And I was obliged to do so, even though I was very loath. When I said Daisy’s full name, he raised his eyebrows and said, ‘Any relation to Daniel Baxter, the renowned Christian Athlete of St Cyprian’s?’
‘Her father,’ I said shortly.
‘Indeed? And so the charming lady in the picture was her mother?’
‘Mr Jameson photographed us all,’ added Daisy, with a sweet eagerness to impart information that I could have dispensed with on that occasion.
He bent towards her. ‘And I was privileged to have, as it were, an advance view of the pictures. They were very good. Very good. What a lovely family you all are.’ Then he raised himself and addressed me sotto voce: ‘I had no idea when you showed me the pictures that it was Baxter’s family you were so intimate with.’
‘I assume you don’t know him, then?’
‘Only by reputation. But that’s enough.’ He laughed unpleasantly. ‘But look here, Jameson, why don’t we all have tea together? I was just about to turn back, and could do with a little livening up.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I have other plans.’
‘You? What plans?’ He laughed again. ‘Are you going to introduce them to Dinah and play slapjack around the table for half an hour?’
‘What’s that to you?’ I replied, incensed.
‘Nothing at all. I just thought these two young ladies might rather see the musical box I have just purchased. It has a singing bird.’
‘Oh, may we, please?’ said Annie, her wide face made even wider with pleasure.
Daisy looked at me, and I think she could see the consternation on my face. But at the same time she was eager to see the toy. ‘May we?’ she asked quietly. ‘Just for five minutes?’
‘There you are!’ said Smith-Jephcott. ‘And while you are looking at it, I’ll get Benson to give us tea.’
‘But I have tea arranged in my own room. I have already p-purchased walnut cake,’ I faltered, my tongue tight in my mouth.
‘Then bring it down! I have some Bourbon biscuits, and Benson can see to the teapot and the bread-and-butter. The girls can know what it’s like to have proper college hospitality!’
I looked at their shining eyes: Annie’s bright and bold, Daisy’s softer but no less eager. I could not deny them. ‘Very well,’ I said. But I was terribly put out by this alteration to my plan.
Daisy must have sensed my disappointment because she reached out her little hand and touched me on the arm. It was as if her touch had melted right through the black worsted, and I could feel her fingers on my very flesh. ‘Do you mind very much, Mr Jameson?’ she said.
At that moment I loved her so much for her kindness and sympathy that I almost felt gratitude to Smith-Jephcott for being the cause of it. ‘Not if it makes you happy,’ I replied, daring to squeeze her gloved fingers.
And so we repaired back to college and Benson was obliged to bring down to Smith-Jephcott’s rooms the walnut cake and the bread-and-butter that he had already laid out upstairs. Smith-Jephcott, in spite of his boast, made no attempt to provide proper hospitality, or even a table, and put the plates down willy-nilly all over his desk and sideboard, mingling the cake with his bottles of port wine and muddling the bread-and-butter with his books.
The girls, meanwhile, were enchanted by the musical box, and in between forays to the cake and tea, they wound the handle over and over again while the bird moved back and forth and opened and shut its beak in time to the fluting music. Smith-Jephcott told them he had bought it for one of his nieces, who was ten years old in a week’s time. Annie said how lucky that little girl was and expressed the wish that she could have one like it. ‘Did you buy it in the High?’ she asked.
‘I got it in the Burlington Arcade. Do you know it?’
They both shook their heads.
‘Ah, maybe you are not acquainted with London?’
They shook their heads again. ‘My sisters were born in London,’ volunteered Daisy. ‘But they can’t remember very much about it and Mama says Poplar was not very nice.’
‘Poplar?’ Smith-Jephcott raised his eyebrows. ‘What were they doing in Poplar of all places?’
‘What do you think?’ I replied, somewhat testily. ‘Baxter had a parish there. Before he came to Oxford.’ Smith-Jephcott really is a fool.
‘Ah. That explains it. An excellent opportunity for Good Works.’
‘Papa says it was very hard work,’ added Daisy solemnly. ‘He often had to preach to a half-empty church. But I’d like to visit the interesting landmarks like Buckingham Palace and the Tower. Is the – Bullingdon Arcade interesting too?’
