Family Gathering

by Elizabeth Cadell

  Margaret appeared to be thinking this over, but her Nannie stepped outside and agreed wholeheartedly with Natalie.

  “The image,” she said. “The living image.”

  She looked at Natalie closely, her eyes expressing approval of the Captain’s new wife. Natalie sensed the approval and was pleased, but would have been more so had she known that Nannie had strong views on second marriages and considered them, in general, unwise and even ungodly affairs.

  Alexander was with Lady Rome. He had his meals in the nursery, but the rest of his time was spent in the company of his great-grandparents who, Nannie explained, couldn’t bear him out of their sight.

  Natalie went to the walled garden. Lady Rome was working busily, but there was no sign of a small boy.

  “I came to look for Alexander,” she said.

  “Alexander?—yes, he’s here,” shouted Lady Rome. “Don’t you think he’s a fine little—well, he seems to have gone away, but I thought he was looking remarkably well, and much taller too. Nannie says he eats like a little wolf. How did you get on with the curtains, my dear? Jason was here a moment ago—-just after lunch —and he said you must have the green brocade pair after all—yes, I know you felt they were too heavy for the little place, but he says that you must curtain that little arch or portiere or whatever it is in your hall, and the green would be very nice there. He’s going to ask Jeremy to get them down for you after dinner.”

  The curtains were beautiful and they would look perfect in her hall, but Natalie felt that there was a more pressing matter to be dealt with. She spoke anxiously.

  “I think I’ll go and see what became of Alexander,” she said. “He—he doesn’t seem to be coming back.”

  Lady Rome added some daffodils to the large bunch in a basket on the ground beside her, and moved further down the garden.

  “He always comes back if he wants to,” she said. “He’s a very sensible fellow. He’s probably remembering quite a lot from his last visit—he goes off and plays in the wood.”

  “But the—isn’t the water—I mean, won’t he fall into the water?” asked Natalie fearfully.

  Lady Rome looked at her in astonishment.

  “Fall in the water? Dear me, no, of course he won’t, my dear Natalie. Why should he?”

  “He’s—he’s only a little fellow,” faltered Natalie.

  “He’s three,” said Lady Rome, “and remarkably intelligent. This is his third visit and he’s never fallen into the water before, so there’s no reason to suppose he’ll fall in now, is there?”

  “Doesn’t he ever get lost?” inquired Natalie.

  “Never,” said Lady Rome. “He has a wonderful sense of direction. He went half-way to West Dummerton one day on his last visit—he was probably exploring the route they had taken from the bus station— and old Doctor Heal met him on the road and very kindly gave him a lift home. And another time, he went towards the East gate and quite forgot how long he’d been walking—he entirely missed his lunch and Jason passed him on his way back from the village— Alexander was sitting by the roadside waiting for a lift home in the cart, which he loves. You see how sensible he is—children are always very sensible if one doesn’t fuss. Alexander loves to be here with me and he’s really very helpful, but if he gets bored and wants to go and see Jason, I really don’t see why he shouldn’t—after all, his great-grandfather is as much to him as I am. Oh, there he is! Alexander, come and meet Natalie.”

  Natalie turned. Alexander was advancing steadily, his small hands clasped together and imprisoning something in their grasp. Reaching his great-grandmother, he opened his hands and disclosed four or five worms, all wriggling uneasily.

  “Worms, eh?” said Lady Rome. “Interesting little creatures, aren’t they? If I were you, I’d put them in that corner over there by the little heap of sticks, Alexander. Do you see any likeness in him to anybody in particular, Natalie? We always think he has a look of William. Alexander, I wonder if you’d mind bringing me that rake—no, my dear boy, that’s not a rake—a rake is the thing with prongs just over there—thank you very much. Your shoe’s unlaced, you know—I’d do it up, if I were you, because it looks so untidy.”

  Alexander collapsed on to the ground, picked up one foot and examined the trailing laces with a speculative eye. Deciding that it was the kind of thing it didn’t do to tamper with, he tucked the laces inside the shoe and got to his feet once more.

  “I’ll do it for you,” offered Natalie.

