Julia saw that she was defeated.
“Why isn’t he well? What’s the matter with him?”
“I’m afraid he’s been sick. He’ll be all right in a minute or two, I expect.”
Julia didn’t think he’d be all right at all. Terry would mind frightfully, having been sick like that in somebody else’s house, and all the fuss, and that beastly little David telling him to unlock the door.
Good gracious, what a wretched afternoon they were having.
“I should think we’d better go home,” said Julia. “What time are we to be fetched? Soon, I “That’s not a very polite thing to say, is it?” Ollie asked quite gently, and Julia muttered that p’raps it wasn’t, and she was very sorry.
And her question remained unanswered.
“Now,” said Ollie, “suppose we all go and sit down on the terrace, and play some quiet game. I dare say David will bring Terry back with him, and if not I’ll go and see about him and make him lie down until the car comes to take you home.”
She meant to be kind. Julia quite saw that. It was just that she didn’t understand.
Julia stood stock-still in the middle of the path and drew a very long breath. She tried to sound as polite and as calm as she possibly could, although it was rather difficult when she felt neither calm nor polite.
“Please, thank you very much, if you wouldn’t mind, I think it would be better if I tried to make Terry come out. Sometimes he stays locked in there for ages, and I think perhaps he wouldn’t much like coming out in front of David. He might think David would laugh at him or something. He’s more likely to come out, if it’s me.”
Julia perceived that Ollie was in doubt.
“God!” called Julia in her own mind. “Please, please, God, make her let me go!”
God was in a kind mood.
“Very well,” said Ollie. “Run along, and if he’s still feeling bad he can go and lie down upstairs. David will show you.”
Julia flew.
At the hall-door she met David, looking rather scared.
“He’s locked himself in, and he won’t answer.”
“Where is it?”
“Here,” said David, and he took her through some enormous red curtains, through a door and into a little room where there was a green marble basin in the wall, and some clean towels on a rail, and a looking-glass. There was also another door covered with red baize.
Julia stood outside it and said “Terry!”
There wasn’t a sound in answer.
“Terry, it’s me.”
“Please go away and leave me alone,” said Terry’s voice.
She knew at once from the sound of it that he had been crying.
No wonder he wouldn’t come out.
Julia made angry signs to David that he was to go away, and David went as far as the door.
Feeling very much at a loss, Julia hesitated, and then said again:
“Terry, it’s me. They want you to come out, and you can go and lie down if you don’t feel well.”
“I’m quite all right,” said Terry’s muffled voice, and he added: “Thank you.”
Julia knew he wanted her to go but she knew, too, that the longer he stayed in there the more difficult it would be for him to come out — especially if the grown-ups joined in. So she tried again.
“I think we shall be fetched almost at once, Terry, and there’ll be rather a fuss if you’re not ready. Lady Sybil has come home. She asked where you were.”
She heard something that sounded dreadfully like sobs, and then Terry’s voice, stifled, muttering: “Damn, damn, damn.”
Then the bolt shot back.
Julia sprang at David and pushed him out, and herself followed him into the hall.
When Terry joined them she wouldn’t look at him. If David said one word to Terry, she had decided to pinch him as viciously as she could — and was almost disappointed when he didn’t. The pinch would have been a relief to her.
In silence they crossed the hall.
Then Julia stopped.
“Where are we to go?” she asked David in a cross voice. “Have we got to go back to the others?”
“I should think so,” said David, very uncertainly.
Julia had to look at Terry then, to see if he could possibly face the others, and directly he caught her eye he gave a dreadful, loud, hiccoughing sob, so that she felt more frantic than ever. What was to be done?
It was a relief when a grown-up person appeared, even though it was Mr. Drummond to whom Julia had never spoken in her life, except just to say How-do-you-do and Goodbye. He was very tall and thin, and wore spectacles.
When he saw them all standing there he said “Hallo!” and then “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know, father,” said David.
Julia gave him a contemptuous glance and looked straight up at Mr. Drummond.
“Terry’s been sick,” she said. “It’s quite all right — there isn’t any mess or anything — but I should think he’d better lie down or something, till it’s time for us to go home.”
The tall Mr. Drummond looked at Terry, and then back at Julia, then at Terry again.
“You don’t look up to much, old chap, I must say. Something disagreed with you?” he asked — and Julia realized instantly that he was going to be much nicer and more understanding than Lady Sybil had been.
Terry just shook his head. He looked most fearfully miserable, and as white as a sheet.
“Come along. I think we can put you right,” said Mr. Drummond quite cheerfully, and he laid one hand on Terry’s shoulder.
“I’ll look after him,” he added to Julia, nodding at her over his shoulder as he walked Terry off towards some door that looked as if it might lead to a library or a smoking-room.
Thank goodness, he seemed to be a kind man and to have some sense. Not a pig like Lady Sybil, or a fuss-pot like Ollie.
Julia felt enormously relieved. She turned to David quite amiably.
“I’ll come back to the others now, if you like. That’s to say, unless the car has come for us.”
In her heart she felt what a good thing it would be if only the car had come for them.
