Vittoria Cottage (Drumberley Book 1)

by D. E. Stevenson

  “Not the women. Men can be married and still go on with their work, but it’s much harder for women and I know I couldn’t. We might have babies; it wouldn’t be right to be married and not have babies and I don’t think I should like it, anyhow. It would be only half a marriage — a poor show.”

  “Rhoda, couldn’t we —”

  “No,” said Rhoda. “No, we couldn’t. You would want all of me, James, and I need all of me for painting. There’s no room for marriage in my life.”

  He was silent. It was a blow of course, but not a knock-out blow. Rhoda more than liked him — she had said he was a darling — and there was nobody else.

  “We’ll go on being friends,” declared Rhoda, smiling at him.

  “Of course,” he agreed.

  “I shall see quite a lot of you when you come to London.”

  “But I’m not coming to London,” James told her. “I’m going to Mureth to live with Uncle Jock and Aunt Mamie. I’m going to be a farmer. It’s what I’ve always wanted (I mean really wanted at the bottom of my heart) but, of course, if you’d said yes it would have been different. I mean we would have talked it over and decided together, but — well, you haven’t — so you see —”

  “Yes, I see,” said Rhoda doubtfully.

  “I shall like it,” he continued. “It’s such a beautiful place, and life there is so free and friendly. It’s quite a different sort of life and it just seems to fit me, if you know what I mean.”

  “What will you do with yourself when you aren’t hoeing turnips?” inquired Rhoda with gentle sarcasm.

  James laughed. “Oh, we don’t do much turnip-hoeing. Mureth is a sheep farm. Of course Uncle Jock has a few cows as well, just enough to supply the house with cream and butter. He keeps pigs, too, so there’s always plenty of bacon … and there’s hunting and shooting and fishing, so I shan’t be bored!”

  “Opulent amusements!”

  “Not opulent,” James assured her. “That’s what I like about Mureth. You get your sport at your door quite simply and naturally without any fuss. The river runs through the property, about two hundred yards from the house, I caught a twelve pound salmon in it last time I was there. Uncle Jock hunts with the Buccleuch — sometimes the meet is at Mureth — and of course you can shoot all over the hills, wherever you like. Hunting, shooting, fishing,” said James, grinning at her. “When you get tired of scrambling for buses and eating ersatz food just send me a wire and I’ll come and fetch you.”

  “You’re thinking of another poem,” said Rhoda, smiling back at him:

  “Goldilocks, Goldilocks, wilt thou be mine?

  Thou shalt not wish dishes nor yet feed the swine.

  Hunting and fishing thou shalt be taken

  And feed upon butter and salmon and bacon.”

  They both burst out laughing.

  “Yes,” cried James. “Yes, but Rhoda you are Goldilocks — look at your hair. So that means — that means —”

  “I suppose you think Goldilocks said yes?”

  “Of course, she said yes!”

  “How like a man? The poem doesn’t say Goldilocks accepted the offer and I’m sure she didn’t. The girl had more sense. She liked work.”

  “The poem doesn’t say she refused the offer,” James pointed out. He waited for a few moments but Rhoda said nothing. “Come on!” he added, leaping to his feet. “I want to go and look at the Roman Well and see if it’s still there.”

  Rhoda got up at once and they went down the hill together.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  VITTORIA COTTAGE settled down quite comfortably after all its excitements. Bobbie had taken Leda’s place at Miss Penworthy’s School; she went to Wandlebury every day and Miss Penworthy was more than satisfied with her change of assistants, for Bobbie, being little more than a child herself, got on very well with the children. Joss missed Bobbie, of course, but the other members of the family took him for walks and did their best to make up to him for his mistress’s absence. Caroline, Harriet and James were very gay and had jokes together. Harriet was happy and she was not to know that her companions were less happy than herself but were merely endeavouring, with a good deal of success, to live up to the creed she had formulated.

