Joe Cresswell smiled. “I don’t really want to get through on my father’s name.”
“You can’t help it,” retorted Peterkin. “It’s even the same Christian name. Just Joe … instead of Joseph. You could hardly be nearer than that.”
“Yes, I suppose so. And if you went in you’d have your father’s name.”
“I should live in the shadow of it. That’s one of the reasons against politics. I wouldn’t mind going into his business but he doesn’t want that. He says I’m not cut out to be a businessman.”
“What then?”
“I don’t know. But I do rather fancy politics.”
There was a silence for a while. Then Joe Cresswell turned to me. “I shall look forward to your season,” he said. “Next year is a long time to wait. I hope you are not going back to Cornwall just yet.”
“I daresay I shall be here a few weeks longer.”
He gave me a very pleasant smile.
“Then I hope I shall see you again … soon.”
Helena and John Milward came back and we decided it was time we returned.
That had been a delightful morning. Helena was in the realms of bliss and I had to admit that I had enjoyed my encounter with Joe Cresswell, son of that other candidate for high office.
That evening was one of the rare occasions when Uncle Peter dined with us, and during the course of the meal the meeting in the Park was mentioned.
Uncle Peter beamed on us.
“Didn’t you think Joe a very pleasant young man, Annora?” he asked.
“Yes, Uncle. I did. I thought he was very interesting.”
He turned to Aunt Amaryllis. “We should ask the Cresswells to dine,” he said.
“Before … the decision?”
“I think very soon, my dear. I don’t want people to think there is any ill-feeling between us … just because he has the better chance. We’re the best of friends really. That’s how it is in politics. You’re the bitterest enemies across the floor of the House, but outside all that enmity evaporates. Yes, let us have them to dine soon … Cresswell and his wife.” He glanced at me. “And you might ask young Joe, too.”
Within three days they came. It was a very enjoyable evening. I very much liked Mr. and Mrs. Cresswell. He was rather serious—and very precise, I imagined; she was jolly, rather scatter-brained, just the opposite of her husband—but very domesticated, kindly, motherly, not in the least clever. Yet they seemed ideally suited. I was pleased to meet Joe again and he was put next to me at dinner so that we had a good deal of conversation together, and I learned more about his hopes of following in his father’s footsteps.
“Like the Pitts,” I said.
“You’re flattering us … at least myself.”
“You never know. People have to wait for chances. Then greatness emerges. We have to wait and see.”
Uncle Peter looked on us benignly as though he was rather pleased that we were getting on so well together.
We had a little music afterwards. Helena sang and I played a few pieces on the piano with Joe turning over the music for me.
I thought how creditable it was of both Uncle Peter and Mr. Cresswell, with this important post coming up which was going to mean so much to the one who held it—to be so friendly with no sign of bitterness between them.
There was some talk about the Cresswells’ country home in Surrey. Mrs. Cresswell said it was always full of young people at the week-end. The Cresswells had a large family—three girls and three boys. Joe was one of the younger ones.
Mrs. Cresswell must have noticed how well I was getting along with Joe for she said: “You must visit us one week-end, Miss Cadorson. Do … before you go back to Cornwall.”
“It would have to be soon,” said Aunt Amaryllis. “Sir Jake is a man who makes quick decisions. He could well arrive next week and declare they must all go back to Cornwall to prepare to go to Australia.”
“Australia,” said Joe. “That’s interesting.”
“My father has some property there. He was there once … a long time ago.”
Aunt Amaryllis looked faintly uneasy and Uncle Peter amused.
“It will be tremendously exciting,” said Joe.
“Well, we must fix this visit soon,” said Mrs. Cresswell. “What about next week-end?”
I looked at Aunt Amaryllis. “Why not?” she said. “If you would like that, Annora.”
“I should very much,” I said.
“Of course,” went on Mrs. Cresswell, “Helena and Peterkin must come with you.”
So it was arranged.
I saw Joe quite frequently, even before the week-end. There was another meeting in the Park when he appeared with John Milward. Helena was delighted. She felt she was a connoisseur of romance and she scented one between Joe and me.
I did not want to go as far as that. I liked Joe. But I could not think of him without seeing Rolf. I compared them and, charming as Joe was, he did not stand up well to the comparison. I suppose it was because when I was young I had set Rolf up as an ideal. He had seemed incomparable; and in spite of everything he remained so. There was a certain power about him which, I supposed, was the essence of masculinity. My father had it; so had my grandfather to a great degree even in his old age. Joe lacked it. Joe seemed vulnerable as none of those others did. One felt about them that no matter what happened they would rise above it. The fact was Joe seemed boyish almost when I thought of him beside Rolf. There was no doubt in my mind that, but for the fears which had grown out of that terrible night, I would have been deeply in love with Rolf. Perhaps I still was. That was why I clung to my original image of him, deceiving myself, telling myself that there was some mistake. Yet I had never been able to bring myself to ask him outright; and the reason was that I feared the answer.
