by Betty Neels
Mevrouw van Taal could be charming in the right company. Daisy had to admire her—she had good looks, the right clothes and a helpless-little-girl manner which Daisy felt simply certain would appeal to any man. She was an amusing talker too; Daisy allowed her rather high-pitched voice to go over her head while she thought about the doctor. Was he here for a long stay, she wondered, or a lightning visit? She frowned; it was no concern of hers anyway, only it would be nice to know…
The twins were allowed down from the table once the pudding had been eaten; they kissed their parents, stared stonily at Mevrouw van Taal as they muttered what Daisy hoped was a polite goodbye.
‘Run along with Daisy, darlings,’ begged their mother. ‘We’ll have coffee in the drawing-room, shall we?’ she said to the others.
Dr Seymour got up to open the door and bent his massive person to whisper to Josh, ‘Wait in the hall; I’ll be out in a moment.’
He went back into the room, leaving the door half-open so that Mevrouw van Taal’s voice was very audible to Daisy, waiting at the foot of the stairs with the twins.
‘Charming children,’ she declared, ‘and so well behaved. That girl—their nanny—is the quiet sort, isn’t she? Plain with it too.’ She gave a tinkle of laughter. ‘Let us hope she is as quiet and kind when she is alone with the children…’ Daisy, rigid with rage, heard the Thorleys protest as the woman went on, ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m sure she is a very good young woman, but one does hear such tales.’
‘Not about Daisy.’ It was the doctor, speaking in such a cold voice that Daisy shivered. ‘I’m sure you meant no harm, Rena, but it is perhaps a little unwise to give an opinion of someone of whom you know nothing, is it not?’
He came into the hall a moment later, shutting the door behind him.
‘I’m sorry if you heard that; I’m sure Mevrouw van Taal meant nothing personal.’
‘I don’t care what she means,’ said Daisy in a stony voice. ‘Pray don’t bother to make excuses for her. If you would be good enough to give the children their present I can take them upstairs so that I may be discussed at your ease.’
‘Spitfire,’ said Dr Seymour mildly and added, ‘You have very lovely eyes.’
‘Ah—you forget, a plain face…’
‘We’ll discuss that some time.’ He smiled very kindly at her and she felt tears crowding her throat, which made her crosser than ever.
‘There’s a small box on the hall table,’ he told the children. ‘Will you fetch it, Josh?’
It was actually quite a big box; he opened it and took out two smaller boxes and gave them to the children. ‘Not to be opened until you’re lying on your beds.’ He bent down and kissed their excited faces and then, in an afterthought, kissed Daisy too.
‘I’m going away directly,’ he told her. ‘You’ll be glad, won’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Daisy, not meaning it. She urged the twins upstairs and didn’t look back.
The boxes contained musical boxes, the sort which, when wound, displayed a group of dancing figures on their lids. The twins were enchanted with them and quite forgot to be difficult about taking their afternoon nap, so that Daisy found herself with nothing to do until they woke again. It was still raining and she turned her back on the dismal weather, got out her pen and writing pad and began a letter to her mother, anxious to occupy her thoughts with something other than dwelling on the kiss Dr Seymour had given her. It was exactly the same kind of kiss as those he had bestowed upon his small relations, and she hoped that it hadn’t been bestowed in pity; she hoped too, with quite unnecessary fervour, that he would be gone by the time she went downstairs with the children again.
Fate always answered the wrong prayers; there was no sign of him when the children went down to have tea with their mother; moreover he was already on his way back to England, Lady Thorley told her. ‘He will be back, though, for a few days shortly,’ she continued, ‘some meeting or other in Leiden.’
