Judith

by Noel Streatfeild

  “There’s got to be something doing. I didn’t tell you before, but I can’t go back to London.”

  “Why not?”

  Lance, for the first time since he stayed in the house, put on his sulky look.

  “It’s your fault, really. You let me think I was to have money each week to take you out, then you left me on my own stony broke, well I had to do something . . .”

  Judith was doubly frightened, both of making Lance angry and at what she had to hear. She stroked his sleeve.

  “What did you do, Lance darling?”

  “Played poker, I made a bit at first, then I couldn’t pay, and there was a suit I owed for, and . . .”

  Judith’s face cleared.

  “Is that all? I’ve paid Simpsy back thirty pounds, so there’s only one more ten pounds to pay, next week I could let you have ten pounds . . .”

  Lance could not keep bitterness out of his voice.

  “Ten pounds! That would be a hell of a lot of good.” Then he pulled himself together and tried his little-boy act. “I don’t want to go back to London, Judith. I suppose I sound an awful wet, but the chaps I owe the money to are getting at me, I’m afraid they might make me do something I didn’t want to. That’s why I’ve got to stop here.”

  Judith’s heart swelled with love and pity.

  “All right, I’ll try again, and whatever happens you shan’t go home. I’ll think of some place where you can stay. I promise I will.”

  Judith, hiding from Lance that she was nervous, carried the roses into the drawing-room, where she knew she would find her Grandmother. Alice was writing, she looked up and smiled as Judith came in.

  “I’m writing to your Father.”

  “Are you?” Judith licked her lips. “Granny, I was wondering, do you think Lance could stay a little longer?”

  Alice had hoped Judith would not make a direct request, it had been easy to avoid a definite reply to hints. It was most unfortunate that she had to refuse the girl something on which she had set her heart, she had so few people on whom she could rely and it had been her prayer that the child would feel that in her she had not only an understanding loving Grandmother but a friend. But even at the cost of losing some of Judith’s affection and trust she could not agree to extending Lance’s stay. She knew now for certain she did not like the young man, there was something shifty about him, and she would never forgive herself if, in order to retain Judith’s affection, she gave an impression that she approved the friendship. However, there was no need to alienate Judith more than she must, she need not criticise Lance.

  “No, darling, I’m afraid not.” Alice held out a hand. “Come here, and don’t look so miserable. It’s not a long separation, in five more weeks you will be back at that School.”

  Judith wore her pleading spaniel look.

  “Five more weeks is an awfully long time when you are fond of a person. You see, I haven’t anyone much else, and I sort of lean on him, if you know what I mean.”

  Judith had given Alice the lead she was looking for.

  “And that is exactly why I am not asking Lance to extend his visit. You know, darling, as I told you when you were twelve, you must try to get out of the habit of looking for people to lean on. All of us have to walk on our own paths in the end, and the sooner we learn to do without props the less likely we are to fall over when our props are taken from us.”

  “But this is different, I’m as much Lance’s prop as he’s mine.”

  “Is that so? Then that’s a double reason why he must go back to his home, a young man of his age should not need the support of a girl of seventeen.”

  Judith had one more hope. Mrs. Killigrew was making scones.

  “Hullo, dear, where’s Lance?”

  Judith sat on the edge of the table.

  “In the garden, I told him to stay there as I wanted to talk to Granny. Mrs. Killigrew, would you ask Granny if Lance need go on Monday?”

  Mrs. Killigrew pretended to be busy with her scones.

  “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

  “I did. She said no.”

  Mrs. Killigrew briskly greased some tins.

  “Give you any reason?”

  “She said I leant on him too much.”

  “Oh well,” thought Mrs. Killigrew, “one excuse is as good as another.” Aloud she said:

  “And she’s quite right, dear.”

  Judith slipped off the table and came to Mrs. Killigrew, and rubbed her shoulder with her cheek.

  “Angel Mrs. Killigrew, please help me. I do most dreadfully want Lance to stay. I don’t think you like him very much, but he’s shy with you.”

