Miss Bunting

by Angela Thirkell

  ‘Sir!’ said Frank pityingly, ‘I can swim. Tom can’t swim yet because he’s too little, but when we go to Southbridge I’ll help him. They’ve got a swimming-pool on the river at Southbridge. I can swim twice up and down the Barchester swimming-bath. You won’t need to be frightened, Tom; I’ll hold your face up. Mother, Tom will be so disappointed if we don’t stay to tea, because he wants to give his present to Anne. Oh mother, can he?’

  Jane said it was Anne’s party, not hers, and Anne said she would love them to stay.

  ‘Come on then, Tom,’ said Frank, pulling a folded paper out of his pocket.

  Tom Watson, who had been lurking behind Frank, came forward with an untidy parcel wrapped in an old bit of newspaper, which he presented to Anne. Undeterred by the wrapping, which appeared by the marks of blood and scales on it to have been used by the butcher and the fishmonger, she undid the parcel. Inside it was a tight bunch of rosebuds, red, yellow, white, pink; their heads drooping from very short stalks, the whole bound tightly together with coarse string.

  ‘How lovely,’ said Anne. ‘Thank you both very much. I’ll put them in some warm water and I expect they’ll come out.’

  ‘Mrs Watson told Tom not to pick roses,’ said Frank, casting a pitying eye upon his friend, ‘so I told him to pick the smallest ones, then it wouldn’t matter. Now I’ll read you my present.’

  He unfolded the piece of paper and read aloud,

  ‘A happy birthday, Anne,

  As happy as you can,

  I hope you’ll have a fan,

  And not be a man,

  And eat something out of a pan,

  And drink water that ran

  From where it once began,

  And ride in a van,

  With love from Fran—

  —k,’ he added.

  Anne thanked him very much and asked if she might keep the poetry. Frank handed it to her.

  ‘You didn’t get “tan”,’ said Robin.

  Frank said it didn’t rhyme properly enough, because it wasn’t a birthday present.

  ‘I did ask Tom to let me call him “Tan” in the poem,’ he added, looking vindictively at Master Watson, ‘and then he could have come into the poem, but he didn’t want to.’

  Everyone was getting a little bored and it was a relief to hear the tea-bell.

  ‘Oh, but Heather isn’t here,’ said Anne. ‘I’d forgotten.’

  Miss Bunting said she could join them when she came, and swept the whole party into the dining-room where Gradka had arranged a delightful birthday feast with a large birthday cake iced and decorated, and some delicious small cakes, all of her own confection, and fresh fruit from the garden. Anne fetched a bowl of warm water and put Master Watson’s unhappy rosebuds into it, though it was obvious that they would never smile again. The little boys were put together and ate with great steadiness and application; the grown-ups, for as such Anne felt she was now truly ranked, talked and laughed.

  ‘By Jove,’ said Robin, ‘I had forgotten my present.’

  He handed to Anne a small tight shapeless parcel which looked as if it might burst.

  ‘Take care,’ he said. ‘It’s a kind of Jack-in-the-box.’

  And indeed it was, for the contents were a bath sponge of considerable size, which, though small compared with pre-war standards was mentally priced by all the ladies present at a guinea at the very least, and would obviously be at least three times as large when in its natural element. Admiration almost obscured by envy appeared on every adult face. Anne offered heartfelt thanks to Robin and said the only sad thing was that she couldn’t put it in her jewel box. Everything was very friendly and happy. Then the resounding front-door bell was heard and Heather came in, hot and not very attractive.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said to the company in general. ‘I missed the train from Barchester after lunch. I’d been to get you a present, Anne. This is it with many happy returns from daddy and me.’

  She put on the table some parcels which Anne at once undid. The contents were a large bottle of scent, a large box of powder, a powder puff with a huge satin bow on it and a box of bath salts. Jane and Miss Bunting and Robin knew that not only was the whole gift fantastically expensive, but most of its ingredients could only be obtained by luck, or by curious methods unknown to them. Anne did not know all this, but her instinct told her that it was not the present that anyone of her own age and roughly her own sort would have given or received, which made her thank Heather with all the more effusion.

