by Jean Stubbs
‘They are not, in any case, merely toys,’ said Theodore, hearing and seeing everything without apparently lifting his eyes from the print. ‘That would be superfluity. Lindsey!’ Suddenly pouncing on the younger lad as he set out a battleline of lead soldiers. ‘Do you know how our firm advertises Crozier’s Toys?’
The boy scrambled to his feet again and hooked his hands behind the back of his Norfolk jacket. He concentrated on the wax flowers imprisoned within a glass dome which stood on the mantelshelf.
‘“Dolls that instil correct notions into the young mind,”’ he began. ‘“Merry games – and – pastimes …”’
‘“… combining,”’ Edmund whispered, and was checked by a look from his father.
‘Pray continue, Lindsey,’ said Theodore Crozier, one forefinger on the line he had been reading.
‘“… combining …’”
‘“Pleasure,”’ Laura dared to suggest, and smiled brilliantly as though pleasure was her birthright.
‘My dear Laura!’
‘I beg your pardon, Theodore. The phrase is turned so adroitly.’
‘“… pleasure,”’ Lindsey finished, helped by mouthings from his older brother, ‘“with instruction.”’
‘Exactly! Blanche!’
The child turned so quickly that she overset the dining-table in the doll’s house, and righted it as quickly.
‘Yes, Papa?’
‘Do you know what the advertisement means?’
‘No, Papa.’ She had not been listening, as usual, rapt in her own world and talking quietly to each small perfect room as she set it out.
‘It is a most extraordinary thing,’ said Theodore testily, ‘that when I spend time in the bosom of my family I am rewarded with so little attention!’
‘My dear,’ Laura cried, sacrificing herself out of habit, ‘I wonder whether you could not look at the safety chain of my new brooch? I should not like to lose something so exquisite.’
She moved towards him, presenting a white neck and shoulders for his attention. He examined both pieces of property.
‘It is well enough,’ he said, of the enamelled green heart pricked out with pearls, ‘and looks well upon you.’
Released, she smiled at him, paused prettily so that he might admire her longer, and said, ‘How long should we wait tea for Titus?’
The deliberation of his hand, bringing out the gold watch from his waistcoat pocket, chilled her. But her smile remained wide and sweet. The three children sat in silence: their attention a tribute to the coming visitor.
‘We shall not wait a minute after five o’clock.’ He returned to his paper, saying fretfully, ‘This influenza is reaching epidemic proportions.’
‘I do not think it is a matter for great concern,’ Laura replied automatically, listening for the caller. ‘It is in Europe, after all.’
‘My dear Laura, Europe is only across the Channel.’
‘A stone’s throw away …’ she agreed hastily.
‘Twenty miles from Dover to Calais, to be precise – that is, if you wish to be precise.’
‘Indeed, you are quite right.’ She smoothed her long skirt and lifted both hands to her pale crown of hair. ‘My lack of precision is monstrous.’
The children were merely playing with time now. Waiting, as she did, for the best surprise of the day. The sound of the lion’s brass head on its brass base, the refined voice of the parlourmaid, an answering laugh both deep and hearty, fetched them from the drawing-room in a tumble. Titus was there, ruddy and bright from the cold, punching the boys – who punched him back with glee – swinging Blanche up in his arms, nodding to his elder brother, smiling at Laura.
‘My dear Titus,’ cried Theodore, renouncing the influenza epidemic, ‘how delightful to see you. Come now, leave him be!’ almost indulgently to his sons. ‘Sit down, dear boy, sit down.’
While Blanche cried that Uncle Titus was not a boy; while the lads searched his pockets for sweets and found them; Titus let himself be pillaged without protest. A handsome man in his middle thirties, he was a total contrast to Theodore in appearance and temperament. Charming, and he knew that very well, with his thick chestnut hair and curling sideboards; possessed of a caressing voice, to coax his own way; having an adamantine courtesy to cover a volatile nature and a wary heart. So he allowed them to make much of him until they were weary, and then announced that his Christmas present was outside – to wring the last drops of excited affection.
