Caroline England

by Noel Streatfeild

  Elizabeth drew back.

  “I don’t like being kissed.” Then she added more kindly, “But Helen likes it, if you want to.”

  “Isn’t it a lovely house, Betsy?” Laurence broke in excitedly. “Grandfather’s going to show me the Elizabethan wall.”

  Elizabeth felt contrary.

  “I like our house better.” She looked scornfully at the terrace. “Where’s those peacocks we’ve heard about?”

  Caroline put a reproving hand on her shoulder.

  “I don’t know, darling, but if you ask Grandfather nicely, perhaps he’ll take you to see them after tea.”

  James shook his head.

  “Can’t do that. There aren’t any now.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Only got them to please your grandmother. When the last pair died I never troubled to get anymore.”

  Caroline was shocked.

  “No peacocks! But there’ve always been peacocks.” James took her arm to lead her into the house.

  “No, only since I built the terrace. It was your mother’s idea; no sooner saw it than she said peacocks ought to walk on it. Never cared for ’em myself. Come along, tea’s ready. You come with us, young Laurie, and have yours in the drawing-room and I’ll take you around afterwards.” He chuckled. “Where’s the Elizabethan north wall? Bless me, Caroline, the boy might have been bred on the place.”

  Caroline and James faced each other from the ends of the long dining-room table. Caroline was apparently stalking her strawberries, but her eyes kept wandering to her father. How old he looked, and how grey. He brought a lump into her throat. It was not right he should be so pleased to see her, he must have been pathetically lonely. If Aunt Agnes did not get better she must find someone nice to live here and take care of him.

  “How is Aunt Agnes?”

  James finished peeling his apple. It was his custom to take the peel off in one piece. He felt quite upset on the nights when he failed. The unbroken peel fell on to his plate. He looked up.

  “Bad. Had to have her moved last month. Proper home by Virginia Water. She had been getting in a very excited state; then one night she went right off, had to be put for a time in some place where she couldn’t hurt herself. Took four men to get her there.”

  “How terrible.”

  “She’s happy enough. Calls herself the bride of Heaven. Fancies she’s had a child. Most unfortunate . I’ve been over to see her, but she doesn’t talk a word of sense, and keeps up a most annoyin’ laughing. I know she can’t help it, poor girl, but it’s damned irritating. Your grandmother’s with her now. There’s a touch of pneumonia. It’s likely to be the end.”

  Caroline forced herself to offer to help. “Grandmother’s rather old for that. Do you think I’d better go?”

  James shook his head.

  “Nearly eighty. She’s a wonderful woman your grandmother, my dear, but mighty set in her ways.”

  “You mean she wouldn’t want to see me?”

  “No. She and your Aunt Agnes have backed each other up in that. I was upset, of course, at your marrying as you did, but I felt what was done was done.” He looked apologetically at her. “But I didn’t like to go against them.” He chuckled. “Your grandmother doesn’t know you’re here now.”

  “If Ellison had been here, he’d have told her.” James shook his head.

  “He’s in her bad books, too. She’s set her heart on seein’ him married before she dies.”

  “Is he settled in Paris?”

  “More or less. He’d have been over for the tree-planting, of course. I thought he might have come anyway, but when the King was taken ill he sent a telegram not to expect him.”

  “Funny Ellison going in for painting. I never knew he was fond of it.”

  James snorted.

  “Isn’t. It’s this friend of his. Timothy Foldes. He seems pretty good at the job. Lot about him in The Times at Christmas.”

  Caroline poured some cream on to her mashed strawberries.

  “I think it’s a bit unreasonable of grandmother to want him to marry yet. He isn’t twenty-one.”

  James carefully cut up the last quarter of his apple. “Even if he leaves it another ten years, your grandmother will likely be about to see him do it. Sound as a bell. I’d like to see him settled though.”

  Caroline looked up at his tone.

  “Why? There’s plenty of time for you.”

  He shook his head.

  “No, my dear. Didn’t mean to tell you this over dinner, but it cropped up. Old Felton made me see a fellow in London.”

