Caroline

by Richmal Crompton

  After all, why not? He liked Philippa, and there wasn’t any nonsense about her. She played his game of discreet-admirationwith- a-tinge-of-regret to perfection, giving it just the right touch of reality, never more, never less. Even when she seemed to be laughing at him, her laughter was so kindly that he was rather flattered than offended. Nana, too, welcomed the idea of the invitation. She approved of Philippa and, touched by her kindness to her charge, had relaxed her grimness in her case.

  Caroline was the only one who didn’t seem pleased. In fact Maggie, setting out in eager excitement to tell her about it, returned in a state of inexplicable panic, with her hair in wild confusion down her back. She didn’t know what had upset her. Caroline had been quite nice about it, but, as soon as she told her, Maggie got the feeling of being in disgrace—a feeling that, since the days of her childhood, had reduced her to stark terror. Of course, she assured herself when she reached home, it must have been her imagination. Caroline just hadn’t been very much interested and that was natural, because poor Caroline had a lot of things to worry her at present.

  For one thing Susan had left her husband and gone back to live at home. Maggie was rather vague about what had happened, except that Kenneth Melsham had turned out to be a Bad Man, which was a pity, as Maggie had always liked him.

  Then there was Fay. The oculist had said that she ought to see a doctor, and the doctor had said at first that she oughtn’t to sit for her scholarship examination, and that, of course, would have been terrible after all the trouble Caroline had taken over it. So in the end he had said that she could sit for the examination, but that she must not be “pushed.” He’d given her a sleeping draught and a tonic, and, according to Caroline, she was very much better already. Caroline said that nerves were chiefly a matter of self-control, and that Fay must get a firm grip on herself. She said that she, Caroline, had never had “nerves” in her life. She couldn’t afford to have them. So Fay was trying hard to be self-controlled and to get a firm grip on herself. But, of course, it was all very worrying for Caroline, and, Maggie assured herself again, one simply couldn’t expect her to show any interest in such a little thing as Philippa’s visit. Maggie herself was so much excited that she couldn’t eat or sleep. She bustled about making preparations, getting out innumerable clean sheets and towels from the linen cupboard, which Nana patiently put back, making endless lists of things to be seen to and losing them all as soon as she’d made them. When the spare room was at last ready for Philippa, she stood in the middle of it, glowing with happiness and excitement and thinking how well she had arranged everything. As a finishing touch, she fetched Sweetie’s cage and put it on Philippa’s chest of drawers, so that Philippa could wind it up herself whenever she wanted to. Charles, too, made his simple preparations for the visit. His hair went a richer shade of chestnut in the course of a night, and he sent all his suits to the local tailor’s to be pressed, though they had been pressed only a week ago.

  The visit had come up to Maggie’s highest expectations. It had been lovely from the moment Philippa arrived, with a large bag of sugared almonds and a little clockwork figure of a harlequin that pirouetted round and round for several minutes after it had been wound up. Maggie was wildly excited by the clockwork harlequin and watched it all evening, munching sugared almonds. Nana had to come in three times before she’d go to bed. On the Saturday morning they had coffee and cream buns in the town, and a lot of people who’d met Philippa when she was staying with Caroline came up and spoke to her, and Maggie felt proud to be sitting with her, because she was so smart and pretty and popular.

  In the afternoon the three of them went for a walk, and Philippa described the other people in the flats where she lived, and made them laugh by telling them about the woman in the flat just above, whose Peke had its place laid at table with her and ate all the same meals. In the evening Maggie and Philippa played draughts, and Maggie won every game.

  And now it was Sunday, the last day of the visit, and Philippa was going to tea to Robert’s and then straight from Robert’s to the station to catch her train to London. She hadn’t been to Caroline’s. Caroline had said that of course she must come the next time she was over, but just now Susan was so busy setting exam papers and Fay so busy working for her scholarship that they weren’t having any visitors at all.

  “Ours is the sort of household in which work must come first,” Caroline had said in that bright brisk way that people always thought so “splendid.”

