“Oh, sensible!” said Lottie scornfully. “Who wants to be sensible? Madeline says you’re only young once.”
*
Lottie had said I was to “prepare father” (and of course it was only right that he should be told of her affairs) so at supper that night I informed him that Lottie had come to lunch.
“What is the child doing? I wish I had seen her,” he said.
“She’s having fun.”
“Having fun?” echoed father.
No wonder he was surprised. His war work wasn’t fun; he was out and about all day long, visiting people who were in distress or had been injured and taken to hospital. St. Rule’s shelter was full nearly every night and father was there himself, two nights out of three, welcoming people and trying to comfort those who had seen their homes fall in ruins and had lost their dear ones and all their possessions. The Hetheringtons helped in this work and a small band of “helpers” had been organised to come and cut sandwiches and make tea and coffee. I had volunteered as a “helper” and went to the shelter twice a week and at other times when extra hands were needed. My chief job was to look after the small children; I played with them and told them stories and tucked them up in the bunks.
The nights in the shelter were exhausting – and terribly distressing. All night long people kept on coming in, half dazed with the frightful things that had happened to them, or searching frantically for a lost friend. All night long we could hear the crash of bombs – dropping on someone’s home, smashing someone’s life! The explosions sounded like dull thumps in the underground crypt.
At first I had been very anxious about father; he did so much, he was on his feet for hours at a stretch and never spared himself, but curiously enough he seemed to thrive on the work. Usually he slept for a few hours in the afternoon and awakened rested and refreshed.
“Did you say Lottie was having fun?” asked father incredulously.
“Yes, that’s what she told me. I’m worried about her, father. I’ve never thought the Meldrums were the right kind of friends for Lottie.”
“You’ve never thought . . . but they’ve been so kind to her!”
“I know they’re kind, but they’re too rich and – and pleasure-loving. It isn’t good for Lottie.”
“Sarah, you’re trying to tell me something.”
“She seems to be allowed complete freedom and goes buzzing about all over the country with young men on motor-bikes.”
“Young men – or one young man?”
“A young Scotsman called Ian Macnab.”
“But she’s just a child!” exclaimed father in dismay. “Who is he? Where does he come from?”
“His people live at Elgin. That’s all I know. I tried to find out more about him from Lottie but she wouldn’t tell me – or couldn’t.”
“Do you think I should ring up Mrs. Meldrum?”
I considered the question before answering. Then I said, “I don’t think it would be much good. Mrs. Meldrum keeps open house for the officers; they have dances and concert parties nearly every night. Lottie says it’s war work to entertain the boys.”
“I don’t like it, Sarah! I had better arrange for her to go to Craignethan.”
“It’s too late.”
“Too late? What do you mean?”
“She wouldn’t go,” I said.
We discussed the matter further; I tried to convince father that he had lost control over the movements of his younger daughter but he didn’t believe me and at last he decided to go to Fairfield the following day and see Mrs. Meldrum.
“It’s my fault,” said father miserably. “I should have taken better care of the child.”
Father was always ready to think that any untoward happening was his fault. In this case the trouble had begun when Lottie was a child and had been allowed to make Riverside her “second home.” However it was useless to say that now, so I said in soothing tones, “She left school without your permission and went to stay with the Meldrums, so why is it your fault?”
“I should have taken better care of her,” he repeated. “If Dorrie had been here this would never have happened.”
Father went to Fairfield early in the morning and returned in time for supper.
“How did you get on?” I asked anxiously.
“Lottie was out so I didn’t see her but I had a talk with Mrs. Meldrum. My dear, you’re right; she’s a foolish woman and utterly irresponsible. I asked her about the young man but she seemed quite vague.”
“Vague?”