  Jane, guessing that Anne was a little shy of this guilty splendour, made room between herself and Robin for Heather, to whom everyone was particularly nice.

  ‘How on earth did you get hold of all that?’ asked Robin, to the secret interest of all present.

  ‘It was dad,’ said Heather. ‘He’s got a friend in Barchester who has a kind of shop that isn’t a shop, and he can often get you things. But he doesn’t send them so I went in by train and fetched them, and that’s what made me late. What a marvellous cake.’

  Anne said that Gradka had made it and they went on talking, but things were not quite so comfortable as they had been and Jane, feeling an unnecessary amount of pity for Heather, rather laid herself out to be nice, little knowing that she was heaping fuel upon the consuming flame of passion.

  ‘When is your birthday, Heather?’ she asked, trying to find subjects for conversation.

  Heather said June the fifth.

  ‘Bad luck it’s over for this year,’ said Jane. ‘We must all send you a telegram next year. Perhaps we shall be having Greetings telegrams again by then.’

  ‘When’s yours, Mrs Gresham,’ said Heather, rapidly wondering what day, short of Christmas and all the Bank Holidays rolled into one, could be good enough for the idol.

  Jane said Guy Fawkes Day, a flippancy which Heather thought hardly worthy of her.

  ‘I wish I could be in Hallbury then,’ said Heather, ‘but I shall be at Cambridge.’

  Jane said she expected it would be great fun and lots of new friends.

  ‘Just like the Hosiers I expect,’ said Heather gloomily, ‘only it’ll be Honour of the College instead of Honour of the School. But when I’ve finished I’m going to help daddy at the works.’

  Jane said how nice and felt bored, though she didn’t show it.

  Then Miss Bunting rose, compelling all to rise with her, and said it wasn’t windy on the terrace. So to the terrace they went and sat in the sun in comparative warmth, and the little boys went to help Gradka to clear away and wash up while Frank tried to teach her the first Latin declension.

  Though poor Heather was civil and willing, it could not be denied that her presence spoilt everything. She was just too much over life size to suit her company; all their talk had to be faintly watered down for her comprehension; in fact she was a bore to everyone. So all the more did they continue to exert themselves to make her one of them. All except Miss Bunting, who withdrew into herself and watched and said nothing.

  Dr Dale was the first to take his leave, thanking Anne very much for a delightful afternoon.

  ‘Good-bye, dear child,’ he said to Anne. ‘Come and see me some day soon. Come to tea.’

  Anne said, truthfully, that she would love to, and kissed the old Rector affectionately, thanking him once more for her present.

  ‘“From this day will I bless you,”’ said the Rector, using the words of his favourite prophet and making all his friends love and admire him more than ever, although not quite at their ease. But he at once became his usual self again and saying a kind word to everyone went away by the garden door, refusing Robin’s escort.

  ‘My dear papa,’ said Robin, looking after his father’s departing figure, ‘is sometimes too like an elderly clergyman to be true,’ at which Anne became very indignant.

  The doorbell pealed. The sound of Gradka’s heavy tread in the hall was heard, then a man’s voice. Heather said it was daddy come to fetch her.

  ‘I thought your father didn’t come do
wn till Saturday,’ said Jane.

  Heather said he usually didn’t, but when she told him it was Anne’s birthday and Mrs Gresham was coming, he said he must try to get there, which annoyed Jane more than she liked to confess, though at the same time her heart, most inconsistently, beat a little faster.

  Mr Adams came in, unheralded by Gradka who for some reason into which her employers thought it safer not to inquire always drew the line at announcing their guests, and made his excuses very civilly to Miss Bunting, who merely remarked with a very good imitation of the late Dowager Duchess of Omnium that it was Anne’s party, in her parents’ house, which caused Anne to be more forthcoming to the new arrival than she might otherwise have been.

