The pleasure she took in Sybil’s and Billy’s light-heartedness was, of course, yet another proof of her general unworthiness, because, as Caroline often said, one shouldn’t fritter away one’s energy on inessential things, and, though the jokes that Sybil and Billy made and the pranks their high spirits led them into were innocent enough, they certainly weren’t in any way essential.
When Fay went to tea there last week they had all laughed heartily over an old-fashioned sentimental novel that Billy had discovered in a secondhand bookshop. Billy had lent it to a friend, but he and Sybil knew whole pages by heart and repeated them dramatically to Fay.
“You must read it,” said Billy. “It’s priceless. The chap who’s got it now is bringing it back tonight. I’ll post it on to you, shall I?”
“Oh no,” Fay had said quickly, and then had coloured at their look of mild surprise.
She couldn’t explain that Caroline saw everything that came by post as a matter of course and opened all her letters, if she were not on the spot to open them herself. She seemed to see Caroline taking the book out of its wrappings, frowning slightly as she looked at its title, and saying “What’s this, dear?” And Caroline, of course, wouldn’t think it funny. Caroline disapproved of “making fun of serious things,” and, as most things seemed to be serious in her eyes, there wasn’t much left to make fun of.
Billy had seemed to sense something of her fear.
“All right,” he had said reassuringly. “I’ll give it to Sybil to bring to school for you.”
“Thank you,” she said.
She still spoke rather doubtfully. Even if he did that Caroline would be sure to see it. Caroline went through all her drawers and cupboards regularly to make sure that they were tidy. She liked Fay’s things to be kept exactly as they had been kept when she was a little girl and would comment adversely on any alteration or innovation made by Fay. It wasn’t that she was inquisitive or suspicious. It was just that it never occurred to her that Fay wanted any privacy.
Fay often thought with envy of the little bureau that Sybil had in her bedroom, in which she could lock up anything she didn’t want people to see. Last Christmas she had almost asked Caroline if she might have one too, but she had realised in time how deeply the suggestion would have hurt her. She knew that Caroline only felt like that because she loved her so, and life without Caroline’s love would be unthinkable, unbearable, and therefore it was ridiculous to complain when it seemed irksome. One couldn’t have things both ways. . . .
She leant out of the window to see if Sybil were coming yet. She’d said that she couldn’t be here till half-past five, because she had a test-paper to do and must be at school till five. It seemed rather silly to ask her on a day when she would only be able to stay such a short time, but Caroline had said that that day was most convenient for her.
There was no sign of Sybil, so she turned from the window and began to move restlessly about the room, putting away the navy blue skirt and white blouse she had just taken off. Sybil had never been to tea before, and it was terribly important that Caroline should like her. If Caroline didn’t, of course, it would be the end of the friendship. Caroline wouldn’t let her invite her again, and she couldn’t go on being friendly with someone she couldn’t ask to the house. Last night she’d said to Caroline that she wished Sybil weren’t coming to tea today. The memory of that made her feel deeply ashamed. Somehow she hadn’t been able to help saying it, so acutely aware had she been of Caroline’s unspoken longing for her to say it.
She hoped that Susan and Evelyn had been nice to Caroline, so that she’d be in a good temper. Effie wouldn’t have been nice to her, of course—she never was—but no one took any notice of Effie. Fay had rather liked Effie once, but then Effie had begun to say horrible untrue things about Caroline, and after that, of course, she had avoided her.
Again she pictured Sybil and Caroline and herself having tea, and again her heart sank. If only . . . She wished she could give Sybil a hint, but, of course, she couldn’t without being terribly disloyal to Caroline. Only—it would be all right if Sybil made rather a fuss of Caroline, asked her advice about something, seemed to admire her. It was hateful to think that, but it had happened so often. There was Freda Torrent, a fat stupid girl in the Upper Fifth, who’d been a private pupil of Caroline’s and had a “crush” on her. She brought her flowers, and discussed spiritual difficulties with her, and asked her advice, and confided her troubles in her, and kept gazing at her sentimentally and saying, “Oh Miss Cunliffe!”
