Catherine, unaware she had temporarily lost her audience, was off again on “us”. The dreadful Mrs. Dayton. The term times when she was parted from Robert. How they were only supposed to write once a week, and how through day pupils they got round school laws. How she and Robert talked to each other about everything, Cynthia was too young yet. The growns thought they didn’t know things, but they did. She could remember seeing lambs born, and Robert nearly could. Did Judith know about how you had babies . . . ?
In a hissing whisper Catherine confided and Judith listened. It was all news to Judith. She was still a child; Mother had not informed her that soon she would be a woman, or what would happen when she was. There had been no hint of what it meant to be adult from Miss Simpson. Yet, enthralling as Catherine’s information was, it interested Judith far less than the idea she had thrown out that she might become Mother’s secretary. The physical angle of being grown-up, as described by Catherine, mattered far less than the long-dreaded unprotected angle. The great thing was to make herself needed, so that there was no pushing her out into loneliness. How did you train to be a secretary? She would ask Father. Thinking this thought, unaware that Catherine was still imparting knowledge, Judith fell asleep.
The next morning a new Catherine presented herself. A commander-in-chief Catherine, who planned the day ahead, as if a battle were expected. Rosebud was sent away so that she could not hear what was said.
“She won’t mean to spy,” said Catherine, “but that sort of child who thinks all growns perfect is never safe. She’ll be quite happy feeding the chickens.”
Judith felt ashamed. What would the Carlyles think if they knew that she, whom they were trusting as one of the family, also thought growns perfect?
“Things seem buttoned up,” said Robert. “I mean, until after the wedding they are.”
The Carlyles, without being directly spoken to, or apparently asking questions, had a gift for knowing what was planned for them. Judith, who must have heard the plans for the wedding discussed, had taken in nothing except that she had been promised by Grandmother that someone would fetch her, and take her to the house in time to dress for the wedding. She had never asked where she ate, or dressed or how she got to the wedding. Grandmother’s promise that someone would collect her and look after her was enough.
“Lunch for us here is twelve o’clock,” said Cynthia. “It’s chicken.”
Robert imitated his Mother’s crisp ordering-about voice.
“Robert must be dressed before luncheon. I suppose I can trust the Branscombe woman to see that he’s presentable.”
Catherine continued the imitation.
“A car will pick up the children at twelve forty-five. Old nurse will have finished dressing Charlotte by then, and can see to the girls. I suppose Rosebud’s Mother will want to dress her. Pity, the child’s plain enough already, someone better have a comb handy and rearrange the wreath.” She relapsed into her ordinary voice. “It’ll be no good our trying anything until Aunt Charlotte’s gone away.”
“Not a bit,” said Robert. “There’s all that throwing muck at them, nobody’s any use until after that.”
They were by the farm gate. Catherine climbed it, and sat astride it.
“The thing is how quickly can we attack, and shall we all do it at once or one by one?”
Robert pointed at Judith.
“She’s a good bet. Child of a broken home,” once more he imitated his Mother. “Is that Charles’s girl? Pretty little thing, but then Avis wasn’t bad-looking.”
Catherine, Robert and Cynthia stared thoughtfully at Judith.
“I believe you’re right,” Catherine agreed, “but she’ll probably do better on her own once we’ve started her off.”
Robert leant against the gate and looked up at Catherine.
“Shall she do French or Italian?”
Catherine shrugged her shoulders.
“Doesn’t matter. Both I should think. Anything to make them notice us, and want to get rid of us so they can discuss us.”
“There’s Hugh,” said Cynthia. “Oughtn’t he to be in on it with us, he’s a page?”
Robert looked questioningly at Catherine before he answered.
“He’s staying in the house. Anything he does he must do on his own, don’t you think?”
Catherine wriggled into a more comfortable position on the gate.
“Anyway I bet he and Helen aren’t there. They’ll be sent to have tea with old nurse, Mrs. Killigrew, and everybody who’s come to help.” She nudged Judith with her toe. “Don’t dream. Do you know what we’re talking about?”
