Miss Bunting

by Angela Thirkell

  ‘Round the next corner if you don’t mind,’ said Robin. ‘The croquet set’s in the stable-yard.’

  Sister Chiffinch swung her car round the corner with great skill, remarked that there soon wouldn’t be any horses left now, and drew up at the wooden door. They all went into the yard, where the Rector was looking at some croquet mallets that were leaning against the mounting-block.

  ‘I don’t quite remember, Robin,’ he said anxiously. ‘Did I say I was going to give these to somebody? I got them out and then I forgot what it was all about.’

  ‘It’s quite all right, father,’ said Robin. ‘You said you would give them to the Bring and Buy Sale for the Cottage Hospital. And this is Sister Chiffinch who has kindly come to fetch them.’

  He then left his father with the Sister and with the help of the little boys put the croquet box and all its contents on the floor of her car. By the time this was done it was nearly one o’clock and he dismissed his pupils to their homes. In the yard he found his father and Sister Chiffinch deep in conversation.

  ‘Now, isn’t this a case in point?’ said Sister Chiffinch, addressing Robin.

  Robin said he was sure it was, but would she tell him exactly how.

  ‘What I was saying about how funny it is the way people know the same people. Just by the merest chance as they say I met you this morning, Mr Dale, for a moment later and I would have been hieing me homewards to the Hospital, and now what do you think. Matron that I was under for a time at the Barchester General, was nurse to Mrs Dale in her last moments.’

  ‘You wouldn’t remember her, Robin,’ said the Rector. ‘You weren’t born then.’

  Robin felt uncomfortable for his father, but was quickly reassured by a glance from Sister Chiffinch which showed him that she understood the whole case, and knew that the Rector was not suffering from senile dementia, merely living for a time, and in a rather addled way, in the past.

  ‘That nurse was a very nice, kind woman,’ said the Rector, ‘and this lady remembers her.’

  Sister Chiffinch said she would tell Matron when next she saw her and Homeward Bound must be her motto. As Robin shut the car door upon her she said,

  ‘The Rector is a perfect old dear, Mr Dale. I understand from what he said that you are going to Southbridge School after Christmas. I know the Matron there, not fully trained of course, but quite a pal of mine. Now, you mustn’t worry about the dear old gentleman. He rambles a bit in the past, but his brain is as good as mine. If you don’t object I’ll look in from time to time when I’m up this way and keep an eye on him. And if I think there’s anything you ought to know, I’ll let you know. So now a sweet farewell till this afternoon.’

  With which words and without waiting for a reply she put spurs to her car and drove away. Robin walked thoughtfully into the yard and found that his venerable parent had already gone back to the house, so he followed him. He was much touched by Sister Chiffinch’s kindness. People would probably say she was trying to marry his father, but of this he felt sure there was not the slightest danger on either side. And he was quite right, for apart from some rather dashing flirtations of the ‘You did’, ‘I didn’t’ type, accompanied in her younger days by a certain amount of mild scrimmaging and an occasional slap, she took little interest in men except as cases and had arranged with her friends Wardy and Heathy that she shared the flat with, that they would have a small nursing home after the war for very rich patients who needed unnecessary care.

  12

  From two o’clock onwards the Bring and Buy Sale was a magnet, drawing Old and New Town and any outsiders who had bicycles or a little petrol to use. Sister Chiffinch, dazzling in a clean uniform, cap and apron, presided over the goat-carriage, regarding from time to time with covetous eyes a large goat brought by no less a person than Miss Hampton, who had come from Southbridge on purpose with her devoted friend Miss Bent. Robin Dale, who had often met them in his later schooldays, went up and claimed acquaintance. Miss Hampton, in a neat tweed coat and skirt, ribbed stockings, monk shoes, a white stock and a very gentlemanly felt hat on her well-groomed short grey hair, smoking a cigarette from a long ivory holder, was delighted to see him.

  ‘I hear you are coming back to Southbridge,’ she said. ‘Bent and I had a little party to celebrate the news. Some people say you can’t get gin. Don’t believe them. Let people know you want gin and you’ll get it. Must have gin.’

  Robin said in that case he would certainly make it his duty to call on them as soon as he got to the school, which made Miss Hampton laugh loudly and tell Miss Bent that was one up for Robin.