  ‘Did Heth bring you a little something?’ said Mr Adams.

  Anne said she had given her a lovely present of scent, powder and bath salts.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Mr Adams. ‘I told Heth not to spare expense and I hope she hasn’t,’ at which Heather scowled in a very unfilial way. ‘But don’t think that’s all. Sam Adams isn’t the man to do things by halves, and if my little Heth gave you something, you’ll be expecting something from me.’

  In vain did Anne, crimson with embarrassment, try to expostulate and explain that Heather’s present was marvellous and please, please would Mr Adams not give her anything else. Her benefactor went into the hall and brought back to the drawing-room a large flower-pot containing the most flashy and revolting sickly green and purple spotted orchid plant ever seen in Hallbury. Miss Bunting, who was familiar with many hothouses, from the Duke of Omnium’s three acres of glass to the Marlings’ modest lean-to against the garden wall, was nearly shaken out of her stoic calm by the sight of the leering and obscene plant, whose price she knew must be fantastic to her and the rest of the company’s modest notions. Anne, extremely uncomfortable and thinking it quite hideous, thanked Mr Adams very much and said she would keep it in her bedroom, which appeared to gratify the donor.

  The arrival of this monster broke up the party. Robin said he would take Master Watson back to his parents, and went to collect the little boys from the kitchen. Jane went out onto the terrace and was followed by Mr Adams.

  ‘My pal in the Red Cross is well onto that job,’ he said. ‘And he’s well in with the Intelligence people that meet the ships too. There won’t be an avenue he’ll not explore, Mrs Gresham. I don’t want to raise your hopes and we all know the Government and the Red Cross are trying their best to pick up news from the repatriated and rescued men, but sometimes the personal touch comes in useful. Now don’t you worry. Sam Adams is here, and anyone in Barchester will tell you Sam Adams does not let a pal down. Now, that little Anne Fielding has been a good little pal to my Heth and she’s a nice girl, and I don’t grudge a penny I’ve spent on that plant, though I dare say it would surprise you what it cost. But if it was for you, Mrs Gresham, I’d pay ten times as much and more.’

  Jane said something, she really hardly knew what, and suddenly nervous, a feeling she hardly knew, began to tweak off some withered heads from the climbing roses on the wall.

  ‘Is there one for me?’ asked Mr Adams, with what she knew was meant to be polite gallantry, though she was keenly conscious of its being ridiculous and irritating. But the best thing to do seemed to be to treat it quite simply and offer him a rose for his buttonhole in a matter-of-fact way, which she did. As Mr Adams did not take it from her hand, she came to the conclusion that in his circles it was etiquette for the lady to put the flower in the gentleman’s buttonhole herself; and probably, she thought, to be kissed.

  Mr Adams did not kiss her, but as she pulled the stalk through his buttonhole, he put his large hairy hand over hers and held it firmly.

  ‘Anything I can do for you, Mrs Gresham, you’ve only to say,’ he said. ‘I think the world of you, just like my little Heth does, and you’ve only to say the word.’

  Heather Adams came out of the french window and saw her father and her idol standing very close together, their hands touching, a look in her father’s face that she had never seen. She would willingly have gone back, but it was too late, and the rest of the party were following her. Her heavy face grew black as night as for the first time in her life she felt jealous of a woman. Mrs Gresham, the most wonderful person in the world; Mrs Gresham who had filled her thoughts whenever mathematics left a crevice ever since she had met her, only a few weeks ago it was true, but it was like eternity; Mrs Gresham for whom she would have laid herself down in a puddle to keep the adored one’s feet from being wet, was making daddy look at her in a way Heather did not understand, hated, and feared.

