Mothering Sunday

by Noel Streatfeild

  “I do, indeed. If I had my way I’d sweep the whole lot out of public life. You know, Simon, things were a lot better before we gave them the vote. People can laugh about the Victorians, but there was a lot to be said for those days. When a woman married she knew she had taken on certain responsibilities for good. The man was master and I suspect she enjoyed it. I doubt if the present-day woman is half as happy as her grandmother.”

  “Come off it! There were always women in public life, but it’s my bet all of them, even the greatest, would have done better if they had whole-hogged it a bit less. I had Jane in mind when I brought the subject up.”

  “Ah! Jane. She was born running things. At one time she wanted me to go into the diplomatic. She saw herself running an embassy. Might have suited her, too; she began running all of us and the house when she was a child.” He looked again at his watch. “Now it is half-past.”

  Simon was certain it was foolish to ask for help and the wrong time to do it, nevertheless he felt he ought not to neglect Margaret’s advice.

  “If you should find yourself talking to Jane to-day, would you sound her?”

  “What about?”

  “I don’t think she’s getting much out of things—never has since Alistair was killed. She’s busy enough, runs half the committees in London. What I don’t know is if she’s letting her home and the children slide a bit because she would rather have a public life or whether the public life is an anodyne.”

  Henry saw himself crying himself sick in the garage. He heard Jane’s triumphant, almost gloating voice. “She doesn’t care for any one—but she’s glad of me; everybody’s glad of me.” That memory was only his and possibly Jane’s. Simon could not know how impossible it would be for Jane to sink her pride and admit, to him of all people, that her life had gone wrong.

  “Not much of a family for confidences.”

  “I know that but you could do it from a public life angle. Sound her on something big she could do; she’s very able, you know. You might suggest she stands for Parliament . . .”

  “God forbid! Enough damned opinionated women in The House as it is. Jane! Don’t even know what her politics are. Might be Labour; Margaret is, you know. Jane standing for Parliament! Last straw. Come in to breakfast. Any more talk of that sort and you will put me off eating any.”

  Breakfast was a strained meal; there was none of the charm of last night’s dinner. It was nobody’s fault, merely a combination of unlucky remarks. Most of the family came down in good spirits. Carol had hummed while she was dressing, because, in so few hours, she would be with her children. George had listened at Felicity’s door, quite expecting she would decide she was tired and would spend the day in bed. He heard the chambermaid bring the tea and Felicity ask what the weather was like, and request that a bath be prepared. He did a few dancing steps across his room. “Jove! She’s a starter! Pretty good, that.” Margaret no sooner opened her eyes than she was hanging out of her window. How stupid to have slept so late and miss any of this lovely morning. The almond tree, dimly pink through the mist, was so perfect it brought a lump to her throat. How lovely that, as you grew older, instead of there being less to enjoy there was more. You were so busy when you were young feeling intensely all sorts of things you had no time just for staring. There would be time in the future for all the staring she wanted. When she returned from her bath she saw first Simon and then Henry pass under her window on the way to the garden. Sensible creatures; why, oh why, hadn’t she got up early? Just look at the daffodils! Oh, this was going to be a nice day; she was going to enjoy herself but she must not enjoy herself so much that she forgot the things she had promised to do. She must get that cot out of Mother for poor little Lily. She must have a talk with George about Virginia. She must have a very careful look at Mother. At intervals she tore herself from the window to answer Virginia’s shouts from the next room. “Do you know, Aunt Margaret, Slipper’s never had a day in the country. Won’t he enjoy it?” “Aunt Margaret, do you think I ought to keep him on a lead? He can be a very digging sort of dog.” “Aunt Margaret, can Slipper and I go in your car to Grannie’s? I’d like to be with you when I first see her.” Presently there was a knock on the door. “Are you dressed, Aunt Margaret? Can I come in?” “Oh, Aunt Margaret, what have you been doing? Your plaits have got blown about so little hairs are sticking out and there’s a smut on your nose. I know, you’ve been looking out of the window. Oh, look, you’ve put on yesterday’s blouse. I’m quite certain Miss Dixon meant you to wear the clean one to-day. You must change, I’ll help you.”

