“But we can’t—honestly—they were here first.”
“Ask them,” said Aunt Beatrice in commanding tones.
There was nothing Roger disliked more than making a fuss, but he saw that he would have no peace until he carried out his orders so he went over to the two men and explained matters, adding that his aunt had been ill. One of the men seemed willing to give up his seat but the other was a truculent individual and refused to budge.
“We’ll stay where we are,” he declared, glaring at Roger defiantly. “We chose these seats and we don’t intend to give them up to anyone.”
This settled the matter but it did not settle Aunt Beatrice. “I don’t know what the world is coming to, nowadays,” she declared in a loud voice which was only partly drowned by the roar of the engines. “When I was young it was very different. Any gentleman would have been only too pleased to give up his seat to a lady.”
“We can’t do anything—” began Roger.
“Call that girl at once.”
Roger was unwilling to call the air-hostess so Aunt Beatrice beckoned to her in a peremptory manner and explained what she wanted.
“But it doesn’t matter which way you sit,” said the air-hostess smiling soothingly. “It isn’t like a train, you know. These are very good seats, I’m sure you’ll be quite comfortable here.”
“I am not comfortable.”
“Would you like me to tilt your seat back a little?”
“No,” said Aunt Beatrice crossly.
“I’m going to bring you some tea in a few minutes. That will be nice, won’t it?”
“I don’t want tea. I want a seat with my back to the engine.”
The girl glanced at Roger. “I’m afraid I can’t do anything,” she said regretfully.
“I know,” said Roger. “It doesn’t matter at all.”
“It matters a great deal,” exclaimed Aunt Beatrice. “You’re treating me as if I were six years old. It always gives me a headache if I sit facing the engine.”
“My aunt has been ill,” explained Roger. It was the only excuse he could find for her behaviour.
After that Aunt Beatrice grumbled continuously; she grumbled about the motion of the plane, the tea was too weak and the cake was stale. She complained of a headache, but refused some aspirin tablets produced by the air hostess. Altogether she was thoroughly unpleasant and unreasonable. Roger realised that she was tired out, and probably felt ill, so he tried to make allowances for her, but he was so ashamed of all the fuss that he was thankful when at last they arrived at their destination. He was thankful to hand over the grumpy old lady to the care of her faithful maid, who had been with her for years in spite of her bad temper.
Roger’s mission was accomplished. His one thought now was to go home to Amberwell as quickly as he could and, as it was too late to get a train, he hired a car for the journey.
She’s alive anyway, thought Roger as he lay back in the car and closed his eyes. She’s come through the journey alive. If she dies now I can’t help it—but she’ll probably survive to go to Copenhagen next year—nothing could kill Aunt Beatrice. If she wants somebody to rescue her from Copenhagen she can get Tom—only Tom wouldn’t be such a fool!
Chapter Thirteen
1.
Four days of Roger’s precious leave had been wasted upon Aunt Beatrice (wasted was Roger’s word for it and incidentally it seemed to him more like a fortnight than four days); so he had only three clear days at Amberwell before returning to his regiment. It was difficult to apportion his time among all the things he wanted to do. Mr. Gray was anxious to speak to him about the gardens; Nell wanted him to go over the accounts; it was essential to see what progress the builders were making at Summerhills and of course he must spend as much time as possible with Stephen.
The first thing he did on reaching home was to ring up Arnold, and Arnold suggested that everybody should meet at Summerhills the following afternoon. It would save time, said Arnold. If everybody were there—including Mr. Lumsden the builder—Roger could hear everybody’s ideas.
“What d’you mean by everybody?” Roger enquired.
“Well, Dad would like to come and—and one or two other people. You don’t mind, do you?”
Roger was somewhat doubtful. He explained that he wanted a quiet talk with Mr. Lumsden and that might be difficult to achieve if the house were full of people.
“Don’t worry; I’ll manage everything,” said Arnold.
“We’ll want Mary, of course,” said Roger. “We must have Mary to explain her idea about the hatch in the dining room.”
