The Brontes Went to Woolworths

by Rachel Ferguson

  28

  The penetrating voices of Katrine and Deirdre came from the floor below to Miss Ainslie’s ears as she hovered between bedroom, schoolroom and night nursery: marking time until the guests should arrive and the gong summon the family to dinner, and indulgently controlling her pupil as she rushed, star-eyed, from room to room, and hung over the banisters. It was a high-pressure job, calling for one’s full stock of intuition.

  ‘Who will come first?’ (That was Katrine). ‘Toddy and Lady Mildred or Charlotte and Emily?’

  ‘The Toddys, I think. You know what Emily is. Doesn’t care a toot what she looks like, and Charlotte wants her to make a good impresh’, and will be working on her till the last minute.’

  ‘But I expect Lady Mildred gave her a new fringed silk for parties,’ shouted Sheil, suddenly. Deirdre hung over the banisters above. ‘Yes, but you know what they are about presents. Emily’s quite capable of returning it.’

  (‘My dear, we’re not all QUITE deaf ! ’)

  ‘Oh no! Lady Mildred would be so hurt!’

  (‘Not so loud, dear!

  ’) ‘Well, I think Emily’s a runnion!’

  (‘A what? Look, your fillet is right down over your eyebrows.’)

  ‘Shakespeare, Miss Ainslie,’ answered Katrine and Deirdre simultaneously, from above.

  ‘Yes,’ chimed in Sheil, ‘ “Anoint the witch! the rump-fed runnion cried.” Isn’t runnion a lovely word, Miss Ainslie? It almost makes one wish one was one oneself.’

  ‘Dear me! What a lot of “ones”! Suppose you keep off the draughty landing, old lady.’ But the bell rang, and Sheil was off in a flash of leaf-green satin, her coppery hair rising round its golden band.

  ‘Oh, Toddy, my true love! Is it really you and Lady Mildred?’ ‘Yes, darling, it’s really us.’

  ‘Then let’s kiss each other at once, before anybody else gets a chance at you.’

  (‘Really ’ )

  ‘Now, that will be delightful. But – is there going to be much competition?’

  ‘No. Only games, unless they worry you, and snapdragon if the brandy stays lit.’

  ‘You pet!’ Sounds of kissing.

  ‘Oh Toddy, I do think on Christmas Eve your house ought to be hung with little silvery nuts! You’d look so sweet coming out of the door. Isn’t he looking pretty, Lady Mildred?’

  ‘My dear child, spare my blushes. Ridiculous! Come, come.’

  ‘Oh, you aren’t in your wig!

  It would have looked so lovely with a tinsel star stuck on in front.’

  They were ushered into the drawing-room, and Mrs Carne was heard by Helen Ainslie to hope that ‘the little insect’ hadn’t been teasing them. Miss Ainslie, her occupation gone, prepared to descend in her gala taffeta with its shoulder-knot of velvet pansies.

  Sir Herbert: a small, white-haired old man with a grim face, very like his photos. Lady Toddington: very smart in silver lamé with a large, good-natured face.

  Deirdre and Katrine on the stairs. The introduction of herself.

  ‘A very happy Christmas to you and your lady,’ from Katrine.

  Sir Herbert bowed stiffly. ‘You are very good. May I, in turn, proffer you the compliments of the season. (Do I know this lady, Sheil?’)

  ‘Yes. Sir Herbert Toddington – Miss Carne.’

  Katrine and Sir Herbert shook hands.

  At dinner, Helen Ainslie found herself next Sir Herbert, who took the foot of the table and carved, very neatly, but surely Mrs Carne should have done it? Still, of course, he was the only man present . . . no host . . . an old family friend.

  Miss Ainslie realised, with surprise, that Deirdre was beautiful, to-night. Commonly, one would select the dark and ivory regularitics of Katy, or the bronze elfery of Sheil . . . Deirdre’s looks, decided Helen Ainslie, were contingent upon her expression, and settled to her dinner.

  As she looked round the table while the turkey was put on, she also realised what was the matter with the party.

  The other guests had not arrived.

  She turned to Katrine. ‘The Miss Bells aren’t here.’

  Katrine drained her glass. ‘Are you sure?’ and giggled. Miss Ainslie hesitated; it was Christmas, but still

  ‘Would you have any more burgundy, Katy? It’s rather apt to go to one’s head, you know.’

  ‘I don’t mind being called a dipsomaniac, but I do mind Katy. Miss Ainslie says I’m soused,’ announced Katrine to the table. ‘Am I soused, Deiry? On one glass?’