Was I always going to think of Rolf? Would he always come between me and anyone else of whom I might grow fond?
Joe was interested in me. At least that was what Helena thought; and, I believed, so did Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis. Aunt Amaryllis liked young people to be happy together and therefore she thought it was pleasant for them to fall in love, particularly if they were suitable in their parents’ eyes. I think Uncle Peter was pleased because he was anxious to show that in spite of the rivalry between himself and Joseph Cresswell, there was no rancour.
So we came to that week-end which turned out to be one of the most pleasant I had enjoyed for a long time.
The Cresswell home was in Surrey in the midst of the lusciously green Home Counties which are so different from Cornwall where the landscape is wild and a little fey. Here fields looked as though they might have been mowed and the trees as though they were pruned; they did not get battered by spring gales as ours did now and then. There was an atmosphere of prosperity which one even sensed in the lanes. Buttercups and daisies abounded in the fields and on the journey down we passed through several little villages with their greens, ancient churches and almshouses all so neat and orderly and very attractive. Our Cornish villages lacked the opulence and the well-planned architecture even of the small cottages.
Rolf had once said that it was the difference between Anglo Saxon discipline and Celtic laisser faire.
The Cresswell house was large and the rooms cosy. As soon as one entered it one had the impression that it was not meant as a show piece but to be lived in. In the big drawing room with its French windows opening on to a lawn, there were books everywhere; some on the floor; there was a great fireplace with a long stool in front of it. It was a room in which one immediately felt at ease for one knew there would be a complete lack of ceremony.
Mrs. Cresswell was waiting to greet us. She embraced us warmly and said how glad she was that we had come.
Did I mind sharing with Helena? She had a larger houseful than she had anticipated. Frances had come.
“Dear Frances,” she said. “She is usually so busy. It’s lovely to have her here.”
I was introduced to those members of the family who
were present. Two of the girls were married—one living in Sussex, the other in the North. Flora, the daughter from the North, was staying in the house with her two children.
“The house is bursting at the seams,” said Mrs. Cresswell, “but I admit to being not in the least displeased by that.”
Flora was a charming young woman and her two children were delightful. Joe’s brother Edgar was a doctor with a practice not far off, and he just called in for dinner with his wife. I was most interested to meet Frances Cresswell.
She was very serious and it was obvious to me, even on our first meeting, that she had a purpose in life. She was rather like Joe with a look of her father.
“This is my sister Frances,” Joe told me and there was pride in his eyes.
“I’m very glad to meet you,” I said.
“And I you,” she replied. “Joe has told me a great deal about you.”
Peterkin joined us.
“Frances is doing very good work,” he said. “Frances, you are a wonder.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you saw me sometimes,” she replied. “I can really be a shrew.”
“I expect you have a lot to put up with. Frances runs a Mission in the East End of London, Annora.”
“A Mission?” I asked.
“That’s what they call it. We try to do what we can for people who are unable to help themselves. There’s a terrible amount of poverty in London, you know. The contrasts in big cities have to be seen to be believed.”
“What sort of things do you do?”
“We try to help people in trouble. We have kitchens where we dispense soup and bread to those who haven’t enough to eat. We have beds for those who are homeless. We try to sort out their difficulties and do what we can. Alas, there is little we can do … but we try.”
“I’ve been to help,” said Joe. “It is very revealing. It can be upsetting but gratifying in a way just because one is doing something, however small.”
I was ashamed of my ignorance. London had always seemed to me especially grand and opulent even. I had seen poverty in the two Doreys. I knew of bad harvests and bad weather which prevented people’s going fishing; I knew there were accidents in the mines which robbed a family of its breadwinner. But then there were squires like my father who would alleviate suffering. But in the vast city it would be different. There, there were no squires, no benevolent landowner who looked on his tenants as his responsibility. There had to be people like Frances.
I wanted to hear more.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Joe. “If you are interested you could come down one day and see for yourself.”
“I should like that,” I said.
“I’ve been,” Peterkin told me. “It’s depressing but it is something which people ought to know about. Don’t you agree, Frances?”
“I certainly think people should know what is going on about them,” said Frances.
“I’ll come with you when you go,” said Peterkin.
Just before we were going in to dinner, John Milward arrived. It was moving to watch the joy in Helena’s face when she realized he was to stay for the week-end.
It was a very merry meal—quite different from those in the house in the square. Everyone seemed to be talking at once; they were a vociferous family, these Cresswells, and they all seemed to have different points of view on every subject and were determined to make themselves heard.
There was a great deal of argument and laughter.
Mrs. Cresswell lifted her eyes and smiled at me. “I’m afraid this is how it always is when the family gets together,” she said.
Afterwards we played guessing games and charades. Then we all trooped back to a large room which was called “the play room.”
“This is where they played when they were children,” said Mrs. Cresswell. “They still play here, if you ask me.”
There was a piano at one end of the room but no carpet on the floor, which was polished. Joe sat down and played the piano and we all danced. Mr. Cresswell was my partner for a time. Although he was considerably quieter than his sons and daughter he seemed to enjoy everything.