  “What for?”

  “Bit of trouble. Some pain and a swelling. Fellow said he’d like to operate, but I said ‘What for?’ Only mean I’d see my last of the Manor from my bed rather than my feet.”

  Caroline laid down her spoon.

  “Could you be cured by an operation?”

  James pushed his apple core to the side of his plate. “No. Meant to tell Ellison when he came over. The King seems getting on all right. They’ll fix a new date for the Coronation. Tell him then.”

  “You ought to write, or let me. He’d come home for good if he knew.”

  James looked at her through the twinkling candles. His face was heavy with sadness.

  “It’s got so that I don’t want him. Doesn’t know what to do with himself when he is here.” His eyes blazed.

  “Think of it! a Torrys not knowing what to do with himself at the Manor. Won’t look up our people, won’t take out a horse.” He fidgeted with a wine-glass. “I hear on the quiet that when old Sykes proposed his health at the bell-ringers’ supper, at Christmas, they wouldn’t drink it. That’s a pretty thing with two-thirds of ’em our own men.”

  Caroline picked and chose from the words that came to her tongue. It was difficult to find the way to say gently “If you’ve got cancer he better come as soon as possible, so that he may have a chance to see his heritage as you see it.”

  “He ought to come home,” she said at last. “Whether he likes the county or not, it’s where he’s got to live, and he’s got to have an heir. He’s thinking of himself as a boy and not bothering about responsibilities. But when he knows, of course he’ll come.”

  James poured himself out a glass of port and walked round to Caroline with the decanter.

  “Have a little, my dear. It’s the good stuff. Thought I might as well finish it. Ellison will never want it; too full-bodied for him.” He filled her glass. As he completed the circle of the table, back to his seat, he asked casually: “John fond of port?”

  “Yes. He says he doesn’t know much about it, but as a matter of fact, he’s picked up a lot. He’s quick at learning things.”

  “Doing well, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. George Cheviot was an enormous success. He has sold everything he’s written ever since. Then, of course, these last years we’ve not been dependent on him.”

  James sipped his port.

  “Did your mother’s family leave much? They were a warm lot.”

  “Grandmother left fifteen thousand. Grandfather’s and the great-uncles’ money is divided between myself and Louisa and Elizabeth; some of it is in trust for the children; they come into it when they are of age. I suppose you know Great-uncle Claud is still alive? He is leaving all his money to Ellison. The money for the children is a great comfort. It’s difficult for authors to make enough to make settlements on their offspring.”

  James got up and fetched a cigar from the box on the side-board.

  “Mind if I smoke?” She shook her head. He prepared it with care. “Great comfort to me you girls are all right. I shan’t be able to do much. There’s not much income except your mother’s marriage settlement, and that goes to Ellison unconditionally. Hope old Claud ties his bit up. When Ellison was sent down from Oxford his debts were something shockin’. Been comin’ in ever sinc
e.”

  Caroline looked straight at her father. “Why was he sent down?”

  James stared fixedly at the candles.

  “Nothin’ you’d understand, my dear.” He smoked a moment in silence, then he said awkwardly: “Suppose that husband of yours wouldn’t care to come here for a day or two?”

  Caroline made an apologetic face.

  “You can’t expect him to, can you? After all, fifteen years! Besides, he’s a bit self-conscious about all this.”

  She moved her hand to take in the Manor, the estate, the family portraits.

  “Pity. But quite understand. Can’t blame him. Glad if he felt like it, though. Do you think he’ll let me see something of that boy of yours? You can tell him it won’t be for long.”

  “He is a darling, isn’t he? He’s the easiest of the children. He likes nothing better than to hear me tell him about home. That’s why he knows it all as if he’d lived here.”

  James chuckled into his port.

  “Never heard anythin’ like it. I take him to the kitchen-garden and I said to Bates: ‘This is Master Laurence, Miss Caroline’s son,’ and he shakes Bates by the hand and says: ‘I know, you married Naomi.’ Then he looked round. ‘Where’s Pettigrew?’”