“Yes, I can’t describe her attitude in any other way. She said, ‘Oh, yes, he’s a dear boy. He sings charmingly.’ When I asked if she knew anything about his people she said, ‘Oh, he’s Scottish, you know, so I expect they live somewhere in Scotland.’ I said I thought she ought to know something about the young men who came to her house and she was quite surprised. She said, ‘But there are so many of them and they know they can come to Riverside whenever they like! We want to give them a good time before they go abroad . . . and it’s fun for the girls too.’”
I couldn’t help smiling at father’s account of the conversation. I hadn’t seen Mrs. Meldrum for years but obviously she was exactly the same as ever.
Father sighed, and added, “It was hopeless to get any sense out of the woman so I came away.”
“Did you have lunch?”
“No, I didn’t bother. I went to the barracks in Larchester and I was fortunate enough to find young Macnab. I liked him, Sarah. I liked him very much indeed . . . but he’s a boy, not yet twenty, far too young to think of marriage.”
“Is he thinking of marriage?”
“Yes, he seems devoted to Lottie. He wants to take her with him when he goes on leave and introduce her to his parents. I said Lottie was just a child but he didn’t agree. He said, ‘Lottie isn’t a child in the way you mean, sir. She’s grown up and she loves me – I know she loves me – but she’s having a good time, that’s the trouble.’ We talked some more and he said, ‘Lottie is the most wonderful girl in the world, but it isn’t doing her any good being here with the Meldrums.’
“Well, I had just seen Mrs. Meldrum so I was in agreement with him about that. I asked him how I was to get her to come away and he said, ‘You can’t, because she’s enjoying herself.’”
“He sounds sensible,” I said.
“Yes, he’s serious-minded; not the sort of young man to do anything foolish. I told him he had better consult his parents. He said he would. Then he asked my permission to take Lottie with him to Elgin when he goes on leave. He said that if his parents could see Lottie he was sure they would love her and agree to an engagement. ‘Just an engagement,’ he said earnestly. ‘I’m willing to wait as long as you like before getting married. I just want to feel safe.’ He seemed serious and sensible so I told him that if his parents gave their consent I wouldn’t withhold mine. Perhaps I was wrong,” said father doubtfully. “Perhaps I allowed myself to be persuaded too easily, but I liked the boy immensely. It’s war-time and young people feel unsettled; they don’t know what’s going to happen to them and they want a sort of anchor.”
“I think he sounds very good value.”
“Yes, he’s made of the right stuff. If only Lottie were older I’d be quite happy about it.”
I was glad that father had seen “Mac” and had liked him so much. Nothing was settled of course; nothing could be settled until Mac had been home and consulted his parents.
Several days passed. Then one night, when father had gone to the shelter and I was alone in the flat, Mac rang up.
“Oh, is that Sarah?” he said. “I hope it’s all right for me to call you Sarah. I’ve heard such a lot about you from Lottie that I feel as if I know you quite well.”
“Of course you must call me Sarah.”
“That’s fine,” he declared. He had a deep voice and a slight Scots accent, just as Lottie had said.
“Look here,” said Mac. “I rang up to talk to Mr. Morris, but perhaps you co
uld tell him. I’m terribly happy, Sarah, I’m feeling on top of the world. I’m away home to-morrow and Lottie is coming. Isn’t it grand? I wrote to Mother, and Mother rang up Lottie and persuaded her to come. I meant to go north on the bike but Mother says I must bring Lottie by train and they’ll meet us at Inverness. Mr. Morris gave his permission for Lottie to come so it will be all right, won’t it?”
“Yes, I’m sure it will be all right. It’s a good plan for your parents to see Lottie.”
“That’s what I thought. The parents won’t be able to help falling in love with Lottie; she’s so beautiful and sweet. Tell Mr. Morris I’ll take the greatest care of her.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“And, Sarah . . . if the parents say we can be engaged, Mr. Morris won’t mind, will he? I mean he said he would agree if they agreed, but I just wanted to make sure.”
The voice sounded anxious so I replied reassuringly.
“It’s almost too good to be true!” exclaimed Mac. “I’m sure it’s going to be all right. The moment the parents see Lottie they’ll realise how lucky I am. Lottie is so wonderful; I don’t know what she can see in an ordinary sort of bloke like me.”
