Damsel in Green

by Betty Neels

  ‘Cousin Julius said the party was going like a bomb,’ he confided. ‘He came up when they left the dining-room—he said there was galaxy of lovely ladies, George. What’s a galaxy?’

  She answered absently. She wouldn’t go back to the drawing room. No one would be likely to miss her, except perhaps the peppery old gentleman.

  ‘You look sad,’ said Beatrix. ‘You oughtn’t to, George, because you were by far the prettiest lady there.’

  Georgina smiled rather ruefully at her small admirer. ‘No, darling, not really. Though it’s sweet of you to think so. Now who’s for bed? You first, poppet, then I’ll come and tuck Cor up, and go to bed too.’

  While she was helping Beatrix, that small damsel asked sapiently, ‘Why aren’t you going back to the party, George? Don’t you like the people?’

  ‘Oh, rather,’ said Georgina, falsely cheerful. ‘But they’ll be going home soon and I want to be up early in the morning—it was a lovely party,’ she added for good measure. It seemed to satisfy Beatrix, anyway, for she climbed into bed, closed her eyes, and declared her intention of going to sleep at once. Georgina said comfortably, ‘That’s right, darling, the quicker you go to sleep, the quicker Father Christmas will come. Ginger and Toto are tired too.’

  She indicated the slumbering animals, returned Beatrix’s hug, and went back to Cor. He was ready for bed too. She prepared him for the night, tucked him up, and went to her own room, where she sat down in one of the little buttoned chairs and listened to the faint sounds of the party, deep in thought and from time to time contemplating the ring on her finger. Presently, she sighed and took it off, went to the cupboard and got out the Professor’s football socks which Milly had unearthed from somewhere, and began to fill them with the little presents she had collected for the two children. They would have their big presents after breakfast, but Dimphena had told her when she had asked that the two little ones always had a sock as well, and had agreed readily to Georgina seeing to them. She glanced at the clock when she had finished, astonished to find that it was so late. The party was breaking up; she could hear distant farewells and the crunch of car tyres in the snow. She walked softly along the corridor, the well-filled socks clasped to her green velvet bodice. She was half way down the little passage leading to Beatrix’s room when she heard someone come upstairs, and turned to see the Professor, with Robby at his heels, coming towards her. She lifted a warning finger and whispered ‘Hush!’, where upon he took her by the arm, opened his bedroom door, and drew her inside.

  ‘Where the devil did you get those socks?’ he wanted to know in an interested voice. ‘I haven’t seen them since I was at Cambridge.’

  She had expected him to say something quite different; she wasn’t sure what, but certainly nothing as prosaic as a query about socks. She said quickly, ‘Oh dear, do you mind? I asked Milly for some old ones—they’re large, you see,’ she explained, ‘but I can easily find something else.’

  He was leaning against the tallboy, with his hands in his pockets. She envied him his ease of manner.

  ‘Why should I mind? I’m glad I can contribute in some small way to your splendid efforts.’ He smiled lazily at her and she was aware that he was concealing amusement. He went on gently, ‘You didn’t come back to the party.’

  She said cautiously, ‘No. By the time the children were tucked up…’

  ‘Two hours ago.’ His bright gaze flickered over her. ‘You look charming.’ He shifted his weight from one long leg to the other. ‘Damsel in green,’ he murmured.

  Georgina gave him a suspicious look. No one had called her a damsel before. ‘I’ve got some in the cellar,’ he went on surprisingly. ‘It’s a Dutch liqueur—the name’s seventeenth-century…’

  She said shyly, ‘Oh, for one minute I thought you meant me.’

  ‘I do. You’re a damsel, aren’t you? And you’re in green…and just as heady as the liqueur…’ He broke off as there was a gentle tap on the door, and said without surprise, ‘Come in, Karel.’

  Just as his cousin had said, Karel exclaimed ‘Good lord, Julius’s football socks! Where did you get those?’

  She repeated herself patiently. ‘Milly found them.’

  He nodded. ‘Good old Milly—always knows where everything is. Are the kids asleep?’

