Celia's House

by D. E. Stevenson

  “Gosh!” Billy exclaimed in horrified accents. “Gosh, I’m for the high jump!”

  “No, it’s all right,” Celia said eagerly. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Nobody knows you were there—so don’t say anything.”

  “Nobody knows I was there!”

  “No, I didn’t tell them.”

  “But what did you say? Did you say you’d made it yourself?”

  “Not exactly,” Celia replied, wrinkling her forehead in the effort to remember what she had said. “They didn’t ask who made the boat. They only asked who had sawed off the leg of the chair; I said it was me—and so it was. I sawed off the legs, didn’t I?”

  “I showed you how to do it—”

  “Oh, I know, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t mind being sent to bed a bit.”

  Billy looked at her with admiration and affection; she really was a brick. “It was most frightfully decent of you,” he declared. “It was just about the decentest thing I ever heard of, but it won’t do. I’ll have to tell them it was my fault.”

  “No!” cried Celia, raising herself in bed. “No, Billy, you’re not to do it; you’ll get spanked.”

  “I know,” Billy agreed with a sigh. “I know that as well as you do, but it can’t be helped.”

  “It can be helped. Don’t be a goat, Billy.”

  “It’s you that’s the goat,” he replied. “I couldn’t let you take the blame when it was my idea.”

  “It was my idea too.”

  “It wasn’t,” Billy said firmly. “It was my idea and I’m going straight to Mummy to tell her about it.”

  “Oh, Billy!” cried Celia, bursting into tears. “Why can’t you leave it alone! It’s over now—I’ve been in bed all the afternoon—it will be such a waste if you get punished too.”

  Billy hesitated, but only for a moment. “I couldn’t—honestly,” he said. “I’d feel such an awful swine.”

  Billy’s interview with his mother was not a pleasant one, and his interview with Mark was painful (for Mark wielded a pretty strap and took his duties in loco parentis with conscientious thoroughness). The incident of the mahogany boats was now closed; it had been unfortunate in some ways, but it had far-reaching consequences that were not unfortunate at all—and perhaps were worth the destruction of a valuable chair. The bond between Billy and Celia was strengthened into a loyal friendship that would last all their lives.

  Part Three

  Young People in the House

  Chapter Seventeen

  June 1923

  “You’re Mark Dunne, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Oh, hello, Oliver!”

  “It’s odd meeting you like this!”

  It was rather odd. Mark had been spending a week in London and had gone into Harrods to buy a present for his mother. He was trying to decide between a small bottle of scent and a large bottle of bath salts.

  “Haven’t seen you for years,” Oliver was saying. “Not since the war. I got in at the end of it, you know.”

  “I just missed it.”

  “You were lucky. It was pretty nasty, really. What are you doing now?”

  “Medicine. It’s tremendously interesting.”

  “Rather you than me. It’s a frightful grind, isn’t it?”

  “What are you doing, Oliver?”

  “Nothing,” said Oliver, laughing. “Nothing at all and yet I’m always busy. I haven’t decided what I want to do. How does one decide, Mark?”

  Mark grinned. He liked Oliver and admired him, for Oliver was everything Mark was not. Oliver was gay and careless. He was always laughing and treated life as a very good joke.

  “I was wounded, you know,” continued Oliver. “It wasn’t particularly nice, but it got me out of the mess—then, when I recovered, the jolly old war was over and I was high and dry. Fortunately the family seems to like paying for my bread and butter. It’s lucky, isn’t it?”

  Mark did not take this explanation at its face value. He remembered hearing that Oliver had been very badly knocked about. He had a vague idea that Oliver had distinguished himself by winning the Military Cross.

  “I expect you have to take things pretty easy,” Mark said.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Oliver said vaguely. He looked about and added, “What are you doing here?”

  Mark remembered his dilemma—scent or bath salts—the young lady behind the counter was still waiting patiently for him to decide.

