“I’m finished now,” declared Freddie—or Frederica—jumping off her chair and coming round to me. She put her mouth close to my ear and whispered, “Hurry up! I want to show you my wabbits.”
“Why are you whispering, Frederica?” asked Lottie suspiciously.
“She’s going to show me her rabbits,” I said.
“Well, she needn’t whisper about it. I shall have to go now. I’ve got to have my hair done in London. It’s such a nuisance having to go to London for my hair . . . perhaps Vera will come back.”
“She will,” said Freddie. “If you ask her nicely she’ll come. Mrs White said that.”
“I wish you wouldn’t gossip with the servants!” said Lottie, rising and going away.
“She’s gone,” said Freddie cheerfully. “You want to see my wabbits, don’t you? Come on.”
Freddie and I had a very peaceful day. We went out and fed the rabbits with some cabbage leaves; there was a black rabbit and a white one with pink eyes.
“I like the white wabbit best,” said Freddie. “He’s nice and tame; he lets me pick him up and stroke him.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Benjamin Bunny,” I suggested. “And the black one is Peter.”
“Peter and Bengie,” said Freddie nodding. “That’s nice. I’ll tell Vera when she comes back.”
“Freddie, we don’t know if she’s coming back.”
“Mrs White knows,” said Freddie confidently.
*
We had lunch with Clive in the dining-room. Apparently it was unusual for him to come home for lunch and I wondered if it was for my sake that he had come today. Perhaps he thought Lottie had been less than polite in her treatment of me?
Clive talked to me about his business—he knew I was interested—and for a time Freddie was silent. Then suddenly she exclaimed, “Daddy, listen! I’ll say a bit of poetry to you. It’s a very nice bit of poetry about a wobin. Aunt Sarah told it to me this morning,” . . . and, without waiting for his consent she recited the rhyme about “poor wobin” loudly and clearly.
“Dear me!” exclaimed her father, looking at her in surprise.
“I’m a clever girl,” declared Freddie with a self-satisfied air. “I’ll say it again now.”
She said it again and again until Clive became a little tired of it and requested her to stop.
“We saw a robin in the garden,” I explained. “That’s why I said the rhyme to her; she picked it up very quickly.”
“I had no idea she had any brains,” declared Clive. He added, “I’m afraid I must go now: I’ve got a meeting at three.”
*
Freddie slept most of the afternoon, then we had tea together in the day nursery and I looked about for something to amuse her till bedtime. There were large cupboards stocked with every sort of toy that a child could want—and a good many toys that no reasonable child was ever likely to want!
I found an empty doll’s house and some boxes of furniture.
“Look, Freddie!” I said. “Let’s furnish the house so that people can live in it. That will be fun, won’t it?”
At first she was not very interested but presently she sat down beside me on the floor and began to open the boxes.
“This is the dining-room,” I told her. “Here’s a table and some chairs. Let’s see if we can find a sideboard.”
“Here’s the sideboard!” exclaimed Freddie. “I’ll put it there, shall I? Oh look, here’s a cupboard!”
When the dining-room was furnished we went on to the bedrooms. There were several sets of bedroom furniture and Freddie arranged them very neatly.
“They’re nice, aren’t they?” said Freddie. “Which would you like for your own?”
I chose my bedroom and, after some thought, Freddie chose hers.
“Now we must do the barfroom,” she declared. “Look, here’s a barf. It’s a sweet lickle barf, isn’t it? Could we find a dolly to go in the barf?”
We looked through the boxes and found a very small naked doll to put in the “barf.”
By this time Freddie was enraptured with the new game. Box after box was opened and its contents examined eagerly. It was delightful to watch her tiny hands arranging the miniature furniture. We were finishing the nursery and were looking for a baby-doll to put in the little white cot when the door opened and Lottie came in—evidently she and Mrs Meldrum hadn’t gone to a matinée.
“Look, Freddie, here’s Mummie!” I exclaimed.