  “Shy!” thought Mrs. Killigrew. Then, because she was moved and did not want to show it, she became brisk.

  “Now don’t hang over me, or these scones will be a mess. And it’s no good asking me to get your Lance to stay, if your Granny says no she means no, and if I would I couldn’t make her say anything different.”

  It was that night that Judith thought of the way to help Lance. Had it not been for the fuss over Robert she would have gone to his bedroom to tell him. Instead, the moment breakfast was over the next morning, she led him to the end of the garden where what she said would not be overheard.

  “Lance, stop being angry with me, I promised I’d find a place where you could stay, and I’ve found it.”

  Lance allowed the sulky expression he had worn, when alone with Judith, since the previous morning, to soften slightly.

  “Where?”

  Although they were alone Judith lowered her voice.

  “All the Carlyle relations are away, and cook and the two Poles are having holidays. Mrs. Welsh and her husband are sleeping there, but they’ll be in the kitchen in the evenings, and wouldn’t hear anyone come in quietly. You’d have to leave awfully early in the morning I’m afraid, but it would mean you needn’t go home. Here’s my latch key.”

  * * * * *

  While Lance was with her, praising her and telling her how wonderful she was, Judith had no qualms of conscience. Even when they were discussing details the enormity of putting up a stranger, without his consent, in her Uncle’s house never struck her. Lance alone was in her mind, his happiness, his safety, and his unshaken affection for her, were her only concern. Because of this she was able to discuss every detail, from how he was to avoid being heard or seen by the Welshes, where he should sleep (Robert’s room, if unlocked, was her suggestion), to which bathroom he should use should he have to visit one, without one twinge of shame. As well, in a matter of fact way, she registered the instructions Lance gave her. Letters must go to a Post Office to be collected, and so she must lend him money to tide him over. Since it was too difficult to cash a cheque locally he must take a cheque to London. Next week, after Miss Simpson had received her last ten pounds, Judith must send money regularly to the Post Office. Lance, which wrung her heart, gave these directions wearing his frightened little-boy face.

  “I feel awful letting you do all this for me, Judith, but the chaps I owe money to are such bullies. I’m afraid your Lance is a scared boy.”

  But when Lance had gone Judith, freed from the effect of his physical presence, began to be afraid, though still not ashamed. How awful if Aunt Beatrice came back suddenly, or if Uncle Basil did; after all, she only knew they were away all August and September, but that did not say they would not stay odd nights in London. What would Lance do if he came in and found any of the family home? Would he explain that she had invited him, or would he think that mean and not say who he was? She must write to him and tell him to say at once that she had given him a key, or they might think he was a burglar. He ought to have a letter to show Mrs. Welsh, just in case she or Mr. Welsh heard him. Mrs. Welsh’s husband was a big man, so Mrs. Welsh said, how dreadful if he hit Lance.

  It was not, however, possible at f
irst to write to Lance, for he did not, as he had promised, let her know which Post Office she was to write to. Each day she waited for the postman, but there was nothing, not even a thank-you letter; she had hoped he would remember that, not sending it was the sort of thing Grandmothers fuss about. By the Wednesday afternoon post a letter came for Lance. Judith was out with the dogs, so Alice saw it. When Judith came in to tea it was lying beside her.

  “So curious, there is a letter here for Lance, it’s from his Mother.”

  Judith tried to hide that she was frightened.

  “How do you know it’s from her?”

  “She’s put a postscript on the back.” Alice picked up the letter. “‘Let me know how long you are staying,’ it’s signed Mother. I gathered from Lance that he was going home. I must send his Mother a line and explain he left here on Monday. Will you give me his address?”

  Judith pretended to be absorbed spreading jam on her bread and butter.

  “Perhaps he’s got a job, lots of students do work in the holidays.”

  “Curious to pick up a job between here and London. However, as I have not heard from the young man I know nothing, and so I shall tell his Mother.”

