Sarah Morris Remembers

by D. E. Stevenson

“Yes.”

  “You’ll all come, won’t you?”

  “Probably; unless we happen to have a previous engagement.”

  “Sarah, you aren’t being stuffy, are you?”

  Perhaps I had been a little stuffy . . . but what was the use? I decided that I must make an effort to be friendly so I asked Lottie to come and have lunch. I couldn’t give her lunch at the flat but I could meet her at Barrington’s in the Dutch Room.

  “Yes,” said Lottie. “Yes, that would be lovely. I’m coming up to town to-morrow and I’ve got a lot to do, but I could easily meet you for lunch.”

  We arranged to meet at one o’clock.

  *

  The Dutch Room was more expensive than the big restaurant and therefore much less crowded. I was there at one o’clock, as arranged; Lottie was late so I sat down and began my meal.

  Then I saw her come in and stand in the doorway, looking round the room. She really was a beautiful creature, tall and slender and elegant, with a blue cap perched jauntily on her flaxen curls.

  I waved my hand – and she saw me and came towards me, smiling. “Oh, you’ve begun!” she said.

  “I get an hour for lunch,” I explained. “That means I’m on duty at two o’clock.”

  “Oh, what a bore! Couldn’t you have got the afternoon off?”

  (I could have done so, of course. Mr. Duncan wouldn’t have minded but I was unwilling to ask for favours.)

  “What a bore!” she repeated. “It doesn’t give us much time, does it? I couldn’t get here before; I was trying on my wedding dress. Mrs. Meldrum is giving it to me – it’s perfectly lovely.”

  She sat down and put some parcels on an empty chair.

  “You’re having lunch with me,” I said, handing her the menu.

  “Oh, thank you, Sarah!” She ordered her lunch and then looked at me critically.

  “This is my uniform,” I explained.

  “Oh, I wondered. It’s very unusual and becoming – and it fits you beautifully. I suppose you got it here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a frock like that.”

  “I expect they would make one for you.”

  “Sarah, listen, it’s a bit difficult,” said Lottie confidentially. “Mrs. Meldrum is giving me my wedding dress, as I told you, but Clive and I are going to a big hotel at Bournemouth for our honeymoon and I must have some nice clothes.”

  “You want me to give you some money?”

  “Just lend it,” she said hastily. “Once we’re married I can pay you back. I don’t want to ask Clive for money before we’re married.”

  It was not unreasonable, so I offered to lend her a hundred pounds.

  She opened her eyes wide. They were very blue and innocent. “Can you really?” she asked in surprise. “That would be marvellous.”

  “It’s all I’ve got,” I told her. “I’ve been saving up for a rainy day – but you’ll pay it back, won’t you?”

  “Of course I will,” she replied. “Clive is very generous so there won’t be any trouble about it. Oh, Sarah, you’re a friend in need!”

  “I’m your sister.”

  She nodded, “Yes, of course.”

  Having made my point I said very earnestly, “Lottie, I’ve been worrying about you. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? You were fond of Mac, weren’t you? What has happened to change——”

  “I don’t want to think about Mac!”

  “But, Lottie——”

  “I don’t want to think about him . . . or talk about him. I’m going to marry Clive.”

  “Have you considered seriously what it will mean?”

  “Of course! I’m not a child. Mrs. Meldrum says I’m a lucky girl and I know I’m lucky! Clive loves me and he’s very kind and sweet – so it’s quite all right. Please don’t keep on at me about it, Sarah.”

  “Well, I can’t,” I told her. “I’ve got to go now; it’s nearly two.”

  “It doesn’t matter if you’re late, does it?”

  “Yes, it does . . . and anyhow you’ve got what you wanted, haven’t you? I’ll send you a cheque to-morrow.”

  “Now you’re being stuffy,” said Lottie, smiling at me. “You aren’t a bit nice when you’re stuffy.”

  I got up and she kissed me affectionately. “You’re all coming to the wedding, aren’t you?” she said.

  “Father and I are coming. I don’t know about Willy.”