  She would be at Robert’s, however, this afternoon and would meet Philippa there. Maggie and Charles had been included in the invitation, but Maggie had said that she had all her household lists to make out and was afraid she wouldn’t have time. Philippa’s visit had been so lovely that she didn’t want it to end in having tea with Caroline. Caroline would be sure to make her feel that Philippa hadn’t enjoyed it and that it had been silly of her to ask her.

  And, of course, it was quite true. She had her list of things to make out for the week, and it always took her most of Sunday afternoon to do it.

  Charles, too, said that he didn’t think he’d be able to go. He said that he had a lot of letters to write, and that also was true, because Charles had quite a large circle of correspondents— middle-aged ladies, for the most part, whom he had met at hotels when he went for his holidays, and with whom he kept up a regular correspondence for years without ever meeting them again. As a matter of fact, Charles preferred not to meet them again. With the lapse of time the memories took on a glamour that a second meeting would have ruthlessly dispelled. The real reason why Charles didn’t want to go to Robert’s, however, was known only to himself.

  When first Evelyn was put in charge of Robert’s household, Charles had been much interested in her and had formed with her one of those friendships he was so fond of forming with attractive women past their first youth. He had given her flowers and invited her to have coffee with him on several occasions in the town. Then—he had taken fright. He didn’t quite know what had frightened him. Certainly she never by word or act overstepped the bounds he set to his very discreet flirtations. But Charles suddenly became aware that he was being hunted and that he must escape while there was yet time. He escaped with such precipitancy that it was now several months since he had seen or spoken to her.

  Philippa entered the room, followed by Charles, who was going to carry her suitcase as far as Robert’s.

  “Goodbye, Maggie,” said Philippa, kissing her. “Thank you so much. I’ve had a simply lovely time. You must both come and see me in London as soon as I get really straight.”

  “Rather!” agreed Charles.

  He had enjoyed Philippa’s visit almost as much as Maggie. It had made him feel young and debonair. There was something arch, almost roguish, in the letters he wrote to his lady friends that afternoon.

  Caroline and Evelyn were sitting in the window recess when Philippa was announced.

  Evelyn, as usual, received her as the mistress of the house.

  “Effie’s playing with the children upstairs,” she said. “You’ll see them all at tea-time.”

  Robert gave her his slow, pleasant smile.

  “How’s Aunt Maggie?” he said. “I suppose you’ve had a marvellous week-end playing draughts.”

  “I’m sure visitors are too much for her,” said Caroline. “She’s always worse after any excitement.”

  They asked her about her flat, but their interest was obviously perfunctory. She in her turn asked anxiously after Fay and Susan, but Caroline replied shortly and non-committally, almost as if the question were an impertinence.

  Then the tea-bell rang.

  Effie came down with the children and greeted Philippa absently. Philippa thought that she looked pale and overwrought. Everyone was rather quiet at tea. Once Evelyn spoke sharply to Carrie for some breach of table manners, and Carrie nestled for comfort against Effie, who was sitting next her. Effie slipped an arm round her, and Evelyn said, “Now, Effie . . .” in mild expost
ulation.

  After tea Effie stayed in the dining-room to play with the children again, and the other four went into the drawing-room. They heard laughter and the sound of running, as if some game were in progress. Once, when the dining-room door opened and the children ran laughing into the hall, Evelyn went out, and they heard her say:

  “I won’t have romping in the hall. Go back into the dining-room at once. Effie, please keep this door shut.

  “Sunday’s really supposed to be my afternoon out,” she went on as she came back into the room. “That’s why Effie’s looking after the children. I hardly ever do go out, as a matter of fact. I’m like a cat and hate leaving my own fireside.”

  Caroline turned to Philippa with a smile.

  “The last time Evelyn went away for a night Effie left the electric iron on, and the house was nearly burnt down. And, of course, it would be too cruel to condemn Robert to do his crossword puzzles alone. So Evelyn nearly always spends her afternoon out in, and I pop round to help with the easier clues.”