  Jane was first at the breakfast table. She greeted each arrival with a brisk, hurry-up-we-must-not-be-late tone which had the immediate effect of making them slow down their actions, eating and drinking at half their normal speeds. Henry found Jane’s tone one that he could not stomach in silence. He had come to the table ruffled, not only at the thought of her standing for parliament, but because he knew, if he looked at the matter fairly, the ruffling was not so much caused by his detestation of women in public life as by the thought that if Jane were elected, she would make far more mark than nowadays he himself was making. His face wore its most acute it-is-hard-for-a-man-in-my-position expression.

  “My dear Jane, why the hurry? Poor Mother will have had more than enough of us before the day is over without our arriving before she has finished her breakfast.”

  Jane did not care in the least what expression Henry was wearing.

  “Don’t be tiresome, Henry. You’ll be the last to finish with all that orange juice, iced water nonsense.”

  Even on a morning when she was seeing her children that was too much for Carol. Henry might be tiresome and pompous, but he was a husband. Husbands were not spoken rudely to by their sisters in front of wives. Besides, the remark about orange juice and iced water was clearly a dig at her. She took a long, reviving Finkelstein breath, pressing hard on her navel, but the beautiful thoughts did not flow in quickly enough, and before they arrived she had said:

  “If you British would take more fruit juice and less starch you would have better figures.”

  Margaret was only attending to the conversation with half an ear for her eyes were on the window from which she could see the castle rising out of a sea of daffodils. Simon, who was next to her, gave a nudge.

  “Carol’s upset. Agree with her about the orange juice.”

  Margaret smiled round the table.

  “Fruit juices are good. I read a very interesting article in The Daily Herald . . .”

  The explosion was a little delayed because Henry choked over his coffee. Simon shook his head at Margaret.

  “That was not a well-chosen statement, duckie.”

  Henry recovered from his choke.

  “And you think you are intelligent, Margaret, but let me tell you it is the so-called intelligensia who are leading this country to ruin. Daily Herald!”

  Carol, at last firmly entrenched behind beautiful thoughts, saw Felicity, sipping coffee and nibbling toast, watch her family with delight while she thought out something to say to fan the flames. She opened her eyes and interrupted Henry.

  “Surely you read every sort of paper, Henry. If you don’t how do you know what you’re up against, or perhaps you don’t know?”

  Jane rapped the table.

  “Shut up, all of you. You’re squabbling as though we were back in the schoolroom.”

  Felicity smiled.

  “Did you ever go into the schoolroom, Jane? I thought you couldn’t even read until you went to school.”

  Jane was used to handling tiresome committees without allowing the tiresomeness visibly to affect her.

  “Now, about cars. Who’s going with who? I suggest . . .”

  Virginia swallowed a mouthful of bread and jam.

  “Slipper and I are going with Aunt Margaret.”

  Jane wished Felicity and George wer
e out of the room so that she could tell Virginia she was lucky not to have to walk seeing the way she had forced herself in where she was not wanted. As Felicity and George were there she went on as if the girl had not spoken.

  “We may as well split up. Simon, you will drive Felicity. Henry, you can take me. George, you can drive Carol.”

  George caught a desperate look from Virginia.

  “Hold your horses, Jane old girl. Going to the station for the children. You and Henry take Carol. I’ll stop here till time to push off to the station.”

  In the ordinary way Jane would have accepted that. George was no asset to the day, but the family considered as a meeting, was getting out of hand.

  “Nonsense! The children won’t arrive until the morning’s half gone. You will drive Carol over, and go to the station later on. Now listen, everybody, this is the plan. We’ll travel in convoy . . .”

  As the family left the dining-room, Virginia caught George’s hand and held him back.

