Caroline

by Richmal Crompton

  Effie had grown much quieter and more self-contained since her arrival, which was certainly an improvement; the children had become well-behaved and well-disciplined; while Robert found in her the intellectual companionship he needed. The problems of the entire household, indeed, seemed to have been solved.

  Caroline knocked at the door, smiled pleasantly at the maid who opened it, gave a glance of commendation at the clean tidy hall, and entered the drawing-room. Evelyn sat at the window, a basket of household mending by her side.

  She was a good-looking woman, dark, full-figured, her features just a little too pronounced. She was not very tall, but her upright carriage and assured manner made her seem taller than she was. She dressed well, in plain tailor-made clothes, and her dark hair was always immaculately waved and dressed.

  Caroline’s expression changed to one of disapproval as her eyes rested on Effie, who was curled up in an armchair, reading a novel. Her fair hair was untidy, she wore a shapeless tweed skirt and jumper, and there was a long wide ladder all the way up one stocking. The novel, Caroline knew without looking at it, was of the “trashy” kind.

  Bubbles, a fat little girl of two, sat on the floor, playing with bricks.

  Evelyn put down her mending and came across the room to greet Caroline.

  “This is lovely,” she said, kissing her. “I was so afraid that Susan would keep you by force.”

  “She tried to,” smiled Caroline, “but I said I’d promised you faithfully to come on here before tea. And I’ve got to fly back immediately afterwards, because Fay’s having a friend in.”

  “We must make the most of every minute of you, then,” said Evelyn. “Let me take your coat.”

  Caroline slipped off her coat. Evelyn’s welcome had given her again the warm happy feeling of being loved and needed that alone made life seem worth living to her. She went over to Effie and patted her shoulder affectionately.

  “How are you, darling?” she said.

  Effie raised her face from her book.

  “Quite well, thanks, Caroline,” she said and returned to her reading.

  What a pity she was so unresponsive and ungracious, thought Caroline with a sigh. Everyone round her was doing all they could for her, and yet she didn’t appear to feel a spark of gratitude. She was losing her looks, too. That sulky expression was drawing lines on her face that hadn’t been there a year ago. Caroline shrugged and dropped on her knees beside Bubbles.

  “Hello, sweet!” she said. “What are you doing?”

  “Arny,” Bubbles greeted her and laughed. Caroline built up a little tower of bricks, and Bubbles knocked them down, chuckling at Caroline’s look of assumed surprise and dismay. Caroline had a way with children and always got on well with them.

  Effie continued to read without raising her eyes again or speaking.

  Evelyn came back and smiled at Caroline and Bubbles indulgently.

  “Naughty auntie!” she said. “She’s spoiling Bubbles—isn’t she?—playing with her before tea. We don’t let even Mummy do that, do we? But we’ll let Auntie do it this once.”

  Caroline rose from her knees. Bubbles was an adorable little person—lovely to play with and cuddle—but Evelyn was quite right. She said that it was very important that a child should learn to play by itself and not expect to be entertained by other people, and, except for half an hour after tea, before she went to bed, Bubbles had to play by herself. She was a placid little thing and generally seemed happy enough with her bricks or Noah’s ark.

  “I must get you nice and clean for tea now, my pet,” said Evelyn. She went across to Effie’s chair and sat on the arm of it, putting a hand on her shoulder. “And what about this baby? Is she going to get nice and clean for tea, too? I thought she’d have changed earlier when she knew Caroline was coming.” Leaning forward, she traced the course of the ladder up the slender leg with her finger. “Shocking!” she said. “Caroline will think I don’t look after you at all, and I do really, don’t I, darling? I’m always scolding you. . . .” She leant her head affectionately against Effie’s hair and smiled at Caroline. “This is my youngest and naughtiest baby,” she said.

  Effie smiled rather constrainedly and went from the room. After a few moments Evelyn followed with Bubbles, and Caroline, left alone, took up a weekly review that lay on the table by the window.

