‘Big drum’s my fancy,’ says a young nurse beside me with twins in a pram.
‘Ain’t ’e got long arms?’ replies her companion admiringly.
Feel inclined to dispel her illusions by telling her that Big Drum is a very much married man with four children, but resist the temptation.
Mrs. Benson is waiting for me in the drawing room, and we settle down to what I know she would describe as ‘a nice chat’ before the colonel arrives.
Mrs. Benson starts by asking me what I think of ‘that young Mrs. McDougall’, but fortunately does not wait for an answer. Mrs. B. is of the opinion that she is not quite the right type for the regiment. We have always been so fortunate with our wives, and it will be a great pity if our pleasant family party is to be spoiled.
Reply that I like Grace and find her very amusing.
Mrs. Benson says – Ah! Amusing no doubt. But don’t I think that it would be better if she did not paint her mouth that very peculiar shade of red. And don’t I think also that her manner with men is just a little –
Reply that I feel sure she means no harm, and that it is just because she is young and pretty.
Mrs. B. says she is sure she hopes I am right and that I shall never have cause to think otherwise.
The colonel comes in rubbing his hands and looking more like a turkey than ever, whereupon Mrs. B. begins to talk feverishly about other matters, and asks how Bryan is getting on at school and whether he is going into the regiment. Reply modestly as to Bryan’s attainments and vaguely as to his future.
Mrs. Benson then says it is a pity that Betty is so shy. Am surprised at this remark as shyness is certainly not Betty’s failing (in fact I have more often been informed by kind friends that Betty was too forward). Mrs. B. goes on to say that she met Betty in the town one day while I was away and asked her to tea, as she thought the dear child might be feeling dull, but that Betty was too shy to come. And do I think that Miss Castlemain is quite the right type of woman to look after a nervous child. Reply at once and with the utmost conviction that Miss Hardcastle is a most estimable person, and has my entire confidence. (Such is the peculiar influence of my colonel’s wife that this is true at the time though probably merely temporary.)
Twenty-first February
Betty and I go to church. On the way Betty informs me that the Carters’ cat has had kittens. Leonard Carter took her into the shed to see them and they had no eyes; but Leonard says their eyes will grow. She then says – as an afterthought – ‘Mummie, when we go to Westburgh will you bath me?’ I reply that Miss Hardcastle will bath her as usual. ‘But Hardy’s not coming,’ says Betty brightly. ‘She told Leonard’s nurse yesterday that she isn’t.’
Suggest that Betty is mistaken, but her conviction is unalterable, and she confirms it with the interesting piece of information that ‘Hardy has got a sweetheart, and he has gone to London, so Hardy is going to London too.’
Meditate during the sermon on Miss Hardcastle’s duplicity, and decide that she has really behaved very badly not to tell me sooner of her change in plans. Several things which have happened lately now occur to my mind all tending to corroborate Betty’s statement that Miss H. does not mean to come north with us. Of course she need not come if she does not want to, but how much better to have told me so in a straightforward manner instead of letting me find out in this roundabout way. I arrive at the conclusion that the woman is a perfect fool, and that her departure will be an unmixed blessing but I am very angry all the same.
After church we meet Major Morley who walks home with us and stays to lunch Major M. very pleasant and chatty, he is very nice with children and always at his best when Betty is present. Major M. says I made a great impression at Charters Towers (which I don’t altogether believe) and that Sir Abraham, in particular, is always asking when we are going back there for another weekend. Reply that it is very kind of Sir Abraham but reflect that I cannot return to Charters Towers for some time as I wore my only presentable frocks the two nights that we were there, and have no money to buy others, the twenty pounds that I won on Fireguard having disappeared in the astonishing manner that a windfall always does.
After lunch Betty follows us into the drawing room and accepts a spoonful of coffee sugar from Major Morley with every appearance of enjoyment. She informs us that ‘Hardy’ is writing letters Betty thinks it is to her sweetheart.
