Octavia

by Beryl Kingston

  ‘Aren’t they just ducks?’ Emmeline asked as she waddled down the stairs.

  Octavia agreed that they were dear little things and very pretty, which was true enough for they both had huge brown eyes, button noses and their mother’s pale auburn hair, Dora’s in a halo of thick curls and Eddie’s in a cherubic fuzz, and Dora at least was sturdy and full of mischief. But her brother was a pale little thing and, to Octavia’s admittedly inexperienced eyes, looked rather small for eleven months and oddly apprehensive, jumping and turning his head at the slightest sound behind him and looking up sideways at them, like a startled fawn, as if he wasn’t sure how they were going to treat him.

  ‘Dear little man,’ Emmeline said as though she knew what Octavia was thinking. ‘You wouldn’t call him a milksop, would you?’

  ‘He’s a baby,’ Octavia said, watching her cousin’s face. ‘Babies are milky by nature. I think he’s a darling.’

  They were at the bottom of the stairs by then and on their way back to the breakfast room. ‘It’s just…’ Emmeline began, but then waited until they were both inside the room and the door and its muffling curtain were closed behind them. ‘It’s just that Ernest is so keen for him to be manly,’ she confessed, as they resumed their seats by the fireplace. ‘He’s on about it all the time. He’d be quite cross if he knew how we’ve been romping. In fact, between you and me, we only have a romp when he’s not here. He says they’ve to be shown how to behave properly and romps make them overexcited. I’m sure he’s right but a little fun once in a while…’ Her face was peaked with anxiety again.

  She’s frightened of him, Octavia thought, and she struggled to find something helpful to say. ‘They’re only little,’ she offered. ‘Pa used to toss me in the air when I was little. I can still remember it.’

  Emmeline was surprised. ‘Did he really?’

  ‘Often. And we played bears. He made a wonderful bear. He used to put the hearthrug over his back and I used to ride him.’

  ‘I can’t imagine Ernest ever doing a thing like that,’ Emmeline said, and her face looked wistful. Then she made an effort and changed her tone and her expression. ‘But it takes all sorts, doesn’t it? And he’s very kind to us. He’s a wonderful provider. I can’t fault him. We don’t want for anything and we’ve got all the servants we need. I’m to have a second nursemaid when this baby is born. I hardly have to do any housework. It’s just…’

  Octavia waited, looking encouragement, and there was a thoughtful pause.

  ‘It’s just I wish he wasn’t quite so stern at breakfast,’ Emmeline confessed at last. ‘He will have the children take breakfast with us and he’s on at them all the time, not to talk – and you know how Dora likes to babble – telling them to sit up straight and eat up their food, and if Eddie cries he gets in such a rage. He says he’s a sissy and he’ll grow up a milksop. It does upset him, poor little man. He can’t bear being shouted at and I don’t think he can sit up straight. Not yet. He’s too young.’ She sighed and smoothed her petticoat over her belly. ‘But then I suppose he knows best,’ she said. ‘After all, he is their father.’

  Her meekness annoyed Octavia. ‘And you’re their mother,’ she said. ‘Don’t you know best too?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Emmeline said. ‘I suppose I do, in a way. When he’s not here. It’s just I don’t like to upset him. He gets upset so easily, you wouldn’t believe. I have to make allowances.’

  You’re nothing more than a servant yourself, Octavia thought, living round the edges of his temper. And it’s not right. But for the first time in her life she didn’t speak out. There was something pathetic about poor Emmeline’s expression that made her feel protective and she had a suspicion that she might make matters worse if she said what she thought. But if this is what marriage is like, she thought, I’m glad I’m not getting married. I wonder if Tommy will write to me.

  His first letter arrived the next morning, looking very foreign with its odd stamp and even odder postmark. He had arrived in good order, he said, and was missing her very much. The first interview was tomorrow morning, ‘so I will have had it by the time you get this. I will write and tell you how I get on.’ And he signed it, ‘Yours with love.’

  She sat on the edge of her bed with the letter in her lap and cried because she missed him so much. Then she washed her face and put on her hat and walked off to the suffragette shop, determined not to be silly. There was always work to be done, thank goodness.