  Caroline laughed.

  “Where is Pettigrew? Not dead?”

  “Dead! No. He’s retired, but he’s seein’ to the coronation oak. The one Ellison planted for the first Jubilee died; Pettigrew got up in the night and planted another. He’s takin’ no risks this time, had the tree in months ago. Says it’s only got loose stuff round it and Ellison’s to do the proper plantin’.” He grinned knowingly at Caroline. “I’m not askin’ how it’s done as long as somethin’s dug in on the right day and it lives.” He got up. “Come on, my dear, how about a stroll on the terrace?”

  Caroline took his arm. Together they walked up and down. Solid June smells were blown to them from the flower-beds. A night-jar gurgled at them from a tree. James paused. He sniffed appreciatively. “Not bad, is it? Seems a pity to be clearin’ out. Come on, my dear, don’t want you getting chilled.”

  It was a blow to James that Laurence could only stay for two days. Caroline would have been only too glad to have lengthened his holiday.

  “But, you see, Papa,” she explained, “when there was no coronation John wanted him to stay at school, but as we’d arranged to come here he said he might for just the two days.”

  “Well, let him come here in August. You can all come.” Caroline patted James’s arm.

  “We’ll see. John said Laurie could go back to school alone from here, but I never did like the idea and I think I’ll just go up with him and pop him in the train and then I might go and see John. I’ll explain that you aren’t well, and I want to stay on for a bit.”

  “You’ll ask him about August?” She laughed.

  “You don’t know authors. I will if he’s in a good mood. But if he’s on a chapter that won’t come right I shan’t ask him anything. It would be hopeless.”

  Laurence and Caroline faced each other across the railway carriage. Laurence leaned forward.

  “Mum. Why did we never go there before?”

  Caroline had not thought of being asked so direct a question. She was unprepared for it. She had not the imagination to invent, so she told half the truth.

  “I ran away with Daddy. Grandfather didn’t like it.”

  “Why not? Did he want you to marry someone else?”

  “No. He’d hardly met Daddy. You see, he didn’t know how nice he was.”

  Laurence wriggled uncomfortably. He did wish his mother would remember he would be twelve in November and not talk to him as if he was the same age as Helen. “Grandfather seems much too sensible to be as stupid as that.”

  “Not stupid, darling. That’s not a nice word to use about Mummy’s daddy.”

  “Well, it was stupid. If he didn’t see you or any of us for years, just because he didn’t know the man you married very well.” He thought a moment. “What about Dad’s father and mother? Why don’t we ever see them?”

  Caroline swallowed.

  “Granny and Grandfather England are getting old. Daddy thinks our big family would make them tired. He goes by himself to see them sometimes.”

  Laurence eyed her with affectionate amusement. “You are funny, Mum. What’s wrong with them? Have they been in prison or something like that?”

  “Of course not. As a matter of fact, they aren’t quite Grandfather Torrys’ sort of people, that’s all.”

  Laurence spun a sovereign his grandfather had given him on the palm of his hand. “Oh! Common, do you mean?”

  Caroline flushed.

  “Of course not. How could Daddy’s mummy and daddy be common?”

  Laurence sighed.

  “They must be something. Grandfather Torrys didn’t want you to marry Dad, and we never see them, and we haven’t pictures of their house or anything.” He ran his finger along the window frame, pushing a little pile of dust into a corner. “If Uncle Ellison died would I get the Manor when Grandfather dies?”

  “No. It’ll go to another branch.”

  “Why? You’re the eldest, aren’t you?”

  “But my name isn’t Torrys. A boy must inherit.”

  “Oh!” Laurence sighed. “What a pity you weren’t a boy. Wouldn’t it be grand to live there always?”

  When Laurence’s train had departed from Paddington, Caroline got on an omnibus and went home. She had her key in her purse, so she let herself in. She went quietly to the study door. Even after she had been away she would not get a friendly reception if she burst in all anyhow, during working hours. Very softly she turned the door-handle. She let it go with a puzzled frown. The door was locked. She raised her hand to knock. Then she dropped it. John spoke softly:

  “You are a little devil. Such goings-on in the morning.”