‘A Negretti and Zambra’s Magic Lantern and Slides,’ he whispered to his brother and sister-in-law. ‘Perhaps after tea?’ Then turning to her, who stood in cool green splendour, cried, ‘My dearest Laura, how very well you look! A new brooch? Let me guess. A gift from Theodore. His taste is impeccable.’
The older man, gravely pleased, received the compliments due to his choice of wife and jewellery.
‘Now if I could meet with a lady such as Laura,’ said Titus, laughing, keeping the conversation always on himself, ‘you would find a twin case to that of my brother – the happiest married man in England.’
Composedly, her eyes fixed on him, her smile unfaltering, Laura rang the bell for tea.
*
Afterwards, Henry Hann the coachman came in, flushed with more than one spirit of the season, and secured a sheet to the picture rail so that it acted as a screen. Titus took Blanche on his knee and let the boys rest their elbows on his shoulders, while Henry slipped the slides in place. Solemnly they stared at coloured views of Venetian canals and Swiss mountains, exclaiming politely at their beauty. Respectfully they listened to Theodore’s dissertation on the grandeur of Scotland, the wildness of Wales. Then obeying a summons of their mother’s eyes they thanked Titus roundly. But he was up, setting Blanche in his chair, taking Henry’s place at the Magic Lantern: a greater child than any of them.
‘The best is yet to be!’ said Titus, and looked at Laura.
‘What further astonishments can there be?’ she asked serenely. ‘What a tease you are, Titus!’
‘Look!’ he commanded them, fitting a particularly thick slide into the socket, and turning its little handle.
And there was a fat man asleep in a chair. Titus snored, raising a shout of laughter, and as he snored a mouse strolled straight into the fat man’s yawn.
‘Do it again, Uncle Titus. Do it again,’ cried Blanche, clasping her hands together.
Again he snored, and turned the handle. Again the mouse soared into the pink cavity. They were beside themselves with delight. Laura laughed almost as much as her children. Theodore relaxed his dignity sufficiently to say, ‘What a nonsensical idea, Titus!’ but watched nevertheless. And when they were tired of the fat man and the mouse there was a thin man, on a penny-farthing bicycle, who pedalled faster and faster; and a policeman who knocked a ruffian on the head with his truncheon; and a dozen more farces.
‘But however hard that gentleman pedals he always stays in the same place!’ said Blanche, and plucked at her bottom lip, puzzled.
‘Well of course he does,’ Titus replied. ‘He cannot cycle off the slide, Miss Goose!’
So that she ran to him, giggling, and hugged his legs and said he was the best uncle in the world.
‘What did you give Papa for Christmas?’ Titus asked, when the last curiosity was done to death, and Blanche’s arms were fast about his neck.
‘Two pen-wipers that I worked myself.’
‘Two pen-wipers. Papa will have to write a great deal, will he not?’
She ducked her head modestly, looking at Theodore.
‘But Nanny had to wash them first, because of unpicking all the mistakes I made, and getting them dirty,’ she added honestly.
‘Oh, but the mistakes are best of all, for one does not expect them. I shall order a pen-wiper from you that is full of mistakes, so that I can laugh over them.’
‘Papa does not approve of mistakes,’ said Blanche, ‘and would not find them funny.’
‘Who gave you this new dress, Miss Goo
se?’ Titus asked, covering her statement tactfully.
‘Mama. Mama made it herself, and she made the sash too.’
‘I shall ask her to make me a white muslin dress with a blue sash.’
The boys roared in unison, but Blanche said shyly that the blue would match his eyes, and found herself the cause of greater amusement.
‘And Mama embroidered that beautiful waistcoat for Papa, did she not? Do you suppose she would embroider one for me if I asked her very nicely?’
‘No,’ said Blanche, twisting the string of corals round her neck, ‘because you are not Mama’s husband.’
And was bewildered by the hilarity of their response.
‘What an accomplished mama you have,’ cried Titus, as the laughter flagged.
His eyes courted Laura. She sat in her green bower of watered silk, her husband’s gift at her breast, a slight flush on her cheeks.
‘Yes, Laura does all these things well,’ said Theodore, ‘and with some tastefulness.’