  “Well, don’t let me keep you from it,” said Philippa. “I’m no good at crossword puzzles, but I can listen and learn.”

  “You can be looking at the snapshot album,” suggested Caroline. “I don’t think you’ve seen it. There are some nice ones of the children.”

  Evelyn fetched her the book, and Philippa sat, turning over the pages idly and glancing at the snapshots. Effie as a young bride—pretty, alert, with an air of gamin impudence. Effie with her first baby, proud and important and radiantly happy.

  The other three were already deep in the crossword puzzle.

  “Could it be ‘Fugger’?” said Evelyn. “They did write memoirs.”

  Caroline took a volume of Encyclopaedia Britannica from the bookshelves and turned over the leaves.

  They heard Bubbles go upstairs with Effie, then Bobby and Carrie came in to say goodnight, while Effie stood at the door.

  “Don’t let them dawdle and play about, Effie,” said Evelyn, “and be sure they brush their teeth. Now off you go, children.”

  Philippa noticed again the overwrought look on Effie’s face, and an unaccountable feeling of apprehension surged over her.

  Effie took the children up to bed. Evelyn, Robert, and Caroline went on with the crossword puzzle. Robert was like an absorbed child. He had no thought for anything else. He had kissed the children, saying “Good, Evelyn! That’s splendid. It finishes that corner,” as he did so.

  Philippa returned to the snapshot album. There was a charming one of Fay as a child of twelve, holding the three-month-old Bobbie on her knee, smiling shyly, proudly. Even then there had been something exquisite about her. Exquisite and subtly withdrawn. She had never yielded the essential part of her to anyone—not even to Caroline. Philippa’s heart ached with tenderness as she looked at it. She was terribly disappointed not to have seen Fay on this visit, but Caroline had evidently made up her mind that she should not. She could, of course, have called to see her, but in the face of Caroline’s obvious disapproval it would only have made trouble for the child.

  “Could it possibly be ‘parenthetical’?” said Evelyn.

  “Of course,” said Caroline. “Evelyn, you’re a marvel.”

  Evelyn was clearly the most quick-witted of the three. She would be, thought Philippa grimly.

  She turned over another page. Susan and Kenneth arm in arm. It must have been taken before their marriage, as Susan was ostentatiously displaying a solitary ring on the third finger of her left hand. Her eyes shone with love and confidence. Kenneth was smiling down at her. Both looked poignantly young and defenceless. The snapshot was slipped loosely into the page. Philippa felt sure that Caroline did not know it was there. She would have made some excuse to remove it, had she known.

  Effie came in. She had taken off her nursery apron and tidied her hair. Her face still wore a look of strain, as she sat on the sofa near Robert, ignoring Philippa. The other three took no notice of her.

  “Robert,” she said in a strange breathless voice.

  “Yes, dear,” said Robert absently, then, without waiting for an answer, “Is there such a word as ‘ceresin’, Evelyn?”

  “Robert,” said Effie again unsteadily.

  “Yes, dear,” said Robert again and began to look out “ceresin” in the dictionary. “Yes, there is. . . . Here it is.”

  With a sudden movement Effie laid her head on her arm on the sofa-end.

  “If you’re as tired as all that, Effie,” said Evelyn, without turning round, “why don’t you go to bed?”

  Neither of the other two took any notice.

  Effie rose abruptly and went out of the room. They continued animatedly to wrestle with the crossword puzzle. They had solved the second corner now. . . . Philippa closed the snapshot album and, slipping quietly from the room, made her way upstairs. Effie was just coming out of her bedroom. She wore her hat and coat. Her lips were set, her eyes hard and bright. Philippa put a hand on her arm.

  “Where are you going, Effie?” she said.

  “Leave me alone,” said Effie unsteadily.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going. I can’t stand it any longer.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Only I’m not coming back. You can tell them if you like. I’ll fight my way out if they try to stop me now. But they won’t. They want me to go. She can have him now. I’ve tried to keep him, but it’s no use. I can’t stay and—watch it any longer.” Philippa put her arm round the small taut figure.