  There was one other truly happy person at Vittoria House. Comfort was happy, for at last the treatment was beginning to take effect and she was losing weight. Every few days she was weighed carefully and the progress noted. It was slow, of course — much too slow in the opinion of the patient — and the patient was anything but patient. She suggested to Caroline that she should take double the quantity of medicine and thus lose her burden at double pace. Caroline was so horrified at the idea that she kept Comfort’s medicine locked up securely and carried the key with her wherever she went.

  Comfort was losing weight, her waist-bands were getting loose, and she was feeling grand.

  “Oh, what a beautiful morning!

  Oh, what a beautiful day!”

  carolled Comfort as she went about her work.

  “Don’t you know any other song, Comfort?” asked James who was beginning to get a little tired of it.

  “Well, of course, Mr. James. I used to sing in the choir — you know that as well as I do.”

  “Weary of life and laden with my fat,” murmured James.

  “Oh, Mr. James, you are awful,” said Comfort, giggling. “That wouldn’t do nearly so well. Fact is that song about it being a beauterful morning seems to keep on coming into my ’ead. ‘Ev’rything’s going my way’ and so it is. You’d know what I feel if you was fat, an’ you was beginning to get thinner, an’ your waistbands didn’t nearly cut you in ’arf every time you stooped down. You’re too thin, of course, Mr. James. You’re trying to get fat — but that’s different. People don’t larf at thin people,” said Comfort with a sigh.

  It was eleven o’clock on a not very “beauterful morning” and James had come into the kitchen to get his milk. He was sitting on one end of the table sipping his milk and Comfort was standing at the other end preparing vegetables.

  “Someday we’ll meet,” said James, sipping reflectively. “We’ll meet at eleven stone, Comfort, and when that long awaited day arrives we’ll go down to the Recreation Ground together and have some fun on the see-saw.”

  “Oh, Mr. James, you are awful!” Comfort cried. “Fancy you an’ me on the see-saw! You don’t ’arf make me larf!” And Comfort ‘larfed’ with her usual abandon, gasping like a fish and shaking like a jelly.

  It was curious that when James came into the kitchen and sat on the table and chatted to Comfort (as he did nearly every morning at eleven o’clock) her English deteriorated and she spoke to him more or less as she spoke to her mother and other members of her family. Her aitches flew in all directions and she didn’t bother to run after them. James had noticed this and it amused him a great deal, it interested him, too. Was it because he was a man and therefore not due the same respect as his mother and his aunt, or was it because Comfort felt more at ease with him? She liked him — he knew that — they understood one another and there was no silly nonsense about their relationship. He enjoyed teasing her and she enjoyed being teased. He had all sorts of jokes with Comfort.

  One day James came back from the village with a large railway-poster upon which was inscribed:

  STAGGERED HOLIDAYS FOR COMFORT

  and he had pinned it up on the kitchen wall with drawing-pins. It had been a tremendous success — all the more amusing because Comfort had no idea what it meant. James had come in to find her standing in front of it with her hands on her hips gazing at it in bewilderment.

  The poster still hung on the wall, Comfort wouldn’t have parted with it for a good deal. She knew what it meant now, of course, because she had asked Mrs. Dering and Mrs. Dering had explained it to her.

  “You won’t get no work done to-day, it’s too wet,” remarked Comfort as she emptied her potatoes into a pan and dumped it on the stove. “I was telling Uncle Amos about that crazy pa
th you’re making, an’ Uncle Amos said ’e could get you any amount of them there paving stones …” James pricked up his ears, for he was running out of large, flat stones and had been wondering how he could get some more. He might have known that all he had to do was to mention his requirements to a Podbury.

  “Tell him to call in next time he’s up this way,” said James. “I’ll talk to him about it.”

  The crazy path was Harriet’s idea, Caroline had sanctioned it gladly and James was having a good time preparing the ground and fitting the stones together like a jig-saw puzzle. Robert Shepperton was interested in the work and spent hours in the garden helping James, and as the weather was fine and open, the path was lengthening daily.