  It was opened at a crossword puzzle, which was finished except for two words. Some of the blanks were filled up in Robert’s handwriting, some in Evelyn’s. They were both fond of crossword puzzles and anagrams of the more abstruse kind. Last week they had been doing a German one, and Evelyn had rung her up several times for help.

  While Caroline was puzzling over it, Effie entered. She had washed and tidied her hair and changed the offending stockings.

  Caroline read out one of the clues to her from the paper.

  “What on earth can it be?” she said pleasantly.

  “I don’t know,” said Effie. “I can’t do crossword puzzles.”

  She took her novel and curled up in the armchair again, as if Caroline were not there. Caroline conquered her feeling of irritation. One must try to be patient.

  “What are you reading, dear?” she said.

  Effie did not answer. Caroline’s eyes grew grave. How ill-bred and badly-mannered the girl was! Poor Robert! It was the old story. He had yielded to a momentary infatuation, to find himself fettered for life to an uncongenial companion. It was what, she was afraid, was happening to Susan. She must at all costs prevent its happening to Fay. Not that she really thought there was much likelihood of its happening to Fay. Fay was too fine, too fastidious, for that sort of thing. And Fay was too fond of her. She could not imagine the child’s ever wanting to leave her. She looked into the future and saw herself growing old, her old age sweetened by Fay’s companionship, Fay’s devotion. . . .

  There came the sounds of the other two children returning from school, scampering upstairs to get ready for tea, then Evelyn’s voice was heard, saying sharply, “Come here at once, Carrie.”

  Effie did not raise her head from her book, but her whole slender body went rigid. She sat there, tense, alert, listening. . . .

  The next sound, however, was the tea-bell, and Effie uncoiled herself languidly from her chair and followed Caroline into the dining-room. Evelyn was at the head of the table behind the tea-tray, with Bubbles, in her high chair, by her side. Effie took her place at the foot of the table. Bobby, aged six, and Carrie, aged four, entered, their faces shining, their hair well brushed, kissed Caroline dutifully, then took their places at the table. Evelyn looked at them approvingly.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “You can have jam today. You were in by half-past.”

  They were supposed to come straight home from school without loitering, and had to have dry bread instead of bread and jam if they were not in the house by half-past four. They set to work eagerly upon the thick well-spread slices. Evelyn poured out Bubbles’ milk into a mug and held it to her lips. Bubbles objected, trying to take the mug into her own small fat hands.

  “Bubbles hold it,” she demanded.

  “Very well,” conceded Evelyn, “but remember, if you spill a drop, you’ll be severely punished.”

  Sometimes Caroline wondered if Evelyn were a little too strict with the children, but when she thought of them as they had been before she took them in hand—noisy, insolent, disobedient—her doubts vanished. Effie had made several scenes with Evelyn about her treatment of them when first she came, but Robert had always supported Evelyn, and now Effie never interposed, except occasionally in the case of Bubbles.

  Bubbles drank her milk slowly and carefully, then put down her mug with a little smile of triumph at Evelyn.

  “Good girl,” said Evelyn. She turned to Caroline. “When is your mother coming?”

  “I’ve not heard yet,” said Caroline. “I expect she’ll come as soon as she’s settled things up. I’m going to make the spare bedroom over the garden into a bed-sitting-ro
om for her. I expect she’ll want to be very quiet.”

  Effie looked at Caroline curiously.

  “Do you remember what she’s like at all?” she said.

  “No, dear,” said Caroline with a warning glance at the children.

  “Effie’s made such a pretty jumper for Carrie,” said Evelyn. “You must show it to Caroline afterwards, darling.”

  Effie shrugged and said nothing more. Evelyn told Caroline about a new biography that she and Robert had been reading. As she talked she kept a keen eye on the children. They were not allowed to speak at meals, and, as any lapse in manners or deportment meant instant dismissal from the table and an end to the meal, they were at pains to behave well. Caroline often thought of meals at Effie’s in the old days—the chattering and laughter and really appalling table manners.

  Finally Bubbles folded her dimpled hands and said grace, and they all went back to the other room.