I tried to get up but Freddie took my hand and pulled me down. “I want you to go on playing with me,” she said.
“Let’s show Mummie the house,” I suggested. “Let’s ask her which bedroom she would like to have.”
“Oh yes!” cried Freddie eagerly. “The house is nearly ready now. Come and see, Mummie! I’ll show you the barfroom. We found a sweet lickle barf and a dolly——”
“Come here, Frederica,” said Lottie.
“But Mummie, I want to show you——”
I managed to disengage myself from Freddie’s grasp and struggled to my feet. “Did you have a good time, Lottie?” I asked. “I can see you had your hair done; it’s very pretty.”
Lottie ignored me. “Come here, Frederica,” she repeated.
“Don’t want to.”
“I’ve brought you a parcel from London,” said Lottie, holding up a large box.
“Don’t want a parcel.”
“Get up at once!” exclaimed Lottie angrily.
“No.”
“Lottie, have you had tea——” I began, feverishly.
She took no notice of me but bent down and seized the child’s arm. “Get up when I tell you!” she cried.
“Don’t, you’re hurting!” screamed Freddie.
“You’re to do as you’re told!” shouted Lottie, dragging her up from the floor.
The next moment there was pandemonium: Freddie screamed louder and kicked and struggled like a mad thing; the doll’s house went over with a crash; Lottie’s string of pearls was broken and the beads were scattered far and wide.
“There, look what you’ve done! You’ve broken my pearls! You’re a bad wicked girl!” cried Lottie furiously, shaking the child and releasing her with a parting slap. “I brought you a lovely parcel but you shan’t have it now. You must go to bed at once.”
“No!” yelled Freddie, flinging herself face downwards on the floor and beating it with her fists. “No, don’t want to go to bed—don’t want a parcel—no—no—no!”
It was such a frightful scene that I stood and gasped. I was speechless, rooted to the spot.
“Don’t stand there like a dummy,” cried Lottie, turning on me like a tigress. “Help me to pick them up! They’re real pearls—we must find them all.”
“Yes, of course,” I said, raising my voice above the din. “We’ll find them quite easily—they can’t have gone far—but I had better put Freddie to bed first, then we can look for them in peace.”
Lottie didn’t answer, she was crawling about on her hands and knees looking for the pearls, so I picked up the child and carried her into the bathroom.
She stopped screaming almost at once and began to sob.
“There,” I said, holding her small quivering body tightly in my arms. “There, Freddie, it’s all right. Don’t cry, darling. Look, here’s your frog! Look, Freddie! Poor little froggie wants his bath.”
I went on talking nonsense while I turned on the water and undressed her. Then I jumped her into the bath.
“Splash!” I said.
“Do it again!”
I did it again. I did it several times. “Now, that’s enough,” I said. “Lie down and I’ll give you a swim.”
She had stopped crying and was enjoying her “swim” up and down the bath. Then I gave her the rubber frog and a celluloid swan and a small wooden boat and she sat in the bath and played with them—whatever else Freddie lacked she didn’t lack toys. She had quite recovered now, except for a
n occasional hiccup.
I had been frightened; now that the storm was over and my alarm had abated I began to feel very queer. My knees were knocking together so that I could scarcely stand. I sat on the bathroom stool and watched Freddie playing with her toys and tried to pull myself together.
She pushed the frog down to the bottom of the bath and then released him so that he bobbed up to the surface.
“Froggie can swim,” she said, looking up and smiling.
“Clever froggie,” I said. I was wondering what would happen when I took her out of the bath.
I let her play for a few minutes longer; then I said, “We must dry froggie now.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s tired of swimming.” With that I lifted her on to my knee.
I dried Freddie and she dried froggie—there was no trouble at all. It was only when I was putting on her nightdress that I remembered I hadn’t washed her . . . but it was too late now to do anything about it. I carried her into the night nursery and put her into bed; I tucked her up and kissed her.
“Good night, dear,” she said—in a voice so like Nurse’s voice that I couldn’t help smiling.