  “Oh, well, it doesn’t matter! Lewis is coming; that’s the main thing. Lewis is going to give me away.”

  “Not Father!”

  “I’d rather have Lewis. He looks so marvellous in his uniform. Let’s hope it’s a nice fine day,” added Lottie cheerfully.

  Chapter Thirty

  It was September now and the weather had been dull and cold for nearly a week, but Lottie’s wedding day was as mild and sunny as any bride could wish.

  I had taken a good deal of trouble over my wedding garments. Maud Renfrew had helped me to choose them: a soft rose-pink silk frock and hat to match and a long blue silk coat. It sounds garish but the colours were so soft that they looked well together, and Maud had insisted that I should have a little cluster of soft blue feathers sewn under the brim of the hat. Perhaps it was foolish of me but I was determined to make a good appearance amongst Lottie’s grand friends.

  It was difficult to know whether or not father was disappointed at not having been asked to play his proper part in the wedding ceremony – he said nothing about it and neither did I. We had lunch early and were ready and waiting long before it was time to go.

  Willy was there to see us off. He had a free afternoon, so he might have come with us, but he had refused the invitation, explaining to me that he had nothing to wear. This was perfectly true; Willy’s clothes were in a deplorable condition, but I knew he didn’t want to go to Lottie’s wedding so I hadn’t bothered.

  Willy was in very good spirits; he was full of jokes. When he saw me, dressed for the occasion, he pretended to be dazzled by my “beauty” and declared that Sir Clive would change his mind at the last minute and insist upon being married to the elder Miss Morris.

  “Go and change, Willy,” said father. “The taxi won’t be here for another ten minutes; you can manage it if you hurry.”

  “I refused the invitation,” Willy pointed out.

  “That doesn’t matter. I should like you to come, and there will be plenty of room in the front pew.”

  “What am I to wear?”

  “Clothes!” exclaimed father scornfully. “It doesn’t matter about clothes! Lottie is your sister so you ought to be at her wedding.”

  “I’ll come if you like, Father. I can wear my boiler-suit; I’ve had it washed so it’s nice and clean. I shan’t be wearing it again.”

  “Oh, Willy!” I cried. “Are you going back to Romford’s?”

  “That’s the idea. I don’t quite know how it was managed; you’ll need tae ask Jock.”

  “For Jock read Edgar!” I said, laughing.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” declared father irritably. “We’ve no time for your silly jokes . . . and there’s no time now for you to change. The taxi is at the door so we’ll have to go without you——”

  “What a pity!” said Willy, heaving a deep sigh. “I’m sure Lottie would have liked to see me sitting in the front pew wearing my boiler-suit.”

  “Come on, Sarah!” exclaimed father. “Come on, we mustn’t be late!”

  I stayed for a moment to congratulate Willy and then ran after father down the steps.

  *

  The church was large and fashionable. Elegantly clad guests were flocking into the building in a constant stream. Father and I were met at the door by Tom Meldrum. I hadn’t seen Tom for years, and scarcely recognised the one-time bouncy schoolboy in the tall Guards officer, but he recognised father and, greeting us cordially, escorted us to the front pew.

  The church was warm, scented with masses of flowers, the organ was
playing softly and people were chatting to each other more as if they were in a theatre than in church.

  None of us had seen Sir Clive. A meeting had been arranged but had been cancelled at the last moment because Sir Clive had “important business in the north.” (“He’s gone to see an Eskimo about an igloo,” said Willy irreverently.)

  Now that I saw him, standing at the chancel steps, I could scarcely believe that this was the man Lottie was going to marry: he was small and thin and pale and his smooth dark hair had receded from his forehead. Willy had discovered in Who’s Who that our prospective brother-in-law was forty-nine but he looked more . . . and it seemed a mistake to have chosen a tall good-looking nephew to act as his best man.

  These reflections were cut short when the choir began to sing “All Things Bright and Beautiful.” It is a children’s hymn, not really suitable for a wedding, but it had always been Lottie’s favourite. The choir sang it well, with various charming descants, and certainly all things were bright and beautiful at Lottie’s wedding . . . except the bridegroom.

