Grasp a Nettle

by Betty Neels

  His blue eyes swept over her. ‘Not particularly.’ He got to his feet, towering over the pair of them. ‘I have some work to do, I’m afraid, but I shall see you at dinner.’ He bent to ruffle Oliver’s hair. ‘If you’re in bed by seven o’ clock, I’ll come and say goodnight.’

  The room seemed very quiet after he had gone. After a moment Oliver said: ‘Isn’t he super, Jenny?’

  ‘Yes, my lamb.’ It was lovely to be able to admit it to someone who would never know just how she felt. ‘Now if you’re to be in bed and tucked up we’d better wrap this up and go upstairs. You can say goodnight to Aunt Bess on the way.’

  Jenny dressed with great care that evening, putting on the pink dress she had worn on the cruise; it was a little grand perhaps, but even she, a girl with no conceit of herself, was aware that she looked quite lovely in it. And she piled her hair, too, in shining rolls and coils which took a long time but was well worth it. At least her appearance boosted her amour propre and she went down the beautiful old staircase with her chin well up, touching the polished rail with her fingers as she went, humming a little under her breath. It was a pity that there was no one to see her beautifully groomed and gowned and without, seemingly, a care in the world. She executed a few dance steps as she went and then stopped abruptly, for there was someone to see her after all; the Professor leaning against an enormous pillow cupboard against a shadowy wall. He came forward to wait for her at the foot of the staircase.

  ‘Don’t stop on my account,’ he begged her silkily, ‘or was it on my account?’

  Jenny came running down the last few steps and then, too vexed to look where she was going, tripped on the last step. He put out a hand and set her on her feet again with an amused chuckle which made her grind her teeth. ‘I believe you lie in wait for me!’ she accused him, and when he said: ‘Of course I do,’ stood looking up at him, her mouth open. ‘Why?’ she managed.

  The arm that had saved her from falling was still round her shoulders. She felt it tighten and saw how right his eyes were. ‘I think I shall take Aaron Hill’s advice—“Grasp it like a man of mettle…’”

  ‘I am not a nettle,’ she protested.

  He smiled so that her heart rocked in her chest. ‘No, you’re as soft as silk, Jenny…’ He broke off to listen to the sudden commotion at the door and the argent banging of the knocker, but he didn’t move to open it, nor did he loose her, but waited while Hans rod across the hall to answer the summons.

  Margaret made a dramatic entry. Jenny, quite bewildered at her sudden appearance, yet had the time to wonder unkindly if she had rehearsed it on the way. Certainly it was very effective—effective enough to take the Professor’s arm from her shoulders and send him to the door where Margaret had paused, trooping, to cry at exactly the right moment: ‘Eduard, oh, Eduard—I’ve been in an agony of worry! My darling child kidnapped…’ She struck another attitude and looked at Jenny. ‘How could you!’ she uttered. ‘I thought better of you, Jenny—I thought you loved my Oliver, and to leave him alone in that manner—a defenceless little boy…’

  Jenny took a couple of steps forward. ‘Whatever are you talking about, Margaret?’ and then she made the mistake of adding: ‘Who told you, anyway?’

  ‘Ah, so you don’t deny it!’ Margaret turned to the Professor and caught his coat sleeve and gave it a tug. And he won’t like that, thought Jenny, and wisely held her tongue.

  ‘This is an unexpected pleasure, Margaret,’ remarked the Professor, and gently removed her hand from his jacket. ‘But I don’t think I quite understand. Oliver is quite well and safe, you know—if he hadn’t been I should have made it my business to let you know immediately.’

  Margaret was one of the few girls Jenny knew whose eyes could, at will, be made to swim with tears without in the least detracting from her appearance. They swam now as she lifted them to Eduard’s face.

  ‘You didn’t want me to know because you felt that you should shield Jenny—I can understand that because you’re a man who helps lame dogs…’

  A flicker of emotion passed over his face. Jenny wasn’t near enough to be sure what it had been—mirth, anger…it didn’t matter, anyway. She said in a matter-of-fact voice: ‘Margaret, I’m not sure why you’ve come, but there was no need—Oliver got separated from me in Amsterdam, but he was perfectly all right and we found him again within a couple of hours, none the worse.’ She looked at the Professor. ‘That’s true, isn’t it?’