  Judith, her appetite gone, divided her sandwich between Shem, Ham and Japheth, while she thought what harm such a letter might do. She decided that the answer was probably none at all; after all, even if Lance’s Mother answered Granny’s letter, all she could say was that she did not know either.

  It was not until Friday morning that at last Lance wrote. He was sorry to have been so long letting her know his address but he had had a spot of bad luck. He had run into one of the men he least wanted to see, it was all because of her cheque. He had of course to go to a place where he was known to cash it, and that happened to be a pub, and this fellow was coming in as he was leaving. The beast of a pub-keeper would not cash the cheque until he knew it was O.K. That meant he had to wait three days for the money, and then he had been scared to fetch it in case the pub-keeper had let out he was coming back, but he had not, and he had fetched the money yesterday. The next cheque had better be cashable at her bank, he could not risk the pub again. He was having a ghastly time, for hanging about all day keeping out of sight was not his idea of fun. He was managing grandly at the house. The Welshes kept their television on at full blast and he doubted if they would hear a regiment of guards coming in. Robert’s room was O.K., there were no sheets on the bed but he was making do with blankets. By a bit of luck Robert had an alarm clock, which he set for six each morning. Judith would be amazed if she could see what a clean boy he was being, nobody could guess anyone slept in Robert’s room.

  Judith, in the secrecy of her bedroom, wrote a long reply. She sent his cheque, as Uncle Basil had taught her to do when not cashing it herself. She also sent a letter which in any emergency must be shown to the Welshes. The letter itself was as full of love as she could make it. Lance must try and not be too miserable, why didn’t he go to places like Hampton Court and Kew Gardens, they were lovely and he would not be likely to meet the men to whom he owed money. She finished by begging him, should by any awful chance any Carlyle turn up and see him, to explain at once that she had invited him to stay. He must please, please not think he was getting her into trouble, after all they could only be angry with her, but they might think he was a burglar.

  Five days later Lance wrote again. It was a worrying sort of letter. Would Judith send another cheque at once, but this time would she send a letter to her manager saying he was shopping for her or something. There had been such a fuss about cashing the last you would have thought the bank manager thought he had forged her signature. And for goodness’ sake, why did she write every day? It made him conspicuous at the Post Office. The girl who gave him his letters had said “Faithful, isn’t she?”, which was damned sauce. Anyway, he was going to the Post Office as little as possible, and he might have to use a different one. He was not sure, but he thought they might have got on his track, he was almost sure he had seen one of them hanging around the bus stop near the Carlyles’ house. He was not risking buses any more.

  After that there was silence. Judith wrote, and sent another cheque, and another letter to her bank manager, but there was no acknowledgment. Then, nearly three weeks after Lance had left, the telephone rang in the middle of dinner. Mrs. Killigrew answered it, and a moment later came into the dining-room.

  “It’s for you, Judith. It’s that Mrs. Welsh who works for your Aunt.”

  For a moment Judith felt faint, the room seemed to heave and Mrs. Killigrew became blurred, then she pulled herself together and got up.

  “Thanks awfully. I wonder what she wants.”

  After Judith had left the room Mrs. Killigrew and Alice looked at each other.

  “Funny,” said Mrs. Killigrew, “she looked proper upset, didn’t she?”

  Alice nodded.

  “I can’t think why. It’s probably a message from Mrs. Carlyle, she and Catherine go home some time this week I believe.”

  Judith’s hand was shaking so that at first she found it hard to hear what Mrs. Welsh said, but when she did hear her eyes filled with tears of thankfulness, it was not about Lance.

  “How are you, dear? There’s a gentleman rung, Bing ’e said ’is name was. ’e said the message was urgent. Will you be at the Saville Theatre four o’clock to-morrow. ’e said to look as young as you could. That didn’t ’alf make me laugh, she can’t look much younger than she is, I said.”

  “Four o’clock,” said Judith, a glorious hope rising in her. “I couldn’t get back here to-morrow night, could I?”