  “Scent,” Oliver said when the matter had been explained to him. “Scent every time. Rêve D’Amour, that’s the stuff.”

  Mark bought it at once, of course. Rêve D’Amour cost about twice as much as he could reasonably afford, but that could not be helped. They came out of the shop together and stood for a few moments looking up and down the street.

  “It was odd meeting you,” said Oliver. “All the odder because Tessa and I are off to Ryddelton on Wednesday.”

  “I’m going on Thursday.”

  Oliver laughed again. “You may be there before us. We’re going by road, Tessa and I.”

  “What fun!”

  “Yes, it will be, rather. I’ve got a new car—passes everything on the road, a perfect gem. Look here, Mark, how would you like to come with us?”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, of course; there’s plenty of room. We’re going to spend a night at Wetherby—it’s about halfway…”

  Mark did not hesitate for long. In fact, he only hesitated long enough to make sure that Oliver was in earnest.

  “I’d love to come,” he declared. “Yes, I can easily get away on Wednesday.”

  Going home to Dunnian was always tremendously exciting, but this time it was more exciting than ever. The three of them sat in the front seat (there was ample room for three slim young people); Tessa was the jam in the sandwich. Mark had not seen Tessa since that party at Dunnian—it was six years ago or very nearly—but she was just the same: gay and pretty and friendly. They talked and laughed, and sometimes, when the car was buzzing along the Great North Road, they lifted their voices in song.

  “We must keep Oliver amused or he’ll go to sleep,” Tessa explained. “Then we shall end in the ditch. It doesn’t matter if people think we’re mad. They don’t know who we are.”

  “It never matters,” Oliver pointed out. “If strangers see you behaving like lunatics, it doesn’t matter, because they don’t know who you are. And if your friends see you behaving like lunatics, it doesn’t matter, because they know who you are.”

  “You’ve hit on a very profound thought, Oliver,” Tessa declared.

  The second day was even better than the first, for Mark had lost the remains of his shyness and they were getting nearer to Dunnian every moment. They lunched at Otterburn, climbed over Garter Bar, and greeted Scotland with whoops of joy. On they went, diving into the valley, snaking down the long hill into Jedburgh.

  “We must have fun this summer,” Oliver declared. “We must have picnics. We can buzz into Edinburgh and dance—”

  “I’ve got to do some work,” said Mark.

  “Nonsense!” cried Tessa.

  “I’ve got to,” Mark told her. “Of course I shan’t work all the time.”

  “Of course not,” she replied.

  The country so far had been unfamiliar to Mark, but now they were passing through “known country” and at every turn in the road he saw hills and woods and little farms whose features he remembered.

  “You’re very silent all of a sudden,” Tessa said.

  “It’s Dunnian,” replied Mark. “I always get excited…”

  Oliver laughed, but Tessa seemed to understand. “I don’t wonder you love Dunnian,” she said in a low voice.

  “You must come over as often as you can.”

  “I take that as an invitation,” she told him. “You’ll be sick of
the sight of me before the summer’s over.”

  “That isn’t very likely,” murmured Mark.

  “I’m longing to see Edith again,” Tessa continued. “I haven’t seen Edith for ages. Has she changed much?”

  “She’s grown up, of course,” Mark replied without much enthusiasm. Somehow or other he felt annoyed at the mention of Edith’s name.

  “How like a brother!” Tessa laughed. “Can’t you tell me what she’s like? Is she as pretty as ever?”

  “Joyce was the pretty one,” put in Oliver. “She was a most attractive little girl. I suppose she’s grown up too.”

  “We’re all grown up,” said Tessa. “It’s tremendous fun, isn’t it? Tell me about Edith’s fiancé.”

  “I didn’t know Edith was engaged!” Oliver exclaimed in surprise.

  “Yes, she’s engaged to a fellow called Rewden,” said Mark. “They live over at Sharme. He’s a good bit older than we are. As a matter of fact, I don’t know him; it all happened last term.”

