“Selina, my darling.”
Selina ran her fingers through his hair.
“Are you very disappointed it’s a girl, James?” She knew he was, but hoped he would say that having her alive was what really mattered, but James at once visualised his unbroken family tree.
“You’ll have to manage that it’s a son next time.”
Next time! And her body still racked with the pains from this time. But almost before a quiver of distaste passed through her, she had a grip of herself. That was right; of course there would be a next time, and it would be a son. Perhaps there would be ten next times, and for each time she would be thankful. Children, for what else was she born? She sat up and pulled James’s head to her and laid her cheek against his.
“Perhaps twin boys. There have been so many twins in your family.”
James having said his say and pointed out to Selina that she must have a son had slipped back into his mood of adoration, and was not thinking of his children but of their mother. He turned her mouth to his and kissed her.
“Dear heart, I love you.”
Selina had hoped that he might have liked her courage in suggesting having two babies when she had almost died having one, but she followed his mood, whispering soft things in his ear.
When he had left her, her mind drifted back to the training of her daughter, unaware that she had just given a demonstration that married happiness depended on none of the arts that can be taught.
Chapter III
CAROLINE sat in front of her nursery fire. Round her like the petals of a flower were the skirts of her starched muslin frock, behind her on the rug, lay the heavy bow of her tartan sash, two more tartan bows tied her sleeves on to her shoulders. She had a small comb in her hand, and with it was carefully attending to the toilette of the tail of Dobbin, her wooden horse. Caroline hummed as she worked. Humming with her was what purring is to a cat, and she did it a great deal, for at four she had found no flaws in her world.
The essence of babyhood as Caroline knew it, was compounded of security and immutability. This essence she had sucked into herself so that her bones and flesh were soaked in it; it ran in her blood. Since she had taken in her first impression, nothing that surrounded her had changed. New faces came and went. There were those strange gentlemen with tickling whiskers, Unggeorge, Ungrobert and Ungfred. There was a very nice lady called Grandmama Ellison, and there was also a gentleman called Grandpapa Ellison. These two were exciting visitors, as they brought presents with them. There was puzzlingly another lady called Grandmama. This one never brought presents, but once a child came with her called Dymphna, who cried because she had to have meals in the nursery and who wanted Caroline to call her Arndymphna. Caroline never did this, as at that time Dymphna was not a name she managed very successfully as it was, without adding to it. Moreover, Naomi scorned the suggestion. “Don’t you say it my pet. A child only seven years older than yourself wanting to be called Aunty indeed.” Caroline did not understand this, but did grasp that she was not to be troubled to learn the long difficult word. The most frequent visitor was Arnagnes. Caroline herself neither liked nor disliked Arnagnes, but she knew Naomi did not like her, as she sniffed in a cross way when she had to stand up when she came into the nursery. She had too heard her discussed between Naomi and Hannah, who brought their meals upstairs. “I hear ‘She’s’ making her usual trouble,” Naomi would say. At once Hannah would put down her tray and start a tremendous conversation full of “And then ‘She’ said to the mistress,” and “‘She’ told the master,” and “‘She’ asked me.” Caroline had once enquired who ‘She’ was. Naomi had laughed and said “The cat’s Mama.” Later, when she knew that ‘She’ and Arnagnes were one and the same person, this statement left a confusion in her mind. Sometimes she would cast a puzzled glance at Mr. Tomkins the nursery cat. He and Arnagnes seemed to pay very little attention to each other. Once when Arnagnes was staying she had gone to the drawing-room after tea to play with Mama and felt called upon to suggest that Mr. Tomkins should come down and play with Arnagnes. Like many other sensible suggestions made to grown-ups they paid no attention to this one, in fact seemed not to have understood it.
These Ungs and Grandmamas and Arnagnes were, however, no part of Caroline’s world. Up a flight of stairs you came to a little wooden gate. Behind that gate lay her kingdom. First her day-nursery. The walls in there were covered with bunches of chrysanthemums, the curtains were sage green and so was the tablecloth, and round the bottom of both were bobbles which sometimes came off if you pulled very hard. There was a tall yellow bookshelf full of the books Papa had used when he was a little boy, and this had been his nursery. Facing it was the cupboard in which the toys lived, the shabby ones down below where she could reach them for herself, and up above the ones which came down to the drawing-room after tea, and the books for looking at on Sundays. In the corner was the dolls’ house Mama had when she was a little girl. Wooden dolls lived in that house and sat about all day in stiff positions on yellow silk chairs, except the one dressed as a man, and he knelt all the time looking like Papa at morning prayers. Caroline did not really care for the dolls’ house, but Mama thought she did and often gave Naomi little pieces of silk to make dresses for the wooden dolls. Naomi made the new dresses and Caroline would kneel beside her and gaze at the dolls looking so fine and Naomi would say, “Proper little ladies aren’t they?” And then they would shut the front of the dolls’ house and not think about it again until Mama sent up some more silk. Caroline’s night-nursery had big yellow daisies on the walls tied with pink bows. There was a green carpet and red woolly curtains. There was Naomi’s bed with the bath under it, and her cot beside it. At the foot of her cot was the screen. Grandmama had made it for Papa, it was faded now but the pictures on it were lovely, though some were frightening.