  ‘Not if you can say, “Are you copper-bottoming the bottom of that boat, boy? No, I’m aluminiuming it, mum,” ’ responded Deirdre. ‘Say it quickly, Miss Ainslie.’

  A little pink, Helen Ainslie obeyed, and subsided amidst general laughter. She turned to Sir Herbert. ‘I am so sorry that Mr Mathewson and Mr Nicholls were unable to come to-night.’

  He put down the carvers courteously. ‘Ah . . . was he invited?’

  ‘Oh, yes. They both were.’

  ‘Um ’

  ‘But perhaps you have no objection to being the only man!’

  ‘Not in the slightest.’

  Something in the tone of his voice made Miss Ainslie drop a salted almond. Crellie ate it instantly and audibly.

  ‘Toddy-my-love,’ Sheil shrilled, ‘what did you give Ethel and Cook? We said dress-lengths from Lady Mildred and one pound each from you.’

  ‘Both wrong,’ answered Lady Toddington. ‘I gave’em each a jumper-suit and Toddy gave them both ten shillings.’

  ‘And dear Mr Nicholls?’

  (‘Sheil, it isn’t quite-quite to ask ’)

  ‘My dear, we aren’t on present-giving terms, I’m afraid.’ There was, at this, a concerted wail from the Carne girls.

  ‘Bang go the golf-clubs,’ said Deirdre.

  ‘You see, at Christmas, we judges pay into a general fund for the officials, besides a number of legal charities.’

  ‘Like the Browbeaten Barristers?’ implored Sheil.

  ‘Something of that nature. I have been Treasurer of the – ah – Browbeaten Barristers’ Fund.’

  As the dinner moved to its climax of almonds and raisins and crystallised fruit, Miss Ainslie’s efforts to catch the ball of conversation became more fevered. It almost seemed, at times, that the evening was going to degenerate into an effort to cut in anywhere. And yet, one was freely, constantly addressed . . .

  She turned again to Sir Herbert, indicating Sheil.

  ‘We are a little over-excited, to-night. But we’re rather killing, aren’t we?’

  ‘We? Oh, you allude to Sheil. But the festival of the children, you know ’

  Katrine heard, and usurped him. ‘Dear Sir Herbert, what a bromide!’ she drawled.

  ‘Come, may I not offer you the sugarplums?’ He proffered the dish.

  Light broke, and Miss Ainslie turned eagerly, again. ‘Is it a mock quarrel? Oh, how too priceless!’

  In the silence that fell, she rather believed that she had made a gaffe. Katy was looking coldly at Sir Herbert, and he was returning the gaze with a well-bred smile. Miss Ainslie bent her head to her raisins. One could, at least, listen. Deirdre, opposite, her arm on the table, was saying, ‘ do you know what I – mean, Toddy? It isn’t that there’s anti-climax about Christmas Day, but there’s a definite sadness . . . not being able to be in two or three places at once to see what one’s friends are doing in their homes . . . and the way the face of the house falls if one leaves it to go out for the evening. It’s a sort of betrayal ’

  ‘Age is a shield, Deirdre. It “larns one” to take things as they come. It’s I don’t speak personally typical of youngness – – to grab ’

  Katrine to Lady Toddington: ‘I do so awfully hope that in spite of my complex with Sir Toddy, you’re going to adopt me, too.’

  ‘My dear, I’d adore to. Run in whenever your lovers throw you down and we’ll see if we can’t spike their guns, between us. I’ve no end of nice young men up my sleeve, only waiting to tumble all over themselves about y
ou and Deirdre. Only, try not to marry them all too soon, because I want to be noticed, too!’

  ‘You dear! . . . but I’m only just over a low comedian ’

  ‘You mean that what’s-his-name we saw in your revue the other night?’

  ‘Yes. Am I a cad to give it away? Somehow, I feel one could out with things, to you. Deiry and mother and I understand each other too well; but with you, one would get a new slant on life ’

  Incredulous, Miss Ainslie, cautiously raising her head, saw the eyes of Lady Toddington become unmistakably wet. She jazzed it off.

  ‘Herbert! I’ve just had the compliment of my life.’

  ‘Good, dear. May we hear it?’

  ‘No. Eat your almonds.’

  (‘And yet, it’s a very cheerful party,’ Helen Ainslie told herself. ‘All the ingredients are here ’)

  ‘ don’t you agree with me, Miss Ainslie?’

  ‘Pardon, Lady Toddington?’