“Mary can’t come.”
“Can’t come?”
“No, she’s gone to Edinburgh to stay with her cousins.”
“What a pity—” began Roger.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” said Arnold cheerfully. “I’ve passed on her idea about the hatch to Lumsden and he’s started work on it already.”
“When is Mary coming back?”
“Next week, I expect, but we don’t need her. We’ve got her ideas to work on.”
Roger was silent.
“We want new ideas,” continued Arnold. “Anne said she’d like to come and bring Emmie. She hasn’t seen the place yet.”
“Look here, Arnold. We don’t want a crowd.”
“I’ll look after the crowd. There’s no need for you to bother. We’ll meet there early, you and I, before the others arrive. Will that do?”
“I suppose so,” said Roger.
When Nell heard that Anne was to be at Summerhills, she said she would come too and bring Stephen.
“Oh well,” said Roger with a sigh. “I suppose if there’s got to be a crowd it may as well be a mob.”
“Don’t you want us to come?” asked Nell.
“Of course I want you to come,” replied Roger impatiently. “You know perfectly well I’ve been trying to get you to take an interest in Summerhills for weeks.”
It was so unlike Roger to be cross that Nell was quite alarmed, but on reflection she decided that the trip to Rome had upset him—and no wonder! Poor Roger had had a dreadful time with Aunt Beatrice.
Roger and Arnold met at Summerhills early, before the crowd arrived. They discussed the door into the changing-room (which was Arnold’s pet idea) and Roger promised to speak to Mr. Lumsden about it.
“Now look here,” said Roger. “What about a matron? Have you anybody in mind?”
“No, have you?”
“What about Georgina Glassford?”
“Georgina Glassford!” echoed Arnold in dismay. “Good Lord, I wouldn’t have her as a gift! That girl is an absolute menace. Look here, old fellow, you don’t really mean it, do you?”
“I thought perhaps——”
“But she isn’t the type,” cried Arnold. “We want a nice, comfy, motherly sort of woman——”
“All right, have it your own way,” said Roger. He had been a little cross before, but now he was definitely out of temper—the more so because he knew in his inmost heart that Arnold was right. Georgina was not really the type they wanted as matron for Summerhills: “a nice, comfy, motherly woman” was the sort of woman for the post.
“Of course it’s for you to say,” continued Arnold in reluctant tones. “It’s your school—and if you want Miss Glassford—but she’d cause a lot of trouble with the staff. I mean she’s far too good-looking—and those trousers! And have you seen her running with her long legs?”
Roger had, of course. “All right, don’t lose your hair,” said Roger. “It was just a suggestion, that’s all.”
They discussed several other matters after that. Roger described his adventures in Rome and put forward his theory that modern boys should learn to speak modern languages.
“Not just school French,” said Roger earnestly. “Not just voici la plume de ma tante. I learnt to say that when I was at school, but it was a fat lot of use to me when I tried to talk to that blinking Frenchwoman! Let’s get a Frenchman as one of the ma
sters and make a Special Thing of modern languages.”
Fortunately Arnold was able to agree wholeheartedly. In fact he went even further than Roger and had plans for taking some of his future pupils abroad and “showing them the world.”
They were still talking when the crowd arrived. It was a much bigger crowd than Roger had expected for Arnold had asked everybody who was remotely interested in Summerhills (except Mary, of course). He had even managed to round up some people from outlying districts who had young sons and might consider sending them to the school. Arnold had said he would look after the crowd and he carried out his promise. He gathered all the visitors together and took them for a personally conducted tour of the building.
*
2.
Anne was one of the crowd which followed Arnold round the new school. She was pleased that Arnold had asked her and pleased to come. The little outing was enjoyable for she was so busy with her household duties at the Rectory that she did not go about very much. This outing, though not exactly a social occasion, gave Anne the opportunity of meeting friends whom she had not seen for years—and in addition she found it amusing. She could not help smiling as she watched the group of people following Arnold from room to room and listening to his discourse, for it reminded her of a group of tourists being shown over some historic castle . . . but instead of gaping dungeons and ruined battlements their guide was displaying airing cupboards and comfortable dormitories and modern bathrooms in course of construction. It occurred to Anne that, whereas historic castles were relics of the past, Summerhills was looking towards the future.
