sees the inauguration of a new Empire, and that her own. That the former of these Empires should have been menaced by hostile ambition, by suicidal folly, and by prophecy which ever dogs the steps of doom, now for four centuries is not a matter of surprise. But India which has quietly dropped into our waiting rather than expectant hands, has been the supreme object of human desire during all the ages of which we have the slightest knowledge.”
“Isn’t that splendid?” Selina agreed. “I hope the Queen is pleased.” She hesitated. It was obvious that James’s cup was full for one morning. Still, she had kept her surprise for New Year’s Day and would have liked him to have it. Of course, it was wonderful for the Queen to be the Empress of India, but it was surely good news about the baby, too. Before she could speak, however, James was reading again:
“Since the days of Rome no Power has so combined the gifts of war and of peace, of policy, of material improvement and of enterprise by sea and land, and, above all, the art of dealing with discordant races, as our own.”
“This is a great day, my dear.”
“Yes, isn’t it,” she agreed. “And, oh James, there is some other great news, too. Perhaps we shall have a son after all.”
James took Selina in his arms. They forgot all about the Indian Empire. In fact, James dropped The Times and they stood on the news of it.
“Oh, my dear,” he whispered. “There’s my own good wife.”
Caroline was seven and a half when Elizabeth was born. Louisa’s arrival had been unpopular, but Elizabeth’s was received with undisguised displeasure. James swore. Selina cried. Rose Torrys wrote a letter in which she neatly mixed sympathy for James with a dig at Selina. James, who considered all letters from his mother, however offensive, intended for both of them, showed it to Selina. The last paragraph: “I often wonder, dear James, why you of all men should be so unfortunate” did little to help her to get well. The phrase “unfortunate” might on the surface refer to superfluous daughters, but Selina recognised its below-water significance as covering the whole of James’s married life. The one thing about Elizabeth’s arrival which was good, was that her birth gave very little trouble. Thomas, determined not to handle another of these nightmare confinements unaided, talked James into sending for a specialist. They got an excellent man who had worked with Simpson. Elizabeth, as it happened, came more easily into the world than Caroline or Louisa, and since Selina was, by the use of chloroform, spared some pain, she stood up to the event quite well.
James was not mean, but he held the Torrys’ view that births were natural functions which should need little or no aid from the medical profession. Had the baby proved to be a boy he would have argued that perhaps the expense had been worth while. As it was Elizabeth’s coming for which he had to pay, he did so with the worst possible grace.
The arrival of Elizabeth made changes necessary in the nursery. With three children the assistance of Hannah was no longer sufficient. At any time, Nurse could have had a nursemaid had she wished, but she could manage, and was unwilling to have anyone in her nurseries except what she described as “just my type of girl.” Now, with the extra baby, a nursemaid was a necessity. Knowing this would be so, she had kept her eye open for some time and had discovered a young cousin of her own. A girl of just fourteen, coming she knew from a good and very strict home. The girl, Minnie, was shy and retiring by temperament, and easily cowed. She had not been in the nursery a day before what small spirit she had was broken. From then onwards, she was a willing machine, eager that no cog should be out of place. For speech she seldom went further than: “Yes, Nurse.” “No, Nurse.” “If you please, Nurse.”
Although it had no bearing on her coming, Elizabeth’s arrival synchronised with another change. Prudence married her rector. Nurse had considered for some while that a daily governess was not satisfactory. She felt they had unfair advantages over those resident in the house. They just came in and swept out again and, if there was any trouble or extra work, they were unaffected by it. Then, too, they were independent. Very unsettling for the nursery to have people about who were independent.
Nurse waited until Elizabeth was born and Selina safely in bed. Then she approached James. It was time, she said, that Miss Caroline had a resident governess. She said she was more than willing to manage with a daily young lady, but of course, with the baby she had already more to do than she could manage. Of course the mistress must not be troubled now, but if she might be forgiven for making the suggestion, would it be in order if she wrote to the Master’s mother? She was a lady who would know just what was wanted. Little Miss Caroline was so fond of Grandmama she would be sure to be happy with anyone she chose.
James hated changes in his house. But there it was. Prudence was getting married. Nice little thing. Pity. She had done very well. He supposed Caroline would need a resident governess now. In any case, nothing but good could come from Nurse asking advice of his mother. He gave his permission.
Nurse wrote respectfully and humbly. Yet for all its respectfulness and humility her letter managed to convey that in her opinion she was fighting in the same army as Rose. Rose might be a general and she but a private but, nevertheless, they stood shoulder to shoulder for the same cause. Discipline and righteousness. The enemy against which they fought was never mentioned. Nurse knew her place. All the same, neither reader nor writer was likely to disagree about who represented laxness in the home. Nurse knew that Rose, without the need of words, would appreciate the moment selected for a governess to be chosen. She knew one would be in the house before Selina was able to interfere.
She was quite right. Rose, disgusted past bearing by her feeble daughter-in-law, was delighted to have the choosing of the governess. She did not consider Selina fit to engage a kitchen-maid, far less a woman to educate her daughters. She chose Miss Long.
Letitia Long had admirable testimonials. All her employers wrote that the daughters they had entrusted to her had grown up models of what daughters should be. Letitia had started life a girl of ideas. She knew just what kind of women she wished to turn out, and, allowing for differences of temperament, she turned them out to pattern. A pattern excellent in most ways. When Rose interviewed her she was a rather meek Letitia. She was growing old. Age to her, and her like, was not a matter of grey hairs and unbecoming wrinkles, but of tormented nights spent viewing starvation, crouched just round the corner.
Age was not the only horror
faced by Letitia Long and her kind. All over the country, girls’ schools were cropping up. Of course, many girls were still educated at home, but not as many as there had been. Ideas were changing as to what was expected of a governess. Many women taking up the profession were going to universities to get degrees. Rhoda Garrett and the others of her persuasion did the Letitia Longs of England no service when they demanded parliamentary franchisement for women. Not by franchisement, not by daring to suggest that women were the mental equals of men, had they held their situations.
Rose Torrys had no new-fangled ideas. Bring up a girl to behave like a gentlewoman at all times, to be a helpmeet for a husband. That was all she required. To Letitia, trembling after several weeks of unemployment, she must have seemed an angel from Heaven. Even to herself she had not dared admit that she was not only getting old, but there were many who considered her methods old-fashioned. She had been so secure with the Forsetts. When she had first come to teach Lettice, Lady Forsett had seemed delighted with her. Then that terribly modern niece had been to stay. Lady Forsett had been kindness itself and given her a nice little present as well as a testimonial. But there it was, she had been given notice when Lettice was fourteen. She had counted on another three years at least. “We are making a change. Perhaps sending her to a school.” It did not matter what excuse was given. The point was, she was out of employment and might, for all she could see, be out for ever. Then, right from the blue dropped Rose. Rose who said: “Now we don’t want a modern education. So unsettling. We want the girls to make good wives and mothers!” What else had Letitia ever had in mind for her pupils? She had great difficulty in showing a ladylike reserve before Rose. In the street outside she allowed her eyes to fill with grateful tears. How good God was.
Even in the train on the way to the Manor, Letitia could scarcely believe her fortune. Three little girls. Seven, two, and a baby. If only she could give satisfaction she might be with them for years. The mother rather an invalid, poor thing. Mrs. Torrys had said there was an admirable nurse. In the course of a life of governessing Letitia had seldom found nurses admirable. In her early and more wanted days she had fought many a battle with them. Latterly, she had fought battles with no one. Such a mistake to be considered quarrelsome, or even a little difficult. It counted against you when changes were being considered.
Caroline England Page 8