  Mr Adams said he and Heth must be going as Packer had another job to go on to, so they went off, each buried in private thoughts which in Heather’s case had such an outward appearance of sulks at supper, that Miss Holly gave up trying to make conversation and went to the New Town Cinema with Mrs Merivale, between whom and Miss Holly a cool friendship had grown during their association. It was not, said Heather rebelliously to herself, that she minded daddy looking at Mrs Gresham in that kind of way; but that Mrs Gresham had fallen from her pedestal was a cruel blow to the worshipper. If Mrs Gresham was going to be silly about daddy, she would like to kill her and she wished they had never come to this beastly place, and she knew Cambridge would be beastly and everything was beastly. And then she sniffed so loudly that her father, who was busy over his EPT figures and a few quite sound but rather daring suggestions his accountant had made, told her to have a hot bath and go to bed with an aspirin. Luckily he did not raise his eyes from his papers, so he did not see her sullen face with tears of rage making her eyes smaller than ever; so she was able to go to bed in complete and satisfactory misery.

  The only other event of interest in this great day occurred after supper, just before Anne went to bed. A small procession was going upstairs. First Miss Bunting, then Anne, then Gradka who was carrying the orchid in its pot. At the landing window Miss Bunting paused and looked out. A half-moon rode high in the sky. The terrace below shone white as marble and the scent of the night-flowering stock was borne on the rather too cool breeze.

  ‘Good-night, Anne dear,’ said Miss Bunting. ‘Good-night, Gradka. Sleep well and have happy dreams about your home.’

  ‘I thank you, Prodshkina Bunting,’ said Gradka, ‘but I hope I shall have dreams of those dirty Slavo-Lydians and that the Americans bomb them, and the Russians too. Aha! if I were an airman I would fly over Slavo-Lydia and drop my biggest bomb on it, like this.’

  With which words, Gradka, carried away by patriotism, threw the orchid in its pot out of the window. There was a crash below and then dead silence.

  ‘Well, what is done cannot be undone,’ said Miss Bunting mildly. ‘Anne dear, tell the gardener to sweep it up tomorrow, before your parents come.’

  With which words she retired to her bedroom.

  ‘Prodshkina Anne, I shall say I am very sorry,’ said Gradka. ‘I think of the Slavo-Lydian country – which country, my God! a land of pigs – and I am transported. Forgive me, I will pick it up and tend it with care.’

  Anne said with complete candour that it really didn’t matter a bit and it was hideous and she hated it.

  ‘Then you do not like this ironmaster, yes?’ said Gradka.

  Anne said not very much, but she was sure he was really very nice, and so convinced Gradka of her prejudice against the unhappy orchid that Gradka went to bed with a happy mind and we hope dreamed of Slavo-Lydians perishing by thousands.

  11

  Although Anne’s real birthday was over, there was an aftermath of excitement next day when her parents came down for the week-end bringing a little pearl necklace as a sign of grown-upness. Anne’s joy and excitement over this gift were only clouded by the question of the jewel case. At present it was housing the silver clasp, the pearl brooch that had belonged to Sir Robert’s mother and the turquoise ring that her mother did not like her to wear yet. The points that exercised her mind were first, whether t
he jewel case, which was obviously clamouring to be filled, would mind if she wore the pearl necklace; second, whether the turquoise ring which she didn’t particularly care for would mind if it lived more or less permanently in the jewel case; third, whether her mother would let her wear the Rector’s gift. After a long and most interesting family council with Miss Bunting as arbiter elegantiarum, it was decided that (a) the jewel case would like to house the pearl necklace during the day but would be delighted to release it for evenings and important occasions; (b) the turquoise ring, which was used to living in a small cardboard box with some cotton-wool, would be delighted to move to its red velvet boudoir; (c) that as Anne was only seventeen and all her friends knew she wasn’t engaged she could wear the Rector’s ring as much as she liked because he was such a dear, but if it fitted her right hand equally well she might in course of time transfer it to that position, as Lady Fielding felt sure the Rector wouldn’t mind.