Of course Caroline had no idea of all this but she knew enough about Comfort to be very sorry for her. It was tragic. Within that mountain of flesh there dwelt a romantic, sensitive soul. Caroline remembered Comfort as a girl, plump and pretty, with merry brown eyes and a mop of unruly black curls. The village lads thought her extremely attractive but Comfort had eyes for nobody except Sid Houseman. He was a carpenter in his father’s business. When he and Comfort decided to get married he announced his intention of going to Canada and bettering his position. Comfort said she would wait for him and the thing was settled. Caroline knew all about it because Comfort worked in the baker’s and helped her with the Girl Guides and often talked about Sid. Several years passed and Sid Houseman made good; he had got a secure position, he had found a little house, he was coming home to marry Comfort and take her back with him to Montreal. By this time Comfort was fat. She was not just ordinarily fat, she was colossal. She was a figure of fun.
“D’you think Sid’ll mind?” she asked Caroline.
“No, of course not,” replied Caroline — but without conviction.
“Well, I don’t know,” said Comfort miserably. “I’ve told him of course, but what’s telling? He hasn’t seen me. I wouldn’t blame Sid if he changed his mind.”
Caroline hesitated and then said, “You know, Comfort, you should ask Doctor Smart. He would give you treatment.”
“Oh, I did,” said Comfort. “He said it was my glands. He said I ought to have thyroid, but Mother said, no. That’s monkey glands, Mother said. You’re not having monkey glands except over my dead body, she said. You see, Mrs. Dering, there was a niece of Mother’s that got fat like me and they gave her monkey glands. She went all queer,” declared Comfort, looking at Caroline with round, scared eyes. ‘‘All queer, she went, Mrs. Dering.”
Caroline said no more. She was aware that nothing she could say would overcome such deep-rooted prejudice. Perhaps it would be all right, thought Caroline hopefully. Perhaps Sid would realise that Comfort was still the same inside, and continue to love her in spite of her appearance.
Sid arrived in high spirits, he was full of good intentions.
Comfort had told him she was fat but what did he care, he had always hated scraggy women … but when he saw her he could not hide his dismay; he could not — no, he simply could not go through with it. He went back to Canada alone. Everybody in the village knew about it — that was the hardest part — and a good many people blamed Sid. Comfort didn’t blame him, she wouldn’t hear a word against Sid.
It was after this that Caroline asked Comfort to give up her place in the baker’s and come to Vittoria Cottage instead; she thought Comfort would be happier and Comfort thought so too. At Vittoria Cottage she saw nobody except the Derings; there was no need to go near the village, to encounter the pitying glances of her friends and the smiles of her enemies. She could not “live in” because her mother was afraid of being left alone at night, but if Caroline wanted to go away she came and stayed and brought her mother with her. Caroline, who had taken Comfort out of the kindness of her heart, found she had possessed herself of a treasure. Comfort was still slow, of course (she always would be slow), but she was thorough and reliable. She did what she was told and remembered to go on doing it and nothing was too much trouble.
Leda did not like her. “She’s so repulsive,” Leda would say. “I can’t bear to see her waddling about the house. I don’t know what on earth people think when she opens the door.”
CHAPTER FIVE
ON MONDAY MORNING Comfort arrived as usual at Vittoria Cottage and as usual she and Caroline debated the subject of food. Sometimes Caroline didn’t mind thinking about food and arranging the meals, but at other times she felt the whole subject almost intolerable. To-day she felt it almost intolerable. The larder was empty except for the remains of a stew which looked unappetising.
“It will do for Joss,” said Caroline.
“Shall we open a tin of baked beans?” inquired Comfort.
Caroline assented with a sigh. “There are too many days in the week,” she declared. “It’s a pity we have to eat every day, isn’t it? We’d have plenty of food for two or three days out of the seven.”
