‘Getting on?’ said Jane.
Robin showed his basket.
‘Not so bad,’ said Jane. ‘There was a fresh lot of people from the Far East last week.’
‘Repatriated?’ said Robin.
‘Repatriated – rescued – escaped,’ said Jane, as one who might say it’s all one and doesn’t interest me.
‘Anyone know anything?’ Robin asked, with no outward appearance of interest.
‘Not a soul,’ said Jane. ‘Why should they?’
‘People do hear of people who are missing quite ages afterwards,’ said Robin, doing his best to be as impersonal as Jane, but not succeeding so well.
‘Yes; and they don’t too,’ said Jane. ‘You can’t count a man who had seen someone two years ago who thought he had heard of Francis a year before that. How I hate these gooseberries,’ she added with cold fury, holding up a finger gashed and bleeding from a long thorn.
‘Suck it,’ said Robin.
‘I am,’ said Jane rather mumblingly. ‘Beastly things, gooseberries. Spikes and bristles and pips.’
‘You look rotten,’ said Robin, stating a fact without emotion.
‘I hate those bits of news that aren’t news,’ said Jane. ‘One thinks about them at night. Come on, we’ll give the gooseberries to Cook and you’ll want to wash before evening service. Give me your basket and I’ll go in the back way. No, empty it into mine.’
She held her basket above the prickly gooseberry bush and Robin poured his gooseberries into it. Their eyes met. Each saw in the other an image of desolation, well chained and subdued. Jane laughed and went away towards the kitchen.
Robin could not laugh. Her lot was harder than his, for he knew the very worst. She had never known the truth, might never know it. He had his school, the offer of a job at South-bridge with a life of useful work. She could never make a certain plan again in her life, unless Francis Gresham returned or was proved to be dead. All useless. Everything was useless. He took his empty basket to the house, put it in the little garden room, washed his hands and joined his father and Admiral Palliser, who had come to anchor at a wooden seat on the flagged path which ran under the drawing-room windows, and were enjoying some temporary sunshine. The elder men continued their talk about parish matters. Three-quarters chimed from St Hall Friars tower. Evening service at half-past six. Supper. Books. Bed. School next day. So it all went on. So it went on for poor Jane.
The noise of a car drawing up outside was heard. The door in the wall was opened and in came Mr Adams and his daughter. No one can say that the Admiral was enthusiastically pleased to see his Chairman of Directors on that day and at that hour, but he put a good face on it and asked them to sit down.
‘If it’s all the same to you I’ll stand,’ said Mr Adams, who was holding a long thin parcel. ‘I’ve been sitting most of the day one way and another, what with the chapel and lunch and an afternoon with the papers. I’m putting on weight, and Sam Adams can’t afford that. I have to get about a bit in my business. But that’s not what I came to say, Admiral Palliser. What I came to say is this. You remember what I said about that scullery waste-pipe of yours was giving trouble.’
Admiral Palliser said he did, and his grandson had managed to get it stopped up again.
‘He’d get a good tanning if he was mine,’ said Mr Adams, not vindictively, but as a matter of business. ‘But that’s his mother’s affair. Shall we have the pleasure of seeing Mrs Gresham, Admiral? My little Heth here thinks the world of her.’
Robin, near whom Heather was standing, saw her unattractive face go a dusky red and wondered what was up. She had been so deliberately disagreeable to him at the tennis party that he was rather frightened of her; for a well-bred young man has no weapon against the rudeness of a young woman. So he made no comment.
Admiral Palliser said his daughter was somewhere about, and would certainly be with them soon, as evening service was at half-past six.
Mr Adams, undoing his parcel, said Sam Adams could take a hint with any man and he had something to say on that subject, but one thing at a time was always his motto. He then extracted from its wrapping a metal rod which he pushed towards his host, who eyed it intently.
‘It’s a spang-rod,’ said Admiral, reverently.