“I hope you don’t find us too exuberant, Miss Cadorson,” he said.
“I’m enjoying it so much. They all seem to have a capacity for getting a lot of fun out of life.”
“They are a wonderful family in spite of their old sobersides of a father. Of course, it’s my wife they take after more than they do me, which is a good thing.”
“I don’t think that is entirely true,” I told him. “They are all tremendously proud of you.”
“And I of them. I expect I sound like a doting old man to you.”
“No. I think all this is just what a home should be—and you are part of it.”
“What’s that Joe is playing now? Sir Roger? You’ll need a younger partner. Oh look. Edgar is taking over from Joe. He doesn’t play so well, but he’ll be adequate. Joe will want to be your partner.”
Mr. and Mrs. Cresswell sat out for Sir Roger de Caverley. I often remembered afterwards how they looked sitting there smiling, she tapping her foot to the music, looking on at their friends and family with perfect contentment.
When we retired to bed Helena and I lay awake for a long time talking about the evening.
“Wasn’t it fun?” said Helena.
“It was,” I agreed. “Especially for you when your devoted admirer arrived.”
“That was just like Mrs. Cresswell. She would do that. She invited him especially for me.”
“She’s a lovely woman,” I said.
“Mr. Cresswell is so different, but very nice.”
“I think he is a very good man, and he deserves his family. After all we make our own happiness, don’t we?”
“Sometimes others unmake it.”
“It’s up to us,” I said.
Was it? I thought of Helena before John Milward had come along. It was pure chance with her. If he had not appeared on the scene she would have been the same old Helena … shy, diffident, feeling herself to be unattractive so that she convinced others that she was.
I was too tired to ponder the matter and slipped gently into sleep.
On the Sunday morning we made up a party and went to church. We sat in the Cresswell pew, filling it. It was a thirteenth-century church and the memorials on the walls told me that the Cresswells had worshipped here for generations.
After the service we stood outside the church for a while and I was introduced to certain people of the village. I said I wanted to look round the graveyard. Graveyards always interested me. I liked to read the inscriptions on the tombstones and imagine what the people lying under the ground had been like when they were alive. Old people … young cut off in their youth … and babies. I liked to be alone on these occasions so that I could absorb the silence of the graveyard, the stillness of the air. It seemed to bring back the past and I could feel I was back hundreds of years.
I had wandered a little away from the others who were standing outside the church and as I strolled round to the back of the building I found myself face to face with the vicar, who had just come out of a side door. He was still wearing his surplice.
He smiled at me and said: “You are with the Cresswell party, I believe.”
“Yes,” I replied. “I was looking at the churchyard. The inscriptions on the gravestones inspire my imagination.”
He nodded.
“You are here for the week-end, I suppose.”
“Yes.”
“People come down often to stay with the family. It is a great pleasure to see them all in church. We owe a lot to the Cresswells in this village.”
“They must have been here for generations.”
“There have always been Cresswells here … for four hundred years, I reckon. They were always good to the people, but the present Mr. Cresswell surpasses them all to my mind. We’re very proud of him in the village. He’s a rising politician. They’ll tell you here that he ought to be Prime Minister.
There are many who think he would make a better job of it than Lord Melbourne.”
“I can see he has many local supporters.”
“It’ll come. He’ll get the honours he deserves. There is a chairmanship coming up.”
“Yes. I have heard of that.”
“When he gets that it will be a big stepping-stone. It is important that we get the right men governing us. We want our rulers to be clever and shrewd but at the same time with a sense of morality. Unfortunately most of them seem to be lacking in the latter.”
“I am sure you are right.”
“Here I am running on. My wife says that given half a chance I’ll start to preach a sermon. It has been pleasant talking to you. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay with us.”
“Thank you,” I said.
I heard Joe calling and I went round to the front of the church to meet him. Then we all went back to the house.
At luncheon everyone talked a great deal. We sat long over the table unable to tear ourselves away. In the afternoon we went for a walk—Joe and I with Peterkin, Helena and John Milward. I was delighted to see Helena so happy; she sparkled and was quite talkative and even a little witty. How love could change a person!
The evening was very much like the previous one except that there was no dancing, this being Sunday. Joe and I played duets and the company sang hymns and ballads, both sentimental and humorous.
When we retired that night Helena was radiant.
She said nothing until we were in our beds. Then she whispered: “Annora?”
“Yes?”
“Are you awake?”
“No,” I said. “Asleep.”
She laughed as though that was hilariously funny.
“Come on,” I said. “Tell me all about it.”
“You guessed.”
“I guessed something had happened. You look as though you have just kissed the frog who has turned into a prince.”
“He’s asked me, Annora.”
“You’re engaged.”
“That’s right.”
I leaped out of bed and jumped on to hers, hugging her.
“Oh, Helena, I’m so pleased.”
“It was while we were out walking this afternoon. He asked me to marry him … just like that.”
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