“I think you sound nice, Mac.”
“You sound very nice,” he declared. “It will be fun having a sister – I’m an ‘only,’ worse luck! Mother wanted a daughter but she didn’t arrive. Well, Mother is getting a daughter now: the most wonderful daughter in the world.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
We heard no more from Mac and Lottie for a fortnight. This didn’t surprise me; they were probably much too happy to think of anyone but themselves.
Then one morning, when I was out shopping, Lottie rang up and spoke to father. He told me about it at lunch.
“They’re engaged,” he said. “Apparently the Macnabs were delighted With Lottie. She said they were sweet.”
“That’s what we expected, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but it was Mac’s embarkation leave and the battalion is moving to-morrow. Lottie is quite frantic; I couldn’t get any sense out of the poor child. Apparently Mac didn’t tell her it was embarkation leave – he wanted her to enjoy herself at Elgin – but I think it was a mistake.”
“Where are they going?” I asked.
“Lottie doesn’t know. The movement of troops is ‘top secret,’ but my guess would be the Middle East.” He sighed and added, “My poor little Lottie! This is a dreadful time for the young.”
I rang up Riverside that evening. Mrs. Meldrum answered the phone and said that Mac had been there to say good-bye; Lottie was so upset that she had gone to bed.
“You must come to-morrow, Sarah,” said Mrs. Meldrum. “You had better stay for the week-end.”
“I’ll come to-morrow, but only for the day.”
“Lottie wants you to stay. The poor girl is quite shattered.”
“I can’t,” I said. “There would be nobody here to look after Father.”
“Couldn’t the servants look after him?”
“I haven’t any servants.”
“None at all?” asked Mrs. Meldrum in surprise. “Really, I don’t know how you manage! Oh, well, you must come to-morrow by the early train. I’ll send Watkins to meet you at Larchester, that will save you taking the bus to Fairfield.”
Lottie was in bed when I arrived; she hugged me desperately.
“Oh, Sarah, it is good of you to come! I wish you could stay. I’m so miserable.”
I held her in my arms. Her airs and graces had vanished and she was the little sister of long ago.
“How shall I bear it?” she whispered. “I love him frightfully. We had a wonderful time together at Elgin. They’ve got a lovely house and his mother is a darling. She’s terribly good-looking – just like Mac – and she was sweet to me. She said she had always wanted a daughter. Mac’s father is nice too; they both agreed that we could be engaged.” She sighed and added, “Darling Mac! We were so happy together – and now he has gone.”
“He’ll write to you, Lottie.”
“Oh, yes, of course! It will be lovely getting his letters and I shall write long letters to him and tell him everything. I wish I weren’t so silly.”
“Silly?”
“Yes, I’m rather a silly girl – not nearly good enough for Mac – but I’m going to turn over a new leaf. I’m going to read sensible books and improve my mind so that when we’re married I shall be a companion for Mac – he’s very clever, you know. I wish you could have seen Mac before he went away, but there wasn’t time.”
“I’ll see him when he comes home.”
“Yes, when he comes home,” agreed Lottie. She added, “Oh, dear, I’m so miserable! I wish I could go to sleep – and stay asleep until Mac comes home.”
I nodded sadly. I knew, only too well, what she was feeling.
“Yes, you know what it feels like,” declared Lottie. “That’s why I wanted to see you. I never realised before how frightful it must have been for you when Charles went away . . . but I do now. We can sympathise with each other; we’re in the same boat, aren’t we?”
I was silent.
“Do you still love Charles?” she asked.
“Yes, and I always shall.”
“How do you manage to bear it? I want to know because it might help me.”
I sat on her bed and told her how I managed to bear it. I had found it was useful to try not to think about Charles; it was better to think of other people. It was bad to be sorry for yourself; it was better to be up and doing and keep busy. The best thing of all was to have a definite aim in your life.