  “Douglas Rewden of Sharme!” exclaimed Oliver. “He’s a bit of a catch, isn’t he?”

  “I suppose he is,” Mark said uncomfortably. He did not like the suggestion that his sister had “caught” Rewden.

  “Of course he’s a catch,” declared Tessa. “Grannie says all the girls in the neighborhood are tearing their hair.”

  There was a short silence after that. For the first time Mark felt out of tune with his companions, but he tried to assure himself that it was just their way of talking; it meant nothing at all. I’m old-fashioned, thought Mark. Perhaps I’m a bit of a prig. After all, one ought to be pleased that Edith is making a good marriage…

  • • •

  Douglas Rewden was dining at Dunnian, so he was there when Mark arrived. There was not much time to take stock of him in the bustle and fuss, the kisses and questions and laughter with which members of the Dunne family were wont to greet each other, but after dinner, when Alice and the girls had gone and Mark and Douglas were left sitting at the table with the port between them, Mark was able to take a good look at his prospective brother-in-law. He was tall and well made with fair hair plastered down on his somewhat narrow head. His mustache was fair too, and his eyes were a curiously pale blue. He was colorless and uninteresting to look at and he was equally uninteresting to talk to—so Mark found. Golf and bridge were the two subjects in which he was interested, and as Mark was no good at either the conversation languished and died.

  “We’d better make a move,” said Mark, rising. “You’ll be wanting to make the most of your time with Edith.”

  Rewden rose at once and they went into the drawing room.

  As was natural Rewden made a beeline for Edith, who was sitting on a sofa doing some wool work. She made room for him to sit down beside her, and he sat down. Mark had joined the rest of the family and was busy answering their questions and asking questions himself, but every now and then he glanced toward the sofa somewhat anxiously. It was obvious that Rewden admired Edith—and indeed she was very easy to admire—but they did not seem to have much to say to each other, and Mark could not believe Edith was fond of him. Edith was an intelligent young woman. What could she see in a nincompoop like Rewden?

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Alice said in a low voice, nodding toward the engaged couple. “Dear Edith, I’m so glad she has found the right man. He’s charming, isn’t he, Mark? Such nice manners and so good-looking.”

  “He’s a good deal older than Edith,” Mark said in the same low tone.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Alice replied, smiling. “You young people are so funny about age. To me Douglas seems quite young—a mere boy—but, just because he’s older than you are, you talk as if he had one foot in the grave.”

  “When will Dad be home?”

  “Not until the autumn, I’m afraid,” Alice said sadly. “Of course, we can’t have the wedding without him. Douglas is very impatient, but I told him quite firmly that we must wait.”

  “Dad knows about it?”

  “Oh, of course! I wrote to him at once. He doesn’t know Douglas, but I told him all about it and he’s very pleased. It’s a pity we couldn’t have the wedding in the summer, but it can’t be helped.”

  “I’m going to be the chief bridesmaid,” said Joyce, smiling. “Edith hasn’t made up her mind how many bridesmaids she’s going to have.”

  “Six, dear,” said Alice. “She must have six.”

  “I think she should have seven,” said Joyce. “Then I can walk by myself in front of the others. I’m the chief bridesmaid, you see.”

  “But, Joyce, six would be better—” Alice began.

  “No, seven, Mother,” said Joyce. She began to enumerate them, and Alice agreed and disagreed. It was all quite ridiculous, Mark thought; he bore it as long as he could and then rose, saying he would take the dogs for a bit of a walk before he went to bed.

  “You needn’t bother,” said Joyce. “Debbie always gives the dogs a run.”

  “Debbie can come too…or else have a holiday,” replied Mark, smiling at his cousin.

  This was such a foolish remark that Debbie did not bother to answer it. She was on her feet in a moment and ran off to get her coat.

  “Debbie is very useful,” said Alice. “I don’t know what I would do without her really, and when Edith and Joyce are married it will be so nice for me to have Debbie to keep me company.”