  It was Julius who answered him. ‘I imagine so. Georgina hushed me severely when I came upstairs…in my own house too!’

  She said contritely, ‘I’m sorry—I was just going in with this.’ She indicated the unwieldy socks.

  The Professor straightened himself. ‘That’s all right, we’ll all go.’ He opened a drawer in a chest. ‘Here, my dear girl, stuff these in as well.’

  She did as she was told, beginning to enjoy herself. Beatrix was asleep, her small pink mouth slightly open, her hair all over the pillow. The cats watched without moving while the sock was tied to the bedpost, not even stirring when Robby padded in silently and blew gently over them. Cor was asleep too, and stayed asleep even while the Professor tied his sock within an inch or so of his head, so that he could reach it on waking.

  When they were all in the corridor again, Georgina said: ‘Well, good night.’ But the Professor fixed her with a blue eye which held a gleam in its depths. ‘You’re coming downstairs for a drink.’ He spoke positively and when she started to protest, put up a large hand.

  ‘No excuse. Even if I have to carry you—if you’re not too heavy.’

  It would have been useless to argue. She walked between them, and when they reached the hall, Julius said:

  ‘Go along to Stephens, will you, Karel—tell him to fetch up that bottle of Damsel in Green, and bring it back with you; I’m going to open it in honour of our own Damsel in Green.’

  She was half way across the hall when he caught up with her, and stopped her with a big hand on her arm; it sent a tremble up her arm and she moved a little away from him. ‘I’m not in the least heavy,’ she said.

  He chuckled. ‘Did that rankle? I can tease too, Georgina.’

  She repeated in a silly way, ‘Tease too?’

  He nodded. ‘Were you not teasing us this evening?’ he asked blandly. ‘I did not think so at the time, but now I am sure that you were.’

  He caught her hand and held it up, once more ringless, and she looked up at him, trying to read his face. Her splendid plan had gone sadly wrong. She fought a desire to burst into tears, and bit her lip to stop its trembling. He said very gently, ‘I imagine you had a very good reason.’

  She nodded, and he went on, ignoring the lip, ‘Well, I’m glad it was a tease, because Karel has had a face as long as a fiddle.’

  He broke off as that young gentleman joined them and she stood beside them, listening to the Professor dealing with the whole regrettable episode with a masterly, light-hearted touch which gave her no blame, and turned the whole thing into a joke. A less scrupulous girl might have derived satisfaction from the look on Karel’s face, but she did not even see it, for she was still trying to understand the expression on Julius’s face.

  It was one o’clock before she went to bed; they had sat around the fire with Dimphena and Franz, talking. The Professor had been friendly, slightly withdrawn, and, she feared, totally unmoved by the new dress, despite his polite remarks. She was just dropping off to sleep when it struck her forcibly that her thoughts were in direct contradiction to her resolves.

  It was cold when she left the house the next morning and made her way to the garage. She was in the Mini and had just switched on the ignition when Julius said out of the darkness: ‘Good morning, Miss Rodman, and a Happy Christmas. Move over—if we are to risk life and limb on these appalling lanes, I might as well be responsible for the damage.’

  She moved over without a word, her heart beating a rapid tattoo which she felt sure he could hear. It seemed not; he got in beside her and shut the door with the air of a man fitting himself into a too tight coat. It was a good thing that she was a normal-sized girl; as it was, it would be impossible
for them to be any closer.

  ‘You’re quiet,’ he observed. ‘Did I startle you?’

  She lied in haste, ‘Not in the least,’ and held her breath when he went on, ‘Then why are you so breathless?’

  He spoke with the air of a man who expects an answer, and she answered hurriedly, ‘Well, perhaps I was a little,’ and remembered to say good morning and Happy Christmas in her turn.

  ‘That’s better.’ He didn’t speak again, but eased the little car down the drive and into the lane. They skidded several times on the way to the village, but she was so happy to be with him that she hardly noticed.

