Caroline England

by Noel Streatfeild

  Laurence sighed.

  “Not too good. We’ve had blight. But Uncle Ellison’s money’s all right. I think I’ve found a tenant for that old cottage. I told you it would pay to do it up as a gentleman’s house.”

  “I don’t like that,” said Caroline. “If the cottages are used for people of a different class it means that some labourer has farther to go every morning.”

  “I know,” Laurence agreed. “I don’t like it, either. But old Matthew hadn’t a son or anybody who felt they had a right to the cottage, and though of course, one or two who were getting married had their eye on it, I couldn’t help myself. I simply had to have the money. I didn’t like the sound of Mr. Foldes’ last letter. He said that there were pecuniary clouds on the horizon and Uncle Ellison was threatening to sell something.”

  “He can’t do that, of course.”

  “He can, but he mustn’t. But I couldn’t write that just now, so I told him about the gentleman tenant. I thought it best to keep him in a good temper. You’ve just brought off the incredible feat of getting him to promise to come over for the planting. No point in my upsetting him. Do you suppose he really will come?”

  Caroline’s eyes were once more on the embankment. “Yes.”

  “You bad old woman.” Laurence grinned at the back of her head affectionately. “You’ve resorted to bribery. Did it cost much?”

  Caroline kept her face turned from him.

  “It hasn’t cost anything, yet. It’s going to cost two hundred pounds when the tree is planted.”

  Laurence took out his cigarette-case.

  “We’re fools, you and I. What difference can it make to George V whether Uncle Ellison plants the tree? Yet both you and I would think the reign doomed unless he planted it.”

  “Of course he must plant it.” Caroline faced him with a smile. “Oh, Laurie, you don’t know what a difference it makes to me having you there. Even if Uncle Ellison never marries, our generation won’t have let it down.”

  Laurence smoked thoughtfully.

  “It’s very problematical whom Uncle Ellison will leave it all to. There’s no entail.”

  Caroline was silent for a moment. Laurence looked with amusement at the set line of her lips.

  “Your uncle is going to leave it to you.”

  “To me!” Laurence gasped. “I bet you he won’t. Why should he? I’m not even a Torrys. If he does decide to do the decent and leave it in the family, there’s that boy, the grandson of Great-uncle Frederick.”

  Caroline moved up the seat a little closer to him. Her voice and manner were conspiratorial.

  “Some day your uncle is going to need a lot of money. He plays baccarat, you know. So far, he seems to manage, but he won’t always. I have been converting my capital into easily negotiable money.”

  Laurence chuckled, “If you aren’t a scheming old hussy! You mean that he’s going to lose more than he can afford, and you’re going to give him the money in exchange for his leaving the place to me?”

  “Yes,” Caroline agreed. “I’m going to have it all legally tied up on you.”

  Laurence looked thoughtful.

  “Have you told Dad any of this?” Caroline shook her head. “I know he makes an awful lot of money, but I should say he spends almost all he makes. The entertaining you two do isn’t cheap, nor is Dad’s travelling nor the cars and chauffeurs and things. If you’ve been converting some of your income and mean to part with it, you ought to tell Dad, so that he can start saving for you.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense. I expect your father to outlive me. In any case, I should never dream of telling him. He works very hard for all the money he makes and he’s a right to spend it. Besides, he thinks money thrown away on the Manor.”

  “You know, Mum, there’s one thing you’ve forgotten. I couldn’t possibly afford to keep the place up, even if it’s left to me. Uncle Ellison has quite a large private income. He won’t leave me that. You couldn’t keep the Manor up without money.”

  “Fortunately, all you children have enough to live on, so I need not consider the other three. I’m only selling out part of my capital, the rest I intend to settle in trust on you for your son.”

  “You are a funny old plotter. Me and my son! I would have sworn that it would be over your dead body that anybody not called Torrys would have inherited the place.”