But it hadn’t.
“We shall be told, when it does,” David said. He spoke in a very quiet little voice as if he were feeling frightened.
Julia glanced at him curiously.
“What was the matter with Terry?” whispered David.
“He was sick. He quite often is.”
“I know. But he’d been crying too, hadn’t he?”
Julia nodded, unable to deny it.
“Was it — was it anything to do with us?” David asked.
“I shouldn’t think so,” Julia answered curtly.
She resented the enquiry. It seemed to her rather cheek, that David should think that he and Fergus and Katherine were important enough to be able to make Terry cry, whatever they might say or do.
“If he tells father that it was our fault, we shall be punished.”
“Are they very strict with you?” Julia enquired, with more interest than compassion.
“They never spoil us. They don’t believe in spoiling children. Mother always says ‘Treat ’em like puppies and they thrive.’ When Fergus and I are naughty we get thrashed. Katherine doesn’t, because she’s a girl.”
“They must be very old-fashioned,” Julia said. “Nobody whips children nowadays — absolutely nobody.”
She felt a little bit sorry for David — not because he got thrashed when he was naughty, but because it must be so beastly to have such fearfully unmodern parents. She had often heard Peggy Foster and other grown-ups discussing the modern parent and the modern child, and saying how much better things were nowadays than they’d been in the old days. From all that she had heard or read about the old days, Julia quite agreed. And here were the Drummonds apparently behaving just like Mr.
Barlow in Sandford and Merton, or old Mr. Bronte or some old person of that kind! No wonder
Katherine and Fergus and David were always so dull and never seemed to care about any real fun.
Still, Mr. Drummond seemed kind. Julia felt nearly certain that Terry would be all right with him.
She and David went back to the others and found them playing “I spy with my little eye.” Lady Sybil had disappeared, and Ollie didn’t stop the game. She only looked at Julia, who nodded.
The game was fearfully dull and they went on with it much too long. Julia kept on wishing that she had a watch and could tell what time it was. The afternoon seemed to have been going on for hours.
At last a footman came out of the house and stood looking round him. Would he ever see them?
He did — and he was coming up to them. It was all right.
“The car has come for the young lady and gentleman, if you please miss,” he said to Ollie; and Julia sprang to her feet at the first word.
“Thank you, William,” said Ollie very calmly.
She stood up too, though not as quickly as Julia, and smoothed her striped grey frock down over her sides.
“Now then, we must go and collect Terry. I hope he’s feeling quite well again by this time.”
“Father took him away into the library,” said David, in an awestruck sort of voice.
“Well dear, there’s a very nice couch there. I dare say he’s been lying down on it,” Ollie answered.
If she spoke to me in that soothing kind of voice, I’d bite her or something, thought Julia.
But she said goodbye to Ollie very politely — and then found that Ollie, as well as Katherine and the twins, was going with her to the house.
On the way they talked about the sea, and it turned out that the Drummonds were going to a place in Scotland for a month and Julia felt rather jealous.
At the hall-door stood the familiar old Daimler car with Price at the wheel, and when he saw Julia he smiled.
Mr. Drummond was also at the door with Lady Sybil — but not Terry.
“Where’s Terry?” said Julia directly — and she was careful to say it to Mr. Drummond.
“Why, he’s having a very nice little sleep on my sofa, and I think we won’t wake him up just yet, as he’s not been very well. You tell your grandfather I’ll run him up to the Plás myself later on and have a word with him at the same time.”
“Are you sure you don’t mean grandmama?” said Julia, astonished.
Mr. Drummond laughed, although she couldn’t see that she’d said anything at all funny. Lady Sybil laughed too — rather like a horse neighing only not nearly so nice — and thumped Julia smartly between the shoulders.
“Say goodbye to your friends, and pop along. The car’s waiting.”
Friends, indeed! thought Julia.
She wouldn’t smile as she shook hands with them, though she had to say “Goodbye, thank you very much for having me, I’ve enjoyed myself so much” to Lady Sybil.
Mr. Drummond came last in the handshakes, and Julia, though still not smiling, said goodbye to him in a nicer voice than she’d used to the others. She wanted to ask him to give her love to Terry, but thought it would sound rather soppy. She heard him explaining to Price that master Terry was staying on for a little while, and would be sent home later.
Price had got down and was holding the door open for Julia, but she asked if she might sit next the driving-seat. Of course he said Yes.
At first it seemed so heavenly to be going away from the Drummonds that Julia couldn’t think of anything else. Price was very sympathetic when she told him what a beastly day it had been, and said he didn’t think a great deal of the Drummonds and never had. He was all right, poor old chap, but she wore the trousers, and led ’em all a pretty dance.
“Why do they let her?” asked Julia.
“She’s got the money, miss,” said Price. “It’s that what counts. What’s up with master Terry, miss?”
Julia told him that poor Terry had been fearfully upset, and that afterwards he’d gone to sleep and Mr. Drummond wouldn’t let him be waked up.
“Ah,” said Price. “He’s what I calls high-strung, is master Terry. I had a sister was just the same.”