The house was well-known to Anne so she was interested in the alterations. In the bathrooms the alterations had just begun, which meant that the joiners had torn up the flooring and left the pipes exposed, but their guide explained what was going to be done, and described what the bathrooms would look like when finished, in a manner which left little to the imagination.
Today Arnold was playing the part of headmaster—and was doing it well. He looked the part to perfection for he had bought his new suit, and his collar and tie and highly polished shoes were all above reproach. He was much too busy to speak to his friends individually, but he had asked the visitors to tell him about any brilliant ideas which might occur to them en route. A few sensible suggestions were made—and quite a number of foolish ones—all of which were carefully noted in the headmaster’s book.
The tour finished in the hall, where it had begun, and the visitors melted away. They all went except Anne who had lost Emmie.
“It’s all right,” said Arnold. “She’ll be here soon. She and Stephen went off together to explore on their own. Let’s sit down,” he added, looking round for something to sit on.
Anne was aware that Arnold hated standing so she followed him into the dining room where they found two chairs and sat down together.
“It went off all right, didn’t it?” said Arnold. “Roger was annoyed with me for asking all those people, but we must try to advertise the school and get boys. As a matter of fact I’ve got the names of three boys this afternoon—they’re coming at Easter—so it was worth it.”
“It has been a nice party,” Anne said.
“A funny sort of party. No food and nothing to drink,” returned the host somewhat ruefully. “But never mind, we’ll have a proper party later on—a slap-up affair. Look here, Anne, you didn’t make any suggestions.”
“I hadn’t any to make.”
Arnold took out his book. “I want your advice about colour schemes. What do you think would be nice for the matron’s rooms—and the headmaster’s rooms? Roger says I can choose what I like, but I’m no good at interior decoration. I haven’t a clue.”
“You should ask Nell. She knows far more about that sort of thing than I do.”
“I’d rather have your advice. I mean that’s why I wanted you to come this afternoon,” explained Arnold. “Do you think it would look well to have cream paint—or would white be better? My sitting room is rather dark so it must be a light sort of paint. And what about paper? Do you like plain paper or a pattern?”
“I don’t know,” replied Anne.
“You don’t know?” echoed Arnold in surprise.
Anne smiled. “Honestly, you’re asking the wrong person. I don’t bother much about things like that. I’ve never decorated a room in my life. Ask Nell or Mary—or Mrs. Lambert. I believe Mrs. Lambert would be best. Merlewood is beautiful, isn’t it? Yes, I think you should ask Mrs. Lambert.”
The idea did not seem to please Arnold. “But people have different tastes,” he said doubtfully . . . and then, as Anne said nothing, he added, “Oh well, there’s no hurry. We shall have to get all the building finished before we start papering and painting the rooms.”
While they were talking a man had approached. He was a curious-looking individual in a blue suit and tan shoes. Anne had noticed him going round the house with the rest of the party and had wondered who he was.
“You are the headmaster, I’m told,” said the man, smiling in an ingratiating manner. “My name is Mr. Walker.”
“Yes,” said Arnold, not very cordially. “Do you want to speak to me?”
“About the furniture,” said Mr. Walker. “You’ve got some very nice stuff here. It’s far too good for a boys’ school.”
“The owner of this place has just bought it.”
“We know that—but, if you’ll excuse me saying so, it was a mistake. Now I have a little proposition to make: I’m a dealer in furniture—see? I’ll take some of this furniture off your hands at a good price and you can buy some hard-wearing stuff instead.”
“Sell the good stuff and buy trash?”
“I didn’t say that, did I?” said Mr. Walker reproachfully. “There’s no need to buy trash. You can buy solid stuff that won’t matter. The boys will knock this stuff to bits in a few months.”