  “I hope you will be called Torrys. I want you to take the name. You know, Laurie, when you first came here, I never thought of the place being yours. Then suddenly, one day when I was writing out a cheque for extra wages, I thought ‘Why not?’ After all this money that is helping to keep the house up comes from my mother’s family. There’s no reason why all I’ve spent of theirs should pass to a branch of the Torrys’ family to which they were not connected. If you did have the place you wouldn’t mind taking the name, would you?”

  Laurence did not even bother to answer. He knew Caroline knew the question was mere formality, that he would do more than like to have the name of Torrys. In any case before he had time to answer the train stopped at a station. The carriage-door was opened and a girl, followed by a chauffeur with her bags, got in. The girl directed where her baggage was to be placed and gave some orders to the chauffeur. While she was talking Laurence stared at her, puzzled. Where had he seen those curving eyebrows and those freckles before? When the train had started again, the girl looked at her fellow-passengers for the first time. Her eyes rested on Laurence, then she smiled.

  “Isn’t it Laurie England?” He turned red.

  “You’ve got a better memory than I have. I know we’ve met, but I don’t know where.”

  “Perhaps I’ve changed more than you have. Or perhaps it’s my hat.” She took it off. “Now do you remember?”

  Laurence shook his head.

  “No. Of course I remember you, but I can’t think where we met.”

  “Do shrimps remind you of anything?”

  “Shrimps!” Laurence considered. Then suddenly he saw a little girl with a cotton frock bunched into paddling drawers. “Violet Hardy!” He turned to his mother. “Mum, you must remember Violet. That summer at Hastings. The little girl I used to play with. The one you used to say about, ‘I’m sure she’s very nice, darling, but don’t you think it’s more fun being just ourselves?’”

  Caroline held out her hand.

  “How do you do, Miss Hardy? Laurence always was a dreadful tease.”

  Violet shook her hand.

  “Please don’t call me ‘Miss Hardy,’ Mrs. England. I always was Violet. I shan’t call Laurie Mr. England.” Caroline smiled to show she could approve, even if she did not understand the informality of the younger generation.

  “Very well, Violet then. Do you live in this part of the world?”

  “Yes. About two miles from Oxted. But to-day I’m going to Pamela Rith’s coming-of-age dance.” She screwed up her face. “You come from Milston, don’t you? I seem to remember my mother saying so to my god-mother.”

  “I did,” Caroline agreed. “It belongs to my brother now, but he lives abroad. Laurie is agent to him.”

  Violet turned to Laurence.

  “You live there, do you? Then I suppose you’re coming to the Rith’s dance?”

  Since Laurence had been living at the Manor, he had been contented with the simplicity of his life. But now he wished that he was living more normally, a man who was invited to dances in the neighbourhood as a matter of course.

  “I don’t know the Riths or anybody else,” he explained rather apologetically. “You see, I only camp out in two rooms. There’s a very small staff at the Manor. I have to do a lot of the work myself, and I’ve no time for paying calls, and nowhere to entertain anybody if they came to see me.”

  Caroline was considering the Rith family.

  “The Lady Rith I knew was a widow with a son called John who ha
d come into the baronetcy. Pamela is John’s child, I suppose?”

  Violet nodded. She looked thoughtfully at Laurence.”If Pamela knew you were at the Manor she would be sure to want you to come to the dance. I shall tell her and she can telephone to you.” Laurence laughed.

  “There’s no telephone at the Manor. It’s absolutely prehistoric. I use a tin bath and we’ve nothing but candles and lamps.”

  “Well, even if you’re living in the Stone Age, I suppose a boy can deliver a telegram.”

  Laurence shook his head.

  “It’s awfully nice of you to think of it, but I couldn’t come. You see, Mum is only down for one night.”

  Caroline, without appearing to do so, had been examining Violet’s luggage and her clothes. There was no question but that everything about her was expensive. Of course it was very important that Laurie should marry a girl he loved; but if he was to inherit the Manor it would do no harm if he did what many of his forefathers had done before him and loved where money was. She turned with great charm to Violet.