  CHAPTER TEN

  July and August that year were the longest months that Octavia had ever had to struggle through. There was plenty to keep her busy, what with her work with the WSPU and constant visits to Emmeline and her babies, but the time dragged. The only bright patches in her day were when the postman brought another letter from Tommy or she was sitting in her bedroom composing an answer. She tried to persuade herself that it was ridiculous to miss him so much, that she was an adult now and should behave like one, that in any case there was nothing she could do about this parting except endure it, but she missed him miserably despite her most earnest persuasion.

  ‘How much longer have you got to stay in that horrible Bucharest?’ she wrote at the end of July. ‘They must have made their minds up about you by now, surely.’

  His answer wasn’t encouraging. ‘I’ve been offered the position,’ he wrote, ‘but there’s a sort of testing period, to see if I really suit, I suppose, so I’m not likely to be back before September. Not to fret, old thing. We shall see one another soon and I’ll give you a big kiss to make up for being away so long.’

  September! she thought. That’s months away. How can I wait all that time until I see you again? Not that she had any option. It was horribly frustrating. It might have been easier if she could have told someone how much she loved him. And she did love him. There was no doubt about that now. But she could hardly talk to her parents about him, except in a general way as Squirrel’s friend. It did occur to her sometimes that her mother was beginning to have suspicions, but that was all the more reason not to talk to her. And her friends were unaware of what had been going on, which was her own fault because she hadn’t told them anything. In ordinary circumstances, it might have been possible to confide in Emmeline, but Emmeline’s circumstances weren’t ordinary. As her third confinement edged closer she grew more and more anxious and depressed.

  ‘I shall have a bad time with this one,’ she said to Octavia.

  ‘You can’t know that, Em,’ Octavia said, trying to be reasonable.

  Her cousin was beyond reason. ‘Yes I do,’ she said. ‘I can feel it. It’s going to be awful. Oh, Tavy, I wish I wasn’t expecting. It’s so miserable to be all fat and blown up like this. I feel like a porpoise. I probably look like one. I do, don’t I? Go on, be honest. Did you ever see such a fright in your life? And I’ve got the backache and my legs hurt and look at my ankles.’

  ‘It’ll soon be over,’ Octavia said, hoping to cheer her. ‘It’s only a few more weeks.’ But Emmeline wept all over again and said she knew she was going to have a bad time, and what if she died?

  It was a great surprise to everyone in the family when she gave birth easily. It was another daughter and she called her Edith and said she was a little duck and seemed quite herself again within hours of the baby’s arrival.

  ‘I’ve never seen such a transformation,’ Octavia said to her mother when they were walking home after their first visit. There’d been no letter from Tommy that morning and she was feeling irritable. ‘Yesterday she was saying she was going to die. And now look at her.’

  ‘We all feel like that when our time’s due,’ Amy said, sagely. ‘I know I did. I was weepy for days.’

  ‘Well I shan’t,’ Octavia said. ‘All that fuss and crying. It’s no way for a grown woman to carry on. After all, it was what she wanted. Lots and lots of babies. She always said so.’

  ‘So she did, my dear,’ her mother said mildly. ‘But it’s different when you’re carrying. As you will find out in time I
daresay.’

  ‘No,’ Octavia said mutinously, ‘I shan’t because I’m not going to get married and I’m not going to have babies. The whole business is too ridiculous. Oh, look at all that horrible cloud. Now it’s going to rain. We’d better walk a bit faster or we shall be drowned.’

  The next day the weather improved dramatically and so did her mood. The sun shone in the most soothing way and she had two letters at breakfast time, a loving one from Tommy, saying how much he missed her, which was just what she wanted to hear, and an official one from the University of London to tell her that she had been awarded a Bachelor of Arts degree with first class honours.

  ‘It’s no surprise to me, my dear,’ her father said, beaming at her. ‘What did I always say?’

  ‘I must phone Maud,’ Amy said. ‘She’ll be so happy for you, Tavy. And she must have heard Cyril’s results by now too.’

  Cyril’s results had come out a week ago and it turned out that he hadn’t done at all well. ‘Only a third I’m afraid,’ Maud said. ‘I was going to tell you but Em’s confinement put it out of my head. It put everything out of my head to tell the truth. I’m so glad it’s over.’

  I wonder whether Tommy knows his results, Octavia thought. I shall ask him when I answer his letter.

