The Four Graces

by D. E. Stevenson

  “William, are you sure about it?” she asked.

  “Nearly,” replied William, straightening himself and wiping his forehead with a dirty hand.

  “What makes you think…”

  He hesitated.

  “Please, William,” said Liz.

  “They met in Wandlebury yesterday—Sal told me.”

  “Told you?”

  “That they had met,” he explained. “I was there when she got back and she looked—quite different.”

  “But that’s nothing,” objected Liz. “I mean anybody might meet anybody.”

  “Oh, of course,” agreed William.

  There was a little silence and then Liz said, in a curiously strained voice, “Why didn’t Sal tell me?”

  “She will, of course,” said William quickly. “She sent you her love. I expect she’ll tell you the moment she gets a chance. There aren’t many opportunities—”

  “No, there aren’t,” agreed Liz with bitter emphasis. “Nobody has a moment’s peace to talk.”

  “That’s why,” he told her.

  She was silent again, moving the rubble with the toe of her shoe. “Why did you tell me?” she said at last.

  “I thought—I thought you’d like me to tell you, that’s all.”

  “Yes,” said Liz. “Yes…thank you, William.” He watched her walk back to the horse and cart. She walked like a hero, shoulders back, head up. Then he seized his spade and began to dig fiercely.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Just at this very moment—three o’clock in the afternoon—Sal was standing outside the door of her father’s study, trying to make up her mind to go in. Mr. Grace did not usually work in the afternoon; he was working today because tomorrow was the fete at Chevis Place, and he had promised Archie his help. Sal knew this, of course, and hated the thought of disturbing him, but there was no other way.

  Sal knocked and opened the door and went in, closing it gently behind her. “Father,” said Sal. “Would you mind listening a moment? I want to get married.”

  “Presently,” said Mr. Grace, waving her away and continuing to scribble notes…and then, suddenly, her words got through and he dropped his pen and sat up. “You want…” he began, looking at her over the top of his spectacles. “You want…”

  “To get married,” said Sal, nodding.

  “But you’re far too young!” he cried.

  She smiled. Her eyes were very bright, shining like stars.

  “You’re feverish!” cried Mr. Grace in alarm.

  “I’m twenty-five,” she declared. “That isn’t too young.”

  “Sal, you aren’t serious?”

  She nodded, her eyes meeting his, very, very bright.

  “Have I been blind?” asked Mr. Grace humbly.

  “No, darling. It happened very suddenly—like thunder and lightning—yesterday.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Roddy. Roderick Herd.”

  Mr. Grace looked at her in consternation.

  “It’s all right,” declared Sal, putting her arms around him and hugging him fondly. “You mustn’t worry like that. You’re just surprised, aren’t you? You didn’t realize I was grown up. It’s all right, honestly it is.”

  “But, Sal, I thought Roderick came over to see Liz.”

  “I thought so, too. Liz is so marvelous, isn’t she? I didn’t see how anyone could look at me.”

  “Wasn’t it Liz at all?” asked Mr. Grace, trying to get to the bottom of it.

  “It was me all the time.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Mr. Grace in concern. “He started by asking for Addie’s address and then—”

  “No,” said Sal, interrupting. “I mean he did, but it was all a mistake. He can explain everything. It was me all the time, from the very beginning. You see—”

  Mr. Grace did not want explanations, not yet. “What does Liz feel about it?” he asked.

  “I haven’t told Liz.”

  “You haven’t?”

  “No.”

  Mr. Grace was silent. He wished with all his heart that Mary were here. One felt so helpless, so lost…

  “It makes me miserable,” said Sal in a very low voice. “I don’t know what to do. I wouldn’t hurt Liz for worlds. I told Roddy I wouldn’t marry him, but it was no use. He said he liked Liz immensely—that was what he said—but…” Her voice died away. She looked at her father anxiously.

  “What a muddle!” he exclaimed.

  “It makes me miserable,” repeated Sal.

  “No, no, you mustn’t be miserable. It doesn’t do any good being miserable. It isn’t your fault, anyhow.”