“They will not,” replied Arnold. “I’ll take good care they don’t.”
“Now Mr. Maddon, just listen a minute——”
“You’re wasting your time, Mr. Walker. As a matter of fact it has nothing to do with me. If you want to do a deal you should ask Major Ayrton. But I can tell you it won’t be any good. He and I have already discussed the matter. There’s no need for me to tell you any more—but I will,” said Arnold frankly. “Our idea is to make this school different from other schools. We’ve got a beautiful house and we intend to have good furniture in it. We think that boys should be taught to respect good furniture and to take an interest in their surroundings. . . .”
Anne could not help smiling for this was Arnold’s hobbyhorse and once he was mounted upon it he would not dismount in a hurry. Of course Mr. Walker had asked for it, so he could not complain, but she felt a little sorry for him. She and Arnold were sitting upon the only two chairs available so Mr. Walker was obliged to stand and listen to the headmaster’s views about the education of the young.
“If you bring up a boy in an institution with a lot of deal furniture around him you can’t blame him for kicking it, can you?” said Arnold. “That’s what’s the matter with the modern young. They haven’t been taught how to behave in a well-furnished house. My boys are going to be taught to appreciate the finer things of life: good furniture and fine pictures and a beautiful old house with traditions of gracious living; they’re going to be taught to appreciate the park and the lovely trees.”
“But Mr. Maddon——” began Mr. Walker.
“I’m going to teach them manners,” declared Arnold. “I’m not going to let them behave like boors and savages. We’ve got all sorts of plans. For instance, Major Ayrton is very anxious for them to learn to speak French fluently—and perhaps Italian as well. Modern languages are going to be a specialty . . . and we have plans to take small parties of boys to the Continent so that they’ll see other countries besides their own. It will widen their minds and broaden their outlook upon life——”
“It was the furniture, Mr. Maddon,” said Mr. Walk
er unhappily.
“Oh yes, I know; but it’s all part of the same thing. It’s all part of the training. Now I’ll tell you another thing I mean to do——”
“It sounds excellent,” said Mr. Walker. “I’m sure it will be a great success, but I’m afraid I can’t wait. It’s a pity about the furniture . . .” He sidled towards the door.
“Look here,” said Arnold. “Come back a minute. Who told you about the furniture?”
“Who told me?”
“Yes. It wasn’t by any chance Mr. Strow, was it?”
“Mr. Strow?”
“Mr. Strow told you to ask me about it, didn’t he?”
“Well—he just—happened to mention it,” said Mr. Walker uncomfortably. “I saw him the other day and he—just—mentioned it.”
“I thought so,” said Arnold. “You can tell Mr. Strow to mind his own business—see?”
Mr. Walker had reached the door. He opened it and went away in haste.
“Poor man!” exclaimed Anne laughing. “You were a bit hard on him, Arnold.”
“Perhaps I was—a little,” admitted Arnold. “But I don’t like it much. I don’t like Strow having sent that chap to speak to me about selling the furniture. There’s something fishy about it, Anne.”
Anne stopped laughing and looked thoughtful. “How did you know Mr. Strow was at the bottom of it?”
“He’s at the bottom of most things—besides I’ve had a feeling all along that Strow was interested in the furniture. I’d like to know why.”
“Money,” said Anne. “People like that are always out for money, aren’t they?”
“You mean Strow and Walker got together and decided to do a deal with me?”
Anne nodded. “Yes, behind Roger’s back. I’m sure of it. They’d have given you a rake-off.”
“Gosh, how horrible!” Arnold exclaimed. “It’s rather—frightening.”
“There’s no need to be frightened,” said Anne sensibly. “You wouldn’t dream of doing anything shady so you’re perfectly safe. But I think you ought to tell Roger the whole thing.”
“I shall,” agreed Arnold. “If only we could bring it home to Strow we might get rid of the brute.”
Summerhills (Ayrton Family Book 2) Page 12