  It was Lilias’s voice, which replied with a giggle:

  “You seemed to enjoy yourself all right.”

  Caroline went quickly and quietly out of the front door. She shut it. She walked slowly up the road. Anyone who knew her well might have noticed a faint droop to her shoulders. A slight twitching at her lips.

  In half an hour she came back. Her shoulders were straight. Her lips were still. There was more pride in her bearing than when she went away. She rang the front-doorbell.

  “Oh, Pells,” she said to the parlour-maid, “is Mr. England working?”

  Pells and all the kitchen had been full of ideas about what Mr. England had been doing.

  “He’s in the study, Ma’am.”

  Her tone plainly suggested that Caroline should walk straight in there. Caroline, however, went to the door, and knocked.

  “John, darling, I’m back for a few hours. I’m going up to my room. Come up for a minute, will you?” She turned to Pells. “Come with me. I want to change my dress.” Firmly, with a disgruntled Pells following behind, she climbed the stairs.

  A few minutes later John came up after her. He kissed her.

  “How are you, darling? What are you doing in town?”

  Caroline sat down and dismissed Pells with a smile.

  “I wanted to talk to you. I’ve found out—” however quickly she spoke she was forced to see the look of fear in John’s eyes, “that father has cancer. He’s lonely, John, and he can’t live long. Will you be generous and come down for a night while I and the children are there? He’d like to meet you. Please.”

  John looked at her with a twisted smile. Then he got up and picked up her hand and played with her fingers.

  “You’re like Sunday morning, and a cold bath, and the whole of the aristocracy rolled into one. I was a fool to marry a woman who’d always make me feel a cad. Of course I’ll come.”

  Chapter XIV

  AGNES’S death synchronised
with John’s arrival at the Manor. Neither James nor Caroline was upset at her death, but both had a deep respect for a death, to whomever it occurred. Although the morning was hot, they spent it sitting in the drawing-room with all the curtains drawn. The very fact of James being in the drawing-room at such an hour marked the day as funereal. He had not sat in it during the morning since his father died. The similarity of the two occasions took his mind back. The silences which both he and Caroline considered fitting, he punctuated with ‘My poor old father had a very movin’ funeral.’ ‘Beautiful wreaths when my poor old father went.’ Caroline felt there was injustice in remembering her grandfather on this occasion; the day was Agnes’s, and should be treated as such. She recalled James firmly to the subject of their grief: ‘Poor dear Aunt Agnes would have loved that bowl of roses,’ or ‘Poor dear Aunt Agnes, so sad to die in such beautiful weather.’ At mid-day James ordered a decanter of port and some ginger biscuits which, swallowed at such an unlikely hour, seemed to him suitable funeral meats. In spite of the heat the port cheered them both enormously. James at once sent up to the schoolroom for ‘Make them to be numbered with Thy Saints,’ and on its arrival jovially removed its back, and took out the cardboard, holding the portraits, in order to write ‘Numbered July 3rd, 1902,’ under ‘Agnes.’

  John arrived during the port-drinking. He had driven up from the station torn with confused feelings. A few years ago he would have been the boy at the lodge who touched his hat. Half of him wanted to say, ‘Hi, you, don’t touch your hat at me,’ and the other half was snobbishly pleased. Fun to be one of a family who had a livery for their coachman, and a coat of arms to paint on their carriage door. But as that same coachman and carriage drove round to the back, he looked after them regretfully. “I wish,” he thought, laughing at himself, as he climbed the terrace steps, “I felt more like a son-in-law and less like a tourist paying a shilling to see round the place.”

  Mary opened the door to him. The coachman had already told him of Agnes’s departure, so her lugubrious air and in-the-presence-of-death whisper were no surprise. “If you will please to step this way, Mr. Torrys and Mrs. England are in the drawing-room.”