  Caroline looked out of her window and saw the two path-makers at work. There was something rather alike about them. They were both tall and spare with broad shoulders, and they both had light-brown hair. They worked very happily together, measuring and discussing, digging and lifting; sometimes they stood back and laughed heartily over some joke. Then they would come in and scrape their shoes at the garden-door and wash and tidy themselves before appearing in the drawing-room for tea. Men were very like little boys in some ways, Caroline thought.

  In spite of the fact that Robert came quite often to the cottage Caroline had a feeling that the affair between him and Harriet was hanging fire a little. She had made up her mind that Robert was to be her brother-in-law, and nothing else, but she still found it difficult to think of him in that light. She wished they would get things settled. If only he and Harriet were definitely engaged she would feel quite different, she would be able to accept the fait accompli and be happy in their happiness.

  Meanwhile Caroline avoided Robert as much as possible. When she knew he was coming she found it necessary to go and see Mrs. Severn about material for the sewing circle or to walk up the hill to Sue’s cottage with some oranges for the baby.

  Harriet said nothing but it was obvious what her feelings were.

  “The great Miss Harriet Fane is hooked at last,” said James to his mother with a smile.

  “It certainly looks like it,” she replied, trying to make her words sound gay.

  “Aren’t you pleased about it?” inquired James. “He’s an awfully good sort, you know … and it’s high time Aunt Harrie was married if she doesn’t want to get left on the shelf. I know you don’t like him much,” continued James, looking at her doubtfully. “I’ve often wondered why you don’t like him … I should have thought he was just your sort, that’s the funny thing.”

  “Of course I like him,” said Caroline hastily. “It’s just — I mean it’s better to — to leave them alone as much as possible. That’s why I go out when I know he’s coming — and — well — that’s the reason, James.”

  James was not entirely satisfied, he knew his mother too well, but he was occupied with his own troubles at the moment so he let the matter slide.

  James had said that the great Miss Harriet Fane was hooked. It certainly looked like it. If Robert were expected to tea Harriet took the trouble to make a cake for his delectation. “That cake’s stale,” declared Harriet. “Besides, Robert likes chocolate cake better.” (Caroline remembered Harriet saying to Leda, “It’s a delightful task to cook delectable food for the man you love.”) And Harriet was staying on at Vittoria Cottage much longer than she had intended; she had received numerous tempting invitations but had refused them all. She had been asked to stay with friends in Leicestershire for a Hunt Ball; she had been invited to a big house-party at Bath; Marcus Rome had written beseeching her to come to town for a few days and go with him to a charity matinee at which the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh were to be present.

  “I can’t be bothered,” Harriet had said with an elaborate show of indifference. “If you and James can put up with me I’d rather stay on a bit longer.”

  James winked at his mother mischievously.

  Harriet’s “creed” helped Caroline a good deal. It isn’t what happens to you that matters, it’s how you take it … and after all what had happened? Nothing, except that she had been foolish enough to allow herself to fall in love with Robert. Quite silly at your age, Caroline told herself. The sooner you get over it the better.

  Taking it thus, in the spirit of Harriet’s creed, Caroline began to get over it. She began to feel happier — or at least less unhappy — and to envisage the future more cheerfully. She loved her house and garden. She could be perfectly happy living at Vittoria Cottage with Leda and Bobbie; James would come for an occasional visit, and she could go up to Mureth whenever she felt inclined and have a look at James … she saw herself getting older, but still continuing to run the Dramatic Club, still trying to maintain peace with Mrs. Meldrum in the Women’s Institute and helping Mrs. Burnard with the Girl Guides. There was plenty to do, that was one comfort, you need never be idle in a village like Ashbridge.

  Caroline was thinking of all this as she walked down to the little church on Sunday afternoon to attend her godchild’s christening. It was a fine, dry, blustery day; the trees were swaying in the wind, their delicate tracery of bare, black twigs and branches seemed to be sweeping the pale-blue sky. It was winter still, but there was a feeling of spring in the air; the wind, though boisterous, was less nipping and more genial. The wind whipped her hair about her face, it disturbed the dead leaves and sent them flying about like flocks of little brown birds. It was an exhilarating day and when Caroline reached the shelter of the church-porch her cheeks were pink and her eyes were sparkling. She waited for a moment or two, trying to tidy her hair and to attain a proper decorum and then she unlatched the door and entered the dim, quiet church.

