Caroline England

by Noel Streatfeild

  “I don’t know why you bother to come here if you only want to read the paper.”

  John laid it down and laughed.

  “I don’t believe you ever read one, you miserable little wastrel.”

  Lilias pouted.

  “I’m not a wastrel. I do far more than you know. I knit an awful lot of things for the troops. I would nurse or something, but it would be no good. Those sort of things upset me terribly. I always was sensitive. Anyway, I should have thought you had enough of uniforms at home without seeing me in one.”

  John gently moved her to the back of the sofa, so that he had room to sit.

  “Aren’t you a cross one. I never said I wanted to see you in uniform. As a matter of fact, I’d hate it, and I can’t imagine it would help to win the war.” He lit a cigarette. “Not that I ever see Caroline in uniform. I know she goes to her canteen, but it must be when I’m out for she’s always about in her ordinary things when I get in. I’m thankful she’s got something to fill her time, for she’s worrying herself sick about Laurie.”

  Lilias put on the expression she thought fitting for a discussion of someone’s son at the front, but inside she was annoyed. How boring of John to come here and talk about Caroline. Her day had been dull enough, goodness knows, without that. Besides, it wasn’t in very good taste. He must know that discussing his wife was not her idea of the way to spend an evening. However, to be cheery was what was needed from women in a war.

  “I shouldn’t worry. I had my cards read the other day and there was happiness all round me. There wouldn’t be if anything awful was going to happen.”

  John threw away his cigarette and took hold of her by the shoulders.

  “You are the most glorious fool. I believe that’s why I’ve never been able to get you out of my system. Inside this flat even a war isn’t really serious.”

  Lilias considered. Was he being complimentary? She decided he was. Anyhow, his holding her was more like it. All this reading the paper and talking about Caroline was not what she expected when he came to see her.

  She moved her head so that her cheek rested on one of his hands.

  Helen bounced down on to Elizabeth’s bed.

  “No good pretending you’re asleep. I heard you come in. I’ve only been waiting till Mum went to bed.”

  Elizabeth opened her eyes.

  “I suppose I needn’t talk if I’m tired.” Helen shivered.

  “Do you want your dear little sister to freeze to death, or might she have a bit of eiderdown?”

  Elizabeth moved ungraciously.

  “All right, if you must, but if it’s quarrels in the pantry you want to tell me about I’m not interested.”

  “It’s not. I want you to do something for me, as a matter of fact.”

  “What?”

  Helen looked at her severely.

  “You have a very unfortunate manner, dear, of sounding disobliging. All I want you to do is not to argue when I say I’ve been kept late because of a convoy.”

  “But the pantry aren’t kept late.” Helen patted her through the eiderdown.

  “Try and use your brains. That’s just why dear little Helen needs your help.”

  Elizabeth sat up.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing that matters. Only you know how Mum says: ‘We’ve no secrets from each other, have we?’ and ‘It’s much more fun talking over every plan, isn’t it, darling?’” Helen caught Caroline’s voice so exactly that Elizabeth giggled.

  “You are a fool. Where do you want to go?”

  “Just dancing. But you know how pre-war Mum is. She still thinks I can’t go without a chaperone.”

  Elizabeth glanced at her. There was no doubt Helen was very pretty. Besides, she had a look (which even she felt that she needed protecting.

  “You are a bit young. Naturally Mum doesn’t want you making a fool of yourself.”

  “If Mum thought, she wouldn’t worry about me.” Elizabeth gave her a quick look. Why the accent on the ‘me’? “One has no wish to be unpleasant,” Helen went on, “but it was odd how you were kept late every night about a month ago, and in the pantry we never heard of a convoy.”

  Elizabeth gripped her wrist, meaning to hurt. “It’s none of your business.”

  Helen let her hand go limp.

  “When you’ve done breaking my wrist.” Elizabeth released her. Helen examined the finger marks. “Aren’t you savage! I never said it was my business. I was only pointing out things, and asking you to let me have a convoy too, now and then.”