“Good night, Freddie darling,” I said. “God bless you.”
I was just turning away when she called me back. “Look what I got!” she said happily.
“What have you got, Freddie?”
She opened her hand and showed me: it was a small white bead.
“Oh, Freddie, it’s one of Mummie’s pearls!”
“Mine.”
“No, darling, it belongs to Mummie. You know that, don’t you?”
“No, it’s my lickle bead,” she replied, hiding her hand under the bedclothes.
“We must give it to Mummie.”
“No.”
“But Freddie——”
“Nice lickle bead! I want to keep it under my pillow.” Her eyes were very bright and her lips had begun to quiver.
“You’ll give it to me, won’t you?” I suggested, smiling and holding out my hand. “Please, Freddie!”
“No.”
“Please, dear Freddie.’
She looked at me doubtfully. “Well, can I have Mookie?”
“What’s Mookie?”
“Can I have him to cuddle?”
After a moment’s hesitation I nodded. “Yes, if you tell me where to find him.”
“I’ll get him,” said Freddie. She gave me the pearl and, jumping out of bed, pattered across the room to a cupboard. “Here’s darling Mookie,” she said in dulcet tones. “Nurse says he’s dirty but I love him.”
It wasn’t surprising that nurse objected to Mookie—he was a rag-doll, extremely dirty and dilapidated, and he had lost one eye—but his owner was enchanted with him. She kissed him fondly and took him back to bed with her. “He’s so cuddly,” she explained.
I tucked her up again and kissed her good night.
“Good night, dear,” she repeated sleepily. Then she yawned and snuggled down.
I stood and looked at her for a few moments. I wondered if it had been wrong to smooth it over like that, but what else could I have done? She was little more than a baby and she didn’t understand. How could I have got the pearl from her—except by force? That would have meant another fracas and more tears.
Then I began to wonder where the pearl had been all this time. Had it been clasped in her hand when I bathed her? I hadn’t washed her, of course. I tried to remember if she had used both hands when she was playing with the frog—but I couldn’t. It was a mystery and was likely to remain so.
Freddie was fast asleep now, breathing quietly and evenly, so I put the pearl into the pocket of Nurse’s apron, which I was wearing, and went to find Lottie.
*
Lottie was still in the day nursery, sitting at the table with her broken string of pearls spread out before her on the cloth. She looked up and exclaimed angrily, “There’s one missing! I’ve crawled about all over the floor; I’ve looked down the sides of the chairs; I’ve counted them carefully several times . . . but I’ve only got ninety-nine! I’m exhausted, absolutely exhausted! You see now how naughty she is, don’t you, Sarah?”
“It was an accident; she didn’t mean to——”
“It wasn’t! She seized my pearls and broke the string—she did it on purpose—she’s impossible to deal with. I bought a lovely doll for her at Barrington’s (Mrs Meldrum was buying dolls for Ruth’s little girls so I got one for Frederica) but she wouldn’t look at it; she wouldn’t even open the parcel! She has no idea of gratitude for all the presents she gets.”
“But Lottie, she’s just a baby!”
“Oh, you’re silly about her!” cried Lottie. “You spoil her! You always let her have her own way so, of course, she’s good with you. She doesn’t do a thing I tell her! Why didn’t she get up and come to me when I told her?”
“She wanted to show you the doll’s house. Oh, Lottie, do try to understand! If you had gone and looked at the doll’s house, and taken an interest in what she had been doing, she would have been quite pleased to open the parcel afterwards.”
“Nonsense!” cried Lottie angrily. “Children ought to do as they’re told at once—without all that cosseting! We didn’t behave like that when we were children; Father wouldn’t have stood it for a moment. You know that as well as I do!”
“We were very fortunate.”
“Fortunate? What do you mean?”
“We were part of a happy family; we were with Father and Mother all the time; we weren’t isolated on the top floor of the house.”
“You’re mad!” exclaimed Lottie. “How can I have Frederica with me when I’m out?”
“You can’t,” I agreed.
