Miss Bunting

by Angela Thirkell

  It was now half-past five. Several waste-paper baskets full of raffle tickets were produced and numbers drawn by the youngest Girl Guide present. Mrs Merivale, to her great joy, drew the Elle-girl whom she had given for the Cottage Hospital in a rush of enthusiasm and whose absence, not to speak of the mark on the wall where she had been, she had since bitterly deplored. Sister Chiffinch, who had come back for the draw, had the egg-cosy made like a cock’s head, and Master Watson, to his silent satisfaction, got a large home-made cake. Finally the tickets for goat and carriage were drawn. The crowd stirred excitedly. Jane became conscious of something looming behind her, turned, and saw Mr Adams.

  ‘I’m looking for my little Heth,’ said Mr Adams.

  Jane pointed her out on the other side of the crowd, in company with Anne Fielding.

  ‘Ah, she’s all right there,’ said Mr Adams. ‘What’s on now, Mrs Gresham?’

  Jane, vaguely conscious of an aura of dislike emanating from the far side of the crowd, said they were raffling a goat and a goat-carriage.

  ‘Number forty-two,’ said the Girl Guide holding up a ticket. ‘A goat.’

  There was a short but pregnant silence while people scrumbled about in their bags to see where that ticket had got to.

  ‘Ow! it’s my number,’ said Greta Tory. ‘I dunno what dad’ll say if I bring a goat back to tea. I was a big silly to take a ticket.’

  The Girl Guide, who quite rightly did not consider it her business what the lucky winners said, now drew another ticket, proclaiming, ‘Number eleven. A goat-carriage.’

  ‘Cripes!’ said Effie Bunce, who had adopted this unladylike expression from some military friends at present quartered near Barchester, ‘it’s mine. Dad’ll create to-night; so’ll Mum’; for old Bunce the ferryman at Northbridge was known far and wide as a wicked and foul-mouthed old man and his wife not much better.

  There was another silence, this time of embarrassment. No one could force the girls to take their prizes; but no one else wanted the responsibility.

  Then did Sister Chiffinch, suddenly emerging at Jane Gresham’s side from among the crowd, like the Fairy Queen when the Demon King is at his worst, say in a clear and refined voice,

  ‘Oh, dear! And I did hope the Cottage Hospital would get it.’

  Mr Adams moved forward a little.

  ‘I am disappointed for you,’ said Jane.

  Mr Adams took another step to the front.

  ‘Sam Adams speaking,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘If those young ladies don’t want their prizes, I’ll have much pleasure in handing the Sekertary double the value of the tickets and presenting both lots to the Cottage Hospital. Anyone anything against it? Right. Tell me what I owe you Mrs Merivale you are the Sekertary I think and I’ll write you a cheque.’

  If a by-election had been in progress at that moment, Mr Adams would certainly have been put in by the voters with no dissentient voice. Greta Tory and Effie Bunce, giggling loudly, handed their tickets back to Mrs Merivale, who took them with a smile and said did Mr Adams want the harness too.

  ‘Oh, do have it,’ said Jane, almost forgetting in her excitement that it was Mr Adams, and merely envisaging him as a benefactor.

  ‘And I’ll double that for the privilege of presenting Nurse oh, Sister is it, sorry – Sister I should say, with the whole outfit,’ said Mr Adams without the slightest hesitation. ‘And I hope the kiddies that go to the Hospital will have many a happy hour with it.’

  The enthusiasm was frantic and Heather, pushing rather roughly past Jane Gresham, clung proudly to her father’s arm. Frank and Master Watson besieged each his respective parent or parents to be allowed to help to take the goat to the Hospital.

  ‘I don’t know, Frank; do be quiet for a moment,’ said Jane Gresham. ‘Where are you going to keep them, Sister?’

  ‘I’ve thought it all out,’ said Sister Chiffinch. ‘There’s just room for the carriage in that shed outside where the wheeled chair lives, and the goat can go in the gardener’s shed to-night and I’ll get Old George that does our vegetables to knock up a partition for him. He likes animals and it will be a bit of interest for him,’ said Sister Chiffinch, who had found an old-age pensioner to keep the Hospital garden well stocked with potatoes and green vegetables. ‘I expect the boys would like to help, wouldn’t they? And really, Mr Adams isn’t it, I can’t thank you enough for your kindness. You must come in and see us some day. Such a nice bright place it is and the nurses, well they couldn’t be nicer as the saying is, and our patients are so bright. Excuse me now,’ and she hurried off to superintend the harnessing of the goat, which was accomplished with the help of the old groom from the Omnium Arms, a good deal of zealous hindrance from the little boys and some businesslike advice from Miss Holly, who having lived for some time with an aunt who bred them had not a single illusion about those unfriendly animals. Jane then thanked Mrs Merivale again for her tea and was just going when she felt a touch on her arm.