  ‘You know,’ said Miss Bent, who was dressed in much the same style as her friend, except that her tweeds were baggy, her stockings slightly wrinkled, her feet cased in plaited sandals, the stock replaced by a loose greeny-blue scarf, and her hat of drooping raffia under which her home-shingled hair hung lank, ‘I don’t think, Hampton, I still don’t think we ought to let Pelléas go.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got him here and I’m not going to take the brute back,’ said Miss Hampton.

  Robin asked how she had managed to bring a large goat a matter of ten miles cross-country.

  ‘Lorry,’ said Miss Hampton. ‘All the lorry-drivers know me. Learn a lot of facts about life from them while I stand them drinks. Stand still, Pelléas.’

  ‘Hampton’s new book is founded on her Experiences,’ said Miss Bent, eyeing her friend with adoration.

  Robin, who had read with much joy her best-seller of school life, Temptation at St Anthony’s, inquired what the new book was to be called.

  ‘Chariot of Desire,’ said Miss Bent reverently.

  At this moment Sister Chiffinch came up with some raffle tickets.

  ‘Let me introduce you,’ said Robin. ‘Sister, this is Miss Hampton and this is Miss Bent. They have brought a goat over from Southbridge for the Sale. This is my old friend Sister Chiffinch, head of the Cottage Hospital here.’

  ‘You’ll excuse me, but are you the Miss Hampton that writes the books?’ said Sister Chiffinch, her professional eye gleaming as she observed the newcomers. ‘I did so thoroughly enjoy that book of yours about the old lady and her housekeeper. Some of the nurses at the hospital were quite shocked, I do assure you, but I said, “What Miss Hampton is thinking of, Poulter” – that was Nurse Poulter, quite a pal of mine but a bit antiquated in her ideas – “is not what you are thinking of,” I said, “but something far otherwise, which is the idea behind it all; the idea,” I said.’

  ‘Shake hands,’ said Miss Hampton. ‘I like your sort.’

  ‘What a sweet goat,’ said kind Sister Chiffinch, gazing beneficently upon that very unattractive animal who was angrily eating some bits of stale cake he found on the grass. ‘Do you want a ticket for him, Mr Dale?’

  Robin took three and offered one each to Miss Hampton and Miss Bent, who refused them.

  ‘Didn’t bring Pelléas all the way here to take him home again,’ said Miss Hampton. ‘Can’t stay long in any case. Bent and I have to go to Barchester to pick up some gin. We’ll have to be off, Bent, to catch that train. Come and see us when you’re settled, Mr Dale. Sister Chiffinch too.’

  ‘I’m quite excited to have met you,’ said Sister Chiffinch, accompanying them as far as the road. ‘I’ve often thought of writing a book myself about some of the cases I’ve seen. Not till I retire of course.’

  ‘You’ll be kind to Pelléas, won’t you?’ said Miss Bent. ‘He responds to affection.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ said Miss Hampton. ‘Give him enough to eat and if he tries to stamp on your feet whack him with a stick. You won’t have trouble. Not really a he, you know.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Sister Chiffinch. ‘Perhaps we could sell the kids,’ at which Miss Hampton laughed so loudly that several people turned round to stare. ‘Besides we don’t know who will get him in the raffle.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter who gets him in the raffle, dear woman,’ said Miss Hampton. ‘You’ll have to have him, you’ll f
ind. Come on, Bent.’

  And the two ladies walked briskly away towards the station.

  The Sale by this time was a mass of struggling buyers and bringers. Loud were the complaints from buyers that there wasn’t anything left to buy. Loud were the complaints from bringers that they couldn’t get near the tables with their gifts. The Old Town was well represented by most of the people we know. Sir Robert and Lady Fielding could not come as they were in Barchester during the week, but Anne had come with Jane Gresham and Frank, all the Watsons were there and, as the afternoon wore on, many of the tradesmen and cottagers. Mrs Merivale, who was secretary of the Cottage Hospital Sale Committee, was enjoying herself rapturously, ordering people about in the kindest way, settling disputes, repricing goods whose tickets had come off, looking very pretty and receiving congratulations on every hand on the engagements of two of her daughters, which she had most dashingly put in the Times.