“It’s a pity we can’t eat grass,” said Comfort. “People do eat grass, at least one woman does. There was a film on Saturday night — Mother and me took the bus into Wandlebury — a film all about a woman who eats nothing but grass. She lives in London and goes into the park and picks grass and eats it — cooks it first of course. It didn’t ’arf look nasty.”
Caroline laughed and Comfort laughed too. When Comfort laughed she shook all over like a jelly. “Oh, dear!” she gasped. “Oh, dear! There was a man behind us said ‘Mrs. Nebuchadnezzar, that’s who she is.’ Oh, dear!”
Somewhat cheered by this incident Caroline took her basket and set forth for the village. It was less than half a mile, a pleasant walk on a fine day. The High Street was narrow and winding with little shops on both sides; most of the houses were old and many of them were slightly crooked. Caroline always felt there ought to be ladies in poke-bonnets and crinolines shopping in the village, chattering to one another in a leisurely manner and strolling in and out of the shops (buying bombazine by the dozen yards and ordering sirloins of beef and legs of mutton to sustain their large families); but those days had passed for ever and, instead of a crinolined lady, Caroline saw Rhoda Ware come rushing down the street on a motor bike. Rhoda was dressed in corduroy slacks, her cream-coloured silk shirt was open at the neck and her golden hair was flying in the breeze. It was pure gold hair, gold as newly minted sovereigns, gold as the king-cups which grew in profusion on the banks of the Wandle … and to-day in the sunshine it was quite dazzling.
When Rhoda saw Caroline she stopped suddenly and almost fell off. “I haven’t seen you for ages!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Meet Blink! Isn’t he a beauty! I’ve just bought him. He goes like smoke. I’ve always wanted a motor bike but Dad wouldn’t give me one, so I saved up and pinched and scraped and sold a couple of horrible pictures — and there you are!”
Caroline admired Blink in suitable terms. “But why Blink?” she wanted to know.
“He makes me blink,” explained his mistress. “I haven’t got used to his speed. I suppose you wouldn’t like a lift home, would you?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” said Caroline.
“I’d go very carefully — honestly, Mrs. Dering.”
“No, Rhoda,” repeated Caroline more firmly than before.
“Dad wouldn’t either,” said Rhoda sadly.
The idea of the Admiral perched up on the carrier-seat and clinging round his daughter’s waist made Caroline laugh. She laughed heartily and Rhoda joined in.
“I suppose it would look funny,” she admitted. “As a matter of fact I never thought of bringing him down to the village but just along the avenue and back. He said he was frightened.”
Caroline was very fond of Rhoda, she was absolutely natural and forthright — just as her mother had been — there was no nonsense about her. Some people disapproved of her; they said she ought to stay at home and look after her father instead of living by herself in London and studying art; they said she was wild, she cared for nothing but having a good time, her parties were orgies and her clothes theatrical and absurd.
“I must come and talk to you,” Rhoda was saying. “Can I come to tea or what?”
“You can come whenever you like; you know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” admitted Rhoda. “Yes, and I will come. There seems to be so much to do, that’s the trouble. Life’s such a rush … and the truth is I always forget how nice you are until I see you again.”
“Is that a compliment or not?” asked Caroline, smiling.
“It’s true,” declared Rhoda. “I’ve no use for compliments. Look here, Mrs. Dering, next time you’re in town let me know and I’ll throw a party for you.”
“Your friends will find me extremely dull.”
&
nbsp; “They won’t. They’ll all want to paint you.”
“Paint me!”
“Yes, but nobody is to paint you except me, and I’m not ready yet. No,” said Rhoda, straddling her bike and preparing to kick oil. “No, I’m not going to paint you for a year from now. It’ll be my first Academy picture …” She said more, but Caroline could not hear a word of it for Blink’s engine had started and was making a din like a machine-gun in the narrow street.
“That awful girl!” exclaimed Mrs. Meldrum, emerging from the grocer’s with a basket on her arm. “She’ll break her neck — that will be the end of it — but as long as she doesn’t break somebody else’s neck it won’t be much loss.”