  Elizabeth thumped the pillow angrily.

  “Why did you have to tell me what you were going to do? I don’t want to tell lies for you.”

  “You never said there were convoys the nights you made them up, but you never disagreed when Mum said there were. You can do the same for me, can’t you?”

  “If you’re going to restaurants and places, somebody is sure to see you in the end.”

  Helen slipped off the bed.

  “I’m not worrying about that. Nobody saw dear little Betsy being kissed by somebody in a car in Swan Walk on a night when she was supposed to be kept late at hospital.”

  Elizabeth tried to catch hold of her. “Come here.”

  Helen put her finger on her lips.

  “Ssh. You’ll wake Mum.” She tip-toed to the door. There she turned. “Don’t worry, dear, I don’t know who he was. I only saw half his face; but the bit I saw looked all right.”

  Caroline felt her overall sticking to her. The heat from the urn came out in a wave. It seemed to make the cups and saucers swim.

  Really how sweltering it was to-day. Surprising the Tommies wanted tea, but someone told her once that hot drinks made you cooler. Poor dears, they must need cooling. Uniforms must be stuffy. It was very naughty to grumble. After all, an overall was a cool garment. And anyhow it was not much hotter in here than it was outside. The air in the streets felt as if it had been used over and over again. Perhaps it always was stuffy in London in August, only she had been fortunate not to be there at that time until the war started. Still, even if it was a bit hot in London, she was glad for Laurie’s sake. He must be there by now. It would be cool in the Manor gardens. It always was under the trees. Those pink roses must still be in flower on the kitchen-garden wall, they were always late. Violet would probably be waiting for him. She had said she was not sure, but she would be certain to try and manage it. Dear child, if only she had time to change, she would look so much sweeter in a nice summer frock than in her V.A.D. uniform. How unselfish of them both, bless them, to beg her to come down too. As if she would with his leave so short. Laurie would be happy with Naomi, and so good for him, so much more restful than London. Jimmie had looked a different boy after he stayed there that Easter, in spite of his broken arm. It would have been nice if Jimmie could have gone down again these holidays, but with Laurie coming home it would have been a mistake. Jimmie would not mean to be in the way, dear man, but a boy of that age could not be expected to understand. It was better to send him to stay with Louisa, and if she really was feeling as poor as she said, she would be glad of the money. It was a pity Betsy would not go away; ridiculous to spend a fortnight’s holiday in London. Caroline sighed as she turned the tap of the urn. If only she would confide in her. What was a mother for? If she was in love with somebody she would be the first to understand. Even if it was one of those little tragedies, and was quite hopeless, she could still understand. There was a pause. No more cups to be filled. She leant back against the shelves behind her. She pushed her hair further under her cap. Fancy, it was quite damp. It must be hot. Dear Laurie. How anxious he had been she should not feel neglected. As if she didn’t understand. Odd how Laurie was the only one of the children to feel like that. Probably the others did inside, but they never showed it. Both the girls were so fond of makin
g plans by themselves, as if half the fun of having grown-up daughters was not that you could do everything with them. It made you feel you had to watch them instead of their confiding in you. It probably was not true that Helen changed at the hospital and went out dancing. Such a pity if it were true. There was no harm in her having a little fun, but it would be better if her mother knew about it. A mistake to ask Helen out-right. So dreadful if she told a lie. A lie between a mother and her children was unthinkable. The flow of cups started again. Caroline turned on the urn. Dear Laurie, if only he would ask Violet this leave. He was not so badly off as all that, and there was Ellison’s promise. It was a pity she had not been able to get it legally arranged, but it was quite hopeless getting papers signed by someone who hardly ever read a letter. And she had his note in receipt of the money. It was unlikely he would have said he had signed a will if he had not, for he hated wills. Of course, a will could be altered, but he would be very unlikely to do that, it was not as if he cared who had the place. A cup slipped from her hand and broke on the floor. There! how careless. That came of thinking of two things at once. She straightened after picking up the pieces. Dear me, how tired her back was. But how fortunate that she had been able to arrange to take this extra duty. It made a splendid excuse to send Laurie to the Manor alone. If she had been about when he started, he would never have gone without her.