  “Is Joyce thinking of matrimony?” Mark asked in surprise.

  “Not yet, of course,” replied her mother, “but she’s sure to marry one of these days.”

  “Of course I shall,” said Joyce.

  Mark could not help smiling as he called the dogs and went toward the door. Apparently it had never crossed his mother’s mind that Deb might marry. And why shouldn’t she? thought Mark. Debbie had improved in looks tremendously in the last few months. She was still thin, but not so delicate. Her hair was smooth and glossy, and her skin, though darker than that of her cousins, had warmed to a peachy hue. Her eyes had always been lovely, soft and gray and shaded by dark lashes. He would be a lucky man who chose Deb for a wife, thought Mark, as he watched her come running down the stairs to join him, her face aglow with pleasure.

  “Where shall we go?” asked Mark.

  “Let’s walk down the river,” she replied.

  “Have you put on thick shoes?”

  “Of course I have.”

  She was eager to be gone, for at any moment the drawing room door might open and Joyce might come out. She wanted Mark all to herself.

  They talked of various matters as they walked along. Mark told her about his work and of his hopes for the future. His qualifying exam was in the autumn and he must do well. If he did well he might be offered a post in one of the big hospitals. It would be splendid if he could do well enough to be chosen for that.

  “You will,” Debbie said confidently.

  “I shall,” he replied with determination. “I must work hard this vacation—I really must.”

  They were silent for a few minutes, walking along by the stream. The dogs were hunting rabbits and water rats; they were having a grand time.

  “What do you think of Rewden?” Mark said at last.

  “He’s very nice,” said Debbie.

  “Would you care to spend your whole life with him?”

  Debbie looked up in alarm. She cried, “Oh, Mark, don’t you like him?”

  “There’s nothing to dislike about him,” Mark replied thoughtfully. “At least I found nothing. There’s nothing to like either.”

  “Perhaps Edith sees something we don’t.”

  “Perhaps she does.”

  “That must be the reason,” Debbie declared, and it was obvious from the way she spoke that she had given the matter a good deal of thought. “You know, Mark, people must see things to like in each othe
r, things that are invisible to outsiders. Otherwise nobody would get married at all.”

  “That’s quite true,” he replied with a sigh of relief. It was the first piece of comfort he had received, and he was so grateful to Debbie that he slipped his arm through hers and gave it a little squeeze. Deb had always been his “favorite sister” and she still was.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mark and Tessa

  Tessa had not forgotten her promise to come over to Dunnian, and the following morning she and Oliver arrived in the car. It was Edith she wanted to see—and Joyce, of course. The three girls strolled off down the garden arm in arm, their heads close together, and Mark watched them from the library window. He had settled down to work, but his books seemed very dull this morning and he could not fix his thoughts. In a few moments Oliver came out of the house. Oliver saw the girls and waved and ran after them.

  They all disappeared from Mark’s view but not from his thoughts, and he found himself wondering which way they would go. Perhaps they would cross the river by the stepping stones and go up through the woods. It would be lovely in the woods this morning. It would be warm and fragrant. The hot sun on the pines would bring out the sweet resinous smell. Shafts of sunlight would fall between the trees, making pools of yellow light. Like the first Celia Dunne, Mark had this odd faculty of seeing Dunnian with his inward eyes, seeing it clearly and truthfully. (Sometimes in the middle of a lecture on anatomy, or physics, the dusty classroom would disappear and instead he would see Dunnian, the trees, the lawns, the gardens, and would hear the soft murmur of the Rydd.)

  Mark ran his fingers through his hair and sighed and tried to fix his thoughts on the printed page. He managed to banish his visions and studied hard for a while…and then he heard voices and saw Tessa and Joyce coming back across the lawn. This time he could not resist the temptation to join them; he closed his book and jumped out of the window.

  “Pink frocks,” Joyce was saying eagerly. “I think Edith is right. Blue would suit me, of course, but it wouldn’t suit you—”