“I think it would be a great loss,” retorted Caroline with spirit. “Rhoda may be a little wild but she’s a real person and her heart is as golden as her hair …”
Mrs. Meldrum smiled grimly and disappeared into the butcher’s.
Caroline was left standing upon the pavement … and stood there for a moment or two before moving on … she felt remorseful for she had decided that she must try to get on better with Mrs. Meldrum, and here she was putting her foot in it again. Of course, Mrs. Meldrum was very trying — and quite wrong about Rhoda — but Caroline might have disagreed with her more politely, there was no doubt of that.
The village was full of friends. Caroline saw Mrs. Severn, the vicar’s wife, ordering large quantities of buns (this reminded her that the Sewing Circle was meeting at the Vicarage in the afternoon) and she met Dr. Smart in the chemist’s where he was having a professional conversation with the dispenser (at least it looked professional until suddenly they both dissolved into helpless laughter). Then she met Mrs. Burnard who was anxious to consult her about a proposed Hallowe’en party in the Girl Guides’ Hut and to inquire whether there was a good crop of apples in Vittoria Cottage garden. “It’s some time off,” said Mrs. Burnard. “But I want to get people to promise apples,” and she looked at Caroline hopefully. It always annoyed Caroline when people asked for things in this round-about way (why couldn’t the woman say ‘Please give me apples?’ but she swallowed her annoyance and said she would give twelve pounds of apples if that would do and escaped in the middle of Mrs. Burnard’s protestations of gratitude. Finally she met Sue Widgeon buying fish.
Sue was Comfort’s cousin. Her name had been Sue Podbury before she married Jim Widgeon; she was the eldest of a large and extremely happy family which lived in the middle of the village and took an active part in all that went on … the choir, the Boy Scouts, the Girl Guides and the Dramatic Club were all full of Sue’s brothers and sisters and would not have known how to carry on without them. As a matter of fact Ashbridge was so full of Podburys (all of whom were Sue’s relations) that if some unkind Fate had suddenly made a clean sweep of them village life would have come to a standstill. There were Podburys who baked bread and Podburys who sorted letters and delivered them; if your wireless went wrong a Podbury came and mended it; if your drains were blocked a Podbury cleared them for you. The butcher had a Podbury assistant, the grocer had two … Caroline sometimes thought that the village of Ashbridge should have been called Podbury.
Sue had been married last Christmas and all her brothers and sisters and cousins and aunts had attended the ceremony (for the Podburys were clannish and of such amiable dispositions that they were all on speaking terms with one another). She had married Jim Widgeon, a young ploughman on one of Sir Michael Ware’s farms. The young couple lived in a little cottage near the gravel-pit and therefore not far from the Derings. Caroline knew Sue well, for she had been a leading light in the Dramatic Club. She was a chatterbox and somewhat indiscreet but so pretty and kind-hearted and unassuming that everybody liked her. She loved acting and had told Caroline that she could easily continue in the Club and come to all the meetings just as usual … but things had worked out differently from what Sue had expected.
“I suppose there’s no chance of your being able to come to the Club after the baby arrives?” asked Caroline.
“I don’t see how,” replied Sue. “Of course Jim says I’m not to give up everything and stay at home and never go out at all. He says he’ll look after the baby when I want to go out, but I can’t see him,” said Sue, smiling. “I can’t see Jim looking after a baby — such great big hands, he has! The truth is Jim and me are so happy I don’t ever seem to want to go out in the evenings, except p’raps just to run down and see Mother and all of them now and then … and I’m busy all day. Of course it’s a bit lonely after home but you can’t have everything, can you?”
Caroline agreed that you could not, but she made up her mind to look in on Sue more often and to tell Comfort to ask her to tea.