  “Of course he can go, if Miss Rith is kind enough to ask him. He’s lived the life of a hermit since he’s been here. As a matter of fact, you’d be doing me a kindness if you’d take him off my hands this evening. In my bag I’ve some new curtains for his sitting-room.”

  Laurence’s eyes were fixed on Violet.

  “The others are all right, aren’t they?” he asked vaguely.

  “Isn’t that like a man?” Caroline gave Violet a ‘don’t these-men-need-looking-after’ glance. “He’s using the old schoolroom as a sitting-room. When I had it it was exactly as it had been when my father and uncles and aunts had used it, and I should not be surprised to find it was as their uncles and aunts used it. When I first knew it, you could still tell the curtains had been sage-green, but now they are rather a nasty yellow. I’ve chosen him a pretty, bright chintz. I had the curtains made in London, but I had to leave the hem, as I was not sure of the length. So you can see I don’t want Laurie under my feet all the evening.”

  Violet got out at the station before Milston.

  “Now get out the dress clothes,” she said to Laurence. “Sponge off any marks. Find a clean pair of gloves. You’re sure to get that telegram.”

  Laurence held the door open for her, and helped the chauffeur with the luggage. He leant out of the window and watched her walk off the platform.

  “Now that’s what I call a really nice girl, dear,” said Caroline.

  Laurence immediately drew in his head and sat down.

  “Not bad,” he agreed, in as offhand a manner as he could manage.

  “Thy more rest i’ the clowre. Be lither for Thy King.” Ellison patted the earth into place. He stood up and took off his hat. “God Save the King.”

  “God Save the King,” echoed the guests.

  The Milston Salvation Army Band, stationed where they could see the ceremony, after a hoarse “one, two, three” from their leader, sprang at full blast into the National Anthem.

  Caroline watched the proceedings with well-bottled emotion. She had not realised until she saw the crowded lawn, the huge tents, and heard the chatter of voices, how much she had built on making to-day a success. That people should be so frankly delighted to be back under the Torrys’ trees, talking to the Torrys’ family, was beyond her reckoning, and a strain on her self-control.

  She looked away from the ceremony to John. He was leaning comfortably against the Edward the Seventh tree. Caroline could not feel that lounging against a tree was the right way to watch the planting. She herself would as soon have thought of leaning against Edward the Seventh’s grave as against his tree; after all, he had not been dead very long. But there it was. John was a law to himself, and never did respect the dead very much. Caroline had a difficulty in making him attend funerals. He had refused to go to Uncle Frederick’s and only went as a favour to Aunt Rose’s, though really he had always liked Aunt Rose and he was fond of Uncle Peter. But he had been charming about to-day. She was sure he really was laughing at it all, in that odd way he had of laughing at things which were not funny; but if he were, he had not shown a sign of it. He had ordered a new suit and looked most distinguished. Right inside her, Caroline had a wish (which never reached her conscious mind) that John looked a little more ordinary. Since he had become famous he wore his hair longer than was customary, and satin cravats instead of ties. He looked extremely handsome, but it made people nudge each other and say, “Look, that’s John England.” A pity, Caroline thought, to make yourself more noticeable than was necessary. There was no doubt his coming to the tree-planting had given great pleasure. In fact, a good many of the guests, especially the younger generation, had come only because he was going to be there. She was proud of John, of course, but there did seem something wrong with a world where a Torrys needed an author as a bait to draw people to his house.

  Her eyes moved from John to Ellison, and she let her mind slip from the Ellison of the present to the child who had planted that other oak for the first Jubilee. What a pretty little thing he had been. What a picture he had made in his sailor-suit. Very sad what pretty children could turn into. No one could think Ellison good-looking now. He had grown fat, and was a most unhealthy colour. But how glad she had been to see him. In spite of her assurances to Laurence, she had never been certain he would come. Timothy Foldes really had kept his promise splendidly, which only showed, Caroline reminded herself, that there must be some good in everybody. Ellison was punctual, sober, and willing to shake hands with anybody who wished to shake hands with him. It was, of course, unfortunate, that he insisted on Timothy Foldes standing beside him the whole time . Really, the way Ellison looked at Timothy Foldes was just the way he had looked at Nurse. Caroline had a shocked feeling that Ellison would be happier if he might hold his hand. Not that there was any danger of Timothy Foldes allowing anything of that sort. Nobody would suggest that he was not taking the occasion seriously, perhaps rather too seriously. There was something about his bent head and unctuous manner which was a little reminiscent of charades.