  ‘Mrs Gresham,’ said Mr Adams at her side. ‘I only wanted to say don’t you worry about things. My pal’s well onto that business we were talking about and believe me he isn’t one to draw back from going forward. Anything that comes through you’ll know at once. Heth and I shan’t be here much longer, but anything I hear in Barchester, you’ll hear within the day and Sam Adams saying it,’ said Mr Adams, who appeared for the second time that afternoon to be confusing himself with a golden-voiced announcer.

  Jane thanked him.

  ‘You’re tired, that’s what you are,’ said Mr Adams. ‘Look here. Mrs Gresham, I’ll phone up Packer and run you up. No; no thanks. It’s a pleasure I assure you. If you don’t mind coming to Mrs Merivale’s I’ll phone him up at once.’

  Jane was tired. She didn’t much want to intrude on Mrs Merivale again, but the thought of a car instead of the long drag up the hill alone, for Frank had got permission with Master Watson to see the goat home, was too tempting. Mrs Merivale was delighted to see them and took Jane into the sitting-room while Mr Adams telephoned. The exchange were very slow in answering. The front-door bell rang shrilly and the knocker was banged, Mr Adams raised his voice. Mrs Merivale went to the door and came back with a telegram.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said to Jane. ‘It’s one of those dreadful telegrams. I don’t mind once they’re opened, but it’s the opening. You never know what’s inside.’

  Jane knew the feeling well, though as the years had passed since Francis left her she had stopped fearing them, for they were never about what she longed to know.

  ‘Shall I open it for you?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, please, and do you mind looking if it’s anything nasty,’ said Mrs Merivale.

  ‘It doesn’t look nasty,’ said Jane, ‘but it doesn’t make sense. “Fixed episcopalian church to-day how’s that mother in law letter confirmation follows constant evil custom.”’

  ‘It must be for someone else,’ said Mrs Merivale. ‘Nobody would ask me how their mother-in-law was. And what’s all that about evil customs? I wonder the post-office let people send such things. May I look?’

  Jane saw no reason why Mrs Merivale should not have her own telegram. She handed it to her saying, ‘Perhaps someone is sending you a present and wants to tell you the Customs will look at it.’

  ‘OH!’ said Mrs Merivale. ‘It’s not a telegram; it’s a cable, only the place it comes from is too faint to read. I ought to have known, because when the girls cable to me from abroad it always comes like an ordinary telegram, only with the post as a rule, not by itself knocking at the door, which is war economy I suppose, but very stupid because if it were really important you wouldn’t get it for much longer than you ought to. Besides —’

  Even as she spoke, studying the telegram the while, her voice trailed away, her face became pink and her eyes brimmed. From the hall Mr Adams’s voice summoning Packer to get a move on became peremptory.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Gresham! It has suddenly come to me,’ said Mrs Merivale. ‘Well, I always said Evie would b
e the first to get married though she’s the baby. Oh dear! excuse me, I’m going to cry.’

  ‘Don’t cry,’ said Jane, rather alarmed. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I see it all now,’ said Mrs Merivale, looking into the infinite with moist eyes. ‘It isn’t Custom, it’s Cutsam; that’s Evie’s American friend she’s always writing about and I told you just before tea I thought there was something in the wind. It’s from both of them. His Christian name, if Americans do have Christian names, is Constant – such original names Americans have.’

  ‘Is his name Evil too?’ said Jane. ‘Americans do have funny names sometimes.’

  ‘That’s the post office,’ said Mrs Merivale loftily. ‘Of course it’s really Evie. I dare say “e” is rather like “l” when you cable it.’

  ‘Packer will be here in a moment, Mrs Gresham,’ said Mr Adams coming in. ‘Am I intruding?’

  ‘Oh dear me, of course not,’ said Mrs Merivale. ‘And really, Mr Adams, I have no right to be here when you are paying me for the use of this sitting-room, but I was quite upset. I’ve had such a lovely cable from my youngest daughter in Washington, from her and her husband. They’ve just got married and cabled to tell me. I’ll read it to you. It says “Fixed”, well that’s just American slang for getting married, isn’t it, “fixed Episcopalian Church to-day. How’s that, mother-in-law” – he is a cheeky boy to call me mother-in-law in a telegram – “letter confirmation”, that means letter of confirmation of course, “follows”. And then both their names, Constant and Evie Cutsam. I do wish I could have been there. Still, I dare say they’ll come over with the baby later.’

  Jane, who saw that Mr Adams, not realizing that Mrs Merivale’s utterance was merely prophetic, was rather nervous of what appeared to him a tardy act of reparation on the part of Mr Cutsam, quickly said in an off-handed way that indeed it would be lovely if they had a baby some day and brought it to see its grandmother. Mr Adams’s face cleared.

