Never before during their acquaintance had Mr. Adams called Sir Robert by his surname. That he should do it now seemed to Sir Robert quite right. One shook hands with an opponent on equal terms.
“And the best of luck to you, Adams,” he said, dropping for the first time the Mister, the absence of which he had felt would somehow offend the wealthy self-made ironmaster.
They shook hands warmly, to the horror of one or two members of their committees who were lunching at the Club, and went about their business.
Sylvia Halliday, to her own surprise, was promised an early release from the W.A.A.F. and asked her mother if Anne could come and stay with them as soon as her release came through. The Fieldings were, as we know, quite glad to have Anne out of Barchester during part of the election campaign, and it was settled that she should go to Hatch House after the Southbridge School sports which were to take place at the end of June.
Mr. Birkett, surveying the school which he had served for many years, first as Headmaster of the preparatory school and then as Headmaster of the upper school, felt that things might be worse. They had weathered the storm; faced evacuees, rationing, the absence of some of their best masters, the intrusion of women as teachers, the insanity which overtook every year’s Sixth form who feared the war would not last long enough for them to be called up, the difficulties of heating. They had won the battle with the Ministry of General Interference who had tried to take the school over as a home for the provisional Mixo-Lydian government. They had fought successfully the Air Ministry’s plan of putting Nissen huts all over the playing fields in case they could find anyone to put in them. Mr. Birkett, well backed by his Governors, had won a place for Southbridge among the schools whose parents are still base enough to wish to pay for their boys’ education. He had won the admiration of the higher ranks of his profession and it was safe to prophesy that he would be the next Chairman of the Headmasters’ Conference.
“I hope we shall be lucky in the weather,” said Mr. Birkett to his senior housemaster, Everard Carter, who was dining alone with him a few days before the sports, as both their wives were away. “Do you remember the summer Hacker got the Montgomery scholarship? What weather we had for the sports.”
“That was the summer I got engaged,” said Everard. “I had a letter from Kate this morning. She says Lydia is very well and Lavinia is just like old Mr. Keith, and the new baby is due in January. I think Kate is arranging for the term to begin a week later than usual so that she can be in at the death—the birth, I mean.”
“I like Lydia Merton,” said Mr. Birkett. “If it hadn’t been for her admirable bridesmaiding I don’t think we should ever have got Rose married. What a morning that was, with Rose wanting to go to the Barchester Odeon before her wedding. By the way, Carter, did I tell you that Rose may be back in England at any moment now? Her husband’s time as naval attaché in Lisbon is up. They will fly, with the children, so I don’t suppose we shall have much warning.”
“How shockingly Rose behaved to Philip Winter,” said Everard, his wrath rekindled as he thought of the havoc that lovely Rose Birkett had made with his junior housemaster that summer.
“And everyone, including Amy and myself,” said Rose’s father dispassionately. “John was the only person who could ever manage her. I hope his next job will be at home. It would be very nice to see Rose and our grandchildren.”
Then Everard enquired after Geraldine, the Birketts’ younger daughter, and was glad to hear that she had a good nannie at last and that her husband was now a full colonel, and so the talk roved over old times and old boys and old friends.
“I wonder,” said Mr. Birkett suddenly, “why John Leslie sent those boys of his here. I thought all the Leslies went to Eton.”
“I have often wondered too,” said Everard. “I think it must be because they are so very uninteresting.”
“They are dull boys,” said Mr. Birkett.
“I was thinking about Leslie and his wife,” said Everard. “They are extraordinarily nice, but so entirely dull. So are the boys. They keep a good average standard in work and games and are eminently respectworthy members of my house, but I sometimes think that if I came in to prayers with my face blacked and rattling a set of bones, they wouldn’t notice any difference in me.”
“All the better for them,” said Mr. Birkett gloomily. “Soon there will be practically no eccentrics left in England, and the mediocre will have it all their own communal way. I hope I’ll be dead then. And I’ll blow up the school before I die.”
“‘Thy hand, Great Anarch,’” said Everard thoughtfully. “You won’t be the only one, Birkett. I shall help to lay the train, and I know some old boys who will joyfully abet us. Swan for one, who by the way is back from Africa now, and Morland, and a few more. I wish we had Featherstonhaugh.”