  The christening party was already there, grouped round the font, waiting for Mr. Severn; Sue was sitting on a chair holding the baby, and Jim was standing beside her looking grave and unfamiliar in his Sunday clothes. They were flanked by Sue’s family, her mother and father and masses of brothers and sisters and aunts and cousins — the Podbury family had turned out in force — and behind them at a little distance stood Robert Shepperton.

  Robert! What was he doing here? Caroline felt quite angry with him. She was trying to stop thinking about him and to tear him out of her heart; but oh, how much easier it would be if she did not have to see him! Fortunately there was no need to speak to Robert, no need to look at him … Caroline went forward and smiled at Sue and took little Caroline in her arms; and, Mr. Severn arriving from the vestry at that moment, the service began.

  Caroline had always felt that a christening should be a beautiful, simple service for it was a beautiful, simple idea; the acceptance of a tiny innocent human being into God’s church. But the service (in Caroline’s opinion) was neither beautiful nor simple. She had always found it slightly absurd. To-day’s service was no exception to the rule and, as she renounced the Devil and all his Works, the Vain Pomp and Glory of the World and the Sinful Desires of the Flesh on behalf of her small god-daughter, she found it very difficult to maintain a becoming gravity. Most certainly she would keep an eye on little Caroline and do all she could for her — that went without saying — but she could not do what she was promising to do, nobody could. And it was quite unnecessary and ridiculous (Caroline thought) to pray that all Evil Desires of the Flesh might die in little Caroline, for they had never lived in her. Little Caroline was as innocent of evil as a lamb … what right had any sinful grown-up person to impute sin to this innocent?

  Little Caroline was very good. She was wide-awake and her misty, blue eyes looked up at her godmother with a bewildered expression. Her relations stood round in a circle with their prayer-books in their hands, it was obvious that they saw nothing the least funny in the proceedings; their faces were awe-struck, their gravity was profound, it was not disturbed even when little Caroline developed an attack of hiccups and hiccupped loudly and cheerfully all through the closing prayers.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  WHEN THEY CAME out of church the wind was still blowing
as strongly as ever, the leaves were whirling madly and the sky was full of torn clouds. Caroline said good-bye to the Podburys and started off home … it was still early afternoon, and if she were quick there would be time to make scones for tea. James and Bobbie had gone to spend the day at Ash House, but Harriet would be home for tea and Harriet liked scones.

  Caroline was hastening up the hill when she heard footsteps behind her; she knew it was Robert without looking round.

  “Caroline!” he exclaimed.

  She waited for him and they walked on together.

  “You didn’t see me in church,” Robert said. “Young Mrs. Widgeon asked me to come; it was nice of her, I thought.”

  “Yes,” said Caroline.

  “They’re so friendly and kind. I’ve got to know a lot of people in Ashbridge now. Sometimes in the evenings I go into the bar-room and play darts or chat to the older men, and I’ve learnt a great deal from them not only about the district but about human nature. There’s an Elizabethan flavour about these people, they are simple-minded and brave. I find them very lovable.”

  Caroline agreed. She, too, had found the Ashbridge people easy to love.

  Robert continued to talk about the people and of his contacts with them until they reached the gate of Vittoria Cottage.

  “May I come in?” he asked.

  Caroline hesitated. “The others are out,” she told him. “Harriet has taken Joss for a walk up the hill. If you go on towards the gravel-pit you’ll meet her coming back.”

  “I’d rather come in, if it isn’t a bother.”

  “I’m going to make scones but you can come in and watch me if you like,” said Caroline. It sounded ungracious — and she felt ungracious — couldn’t he see that she was offering him a heaven-sent opportunity?

  Robert hesitated. “I’d like to, if you don’t mind,” he said diffidently. “I want to see you. I want to talk to you for a few minutes.”