  ‘Perfectly true. Margaret, who told you about it?’

  ‘Aunt Bess. She telephoned me this morning—quite early. I got Toby to drive me to Gatwick and got on to the first plane I could. There’s a taxi out side—you’ll pay him?’

  The Professor nodded to Hans, standing like a statue in the background, and he slid silently outside to come back presently with two suitcases.

  The Professor glanced at them with an expressionless face. ‘Take them up to the Blue Room, will you Hans, and ask Hennie to see if Oliver is still awake. If he is he will want to come down and see his mother.’ He turned back to Margaret. ‘Come into the drawing-room. I’m sure you could do with a drink while we explain exactly what happened. Miss Creed will be down presently.’

  Margaret allowed herself to be led across the hall and as they passed her, the Professor said: ‘You too, Jenny.’

  Margaret sank into a chair with a grace Jenny frankly envied, and looked around her. ‘How I’ve longed to see your home,’ she murmured, and then: ‘Could someone unpack for me? I must change for dinner, mustn’t I, but I’ll be very quick so that you need only put it back for a short time.’

  The Professor was either very deeply in love or perhaps it was his beautiful manners, for he said at once: ‘Of course we will put dinner back for you, but do see Oliver first, then you will feel completely reassured.’

  He was standing with his back to the great fireplace and Jenny had taken a chair facing the door. It was flung open almost immediately and Oliver, in his dressing gown and slippers, rushed in, clutching his present.

  ‘Mummy,’ he cried, ‘why are you here? You haven’t come to take me back to Dimworth, have you? I’m having a simply super time!’

  He allowed himself to be embraced at some length and then pushed his parcel on to his mother’s knee. ‘I’ve brought you a present, I chose it…’

  Margaret looked at it without much interest. ‘How lovely, darling. I’ll open it later.’

  ‘Now, please, Mummy,’ he beseeched her.

  He helped her to take off the layers of paper and the doll was revealed, and before Margaret could say anything, he pressed the button and then stood back listening to the tinny little tune, his small chest thrust out with pride. His mother pushed it away so sharply that it fell to the ground and the tune stopped abruptly. ‘Darling, it’s lovely, but what would I do with it, for heaven’s sake?’

  He had gone white, his eyes enormous, his small mouth buttoned tight against tears. ‘You broke it,’ he said. ‘You don’t like it…’

  He turned away and hid his head in Jenny’s skirts and she said in her soft, comforting voice: ‘It was an accident, my lamb. Mummy’s tired—she came hurrying all that long way to see you. Look, we’ll pick it up and tomorrow we’ll find someone to mend it—it’ll be as good as new and you can give it to her again.’

  His small lip quivered as he stared at her. ‘Honour bright?’

  ‘Honour bright.’ She looked across at the Professor wishing that he would do something—anything but just stand there, looking as though he were watching a play, but now he spoke.

  ‘I know just the man who will put it right, Oliver—shall I take it with me tomorrow and get him to see to it. It was only a little fall, you know.’ He had bent to collect the lamp and was holding it in his hand. ‘Look, the doll’s all right, it’s only the tune.’ He smiled at the little boy, a gentle, kind smile which Jenny found very disturbing, and Oliver, reassured, said quite cheerfully:

  ‘Oh, will you please find the man and let hi
m put it right?’ and when Jenny gave him a little push towards his silent mother, he went to her and kissed her cheek and said: ‘I didn’t know you were tired Mummy, truly I didn’t,’ and submitted to her embrace once more, and when the Professor suggested: ‘What about bed, old chap?’ he nodded and said goodnight. Only at the door he turned round to ask Jenny if she would go up presently and tuck him up.

  She found him in bed five minutes later, tears pouring down his cheeks; it took her ten minutes to quieten him and another ten to get him to sleep. She went downstairs again, wishing that she could have gone to her room and stayed there for the rest of the evening and wondering why Aunt Bess had telephoned to Margaret. What could she have said to make her come tearing over to Holland as though Oliver were in grave danger? Unless she had used it as an excuse—after all, she had wanted to come in the first place, and anxiety or not, she had found time to pack two large suitcases before she left.