  Violet looked sadly at the garden.

  “I’m afraid it looks awful, especially now they are cutting down the trees. I know they need the wood, but I hate to see them go. Mrs. Bates and I came and gave Bates a hand to try and tidy it up for you, but he has more than he can do and she’s slow and I can’t get a lot of time off from the hospital, so we couldn’t do much. It’s a pity the fat daughter has gone to make munitions. She was as good as a man when she was here.”

  Laurence looked round. It did look shabby and uncared for, and the efforts at tidying only showed up how much needed doing. But he could see no flaws in a garden where there was Violet. To him the lawn, from which the grass had been roughly scythed, was as green and smooth as a billiard table. There was magic in the tangled, unclipped hedges. The rustle of dead leaves as they blew up the terrace were whisperings of love. Behind him lay a thousand horrors, in front of him there was no future. Half his friends were dead, why should he escape? But this leave was his. If these were the only days he was to have they were perfect. If only he could find the words to ask her. He caught her hand.

  “It doesn’t look bad. Come on. I want to see if the roses are still flowering on the kitchen-garden wall.”

  They stood staring awkwardly at the roses. “He’s going to say it now,” thought Violet.

  “Oh goodness.” Laurence swallowed. “What a fool I am to be in such a stew.” Suddenly he took a deep breath.

  “I say, I suppose you wouldn’t marry me? I know I’m nothing much, but would you? My future’s rotten, but I’ve got five hundred a year, and this’ll be mine someday if—well, you know, if I get through. It would make all the difference if I were married. You see I should have had something.” He dared to look up. He took her hands. “Why, darling, you are crying. What is it?”

  “You idiot, of course I’ll marry you. Only don’t talk as if you wouldn’t come back. I can’t bear it.” She gulped and managed to smile. “You get a special licence and we’ll be married here. You’d like to be married at Milston, wouldn’t you?”

  There was a long silence while he kissed her. At last she pulled away from him.

  “Come on. Do get that licence. We’ve so few days.”

  January 2nd, 1917.

  CHANGED TIMES. FIRST DAY OF NEW TRAVEL ORDER. HOME FOOD PLANS. STRICTER DRINK CONTROL. TRAVEL RESTRICTIONS. SCENES AT THE RAILWAY STATIONS.

  Elizabeth looked down the headlines. “Dreary reading, isn’t it, Paul?”

  “If things are going to be like that here, it doesn’t seem so bad going back to-morrow. ‘Stricter drink control!’ That’s cheerful.”

  Elizabeth awkwardly took hold of one of the buttons on his tunic.

  “Don’t let’s bother about what’s in the paper.” He picked her up and put her on his knee.

  “Are you sure you want this, Betsy? Now we’re here I feel an awful cad.”

  Elizabeth looked down at the sofa on which they were sitting.

  “Seems kind of sordid on a sofa, doesn’t it? But you wouldn’t take me to a hotel.” His fingers wandered over her.

  “You do realise that I’m not going to get a divorce. It’s not my wife’s fault, she’s an invalid, and there are the children.”

  Elizabeth clung to him.

  “But you love me. You’ve said so.”

  “Yes. Ever since that first leave.”

  “I don’t mind about you being married. It’s silly to fuss. We only get such a little time. This is the third leave we’ve wasted.”

  He stopped loving her.

  “And you think this is the last, don’t you?” She shivered.

  “No. Of course I don’t. It’s just I don’t want to risk missing you.” She forced a lightness into her voice. “After all, by the time you come back again you might be fond of someone else.”

  He kissed her eyes.

  “You’re morbid, my sweet. If I had the strength to do what I ought to do I’d smack you and go home.”