  The little church was full, its early-morning chill scented with holly and chrysanthemums; Georgina enjoyed the service and said so on the way home. Her companion grunted an agreement and then made no further contribution to the conversation. She became aware of this in mid-sentence, and asked:

  ‘Would you rather I didn’t talk? Does it make you nervous?’ and was taken aback by the gust of laughter which shook him, and then affronted when he said smoothly:

  ‘Not at all—I enjoy your chatter.’ Which remark most effectively put a stop to her uttering another word.

  He brought the Mini to a halt before the door and got out to go round to help her over the snow. It was still very dark, but there were lights at some of the windows of the rambling old house, and the clear frosty sky made the stars seem very close. Georgina, her head thrown back, stood gazing upwards. ‘I do like Christmas—it’s a wonderful time.’

  She felt his hand tighten on her arm. ‘Full of the Christmas spirit, I hope, Miss Rodman.’

  She brought her gaze down from the sky to the level of his face above hers. ‘You mean loving and giving?’ she asked, simply, like a child.

  He said slowly, ‘Yes, that’s what I mean—loving and giving.’ He loosened his hold on her arm and added matter-of-factly, ‘Look out for the steps, they’re slippery.’

  The day promised to be a wholly happy one. Contrary to custom, and as a concession to Cor’s legs, they all took their presents to open in his room. It took a considerable time for everyone to examine their gifts, exclaim over them and thank the givers. Eventually they went away to get ready for church, except Georgina, who declared her intention of at least making Cor’s bed, if nothing else. She went around the room while he unwillingly washed his hands and face, and collected the gay wrapping papers and ribbons with which it was strewn. Her own presents she carried to her own room; they made quite a large pile, for they had all given her something, from Beatrix’s lop-sided pincushion to the Professor’s silver Valentine mirror, an exquisite trifle which must have cost a pretty penny, although she had long ago come to the conclusion that he didn’t have to worry about pennies, nor, for that matter, pounds either.

  They ate their dinner in Cor’s room. With almost no fuss at all, a table was brought in, erected and laid and decorated with crackers, holly and paper streamers, and Cor was left in happy contemplation of it while they went away to dress. Georgina put on the green dress once more, and returned to Cor’s room to find the Professor already there, discussing the merits of the bicycle he had given him. However, they abandoned this interesting topic as soon as she joined them and Julius went to pour her a drink, leaving her by Cor’s bed, wondering why there were traces of tears on the little boy’s cheeks. But by the time they had eaten their turkey with all its delicious trimmings, and sampled the Christmas pudding, and rounded all this off with another glass of Damsel in Green, there was no sign of unhappiness in Cor’s face. She decided it was probably some small argument, which, naturally enough, his guardian had won.

  The cause of his tears was only made apparent to her at the end of the evening. They were dispersing to their various rooms when the Professor remarked casually that they would all be going to Holland within the next day or so. Cor would, of course, have to stay behind, and naturally enough, she was to stay with him.

  Much later, in bed, she went over their brief conversation about it, if the few words they exchanged could be so described. After a little while she blew her nose with unnecessary vigour, reminded herself that it had been one of the best Christmases she had ever known, and went determinedly to sleep, with the tears she hadn’t bothered to wipe away still wet on her cheeks.

  Chapter Eight

  Georgina saw the Professor for only a brief moment before they went away; it seemed even briefer by virtue of his manner, which was businesslike in the extreme. She was told in a few crisp sentences about X-rays, Mr Sawbridge’s expected visit and the radiographer, and finally, the physiotherapist. She was also to expect a telephone call from Holland each evening between five and six o’clock. In the event of an emergency she was to telephone him at any time of the day or night—Stephens would give her the number.

  He had sent for her during the quiet oasis of time between tea and dinner. She had heard the car a little earlier, and then his steps on the staircase, but contrary to usual custom, he had passed Cor’s door without entering, and it was very nearly dinner time when Milly came to ask her to go down to the study. Georgina, who had been playing cards with the two children, and in the heat of the game had cast off her cap, ran downstairs, ramming it upon her rather untidy hair, to arrive slightly out of breath before the Professor. He was resplendent in white tie and tails and obviously on his way to some social function, and equally obviously, in haste to be gone. She listened carefully to what he had to say, then in a cool little voice which disguised her unhappiness, assured him that she would take good care of Cornelis and carry out his instructions, and then added a rider to the effect that she hoped that they would enjoy their holiday. Then she stood mute, for she could think of nothing else to say, and nor, it seemed, could he, for after a moment of staring at her, he wished her a civil goodbye in a rather absentminded manner, as though his mind was already busy with other matters. She went back upstairs slowly; in six weeks’ time she would most probably be back in hospital, and her stay at Dalmers Place would be a thing of the past. She began, deliberately, to think about her future at St Athel’s.

