Caroline

by Richmal Crompton

  “She’s not looked well lately,” said Philippa tentatively. “Don’t you think perhaps she’s doing too much?”

  “She’s perfectly well,” said Caroline shortly. “She’s just a little tired, that’s all.”

  “Those shadows under her eyes . . .”

  “My dear Philippa, I understand Fay. I’ve looked after her since she was a baby. If she were ill, I should be the first person to see it. She’s always had that look of delicacy, but it doesn’t mean anything. She’s quite strong. She’s never had a serious illness in her life.”

  “I know. . . . I only meant that perhaps this scholarship work is a bit too much for her.”

  “That’s quite impossible. I supervise her hours of work most carefully. . . . Of course, any competitive exam, is a certain strain, but I think Fay’s standing it remarkably well. She has no other responsibilities. When I was working for my scholarship, I had to run the house at the same time and as often as not do the cooking.”

  “It was wonderful of you,” said Philippa sincerely. It was useless to point out to Caroline the difference between her physique and Fay’s, the fact that Caroline was a born student and that Fay was not. “Caroline . . .” she went on slowly, “would you like me to go and stay at a hotel in London till I’ve found my flat?”

  Caroline looked at her with wide-open eyes.

  “Why?”

  “I thought you might prefer it.”

  “Of course not. . . . I told you that you were welcome here as long as you cared to stay, and I meant it.”

  “It will only be for a few weeks in any case.”

  This afternoon’s little outburst, then, was to be ignored. That simplified the situation. Caroline had been jealous, of course, because Richard had appeared to be interested in her—a mild enough interest, it would have seemed to anyone less possessive than Caroline. Caroline would not marry him—Philippa had gathered so much—but she could not endure to see him making himself pleasant to any other woman. She allowed no rivals near the throne. . . . What would happen to her when her kingdom began to disintegrate? She would fight to the end for Fay, of course. . . .

  Caroline’s thoughts had gone again to Richard. Even now, probably, he was feeling acutely ashamed of his behaviour. She would be rather cold and distant to him next time she met him, then gradually, very gradually, she would reinstate him in his old position of confidence. Her love was out of the question—for the present, at any rate—but she would give him her confidence again. He was too clear-sighted to be deceived for long by a woman like Philippa. His remorse when he realised how nearly he had forfeited her friendship would be almost as bitter as Fay’s had been. Her face softened to tenderness as she thought of Fay. Her penitence had been heartrendingly sincere. That tortured “Leave me alone,” as if she were too much ashamed even to receive Caroline’s forgiving kiss. . . . Poor little Fay! Caroline felt no real anxiety about her. She was always so quick to realise when she had been in the wrong. She was weak and impressionable, but her standards were firm enough, and she was innately fastidious. She only wanted a little help and guidance. There would be no more trapesing about the streets with that Dickson boy, no more wasting of her time by visits to the Dicksons’ house. There would probably never have been any if it hadn’t been for Philippa’s influence. Well, she’d met and vanquished Philippa’s influence there, and she would meet and vanquish it in any other form in which it showed itself. . . .

  She went upstairs to Fay’s room. Fay was just coming out of it. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but she looked quite-composed again. Caroline slipped an arm round her.

  “Darling,” she said, “you do look a little tired. I think you’d better go to bed directly after dinner. I’ll write a note asking them to excuse your homework. You can make it up at the week-end when you’re feeling fresh again, can’t you?”

  “Yes . . . thank you.”

  Fay was conscious of nothing but a sickening throbbing in her head and a longing for the comfort of Caroline’s tenderness, the tenderness that had consoled her through all her childish troubles. That hateful “Leave me alone” was an unbearable weight on her conscience. How could she have said that to Caroline, to Caroline? . . .

  “Caroline, I’m sorry . . .” she whispered.

  The clasp of Caroline’s arm tightened around her, and she relaxed to it with a little sigh. One could always be so sure of Caroline’s love and tenderness. It never failed one, however wicked one had been, however tired one felt.

  “Sweetheart,” Caroline was saying tenderly, “it’s all right. I understand. Don’t think of it again. . . . You’re my Fay now, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Yes, she was Caroline’s Fay now. If only the hammering in her head would stop! Every movement made it worse. And she was so tired. . . . She wished she were little again and could be gathered into Caroline’s arms and rocked to sleep. She was Caroline’s Fay now.

  Fay went to bed immediately after dinner. Caroline helped her undress, gave her two aspirins, then sat on the bed, stroking the hot forehead with smooth cool fingers. . . .

  “Caroline, darling . . .” murmured Fay.

  She was soothed and drowsy with sleep when Caroline left her and went downstairs. She had hardly taken her seat in the drawing-room when Susan burst in. It was plain even before she spoke that she was in a state of violent agitation. Caroline rose hastily to her feet.

  “Darling, what is it? What’s happened? . . . Tell me. . . . Is Kenneth . . .?”

  Suppose Kenneth were dead, she thought. An accident. A sudden illness. Such things did happen. Susan would come back here to live, would be able to take up her career again. It was providential that she’d just got the promise of that post at Merton Park for her. . . . Poor Susan! What a tragedy! But like all tragedies it would have its bright side. She and Kenneth weren’t really suited to each other. Better this sharp sudden ending than a lifetime of disillusionment and regret.