Julia thought how very nice and understanding Price was. No tiresome questions, no exclamations of surprise, no long speeches.
That made her remember that grandmama wouldn’t be nearly as easy to explain things to as Price. She wanted one to be friends with the Drummonds, and to behave very nicely at their house — and Julia couldn’t feel that either she or Terry had behaved nicely at all. Terry couldn’t help having been ill, of course — but he’d cried as well, and locked himself into the lavatory for simply ages. Grandmama would want to know what had started it all.
A thought that Julia had been trying hard not to think now forced itself upon her notice. Had Terry seen the rabbits in the field being driven about, and shouted at and hit on the head, and had that upset him?
Julia didn’t at all want to believe this was true.
For one thing, everybody expected a boy to enjoy killing rabbits, and would despise him for minding. For another, it made her feel that she herself had been cruel and horrible not to mind — at least, not to mind much. And last of all, it meant that Terry would never want to hunt, or shoot, or do any of those kind of things, and there’d be endless upsets if they tried to make him like them.
If only they still lived in London it wouldn’t matter. But Julia felt that she really didn’t know where they did live nowadays. It seemed to be the Plás as much as anywhere.
She heaved a terrific sigh.
“I wish you’d brought Chang,” she said to Price. “Why didn’t you?”
“He was out when I started, with her Ladyship and Mrs. Prettyman,” said Price.
Gosh! She’d forgotten all about mummie! Of course, mummie was at the Plás — and she’d certainly be able to comfort Terry and not let grand-mama be cross with him. How funny, to have forgotten about mummie. It must be, Julia supposed, because it was such ages since they’d lived with her properly.
Well, it was quite a relief to feel that mummie would be there when Terry got back.
All the rest of the way Price and Julia talked about dogs, and Price told her some very good stories about various dogs he’d known.
The drive came to an end at last, as Julia had known all the time that it must. There was nothing for it but to say Thank you very much Price, and get out at the turning that led to the stables — which was what grandpapa and grandmama always called the garage — and walk up to the house. It was only a quarter-past seven when she got in. She had hoped, and had felt almost sure, that it must be much later than that, so that mummie would be in her room dressing for dinner. But the grandfather clock in the hall only said quarter-past seven, and she could hear voices in the drawing-room.
Julia stopped in the hall to fall affectionately upon Chang, who was lying at the foot of the stairs.
He seemed fearfully pleased to see her, and she couldn’t help playing with him — poor darling Chang, who’d been left all alone without her or Terry the whole afternoon. Besides, it put off the time when she’d have to begin explaining to everybody what had happened.
All of a sudden the most extraordinary thing happened.
Chang stood up, very straight and stiff, and began to bark, and at the same moment the frontdoor bell rang.
Julia thought that it must be Terry come home from the Drummonds, and dashed to open the door before Tucker should arrive.
And there, looking just exactly the same as she’d looked the last time — ages and ages ago — that Julia had seen her, was Peggy Foster with her little tiny car!
XI
THE arrival of Peggy, at first, seemed a most splendid thing. Julia was not only very pleased to see her but felt sure that in the excitement nobody would think of asking a lot of questions about what it had been like at the Drummonds’. They might not even notice that Terry hadn’t yet come home.
Mummie, however, did notice.
Almost as soon as she
’d kissed Peggy and screamed at her a bit, she said to Julia:
“Where’s Terry?”
“He’s coming,” said Julia, hoping that this would be enough — but mummie went on looking at her so she had to add — making it sound as casual as she could: “Oh! Mr. Drummond’s coming up to see grandpapa or something, and he said he’d bring Terry with him. As a matter of fac’, Terry was slightly sick after tea.”
“Julia! why didn’t you say so sooner? What happened?”
Just what Julia had been afraid of! The only comfort was that grandmama wasn’t in the room.
She told the story of the afternoon, making the most of the horribleness of the Drummonds as soon as she saw that mummie wasn’t going to mind her saying nasty things about them, but not dwelling very much on what had happened in the cornfield.
When she’d finished, mummie and Peggy looked at one another, and mummie said “O my God!” — exactly like uncle Tom.
“Why on earth does mother have to send my children amongst people of that sort? It’s simply pure snobbishness,” she said in an angry voice. “She’s exactly like everybody else of her generation — every single old-fashioned prejudice you can imagine. Look at her attitude about us!”
“I know,” Peggy said. “They can’t help it, can they? I mean, all her lot are exactly the same.”
“Yes, but think of me, having to let her take charge of them, more or less — and under absolutely impossible conditions too. You know, she simply won’t recognize the existence of my marriage — or of Mark’s either for that matter. It’s too absurd for anything. She ignores them both, utterly. If it wasn’t so maddening, it’d really be dam’ funny.”
“I think she’s marvellous,” said Peggy, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke out of her nose in the most fascinating way. “But you know, I can understand her point of view, in a way. My father was a parson.”
“Naturally, parsons take that sort of attitude. It’s their job. Besides, nobody cares what they think any more. Religion just simply doesn’t enter into real life nowadays.”
“I suppose not,” Peggy said. “Anyway not church religion.”
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