  “Daddie, what are we to do? Aunt Jane’s arranged everything, even to the order the cars go in. You go first and she goes last. Aunt Margaret’s car is in front of Aunt Jane’s. How can we telephone Grannie?”

  George lit a cigarette while he slowly turned over the problem.

  “I’ll wait until everybody’s outside then I’ll beetle back. Forgot my cigarettes or something.”

  Virginia clung to his arm.

  “You did absolutely promise. I could have sneaked over. I’m sure Aunt Margaret would have helped if I’d asked her.”

  “Got in bad enough with your Aunt Jane as it is, you barging in on the family do.” He gave her a push. “Scuttle off. Better carry Slipper when you get outside, don’t want him getting under one of the cars.”

  They assembled by the cars, Jane darting round like an exceptionally jerkily moving sheep dog. “There you are, George. Don’t forget we park outside Mother’s gate. It will spoil the surprise if the cars arrive one by one. We’ll all walk in together carrying our parcels.” “Simon, are you ready? You’ve got our present for Mother, haven’t you?” “Come on, Felicity. Simon’s waiting for you.” “Margaret, don’t dream. See she keeps up with the other cars, Virginia.” “Don’t drive too fast, George, or Margaret’s car will get left behind.” “Simon, be careful of that basket of fruit, or you’ll upset it. I never saw so much fruit in my life.” “Now, where has George gone? How tiresome of him, just as we’re going to start.”

  George hurried into the hall. It was empty. He picked up the receiver. He gave the number, his eye glued to the door. He cupped the receiver in his hand and spoke just above a whisper. “George speaking. This is just to warn you. All the family, whole shooting match coming to see you. Be with you in about twenty minutes.”

  Anna had been up since six. She had examined and reexamined anything which had remotely to do with Tony. It was difficult for him, burying the refuse while it was dark, not to leave a tell-tale trail where his feet had been. She had knelt by the trench where the refuse was buried. Smoothing the ground, picking off crushed bluebell leaves. She had aired her drawing-room, opening wide her french windows and shaking her curtains; smoke had such a clinging smell. On her knees she had travelled the room several times; her eyes nowadays were not as sharp as they might be, it was possible to have overlooked a little ash or a cigarette end. She had returned several times to the garage to be absolutely sure the door was locked, and moved its key from its hiding-place in her jewel box to the back of a drawer where she kept extra blankets. Surely whichever of the children might turn up, they could not be interested in spare blankets. Studying every step as she went she had climbed slowly up the stairs to the old night nursery. Had Tony dropped any of his food supply when he went to bed? She had swept and brushed every square inch of carpet or woodwork over which he had passed, but this day no extra precaution was foolish. She had cleaned the spade he used to bury the refuse as she did every morning, but to-day she had cleaned and oiled it until it looked almost like new; if it was Jane who was coming to visit her that was well-spent labour; her sharp eyes would spot even a small fragment of damp earth, and she would want to know who had been digging and where.