Smith-Jephcott laughed, and murmured, ‘Not unless you are interested in a certain sort of fine art. In fact, there is a photograph shop there that might interest you, Jameson. Also specializing in interesting images.’
I felt myself go quite red with embarrassment and anger. ‘I order all my necessaries by post,’ I said. ‘There is no need for me to linger in such places.’
‘Such places? I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’ But he smiled in a lascivious way I found quite nauseating. I was beside myself to think that I had brought the little girls into such a situation, with such a man, and was only thankful that their innocence protected them from his foul insinuations. I never cease to be surprised that such a man can be a member of a respectable college and I determined then that I would ensure that Daisy – and Annie too, of course – would not be exposed to any further grossness. I indicated – slightly deceitfully – that Hannah would soon be coming for the children and that they would need to eat and drink quickly before returning to my rooms. They were rather reluctant to leave the mechanical bird and his songs, and I thought I might have to drag Annie away with main force, but Daisy, remembering she had originally pleaded to spend five minutes only with the toy, persuaded her friend to finish the cup of tea she had carelessly left in the grate and come upstairs with me.
It was such a relief to be back in the comfort and familiarity of my own rooms. But it was brought home to me again that, to keep the attention of the young, one needs toys or amusing artefacts to occupy them, and I promised myself that henceforth I would always have about me some small item for the purpose. But Dinah, bless her, provided an alternative on this occasion, as she was in a sleepy mood and prepared to let the children stroke her fur. They looked so lovely, both of them, kneeling beside Dinah’s chair, their glossy hair spreading over their shoulders, the line of their sweet profiles more beautiful than any duchess’s.
Annie was the first to break the spell. I think she saw me looking at them in an attentive way and asked, ‘Are you not taking any photographs of us today, Mr Jameson? It would be nice to have one of us with Dinah.’
But just then, Dinah, as is the way with cats, chose to rise and stretch herself, jumping deftly away from the stroking hands and leaping up to sit on the windowsill, which is her second-favourite perch. Annie rose and made as if to fetch her back, but I put out my arm. ‘If you annoy her she is likely to scratch you. And I wouldn’t want to send you home covered in blood. Blood, in my view, should remain inside the skin where it belongs. But, to answer yet another of your questions, Miss Annie, I fear there is no time for photographs today, largely owing to my honoured neighbour’s unexpected intervention. I won’t rush things, you see, and Hannah is due at any moment.’
‘I’m sorry. Are you very disappointed?’ asked Daisy, as always concerned about others.
‘A little, I own it. But we had a good walk, did we not? We counted six different butterflies and five kinds of beetle in less than a mile. The photographs can wait for another day.’
‘But I am going away to Ilfracombe next week!’ Annie wailed. ‘I won’t be able to come.’
‘Dear, dear. That is a shame. One little fairy less.’
‘I could ask one of the others,’ said Daisy – rather reluctantly, I thought.
‘Well, Enid can’t come. She’s going to her grandmother’s in Wales now that school is finished
,’ said Annie.
‘And Emma’s got a chill,’ added Daisy. ‘Her mother thinks it was caused by putting on thin clothes and says she won’t be allowed to come again.’
‘So it looks as though it will only be you and me, Daisy,’ I said, hardly able to restrain my delight at the prospect. I thought Daisy, too, looked pleased at the idea of meeting à deux.
At that moment, Hannah arrived, looking a little flushed. I put it down to the exertion of climbing the stairs to my rooms. They are quite steep and, if one is in a hurry, one can become out of breath. Benson is forever complaining of them. ‘Did you get what you were looking for?’ I asked her. She looked as if she was unsure of my meaning. ‘At the haberdasher’s,’ I added.
‘Oh, yes. Three yards of petersham ribbon and several bobbins of thread.’ She held up a small paper packet, as if to confirm the transaction. It crossed my mind that she had been away for a long time if these were her only purchases, but I assumed she had had to go from one shop to another to get exactly what she wanted as I had had to do for the album, so I said nothing.