Oddly enough this seemed to pacify her. “Well, I’m glad you realise that . . . but what’s the good of standing here arguing? We’ve got to find my pearl. Clive gave me the string for Christmas and they cost the earth! I can’t think where it can have gone; I’ve looked everywhere.”
“Have you looked under the hearthrug, Lottie?” I stopped as I spoke, lifted a corner of the rug and turned to her with the pearl in the palm of my hand.
“Oh, Sarah, you’ve found it!” she exclaimed. “What an extraordinary thing! How can it possibly have got under the hearthrug?”
“I don’t know,” I said. It was a black lie, but I didn’t care.
*
The quarrel with Lottie passed off but we had both said things that were not easily forgotten and, although we spoke to each other politely, the atmosphere was strained. I felt uncomfortable and unhappy and wondered what I should do. Lottie was at home for lunch the following day but she went out to a tea-party so when I had given Freddie her tea I took her down to the kitchen and left her with Mrs White while I rang up the Mitre.
Fortunately Charles was in.
“Charles, I’m not very happy here,” I said.
“Darling! I’ll come over and fetch you now, this minute.”
For some extraordinary reason my eyes filled with tears. “It’s dear of you, but I can’t leave Freddie until there’s someone here who can look after her.”
“You can’t stay there if you’re unhappy. I won’t have it.”
“I’m not unhappy now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know you love me.”
“Of course I love you! Sarah, what on earth is the matter?”
“I’ve had a row with Lottie, that’s all.”
“I’m not surprised. Look here——”
“No, listen, Charles! I just wanted to make sure that if they find someone to look after Freddie I can come away at once.”
“Of course you can! You can come here. I’ll engage a double room; I’ll fetch you at a moment’s notice. Is that all right?”
“Yes, it’s marvellous.”
“Just ring up and say when you want to be fetched. You can leave a message if I’m out. Meanwhile you can think of me now and then and remember that I love you to distract
ion.”
“Charles, are you speaking from your bedroom?”
“Yes, did you think I was speaking from the hall?” asked Charles with a chuckle.
“I wondered,” I said. I added, “Good-bye, darling.”
“Au revoir,” said Charles. “And the sooner the better.”
When I returned to the kitchen I found Mrs White and Freddie playing Beggar My Neighbour on the kitchen table so I sat and waited until they had finished the game—and Freddie had beggared Mrs White—then we said good night and went upstairs to the nursery and played with the doll’s house until it was time for Freddie to go to bed.
*
Clive had a friend to dinner; he was the kind of businessman Charles had been thinking of when he said they were “money-making machines” so the conversation was of stocks and shares and mergers and other mysterious activities in which neither Lottie nor I was interested. We finished the meal more quickly than usual and went upstairs to Lottie’s boudoir.
“Dull, dull, dull!” exclaimed Lottie, sinking gracefully into a comfortable chair.
“It’s interesting to them,” I pointed out.
Lottie didn’t reply.
“Have you heard from Vera?” I asked.
“Yes, she rang up this afternoon. She says she’ll come back—thank goodness! My hair has never been the same since she left. I shall have to give her more (but it’s worth it because it saves me going to a hairdresser) and she wants more time off and fewer late nights. So greedy!” said Lottie plaintively. “So inconsiderate! It doesn’t seem to occur to her that I’m tired when I come home from a dance.”
“Perhaps she’s tired too,” I suggested.
The suggestion was ignored.
“I had to give in, of course,” continued Lottie. “She suits me in other ways; it would be difficult to find anyone else; difficult and tiresome.”
“When can she come?”
“Oh, I said she had better come tomorrow . . . and she agreed. I must remember to send Brookes to Larchester to meet her.”
“She can look after—er—Frederica, can’t she?”
“Oh!” said Lottie doubtfully. “Oh yes, I suppose she can . . . but I thought you were staying till Wednesday?”
“I would rather go sooner if you don’t need me.”
Sarah's Cottage (Sarah Morris Book 2) Page 6