Caroline was always suggesting that Fay should ask her to tea, but Fay disliked her so much that she never did. Caroline, of course, was kind-hearted and conscientious and felt that she ought to influence Freda for good. . . .
Oh well, it was no use worrying about it. She’d go down and see that everything was ready. They’d decided to have a high tea with eggs, as it would be so late. She had to pass the spare room door to reach the stairs, and on an impulse she opened it and went in. She knew that Caroline had already begun to get it ready for her mother. Yes, the spotted muslin curtains hung at the windows. An easy-chair, brought up from the morning-room, stood by the fireplace, and next to it a small table that Caroline had bought in the town yesterday. There was a footstool by the chair. How kind and thoughtful Caroline was! Already the place looked cosy and homelike. Caroline’s mother was very lucky to have a daughter like Caroline. She, Fay, must try to be kind to her, too. She’d read to her, and go out for walks with her, walking very slowly and guiding her carefully over the crossings. She’d probably be nervous in traffic. Old people always were. She hoped she wouldn’t be terribly deaf—so deaf that one would have to learn the deaf alphabet in order to talk to her. On the whole, Fay rather wished she weren’t coming.
She heard the sound of the opening of the front door and went slowly downstairs. Caroline was just entering the hall.
“Hello, darling!” she said. “I’m back in good time, after all. Were you getting worried? Has Sybil come?”
“Not yet.”
Caroline put her arm through Fay’s affectionately and drew her towards the stairs.
“Come and talk to me while I take my things off. How did you get on with the German essay?”
A sudden unexpected fury seized Fay. She couldn’t understand it. She’d never felt it before. It took her entirely by surprise. The touch of Caroline’s hand on her arm, the sound of Caroline’s voice asking about the German essay, made her want to scream, to fling her arm off, to run away—right away—and never come back. . . . She controlled herself with an effort and went upstairs with Caroline, telling her in a rather unsteady voice what the German mistress had said about the essay. . . .
She was glad when the ringing of the front-door bell announced Sybil’s arrival. She went downstairs to open the door. Sybil was laughing and breathless.
“Am I late?” she panted. “I’ve run like the devil. We had the foulest test-paper you ever saw. I don’t suppose I shall get a mark. . . .”
“Come along in and take your things off,” said Fay, glad that Caroline was still upstairs and couldn’t have heard “like the devil.”
“Old Monks will be livid,” went on Sybil, still laughing as she came into the hall. “She put ‘execrable’ on my last report, so I don’t know what she’ll find to put on the next. Isn’t ‘execrable’ a heavenly word? I wouldn’t have missed having it for anything. I’d never come across it before and I keep trying to say it to myself, but I can never get more than half-way through. . . . Where shall I put my things? I’m an awful sight. Do you mind? I came straight from school. We had gym this morning, and I’ve not had a minute to change.”
Sybil was short and plump, with a round rosy face, mischievous brown eyes, and brown curly hair. She wore her gym tunic with white blouse and school tie. Caroline was coming downstairs now. Sybil stepped forward and held out her hand.
“How do you do, Miss Cunliffe?” she said. “I hope I’m not too terribly late.”
>
“Of course not, dear,” said Caroline graciously. “Come straight in. Tea’s all ready.”
They went into the dining-room, and Caroline took her place behind the tea-tray.
That strange feeling of sudden fury had left Fay rather shaken. She still couldn’t understand it. It was as incomprehensible as the sudden desire to cry that sometimes came to her nowadays for no reason at all.
“I had my tea at Robert’s,” said Caroline as she took up the teapot, “so I can give my whole energies to seeing that you both have a good tea. Take an egg, Sybil. You’ve got to have two, you know. What was your paper like?”
Fay wished that Caroline either hadn’t come home to tea or had asked Sybil to tea on a day when she could have had it with them. She looked just like a mistress in charge, sitting up straight behind the tea-tray and eating nothing. But it took more than that to overawe Sybil. Sybil had disposed of her test-paper in a few cheerful sentences. “Didn’t know a thing. Not a darn thing. The only date I know is the battle of Waterloo, and they didn’t ask it. I think history’s awful rot, anyway, don’t you? I don’t care two hoots who conquered what or where or why, and I don’t see why anyone else should.”