All memories of the summer were being washed away by a persistent fine rain, and the twins’ high spirits, because they were largely confined to indoors, were rapidly turning to fits of sulks and displays of childish rage. Daisy took them out each day despite the wind and rain and the three of them, swathed in mackintoshes and hoods and sensible shoes, went to the park, empty of people now, where they ran races and then went home, sopping-wet and tired, but by the afternoon their energy was firmly restored, and Daisy was glad when it was bedtime and she could tuck them up. Of course, they were reluctant to sleep and she read to them until she was hoarse…
It rained on her day off too, which was a pity, for Philip had borrowed a friend’s car and had promised to drive her to Apeldoorn then down to Arnhem through the Hoge Veluwe National Park and then back to the Hague. All the same they went, making light of the weather, and Philip, who prided himself on the knowledge he had of the Dutch countryside, took pains to point out everything interesting in sight. Even in the rain Apeldoorn was pleasant; they had their soup and a roll in a small café on the edge of the town and then set off for Arnhem. The road ran through wooded country and stretches of heath, the villages were small and infrequent and here and there they caught glimpses of large villas half-hidden by trees, and when they reached Arnhem he took her round the open-air museum where Holland’s way of life was portrayed by farms, windmills and houses from a bygone age. Despite the rain, Daisy would have lingered for hours but it was quite some distance back to the Hague and they simply had to have tea…
Back at the house they parted like old friends. ‘I’ll get the car next week,’ Philip promised, ‘and we’ll go north to Alkmaar and Leeuwarden. You’re not going back home yet, are you?’
‘No, I don’t think so yet; I heard Sir Hugh saying that he expected to be here for another month or even longer.’
‘Good. I’ll see you next week.’ She rang the bell and watched him get into the car to drive it back to his friend’s flat. It had been a lovely day and Philip was an undemanding companion, always ready to agree with her suggestions. He would make a nice brother, she thought, as Mien opened the door and she went inside.
Mien took her wet things and nodded her head upstairs where small cross voices could be heard. ‘It is good that you are back. Lady Thorley is weary. The children…’ She raised her hands and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling.
Daisy sped upstairs and found Lady Thorley attempting to get the twins quiet. They were bellowing and screaming and quite out of hand but they paused long enough to shout at Daisy.
‘If you’re quiet,’ said Daisy, ‘I’ll tell you where I’ve been today, so say goodnight to Mummy and lie down, there’s dears.’
Lady Thorley gave her a thankful look, kissed them and went to the door. ‘I’ll tell Mien to send you up a tray in half an hour, Daisy.’ She asked belatedly, ‘You had a nice day?’
‘Delightful, thank you, better than yours.’
Lady Thorley made a face. ‘They need a dragon to look after them. I’ll say goodnight, and thank you, Daisy.’
Getting ready for bed a few hours later, Daisy prayed once more, this time for fine weather; much more of the twins’ naughtiness would make even her stout heart quail; at least out of doors they tired themselves out.
This time her prayers were answered; the really heavy rain ceased and although the wind was chilly and the sky overcast at least they could get out. Three days passed in comparative peace and on the fourth morning, just as they had finished their breakfast, Dr Seymour walked into the play-room.
The twins were delighted to see him and, although she wouldn’t admit it to herself, Daisy was too. Disentangling himself from the twins’ embrace, he addressed himself to her. ‘I’ll keep an eye on these two—Margaret would like you to go down to the sitting-room; she wants to talk to you.’
There had been some tal
k of buying warmer clothes for the children; Daisy, nipping smartly along the passage, rehearsed in her head the various garments which would be necessary.
Lady Thorley was at the breakfast table and Sir Hugh was still there too. Daisy, her mind engaged in the choice of Chilprufe as against Ladybird vests, wished them both good morning and, when bidden to sit, sat.
‘We wanted to talk to you,’ began Lady Thorley, and looked at her husband, who coughed and said,
‘Er—well, it’s like this, Daisy…’ and coughed again. ‘You know, of course, that we engaged you on a temporary basis; indeed, we had intended that you should stay with us until we returned to England in a few weeks’ time. However, a colleague of mine is being posted and the governess he employs for his children does not wish to stay with them but wants to return to England. We thought at first that she might take over from you when we go back there but it would make it much easier for everyone concerned if she were to come straight to us here. We think that if she were to join us here in two days’ time you might spend a day with her—show her the ropes—and return to England on the following day. We will, of course, arrange your journey and, needless to say, a very good reference.’