The vastness of Christmas lunch, the heaviness of Christmas tea, had sated appetite, and dinner was a lighter affair. Blanche, wayward of stomach, and only allowed to join the party as a special concession, cut everything up minutely and left most of it. The boys plied their knives and forks nobly. Laura ate little. But Titus and Theodore paid tribute to Mrs Hill’s culinary achievements without difficulty. Excellent trenchermen, they took their wine with each course, and were still ready for their decanter of port and walnuts afterwards. The question of a pantomime occupied the rest of their attention. Should it be Jack and the Beanstalk with Dan Leno at Drury Lane or Cinderella at Her Majesty’s? Blanche would have preferred Cinderella and was too timid to press her claim. Laura smiled and let the discussion pass her by, and Titus and the boys won the day with Dan Leno.
‘Shall you join us?’ Titus asked his brother, who shook his head sombrely. ‘Then may I escort Laura and the children?’
‘It would be very good of you to do so.’
‘It will be my pleasure,’ said Titus frankly. ‘I am a boy myself where Dan Leno is concerned.’
Conversation lagged. Blanche’s fair head drooped with exhaustion. The boys grew silent. Laura rang for Nanny Nagle, who bobbed an iron curtsey and stood inexorably by the door. One by one, the children made a mute circuit of parents and uncle, giving and receiving goodnights. Then each picked up a candlestick from the table in the hall, and mounted the stairs under the guardianship of Nanny’s eyes and tongue. The table was cleared and swept, the decanter set ceremoniously between the two men.
‘I will leave you gentlemen to your port,’ said Laura softly.
Titus held the door wide as she passed by him, head slightly lowered. In the fragrance left behind her they lit their cigars and settled to serious matters. As they talked, the core of their working lives took shape and flowered abundantly. Crozier’s, the great toy-makers, now in its third generation and growing in size and scope, was a future upon which they could live in some luxury.
‘Though neither of my sons will be concerned in the business,’ said Theodore. ‘Edmund is intended for the medical profession, and Lindsey for the army. You must look about you for a shrewd manager when I am gone.’
‘Come, brother, at forty-eight you have many years ahead of you.’
‘I am not robust,’ said Theodore soberly, remembering the influenza epidemic.
Titus laughed.
‘No one would think it,’ he said lightly, of the big well-fleshed frame. ‘You worry too much, brother.’
‘So Dr Padgett tells me, and says that worry will not assist my blood pressure. I worry about the blood pressure, then.’
‘Console yourself with Crozier’s profits. We have had the best sales of any Christmas so far – which brings me to a question of some personal import.’
‘The usual question, I suppose?’
Theodore spoke without rancour but his face was inflexible: a dark face which seemed never to have been young.
‘Have you no chink in that armour of yours?’ Titus asked reflectively. ‘I am not such a good accountant as yourself. Money slips by me. I do not know where it goes.’
‘My commitments are nevertheless greater,’ Theodore replied. ‘There are the boys at Rugby. Blanche must have a portion when she marries. I keep Laura in dress, which is no small item. She is another spendthrift. I have an establishment to maintain,’ and he looked about him with pride at the solid mahogany. ‘You are a bachelor, Titus, and can make no such claims.’
‘I am a bachelor and have other claims,’ said Titus easily. ‘Surely, brother, you did not save all your money until three-and-thirty, when you married, without the ladies picking your purse now and again?’
A shadow over Theodore’s face gave him pause.
‘You are now a reformed bachelor, brother,’ said Titus, smiling, ‘and should help me to reform also.’
‘Laura has given musical evenings for you in plenty,’ Theodore replied with indulgence. ‘No lady seems to come up to your expectation. We have often talked this over, Laura and I.’
‘And what is Laura’s considered opinion?’
‘That you prefer your freedom to domestic delights.’
‘Well, we cannot all be patriarchs. You have responsibility enough for both of us.’
‘I began early. I played the father to you for many years when our own father died.’
‘For which I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You fetched me out of some sad scrapes.’
He laid his hand for a moment on Theodore’s shoulder in genuine affection.
‘Well, well,’ said Theodore, suspicious of showing emotion, ‘you were young and foolish, and I have sown a few oats of my own. A man must be a man, after all.’