  It was really fortunate that Grandmama had decided not to come. It would, of course, have been very fitting to have had her there. But if Louisa’s description was true, and she really did shout at everybody now that she herself was deaf, it might have been embarrassing. Her feelings about Ellison and Timothy Foldes were so very strong, and it really would have made things terribly difficult if she had felt this was an occasion to say what she thought.

  How very pretty Betsy was looking. It was a pity her face so often wore that sulky look. She was charming when she smiled. It was nice the number of old friends who had said they had no idea she had a grown-up daughter, and might they have her to stay.

  Helen looked delicious. That white frock was clever, just the thing for a ‘backfisch.’ There were a crowd of young people round her all the time. She seemed a little over-excited, but there was no need to worry. Brownie was about, and so wonderful with the girls, dear thing.

  How Jimmie was enjoying himself. Fourteen ices he said he had eaten. What a struggle it had been to get John to agree to his coming. As if it would help him to get better reports to be kept at school while all the other boys had a holiday for the Coronation. He was such a funny little boy. If only John would get it out of his head that he ought to be taking advantage of his good education she was sure he would do better.

  By Ellison’s side stood Laurence. Anxiously he watched his uncle pat the sods of earth into place. His lips moved with the time-honoured planting words, ready at any moment to prompt. How happy he had looked all day. It was nice of Violet to have given up seeing the procession in London in order to be there. She must see that Laurie had enough money to marry on. The Hardys could hardly be expected to think him a good match as things stood at present, but if she could get the house tied up on him, he would at least have prospects. He had not said anything about the gi
rl; of course he had only met her again three weeks ago, but it had not taken her three weeks to know that she loved John.

  The ceremony over, Caroline went across to Pettigrew’s Bath chair. She held his twisted, calloused hand.

  “I do feel so glad that you were able to supervise the planting. I should never have felt satisfied unless you had seen to it.”

  Pettigrew puffed out his blue-tinged lips and raised watery eyes to hers.

  “It do sit sweet, Miss Caroline.” Then he shook his head. “I showed Mas’er Laurie where to put ’un, but I’m fair put to it for the next. You watch for ’un, Miss Caroline, there’s a main cruel wind strikes when you get on that rise.”

  Caroline patted his hand.

  “We’ll watch, Pettigrew, but I expect you’ll find some way round the difficulty.”

  John slipped his hand through her arm.

  “Are you happy, my sweet? England stands where it did, plus a new oak tree. All’s right with the throne and the Torrys’ family. There are even peacocks walking on the terrace.”

  Caroline squeezed his arm. “Don’t laugh at me.”

  He stopped and looked down at her.

  “I meant to laugh, but I haven’t. The tree-planting has its funny side, but you, with Naomi and Bates and young Puddick from the inn and all the rest of them, represent something that isn’t funny at all. You know, darling, I once said I’d never come to the Manor because I was blown up like a penny balloon, and did not want to be pricked. Do you remember?”

  “You’re past pricking now.”

  “No. I’m looking very grand, and a few fools say, ‘That’s John England.’ But the nicest people here nudge each other and whisper, ‘That’s Miss Caroline’s husband.’”

  Chapter XIX

  AUGUST 5th, 1914.

  “This day will be momentous in the history of all time. Last evening Germany sent a curt refusal to the demand of this country that she, like France, should respect the neutrality of Belgium. Thereupon the BRITISH AMBASSADOR was handed his passports, and a state of war was formally declared by this country.”