  Susan was fumbling with the clasp of her bag. At last she tore it open, took out a letter, and handed it to Caroline.

  “I couldn’t believe it . . . I couldn’t believe it . . . but it’s true. He says it’s true. . . .”

  Caroline read the letter in silence.

  “Whom is this from?”

  “A woman he lived with. I didn’t know he was like that. I thought . . .” She burst into sobs. “I can’t believe it. Oh, Caroline, what shall I do?”

  Caroline drew a long deep breath. . . . There was no doubt where her duty lay. . . . There must be no compromise with immorality. Beneath the solemnity of that thought ran a fierce glad exultation. At last her enemy was delivered into her hand—this wretched boy who had dared to steal Susan from her, to change Susan, to blind her to all she had valued before. . . . It was her turn now, and she would not spare him. It was her duty not to spare him.

  “How long have you known of this, Susan?”

  “Only just now. . . . I found it. . . . He said he didn’t know he’d kept it. He’d burnt all her other letters. . . . It happened before he met me, but . . . Oh, Caroline, I didn’t know he was like that.”

  She sank down into a chair sobbing, and Caroline, sitting on the arm of it, gathered her tenderly into her arms.

  “He’d told you nothing before?”

  Susan raised her flushed face.

  “No. . . . I took for granted that he—wasn’t like that. I can’t believe it even now. He said he’d never loved anyone in the world but me.”

  Caroline held her more tightly, laying her cheek against the soft brown hair.

  “Don’t, darling. Don’t cry like that. . . . You’ll come back to Caroline. Caroline will look after you now. . . . There, there! My baby, my sweetheart. . . . Listen, darling. Just tell me this. He knows you’ve found it, of course. What did he say?”

  “He said it meant nothing.”

  “Meant nothing!” echoed Caroline contemptuously.

  “That he gave her up as soon as he got to know me. . . . But�
�oh, Caroline, he must have been hateful to do it at all, mustn’t he? It’s wicked, isn’t it? When I think that another woman—oh, I can’t bear it. I just couldn’t let him touch me. I—I feel I can never go back to him again.”

  “You mustn’t go back to him,” said Caroline quietly.

  “But, Caroline”—Susan’s tear-brimmed eyes were startled— “he—he is my husband. I married him.”

  “He’s forfeited the right to be considered as your husband,” said Caroline. Her lips were tight, her eyes blue and steely. “He should have told you before you were married. Then, of course, you wouldn’t have married him. No decent girl would. He’s tricked you into marrying him. You’ve a perfect right to refuse to go back to him.”

  Susan hid her face against Caroline’s shoulder with a fresh tempest of sobs.

  “I loved him so. . . . I loved him so.”

  “Darling, you loved the man you thought he was. . . . We must face this thing. He wasn’t the sort of man you thought he was, was he?”

  “N-no.”

  “Well, then . . . like so many other girls, precious, you were just in love with love. I wasn’t happy about it right from the beginning. I was to blame in not having somehow managed to stop it. But—oh, I wanted you to be happy. Now I know the sort of man he is, I know that you could never be happy with him.”

  “But, Caroline,” said Susan, sitting up and wiping her eyes, “he says that he’s never—been like that since we were married, and he never will be. He says there was never anyone else besides—that woman—even before . . .”

  “And you believed him?” said Caroline pityingly. “Susan, surely you realise that a man who’s lived—that sort of life always lies about it. And a man who’s once gone in for that sort of thing never gives it up. Oh, my darling, how I wish we’d known!”

  “I was so fond of him,” said Susan shakily, “and he seemed so fond of me. . . .” She turned to Philippa, who had sat silent throughout the interview, her eyes fixed gravely on Caroline. “What do you think about it, Philippa?”

  “Shall I tell you?” said Philippa.

  “Yes . . . please.”

  “I think that what happened before he met you isn’t your business. I think that if he’s been faithful to you since your marriage—that’s all you’ve a right to ask.”

  Caroline’s eyes were like blue ice.

  “I don’t agree with you at all,” she said coldly, “but, even if we adopt your point of view, how is Susan to know that he has been faithful to her? A man who hadn’t the honesty to tell her about the affair she’s just discovered would hardly be likely to tell the truth about anything else.”

  “That’s putting it rather strongly, Caroline.”

  “I feel strongly. There’s no room for compromise in my ideals. And I’m not going to have this man or anyone else playing fast and loose with Susan’s happiness. The marriage has been a failure from the beginning. It isn’t only this. It’s—everything. He’s deliberately kept her short of money.”

  “Oh no, Caroline,” put in Susan. “He couldn’t help that. He——”

  “Susan, darling, let me finish. I used to wonder how it was that there was so little money, when Melsham’s used to be one of the best businesses in the town. This explains it, of course. A man who goes in for this sort of thing doesn’t generally have much money left for his wife. . . .”

  “Caroline, do you really think——?”