  Lottie, walking up the aisle leaning on Lewis’s arm, was a dream of loveliness in white satin, embroidered all over with crystal beads, and a flashing diamond tiara on her flaxen hair. Lewis, too, was beautiful. They were alike and both were aglow with youth. The four bridesmaids were dressed in filmy green and carried bouquets of roses.

  All went well: Charlotte Mary and Clive Warren were joined together in holy matrimony for better, for worse.

  As a spectacle Lottie’s wedding was a tremendous success . . . but I couldn’t help thinking of Mac.

  *

  There was a great crush coming out of church and it was some time before father and I could find a taxi, so we were a little late in getting to the reception. It was taking place in Barrington’s English Rose Room, and when we arrived the large beautiful room was full of guests. The bridal party was grouped near the door beside the towering wedding cake; we were announced inaudibly, greeted them and wished them happiness . . . and passed on in the queue.

  This was another slight to father! The bridegroom’s mother was standing there, greeting the guests – so why not father? However I don’t suppose Lottie had thought of it and father was completely oblivious of any slight. He was wearing a dazed expression as if he had suddenly awakened to find himself in China or Peru.

  I kept hold of his arm and tried to steer him through the ever-increasing crowd of well-fed, beautifully dressed people, all of whom seemed to know each other intimately and were talking at the tops of their voices. We knew nobody, and soon I began to have a queer feeling that we must be invisible, for people kept pushing us aside without noticing we were there and greeting each other over our shoulders.

  I released my hold on father’s arm to loosen my collar, and a waiter pushed between us with a tray of glasses, so we were separated – and I lost him. I tried to find him again, but it was hopeless. By this time I was so hot and bothered that I made my way to a corner of the room where there was a palm tree. No sooner had I reached this comparatively quiet spot than I was hemmed in by a group of half a dozen ladies and gentlemen who had been making for the same haven. They all had champagne glasses in their hands and, as I was still invisible, their conversation was cheerful and uninhibited.

  “Well, here’s to them!”

  “Lottie has done pretty well for herself, hasn’t she?”

  “She’s been endowed with plenty of worldly goods – if that’s what you mean.”

  “Poor old Clive looks a bit yellow.”

  “I don’t know how she could!”

  “Oh, Clivey isn’t too bad.”

  “He isn’t my idea of a ‘handsome husband.’”

  “You can’t have everything. Lottie prefers ‘ten thousand a year.’”

  “More like twenty.”

  “Not really?”

  “Well, say fifteen, and plenty more rolling in.”

  “I thought it was his father that made the pile.”

  “How long will it last?”

  “Which? The marriage or the pile?”

  “Oh, both, of course! The marriage is balanced on the pile.”

  Shrieks of laughter interspersed this curious conversation. I had tried several times to escape, but I was still invisible so they didn’t move to let me by.

  At last I said loudly, “May I pass, please?”

  Evidently I wasn’t inaudible for one of them moved about six inches and I pushed through the gap . . . to find myself face to face with my brother-in-law.

  He didn’t know who I was, but replied politely to my greeting.

  “I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” he said. “I see you haven’t got anything to drink.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I told him.

  “If I could see a waiter . . .”

  “Please don’t bother. I’m Sarah, Lottie’s sister.”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t hear what you said.”

  The noise of chatter was so overwhelming that I wasn’t surprised. I shouted, “I’m Lottie’s sister.”

  “Oh yes, how foolish of me! You were sitting in the front pew. I remember thinking your hat was very pretty . . . but you aren’t like Lottie.”

  “I know.”

  “I ought to speak to your father. I suppose he’s here – somewhere?”

  I supposed he was, unless he had been trampled underfoot, or had been deafened by the noise and gone home without me.

  “We ought to have met,” said Sir Clive, with a worried frown. “I’m very sorry I couldn’t manage it but I had business in the north.”

  I nodded and said, “I know.” It would have been fun to ask about the igloo – and probably quite safe because he wouldn’t have heard what I said – but I didn’t risk it.

  “You must come and visit us at Brailsford when we get back from our honeymoon.”