Major M. says ‘Lucky man’ in his soft voice which always leaves me wondering whether or not he is being sarcastic. Betty, however, takes the remark at face value and says that she doesn’t think he is lucky because ‘Hardy’ isn’t a bit pretty. And doesn’t Major Morley think it would be much nicer to get letters from somebody really pretty like Mummie, for instance.
Major Morley agrees fervently, and I change the subject by asking Betty if she has not got a book to read.
Betty replies that she has read all her books several times, and that they are very dull anyway, and will Major Morley tell her a story – preferably about the Sleeping Beauty.
Major Morley agrees to do this, but is very shaky about the history of the unfortunate princess, and is corrected indignantly by Betty at every slip. After she has at last been married off to live happily ever after we discuss in all gravity the gifts that we would have chosen from the good fairies. Betty after some deliberation says that she would have chosen wings, while Major Morley plumps for unlimited cash. Personally I am inclined to think that a third set of teeth would be a useful asset (my second set being in a parlous condition with no hope of replacement). Major M. points out that with unlimited cash he could buy an aeroplane and as many sets of teeth as he wanted so that his gift would include both ours besides others such as ponies, dolls’ houses, and strawberry ices every day. Betty agrees rapturously and tells Major M. that he is a ‘clever man’, which pleases him immensely.
At this point Miss Hardcastle appears and says it is time for Betty to go for a walk. Betty, anything but pleased at the idea, suggests that Miss H. should ‘write some more letters’. Feel great sympathy with Betty, but realise that it is my duty to side with Miss Hardcastle, and suggest with great guile that they should go and feed the swans in the lake at Biddington Park, which usually solves all difficulties. Am particularly anxious to have no scene with Betty as I can see that Major M. is amused at this glimpse of parental troubles. After some argument Betty departs with great reluctance, but mercifully without tears or lamentations. Feel sorry for Miss Hardcastle, but cannot help the reflection that, if she made herself interesting to the child, Betty would not show such an aversion to her company.
When Major Morley goes away he says that he will miss us very much when we leave Biddington, and obviously, for once, he really means what he says.
Later in the day Miss Hardcastle and I have a very difficult interview. I tax her with her intention of leaving us before we go to Westburgh. She admits that she has thought of tendering her resignation, but adds that it is because my manner towards her has completely altered. She reiterates her hankering for perfect trust and once more drags in Lady Hallingford’s name, which I find unnecessary and exasperating. She goes on to say that Betty is becoming more troublesome, and that it is because I do not uphold her authority or support her in the way I should. This annoys me excessively as I feel I do support Miss H. – sometimes against my own inclinations (vide this afternoon). I put it to Miss H. that she wishes to leave for ‘private reasons’, and that she should have informed me before of her change of plans. (All this very difficult as I must not betray Betty in case it should lead to trouble for the child.) We eventually terminate the argument without having convinced each other, but having agreed unanimously that Miss H. is to leave us the day we go to Westburgh.
I feel better after this is settled, and am surprised to find how much it has been weighing on my mind.
Decide to go to evensong, as I was too preoccupied in the morning to attend to the service as I should. Church is very full, but I manage to get a seat in our usual p
ew immediately behind the Bowaters of Nether Biddington.
Miss Bowater is known to Tim and me as The Foolish Virgin, for no other reason than that her appearance suggests a general incompetence. She is tall and thin and round-shouldered, with a pale face and a floppy mouth; and her eyes have a yearning expression which Tim thinks is due to her lack of oil. Her hands are loose and clammy, obviously quite incapable of the niceties of wick trimming. One of Miss Bowater’s least endearing peculiarities is that she does not always wash behind her ears, and tonight I am reminded, malgré moi, of the first time that this dereliction of duty was observed by Bryan. The subject happened to be a sore one with him at the time, and he improved the occasion by remarking to me in a triumphant whisper, ‘Mummie, Miss Bowater does not wash behind her ears either.’
In spite of these digressive thoughts I follow the service with assiduity, and listen with interest to the sermon which is all about St. Paul. Mr. Black makes him quite human – even lovable – and I feel sorry to think that hitherto I have misjudged him, deeming him a misogynist of the deepest dye.