Judith jumped as if she were a new recruit addressed by a sergeant.
“No. No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
Six eyes looked at her pityingly.
“You may speak French and Italian,” said Robert, “but you’ve been queerly brought up.”
“This is business, my girl,” Catherine explained. “When growns meet, children are tipped.”
“Partly from general goodwill,” Robert explained, “but mostly to get rid of us so they can tell each other how we’re being brought up.”
“Not forcing religion down our throats, and telling each other clever things we’ve said,” Cynthia added. “I know, because the last party, which was for the Coronation, I was only little so they spoke as if I wasn’t there.”
Catherine swung to and fro.
“I should think Judith’s Father ought to be good for half-a-crown each, as he’s a black sheep, trying to get back in the fold.”
“And hasn’t a wife watching,” said Robert. He turned to Judith. “Only unattached relations tip. There are quite a lot of single female cousins who pass the odd shilling, but single men are best.”
Catherine made a face at him.
“More to you than to us. They look at you, and remember what it was like to be little boys, the happiest days of their lives and all that blah.”
Robert was trying to find seven daisies that he could cover with one foot, and so prove summer was arriving. He spoke over his shoulder.
“To-day we hope for a rich harvest. You are news, Judith. They’ll all want to talk to you, if only to tell each other afterwards how you are missing a Father’s guidance.”
Catherine climbed down off the gate.
“So it’s your job, Judith, first to show off in a foreign language.”
“To awaken interest,” said Robert.
Cynthia patted Judith’s arm to be sure she was attending.
“Then you go round to everybody we tell you to.”
Catherine spoke firmly.
“All tips are pooled. And that’s a pretty generous offer, seeing what we expect from your Father.”
Robert moved away.
“Let’s go and see the pigs.”
Catherine was following him. Then she remembered a final instruction.
“The great thing about a growns’ party is to get what you can out of them, and then scram. We’ll tell you when to leave.”
Robert called over his shoulder:
“Unless we’ve got someone small enough to be a spy we all leave at once. It’s a house rule.”
“Understood, Judith?” asked Catherine. Judith was not at all sure she had understood, but she nodded. “Good,” said Catherine, “then come and see the pigs.”
If it had not been for her anxiety not to let the Carlyles down over the tipping Judith would have enjoyed the wedding. She loved her rustling long blue frock, and her sheaf of pink tulips. Mother might say “too obvious”, but the Winsters, old nurse, and Mrs. Killigrew said “charming”, or “sweetly pretty”. Although she would not admit it, Judith was sure Catherine too was pleased with her appearance. She watched her looking at herself in a long glass, with a very happy face. Cynthia made no bones about her pleasure. She and Rosebud had short
frocks, and she spun round and round, asking to be admired. “Look at me, everybody. Look how I stick out and rustle.” The happy look on Catherine’s face, and Cynthia’s little-girl pleasure in a party frock, gave Judith another view of her cousins. How puzzling they were! Was it possible they were not so tough as they seemed?
After the car, with its placards, chalked witticisms and old shoe had carried Charlotte and Edward away, and the local guests had said good-bye, the families of the bride and groom surged into the house. Over cups of tea, the wedding was relived, what friends had said recounted, everybody was glad to sit down, the women told each other what a relief it was to get off their feet. As the tea warmed and lulled them, conversation would have become a trickle, but Catherine, watching for her moment, exchanged a look with Robert, who, interpreting it correctly, gave Judith, who was near him, an alerting nudge. Catherine spoke loudly and clearly.
“Do you go to weddings abroad, Judith?”
Judith had jumped nervously at Robert’s nudge. This was it. Oh goodness, what had she to do? Was it French or Italian? Perhaps half and half would be best.
“Parfois ma gouvernante et moi-même nous assistons à un mariage à la Mairie. A Pasqua si celebrano ricchi matrimoni nelle chiese.”