Daisy said in a polite voice, ‘That seems a very sensible arrangement, Sir Hugh. I’m glad you’ve found a governess; it’s so much better to have someone recommended, isn’t it?’
She heard herself uttering the words she felt sure her companions wished to hear while inwardly she fought unhappy surprise. She had felt secure at least for another month, which had been silly of her, and she was quite unprepared for such a sudden decision on the part of the Thorleys. Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face for Lady Thorley said quickly, ‘You do understand that we have never been less than absolutely satisfied with you, Daisy. You’ve been splendid with the twins; I don’t know how I would have managed without you…’
‘I’ve enjoyed looking after them, Lady Thorley. If there’s nothing else I’ll go and get the children ready for their walk.’ Daisy got up. ‘I expect you know that Dr Seymour is with the twins?’
‘Yes. He’s due at the hospital this afternoon; he’ll be going back home some time this evening.’ Lady Thorley smiled at Daisy. ‘Run along, then; if I don’t see you at lunch, I’ll be here in good time for the twins’ tea.’
The doctor was sitting on the table, the breakfast things pushed to one side, and the children were beside him; the three heads were close together but they looked up as she went in.
‘If you go to the hall,’ said the doctor, ‘you might find something in the umbrella stand by the door; if you do, take it to your father and mother and ask if you may have it.’
When they had scampered off he got off the table and went to stand before her. ‘Surprised?’ he asked.
‘You knew? That I’m going back to England?’
‘Yes. Hugh asked me what I thought about it some time ago when he first heard of this governess. I think it’s a splendid idea; they need a female sergeant major to look after them. You’re a splendid nanny, I should suppose, but you’re too kind and forgiving, my dear; they’ll be twisting you round their thumbs in a few months.’
‘That’s an unkind remark to make,’ said Daisy coldly, ‘but I suppose only to be expected of you. I know your opinion of me is low…’ She added with a snap, ‘Not that I care about that.’ She drew a sustaining breath. ‘I shall be sorry to leave the twins but nothing will give me greater pleasure than the thought that I need never see you again.’ She went to the door. ‘Now if you will excuse me, Dr Seymour, I will go to the children.’ Her hand on the doorknob, she turned to look at him over her shoulder. ‘I do hope Mevrouw van Taal manages to catch you; you deserve her.’
She didn’t exactly sweep out of the room—she was too small for that—but she managed a dignified exit.
The doctor stood there where she had left him, the outrage on his face slowly giving way to a wide grin.
Daisy buttoned the children into their outdoor things and took them for their walk. She would have liked time to sit down and think about the turn of events; she had known that the job was temporary but she had expected to have a longer warning of its finish so that she could have made plans about getting work when she got home. Now there would be no time to do that and although she had saved up almost all of her wages it might be weeks before she found another job. There was no time to worry about that now, though; the twins, intent on reaching the park to see if any of their small friends were also there, hurried her along, both talking at once, leaving her no time at all for her own thoughts. Which was just as well.
Nothing was to be said to the children until the new governess arrived; Daisy, carrying on with their usual routine during the next two days, wondered if they would like her. Dr Seymour had described her as a sergeant major… She wished she could stop thinking about him; he had gone as swiftly as he had come, and presumably he was back in England. She reminded herself that she had no wish to see him ever again and, once the children were in their beds, began to get her clothes ready to pack.
The sergeant major arrived after breakfast as Daisy was arranging painting books and paints on the play-room table; the dull morning had made it easy to persuade the twins that a walk later in the day would be a better idea so that when their mother and the new governess came into the room they were engaged in quarrelling amicably together as to who should have the bigger paintbox.