  ‘Oh, thank you so much, yes, I am delighted,’ she said for the fiftieth time as Jane Gresham stopped to express her pleasure. ‘Elsie’s fiancé is such a nice boy, I believe. You know she is in the Waafs and he is a Flight-Lieutenant, so it is really a coincidence. His mother wrote me a most charming letter and is going to have part of her house made into a flat for them for after the war. She was on the stage at one time, so she thoroughly sympathizes with Elsie’s dancing. And Peggie’s fiancé is perhaps a little old for her, he is thirty-two, but he is quite devoted Peggie says and very musical. He is a Paymaster-Lieutenant at Gibraltar and you know Peggie has been there with the Wrens, so it really seems as if it was meant. He has private means. And I don’t want to anticipate, Mrs Gresham, but I believe Annie will have some good news to announce very shortly. She is in the ATS, you know, abroad, and from what she says about a certain young man in the Signals I believe there is something in the air. Do come back to tea, Mrs Gresham, I’m sure you’re tired. Just any time you like. I shall be there from four o’clock for an hour. And bring your dear little boy, and anyone you like.’

  Before Jane could answer, more friends had come up to give their good wishes, so she went back to the tables and bought a few of the less revolting objects that had come in since she last made her rounds. At the home produce table she found Miss Holly and Heather buying jam. She greeted them both and asked Heather if her father was coming to the sale.

  ‘But how silly of me,’ she added. ‘Of course he wouldn’t on a Tuesday.’

  ‘Not as a rule,’ said Miss Holly. ‘But he said he would try to come before the end of the sale, didn’t he, Heather.’

  Heather said yes in a fat, sullen voice. Her admiration for Jane was by no means dead, but she felt that a witch had come in the place of the real Mrs Gresham who had been perfection. A horrible witch who was trying to enchant daddy and make everything beastly. Half of her hated Jane and wanted to kill her; the other half still worshipped the now unseen goddess and longed passionately to find her again. And from all these jumbled feelings the result very naturally was the sulks, and even Miss Holly was getting rather tired of them and had gone so far as to allow Mrs Merivale to say that if any of her girls got like that she would give them a good talking to. Still, Miss Holly was not Heather’s mother nor, unfortunately, was anyone else, so the schoolmistress made Heather work twice as hard in lesson hours and rather left her to her own sulks during the rest of the day. And thank goodness the Hosiers’ Girls’ School would be reopening soon for the autumn term and she would return to an ordered life.

  Jane, who to tell the truth did not notice much difference between Heather in the sulks and out of the sulks, was tired and very ready for tea. Frank and Master Watson, under the eye of the old groom from the Omnium Arms, were grooming the goat with a scrubbing-brush from the little lobby where the gas ring lived and a comb provided by Greta Tory, and each had a ticket for a rough and ready tea, so she told Frank she would come back to hear the results of the various raffles and walked slowly to Valimere, where she found her hostess alone.

  ‘Tea is just ready, Mrs Gresham,’ said Mrs Merivale. ‘Now, don’t say No to sugar, for I have quite a store.’

  Jane said she didn’t take sugar.

  ‘Now, are you sure you are not being unselfish?’ said Mrs Merivale, ‘for really I have oceans.’

  This point being settled, Jane was very glad to drink her tea and rest, while Mrs Merivale expatiated on the excellence of her future sons-in-law.

  ‘I must show you the photos, Mrs Gresham,’ she said. ‘This is Elsie with her fiancé. It’s only a snap one of the boys took of their crowd, but it gives you quite a good idea. That’s her. It doesn’t give her colour of course, for she has quite glorious hair and her eyes are screwed up with the sun, but the expression is just like. And that’s Peter as I must learn to call him, the one that’s lighting a cigarette. It’s a pity you can’t see his face, but Elsie is going to send me a better one. And now I must show you this of Peggie and Don, short for Donald you know, because it’s a proper studio photo. Don has three married sisters and they have all written lovely letters to Peggie and the eldest one wants me to go to her for Christmas; her husband is in the wholesale hardware and member of a very good golf club. Would you say any of the girls is like me? You never saw Mr Merivale, but we all think Elsie is daddy’s girl and Peggie is mummy’s girl – in looks I mean.’

  As both snapshot and studio photograph were exactly like every other snapshot and studio photograph and Jane had never seen the originals, it was difficult to judge; but she said she did think Elsie’s hair was like her mother’s, only not so curly, and that Peggie had the same pretty eyes.

  Much gratified, Mrs Merivale said she was an old woman now, and what did Mrs Gresham think of this? Jane said it was the Sphinx, wasn’t it and what a beautifully clear print.

  ‘Ah, but I mean what is going on under the Shadow of the Sphinx,’ said Mrs Merivale.