  Anna believed she had removed every sign of Tony but she was still uneasy. The sort of restless uneasiness she had heard Doe say she suffered before a thunder storm. “Thunder storm not far away. If it was dark you’d see sparks coming out of me same as out of a cat, shouldn’t wonder.” It shamed Anna she should be so nervous. She had believed she had herself under better control. What would Miss Macintosh say if she could see her pupil now, worrying about a quite possibly imagined circumstance? That made Anna smile to herself. That wise Scotch voice would have appointed a task to keep her busy, in mind as well as body. To employ herself, Anna went into her garden; she would nip off dead crocus heads. It was a pity she was so anxious to-day. Ever since Tony had taken refuge with her she had cherished Sundays. No Doe. No tiring search for food. It was the one day when she could relax her vigilance, for she had not to leave the house and garden. She was usually tired by Sunday and glad to potter either in the garden or about the house. She supposed that she missed going to church, but actually the distant church bells to remind her of the day was what she needed. They reminded her that she had a long, uninterrupted restful Sunday in front of her to gather help for the exhausting coming week. Tony did not understand, but while Doe was in the house the strain was appalling. It seemed inconceivable that day after day the woman was about the house and saw and heard nothing to make her suspicious. Oh, blessed Sundays, when she need not watch and listen. It would be a pity if this Sunday, of all Sundays when she might require additional strength, she should be unable to find peace of mind. It was not having slept much that was part of the trouble. That terrible truth that Tony had unwittingly spoken: “What did I ever do to give you faith in me?” had kept her awake. In the early hours she had looked back over the years and worried about the rest of the family. Had she ever had faith in any of them? Margaret, perhaps, but not in the others. Had “Sir” Henry wanted to be adopted by old Cousin Tom and have a political career? How satisfied she had been when Jane got engaged to Simon. It was such a suitable marriage and Simon was such a dear. But it had not turned out really well; there were moments when Jane seemed a disappointed woman. If she had shown faith when she was a child in that strong personality and driving power being turned to some great use, instead of hoping that what old Nannie had called “Mr. Right” would turn up, would Jane have been happier? She accepted in the night that she had failed Felicity. She had felt when she became engaged to George that she did not love him, but she was certain Felicity was in a muddle and had been thankful to get her to the altar. George was rich and steady, and how grateful she had been for him. But should she have been? Might not Felicity have found a solution from her muddle, and happiness, if she knew her mother had faith that she would find a solution, instead of having a mother who was openly relieved at news of her engagement to a man she did not love? A parent could not alter a child’s life, but unshakable faith in the child’s ability to find the right road, perhaps after several false starts, might make all the difference in the road chosen; no scrambling up the first road that met the eye.

  The bark of a silver birch glinted through the rising mist. Anna looked at the branches, a dim trellis-work against the faint early morning blue of the sky. As she looked her nervousness fell from her and her mind was at peace. She had blundered in the past, no doubt of that, but she was doing right now. If she had failed the other children she had not failed Tony; she might even save him; there was still time for him to lead a useful life. If Jane or Margaret visited her she now had the strength to pass through the day tranquilly. She raised her eyes and her lips moved. “God be in my head—and in my understanding—God be in my heart . . .” The ring of the telephone bell interrupted her prayer. The telephone. Was it possible that the children had all forgotten what day it was
and someone was ringing to apologise?

  For quite a while after she had received George’s whispered warning Anna stood gazing unseeingly at the receiver which she still held. How blind she had been! George! Why had she never guessed? George!

  A clock striking brought her back to the present. She put the receiver back on its stand and hurried up the stairs and along the passage to the old nursery. She gave the code rap arranged on the door. There was a pause and a faint creak, then Tony unlocked the door. Anna felt distaste. Tony had been in bed when she knocked. Anna appreciated he had nothing to get up for, he had to stay in the room until after dusk, but there was something very sordid about his tousled hair, unshaved face and crumpled, unmade bed. The room itself was squalid; the windows were closed and what little light filtered in, came through the faded old curtains. There was the stale, unpleasant smell of a room used for all purposes. She told Tony George’s message; he was unconcerned.

  “What’s there to flap about? They won’t come up here. Why should they?”

  “One of them might. I can’t have eyes everywhere.”

  “So what? I’ll hear them coming. The door’s locked.”

  “What shall I say if they ask why it’s locked, and where the key is?”

  Tony put his arms round her. His voice was very tender.

  “Such an old fusspot! Nosey Doe has never come up so why should they? You go and put your best frock on, and meet them like a queen.” His eyes were laughing. “You’re not logical, you know. You ought to be glad if I’m discovered and sent back to Wakefield. That’s what you want.”

  Anna was comforted by his tenderness.

  “You’re only saying that to tease me. You know that’s not what I want. I only want you to finish your sentence of your own will—when you are ready.”

  “Persistent old muggins.” He gave her a gentle push. “Hop it or they’ll catch you up here.”

  Anna looking her composed self, was in the garden when her family arrived.