‘Same as what I said,’ said Mr Adams. ‘Don’t you touch it. It’s a bit oily and I’m used to oil. Same as what I said; our pliable one-and-seven-sixteenths super-annealed spang-rods. I sent Packer over to the works same as I said. I’m sorry I couldn’t get it before lunch, the way I said, but he had the car out for taking people to church this morning. But I said to myself Better late than never, so me and Heth thought we’d come up and see about that pipe. And here is Mrs Gresham. As I was just saying to the Admiral, Mrs Gresham, I’ve brought the spang-rod, not that that’s a subject ladies know much about, unless you call my little Heth a lady who was in and out of the works before she could speak, as the saying is.’
‘It reminds me of the old Ironsides,’ said the Admiral. ‘She was the supply ship for the Flatiron and all that Iron class. I’ve never had a ship with such first-class stores. The chief engineer was a North-country man called Outhwaite, with a broken nose. I’ve never had a man under me who knew his job so well.’
Mr Adams, who had hardly been able to wait for the end of the sentence, said the way things turned out was something you wouldn’t hardly credit, and did the Admiral know that Outhwaite was now the owner of the works at Newcastle where they got all those special castings done last year. Upon which the Admiral forgot time and place, plunging into technicalities with Mr Adams. Six o’clock chimed. The Rector began to look uneasy.
‘I fear I must leave you, Palliser,’ he said. ‘It is already six o’clock.’
‘Good God!’ said the Admiral. ‘Sorry, Adams, but we are going to church at half-past, so I can’t see the spang-rod work. We must have another talk.’
‘Well,’ said Mr Adams, looking round at the company who were now all at the disadvantage of being seated, ‘that is what I was coming to, but one thing at a time is my motto, and that’s what I say in season and out of season as they say.’
If his hearers felt that his remarks were not in season, they bore them well; all except the Rector, who with an apology to Jane Gresham got up and went away to meet his verger at St Hall Friars.
‘Fine old gentleman,’ said Mr Adams, following the Rector’s progress to the garden gate. ‘But what I had to say concerned him as much as it concerns me. You see,’ he continued, ‘we went to chapel this morning, my little Heth and me, and it wasn’t altogether what we meant. The reverend may have meant well, but all this politics in religion I don’t hold with, and as good as communism which, believe me or not, does no good in my line of business, and so I told him afterwards. “Look here, Mr What-did-you-say-the-name-was,” I said, “Adams is my name, Sam Adams. You may have heard of me,” I said, “most people round Barchester have, and I don’t grudge the pound I put in the plate,” I said, “because a pound isn’t worth more than seven and sixpence now, if that. But,” I said, “if you think Jack’s as good as his master, and believe me or not I know what I’m talking about, he’s not,” I said. “I’ve gone to chapel all my life,” I said, “but it’s a long lane that has no turning and this is where it comes and it’s taking me to the Old Town this evening to the church.” So being a business man I said to Heth: “We’ll kill two birds with one stone and take the Admiral his spang-rod and go to evening service at the church.” Well, that’s that.’
This general confession left his hearers quite overpowered, and there was an exhausted silence till Jane, seeing her father turned to stone with the oily spang-rod in his hand, jumped up and said it was after the quarter, and they would be late and drove her father in to get the oil off his hands. Any awkwardness there might have been was then overridden and intensified by Mr Adams, who cordially invited Jane to come with him and his daughter in the car. Before Jane could say yes or no, she found herself in Packer’s
car and within three minutes at the church gate, so there was nothing for it but to take her new friends in and settle them in the Palliser pew, which, as we know, was well provided with prayer books, if a trifle out of date; and here they were shortly joined by the Admiral who had walked up with Robin. It is not surprising that Jane had felt misgivings about letting the Adams family loose upon the church, but with her usual good sense she accepted them as guests of Hallbury House for the time being.
