Edwards, at Caroline’s request, stopped the car at the end of the High Street. It was a shoddy tea-shop with smeared-looking marble-topped tables. In the doorway was a glass showcase full of cakes trimmed with synthetic cream. Caroline sat down at one of the tables. There were a lot of waitresses, they looked much alike in short black dresses with white caps with black ribbons run through them. Quite a neat dress, she thought. A waitress came over and asked her what she wanted. “Would you please be so very kind as to ask Miss Gun to come and speak to me.”
The girl who came to the table was not a bit the type she had pictured. She had dark curls, parted in the centre. She had a cheerful smile and really beautiful brown eyes. She stood waiting, her order-pad in one hand. Suddenly she leant forward.
“You’re Jim’s mother.”
“Yes. I wonder, Miss Gun, if you would sit and have tea with me?”
Martha laughed.
“Not much. Us girls aren’t allowed to sit down in here, but we’re slack this early. I’ll see the manageress, she might let me out for half an hour, I live only just across the way.”
Martha led Caroline up some rather dingy stairs to a small room at the top of the house. It was a bedroom, but attempts had been made, Caroline noticed, to turn it into a sitting-room. The bed was covered with cheap cretonne to give it the air a sofa. No toilet things were out on the dressing-table. There was a table in the window, with a few anemones on it in a pot.
“Sit down,” said Martha. “I’m afraid this has upset you a bit, but we didn’t mean to go in for any hole-andcorner stuff, honour bright. The moment Jim asked me I said to him, ‘What will your mother say? She’ll be expecting you to marry a lady.’ He said you’d be all right, but I said, ‘Write and find out. Don’t want to start our marriage with a family quarrel.’ Then you was ill, and I said, ‘Better not write now. Don’t want to upset her.’” While she was speaking Martha filled a kettle; she put it on the gas ring.
“You could have waited to settle things until I was well.”
Martha shook her head.
“No. You don’t know the state Jim’s in. I don’t want to say anything common, but he’s done all the waiting he wants to do. Besides what he needs is a nice little home.” Her voice grew warm as she spoke. “Funny chap. I often say to him. ‘Afraid of your own shadow. Why, you’re as good as the next man.’ Then he starts in about all the things he’s tried to do and hasn’t got away with. I say to him, ‘What of it? Why fly so high? You’re in a garridge now and doing very nice. You can sell a car,’ I says to him, ‘and sell it well; that’s all you need to fuss about. There’s no cause to worry you’re not the Prime Minister. Besides,’”—she took the pot of anemones off the table and laid a blue-check table-cloth—“as I says, ‘why feel small? Haven’t you got a gift?’ My word, he can paint lovely, can’t he?” She turned eyes glowing with admiration to Caroline. “All the pictures in here he’s done. I think that one of a loaf of bread is a treat. Why, it looks just like a loaf what you might cut any day. But, you know, he doesn’t want to paint all the stuff he does. No! Who wants a picture of a haddock, a bit tripe and a ball of string? ‘You wait,’ my lad, I says to him, ‘when you’re married I’ll have you out in the country of a Sunday. You paint me a bluebell wood, that’s what I like to see.’”
“Did he say he would?”
“Did he!” Martha plumped two cups and saucers on the table. “What would he say? If I say, ‘You’ll paint a bluebell wood,’ he’ll paint it.” She fetched the kettle and made a small pot of tea. “Men like to be told what to do. Makes them fancy theirselves. Give in to a man, if he’s really set on a thing, but make him give in to you on everything else. That’s always been my motto.”
Caroline was puzzled by the ‘always.’
“Then have you been married before, Miss Gun?” Martha sat down and poured out the tea.
“Don’t ‘Miss Gun’ me. Martha’s my name. Marty, that’s what Jim calls me.” Then she looked at Caroline. “I know what you mean, and I’m not telling no lies. I’ve not been married before but Jim’s not been the first. But anything there is to know about I’ve told him. No good starting marriage with a lot of stuff you’ve got to hush up. Have it out I say, and if your chap doesn’t like it, then he can do the other thing.”
“Where had you thought of living?”
“Out on the common. One of those new little houses. There’s a drawing-room, a dining-room, kitchen and three nice bedrooms, and a bath-room. Bit of all right it is. And there’s a garden, a nice little bit of garden. I’ve had Jim out there a lot of times lately putting in some bulbs. We ought to have a nice show of daffs later.”