She was brisk, as usual. ‘Come now, Miss Daisy, Miss Annie. Get your hats and gloves on – we’ve got to hurry if I’m to have you both back in time.’
‘More walking!’ complained Annie, pulling her features into a terrible pout. I could see immediately that she would grow up to be the languid sort of beauty who is more at home in the drawing room than on a country path. She will also, I fear, be the kind of young woman who will tease her suitors to within an inch of their passion and patience. I am glad I will never be among them.
‘Oh, beg pardon, but I forgot to give you this, sir,’ said Hannah, pulling a folded envelope from her pocket. ‘It’s from Mr Baxter. I’m sorry not to have given it you when we arrived but it went out of my mind.’
It was an invitation to dinner the next day. Although I had frequently taken tea with the Baxters, I had never before dined with them. And I understood from Daisy that she was now a frequent attender at the family table. I hastened to my desk to write a reply and handed the sealed envelope back to Hannah, who stared at it in surprise.
‘What neat handwriting!’ she exclaimed, staring at the superscription.
‘I hardly expect a compliment on account of that,’ I said, a little tartly. ‘If it were foot-writing now, I would understand your surprise.’
The girls chuckled at this and Hannah herself smiled, which I thought improved her somewhat sharp demeanour.
‘Be sure to give it to Mr Baxter immediately,’ I said. ‘It would embarrass me considerably to turn up when I was not expected.’
‘I will, sir. Don’t you worry.’
I turned to Annie. ‘So it seems, young lady, that I am to be deprived of your company from now on because of your selfish desire to take the sea air. However, you can make it up to me by sending me a picture postcard of the seaside when you arrive. I am very fond of the seaside and especially of watching all the young people disporting themselves on the sand. And if you write to tell me that you have been taking off your shoes and stockings and paddling in the waves in your bare legs, I shall be able to imagine you and wish I were there too. Now, will you give me a farewell kiss?’
She came forward boldly and lifted her face. And I bent down towards her and she planted a smacking kiss on my lips. ‘I don’t mind kissing you,’ she said as she drew back. ‘Because you have no whiskers.’
‘I promise never to grow them on that account,’ I said.
Then I looked at Daisy, who seemed uncertain whether to come forward or not. Hannah pushed her towards me. ‘Give the gentleman a kiss, too,’ she said, as if expiating for her forgetfulness earlier. ‘He’s been very kind to you both, having you all afternoon and that.’
Daisy raised her face. She was such a beautiful picture that I lost my courage and merely grazed her cheek with my lips. ‘Goodbye, Daisy,’ I said, my heart hammering away under my shirt and my tongue feeling enormous in my mouth. ‘I will see you again very soon.’
‘Yes, Mr Jameson.’ And suddenly they were all gone. And, not for the first time in my life, my rooms seemed empty and lonely.
6
MARGARET CONSTANTINE
‘Margaret! What on earth are you doing up there?’
It’s my husband’s voice. I hear his footsteps on the uncarpeted stairs as he gallops up two or three at a time. I close the book quickly and hide it under my skirt. He appears in the doorway, a little breathless. ‘I couldn’t find you anywhere.’
I smile. ‘You can’t have searched very hard, Robert. I haven't moved for at least an hour.’
‘Yes, I see.’ He comes into the room, looking past me to the open toy-chest, with its contents spilling around in disarray. ‘But what have you been doing, exactly?’
‘Looking at things. Remembering.’
‘Well, have you decided what to take?’ He surveys the scattered objects with his hands on his hips. ‘Not all these things, surely? I thought you were going to decide on just a few.’
‘I can’t decide. Maybe I won’t take anything. Leave it all to the Arbuthnots.’
‘Surely not. Look at this ball – and these books . . .’ He picks up a pile of them. ‘Holiday House, Robinson Crusoe, The Wide, Wide World, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, The Water Babies, Oliver Twist, Hans Andersen’s Fairy Tales . . . My, you were quite a reader, weren’t you? And good heavens, what’s this parasol doing here?’ He lifts up a limp and yellowed object that had been jammed into the lid of the box. It looks so different, I can hardly believe it was the one Mr Jameson gave me.
‘It was a birthday present,’ I tell him. ‘When I was eleven.’