  “That’s what I thought,” Mrs. Welsh agreed, “so I give your Auntie a ring, she’s still at the Island, you know, and she said to tell you you could stay the night at the ’ouse. And she said to say she was expecting to ’ear as ’ow you’d got the part.”

  “Goodness,” said Judith, “I won’t, you know. Anyway, thank you awfully, Mrs. Welsh dear, I’ll see you to-morrow then.”

  Back in the dining-room neither Alice nor Mrs. Killigrew could miss the happiness shining like candles from Judith’s eyes.

  “Oh Granny! It’s the agent who I told you said he might want to see me in September. I’m to be at the Saville Theatre at four o’clock to-morrow. Aunt Beatrice says I am to stay at the house to-morrow night.”

  * * * * *

  Alice did not believe that however excited Judith was about her theatre interview it alone could account for the radiant happiness that shone from her. Then a horrid thought came to her. “Is she hoping to see Lance?” As soon as dinner was over she went to the telephone and rang Charlotte. She came into the drawing-room satisfied with her plans.

  “I know you won’t like going to your interview alone, and I don’t like to think of you spending the evening in that empty house, so I have asked Charlotte to meet you at the station and to take you to the theatre, and she’s asked you back there for supper, she says Edward will run you to Hampstead afterwards.”

  To Alice’s surprise Judith appeared to take these arrangements calmly. There seemed to her a moment when a frightened look came into her eyes; it was when she had said she did not like her spending the evening in an empty house, but she supposed she must have imagined it, for Judith’s reply came spontaneously.

  “Gorgeous! I hate doing things alone and it’s ages since I saw them. Edward’s always so busy.”

  Because her arrangements were good Alice should have seen Judith off the next day with a light heart, but instead she was worried and depressed. Back in the house she went to the kitchen to be comforted.

  “I suppose I’m a silly old woman, but I don’t like this trip to London.” She held up a hand to stop Mrs. Killigrew answering. “Yes, I know it’s nonsense, Mrs. Charlotte is meeting her and she will be with them until the doctor drives her to Hampstead and hands her over to Mrs. Welsh. Nothing obviously can happen to h
er, yet, as the train drew out I had, and still have, a presentiment of disaster.”

  Judith travelled to London so alive with joy that she never gave a thought to her theatre appointment. Poor Lance, lonely and scared, how pleased he would be when he came in to-night to find her waiting for him. What luck the appointment was this week, for with Aunt Beatrice coming back soon she would have had to find somewhere else for him to sleep, and would have had to invent some way to get to London to see him. She had very little money, but she was sure she could manage to pay for somewhere for him, perhaps a small hotel. Then she had another idea. As soon as Aunt Mercy was back in London she would go and see her and ask her to lend her enough to pay the men the money Lance owed them. Aunt Mercy was certain to say yes, and wouldn’t ask any questions, that somebody needed help was all she would want to know.

  Following instructions Judith was wearing her most childish clothes, and looked very young in them. “And yet,” thought Charlotte driving her niece through London, “that lovely little face is not really a child’s, I wonder if she takes after her Mother? I hope Beatrice realises that this is no Catherine, and keeps a sufficiently careful eye on her.”

  Charlotte was amused at the sangfroid with which Judith faced her coming appointment. “Goodness,” she thought, “if it was me I’d be an absolute jelly. But I suppose if you’re a near genius you don’t worry, and if Beatrice says she is a near genius I take it she must be, for it’s not like Beatrice to throw compliments about.”

  At the theatre two other girls besides Judith were waiting to read the part. Charlotte found herself looking on Judith as she supposed dog owners considered their dogs at a dog show, weighing up their advantages and searching for flaws in their rivals. If the part was, as was to be supposed from Judith having been told to dress young for it, that of a little girl, on appearance Judith probably had it. One of the others, though dressed young, looked as though she had long earrings and extra make-up in her pocket, and the third was very young but at the awkward sprawling age.

  After a short wait the stage door-keeper showed the three girls the way to the stage, and Charlotte the pass door to the stalls.