  “Oh, I shouldn’t,” advised Lady Rome. “If he really wanted one to do them up, he’d ask, I think. He’d probably be rather hurt if we appeared to think he’d scamped it, don’t you feel?”

  Unequal to expressing her feelings, Natalie suggested that it was time for tea, and Nannie appearing at the same time to claim Alexander, Lady Rome gathered up her flowers and accompanied Natalie to the house.

  Jimmie Batch appeared punctually on Friday afternoon and the van was loaded under the personal supervision of Lady Rome. Jeremy and Duncan drove to the village to await the arrival of the furniture, and Lucille drove Natalie down in the wake of the van.

  Arriving at Dummerton village, they found signs of unusual activity in the narrow High Street. A small knot of spectators had gathered outside the door of the cottage next door to Natalie’s and were looking with great interest at the scene on the doorstep.

  Old Mrs. Batch, irritable and fidgety, had been placed on a wooden chair in the doorway and was in process of being focused by the two cameramen who were present. The editor of the Hunnytor and Dummerton Gazette stood close by, and Frank Batch, smart and trim in his policeman’s uniform, combined the duty of keeping back the crowd with the pleasure of attending the little family ceremony.

  The centre of interest, however, was the big, broad figure standing with a hand placed affectionately on old Mrs. Batch’s shoulder. Lord Batch was on one of his periodical visits to his home.

  The photographs were taken as the furniture van drew up outside Natalie’s door. Lord Batch began his usual brief address at the same moment as his brother, Jimmie, together with his two assistants and with the voluntary co-operation of Jeremy and Duncan, began to unload the furniture, and carry it into the house.

  “It’s a great pleasure,” Lord Batch told the nine little boys, five women and three babies in perambulators who formed his audience. “It’s a great pleasure to come back here, as I do very often, and to find you all—”

  “Three chairs,” observed Mrs. Batch in her slightly cracked old voice. “Out of her ladyship’s old boojwar.”

  “—to find you all unchanged,” proceeded Lord Batch. “I like to take back with me memories—”

  “Two beds,” chanted his mother. “Out of St. Mark. Closed ’un four years ago and more.”

  “—memories of my old home and—”

  His audience, he noticed, had thinned. Four small boys, two women and two perambulators now formed a double line through which the furniture was being carried into the house.

  “—my old home,” tried Lord Batch once more, “and—”

  “Steady there, steady on there,” roared Jimmy to his junior assistant. “Steady wi’ ’un.”

  “Five rugs,” counted Mrs. Batch, “and the blue carpet out of St. Philomena.”

  The carpet was giving trouble. The nearby cameraman deposited his camera carefully out of harm’s way and gave a shoulder where it was most needed. The second camera man took a very good view of the back of his colleague disappearing into the house.

  Lord Batch looked round. There was nobody left for him to address. His mother had left her chair and was peering into the back of the furniture van; the editor was helping Natalie to carry into the house a delicate little rosewood table, and the policeman was carrying out of the house several little boys who had been in danger of getting themselves laid under the blue carpet. Lucille was in the act of jumping from the van, on to which she had climbed in order to hand Natalie the table. In a moment Lord Batch was below
her, one hand upheld to assist her.

  “Thank you so much,” she said, alighting lightly by his side. “I’m afraid we disturbed you.”

  “Not at all,” said Lord Batch. “It’s a—”

  “Here y’are, Tom,” said Frank, twisting a heavy sideboard and indicating by a nod of his head which side his brother was to hold. “Now up wi’ it.”

  The hours went by. The audience went home to tea and returned. Mrs. Batch put her largest kettle on to boil, made strong, scalding tea and handed it in thick mugs to the busy workers in all parts of the house. Everybody relaxed for a few moments, drank the tea, looked round and saw with satisfaction that the place was getting almost a lived-in look.

  Natalie went from room to room, her cheeks flushed with happiness, and Jeremy watched her.

  “Well, how do you think it’s looking?” he asked.

  “I think it looks wonderful,” said Natalie. “I knew it would be nice, but I didn’t think it would turn out quite so—so perfect.”