  His reply was laconic. ‘Result was a double first as expected,’ he wrote, ‘so the pater has something to show off about. They are pleased at the consulate. At any rate, they tell me my appointment’s in the bag. I’ve no doubt the pater will show off about that too. However, once everything is signed and settled, I have some leave owing. I can hear you saying “and about time too”. I have to spend a fortnight in Italy first but after that I shall be home for six weeks.’

  It was the best news she’d had since he went away. Home in two weeks. Maybe I’ll tell Em now she’s in a better mood.

  But Em was exploding with news of her own. ‘You’ll never guess what they’ve done now,’ she said, and before Octavia could ask who, she plunged into a complaint. ‘Cyril’s going to Italy for a holiday. Isn’t that sickening? He got a third – did you know that? – lazy thing! – and they’re paying for a holiday as if he’d covered himself with glory. It’s Meriton Major behind it, naturally. Apparently he wrote to Cyril saying he was off on some trip or other all round Italy and would he like to come with him. He’s going for a fortnight. Isn’t it sickening?’

  ‘Yes,’ Octavia said with feeling. ‘It is.’ It should have been me, she thought, angrily. Why didn’t he write and ask me? I’d have gone with him like a shot and I’ve earned a holiday. I worked. ‘It’s unfair.’

  ‘I knew you’d agree,’ Emmeline said with great satisfaction. ‘It’s scandalous the way they spoil him. Well, I hope they do the same for Podge when it’s his turn, that’s all. I shall have something to say if they don’t.’

  Octavia laughed at that. ‘I’m sure you will, Em,’ she said, ‘and I’ll second the motion.’

  But for the moment neither of them could do anything except grumble, which Emmeline did every time Octavia came to visit, all through the fortnight. She was still grumbling when the two young men suddenly appeared in her garden. It was a quiet sunny afternoon and she and Octavia had been taking tea beside the fishpond, with the new baby asleep in her bassinet beside them and Dora and Eddie playing on a rug in the shadow of the apple tree. And without a word of warning there they were, striding across the lawn, looking tanned and foreign, carrying a lot of odd-shaped parcels and smiling as if they expected a welcome.

  ‘Good heavens above!’ Emmeline said. ‘Look what the cat’s brought in!’

  ‘’Lo, Sis!’ Cyril said. ‘We’ve brought you some presents. There are some super things in Italy. Look at this, Dotty Dora. This one’s for you.’

  ‘And this is for you,’ Tommy said, standing in front of Emmeline and bowing to her in his old-fashioned way. ‘Sweets to the sweet!’ And he handed her a box of bonbons. It was tied with an elaborate striped ribbon and looked rather grand and very foreign, with its odd colouring and its strange curlicued writing. ‘First present we bought, wasn’t it, Cyril?’

  ‘What?’ Cyril said, and then noticed that Tommy was giving a hint. ‘Oh yes, I suppose it was.’ But it was plain to Octavia that he didn’t mean it because he was fidgeting with eagerness to give one of his presents to Dora, who was clinging to his legs and bouncing with excitement.

  ‘Well, thank you very much,’ Emmeline said, opening the box. ‘It’s very kind of you, Tommy. I didn’t expect presents. Oh, look at these lovely sweeties, Eddie. Shall we have one? Or shall we keep them until after dinner?’ If Ernest had been at home there would have been no choice. The box would have been put away at once, sternly, and temptation removed. But because it was mid-afternoon and he was away at work, they could do as they pleased. She pinched one of the little chocolates to see if it was soft-centred and as it was popped it into the little boy’s mouth. ‘Try that. It’s delicious.’

  ‘This one is for you, little Dotty Dora,’ Cyril said and handed her one of the odd-shaped parcels.

  Being a sturdy two-year-old, she insisted that she could open parcels ‘Misself!’ and did so, although very slowly and with some difficulty. The toy that emerged from the wrapping paper was worth the struggle. It was a camel made of rough sand-coloured cloth with black button eyes and thick fur eyelashes, wearing a splendid saddle caparisoned in crimson and gold.

  ‘He’s come all the way from Venice,’ Cyril told her. ‘Do you like him?’

  ‘Much,’ the child said and flung her arms round her uncle’s neck to prove it.