  Jane said it looked like a picnic and what fun; and then pulled herself up for showing so little interest and asked if they were friends of Mrs Merivale’s.

  ‘You see those two,’ said Mrs Merivale, pointing out a young man and a young woman in uniform whose heads were very close together. ‘That’s Annie and her boy-friend in the Signals. They were having a joke about the old Pharaohs, that’s why they’re laughing. Her last letter said, “Stand by, mummy, for some galopshious news”; so I guessed.’

  Jane, with the painful struggle of one talking a foreign language without much practice, said he looked a charming boy and then despised herself for time-serving. But her kind hostess’s pleasure was so obvious that she was glad she had made the effort,

  ‘The girls say I ought to marry again,’ said Mrs Merivale, ‘but that’s only their fun. And one sees people of my age doing quite awful things, marrying people like Mr Adams. Not but what he is very nice and pays regularly and is really most considerate, but – well, you know what I mean, Mrs Gresham, as well as I do.’

  Jane did know. She knew, as a fact of life not to be disregarded or avoided, that Mr Adams was not of her class, nor even of Mrs Merivale’s. One might say nature’s gentleman, but nature, to judge by the way people’s teeth decayed and cuckoos threw young hedge-sparrows out of nests and cats played with mice, was not really a good judge. He had been very kind to her, going out of his way to help her about Francis, never putting himself forward; and she knew that she was more and more aware of his personality and was letting herself be attracted by it. Her nerves were sorely strained by the scraps of news Mr Adams had brought and by the relentless ebb and flow of her hopes and fears. If Francis were known to be dead, she thought when off her guard of Mr Adams’s tweed-clad arm as something to hold by, to cling to. If Francis were alive – no, she would not think any more of the chances; she would think of other things. But every subject in the world led her exhausted mind back to Mr Adams who was not a gentleman and never would be. And when she said gentleman, she meant what her father and friends would mean and all her own instincts knew.

  ‘Yo
u look tired, Mrs Gresham,’ said Mrs Merivale. ‘Ought you to go back to the sale? Or what about the lodger?’

  Jane looked stupidly at her.

  ‘It’s nice and sheltered if you’d like to stay here a bit,’ said Mrs Merivale, opening the door that led onto the little back veranda. ‘Mr Merivale always called it that. He said it reminded him of the time he went to Italy with a Polytechnic Tour.’

  Jane’s brain reeled slightly. So she told it not to, and said she must go back and find Frank.

  The result of the raffles was to be made known at half-past five, in the faint hope that the prize-winners would collect their booty before they left; a hope seldom realized, as ticket-holders mostly lose their counterfoils, or go home leaving them with a friend who also has tickets, neither party having noticed her own numbers. When Jane got back to the sale, the tables were almost empty, the refreshment committee were washing up the tea things and the crowd was much less. The old groom from the Omnium Arms, who liked to see things done properly, had deeply disapproved the separate raffles of goat and goat-carriage and had said at least three times to every one of his acquaintance that a nice little turnout like that ought to be sold as one lot. Effie Bunce, the Land Girl from Northbridge who worked for Masters the farmer, then said she had seen a set of harness in the loft that looked as small as anything. Masters, who had come down to see one of the Omnium keepers about some wire, was found and approached by the old groom. Masters was willing to oblige an old friend who had influence at the tap and in just as much time as it takes to bicycle up to the farm, find the harness, and bicycle back, the full equipment was there. Masters, entering into the general enthusiasm, said the harness had been there these twenty year, but he’d given it a good greasing from time to time and if they would like it for the Cottage Hospital they were welcome. Such of the Committee as could be found made an informal decision that the harness and goat should go as one lot, which led to frightful trouble when one or two more members found what was happening and said the harness ought to go with the carriage. The Reverend (by courtesy) Enoch Arden, who had been picking up a few books for the Ebenezer Chapel Lending Library, said in a loud voice that thou (by which he was supposed to mean anyone who was listening) shalt not seethe the kid in its mother’s milk; which statement, in view of the goat’s status, was quoted as a rare bit of fun in the Omnium Tap for many evenings to come. It was then decided that the ticket-holders who won respectively the goat and the carriage should have the option of purchasing the harness by tossing a penny, upon which Mr Arden went home and prepared a powerful discourse upon animals that cleave the hoof and lead the weaker brethren into what is abominable before the Lord; only he delivered it as ab-hominable, which is far more frightening.