Twenty-second February
Am engaged in counting china in the pantry and making list of breakages to replace, when Annie appears at the door and asks in a mysterious manner if she can speak to me. My heart sinks into my shoes with dark foreboding, but I reply brightly that she can.
Annie says, ‘Is it true that Miss ’Ardcastle isn’t going to Westburgh?’ Reply that it is true. Annie then goes on to say that she would like to look after Miss Betty – ‘Do ’er ’air and bath ’er and all that’ – unless of course I have someone in my eye.
Realise at once that this would be an excellent plan. I have known Annie for two years and found her trustworthy and pleasant, which are the essential virtues; she gets on well with Betty, and, last but not least, I shall have somebody that I know and who knows me and understands my ways in the strange land for which I am bound. Reply that I have nobody in my eye, and that I would be willing to accept her in the rôle of Betty’s keeper, but does she really think she would like to settle down in Westburgh so far away from all her friends. Annie says she has thought about that and would like to come for six months anyway; she thinks a girl ought to go about a bit and see new places before getting married and settling down. Agree with her fervently.
Annie then says in a ruminative manner that Bollings has never been to Scotland – he has been to India, of course, and the tales he tells – well a girl has to take tales like that with a bit of salt – doesn’t she?
Agree again with equal fervour. I now perceive that Annie hopes, after her visit to the Far North, to be able to cap Bollings’ Indian stories with some of her own adventures, and can thoroughly sympathise with her in her endeavour to be upsides with her future husband, as I have been suffering all my married life from an inability to cope with Tim’s Traveller’s Tales and an inferiority complex resulting from same. I do not anticipate any hair-raising adventures in the law-abiding precincts of Westburgh, but must hope for Annie’s sake that her imagination will be equal to the task of manufacturing some of a sufficiently plausible nature.
Having settled this important matter to our mutual satisfaction. Annie and I set to work once more on the glass and china, which (chiefly owing to Bollings’ misguided vigour) we find to be lamentably depleted. So much so that even Annie is left with no illusions on the subject, and remarks (sotto voce) that when she is married she will do all the washing up herself.
Twenty-third February
Receive a postcard from Tim to say that he is returning today by train and will arrive at Biddington late tonight. He is leaving Cassandra at Westburgh to await our arrival, having been completely disillusioned as to the theoretical economy of doing the journey by car.
Am wildly excited all day at the prospect of Tim’s return as I have not seen him for a whole week. Husbands are annoying at times, but they are a habit which grows on one, and life is extraordinarily dull without them. Spend the day tidying up and putting fresh flowers in the vases, though I do not suppose for a moment that Tim will notice them.
Tim looks well and seems quite pleased with his new job which he is to take over officially on 17th March. He has been twice to Kiltwinkle to arrange various matters with the Mackenzies. The inventory is to be taken the day we go in – he has ordered coal – and agreed to take on the telephone. He feels sure that we shall be extremely comfortable at Loanhead. It will be rather fun to be away from the regiment, absolutely on our own, and he (Tim) going in daily to his work like a civilian.
I agree with all he says, as a good wife should. And so to bed.
Twenty-ninth February
Receive a bulky epistle from unknown lady residing in Kent asking for information concerning a certain Alice Bowles who was with me as cook. Must be quite eighteen months since she left me as Katie has been here for a year, and I had various other horrors before that. Letter enquires whether Alice is sober, honest, and respectable, thoroughly trustworthy and conscientious about her duties, clean and tidy in work and person, willing and obliging, cheerful in the house and amiable in the kitchen. Will she do what she is told with a good grace? Has she good manners? Are her people of a nice respectable class? Do I consider her a really good cook, hygienic and economical? Does she take a real interest in keeping down expenses? Is she particularly good at nourishing soups? Can she bake well? Is she capable of sending up a good dinner for eight or ten people at short notice? Has she any men friends? As such are not allowed to enter Kent lady’s establishment women friends are allowed in strict moderation. Can she keep order in the kitchen without unpleasantness, etc., etc.?