  “Just come back a moment, Effie.”

  “You can’t stop me going.”

  “I won’t try to. But they’ll hear us if we talk here.”

  Effie allowed herself to be drawn back to the bedroom. There she sat down on the bed and stared at Philippa defiantly.

  “What do you want?” she said.

  “I only want to understand,” said Philippa.

  “Don’t you understand? You’ve seen us this afternoon—and before. Well, it’s all over. She can have him. She wants him, and he wants her. . . .”

  “He doesn’t, Effie.”

  “Oh yes, he does. I love him, and I ought to know. I wouldn’t mind if I didn’t love him. I’ve tried to stop, but I can’t. And—he doesn’t even know whether I’m in the room or not. You saw that just now. He thinks of no one but her. He cares for no one but her. They can have each other now. I’m clearing out. I’ve stood it as long as I can—seeing her treated as mistress of the house by everyone, being snubbed by her, watching her bullying the children, and smarming up to him. I stayed while I thought there was a chance, but there isn’t now. She’s won. . . .”

  “But, Effie, the children. They need you if no one else does. Think of Carrie. . . .”

  “No, my being here makes things worse for them. Carrie knows we’re fighting over her, and that’s what’s making her so nervy. She feels it in the air. It is in the air. Don’t you feel it? My hatred of her and her hatred of me? It’s like poison—all over the house. I can’t breathe in it. And the children feel it. They don’t understand it, but they feel it, and it’s bad for them. They’d be better if I weren’t here. I make things worse for them, you see. She tries to punish me through them. She’s jealous because she hasn’t really taken them from me. She’s taken Robert but not them. Well, she can have them all now. She can have everything. I’m through with it.”

  “Effie, you can’t,” pleaded Philippa.” You can’t run away from things like this. Give Robert a chance. Tell him that if he doesn’t get rid of her you’ll go.”

  Effie’s lips twisted with an ironic smile.

  “You’re forgetting Caroline,” she said. “Even if he did send her away Caroline would get someone else as bad. You see . . . I didn’t understand. I thought of her as a silly old maid. I made fun of her. I was rude to her when she tried to interfere in what was my business. I didn’t understand. If I’d had any sense I’d have buttered her up as Eve
lyn does. She hates me. She’s never forgiven me for the things I said to her then, and she never will. From the beginning she’s never given me a chance. And she’s won. Oh, what’s the good of talking? I gave myself today as a sort of test. I said, ‘If it’s better today I’ll try again,’ and—you saw what it was like today.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Effie’s eyes met hers defiantly.

  “I’m going down to the railway to put my head under a train.”

  “Oh no, you’re not,” said Philippa.

  “I can’t stay here. I can’t.”

  “All right, my dear, you shan’t. You shall come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “To my flat in London. You’re going to stay there and look after me, and I’ll look after you. We’re both rather lonely people.”

  Effie stared at her for a moment in silence, then shrugged wearily.

  “Oh, well. I dare say I couldn’t have done the other thing when it came to the point. I’m an awful coward really.”

  “Let’s pack quickly, then,” said Philippa. “This is your suitcase, isn’t it? Bring me your things. . . . Hurry, child.”

  “It’s awfully good of you,” said Effie sulkily, bringing her things to Philippa, who packed them deftly into the small case. “It’s been driving me mad. I don’t care where I go as long as I get away from it. I stayed awake all last night wondering whether to kill myself or Caroline. No, honestly, I did.” As Philippa smiled. “It sounds funny now”—reluctantly she smiled, too—”but it didn’t then.”

  “Come along,” said Philippa, fastening the clasp of the case, “let’s go and drop the bombshell.”

  They went downstairs together, Philippa carrying the case. In the hall she put it down and drew Effie into the drawing-room with her. The other three turned as they entered.

  “I want to take Effie back with me, Robert,” said Philippa. “Do you mind?”

  They stared at her in amazement.