“Really.” Caroline looked at her bag, conscious of the cheque. This girl was so different to what she had expected. It was difficult to offer her money. Martha looked at her sympathetically.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re saying to yourself, ‘Fancy my Jim marrying a girl like that.’ I know I’m not his sort. Dad was a tailor. Repairs, you know. He died last year. Roxton we lived. I came over this way on account of a cousin working at the Mikado. Funny how things turn out, isn’t it?” She moved with a sudden nervous awkwardness. “You’d like to see what I’m going to wear on Saturday?” She pulled back a chintz curtain which covered a row of pegs and produced an apple-green silk frock. Caroline smiled at it kindly, as she had smiled kindly at the best dresses of her domestics. Quickly Martha hurried it out of view. “That’s not all,” she said truculently. “What about that?” She held out a squirrel fur coat. She looked defiantly at Caroline. “I never had a fur coat before.” She brought it across the room. “Feel the fur. It’s good quality. Soft, isn’t it? If Jim’s said to me once he’s said half a dozen times, ‘Why don’t you wear your fur coat?’ But I always say, ‘What, mess up me fur coat before me wedding! Not likely. You wait till you see me in church, cocky.’”
Caroline stroked the coat. “It’s very nice fur.” Martha was pleased.
“I knew Jim would buy the best. It is good, isn’t it?” She laid the coat over a chair. “I’ve got a green hat to go with the dress.” She looked at Caroline out of the corner of her eye to see how much she would stand. “I’ve got some real crêpe de Chine cami-knickers too. All new on for once in my life.” She opened the bottom drawer of her chest of drawers and showed the hat. She laughed. “Proper bottom drawer, isn’t it? My cousin, when she saw it, laughed fit to bust and what do you think she, went out and got?” Martha dived back into the drawer and brought out a pair of baby’s boots. Her lips softened at the sight of them, then ashamed of such weakness, she winked. “They’ll be wanted for, we know who, some day.”
Caroline missed the gentleness behind the wink and joke. How could Jim!
“Martha,” she beckoned to the girl. “Come here.”
Martha put the shoes back in the drawer. She came to the table and sat down.
“Look here. Don’t think there’s been any funny stuff. And you can stop looking at me as if I was something the cat had brought in. I was given those shoes because I’m fond of kids, and I’m having one of Jim’s before a year’s out, or I’ll know the reason why.”
There was a complete silence for a moment. There was no mistaking the warmth with which Martha said ‘one of Jim’s.’ For the first time since she had received James’s letter Caroline considered the possibility of this marriage. Martha nodded.
“That’s better. I knew you came to try and break things up. But I’m marrying Jim on Saturday, sure as God made little apples, so you may as well get used to me.”
Caroline looked up and accepted the truth. This common girl would be her daughter-in-law, she would have to get used to her. With deliberation she opened her bag and took out the cheque.
“You silly child. I came to see you and to make friends. Look,” she passed the cheque. “I brought you a wedding present. You will want some furniture for your home a
nd some pretty things for yourself.”
Martha whistled at the cheque. Then she gave Caroline a shrewd look.
“Made out to me. I knew what you’d come for the moment I set eyes on you. That’s why I kept running on and never giving you a chance. It wouldn’t have done a bit of good and it’s a pity to say things you might be sorry for. I’ll tell you something. Jim and me’ll do all right. We’re properly gone on each other.”
“You foolish girl. Why should I object to the marriage? Jim is old enough to know his mind. I feel sure you will make him happy.”
“You bet your life. A girl like me is his sort. Give him one of your starchy ones, and he’d always be apologising. You see when you’ve never done much good at anything, it’s fun to be the top dog for a change.”
Caroline was genuinely surprised.
“I should not have thought you would allow him to be that.”
“You bet your life. You see I’m ignorant. I don’t mean him to come down to the way I do things. He’s a gentleman, and he’s going to live like it. Proper meal in the evening we’re going to have and me changing my dress. We’re going to send the children to grand schools.” She laughed self-consciously. “They wouldn’t half yell at home if they could see how I’m going to be.”
Caroline got up. She patted Martha’s shoulders. “Tell Jim I shall be thinking of you both on Saturday.”
“I will,” Martha fidgeted. “I wish you’d tell his sisters, that Lady Fern, and the one that writes the books, and of course this goes for you too, that Jim and me aren’t expecting nor wanting any visiting.”
Caroline considered. She saw Martha in Helen’s drawing-room. She saw Elizabeth no more stand-offish than usual, but more awkward in the face of an awkward situation.
“I think you are right. Perhaps you would not care for their friends; neither do I, as a matter of fact. But I live very simply in a cottage; if you would come and stay it will give me a great deal of pleasure.”
Martha sniffed, then tried to laugh it off.
“Look at me crying. It’s unlucky to cry before a wedding.”
Caroline was puzzled. Here was the girl marrying the man she loved, and she had just given her a nice wedding present. However she spoke kindly.
“There’s nothing to cry about.”
Martha watched Caroline go down the stairs. Then she took the squirrel coat to rehang it. Instead she buried her face in the curtains, which made her hanging cupboard.
“Silly brave old bastard.”
Chapter XXIII
“This is London. The King’s life is moving peacefully towards its close.
(Signed) FREDERIC WILLIAMS
STANLEY HEWETT
DAWSON OF PENN
We invite you to join in recollection and prayer for our King.”
Through the epilogue that followed Caroline sat with folded hands. Miss Brown watched her anxiously. She looked frail.