  The house was quiet when they had gone. Georgina, doing morning chores for Cor, looked at his pale face and guessed at the disappointment behind his deadpan expression. She decided against her usual afternoon walk, and instead read The Wind in the Willows until she was hoarse, then after tea sat down at the piano. She hadn’t realized that Cor’s voice was so angelic—it soared effortlessly in accompaniment and presently she joined him, to the pleasure of them both. They might have gone on a good deal longer, but the ringing of the telephone put a stop to it, for it was no hasty three-minute call which the Professor made, but a lengthy, comfortable chat. She pictured him, sitting at ease in his Dutch home, while Cor chattered away happily in a Dutch she couldn’t hope to understand. She went to her room and busied herself gathering together the materials for the making of the rag doll she had promised Beatrix, and went back to Cor hoping that there might be a message for her. There was not. She sat down by the fire and listened patiently to Cor’s excited account of the arrival in Holland. ‘Beatrix was sick,’ he stated dramatically, ‘and there’s ice on the pond—perhaps they’ll skate…’ The corners of his mouth turned down and she made haste to ask, ‘A pond? In your guardian’s garden? I didn’t know. Do tell.’

  ‘It’s big,’ he said importantly, ‘and the garden’s bigger than this one—but the house is quite different—it’s square and the windows are large.’

  ‘Will you draw it for me?’ she suggested, happy to find something that would keep him cheerfully occupied until his supper time. He drew the exterior, and much encouraged by her praise, a plan of the house. It looked rather fine, she thought, if Cor’s draughtsmanship was to be believed.

  ‘Has it a name?’ she wanted to know.

  He nodded, ‘Bergenstijn.’ He made her repeat it after him until she had it right, then described exactly where it was. ‘Near the Queen’s palace, George dear, and there are a lot of trees round it, an
d little green fields, and if you go up a narrow road at the side you come to Queen Beatrix’s house, though we never do, of course.’ He chattered on until his supper arrived and she went to her own lonely meal. It was while she was tucking him up for the night that he said:

  ‘Cousin Julius didn’t like leaving me behind, but he explained that my aunts and uncles and cousins who go to Bergenstijn each New Year might be disappointed if they didn’t go as usual, and they wanted to see Dimphena and Franz and Beatrix, even if they couldn’t see me. He said it wouldn’t be kind or polite, but he asked my advice about it, and if I didn’t want them to go, he could always telephone and say they wouldn’t be able to manage it…of course I said I didn’t mind staying a bit if you were here too.’ He puffed out his chest and said with childish dignity, ‘Julius said I was a chip off the old block and he had known all along he could count on me.’

  Georgina turned back the bedclothes. She said, ‘Golly, I bet he feels proud of you.’

  Cor looked pleased. ‘Yes. Do you know what he said about you?’

  She was massaging a leg; her hand did not falter although her heart gave a lurch. ‘No—and I don’t think that your guardian would expect you to repeat it to me,’ she said repressively.

  ‘You always say “your guardian” and not Julius. Why?’

  She started on the other leg. ‘Your guardian employs me. It would be rude of me to call him anything else.’

  ‘He calls you Miss Rodman and we all call you George.’ He was silent for a moment, then blurted out: ‘I don’t like that—nor does Beatrix—she said so. Don’t you like each other? Karel kissed you under the mistletoe, but Cousin Julius didn’t.’

  Georgina bit her lip. ‘Darling, of course we like each other.’ She paused. It would be better if she ignored the last part of his remark. ‘Look, I tell you what I’ll do—I’ll call him Julius while we’re keeping house together, shall I? Just to you.’