During the events we have just related, Heather Adams had not said a word beyond the usual greetings. To anyone who had known her a year or so ago, this would have seemed so normal as not to attract any attention, but since the Belton family had come into her life, Heather had acquired enough social polish to pass muster. But the sudden irruption of Jane Gresham upon a heart at the moment unoccupied had been cataclysmic, throwing her back into a schoolgirl stage of dumb adoration exhausting to all concerned, and very apt to be confused with the sulks. This Jane could not know, and merely thought that for so large a girl, brilliant at mathematics, well educated at the Hosiers’ Girls’ Foundation School, she was uncommonly gauche and heavy in hand. Jane was not sentimental, but a kind of practical compassion had made her befriend Heather at the tennis party and made her feel under an obligation to befriend her now, and as long as she and her father were Hallbury House guests. By which kind resolve she did, had she but known it, rivet the unlucky Heather’s chains yet more strongly.
Heather, who was conversant with the order of the Church of England service owing to her attendance at Harefield Church with the Hosiers’ girls, was next to her father and guided him efficiently through the prayer book, so that Jane, much occupied with her own thoughts, did not notice the occasional hesitations or mistakes of her father’s chairman. At times she lost herself in the familiar words of the liturgy and the worm ceased to gnaw at her heart. Then with warlike phrases in the psalms, with the prayer for prisoners and captives, she was brought back to the old round of hopes and despairs, not knowing what she wanted or what she prayed for, longing to lay down a burden of doubt and self-torture that only she could bear.
Dr Dale had a kind habit, encouraged by his doctor and his congregation, of giving the shortest of sermons at the evening service, so that before half-past seven, his hearers were at liberty to disperse. The attendance had not been large that evening, after the morning services and the Mothers’ Union, so that the unusual sight of strangers in the Hallbury House pew was very generally noted. The Watsons, who had brought Frank Gresham with them to return him to his mother afterwards, recognized Heather and her father. Sir Robert Fielding recognized Mr Adams from their business meetings and hoped he would not have to introduce him to his wife. Not that he was more of a snob than most of us are, but he foresaw possible social complications for his extremely busy wife which were, to his mind, quite unnecessary. And they had heard enough from their daughter Anne about Adams’s girl, for whom she seemed deplorably to have taken a liking at the Watsons’. Probably that girl in the Pallisers’ pew was she. Lady Fielding, one of the rare people who when worshipping do not at once become more than usually perceptive of their neighbours, simply registered the fact of strangers and thought no more of them. Anne Fielding, sitting away from her parents beyond Miss Bunting, recognized her new friend with pleasure and the protective feeling for which she could not account and wondered, with the slowly developing social sense that had lately begun to flower in her, if mummy and daddy would mind if she asked Heather Adams to tea one day. As for Miss Bunting, very little escaped that lady, but she had accustomed herself to observe, to classify, and suspend judgment until she knew, through some inward monitor, that she was right.
As the little congregation moved into the porch and onto the stone path that led to the churchyard gate, it was impossible not to greet friends.
‘Mummy!’ said Anne Fielding, pulling at her mother to attract her attention, ‘it’s Heather Adams. I told you we played tennis at Mrs Watson’s. You remember her at the station, with Miss Holly. Hullo, Heather!’
Heather was pleased to see Anne, who looked so fragile yet gave her such a sense of security; of poise, Heather might have said, had the word been familiar to her vocabulary; and in her turn she pulled at her father’s sleeve.
‘Daddy,’ she said, ‘it’s Anne Fielding that I played tennis with at Mrs Watson’s. You remember her.’
After this there was nothing for it but that Mr Adams should renew his acquaintance with Sir Robert and be introduced to Lady Fielding, who with real kindness said how nice it was for Anne to have a friend of her own age, and asked if he and Miss Bunting had met.
‘We have,’ said Miss Bunting, showing no disposition to shake hands yet acknowledging Mr Adams’s existence with a gracious bow of the head. Mr Adams was conscious of embarrassment mingled with awe, feelings almost unknown to him, and was for a moment tongue-tied and afraid that he might be found wanting. The Watsons with the two little boys joined the party, and there was a general mixing after which it was obvious that Mr Adams would for ever be part of Hallbury Society, at any rate for so long as he and his daughter were in the neighbourhood.