  “Yes, I should like to come.”

  “We’ll have a party for you.”

  “It would be nicer to come when you’re alone.”

  “Don’t you like parties, Miss – er – Sarah, I mean?”

  “Not awfully.”

  “Neither do I, but I expect I’ll get used to them. Lottie says Brailsford will be a good place for parties. Do you think this is a good party?”

  “Splendid.”

  “I suppose it is. I’d enjoy it more if I hadn’t a headache.”

  “It’s the noise.”

  “Yes . . . but Lottie says ‘the more noise the better the party.’ I wonder when we’ll be able to get away. We’re going to Bournemouth, you know. It’s a big hotel and they have dances every night so Lottie is sure to enjoy it, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, she’s sure to enjoy it.”

  “What did you say, Miss – er – Sarah, I mean?”

  “She’s sure to enjoy it,” I shouted.

  This seemed a very odd conversation – a sort of Alice-in-Wonderland conversation – and, now that he had mentioned his headache, I discovered that I had a headache too. I had already congratulated him and wished him happiness and I couldn’t think of anything to say. I kept on looking at him and trying to make myself believe that this careworn little man was Lottie’s husband. Lottie’s husband! He looked as old as father and not nearly so full of life . . . but all the same I liked him and, strangely enough, I felt very sorry for him.

  We stood for a few moments without speaking; it is difficult to find something worth saying when you have to shout loudly and clearly to make yourself heard.

  Suddenly he said, “If you wait here I’ll go and find a waiter. You must have something to drink.” Then he turned and pushed his way through the crowd. They were his guests – one imagined they must be his friends – but nobody noticed him or spoke to him; it seemed as if he, too, must be invisible. I waited for a few minutes, but he didn’t come back, so I made my way to the door . . . and discovered father in the vestibule talking to Mr. Duncan.

  “Are you ready to go home, Sarah?” asked father. “I should have l
iked to have a word with Lewis but I couldn’t stand the noise a moment longer – I’ve got an appalling headache – but I don’t mind waiting for you if you’re enjoying yourself.”

  “Is everything all right?” asked Mr. Duncan anxiously. “Is the party going well, Miss Morris? Is there enough champagne – or had I better send up another dozen?”

  They were both looking at me so I said wearily, “Judging by the noise the party is going like a rocket – but I’ve had enough. Let’s go home, Father.”

  “Would it be rude? I mean, shouldn’t we say good-bye?” asked father, hesitating.

  “We shall never be missed,” I replied.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Now that Willy was a white-collar worker we got his hands cleaned and I made him buy some new clothes; he looked quite different, and was very cheerful. He told me little about his work but he had taken away all the papers connected with his “gadget”; he said Sir Edgar was interested in it.

  Soon after Lottie’s wedding I was sent for by the China Department and on arriving there found a little lady with very blue eyes awaiting me eagerly.

  “Oh, Mees Morreese,” she said, in careful English. “I do not want you for translation. I have learned, as you see! I hope you have not forgotten me?”

  “Madame Breuchaud!”

  She nodded happily. “Yes, yes! I asked for you to come and speak to me because you were kind. It would be so nice if you will come and have lunch with us one day. Is this possible?” Then, before I could reply, she made a gesture of impatience. “Oh, c’est trop difficile!” she exclaimed. “Parlons français, Mees Morreese! Can you have déjeuner with us to-morrow here at Barrington’s? I know you are busy but no doubt you are allowed time for déjeuner. My sister will come and my husband also. I have spoken of you so much that they want to meet you. I have told them of your kindness to me when I could speak no English and the girl was stupid about the shoes.”

  I told her that I should be delighted to have déjeuner with her, and to meet her husband and her sister, and added that I hoped the shoes had been a success.

  “Oh, Cécile was so pleased,” said Madame Breuchaud, nodding. “Cécile laughed, she thought it a good joke, and the shoes fitted her perfectly. Shall we say twelve-thirty in the so charming restaurant on the top floor? You will like Cécile – and Jules also, of course. How glad I am that you will come!”