  “I’m afraid so, darling. Much as I’d like to, I can’t bring myself to think that the affair you’ve discovered is an isolated one. I’m afraid that you and all of us have been tragically deceived. I blame myself terribly. I never liked him. I ought to have guessed. . . .”

  “Oh, Caroline, it’s not your fault.”

  “Does he know you’ve come here, Susan?”

  “Yes. He tried to stop me. He . . .”

  She broke down again, sobbing helplessly.

  “Come to bed, darling,” murmured Caroline tenderly. “It won’t take any time at all to get your old room ready for you.”

  “Oh no, Caroline, I must go back to him. I——”

  “Darling, I know better than you in this case.”

  “But I can’t leave him—I can’t——”

  “I don’t say leave him, but you mustn’t go back to him tonight. There must be a period of probation before you go back to him. Darling, you can’t live with him again immediately after this.”

  Susan’s face flamed crimson.

  “I know . . . I felt like that. . . . I just had to go away at once . . . anywhere. . . . I couldn’t bear it.”

  “Come to bed, dearest. You’re tired out. Don’t think about it

  any more. I’ll help you get to bed and tuck you up and——”

  “But suppose he comes. . . .”

  “I’ll deal with him.”

  Caroline’s lips were grim.

  “But, Caroline, don’t let him think. . . . Tell him that it’s just tonight. . . . He is my husband, but—oh, it’s all so horrible.”

  “Darling, I understand. You can leave it all to me.”

  Susan’s round tear-stained face looked like an unhappy child’s.

  “You always understand everything so wonderfully, Caroline. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “That’s what I’m here for—to help you all,” smiled Caroline. “Now come along, darling.”

  “Goodnight, Philippa.”

  “Goodnight, dear.”

  Caroline drew her from the room, and the door closed behind them.

  Philippa sat gazing into space, her brows drawn into a frown. The fact that she was Caroline’s guest made her position a difficult one. She liked both Susan and the young husband, and it wasn’t easy to sit by and watch Caroline deliberately spoiling their chance of happiness. She was still wondering how far she would be justified in going to Susan and forcibly putting his point of view before her, when the door opened and Kenneth entered.

  He entered breathlessly as if he had been running. His face was white and strained. He looked round the room, then stopped short.

  “Where is she?” he said.

  “Susan? She’s upstairs with Caroline.”

  “She told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know it’s—beastly. I tried to tell her before we were married. I did, honestly. Over and over again. And I couldn’t. I thought it would—spoil things. I meant to—make up for it. I never loved the girl. I loathed the very thought of her once I’d met Susan. But I ought to have told her. I knew all along that I ought to have told her. Then this beastly thing wouldn’t have happened.”

  “There hasn’t been anyone since you married Susan, has there?” said Philippa.

  “Of course not.”

  There was a silence, then he said, “You believe me, don’t you?”

  “Yes . . . but Caroline’s been trying to make out that there must have been others.”

  A look of bitterness came into his face, stripping it of its youth.

  “She would,” he said with a short hard laugh. “She’ll be as pleased as Punch over it. She’s been working for it all along. She’s never given us a chance right from the beginning. I always knew when she’d been to see Susan, even when Susan didn’t tell me. She made her—different. She tried hard to stop her marrying me, of course, but that wasn’t any good. I used to think that it would be all right once we were married, that she’d leave us alone then, but she didn’t. It was the same with Robert and Effie. She had no peace till she’d come between them. Effie was a jolly little thing once, but Caroline made Robert see her as a fool, and that turned her into a fool. It does, you know. And Susan. . . . She made her see things as grievances that would have just been part of the fun if she’d left us alone. I was keeping her short of money . . . I was turning her into a drudge. . . . She had the impudence to suggest her getting a job. She’ll never let Susan forget this all the rest of her life.”

  “I suppose that Susan’s—rather weak
?” said Philippa.

  “It isn’t that Susan’s weak. It’s that Caroline’s strong. She’s like iron. She never gives in. I always disliked her, but I used to think she was negligible. I’m finding out that she isn’t. Just as Effie found it out. . . . And, like Effie, finding it out too late. You’re her mother, and I oughtn’t to say all this to you, but—you’ve been here long enough to see how things are, haven’t you?”

  “The difficulty is,” said Philippa slowly, “that Caroline really loves them.”

  “Love!” he echoed contemptuously. “She loves them so much that she hates everyone else who comes near them. She’d really rather kill Susan than share her with anyone, just as she is killing Fay. I suppose you’ve noticed that she’s killing Fay? But Fay’s not my business. If I can get Susan from her sane, that’s all I care about. God, how I hate her! I’ve lain awake whole nights sick with hatred of her. And now—this! What a crazy fool I’ve been!” He looked at her for a moment in silence. “You’ll help me, won’t you? You must. You see——”

  The door opened and Caroline entered. When she saw Kenneth she drew herself up to her full height. Her eyes were blazing.

  “How dare you come here after what Susan has told me?” she said.

  His face went white with anger.

  “I’ve come for Susan.”

  “She’s not going with you.”

  “I won’t take that from you. Where’s Susan?”

  “She told me to tell you that she’s not going home.”

  “May I see her, please?”