  “Once you get inside, it’s a show place,” observed Jeremy. “Pity we can’t get that outside whitened before Helen comes.”

  “When Helen sees this”—Natalie looked round lovingly—“she’ll love it.”

  The day of Helen’s arrival came, and nothing remained to be done but the hanging of the green curtains in the hall. Sir Jason, whose idea it had been, was insistent that he should superintend the work. It was arranged that he and Jeremy should go down after lunch and put up the curtains; Jeremy was then to go to Dummerton West to meet Helen. Lucille would drive Natalie to the house, leave her with Helen, and take Sir Jason home. It was to be a quiet meeting between mother and daughter—there would be plenty of time for Helen to meet the new relations afterwards.

  It was, Natalie felt, an excellent plan, and had been prompted by such genuine kindness and thoughtfulness on the part of her father and mother-in-law, that she felt almost overwhelmed with gratitude and affection. She would have liked to go to the bus station to meet Helen, but it was better that she should wait at the house to receive her.

  The afternoon was, unfortunately, cold and wet. Jeremy drove his grandfather a few yards with the hood of his car down, but Sir Jason was so incensed at this unnecessary exposure to the elements that Jeremy stopped and raised the little hood. The consequent cramping of the interior gave Sir Jason an uncomfortable feeling of claustrophobia and he expressed his opinion of the car, the weather, the headroom and the driver in equally uncomplimentary terms.

  The hanging of the curtains did not improve his temper. The process of applying hooks to rings proved less simple than he had anticipated, and Jeremy, aloft on a stepladder, watched with uneasiness his grandfather’s increasing irritation, now reaching a pitch at which Jeremy feared that he would rend the curtains asunder. It was time for him to leave the house and meet Helen, but he waited almost until the bus was due in the hope that the task would be completed.

  At last, realizing that he was already late, he asked his grandfather to rest for a while and await his return.

  “Go on, go on, go on,” urged Sir Jason savagely. “Nobody wants to keep the girl waiting. Get off that—stepladder and let me do the thing properly. Go on, get off, get off, didn’t you hear? And don’t talk any twaddle to me about resting. Go on, go on, go on and meet that bus.”

  Jeremy went out to his car and, backing down the narrow street, turned and headed in the direction of Dummerton West. He was late, he knew—but not very late. He hoped the girl wouldn’t mind…

  He saw, on bringing the car to an abrupt stop at the bus station and looking at the solitary occupant of the shelter, that the girl did mind. She minded very much.

  He got out of the car and approached the shelter. Helen rose from the wooden seat and took a step forward to meet him.

  “You’re Helen, aren’t you?” said Jeremy, putting out a hand. “I’m frightfully sorry I’m late—you must have got cold sitting about.”

  Helen, who was very cold indeed, made no answer and merely looked down at her suit-cases. Jeremy took one in each hand and led the way towards the car, stopping a moment later with an exclamation.

  “What’s the matter?” inquired Helen, her voice a little cool.

  “Car too small,” said Jeremy. “I didn’t think about the suit-cases.”

  “People do have luggage,” said Helen calmly.

  Jeremy glanced at her speculatively, summing up his impressions. She was lovely—he had heard Canny say so, but he hadn’t really expected anything quite so—so finished. There was one of those dress magazines with thick, shiny pages—what the devil was its name?— well, the name didn’t matter, but this girl was straight out of its pages. Her coat fitted like a skin—but it didn’t look warm enough.

  If the suit-cases had to go in, and the hood had to come down, she’d need a mackintosh—

  “I’m awfully sorry,” he said. “The cases’ll go in all right if I put the hood down, but”

  “You can’t do that,” pointed out Helen. “It’s raining.”

  “Well—yes,” Jeremy admitted uncomfortably. “I didn’t bring a mac, but if you could get yours out and put it on—”

  “I don’t,” Helen informed him, “possess a mackintosh.”

  “Gosh!” exclaimed Jeremy. “Doesn’t it rain in London?”

  “If it does,” said Helen, “I stay indoors—or I take a taxi.”

  “I see,” said Jeremy. “Well—shall we leave the cases in the cottage and ask Lucille to call for them later?”