They both smiled, secure in a world where men were paramount.
‘But no more money?’ Titus persisted, returning to the nub of the discussion.
‘No more money. You must find less expensive pursuits and cut your coat according to the cloth.’
‘A dancer can be a devilish expensive pursuit.’
His brother did not answer, brooding over the ash of his cigar.
‘Then shall we join the lady?’ Titus asked, good-natured as ever, though a frown of disappointment lingered.
‘Would you care to amuse Laura for half an hour or so? I have papers to look into.’
Titus rose with alacrity.
*
‘I am ordered to amuse you while Theo works,’ said Titus. ‘An order which I find most charming.’
Laura motioned him to sit down, and lifted the coffee-pot with a perceptible tremor. Switching his coat-tails aside, Titus sat at his ease and watched her fill two cups.
‘Now how shall I amuse such beauty?’ he inquired idly, ruminating.
‘You have many accomplishments,’ said Laura demurely, ‘and amusing the ladies is one of them. I leave the choice of amusement to you.’
‘Shall I tell you the tale of your inebriated coachman and make you laugh? I like to hear you laugh.’
‘Poor Henry,’ said Laura. ‘I fear that he prefers strong drink to anything else in life.’
‘There are more heady pleasures.’
She was silent, fingering her rings as he sipped.
‘Did I tell you of the time that he worked for Lady Wareham? I am sure that I did, and I would not have you bored by repetition.’
‘I should like to hear it again.’
‘Well then, the gallant Henry Hann was entrusted with Lady Wareham’s exceptionally plain daughter Augusta – whom no man would have married without a handsome dowry, poor girl! Good God, how very ugly she is! And Henry, overcome by the honour – and possibly the young lady’s countenance – dosed himself with a quantity of raw spirit, and set out in red-nosed style on the driving seat of a fine equipage.’
She was watching him covertly and he affected not to notice, revelling in her absorption.
‘At first all was well. The horses minced along Hyde Park nicely. T
he lady shaded her charms with a parasol. Then, as the drink rose to his head, Henry licked his steeds into a fair trot. “Not so fast, Hann!” cried the Honourable Augusta. He took no notice. Smartly, she whisked the parasol down, furled it, and poked him in the back. “I ordered you to slow down, Hann!” she cried. That voice would drive any man to drink, let alone Henry.’
‘You should not speak so of any lady, Titus.’
He grinned at her.
‘But we are old friends, are we not, and may speak the truth?’
She drank her coffee and did not answer.
‘Faster and faster went the horses,’ Titus continued, enjoying Laura’s discomfiture and his story. ‘And the faster they went the harder Henry laid on with his whip, in the grip of a very demon of drink and speed. They tore through the Park like Jehu, and as they flashed by all the other carriage-people began to shout and cry “Stop! Stop!” and “Help! Police!” You always smile at that point, Laura. Up rose the Honourable Augusta, parasol in hand, and began to lay it about Henry’s back, crying, “Mama! Papa! Police! Help!” and the more she struck him, the more he belaboured the horses, and the harder they galloped!’
Laura threw back her head and laughed, and he laughed with her.
‘On and on. Faster and faster. Henry’s top hat had fallen off a long way back. The Honourable Augusta lost her bonnet and then her parasol, burst into tears, and fell back in the carriage, thrown from one side to the other. And then the demon disappeared and Henry Hann returned, penitent. He reined and checked the terrified beasts to a halt. It took him many hundred yards to do that, I can tell you. They were in a fearful lather and so was the lady. And he turned the equipage about, and drove her home as meek as a lamb. The Honourable Augusta was carried in to Mama on a tide of smelling salts, and Henry received his immediate notice. Have I amused you, Laura?’
‘Indeed,’ she cried, handkerchief to mouth, ‘indeed you have.’
‘Then may I beg another cup of coffee, in payment?’
He judged her to be indulgent and he to be in favour.
‘Laura, I have a request to make of you.’ She looked up, startled, and he gave a little deprecatory movement of the hand. ‘No, that is another matter to be spoken of at another time. I am devilish short of money, Laura, and must get it from somewhere. Will you not speak for me to Theo?’