There was a yellow chest of drawers and a big dark tallboy, and a black cold shiny washstand. There was the clothes-basket that made frightening noises all by itself, and Naomi’s tin trunk. There was a picture from the Bible of the baby Jesus in the manger, with shepherds, wise men and a cow kneeling in front of him. There was a sheep standing up at the back of the picture. Caroline thought it was nice of the wise men and shepherds and the cow to kneel, as otherwise the sheep would not have been able to see the baby. Grandpapa (who had gone to be with God) had made a text for the nursery before he went. It was written on a winding piece of paper like a snake. “Thou God seest me.” He had painted the text in gold paint and all the rest dark red. When he had finished painting the text he had pressed daisies and stuck them all over it. Caroline thought it beautiful, and when she was allowed to use her paint-box, red was the colour she used most. She could not use gold because there was not any.
Caroline’s kingdom was the place it was because of Naomi. In both the day and night nurseries there were rocking chairs made so that she could sit on Naomi’s knee and hear stories, and ride up and down on her foot.
“A gee-gee and a gentleman
Went out to ride one day,
Sing horsey-porsey, walky-porky,
trotty, oh so gay.
But the horse to running took
And the man with terror shook
And they neither looked so happy
At the ending of the day.
“Sing horsey-porsey, trotty-wotty,
runny all away,
Instead of horsey-porsey, walky-porky,
trotty, oh so gay.”
There was Naomi’s work-basket with its emery bag made as a strawberry, and a needle-case like a heart, and the shiny, purple stone to darn socks on, and rows of reels of cotton and ends of wool, all waiting for those days when it was wet, or Caroline had a cold and Naomi would hold out her arms and say “Come pet, and help Naomi put her basket to rights.” Caroline was not conscious that she loved Naomi, rather Naomi was all her world. She had a special smell, and a big lap, and was alwa
ys there, and her voice was low with a warm burr in it. Outside her was just that strange downstairs world where Mama and Papa and all the servants lived, which she visited for prayers, and to reach the garden, and to which she went every day after tea. She was fond of Mama, who kept lovely toys in a glass cupboard, and who looked so pretty and rustled when she moved, and who would play all games, even bears, which meant crawling on the floor. She liked Papa too, who did terrifying things like throwing her up to the ceiling. Nevertheless, Mama and Papa and their world were only to visit, they made the moment more exquisite when Naomi came to fetch her away.
Naomi said, “Come along pet, time to go down to Mama.” Caroline got up obediently and stood patiently while her hair was tidied, then held out her hand for Naomi to hold. This was right, this happened everyday.
Presently she and Naomi would climb these stairs again, and shut the little gate behind them, and she would finish combing Dobbin’s tail.
In the drawing-room tea had been cleared. Selina settled against the sofa cushions, and picked the doyley she was tatting out of her basket. She gave a contented sigh, she loved this time of day, especially in the fire season. The room looked so handsome when the velvet curtains were drawn. Of course it had looked very nice when she had first seen it, but she had improved it, there was no doubt of that. It was wonderful what pretty and home-like touches a woman could add with a little trouble. She hoped Agnes had noticed the tatted borders to the new antimacassars, and the fir-cone basket for the aspidistra.
Agnes leant against the mantelpiece. She was still in her travelling dress of violet poplin, with a Polish jacket of a deeper shade bordered with fur. Selina noticed with dismay that far from her sister-in-law’s eye roving appreciatively over her handiwork, it had the glinting look which she knew from experience meant ‘I-thoughtyou-would-wish-to-know-dear.’ Her heart sank. It was a pity dear Agnes felt there were so many things she would like to know, often things which by careful avoidance she had succeeded in not knowing for months. It was high time the dear girl got married. It was a pity she seemed unable to bring it off, for she was eager enough for it, but her very eagerness seemed to alienate the gentlemen. So nice-looking too, such a beautiful figure. Selina looked down sorrowfully at her own waistline. Her new grey poplin was suitable, and present fashions were generous to one in her condition, for postillions, especially the new pleated kind that Madame Violette had given her, by accentuating the one part of her that had not grown considerably larger, did help to take the eye from those parts that had. Nevertheless, it would be nice if everything were over, and she had a slim waist again. She felt a slight sinking in the pit of her stomach, which shocked her. She wanted a child, above everything she wanted to give James a son. She was thankful to be pregnant once more, knowing with what scorn, even with what fear, the entire Torrys family had viewed her four sterile years. Why then these tremors of fear? She engrossed herself in her tatting; work, she had heard, was a great help to women in her condition, who suffered from foolish fancies. Perhaps lack of sleep might account for them. It was troublesome that her size made it so difficult for her to lie still when in bed. Naturally, dear James was vexed when she disturbed him with her tossings. It was certainly very hard for a man when his wife was carrying, and considering everything, he was very patient.