  “You won’t do that. It was a promise. If this is the only night I ever have with you, I’ll still1be glad I had it. You see—” She broke off and slipped off his knee. Hurriedly she straightened herself. “There’s somebody at the front door.” They stood together listening. Elizabeth looked puzzled. “There’s only Dad to come in and he never fumbles at the door. He comes straight in and goes up.”

  “Whoever it is has had one or two.”

  There was a mutter outside. Then a bump as someone fell against the door.

  “My God.” Elizabeth looked at Paul in dismay. “That’s Jimmie. If he makes that noise Mother will hear him. She mustn’t find us. Do you think you could get him in quietly?”

  Paul took off his shoes.

  “That depends on how drunk he is.” He crept out into the passage and opened the front door. He caught James as he fell in. He looked round at Elizabeth. “He’s out. Where shall I put him?”

  “I can’t think. Mother’s bound to hear you if you carry him upstairs. Put him on the sofa for the moment.”

  “Better get a towel then. He’ll be sick when he comes to.”

  John was surprised to find the front door ajar. He came quietly into the hall. He stood outside Caroline’s sitting-room door and looked in.

  “What is this domesticated scene?” Paul and Elizabeth swung round.

  “Goodness, Dad!” said Elizabeth. “I thought you were special-constabling.”

  “I was let off.”

  John looked down at James. “What’s up with him?”

  James opened his eyes and made ominous noises. “Drunk,” Paul explained.

  “Oh! Little devil. Wonder where he got it? I’ll give him Hell in the morning. Would you take his legs?” John put his hands under his son’s shoulders. “We’d better deposit him in the bathroom and lock him in. He won’t do any harm there, and his mother won’t hear him.”

  When the two men came back Elizabeth was standing looking into the fire. John offered Paul a cigarette, then he glanced from one to the other.

  “The time being two, how about bed Betsy?”

  She turned round, her mind made up.

  “Take your drink into the dining-room, Paul. It’s just across the passage.”

  John watched, with a twinkle, the embarrassed Paul trying to retire with dignity. He glanced at Elizabeth and raised an eyebrow.

  “Well?”

  “He’s going back to France to-morrow.”

  “So are a good many other men.”

  She threw up he
r chin. “I happen to love him.”

  He sat down on the sofa and patted the place beside him.

  “It’s a bit difficult to talk a thing out, standing facing each other like prize-fighters.”

  “You’ve never bothered to talk to me at all. Don’t you think for a father who has always refused to interfere it’s a bit of a nerve to interfere now?”

  “‘An observation just and wise.’” John lit a cigarette.”Are you thinking of marrying him?”

  “No. He’s married already.”

  “Might one ask without impertinence if this would be your first step on what I believe is known as the road of the fallen?”

  “Yes.”

  He tapped his cigarette on the ash-try.

  “Much is written by us novelists about these first nights, with a good deal of ‘It was worth it.’ Not as your father, but purely as somebody who is very experienced, I would strongly advise you, when you take this step that you contemplate taking to-night, to allow yourself more than one occasion. Believe me, my dear Betsy, the first flights into love stand out in the memory for the pain they caused more than for anything else. Afterwards, yes, the memory can be obliterated by beauty, but just once is extraordinarily stupid. Leaving aside these rather medical details, why must a girl who has looks, and money, choose a married man?”

  “If it comes to that,” Elizabeth spoke with scorn, “why must a man who has got a wife and four children have an affair with another woman?”

  John was shocked. There was a considerable pause before he could regain his bantering tone.

  “This conversation is getting nastier and nastier.” He opened the door. Then he looked round. “What’s his name?”

  “Paul.”

  He walked across to the dining-room.

  “Paul, I’ve had a most unfortunate interview with my daughter about you. It stands to reason, since I have broken in at this moment, that I must prevent what was about to occur.” He took him by the arm. “You do see that, don’t you? Elizabeth dear, come and say good­bye. I’m going to my study.”

  Elizabeth dragged Paul into the sitting-room. “Don’t listen to him. He can’t stop us really.” Paul kissed her.