‘Hullo, sir,’ said the voice of Frank Gresham at the level of Mr Adams’s lower waistcoat buttons.
‘I hear you’ve blocked the scullery drain again, sonny,’ said Mr Adams, shaking the rather dirty hand that was offered to him.
‘It was all the fault of the sponge,’ said Frank in an aggrieved voice. ‘It all got stuck in the pipe. People don’t seem to understand about things getting stuck. Tom saw it, didn’t you, Tom?’ he added, pulling Master Watson forward. ‘This is Tom Watson, sir. He is only beginning Latin. Do you know Latin, sir?’
‘I don’t,’ said Mr Adams.
‘Frank!’ said his mother in an agonized undertone.
‘But I’ll tell you what I do know,’ said Mr Adams, who had not heard Jane’s interjection. ‘I know how to get the scullery pipe clear. I’ve brought a spang-rod for your grandfather.’
‘What’s that, sir?’ asked Frank.
‘Something you don’t know, sonny,’ said Mr Adams, good-humouredly. ‘Look here, Admiral,’ he continued as his host joined the group, ‘suppose I drive you and Mrs Gresham back and we’ll clean that scullery pipe here and now. It’ll be a lesson to this young man. It’s not half-past seven yet and I’ll have the pipe clear by a quarter to eight, and then Heth and me must be off, or Mrs Merivale will be wondering where we’ve got to.’
Frank danced violently to express his approval.
‘Come on, Tom,’ he said.
‘No, Tom, you are not going back with Frank,’ said Mrs Watson, who had overheard. ‘What I always say is, get two boys together and there’s bound to be mischief. Come along.’
‘Now, I’ve a suggestion to make,’ said Mr Adams. ‘Say I take your young man along to the Admiral’s and as soon as that pipe is cleared I’ll run him back in the car.’
‘Let him go,’ said Mr Watson, who had been talking to Heather. ‘Heather can come back with us and look at a new chuck and Adams can pick her up when he brings Tom back.’
Mrs Watson gave in, saying that Charlie always had an eye for the girls.
‘Well, goodbye, Lady Fielding,’ said Mr Adams. ‘Pleased to have met you, I’m sure. I’m glad the girls have made friends. They’ll have a lot in common, being only children. Send Miss Anne along to Valimere any time you like and I hope Miss Bunting will come too. Her and Miss Holly will have a lot to talk about, education and all that, and it’ll do my Heth good. I’ll give you a ring when I’m down, Sir Robert, and we’ll thrash out that matter of the memorial window. Come on, young men.’
Enveloping the Admiral, Jane and the two little boys, he carried them off to Packer’s car. His late audience looked at one another, but could not well discuss him in front of his daughter, so the Fieldings went back to Gradka’s excellent supper and the Watsons took Heather off to talk machinery with Mr Watson.
It struck both Admiral Pal
liser and his daughter, when talking in the evening, that Packer, who was difficult to get, what Mrs Merivale called ‘choosy’, making a favour of accepting high payment for his rattle-trap old car, changing people’s appointments mercilessly, refusing (broadly speaking) to go out before ten or after six, on Saturday afternoons or Sunday mornings, was perfectly content to sit idle for hours while Mr Adams changed his mind and his plans. Not because they were what Packer would call capittleists, for Mr Adams was a capitalist on a very large scale; not because they made or ever had made unreasonable demands, for never would they have dreamed of treating him or dared to treat him as Mr Adams did. And regretfully they came to the conclusion that Packer preferred Mr Adams because he was not a gentleman and ordered him about. It did not pay, the Admiral said, to ask people politely if you wanted anything done. The Adamses gave their orders and took it for granted that they would be obeyed; just as he, the Admiral, had done in his flagship. Why had the leadership passed from the Admiral and his like? There was no satisfactory answer; but the Admiral considered Mr Adams in a battleship, and felt that there at least he would find his level pretty quickly, which comforted the old seaman.
Miss Bunting Page 17