“What do you mean by a definite aim, Sarah?”
“My aim is to learn to speak German really well so that when he comes back – as I’m sure he will some day – I shall be able to talk to him in his own language; the language he spoke as a child. You’ve told me your aim, haven’t you, Lottie? You’re going to read history and travel books and——”
“Yes, I shall start straight away,” she declared. “I shall go to the library to-morrow and ask the man what to read.”
I knew she would start straight away but I wondered if she would continue; it takes a good deal of perseverance to keep on reading by oneself . . . however my advice had comforted her; she had stopped crying and was talking quite sensibly.
Father had told me to suggest she should go to Craignethan, so I mentioned it.
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “I couldn’t possibly! You said it was important to keep busy and help people, didn’t you? Well, I shall be busy here. Mrs. Meldrum really needs me because Madeline has joined the Wrens and Ruth is half engaged to Eric Corder and is being silly about it. There won’t be much entertaining, now that the battalion has gone, but the under chauffeur has been called up and Watkins is old and not very strong so I can drive Mrs. Meldrum to Larchester when she wants to do some shopping; I can arrange the flowers for her and chat to her and keep her happy; she isn’t the sort of person who can be happy by herself.”
“Yes, I see,” I said doubtfully. It wasn’t the sort of job I should have liked.
“I know you think Mrs. Meldrum is silly,” continued Lottie. “But she’s been very kind to me – and she likes me – so I couldn’t leave her in the lurch. I don’t know how I could have managed if Mrs. Meldrum hadn’t given me presents: frocks and stockings and things.”
“I thought you got an allowance from Father.”
“Yes, but it isn’t very much. I mean, not when you go to a lot of parties and want to look nice. Does Father give you an allowance, Sarah?”
I hesitated and then said, “Not a dress allowance, just housekeeping money.”
“He ought to,” declared Lottie. “That coat is terribly shabby. Why don’t you ask him for money and buy some decent clothes?”
The sisterly candour didn’t upset me; I knew my coat was shabby – I had worn it for years.
“You don’t care what you look like,” said Lottie, nodding wisely. “It’s because of Charle
s, of course . . . but you ought to care. I don’t intend to go about looking like a drab because I’m miserable about Mac.”
I couldn’t imagine Lottie going about “looking like a drab.” “All right,” I said. “You take my advice and I’ll take yours. I shall ask Father for money to buy some decent clothes. It’s a bargain.”
She smiled. It was rather a wan little smile but it was better than nothing.
I spent the day at Riverside. Lottie and I went for a walk together in the afternoon. Then I was sent to Larchester in the car and caught the train back to London.
The dim blue light in the compartment was hopeless for reading, and all the villages and towns were completely blacked out for fear of air-raids, so the train seemed to be hurtling along through Stygian darkness and there was nothing to do except think. I thought of Lottie and all we had said; I was glad I had seen her for I knew I had helped her. She had been wonderfully good and sensible. Her engagement seemed to have steadied her.
Lottie had said we were “in the same boat” (and I hadn’t contradicted her) but it wasn’t true for she and Mac could write to each other; she would know where he was and what he was doing. Mac would have friends round him to keep him cheerful and share any dangers that might befall. . . .
“Oh, Charles, where are you? What has happened to you? Oh, my love, my dearest love, you’ll come back to me some day when the war is over! You’ll come back to me, won’t you? I must go on believing that, I must go on hoping, because it’s the only way I can bear it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I was tired when I got home from Larchester and was delighted to find the table laid for supper.
“Have the brownies been here?” I asked.
“It’s just tinned tongue and salad,” said father, smiling proudly. “A box of eggs has come from Craignethan but I didn’t know how long to boil them. I made coffee – I’ve watched you making it, Sarah.”
The coffee was very good; I complimented the cook and we sat down together. When I had told father my news about Lottie he produced a letter which he had received from Colonel and Mrs. Macnab.
Sarah Morris Remembers Page 17