  “No,” said Helen. “I need them.”

  Jeremy eyed her. No co-operation. But he had kept her waiting and she was entitled to a little come-back.

  “All right,” he said. “In they go and I’ll put the hood down and—”

  “It’s raining—can’t you see?” said Helen.

  “Yes, I can see—and I can feel,” said Jeremy, his patience slipping. “I’ll give you something—I think I’ve got a sort of scarf or something shoved in that cubby hole—you can wrap that round your head and it’ll keep you dry.”

  Helen made no reply. Jeremy put the hood down and noticed that one small black-shod foot was tapping an angry little tattoo on the ground.

  She wasn’t going to enjoy the drive. Well, it wasn’t far—though it was a sight farther than she could get in those damn silly shoes. Gosh! what heels!

  He settled the suit-cases as well as he could and put Helen into the car. The rain fell softly on her face and hair, but she waved aside impatiently Jeremy’s offer of his scarf.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll arrive wet, but not wound up in woollen strips.”

  Before the car had gone very far, she began to wish she had been less impulsive. She could at least have held the scarf lightly over her head—it would have afforded protection without spoiling her hair.

  It was a bad beginning. It was one thing to decide, in London, that country clothes were superfluous; it was quite another to stand shivering in a prehistoric hut in what looked like practically unexplored territory and realize how unsuitable her suit looked in this setting. And she was not, she saw, going to arrive with even the appearance of dignity, for her face was wet, and her hair beginning to look like tails.

  “Your mother’s meeting you at the house,” said Jeremy.

  “I know—she wrote and said so,” said Helen.

  “It looks rather nice,” he went on. “It isn’t quite finished, and the outside’s got to be painted, but when that’s done it’ll be a grand place.”

  He drove into Dummerton and drew up before the house, hoping that Natalie had arrived.

  “Here we are,” he said.

  Helen glanced round at the tiny cottages and the hideous yellow stretch of wall.

  “We’re where?” she asked.

  “We’ve arrived,” said Jeremy. “Don’t worry about the outside—it’s—”

  Helen’s brows came together in a frown and her eyes grew angry.

  “Do you mean to tell me,” sh
e asked, “that mother —that this is the—?”

  Words failed her.

  “We all felt that way about it,” said Jeremy. “But if you’ll get in and come out—I mean, if you’ll come out and let me take you in”

  “I think,” said Helen, “it’s the most hideous place I ever set eyes on.”

  “Well, I hope you won’t tell your mother that,” said Jeremy. “She’s—she’s sort of keen on it.”

  “I don’t believe it,” said Helen flatly.

  “I said she’s keen on it,” repeated Jeremy, abandoning the last vestiges of patience, “and if you say anything to spoil her pleasure, you’ll be a damn wet blanket.”

  It was an unfortunate simile. Helen, shaking the drops from her hair, stepped out of the car and, ignoring her companion, walked up the steps. Jeremy put out a hand and stopped her.

  “I’m sorry I said that,” he said, “but Natalie’s been to a lot of trouble to fix the place up so’s you’d like it—”

  “Really?” drawled Helen.

  “Really,” said Jeremy furiously. “And you’re damn well going to like it, too.”

  “Do you mind,” asked Helen, “if we continue this conversation out of the rain?”

  Jeremy went up the steps, opened the door and ushered her in. He stepped in after her and then stood transfixed, taking in the details of the scene before him.

  The hall was, at the first glance, empty. The step-ladder was overturned and the green curtain was on the ground, its folds, suspended from the rungs of the ladder, enveloping a heaving, writhing form on the ground. Sir Jason was invisible, but from below the concealing folds of the green curtain rose a stream of language so vividly blue that Jeremy felt his ears scorching.

  He had only one thought. His grandfather could not be subjected to the humiliation of emerging from his prison and facing, with curses on his lips, a young and beautiful stranger. The old man only swore like that when he was hurt, and it would hurt him far more to know that Natalie’s daughter had heard him.

  Without hesitation, Jeremy took Helen by the arm and, swinging her round, put her outside and shut the door. A moment later, the door opened once more and two suit-cases were placed beside her.