  The lawn was littered with wrapping paper, for there were presents for everybody, even the baby. All three children had muslin dresses from Milan; Eddie had a hobbyhorse from Rome; the baby, who had slept through homecoming and present giving and all the noise and movement around her, snug in her bassinet, was given a wooden rattle ‘for when she got bigger’.

  ‘And this is for you,’ Tommy said, handing his last parcel to Octavia.

  It was very soft and felt squashy under her fingers, so she knew it was cloth of some kind, but for a second she felt too confused to open it. From the moment he’d come striding into the garden looking so handsome and carefree, she’d been torn by such conflicting emotions that she hadn’t been able to find a word to say. It was wonderful to see him again. She was flooded with love for him, aching with it, but she was cross with him too. He ought to have taken her on holiday with him, not Cyril. Even if he’d been minding the conventions, which was possible, she had to admit, he should at least have asked her and given her the chance to make up her own mind about it. He was sensitive enough when it came to Emmeline’s feelings – she’d actually been quite touched by the way he handled Squirrel, so the least he could have done was…

  ‘Open it, Tavy,’ Emmeline urged. ‘Don’t keep us in suspense.’

  ‘Go on,’ Tommy said. ‘Open it. It won’t bite you.’

  It was a paisley shawl, rather old-fashioned and intricately beautiful, woven in shades of pink, lilac, buff and smoke blue and heavily fringed.

  ‘Lots of colours,’ Tommy said, ‘so it’ll go with anything.’

  ‘It’s gorgeous,’ she told him. And that was nothing less than the truth. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘Cyril got a kiss for his camel,’ he teased her.

  ‘That,’ she told him steadily, ‘is because Dora is two and can kiss whom she pleases.’

  ‘I thought you were unconventional.’

  She was recovering her balance by then and could tease. ‘Only in matters political.’

  ‘Well now,’ Cyril said, ‘what shall we do with the rest of the afternoon? Tell you what, let’s go on the heath. I haven’t been on the heath for two whole weeks, I hope you realise.’

  ‘And whose fault’s that?’ his sister said sternly. ‘You shouldn’t have gone rushing off all over Europe.’ But she agreed that a walk in the fresh air would do them all good and went off at once to summon her nursemaids and
have the new perambulator prepared for the baby. ‘Button boots for Eddie and Dora, if you please, Mrs Greenacre, and their reins of course, and we’ll take the old perambulator to get them there.’

  They left the house in procession, first the nursemaids pushing the two prams with the bonneted toddlers sitting in one and baby Edith now wide awake in the other, then Emmeline and Cyril, walking together in an almost friendly way, and bringing up the rear, Octavia, in her splendid new shawl with Tommy beside her. As they reached the end of the street, he offered her his arm, daring her with those dark eyes, and since it was a family outing, she took it.

  They dawdled until they were out of earshot of the others. ‘Have you missed me?’ he asked.

  ‘Now and then,’ she said lightly. ‘I’ve had a lot to do with the cause and Emmeline and everything.’

  ‘I’ve missed you every single day,’ he said. ‘It’s super seeing you again. I haven’t kissed you for months, I hope you realise.’

  ‘Two months, one week and three days,’ she said, ‘to be accurate.’

  ‘Rebuke taken,’ he said. ‘You’re a corker, Tavy. Supper tonight?’

  ‘Come on, you two slowcoaches,’ Emmeline called. ‘Catch up. We’re going to see the swans.’

  So they saw the swans, and Cyril took off his shoes and socks and rolled up his trousers. He took Eddie and Dora paddling in the ponds while Em fed the baby in the discreet shade of a tree. They found a ‘Stop me and buy one’ and bought ice creams and snofrutes, and both the children got extremely sticky, and Em said she couldn’t think what their father would say if he could see them.

  ‘Just as well he can’t then,’ Cyril said. ‘Eh, Tavy?’

  ‘Oh,’ Em said, ‘this is such fun!’

  ‘I’ve thought of a good wheeze,’ Cyril said to his sister when the heath had been trodden to exhaustion, and they were wandering slowly home again. ‘What d’you say we all go down to Eastbourne for a seaside holiday like we did in the old days? You and me and the babies and Tommy and Tavy. And Podge too. He could come down at weekends. All of us. My treat. High time you had a holiday, Em. Swimming, donkey rides, that sort of thing. How would you like that, little Dotty Dora?’