‘Well, it hasn’t benefited from lying in a toy-box for eight years.’ He tentatively starts to unfurl it.
‘Don’t open it in the house!’ I cry, stopping him with my hand. ‘It’s bad luck.’
‘Bad luck? You don’t believe that, do you?’ He’s smiling, trying his best not to be critical.
‘Of course not, Robert.’ I smile back. ‘It’s simply that the last time I opened it, my brother nearly drowned in the Cherwell. So it makes me apprehensive.’
‘Well,’ he says in his best jovial manner, as he lowers the parasol. ‘I’ll indulge you, in that case.’ He bends and attempts to kiss me.
I turn away deftly so that his lips just skim my cheek. And he in his turn, not wishing to look foolish, pretends he has bent low simply to inspect the toys. ‘Look,’ he says. ‘Why don’t we put everything back and get Matthews and young Frank to put the whole thing into the carriage? You can sort it out at home then. We don’t have much more time. Shall I help you?’
‘No,’ I say, rather too quickly. ‘Just call them, if you would. I’ll put everything back myself.’
He hesitates, but I smile sweetly up at him, and he turns and thuds back down the stairs shouting for Matthews. I quickly slide the journal under the threadbare carpet. Then I start to put back the contents of the toy-box. I pile them all in haphazardly, not in the careful way they were stacked before, and the lid won’t close properly. I pick up the parasol, wondering what to do with it. I’m still holding it when Robert comes back.
‘All done? You’re not keeping that parasol, are you? It’s rather past its best.’
‘Yes. I mean, no, you’re right, I’m not keeping it. It’s no use to anyone now.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ He takes it from me, looks round to see what he can do with it, then, at a loss, stands it in the corner. ‘The maid can clear it away.’
‘Yes.’
Then Matthews and Frank come up, and Matthews nods to me. ‘Miss Daisy,’ he says, forgetting I am married now. They pick up the toy-chest, and carry it off between them, bumping it against the walls as they round the narrow bend in the back stairs.
‘Are you ready, then?’ Robert is making every effort to be cheerful.
‘You go down first. I want to say goodbye to this room.’
He smiles, indulgent. ‘Five minutes, Margaret. Th
en we have to go.’
‘Yes, Robert, I know.’
He leaves the room and I hear his footsteps echoing through the empty house. I stoop quickly and remove the journal from under the carpet. I know I’ll have to secrete it on my person; there’s no other way. With some difficulty I thrust it up next to my corset. It looks lumpy and square and it makes my bodice so tight it seems to constrict my heart. But I have no option if I am to keep it safe. I pull my shawl around me, hoping Robert will not try to embrace me in the carriage.
I stand in the middle of the room and look round me. All that remains are two broken wooden chairs, the worn carpet and the dusty muslin curtains at the window. All my life was spent in this house, and much of it in this very room. And now the house will belong to new people, and I’ll never have the right to come here again. I walk to the door and turn round for one last look. I see Nettie in her cap and apron with Benjy on her lap. I see the two narrow, neatly made beds; the iron cot; the big oak wardrobe; the washstand; the meal table always with its white cloth; the hob with the kettle always on the boil. ‘Goodbye,’ I whisper.
‘Margaret!’ Robert’s voice, from downstairs, a little sharper now.
‘Yes, I’m coming.’ As I turn to go, I hold out my hand and touch the ragged, yellowish parasol as it leans into the corner. I can’t decide whether it makes me feel happy or sad. But I pat it gently before closing the door.
On the carriage ride, Robert talks about ordinary things: the weather, the state of the roads, the cost of keeping a horse in livery. He is wary of me, I know. He is afraid of putting the wrong foot forward. He is a dutiful husband and wants to be kind. But he also believes a man should be strong and not let weakness in his wife flourish and become a burden, or perhaps a sin. So I know it is only a matter of time.
We pass the University Parks. Little children are playing hide-and-seek. They look as if they have no cares in the world. I hold the journal tight against my stomach. When we arrive home, I let him take my free hand to help me down. ‘I’d like to rest before supper, Robert, if I may.’
After Such Kindness Page 9