  ‘I was saying that I think all you girls ought to be made love to before settling down by men from every profession from earls to pantomime dames. It’s the only way to – – learn.’

  ‘My dear Mildred! let nobody indict your education in that respect!’ Sir Herbert leant back, eyes crinkled with sardonic amusement.

  ‘Eat your nourishing nuts, Herbert. What I mean is, that it must make a person one-sided to have only been kissed by gentlemen.’

  ‘I’d love an affair with a dame,’ agreed Deirdre, shouting above the laughter.

  ‘Pass the chocolates along to Miss Ainslie, Sheil, petty,’ prompted Mrs Carne.

  ‘I’ve kissed Freddie Pipson and Toddy,’ piped Sheil, obeying.

  ‘You little lamb!’ Lady Toddington blew her a kiss.

  ‘Tell me, Miss Ainslie, are you a believer in the methods of Montessori? My wife tells me that you are very modern ,’ Herbert Toddington leant to Helen Ainslie. But she was already recovering; the ‘all you girls’ of Lady Toddington and the sane camaraderie of the crackers made her herself again, and quite soon she had whipped on a Chinese hat, and, making a funny face for Sheil, cried, ‘I’m the Jam of Tartary. Allah!’

  ‘I don’t think it’s very like a jam tart,’ answered Sheil, interested, ‘it’s shaped more like a muffin.’ Sir Herbert privily shook, and his wife muttered, ‘I shall die.’

  And then Katrine, adjusting a tiny straw hat, said to Lady Toddington, ‘Meet Mr Lassiter.’

  ‘How do you do, Mr Lassiter. I’ve always wanted to know you.’

  ‘Oh, who ,’ began Miss Ainslie, but Deirdre had already swept her away.

  ‘Emily says he is “a just though shallow man,” and when I asked Charlotte if she liked him, she said, weighing her words, “I do and I do not. His principles are unpolluted, but he is a great quiz.”’

  ‘What about your novel, Deirdre?’

  ‘Well, Toddy, I’ve had the courage to rend it in twain, thanks to Charlotte. You remember her pencilled comments?’ ‘Of course. I was deeply interested.’

  ‘Well, I have done all she suggested. Oh, if she had written more! ’

  ‘ – you must pull a cracker with me, Miss Ainslie! . . . there, you’ve got it! That goes much better with your hair. How I envy you being fair!’ Lady Toddington swept the spent cracker aside and nodded, smilingly. Sheil squeaked at the bang, then, weaving her way to the foot of the table, she reverently fitted a jockey cap on to Sir Herbert’s head, placed a serpent ring upon his finger, kissed him upon one shaggy eyebrow, and announced from a slip of paper in her hand,

  Oh fairest flower of all the flowers that bloom

  Thy mirthful glance has sealed my happy doom.

  ‘That’s bigamy, Herbert.’

  ‘No, Mildred. At most it is alienation of affection.’

  ‘Charlotte’s got a ripsnorter,’ announced Deirdre.

  Fear not, fond heart, but love will come

  And claim you wheresoever you may roam.

  ‘Snakes!’

  ‘Well, it’s not very much worse than her poetry ’

  ‘Let’s do one for all of us.’

  There at the table-end sits little Toddy . . .

  His shirt is linen . . .

  . . . and his pants are shoddy.

  ‘Thank you, thank you, Miss Carne. Highly humorous, I am sure, if wholly inaccurate.’

  ‘We can’t give you a motto, Miss Ainslie. There’s no rhyme to fit your name.’

  ‘Shall we go and light the tree?’ suggested Mrs Carne, a little hastily.

  29

  (‘Oh, a most successful party,’ Helen Ainslie told herself.

  But one had to go on asserting it).

  In the glowing drawing-room she instinctively gravitated to Lady Toddington. She had fully intended to exchange ideas with Sir Herbert, but there it was.

  The tree, dominating the room, sparkled, its base banked three-deep with packages. Helen Ainslie, doing rapid mental arithmetic, discovered amazement, then, remembering her own surprise in store, was consoled. Also, she herself was included, lavishly. The individual presents received, her arms became piled with what might or might not have been afterthoughts, and which the Carnes lumped together under the general heading of ‘dirts.’ The silk sports coat from Mrs Carne, the fur and leather gauntlets, sports stockings, and béret from the girls. And chocolates, notepaper, eau-deCologne, a tiny glass maple tree. Dirts . . . how killing.

  ‘The dog will be sick,’ she observed to Lady Toddington.