  The Professor was still in the drawing room, a glass in his hand, looking perfectly calm and collected, and Aunt Bess was with him.

  ‘Oliver was a little upset,’ explained Jenny, accepting her glass and sitting down near her aunt. ‘Aunt Bess, why did you tell Margaret?’

  Miss Creed sought out a lorgnette from the various chains dangling down her front and levelled it at Jenny. ‘Are you presuming to criticise me, Janet? I merely mentioned it in the course of conversation—she chose to put the wrong construction upon my remarks that is entirely her own fault. Eduard has explained everything very nicely, though; she quite understands that it was absolutely no fault of yours, and as I pointed out to her, if she had been in charge in the child, she would probably have had hysterics and been of no use whatsoever. That’s a pretty dress do you not think so, Eduard?’

  Jenny was aware that she was being studied at some length. ‘Very charming,’ murmured their host laconically—and only half an hour ago he had told her that she was as soft as silk… She took care not to look at him and made polite conversation until Margaret quite lovely in blue chiffon, came in, begging every one’s pardon for being late and keeping them waiting and accepted a drink from the Professor with a smile which made Jenny seethe and ask: ‘Is Oliver asleep?’

  Margaret turned to look at her. ‘Oliver? I don’t know— I didn’t look.’ She smiled quite sweetly at Jenny; she had accused her of negligence and carelessness such a short time ago, but she had already forgotten about it, just as she would have dismissed as unimportant the little episode with the lamp. She tucked a hand into the Professor’s arm and said prettily: ‘I’m simply famished!’

  The evening was hers, of course. Aunt Bess said very little, surprisingly enough, and although Jenny joined in the talk when someone addressed her, she made no attempt to focus any interest upon herself. The Professor didn’t say much either, but he looked at Margaret a great deal and when she suggested that she would like to see something of Holland, offered to drive her to one or two places of interest. Madly in love, Jenny decided sadly. She had thought, for the briefest of moments, when they had been in the hall together… But now Margaret was here; he had been amusing himself with that silly talk about nettles.

  Aunt Bess went to bed quite early after dinner, declaring that her outing had tired her more than she had supposed. ‘And you might come with me, Jenny,’ she requested. ‘I’m getting slow.’

  So Jenny had gone upstairs too, willingly enough, because to sit with the two of them for the rest of the evening was rather more than she could bear; better to go to her own room and wonder what they were saying to each other.

  Surprisingly, the Professor was at breakfast in the morning, and when he suggested that she might like to accompany him and Margaret to Leiden she was tempted to agree, especially as he had included Oliver in the invitation, but Margaret, smiling sweetly, declared that if he went, she wouldn’t be able to bear his chatter. ‘The darling gives me such a headache,’ she explained plaintively, ‘and I haven’t got over that nightmare journey.’

  So Jenny said that she would stay home with Oliver. There was plenty to do, she declared enthusiastically, and as they would be leaving Holland soon now, it was a pity to miss the chance of going somewhere.

  ‘Such as where?’ asked her host gently, and when she didn’t answer: ‘The final results of the tests should be ready tomorrow,’ he pointed out. ‘I believe Miss Creed plans to return to Dimworth as soon as possible once they are known. I thought a small farewell lunch, so that Oliver might join us.’

  Margaret agreed enthusiastically, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was watching Jenny, who, well aware of it, refused to look him in the eye but addressed a point over his left shoulder. ‘I’m sure that will be very nice,’ she said sedately. ‘Oliver will love it. And now if you’ll excuse us… Oliver, we’ll go and find Aunt Bess and see if we may borrow Dobbs and the car.’

  ‘There’s a Mini eating its head off in the garage,’ suggested her host, ‘why not borrow it?’ He was gathering up his letters and not looking at her. ‘You might drive to Leiden and meet us for lunch.’

  ‘How kind, but actually we’ve been wanting to go to Alkmaar—it’s the cheese market today and Oliver is very keen to see it.’ She turned a speaking eye upon the boy as she spoke, giving him a warning look which he understood at once, for it wasn’t the first time… The Professor sat back in his chair, apparently blind to this byplay, receiving this mendacious statement with a bland expression which gave nothing away.

  ‘Oh, well, in that case,’ he said carelessly, ‘take the Mini to Alkmaar. The market is great fun.’ His tone implied that the fun was strictly for children and tourists.