The effect of this effort was, from the Carlyles’ viewpoint, more than satisfactory. Edward’s relations, who had so far only known Judith as a niece of Charlotte’s, and the prettiest bridesmaid, asked the nearest Winster who she was. The Winsters, on the whole, were pleased with Judith. It is always satisfactory, when a child behaves as expected, it would have been disappointing if Judith had behaved as if she had neither a broken home nor lived abroad. Only Beatrice was annoyed. She was already touchy about Judith because Edward’s relations had almost all congratulated her on her looks. When she had explained that it was Catherine and Cynthia who were hers they had all found something nice to say, but not with such enthusiasm as could fool a Mother. Now her crisp voice rang across the room.
“If your child can’t talk English, Charles, it’s time you sent her to school over here.”
Alice, though tired, pulled her wits together and gave her attention to the children. She saw the nervous flush on Judith’s cheeks. She saw Catherine’s eyes raking the room, and with amusement watched Robert and Cynthia get behind Judith, prepared to push her forward. “Greedy children,” she thought, “they’re after tips,” but she thought this tolerantly. She considered her Carlyle grandchildren aloof, curiously unlike her own children, or the child she had been. When she was with them, which was not often, they seemed to have none of the obvious belongings of childhood; she never saw or heard of toys or bicycles, it was at least a good human trait to expect tips. She would encourage them.
“Cynthia dear, my bag’s over there. I think there should be prizes for good bridesmaids and a helpful grandson.”
Charles had spent an enchanted afternoon. “I hear that pretty child’s yours, Charles.” “You’ll have to come home and keep your eye on that daughter, Charles, a little charmer.” Even before Judith’s linguistic effort he had been going to call her to him; he thought she looked ravishing and he wanted her near him; now, as everybody laughed he swelled with pride. He had no idea why suddenly the child was speaking a strange mixture of French and Italian, but she certainly knew how to attract attention, the little puss.
“Come over here, daughter.” He felt for his wallet. “I agree with your Grandmother there should be a prize for pretty bridesmaids.” He stuck a pound amongst Judith’s tulips, and pulled her on to his knee. He indicated those nearest to him. “These are cousins you’ve never met, but they’ve met your Uncles, would you do your imitation of them?”
Father’s arm was round her, Father’s affection and pride was something she could feel; a longing to please swept over Judith. She forgot her instructions, was unconscious of the Carlyle children’s nudges and looks. She imitated Uncles Ambrose, Herbert and Angus. She quoted Mother. She even made fun of Miss Simpson. Her reward was gales of laughter but more, Father’s heart-warming pleasure and pride. She did not hear Beatrice’s “You’d better go and change, Catherine and Cynthia, and then you can run back to the farm. The exercise will do you good after all this excitement.” Nor “Hadn’t Judith better change too, Mother?” Nor Grandmother’s resigned “I expect Charles will drive her back later.” Nor was she conscious that several were not finding her amusing, but unpleasantly precocious; that though in her immediate vicinity everybody was laughing, beyond them were whispered conversations and expressive looks. Then suddenly the party broke up. Somebody said: “How about our moving to The Iron Man, Charles?”
Grandmother was ready for that.
“Run and change, Judith, old nurse will help you. If she’s quick, will you drop her off at the farm, Charles?”
Judith felt stranded. She looked round the room. The Carlyle children were gone. Father was part of a group moved by a common urge, and mentally he was inside The Iron Man. The way he said “Yes, of course,” made it sound as if waiting for her was a duty to a stranger.
Father’s car was full of men. Judith sat in front on somebody’s knee. At the farm gate Father said:
“You’ll be all right from here, won’t you?” He gave her a kiss. “Good-night little sweetheart.” Then talking and laughing he drove off.
At the farm only Mrs. Branscombe was on view.
“Looks like you’d better come and help me with the fowls. The children have gone off somewhere.”
Judith did not realise that she might be in disgrace. She had known few children, so had no knowledge of the unwritten rules of childhood. When she heard her cousins returning she ran to meet them, proudly holding out her Father’s pound.