  ‘Oh well, let him enjoy himself. It’s Christmas.’ Lady Toddington smiled at Crellie as he sat chewing chocolate caramels and occasionally becoming inextricably welded, upon which he put the top of his head on the floor and stood in the roof of his mouth. Disposed round him were a drinking bowl with a picture on it, a new collar, a net stocking full of toys and a ‘small mixture’ in the toe, a serge pillow made by Mrs Carne and embroidered ‘C.C.’ in one corner and ‘R.I.P.’ in the other, a rubber bone, the packet of caramels and a mechanical mouse. The Carnes had also jointly contributed a religious calendar.

  Helen Ainslie, reconstructing the evening, would perhaps date the moment that harassment definitely set in from the response of Lady Toddington about Crellie. For the Carnes, their personal pièces de résistance distributed, were still passing each other packets with remarks that one never quite seemed to catch.

  ‘From Ionie ’ (‘Or was it “irony” ?’)

  Then Deirdre, coming up to Sir Herbert’s chair and presenting a book: ‘From Charlotte, Toddy dear.’ And Sheil, leaning against Lady Toddington and watching Mrs Carne as she drew yet another parcel from the back of the tree and gave it (‘with a rather peculiar look’ ) to her guest.

  ‘That’s from Emily.’

  ‘Oh, you two darlings! And I didn’t bring anything for her.’ ‘You did ! Look at the things you and Toddy gave us! Besides, she wouldn’t have liked it, you know. They’re very queer about presents, Lady Mildred.’

  ‘They had so few, poor wretches,’ said Mrs Carne, ‘it must have made them rather farouche.’ Here she smiled self-consciously at Helen Ainslie, and quickly snipped a chocolate fish for her from the boughs.

  On the other side of the tree, Deirdre and Katrine were heard by Miss Ainslie to proffer unknown gifts from Mr Saffyn (‘it wasn’t Baffin, then’).

  ‘ – and Polly sends these, with her warmest regards.’

  ‘Then she is miffed about not being invited to-night! She’d have sent her love, if she wasn’t.’ Laughter . . . a Pauline and an Ennis . . .

  Miss Ainslie rose. Her moment was at hand. Her last parcel was balanced on the pot in which the tree stood; she annexed it, beaming. Katy had been so awfully pleased with the shingle brush, and Sheil had thanked her so earnestly for Peter Pan . . .

  She put the packet into the child’s hands. ‘That,’ she announced, ‘is a little remembrance from Henry the Eighth,’ and burst out laughing.

  Deirdre came forward quickly. ‘Stout fella,’ she approved, casually.

  ‘Oh, Miss Ain
slie, how kind of you,’ said Mrs Carne. Katrine gave a high, hysteric giggle.

  Sir Herbert said, ‘Dear me. A typical gesture where fair ladies were in question.’

  Lady Toddington murmured, ‘There now! I wonder whatever it can be?’ and looked slightly worried.

  Sheil thanked, her expression a blank. She had turned crimson. Crellie hicupped.

  Helen Ainslie found herself beginning to babble. ‘Oh yes. He specially asked me to choose it for you when I met him in the High Street. So you open it, old lady, at once, if not sooner, and don’t keep His Majesty waiting.’ Again Sheil’s thanks, and in the conversation which sprang up, she found herself and her pupil making for Lady Toddington; in a minor way, it partook of the nature of a race to the goal of this pleasant, cheerful lady . . .

  Lady Toddington instantly put both arms about the child. Helen Ainslie, wondering what remark was going to emerge, opened her lips.

  Lady Toddington said, ‘I saw the Brontës, yesterday.’

  Miss Ainslie closed her mouth. Deirdre said, ‘Where?’

  ‘In Woolworth’s.’ Lady Toddington kissed the top of Sheil’s head.

  ‘A moment, Mildred. Would they have the means to say nothing of the inclination to purchase Christmas goods? Can one see them in such a shop?’

  Helen Ainslie looked at Sir Herbert closely. He was perfectly serious, interested, argumentative, fingertips joined. She thought better of the laughter she had been ready to expend. If one laughed, there was no knowing how the party would take it. That was how it seemed.

  ‘I can,’ said Deirdre. ‘They’d be after the dreary things – basins with linen tops for lifting out. The aunt with the pattens wanted ’em. Besides, it depends whether they went to Woolworth’s after the publication of Jane Eyre or before. Charlotte’d have lots to splurge with if it was after.’

  ‘Oh, how lovely!’ breathed Sheil, her head in Lady Toddington’s neck.

  ‘You don’t need much money for basins,’ objected Mrs Carne.