“It’s after ten,” she said. “Shall I make your Horlick’s? We ought to be going up.” Caroline looked surprised.
“Bed, Brownie! I shall sit up with the Queen. It is the least any of us can do. Fetch Pells.”
There was no sound in the room except the tick-tock from the wireless. Miss Brown embroidered a tablecloth; Pells crocheted some lace; Caroline read her prayer book. Every quarter of an hour, the three women dropped their work, and on hearing from the announcer that there was no further news, picked it up again. Miss Brown cast anxious glances at Caroline. If only she might suggest going to the kitchen and making some cups of cocoa or a pot of tea. It would cheer them all up. Nearly mid-night, it would probably be early morning before there was any news. A quarter past twelve. The announcer’s voice:
“This is London.
“It is with great sorrow that we make the following announcement:
“His Majesty the King passed peacefully away at a few minutes before twelve.
“He whom we loved as King has passed from our midst.
“We voice the grief of all the people of His Empire. “We offer profound sympathy to Her Majesty the Queen and the Royal Family.”
Miss Brown and Caroline in deep mourning, faced each other across the railway carriage.
“You’re sure you’ve got the ticket for the window, Brownie?”
Miss Brown was called back from an anxious examination of her coat and skirt. Caroline had bought her an overcoat and black stockings, but she would not be able to wear the overcoat in the house. Helen’s friends often made her feel shabby.
“Yes, it’s in my bag, and I do hope you’ll be sensible and let me keep it. It’s ridiculous you going out early in the morning at this time of year. The children will be quite all right with Bill and me.”
Caroline looked annoyed.
“Really, Brownie, I do wish you wouldn’t talk of me as if I were dying. This is a great moment in the children’s lives. They should be with their parents, but since Helen and George are going to Windsor and Betsy is abroad I am the right person to be with them. I shall wrap up warmly.” She paused to allow her annoyance to simmer down. Really the way Brownie fussed could be very aggravating. “You see,” she went on more gently, “I like an excuse to influence them. I daresay I’m old-fashioned, but they seem to me very curiously brought up.” She gave Miss Brown a confidential look. “Helen and George insist on poor Ford and Bonita being so modern; but they never saw Ford as a baby playing ‘A gee-gee and a gentleman’ on my knee just as Helen herself used to do; and for all their clever games they are very pleased when Grannie buys a sheet of transfers. As for poor Jane, for all Betsy’s talk about freedom, she likes plans made for her just like any other little girl. Bill, dear man, is the best brought up of them. Violet never had any foolish ideas.”
“But they would see the procession just the same if you didn’t go,” Miss Brown persisted.
Caroline drew herself up.
“Not at all. I had the advantage of growing up surrounded by tradition. To-morrow I want the children to feel what it means.” She took off her gloves and laid them on her knee. “I’m sure you would do your best, Brownie dear, but I will not have this occasion turned into a picnic. So you can stop arguing. I am going to pay my tribute to-morrow and the children will pay it with me.”
Caroline sat in the middle of her grandchildren. Bill and Jane on her right and Ford and Bonita on her left. Bonita, enchanted by her black armlet, wished to look upon the whole affair as a party. But Caroline, assisted by Miss Brown, kept the day in the manner in which she felt it should be kept. Gently she prevented any conversation not directly concerned with the funeral. She talked about the gun carriage, which had been used to carry the coffins of Queen Victoria and Edward VII. She told them how, when they saw the coffin, it would be the Royal Standard that covered it. How on the top they would see the Crown, the Sceptre, the Orband the Insignia of the Order of the Garter. Bill and Ford were immensely interested in the troops lining the streets. What regiment they belonged to. Bonita was thrilled with the St. John’s Ambulance. Excitedly she clutched her grandmother. ‘Oh look, there’s another poor lady gone off.’ ‘Look at that gentleman, isn’t he white?’ At nine o’clock they went down and had coffee in the restaurant below.
Caroline was surprised as she sipped her coffee to find how cold she was, and how tired. Truly the window was open, but she had warm furs. Very cold she felt now that she came to think of it. She did hope she had not caught one of those nasty chills.
Back in the window, the sight in the street was almost terrifying. The whole of Piccadilly seemed a seething mass of people. Caroline felt her heart pump with fright. The coffin would have left Westminster Hall by now. What a terrible thing if the road could not be cleared in time. The police seemed totally unable to move the crowd. A sergeant of the Guards prevented the crush from getting any worse by holding them back with his cane. There were still cars inextric
ably mixed with the people.
Caroline pictured that slow solemn procession, already on its way, and felt sick with horror. Then suddenly a party of Guards came up at the double and went to help at Hyde Park Corner. The cars somehow were moved into side streets. A mounted policeman made his horse force a way through the people, who backed on to the railings of The Green Park, and from there were ordered to move into the passage they had left clear between themselves and the palings. Just as the seething jostling crowd were cleared the first notes of a band were heard.
Caroline England Page 30