The Carlyles were in the hall. They stared at Judith with cruel eyes. Catherine looked at the pound. Then she turned to Robert.
“What’s she holding that out for?”
Robert shrugged his shoulders.
“Probably thinks we want it. Doesn’t know it stinks.”
Catherine gave a forced laugh.
“Must be mad. Come on, let’s wash for supper.”
“Has she got to eat it with us?” asked Cynthia.
Catherine nodded.
“There’s nowhere else. And, Rosebud, you’re not to talk to her. You’re too young to understand, but she’s a traitor.”
“And a traitor is the worst sort of beastly cad there is,” said Robert.
No one, except Mrs. Branscombe, spoke to Judith. In silence she had her meal, in silence she went to bed. After Catherine was asleep she buried her face in the pillow and cried. She had no idea what she had done, why, after being treated as family, she had become unfit to speak to. All she knew was that the safe feeling of yesterday and this morning had disappeared. She liked the Carlyles. How terrible to be hated. “I’d do anything to please them if I knew what,” she told herself. Then, under her breath, she called for help. Mother! Simpsy! Daddy!
* * * * *
The wedding slid into family history, and as each day passed Judith became more completely a part of the life with and around Grandmother. She changed noticeably both in appearance and in herself. Alice, in her mind, compared her with an early rosebud, tightly bound in its outer petals, until warmth and water gave it strength to break itself free and bloom. And what a lovely rose, she thought, is now shaking her petals. Judith had not been old enough when she had left England to remember it, so she was now seeing an English spring for the first time, and it enchanted and excited her. Charles, too, was pleased to meet an English spring again, he had always been fond of country things, and got a rare pleasure from introducing them to his daughter. Together they saw the woods change their yellow carpet of primroses for one of bluebells. Together they watched chestnuts uncurl from green fingers to candles. Together looked at blackthorn lying like snow on the hedges. Charles knew the names of most of the birds and could pick
out their songs; he made Judith learn them too, together they found nests and paid them daily visits.
“You couldn’t believe, Granny, how surprised I am,” Judith said, “I’ve learned all that poetry ‘Oh, to be in England’, and about daffodils and skylarks, but I thought it was just poetry, I never, never guessed it was true, and I don’t think Simpsy knew it was. You see, she’s never lived in England much either.”
Alice refrained from saying “But your Mother knows England, doesn’t she ever talk to you about her country?”. Judith was gradually dropping her habit of dragging “Mother and I” into every conversation. They had accepted that there could be few letters until Mother’s book was finished, and this evidently put the child at ease, for there were no further floods of explanations and excuses when the post was delivered. She had noticed there was something furtive about Judith’s letter writing. “Poor child,” she thought, “unless Avis has changed out of all knowledge she is not the sort to want a daily letter, but I expect Charles with his daily letters to Marion has made her think he thinks she ought to write daily to her Mother.” She got in the habit of holding a letter back and giving it to Judith when she went to bed. “Run to the post-box with this before breakfast, darling.” It became understood Judith posted her own letters before breakfast, and no one asked questions as to whom she wrote.
The open air life must, Alice supposed, account for the change in Judith’s looks. She was pretty when she first saw her, but now sometimes she wondered if “beauty” was not a better word. The extra colour in her cheeks suited her, but it was more than that. She had a radiance about her. “It’s as if she is so happy it shines out of her,” thought Alice. “But why should she be so happy? Of course it’s nice for her being with her Father, but she’s leading a very quiet life.” Mrs. Killigrew, who was as much old friend as cook-general, was as puzzled as her mistress.
“I can’t think what kind of home life Judith has. ’Tisn’t natural for a child to be so pleased at doing things as she is, all the little jobs like, giving me a hand with the beds, brushing the dogs, doing the flowers for you, lending a hand on Thursdays with the silver, it’s as if each one is a treat. Most children create shocking if you ask them to do things for you.”
Judith Page 6