Feel that the Kent lady really requires an angel straight from heaven to fulfil her requirements recollections of Alice Bowles point to the conclusion that she falls far short of this; decide that I must try to write a reference which, while being mainly true, will yet not blight disastrously all chances of her getting the situation.
Find the task beyond my powers as my recollections of Alice are distinctly hazy, and include watery stews, and interminable rows in the kitchen. Ask Tim in desperation whether he remembers her, to which he replies, ‘By Jove yes she tried to get off with Bollings, didn’t she? Or was she the one who cleaned my new brown shoes with black boot polish?’
Leave the letter to be answered at leisure as I have an appointment with the dentist, made several days ago when my tooth was rather troublesome.
Today it is perfectly well and the moment I see the dentist’s chair I know that I have been a fool to come. Is it too late to escape? Shall I feign a sudden indisposition?
Mr. Hood smiles at me encouragingly, and I climb into the chair only because I am too much of a coward to run away. The window in front of me looks out into a small garden where Mr. Hood’s pyjamas and Mrs. Hood’s stockings are tossing gaily in the breeze. There are also some small garments which obviously belong to several sizes of little Hoods. Beyond this cheerful scene is a street – an errand boy passes on his bicycle whistling gaily. Reflect on the cheerfulness of errand boys. What a happy life they lead! Am overwhelmed with self-pity.
Mr. Hood seizes an instrument like a deformed buttonhook, inserts it into a long metal holder to give him more purchase and plunges it unerringly into the heart of my hollowest tooth. I can feel the point sticking into my spine – my scalp rises – ‘This will have to come out,’ says Mr. Hood cheerfully.
An hour – or is it a year – later, I emerge into the street with tottering steps.
March
Third March
Tim announces at teatime that he quite forgot to tell me that Ledgard is coming to dinner, but he supposes it will be all right. Reply in the affirmative with more confidence than I feel, and rush to the kitchen to see what can be done about it. Katie says she will put some curry in the rabbit, but there’s no soup and it is the half day. Annie says there is only one apple and a few nuts for dessert.
Send Miss Hardcastle and Betty round to Grace McDougall with S O S
message asking if she can lend me a tin of soup and some fruit for dessert, also a bottle of soda water as I know that Captain Ledgard drinks whisky. Tell Katie to make an omelet and remind her about coffee (which Tim and I never take at night as it is supposed to keep us from sleeping). Look through table napkins with Annie and find one for our guest without too many thin places and darns. Revive the flowers (which are slightly jaded) by cutting the stalks and putting an aspirin tablet in the water. Send Bollings down to the station for two packets of cigarettes.
Tim follows me about saying that he doesn’t know why on earth I always make a fuss when he asks a feller in to dinner. Ledgard is only a bachelor and can easily take potluck. He only asked the chap because he felt sorry for him having to eat the food in Mess. And do I think Ledgard is likely to notice the flowers? Reply that bachelors notice more than you think, and try to make it sound as mysterious as possible to keep Tim quiet.
Miss H. and Betty return from their foraging party with a tin of tomato soup, four apples, three bananas, and half a siphon of soda water. Feel that Grace is indeed a noble character.
It is now seven o’clock so I rush upstairs to change. Come down to find the drawing-room fire nearly dead. Revive it with sticks and paraffin because Annie is busy laying the table.
Annie comes in to say that Bollings was polishing the glasses and a tumbler ‘slipped out of his hand’ so will I have a kitchen tumbler as there’s only two dining-room ones left. Reply that I will have no tumbler, only wineglasses. Rush up to the bathroom to wash my hands which is very necessary after my struggles with the fire. Am just washing my hands, and reflecting that the evening has started stickily when I hear Captain Ledgard arrive and Tim asking in hospitable tones if he would like a wash. Rokesby only boasts one lavatory so I am trapped and have to lie low while Tim rattles the door handle and says angrily that there is evidently someone there.
Mrs. Tim of the Regiment Page 10