  “It is, really,” said Sal. “I was silly about it. I was sure he—liked—Liz. Not the first day, but afterward. And Aunt Rona meddled in it, too. You know what Aunt Rona is like—managing things.”

  Nobody knew better. Mr. Grace began to relent a little in his attitude to his future son-in-law. “But I should like to be sure he played fair,” said Mr. Grace anxiously. “Are you sure he played fair?”

  “Absolutely,” declared Sal, meeting her father’s eyes with a frank look.

  “And you,” said Mr. Grace—it was rather difficult, but he had to know. “Did you feel drawn to Roderick from the very beginning? You spoke of ‘the first day,’ but you didn’t see him the day he came over to look at the rose window.”

  “Yes, I did,” said Sal. “And—yes—I liked him—quite a lot.” She blushed and added, “I mean, it’s no use saying I didn’t.”

  “You had better tell me the whole story,” suggested Mr. Grace.

  Sal told him. She didn’t make a very good job of it, for it was rather complicated, and she herself was feeling confused and upset, but Mr. Grace, following carefully and asking a question here and there, managed to get the drift of it. Sal made rather a point of the umbrella, stressing the fact that Roderick had returned to fetch the umbrella and forgotten it on purpose after they had met. That showed, didn’t it, that Roddy had wanted to see her again?

  “You—or Liz,” agreed Mr. Grace.

  “No,” said Sal, who was doing her best as counsel for the defense. “He came back for it after he had seen Liz, because he thought I was Addie, but then, when he found I wasn’t Addie, he forgot it on purpose so that he could come back and see me again. That proves it,” added Sal triumphantly.

  Mr. Grace was silent for a few moments, and then asked for the statement to be repeated slowly.

  Sal repeated it.

  “H’m. I should like to speak to Roderick,” said Mr. Grace in doubtful tones.

  “Oh, yes. Yes, that’s what I want. He wants it too. We want you to help us. Will you see him now?”

  “Now!” echoed Mr. Grace in some alarm. “No, no, it would be much better to wait for a few days before doing anything definite. There’s no hurry at all.”

  “He’s going away tomorrow,” explained Sal. “He’s going to London for some sort of course. Oh, Father, you must see him now!”

  “Well—perhaps. Better to get the matter straightened out before he goes.”

  “I’ll fetch him,” cried Sal eagerly. She was poised for flight.

  “Wait a minute,” implored Mr. Grace, holding her arm. “It won’t hurt him to wait. I want to be quite sure of your feelings before I see Roderick. You haven’t known him long.”

  “Long enough to be sure.”

  “I want you to be happy,” said Mr. Grace earnestly.

  “This is the way,” said Sal, meeting his eyes squarely. “We shan’t be happy all the time, perhaps, because nobody is, but Roddy needs me and I love him. We understand each other. Even that very first day we understood each other. Then we seemed to lose touch. It was my fault for not being brave, for not being sensible. Roddy says I handed him over to Liz, all tied up, like a parcel.”
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  “Why did you do that, I wonder.”

  Sal looked thoughtful. “I don’t know, really. It just happened like that. I’m not very good at talking to people and Liz knows I hate talking to strangers, so she does most of the talking—it’s a sort of recognized thing. Liz is so friendly and easy, isn’t she?”

  Mr. Grace nodded.

  “And then,” said Sal. “Then, when I saw them getting on so well and having jokes together, I thought—well, I thought they liked each other. It seemed natural that they should like each other, if you see what I mean.”

  “Go on,” said her father encouragingly.

  “Perhaps I was a tiny bit hurt,” admitted Sal, with a sigh. “I tried not to be—but—yes, I was a tiny bit hurt. That’s probably why I turned him over to Liz so—so completely.”

  “And Rona muddled it still more.”

  “Yes,” agreed Sal. “Yes, Aunt Rona seemed so sure. She managed it all…of course if I had been sensible I wouldn’t have let her. The whole thing is really my fault,” declared Sal.

  “It’s understandable,” said Mr. Grace.