“We went into Wandlebury on Saturday,” continued Sue in her usual confiding manner. “We bought a pram — it’s a lovely pram, Mrs. Dering, I’d like you to see it. Jim wouldn’t have nothing but the best. He wants a boy, Jim does, I don’t mind for myself …”
They had both finished their shopping by this time so they walked up the hill together, talking as they went. Sue, having told her news, wanted all the news about the Club and Caroline amused her by describing the efforts of Beryl Coney to snatch the part of leading lady from Violet Houseman and of Violet Houseman’s struggle to retain it “Silly — that’s what they are!” declared Sue, laughing.
CHAPTER SIX
THE AFTERNOON was gorgeous. It was exactly the afternoon Caroline would have chosen for picking another basket of blackberries, but unfortunately there was ironing to be done. Leda wanted her tennis shorts for to-morrow afternoon, there were two shirts belonging to Bobbie and a whole pile of underwear and table-napkins.
“I’ll do them, Comfort,” said Caroline … for Comfort was not particularly skilful with an iron and on one occasion had singed Leda’s best pyjamas and they had not heard the end of it for days.
“Are you sure, Mrs. Dering?” asked Comfort. “Well, if you’re sure I think I’ll just take a run home and see Mother, she seemed a bit poorly this morning.”
Caroline agreed to the plan. She could not help smiling at the thought of Comfort taking a run … and then she sighed, for of course it wasn’t funny. Comfort was barely thirty and should be able to run and dance and have fun like other young women of her age. Doctor Smart had spoken to Caroline about her only last week and had declared that if Comfort would agree to have proper treatment her weight could be reduced and her health would improve. “I know,” Caroline had said. “The difficulty is she’s frightened,” and she had explained Comfort’s fears at length. “Go all queer!” snorted Doctor Smart. “She’s more likely to go all queer if she doesn’t have thyroid. She’ll do it if you tell her, Mrs. Dering.”
Caroline believed this to be true. She believed she could persuade Comfort to have proper treatment. But what a responsibility! Supposing something went wrong! It was all very well for Doctor Smart to say it was perfectly safe, he didn’t understand Comfort’s mentality. The problem was psychological rather than medical. Mrs. Podbury and Comfort were both convinced that the treatment was fraught with danger and, this being so, it was possible that Comfort might go all queer from sheer fright.
The iron was hot enough now — or should be — she wetted her finger and tested it; she spread a handkerchief on the board. At that very moment the front-door bell rang. It was an old-fashioned bell, so not only did she hear it but she saw it wagging absurdly, jangling to and fro amongst the line of bells high up near the ceiling.
“Bother!” exclaimed Caroline. “Oh, bother! But I don’t care who you are I’m definitely going to finish my ironing … even if you’re the Queen!” She switched off the iron and went to answer the door, and, as she went, her imagination ran away with her (as it so often did) and she thought, supposing it is the Queen! Supposing their Majesties were going to Sandringham and took a wrong turning and stopped at Vittoria Cottage to ask the way. The Queen would say, “What lovely flowers! Perhaps the people living in this nice little house wo
uld give us a cup of tea …”
Caroline opened the door and saw Mr. Shepperton standing on the step. “Oh, it’s you!” she exclaimed in surprise.
“Did you — were you expecting someone else?” he asked.
“Only the Queen,” replied Caroline, chuckling. “Don’t mind me,” she added. “I often go slightly mad. Come in, won’t you?”
“But perhaps you’re busy.”
“I’m ironing. You can come and watch me if you like.”
She had half-hoped he would refuse the invitation, but he didn’t.
“I thought I had seen you before,” said Mr. Shepperton as he laid down his hat on the carved oak chest “You wouldn’t remember, of course; it was just a chance meeting. I couldn’t think when or where, but now I know.”
She led him into the kitchen and indicated the basket-chair. “It’s more comfortable than it looks,” she told him. “Comfort sits in it. She’s more or less wrecked it, poor soul. Tell me where we met.”
Vittoria Cottage (Drumberley Book 1) Page 3