Caroline smiled rather constrainedly, and Sybil continued to chatter light-heartedly as she ate her way through an extremely hearty tea. She made fun of the mathematical mistress, who was a great friend of Caroline’s. She said that she didn’t care a damn whether she passed the exam, or not. She described some of the pranks played by herself and her brothers and sisters on each other. She mimicked an aunt, who was “so pi, my dear, you’d hardly believe. Literally lives in church.” And she ignored Caroline, addressing all her remarks to Fay. That, of course, as Fay knew, was the crowning sin. If she’d made a fuss of Caroline it would have been all right. It wasn’t that Caroline was conceited. She was the least conceited person in the world. It was that—oh, it was difficult to explain even to oneself. It all came back to the fact that she loved Fay so much that she couldn’t bear to feel shut out even from a school friendship. It had to include her, too, or else somehow or other it had to come to an end. And a school friendship that included Caroline—Caroline going for walks with them, Caroline having tea with them, Caroline reading with them—wasn’t a friendship at all. Fay had experienced several of them, and none had lasted long. It all came back to the fact of Caroline’s love surrounding her on all sides, guarding, protecting her, hemming her in, choking her, like some soft, warm, clinging mist.
The tea-party certainly wasn’t being a success. Caroline sat silent at the head of the table, her grave eyes fixed on Sybil . . . weighing her in the balance, finding her wanting. Fay made a desperate effort to save the situation, talking in a quick nervous voice, appealing to Caroline, trying to draw her into the conversation, but it was useless. She couldn’t make Sybil see how terribly Caroline mattered.
To Sybil Caroline didn’t matter at all. She was just someone’s rather dull grown-up sister. She had grown-up sisters of her own who ignored her and whom she in her turn ignored. She didn’t understand about Caroline, probably wondered what on earth she was doing there at all.
“Billy said he thought you played a top-hole game in the match on Saturday,” Sybil was saying, “though he told you that himself, didn’t he?”
Fay threw a quick glance at Caroline, but Caroline’s eyes remained fixed on the volatile little guest, who was merrily and unconsciously damning herself with almost every word she uttered.
Billy . . . yes, that was really why Fay couldn’t bear the thought of losing this friendship. Beneath his hilarity was the hint of a tenderness that was new to her, a tenderness that wasn’t exacting like Caroline’s, that didn’t want to possess one entirely, that wanted one to go on belonging to oneself. She had an odd sense of relief when she was with him, as if everything was all right and she needn’t worry about anything. But . . . it was all over now. Caroline didn’t like Sybil, and that meant that it was the end. It was no use struggling against it. Caroline was too strong.
“Oh, I’ve brought that book we were telling you about,” went on Sybil. “You’ll simply howl over it.”
Fay coloured and glanced again at Caroline, but Caroline didn’t look at her.
When they got up from tea Sybil said, “You’ve never shown me your bedroom, Fay. Come on.”
Fay felt guilty and ill-at-ease as she took Sybil upstairs. When she’d been to tea at Sybil’s, the two of them had gone up to Sybil’s bedroom afterwards and stayed there, gossiping and examining all Sybil’s belongings, and, of course, Sybil didn’t realise that it was different here.
Sybil looked round Fay’s room with approval.
“What a jolly little place!” she said. “Let’s stay here. Your sister won’t want us messing about downstairs, will she? Let’s be cosy.” She drew up the armchair to the fireplace, pushed Fay into it, and, sitting down on the hearthrug, switched on the electric fire. “Isn’t it jolly?”
“Perhaps we ought to go down,” said Fay unhappily.
“Why on earth?” protested Sybil. “It’s so nice up here. I’m quite certain your sister won’t want us.”
That wasn’t the point. The point was that they ought to want Fay’s sister, but—somehow Fay couldn’t explain that, couldn’t explain the unpardonable offence that their staying upstairs by themselves would be in Caroline’s eyes. So she took the line of least resistance, leaning back in the chair, listening to Sybil’s chatter, aware of Caroline in every nerve, listening intently for every sound from downstairs. Caroline wouldn’t be angry, of course. She never was angry. She’d be “hurt,” which was so much worse.