  ‘Where are you and Mummy going?’ asked Oliver.

  ‘Er—the Tropical Museum, the Pilgrim Fathers’ House and possibly the Museum of Antiquities.’

  ‘I think cheese sounds more fun.’

  The Professor didn’t answer this, only smiled.

  Aunt Bess, invited to go to Alkmaar, declined. ‘Tourists,’ she sniffed, ‘eating ices and gaping. Go and enjoy yourselves. I shall probably go into den Haag with Dobbs presently for some last-minute shopping. Janet, I shall decide today when we are to return.’

  ‘Will Mummy come with us?’ Oliver wanted to know.

  Miss Creed gave him a searching look. ‘And why do you ask, Oliver?’

  ‘She said she was going to marry the Professor. If she does, where will I go?’ He looked so forlorn that Jenny plucked him off his feet and hugged him close.

  ‘With Mummy, of course—won’t he, Aunt Bess?’

  But before that lady could reply, he protested: ‘But I don’t want him for a daddy. He’s my friend… Jenny, if he married you instead, I could come and stay with you here, couldn’t I?’

  Jenny frowned ferociously and went a bright pink, but her voice was quite matter-of-fact. ‘Well, love, that wouldn’t really do—if Mummy and the Professor want to get married, they’d hardly want to marry someone else, would they?’

  ‘You’ve gone very red,’ observed Oliver.

  ‘That’s because I’m out of breath hugging you. Say goodbye to Aunt Bess and we’ll go and find that Mini.’

  The Panther de Ville had gone by the time they reached the garage, but Dobbs was there, talking to Hans, and polishing the car.

  ‘The little car’s all ready, Miss Jenny,’ he told her, ‘and I was to tell you to be sure and be back by tea time.’

  ‘Oh, indeed,’ Jenny tossed her mane of hair over her shoulders. ‘I can’t think why. We shall stay until we’ve seen everything we intend to—and you can tell Professor van Draak so.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure I don’t know, Miss Jenny,’ protested Dobbs in a fatherly way, ‘but I do know that I’d rather not cross him—a very nice gentleman, but likes his own way, so to speak.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Quite right and proper too.’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ said Jenny obscurely as she settled Oliver beside her and drove off.

  There was a great deal to see in Alkmaar. They arrived befo
re the cheese market opened, which gave them time to have their elevenses in a little café in the main street and then wander down its length, peering at the shop windows. And when they reached the Waaggebouw they joined the group of sightseers, to watch the little figures moving round the clock tower as it struck the hour. It was only a firm promise to return and view this phenomenon as many times as possible that persuaded Oliver to leave and enter the cheese market.

  Here the teams of white-clad porters in their gay boaters, carrying their enormous trays of cheeses, caught his fancy, so that they spent the rest of the morning there, sampling the cheese, buying highly coloured postcards and talking to any number of English and American tourists. Aunt Bess would have hated it, Jenny decided, prising Oliver away from a large family of children with the promise of lunch.

  They went to the Schuyt restaurant on the Stationsplein and had a splendid meal; not perhaps well balanced, but very satisfying, especially for Oliver, who was of an age to enjoy potat frites with mustard pickles, followed by an enormous ice, rainbow-hued and smothered in whipped cream. They were strolling away from this repast, trying to decide whether to find the house with the cannon ball still in its wall—a relic of the Spanish Occupation—or go back for another sight of the figures prancing round the clock tower, when Jenny’s suggestion that there was ample time to do both decided them to go in search of the cannon ball first, so they started off in its general direction.

  But once over the bridge at the end of the main street they became quite lost. But it was a small town and they hadn’t strayed far and there was plenty to look at as they wandered along. They found the house at last, paid their admission and started up the narrow little staircase. There were two or three rooms on each landing, all furnished in the style of a bygone age. Oliver, completely enraptured, peered and explored, begging Jenny to look at a dozen things at a time. ‘Cheese, and now this!’ he exclaimed ecstatically, and went on to the little landing to peer over the rail at the head of the stairs. ‘Someone’s coming up,’ he informed her, and then gave a great shout. ‘Professor van Draak—did you mean to come? How did you know we were here? Where’s Mummy?’