  “You do understand,” said Sal, looking at him anxiously. “You see how it happened, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Grace. “Yes, I see. I don’t think it’s all your fault by any means. I blame myself a good deal.”

  “Not yours, anyhow!” cried Sal. “Oh, no—what could you have done? But we do want you to help us now. We want you to advise us how to put things straight. You will help us, won’t you?”

  “Yes, of course—if you’re sure it’s the right thing. You’ve thought it out—”

  “I’ve thought and thought,” said Sal earnestly. “I know it’s the right thing, Father.”

  Mr. Grace sighed. “I can trust you, my dear. You aren’t a creature of impulse, like Liz. I must say I was thankful when young Coleridge faded out of the picture; he was so very unstable. I should have been sorry if Liz had married Coleridge; she needs someone more human, more understanding.”

  “You knew about Eric!” cried Sal in amazement.

  “I may be shortsighted, but I’m not stone-blind,” declared her father. He smiled at her and added, “You’ve chosen a man, at any rate.”

  ***

  Roderick was waiting in the schoolroom. First he sat and waited in the big chair near the window, and then he rose and paced up and down like a caged lion. Every few minutes he looked at his watch and held it to his ear to see if it had stopped…Sal had been away hours. What were they saying? Was Sal explaining everything? Was she explaining it clearly so that Mr. Grace would understand? Wouldn’t it have been better if he had tackled Mr. Grace himself instead of letting Sal prepare the way? For the fiftieth time (at least) Roderick went over the whole sequence of events that had landed him in this muddle…He tried to discover where the fault lay. Could he have acted differently? Once more he threw himself into the chair and gazed out of the window, gazed at the trees, standing so still, their leaves hanging heavily in the blazing sunshine…

  Suddenly there were steps on the stair—light, flying footsteps—and Sal burst into the room.

  “Sal!” exclaimed Roderick, leaping up to meet her.

  “Father understands,” said Sal, putting her hands in his. “Father wants to see you.”

  They stood for a moment holding hands.

  “Then—then it’s all right!” said Roderick incredulously.

  “It will be,” replied Sal. “Just tell him everything, like you told me. Everything, Roddy.”

  “Everything,” agreed Roderick, nodding.

  “Explain that you thought I was Addie, and about the umbrella, and about forgetting it on purpose—all that.”

  “Yes,” said Roderick. “Yes, I will.” He hesitated, “Well—I suppose I had better go?”

  “Yes,” agreed Sal.

  “Yes? I had better not keep him waiting,” said Roderick, without moving.

  “No,” said Sal.

  “I’ll see you again afterward, won’t I?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Because I’m going away tomorrow, you know.”

  “I know,” said Sal.

  “Well,” said Roderick, taking a deep breath. “Well, here goes!” He dropped her hands, turned, strode to the door, and vanished.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When Archie Chevis-Cobbe decided to do anything, he liked to do it well—and now, of course, he had a wife to help him—so the fete at Chevis Place was going to be something quite out of the ordinary; an absolutely first-rate affair with a band from Wandlebury, an enormous tent for tea, and all sorts of sideshows. There was a Produce Stall, and a Flower Stall, and a Stall for White Elephants; there was a Shooting Gallery and a Fortune-Teller, and a Lucky Dip. You could try your hand at throwing tennis balls into a pail, or rolling pennies down a board, or hurling a piece of wood at poor Aunt Sally. In addition to all this there were prizes; prizes for the best turned-out horse and cart, prizes for the prettiest pony and the cleverest dog—there was also a prize for the neatest ankle. There were pony races and foot races and obstacle races for all ages, and, last but not least, a tug-of-war between Chevis Green and Popham Magna. The village was taking a half holiday and people were coming from all over the county to join in the fun.