Agnes made a restless movement. Selina glanced at her without actually raising her eyelids. There could be no doubt she was working up to say something. She had suspected as much when she came in from her walk. Then it must be something connected with the walk, for she had been most pleasant when she had arrived. How tiresome it was that the servants always committed any sins that they had to commit in front of Agnes. So tactless! Surely, even if you did belong to the lower orders, you could see which of your betters was likely to be lenient and which not. Well, she supposed she had better hear the crime whatever it was, and get the business over. Agnes was so much nicer a companion when she was not choked with things she felt it her duty to say.
“What is it?”
Agnes staged an overdone start of surprise. “What is what?”
“Don’t quibble.” Selina laid down her work. “Something has upset you. What is it?”
Agnes swooped across the room, and settled on the sofa, she gripped Selina’s hand.
“If I didn’t know dear, that it would grieve you not to know anything that you ought to know, I would keep this to myself, for in your state of health—”
Selina, gently withdrawing her hand, went on with her doyley. She looked at it in a worried way. Where had she stopped? Oh yes, she had just finished the scallops, and was about to do the Josephine knots.
“Who has done what?” she asked placidly. “Don’t worry about my health Agnes, I shan’t be easily upset. If you’ve seen Mrs. Saunders taking my preserves to her married sister it’s quite all right, I gave permission.”
Agnes clasped her hands dramatically.
“If only it were preserves. My poor darling, you must be brave.”
Selina smiled.
“I shall be no braver for being kept waiting.” She moved further into her corner. She did wish Agnes was not so excited. She was just as she always became during what she called ‘Little talks.’ Flushed, fidgety, really most peculiar, almost, though she was unwilling to think so of James’s sister, not nice. “Do go on, dear.” Agnes dropped her voice to a whisper.
“It’s Naomi!”
“Naomi!” Selina laid her work in her lap. “Oh, Agnes, not again. When you came to me all that time ago with the story that the poor creature was not a widow, I told you I should not dismiss her.”
“James would have made you. It was wrong of me to have listened to you. If I had gone to him then, what trouble I should have spared you now.”
“But you can spare me trouble.” Selina pleaded.
“Don’t tell me. Naomi is wonderful with Caroline. If she has done something James, and of course I as well, could not approve, I beg you keep what you have heard to yourself.”
Agnes wriggled. Her whisper became tense with drama.
“Not heard. Seen!” She paused to give this statement weight. “This afternoon I happened to be out walking by the potting-shed; Caroline, poor little innocent, was playing outside it, pushing about her wheelbarrow. I was surprised not to see Naomi, then I chanced to look through the potting-shed window. What is the name of that new under-gardener?”
“Bates.”
Agnes passed her tongue over her lips. “Bates and Naomi were—”
A flicker of distaste ran across Selina’s face. She really did not know which she disliked most, the lack of restraint of the lower orders, or hearing about it from Agnes.
“Kissing?” she suggested hurriedly, hoping to stem further details.
“Kissing! My dear, her skirts—”
Selina, crimson in the face, tried to be engrossed in her work, but Agnes’s vivid, detailed picture came between her and any thoughts of tatting. She tried to interrupt, to explain that she had heard more than enough, but Agnes seldom got so glorious an opportunity to vent her eroticism, and she said her say to the bitter end. Selina sat silent for a moment. When at last Agnes’s whispering ceased, she looked her squarely in the eyes.
“You swear this is true?”
“Every word.”
Selina put her work back in its bag. James, she knew, was in the library. Obviously he must be told, and equally it was obvious what he would do. The best that could be hoped was that he would allow Naomi to stay till another nurse was found. Another nurse! The nurseries were beyond imagining without Naomi. Caroline! Poor baby, it was ill-fortune for her when her Aunt Agnes took her walk round the potting-shed. She got up.
“Caroline will be down in a minute or two. I must go and talk to James. Will you amuse her until I get back?” Selina was outside the library door when Caroline and Naomi came down the stairs. They neither of the
m saw her for she was in the shadow. Selina was not an imaginative woman, but, watching the two she felt there was something pitiful in that accustomed progress. For a moment she wavered. Should she bribe Agnes to silence? Did not Caroline’s happiness matter more than Naomi’s sin? Was it possible that it would be wrong to break it up? It was clear that to the two crossing to the drawing-room door a break was unthinkable! “As it was in the beginning—”
The drawing-room door clicked shut, and with it Selina’s doubts. She was being very foolish and fanciful. Naturally at four and a half you did get attached to your nurse, and equally in no time would get attached to another. Naomi had done very wrong, not so much in what Agnes had seen, as in the risk she had run of poisoning Caroline’s mind. How fearful if the child had gone into the potting-shed. It did not bear thinking of. She opened the library door.
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