And there was a silence for a moment as the Headmaster and the Senior Housemaster thought of the Captain of Rowing, who had gone into the Nigeria police and had been torpedoed on his way home at the outbreak of war. The first name on the school Roll of Honour: the last might be yet to come, for peace didn’t seem to have a very good grip of things and the Far East was still at war.
“Morland is in Burma now,” said Mr. Birkett. “Laura wrote to Amy the other day. I hope she will come over for the sports. She was a great help to us in the first autumn.”
For Laura Morland, the well-known novelist, had come as a kind of unpaid extra secretary to Mr. Birkett in the first term of the war when the whole of the Hosiers’ Boys’ Foundation School had been evacuated, a loathsome expression but common usage now, to Southbridge.
“It would be just like things if he were killed,” said Everard. “The moment peace breaks out anywhere it means trouble. I suppose those filthy Japs will give in soon, but there are bound to be a lot more casualties. And as soon as the fighting stops, our boys will kill themselves in jeeps and be spilt out of aeroplanes. I know their tricks and their manners.”
At which Dickensism Mr. Birkett laughed, and then he and Everard plunged into the time-table for summer examinations.
On the day of the School Sports the weather so far forgot itself as to give every promise of a perfect midsummer day. The sun rose on a soft mist which gradually melted, and there was a pleasant warmth in its rays. A light breeze tempered the noonday heat; though if one could call it noonday when it was really only ten o’clock in the morning, said Mr. Birkett, he did not know; and was then assailed by doubts as to whether he didn’t really mean two o’clock in the afternoon.
By ancient custom the Birketts and the Everard Carters had large lunch parties for various important people connected with the school. Sir Robert Fielding, who was one of the Governors, with his wife and daughter were among the Birketts’ guests, as were the Dean of Barchester and Mrs. Crawley, the Earl and Countess of Pomfret and Mrs. Morland, who though not officially linked with Southbridge was almost one of the school.
The lunch was all cold, but quite good. Beer had been laid in by previous arrangement with Mr. Brown of the Red Lion, and one or two ex-masters and boys on leave from Germany had brought bottles of wine and liqueurs as a tribute to the headmaster. Anne, who owing to delicate health and war-time scarcity had hardly ever tasted wine, was slightly nervous of the hock in her glass, but it tasted so sweetly of flowery meadows—if these can be said to have a taste—that she felt much braver.
While the party were still at lunch a very loud noise came rushing down the drive and pulled itself up with shattering explosions at the bottom of the flight of steps that led to the front door, making conversation for a few seconds quite impossible. This noise was followed by footsteps in the hall. The dining-room door was flung open and in came the most ravishing creature Anne had ever seen. Fair hair perfectly arranged, cornflower blue eyes, a rose-petal complexion, an exquisite figure, legs that would have redeemed the ugliest face, clothes that to the coupon-ridden female guests who were still in most cases wearing pre-war clothes, looked like a glimpse of Paradise: t
he ravishing creature had everything. Behind her and towering over her was a tall man in naval uniform.
Mrs. Birkett, who was seated sideways near the door, looked round and went quite white.
“Mummy!” shrieked the ravishing creature, dropping a very expensive handbag and hurling herself upon Mrs. Birkett.
A murmur of ‘Rose,’ or from the less familiar guests ‘Rose Fairweather,’ passed among the company.
“Daddy!” shrieked Rose, extricating herself from her mother and rushing like a rocket-bomb at her father. “Oh, and Dr. Crawley and Mrs. Crawley, how lovely! And everybody! Do you mind if I come by daddy, Lady Pomfret, how do you do.”
Blowing kisses at the whole dinner-table she dragged a chair between her father and Lady Pomfret, threw her very becoming hat on the floor and put her elbows on the table.
“Oh, and Simnet!” she cried, as the Birketts’ butler laid a place in front of her. “Hullo, Simnet, do be an angel and get my bag. I left it somewhere.”
“Yes, Miss Rose,” said Simnet. “Excuse me, miss, but have you any luggage?”