  The only human beings in the neighborhood who were not looking forward to a happy day were members of the local constabulary, for it seemed pretty certain that a good many otherwise law-abiding people would come in motor cars, burning gas that had been allotted them for domestic purposes only, and the English bobby does not fancy himself in the role of Gestapo official. At dozens of breakfast tables, within a twelve-mile radius of Chevis Green, this very subject was being discussed. Young women who were anxious to attend the fete in summer frocks (unsuitable for bicycling) were trying to persuade their parents that it would be “perfectly all right to go in the car,” because there would be a Produce Stall, yielding fruit, fowls, rabbits, and perhaps even butter and eggs, and wasn’t that “domestic purpose”? And what was the difference between going in to Chevis Green in the car to fetch the meat at Toop’s and going to the Park at Chevis Place to buy rabbits and things? Parents were pretty hard put to it to find any moral difference, but they were aware that in the eyes of the Law the difference might easily be as much as £50—that being the maximum fine imposed upon the citizens of the British Isles for “the improper use of gas.”

  Fortunately the Vicarage had no such problem.

  The party met at breakfast. This was unusual, of course, for on ordinary days Liz was up and away to her work before the others came down; William was often early and Aunt Rona liked breakfast in bed; so breakfast was a “staggered” meal and quite informal. Today everyone appeared at nine o’clock and sat around the table, eating. Tilly looked from one face to the other and wondered what thoughts it concealed. A month ago there would have been no mystery about it, Tilly would have known exactly what everyone was thinking—if not, she would have asked. Now there were strange undercurrents beneath the surface and they were not all due to the presence of Aunt Rona (not all, thought Tilly, looking around). Liz was pale and quiet with dark shadows beneath her eyes as if she had not slept. Perhaps she was fretting about Roderick’s departure (thought Tilly), or perhaps there was some sort of rift between her and Roderick. Yes, it must be that, because Roderick had come over yesterday afternoon and had gone before Liz came back from the farm. So he had not said good-bye and—as far as Tilly knew—he had left no message for her. Tilly ought to have been glad about this, for she did not want Liz to marry Roderick, but being thoroughly illogical, she was not glad. Damn Roderick, said Tilly to herself, how dare he make Liz miserable! Isn’t she good enough for him, or what? Then Sal. Sal was unlike herself, too, this morning. She was talking more than usual. She was chattering gaily about the fete and then suddenly falling silent, so silent that she
seemed entranced. There was a sort of suppressed excitement in Sal—surely not due to anticipation of pleasure at the fete! Sal’s eyes were very blue today, blue and sparkling. They were often hidden by her long dark lashes, but when she looked up they were very, very blue. Father was distracted; he looked grave and was not saying much—but of course that might be due to the fete, for Father did not like the even tenor of his life disturbed. Tilly was aware that he had been cajoled by Archie into an active part in the events; he had promised to direct the Children’s Races and was probably regretting it. William was much as usual, if anything a shade more silent. William the Silent, thought Tilly, glancing at him. The last member of the party to receive Tilly’s attention was Aunt Rona, and she seemed in very good form. She professed herself as looking forward to the afternoon with delight, and perhaps this was true. At any rate, she would have an opportunity of “dressing up,” and clothes were a passion with Aunt Rona.

  ***

  Two o’clock was the “opening” hour, and by half past one the roads leading to the park at Chevis Place were crowded with all sorts of vehicles and pedestrians. Horses and carts, ponies and traps, cars, vans, prams, and bicycles were all converging upon the scene. Men and women in their Sunday best, men and women in various sorts of uniform, and children in gaily colored dresses were making their way across the fields. The park was an ideal spot for a fete; it was meadowland stretching gently down to the banks of the Wandle and was shaded by some very fine old trees. Beneath these trees, stallholders had erected their booths and spread their wares. At one end of the park a large marquee had been erected and displayed a notice—Teas 1/6; at the other end was the piece of flat ground where the sports were to take place.

  The Vicarage party arrived together, but soon separated to go their different ways. Sal made a beeline for the Produce Stall for she was aware that unless she got there early, everything she wanted would have been sold; already there was a milling crowd around the stall, but fortunately Mrs. Element was helping to sell and had put aside something she thought Sal might like to have.

  “You don’t need to take them all, Miss Sal,” said Mrs. Element in conspiratorial tones. “I just put them aside on the chance. I didn’t see why strangers from Wandlebury should ’ave my cake—nor Mr. Barefoot’s ’oney.”