  ‘Packer’s just come to the gate, Mrs Gresham,’ he said.

  Jane said good-bye to her kind hostess and again congratulated her warmly. Mrs Merivale stood at the door while they got into the car. Just as Packer was starting the engine she ran down the little front path and laid her hand earnestly on the door of the car.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Gresham,’ she said, ‘excuse me worrying you, but I suddenly felt quite upset about that Episcopalian Church. You don’t think it’s RC do you,’ she added, looking round fearfully as if the Inquisition were on her traces.

  Jane answered firmly that it was exactly the same as the Church of England. Mrs Merivale’s face cleared, she stood back and Packer drove off.

  ‘A very nice little woman,’ said Mr Adams, and Jane was amused to recognize in his voice the tone with which, a couple of generations earlier, her grandfather would have qualified Mrs Merivale’s grandmother as respectable. ‘My Heth and I can’t be grateful enough to you, Mrs Gresham, for finding her. Everything has been most comfortable. Now, you look worn out,’ he added, looking solicitously at her. ‘Just lean back and don’t worry.’

  Like so many of us Jane had almost lost the power of leaning back and not worrying. That she was better off than many of her, sisters she would have been the first to admit, but the long strain of uncertainty, the many nights of restless, useless wondering and uneasy sleep, the self-control which she would have died sooner than betray, all these were so many cracks in her being, cracks which might widen. And like most of her sex she filled those cracks with unnecessary activities to stop herself thinking. But nothing will do that. She leaned back obediently, not like a comfortable house-cat on a cushion; like a wild-cat uneasy in captivity. Mr Adams’s tweed-clad bulk beside her seemed safe and comforting, and had the drive been longer she might have yielded to her fatigued impulse and leant against it. But they were at the gate of Hallbury House. Jane thanked him again and said how kind it was of him to give the goat-carriage to the Cottage Hospital.

  ‘You asked me to,’ said Mr Adams.

  Jane looked at him.

  ‘You said you were disappointed when the Sister didn’t get it,’ said Mr Adams. ‘And you said, “Oh, do have it,” when the harness was going begging. I thought you meant it. If you didn’t, well that’s that.’

  Jane saw that he was hurt. Too tired to reflect, she laid her hand on his coat-sleeve.

  ‘Of course I meant it,’ she said. ‘Sister Chiffinch is so grateful, and so am I. All your kindness —’

  ‘There’s a lot of people,’ said Mr Adams, not shaking off her hand but sliding away from it and getting out of the car, followed by Jane, ‘that would get the shock of their lives if they heard what you said, Mrs Gresham. I’m a business man, Mrs Gresham, and I have business ways. But you’ve been kind to my Heth and she thinks the world of you. And so do I,’ said Mr Adams looking straight at her. ‘And that’s why I’m doing all I can to make your mind easy about Commander Gresham. We’ll hope for news soon. We’ll hope for good news. If it’s bad news, well, I know you’ll take it much the same as good news. But good or bad, Sam Adams is here and he’s never let a pal down yet.’

  Jane, looking at Mr Adams and hearing what he said, idly wished that she knew how to faint. The afternoon had been so tiring; hope deferred was wearing her down, and to fall into those large arms and forget everything for ever would be a relief past words. At the same time another Jane knew that this was not only weakness but quite silly. The two Janes stood for an instant measuring their strength. Then Mrs Francis Gresham took command, noticing with a distaste she could not overcome Mr Adams’s large hairy hands and the rather overpowering clothes which never seemed to fit him by nature.

  ‘I am more than grateful,’ said Commander Gresham’s wife, ‘and I know Francis will be if he comes back. Thank you so much for the lift, which was just what I needed. Goodbye.’

  Mr Adams said goodbye, got into the front seat with Packer and drove away, talking about some half-inch bolts. Jane went indoors and told her father all about the Bring and Buy Sale.

  13

  The summer holidays, if summer it could be called after the way it had behaved, said Robin Dale indignantly, were almost at an end. On Tuesday most of the schools were reopening, including the Hosiers’ Girls’ Foundation School and Mr Robin Dale’s Select Academy for the Sons of Gentlemen, as it sometimes pleased him to call it. Miss Holly was to go back on Saturday to meet Dr Sparling and make various arrangements for the school year. Heather and her father were to leave Mrs Merivale on Sunday. Anne Fielding was to go back to Barchester with her parents after the week-end and Miss Bunting was to go, as previously arranged, to Lady Graham at Little Misfit for a fortnight’s visit before taking up her abode again at Marling Hall. For Robin there was the winter term at Southbridge to look forward to; for Jane her daily duties with the prospect of an emptier house when Frank also went to Southbridge after Christmas and a friend the less when Robin had gone, and her unceasing anxiety.