  Caroline felt now at liberty to play bricks with Bubbles on the hearthrug. Bobby and Carrie sat at the table, looking at a children’s annual. Effie took up her novel again.

  “Mummy,” said Bobby suddenly, “may I play with my train?”

  “Yes, Bobby,” said Effie.

  “I think not, darling,” put in Evelyn gently. “There really isn’t room in here. You’ll only be breaking or upsetting something.”

  “There’s room if we move the table,” said Bobby.

  “I don’t want the table moved. It’s silly to disarrange the whole room just before bedtime like this. You must wait till your half holiday.”

  “It isn’t fair,” burst out Bobby.

  “Bobby!” said Evelyn warningly.

  Red with anger, Bobby returned to his book.

  “Caroline, darling,” said Evelyn, “do help us choose some material for the new spare room curtains. We’ve got a whole bookful of patterns, but we can’t make up our minds.” She went to her bureau and, taking out the book of patterns, began to turn over the pages. “We rather liked this, didn’t we, Effie?”

  Effie did not answer.

  “Isn’t it a little dark?” said Caroline, leaving Bubbles to play by herself and going over to Evelyn’s bureau.

  “Yes, perhaps it is,” agreed Evelyn. “We weren’t quite sure about it. We didn’t want to decide in any case, of course, till we’d asked you. Just look them through and see if there’s any you think would be better.”

  Caroline turned over the leaves of the pattern-book one by one, holding each to the light. It always pleased and flattered her to be consulted by Evelyn over household affairs like this, and Evelyn never failed to consult her. She seldom, indeed, made any decision affecting the household without first asking Caroline’s advice.

  “Mummy,” said Carrie, “may I crayon?”

  “Ask Auntie Evelyn,” said Effie, without looking up from her book.

  “May I, Auntie Evelyn?”

  “Yes, darling, if you get a piece of newspaper to do it on. You mustn’t put crayons on the table.”

  “This one’s pretty, Evelyn,” said Caroline.

  “Yes, but would it go with the rest of the room?”

  “I think so.”

  Effie put her book down and picked up Bubbles from the hearthrug.

  “I’ll have Bubbles upstairs till bedtime, Evelyn,” she said.

  “All right, darling,” said Evelyn and flashed a quick smile at Caroline.

  Effie was devoted to Bubbles, but one of her silly little affectations was to ignore her when Evelyn was present. Often, however, she would take her up to her own bedroom after tea for her official playtime.

  “I think you’re right, Caroline,” went on Evelyn. “It’s really much prettier than the other, and it would tone quite nicely with the wallpaper. I think I’ll decide on that. Oh, there’s something else I wanted to ask you. What do you use for the parquet at The Elms? It looks better than any others I ever see anywhere. We can never get ours to shine like that.”

  Caroline glowed and expanded as she gave Evelyn particulars of the polish she used, and then told her of several books to add to her library list.

  “You may not like them, of course,” she said.

  “If you do, I’m certain to,” said Evelyn. “I’ve never yet not liked a book you’ve told me to read, and I seem to hit on such rubbish when left to my own devices. I’m sure Robert will like them too. He enjoyed all those on the last list you gave us. You really are a wonderful person, Caroline. I’ve never known anyone else who could tell one the best floor polish and the best books. I simply don’t know what any of us would do without you. Robert’s always saying that.”

  “Rubbish!” said Caroline, but she flushed with pleasure. What a dear Evelyn was! How beautifully she ran the house and looked after the children! How nice to think that this home of Robert’s had at last won through to peace and security!

  From upstairs came the sounds of pattering feet and peals of laughter—Effie’s and Bubbles’. Effie’s was a rather foolish high-pitched little laugh. It used to irritate Caroline in the early days of the marriage, but one seldom heard it now except when she was alone with Bubbles like this.

  Bobbie was advising Carrie about her crayoning.

  “Cows must be brown, Carrie,” he was saying. “You can’t have a green cow.” As Carrie rather reluctantly took up the brown crayon, he added, “You’d be frightened if a big cow like that ran after you, wouldn’t you?”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” said Carrie stoutly. “I’d knock it down and twead on it.”