At the sound of Caroline’s footsteps on the stairs her heart began to beat unevenly. The door opened, and Caroline stood on the threshold.
“Whatever are you children doing up here?” she said. “I couldn’t think what had happened to you.”
She was smiling, but her eyes were very blue.
“We thought you wouldn’t want us downstairs,” said Fay. Her eyes shifted guiltily from Caroline’s as she spoke.
“Nonsense!” smiled Caroline. She went over to the electric fire and switched it off. “You monkeys! Wasting electricity like this when there’s a fire in the drawing-room!”
“I’m sorry,” said Fay, flushing.
“Come along,” went on Caroline cheerfully. “Let’s all go down to the drawing-room and have a chat, though——” She glanced at her watch and left the sentence unfinished.
Sybil leapt to her feet.
“I must go, mustn’t I? It’s terribly late.”
They followed Caroline downstairs. Sybil put on her hat and coat in the hall, said goodbye to Caroline, and went down to the gate, accompanied by Fay.
“Thanks so much, old thing,” she said. “It’s been great. You must come along and see us soon. Billy wants to teach you Mah Jongg. . . . He can’t play for nuts himself, but that’s a detail, of course.”
A wave of thankfulness swept over Fay. It hadn’t been so terrible, then, that Sybil would never want to have anything more to do with her. The thankfulness was followed by a sudden sinking of her heart. It didn’t, after all, depend on Sybil. It depended on Caroline. . . .
Caroline greeted her cheerfully on her return to the house and began to tell her about the new curtains at Robert’s, and how Carrie had said, “I’d knock it down and twead on it.” If her eyes hadn’t still been very blue, and if she hadn’t avoided any mention of Sybil, Fay might have thought that the afternoon had been quite a success. Throughout dinner Caroline continued to talk pleasantly of trivial matters, though Fay was well aware of the invisible breach between them that Sybil’s visit had caused. It wasn’t only that Sybil had ignored Caroline and talked foolishly and irresponsibly, “making fun of serious things” and using a good deal of what Caroline called “undesirable slang.” It was that she had seemed to consider Fay and herself united in a freemasonry of youth from which Caroline was excluded. That would not be mentioned, of course,
but that, Fay dimly realised, was the cardinal sin.
“You’re looking very tired, darling,” said Caroline as they rose from the table. “I do wish you hadn’t to start on your home-work now. You really ought to go straight to bed.”
“I haven’t much to do, Caroline.”
“My dear, you have the French prose and unseen, haven’t you? If you hadn’t had Sybil to tea you could have got most of it done before dinner. You must please yourself, of course, but honestly, dear, I think it rather foolish to have people to tea when you’re working for your scholarship.”
“But, Caroline——” began Fay.
“Yes, I know, dear. I agreed to your having her because you couldn’t go to her birthday party, but I think it was a great mistake. It’s a kind of vicious circle, you see. Now you’ve asked her here, she’ll ask you back again. It’s such a complete waste of time all round. It isn’t as if it did you any sort of good. I know you need recreation, but we can easily find something that’s worth while and a change from your work.”
Fay was silent.
It meant the end of her friendship with Sybil, she thought. And with Billy.
Caroline had taken her usual seat by the fire, drawing Fay gently down to the hearthrug at her feet. She sat there, very straight, not leaning back against Caroline’s knee, her eyes fixed on the fire, her lips set, her cheeks flushed.
“Darling,” Caroline began tenderly, “I don’t think Sybil has a very good influence on you. You’re not quite—my Fay when you’re with her. . . . I don’t mind her rudeness to me at all, of course——”
“She didn’t mean to be rude to you, Caroline,” put in Fay breathlessly.
“I dare say not, dear. Ill-bred people never realise that they’re ill-bred. She hardly spoke to me at tea time, although I was her hostess, and—well, I thought that staying up there in your room after tea was in very bad taste. I don’t blame you for that, dear, because I know that it was a thing you’d never have thought of doing yourself, and, of course, as she was your guest you had to do what she suggested.”
Caroline Page 8