Daisy put a jar of water in the centre of the table out of harm’s way, smiled at Lady Thorley and said good morning to her companion. The woman was a good deal older than herself, tall and thin and good-looking, but she looked kind and when Lady Thorley said, ‘This is Amy Thompson, Daisy,’ she held out her hand and gave Daisy a firm handshake.
The children had come to stand by Daisy, eyeing the stranger with suspicion; it was their mother who said coaxingly, ‘Come and say hello to Miss Thompson; she’s going to spend the day with us…’
‘Why?’ asked Josh and then, urged by Daisy, offered a small hand.
‘Well,’ began his mother, ‘Miss Thompson is going to live with us and be your governess; you’re going to have lessons at home, which will be much more fun than going to school…’
Katie shook hands too, eyeing the newcomer. ‘We’d rather keep Daisy,’ she observed.
Josh’s bottom lip was thrust forward in an ominous manner and Daisy said quickly, ‘The thing is, my dears, I do have to go home and live with my mother and sister…’
Katie burst into tears and Josh flung himself on to the floor, where he lay kicking and shouting. Daisy got down beside him. ‘Look, Josh, we’ll still see each other; I live very close to your home, you know—perhaps Miss Thompson will invite me to tea sometimes and allow you both to come and see Razor.’
He opened an eye. ‘Promise?’
Daisy glanced at Miss Thompson who nodded and smiled. ‘Promise,’ said Daisy, ‘and now if you will get up and Katie will stop crying we can have some fun showing Miss Thompson where everything is and what you wear when you go out and just how you like your eggs boiled. She will really depend on you both for a little while, just as I had to when I first came to look after you.’
It took time to coax the children to calm down, something they did unwillingly, but Miss Thompson was a veteran at the job; by lunchtime they were on good terms with her, with only the occasional suspicious look. She went away at teatime with the assurance that she would return the following morning.
With Josh and Katie in bed, Daisy packed, washed her hair, checked the contents of her handbag and went downstairs to dine with the Thorleys. Sir Hugh gave her her ticket. ‘One of the drivers will take you to Schiphol,’ he told her. ‘We thought if you took the late morning flight—Miss Thompson will be here at ten o’clock, and it might be easier if you go shortly afterwards, in case the children…’
> He paused, and Daisy said, ‘Yes, of course, I quite understand.’
‘You’ll go home by train? You’ll find travelling expenses in that envelope—you’ll have to go up to London from Gatwick unless you can get a bus to Basingstoke.’
‘Either way will be easy,’ said Daisy; she sounded as though she knew what she was talking about although she had only the vaguest idea about the train service to Salisbury from London; but there were bound to be several and she would be at Gatwick by one o’clock at the latest.
Sir Hugh said thankfully, ‘Oh, good, it should be quite simple. Do telephone your mother if you wish to…’
She decided against that; she wasn’t sure what time she would get home and her mother would worry. They went in to dinner and she joined in the conversation in her quiet way, all the while not quite believing that in twenty-four hours’ time she would be home again and out of a job once more.
She hated leaving the twins; she was quite sure that Miss Thompson would be kind as well as seeing to their education, but all the same it was a wrench and all the harder since she had to keep a cheerful face on things when she said goodbye. It was a wet morning; the last she saw of them was two small faces pressed against the play-room windows. She waved until the car turned into the street, and since the driver was disinclined for conversation she spent the journey to the airport musing over a choice of jobs. Another nanny’s post perhaps? Or a mother’s help? Failing those, how about working in a shop? But wouldn’t she have to know something about selling things? How did one start? she wondered. She was still wondering when they reached Schiphol and the driver fetched her case from the boot and carried it to the desk for her. She thanked him, gave him a tip and joined the queue of passengers being processed towards their various flights.
The flight was uneventful; she collected her case from the carousel, went through Customs and to the entrance, borne along on a stream of people intent on getting home as quickly as possible. There were taxis there and, some distance away, a bus. She picked up her case, to have it taken from her at the same time as Dr Seymour said quietly. ‘The car’s over here.’