  Caroline laughed, then rose from her seat.

  “I must go, darling,” she said to Evelyn.

  “Can’t you stay till Robert comes? He’ll be so disappointed not to see you.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. Fay’s having a friend to tea, you know.”

  “Oh yes . . . I remember . . . but why not let her have her alone?”

  Caroline smiled.

  “She’d be heart-broken if I weren’t there. She didn’t want to have her at all. She’s an unsociable little thing, you know. I think she’d be perfectly happy to see no one but me from day’s end to day’s end.”

  “Very sensible of her,” commented Evelyn. “I could even endure it myself.”

  Caroline smiled and said “Flatterer!” but she didn’t really think that Evelyn was flattering her. Evelyn really was fond of her. She gave her constant proof of her affection. It was nice to be welcomed and made much of in this house, instead of being exposed to Effie’s ungraciousness and insolence as she had been in the old days. Robert’s loyalty had, of course, never faltered, and more than once he had made Effie apologise to her, but her visits had been uncomfortable, paid solely in obedience to that sense of duty that had always upheld her even in the most exacting tasks. It was all so different now. Even if unhappiness threatened Susan’s home, she had cause for nothing but thankfulness here.

  She kissed the children, sent a message of love to Effie, who was still playing with Bubbles upstairs, and hurried away, glancing at her watch every now and then, thinking how disappointed Fay would be if she were not back in time for tea.

  Chapter Six

  As Fay tidied her hair before the mirror she tried hard not to think how lovely it would be if Caroline didn’t get back from Robert’s in time for tea; but, however hard she tried, she couldn’t quite shut out the picture of a pleasant tête-à-tête tea with Sybil, at which they could chatter and laugh and be as silly as they liked, and another picture of the same meal with Caroline there—Caroline, grave and aloof, very kind to Sybil, but, as Fay would know, criticising her silently all the time, steering the conversation away from foolish trivialities, smiling disapprovingly at Sybil’s jokes. . . . She shook her head with an impatient little gesture, as if to shake the thought out of it. Caroline was perfect, so perfect that it made one despair of ever being worthy of her. But—she set her lips—she must try, try her very very hardest. She must fight down these disloyal thoughts as soon as they arose. And it wasn’t only dis
loyal thoughts. It was actual deceit. Billy Dickson had come to watch the hockey match on Saturday and had talked to her and Sybil in the interval, and afterwards the three of them had walked back together as far as the Dicksons’ house, and—she hadn’t told Caroline about it. She’d tried to, but somehow her courage had failed her at the last moment. She hadn’t even told her about Billy’s walking with her to the pillar-box the other week. She’d kept putting it off all the next day, and, of course, after the next day it was too late. If she’d told her then, Caroline would have turned that grave penetrating look on her and said, “But, darling, why didn’t you tell me about it at the time?” and she’d feel so guilty that—oh, she couldn’t. Even now she felt guilty though she didn’t quite know why. Then she thought of Billy, of his jolly friendly grin, of the kindness that underlay his cheerful banter, and the feeling of guilt died away. He and Sybil seemed to make life simple and pleasant, not, as Caroline made it, so heavy with responsibilities that sometimes one could hardly bear it. “You see, darling,” Caroline would say, “I love you so much that I can’t bear to see you being slack over the tiniest little thing. I’m always telling you how important little things are, aren’t I? Every little thing you do goes to form a habit and it’s your habits that make your character. And it isn’t only yourself. You can never know how what you do and say may influence someone else for good or for bad. In every personal encounter I believe that we leave something of good or bad behind with the other person. . . .”

  That was all right for Caroline, who was so perfect that she never need worry about it; but it worried Fay dreadfully. She had an uncomfortable feeling of not doing her duty if ever she wasn’t feeling earnest and responsible and trying to form a good character. She knew that she was terribly unsuccessful, and that whatever character she was forming certainly wasn’t a good one, and that she was far too unimportant to have any influence over other people at all, but that if she hadn’t been it would have been for bad.