“No. We’ve only come down just for lunch,” said Rose. “It’s rather meagre, but it can’t be helped, daddy. John has a dinner to-night, but I said we must see you and mummy at once, so we borrowed the Admiral’s car. It’s a meagre one, but John got sixty out of it, didn’t you, darling?” she called down the table to her husband, who had by now been accommodated with a seat by Mrs. Birkett.
“Don’t shout across the table, my girl,” said Captain Fairweather, and resumed his conversation with his mother-in-law.”
“John is too meagre,” said Rose, and taking her bag from Simnet began to make up a face which, in the opinion of the whole company, was already perfect. “Is it the Sports day, daddy? How lovely. I knew it was when I saw the tent. Do you remember the year Philip and I were engaged, daddy, and Colin Keith was in Mr. Carter’s house? I want to know about everyone, daddy.”
Enchanted as Mr. Birkett was to see his lovely elder daughter, much as he wanted to hear all the news of his grandchildren, much as he wanted to know his son-in-law’s future plans, he sincerely wished that Rose had not chosen the day of the School Sports, or that she could have given him a little warning. It was no use trying to get much information from Rose, but he hoped that he might catch Captain Fairweather alone after lunch. Rose chattered and laughed and looked so lovely that even Lord Pomfret, who was never very well and nearly always felt tired with the weight of his estate, his county responsibilites and his conscientious work in the House of Lords, felt better for the sight; and Lady Pomfret felt she would willingly have the Fairweathers to stay at the Towers, or pull strings at the Admiralty for them, to have such a tonic for her husband.
“I wish we had a quieter day for you and Rose,” said Mrs. Birkett to her son-in-law. “I do so want to hear all your news.”
“Don’t worry, Ma Birky,” said Captain Fairweather, using the affectionate nickname by which she had been known when he was in the preparatory school. “I thought I’d give Rose her head to-day, but we shall come again if you will have us. Rose found someone in Lisbon who wanted to let a flat in Lowndes Square and we shall be there with the children for the present. How do you think she is looking?”
“Lovelier than ever,” said Mrs. Birkett. “And just as badly behaved.”
Captain Fairweather laughed.
“Elbows off the table, Rose,” he called down the room.
“Oh, John, how meagre you are,” said Rose, pouting in a most becoming way, taking her elbows off the table and blowing him a kiss.
Then lunch was over and it became everyone’s duty to go out to the Sports, the preliminary heats of which were already being run.
Mr. Birkett introduced Rose to Lady Fielding and Anne, who gazed with unselfish admiration on the ravishing creature and, suddenly thinking of David, wondered if Rose was as funny as hell all the time, but came to the conclusion that she wasn’t; in which she was perfectly right.
“Mummy,” said Anne, “let’s find Robin.”
So they set out on an exploring expedition to find Robin, while Sir Robert talked about grown-up things with Lord Pomfret and the Dean. The playing field was staked and roped for races; white flannels, most of them rather shrunk and yellow by now, looked cheerful in the sunlight; mothers’ and sisters’ dresses fluttered, as far as austerity dressmaking would allow, in the light breeze; important parents were in chairs near the tent and lesser parents on benches or sitting on the ground. At the end of the field was a table and here they found Robin.
“How nice to see you,” he said, getting up. “It’s rather a nuisance that I am stuck here for the time being, but I’ll be relieved before tea. How nice Anne looks.”
And indeed Anne, in a confection of Madame Tomkins’s design made from some of the looted silk, pale yellow with flowers on it, looked very nice indeed.
“You ought to see Mr. Birkett’s daughter,” said Anne. “Rose she is called.”
“Oh, is she back?” said Robin. “I have heard a great deal about her, but I can’t look at anything while I am at this table. Will you find your way to my room, Lady Fielding, at the tea interval, or whenever you like. Anyone will show you Carter’s house and Matron will be enchanted to look after you.”
So Anne and her mother walked about and met friends, or sat in the important chairs and didn’t much look at the sports. For except to the immediate relations of Smith minor nothing is duller than watching that young gentleman come in second for the hundred yards under fourteen, unless it is Smith major just not clearing five foot two in the high jump. Various county friends came and talked to them and presently Mrs. Morland joined the party, rather dishevelled by the breeze.
“It is all my own fault, I know, for not cutting my hair off,” said Mrs. Morland, as a light wind lifted her hat and let it fall again slightly crooked. “But I should feel quite bald without it. One does get so used to things. When my youngest boy was here he wasn’t at all good at games. He always liked the river best. He writes to me quite regularly from Burma and says he likes the fighting. I should if I were a young man.”
With such determination did Mrs. Morland say this, and so impossible was it to think of her as a young man, that Anne couldn’t help laughing and Mrs. Morland, who had no particular opinion of herself, laughed too. So the afternoon wore on and became gently more boring, and by half-past three Lady Fielding with Anne found her way to Everard Carter’s house and walked in through the open door. Matron, who had told the maids they could go to the sports, which most of them liberally interpreted as permission to go to the Barchester Odeon, was lying in wait to greet old parents and was slightly disappointed to see unknown guests for Mr. Dale. But when Lady Fielding mentioned her name, Matron cheered up at once.
“Well, of course,” she said, leading the way upstairs, “Sir Robert Fielding is one of our Governors and as I said to Mrs. Carter it is always so nice when the Governors and their wives take what I call a personal interest in the school. Mr. Dale is quite one of our nicest masters, Lady Fielding, and you would never know he had only the one foot. As I was saying to Jessie, that is the head housemaid who has been here for years, in fact really previous to me, Mr. Dale keeps his socks as neat as if he had all his feet, always so tidy in the drawer. And, I said to Jessie who is a very good girl though I cannot get her to wear her spectacles as the doctor said she should, Jessie, I said to her, don’t think you can be less particular about Mr. Dale’s socks because one of his feet is artificial. You can never know, I said, which foot he puts which sock on, and a little hole on an artificial foot looks just as bad as a hole on an ordinary foot. It’s a very nice room Mr. Dale has, the one Mr. Colin Keith had when he was an undermaster here before the war and his sister married Mr. Carter. He was a nice gentleman and read his books at night, not always wanting to be off to Barchester like some we had in the war.”
And a very nice room it was, with two windows looking into the playground, each deep enough for
a small window seat, a bed which though a divan did not look so sinful as those which have no visible legs at all, one arm chair, plenty of shelves, a small writing table and a good sized table spread with peacetime nasty cakes and sandwiches. Anne examined some of the books and looked out of the window while her mother sat in the armchair. After a few moments two boys came in whom Anne at once recognised as the Leslies. They seemed pleased in an uninteresting way to meet her again and asked her if she collected stamps. Anne said she didn’t.
“I could have given you some swaps if you did,” said Leslie major. “Empire stamps.”
“He only collects Empire,” said Leslie minor. “I collect European ones. I wish I could get some Mixo-Lydian ones.”
“I think I could get you some,” said Anne. “We had a Mixo-Lydian maid called Gradka and she writes to me sometimes. I’ll ask her if she can send me some.”
“Thanks awfully,” said Leslie minor. “But please let them be postmarked. I don’t collect unused stamps.”
He then attached himself firmly to Anne, evidently regarding her as a fountain of benefits, and told her in very boring detail about the new Slavo-Lydian issue which was overprinted on old Mixo-Lydian Customs and Excise stamps, and Anne listened good-naturedly.
“He’s got new issues on the brain,” said Leslie major scornfully and sat down at the tea table with a hopeful gleam in his eye.
Just as Anne, for all her good nature, was beginning to wonder how much longer she could bear the conversation, who should come in but Commander Gresham and his wife Jane, introduced by Master Frank Gresham from the preparatory school. Lady Fielding and Anne were pleased to see their Hallbury neighbours and Frank, taking no notice of Leslie minor, began to boast to Anne about his exploits at the prep. school.
“Don’t you know the Leslies?” said Anne, prepared to offer an introduction.
“Of course I do,” said Frank, “but I can’t talk to them. They’re Upper School. I say, Anne, the Latin master at the prep. school is a mistress. She’s never done Latin verses. We all think she’s rotten.”
Peace Breaks Out Page 18
